Chapter Text
Technoblade did not like being taken care of. It made him feel weak. Which was why he took care of most of his wounds on his own, because the thought of putting himself in such a position that someone else could hurt him even more was anxiety-inducing. So he took care of himself, moving out as soon as possible, and provided for himself. He had a job. He paid bills. He could cook and feed himself (whether he remembered too was another matter).
So being in a hospital, and having people watch over him all of the time, constantly asking if he needed anything, or was comfortable enough. And to make matters worse, his family was here, also hovering. There was not a moment where at least one of them was in the room, watching over him, making sure that he was ok. It was….unnerving. It made his skin crawl. He could do things. He could take care of himself. He was fine. A little blood loss never killed anyone.
So when the doctor came in and told him that he could be discharged, he was more than ready. While being forced to return to his childhood home, at least he would not have to deal with the extra doctors and nurses, and just his brothers and father. While they were being annoying at the moment, he could handle their presence better. Strangers he never liked being close to. Not unless he was allowed to fight them.
Wilbur, Tommy, and his father all stood next to his bed as the doctor told him what exactly he needed to do: rest, stay hydrated, don’t exert himself too much, and clean the wound's regulator. There were a lot of them, and they all had a chance of getting infected again. The piglin still had a little fever by the time he was allowed to leave, but nothing that was life-threatening, and the hospital did not want to keep a dangerous piglin warrior in their building for too long.
Besides, what if he went nuts, and started killing people?
He knew that was what all of them were thinking, but it’s not like he cared all that much. They welcomed Phil with open arms, sending condolences to him, and his sons, and yet cringed whenever they saw his snouted face. Maybe it was because Phil looked so much less….monstrous. Scary. The long tusks that grew out of his bottom jaw, the claws that were so much sharper than normal nails. The hooves, and inhuman legs. Rippling muscles, scars that covered almost all of his body, pink fur that was only interrupted by said scars. He was scary. Techno understood that. And he really did not care that they were scared of him. As long as he got to leave this stuffy place, and be anywhere else, he was happy.
So here he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a shirt. His mind went blank as he stared at a wall, nothing going through his head.
The doctor had discovered that he had a mild concussion, but that was alright. Nothing he could not handle. None of this was nothing he could not handle. His family was just overreacting. They had always been like that. And if going back to his childhood server made them feel better, he guessed he would do it.
“Techno, come on, we need to go bitch,” Tommy’s loud voice shocked him out of his stupor, hastily pulling the white shirt over his torso, forcing himself to not wince with how it pulled at his wounds.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here,” Techno said, hefting himself to a standing position.
Oh, that was a mistake.
His vision immediately went blurry. His mind escaping his body for a moment as he fought to balance. Balance that a body that, for a moment, really did not feel like his. A hand rushed to his head, trying to soothe the headache that had accompanied the dizziness. His legs shook under him, unable to hold himself up.
An arm hooked around his back, settling him back onto the bed. His head hurt so fucking bad. And a moment passed before it felt like every nerve in his body was sparked alive, sending a painful shiver through his body. Just under his skin, he was on fire. He was sure of it. The wounds were alive with pain, tiny suns radiating heat and just agonizing pain.
He wanted it to stop.
Rubbing the heel of his hands into his eyes, Techno dragged himself back into his body, purely out of spite, before shoving the pain down. He could deal with that later. At the moment, he really just wanted to leave this place.
A voice was talking. Soft and caring. He grabbed on it, using the hand that was rubbing circles in his back as a guide back to the hospital room. Cheap sheets under him. Sicking slick floors that made it hard for him to walk around with his hooves, and the horrendous smells of a hospital. It all made him sick.
He swallowed the nausea, and settled into his hurting body, only then realizing that Tommy was sitting next to him, rubbing his back, whispering words that were only now just starting to make sense.
“-t’s ok Tech, just breath. You’re ok.”
Techno groaned, before lifting his head, slowly. That had been very unpleasant.
“Fuck,” he said dryly. When did his throat get so dry? “Fuck.”
“Let’s not do that again. I’m sure we can find a wheelchair around here somewhere.”
“No, Tommy, I can do it.” There were still lingering bits of pain in his voice that he was sure that his younger brother picked up on. The last thing that Techno wanted was to be wheeled through the hospital, unable to even hold himself up without help. He hated the way that people looked at him already, he did not need any more attention.
“Techno, you can’t stand up.”
“I’ll be fine,” he was growling. At his brother. That made his skin crawl but he could not stop the horrendous sound from coming out of his mouth in time.
“I’ll get Phil.”
His snout snapped shut, an audible click of his teeth hitting against each other. Tommy’s mouth stretch into a shit-eating grin. He had won. But Phil was one of the last people that Techno wanted to piss off, especially now.
Reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh to show that he was very unhappy, he gave his younger brother a nod.
The boy bolted off, busting out of the room in search of a wheelchair.
Techno let his head fall back into his hands. He did not want to do this. He wanted to sleep for the next ten years. Maybe that would get rid of the deep bags that were under his eyes, and exhaustion that clung to him like a ghost determined to haunt him. There was a dull buzz of pain that was alight across his skin, focused on the wounds.
There were a few major ones. One across his right thigh, a large slash all the way down to his knee. A lucky hit. It had bled like a bitch when he limped off of the ring, hastily putting some cloth to it before he drove him. Techno was not sure if he stitched it up or slept first, but either way, he had woken up the next day, sweaty and afraid. Afraid of how close he had actually come. Hours of shaky hands came after that, trying to calm himself down for the fight that he knew was later. It has been reopened many times since then.
There was one on his torso. Across his side. That was the one that he had gotten the night his family had found him bleeding out in his car. It was not that long, but it was deep, right in between his hips bones, and ribs. That one he liked looking at the least, and really just wanted to forget it existed altogether. It held….memories that he would much rather not revisit at the moment.
The third, and most painful was a single slash that was from his armpit to the very top of his hips, scraping against his ribs as he had gotten it. He remembered the noise. Metal scraping against bone. He gagged just thinking about it. While the one on his thigh had also gotten infected, this one was more of a problem. It reopened whenever he did anything with his arms, stretching the healing skin apart from each other, making it hard to treat. It had just been so much easier to ignore. Ignore the way that the blade had sunk into his skin after it had passed the ribs, getting scarily close to some of his organs. It was the one that made his heart jump when he had been in the fighting pit. It was the one that actually make him think “oh shit, this is the end.” It was the time that his brothers and fathers face’s flashed in his mind, and he mourned that he would not be able to see them again.
But with a quick spin around, sloppy and ugly looking Techno had completely bisected the man and lifted his sword in victory.
It had not been a good day after that. That was a fight he was ashamed to come home from. That was a fight he really hoped his family did not watch.
The door opened, pulling the piglin out of his mind, snapping into Tommy who stood in the doorway with a wheelchair, a big stupid grin on his face. Tommy always seemed to be smiling. A habit he had picked up from that little friend of his. Tubbo? Was that his name? But Techno really hoped that his little brother had not learned so early in life how to smile through pain.
“Get in big man,” he said, putting the chair right next to the bed, so it would be easy for his brother to slip in.
With a grunt, Techno grabbed the arms of the chairs, lifting himself off of the bed, and into the chair. He hated the way that his arms shook when he put all of his weight on them and prayed to whatever god that was out there that Tommy did not see it.
He lifted his hooves, setting them onto the little footholds, and took a moment to catch his breath.
Catch his breath?
That much effort and he was trying to catch his breath? He was the Blood God. There were times where he was fighting four people at a time, laughing and putting on a show for the people around him, and now he could not get into a wheelchair without losing his breath?
Shame burned deep in his throat, as he gave Tommy a thumbs up and they started to make their way to the elevator. God, he wanted to leave this place.
And he did not even get to leave the shame behind, because as soon as they stepped out into the hallway, people's heads turned to look at them immediately. A piglin in a wheelchair. The Blood God no less. It was not something that you saw every day. He could feel the pictures being taken, and he slumped further into the chair. At the moment, all he wanted to do was disappear.
They slipped into the elevator, and Techno let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
“You doing ok big man?” Tommy asked. The concern in his voice seemed so out of place. It was not like he did not know his brother cared about him. He knew that (right?). But it was not Tommy’s normal place to be concerned. He was normally the one who was hurting and getting taken care of. There were many times the piglin had patched up his brother's wounds in the darkness of his room, after a fight he did not win, nor should he have been allowed to pick. Gritting his teeth as his piglin brother rubbed a little too hard in his wounds while grumbling under his breath about how late it was, and how he did not have the time for this.
With the wounds wrapped tight, Techno ruffled his brother’s hair and called him an idiot, not ignoring the tears in his eyes, but not exactly addressing them. He pulled Tommy into a large hug, as big as he could, like Phil did with his wings, to make the boy feel protected. He melted into the embrace, rubbing his tear-stained face into his bicep, and mumbling a thanks as he drifted off to sleep.
That was the way that it was supposed to be. Techno should not be the one hurt. He should not be the one in a wheelchair. He was the strong one. He needed to be strong.
“Yeah,” he said blandly. His throat still felt so dry, but he did not want to ask for anything. He had already caused enough problems. “Let’s just get out of here.”
The elevator doors opened, and the chair started to move again. They could see Phil and Wilbur at the front desk, filling out the last of the paperwork, before his father turned and looked at him. He gave a huge smile, the ones that made him close his eyes. An ache stabbed Techno’s chest. He did not deserve to be this man's son. He was a monster. One that fought people for fun. For money.
There were times when Techno was laying in his bed, in pain and sweating, waiting for the exhaustion of the day to take him, when he thought about how much better Phil’s life would have been if he had just left him in the Nether. That it would have just made everything so much more simple. He would not have these...urges.
He would not have to feel the dripping of blood through his hooves to feel alive. To feel his weapon hurt someone in the worst ways possible. He was so tired of being the way that he was. He was so tired of the rage that burned in his veins. He was so tired of….just being himself.
“Ready to head out?” Phil asked, smiling down at him.
Techno gave a tried nod, and Tommy started to push him to the parking garage.
Most people did not have the need for cars. Well, not unless they actually lived in the city. Phil had one just to get around the city the few times he actually came there. Qeupillia was the largest city on any server and attracted a lot of attention for that. A lot of people.
The days of quiet servers were over, and now people liked the large metropolitan city. Traveling to other servers, or starting their own was something of the past.
It made it easier for capitalist society to be alive and well, with commodities, and consumerism. Phil had expressed his distaste for it, thinking that people should be making their own things, feeling that pride when they made something and actually used it. That was why he kept his server that he had raised his sons on, even after the large city had been revealed. He liked the quiet. He liked the work.
Techno was not really sure how the quiet was going to mix with his...more aggressive instincts.
The small family walked up the smooth concrete of the parking garage, Phil and Wilbur on either side of his chair, Tommy pushing from behind. The space was open, filled with the fumes of many cars that had stretched to a halt, not moving fast enough to find out if their loved ones were actually alright. Gasoline, and other fumes trapped by the low ceilings.
If any of the others had Techno’s pigling nose they would have been able to smell the fear and anxiety that hung in the air. He hated the way that it made his skin crawl. Hated the way that it made him feel like smiling. He should not be smiling. Or reveling in that smell.
Techno just wanted to be alone.
They stopped on the side of Phil’s car, opening the backseat door. Techno placed his hooves on the cement, using shaky arms to lift himself up, trying his best to make the transition to the car.
He slipped. His hand slipping off of the cloth seat.
Two pairs of arms wrapped around him from each side, grabbing and holding him on shaky legs. Wilbur let out a grunt as he caught some of Techno’s weight.
Even in his weakened state, he was still a little too heavy for the musician to comfortably take half of his weight.
“Come on mate,” Phil said, lifting him back up, letting the piglin guide himself back into his seat. Grunting a little when he finally got in.
Before turning his eyes away from his family. He did not want to look at them. He did not even really want to acknowledge that they were there. His face burned with embarrassment, trying to stop the shake of his hands.
“Tommy can you take the wheelchair back,” Phil asked, before closing the car door.
Techno desperately wanted to forget the burning feeling in his eyes, the tears that were starting to collect in them.
The car was silent as they wanted for the youngest brother to get back. The air was thick with unspoken words, and thoughts. Maybe it was because he was so tired that they did not bring anything up to him. Maybe it was because they thought he had gone through enough, storing away their thoughts for later. Maybe they wanted to get home as fast as he wanted, and talking only seemed like it would just make it take too long.
Even when the youngest entered the car, he did in complete silence. No, “let’s go bitch,” or some comment about being a big man. He just slipped into the backseat with Techno, clicked on his seat belt, folded his hands, and waited.
It was eerie.
Unsettling.
This was not how his family normally acted.
And yet, Techno was too tired to ask questions. His skin was on fire with pain. He knew that the pain meds that they had him on were going to run out, and the pain would catch up. Part of him was alright with that. The other part was too tired to care.
Gently placing his head against the coldness of the window, Techno felt his eyelids getting very heavy. Maybe a little bit of a nap. Just a little one. Then he could think later. Right now, he did not want anything going through his head.
***
Phil glanced in the backseat, looking at his piglin son, asleep next to the window. The dark bags under his eyes had not gotten better, even with the increased amount of sleep he had been getting. He still looked horrible. His fur was dragged down, Phil was sure if he had human skin it would look pale. Eyes sunk in and exhausted. He had gained more muscles, that was very clear, but his limbs looked strained, worked to the bone, deep bruises still under his fur. His sears flopped down as he slept, not relaxed, but back. Like he was in pain.
Phil was sure that his son was in pain. There was no way that he was not. And he hated that fact. Hated that his son, his beautiful little boy was even in so much pain, and there was nothing that he could do about it. There was no way to take it all away. The hospital had done everything they were willing to do.
They had seen him fight. They had seen what he could do. They were afraid.
The fact that he was a piglin did not help either.
Hybrids, like Phil, were generally accepted. They did not face much discrimination, at least not anymore. The fight for their rights had been long, and ones that he often missed. He did not have much need to be around others, and would often just go off on his own, getting his own server to live in, and rarely coming out.
It was not until he adopted a piglin did he notice the stark difference in how certain people were treated. Players were treated well. Villagers were treated well. Hybrids slightly less, but it was manageable. Any sort of mob that had, somehow, gotten playership were treated like second rate citizens. No matter how strong, smart, or kind they were. It was the one constant that existed on all servers. Especially ones with high populations. There were only a few mobs who were lucky enough to get playership, but it was enough to notice how poorly they were actually treated.
And seeing how the piglin was commodified, treated like a product that could just be used to sell more tickets. “Come see the Blood God!” “Come see the out of control piglin!”
“Watch as this monster takes down whoever stands in his way!”
He was not a person. He was a thing. A tool to be used and abused. To the point where the thing, where their product, broke.
The boy in his backseat was proof enough of that.
Phil glanced in the backseat.
Tommy kept his eyes on his brother whose head was leaned against the window, a steady rise and fall of his chest. The blond looked worried. A crease in his normally carefree face. Wilbur would look back every once in a while, giving his brother a once over, before returning to looking forward. They were worried. It was to be expected.
Phil only hoped that they could help, in any way. He knew that Techno trusted his family, with his life, that’s why he called them when he was….
But the piglin also did not like to leave a job half done. And Phil had heard enough to know that there was some kind of contract that he was signed with the company that he fought under. Something that was keeping him from actually taking care of himself.
Well, to be fair the piglin had never been the best at taking care of himself. But that was no excuse for how….bad this was.
The avian hybrid was jostled out of his thoughts as he threw the car into park, in the normal parking spot. Cutting the engine, he turned all the way back to get a proper look at the piglin.
Every time he looked at Techno, he looked worse. He was wearing a loose pink sweater, with gray sweatpants, the best things to wear to not disturb his wounds. It covered all of the bandages, but his body still tensed subconsciously. Like he was expecting to get hurt at any moment.
He tried not to think about that too much.
“Techno,” he shook his knee, making sure to avoid any wound he knew were there. “Techno we’re here.”
The piglin jolted out of his sleep, cringing in himself, looking around with wide eyes. Before curling upon himself, face scrunching in pain, doubling forward, and wrapping his arms around himself.
“Breath, it’s ok,” Phil started rubbing his back, basically in the back seat at this point, trying to get his son to breathe.
There was a whimper. Or the best way that it could be described. It sounds vaguely like words.
“What was that?” Phil asked, getting closer. Oh, how he wanted to scoop the boy up and hold like he did when his sons were young.
“Hurts…”