"Did you murder him?" Tommy whispers. "Oh my fucking Philza , did you just commit a crime? A murderous crime?"

Wilbur rolls his eyes as he starts walking, dragging Tommy along, "I said don't worry about it."

"And - and did you knock me out? Did you fuckin' drug me? Like, like last time at breakfast because that is not okay and I will sue you," Tommy rambles on.

"I did what I had to do," The man shrugs.

This is terrible. Tommy lives with a murderer.

"I can't believe you are actually insane, like, I was joking before but you're actually insane. You need therapy," Tommy tells the man gravely as they walk.

Wilbur looks over at him and shrugs once more, "He should've known not to do that."

"Do what? " Tommy throws his non-cuffed hand in the air, frustration and bewilderment creeping into his tone.

Wilbur just smiles, "Let's go home," He repeats, "We need to clean your cut."

Tommy raises his hand to his cheek. Huh. He's almost forgotten about that.

______

"I really don't think it needs disinfecting, like at all," Tommy tries to bargain, edging away from the hero despite the shackles connecting them.

"You need to clean it otherwise it'll get infected," Wilbur huffs, holding a liquid of pure evil .

Tommy sniffs, turning his head away, "No, I will simply refuse."

Wilbur raises an eyebrow, "Refuse an infection?"

"Yes," Tommy scoffs, "Do you think a weak infection could take me? I am one of the most powerful men on this planet and my immune system is in impeccable condition. I'll give the infection an infection," He declares, arms crossed.

Wilbur snorts, "Did you suddenly forget about the time you caught a cold?"

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

Tommy glares, "We do not speak of it."

"Hmmm," Wilbur hums with a smirk, "I seem to remember you being so out of it that you called Techno, Techie-"

"La, la, la, Wilbur is a dickhead who needs to shut the hell up," Tommy shouts, clamping his hands over his ears.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, "You are an actual child," He says before pausing, eyes widening marginally as a smirk slowly creeps onto his face, "Okay, Toms, listen."

Tommy lowers his hands cautiously, eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I have Philza plasters."

______

Phil sighs as he closes his book.

Well, he supposes reluctantly, time to check up on the kids.

He gets up slowly, draping the covers firmly over Techno who sleeps on obliviously.

The first room he checks is Ranboo's. He presses an ear to the wall and listens in for any auto tuned singing.

Silence.

He nudges the door open quietly, peeking a head inside and smiles.

The assembled pink chair is reclined all the way back and Ranboo lies on it, long legs dangling. Michael is propped on his chest, sleeping soundly with a screwdriver in his mouth. Slightly concerning but okay.

Phil glances down at the floor and notices Tubbo, curled up in a ball with the voice changer mic still attached to his face as he drools onto the carpet, hugging Henry to his chest.

The hero closes the door back softly, turning off the light.

He sighs, now time to release the boys from their forced get-along-shackles.

He checks Wilbur's room first and finds it empty. 

Phil heads to Tommy's room and warily listens for any sounds of bickering.

He very slowly, and very carefully, opens the door.

The sight almost makes him coo aloud.

Wilbur and Tommy sit at the headrest of the bed, slumped against each other. Their shackled wrists lay in front of them as they sleep. Phil notes the hero designed plasters along Tommy's cheek and snorts when he realizes that it is Philza branded.

Phil looks down at the key in his palm and tilts his head. He could release them now.

He looks back up at them and smiles.

Nah.

_______

Phil closes the door behind gently.

Then he stubs his toe against the wall.

" Fuck," He hisses.

There's a distant sound of movement and Phil freezes.

"...Who is that?" Wilbur mutters.

Phil sweats.

"Techno?" Phil tries.

" Jump out the window. "

Distantly, Phil hears the sound of a window breaking. He winces.

Sorry Techno.