Chapter Text
Neither Phil nor Technoblade had seen either hide or hair of Wilbur in over a week.
Phil was pretty sure he was starting to go preemptively gray over this kid. Even Technoblade had been snappier. Phil knew he’d been getting attached to Wilbur too, but Technoblade’s sullen mood spoke volumes about how he felt about Wilbur’s disappearance.
Phil checked the alley multiple times each day, and Technoblade had taken to walking the streets in the evenings, searching every nook and cranny for the kid.
Nothing.
It was late now. Technoblade was back from his walk— his slam of the door told Phil exactly how it had gone— and had disappeared into the kitchen to make himself some tea.
A timid knock on the door startled Phil from his moping. He sighed, got to his feet, and stretched before heading to the front door. It was strange, he noted; they didn’t get many visitors, let alone at this time of night. Almost absently, he peered through the peephole and reached for the gun that sat on the entrance table.
His fingers never quite closed around the handle of the weapon.
When he caught sight of the person standing at the top of the steps, he nearly gave himself a concussion yanking open the door.
“Wilbur.”
The kid looked awful. Phil had seen him in some rough spots before, shivering and injured, but that was nothing compared to this. His clothes were muddy and wet, clinging to his skin. Relief and fear swirled in a strange combination in Phil’s chest.
“Phil.” Wilbur’s voice was wobbly and Phil’s heart lurched. “Please.”
Then he collapsed.
Phil barely managed to catch him, pulling him into the house and sinking to the ground with the kid cradled in his arms. “Technoblade!”
He pulled the kid away from his shoulder to get a better look at him. His face was crumpled, sobs wracking his body.
“I’m tired,” Wilbur whined, fresh tears spilling down his flushed cheeks.
“Oh, darling. I know,” Phil soothed. He heard Technoblade come up behind him, but remained focused on the boy in his arms. “You’ve been so brave.”
Wilbur sobbed, a horrible, heartbreaking sound. He was radiating heat and Phil shot Technoblade an alarmed glance over his shoulder. Like Phil, he looked both relieved and horrified all at once.
Med kit, Phil mouthed and Technoblade disappeared with a sharp nod.
Phil adjusted his grip on Wilbur, sliding his hands under the kid’s legs and hitching him into his arms. He carried him to the living room, where Technoblade met him with the med kit. He already had the thermometer out as Phil laid Wilbur down on the couch. The kid was alarmingly pliant, his eyes half-lidded and glazed.
“You’re just a little furnace right now, aren’t you?” Phil murmured, pushing Wilbur’s hair away from his sweaty forehead. He guided the thermometer under Wilbur’s tongue and held it there until it beeped.
39.5 degrees Celsius.
Phil hissed and Technoblade made an unhappy sound behind him.
“That’s not good, right?” Technoblade sounded uncharacteristically alarmed. “That’s too high?”
“It’s too high,” Phil confirmed. “Grab some bottles of water. And a straw,” he added, watching Wilbur’s eyes flutter. “I doubt he’ll be able to sip normally.”
Technoblade obeyed, returning a moment later with the requested items.
Even with the straw, Wilbur was only able to take a few sips before it began spilling out of his mouth. He let out a weak whine and Phil acquiesced for the moment. With a few sips of water in him, they could focus on other issues.
“These clothes can’t be helping,” Phil said, tugging at the damp fabric. “And he’s going to need a bath to help regulate his temperature.”
“I’ll start the water and find him some clothes,” Technoblade said. “Can you get him to the bathroom?”
Phil nodded and Technoblade disappeared again.
“Wilbur, are you with me?” Phil smoothed Wilbur’s hair away from his face. The kid’s face lolled against Phil’s hand as he cupped his cheek and his eyelashes fluttered against Phil’s palm. “We need to lower your fever and stop your shivering, so we’re gonna give you a quick bath.”
Wilbur didn’t answer.
“Come on.” Phil slid his hands under Wilbur’s back and knees and hoisted him into the air. Wilbur let out a moan at the movement and buried his face in Phil’s neck.
Phil met Technoblade in the bathroom, who was waiting with a change of clothes and the tub filled halfway with lukewarm water.
“It won’t feel great on his skin, but it’ll help with his fever,” Technoblade said as Phil sat Wilbur on the closed lid of the toilet.
Wilbur made a noise of discomfort, clinging to the front of Phil’s shirt.
“You’re okay,” Phil murmured, prying Wilbur’s hands off of him. “Arms up.”
Wilbur obeyed, if sluggishly, and Phil peeled off his damp shirt. His pants were next, Phil kneeling to work them off his ankles.
Finally, he lifted Wilbur off of the toilet and lowered him into the tub.
Wilbur keened as he entered the water, struggling for purchase as he tried to climb out. Phil’s hands pressed him into the tub, keeping him submerged from the chest down.
“It’s okay,” Phil soothed, holding Wilbur still until he stopped struggling. “You’re all right.”
He scooped up handfuls of water and poured it over Wilbur’s shoulders. Wilbur shuddered, his teeth chattering.
“Stop,” he mumbled, jerking his head to the side as if he could escape the sensation. “Stop it.”
Phil shushed him, smoothing back his hair with dripping hands. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Wilbur let out a dry sob and Phil crooned. “Good boy. You’re safe.”
“S’ cold,” Wilbur moaned, turning his head to push back into Phil’s hand.
“I know, but you’re burning, kiddo.” Phil palmed his forehead again and inhaled sharply. “How long have you been feeling sick?”
Wilbur didn’t answer. His eyes had slipped closed again, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
“Tech— we need children’s tylenol.”
“On it.”
“The liquid kind!” Phil called after him as he left the bathroom. “It’ll be pink!”
He heard his partner make a noise of acknowledgement before he refocused back on the boy in his arms.
“All right,” Phil said, softening his voice once again. “You’re okay. Techno will be back soon— he’s just running to the corner store.”
Wilbur murmured something, his lips moving, but it was too low for Phil to hear.
He leaned closer. “What was that, darling?”
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur repeated, his voice raw.
“Oh, honey.” Phil wanted so badly to wrap his boy in a hug, but the best he could do right now was carefully pour the warm bathwater over his shoulders. “It’s not your fault. I’m so, so glad you’re here.”
Wilbur didn’t say anything after that and Phil had to soothe himself with the sensation of Wilbur’s pulse under his hands.
“All right,” Phil muttered after a few more minutes, mostly to himself at this point. “You’re not shivering so badly at least, and I think your fever’s gone down a bit.”
As he pulled Wilbur out of the tub, he wrapped him in the fluffy towel Technoblade had set out. It practically engulfed him and soon enough, he was dry. (He could do with a real washing, Phil noted, but that could wait.)
Wrapped in the towel and perched on the edge of the tub, Wilbur began to shiver all over again.
“You’re okay, darling,” Phil soothed, reaching for the clothes Technoblade had found for him. “Let’s get you dressed.”
The shirt practically swallowed Wilbur. Despite Technoblade’s careful choice, it was still made for a grown man, not an eight year old boy. Phil decided to forgo the sweatpants entirely, replacing them instead with a pair of boxers that reached past Wilbur’s knees.
“All right,” Phil said. He grunted as he hauled Wilbur up into his arms, cradling him under his back and knees. “Bedtime, eh?”
Wilbur’s murmured voice reached him where his head was propped up against Phil’s shoulder. “Where’s Tech?”
“He’ll be home soon,” Phil said softly, hitching Wilbur a little closer. The boy tucked into his body heat eagerly, still shivering slightly. “He just ran out to get some medicine, remember?”
The front door opened.
“Speak of the devil,” Phil said, smiling a little into Wilbur’s hair. “Here he comes.”
The man himself appeared just a moment later, breathless, like he’d run all the way home. He probably had, Phil mused, but he knew he’d never admit it.
Technoblade held up a little pink bottle. “The lady at the pharmacy said this was the one.”
“She was right,” Phil said as he headed down the hallway towards the guest room. “Grab some water too.”
Technoblade met him in the bedroom, where Phil was tucking Wilbur in.
With their help (and the help of a straw), Wilbur managed to drink some more water and take a spoonful of the medicine before his eyes fluttered shut for good.
“That should help with his fever,” Phil murmured, smoothing Wilbur’s sweat-damp hair away from his face. “The bath brought it down to something more reasonable anyway and this will help even more.”
Technoblade let out a long breath and ran a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he muttered, sitting with a thump on the end of the bed. “He doesn’t do anything by halves, does he?”
Phil just shook his head and tucked the blankets a little tighter under Wilbur’s chin. The boy turned into the movement, his cheek brushing Phil’s knuckles.
After a long moment, Phil asked quietly, “I’m not the only one who wants him to stay, right?”
Technoblade snorted. “If I didn’t think it would scare the living shit out of him, I would tell him that he didn’t have a choice— that he was staying no matter what.” He sighed. “But the best we can do is ask.”
Phil nodded, his lips tight. His eyes didn’t stray from the boy in his care.
***
Wilbur’s fever broke on the third day.
It came as a massive relief, given that he’d hardly been able to keep much of anything down during his fever-ridden days. However, his recovery brought with it a host of other issues, most prominent, his newfound resistance to any sort of help.
When he was finally awake and coherent enough to understand exactly what had happened, it took every ounce of pleading Technoblade and Phil could muster to keep him from bolting out the door.
Even so, he still tiptoed around them, no matter how much they tried to convince him that he was wanted.
Finally, they sat him down and explained everything. For their entire spiel— their pasts, SBI, their intentions— Wilbur just sat and listened, his expression unreadable.
At the end, Phil made a single request:
“Please stick around,” he said softly. “We… we want you here.”
Wilbur looked at Technoblade then.
The man nodded solemnly. “We’re not good people,” he said hesitantly. “And I can’t promise that we won’t make mistakes— we definitely will.” Wilbur let out a little huff of laughter and Technoblade broke out into a quiet smile before sobering again. “But I swear to you, we will never abandon you.”
Wilbur’s brown eyes stared up at them. “Like a family?”
Phil’s heart nearly broke. “Yeah,” he said wetly. He wasn’t going to start crying right now. He wasn’t. “Just like a family.”
Wilbur dove into his arms. Phil started to cry.
He could feel Wilbur reaching for Technoblade too and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend’s massive hand cradle Wilbur’s cheek where it rested on Phil’s shoulder. Phil closed his eyes and held Wilbur closer. He was never letting this kid go again.