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“Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur,” Tommy said repetitively in an annoying tone of voice.

Wilbur sighed, face planting into his homework. “You can’t do this anywhere else?”

Tommy hummed. “Um… nope.”

Wilbur rolled his head over to get a good view of Tommy, who was practically bouncing on his toes with pent up energy.

“I liked you better when you were all snuggly,” Wilbur deadpanned, “You seriously can’t do this anywhere else? Because I have homework.”

Tommy groaned loudly as he fluffed of his no-longer adorably fluffy wings in agitation.

“Wilbur, there is nothing to do in this house,” he groaned, “I am bored.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Wilbur said, “You must feel so tragic, not having heaps of homework to finish before the end of the weekend.”

Tommy scrunched up his nose, staring down at Wilbur’s pre-calculus. “It’s not that bad,” he remarked, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh yeah?” Wilbur asked, sitting up and flinging his hands into the air, “Then you do it!”

Tommy crossed his arms. “No, no, I don’t think I will. You see, I want to be not bored, and your algebra—”


Tommy rolled his eyes. “—pre-calculus seems very boring.”

Wilbur sputtered. “You said five seconds ago that it didn’t seem that bad!”

“Yeah, well that was before you expected me to do it!” Tommy threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Honestly, big man, what do you expect me to say?”

“I expect you to leave me alone!”

“But I’m bored—”

“Bother, Techno, he was your favorite when you were imprinting anyway!”

“Oh, you need to get over that,” Tommy groaned, “It’s not my fault that you have inferiority issues.”

Wilbur put in his head in his hands. “It wasn’t-I don’t have an inferiority complex!”

“You know, what?” Tommy said, marching away, “I’m going to leave this room, and you’re going to miss me so much that you are going to come crawling to me!”

Wilbur’s wings bristled. “Excellent!” he shouted after him, “As long as you leave me in peace!”


Tommy left the room, slamming the door behind him so loudly that it made the guitar leaning against the wall ring loudly. Wilbur winced.

“Finally,” Wilbur muttered, turning back to face his homework.

It was a small shame that Wilbur didn’t have a distraction from all of these trigonometrical functions, but Wilbur really did need to get all of this homework done.


Of course, sibling troubles could not be a one-and-done thing. That would be too easy, apparently.

Wilbur and Tommy’s next argument was at the dinner table that very same night. They were eating pasta, and at first, things were going pleasantly.

Obviously, that couldn’t last.

“Tommy, could you please pass the parmesan?” Wilbur asked tiredly, still not quite recovered from the brain-power he lost from doing all those equations.

Tommy did not pass the parmesan. As a matter of fact, he made eye-contact with Wilbur, took the parmesan, and began dumping the cheese onto his own pasta, even though he already had plenty.

Wilbur gritted his teeth, running his fingers through his hair.

Tommy,” he repeated, “Could you please pass the parmesan?”

Tommy looked up, as though he had only just noticed Wilbur.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there, big man,” he said, smiling in such a way that showed he certainly knew what he was doing, “Here.”

Tommy placed the parmesan in Wilbur’s outstretched hand with a smug smile.

“You saw me,” Wilbur snapped, “Next time, pass the parmesan the first time without being a brat.”


“Boys,” Phil said tiredly, clearly having had a long day in the office himself, “Wilbur, apologize to Tommy.”

Wilbur sputtered, giving Phil a betrayed look. “But-but, you can’t—”

Wilbur,” Phil said again, giving him a look.

Wilbur sighed, rolling his eyes. “Tommy, I am so very sorry for calling you a brat, even though—”

“That’s enough,” Phil was quick to interrupt.

Tommy straightened, sticking his nose up in the air and crossing his arms. “Well, I suppose all is forgiven,” he said in a snobbish tone.

“Alright, now Tommy, apologize to Wilbur for ignoring his request,” Phil continued.

Tommy immediately dropped the “snob” act, instead turning to stare at Phil with his mouth agape. “What, but I didn’t—”


Tommy sighed in a long suffering manner. “Wilbur, I am so very sorry for ignoring you, I cannot imagine what that could possibly feel like.”

That little—

“Excellent,” Phil said, “Now please eat your food in silence or the only one who gets parmesan ever again is Techno.”

“Ha,” Techno said, “Take that nerds.”

Phil put his head in his hands. Tommy and Wilbur made a temporary truce to glare in Techno’s direction.


Their truce was ended that morning.

“Tommy, where’s my notebook!” Wilbur shouted, searching his bedroom for the notebook he had done all of his work from the previous night.

“I don’t have your stupid notebook!” Tommy shouted, scrambling down the stairs, “Where’s my history textbook?”

Wilbur dashed out of his bedroom, ready to search his backpack for the notebook again. “Why the hell would I have your history textbook?” Wilbur demanded, “I’m not in your class!”

“Why the hell would I want your stupid notebook?”

“Because you’ve had it out for me!” Wilbur finally found the notebook in the cushions of the couch, and he immediately stuffed it into his book bag.

“I have not—”

“Boys, you’d better be in the car by in two minutes!” Phil interrupted, causing both boys to jump out of their skin.

“I still haven’t found my history textbook!” Tommy hollered.

“That sounds like a you-problem!” Wilbur shouted back, shoving his shoes on and dashing to the car.

They bickered in the car as well. It probably didn’t help that Techno had gotten the front seat, thus leaving Tommy and Wilbur stuck sitting next to each other.

“This is all your fault,” Tommy grumbled, having finally found his textbook underneath his bed at the last minute.

“How is this my fault?” Wilbur demanded.

“If you hadn’t accused me of stealing your notebook, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted while searching under my bed the first time.”

Wilbur sighed. “Just admit that you missed it in your first look.”

“I will not.” Tommy crossed his arms. “Because it is your fault.”

“When will you admit—”

Techno interrupted them. “You’re giving me a headache,” he said in deadpan, “So either shut up or start talking so quietly that I can barely hear you.”

Wilbur and Tommy stared at Techno, both thoroughly unimpressed, before rounding back toward each other.

“When will you admit that you made a mistake?” Wilbur whispered loudly.

“Never because I never make mistakes,” Tommy whispered back, grinning in such a way that Wilbur had to use every inch of self-control he had to not punch him in the face or pluck one of his red feathers or do something equally immature.


“Oh look, we’re here!” Phil said with exaggerated loudness as they pulled up in front of the school building. “Have a fun time, boys! Don’t kill each other.”


For the record, they did not kill each other.

They did get rather close to it on their car-ride home.

“Stop that,” Wilbur snapped as Tommy kept poking the air right next to Wilbur’s shoulder.

“I’m not poking you,” Tommy said, grinning wildly, “You can’t do anything.”

“You are aggravating me.” Wilbur glared at Tommy, “So if you would just—”

Techno interrupted them yet again. “Dad, if this keeps up, I am going to have a migraine. I think desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Phil nodded grimly. “I think you’re right.”

Tommy and Wilbur gave them both a weird look before continuing on with their bickering. Honestly, if Phil weren’t there, they’d probably have started pinching each other or something.

When they got home, Wilbur barely got two steps in the direction of his bedroom before Phil stopped him in his tracks.

“Nope, you’re both staying down here,” Phil said.

Wilbur frowned, furrowing his brows in confusion. “Why?”

Tommy’s face matched Wilbur’s, and he flapped his wings rather agitatedly. “Dad, I’d like to finish my remaining homework so I can hang out with Tubbo, so…”

“You’ll have to tell Tubbo to reschedule or come to you,” Phil said, “Because you are going to be busy.”

Wilbur had a very bad feeling about this.

His bad feelings were confirmed when Techno came down with a ridiculously oversized yellow sweater.

No,” Wilbur whispered, suddenly getting flashbacks from the early ages of his childhood, “Not the get-along sweater.”

The get-along sweater was something of Phil’s invention when Wilbur and Techno were at each-other’s throats about eight years ago. Never did Wilbur imagine that he’d be forced to use it now, when he was nearly done with high-school.

Tommy was staring at the sweater with an equal degree of horror, having been subjected to its torturous ways himself.

“Oh yes,” Phil said, grinning maniacally, “You mates—” He pointed at Tommy and Wilbur. “—are going to be trapped in that sweater until you get along.”

“But-but Dad,” Wilbur pleaded, “I have homework—”

“It’s a Friday,” Techno said, grinning like the little traitor he was, “You can do it tomorrow.”

Tommy moaned. “But I have plans for tomorrow—”

“Then wake up early and do it then,” Techno interrupted yet again, “There is such a thing at waking up at an appropriate hour.”

Wilbur looked up pleadingly at Phil. “Please, I have a life, you can’t do this to me.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “You will find that I can and I will.”

And with that, Technoblade practically leapt onto Wilbur, shoving the immensely over-sized sweater over his head before he could do anything to defend himself.

Tommy, seeing Wilbur now swamped with the yellow sweater, tried to run away, but Techno was too fast for him. Wilbur watched with grim resignation as Tommy struggled violently from Techno’s hold as he was dragged into the sweater with Wilbur.

When Techno was done, both Tommy and Wilbur were standing in the middle of the kitchen with an over-sized sweater forcing them to stand all but on top of each other.

Phil nodded approvingly. “Good,” he said, “I’ll call Tubbo for you, Tommy; if it’s too much.”

Tommy glared at the sweater that was now their prison. “Fine,” he muttered.

Phil nodded and left the kitchen. Techno snapped a picture of a glaring Wilbur and Tommy before also leaving the kitchen.

Wilbur and Tommy stood in complete silence.

Tommy, as per usual, was the one who broke it.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this to me,” Tommy said bitterly, giving Wilbur an angry look, “Now, I can’t spend time with Tubbo.”

“I can’t believe that you couldn’t behave with an ounce of maturity,” Wilbur snapped back, “If you had simply left me alone—”

“Oh please, you can’t be saying that this is my fault—”

“Maybe I am.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

You’re ridiculous.”

“Well, your face is ridiculous.”

“My face is very fine, thank you very much. Now, you’re wings—”

The look on Tommy’s face was downright murderous. “Say one insulting thing about my wings and I will kill you.”

Right. Avian-hybrids were always touchy when it came to their wings. Wilbur would know, considering he was one himself.

They dissolved back into silence, each of them glaring at the floor.

Wilbur shuffled uncomfortably. It was uncomfortably warm, being pushed up against Tommy with the sweater pressing against him from all sides. Maybe… if he weren’t standing…

“Do you want to try to get to a couch?” Wilbur asked, “So maybe we don’t have to stand here looking like a couple of idiots?”

Tommy let out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, big man, I suppose that wouldn’t be a horrible idea.”

With immense difficulty, the two of them waddled into the living-room and collapsed onto the couch awkwardly. Tommy was all but lying on top of Wilbur as Wilbur struggled to stay upright against the cushions.

“I am going to burn this sweater to dust,” Wilbur whispered.

“Can I help?” Tommy asked, whispering as well.

“You bring the wood for a bonfire. I’ll bring the lighter,” Wilbur said, “And then we’ll scatter the ashes throughout the entire globe.”

Tommy laughed. “Nobody will ever find it’s remains.”

Eventually, Tommy and Wilbur actually got bored of slandering the sweater, all though it was quite fun. They agreed that it might be in their favor to watch tv or something like that, so Wilbur stuck his hand through the oversized sleeve on his side and reached for the remote sitting on the end table. For one horrifying moment, Wilbur thought he was going to push it away instead of grab it, but he snagged it with his fingers before it could escape.

They started watching The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, even though Wilbur absolutely abhorred marvel movies.

“It’s not a movie,” Tommy reminded Wilbur, “It’s a tv-show.”

“It’s the same franchise, isn’t it?” Wilbur asked, but he didn’t stop Tommy from clicking the play button.

They watched the show for maybe an hour before they were rudely interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Wilbur hastened to pause the show as knocking started emerging from the other side of the door.

“Techno, get that, will you?!” Wilbur shouted, “Tommy and I seem to be a bit occupied at the moment!”

Techno’s laughter could be heard coming closer as he was presumably getting the door.

“Ah, Tubbo, so glad that you could make it on this fine occasion.”

Tommy’s face went slack. Wilbur felt his own make an expression of horror.

Techno led Tubbo into the living room. As soon as Tubbo’s eyes landed on Tommy and Wilbur, his grin spread so wide that Wilbur knew that the kid could only be thinking of about nukes or whatever mad-scientists thought about that made them smile like that.

“I cannot believe this,” Tubbo said, laughing, “You have a get-along sweater!”

“Tubbo,” Tommy moaned, “It’s not funny. I’m trapped. I have been imprisoned by my own kin.”

Tubbo turned to Technoblade, holding his hand out for a shake. Tommy let out a betrayed noise as Techno took it.

“Thank you for your services to humanity and hybrid-kind alike,” Tubbo said in a mock-serious tone, “I never thought I’d see the day where Tommy was trapped in the same sweater as his brother.”

Techno rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, it wasn’t all me. Dad might’ve helped a little.”

Tubbo nodded. “Still.”

“You’ve seen me have clingy-issues, and you’re harping over this?” Tommy demanded, “And I called you my friend.”

“Ah, but we are not friends Tommy,” Tubbo said, pointing a single finger in the air like he was a scientist about to explain a marvelous discovery, “We… are best friends.”

Tommy gasped. “No.”

Tubbo grinned, pulling out his phone. “Yes.”

Wilbur vowed revenge.

“Tommy, we must find a way to get Tubbo and Techno trapped in this monstrosity when we are finally freed from its clutches,” Wilbur informed his younger brother.

Tommy nodded seriously. “And when we are done, we shall burn it together.”