Phil had a problem saying no when it came into taking emergency foster children and George’s words were barely out of his mouth once Phil registered the “They ran away from a cult” and of course, Phil being the man he is, took that kid in the same day.

The drive to the thrift store the next morning was relatively quiet. You sat in the passenger seat, dressed in a long-sleeved red shirt and black sweatpants that Phil had panic-bought the day prior.

“Here’s the game plan,” Phil said cheerfully, gesturing to the large thrift store they were parked next to. “We’ll stick together, okay? We can check out the book section, the miscellaneous section and the house section for some decor. If you want anything, let me know. If it’s a little overwhelming in there let me know and we can take a breather break outside, alright?”

You nodded, hands clasped tightly in her hands.

A few minutes later the three stood inside the store, Tommy tucked safely into a cart while they wandered the book aisle, multi-coloured novels flanking them. Phil was scanning the young adult section, trying to think of some novels that Technoblade could read when he heard a small gasp. Turning, he saw you sitting on your heels, reverently running your hands across a large, leather bound set of books on the bottom shelf.

“Whatcha got there, mate?” Phil asked, squatting down to look at the collection.