Archive of Our Own ^beta

MCC day. A competitive event, a grand championship with teamwork, skills, and a complete lack of regard for the tournament rules in Wilbur’s case, because he’s fairly sure that snacks aren’t really allowed.

But he still has chocolates stuffed into his pockets, so who’s really winning here?

“Just give one, just one-” Tommy yanks at his sleeve, completely blocking his way in trying to look at the leaderboards. They’ve only got so much time, Wilbur would like to go see what spot they’re in, but that doesn’t seem to be an option, because he’s being held hostage for the sake of his illegal chocolates. “Just give me ONE-”

“No!” Wilbur smacks him on the forehead with his palm, Tommy screaming as if he’s been injured to the highest degree. Phil whips his head around to the two of them with a narrowed glare. 

“Wil!” Phil yells, in a tone that clearly means ‘do not kill him in the middle of the tournament we still have minigames to win’.  

Wilbur despises that tone. He thinks he should be allowed to murder, just this once. They can swap out Tommy for someone else, Techno, they’ll call Techno in, yeah, that’ll work. 

“PHIL!” Tommy shrieks, holding his hands to his head as if he’s been terribly wounded, falling to the ground dramatically with a cry. Wilbur just chews on another chocolate and steps over his body to look at the leaderboard, like how he had wanted to do in the first place.

“Sixth!” Tubbo calls out, Wilbur leaning over his shoulder. “We’re in sixth, this is good!”

“Stop dying, Tommy, we’re in sixth!” Wilbur repeats, and Tommy gives a strangled yell from where Phil’s trying to drag him up off the ground. 

Wilbur huffs, turning back to the leaderboard as Tubbo points his finger down at all the teams and their points, and his attention is pulled away from the numbers entirely as his communicator begins to buzz. 

Oh. He had forgotten to turn that off. 

Technically, he’s not supposed to even have his communicator on-- distraction during the games-- but he’s already broken one stupid rule, what’s one more? He digs it out of his pocket while still chewing on his chocolate and he looks through whatever message that he’s gotten.

Technoblade: Wilbur

Technoblade: Wilbur

Technoblade: Wilbur I might’ve just punched someone don’t tell Phil 

“What the shit.” Wilbur chokes out a laugh, Tubbo turning his head to him with interest. “What is he- what?” 

“What?” Tubbo asks, and Wilbur waves him off, turning away for some semblance of privacy with this unexpected conversation. It does nothing, Tubbo just goes to peek over his shoulder. “What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing, nothing!” Wilbur insists, furiously typing at his keyboard. 

WilburSoot: You WHAT

Technoblade: I MIGHT’VE PUNCHED SOMEONE

Technoblade: GET WITH THE PROGRAM

Tommy’s interest has been grabbed by this point, and he’s swiftly moved on from his death arc to his lack of personal space arc, grabbing at Wilbur’s arm to see what he’s doing. 

“Who are you talking to?!” Tommy demands, Wilbur pushing him away by the face and turning the other direction. Now Tubbo’s there, all up in his face to look at his messages. Phil is being no help. 

“No one!” Wilbur denies, holding his device up in the air, Tommy and Tubbo only seeming to try and climb Wilbur as a result. 

WilburSoot: WHY DID YOU PUNCH SOMEONE

Technoblade: DON’T QUESTION MY TACTICS WIL

Technoblade: WHERE ARE YOU GUYS BY THE WAY

“Is that fucking Technoblade?!” Tommy asks, and Wilbur smacks him away, ignoring the scream he gets in response. 

“Wilbur!” Phil calls, and he’s also ignored, Wilbur swinging his communicator back into the air as if he’s trying to catch a signal. He’s only trying to escape the terrible hands of Tubbo. “Wil, we’re literally about to go into the next game, what are you doing-”

“My face-!” Tommy yells, on the floor for a second time. 

“I’m communicating Phil, what do you do with communicators, what do you think I’m doing?!” 

“Who are you talking to?” Phil makes a face, and Wilbur kicks off Tubbo as Technoblade types away in their conversation. 

Technoblade: IN THE ARENA GROUNDS, WHERE YOU GUYS SPECIFICALLY

WilburSoot: WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW??

Technoblade: YOU’RE NO HELP I’M CALLING PHIL

“Phil, you’re getting a call!” Wilbur helpfully informs, looking to Phil as the man proceeds to dig out his own communicator from his pockets. 

“Is it Techno? Why is- What’s Techno calling for?” Tommy asks, Tubbo nodding along and moving his attention to Phil, now. Wilbur runs ahead of him first, and he makes an impulse decision and decides he wants the call, actually. He swipes Phil’s phone right out of his hands, making his grand get-away out through the door. Tommy follows at his heels. 

“My fucking- Wilbur!” Phil calls, and Wilbur just holds the device right up to his ear, looking around frantically as he sprints across the arena grounds. The rest of the competition are scattered around, mingling while they wait to be called to the next game. A few stare as Wilbur books it across the crowd to get to the bridge over the water, climbing up on the edge to try and see over all the people. 

“What you doing?! What are we doing?!” Tommy asks, watching Wilbur climb up onto the ledge, the water far below behind him. He climbs up beside him, squinting out through the crowd. “What’s going on?”

The call goes through with a click, and Wilbur grins wildly as he continues to search around. 

“PHIL!” Techno yells. 

“Not Phil, actually-!” Wilbur chimes. “Where are you?”

“Why do you have Phil’s phone, what did you do to him-?!” Technoblade responds in mock horror, and there’s the sound of a scuffle. “Nevermind! Where are you guys, where- give me a location, I need a location.”

“We are, ahh.” Wilbur looks at where he’s standing, Phil and Tubbo finally reaching them both. “Standing on the bridge. Standing up tall, I’m waving my arm-”

“That’s not- That’s not very helpful, Wil. No, wait.” There’s a pause. “I SEE YOU. WAIT.” 

The line goes dead, Wilbur making a ‘huh’ noise as he glances at the communicator. 

“Mate, can I have that back?” Phil asks, looking up at Wilbur with an unimpressed look. 

“Only if you come stand up here with me.” Wilbur smiles. 

“That’s not- I don’t like how you said that.” 

“Help me up, man-” Tubbo climbs up onto the ledge, Tommy grabbing at his hand to pull him onto the ledge as well. 

“I’m going, I’m- Wait- WAIT WHAT THE SHIT-” Tommy nearly drops Tubbo right there, spotting something in the crowd, and Wilbur turns his head with wide eyes, then has something, or rather, someone, slam right into his middle. 

He goes flying back, off the bridge, crashing into the water with a shriek.

He’s not alone, because Tommy’s made a frantic grab at him, only to fall, then Tubbo had reached out to save him, only to fail miserably, and then Phil tried to grab both of them, and it was just a chain reaction, really, all set off by Techno, who seemed to think it was the best idea to just completely tackle Wilbur into the water like a madman. 

They all land into the water with a scream, coming back above water in the next second, Technoblade laughing his lungs out as Wilbur tries to spit water out from his mouth. 

“What the fuck!” Tommy swears, and he sounds pissed off, but he’s smiling far too wide, and he grabs Technoblade in revenge to try and dunk him underneath the water. He does not get very far in his efforts, and Technoblade just slams him into the water, the splash soaking Wilbur all over again. 

“You’re not even supposed to be here!” Tubbo notes, and Phil’s looking up from where they’ve fallen, seeing other competitors lean over the ledge and watch from the shore with interest and slight concern. “What a nice surprise.”

“What are you doing here!?” Phil demands, pushing hair out of his face with a laugh. “They don’t- No one is even allowed in during the tournament-”

“I’m here for moral support.” Technoblade defends, holding his hands up with his palms held out. “I am supporting you.”

“By pushing us off a bridge -” Tommy points out. 

“Did you-” Wilbur blinks, thinking of Techno’s messages. “Did you fight your way through security?!”

“You WHAT.” Phil coughs, and Technoblade wraps an arm over his shoulders with a perfectly innocent, toothy grin. 

“I did nothing, I’m- It was all in good reason, it was just three guards, they’re fine-”

“Technoblade support!” Tubbo throws his arms up, Tommy screaming in agreement. 

“YEAAAHH!” Technoblade yells, completely avoiding Phil’s questions by just pushing him back into the water.