Archive of Our Own ^beta

Death has never had much use for the souls that pass through Her gates. There is an underlying fondness, sure, as She sifts through their ended lives and marvels at the things some of them have achieved. She has never bothered to think too deeply about what exactly it meant for them to pass through Her gates. Death has studied mortality and the beings it claimed for eons, but She has never had a moment to experience life for Herself.

Until, one day, She sets foot in the mortal realm. She meets a man so kind, with eyes so blue and a laugh so contagious, She feels She may melt on the spot. He is so resilient, having survived for so long against so many odds. His name is Philza, and She quite likes him. 

And then, just as all things do, he dies. She meets him at Her gates and takes him into Her hands, holding him to peer at him through Her veil. He seems so sad to be here.

“I will never see you again, after this,” She tells him gently, feeling the way his soul wavers on the precipice of passing on. “I don’t think I’d like to lose you, my Angel.”

“I don’t want to go,” he answers, and tears slide down his cheeks. 

“Would you let me keep you?” She asks him, and he nods frantically. 

“Always,” he whispers. “I’m always yours.”

She tucks him under Her veil to rest Her giant forehead against his own, pulling him away to smile down into his face. His eyes are so bright now. Death steps over Her own procession, walking back toward the light of Life with Her Angel resting snuggly in Her palms. Large, black wings unfurl from his shoulder blades the moment She releases him from Her realm, and he turns back to stare at Her with wide eyes. 

“Stay alive, won’t you?” She teases. “I quite like looking at you.”

A blush dusts his cheeks, and then the border between Her realm and that of the living meshes shut once more. 

He will not see Her again directly for several hundred years, when She calls upon him to retrieve a soul from Her realm. He will break through the wispy curtains of smoke to greet Her with a kiss, and She will place the smallest baby in his hands. She’s shrunk down to meet him, but She still has to sit on the ground for him to reach. 

“This one is so bright, Angel,” She’ll say, vivid eyes sad as She brushes a thumb over the baby’s cheek. “He was so little. Would you take him? He deserves so much more than what he got.” 

Phil has never been one to deny his love, and he won’t do so now, either. He takes the little baby home, and he names him Tommy, and he raises his first son. He assumes this will be his only son, and eight years are devoted solely to him.

And then his wife will call on him again. There are two baby boys, this time. Twins. Piglin hybrids, barely a few hours old, that had been drowned in their mountain town’s well. 

“They’re so tiny,” Death whispers to him, angry tears in Her eyes as She cradles two waterlogged blankets to Her chest. “They’re so innocent, Angel, I can’t let them go. You have to take them, too. You have to give them what they were denied.”

He does exactly as is asked of him; he’d have done so even if She hadn’t asked. No one deserves the fate that had befallen his newest sons, and he will make sure they never have to live in fear again. 

-----

Tommy is a big man. This is a long-established fact, one that everyone knows because he’s just that cool. No one is a bigger man than he is, except maybe his dad, but that’s okay. Philza Minecraft is the bravest man Tommy has ever met.

So yes, Tommy is a big man, but he is not a big brother. He’s actually the youngest of his friend group, a few months behind Tubbo and Ranboo in age, and he likes it that way. He is the absolute biggest man, but he also likes that the adults baby him the most because he’s so young. He doesn’t want to give that up. 

But his dad has come home with two new brothers. Tiny babies that smell a lot like stinky water, and Tommy decides very quickly that he hates them. He doesn’t want to have to share his dad. 

“Tommy,” Phil says, sitting down on the couch with two bundles in his arms. One is yellow, the other is blue. “Toms, come meet your brothers.”

Tommy does not want to meet his brothers, thank you. He’s quite happy being an only child. 

“No thanks!” Tommy responds, turning back to his block truck and ramming it into the people he had set up in front of it. They were bad people, it’s fine. 

Phil heaves a big sigh, and when Tommy looks at him, he’s frowning. Tommy can’t tell if it’s fake or not.

“I supposed I’ll have to bring them back to Her, then,” Phil says, frown deepening. “She won’t be very happy about that.”

Tommy perks up then, truck forgotten as he moves to scramble onto the couch. “She gave them to you?”

“Of course She did, Toms,” his dad laughs, shaking his head. “She’s your mother, who else would give me your new brothers?”

Tommy shuffles closer, peering over his father’s shoulder at the bundles that lie still in his arms. Their faces are kind of covered by the blankets, so he reaches out -gently- and moves them as much as he can. Staring back at him are two matching sets of round, squishy cheeks, button noses, closed eyes, and it’s all nestled in twin heads of brown hair. 

He gasps softly, distaste for the prospect of brothers gone as a small hand comes from the blue bundle to grab ahold of one of his fingers. The baby boy’s face scrunches up, and his little mouth opens in a yawn, before brown eyes blink open to stare blearily at him. 

Phil knew, of course, that this would be what happened. His son has a fondness for tiny things, especially when they’re oddly cute in an unsettling sort of way. For example: the small slime man he’d met who tried to steal his shoelaces, or the countless spiders he’s tried to keep as pets. Phil knew that all it would take was getting him to look at them. 

“What are their names?” Tommy asks, clambering as far into Phil’s lap as he can get to try and hold the other baby’s hand, too. He makes a soft, delighted noise when the baby wrapped in yellow grasps his pinkie. “They’re so tiny.”

“They don’t have names just yet,” Phil answers. “I was thinking you could help me name them. Would you like to?”

“Oh! Oh! Yes, please! Can I really?” His voice is quiet, taking on the soft tone he saves only for things he’s deemed cute. He’d spoken to a cup like that, once.

Phil grins down at him, readjusting his hold on the babies in his lap to better accommodate his eldest son. The baby wrapped in yellow shifts a little, revealing pointed ears amongst wisps of brown hair, and he peels tiny eyes open with a soft noise. Tommy coos quietly at him, brushing his thumb along the baby’s cheek, and he laughs softly when the little thing sneezes. 

“I think Wilbur’s a good name, don’t you?” Phil asks, jostling the baby in blue just enough to indicate which one he’s referring to. The only difference in the babies, besides their blankets, is Wilbur’s hair is curlier, while the baby wrapped in yellow’s hair is more wavy.

“He looks like a Wilbur,” Tommy whispers, bopping Wilbur on his little button nose. He turns to look at the still-unnamed baby, smiling softly when his little eyes flutter closed. “I wanna call this one Technoblade.”

Phil blinks once. Twice. Several more times for good measure.

“You… you want to call him Technoblade?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why?”

Tommy doesn’t even spare him a glance, giggling under his breath when Wilbur attempts to put Tommy’s thumb in his mouth. “Didn’t ask you why you liked Wilbur, did I?”

“Fair,” Phil concedes, though he’s still staring bewildered into the mess of blond curls that’s climbed mostly on top of him. “We’re going to call him Techno for short, though.”

“Lame,” Tommy mutters, but he’s too enamored by his new brothers to care all that much. He continues to coo quietly at them, hanging over one of Phil’s arms to pet their hair and stroke their chubby cheeks. 

They sit in silence for a while, simply observing the new additions to their household, and Phil smiles.

“Do you still want to give them back to Her?” He asks quietly, biting down on a grin when Tommy whirls angrily on him.

“No!” The little boy hisses. “They’re my brothers. If She wants to see them so bad, She can come visit.”

That’d been what Phil was expecting, but he waits to allow himself to smile until Tommy has turned back to the babies. They were staying regardless of what Tommy wanted, but it still makes him happy that his son was so easily won over. 

This will be good.

-----

Their first word is Tommy. It- shouldn’t be as moving as it is, but Phil still cries. Just a little bit. 

Their first steps are to Tommy as well. Tiny hands stretching toward him, awkward little legs trying to find their footing as they stomp across the wooden floor in order to get to him. Small hands tangle in his sweater, and he holds tightly to their backs, and they smile up at him like he hung the very stars. In their eyes, he may as well have. 

He’s their favorite person. They walk with one hand in his, the other gripping their blanket. It doesn’t matter which twin it is, all that matters is that their big brother has them, and he never lets them go. He pulls them back up when they stumble, he sings them soft hymns and threads fingers through their hair. He is their everything, just as they are his. 

-----

“I don’t want glasses,” Wilbur whispers quietly, four years old and terrified as he cowers behind Tommy’s back. “I like my eyes.”

Tommy, twelve years old and counting, turns into a crouch and gathers his littlest brother into a hug. “They’re not going to take your eyes, silly,” he soothes, bumping their foreheads together gently. “They’re just going to help you see better. And you can take them off whenever you want.”

Wilbur still looks unsure, though, teary brown eyes meeting blue as his lower lip wobbles. “But I’m scared.”

“I wouldn’t ever let anything hurt you,” Tommy whispers back, voice as sincere as it will ever be.

“You promise?” Wilbur murmurs.

Tommy sticks out his pinkie, grinning around his braces when Wilbur slowly links his own pinkie with his. “‘Course I promise. Anything for you.”

Wilbur still looks unsure, though, peeking around Tommy’s shoulder at the kind woman who speaks softly with Phil. Tommy peers at her as well, then to where Techno is cowering behind Phil’s leg and shooting his brothers glances, and he gets an idea.

“How about this," he whispers, almost like it’s a secret, and Wilbur’s jaw drops. "I'll get them first."

“You need them, too?” He doesn’t, but that won’t stop him from making this as non-scary as possible. He doesn’t even know if non-scary is a word.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Tommy answers, and then he stands, takes Wilbur’s hand, and makes his way over to their father. “I’m gonna go first,” he announces.

“But, mate-” Phil begins, but then he takes a look at the twins, and his eyes light up with understanding. “That’s probably a good idea. You sure you’ll be alright in there by yourself?”

“Of course I will, I’m a big man.”

The doctor lady takes him into the back room, and she sits him down at the first machine. She seems a little confused throughout the entire process, and eventually, she sits him down to inform him that he doesn’t actually need glasses.

“Oh, I know,” Tommy tells her, grinning as he observes the frames with non-medicated lenses that line the table to his right. “My brothers are scared, though, so I wanted to show them it was okay.”

“I see, I see,” she agrees, laughing lightly as a smile blooms on her face. “You’re a good big brother.”

He already knew that, but his chest still warms at the praise.

“Which frames were you looking at, then? We really have to sell this.”

Tommy picks a round pair, so circular they’re almost comical, and he places them on his nose. They don’t really fit his face, but that’s okay. They’re not going to stay on for very long. He pushes the door open and smiles wide at the twins, bending down so they can poke at his glasses when they climb out of Phil’s lap.

“Do they hurt?” Techno asks quietly.

“Not at all,” Tommy answers, “it was so easy, I almost fell asleep!”

Techno’s jaw drops, but then he shuts his mouth with a determined nod. He takes one of Phil’s hands and turns expectantly to Wilbur, but the youngest brother still seems hesitant.

“You promise it didn’t hurt?” He mumbles, pinkie slowly rising between them. Tommy links their pinkies with a grin, bumping their foreheads together again.

“I swear it.”

After a moment, Wilbur unlinks their pinkies and takes Phil’s open hand, following their father into the backroom. He only looks back once as the door is closing, and Tommy counts that as a win. Tommy sits on the plastic waiting chair and fiddles with the glasses, bending their arms as far as they’ll go and then flinching when they almost break. He’ll have to return these before they leave. 

When the door opens nearly two hours later -and wow, was the wait boring- Techno is in the lead. He’s got rectangular frames perched on the bridge of his nose, and he peers at Tommy shyly. 

“I wanted to match with Dad,” he murmurs, and Tommy grins. He knew he recognized them somewhere, and that somewhere just so happens to be their father’s reading glasses.

Wilbur comes out next, a familiar pair of circular glasses displayed proudly on his face. He bounces over to Tommy and grabs the hand Techno isn’t holding, swinging it around. “We match! Since Techno wanted to match Dad, I’m gonna match you!”

“You both made great choices,” Tommy laughs, letting his brothers bump their foreheads against his. When he looks up, Phil is smiling proudly down at him. “Now we’re all like Dad.”

Phil buys the useless pair of glasses alongside the ones the twins need, and Tommy wears them happily as he walks hand-in-hand with his brothers back home. They spend the entire walk marveling at how far they can see, pointing at the leaves of trees and the bugs that float languidly through the air. 

Tommy has to make an effort to remember to put his on, especially since he doesn’t need them, but it’s worth it when he remembers how happy his brothers were.

-----

There’s a lump under Tommy’s covers. It’s downright trembling, whichever one of his brothers it is. Tommy blinks the sleep out of his eyes and fights the grogginess that the storm raging outside brings him, pushing himself up on his elbow and reaching over the lump under his blanket to flick the lamp on. The current rumble of thunder that dances overhead passes, and Tommy can make out the quiet sobbing of whichever twin is currently hiding in his bed.

He sits up against the headboard, stroking the back of the small hand that clings desperately to the front of his shirt in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. He peels the covers back enough to peer into frightened brown eyes, and he smiles as best he can despite the bone-deep exhaustion that lingers in his limbs. His fever has mostly passed, sure, but it’s got a few hooks in him yet.

“Hey, Techno,” Tommy murmurs, slipping the covers off of Techno’s head entirely and brushing a few strands of wavy hair behind his pointed ear. “You have a bad dream?”

Techno shakes his head, gasping when a bolt of lightning lights up the bedroom and ducking into Tommy’s side.

Ah. The storm, then.

“Hey, big man, it’s alright. The storm can’t get you in here.”

Techno refuses to remove himself from Tommy’s side, yellow blanket pinned between them as he clings to Tommy’s shirt. He whimpers again, and Tommy can feel tears beginning to leak through the thin material that covers his side. He angles himself to block the window, cupping the sides of Techno’s face and brushing at his cheeks until brown eyes finally meet blue.

“What’s wrong, hm? What’s got you so spooked?” Tommy whispers, catching a tear on his thumb and smiling gently. “You’re okay, buddy.”

“The lightning,” Techno whimpers, flinching once more and squeezing his eyes shut when another bolt flashes across the sky. 

Tommy has heard of brontophobia, Tubbo even has it, but never the fear of lightning. His brows furrow as he coaxes his brother’s eyes open again, the same smile still in place.

“Why’s the lightning bother you so much, big man? It can’t get inside.”

Techno sniffles and scrubs at one of his cheeks with his blanket, dark gaze flicking between Tommy’s face and the window behind him.

“Miss. Puffy taught us about- about what happens to pigs when they get struck by lightning,” Techno whispers, positively trembling as he goes back to clinging to Tommy’s shirt. “An- and I’m a piglin hybrid, right? So what if I get struck by lightning?”

Ah. That would explain it, then. Tommy vaguely remembers that class from when he was six. He’s fourteen now, though, so it’s a little fuzzy. 

Tommy coos quietly, wiping more tears and knocking their foreheads together gently. 

“What if I die?” His brother whispers, and Tommy’s heart breaks. 

“No, hey, you’re not gonna die. There’s like- a one in fifteen thousand chance you could get struck by lightning, and that would never happen,” Tommy soothes, pulling his brother against his chest when another bolt of lightning lights up the room. “Technoblade never dies, okay?”

“Technoblade never dies?” Techno whispers, peering up from where Tommy has tucked him against his chest.

“Technoblade never dies,” Tommy repeats, far more firmly than he had the first time. “He’s too tough for that.”

“I’m too tough for that,” Techno murmurs, sounding more sure of himself, too. “Technoblade never dies.”

“Exactly.”

The worst of the storm is passing, now. They’d been right in the center of it minutes before, lighting and thunder so close together Tommy could barely count a second between them. Now, the thunder is faint, and the lightning is farther away. He’s done his duty as the big brother.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Techno asks softly, already shuffling down to take over half of Tommy’s pillow.

“I would never kick you out,” he answers easily, and he resigns himself to having to share his bed. This still happens occasionally, once every few weeks at most, but he still refuses to kick either of his brothers out. 

He would never send them away when they need him.

-----

“You’re leaving?” Wilbur asks, mouth open in shock. Techno won’t even look at him, gaze pointed firmly at the floor as he fights the tears in his eyes. “Why’re you leaving?”

The twins are ten now, and Tommy is eighteen. He, Tubbo, and Ranboo are all going off to university. He wants to study film.

“I’m going to uni, Wil. I’ve already told you guys this.”

“But you didn’t say you were gonna leave,” Techno grumbles, kicking at an invisible piece of dirt on the floor. 

It breaks Tommy’s heart, just a little, to know that his brothers think he’s leaving them.

“Who says I’m leaving for good though, huh? I’m coming back,” Tommy argues, arms crossed over his chest. He really wishes they’d brought their concerns up to him before now; before Tubbo and Ranboo were waiting in the car outside. 

“But why do you have to leave at all?” Wilbur presses, arms crossed as he blinks back tears, too. “Why can’t you go to university from here?”

“That’s not how it works,” Tommy half-pleads. He’s running out of time. They needed to leave ten minutes ago to make it to orientation on time. It’s a good thing Tubbo doesn’t understand what a speed limit is. “But I promise I’ll come back.”

“I don’t want you stupid promise,” Techno sneers, throwing Tommy a glare that would be scathing if not for the tears in his eyes. “Just- just leave then, if you want to go so badly. See if we care.”

“Yeah!” Wilbur agrees vehemently, crossing his arms and standing tall beside his twin. “See if we care!”

Phil sighs from where he’s standing by the door. He’s tried explaining it, too, but the twins are stubborn. Piglin genes, and all that. He’s struggling in his own way, sure, with his baby bird leaving the nest, but Tommy is his own person. He can make his own decisions. 

“At least hug your brother goodbye,” Phil tells them softly, but Techno and Wilbur shake their heads.

“If Tommy wants to leave so bad, he can just go,” Wilbur states, and then he storms off in a flourish of flashing glasses and Tommy’s stolen hoodie. 

Techno, wearing a sweater that is equally as stolen, storms after his twin without a word. 

Tommy can admit that it hurts, but he knows they’re hurting, too. He would chase after them, but he really needs to leave. They’re already late.

“I’ll try and talk to them, Toms,” Phil soothes, pulling Tommy in for a final hug and helping him pull his bag over his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, mate. Call me when you get there, okay? I’ll see you in a week. I love you.”

“See you then,” Tommy agrees, throwing one final glance at the stairs before turning to the door. “Tell them I love em’ yeah? Love you, too.”

Phil follows him outside, standing on the porch as Tommy crams himself into the backseat of Tubbo’s car amongst two other bags. All three boys wave at Phil as they leave, calling goodbyes until the house is out of sight. 

When Tommy is settling into his dorm later, putting the bottom bunk together and throwing Tubbo his sheets for the top bunk while ignoring Ranboo and his boasting about getting the single bed -the tall bitch- his phone rings. It’s a familiar ringtone, one he recognizes distinctly from all the times Wilbur would call him while he was out late. He picks it up without hesitation, dumping the sheets he’d been holding and stepping into their shared bathroom when he hears sniffling coming through the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur cries quietly, “I should’ve said goodbye! I shouldn’t have been mean- what if you don’t come back? What if- what if you hate me now?”

“I don’t hate you, silly,” Tommy soothes quietly, leaning against the counter of the sink. “I could never hate you, you know that.”

“Do you hate me?” Techno’s voice filters through, equally choked with tears, and Tommy smiles despite himself.

“No, I don’t hate you, either. I love you both very much, okay? More than anything in the entire world.”

There’s more sniffling on the other side of the phone accompanied by a lot of shuffling before Wilbur speaks again. “You promise?”

“I do.”

There’s another pause, and then in a much softer voice, Wilbur whispers, “You can’t pinkie promise, though. You’re not here.”

He isn’t there; Wilbur isn’t wrong about that. How does he solve this? How does he- there it is. 

“How about this,” Tommy placates, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear to free up both of his hands. “I’ll pinkie promise myself that I don’t hate you, and you guys can pinkie promise each other that you don’t hate me. Does that work?”

“That works,” Techno mumbles after a moment, and Tommy can hear Wilbur's phone being set down. “When do we do it?”

“Well, my pinkies are already promising. I think you guys are just slow,” Tommy teases, and he laughs softly when both boys make offended noises and scramble to lock their pinkies together.

When the pinkie promise is locked in place, the twins ask him about how he’s doing. His knees hurt from being locked in one place for so long, but he stands in the bathroom for as long as it takes to tell them about his dorm and his campus, going over his teachers and his classes until they stop answering him. He rolls his eyes with a smile, pulling the phone away from his ear to text their dad and ask him to turn Wilbur’s phone off so it doesn’t die in the middle of the night.

“G’night, you two,” Tommy murmurs fondly, leaning his head against the wall with a grin. “Love you.”

They don’t say it back, but they don’t need to. He already knows.

-----

“Oh my god,” Wilbur whispers, fourteen years old and decked out in full Christmas gear. “Oh my fucking god.”

He sits in front of the tree, staring in awe at the guitar he’s just unwrapped. It’s the one Tommy saw him eyeing in the store nearly a month ago when he’d come home on break. Beside him, Techno stares down at a brand new set of fencing gear. His roots are starting to come back in, brown peeking in amongst a long pink braid.

“Same here,” Techno breathes, the lights on the tree reflecting in his glasses. Tommy spares a glance at Phil, cheeks growing warm at the proud smile Phil is sending him. 

“You got me this?” Wilbur asks him, turning wide brown eyes to Tommy as his face slowly spreads into a smile. “It was- Toms, it was so expensive! How did you afford this?”

The actual answer is he saved up all the money he’d made from his internship at the film studio, and he’d sold several of his prized, vintage records. The answer he gives is:

“I don’t know why you think I got that stuff. The sticker clearly said Santa got it for you.”

He’s twenty-two, and outside of his budding film career, his brothers are his entire life. There was no way he was going to let being tight on money be the reason he couldn’t give them what they wanted. 

Techno moves first, setting the fencing gear down delicately and moving to Tommy’s side, wrapping him in a hug. He tucks his face into Tommy’s shoulder, and though his glasses make it a little awkward, Tommy embraces him all the same. Wilbur takes Techno’s place the second he moves, squeezing Tommy so tightly he struggles to breathe.

“Alright, big man, no reason to suffocate me,” he teases gently, but he hugs him back just as tightly. “Let’s see what you guys got me, then.”

Tommy unwraps his gift painfully slowly, already aware that it’s a couple of records. The shape is kind of hard to disguise. His teasing smile drops, though, when he comes face to face with the exact records he’d sold to buy them their gifts. They’re not the exact same ones, no, but they’re the same songs. 

“We know you already have those ones,” Techno mutters, pink dusting his cheeks as he refuses to meet Tommy’s eyes, “but they have different sleeves.”

“We even found one that was signed by the artist,” Wilbur finishes lamely, looking a little ashamed. “The guy was selling them for super cheap; I don't think he knew what they were.”

Tommy isn’t going to cry. He’s not. 

“This is-” he mutters, but then he clears his throat and tries again. “This is so fucking cool, you guys. Thank you so much, honestly. This is exactly what I wanted.”

“We didn’t get Dad anything, though. Sorry, Dad,” Techno apologizes for all of them, flicking his gaze away.

“Don’t apologize, mate,” Phil soothes. “This is exactly what I wanted. All three of my boys in the same house, getting along. This is the perfect gift.”

-----

“Hey, mate,” Phil breathes through the phone, sounding exhausted. Tommy definitely does not weave through traffic at almost double the speed limit. “The doctors say Techno’s fine, it’s just a really bad strain on his hamstring. It’ll heal.”

That doesn’t stop Tommy from throwing his car in park and practically sprinting into the hospital, though.

“That’s good, I guess,” Tommy answers, giving the receptionist Techno’s name and then speed-walking to the stairs. The elevator seemed too crowded. “Do you think he’ll be healed up in time for the Olympics?”

Phil breathes a tired sigh, and Tommy feels his heart drop. Oh.

“I don’t think so, Toms. He’s really beating himself up about it.”

They can’t have that. That won’t do at all. Tommy spots Phil down the hall once he’s exited the stairwell, and he hangs up. He allows himself a soft laugh when Phil gives the phone an odd look, but his father’s face lights up at the sight of him. Phil pulls him in for a hug, patting him roughly on the back and keeping a hold on his shoulder when they part. 

“It’s good you’re here, mate,” Phil breathes, his smile tired. “Your brother’s terrified he’s disappointed you.”

“Why would I be disappointed in him?” Tommy asks, brows furrowing in confusion. He could never be disappointed, Techno should know that. 

“You’re the one that bought him his first set of gear,” his dad answers, “you’re his biggest supporter.”

Tommy shakes his head fondly; his smile sad. “I think Wilbur has me beat there, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Phil rolls his eyes and nods toward the door beside him, bumping Tommy in its direction. “Go talk to your brother, kid. He needs you more than anyone else right now.”

The door clicks when it opens, and the twins look up from whatever it is they were doing when Tommy steps inside. Wilbur explodes into a grin, launching himself from the bed and wrapping Tommy in a hug. His youngest brother is taller than him now. They’d been the same height not even a month ago. 

This is what happens when they get older, he supposes. Seventeen years old, the two of them. At least Techno is still shorter than he is, if only by a few centimeters. Techno refuses to look at him, and after a few words with Wilbur, Tommy is left alone with their injured brother.

“How’re you holdin’ up, big man?” Tommy asks gently, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “The other guy look worse than you do?”

“There is no other guy,” Techno mutters, gaze pinned to the sheets. “I pushed myself too hard, and I messed it up.”

Tommy knows how Techno handles failure- has known since he was barely six years old and having a panic attack because he couldn’t see the board and it was affecting his grades. He’ll do what he did then, too.

“Least it’s not permanent, yeah? And you know the problem, so you can fix it next time. Easy as that.”

Techno pins him with a fiery glare, hands fisted in the sheets. “What do you mean ‘easy as that’? I failed, Tommy. I messed everything up.”

“I mean, maybe you did this time,” Tommy answers easily, propping one of his legs on the chair beside the bed and resting his arms on it. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve messed everything up forever, does it? You can just go back next year.”

There are tears in Techno’s eyes now, and there is red climbing up his cheeks the way it always does when he’s trying not to cry. Tommy frowns, leaning around to catch his brother’s eye when Techno turns away again.

“Hey, what’s the problem, bud? The real problem. Don’t give me that bullshit about messing up again.” When Techno doesn’t answer, Tommy leans forward to bump his forehead against his temple before leaning back. “I know you, kid. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t…” Techno hesitates, and a tear slides down his cheek that he wipes away angrily. “I don’t want to fence anymore. I don’t want to go to the Olympics anymore. I’m sick of fighting all the time even if it’s fake.”

“Did you hurt yourself on purpose?” Tommy whispers, and Techno hiccups a soft sob.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” he whispers.

Tommy shuffles closer and pulls his younger brother into a hug, gripping tightly at his shoulders and tucking his face into pink hair. This isn’t what he’d been expecting, but that’s okay. 

“Then don’t keep doing it,” Tommy whispers back, brushing loose strands of pink hair behind a pointed ear. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“You’re not… you’re not mad?” Techno asks softly, leaning back to peer at him in surprise, and Tommy cracks his best smile. 

“Why would I be mad at you for doing what you want?”

Techno just shakes his head. He still doesn’t understand. “You bought me my first set of gear. You came to all my matches, even when they conflicted with your schedule. You- you gave up so much to see me get here.”

“And?” Tommy asks, smile growing soft even as he tries to make it teasing. “I’d give up a thousand more things just to see you happy. If you don’t want to fence anymore, you don’t have to fence anymore. Your future is yours, Techno. You don’t have to do anything just because you think I want you to.”

He pulls Techno back into the hug, smiling down at the pillow wistfully. Look at him go, being a decent older brother. He’s still got it, even after seventeen years.

“What do you want to do? If you even know, and it’s totally fine if you don’t.”

“I kind of want to be a writer,” Techno answers, glancing away as he grows shy. “Wilbur already knows, but I haven’t told Dad yet. Do you think he’ll be upset with me?”

Tommy laughs, cringing away from the mock-punch Techno tries to throw at his shoulder. “Kid, Dad has been reading your stories since you learned how to write. He’s not gonna care what you do as long as you’re happy.”

“You promise?” Techno asks, pinkie already raised, and Tommy links his own without hesitation.

“Promise.”

-----

His brothers get the best seats at the premiere of the first film he ever directs. They ambush him after it’s over, both taller than he is, and they take turns congratulating him in their own ways. Wilbur is loud, exclaiming to anyone who passes by that, ‘That was my brother’s movie!’ Techno is softer, more subdued with his support, but he’s elated all the same. Phil watches on from the side, a grin plastered on his face and pride in his eyes when Tommy glances his way.

They get dinner afterward, skipping the afterparty so the four of them can crowd around the too-small table of a dingy little diner that probably wouldn’t pass a health check. None of them care, though, too content to be united once again. 

Wilbur’s been busy with his fledgling band, searching for a label while he invokes his oldest brother’s name every chance he gets. Techno has been away at the most prestigious writer’s university, riding high on his scholarships and grants like there was no tomorrow. The schools had been fighting tooth and nail to get him amongst their students.

And Tommy has finally made his first movie. It’s a box office hit, and there are already companies blowing up his agent’s phone trying to get him to agree to direct their movie. 

They’re doing good. 

-----

Wilbur frets in front of the mirror, pulling at his tie and the collar of his suit while simultaneously ruining his hair. Tommy glances away from the meme he’d sent to his groupchat with Tubbo and Ranboo, rolling his eyes and pushing himself up to help his disaster of a youngest brother.

“You’re going to be fine,” Tommy soothes, redoing the tie Wilbur had ruined and pushing him into a chair so Techno can fix his hair for the fourth time. “Stop worrying so much.”

“What if she backs out, though,” Wilbur frets, legs bouncing as he glances around the room. “What if Sally doesn’t want to marry me anymore?”

Techno rolls his eyes dramatically when he and Tommy make eye contact over Wilbur’s head, and Tommy pulls his phone out again. “Considering she’s been sending me memes about weddings for the last hour and a half, I doubt she’s going to suddenly get cold feet.”

“What if I get cold feet?” Wilbur whispers, eyes comically wide.

“We’ll get you more socks,” Techno answers easily.

Wilbur huffs, crossing his arms and leaning back into Techno’s hands. “How the fuck did I end up with not one, but two aromatic brothers? You guys are never going to have to deal with this shit.”

“And I am very, very grateful for that,” Tommy responds truthfully, flicking his youngest brother in the forehead. “Come on, man, it’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re pretty enough,” Techno tells him, glancing over his handiwork before stepping back to lean on the wardrobe. “Sally would love you even if you weren’t. She likes you for your ‘personality’.”

“Definitely doesn’t like you for your hairline,” Tommy teases, and Wilbur throws his head back with a groan.

“Why are we picking on the youngest brother on his wedding day? Who invited you guys, anyway?”

Tommy laughs, leaning beside Techno with a grin. “You did, dipshit.”

“You couldn’t even choose which one of us to make your best man,” Techno ribs into him, his face light with a smile. “Somehow you made it so we both are.”

“Leave me alone,” Wilbur grumbles, but he’s smiling, too. His legs have stopped bouncing. “I hate you guys.”

“Love you, too,” they answer in sync, and then Phil steps inside the room.

“It’s go-time, boys. Time for your brother to become a married man.” He hugs each of them tightly, his smile so wide it could break his face in half.

As Tommy is moving to follow Techno and Phil, Wilbur grabs his shoulder. He still looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he slowly raises his hand. 

“You promise it’ll be fine?” Wilbur asks quietly, resembling the four-year-old terrified of glasses that Tommy keeps clear as day in his mind. “You promise it’ll work out?”

Tommy can’t really promise something like that- it’s out of his control. But he raises his pinkie anyway, flashing his youngest brother a gin.

“Pinkie promise,” he answers, and they both share a soft laugh.

“We’re a little too old for pinkie promises, huh?”

Tommy rolls his eyes, grabbing Wilbur's wrist and dragging him along. “Quit stalling! We’re gonna be late.”

For all of Wilbur’s nerves, he appears calm and collected as he stands at the altar. The facade drops the moment Sally comes through the double doors at the end of the aisle, and then Wilbur is blinking away tears and laughing softly. Techno and Tommy share a glance with each other and then with Phil, three matching smiles meeting each other. 

Sally and Wilbur say ‘I do’, and they feed each other cake at the reception. Tommy gives a speech at the beginning of the night, and he spends the rest of it chaperoning Techno as he gets drunk for the first time in his twenty-three years of life.

At thirty-two years old, on a cold October day, Tommy coos over his nephew in a hospital room while Techno and Wilbur argue about whether or not Fundy resembles an earthworm. He looks up from his nephew’s face to smile at his father, and Phil smiles back. 

Leaning against his father’s side, draped in finery and silk, is his mother. She seems proud of him, too. 

-----

He was bright, just as She suspected. Alongside Her Angel, he gave Her twins what they’d been denied. A life of happiness, a loving family, and a home. 

That’s all She could have wanted. 

-----

“Pinkie promise?” Fundy asks quietly, staring into his father’s eyes on the edge of the stage, throwing nervous glances at the piano in the middle of the spotlight. It’s his first recital.

“‘Course I promise,” Wilbur answers gently, locking their pinkies together. 

Fundy shuffles from foot to foot, still throwing nervous glances at the audience that hides behind the curtain. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

Wilbur glances through the curtain, catching a head of blond hair in the front row next to a head of pink hair, followed closely by graying blond and the deepest brown. The red of Sally is absent, but that’s okay. They’ve been without her for years, now. It still hurts, but they have their family. Fundy has his uncles and his grandparents. Wilbur has his brothers and his parents. They’re okay.

“How about this,” Wilbur placates, swinging their locked pinkies together. “I’ll go up there with you. We can play the piece together, yeah? A duet.”

“You’d do that?” 

Wilbur bumps their foreheads together, a content smile softening his cheeks. “Of course, buddy. Anything for you.”