Chapter Text
“I said I want to match you !” Little Tommy implored. His hands were clasped with the disparity of a partitioner at the foot of a loved one’s death bed, and Phil was doing all he can not to insult the graveness of the situation.
“Now what in the world set you to thinking that?” He inquired. His expression was hard to school as Tommy’s signature puppy dog eyes slid down to a face of pure determination, but Phil kept his cool.
Tommy squared himself up to Phil. He stood as tall as he could to the point he was bouncing slightly on his toes. After a moment of failed intimidation he dropped his gaze with a sigh. With irritation he turned to look back towards the office door and glared into the hallway. “Techno and Wilbur.” He grumbled.
“What?-“
“Techno and Wilbur!” His eyes lit up with the unfairness of it all. “They get to dress up all the same and look all cool and stuff but nooooo Tommy you can’t join us this is just a twin thing mimimimimimimi..” Tommy crossed his arms and continued shooting glares aimed to kill at the empty hallway.
Phil had to cover his laugh with a cough. It’s true, Techno and Wilbur have been wearing the same outfits more and more frequently the past little while. Wilbur got glasses to match Techno’s, Techno would wear pretty much any sweater Wilbur gave him, and without Techno’s long dyed hair, the twins would be hard to tell apart from a distance.
Tommy always wanted to copy his brothers. The three of them were the literal embodiment of giving the youngest an unplugged controller. Phil occasionally told the older boys they were being too much, but a few years age gap can have them desperate for something just for them. It wasn’t like they excluded him all the time, and Phil understood that they wanted something special.
So looking back down at his youngest and seeing the tears trying desperately to be hidden, he knew there was no other option here. Tommy saw him submit before he even spoke, and his entire demeanor changed. Genuine joy sparked in him and if Phil wasn’t dragged into this already, he sure was now.
———
“Hold still you little shit-“
“Ow!”
“That is why I told you to hold still— you’ll poke yourself with the needle if you keep riggling.”
The everstill riggling boy was stood upright with his arms outstretched. Phil had draped a piece of long black fabric over him and was attempting to pin it in place. In all fairness, Phil had never sewed before. He had almost no clue what he was doing, but a few google searches and a sped up YouTube video or two tends to be all you need for out of the blue parenting endeavors. He had found an old sewing kid tucked away in a drawer somewhere and searched up a simple way to recreate the clothes he was wearing— just smaller.
They weren’t good, messy stitches, too loose in one place too small on another, the neck line was all wrong, the hat was too big, no way to make him matching sandals so Phil just gave him his old ones— Phil was so focused on trying to get the clothing perfect he was completely blindsided by the final product.
Himself; that is what Phil saw when he stepped back from his work. Tommy looked exactly like a miniature version of himself—when he was younger. Blonde hair poked out from his bucket hat, blue eyes seeming too big for his head almost blinded by them. The shawl, though slightly uneven in the sleeves to a knowing eye, fit him decently nicely, with the same diamond pattern around the bottom Phil’s had. He had no way of making the gloves smaller, but that didn’t seem to bother Tommy at all. And when Phil bestowed the final piece, his own red heart pendant, Tommy visibly shook from excitement.
He jumped up and down in place in front of the full length mirror chanting about how he looked just like dad and how lame the twins were in comparison. He swished around the flowy back of his shawl and threw his hat up and down and back onto his head. Phil watched him run circles in the too big sandals and had to take his arm to slow him down before he tripped.
“Look at us. Now we’re twins!” Tommy proudly announced. “Or ya know, father and son. See, you’ve always been like a son to me Phil.” The child’s shit eating grin was pulling on Phil’s heartstrings whether he’d show it or not.
Side by side in the mirror, his chest tightened even further. Techno and Wilbur had always looked alike, but there was never too much family resemblance between them and Phil. That’s more or less what happens when your wife shows up with two baby boys she found from who knows where. Tommy on the other hand was Phil’s flesh and blood. Occasionally his desperation to be like Wilbur seems to manifest physically, but it’s usually no surprise he’s Phil’s son. Today though, was the most alike they’d ever been.
Phil took his phone out of his pocket, and after trying to coax a decent expression out of the mini me, he gave up and let Tommy give the most dramatic scowl in the pictures. Luckily enough, Phil doesn’t think the memory of his son’s genuine smile will disappear so soon.
———
Tommy was the coolest kid on the block now. He was Philza Fucking Minecraft. Screw Wilbur and Techno. Their stupid matching glasses and fancy shirts. Tommy was “ tWiNiNg ” with dad now! The second he got to see those two you can bet he would rub it so far in their faces they’d be sorry. And even if they were sorry, so what? He’s even cooler now.
Head up high, he marched through the house hallways. Every time Phil would leave his office, “Better Phil” would pop in and sit at his desk. Humming and nodding his head at all the blueprints, spinning round and circles in the spinny chair, clicking random buttons on the laptop— Tommy was having a blast. That is, until Phil would come back and promptly kick him out.
After being unrightfully ousted from his newly claimed office for the third time and having the door locked behind him, Tommy thought up a new plan. What else does Philza Minecraft, father to the great and totally awesomer Tommyinnit, do during the day?
This question eventually led Tommy to the kitchen. Phil was no great master cook, but he knew enough to be a functioning adult— and since Tommy was Phil now…well, time to get cooking.
Tommy liked cookies. Sometimes Kristian would let him help when she and Phil baked them together, even though really Tommy was only there to sneak some cookie dough. But today, to once again prove how cool and capable he was,he decided he wouldn’t eat any until they were ready and out of the oven. The oven was a certified “big kid tool” but since Tommy was a big kid now with no one around to tell him otherwise, now was the perfect time to use it.
From the pantry, cabinets, and fridge he got all the cookie ingredients he thought he would need. Lots of flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and a chair to get the chocolate chips on the top self. He grabbed the red measuring cup from the drawer and scooped a whole lot of it into the bowl. Some of the powder flew back up at him and got in his eyes; not a pleasant experience but not one to dally on too long.
Tommy did not quite remember if the recipe called for two or three eggs, but he figured you can never have too much egg anyway, so three it is. Since he always saw Phil crack the egg on the side of the bowl, and Tommy was Phil for the time being, that was the way to do it. He took the biggest egg in the carton and slammed it into the rim. It shattered into more pieces than Tommy was prepared to handle, but scooping up the fallen out bits and putting them back did not take that much struggle. Crumbling the shells was the best part because it made a nice crackle, but it left egg and shell on his fingers too small to pick off. Frowning, he tried to wipe it off on his pants, but noticed all the flour still spilt on his new black shawl. He’ll have to wash it after…
After spilling a dreadful amount of milk and loading up the bowl with chocolate chips to his heart’s content, it was time to find a pan. The oven’s bottom sliding drawer was more difficult to open than he thought it would be, but after finding a suitable pan and placing it on the counter, he found it was even harder to close. It just jammed and no matter how hard he pushed, it would not go back. Tommy shrugged it off and continued with his baking. Who knows, he might be able to use it as a stool up to the buttons.
The young baker’s vow of not eating the cookie dough did not last very long, deciding it would be perfectly valid to at least try a little bit. Unfortunately, the batter did not taste as it usually did. He couldn’t point it out but it tasted weird and unpleasant. Kristian always said she “put some extra love into it” so maybe that’s what Tommy was missing. Manifesting as much love as he could, he rolled the dough into balls and placed them on the pan. The more dough balls on the pan, the more cookies would be done sooner, so he tried to squish as many as close together as possible. Once he fit the last ball on the tray, it was time to put it into the oven.
Opening the oven door and sliding in the pan was easier than Tommy thought. Even climbing onto the oven to press the buttons wasn’t too bad. He just stepped on the open pan drawer and turned the numbers as high as they would go. The hotter the oven, the faster they cook. Obviously. Now all that must be done for the cookies is wait.
———
It’s usually customary to watch your guest from your car until they get in the door, just incase their door is locked and they can’t get in. It was some basic manners Techno and Wilbur had heard somewhere even if they didn’t quite remember where. So once they got up the driveway and to the front door, they waved one last goodbye to their friends in their car and walked into the house.
Finally getting home from a sleepover is usually a relieving experience. You get home to a familiar space and get to simply rest. This experience was not one the twins got to have, as entering the household they were immediately greeted by the fire alarm. Techno slammed his hands over his ears but Wilbur had already gone. Bursting through the kitchen door probably wasn’t the greatest move, but impulse control in a panic is not the strongest thing.
In the kitchen stood Philza Minecraft, frustratedly fanning the screaming fire alarm with an oven mit, and a smaller Philza Minecraft, sitting on the counter looking forlorn at a tray of burnt black tar. The tray steamed, smelt absolutely abysmal, and was so charred Wilbur genuinely could not tell what it was supposed to be.
Techno followed soon behind, and after a moment looking around at the mess, cracked a smile and started barreling towards the disgraced baker. With foe panic he lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder. Tommy was throwing himself around kicking and screaming, but the laughter and smiles showed his true feelings.
“Look outttttt!! A fire!!!! Get out of here or you’ll get burnt!! Go go go!!” Techno yelled as he ran carrying Tommy out of the kitchen. Tommy was tall for his age, but he was light and lanky so he only managed to get away when Techno threw him onto the living room couch. “There.” He announced with a dramatic sigh, “You’re safe now.”
Tommy stood up on the couch and launched himself at Techno, who in turn smoothly sidestepped out of the way and let Tommy slam to the floor. He scrambled to his knees and wrapped himself around the other. Techno briefly tried to shake him off, but ultimately shrugged his shoulders and returned to the kitchen dragging his brother along with him clinging to the bottom of his leg.
Techno and Wilbur were dressed similarly as usual. Pale yellow vest, white shirt underneath, matching gold glasses, same shoes. Technoblade’s long braided pink hair stood out as the most major difference, but Wilbur’s eagerness to play up the likeness and Techno’s mild willingness to go along with it was blatantly on display.
Tommy on the other hand, was not in his ever so fond baseball tees. Messy and dirty though it was, it could not be denied that he was dressed up, hat and all, like Phil. It took Techno a moment to register this— having a fire alarm blaring in your ear can be a little jarring for complex thought— but after it ceased he turned to Wilbur to check if he noticed it too. Wilbur’s returning glance messages that he clearly did, but neither of them quite knew what to say.
They all stood like that for a moment, looking around at the ruined kitchen covered in flour, milk, and scattered chocolate chips. The air still smelt burnt and even looking at the remnants of the so-called “cookies” made Techno’s mouth dry. Phil was done fanning the smoke alarm and Tommy was still wrapped around his brother’s leg, pouting and looking slightly shameful at the mess he made.
“Well, come on you three.” Phil began, clapping his hands together and scanning the battlefield that was his kitchen. “Let’s get this cleaned up. After, we can go out for supper since I really don’t want to spend any more time in here than we’ll have to…”
Wilbur and Tommy scooped the flour, milk, egg shells, and whatever other ingredients were left on the counter while Techno and Phil washed the dishes. As soon as they started to work, the stunned dumbness that had settled on the twins lifted and questions came barreling Tommy’s way like water from a broken dam.
“What the heck are you wearing?” Wilbur prompted.
Tommy’s scowl snapped to him and he answered with great offense “Since you two wouldn’t let me in with your ‘special twin clothes matching’, I decided Phil and I are going to be twins from now on.”
“You can’t be twins with your dad.” Techno stated blandly. “That would make me your…” he began to draw out an invisible family tree, but since talking with your hands is frequently frowned upon when holding a freshly washed butcher knife, Phil took his arm and gently lowered it to the counter. “Your ‘ brother-nephew ’ or something.”
Wilbur scrunched up his face in disgust, but Tommy’s arrogant and bossy demeanor returned in an instant. “Yeah bitch! I’m your brother-uncle now!!”
Fully taking the knife from his eldest’s mildly possessive grip, Phil muttered under his breath a question about why on Earth Tommy would even have to use a big knife for cookies, but shook his head in defeat before finding a satisfying answer.
“How long have you two been playing this?” Wilbur asked, now turning to Phil for his answer as Tommy was struggling to pick eggshell shards off his hands.
“Just late this morning.” He responded honestly. “The child seemed a bit torn apart that you wouldn’t include him-“ at this Tommy voiced his utter denial, but Phil ignored him. “So when he said he wanted to match with me, I thought we’d give it a try.”
Techno scanned Tommy up and down. Looking hard enough he could see the flaws in the patterns and where it didn’t quite fit him right. “You made it yourself? I didn’t know you could sow.”
Tommy shook his head so vigorously his hat almost went flying off. “Phil did it for me, like a badass.” Proudly placing his hands on his hips. Tommy did a little twirl and let the long ends of his shawl fly out from him. One hit Wilbur in the face, throwing more flour into the air in a cloud of white.
The twins looked from the clothes to Phil with shock and awe, but Phil tried to gently wave off their unspoken praise. “We had some leftover fabric in the spare room and I was able to google how to do a quick sewing job. Nothing too fancy but it’ll do.”
———
Spotless wasn’t exactly the word Phil would use, but eventually the kitchen was clean enough. The counters were whipped, the dishes were done and put away, and a quick mop and a bit of febreze and the kitchen was no worse off than it had been that morning. He took one more look over of the three boys, now doing their very best to pull each other off from sitting on the counter tops. Tommy’s resemblance to his younger self still felt almost unnerving when he made the right face or turned a certain way, but family resemblances always seemed milder when you’re around someone all the time and have watched them grow. Chalking it up to being tired, he moved to the counter and hoisted his youngest into his arms. Definitely heavier than when he was a child, but Phil held him up anyway.
“So you said we could go out for dinner, right?” Wilbur asked, finally letting go of Tommy’s arm from when he tried to yank him across the marble.
“Yep. You boys go put your bags away, you left them in the front hallway. Tommy and I will meet you in the car. Oh, and start thinking about where you want to eat.” He called to the twins as they were already barreling down the hallway.
“What? Why do they get to decide where we go?” Tommy whined.
Phil plopped his mini me back down on the kitchen floor and smushed his hat down into his face. “Because they didn’t almost burn the kitchen down mate, c’mon.”