Chapter Text
It was most likely unearned confidence that Philza thought he could keep the family business from all of his boys until they were at least 18. This plan fell to the wayside far quicker than intended. Techno learned of it on his 16th birthday, Wilbur at 13, and Tommy months after his 16th birthday. He’d done his best to keep it from them while he could, meetings and business partners kept wholly separate from his day to day life. Morning’s spent making pancakes and trying to get Tommy into something other than his favorite baseball tee. Afternoons picking them up from school, watching movies, and helping them with their math homework. Philza would kiss his children’s foreheads, pass the emergency phone to Sam, and head off to lead the most powerful mafia in the entire city by nightfall. It was system that worked, one that – to him – shouldn’t have failed.
The kids didn’t question where the money came from, they didn’t question the security around their home, they only knew Phil as their father and each other as their brothers and there was nothing more to that. They were simply kids, they didn’t question so long as things didn’t change from their established normal. They didn’t talk to strangers, but that was taught to every child. If Phil himself wasn’t there to pick them up from their private school then it was always Sam. Their lives were no different than every other kid as far as they were aware.
Perhaps eighteen was too lofty of a goal. He should have known the moment all three of them had concocted some haphazard plan to overthrow the dinner table that Phil wouldn’t be able to keep his clever boys in the dark for that long.
Techno confronted his father the day after his 16th birthday. Pink balloons the color of his newly dyed hair still hung on the last dredges of helium around the sitting room. Steaming cups of earl grey tea sat untouched between the two of them. A crumbled up ball of wrapping paper that had missed the garbage bin bounced against his tapping foot. Those were the small things his brain held onto from that conversation. Techno’s piercing glare on the other hand threatened Phil’s composure more so than any gun to his head ever had. Techno’s voice stayed level and he chose his words carefully as he all but demanded Philza tell him the truth. So he did.
If he was being honest with himself, Techno was too smart to have just figured it out at 16. Everything felt too researched. The speech too well rehearsed. He’d seen the way his oldest had danced around the topics and how his ears had perked at slightly off remarks or mysterious phone calls over the years. Had he been a smarter man he would have put an end to it then. If he had to guess, Techno had known at 14 and chose the easier route of waiting until he couldn’t wait anymore. Techno had always been the patient one of his three.
Wilbur on the other hand didn’t have the luxury of years and time to come to terms with the family business. He had wild curls and an attitude to match. More instruments crammed into his room than in most high school band lockers. His son was argumentative to nearly a fault but never brash about it, always having some clever retort planned and evidence stored and saved to use as leverage later. Phil hated how his first thoughts when those skills came to light was how useful they’d be to the family business. How quickly he’d encouraged Wil to join the debate team. They could always use more diplomats and Wilbur’s negotiating skills led to him getting extra dessert and a later bedtime more nights than not. Maybe Phil was just too much of a push over for his boys. Wil was bright and loved his brothers and would tell everyone he came across what his plans for his future were. Phil never had it in his heart to tell him those plans would always be tied down to The Syndicate as his son. He was 13 when all that shattered and it took years to build that trust back up again.
A father never forgets the shape of their children. From the moment they were first placed into his arms, Phil’s bones bent and curved to form to the shape of each child and cement the feeling there within them. A fatherly nest for his offspring when they woke up from nightmares or fell off their bikes. He never forgot how Wil felt in his arms that night, body wracked with sobs as his tears left wet continents on Phil’s jacket. The way the rain washed the first drivels of blood from the concrete and how he kept Wil’s gaze away from it. The feeling of his son’s soft curls intertwined with his fingertips as he promised he’d never let it happen again. He promised over and over again, never stopping until he couldn’t hear the drumroll of gunfire behind them as his crew left the ones that had taken his son from him in piles of their own blood. The entire city knew what it meant to mess with The Angel of Death that night.
It was only a handful of hours later, after the fourth attempt to get Wil to sleep more than thirty minutes without waking up fighting against an unseen enemy that Phil gave up the lies and told his son what happened. In less than a month and a half he’d stripped the childhood from two of his son’s and welcomed them to The Syndicate.
He’d saved the more gruesome details, he didn’t need to traumatize the boy just barely scraping his teenage years any further. All he needed to know was that Philza was a very powerful man, their family was a formidable opponent to some in the city, and those enemies had snatched Wilbur following a guitar lesson before Sam could even register the boy was gone. It wasn’t fair, he told him as such and he brought in the best therapist in the city and prayed that the years and answers might let his son sleep at night again. All while his youngest slept soundly in the room over, never the wiser, and Techno nearly stormed out into the rain that night to deal with whatever enemies might threaten his family again. Phil was only able to stop him by requesting that he watch over Tommy. A vigil he maintained for months after.
With Techno he’d explained further, studying his son’s expression with practiced focus. Techno remained quiet through it all, only offering the occasional interjection. For hours his eldest sipped at his tea until he’d drained the pot and stared at the remaining tea leaves within as though they alone could reveal how this conversation would end.
Eventually it did end, Techno stood up without a word and deposited his teacup in the kitchen and excused himself to his room. The mere thought that he’d lost his son to the secrets left him tossing and turning all night. Yet, Techno greeted him the next morning and offered his assistance. It had been an argument. 18 had always been the age that Phil set. Once they were adults, no matter how young they would always be in his eyes, then they could join him. The Syndicate was dangerous. A month and a half later would reveal just how dangerous it was for his children in particular. Technoblade had been steadfast though. He knew he could help, his years in karate and other fighting styles were not to be overlooked, not to mention he was the natural heir of The Syndicate. The more Phil could teach him before an assassination attempt couldn’t be thwarted in time the better. He agreed and Techno joined the family business under the condition that his grades were not to fall and that he’d still get a university education. Techno agreed on both points.
And so 16 became the age when he’d tell his boys everything. While Wilbur knew the basics at 13, it was at 16 that Phil finally let his son put his silver-tongue to use and start swindling those who thought it wise to underestimate a teenager. Sam was always close by, ready to step in at a moment’s notice. The feeling of Wil sobbing in his arms never truly left his mind and with his third son more rambunctious and troublesome than Wil and Techno had ever been combined, he never wanted Tommy to go through the same. He couldn’t bear the sight of it.
When his older two boys knew what was going on he could trust them to keep an extra eye out on Tommy. But, Tommy never seemed to understand the need for check ins, security, keeping his location on, and letting Sam know where he was. It was a security nightmare for everyone involved. Wil and Techno only wanted to babysit their teenaged younger brother so much and Tommy only wanted to let them watch him so often. It was after Tommy’s third attempt to sneak out that Phil decided that maybe 16 was too early for some. Wil and Techno argued, not wanting to have to keep the secret from Tommy any longer than needed, but eventually they gave in. Agreeing that the gremlin child could use to wait until he at least graduated high school.
The world moved on like it always had. Wil and Techno in university and working for The Syndicate on the side. Tommy floundering his way through high school without the grace and ease he’d come to expect from Techno and Wilbur. Parent-teacher conferences ended in assurances that they’d figure out a solution for his boy’s performance. Checks were written on top of tuition to brush disciplinary issues under the rug and pay for therapy for one of his instructors (thankfully he had a great therapist on his payroll). He kept his smile thin and wondered what was harder, raising three boys or running the most powerful mafia in the city. Every time his phone rang from the school that answer tended to lean towards specifically raising Tommy.
Tommy’s 16th birthday passed and there were no terse discussions over tea or introductions to the secret rooms in their home. There was only cake and ice cream and they watched Moana together and Techno gifted Tommy a rather suspicious swiss army knife that Phil would have to question him about later. It was normal and they moved on. They kept on playing at their perfect family. He was never the wiser that Techno oversaw a drug deal that evening once the sugar crash hit Tommy like a train and left him sleeping on the couch to the sounds of Wil plucking at guitar strings.
Nothing changed until Tommy’s voice, three months later, cursed through the entire house like a shrieking siren.
“DADZA WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?”
Soft chords suddenly halted from Wil’s guitar as he looked above his glasses at Phil, an eyebrow raised.
“Told you.” Wilbur hummed.
“Let me handle this.” Phil sighed as he pushed himself up from the living room couch and turned off the television.
Techno was already in the hall, arms crossed and leaning against a wall sporting a sly smirk to match.
“I had my money on six months.”
“If I find out one of you boys told him you’re never getting off paperwork for as long as you both live.” Phil huffed but Techno raised his arms in a placating manner.
Tommy was in Philza’s office. The one that was always locked. The one that locked instantly upon the door closing. The one that Tommy under no circumstance should have been able to access. Yet there he was, face flushed like he’d just run across town and damning papers surrounding him. In his other hand was a stapler.
“Mate-“
“The Syndicate? Is that like a mafia or something? Are we in the mafia? Do Techno and Wil know? Why haven’t you told me? I thought you ran Craft Investments! Techno said you did all the stocks and property buying and stuff! That’s why Techno kept blabbing on about ‘how to manipulate the stock market’” Tommy rambled on, doing his best imitation of their brother’s monotone voice.
He should have been more concerned about how Tommy broke into his office, but why in the world was Techno teaching him about manipulating the stock market? They agreed they weren’t going to teach him anything for the business until he was old enough, mutually agreeing that they couldn’t trust him to use any of it responsibly. Prime knows they didn’t need to be picking Tommy up from the police after he hotwired a car or something.
“Let’s talk about this mate. Why were you in here?” Phil started, trying to keep his voice calm and his mind composed.
“I couldn’t find a stapler!”
“And why did you need a stapler?”
“I saw this thing online where you could make pencils stick to a wall and I wanted to see if I could make a wall mounted stapler. That would be very pog. Stop dodging the question though.”
Phil stared for a moment, looking at his boy that looked so much like him unlike his other two sons. Blond hair and blue eyes, shimmering in the glow of the small chandelier light fixture.
“Alright then, noble cause I suppose. Then how did you get in here?”
“I picked the lock,” Tommy said like it was a normal skill that every 16 year old had. Granted his other two had learned that skill at 16 but not Tommy.
“And where did you learn that?”
“Wil taught me.”
Phil paused once more. Sighed heavily and realized he should have known better than to underestimate his two other sons when they said they wouldn’t get him involved before he was ready.
With a motion for Tommy to sit and Phil resting his head in his hands he went about explaining the family business with a mental note to have a nice long talk with Techno and Wil to figure out all that they’d taught Tommy.
As it turned out, it was a lot and it had been going on for far longer than he’d expected.