Chapter Text
Darkness. Inky blackness spills across all, leaving nothing but a blank abyss. “Don't you tire of it, my star?”
A whisper so soft it could lull anyone into a slumber so deep and dreamless it could be mistaken for death. The pitter-patter of wobbly footsteps ricochets around the void, aimlessly wandering towards one so soothing.
Mother? Momma, where are you?
Stumbling, ungracefully dancing through corridors of darkness. Hands slide against cool smooth walls as a silent guide while tired feet wander towards restful comfort.
“We must endure so much for the sake of learning.”
It hurts.
“We cannot learn without it.”
Warmth. Loving arms wrap around aching limbs, pulling one into an embrace so tight it could banish all pains. Hands grip soft sweater fabric like a lifeline.
Can't I stay here?
“There is much left for you to do. Your purpose is not yet fulfilled.”
But I'm afraid.
“Be not afraid, my star, you are not alone. And you will always have a place here.”
The darkness threatens to slip away, taking the warmth and familiarity with it. There is no room to stay here yet, and there will not be for a long time. The time for rest will go as soon as it comes.
---------------------------------
Tommy was light as a feather in F's arms, his limbs hung down like spaghetti noodles as his brother carried him bridal style, and his eyes almost seemed wired shut with how deep into his dreamland he was. Technoblade moved carefully so as not to disturb the knocked-out teen in his grasp, walking slowly and watching to make sure he didn’t hit him on anything.
“If I had known I would be playing babysitter today I might’ve gone with the execution," Techno mumbles to himself as he makes his way out of the basement and back into the cellar, he takes a quick glance at the chests as they go to enter the house making a mental note of which to grab from. With a sigh, he manages to get Tommy into the den and laid out on the couch. It was strange to see someone so bright and boasting suddenly so dead; it was like seeing a fluffy dog go flat after having water poured on it, though his brother was more of a rabid raccoon than a purse-trained Pomeranian.
Techno crouches so he can get a better look at the damage on the teen's face. Gently, he reaches out and turns his face from side to side, taking in the cuts and bruises. “How did you manage to get this banged up?” he quietly asks himself. He can already infer that the rest of the kid's body is in the same condition, but he needs to check. “Tommy,” he pokes the younger Piglins' cheek, “Tommy, wake up so I can check you over.” he continues to poke him. Being far too exhausted to wake, the boy does not stir; he lies limp on the sofa.
“Dead..”
“He's not dead. Just stubborn,” he sighs.
After some careful maneuvering, he manages to get Tommy into a more upright position so he can more easily check him. He finds several deep bruises along his abdomen and ribcage, and several gashes scattered all over his body. The blues, reds, and purples of infection and emaciation were bad enough, but the real cherry on top was the sickly pale of Tommy's skin mixed with the harsh, inflamed red of sunburn covering him. The kid would have died of exposure if he had spent just a day longer out there, whether it be in the warm or cold. The harsh arctic would have claimed his skin's warmth, and the regular January of Logshedshire would have stolen the last little bit of strength from his bones.
“What have you been doing?” Techno's brow furrows, his voice low to avoid waking the child.
Child?
He's not sure when his mind swapped a capable teenager for a child. Maybe it was the injuries or the emaciated structure of his baby brother's ribs; either way, he wouldn't focus on correcting it now. Tommy needed treatment, and Techno needed to be the responsible one, just as he's always been.
He pulls the younger Piglin’s shirt down and stands up. It’s time to repair the damage.
----
Walking into the kitchen, Techno had made up his mind that Tommy's injuries had sat too long for a healing potion to fix them properly, so he’d have to brew something stronger. Setting a pot of water on the stove to heat the brew he makes his way over to the counter, reaching up and rummaging through cabinets pulling down herbs and spices galore; Jars of calendula, comfrey, carthamus, arctium, and anethum clink together as the armload of bottles is poured on the table unceremoniously. He may have been taken off guard by the situation, but he is certainly prepared.
Dumping dried herbs and various potions into the pot, he loses himself in his thoughts. Who the hell does Tommy think he is, showing up here after everything he's done? The audacity to take his things like they were his and stow himself away in the basement. Why is he even trying to help him? ‘Family's everything? They're not even family anymore. Tommy gave that up when he betrayed him, used him. Techno doesn't know why he still wants to help him, maybe it's some leftover part of the homesickness he felt when everything went down, when the smoke cleared, and he was left with just himself. Can't go back now, though. The past is gone. Their friendship is gone. No more trust, no more love… then why does he still care so much?
Techno ignores the thoughts the best he can, pushes them to the back of his mind, and lets the now flourishing chorus of voices fill his mind with a comforting, drowning buzz.
The pot's mixture turned the deep shimmering red of a healing potion, bubbling and swirling around its warm confines. The brew should be strong enough; if it's not, Tommy has one hell of a healing process to go through manually.
He walks over to the doorway between the den and the kitchen. Leaning on the opening, he takes another look at his brother, the steady rise and fall of the teen's chest reassuring him that he's alive. He sighs as the voices begin again, “alive?” they ask, “yes. I already told you he's fine.” “Staying?” “No.” He's quick to shut that thought down. Tommy's not staying. It doesn't matter if his healing process is long or that he’ll be slightly impaired for a bit. There's no room for him here. No space for traitors. Besides, he's not a child, he's not helpless; he can take care of himself. He doesn't need Techno. He doesn't. Why does that thought hurt?
“Stay”
“Keep”
“Treasure”
“Baby”
“Please?”
“Scared”
“Hurt”
“Stay”
“Find them.”
“Blood”
“Blood”
“Blood”
“Blood”
“Blood”
“Blood”
Techno brings his hands up to his temples, rubbing circles into the pressure point in hopes of easing the nauseating headache he can feel their yapping bringing on. It's not helping. Grumbling, he goes back into the kitchen to round up the potion and other first aid materials. They continue to whisper, he continues to ignore, doing his best to focus on the task at hand and not their desperate rambling.
Bringing the supplies into the den, Techno places the mass of first aid materials down on the nearby side table, being careful not to disturb the sleeping boy or drop anything. He pulls over a chair and sits down, studying the frail child before him… he looks awful.
With a sigh, he sets to work on Tommy's arms first, dipping a rag into the still warm bowl of shimmering red liquid, he begins to gently wipe down the bruises and cuts, the warmth soothing the sore skin and magic mending the old wounds the best it can. “How did you even manage this?” Techno mumbles to himself.
Flesh hums and mends to the best of its ability, but it's not enough; gashes left to sit too long refuse to close up, and bruises resist disappearing. “Shit.”
The healing process will have to be mostly manual, which means Tommy will need someone to take care of him. Shit.
“Staying?” they chirp, quite pleased with this predicament
“Yes. He's staying.”
---------------------------------
When Tommy's eyes open, the first thing he notices is the lack of a basement, the second is that he's in a bed that isn't his own. His body feels as if it were filled with cement, heavy as lead; his head isn't much better with its dizzy lightness. He doesn't feel like he's there, or himself, or anything. Techno had found him and he was a very reasonable amount of alive. Weird.
He didn't fancy getting up, the bed was warm and soft, and surprisingly he felt safe. He turns his head to the side with a bit of effort, neck still stiff from whiplash and trying to survive on nothing. His eyes drift around the room, all of it feels distinctly Techno from the bookshelves to the bell. Things were kept neat as always and after deeming the room rather nonthreatening his attention moved to the weight at the end of the bed.
Techno was sitting in a chair at the bed's foot reading, sword tucked beside his chair.
Maybe it was the rather lethargic state he was in but fear didn't hijack him for the first time in a long time upon seeing his older brother, not that he was terribly scared of his ever it's just complicated.
"Are you watching me sleep?" He mumbles, not having the strength for his usual chatter.
"No, I'm waiting for you to wake up. How do you feel?" Techno closes his book and sets it to the side.
"Like I got hit by a truck." Tommy groans. "Gods you're such a weirdo Technoblade, why are you such a weirdo?"
"Well, this "weirdo" saved you from dying from exposure so count your blessings or something." The older huffs in amusement.
Tommy groans again, he wants to be mad, wants to be upset, but he's so damn tired. He rubs his eyes yet can't shake the drowsiness from his soul.
Maybe this is how he'll be forever, tired and aching with nothing left but his own thoughts... Not that those were worth anything now or ever in the grand scheme of things.
He's brought back to reality by the feeling of a cool hand against his forehead. "You still have a fever." Techno states dryly, removing his hand.
"'I'm not sick." The younger boy tried to protest but the look on Techno's face tells him he's not fooling anyone.
"Are you gonna kill me?" He suddenly asks, unable to contain the thoughts anymore.
Techno looks at him for a moment with confusion and a few rapid blinks, "heh? Why would I kill you? I literally brought you back from the edge of death."
Tommy ponders that for a moment. It wouldn't necessarily be in his brother's style to kill someone while they're down- at least not like this -it wasn't "honorable" or something like that. But if not now then when?
"Promise?" The younger boy asks quietly, still too afraid to make eye contact.
"We're far past being able to make promises, but yes, I promise." The older soothes, letting his hand card through Tommy's curls in a rare gesture of affection.
He can't help but melt into the touch, a soft rumbling purr reverberating in his chest.
“Im gonna grab something to help with your fever, don't pass out in the meantime.”
Techno leaves him for a moment before quickly returning with what appears to be some type of syrup. Undoubtedly Tommy recognizes it as the terribly tasting Sick Syrup that terrorized the sick days of his childhood. The stuff tasted like menthol times ten and if you asked him what it was made of he'd probably guess poison. Despite this, he watches as Tencho pours a proper dollop of it onto a tablespoon. The syrup was shiny and could be mistaken for a black as deep as midnight if its shine didn't hint to red, one look at the stuff was enough to have the ghost of its bitter taste in his mouth. “‘Em not taking that.” he stubbornly mumbles, "you'll only get worse if you don't." Techno tries to reason with him as he holds the spoon out to the younger boy. “Not true, I've got an immune system of steel.”
“A strong breeze could knock you over right now.”
“Steel and iron, I'm like a wall Technoblade.”
“Tommy, I'm gonna be real with you if you don't take this you might actually die. Right now your brain is trying to cook you alive and the rest of your body is in worse shape than I've seen most warriors in. take the medicine.”
One point Techno, zero Tommy.
The stuff wasn't as awful to swallow as he remembered it being but it still wasn't pleasant, at least he only had to have a single spoon of it. The stuff was fast acting and soon after taking it Tommy found himself sinking farther into the bed as the pain in his limbs began to numb and a soothing haze encircled his insides leaving him rather sleepy and content. He watches Techno straighten things around the room and places the bottle and spoon nearby on the nightstand.
“How do you do it?” he mumbles
“Hm?” Techno looks up from the little items he had begun to arrange on the nightstand. “Live out here all by yourself.”
The older shrugs, “I'm not alone, Phil lives here too.”
“But he spends most of his time not here.”
“I think I'm just more okay with being alone than you are, introverted or something like that.”
Tommy couldn't quite grasp being content with isolation, it was something he's been fighting for months and now to hear that Techno didn't mind it even chose it over vying for the attention and acceptance of the others like he's always done. His throat gets tight and his shoulders shiver as hot tears start pouring down his cheeks. Techno immediately is taken off guard and takes a good minute to blue screen before trying to mend the impromptu sobbing, “hey, hey,” he speaks quietly sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. “Everything's fine, why are you crying?” He really wasn't equipped for a situation like this, it's been many many moons since he's had to soothe someone.
“Because I care! I want them to want me! I want them to hear me! And you- you just don't care at all!!” He sputters through heaving sobs, “I've given them everything and they don't care, they don't want me and I still want them anyway..”
That… was hard to hear, probably even harder for Tommy to spit out. He was right though, he had done everything for nothing if he was now barred from his home. Techno cups his face- a rare moment of physical affection between the two -and wipes the tears away, “Why do you try so hard for that place?” It's a genuine inquiry, no sappy edges or pity, just curiosity.
“Cuz it's my country, my home, my friends are there.” Tommy sniffles, sopping up his tears with his sleeve.
“But it's not your country and you've been cast out of that home and those “friends” aren't coming.”
Tommy can feel his heart become just as heavy as his body feels upon hearing the truth. “I know we don't always agree and we are far from making amends, but I promise as long as you're here there will be purpose and there will be security.” The older boy's voice is gentle and though it holds its natural monotone quality Tommy knows he's telling the truth. “Besides, I'm sure she'd have my head if I didn't watch over you.” He cracks a small smile.
Tommy blinks away forming tears with a delirious giggle, “so I can stay?” He asks softly.
“You can stay.”