Chapter Text
Phil first spotted the kid on a Tuesday. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, dirty and skinny, skittering around the alley beside Phil and Technoblade’s brownstone like an underfed mouse.
The Thirteenth District wasn’t an easy place to live. Phil knew that. He’d lived there his whole life and had seen the worst of the worst it had to offer. As he and Technoblade built the SBI mafia from the ground up, improving the Thirteenth District and providing its people with resources was one of their top priorities. But for now, small as SBI was, there wasn’t much they could offer.
But Phil had done more with less. It broke his heart to see kids as young as this one sleeping on the streets. He couldn’t fix the Thirteenth District right now, but maybe, he could do something to help this one kid.
Resolved, he left a few granola bars and a water bottle near the entrance of the alley when he left the house that night. When he returned from a job in the early hours of the morning, they were gone.
“Oh, God,” Technoblade groaned, when Phil brought the kid up over dinner that night. “Please don’t tell me you have a new pet project.”
Phil laughed. “A little hypocritical of you, mate, considering you were my first pet project.”
Technoblade rolled his eyes. “Just don’t get too attached. Our job doesn’t exactly allow for kids.”
Well, Phil was failing at that. It had only been a week and he hadn’t even talked to the kid yet, but Phil was definitely attached.
It became clear fairly quickly that the kid was living in the alley next to their brownstone. He continued to take the food and water that Phil left and after about a week of these indirect interactions, Phil decided it was time to engage.
Phil found him in the alley, huddled behind the dumpster.
“Hey, mate.”
The kid startled. He stared up at Phil with wide eyes, his whole body stiff like he was poised to bolt.
“Are the snacks okay? I can get you something different if you don’t like them.”
The kid’s eyes flashed with confusion, before being replaced by recognition. “It’s you?” He was still peering up at Phil suspiciously, but at the mention of the familiar food, he relaxed marginally.
Phil nodded. “I brought you some more, if you want.”
The kid snatched the granola bars and apple from his hand the moment they were offered, tucking them into his backpack like a squirrel saving food for the winter.
“My name’s Phil. I live right there.” Phil nodded at the brick wall the boy was huddled against up that made up part of his house.
“Wilbur,” the kid said. His brow was still narrowed, glaring at Phil like he was liable to attack him at any time.
“Well, Wilbur,” Phil said, dropping to a crouch and giving him an easy smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He held out his hand and pointedly ignored how the boy flinched at his movement.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Wilbur took his hand and shook it. His hand was tiny and cold in Phil’s. It was only October; Phil didn’t want to think about how Wilbur was going to brave the winter.
“How old are you, mate?” Phil asked, trying to remain casual.
Wilbur eyed him suspiciously. “Are you gonna call CPS?”
Phil almost laughed at that, but caught himself just in time. “Don’t you think if I was planning on doing that, I would have when I first saw you?”
Wilbur considered that. “I guess. I’m eight,” he said, jutting out his chin like he was declaring himself royalty.
“Eight,” Phil repeated, rubbing his chin. “That’s awfully young to be out here by yourself. Is there anywhere you can go?”
Wilbur scowled. “No.”
Phil expected as much, but it didn’t ease the pang in his heart. “I understand. Well, if you ever need anything, you can go on up and knock on my door there.”
Wilbur’s shoulders hunched up again. “Someone else lives there too.”
Phil gave a little laugh. “Oh, you’ve seen Technoblade, have you? He’s a little scary, isn’t he?”
“I’m not scared,” Wilbur snapped.
“Of course not,” Phil agreed. “Technoblade’s a sweetheart.” He startled, suddenly remembering. “Oh, I almost forgot! Speaking of Technoblade— stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Phil hurried back inside to fetch the hot cocoa Technoblade had made. (“Not for the kid, Phil,” his friend had groused multiple times as he stirred the mixture. “I just wanted to make some hot chocolate and there happened to be a bit left over.” Phil knew better, but whatever lie Technoblade wanted to tell himself was fine with him.)
Phil breathed a sigh of relief as he rounded the alley entrance again and caught sight of Wilbur’s little shoes peeking out of the shadows.
“Here,” he said, passing the to-go cup to the boy.
“What is it?” Wilbur asked, closing his hands around it. It seemed his eyes were permanently narrowed in suspicion.
“Hot chocolate! It’ll warm you right up,” Phil said.
Wilbur’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned his nose over the lid to take a sniff. “It smells good.”
“Yeah, Technoblade’s always been better at the whole cooking thing than me.”
“Technoblade made this?”
“Mhm.” Phil winked at him. “I told you— he’s a sweetheart.”
Wilbur didn’t dignify that with an answer. He just sipped cautiously at the hot chocolate. His eyes lit up at the taste and he began to drink it a little faster, cupping the warm cup in his little hands.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone, but like I said—” Phil nodded towards the brownstone. “If you need anything, you can come knocking. We’ll always be here to help.”
Wilbur didn’t quite answer this time, but he didn’t argue either. “Thank you,” he said, looking away. “For the snacks and stuff.”
“Of course, mate. They won’t stop coming,” Phil promised.
Wilbur gave him a little smile. His lips were foamy from his drink.
Phil took his leave then, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading back to the house. He pulled the door shut behind him and slumped immediately, letting out a long breath of air.
“Not attached, huh?” Technoblade drawled from his armchair.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Technoblade just laughed.