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Chapter Text

TommyInnit was slain by Dream

The death message was like a punch in the gut to Phil. 

Holding a shaking hand over his mouth, he doubled over and tried to resist the urge to vomit. That was his final life gone- his last throbbing heart pulled roughly from his chest and shattered by the same tyrant who had always had it out for him. Dream. Anger filled him like lava erupting from a volcano. 

What was Sam thinking— keeping Tommy locked up with that criminal? He claimed it was a security procedure, that Tommy had signed a contract but- contract be damned— if Sam cared for the kid as strongly as Phil thought then why had he assisted in his death? Keeping a claustrophobic, traumatised child in a maximum-security prison cell with his abuser… how had he not noticed the faults in that thinking? Sam’s flaw was that he cared for Pandora’s Vault and protecting his work far more than he cared for Tommy… look where that flaw had gotten them.

Despair bubbled up alongside the anger. Tommy was never his son, not really, but it was hard not to see him in a similar light. When he sparked up a friendship with Wilbur years ago, he’d invited himself to move in with them and never really left. Initially, Phil worried there was a family out there looking for a scrappy little blond kid who was missing from their lives but that was before he saw his lack of basic manners and discipline. He took Tommy under his wing and raised him alongside Wilbur. They were almost like brothers.

Oh, who was he kidding, Tommy was his son. Phil had lost two sons in a year. He bit back a frustrated sob and crumpled down against the wall. First Wilbur, now Tommy. His boys were always so lively, it seemed as if they were invincible. Ha, that’s the kind of mindset typical of an immortal man. Death always bit him sharply and sneakily like a rattlesnake lurking in the tall grass. 

Blinking away tears, Phil realised that Tommy was the last mortal he cared about. He would never again hold another baby, amazed by how his little hand curled around his pinky finger, and would never again laugh joyously as he made his first steps into his arms. The other firsts would be experiences bound by memory and— a sharp pain struck Phil in the chest— there would be firsts he would never get the chance to guide Tommy through. He never got the chance to take Tommy out horseback riding. Never taught him to shotgun a drink or fix an engine. All those father-son experiences that the constant wars postponed… 

All those wars. Too many for a child to go through. The number of times he’d seen Tommy with a bandage on his face or purple bags under his eyes. He’d wave them off, using the excuse that Wilbur had been working him hard in L’Manberg. Being a L’Manbergian soldier was nothing like a child’s game of pretend. Phil wistfully wondered when Tommy had come to that realisation. The realisation that childhood was over and the world was dark. It must’ve been early on, he reckoned. 

Another wave of emotion crashed into him. Oh, he was too young for any of this. Too young for war, too young for politics, too young for exile and abandonment. This all started because of his childish attachment to a pair of music discs- Phil scoffed tearily as he thought about the amount of trouble those circular sheets of vinyl had cost them. More trouble than they were worth, he often told Tommy, but he would have none of it. Where were the discs now? Could they possibly be retrieved? Phil thought that they should be put with the other old toys in Tommy’s dusty bedroom. All the other reminders of the innocent and naïve child he once was. The child that died not by the hands of his tormentor in a lonely prison cell, but the child that was killed long ago by broken promises, betrayal and a lack of love.

Oh, Phil would give anything to go back and save that kid. He’d do anything. 

Sobs took over his body. His fingers found purchase in his blond hair and they stayed there, tugging for hours until he had a pounding headache. Whatever pain he inflicted upon himself could not compare to the shattered state of his heart. He doubted the hurt would ever end.

It was Technoblade who found him. Phil heard him log in, materialising into this reality upstairs in the attic of the Antarctic cottage. He braced himself, knowing that as soon as Techno’s being finished forming he would be bombarded with missed notifications: including Tommy’s death message. He heard Techno’s breathing hitch as he read the message. It was followed by a shaky sigh and a poignant, “Rest easy, Theseus.”

By the time Techno was down and wrapping him into a protective hug, he was crying again. Tommy and Techno’s relationship was complicated but Phil loved seeing them together. Their interactions were always guaranteed to end in chaos that made him laugh so hard his sides hurt. They reminded him of how it felt to be young. He always thought that Tommy and Techno would bicker now, but, as time passed, they would learn that having a brother was one of life’s greatest gifts. Phil didn’t know if Tommy ever realised that. He didn’t want to think about it.

Techno didn’t attempt to console him with empty promises and apologies. His touch and presence were more than enough to Phil— he knew how uncomfortable the young man usually was with affection and the effort warmed his heart. His pink hair tickled Phil’s nose and he felt terrible for getting snot in the smooth locks. When he tried to move away, Techno tutted and reassured him that it was fine. Usually, he would remark that he’s had much worse in his hair and start on a long tale about his victorious battles but both knew it wasn’t the time to talk about death. 

It wasn’t time to talk at all. Both had reached that conclusion and were content with the silence that settled over the cottage. Eventually, Techno helped Phil onto the couch and threw a blanket over him while he brewed tea. When he came back with two full teacups, Techno settled down at the opposite end of the couch. Their cold toes touched underneath the blanket. Any touch, no matter how minimal, was comforting to Phil. He’d barely been without it since becoming a father. 

The miserable realisation that life was changing was dropped on Phil like a heavy anvil. He looked around the cottage and a lump formed in his throat. Reminders of Tommy were everywhere. One of his many red and white shirts was laid out to dry on the back of a chair. A basketball was settled close to the door, ready to be taken outside to play with. Phil thought about the basketball hoop he’d put up outside and couldn’t bear the thought of ever tearing it down. Removing any reminder of Tommy— even the mere thought of it— filled him with dread. 

But who would use it? Without a kid around to use the stuff, to receive Phil’s fatherly affections, life would be so meaningless. He needed to know there was someone around who depended on him. There was nothing he loved more than coming home to the cottage and having Tommy here, ready to ask questions and listen intently to stories about his hardcore adventures. How would he ever go on another quest again while knowing Tommy wouldn’t hear of it? The poor kid hated missing out on things.

Panic was starting to dig its tendrils into Phil when there was a knock on the front door. Techno stood warily and armed himself before opening it. His tense frame relaxed when he looked up to the visitor. He opened the door wider to them, welcoming them inside. 

It was Ranboo. One of the newer friends Phil had made in this world, but a good friend nonetheless. He was clumsy, awkward and still growing into his enormous height. Phil’s lips quirked up into a smile as he thought about how Tommy was in a similar stage of growth.

Ranboo couldn’t meet Phil or Techno’s eyes as he held out a bunch of handpicked flowers: white tulips, poppies and daisies. His voice was quiet and tired as he said, “I- I’m really sorry. About… you know…” 

Techno took the flowers and brought them to his nose for a smell before thanking Ranboo and taking them into the kitchen. It left Ranboo standing alone before Phil, not quite knowing what to do with his empty hands. He settled on swinging them at his sides in a way that seemed slightly inappropriate in a sombre environment like this. But Phil smiled fondly. Tommy was the same in situations like this. 

“I can’t remember if I was friends with Tommy,” Ranboo said, “but if he was anything like you and Techno, I know he must’ve been great.”

“He was. Thank you, Ranboo.”

Phil watched tearily as Ranboo trudged through the snow back to his home across the biome. He moved clumsily and like there were heavy iron ingots strapped to his feet. Besides occasionally losing his balance a few times, he made it into his home safely. Even after the door was shut, Phil kept his blue eyes on the house.

Techno spoke to him a few times, but he didn’t ever take his attention away from the mountainside house.

“If I head out, will you be alright?” He asked eventually.

Phil blinked and refocused his eyes on the blurry black and white figure in the distant house. If Techno found it odd, he didn’t mention it. Besides, who would be so heartless as to criticise a mourning father?

He nodded and murmured that he would be fine himself but, that night, all Phil could think about was his intense loneliness. As the rest of the world slept, Phil slipped out of his bed and silently crept into Tommy’s old bedroom. No one had spent any significant time in here since he left to pursue adventure in L’Manberg but Phil had a feeling that he would be visiting it much more frequently now. 

He sat himself down on the little twin bed, feeling the stiff duvet dip beneath him and taking in the smell of dust mixed with boyish cologne. The duvet was patterned with spaceships and stars. Phil traced the patterns with a lonely index finger, his eyes following the swirls of the galaxies, before moving to look out of the window and towards Ranboo’s house. 

Ranboo would be sleeping right now, he reckoned. He wondered if the child had a bed as comfortable as this with such a fun duvet pattern. It really would be a shame for it to go to waste…

Chapter Text

The day after Tommy’s death, Phil and Techno went to L’Manberg. They took the long route, dragging their boats across the tundra to the arctic ocean and paddling through the cold water. Dolphins leapt out of the water alongside them. If Phil had any energy, he would smile. 

As ice and snow melted away, revealing green nature, dread built up in Phil’s stomach. Sam had removed the body from Dream’s cell and it was to be collected. Phil didn’t know what to do with it. Would it be burned honourably on a pyre? Or would he enter the prison, lay his eyes on the awful thing and be so overcome with emotions that he would cling onto it for the rest of his life? 

He'd clung to Wilbur. Held him so tenderly until he could no longer tell where his body ended and Wilbur’s began. Techno had to pry the corpse from his fingers. But after the sun set, concluding the festival, they left the country, leaving a longing for Wilbur along with it. 

Tommy’s death was different. Wilbur died having had a lifetime of experiences: Tommy had barely begun living. Phil found himself getting choked up when he remembered that Tommy didn’t even get the chance to have his braces removed. 

Sam met them at the prison. He looked exhausted as he led them through the security precautions of prison visitation. They were rigorous, but not rigorous enough. A dark, bitter part of Phil hoped that Sam blamed himself for Tommy’s death. 

“I retrieved what I could.” He admitted, voice shaking slightly. The implications were horrifying. 

Agreement after agreement were signed and, once they were led through a maze of hallways, they turned up at a block of cells. Sam said they were the weakest cells in Pandora’s Vault and that he wanted Tommy as far away from Dream as possible. With a ring of keys hanging from his side, he spent some time unlocking the cell door. When it finally opened, he stood back, allowing Phil and Techno inside. 

Techno stopped Phil before they went in. He held his arm tightly, looked into his eyes and said, “You don’t have to do this. You can go home. I… I know what he meant to you, Phil.”

Phil’s lips pursed into a nervous smile. He appreciated his friend intervening, but he had to do this. 

They entered the cell. It was small and cold, with black water dripping down from the ceiling at a painstakingly slow pace. Drip… drop… drip…… drop. If Phil was stuck listening to that 24/7, he knew he’d go crazy. The walls were made from bumpy chunks of obsidian. Purple wept from the dark material, oozing down the wall like puss from a spot. Shards of something  crunched underneath his feet. 

On the ground, there was a long, angular lump covered with a sheet. The fabric might’ve been white but the dim lighting made it appear grey to Phil. There were rusty brown splatters and stains about the covered thing. A pungent smell wafted from it, invading Phil’s nostrils and making his eye twitch. He’d smelled it before while traversing through battlefields. The odour was similar to rotten flesh but ten times stronger. He could feel it in the back of his throat, making his eyes water and his neck lurch as he bit down a gag. 

Techno knelt down by the concealed lump, his knees cracking as he did so, and he carefully unveiled it. The sheet was tossed aside blindly because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dreaded thing. Neither could Phil.

His eyes raked it, desperately searching for some part of it that wasn’t marked with violence. But not a single part of what lay on the cold prison floor was peaceful. From looking at the thing he quickly realised that the crunchy shards they were standing on were fragments of Tommy’s skull. That’s when the smell became too much and he turned away, gagging. 

Sam caught him by the shoulders as he fled. His eyes were filled with regretful tears. If he was speaking, Phil didn’t hear him. All the noises of the prison sounded a million miles away like he was hearing them from the bottom of the ocean. He pushed himself out of Sam’s grasp and stumbled back the way they came. 

He didn’t get far, considering the prison’s confusing layout. Sam came to his rescue and, with a soft arm around his shoulder, led him out of the prison. Sunlight burnt Phil’s eyes but it was preferable to staring at Tommy’s hollow corpse.

He sat on the hill outside the prison and, after a few minutes of staring blankly at the crude obsidian walls, slapped himself across the face. That— that thing couldn’t have been Tommy. Not his kid, who was nothing if not lively and loud and— it couldn’t be him. That wasn’t his Tommy. 

The entire time he rowed home, he shook. Not Tommy, not Tommy, his mind rambled. He felt like a thousand volts of electricity was coursing through his body. When he made it to land, he pearled the rest of the way home, where he stumbled into Tommy’s room. It was in quite a state. He would have to clean it up before Tommy came home. 

Techno left the prison carrying the corpse. It was wrapped carefully in the white sheet in a way he hoped looked ceremonious, but the excremental stains on the fabric made his face flush. He knew that if Tommy was here now, he’d be comically disgusted by what happens to a body after death. 

Phil was nowhere to be found, but his boat was missing from where it had been left at the shore an hour ago. As he often did when he was alone, Techno decided to voice his thoughts to Chat. Walking away from Pandora’s Vault, he grumbled, “Maybe it’s for the best that he’s not here.”

Chat erupted into a conversation. The voices had remained appropriately silent throughout the collection process but it was only a matter of time before they went back to blabbering. 

DADZA NOOO

DADZA

PHIL????

Did Sam leave him??

SADZA

I hope he’s ok :((

Dadza omg 

Techno rolled his eyes. Some of the voices were very insistent that Phil, Tommy, Wilbur and Techno were a family. He had no idea how that would work with Phil being his best friend but also the father of his pseudo-brothers… despite it being a very confusing concept, Techno never stopped thinking about how honoured he felt the first time Tommy called him “brother”. Scowling, he expelled the thought from his mind before the voices caught on. They would never shut up if they found out how much he loved the little hellion Tommy. 

He handled the body with care and tenderness that was uncharacteristic of him. Here was the mass-murderer, the terrorist, the anarchist Technoblade, cradling the body of his brother like it was the most precious thing in the world. In that moment, Tommy’s body held more value to him than anything else. And considering he owned several highly-illegal items in this world, that was saying a lot. 

He told Tommy to die like a hero. That’s what he wanted for the kid. To go out with a bang as bright as the light he brought to their lives. But heroes rarely get what they deserve. He died alone, cold and in pain, with Dream’s merciless fists being the last thing he saw before darkness. 

His brother was robbed of a hero’s death, but he would have an honourable send-off. That was the least he could do for him.

Tommy’s covered body was carefully placed into a boat and a torch was settled into the dip in his chest. The boat was pushed away from the shore and slowly slipped out to sea. Techno wiped tears from his eyes and chuckled at how Tommy’s feet hung out of the end of the boat. The dumb kid was annoyingly tall for his young age. Dumb kid. 

Techno stayed standing at the edge of the water until he could no longer hear the fire crackling. The blaze would continue until the boat and all it contained was eaten up. 

Tommy was gone. He left behind a legacy of bravery, many friends who cared about him, and a lot of property damage to Techno’s home. Now there was nothing to do but move on and pick up the broken pieces of the boy’s father. 

Chapter Text

Tommy liked his tea with milk and two sugars. He ate scones with a smothering of butter then raspberry jam on top (always butter first, then jam— any other way had him throwing a fit). The chair at the head of the table was claimed by him.

Phil turned around from the kitchen counter to the table, holding a tray which carried a mug of tea with milk and two sugars and a warmed scone topped with butter and jam, fully expecting the teenager to be sitting at the head of the table. But the chair was empty. With a heavy sigh, he abandoned the breakfast and slumped down on the couch.

It had started snowing last night and hadn’t yet stopped. Slowly, slowly, it was piling up on the window ledges and porch. Soon Phil would have to head out and clear it, lest they became trapped in the cottage. He eyed the snow carefully and, after a few calculations in his mind, he estimated that it was around three feet deep. His eyebrows knitted together in worry. It was definitely too deep for Tommy to play outside today. 

But not too deep for Ranboo, apparently. When Phil spotted the teenager making tottering steps in the snow, he suddenly felt much more awake than he had a few moments ago. What was he doing out in weather like this?

Phil stepped out onto the porch and was met with a powerful gust of wind. His face scrunched up and he held onto his bucket hat tightly as he yelled, “Ranboo!”

Ranboo looked towards the porch and waved at Phil. After the man motioned for him to approach, he began to trudge through the snow towards the cottage. His legs were long and thin, spindly like a spider’s. Skinniness must’ve been an Enderman gene passed down to him, though a part of Phil was made uncomfortable by it and wondered if he was eating enough. 

“Phil, hi!” Ranboo said enthusiastically. Hauling himself up the stairs with the help of the railing, he arrived on the porch. He stood under the shelter and stomped snow off of his feet. He was wearing a smart pair of dress shoes that tapered at the toes. Phil always found his formal attire amusing. What was a kid doing dressing like a businessman?

“What are you doing out in the snow, Ranboo?” He asked, voice polite but holding an underlying stern tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at Ranboo. The edges of his mouth lifted up and he smiled enthusiastically, revealing a mouth filled with sharp white teeth.

“Oh! Well, Tubbo’s been kind of upset recently so I was going to bring him back here and build a snowman with him.” Something bright flashed behind his red and green eyes and he suggested, “Tommy should join us! I know he’s Tubbo’s best friend, it would make him so happy.”

Phil looked at the snow, then back at Ranboo. It might’ve looked like it was accumulating slowly, but Phil knew the difference even half an hour could make with the snow. By the time he made it to the Nether portal, he would definitely be chilly enough to catch a cold. He explained his thoughts to the teenager and watched as the cheeriness was drained from his face. He shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot and said, “Oh. I should’ve realised… thanks for telling me, Phil. I guess I’ll go home now.”

Ranboo looked like a kicked puppy. Letting him trail back to his house all alone in this mood would be cruel. Phil opened up the door to the cottage and said, “How about a bit of breakfast first?”

Having a child around instantly made the cottage feel more like home. As Phil busied himself with putting away Ranboo’s jacket, he politely made smalltalk. It encouraged Ranboo to start spieling about his disastrous morning. He’d woken up to his pet cats fighting and they wouldn’t stop no matter how many times Ranboo scolded them. He gave up after some time and decided to eat breakfast while the two cats caused chaos in the background.

“But get this,” He said, “I’d totally forgotten to restock on bread yesterday like I intended to! And then I forgot that I forgot! So this is really quite convenient for me.”

Ranboo sat at the table, bouncing his knee energetically, and eyeing Tommy’s breakfast with a hungry look. Phil, who sat diagonally from him, chuckled softly and pushed the tray towards Ranboo.

“Go ahead. A growing boy like you needs to keep his stomach satisfied.” 

The enthusiasm Ranboo displayed as he dug into the scone made Phil smile. The tea was still warm, so he offered that too. After the cake was demolished, the tea was slurped down too. When Ranboo lowered the mug from his mouth, Phil tipped his head back and cackled. Clueless about the liquid moustache left on his upper lip, Ranboo frantically asked what was wrong.

“Oh, Ranboo,” Phil said between snorts of laughter. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the tea remnants from his face. A pink flush spread across his face and he laughed breathily. Then, his eyes flickered up above Phil’s head and he said, “M-Morning, Techno!”

Phil turned around and sat back in his chair. Techno wore a baggy white vest and tattered plaid shorts. His hair was as wild as a lion’s mane. With a tired hand, he rubbed his eyes which were bloodshot and had dark brown shadows underneath. He must’ve had a late night.

After yesterday’s tumultuous trip to the Pandora’s Vault prison, Phil spent the rest of the day in Tommy’s room. He didn’t exactly understand why the boy wasn’t at home with him and, every time he thought he was nearing a conclusion, his brain short-circuited. The one thought that pulsated in his mind strongly was get Tommy home. Some base instinct told him to get the room ready for him coming home. 

He changed Tommy’s bedsheets (replacing the star-patterned sheets with ones decorated with fluffy clouds), dusted the shelves and the toys that inhabited them, he even stuck on one of his music discs to listen to as he worked. On the desk, there was a framed portrait of their little family. Phil had picked it up and tenderly ran his finger across Tommy’s smiling face. He was such a handsome young man. Just like his brothers.

Techno had come home late at night. Phil saw him storm past Tommy’s room and up to the attic. The stench of smoke followed him, making Phil frown. He’d fanned the smell away from the room and then shut the door behind it. From Techno’s room, he could hear frustrated sobs that were occasionally interrupted by hissing probably directed at the voices. Knowing that Techno was a man who dealt with his emotions privately, Phil hadn’t intervened.

“Hi, Ranboo.” He said through a yawn. A waft of morning breath hit Phil, making him flinch slightly. But there was a more startling stench coming from Techno: the unmistakable smoky smell of fire. It was fainter than it was last night, but still present and prominent enough to arouse suspicion.

The man grabbed an apple from the kitchen fruit bowl before taking a seat opposite from Phil. Phil watched how his eyes found Tommy’s tray then travelled to Ranboo.

“Morning, Techno.” The teenager said politely, “Is Tommy awake yet?”

Phil saw the bright flash of shock behind the pink. He averted his gaze, choosing to focus on the snow. It came down in large, fluffy chunks.

“Ranboo… how do I say this… I think you’ve forgotten some important stuff that’s happened recently. Stuff about Tommy.”

“O-Oh.”

When it snowed like this, the entire world looked white. It was as if the cottage existed in its own perfect word. Like a snow globe. He smiled into his hand at the thought.

“Tommy… passed away. He was cremated yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Phil didn’t think he would mind if the Universe encased the cottage in a shiny plastic dome. No one could get in, no one could get out. It would be him and his family, enjoying each other’s company and admiring the snowfall forever. 

“I… forgot?” Ranboo spoke through an emotional voice crack. He sounded devastated. Phil looked at him pitifully. 

Everyone in the Dream SMP knew that Ranboo had memory issues. It was something they had accepted and tried to accommodate for. Phil remembered that Ranboo used to carry around a battered old book and desperately took notes on all of his experiences. It was like he was terrified to forget even the tiniest details. 

Forgetting must be terrifying. What did it feel like? Ranboo must be anxious all the time. Phil knew he would be. He would be worried that everyone around him was hiding things. That they held back the truth or even twisted it. Ranboo needed to be very trusting to put his faith in others in this way. 

He put a gentle hand on Ranboo’s back. “It’s alright, Ranboo.”

“But- but it’s not. I forgot.” He looked at Phil with teary eyes, “I’m so sorry. I forgot. I- I can’t even re-re-remember—”

“Hey, hey.” Techno’s voice was low in volume and tone. With care that was untypical of a large warrior, he lifted the teapot and poured more tea into Ranboo’s mug. He encouraged the teenager to take sips of the warm drink. Phil’s heart soared at the interaction. Techno himself always guarded his emotions and never let anyone see past his strong front, but he was always good at comforting his little brother. “Don’t get worked up about it, Ranboo. We understand. You’re alright.”

Ranboo’s shoulders continued to shake but he stopped his frantic rambling. It took a few minutes of soft whispering from Techno for him to finally take a deep breath and nod.

“O-okay. I think I’m okay now.” He said determinedly, “Thank you, Techno. And thank you for breakfast, Phil. I should leave. I’ve caused too much trouble and it’s not even noon yet.”

With a fond smile, Phil gave Ranboo’s black hand a supportive squeeze. “You’re never any trouble. Let me get your jacket.”

Phil insisted on helping Ranboo slide his long arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket. When it was on him, he smoothed down the collar and smiled up at him proudly. Ranboo smiled back shyly, though it was slightly obscured by his long hair. Phil briefly wondered if the child would suit curls. 

“If you ever get hungry or confused, we’re just across the field, alright?” Techno told their neighbour, who nodded and thanked him. When he opened the front door to leave, all three of them flinched.

“Sheesh,” Phil gasped, “Looks like we’re in for a bit of a storm.”

Snow flew past the door furiously. There was so much of it that Phil could barely see two feet out of the house. The entire world looked white. He squeezed Techno’s arm and said, “Walk Ranboo home, won’t you? You’ll be fine in your cape if you’re quick.”

Techno nodded sternly and began to bundle up. Ranboo sputtered out excuses, saying that he would be fine, but Techno and Phil were having none of it.

Phil had to squint to see the two trudge through the snow in the distance. Even then, he could only make out their vague shapes. Techno kept a protective arm around the young boy, holding him close as he protected him from the vicious weather. 

He really was good to his little brother.

Chapter Text

Phil stood in Tommy’s bedroom, cradling a blanket. Techno didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking about. Or rather, who he was thinking about. 

It had been four days since the prison visit and Techno still couldn’t get the stench of decaying flesh out of his nostrils. It clung to him like a second skin, mixing with the smoke from the cremation into some horrible miasma that wouldn’t stop following him no matter how hard he scrubbed in the bath. 

Four days since they’d unknowingly stood on fragments of Tommy’s skull, the heels of their boots grinding it into fine dust, accidentally erasing parts of the child they never wanted to forget. The flesh around his mouth was almost entirely gone, exposing his teeth and what remained of his metal braces. It was like a mockery of the smile that never failed to brighten Techno’s day, though he would never dare to admit that he loved it so much. Gods, what he would give to see that smile one last time. 

Four days since the corpse was settled into a boat and sent out to sea. It was consumed by flames and a grey cloud of smoke grew in the sky. Some childish part of Techno hoped that Tommy’s spirit would be carried up in the smoke and spread across the world to all the places he never got to see in his short sixteen years of life. He was only sixteen. Too young to meet such a brutal death. Too young to be gone at all.

Four days that had been spent in bed with his face pressed to a tear-stained pillow, miserably watching the snowfall. Seeing Ranboo’s tall figure in the distance and some disillusioned part of him jumping in delight before realising that it was just his neighbour. Hearing Phil pottering around downstairs, humming and laughing as if nothing was wrong when something was very clearly, seriously, extremely wrong.

Tommy was dead and it was tearing Technoblade’s soul apart. 

Tommy was dead and Phil was completely in denial about it.

Something about that hurt Techno more than when his friend initially succumbed to weepy grief. It was painful to watch his friend prepare Tommy’s meals and sit hopefully by the front door, so certain that the teenager would be home soon. 

“He’s probably out playing with Tubbo or bothering Jack.” Phil would say. Techno wondered if he was reassuring Techno or himself. Surely, some part of him must’ve been aware that this was a fantasy? How could he not smell the stench of death that clung to Techno’s body? 

Techno never indulged the delusion but didn’t rip him from it either. The two of them had dealt with loss over the years, but never loss like this. How were they supposed to handle it? Phil had snapped and Techno didn’t have the slightest idea of how to bring him back to reality.

All he could do was continue day-to-day life and hope that the normalcy would soothe Phil’s mind.

“Did you get the blanket?” 

“Yep.”

Part of normalcy was preparing for hibernation. It was a protective state of sleepiness Techno entered every time the temperatures went sub-zero to protect himself from the elements. As a man of piglin descent, his body was made for blistering heat, oozing lava and high humidity. The arrival of a blizzard meant that he would be rendered immobile with shivers and sneezes.

Techno went up the ladder to his attic bedroom with Phil following him. It was the warmest room in the cottage and it definitely needed to be if Techno was going to spend so much time here. His hibernations lasted as long as the blizzards did. The longest time he’d spent hibernating was a little over three weeks, throughout which he was only ever woken when Phil prodded at him. It was uncomfortable, but he understood that he looked quite dead while in a deep sleep. 

Still cradling the blanket, Phil drifted over to peer out of the window. There wasn’t much point in it— it wasn’t like they could see much in the whiteout conditions. The snow was thick and falling fast. If Techno looked at it for too long, it felt as if he was experiencing motion sickness. 

He strode over to his desk. It was an old antique thing, the mahogany stained by inkblots and spilt dinners. Between his bouts of sadness, he’d been preparing instructions for Phil. The man needed support right now, support Techno wouldn’t be able to provide if he was hibernating. He gnawed at his lip as he read over the instructions he’d left for Phil. 

A part of him worried that Phil would feel infantilised by how in-depth Techno explained the basic instructions. He only made it so detailed so there wasn’t even the slimmest chance that his friend could fall behind on taking care of himself. Who knew what kind of state he would fall into if Techno wasn’t around to support him? 

Panic flickered inside of Techno, like the first small spark created by a lighter. Things might not change if Phil was alone. It wasn’t like he was doing much with Techno around. He would likely continue to potter around the cottage, dusting and cleaning and preparing for a dead boy to come home. Or— the lighter was tossed into kindling, creating a big, roaring flame— he could spiral. Become so entrapped by his ill mind that he neglected himself. Phil would never hurt another soul in this state, but he could hurt himself. That was a possibility. One Techno had failed to prepare for. 

His nervous eyes flickered towards his friend. Phil stared out of the window with an expression of disquiet. His fingers worried the worn fabric of the blanket. It was entirely possible that he could spend the entire blizzard standing in a transfixed state like this, staring out at the snow, his mind occupied only with worried thoughts for the little boy he believed to be stumbling out in the snow. 

But even in a state of anxiousness as intense as this, Phil wasn’t a man who sat back and waited for solutions to find him. He sought out the solutions. Techno’s heart sank as he wondered if his friend was so ill he would… No, he knew venturing into a blizzard would be lethal to his frail body… But in a delusion as deep as this one… 

No. No, Techno couldn’t leave him alone. Not when he was like this.

He watched Phil out of the corner of his eye as he wrote to Ranboo. He was on the bed, holding the blanket still. Why did he have to hold it like a baby? His eyes held a faraway look. Techno held back tears and dipped his pen into the inkwell again.

Dear Ranboo, he wrote, making sure to keep his penmanship neat.

I’m asking for a favour here. Ever since the passing of Tommy— passing sounded peaceful, passing sounded like he’d slipped away in his sleep… it was promptly scored out— Ever since the death of Tommy, Phil hasn’t been the same. His grief is intense. 

I don’t want him to be left alone with that grief while I hibernate. I don’t want to risk him becoming a danger to himself. Please ride out the storm here and watch Phil. I don’t trust him to be alone, but I trust you to take care of him. 

Swallowing his pride, Techno added, Please, Ranboo. I can only rest easy if I know he’s safe. I can’t lose what’s left of my family. 

Yours, Technoblade.

The note was folded, bound in string and an envelope, then passed to a fox to deliver to Ranboo. From the attic, Techno watched Blitz dart across the land, fighting against the wind until it became impossible to distinguish her from the snow. 

Teeth chattering, he meekly curled up on his bed. He had to stay awake until Ranboo arrived. Phil needed him. But Phil seemed quite occupied with his blanket.

He reached one weak arm up to his friend and pushed a strand of blond hair behind his ear. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” He said quietly, “Ranboo’s comin’ over. He’s gonna take care of you.”

Phil didn’t look at him, though Techno was relieved by this. The faraway look in his eyes was haunting, if Phil ever looked at him with such despair it would kill him.

He thought that after seeing Tommy’s corpse, nothing would ever hurt him again. Every day, for four days, since then, Phil had proven him wrong. The pain evident in his friend only worsened Techno’s own heartbreak. Everything led back to Tommy. 

Everything led back to Tommy.

Slowly, Techno’s hand slipped away from Phil’s cheek and fell against the wool blankets and fur hides piles onto the bed. The many layers would protect him from the arctic’s harsh chill. He shifted, pressing his nose into a pillow and inhaling. Was this one from Tommy’s room? It smelled like him.

He fell asleep and dreamt of holding a tall, thin boy in his arms. He held the boy close, rocking him back and forth, promising to protect him always. Though, curiously, Techno couldn’t tell if the boy in the dream was Tommy or Ranboo. 

Chapter Text

“Hello! Techno? I got your letter.” 

Ranboo pushed his entire body against the cottage’s door, fighting in opposition to the wild wind. With a grunt, he finally slammed it shut and took a moment to breathe. His trek across the field was never usually this strenuous, but the blizzard was causing all kinds of problems for Ranboo.

First, the snow had flattened his crops, leaving him without an ethical food source. His shivering cows had looked at him with such sad eyes that he forced himself to lower his axe and go hungry. The snow had also piled up so high that it was impossible to walk his pets without them disappearing into the fluffy whiteness. It took him a whole hour of desperate searching to find Ranbun after it broke free from its leash. The stress had almost given him a heart attack. For their own safety, his pets had been confined to the house. But with all the animals cooped up inside, they were becoming restless. Ranboo was growing sick of the barking and meowing. If Techno’s letter hadn’t arrived when it did, he might’ve gone mad. 

Spending the blizzard with Phil didn’t sound too bad. The man was kind, funny and made brilliant breakfasts. Riding out the storm with a friend would be better than being alone. 

Though he wouldn’t be there for his own enjoyment— Techno had given him an important duty. When he received the letter yesterday, he’d read over it once, then twice, before smiling proudly. It was no secret that he looked up to Techno and frequently sought out his approval. Techno had written that he only trusted him to help watch Phil? It made him swoon! Ranboo would do anything to please the man who admired so greatly. And how hard could it be to keep an eye on Phil for a few days?

There was no sign of either Techno or Phil when Ranboo first looked around the cottage. It was small and cosy, with several hanging candles that lit the place up in buttery yellow light. The hearth burned brightly and its gentle crackling sounds instantly made Ranboo feel at home. 

Usually, Phil could be found sprawled out on the couch, sketching or sewing or one thing or another while absorbed in thought, but today it was empty, occupied solely by a sad-looking toy. Ranboo shrugged off his suit jacket and removed his shoes before crossing onto the carpet and picking up the toy. It certainly was well-loved: the short brown and white material was losing its vibrancy and becoming matted (resembling crushed carpet more than a fur); one of its button eyes was slightly loose; years of clinging had squished its neck into something wrinkly and thin. Was it some kind of cow? With a delicate pinkie, Ranboo rubbed its head thoughtfully. The poor thing held a certain charm. 

“Ah, there it is.” 

Ranboo looked up, and there was Phil, standing at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in a black tunic and forest-green trousers. The linen sagged around his ankles and had been knotted to stay on his waist. Had he lost weight? Besides that, he looked well enough. He came down the stairs as gracefully as a swan. 

“Are you doing some spring cleaning, Phil?” Ranboo chuckled. He held the cow out for Phil to take and the man did so, holding it to his chest like it was precious to him. It was amusing to see such a decorated fighter doing something as soft as stroking the matted fur of a child’s toy. But who was Ranboo to judge? The little thing was endearing in a weird… injured animal… kind of way.

“Yep.” Phil replied, popping the p sound, “Got to get things ready for Tommy coming home. Will you get that basketball by the door for me? 

Ranboo hummed in agreement and hung up his jacket before picking up the orange ball. It held an unsettling chill. He bounced it in his hands, trying to distract himself from thinking about what Phil had said. Tommy coming home? Tommy… Tommy wasn’t coming home. 

Tommy was dead. 

But Phil looked so cheerful as he led him up the stairs and into Tommy’s bedroom. The walls were painted blue, with childish crayon drawings hung up here and there, sporadic like the white clouds that decorated the bedsheets. The bed was twin-sized and, though it seemed slightly small, looked comfortable to Ranboo. He put the basketball down at the foot of it, next to the toy chest. 

Phil placed the cow on top of the bed’s plump pillow, patting its head. Ranboo couldn’t help but smile at how gently he treated the little thing. Tommy's name was spelled out in fabric patches carefully sewn onto the pillowcase.

“There we are. Now Moo Moo is ready to greet Tommy when he gets back.” He turned and looked at Ranboo, keenly awaiting a response. The boy swallowed. What was he supposed to say? A lie would be just as cruel as the truth. But Phil’s smile was so soft. It made him feel so warm. Gods, he loved that sensation. He would go to great lengths to always feel this way.

So he forced back any inhibitions and replied, “Tommy will be so happy.” 

Phil’s face lit up like the summer sun. Gleefully, he laughed and then padded over to the record player. Its gleam told Ranboo that it had been recently polished. Beside it on the desk sat a crate full of discs. Phil leisurely fingered through them, saying, “Let’s put on a tune, Ranboo. We can play it as loud as we want— Techno is out for the count. He won’t hear a thing. How about Cat? Cat’s a good one.” 

Much like everything Tommy seemed to have owned, the Cat music disc was in poor shape. Ranboo wondered if it was the Cat disc: the one that had started so many wars and battles and misery. The green sticker which encircled its centre was torn and faded and, after Phil lowered the record player’s needle down onto the spinning vinyl, Ranboo winced at how the tune had been warped. It sounded darker, sinister, a ghostly whisper of the joyful song that had defined Tommy’s character. 

But still Phil swayed, content to be in the bedroom of his dead son, and the snow outside piled higher.