Archive of Our Own

Technoblade was retired, but by no means was he any less of the Piglin he used to be. A few weeks without toppling a Government and causing anarchy was nothing, if something were to happen he’d still be a force to be reckoned with, if Phil needed saving from a baby Zombie he’d still leap to protect him as quickly as always, and now that he had Totems of Undying he had very little to worry about. Whatever enemy he faced, he would win that fight. There was nothing, and no one, that was stupid enough to cross him.

Or so, that was what he assumed. 

He’d returned home, tying Carl up outside his base and stepping inside to warm up from the cold (he wondered why he’d chosen the snow for his self imposed exile. He was from the Nether, why did he think snow was a good idea?!) when he first noticed it.

To most, there was no visible change to the order of things, but Technoblade wasn’t most. He was an observant man, who let no detail go unchallenged or unseen (and he ignored the voices in his head reminding him of just hours ago when he’d said there was no wood while he stood outside a Woodland Mansion) - he saw the change. 

There were puddles on the floor where snow had been brought in from the outside world and had melted, leaving a track that led straight to his basement.

His hand moved to his side and he unsheathed his sword, feet moving silently despite the heavy armour he wore, and he clambered down the ladder. When he saw nothing, and no one, his breath hitched. He switched his sword for a pick and quickly mined a block so he could drop down another floor.

His cow was still there. Whatever Gods existed, he thanked them that his cow was still there. 

That, however, didn’t resolve the issue entirely, because something had still entered his home and the footsteps led this way. 

Technoblade took in a slow breath, starting to pace around the room with his eyes shut as he listened carefully to the difference in his steps. It took a moment before he found it, but eventually there was a spot that made a slightly different noise - a spot that sounded hollow - and that indicated that there was something new under his home. 

He used his pick to break the spot he’d stood on, revealing a ladder, and he could see flickering torch light emanating from the hole.

Bingo. 

Swapping back to his sword, Technoblade began a quick, silent descent into the hole, ready to attack whoever had broken into his home and hidden themselves away. 

It wouldn’t be for a few hours before he thought to thank his mind for thinking quickly. He’d already raised his sword above his head when his eyes finally lay on the thin, small figure that had tucked itself against a cobblestone wall. He’d been ready to strike as he took in the sheer poverty of the environment that surrounded the sleeping boy. He’d started his swing when Tommy rolled over on his lumpy, makeshift bed.

He’d never forget the look of horror on Tommy’s face that forced him to loosen his grip on the sword just enough for it to fall to the ground with a clatter that made his once stoic little brother jump and cower.

“Please…” A hoarse, broken whisper left his lips, and Technoblade’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry…”

He wasn’t sure how long he stood and processed the scene before him. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but he stared at his baby brother and took in everything he could. 

Firstly, the bed that Tommy slept on barely even had a frame. It looked as if it had been put together haphazardly, splinters seemed to poke out at every angle and that - he assumed - was why he’d elected to try and sleep on top of the blankets rather than slip beneath them and conserve body heat. A torch by his bed looked to have been used to keep him warm - and Technoblade mentally noted that it was a fire hazard. If Tommy had tossed just a little too roughly, he could have knocked it from it’s perch on the wall and set himself alight.

If he’d somehow avoided burning alive, then the fire would simply have burned his bed and crafting table until all the oxygen from the hole had been consumed and he was left to choke to his death in the corner.

The next thing he noticed was how badly injured his brother was. There were bruises, cuts, and burns of all ages across his body. Some were fresh - he could see a particularly purple bruise on his shoulder (where the fabric of his sleeve was torn), and he could see that the front of his shirt was stained with enough blood to make even the Blood God himself feel queasy. His face was dark, evidence that he’d been spending a lot of time in the Nether, but the few streaks where tears had washed away the ash and soot showed just how pale he was.

Thirdly, Tommy was so much smaller than Technoblade remembered. It wasn’t just that he was malnourished (though his shirt hung much more loosely than it ever had before, and his jeans had string tied tightly around his waist to keep them from slipping), but that the way he held himself, the fear in his eyes… Something horrific had happened to his little brother - something even more horrible than the betrayal of both brothers - and Technoblade made a silent promise.

As soon as he’d helped Tommy, he’d pick up his sword from the ground and he’d destroy whoever had done this to his brother. He wouldn’t kill them, he would pull them apart piece by piece in a way that would keep them alive for the longest amount of time possible. When they respawned, he’d remove their organs alphabetically. And if they still had one more life, he’d allow himself the joy of slitting their throat.

“Tommy? Why are you so thin? So pale…?” He breathed, because despite his observations he still needed answers. 

“Tech…”

And with that one, broken syllable, Technoblade didn’t need answers. Not yet, anyway. He fell to his knees, his legs suddenly too weak to support him, and he threw his arms around his brother. He felt Tommy shaking, heard him inhaling slowly and letting a trembling, tiny sob slip past his lips. Technoblade clung to him a tighter, fingers bunching the torn shirt in his fists and pulling the boy as close to his chest as he could, until Tommy was practically pinned against him with no room to fight the embrace if he even had the strength to.

The way that his head simply lolled forwards onto his shoulder told him that Tommy didn’t have any kind of strength.

“Tommy?” He asked, waiting a beat before speaking again. “Tommy, I need you to speak to me.”

His voice was full of fear - a feeling that Technoblade would claim to have never felt before. He was brave, he was strong, he was a warrior with bold plans and little regard for the wellbeing of others if they didn’t share his ideals or follow in his footsteps. He thought that Phil had been the one exception to that - and when he’d helped to destroy L’Manburg when they’d created a new Government he assumed that his theory had been correct. 

Not hearing Tommy replying to his panicked demand blew that theory entirely out of the water.

He pulled back to see Tommy’s eyes closed, and he moved one hand to his cheek to stop his head from falling to the side entirely. Technoblade brushed a thumb over his skin and felt how much his bones protruded, he could tell just how much weight he’d lost, and for that to have happened in such a short period of time he was utterly horrified.

He saw red, the voices in his head were chanting for him to kill the bastard that had done this, but he forced them away. Right now, killing wasn’t an option, revenge wasn’t even something to be thought about until Tommy had opened his eyes once more.

Technoblade lifted the boy as carefully as he could, resting him over his shoulder and extinguishing the torches that lit up the room with ease before carefully, steadily, climbing the ladder. He took care not to let Tommy’s head hit the stone during all three ascents: the first to the cow’s basement, the second to his storage room, and the third to his home above the ground. He placed Tommy in his bed - beneath the bedsheets - and he unclipped his robe. He didn’t need to wear it, not really. Sure, it kept him warm, but he could throw more wood on the fire. Tommy looked as if he had no body fat at all, and he worried that his body would be utterly unable to conserve heat. He placed the robe on top of Tommy, tucking it around him, before he turned his attention to preparing food.

As much as he wanted to feed his brother with a hearty meal of steak and potatoes, if he hadn’t been eating he wasn’t sure his stomach could take it. It would be best to start small. He chopped up the vegetables he had as finely as he could and diced some chicken before he began to prepare a stew - something easier for him to digest, and something packed full of nutrients. 

With the fire and the furnace both at work simultaneously, the room quickly began to warm. Technoblade was feeling much more comfortable, and a look over his shoulder confirmed that Tommy was no longer shivering where he lay. He’d count that as a win. 

Next on the agenda would be waiting for him to wake, trying to get some food into him, and finding out what had happened. While he waited, it would have been easy to focus on the negatives, but he would only drive himself mad with worry if he let himself think like that. Instead, he forced his mind to think about one thing and one thing only.

Tommy had come to him.

Sure, he might have hidden himself before his home, but Tommy was no idiot. Even in this state, Tommy would’ve known that Technoblade would find him, and he knew that would have been deliberate. Despite everything that had happened, despite everything he’d done, Tommy still trusted him. Tommy had gone through hell by the looks of things, and in his time of need he had reached out to his brother. 

Technoblade swore, no matter what happened, he would protect him. The past was the past, and Technoblade wouldn’t let the simple issue of a Government come between them. Tommy needed him now, and he wouldn’t let him down.