Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was most likely unearned confidence that Philza thought he could keep the family business from all of his boys until they were at least 18. This plan fell to the wayside far quicker than intended. Techno learned of it on his 16th birthday, Wilbur at 13, and Tommy months after his 16th birthday. He’d done his best to keep it from them while he could, meetings and business partners kept wholly separate from his day to day life. Morning’s spent making pancakes and trying to get Tommy into something other than his favorite baseball tee. Afternoons picking them up from school, watching movies, and helping them with their math homework. Philza would kiss his children’s foreheads, pass the emergency phone to Sam, and head off to lead the most powerful mafia in the entire city by nightfall. It was system that worked, one that – to him – shouldn’t have failed.

The kids didn’t question where the money came from, they didn’t question the security around their home, they only knew Phil as their father and each other as their brothers and there was nothing more to that. They were simply kids, they didn’t question so long as things didn’t change from their established normal. They didn’t talk to strangers, but that was taught to every child. If Phil himself wasn’t there to pick them up from their private school then it was always Sam. Their lives were no different than every other kid as far as they were aware.

Perhaps eighteen was too lofty of a goal. He should have known the moment all three of them had concocted some haphazard plan to overthrow the dinner table that Phil wouldn’t be able to keep his clever boys in the dark for that long.

Techno confronted his father the day after his 16th birthday. Pink balloons the color of his newly dyed hair still hung on the last dredges of helium around the sitting room. Steaming cups of earl grey tea sat untouched between the two of them. A crumbled up ball of wrapping paper that had missed the garbage bin bounced against his tapping foot. Those were the small things his brain held onto from that conversation. Techno’s piercing glare on the other hand threatened Phil’s composure more so than any gun to his head ever had. Techno’s voice stayed level and he chose his words carefully as he all but demanded Philza tell him the truth. So he did.

If he was being honest with himself, Techno was too smart to have just figured it out at 16. Everything felt too researched. The speech too well rehearsed. He’d seen the way his oldest had danced around the topics and how his ears had perked at slightly off remarks or mysterious phone calls over the years. Had he been a smarter man he would have put an end to it then. If he had to guess, Techno had known at 14 and chose the easier route of waiting until he couldn’t wait anymore. Techno had always been the patient one of his three.

Wilbur on the other hand didn’t have the luxury of years and time to come to terms with the family business. He had wild curls and an attitude to match. More instruments crammed into his room than in most high school band lockers. His son was argumentative to nearly a fault but never brash about it, always having some clever retort planned and evidence stored and saved to use as leverage later. Phil hated how his first thoughts when those skills came to light was how useful they’d be to the family business. How quickly he’d encouraged Wil to join the debate team. They could always use more diplomats and Wilbur’s negotiating skills led to him getting extra dessert and a later bedtime more nights than not. Maybe Phil was just too much of a push over for his boys. Wil was bright and loved his brothers and would tell everyone he came across what his plans for his future were. Phil never had it in his heart to tell him those plans would always be tied down to The Syndicate as his son. He was 13 when all that shattered and it took years to build that trust back up again.

A father never forgets the shape of their children. From the moment they were first placed into his arms, Phil’s bones bent and curved to form to the shape of each child and cement the feeling there within them. A fatherly nest for his offspring when they woke up from nightmares or fell off their bikes. He never forgot how Wil felt in his arms that night, body wracked with sobs as his tears left wet continents on Phil’s jacket. The way the rain washed the first drivels of blood from the concrete and how he kept Wil’s gaze away from it. The feeling of his son’s soft curls intertwined with his fingertips as he promised he’d never let it happen again. He promised over and over again, never stopping until he couldn’t hear the drumroll of gunfire behind them as his crew left the ones that had taken his son from him in piles of their own blood. The entire city knew what it meant to mess with The Angel of Death that night.

It was only a handful of hours later, after the fourth attempt to get Wil to sleep more than thirty minutes without waking up fighting against an unseen enemy that Phil gave up the lies and told his son what happened. In less than a month and a half he’d stripped the childhood from two of his son’s and welcomed them to The Syndicate.

He’d saved the more gruesome details, he didn’t need to traumatize the boy just barely scraping his teenage years any further. All he needed to know was that Philza was a very powerful man, their family was a formidable opponent to some in the city, and those enemies had snatched Wilbur following a guitar lesson before Sam could even register the boy was gone. It wasn’t fair, he told him as such and he brought in the best therapist in the city and prayed that the years and answers might let his son sleep at night again. All while his youngest slept soundly in the room over, never the wiser, and Techno nearly stormed out into the rain that night to deal with whatever enemies might threaten his family again. Phil was only able to stop him by requesting that he watch over Tommy. A vigil he maintained for months after.

With Techno he’d explained further, studying his son’s expression with practiced focus. Techno remained quiet through it all, only offering the occasional interjection. For hours his eldest sipped at his tea until he’d drained the pot and stared at the remaining tea leaves within as though they alone could reveal how this conversation would end.

Eventually it did end, Techno stood up without a word and deposited his teacup in the kitchen and excused himself to his room. The mere thought that he’d lost his son to the secrets left him tossing and turning all night. Yet, Techno greeted him the next morning and offered his assistance. It had been an argument. 18 had always been the age that Phil set. Once they were adults, no matter how young they would always be in his eyes, then they could join him. The Syndicate was dangerous. A month and a half later would reveal just how dangerous it was for his children in particular. Technoblade had been steadfast though. He knew he could help, his years in karate and other fighting styles were not to be overlooked, not to mention he was the natural heir of The Syndicate. The more Phil could teach him before an assassination attempt couldn’t be thwarted in time the better. He agreed and Techno joined the family business under the condition that his grades were not to fall and that he’d still get a university education. Techno agreed on both points.

And so 16 became the age when he’d tell his boys everything. While Wilbur knew the basics at 13, it was at 16 that Phil finally let his son put his silver-tongue to use and start swindling those who thought it wise to underestimate a teenager. Sam was always close by, ready to step in at a moment’s notice. The feeling of Wil sobbing in his arms never truly left his mind and with his third son more rambunctious and troublesome than Wil and Techno had ever been combined, he never wanted Tommy to go through the same. He couldn’t bear the sight of it.

When his older two boys knew what was going on he could trust them to keep an extra eye out on Tommy. But, Tommy never seemed to understand the need for check ins, security, keeping his location on, and letting Sam know where he was. It was a security nightmare for everyone involved. Wil and Techno only wanted to babysit their teenaged younger brother so much and Tommy only wanted to let them watch him so often. It was after Tommy’s third attempt to sneak out that Phil decided that maybe 16 was too early for some. Wil and Techno argued, not wanting to have to keep the secret from Tommy any longer than needed, but eventually they gave in. Agreeing that the gremlin child could use to wait until he at least graduated high school.

The world moved on like it always had. Wil and Techno in university and working for The Syndicate on the side. Tommy floundering his way through high school without the grace and ease he’d come to expect from Techno and Wilbur. Parent-teacher conferences ended in assurances that they’d figure out a solution for his boy’s performance. Checks were written on top of tuition to brush disciplinary issues under the rug and pay for therapy for one of his instructors (thankfully he had a great therapist on his payroll). He kept his smile thin and wondered what was harder, raising three boys or running the most powerful mafia in the city. Every time his phone rang from the school that answer tended to lean towards specifically raising Tommy.

Tommy’s 16th birthday passed and there were no terse discussions over tea or introductions to the secret rooms in their home. There was only cake and ice cream and they watched Moana together and Techno gifted Tommy a rather suspicious swiss army knife that Phil would have to question him about later. It was normal and they moved on. They kept on playing at their perfect family. He was never the wiser that Techno oversaw a drug deal that evening once the sugar crash hit Tommy like a train and left him sleeping on the couch to the sounds of Wil plucking at guitar strings.

Nothing changed until Tommy’s voice, three months later, cursed through the entire house like a shrieking siren.

“DADZA WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?”

Soft chords suddenly halted from Wil’s guitar as he looked above his glasses at Phil, an eyebrow raised.

“Told you.” Wilbur hummed.

“Let me handle this.” Phil sighed as he pushed himself up from the living room couch and turned off the television.

Techno was already in the hall, arms crossed and leaning against a wall sporting a sly smirk to match.

“I had my money on six months.”

“If I find out one of you boys told him you’re never getting off paperwork for as long as you both live.” Phil huffed but Techno raised his arms in a placating manner.

Tommy was in Philza’s office. The one that was always locked. The one that locked instantly upon the door closing. The one that Tommy under no circumstance should have been able to access. Yet there he was, face flushed like he’d just run across town and damning papers surrounding him. In his other hand was a stapler.

“Mate-“

“The Syndicate? Is that like a mafia or something? Are we in the mafia? Do Techno and Wil know? Why haven’t you told me? I thought you ran Craft Investments! Techno said you did all the stocks and property buying and stuff! That’s why Techno kept blabbing on about ‘how to manipulate the stock market’” Tommy rambled on, doing his best imitation of their brother’s monotone voice.

He should have been more concerned about how Tommy broke into his office, but why in the world was Techno teaching him about manipulating the stock market? They agreed they weren’t going to teach him anything for the business until he was old enough, mutually agreeing that they couldn’t trust him to use any of it responsibly. Prime knows they didn’t need to be picking Tommy up from the police after he hotwired a car or something.

“Let’s talk about this mate. Why were you in here?” Phil started, trying to keep his voice calm and his mind composed.

“I couldn’t find a stapler!”

“And why did you need a stapler?”

“I saw this thing online where you could make pencils stick to a wall and I wanted to see if I could make a wall mounted stapler. That would be very pog. Stop dodging the question though.”

Phil stared for a moment, looking at his boy that looked so much like him unlike his other two sons. Blond hair and blue eyes, shimmering in the glow of the small chandelier light fixture.

“Alright then, noble cause I suppose. Then how did you get in here?”

“I picked the lock,” Tommy said like it was a normal skill that every 16 year old had. Granted his other two had learned that skill at 16 but not Tommy.

“And where did you learn that?”

“Wil taught me.”

Phil paused once more. Sighed heavily and realized he should have known better than to underestimate his two other sons when they said they wouldn’t get him involved before he was ready.

With a motion for Tommy to sit and Phil resting his head in his hands he went about explaining the family business with a mental note to have a nice long talk with Techno and Wil to figure out all that they’d taught Tommy.

As it turned out, it was a lot and it had been going on for far longer than he’d expected.

Chapter Text

“Do you have any concerns you’d like to address with me, Mr. Craft?” Ms. Rose asked, a smile plastered on her face, as fake as the paper roses that decorated the classroom walls. Phil wondered how she kept it up all day with an entire class worth of parents to go through. Parent-teacher conferences, the bane of schedules and students alike. When all could finally be revealed face to face. If only he wasn’t running dangerously close to being late for another meeting he had that afternoon.

The mafia boss side of him wanted to decline her offer politely and bid her a good day, but Philza was doing his best to be at least a B+ parent and he did have questions. More than one actually. He could have brought up his son’s dislike for math or many fights he’d heard about his son getting into on the playground. He should have brought up those, but instead only one question came to mind.

“He doesn’t talk much about what goes on in school, does he have any friends in class?”

Ms. Rose’s eyes lit up before they just as quickly recoiled as if she remembered something awful about the answer. That did not help Phil’s nerves one bit.

“Rough subject, eh?” Phil pressed, a million possible reasons for that reaction filling his head. More than half of them illegal.

“Oh it’s fine. The two of them are rather…rambunctious together. A certain Tubbo Underscore? I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned him to you. The two are practically joined at the hip.”

Phil blinked. No. It couldn’t possibly be. What sort of cruel luck did he have? Perhaps it was a different Underscore. It had to be a popular last name, right? Yet, how many Underscore’s could afford to send their kids to private school?

Tommy had mentioned a ‘Big T’ multiple times, but Phil never pressed, honestly expecting him to be an imaginary friend or Tommy simply referring to himself in the third person. Through every year prior, Tommy’s friends had been few and far between. Not many were able to handle his youngest’s energy. It should have been a godsend that he’d finally found someone to be friends with. If he’d learned anything in the business, it was to never ignore a coincidence.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in some half-assed attempt to starve the headache before it could form.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Craft?”

In a split second he was jerked back into the conference. Right. Tommy. Friends. His son’s best friend being the son of the most dangerous person to their family. “Oh yes, thank you. I was just relieved to hear that.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she asked if he had any more concerns or questions to bring up before she brought in the next teacher.

“No, that will be all. I have to get going now, thank you.” Phil said, standing up from the squeaky chair, one of the only adult sized ones in the classroom. He extended his hand to her and they shook them and then he was off, thumb already dialing a number as he exited the school.

“Sam do you know who Tubbo is?” Phil asked, rapidly aging as he sank into the seat of his car.

“Oh Tommy’s friend? I see them playing together on the playground all the time.” Sam said nonchalantly, as though everyone knew about Tubbo except him. He was the boss for crime’s sake. How in the world did that happen? Tommy rarely ever stopped talking. He even talked in his sleep most nights.

“Did you ever do a background check on him?”

“A background check on a ten-year-old…Did you want me to pull up his grades from second grade? What age he was potty-trained?”

“I want to know if Tommy’s supposed best friend is really the son of Schlatt.” Phil deadpanned at Sam’s sass.

The call went awkwardly silent for a beat.

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Let’s see if we can get some confirmation on this, and maybe figure out what’s going on here. Of all the kids to befriend, Tommy. You had to go with the son of my enemy.” Phil sighed, already leaving a hundred mental notes for new protocols he’d need to enact, new safety precautions, new conversations he’d need to have with a certain son of his.

“Yes sir, I’ll get on that right away…if I may, you aren’t going to make them stop being friends right? This is the only time I’ve ever seen him with an actual friend.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Sam. Just, let me deal with this please? Or try to.” He hung up and proceeded to drop his head onto the steering wheel, wondering if he could just phase through the car into the ground and cease existing for a while. This was going to be a nightmare. Schlatt could have already known and asked Tubbo to plant something on Tommy, a bug, a camera, any number of things. Or they could just be biding their time for another kidnapping, luring his son in with the prospect of friendship just so they could take Tommy from him like others had taken Wilbur. He tried to shake those thoughts from his mind as he drove home, canceling his upcoming meeting in favor of asking his youngest some questions. Hopefully it was nothing. Hopefully Tubbo just happened to share the same last name as his arch rival and there was no connection. Hoping didn’t get him as far as he was though. Only silence accompanied him.

---

Weekends were typically Tommy’s favorite days of the year besides Christmas and his birthday, but days off from school were pretty high up there, if not higher than weekends. Not only did he get to watch all the cartoons that were on during the day that never played during weekends, but he got to stay home while Wil and Techno still had to go to school. That meant he ruled the house while Dad was at his stupid parent-teacher conference thingy. He was already coming up with excuses for all the things Ms. Rose would be telling his dad. She was a wrong-un who was always taking the fun out of things. Apparently building a rocket in their 5th grade classroom was a ‘safety hazard’ but Tubbo made it sound like a lot of fun. She’d been the one to shut it down, saying they should be focusing on growing their bean plants like everyone else. Bean plants were boring. Rockets were pog.

Technically, Sam was at the house too, but not as like a real babysitter. Tommy was a big man, he was double digits now! 10-year-olds didn’t need babysitters. He was almost 11 anyways, basically a full adult. Sam was just there to help him reach the top shelf where the cereal was and use the stove to make hot chocolate. Things too lowly for a big man like himself to do.

Tommy wanted to play monopoly so he could absolutely crush Sam again with his poggers strategy of getting all the railroads first, but he claimed to be “busy”. To Tommy it just looked like he was playing on the computer and making stupid phone calls. So he pouted and watched Power Rangers and played with the cat and pouted some more and proclaimed infinite boredom to Sam and waited for his dad to come home so he could force him to play monopoly with him.

The hum of the door lock sent Tommy barreling through the living room, ready to moan about just how bored he’d been since Sam wouldn’t play with him to his dad.

“Daaaadza! Dadza! Dadza! Dadza!” He cheered, barreling into his father’s arms at breakneck speed. “I don’t know what Ms. Rose told you but I’m the perfect student. Literally the best student possible. She just doesn’t like me because I’m too much of a big man and she’s a wrong-un.” He assured him, telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Okay it wasn’t quite the truth but it was close enough. “Can we play monopoly? Sam won’t play because he says he’s busy with some pussy-man shit.”

Phil smiled at him. “Sam’s doing some really important stuff for me that’s why he couldn’t play.” he explained and then repositioned Tommy in his arms so their center of balance wasn’t dangerously close to teetering over.

“But daaaaaaad I want to play.” He whined. He knew if he whined enough he’d usually get his way one way or another. Wilby was good at talking his way into what he wanted and Tommy was good at just annoying people until they gave in.

“Speaking of…Sam! Anything important?” Phil called into the house and Sam appeared a moment later, looking a little more frazzled than Tommy had ever seen him. Like he’d just run a marathon or had one of those timed multiplication table tests. More like twelve timed multiplication tests in a row. He frowned at that. Maybe Sam was actually doing important stuff like his dad said he was.

Sam nodded before adding, “If I were you I’d wait until the boys get home,” Sam first met Tommy’s gaze then it flickered up to his dad’s and remained there.
“Alright, keep on doing that research for me.” He said, and Sam went back to the dining room where he’d set up his computer and a whole lot of papers. “As for you, why don’t we play that game of monopoly while we wait for your brothers to get home from school, alright?”

Tommy cheered and ran off to get the monopoly game.

---

“Your teacher told me about your friend today.” He counted out the bills and handed out the proper amount to Tommy and himself.

“Oh! Big T?”

“Mmhmm. Why didn’t you tell me about Tubbo, mate?” Phil tried to keep his voice nonchalant, Tommy wasn’t trained in the art of picking out the subtleties of vocal intonation so he wasn’t too worried about him noticing the small amount of hurt that was in voice. Tommy told him almost everything. In fact it was more of an issue to get him to stop talking than it was to get him to talk. So for him to hide just this…had Schlatt already gotten to him?

“Oh…” He stared at the floor.

This was bad. This was really bad. What had happened? His hand was already flickering over his phone, ready to call in every person he could to make someone’s life a living hell for daring to even get near Tommy.

His nerves didn’t show though, and he reached across the game board with his other hand and placed it on top of Tommy’s, a small smile on his face. A fatherly assurance that he could trust him with anything.

“Wilby told me not to tell you about him. I don’t know why, but he said it was important if I wanted to keep being friends…You’re not going to make up stop being friends? Right? I’d die if I couldn’t be friends with Tubbo anymore. He’s absolutely pog champ. And he’s like super smart! He’s been helping me with science and shit and I’ve been helping him with his dyslexia and-”

Tommy kept rambling on but the words phased right through Phil’s head. Somehow, Wilbur had known about Tubbo before him and told Tommy to keep it quiet. That talk with Wilbur and Techno was going to need to happen pronto because if they were going to be allowed to know about the family business then they needed to know that keeping secrets from him was not to be part of it. Especially when it came to Schlatt.

With a heavy sigh he squeezed Tommy’s hand and the boy stopped rambling, looking up at Phil with watery blue eyes.

Prime that wasn’t fair. He was too soft for his boys, especially Tommy who’s puppy-dog face could stop whole armies. He wilted, crumbling into a pile of emotions.

“I’m going to talk to your brothers first, but we’ll see. Now I’m going to kick your butt in monopoly.”

“Nuh uh! I’m the best at monopoly!”

---

From the table where their monopoly game was set up, Phil heard the sound of Techno’s idling car and moments later the bickering of his two older son’s. Tommy hadn’t seemed to notice, still focused on figuring out how much money he had and if he could afford to put a hotel on Marvin Gardens.

“I need to talk to Techno and Wil. I’ll know if you steal anything, mate.” Phil grinned at his son and ruffled his hair again. There was a brief moment of pouting from Tommy, but it disappeared after Phil gave him The Look and Tommy slumped into his chair as he accepted his fate.

Phil waited at the front door for his sons, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame. If Wilbur told Tommy to stay quiet then they had to have known something and he was going to find out just what it was.

Techno noticed him first, Wil too busy digging through his backpack for something or another.

“Hullo. Whatever you think I did, I can prove my innocence.” Techno said, shooting a quick glare to Wilbur who abruptly stopped, eyes wide behind his circular glasses.

“I just remembered, I have band practice. Lemme just call-!” Wil immediately spun around but Techno reached out with the speed of a viper and snagged his backpack strap and hauled him back.

“No, I’m pretty sure you don’t.” Techno hummed and Wilbur scowled at his brother, arms crossed and a look that could scare Death herself in his eyes. He watched the two of them with a bemused smile, his mind unable to stop itself from critiquing Wilbur’s half-hearted escape attempt. He would have let the backpack slide off and kept on running. He’d have to tell Techno to go for something more attached to the target as well. That wasn’t the point of this though. The point was the two of them knew something about the Tommy-Tubbo situation and he needed to know what they knew yesterday.

“Let’s chat, boys.” Phil said, opening the door and escorting the two of them inside.

The trio plus Sam stepped into Phil’s office, the door locking behind them and Phil motioning for his sons to sit in the chairs in front of his desk. Techno didn’t look phased but Wilbur kept fiddling with his hands, a sure sign of nerves. After sitting through an interrogation or two, it became pretty easy to pick up the tells and he knew his boys’ tells well.

“I learned something very interesting from Tommy and his teacher today,” Phil started and suddenly Wil’s nervousness dropped and was replaced with confusion. That was going to have to be another conversation to have.

“Tommy getting moved back to kindergarten?” Techno asked and quiet snickers passed between the siblings.

Phil cleared his throat and they instantly stopped.

“Wilbur.”

The boy visibly paled.

“How long have you know Tommy’s best friend was Schlatt’s son?”

“Heh?” Techno looked between the two others and Wilbur seemed suddenly afraid to make eye contact with anyone.

“If I said I was maybe sort of aware and maybe didn’t not not…not tell Tommy to keep it a secret, would that make it any better?” Wilbur looked up, a cautious smile almost like he was testing the temperature of a pool by dipping his toes in.

“Wil. Of all the people to look over, anyone who has anything to do with Schlatt is not one of them you know-”

“Of course I know, Dad!” Wilbur spat, standing up from his chair. Phil noticed how Sam instantly tensed but knew the man would never attack one of his boys. “I have never seen Tommy so happy in my entire life! I can count on one hand how many friends he’s had and I didn’t want you to take that away from him!”

“This is dangerous! What if Schlatt already knows?”

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can do research too you know. I’m not some helpless damsel just here to look pretty by your side. I care about him just as much as you do and would gladly kill anyone who ever so much as lays a finger on him. Right now you’re the biggest risk to Tommy’s happiness because if you take Tubbo away from him he’s going to have nobody again.”

“He’ll make other friends.”

“Maybe eventually but for now why can’t you just let him be happy?”

“To be fair, if Schlatt knew, I think we’d know by now. He’s probably just as concerned about his brat as you are Tommy.” Techno pointed out.

That stopped Phil in his tracks.

“Yeah, what Techno said. He’d probably be reacting the same way as you if he ever found out.”
Different emotions crossed Wilbur’s face in waves as he spoke. Each one told its own story and at the root of it all, there was that deep set care for Tommy, buried in him like a seed, blossoming at springtime. Wil, probably more so than Techno even, knew of the consequences of bad judgement. How quickly things could turn against them. His sobs the night he was rescued were the soundtrack of so many of Phil’s nightmares. If anyone had the right to be nervous about the youngest member of their family being placed in a precarious situation between two different mafias, it was Wilbur. Yet he stood so steadfast, the light of the chandelier catching the stony brown of his eyes.

Phil took out his phone and started tapping out a number but didn’t hit call just yet.

Wilbur finally sat down, the silence between the two of them leading to a sort of uneasy truce.

“Wilbur, you will be personally responsible for ensuring Tommy’s safety for as long as this friendship continues. If it starts getting suspicious you are to tell me immediately, am I understood?”

Wilbur looked…shocked.

“Yes sir.”

“Techno, I want you listening for anything from Schlatt’s crew about Tommy or Tubbo. I want to know everything, am I understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sam, this isn’t going to stay a secret for long now that we know. Keep an eye on him and this Tubbo and whoever follows him around. I doubt he’s ever alone and I don’t want Tommy to ever be alone with him.”

“Understood sir.”

“Good. Sam, you’re dismissed.”

Sam bowed his head in a quick act of reverence before slipping back out into the rest of the house to check on Tommy. The likelihood that Tommy had taken the opportunity of being alone to cause havoc was higher than preferred. If the office hadn’t been soundproofed he was certain that they would have heard crashing during their discussions.

As though trying to be sneaky about it, Phil caught the subtle movements of Wilbur and Techno as they tried to follow Sam out. As though they’d get off that easily.

“Ah ah ah, sit.” The boys instantly found their way back to their seats. “If I hear that you are ever keeping secrets from me again especially secrets that put any one of you at risk, so help me I will ground you until you’re dead in the ground, am I understood?”

Rapid nods were had between the both of them.

“Don’t make me find out the next secret in another parent-teacher conference please.”

Phil dismissed them after that, knowing further conversations would still have to be made between the three of them. Not to mention how he was going to have to explain this to Tommy. The story started spelling itself out in his mind. He would say that Tubbo’s dad was a competing businessman and that their companies were rivals. They had to be careful of spies and bad guys. He could frame it like one of Tommy’s cartoons, maybe then the boy would understand and keep it quiet. He always loved imagining himself the hero in his games of pretend, he could preserve that innocence just a bit longer.

Phil rubbed at his eyes again and pressed dial on his phone. It picked up almost immediately.

“Well lookie here! If it isn't my least favorite contact. What do I owe the displeasure of your call, Philza?”

“Schlatt, we need to talk.”

---

Down the hall, two teenage boys were desperately trying to keep the other at arm’s length. The one with curly brown hair and maroon beanie was losing as he always did. More of a bard than a fighter. The pink-haired one had the other in a playful headlock a few moments later.

“Oi, lemme go you prick!” Wil grumbled, trying to remember what Sam had taught him but also knowing his brother had no intention of hurting him.

“Tell me why you didn’t tell me? I’ve got more contacts than you, I could have kept him safer.” Techno asked, words demanding but tone still playful.

“Because you are a blabber mouth and would have told Dad.” Wil tried to elbow Techno’s stomach but missed and found his beanie tugged over his eyes before Techno let him go.

He huffed and righted his hat, before realizing in the hallway mirror that his hair was hopelessly messed up and just opting for taking it off.

“You may be a pain but you’re my pain. Don’t keep secrets from me again or else I’m going to tell Tommy everything you said about him in there and you’re gonna lose your reputation.” Techno snickered and Wil’s face immediately turned as red as his beanie which he threw at Techno, finding its target smack dab in the middle of Techno’s face.

“If you ever tell Tommy I said any of that you’re dead.” He did his best to look intimidating but his hair was still messed up from the beanie and he was considerably less fit than Techno. All in all it was like watching a string bean threaten a knife.

“I’d like to see you try.” A playful smirk slipped onto Techno’s face and Wil was immediately on him, the fight going down the halls. It ended with Wil being shoved in a linen closet and Techno humming on his way back to his room to do his university homework.

Chapter Text

Sam’s comfort relied on two things:
1. He knew what was coming and kept to his schedule.
2. He knew where Tommy Craft was at all times.

As it turned out the second thing was the most difficult part of his job.

Were his skills more suited to something other than being the glorified nanny of the Craft family and wrangling the child size terror that was Philza’s youngest son? Yes. However, he’d known Phil for longer than he was ever willing to admit or else risk revealing his age. It was a couple years after Wilbur was born, Sam having to retire from his warden position after a bad run in with Schlatt’s crew left him a little too close to death for Phil’s liking. It wasn’t a bad thing in the end. It left him to his first love, designing. In the legal eyes he worked for a high end security company designing fancy security systems and new means of protection and monitoring. In reality he did most of the same, he just happened to do it for The Syndicate.

Phil showed up at his office to look over a new security system for one of their storehouses with a toddler Techno dawdling behind him, still too young to understand what was going on. Yet eager to follow his father around and tall enough to touch literally everything with his little toddler hands and ask an endless barrage of questions. While Phil perused blueprints and made his comments and concerns with a red pen, Sam was left with reigning in the tiny terror. He sat down on the floor, a pad of paper and a pen offered to Techno as a peace offering. Sam remembered his younger cousins liked to draw, maybe Techno would to. However, the boy was less than interested in the paper and instead pursued conversation. The two of them then proceeded to have a very in depth conversation about whether or not a star was something you could touch. It was quite impressive for a five-year-old in Sam’s opinion although he had not known many five-year-olds in his life at the time so he didn’t have a good basis for comparison. They’d eventually decided that it was something you could touch, but you could only touch it once.

Techno had then pointed to the knife holstered on Sam’s hip with wide eyes and an impish grin. In a flash, Techno dove towards the weapon and Sam dodged out of the way in time to avoid the boy’s tiny hands.

“This isn’t for you, little one,” Sam said, hand guarding the sheath in case Techno tried again.

Techno glared, arms crossed and nose scrunched up like a boar. “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, you aren’t old enough. Maybe when you’re older I’ll teach you how to use one.” Sam knelt back down to the ground to be eye level with the kid. Something in his chest sizzled warm like a line of gunpowder. There was nothing foreboding about the feeling though, which was odd. When he’d dealt in explosives there was always a knot in his stomach every time a fuse was lit, the off chance that it would go off too soon or spark back at him and catch on the remnants of gunpowder still on his coat. Instead it left him with a flickering warmth in his chest like a campfire as he stared at Techno with a gentle smile on his face and pulled the knife from its sheath to present it to the boy. He still kept a tight hold of it, children shouldn’t run around with sharp objects, no less one that he’d used to slit a man’s carotid artery a few months prior.

Techno’s hand hovered over the knife, a combination apprehension and awe mixed in on his baby-faced features. It seemed as though he’d almost forgotten Sam’s offer but he knew that was too good to be true as the boy’s gaze shot from the knife to Sam’s own green eyes. They bore into him like Techno himself was leading an interrogation.

“Pinkie promise?”

He leaned into the smile further and held out his free hand, offering his pinkie. Promises were dangerous in the business. There were no guarantees that a job would go through or someone’s loyalties were true. Yet, he held out his pinkie with no hesitation and Techno eagerly took it, giving both their hands and interlocked pinkies a good shake for good measure.

“A pleasure making this deal with you, Mr. Craft.” Sam used his ‘official voice’ that had Techno giggling at the formalities. Across the room, Sam caught sight of Philza side-eying the two of them. Phil’s typical stoic straight line lips were curved ever so slightly watching the interaction.

That night Sam got a call. Techno had been talking all about Mr. Sam and Phil wanted to know if he’d be willing to chauffer Techno to and from kindergarten and occasionally babysit if needed.

Sam agreed instantly. He could have never guessed that protecting and watching the Craft children would become his full time job and his life’s devotion. He would do anything to keep those kids safe. Years later he’d be able to identify that warmth in his chest as he spoke to a young Techno as something akin to parental protectiveness. Phil must have recognized it too or else he wouldn’t have entrusted his children’s safety with him every day. He didn’t want to let any of them down.

He did in fact teach Techno how to use a knife.

The Tubbo Underscore situation had made his job far more difficult than it needed to be. His arms were already full just watching after Tommy. Occasionally, he was needed to drive Wilbur or Techno somewhere or serve as a distant security guard for them if Phil requested it, but most of his days were spent dashing after Tommy and reiterating the importance of safety to a child that never paid attention.

Now, every moment Tommy wasn’t in his sight as he waited outside the school to pick him up was a moment Sam was convinced Tommy had been snatched up or was somehow already dead or had run off. The memory of Wilbur’s kidnapping never left him. It held onto his conscience like a spectral anchor that he dragged behind him. The pinch of fear and hopelessness still stirring in his gut. He’d been just too far away, fallen victim to an easy rhythm and peace on the streets. The cut short screech of Wilbur’s scream. He was just too far away and his gun was too much of a risk in case he hit Wil. He still ran that day. He still tried, even if there were tears threatening to blur his vision and he knew he was too far away. Between dodging shots fired his way and how outnumbered he’d been there was no way he could have made it. The scenario turned itself over in its mind until it was rubbed smooth like a tumbled stone and he’d tried to find something he could have done differently to change the outcome. Instead Sam had watched in horror as the boy he’d come to care for as his own was shoved into a trunk and the car sped off with him in it. Guitar and smashed cellphone lying helplessly on the pavement. Sam did not sleep until Wilbur was safely back home three days later. They never told Tommy what happened, but every moment Tommy was not in his sight was a moment his mind was already filling with those same images, only a million times worse. He couldn’t let that happen to him.

To complicate things more, Schlatt knew who Tommy was now. Sam didn’t trust the agreement Phil and Schlatt had made as far as he could throw, but if it would keep the two children safe he’d play nice. It would only complicate things too much to drag the boys apart now. So, both agreed to leave the other alone. They would not involve them in the business at all. No spying, no bugging, no trackers, no kidnapping, no nothing. The boys would get to pretend like everything was normal and Sam would be watching from the sidelines, always ready in case Schlatt’s crew ever stepped too close to his boy.

Sam met his equivalent two days after the agreement. They both stood outside their respective cars, waiting for the school bell to release their wards. The two boy’s always left their classroom together, practically joined at the hip as they laughed at a joke. Tommy caught sight of Sam and waved goodbye to Tubbo. Tubbo ran towards the unknown man who wore a beanie and a white button and looked less than pleased to be there.

As Tubbo and Tommy crawled into the cars, Tommy already rattling off something funny Tubbo told him, the two men made eye contact. A tense moment passed before the other seemed to turn to Tubbo to answer a question and he stepped into his car and drove off.
Sam was tempted to follow, to learn where Schlatt resided but he didn’t. They had rules, the rules kept the boys safe. The rules reduced Tommy’s potential enemies by one. The rules kept Tommy in his sight.

The next day he learned the man’s name was Quackity.

Under normal circumstances, Sam wouldn’t have paid more than a passing glance to whatever car pulled into the spot next to him. He knew the cars and faces of the other parents. He could have sworn nobody picked up Tubbo before the agreement. It seemed Schlatt had as much trust in them as they did in him. However, the sight of the man he now knew associated with Schlatt made him seize up. He tried to hide the reaction with a cough.

Sam remained tense as the other stepped out of the car and mirrored Sam’s position, leaning against the front of his car.

“You’re Sam, right?” He said, still not looking at Sam directly. Although he could tell the man was watching him in his peripheries. He didn’t like how this man knew his name already.

“Yes.”

“Quackity.”

“A pleasure,” Sam lied, but took note of the name so he could do a full background check as well.

A suffocating silence ensued.

Sam had already pinned down the tell-tale bulges under Quackity’s clothes, where more than one weapon was stowed. He was sure Quackity had done the same for him. Gun tucked under his shirt, knife in his pocket and at his ankle. There were several more weapons stashed in his car if needed. Under the passenger seat cushion, in another compartment within the glove box, a cache within the steering wheel.

Quackity broke the silence first after the initial introductions, they still had nearly 10 minutes before the bell would ring.

“You been doing this for long?”

Sam did the mental math in his head. Starting with Techno at five-years-old and now he was 18.

“Thirteen years.”

Quackity spluttered and Sam almost cracked a smile. Almost.

“Bite off more than you can chew, did you?” Sam raised an eyebrow at the man who scowled at him.

“No. Just didn’t think an old man like you would still be out here babysitting.” Quackity tilted his head, snark tasting bitter in the air. Sam had dealt with snark though, he practically raised Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy.

“You do the job that suits you and mine is caring for my boys. I may have been here for a while but that doesn’t mean I can’t still make a death look like an accident if needed.” Sam knew it was stupid to even hint at a threat but Quackity’s chest seemed to surge at the challenge.

“Seems we have that in common. I’d do anything for that kid, as much of a pain in the ass as he is.”

“Funny then how I’ve never seen you around before,” Sam hummed. He knew a familiar protective sentiment burned in Quackity’s chest after so many years helping raise and protect the Craft boys. It was nice to see it on a younger face. The man was hardened, but the tell-tale signs of youth still clung to his frame. Early 20s at most and still didn’t know how to pick out a shirt to fit his shoulders. Probably some lackey promoted to babysitter, hands more shaped to hold a gun than a child. Yet, the way Quackity’s hands twitched and the scar crossing his eyebrow stretched as his face darkened at Sam’s observation told him that Quackity may truly be someone unwise to underestimate.

“I didn’t have to pick him up from school until your kid got involved,” the man huffed, arms crossed.

“I forgot you guys own the bus driver’s union,” Sam commented, the pieces falling together in his mind. Tubbo used to take the bus every day and Tommy would always complain how unfair it was that he couldn’t take it home too since it seemed fun. Sam informed him that buses were stinky and crowded and usually filled with weirdos. It was more of an attempt to keep the eleven-year-old out of enemy territory but the purpose still stood. Now it seemed Schlatt didn’t even trust that with his son’s identity now known. How it took them so long to put two and two together on Tubbo’s identity was a striking oversight on his part.

Silence once more.

It was Sam’s turn to break it.

“You seem like a smart man, Quackity.”

“I try to be.”

“So we are both in agreement that nothing happens to either of our boys?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I do not play nice anymore.”

Quackity fully turned to face Sam, a smirk on his face and eyes like burning coals. “I never played nice, old man.”

They didn’t say anything else until the bell rang and their boys ran out to them, joy and laughter on their boyish faces.

“Hi Big Q!” Tommy exclaimed, waving.

“Good to see you, Toms.” Quackity said with an easy lilt to his voice that left Sam bristling. How often had they spoken before? Tubbo he could trust to an extent, just a child that both sides had agreed to keep out of this mess. He drew the line at this Quackity figure.

“Sam are you and Big Q gonna be friends now that he’s picking me up?” Tubbo asked and Sam wondered when in the world he’d introduced himself to Tubbo. The boys must have been talking about them to each other. Maybe it could be an excuse. It certainly explained how Quackity had known his name before.

“Something like that,” he said, putting on his best impression of sincerity and none of it going in Quackity’s direction.

The man in the white button up and beanie only gave a little two fingered salute and stepped in his car as Tubbo followed suit, already beaming at Sam’s answer.

“If you and Big Q become friends does that mean Tubbo and I can have playdates together? Like go to the park and shit?” Tommy practically bounced into the back seat of Sam’s car.

“We’ll see. We’ll have to ask your dad.”

“But Dadza always says no!”

“I said we’ll see, Tommy. Maybe he’ll have changed his mind but let’s give it a few days, okay?” Sam knew how to be patient and he knew he had Phil’s ear. If it was safe, then maybe he could give his blessing for some supervised outings. Tommy huffed in agreement and sunk into his booster seat.

--

Sam and Quackity had fallen into an uneasy routine as the days passed. Sam didn’t trust the false sense of security routines created but both of them were constantly on guard. They saw each other in the morning as they dropped the boys off but words were rarely exchanged.

Occasionally a few glares. Quackity flipped him off once which Sam felt was highly inappropriate for an elementary school parking lot.

In the afternoons – if the weather was good – they’d both lean against the front of their cars and just talk. Never about work, usually about the boys, and funny stories from their youth. Apparently Tubbo had a knack for science and engineering already, building little robots and making their microwave constantly say “8008” instead of the time. The insinuation was not lost on Sam.

The man hid behind a layer of cockiness, Sam assumed from his age. Memories of Sam’s own days when he first joined under Philza’s father, only a few years younger than the future mafia boss Philza himself. The years before his skills were properly appreciated, watching over prisoners or forging paperwork. There was always someone higher up looking to put a new kid in his place. They’d learned their lessons quickly enough. Over the days as he engaged in more and more conversation with Quackity, he just saw a kid not much older than Techno doing his best. Someone who was looking for a family and just happened to find it on the other side of the street than Sam did. He could admire that and Quackity made it work for him.

By the end of the first week they were a little more than uneasy allies.

Sam most definitely did not tell him where to move his gun so it was less noticeable and easier to access. That would be ridiculous.

He also definitely didn’t immediately turn around one day upon seeing the state Quackity was in to go buy two coffees.

If sleep deprivation and clinical insanity could be personified, Sam figured it would probably look somewhat like Quackity did that day. His iconic beanie was nowhere to be found, his shirt had at least four different stains on it and it looked like he slept in it. His back arched like a parabola and an unstable expression on his face. He barely acknowledged Sam as he pulled into the parking spot next to him. His movements seemed almost automatic as Sam offered the cup. Quackity had already downed it before Sam could even offer the collection of cream and sugar he had in his pockets.

“Long day?” Sam asked tentatively, sipping on his own coffee and watching him with an emotion that was not concern.

“Tubbo built a bomb last night.” Quackity muttered and then burst into hysterical laughter.

He couldn’t have heard that right. The kid was what? Ten? Eleven? There was no way Tubbo could have built a bomb.

Quackity, through his hysterics, must have somehow sensed Sam’s confusion and inhaled sharply.

“I was watching him like I do every single fucking night and then suddenly the kid is dragging me into the bathroom and BOOM!” He splays his hands out to demonstrate. Sam was very familiar with explosions though and the visual was not needed. What Sam needed to know was how in the freaking world Tubbo was able to build a bomb and what Quackity had been through in the last 24 hours.

“Does your big boss man just keep bomb making supplies around?” Sam asked, there was a bit of a tease in there, maybe some half-hearted attempted to loosen up the tension knitted in Quackity’s shoulders that were hovering just under his ears.

“Of course not! What are you insane? He found the stuff in the freaking kitchen! I didn’t know I was body guarding a kindergarten terrorist!” Quackity began giggling again and Sam was pretty sure the man had lost it and letting him drive a vehicle was a danger to himself and others.

“I was just checking… Are you okay?” Sam raised his hands in a placating manner even though he knew the answer to the question even if Quackity wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m. Fine. Thing was defective but still managed to break a water line. Spent the entire night moving shit and trying to find some repairman under us to come and fix it at 9 pm.”
Sam was met with a sudden relief that Tommy’s grades in science and math had always been less than desirable.

“You gonna be good to drive home with Tubbo?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I told you I was.” There was that shift again. The man rubbed at his eyes and ran a hand through his dark hair, seeming to search for his beanie only to swear when he realized it wasn’t there.

Sam sighed.

“I never had to deal with any of the boys making a bomb. But I did have to deal with Wilbur’s first break up. That was probably equivalent damage wise.” Sam offered a small smile even though the memory offered nothing worth smiling over.

A half-hearted chuckle was all the response he needed and his smile grew a bit more.

“It doesn’t get easier, but it certainly makes for good memories. I’ll talk to my boss, why don’t you talk to yours. Maybe the boys can hang out at the park up the road one day after school? It might help with the energy.”

“If it means I don’t have to install a bomb shelter in the house then fine by me.” The tension finally released from Quackity’s shoulders. “I still don’t like you.”

“I still don’t like you either.”

Chapter Text

Middle school meant a lot of things to Tommy Craft. Not only did he get to terrorize multiple teachers every day, but the school was way bigger which left him and Tubbo plenty of room and plenty of unwatched areas to cause absolute chaos.

From unholy amounts of silly string (of which Sam nearly confiscated when Tommy had sneaked it into school), to renaming the school publishing room, affectionately known by the students as The Pub, to The Pube. Tommy was particularly proud of that one although the backlash when Principal Callahan found out had not been ideal. He’d been suspended for a whole week! Thankfully his dad called and they were able to reduce the sentence down to just two days of in-school suspension with no mark on the permanent record and a written apology to Principal Callahan (Which he bribed Wilbur into writing up for him. While Wilbur getting his dessert for two weeks was a steep price to pay, Wilbur was good with words and he knew anything Tommy wrote himself would border on insulting to Principal Callahan).

Middle school meant more homework though, something Tommy did not approve of. It wasn’t even fun homework either like it had been in elementary school! There was no coloring or word searches or fun projects and dioramas that he’d force Sam to help him make the night before. It was just endless math problems that Sam tried to help him with but they both ended up frustrated every night while they waited for Wilbur or Techno to get home from whatever they were doing. Phil tried to help one time but stared at the problem until his eyes went glassy and muttered something about not understanding the ‘new math’ and walked away. Phil hired a math tutor after that.

The homework did give him the excuse to hang out with Tubbo more. The two, with Sam and Big Q’s permission of course, had taken to hanging out at the park adjacent to the middle school to work on their homework together and generally cause chaos. Their two shadows never far behind them, more often than not, one bringing coffee for the other. When Tommy caught bits of their conversation it was typically about how little they understood Tommy and Tubbo’s homework or Big Q was lamenting about Tubbo’s latest science experiment gone wrong. Tommy of course knew all of Tubbo’s plans beforehand but he liked watching Big Q tear his hair out the day after. It fed the gremlin part of his soul.

Tubbo had told Tommy all about the bomb he’d made and Tommy had the self-preservation skills to not tell Sam about it. However, his innocence in Tubbo’s schemes didn’t last long as he rambled to Sam about getting in trouble during recess for setting off rockets. The harsh bite of his seat belt against his chest as Sam slammed on the brakes was reminder enough that careful wording was important and he quickly clarified that they were bottle rockets. Sure they’d been Tubbo-branded bottle rockets, but that bit of information wasn’t needed. He had to keep up Tubbo’s good reputation if they wanted to keep hanging out. However, Big Q was a tattle-tale and told Sam about all the escapades that Tommy conveniently left out of his daily briefings on the goings-on at school. The two boys started coordinating with each other to control the flow of information. It was something Wilbur explained to Tommy when they were trying to cover up the broken television from Dad. Tommy relayed what he remembered of Wilbur’s lesson to Tubbo and relations had never been better and Sam and Quackity were never the wiser.

Middle school did bring about Tommy’s worst enemy. An evil horrible absolutely terrible thing that had no business existing in his private education. Lockers.

At first Tommy had been super excited about the whole locker thing. He had plans to leave Tubbo notes every single day and decorate it and all the cool stuff in movies always happened by the lockers. Try out all the cool pranks he’d thought of that involved lockers. He couldn’t wait until he could slam some bully into a locker to stand up for someone else.

Those expectations were quickly dashed by the harsh and troubling reality of middle school lockers.

Not only was there never enough time to stop between classes, but Tubbo’s locker was on the other side of school so it was a trek just to leave him a note or prank him. It was always super crowded too and his stuff never fit inside properly so he just ended up hauling it around in his backpack anyways. That didn’t even take into account the dreaded locker combination.

Tommy Craft’s biggest enemy in the world was his middle school locker. However, his nemesis was the lock on the locker. No matter how many times he entered the combo (if he could even remember it in the first place) the stupid metal thing would never open or would get jammed or he’d have to input it like 18 times before he felt the pressure of the lock and he could free whatever had been trapped inside (He learned during the first week of locker mishaps to never put his lunch in there. Someone claimed the janitor nearly called in the cops when he walked by it since he thought something died in it).

He should have stopped using his locker.

A smart man would have stopped using his locker.

Smart was never really an adjective people used for Tommy.

Clever? Yes. A terror? Also yes. Gremlin? Wilbur called him that often. The biggest man? By literally everyone.

Tommy had what Sam had coined, ‘situational intelligence’. Or put into adult words “You’re a really smart kid, you could be doing so much better if you just put the effort in!” It was all a load of shit anyways. Tommy was perfectly happy using his big man skills to pull pranks and beat Tubbo at the most poggers game of Uno (which they played online frequently). Sure, Tubbo beat him at chess literally every time they played, but chess was a boring game for boring stuffy old people. He didn’t know why Tubbo liked it so much.

The point stood that Tommy could have made the smart decision of not using his locker or asking the school to move to a different one. But he didn’t. Which is how he found himself cursing at the stupid thing that held his term paper for English that he’d worked really hard on (He even had Techno help him proof read it, it was already perfect anyways so he really didn’t need Techno’s help). The bell had already rung, signaling that he should have been in his English class but frustrated tears were beginning to press into his eyes as he tried the combo over and over again to no avail. He swore at the thing, kicked it, wiped at his eyes because it was definitely just his allergies, and tried his combination again and again.

Wilbur had said something about the definition of insanity being trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. So Tommy called Wilbur.

While Wilbur technically didn’t go to the same school as Tommy, the middle and high school were connected since they were under the same private school system. Wilbur had something called a ‘free period’ because he was a senior or something stupid like that and was by Tommy’s side moments later.

“Little baby brother needs big brother Wilby’s help, does he?” Wilbur cooed, rubbing a hand through Tommy’s hair while the other dug around in his backpack. Tommy swatted at his condescending gesture.

“I do not! I’m just in a rush and my hands are still shaking from science! Yeah! We had a lab and all that and I had to sit there and could these tiny little seeds that kept going everywhere and it was very frustrating-”

Wilbur raised a hand to stop his rambling and Tommy wished his glare could burn right through Wilbur’s stupid smug face. Instead of spontaneously combusting, Wilbur produced two weird looking metal sticks from his bag.

“Tommy, I am about to teach you the sacred art of picking locks. A skill that has been passed down the Craft line for generations.” Tommy didn’t have time for Wilbur’s dramatics. His older brother should have joined the drama program but Phil had said something about “speech and debate being more applicable for future career opportunities” or some boring adult talk like that. Tommy for one was never going to talk like that when he was an adult.

“Isn’t that like, il-le-gal ? Since when did you learn?” Tommy countered, he really needed this locker open but he just expected Wilbur to bust it open or use the magical big brother powers to get the combination right the first time.

“Nah. Only illegal if you steal something or if you don’t know the right people. Besides, this is a skill that literally everyone cool knows. I mean, if you don’t want to learn…” Wilbur raised an eyebrow but Tommy was already responding.

“No! I want to learn! I’m cool! Super cool in fact. Totally pog champ and all that.”

Less than a minute later and his locker clicked open.

Tommy’s chest soared as he reached for his folder that had his paper in it only for Wilbur to slam the locker shut again.

“OI! WHAT GIVES YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE?”

Wilbur only smirked, handing over the tools he’d used to open the lock. “It’s your turn.”

“Wilbur I’m already late.” Tommy whined even though that had never stopped him before. He mostly just wanted Wilbur to do it for him.

“I’ll get you a hall pass, yearbook committee or something like that.”

Tommy wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to be late to class with literally no consequences so he swiped the tools from Wilbur’s outstretched hand and bit the side of his cheek. The tools in his hand had an odd weight to them and he wasn’t quite sure how Wilbur managed to manipulate them with such a careful ease. Slowly, but surely, Wilbur walked him through every step of getting the lock open. Tommy clumsily maneuvered the two thin pieces of metal into the lock. The frustration only mounted as he couldn’t seem to get the pins to move as easily as Wilbur had and he kept losing his grip on the piece he used to keep pressure on the lock.

It took Tommy three different tries before there was one soft final click and the lock slid open. Wilbur immediately wrapped his gangly arms around Tommy and cheered.

“Was that so hard?” He held out a hand for the lock picks and Tommy begrudgingly gave them back.

“You’re still a right bitch for not helping earlier.” The folder with his essay now firmly in his grasp and out of the Pandora’s Box that was his locker.

Wilbur let out a lengthy dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll be going then and that you don’t want the hall pass.”

“No wait! Wilbur please!”

“Say you’re sorry then little gremlin. And that I’m the best big brother in the world.”

“I’m not saying that!”

“Guess you’ll just have to be late then…”

Tommy thought he was stronger. It took Wil walking two steps away before Tommy called out to him, swallowing his pride.

“I’msorryforcallingyouabitchandyou’rethebestbigbrotherever.”

With a snort, Wilbur turned around and slapped a piece of paper against another locker to sign it and handed it over to Tommy whose ears were still burning with the humiliation of apologizing.

“This isn’t your signature!”

“Nope.”

“You forged it!”

“I mean if you want to tell your teacher that go ahead, but I’ve been doing this for years.”

Tommy was suddenly very aware of how many things he could get away with if he learned how to forge signatures.

“Will you teach me that too?” He put on his best puppy dog face, the one Dadza always bent to.

“Tell you what, you get an A on that paper and I’ll teach you one signature.” Wilbur held out his hand and Tommy knew better than to make deals with his brothers. The last deal he made left him with no dessert for two weeks when he definitely could have negotiated it down to just one week. Techno made fun of him for that, called him a nerd. Techno was definitely the nerd, not Tommy but it still made him scrunch up his nose and throw pillows at him from across the room before hiding under Sam’s desk for safety. This wasn’t a bad deal though…Tommy took his hand a shook.

…

The clock by his bedside table told Tommy that he couldn’t really call it Saturday morning when he woke up, it was nearly noon. Dad was gone most Saturday’s, something about investors liking to meet before the markets opened back up on the weekdays but Tommy didn’t mind. Sam was always there to make grilled cheese and he was so much easier to pester into taking them to go get ice cream than Dadza. He pushed himself from bed, still blinking sleep away after staying up well into the early morning hours playing video games with Tubbo.

The problem arose when he tried to open his door. It wouldn’t open. His first assumption was that he just locked it unintentionally last night, but to his surprise, there was no lock inside his door. In fact it seemed like the doorknob had been flipped around. That was…unusual. That was more than unusual actually. Someone had locked him in his room and he was going to make that everyone else’s problem.

“Open the door! I know one of you did this!” Tommy shouted, jiggling the doorknob and hoping it would just open.

Something rustled on the other side of the door and his face burned hearing Wilbur’s annoying laugh. Of course it would be Wilbur.

“Wilbur open the door!”

“Sorry Tommy. It seems the door has gotten miraculously locked from the outside. I don’t possibly know how this could have happened!” Wilbur said and Tommy could hear the sing-song laughter in his voice. The plans to immediately throttle Wil swarmed his mind like angry vultures and he pounded on the door.

“I know you locked it! The door knob is switched around!”

“Why are you two screamin’? Nobody’s dying so there should be no screaming.”

Techno. He sounded sleepy, like he too had just woken up but that might be Tommy’s savior. If he could convince Techno to unlock the door then Techno could go back to sleep and all would be well.

“Technooooooo Wilbur’s locked me in my room,” He put on his most pathetic sounding voice, trying to not think about how demeaning it was. He just needed to think about how he was going to absolutely destroy Wil for this afterwards. It would all be worth it. Maybe he could put hair dye in his brother’s shampoo, that would certainly be solid payback. Or he could mess with the tuning on all his instruments? Or cover his guitar case in Dora the Explorer stickers? He had options.

“I gave you lock picks, use them to get the door open,” Wilbur explained, still snickering. The reason behind Tommy’s newfound plight became all that much clearer.

“IS THIS JUST BECAUSE I SAID I DIDN’T WANT TO PRACTICE?”

“Did you teach him how to pick locks?” Techno asked, sounding far less sleepy than before.

“Yeah, last week. I wanna see if he remembered.”

“Wilbur I have to take a massive shit.” Maybe a different approach would work?

“Hold it in or open the door then.” Approach failed. Time to use Ethos or whatever it was that Wil was telling him about a few weeks back. Something about rhetorical devices.

“Techno, my dearest brother, you have always been my favorite,” He started, trying to push away how horribly demeaning this was to practically beg because he did not want to have to pick his own bedroom lock with both of his brothers teasing him on the other side of the door. “Please help me.”

Techno didn’t have an immediate response and that worried Tommy more.

“Guess you’re gonna be stuck in there forever until you can get the door open. Lol nerd.”

“TECHNO YOU TRAITOR!”

Another set of footsteps came barreling down the hall and Tommy’s heart soared in one more last ditch hope.

“Is somebody dying?” Sam panted, like he’d just run across the entire house.

“That’s what I thought too.” Techno laughed.

“Sam! Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam! Wilbur’s locked me in my room.” He banged on the door some more and kept trying the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge. Curse his father for investing in quality homeware.

“I taught him how to pick locks last week I want to see if he remembers and can do it in a stressful situation.” Wilbur explained and Tommy couldn’t help but wonder why Wil was fully explaining the situation to Sam, an adult that reported directly to their father. He was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell adults that you knew how to pick locks.

“When in the world am I going to have to do this in a stressful situation?” This wasn’t meant to be an everyday skill, this was just supposed to be a skill he could use to cause problems on purpose and open his stupid school locker.

“I think it’s more useful than calculus.” Wilbur offered and although Tommy had yet to take Calculus (he was still stuck in algebra) he couldn’t help but agree with him there. So he turned to Sam once more.

“Sam?”

“I think you’re stuck Tommy. Sorry bud.” The traitor, all of them, absolute traitors.

“This isn’t fair! You can’t all gang up on me! Let me out!”

“If you pick the lock I’ll hold Wil down and you can tackle him.” Techno offered in his classic deadpan tone.

“What?!” Wilbur squawked like a bird and the tumble of bodies and shrieks of terror had Tommy running for the lock picks Wilbur had given him.

“Deal.”

…

A week later Tommy’s grade on his paper came out and he brandished his A to Wilbur with pride and excitement to learn his first forged signature.

“WILBUR YOU ABSOLUTE PRICK THIS IS MICKEY MOUSE’S SIGNATURE!”

Chapter Text

The distant buzz of late night traffic, sirens, and chitter of nightlife took up the space between Wilbur and his associate. Nineteen and free to handle family business that his father deemed appropriate for his skill set. Freedom felt like the crisp early spring air and the comforting pressure of a gun hidden under his clothes. Most days he found himself checking in on complaints, or offering something akin to a suggestion to those toeing a dangerous line with his father’s patience. He was the first warning. There usually wasn’t a second. He’d been out on the streets of their city for less than four months but those he interacted with under the guise of family business quickly put two and two together to figure out that Philza’s second son had finally made his debut and that was not something to treat lightly.

He liked the power it gave him. The seconds when his targets would open the door and he’d ask to be invited in. They’d always agree, often offering tea or coffee no matter the hour to hide the panic in their voices. He never let it slip if this was a good meeting or one to leave them trembling in their beds at night before being properly seated and even then, sometimes he let it simmer a little longer. One such couple even confessed that they hadn’t even planned on taking Schlatt’s offer before Wilbur even breeched the doorframe. He hadn’t been asked to return to that home since. It wasn’t his business anyways.

There was no such meeting tonight, just a check-in with someone he had long called his friend, a bag of pastries, and cups of hot jasmine tea in the alleyway behind the bakery. While the talk was business, there was no tension between them, only the hazy puffs of their breath and the sounds of the city ricocheting within the alleyways.

“Could they have been cops?” The pink-haired girl asked, staring at a flickering streetlight at the end of the alley. It wasn’t Wilbur her distant gaze spoke fear of.

Wilbur hummed, letting his own mind press into the potentials of the encounter the girl had detailed to him earlier. Nikki, for as long as her family had been in cohorts with The Syndicate, was still young, much like Wilbur pretended not to be much to his fathers chagrin. 

“There’s a chance, but our crows would have let us know if something was amiss in that department.” It was still something he’d have to take to his father, let him know it might require his attention before delegating to the proper crew. Let his crows do their digging before making any further calls. It could have just been a fluke, but his father always told him to never trust a coincidence. They’re what get people killed. Fate was never kind to those who so cruelly pulled her strings into their favor as the Craft family had for years.

Nikki seemed to hesitate for a moment, a conversation not fully settled between the two of them, like she was arranging her words from their puzzle pieces but can’t find the corner piece to start out with. Wilbur took the go ahead to continue.

“And you’re sure you didn’t recognize them?”

 Pink hair shook. “I’ve spent my entire life here and I didn’t know them.” She referred to the bakery, where Wilbur had so often seen her in his youth if Sam or his father stopped by to collect pastries for breakfast or a treat for a good report card. Whether or not subtle discussions of business happened in the back rooms was unimportant when the kids were distracted with cookies the size of their faces. 

“You didn’t give them anything?”

“I told them we’d just run out,” her arms crossed and dark eyes glared accusingly. He knew Nikki, knews what she looked like when she got defensive and he should have known better than to question her judgement. New people, pushing into their territory, potentially trying to unearth one of their most lucrative drug fronts.

“If you see them again you know who to call.”

In one go the last of the tea was downed and the to-go cup tossed in the dumpster. He followed suit, giving her one of his soft smiles. The ones that always had his father’s friends and associates cooing from the moment he knew how to play a room to garner their attention and praise.

With a snort Nikki shoved him playfully into the back wall of the bakery. He should have known better than to play up his charming good looks with her. She never fell for it. Something about being life-long friends and his only confidante that wasn’t Sam or blood related to him.

“Stay safe out there, Wil.”

“You too.”

Nikki’s job wasn’t all that dangerous in comparison. Sure she knew how to aim a gun and he’d seen her more than once take down a man who got a little too handsy with her as she poured his coffee. It was the man’s own fault for thinking it wise to touch Nikki when she held a burning hot drink. She could handle herself and he always had to remind himself of that whenever they bid their farewells. Still, that ounce of worry for his friend still tugged on his stomach like it was the tether of their friendship itself. Nikki and her parents ran the bakery, kept their paperwork and taxes clean, and The Syndicate kept them provided for and protected.

He stifled a yawn and spared a glance at his watch, nearly one in the morning. He pulled a cookie out of the bag of sweets and absentmindedly ate it while he returned to his car parked two blocks down. Techno had somehow managed the whole secretly working for the mafia and being a full time student that Wilbur was now attempting and made it look easy. Fuck that. He hadn’t gotten a blessed eight hours of sleep since the first week of the semester. Still an education was important. Degrees kept up their appearances as the Craft family. The best of the best who had the education and connections to make their fortune. It helped them hide the fact that 70% of their business dealings were hidden under fronts, forged paperwork, and bribes. Something he was truly a part of and not just a passive bystander, watching Techno from the sidelines and having Sam teach him how to aim a gun. As much as he missed the naivety that came with those years, he liked feeling useful and it was way more interesting than his school work by all means. A small groan escaped as he thought of the essay due on Monday morning that he hadn’t started yet. His rounds were done for the night and his bed called to him like a siren’s song.

The problem arose when he turned the corner and found a stranger leaning against his car. He appeared relaxed but even Wilbur and his less than stellar combat training in comparison to Techno could tell the man was armed and poised to fight if needed. Not to mention the whisper of others hidden in the shadows nearby. Fuck. There went his plans for a good night’s rest.

He took another step forward and paused, uncomfortable memories from years ago rising from his stomach to clench at his throat. An uncomfortable swallow forced the rising panic back down and kept his breathing even. His rabbit heart on the other hand cared not for his whims and stuttered in his chest like a rolling snare drum. The reflection in the window next to him ensured he knew what was behind him. 

The man leaning against his car turned to face Wilbur, a tight-lipped frown spreading across his face as recognition passed between the both of them like a speeding train.

“Quackity?”

“You’re not Sam,” Quackity spluttered out before his gaze narrowed.

Wilbur knew of the strange partnership (if he could call it that) between Sam and Quackity, two bodyguards on opposite sides looking out for their charges. He’d seen the man more than once on the days he picked up Tommy when Sam was off doing Sam things that even Wilbur was not privy to know about as annoying as that was.

“No shit, Sherlock. What do you want with Sam?” Wil huffed, he did a mental check in on his own weapons. The knife in his pocket and the gun hidden beneath his shirt both held their familiar weight but they did not ease his nerves at all. He was no Techno. 

Quackity shifted on his feet and Wilbur could pin an amateur from a mile away. This guy was young, still older than him but unused to being allowed to take the initiative. Clearly uncomfortable by this change in plans when Wilbur turned the corner instead of Sam.

“This is his car. What are you doing here?”

“And? It’s the family’s car. Just because Techno is-” He paused himself before he gave anything away. Of course the car he got stuck with because Techno got first dibs on cars since they were both out on Syndicate business tonight was the one to draw in Schlatt’s people for some Prime-forsaken reason. He got stuck with the Sam-mobile and Techno got to take the nicer one that didn’t have stains from Tommy throwing packets of McDonalds barbeque sauce in it. “You still haven’t told me what you want with Sam.” 

“Listen here, Wilbur. We can make this a whole lot easier if you tell us where Tubbo is,” Quackity snarled.

Wilbur did not miss the use of the word ‘us’ and glanced around to pick out three others loitering around, finally pulling themselves from the shadows. The second thing Wilbur noticed was that Tubbo was missing. That was decidedly not good. Especially since Wilbur didn’t know jack shit about where Tubbo was, especially at one in the morning. Yet here was Quackity, armed and clearly not alone claiming that he should know. 

He grimaced, he did not have the energy for this. “Listen, I don’t have any idea where Tubbo is. Aren’t you his babysitter or something like that? So why don’t you figure out where you lost him and let me go home to my bed. He probably just snuck out, he’s a kid they do that.”

To say he wasn’t concerned would be a lie. He had seen Sam’s panicked eyes the moment he’d been dragged into an awaiting trunk. He knew they searched nonstop for him until he was safe at home. Tubbo was even younger than he had been, he desperately hoped this wasn’t a kidnapping. He didn’t even know who it was, they’d chased the other mafias out of the city years ago and Wilbur knew for damn sure Phil wouldn’t touch a hair on Tubbo’s head. So why was Quackity so insistent that they knew something?

The sound of a body shifting somewhere behind him had him immediately shifting into a defensive position, trained into his system over and over again by Sam. He spun around, knife already in hand and backed up against the brick walls of some pet store to avoid anyone coming from behind him. For a moment he thought his heart might burst through his ribcage as he held his knife aloft and swallowed down more fear. 

Quackity pushed himself up from his position against the car and approached Wilbur, something dark in his eyes. The man who’d been behind Wilbur stood at the ready and he did not miss the cold metal of a gun in his hands. If he swore under his breath that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. He would not become a hostage again.

“If you don’t know where Tubbo is, then I want to know how his cell phone pinged around your home 15 minutes ago.”

The confusion hit him harder than any punch would. Tubbo wasn’t allowed at their house and it was one in the morning. Why would he be there? Unless? No. No.

An unsteady gulp of air was all Wilbur had the time to choke down before Quackity took an aggressive step forward. He held up his hands in a placating manner, slightly dropping the hand with the knife in it to show he meant no harm with it. He hoped he lived long enough to figure out if his dad actually did something stupid. “Listen, why don’t we all take a few deep breaths and I’ll call my dad and figure out what’s going on, alright?”

A flash of confusion and a stuttering breath were the only signs that Quackity was once again thrown off. He hid it quicker and barked out an order for Wilbur to keep his hands on his head while they disarmed him so he could make his phone call.

He begrudgingly complied. The only weapon they didn’t find was one tucked into the sleeve lining of his trench coat. Slowly, he dropped his hands and reached for his phone. He had Philza on speed dial and clicked the speakerphone button. 

“Wil, I’m in the middle of a meeting what the-” His father picked up instantly much to Wilbur’s relief.

“Hey Dad, Dadza, my man, boss man...” He trailed off, knowing that this was the number one way to tip off his dad that something was very wrong.

“What did you do?” He heard his father close what sounded like a computer. Perfect. He didn’t want everyone to know he was being held at gunpoint by Schlatt’s people for what was probably a misunderstanding. Probably.

“I’d really like to know why I’m currently surrounded by four Manburg goons – well three guys and one lovely lady – anyways why are they saying we have Tubbo?”

“They think we have who?” The speakers crackled at the sudden burst of sound coming from one very exasperated mafia boss and one very tired father. “Wait, has Tubbo been kidnapped?”

“See Quackity, I told you we didn’t do it.” Wilbur huffed. “Now can we put the weapons down and let me go home? I’d rather not become the next street stain.”

“You’re lying. Tubbo’s phone pinged near your house. You have him I know you do,” Quackity growled.

“Did Tommy take his cellphone by accident? Or maybe he snuck over? Can you please check because I really want to go home, Dad.”

“I’m already up. We’ll figure this out. Just don’t do anything stupid,” Phil instructed and Wilbur scoffed at the sheer audacity of the statement. 

“Do you think I would?”

There was a bloated pause before Wilbur took the message with a small stab of hurt.

It was late, Tommy should be sleeping by now but through the phone line there was the distant sound of doors closing and opening, footsteps and calls for Tommy. Calls that he heard muffled responses too. Tommy was in fact awake.

“Uh mate, I’m gonna call you back.”

“Philza Craft don’t you dare-”

The call ended. Wilbur stared at the contact information still pulled up on his cellphone screen dumbfounded.

“He hung up on me!”

…

If Phil was panicking, he didn’t show it. Or he tried not to let it show. Wil was being held hostage, again, for something that they didn’t even do. Or if they did do and someone was going behind his back there would be hell to pay and he didn’t want Wilbur to pay for it. At least Wil didn’t seem far away, he could get Sam there within minutes. In the call he could make out the distant sound of traffic. If anything, he could offer their assistance in finding Tubbo. Now that he thought about it, a missing Tubbo explained most of the problems he’d been finding that night. Techno reported Manburg activity outside of their typical haunts and increased activity at that. He sent a quick coded text to Sam without even looking at his phone.

He knocked on Tommy’s door, noticing the light still on even though it was far past his 13 year-olds bedtime.

“Tommy?”

Scrambling footsteps, thuds, a crunch of something that sounded like a chip bag, and a colorful selection of swears. Phil didn’t wait much longer to open the door.

Tommy’s room had never been clean. Ever. Even when they had the maid come in, it was rare that she would be able to vacuum the boy’s floor between the toys and piles of clothes. Not to mention the random snack stashes Tommy tended to keep like he was some feral raccoon, hoarding for the winter. The same could be said about his room the moment Phil opened the door and looked inside with a panic.

The most notable thing was that Tommy was playing Mario Kart with two controllers. His youngest son also looked far too calm for all the commotion he’d heard in the seconds prior.

“Hey there Dadza, nothing to see here. Just playing video games. Oh would you look at the time? Guess I’ll be heading to bed.”

Phil sighed in relief to find his son safe but Prime above he was going to have to teach Tommy how to be a better liar.  

“Do you know where Tubbo is?”

Tommy’s eyes darted over towards his old toy box, a suspicious number of said toys littered on the floor even though he hadn’t played with them in years.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’. Phil sighed. His boys could never make anything easy. 

“Uh mate, I’m gonna call you back,” he clicked the end call button with only the slightest bit of hesitation as he heard Wilbur’s undignified screech. He’d be fine. Probably.

“So who were you playing Mario Kart with?”

“My imaginary friend, Clementine. Obviously,” Tommy rolled his eyes and Phil did not fail to note that someone had clearly been playing on the second controller and playing as Yoshi. Nobody in his household played Yoshi. Not to mention they were halfway through Coconut Mall, their kart stalled right in front of the escalators. 

“Alright mate, so you wouldn’t mind if I-” Phil slipped his phone in his pocket and walked across the room towards the toy box. Tommy’s eyes went comically wide as he jumped to intercept.

“You know I’m really tired,” he yawned very dramatically, “Can I please just go to bed?”

Phil didn’t bother responding, pushing past his boy. Normally he indulged Tommy’s theatrics to an extent, but he had neither the time nor the patience tonight. Not while Wil was out in the streets and he could be trying to plan counter measures for an all-out gang war come morning if Tubbo was not found soon.

Tommy made several more attempts to stop him but his twelve year old son was hardly an obstacle. The lid creaked as he pulled it open. Phil stared down at the figure cramped inside who held a bag of goldfish and had clearly made some half-hearted attempt to hide themselves under a hot wheels track. 

“Good evening, Mr. Craft. Would you like a goldfish?” Tubbo held out a goldfish cracker, a soft smile that was clearly an attempt to minimize whatever trouble they were about to get into.

If he pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough, maybe he could starve the migraine starting to pulse behind his eyes before it could form. This was bad, this was very very bad. This was going to look bad.

“What! How did Tubbo get here?” Tommy once again proved just how much he needed to learn how to lie. His voice wavering too much in false surprise as he sputtered and pulled a face that might have looked like shock but also might have just looked like he was auditioning to model for The Scream painting .

“It is one in the morning Tommy and I did not approve of this sleepover. So could you please explain what Tubbo is doing here and if I hear you lie one more time consider yourself grounded for a month.” His phone was already in his hand and a string of numbers already running through his head to call.

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, his eyebrows angled down and fists clenched at his side. But, Tubbo sat up from the box and munched on a few more crackers and offered him a passive shrug. Tommy’s shoulders sank.

“We just wanted to hang out some more. Tubbo snuck over after dinner,” he sighed. Tubbo pulled himself from the box and rested his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“It was my idea, Mr. Craft.”

“Tubbo, I appreciate your attempt but please just get your things packed. You’re going home.”

Tubbo nodded and crawled under the bed to retrieve what appeared to be a backpack among other things.

“Tommy, people think Tubbo has been kidnapped. You understand that, right?”

“Tubbo do you feel kidnapped?” Tommy asked, very matter-of-factly.

Tubbo popped his head out from under the bed, “No?”

“See, it’s not kidnapping then. I don’t see the problem.” He huffed, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

Phil’s watch read 1:30 and his tolerance for what Tommy called ‘logic’ diminished exponentially after midnight. “That is not how this works. I told you Tubbo couldn’t come over here.”

“And I told you that I didn’t think that was fair! So what if his dad is from some ‘ competing company ’? We’re playing video games, not discussing company secrets! Not like I’d have access to any of that shit anyways.”

“My rules are for your protection. How do you think I would feel if you just disappeared after dinner and didn’t tell us where you were?”

“Not like you’d notice. You’re always busy.” 

The statement rocketed through Phil and tore through his heart. He shook the shock away and met Tommy’s blue eyes, anger and hurt still flaring in them like a hurricane stricken ocean. He should have stopped there and apologized, but his mind flashed to Wilbur and his somewhat frantic phone call and his stomach churned like that sea.

“Bed. Now. We will discuss the terms of your grounding tomorrow at a more reasonable time.”

“I’m grounded? What? Dad? Dad! This isn’t fair!” Tommy reached out for Phil’s arm but he pulled away leaving Tommy shouting cries of unfairness and annoyance. 

“Tubbo come on, I’m calling Quackity to come take you home.” Phil instructed, ignoring his youngest’s tantrum, and Tubbo once again obeyed without question, muttering a soft apology to Tommy before wandering out of the bedroom. Phil trailed close behind him and dialed up Wilbur’s number again, trying not to think about the beginnings of tears that were filling Tommy’s eyes as he closed the door.

…

Wilbur stared daggers at the man that was holding three-fourths of his weapons. The gun had since been lowered and the safety reengaged but all four of the Manburg crew still had theirs within easy reach and he assumed they were all fast enough to fire at him if he tried anything stupid. Not that he would - screw whatever his father thought. He couldn’t help but wonder what their little group looked like to any late-night drivers or pedestrians that passed them occasionally. The smart ones knew to mind their business whenever something shady was happening at night. Keep your head down and keep walking and maybe cross to the other side of the street just to be sure. Just five people all standing in front of a pet store with Wilbur backed into a corner, nervously tapping out a tune on his leg.

“I’ll give you props,” he said after approximately five minutes of waiting for his dad to return his call. “This is probably the least traumatizing hostage situation I’ve ever been in. 5 stars on hostage uber. Although I’m not entirely sure if this counts as one.”

No response. Prime he was bored and tired and actually quite hungry. He pulled another cookie out of the bag Nikki had given him and munched on it before offering one to the four others.

All refused except Quackity who took it with a scowl. How rude to eat Nikki’s cookies with a scowl.

“See,” Wilbur said as he finished chewing his bite, “If you’d gotten Sam like you planned then you wouldn’t have gotten cookies.”

Quackity pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away for a moment, letting out a deep sigh before turning back around. While Wilbur didn’t doubt his deadliness if needed, especially when Tubbo was missing, the man looked disheveled at best and like he’d just fought a rabid monkey on no sleep at worst. Wrinkled button up with one of the buttons in a hole too high, twisted suspenders, wild black hair only somewhat tamed with a beanie, and mismatched socks.

“Wilbur, I have a migraine so I’m going to ask you very politely to shut the fuck up or I’m going to tell every single fucking person I know about your first break up.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve had a really bad day so yes I would.”

That got Wilbur to snap his mouth shut, a half-finished cookie still in his hand.

“And before you ask, yes Sam told me all about it .”

That traitor, absolute bastard. That was not Wil’s brightest moment, nor one he liked to think about. How dare Sam tell Quackity of all people. They were all buddy-buddy now thanks to him because he thought Tommy deserved a friend. This was not worth it. Not worth it at all. He should have let his dad break up the friendship years ago. Now one of Schlatt’s stupid little goons knew his most embarassing moment. 

His ringtone disrupted his thoughts of revenge and he immediately picked it up. “I can’t believe you hung up on me!”

“Save it Wil. Quackity come pick up your kid, the boys decided to plan their own sleepover. I found him hiding in Tommy’s toy box eating goldfish.” Phil sounded even more stressed than Quackity.

“He ate my goldfish!?” He gasped, momentarily forgetting that this was a serious situation.

“ Wil. ”

“Sorry.”

“He’s not hurt?” Quackity’s shoulders had already dropped two inches in relief upon hearing that they knew where Tubbo was, but that glint of anger and fear still sparked in his eyes with each street light reflected.

“You can check him over yourself, mate. Just please come get him and let me call your boss to explain all this,” Phil pleaded. 

There was a long pause before Quackity muttered a quick thank you.

“Sam should be there any minute to pick you up, Wilbur.”

He groaned. Of course his dad wasn’t going to let him go home by himself after this whole stunt. Prime knows he probably wouldn’t be able to leave the house without a chaperone for over a week thanks to his little brother. This is what he signed up for when he personally vouched for Tubbo’s good character. At least he’d be able to chew out Sam for telling Quackity.

“Now I have to go make a very awkward phone call to my sworn enemy so please don’t get into any more trouble? Please?”

“You got it”

…

Tubbo sat very politely on the couch, quieter than a mouse as he hugged his backpack to his chest. Phil didn’t mean to yell at Tommy in front of his friend but the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t expected Schlatt’s kid to end up in his home in Tommy’s toy box eating what appeared to be all the goldfish in his home. He hadn’t expected Tommy to break the rules so severely. Techno and Wilbur had been so much easier, sure he had dealt with Techno’s quirks and Wilbur’s temper and the occasional lie between the two of them. Tommy was already a trouble-maker and being best friends with Tubbo just made everything 10 times as problematic.

“Quackity is coming to pick you up,” Phil said as he hung up on Wilbur and typed out Schlatt’s number.

“Thank you, sir. It really was my idea. I talked Tommy into it,” Tubbo muttered, head still hanging down.

Phil’s heart ached, they really were loyal to each other. Prime this was a mess.

“You both should have known better. I need to go call your dad and explain what’s going on. I’ll be in my office, if you need anything knock on the door.”

Tubbo nodded and Phil hit ‘call’ the moment his office door lock clicked into place.

The grating voice of Schlatt met him on the other line, not even seconds after the call went through.

“You son of a bi-”

“Imma stop you right there, mate. I didn’t know he was here. He somehow snuck over and from what I understand the boys have been playing Mario Kart for hours.” He’d already rehearsed what he wanted to say in his head and already prepared for the angry response he would get. Phil did not behave politely when Wilbur was taken so he hardly expected manners from Schlatt. However, Tubbo in this case was sitting on his couch.

“You expect me to believe that?” Schlatt spat and Phil almost flinched away from the phone but steadied himself with a sigh.

“Mate, it’s like two in the morning, if I was holding your kid hostage I would have called before now and I wouldn’t have already told your man Quackity to come pick him up.”

“Just like that? No demands? I thought you were smarter than this, Philza. You really expect me to believe this was all some big misunderstanding? You took my boy!”

The way he spoke left Phil’s stomach twisting, wondering if Schlatt would be as forgiving if their roles were reversed right now.

“I did no such thing. Your boy snuck out. If this was a hostage situation you would know it. I keep my word. The boys stay out of this and I expect my other son to come home in one piece from where your men cornered him.” The anger was rising in his tone now. He didn’t like being accused like this, from Schlatt of all people. 

“My reports say he’s already on his way home.”

“Good. Now I say we both pretend like this didn’t happen and have a good long talk with each of our boys about the rules again.”

“Don’t tell me how to parent my kid. I know your boy talked him into this.”

“He did no such thing!”

“Tubbo doesn’t just break the rules.”

“If my memory serves me right he’s gotten in trouble multiple times at school,” he pointed out. Tommy told Sam a lot and Sam told Phil everything.

“Your boy has always been complicit in those events.”

“So we’re in agreement that the two of them share equal fault in this?”

“Fine, but I don’t want to see him over there again.”

“It won’t happen again.”

The line went dead and Philza Craft sank back into his leather chair with a hefty sigh of relief. This was not what he had planned for the night. He needed a strong drink. 

...

Tubbo found his way home after a brief interrogation from Quackity on their front steps where the boy confirmed that he was fine and Quackity escorted him back to their car. In the distance Phil could make out the beginnings of a much longer argument that sounded something along the lines of ‘what were you thinking’ starting between the two.

Wilbur returned home a few minutes later and Phil found himself performing the same search on his boy before Wil confirmed that he was fine as well, just a little spooked and offered Phil the leftover cookies from Nikki’s. The laughter Wil displayed came out too forced and Phil’s heart ached as he watched Wil pretend he was fine. As good of a liar as Wilbur was, Phil could always see through his masquerade. He made a mental note to suggest Wil schedule another therapy appointment. 

Tommy on the other hand found himself grounded for two weeks. Something he complained loudly and often about. By the end of the third day Phil had shortened his punishment to a week if he promised not to do something so blatantly against his rules again. Staring at his teary-eyed boy Phil wanted to explain why what they did was so stupidly dangerous, but he held back. He just reiterated how much he cared for Tommy and at the end of the week they played Mario Kart together. The arguing nearly forgotten. 

Phil never mentioned how he had Sam sweep Tommy’s things and room for planted bugs or missing items. The only thing unaccounted for in their home being four bags of goldfish of which Tommy claimed to have only eaten one of. How Tubbo ended up eating three bags of goldfish was not a question Phil wanted answered anytime soon. He was already cautious enough of the child that had apparently built a bomb out of kitchen appliances.

Still, the scare of Tubbo potentially going missing and Wil ending up at the wrong end of a gun left him anxious. Things could have gone so wrong so quickly that night, he was lucky they didn’t. Phil snuck another tracker into Tommy’s newest pair of shoes and kept Wilbur off the streets for nearly a month (much to his complaints) and moved on. He had a mafia to run and boys to raise.

Chapter Text

"Tommy, if you don’t get out of my room you’re going to be dead before you’re even done being grounded,” Techno warned, voice low and grating as he approached.

Tommy groaned and flopped over on Techno’s bed where he’d staked his claim much to Techno’s continued complaints. It was only the third day of his supposed grounding and having lost access to his video games, computer, and television privileges left him bored out of his mind. Sure he got to go to school and see Tubbo but they only got to share grievances about their respective punishments for the stunt they pulled during lunch. The books he’d stolen from Techno were boring, they didn’t have any one player board games, and he couldn’t even talk to Tubbo after school or go to the park like they usually did.

“Tommy.”

“No.”

“ Tommy. ”

“Techno I’m booooooooored,” he huffed, grabbing one of Techno’s pillows and hugging it to his chest like it could protect him from the glare his brother sent his way.

“Well you’re the one who had an illegal sleepover and got himself grounded,” Techno reminded him, arms crossed in his stupid no nonsense way. There was something about Techno that reminded Tommy so much of their dad. The way he held himself, the deep tone they took when angered or annoyed. His father did that whole ‘I’m not angry just disappointed’ thing that Tommy absolutely hated. Techno never did that thankfully, he just warned you that payback was coming and then two weeks later Tommy would find all of his pillows, stuffed animals, sheets, mattress, and bedframe missing! He felt that was a particularly cruel payback for swapping Techno’s shampoo out for Nair. The prank hadn’t even worked, Techno sniffed it out like a fucking blood hound. Then when Tommy complained about the obvious unfairness of Techno’s retaliation for a prank that hadn’t even worked his father simply hummed that he should choose his enemies wisely. In his defense, it would have been very funny to watch Techno’s hair fall out. 

“How can a sleepover be illegal though?” He’d had this conversation multiple times over the past two days. All efforts to worm his way out of this horribly unfair punishment going unheard the majority of the time.

“When it could have technically counted as a kidnapping,” Techno repeated, a near perfect mimicry of their father.

Tommy followed his script and blew a raspberry.

“Ey! Don’t get your gremlin spit all over my sheets!” Techno tried to rip the pillow away from Tommy’s grasp, but he turned at just the right time, turtling his body over the pillow like it was a precious prize.

Techno leaned in close to Tommy, one hand grasping on the corner of the pillow that had slipped out of Tommy’s protective turtling.

“You aren’t going to win this game and the aftermath will not be pretty,” Techno warned. Underneath him, Tommy could feel his grip tightening on the pillow. His face was awfully close though…

He blew another raspberry, right in Techno’s face.

The man sputtered, stumbling back and wiping his newly contorted face in disgust.

Logically, Tommy knew he should have run at that moment and locked himself in a closet, but he was too busy wheezing at his oh so perfect brother reduced to a stumbling mess over a little bit of spit.

Wil, for all he had in things that Techno lacked (like social skills), did not have the strength or agility that Techno maintained. With Techno busy late into most nights and even during the day with school work and group projects, Tommy’s antics had been largely directed at Wilbur (Especially after the lock picking incident). Someone who’s grasp he could typically squirm out of. Techno, unlike Wilbur, had muscle. Not to mention years of martial arts training. The ensuing battle lasted less than five seconds.

“Techno, Techno, Techno, put me down! Techno! Put me down!!!” Tommy screeched while Techno marched towards what was most likely Tommy’s certain doom. He’d found himself tossed like a sack of potatoes over his brother’s shoulder and no amount of banging on his back served to free him.

“Let me tell you the story of Theseus, Tommy,” Techno started. Tommy continued screeching.

“He was a hero, but his people exiled him.”

“TECHNO PUT ME DOWN!”

Techno opened the door and the early evening air chilled his exposed skin. Being outside had literally no good endings for him. This was it. Goodbye cruel world, it was the end of Tommy Craft. Gone too soon. Killed by his own brother after one too many raspberries.

“He took refuge with Lycomedes.”

“It’s cold out here! I don’t care about your stupid dead Greek guys!”

He had to crane his neck to see where they were in the backyard, and if his approximations were correct it was not good. Not good at all. Suddenly, Techno had his ankle in his hand and Tommy found himself dangling upside down, staring at Techno’s ankles.

“Do you know what happened to Theseus, Tommy?” Techno asked and Tommy, still struggling, did not answer. Mostly because he did not know the answer. Also because he was dangling a foot over the koi pond in their backyard. A few curious fish poked their heads up towards him.

“Fuck off, Techno.”

“He threw him from a cliff and killed him.”

With no fanfare or further words, Techno released his ankle and the world grinded to a snail’s pace. Gravity no longer just pulled the blood to his head, but instead sent his whole body careening towards his doom. Windmilling arms and scrambling legs found no purchase and he fell with an unceremonious splash into the freezing cold koi pond. Lily pads sunk and fish sent scattering away from his impact zone. He had enough self-preservation skills to tuck his head in so his shoulders took the brunt of the impact on the silty bottom. He still found his head smacking into the stone lined underbelly of the pond, the pain of the impact dulled only slightly by the shock of the cold water. 

He sat up, sputtering and coughing up what water had gotten into his mouth during the very manly screech he let out as he fell. He rubbed water from his eyes and pulled a bit of plant life from his water logged hair.

“Heh, L,” Techno jeered.

Tommy scowled, which he knew looked very manly and intimidating as he tried to get the water out of his nose so it would stop burning. However, Techno had made a fatal mistake in his teasing. Unlike Sea World, there were no splash zone markings around the koi pond, which rarely saw splashing anyways. Even though his body had already begun shivering and his shoulder hurt from where it impacted, Tommy took one brave last stand. He splashed Techno with as much water as feasibly possible and then threw a lily pad at him for good measure.

“You’re an absolute dickish wanker fuck face and you smell like women’s shampoo and-” Tommy shouted, only for Techno to cut him off.

“I can live with that. Choose your battles, Theseus,” Techno said, briefly pausing to examine the truly pitiful amount of water splattered on his shirt. It looked as though he’d just strolled through a brief drizzle. On the other hand, Tommy wasn’t sure if there was a dry patch on him. Techno backed up, never taking his eyes off his younger sibling as Tommy dragged himself from the koi pond, shivering and dripping and spitting curses that would have his theoretical grandmother fainting in horror (Did he have a grandmother? He’d never met anyone that fit that title). He’d left the back door open, likely too busy wrangling Tommy himself, and he stepped through. Sliding it shut and clicking the lock shut.

If Tommy’s anger could be transferred to heat, he would have dried off instantly.

He bolted from his spot and crossed the backyard in record time. Of course pulling at the backdoor did nothing. It was locked and through the unbreakable glass (he’d thrown one too many balls at it for it not to be unbreakable) he watched Techno slide the deadbolts into place. Even if he had his lock picks with him he wouldn’t be able to get through that.

Much like the storm that had passed through yesterday, he watered the grass and flowers as he trudged around the house.

Of course Techno locked the front door. Techno had taught him a little bit about psy-cho-log-ical warfare though. Plus he had nothing better to do than freeze on the front steps while getting his revenge. He was grounded after all.

…

“Techno, my dear dear brother. You have thirty more seconds before I commit fratricide. Open the fucking door!” Techno had to admit, Wilbur had the ‘deranged middle child’ look down. He’d almost be worried if it wasn’t his brother Wilbur that was trying to bypass him to let Tommy back inside. Wilbur had never won a fight between the two of them a day in his life. Could he outshoot Techno at the gun range? Yes, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that Techno was going to win this battle. A lifetime of tuning out Wilbur’s first attempts at new chords or songs had trained his ears well.

“Eh, I’m waiting for him to start begging or to give up first,” Techno crossed his arms and settled his back against the door.

“It has been 20 minutes of him ringing that doorbell. You get two options here, Techno. Either you give up this stupid war of attrition or I make myself the heir.”

From the other side of the door Tommy squealed something about ‘psychological warfare’. It was honestly impressive how long his brother had managed to keep going. He was probably using an auto clicker. Lol nerd. 

“Just put on some noise cancelling headphones,” Techno hummed and picked his book back up. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

Techno watched Wilbur’s face go from deranged to outright homicidal.

“There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare, Techno,” Wilbur hissed, and that caught Techno by surprise.

“Oh so you actually did the reading.”

“Fuck off.”

“Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting!” Tommy’s muffled voice came through, alongside a brief reprieve in the doorbell ringing before it immediately resumed his allegro ringing.

“Seems like Tommy did the reading too.” That was even more impressive than Wilbur doing it honestly. He was almost tempted to get up right there. Almost . In fact, if Wilbur hadn’t shown up he probably would have.

Wilbur dove at Techno and the two of them squabbled on the floor, neither noticing as a third figure strode into the entry hallway, stepped over the two of them, and unlocked the door.

Techno immediately froze, Wilbur half pinned beneath him. Wilbur kept a firm hold of Techno’s hair with his one free hand, but stopped struggling as well. They both recognized their father.

Tommy ran inside the house, a crazed look in his eyes and twisted grin despite the shivering.

“And I have won the war,” he exclaimed with a holler before darting off.

Above them, Philza sighed.

“It’s not my fault he’s worse when he’s grounded,” Wilbur complained.

Phil only made a motion for Techno and Wilbur to get to their feet which they begrudgingly complied with. It was clear that he’d been working late and Techno knew the man was probably on his 5 th cup of tea that day.

“Please no fratricide on the hardwood floors. You know how hard blood is to get out,” he turned and walked away, not even daring to comment on the situation that had unfolded.

Tommy’s grounding was shortened to a week a few hours later.

…

In another home, across the river and deep into Manburg territory, Tubbo Underscore found himself trying to piece together how to get into his dad’s office. Without unsupervised access (much to Quackity’s complaining) to his computer, he was stuck looking for physical evidence of whatever the fuck was going on with his family and Tommy’s family. He’d pilfered through every accessible drawer, filing cabinet, closet, and even went through the kitchen again just to make sure that Quackity hadn’t missed any of the ingredients he could use to make small explosives. He found nothing of note but an abhorrent number of tea towels, a stash of imported cigars, and some old photos of Tubbo when he was a toddler. He’d even braved the attic but the only thing he’d found up there was cobwebs and a newly worsened fear of spiders. 

He knew his family ran an investment company, and he knew a lot of that was in the string of casinos his dad ran. Yet, that didn’t explain at all why he and Mr. Craft were such big rivals. Sure they both ran investment companies, but that was kind of vague in itself. Sure Tubbo had seen his dad point out a few of the buildings and skyscrapers in the city that they owned but at what point did that become a business so competitive their sons couldn’t go to each other’s houses? At what point did the first instinct become that Mr. Craft had kidnapped him rather than just visiting his best friend. Quackity and Schlatt had been pedantic in their searches of him when he returned home, like Mr. Craft had the capability to actually harm his son’s best friend. It wasn’t adding up. 

His fingers prodded at the lock on the door. It was mechanical but he didn’t know how to pick locks and the paring knife he’d snatched from the kitchen was still too wide to fit into the slot. He’d seen Tommy do it, apparently Wilbur taught him. Without his phone to look up a YouTube video on it or any way to contact Tommy for a tutorial he huffed back to his room, letting his feet drag on the floors.

The house echoed around him, every room staged like they were days away from an open house. It was only ever him, Quackity, his father, and occasionally he’d spot a few members of their house staff wandering around with their chores. It was lonely. When his dad did have parties an entire theater was bought out and Tubbo and Quackity would sit and watch the newest film together, alone, with comped popcorn, drinks, and candy. It wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening but now that he thought about it, those parties would be a prime way to figure some of the mystery’s out. There was something his dad was hiding from him. Something big.

He sat down at his desk and pushed aside his newest design sketches. He’d have to hide them before Quackity could burn them again. Something about, ‘I’m just trying to keep you alive’. That was stupid, Tubbo hadn’t died once to his inventions. Quackity was just a mother hen…or a mother duck more like it. Tubbo giggled at his own joke and mentally filed it away for future tormenting of his bodyguard/nanny/surrogate older brother or father figure. He wasn’t exactly sure what role Quackity filled in his life, but it was certainly a role. A very overbearing one. He was pretty sure his hearing was never going to be what it used to be after the yelling at he’d received in the car on the way back from Tommy’s from Quackity, and the follow up lecture he got from his father.

Tubbo picked up an unused notebook and opened it to the first page. While it was dangerous to keep his investigations in a physical copy there was a potential for him losing access to his electronics again and nobody could read his chicken scratch anyways. Carefully, he wrote down what would be the very start of his dive into whatever the Underscore family business was.

People with Leads (Potentially)

• Dad 
• Quackity 
• Sam (?) 
• Tommy 
• Tommy’s Family 
• Wilbur and Techno 
• Mr. Craft 

Tubbo scribbled down a few more notes, briefly getting distracted by doodling a bee in the top corner of his page. He drew it a couple of flowers too. From there he could move on with his investigations. Being grounded was a lot less boring when you had a plan to formulate and secrets to uncover.

Chapter Text

While Tommy’s grounding only lasted a week, Tubbo found himself grounded for nearly a month.  He, of course, complained loudly and often about this. However, his father simply chided that he should have thought of that before he pulled the tracker hidden in the lining of his shoes and smashed it before sneaking out.

As though that was a normal thing teenagers get grounded over! Tubbo found the tracker weeks before the sleepover when his shoe split and he noticed the little device, no larger than a dime, shoved inside. In the weeks following he poked at it, tried to decipher its origins and purpose, and investigated his other shoes. To his shock they all had them.

The experiment he devised was simple enough. When it was time to leave (no matter where they were), Quackity had a way of always knowing where Tubbo was. When he was younger and he and Tommy would play hide and seek without informing their respective guardians, the two never blinked. Instead one of them would pull out their phone and then when they had seemed to run out of allotted ‘out of visual range’ time, either Quackity or Sam would patter up to where they’d hid. It was uncanny. Tommy had to leave early the day of his experiment but Tubbo begged to stay a little longer. Quackity agreed and Tubbo got to wandering. He kicked off his shoes, tucked them in a bush, and went to hide in a tree on the other side of the park, making sure to keep out of Quackity’s visual range. As expected, when Quackity perked up and scanned the horizon for him and saw no signs of his charge, he consulted his phone and called out for Tubbo, walking to the bush where his shoes were stowed. It confirmed his suspicions, the strange device was a tracker.

Tubbo had been more than happy to ignore a lot of the strange things about his life. His father and his string of nannies he’d had before Quackity always indulged his interests and desires. His science projects always funded and supplied. Tutors to help with his reading and audio books for the rest of the time. Science and puzzles and an endless stream of hired hands eager to try and keep him company and occupied when his father was busy. Which was always. That was partially why he liked Quackity more than the others, the man didn’t pretend to be his friend. They got along and Tubbo couldn’t help but grin whenever he fell for a fake bomb. Quackity even beat him at cards! The other nannies always let him win and it was stupid but Quackity soon proved he wouldn’t throw a game, especially when they gambled chores. As much as he liked Quackity, he was just another one of those strange things he continually found orbiting his life. He wasn’t sure how many nannies carried guns, but he was pretty sure Mary Poppins didn’t.

Tubbo’s investigation plan didn’t go quite as planned either. His first person to interrogate was his father but lately he’d barely seen the man apart from the occasional dinner and sometimes he’d see him after school, where he’d make an appearance, ask how his day was and then promptly disappear. Hardly enough time for conversation. When, at dinner, Tubbo pressed as to why he was so busy he simply looked up from his steak and said he had an “important meeting with future investors” and it needed his full attention. He tried to poke further but his father simply waved his hand and mumbled something about “it being something they could discuss when he was older and would understand.” He, of course, found this quite insulting as he was a smart kid. Quackity told him so and his dad seemed to trust Quackity. When he expressed his opinions as such it only ended with his father’s grip tightening around his wine glass and telling him that “he didn’t need to know everything”. Dinner ended promptly after, without dessert. Tubbo felt that dinner with no dessert should be a war crime.

With his father a dud, it fell down to Quackity. Without access to his electronics during his grounding, the two of them played a lot of cards. He even taught Tubbo how to play poker (apparently he was tired of Crazy Eights and Go Fish). Quackity somehow always had a pack of cards on him, sometimes two. They’d sit in the dining room table and Quackity would deal out the well-loved cards with their little marks on the top that Quackity swore didn’t mean anything, although Tubbo found them very suspicious. They were his special poker cards, they always used a different set whenever they played any other game.

It was playing cards that Tubbo was able to talk to Quackity the easiest. As though they were equals and one wasn’t literally being paid to hang around.

Quackity dealt out the cards, they’d decided to play Garbage.

“You don’t seem like someone to have this job,” Tubbo started, hoping to ease Quackity into conversation and maybe, just maybe, get some answers.

“You don’t know a lot about me, kid,” he grumbled as he dealt out the needed cards and the two of them assembled their playing area.

“Well why’d you take it?”

“The pay was good and your dad needed someone to protect you,” he huffed and drew a card, swearing when he flipped over its place and found the exact card he just placed there. He dropped it in the garbage pile with a huff.

Tubbo gladly took it and went about taking his turn, mulling over the man’s words.

“What’d you do before this?”

Quackity looked up from his deck and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you suddenly so curious about me?”

“I spend most of my day with you and I don’t know a lot about you, seems strange. So what are you hobbies?” Tubbo didn’t miss how he avoided the question, but decided to bring it up again later.

A sound that almost resembled a laugh escaped the man as he was halfway through his turn.

“I watch you, I clean up after you, I drive you everywhere, I learn how to diffuse bombs, and that’s it.”

Tubbo wrinkled his nose, “No, that’s not what I meant at all! What do you do when you’re not with me?”

“Sleep.”

“You’re boring.”

“It’s your turn.”

Tubbo huffed and took his turn.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend then?”

“No.”

Quackity managed to go out and moved down to a nine-card pile. Tubbo mulled over his options, two cards from his ten-card pile proving tricky to get rid of.

“Why does Dad hate Mr. Craft so much?”

That left Quackity at a full pause, the guardian left with his hand hovering over the deck and lips parted. The lighting highlighted the handful of scars in shades of peach and waxy white. He’d tried asking about them before but received nothing but a sharp reply to ‘mind his own business’. There were two on his chin, one cutting through his eyebrow, and a third snaking up from neck to jaw.

“Is this about the sleepover?” Quackity asked after a stagnant silence that left Tubbo shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

He stared at the ground. His father had shut down every attempted conversation about the sleepover that Tubbo tried to have with him. Even Quackity was hesitant to talk about it other than the fact that it had been a stupid thing for Tubbo to do. That people could have gotten hurt. There was no elaboration on that.

His silence seemed to be enough of an answer.

“I don’t know why you can’t just trust that what we do is for you. Keeping you safe.”

“Safe from what?” He asked, slamming his hand down and surprising himself at how loud his voice was. Immediately he retreated back into himself and Quackity stared at him wide-eyed.

“You think all this money comes without making enemies?” Quackity gestured around the dining room. Expensive paintings, elegantly carved mahogany, and a cabinet full of expensive glassware and china. Shelves were peppered with trinkets from around the world, most looking like they belonged in a museum rather than the Underscore mansion. They sat alongside pictures of Tubbo like they were of equal value. Crystal chandeliers and Tubbo’s favorite flowers, freshly cut in vases sat on every other clear surface. He knew his family had money. Knew that kind of money came with baggage. Yet, nobody had ever told him what. How could a handful of casinos and an investment company make enemies?

“Your dad and Mr. Craft have been enemies in their own businesses for longer than either of us have been around.”

“Everyone keeps saying that but Mr. Craft doesn’t own any casinos. I mean, I’m pretty sure they both invest or whatever in stuff, but what-”

Quackity raised a hand and Tubbo’s argument died before it even started, just like their card game had.

“Listen kid, I’m under contract. I can’t tell you any more than I already have, okay? You’ll be a lot happier if you trust us. Besides, we still let you be friends with Tommy,” Quackity explained, something akin to understanding in his eyes.

Tubbo sunk into his chair with a sigh before looking up and meeting Quackity’s eyes again.

“Tommy and I would be friends no matter what you guys say. We’d make it work.”

“I’m sure you would, kid.”

…

“I woke up at like 2:30 in the morning! And-and I was trying to get some water because I was thirsty and all that and freaking Techno was downstairs! Anyone else would have properly lost their shit, but I was a big man and asked him what the fuck he was doing up. Then, and here’s the good part, Big T, he had a gun! Like an act-ual gun!”

Tubbo nodded along to Tommy’s story during the third week of his grounding. Lunchtime was truly the only time the two of them could talk. Tommy loudly complained to Quackity that it wasn’t fair that Tubbo was grounded for longer than him because they still couldn’t hang out outside of school or chat online with each other. Sam, as he was shuffling Tommy into the back seat only suggested that he could recommend Tommy be grounded again to put them on equal footing and Tommy quickly shut up about the whole thing in front of Sam and Quackity. The two had seemed far less amicable to each other in the time since the sleepover. The first day back at school since the sleepover had Quackity picking Tubbo up early so Tubbo never even got to see Sam. On the days where Quackity waited as his usual spot next to the taller man, the two were both stiffer than boards. Neither held the familiar coffee or chatted idly. It reminded him of the first few weeks of seeing them together, back when Tommy and Tubbo had been in elementary school. Had they really messed things up that badly with a silly sleepover?

“-I asked Dadza in the morning if I could have a gun,” Tubbo tuned back into the story, having only missed a couple sentences, “He said no though. But honestly, it’s not fair that Techno can have a gun and I can’t. Can you imagine how cool I’d be? Oh! The funniest part was Wilbur was drinking his coffee and he snorted it when I asked! He blamed me but it was not my fault!”

Tubbo laughed, imagining the scene. He’d seen Wilbur more than he’d seen Techno, seeing as they went to the same school for a year and picturing the lanky brunet coughing up his morning coffee and staining his sweater was pretty funny.

“Why’d Techno have a gun?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy tossed his arms up in the air in an over exaggerated display of confusion and frustration.

“I don’t know! He said it was a fake one…” Tommy huffed and took a bite of his sandwich.

If you’d asked Tubbo a few months prior, he wouldn’t have anything to say about Tommy’s older brothers. They were interesting characters, Wilbur always had a joke to tell or some funny story to torment Tommy with in the halls. He even asked Tubbo about his kitchen bomb once! Techno was a rarer sighting. Occasionally, he’d be the one to pick Tommy up from school if Sam couldn’t be there. Both of the older Craft siblings were busy with university degrees. Why would university students need guns? Wilbur had been the one to teach Tommy how to pick locks. That wasn’t a normal skill. There was a sinking feeling in Tubbo’s gut that their father’s weren’t the only ones involved in whatever this was.

“Hey Tommy?”

“What’s up, Big T?”

“What does your dad do? Like as a job?”

Tommy tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know, investments or some shit like that. We own like half the buildings downtown.” He shrugged and turned back to his apple, Golden Delicious, Tommy’s favorite.

“Do you think it’s weird that our dads like really don’t like each other?” He asked, but Tommy shrugged again.

“I mean maybe? Or they’ve just got like a lifelong grudge! Like maybe they knew each other as kids and your dad broke a window and blamed it on mine and so Dadza got his revenge by breaking your dad’s window-”

Tubbo frowned, trying to tune out Tommy’s rambling. This didn’t seem like just a grudge. This seemed bigger.

Tommy rambled off more absurd potential reasons for the two to hate each other until the lunch bell rang and the two split for their respective classes.

…

When Tubbo’s grounding ended the world almost returned to normal.

Schlatt’s office remained a stubborn constant in his life. Between his homework, further investigations, and hanging out with Tommy (during which Sam was hovering closer and closer) getting into his dad’s office had been a continual effort. He’d briefly tried getting Tommy to teach him how to pick locks during lunch once but as it turned out Tommy was a horrible teacher. Besides, Tubbo was pretty sure that with the right explosives you could open any lock. The one attempt he made using Tommy’s picks just left Tubbo with a stuck pick and rapidly approaching footsteps coming up the stairs. He barely unstuck the picks in time and had to ‘play it cool’ sitting outside his dad’s office. It didn’t matter much in the end, his dad briefly glanced at him before heading inside, door thudding shut behind him.

It didn’t matter much if he couldn’t get into the office. There had to be other means of investigations. His discussions with Tommy were proving interesting although his friend grew bored of Tubbo’s line of questioning quickly so he had to pepper it in their conversation. However, Tommy himself provided a ton of interesting stories. From the various “skills” his brothers were teaching him to Mr. Craft flying out to a city across the country for one night and showing up the next day like it never happened with no explanation other than business. Tommy did say that his dad brought him back a cool snow globe from the trip though. It all went in Tubbo’s notebook. After the first week he noticed that Sam always made Tommy leave the park if he ever overheard Tubbo asking anything about his family. Once again, he became limited to school hours.

Google searches came up mostly empty or with things he already knew. His father’s companies had hundreds of projects under its name, tons of philanthropy and charity work, strong stock outlooks, everything he expected from it. Mr. Craft’s company followed the same trajectory. Nothing out of order. He looked into the casinos next, apart from the occasional police report on some drunk guy having to be escorted out or the newest monthly promotion there was nothing. Everything was clean.

It was in week number two of searching that he found the blog posts. Some random guy in another city had a conspiracy theory blog that claimed the Schlatt Casinos were smuggling money around and were the source of an influx of illegal drugs in all cities they were in.

Now that…that was getting somewhere. Illegal crime ring run out of his dad’s casinos? That could make some sense. Tubbo didn’t know a ton about drugs or money laundering but he did know those were particularly dangerous professions to be in and could explain the absolutely bat-shit levels of security and secrets Tubbo was subject to every day. Most people don’t tell their 13 year old (nearly 14!) they run a drug empire. That could also explain why Quackity seemed more qualified to be in the Secret Service rather than babysitter.

Tubbo wasn’t one to immediately trust a random conspiracy theory he found on the 23^rd page of google search results, but it was the most logical answer he had at the moment. The following week was spent looking for further evidence online, digging through newspaper articles and police reports in other cities. In the end he had a whole lot of information but a startling lack of proof.  He still needed to get into that office.  

…

Tubbo made two plans. The first involved acid. The second involved a bomb.

As it turned out, acid was not the best way to get through a door. Plus, the evidence was spilling down to the carpet in a caustic bubbling mess that would probably give him some chronic disease from standing near it.

Google did NOT have any good suggestions for cleaning up 34% Hydrochloric Acid besides dumping a bunch of baking soda on it. He made a mental note to put baking soda on their shopping list as he dumped the entire box on the door and floor. Plan B it was then. Tubbo left to go set up his bomb.

…

“SCHLATT, YOUR KID HAS A FUCKING BOMB IN THE HOUSE AGAIN!” Quackity screamed from where he’d taken refuge behind an expensive leather couch.

Tubbo only hummed and bounced on his toes as he waited for his dad to respond to the situation. If his dad wouldn’t talk to him like normal people at the dinner table, Tubbo would make him talk another way. Hostage negotiation! Of course, the living room was what was being held hostage with his newly designed paint bomb sitting in the center. Inside it held enough paint to destroy all of the antiques, paintings, furniture, and flooring. Tubbo just had to press the button…probably. Honestly, he’d never made a detonator that worked properly so he was kind of just going for it with that same blind confidence he’d seen in Tommy so often.

The dull clack of his father’s designer leather shoes on the hardwood stairs were followed by the prompt appearance of his father.

James Schlatt Underscore, or more commonly known as Schlatt, seemed dressed for a black tie event. Stuffy suit and tie with matching cufflinks and tie pin, all expertly fitted. Mutton chops that framed his jaw freshly trimmed. A phone call recently ended in his hand. Would be a shame to get paint all over that designer suit.

Schlatt glanced between Tubbo, who stood very proudly by his creation, and Quackity who had bunkered behind the couch.

“Quackity you idiot, get up,” he ordered, sending a glare his way.

“Fuck no. Not until I know he’s not going to set that thing off and kill us all,” the voice spat and even though Tubbo couldn’t see Quackity’s face, he knew Quackity well enough to know he was glaring.

“It’s paint, not a nuclear warhead.” Honestly, people these days. It’s not that hard to see the paint strapped to the side.

Schlatt huffed through his nose before seeming to table the Quackity issue and turned to Tubbo.

“Kid, you wanna explain what this all is?”

Tubbo grinned. “I’m glad you asked! We have a lot to discuss.”

His father’s thick brows almost touched. “Alright, so what do you want to discuss? Is this about your grounding? Because we already explained-”

Tubbo shook his head. In all honesty, he was feeling rather giddy from the rush of it all. He for once had all the power here! It wasn’t Quackity, it wasn’t his dad, and it wasn’t some stupid teacher. He held the button!

“This is actually about all the locked doors in this house, and all the secrets, and whatever the fuck Quackity is and why he has a gun and why is car is full of weapons.”

There was a small sound that resembled denial from behind the couch but it died out before either of them could turn their heads towards it.

“And why you hate Mr. Craft, and-”

His father held up his hand and Tubbo stopped, hoping his point was made. The man took one slow deep breath in and exhaled like he was blowing smoke from a cigarette.  

“Listen, I knew you’d figure it out eventually but I need to know if you were behind the acid burns and baking soda mess outside my office door today because that will change the tone of this entire conversation.”

Tubbo knew better than to underestimate his father. While something in his gaze spoke of fondness and intrigue, another part of it seemed alert and poised for quick action.

A simple smirk was the only confirmation he gave.

“As this is a hostage negotiation I can neither confirm nor deny my involvement in the state of your office door,” he explained in perfect court room pitch he learned from listening in on some of Quackity’s law school lectures.

“Oh my god he really is your kid,” Quackity snorted, eyes and beanie poking up from behind the back of the couch.

“Quackity, as far as I was aware your contract was to keep Tubbo safe and he’s standing in front of a bomb right now. So either shut up or you’re losing your casino.”

“Right, sir.”

Tubbo couldn’t help the demeanor shift as his head tilted to the side and a small “What?” escaped.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” his dad waved him off and just like that he was back in the game, finger threatening destruction with a simple twitch. “So, you say this is a hostage negotiation. I’m assuming this living room is your hostage?”

Tubbo nodded.

“A good choice, although I would have gone with the formal dining room. There are a few irreplaceable paintings in there. Not to mention the Persian rug…”

“Should we move there then?” Tubbo asked, not quite understanding how the conversation ended up here. Was his dad offering a better room to threaten? That didn’t make a lot of sense. He could always be bluffing but he gazed around the room with that same pensive look of appraisal.

“No no,” he waved his hand, “You live and you learn. This wasn’t the worst spot. So what do you want to know, kid? That you’re the heir to one of the most powerful mafia’s in the country?”

He said it so casually that the words nearly didn’t compute. Mafia was a step up from drug lord. Mafia was in fact quite a few steps up from drug lord.

“Wait…really?” Tubbo’s brain still tried to twist itself in new ways to understand what was being said. Mafia’s were a big deal, The Godfather and all that shit.

“Yep, I was gonna tell you when you were older but you figured it out. Probably would have lasted longer if you didn’t go and get the Craft kid involved.” There wasn’t an inkling of deception on his father’s face and Tubbo had been lied to enough by his father to know what that looked like.

“So…Does this mean Tommy’s family is also in the mafia?”

“Not in ours,” he huffed.

Everything suddenly made a lot more sense. Quackity tentatively stood up, eyeing the bomb carefully.

“Made my job 200 times harder too,” Quackity groaned, arms crossed tight in front of him. Schlatt sent another warning glare his way and Quackity shot one right back. This seemed to amuse Tubbo’s Dad and a brief smirk flashed before the attention returned to Tubbo.

“So you lead a mafia…”

“The Manburg Mafia,” Schlatt corrected. Tubbo nodded, filing away the name.

“And Tommy’s family is in another mafia that you don’t like?”

“Not just in one, Philza runs The Syndicate. Our biggest rivals in this damn city.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh wow he’d messed up.

In two months he’d managed to go from protesting a perceived unfair grounding to theorizing that his dad sold drugs, to finding out he didn’t just work for a mafia, but ran it. This was a lot more than expected. Not to mention his best friend was apparently son of a rival mafia boss. Quackity always said he had a penchant for getting himself into trouble.

“So the sleepover…”

His sentence didn’t need to be finished. “Yep.”

“Oh.”

“And then you went and dug out your fucking tracker too!” Quackity had fully emerged from behind the couch.

Honestly, Tubbo didn’t think this whole threatening the living room with a paint bomb thing would work but his dad seemed oddly pleased at the whole situation.

“You understand that you can’t tell anyone, right?”

“Not even Tommy?”

“Not even Tommy,” he echoed.

Something in Tubbo’s gut twisted uncomfortably. Secrets were not something he particularly liked to keep from his best friend. They were two halves of the same whole, so much a part of each other that Tubbo reckoned they were made from the same bits of space dust.

“Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s eyes shot up to his father who had stepped towards him and took a knee, hand reaching for his. He absentmindedly let his father squeeze the hand that did not hold the detonation button. It had been a long time since he’d heard his father call him by his name in a way that wasn’t disciplinary or directed towards someone else. Schlatt was one to prefer nicknames over all else.

“Tubbo this is serious. Can you keep this a secret from Tommy?”

There was no presence in his own body as he nodded. His dad gave him one of those small smiles, reserved for just the two of them whenever Tubbo brought home a perfect grade or won a chess tournament. It brought him back to the present, mind rushing through every aspect of his life as it slotted together like puzzle pieces.

“This is kind of cool, not gonna lie, Big Man,” he said, laughing a bit to himself. “Way cooler than just some random drug dealer.”

That small smile stretched across his father’s face into a big grin as he pulled Tubbo in close for a hug.

“I knew you’d have it in you, kid.”

Tubbo’s smile immediately matched his father’s as he set the detonator down and wrapped his arms around his dad. The first hug in what felt like far too long. If he’d known the only thing he needed to do to get some physical affection around here was threaten the paintings he would have done it a long time ago.

“I can still be friends with Tommy, right?”

“For now. Things can be…difficult on opposite sides of these kinds of struggles.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. We’ll be like Romeo and Juliet!”

“Prime, please don’t kill yourselves,” Quackity groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Wait, that’s how it ends?”

“It’s a tragedy, Tubbo,” Quackity deadpanned.

“I thought it was a love story!”

“You thought…never mind.” He shook his head and pulled out his phone, leaving the father and son once again with each other.

“Wait…does that mean I’m on the opposite side of a mafia war with Techno?” The thought hit him and the fear of god suddenly coursed through his veins. Techno was terrifying. Tommy had many stories of Techno’s strength and fighting skills and Prime he did not want to ever have to go up against that. Especially because he was Tommy’s brother and by extension basically Tubbo’s brother and things were getting way too complicated.

“Techno isn’t a problem. Besides, you’re under my protection.”

“Speak for yourself, the guy threatened to shoot me the other day,” Quackity piped up, still glaring at his cellphone.

“Wait when did you see Techno?” Tubbo asked before he remembered how Techno picked Tommy up from school one day last week. Apparently Sam had been busy.

Quackity seemed to see the realization on Tubbo’s face and didn’t further clarify.

“He did what?” Schlatt stood up with a start, nearly knocking over Tubbo.

The issue was, in Tubbo’s brief flailing to ensure he didn’t fall he may have hit the detonator button. With his father distracted he stared at the bomb, expecting it to have already blown up but nothing happened. It might have been faulty? Still, he creeped towards Quackity on the other side of the couch trying not to alert either of them of his small error.

“-Still mad about the whole Wilbur hostage situation.” In his brief panic, Tubbo missed the first part of Quackity’s explanation.

“Wait, what Wilbur hostage situation?” Tubbo asked, forgetting that he’d been trying to move without being seen. Neither of them seemed too concerned about his change in location.

“It’s not important,” Quackity said, at the same time Schlatt provided his own answer.

“It was insurance when we thought Philza took you. We were intending to just question Sam but we made it work.”

“Hold on, you took Wilbur, my best friend’s brother, hostage, because of my sleepover?”

“I mean it wasn’t really a hostage situation. I wasn’t going to shoot him,” Quackity rolled his eyes.

That did not comfort Tubbo at all. Honestly, there was more guilt now. He’d caused that.

Schlatt seemed to sense some of the trepidation that squirmed inside him, not at all made any easier by the concern over the paint bomb that may or may not go off.

“You’re going to have to be okay with a lot of things. We aren’t playing playground games here. People have died for this stuff. Shit, I’ve nearly died for this stuff.”

He nodded.

“Now I’d give you the full tour but I’ve got a very annoying French man I hung up on to deal with. Why don’t we talk more in the morning, okay? Give you the full spiel because one day, my empire is going to be all yours.” Schlatt gave Tubbo’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“So I’ll take that as I’m not in trouble for this?” Tubbo grinned widely. His father rolled his eyes.

“Just this time, for a hostage negotiation well done,” he smiled and then left.

Then there were two, leaving behind the enormous weight of the secret that was just dropped. The mafia. As Tommy would say, pretty poggers.

“Listen, I was supposed to get off like an hour ago so can you disable that thing and go to bed or something?” Quackity asked, breaking Tubbo from his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah sure.”

The whirring stopped Tubbo in his tracks and he immediately ducked. Quackity was not so lucky.

With a series of clunks, splatters, and aerosol hisses everything within visual range of the homemade paint bomb was covered in a layer of technicolor paints. The priceless antiques, rugs, furniture and paintings aside. It also hit Quackity.

“OH YOU LITTLE SHIT I HAD A DATE TONIGHT!”

Tubbo ran from the room with a screech.

Chapter Text

Philza Craft scheduled a meeting with his two eldest sons to start exactly six minutes and 43 seconds ago and neither one had made their appearance yet. He knew they were in the house. It was impossible to not hear the results of Wilbur’s disastrous attempts at cooking during lunch. Techno was on house arrest following information revealed about a certain interaction with Quackity in a middle school parking lot. The motion alarms at the exits hadn’t gone off, but he wouldn’t put it past his boys to have figured those out by now if they really wanted to. Still, he needed to talk with them about the recent developments.

Spreadsheets stared back at him from his computer. Dual monitors set up to keep data easy to reference and keep the text big enough for his eyes. Tommy said he was getting old, ‘older than dirt’ if he remembered the phrasing correctly. While he’d laughed at the time, he didn’t like to think about aging. Confronting one’s own mortality at the hands of his own body slowly failing or some disease his immune system couldn’t keep up with was far more nerve wracking than the handful of times he’d been inches from death with a gun held to his temple or a knife at his throat. He wasn’t that old. He still had a good 40 years in his bones if the stress of getting Tommy to adulthood didn’t do him in first.

Eight minutes and 12 seconds late. Had this been a deal with a customer or other interested party he would have left by now. Nothing good ever came from tardiness in their line of work. It usually meant something had been compromised or the other half was not to be trusted. They should know better than this. Punctuality could be the difference between life and death. They ran the city and they deserved its respect, but respect went both ways and the least they could do was show up on time. He grumbled his grievances and stared at the clock. The spreadsheets were boring him to sleep anyways.

 It was at nine minutes and 30 seconds that a knock echoed on the door and soon Techno and Wilbur were sitting in their respective chairs.

He gave them the Dad look. At least that’s what Tommy called it. Arms crossed and jaw set. He looked at the two of them from above his reading glasses, face settled into a practiced neutrality.

Wilbur didn’t seem bothered by it, easing himself back in the leather chair, arms stretched behind his head to rest on his beanie. The casual smile that had melted Phil’s heart more times than he could count seemed almost cocky.

Phil was already annoyed and the casual nonchalance the younger of the two displayed was rapidly shortening his patience for that day. Already he had to make a rather disappointing call to a senator after things did not go to plan regarding a government contract they were meant to be acquiring. He found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded of what their deal entailed and Phil may have casually mentioned an article he had Techno write up detailing the cacophony of evidence they had on the senators rather boisterous affair with someone who was notably not his wife. The man had bumbled out his apologies and assured him everything would be sorted out. For his family life and career future, he hoped so. While those moments where he got to flex his fingers and dangle the city by the very strings that he suspended it from were fun, they were exhausting. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Wilbur’s smugness today.

Techno, on the other hand, glared at Wilbur with a type of contempt only siblings could have. His oldest was already grumpy from being stuck on house arrest and clearly the two had been up to something to turn that grumpiness into near rage. While Techno was never quite so forward with his emotions as Wilbur (the boy practically announced his thoughts and feelings at every shift), Phil knew his son. Once this conversation was over he had a feeling that Wilbur would have to pay the piper for whatever he’d done to earn Techno’s ire.

He let them sit in uncomfortable silence for a full 60 seconds before he cleared his throat.

“You’re both late.”

“Yeah, Wilbur,” Techno turned and there was something dangerous burning inside Techno.

Wilbur only smirked and stuck his tongue out. Sometimes he forgot that in the literal sense, Tommy was the only child in their family. Wil and Techno sure acted enough like it.

Before the verbal sparring that was sure to boil over could start, he cleared his throat again. Both boys instantly turned their attention back to him. Wilbur sat up the tiniest bit, his lanky limbs still stretched out over the furniture.

“There’s been a new development regarding Tubbo,” Phil started and this got Wil to actually put his feet on the floor. He was technically the one in charge of ensuring Tommy didn’t get himself killed being friends with Tubbo.

Techno seemed ready to pounce.

“He knows. I received word from Sam about an hour ago.”

Phil didn’t need to add that the only reason Sam knew so soon was that he was receiving frantic texts from Quackity regarding some type of hostage situation? It wasn’t the kind they were all far too familiar with. Tubbo apparently had some sort of paint bomb ready to go off and destroy a living room. The kid used it to get answers and Schlatt apparently gave them to him. Every time Phil heard about some stunt that Tubbo pulled off or his continued interest in explosives he prayed to whoever would listen to him that Tommy never tried to pull something like that. Prime forbid he held a room hostage, the antiques Kristin sent over from India last winter were priceless and honestly belonged in a museum rather than their house. The perks of leading international smuggling operations. Phil much preferred Techno’s method of peaceful conversation over tea rather than the explosives his rival’s son seemed to favor. He just knew Tubbo was going to be a right menace to their weapons trade business the moment Schlatt let him put those talents to use. They were already falling behind in that market as it stood.

“So that means Tommy knows?” Techno asked, although it was said more as a statement than a question.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I mean, it’s only a matter of time now. You think they can actually keep a secret from each other?” Techno leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

As much as he hated to admit it, Techno was right. He had no guarantees that Schlatt would ask Tubbo to keep it a secret from Tommy or that Tubbo could even keep it a secret. He had no clue how much Schlatt was telling his kid. Prime, he didn’t even know how Tubbo was taking the information apart from what little Sam had gathered playing begrudging mentor to Quackity.

“So we can tell Tommy? Because it’s going to be better coming from us than Tubbo,” Wilbur said, already grinning at the thought.

Phil took a steading breath.

“No. We are not going to be telling him. I’m still firm on waiting until he is older and I will be discussing this with Schlatt to ensure that Tubbo knows.” He only trusted Schlatt’s word about as far as he could throw, but he barely had control of his teenager.

“Why not just bite the bullet and tell him?” Wilbur pressed.

“Wilbur. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that Tommy – our Tommy – can keep a secret of this size.” He leaned forward and stared at his son, waiting for him to take his offer. No further words were exchanged.

“So why’d you bring us in here? You could’ve just texted us,” Techno said, shrugging.

“Actually because of you,” he said, turning his direction to Techno whose pink hair had been pulled into something that sort of resembled a bun. He couldn’t understand why the boy chose pink but it made him happy. Techno stiffened at the attention.

“OooOh someone’s in trouble,” Wilbur grinned, eyes flashing with delight behind his glasses.

“If I promise not to murder Wilbur anytime soon can I be let out of house arrest please?” Techno glanced between his brother and Phil. Wilbur only laughed while Phil sighed.

“Later. You need to be more careful about bringing things inside the house. Do you really think Tommy will believe the cranberry sauce excuse still? Or that your weapons are just toys?”

“I mean, he didn’t doubt it when he caught me with my gun,”

“Techno,” Phil glowered.

“Dad.”

“Wilbur,” Wilbur whispered his own name, silently giggling to himself.

“Listen. I was tired, I was annoyed. He shouldn’t have even been up at that time anyways.” Techno explained, always on the defensive. Techno’s perfectionism would get the better of him one day, Phil knew it, and he just hoped the wreckage wouldn’t be too hard to clean up with a bribe or two. He’d never once heard his eldest admit he made a mistake, there was always an excuse. The excuse and discussion then followed by the hours he’d spend trying to get whatever it was right so it never happened again. This habit had followed him from math homework to video games and of course their own line of work.

“I know, just be careful. That goes for you too, Wil.”

The boy saluted before immediately perking up as though a thought had just occurred. “How old is Tubbo?”

Phil raised an eyebrow, “He turns 14 in two weeks.” In fact, Tommy had been pestering Phil to take him shopping for a birthday present for Tubbo. He never thought he’d be buying a birthday present for a rival mafia’s heir that had no ulterior motives or poisons attached.

“Hah! I still win for finding out the youngest!” Wilbur exclaimed.

“Yes, and it totally didn’t mess with your head,” Techno said, snort not-withstanding.

“Mate…” Prime he knew Wilbur could joke about it, his therapist said it was a trauma response, but it still felt wrong. “Techno, please don’t antagonize your brother.”

“He’s proud of winning something for the first time,” Techno shrugged, “Although, if Tommy finds out anytime within the next two months, he’ll be the youngest so better keep that secret, Wil.”

Phil watched the realization hit his son in waves before he could see the mental math already being done in his head, confirming Techno’s statement. Tommy would in fact be the youngest if he found out now.

“Got it. Operation Twelfth Night is a go.”

Phil did not have the energy to ask where Wilbur came up with that name. 

“That will be all,” Phil said, dismissing them. The second the door clicked shut he heard the ever familiar sound of Wilbur and Techno’s iconic form of sibling bonding, muffled through the layers of sound-proofing but Wilbur was loud enough as he was that it could only do so much.

He checked to see if Sam had any updates for him but found nothing had changed in the last 10 minutes. His to-do list was dauntingly long for the day, but he was able to cross off ‘Talk to the boys’ from the bottom. Skimming the list his eyes landed on a task he’d been putting off for weeks: ‘Get Tommy Christmas present’.

…

“So your dad really rented out this entire theater for your birthday?” Tommy asked, looking inside the near empty theater with wide eyes. Tubbo swore the popcorn bucket he carried was half his size and Sam trailed behind him with a soda and candy. Quackity held Tubbo’s popcorn.

“Mmhm!” Tubbo nodded. His whole body felt like it was buzzing like a bee with excitement. In the years prior they’d had small celebrations with him and Tommy for his birthday party, but those were always at the park or Quackity took them to get ice cream and Tommy gave him a shoddily wrapped present.

“Sam do you think Dadza will let me do this with Tubbo on my birthday?” Tommy asked, voice no quieter despite the fact that they were in a theater. It helped that they were the only four that would be inside. No chance of noise complaints.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Sam said and Tubbo was pretty sure that was the first time he’d seen Sam smile in weeks. He’d been so stoic since the sleepover disaster. At least he kind of knew why now? Nobody really gave him the full story about the whole Quackity using Wilbur as collateral thing but it had apparently pissed Sam off.

Everyone else just acted like they were walking on eggshells around Tommy now. The whole ‘getting to go to the movies with Tommy for your birthday’ was actually a reward for not letting the secret spill already. Even Tubbo knew Tommy was a terrible liar and his father had stressed how important this was to practice keeping a secret and that Tommy wasn’t ready to know. Apparently Mr. Craft had called several times to stress that he did not want Tommy to know. They’d all know who let the beans spill if he did and he did not want to disappoint his dad this early on.

“That’s not a no!” Tommy cheered and rushed ahead towards their seats, dragging Tubbo along with him, spilling popcorn as he went.

…

It was halfway through Moana that Tubbo realized his grave error of ordering the large soda. He really needed to take a piss. While he didn’t want to miss any of Moana this seemed the best time to since she’d just finished fighting the giant golden crab thing. As quietly as he could he sneaked out of the theater and into the bathroom.

As he washed his hands he realized he wasn’t alone.

Sam leaned against the door, arms crossed and face neutral. Tubbo quirked a brow, hoping he’d sense his confusion.

“What’s up, Big Man? Quackity too enthralled to walk me back from the bathroom himself?” Tubbo asked, trying to phrase it as a joke but Sam hadn’t been acting normal lately and something uncomfortable twisted in his gut.

“I just want to talk. You care about Tommy, right?” Sam asked.

Tubbo nodded, “Of course! Look, is this about me keeping everything a secret? Because I’ve already been given that talk-”

Sam shook his head, “No. This is about the questions you’ve been asking him. I don’t appreciate you trying to get information on The Syndicate through him and I will protect the family’s interests above all else. This is your only warning.”

Tubbo knew Sam had the potential to be terrifying. There was something about his height and subtle musculature under the guise of talented babysitter that always assured Tubbo the man could probably snap someone’s neck right in two with his pinkie finger if needed but he’d never seen it before. Sam’s dark eyes burned like a coal fire.

“You think I’m…spying on Tommy?”

“The questions on the family business, who Mr. Craft works with, what his brothers do-”

Tubbo burst out into laughter. This immediately shattered the stony exterior Sam had donned and he looked equally as confused as Tubbo had earlier.

“Sam, I was trying to figure out what my family did. I just knew our families were connected in some way so I thought I could maybe figure some stuff out from Tommy! I mean what he told me was helpful, but you don’t have to worry about any of that because now I know.” He paused to smile and observe Sam’s reactions.

To his credit, Sam looked positively mortified.

“Wait, is that why you kept making Tommy leave the park early?”

A moment of silence before a quiet affirmation.

“Prime, Sam. I swear I’d never try and spy or anything on Tommy. He’s my friend, I could care less about us being on ‘opposite sides’ or whatever.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you there. He’s just…I’m trying to make sure he has a friend and if Philza ever found out you were asking those kinds of questions he’d break up everything you two have going on here. You’re not off the hook yet, kid, I’ll still be listening.”

“You got it, Big Man!” Tubbo gave a thumb up, heart no longer racing at the scary Sam he witnessed moments before. His final warning given with a smile rather than any sort of threatened malice. A reminder that their families played dangerous games with each other and Tubbo and Tommy danced around them.

“I’ll let you get back to your movie,” Sam stepped away from the door, letting Tubbo pass.

He stopped just short of reaching for the handle.

“You know, you should give Quackity a break. He didn’t mean for Wilbur to get dragged into everything from what I’ve heard.” Tubbo shrugged. “He just cares a lot about me even if he pretends not to. Just like you care a lot about Tommy.”

Sam doesn’t respond, but there’s a smile there and he lets Tubbo back through the door.

Tubbo didn’t expect his first real mafia conversation with a rival mafia would be in the men’s bathroom of a movie theater.

…

Techno thought it would be hilarious to get Tommy a nerf gun for Christmas after the whole ‘Tommy saw you with a gun in the house’ issue. That then spiraled into Techno purchasing an entire army’s worth of nerf guns and additional darts to go with it for every member of the family. With an entire armory of plastic weapons and foam darts, it wasn’t long until the first shots were fired Christmas afternoon while Tommy sang a song from Moana very off key.

Discarded clumps of wrapping paper gathered in piles on the floor next to the spoils of Christmas tucked under the tree. Next to the tree a barricade had been set up, couch cushions propped next to each other and shrieking laughter overrode the instrumental Christmas classics CD he’d turned on an hour ago.

Wilbur’s back was pressed against the couch that had been pulled from the wall to provide another source of cover. His nerf gun loaded and pressed to his chest, ready to fire. Watching from the sidelines, Phil was proud to see Wilbur’s trigger training applied to nerf guns as well.

Tommy, on the other hand, had recruited Sam who came that evening to have dinner with them. He was basically part of the family anyways, plus he had a stuffing recipe Phil had been trying to get from him for years. The two of them had built the couch cushion barricade. Sam was in sniper position while Tommy barked out orders, his own weapon drawn and firing the moment Wilbur poked up from behind the couch.

Wilbur’s aim struck truer than Tommy’s and the boy spit out curses that even Phil hadn’t heard before as a nerf dart smacked him right in the forehead.

“Take that, gremlin!” Wilbur howled, only for Sam to fire a very well timed dart, hitting him in the ear.

“Push forward!” Tommy ordered and the two of them pushed their cushions forward.

Phil couldn’t help but smile to himself as the three of them were ignoring the elephant in the room. One person was missing. Between the litany of mistakes he did notice, failing to keep an eye on Techno was their biggest. He had a feeling Sam noticed but was choosing to keep quiet to let Tommy face the consequences of his negligence in the least dangerous way possible. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t end up in the pond again.

There was a sudden scream as the rapid popping of darts fired in the distance left Tommy frantically trying to find new cover. Techno had snuck around the house to come up behind Tommy and Sam. However, the moment Tommy left his original position, Wilbur took his new vulnerability to fire.

“Sam! Help!” Tommy shouted, pulling a pillow from another couch to use as a makeshift shield. Still not quite finding full cover but taking the temporary relief to start stuffing his pockets with the darts fired at him. Drain his enemies of their resources, not a bad strategy if he had a better location.

Sam, to his credit, did in fact come to Tommy’s aid, bringing with him two of the couch cushions. They set them up between two arms rests. One covered their heads and the other covered their fronts. The corner Tommy had dove towards provided some protection to their rears. He would not make the same mistake twice. He was learning, there was hope for his youngest yet.

“Never lose sight of enemy combatants!” Techno exclaimed before turning his gun on Wilbur. To his credit, Wilbur did his best to hold off Techno but his nerf gun did not have the same capacity as Techno’s. It favored accuracy over quantity and Techno had somehow perfected the timing to refill his barrel as he fired.

When Wil pulled the trigger and nothing fired Phil knew he’d lost. Techno advanced and Wilbur jumped to his feet, “Tactical retreat!” He shouted, dragging a pillow behind him as he fled out of the living room and further into the house. The familiar sound of a closet door slamming shut greeted them all.

“Heh, loser,” Techno grinned and Phil couldn’t help but laugh at the display, still comfortably sitting away from the mock battle scene.

Techno’s comment was greeted with a sniped shot from Tommy and Sam’s bunker.

“Heh?” Techno whipped around, eyes narrowed as he searched for his assailant. Tommy’s giggles were the only greeting he had. Whispered praises that sounded suspiciously like they were coming from Sam followed shortly after.

Another dart flew out from the couch cushion bunker but Techno was prepared and side stepped it. It hit Phil instead, right in the knee.

Everything fell deathly silent. Phil even noticed Wilbur cautiously peering into the room to investigate on the sudden energy shift, having escaped his momentary closet hiding spot.

A nerf gun was pressed into his hands a moment later, its weight entirely off from what he usually carried. The ghostly warmth of Techno’s handprints guiding Phil’s hands to the correct position.

“Oh ho ho ho, Tommy you fucked up!” Wilbur cooed from the hallway, his laughter following. “Was nice knowing you!”

Phil stood, his movements slow and methodical. Drawing out the fear, finger gliding over the trigger. Techno had already rearmed himself with Wilbur’s discarded gun, absentmindedly slotting new darts in with a nonchalance that surprised even Phil. They truly were a terrifying team. It was no wonder Techno’s entrance into their world had marked a different era in their control of the city streets. A thin smirk drew across Phil’s lips as he turned his attention fully to the bunker.

A single shot. It sailed across the room and into the bunker. Confirmation of a hit coming half a second later with an undignified screech from Tommy. They weren’t painful, but his youngest overestimated his safety when matched against The Angel of Death. It wasn’t like he could have known who he had unwittingly made himself the enemy of.

“Business partnership?” Techno raised an eyebrow at him. Phil grinned widely.

“Let’s get him.”

“NO! DADZA THIS ISN’T FAIR! YOU CAN’T TEAM UP WITH TECHNO! SAM HELP!” Tommy shouted, the cushions shifting as Sam simply popped up from their shelter and stepped to the side, hands in the air in surrender.

“He’s all yours.”

“YOU TRAITOR! SAM! SAM GET BACK HERE! FUCK YOU, BITCH!”

“Don’t pick a fight you can’t win, Tommy,” Philza chided taking another well aimed shot while Techno prowled around. Prime, how long had it been since he felt this happy? Even though he was playfully terrorizing his youngest…especially because he was playfully terrorizing his youngest. He’d watched the four of them play, longing to join tugging at his adventurous heart, but a desire to watch his boys just be kids for a while keeping him put. His tea had been long forgotten next to him.

The two attacked in perfect tandem, a connection long forged over years and meetings and nights in the city. Darts fired until guns ran empty and soon pillows were being thrown from all sides, Tommy wrapped up in Phil’s arms, the occasional tickle sneaking in while Techno wacked him with another pillow. Wilbur was soon dragged into the pile, coming from behind with two pillows in hand. Techno noticed the telltale glance Phil gave him as warning and spun around, knocking Wilbur onto his butt with a solid thump. His lanky sweatered limbs tangled themselves with the others. He was able to free Tommy so the two of them could pounce on Phil. Tommy claiming his Christmas themed bucket hat as a trophy before it was knocked off his head by a pillow to the face via Techno.

Sam took pictures.

Phil still had them framed in his office.

He thought about that Christmas for years after. They were a normal family in that moment. Sure, a normal family with way more combat training than any family collectively should have, but they were a family all the same. Sam included. While Kristin couldn’t be there, still off causing problems in foreign countries, her gifts surrounded them. In Tommy’s laugh, Wilbur’s eyes, Techno’s stubbornness and smile. He hugged his boys that night and never wanted to let go.

The memory had to end eventually though. Christmas passed. The boys got older. The world grew more dangerous.

…

In a different city, hundreds of miles away from the Craft family Christmas, another dawned an infamous mask.

Chapter Text

The gods had smiled down upon Tommy and Tubbo, the two comparing their high school schedules. They differed in only two classes, science and an elective, and they had the same lunch period. It was an absolutely poggers start to what was going to be an absolutely poggers year. High school meant freedom! High school meant a new locker that didn’t have a personal vendetta out for Tommy. High school meant he finally got to take that survival skills class both of his brothers took and loved. Not to mention, Tommy and Tubbo could now elevate their prank game. The expectations were higher in high school.

Tommy raced to the cafeteria to get the spot Wilbur had told him about. It was a bench just outside the cafeteria by a small greenspace. It sat in the shade so they could use their phones without the sun glare, but it was warm enough that they could sit comfortably without jackets and enjoy some fresh air before being stifled inside for several more hours.

He’d already texted Tubbo the location and pulled out his lunch that his Dad had packed him. It was always a toss-up to who would pack his lunch. Phil’s hours were so sporadic, often times he was needed late into the night or early in the morning to deal with international customers and attend their meetings. Tommy thought it was rather stupid to expect someone to attend a work meeting at 2 in the morning. Would he 100% get on at 2 in the morning to plan a strategy for their next assault in the video game both he and Tubbo played? Absolutely. That was for fun. Would he get online for a 2 am lecture for a class? Absolutely not. Phil always packed him a lunch for the first day of school though. Shuffling through what had been packed, his face lit up at the sight of not one but two cookies. He hoped that would become a consistent thing with high school. A big man needed lots of food, especially cookies. In fact, he wouldn’t be opposed if his entire lunch was just cookies.

“Tommy!” He heard a familiar voice call and he looked up from inspecting his dad’s choices for his lunch to see Tubbo smiling wide at him.

“Big T!”

“Wilbur was right, this is a great spot.” Tubbo plopped on the bench beside Tommy, tossing his backpack under the bench and placing his lunch bag on his lap.

Then the worst possible thing in the world happened and Tommy Craft’s world was shattered in eight different ways. This was not a win for him. This was an exponential loss because Tubbo was calling someone else over to their perfect lunch spot. This was betrayal, this was worse than Techno snitching that Tommy ate the last of Wilbur’s Oreos. This was Tubbo. His Tubbo. How did Tubbo just go and find a new friend within the last few hours? Tommy frowned.

The person Tubbo called for was tall. Taller than even Tommy, and Tommy was pretty tall. Of course, everyone was tall compared to Tubbo but that didn’t matter. Tubbo was replacing him as the tall friend! Not only that, but his hair was dyed two different colors like some wannabe hipster emo goth kid or whatever they were called. Half of it bleached white and the other dark black. He wore a red tie too, like the ones his dad and Sam had forced him into before for family photos or important dinners or whatever stupid reason his dad came up with as an excuse to torture Tommy by putting him in a suit. This kid was just wearing a tie and a button down shirt for no reason! It wasn’t even picture day! Tommy decided he already hated him and he didn’t even know the guy’s name yet. That was also new, he’d known most of the people in his grade for years but he’d never seen this new kid once. Not many new transfers in the most expensive private school in the city.

“This is Ranboo! He’s new,” Tubbo said. Only one of those statements was news to Tommy.

“What the fuck kind of name is Ranboob?”

“Ranboo,” Tubbo corrected.

“Ranboob.”

“Ranboo.”

“That’s what I said. Ranboob.”

The new guy, Ranboob, shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Wilbur would say he lacked ‘confidence’ and that he could be ‘easily persuaded’ or some shit like that.

“Come sit by me, Tommy’s just being a prick,” Tubbo said shooting Tommy a glare that would rival his sibling’s.  

“Okay cool, that’s fine, yeah,” Ranboo stammered as he tentatively sat on the far end of the bench. Tubbo squished in between the two that towered over him. Tubbo seemed satisfied at this and dug into his sandwich with a grin. Ranboo looked confused and Tommy was scowling, arms crossed. The additional cookie his dad gave him did nothing to combat the betrayal he’d faced at the hands of his best friend.

“He’s in my science class, he said he liked my backpack,” Tubbo started without prompting. Tommy had already started eating his feelings away with the cookies. He was not interested in the origin story of boob boy but Tubbo seemed adamant on telling it and he knew there was no way to stop Tubbo once he started on something.

“I do like bees, I think they’re cute,” Ranboo added.

“I love bees! See Tommy! We’re going to be best friends, all three of us!”

Tommy’s scowl deepend. “I’m already your best friend though. I don’t want to add Ranboob to the group.”

“Ranboo.”

“Ranboob.”

“I really don’t mind-”

“Ranboo is nice and needs new friends. I for one don’t want any of the assholes stealing him. If you don’t try I’m going to tell Sam that you were the one to light the shed on fire,” Tubbo threatened, the smile never leaving his face.

Now that right there wasn’t fair.

“You’re blackmailing me!”

“That I am, Boss Man.” Tubbo’s smile widened.

“Fine. It’s nice to meet you Ranboo. What school did you come from?” Prime, Tommy hated small talk. His dad had drilled the importance of small talk into all three of his son’s from a young age but that didn’t mean Tommy didn’t hate every single second of it that he was forced through. Why not actually talk about the important things like girls and how much of a big man he was?

Ranboo actually smiled, even though Tommy knew he sounded like he wanted to bash his own head in on the concrete.

“East River, it’s down…east…of the river…yeah that was pretty obvious not gonna lie. I don’t know why I needed to clarify.”

“Oh! My dad was looking at opening a new office down there a few years back,” Tubbo said and the conversation bloomed from there.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but he decided to go with the other side of the river. I liked the doughnut shop down there though!”

“Oh yeah, that’s right by my house!”

“Really? SMP Doughnuts?”

“Yep!” Ranboo grinned and Tubbo matched.

“There’s a really good bakery down here, Nihachu, right?” Tubbo turned to Tommy, dragging him into the conversation.

“Yeah, we go there lots.” By lots he meant his brothers dragged him there whenever they picked him up from school. Miss Nikki was very nice and always gave him a couple cookies for free. Wilbur and Techno tried to pay her every time but she always insisted. He’d watched Wilbur more than once angrily stuff a $20 in the tip jar. For someone who claimed to hate small talk just as much as Tommy did, Tubbo was a natural at it with Ranboo. Even Tommy was having a hard time resisting the gravitating pull the two had.

Tubbo and Ranboo got along better than Tommy wanted to admit and he found himself sliding into conversation and joking alongside them. By the time the lunch bell rang he’d barely touched half of his lunch, most of it forgotten the moment Tubbo brought up the time they set off the bottle rockets on the playground. Tales of hijinks fell from there. Ranboo was a great listener, laughing at most of the right moments and offering his own sarcastic commentary.

All three of them shared the same history and maths class, but Tommy had to suffer alone with Ranboo in the survival skills elective he was excited to take. Tubbo had taken some stupid business class. Apparently, his dad said it would be good for him to take it or whatever. Tommy thought it seemed stupid. The two of them already had a great marketing strategy. Few people don’t buy your product when you threaten to blow up everything. Sure they’d never actually done that together, but they had it all planned out. It would probably work perfectly.

His first day of high school finished with little splendor, only a backpack full of syllabuses and his stomach grumbling from his unfinished lunch.

“Saaaaaaaaam,” Tommy groaned the moment he threw himself in the car and shut the door.

“What?”

“Tubbo’s made a new best friend and he’s awful. The least poggers person out there. The fuck kind of name is Ranboo anyways? Who has a name like Ranboo? But Tubbo was like ‘oh he’s new, we should be friends with him and I like him because he likes bees and he’s a better friend than you’ll ever be and I’m going to forget you and move on with my new best friend and leave you alone forever.’” Tommy did a very poor impression of Tubbo but he felt it got the point across, even if he exaggerated on the details a little. Hurt still feeling like a pool of lava under his skin.

Sam didn’t seem phased by this, eyes focused on the road as he drove Tommy home.

“I’m sure he said all of that.”

“He did! Or…at least it was implied!” Tommy huffed, sinking further into his seat, arms crossed as his seatbelt dug into his chin.

“Seems right, oh well, time to make new friends I guess,” Sam said as though he didn’t suggest the worst possible solution to Tommy’s predicament. Tubbo wasn’t the problem, Ranboo was.

“What? No! Ugh! I just need Ranboo to not be friends with Tubbo anymore,” he explained.

“Well you get along with Tubbo, right?”

Tommy made an affirmative grunt.

“Who’s to say you won’t get along with Ranboo? You know you can have more than one friend, right?”

Logically, Tommy knew this. He’d seen the friend groups at school prowling around like wolf packs and laughing at their stupid inside jokes that they all got and taking up full lunch tables in the cafeteria. He’d had other friends before, a few here and there but most never stuck around for too long until Tubbo. The moment the two of them met they meshed like Velcro. Now Ranboo came along and Tommy was loathe to admit he enjoyed Ranboo’s company during lunch. He’d always though Tubbo was always his, just like he was always Tubbo’s. Now Tubbo was trying to make space for two instead of just Tommy. What if that meant he got to spend less time with Tubbo? Already their time together afterschool was becoming more and more limited. Tubbo was busy with his dad a lot of afternoons when they’d normally hang out at the park. Sure they still made it there at least twice a week, but he missed the old days when it was nearly every day. Would Ranboo join their park duo and make it a park trio? He frowned, he was not gonna let that happen.

“The other option is having Tubbo decide. You or this new Ranboo person. If you’re sure Tubbo would pick you that is.”

Tubbo would pick him. Their friendship had lasted over years and hurdles and survived whatever the sleepover disaster was. Tubbo would be insane to choose anyone but Tommy. Still, it didn’t seem very fair to make Tubbo choose in the first place. Excitement glowed in his best friend’s eyes when he arrived for lunch with Ranboo in tow. Tubbo might never forgive him for making him give that up. And who knows, maybe Ranboo himself would stray and find different friends he clicked with more?

Tommy sighed. Sam was always right. It was stupid. Why couldn’t the Great Tommy Craft ever be right for once?

“Want to stop and get some ice cream to celebrate first day of high school?” Sam asked after a moment of Tommy’s brooding silence.

“Yeah.”

…

Sam squinted at his computer screen, ignoring the blaring red numbers of his alarm clock in his peripheral informing him he had to be up to drive Tommy to school in less than six hours. This was more important anyways.

“So you said his name was Ranboo Beloved?” Sam asked, scrolling through database after database.

“That’s what Tubbo said. Came from East River middle school. New transfer,” Quackity said. Sam could tell just how tired he was even through the phone.

“Got it, pulling up student records from there now.” The screen flashed in front of Sam, reflecting off of the glasses he tended to wear on long nights in front of the computer like these.

“How is a kid from East River able to afford to go to their school?” Quackity asked the question Sam had wondered too.

“I’m guessing scholarship or financial aid. Tubbo met him in science, right? Probably a smart kid.” He scrolled through the student records, looking for the kid’s name.

“Maybe it’ll be good for the boys to meet someone new,” Quackity suggested, and Sam wanted to agree but he still found it hard to trust Quackity. He found it difficult to trust anyone honestly.

The two of them reached an understanding following Tubbo’s birthday party all those months back. While he’d never forgive Quackity for threatening Wilbur, Sam couldn’t deny he would have done the same thing had their roles been switched. Even though Tommy didn’t get along with Ranboo yet, it didn’t mean that this new face could be good for them. Someone who wasn’t so deeply entrenched in the secrets and crime. Prime, Tommy was the only one in that household that hadn’t committed at least one murder. They already pretended at normalcy to the most they could, maybe an actual taste of it would help keep those secrets longer. Plus, Tommy did need more friends, as did Tubbo.

“Got him, Ranboo Beloved. 14 years old, a very strong academic record. Disciplinary record is clear. I’m forwarding you his address and the names of his parents. See what you can get on them,” Sam instructed, emailing the data to Quackity who instantly got to work on the other side of the phone line.

Within an hour they had the full record Philza and Schlatt wanted on this new friend. His parents adopted him when he was seven, a couple of years in foster care prior to that. A handful of social media profiles, gamer tags, and his social security number were all filed into a joint document he was sharing with Quackity. Work smarter not harder. While they didn’t expect to find much on the 14 year old, it eased Sam’s worry to note that his parents had no connections to Schlatt’s mafia or any others for that matter. A clean slate, new friends, and maybe someone who could finally get Tommy to do his homework or keep him distracted while Tubbo was off learning way more than any child should have to beside Schlatt.

“Get to bed, Sam. You’re exhausted,” Quackity chided as Sam finished up another paragraph detailing some of their findings.

“I will when I finish this,” he said, moving onto the next paragraph.

“You’re old, you need your beauty sleep. Goodness knows you need it to get rid of those frown lines,” a teasing laugh echoed from his phone and Sam smiled, glad to know that Quackity couldn’t see his reaction. The little shit.

“I could just hang up and you’d never know the difference.”

“Do you really want to be falling asleep at the park tomorrow?”

No, no he did not.

“I think Tubbo wants Ranboo to come along too. You’re gonna need all the energy you can get to deal with that.”

“Tommy’s not going to like that.”

“I don’t think Tubbo intends to tell Tommy,” Quackity’s laughter faded into something softer, “Go to bed, Sam. I’ve got two energy drinks with my name on them. I can finish this up.”

He relented.

The next morning he triple checked Quackity’s work before handing it over to Phil with a cup of coffee in his hand and drinking up the praise that was dished out his way. While fatigue still pulled at his eyes he blinked it away and packed up Tommy’s lunch for the day. He hoped Tommy would take his advice about Ranboo.

…

“So let me get this straight. You hid my car keys and then forgot where you hid them?” Wilbur looked about ready to strangle Tommy which was not a good omen for the rest of Tommy’s high school career.

“What can I say, I’m going through a destructive phase,” he hummed and shrugged. Missing car keys were a Wilbur problem now. The current Tommy problem was the fact that Tubbo had invited Ranboo to go to the park with them and he was supposed to be leaving with Sam soon. They had to run home so he could drop off a few things.

“Destruction? Who are we destroying?” Techno’s voice popped up and Wilbur audibly groaned.

“The gremlin lost my car keys.”

“What’s he doing with car keys, children can’t drive,” Techno said with a grin, looking straight at Tommy, practically goading him into responding.

He was if anything, predictable.

“I am not a fucking child!”

“That sounds like something a child would say.” Techno dropped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. While most might see it as brotherly affection, Tommy knew its true purpose. He was not going to be moving until Techno decided he could. The two brothers were nearing each other on height (Tommy really hoped he was not going to be the shortest in the family), Techno had weight and strength over him.

“Techno, can you at least be a little helpful?”

“I don’t know about that, still kinda miffed about you putting salt in my coffee yesterday.”

“That was an honest mistake, scouts honor.” Wilbur raised a hand and placed the other over his heart. Even Tommy knew it was a lie, his brother had snickered to him about it when he got home from school.

“Mmhmm, I’m sure it was,” Techno grumbled, arm still heavy around Tommy’s shoulders.

He made a move to shove his brother off him but Techno only pulled him in tighter in the worst sideways hug imaginable. Sam should be calling him to go any minute, he didn’t have time for Wilbur’s dilemmas. His current concern should be how to pretend to like Ranboo. He didn’t even remember hiding the keys. Maybe he did…or maybe he didn’t and Techno was just pinning it on him. Or maybe Wilbur was just a lazy prick who lost them again.

“Do you have the spare set or not, Techno?” Wilbur asked.

“Nope.”

“Fucking hell…” Wilbur ran his hands through his curls. It was odd to see Wilbur so visibly stressed.

“Just ask Sam to drop you off wherever you need to go,” Techno suggested.

“Oh yes, I’ve got this big important meeting with you know who and I’m just going to have my old babysitter drive me like I’m being dropped off at primary school.”

Tommy for one, wanted to know what this meeting was about but he heard Sam calling his name and tried to duck out of Techno’s arm once again only to get dragged back to Techno’s side.

“Heh, loser.” Tommy wasn’t sure if Techno was referring to him or Wilbur.

“Could you at least hotwire the car, you’re better at it than I am,” Wilbur whined.

“Why do you know how to hotwire a car?” Tommy asked, suddenly even more interested in the topic of conversation.

“The adults are speaking, child.” Techno chided, patting Tommy’s head with his free hand.

“Oh fuck you,”

“Shhhh,” Wilbur’s grin following his quiet shushing had Tommy fuming even more.

“Tell you what, Tommy could use to learn an important skill,” Techno said and Tommy didn’t like where this was going. The last time the two of them had said something along those lines involved Tommy getting one hand handcuffed to his bed after he’d apparently been too annoying and his brothers thought it a great time to teach him how to get out of handcuffs. And by teach him, he meant they left him there alone to figure it out himself. Tommy was jamming the metal clip off of a mechanical pencil (his lock picks were out of reach) into the locking mechanism when his dad showed up and helped him out.

“You know what, you are right. I’ll go get the kit.” Wilbur instantly ran out of the room and then Tommy found himself being dragged along by Techno. They passed Sam and Tommy sent out a pleading look in his direction only for Techno to wave him off and say they were doing some important sibling bonding. Stupid Sam would always defer to this stupid brothers.

Tommy found himself sitting in the garage while the two of them waited for Wilbur to get whatever was in ‘the kit’. He kind of was hoping that it was going to be learning how to hotwire a car because that was the kind of cool shit they did in action movies and it would be a very pog skill to add to his lock picking abilities that he had since gotten quite good at.

The kit that Wilbur showed up with was a small bag filled with tools and a roll of electrical tape. It was promptly shoved into his hands and the door to the car pulled open (thankfully unlocked, he hadn’t quite mastered car locks). Techno hopped into the passenger seat and Wilbur hovered behind him. Great. His brothers continued their preferred teaching method of tossing Tommy into the lake and hoping he swam.

Techno and Wilbur guided him through the steps, Techno showing him where to best jam his screwdriver into the underside of the steering wheel to access the wires. Wilbur pointing out what the different parts were.

“Don’t touch the ends of those ones, you’ll die.”

“I’ll die!?” He screeched, instantly trying to back away from the wires, but he bumped into Wilbur instead.

“Eh, more like high risk of dying due to electrocution,” Techno added like it was nothing.

“Nope. I’m not doing this anymore. Sam!” He called, Sam did not come.

“Awe, is little Tommy scared of a couple wires?” Wilbur cooed from behind him, dropping his chin onto Tommy’s head.

“I am not! I’m a big man!”

“Told you a child couldn’t do this,” Techno grinned like he’d won the lottery (which was rather pointless for them to enter since the entire family was loaded.

“Fuck you both! Give me those stupid wire strippers,” He shouted and snatched the wire strippers from the seat and got to work.

A few minutes later the lights on the dashboard lit up. Tommy cheered.

“Not done yet, now you’ve just alerted the entire street you’re breaking into this car. Time to get the car actually started,” Techno informed him and Tommy found his chosen scenario very strange.

“What, you done this before?”

“Someone has just called the cops, you’ve got 60 seconds before they show up,” Techno continued his monologue and part of Tommy began to panic.

“Be careful, once you touch those two ends together you need to wrap them in the electrical tape so they don’t shock you,” Wilbur pointed to the two ends he’d pointed out earlier as the ‘very dangerous ones’.

“You put me on a time limit during the most dangerous part!?”

“I didn’t, Techno did,” Wilbur informed him very matter-of-factly.

“You hear the sirens in the distance…”

“Shut up, bitch!”

He chewed on the side of his mouth as he carefully took the two ends, making sure to not let the exposed wire touch him anywhere and brought them together. The engine roared to life around them. He wasn’t finished yet though, he carefully wrapped the electrical tape around the exposed ends making sure to not leave any bit of the wire showing. All while he tuned Techno’s countdown out.

Wilbur wrapped him a hug, cheering about his success and even Techno cracked a pleased smile, one that wasn’t trying to lure him into battle or a verbal spat. The sound of applause from behind them had Tommy and Wilbur (still connected via Wilbur’s gangly arms) turning to see Sam also looking pleased at the scene.

“I think you have a meeting to be at, Wilbur. Come on, Tommy, time to go,” Sam said, looking between the two of them, still smiling.

Wilbur untangled himself from Tommy and slid into the car. Tommy found his way to Sam’s side while Techno hopped out of the passenger seat. The moment Wilbur backed out of the garage Techno reached into his pocket and pulled out the set of keys.

“YOU PRICK!”

“I picked them up this morning,” Techno simply said and then strolled back into the house like nothing ever happened.

Sam had Tommy in the car before he could commit a felony.

They arrived at the park late. Tommy was miffed to see the awkwardly tall figure of Ranboo standing behind Tubbo at their usual spot, like he didn’t know what he was doing there. On the playground a mom pushed her toddler on the swing and a dad walked alongside his own child on the play structure. He fondly remembered the early days of playing with Tubbo in elementary school where they’d chase each other over the bridges and across the slides. He still liked doing that, but only when there weren’t other people around to see a bunch of teenagers playing at a children’s playground.

“Tommy! I was worried you weren’t coming!” Tubbo said, lighting up when he saw Tommy and Sam crossing the grass from the parking lot to the table.

“Wilbur lost his keys,” he shrugged and Tubbo made a small noise of understanding.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Ranboo said out of nowhere.

“It’s okay, Big Man,” Tubbo laughed, “You don’t need to.”

“Wilbur’s just my stupid older brother who had some stupid meeting to go to and needed the car,” Tommy explained when he reached the table and sat himself down in his usual seat. “So Techno and Wilbur taught me how to hotwire.”

Ranboo, to Tommy’s surprise, did not treat this like the cool skill it was. He instead looked a strange combination of confused and horrified.

“It’s a useful skill!” Tubbo said upon seeing Ranboo’s expression.

“Also an illegal one. Yep. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“I mean, it was our car,” Tommy shrugged, he was pretty sure most of the ‘skills’ and life lessons his brothers taught him bordered on illegality most of the time.

“And even if it isn’t, it’s only illegal if you get caught,” Tubbo added, raising his hand and Tommy high-fived it. Ranboo looked between the two of them incredulously.

“Rich people are weird.”

The three of them pulled out their shared homework and got to work, although most of it was ignored in favor of cracking jokes in between Tommy’s fewer and fewer insults towards Ranboo. He wasn’t coming to like him. Not at all. Nope. In fact he was still very upset that Tubbo invited him to join their park time. He didn’t want to be Park Trio. He wanted to stay Park Duo. Still, it didn’t help matters that Ranboo was actually really funny and his naivety towards almost everything that was an established given in Tommy’s life was fun to mess around with.

“So who are the two creepy people watching us?” Ranboo asked and both turned around to see he was motioning towards Sam and Quackity.

“Oh that’s Sam and Quackity, pretty much our nannies. Not that we need them, we’re both very big men,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Our parents are both like super super rich or something so they follow us around or whatever to keep us safe and it is super annoying most of the time.”

“But if you hurt either of us they will kill you,” Tubbo added, a sly grin crawling on his face and Tommy burst out laughing at the horrified expression on Ranboo’s.

“Got it. Do not hurt Tubbo or Tommy or you will get murdered by creepy bodyguard nannies.”

“You’re our friend so they’ll leave you alone.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tommy scoffed, “I’ll set Sam on you, Boob Man, if you look at me funny.”

Ranboo did not get that this was a joke.

It was very hard to convince Ranboo to look back up at Tommy.

It involved Tubbo calling over Sam to assure Ranboo that he would not kill him.

All in all, their first park outing with the three of them was a resounding success.

Ranboo was invited to return for the next one and he sheepishly said he’d think about it. He did return. He came often and at one point, Tommy stopped seeing him and Tubbo as the Park Duo. They became the Park Trio, like it had never been anything else.

Chapter Text

Wilbur Craft found great joy in pushing his university essays until the very last minute and then writing them the night before. Fingers gliding across the keyboard like they did his guitar fretboard and the words spilling out of him like they’d already been on the page. He enjoyed it even more when his professors commended him on his excellent work and how much time had clearly gone into every one of his essays. They gave him praise for they could not see his lies. It was almost better than drugs. Almost.

It was nearing midnight when his father knocked on his door. His computer glowed with a halfway finished essay due that next morning. A cup of coffee long gone cold half-filled on his desk next to class notes, the crumbs of one of Nikki’s cookies, and a few paper bits from a band aid wrapper that hadn’t made their way into his garbage can from last week. The part of his brain long trained to constantly pay attention to his surroundings was the only thing that had him perking up, half dazed, at the sound of his father entering his room.

Even dressed down for the night, slacks exchanged for casual pajama pants and a loose shirt and robe, his father still commanded the room. All thoughts of the effects of tariffs on local economy flew off. There were decidedly few reasons for his dad to be in his room. Most of them bad. He already dreaded whatever lecture he was about to get.

“Wil?”

His voice threw Wilbur off immediately. A sort of tenderness that reminded him of fresh bread, his childhood, and hugs. It was something he saw very little of. The small moments of true gentle affection were few and far between. Wilbur knew his dad loved him, there was never a doubt about it, and he just showed it in his own ways. The typical routes he’d seen on television or heard his school friends refer to didn’t fit into the mockery of normalcy they inhabited. Every year he got older and more drenched in their twisted world was one more year he felt less like a son and more like an employee. Granted a close employee who still held the privilege of calling his boss “Dad” and still got the fatherly talks every time he messed up instead of getting truly in trouble. He was trying though, and that was what mattered. It wasn’t easy to run The Syndicate, Wilbur had looked at the paperwork. His presence in his room still felt odd. If this was a meeting he'd be called into the sound-proof office.

“Yea-ah?” Fuck the late night voice crack. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

Philza wandered over to Wilbur’s bed, hands tracing the trinkets and books lying around. He sat at the edge and patted the space next to it. Wil obeyed the unsaid request and sat down next to his father. All at once leaning into his side and his warmth while his dad’s arm wrapped around his back. It had been a while since they’d done this. The last time had been during his last panic attack. It wasn’t fair that it was the only time he received those fatherly hugs that promised safety and warmth, but he’d made peace with it a long time ago. At least if he responded with panic rather than anger he got a hug. He still felt bad for how he lashed out at Tommy the last time he scared him by sneaking up on him after he left the bathroom.

“I wanted to let you know before you heard it from someone else. It’s already spreading around,” Phil mumbled into Wilbur’s curls.

There were very few things that Phil would want to tell Wilbur about instead of Wilbur and Techno. He already had a feeling about what this was going to be.

“I tried to hunt him down for months after, you know?”

Wilbur did know. He’d seen the way the search and anger tore his father apart and etched its lines permanently into his forehead and replaced blond hair with grey.

“We never found him.”

His father publicly shared guilt over a limited number of topics. Never being able to kill the boss of The Dream Team mafia, the one that had orchestrated his kidnapping all those years ago was the one he was the most vocal about. They abandoned the city that night, the one where his father had painted warehouses red and for once cared not about the mess he left behind. They hadn’t been seen in SMP since. Sure, they were a nuisance in other cities The Syndicate had their paws in. Phil had used every connection he had across the country to try and track down their elusive leader. The damned mask and title of Dream each boss donned making their search more difficult. Philza wanted revenge and they made sure he could never have it.

“What does this have to do with anything? I know, you tried. It’s okay.”

“He’s dead.”

It felt like the world stopped breathing.

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Everything stuttered back to life, like a machine sitting for too long in the cold. His hands itched for the distraction of his keyboard, of the serenity his guitar brought. Something to stop the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

He was dead.

It should have provided relief and in some ways it did. The man had been nothing but a cryptic face in his nightmares. Someone he saw through the blur of hot tears. In the end, he just felt numb. His therapist would probably have something to say about that, some deeper meaning behind why he couldn’t quite celebrate the death.

“Who takes over then?” Was all he asked. His voice trained to betray none of the confusion in his mind.

“It’s different with every group. When I die-”

“You aren’t allowed too,” He interrupted. It was their go to response, all three of them whenever Phil mentioned his own death and the inevitability of it. Whether it be to a gun on the street, in a prison cell, or from old age in his bed. It felt familiar, a break in the racing thoughts and stuttering breathing he was trying to push down.

“If I die,” he continued, a small grin directed to Wilbur, “Techno will take over. I don’t know how The Dream Team operates but I imagine they’re already back to normal operations with a replacement. They were doing their best to hide it, but it seems it finally leaked.”

He hummed in response, focused in on the bunny slippers Phil was wearing. Tommy had bought them for him for his last birthday, saying he thought they’d look funny on him. Phil had taken this as a challenge and wore them almost every day before bed.

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know. Probably a few months. Working under aliases makes these things hard to track.”

Wil pulled away from his father’s arms, gaze still locked on the bunny slippers.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Me too.”

They talked for a few more minutes, Phil prodding into how his schoolwork was going and how the meeting he had with those politicians went. He asked to hear some of Wilbur’s new songs and Wil politely declined, stating he didn’t want to share them yet. Phil didn’t press further.

Eventually, Wilbur broke the conversation, citing the paper he needed to get back to. Phil, of course, immediately excused himself after asking again if he was okay. When Wilbur assured him that he was fine, he had been fine, he left.

It was the first essay he didn’t turn in that year.

…

“Dadza!” Tommy shouted upon seeing his father sitting in the living room, a book in his hands.

Phil looked up immediately and closed the book, not bothering to put the bookmark in. Tommy knew he always remembered the page number, even when he’d read him chapter books before he went to bed.

“The school gave us free tickets to the fair and Tubbo and Ranboo are going together, can I please go? I asked Sam but he said I’d have to ask you. Please? Please? Please?”

In all his 14 years of life, Tommy had never been to the fair before. Sure he’d stumbled around earning tickets and playing games at the one in his school auditorium in elementary school, but never a real fair. With rides and cotton candy and scammy games that he knew he’d be able to scam back. Plus, it would be their first real outing with Ranboo, who Tommy most definitely still didn’t like. Nope. Not at all. He wasn’t growing on him or anything. He didn’t look at the allium’s he saw in a book he was reading on flowers and immediately think of Ranboo because the boy had said they were his favorite flower. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Tubbo somehow managed to convince his dad which meant that it fell on Tommy to convince his own. They’d all learned early on that Ranboo’s parents weren’t hard to convince. They were both happy that Ranboo had made such fast friends after switching schools.

In studying his dad, Tommy was not convinced the answer would be yes. He had on his thinking face, where his lips were pressed together, and eyebrows lowered. His eyes still met Tommy’s and even though they were shadowed, they still shone the same blue as Tommy’s. Tommy didn’t like the thinking face. It usually meant ‘no’, but like ‘no’ in the sense that he was putting on a show about how he was actually thinking about the answer but had already decided.

“Tubbo’s going?”

“Mhmm!” Tommy bounced on the balls of his feet, anxiously awaiting the answer. He already had their group chat open on his phone so he could text them right away. It was a big achievement when Tubbo’s dad agreed. Apparently, Tubbo had been doing a really good job on his schoolwork or something and getting to go to the fair was the reward. Maybe that could work with Tommy too? But what sort of deal could he strike up? He certainly didn’t want to offer something he couldn’t complete or really didn’t want to do, like clean his room, but what else could he offer? There was the test he had on Wednesday, he’d been studying really hard for it. Or perhaps he could make dinner for everyone one night? There were so many choices, and none of them really something that Tommy wanted to stake anything on.

“I promise I’ll turn in all my homework this week! Not a single late assignment!” He sputtered out, desperate to get the word in before his dad’s thinking face would leave and the answer would be no.

“Techno was going to go…” Phil muttered and Tommy’s eyes went wide.

“How come Techno gets to go? This is – This is-” He searched his mind for a buzz word to throw out, “DISCRIMINATION! Discrimination, you hear me!” He settled on.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice had him instantly dropping the theatrics. Silence triggered with the threat of maybe not getting to go with Tubbo.

“If Sam goes and you stay with Sam the entire time, you may go.”

“Really?” The thinking face was not cursed after all!

“I mean it, if Sam tells me you’ve run off without him, you aren’t leaving this house for two months except for your dentist appointment.”

Tommy’s nose wrinkled at the reminder of the appointment next month. He wanted to delete the reminder on his calendar, but Sam had it too. Maybe if he could get into Sam’s phone… no that was for another time.

“You have the word of Tommy Danger Kraken Craft, I will stay by Sam,” he swore, hand over his heart.

Phil looked…confused. Yeah. That was probably the right word for it.

“Mate, when did you add the Danger Kraken part to your name? I have your birth certificate, that’s not on there.”

“Oh, I came up with it the other day. It’s like my new secret identity. Like a superhero.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm, Tubbo and Ranboo got them too but mine is the poggest,” Tommy assured him. Way better than Tubbo Explosion Underscore and Ranboo Ender Beloved. He still smiled at the memory of the three of them, giggling underneath a tree at the park. Together they imagined their theoretical lives as superheroes, the types of powers they’d have, and all the crime they’d stop and get away with.

“And what are theirs? I am the impartial judge here,” his dad smiled. Actually smiled at him!

Tommy grinned and mimed zipping his lips. “It wouldn’t be very secret if I told you.”

“Well you told me yours.”

“Well I had to tell you mine. You’re my emergency contact! What if you saw on the news that famed superhero Danger Kraken had been injured? How would you know to go to the hospital?”

His dad seemed to pale at that.

“You’re not going to actually be a superhero, right? The city is dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

“What do you mean someone like me?” Tommy exclaimed, bristling. Just because he wasn’t a Techno didn’t mean he didn’t know how to keep himself safe. He could build a very good lean-to now thanks to his survival skills class. (The day they’d learned he wanted to try and build a two-story lean-to, but Ranboo talked him out of it, saying how the pine needles on the ground could help keep them warm in the theoretical survival situation.

“If you win a fight against Techno, you can be a superhero,” Phil said with a laugh, completely ignoring Tommy’s question. The statement in itself was enough of an answer anyways. His dad thought he was weak. He saw his skinny little spaghetti arms and decided he couldn’t hold his own in a fight. Dadza would eat his words when he did it.

…

When the sight of the rollercoaster came into view from the car window, a neon orange mix of loops, corkscrews, and death-defying drops, Tommy’s excitement tripled in that instant. Beyond the rollercoaster, he saw the tops and flashing neon lights of the other rides. It was paradise and they hadn’t even parked. He’d seen the fairgrounds before but never more than the passing glance as they drove by.

Techno, like the bitch he was, looked bored. Since Techno was apparently going, he carpooled with Sam and Tommy. Ranboo rode with Tubbo and Quackity.

“Have you been before?” Tommy asked, hoping his annoyance at his brother’s clear distaste for this new paradise was clear enough from the backseat.

“Last year, and the year before,” he hummed. Techno started checking his emails of all things. How boring could you be?

“Did you know Dadza said if I beat you in a fight I could be a superhero?”

“He should have just said ‘when pigs fly’,” Techno started laughing to himself and Tommy even spotted Sam trying to restrain a smile through the rearview mirror.

He decided to try a different approach because the car wasn’t going fast enough and he wanted to be there five minutes ago. It didn’t help that they left late because Techno had to brush his hair or whatever. His own fault for leaving it so long. Tommy hadn’t brushed his hair in…well it was a long time.

“Have you been on the rollercoaster?”

“Twelve times.”

He couldn’t hold in his gasp.

“In one day,” Techno added on.

“I’ll ride it thirteen times!”

“Good luck.”

“I am not getting on that thing thirteen times with you,” Sam informed him, making eye contact with Tommy though the rearview mirror.

“You can just wait on the side then. Tubbo, Ranboo, and I are gonna break Techno’s record. Just you wait.”

…

They met up with the other car in the parking lot, Quackity looked like he saw a ghost when they pulled up beside their car and they all got out. Probably wasn’t expecting them to be able to get a parking spot right next to them.

Techno had some super special ticket that let them skip security and the lines. He just walked right up to the ticket counter and showed them his piece of paper and they took them through the employee entrance and even gave him, Tubbo, and Ranboo a bunch of free tickets for rides and games. Tickets Tommy was planning on using well.

“That’s where you need to go if you get lost,” Techno said, somehow still sounding bored despite all the free tickets, lights, food, and people around. Tommy’s eyes followed where he pointed and squawked at the realization as the giant ‘Lost Children’ sign came into view.

“For your information I am NOT a child!” He huffed, crossing his arms. Ranboo and Tubbo both snickering behind him. He shot them both a glare but only Ranboo stopped. “Besides, I’m going to stay with Sam the entire time, just like Dadza said.”

“Sure kid. Well I’ve got to go,” Techno stared at Quackity for a few more moments before heading off into the crowds.

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Ranboo said, staring at the spot Techno inhabited seconds prior and then back at Quackity.

“Nah that’s just Techno,” Tommy said with a shrug, glancing around to find the quickest route to the rollercoaster. He should have grabbed a map, but he didn’t need help with directions. He was a big man. The rollercoaster would call to him like a siren’s song. Nothing spoke the language of Tommy like the rumble of tracks and the screams of its patrons.

“He’s strong though, could snap anyone like a twig, right Big Q?” Tubbo looked at Quackity with a devilish smirk. Quackity glared at Tubbo and seemed primed to say something when Sam interrupted them by clearing his throat.

“Where to first?”

“Rollercoaster!” Tommy shouted, grabbing Sam with one hand and reaching for Tubbo with the other. Tubbo was, of course, tethered to Ranboo and Quackity was like Sam and would follow them anywhere. Like a train, Tommy led them all in the direction he felt his heart pulling him to, only to realize a few minutes later that they were going the wrong way and had to try and turn around without admitting he’d been led astray.

“I just wanted to see the rest of the park. Get ideas and shit,” Tommy explained as Tubbo complained loudly behind him.

“We could always grab a map?” Ranboo suggested.

“No!” Tubbo and Tommy said in unison. They both knew, maps were not for Big Men. Even though Tommy’s heart had brought him in the wrong direction once, he would not fail again.

Finally they reached the line and Sam permitted Tommy to stand with the others, so long as they didn’t run off afterwards. He was not about to waste Sam-free time and dragged Tubbo and Ranboo free from the sides of Quackity and Sam.

“So have neither of you actually been here?” Ranboo asked, leaning against a pole that held up the chains for the line.

“Nope.”

“Nah.”

“Dadza said it wasn’t safe or whatever. Too many people. Fat load of shit, I think,” Tommy huffed, leaning against his own pole. The chains jangled with the sudden shift and some twenty-something lady in front of them gave him the stink eye. He returned it before flipping her off.

“Oh, well I guess that makes sense. I’ve come like every year,” Ranboo explained to an immediate whine from Tubbo.

“Don’t rub it in again.”

Ranboo had told Tubbo all about his favorite rides and treats from the fair in the car. Something he dutifully repeated to Tommy with the occasional interjection from Tubbo. His favorite fair treat was something delicious sounding called an Elephant Ear (No elephants involved). Tommy was partial to candy floss but he would be open to trying new things. He had enough pocket money to surely try whatever he wanted and then some. Plus Sam had the credit card. Apparently he wasn’t trustworthy enough to have the credit card. Something about how Tommy should not have access to whatever their father’s credit limit was.

“Ranboo, will you win me a plush today?” Tubbo asked, batting his eyelashes in a display that made Tommy want to gag as Ranboo spoke about winning the milk bottle game once and the plush cat he won.

“I mean, I can certainly try. You know the games are like rigged, right?”

“Well yeah, but I would still like you to win me one. Or at least try before I let Tommy steal one.”

Ranboo looked rather shocked at that. “Why do you need to steal, aren’t you guys like rich or something?”

Tommy grinned widely. “Have you not been a part of any of our scams, Ranboob?”

“No and I would like to not get kicked out of the fair today.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s when you pay someone off and they let you stay!” Tubbo explained.

The lady in front of them gave Tommy another dirty look. He scowled at her again.

“You know, I just need to stop asking questions.”

Twenty minutes later and Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo were strapped into the front seat of the rollercoaster with the angry lady the row behind them. Anticipation did corkscrews in his stomach just like the track that awaited them. This was it, the first of thirteen. Tommy tuned out his friends, instead listening to the music that rose in tempo until they lurched forward and his whole world tilted 60 degrees as they climbed the first hill.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur if he was to be completely frank. There was the moment right before they began their rapid descent and Tommy was quickly coming to regret his decision to get on this thing. Was it always this high in the air? It didn’t look that tall from the ground. Didn’t people die on rollercoasters? Who in their right mind would willingly get on one? Certified death traps actually. He was going to die and Sam was going to have to carry his dead body back home and he’d never get to hang out in the park with his best friends or torment his brother or go visit Mumza in Europe. This was the end and Ranboo was already screaming. They hadn’t even started their fall yet, still cresting the top of the hill. Then Ranboo’s early screams made sense as their cart finished its clicking ascent and rocketed down towards the ground at mach 6 and he couldn’t scream. He tried to but his whole body felt stuck and the restraints didn’t feel tight enough and there was no way to get off. Prime he needed to get off, now. He was going to die on this rollercoaster. Techno was a lying bitch, there was no way he rode this thing twelve times. He barely had time to formulate thoughts beyond how much he wanted to kill Techno as they sped through curves, loops, drops, and spirals. The wind blew his blond hair around his face and pushed against his skin and eyes. It became increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open, not that he wanted to. He found himself trying to scream and squeezing his eyes shut, ducking his head down towards his legs, despite the restraints. The whole thing felt like it took hours but he knew it was less than two minutes when their cart glided to an abrupt stop.

Tubbo and Ranboo were giggling to each other like it had just been the most fun of their lives. Tubbo raved about wanting to go again and Ranboo echoed his sentiments, talking about how he rode the coaster for the first time when he was eight. Who puts a child on that death trap? How did Ranboo not just fly out? Why did they want to go again? Tommy wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to stand up. The way his stomach churned he was glad he didn’t have anything to eat before they got on.

The restraints lifted with the hiss of pistons releasing and Tommy scrambled out of the seat on unsteady legs like a newly born deer. He was so glad Techno was off doing weird Techno things so he couldn’t tease him about this for years. Already his face burned in embarrassment because Tubbo and Ranboo seemed fine and he didn’t want to seem weak because he couldn’t stomach a little rollercoaster. Part of it, he felt, was also disappointment. He’d been so excited to go on one, and then it just wasn’t fun but Tubbo and Ranboo somehow had fun. Would he be ruining their fun by not going again? Maybe he could convince them that they could do other things without tipping them off that he wasn’t a fan.

“Big Q! Did you see us?” Tubbo shouted, rushing down the steps. Ranboo for some reason stayed back with Tommy, hovering a little bit behind him like a weird stalker. He doesn’t mind though, his legs still feel wobbly and he doesn’t want to make even more of a fool of himself by tumbling down the exit ramp and landing in the dirt and concrete. If anything he could grab onto Ranboo.

“I did. Seems like Tommy there didn’t like it too much,” Quackity said, taunting him like the prick he was. They always teased each other, it was the only way to make their glorified babysitters bearable. Plus, Big Q was pretty funny when he wasn’t being an absolute jerk face.

“Fuck you too,” Tommy spat. He would have sent his signature Tommy Craft glare his way but the world still spun and Ranboo’s hand was actually on his back now. When did that get there?

“I’m sure you’ll all want to go again?” Quackity pressed. He didn’t fail to notice Sam elbowing Quackity in the side.

“I would actually love to go again. A big man like me loves these rollercoasters. But, I think it is only fair that we see what else the fair has to offer,” he was pretty proud of himself for that. All charismatic and shit like Wilbur was. He would never, not in a million years, admit he was absolutely terrified of stepping on that rollercoaster again. But he did want to explore the rest of the fair, and play the games that Ranboo told them about in line.

“That’s fair, the line looks pretty long now anyways,” Tubbo said. Honestly, it didn’t look much longer than it did when they arrived but he wasn’t about to argue it.

They went on a handful of far tamer rides following that. Tommy particularly liked the log ride. While it still had the drop that reminded him way too much of the rollercoaster, it wasn’t as fast and the water splashed them at the end. It also helped that they managed to drag both Sam and Quackity on with them. Tommy instantly bought the picture that automatically snapped when they were going down the slide. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo were smiling wide, hands in the air and water zooming past them. Quackity had the slightly hint of a smile on his face and Sam looked bored, arms crossed and face nonchalant as he seemed unfazed by the drop. He promised to make copies for Tubbo and Ranboo when they got home and made sure Sam tucked it safely in his bag. He knew exactly where he was going to hang the photo in his room.

Ranboo did not like the teacups ride.

They stopped with the rides after the teacups. With Ranboo in the bathroom and Tubbo and Quackity there with him, Tommy was left by Sam’s side. Around them what felt like hundreds of stalls with various games and prizes taunted Tommy.

He saw it then. His one true love.

“Sam! Look at the cow!” He shouted, instantly rushing across the plaza and pushing past people to see what game he’d have to play.

The prize in question was a two foot long plush white cow with large brown spots and a big blue bow tied around its neck to match it’s beautiful round eyes. This was all he needed in life. That cow. He already knew what he was going to name it. Henry. A poggers name for a poggers plush cow.

He slapped his tickets down before he even saw what the game was. It seemed to be some sort of shooting game. He was handed a sort of bb gun rifle and told the number of times he hit the center bullseye determined his level of prize. Of course, Henry was the top prize. It involved not missing a single shot. He hadn’t really handled a gun before, let alone a rifle but it was worth it for Henry.

Needless to say he failed miserably and ended up without even a consolation prize.

He knew what he had to do.

“Techno! It’s an emergency. I’m in the plaza by the teacup ride!” He exclaimed into his phone before Sam could stop him.

“Your brother is busy,” Sam said, voice gentle but he could tell that he’d been pushing Sam’s patience. Who cared about stupid Techno’s stupid reason for being at the fair when Tommy had a dire crisis on his hands? He would die if he didn’t have Henry. Literally keel over.

“Henry is more important.”

“Who is Henry?”

Tommy pointed to the cow.

Sam placed another set of tickets on the counter and took up position with the rifle, fiddling with the trigger and weight of it before firing. The hardest part, Tommy figured, was how quickly all the little pellets fired. If you moved even the slightest bit between the recoil of the rifle your aim would be off.

Sam displayed startling prowess with the rifle, the majority of his shots landing in the bullseye but there were a few that hit the outer circles, dropping them into the mid-tier prize range. The man working the stall handed Sam a tiny raccoon plush.

He tried again, only to be handed a similar raccoon plush, only this time it was pink. Tommy wasn’t sure where they came up with this stuff but he was pretty sure raccoons weren’t pink the last time he checked. Someone seriously needed to check up on their raccoon biology.

Techno arrived during Sam’s third try.

“You’re very lucky I was already done,” Techno stared at Tommy, something murderous in his eyes.

“Please? I really want Henry. I will die without him.” He had years of practice with the puppy dog eyes. With Phil, Sam, Techno, and Wilbur to use them on, he knew they were effective even if his family claimed they weren’t. While their value decreased as he aged, they still had their uses. However, Techno still didn’t seem impressed. He decided to change strategies.

“You know, the stall man said that nobody has won the top prize yet today,” Tommy grinned as he watched his brother’s face shift from passive annoyance to sudden interest. Whether or not that was a boldfaced lie was unimportant.

“Give me the tickets.”

Techno won on his first try. He knew his brother would be good with the rifle, all he needed was to be goaded into it. Techno clearly had lots of practice with these fake guns.

As Techno was handed Henry, Tommy rushed into his brother’s side, arms wrapped tightly around him and Henry squished between them in a Henry-Techno-Tommy sandwich.

“Thank you.”

Techno hugged him back.

“Tommy! I have a son!” Tubbo’s voice interrupted the tender sibling moment and the two separated just as quickly. Tommy kept moving until he was well out of punching range of Techno. To be honest though, one was never outside of punching range with Techno. At least he could protect Henry.

Ranboo was visible over the rest of the crowd and soon Tubbo broke through, holding a giant pig plush. It was at least three feet long (or over half Tubbo’s height) and had the stupidest looking face but Tubbo looked at it like it held the answer to life itself. Ranboo smiled down at him, still looking a little queasy but no longer at risk of making a mess on the sidewalk.

“I got a plush too! Henry, meet Tubbo and Ranboob.”

“Ranboo.”

“That’s what I said. Tubbo and Ranboob, meet Henry. The best cow ever,” Tommy held Henry out to the two of them and Tubbo reached to pet his soft tuft of brown fur on the top of his head.

“This is Michael. Ranboo won him for me. Or for us, really.” Tubbo explained, looking up to smile at Ranboo.

“You won that, kid?” Techno piped up. Tommy had briefly forgotten he was there. Not that he’d ever let that slip because then Techno would shove The Art of War in his face again and preach something about knowing your enemies and Tommy had read enough of Sun Tzu to quote it backwards and forwards. Techno sounded, impressed and that was no easy task.

“Uh yeah, Mr. Techno,” Ranboo said, rubbing his hand along his neck.

Tommy snorted at the sound of someone referring to his brother as Mister Techno.

“It was the milk jug game, I uh, I guess I just got lucky or something.”

“Good job, these games are almost all scams. Tommy made me come down here and win him that cow there,” his hand jerked towards Tommy and he scowled.

“You know who Michael reminds me of?” Tommy started, glaring at Techno, “He reminds me of Techno. See they’ve got that same dead-eyed look.” He did his best impression of the pig’s expression, with the eyes pointing in two different directions.

“Techno,” Sam warned, voice low. Tommy hadn’t been paying attention to what happened but Sam had stepped in front of him and Techno looked livid. Hah. Loser. He flipped him off for good measure from behind Sam. “Don’t you have things to get back to?”

Techno huffed and turned away, not before swiping a fistful of tickets from Sam.

The moment Techno left visual range Quackity appeared from within the crowd. He was pretty sure he saw him there every once in a while but maybe he just got caught up with the traffic of constant people moving or had to answer a phone call or something. The five of them headed off to find something to eat, newest companions in tow. Tommy wanted something sweet, but Sam said they need to eat some actual food first. Ranboo helpfully pointed out that he’s pretty sure nothing at this fair is actual food. So they all get corndogs and lemonade and the three of them all sit at a table together while Sam and Quackity sit a table over, Sam laughing at something Big Q said.

“-So Ranboo and I now have a son together,” Tubbo said, holding Michael and dropping his head on Ranboo’s arm.

“What’s your dad gonna think about that?” Tommy can’t help but laugh at it all. “I went to the fair for the first time and I came back with a son.”

Tubbo’s grin widened, “I think I’m going to tell him that I have found my heir and see how he reacts from there.”

“You’re like 14, why do you need an heir?” Ranboo asked as he dipped his corndog in a small pile of ketchup.

“I feel like everyone has an heir. Why can’t I?” Tubbo shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, carefully wiping the grease off his fingers on his jeans before hugging Michael again. Tommy had taken similar precautions with Henry, he didn’t want to ruin his most beautiful darling.

“So if he is technically our son, does that mean he’s my heir too?”

“Well sure, Big Man,” Tubbo shrugged.

Ranboo seemed to be lost in thought about this for a moment. Honestly, Tommy was kind of bored with it all. Sure he loved Henry, but he would never want to put the pressure of having to take up the family business on his shoulders. Tommy wasn’t entirely sure if he would run any of the family business. Sure he was a Craft and so owning some part of Craft Investments was quite literally in his name, but he didn’t know how it all worked. Would just Techno take over? Would it be all three of them? Who would be CEO? It was all quite confusion and he’d never paid much attention to it. Running a bunch of casinos was no future for Michael.

Ranboo excused himself and walked off back towards where they’d purchased their food. Unlike the two of them, he didn’t have to have Sam and Quackity tail him everywhere. Less than a minute later Ranboo returned and held out a piece of candy to Tubbo.

“Tubbo Underscore, will you marry me? I want to have a stable family for Michael.”

Tubbo burst out laughing before immediately holding his hand out and letting Ranboo slide the red ring pop onto his finger.

“Ranboo, as Tubbo’s best friend I feel like you needed to ask my permission first before marrying him.”

“We aren’t married. We’re just engaged,” Tubbo informed him, nodding along.

“Mmhm, plus you would have said no.”

“Damn right I would have said no! You can’t go stealing my best friend with your ring pops and your freakish height!” Tommy exclaimed, standing up. Sam immediately perked up, eyes darting around. Clearly he was looking for danger but the only danger was Ranboo stealing his best friend! He should have stuck Sam on him when he had the chance.

“Tommy’s right. I- I think I want a divorce, Ranboo,” he sniffed, wiping away faux tears before crawling under the table and sitting next to Tommy. A victory indeed.

“But, I don’t want Michael to have to grow up in a divorced household. Am I going to have to be a weekend parent? I don’t want to have to put him through that,” Ranboo too began sniffling.

Tommy groaned. What type of drama club bullshit was this? He latched onto Tubbo’s side. If they wanted to do this bit he would play along.

“He’s right, Big T. I have to think about Michael. He’s more important in this.”

“But what about us?” Tommy asked, holding tight to Tubbo’s torso.

“It’s okay. You can be Uncle Tommy and teach him swear words and all that shit.”

“YEAH!” He let go and instantly sent his fist into the air. This was all he ever wanted in life. To corrupt a child. Sure the child was as plush pig they won at a fair but that didn’t matter. Anything for the bit.

“Tubbo no-”

“Hush Boob Man, I am going to be the best Uncle ever.”

“Ranboo we need to get married again, I take back our divorce.”

“Oh, alright. Good.”

…

Tubbo and Ranboo divorced and remarried once more before they returned to the parking lot.

“So why did you get married?” Quackity asked, brow furrowed and face half highlighted by the distant lights behind them.

“Tax benefits! Also for Michael”

“Tubbo you don’t pay taxes.”

“But I will someday.” His face took on a very serious look. One that Quackity did not seem to understand.

“It’s about preparing for the future,” Tommy added, mouth still half full from the scone he was eating.

Quackity huffed and unlocked the car. Sam followed suit, with Ranboo sliding into Sam’s car as they agreed to take him home if Quackity and Tubbo brought him. Tommy was particularly excited to see his brother interact with Ranboo.

“How did you end up in the claw machine anyways,” Quackity asked and both Tommy and Ranboo held back their snickers as Tubbo shrugged.

“A magician never reveals their secrets.”

“Well security really wanted to know and I’m sure your father will too.”

“And that’s why you paid off security and don’t need to mention it to Dad,” Tubbo opened the door and sat down. Both Sam and Quackity were the biggest snitches on the planet, they could never do anything without one of them telling their fathers. Ranboo was lucky

Quackity sighed and looked towards Sam who simply shrugged and climbed into their respective car. Techno was already inside, reading a book on his phone and Ranboo seemed to be trying to take up as little space as possible. Henry took the middle seat and Tommy climbed in after.

“I still can’t believe you guys just paid off the security guards. Like you told me you would earlier and then you did. I was not expecting you to actually do that. I thought it was just a joke,” Ranboo said, petting Henry. Tubbo had current custody over Michael as his house had the most space for him in addition to number of guest bedrooms.

“People will overlook a lot of things with a little bit of persuasion,” Techno chimed in, never looking up from his book.

Tommy enthusiastically nodded. He couldn’t count how many times his dad had gotten him out of trouble with school with just a little bit of money. It was great having a rich dad. “It was either that or get kicked out. I’m just mad they made Tubbo put back the spider plush! He was only trying to get it for me.”

“Well then you shouldn’t have gotten caught,” Techno laughed.

“Shouldn’t you be discouraging crime in general?” Poor Ranboo still didn’t get it. Crime was always fine so long as you didn’t get caught or you knew who to pay.

“Nahhhhh.”

Ranboo does not press further.

It isn’t until halfway through the drive, Tommy recounting some of his favorite parts of the adventure the day was that Techno piped up again.

“So how many times did you ride the coaster?”

The car is eerily silent. He knows that Ranboo knows, but does Techno need to know? He could spin it the way he always does, but would Techno believe him? He furrowed his brow.

“We only rode once…” he started.

“I didn’t like it so we went to do other things. Tommy begged us to go again but we would have spent most of the day waiting in line,” Ranboo explained and somehow has managed to sound even more convincing than Tommy could have. He’s shocked. Sure, his brothers had lied for him before, usually to save their own skin from the wrath of their father or Sam, but he never expected goody-two-shoes Ranboo to do it.

Ranboo’s eyes are fixed on him, a small smile on his lips and a nod of understanding going unseen by the others in the dark of the car.

“Next year then,” Techno said it like it was a promise.

“Sure big man, next year.”

Chapter Text

If anyone was to ask, the situation Tommy found himself in was not his fault. In all honesty he couldn’t be blamed for acting out.  

Tommy found himself alone at home again. Sure, Sam was still there, busy on his computer as always. Wilbur and Techno still at jobs or school or some shit, Dadza at work. Ranboo was texting him but they couldn’t hang out and Tubbo was off with his dad again.

Unlike him, Tubbo’s dad didn’t have three kids to split his time between. He wasn’t jealous, not at all. It was just, he missed him sometimes. There were so many nights where he got home after Tommy fell asleep or left before he woke up. He still cherished the family dinners they made time for several times a week, but he had to share Dad with Techno and Wilbur. It wasn’t like they already got to spend way more time with him. They were always in his office, learning about Dad’s company so they could one day inherit it. A meeting Tommy was never invited to. It was probably boring anyways. He didn’t want to go to any stupid boring business meeting.

He wasn’t jealous of Ranboo either. He talked about both of his parents often. Both. He loved Mumza to death, but she was busy being amazing around the world. She did send amazing birthday presents though and the weeks she was around the house were amazing. Days filled with stories, hugs, and presents. She wasn’t here now though. Ranboo got both of his parents every day. Tommy had seen them at the school science fair. His own baking soda volcano did not achieve the same renown as Tubbo’s experimental rocket or Ranboo’s investigation on the effect of hard water on different surfaces, but he thought it was pretty poggers. They were nice. His mom looked like she would be good at math homework and his dad seemed like he would give awesome hugs. Both talked about how excited they were that Ranboo got the opportunity to come here and make such great friends like Tommy and Tubbo. It wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He just had to sit in his room and ignore his homework and talk to Ranboo on voice chat and ignore his frustration and emotions.

Who knew being a teenager involved so many emotions? He didn’t remember much of Techno’s teenage years, but he did remember Wilbur’s and he’d thought all the emotions were just a Wilbur thing. But noooooo, his health teacher kept talking about hormones or whatever the fuck those were and puberty. He could blame all of this frustration and jealousy and sadness on that. Yeah. That made a lot more sense.

So, it really wasn’t his fault in the end when he acted out. He was bored and Ranboo would go along with whatever he said. The fact that he lied to Sam about needing to stay after school was inconsequential. Plus, Mr. Vikkstar was annoying as all hell and deserved everything that was coming to him. He was Tommy’s English teacher and had the audacity to ask him to summarize the reading in front of the class when he knew Tommy didn’t read the book. That wasn’t all either. He was super annoying too and was always calling Tommy out when he got distracted by watching the birds out the window. Public humiliation was not poggers. Honestly, he should ask his dad to call and get his teaching license revoked.

Then again he didn’t need his dad to get his revenge for him. He just needed himself because he had his own plan for revenge. It was supposed to involve Tubbo, but he was busy with his dad, again. He could make do with Ranboo. He only needed someone to keep watch while he did the deed. Besides, it was easier to just convince Sam that he had to stay after school instead of Sam and Quackity. Ranboo’s parents never needed much convincing, they seemed to be happy that Ranboo had friends in the first place.

They met up in the library the moment the dismissal bell rang. Ranboo looked confused, but that was sort of a typical Ranboo expression, so he didn’t pay much mind to it. It might have helped if he told Ranboo what the plan was before, but then there was the chance for him to snitch or chicken out. Surprise time it was.

“Why am I here?”

“Big Man, we’re going to be doing something that has never been done before,” Tommy said with a grin, trying his best to keep his voice down since they were in the library and he didn’t need the librarian ratting them out. He didn’t really have an inside voice, but the librarian didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them so he figured he was quiet enough.

“Are we going to actually do homework when you said we are going to do homework? Because I’m pretty sure that’s never been done before,” Ranboo asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nope.”

He sighed. “I figured. Is this going to get me expelled?”

“It shouldn’t if you do your job right.”

“That makes me feel very confident about this. I’m in, what are we doing?” He slung his backpack back over his shoulder from where he’d taken it off to pull out his notes for homework. Imagine, Tommy Craft actually doing his homework in a timely manner when not being pestered by both Tubbo and Ranboo, what a funny thought.

“You know Mr. Vikkstar?”

“Ugh,” Ranboo groaned, echoing Tommy’s sentiments.

“Exactly! We’re going to play a little prank on him and you’re going to be look out.”

“Isn’t he going to notice?”

“Nope, he’s busy with the drama club today. I’ve been keeping tabs on his schedule,” Tommy explained, pulling out his phone and showing the lines of mostly misspelled bullet points he kept on his notes app.

“Stalker,” Ranboo giggled.

“Shut it, Ranboob. We’re going to drive his car into the gym.”

“What?” Ranboo’s already pale face somehow went paler.

“You won’t have to do anything. Just look out for anyone else so we don’t get caught. Also do you know how to drive?”

Tommy’s plan was well thought out in several ways. The actual driving part was not one of them. Sure, he knew how to hotwire a car, but he didn’t necessarily know how to drive one. It couldn’t be too different from Mario Kart, right? You just turn the steering wheel the way you want to go and press the gas pedal.

“Of course not! I’m 14!”

“Well I am too! Ugh you’re lucky I keep you around. We won’t be going far anyways, I’m sure it can’t be that hard.”

“If you die am I at least in your will?” Ranboo groaned, although he kept up the fond smile, assuring Tommy that this was just friendly teasing. Ranboo was always willing to help, even if he complained about it.

“I’ll leave you my video games.”

“Deal.”

After thirty minutes, once the buses had left and the teachers and students still milling about after hours were distracted in their offices or with club meetings Ranboo and Tommy left the library with crime on their minds. Mr. Vikkstar had drama club rehearsals which would keep him distracted for at least two more hours. Tommy had mastered the casual walk, it came with having two older brothers who always seemed to know when he was up to something. Finding ways to subvert their expectations was basically a requirement. Ranboo, however, did not have this training. He looked like a shriveled up raisin. Every inch of him screamed ‘hello it’s me Ranboo and I am doing illegal things. Please stop me’ and honestly, Tommy needed to teach him the proper way to do this. As Wilbur would say, confidence is more important than any lie you could tell. Ranboo needed confidence and he needed it before it got them stopped by some random person just walking by and then their whole plan would be ruined.

“Ranboo, my man, you gotta figure this out,” Tommy sighed, a bit of a breathy laugh echoing with each word.

“I’m walking! What more do you want from me?”

“You look like you’ve just killed a small child and then kicked a bunch of puppies,” Tommy stopped walking and Ranboo continued walking for a moment more before realizing and backtracking, confusion written over his face in forehead lines and quirked eyebrows.

“How do you even know what that would look like?”

“I don’t. I’m just guessing that if someone did that, they’d look kind of like you. Prime, Ranboo, I can’t believe you would think so low of me!” He dramatically pressed his hand to his forehead, fake woundedness mixed in with a few giggles.

“I’m sorry I just don’t want to get kicked out. I’m here on scholarship, Tommy.”

“Well, if you act like you aren’t doing anything wrong, nobody will question you,” he shrugged because it was simple.

“But we are doing something wrong!”

“Nope, that’s loser talk.”

“Alright, does this look good enough?” Ranboo had straightened his slouched spine (wow, Tommy sometimes forgot how tall this kid was) and had something that resembled a pleasantly neutral expression on his face. While the anxiety still bubbled underneath it was workable.

“We might just make a crime boi out of you yet.”

“If that’s what you and Tubbo are then I’m in, but like one of you is paying for my tuition if I lose my scholarship.” The forced neutral expression softened and Ranboo’s signature wide smile slipped through.

Tommy wasn’t necessarily sure if he had the say in paying for Ranboo’s schooling if it did happen but he agreed to the terms anyways. The least Dadza could do would be to pay for his second friend to keep going to school with him. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the money.

“It’s a deal, now just keep up the confidence and we’ll be perfect. Oh and if you see anyone or anything signal to me,” Tommy matched Ranboo’s grin and practically skipped further into the parking lot, Ranboo trailing behind. He only looked slightly constipated, but at least he looked like a confident constipated person.

They arrive at their target a few minutes later, the majority of the employee parking lot is still filled and by Tommy’s estimations they’ve got about a half hour before the office staff will be clocking out for the day.

Tommy dropped his backpack on the ground, the hollow metallic clunk of spray cans and tools hitting the concrete. His lock picks were in his hands less than a second later. Ranboo stood at the back end of the car, still looking constipated.

“You never gave me a signal,” Ranboo mumbled, his head swiveled back and forth like a fucking scanner.

“I don’t know, just get my attention somehow. I’m kind of busy, boob man. Car doors are finnicky,” Tommy said, turning away from the lock with a grumble as his pick slipped out of his grip. Time for round two.

“But like, it can’t be super obvious or else whoever is coming is going to know we’re…you know…” he dared a glance behind him and Tommy found himself meeting Ranboo’s gaze. His eyes were wide and face long in concern. He hunched down even lower, “Stealing a car,” his voice was some mockery of a stage whisper. If both his hands weren’t occupied, he would have face palmed.

Ranboo may have been a ‘yes man’, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to spend the entire time questioning what he said yes to. Sure, he would go along with it no matter what so long as Tubbo or Tommy had the gusto to back it up. It was helpful sometimes. He famously pointed out the flaw in Tommy’s plan to dye the carrots in the cafeteria blue. Tubbo managed to override the security cameras in the cafeteria and their plan went on without so much as a stumble. As much as people liked to argue otherwise, Tommy Craft did not lack impulse control. Not one bit, however, Ranboo did provide a sort of pause button for Tommy and Tubbo. If anyone ever asked, he’d vehemently deny that Ranboo had anything positive to contribute to their trio, but he knew they would have gotten in far more trouble without him. High school would never have been as fun if it involved as many detentions as the two of them got in middle school.

“Just, I don’t know, mention something about homework or whatever it is you do. Something that sounds normal,” he gritted his teeth as he worked the pick through the lock once more and finally he felt the familiar give and the door clicked open. “Gotcha.”

He’d already donned gloves before opening the car door. Wilbur and Techno had stressed the importance of not leaving fingerprints on a crime scene. Besides, DNA was what did in criminals in most cases. Honestly, if they just wore a pair of gloves or made sure not to leave some sort of food wrapper around they’d be able to get away with a lot more. Amateurs, all of them.

His fingers dug around in his backpack for his tools (he’d snuck them out of the garage that morning) and he got to work pulling the casing and wires out. It had been a while since he’d been walked through the steps with his brothers, but he was pretty sure he remembered which wires were meant to connect. Probably. You know, it was all a little fuzzy but he’d figure it out. Hopefully he wouldn’t get electrocuted. He still wasn’t entirely sure if that was just something his brothers made up or if it was actually an issue. Regardless, he had a car to hot wire and a plan to execute. He could deal with possibly deadly car parts if it came to it and hope that Ranboo paid attention in survival skills when they learned CPR.

Thankfully, he did not end up on the ground convulsing. The car started a few moments later and he whooped, tossing his tools back into his backpack and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Get in loser, we’re going to commit crimes!” Tommy called, sticking his head out the door to wave Ranboo in.

“I’m pretty sure we’re already committing crimes.”

“Well time to commit some more!” He opened the passenger door for Ranboo since Boob Boy didn’t seem to carry gloves with him.

If Tommy Craft had to pull up a YouTube video on how to drive a car that would be completely false. He was born to drive. He just…had to fiddle with the PRNDL stick and remember which pedal was the gas and which one was the brake. At one point the wind shield wipers turned on and he wasn’t exactly sure how to turn them off, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it might look a little odd to anyone who saw them crawling through the parking lot with their windshield wipers going even though it hadn’t rained all week, but that was a problem for them to reconcile internally. It was important not to judge drivers by how slow they drove in the parking lot or if they kept their windshield wipers on or if they looked 14. You could in fact judge drivers for their taste in music because the moment the car fully turned on the radio crackled and fizzed to some sort of showtune station. It was in trying to turn down the volume that he ran over the curb and left Ranboo hugging onto himself for dear life. They weren’t gonna die in the school parking lot. That would not be a poggers way to go and it was impossible for Tommy Craft to die in any way that was no poggers. That was a scientific fact that had yet to be proved incorrect.

With their path mapped out mentally, he managed to maneuver the car out of the parking lot and around the school to the unused auxiliary gym that had a large door they used to transport the gymnastic mats in and out. The perfect size to drive the car into. He’d snuck into the gym during lunch to unlock it beforehand. There was a plan, he hadn’t spent more than an hour of thought into it, but there was in fact a plan.

After a few annoying minutes of trying to turn the car off and keep it put (Ranboo was the one that pointed out he needed to shift to park), the two boys hopped out. Smiles spread wide on both of their faces.

“We did it!”

“And we didn’t get caught!” Ranboo cheered until two cans of car spray paint were thrust into his hands from Tommy’s backpack.

“Don’t worry, it’s washable, that way if anything does go wrong, we’re not liable for true property damage or something like that,” he explained. He really wanted to use real spray paint because that stuff was a bitch to get off. Techno had taught him that the best revenge wasn’t permanent but instead was memorable. Sure, the plan did not involve revealing his identity as the car thief to Mr. Vikkstar, but it was the message behind it that was important. A message he spray painted on the side of the teacher’s car in bright orange car spray paint.

“B I T C H”

Ranboo had taken to filling in the windows on the other side of the car very methodically. The font seat window painted red, and the backseat window painted green. When Tommy prodded the meaning behind the colors Ranboo paused and stared at him with his blank eyes.

“I feel like it represents my soul.”

“Your soul is Christmas colors?”

Ranboo shook his head. “No, it’s just my soul.”

Tommy shrugged and drew a few more penises on the car before dumping the leftover cans of paint in his backpack and calling it a day. Their plan had worked, nobody had been caught, and Tommy’s first mission with just Ranboo was a success.

…

Philza Craft had left his phone on the table next to Techno. Phil and Sam were busy looking over some blueprints in his office while Tommy was staying late at school and he’d just left his phone by Techno. This wasn’t particularly unusual. Phil had the habit of leaving it around the house and then sending the entire family on the hunt the moment it started ringing and he couldn’t figure out where he’d left it. All three teased him that he was getting forgetful in his old age. He paid it no mind, instead going back to the article he was writing. Wilbur, like the annoying shit he was, kept periodically asking him questions about his opinions on various animals. Most of which Techno was ignoring in favor of his article. Besides, Wilbur didn’t need a second person to initiate conversation, he’d been ranting about anteaters to himself for the last 10 minutes. His annoying brother was supposed to be working on his homework but nope, Wilbur somehow decided that annoying Techno while he tried to do some background Syndicate work was the way to go. Sometimes he wished he was a single child. Only sometimes though.

They both abruptly stopped when Phil’s phone rang.

“Who’s calling?” Wilbur asked, nearly falling off the couch as he lifted his head up from where he’d draped himself upside down over top of it.

Techno grunted and leaned over to check on the caller ID.

“Tommy’s school,” He grumbled and looked back to his computer. They’d been calling more often in the past few months. Usually about Tommy calling his teachers extremely creative nicknames or mouthing off in class. They knew he wasn’t done with his pranking days, but they’d slipped him the skills necessary to get caught less. Plus, the Ranboo character seemed to be helping with reason.

“What did he do this time?” Wilbur asked and Techno stared at him for a full ring, blank-faced.

“Do I look like I can read minds?”

“Well, are you going to answer it?”

“They’re callin’ Dad,” he pointed out, but part of him itched to answer because whatever problem Tommy got himself into was probably something they were at least partially responsible for.

“He’s busy and I want to know,” Wilbur huffed.

“Then why don’t you answer it?”

“You’d pull off a better Dad than I would, your voice is deeper!”

“Why don’t I just go get him…” He began to stand, knees still aching from where he’d hit the concrete a little too hard the night prior. He’d ruined a perfectly good pair of pants in the process too.

“Techno it’s gonna stop ringing! Answer it!” Wilbur dived for the phone and accepted the call, shoving the phone into Techno’s hands. He barely had a hold of it, the phone bouncing from hand to hand while he struggled to grasp it and bring it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Philza Craft, parent of Thomas Craft?” A nasally voice on the other line greeted him and he cringed. He remembered this office lady from his time at school. If she was calling it most definitely wasn’t good. Wilbur was looking at him expectantly though and his dad was busy.

“Yes?” He sounded nothing like his father, his voice too deep but this office lady didn’t seem to notice or care enough. Wilbur seemed pleased with his smile stretched from ear to ear. He should have never let Wilbur talk him into this.

“Thomas, as well as one of his other friends, were found trespassing on school grounds next to the stolen car of one of our faculty.”

Prime Tommy, what the hell did you do?

“We are not currently pursuing disciplinary action at this time as we have no means of proving that these two were involved, however, please come pick up your son immediately. With his track record we are starting a full investigation of the incident,” The lady droned on and on and on and honestly Techno wanted to tune her out, but this seemed important.

“I’m sure we can figure this out, I’ll come pick him up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Craft.”

The line went dead.

“So who’s picking up Tommy and who’s distracting Dad because he 100% hotwired that car,” Wilbur said, putting to words what Techno was beginning to piece together. They messed up bad.

“I’ll get Tommy, you delete the call history. He doesn’t need to know.”

Techno didn’t want to think about what Phil promised them the last time they kept a secret from him. Tommy, probably, stealing and defacing a teacher’s car? Kind of a big deal and Philza would know immediately that Wilbur and Techno were behind teaching him those skills in the first place. Not to mention that Techno had just impersonated the Philza Craft, his dad. That was weird. He didn’t particularly want to do that again.

It wasn’t really their fault that they taught Tommy these things, it was important. All Techno could ever think of was wanting Tommy to be prepared for when he inevitably found out. Dropping him in without any sort of training or skills would be a surefire way to end up with another Wilbur situation. It was best if he knew how to get an escape vehicle or open locked doors and withstand high pressure questioning. They just wanted to keep their little brother safe, why couldn’t Phil see that the best way to keep him safe was tell him just how dangerous their lives truly were? All it took was one informant working with the cops or one stray bullet an everything would go to shit. For as long as Tommy didn’t know, he was a liability to them and their organization. His safety was paramount, but Tommy looked safety in the eye and flipped it off before trying to outrun a train. It was like trying to teach a racoon table manners. If he knew then maybe he’d be smarter about all of this but no, Phil wanted him to have whatever their mockery of a normal childhood was and deal with the consequences or lawsuits later. Tommy had always been a troublesome child, one they’d all learned how to deal with, but something had been off the past few months. Honestly, it started shortly after Tubbo found out. Why that led to him acting out more wasn’t a connection he was able to make.

“Why do you think he’s doing this? He should know better…” Techno grumbled, his thoughts forming into words and looking for the easy solutions his brother often provided, or at least the peace of mind that came with his confident assurances.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s looking for attention?” Wilbur suggested before digging in his pocket and tossing Techno the keys to the car.

“I’ll try and figure it out in the car.”

“I swear if you start talking about Theseus again to him, I’m going to personally burn your entire book collection,” Wilbur threatened with a none too hidden groan. Techno knew he wouldn’t have the guts to burn the entire thing without getting caught, but he might burn a couple of books.

“I brought it up one time!”

“TWICE, and I had to hear about it both times!”

“Go be useful, nerd.”

“I am always useful. My presence alone is useful,” he said with his Wilbur-brand grin, arms wide as though the room itself would agree with him.

Techno snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

…

“So let me get this straight. You talked Ranboo into helping you steal Mr. Vikkstar’s car, drove it into the auxiliary gym, vandalized it, and then somehow hid the evidence of you doing it when you heard people approaching?” Techno started once they were a few minutes from the school. He’d already offered to take Ranboo home (the fact that he wanted to know where the kid lived was inconsequential) and the two of them were sitting quietly in the back seat of the car. Tommy, for one, was never quiet.

“I plead the fifth,” Tommy mumbled, arms still crossed in front of him.

“You are in my car you are under my rules and you have no right to remain silent when I just had to write a check for double your yearly allowance to cover this up.” He sped past a yellow light and swerved around a car going five over the speed limit. Wilbur said he drove like a headless chicken but a headless chicken had no purpose. Wilbur drove like a headless chicken. He drove like he had a place to be and he didn’t want to sit around waiting for everyone else to get out of his way.

“If it is at all fair, Mr. Techno-” Ranboo raised his hand, the kid literally raised his hand like he was asking a question in school.

“Kid, please call me Techno,” he sighed, adjusting his rearview mirror to look briefly at Ranboo. The kid quickly adverted his gaze down to his own backpack.

“Right, Techno. Uh, I did half of the vandalizing, so he wasn’t completely responsible for that. Also, I am very thankful for you covering for us, and please turn right here and then turn left on Cobblestone Ave,” the boy rambled, still never looking up from his lap.

“Ranboo, you and Tommy both lack one very critical skill,” Techno started, turning right as Ranboo instructed.

“Oh?”

“You both can’t lie to save your lives. Listen, I’m proud of you all for not getting caught red handed but what was this all about?”

“Mr. Vikkstar is a bitch.”

“Thank you for your input, Tommy. Now do you mind giving me an actual answer?”

“No.”

He frowned and turned his attention back out the window instead of the rearview mirror. They were well out of the neighborhood the school resided in. Already the houses were losing their clean paint jobs and manicured lawns and the businesses’ neon signs flickered with missing letters and unkept trash cans. The Syndicate had a lot of power in this area, they kept businesses afloat and safe from crime provided their payments were on time or their services were granted or lips kept shut. Wilbur had been doing a lot of work in this area recently. He should look in the books to see if they’d gotten Ranboo’s parents under their thumb yet.

“Ranboo?” He asked.

“I’ll be honest, I was just doing it because of the bitch part…sir…Techno sir…” Nope the boy was not useful.

“Alright. Ranboo, at least try and talk Tommy out of potential felonies in the future, okay?”  

“Okay?”

“And Tommy, I won’t tell Dad if you tell me what this was about.”

“You won’t?” Tommy asked.

“Nope, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Can we talk about this later?”

For once Techno paused. He stared at Tommy in the rearview mirror and saw something akin to hurt and despair hover behind his watery blue eyes. How long had it been since they’d spoken as brothers? Techno was 16 when he pulled the gun out of drawer his father told him about so he could protect Tommy and he hadn’t put it away since.

The rest of the ride remained silent until they dropped Ranboo off. Tommy slipped into the front seat and Techno noticed for the first time that his backpack was missing.

“What did you do to your backpack?”

“Ranboo hid it, hide the evidence and all that. I’m not stupid,” Tommy said, staring out the window as the neighborhoods shifted again. Back to the well kept streets and upscale shops.

“No, you’re not. Which is why I can’t understand why you’d do something as stupid as steal your teacher’s car.”

“Why are you such a bitch?”

“Tommy.”

“Techno.”

“Why’d you steal your teacher’s car? We are not getting out of this car until you give me an acceptable answer.”

Tommy had been a petty thief for years. Everything from Techno’s reading glasses to every single one of Wilbur’s guitar picks. He’d been moving up in his thievery, but it had rarely been something that he couldn’t just return. Something that could get him in real trouble. Irritating but never truly harmful.

“Why do I have to? It’s not like you care. You already paid them off, what does it matter?”

“What?” Techno nearly slammed on the breaks, his own heart stammering in his chest.

“It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s all going to be the same in the end.”

“You’re going to get into a problem we can’t get you out of one of these days if you keep going,” This wasn’t right. He needed Tommy to understand. This wasn’t a solution. If he wanted to steal cars, so be it they could do it in the future under Syndicate protection. Techno had stolen a couple of cars in his life. It was necessary every once in a while. Sometimes you just needed a quick getaway and sometimes somebody needed their getaway removed.

“I don’t care.”

“Tommy,” he said, trying to imitate Phil again. It was weird doing it twice in one day. He wasn’t a fan, especially with the sour face Tommy gave him.

“Fuck off.”

Yeah, that was what he expected.

“What do you need us to do?”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t want to bother your and your busy schedule. Or Wilbur. Or Dad. I’m fine.”

Techno had his answer. The issue was, how was he supposed to fix this? Could he even fix this?

“I’m proud of you for not electrocuting yourself.” He offered a smile to Tommy as they stopped at a red light and Tommy actually smiled back. His chest beaming with the praise.

“Only a bitch electrocutes themselves,” he pointed out, shoving Techno in the arm.

“Can’t argue with you there.”

They were going to be alright, they had to be alright.

Chapter Text

Tubbo rarely rode in his dad’s car. This was primarily because they rarely went places together and because Quackity had largely labeled Tubbo as a threat to anything that needed professional cleaning. The nappa leather seating was apparently not worth the risk for day-to-day life.

Today was special though. His father’s car waited for him in the school parking lot, right where Quackity would normally pick him up. It wasn’t unusual to see expensive cars at their school, it came with the majority of the student population having enough money to afford a brand new BMW on their 16^th birthday. His father’s car still stood out amongst the other parents. It always seemed freshly waxed, among other things. The only imperfection Tubbo had ever found on the surface was something that seemed suspiciously like a bullet hole on the rear bumper. He never questioned it.

Quackity was dressed far nicer than usual. Most notably his beanie was gone. Honestly, Tubbo thought he would have seen the end of the world before he saw Quackity without his beanie. It was replaced with a pair of aviators resting on his head. His shirt wasn’t wrinkled, his slacks were ironed, and he was even wearing a tie. While it wasn’t far off from his usual attire (save from the days where he wore a track suit and refused to change out of it), the way he wore it felt completely different. Either that or this was one of the few times he actually ironed his shirt.

Tubbo hopped into the back seat, finding a change of clothes freshly purchased awaiting him while his dad sat in the front passenger seat, swiping through emails.

“Can’t have my son looking like just some random kid now, can we?” His dad grinned, putting down his phone as he motioned towards the bag.

“Not many other kids are gonna be walking around a fucking casino with you,” Quackity said, earning a chuckle from his boss and a snort from Tubbo.

Tubbo had jokingly put today in as ‘Bring your son to work day’ in his phone calendar. It was the best summary of what he’d gathered the afternoon and evening’s events were going to look like. If he was completely honest with himself though, he hadn’t a clue what the daily activities of a mafia boss involved. Sure, he’d seen some of it while hovering over his father’s shoulder and trying not to zone out completely as Schlatt explained how the stock market worked. Now he was actually going to see some of it for the first time. He didn’t want to say he wasn’t excited about it. He was. Very excited in fact, but it was the curiosity that had him bouncing in his seat all day in anticipation.

To be fair, he still wasn’t entirely sure what a mafia did. Sure, he watched The Godfather and tried to piece things together from that, but it didn’t seem to match up exactly with what his dad did. It seemed that it was more of a national crime ring that moved a lot of money around and sold drugs and ran a bunch of casinos. Totally normal stuff.

Tubbo changed underneath his hoodie into the button up shirt and slacks provided in the bag. He’d tug on the matching jacket once they arrived. All of his clothes were high quality but the material he found himself in now was heavenly. The shirt had a faint sheen to it and the tailoring matched his measurements perfectly. How they did he wasn’t sure because he couldn’t remember the last time he was measured. Must be a mafia thing.

His dad spending the majority of the ride making phone calls and writing up emails. Tubbo had seen the Las Nevadas casino before. He’d spent early weekends before he had Quackity sitting on the floor of some unused office playing cards and building towers out of poker chips. He distantly remembered the overwhelming trills of slot machines and the flashing lights of jackpots won and swiftly lost. It looked much the same as they stepped inside. Except he wasn’t clutching onto his dad’s coat tails anymore.

The man at the door took one look at them and jolted up where he stood, back straightening to what seemed a painful degree. His head bowed deep with respect.

“Welcome sir. Your 4:30 is waiting outside your office.”

“Perfect! Come on, it’s never good to leave guests waiting,” Schlatt grinned and ushered Tubbo forward. Yeah, he definitely didn’t meet the age limit here, but he felt that was of little consequence when you were being escorted through by the boss.

Even at mid-afternoon, the machines and tables were full of strangers dressed up in their best. Cocktail dresses hugged tight to the ladies’ skin, suits not unsimilar from his own drew shoulders into neat lines, and colorful mixes of eyeshadows and lipsticks decorated faces. He stared owl-eyed at it all. The carpet was a deep merlot red, servers in dark green button ups and silver ties offered drinks to all patrons. Most faces were flushed red with full glasses within easy reach. Nobody seemed to be stopping anytime soon.

They were barely through the door when a server approached, offering a glass of some sort of amber liquor to his father who raised it up in some sort of mock toast.

“Thanks, Slime,” Schlatt said and Tubbo immediately furrowed his brow. The man’s nametag said ‘Charlie’.

“Slime?”

“Mr. Tubbo Underscore, son of Schlatt! It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard many good things about you I am Charlie! But you may call me Slime,” the man said, bouncing on his toes.

“Don’t ask why we call him that, long story.”

“Okay?”

“Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Tubbo Underscore? I would offer Mr. Schlatt’s usual, but I believe you are under the previously decreed age for alcoholic consumption.”

This guy was…weird wasn’t entirely the right word for it. Every sentence he spoke seemed stilted and oddly specific. Not to mention nobody had ever called him Mr. before. That was going to take some getting used to.

Tubbo found himself plagued with indecision at the offer. What kind of drinks did they offer here? His father was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t want to test patience anymore. This was a big step and his dad seemed excited to take him on it earlier so there was no point in testing that by not being able to order a stupid drink.

“Uh, water?”

“Right away, Mr. Tubbo Underscore.”

The man bounced off and disappeared into the crowd within seconds, leaving behind a rather confused Tubbo. His father ushered him forward again like that was a normal day. Maybe it was? Half of his dad’s drink was already gone. Must be a mafia thing.

They traversed the entire length of the casino until they reached an elevator operated by another doorman who immediately stepped aside to let them in. It rose to the top floor and Tubbo tried his best to seem confident. What if he was going to embarrass his dad in front of a bunch of important people? It felt somewhat sacrilegious to imagine what Tommy would do in his dad’s casino, considering the whole rival mafia thing their families had going on, but it was the best thing he could think of. Prime knows imitating Ranboo would not end well.

“That’s right, chin up, chest out. You’re in the one in charge here. Well, after me of course. But you’re with me. You’re our future, Tubbo,” his dad must have seen the way he tried to straighten up. Already his heart was soaring at the praise and he found the confidence came easier as he followed in step behind his dad down the hall and into an office with his dad’s name labeled on the door.

“Foolish! Just the man I wanted to see!” Schlatt nearly sang.

The office was styled similarly to how his dad’s office was at home. Dark wooden furniture and modern art pieces that left him a little confused on why they were considered art. A pair of dark leather chairs sat in front of the desk, one of them being occupied.

The man, Foolish if his dad was to be believed, stood up immediately. An emerald green suit jacket tossed over one of his shoulders with an easy sort of laid back confidence emanating off him.

“Good to see you, Schlatt,” Foolish said with a wide smile as he dipped his head, “I’ve got those plans you asked me about – OH is this Tubbo? Hey there, I’m Foolish. Construction consultant and I dabble a little in engineering or wherever my services are needed.”

Tubbo decided right then that he liked Foolish. He seemed nice and seemed like the kind of guy who would offer to rob a bank with you, no questions asked. Although he felt like most of the people that worked for his dad would probably do that. Probably had done that. Foolish just gave off the energy that he’d do it and make jokes the entire time.

“Yep. Thought I’d bring my son around and show him the place. Meet some of the important faces-”

“Awe, you think I’m important?”

“Shut up.”

“Right sir, sorry sir.”

“We have business to discuss so let’s get to that. Tubbo’s gonna be watching and learning.”

His father’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder. It wasn’t restraining but it was heavy enough that he knew it was there. The hand shook him a little and he grinned unsurely up to his dad. Sitting through a business meeting sounding boring as fuck, but his dad was excited and he wasn’t about to pass up time with his dad. Even if Tommy had a suspicious amount of car paint in his backpack during lunch and he really wanted to hang out with him to see what he was going to get up to. He could text him all about it later. Or he’d see the backfire at school the next day.

To say the meeting was boring would be an understatement. Charlie came in with a glass of water a few minutes into it and he spent the rest of the meeting drawing shapes in the condensation on the glass until he’d wiped it all off and he had to try and keep up with the discussions.

Foolish seemed to get as excited about new building plans as Tubbo did about his new inventions. They discussed a warehouse they were acquiring somewhere downtown. He briefly caught a mention of concern about how it was a little close to Philza’s territory. But Foolish’s apprehension was doused with an assured word from his father who took everything in stride.

Conversations turned to future uses of the building, intentions for hidden storage rooms and plans to move some sort of auction there. Most of it filtered through his head with only vague comprehension on his end. There were enough confusing codewords and veiled insinuations that they could have been talking about a grocery store visit and he wouldn’t have been any wiser.

His father must have caught the zoned-out look in his eyes as his thoughts drifted and he cleared his throat. Tubbo jolted in his set, focus returning. At one-point blueprints were laid out on the desk, he wasn’t sure when that happened.

Schlatt pressed a button connected to the landline phone. “Tell Quackity to get his sorry flat ass up here.”

“Right away, sir,” came the grainy response from the comm.

“Why do you need, Big Q?” He asked, only to curse himself for how meek he sounded. He didn’t want Foolish to think he was weak.

“Kid.”

Tubbo hated when his father called him kid. He wasn’t one. The whole reason he was here was because his dad thought he was old enough to become part of the business and spend time with him. To learn how the game worked. His dad had pulled him into what was probably one of the most boring mafia meetings ever and expected him to be able to follow along without any sort of lingo lesson or context clues. It wasn’t fair and now he was going to lose a chance to spend time with his dad and get stuck with Quackity again like always.

“These meetings are only going to get more boring. Besides, now you can get a tour of the place.”

“But I-”

The sound of rapid footsteps, dress shoes on hardwood, had all three in the room turning towards the door. Tubbo’s own objection cut short. The steps screeched to a halt and took up a much more casual pace for two strides before someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Schlatt said and Quackity entered. Tubbo could tell he ran from wherever he was just by the look of him. There was a pinkish flush to his cheeks and a faster than normal rise and fall of his chest. He hid it all well under a veneer of deference to Schlatt as he stood at attention, the door closing behind him.

“I wasn’t at the tables,” Quackity’s gaze darkened and Tubbo looked between his dad and his guardian

“Just because you work for me doesn’t mean I want to see your card counting ass anywhere near my blackjack tables.”

“It’s not hard to just get better dealers.”

“Do you want to be fired?”

“Good luck finding a replacement.”

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Foolish leaned over and whispered into Tubbo’s ear. He could barely hold in the snort, his hand flying to his mouth to hold it all in. Foolish’s grin was enough to leave the remnants of his laugh spilling out like he was trying to keep water from shooting out of a hose with just his hand. The noise he made was enough of a distraction to break the two from their death-glare stare-down.

“What do you want me here for?” Quackity finally huffed, arms crossed.

“Go give Tubbo a tour. I’m pretty sure he’s going to fall asleep if he listens to Foolish here drone on any longer.”

“I wasn’t-” Tubbo tried again to interject only to find his complaint died on his tongue with the way his father looked at him.

“Hey, I’m very interesting!” Foolish objected but nobody else seemed to care. Tubbo tried to give him a reassuring smile but he didn’t seem too distraught over the statement at all.

“Come on,” Quackity said, patting Tubbo’s shoulder. He hated it but he knew his role here. No use embarrassing his dad further by continuing to complain. He stood and kept his head down and followed Quackity out.

The casino had two floors, the second one lacked its center and instead hung over the first floor like a balcony that allowed Quackity and Tubbo to look down on the gamblers. More had arrived since Tubbo had last been on the main floors. Laughter and cheers rung out over the chime and music of slot machines. It all blended into noise. It was near impossible to pick out individual conversations.

“What do you think?” Quackity asked, leaning against the railing and staring blank-eyed out at the guests.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. He’d seen casinos in movies, so he knew what they looked like, but he wasn’t sure if that was really the question Quackity was asking. He went with a shrug. It was the safer answer.

Tubbo caught the faintest hints of something almost reminiscent in Quackity’s eyes that reflected speckled technicolor lights of the displays below them. He almost wanted to ask what was wrong, but it didn’t seem right in the moment.  

“You wanna get back at your dad for kicking you out?” He asked, immediately back to the person Tubbo knew him as.

“You betcha, Big Q.”

Quackity handed him several hundred-dollar bills. Tubbo stared at him wide-eyed.

“You do realize I am not old enough to gamble, right?”

“Trust me, I know how old you are. What are they going to do? Kick us out?” There was the wicked grin on Quackity’s face. The one that spoke of all the chaos they were going to cause.

“You’re right, where do we start?”

Someone did in fact come up to them at their first stop. Tubbo had played two rounds (there wasn’t much playing involved, he just pressed the button like Quackity told him to) when a security guard approached and had a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, already gripping tight.

“No minors allowed-” He started, but the hand was just as quickly ripped away and Tubbo watched Quackity step between him and the security guard. Somehow, Quackity became the one in control of the situation.

“You know who that is?” Quackity asked, his thumb jutting to Tubbo.

The security guard glanced between the two of them. After a few rounds a look of sudden horror dawned on his face and his head immediately dropped.

“Please accept my apology, Mr. Underscore. I didn’t recognize you. It won’t happen again. I will inform the others, so they know not to disturb you.”

“Uh, poggers. Thanks, man,” Tubbo said, not quite sure what to do with the whole situation. Just as quickly as the security guard arrived, he left, head still lowered.

“Don’t let the power go to your head, it’s big enough already.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he laughed and pressed the spin button again. He didn’t want to admit that this was more fun than the meeting.

He played a few more rounds, before getting frustrated at his meager winnings. Quackity lounged at the machine beside him, looking smug.

“Best way to burn through money quickly, right here. House always wins, you know?” Quackity gestured to the entire casino as he said it.

Tubbo frowned. He was, technically, the house. But he wanted to win. He spun a few more times, excitement bubbling in him as one spin almost brought him to the bonus round. He cursed, disappointment rushing through him. Yet, the excitement of almost winning big left him wanting to spin again.

“You see?”

“I almost won!”

“Nope, it’s tricking your brain into thinking you almost won. That if you try again, you’ll get that much closer.”

“Well, that’s quite rude.”

“Name of the game. You’ve got to make money some way. That total will always go to zero. No matter what. Only way to win is to quit while you’re ahead.”

“Well then why am I playing?”

“Because you’re spending your dad’s money.”

“That’s fair,” he upped his bid and pressed again.

Quackity moved them along after Tubbo blew through the first $100.

“So, if the house always wins, how do professional gamblers make it work?” Tubbo asked, making sure they weren’t being listened into. He felt like this wasn’t the best conversation to have with their customers around. Thankfully the ringing of the machines kept limited how far the sound could travel.

“There’s the right question. It’s because they know what to play.” The card tables were now in front of them. People curled around their cards with smug smiles or well-trained neutral expressions staring down the dealers. Most had some sort of alcoholic beverage at their places. Piles of chips, most of them emblazoned with a fancy S.

Quackity talked him through what each of the chips represented and how the games were being played. Everything from the minimum to maximum bids, the percentage the house took, and how to spot the worst dealer. He explained it like it was a science, and in a way, Tubbo supposed it was. One Big Q seemed to be an expert in. It made sense. He had been the one to teach him how to play poker.

They never played, only hovered around the tables. After each round Quackity pointed out the different strategies, explained how to count the cards for blackjack and how to search for people’s tells in poker.

“You know I met your dad here?” Quackity added into his lesson out of nowhere. Tubbo stared at him in surprise. He was honestly under the impression that Schlatt had just found Quackity advertising babysitting services on some bulletin board and called it good enough after Tubbo had led so many other nannies to mental breakdowns. He supposed that since Quackity was part of his dad’s mafia it made sense that they met at a place the Manburg mafia operated.

The older man hummed for a moment, seemingly lost in thought and memories.

“I nearly ended up murdered too.”

That caught Tubbo by surprise and he blinked several times, a confused “what,” slipped out.

“Yep. Managed to talk my way out of that one though and got a job instead.”

“Was my dad going to murder you?”

“I mean, there was like a 65% chance.”

Tubbo didn’t know how to respond to that.

“It’s all water under the bridge now. We’ve moved past our differences and I’m not allowed to play blackjack here anymore,” He threw his head back and laughed. Tubbo didn’t feel like that was the proper response to a near death experience. Or what was a 65% chance of a near death experience. All over a game of blackjack? He desperately wanted the story but it fate had something else in store.

“Kind of wished I did because from what I’ve heard you taught my son how to gamble,” Schlatt’s voice sent both of them jumping into the air. Tubbo may have let out a somewhat girlish squeak in surprise, but nobody could prove it. It was probably someone winning a jackpot, definitely not him.

“What else was I supposed to do with him? This is a casino,” Quackity spat back, but there wasn’t malice. It was almost teasing as he draped an arm lazily around Tubbo who grinned up at his father.

“It was an educational opportunity to learn how a casino works,” he hoped Quackity would be proud of him for that.

“Is it now? When I said give him a tour, I didn’t mean have him play slots.”

His dad didn’t seem mad, necessarily. He seemed somewhat amused. In the same vein he had been when Tubbo had pulled his little hostage situation with the living room. It was a good expression, one that made the warm place in his stomach expand.

“I guess I could have taken him to the buffet so he could fight the seniors over the crab legs.”

“There are crab legs here?!”

“Not after the bus drops off all the 70-year-olds,” Quackity snorted.

“I would fist fight a grandma for crab legs,” Tubbo nodded his head. His imagination kicked into overdrive as he pictured how the fight would go. He’d steal their purse to start and then use it to distract them so he could steal them from their plate. A poggers plan as Tommy would say. If they fought back, he’d just use his stronger bones and youthful endurance to simply outlast them.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Probably a good idea. Gotta have deniability. That’s what Tommy says.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes and then turned to Quackity, voice suddenly lowering and the smile slipping off just as quickly as it appeared. He’d had his dad for those few minutes. He’d made him laugh! He’d made him proud in more ways than one. Maybe he’d get to come along more and prove that he wouldn’t just fall asleep in the next meeting.

“Table 3, 5^th seat?” Tubbo caught the tail end of what his father was saying and his eyes immediately shot to the indicated table. A man sat there, easy grin and pile of winnings in front of him as he placed down the next round’s bet.

“Yep, been watching him for the past 10 minutes,” Quackity mumbled back.

His dad sent a text and moments later there were security guards asking the man to pack up his money and were escorting him away from the table. Quackity looked…well Quackity looked somewhat constipated. His dad on the other hand looked delighted and slid his phone back inside his suit jacket.

“What’s going on?” He asked, but his father was already following behind the security guards.

“Stay out here, alright?” Quackity said, pressing another $100 bill into his hands and leaving him behind.

Not again. He couldn’t do this again. He felt lost in the space. There were too many people that he felt like he was brushing up against someone or apologizing every other minute. The noise overwhelmed his senses to the point where he couldn’t even hear himself think. It was all a mélange of cheers and bells and somewhat frightened shouts blended into one. He felt confident next to Quackity, the man walked around like he owned the place. Tubbo didn’t know where to go and he didn’t know what to do and they left him all alone in the middle of the casino.

So Tubbo ignored Quackity’s advice and followed.

The security guards didn’t even stop him when he went into the same side door that he saw Quackity enter.

A long hallway, lit like his high school halls, stretched out. Doors labeled as offices and closets and meeting rooms lined it. Red wallpaper reminded him of Christmas but the angered shouting that echoed down the hall ripped away that wrapping paper.

He followed the voices and footsteps and found himself crouching outside a door labeled “Gambling Integrity”. Part of him wanted to run and go back to his spot next to the card tables but he couldn’t. He heard his father’s voice and froze, hand clamped over his mouth so he wouldn’t reveal himself.

“We don’t like cheaters here, do we?”

“No we don’t, Sir.” That was Quackity, he was sure of it.

“I wasn’t, I swear-” An unknown desperate voice was cut off by a loud bang and an accompanying scream.

He scrambled away from the door, shaking like a wet dog, nails practically digging into his skin where he kept his mouth firmly closed. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn his own bass drum heart could be heard through the entire building.

“FUCK, I SWEAR!”

“Pockets,” Schlatt instructed and there was shuffling and more swears. Tubbo didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.

“That’s what I thought,” Schlatt said, and he could tell his father was smiling. Why he’d be smiling at whatever was happening in that room was beyond Tubbo. He needed to go, Quackity didn’t want him seeing this and now he was seeing it (hearing it, actually) and the regrets were piling up. What was going on? What were they doing to that man?

His stomach twisted as he heard the man whimper out desperate pleas. He wanted to help, he wanted so desperately to help but his whole body was frozen.

“How about one finger for every stolen card?”

Tubbo ran out of the hall as screams followed him, found the nearest bathroom, and vomited.

…

He hid in a bathroom stall, feet tucked up on the seat, until Quackity found him. Stupid trackers. It was no use to try and hide his sniffling and he’d already used half the roll of toilet paper drying his eyes. The taste of bile in his mouth hadn’t left and he was desperate for water but that would involve leaving his stall where it was safe and Quackity and his father were nowhere near him.

It seemed to just be Quackity, hovering outside the stall.

“You okay, kid?”

He tried not to respond but he sniffled involuntarily.

“I told you to stay put.”                                 

“You left me alone.”

“I had a job to do,” Quackity said, his shadow under the stall shifting until Tubbo could see his knees. He’d sat down on the bathroom floor, gross. The thought was enough to distract him for a moment so he could piece together his questions and prepare for their answers.

“What happened to him?”

“A warning to not come back,” The response was simple, but it did nothing to ease Tubbo’s fears.

“Is he dead?”

“No. Just a couple broken fingers.” He said it like it was an everyday occurrence. Like he was just asking Tubbo about his assignments. Like he hadn’t just admitted to either breaking a guy’s fingers or assisting in it. His stomach lurched again and his arms braced himself on the cool stall walls.

“…Can you bring me some water?” 

“Why don’t we go up to your dad’s office and we can get some water then?”

“No, my face is all red. I don’t want to see him,” it wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the full truth.

“Tubbo, he won’t care if you’ve been crying.”

“Yes, he will.”

“If he is then I will personally punch him in the face for you, how about that?”

Once again, Quackity caught Tubbo by surprise. It was rare he saw both Quackity and his father interacting together as one was only needed due to the absence of the other. He did enjoy their somewhat hostile banter and he would pay good money to watch Quackity absolutely deck Schlatt. That sounded kind of funny.

“…Okay.”

Tubbo hid his face in his jacket as they walked through back hallways to get to his dad’s office. Thankfully, there was no need to go through the main casino floor. The longer he spent here the more familiar he’d get with the layout. He didn’t want to think about coming back at the moment though. The way the man’s scream twisted in his gut sat at the very front of his memory. Was that a daily thing? How was he supposed to handle it if it was a daily thing? The whole trip so far had been fun, it had been bright lights and laughter and a weird waiter they called Charlie and an architect named Foolish. It had been wasting his dad’s money and learning how to spot a tell on a poker player. Until the lights were too bright and the noise too loud and that man got his fingers broken because he hid a couple of cards in his pockets. His dad had said he’d need to be okay with a bunch of stuff, but he hadn’t imagined all of this. What if there was more he hadn’t seen yet? What if it was worse? Quackity hardly seemed bothered. He did say he almost got killed the first time he met his dad so was murder now on the table? Was he going to have to murder someone?

“Breath? In and out, there you go,” Quackity instructed, rubbing his back as he struggled to get his breathing under control. When had he started panicking again? Why did he feel safe next to Quackity?

“You alright, Tubster?” His father was on one knee, like he had been the day of the paint bomb. There was no intimidating mafia boss behind the desk, there was just his father there, offering some comfort and a nickname he hadn’t heard in what felt like years.

He shook his head and Quackity pressed a bottle of water into his hands. He focused on the cool surface and dragged his fingers through the condensation and wiped his wet fingers off on his slacks.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” his father chided, pulling Tubbo into his arms, his facial hair tickled Tubbo’s nose but he didn’t mind it.

“I’m sorry…”

“No no, you were going to see it eventually.”

“Do you do this to a lot of people?”

“When it’s necessary.”  

“But did you have to do… that.”

“You don’t understand yet, but power is something that’s hard to keep a hold of. If you make yourself big and scary, people don’t mess with you or those you want to protect,” he stared into Tubbo’s eyes and for a moment he thought he understood. He shrunk under the scrutiny though, understanding slipping away just as quickly.

“Hurt your enemies before they can hurt you,” Quackity added on and some part of Tubbo’s core froze.

“What about enemies you care about?” Tommy. Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Schlatt seemed to see where his mind went. “You don’t need to worry about the Craft boys. Mutually assured destruction and all that,” Schlatt ran his fingers through Tubbo’s hair and the tension that had built up so quickly, like his paint bomb waiting to explode, quickly dissipated. His friends were safe, even if one of them was technically an enemy.

“Mutually assured destruction, like nukes?”

“Something like that. You don’t need to worry about it. He can’t touch you and I don’t touch his kids. I promise.”

“Okay…I want to go home now.”

“We can do that.”

They went home. Tubbo got the run down from Ranboo on what happened with Mr. Vikkstar’s car. Tommy was apparently in a bad mood from getting caught and didn’t join vc with them that night. It was for the better anyways, Ranboo only prodded carefully at how Tubbo’s night with his dad went and when his chest hiccupped with the memory of it, Ranboo quickly changed subjects and sent him a meme a few minutes later. He wouldn’t have been able to hide it from Tommy. This was his secret to bear. He was 15 now and he had a feeling that things would only escalate from here.

Maybe 15-year-olds weren’t supposed to hear those kinds of things.

He had nightmares for the next two weeks.

Chapter Text

To the surprise of most, Tommy had never snuck out before. He’d thought about it more than once, plotted it several times, and even made it so far as the backyard before he realized it was too damn cold out and walked back in (It had also been taco night that time, and he didn’t want to miss taco night).

Tonight was different. He certainly didn’t care if he got caught and his dad’s rules were just that he wasn’t allowed to go to Tubbo’s house. There was nothing saying he couldn’t go to someone else’s and Ranboo’s was the perfect choice. Maybe his dad’s rules technically involved needing to inform Sam or his dad whenever he left but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As far as they were aware, he was going through his teenage angst phase and had found one of Wilbur’s old CDs and was blasting MCR in his room. It helped hide the sound of him struggling to pry the trackers out of his shoes. He’d already covered his other base by plastering a “DO NOT DISTURB: GOING THROUGH MY ANGST ARC” sign on his door.

They’d all agreed to hang out that night. Ranboo having no idea this was happening without Tubbo and Tommy’s parents and guardians knowing. Quackity had the night off which meant Tubbo only needed to avoid his dad. Tommy on the other hand could care less. His brothers had been trying to get him to talk about his feelings or whatever, but he wasn’t gonna do that. Not when things hadn’t changed. So what if he got in trouble for sneaking out. His dad wasn’t even home. It wasn’t like he’d care much.

Tommy pried open his second-floor window, backpack filled with goldfish crackers, his favorite video games, and enough cash to take the bus to Ranboo’s house and back, plus a little extra if he needed to take a cab. Contrary to popular belief, Tommy occasionally had a couple brain cells he could rub together to form a half decent plan. Was he allowed to take the bus? No. But he felt like that was a rather minor rule violation compared to the night’s plans. He swung his legs out of the window and slid himself out onto the roof.

Action movies made it look way easier than it was. The moment his feet hit the shingles he was slipping on the moss and grasping at the windowsill for balance. If anyone asked, he did not fall on his ass twice and nearly fall off the roof once. He ran across the roof like a badass and then somersaulted down. He did not dangle from the gutter before his grip let lose and then fall into a rhododendron bush. If anyone said otherwise, they were liars and wrong-uns.

He jogged all the way out of his neighborhood to get to the nearest bus stop. He’d never taken the bus before but Tubbo and Ranboo walked him through it on vc. The stupid ticket machine didn’t want to take his dollar bills and it took three tries before they were accepted. When the guy behind him huffed to express his annoyance at how slow Tommy was, he spun around and flipped him off. It was during that motion that the machine accepted his bills. A sign of approval from the universe itself. He should have flipped off the guy earlier.

He narrated the entire way through the city while Ranboo instructed him via vc. At one point he had to get off the bus and then wait for another bus. How stupid was that? Why couldn’t the one bus just take him where he wanted to go. Ranboo, of course, informed him that a bus that took you exactly where you wanted to go and didn’t stop for anyone else was called a taxi. Tommy refused to call him anything else but Ranboob until the next bus came.

After what felt like hours (it was really only 45 minutes), Tommy got off on his stop to find Tubbo and Ranboo waiting for him at the bus stop.

“How did you get here first?” Tommy whined as he hopped off the bus, frowning at Tubbo.

“I didn’t have to wait as long as you did,” Tubbo hummed, his own backpack full of snacks and board games no doubt. Tubbo didn’t need cash to ride the buses as he had some special bus card that he could just swipe. It wasn’t like he used it much anymore from what Tommy had heard. Quackity drove him almost everywhere nowadays.

“Well that’s just dumb.”

Tubbo grinned.

The trio laughed as they walked down the sidewalk, into Ranboo’s neighborhood that Tommy remembered from when Techno drove Ranboo home. It looked different in the evening. They were close enough to the city that he could still hear the rush of traffic and the squeal of sirens, but far enough out that the houses maintained small lawns and the occasional garden. Most had several locks on their doors and the finer details of the peeling paint and unkept grass were lost in the shadows. On the houses whose blinds weren’t drawn he could see families sitting around the television or eating dinner together. An envious part of him squeezed but he turned his attention away from the glow and back to his friends and did his best impression of Mr. Vikkstar that left Tubbo wheezing.

Ranboo welcomed them into his house, one that matched the others in the row. Like the others there were a handful of extra locks on the door but at least the front lawn seemed well maintained and there were even a few planter boxes boasting the start of early spring flowers. It was easily the nicest house on the street.

When dropping off Ranboo, Tommy had only seen the exterior and even then, he’d been somewhat distracted by the storm of emotions clouding his judgement. The inside seemed to match the exterior. It was nicer than Tommy was expecting from a poor neighborhood but he’d never really been inside a poor person’s house before. He wasn’t even sure if Ranboo’s family counted as poor. It seemed like a normal house. Sure, they didn’t have the newest leather couches or a huge television, but it was homey. A picture of Ranboo and his parents holding adoption papers hung on the wall just inside the entrance of the house, so it was the first thing anyone saw. All three of them boasted the biggest smiles, with Ranboo tiny at seven or eight.

“Uh, welcome to my house,” Ranboo started, kicking off his shoes. He led them into a living room with even more pictures on the wall and a few tacky pieces of art. The whole area felt tastefully cluttered. Ranboo’s textbooks were piled on a coffee table next to at least three mugs of hot chocolate and a half-finished dinner plate. “Kitchen is over there.” He led them to a very cluttered kitchen. Tubbo cooed over old artwork Ranboo had drawn for his parents that was hanging on the fridge. “And bathroom is down the hall and to the right,” he finished before rounding them back to the living room and he plopped down on the floor. Tommy and Tubbo followed.

“Where are your parents?” Tubbo asked, dumping the contents of his backpack onto the ground. He’d brought Michael as it was apparently time for their custody switch over. The two had been very adamant about keeping a proper schedule for the care of Michael, usually exchanging him while at the park every other week. Tommy thought they made pretty good parents, all things considered.

“Michael! My beloved!” Ranboo cried, snatching Michael from the floor and cradling him to his chest. He seemed to forget Tubbo’s question for a moment, checking Michael for stains and loose threads before he perked up, almost like his brain just hadn’t loaded the question yet. “Oh, they should be home soon. Mom had to work late, and Dad was meeting his friends to watch the game earlier.”

“Sounds about right,” Tommy grumbled. His dad had some big emergency with the company the last few days and Tommy had barely seen him in the past week. “But are we here to mope or are we here to game, fellas?” He said far louder.

“Uh, I wasn’t really moping but yay games!” Ranboo cheered and Tubbo agreed.

Cards Against Humanity was soon dealt out between the three of them and they didn’t make it more than a few rounds before they were all on the floor cackling.

“Yeast, that’s how I want to die,” Ranboo read out and turned to them, straight-faced and said “Mood. That one wins”

“HEY! WHAT ABOUT MINE, BITCH BOY!” Tommy exclaimed, absolutely fuming at the disrespect that Ranboo chose Tubbo’s before even reading his.

“Sorry, Big Man, it just can’t compete with yeast,” Tubbo shrugged, giggling as he took the card.

“What’s so funny about yeast? Huh? I’m sorry but Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was a way better answer!”

“I dunno, I was card czar and I still think yeast was better,” Ranboo petted Michael and passed the box of black cards onto Tommy. He ignored them.

“That’s just because you’re married. This is a rigged jury! I call bullshit,” He huffed, refusing to take another card. Being married, however dubious the actual marriage was, must involve some sort of weird psychic powers. There was no other way that Ranboo would find ‘yeast’ funny. Not when The Rock was the other option.

“You’re just upset because you’re not winning,” Tubbo pointed out, boasting his own pile of fanned out black cards.

“Nuh uh,” he said, even if that might have partly been the reason behind it. His protests and cries of rigged elections were halted by repeated knocking at the door.

The three looked between themselves, as if they were expecting the other to have the answer as to who was on the other side of the door. Nobody seemed to have any clue, but as it was Ranboo’s house, he voted himself sacrificial lamb and stood up to check.

“What if Sam found us?” Tommy hissed, knowing full well that he pulled that tracker out of his shoes and Sam wasn’t hanging around at his house which typically meant he was busy doing other things. Sam did have an uncanny ability to always know when Tommy was up to ‘no good’. Sneaking out, taking a bus, and hanging out at Ranboo’s house was definitely meeting Sam’s definition of ‘no good’.

“Uh, Tommy? It’s for you.”

…

Wilbur knew the moment Tommy left the house. If he didn’t know their security system alerted them every time a window opened that was a Tommy problem. In reality, Techno was the one who found that he snuck out first. With Dad gone, he had the house security alerts sent to his phone instead. Of course, he then told Wilbur who then had to put down his own guitar and pull up the tracker app that the three of them had that connected to gps tracker in his shoes and found it still saying he was in his room. A picked lock later and the two brothers found the discarded tracker sitting in his garbage can, the tools he used to pry it out laying incriminatingly on his desk. Always clean up your evidence, that was another thing they were going to have to teach him.

“So where do you think he’s going?” Wilbur asked, turning off the music and realizing Tommy stole his CDs. Under any other circumstances he knew the both of them would be freaking out. But they’d seen Tommy leave of his own volition and he’d put money on him going to see Tubbo. They could just wait for their call from Schlatt. Still, Tommy was unpredictable at the best of times and had been rather self-destructive as of late. It sat wrong with him.

“Where you goin’?” Techno asked as Wilbur grabbed the keys to the car.

“Following Tommy, what does it look like I’m doing?” He scoffed, grabbing his coat and gun and sliding the later into its concealed spot on his waistband.

“You’re worried about him?”

“I’m worried about our little brother who is already causing problems wandering around a city he has never been in alone at night while Dad is otherwise occupied to sort out any problems that arise. Worst case scenario, we’re just there to pick him up when he inevitably gets caught by Schlatt.”

“Good, because I’m coming too.”

“I thought you wanted to ‘give him space’,” Wilbur mimicked, throwing his voice to resemble Techno’s deep tones and echo the conversation they had a few weeks ago following the Mr. Vikkstar car incident.

“Doesn’t mean I want him to end up shanked by some random mugger on the street and then we’ve got to explain that to Phil. We watch from a distance, use those reconnaissance skills you’re always bragging about, and step in if needed,” Techno grabbed his own coat, a big burly red thing that was way too heavy for the mild spring weather, but he doubted his brother would be wearing it. It was more for show than anything. He claimed he liked how easy it was to hide weapons on it, but Wilbur knew he just liked the obnoxiously bright red color and the fur around the collar.

“Glad we’re in agreement. I’m driving.” He rushed out to the garage to beat Techno but found himself yanked back the collar the moment he got a hold of the door.

“Nope. Not in a million years am I letting you drive.”

“Fuck you I was here first, prick.”

“Git gud,” Techno teased, and Wilbur knew it was a lost cause the moment his brother sat down in the seat. He was too big for Wilbur to reasonably push out of the seat. So, he graciously accepted his defeat and promised to make Techno regret it later.

They found him waiting for a bus (like an idiot, they both knew Schlatt owned the bus driver’s union. There was a reason Tommy wasn’t allowed to ride the bus) and drove past. It gave Wilbur the time to figure out which bus he was taking so they could track the route. While still exasperated that Tommy would take the bus in the first place, he was decently surprised to see Tommy somewhat self-sufficient in daily life skills, like bus riding. Of course, that could be on account of the voice call he seemed to be on.

By the time he got on the second bus it became increasingly clear that he wasn’t heading to Schlatt’s house and Wilbur’s nerves were on fire again. What if he was on call with someone that wasn’t Tubbo or Ranboo and they were luring him to some dirty alleyway so he could get mugged or kidnapped or killed? Techno, ever the observant one, grunted drawing Wilbur from his rapidly corkscrewing thoughts.

“Ranboo, he’s going to see Ranboo.”

“How do you know?” Wilbur asked, watching the bus a few cars in front of them. He could just barely see Tommy’s crop of blond hair through the back window.

“We dropped Ranboo off at his house. This is the right area. Unless you think Schlatt lives down here?”

Wilbur didn’t protest further, but a part of him sighed with relief when they caught sight of Tubbo and Ranboo waiting at the bus stop for Tommy. He was safe. The least they could do was just wait around for him to finish whatever it was he was doing with his two friends and then take him home. Maybe giving him this freedom could be enough to resolve whatever was storming in his head.

Techno recounted the concerning car conversation he and Tommy had in pedantic detail hours after it happened. It left Wilbur to bring it up with their dad, always the diplomat. But Phil’s mind had been cluttered with the concerning situation in Kinoko. An underboss found dead in his home and a branch of The Syndicate scrambling to get things under control. They weren’t doing a very good job. Most of their higher ups over there had slipped into hiding which left Phil to pick up the pieces and Wilbur to handle drug shipments there. It had been what the two brothers were working on when they got the notification of Tommy’s nighttime escapades and it had been the only thing Phil wanted to talk to them about. He got it, running The Syndicate was no easy task. But they were losing Tommy. He could tell Techno saw it too.

Regret was for losers and after a half hour of waiting in the car Wilbur stepped out of the passenger seat and walked up the street towards Ranboo’s house.

“I was wondering how long you were going to wait,” Techno said following the shutting of a car door behind him.

Wilbur tossed a glance behind him, curls flopping over to the other side of his face. He shoved them back with a grin.

“Stake outs are so boring.”

Techno laughed, the sound of a locking car following, as he fell into step next to Wilbur. “Are those your A+ reconnaissance skills showing?”

“Oh piss off,” he said, although no real bite followed his words.

Wilbur knocked on the door and Ranboo answered moments later, door creaking open to reveal a very confused face.

“Uh Tommy? It’s for you?”

Then there was Tommy, frowning, angry, Tommy. A Tommy that looked ready to out curse a sailor and rip someone to shreds at the same time.

“Sorry, we’re not interested in girl scout cookies today.” He slammed the door in their faces.

Muffled squabbling ensued followed by the sounds of a whining Tommy, something both brothers knew well, before the door was opened again. This time by Ranboo who welcomed them inside.

Wilbur did his best to keep himself from critiquing the design choices. It was homey at least. While there were no dark oak floors and professionally designed interior decorating, it reminded him vaguely of his own room. Only bigger. And taking up the entire house. And lacking stacks of vinyl’s, CDs, his guitar, and half his wardrobe strewn on the floor. The well-trained mafia part of him was already drifting towards the stack of mail that had yet to be sorted and distributed but caught himself as he remembered why he was here. Tommy.

Tommy, who was sitting on the floor, arms crossed like a pouting child, glaring at Wilbur like he singlehandedly sent the meteor that killed the dinosaurs.

“I’m not going home.”

“We weren’t going to ask you to,” Techno said, plopping down with an audible thump on the ground next to Tubbo.

“Well, I don’t want you crashing hanging out with the boys!”

“What? You don’t want us hanging out with your friends, Tommy wommy?” Wilbur cooed. Tommy instantly shrunk away from where he sat down next to him, but Wilbur threw his arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight, ruffling his hair. That’s what the little gremlin deserved for sneaking out.

“Fuck off, Wil. You’re not cool enough to hang with the boys.” He swatted at Wilbur’s hands but he only tugged him closer, enjoying coddling his little brother and embarrassing him in front of his friends. Tubbo, for one, was giggling at the spectacle. Wilbur did not miss how Tubbo inched away from Techno, no doubt Quackity’s fault.

“Why don’t we ask your friends?” He grinned, meeting Techno’s eyes who seemed to catch what he was implying.

“Ranboo, do you think we are cool?”

If Wilbur could perfectly capture the face Ranboo made in that moment as he relocked the front door, he would never have to go to therapy again. Ranboo looked like a lost puppy, eyes wide and face pale in fear.

“Uh, yeah. You’re cool. I guess…”

“THAT’S NO FAIR YOU CAN’T PICK ON RANBOO HE’LL AGREE WITH ANYTHING YOU SAY!”

Wilbur narrowly dodged a well-aimed swat aimed at his head. He did not want to have to replace his glasses again after Techno broke the last pair.

“It might be fun. We can crush your brothers at any game we want to!” Tubbo suggested, gaining a sigh of relief from Ranboo who clearly did not want to be the only one singled out.

“Fine, but if you get all weird you’re getting kicked out. I’m in charge here.”

“I’m pretty sure this is my house-”

“I’m in charge here,” Tommy finished. Ranboo nodded, accepting defeat.

Wilbur met Ranboo a few months back and his opinion of the boy had been rather neutral at the time. Now though, Wilbur truly understood what Tommy meant when he said Ranboo was a ‘Yes man’, the boy had a backbone as strong as a pipe cleaner. The only thing that got you in their line of work was a bullet to the head and/or a debt you couldn’t pay off and then eventually death. It made for a poor secondary opinion to talk Tommy and Tubbo out of their more destructive schemes. He was glad Tommy wasn’t stuck with just Tubbo as a friend, it would make for a poor social life once they were older and Tubbo was running the Manburg mafia. The conditionality of their friendship was something Wilbur had spent hours turning over in his mind, staring up at the ceiling, in the middle of the night. Eventually, the conflict of interest would get to them. A tragedy already in the making. Throwing Ranboo in the mix was just going to endanger both of them if the kid couldn’t pick a side.

Ranboo left and returned with a stack piled as tall as him of board games. Tubbo immediately snagged the plastic chess set and started setting up the board while Tommy grabbed Sorry! and argued that it was a better game to play since more of them could in fact play. Tubbo, ever the more skillful with math, then pointed out that there were five of them and only four could play Sorry!

“Well, I want to play against Techno, then. He looks like he’s the best out of you lot at chess,” Tubbo said, holding a couple plastic pawns, the rest of the pieces either on the board or scattered on the carpet.

Wilbur, at this statement, felt indignation spike.

“Excuse you, I’ve beaten Techno at chess!”

“You only won because you were eating the chess pieces,” Techno drawled, apathy was the worst look on him and it made Wilbur’s cheeks burn.

“I did not eat them!”

“You had the rook in your mouth when I caught you.”

“It was a momentary lapse in judgement.”

“You were still cheatin’.”

“It’s called tactics, brother dearest,” He smirked, leaning back into the coffee table behind him that smelled like leftover hot chocolate. So maybe he was a little curious about what they’d taste like and he was panicking because he didn’t have anywhere better to hide it without Techno seeing but it didn’t matter, it still worked in the end.

“Yeah, tactics.” Techno rolled his yes.

“I still won. Something, something Art of War? Hmm?” Sun Tzu was the way to get on Techno’s nerves. Plus, this was a performative piece for Ranboo. It wasn’t everyday you got to remind an only child what it was like to have siblings. Especially siblings like Tommy and Techno that were so easy to fluster.

“Do not go slandering Sun Tzu’s name like this.”

“I did my reading, I can use his name however I like, thank you very much.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but notice the smile Tommy was trying to hide in watching his brother’s bicker. His half-assed plan was working. Honestly, it was less of a plan and more of just them trying to remind Tommy that they were all brothers and that they cared about him but so long as the outcome remained the same, it didn’t matter.

Across the room, Wilbur only half paid attention to the conversation going on between Ranboo and Tommy.

“Don’t worry about him, Wilbur eats lots of weird stuff. Like sand. He ate sand once,” Tommy said, leaning over to Ranboo and doing a rather poor attempt at a stage whisper.

“Sand? Like the grainy stuff?”

“What else would it be, boob boy?”

“I don’t know? Something edible?”

It was entertaining enough and soon Tubbo and Techno were deep in a chess game and the other three were playing the far less mentally taxing game of Sorry! Wilbur didn’t mind, especially when he got to see Tommy yell “Sorry, Ranboob!” at the top of his lungs every time he drew the Sorry card.

Techno won the chess game, but congratulated Tubbo on offering him the most challenging game he’d played in a while. By the second round of Sorry! the trio had given up on playing a third round as they all kept getting distracted by the chess game going on at the same time. At one point Techno had produced a copy of The Art of War from his bag and given it to Ranboo. The poor kid was left wondering where it came from for the next 10 minutes. Wilbur knew that Techno just carried a copy of the book around to look smart and stun people into silence whenever he pulled it out randomly. At least Ranboo could do the reading now.

While Tubbo wanted to play another round of chess, they decided amongst the rest of them that choosing a game everyone could play was for the best.

It was 45 minutes into a game of Risk that Ranboo’s parents arrived.

“Hi Mom. Hi Dad,” Ranboo said, sending everyone’s attention to the surprised faces of the Beloved’s.

While they shared few physical traits with their son, Wilbur could pick out the ones that could only be learned from years of being raised by someone. It was in the same vein that Tommy stole their father’s mischievous glint in his eyes or how Techno and Phil shared the same face when they were thinking. With Ranboo’s parents, he caught the same nervous hand tics on Ranboo’s father and a gentleness he’d seen Ranboo have when caring for the stuffed animal that sat next to him in his mother. The Beloved’s were a family, even if not by blood.

“Hi, uh, sweetie, you didn’t say you were having friends over?” His mother asked, voice raised in something resembling either concern or confusion, Wilbur hadn’t spent enough time around her to know the difference.

“Oh, that’s because I didn’t know until about two hours ago. You know Tommy and Tubbo,” he motioned to the two of them, attentions already lost on the new conversation and focusing back on the game board. “And these are Tommy’s brothers, Techno and Wilbur. It’s alright if they stay, right?”

Ask forgiveness not permission, at least Ranboo got that right.

Wilbur could read his mother’s expression well now, shock. She straightened her glasses and blinked at the group of them before turning to her husband, artificially curled blonde hair swishing around her shoulders.

“Of course, glad to see you’re making some new friends,” Mr. Beloved filled in for his wife’s shocked silence. His glasses reminded Wilbur of the ones Techno occasionally wore to read and his forehead was filled with crumbled stress lines. He was easily the more cautious one of the two, but still seemed to have the confidence to speak up when needed. He didn’t blame Mrs. Beloved, it wasn’t everyday you came home to find four uninvited people, two of which were well into their 20s in their living room playing Risk with their teenager.

“Don’t let us bother you boys, I’ll go make some cookies? How is that?” Mrs. Beloved suddenly piped up, setting her purse on the couch and stepping around them to head towards the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that-”

“Nope, I have the ingredients anyways.” His mother waved his concerns away.

“We’re not going to be in the way here, right?”

“Let it go, Ranboob! They said we’re good, time for Business Bay to stomp out the enemy!” Tommy cheered, anxious to get a move on with the game. They’d taken a long enough pause anyways. Tommy and Ranboo had formed a temporary alliance they were calling Business Bay, for reasons that had since been lost to Wilbur who was doing very well with his country of Newfoundland. Tubbo was proving a formidable opponent in Asia as Snowchester and Techno had proclaimed himself ruler of the Antarctic Empire despite having South America firmly in his grasp.

The Beloveds left the living room, his mom going to the kitchen and his dad elsewhere. They didn’t interrupt them much. But soon enough the familiar warmth of chocolate chip cookies wafted through the house, leaving all of them but Wilbur at peace.

He loved chocolate chip cookies, he really did. He’d be more inclined to distrust anyone who didn’t like chocolate chip cookies. If paradise was in the form of a baked good, it would be a chocolate chip cookie. But baking them had a bit of an associated mental state. He couldn’t remember how he landed on baking cookies when he was having a bad day. His therapist recommended he do something to keep himself busy and sometimes new chord progressions were too frustrating, or he couldn’t stare at his homework any longer. The kitchen was always there and always stocked. Baking had somehow become the fallback. Phil taught him how to carefully measure out ingredients and to double the vanilla when he was 10 and they were baking ‘Welcome Home’ cookies for his mum. Using it to distract himself for a while didn’t hurt anyone. It wasn’t like Tommy was complaining about the extra sweets in the house. Plus, Techno always snagged one while they were still hot enough to burn his mouth, just to make sure he got to eat the first one.

…

“Really Tommy, I thought you were going to be more of a threat,” Techno swiped in to take control of a territory Tommy previously held. The Business Bay alliance was falling fast.

Tommy seemed to pay no mind to Techno’s teasing, instead turning to the present company.

“Gentlemen, I think it’s time we realize who the real enemy is within our midst. If we continue to let the tyranny of the Antarctic Empire grow, we will all soon fall to its power. Do we really want to let Techno win?”

There was something about Tommy’s diplomatic plea that honestly had Wilbur pretty proud. He was almost willing to join up with Tommy for that reason alone, no matter how doomed he was. The others seemed to be considering this. Ranboo was already on board with this idea, his survival intrinsically tied to Tommy’s as they had allied early on.

“Or we can all join up and bully, Tommy,” Techno offered. He was met with cheers, agreements, and a long-winded speech from Wilbur himself.

“Wilbur, you traitor. You were even my favorite brother for a moment there,” Tommy growled. No malice tainted his voice and Wilbur stretched out the moments before his turn, faced twisted into something that resembled contemplation. As though it was actually in doubt that Wilbur was the better of Tommy’s two choices for favorite brother.

“It was never meant to be.” He moved to attack Tommy.

…

Wilbur knew he was going to lose. It was like the many times he played chess with Techno or Phil, the recipe for his defeat spelled out in the moves not made yet. As annoying as it was, hoping that the addition of a secondary foe for Techno to battle off would give Wilbur the chance he needed to push in from behind, he didn’t mind in the end (even if he still bantered back and forth for the honor of Newfoundland). Tommy and Ranboo had been completely absorbed into the remaining three superpowers of the world and Wilbur knew he’d soon be joining them. The least he could do now was go down with a fight and make himself as much of a pain in the ass as possible, something Techno was commenting on repeatedly. Every time he said something about it was a little closer he got to giving up his defensive front against Tubbo and ceding his armies to him. Techno always forgot Wilbur was petty and he would do what he could just to make it so Techno couldn’t win, even if it spelled a sooner downfall for him (something Tommy cheered for in between rounds of Guess Who that he and Ranboo were now playing).

Ranboo’s mom brought out the cookies a while back and they all had their fill of them. They may or may have not substituted dinner, at least for the Craft family. They’d have to stop and get McDonalds or some other fast food before they headed home.

Mr. Beloved was also enjoying the mock model UN roleplay put on between the three remaining. Mrs. Beloved occasionally returned from the kitchen to comment on it or ask if the boys needed anything. She checked past the green floral curtains every time she appeared, and Wilbur figured it was a lower-income area thing. The neighborhood didn’t seem the safest or best lit. Maybe they could focus some of their community betterment funds into the area…he’d have to bring it up with Phil.

He wondered where Tubbo got so good at this. He’d mentioned making Quackity play with him in the past, but Wilbur had met Quackity and did not think the man was really much of a challenge for Tubbo. They’d have to keep an eye on Tubbo when he eventually took over. It wasn’t that Schlatt wasn’t a strategist. On the contrary, if he couldn’t hold his own The Syndicate would have wiped them off the map years ago. Schlatt could be…erratic though. His hands in more above-board pies than those hidden within secrecy and cover ups. Tubbo, on the other hand, had a careful sort of way that he thought through every move before he made it. Wilbur could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed options and took risks. Much in the same way as Techno. Techno struck with force when he attacked, one could say he was almost overprepared whenever he staged a campaign against land occupied by Tubbo or Wilbur. On the other hand, Wilbur relied on the short-term alliances he made with his brother and Tubbo. Demilitarized zones hard fought with diplomacy and handshakes partnered with giggles as they pretended to truly be representing their imaginary countries. He would have been in a better position compared to the other two if it wasn’t for Tommy flinging the full force of his army into Wilbur’s front lines while Techno and Tubbo picked him off from behind.

Tubbo’s turn came around again and suddenly Wilbur was not so comfortable. The kid had not only found a hole in his defenses, but the dice were in his favor.

He chuckled nervously, all the while impressed beyond measure. “Look at you go, quite the heir in the making here.”

He thought it was a compliment. It would have been a compliment if anyone told him that. Tubbo did not seem to take it as a compliment. His self-assured posture from a campaign gone in his favor slumped and his eyes darkened.

Techno and Wilbur exchanged weary glances with each other.

…

Tubbo was throwing the game. What could have easily lasted another hour was rapidly ending with each turn Tubbo took riskier moves against Techno’s strongest armies that had virtually no chance of succeeding. It left a sour taste in his mouth that even the chocolate chip cookies couldn’t cover up. What was wrong with what he said? He was sure it was because he said Tubbo would be a good heir because everything had been fine before that. From what Tommy told them, Tubbo was excited to spend more time with his dad, presumably doing Manburg related things. Had something changed?

“I surrender,” Tubbo said, his army barely a shadow of what it once was.

“You sure?” Techno asked.

“Yep, I’m getting pretty tired anyway. I should be heading home,” he shrugged, standing up and stretching after hours curled around the board game on the floor.

“You could stay the night if you’d like, we’ll take you home in the morning,” Mr. Beloved offered, looking up from his book to give Tubbo a warm smile.

“We should be heading home too,” Techno said, standing up himself and cracking his neck and back like his spine was made of bubble wrap and not bone.

“You don’t want to finish your game?” Mrs. Beloved asked, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“It’s past the child’s bedtime, anyways,” Wilbur grinned. Tommy, who hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation immediately shot to his feet, face scrunched and red.

“I am not a child!”

“That’s what a child would say,” Techno laughed and started swiping pieces off the board and into the box.

The five of them cleaned up the mess from their impromptu board game night. Even though it was ending, Tommy’s smile and jokes he made as they brought the plates of cookies to the kitchen and packed up the board games left Wilbur’s heart soaring. Techno would have to admit that this was a good idea. They got to be brothers.

“We’ll give you a ride, Tubbo. I don’t want you walking around this late,” Wilbur offered and Tubbo nodded, yawning. Even if it wasn’t their fault, Wilbur was pretty sure Quackity would kill them if Tubbo got lost and/or hurt while walking the city at night. Of all the ways to go down, getting stabbed by Quackity was not what Wilbur wanted to be listed as his cause of death. It would be embarrassing.

They all mingled around a while longer, Techno deep in a conversation with Mr. Beloved about some old war that Wilbur probably learned about and promptly forgot about in history class. Mrs. Beloved was showing off what embarrassing pictures she had of child Ranboo on the walls. Even at 10, Ranboo was shaped like a string bean. Ranboo spent this time absolutely red in the face. What happened to leaving 10 minutes ago?

He rolled his eyes. There didn’t seem to be any hurt in sticking around, plus Tommy was cackling with Tubbo over a picture of Ranboo dressed as a tree for a school play while Ranboo buried his head in a couch cushion. Out of habit, he pulled his phone from his pocket, which hadn’t been touched in the past hour and a half at least. Instantly, he was met with four missed calls and a handful of texts from Phil and Sam. They may have forgotten to leave a note. Whoops?

“Uh, I think Dad’s wondering where we are. We should get going. Like actually get going.”

“Awe, but Mrs. Beloved was going to show us a video of Ranboo singing in his tree costume,” Tommy whined. Beside him, Mrs. Beloved smiled warmly at him, face all motherly and gentle.

“A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt?” She offered.

Wilbur looked at his phone and the repeated demands of “WHERE ARE YOU?” stared back at him. Techno had also pulled out his phone and Wilbur saw him cringe. So he was in a similar boat, good.

“Nope. Maybe next time. Come on gremlin.”

“Piss off,” Tommy huffed but didn’t argue anymore.

Mr. and Mrs. Beloved seemed tempted to say something more, but instead they wished them safe travels home and told them that they were welcome to stop by whenever they wanted. Mrs. Beloved stood by the window and watched the street as they said their final goodbyes to Ranboo and thanked the Beloved’s for their hospitality before leaving. Tubbo leaning his full weight onto Tommy who then leaned it all on Techno. It was like a sideways leaning tower of Pisa.

“This was nice,” Tommy mumbled from the backseat and Wilbur’s chest warmed. He actually admitted it.

“Yeah?” Techno turned back to look at them from the driver’s seat while Wilbur dialed their dad to fill him in on where they’d been. He’d update him on the Tommy situation later. For now, it was for the two brothers to enjoy.

They bantered the entire way back, Wilbur leading them all in an epic karaoke of Bohemian Rhapsody when it came on the radio. It was nice. It was the closest to normal he’d felt in years.

…

“So was Big Q really that mad over our game night?” Tommy asked, mouth full of sandwich. Ranboo wasn’t even sure why he tried to instill some semblance of table manners at their lunch table.

“No, he was just mad his date up and left him out of nowhere last night. He blames me,” Tubbo answered, poking at a cherry tomato in his salad.

“How is it your fault?” Ranboo asked.

“He doesn’t really think it’s my fault. He’s just upset.”

“Yeah, it’s not your fault Big Q can’t land a date,” Tommy giggled, reaching out and stealing one of Tubbo’s tomatoes.

“OI! Give that back!”

“Nope.” He popped the tomato into his mouth as he popped the ‘p’.

Before the two of them could get in trouble for fighting in the cafeteria Ranboo decided it would be best to intervene.

“My mom said you guys are all welcome to come back over whenever you want. Even your brothers.”

Tommy made a disgusted face.

“Maybe a little bit of warning next time though. I didn’t know they had friends coming over. You guys just barely missed them by like 15 minutes,” Ranboo explained. He’d been up in his room working on the homework he’d ignored in favor of getting his ass kicked at Risk when he saw the car pull into the driveway. At first, he thought his friends had just forgotten something, but it was people he didn’t recognize, at least in the dark. So that meant it was his parent’s friends. They hung around for nearly an hour before leaving. He wasn’t a very social person, so he never really went downstairs when his parents had friends over. That just meant he had to make small talk and hold a conversation, both terrifying propositions.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Tubbo laughed, rubbing his neck.

“We’re going through our rebellious arc,” Tommy said, reaching forward to steal another tomato.

Ranboo couldn’t do anything to hold back the screeching Tubbo this time. He turned to his own lunch and ate in peace while his friends fought over tiny tomatoes. This was the good life.

Chapter Text

The red head in front of Wilbur scowled, staring at the newly arrived shipment with distain. His arms crossed in front of his hoodie with the printed fox on it and he tapped his foot impatiently. Wilbur was still processing the information.

“So it’s all bad?” Several thousand dollars of drugs sat innocently on the floor of the warehouse, ready for distribution. Fundy called Wilbur before it could be split into sellable portions.

“I didn’t test every gram, but if it all came from the same place then yeah. It’s bad.”

“How bad?” Maybe they could still sell it, just in smaller doses. He really didn’t want to report this big of a loss to Phil and have to sit there at dinner with him looking so disappointed. It was painful, especially when Techno seemed to be able to do no wrong. Yet when something like this happened, that was completely out of his control, it was still his fault.

“Finding dead bodies on the street bad.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

Wilbur had met Fundy last year at university, Fundy had just started his second year and stuck to Wilbur like hydrogen bonds to oxygen. A chemistry student pulled into their little game of drug lab they had running in an abandoned storage room in the physics building. Phil had about lost his shit when he found out Wil and his friends were developing experimental recreational drugs and paying freshman to test them. Something about lawsuits and the dangers of drugs (it wasn’t like a not negligible amount of The Syndicate’s profit came from drug sales). Wilbur left out that he’d tried the Blue already on multiple occasions and it seemed safe to him. Phil couldn’t hide his begrudging proudness, despite his best efforts. Everyone who worked in their shoddily built drug lab had been brought into The Syndicate. His pal that had invented the drug they now called Blue (and was circulating the streets at a rapid pace) was now running a lab that wasn’t an explosion hazard 70% of the time. Fundy was dragged along with, despite being their newest addition. He kept track of their stores, distributed out to their salesmen, and made sure the shipments they got in from The Badlands or Kinoko were actually what they said they were.

Which brought them to here, staring at several thousand dollars’ worth of tampered with cocaine.

“Somebody seems to want to play dirty,” He grumbled, running his hand through his hair.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Save some of it, could be useful. Dispose of the rest. We don’t want anyone taking it on accident,” Wilbur instructed before pulling out his phone and dialing Phil’s number to inform him of the situation.

He didn’t take it well.

“Have any of your Crows seen anything?” Wilbur still glared at what was essentially death powder.

“No, but I’ll send them poking in those directions. Something must have slipped through after Kinoko.”

“Shit, have they not gotten that handled yet? It was one assassination,” Wilbur did his best not to kick the wall and instead focused on shoving a discarded broom around with his toe.

“It was enough to scare people. Schlatt’s been having issues in Kinoko too. Seems like Dream Team’s been flooding the drug market,” Phil grumbled. Wil had seen the effects of that on the monthly reports. Someone was underselling everything and their buyers were flocking to that lower price. If Fundy hadn’t caught onto the tampered with cocaine then they could have lost a ton of their buyers here as well, either through death or distrust. Death would bring legal attention, and with the 8^th District Police Chief fired for supposed ‘embezzling police funds’ (Techno’s sources said that was a lie), they were running a little low on Crow support. Distrust couldn’t be paid off though. People bought from them because they were safe. The bricks he was staring at were not safe.

“Well screw them specifically. I’ll get Fundy on the lookout for anyone trying to do that here. We’ll be able to handle them.”

“Good. I want updated profit reports by Monday and new testing procedures implemented by tomorrow.”

“Yes Dad.”

“Oh, tell Techno that…never mind. Tommy’s sneaking out the window.” There was a long sigh on the other line. “Call me if anything else happens. I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t break his neck.”

The line cut off and Wilbur didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d seen Tommy climb through that window before. That he’d ended up playing board games for hours with Tommy’s friends after following Tommy and his attempts to sneak out. What Phil didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe it’d be good for Tommy and Phil to talk about this. They needed to talk. Wil just hoped they’d actually make some progress. Wil and Techno could only do so much in dealing with the hurt and anger that so clearly radiated off of Tommy. Yet every time Wil tried to talk to him about it, push away some of the spiked barbs to try and dig down to the root of the weed and pull it out, he always shut down. Nothing changed. He’d been trying to get Phil to try for months now, he could only hope he had success.

In the meantime, he had a lot of work to do before he could collapse on his bed that night. Phil wanted new testing procedures by tomorrow. Who needs sleep anyways? Surely not him when he had a meeting at nine in the morning. It was never Techno’s departments that faced trouble, it was always his. Why he thought handling one of the most logistically taxing aspects of the family business was a good idea was beyond him. He rubbed at his eyes underneath his glasses, stalked into an empty storage room and threw his beanie against the wall. Stupid people, messing with his hard-earned praise and shipments. He ended up kicking the wall in the end anyways.

…

Tommy was halfway down the roof, trying to visualize where his landing rhododendron was when the light behind him shifted. It was probably a bird, up way too late, so he paid it no mind. If he got too distracted, he might lose his footing on the slick early autumn leaves and end up on a slip-and-slide into the rhododendron bush instead of a Tommy Craft branded controlled descent.

Tubbo and Ranboo would be waiting for him. Board game night pt. 2 was a go. This time without any nosy brothers to interfere. Not like they would, Techno had half moved out last month so he wasn’t around to follow again like a stalker and Wilbur was off having fun with his own friends. Something Tommy found very annoying because what made them different, really? A couple of years? The fact that Wilbur had graduated high school? It wasn’t fair.

Tommy nearly jumped off the roof when he heard the sound of someone’s throat clearing behind him. Shit. He thought he’d been smart enough by getting rid of the tracker and waiting until a night where both Techno and Wilbur weren’t around. His dad was in his office which meant he probably wasn’t leaving it until after Tommy when to bed. Yet, as Tommy looked over his shoulder and was met with the formidable outline of one Philza Craft, all sharp edges and narrowed eyes.  

“Where do you think you’re going, mate?” His dad asked, arms crossed in front of him and a brow raised.

Tommy grumbled as he weighed his options, he was screwed now. There was no way he’d be able to get down the street, to the bus stop, catch the bus, transfer buses, and then get to Ranboo’s house before his dad or Sam dragged him back home. He’d need to call off the meeting with Tubbo and Ranboo because if Phil found out then that meant Tubbo’s dad would find out. The only thing they could ever agree on was how to make their son’s lives as constricting as possible. It was Friday night, and they were 15! Of course they’d all want to hang out. Honestly, their parents should be glad they just want to play Cards Against Humanity with each other and not do drugs (although that had been an activity Tommy suggested once that was vehemently vetoed by Ranboo).

“Just going out for a walk. Enjoy the night air, you know? Beautiful night, innit?” He tried and started to edge back towards the gutter.

His dad did not seem convinced, and Tommy froze when the look his dad was giving him intensified. Continuing his escape seemed like a bad idea now.

“That so? Out the window?”

“Yep…” Prime he was really digging himself into a hole here. “So, I’m gonna go-”

“Tommy-” His dad sighed and Tommy could hear all the fatigue at once. ‘On his fourth cup of coffee since 4 pm’ kind of tired. Even though he bristled at the thought of just giving in and climbing back up the roof, he didn’t want to make his dad more upset than he already was. Beyond the exhaustion, he sounded stressed as well. Did he really want to make that worse too?

Phil stretched out a hand to him. Tommy begrudgingly climbed back up the roof and back inside, his dad’s grip catching him when his footing went out on a leaf. His dad shut and locked the window the moment his feet touched the hardwood inside. So much for attempt number two.

He was half expecting a lecture, like the hour long fit his dad had thrown when Tubbo snuck over. Instead, Phil sat down on his bed and patted the space next to him. Tommy’s star covered duvet was pushed aside to make room for the two of them. The lecture hadn’t started yet but Tommy knew it was coming. He had on that ‘I’m not mad just disappointed’ face. The one that made his insides twist with the thought that every day Phil regretting having a third son more.

Tommy absentmindedly sent the ‘mission abort’ text to the group chat and flopped on the bed next to Phil. He tried his best not to look at him. Not to meet their matching eyes and hair that declared him more Phil’s son than either of his brothers. The stars pasted on his ceiling greeted him instead. Wilbur put them up years ago and he invented fake constellations and myths to accompany them with Techno. His eyes traced the pattern of ‘Big Man’, his favorite. AKA the most awesome hero of all who saved the day, had so many women, and lived a happy and long life. Techno had scoffed at the story, saying heroes don’t get happy endings and listed off the dozens of stories he’d told to Tommy while recounting the stars in their backyard on warm August nights. Tommy liked his own versions better.

“What’s the matter?” Phil asked, gently, like he was trying to lure in a wild animal and was afraid of scaring it away.

“Why do you care?” he grumbled back, frustration still churning inside him at his meetup gone wrong. He still refused to look at his dad.

“You know you aren’t allowed to go to Tubbo’s house,” Phil said, voice still annoyingly gentle. His hand brushed Tommy’s arm and he instantly flung it away, turning away to face the wall and leave his back facing him.

“I wasn’t going to Tubbo’s, I was going to Ranboo’s.”

“Why? Don’t you see them at school and at the park?” Could Phil stop being so stupidly calm about this? He caught Tommy sneaking out, where was the anger, where was the arguing, where was the admittance that he never really cared about him anyways because Techno and Wil are the favorites and that’s why he leaves Tommy alone so often or just hands him off to Sam because it’s easier that way. He rubbed at his eyes.

“Prime forbid I want to hang out without Sam or Quackity breathing down my neck.”

“I thought you were fine with that? Sam’s just there to keep you safe-”

Tommy sat up at that and turned around to glare at his dad. His face felt warm and his nose stung as he tried to hold back the tears and his heart beat at a thousand miles per hour and every thought felt like a tornado in his brain.

“Where’d you get that idea from? When I was 10? Fuck off. You’ve controlled literally every aspect of my life for years and don’t even have the decency to ask me what I want! I’m tired of being treated like a kid!” He shouted, months of mentally preparing for this argument coming to fruition right in front of him.

The only hiccup his anger met was the look on his father’s face. It wasn’t anger to match Tommy’s, it was hurt. His dad looked devastated. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his Dad’s turn to be hurt, it was his. Tommy’s planning and preparation didn’t account for this. He’d expected a shouting match, he’d expected arguing, he didn’t expect being able to just vent his feelings and his dad to take it like some sad punching bag.

“Tommy-”

“I’m not a kid! And you aren’t even getting mad at any of this! I snuck out! I broke your rules and you’re just sitting there looking all sad! At least Techno and Wil were making an effort! You haven’t changed anything, and I can’t do it anymore!”

“I am just trying to keep you safe,” Phil whispered, it almost looked like he was crying. His eyes were all glossy. It made him all the angrier.

“Safe from what? I can take care of myself! Sam and Techno taught me how. Why can’t you trust me?”

“Because you’re reckless.”

“Mimi mi mimi I’m Philza Craft and I still act like Tommy’s a toddler even though he’s 15 fucking years old and I just talk to my oldest sons and I ignore him because I don’t like him and don’t let him go over to his friend’s house like every other kid all because Wilbur broke his ankle with some friends once and now I take it out on Tommy who just wants to see his dad every once in a while…” Tommy found himself trailing off his high-pitched impression, tears pushing forward and down his cheeks. He didn’t know when the anger boiled over like a pot of water left on a stove for too long. He tried to keep going with his rant, he had more to say. He’d planned to say more. Yet every breath was fought for over hiccupping sobs and tears that were hard to see through.

The next moment he was wrapped in Phil’s arms, the soft cotton of his dress shirt pressed into his face. He was probably ruining it with the tears and the snot, but he felt a ruined shirt was just the start of a worthy punishment for everything. His dad had loads of dress shirts and this one served as a good tissue. Tommy Craft did not cry, but maybe it was okay right now.

“Oh mate,” His dad whispered, rubbing his hands on Tommy’s back in a soothing motion. Something he hadn’t done in years.

“I just miss you all,” it sounded pitiful to say in his mind, and sounded even more pitiful said aloud with sniffles and tears interrupted nearly every syllable. He didn’t want to sound pitiful. Sounding pitiful meant people would pity you and only try and change because they pitied you. Or would just pretend to.

“I’m sorry, mate. I really am.”

“Words don’t mean shit, and I don’t need your stupid pity,” he huffed, still fighting the sniffles.

“I know they don’t, but my word means a lot. We’ll spend the day together, just you and me and we can talk,” he promised, leaning into Tommy and resting his head within his curls.

“Really?”

Phil agreed and curled around Tommy even more, running his hand through his hair and the other one still rubbing his back. They stayed like that for a while, Phil even ignoring a couple phone calls. That was unheard of. He was tempted to believe that maybe a change was coming, that maybe in his dad’s warm embrace there could be a future where everything didn’t make him so irredeemably angry. He didn’t have proof yet. He still needed proof, more than a few assured promises.

The two of them watched a movie that night. Up. One of Tommy’s favorites.

…

If Philza Craft told someone he slept well that night, he was a liar. His thoughts were addled with replays of what Tommy had said to him and every word hit like a knife in the chest. He wasn’t that bad of a father, right? Maybe he could have done better, but he never felt like he was ignoring Tommy. He always asked him how his school day went, let him hang out with Tubbo and Ranboo, and even gave him a very generous allowance. Yet, he clearly was failing.

It was two in the morning, he was panicking, and Tommy was asleep. Phil did what he always did when he was having problems with one of his children. He called Sam.

“Hello?” Sam asked, beyond the din of the nighttime sounds of the city. He’d been doing business with Techno that night.

“Tommy hates me, and I don’t know what to do.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Sam cleared his throat.

“Sir, he’s made that pretty clear the past few months. He misses you.”

“Nobody told me-”

“With all due respect, Wilbur told you several times,” Sam almost seemed angry, rarely was his anger directed at Phil yet every scathing word, however polite it was phrased, left his skin crawling.

Phil tried to grapple with that. He felt like he would have remembered Wilbur bringing up something like Tommy being upset and angry at him. Distantly, a few half-hearted conversations in between meetings and over steaming cups of tea. He remembered saying he would handle it, just to assure Wilbur, and then nothing. His mind had been so distracted lately with the news that the Dream mafia was starting to make appearances in SMP again that it wouldn’t surprise him if it had slipped his mind. Likely written down on one of the thousands of sticky notes around him before promptly forgotten about the moment it slipped between the pages of some other report or fell onto the floor.

“Listen mate, I know I fucked up. But how do I fix it, I told Tommy we would hang out, but I don’t know what we should do. You know him best!” He realized the moment he said it that the root of his problem was there. Shame burned worse than any hot kettle or stove top.

Sam seemed to acknowledge this revelation and chose not to comment on it. “You could always go see a movie together, or get lunch, or play a board game.”

“He doesn’t want to be babied anymore, I need something to make him feel like he’s an adult and a part of the family,” Phil thought out loud, hoping saying it might kick his brain into gear because Tommy was expecting him to deliver, and he needed to. He couldn’t handle another breakdown in his arms.

“Do you want to teach him to shoot a gun or something?”

“Sam you’re a genius,” Phil was on his computer moments later, already scheduling a time at the range and making sure they had the proper supplies available and his schedule was clear.

“Phil, that was sarcastic. You’re going to give Tommy, our Tommy, a gun?” Sam was acting like this was a terrible idea, yet he’d been the one to suggest Tommy learn to defend himself better beyond the self-defense Sam had taught him. Now he could learn a whole new aspect of life that would serve him well in the future. This was a perfect plan. Plus they could spend time together and get lunch afterwards.

“Alright, if Tommy ends up in the ER tomorrow it’s not my fault,” he said with a huff and then promptly ended the call.

Phil didn’t mind in the end. He had a day to plan and a relationship to fix.

 …

His dad kept his word and when Tommy clambered downstairs the next morning, Phil was already dressed and sipping on a cup of tea. Wilbur was at the breakfast table as well, looking like he was about to faceplant in his cereal. Somebody clearly did not get their recommended eight hours. Tommy on the other hand had slept like a baby. There was something about sobbing your eyes out that was absolutely draining and Tommy passed out the moment he hit his bed after they watched the movie.

Techno was back even though he’d been staying at his own place the night before and was on the couch. His legs perched on the arm rest as he spread himself over the entire surface with a book in his hands, looking considerably more awake than Wilbur.

“Eat something and then get ready, I’m hoping to leave on the hour,” Phil said, soft smile behind his mug. Tommy could still trace out the lines of stress and fatigue within his father’s face, snuck in with the handful of wrinkles in his forehead, the curve of his lips, and the dull bruised color of eyebags. He seemed more at peace, or maybe that was the tea kicking in.

Wilbur muttered something incoherent through a mouthful of frosted flakes as Tommy sat down and poured his own bowl, cereal first unlike the heathen that was Wilbur.

At one point during breakfast, Techno appeared by Tommy’s side and whispered, “Watch this.”

Tommy couldn’t help the feral grin that spread across his face as Techno took aim at Wilbur, who was resting his head on his hand, and tossed a crumbled napkin that hit him square in the head. It took a whole five seconds before Wilbur reacted. Both brothers erupted in a fit of giggles at the confusion apparent on their brother’s face and the red handprint from where he’d been leaning.

“I am running on 90 minutes of sleep and spite. Don’t test me,”

“Like that would be so bad,” Techno grinned.

Wilbur picked up the crumbled napkin, dunked it in his cereal and threw it right back at Techno.

He missed.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” Techno laughed.

“Boys, no throwing food at the breakfast table.”

“Phil, they started it!” Wilbur shouted but immediately shrunk back down the moment he saw Phil glaring at him. Tommy giggled into his toast.

“Shut it, no throwing food. You better clean that up.”

Wilbur pushed himself up from his seat with all the drama he could muster on what he claimed were 90 minutes of sleep. He stormed over to the spot where the napkin had splatted, picked it up, and promptly dropped it down the back of Techno’s shirt.

Tommy ran off before he could get dragged into the crossfire. He still had his day with Dad.

…

“So where are we going?”

“I told you it’s a surprise.”

“So, surprise me by telling me?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“A hint?”

“It’s a place we have to drive to.”

“That’s a stupid hint.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“This isn’t very good bonding. I’m feeling neglected.”

“Nope, you don’t get to use that excuse. We are bonding.”

…

So maybe Wilbur, Techno, and Sam had been right when they said Tommy shouldn’t be trusted around firearms.

The moment they pulled up to the range, Tommy’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

“Am I getting a gun?!” He asked, hastily ripping off his seatbelt and scrambling out the passenger seat into the gravel parking lot.

“No.”

His face instantly dropped.

“Why do you want a gun?” He asked, curious if something Tubbo or his other sons said slipped through their carefully constructed safety nets.

“I think it’d be poggers. All the good guys in movies have them and I can just go pew pew and impress so many women.”

Phil couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the shear amount of adoration and exasperation he felt in that moment. His son, his Tommy, was so much brighter than he ever was at the dinner table. It reminded him of the times he saw him playing with Techno and Wil. His bright blond curls shined to match his smile as he mimed along to his tirade.

“Really now?” Phil grinned and Tommy instantly scrunched his face in annoyance.

“Don’t patronize me! You may be my patron but I am very capable as a matter of fact and will be the best gun guy in the world, mind you.”

He laughed and dropped an arm around Tommy, tugging him close.

“You know, my dad taught me to shoot here. This is where I taught Techno and Wilbur too. A bit of a family tradition you could say,” Phil explained, watching the excitement build in Tommy’s blue eyes. “I was going to wait until you were a little older, but I think you can handle it.”

Tommy looked a little skeptical at that, maybe Phil was laying this on a little thick, but Tommy didn’t seem to mind too much.

It was when Phil started going over the various safety mechanisms that he thought maybe what he thought was a great idea at two in the morning wasn’t actually a great idea in the long run.

“This is Linda,” Tommy explained, very matter-of-factly, staring down at the handgun Phil had brought. The one he’d been saving for Tommy in particular when he was old enough to need to be able to defend himself in the streets from those that would wish him harm. His mind instantly went to the looming threat of the Dream Team and he pushed the thought away just as quick. No business, just bonding.

“Where’d you come up with that?”

“She just seems like a Linda,” he nodded to himself.

Phil had to stop Tommy from trying to spin it around his finger like some old west gunslinger three times before he finally relented. Thank Prime the thing wasn’t loaded.

They went over the basics, everything from care and how to aim. Reloading and how to hold it. Trigger training and where the safety was. The important things. Phil made sure to stress the importance of not ever aiming at somebody he didn’t have the intention of seriously harming. He seemed a little suspicious of this, but Phil assured him it was a ‘just in case’ precaution. That hopefully Tommy would never have to fire at somebody.

When they finally made it to the range, Phil at least a little more certain that Tommy wasn’t going to accidentally shoot himself or somebody else, things seemed to even out a little more. Besides the frustration that was clearly growing in his son who couldn’t seem to hit the target and was complaining loud enough to be heard over the ear plugs.

“This is stupid,” Tommy huffed, setting the gun down and crossing his arms.

“It just takes practice. Anything worth doing well takes practice. Did you know Wil can outshoot Techno?” He said, putting his own down to focus on Tommy. He could parent. He could do it.

“Really? Seems unlikely.”

Phil laughed, “I know, I couldn’t believe it myself either. But Wil wanted to be better than Techno so he practiced all the time and now I’m pretty sure he could hit a quarter from the other side of a soccer field.”

He thought that was going to help Tommy but instead the boy’s frown only deepened.

“I’m never going to be the best at something,” he mumbled.

“I’d say you’re the best at drawing, and you definitely get up to the most mischief. That’s a feat in and of itself.” He laughed as he reached out to hold onto Tommy’s hand. It was so much smoother than Phil’s. Without the years of concrete scrapes and fights that Phil’s had.

“I don’t draw much anymore…”

“I think you should restart, a steady hand’s an important tool.” His mind had immediately gone to forgery, but today wasn’t a workday. Today was a Tommy day. “I’ll even hang them up on the fridge and gush about your talents to everyone who comes over. Call you my little Picasso. How about that?”

“Fuck off, Dadza,” there was enough of a smile there that Phil knew he didn’t mean it.

“Come on, let’s get your grip right.”

The two of them worked on his aim until Tommy hit the bullseye two out of every three times. Phil even ignored three separate phone calls, something that made Tommy beam every time. The world wouldn’t end in the hours they were together, joking about Wil and Techno. Tommy told stories of his adventures with Ranboo and Tubbo, adventures that Phil was certain were heavily sanitized based on the number of contradictions alone within the retellings. They just existed and it almost felt normal. Like Tommy hadn’t been crying into his arms less than 24 hours prior. They were okay. It wasn’t perfect, Phil knew he had a lot to make up for, but it was a start. Just maybe, he could piece together the broken pottery that was their relationship.

…

Across the city a warehouse changes ownership and a trio of friends and business partners step into their new base of operations for the first time. They still have months to go before the seeds of their plans will truly sprout but the roots were already deep within the concrete of the cityscape. Months of planning and strategy finally showcasing their opening moves. Nothing too aggressive as they still have business elsewhere to clean up.

A smile is spray-painted on an alley wall in a Syndicate controlled part of the city. Toxic green paint drips down the brick like blood. Even the stray cats and dogs of the city seem to steer clear of it as though they too knew it was a warning.

It is painted over the day it is found and Philza Craft once again retreats into his office.

Chapter Text

Wilbur didn’t often join Tommy and his friends, the aptly named Park Trio, in their after-school escapades. Typically, he was still on campus or doing his own homework when the children would gather. He didn’t mind, the fall in SMP was pleasant. He sat at a picnic table, laptop out and cup of coffee at his side. It was cool enough that he needed his university sweatshirt to keep off the worst of the chilly breeze, but he kept his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The chirp of birds, rustle of leaves, and distant laughter of Tommy made for good ambience. He should do his work outside more often, get that vitamin D and fresh air people were always going on about. He’d have to offer to cover for Sam more often.

Phil needed Sam’s aptitude for security systems for a meeting they had with a new construction company that day. Tommy had not taken the news well when he’d been told a few days prior that he couldn’t go to the park with Ranboo and Tubbo even though they had a whole picnic planned. It was on the third day of his brother’s pouting (and that very morning) that Wilbur finally asked what Tommy was throwing a fit over. Why Phil hadn’t just asked him or Techno to take over for Sam for one afternoon was beyond Wil, but they had the solution now as he offered. As must as he liked to tease his brother, he wasn’t a child and didn’t need constant supervision anymore.

He may or may have not skipped his morning class to pick up some extra picnic food for the trio. They’d been prepping for just two (plus Quackity). Plus, his relationship with Tommy was finally improving, so it was the least he could do to make sure their picnic went well, and they didn’t run out of food or have to make a supply run halfway through. Ranboo seemed a little upset that his mom had only baked him cookies for him and Tubbo, but Wilbur assured him that Tommy would be okay (and he may have purchased a bunch of cookies when he stopped at the store to make up for it).

He was even hanging back! Phil had mentioned how Tommy didn’t like feeling coddled and hovered over. Wilbur had driven Tommy to the park and found a picnic table to watch from a distance. He didn’t need to be right next to him the entire time. Tommy was 15 for Prime’s sake, he knew how to navigate a park without getting lost. He hoped anyways.

Quackity sat on the table over from Wilbur. He’d managed to get over his aversion to even looking at him sometime in the past two years but some of the old habits had managed to stick. Whatever Techno had said to him after the sleepover incident certainly stuck. Quackity fit right into their world now, eyes always alert behind an easy expression and relaxed posture. He’d gained confidence over the years. While back during the sleepover incident Wilbur was fairly certain Quackity wouldn’t have it in him to pull the trigger, he had no doubt in his mind that he would now. Especially if it was to protect Tubbo, no matter how much he complained about the kid.

The best part of being at the park with Quackity, was being able to pull rank. Especially when Tommy ran up to them, cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion as he pointed to the place the trio had spread out their picnic blanket. Wilbur glanced that way and nearly doubled over laughing as he watched Ranboo hold his tupperware of cookies over his head as he and Tubbo hid behind a tree while a matching trio of raccoons seemed to take their picnic as a perfect place to reside.

“Need help…scaring raccoons away…” Tommy huffed. He had a big stick in his hand and Wilbur had a feeling he tried scaring them away himself first.

“It’s your real brother’s, Tommy! They’ve come to take you back!” Wilbur laughed, leaving a fuming Tommy in front of him.

“I am not a raccoon you prick!”

“Oh are we talking about Tommy’s cousins?” Tubbo asked, jogging alongside Ranboo as they fled their tree hideout and approached.

“I am not a raccoon!”

“You do kind of act like one though,” Ranboo added, snickering into his tupperware.

“Fuck off, Ranboob!”

“What Tommy means to say is we could really use your help because Dad would have an aneurysm if I got rabies,” Tubbo said, nodding along and looking between Wilbur and Quackity. The little shit knew how to pull rank too.

“That’s on you, Big Q,” Wilbur said with his ever-famous teasing grin. “I’m doing homework,” he motioned to his computer, knowing full well he hadn’t touched his homework in the last fifteen minutes. Quackity seemed to know this as well and glowered at him but didn’t argue. The wonders of being in charge.

“Give me the stick, Tommy,” he huffed.

Tommy pulled it close to his chest. “Find your own stick, bitch!”

Quackity looked ready to commit a murder but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before pushing himself up from the picnic table. He pulled down the sleeves of his jacket that he had pushed up to his elbows, glaring at Wilbur the entire time and Wilbur only smiled back.

“Not to be the additional bearer of bad news, but there are like no forks over there,” Ranboo added, looking at the ground like he was going to get in trouble for saying there were no forks.

Quackity groaned. “They’re in the car. You three go get them, I’ll scare the raccoons away.”

“I’m helping with the raccoons too!” Tommy raised his stick in the air like it was the signal for a battle to be fought.

“Absolutely not,” Wilbur said, trying to get it through to his brother that fighting a bunch of feral raccoons was not on the list of things he wanted to explain to Dad when Tommy inevitably ended up in the hospital because of it. He’d never be trusted with Tommy again.

“Nope. Too late. Already going.” Tommy ran off with Quackity jogging behind him, hopefully to keep the 15-year-old terror from getting rabies.

Tubbo and Ranboo looked between themselves. “Guess we’re on fork duty. Be right back, Big Man.” Tubbo pulled Ranboo along behind him, through the trees and towards the parking lot. The tupperware of cookies was left abandoned on the table and Wilbur was half tempted to steal one.

Wilbur kept his focus on Tommy and Quackity, keeping an eye on them through the bars of the playground that split the park. Nobody was screaming yet and Quackity seemed to have obtained his own large stick so that was good. The two of them seemed to be making as much noise as possible and banging their sticks on the ground. Wilbur wasn’t exactly sure what the proper procedure for scaring off raccoons was, but this was pretty funny to watch. He pulled out his phone to record them, zooming in to catch the details of the strange dance Tommy had started. He somehow cajoled Quackity into joining him. Whatever they were doing was either going to scare the raccoons away, imitate some weird bird mating dance, or summon a demon. This would be such excellent blackmail.

His phone dropped the moment he heard Ranboo scream.

“HELP!”

…

Ranboo knew it was stupid to stress over not having enough cookies for everyone. He’d told his parents about their planned picnic but how disappointed he was Tommy couldn’t come and his mom had immediately offered to bake some cookies for them. Then he didn’t find out Tommy was going to be there until that morning and there was no time to pack more because he was already at school and they were going directly after school and it was a stupid thing to stress over but his mind couldn’t stop. The whole day felt weird, like there was an itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch. Anxiety was so much fun. He knew it wasn’t the cookies he was really anxious over, Wilbur had assured him of that, but it was just what his brain decided to latch onto. Something was off about the day and he couldn’t figure out what. Whether it was the cold shift the wind carried, the sudden change of plans, or just residual stress over a group project he was working on.

He was on edge and Tubbo seemed to notice that, bumping into him playfully throughout the day, making faces at him in class, and never leaving his side once they got to the park. They’d intended to go their usual spot, the park by the school, but there was a whole gaggle of children there and Quackity made the executive decision that he did not want to hear screaming children all afternoon and drove them to their backup location, a park a few blocks away that they’d been to a few times. Tubbo texted the update to Tommy so he could inform Wilbur.

He liked the backup park more. It was filled with way more trees, tall pines that stayed green all year round and oaks that looked like they were on fire with their autumn colors. Plus, it had a playground that was far more accessible for the fifteen-year-olds so they didn’t keep bumping their heads on the plastic roofs and could fit down the slides when they did chase each other over the playground equipment.

Then there were the forks. The stupid forks. He knew he wasn’t going to get in trouble for bringing up that they had exactly zero forks at their raccoon infested picnic location, but it was just another thing for him to stress out over. The solution was easy, they’d just walk out to the car to get them, but it was just another thing to set him even more on edge. How did they forget the forks? At least they remembered plates.

Tubbo squeezed his hand reassuringly as they walked through the parking lot and past the handful of cars there. The only occupants of the park were a mom and her two toddlers playing in the sandbox. The other cars he assumed were from the attached hiking trails. While they weren’t super popular in the autumn when they were more mud than dirt, some people were just that dedicated. Couldn’t be him.

Two more guys got out of their car as Tubbo and Ranboo were walking towards Quackity’s car, and Ranboo didn’t pay much attention to either of them. They were probably here for hiking as well even if they didn’t look dressed for it. To each their own.

Everything was fine until Tubbo unlocked the car and Ranboo reached inside. The squeak of sneakers on concrete and a familiar sounding yelp had him whipping around to see a sight that would likely haunt him for years.

The two men he saw, the ones he thought were just coming for a hike had Tubbo in their arms. One of them was pressing a cloth to a struggling Tubbo’s mouth and nose as he held him while the other was ushering them backwards, back towards their car, and he had a gun. Ranboo’s eyes widened in realization as he screamed for help because that’s what the assemblies said to do. Scream, bring attention to the situation, get somebody to help because Tubbo was being kidnapped. The next moment he was barreling towards his best friend, forks spilled out on the concrete, pressure built behind his eyes and his heartbeat at an impossible speed. He couldn’t fight these guys, isn’t the number one rule not to bring a gun to a fist fight? Well, he was the fist in that equation and usually it didn’t go well for those people. Not trying wasn’t an option though, because Tubbo was doing his best but Ranboo could already see his attempted swings lacking the same threat behind them. If they got in the car there was no telling where they’d take them and Ranboo couldn’t keep up with a vehicle. It was now or never.  

Ranboo impacted the guy holding Tubbo, hoping to try and dislodge Tubbo or surprise him enough to get him to drop his best friend. When that didn’t work, he tried to pry the man’s arms away, panic now fully replaced his anxiety. There were two of them and only one of him and even though he met their height he had noodles for arms and they weren’t budging.

“Let him go!” He screamed, until there was an arm wrenching him back and Tubbo made brief, half-lidded eye contact with him, fear so present in his eyes, tears reflecting on his cheeks and something inside Ranboo broke as he realized he failed moments before something hard was rammed into the side of his head and he was being flung back onto the pavement in a heap.

Concrete dug into his palms and cheek and his head swam like he’d just woken up. He had to try again, had to save Tubbo. Yet, his movements felt like he was pushing through sticky honey. He shakily pushed himself up with his hands. Bits of gravel and dirt crusted his bloody palms. The cool air that hit his knee told him he’d ripped his jeans. He tried to get to his feet, but everything faltered again, muscles shaking, his head spinning.

He must have hit his head, yeah, that was the only way to explain how he couldn’t focus and how it hurt to peel open his eyes. He tried to find Tubbo again in his vision and caught sight of what looked like Tubbo’s blurry form, limp in someone’s arms. The other had a gun trained somewhere in the distance. Someone else was screaming Tubbo’s name now. Had help arrived? Or was he too late? Was that him screaming? Then there were gunshots and Ranboo dropped to the ground, hands pressed protectively over his ears. There was more screaming.

…

Wilbur was running before he’d truly processed what he’d heard. Ranboo cried for help and Wilbur was on his feet and sprinting towards the parking lot, sparing only a glance to Tommy to ensure that he was not the one in need of assistance. They were too far away. Wilbur was the closest and he had to get there, had to figure out what was happening. His hand hovered over where his gun was holstered, tugging it out from where it was hidden under his sweatshirt. Ranboo’s scream wasn’t playful, it was terrified. It was gut wrenching and reminded him too much of memories he’d long repressed.

He crossed the distance between the playground and the parking lot in record time, adrenaline pushing him to records his old gym teacher would have applauded. He heard Ranboo screaming again, voice tensed with struggle and then it was silent, and Wilbur broke through the trees and his heart stopped.

Two men had a hold of Tubbo, Ranboo was a shaking lump on the ground, trying to push himself to his feet again, and Tubbo was being kidnapped. He didn’t have time to shut down, he didn’t have time for the panic that clawed at his throat and the memory of drug-laced cloths pressed into his face. Of broken ankles and screaming and begging for him to be let go. Of gun shots and Dad holding him so gently in his arms. He fired before he could process any of that because where Sam faltered, he wouldn’t.

“Tubbo!” The name wrenched itself from his lips before he could stop himself and immediately the attention was on him. His gun was raised and aimed. One of the men had pulled his own gun, leaving the second to further wrangle a terrifyingly still Tubbo. He fired before he had a chance to think.

The man who had the gun aimed at him was on the ground, bullet clean through his skull, before Wilbur had crossed the distance. The second one had dropped Tubbo in that time, the boy halfway in the van, while he fumbled for his own firearm. The shot Wilbur sent into his leg dealt with that and he swiftly moved to kick his gun away.

He could barely think, barely breath as he kept the gun leveled at the second man, who was desperately trying to staunch the blood flow from his leg. His ears roared like he was underwater and battling 20-foot waves. He kept going there. Dark cellars and cold stone, every time he blinked he wasn’t in the park he was far away from home and alone and dying so slowly. Tubbo he had to make sure Tubbo was alright, but he couldn’t breathe and there was blood on the concrete and the other man beneath his gun was begging for mercy and every time his eyes closed it took longer to open them.

A scream ripped from his lips as someone’s hand touched his shoulder and he whipped himself around, only to find his gun pointed at Quackity, eyes wide and chest heaving. He lowered his while Quackity raised his own to point at the bleeding man on the ground.

“Call Schlatt,” Wilbur managed to put the thoughts to sounds and found himself migrating to Tubbo like he was in a dream. Distantly he could hear Quackity on the phone and when he looked up Tommy was next to him and Ranboo looked dazed but coherent, he had some nasty gashes on his cheek and palms from where he seemed to have impacted the ground.

Distantly, he could hear his therapist’s voice in his mind. Five things you can see. That was only for panic attacks, right? He wasn’t having one, he was fine. He was. He had to be because Tubbo was almost kidnapped and that could have been Tommy and he couldn’t bear to have that be his fault the moment he was trusted with keeping Tommy safe. No, he knew that tightness in his chest, the inability to get a full breath in. He couldn’t be of any help if he was panicking. He couldn’t keep Tommy safe if he could barely think straight. Five things you can see.

One. His gun on the ground beside him. Still hot. Looking like it hadn’t just killed a man.

Two. Tubbo, slowly responding to the prodding of Ranboo. His face contorted like he’d just woken from a bad dream. Ranboo’s bloody hands pulling him to his chest.

Three. Tommy standing a few feet away, eyes locked on something distant. Wilbur followed the direction of his gaze and they landed on the dead man sprawled out in the parking lot.

Tommy. Tommy. His counting immediately came to a halt.

“Tommy get in the car!” He shouted, barely recognizing his own voice. Tommy remained frozen, blinking rapidly, eyes flickering between the trio of them on the ground and the dead body a few feet away.

“Wil-”

“GET IN THE CAR AND LOCK THE DOORS NOW!” Tommy was gone a second later and Wilbur watched him to be sure he made it inside the car and watched the rear lights blink.  

Tubbo was crying into Ranboo’s chest now, small, quiet whimpering things. Quackity was shouting into his phone, words that weren’t registering, things he needed to be paying attention to because Tubbo was almost kidnapped and they didn’t know by who because Wil knew it wasn’t the Syndicate and there were only so many other options and he couldn’t breathe and then he was on his feet and Quackity was guiding him somewhere else. His stomach recoiled and left him heaving even though nothing came up. Then he found his back against a fence looking away from the scene and towards his car. He could see Tommy inside. He needed to focus on Tommy. Tommy who looked so frightened, staring out the car window, nose pressed to the glass.

Right, five things he could see. He was on three? Right? Tommy was the third.

Four. Blood like an oil slick on his shoes.

Five. The dirty remnants of a princess band-aid a few feet in front of him. Probably from some kid who had it slip off their finger or knee.

Next up, four things he could hear.

One. Birds were chirping. If his dad was here, he’d be able to tell him what kind they were. Where or why Philza managed to learn bird calls was a mystery to all of the Craft children but a skill Wilbur remembered being delighted by in his childhood.

Two. Quackity, still yelling into the phone. The words swam together, but Wilbur could put together him saying that he needed backup now.  

Three. The rumble of a car driving down the street, unaware of the carnage in the parking lot.

Wilbur had killed someone. It wasn’t his first kill, Prime, it wasn’t even his second. What unsettled him was how instinctual it was, how he didn’t even hesitate at the thought of potentially hitting Tubbo. He knew he could make the shot and he did.

Four. Why couldn’t he hear a fourth thing? It shouldn’t be this hard. He pulled his knees towards himself and tucked his head between them. His breath, he could hear his breathing. That was a fourth thing. Even though every breath stuttered with more labor than it should have taken, he was breathing and alive even though his chest felt like someone had filled it with cement.

He had lungs that worked, that expanded and converted oxygen to carbon dioxide and expelled it out. They weren’t bruised and he wasn’t coughing up anything. He was outside in the fresh air and Tommy was safe in the car and he was going to be safe because Quackity probably called someone to come get them because Wil knew he couldn’t drive right now. Tubbo and Ranboo had been moved to Quackity’s car and he couldn’t help but snort at how hard it was to get blood out of car floors. You live and you learn.

The thought brought him back enough to continue his countdown. Three things he could touch.

One. His sweatshirt, warm but he couldn’t stand the way it was rubbing against the back of his neck and how tight the elastic felt around his wrists from where it had fallen from his elbows in his rush, and he fought the urge to rip the thing off. He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t because it was cold out and his wet cheeks stung with the breeze and before he could stop himself, he was wrestling it off and had it bunched in his lap. Instantly, the air bit into his exposed arms as the band t-shirt he wore did nothing to keep him warm. It was fine though. It was real. His skin puckered with goosebumps.

Two. The wind, which now prickled the hairs on his arms and ran through his curls. Cold and warning of colder days to come. Yet, each breath in he took felt sharp in his nostrils and reminded him once more that he was outside. Everything was fine.

Three. The chain link fence behind him that pressed into his back and sprang with every movement. That kept the mother who had been playing with her two toddlers in the sandbox away from the scene. They’d have to deal with that later. Nothing hush money couldn’t fix. He’d have to make sure that was factored into the budget for the month.

Two things he could smell.

One. The metallic tang of gunpowder still hung in the air. It reminded him of Techno. Of Dad when he and Tommy came back from the gun range. Familiarity.

Even more familiar was the smell of old leather. The way his dad’s office smelled. Because there were hands reaching towards him that were not his own. He hesitantly looked up to meet Tommy’s blue eyes. But it wasn’t Tommy, it was Dad. His dad who was talking to him, reaching out to cup his face and wipe away tears and pulling him into a hug. He was kneeling on the ground despite how expensive his slacks were and Wilbur all but melted into his dad’s hold, shaking sobs tumbling out.

“…hurt? Wil, come on…tell me.” His father’s words were distant despite how close he was. Wilbur shook his head, not sure if he could muster a response. His father’s hand tangled further into his hair, tight but comforting. Warm.

“There we are. It’s okay. You’re okay, Tommy’s okay, Tubbo and Ranboo are okay.” Phil’s words were clearer now, like a lighthouse in a storm. He was the drowning sailor, and he swam towards it despite the water in his eyes and his own shaking breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I know. It could…it could have been him and I couldn’t let that happen. I was so scared, and I didn’t even think and-”

“Shhh shh shh,” his dad hushed him, pulling his head back to his chest. Wilbur didn’t care that he was technically an adult and shouldn’t be crying into his dad’s shirt, but he felt like witnessing a near exact reenactment of his own kidnapping and stopping it was worthy of the embarrassment.

“Come on, let’s get you to the car,” and then his dad was pulling him to his feet and Wilbur realized that the once near empty parking lot was no longer empty. Several lackey’s he’d seen on Schlatt’s side of town seemed to have performed rudimentary first aid on the man Wilbur kept alive and were dragging him to a car. He didn’t want to think about what awaited him. Tommy was no longer in the car, instead he was hugging Sam like he was the last person on earth. Quackity was sitting in front of Ranboo, shining his phone flashlight into the boy’s eyes and Schlatt himself was crouched next to a still trembling Tubbo. Wilbur wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Phil and Schlatt within firing distance of each other.

Wilbur wasn’t sure when he ended up in the back seat of Phil’s car, but his fingers ran down the leather stitching and he watched the commotion outside the window. One of Phil’s Crows was talking to the lady with the toddlers. Tommy was with Tubbo and Ranboo, the three of them in one giant hug pile. Sam was making calls while he leaned against the back of Phil’s car. Wilbur couldn’t hear the words, only the emotions that cascaded from them, anger and frustration.  

When Tommy crawled back into the car, he heard Phil mention something about how Tubbo and Ranboo were going to the hospital just to make sure they were alright and get Ranboo cleaned up. Phil spent the rest of the ride explaining to Tommy how this was why they were always so careful. Because they came from a very rich family and those people probably wanted to take Tubbo for ransom and how they wouldn’t hesitate to take Tommy too probably. Wilbur didn’t have it in him to correct him. He wasn’t supposed to, anyways. It was all about their stupid fucking secret.

“Is Wil going to go to jail?” Tommy asked several minutes later, eyes looking everywhere but at him. It felt strange to see his little brother look at him so cautiously. He knew that Wil had killed a man. Seen the remnants of that.

“No. The police know Wil only did that to protect Tubbo so he’s okay.”

“I thought-”

“It doesn’t work like that, Tommy. You’re lucky Wilbur was there to stop them.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail.” Wilbur hated hearing the desperation in his voice, the fear that he was placing on what he just witnessed onto his current train of thought, but he didn’t have the energy to say anything to it. Neither, it seemed, did Phil.

“Tommy! I, just…please. Wil won’t be going to jail. We can talk about this later.”

Phil’s word was final and the two of them didn’t say a word the rest of the drive.

…

Schlatt was half tempted to ignore the call from Quackity when it came in, interrupting his well-deserved coffee break. The issues in Kinoko still hadn’t resolved themselves and he wanted to bring Tubbo in and let him give input but Tubbo seemed disinterested in everything he proposed that had anything to do with the family business. He always came up with some excuse, be it homework or talking to Tommy and Ranboo on a voice call. Maybe that was why he picked up the call.

He hadn’t expected for Quackity to be in a state of panic on the other side. The man was doing his best to hide it, but Schlatt knew what panic sounded like. Knew what Quackity’s panic sounded like and it was clear as day in the waver of his voice as he rambled out the situation.

“Somebody just tried to kidnap Tubbo.”

Schlatt was on his feet and grabbing his jacket seconds later.

Quackity seemed to be trying to balance a million different things as he filled him in on the situation while Schlatt sent backup in his direction.

“…Wilbur killed one of them. I’ve got the other injured here. But we’ve got witnesses, or well a witness and I could really use some freaking help here.”

“Wait, what do you mean Wilbur is there?” Schlatt asked, he’d heard Tubbo complaining. Tommy wasn’t going to be able to come because Sam was busy. It was just going to be Tubbo and Ranboo.

“Of all the things, that’s what you focus on,” Quackity huffed, annoyance clear in his sarcastic tone.

“I’ve already sent backup, I thought Tommy wasn’t going to be there.”

“I thought so too, but Wilbur took Sam’s place today and you’re damn lucky he did because I don’t think anyone else could make that shot. But he’s off having a panic attack right now and I could really use knowing when that backup’s coming.”

“ETA three and a half minutes. How are the boys now? I know you said they were okay…” The park Quackity sent his coords at was 20 minutes away, 15 if he hit the lights right. He was already making record time, his phone on speaker as he drove, snaking through yellow lights and through side streets to skip traffic.

“Tubbo’s dazed still but conscious, Ranboo seems concussed-”

“What happened to Ranboo?”

“I was getting to that!” There was a brief pause and the sound of Quackity running and then a rapid-fire conversation as Quackity tried to assure the apparent witness that things were handled and the police were arriving and she didn’t need to call again. She didn’t stop pressing until Quackity seemed to give up and hand her something. Footsteps again and distant moaning, likely from the injured kidnapper before Quackity started back up again, louder this time as the phone returned to his ear. “Kid tried to stop them. I’ll give him points for bravery. Managed to stall them long enough for Wilbur to show up.”

Schlatt was…honestly surprised. He wouldn’t have put money on Ranboo of all people to charge headfirst into a kidnapping to try and stop it. Even if his attempts ultimately failed. Quackity on the other hand. Anger at the situation was already boiling under his skin. The fact that anyone would dare cross him like this and try to take his son. He didn’t know who was behind this yet, but he was sure as hell going to make their life a living hell the moment he did. Thankfully, Quackity seemed to have enough braincells to keep one of the kidnappers alive. Was it unfair of him to direct his anger at the situation to Quackity? Perhaps. He didn’t know where else to put it and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel could only tighten so much more.

“So, what you’re saying is you didn’t do anything to stop it and had to rely on everyone else.”

“Sorry that I was protecting your son from the pack of feral raccoons that decided to take over their picnic spot! I’ve done this for what, six years now? I know what I’m doing.”

“And yet you let him go off alone to a parking lot.”

“To get forks! He’s not a fucking kid anymore, if I hover more than I do you’re going to have more problems than him not wanting to come to work with you anymore.” Quackity spat, vitriol lacing every word like poison.

Schlatt knew he was right, knew that there wasn’t much to be done because their enemies were smart, and they had to be smarter. But he didn’t even register anything as a true threat in the city anymore. He truly believed that after what happened with Wilbur all those years ago, nobody would ever try something like that again. So maybe it was somebody unconnected with their world, someone who didn’t know the history of the night The Angel of Death painted the city red. Though he was loath to admit it, Philza’s bloodbath frightened even him. It would take an interrogation or two to truly get to the bottom of whoever was behind this.

“Our deal is a conditional one,” he said, unsure of how else to respond. The reminder being the only thing feeling appropriate. He could almost feel the glare through the phone.

“And I haven’t failed. Save your anger for the piece of shit I’m holding at gunpoint, alright?” Quackity hung up on him.

Schlatt stepped on the gas and sped through a red light. It was easier to focus on the rush of the car engine beneath him than any misplaced anger.

…

He knew he should have expected Philza to show up, but it was still odd seeing him there, crouched down next to Wilbur and looking so utterly human and vulnerable. Maybe in a different timeline Schlatt would have taken the opportunity then and there, but this wasn’t that world. Instead, this was the world where the son of his biggest enemy managed to kill one of the would-be kidnappers and saved his son. It sat uncomfortably with him.

There was no way for him to know the extent of whatever trauma Phil’s middle child had still tied to the events of the day (the intricacies of Wilbur’s kidnapping all those years ago, the similarities to the day’s events not lost on him, were not usually on the table for discussion). Yet, the boy looked like a child in that instant, curled up into his father’s side as Phil led him to his car. Eyes red and puffy behind his glasses, stuttering breaths and wet cheeks. This was the boy who’d made the shot in the instant. Who’d sent a bullet flying into a moving assailant’s head and managed to not hit Tubbo and saved the day.

They had people dealing with the witness, she should stay quiet, and her kids were too young to remember what they heard.

Ranboo and Tubbo moved back into the car where it’s safe. Where they don’t have to see the body.

Phil was hovering a few feet away from him seconds later. He loomed from the front, gentle, as though approaching a wild animal and Schlatt almost wanted to snap at him for that but emotions still clouded his mind and anger still bristled with each gust of wind through his facial hair. He knew Phil doesn’t want him to think he’s sneaking up behind him. It’s courteous to say the least.

“You doing alright there, mate?”

“I’ll be doing better once this is all resolved.”

“Ain’t that always the truth,” Phil’s posture was drill sergeant straight, even if his expression told more of tender prodding and care.

“Please send Wilbur my gratitude, he didn’t seem in the place for a conversation just now.”

Phil looked towards his car and then back at Schlatt, “No he wasn’t. I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

Schlatt hated himself for what he was going to say, “I owe you one.”

“Of course, mate.”

Their conversation ended in a brief discussion checking in on the status of Tubbo and Ranboo and an agreement that Schlatt would coordinate getting Ranboo home after both boys got their injuries checked.

Which was how Schlatt found himself playing chauffeur to Ranboo. Schlatt wasn’t a chauffeur, he ran the Manburg mafia, one of the most powerful groups in the entire city. Yet somebody had to go and explain what happened to Ranboo’s parents and it would be weird if one of his lackey’s did it because they had to keep up the appearance that they were a normal family. This was completely normal. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, Ranboo sitting in the passenger seat, staring out at the nighttime lights. A bandage pressed against his cheek and more around his hands. A melted ice pack wrapped in a paper towel still sat on his lap, leaking condensation onto his ripped jeans. His hands were fiddling with the plastic of the hospital bracelet he hadn’t been able to pry off yet.

He wanted to turn on the radio to try and drown out the discomfort that settled in as they drove in silence. Bad had shown up to take Quackity and Tubbo home and to keep an eye on Tubbo while he dealt with the matter at hand. He had other things to do. He had interrogations to listen in on and maybe even participate in. He had people to track down. He had lives to end. Yet, he was driving Ranboo home like he was some taxi driver. Of course, the boy did try and save his son, however pitiful the recounts of his attempts were. Still, that kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought. He’d have to keep an eye on Ranboo once the kid was older, maybe offer him a job. He was certain Tubbo would want to keep Ranboo around after they graduated.

“Mr. Underscore?”

Schlatt perked up at that and glanced at Ranboo, who’s brow was furrowed like he was thinking really hard.

“Call me Schlatt, kid. You earned it.”

Ranboo stared at him for a moment as though processing. Ah right, the concussion.

“Schlatt?”

He sighed, “Yeah, kid?”

“I think I left my mom’s tupperware at the park.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m going to worry about it,” he said and Schlatt nearly burst out laughing there. It was said with such assurance, like the kid knew already that this was going to be the top thing his brain concerned itself with.

“I’ll have someone look for it, alright?”

“Sounds good. Sounds good…” he trailed off, his eyes catching something out the window and they were in silence again. He’d seen Skeppy with a plastic tote full of stuff the kids had left at the park. None of them were really in the position to clean up after themselves. Unfortunately, most of the food had been pilfered by the raccoons Quackity had mentioned. The stuff would be returned to them once they went through it. How the would-be kidnappers found them was still at the front of Schlatt’s mind. They hadn’t even gone to the same park as usual.

“Thank you, by the way,” Schlatt said before he even realized it. Oh well, might as well finish what he had been intending to say the entire drive. “Not many would be that brave to try and save my son.”

“I’ll be honest. I don’t remember most of it. I’m just glad he’s okay. Street smarts! You know?” Ranboo giggled to himself and Schlatt knew it had to be a reference, but he hadn’t a clue what to. He decided it was probably best to leave the kid to his own devices when the synapses weren’t working right. “By J.J. Bittenbinder,” he continued to giggle, almost whispering that last phrase to himself. The doctor’s said it was only a moderate concussion, but he felt it was a little more than that, or maybe the kid was just naturally strange.

Eventually, they pulled up to the Beloved home. He was glad the kid was out of it because Ranboo had never told him how to get to his house. Hopefully, if he thought about it enough, he’d just assume Tubbo told him. He hovered close to Ranboo’s side as he helped him get out of the car to make sure he didn’t fall down (he was fine) and the two stepped up to the front door. Schlatt knocked, knowing this wasn’t going to be a drop off the kid and go sort of situation. Most parents would wonder why their child was concussed, covered in scrapes, and had been to the hospital and why they hadn’t been called earlier.

Mrs. Beloved opened the door and all the color drained from her face in an instant. She called for her husband.

“Hi Mom, I stopped a kidnapping!” Ranboo explained before pushing past her to step inside the house and promptly flopped on the couch.

Mr. Beloved was rushing into the living room moments later and he too stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scene in front of him.

“May I step inside?” He asked, almost forgetting it. If he made house calls it was rare that he asked for permission. This wasn’t business though. He had a family to explain things to, not threaten.

Mrs. Beloved nodded slowly and stepped aside for him. He closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Underscore, right? Tubbo’s dad?” Mr. Beloved asked, eyes darting between the passed out Ranboo and Schlatt.

“Yes, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to contact you both sooner. The boys had a bit of an issue at the park today. As Ranboo said, an attempted kidnapping of my son.”

Mrs. Beloved’s eyes went wide, a sharp intake of breath as her hand ghosted her lips. Shock.

He raised his hands to placate her, “It’s an unfortunate risk when you have as many assets as I do. Many looking for a quick dollar. The attempt was foiled, partially in thanks to your son there. I have doctor’s orders for how to treat his concussion from the hospital here,” he reached into his pocket to pull out the printed instructions he’d been given, “and I’ve taken the liberty to cover all medical expenses.”

“Thank you, that was very generous of you,” Mr. Beloved said, now hovering close to his wife, hand comforting on her shoulder.

“It was the least I could do.”

Ranboo suddenly sat up, looking at his parents and Schlatt, nodding along as he did. “I thought Tubbo got shot for a minute because there was a lot of blood but it was just Wilbur who hit the guy right in the head and there was a lot of blood but it wasn’t Tubbo’s it was the guy’s and it went everywhere and then Tubbo got a lot on him and it was really gross.” He nodded along, like what he was saying was completely normal. Like he hadn’t witnessed a murder.

Everyone stood staring at him, while he looked very pleased with himself. Prime, this was a mess. If he was lucky, Ranboo’s parents would let him still hang out with Tubbo and Tommy after this.

Schlatt broke the silence, pulling out his wallet and handing Mrs. Beloved a business card. “Uh, here’s the contact information for a good therapist. I’ll cover it.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Beloved still looked rather horrified. He didn’t blame her. It wasn’t everyday your son described a murder in detail.

“Any wages you need to miss to stay home with him while he recovers, I’ll cover as well. I’d recommend contacting the school and letting them know he’ll be out for a few days.”

His parents nodded along but Ranboo seemed content not to add anything else to their conversation. Schlatt covered the bare bones of what had happened and offered his sincerest of apologies again, stressing that he understood if they didn’t feel safe with Ranboo continuing to hang out with Tubbo but that they were looking to increase security. They informed him that they would talk to Ranboo about it once he was feeling better.

Finally, Schlatt excused himself, climbed back into his car, and drove off. It was going to be a long night.

…

Techno hadn’t been there. It was all he could think about upon getting the call from his dad. He’d dropped everything and driven home, ready to meet his brothers when they’d arrive because he knew Wilbur would need him and Phil would be busy. Every moment they weren’t home was another he spent pacing and checking his phone. He watched the steady click of the tracker Tommy had in his shoes drift closer, if only to reassure himself that they were coming home. All he could think about was how it could have been Tommy. How Techno could have failed his first order from Phil. How Tommy could have been miles away, locked in some trunk despite his claustrophobia, having no idea what was going on because Phil wouldn’t tell him. At least now Tommy had some further reason to look out for himself beyond the usual. He could finally see that he was in some danger just by who he was. Maybe that would be enough to keep him safe until he was 16.

Still…The threats of the past few months were not lost on him. Kinoko was in shambles and they’d finally traced it to The Dream Team and now they had reason to believe they were moving back into SMP. He’d seen a picture of the spray-painted smiley face on the wall and still prayed that it was some sick joke or a kid not knowing that their newest tag had already been claimed. The more the evidence piled up the more it was harder to ignore. Ignoring it was dangerous regardless. Today was proof of that.

 His heart broke a little more when he saw his brothers walk through the front door more like ghosts than people. Wilbur immediately excused himself to his room and Tommy curled up on the couch to watch cartoons. Phil disappeared into his office, leaving Techno staring at the mess an almost kidnapping left behind. He didn’t want to think about how a successful one would leave his already broken family. He knew how that went.

He found himself in Wilbur’s room a half hour later, a tissue box lying discarded on the other side of the room like it had been thrown and a very small looking Wilbur, huddled on his bed, staring absentmindedly into his phone.

“Go away, Tech,” he growled.

“Wil-”

“I’m fine, okay? Just leave me alone.”

He knew Wilbur didn’t mean the hate that laced every word like a knife to the gut.

“Just wanted to let you know I ordered pizza. Should be here in about 20.”

“Cool, now leave.”

And he did and walked right into Phil’s office with one topic on his mind.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t have time for it,” Phil muttered, only taking his gaze off his computer to check his phone. Techno could tell that he too had been crying but he hid it far better than Wil had. The redness of his eyes was lost in the blue light of his screen, but Techno knew the telling shake of his Philza’s hands and the warble that matched them in his voice.

“You need to tell him.”

“No, and that is my final answer.”

“Dream is coming back,” Techno started. He never sat down when he entered, instead standing so he towered over his boss. The intimidation didn’t seem to work.

“The Dream we knew is dead and I’m handling it,” he said, irritation replacing the warble.

Techno’s scowl deepened. “So handling it looks like letting Tommy walk out there everyday not knowing the danger he’s in. The danger we’re all in? What if Kinoko happens here?”

Phil froze. Then his hands were on the desk and he was pushing himself up, meeting Techno’s eyes and their same level. He forgot how intimidating Phil could be. It was easy to forget that the man who kissed his skinned knees and made pancakes on Saturday mornings was also the one people called The Angel of Death. Moments like these reminded him.

“We tell Tommy, then what? You really think he’s going to take that knowledge and then go and sit in his room because he’s supposedly in danger? No, he’s going to go charging out there in the streets, alone, because he’ll think he can handle this by himself. He’s not ready and the fact that you can’t see that makes me think you aren’t ready either.”

“What?”

“Tommy is safer not knowing and you are to respect that decision of mine.”

“So if you get killed, what then? Am I supposed to respect that decision and say some stray bullet just happened to hit you square in the chest and it was all some horrible accident? Or what if Tubbo actually got kidnapped? What if Wilbur hadn’t been there and now his best friend is missing and who knows if he’s alive or not, what then?” Techno was seething, he itched for a fight, even if it was just with a training dummy, and squeezed the hem of his untucked shirt between his sweaty palms to try and calm himself.

“If the situation comes up, we will handle it then,” Phil’s voice was surprisingly steady for the anger that Techno saw burning behind his blue eyes.

“He’s not a child anymore!”

“Is it so bad for him to get to keep some of his innocence?”

“When it puts him in danger, yes!” Techno exclaimed. He knew he wasn’t going to change Phil’s mind. Knew it from the moment he stepped inside the office and saw the rumpled shirt he wore and the scrap paper that had missed the trash bin on the other side of the room. He knew when there was no jazz playing from the tiny speaker Phil connected to his phone. He knew and yet he kept trying because one day, Phil would agree.

“He turns 16 in a few months. We will reevaluate then.” Phil’s words were finalizing as he sat back down in his chair and returned to his computer. The conversation ended. He wanted to talk to Dad, not Philza. It seemed he’d only get the latter.

“I thought you said you trusted my judgement, Phil.”

“You still have a lot to learn, son.”

He slammed the door on the way out.  

Chapter Text

For how many nightmares Tubbo had regarding the incident, he remembered very little of it. He’d never fully lost consciousness – the would-be kidnappers hadn’t been able to keep the drugged cloth over his airways for long enough with his early squirming – but he hadn’t been entirely present either. It was less the terrifying moment of no longer being in control of himself, of arms yanking him back, that left him waking up gasping for air. It was Ranboo’s scream that rang in his head, clear as the bells of Church Prime. Despite the fuzziness that encased his memories like a faded picture, the desperation in Ranboo’s eyes as he ran after them was shockingly clear. As though the camera lens suddenly came into focus. He was sure Ranboo’s expression mirrored his own in that moment, maybe less with how he twisted and squirmed to try and free himself, but the point remained. He wanted to tell Ranboo to stop, to stand down, to run and hide so maybe he wouldn’t get hurt in the crossfire of a world Tubbo had unknowingly dragged him into. Ranboo didn’t stop, his hands clawed like he too was a wild thing, trying to pull Tubbo from arms he’d already tried and failed to breech. His own earlier attempts left him weak on the last dredges of his oxygen supply. Already the chemical smell seeping in and weighing down his brain like concrete.

Everything after that was disjointed flashes and feelings and at one point, he knew he’d been dropped but he was barely clinging onto consciousness. Then it was all over and Quackity was there and Ranboo was hugging him and there was a dead body on the ground and another who would soon be one. He always knew it was a possibility that someone might try to kidnap him. He’d already been warned by tales of what happened to Wilbur. Schlatt had explained what he knew of that situation when Tubbo asked why he and Phil weren’t at each other’s throats to the same extent anymore. The answer was far simpler than Tubbo realized. Mutually assured destruction. Tubbo didn’t question it further when his dad told him the body counts of the night Phil effectively wiped The Dream Team mafia off the map in SMP.

Their interrogations had apparently resulted in little useful information. The two men had little to no mafia ties. If anything they seemed to be hired hands who explained they were promised a payday from ransoming Tubbo back to Schlatt. The one claimed they didn’t even know they were messing with Manburg. The other was dead so he had no means of defending himself. When asked how they knew where the boys were, he said that they were texted the address and told to wait until Tubbo didn’t have Quackity at his side. Further searches revealed a handful of candid photos of the two as well as Tubbo’s 8^th grade school photo. Tubbo claimed he didn’t want to hear anything from the interrogations, but Schlatt insisted and so Tubbo was regaled by the information they got and the questions they still had every night. Then several hours later he’d find his way to bed and that would be processed into a nightmare and he’d wake up and start the process all over again.

The worst part of it all was they weren’t allowed to go to the park anymore. Something about it being too open, too hard to secure, and the lack of security cameras. They were granted permission to use the city library, a building Phil owned and donated as an act of goodwill to the public several years prior. It was spacious enough inside, with glass windows that stretched floor to ceiling that overlooked the cityscape. They could easily find some secluded area to chat or chase each other through the stacks and shelves, much to Karl the librarian’s disapproval.

The fact that Ranboo was allowed to return was what surprised Tubbo the most. He knew Tommy would be sticking around, Phil knew the danger was part of their lifestyle. The Beloved’s did not. Tubbo had the distinct feeling his father may have had a part in their ambivalence on the subject. It took two weeks before Ranboo rejoined them after school, once his concussion had been cleared. The only good part of their new location was it was a great spot to catch up on the schoolwork they’d missed. Apparently nearly getting kidnapped was considered a traumatic event and all three boys had several days off of school. With Ranboo’s concussion he was out for a full week while Tubbo and Tommy returned after three days.

Both Sam and Quackity seemed to enjoy the library more. The colder part of fall was setting in, leaving everyone stripping coats as soon as they stepped inside the library atrium. Sam found a chair near where they decided to claim that day and pulled out a book to pretend to read while he watched everyone (ever since the incident he’d been on high alert, shoulders tense and ready to attack if needed. Both Sam and Quackity had taken to waiting for Tommy and Tubbo at the entrance to the school and walking them out to the car like freaking kindergarteners. It was humiliating). Quackity enjoyed the library for another reason, and that reason was Karl the librarian. Tubbo watched Quackity check out book after book individually just to talk to him again, cheeks burning red and grin wide, always claiming he realized he wanted another book (even though Tubbo knew he only read the ones Karl recommended). Quackity apparently thought he was being sneaky with his affections, only for Tubbo to jokingly point out that he shouldn’t be flirting on the job on their drive home one day. Quackity nearly ran a red light when he said that.

As much as Tubbo missed the park, it was nice to not have to rely on the weather cooperating and Karl always let them take a piece of candy from the bowl he kept behind his desk and there was a super comfy spot with a bunch of beanbag chairs they usually claimed. Nobody questioned it when Tubbo sat with his back to the wall and eyes on the entrances.

Tommy had sprawled himself over two beanbags, a book left open on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling where glass sculptures of modern art hung and scattered the afternoon sunlight. Ranboo sat at a desk all three of them had drug over so he could be close to them and work on his math homework (Tubbo had offered to let him copy his but Ranboo insisted that he wanted to learn the material since he missed the classes that it was covered in).

“I feel like scheming,” Tommy said. The fact that Sam could hear them wasn’t much of a problem anymore, Sam could never do much to stop them when they put their mind to it.

“If it involves sneaking out, I think we will both end up on house arrest, big man,” Tubbo said, pulling out the earbud he had plugged into an audio book.

“Not if we do something at school,” he pointed out.

“The only times we’re at school is during school, how are you going to do anything without being caught?” Ranboo asked, looking up from his half-finished homework. He did have a good point. They’d been able to get away with past schemes with proper planning and timing. Always after school when most students were home and their targets were outside their classrooms or away from the location of interest.

“I want to steal all the queens from the chess sets.”

Tubbo burst out laughing, Ranboo wheezing beside him while Sam too seemed to be holding back a chuckle he hid behind his book.

“You do realize I’m in the chess club, right?” Tubbo asked, still laughing as he imagined the confusion that they’d have, opening the sets to reveal everything but the missing queens. It would be hilarious, and something they could be privy to the reaction to.

“They’ll be less likely to suspect us then,” Tommy hummed and Tubbo couldn’t help but admit he had a good point. They’d never suspect someone from chess club sabotaging chess club. You couldn’t play without a queen!

“You still haven’t answered the question of when you’d do this, because I’m 92.5% sure Mr. Lazar never leaves his classroom.”

Everyone schemed in silence after that, Tubbo shuffled through their past troublemaking memories, both the successful and unsuccessful attempts. They’d need a time when Mr. Lazar wouldn’t be in his classroom, but they could still have reasonable access to the school without being suspicious. Inspiration struck like lightning.

“Isn’t the Fall Formal this weekend?”

“Tubbo you’re a genius. We go in, disguised like we’re going to the dance and then fuck off to Mr. Lazar’s classroom and steal all the queens.” Tommy rambled on, fleshing out the details of his plan. Tubbo couldn’t help but smile as Tommy’s tongue ran at a mile a minute. It had been too quiet lately. He missed the constant chatter and he missed not having anxiety breathing down his neck like a shoulder demon at all times.

They all agreed to Tommy’s plan and planned to buy their tickets the next day after Sam said Tommy was good to go so long as he could chaperone the dance (parent - or in this case bodyguard nannies – were always needed at school dances). With Sam on board, Tubbo knew Quackity would soon follow.

“Well if we’re going to a dance –“ Ranboo turned to Tubbo, “Tubbo, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Fall Formal?” He did his best to hold back his laughs but Tubbo couldn’t help himself, giggling as he nodded along.

“Oh Ranboo, my most wonderful husband, I would love to. We have to make our marriage look real so it counts for tax purposes!” Tubbo said, tossing himself onto the beanbag Ranboo had sprawled over.

“Well, I don’t need one of you to go with me,” Tommy huffed, arms crossed, “I’ll get my own date. I have so many girls just throwing themselves at me, I might have to go alone, just to make it fair, you know?” Tommy’s chest puffed out with fake confidence that left Tubbo snickering but nodding along. It was always fun to go along with Tommy’s bits, but Tubbo knew in the end that Tommy would be “third-wheeling” their “date”. The fact that the whole marriage bit actually stuck around for as long as it did, surprised him. For something made up on the spot at a fair and sealed with a ring pop, it was one of his favorite things about hanging out with Ranboo. Plus, it was fun to watch his dad pale every time Tubbo mentioned his “husband” before he remembered that it was just Ranboo.

“Sure, Tommy,” Tubbo said, letting all the sarcasm drip out, leaving Tommy fuming with his face red.

“I do too have so many women!”

“Go on, text one of them then,” Tubbo pressed and watched with glee as Tommy’s expression shifted from annoyance to fear and then back to a confident bravado.

“I will!” He pulled out his phone and immediately began typing. Tubbo shifted to watch over Tommy’s shoulder, an action that Tommy seemed very against. The twisting and shuffling left the two with tangled limbs and giggles erupting from the both of them, Tommy’s phone dropped somewhere in the scuffle.

“This is why I just don’t talk to girls. No need for all of that,” Ranboo said, smiling and nodding to himself.

Tommy just scoffed, “Women are the best thing in the world, next to Primes.”

“You would say that. But you won’t text one of these many women you claim to have,” Tubbo tried to grab the phone but Tommy snatched it first and tucked it underneath himself, curling around it like a turtle shell.

“They all come to me! I just look desperate if I text them first.” Tommy’s voice was mostly muffled by the beanbag but Tubbo didn’t let up, instead choosing to sit on his friend for the time being.

“Is that how it works?” Ranboo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Tubbo said.

“Yes,” Tommy said.

“Ah that makes sense,” Ranboo continued to stare at them and Tubbo was once again struck by Ranboo’s expression, or more likely, lack of expression. He was truly the epitome of ‘no thoughts, only vibes’. He’d since moved to the floor to sit with them, homework long forgotten in favor of crimes.

“Saaaaaaaaaaam, Tubbo is trying to kill me!” Tommy cried out and Tubbo proceeded to get more comfortable on top of him, letting out an exaggerated yawn while Tommy squirmed underneath him.

“Shhh Tommy, this is a library,” Sam chided and Tubbo nearly laughed at how hard he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“What the fuck, Sam!”  

“Shhh.” He held a finger to his lips and returned to his book.

“So you coming with us or not, boss man?” Tubbo asked after letting Tommy continue to whine for a few more moments.

“Fine, I’ll come with you guys on your stupid date. But if I have to wear a tie, I’m going to strangle one of you with it.”

Tubbo relented by crawling back to his own bean bag chair, still giggling over the event. It felt good for things to be back to normal. For nobody to be tiptoeing around him anymore. To laugh with his friends and make their silly plans that were going to get them in trouble but they didn’t really care in the end. The weeks without it were torture. Even if it looked different now, taking place in a library instead of a park, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Although they might have to start calling themselves library trio instead of park trio.

“Just one question, Tommy,” Ranboo started out of nowhere. They all turned to him. “Why the queens?”  

“Because the queen is the best piece. Women are all pog, but Queen Lizzy is the most pog,” Tommy explained, rolling his eyes with a scoff.

“Who’s Lizzy?” Ranboo whispered to Tubbo while Tommy continued to go on about Lizzy, his apparent one true love.

Tubbo shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Tommy told them the truly riveting life story of ‘Queen Lizzy’, who apparently fought off a trio of velociraptors with only a cape and a handbag and lived to tell the tale. Tubbo was less than convinced but he let Tommy ramble on anyways. It was always nice to hear Tommy talk. It felt like home.

…

Quackity had done it, he’d finally built up the confidence to ask Karl the librarian on a date. He worked for the Manburg mafia but yet he couldn’t find it in him to ask one random librarian if they could go get drinks that weekend. Of course, it wasn’t just some librarian. It was Karl. Quackity had not found himself so smitten with anyone in a long time. While the one prick that up and left in the middle of their date that one time was close, Karl took the cake. He knew he shouldn’t be flirting while on the job, but he was always on the job and how was he supposed to ever get a date if he couldn’t flirt with the giggly librarian with freckles like stars who knew where every book in the library was but sometimes forgot what day of the week it was.

“So Saturday? I’ll meet you at the bar on 4^th street,” Quackity could have sworn the entire library could hear his heart pounding in his chest. The books he’d come to check out had been abandoned a few minutes prior.

“Saturday! Let me just put that on my calendar,” Karl pulled out a little notebook and scribbled in it before tucking it back away, cheeks rosy under the skylights.

“Awesome! Awesome…I uh, I look forward to it. Or yeah, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“Saturday. It’s a date,” Karl was beaming, eyes bright from behind his curls as he slid the books back to Quackity. They hadn’t actually been checked out yet but Quackity wasn’t going to ruin the moment by pointing it out.

Despite the stress of the past few weeks, the hours in interrogations and the extra effort that went into making sure Tubbo was safe, Quackity was giddy. Ever since Karl’s number appeared on one of the free library bookmarks, slid between the pages of a book he recommended he’d been floating. Now he had a date and one he’d be seeing pretty often since the library had become their new after school spot.

He spent the rest of the afternoon back with the boys, watching them giggle over whispered plans and schemes. It typically meant they were up to something but Quackity knew the signs of danger by now. He would be there to stop it if anything went too overboard. The kids deserved to be kids, especially after what they saw. As much as Schlatt wanted Tubbo to be more involved, Tubbo was pushing back just as much.

As they packed up to leave Tubbo fell in step beside him, suspiciously giddy. Quackity knew that meant he was going to have a problem or three to deal with in the near future.

“You’re going to be chaperoning the Fall Formal this Saturday. We’re all going.”

And just like that his high was unceremoniously ended. He sighed, and agreed (knowing there was no way to disagree without Schlatt having his head for letting Tubbo go somewhere alone). How hard was it to just have a fucking date?

…

“Daaaaad, stop. I’m not going to wear a tie,” Tommy huffed, trying to squirm away from where his dad had cornered him, blue tie in hand. He’d already been bullied into a suit by Ranboo and Tubbo, but the tie was too far. No ties would be around his neck if he had any say in it.

“No member of this family will go to a formal event half-dressed,” Phil scolded, continuing to corral him further back until he had nowhere to go. He’d already run from Wilbur who wanted to do his hair (apparently the Tommy Craft branded ‘I woke up like this’ look was not an acceptable hairstyle for the Fall Formal (even though he wasn’t even going for the dance. He was just using it as an excuse to prank the chess club.

“What? It’s not like I’m not wearing pants! I just don’t want to wear the stupid tie!” He exclaimed. Then, in a moment of brilliance, he saw his escape route. He dropped to the floor and darted around his dad’s legs and made a mad dash for the door, ready to run all the way to the bus stop if needed.

He made it as far as the door before his plan was unceremoniously foiled by not one, but both of his brothers who were waiting in the hallway. Wilbur had the dreaded comb in his hands, brandishing it like a weapon. Techno looked thoroughly amused at the whole situation.

“I hate you all.”

“Awe look at little Tommy wommy, all dressed up,” Wilbur cooed, forcing Tommy back into his bedroom with Techno following close behind.

“Eat a fork and die,” He spat, arms crossed and turtling in on himself to try and prevent any attempts at forcing that Prime forsaken tie around his neck.

“If you didn’t know how to tie one, you could have just asked. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about it,” Techno said, he didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

“I do too!” Annoyance burned in his chest as he promised himself he would not fall for the bait, even if his Dad was giving him those puppy dog eyes (a truly startling expression for Philza Craft) and offering the tie out like it was a peace offering. Techno had an eyebrow raised in clear doubt and Tommy wanted to whack it right off his face.

It was Wilbur’s expression that made him snap. It exuded nothing but pity and Tommy hated pity more than he hated asparagus. He snatched the tie from his dad’s hands and threw it around his neck. He turned away from his three family members, trying to hide the embarrassment that had overtaken the annoyance. He’d fallen for it again, but Tommy Danger Kraken Craft was not one to back down from a challenge. The fact that it was Wilbur of all people who got him to cave, the same Wilbur who’d done nothing but slink around the house for the past few weeks (I mean killing someone might take something out of you, but Tubbo seemed to have gotten over what happened and the guy was a bad guy), was the worst part. He was going to prove them wrong though. He was going to tie this stupid tie and it was going to be the best tie ever…even if he didn’t necessarily know how to tie one. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Ranboob wore one on occasion and if he could do it then Tommy should surely be able to as well.

Turns out, it was not as intuitive as he thought it would be. He was like 90% sure it was going to be just like tying his shoes but that didn’t work. So that left it to the 10% that had absolutely no idea how this was supposed to happen, and he was not about to turn around and admit defeat.

Three frustrated tries later and his dad’s hand weighed down on his shoulder. A gentle tug encouraging him to turn around, which he begrudgingly did. Wilbur had busied himself with going through Tommy’s closet (a horrible affront to his personal privacy) and Techno was sitting at his desk. Phil stood in front of him, a warm smile that reminded him so much of when he’d taught him how to shoot, the gentle burning pride simmering just beneath the surface. The affection Tommy craved like it was a drug. Now Phil was offering it freely, no teasing glances as he took the two sides of Tommy’s tie and methodically walked him through the steps.

After they’d finished, the gentle instructions guiding him, Tommy undid the knot and then successfully tied it himself. It was wonky, and lopsided, and the tail end was too long, but he’d done it. Phil could have been considered glowing with how wide he smiled. Before he promptly undid it and tied it again for Tommy, hands well practiced and securing the knot under the collar of his shirt.

“There we go. Look at you, all dressed up! Hold on, I’m going to go get something, I’ll be right back,” Phil nearly flew out of the room, leaving Tommy with his brothers. Wilbur already advancing with the hairbrush in hand.

“Just let me fix the top, Tommy.”

“No! Leave my bird’s nest alone!” He dashed behind Techno to seek refuge but should have known his brother would always be a traitor. Within seconds he was being pushed into his desk chair and Wilbur was tousling his curls and pulling a comb through the tangles that he hadn’t brushed out in…an undisclosed about of time.

“I hate you all.”

“Sure you do,” Techno laughed from behind him, running a hand through his newly tamed hair.

Wilbur squawked. “Bastard! I just fixed that!”

“Nerd.”

Wilbur sent Techno a glare that could have stopped armies before he knelt down in front of Tommy, brush left on the desk.

“You promise you’ll be careful, yeah?” His smile was so genuine yet looked so sad at the same time. Tommy didn’t know how he managed it. As much as they fought and as much as Tommy hated how many secrets they kept from him or how much his dad seemed to favor them over him, he did care about them. They were a part of his life, through it all. Wilbur had shown he’d do anything to keep Tommy safe and Tommy was pretty sure he would too. Whether his aim would strike true was another question entirely.

“They don’t call me Tommy Danger Kraken Craft for nothing,” he grinned and Wilbur scowled.

“Nobody calls you that,” Techno huffed from behind him.

“Do too.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur’s tone stopped their bickering instantly. It reminded him of their dad’s voice. “I know Sam and Quackity are going to be there, but please be careful. Don’t go sneaking out, if you see anything weird, go to Sam, watch out for each other.”

“We’ll be fine, Wil. No creepy kid snatchers are gonna show up at a school dance. Too many witnesses.”

“Is that so?”

Tommy nodded just as Phil reentered the room, his palm held closed.

“I had them made for all of you. I was going to wait until you were older, but I thought it was time to finally complete the set.” Phil held out his hand and within it was a single golden pin, a small emerald, no bigger than the size of a sewing pin head, caught the early evening light. It took him a moment to fuss out the shape, but he realized after a moment that it was a crow.

“Oh…”

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to wear it, we’ve all got them for special occasions and I thought you might like to match us all-” Phil rambled and Tommy had rarely heard his dad ramble like that, cheeks flushed and the smile not even hidden.

Tommy’s emotions swelled in his chest and he leaped forward, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck. The hug was soon reciprocated and soon all four of them were in on it, leaving a very squished Tommy in the middle. It was alright, especially since it was messing up Wilbur’s work on his hair again.

He left that evening with a golden crow on his lapel and a small stack of chocolate chip cookies he’d snagged from the kitchen in his hands. It was time for the school dance.

…

The three of them met up just outside the school, Tubbo in a black suit with a red tie and Ranboo in a red suit with a black tie. Tommy thought it looked particularly stupid for them to be all matchy-matchy but that might have just been because he hadn’t been invited in on it. How Ranboo found a red suit with a week’s notice that would fit his dimensions was another mystery that Tommy was none too interested in solving. He’d learned over the years that it was best to simply look the other way when it came to Ranboo’s eccentricities. Better to not ask questions than to get an even more confusing answer.

Quackity took photos of them all, eventually goading them into taking a serious one that wasn’t making a mockery of the typical school dance photos that often circled social media afterwards. This of course was met with even more silly ones and a handful of selfies taken by Ranboo (his long arms were like perfect built in selfie sticks).

For being a private school, their school dances didn’t seem to be much. Although Tommy had never gone to one before he was pretty sure they were set up better in the movies. It had been set up in the school cafeteria, all the lunch tables folded up and pushed to the edge. A few were set out with tablecloths over them to let people sit down and another was filled with snacks and treats. Tommy was already gravitating that way, ready to stuff his pockets with even more cookies as he’d already distributed out Wilbur’s cookies to his friends upon arriving.

Sam looked rather miserable at the punch bowl, hand gripping the ladle and pouring cups of it when prompted. It wasn’t Sam’s fault he was built for security and not punch pouring. Quackity lucked out and got to watch the doors to make sure nobody was sneaking in or out. According to some gossip he’d heard, a bunch of seniors snuck in a bottle of vodka last year and did shots in the bathroom until they passed out. Tommy and his friends were going to be getting up to trouble, but at least they weren’t that dumb.

They had to arrive right at the start since Sam and Quackity were technically chaperones, which meant they needed to wait for more people to show up so their disappearance wouldn’t be as noticed. Not that Sam would not notice him slipping away, he had eyes like a hawk. Tommy only hoped his punch duty would mean he couldn’t leave.

Tubbo, of course, used the time to fill up the music request sheet that was by the dj. Ranboo was dancing? Tommy wasn’t quite sure what to call the movement – it was definitely movement – that Ranboo had taken to. It was almost like a ghost, who had no idea how to control a human body, had possessed Ranboo and was doing their best imitation of how someone might want to dance to the music, while also trying to be spooky. Once again, Tommy decided not asking questions was the better use of his time. Everyday, Ranboo convinced him more and more that he was an alien pretending to be a human. That’s probably why they were such good friends.

“TOMMY GUESS WHAT!” Tubbo shouted, rushing from where he’d taken up residence at the dj booth towards the spot on the dance floor that the duo had claimed.

Tommy was about to ask what when the music started and the world around him darkened onto Tubbo’s stupidly wide grin.

“JUMP IN THE CADILLAC-” Tubbo sang at the top of his lungs alongside some of the other students, but he was focused entirely on Tommy.

“It was one time!” Tommy screeched. It was a dare and it was late at night on the vc and he’d sung the song. What he hadn’t been prepared for was Tubbo recording the entire thing against his knowledge and using the footage to torment him for years. He prepped to pounce at Tubbo only for Ranboo to hold him back.

“Get Ranboozled.”

Both Tommy and Tubbo stopped and turned to look at their tall friend before they burst into laughter. Earlier quarrels immediately forgotten.

Sneaking off to steal the queens from the chess sets was honestly the least interesting part of the night. It went off without a hitch, not a single person stopping them as they slipped into the hallways and raced through the halls, cracking jokes but trying to stay quiet at the same time. They excelled at the former, but they’d never been good at the latter.

Upon getting all the pieces they realized they needed a place to hide them since they couldn’t very well go stuffing them all in their pockets. After some debating, they decided on breaking into the art classroom next and dropped them all in the vases of past student pottery work that decorated the back shelf of the room. They’d be found…eventually.

Back in the cafeteria Tubbo and Ranboo went to get pictures done and Tommy went to Sam to get some punch and check in. He’s pretty sure Sam had been to a few school dances before, Wilbur almost always had a date which left Tommy home with Techno and sometimes Dad. Sam looked particularly miffed that night though.

“How’s it going, Big man?” He asked, smiling wide like he hadn’t just snuck off to commit crimes.

“I have never been so close to killing someone with a ladle than I am now,” he hissed, voice barely audible above the thrum of the bass.

Tommy snorted.

“Murder ruins school dances, don’t you know? ‘Sides, what are they doing?” He sipped on his cup of punch and munched on another cookie (It might have been his 10^th that day).

“She’s the head of chaperones and the PTA, she’s like a mega Karen. I saw you all sneak off – am glad to see you’re back and not dead. If you do that again I will be dragging all three of you home – and wanted to check in and she lectured me on staying at my post.” Even in the dim lights, Tommy could see Sam roll his eyes.

“You don’t need to worry about us, Sam. Our job here is done.”

“As always, you know just the thing to say to not put me at ease,” Sam huffed, but that fatherly affection Tommy had always come to know as Sam’s could still be felt over the music and noise.

“It’s part of my charm,” he said before dumping his emptied cup in the trash and speeding off to find Tubbo and Ranboo. They spent the rest of the night dancing and laughing. Tubbo at one point managed to hijack the sound system and played an hour long loop of Crazy Frog. It continued for nearly 10 minutes before they were able to get it back to the dj’s music.

He was surprised at how much fun he had. It felt like before and it made him feel normal. They got to be the kinds of teenagers he saw in movies. All thoughts of how things had changed since that terrifying day at the park were long gone and it was just him and his friends and their two body-guard nannies having fun. He wished he could bottle the feeling and keep it forever.

…

Work was never far from the other members of the Craft family, even while Tommy was out. Wilbur sat in his dad’s office, having just finished reading the final report on the interrogations. Apparently, they’d finished a week ago, but Philza wanted to make sure Wilbur was mentally stable enough to read it. Of course he was. If anything, he was more annoyed that they’d kept it from him, especially with what it meant.

“So it was just a dead end?” Wilbur asked, picking at a loose thread on his sweater. He knew he shouldn’t, but part of him wanted to pull. Let it be one more thing in his life to unravel, at least he’d be in control of this one. His nightmares had returned and with that returned more sleepless nights, more therapy sessions Phil insisted he attend, and a crap ton of chocolate chip cookies. He’d taken to diving further into school work and trying to deal with the mess of drug shipments. They’d had three more shipments come up tainted and they’d since stopped all shipments coming in from Kinoko. They couldn’t risk it, especially when they couldn’t figure out what or who was interfering with their drugs.

Philza looked disturbed, and Wilbur did not miss how he kept his eyes on his phone, update messages from Sam pulled up. His mind was distantly on Tommy as well. They all got stressed the moment Tommy wasn’t within sprinting distance. “It seems so, but what’s more important is the inferences we can make from this dead end.”

“Like what? That Dream is hiring freelancers now?”

Philza’s face darkened, “That somehow they knew Tommy wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Wilbur froze, the realization striking him like a bullet to the chest.

“Apparently they were told it had to be that day. What was special? Tommy and Sam weren’t supposed to be there. So how did they know?”

“We’ve got a leak,” Wilbur said, breathless at the thought. They’d already cut some communication lines with their branches in Kinoko, everything too unknown to risk information falling into the wrong hands, but now they had issues to worry about at home.

“Either that or Schlatt does. We’re both looking into it. If you hear any fool’s gold slipping around, don’t mention it. I want to see if any of our Crows pick it up.” Something murderous hung heavy in Phil’s eyes, dark like the shadows of an alley and steely like the metal of his gun.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good. I don’t want you out on the streets,” Phil started and Wilbur almost interrupted before he thought better of it. He really didn’t want to be on the streets either. Not when he could turn a corner and see taunting graffiti or be left alone with his thoughts, egged on by the thrum of traffic and the song of the city.

“I know. I’m handling switching our production operations to L’Manburg now.”

“It’s going to be okay. You know that right? I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“I know,” Wil repeated. If he kept saying it enough maybe he’d believe it. He never trusted when Phil spoke to him like a son in his office. It never meant good things. He spent the rest of the night watching Tommy’s location and dealing with the logistics of drug production. If he made another batch of chocolate chip cookies, nobody said anything.

Chapter Text

Tommy was used to being picked up at school. While he always complained about it, he knew it had a purpose. What happened with Tubbo was a clear example of that. It had been nearly four months since then and security was finally letting up and Tommy could breath again. While Sam still hovered close by, he could walk into a store by himself again or play hide and seek in the stacks at the library. Life felt normal again, or at least as normal as it could be. They hadn’t been able to have any more board game nights at Ranboo’s place, something about it not being secured enough, but in a monumental turn of events, Tubbo had been invited over as well as Ranboo to hang out over winter break. Techno and Wilbur had insisted on joining in on a very dramatic game of monopoly. Their plan of hosting an official Underscore-Craft (+Ranboo) holiday party was coming closer and closer to fruition (there was no real plan, they’d just joked about it after Tubbo went bankrupt in monopoly and decided they’d use the tried and true power of constant pestering to see if they could convince their parents to set aside their differences in the name of the holiday spirit to celebrate. The answer was no, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t try again next year).

What wasn’t normal was not seeing Sam’s car waiting for him in the parking lot. Tubbo, of course, noticed first. Tommy having been otherwise distracted with pulling his arm through the sleeve of his puffy blue jacket. Quackity’s familiar silver car was in its usual spot, and in Sam’s spot was one pink-haired brother. Tommy groaned.

He wished Ranboo was there, for some reason he and Techno got along. Tommy was like 90% sure it was just because Ranboo and Techno shared the same reading habits. They’d jokingly went on about starting a book club over winter break, something neither Tommy nor Tubbo were particularly interested in. But of course, the day Techno shows up, Ranboo left school early for a dentist appointment. Tommy did not envy him for that, the dentist was evil, always going on about flossing and not eating as much sugar as he did. Apparently being Big Man Tommy Danger Kraken Craft was not an acceptable excuse for eating four tubs of cotton candy in one sitting (in his defense, Wilbur bought all four for him (whether or not they were all meant to be eaten at once was another question entirely and not one that Tommy was going to give the time of day)).

“Bets on Philza assigned brotherly bonding?” Tommy leaned over to whisper to Tubbo who only snickered.

“Oh definitely. Is he still mad about you ditching your movie night for playing Minecraft with us?” Tubbo asked, something both taunting and pitying flashing in his eyes. Tubbo knew it all too well. Apparently skipping out on family bonding when you have previously expressed how distant you feel from your family is not the best move, even if he was about to beat the Ender Dragon. Phil had stressed the importance of being a part of the family and apparently that meant getting dragged across the SMP with Wilbur for two and a half hours while his older brother looked for his favorite brand of guitar strings last Saturday. Now it seemed it was Techno’s turn.

“If we end up going to the library I will scream. Loudly.”

“Karl might have your head.”

“It would be worth it.”

Tubbo snorted. “Well it was nice knowing you. Maybe you’ll do something fun though.”

“My definition of fun and Techno’s don’t exactly line up,” Tommy huffed. The last time Techno had said they were going to do something fun ended up with Tommy on his ass in the backyard every other minute as Techno taught him “self-defense”. Although, it was fun getting that one good punch in. He’d even complimented his swing! The fact that he then spent several more hours practicing his punches against a couple pillows so he could impress him the next time was unimportant.

“Minecraft tonight, if you survive?”

“You got it, boss man.”

The two split up, waving goodbye as Tubbo headed off to his own bonding with his dad. Tommy slid into the passenger seat and tossed his backpack in the back. Worse comes to worse, he could always use this as an excuse to forget his homework in Techno’s car. Techno was almost always gone at night, something about wanting to be up for customers on the other side of the world. Techno was basically nocturnal anyways so it didn’t change his sleeping schedule much from what Tommy could tell. He couldn’t do much about not doing his homework if it wasn’t even around for him to do.

“Please tell me you’re not going to spend the next few hours shopping,” Tommy said, pulling out his phone to keep himself distracted on the ride. Already Tubbo was texting him, complaining about needing to change into fancy clothes.

“Nope, but you are coming to work with me,” Techno said, never taking his eyes off the road as he sped through the streets towards downtown SMP.

“What? That sounds even worse!” To be fair, he wasn’t entirely sure what Techno did, but he doubted it would keep him entertained for long. He didn’t want to follow his oldest brother around like a lost puppy all day while Techno sat in on meetings or did whatever Techno-things he did all day. Knowing his brother, he wouldn’t be surprised if he spent his days attacking orphans or reciting ancient Greek poetry to the pigeons in the downtown city park.

“Oh well, blame Phil for making me deal with you today.”

“You can call him Dad, you know? It’s just me,” he corrected. It always felt weird to hear his brothers address their dad by his name rather than his title to them. While he didn’t always feel like a dad, he was still their father. What the past few years had shown Tommy was that he was trying, even if he failed more often than not. While Tommy still had his qualms with him, he couldn’t deny his love and appreciation towards the man. Ever since that fateful day where he’d been caught on the roof he’d made it a point to check in on him at least once a week, to plan things like movie night and keep track of the things happening in Tommy’s life. He still fell short sometimes, namely whatever brotherly bonding exercise the past few days had been.

Techno only grunted in response, unaware of Tommy’s own spinning thoughts as he turned further downtown.

The metal and glass of high rises soon replaced the smaller shops and houses that had lined the streets. He’d spent every trip to the city as a child with his nose pressed against the glass as their dad pointed out every building he owned or built. His childish mind had decided that all the buildings were actually just strange looking houses and he loudly proclaimed that he wanted them to move to the one with the giant clock embedded into the side. Through wheezing laughter his dad explained that they weren’t houses. Something about office buildings but honestly, Tommy wasn’t sure how that many offices were needed in the city. What did everyone actually do in all those offices? He was nearly 16 and still didn’t know and at this point he was too embarrassed to ask.

His phone kept him occupied while Techno pulled them deeper into the city center and then towards the west side. Soon he was parking in front of a construction site of all things. Tommy looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you did like stocks and stuff?”

“That’s part of it. Craft Investments is also a construction company,” Techno shrugged and stepped out of the car. A chill ran up his spine as the winter air raced in.

Tommy was not going to miss a prime opportunity to complain and so he too got out, pulling his coat around him and searching for where Techno disappeared to. He found him at the trunk, pulling out a safety vest and hard hat labeled with “Mine-Craft Builders”.

“When you said I was coming to work with you I thought that meant I was going to get to sit in a warm office building. Not freeze on a construction site in February,” Tommy hissed, playing up how cold he was as he forced his hands into gloves he’d shoved in his jacket pocket earlier.  

“You’ve got a jacket,” Techno said, tossing a vest and a hardhat to Tommy. He barely caught it in time, one hand only halfway into his glove. He managed to get the vest over one arm and catch the helmet with his fully gloved hand. He scowled at his brother who looked rather pleased with himself.

Upon brief inspection, Tommy realized why Techno looked so pleased. While Tommy thought his safety gear might match Techno’s, he was sorely mistaken. Tommy had seen the Sam Nook safety promotions and advertisements for years. He used to joke with Sam that he looked like the cartoon raccoon that was meant to teach kids city safety and the basics of money management. He was a catch-all figure and Sam had always done a great impression of the chirps and warbles the character always did on the commercials. He’d since grown out of his Sam Nook obsessed phase (if he had a Sam Nook plushie hidden in his duvet that was nobody’s business but his own). However, Techno didn’t seem to know that as the stickers of the cartoon raccoon were plastered all over the helmet and printed onto the vest.

“This is kid’s stuff!”

“I checked the size, it fits you. Plus, you are a child,” Techno hummed, shutting the trunk and locking the car.

“I am NOT a child!” He spat, the response nearly instinctual at this point. Not only was he being dragged out onto a cold construction site for his afternoon, but he was going to have to wear a bright yellow vest and hat with a cartoon character on it. Tommy was going to ruin Techno’s week with how much he was going to complain to Dad about their ‘brotherly bonding activity’.

“You’re right, a child would complain less about wearing proper safety gear. More like a toddler actually,” Techno laughed to himself as he crossed the street. Tommy trailed behind, not because he wanted to do this, but because he wasn’t done giving Techno a piece of his mind about the whole situation.

“Screw you, Technoblade!”

“Once again, your comeback skills never cease to amaze me,” he snorted before taking the hard hat from Tommy’s hands and plopping it on his head. “Keep that on, the vest too. The last thing we need to deal with is an OSHA violation.”

Tommy grumbled but didn’t take off the hat. Techno was ushering him past a chain link fence with an ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ sign in bright yellow on it. He didn’t personally think he was an authorized person here, but maybe being authorized on construction sites was just another weird perk that came with being a Craft. As he got older, he realized that there were more and more random perks he got just by dropping the family name.

He begrudgingly shrugged the vest on when Techno glared at him. Dad was going to be hearing about this all night.

All the workers in the general vicinity (all wearing the company branded hats and vests, no Sam Nook in sight) paused upon their entry to the construction site. They were probably wondering what a sixteen-year-old was doing at their workplace. He wouldn’t blame them, Tommy didn’t belong here, yet here he was.

“Sorry for the disturbance, please return to work,” Techno announced and Tommy was left gaping at how much confidence and authority Techno was able to produce in his voice. For someone who was always socially awkward, he took command like it was second nature, and perhaps it was. He wanted to try it.

“Yeah! What he said!”

It might have not been the right thing to say as everyone somehow froze even more and stared at Tommy for a solid 10 seconds before going back towards their tasks.

“…We’ll work on it,” Techno said before pulling Tommy through the site and towards portable office set up. At least he wasn’t going to be stuck outside this whole time. His ears were cold, and he’d left his hat in his backpack.

The office itself was small, not much more than 6 feet across by 12 feet. Just large enough to fit a desk set up and a small mountain of files that looked one stiff breeze from tipping over and crushing him. He moved, as inconspicuously as possible, to the other side of Techno so if they did fall he’d at least have a buffer.

One person was working inside the small office, wearing sunglasses despite being indoors. Tommy stared at them, picked out the collection of golden jewelry they wore around their neck and on long fingers that sped over the computer keyboard. Chestnut brown hair tumbled in curls to their shoulders and when they looked up, the smile that stretched across their face felt comforting. Tommy found himself smiling back despite himself.

“Afternoon, Techno.”

“Apologies for the delay. I got assigned to Tommy babysitting duty,” Techno said, hand patting Tommy’s shoulder. He immediately turned and punched Techno in the arm and like the prick he was, he acted like he didn’t even feel it. Bastard.

“I thought that’s who that might be! I’m Eret, Tommy. I work for your dad, managing the construction projects and-” Eret seemed ready to say something else but Techno cleared his throat and Eret just as soon stopped themself. “And I keep Techno busy with paperwork,” they added, finishing off with a deep laugh. Their voice was deep like Techno’s, but less rough. Warmer, like dark chocolate instead of gravel. Even though Tommy was most certainly not a child, he felt like Eret would read bedtime stories well.

“That you do. On that subject, our meeting today is probably going to bore Tommy half to death and since I am unfortunately meant to return him home alive, do you have anything he could help out with here?”

Tommy couldn’t believe it. This was supposed to be brotherly bonding and Techno was kicking him out!

Eret pursed their lips in thought before perking up and immediately going for a desk drawer. “I actually was going to do this after our meeting, but I think Tommy here can manage some deliveries.” Eret tossed a keyring with a rainbow charm on it and one key. “We got new first-aid kits in and they need to go to the four first-aid stations around the job site. Those are keys to the golf-cart. Don’t crash,” Eret said with a chuckle and a wink.

“Now that you’ve said that he will,” Techno groaned, “And I will not be held responsible for damages. This is all on you.”

“I’ll take that,” Eret grinned.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Tommy asked, glaring at his brother.

“No. Shoo child.”

Tommy stomped out of the office building and made sure to leave the door open, just so Techno would have to close it.

Sure enough, there was a golf cart parked just to the side of the office and gravel path leading around the edge of the construction site and out onto the sidewalk. He’d seen one of the first-aid stations marked with a big red cross when they first arrived and figured the rest probably resembled it.

It really wasn’t his fault in the end. The only time he’d ever driven before was in mario-kart and then the bumper cars at the fair. Driving an actual motor vehicle down an icy street when he couldn’t remember which pedal was gas and which one was the brake was just setting him up for failure. Therefore, it couldn’t have been his fault and the guy that nearly became road-kill under his golf cart should totally just move on with his life.

The man was fuming, face red as he glared at Tommy with burning green eyes. What this random guy in a green hoodie was doing just chilling around a construction site was a whole other matter.

“You could have hit me! You should have gotten out of the way!” Tommy exclaimed as he yanked on the gear shift to try and get it into park.

“I should have gotten out of the way? You literally swerved towards me! You could have killed me!” The man shouted, taking a threatening step towards Tommy. Now that wasn’t going to be anything that Tommy would take. He was a Big Man who didn’t back down from some asshole 20-something who thought it was okay to yell at a minor.

He steeled his resolve and stood up, hoping the golf cart was actually in park.

“The ground was slippery, bitch!”

The man seemed taken aback by this and his glare only deepened. “What’s some kid doing here? I could report this, child labor and all that. You look too young to even be driving one of these things.”

“Fuck you! I’m plenty old, and for your information this is basically my construction site. My dad owns it so therefore it’s mine too!” He huffed. His dad’s name could get him out of a lot of stuff so maybe it would get him out of this too. The man was being an asshole anyways, they had enough friends around that they could always say he jumped out and tried to attack Tommy if they needed.

The man’s demeanor suddenly shifted at this new information and Tommy knew it was the right move to bring up his dad. He looked a lot less angry and instead looked almost…intrigued? Tommy wasn’t sure how to word it.

“I would have assumed your dad could have taught you manners. The least you could do is say sorry,” he said, the anger leeched from his tone like the cold leeched Tommy’s body heat.

“My brother said never to say sorry in business because then you’re liable to be sued,” Tommy informed the man, very matter-of-factly. He’d need to tell Wilbur how he remembered what he taught him.

“Is that so? I could still sue you know.”

“You’re not going to though, because we’d win.” Tommy grinned, knowing in his heart he’d won even if the other man didn’t know it yet. He probably couldn’t fathom losing to a guy wearing Sam Nook safety gear. Most people never even realized they’d lost to the great Tommy Craft. Tommy knew though, and that was all that mattered.

The man honest to Prime snorted at this and Tommy couldn’t wait to see him in court and give his dramatic spiel about how awful the man was and how everything he said was a lie! It would be worth it.

“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we? What’s your name?” The man stepped even closer and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from stepping back. It was instinctual, like part of his brain had immediately triggered the flight response. Tommy did not run away from his problems, he faced them head on and with a lot of swearing.

“What’s it to you, dick? Are you some pe-do-phile? Praying on kids? Because I can scream and then you’ll go to jail for a long time,” He spat, taking notice of the man’s own straight sandy blond hair that curled around his ears.

“I just want to apologize for getting in your way, and you know, apologies are better when you can address the person by name. Not that you’d know anything about apologizing.”

Tommy would not stand for this slander! “It’s Tommy, fuck face.”                                                                                                       

“My friends call me, Clay.” The man smiled and something in Tommy shuddered. He was not the prey in this situation, he was the wolf. Yet, some part of him screamed that he was the sheep and that he needed to run before the wolf would pounce on him. He didn’t run. He stared down the man, sending his own glare back. There was no reason to fear some random guy with a scar through his eyebrow loitering around his dad’s construction site.

“Good thing we’re not friends, bitch.”

“Tommy!” Techno’s voice called from the distance and Tommy immediately turned around, part of him releasing the tension unintentionally built in his shoulders, to see his pink-haired brother jogging towards him. “Can I seriously not leave you alone for five minutes? What happened? Someone said they heard shouting.”

Clay spoke up before Tommy could. “We had a bit of a close call with the golf cart here. Everyone’s fine, not even a bruise.”

Tommy didn’t know how to respond to that. The man just let go of it all the moment Techno showed up. Maybe Techno was just as magical as throwing his dad’s name around was.

Techno didn’t seem to buy it and glared at Tommy. He just stuck out his tongue at his brother.

“If you leave me your contact information, we can reach out again in a few days to make sure everything’s truly fine. I know my brother can be a bit reckless. We’d love to resolve this smoothly.”

“Brothers? I can see the resemblance,” Clay smiled, pulling out his wallet and digging around inside.

“Unfortunately,” Tommy muttered, only to get a sharp jab from Techno’s elbow in response. He elbowed Techno back.

“Thank you for understanding,” Techno said as Clay handed him a business card. “We’d hate to hold you up any longer, I’m sure you have places to go.”

Clay bid them farewell, saying goodbye to Tommy specifically before heading off. Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Techno seemed to have a pretty good idea.

“What the hell happened? Do you just go around picking fights with random strangers for the fun of it?”

“Listen, it was slippery, and I almost hit him but everything’s fine. See, you can call him in a few days and double check,” Tommy said, motioning to the business card still in Techno’s hand. He could see a name printed on it as well as an email and phone number.

Techno flipped it over in his hand, making looking for a company logo and immediately froze. Tommy craned his neck to see what he was looking at. There was no company logo, at least not one he’d seen before. The back of the business card was pitch black, with a neon green smiley face printed in the middle.

Techno’s gaze shifted to across the street, where Clay was standing, that same smile on his face. Tommy didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like it when Techno pushed him behind him like he needed protecting. The two just stared at each other, Techno tense like he was ready to fight. Clay on the other hand looked relaxed. The tension was palpable, leaving Tommy in the awkward space in the middle of not having a clue what was going on. It seemed important to Techno, important enough to have a stare-off with some random guy Tommy nearly ran over with a golf cart.

The man reached into his green hoodie pocket and pulled out a phone, breaking the eye contact between himself and his brother, and brought it up to his ear, clearly calling someone. After a moment he gave a little two-fingered salute, turned, and walked away. He disappeared from sight seconds later.

“Are you hurt?” Techno’s attention was immediately on Tommy, inspecting every inch of him like he was a china doll that just fell off a shelf.

He scowled, “No. What the fuck was that. You two have some sort of rivalry?”

“Something like that. You’re sure you’re not hurt? He didn’t touch you? Did he say anything weird?”

“I mean he was a weird guy, but I’m fine Tech, I promise.”

Techno nodded but something told him that he didn’t believe him.

…

Apparently, Tommy did not know how to put the golf cart in park and only managed to put it into neutral. Techno said it was a miracle it didn’t roll down the street and hit anyone else. The delivery of the first-aid kits seemed to have taken a back seat as Techno pushed Tommy into the passenger seat and drove the golf cart back towards where he’d come from. Tommy was then unceremoniously dropped off in Eret’s office and Eret was beckoned out by Techno. While he couldn’t make out the words he could hear the shouting.

They drove home in silence shortly after that. Somehow, Techno’s sibling bonding managed to be worse than Wilbur’s. At least he got to make fun of Quackity when the man texted him (and presumably Tubbo as well) about how his date got ruined again and he knew one of them was behind it. Tommy claimed full responsibility and promised to ruin the next four if he could.

Quackity was not impressed.

…

“Dream, I swear to Prime, how do you always need me when I’m on a-”

“Meet me at the apartment in a half hour. I knew scoping out that construction site was a good idea,” Dream grinned as he walked down the street, towards where he’d parked his car. Sapnap, on the other side of the line groaned.

“Fuck you, in particular. You owe me big time.”

“Just think about what would happen if we can pull this off. Think of what came from Kinoko,” Dream unlocked his car, mind already racing with the possibilities this new development brought him. He wasn’t even looking for Philza’s kid and he just stumbles across him? What were the odds? It was almost like Prime itself supported their endeavors. He had no intentions with the young Tommy Craft, but, scaring the Craft family further, making the Syndicate fear for their youngest, that gave Dream room to play.

Sapnap sighed, “Fine. But Gogy and I are getting drinks tonight and you are not invited.”

The call ended and Dream slid his phone back into his pocket as he stepped into his car. The profits from Kinoko were serving him well as his hands ran along the leather of the steering wheel. Everything was progressing just as he wanted. Months of planning leading him towards the prize his predecessor lost. It was a good day for the new Dream.

Chapter Text

Phil knew it was dangerous to keep Tommy in the dark. What happened at the construction site was proof enough of it. He’d certainly heard Techno and Wilbur and Sam’s input on the matter. In fact, he heard their opinions at least once a week. Admittance that they were right would feel like defeat. It would mean he’d have to bear his heart and admit that it was his own selfishness that made him stick so thoroughly to his decision on the matter. The threat of Dream Team aside, the thought of losing Tommy in a different way terrified him more than he could articulate. He hadn’t realized it until the night Tommy sobbed into his arms. He’d been pushed to his limit and so close to breaking that Philza was scared that if he held him too tight or exhaled too hard he’d shatter his boy and not even leave a ghost of his son behind. Now he feared he might break him again.

He’d taken Schlatt’s calls. As much as the remaining animosity and rivalry remained, nobody quite understood the difficulty of raising children in their lifestyle quite like each other. He’d listened as Schlatt confided over his new difficulties with Tubbo. How the reveal had started out so well and one mistake left him scrambling to pick up the pieces. They were children, they didn’t understand that what they did, what they had to do, was necessary. Respect was hard earned and power kept them safe. He could never forgive himself if he lost Tommy like Schlatt claimed he’d lost Tubbo. If it would leave Tommy staring horrified at him. If it meant Tommy would never curl into his arms on the couch again. No, it felt safer to wait. Or maybe it was just easier to think that.

Tommy would turn 16 in days, an event that Wilbur and Techno had been waiting for because he’d long promised that was when they’d tell Tommy. Wilbur stormed up to his room when Phil informed them of the change of plans. Techno on the outside appeared ambivalent but Phil knew what resentment looked like in Techno. He’d seen it in so many of their conversations lately, nearly all of them about Tommy. His excuse had been the construction site incident, Tommy’s recklessness with the golf-cart, the mouthing-off to one of their enemies (someone who wouldn’t be afraid to kill him). He wasn’t ready, wasn’t mature enough for the responsibility that came with The Syndicate. That’s what he told himself anyways. Techno didn’t believe him but bowed out with little more than an update on the research he’d been having Techno work on, and a glare. The fact that he was losing his other two sons in an attempt to not lose the third was not lost on him.

Tommy wasn’t the only thing on his mind either. They’d lost three of their Crows in the SMP Police Department. All fired or laid off for varying reasons. It meant every move they made had to be extra careful without their full force directing the attention elsewhere. They’d caught another Crow ready to go informant. The false information he’d let ‘slip’ to try and lure out their supposed spy hadn’t revealed anything. Plus, they’d all but lost control in Kinoko. Schlatt was apparently still hanging onto his holds there, but only by the skin of his teeth from what his information revealed. They needed to stop the Dream Team now, before Philza ended up with a hole in his forehead as well. Before any of his boys met the same fate.

All of this ran through his mind as he sat in the passenger seat of the car while Tommy fiddled with the shift. Frankly, his focus should have been on teaching Tommy how to not kill them in a motor vehicle, but when you run a mafia you’ve got to multi-task.

“I feel like this was easier the first time,” Tommy muttered, clearly thinking he was talking to himself as he fiddled with the key and turned on the windshield wipers. A choice selection of swear words soon followed along with the blinkers turning on multiple times as he tried to get the wipers to turn off. 

This pulled Phil’s attention fully back to present because as far as he was aware, this was Tommy’s first time ever in the driver seat of an actual vehicle (the golf cart did not count). He’d hoped his son would be a little more competent than this, but perhaps it being a newer model left things a little more complicated than necessary.

“When did you drive the first time?” He asked, wondering if Techno or Wilbur had made the poor decision.

Tommy froze, the only sound filling the tense silence being the swoosh of the windshield wipers as they rubbed against the dry windows.

“Oh, uh, I meant in the video game. Yeah. Mario Kart. It’s way easier in Mario Kart, you just press the button and you go,” the nervous laugh that trailed told Phil all he needed to know. Further investigation was needed and Tommy wasn’t going to spill anything. If Tommy had one skill that Phil knew would serve his youngest well, it was his stubbornness. It only needed to be refined to be useful in their endeavors.

Techno and Wilbur might know, but Tommy did have Ranboo and Tubbo coming over for his birthday in a few days. He could probably learn a lot about Tommy’s escapades from Ranboo if he played it right. According to Wilbur the kid had the back bone of a chocolate éclair.

“So uhm, can you tell me what button I need to press to turn off the wipers? Or we can just go?”

…

The day of Tommy’s 16^th birthday thankfully landed on a weekend because Tommy was insufferable if his birthday landed on a school day. Last year he complained nearly all day, claiming that 15 was a big enough number to warrant getting to skip the entire day. Sam was kind enough to inform Phil that Tommy just had a math test that day. There were no such worries for his 16^th though.

Wilbur had forgone his own Syndicate duties the night prior to decorate. Streamers hung from the ceiling in lazy arcs of red and white, matching balloons framed the doorways and Wilbur had apparently dug out the hot glue gun to put together little cardboard cut outs of raccoons. The surrounded the pile of presents. Techno refused to tell him what he got Tommy and he wasn’t sure if he liked that. Wilbur had wanted to buy him an entirely new wardrobe, but settled on a few new items and a couple video games to make getting clothes for your 16^th birthday a little more tolerable to Tommy who expressed his distain for clothes shopping as often as possible. Phil had settled on getting him a new laptop. Something he could use for school and then eventually Syndicate work. It was top of the line, filled to the brim with the newest solid state drive and graphics card money could buy, as well as Sam’s own designed security protections.

Sam had the day off, but Phil knew the man was looking into the Dream Team, something Phil would need to continue working on after the party. He didn’t like taking too many breaks, not with what was most definitely a bounty on his and his boy’s heads. You don’t wipe out the majority of the Dream Team forces eight years ago and then get to act like nothing happened. Still, he could relax for the day. He could spend time with his boy, maybe question his friends a little, and eat the monstrosity of an ice cream cake taking up half their freezer Techno picked up that morning.

Ranboo arrived first, his parents dropping him off with a smile, as the teen wandered inside. The last time he’d been over his eyes were blown to the size of saucers as he took in the Craft mansion. It was no different this time, except he was gripping a purple sparkly bag with Tommy’s name written on it in blocky letters.

“Hey mate, make yourself comfortable. Tommy’s in the shower, he should be down soon,” Phil said, ushering the boy further into the house towards the living room. Ranboo muttered thank you’s and gushed compliments for the décor and hovered over a globe from the 1800s for a few extra seconds, leading Phil to go into a small tirade on its history and how you could estimate the age of a globe with surprising accuracy based on what countries were there.

They kept up their conversation, Ranboo’s face brightening with every new fact Philza explained, as Ranboo deposited the gift for Tommy on the table his gifts from the rest of the Craft family were. He sat on the couch, pulling off his backpack and hugging it to his chest. Awkwardness looked normal on Ranboo. He was all gangly limbs and too-wide eyes and perfect posture. His jeans were just a hair too short on him, but it showed off his high tops well.

The silence was excruciating for Phil a swell. He had questions he wanted to ask but he also feared that moving too fast might send the kid scattering like a wild possum. Phil settled in his own seat.

“How’s school going?” Ahh yes, small talk. One of his best skills? He didn’t know how to talk to teenagers.

Ranboo jolted in his seat, clearly expecting to just sit in the uncomfortable silence until Tommy appeared, but after a moment of stammering he seemed to get his voice under control.

“Oh, uh, it’s going good. I’m glad Tommy’s back to studying at the library with us,” Ranboo said, fingers twiddling with a charm hanging off his backpack. He knew he was a nervous kid, but you’d think this was a job interview or a police interrogation with how on edge the boy was. If he hadn’t been informed by literally all three of his boys that it was just how Ranboo was, he would have been suspicious. The boy apparently came out of his shell with his friends, something Phil had seen glimpses of over winter break.

His mention of the weeks Tommy wasn’t allowed at the library reminded Phil that he was still dealing with a temperamental Tommy. He didn’t like being on house arrest, most kids wouldn’t, but at least he wasn’t grounded. It was just precautionary after the run in at the construction site. They had to make sure nothing was going to happen right away, try and track down the man Tommy and Techno had met. Their search had revealed little other than another taunting message spray painted in an alleyway. Phil overheard one too many conversations between Sam and Tommy where Sam was carting him back into the house and Tommy was swearing up a storm and calling him a ‘stupid prison warden’. This left all those that knew of Sam’s history within the Syndicate as the infamous ‘Warden’ silently giggling behind their hands as they explained again how there was a threat against their family because someone was mad at Phil and they were just being careful until the police could figure it out.

They fell into a few minutes of stilted conversation, Phil slowly prodding into some of the escapades that Ranboo participated in with the other two. Ranboo went into a several minutes long explanation of what they’d called ‘library shuffleboard’. A game of their own design that relied on how many points each could get before they got caught by the librarian for playing with a wet floor sign and hardback books.

It was Techno who spoiled Phil’s fun, and right as he was getting Ranboo to open up about some of their more…interesting adventures. Namely teaching Tommy how to ride a public bus.

“Phil, stop interrogating Ranboo,” Techno said, bringing out several bowls of chips for the coffee table.

“Mate-” he started but Techno just waved him off and turned to Ranboo.

“Sorry ‘bout him. He’s old and doesn’t know how to hold a proper conversation,” Techno said, and Phil did not miss the flickering glance towards him. So much for the birthday party being neutral ground for the current arguments. “I like your keychain by the way,” he added on at last minute. Ranboo flushed and his hands immediately retreated from where he’d been fiddling with the keychain in question, some tall blocky black creature, and sat on them.

“Oh, uh thanks. My parents got it for me.”

“You like Minecraft?” Techno asked, moving to sit in his own chair and Phil had to hold back a groan. He knew Minecraft well. He remembered having to ban it a few years back even more.

“Yeah! We play it all the time together! Tubbo likes to call me an Enderman because I’m tall,” the kid was positively beaming now and Phil didn’t want to admit he was jealous at how much easier it clearly was for Techno and Ranboo to talk. Maybe because Techno didn’t have any ulterior motives for their conversation other than stopping Phil’s.

“Heh, that fits you pretty well. I used to play all the time, still devote a weekend here or there to it.”

Phil scowled, “Last time you played it you didn’t stop for a week straight and I had to get Sam to uninstall it from your computer so you’d go to school.”

Techno laughed and leaned towards Ranboo. Yet he made no attempt to hide his conversation. “He still thinks it was a week,” he said in a stage whisper leading to a giggling Ranboo and a now very surprised Phil.

“You little shit.”

“Shhhh Phil. Don’t swear around the children.”

“Who the fuck are we calling children?” A booming voice came from the stairs and the birthday boy himself was soon at the couches, a scowl on his face and his hair still damp from the shower.

“Look who finally decided to show up to his own party. Theseus himself.”

“Fuck off, Techno. You’ve got to be nice to me today. It’s required,” Tommy announced, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“This is me being nice,” he deadpanned in response.

Tommy huffed and seemed ready to say something, but his attention shifted to the ceiling, where the streamers hung and to the decorations around the living room. It was as though he was seeing their home for the first time. Phil would have done anything to save the smile that slowly grew on his face.

“Awe! Does Tommy like his decorations?” Wilbur’s voice cooed as he ran up to the growing group of the Craft family plus Ranboo. Wilbur’s arms were draped around Tommy seconds later. His chin resting on Tommy’s own fluff of blond curls. Tommy tried to bat his older brother away but his attempts did little more than garner several more proclamations of ‘happy birthday’ and ‘my baby brother is all grown up’. 

“Ranboo, please save me.”

“Uhh, this looks like a you problem.”

“Traitor,” Tommy hissed before eventually finding an opening in the cage that was Wilbur’s arms and ducking out, something Phil would have praised had it just been their family and not Ranboo there as well. Tommy had always been someone hard to pin down, something Phil was painfully aware of when Tommy had been in diapers and was a frequent changing table runaway. Sam got very good at playing ‘catch the toddler’ whenever Tommy made a break for it.

The doorbell rang and Tommy immediately perked up. “It’s Tubbo! I’ll get it! Stay here, Ranboob!”

“It’s Ranboo,” the other boy said even though Tommy was long gone. Everyone had finally arrived.

…

Tommy thought his birthday was going pretty well, all things considered. It was no sweet 16 party, but his friends were over, Techno had pulled out Catan, and Up! was playing on the tv. He’d never been to a true high school party, not like the ones that were in movies where the house would get trashed and the parents would always come home early. He didn’t think he’d be missing much though, throwing popcorn at Techno to try and get a piece stuck in his braid while he played board games with his family and friends and ate pizza and would get to open presents soon was even better. Plus he wasn’t really allowed to go to anything like that, not unless he wanted Sam following him everywhere and being a spoilsport and talking about making good decisions. Screw good decisions, sometimes Tommy just wanted to not think and see where the world took him. Maybe he’d end up traveling the world like Mumza or become a street racer. He only had a little longer under Sam’s watchful eyes, at least he wasn’t under house arrest anymore. He still thought that was pretty stupid. Plus, Wil got a video of Sam hauling him back inside after he tried to sneak out the backdoor. It was embarrassing, Big Men don’t get caught sneaking out (the fact that he’d been caught literally every time he’d tried was inconsequential).

His birthday cake was his favorite ice cream cake from the local ice cream shop, with Oreo’s decorating the top and swirling vanilla and chocolate ice cream holding the candles in place. All 16 of them ready for him to blow out. Only children really believed in the whole blow out the candles and make a wish thing. It didn’t hurt to try it though, on the off chance that it was real. That there was a little bit of magic in the red and white candles (Wilbur certainly had a color scheme in mind). He didn’t want to wish for something he knew wasn’t going to happen, no matter the magical power. He wouldn’t wish for Dad to no longer need to work or for Techno to move back into the house full time. Wishes were special. He looked at his friends, at Ranboo’s smiling face and the flickering of candles in his eyes. At Tubbo, who stood at his side, grinning widely and threatening to blow the candles out himself if Tommy didn’t get to it.

He closed his eyes and blew them all out with one big gust of air.

I wish we’ll always be friends. No matter what happens.

Presents were always his favorite part. While he turned up his nose at the sweaters Wilbur presented him with, he couldn’t deny they were softer than anything he owned. The new laptop was a surprise but one he was grateful for. As awesome as his PC was, sometimes Tommy needed the mobility. Tubbo got him a couple new VR games so they could play together and Ranboo had brought Tommy a new sketch book and a nice set of pens. It was Techno’s gift that topped them all.

Tommy tore into the wrapping paper to find a dense wooden box. It was long and narrow and held closed with a golden clasp. He pulled it open to reveal a knife. An honest to Prime knife. How had Techno convinced Dad to let him have a knife. He looked up, the biggest grin on his face, to see the look his father was giving Techno and the smug look on his brother’s face was enough proof to know that Techno hadn’t asked. He was 16 now! He could totally handle a knife!

It was small and collapsible, the sheath easily fitting into the palm of his hand like it was meant to be there and the blade able to be flicked out and locked into place with a twitch of his thumb. The thinness meant he could slide it into his pocket without it standing out anymore than a wallet would.

“Let me see what you have!” Ranboo started and Tommy knew exactly where this was going.

“A KNIFE!”

“No!” Tubbo, Ranboo, Techno, and Wilbur chimed in all together. Leaving a very confused Philza Craft staring at the group.

“Oh my god, why does he have a knife?” Tubbo finished, leaving them all laughing and Tommy examining his new deadly weapon.

“I will take it away if you don’t learn to handle it safely,” Techno said, the threat apparent enough in his voice to leave Tommy scrambling to agree. “So don’t go stabbing yourself or one of us, please.”

“I won’t!”

“And for the love of Prime, do not bring it to school,” Phil sighed. It rang of defeat which meant Tommy would get to keep his newest gift. He would take that win. He grinned widely, purposefully doing his best “conniving raccoon impression” as Techno called it. Phil did not take kindly to this display and visibly paled.

The party continued on, Tommy fiddling with his new stabbing stick as they settled down to watch a movie together in the theater room. They didn’t use it often, but when they had a big group together it was easier to watch together without needing to squish people onto the couch or leave others on the floor. The chairs in the theater room were the kind of soft leather that threatened to swallow him whole in comfort. The actual screen was a projector set up, something Tommy remembered watching his cartoons on in awe as a child. There was nothing like watching Go Diego Go as it took up the entire wall.

Wilbur and Techno shoved each other out of their favorite chair in the back row while the trio took up the first row, crowding together. Ranboo seemed to be trying to stay away from Tommy, it probably had something to do with the fact that he was still holding the knife, it was folded up, but apparently Ranboo didn’t trust him with sharp objects or whatever.

“Alright, what are we watching?” Techno asked, once he’d sufficiently shoved Wilbur enough out of the chair and settled in.

Tommy knew his answer immediately, but Wilbur cut him off before he could even start.

“If you say Moana again, I am going to disown you.”

“Well screw you too,” He huffed.

“Boss Man, could I pick? I have a good one! It’s a surprise though,” Tubbo said, already out of his seat.

“So long as it is not Moana. If I have to hear him sing How Far I’ll Go again I am going to commit a felony,” Wilbur said. Tommy knew it was mostly a joke, it was his birthday after all and it was practically illegal to be mean to someone on their birthday.

“90% sure you committed one this morning,” Techno drawled, laughing at his own joke.

Wilbur only punched him in response.

“I mean, haven’t we all committed felonies?” Ranboo asked, clearly trying to be rhetorical and sarcastic but everyone just stayed awkwardly silent. He certainly tried. Ranboo had in fact committed a felony, sure it was minor destruction of property and stealing a motor vehicle, but the important thing was that it was funny. You couldn’t get in trouble if it was funny, hence why Techno helped them cover it up. Tommy wished Phil would have been in the room to react to that, but he had to take a stupid phone call. He promised it would be quick but it had already been 10 minutes.

Tubbo broke the tension by reiterating his question, even though he was already going through the movie selection system, making sure to keep the screen off to keep his choice a surprise. He gave him the go ahead and soon a movie was selected and Tubbo had slid back between Ranboo and Tommy, a satisfied grin on his face.

Tommy still did not get what the supposed joke was when Techno and Wilbur both started wheezing with held in laughter as the title sequence started. Why the fuck did Tubbo want to watch The Godfather? Wasn’t it super long? Tommy stared at the starting scenes with confusion but Tubbo was still smiling as though he’d made the best decision in the world.

15 minutes in and Tommy was not ashamed to admit, for as old as it was, it was actually pretty interesting. Then Phil came in and ruined it.

“What are you watching?”

“Tubbo put it on,” Tommy explained, not bothering to look at his very late dad who had promised the phone call would be quick. Turns out ‘quick’ to him was over 30 minutes.

“Tubbo…” Phil sighed, almost groaning. Tubbo, beside him, only smiled.

“It’s a good movie, Mr. Craft.”

“Yeah, come on Philza. It’s a good movie,” Techno jeered from behind. Seriously, nobody in his family had any movie manners.  

“Shhhh I’m trying to watch!” He hissed before turning his attention back to the screen.

Despite his dad’s protests, they finished watching the movie. Wilbur called several of the character’s pussies, Techno critiqued several of the fight scenes, and Tubbo kept looking at Tommy throughout it all, like he was supposed to understand whatever secret message was being conveyed between blinks. He and Tubbo had been friends long enough that they were adept in non-verbal communication. They’d developed a system for cheating during exams years ago. They could plan an entire scam with just a glance, yet Tommy hadn’t a clue what Tubbo was trying to insinuate. He felt out of the loop on the joke, which was annoying, but Ranboo seemed equally lost so it just meant he’d have to come up with a new inside joke with Ranboo as payback.

Tubbo and Ranboo returned home after the movie. Techno spent several hours after that teaching Tommy proper safety and how to properly stab someone. He walked him through the steps and where to stab to incapacitate and where to stab if he needed to kill. Phil had, of course, cleared his throat at this, and Techno had to amend that he shouldn’t aim to kill, but it was important to know where to avoid. He then winked, like he was expecting Tommy to have to stab someone to kill in the future, something he wasn’t particularly fond of the prospect. Stealing was one thing, stabbing someone between the ribs to puncture a lung or severing an artery to leave them to bleed out in several minutes was. Techno was oddly knowledgeable about the subject, but Techno always had weird interests. It was probably in some sequel to Art of War he never read.

They practiced at least once a week but usually more, Techno knew a lot, probably enough to teach several classes. On the warmer days following his birthday Techno would pull him to the backyard and they’d run through the basic defensive and offensive movements. Techno would drill him over and over again, until sweat beaded at his hairline despite the mild spring weather. Self defense that went far beyond anything Sam ever taught him. He even got to fight Wilbur, a fight he was sure he would win, only to find himself pinned 25 seconds in. How both of his brothers became so proficient in it was a question they never answered, but Tommy figured it probably had to do with Sam wanting to make sure they were safe if anyone ever came for them like what happened with Tubbo.

He enjoyed their afternoons together, looking forward to them even if he ended with more bruises then he started with. Techno would always offer him a hand back up and offer his highly coveted praise when he did something right. While Techno and Sam had taught him how to defend himself before, this felt different. They weren’t just lessons he had to get a passing grade on, it was time Techno spent entirely devoted to him. He even ignored his phone calls. If something important happened that needed Techno’s attention, he claimed that their dad would come and get him. Of which never happened. The days when Wilbur joined left them more often than not in a giant laughing pile on the ground.

It made it feel more like it did when Techno was around full time and his bedroom was occupied full time instead of once or twice a week at most. Wilbur had tried to make up the difference since but it wasn’t the same. He was part of a third not half of a whole. Techno showed him his apartment in the city and Tommy wanted to move in with his brother right then. The view overlooked the entire city, sprawled out like a satellite photo in a textbook. Cars and people sped through like ants on their own paths, unknowing that a 16-year-old was watching them all, leaning against the floor to ceiling glass of his brother’s apartment. He sat there for nearly an hour, watching the city slowly blink to life one street lamp at a time as the sun sunk behind the Craft Investment’s skyscraper.

The more time he spent with his brothers, especially Techno, the more he noticed how strained the relationship between his brothers and his father had become. He didn’t realize how bad it was until Techno all but refused to refer to their father by anything other than his name, even after incessant prodding from Tommy. Wilbur was much the same, although he still called him Dad and cracked jokes over dinner and didn’t look ready to start a fight at the drop of a hat like Techno. There was a murderous look in his brown eyes though, piercing and threatening. It was never directed at Tommy, always their dad. Arguments cut off before they could ever begin. He didn’t like it, but also didn’t think Tubbo’s method of tossing all three of them in a room and locking the door was going to work. For one, Wilbur was the one who taught Tommy how to pick locks, they wouldn’t stayed locked in there. Two, Techno was scarily good at giving the silent treatment, they’d probably all starve before a conversation would even start. So he was left playing mediator on occasion and slowly digging into the history of why his family all seemed to hate each other half the time.

They all cared though. That was a truth Tommy would never forget. If Techno thought he might have hit too hard he always stopped to check in and when Tommy had stubbed his toe on the dining room table and spit out a series of expletives that would have left a sailor blushing, Dadza came running in.

The care could occasionally be overbearing.

It was one of the first times he and his friends had been allowed to return to the park. None of them blinked at the fact that Wilbur came along, Tommy expected it. The last time they’d all been to the park was an absolute disaster that left Tubbo nearly kidnapped, Ranboo concussed, and Wilbur having a panic attack. Somebody had died the last time they were at a park. The weather was too warm to ignore and their library antics were apparently getting Karl in trouble. There were new rules now. They had to stay in sight of Sam and Quackity at all times, if either of them called they had to answer, and if they saw anything weird they had to tell someone and come right back. The rules were annoying, as always, but Tommy never forgot the shaking sight of Wilbur beneath the tree or Tubbo with blood that wasn’t his own on his clothes. He could handle a few rules if it meant they didn’t need to deal with that again. Tommy wasn’t particularly fond of seeing another dead body.

The rules did not protect them from their own poor decisions.

Tommy was just trying to show Ranboo and Tubbo a cool trick Techno had taught him with his knife. Then is stabby stick was doing what it was meant to be doing, stabbing, except it was not in Tommy’s hand anymore. It was on the ground and Ranboo was staring wide-eyed down at his exposed forearm where a gash had streaked through.

“I think this may be a problem,” Ranboo said, laughing a little.

“Do we not have band-aids?” Tommy asked, staring at the wound and trying to recall if they made band-aids that big.

“I think this may require some additional assistance. You’re bleeding too, boss man.” Tubbo motioned to Tommy’s own hand and sure enough, bright red blood was streaked across his palm and dripping into the grass. Huh. He hadn’t even felt it…that was until Tubbo pointed it out to him and the cut throbbed with each beat of his heart which was becoming a steadily increasing tempo. This may be a problem. Like a big problem.

He pulled out his phone, not wanting to run across the field to get to Wilbur.

“Hey there, my best most favorite big brother ever. You know first aid right? Like could you come here and do first aid right now because I may have stabbed Ranboo on accident. I may also be bleeding? Like a lot?”

Tommy was pretty sure Wilbur’s screech could be heard from across the SMP – he certainly didn’t need the phone call to hear him – and Wilbur was sprinting across the field towards them, followed close behind by Sam and Quackity.

There was a lot of red squished between Ranboo’s fingers as he held onto his arm and Tommy stared at his own hand, brain still not quite computing that he’d messed up. He’d practiced that trick for hours and of course the first time he wants to show his friends everything goes wrong.

Wilbur was fussing over Tommy seconds later, pulling his hand towards him so he could inspect and pressing a clump of napkins he probably got from his pocket into Tommy’s palm.

“I think I just need a band-aid or two,” Ranboo said, nervously laughing as Sam inspected Ranboo’s own injury. Tubbo was stuck trying to assure Quackity he was fine.

“Needs more than a band-aid, kid,” Sam chided, pulling Ranboo’s jacket from where he tied it around his waist and pressing it into the wound. Tommy didn’t mean to stare, but it was easier than looking down at his own injury.

“If Tubbo’s okay we’ll handle these two,” Wilbur added to the muddled conversation. Tommy couldn’t focus on it, his stomach churned in guilt as he watched Sam instruct Ranboo on how to hold pressure on his arm. Guilt buried in him like his own knife. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t die but his antics had never caused more than a sprained ankle or bruise before. Techno had told him to be careful and not play around with his birthday present and he’d gone and ruined it.

Soon Wilbur and Sam were ushering to the two injured boys into Sam’s car, Tommy’s knife picked up by Wilbur and stowed safely in his pocket. Wilbur tried to argue that he should drive but Sam just shoved him in the passenger seat and told him to look at the traffic.

Wilbur did not do this, instead he pulled up his contacts and tapped on the one titled “Pig Mufasa”. Tommy wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a Lion King reference or not but Techno’s voice rang out on the speaker phone seconds later.

“What do you want, peasant?”

“Get your ass down to SMP General right now because I’m not explaining to Dad how your birthday present landed both Tommy and Ranboo in the hospital!”

“To be fair, he was under your supervision. He’s never stabbed anyone when I’m with him. So you should have some responsibility for this,” Techno hummed. His jokes seemed a little more forced than usual. Tommy could tell he was moving, probably grabbing his keys and shoes. Tommy thought about mentioning that he should bring some more napkins because his were already soaked through. That was probably an issue but he stayed quiet and tried to remain upright as Sam whipped around a corner, barely making a light.  

“Fuck off!” Wilbur spat.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The phone call ended.

They beat Techno to the hospital by 45 seconds, Wilbur rushing the both of them in. Ranboo had not stopped making John Mulaney references ethe entire time. Tommy was pretty sure that was his panic response because Tubbo had mentioned something about Ranboo making a lot of John Mulaney references while concussed. He kept muttering something about a horse in a hospital, what it was in reference too made no sense to Tommy but he figured that might have been the blood loss talking. Talking nonsense was better than being unconscious.

The emergency room waiting room had a handful of people in it, all in various states of health. Many seemed to just be waiting for whoever they’d accompanied while others were nursing smaller injuries with ice packs or cradling newly casted limbs. Tommy and Ranboo both followed behind Sam as he marched up to the front desk.

“I need to see Doctor Ponk now,” he demanded and the emergency room receptionist looked unphased, even though Tommy had never seen Sam seem so intimidating. Of course, it was hard to find a man intimidating when he’d seen him do cartoon character impressions and play peek-a-boo with a dog they met at the park once

“I’m sorry sir, we’ll have a member of our care team -”

Sam cut her off by yanking out his wallet and dropping some sort of business card in front of her. The woman’s eyes went wide as she looked from the business card back to Sam and then made brief eye contact with Tommy. He waved his bloody hand at her.

“I’ll page him right now.”

Techno barged through the sliding doors at that moment and was immediately checking Tommy’s hand and Ranboo’s arm.

“I thought I taught you better than this, Tommy,” He chided, following close behind as a nurse led them to another waiting room further back in the emergency room section. A nurse came in and replaced their DIY bandages with actual pads of gauze before letting them know that the doctor would be there soon since he was coming from a different section of the hospital.

Techno’s phone rang.

“Heh. Wilbur did you tell Phil why we were going to the hospital?” Techno asked, not answering the ringing cellphone just yet.

“No? Why?” There was a moment of silence long enough for a full ring to complete before understanding barreled into Wilbur like a train. If Tommy had learned anything from growing up in the Craft family, it was Dadza was going to freak out if he didn’t tell him where he’d be.

“WHAT HAPPENED? WHY ARE YOU ALL IN THE HOSPITAL?”

Techno didn’t have his speaker on but he didn’t need to for all of them to hear every single word as clear as if Dad was in the room with them.  

“We’re fine, Dadza!” Tommy called from where he sat next to Ranboo. His hand hurt like a bitch but all in all there were far worse things to be in the hospital for. Ranboo was looking kind of pale though, that probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Coming from you that eases my worries the least!” Techno sighed and put the phone on speaker halfway through Phil’s screeches.

“It’s really just a scratch!” Tommy tried to assure his dad’s worries but he knew it’d be no good, not until his dad could see him for himself.

“You wouldn’t admit you were injured if you were bleeding out, mate. You’re just like Techno, but at least I have faith he’d survive. What did you do, Tommy?”

First off, he wasn’t really bleeding out. The gauze was doing a way better job at staunching the blood flow than the napkins were. Secondly, he too would survive better than Techno. He was a big man and could handle himself in these situations! To insinuate anything less was an insult to Tommy’s manliness. Of course, women could also survive a stabbing just as well, if not better since they were so pog, but Tommy was going to come out of this just fine and probably with a cool scar. He could tell so many women how he got it fighting a shark or something. He tried to focus on that and not how much his hand fucking hurt.

“Tommy stabbed Ranboo and somehow cut himself with the knife Techno gave him for his birthday,” Wilbur said, a satisfied grin on his face as Techno glowered at him.

“I’m going to stab you next for that,” Tommy hissed. He knew the truth would come out eventually, but he really wanted his hand to be treated before getting a lecture from Dad. “We’re fine, Dadza. Sam already got a doctor for us!”

“I am personally, not fine,” Ranboo said.

“You’re fine, Ranboo.”

“I’m really not.”

Philza sighed and Tommy could hear the frustration in his voice, the guilt deepening even further knowing he caused that as well. Today just wasn’t his day.

“Techno, make sure you pay for Ranboo’s medical care and get him home safely.”

“Already was,” Techno hummed before readjusting Ranboo’s hold on the gauze on his arm.

“Wilbur, you aren’t taking Tommy to the park ever again.”

Wilbur spluttered, jumping to his feet from where he sat in the plastic hospital chair.

“The last time you took him Tubbo nearly got kidnapped and this time he’s in the hospital.”

“That’s not fair! None of that was my fault!”

“You’re just a bad omen,” Techno shrugged, grinning.

“Fuck you, Technoblade!”

Wilbur’s tantrum over his horrendous bad luck was cut short by someone clearing their throat in the entryway of the hospital room.

“Ponk! I’m glad you were in today,” Sam said with one of the biggest smiles Tommy had ever seen grace his face. Sam’s expression was almost always twisted into neutrality, all straight lines and no nonsense. With Dr. Ponk in the room, it was softer, he almost seemed younger, hard edges fading into gentle cures, like he was seeing an old friend. As far as Tommy was concerned, they could be old friends. Sam never told them much about his past. Only that he’d worked for Philza and the Craft family for years.

“I’d much prefer that we did our catching up outside of my working hours. Conversation is much better when I’m not saving lives,” He said. He wore a red and yellow medical mask, but his eyes and bushy eyebrows conveyed the emotion that was lost behind his mask. He moved towards Tommy and Ranboo cautiously. “I’m Dr. Ponk, I’m a friend of Sam’s. Let’s see what kind of trouble you boys have gotten yourself into today.”

Dr. Ponk beckoned for Tommy to show off his injury but he pulled his hand towards his chest and looked towards Ranboo. His was more important, even if literally everyone else in the room would argue with him. Sam and Wilbur both made quiet noises of disapproval. Sam’s was met with a brief glare from the doctor before Ponk turned to Ranboo and began examining the injury. He cleared away the gauze and prodded the injury.

“Just need a few stiches and you should be good. It’s not that deep thankfully.”

Ranboo visibly deflated in relief.

Tommy’s diagnosis was even better. It had bled a lot, but the cut was smaller than Ranboo’s and wasn’t much deeper. Both were fixable with a handful of stitches and a good cleaning. Dr. Ponk had them out the door within a half hour.

“I’m going to tell my parents it was a tree branch,” Ranboo said in the car as they drove him home.

“I was going to suggest freak bird attack,” Wilbur suggested.

“That makes literally no sense,” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Climbed a chain link fence and fell down?” Sam offered.

“I’ll come up with something.”

Always one to instigate chaos, Tommy only let the silence sit for a few minutes before speaking again.

“By the way, how do you know Dr. Ponk, Sam?” Tommy asked, catching his own grin in the rearview mirror as Sam’s ears flushed red under his hair.

“Unimportant.”

“Come on, Sam! Please?”

“No.”

“Bastard.”

Chapter Text

The summer had been nothing but late nights playing video games with his friends, stops at ice cream parlors, board games on the grass, and several days spent nearly drowning each other over the unicorn floatie at the lake. On the days when Tubbo was otherwise occupied or Ranboo had picked up a shift at the local pet store, Tommy spent his days with his brothers if they weren’t MIA as well. After the whole accidentally stabbing Ranboo incident, Techno had spent hours teaching him even more safety and how to make sure that didn’t repeat again. Nobody was a particular fan of ER trips.

The days he had nobody to spend time with were the worst. Sam or his dad were usually nearby, but often working. He’d already given up on his Minecraft hardcore world he started, he’d organized all of his books by author, he’d fallen down a very strange rabbit hole on YouTube about mortuary science, and ended up in the back yard gardening on the cooler days. When he’d grown tired of his Rapunzel arc on those days, he found himself wandering. He’d tried to get into his dad’s office multiple times but never felt the need to get his picks and open the lock. It was mostly just to see if it was locked. He explored every other room in the house and sorted through a pile of dusty photo albums in the attic and even found an old record player he wanted to see if he could get to work. More than once he found himself in his brother’s rooms. He plucked at the strings of Wilbur’s guitar, vaguely remembering the days when Wilbur tried to teach him and strummed a very off-key C chord. It needed tuning but he couldn’t remember how.

Techno’s room was far less lived in than Wilbur’s. There were no stray shirts or kicked off shoes in a corner. Stacks of plates and glasses weren’t piled up on his brother’s desk from where he’d forgotten to bring them downstairs. In fact, the only proof that Techno usually spent the night once a week was the novel sitting on his bedside table and the bookmark that slowly phased through the pages after ever visit. He sorted through Techno’s snow globe collection and tried to remember where each one came from. Many were from before he was born, but a few of the vacations when they were younger or gifts that Mumza had brought back were recognizable.

To be honest, Tommy was bored more days than not. His dad had bought him a language learning software to keep himself busy but he got bored with it within a week. On the plus side, he could now very confidently ask where the bathroom or library was in Spanish. Everyone knew a bored Tommy was a problem for everyone else.

It didn’t start out as malicious or anything, but Tubbo had sent them all a video of some guy sticking pencils on his wall by sliding them up superfast. It ended with all of them on video chat trying to stick whatever they could in their respective bedrooms to the walls. By the time Tommy had made it through his entire collection of colored pencils (and Tubbo had stuck something that looked suspiciously like a trigger for a bomb) his mind was already racing with the possibilities of this new revelation. Ranboo had googled and was already droning on about how the physics behind it worked, but Tommy didn’t care about that.

“Consider, a wall mounted hole punch,” Tommy offered, digging through his drawer of school supplies to find his best option.

“Nah, you’d have to hold the papers super still,” Tubbo shot down the idea, face wrinkled up behind the pixels of the video chat.

“Paperclips?”  

“Borrrring,” Tubbo droned. As though he’d stuck his hand in a bowl of cold water, Tubbo inhaled rapidly, leading Tommy to look up from his digging through his drawers. “What about a stapler?”

It was like the gates of church prime had opened just for him. Tommy’s mind was blown with the possibility of a wall mounted stapler. Everyone knew a stapler was never where you wanted it to be when you needed it. The number of times he’d begged his teachers to use their staplers when he had homework to turn in was evidence of it enough. Case and point, he hadn’t a clue where his was.

“Tubbo you are brilliant. I’m going to go find a stapler.”

“I think it’s going to be too heavy,” Ranboo started even though none of them had been listening to his physics lesson for the past 5 minutes so it was easy to ignore.

“Good luck, boss man!”

Tommy hung up the call (he’d learned his lesson the last time he didn’t, Wilbur had proceeded to annoy his friends for the entire length of time that Tommy had been away) and ventured out of his room. He checked Wil’s room, no luck. He could hear his brother playing guitar downstairs. Techno, on the other hand, was in his room. He’d decided to stay at home that night, but that didn’t mean Tommy got to see anymore of him.

Even though it was probably a death sentence, Tommy gently twisted the doorknob and poked his head in.

“Out,” Techno said, not even turning his head. How his brother had heard him was a question not even the gods would know. Tommy scowled, spotting that his brother was in fact not working, but instead playing Minecraft.

“I just wanted to know if you have a stapler-”

“Nope.”

“Do you know-”

“Nope.”

“Well fine then, asshole,” He huffed and slammed the door behind him. It was all in good fun but Tommy was no closer to discovering a stapler than he was before.

They had to have at least one somewhere. A whole mansion and yet he couldn’t find a basic office supply? His search took him downstairs where he found staples in the kitchen junk drawer, but no stapler. What use were staples without their respective stapler? He huffed and continued on, rifling through every room he could fine. His dad isn’t helpful, only asking Tommy where his own was. Tommy, of course, shoots back that he wouldn’t be asking if he knew. Wilbur is of even less help. He leaves Tommy waiting until he finished the song he was strumming before letting him know that he didn’t know.

He was about to give up, to go storming up to his room and jump back on the call to inform them that he would be unable to put Tubbo’s idea to the test until his eyes landed on the locked door of his dad’s office. If there was going to be a stapler anywhere in the house, the locked office would be where his luck would leave it.

Of all his dad’s rules, the biggest one was to not go into his office. It was an easy one to follow, the door was always locked. Yet, Techno and Wilbur had gone in there often, why couldn’t he? It wasn’t like he was going to mess with anything, he’d just grab the stapler and be done with it. Honestly, he’d never know if Tommy was quick enough. Plus, he was on a very honorable mission. With his mind made up he ran to his room to acquire his lock picks and ran back downstairs. Dad was preoccupied with his phone when Tommy had asked him where the stapler was earlier so hopefully that would remain the same while he did the deed.

Upon investigation, Tommy realized it wasn’t just one, but two locks on the door. The lock itself was more complicated than the ones he learned on, school locks and his own door lock, but Wilbur had been having him practice on more complicated locks recently. He immediately got to work, painfully aware of how suspicious he looked crouched in front of the office door with his picks dug into the first lock. It was just incentive to work faster. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he experimented with the pressure he needed to get the tumblers to turn before finding the right point and trying to remember it as he started work on the five different pins.

Soon enough he was through the first and the second soon after. The door swung open and he creeped inside. He’d seen glimpses of his dad’s office before, but never more than a brief glance as the door opened or closed. Now he saw it all, multiple computers and double the number of screens spread over two different desks. Two leather chairs in front of the desk while the main desk had its own dark leather seat. Paperwork spread out across every spare space so much he could barely see the dark wood of the desk. There was even a tiny chandelier hanging from the ceiling, providing fractal light beyond the other lights that littered the space. He supposed if you were going to spend all day in one room, might as well make it look nice.

The only problem with breaking into his dad’s office was that there was a chance that he broke in for absolutely no reason. That fear pounded in his head every extra second he was in the room and couldn’t find the stapler. They had to have a stapler thief among them because it was ridiculous how there were literally none.

He ventured behind his dad’s desk and moved a box full of more paperwork out of the way to look behind it, only for his eyes to catch on something in the papers. It appeared to be a printed-out webpage with notes in his dad’s angular writing filling the margins and underlining various lines. Temptation pulled hard on his mind, the curiosity at what his dad hid behind two locks leading him forward like the pied piper. The search for the stapler forgotten, his focus turned towards the webpage.

Craft Industries: Secrets Behind the Glass?

He couldn’t help but scoff at the title, every company had secrets. Techno had told him all about corporate espionage. Still, he read closer, noting how the author’s name was circled with the comment on looking into potential ‘Dream ties’ scratched into the page. The article itself went into detail on how Craft Industries was only a cover for a vast crime organization. He wanted to laugh at that. If his dad’s company was a crime organization then Disneyland was a giant religious cult.

However, the more he read, the more he wasn’t sure. The notes his dad has written into the margins weren’t refuting anything, in fact they were asking where the information written into the article had come from…that didn’t help Tommy’s nerves. He dug under that article and pulled out what appeared to be a payroll with all the names crossed off and notes to look into other people for the leak. He pushed those papers away and turned back to the desk to find Wilbur’s name written across another paper with words and names he didn’t understand. Were they code words? He scowled and found sticky notes talking about Kinoko shipments and more than once was something called The Syndicate mentioned.

It was in finding a stack of paper’s labeled ‘To Shred’ that he couldn’t hold in his surprise any longer. He clearly wasn’t supposed to be seeing any of this, but his heart stuttered out of his chest when he saw what was definitely a confession to a murder in his dad’s office.

“DADZA WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?” He screeched, frantically tearing through more of the pages, finding his own name mentioned in a few. There was a whole report on the construction site incident as well as multiple mentions of ‘Dream Team’ within those. Politicians he’d heard about on the news were listed together and what appeared to be a receipt for an excessive amount of firearms that was labeled ‘personal protective equipment’. It was then, of course that he spotted the stapler. It only took learning his dad was probably working for some vast crime empire and was keeping all of the incriminating documents in their house.  

He heard Phil’s voice down the hall, sounding somewhat panicked and he appeared in the open doorway moments later.

“Mate-” He started and Tommy couldn’t handle whatever excuses his dad was going to throw at him. This was not something you could just brush under the table with promises of ice cream or assurances that he was blowing things out of proportion. Something weird was going on here.

“The Syndicate? Is that like a mafia or something? Are we in the mafia? Do Techno and Wil know? Why haven’t you told me? I thought you ran Craft Investments! Techno said you did all the stocks and property buying and stuff! That’s why he kept blabbing on about ‘how to manipulate the stock market’!” He couldn’t stop the questions from spiraling out of control into tangents and accusations and Prime he’d just discovered his family was involved in some vast crime organization didn’t he? Were they going to have to kill him now? This was a mistake. His hand clasped tighter around the metal of the stapler. If he was going to have to fight his dad at least he had a weapon. He could run to Tubbo’s house and tell them and everything would be okay.

“Let’s talk about this mate. Why were you in here?”

“I couldn’t find a stapler!”

“And why did you need a stapler?”

He already asked his dad about this and he’d been no help and he huffed in annoyance.

“I saw this thing online where you could make pencils stick to a wall and I wanted to see if I could make a wall-mounted stapler!” He was speaking too fast, his teacher would probably dock off points if he was giving a presentation. That wasn’t important though. His dad refusing to answer his first question was the issue. “Stop dodging the question!”

His dad seemed to take a moment to process everything he’d just said, hand scratching through his straw-colored hair as he pushed it from his eyes. Tommy could pick out the tenseness in his shoulders and the slight darting of panic in his eyes, but he didn’t look malicious.

“Alright. Noble cause I suppose. Then how did you get in here?”

He was still dodging the question, but if he would get his answers by playing along until his dad ran out of pointless topics to ask him about then so be it.

“I picked the lock.”

This seemed to take his dad by surprise and Tommy would have sworn his dad’s brain short circuited by the way his whole body stuttered.

“And where did you learn that?”

“Wil taught me.” It wasn’t a lie, but it might get some blame deflected off himself.

Phil looked behind him, towards the door which had remained open. Tommy could barely make out the shift of one of his brother’s shadows hovering in the hallway. Both of them were probably out there, he couldn’t hear any distant guitar playing. He sighed and then sat down in one of the armchairs and motioned for Tommy to join him in the other. Things were starting to look considerably less like a potential murder would happen, but he still approached cautiously, wielding the stapler that had started it off just in case.

“I knew you were going to find out eventually, but uh, yes. We are in a mafia. One I run, The Syndicate.”

Tommy’s mouth dropped.

“What the fuck do you mean you run a mafia!? You’re a mob boss? Like the godfather? Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you been hiding this?”

“Yes. I do believe Tubbo was showing you that movie to try and drop some hints.”

Tommy thought his dad revealing that he ran a mafia in their city was going to be the biggest surprise of the night.

“Tubbo knows? How come Tubbo knows but I don’t?” The absolute traitor, he knew his dad ran a mafia and didn’t tell him? They could have gotten up to so many cool schemes if he’d known. Street cred comes with being in a mafia, right? He was never out on the streets so that wasn’t particularly needed in his daily life, but it would be cool to have.

“Tubbo’s dad is Phil’s mortal enemy,” Techno’s voice entered the conversation to a groan from Phil.

“Techno, let me handle this conversation.”

“You’re gonna have to tell him everything. Might as well let him know our families literally hate each other.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, “How does this involve Tubbo? Is this why someone tried to take him?”

“Tubbo’s dad – Schlatt – also runs a mafia,” Phil bit out.

“Not ours?”

Phil shook his head.

“Oh…” Pieces clicked together, Tubbo not being allowed over to their house and the absolute disaster that was their first attempt at a sleepover. The way Quackity always seemed to act around Techno. Quackity and Sam in the first place. None of the other rich kids at school had the same level of security as Tommy and Tubbo did. The way their parents acted when Tommy first told Dadza about Tubbo in the first place. It really was a whole mess that neither of them actually knew about. Or at least he didn’t. He’d be having a conversation with Tubbo about that whole keeping a secret from him thing after he figured out exactly what was going on here.

“Yep.” Techno deadpanned and soon he heard a grunt and Wilbur was suddenly beside Techno, elbowing him.

“I’m guessing you’ve all known?” He glared at his brothers. Wilbur, for instance, had a wide smile that even his curls drooping over his face could hide. Techno looked similar, a satisfied smirk twitching up to the right side of his face. That was honestly all the answer he needed.

“We’ve been begging him to tell you for months now! And now you can be a dirty crime boy with the rest of us!”

“Wil-” Phil warned, but his older brother ignored it and threw his arms around Tommy from behind.

“Oh hush, we can finally talk about interesting things around the dinner table,” Wilbur muttered into Tommy’s shoulder.

“Don’t think we aren’t going to be having a conversation about you teaching your little brother to pick locks.”

Wilbur sharply stood up, knocking Tommy to the side a bit as he gasped.

“That’s not fair! I was helping him get into his locker! We only locked him in his room once and Techno taught him how to hotwire cars when he was 14!”

“If I remember correctly you were also there,” Techno muttered.

“You did what?”

“It was all in good faith! He only used it to cause trouble once!”

“Wil!” He screeched, feeling the secret he had tried so hard to keep from his dad slip away. It was already bad enough getting theoretically caught vandalizing a teacher’s car, but having your dad know about it was even worse. If he was going to be in the mafia like the rest of his family (was that the next logical step? He didn’t know how this worked here).

“Tommy, what did you do?”

“Listen, Techno already covered it up so it’s not that big of a deal…” He tried to pass it off, but Phil’s gaze was unrelenting and heavy and he could already feel his resolve slipping in that ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ way.

“Heh? Don’t go throwing me under the bus here,” Techno glared down at him, but he only smiled and shrugged. At least he wasn’t going to be the only one in trouble.

“That’s it. You two, out. Tommy, stay. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

And talk they did. Phil told him the whole story, or at least the sanitized for a 16-year-old version of the story. Their family ran an underground crime operation known as The Syndicate. It had been started by Phil’s grandfather long before Tommy had even been a thought. How their empire grew from a collection of drug dealers in the 40s trying to stake their claim in the SMP to the conglomerate it was today reaching everything from money laundering to union control, drugs and weapons sales, a handful of legal businesses that served as fronts (like the bakery Niki worked at), and that they had enough people in their pockets to persuade things to go their way.

When Tommy asked if they killed people he said yes, no hesitation at all. When he asked if Phil had ever killed anyone there was a brief pause and then a nod. He declined to answer the follow up question of how many.

They talked for over an hour, it was mostly Phil, cycling through some of the documents he had, explaining how they operated using a stick figure diagram on the back of a printed out news article on the mysterious death of some businessman. How Phil was the boss and things spread out from him. How they had branches in other cities that Phil technically managed but from afar. They all reported to him in the end, but they were their own respective bosses. How Sam served as his advisor and bodyguard for his kids because there were people out there who wanted to hurt them.

His dad had frozen up at that part, eyes glassy and distant as though caught somewhere between memory and present. The words that had once been solid as stones and so sure fell like they’d been tossed into a pond. His father’s anxiety and trepidation rippled out to him, cold and uncomfortable as he told the story of Wilbur. Three days of terror they’d never told Tommy about because they didn’t want to scare him even though Wilbur had probably been terrified the whole time. How Phil thought he’d wiped the Dream Team from the map the night they rescued him. How he was wrong. The threats they faced now. The entire air of the conversation ahd been rather light up until that point. Then the guilt had taken over, all the times he’d complained about Wilbur’s ‘one bad accident at a friends’ meaning he could never hang out at his friend’s houses. A memory of Wilbur crying after he’d snuck up behind him and tackled him only a year after the event. The wisps of memory he still had of the day Tubbo almost suffered the same fate. Of a gun in his brother’s hand and the panic attack that followed. He’d already been sure the police hadn’t been called but now he was even more sure that those that came to the scene and took away the culprits were just members of Schlatt and Phil’s respective organizations, both with a revived vendetta against the so-called Dream Team.

After the…strikingly dark detour into his brother’s supposed trauma that he’d just been informed of literally 8 years later, Phil tried to lighten the mood. He promised to take him on a tour of some of their facilities and locations. To introduce him to his friends and show him how their world operated. Tommy had then asked to try some of the drugs they sold, and Phil resolutely declined his request. He didn’t think that was very fair because if they already sold them, why couldn’t he have any? Just try the product, you know? Getting high sounded fun. Apparently, Wilbur handled most of the drugs so he could probably ask him for some. Wil seemed like the kind of guy to give his sibling’s drugs.

Throughout the whole conversation, Phil stressed that it had to stay a secret. That the family business was technically very illegal, even if they did have the law on their side most of the time. Tommy assured him he’d keep his lips sealed and when he left, he promptly went and texted Tubbo.

His phone rang seconds later.

“They finally told you?!” Tubbo exclaimed, nearly blowing out Tommy’s eardrums.

“And you didn’t tell me! How long have you known?” Tommy returned the favor ten-fold. He was sure everyone in the house could hear him.

“I don’t remember, a couple years or something. Did they give you the whole ‘we’re mortal enemies’ speech?” Tubbo’s voice dropped in some attempt to imitate Schlatt’s. He immediately snorted at the impression, nodding along enough though Tubbo couldn’t see him.

“Yep. Sounds pretty stupid, not gonna lie.”

“Tell me about it. Whole thing is pretty boring to be honest. Lots of paperwork, none of it interesting.”

“I saw all of it in my dad’s office, literal mountains of it.”

“You broke into your dad’s office?” Tubbo asked.

“Yeah! Got Wil and Techno busted too! Was looking for a stapler.”

“That’d do it. I tried to acid melt the lock on my dad’s office. Didn’t work, had to threaten the living room with a paint bomb. Ruined some antique couch because of it.”

“That’s so fucking poggers.”

Sometimes Tommy forgot how insane Tubbo could be when he got his hands on a piece of technology or put his mind to something. While Tommy’s skills were not in the paint-bomb making territory (more so in the raccoon type talents as Techno put it one day while they were practicing) he could have easily picked the lock on Tubbo’s Dad’s door. Would have apparently saved a whole living room from a paint-bomb. But noooooooooo, nobody wanted to tell Tommy that their families ran the freaking mafia.

“Honestly wasn’t worth it, but Dad says I can just play with weapons and such if I don’t want to do all the running. You’re lucky you’re the youngest.”

His dad had briefly mentioned that Techno would be taking over if their plans remained the same, but that all of them would have roles and jobs amongst the most powerful in The Syndicate if they so desired. Apparently, those jobs weren’t available until he graduated high school though. A waste of time if you asked him, especially since Phil said he had to get a university education as well. Who needed a college degree when you had a guaranteed job in the mafia and could carry around a gun? Oh that explained why Phil taught him to shoot.

“If you don’t wanna do it then don’t, is that why you didn’t tell me?”

“No, I didn’t tell you because my dad threatened mega grounding if I did and also your dad told us not to and Techno is scary.”

“No he’s not!” Tommy exclaimed, trying to hold in the laughs. Yeah, Techno could be scary, but Tommy had also seen Techno half asleep in Minecraft pajamas holding a stuffed polar bear named Steve on more than one occasion.

“Tommy, he’s actually terrifying. People literally call him the Blood God.”

“That’s so badass, it’s like a wrestling name. Will I get a cool mafia nickname now?” He wanted to be something like Firecraker or maybe even the Red Raccoon. That would fit his ‘brand’ as Techno called it.

“I dunno. You gotta do something worthy of a nickname. Techno’s just killed like loads of people.”

“Woah.”

“You don’t find anything wrong with that?”

“It’s been a long day. I can’t debate mafia ethics right now,” He huffed. Sure it was weird to think about his brother having a body count (the murdery kind) that would need more than two hands to count, but he’d also seen Wilbur straight up shoot two people. It wasn’t that surprising, and Wilbur did it to keep them safe.

“You’re going to have to.”

“Or I could simply not,” he shrugged.

“Tommy! What did I tell you about telling other people?” His dad’s voice startled him so badly he dropped his phone onto his red comforter.

He huffed and picked it up again, putting it on speaker phone just to prove it.

“It’s just Tubbo and he already knows!”

“Hi Mr. Craft! My dad says hi!” Tubbo chimed in. Vaguely, Tommy could hear someone in the background of Tubbo’s call.

“How did Sam just text me asking how Quackity knew before he did that you know now, Tommy?”

He tried to hold in a laugh and gestured to the phone. There was a pretty clear path of information spread going on. Or maybe this was meant to be a rhetorical question.

“Oh sorry, that’s probably my fault Mr. Craft, you know how quickly news spreads,” Tubbo said and Tommy nodded along.

Phil sighed, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled. “Phone off, now. We have more to talk about in the morning.”

“Dadza!”

“Bed.”

“Sorry Tubs, Mafia Boss Man says I gotta go.” Another groan from Phil.

“See ya!” Tubbo said before Tommy ended call.

He wanted to tell Ranboo now, but he knew that would be a bad idea. He’d probably just forget by morning or think it was some weird dream. Yet, Tubbo had thought it was important enough to keep it a secret from both him and Ranboo and he was married to Ranboo. It was probably worth it to listen to his dad’s advice, just this once.

Besides, what he needed now was advice on what to do next. It wasn’t like there was a self-help book for teenagers finding out their family runs a super powerful mafia and that they are now the equivalent of mafia royalty. Maybe Reddit would have answers?

He fell asleep that night formulating a potential Reddit post on the very subject.

…

The next morning Tommy woke to a cake on the breakfast table and a very satisfied looking Wilbur sitting behind it.

‘Congrats on Joining The Syndicate’ was written across the top in red cursive icing. The edge was trimmed with dripping chocolate and dripping red that looked a little like blood but on quick inspection via taste test it was revealed to be strawberry sauce. Wilbur sipped at a cup of SMP Café coffee indicating the cake was likely from the bakery Niki worked at. It was rare that Wilbur woke up before him but apparently the prospect of a stupid little cake and coffee was enough to get him out of bed early.

Tommy was all for cake for breakfast. Phil only sighed upon seeing it laid out for them all. Although it led to an even deeper sigh from Phil, Wilbur proudly told him that it was fine because he had Niki decorate it and Niki already knows.

They all had cake for breakfast, even Techno. It was a good day.

…

“Huh, youngest Craft kid finally found out,” Sapnap said, staring at his phone as he lounged on the sofa in their apartment. His feet were kicked up on George’s lap who was flicking absentmindedly through the channels on the tv. At least he’d stopped complaining about the cable selections.

“He didn’t know?” Dream asked, looking up from his computer where he’d been staring at a map of the city plotting out new routes.

“Apparently not.”

“Isn’t that the same one that nearly ran you over with a golf cart?” George asked, surprising both of the others as he usually tuned out these types of conversations.

“Yep,” Sapnap grinned, eyes sharp and teasing as he made eye-contact with Dream, a smirk resting on his face. “If only he’d gone a little faster, George and I could be relaxing in Bermuda by now.”

Dream scowled and threw his calculator full force at Sapnap who barely dodged out of the way in time.

“We finish this job, then we can go to Bermuda, or wherever you want,” Dream huffed. Vacation rewards weren’t necessary, but it was always relaxing to spend a month or so after a big job and destress before the next one. Plus, George was just going to go without them anyways so might as well tag along.

“I didn’t realize it was going to take so long,” George whined, before throwing himself very dramatically over Sapnap’s legs.

“These ones take time. If you really want to leave us so badly you can go alone, George,” Dream said, knowing that George would refuse and promise to stay because he liked hanging out with them even if they did only ever talk about his father’s business. It was a sad truth that George was meant to be the next Dream, to take his father’s place. Yet, the motivation wasn’t there and it had been handed to the young protégé, Clay. Now Dream.

“No no, I’ll stay.”

“Thought so.”

Dream returned to his work, occasionally eying his two best friends and most trusted business partners as he worked. He regretted tossing his calculator but in the moment it had been worth it. Besides, he had a calculator app on his phone for a reason. He was a little miffed at finding out the kid, Tommy, didn’t know and his whole intimidation thing with the business card at the construction site had only scared the one. It was probably what let him walk away unscathed that afternoon.

He hummed to himself, trying not to get distracted by the faces Sapnap made into his phone as he sent selfies to his newest fling, some librarian. With this newest development, he might have to check in with those he had watching over the situation to see how it would change. His smile mimicked the one on the discarded mask next to him as he pulled up a few files and got to work.

Chapter Text

Phil regretted having children, he didn’t really but this was the third day in a row that Tommy was talking solely in an Italian accent and he was at his wit’s end. It was…relatively harmless behavior. There were worse outcomes to finding out your family ran a mafia. But also Phil was going to commit several murders if this continued.

He knew Tubbo was to blame, the three boys had holed up like moles in the theater room over a weekend and completed a movie marathon of mafia movies. Phil would have preferred that Tommy’s mafia education would have been from a place other than Hollywood, some of them weren’t that inaccurate. He felt for Ranboo during that marathon, how the kid sat through the hours of that and how the boys managed to not let the truth slip was baffling.

However, following the mafia movie marathon (try saying that five times fast) Tommy had somehow jumped to the conclusion that they were Italian and had refused to stop his attempt at an Italian accent. It wasn’t a good impression either, accents were not within his youngest’s skill set. He’d also continued to quote all of the movies he watched. Wilbur, the little shit, thought it was hilarious and had been playing alongside. The two had been telling each other to “forget about it” constantly. When Tommy dropped his fork during breakfast? Forget about it. When Wilbur hit a wrong note on his guitar? Forget about it. Tommy yawned and they said it. The parenting books didn’t have anything on this. He’d hoped Wilbur would be more mature than that. He should have known better. All three of his boys would choose chaos when it was offered.

“We aren’t Italian, Tommy,” Phil groaned for the third time since the whole accent thing began.

“All of the movies said-” Nope, he had to cut that accent off before it could continue and further

“Who are you going to believe? A bunch of movie writers that can’t even pick the right kind of guns or me?”

“Well I don’t know, you did lie to me for the majority of my life,” Tommy pointed out, accent dropping to make the point.

He groaned again and rubbed at his temples in an attempt to ease the headache that too many late nights and too little coffee had caused.

“Mate, we’ve been over this. It was for your own safety.”

“And I suppose not letting me have a gun is for my own safety too? Wilbur has one!”

“Do I need to remind you what happened with Ranboo?” The medical bills they’d covered hadn’t been an issue. It was the fact that it happened in the first place, just point towards why Phil wanted to wait. Tommy was reckless and impulsive, a combination that did not bode well in their line of work where careful planning and minimal risks kept them all safe.

“That was an outlier and according to my statistics teacher you can ignore it.”

“Not going to happen.” At least until he was 18 and had more time to practice. Speaking of, he should start having Sam train him weekly at the range. It might keep him distracted enough.

“But Dadza, I want a gun. How else am I to protect myself?” Tommy continued to whine.

“By not getting into a situation where you would need to. This is why you have Sam,” He pointed out and purposefully stared down at his phone, trying to indicate that this conversation was done and he was not going to budge. Tommy did not seem to realize this or particularly care.

“But I want a gun.”

“No.”

“If I stop using the accent can I have a gun?”

“No.”

“This is unfair,” the accent had returned. Phil downed his coffee.

“Tommy, if you want to be a part of this there are things you need to understand. Namely, what I say goes. I am in charge here and I will not tolerate obstinance. You will get a gun when you are responsible enough for one. Acting like a child is the number one way to ensure you never leave this house again outside of school. Am I clear?”

Tommy was frozen, mouth half open as though he was going to say something in the middle of Phil’s speech but thought better. His son’s face flickered through a handful of different emotions, settling a little longer on anger before eventually that faded to something akin to annoyed but agreeable.

“Fine.” The accent was gone. Prime above the accent was finally gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to refill his coffee. A fourth cup was needed today.

...

“Wilburrrrrrrr, why can I not do the drugs?” Tommy whined as he trailed behind Wilbur through a warehouse. Most of the palettes were perfectly legal wares. Apparently, it was good mafia practice to hide your illegal operations within perfectly legal ones. Among the many businesses they had their hands in, one of which was a shipping company that helped them transport goods (and sometimes people, Wilbur said they helped this one guy flee the country) around the world. They also happened to use the same method to transport their drug supplies in and out of the city. Tommy didn’t realize how much of the mafia business model was simply moving stuff around from one place to another. It was rather boring all things considered. Doing drugs sounded way more fun.

“Because I said no and Dad would actually kill me,” Wilbur huffed, wandering to another aisle with a tablet in hand as he counted the palettes and boxes and marked something down before pulling them further into the warehouse.

“Dad doesn’t have to know! Dad doesn’t know a lot of stuff.” If there was one thing Tommy was an expert at it was pestering others until he got his way. Sure, he’d had all the classes and lectures on why he shouldn’t do drugs, but also he had failed to take into account that some of his teachers were already the worst and his dad wouldn’t be selling anything that was super bad… probably.

“Well if he did find out, it would be my head on the platter. Plus, drugs are bad for you.”

“Are they really? Or is that wha you just want me to think.”

“They are very bad for you. Do not do drugs.”

“Just a taste?”

“No.”

“Have you ever done drugs?”

There was a pause before an aggressive “No,” followed. Tommy scowled.

“You have too! I know that face! That’s your, I think I’m so smart because I’m Wilbur Craft but I’m trying to hide something that’s super obvious and I think I’ll get away with it because Tommy doesn’t know anything, face!” He mimicked, studying Wilbur’s face to search for that lie.

His brother only sighed, pulling his glasses off with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other. In the clinical lights of the warehouse, bright white and spaced one every other row, his face was cast in shadows. He still stood taller than Tommy, even if he was catching up with every year. While money was no object, his dad did complain about the number of new jeans he needed after growing out of his previous pairs in a few months. If he had a guess, he assumed he’d be as tall as Wilbur. Only less gangly limbs and more sturdy like Techno. Those same spidery arms took both of his shoulders in hand, one of them still holding onto his glasses as Wilbur leaned down to look at him.

“Perhaps I am speaking from experience that drugs are not something you want to mess with. Even if we sell them. Not everything we do here is good.”

Tommy knew that the things the family didn’t weren’t explicitly good, but from what he’d learned they did do some good for the community. They helped fund schools, gave business loans to people who needed them, kept the streets clear of unconnected gangs, their legal businesses offered job opportunities, and Tommy even heard that they helped get a couple the adoption paperwork they needed. Surely that outweighed the bad. It had been weeks since he’d first learned and Techno still refused to tell him how many people he’d killed. Going by the fact that Tubbo referred to him as ‘The Blood God’, he had a feeling that Techno was not avoiding the question because the answer was 0. They were probably bad guys though, like the people who tried to steal Tubbo. Building at least one school probably evened that out. Probably. So maybe selling drugs was not the best thing in the world to be doing, but it seemed to be a requirement to be in the business. Tubbo’s dad did it too.

Wilbur just gave off the vibes that he did drugs. He didn’t know how to explain it. Something in the distant way his brother’s gaze caught on the horizon and the way the shadows filled in his cheeks. Like if he was going to bet on either of his brothers being the one to do drugs, he was going to go with Wilbur.

“Did you have a bad trip, Wilbur?” He smiled up at him, satisfaction at finally figuring out what his brother’s deal was feeling almost like what he imagined a high to be like.

“Don’t do drugs, Tommy,” Wilbur said with a pat on his shoulder before turning away, beckoning Tommy to follow.

“You’re boring.”

“Drugs make you boring.”

Tommy crossed his arms, so maybe his pestering didn’t work this time, but there was always the future. Maybe Wil did have something to say about not doing drugs. Listening was for later on in his character development. For now he would continue to grumble and stare at the boring mountains of storage, wondering which ones had the drugs and if any of them were filled with bars of gold like in the movies. Wilbur only laughed every time he asked and promised to show him their gold stash in the future. Tommy would hold him to that.

...

 “I don’t understand why we need to do a performance,” Tubbo hummed, munching on carrots from the bag of them in the middle of the picnic table.

Tommy grabbed a few more, “Probably some shit reason like broadening our horizons.”

“It could be worse. It could be an essay,” Ranboo pointed out, squinting at the project assignment they’d decided to work on at the park. They’d only gotten the assignment that day in English class after finishing their reading of Romeo and Juliet.

“Boob boy is right. It could be an essay.”

Ranboo bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. He knew it was an affectionate nickname, even if Tommy claimed otherwise. Besides, he couldn’t argue over semantics like nicknames, he had an alternate universe performance of a scene from Romeo and Juliet to plan.

“Okay, but I get to be Romeo,” Tubbo said, which surprised Ranboo but that could have just been him not wanting to be Juliet.

“We haven’t even chosen a theme,” He said, casting could come after they settled on their theme and picked their scene.

Tommy and Tubbo shared an impish grin with each other as they said “Mafia” in tandem.

“I should have guessed.”

“I think it’s perfect.”

Ranboo groaned. He knew a lot more about mafia’s now than he did a few months ago considering the mafia movie marathon they all had (including a really odd three days where Tommy only spoke in an Italian accent). However, he was a little mafia’d out to be honest and now with Junior year back in motion and this being their first project of the year in English class, he was looking for an escape.

“What about a superhero and a supervillain that fall in love?” He suggested, glancing at his own notes that he’d scribbled in the margins. Various ideas he had or that their teacher had suggested while explaining the project. There was a little star next to heroes and villains, it had been his favorite idea.

Tommy immediately jumped to his feet, excitement bubbling off him as he seemed to center himself on the grass a few feet from them, stricken expression on his face.  

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy villainy and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I’ll no longer be a hero!”

Tubbo climbed on top of the table, nearly stepping on the carrots if Ranboo hadn’t pulled them out of the way fast enough. “My name, dear hero, is hateful to myself. Because it is an enemy to thee.”

Both boys were close to tears holding back their giggles and Ranboo couldn’t help but laugh as well. The last thing he expected today was spontaneous performances, but he knew better than to expect anything less from his friends who were as unpredictable as the summer rainstorms. When had his friends memorized entire passages of Romeo and Juliet? To be fair, Tubbo’s knowledge did extend to some pretty strange topics and they were learning the play in school. Still, it was impressive that they were already off book.

“So, are we going with my idea?” Ranboo asked, finally able to find his voice enough beyond the laughter to formulate a sentence.

“We’re going to ace this project,” Tommy announced and ace it they did. Tommy played Juliet, Tubbo played Romeo, and Ranboo played a variety of set pieces and the ‘superpowers’. His favorite being the balcony where Tommy jumped onto his back to give his monologue (dollar store cape and mask (and raccoon ears for some reason? Tommy decided that the hero he played was a racoon themed hero) constantly needing adjustments). With their combined height, Tommy’s head brushed the ceiling tiles of their classroom, but they had everyone in class rolling with laughter. Tubbo rolling into the scene with pocket deployed smoke bombs was a touch their teacher wasn’t particularly fond of, but it made for a dramatic entrance for their ‘villain’ and a voracious round of applause as they finished their scene.

...

Phil had never gotten along with Schlatt. They could respect each other, hold back their animosity when needed, and even now they allowed their children to mingle (however unintentional that had been). After existing with each other as the proverbial pebble in each other’s shoes, it was inevitable that eventually one of them would grow tired and attempt to push the other one out. An all-out war between their respective mafias would be suicide. Both were too powerful in their own respective circles to cut the roots without sending half the city crumbling down around them. That didn’t mean they would never push at each other. Encroaching on territory, underselling the other, a few unexplained murders it varied on the year and each other’s temper. Philza was not so blind as to ignore the few attempts on his own life in the past and the secrets drawn out from those ill-fated enough to be assigned those missions.

It was strange sitting in the same room with him, coffee cups held idly like five years ago they wouldn’t have jumped at each other’s throats had they been in this same position. Their relationship had fundamentally changed over the years, with all the thanks going to his youngest and Schlatt’s heir. Their agreements had been held up, the kids had never been used and there was something akin to comradery between them now. Wilbur even risked his own life to save Tubbo from a kidnapping. Phil had never expected to get a call from a crying Schlatt with a thousand thank you’s spilled out over the line and promises that he owed him for saving his son. Phil hadn’t outright declined the offer, it was always good to have a favor or two at his beck and call, but he hoped Schlatt would have done the same for his boys.

With the Dream Team as a threat again – a thought that churned in Philza’s stomach with memories of Wilbur sobbing into his shoulder – it was apparent that they were stronger together rather than apart. The truth had been proven already. It wasn’t a recent development either. They’d both been taking each other’s calls more often than not. Philza in the case of figuring out what to do now that Tommy knew and trying to peace together how Quackity knew before Sam did (the answer was Tubbo). Schlatt called him for parenting advice, of all things. Apparently, he was still struggling with Tubbo. Their relationship had supposedly improved upon the increased freedom the boys got, venturing to each other’s homes (the exception being Ranboo’s, they couldn’t secure it well enough) and returning to the park and other adventures under the careful watch of Sam and Quackity, and on occasion Wilbur and Techno if they could be spared. Phil still treaded carefully with Tommy, he didn’t want to scare him like Schlatt had apparently with Tubbo.

The phone calls with each other had been one thing but sitting together in an old office with Sam and one of Schlatt’s men who was apparently named Skeppy hovering close by to offer assistance if needed or to find information, was entirely different. Phil didn’t want to admit it was awkward, but it was.

“I have their list of demands here,” Schlatt said, tossing the piece of folded up graph paper across the table. It seemed as though it was written during math class.

He unfolded the note and almost snorted as he spied Tommy’s chicken scratch.

“So they didn’t forget about the Christmas party afterall,”

“I was hoping they would,” Schlatt muttered, but there was still a hint of fondness in his voice, the ghostly echo of a smile yet to be.

“If planned correctly it could work,” Phil offered, mind already buzzing with the absolute nightmare of planning and security something like that would require. It was not unheard of for the heads of different mafias to meet, only to find an informant disclosed the location to the police and everyone left in handcuffs or dead.

“They want to invite Ranboo.”

“You’re missing the asterisk at the bottom that states it is so we cannot talk about work while there,” Phil pointed out, trying to keep himself from laughing as he looked over the conditions the boys had worked out. It was easy to tell who wrote what. A follow up note to the asterisk noted that Ranboo was also Tubbo’s fiancé and thereby should be invited to family functions.

Schlatt rolled his eyes, “No I saw that. I was not made aware that Ranboo was considered family.”

Phil shrugged, unable to hold back his grin, “They’re married, mate.”

“You know they aren’t.”

“They’re kids, let them have their fun before they can’t.”

“So, we keep it small?” Schlatt said, not so eloquently changing the subjects. “The kids, Big Q and Sam and I guess Ranboo as well?”

“I know a few places a couple miles from the city that could make a good location. Feel free to suggest your own as well. I’ll email the addresses.”

“I’ll handle the location if you’ll handle catering. Tubbo likes that bakery of yours,”

“Seems fair. It should be fun. Who knows, maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself,”

“I run casinos. I know how to have fun,” Schlatt said, a glare sent across the table but that same smile still hidden behind the ruse. Phil could play along.

“Whatever you say, mate.” They planned the whole event in that meeting room, discussed their children, and discussed plans for the future. A future where neither would have to worry about Dream Team again.

...

Luck had not been in Ranboo’s favor that day. First off, he had a pop quiz in history, one that he hadn’t studied for. Secondly, the apple sauce he’d packed in his lunch box was punctured by his spoon and got applesauce everywhere. Then the stapler broke in 5^th period and now he was standing outside the school, in the rain, and without an umbrella. If he wasn’t certain he’d get smote by a wayward lightning bolt with his luck he would have cursed at the sky.

He checked his phone for the third time that minute, his parents weren’t answering his texts and he seemed to be losing battery life faster than normal. Just his luck. Normally he’d take the bus but his mom said she was getting off early so she could swing by and pick him up after school. On the other days he’d be riding with Tommy or Tubbo to go to whatever destination had been chosen for the day. Only Tubbo was busy with his dad and Tommy supposedly had driving lessons. The parking lot had emptied out of everyone besides the teacher’s cars and the buses were long gone. It was just him and the rain.

With most of the loitering students gone or in afterschool activities the small under cover areas had finally freed up and he retreated to them, taking the lapse in rain to dry his phone off. Still no new messages. Who knew how long he was gonna be stuck waiting?

His mind began shifting through the remaining cars in the parking lot, noting the spaces where Sam and Quackity usually waited. He found Mr. Vikkstar’s new car, somehow it looked even worse than his old one did with all the spray paint on it. He counted the crows hanging out on the powerlines, ten in total, all squawking at each other despite the rain.

A particularly loud squawk had him looking up, eyes catching on a silver car pulling up through the pickup lane with tinted windows, drifting to a stop adjacent to him. He didn’t recognize the car and assumed someone else’s ride had arrived. His mom drove a blue car and he looked back down to his phone.

“Ranboo?”

A voice called to him and when he looked back up, one of the windows of the car had been rolled down and a man was sitting in the driver’s seat but leaning towards him. A gentle smile on his face and sandy blond hair. Someone who was decidedly not his mom.

He tentatively got to his feet, picking his backpack up and approached the vehicle. He was 90% sure this was how people got kidnapped and there was no Wilbur here to stop it if he was about to get snatched. It would truly be the worst ending to his unluckiest day on record.

“Uh, who are you?” He asked, face scrunched as the rain once again fell on him.

“Your mom should have let you know I was picking you up,” he smiled, nodding down to where Ranboo held his phone. Sure enough, he’d just received a text.

Mom

Plans changed! A friend of ours should be there to take you home soon! Love you sweetie <3

“I-” he hesitated, not really sure how to put his thoughts to words with how…unsettled he was.

“I get it, stranger danger and all that. You can call your mom if you want? I’m Clay by the way,” the locks on the doors clicked open.

“No, that’s okay,” he pulled the door open and hesitantly got into the passenger seat, hand clenching his phone in case he needed to call his mom or the cops or Techno.

“Bet it feels good to be out of that rain, sorry for making you wait so long. Plans changed last minute,” he explained, the car accelerating to take them out of the school parking lot. His nerves were slightly eased when they took the right turn to head towards his house. It wasn’t confirmation yet, but he was a little less likely to be a mass murderer or something.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged, texting his mom that he got picked up by this friend she mentioned.

“That’s a nice school you go to, best in the city probably.”

“Uh yeah it is,” he said, watching the scenery go by, the world greyed out by the rain. “I got a scholarship so we can afford it.”

“Well that only seems right, your parents told me how smart you were and how excited you were to go here.”

“They did?” He asked, heat rising to his cheeks, “It’s given me lots of opportunities and I got to make new friends. How did you and my parents meet?”

Clay laughed under his breath, almost like a little hiccup as though he was remembering a funny story. “I helped them adopt you, I had some friends at the adoption agency, and we were able to get past some of the barriers in their way. They didn’t like that your dad was still in school,” he explained. His parents rarely spoke about his adoption, only the excitement that was his ‘gotcha day’ and getting to bring him home for the first time. They still celebrated it with gifts and going out to eat at his favorite restaurant in town. If Clay helped out there, he was grateful, especially to be out of the foster care system which was a world of unknowns. Ranboo thrived in accounting for what he could and worrying about what he couldn’t. At home there was stability, of course, balanced by the special brand of chaos Tommy and Tubbo brought with them.

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

“I knew they’d be great parents and I’m glad to see you’ve become such a good kid.”

“I try. I just don’t want to let them down,” he admitted, surprised that he would offer something so vulnerable to who was essentially a stranger. It seemed right. Clay did help him get adopted in the first place.

“I’m sure you won’t. You’ve got a really bright future ahead of you. What are you interested in studying?”

“I don’t know what I want to do when I graduate, but biology or some other science always seemed cool.”

“You know, I do know some people who give out pretty substantial scholarships for students like you. I could definitely put in a good word for you. My word has a lot of sway,” Clay said.

“Really? You’d do that?” Ranboo’s heart soared at the thought of not needing to worry about university. It was never a common topic of conversation with him and his friends since they didn’t need to worry about it, but Ranboo needed a scholarship to attend their high school, he was definitely going to need something to attend university. Already he’d been looking at getting a part-time job over the summer or tutoring after school to start saving up.

“Of course, it’s the least I could do for a friend.”

They kept up the idle conversation, the anxiety of getting into a stranger’s car long gone as they chatted about Ranboo’s life. Clay was very easy to talk to and knew a lot about everything. He told him funny stories about the antics that he and his friends got up to and Clay returned the favor with tales of his friend somehow lighting ramen noodles on fire and earning the nickname ‘hot stuff’. He asked all the right questions, prodding for more details and offering his own funny commentary. It was easy to see how his parents were friends with him and he was a little disappointed that they hadn’t been introduced earlier.

Their conversation had to end eventually as the car pulled into Ranboo’s driveway, idling while Clay wished him luck on his essay he had to write and reminded him that his parents had his number if he ever wanted to talk again or wanted the names of those scholarships. He assured him that he’d call soon about those and waved goodbye.

Chapter Text

Ranboo’s new Christmas sweater spoke to his soul. Tubbo and Quackity had taken him out shopping the week prior for an ugly sweater to wear for the holiday party and he hadn’t been able to decide between a green one with grinches stitched in and a red one with dinosaurs. The answer was easy to rich people, just buy both and decide later. Quackity had Schlatt’s credit card so that’s what he did.

When he got home that evening and showed off his new sweaters that he was struck with the brilliant idea of combining them right down the middle. Red and green was his brand and his mother had a sewing machine. It was perfect.

He admired his look in the mirror, baubles and present-shaped patches sewn over any loose threads or uneven patches. While the dress code was ugly sweaters, he wasn’t sure if there was going to be a contest for best dressed. If there was, he was going to win.

Tommy and Tubbo had been talking non-stop about the party for weeks, ever since they first proposed the idea in maths and drafted up their weird contract. Ranboo understood that their parents didn’t get along, but he didn’t see how a contract and list of demands written in pencil on a ripped-out sheet of paper was going to change anything. Regardless of what he thought, it somehow worked and Ranboo was invited to the party as well as the sleepover after.

He’d dumped out his school backpack (they were finally on winter break, he had no need for his notebooks or homework) and filled it with a change of clothes, his toiletries and was waiting on the cookies he could smell his mom cooking.  

Speaking of which, he grabbed his bag to go downstairs and see if he could swipe any cookies before Quackity and Tubbo showed up and his mom packed the tin.

“Look how well it turned out!” His mom exclaimed upon seeing him enter the kitchen. There went his stealth plan (of course, wearing a bright red and green ugly sweater was not the most discreet outfit).

“Thanks for working on it,” he said, fingers picking at one of the patches.

“Ah ah ah,” she chided, her long fingers wrapping around his hands and pulling them away. Her hands were warm from the oven and the whole kitchen smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. He was particularly tempted by the bowl of cookie dough. “Don’t pick at it, I’m not that good of a seamstress.”

He let his hands fall, groaning a promise to stop picking at it, even if it was oddly hard. His eyes caught on the bowl of cookie dough again.

“Don’t tell me you just came down here to steal cookie dough and not give your mom a hug before you go?” She asked, a grin on her face.

“I would never!” He said, sarcasm evident in every word.

She sighed and handed him the spoon, still covered in cookie dough as well as a Tupperware full of cookies.

“Thank you!” He raced out of the kitchen before she could change her mind.

“Don’t lose my Tupperware this time!” She called out from the kitchen doorway, watching Ranboo as he shoved the box into his bag with one hand and held the spoon up with the other.

“That wasn’t my fault!” He whined, earning a laugh from his mom and from his dad who appeared in the living room. This was bullying and he flopped onto the couch with good view of the window to finish his cookie dough spoon.

“See you tomorrow,” His dad said, handing him backpack, the enderman keychain they’d gifted him years ago dangling off the zipper pull and taking the now empty spoon from him.

“Make sure you give me a hug before you leave,” his mother added, just as he saw Quackity’s car pull up and his phone was immediately pinged with over 15 messages from Tubbo claiming that they had arrived.

He gave both of his parents hugs, ‘I love you’s’ exchanged before he ran out the door.

…

Mr. Beloved watched his son drive away. It had been hard to keep his wits about him while his chest ached watching his son putter around, so oblivious.

“He’ll be fine. He was promised protection,” his wife assured him, hand sliding into his and squeezing.

“What if he doesn’t forgive us?” The question felt like betrayal on his tongue. Ever since the night they almost ended two family lines it had hovered over him. These were his friends, that had been part of the plan, and now he was never going to see them again. Someone could die. How were they going to explain that it was all part of the plan?

“It’ll just take time. A new home, new school, new friends. It will help,” she said, always the voice of reason between the two of them. She was the one to call in the night all the kids showed up in their living room unannounced. She figured out how to encourage Ranboo to make friends with the two targets without coming across as suspicious. She kept their lies straight, and soon they might not need to lie anymore.

“You’re right, as always,” He said, breathing out a sigh of relief and shaking away the doubts. They’d never been done wrong by Clay in the past. Even before they knew he was tied to a mafia. Back when he was just the friend of a friend who could help families get past the barriers to adoption for the right price.

A month later they had Ranboo home, bright smiles mirroring the business card that had changed their lives for the better. Their own boy, smart and reserved with a sense of humor that neither of them truly understood but loved regardless.

They’d gotten a few calls from Clay over the years, checking in on them, making sure they were settling in well, making sure Ranboo was the right child for them. One day, the call came that offered a different kind of question. A proposition for their boy to attend the best school in the city and all their boy had to do was make friends with one of two boys already there. It was too good to be true and arguments had late into the night debated this fact, but in the end they’d accepted.

It wasn’t until Clay showed up to shine out the details and help them with enrollment that they realized they’d been dealing with an organized crime ring for years. They were handed pictures of the two boys, Thomas and Tubbo, and assured that they just needed to keep an eye on the two.

The years passed and Ranboo did wonderfully, he never questioned their gentle prodding for the reports. The enderman keychain concealed the GPS tracker perfectly, an added level of assurance that if Ranboo ever ended up in danger people in higher places had his location to help. The were assured protection for their son and tonight they were going to need it.

Tonight, they would leave SMP under Dream Team protection and they could be done with it all. They would make up for where they failed the day Tubbo, Tommy, and both of his siblings showed up unguarded and they let them slip away.

After tonight, they’d be free.

He turned away from the window – Ranboo having long disappeared down the road – to continue his packing.  

…

If needing to travel 45 minutes away to the middle of fucking nowhere was what was needed for them to have a Christmas party, then so be it. Tommy was not going to be quiet over this fact though. His dad had already covered why it was important that they had the party at a different location and kept the event under wraps since apparently the leaders of two of the biggest mafias in the country meeting to just ‘hang out’ alongside all of their children was a recipe for disaster if feds or enemies found out. So a safe house 45 minutes away from the city was what they had to put up with. If only his service didn’t keep fading in and out. There was only so long he could keep himself entertained watching trees pass by through tinted bulletproof glass.

Wilbur was still pissy over the fact that Tommy didn’t want to wear the sweater he’d picked out for him – no he did not care that it was $150, why would you spend $200 on a sweater, Wil – but he thought his ‘I’m Santa’s favorite’ shirt was good enough for the party. It just further proved to Tommy that Wilbur should not be trusted with a credit card and say over their wardrobes because some how he’d spent over $800 on Christmas sweaters. Wilbur’s did light up so that was kind of cool, but seriously, who spends that much on ugly sweaters?

His dad had one with a bunch of tiny Santa’s knitted into the pattern, looking every bit like some normal dad from a Hallmark movie and not like he was still armed. Tommy had complained when he saw the very unchristmas-y lump at his dad’s hip. Who brings a gun to a holiday party? The answer was apparently mafia families.

Finally, they turned down a long gravel road until a picturesque house appeared like a golden beacon in the night. The interior lights glowed warm and yellow, twinkling strands of LEDs lined the awnings and bushes along the driveway, and a gentle swirl of smoke trickled out of the chimney towards the cloudy night sky. A couple cars were already parked in the driveway and along the road, several he recognized and several he didn’t. A trio of people he didn’t recognize were clumped together at the edge of the driveway, gazes focused on the road.

“Who’s that?” He asked, staring at the trio.

“Security,” Phil hummed, giving a nod to one of them who saluted in return.

“Is that Squid?” Wilbur exclaimed, suddenly perking up and leaning forward to get a better view.

“Yes. I believe the other two are Bad and Skeppy, two of Schlatt’s men. This place was a nightmare for security, but I think we have it figured out.”

“Does Techno know Squid is the security for the night?”

“Just another holiday surprise,” Phil grinned something devilish and Tommy wished he knew what they were referring to but before he could ask Phil was already parking the car and clambering out.

Tommy carried as many of the presents as he could balance in his arms and Wilbur took the rest. Their dad took the prime opportunity to shove a Santa hat over Wilbur’s curls, eliciting a squawk of disproval from his brother. Tommy cackled so hard at Wil’s sour expression, lit up in shades of red and green from the lights around them that he nearly dropped his stack of presents.

Big Q met them at the door, Tubbo and Ranboo right behind him, smiles wide, Tubbo’s unable to hide the smear of frosting across his cheek.

Tommy rushed in first, ready to dump his presents to join whatever activity involved frosting. He was 100% intending to leave the party on a sugar high and wanted to get started as soon as possible.

Tubbo had on light up felt reindeer antlers and Quackity was wearing an elf costume and looked rather displeased over it that also did nothing to hide the fact that he was also armed. Wilbur noticed this immediately.

“Aww look at little Quackity, tiny just like an elf,” Wilbur crooned.

“You’re the one in a $400 ugly sweater,” Quackity spat back, closing the door behind them all. Wilbur dropped his presents off under the tree next to Tommy’s.

“Excuse you, this is cashmere, and it is very comfortable.”

“Leave him alone, Wil,” Phil said with an amused sigh, managing to tug the hat back on Wilbur’s head just as he was about to rip it off again.

“Techno would back me up here.”

“I’m sure he would,” Phil nodded, clearly not believing it, a smile on his lips as he turned to Schlatt who seemed to be having the time of his life watching the exchange. He was dressed similarly to Tubbo, an ugly sweater and reindeer horns (only his didn’t light up like Tubbo’s) as well as a gun he wasn’t even trying to hide.

With introductions and insults out of the way, Tommy found himself pulled along by Tubbo and Ranboo towards the kitchen where a collection of Christmas cookies in a variety of shapes (including some that looked suspiciously liked dicks) and tubs of frosting around them.

“I made the dick ones,” Tubbo announced the moment they settled around the counter.

“I told him not to,” Ranboo said, but the way he still laughed as he said it told Tommy as much as he needed to know.  

“Well to be fair, I like them better this way. Who wants boring angels and shit when you could have dicks and balls?”

“The balls are supposed to be ornaments,” Ranboo sighed.  

“I think they look like balls. Look you put two of them together-” Tommy said, grabbing two of the undecorated ones but before he could, Tubbo reached out and stole one of them, shoving it into his mouth before Tommy could.

Amongst the other shapes Tommy also found a handful that suspiciously looked like a gun. Why the Underscore family had a gun shaped cookie cutter was another question entirely but it did pull together the collection of Santa hats, snowmen, and candy canes that made up the rest of the cookies.

“We’re still having a sleepover tonight, right?” Tommy asked, swiping a dallop of chocolate frosting off the lid, narrowly avoiding Tubbo swatting at his hand. Tommy’s instincts were too well trained from living for 16 years with his brothers. He flipped him off the moment he cleaned the frosting off his finger.

“I mean, I packed everything for a sleepover, so I’d hope so,” Ranboo said, focus never deviating from his careful frosting of a scarf for his snowman cookie.

“Well, I’d have it regardless of whatever Dad said,” Tubbo said, managing to snag another tub of frosting towards his side of the table and away from Tommy’s fingers.

“Poggers,” he agreed.

In the living room adjacent to the kitchen, Wilbur plucked out the familiar tune of Baby It’s Cold Outside on his guitar while Schlatt, Dad, Quackity, and Sam seemed to be enjoying conversation over warm beverages. While Tommy couldn’t hear everything that was said in the other room, it did seem to be a humorous and dramatic retelling of a very bad Christmas party Schlatt experienced.

His dad had referred to the house as a safe house. From movies he’d always thought safe houses would be more like run down apartments with sketchy neighbors and bare bones furnishing. This house reminded him of a movie set. Or at least it was decorated to seem like one. There were still doors he couldn’t access, as informed by Tubbo. Upstairs was off limits as were a few of the other doors. The spaces they could access had the full treatment, just shy of the details that made it feel real. There were no report cards taped to the fridge or soccer trophies in boxes. No stack of half-finished books with scraps of paper and receipts as bookmarks. The fruit bowl in the center of the table was freshly filled with seemingly no preference for season or personal tastes. No half-finished puzzle or stack of unopened junk mail. The clutter that was littered around was tasteful and holiday appropriate. Wreaths of pine boughs and holly adorned doors like holiday portholes. A garland ran around every bannister with lights twisting through it. Tiny statues of Christmas villages and mini trees adorned the center of tables, no history written into chips and missing pieces that would come with years of set up.

They’d been too busy the past few years (now he knew why) to properly decorate their own home for Christmas. Phil always called someone while Tommy was at school to line the awnings facing the scarcely used road with lights and over the course of several days the living areas would magically find themselves with modest decorations for the holiday, things that Mumza had apparently picked out years ago. The only tradition they’d truly kept despite the workloads was decorating the tree together, all of them opening the new ornaments Mumza had sent them. They’d yet to do it this year with the stress of organizing the joint Craft-Beloved Mafia Holiday Bash but Phil promised they’d do it soon. The ornaments arrived a week ago and he’d been dying to see what his mum picked out for him.

Once most of the cookies had either been frosted or eaten, Techno finally showed up. Wilbur’s music grinded to a halt with the conversation. Tommy shot up from the table and towards the door the moment Wilbur announced who was coming up the driveway.

“TECHNOLATE!” Tommy exclaimed the moment the door opened.

“I was busy,” He huffed, but Tommy knew his brother’s smile. He was wearing a Christmas sweater that Wilbur picked out with a bunch of pigs on it and was also wearing a Santa hat. The Craft family had stayed consistent, much like the Underscores had gone with the reindeer horns. An unspoken agreement had been exchanged that Ranboo would also be wearing some sort of holiday hat by the end of the night, whether by choice or not.

“Hope the roads didn’t give you much trouble,” His dad said, pulling Tommy into his side as Techno took off his coat.

Techno only gave their dad a knowing glare, probably something to do with what sort of business kept him late and dropped his own present in the pile.

The true festivities began shortly after that. They already had Nightmare Before Christmas playing on one of the televisions. Wilbur and Tubbo had argued the other day for nearly 25 minutes over whether or not it was a Christmas or a Halloween movie but eventually agreed it was good enough to be played as background regardless of its holiday affiliation.

Their gift exchange was even more fun. A wide variety of secretly wrapped gifts went into the center and they played a game of dice that Quackity taught them. If they rolled doubles they got to take a present from the center or steal one from someone else. Except, it all had to be done within a five-minute time limit. Things got hectic very quickly, especially when everyone kept stealing the gift that Ranboo had brought.

Tommy barely managed to snag the present Ranboo had brought before the timer ran out, a series of groans working erupting when the timer beeped. He ripped it open to reveal a snow globe with the SMP skyline in it.

Ranboo ended up with the present Schlatt had brought, a very nice selection of vintage wines. Everyone pretended not to see Schlatt and Ranboo trade a few minutes after all the gifts were opened, Ranboo ending up with the present that Wilbur brought which was a very nice wool sweater.

Tubbo had taken the easy route and picked his own present and moments later was chasing Wilbur around with a set of remote-control cars.

“Why didn’t you invite your boyfriends?” Tubbo asked, impish grin spreading across his face as he pestered Quackity.

“I told you, we aren’t dating. Besides, Sap was busy tonight and I wanted to enjoy the party without you three pestering them all night,” Quackity said, a playful glare tossed between the three, a gingerbread house all but demolished between them.

“Us? We are angels,” Ranboo said.

Tommy nodded along, “We would never!”

“Uh huh, I have about six years of experience that says otherwise.”

“You blow up a bathroom one time,” Tubbo huffed, throwing his arms up in fake resignation, leading to laughter all around. Laughter interrupted by a phone call.

Tommy would have made a comment about how they weren’t supposed to do work while at the party, but Quackity’s hand was immediately hovering over where his gun was holstered.

He glanced around, only to see his dad on the phone as well. A quick search for his brothers revealed they were sharing looks of worry. Something wasn’t right.

Phil hung up first and immediately turned to Sam, whispered something to him. Quackity hung up moments later, immediately going for his shoes to follow Sam out the door, both of them barely taking the time to pull on their coats. Then everything immediately went back to normal, as though conversations hadn’t all happened in secret and like Wilbur and Techno weren’t communicating in their weird non-verbal way that Tommy had never been able to decipher. It was like someone had taken the record off the player and then put it back on, only slowed it down. Something was threatening to ruin their holiday festival and if Tommy could figure out what it was, he was going to stab it (yes, he brought his knife. If everyone else was going to be armed why couldn’t he be?).

Tubbo and Ranboo didn’t seem bothered, picking off the remaining pieces of candy from the gingerbread house.

Schlatt and Phil looked tense, but their expressions remained pleasant and polite. Soft smiles that betrayed the way they both seemed ready for action and how their eyes darted from entry point to entry point. It had Tommy on edge, fingers itching for his knife if it was needed.

Techno seemed to notice this, sitting beside him on the couch. He started talking about random things, his voice droning on about how the only class he ever had to drop was a botany class because of some potato war. It was nice, it eased his nerves. His brother’s voice had always been a comfort. Techno didn’t show his emotions in the same way others did. Wilbur’s were always on his sleeve, a bonified bleeding heart ready to do a full slam poetry performance at a moments notice. Techno showed his care through actions. Little things like fixing the lightbulb in Tommy’s nightlight when it had burned out without him needing to ever mention it (Techno knew he was afraid of the dark, Wilbur still had a nightlight too). Showing him how to do his math homework or helping him edit his English essays. He was trying to assure him that things were okay, even if he didn’t need to say it out loud. It was nice, and Tommy inched closer to him, happy to find solace in his warmth and voice.

The rapid popping of gunshots jolted him from that comfort immediately.

…

Had it just been the house alarm being tripped Quackity wouldn’t have thought much of it. The issue became when Bad and Skeppy who had been posted at the end of the road reported that there were three unknown cars that had never been seen in the area before rolling down the hill. Three cars gave them their best-case scenario of three potential foes, but Quackity had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a lucky night when he immediately stepped into a puddle upon stepping out back with Sam.

One of Phil’s men, a guy who called himself Squid, met them, flashlights passed out within seconds.

“It could be nothing, but better safe than sorry, am I right?” Squid said, laughing uneasily.

“You’re armed right,” Sam asked Quackity, the answer to Squid’s question didn’t need to be said out loud. Their kids were in there.

“Yep, this stupid outfit made it damn near impossible, but I managed,” he huffed, hoping the joke would lighten the tense mood but there was no such luck. The holiday spirit did not extend to a security risk.

Ammo was checked, guns were pulled from their holsters under holiday sweaters, and Quackity made sure his location was on just in case. Finding bodies hours later was one of the worst parts of his job. If he could make it easier… no. Everything was going to be fine. He tightened his grip around his gun.

Skeppy’s voice crackled in the communicator he’d pressed into his ear, body tense as he circled the perimeter of the house. Every exhaled breath blew out in swirling white puffs, reminding him of the last time he’d hung out with Karl and Sap. Karl red cheeked and buried in a technicolor scarf as he sipped at hot chocolate and the three of them tried to see if they could make a ring from their breath in the cold air. He needed to keep his wits about him, there was no time for reminiscing if there was a security threat.

Ever since the kidnapping attempt, he’d kept his skills sharp, Sam taking him to the range to help refine his technique even. It was cold though and as much as he hated the stupid elf hat Tubbo made him wear, it kept his ears warm. Maybe whatever shit faces decided to show up to ruin their holiday party would think they got murdered by some fucking Christmas elf in their last moment. What a way to go.

“Fuck…” Skeppy muttered. He could just make out a harshly whispered “Language!” following it.

“I’ll need more information that that,” Quackity hissed, instantly on guard.

“At least seven hostiles. Cars parked around the corner. Armed. They are all armed. Way more arms than we have,” Skeppy said, his own breathing heavy as he seemed to be running while talking.

“Fuck.”

He waved to catch Sam and Squid’s attention on the other side of the house before signing ‘seven’ and then pointing towards his gun. He could tell Sam swore without needing to hear it. Phone in his hands, presumably to inform Philza about the developments and get the kids to safety. Prime they better get his kid to safety. If he loses his contract with Schlatt with only a year to go because of a stupid holiday party he’d give up to go be a monk in some

He breathed in deeply to steady himself, the cold air setting his nerves alight as he tightened his grip around his gun and moved at Sam’s signal.

…

Philza Craft should have known a holiday party was a stupid idea. It was pointlessly risky, especially with Schlatt with the Dream Team as big of a threat as they were. With Sam’s brief report and the sounds of a starting gunfight he was ushering the kids into the basement. This was a safe house for a reason and the basement was well fortified. If someone managed to break in, they’d have a couple of minutes at least before they’d be able to get past the heavy door to prepare themselves to fight back.

“What’s going on?” Tommy demanded, gaze sharp as he glared up at Phil with narrowed eyes and clenched fists, the popping of gunshots surprising them all.

“People who will hurt us if they have the opportunity,” he glanced at Ranboo who was trembling wide-eyed next to Tubbo, “All of us.”

He turned around to see Wilbur standing at the top of the stairs, Phil and the boys now halfway down, gun in hand and Santa hat long thrown to the side revealing his curls behind a murderous gaze. “Wilbur, you stay in the basement with them.”

“But-” His son started.

“You saved Tubbo once, I trust you to be able to keep them all safe now. Understood?”

Wil didn’t say anything more, he rushed down the stairs and pulled Tommy down the rest of the way, Tubbo having dragged Ranboo to the bottom floor already.

“But what about Techno?” Tommy asked Wilbur as Phil took the stairs back to the main floor three at a time. He had to ignore it, focus on keeping his family safe. He locked the door to the basement, the voices of his sons all but silent through the layers of wood and distance. They were as safe as they could be now.

His other son, Techno, was knelt in front of the coffee table, decorations thrown off onto couches and the top pulled up to reveal their own personal arsenal. Schlatt had busied himself locking what windows and doors he could and met the others back in the living room to be handed a new weapon.

“Wilbur’s watching the kids in the basement-”

A round of thunderous pops echoing in the distance followed by muffled shouts gave them their new time limit. Weapons were handed out while talking, their enemies were here now.

“Seven to ten hostiles, all armed. Techno, you and Schlatt out the back, I’m meeting Sam out front.”

“This isn’t the worst Christmas party I’ve ever been at,” Schlatt grumbled, taking the gun in his hand. While Phil was interested in knowing more on that situation, they didn’t have time.

“Let’s not let it be the last Christmas party,” Techno said, pulling another gun out and testing the weight in his hands.

“Be smart, Techno.”

“Save the sentimentality for later,” He huffed, shoving an extra cartridge of ammo in his pocket. Techno was always one to stay calm under pressure. His expression remained stoic even if his eyes darted around, spending more time lingering on the basement door. Its what made him such a valuable asset to their mafia. It’s what made it so hard to know what his son was feeling.

They split up without further word, Phil keeping close to the walls and avoiding the line of sight from the windows. The patter of gunfire outside kept the constant reminder of what he was walking into, but he wasn’t known as The Angel of Death for aesthetics. This was his domain and his holiday party. Threaten him, so be it. He signed up for it when he accepted his role as the leader of The Syndicate, but his kids were here. Tubbo was here. Ranboo was here. They were going to have to explain this to Ranboo somehow…that was a bridge to burn when they got to it. After they survived the night.

He opened the door and bullets were flying. The windows shattered and siding splintered. The dash of an enemy in the shadows. Phil had his sights set on him, but another got to him first, sending the enemy dropping to the ground with a groan. A second shot from Phil right to the head made sure they weren’t going to be hearing from him again.

Sam appeared from behind another tree, blood staining his Christmas sweater, the lights from the house glinting off the metal of his gun. Phil rushed to his side.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Squid is though. Already called for backup. Bad’s dealing with the getaway cars.”

“How many are we still dealing with?”

“At least four.”

“Let’s finish this then,” Phil announced. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, the smell of gunpowder spiked by the chilly night air.

Sam nodded, tightening his grip, and the two of them ran into the forest…just like old times.

…

Techno wiped the blood off on a tree, body crumbled below him, neck snapped and bullet through his chest. He had no time for frivolities. It wasn’t like it was going to be his only kill of the night. He had a hitlist for the evening. He just didn’t think it would start this early, he’d intended to change before, not wanting to dirty the nice sweater Wil had bought for him for the occasion. Oh well. Life happens, Dream Team shows up to absolutely ruin your holiday party, just the average day for a mafia prince.

“…get out of here…strong push behind …” The buzz of some sort of communicator or walkie-talkie had him on the prowl again. Forests were not his primary hunting grounds and he cringed every time leaves shifted under him.

“Copy that. Kids are in the basement, just one guard. They sound like they’re heading up soon. Grab one if we can so we can get out of here. Kill ‘em if we can’t.”

It took a lot of effort to keep his composure and not out his hiding spot before he could get close enough. Not only were these bastards intending on hurting his family, but they somehow knew what was going on inside. Not even Techno knew that, and Wilbur had long claimed they had a telepathic sibling bond. They needed their answers now.

His prowl remained steady, hopping from tree to tree as he followed the man’s movement as he too ran from tree to tree, rifle in hand. Techno just had to wait for the right moment to pounce.

A patter of gunshots and shouts followed and both Techno and the man he was following ducked down, arms covering their head. None were aimed their direction and Techno hoped none found their mark in his family.

“Fuc…you said…unarmed?” The voice on the other end of the communicator cut in and out, static mixed with the firing of guns drowned out the words in between what he could pick up. He didn’t need to hear them to know they came into this thinking they would be unprepared. That they wouldn’t have Skeppy and Bad to alert them of any unfamiliar vehicles down the one way road. The location was chosen on purpose to serve as a safe house. While it couldn’t serve that purpose anymore, it had done its job.

“Prepare to retreat,” he spat into his communicator line before making a rush towards the house.

Techno dove forward.

…

“Wilbur, you have to let us go up,” Tommy shouted, trying to push past his brother. On any normal day when they’d rough house with each other Tommy could easily push his brother aside. Not today, his dark eyes focused on Tommy, stance sturdier than the door behind him.

“Tommy. What is your weapon?”

“I’ve got my knife! I could get a gun.”

“You want to bring a knife to a gun fight?”

“But they could be hurt! Dad or Tech could be in like critical condition, bleeding out on the ground and need urgent attention that we could give!” He exclaimed, mind already filling itself up with worst case scenarios. He imagined his brother, limp on the ground, blood pouring from his head as their enemies fired more rounds into those that remained. He pictured his dad held down as someone demanded answers, unable to get to Techno. The distress those thoughts left him felt like he’d stabbed his own knife in his chest.

“They are more than capable. I’m worried too, just I don’t want you to end up in a bad situation. What if someone pulls a gun on you? What then?”

“I’m too much of a big man to ever let that happen,” he said automatically. He knew it was wrong, no matter how competent or confident he was, it wouldn’t stop bullets.

“Tommy…can you just come sit with us? Please?” Tubbo asked and all the fight instantly died. His friend sounded scared and Ranboo was staring blankly at a wall, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He relented.

While his phone told him barely five minutes had passed, it felt like hours had slowly ticked by with only the muffled sound of gunfire in the distance to keep them in tense company. As much as he said he wanted to go up and fight with the rest of him, the knot in his stomach spoke of another truth. If given the opportunity he would charge up those stairs with every ounce of confidence and gusto he’d ever been able to pull off. Yet, when Wil mentioned how easy it would have been for one of supposed people out there coming to ruin their Christmas party to grab him and put a gun to his head. Then what was his dad supposed to do? They could all end up dead or captured in that case. He knew their ‘mafia life’ was dangerous, but he’d never really seen just how dangerous. When Tubbo had almost been kidnapped he’d seen a glimpse of it, but Tubbo was safe when he found out what had happened. Now there was no telling if Techno, Dad, and Sam would walk back down the stairs or if they were dead in the forest outside.

“Are people coming to take Tubbo again?” Ranboo asked, pulling Tommy out of his thoughts just enough. He shuddered, how were they supposed to answer this? Tommy didn’t even know what was going on truthfully. All he knew was that Sam had called Dad and said there were people with weapons outside and that they needed to get to safety. He regretted arguing. What if those few extra seconds he’d kept his dad distracted were seconds they needed to prepare? To sneak around and surprise the bad guys?

“We don’t know, but they’ll figure it out and we’ll be okay,” Wilbur said, voice holding softness that betrayed the fact that Tommy knew his brother was lying.

“This is gonna screw up our sleepover plans, isn’t it?” Tubbo groaned.

“It’s okay, we can try again when this isn’t all going wrong,” Ranboo offered, his fingers playing with the patch on his sweater. Nervous habits. Tommy found himself biting his fingernails.

Wilbur’s phone barely got through a few notes of its ringtone before he answered.

“Are you okay?”

Tommy studied his brother’s face closely and it was like a dam suddenly released when he saw the tension in his brother’s face drain away into relief.

“We’ll be up.”

-

Nobody was dead. That was a relief. He heard Sam mention something about a guy named Squid getting some medical attention in the other room, but everyone seemed mostly okay, if albeit a little stained with blood. Quackity in particular was nursing a wound on his arm where a bullet appeared to have grazed it. His dad had a cut trickling blood down his face and Schlatt was bandaging up a wound on his calf.

The second thing Tommy noticed was that Techno was dragging a man through the house, a gun to his head and his arms tied behind his back. This was going to be even more fun to explain to Ranboo.

“I heard you talking about it. Where’s the bug?” Techno growled. The man had blood streaked across his face and matted to his hair, eyes teary as he mumbled pleas and struggled against the grip.

“It’s not here!” The man pleaded, his dark clothes in stark contrast to the holiday sweaters and hats everyone else wore. Quackity’s elf costume was ruined with blood and Schlatt seemed to have lost his antlers in the fray.

Tommy briefly made eye contact with the man and then immediately adverted his gaze. It wasn’t fun to watch.

“No wait, it’s him! That’s the one we weren’t supposed to kill!” The man shrieked and the whole room froze.

While the man’s hands were tied behind his back it was clear who he was focusing on. In the middle of the room, in a dual sweater, stood Ranboo. The man continued babbling on, obviously thinking the more he talked the sooner they would free him, but Tommy couldn’t hear past the rushing in his ears. This man was accusing Ranboo, of all people of being in line with them? There was no way Ranboo worked for the mafia.

Ranboo seemed to have felt the same, confusion sending his eyes as wide as dinner plates. Tubbo immediately stepped in front of him, offering a short barrier between Ranboo and the man.

“Nice try, where is it?” Techno demanded again.

“It’s him! He’s got a bug on him, fed right into my phone! His backpack had a tracker, that’s how we knew where you were. His parents are the Beloved’s! They’ve been working for us for years!” The man shouted, each word punctuated with his squirms as Techno held the gun even harder to his head.

Still, nobody moved.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo asked, voice quiet and unsure.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, honestly!” Ranboo said, taking a step back. If he wasn’t so shocked from the man’s accusation, Tommy would have shouted at everyone to get their heads on straight. There was literally no way that could be right. It wasn’t possible, because if it was then Ranboo would have been working with them for so long.

“Sam, check him. Techno, deal with him outside,” Phil announced, taking the lead of the situation. Tommy scowled at his father.

Techno dragged the man out kicking and screaming. Tommy pretended not to hear the gun shot that followed, instead choosing to focus on Sam who had pushed Tubbo aside and was patting Ranboo down. Ranboo, to his credit, was being compliant, turning out his pockets and showing off the seams of his sweater and pants.

“Dad, it’s not Ranboo.”

“Quiet, Tommy.”

“No! Tell Sam to back off, Ranboo wouldn’t do that!”

“Tommy,” Phil warned, a dark stormy kind of anger brewing in his father’s eyes.

“We got a bug.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped as Sam pulled away the patch that Ranboo had been fiddling with. Sure enough, there was a small electronic device inserted in that Sam was holding.

“My mom…she wouldn’t…” Ranboo’s chest spasmed as he pulled away from Sam like he’d been burned, shaking his head. The device was tossed from Sam to Phil, his father examining it closely. It was tossed to Schlatt seconds later, a string of angry curses spewed out followed by a snap.

Quackity’s gun was pointed at Ranboo.

There was a gun pointed at Ranboo.

“STOP IT!” Tommy shrieked, aimed on a collision course with Quackity. Tubbo was shouting as well. Arms ensnared Tommy’s waist and he was stopped mere feet from Quackity, arms flailing and body bucking as he tried to free himself.

“Tommy, stop,” Sam’s voice hissed in his ear, a warning he’d heard many times in his life. Never while someone he trusted had a gun pointed at one of his best friends though.

“Let me go! Dad! Please! Tell him to stop!”

“Dad! It’s Ranboo! He couldn’t have known!”

“Tubbo get back,” Schlatt barked.

“Sam, take Tommy home. He doesn’t need to see this.”

“That’s my friend! Fuck you! Stop it! You can’t kill him! Dad!” Tommy struggled in Sam’s arms and soon felt them moving, Sam dragging him away while Schlatt had grabbed onto Tubbo. Tears threatened to pour down his face as he watched Wilbur level his own gun at Ranboo, like they hadn’t played board games together and joked about opening a burger van. Phil had a gun in his hands as well. “I’ll never forgive you! Not ever! Let me go, Sam! I’m going to hate you forever! DAD!” He screamed, his dad paid no mind, like he was simply a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Sam dragged him outside. The tears on his face stung like acid in the cold air.

“Calm down. Your father will handle this,” Sam said, voice level despite it all. Despite the fact that Ranboo might die. Even if Tommy pretended to hate Ranboo on occasion, the thought of not having him around, of him joining the bodies in the forest hit him like a train wreck.

“He’s going to kill him. You know he will, he didn’t know! You saw him, he didn’t know!” He gasped, every shuddering sob interrupting his breathing.

“Get in the car, okay? We can talk, your father doesn’t harm kids unnecessarily,” he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, almost like he was trying to encourage Tommy to do the same. Now was not the time for deep breathing! Now was the time for saving Ranboo. Grabbing him by one of his stupid long arms and running.

“But he could! Or Schlatt could! Sam, please!”

“Get in the car.”

“Sam!”

“Tommy, the sooner you get in the car the sooner I can get on the phone with your father and try to talk him out of this so get in the damn car.”

The intensity in Sam’s voice scared him. He’d never been scared of Sam before, yet he obeyed without questioning. Slamming the door shut and the doors locking the moment Sam got into the driver’s seat.

He turned on Tommy’s favorite radio station like it would make everything better. Like he wasn’t trying to hold back hiccupping sobs.

Like it could drown out the sound of a gunshot.

Sam slammed on the gas before Tommy could register what he heard, sobs coming again, hands banging at the bullet proof glass as clawing at the locks on the doors did nothing.  

Tommy Craft cried.

Chapter Text

Ranboo didn’t expect the night to end staring down the barrel of a gun.

He didn’t expect their Christmas party to end with Tommy kicking and screaming while Sam took him away. Or for Tubbo to be thrashing in his dad’s arms, his confused expression surely mirroring Ranboo’s own.

There was no way to prepare for the barrage of bullets they’d heard earlier while Wilbur kept them all in the basement. Or for the sight of the Craft and Underscore families wiping away blood like it was dirt and nursing wounds that seemed hospital worthy. The results of their actions and their defense dead or dying in the winter air.

Yet, as the accusations flew towards him, the threat of another body being added to those outside, he couldn’t find it in himself to be completely shocked. His mom sewed that patch on his sweater, his dad asked who and where the party was going to be at. Their so-called friends always coming over late at night. Now there was the man Techno had dragged in, blood running down the side of his forehead claiming he was the reason they knew were to come that night. He was the leak, an audio device clipped into his sweater, likely some sort of tracker on him elsewhere. They were supposedly ordered not to kill him, but to follow that statement to its logical conclusion, that meant everyone else was supposed to be dead right now. It would have been his fault.

He shuddered at the thought of Tubbo dead, the memory of him half-conscious on the concrete parking lot after the almost kidnapping standing out so starkly from the hazy memories of that day. Only there would be no hiccupping sobs afterwards, only blood and a still chest, and Ranboo all alone, unaware that he was the cause of it all.

“What is this?” Quackity hissed. He tried to focus on Quackity’s face, take his attention away from the gun only inches away. Quackity would not miss the shot, and even if he did, Wilbur was only a few feet away. He’d seen Wilbur’s aim. He would not survive.

Whatever he’d been dragged into apparently had no qualms with leaving a body count. The secret game that his friends’ families played finally coming to a head with him at the center and a third party trying to remove them once and for all. He didn’t know what was going on. Too many instances of peculiar phrasing and secrets crashing into him that he couldn’t focus on with his brain still screaming danger like he needed a warning siren when a bunch of angry people with guns were glaring at him.

“He couldn’t have known! Leave him alone, Dad! Leave him alone! Stand down, Quackity!” Tubbo’s wails hurt him even more than the distant sound of Tommy’s. Quackity did not stand down, neither did Wilbur. He didn’t miss the gun in Philza’s hand either, almost taunting him to make a run for it.

He kept his hands up, placating, as though that would change something. He’d heard it said that life tends to slow down when you’re about to die. Or maybe it was just his brain trying to process everything that made the world creep by so slowly, every detail somehow imbedding itself into his memory, however short lived it would be. They were expecting an answer from him, some excuse or plea for his life. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He’d trusted his parent’s judgement on everything in his life and it somehow led him here.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breath shuddering in his chest, and hands shaking. “I don’t know,” he said, surprised at how audible they were. If this was going to be his last moment, he needed to set somethings right. He peeled open his eyes and turned to Tubbo, Quackity following his movement. “I really didn’t know, Tubbo. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I would have never wanted you or anyone to get hurt. I didn’t know that was there, I swear.”

“How long have you been reporting on us to the Dream Team?” Phil asked, his voice sounded more like a threat than the guns pointing at him.

“I swear I haven’t. I don’t know what that is!” he said automatically.

Nobody looked the least bit impressed except Tubbo who was still fighting in his dad’s arms.

“You never told anyone about us? What did you tell your parents? Did you tell them our location tonight like you did the day we were at the park?” This time Wilbur was speaking, not as much a threat as his father’s voice but dangerous all the same. The spitting anger combined with the weapon trained on him was an ugly duo.

He shook his head. “I never told anyone! I swear!” His thoughts halted there because he did tell his parents some things. His parents always prodded but that was normal right? They just wanted to make sure he was safe. Then again, memories of his mom pointing out Tommy and Tubbo on the first day and suggesting that they looked like ‘nice boys’ and he should try making friends with them. Had this all been a set up from the start? Was he destined to end up here, either alive with everyone he’d grown to care about dead at his feet with some stranger praising him on his ‘hard work’ or staring down the barrel of Quackity’s gun?

Quackity must have seen his realization. He snarled, stepping closer and Ranboo instinctively took a step back.

“Of course he’d sell us out!”

“He wouldn’t!” Tubbo screamed.  

“I promise I didn’t mean to! I wouldn’t have if I’d known!” His pleading was pointless, he knew that in the end. His opinion would not matter on this when he was this outnumbered. He had to make sure Tubbo knew though.

“I won’t stand for traitors,” Schlatt said, his face twisted into something dark in contrast to Tubbo’s panicked expression just beneath it.

A gunshot, far too close for comfort surprised them all. Ranboo instinctively went to cover his face, hoping whoever decided it was time to get rid of him made it quick. Yet it never happened. There was no flash of pain or new wound. Instead, everyone seemed to have dived for some sort of cover. Schlatt had pulled himself over Tubbo, Philza pulling Wilbur closer to him and Quackity had ducked. The gun was still trained on him. It seemed even a rogue gunshot could not stop that.

The surprise seemed to be enough for Tubbo to wrench himself free from his dad’s grasp and threw himself in front of Ranboo. He backed up, herding Ranboo so his back was to the wall and Tubbo had pressed himself against him. Despite being shorter than him, Tubbo acted like he could singlehandedly protect Ranboo from the guns leveled at him. Tubbo’s chest rapidly rose and fell, arms spread wide with one reaching back for him.

“Tubbo, get out of the way,” Quackity said, gun not lowering.

“No! You can’t hurt him! He didn’t know!”

“Tubbo Jordan Underscore, you get back here this instant.”

Tubbo winced at his full name being used but he stayed firm in front of Ranboo.

“Tubbo, let’s be smart now,” Phil added.

“No! You can’t kill my husband!” He shouted it with so much conviction Ranboo nearly shouted it himself. For a bit they started so long ago, it was almost comforting to have it brought up again in what could be his last moments.

“Am I interrupting something?” Techno’s voice surprised them all, his hands no longer dragging the panicked man anymore. They all turned to him with the exception of Techno who had his attention firmly on Ranboo. It felt damning. “We had a straggler, I handled it. Why are we threatening Ranboo?”

“There was a bug on him. He’s been working with Dream Team,” Philza said, spitting it like acid. Ranboo flinched. He’d heard mentions of this Dream Team multiple times now, but still hadn’t been provided any further information.

“Is that why Tommy was screamin’? I thought he just didn’t want to go home,” Techno asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked between his dad and Ranboo.

“I sent him home so we wouldn’t have to deal with this.” Philza’s hand jutted out towards Ranboo and Tubbo. He hated how weak he felt, cowering behind Tubbo, but fight or flight wasn’t accurate. He was frozen with fear and confusion and desperation. Even if they gave him an opportunity to run he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. Beyond it all, he wanted to go home and pretend things were normal again and that his family hadn’t been using him.

“Techno! Tell them! Ranboo wouldn’t do this!”

“He’s got a point. You really think Ranboo’s capable of keeping a secret for that long?”

“We’re dealing with this Techno. I’ve already called in to deal with his parents, I need you to make sure that was dealt with properly.”

His brain was reeling trying to keep up with the conversation that he almost missed that. His parents…what about his parents? Were they going to ‘deal with them’ the same way they seemed to want to deal with Ranboo? Would he open the front door to find their bodies leaking blood into the carpet? Was he an orphan again?

What was once fear and confusion blurred into panic and short bursting breaths as he tried to keep them in. The unknown was the worst part of it all. He met Techno’s eyes before immediately averting them. Techno would probably never think he was cool now. It wouldn’t matter much if he was dead though.

“Phil-” Techno said and Ranboo could still feel his gaze on him.

“We’re handling this.” The sound of retreating footfalls let him know that he was back down to one ally again. If Techno was to be considered an ally.

“What about his parents? You can’t just kill them! What if they were forced to do this? What if they were all forced to do this?”

“Tubbo-”

They weren’t denying it. Ranboo’s vision swam as he gripped the wall behind him as his legs began to give. His knees wobbled and pressure built uncomfortably behind his eyes. If his parents had put a bug in his sweater, did that mean they’d had some sort of tracker on him the whole time? Was it his fault that Tubbo was almost kidnapped? What would have happened if he’d gotten Tubbo and Tommy to come over again like his parents had asked multiple times? Nausea burned in his stomach, the pressure in his eyes finally giving way to tears.

Tubbo stood ever strong in front of him, stupidly.

“If you want to kill him, you’re going to have to kill me too. I’m not moving.”

“Tubbo, it’s okay. Please, it’s my fault. Just go back to your dad,” he whispered. Guilt and fear crawling across his skin. He could handle dying, if his parents were already gone or soon to be gone then what place did he have? He couldn’t go back to the foster care system, he just wanted his friends to be safe when their lives were clearly anything but. He didn’t need Tubbo taking care of him, that wasn’t fair.

He tried to say as much, tried to show reason as he tentatively touch Tubbo’s shoulder, tears running down his cheeks in stinging lines.

“NO!” He screamed, swiping Ranboo’s hand away. He caught the briefest glimpse of Tubbo’s face and his heart cracked cleanly down the middle. His best friend’s face red with tears.

“You heard him. He knows it’s for the best,” Wilbur said, gun still pointed at him.

“If you kill him I will Romeo and Juliet this shit. I know what that means now. I’ve read the play.”

The room stopped. Memories of their unit on Romeo and Juliet playing back in his head like the universe’s worst foreshadowing.

“You wouldn’t,” Schlatt said, disbelief trying to hide the fear Ranboo had seen flash in his eyes.

“You’ve got one heir, you gonna risk it?” Tubbo snapped.

“He probably would.”

“Wilbur your commentary is not helping.”

“Well fuck you too.” Ranboo shouldn’t be laughing at his potential executioner’s spat with his father but proper thought processing wasn’t within his capabilities.

Tubbo stepped forward, entire body tense and his Christmas sweater full of loose threads where he’d obviously been pulling on them. None of that anxiety seemed to remain as he walked right up to Quackity’s gun, the barrel inches from his head as he followed it every time Quackity tried to move.

Ranboo ran up behind him, pulling at Tubbo’s arm, to get him to step away. Nothing worked. Tubbo had dug his hole right next to Ranboo’s and neither of them had a ladder. The only hope Ranboo had was that Tubbo’s dad wouldn’t kill his own son. Hopefully. So long as Tubbo didn’t take matters into his own hands like the dramatic little shit he was.

“If you’re going to kill my husband then you’re going to have to kill me too.”

“He is not your husband.” Quackity stated, like he hadn’t been there for the wedding.

“Yes he is, we have a child! Are you really going to leave your only grandson an orphan?”

“Are you talking about that stuffed pig?” Schlatt asked.

“What?” Phil asked at the same time.

Nobody had died yet…so maybe talking about their fake marriage was working? Sympathy and all that right? Prime, Ranboo didn’t want to die and he certainly didn’t want Tubbo to kill himself over this.

“Drop the gun, Quackity.”

“Schlatt.”

“Fuck off, Philza. I’m dealing with this.”

“What is sounds like you’re doing is considering this when he put all of our kids in danger.”

“He’s the reason Tubbo was almost kidnapped. You want to keep that around? Is it going to be Tommy next? Or are they going to finally succeed with Tubbo?” Wilbur spat, eyes narrowed as he glared at Schlatt for the first time instead of Ranboo.

“Wilbur’s right,”

“I’m not killing my own son here.”

“You remove him from the room. It’s that simple.”

Tubbo immediately latched himself on Ranboo’s arm again. Yeah. Removing him from the room was not going to be easy.

“Listen, I know you’ve got a bad track record with Dream Team, but maybe he really didn’t know.”

“We could have all died here tonight.”

“And I might not even have Tubbo if it wasn’t for Ranboo. He saved Tubbo that day in the park.”

“Wilbur did that. Or that could have been a set up to get you to trust him!”

“You’re telling me that a kid who was working for Dream Team would knowingly throw himself at a bunch of mercs to try and stop a kidnapping?”

“I let myself be weak once and it nearly cost me one of my kids, Schlatt.”

The silence was almost damning, save for his own rapid breathing. Tubbo seemed to take this opportunity to try and back them into the corner again and push him down lower so Tubbo could better cover him with his body. He would not let Tubbo be his human meat shield. It just about killed him seeing the expression on Tubbo’s face when he stopped him, taking Tubbo’s smaller hands in his own. They were littered with callouses and uneven fingernails from Tubbo’s nail-biting habit. He’d be able to pick out Tubbo’s hands anywhere in a sea of them. It’s what friendships were for, knowing each other simply by the feel of their hand in yours and the sound of their laugh. If he never got to hear Tubbo or Tommy’s laugh again, well, he was glad he knew their sounds by heart. The way one starting always made the others join in, contagious like a yawn.

“– and unlike me, you don’t have one to spare.”

“I’m okay, Bo. Whatever keeps you safe. I don’t know what’s going on here but if I need to go…” he had to stop, to catch his breath, unaware of how close the tears were. That this could really be goodbye. “Then you need to let go. Take care of Michael, yeah? Tell him about me?” He couldn’t help the laughs that followed, punctuating each shaking breath.

The smallest smile appeared on Tubbo’s face, a sound halfway through a sob and a laugh following. It was good enough for him, so long as he could make Tubbo laugh at least one more time.

“You’re so stupid, Boo,” Tubbo said, voice muffled in Ranboo’s sweater.

“Learned that from you,” he draped his arms around his friend, soaking in every moment he could. He didn’t want to die, but maybe it was better this way. If his parents were already gone or soon to be then where would he go? He’d spent most of the last seven years forgetting what it was like to be an orphan, now he was one again. It was easier not to think about, to sink into a loving embrace like his mother’s and wait for judge, jury, and executioner.

“– and that is exactly why I can’t risk killing this kid, Craft.”

The part of him that accepted that these were his last moments, savoring every last second he could with Tubbo in his arms froze. Tubbo seemed to have heard this too, pulling away from Ranboo and looking towards his father.

“I hope you don’t live to regret that, Schlatt.”

“At least I save myself from my kid hating me for the rest of my life. Might want to take some notes there,” Tubbo’s dad said, vitriol and malice wielded like a weapon. During the party it was easy to forget that the two didn’t like each other. Now, as his fate had been decided, it was easier to see what lingered of the rivalry.

“Dad-”

“Come on, we have a mess to clean up tonight.”

“But-”

“Wilbur.”

The Crafts filed out several tense minutes later, lingering around to pick up forgotten coats and gifts. Wilbur never stopped glaring at him the entire time. He’d always hated attention, it made him feel all sweaty and fidgety. It’s why he surrounded himself with people like Tommy and Tubbo. Personalities so loud that he could safely be just their friend and not the star of the show. A minor character. Somehow that went wrong, and all the eyes were on him. The only exception was Tubbo who kept his own eyes on the others, as if daring them to go back on his dad’s decision. He refused to move, stationed like a guard in front of him, Ranboo unable to move or leave without disturbing Tubbo.

Schlatt and Quackity started cleaning up once Phil and Wilbur were gone. By then, Ranboo could hear more voices outside and the accompanied greetings of friends, not enemies. No more gunshots ricocheted in the night.

“So…where am I going to go?” Ranboo asked.

“Probably home with us. It can be like a sleepover! Like we originally planned!”

Ranboo could list a handful of reasons why that didn’t sound like a good idea, but he didn’t really have any other options.

“The drive is gonna be real awkward.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Great.”

…

The first waves of clean up were arriving as Phil drove down the road, ignoring the bodies littered around. Every pass of headlights lit up his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and Wilbur’s hands still hovering over his weapon. He had a feeling nobody would be sleeping that night, especially Wilbur. The bright flashes of light highlighted his darting brown eyes and there was enough tension in his shoulders to support a bridge. He didn’t bother turning on the radio because it wouldn’t help.

Sam’s ringtone – one of the animal crossing songs that Tommy had somehow set on his phone a year and a half ago that he hadn’t bothered to change – had both men tensing further in the car. Phil answered in seconds, heart moments from bursting from his chest. A deep-set fear that it would be that call again. That Sam would be clutching a bullet wound and still trying to chase after the car that had stolen one of his children away. That Tommy would be gone and their last interaction would be him screaming how much he’d never forgive him and how he would hate him forever.

“Is Ranboo dead or not?”

“What?”

“Your kid just tried to jump out the window of a moving vehicle over this, so is he dead or not?” Sam asked, it was clear he was at his limits.

It probably said something about how unsurprised he was to hear of this development.

“No he’s not. Schlatt’s gone soft.”

“See? Now sit down! Ranboo’s fine!”

“FUCK YOU, DAD!” Yep, there was Tommy’s voice. His voice was raspy, like he’d only recently stopped crying. Which, if going off of the situation, that wasn’t unlikely.

“Wil and I just left. We should be home in about 40 minutes.”

“House on lockdown?”

“Yes. See you soon. Make sure Tommy does not jump from anymore windows and call Ponk. I don’t want to go to a hospital tonight,” he said, trying to hide the groan in his voice but there was no point. He had his fair share of scrapes and injuries from fights in the past, but there was no telling what adrenaline could hide in these situations. Plus, both Techno, Wilbur, and Sam had been involved. Better safe than sorry.

“Understood.”

The phone call wasn’t the only disturbance they had on the drive back. There were plenty of other calls from those he’d appointed to manage clean up and another call confirming the hit on the Beloved’s had been successful. That they’d been found with packed suitcases ready to go. Bullshit that they didn’t know what they were involved with. They were going to help plan this hit and run under the protection of the Dream Team. He knew how this worked, Prime, he’d even funded a few people doing the same.

He didn’t survive this long being merciful. He kept the Dream Team at bay for so long because he had been swift and merciless. Anger at his son sobbing into his chest enough to fuel hundreds of missions riskier than most he’d ever approved. He could be the hand of death when needed and anyone associated with the Dream Team would meet that hand. There was no way to truly know if Ranboo was telling the truth. All Phil knew was that Ranboo was a bright blinking threat and he couldn’t understand why Schlatt would trust his only son with that.

Ranboo could be dealt with later if Schlatt proved incapable of controlling the threat. For now, Phil had to be smart. Ranboo was just one connection of what could be hundreds. How this slipped through their investigations would be a topic of discussion with Sam.

They got lucky and that wouldn’t happen again.

He glanced at Wilbur out of the corner of his eye and saw the same battle raging inside his son’s head. The fear that had they not caught this they could all be dead. Or had Dream Team made use of Ranboo’s connections with Tommy earlier how their boy could be locked away in some dark room despite his claustrophobia. He could accept a little hate from his youngest if it meant he got to keep his youngest.

…Maybe he had been a little harsh over the attempted murder of his son’s best friend. He just didn’t understand yet. The situation looked bad from their perspectives, it still looked bad. But Tommy wasn’t there for the actual kidnapping. He wasn’t there for the meetings where they looked at the remains of their operations in Kinoko and the floors painted with blood. All he saw was his best friend.

He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, joints aching from how long he’d held it so tightly and turned on the radio.

…

Ceramic shattered against the wall, joining the other colorful shards on the hardwood floor.

“That was my favorite mug,” Sapnap grumbled, his headache from the night made worse by the periodic smashing of coffee mugs.

“I thought the kid said there wasn’t going to be security?!”

“They’re paranoid fucks, Dream. Of course, there’s going to be some security. We had them outgunned, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Maybe tell me why it’s so hard to kill someone. How did all of them survive?”

“Better shots than hired mercs and a couple of loyal people stupid enough to accept this job in the first place?” He suggested but knew it wasn’t worth much. Dream was mad, if their dwindling collection of coffee cups was any indication of that. Sapnap had been pouring through the blurry pictures they’d been sent in the brief moments before literally all of their men went MIA. Definitely dead, maybe alive and being tortured for information, but certainly dead enough if that was the case.

“If it makes you feel better, my old man couldn’t get rid of them either,” George offered from the couch.

“And I’m supposed to be better than that! He trusted me to be better than that! I took over Kinoko. I’ll take over the SMP. They’ve run this land for too long.”

Sapnap tuned Dream’s monologue out after that, far too focused on a grainy picture of a dark-haired security member who was not in the Craft or Underscore family. Beyond the gaudy elf costume he almost looked familiar. Had he maybe gone to college with whoever this was? They seemed about the same age. It was uncanny and he swiped to the next photo.

“You just gotta start smaller and be smarter. My dad was always going on about little things adding up more than big ones or whatever,” George said, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air and trying to catch it in his mouth. He missed and it bounced off his cheek and onto the leather couch.

“You certainly scared them tonight, increase the pressure. Wait for the mistake,” He suggested, watching Dream’s closely guarded expression slowly shift from anger to understanding. Thank Prime because Sapnap’s dad gave him the mug Dream had in his hands.

“Keep ‘em focused on the kids, maybe pit them against each other a bit more, wait until their back is turned and boom,” Dream’s grin stretched as wide as the discarded mask on the counter.

“We’ll get them next time,” he assured his friend. They would win eventually, right? They had the young recklessness on their side. What they lacked in experience they made up for in determination and stamina. They could play the endurance game. The Beloved’s weren’t their only connections in the city.

Chapter Text

Despite the excitement of the previous day, the next morning started out fairly calm for Technoblade Craft. Sure, he had to start his day scrubbing the blood of the Beloved’s off his shoes. One of the unrealized benefits of everyone in the family knowing was that he didn’t have to clean off any remnants of his work during the night before Tommy woke up. It meant he could collapse in bed a few minutes earlier.

The night had been rough. Hits always were when it was personal. Seeing family portraits with a smiling Ranboo spattered over with blood shouldn’t have unnerved him like they had. At least the Beloved’s had made clean up easy. By the looks of the packed suitcases, they weren’t planning on staying in SMP much longer. Their affairs already in order, jobs quit, and lease terminating. If only all their hits made it so easy for the rest of the world to not ask questions.

His cleaning was followed by a red-eyed Tommy, deep bags pulled under his eyes. He was still wearing his Christmas shirt. They their respective cups of coffee together in silence.

Tommy was soon replaced by Phil. Technically, Tommy was a flight risk, so he kept an eye on his younger brother as he trained outside. If Techno saw the tears burned red on his cheeks he didn’t say a thing.

“What is he doing?” Phil asked, upon noticing Tommy outside. He held his own cup of coffee in his favorite mug, one with a crow half asleep on the ground. While the technical answer was ‘training’, Techno knew Tommy was unleashing eight years of teenage angst into the boxing dummy he’d dragged out of the garage that morning. His intention had been giving Tommy a chance to cool down in the December air and air out his frustrations. It seemed to be working well and Techno couldn’t help but smile at Tommy’s technique. Even through his rage his punches followed through and he wasn’t losing his form even as the cold and exertion burned his cheeks red.

“I told him to imagine that was you,” Techno said, a smile curving onto his lips as he sipped on his morning coffee. Tommy threw a set of three punches, nearly sending the dummy tipping over.

While he’d only implied Tommy think of the dummy as Phil, it was worth seeing Phil splutter on his own coffee.

“What the fuck, mate?”

“Aren’t you glad those are aimed at the dummy and not you?” He asked, watching as Tommy switched from punches to kicks.

“He can’t be that mad. Right?” Phil’s blue eyes shook with the same heart-breaking fear he’d seen in them when he’d first realized how Tommy felt about him. Techno almost felt bad.

“Well I don’t know, you did almost kill his best friend. From what Wil told me, Tubbo had to threaten to kill himself to keep all of you from being idiots.”

“Tech-”

“Listen, I know you were scared. I was too, but that doesn’t mean you can go killing whoever looks vaguely responsible. I know like 90% of the time it makes our problems go away, but this is that 10% of the time it doesn’t,” he jerked his head towards Tommy again.

To be fair, Tommy was taking the whole ‘my dad almost murdered my best friend and probably still wants him dead’ pretty well, all things considered. Sam mentioned that he was able to talk to him about what was going on during the ride back. It wasn’t until even later that he learned that talk was after an escape attempt via the window of a moving vehicle. Techno had to give him points for tenacity there.

Phil sighed, deflating several inches. He set his coffee down on the counter and sat down at the breakfast table, pushing aside last week’s paper and miscellaneous junk mail. He rested his head in his hands, elbows on the table.

“Are you wallowing now? Seriously? Philza Craft, wallowing?”

“Tech-”

“No. We almost died last night. So you need to go apologize to Tommy and get to work making sure we never have to hear about the Dream Team ever again, because we will not get that lucky a second time,” Techno slammed his hand into the table. It was times like these, times where he knew he had Phil’s attention, that he truly felt like the heir to The Syndicate and not the bright-eyed little boy chasing after his father. He’d seen what their world was, saw the darkest parts and wiped it off his shoes every night. From the first time Phil pressed a gun in his hands and he was no longer aiming at a wooden target and instead a breathing one, with sticky tears running down their cheeks and desperate whimpers muffled behind a gag. Phil coached him through it all, even when he tried to look away before he pulled the trigger. His own chest feeling like it was stuck between a vice. He’d taken his first life just shy of 18.

“Get to work, old man. Tell me who needs to die and I’ll do it, but you can’t kill Ranboo.”

“I know.”

“Then show it.”

Phil stood up and left, stepping out the back door. Techno watched him cross the yard from the window. Saw the exact moment Tommy saw him, his movements faltering and his swing going wide as anger flashed across his face. A new target acquired.

Phil caught the swing before it could impact and held on. Eventually, Tommy stopped fighting, his own tears flowing freely now, shining on his face in the morning sun. There was shouting, more fighting. Techno distinctly heard multiple uses of ‘bitch’ coming from Tommy.

Then, Phil was on his knees. His pajama pants surely soaking up and damp ground. Phil speaking slowly and carefully, holding onto Tommy’s hands as his youngest stared down at him. Techno saw every time that Tommy tried to fight back his own sniffles. Phil spoke, his own eyes wide and glistening as he stared up at Tommy like he was begging for forgiveness from an unforgiving god. There was silence, only stares, and in one swift motion, Tommy reeled back and punched Philza Craft in the face.

While it wasn’t wholly unexpected, Techno couldn’t help but laugh in both surprise and grin in fondness at Tommy’s boldness. A glance at Phil told him that he got the message loud and clear as well as he cradled his nose, a bit of blood on his chin. Tommy was inside seconds later, looking simultaneously smug and confused.

“Feel better?” Techno asked as Tommy slammed the door shut behind him.

“I’m gonna get grounded again, aren’t I?”

He shrugged, “That was a pretty good hit. You might get away with it.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Didn’t expect you to be.”

Tommy glanced outside through the window on the backdoor and snorted. “I – uh – I think I broke his nose.”

“Might have been just the hit he needed. Listen, you’ve got a lot of anger boiling up in there, kiddo-”

“Not a kid, bitch.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t correct himself, “Right now though, we need to put all of that into taking down the people that made Ranboo do that in the first place.”

Tommy stopped, stared down at his messily tied shoes, before looking back up at Techno. “You’ll make ‘em pay, right? Send their stupid fucking asses right down to hell?”

He nodded, a grin stretching across his face, “We will.”

Tommy grinned.

Techno shooed him off before Phil reentered the house, still holding onto a bleeding nose. Techno held out a handful of paper towels which were swiftly taken.

“I should have expected that,” Phil groaned, pinching the bridge of a now crooked nose.

“You’re getting slow, old man.”

“Oh hush you.”

“What can I say? A 16 year old broke your nose.”

 “He still hates me,” Phil sighed, voice nasally. He switched out his paper towel for another one.

“Well of course he does. You’re gonna have to prove yourself again. Redemption arc and you can start that by getting rid of the people who put Ranboo in that place first.”

He nodded, “I just thought if I apologized –“

“Just because he accepted your apology doesn’t mean he has to forgive you, old man,” Techno chided, pulling out one of their many first aid kits from inside one of the kitchen drawers and tossing a wad of gauze to Phil.

“Get rid of the people trying to kill us first, family therapy later. Got it.”

“And make sure you reset your nose, can’t have the head of The Syndicate looking all common.”

“Oi!”

It wasn’t forgiveness on his end either, but it was something closer. Something workable until the Dream Team was dealt with. Now he just had to deal with Wilbur.

…

“You didn’t!?” Tubbo exclaimed from beside him as Tommy retold the story of how he broke his dad’s nose that morning over discord vc.

“I did. It kind of just went squish. I thought noses were supposed to be hard, but his just folded in half like pshh-crack,” Tommy exclaimed, doing a frighteningly descriptive reproduction of the sound his dad’s nose apparently made.

Just the thought of ever punching his dad like that sent shivers down Ranboo’s body. He’d be in so much trouble…not that he ever would do that.

Not that he ever could. His dad was dead.

It still didn’t feel real. Part of his brain still rationalized that this was a normal sleepover at Tubbo’s house and he’d be going home soon to his bed and his stuffed animals and everything would be right again. His life didn’t work that way though, because he’d almost died like 12 hours prior and his parents were working for a mafia, like Godfather type mafia, and apparently so did Tommy and Tubbo’s dads. In hindsight a lot of things made way more sense with that little bit of information. Of course, now the question that remained was were all the weird things about the Craft and the Underscore families just ‘rich people things’ or were they ‘rich mafia people things’? Maybe all rich people things were rich people things because they were all in the mafia?

That wasn’t the only question he had, but he’d kept most of them to himself, less he invoke the ire of Mr. Underscore again even though he’d been granted clemency for the time being. Good faith and good will would only last so long if he became a nuisance (or if the gamble Mr. Underscore was willing to play with Tubbo over his whole threat to Romeo and Juliet this was deemed a worthy risk).

“You’re keeping boob boy safe, right Tubs?”

“You betcha, haven’t let him leave my side since we got here!”

That included Tubbo sitting outside the bathroom door when Ranboo was inside. It made it difficult to cry without being noticed, but Tubbo never said anything. Even when he’d turned on the shower and came back out into the hallway with his hair dry. There was a lot to process. Most of which he hadn’t. Most of which he wasn’t going to. It was kind of hard to process the last 24 hours. Maybe Mr. Underscore would pay for a therapist again? He wasn’t sure if that would help either. How could you even talk about this stuff with a therapist? Finding out your client was more or less being held by a powerful mafia seemed like something they had to report. Or maybe they had special mafia therapists they paid for their silence. Prime, therapists couldn’t be the only people they paid off. Nobody was going to say a thing about his family’s disappearance. Between Mr. Underscore and Mr. Craft they probably had the whole police department under their thumbs. Not that there was much to be done now. His parents were dead and getting his friend’s parents in trouble would just ruin Tommy and Tubbo’s lives. They didn’t deserve to be parentless.

Ranboo thought he’d have years before he became an orphan again. Be old and losing his hair, with a family of his own or maybe a dog. His parents old and wrinkly, finally passing after living a long happy life with him by their side. They were dead now though, and Ranboo hadn’t even lived half of his life with parents. What was he supposed to do now? He was 16…he didn’t have anyone else to go to and he doubted Underscore hospitality would be extended to him for that long. Maybe they’d let him move back into his home? He didn’t have a job but maybe he could strike up some deal to get a small allowance until he graduated? Would he still get to go to school with Tommy and Tubbo or would he have to go back to public school? There were so many questions it had kept him up all night simply sorting through them. Every time he thought he had covered all his bases another four came up.

Not to mention it hurt. His chest ached any time he thought about it or what his future held. He’d never get one of his mom’s comforting hugs again. Never peel potatoes with his dad on Saturday mornings while they both stared at the newest newspaper crossword puzzle. Even if his marriage was partially a joke, he wouldn’t get to fight back tears as he walked down the aisle. It wasn’t fair. His parents had promised him a happy life when they’d adopted him from the foster care system. Yet, they’d been the ones to screw it up with all this mafia stuff.

He didn’t even have his own clothes to wear. The bag he’d brought to the party had already been confiscated which meant he only had the ruined sweater and his jeans. It was a problem he hadn’t even considered until they’d gotten to Tubbo’s house that night and were both ordered to go to bed. Mr. Underscore tried to assign one of the guest bedrooms to Ranboo, but Tubbo wasn’t having it, latching onto his side like a leach. Tubbo didn’t trust his dad not to try and off Ranboo in his sleep so that was a nice thought to terrify him through the night. Which is how he ended up in Tubbo’s room.

It was far larger than any bedroom that Ranboo ever had, a large bed with brand new sheets that still smelled like the fresh cotton of new laundry and an absolute mountain of pillows. The bed was the only clean part of the room, Tubbo’s desk a hodgepodge of trinkets, homework, notes, books, spare parts, and something that looked very suspiciously like a bomb. At least he could figure out where Tubbo was getting all of his inventing supplies from. He didn’t doubt that his family had access to all those illegal things. His clothes were strewn around his closet and he had a strange collection of ukulele’s hanging on the wall. Ranboo offered to sleep on the floor but Tubbo insisted that his bed was plenty big enough and that it was safer that way. Tubbo brought in extra blankets regardless, during their few sleepovers they had, his friend had always been a huge blanket hog.

The next issue became finding him something to sleep in because Ranboo had a solid foot on Tubbo. Suffice to say, Tubbo didn’t have anything in his wardrobe that didn’t look like someone had stuffed his lanky limbs into children’s clothes.

They’d ended up in Mr. Underscore’s closet soon after that, much to Ranboo’s displeasure. It wasn’t necessarily any place he wanted to be found when the man could potentially still want him dead.

Tubbo held shirts up to him (he didn’t know Mr. Underscore owned casual clothes, let alone wore them often enough to have them freshly washed and easily accessed in his closet) to test the length while Ranboo anxiously bounced on his feet. Miracles that night involved nobody at the party dying and the two of them managing to avoid Tubbo’s dad for the majority of the night before they’d finally gone to bed. The car ride back on the other hand had been incredibly awkward and the radio had been turned up way louder than was comfortable to drown out any attempt at conversation. It was a good distraction when the world he knew crumbled like a Nature Valley granola bar.

Tubbo’s dad wasn’t pleased when he’d found them in his closet, convinced Ranboo was up to something. ‘Bugging the rest of their clothes’ is what he’d said. Tubbo had responded by picking up one of those old looking band shirts that looked lived in. The print faded with time and washes, stains so worn in with time that they’d never come out no matter how many washes. It looked like a favorite shirt.

“Oh here, I can prove it to you,” Tubbo had said with the same smile that usually indicated he was about to cause serious problems and not care one bit. Sure enough, he grasped the neckline and tore the shirt right down the middle.

“What the fuck, Tubbo!”

“I can do another one if you want? Or you can leave so I can find Ranboo some new clothes because all of his are at his house. I will be ordering him more tomorrow, but this is your mess now so congrats,” he said, joyful tone betraying the petrifying look of anger in his eyes.

 “It’s coming out of your allowance.”

“Nope.” He picked up another band t-shirt and Mr. Underscore visibly flinched.

“I’m putting a limit on your card.”

“You can try,” he shrugged before tossing the band shirt to Ranboo. He held onto it carefully, looking between the two locked in a staring contest. He’d never seen the two of them locked in this kind of dynamic. Tubbo had always been pushy with his freedoms, sneaking out and arguing here and there about whatever he could with his dad. Yet, everything he’d seen in the past few hours at that point had been downright antagonistic, his dad trying to exert what control he could and Tubbo pushing past it every time with barely a blink. It was awkward standing in the middle of it.

It was even more awkward knowing that he was one of the people who gave the orders to make him an orphan again. It was easier not to think about it like that. It would be easier to just fade into background. To let his mind drift like the snowflakes outside and disassociate until it was safe to come out from under the covers.

At some point, Tubbo’s dad left them and Ranboo somehow ended up with two more shirts and two pairs of sweat pants in his arms, Tuboo tugging him back to his room.

At some point that night they’d gone to sleep, Ranboo staring at a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars, unable to find any familiar constellations in their pretend sky.

Then it was morning and Tubbo brought the full gallon of milk plus bowls and cereal to his room. They ate in silence, Tubbo turning on his TV to a cartoon so they didn’t have to listen to his dad yelling on the phone.

Tommy called shortly after, seemingly out of breath but assured them he was fine and had just been getting some energy out. Getting energy out apparently involved punching dads.

Tubbo and Tommy talked and planned, Ranboo nodding along with a ‘mhmm’ every time it was needed. It was easier that way. Maybe he’d wake up from his daze and find it was all a dream.

Or maybe it was better for everyone else this way.

…

It was hard to think of Bad as intimidating with his squeaky voice and refusal to swear. Quackity had known Skeppy for longer. Neither seemed like someone he’d peg as having spent the last 20 years working for the Manburg Mafia, but he supposed that was kind of the point. Yet, somehow the two of them were an amazing intelligence duo. He supposed being married helped, lots of time to practice if you had a kid who got in as much trouble as the stories Bad told him during long watches were to be believed.

Bad had tried using those same techniques on him during those same watches, trying to pry into his own love life. Something Quackity really didn’t want to talk about when they were staking out old warehouses or waiting for a car to leave a driveway. Besides, the three of them were just friends. Like really good friends. The kind of friends that made his face go hot whenever they complimented him. The three of them hanging out anytime their schedules lined up. Even then, Sapnap or him usually got called in during those definitely not dates. The joys of both having jobs that could call on them anytime and any day.

Was he still pissy over their first actual date? They’d agreed online it wasn’t going to be a thing going forward, especially since Sap was just in town for work, but nobody ever had the audacity to just up and leave. They’d been distracted and Sapnap had put down his phone and of course that was when he got like 20 calls from his boss. In his defense, Quackity was a very good distractor and a night without having to deal with Tubbo’s walking disaster self was a night to be cherished. When Karl had introduced him to Sapnap again, after he’d sworn to never speak to him again (maybe it was a bit of a dramatic response, but he was upset and rightfully so. Sapnap never even called back!), it was a bit awkward but apologies were made and milkshakes were had and Karl gave them both an entire list of books to read.

Tonight, Bad and Skeppy’s interrogation skills had been put to better use, managing to pull the location the fourth precinct’s cops had their patrols diverted from. The Syndicate and Manburg had been sharing information freely on the grounds of it being used to stop the Dream Team. It was easy enough to confirm The Syndicate wasn’t behind the order, which left them one other culprit. Quackity was in the mood for some revenge anyways. A couple of fuckers almost killed his charge 48 hours ago and he’s only got a year left on his contract.

They kept their team small for a reason, if Dream Team got tipped off that a bunch of Manburg soldiers were hanging around fourth then they might call off the whole operation. Their goal tonight was to gather evidence and engage if it was safe. There was no shortage of ammo under Quackity’s coat, he wasn’t above putting bullets into heads.

An hour passed before there was anything worth investigating. A rental car pulled up and Bad was already snapping pictures, making sure to get the license plate and model for further research later. Skeppy flashed their signal, confirming he was armed and awaiting orders, just like Quackity. It stung to not be in charge of this mission, but Bad could keep a level head better than him and Skeppy combined.

A figure stepped out of the car, locking it behind him, features hard to make out beneath a winter hat and coat. He walked a few townhomes down before settling in front of one with a mahogany red door and knocking. Seconds later, the door was open and the man stepped inside. Bingo.

They moved swiftly, repositioning themselves to be closer to the townhome. Quackity held his binoculars up to look through the window and see what he could see. While his view was interrupted by green drapes, he could make out at least three people inside. Skeppy, on the other side of the street was looking through the car.

“Car’s pretty clean. Found a sticky note with an address and time that match ours right now.” Skeppy’s voice came through their comms.

Bad made a sound of disagreement before he turned to Quackity. “Do you see how many people we’ve got in there?”

“Two or three,” he mumbled, bracing himself against a wintery breeze that cut right through his jacket, “There’s a fucking curtain in the way.”

“Language!” Bad hissed. It was a requirement that Quackity had set for himself after years of doing jobs with Bad to swear in front of him at least once. Had their suspect still been close he would have bit his tongue, but they had a bit of wiggle room now with him inside.

“Should we approach?”

“We’re not getting anything from here.”

The two of them moved with practiced ease across the empty street. Skeppy stepped into the alleyway to block off a potential escape from that direction and Quackity was reminded of one of his first jobs with Skeppy, back when he didn’t know who he was working for. When the jobs were just some easy cash that kept his rent paid. Of days when his job description didn’t involve carrying a gun and his stomach couldn’t handle a blown out head. He wondered what 19 year old Quackity would think of him now. He was pretty off course from his intended career path.

Standing at the doorway, gun in hand underneath his coat, he could just make out the murmurs of conversation. A deal going down, payment being discussed.

The sound of laughter – familiar laughter – sent his stomach spiraling. As much as he’d deny it, he knew that laughter, could pick it out of a crowd of thousands if situation required it. The only reason he would be here was if he’d gotten tangled up in Quackity’s mess and the door was down moments later as the panic flooded his veins and shot him forward on pure adrenaline.

Had he paid more attention, maybe he would have noticed how familiar the coat was that their target wore. The same one Sapnap had draped over Karl’s shoulders when he forgot his and his cheeks and nose had gone all red from the cold. He shouldn’t have ignored it when he noticed the red stain on his shirt one day. If he had actually done a background check maybe he would have learned before he saw his not boyfriend holding onto a flash drive while the two people who presumably owned the home were counting a pile of cash. Or at least they were until Quackity barreled through the door, expecting to see Sapnap in trouble. Only to realize that Sapnap was the trouble. His white bandana unmistakable now. Prime, how blind did he have to be?

“Quackity?”

“Sapnap?”

“Sapnap?!” Bad and Skeppy exclaimed through comms at the same time.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Quackity spat, betrayal and confusion an ugly combination, his gun aimed at the floor at Sapnap’s feet. Because that was Sapnap, irrevocably Sapnap. The same one who had tunneled his way into his life again. Who had enchanted Karl with his jokes. Who Karl could always bully into getting books down from the high shelves when they showed up to bother him at work. This wasn’t fair.

“Pandas?” Bad’s nasally voice appeared from behind him.

“Dad!?” Sapnap’s mouth dropped, as did Quackity’s.

“Dad?” He looked between the two of them. There was no way that the kid Bad and Skeppy always talked about was Sapnap? Yet, why else would he be calling Bad Dad?

“Quackity…”

“Wait, how do you know him?”  

“We were just friends.”

Sapnap scoffed, anger burning like red hot flames in his amber eyes.

“Well what the fuck would you like to call it? Does Karl know you work for the fucking Dream Team?”

“What? I’m coming in!”

“That can’t be true, he would be smarter than that. He is supposed to be in Kinoko!”

“Well we’re a couple thousand miles away from Kinoko, Bad!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Quackity saw the couple that was counting their money on the couch, inch their way out of eyesight. Likely to take their cash and run from the unintentional family reunion happening. He was about to order them to stay, witnesses were easier to deal with after the people with the guns were handled. Sapnap seemed to notice them as well, only he didn’t hesitate, two well-aimed bullets flying through the air and imbedding in their heads.

“Why did you kill them? You should know better!”

“I wasn’t planning on it until you all showed up!”

“We hoped you’d be better than this. We didn’t want you to get involved. We tried so hard to make sure you would have the best future!”

“Oh yeah, and who are you involved with? You’ve lied to me too!” He spat at Bad before turning to Quackity, “and you did too! How long were you going to play pretend with me and Karl?”

“I could say the same to you!”

Skeppy ran in from the back, coming through what appeared to be a messy kitchen.

“Sapnap? What are you doing here! It’s dangerous,” Skeppy exclaimed, gun hanging down at his side as he stared wide-eyed at his son.

“I don’t need a lecture from any of you. Who are you all working for?” Sapnap’s gun was now pointing at Quackity and he raised his own gun to match. From his peripheries, Skeppy and Bad were both shaking, seemingly hesitant to raise a weapon at their own child.

“Let’s put the gun down and talk about this like adults, okay? You don’t know what you’re doing, this isn’t going to end well for you, Sap.”

“What? Is that a threat?” He snarled, eyes flashing again as he flicked off the safety.

“You’re…you’re grounded!” Bad squealed out. Quackity snorted and realized this was probably going to be the end for him. Not when his opponent was his backup’s son.

“Sap, the last time Dream Team tried to take a shot here, The Syndicate killed so many of their members that they weren’t seen here for years. You’re coming home and we’re leaving before Schlatt or Philza figures out that you’re involved because you will end up dead. We can’t protect you from that.”

“I don’t need your protection. I know what I’m doing and who my loyalty lies with!”

“Well fuck you too!” Quackity shouted, he didn’t know what else to do other than yell because everything hurt far more than it should have.

“LANGUAGE!”

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” The father-son fighting continued, only for it to be stopped by Skeppy raising his own gun.

“Listen, we don’t want to kill you, but if Schlatt finds out, you’re as good as dead. How about you give us the flash drive and we can leave.”

“So Manburg, huh? Should have guessed.”

“Please. Come home, we can figure this out. We have connections, you don’t have to live this life. We don’t have to live this life. We can leave and be a family again, put all of this behind us.” Had it been any other situation, Quackity would have held the time he watched Bad break down into tears over his head for years to come. Not this time though. This was a father begging for his son to put down the gun and come home. To save him from what would be a messy and painful death. You don’t get to declare war on the two most powerful mafias in SMP without repercussions and Dream Team had already signed their own ends in the blood they tried to spill at the holiday party.

“If I were you, I’d take your own advice and get out of here while you still can.” He kept his arm steady, but shook his head to toss the dark hair from his face, “Now, unless you want someone else getting shot here tonight, I suggest you leave. Backup is already on its way and they don’t share my sentimentality.”

They didn’t have time to try and call his bluff if there was one. Quackity knew none of them would be able to pull the trigger and part of him doubted Sapnap would either. He so badly wanted to put a bullet through his cocky little face, but the thought of Karl stopped him. How would he ever be able to watch Karl grieve when he killed him?

Skeppy made the choice for them, tugging both Quackity and Bad away from the scene, back to their getaway vehicle, through the icy air and past the empty streets of 4^th.  

He should have known better, should have done the background check he always does. Part of it felt like his fault. It certainly hurt like it was his fault. He rubbed an itch from his eye as they all agreed Schlatt would not be hearing about what had transpired. Bad and Skeppy discussed leaving the SMP before Schlatt could figure out that their son was working for the Dream Team all while Quackity stared out the window of their car, thinking of how much had gone wrong in such a short period of time.

Betrayal tasted ugly.

…

“George?” Sapnap clutched the phone to his ear, collapsed against an ugly floral print loveseat as his other hand dragged through his hair.

“What happened?”

“I fucked up,” he said, glancing towards the two dead bodies on the opposite couch and back towards where Quackity had stood. Where his dads had been. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He just prayed they took his warning, he’d seen their plans. Prime, he’d helped with the drafting process for most of them. The last thing he wanted was his parents added to a pile of dead bodies dumped in the pier. Or to watch Karl grieve Quackity.

“My parents found out.”

“They turning you in?” George asked, he always sounded nonchalant, but after years of knowing him, he knew what it sounded like when George was worried.

“No. They work for Schlatt.”

“Shit.” A pause. “Did you tell Dream?”

“No, and don’t tell him. Please.” He didn’t want to think of what Dream would ask him to do if he found out. At least not until Sapnap could ensure they were out of the line of fire, or he could come up with a believable lie.

“I won’t. I promise…” another pause, the sound of George moving around, likely finding a quiet spot away from prying ears. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.

“Quackity is too.”

“I swear, trouble finds both you and Dream. It’s going to be alright, okay? Did you get the files?”

“Yeah, had to kill the Peterson’s though.”

“Eh, we’ll use the money for Cabo after this is all done.”

Sapnap took a deep breath and tried to imagine himself on a warm beach, sand between his toes and a fruity drink in hand next to his best friends.

“Alright. I’ll be back soon.”

Chapter Text

When a president or other leader is deemed incapable of acting out their duties, whether it be through illness or injury, their second in command temporarily assumes that role and the responsibilities that come with it. Techno often wondered how it might feel to be that vice-president, already in the limelight but suddenly with all eyes on them instead of the one they’ve always walked two steps behind. What the difference between a planned surgery and a surprise hospital stay would mean.

He knew that one day The Syndicate would be passed to him, Phil had been preparing him for it since he was 16 and sat his father down demanding to know the truth of what his family did. He’d taken on the same responsibilities as Phil many times before, handling negotiations, finding allies, getting rid of enemies, he’d done it all under his guidance and trust. There was always the knowledge of having him to fall back on if he ever needed it – not that he’d ever admit it. Several days after Tommy broke Phil’s nose, a day where Techno was hours deep into research as he searched for information on the dark web about Dream Team, he got a call.

“What’s the matter, Sam?”

“Phil’s been shot.”

Techno’s life grinded to a halt in that moment, like the moment on a rollercoaster where the cart reaches its peak and stalls at the top of the hill. The anticipation of the fall, the knowledge that the worst is still yet to come. That he better start screaming now or else be unable to when he flies down at 90 miles per hour.

“Is he okay?” His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Dr. Ponk says his chances are good. I’m standing by as security detail until we can make sure someone isn’t showing up to finish the job.”

Techno was about to argue, that they needed Sam here to keep them safe, but he thought better of it. Sam was protecting Phil, Techno could protect himself and his brothers. If nothing else he could grab them and retreat to the nearest safe house. He’d seen Phil manage the Syndicate from a plane seat, surely Techno could do it from a house in the woods…Prime he was going to be in charge of the Syndicate, wasn’t he? He swallowed down a lump.

“What do I need to do?”

“Keep business as usual, you already have access to Phil’s email and work phone. All of you need to keep your emotions in check out in public, we can’t appear weak. If anyone tries to push you around you push back harder, understood?”

“Yes.”

“This is your first real test, Techno. You’ve got this, but if our enemies see us stumble with Phil out, then they’ll see that as our downfall. We’ll do what we can to keep this under wraps but it’s going to get out. I’ll help with what I can from the hospital.”

“Please keep me updated…do I…do I need to tell Tommy and Wilbur?” Part of him wanted to tell them. To wrap his brothers in his arms and promise them that Dad was going to be fine. That Tommy didn’t have to think his last real interaction with him was breaking his nose. Doing all of that would make his chest ache, and when it did that his voice usually cracked and that wasn’t conducive for sounding like he had everything under control and wasn’t fazed by the fact that the family business was resting in his hands and might stay in his hands.

“I’m calling Wilbur next so he can pick up Tommy from school.”

The Craft house had been far quieter than usual. While there was some disagreement and debate on whether Tommy should go back to school after the holiday party, all three boys were back at the end of winter break. Techno had already abandoned his apartment in the city during the last few weeks to focus on Syndicate business with Phil. It was easier that way, late night meetings that picked back up over early morning coffee and research digging into what little their Crows could find on the Dream Team.

“Alright, I’ll wait for them.”

They said their brief goodbyes and Techno hung up. There were no slow deaths in their line of work. There were texts at 2 am and a funeral a week later. Nobody lived long enough to die of natural causes, maybe they didn’t deserve to. Techno always knew that the responsibility would be thrust upon him with no warning because one day he was going to get a call to confirm the identity of a body they pulled up from the river and he was going to be the one in charge from then on out. If they were lucky, Phil could retire before then. If they were really lucky, Tommy could graduate high school before then.

He had a business to run, and a family to keep safe. When Wilbur got home they’d delegate tasks again and see if Tommy could handle the responsibility. While Techno and Wilbur didn’t start working for the Syndicate until they were 18, they’d both done their fair share of helping in the years before. Never without Phil’s guidance though.

Techno retreated back to the kitchen to refill his coffee. He had work to do before his brothers got home and if he had it his way, the people who shot his dad would be dead before Phil was even released.

…

Finding out Dad was in the hospital…like really in the hospital was quick to dampen the high he was on when he got called out of class one period before his math exam. He knew something was wrong when he saw Wilbur in the office instead of Sam or Dad. Wilbur leaning against the office desk and hands in the pocket of his worn through trench coat, a posture that read as crafted causal, like there wasn’t the barest hint of puffy eyes behind the incandescent reflections on his glasses. Wilbur was every part the actor, a joking quip to the receptionist as he bid her adieu, tossing his arm around Tommy’s shoulders, long strides down familiar hallways. Any attempt at discerning the answer to why he was leaving early dashed off just as quickly.

Wilbur didn’t tell them until after they’d braved the chilly January air and stomped through the remaining slush on the ground outside the school. Until Tommy was in the passenger seat and the school faded away in the rearview mirror. Only then did Wilbur reveal that their dad had been shot and the bullet met its mark that time. He was alive, but in the hospital and that Techno was in charge until he was better. He almost snarked back that he didn’t need Techno to babysit him anymore or that Dad should have just not gotten shot, but Wil’s face stopped him, and he curled into himself instead.

He didn’t want to think about the last interaction they truly had that wasn’t half-hearted small talk over 10-minute meals in the kitchen. How would he handle himself if Dad died before forgiveness had been exchanged? He swallowed down a sniffle because Wilbur told him that they couldn’t appear weak because of this. Big Men didn’t cry over injuries or what-ifs. He just needed to focus on how he got out of his math test and how Wilbur said he might get to help with big deal Syndicate stuff since Dad was out of commission.

Texts were sent to Ranboo and Tubbo once he got home and Wilbur finished his briefing of the situation. The last few days had been nice. He hadn’t seen Tubbo or Ranboo since the holiday party. With all that had happened he was worried that they wouldn’t let Ranboo continue going to school with them. Not that Tommy missed cracking jokes with him in the back of history or teaming up on teasing Tubbo during lunch, not at all. Who else was he supposed to bully into giving him the answers for the homework or remind him and Tubbo about when assignments were due? Ranboo seemed a little more absent than usual, falling into uncharacteristically absent silences where his eyes were lost somewhere on the horizon and it sometimes took them a couple prods to get him to respond.  

It was weird coming home and knowing Dad wasn’t going to be there. Most of the time, Tommy just expected him not to be home or to be holed up in his office like a groundhog or some shit. It wasn’t like Tommy wanted to see him, that’s what he told himself anyways. At least Techno would be staying at home for the next few days.

“I know Wilbur already told you this,” Techno’s voice came from the stairs, the messy pony he’d thrown his hair up into had already fallen out and hung unevenly around his face. “We can’t mess up right now. Business as usual, if they think taking out Phil is how to get us to fall then it will happen again.”

Tommy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. There was no teasing lilt in Techno’s voice, no jokes slipped in to assure him that everything was going to be okay. This was the Techno awaiting him once he officially took over the Syndicate.

“I’m trusting you to help us. Wil will get you set up at the table. I’ll be handling our response to what happened, you two need to keep things running as normal. Nobody leaves alone either. The last thing we need is two people in the hospital. Okay?”

Wilbur huffed and nodded, steely determination flashing like sunlight on the barrel of a gun in his eyes. This was their time to prove themselves.

…

Tommy was not unfamiliar with the warehouses they utilized for a great deal of illegal activities. The wharf district of SMP smelled like fish and gasoline and everything was always damp. It didn’t matter if it hadn’t rained in weeks, it was always damp. With winter chill in full force the wharf was both damp and cold, leaving Tommy shivering in his blue puffy coat next to Wilbur as he surveyed the damage.

Several hours earlier, they got word that an explosive had been tossed through a shattered window. Thankfully, nobody had been hurt and the storage that had been destroyed wasn’t anything that appeared too illegal at first glance. The real problem came with the fact that somebody was allowed to get past the wharf security in the first place. Something Wilbur was going to have to talk about. They gave the workers a good deal, in exchange for keeping their illegal shipments under wraps and misdirecting shipments that were meant to go elsewhere into the Syndicate’s stores, they could skim off the top and they wouldn’t bat an eye. Not only that, but a crate of weapons that was supposed to have arrived the week prior had mysteriously disappeared. Wilbur would get the answers out of them, he was really good at that. Maybe not as intimidating as Techno, but he had a really good ‘unhinged’ psychopath look that left everyone too worried about if he would just shoot someone at random to not answer his questions.

A shard of glass skittered along the concrete floor as Tommy’s shoe hit it. The smoke-stained floor made it easy to see where the explosive had hit, the distinctive smell of motor oil and tar left over from the explosion. A small reminder of Tubbo. Speaking of, he pulled out his phone and texted.

“did u blow up our warehouse tubo? smells like u.”

He giggled to himself as he hit send.

“Who are you talking to?” Wilbur asked, face sour as he ran his finger across one of the scorch marks and rubbed the remaining soot between his fingers.

“Tubs,” he shrugged, kicking another piece of glass.

“And Ranboo too then?”

“He’s in our group chat,” Tommy flashed the screen of his phone towards Wilbur. Not enough time to really see their chats or the impeccable naming of the group ‘Literally The Godfather’. Tubbo came up with it the other day and had quickly set Ranboo’s nickname to be ‘Mafia wife’.

“You shouldn’t be talking about this stuff to them. Especially Ranboo.”

“I’ll tell them whatever the fuck I want to. We’re working together on this, remember? It’s not us versus Manburg anymore.”

“I don’t trust Ranboo.”

“And I do. So does Techno. You trust Techno, don’t you?”

“I…”

“I thought when you guys finally let me know what was going on you’d stop treating me like I’m a kid that doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I’m here! I’m ready to help! Yet, you don’t trust me and neither does Dad. What more do I have to do? I’m not an idiot, Wil.”

“You are a child though!”

“No, I’m not! You never liked Ranboo and now you’re seeing an easy way to hate him more. You’re just fucking jealous that I have more friends than you that actually stuck around.”

Wilbur’s face flushed strawberry red under the fluorescent warehouse lights and Tommy almost wanted to apologize for the hurt that crossed Wilbur’s eyes. Almost. He wasn’t done yet, there was so much boiling under his chest, things he’d been wanting to say since the party and even before then as well. Now they were alone and Tommy had several years of built of teenage angst to get out of his system.

“You’re the child here. Oh look at me, I’m Wilbur and I’m traumatized by people who are dead and I do all the drugs to ignore my problems and then just take it out on everyone else.”

“Mi mi mi I’m Tommy and I can’t see that people die every day from this shit and I don’t want to have to go to my little brother’s funeral because he trusted a spineless little shit who was feeding information to the person that wants us all dead!” Wilbur’s voice carried around the warehouse, echoing in the spaces between crates and Tommy wondered if the ones they were supposed to be meeting with could hear their argument. He didn’t give a shit if they did, they knew better than to pry and could mind their own business.

“Fuck off and go do your stupid little meeting. I don’t need you to tell me what I do and don’t care about.”

“Well fuck you too!”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“No you’re going to stay here. Clean up the glass and do something useful! Dad’s in the hospital and all you care about are your stupid friends and not the fact that they’re trying to kill us!”

The expression is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, but Tommy didn’t feel like Wilbur had tossed a straw on his back, he felt like a frozen pond that could withstand hundreds of rocks thrown on it, skittering across his icy surface. He’d taken worse. Prime he’d dealt out worse, but the tears spilled from the shattered surface so quickly he didn’t know how to stop them. His whole body trembled with barely contained rage and the desire to break another nose. Wilbur should have been proud of the level of restraint he showed.

“You’ve got a meeting to go to,” he said, speaking through the tears as he stood up straight and met Wilbur’s wavering gaze, letting the tears run freely down his cheeks.

“This shouldn’t be more than 15 minutes,” Wilbur muttered, his head tilted upwards. On a better day Tommy would assume its Wilbur’s brash confidence that had his chin jutting upwards and not the tears he was probably trying to keep from spilling before his meeting. The meeting Tommy was supposed to go to. The one Tommy would not be going to. Not like this. Not with his nose running and face red and sticky with tears and his whole body trembling. Techno said they couldn’t be weak yet here he was. Here they were, snapped like an old rubber band.

He stood in the glass shards all of two seconds without Wilbur in eyesight before he stormed out the way they came in, kicking pieces of glass along as he went. Early evening air greeted him with a cold embrace and he pulled his jacket tighter around himself, pretending like it was the hug he definitely didn’t need.

Wil would kill him when he was finished, but Tommy was beyond caring as his anger fueled his trudge through the wharf district. Featureless warehouses rose on either side of him, stacked in neat rows and lined by graffitied shipping containers. He’d almost snuck out with Tubbo last summer with illegally obtained spray paint (stupid age laws) to mark their own place in the city, but Sam had found the spray paint and confiscated it before they could put their plan in action.

He thought about calling Tubbo, but didn’t want to have to try and explain the tears and why he was walking around by himself. Tubbo would probably tell him he was being stupid and that it wasn’t safe to be wandering alone. He had his knife though if any mugger thought he looked like a good target. His knife and enough built up anger to take down several people. Maybe he could find Tubbo so they could break into Techno’s stash of fireworks and light them off in the field just outside of town. Once Dad was better…yeah, that sounded good.

Wilbur noticed he was gone eventually. By the time his phone rang for the first time and then the following four more times he was a 10 minute walk away. The barrage of texts came shortly after.

wher r you?

Tommy

Tmmy where r u?

im coming to get you

im sorry

call me

call me

call me now

we can get ice cream

He shoved his phone into his pocket and glared at the road like it would swallow the cars. He didn’t have to worry about Wilbur finding him, he’d dug out the tracker in his shoes weeks ago but kept it in his school backpack so nobody would question it. Was it stupid? Maybe, but respect his fucking privacy please and no thank you.

There was no plan for his walking. He knew Wilbur would eventually find him or he’d hit a bus stop and take the bus home or something. The universe didn’t want to leave him alone it seemed as a car pulled up beside him. He had half a mind to keep walking but paused when he realized it wasn’t Wilbur inside.

Staring back at him, both looking very confused, were two men, probably the same age as Techno. He didn’t miss the swiss-army type knife hanging from the keychain or the tell-tale scars on the dark haired one that told him all he needed to know. These guys were in the same business everyone else he knew seemed to be in. It was easy to recognize the signs of mafia affiliation now, his family had taught him well since he found out.

The driver seemed the most worn of the two, shoulder length hair tied in a loose pony and a white headband. Clearly the muscle out of the two compared to the guy in the passenger seat, brown hair, not a scar to be seen on his face, and a pair of white sunglasses hanging on the collar of his shirt. He seemed like a prick, who brought sunglasses in the middle of winter to not wear them?

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Just wondering what you’re doing out here alone. It’s not safe by yourself with your dad,” the driver trailed off, eyes glancing towards the ground.

Fuck. These had to be high up guys or something, the fact that Dad was in the hospital wasn’t common knowledge among the ranks of The Syndicate. Of course that would be who he’d end up running into. They were probably going to tattle on him for storming off when he was supposed to be careful.

“And? Did Wilbur send you bitches out here to drag me back home? Well you can tell him to fuck off because I’m not talking to him,” he huffed, turning to continue his skulking.

“Let me guess, he’s in one of his moods again?” The passenger asked, rolling his eyes as a slight smile appeared on his face.

He snorted. “You could say that again.”

“Listen, Wilbur didn’t send us but I can’t on good conscious leave you alone out here. Hop in, we’ll drop you off at home or something.”

The funny thing about red flags is they’re awfully hard to see when your eyes are still red from previously shed tears. It seemed like a fine offer and it was better than continuing to trudge through the cold and ignore Wilbur’s texts and calls. If they were all in the same mafia that trumped being strangers.

He hopped into the back seat as the driver unlocked it for him.

“What are your names?” He asked, settling into the warmth of the interior.

“The pretty one is George,” the driver said as the passenger – George – squawked in annoyance. “I’m Sapnap.”

That name rang a bell, he had to have known these guys from somewhere. Probably overheard them or maybe met at a party. He looked down at his phone and saw several messages from Quackity on top of the ones from Wilbur that he connected it.

“You’re Quackity’s boyfriend!”

The car jerked as Sapnap hit the breaks in surprise. In the passenger seat, George laughed.

“We weren’t…uh…really dating. He didn’t tell you about what happened?” The car crept back up to the speed limit and Tommy was glad the wharf roads were pretty empty this time of day.

“No? Did you break his heart, because if you did I have a shovel and a gun and my brother Techno.” Quackity might sometimes be a wrong’un, like when he tried to shoot Ranboo (an action of which Tommy had not gotten to yell at him for even if he was sure Tubbo was giving him an earful for that), but that didn’t mean he deserved to get his heart broken by some guy with a  weird name like Sapnap.

“We got in a bit of an argument.”

“I’ll say,” George muttered, earning a glare from Sapnap that Tommy could see through the rearview mirror.

His phone rang again and he knew immediately that it was Tubbo. He was the only one whose calls and texts would go through when he had silenced all of his other notifications. While the timing was suspicious, they never called each other on actual phones (usually they used discord) unless it was an emergency.

He answered.

“What’s the matter, Tubs?” He asked.

It was not Tubbo’s voice that greeted him.

“Where are you Tommy? Wilbur’s freaking out,” Quackity said in his no nonsense voice. The one he used when the three of them were getting too much trouble than what he was paid to deal with.

“Tell Wilbur to fuck off and I’m literally getting a ride from your boyfriend, Sapnap” he crooned the last word, drawing it out and expecting to see Sapnap flush in the rearview mirror. Instead he only stiffened and glanced to George. Weird but alright.

“What?! Tommy get out now! That’s-” He didn’t get to hear the end of what Quackity was saying. The rush of wind from a window opening roaring in his ears and someone had grabbed his phone from his hand and Tommy watched as it sailed out the window.

He dove for the door, realizing too late that it was locked and no matter how many times he flicked the lock it wouldn’t open. The next bet was the windows but that wasn’t working either, the windows locked as well.

Panic rushed through his body as he tore his seatbelt off and went for the next best thing to jumping out the window, he dove at Sapnap. Clearly these were wrong’uns if they were going to toss his phone out the window…and they knew about Dad…oh fuck Tommy was screwed.

“George!” Sapnap snarled as Tommy tried to jerk the steering wheel. His dad could pay for property damage and hospital bills if needed. He knew deep down he needed to get out of this car. Immediately. More like needed to run the moment these guys showed up.

George tugged on his shirt, trying to yank him away from where he was grappling with Sapnap. Luckily for him, George lacked the same muscle mass that Sapnap had.

Unluckily for him, Sapnap still had control of both the gas, brake, and could more easily control the steering wheel as Tommy was sprawled partially over his shoulder and halfway in the back seat. This became a problem as he cranked the wheel to the left, sending Tommy tumbling into George.

He swung out blindly, George grunting as his fist contacted his chin. The car rapidly decelerated, Sapnap slammed on the brakes, throwing the car into park and suddenly it was a 2v1.

His lessons with Techno came to him on instinct and he understood now why Techno had him practicing the same moves repeatedly. Sprawled over the center console was not the ideal fighting stance. He needed a way to bring this into his favor and quickly. He twists and reaches for the car keys, hoping to get ahold of the little knife there and stop them from taking him further. They jangle against his fingertips and he grasps for a hold on them and then pulls, trying to brace himself with his feet at the same time. His other hand stays pressed against George’s face, muffled groans of annoyance mixed in with the shouts and grunts of the fight.

Sapnap seems to catch onto what he’s doing and his hand is grasped punishingly tight around Tommy’s forearm. He can get out of this, Techno taught him how to get out of this. He twisted his arm forcing Sapnap’s grip to shift and flicked open the knife at the same time. It’s not the most graceful slice he’s ever performed but at least it hit its intended mark, resistance and the sound of tearing cloth as Tommy managed to get a swipe on Sapnap.

The shout of pain was what Tommy needed for his great escape, the back doors were obviously child locked so the front doors were his best option. He held tight to the keychain, swiping out as he tried to scramble over George. His hand brushed the handle and suddenly there was a hand in his hair yanking him backwards.

“Hold him down!” Sapnap hissed and then George was pinning him down and Sapnap wrenched the keys from his hand. They fell to the floor with a jingle, his chance of escape crumbling with it. His hands were pressed to his chest, held in Sapnap’s calloused grip as George started rifling through the glove box.

“LET ME GO! HELP! ABSOLUTE FUCKERS LET ME GO!” He screamed, Sam’s early lessons echoing in his head. Bring attention to the situation, make it impossible for others to ignore you. Still, the alley that Sapnap seemed to have pulled off into was empty and in the brief glances he got as he fought there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Prime he was so fucked. If he made it out of this Dad wasn’t ever going to let him leave the house again.

“Can’t you just knock him out already!” George shouted, moments before Tommy swung one of his legs over to kick at George.

“I’m trying!”

“Ow! I thought you’d done this before!” George added, trying to grab ahold of Tommy’s legs but that was not something he was going to allow. He’d had enough practice play-fighting with his brothers to know how to keep moving. Especially when he could occasionally land a kick smack dab in George’s stupid face.

“Usually we have notice! And it’s not happening in a fucking car!”

“FUCK YOU! LET ME GO OR MY FAMILY’S GONNA KILL YOU!” He screeched, panic bubbling hot behind his eyes. He would not cry for the second time today. He could get out of this, even if his hands were pinned and he could only kick for so long. Already his muscles were growing tired as adrenaline sputtered out.

A cry of joy behind him was the only warning he got before something hard collided with the side of his head.

He blinked, the shock leaving him dazed but he still fought, despite the way he could feel his blood pumping at the collision site. He wasn’t so lucky the second time as the world pulled back like he was reversing in a tunnel and he slipped from consciousness.

Chapter Text

“Schlatt, you’re telling me that we shouldn’t be upset that you outbid us on the 18^th Ave project?” Techno asked, he’d already broken two of those little squishy stress toys and it wasn’t even lunch yet. How Phil did this every day at his old age, Techno didn’t know. Despite their uneasy alliance to take down the Dream Team that didn’t mean normal operations were ceased which left Manburg to still deal with and that meant Schlatt was still his asinine self. A few years ago, these sorts of spats wouldn’t be dealt with over phone calls, they’d be handled with attacks on their businesses or perhaps a police raid or two. Occasionally Techno would head out a beat up someone. They had more important things to worry about now, and couldn’t be fighting as clearly as they used to. Once their mutual threat was gone, they could go back to pushing at each other’s buttons for the foreseeable future…however troublesome that might be with Tubbo and Tommy being such close friends.

“We’ve had agreements about projects in this sectors for years. You tell Philza to keep his nose out of our business and we’ll keep ours out of yours. Or better yet, put him on the phone yourself.”

Techno winced, they hadn’t told Schlatt about Phil. The fewer people that knew the better. Still, every reminder of the fact that Techno was sitting in his chair at his desk was enough to send the anxiety twirling in his gut again. He was fine, he was a Craft, the Craft heir in fact.

“And as I’ve stated previously, Philza is currently unavailable so you get the pleasure of dealing with me-” Techno was interrupted by his cellphone ringing. A selfie that was mostly of Wilbur’s nose and nostrils than his face filled the screen. His brother had scoffed one day at the picture Techno had chosen for his contact and proceeded to steal the phone and ‘upgrade’ it. He hadn’t changed it since.

He almost ignored it, wanting to send a passive aggressive text that his brother needs to learn to solve his own problems or to just tell Tommy to knock it off, that it wasn’t the time but it also wasn’t the time to be ignoring surprise calls in the middle of the afternoon when his two brothers were off alone.

“-I’ve got to put you on hold, one sec.”

He swiped at the accept call button and was immediately met with Wilbur’s panicked breathing and what were clearly held back sobs on his brother’s end.

“Quack,” Wilbur could barely get the name out before his panting cut it off, “Quackity he said, he said they have Tommy. Dream does. Techno, Techno this is all my fault! Techno he can’t go through that, please. I need help, I don’t know what to do!”

When he got the call from Sam that Phil had been shot, he rationalized it to himself that the worst of the week was behind him. At that time he couldn’t even fathom the thought of Wilbur calling him, his brother’s tears and panic hitting him like the weapons he’d carried within easy reach since he was 16 and guarding Tommy with his life.

“What happened? Where are you?” Techno stood, grabbing his coat and keys, Schlatt sitting on hold already pushed far back in the rapid categorization of relevant knowledge to the situation. The thing he promised eight years ago that he’d protect Tommy from. He crossed his heart, found Phil’s gun, and imagined all the horrible things they could be doing and had done to Wilbur.

“We got in a fight,” Techno heard the sound of a starting engine and rapid acceleration. Prime, the last thing they needed was a car accident. “I left him to meet with the security officers and when I came back he was gone. Techno, I shouldn’t have done that! I was upset and thought picking a fight would fix things. It just made it so much worse!” His brother erupted in sobs once again, before blowing up in a fit of tearful road rage at a traffic light.

“Wil, breath. It won’t help if you get yourself killed now. How do you know Dream Team has him?”

Techno was surprised that he could actually hear Wilbur’s attempt to calm down, working through the exercises Techno had been taught to help him with if he ever needed help with an anxiety attack.

“Quackity called. I asked if Tubbo could get a hold of Tommy and Quackity did and then,” Wilbur’s breath hiccupped again, “he heard a fight. He warned Tommy to get out of the car and then… and…”

“Breath.”

“I am FUCKING breathing! I’d be breathing a lot fucking better if I knew where Tommy was and if this stupid light would turn green. There’s nobody fucking here!”

“What else do you know?” He asked, praying to Prime that he wasn’t going to find Wilbur and his car driven into a building as he hopped into his own, the engine purring to life. He sped out of their neighborhood, speed limits were for people whose brother’s weren’t missing.

“Nothing else happened! Quackity said he heard a fight and the call disconnected!”

“Where are you now?”

“Driving down 3^rd, I looked at his phone pings, the area seems to be the last place it pinged. What if I don’t find him? What if I’m already too late? I can’t let this be my fault, I can’t. Techno please, what if it’s my fault and we can’t find him and they have him for days. Dad’s not here to help, Techno what do I do? I can’t let it happen again!”

“It won’t, we’re going to find him. I made a promise and I’m not looking to break it.”

There was a pause, the screech of tires distant through phone static and a crash. Techno’s heart plummeted.

“Wilbur? Wil are you okay? What was that?”

“FUCK!” Techno was glad to hear his brother say something, but the swearing and subsequent sobbing was not easing his nerves.

“Wilbur what happened?”

“I hit a stupid telephone pole. I’m fine…” he devolved into more sobs. “How am I supposed to find him now? What am I going to do? Techno-”

“I’m coming. Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming and we’ll find him together.” He was going at least 20 over, but if any cop dared to stop him now they’d have his wrath to deal with.

Distantly someone asked if Wilbur was okay. Hopefully just a good Samaritan.

“Get the hell away from me!” he shrieked and Techno knew the muffled shuffle and click was Wilbur pulling out his gun. 

“Shit! I’m going I’m going!” The unfamiliar voice faded.

“What was that?”

“I can’t deal with them. Not now. I’m going to go find him.”

“No, you stay where you are. Stay on the phone with me. If it will make you feel better can you start alerting our friends? Get eyes on the road?”

“I…”

“Wilbur. I need you to do this. I’m driving. If I crash too then where are we gonna be? I need you to help us find him. The more people looking the better off we’ll be.”

“Okay. I can do that…okay.”

They stayed on the phone together, Techno’s mind already running through a million and one different scenarios. How was he supposed to tell Phil that the moment he left him in charge Tommy got kidnapped? His first mission, failed. Prime, they’d probably all be grounded the moment he got out of the hospital. Probably before then. He’d take being grounded for a year so long as Tommy was safe at home, in their arms and not the enemy’s. He woke up to Wilbur’s nightmares for years. He stood vigilant at his brother’s bedside when fear would overtake him and Wilbur needed a comforting presence to clutch to in the darkness of the night.

Wilbur’s mess wasn’t hard to miss on 3^rd. The front half of his car was folded around a telephone pole like a mangled mouth with a panicked Wilbur still talking into his phone beside it. Out of harm’s way. Techno ignored the sirens in the distance as he pulled his car behind the remains of Wilbur’s and pulled his brother into a hug.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get him back. They can’t have gotten far.”

“I thought the same thing…” His red eyes were detached, stinging tear tracks shining on his flushed cheeks. He recognized the signs of disassociation and grabbed his brother’s hand, vying for attention beyond the hellscape of his mind. It wasn’t going to be the same as it was. Techno had to make sure of that. His one responsibility. He was going to hold up this family if he needed to carry them the entire way.

“Hey, hey look at me.” Wilbur’s glassy eyes blinked hazily, but met Techno’s own none the less. “It’s not going to be the same. Doing the same thing twice and expecting the same result, right?”

“Definition of insanity,” Wilbur echoed, a well-oiled machine from Sam’s repetitive lessons.

“They were insane to mess with you, let’s show them just how stupid they were to try again.” He squeezed Wilbur’s thin hand, a gun still in the other. Something he didn’t bother trying to take away from him. A small security in the confusion.

He led Wilbur to his car, ignoring onlooker’s worried glances.

There was an order of operations to the madness that would follow. He’d keep Wilbur focused on him until he was back with the program, he’d call someone to deal with Wilbur’s car, he’d talk to his dad’s contacts, and he’d find Tommy. Maybe he’d call Sam somewhere in there too. It was going to be okay. It had to be.

They’d somehow let it happen again. A broken promise and Techno knew his heart would shatter with the thousand apologies he’d shower Tommy in if he saw him again. No. Not if. When he saw him again, alive and healthy. He was in charge this time and there would be no mercy. The only white flag he’d accept would be Dream’s stupid mask crushed under his foot. If they truly thought it wise to tempt the Syndicate again, Techno would show them once again what it meant to tempt the children of Death herself. There would be no waiting for a ransom. Techno would get his brother back and make sure he did the one job he’d been assigned to. He would keep his family safe. No matter the cost.

…

Tommy knew he was screwed from the moment he was conscious enough to be self-aware. Just because someone seems to be in the same mafia does not mean that they are. Also, he should not ignore Stranger Danger when upset. It wasn’t the best lesson to learn the hard way and he really fucking hoped it wasn’t going to be his last. He wasn’t dead yet, so he had that going for him at least. Techno always stressed the importance of getting rid of unnecessary weight when dealing with complicated situations. There was no point keeping someone alive if they had already served their use and needed to be dead.

He hadn’t managed to open his eyes yet, the thrum behind his temples pulsing painfully with every beat of his heart. However, he didn’t seem to be in the car anymore. There was no hum of an engine beneath him or the rush of nearby traffic. Plus, the ground didn’t feel like the seats of a car. It felt a lot like wood actually. He wasn’t tied to a chair thankfully. However, his arms were wrenched painfully back with handcuffs that jangled around his wrists and his shoulder was awkwardly digging into the floor at an angle that was sure to leave him stiff tomorrow. This wasn’t anything the great Tommy couldn’t handle. Sam had set up worse training exercises.

Peeling his eyes open didn’t reveal much. In fact it revealed little of anything as whatever room he was in seemed just as dark as his closed eyelids. He scowled, shifting his weight around to find the nearest wall. It was barely an inch behind him. With a struggle he sat up, swinging his legs in front of him to keep his balance better, only to realize in horror that he could touch the opposite wall with his knees bent.

Thoughts that had once been methodical as he ran down the mental checklist that he’d been run through so many times before fractured into disjointed panic. It was too small. Barely, he wrangled in a half-sputtered cry for help. Don’t let them know your weakness. Techno’s voice echoed in his head. It was right, he needed to calm down. If they knew…he didn’t want to think about what they might come up with if they knew. Wilbur had told him what could only be called vague details of his own kidnapping and the thought of them finding out about his claustrophobia and exploiting it left his heart splitting his chest in two.

A single shaky breath didn’t cure him of his fear, but it did afford him enough calm to recognize a dim sliver of light at the base of one of the four walls and it gave ever so slightly when he pushed at it. A door. Doors could be beat. He was likely in a closet of some sort.

He stood up with a wave of dizziness and sure enough, his head smacked into a horizontal rod before he reached his full height. He knew from experience that closets didn’t have the best construction. Their doors were weak and flimsy, not solid wood like many exterior ones. He could break through it if he needed to. Step one was going to be working on the handcuffs and then figuring out where the fuck he was.

“-thought we had some sort of kidnapping room.” A voice, distant, perhaps a room over shouted. The accent reminded him of George.

“A kidnapping room?” A second voice laughed. “You’ve been in this for how long again? Anything like that requires preparation, something we did not have!”

“How was I supposed to know we’d see him walking alone?”

“You don’t do a kidnapping on a whim!”

“You’re the one who said this would be a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’”

“Yeah, after you fawned over ‘how proud Dreamy-poo was going to be of you when you snatched Philza’s kid. It’s going to be a great surprise’!” The other voice, probably Sapnap if the other was George, said in a rather poor rendition of George’s accent. He drew out Dream’s name in some mockery of affection that left someone stomping away.

“Is it going to be good enough until Dream picks up his fucking phone?” George said with a huff, he seemed a little closer now, louder. Thankfully.

“Depends on how long he stays out. Kid’s got a hard head.”

“Well, I’m saying its good enough and since I’ve been doing this longer my vote counts more.”

Sapnap snorted, “I really don’t think sleeping during your dad’s business meetings counts but whatever you say, Gogy.”

“Whatever, just go find Dream. He’s still not answering his phone.”

“And he gets on my ass for not answering. I’ll be back soon. Have fun babysitting.”

 Tommy scoffed. He was not a baby, nor did he need a babysitter.

Somewhere a door thumped shut and the scuff of someone else flopping on a couch and a distant hum of voices. Probably a tv. If Sapnap was gone to get Dream that meant he just had to deal with George. He could do that. He didn’t have the same height as Wilbur, but muscle mass wise they seemed comparable. Tommy had managed to beat Wilbur more than once. There was a reason his brother focused on long range weapons.

Within a few minutes he’d managed to wiggle free of the handcuffs. It scraped the shit out of his hands but it was worth it. It was second nature to get them off. Sam used to time him when he was younger. Tommy always thought it was a fun game, nine-years-old and already an escape artist. Thinking on how that ended up as part of his childhood education was not the best mind-set to be in. Not when he knew Wilbur getting kidnapped was what set off his dad wanting to make sure they could all escape if necessary.

He stuffed the handcuffs in his pocket for future use, kept his eyes focused on the sliver of light to remind himself he was not going to be stuck in the closet forever and let his hands scope out the interior. It took him five minutes to ensure he’d covered every inch of the space. In the darkness he didn’t want to miss anything that could be useful for an escape or to function as a makeshift weapon. For all he knew wherever he was could be swarming with Dream Team goons. Giving time to prepare himself meant that Sapnap got further away. He couldn’t spend too much time though, he didn’t want to give him a chance to get Dream and bring reinforcements for whatever their plan with him was. In his search he found a quarter, a bunch of lint, and a misshapen hanger. The hanger wire was too thick for him to pick locks with, but it would probably hurt to get stabbed with the pokey end of the wire. He folded down the sides of the hanger and straightened out the hook. He had a perfectly good pointy stick now. It wasn’t quite a weapon, but he was a bit short on supplies in the closet. Not to mention his knife was gone.

Next up was the issue of the door. Unfortunately, they were not kind enough to leave the door unlocked for him. He hoped his brief jingling of the doorknob did not alert George of his escape intentions too early. If he had a hammer or something stronger than the flimsy piece of wire, he might try to get the hinges off. That left breaking down the door. It couldn’t be that hard…right? He sucked in a breath to harden his nerves and hopefully prevent his ankle from breaking as he braced himself against the back wall. He slammed his foot next to the doorknob like he’d seen on movies and felt the wood splinter under his heel. Alright, success. The blood rushing through his ears was almost enough to hide the sound of probably George shrieking in surprise. Tommy rammed his heel in a second time and splinters of light replaced their wooden counter parts. He was almost out, he’d be fine. He just needed to ignore the bubbling panic still in his chest and focus. One more kick and he shoved his way through, ignoring the wood scratching against his arms – the assholes took his favorite coat, what the fuck.

George stood a few feet in front of him, mouth agape and eyes dark behind the sunglasses that he was still wearing inside. Brief glances told him next to nothing about his surroundings other than it seemed like a lived-in apartment. The garbage can in the kitchen was overflowing with take out containers and there was a stack of pizza boxes and crushed soda cans adjacent to that. To his right was a couch and adjacent to that was a window. Perfect.

“Go back in the closet!” George shouted, a phone in his hands and a call clearly in progress. Well, that wasn’t great. Phone calls meant back up and he’d prefer to escape without having to fight Sapnap again. If only Quackity’s supposed rival mafia boyfriend could have been Karl. He seemed far easier to fight.

“Wow, homophobic much?” He grinned, watching as George spluttered, giving him several vital seconds to dash towards the kitchen. The kitchen meant weapons and even if he didn’t have his knife, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get a knife.

He dove behind the kitchen island, accidentally knocking a tower of half-eaten cereal boxes over in the process. They scattered on the floor and he began rapidly pulling open drawers and cabinets. No knives, but they did have a nice collection of pots and pans. He started chucking them blindly in the direction he’d last seen George.

“Fuck! Stop it!”

“No! Go fuck yourself!” There was a satisfying metallic clunk and a shout of pain as one of the pans made contact. Tommy peeked up over the island to see blood trailing down his temple and George fumbling with a gun in his other hand that wasn’t pressed against his head. He immediately ducked back down. Don’t bring a frying pan to a gun fight, that should be one of those phrases too. Sure, it was better than screeching and fists but not by much. Sure, that one guy from Tangled did some fucking poggers work with a frying pan, but they didn’t have to go up against an angry mafia man with a gun.

He gripped the cast iron steel, sucking in a steadying breath. He couldn’t die now. Heavy footsteps approached, ones that reminded him of Wilbur in one of his moods and stomping around the house like even the worms 10 feet under the ground needed to know. Tommy crawled along the floor, dragging the pan with him. George snarled as they remained parallel. The kitchen island serving as Tommy’s barrier.

“This doesn’t have to be that hard, okay? This could be really easy if you just stayed put!”

“Fuck off!” He shouted, snagging one of the pizza boxes and flinging it like a frisbee at George. Thus began a game of echoing each other’s movements. George jumping to the right and Tommy scrambling left. This went on for several iterations before he changed the grip on his gun and Tommy knew he needed to move. If he didn’t, he was going to get shot. Techno taught him that. With a screech rivaling the baboons at the zoo, he shot himself over the kitchen island and brought his frying pan down hard on George’s head. For a moment, Tommy feared that it wasn’t going to be enough. Yet, George’s dark eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the ground. The next fear was that he was dead, but Dad told him it was okay to kill anyone who tried to hurt him and kidnapping and pointing a gun seemed to fit that description. However, George’s chest still rose and if Tommy sighed with relief, nobody saw.

He exchanged the now bloody frying pan for George’s gun, feeling the warmth of George’s handprint get sucked away by the cold metal. Next was the phone that slid across the floor, the call to ‘Napsap” ended and a corner of the screen cracked. It still seemed functional, thank Prime. In one final sweep of George’s unconscious body, Tommy snagged his funky sunglasses. If he was gonna break out of the Dream Team’s tower, he was at least going to do it in style.

He pressed George’s finger to the fingerprint scanner, cursed when he used the wrong one and tried several more fingers. For some fucking reason George used his middle finger to open his phone. What a prick. That was tory shit right there. Either that or Tommy was simply incapable of getting an unconscious man’s fingers to sit right, but he preferred the first answer.

The screen unlocked and Tommy didn’t waste a second before he was dialing Techno’s number, muscle memory having it typed in and hitting the call button before he even registered what he was doing.

“Techno?”

“Who is this - wait Tommy?” He said, their voices overlapping each other. Yet, anger that Tommy could sense through the call quickly turned to concern and delight (?) as Techno registered his own brother’s voice.

“Hey Big T, could uh, use some help not gonna lie.”

“Are you okay? Where are you? Are you alone?”

“I mean, I’m 98% sure that this George guy is unconscious. I pulled a whole Flynn Rider and whacked him with a frying pan I found but now I don’t know where I am and I stole his phone and his stupid sunglasses.” He walked from one end of the apartment to the other, looking in boxes and cabinets for supplies. The only thing he found of any use was a metric shit load of instant ramen and a bunch of old computers. Plus, a stupid smiley face mask. The Dream Team really needs to get some better branding. It seemed like a good enough souvenir to prove that he got out of kidnapping and survived.

“Okay, okay. We can work with this. Can you give me anything information wise to work with? Because ‘I don’t know where I am’ is not very helpful when trying to find you!”

“Uh, a tower, somewhere in the city. I can see the library, I think?” He wandered to the window and grey skies stared back at him. The library was definitely in the distance, the glass roof shining like a beacon.

Tommy scowled, looking for other landmarks but nothing really stood out to him. “There’s like a McDonalds a street over too, can we get a McFlurry after this? Because I’m hungry and Wilbur was supposed to get me lunch and getting kidnapped has really messed that up. Also I think I have a concussion because this guy Sapnap hit my head really hard when I was trying to stab him.”

“I’ll figure it out, we’ll be there soon okay? Stay on the phone with me.”

 “Okay…how’s Wilbur?” Tommy hated the way his voice cracked. He wanted Wilbur to be there, just next to Techno so Tommy could profess his apologies because if he was going to die he didn’t want Wilbur to hate him forever.

“He’s okay. He’s safe and with Niki. They’re calling people in. I’m going to find you okay. I promise.” Techno’s voice sounded so sure that Tommy nearly believed him. No. No. He had to believe that his brother would find him and get him home safe so he could hug Dad one more time and listen to Wilbur play his guitar and crash at Techno’s apartment and bug Sam to take him to meet up with Tubbo…to see Tubbo and Ranboo again. He was the Godfather of Michael after all. He had a duty to fulfill and best friends to spend the summer months with. Months where they shouldn’t have to worry about Dream and if Ranboo would live to see the August meteor shower Tubbo wanted to take them camping to see.

“I’ll see if I can figure out how to tell you where I am.”

“Stay safe. Please. Remember what I taught you, your life is worth so much. If someone is going to hurt you, you know what to do. Please.”

His heart stuttered thinking of that moment of fear where he thought George might be dead but wasn’t. He couldn’t afford to think like that, not now. Not when there was so much on the line and he was so scared.

“I will. Great results can be achieved with small forces, right?” He laughed nervously, praying he remembered the line correctly.

“That’s my brother.”

…

Whoever decided that buildings should have this many floors needed to die. Tommy cursed their name as he fought a headache and the many many stairs. He wasn’t going to trust taking the elevator even though he’d found it. He’d seen how easily they could be rerouted if anyone caught wind of who was inside it (not to mention who might join him). George’s body had a keycard attached to his keychain that Tommy pocketed if he was faced with locked doors, but pressing his luck when his brain was already feeling like someone had hydraulic pressed it didn’t seem like a great idea. Even if he was Tommy Danger Kraken Craft and all of his ideas were great.

It seemed only half the building was occupied. Thank Prime it was a Saturday and the office floors he found while searching for his exit were empty. He paused at intersections in the stairway and held his ear to the door. Twice he heard voices and twice he carefully crept down another two floors before trying another door.

He wanted to keep talking to Techno, the empty halls more unsettling than the knowledge that he didn’t know if Techno was going to be able to find him. Or how Dad was going to react that he got kidnapped. He was already in the hospital, what if the shock of it just killed him? Tommy would have to live with the fact that he killed Dad on his conscious forever and then Wilbur would never forgive him.

Tommy rubbed at his eyes, it was just the bright light, and the concussion. He wasn’t crying. He was about to reenter the stairwell, having sufficiently cleared his vision when a sound from his pocket stopped him. The phone was ringing. Had Techno already figured out where he was?

It was not Techno’s number that filled the screen. Instead, a close up of someone’s chin that reminded Tommy of when Wilbur hadn’t shaved in a few days with the name ‘dweam’ beneath it. His breath caught in his throat. This was Dream, the Dream that ran this whole operation. Did he know that Tommy had escaped? Had he planned this whole thing? If he hadn’t known better, he would have choice words for what he did to Wilbur, but he knew that was his predecessor. What he did have to say was how he almost got his dad killed.

He slid the green check-mark across the screen.

“What was so important you left 15 different voicemails? Do you know how hard it is to get meetings with Mojang?”

It wasn’t often that Tommy was stunned into silence. He didn’t know.

“George?”

Fuck, should he just hang up? That was probably smarter than the insults that wanted to spill forth.

“Guess who, bitch.” Well there went the silence plan as he snarled into the phone. The picture he had on his own phone of Dad in the hospital, blearily awake and holding up a shaky thumbs-up after surgery came to mind. They may fight loudly and often, but that was his dad and no bastard in a stupid mask was going to take that from him.

“Wha- Who is this? Where is George? What did you do to him?” Tommy nearly yelped at how Dream’s voice lowered into that same threatening tone he’d heard Dad use on the phone with people who hadn’t paid back loans or kept up their ends of deals. He gripped onto the edge of a desk to steady himself.

“What he deserved for trying to kidnap me you stupid green dick face. I could have done way worse with how you tried to kill my dad! I was being merciful!”

There was a pause in the conversation, Tommy’s chest heaving as he got a chance to face the person that had caused so many of their troubles in the last few years. Or well, talk was the better verb here.

A distant grumble like he’d put down the phone and screamed into a pillow sounded on the phone. Moments later, Dream spoke again, voice curled and sharp like the twisted dagger he’d seen displayed in Techno’s room.

“Let me guess, Tommy, right?”

His breath caught at how terrified that sentence alone made him. He knew Dream knew who he was. Yet, the confirmation over a phone call…he wanted to leave and he wanted to leave now.

“Thought so. Listen here, my buddies may have acted without my knowledge on this, but I can promise you that you’re going to make things way worse for yourself with whatever plan you might have to get out of your new situation. Let me guess, you’re still, what, 30 floors up? 40? You stay put and let my friends come and find you without a fight and I might let you keep both of your eyes for whatever you’ve done to George. Got it?”

It didn’t seem possible for Tommy’s hear to beat any louder or faster, but with every word striking at a primal part of his will to live, it might just be loud enough for Techno to hear wherever he was. His grip around the phone slipping with the sweat on his palms.

Focus. Something that sounded like Techno chided. Spot the weakness. Wilbur’s advice swam through Dream’s own words.

“Why even bother if you’re so sure I can’t get out of here,” Tommy spat, his brief grasp of confidence enough to send him running out the door and down the stairwell again. “My brothers are coming and they’re going to rip you to shreds for even trying!”

He didn’t say that Techno didn’t know where he was. That was a problem to fix. That was a problem he could fix.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid.”

Tommy slammed open a door two floors down to find a room that seemed to be under some sort of construction. Desks and chairs were stacked against a wall and disassembled office dividers were piled up next to them. Tommy eyed a particularly pointy looking metal railing.

“I’m not a kid. If I was, I wouldn’t be telling you that I’m not stuck in here with your friends. They’re all stuck in here with me.”

He slammed the metal rod into a window and watched it shatter and then promptly hung up on Dream and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Quick work would save him here. They’d know where he was and where he had been now. Yet, this was going to give Techno an easy way to identify which of the many skyscrapers in SMP was holding Tommy.

Every whack of the rod on a window sent the vibrations through his arms and more than a few times his first hit or two didn’t do anything else but ricochet him to landing on his ass. If nobody saw then it didn’t happen. Tree falling in the forest and all that shit. He broke three windows before counting out three more, skipping those and frantically trying to break three more.

“Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. What does that mean?” Sam sat next to him, knocking the beats out on the table as they studied morse code together.

Tommy scowled at his cheat sheet as he found each of the letters. “S…O and then S? Right?”

Sam grinned and Tommy let out a victorious whoop. Looking at the entire alphabet looked overwhelming at first, but now he had two letters down and that only left 24 more to go.

“This is the most important word in morse code. SOS is the universal cry for help. You send that out and we’ll come help you, no matter what.”

The final window only partially broke but Tommy didn’t want to spend any more time on the same floor. He needed to move and needed to move quickly.

“Thought you were pretty smart, didn’t you?” A voice cooed from behind him.

Tommy froze, his clammy hands gripping tighter to the L shaped metal beam. It dug painfully into the soft flesh of his hands but he had more important things on his mind. Namely the scowling man in front of him, dark hair barely held back by the white headband.

“I got this far, didn’t I?” His gaze darted around the room, scanning for weapons. He had a gun…He swallowed hard, digging his feet into the dusty concrete.

“I’m gonna ask nicely once.”

“Good thing it takes someone asking at least three times for me to listen,” he grinned and jabbed the beam at Sapnap tauntingly. He took three flinching steps back, arms tensing in front of his face. That was what Tommy liked to see.

Wilbur once told him while he was hiding from a spider that had appeared in his room that it was more afraid of him than he was of it. That spider had been promptly named Shroud and lived a very long two weeks before it disappeared. Sapnap shuffling away proved that the same principle might apply. Tommy was a loose cannon, a hurricane just shy of landfall. While kidnapping him may have been easy, keeping him wasn’t going to be.

He spun the beam around like he saw Techno do when he trained with a staff. It felt super cool for the first two rotations, until the beam slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, mixing with the mess of glass and dust. Techno made everything look way easier than it was.

Tommy’s gaze darted from his previous weapon to Sapnap. He charged towards Tommy like a bull aiming for a matador’s red cloak. He prayed to Prime that his plan would work as he dropped down to the ground, wincing as glass shards dug slashes in his palms and felt Sapnap’s body connect and then stumble over him. Glass scraped against the concrete floor like nails on a chalkboard, a pained groan following. He wasted no time in grabbing the beam and running for the door. His hand connected with the doorknob as he heard Sapnap stumbling to his feet. He was out the door moments later.

He pulled hard on the door, pulling his full weight back and then slipped the beam behind the handle and across the doorframe. It wasn’t going to stop him for long. Already the beam shifted as Sapnap’s body collided with the door and yanked at the handle, but it was a distraction.

In what may have been his smartest move of the day, instead of going downstairs, Tommy turned-tail and sprinted up a floor. Sapnap would assume he’d go downstairs. Tommy would have preferred going downstairs. Downstairs was freedom. Upstairs was another 10 feet added to the freefall. He needed time though. Time to think, time to plan, and time to gather supplies. He’d only just broken the windows but maybe Techno had figured out where he was already.

Retreating to the office floor level he pilfered through desks and storage, stuffing pens, pencils, and paperclips into his pockets and hands. He played a similar prank on Wilbur once, dumping Wilbur’s collection of guitar picks on the floor and throwing a few pencils and loose sheets of paper. Wilbur nearly broke his neck when he got up and immediately slipped that morning, but it was worth it in Tommy’s mind for him eating all of his favorite cereal.

Now Tommy had watched Home Alone enough times in his life to know how to be an underdog and still win. Techno taught him how to murder someone with a pencil at 15. You just have to be sure to hit the artery. Wilbur added that he needed to remove his weapon or else he’d leave his enemy with a free plug.

Killing someone seemed like a lot to deal with for the day and his head was already hurting.

He needed something heavy, something with weight behind it that wasn’t just his own body. As much as he was a big man, he didn’t want to barrel head first into anything else with his concussion. Prime knows things could get worse. Digging through a cabinet he struck gold in the form of reams of A4 paper. Several of them.

He got to work with a roll of duct tape he found and stacked the reams together, creating a massive brick of paper. A rope was soon twisted out of it and the remainder of the duct tape roll shoved under his arm. It was useful. He’d learned from Tubbo that duct tape solved every problem.

Running back out into the hall he tied one end of his duct tape rope along the railing looking down on the staircase that led up to his floor. Below the repetitive banging and cursing of Sapnap throwing his weight against the wall echoed through the stairwell.

The new issue became the fact that there were new voices echoing now. Several. Along with the beating of footsteps. One called out Sapnap’s name as well as several more curse words. Fuck he needed to move and he needed to move now.

“Up there! I see him!” One called out.

Tommy took his chance and tossed his rough terrain down below. Paperclips, pencils, pens, and expo markers rained down from above. He couldn’t see much more than the shapes of his opponents, but he could hear one of them letting Sapnap out, the metal clattering with the stone floor. With the first slip, a painful oof following the thud of someone with far too much body mass for Tommy’s comfort hitting the ground several more quickly followed like dominos. He laughed as he caught sight of one of them toppling head over heels.

His last pre-planned trap was still held in his hands, waiting for its moment to swing down from the sky. He hoped that rope was long enough without the time to measure it. As the Dream Team goons scrambled to their feet, the sounds of several more slipping as they tried to make it up the stairs Tommy threw the paper bundle and held onto the connection point, praying his construction was strong enough.

The moment he heard the satisfying whack of 15 pounds of swinging weight impacted whoever was unlucky enough to be at the start of the stairs he bolted.

He took each step two at a time, his legs burning and head aching from all the noise but he threw his last few pencils and pens anyways. Sapnap screamed at him to surrender, but Tommy would raise no white flag now. Not when he was winning.

He didn’t have long, maybe 30 seconds before someone managed to get past his defenses but he took five of those seconds to check the gun. Only three bullets. It wasn’t going to be enough, not with how many sets of footsteps clamored on the stairwell. He needed to hide. Somewhere they couldn’t find him. His eyes caught on a vent and he grinned.

…

“Fuck it, Dream. I don’t know where he went. He could be anywhere by now!” Sapnap cursed into the phone. His ass hurt and he was still picking glass out of his arms and clothes. One of the guys he’d called to come help had oh so nicely pointed out that he was ‘glittery’. If he hadn’t been so focused on getting that stupid kid under control then he would have punched the asshole right there. They had a job to do and Sapnap could take out his aggression on the kid once they had him.

“You have the entire force at the tower at your disposal and you can’t find him?” Dream sounded mad. Like break every mug in the cabinet mad. Sapnap did not think it was possible for them to fuck up this badly. It started out so easy! The kid got in their car and they drove off. Then of course, there was the mention of Quackity and of course that didn’t go…well. George laughed his head off once Tommy was unconscious. Dream still didn’t know about that whole thing and if Sapnap had his way he never would. Some random nobody they hadn’t a gun to would get rid of everyone else with the evidence of his mistake and things would be fine. They’d get to be the rulers of SMP.

There was the issue of his parents too. If Dream had his way, everyone who would remain loyal to Schlatt or Philza would be disposed of. He knew his dads were loyal to a fault. Maybe they’d be smart enough to get out of town or swear their allegiance to their son. He didn’t have time for frivolous thoughts like family or Karl…his throat caught on that one. Dream was angry and he needed to make it right.

“I’ll be there in eight minutes. If that kid’s not at my feet with a gun to his head when I step through those doors you’re going to have more than just an angry Syndicate to deal with.”

“He’s in the vents. I don’t know where he went. We have no way to locate him.”

“He’s got George’s phone. Get someone on each floor and we’ll find him. The kid loves to talk.”

Dream hung up before Sapnap could. He already had his crew spread out and sweeping all the floors. They’d have to find him eventually.

So he called.

It rang and rang and rang…

“What do you want fuck face?” His voice echoed, still in the vents then. Or at least someplace similar.

He pulled the phone from his ear and texted out instructions to his colleagues. Top floor would shout out Alpha. Next floor down would shout Bravo. The next would shout Charlie and he would listen.

“Just wanted to offer you a chance of surrender,” he kept his voice down as he watched acknowledgements stream in.

“Surrender? Hah, you’re only offering that cause you know I’m winning. How’s your face?”

There, faintly, he could just make out someone shouting Romeo and Quebec. Got him.

Tommy also seemed to hear this as well, metal creaking around him as his breath caught in his throat. The call abruptly ended.

Sapnap ran to the floor, pushing past the man who had called Quebec. It wasn’t hard to find the utilities room, the vents running exposed next to wiring panels and janitorial supplies. Something stilled the moment the door open. It reminded him of when he walked into the apartment to see Dream watching some kid’s cartoon on Netflix and it was immediately turned off before he could clock what it was.

“I know you’re in here little raccoon.”

One breath, two…the metal shifted somewhere above him.

“You can come out now or I can start shooting and who knows what I’ll hit.” He pulled out his gun, not taking a chance again. Still, silence.

Every silent step he took was like the world held its breath with him.

He used to play hide and seek all the time. It was the moment before Dad would sneak up behind his hiding place and swoop him into his arms that was the tensest. That hallowed second between safety and capture when he was sure that the eyes had missed his hiding spot and satisfaction warmed in his belly at a job well done and another hunter successfully evaded when that glass bubble would break. It was thrilling. Only this time he was the hunter.

“I’m going to count to three. One…”

Another shift. He spun around, almost certain he’d narrowed it down to three possible panels.

“Two…”

A gun fired and Sapnap realized seconds too late that it wasn’t his.

He collapsed onto the ground, grunting as his knees gave out while pain blossomed in his hip. Fuck.

“I’ll kill you, kid.” He seethed through a grimace. His hands instinctively were already pushing on the wound. Further swears were lost in gasps of fire hot pain. His hands pulled back sticky with warm blood. His blood.

Someone dropped from the ceiling. George’s glasses rested on top of Tommy’s head, a smear of blood across his cheek. He looked every bit his father's son as he held Sapnap at gunpoint, arm shaking.

“Should have checked the ceiling tiles, asshole.”

Chapter Text

There were three things Tommy wanted more than anything as he heaved, leaning against the closet he’d just stuffed a now bound and injured Sapnap in. First, he wanted out of this primeforsaken building. Second, a strong painkiller to stop the pounding in his frontal lobe. Thirdly, he wanted an Oreo McFlurry. Maybe a hug too. A hug from someone who wasn’t trying to kill him sounded real nice, although Techno might just kill him for getting kidnapped in the first place. He’d burn that bridge once he got there.

With a groan he pushed himself up, ignoring the grunts of pain from Sapnap in the supply closet. The longer he stayed in one place just gave Dream’s other goons more time to find him and he only had two bullets left. He wasn’t that good of a shot to make two last. The fact that he was able to hit Sapnap in a presumed non-fatal spot was enough of a surprise in itself.

Back to the stairs he went, pausing every few steps to be sure the accompanying sound of footsteps were only the echoes of his own. He’d descended at least six stories before he hit his next issue: the stairs didn’t go all the way down. He reached the bottom, expecting to open the door and see a lobby or a parking garage and instead was met with a dining room. It was one of the few floors that seemed to actually be occupied in the past. Tables were set, a board with fancy cursive writing detailed the specials for the night which had that day’s date written on them. People were here. If people were here that meant there had to be another exit and it meant that there could be someone he could use as a hostage to get out of here. That was assuming Dream and his goons would care about kitchen staff.

His eyes skated over the restaurant and he pocketed a steak knife on one of the tables before his gaze landed on the bar. Shelves of alcohol reached towards the ceiling, a library ladder connected to tracks to reach the fancy bottles on the top shelf. Prime, he could probably buy a car with how much all of that shit probably cost. That just meant he was going to need to smash it before he left this floor and alcohol makes a great accelerant. A feral grin stretched across his face.

With the confidence of a drunk man singing karaoke, Tommy strode into the kitchen area, gun in hand. The kitchen staff, all working on preparing for that night’s guests stopped one-by-one, heads popping up from their tasks like gophers in a field. If any alert went out over Tommy’s presence in the tower, they seemed to have been told to ignore it. Dream’s confidence assuming he’d be caught before their dinner guests arrived for the evening. The high class of SMP unaware that their dining was funding the Dream Team. Or perhaps they were and chosen to align themselves with who they thought would come on top? In that case, they deserved to have their dinner reservations ruined.

“Gentlemen…and Ladies too! I’m going to need you to evacuate this establishment if you don’t want to die here, alright?” He leveled his gun straight forward, finger pressed securely to the side, he would not be killing any of these people today. Not by his hand. Especially wasting either of his two precious bullets.  

Screams and cries cut at his heart like the shattered glass he’d left on the floor but they all left. No heroes in sight. Tommy wouldn’t risk his life for whatever shit salary they were getting to wash dishes and chop weird looking vegetables for SMP’s elite. If it went to plan then he’d have the police and the fire department converging on his location soon enough. If the police asked before Techno could get involved, he was pretty sure he could avoid handcuffs by playing up the scared little kid who’d been kidnapped and was just trying to get home. He didn’t want to hurt anyone on purpose.

He did one last sweep of the floor, checking for any stragglers waiting to strike with their own steak knives and play hero. He only had to chase one out of the pantry and soon he had the restaurant to himself.

It was time to play with fire.

Fire always found its way back to Tommy. Wilbur shared the charm of a match from the moment his grubby fingers could grasp something so small. Techno took him to the woods and together they constructed fires from fallen branches and dried moss Tommy pilfered from the ground. Tubbo blew into his life like a firework on a short fuse. If Wilbur and Techno were the pulse of a continuous flame then Tubbo was the ignition, bright and and even more alluring for its brief existence. 

The stench of alcohol wafted up from the soaked table cloths he gathered. Shattered glass littered the floor in a multitude of colors. Whether it was $10 a shot or $200, it all burned the same.

Tubbo’s grin in the moments before he struck his own match to light off the fireworks on the school playground flickered through his mind as he flicked the ignition on the torch he found. Blue flame shot out like a viper and an unsaid prayer followed it, that he’d feel the warmth of his brother’s hugs again like the carefully controlled fire they were. 

Tommy Craft dropped the torch and ran. 

Heat burst behind him, so hot he worried that he caught his clothes on fire. A quick check revealed no need to stop, drop, and roll, only that he needed to keep running because Prime he did not expect the fire to spread that quick. 

The ceiling sprinklers erupted to life, dousing what they could of the fire. The fire alarm went off with them. He’d heard plenty of fire alarm’s in his life. Tubbo alone set off 90% of the fire alarms at school. Tommy was responsible for another 5% of them and the last 5% was the regularly scheduled fire drills. It didn’t help with how annoyingly loud the alarm was. At least at school the alarms didn’t go along with a localized downpour. Puddles already formed on the wooden floor, soaking his shoes as he ran from the fire still burning hot behind him. Even the sprinklers couldn’t smother the mess he made.

Every time he checked over his shoulder to ensure it hadn’t spread too far his eyes were caught just a little longer on the inferno. He blinked the sprinkler water where it dribbled down his forehead and into his eyes. It just burned. It licked at the carpet and hissed at the attempts to douse it. Even from the other side of the room and drenched he could feel the heat and smell the alcohol he’d used to light it.

It was the familiar static beep of a walkie-talkie that reminded him that he was still being hunted, no matter how alluring his creation was to watch in its destruction. There was nowhere to go behind him. Fire spread and beckoned but it did not bring safety. His only exit was the door in front of him, the main entrance back into the lobby and the door was swinging open.

The man’s eyes caught on Tommy – frozen in space, hand hovering over his gun like a promise – and then to the fire burning behind him. He scowled briefly before schooling his expression into something reminding Tommy of the guards Dad employed. There were at least two guns waiting on his belt, both pulled just above a dampening white sweatshirt. Blond hair and eyes like the devil, back to focusing on Tommy.

“Target in sight, engaging. Over.” He said lazily into his walkie-talkie before clipping it back on his belt. His confidence echoed Techno’s own, but it lacked the same assurance Tommy felt when seeing Techno at his most prepared. Techno knew risks and put up his front of confidence. This man seemed to see nothing but success, like Tommy wasn’t a threat. He hadn’t survived this long on sheer dumb luck. He was a Craft and the gun in his hand was as much a part of him as his father’s eyes.

The man pegged the gun in Tommy’s hand and one of his own was leveled in his direction between one blink and the next.

“This is only going to end one way, kid. Drop it, and we’ll minimize how much this has to hurt.” He took a step forward and Tommy, with the heat on his back, stayed firm. He could almost feel his dad’s instructions, adjusting his stance and the hold on his weapon. Techno’s words echoed like a warning bell. It’s them or you. Don’t hesitate, Theseus.

“Three…”

His heartbeat ricocheted like the sound of his gun firing and the accompanying sound of the other following. Tommy dove to the side, dashing forward realizing with dread that he’d missed. Fuck. One bullet left.

The fire burned behind the both of them, the man snarling in his direction, gun already pointed back at him. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He was fast, crazy fast, faster than Techno and Sam. He could barely keep him in sight long enough to aim a shot properly and he didn’t have the bullets to waste on a hope of predicting his next moves. They danced around each other, Tommy staying just out of reach and his assailant skittering around tables and corners, gun out and pointed at him.

Another shot, drywall sputtered inches from Tommy’s face as his feet stopped his momentum instinctually. A very manly screech left his throat, instantly backing up from where he’d almost been splattered against the wall. It felt like a warning shot, especially with how the second tore another hole just behind him. He was pinned like a butterfly on a board, the man stalking forward through the rain.

Tommy raised his own shaking hands, breath hitching in his throat. How had he ended up so close and now he had nowhere to run? A third shot, right above his head. He ducked and a hand clamped around his wrist and twisted. He knew this one, practiced it until it was as much a routine as snarking back at Wilbur’s comments. He twisted his arm, but the man countered. He flung his head back and grimaced when he heard the crack of a connection. Not the best for his already bad concussion but honestly could it get much worse at this point? It was enough of a stun that he twisted his whole body, grabbing ahold of the man’s own wrist and throwing his full body weight onto the elbow joint until he heard the snap.

The man howled between his swears and between one beat and the next, Tommy’s final bullet blossomed like a red poppy on the man’s white sweatshirt.

The world froze, Tommy’s own heart beating painfully in his chest as he watched the man’s own struggle and continue to pump blood out of a gaping wound. Each breath labored and wheezy, blood sputtering from his lips. He still moved, he still lived. Tommy was out of time, shots, and morals. Any pull that called on him to put pressure on the wound like Techno had taught him was countered with the sight of the knives on the man’s belt and the fire that licked closer like a promise. He ran.

He slammed the door behind him, narrowly avoiding another shot barreling through the walls and into the hallway that connected the elevator and stairwell landing. At least he found a way down. He left behind the fancy waiting area where the SMP’s elites would wait for their tables on velvet seats (now a soaking mess) and found the stairs. The elevator was once again tempting but he knew better. Hopefully his pursuers wouldn’t.

His footsteps echoed down the stairs like a heartbeat. Prime, he’d just killed someone. Sure, not dead yet. Still alive enough to aim a gun and try and take him down with him but he’d shot to kill and he did. That fire was moving despite the sprinkler’s best attempt to douse it and without medical attention that would be a fatal would. He’d done it without even thinking. Broken the man’s arm and used his final shot like a prayer. He couldn’t risk missing again, he had to do this.

Already his chest pushed against what felt like cinder blocks and the air didn’t seem as rejuvenating as it always had. He did not have time to panic. There was a stitch in his side and he momentarily paused, pressing his hand against it, hoping to chase it away, only for the pain to spike leaving him gasping further. His hand came away bloody. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He hadn’t even noticed getting injured, sure everything hurt but nothing was that bad. Was adrenaline just that much of a drug? There was a gash in his shirt, already blood sticky and warm holding the edges down to his skin. It didn’t seem to be deep but blood was still sluggishly leaving his body. Not great. He pressed a hand to it, pain blossoming and setting off firecrackers in his vision. He continued to stumble down the stairs, hand that was not being used as a diy tourniquet holding up his weight against the wall. He tried to keep his pace up, there was no telling if there was another enemy coming for him. He wished Techno would call back, just to let him know how far he is away. 

By some miracle, the phone rang in his pocket and he booked it into the next floor so he could talk without his voice echoing down the entire staircase. 

“Hello?” He asked, not even thinking before answering. If it was Techno things would be okay. He could give him all the signs that he left and learn how far his brother was away. If it was Dream again…well he’d cuss him out again. Rub it in his face how he killed one of his guys and shot Sapnap too. Let him know that he was surviving and single handedly taking on the Dream team mafia one member at a time. 

“Hello! We’ve been trying to reach you about your boiler’s extended warranty. Are you aware that boiler explo-”

Fuckin’ spam calls. He let his head drop against the wall, headache throbbing once again. Letting his eyes close for two seconds wasn’t going to kill him. There wasn’t anyone else on the floor and he’d given himself at least a couple floors of distance from his strategic pyromania. The fire alarms were not making his headache any better.

“You know, George has been dealing with those spam calls all week.”

Tommy’s eyes flew open, breath catching as fear took ahold of his throat and yanked, a terrified whimper escaping unintentionally as his body tensed.

In flashes of red and white stood the last person Tommy wanted to see. Prime, he’d prefer to see his math teacher over Dream. True to his reputation, he partially covered his face with a smiley mask. Only a single eye and the curve of a jaw and sneer visible. He looked like he’d just come from a party or at one of those fancy law firms where they have to wear a suit and tie every day. White button up partially undone and a green tie shoved in the pocket of his trousers. There was a gun on the other side and another held languidly in hand.

Fury burned alongside frozen fear at the sight of him, ready and set for a fight while Tommy was curled on the floor next to an empty gun. This man orchestrated Ranboo’s ordeal. He tried to kill them all. He killed tens of Syndicate members – he’d heard Techno and Dad discuss their bodies showing up in the river, smile’s cut into their chests. He tried to kill Dad. If he had a bullet he’d want nothing more than to put it between his stupid smiling face. He didn’t.

But Dream didn’t know that.

Fight replaced every urge to flee or freeze and the gun was in Tommy’s hand and pointed at Dream.

“Back off, or I’ll shoot!” He spat, trying to keep his hands steady while his head pounded with each flash of the lights.

Dream’s smile twisted further, curling into something that made Tommy’s heart sink down to his stomach. He stepped closer and Tommy scrambled back, trying to keep the empty gun level.

“Really? Will you now?”

A blow to the side of Tommy’s head sent him careening to the floor, gun skittering across the floor. He reached out to try and grasp it again but a boot came down hard on his hand and he involuntarily cried out, muscles seizing before another weight came down on his back. Pinning him to the floor, the metal of a gun pressing into the back of his skull.

“Here’s the thing,” Dream said next to his ear. Even without being able to see him, Tommy could tell he was still smiling. “You would have already fired if you had a bullet left.”

“I’ll kill you, they all will. They’re coming!” He said between winces as Dream shifted his weight, his chest aching with the pressure.

“Awe, isn’t that a sweet sentiment. You still believe that, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Who do you think I was dealing with earlier? Can’t kill a baby bear if the mama is still around.”

“No! That’s not true!”

“Then why haven’t they called you back? Little Thomas, all alone in enemy territory. If I was them, I wouldn’t let you off the phone.”

“Stop it!”

“Bedridden Dad was easy enough to take care of, you scramble enough people looking for you and nobody’s there to make sure surgery goes well. He had surgery today, didn’t he?”

Tommy didn’t want to think about how Dream knew that. It couldn’t be true, he’d know if Dad was dead and Dad couldn’t possibly be dead because there were a million and one things that Tommy needed to apologize for a jokes he needed to make sure he heard. Wilbur couldn’t be dead because he needed to talk to him again, couldn’t let their last interaction be what it was, even if Tommy was in the right. Techno couldn’t possibly die, Technoblade never dies. It was his brother’s favorite saying when they were kids and it couldn’t happen now! Not when he was so helpless to stop it. Not when he would have been the cause of it.

“You’re a liar!”

“Do I seem like I’m in a rush to you?”

Tears sprung into Tommy’s eyes and he bucked his body weight, trying to throw Dream off of him, uncaring of the gun he had pointed at his head. If he wanted him dead he’d already be dead. It was like fighting Techno, every movement compensated for no matter what way he pulled or shifted. What if he never got to spar with Techno again? What if his brother’s body was already sinking into the river? No. He couldn’t think about that, Dream had to be a liar.

With renewed vigor he managed to throw Dream off balance enough to get off of his stomach. He scrambled on hands and knees, trying to get his feet under him when an arm wrapped around his throat and he was pulled back into a chest, the gun pushing into his curls and Dream’s elbow tightening around his throat.

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass, do you know that?” He seethed while putting pressure on Tommy’s windpipe.

He kicked his feet out but his shoes were still wet and squeaked on the tile floor, unable to find purchase. Dream’s grip tightened and the gun dug further into his head.

“Walk.” The edge of Dream’s mask dug into his skin and he tried fighting for just a moment longer but finally gave up when he heard the safety disengage. He lost. For now at least. There was still hope, still that brief glimmer of hope that it wasn’t all for nothing. That his brothers would be there soon, that Tommy wasn’t some helpless screw up who doomed his family. He could pick his battles, he could still win the war.

Dream shoved him along and Tommy awkwardly followed, hunched and stuck in a headlock, arms useless to get the gun from Dream or any of the others Dream had on his person.

He led them down a single floor, emergency lights still flashing and smoke filling his nose. The fire seemed to be contained to the singular floor but that didn’t mean the stench of burning alcohol and carpet and potentially a body wasn’t wafting through the main stairwell.

Partway down the stairs Tommy dared to speak again, an idea forming in his concussion addled brain. Was it a good idea, probably not but one phrase came forth in his brain like a siren. In the midst of chaos there is also opportunity.

“If they’re dead, why haven’t you killed me? End this whole cursed bloodline.”

“I –“ Tommy didn’t wait for an answer, staring down the staircase in front of them and throwing all of his body weight forward.

Let it be known that Tommy did not recommend purposefully falling down the stairs. Especially when he already had a concussion and an injury – oh fuck he forgot about that, probably needed to see a doctor about that. Even more so when there was a loaded gun pointed at his head. Regardless of good or bad ideas, Tommy acted because his head hurt too much to think. Besides, danger was his fucking middle name.

Shouts of panic and surprise echoed down the stairwell as the two tumbled down a floor of stairs. If he was going to die the least he could do was bring Dream down with him and maybe break his neck. A brief moment of zero-gravity left his stomach swooping in free fall. Dream’s grip around his throat loosened with surprise, hands instinctually going to catch himself, the gun no longer pressing into his skull.

When he initially decided he was going to throw the two of them down the stairs, the hope was that he’d manage to just throw Dream over his shoulder and he would be safe at the top. It was a long shot considering the movement strained the slash on his side and he stuttered in pain halfway through. It was enough to get them moving though. Inertia and gravity did the rest.

Dream hit the ground a fraction of a second before Tommy did, his pained grunt the only warning he had in the whirl of colors that he would soon follow. If he didn’t have a concussion before, he definitely had one now. He bounced off Dream and slid into the far wall of the landing, the next staircase adjacent to him.

He blinked sparks from his vision, double images of the stairwell shifting like a wobbly boat before converging into one image. It gave him just enough time to see a very angry looking Dream three feet from him, his mask shattered into four distinct pieces and scattered around them.

They were both in their own respective piles of limbs at the stair landing. Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t see any misshapen appendages on Dream’s end. Thankfully, there were none on his end either. Or maybe there was and adrenaline was pumping too heavily in his system to feel that either.

Tommy stumbled to his feet while Dream’s hands floundered about the concrete. He caught sight of what Dream was looking for a split second before Dream did. His gun.

He scrambled like Bambi on ice, head spinning and limbs unable to follow the simplest of directions. He had a purpose though, get to that gun before Dream did. He dove for it in the corner, fingers wrapping around the barrel as another hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked. Dream would have it wrestled out of his hands before he could even try to take a shot. As he fell down, he did the one thing he could think of. He threw the gun over Dream’s head and watched it sail over the railing of the staircase, hit the far wall and plummet down however many stories they were up.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Dream snarled, finger nails digging into the flesh of his ankle. Oh right, he still had one very angry – but at least de-armed – rival mafia boss to deal with. Dream was on top of him, hands wrapped around his neck and squeezing. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He might have made it an even fistfight but it was still a fight.

His body sputtered and gasped as oxygen was cut off to an already screaming brain. Everything was spinning and his brain screamed at him but every swipe of his hands and kick of his legs did nothing to remove the way Dream had him pinned.

His vision swam, black dots obscuring the hostile green eyes that stared down at him.

His hand hit something in his flailing and something in his brain pinged that the jagged thing in his hand was a piece of the mask that Dream once wore before he broke it. His grip tightened on the sharp edges and blood was probably pooling in his hand. With the last of his energy and what was left of his tunnel vision, he swiped it across Dream’s face.

Instantly, air rushed back to his brain and he scrambled as fast as he could away from where Dream had retreated. Dream’s hand clutched his face and eye where blood already spilled down his cheek and chin, howling in pain and spitting curses like prayers.

Tommy ran, taking the steps four at a time and whipping around the corners. His stunt didn’t give him long. Dream was on his tail, and a stupid glance backwards told him he needed to move faster.

As he rounded another corner, he caught sight of Dream’s hands, reaching for him. His eye no longer covered but even in his brief glance the cut ran through his eyebrow and into his eye, blood pouring down his face from the serrated cut. Tommy ducked, trying to avoid the grasp and felt a body run into him and knock him down to the next landing but then the weight was gone. Further thumps and shouts and then silence.

He shakily stood, using the guard rail for support while his legs wanted to buckle beneath him. Two staircases down Dream laid in an unmoving lump. Tommy’s breath caught as his limbs froze as well.

Did he do it? He still needed to get past him to leave since the fire made the elevators unusable, but he also didn’t want Dream to be an awaiting snake, ready to snap out at his prey. Still, Dream wasn’t moving. He eased his way down the stairs, still clutching the shard of mask like the knife it was. Dream’s chest still rose and fell, but even a nudge of his foot didn’t stir him.

He was not going to let that opportunity pass. He finished the stairwell, at a still quick but safer pace since he wasn’t sure if his balance or body could take his earlier pace without someone chasing him.

The main lobby looked just like any other lobby of a big sky scraper. A main desk that had since bene abandoned. People fleeing the building and not even glancing at him, clutching computers and purses as they left. The fire alarm still flashed and rang but for once, nobody was coming for him. He made it.

…

“We got a lead, reports of broken windows from a skyscraper on Persson Street,” Wilbur said. He’d taken up the back seat of Techno’s car, simultaneously working on two phones and a computer. A telltale warble still echoed in Wilbur’s voice, but the direction brought him mostly out of his head.

Techno pulled them into a parking lot at one of their construction sites, security and a base of operations so they weren’t pointlessly driving around while he tried to direct their forces as needed. SMP was too big to cover thoroughly enough by car. It could be hours, days more likely to do the type of searching they needed to do. He’d seen it done once before.

Persson Street pings as something familiar, recent Dream Team activity near there. Remodeling work that they didn’t have control of. Phil had been meaning to look into it, figure out who they needed to talk to in order to get the new company under their control. Despite their alliance with Manburg, they weren’t keen on letting their control of the construction unions fall into other hands. One of their dealers had ventured out of his territory and towards Persson and was found in a dumpster behind a shoe store.

“Just got a picture, windows are being broken in sets of three. I think we found him!”

That’s my brother.

“Rerouting our teams there now,” Techno said, sending out a mass ping to their crews on the streets with one hand and on the other restarted the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Police?”

“Yes, call Tina, she’s got teams on our payroll. If this is their base of operations let’s see how many rats we can catch.”

In his rearview mirror, Wilbur’s feral grin flashed. It was time for some good old fashioned revenge.

…

“What do you mean it’s on fire!?” Wilbur screeched while Techno stayed focused on the road. He was tempted to call Tommy again but the fear of a ringtone giving away his brother’s position kept his fingers itching for the call button. Besides, he couldn’t help Tommy when he was stuck in traffic on 8^th Ave.

All the traffic lights within the city decided to host their own rave. If Techno had to hazard a guess then Dream Team knew they were onto them and were trying to get as much time as possible to evacuate.

“I don’t care what you do other than you get some damn ambulances and firetrucks there now or so help me I will give you the once in a lifetime opportunity to look at your own large intestine! And get somebody to fix these lights, my brother’s life is on the line here so act like it!”

“That’s a new threat,” Techno remarked between gritted teeth and horn honks.

“I would prefer to rip out Dream’s internal organs.”

“You’ll get your chance.”

“I better.”

Techno answered his own phone and grimaced.

“I don’t care if we miss a shipment, we have bigger priorities. Tell Mosbey to suck it up or else we’ll take our business elsewhere.”

Their escort arrived several minutes later, police cars barreling down the streets operated by what remained of their crows within the SMP precinct. Did they report it as a kidnapping, hostage, and terrorist situation? Yes. If they didn’t put a bullet through Dream’s head they’d put him away for long enough that his bones would rot.

They sped through the remains of the traffic mayhem Techno already had someone investigating. The skyscraper coming into view, smoke pouring out of a handful of windows and even more broken windows shattered higher up. Only then did he pick up the phone, praying he’d get an answer.

“Techno?” His brother’s voice, albeit raspy, nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“We’re coming, Theseus. Stay put, we’re coming.”

“Is that Tommy? Is he alright? Where is he?” Wilbur dove for the phone from the back seat and managed to grab it from Techno who was focused on not driving them into a telephone pole unlike someone.

“Tommy?” Wilbur panted, but Techno heard the telltale click into speaker phone.

“Wilby? You’re okay? What about Dad? Dream said,” Tommy panted, clearly close to his own tears, “Dream said he killed all of you. He – he said…”

“We’re not dead, Toms. Not even a scratch and we’re coming. We saw your signs. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know? I am bleeding, I think. Might have stopped by now. I’m outside, in the bushes.”

“You made it out?”

“Didn’t want to be inside after I lit the fuckin’ place on fire now did I?”

“Are you safe, Theseus? Are people looking for you?” Techno interrupted, he needed to be the voice of reason here, even if he only wanted to listen to Tommy’s voice for the rest of his life.

“I think I dealt with most of ‘em. I’m a Big Man like that. I see flashing lights though, is that you?”

“Yes, we’re coming. Squid’s going to get there first, let him look you over and answer his questions. He’s acting head until we get there. Don’t talk to anyone else, okay?”

“You got it, Big T.”

“I’m proud of you for not dying.”

“I love you too, Tech.”

…

“Tommy!”

They were like two asteroids pulled by more than just gravity towards each other, on a collision course in the parking lot. Wilbur buried Tommy in his arms, as though Tommy might disappear if he didn’t hold onto him tight enough. Wil’s hands ran over every curve of Tommy’s face, every bony joint and curl of his hair. Techno would have been able to pick out his brother from a million look-a-likes. Only his brother had that smile. Sure, it was marred by exhaustion and an alarming amount of blood but Techno was well practiced in recognizing people behind a layer of blood. It came with the family trade. It was still his Tommy, alive and breathing and the two most important people in the world to him were now safe under his gaze. It was the first easy breath he’d taken since getting Quackity’s phone call.

Techno hovered like a dragon protecting its horde, glaring at anyone who dared step within 10 feet of his brothers. That was until the hugs and cries of assurance that the other was as real as they felt were finished and Techno was unceremoniously tugged into the hug-pile by two hands. Conspirators, the both of them.

Twin heartbeats thumped in his grip, unequivocally alive. He hadn’t failed, not yet. He’d be able to face Phil again, able to look at his dad and tell him that he was okay, that they were all okay.

In his periphery, Dream was there but for once no longer a threat. Instead, his mask was gone, an ugly gash across his face and eye there instead. Techno watched in satisfaction while cops shoved him into the back of a police car, powerless for once. He couldn’t hurt them for now. Distantly, Techno recalled a similar face at the receiving end of Tommy’s golfcart incident. They could have been seconds away from another disaster. His stupid amazing brother got the first hit any of them had ever gotten on Dream and they didn’t even realize it at the time.

“Boys!” Sam’s voice pulled them all from their hug-pile, a very out of breath Sam running from a hastily parked car (Parked was a strong word for half the tires on the sidewalk and the door left open). Sam barreled through ignorant police officers that tried to stop him and had the three of them in his arms while another Syndicate member flashed credentials that had probably been forged and the police turned the other way. Back to processing the remnants of Dream Team members that were being escorted out of the no longer on fire building in handcuffs or stretchers.

“You boys are going to be the death of me one day. Your dad is in the middle of surgery and I get a call from Quackity of all people saying that Tommy’s been kidnapped? That he got into a car with a stranger? Did they offer you a puppy or something? That is the first rule of stranger danger, you stupid stupid child.” Sam had pried Tommy into his own arms, cursing into Tommy’s curls, tears in his eyes.

“Love you too, Sam.” Tommy’s voice muffled in Sam’s shirt, but the reciprocation was there all the same.

“I’m going to surgically implant your fucking tracker.” Wilbur said with a grimace and Techno wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Wilbur and his gangly arms snaked back around Tommy and Sam, further half-hearted threats mumbled.

“Yeah yeah, I know you love me too, Wil.”

“You know how cringe it is to get kidnapped, right?” Techno laughed, close enough to his family to see what breaths weren’t stifled in clothing and each other condense into clouds in the winter chill.

“Fuck off, Techno.” Wilbur’s ire turned to him briefly, but he would have taken it a hundred times over to see Tommy’s poorly hidden smile. 

“If I promise not to do it again, can we please leave? I don’t want to be here when Big Q finds out I shot his boyfriend.”

“You did what?” Quackity, always with the worst timing possible, appeared, shoving credentials in his pocket and tugging a coat on with the other hand.

“Eyy Big Q.” Tommy turned to him and Techno did not miss how he stepped behind Wilbur and Sam. Quackity wouldn’t hurt him, not with them all here but Quackity’s rage was a violent thing drawn in curses and threats. Never at Tommy. It was still something to be rightfully cautious of. “Could have used the warning that your boyfriend worked for Dream.”

Attention swiveled to Quackity, his face paled and hands twitching at the edges of his jacket.

“I – he isn’t my boyfriend!”

“Was this Sapnap or Karl?” Wilbur asked, pulling Tommy closer.

“Sapnap.”

“Got an explanation?” Techno asked, taking a step forward but a hand on his shoulder stopped any further threats as Sam tugged him back.

“I’ll handle this, you three get to the hospital. I’m sure Schlatt is going to want to hear all about this.”

Quackity swallowed but Techno paid no further attention. Instead, he brushed over every inch of exposed skin before hovering over Tommy’s side where a poorly patched cut was still leaking blood into the field bandages that Squid had applied to his brother’s side.

“Ow!” Tommy hissed when Techno’s prodding got too close.

“Come on, gremlin. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Do we have to tell Dad?”

“Yes,” Techno said.

“No,” Wilbur said at the same time.

“I like Wilbur’s answer better. What if he has a heart attack and dies?”

“He won’t because you’re safe now and will not be leaving any of our sights for the foreseeable future,” Techno said, ushering the three of them towards the awaiting ambulance they had reserved just for them. For how concussed his brother seemed to be, there were a surprising amount of injures and a burnt dead body found. He was never going to underestimate his little brother again.

“What about to use the bathroom? You’re all pervs.”

“Shush, child.” Wilbur tugged Tommy close, laughing to himself as EMTs took Tommy from their arms, but never too far. Techno still had his gun at his side if any of them decided to try anything.

Maybe, just maybe, he could finally breathe without the weight of his sibling’s lives weighing on his shoulders.

They did it.

Dream was arrested.

Tommy was safe.

Dad was Dad again.

Wilbur was alive.

There was still so much more to do, but for now, he could be Techno. He didn’t have to be the head of the Syndicate. He did what he promised himself he’d always do when Wilbur was kidnapped. He kept them safe, he helped take down Dream, and now he could be the brother he needed to be.

He was okay with that.

Chapter Text

Techno wasn’t one to normally watch his family sleep, it felt a little creepy if he was honest. Today had enough surprises and near heart attacks that he was willing to overlook said discomfort for the peace of mind it gave him to watch three chests rise and fall and two heart monitors keep their own steady beat. Of the four members of the Craft family all crammed into one hospital room, Techno was the only one awake. Mumza was flying back from South Africa. Funny how kidnappings are worth it to stop business and not assassination attempts.

Tommy barely stayed awake through intake while Dr. Ponk addressed the most pressing of wounds and kept up with Tommy’s concerning recollections of his kidnapping without losing his concentration. Eventually, Tommy ran out of stories and adrenaline, a concussion dragging him into sleep the moment his head hit a pillow. He was grateful the injuries were mostly superficial…nothing like the broken doll that was burned into his brain when he was able to visit Wilbur in the hospital years ago.

Wilbur…well Wilbur was doing better than expected but that didn’t say much. He was asleep, finally. He spent hours pacing and mumbling under his breath despite all of Techno’s urges for him to sit down and rest because they’d done all they could do and now they needed to just wait. Wilbur curled into the couch about an hour ago and Techno’s jacket found its way over his shoulders shortly after. It seemed even after all the gripes about them, the uncomfortable couches weren’t enough to stave off the exhaustion that came after several panic attacks.

Sam tried to get Wilbur to get at least looked over by a doctor when they arrived since he had been in a car accident earlier. One of the nurses commented how they should have come to the hospital much earlier, but Ponk sent her one look, and she didn’t say a word for the rest of the visit. There were more important things than a hospital check-up... and it was curled up on a hospital bed.

Phil, on the other hand, still scared Techno to look at. While he appeared much better in sleep, there was still the furrow to his brow and the lines feeding into his arms and the hospital gown showing off an old bullet wound in his arm and nurses coming in every few hours to check on how the last of the surgeries went. Techno couldn’t remember all the details of every surgery and procedure needed. All he could remember was that Philza – his dad – was lucky to be alive with how many organs it hit. Turns out years of ingrained instincts had him moving just fast enough to keep it from hitting his heart.

There had been a moment on the ride to the hospital where Tommy began babbling nearly incoherently about making sure that Dad was okay. It took a call to Sam who’d been sitting in the hospital room the entire time since Phil was out of surgery to assure him. It did put Techno at ease as well although he wouldn’t mention it. Another part of him didn’t want to think about how maybe Tommy’s kidnapping saved their father’s life.

For the moment everything was calm. Techno had done his duty. As much as the high of panic pulled at his own exhaustion, he would not allow himself to sleep. Not until Sam was back from dealing with the remnants of the Dream Team as they were discharged from the hospital across town. He would not let the Craft family be slaughtered while they recovered. He would stand sentinel as he promised.

“T’chno? What are you doing here?” Phil’s groggy voice pulled Techno from his staring contest with the door.

He took a deep breath before he answered. Conflicting emotions pulled him between several gut reactions. Tears of joy. Tears of anger. Passiveness. Sarcasm. None seemed quite appropriate for the mangled mess that Techno hid deep within himself.

“Oh, you know, we all just really like hospitals. Wanted to see how that investment was doing,” he motioned to his brothers and waited for the freeze when Phil’s eyes passed over Tommy in the bed next to his. There was a pause, but it seemed more like he was trying to register exactly what he was seeing.

“Why is?” He paused again, brow furrowed between limp blond locks. “Why is Tommy here?”

“Tends to happen after getting kidnapped. Concussed to hell and back but Ponk says he’ll be fine. Wilbur on the other hand refused to be looked at even though he crashed the car. I could use your ‘fatherly insistence’ later to get him actually checked out. Older brother card only works so much.”

Phil spent the next fifteen seconds sputtering. Was it mean to drop all of this on Phil right after he woke up? Yes, probably. Techno’s anger had a funny way of showing itself. Was it fair to blame his own dad for getting shot? Probably not, but he was angry and the only other person to blame was in a hospital on the other side of the city, soon to be booked into the SMP jail. Prime show mercy on whatever poor sap Dream managed to find for a lawyer, they’d never find work in SMP after that if he didn’t take whatever offer The Syndicate would slip his way.

“Are you joking, mate?”

“Nope.” He settled back further into his uncomfortable hospital chair.

“What about Sam?”

“He’s making sure the Dream Team actually gets booked after they’re discharged from Lady Prime Hospital across town.”

It still didn’t feel real. Techno watched Dream get taken away in handcuffs. Witnessed others join him, saw Quackity’s boyfriend (probably ex-boyfriend by now, Schlatt needed to teach his crew how to do better background checks on their “friends”) get loaded into an ambulance. There would still be plenty of work to do after they were discharged, plenty to do before they were discharged as well. If their history with the Dream Team taught Techno anything it was that you couldn’t take them down in one night, no matter how bloody it was. They’d be dangerous in their time without a leader, but disorganized. They could wipe out what remained and take back their city. Maybe even push back into Kinoko.

“They were arrested?”

“Yep. Tommy lit their skyscraper on fire. Dream and his second in command were both arrested.”

There was still a look of disbelief taking over Phil’s face, rubbing at his eyes like it might make Techno’s words easier to hear and understand.

“I did what?” Tommy’s sleepy voice interrupted Phil’s processing time.

“Tommy! Are you okay? Techno told me what happened!” Phil exclaimed. He couldn’t get out of bed, but he tried to anyways before grunting in pain and settling back down. He chose instead to turn towards Tommy’s bed and reach a hand out. Even if their beds were too far apart to let their hands touch, the sentiment was there.

Phil’s look of relief was juxtaposed quite well with Tommy’s dawning look of horror.

“You told him? I thought we weren’t going to!”

“Mate, I was going to find out.” Phil shook his head with a laugh, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I’m sure Sam’s already got the lawyers involved but we can do this outside the law if you want to get your revenge. Accidents can happen.”

Techno couldn’t hide his snort.

“I’m fine, Dadza. You’re the one who got shot. I barely got shot. I did push that son of a bitch, Dream down the stairs. That was fun. Oh, and I locked Quackity’s fucking boyfriend in a closet. Also, I may have killed someone. Am I going to jail too? I really hope not because I’m going to look terrible in orange and how am I supposed to go to Ranboo’s birthday party if I’m in prison for murder. I’m too young to go to the slammer! Do I need a lawyer?” Tommy rambled and honestly, it was nice to hear him almost like his old self. Techno prayed that whatever trauma it was hiding would settle. It was only a few hours, but they still hadn’t gotten the full picture of whatever Tommy went through. His eyes drifted to Wilbur, still sleeping. His brother could sleep through a tornado.

“No, you’re not going to jail. They’d have to unground you first.” Phil grinned and Tommy’s jaw dropped.

“I get grounded for getting kidnapped? This is not fair! How was I supposed to prevent that? Can I ground you for getting fucking shot? I don’t think so! I want a lawyer! I want my trial!”

“Just wait until you hear how he got grabbed,” Techno offered, barely blinking at the death glare sent his way via his youngest brother. That glare was quickly switched out for a puffed-out chest and false bravado that Techno knew would be entertaining.

“Yeah! I took out like 20 guys, by myself. With my hands! Tommy Craft was too much for them, they had to bring in the big guns and I just couldn’t hold them all off anymore. If I had a gun, it would have been a fairer fight.”

From the look on Phil’s face, he didn’t believe it either.

“What about the part where-” Techno started only to be met with a thin hospital pillow to the face.

“I didn’t miss any parts. That was all that happened and then I broke out and saved the day and now we’ll never have to worry about the Dream Team again. So honestly, I think I shouldn’t be grounded at all or ever. I saved the whole family.”

“See, I remember hearing a different story where…” he scooted his chair a few inches to the left so Tommy couldn’t swipe at him. Besides, Tommy’s legs were tangled up in the blanket and he couldn’t reach Techno in time to stop him. “…he got into a stranger’s car. Cringe.”

Tommy froze. Techno grinned. Philza…was oddly silent, before his gaze turned to Tommy, eyes boring into him with a fury unseen in mortals.

“THOMAS CRAFT YOU ARE GROUNDED FOR THE NEXT YEAR…NO TWO YEARS! JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR MOTHER HEARS ABOUT THIS. GETTING INTO A STRANGER’S CAR?”

Tommy tried to interject but he barely got a squeak out.

“AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE TAUGHT YOU, AFTER WHAT YOU KNOW HAPPENED BEFORE. YOU STILL FAILED KIDNAPPING 101. DID THEY OFFER YOU CANDY? A PUPPY?

“No, but I thought they worked for you! And Wilbur was the one who left me alone! He abandoned the buddy system!”

“You boys are going to be the end of me I swear.” Phil clutched at his heart as the heart monitor picked up the pace and Tommy’s face paled.

“I told you Dadza was going to have a heart attack if we told him! Look at him! Techno un-tell him so he doesn’t die! I stopped Dream from killing him and what if I killed him. I’m okay! Tell your heart to be okay!”

“Tommy-” Techno started, realizing that perhaps the concussion was influencing Tommy just a little too much.

“No! Dadza’s going to die!”

“I’m not going to die, mate.”

“Why the fuck is there shouting?” Wilbur grumbled from underneath Techno’s jacket, pulling the fabric further over his face as he shifted, the cheap hospital couch’s plastic squeaking with the movement.

“Dadza is going to die!” Oh Prime, those were tears. Maybe the trauma of the past 16-ish hours were starting to show up in some fun ways. Techno did not handle tears well. Or most emotions well.

“I’m not!”

“He’s fine, Toms. Go back to sleeeeeeep.” Wilbur’s drowsiness dragged the words as he curled back under Techno’s coat.

“Tommy, mate. I promise I’m fine. We’re okay. You just scared me, that’s all.”

“You’re not going to have a heart attack and die because I got into a semi-stranger’s car and then got kidnapped?”

“Tommy, I got shot in the chest and didn’t die. It takes a lot more than that to kill me. Besides, I can’t die until your mother says I can. She’s the real one in charge.” Phil smiled and Tommy sniffled, tears wiped off onto the hospital bed sheets.

“Well, Mumza is on her way. She should land tomorrow,” Techno added before nudging Wilbur again who literally hissed at him. Prime, his family was weird.

“Mumza is coming? She wasn’t supposed to come until next month!”

“Well, that’s what happens when you get yourself kidnapped,” Techno drawled before pausing at the dawning realization on Tommy’s face. “No, that does not mean get yourself kidnapped again. I think that might actually kill Sam.”

Techno sank further back into the chair while Tommy babbled on and Phil listened intently, repeatedly assuring him that he was fine and that yes he personally knew every nurse that attended to him and the doctors and the surgeons and that they didn’t need to worry about the Dream Team coming to finish the job, no matter what Tommy’s anxieties seemed to think.

Fatigue pulled Techno down faster than he wanted to admit but there were two more pairs of eyes in the room now and Philza had a panic button that went right to Sam and Ponk. The days of uncertainty and panic, like Atlas holding the world on his shoulders could finally pass. He’d done his job. Maybe both of his brothers got hurt during it, but nobody died. He’d always assumed that the transition from heir apparent to the Syndicate to Boss of the Syndicate would be either sudden or transitional. Either Dad would be killed, and Techno would find himself thrust into the role and desperately try to pick up the pieces or Dad would slowly hand over the reins and be there to guide. The halfway limbo state of control Techno had with Dad in the hospital was not what he expected. It was so much harder than he expected to keep the façade up. Maybe he could rest now, curl up next to his siblings and watch a movie. Forget about the gun still tucked against his belt and breath. Unfortunately, there was still one more thing he needed to do.

“Now that you’re awake, can you please get someone to check on Wil. He crashed the car trying to find Tommy and has refused all medical treatment. Also, he threatened some civilian on the street so that might require some clean up.”

Phil sighed and Wilbur groaned, clearly plotting fratricide. Or maybe it was a concussion too.

“I’m taking away your license if you don’t let Ponk take a look at you, Wilbur.” Phil sat up, doing his best impression of a functioning father from in the hospital bed.

“Daaaaaad, I’m fine.” He groaned.

Philza raised a single eyebrow, “Can you tell me what day of the week it is?”

The silence was more telling than anything.

“Fine. But I’m not being admitted! Only a checkup, that’s it. No IV’s, no blood work.” He sunk into the couch; arms crossed over his chest as Techno’s jacket slid onto the floor.

“It’s because you did the drugs the other day, isn’t it?” Tommy asked, a grin that couldn’t be completely attributed to pain meds and a concussion breaking through the earlier worry.

“I DID NOT!”

“YOU”RE DOING DRUGS AGAIN?”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO DIE!”

Techno smiled and sank further into his seat again. Maybe they’d be okay.

…

Tom Nook should be in the mafia. Honestly, Tommy was pretty sure Tom Nook already ran a mafia with his raccoon nephews as his soldiers, because how come Tommy was a million bells in debt and why in the world would a stuffed bear be 1,800 bells! Nintendo was too scared to let Tom Nook be the mafioso he so clearly was meant to be. Animal Crossing had been a decent enough distraction from how mind-numbingly boring being stuck in a hospital was. At least until the screen of his switch gave him a headache. Worst part about having a concussion right there.

His attempts to manipulate the turnip stalk market were only producing marginal profits when shouts and the rapid pattering of feet had him perk up. Maybe some patient escaped from their room and was running around or something. Sam said the ward that he and Dad were in was pretty calm and used mostly for long term patients. Less of security risk that way. Still, the shouts only got louder and he was pretty sure Sam’s voice was one of the voices. That was odd...and concerning. Techno and Wilbur had left for the evening, the both of them trying to keep things running while Dad’s dinosaur body was fighting off the last of a minor infection.

Tommy scrambled out of bed, not taking much care to keep quiet even if Dad was asleep. Still, he held tight onto the connection to the heart monitor since the last time he jumped out of bed too quickly it disconnected and then he made a lot of people VERY panicked very quickly. He held his switch in both hands and stood in front of Dadza’s hospital bed, prepared to take down whoever might be coming. It would have been better had he got to keep his recovered knife, but Techno took it saying that he didn’t need to create another reason to be in the hospital and that knife tricks while concussed were great ways to lose fingers. His oldest brother always was such a buzz kill.

The sound of sneakers skidding on linoleum floor just outside his room left him tense and he prepared to war cry as his door opened and one very familiar face showed up.

“TOMMY YOU’RE NOT DEAD!” Tubbo shouted, running up to his best friend and nearly sending the both of them over the footboard of Philza’s bed.

“Hi Tubs,” he said, as his friend buried his head into his chest. Ranboo’s head popped into the room moments later with a wave.

“TOMMY INNIT I THOUGHT YOU DIED! WHICH IS NOT ALLOWED. NOT ALLOWED AT ALL IN FACT. IF YOU DIE I’M GOING TO WRITE IN YOUR OBITUARY THAT YOU WERE THE SMALLEST MAN EVER! AND THAT YOU GOT NO WIVES!”

Note to self, do not die before Tubbo because that humiliation would literally kill him a second time. He’d be double dead...if that is even possible. If it’s not he’d make it possible.

“What is going on here?” Philza’s sleepy voice interrupted the reunion before Tommy could respond. His Dad was fumbling for the light switch, and the nurse call button.

“Sorry for rushing in here, Mr. Craft.” Ranboo’s voice rushed to explain. “Sam was chasing us down because he said we weren’t allowed back here and Tubbo may have caused a small pile up with janitorial equipment so we probably don’t have long but we wanted to make sure you were...you know...alive. Both of you. There’s not a lot of information getting out so yeah. But we saw the arrests!” Ranboo explained with a sheepish smile. That did explain the noise he heard, and the shouting.

“Yep, it’s all poggers here. Fucking Dream team can’t take either of us down and now they’re all jail!”

“Oh, uhm, hello boys. How did you get here? I thought Schlatt had you both on lock down?”

“I stole the car,” Tubbo looked around Tommy to grin at Philza.

“That...makes a lot of sense. Well, I’m going to go back to sleep, assuming you aren’t trying to kill either of us?” Phil sighed before plopping back down on his pillow with a wince.

“Nope, no murdery plans here.”

“YOU BOYS, I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE LOBBY!” Sam growled, throwing the door open with a murderous expression.

“You should know by now that we do not listen to directions.” Tubbo said.

“I try to listen to directions, but I’m sort of stuck with him now and he does not listen to directions.” Ranboo added, stepping aside to allow Sam to enter the room.

Sam sighed, his head resting in his palm. Certified mafia nanny was not a job that contributed to a stress free lifestyle. Tommy should get Sam a vacation somewhere, that would be nice.

“Alright then, you’ve seen him. I told you he was fine and was resting, so out! And go apologize to the charge nurse with your allowance before she drags you out of here by your ears. Or if Quackity arrives.”

“You called Quackity?” Tubbo groaned (Philza groaned in response, pulling his blanket further over his head).

“I’ll call your father and tell him that you didn’t follow lockdown protocols, stole the car, ventured into the city on your own while we’re still cleaning up the rest of Dream’s goons, and caused a mess in the hospital if you don’t get out of here in the next 30 seconds.”

“Sam, you’re no fun.” Tommy groaned but squeezed Tubbo into a tight goodbye hug regardless.

“Sorry again, Sam. Glad to see you, hopefully you won’t be grounded forever, Tommy!” Ranboo said, waving goodbye as Sam ushered him out of the room.

“He’s going to be grounded for life,” Philza murmured from under his blanket cocoon.

Tommy and Tubbo groaned at the reminder before Tubbo too, was pulled out of the hospital room.

...

Techno wasn’t sure what was funnier, the absolutely horrified expressions of his parents (yes parents, Mumza having arrived last week), or Tommy’s play by play of his kidnapping. Perhaps at a party of Syndicate and Manburg leaders wasn’t the best place for it, but Schlatt seemed wholesomely entertained at least. Tubbo and Ranboo also seemed mildly impressed. It still didn’t sit right with Techno, having people who would have taken the easy shot for his head at the dinner table. Mumza’s rule of no guns at the dinner table applied to everyone though, and Techno held onto his steak knife on the off chance that whatever alliance had been formed lasted through the desert course.

“So, I busted out of the closet with my ninja skills-”

Wilbur snorted.

“And was face to face with George.”

Tommy recruited Sam to stand in for his dramatic showcase and was currently chasing him around the table with a plate (of which he claimed was actually a frying pan). Until eventually, Sam let himself get ‘taken out’ by said frying pan plate and played unconscious on the floor. Sam always was a good sport, especially when it came to Tommy’s antics. Or perhaps it was whatever Dad paid him. Techno had seen the financials before, it was substantial. Of course, mafia nanny was a highly specialized role.

Techno only mildly paid attention as his real attention went to Dadza who was now anxiously typing away on his phone and muttering something about how ‘we never booked a George into prison’. Wilbur on the other hand looked like he was trying to have a coherent thought, his nose wrinkled while his eyes searched the ceiling.

“So once I dealt with George it was time for Sapnap, since he’s your boyfriend…Or well was, sorry about that Big Q. Choose better boyfriends next time maybe. You can play Sapnap.”

“I did not agree to this,” Quackity grumbled, only for Schlatt to pat him a little too hard on the back.

“I’m still figuring out what to do about your little boyfriend fiasco and putting Tubbo in danger, so I’d get your sorry ass up there with Tommy if I were you,” Schlatt said with a smile that showed off too many teeth followed by a drink of his whiskey.

Quackity did not need further convincing.

“So I’d watched a ton of home alone, right? I made a wrecking ball out of stacks of paper and basically bowled down their henchmen. If anyone ever asks, stairs are the best weapon. I also made one guy trip on a bunch of Expo markers. OH I almost forgot about this big metal pipe I found, and I used Techno’s super cool spinny technique and totally took out like a hundred bad guys. It was totally cool.”

Tommy kept going on, Techno heard this story before. Somehow it always seemed to intensify. It was during Tommy’s Neo-esque pretend bullet dodging that Techno watched Wilbur slip near silent from the table. Between one bite and the next he was gone, all attention still on Tommy.

He waited until Tommy arrived on the retelling of his newfound pyromania before excusing himself to the bathroom.

It didn’t take long to find his brother, there were only so many hiding spots and Techno had found all of them in their years of hide-and-seek. Wil’s spot of choice that night was the roof. With how often his brothers were out on the roof it was a miracle neither of them had fallen off and broken their necks with how accident prone they were. Especially Tommy.

The night air blew in from Wilbur’s open window, the bitter feel of winter mixed in with the acrid taste of nicotine. He held back an exasperated sigh at the realization he’d have to sweep the house for Wil’s stash again.

“Go away, Tech,” Wilbur said with a turn, the moon reflecting off his glasses.

Techno froze. He thought he’d been pretty quiet, but maybe his brother was actually better than him at something. As unlikely as that was, a wry smile pulled at his lips, and he tucked himself just small enough to slide through the open window. He wasn’t lithe like his brothers, all broad shoulders and muscles, whereas they had gangly limbs and height to match. He made it work, contorting himself until he pulled his second leg through the window and plopped down on the roof with a huff. Two cigarette butts cooled on the shingles, poorly hidden behind Wilbur’s feet in a vain attempt at pretending like there wasn’t a lit cigarette burning away at his brother’s emotions.

“Unfortunately, I’m bound by brotherly contract to ask why you have abandoned me at a party. I feel like we might have switched roles here.” He mustered up as much of a laugh as he could, focus more pulled to the orange glow held between Wil’s calloused fingers.

Techno knew why. Or at least, he had a pretty good idea as to why. It wasn’t his place to bring it up though. Any time he tried to talk to Wil during the past week his brother shut down or suddenly had somewhere he needed to be. If Techno was in charge of keeping his brothers safe, then that meant from themselves too.

“Just needed a smoke.”

“Does Dad know you’re smoking again?” When they were kids, it was candy and treats hidden away for late night snacks or backyard deals with Tommy to get him to do Wilbur’s chores. Candy had morphed to cigarettes and the occasional packet of drugs before Dad forbade anyone from selling to Wil. It didn’t help when Wil just nicked it himself though. That’s where Techno came in, he was the only one keeping his stupid family alive. If it meant making it just a little harder for his brother to get his ‘fix’ then so be it. He’d stick to that first order until the day he died.

“Fuck off. Dad doesn’t need to know everything.” The bite to his tone stung more than the winter chill that cut through his dinner clothes like one of his knives.

“I could still tell him,” Techno pushed only to be met with a scowl. So joking wasn’t an option for this conversation. Good to know. Unfortunately, that was about the only way he knew how to deal with serious topics.

“I am not above fratricide. I will push you off this roof.”

“Ahh I see, you’ve lured me up here to make my murder seem an accident! How conniving.” That got a hint of a smile, lips tugging to the side before he turned away again, taking a long drag and blowing smoke up to the stars.

“On second thought, I’ll let you live today. I’m not feeling like becoming heir to The Syndicate.” Wilbur grumbled, but there was still a hint of a smile breaking through. He could fix this.

Techno was better with actions rather than words. He sat in silence, staring up at the stars while his brother finished his cigarette. When Wilbur reached inside his coat for the next one, Techno’s hand met him in the middle and pulled the pack out himself, setting it on the roof furthest from Wilbur.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Just trying my best to keep you alive.”

Wilbur mumbled something inaudible, and Techno’s heart sunk and what he thought might have been said. He scooched closer.

“It’s okay to not be over it.” He offered when the silence became too much for him (a feat in itself).

“I want to be over it.” He said to the stars, eyes closed and whispered like a prayer to Prime.

“Sam always said-”

“I don’t give a fuck about what Sam says or what my stupid therapist Dad makes me go to says. I want to be over it, and now every time I look at Tommy, I’m reminded of it, and I don’t want to not be able to look at my brother again.” He spat, his breath pooling in the air like a dragon’s smoke. Whether it be from cold or nicotine, Wilbur shook with each unsteady breath.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was.”

“No, it was a wannabe Teletubby bastard’s fault. Tommy is...” Techno hesitated, the proper word not quite coming to him for how to describe Tommy’s Tommyness. “Well, nothing you could have said would have stopped him from running off. He is the one that got in a stranger’s car. You didn’t tell him to do that. In fact, I’m pretty sure every single person in his life has told him explicitly not to do that.”

“I keep wondering how he’s just fine. He’s still Tommy. When I came back...”

“Wilbur, my stupid stupid brother, are you really comparing the three hours Tommy spent bashing his way through the Dream Team tower with what you went through? That’s like comparing brain surgery to a splinter. I’m not saying there isn’t some trauma stirring up in that big head of his, but we do not have a basis for comparison here.” He offered, scooching towards Wilbur only for him to scooch just as far.

“That is not what I meant!”

“I think this might just be a Wilbur-ism, unfortunately. I hear there’s no cure.” Techno shook his head, patting his brother’s shoulder in mock compassion.

“Oh fuck you.”

“YEAH FUCK YOU!”

Both older Craft boy’s heads spun around to see the shit-eating face of Tommy Craft, grinning as he leaned his weight against the window frame.

“How long have you been here!?” Wilbur screeched only for said screech to get cut off halfway with a cough.

Don’t smoke, kids.

Techno instinctively grabbed onto Wilbur’s arm just to make sure his coughing fit didn’t send him off the roof.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Tommy said before slamming the window closed and latching the lock.

“Same old Tommy.” Wilbur huffed.

“When the trauma finally hits you can tell him ‘I told you so’.”

“That’s presuming we don’t both break our necks getting down from the roof.”

“Sounds like a skill issue.” Techno stood up and held out a hand. Wilbur took it with one hand and flipped him off with the other.

Awkward didn’t quite describe showing up at your own front door in the middle of a dinner party that you had been at and then promptly disappeared from. It certainly felt like something as Techno knocked on the door and waited with his wet cat of a brother for someone to let them back in after they descended from the roof.

Sam, upon opening the door just sighed. He knew better than to ask questions.

Phil on the other hand did not, and halfway through asking where the two of them had gone, Techno met his gaze with a glare fierce enough to shake even their most experienced of members and Phil dropped it there.

If Tommy heard anything he didn’t say, but by the look he gave to Wilbur when his brother wasn’t looking said enough.

...

The grand re-opening of the Las Nevadas casino brought the entire city of SMP to its front doors. The social elite and those with a little extra cash to burn arrived dressed to impress in suits and evening gowns. Many of the new patrons already tipsy with the free-flowing champagne.

Tubbo had a new suit, tailored to his exact measurements in the weeks prior to the grand opening. He wasn’t sure why any of his eight million other suits weren’t perfectly fine to use for the event, but Dad insisted, and a couple thousand dollars wasn’t going to affect their bottom line much, even with an extra mouth to feed. Ranboo was also due for a suit, his first custom made one. Tubbo’s tailor nearly keeled over in shock the moment Ranboo stepped inside and Tubbo confirmed that he would also need a suit. Considering the tailor required a stool just to take his measurements, Tubbo was shocked that Ranboo was ever able to find something tall enough to fit him that wasn’t custom made.

Dad still wasn’t happy about having the son of the people who tried to get them all killed living in their house and acting as what was essentially an additional son. Considering that Dad was part of the reason that Ranboo was an orphan (again), he mostly kept his complaints limited to mumblings into his whiskey glass. Ranboo stayed with Bad for the first few weeks while a brief funeral was planned and the paperwork was forged, but he’d since moved into Tubbo’s room. None of them were particularly good at dealing with feelings, but a card for a therapist showed up under Tubbo’s door one morning.

It had been several months since the Christmas party, and Tubbo wasn’t really sure how long the whole mourning process was supposed to take but Ranboo seemed to be doing better. Tommy had even been ungrounded after his kidnapping and was able to play video games with the two of them again. It was almost like things were back to normal again. They went to school, hung out at the park or the library after, ignored their homework, played video games until someone yelled at one of them to go to sleep, ignored them, until finally someone passed out. Then they’d do it all again. Of course, a healthy dose of mafia related shenanigans found their way into their daily lives as well.

Tubbo found himself in his dad’s office at least once a week to go over the daily dealings of a mafia boss. Occasionally, Tubbo sat in on visits from those who would show up in their nicest attempt at a suit and ask his dad for help or come ‘pay their respects’. It was weird, and Dad always asked his opinion on if he should grant the requests or not. Schlatt seemed to be trying to up the ‘get my only heir in the know of how running a powerful mafia works’ game after Philza’s brush with death, much to Tubbo’s annoyance.

While having Ranboo around made everything more bearable, he didn’t have Quackity around as much to harass anymore. Supposedly, his contract only went until Tubbo turned 18, and if he could do that, Quackity would get to retire from his professional mafia nanny role, and get to run his whole casino. It felt a little bit like a betrayal to Tubbo, learning that Quackity was only being held down to him by a contract. Still, even with the preparations for the casino taking up most of his day, Quackity was never far away. Dad had tried for a while to find someone different to pick him and Ranboo up from school but they didn’t last long. Eventually, Sam just started dropping them off on their way home. To think that just a few years earlier, getting into Sam’s car would have been reason to shoot somebody.

Tubbo stood next to Ranboo in the audience adjacent to the main stage. There was a flute of champagne in his hand, but he hadn’t touched it yet that evening. Ranboo too, held onto a champagne flute, but from the very bottom, as though he didn’t know how to properly hold the glass. It was just another reminder of how new Ranboo was to all of this, and how unfair it was that he now had to be a part of this. Sure, they could let Ranboo move to Kinoko or another city, but then he’d be all alone. So Ranboo stayed, and continued to stick out at parties and hold his champagne glass by the bottom. He hoped the mafia life wouldn’t change his friend too much.

The jazz band on the stage finished up their last song in the set and the saxophone player approached the mic.

“Let’s hear it for, Quackity!” He motioned to the side of the stage where Quackity stood, crisp suit and burgundy vest and tie looking just as sharp as they had the day Tubbo went with him and Karl to pick it out.

The room erupted in drunken cheers and applause. Tubbo saw Karl on the other side of the stage, jump in the air, a wide smile on his face. How Quackity let Karl wear a bright purple and green neon tie was beyond him.

“Thank you! Thank you everyone for the grand re-opening of the Las Nevadas Resort and Casino! I truly never thought this day would come. Running this casino and seeing it prosper has been a dream of mine for years so I’m so grateful to have you all here to witness it. Now, I won’t take up anymore of your time so let's get gambling!” Quackity raised his own glass high to the chandeliered ceiling. The shine of the chandelier lighting caught each crystal glass like a hundred tiny disco balls as everyone cheered alongside him and split just as quickly.

Karl pulled Quackity off the stage once the majority of the crowd had taken up their seats at slot machines and poker tables, shoving his phone in front of the two of them to take a selfie.

Tubbo approached (Ranboo was not far behind, like a little lost duckling).

“So, was being a mafia nanny for...like 10 years worth it?” Tubbo looked up at Quackity with his patent-pending grin. One that had probably haunted his old nanny’s days for years.

“I’ll be honest, I think saving up to purchase this place outright would have been less work than trying to keep you all from getting killed.”

“What! Us? We were perfect angels.” Tubbo threw his arm around Ranboo (It only reached his mid torso), pulling his husband in close.

“Karl, now that you know about the whole...you know,” Quackity cleared his throat “I cannot wait to share the shit I had to put up with for this demon child.”

“Hey! I’m not a child anymore. I’m 18 now!”

“And thank Prime for that. You two go have some fun. I know Schlatt gave you cash to blow, and I prefer it all comes back to me. Think of it as reparations for all the times I had to clean up after your mess.”

“Fine fine, but Big Q, I think you might want to check out the poker table over there. I’m pretty sure Wilbur and Tommy are swindling that table.”

“Oh those shits! Hey!”

Quackity ran off, Karl trailing behind him as a blur of purple and soon Tommy’s cackles were echoing over the din of slot machines and jazz music. Tubbo would consider that a successful opening of a casino. Quackity had him to thank for it.

...

Tommy and Tubbo’s whoops and hollers could probably be heard for blocks down, even with the usual noises of downtown SMP. Spray paint cans clattered in their backpacks and the joy of graduation trailed behind as they ran through the back alleys and streets. Tommy leading the pack of boys on their own personal grad night party.

“Tommy, if you get shanked I’m going to tell everyone you tripped over your shoelaces and stabbed yourself and your memory will be forever tainted.” Ranboo yelled from behind him on the sidewalk, out of breath from chasing after his friends. By no means was SMP safe for a trio of rich kids (Or well, two rich kids and the one Tubbo basically made Schallt adopt). There were still the unaffiliated side gangs, random drunkards with too much liquid courage, and the occasional crazed druggie. They’d cleared out the last of the dream Team affiliates, or at least whcih ones were stupid enough to not disappear from the sight of The Syndicate or Manburg. Techno had been out many late nights and came back a few bullets lighter by morning.

“We basically run this city now, Ranboob! Besides! We’re adults!” He laughed, jumping onto a pile of boxes only for them to immediately collapse with him following close behind, tumbling into a heap of garbage and cardboard.

All three of them exploded with laughter.

“Well this seems as good a place as any to make our mark, am I right, men?” Tubbo asked, pulling his backpack over his shoulder and tossing it to Ranboo. He pulled out a can of blue spray paint. Ranboo fished out his own green paint. Tommy followed suit, after pushing himself off the ground and shaking away whatever dirt and dander accumulates in a back alley of SMP from his clothes.

They’d sketched out their design of choice over the past few free periods at school. Ranboo thought ditching their normal security measures wasn’t the smartest move, but Tommy had a gun now! An actual gun! With bullets! Dadza had presented it on his 18th birthday, a tradition he hadn’t known about until Dad pulled up photos on his phone of him posing with Techno holding a gun and Wilbur holding a gun. As exciting as it was, he didn’t particularly like carrying it, but he felt important with it, like he truly was a member of The Syndicate. Plus, they were out in the back alleys of a city at 1 in the morning, it was worth keeping some additional protection around.

The squeal of spray paint cans and bad jokes soon overpowered the distant thrum of ambulances and overly aggressive taxi drivers as their symbol came to life with all the grandeur and color they’d planned for it.

They were adults now. Sure, University loomed ahead but Tubbo and Tommy had both been initiated into the family businesses and Ranboo, ever the devout mafia wife, had taken a job as an assistant baker at Niki’s bakery. They had all been there when the agreement between Schlatt and Philza all but became official as they decided how to split the city up and how to keep each other in check with their new “official” partnership. Techno shook Tubbo’s hand because he was the future. They all were. Plus, Dadza was like a million years old and wanted to retire at some point before someone finally landed a fatal bullet.

Hours later, the boys stepped back to admire their work.

‘THE PARK TRIO’ decorated the brick wall next to a fire escape and a pile of smushed cardboard boxes.

They all laughed together, just as Tommy’s phone rang. Sam’s face lit up the three of their faces. Tommy accepted the call, knowing full well it’d be far worse if he didn’t.

“Thomas Craft, why the hell are you in the middle of the city at this time of night? You’re going to get yourself shanked!”

“HAH! That’s what I said!” Ranboo exclaimed.

“I see Ranboo’s there. Let me guess, Tubbo as well?”

“Hi Sam!”

“If you get home before three, I won’t tell, Phil.” Sam offered.

“See you then, big man!” Tommy hung up, the three of them bursting into further laughter. Some things never changed, even after graduation.

...

Somewhere in the Bahamas

George leaned back in his beach chair, margarita in one hand and cellphone in the other while the waves crashed on the beach.

“You have a call from SMP Prison, would you like to answer?”

“Sure,” He said, sipping his drink.

“George! Where the hell are you?” Dream’s voice exclaimed.

“Bahamas.” He said with a shrug, despite the fact that his incarcerated friend would not be able to see.”

“How the fuck did you get away?”

“Eh, I just left. Seemed to be going badly and I got hit in the head with a frying pan. Wasn’t super excited to stick around.”

“Well get back here, I need you to post my bail and then we can get plotting -”

George hung up, turned off his phone, and took a looooong drink before waving down one of the employees to ask for another. He’d go back to SMP one day, but for now he had some serious R & R to get to, Dream could wait. He had a margarita to get to.