Work Text:
It’s a tense, warm night when Technoblade meets Wilbur for the first time.
The moon sits high overhead, the world having long since fallen asleep. Techno should be asleep with it, but rest isn’t something he’s made a good habit of, not for the past several weeks. Or months. It’s been some time. Sometimes it feels like the exhaustion is taking a toll on him, and other times, it feels like he can keep standing for centuries to come. He could be a bit angry, who knows. His fingers itch to grab a certain birdbrain by the head and shake him like a snowglobe.
Phil isn’t home. He hasn't been home for a while, which isn’t unheard of. It’s usually normal, actually, considering his consistent trips out into the world. It’s routine for him to fly off to other places, to explore for a bit before returning back to this cabin of theirs tucked away in the heart of the woods.
The problem is, Phil is meant to be home. He was meant to return from his usual trip months ago. He told Techno as such, he laid out the details as he always does, right before he leaves. He said this one should be a short trip. He said that it wouldn’t be any longer than a few weeks.
A few weeks have passed. And then some. Plenty some.
Technoblade huffs out into the summer air. He stands on their well-crafted porch, an iron sword at his hip and his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, lacking any braids that he would normally wear. No one is here to do it for him, and he is too bitter to do it himself, so he’s been letting his hair fall loose lately.
His communicator sits tucked away in his left pocket, insufferably quiet. The only recent message on it is the one from a near hour ago, sent from Phil. Technoblade had woken up to the buzz of it, and refused to fall back asleep after reading it.
Philza: I’ll be back home tonight.
And that’s all. Techno debated asking questions in return, like where exactly Phil has been for the past few months, and what happened to make him stall for so long, but Phil doesn’t use his communicator while flying, and Techno would prefer to yell those questions in person rather than use capslock on a screen.
Techno shifts his weight from foot to foot, scanning over the open area around their house, taking in the sight of all the growing crops and flowers. The stone paths are lit up in the moonlight, and if Techno were in a better mood, he’d be inclined to wander out across them for a while, just to enjoy the fresh air.
He stays standing on the porch, like an unwavering, loyal guard. He very much looks the part, despite not having any armor and not even wearing shoes. It’s been a long couple of years since he’s taken his part in war, but the habits die hard. He is forever a soldier at heart, and his endless scars will speak for that.
There’s no threat out in this forest, both him and Phil have made sure of that, but paranoia is a persistent thing, and Techno’s been having it more often lately, without any company to keep him calm. This sword he carries isn’t something he usually brings out of the house, but when his mind races with reasons why Phil took so long, they all align with the chance of him needing a weapon.
Time crawls on slowly. Techno is a patient man when reward is promised. He stands still for nearly two hours, listening to nothing but the soft sway of grass, and the whistle of gentle wind coming through.
Eventually, a more solid sound cuts through the calm, the familiar noise of wings flapping close. Technoblade searches through the sky with his lips pressed tightly together, and he sees a blur of a figure pass by the moon.
Phil’s shadow zips over their stone paths, their blooming flowers, their growing crops, and it grows closer and closer until it’s reaching before the porch, with Phil right above it. His feet land quietly, carefully, like he cannot bear to come to a harsh stop. Techno’s heart lurches with worry at the chance of Phil being hurt, and he finally moves from his imaginary post, quickly stepping down the wooden stairs.
“Phil.” He calls, and he means to be angry, he really does. He wants to be bitter and furious and he wants to scream until Phil’s giving him a proper apology for leaving him alone for so long, but he cannot manage it. He’s too relieved to ever hold any fury.
“Hey, mate.” Phil says back, taking a few small steps forward. Techno meets him halfway, and he falters at how exhausted Phil sounds. With a closer look, it’s not hard to see the tired gaze in his eyes, the slump in his shoulders. He’s been flying for too long. Techno oughta scold him.
He’s holding something in his arms, a bag of some sort. Techno holds his hands out, meaning to take it from him so he doesn’t have to carry anything while he walks inside. Phil smiles, so warm despite the weary energy on his body.
“I want you to meet someone.” Phil says. Techno doesn’t have a second to question that before he’s moving forward to give the bag over. “Careful.” He warns, and Techno assumes the bag must hold something fragile.
He’s not entirely wrong. But it also wasn’t a bag, like he thought.
What Phil was holding was a bundle of cloth, with a baby wrapped up inside of it. Techno had held his arms out with the full intent of taking it, but now he tries to step back, discouraged by the sight of a little face sleeping away. Phil only steps closer, pulling Techno’s hands so that he can hold the child properly, supporting them where it’s needed.
“Wait-” Technoblade quietly panics, not all expecting this situation. He had been mentally preparing for a fight. For Phil to be hurt. For some sort of evil threat to fall out of the sky and doom their precious home.
“Shh.” Phil gives a soft laugh, letting go as soon as he’s sure Technoblade won’t be dropping the child anytime soon. “There.”
He steps back, like he needs to take in the sight. Technoblade is no longer paying him any mind, his eyes wide down at the baby he’s holding. He can’t help but stare, really. He’s in a state of shock. He’s processing. Rebooting. Trying to not panic any further than he already is.
“Phil.” Techno says, the word sounding cut. “This is a baby.”
“Yeah.” Phil agrees, like that’s a reasonable observation.
“...why is there a baby.”
“It’s my baby.”
Technoblade breathes in. It’s not a gasp, but it could be close to it. He glances at Phil, just for a split second. He’s kinda scared that if he stops looking at the baby, it’s going to somehow fall from his arms. Phil looks endlessly amused. That bastard.
“How did you get a baby?”
Phil laughs. “Well, when two people like each other-”
“ Phil. ”
He laughs again. It’s more weary this time around, and he comes close again, holding a hand out to the child’s face so he can adjust the blanket holding them. “His name is Wilbur.” He speaks quietly. “I don’t think you’ll ever meet his mother, at least not for a long while.”
There’s a note of sadness woven into Phil’s voice. It makes Techno frown in response, and he risks looking away from the child so that he can get a good look towards Phil’s face.
Phil isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Wilbur. And there’s nothing but love in his eyes.
Technoblade holds the baby a bit closer to his chest.
“Wilbur.” He repeats, and Phil hums. “That’s a good name.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” Technoblade takes a slow, careful step backwards. “C’mon. We should- head inside.”
Phil nods, and he lowers his hand so he can head past Techno, up onto the porch. He makes his way up the stairs with a stiffness that tells he’s sore, and when he glances back, he holds back a laugh.
“Mate. He’s not made of glass.” He says, grinning at the way Technoblade walks so very carefully up to the porch steps, his eyes watching earnestly on where he steps so he won’t make any mistakes.
“It’s a baby.” Techno protests. He’s never really met a baby before. He’s definitely never held one. Go figure that Phil would throw this new experience onto him.
“He’s a baby. His name is Wilbur.” Phil insists.
Techno only huffs, moving a bit faster, but no less careful. They head inside with Phil giving a long yawn, stretching his arms up with a groan. The living room has grown dim, the fire burnt out, and while Phil goes to quickly start it up again, Techno is stuck hovering in front of the door, eyes kept on the baby he’s holding.
He supposes Wilbur does look like Phil. A little. It’s hard to tell past all that baby fat. There’s a few tiny curls of brown hair poking out past the blanket over his head, and Techno has the quiet urge to tuck them away out of sight. He keeps his grip securely as is, though.
“You’ve got a lot to explain.” Techno says, as Phil stands up straight with the fire burning bright. The living room is filled with both light and warmth, and Phil looks over his shoulder with a scoff.
“Could it wait until morning?” He asks. Technoblade takes in the tired dull in his eyes, feeling worry roar up all over again. “Or at least after a cup of tea?”
“Till morning.” Technoblade decides. Answers can wait. Phil is here now, that is enough.
…Although, the baby in his arms does raise quite a few questions. Techno doesn’t even know where to start.
“Alright.” Phil sighs, but it’s only fond. He moves past Techno, a hand held to Wilbur’s face for a spare moment, then he goes towards the kitchen, probably for a cup of tea. He no doubt needs it after flying for so long.
But that now leaves Technoblade standing in the living room, a baby still held in his arms. He feels slight regret fall onto him at the fact that he didn’t make Phil take the kid back when he could’ve. But then again, Phil looked tired. Techno could hold a baby for a little bit, to give Phil a break. He’s capable of that.
He looks back down at the child he’s holding, taking a few steps further into the house, so he’s not just sticking by the door. With the shuffle of Phil moving in the kitchen, the fire crackling away, Techno’s head is finally clear and calm enough that he’s able to somewhat take in the situation at hand.
He breathes out slowly, sitting down before the fire and pulling the baby closer to his face. With as much caution as possible, he pulls at the cloth hiding the baby away, wanting to get a better look. He finds Wil wearing simple, plain colored clothes, a little too big for his size. And-
He’s small.
It’s the first word that echoes through Techno’s head. Small is the first way he would describe Wil. His hands are small, curled up into fists and held to his chest. His hands are so small, as are his fingers, and his feet, from where they lightly kick out past the blanket covering them. His arms are tiny, and his nose is tiny, and he himself is just so very tiny. It makes Techno’s chest feel like it’s being squeezed. He bites at the inside of his cheeks, holding his palm to the bottom of Wil’s foot.
Weak, is the second word he thinks. This child is too weak, too defenseless. Too frail. He’s weak enough that it scares Techno. He could so easily be hurt. How simple would it be for someone to harm him? It wouldn’t take much effort. Wouldn’t even take a sword, really. That’s terrifying, somehow more so than anything Techno has ever faced.
Mine, is the last thought Technoblade settles on. Because this is Phil’s son, his child that he’s brought home, and for what other reason would he bring Wilbur here if it were not to keep him safe?
A part of Techno is hesitant at the implication of bringing a child into this house. It’ll mean he will grow here, be raised here. Techno is not a man meant to protect the small and the weak, nor is he one to nurture it and see that it prospers well.
But for this single night, he will swear himself to it, for the rest of his days.
For this single night, for many more, he cradles a baby close, his forehead brushing against brown curls, the fire flickering on.
When Phil comes back from the kitchen, two cups in his hands, Technoblade is still stuck staring at Wilbur, and he only lifts his head when Phil sits beside him, looking impossibly fond. He leaves their cups in front of them, and leans against Techno’s shoulder with a hum, an arm reached out like he means to take Wilbur back so Techno won’t have to carry him.
Technoblade doesn’t let go of Wil, and Phil doesn’t protest much. He falls asleep at Techno’s side without meaning to, Technoblade rests against his weight, keeping Wilbur held until the moment he wakes up, crying loudly and breaking the quiet mood.