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“ Maybe we don't let Techno near him, not yet at least. You know how he gets around kids.”
It's an offhand comment, one that Techno was never supposed to overhear, definitely not one he should be lying awake at night thinking about. But Techno remembers being fifteen, being way too young to be doing what he's doing, and having his companion through it all walk in one day with a kid by his side.
“I'm really sorry, Techno, but his mother can't take him anymore with the way her work's going, and he's my son so I had no choice,” Phil had explained to a shocked Technoblade , putting away his bags as he tried to keep his kid from destroying the palace. Port-au- Français wasn't a place for a kid to grow up, but Techno supposed he could hardly chastise Phil for it, considering the fact that he himself was also spending his formative years in the cold. Wilbur would get antsy sometimes, running outside to chase after the planes, and Techno would have to pull him back to the fire while Phil chased off whoever it was that had come to threaten them now.
Technoblade was fifteen and he hated kids and he'd die for Philza , no matter what. Technoblade was a teenager and on long nights, when Phil got stuck halfway across the earth, he rocked the kid to sleep, softly humming into the cape he'd draped around the boy. Technoblade was a kid, one whose reputation involved killing orphans, and he let Wilbur tug him down by his cape, let him swipe the crown off of his head and parade around the castle with it nestled among his brown curls instead.
He remembered more, too. He remembers how, ten years later, a crying Wilbur had shown up on his doorstep, bundle in his arms that was too quiet, too still. He remembers nursing the baby back to health alongside its father.
“Please, Techno, I can't go to dad like this I- he's probably busy anyways and I have nobody else to go to but-” Wilbur was rambling now – had been for the past hour – but Techno tuned him out, attention focused on the baby in front of him. Fundy had been cold, he remembered, and Techno carefully introduced him to the warmth of the hearth in the living room. Slowly, excruciatingly so, tiny fingers stopped being cold to the touch. Wilbur rushed to Techno's side as soon as he gave the go-ahead to hold the kid again, and Techno stared at the way Will played with the baby's tiny hands.
“I really am sorry for showing up like this, Techno, I know you don't like kids,” Wilbur said, not looking up from his kid's face for a second, “But his mum is... not around anymore. I didn't know where else to go.”
“It's okay, Will. You're both gonna be okay.”
He watched the little fox grow up in his front yard, little hands getting covered in fur and dirt as the kid stormed into the kitchen at the end of the day, out of breath from running and eyes sparkling from it all the same. Will's son, as he had nervously told them he'd prefer to be called, was a carbon copy of his father, once you looked past the fur, and Techno never mentioned it when Fundy stole his crown the way Wilbur once had, and he definitely didn't mention that he liked it.
There were more kids throughout the years, and Techno hated them as he always had.
Tommy had called for his help, his help, of all people. Not Phil's, not Deo's, nobody's but his. Techno didn't address the warm feeling that gave him in his chest, instead convincing himself his old cough was back. Tommy called for his help, with fearful tear-filled eyes that were met with the cold indifference of Techno's mask as he received a nod in advance. He'd help this once, he'd said, just to teach Sapnap a lesson. After that, he'd go back to his own wars.
But Tommy's sniffles echoed through the ravine and somehow Wilbur didn't care anymore, and Tommy was sixteen and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and if anyone knew how that felt, how it crushed you, it was Technoblade . So, he sat down next to him by the campfire downstairs and wrapped his cloak around the boy's shivering frame, saying his chattering teeth were disturbing his sleep, and Tommy had wrapped it around himself like it would be ripped away soon. Techno stayed.
Techno stayed through training sessions out on the field in front of their house – days when Wilbur wouldn't leave his room and Tommy needed to be distracted. He stayed when he ran into the little fox he'd so carefully held all those year ago and realized he didn't look like his father anymore. He didn't know who had changed. He stayed, too, when he'd faced the world alone again, and he'd stayed when Tommy threw the first punch in the pit, knocking his crown off of his head.
He didn't stay when the world burned, leaving his brother in her ashes.
Tommy was never one to accept an ending, though, and Techno wasn't either. Technoblade hated kids, but this was his brother, and he couldn't say no to fading blue eyes. He could only sit back and guide Tommy through L'Manberg , robbing and intimidating people like it was one of those games they played on days when Will got bad. He gave the kid a helmet for christmas , one he'd see again a few weeks later across a crater of his own creation, shining with rainwater and blood, much like the boy wearing it.
Techno hated kids, especially Tommy. He hated Tommy when he yelled at him across the pit, and he hated him still when he came to rob him one last time.
He remembered yellow concrete stained red.
“T- Technoblade ?” It was the last thing Tubbo said before the rocket hit, ending the pleading. Techno hated Tubbo , surely. It was a valid conclusion Tommy drew. Even as Tubbo's hand reached up from his spot by the pit and tugged Techno down by his cloak, handing him back the crown Tommy had knocked off and said he forgave him, Techno hated kids. He bumped his head against Tubbo's for a brief second, looking around to make sure nobody had seen.
“ Technoblade , please come with us,” Tubbo said, axe in bloody hand, and Techno grimaced under his mask. His cloak and crown were tugged off by the president himself, carelessly tossed to the ground as he was made to stand in a small box on the podium. He supposed Tubbo pulling the lever was some kind of poetic justice, but didn't dwell on it as he made his escape, leaving behind the boy by the pit.
“Techno, please stop. He's here with me, he's my husband,” Ranboo pleaded, stepping between the crossbow and Tubbo , drawing Techno's attention to himself instead.
He remembers two-toned eyed meeting him across the room with an Elder Guardian between them. He remembers fire reflected in them as the mansion before them burns. He remembers Ranboo inviting him on roadtrip after roadtrip just to spend time together. He remembers hiding the kids from Bad, no matter what. He lowers the crossbow.
“If he's with you, it's fine. Just don't bother me.”
He remembers, too, finding a Piglin kid in the Nether, one like him, lovingly hidden away from harm by whoever had named him Michael. He'd covered the opening the fireball had made, ensuring the baby's safety.
“Yeah, you're right,” Ranboo replied, “he hates kids.”