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a cave spider bite wasn’t supposed to be deadly, especially not to an immortal.
phil’s fever was hotter than coals, and his arm where he had been bitten was swollen purple, the veins around the bite flaming red. his breathing was ragged. not even golden apples or the strongest potions techno could find were making a dent in it. he was panicking, rushing around their little cottage in the swiss alps to try and find something, anything, that would break phil’s fever and bring him back out of his groggy state.
phil called to him, weakly, and techno dropped everything, rushing to his partner’s bedside. techno had been sleeping on the floor on the other side of the room, ready at a moment’s notice to spring to his feet and fetch whatever phil required. phil had weakly advised him not to touch him, for fear of transferring his fever to techno, but techno grabbed his swollen hand now anyways.
long eyelashes fluttered against phil’s flushed cheeks. “techno,” he mumbled, barely a whisper. his eyes were barely open. “tech.”
“i’m right here,” techno assured him, running a rough thumb over phil’s smooth hand. “whaddaya need? water? food?”
phil shook his head, a minute movement against his fluffy pillow. “nah,” he sighed. “jus’ you.”
techno laughed a breathy chuckle. “c’mon, phil,” he said with a forced smile. “you’re gettin’ feverish now.”
phil opened his eyes just enough to look up at techno, and techno was lost in those bright blue supernovas just like the first time he had been when he met phil. young gods, they had been, thinking they were invincible, free to run around the earth as they pleased. techno recalled sunny days in greece when phil had dragged him away from battlefields and war councils to go roll around in the grass of the wild countryside, laughing and threading daisies through his thick pink hair. techno would never forget the time phil tripped and fell, taking techno with him down a hill, and by the end they were breathless with laughter, tangled in each other’s limbs, grass and wildflowers poking out of their hair, dirt smudging their faces as techno hovered over phil, gasping and wheezing. phil’s shoulders had shook with uncontrollable giggles as he stared up at techno, a shadow cast across his face from techno’s hair. still those crystalline eyes glowed like the moon, forever calm, forever alive with laughter and mischief and wisdom, so much in one person. techno would lay awake and stare at phil, sleeping next to him, wondering what he was dreaming about. what his next creation would be. he wondered how the universe could create something so beautiful and then never replicate it again. he hoped it never did. phil was his and his alone, his soulmate, his best friend, his sun and stars.
techno would do anything to be the one suffering in silence on that bed right now. he would do anything to trade places with phil, be the one writhing in pain, be the one waking up screaming from feverdreams, be the one dying helplessly while his partner stood by. techno just wanted phil back, he wanted his phil back. he wanted to see him laugh just one more time. techno used to complain about the flowers in his hair, but now he would do anything to stand giggling in the bathroom with phil, picking petals and stems and leaves out of his hair.
phil shifted his hand so he was grasping techno’s. “i think - this is it for me,” he said softly. “i don’ think i’m gettin’ outta this.”
techno’s grip on phil’s hand tightened. “phil, don’t be crazy,” he said. “you’ll be fine. what do you need? i-i’ve got potions, water, some more gapples-”
“techno,” phil sighed, quieter than air. techno held his breath. he could have heard a pin drop.
it took phil a long time to muster the strength to talk again. “i loved every moment with you, mate,” he said breathlessly after a long pause. “please don’ cry. make me feel bad.”
“ phil, ” techno said sharply, reaching up and grabbing phil’s shoulders. “ stop it. you’re freakin’ me out.”
twin summer skies stared up at techno with the same admiration they had the day they rolled down that greek hill, scrunched up with laughter, cheeks rosy with blush. phil smiled hazily, moving his free arm with difficulty up to grasp techno’s wrist.
“techno,” he whispered. he smiled. he breathed. he died in techno’s arms.
twin summer skies darkened to drowsy winter heavens as phil’s hand went limp, sliding off of techno’s arm as his head fell to the side. techno was frozen, feeling helpless and slow and the opposite of gentle on top of phil like this. his large unwieldy hands were suddenly too unsteady to stay on phil’s wiry, birdlike frame, his breath too warm for his now cooling body, his own body weight too heavy for the light bed, even though they used to sleep curled around each other in this very spot. techno stood on shaking legs, staring at phil in disbelief. he half expected phil to burst out cackling, back arching against the bed in guffaws as he teased techno for falling for such an elaborate prank.
he didn’t. he lay there in crushing silence. his chest didn’t even stutter. a breath never graced his lips.
techno didn’t know what to do. he sat down heavily on the floor, staring blankly ahead. what was he, now that phil was gone? it was always a duo, always phil-and-techno, spoken like one word. war and creation, together forever, life and death. without war, where was creation? without creation, where was war?
it took techno three days to move. as an immortal, he could go a decent time without food, but even as the slightest grumble of hunger crept into his stomach, he was in a daze, staring listlessly at phil’s cold body, still nestled under the blankets of their bed, exactly as he had been for the past seventy-two hours. techno didn’t know what to do. he really, truly, didn’t know what to do. phil would know what to do.
on the dawn of the third day, techno staggered to his feet, feeling unweighty and overbalanced as he placed his feet flat on the ground for the first time in days. he didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he was going somewhere, and wherever it was must be where phil was. and that’s where techno needed to be.
dazed, techno took his sword, pickaxe, and shovel off of a slightly dusty shelf. he walked outside, and stopped in his front garden. he regarded the flowers that phil had planted a few weeks prior. some were starting to droop from not being watered for a few days.
techno dug a pit to hell between the forget-me-nots and the daffodils.
he hit bedrock within three hours of beginning. a slanted pathway downward was the product of his dazed, mindless mining. he blinked a few times, eyes long since adjusted to the dark, but his brain needed a moment to catch up. grief, said the first coherent thought in days. this must be grief.
grief or not, techno made the conscious decision to put his pickaxe against the bedrock.
only gods could break bedrock. only immortals and deities and seraphim could shatter the border between planes, and techno did it with three mighty swings of his pickaxe. the bedrock shattered like glass, leaving a gaping hole to the netherworld beneath his feet. he tossed his pickaxe to the side, hefted his spade and sword, and jumped in.
techno was too numb to tell when he crossed from the land of the living to the land of the dead. it was a long way into the void, and techno couldn’t tell if he was dead yet. but finally his feet settled on solid ground, and he opened his itching eyes.
black sand rolled out in sparkling dunes for as far as he could see. a river white as milk ran nearby, crows pecking at the water as if searching for fish. in the distance, a great pavilion loomed, and shades slowly processed towards it, moving in slow, silent steps, bowing their heads and pulling veils over their faces. techno hardened his face and followed.
a colossal hound met him at the gates of the pavilion. a wolf twenty times its normal size stood from where it lay with its head on its paws, growling under its breath as it stalked towards the trespasser. techno stopped, glaring at the black-pelted wolf as it circled him, glowing green eyes regarding him with hostility. a snarl rumbled constantly in its chest. techno knew the beast could sense him as an immortal. it was simply trying to scare him.
the wolf barked. techno did not flinch.
the wolf retreated back to its post, still glowering at him. techno watched it carefully as he continued up the steps, the gates opening before him. the pale shades parted like a river around a rock as they neared the pavilion, opting to walk around it, destined to tread the barren, sparkling desert forever.
the pavilion itself was built out of glistening black marble, and had waterfalls of white water cascading down the few walls. the ceiling was open to the pitch-black sky, not a star or moon in sight. techno shivered. if he was a mortal, he would die from hypothermia right here.
the queen of the underworld sat on her marble throne. in one hand, a scale, a feather on one plate and a beating, pulsing, bloody human heart on the other. she regarded the swinging scale for a long moment, dark eyelashes fluttering against deathly pale cheeks. ebony hair sprawled down her shoulders, and black lipstick parted momentarily to show off flashing white teeth. a loose, flowing black dress cascaded down the steps of the throne, and a pair of pearlescent white wings hung comfortably off either side of it.
in her other hand sat phil’s chin as he stared aimlessly ahead at her with drooping eyelids, expressionless. he sat next to her throne like a dog, unblinking, unmoving. he was no longer bursting with color and energy as he was on the mortal plane; he was desaturated, transparent, grayscale. his eyes were dim. techno’s blood boiled.
kristin set her scale to the side and finally turned to look at techno. making eye contact, techno saw the deepest pits of punishment, the worst torture known to man, the secrets of death, the true price of war. his stomach rolled uncomfortably and he looked away.
“you have invaded my plane,” kristin said, her voice echoing with the screams of those in the burning fields deeper into hell. “this place is not yours to wander.”
“i come not to wander,” techno replied stoutly. “i come to retrieve.”
kristin cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at phil. he glanced lazily up at her, his grayscaled skin making him look more dead than he already was.
“i’ve found favor with him,” she said, her voice taking a sharp edge. “he may be a deity like you and i, but i rarely see a man such as this in my domain.” her eyes flashed. “it is not fair that you get to play endlessly in the sun while i must slave away down here, cold and lonely, away from the rest of our pantheon.”
techno hefted his sword. “phil is mine and mine alone,” he barked. “he swore himself to me, not to the likes of a death goddess.”
kristin released phil and stood, a gleaming obsidian scythe materializing in her open palm. “do you wish to cross blades for a man’s soul?”
techno tossed his shovel to the side and lifted his sword. “more than anything.”
the two gods clashed together in a shockwave of supernovas in the middle of the pavilion, blades locked and trembling. kristin swung her scythe in a mighty heave, and techno soon found she was fast. faster than he had been expecting. he pushed her away from him, giving him a moment of leeway to slide his feet across the floor, assuming the proper stance to face such an elusive foe.
kristin also had the advantage of winged flight, but techno had sparred too many times with phil to know such tricks and how to take away their advantage. he waited for her to dive, as he knew she would, and sidestepped, causing her to careen slightly off-course in attempt to swipe at him. he spun and grabbed her by the wing, yanking with all his might. it was a dirty fighting trick that phil had taught him long ago in sparta, and by the yowl that kristin let out, techno assumed it worked.
now having to fight with a twisted wing, kristin chose her movements more carefully. unable to fly, she and techno were equally matched on the ground, blocking every swing and thrust, evading every parry and slice. not a single drop of ichor was spilled, yet by the end of the second hour, both combatants were gasping for breath, sweat beading at their brows. techno’s arms ached and kristin’s legs were numb. both knew they could not go on for much longer, or risk falling asleep in the land of the dead.
kristin glared at techno wickedly. “for now,” she panted. “you will have him for now. the next time i come to claim him, i will not be as forgiving.”
techno leaned over onto his knees. “just let me go home, lady. i’m tired, and i want to see my damn husband.”
kristin rolled her eyes and reached out, pressing three fingers to techno’s forehead. his eyelids got too heavy to stay open, and he felt the rushing sensation of falling, then nothing.
he was delivered safely onto the grass between the forget-me-nots and daffodils of phil’s garden. he sat up, bewildered, and then clambered to his feet, not even concerned about the covered-up pit to hell or the loss of his shovel and pickaxe. he was too focused on who might be inside the cottage. if kristin had lied, techno had more powerful gods to visit.
crashing through the front door, techno ran through the house, his loud footsteps thumping against the creaky floorboards. he skidded to a stop in the doorway of the bedroom, grabbing onto the doorframe for balance as he caught his breath. he spit out a strand of wayward pink hair from his mouth.
phil was sitting up in bed, groaning, arm still swollen but not as angry red as it had been before. deep circles under his eyes and a groggy look were the only telltale sign of his previous venture out of this mortal plane.
he looked up at techno as he stumbled into the room. “tech?” he mumbled.
“oh, god,” techno choked out, pushing himself off the doorframe and crashing into the bed, throwing his arms around phil. phil huffed out a surprised breath, but wrapped his arms around techno immediately, patting his back lightly.
“mate, i don’t remember much,” phil mumbled against techno’s shoulder. “mind fillin’ me in? wait, are you crying?”
“no,” techno muttered into phil’s hair. he sniffled quite obviously.
“hey, mate, stop it,” phil said, pulling techno away to slide his face into his hands. a familiar gesture, one phil used to calm techno down, but he had forgotten how much he relied on it. techno never thought he’d be so relieved to see phil’s bright blue eyes again.
“tech, you gotta tell me what the fuck happened,” phil said with a light laugh. “i just remember fallin’ asleep, and…”
he trailed off as techno shook his head, pawing at the tears sliding down his face. “phil, i-” he stammered, unsure of how to put the emotions into words. “just - not now, please. i-i’ll tell ya, sometime, just, not right now-”
“okay, sure,” phil said, still bewildered. “listen, you look exhausted. c’mere, for goodness’ sake, at least sit with me.”
techno let phil pull off his heavy crimson coat and loosen the strings on his blouse. he practically melted into phil’s gentle care (oh how the tables have turned, the annoying voice in his head chimed) as phil slid off his boots, mop the tears off of his face, and scoot over to make a place for techno beside him in the blankets. techno gratefully snuggled down, letting out a breath he had been holding since he first carried phil back to the house from that fateful mining trip.
phil carded his fingers through techno’s hair therapeutically as techno closed his eyes, letting phil fidget with him. he picked bits of grass and dirt from his hair and ran his hands across his scalp, a calming gesture, one that reminded techno that phil would always be there, no matter what.
techno knew that wasn’t true now, if the day’s events were anything to show for it. the way kristin looked at phil was going to haunt techno forever. as long as kristin kept that vow to take phil back, techno’s partner wasn’t safe.
the thought of phil leaving again was too much. techno scrunched his eyes shut and wrapped an arm around phil, pressing his face into his neck like a child, too afraid to cry. children had boogeymen; techno had the goddess of death and final judgement.
phil’s hand cradled techno’s head easily, as if the universe had crafted the palm of his hand to fit it perfectly. everything about phil was just perfect to techno - the way he always smelled faintly of vanilla, the way his long hair in the sun made it look like dripping honey. the way his neck and cheeks flushed red when he was embarrassed, or the way he chewed on his hair when he was idle, or the way he could craft anything out of grass and twigs and flower stems. no one else in the universe would look beautiful with sticks and leaves and bits of mud in their hair, but phil did. he always did. he always looked as radiant as a sundrop, as bright and lively as a begonia. he glowed like the sun in the day and the stars at night. he was techno’s everything.
techno would tell phil the story of his death when he was ready to tell it. for now, he was as safe as he could ever be in the arms of the god of creation.