Chapter Text
Tommy woke up sure that he had forgotten something, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what. The tiny window above his bed let in the golden light of a barely risen sun, and he twisted his face at the brightness of it. He was getting sick of this “rise with the sun” bull-
SHIT.
Scrambling out of bed, he pulled on his red tunic as quick as he could over his sleep shirt, hopping on one leg as he tried to put his boots on and make his way up the stairs to the ground floor at the same time. Running down the hall, he grabbed his sword and shield before bursting out the front door. Technoblade was waiting for him at the end of the grounds, disapproving scowl more prominent than usual.
“You’re late.”
Techno’s tone was flat as ever, but the way he seemed to re-test the weight of the sword in his hands as he looked him up and down had Tommy laughing nervously.
“Yeah, about that, big man, I was ready to leave like ten minutes ago, it was just- ehm-” Techno’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
The piglin snorted and turned, walking to the cleared patch of sand that was reserved for early morning training. “Let’s go, I’m in the mood to beat up a child.”
Tommy followed him quickly as he could, widening his stance and raising his shield. Both were using iron swords, the diamond reserved for real battle, but even practicing with simple wood or stone was considered an insult. Tommy personally thought he wouldn’t mind not fearing for his life every time they trained, but Techno always used that as an excuse to tell him to practice more every time he brought it up, so he kept it to himself. He tried to size up his opponent for the thousandth time, noting that their height difference was almost non-existent now, and reminded himself to pay attention to how he seemed to be favouring his left leg after their training yesterday, hoping it could lead to a weakening of his form as he tired.
Tommy, as always, was the one to make the first move. Darting forward, he feigned left before swinging his sword down towards Techno’s right, hearing the ever-disappointing thunk of iron on wood as he was blocked, Techno charging his shield away from himself to break Tommy’s stance and aim a slash at the younger’s sword-arm.
Unable to raise his shield in time, Tommy darted back into his own space, righting his stance to close the opening, thankful his sword hadn’t gotten stuck in the shield. Techno took this opportunity to step forward, shield lowered just enough for him to bring his sword down with enough momentum to send Tommy stumbling back, the sharp clang setting his ears ringing.
Behind his tusks, Tommy could see the sharp grin that split Techno’s face as he dropped his shield. Shit shit shit shit. Watching the piglin advance made his stomach sink, knowing that bending to pick the shield back up would be a death sentence in battle, and no picknick in training, either. Panicking and hoping it didn’t show, he gripped his sword in two hands now, charging with raised arms and anticipating the way Techno raised his shield to meet the blow, but not the hoof which met his exposed stomach, kicking him to the ground, where it was easy for the piglin to press his ow ow very sharp- sword to his throat.
Techno hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“That one didn’t count, right, Blade?” he asked as Techno bent down to help him to his feet, “just a practice round?”
“All training is just a ‘practice round’, Tommy, that’s kinda the whole point.” Techno handed him a waterskin, his waterskin, he realised, as he noticed he had forgotten his own in the hurry to make it to practice before breakfast.
“Yeah but that was like, a practice practice.” he insisted, mostly out of habit and stubbornness.
“Sure. In that case, the three rounds start now.”
Tommy groaned as he realised he had cheated himself into more training. And with that, the fighting resumed.
-
Both of them were panting by the time the sun was fully over the horizon, the village clocktower striking seven down in the valley. Tommy was panting significantly harder, but tiring the Blade at all was an achievement, in his opinion.
“You’re getting better,” Techno told him on their way back to the house. Tommy beamed at the praise.
“But you’re still reckless. Running at me without a shield? That’s stupid. Stupid gets you killed.”
“Well I wasn’t about to retreat, was I? Blood for the Blood God! Not, not- caution for the retreat god, or whatever.”
Techno rolls his eyes at the misuse of the battle cry, smacking the younger upside the head without looking.
“Ow!”
“Part of fighting is knowing when you’re beat. No shame in keeping yourself alive, dumbass.” Techno decided not to comment on the way Tommy mimed the words as he said them, opening the door and ushering the kid in before bolting it.
“Spuds for breakfast today, big man?” he asked, strutting down the hall like he owns the place.
“You know my diet consists of more than potatoes, right? You know I need protein? Minerals?”
“You don’t grow more than potatoes,” he snarked, walking backwards and pushing open the tiny kitchen door with his shoulder.
“What else am I supposed to grow? The soil up here is trash!” he yelled, voice raising in pitch as he defended himself.
“You could grow bees. Tubbo grows bees.” He shrugs, lifting the lid from the water barrel and filling his mug, rather than sticking his head in like he would if he were unobserved.
“You don’t gro- a’ight I’m out.” Techno says, making no move to actually be out, instead filling his own mug and chugging it. “Never mind training, we need to send you back to school.”
Tommy pulled a face and drank his own water, waving an arm as if to shoo away the very idea. “I’m too cool for school, big T, they told me ‘Tommy, Tommy you’re so cool, there’s nothing left for us to teach you Tommy that you don’t already know with your huge brain’.”
Techno looked unamused.
“Yeah, okay, shut up. You didn’t even go to school.”
Techno shook his head as he leaned against the table, picking up an apple and polishing it on his sleeve. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I’m smarter than you.”
Tommy huffed and caught an apple as Techno threw it to him, with minimal fumbling, might he add.
He kind of wished he knew more about the man that was going to be training him for what may or may not be the rest of his life. He bit into the apple with a satisfying crunch, and watched his mentor as he chewed.
He knew Techno wasn’t human- that much was obvious, from his tusks to his hooves to his weirdly piercing eyes, but he had no idea what a piglin even was until Techno had mentioned it in passing, and had been too scared of offending him to ask anything beyond that, back in the early days. It’s almost funny to him now. Being scared of offending the Blade? Younger-Tommy was an idiot. But now he had known him too long to ask without being weird, and he wasn’t about to go and ask Wilbur or Phil.
He didn’t even know why he had taken him on, really. Techno always shut him down when he asked. All he knew was that he was somehow on the Blood God’s good side, and Techno seemed to have a vested interest in keeping it that way.
-
Techno was dozing in his potato farm when he heard the deadbolt being unlocked, and the quick footsteps of someone abandoning their studies. Opening one eye from where he was leaning against the composter, he watched as Tommy gave him a salute before twisting and running down the path towards the village, yelling “Back by dinner!” over his shoulder.
He was pretty sure he’d told the kid to copy out a full chapter of an enchanted book of Mending, and he was even more sure that it couldn’t have only taken an hour. He chuffed quietly to himself and went back to his potatoes.
-
The village was almost a town, Tommy was pretty sure, though Phil had once tried to explain that the difference had more to do with how a place was governed than population. He was pretty sure he had stopped listening after that, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. The main takeaway was that the town had everything your average sixteen year old could need, but was small enough that pretty much everyone knew about the weird warlock who lived above the valley, and the weird child that had been sent up into his care six years ago. Tommy thought seeming like a mystery was pretty cool, actually, though Wilbur had told him that wearing a weird shirt was enough to be seen as a mystery in this village, which he took great offence to.
But that wasn’t the point, right now, because he was just passing through. He dashed through the streets on spindly legs, passing the blacksmith’s and tanner’s and the square where the market was held on Sundays, making sure he didn’t make eye contact with anyone who could take it the wrong way (because from him, everyone took it the wrong way). He didn’t mind the trek to Tubbo’s bee farm, as it usually gave him the chance to pick up a few bits and pieces, but today, he was mostly in a hurry to see his friend.
Said friend was fully suited up when he arrived at the far gate of the field, net obscuring his face from view, but Tommy knew he was smiling when he bounced on the balls of his feet as he waved, careful not to disturb the bees. Tommy waved back in more exuberant motions, then mouthed when you done? as obviously as he could over such a distance, tapping his wrist to get his point across. Tubbo tilted his head side to side before holding up a single finger, followed by a thumbs up. Tommy returned the gesture, and sprinted to the small cottage his friend lived in, pulling out his ring of keys and letting himself in.
The tiny, two-room cottage always seemed cosier than the cold cobble walls of his own room, and he took the time to breathe in and enjoy the wooden walls, wooden floors, and the warm wool rugs and blankets that seemed to cover every surface, before sitting down on the couch and leaning his head back, tapping his leg to some unnameable tune.
Barely five minutes later, Tubbo opened the door and collapsed down next to him, the shorter boy letting out a little oof as his back hit the seat.
“Worn yourself out, big T?” he asked, smirking at the way the beekeepers uniform made his friends head look tiny in comparison to his body.
“Not at all, big T,” Tubbo replied, before leaning forward and pulling the huge canvas shirt off, leaving him in his usual green shirt. “Bit hot though, isn’t it?”
“Oh, don’t talk about the weather, Tubbo, you sound like a bloody old man.”
The brunette threw the shirt at him with a laugh. “It is though! You try beekeeping in July!”
Tommy elbowed him in the side, batting away the offending object. “I don’t think I will, man, I’m too busy trying to have fun in the summer.”
“Yeah? Come on then.” Tubbo grinned, kicking off the thick white canvas pants, and kicking open the door. “Last one to the lake is a bitch!”
“That’s my line, bitch!” Tommy called after him, breaking into a sprint and taking over Tubbo.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, I don’t speak BITCH!”
Shrieks of indignation were all he heard after that, both of them running full pelt towards the lake that split the village from the surrounding forest. As expected, Tommy wins, though Tubbo protests that it was close.
“You have the height advantage! I was basically sabotaged from the beginning.”
“But you got a head start, which means I won fair and square.”
“I mean, I guess you win fair and square either way, since you can’t really control your height…” Tubbo squints in thought for a moment, before turning back to look at Tommy. “Just wait for my growth spurt, then it’s over for you.”
Tommy laughs at that, loud and happy to be with his best friend. “You keep telling yourself that, Tubbo.”
They sit in silence for a moment, looking at the sky. Tommy notices a cloud that looks kind of like a stork, and points it out. Tubbo insists it’s a pair of shears.
“Weren’t you supposed to be working today too? Prep for the market tomorrow?” Tubbo asks, in the kind of voice that sounds too much like he doesn’t care to be real.
Tommy shifts and keeps looking at the sky, blinking at the enormity of it. “We’re ehm. We’re skipping the market tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Tubbo tries not to sound disappointed, “small yield, or?”
“You know Techno would rather die than have anything other than the best potato farm in the world, Tubbo, I think a small yield would kill him.” Tommy jokes weakly. He looks down to the lake in front of them. “Wilbur and Phil are due home tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Tubbo says.
“Yeah,” Tommy draws out the word in the way he does when he’s reluctant to keep talking. “When they come back, they usually have, um. They’re usually pretty tired. Need taking care of, the big babies.”
Tubbo bumps his shoulder against Tommy’s, smiling when Tommy bumps him back. “Good thing they have you then, yeah?”
Tommy finally makes eye contact with him, and the sincerity in Tubbo’s face forces a smile out of him. “Yeah,” he says. “Lucky bastards.”