Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, Technoblade, what brings you to therapy?”

Techno stares at the therapist—Frank—for a few seconds. Across the SMP (well, multiple, but who's counting), his actions are well known—or so he thought, anyway. The question feels like a trap, but (according to Phil) a therapist is supposed to help.

“I guess I have a lot of what you might call…‘trauma’.”

Frank tilts his head. “What would you call it?”

Techno’s eyebrow twitches. “Well,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a small child, “I have spent most of my life as a merc–for–hire. I’d call it a Thursday.”

Frank hums and nods, scribbling something down on a notepad. Techno curls his hand into a fist, itching to reach for the sword that is currently propped against the couch, and use it to cut the notepad in half. Frank glances up and looks at Techno’s hand before continuing to write, but Techno can’t scent any fear in the room. Interesting. Perhaps he isn’t fully human, then. It's rare that not only someone hadn’t heard of Techno’s reputation, but also wasn’t afraid of his intimidating frame, or the eyes that glow behind his mask.

After a few more uncomfortable seconds, (during which only Techno’s training stops him from fidgeting; Show no weakness. That was what had been drilled into him, above all other things), Frank stops writing and leans forward in his seat. 

“So, why are you here?”

“I just told you;” Techno makes quotation marks in the air, “trauma.”

“Well, yes, but you clearly don’t see it as trauma. And you certainly don’t strike me as the sort of person to voluntarily come to therapy. So, I’ll ask again; why are you here?”

Techno narrows his eyes at the bite in Frank’s words. In the back of his mind, Phil’s face appears, deep bags under his eyes after Techno had woke him from screaming for the fifth—or maybe sixth?—night in a row, which had then been followed by a long time of not sleeping at all.

Show no weakness

Phil

dadza

He’ll use it against you

e

therapy pog

e

E

e

Phil is more important than anything that can happen to you.

kill

therapy arc?

blood for the blood god

PHIL!

Techno narrows his eyes, trying to filter out the screaming in his head. Chat was right—Phil was more important than him. “Well, while my life hasn’t exactly been sunshine and rainbows, and it’s been pretty consistent; war breaks out, and for a war, you need men. So, they hire me—because I’m good at what I do. I guess you could say I take pride in it. But recently, there has been…peace.” Techno takes a deep breath, fingernails digging into his palms, before releasing a humourless laugh. “I’m not exactly used to it. In fact, I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’m experiencing true peace. It’s the first time I’ve stayed in the same place for this long as well, and my… problems, I guess you could call them, are affecting others. People I care about. So, I’m doin' this for them. So no one else gets hurt because of me.” Techno clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as every instinct tells him to run or to fight. Vulnerability helps no one. 

“Well the good news is, you’ve taken the first step in looking after them—by seeking help to look after yourself. I know you can look after yourself physically,” Frank continues as Techno opens his mouth to retort that he could look after himself and as many people as he needed to—hell, he has the scars to prove it, “but looking after yourself mentally is important too. You said this is the first time you’ve experienced peacetime—what have you been doing with your time?”

“Trainin'.” Techno replies shortly.

“Training?” Frank asks, after it was clear that Techno isn’t going to elaborate.

“Y’know. Workin' out. Sparrin'. Checkin' the perimeter.”

“Anything else?”

Techno shrugs. “I sometimes talk to my…” What are Phil, Wilbur and Tommy? They’re too close to him to be called friends—but perhaps his definition of friends isn't normal. He’s almost sure they wouldn’t betray him, which is more than he could say for most of his previous 'friends'. He would do anything to protect them. He has done everything possible to protect them. “…friends—close friends, durin' mealtimes.” 

“Your friends? Are they why you’re here, then?”

Techno nods.

“Do you know what they do, now?”

Techno frowns. He’s been so absorbed with making sure he can protect them, he hasn’t really…seen them all that often. “I used hear Wilbur singin', with his guitar—but he’s gone on some ‘healin' journey’, and I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Tommy…well, he’s a chaotic child. He spends a lot of time with his friends—I don’t know what they do. Prank people, probably. And Phil…” Techno’s stomach feels heavy with guilt. When had he last talked to Phil, really? “I don’t see him very often. But I’m pretty sure he does stuff, as well.”

“Does any of that appeal to you?”

Techno grimaces. “I’m not sure I could do the prankin', or the singin'.” Definitely not the singing. “Maybe I could spend more time with Phil.”

“I think that would be a good idea. Since this is all new to you—having time to yourself, to work on other projects—you should do that. Take some time off from violence—”

“Trainin' isn’t inherently violent.”

“Well, what are you training for?”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, I think you should find something different. Something…peaceful. And give yourself some time to work through things. So that’s what I want you to do this week.”

“You want me to…find a hobby.”

Frank nods. “And keep a journal. Of anything that you notice—nightmares, triggers, anything like that—or that you think is affecting those around you.”

“You want me to find a hobby and write a diary.”

“If you want to put it that way, sure.”

Techno sighs. This is going to be such a waste of time. But it makes Phil happy, so…he’ll stick with it, for now.

“Techno? Are you gonna come in?”

Techno looks out of the window to the snow–covered mountains. He hadn’t walked the perimeter when he came back—one of the suggestions from Frank—and it feels as though his skin is crawling with silverfish as, in his mind’s eye, he sees creepers exploding next to the fence, mobs pouring into the cabin during the night to hurt Phil while he sleeps. He feels his heart rate quicken, his vision edged with red as he’s overcome with the urge to protect, to kill, chat screaming incoherent syllables and images —

“Techno? You’re looking a little red there. Want some mushroom soup?”

Techno breathes out through his nose in a long exhale and steps into the kitchen, away from the front door. “Yeah, Phil, I could go for some soup.”

Phil’s eyebrows twitch in what Techno assumes to be surprise—he hasn’t eaten with other people in a while, preferring to eat alone while walking the border—but he ladles some soup into two wooden bowls and places them on the table. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes—the soup tastes really good, as always—before Techno breaks the silence.

“I went to that therapist you recommended.”

Phil looks up, eyes wide. “Frank? How was it?”

Techno stares at his bowl, mixing his soup for a moment. “It was fine, I guess. There was too much talking for me, though.”

“Well, we all know how you like to brood.”

Techno hums noncommittally, opting to take a spoonful of soup. He can’t deny how much he ‘broods’.

“You don’t have to share anything with me, but…was there anything in particular he said? Or recommended?”

“He thinks I should do less ‘violent things’. Find a hobby. I don’t know what to do, though.” Techno decides to keep the diary to himself. 

“Have you thought about building? I’m pretty sure we have all the resources we could ever want, so…why not do something with them?”

“What would I build? I think we both know I’m not one for pretty details.”

Phil shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

Techno frowns at his soup. “I’ll try that tomorrow.”

Techno wakes before the sun comes up, the image of a skeleton’s arrow piercing Tommy’s throat, blood splattered across his pale skin, still fresh in his mind. He scribbles down a note in the book he keeps in his ender chest (because as much as he trusts his friends, he knew Tommy wouldn’t hesitate to read it) before running a lap around the perimeter, killing the few mobs he sees. He then does another lap, just to run down the nervous energy buzzing through his body, and arrives back at the cabin just as the sun rises. 

Usually, he’d have whatever food was lying in Philza’s coolbox before starting training for the day, but he’s supposed to be taking a more laid back approach to life. 

People have a cooked breakfast, right? After a bit of poking around Phil’s kitchen, Techno finds some fresh eggs in a cupboard. He cooks them in a pan, and takes some slices of bread, feeling oddly…domestic. After a thought, he makes some extra for whoever was bound to come by—Techno regularly sees Tommy marching in through the garden, and Phil was bound to come into his kitchen. 

Halfway through his meal, the front slams open. Techno is halfway stood with his sword drawn, when he registers Tommy’s mop of blonde hair, cheeks flushed and eyes bright—such a stark contrast to the boy he’d seen in his dream. 

“Techno? What are you doing inside, big man?”

“Are you going to question me, or are you going to eat the nice, home–cooked breakfast I made?”

Tommy narrows his eyes at Techno, before walking over to the eggs. He sniffs it, looks at Techno again, and then takes a bite. 

“This isn’t bad.” Tommy says, chewing slowly. “Is it poisoned?”

“No.”

“An experiment? Will I turn into a ghast?”

“I wish. Maybe you’d be less annoying.”

“I am hurt, Technoblade.” Tommy scrapes half of the eggs onto a slice of bread and takes a bite, some of the egg falling to the floor. “Hurt.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth.”

“You’re uncouth.”

“Wow.” 

Tommy sits opposite Techno at the table. “So what are you actually doing?”

“I’m thinking of transferring my skills as a mercenary to cooking. Might open a business.”

“I know you’re kidding, but these eggs are good.”

Techno’s ears twitch at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, followed by Phil’s voice.

“Who made eggs?”

“I did, obviously,” Tommy replies, spraying breadcrumbs across the table.

“Tommy, swallow before you eat, or so help me Tube, I will end you.” Techno growls.

“No you won’t.” More breadcrumbs land on the table. "And why can't you just say Prime?"

“I didn’t know you could cook, Techno,” Phil says hurriedly as Techno starts to rise from the table, knife in hand.

Techno looks at Phil pleadingly—one little stab won't hurt that much—and sighs as Phil subtly shakes his head. “Nor did I.”

“Well, I left you a chest outside, so just take what you want. There’s a bit of food as well.”

Techno nods with gratitude, quickly cleaning his plate and putting it back in the cupboard.

“Are you coming back for dinner?” Phil asks.

Techno shrugs. “Probably.”

The chest is at the other side of the small forest Wilbur had planted before he left, and is filled with a variety of blocks—wood, cobble, some ores, and blocks from the nether, as well as dyes and concrete. There is a stack of potatoes—Techno assumes for nourishment, rather than decor—though he genuinely doesn’t know where Phil had got them from. Raiding a nearby village, probably. And then he has the nerve to lecture Techno about war crimes. 

Techno builds a large, square border out of cobble and stares at it, unsure of where to go with this. He’s never really built anything that didn’t have a function, and certainly doesn’t know how to make something look good. He absentmindedly chews on a potato while staring at the enclosed dirt, wondering where to go from there. He could build up, or…

Techno looks at the potatoes—he’s been sitting here for five minutes, and has eaten as many. He’ll need more to fuel his building.

Techno had been building for four days—four blissful, undisturbed days—when a voice dared disturb his contentment.

“Phil?”

Techno wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, and peers down from the top of his structure to see a man in a yellow jumper with a red beanie.

“Nope,” he shouts, sliding down a ladder.

“Techno? Are you building a watchtower, or something?” Techno hears Wil’s neck crack as he looks up at the admittedly tall building.

“We don’t need a watchtower with me patrollin'.” Techno isn’t supposed to be patrolling, but he has to check the woods every so often. What if they get to the cabin and he’s not there?

“What is that, then?”

“Potato farm.”

“Potato farm,” Wilbur repeats.

Techno nods. “Potato farm.”

“And why are you building a potato farm?”

Techno shrugs, taking a bite out of a potato. “They’re pretty good.”

Wilbur looks at Techno, then the tower, then the potato, and back at Techno, before shaking his head. “Do you know where Phil is?”

“Sun’s settin', so I’d assume in his house. I’ll come with you, I want to ask him for some stuff.”

“More dirt?” Wilbur says, with a pointed look at Techno’s hands, which are covered with a layer of dried mud.

Techno nods. “And cobble. I think an eighth layer would really add to the…" Techno gestures vaguely at the building, "…symmetry, or somethin'.”

Wilbur stares at Techno, who stares right back. What is his problem? Sure, it is odd for Techno to pick up a new hobby out of the blue, but Phil does this sort of stuff all the time!

“Alright. Let’s go, then.”

They walk in silence for a few seconds, before Techno speaks.

“Where have you been? It’s been weeks.”

Wilbur shrugs. “Around. Visited a few other servers. Helped out in exchange for accommodation. Did some busking.”

“And how are you…” Techno pauses awkwardly. He is supposed to be ‘getting to know’ people, but still doesn’t see the point in knowing more than whether or not he can trust them. “How are you feelin'?”

“You want to know how I'm feeling?”

Technosoft, vulnerable, not safe, check perimeter, can’t trust—

“Sure.”

Wilbur watches Techno bemusedly for another moment, before shaking his head. “You are very odd, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Well, since you asked, I’m feeling better. A bit less in the mood to…blow up stuff. I don’t know, distancing myself from everything makes it all a bit…easier.”

Techno thought of his building, of how the lack of ‘violence’ made Chat a little quieter, and thought that maybe, Wilbur had a point.

Chapter Text

Techno walks across yet another grassy hill—while this biome is certainly easier to navigate than, say, a jungle, it's still tedious—and checks his map once again. He is directly over the coordinates he’d been sent; apparently, he’s been hired by a pair of hobbits, living in a hole carved into the hill. 

Well, money is money.

He jumps down the sheer drop, landing directly in front of a wooden door. He raps on it three times, dusting himself off. Technoblade isn’t one to care for appearances, but he could still look presentable. 

A child—Techno isn’t trying to be mean, but honestly, he can’t be older than sixteen—opens the door, face covered in a thin layer of dirt. 

“Technoblade?” he asks, looking Techno up and down. 

Techno nods.

“Not a man of many words, I see. Well, come in, come in!” The child squeezes into the one block wide space just inside, between the door and the furnaces, allowing Techno to duck under the doorway. It is an awfully small space, and Techno feels his throat close up at the way his head scrapes the ceiling, but he takes a discreet breath. A bit of dirt and stone can’t defeat him, no matter how many times chat whispers that it is going to collapse in on him. 

“Sorry about the low ceiling, but this is just the entrance—there’s plenty of space inside. What did Wilbur tell you in the letter?”

“That you were starting a revolution against a tyrannical government, and that you needed manpower.”

“Yep, that pretty much sums it up. We don’t have much right now, but we’ll split any loot we get with you, and are currently gathering resources—word on the street is that you’re not just good for fighting.”

“Word on the street is correct. I’ll help you with minin', gatherin' resources in the nether, whatever—but for a rather…significant cut.”

“Fifty–fifty work for you?”

Techno feels a flash of surprise—he usually did much more bargaining for much worse terms. 

“Sure.”

“Oh, right, I haven’t even introduced myself yet! I’m Tommy, and…” Tommy leads Techno onto a high bridge spanning a large ravine, lit up by torches, “…my brother is down there. He’s who wrote to you.”

Techno peers down the ravine, and spots a red beanie among the stone. “Ah, Wilbur. Your brother is very good with words, you know.”

“He sure is. Why do you think they exiled us? His words hold too much power for the bitches who won the election.”

Techno nods, tucking that information away. Tommy walks down a series of wooden bridges and Techno follows, until they reach the bottom. 

“Hey, Wilbur, look! It’s the big man himself—Technoblade.”

Wilbur holds out his hand and shakes Techno’s, with a surprisingly strong grip—for a human, in any case. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for helping our cause.”

“Well, taking down governments is what I actually like to do. Not to mention, I’m not exactly doin' this for free.”

“Of course not. How much space do you need? We have a couple of rooms, but you could certainly mine your own if you prefer—”

“I can get my own space. I'll just have a bit of food, and obviously the agreed upon payment.”

Wilbur frowns slightly, but shrugs. “Well, if you want to store your items somewhere, we have chests you can borrow. If you don’t mind, we need to continue preparations as quickly as possible.”

Techno shoulders his pickaxe. “Works for me.”

“I must say, this is very well written,” Frank says, skimming the pages of the book Techno had brought. 

“There’s no excuse for sloppy grammar.”

TechnoNERD!

Don’t let him read that, he’ll use it against you.

Writer arc?

therapy pogggg

Get out before he gets any more ammunition–

“You alright, Techno?”

Techno blinks as he registers the pain behind his ear. He’s been scratching at an old scar—his own nails had scratched it into his skin when he’d first heard Chat. “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, what did you say?” 

“Have you considered writing as a hobby?”

Techno snorts. “Writin' about what?”

“Your experiences. Stories. Whatever you wanted.”

“Nah. No one would wanna read that anyway.”

“You don’t have to share it, you know.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Frank sighs and rolls his eyes. “Just—never mind. What have you been doing?”

“Well, I talked to Phil. Then, I built a potato farm.”

Frank watches him for a few moments. Techno stares right back. 

Frank breaks first. “Anything else?”

“Wilbur came back a couple of days ago. It was nice to see him, I guess. Though…he’s different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know, he wasn’t exactly mentally stable when he left. I’m probably just seeing how he’s healed on his journey.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

Techno shrugs. It doesn’t make him feel anything, really.

Liar!

l

e

Techno–jealous

kill him

Imagine being mentally stable, could never be us.

Frank nods, jotting something down in his notebook. “You know you’re not making this easy, right?”

“That wasn’t my intention, no.”

“This won’t help your friends, if you continue to not help yourself.”

“Well, I’ve been going 'round the perimeter less, and Chat talks less—”

“Chat?”

You’ve got to be kidding me, Techno thinks. Chat doesn’t take well to the question either, screaming at the top of their lungs. 

“The voices. In my head. Everyone knows about Chat.”

“Well, considering I hadn’t heard of you, I definitely wasn’t going to hear about your voices. When did they first appear?”

“Pretty much when I started the ascension—when I was a teenager, probably?”

“And what does this ‘Chat’ say?”

“They mostly encourage violence. Sometimes they insult me. They don’t like you very much.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “I’m not surprised. Can they speak through you, or do they just speak to you?”

“It’s just me that gets the delightful privilege of talking to them.” 

Frank hums, once again writing something. 

“Do I get to know what you’re writing?”

“No.”

Techno watches Frank bemusedly, tilting his head. “You know I could easily overpower you, right?”

“You could try,” Frank says mildly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Do it!

Techno takes a deep breath, ignoring Chat. There is no way that Frank is human.

“Techno? I thought you were building,” Phil says, interrupting Techno’s reading. 

“I was.”

“And now?” 

Techno looks over the top of his glasses and raises an eyebrow, before lifting the book in the air to show Phil the title. “I’m readin'.”

Phil squints. “Farming potatoes; yields, speed and efficiency?”

“Yep. It says the best time to grow potatoes in this area is in about four weeks, when the temperature is warmer and weather patterns mean there will be optimum amounts of rain. I’ve already built water capturers that’ll drain directly into the soil, so I just have to plant the potatoes three days beforehand.” 

“Huh. So if you know all that, why are you still reading about potatoes?”

“I’m not reading about potatoes,” Wilbur says, coming down the stairs.

Techno rolls his eyes, turning back to his book. “Not everything is about you, Wilbur. I’m just making sure I didn’t miss anything the first two times ‘round.”

“First two times?” Phil asks, as Wilbur exclaims “you can read?”

“Of course I can read. I’m not uneducated, unlike some people,” Techno says, opting to ignore Phil’s completely irrelevant comment. It’s completely normal to read a book three times in a row.

“Where the fuck did you get educated, then? I thought you were just trained to fight people.”

Techno shuts his book with a snap, as Chat screams bloody murder. He picks up his sword, twirling it a couple of times for dramatic effect. “Perhaps I should put that trainin' to good use. I’ve heard minced human makes a particularly good lasagne.”

Wil takes a step back, and Techno sighs as he lets Phil disarm him. “We’re not making mincemeat out of anyone. ”

“You really take the fun outta things, Phil.”

A heavy silence hangs around the room. Techno wrinkles his nose—usually he’d be thankful for the silence, for letting him read, but it just feels oppressive now. “Where’s Tommy?”

Wilbur shrugs, as Phil says, “he’s staying out with one of his friends, apparently. Probably Tubbo.”

Techno hums, ignoring the way his gut jolts with anxiety. 

Maybe the mobs finally got to him.

technosoft

racooninnit

soft

technoprotec

Brother inn—

“You can’t possibly miss that gremlin,” Wil says, after another beat of silence.

“I would never. I was just wonderin' why my stuff was still where it’s supposed to be.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow, before walking out of the room. Techno looks to Phil—for support, maybe, he’s not sure—but he’s wearing a sickening smile on his face. 

“What’re you smiling about?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy walks in as Wilbur, Phil and Techno are sitting down for dinner. 

“Nice of you to show up,” Techno mutters.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Tommy replies, gratingly loud against the blissful silence Techno’s been sitting in for the last few hours. 

“I will have you know that I’ve been to dinner every night for the last week and a half.”

“And didn’t turn up for a single one before that.” Tommy drags a stool over and elbows Phil, sitting between him and Techno, before helping himself to half of the bread on Techno’s plate. Techno moves his plate closer to Wilbur, in an attempt to keep the last of his food. He could just go get some more from the counter, but it’s about the principle of the matter. 

“We should probably get a bigger table,” Techno says, as he knocks his elbow into Wilbur, causing him to almost fall off his chair.

“You think?” Wilbur replies, glaring at the offending elbow and shifting closer to Phil.

“We could go out tomorrow—it’s only a one–day trip to the market.” Phil says, the corners of his lips twitching as he watches Wilbur and Techno continue to glare at each other.

“Is Techno going to come?” 

“Tommy. For the love of Tube, swallow your food before speaking.” Techno kicks Tommy’s shin while still not breaking eye contact with Wilbur, who is in turn trying to push Techno’s foot under his seat, to no avail.

“Well, are you going to come, Techno?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Wilbur’s foot stopped its pushing as his mouth fell open, his hand that was holding the fork suspended in mid–air. “Techno. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re eating with us, building, going on family trips—”

“Family trips?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Techno shrugged, taking a bite of his food. “I don’t know what you’re talkin' about.”

“You damn well do, and I am going to find out what it is.”

“There’s nothin' to find out, Wilbur. I’m tryin' out some stuff.”

Wilbur snorts. “Hey Tommy, did you know Techno’s been reading?”

“I can and will stab you.”

“As if Phil would let you.”

“Oh, I’m sure Phil wouldn’t mind a bit of light stabbin'—”

“Wait, you can read?” Tommy interrupts.

“That’s what I said!” Wilbur shouts, leaping out of his chair to avoid Techno’s fist.

“Oh, that is it,” Techno snarls, chasing Wilbur around the table. 

“And they call me immature,” Tommy says, sticking his foot out to trip up Techno. 

Techno goes crashing into the table, sending food flying everywhere.  

“Now look what you’ve done!” Wilbur wheezes, doubled over with laughter. 

Phil observes the chaos and rubs his temples. “Well, we're definitely getting a new table."

Chapter Text

“So, is this shopping trip the first time you’ve been out since the War?”

“I’m not some recluse, y’know.”

Frank raises an eyebrow, and Techno sighs dramatically. 

“Yes, it’s the first time I’ve been away from where I live.”

Frank hums. “And how did it go?”

“Well, we went to a neighbouring server, since there isn’t really a market on here. And it went…well.”

“Why did you hesitate before you said ‘well’?”

“I did no such thing.”

“I have all day, y’know.”

“You have until the end of the session, I really doubt that I’m your only patient.” 

“You’ve got me there.” Frank leans back in his chair, watching Techno steadily. 

“So we’re just gonna sit here in silence for the next twenty minutes, then.”

“If you think that’ll be productive, sure.”

Techno shrugs. He likes silence.

Sure you do

You really want to just listen to us for the next twenty minutes?

technoquiet

good, don’t talk to the weird man

don’t talk to him

keep quiet

good

Well, if Chat’s agreeing with his actions, Techno’s probably not doing the right thing.

“I may have…threatened a few people.”

“For any reason in particular?”

Techno thinks. There was the guy who was overcharging Phil after spotting his wings, despite Phil clearly giving the amount that was displayed on their signs. There was the pickpocket that tried to steal Tommy’s sword, which usually wouldn’t have bothered Techno, if it weren’t for the way Tommy’s face blanched at his stuff being taken. There was the guy who looked at Wilbur in a way that was just…wrong.

“I mean, I don’t think they were undeservin' of the threats, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you actually do anything to them?”

“I mean, I may have given them nightmares, or somethin’. Nothing major.”

“Well, that sounds like a real improvement from what you told me of your life from before. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not some kid that needs coddling, you know.”

Frank's face twitches with what horribly looks like sympathy. It makes Techno want to hurl. 

“You know people can be proud of adults too, right?”

Techno cringes internally, but keeps his face impassively bored. What can he say, he needs to change the subject—

“Are you human, or not?” Techno blurts.  

Frank shrugs. “Sort of.”

Techno finds himself pacing the perimeter to calm his pounding heart. He’d arrived home three days ago —Phil had said that he’d be home by yesterday. But he isn’t here.

Chat had been keeping up a chant of ‘ find him’, and ‘ Dadza’, even as Techno pleaded with them to let him sleep, but until now he’d managed to ignore the pull of his instincts that begged him to listen to Chat. He was working his way through Phil’s bookshelves—there are books from pretty much everywhere he's travelled, filled with elegant, foreign scripts and stories he hadn’t come across in any of his eavesdropping. 

Now, though, the stables are calling to him; Carl is always ready to stretch his legs, and it wouldn’t take that long to take a quick run across the server. A couple of days, at most. 

Techno starts walking towards the stables as he tries to come up for a valid reason as to why he shouldn’t go, but he really can’t think of any. Potatoes don’t need to be planted for a while yet, and Wilbur can look after himself.

Tommy hasn’t been home in a few days—maybe he’s in L’Manberg. Techno can go check on him, too. 

Techno spares a glance towards the forest before he opens the door, and stills as a sudden gust of wind pushes some unfamiliar scents towards him. 

Well, not unfamiliar. They drag him back to a sight of craters, and flames, and death. 

Techno swears under his breath, sprinting back to the house as fast as possible. The scents are still fairly faint—should luck have been on their side, they could have snuck much closer before he saw them. 

Wilbur’s eyes widen as Techno barges through the door. “Techno? Techno what—”

“Pack. Now,” Techno says shortly, going through his chests as fast as he can. He’s gotten complacent, let his stocks of potions decrease—there are two invisibility potions, two potions of swiftness, a water–breathing potion and a strength potion. 

He shoves all except the water–breathing in his satchel, switches his lighter leather armour for heavy netherite, straps knives to his belt and sheathes his sword, before hefting an axe onto his shoulder. 

He peeks out of the window, and sees the tell–tale smoke rising from between the trees. Charcoal torches may be easy to obtain, but they smoke a lot. 

“Wil, get over here.”

Wilbur rushes around the corner, a hastily packed bag slung over his shoulder and armour pulled on. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

“I think some people are coming to end my retirement,” Techno says gruffly. “Here, take these.” 

He hands over all the potions except the strength to Wilbur, who immediately tries to hand half of them back. “What? You need them too, we can get away—”

“No. They’re here for me, and I think they’ve got Phil.”

Wilbur pales. 

“You’re gonna take those, and you’re gonna run. Find Tommy—the other two are for him—and get to the northern outskirts of this server. Wait for two days, and if neither me nor Phil arrive, get out.”

“No. Techno, they’ll kill you, you have to come with me—”

“Wilbur, have you no faith?” Techno shifts the axe. “I’m the Blood God. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and sure as hell am not going down without a damn good fight. I’ll get Phil, and we'll come meet you.”

“But—”

Techno holds up a hand, ears twitching. He can hear faint shouts of triumph, barely three chunks away. “They’re here. Go!”

Techno manhandles Wilbur and shoves him out the back door. He glares at him until he drinks the potions, the only sign of him the faint footsteps in the snow. Easily noticeable, but that’s what Techno’s for—a distraction.

“Technoblade! We know you’re here, now come on out!”

Techno hears Wilbur’s footsteps falter at the sound of Fundy’s voice, and snarls in his general direction, before sauntering out of his front door. 

“Hey, guys, why have you come all the way over here, to my humble abode?”

Tubbo steps forward, his face grave—so at odds from a few months ago, when he’d been with Tommy, happy .

Shit, Tommy. Techno had spent all this time assuming Tommy was with Tubbo, but here was Tubbo, no Tommy in sight. Wilbur would find Tommy—Techno had to believe that he would, that he’d healed enough to look after Tommy—and Techno would free Phil, and they would have a nice, long talk.

“You need to pay for your war crimes, Techno.” 

Techno scoffs as the Chat starts screaming profanities. Amongst the chaos, Techno hears a distinctly cold voice, slowly growing louder. Kill him. Kill them all. They dare threaten you, The Blood God?

“Woah, woah, guys, that’s all in the past, that was a different man. I’ve changed! I’m in retirement, for Tube’s sake.”

Quackity stares at him flatly. “Techno, you exploded L’Manberg with withers. I’m sorry, Technoblade, as much as you’ve changed, you have to be brought to justice.”

Techno shifts his axe, taking a small amount of pleasure from how the group looks at it with a healthy dose of fear. “Listen, I have gone to so much trouble to change my violent ways, this past month. I have reformed. The voices scream for blood, and I deny them. If you’re gonna punish me for that, what does it say about your country?”

Quackity smirks, lifting his own blade. “Look, Techno, it’s four against one. We can do this without violence.”

Tubbo nods. “Just come peacefully. No harm will come to you.”

“There’s no other way,” Fundy adds.

“No other way? No other way?” Techno laughs, an angry shout to the heavens, the Deities. How, after all he’d done, had it come to this? 

Chat screams with victory, almost drowning out Techno’s shout of “I choose blood!”

He splashes the strength potion on himself, swinging his axe in a wide arc. It slams into the tall, quiet one’s shield—Techno doesn’t know his name—and his previously neutral expression tenses into a snarl. Techno doesn’t dwell on that though, focused on parrying Tubbo, Fundy and Quackity’s combined attempts to subdue him. 

It isn’t going well for them—Quackity has retreated, after collapsing under a blow to his head, and Fundy is suffering from the fire enchantments on Techno’s sword. Sure, he has netherite armour, but the heat is still likely to cook him inside out. Fundy rolls in the snow, panting at the heat. 

The tall guy with green eyes—an Enderman hybrid, Techno thinks, noticing the black skin concealed by armour and purple particles trailing from every movement—charges, as Tubbo backs away, raising his shield. 

Techno pins Tubbo to the ground, spearing his sword through his clothing, though careful to not cause more than a graze. Sure, he was hunting Techno, but he was also Tommy’s friend. And Tommy’s more important than some petty vengeance. 

“Quackity! Do something!” Tubbo screams, as Techno turns to the Enderman hybrid. 

Techno gets two solid knocks in before Quackity comes over, far quicker than he should be, shouting, “stop! Stop!”

“What—” Techno turns around and freezes, ice coating his veins. Quackity was coming from the direction of the stables, which, in his hurry, he’d left unlocked. “What are you doing with that horse.”

“You get away from them.”

“Get off that horse,” Techno says, stalking towards Quackity.

Quackity pulls at the reigns much harder than necessary, causing Carl to buck slightly. “You fucking stop right now.” Quackity holds a sword to Carl’s throat. “Drop everything, or I kill this horse.”

“That horse is innocent!” Techno screams, taking another step.

“Drop everything, or I will kill him.”

“Armour too,” Tubbo adds, finally digging the sword out and standing, pointing Techno’s own sword at him.

Techno looks at Fundy (smoking slightly, but unharmed), then the Enderman hybrid (not even slightly injured, and appearing to look…guilty?), then Tubbo (with such rage in his eyes, far too much for such a young age), and finally, Quackity (still holding a sword to Carl’s throat, who’s eyes were wide with terror). He could easily fight his way out of this, but…he couldn’t risk Carl’s life. 

He reluctantly drops his sword, his axe, and his bag, wincing as the others gleefully sort through it. He slowly takes off his armour, until he’s just in a tunic and trousers. 

“I’ll be taking this,” the Enderman hybrid says quietly, taking the Totem of Undying out of Techno’s back pocket. How he’d spotted it, Techno doesn’t know—it should have been hidden by his clothing, but maybe Endermen had good senses of smell too.

“Really, Ranboo? You already have, like, ten.” Tubbo says. 

“Well, I want another,” Ranboo says, tone dangerous. 

Tubbo scowls, but shrugs. “Alright, then. It’s good that I like you, otherwise you wouldn’t get away with hoarding so much shit.”

Ranboo hums, pocketing the Totem.

Seemingly satisfied that Techno was unarmed (they hadn’t checked for knives, the fools) , Quackity speaks. “Alright, Techno, now here’s what’s going to happen. We’re gonna bring you back to L’Manberg, and you’re going to face a trial. One foot out of line, and I will not hesitate to kill the horse. Understand?”

Techno nods. He can play their game, for now. “Alright.”

Techno glares at the chains strapped to his wrists. He’d had to have his own boat, tugged along with a rope, the wood barely floating under the immense weight of the metal. Despite his clear change, his lack of deadly force, they still don’t trust him. 

Now, two of them—Tubbo and Fundy—hold his chains, Ranboo guards from behind and Quackity leads from the front, still on Carl’s back, still handling him too roughly. They walk through the streets of L’Manberg, scars still etched on the war–torn city beneath the wooden paths. Techno can’t see any other people, but there must be a building, of sorts. 

They are walking towards a small collection of houses, much smaller than those from L’Manberg’s first era. 

“I can’t believe it.” 

Techno spins to the voice that spoke, only to be tugged back roughly by Fundy. He strains harder, needing to see, even if he’d recognise the voice anywhere. 

“You actually got him.”

No. No. Sure, Techno had expected to see Phil here, but not like this. Not in the top floor of a house, face bruised, still red with dried blood. 

“Phil! What did they do to you?”

“He’s under house arrest,” Tubbo yells, over the clanking of chains and Techno’s shouts. 

“They’ve put an ankle monitor on me,” Phil says, lifting his leg to reveal a garish, black, plastic, thing wrapped around his ankle. Techno suddenly remembers the Elytrions he’d once rescued from war camps—they’d wasted away, driven crazy by the captivity, sores on their skin and feathers falling from their wings. It wasn’t done often—only as the harshest punishment, for the worst offenders. Techno wasn’t quite sure if the ‘Butcher Army’ were cruel, or simply naїve. 

“You guys leave Phil alone! Take me, do whatever, but he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Technoblade, no,” Phil shouts. “I’m fine!”

“Don’t you worry about Philza, Technoblade. As long as you cooperate, everyone will be fine,” Quackity interrupts smoothly, before nodding at Ranboo. Despite how brittle his arms look, the Enderman hybrid is surprisingly strong, maneuvering Techno towards a cage. 

“Don’t make me force you in,” Ranboo says quietly. 

Techno crosses his arm and huffs, making no movement to indicate he was getting in willingly.

Ranboo watches him for a moment, before twisting his hands into the back of Techno’s tunic and shoving him in. Techno opens his mouth to protest, when he notices the familiar scent of earth, power, and gold. He schools his face into a scowl as Fundy and Quackity watch from the audience, and Tubbo stands at the podium. 

“You know, guys, I can’t help but feel that this whole trial thing is a bit of a farce,” Techno drawls, kicking lightly at the iron fence. They hold strong, and are too tall for him to climb over.

“You’re right, Techno. This isn’t a trial. This is an execution,” Quackity responds smugly, crossing his arms. “Tubbo, if you would explain?”

Tubbo clears his throat, looking too small at the tall podium. “Technoblade has robbed our country. Robbed it of everything special, of everything that defines what it was. He stepped in when he—” Tubbo pauses, frowning at an arrow that bounced off his netherite armour. 

“It’s probably just a skeleton,” Ranboo says, shrugging.

Tubbo nods, and continues, “he stepped in when he shouldn’t have. He created chaos, he ruined the government— will someone take care of the damn skeleton?”

Fundy nods and runs towards the direction that the arrows were coming from. Tubbo barely gets another two words out, though, before they hear a yelp, and silence. 

“I’d like to think that I’m a good enough shot to not be mistaken for a bloody skeleton. But apparently you’re all idiots.”

“Eh?” Techno shouts, as the others spring up, raising their weapons. 

“Wilbur, it would be better for everyone if you just stay out of this,” Ranboo says, as Wilbur flickers into existence, his invisibility potion wearing off. 

“You didn’t really think we’d just let you kill the Blade, did you?” another voice shouts, and Techno snorts as Quackity is pushed off the path, directly into the water. 

“Tommy?” Tubbo shouts. 

“Just…stay out of it, Tubbo. You don’t need to get hurt,” Tommy says, still invisible. His potion must not have worn off. 

Tubbo looks at where Tommy’s voice is coming from, then Quackity, soaking wet and hissing like a creeper. 

“Just walk away,” Tommy’s voice pleads. 

Tubbo slowly walks over to Quackity, pulling him back onto the wooden walkway, and watches the barely–there particles move towards the houses. “Phil’s in the second one from the left,” Tubbo says, and Techno sees Tommy sprint off.

“Now, let Techno out,” Wilbur says, bow trained on Quackity and Tubbo.

Tubbo tenses, and Techno dares to hope. 

“Pull the lever, Big Q!” Tubbo screams, jumping to intercept Wilbur’s arrows with his shield. 

Quackity runs, dodging arrows left and right. One grazes his thigh, another gets between the plates of his armour, but he dives, both hands firmly pulling the lever down. 

“EH?” 

Techno looks up, to see the anvil coming straight at him, dark metal shining faintly in the moonlight. He looks up, and grabs the Totem of Undying Ranboo had slipped into his pocket, gripping it tightly. His only lifeline against sure death. 

The anvil hits him, and it hurts— more than being cast out, thrown into lava, stuffed into a hot metal box for what could only be days at a time.

He feels his skull crack, shards of bone splintering into his eyes, until he cannot see what has become of him, of shattered bones and twisted flesh and pain—

Until he simply wasn’t. 

The people in the overworld had always claimed that Nether hybrids couldn’t have a soul, after whatever demonic experiment had brought them to this world. Techno himself believed it; how else could he kill so often, care so little for the countless lives he took?

Yet what else could be surviving past death, past the separation of muscle from bone, past the grinding of meat until it was indistinguishable from what could be found in a butcher’s shop?

And then he was roughly pulled back, pushed into a body only halfway fixed, feeling bone’s straighten and skin knit together. Techno moves before he should, needing to get out, the chant to find, protect, kill, reverberating through his healing bones. 

He pulls his arm free from the iron fence, barely registering the pain. It doesn’t matter, he has to find Phil, find Tommy, find Wilbur. 

Wilbur, who can’t listen to simple instructions. Who saved his life. 

Tube, Techno is never going to hear the end of this. 

Chapter Text

“So, Technoblade. I see you’re a little tense.”

Techno looks up at Frank. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think you’ve actually relaxed once since you stepped in the room. You also cancelled the appointment twice.”

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

Frank raises an eyebrow, and Techno sighs. They’ve done this so many times, there’s almost no point in dragging this out. 

Almost. 

“C’mon, Techno, there’s no point in dragging this out. Phil did mention it, if that makes it easier.”

“You talk to Phil?”

“We are friends, you know.”

“Of course you are.” Techno sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Well, these idiots called the ‘Butcher Army’ kidnapped Phil and tried to kill me. To be honest, while these sessions are…useful, I really think I’d be better suited staying at home, protectin' him.”

“Okay, well, why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging me to stay?”

“I want to know what convinced you to come anyway.”

Techno held up the small device he’d been fidgeting with for the duration of the session. “Phil got me a communicator. Promised that he’d use it if anything fishy happened. Without this, I definitely wouldn’t have come. Or I woulda brought Phil with me, I guess.”

Frank hums and writes something. “Well, that sounds like it was a very traumatic experience. Any new nightmares?”

“Just a few.”

Perhaps it isn’t a surprise that his dreams have brought him back here.

Techno looks up, helpless against the anvil that falls, faster and faster until it slams into him. 

Pain, and noise, and…suffocating heat. 

Wait. This isn’t…

No. 

No no no no no no no—

Not here. He’d escaped. He’d travelled as far as possible away from here. 

And yet here he is. 

Even Chat screams in fear at the barely–there red glow, seeping in through cracks in the opaque, golden box they kept him in. 

Techno’s breaths come quicker and quicker until they are barely there at all, the only noise he can hear being the shrieks of Chat. His throat aches, his fists bleed and blister against the hot metal. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays in there before he hears hooves outside, slowly walking over. Slowly—too slowly—the block on top is broken. He breathes in the air; it stinks of sulphur and the Nether, but it isn’t from this box, which makes it better than the brightest gold. 

“Has the mongrel learned its lesson?”

Techno makes himself as small and non–threatening as possible, pinning his ears back and lowering his gaze. Anything to get out. 

One of the guards scoffs, and starts to break another gold block. But just as the block is broken, another guard places the block back almost immediately. 

Techno holds back his whimper—he needs to be submissive, but he cannot lose their respect entirely. The walls are too high for him to escape without help, and he hasn’t earned the right to his own pickaxe. Should he let them walk all over him, he will never earn that right; he’ll be stuck in this forever. 

“I think it can stand a few more hours.” The guard who’d placed the block chuckles as if he’d told an exceptionally good joke. 

“No. Please.” Techno whispers, too quiet for them to hear over the sounds of their laughter, as the block is placed above him once more. 

Frank’s face is pinched into an expression Techno cannot discern. 

“Was this a memory?”

“From the army, yeah. First job I ever got. I was tall, and strong, so they let me join younger than usual; I guess my age made me easier to pick on. I put an end to that soon enough, though.”

“And—” Frank hums, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “Is this commonplace, among your kind?”

Techno snorts. “I wouldn’t call them ‘my kind’. They certainly wouldn’t consider me theirs. But yeah, I guess it is. I saw a lotta other people go in the box, though I never sentenced them to that myself, when I made general.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s inhumane. And if they’re being punished, they might as well do something. Cleaning the hoglin pens is always a good punishment.”

Frank nods thoughtfully. “That’s…really open–minded.”

Techno grunts, shrugging and checking the communicator again. He’d asked Phil to give Tommy and Wilbur his signal, in case of emergencies, but clearly neither of them understand the meaning of the word. Techno is going to die of high blood pressure, and it's going to be because Wilbur wants Techno to tell Phil that it is okay to eat sand (which it is not. During his first days on the overworld, he had learned as such) and on top of that, now Chat won’t shut up about sand.

“Phil okay?”

“Yeah. He gave my signal to a couple of other people, and neither of them understand the meaning of emergency.”

“They’re probably just checking up on you, in their own way.”

Techno frowns at the screen. The latest message from Tommy reads, “blade, did u know sand tastes rank? never let me trust wil again. big mistake.”

“They’re talking about sand. Eatin' it, specifically.”

“Is that a metaphor, or…”

“Nope. Literally just talking about sand.”

"Huh."

As per usual, Techno feels like he’s left the weight of the world in Frank’s office. He isn’t sure why, exactly, but something about talking to him just makes life a little easier. While he still has to deal with nightmares, everything is just a little…easier. 

Sessions with Frank do help, but he doubts anything could fully suppress the red that tinges his vision as he spots an unfamiliar figure at his door. Techno approaches cautiously, sword out, making as little noise as possible as his feet shift through the snow. 

He spots ears twitching under the netherite helmet, his only warning before the stranger— Ranboo— turns around.

“Technoblade,” he murmurs, inclining his head slightly.

“Ranboo.” Techno sheathes his sword, but doesn't remove his hand from the handle. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Ranboo’s ears twitch and he lowers his head further. “I have been exiled from the Butcher army, and was wondering if I could possibly stay out here? I can build my own place, and stuff, but thought I should ask your permission first.”

Techno sighs. Ranboo did save his life, but he was also part of the crew that kidnapped and beat Phil. “Just…come on in. I need to talk to Phil about this first, but there’s no use sitting out here in the snow.”

Ranboo follows him through the door, helmet brushing the wooden ceiling as he rises to his full height. 

“You can take your armour off in here, y’know. It’s pretty warm, and we aren’t gonna get blood on our couch,” Techno says, before calling for Phil.

“What’s up, Tech–oh.” Phil stops halfway down the stairs, staring at Ranboo. “You.”

Ranboo bows deeply, dropping his weapons. “Mr. Minecraft. I would like to sincerely apologise for my part in your kidnapping, and subsequent torture. There was no excuse for my actions, and I can only ask for your forgiveness, as I regretfully cannot change the past.”

Phil’s eyebrows twitch, his expression otherwise neutral. “Ranboo, how old are you?”

Ranboo shrugs. “Not sure. My memory is pretty bad.”

Phil hums, considering.

Techno holds his breath; sure, Phil has a reputation of being soft, especially on kids, and Ranboo sounds young, but Phil is still the Angel of Death.

Techno himself is conflicted—his two strongest instincts are to protect his friends, and to treat others as they treat him—and while Ranboo had harmed Phil, he’d also saved Techno’s life. Did they cancel out? All Techno could tell was that it made Chat all the more chaotic. He couldn’t actually discern any words from, at this point. A high pitched ring grew steadily louder, and he took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

Over the ruckus, Techno hears Phil’s voice. “Mate, I’m not blind. I saw how they were treating you. You were just trying to survive. I accept your apology.”

Ranboo breathes out, the tension leaving his body. “Thank you.”

Techno grunts as a gold–capped boot slams into his side.

“Up! Get up, they’re here!”

Shit.

Techno pulls on his new armour—he’s the only one in his battalion given the honour of netherite, but he’s yet to figure out if it’s a gift or a death sentence—and heads out, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Indeed, the smoke of the Overworlders is an ominous shadow against the red of the Nether. They’re surrounded by netherrack, an ever–burning substance that emits almost no smoke, and yet still insist on using their wood. Imbeciles.

“You get enough sleep? Have a nice bath, perhaps?” Techno’s commander asks, disdain written across his face. 

“I’m the first here out of my entire battalion.”

“Oh, you aren’t in a battalion, anymore. You’re an asset to the legion, now.”

Techno’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you get to go at the front. A weapon to take out the opposition’s morale.”

Techno reigns in his snarl. He still has a slim chance of survival, currently, but questioning his commander is as good as suicide. 

He takes a deep breath, the  sickly–sweet  smell of charcoal shoving itself up his nostrils, and begins his march.

Technoblade doesn’t know how long he’s been here.

He’s pretty sure this isn’t the same enemy, but the dance is the same; swing, block, swing, step. Through sprays of blood and splinters of bone, blending in with the nether as if the world was made for it.

He blinks once, to clear the blood out of his eyes, and makes the error of looking into his opponents eyes. They’re a rich brown, a few dark hairs poking out of the helmet.

“Wilbur?”

“The Blade.” Wilbur jerks his head in a small motion, and swings a sword. Techno easily blocks it, still shocked. 

“You hate melee combat.”

“Turns out, I’ll make an exception for vengeance.”

“You—this—”

“I blew up a country, Blade. You really think I care about a few animals?”

“Don’t call me that.” Techno takes another step back, aware of the heat that scorches his back radiating from the lava below. 

“What, the Blade? Or an animal?” Wilbur’s eyes glint with something unhinged. “They’re both true, you know.”

Chat whispers in the background, repeating Wilbur’s words. 

Techno hesitates, and Wilbur lunges. 

“So, did you say your nightmares were getting better, Techno?” Phil asks. 

Techno looks at him for a moment. He still wakes up, still loses sleep, but he’s quieter. And they are getting better— he isn’t screaming, which has to be an improvement, right?

In any case, his improvement is visible on Phil; the dark shadows under his eyes are almost completely gone, and he has more energy in every step.

“Yeah.”

Phil nods happily, and they continue to eat in silence. Techno realises just how much he’s missed this. God, he and Phil have known each other for decades, but they haven’t had a calm meal together in—

Techno sighs as the door opens, setting off chat and abruptly cutting off his thoughts.

the innit child!

racooninnit

just ignore him

look after the kin

“Miss me?” Tommy yells.

“Not particularly.” 

“Oh, shut up, Techno.”

Techno huffs, and runs a critical eye over Tommy.

“Didn’t you have armour on this morning, Tommy?” Phil asks.

Tommy flinches; it’s almost unnoticeable, barely a twitch of his fingers, but Techno notices. 

“Nope.”

“No, you definitely did,” Techno says. “Phil made you wear it, because of the creeper thing.”

“Migration.”

Techno points at Phil. “That.”

“It…broke.”

Techno rolls his eyes. “You can just say you lost it, you know. Did you give it to some villager for emeralds, or something?”

“No, I fell off a cliff. Then rolled down a hill.”

Techno narrows his eyes. Tommy does look a bit bruised up, a few thin scratches on his arms and a bruise barely starting to bloom on his cheekbone. 

“Well, that’s iron armour for you.” Techno hesitates, but adds, “I’ll take you netherite mining tomorrow, we can get you some proper armour.”

“No,” Tommy quickly says.

“No?” Techno asks.

“I…can’t. Going camping, you see.”

“Camping?”

“Techno, stop giving him the third degree.” Techno stares at Phil in outrage—the kid is clearly hiding something—but relaxes slightly as he then adds, “where are you going?”

“I’m not really sure, we’re gonna go adventuring.”

“Who with?”

“Tubbo.” 

“I thought you and Tubbo fell out? Y’know, with how he tried to kill me and all,” Techno interrupts.

“We made up. He said he’s sorry.”

Techno can smell that Tommy’s lying, but can’t quite tell what about. He is going camping, but…

Oh. Tubbo isn’t sorry. That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

“Just let him go, Techno, he can have a bit of fun.” 

Techno crosses his arms. “Fine. But he has to message us.”

“I don’t know if there will be signal…” 

“Techno,” Phil says sternly.

Techno throws his hands up. “Fine! But you’ll send a message if anything happens, right?”

“Obviously, I’m not stupid, Techno.” 

debatable

stupidinnit

technofollow?

don’t let him go

               let him go

                    let him go

                         let him go

don’t.

Chapter Text

“Your notes are very detailed this week.”

“Are you usin’ sarcasm with me, Frank?”

“I would never.” Frank clears his throat and dramatically lifts the single page that Techno brought in this week. “There’s a new neighbour. Dreamt about shooting Tubbo again. Tommy’s gone camping.”

“Well, that’s what’s happened!”

Frank hums. “Okay. Well, who’s the new neighbour?”

“Oh, Ranboo, he’s an Enderman hybrid. He’s alright, I guess—I mean, his house matches the general aesthetic of the area, and we’ve gone on a couple of adventures. It’s just…he was part of the Butcher Army, y’know?”

“Ah, so you don’t know if you can trust him, regardless of his actions now.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s like, I owe him a life debt for the totem, right, but then he was part of the group that tortured Phil! Chat’s super conflicted, and it’s all just a bit chaotic.”

“What is chat saying, exactly?”

“Well, I haven’t really been able to make out much of it, since they’ve all been yelling over each other.” Techno tilts his head, trying to pull out some phrases out of the cacophony of voices.

Ranb—memor—phil—walk—love—rainbo—blood—protec—

“They’re actually completely incoherent. There is not a single word that makes sense being screamed.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think I’m going to keep an eye on him, but…well, Phil seems to have forgiven him. Mostly because of his age—honestly, he collects kids like they’re shiny rocks, or somethin’—but I trust Phil’s judgement. And I guess I wasn’t there when everythin' was goin' down, but I just…I worry, y’know?”

“Have you talked to Phil about this? He might have reasons that could put your mind at ease.”

“Huh. Communication. Good idea.”

Frank nods. “I am known to be wise, on occasion. So, the nightmare about Tubbo?”

“Is it really a nightmare?”

“Yes. Now stop avoiding the question.”

Techno sighs. “Well, Tubbo is this kid I almost blew up.”

“Blew up? I didn’t think TNT was your style.”

“It isn’t. I had fireworks and a crossbow. And I didn’t actually blow him up, just…almost did.”

“Oh my. Could I ask why?”

“You could.” Frank raises an eyebrow, and Techno slumps backwards, rolling his eyes and feeling for all intents and purposes like an overdramatic teenager. “So I was standin’ on this ledge, right, and Schlatt’s all “look into his eyes, Technoblade,” and Chat is just screamin’ for blood, right? I can’t tell whose blood, but it’s blood they want. And then Schlatt starts yelling “kill him!” But I don’t want to kill Tubbo because he’s Tommy’s friend, right? And the crowd below is bloodthirsty and…” Techno pulls on his ears as his ears ring with a faint ‘E’ sound. “I don’t know. In that moment, I was back in the army, with the General yelling at me to punish my friend because he’d—I don’t even know what, but they were brutal in the Nether—and I just kinda shut my eyes and shoot, because I can’t breathe, and my heart’s poundin’ and I just want it all to be over—”  

Techno gasps, trying to drag more air into his lungs, but all he can smell is gunpowder, and this room is just too damn small—

Warm hands tightly grip his shoulders. “Breathe, Techno. You’re alright. It’s safe here. I’m not asking you to do anything but breathe.” 

Techno takes another shuddering breath, the air coming easier. “Can we go outside?”

“Of course. Can you stand?”

Techno nods, standing in one movement and grabbing the doorframe. He faintly hears Frank say left and veers towards a door, vision pulsing around the edges. 

He blinks, and he’s outside, cold air washing over his face. He can’t hear anything other than the faint sound of chat’s “E” ’s and the rustle of wind passing through leaves in the hedges, and tilts his head up to see the open, blue sky. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. Lost hold of myself for a moment there.”

“Techno, you don’t need to apologise. Do you feel more comfortable outside?”

“Generally, yeah, but then I’m gonna be paranoid people are listenin’.”

“I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Frank, you don’t need to go to any trouble—”

“It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible during these sessions, Techno. Do you want to stay outside for the rest of today?”

Techno scans the area. It’s nice—reminds him of one of the more peaceful servers he’d visited in the past. He can faintly smell the honeysuckle and roses adorning the fences, and the only beings he can scent other than him and Frank are a bunch of…cats? At least he won't have to worry about creepers and phantoms. Still, Techno looks around for a whisper of movement, or the tell–tale particles of an invisibility potion. 

“I think it’s okay out here.”

“So, do you have panic attacks often?”

“That’s the first bad one I’ve had in…Tube, I don’t even know how long. They’re usually only triggered by very tight spaces, or…stuff that reminds me of my time in the army, I guess. People orderin’ me around, and such. Nothin’ much around here like that. That notebook is gonna be the death of you,” Techno adds, as Frank once again starts writing in it.

“You still don’t get to see it.”

Techno shrugs. “It was worth a try, right?”

“Phil, have you heard from Tommy?”

“You’re mothering him, Techno.”

“I am not. I would never do that.”

“Just message him if you’re that concerned!”

“I’m not concerned, Phil, I was just checkin’ is all.”

“Techno, there’s checking, and then there’s asking me five times since you’ve come home if he’s messaged.”

Techno rolls his eyes. Since therapy, Chat is chilling out slightly, which means he can now hear them calling him soft. They’re wrong, obviously—but he does have this nagging feeling that something’s wrong. Last time he hadn't checked on a hunch, Phil had ended up beaten and bloody in a house in L'Manberg. Not to mention, there had just been something about Tommy’s body language, his words…

“I’m just gonna check on him, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

Phil frowns. “Are you sure? It’s barely been five days, and you don’t even know where he is.”

“Yeah, Phil, I’m sure. And don’t do anything stupid while I’m out. Wait—Ranboo, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Will do,” Ranboo calls from the corner he’s curled up in, as Phil splutters, “I can be trusted!”

“Ranboo can be trusted more,” Techno points out. “He’s got better impulse control.”

“I have fucking impulse control…”

Techno claps Phil on the shoulder as he passes him to get to his chests. “Sure you do.”

Five minutes of Phil insisting that he is ‘perfectly capable’ of looking after himself, because ‘I’ve looked after himself for this long, I must be doing something right’ (‘and how many scrapes have I had to get you out of, Phil? Yeah, that’s right”) later, Techno’s armed to the teeth, belt laden with potions and the war cries of chat ringing in his head. It’s funny how quickly they go from calling him soft to being out for the blood of anyone who’s harmed Tommy.

He heads to L’Manberg first. At the bare minimum, he’ll be able to figure out who Tommy’s with—it’s probably just Tubbo, but someone else could be with them. With a bit of luck, he could get some information from someone else as to where they’ve gone; at the bare minimum, a direction. Maybe even an intended destination, if he’s really lucky.

He blinks at the crater, imagine the faint outlines of L’Manberg over it. The buildings, the podium…he can’t say he misses it, but a lot was still lost, that day.

He shakes himself and continues forwards. He has a mission; find Tommy. Although from the looks of it, there aren’t many people around. The podium where he’d been executed—well, almost—is empty. He quickly averts his gaze from the wooden platform and twitches his ears, listening for footsteps.

He hears two sets, near the border of the craters. He quickly moves towards them, not bothering to hide his footsteps and holding his sword. He needs answers, and doesn’t care how he gets them. 

Techno rounds a corner to see Niki and Jack muttering quietly, very much looking like they aren’t supposed to be here.

“Hullo,” Techno says, raising an eyebrow. 

They turn as one, slightly fearful. 

Jack speaks first. “Technoblade.”

Niki, rather than speaking, draws her own sword.

“Look,” Techno says hurriedly, “I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m just lookin’ for someone.”

The point of Niki’s sword lowers slightly, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “Who?”

“Tommy. He’s disappeared the last few days.”

“Aw, has the Blade gone soft?” Jack mocks. 

Techno rolls his wrist, swinging his sword in a circle. “How about we go for a round, Jack Manifold, and you can see exactly how soft I’ve gotten in retirement.”

“Jack, there’s no need to lose your life over this.” Niki still hasn’t lowered her sword, but has put herself between Jack and Techno. “We haven’t seen Tommy, but are looking for him. If you see him, will you tell us?” Niki blinks and tilts her head, her face the picture of innocence, but Techno sees her mind working behind her eyes, the slight smirk on Jack’s face. Still, no need to start a fight for no reason.

“Will do.” 

He nods at them before walking away, not relaxing until the sound of their whispering has quietened to the point he can’t hear it. There’s something up with those two.

Should’ve killed them

Blood

Blood for the blood god

E

E

Technosoft

E

E

E

Blood for—

“Chat, can you shut up? I’m tryin’ to find people here.”

He moves through the forest, following the lingering scent of gunpowder and steak. There’s someone here; they’re quiet, but definitely here. 

He hears the snap of a twig, and moves towards the sound, cape flaring behind him as he runs with carefully placed steps. Once again, as he approaches, he makes the effort to make his footsteps a little louder. 

“Oh, what are you doing here.”

“Tubbo?” Techno asks, horrified. Tubbo was supposed to be with Tommy, but Tommy isn’t here, he’s—

Well, he could be hunting, or something. 

“Technoblade? Here to let me drop another anvil on your head?” Tubbo stands, crossing his arms. He isn’t wearing any armour, and looks so incredibly small. 

Techno feels his hands flinch at the words. “No thanks, just out here lookin’ for Tommy. The brat’s disappeared.”

Tubbo’s eyes harden, his face tensing into a scowl. “Well, you’re not gonna find him out here. I haven’t seen him since your failed execution. Anyway, he’s banned from L’Manberg. As are you, by the way.”

“Well. I’ll be off, then. Nice talkin’ to you.”

“Always a pleasure, Technoblade.” Tubbo turns back to the pile of items on the ground, and Techno hesitates, for a moment, before heading back the way he came. 

Well, if Tubbo isn’t with him, then there’s only one being on the server that will be able to locate Tommy.

Techno is sitting on a rock, sharpening his sword, when he hears a rustle of leaves behind him.

“I heard you were looking for me, Technoblade.”

Techno rolls his eyes and stands, dropping the rock he was using. “Stop bein’ so dramatic, Dream. I literally messaged you on my communicator.”

Dream’s lips twitch below his mask, the rest of his face obscured, as always. “Forgive me for having a little flair, Techno. What are you after?”

“Tommy.”

“Really? I thought he irritates you as much as he does me.”

“Well, I can’t beat the brat up if he’s nowhere to be found, now, can I?”

Dream hums, playing with a small dagger. “And I thought I was doing everyone a favour, taking him away.”

“You?” Techno takes a step closer to Dream, lips pulled back into a snarl.

“Well, he’s been exiled from L’Manberg, and seemed to be pretty… unsatisfied, living in your little ‘empire’. I think he’s much happier with me.”

Techno remembers how Tommy’s been quieter recently—how he’s been gaining bruises, losing armour and weapons, flinching, and his blood pounds so loudly through his head that he can barely hear chat, barely recognises his own voice as he growls “what did you do to my brother?”

“Brother? You don’t look very alike, you know.” Dream’s laughter is abruptly cut off as Techno grips his shoulder and throws him against a tree, pinning him there with his sword resting against his neck. 

Dream snorts slightly, careful not to move his throat too much. Already, the scent of seared flesh fills the air, as the flame enchantments on the blade activate. “You’re not gonna kill me. I’m the only person on this server that knows where Tommy is.”

Techno pushes his sword against Dream’s neck, taking satisfaction from how blood starts to drip down his neck, staining the collar of his green hoodie. “You’re right. I won’t kill you, Dream. And I’m sure you’ve had plenty of experience with the questioning methods of the overworld.” Techno smirks, allowing some of his power to leak out, heating the air around him and tingeing his vision with red, and pulls out a dagger, laden with so many enchantments the shimmer starts to extend up his arm. “But how well do you think you can handle the methods of the nether, Dream?”

“I’ll take you to Tommy, in exchange for a favour, to be repaid at a later date.”

“A favour? You’re not in a bargaining position here, Dream.”

Dream’s chin tilts upwards in defiance, the black eyes of his mask staring right at Techno. “I still have the information you need.”

“How’s this, Dream. You tell me where Tommy is, and you get to keep your fingers?” Techno twirls the dagger for emphasis. 

Dream holds his hand out. “A favour to be repaid, or your brother is lost forever. I’m the Admin, remember—I don’t need to see Tommy to kill him.”

Techno measures his options, and grasps Dream’s hand, grimacing at the small sparks of magic that dance across his skin. A deal between Gods is not one to break.

“It’s probably better if I take you there myself.”

Techno flicks his sword, and Dream’s blood splatters against the leaves covering the forest floor. “Well then, Dream, lead the way.”

Techno is surprised to see Dream leading him directly South of his cabin, barely one wooded biome between them and the snow biome. He remains quiet, not sure of the extent of the Admin’s knowledge. Sure, he knows everything about the server, but with the sheer number of builds, there remains a small possibility of his remaining unnoticed. And if Dream wasn’t going to bring it up, neither was he. 

They continued along, following a river that steadily widened as they reached the ocean. Techno’s ears flicked at the eerie stillness that grew as their journey continued; he realised there were almost no mobs here. No sheep, or cows, or even rabbits—which meant no good food source. There were also no hostile mobs, but—well, that was more of a blessing, really.

There could be a farm, but he couldn’t smell the familiar scent of freshly tilled dirt either. Which, given that Dream clearly expected Tommy to be in a fixed location, was also concerning. 

In the distance, there was a wooden tower, towering over a golden beach. Sure, Tommy enjoyed building towers, but not like this; not thin, and wooden, with no possible function other than—

No—

Techno moves to the side, trying to gauge Dream’s expression, but under the dark sky, there is no hint of expression visible under the shadow of his mask. 

“Dream, what the hell is that?”

Dream shrugs. “He probably wanted a diving board.”

They reached the top of a small hill, and Techno saw the rest of—he squinted at a sign— Logstedshire.

“What—has Tommy been living here?”

“Recently, yeah, but he kept visiting people until the last few days.”

Techno frowns. There was a barely–built wall made of stripped logs, surrounding a few barrels. Barrels. There isn’t even a proper house, just a tent set up a few metres outside of the walls. 

“Well, why doesn’t he have more stuff, then?”

“Oh, I blow it up every so often. Keeps him humble, and all that. Actually, I wonder where he is—haven’t done that today, yet. Maybe he can keep his stuff today, as a treat.” Dream laughs to himself, and Techno wonders if Dream’s already forgotten that he’s here, as he wanders around, calling Tommy’s name. 

Techno walks towards the pillar with a growing sense of dread, stopping dead in his tracks when he catches the scent of blood. 

Tommy?

go find him

tommydead

deadinnit

Blood?

DEAD

BLOOD

kill

blood for the blood god

L

l

dead brotherinnit

L

KILL DREAM

Techno tunes out Chat’s voices. As much as he supports their murderous intentions, he needs to figure out what’s going on here. The scent of blood is fresh, and the tide is coming in, so it couldn’t have washed a body or blood away. Tommy isn’t dead.

Yet, Chat whispers. And they’re right. With no resources, alone, at night and injured, Tommy isn’t going to survive long, unless he hides in a tree, or something. 

He notices a pattern of scuff marks in the sand leading towards the trees, and nudges one of them with his boot. Sure enough, the scent of blood gets stronger, as a small, red splotch is uncovered from beneath the sand. 

Huh. Smart kid.

“I don’t know where he is, Technoblade. He’s just gone.”

“Well, you haven’t led me to Tommy. You haven’t fulfilled the terms of the Bargain, Dream, which renders it Void.” Old terms for old magic. Techno grins, showing his elongated tusks in the moonlight, as the sparks once again trace his skin. “Looks like you’re fair game, now.”

Dream has the sense to be scared, the scent of his fear strong in the air. Dream is strong—usually, on his own server, he’d be stronger than Techno. But with anger, with power left unused for months roiling in his veins? It’s almost childishly easy to disarm Dream, knock him out with a hit to the temple and drag him over to Tommy’s tent. 

He finishes securely tying up Dream just as he comes to, ignoring Chat's calls for blood, and turns to leave as he hears him groan in pain.

“Are you really gonna leave me here to die?” Dream asks shifting slightly on the dirt.

“Yep,” Techno grunts, continuing to walk away. 

“Wow. They were right, you really are an uneducated beast.” 

Techno stops, his muscles tensing, and slowly turns. Dream’s mask is slightly askew, revealing a tense, almost fearful expression. It’s convincing—perhaps, if Techno knew Dream slightly less, he’d fall for it.

He slowly walks over, pretending not to notice how Dream’s mouth starts to tug into a self–satisfied smirk. Techno can practically hear him bragging about how Techno fell for his trick.

Techno looks down at him, unimpressed. “All you humans are the same.”

“I’m not hum—”

“Well, you sure act like one. Just because I don’t look the same as you, I’m just a ‘wild beast’. A weapon, to be used at your discretion.” Techno smirks as Dream’s facade falls. “I’m gonna to leave you here, and I know you won’t die. You’re a God, after all. Perhaps I should give you a little extra challenge.” 

Techno ties more rope around Dream’s wrist and ankles, using a thin chain to tie them together until he’s immobile, before finishing the job with a gag. “I’m sure that won’t take long for such an educated man to get out of, will it?”

Techno leaves to the sound of screams, blood boiling into rage–fuelled fire, following the smell of blood that lingers on the sea–scented wind.

Chapter Text

Dream’s shouts follow Techno until he is swallowed by the vines at the border of the jungle biome. While the absence of noise is a relief, the scent of blood is almost completely masked by that of jungle tree sap, cacao beans, assorted wildlife, and the lingering scent of gunpowder that comes from the creepers that thrive under the greenery.

Techno pauses, scanning the area around him. Almost immediately, he spots a leaf tinged with red, the blood almost dry. He hurries over, and rubs his thumb in the patch. 

The dried top flakes away, smearing Techno’s skin with the red liquid, and he snarls slightly, before sniffing at it. The scent matches that of the blood on the beach, and from the looks of it, Tommy was having a hard time stopping his blood flow. 

Techno crashes through the forest, the blood a clear, red trail through the trees, relying on his instincts to dodge roots and vines as he moves. It hasn’t been too long since Tommy passed through, and if Techno moves fast enough, he’ll be able to catch up with a slow moving, injured kid.

However, a few chunks in, the trail of blood stops almost completely over a block of cobble. A bit of investigating reveals a hastily filled in tunnel, easily removed by Techno’s shovel, that leads into a mostly–buried jungle temple. 

Techno takes out a torch, squinting at the floor for tripwires, but finds none. He heads along the ground floor, and almost falls into a huge hole in the middle of the stone floor, bricks around the edges crumbling. The scent of rotting flesh wafts out of the hole, and Techno jumps in. 

The two chests have been looted, leaving only a little rotten flesh in each. One seems to be the usual, but the other smells…different. 

Techno sniffs at the air around the chest, and… yep, there was an enchanted golden apple in the chest. 

Techno releases a long breath, feeling relief flood through his body. Tommy probably got the God apple, which would have healed most of his injuries and replenished his hunger. On the other hand, it would have filled Tommy with so much energy, he could probably run for miles, depending on his injuries. Not to mention, those apples are food for the literal gods; humans usually end up with negative side effects after ingesting that much magic.

Techno scrambles out of the dungeon and jungle temple and scans the area around him. He can clearly see the path he’d come down, with branches broken and bushes trampled under his netherite boots. There are narrow paths that are probably taken by animals in the forest, but none had particularly deep shoe imprints. 

After a few more precious moments, Techno narrows it down to two paths. One does have very faint imprints of shoes, but they look a little light to have been made recently, and there is no guarantee that he and Tommy are the first people to have come around here. The jungle temple is very well hidden; it could have easily been missed by most people. 

On one of the bushes lining the other path, there is a small scrap of red material that could be from Tommy’s shirt, or bandana. 

Techno chooses the second path, sprinting down it as fast as he can. He doesn’t know what Tommy’s been through, exactly, but it’s likely that he’s moving as fast as possible, and Techno may have a lot of ground to gain. 

He continues for a while, cursing the jungle biome for being so hard to navigate, following the path as it twists and turns and is generally a nuisance. The sun rises, and falls again, and he draws his sword, slicing mobs in half before they even spot him, a single thought on his mind. 

Around halfway through the night, he finally catches the scent of an enchanted golden apple. Techno’s surprised that it lingered for this long, but thanks whatever Gods are listening that it has. 

Invigorated with the scent that is significantly easier to track, Techno doubles his efforts, barely noticing as branches whip his face, cutting his skin and causing blood to start trickling down.

A bush rustles on his right, and he skids to a stop, because the scent is so strong, this must be Tommy, it has to be—

But then the rustling stops, and the scent starts to get further away, and Techno curses, leaping into the bush and flattening it with his weight as twigs snap and Tommy runs away. 

He probably should have noticed just how light footed Tommy was—unnaturally so, for a human—Techno realises, as he dives, hands wrapping around a small, furry body. 

He pulls the thing out of the bush it had dove into, and stares dumbfoundedly at the striped tail, the grey body, and the small hands that were gripping onto Tommy’s bandana, which was in turn soaked in enchanted golden apple juice. 

“Racoons don’t even live in jungles!” Techno protests. 

The racoon chitters angrily at him. Probably something along the lines of “neither do piglins!”

          Racooninnit?

racooninnit!!!

                                        technolost

               racooninnit pog

rac—

                    racoon

                                        racooninnit

“Chat. The raccoon is not Tommy.” Techno squints at the animal for a moment— not to check —but the raccoon has brown eyes, and hybrids tend to keep their eye colour between shifts. 

Techno drops the racoon and scales a tree. The raccoon had dragged him on quite the chase—he was going to be getting twigs and leaves out of his hair for weeks— and he couldn’t even figure out where he’d come from. 

Techno growls angrily, rubbing his face, and then screams at the sky in frustration. There was no way he was going to find Tommy now—the kid had had at least an entire day to travel, as well as energy from a God apple, and Techno doesn’t know what direction he’s gone in. He does doubt that Tommy’s stayed in the jungle, though—it’s much easier to find food in other biomes.

Techno stays on top of the jungle roof, and starts heading north. It’s as good of a direction as any, and if he ends up getting home without finding Tommy, he can grab a horse and cover ground faster

It takes another full day of travel to reach the cabin. Since he’d put all of his armour in an ender chest to travel quicker, he ends up with a few scrapes from mobs, but barely notices the injuries. Chat moves from spamming technolost to L to technosupport to overlapping notes, none of which are in tune.

A creeper explodes next to Techno, throwing him into a snowbank. The cold soothes the burns on his skin, but it doesn’t matter because he’s almost home, and he can just down a potion and get moving. 

From the top of a small hill, Techno can see the glow from the lanterns bouncing off the fresh layer of snow on the ground, illuminating a set of footprints. They’re the same as the ones in the jungle; human, and far too shallow. Rather than making a beeline for his front door, Techno chooses to follow the footprints. 

They lead around the side of his cabin, stopping at a patch of dirt where the snow has barely begun to settle. Techno removes the dirt with his shovel, and sighs at the cobblestone he’s found underneath. He hefts his pickaxe, muttering under his breath, “maybe chat was right, damn kid living under my house like a trash panda…” and immediately regrets it as a thousand voices scream vindication!

The enchantments on his pickaxe drill through the stone no problem, revealing a roughly hewn cave under his basement, decorated with small amounts of yellow clay, and not much else. Techno has a split second to notice this, though, before a small figure runs at him, aiming for the hole he’d just opened behind him. 

He flings out his arm, catching Tommy around his waist, and promptly dumps him on the bed that had been pushed into the back corner of the room. 

“Oh! Technoblade, didn’t see you there. I was just on my way out, you see…” Tommy says, fidgeting with the thin blanket thrown over the bed. 

Techno crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows, running a concerned eye over Tommy. As he’d suspected, the enchanted golden apple had healed any surface injuries, but Techno doesn’t fail to notice how thin Tommy’s arms were, or the darkness of the bags under his eyes. 

“…so, yeah, if you’d just move to the side, I’ll be on my merry way—”

“Tommy. Shut up. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Tommy laughs nervously. “A lot of people say that, Technoblade. I’d rather just leave, if it’s all the same to you.” He gets up, starting to shuffle towards the door. 

“Well you see, it’s not all the same to me. I’ve been…hm. You should have messaged, if you weren’t bein’ fed properly. Or upset,” Techno adds, thinking of the pillar that had stood so ominously on the beach. 

“Who says I was upset? I’m fine, big man, just need to—”

“I visited Logstedshire. And talked to Dream.”

Tommy flinched at Dream’s name, reaching for the straps on his chestplate, before seemingly catching himself halfway through the action. “Well I don’t know what he told you, but—”

“Techno? What’s going on?” Ranboo asks from behind Techno, who is suddenly aware of how loudly the wind is blowing, and the patch of wetness on his back from where snow has blown into it. 

“There’s a little trash panda living under my house, apparently.”

“Trash panda?” Tommy hisses angrily.

Techno ignores him. “What’re you doing out in this storm?” He moves to the side just enough for Ranboo to slip into the room, keeping an eye on Tommy to make sure that he doesn’t make another run for it. 

Ranboo slips in. “Saw you come in here, and I was wondering what was going on. Tommy, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you just come in?”

Tommy ducks his head, shrugging. Without the blustering and loud words, he looks very, very small.

“Because he’s a dumbass, that’s why, Ranboo. Now please go inside before the storm gets worse. We’ll be up in a minute.”

“We will?” Tommy asks in a strangled voice.

Ranboo shoots a worried glance at Tommy, but leaves all the same. “I’ll meet you at Phil’s, yeah?”

Techno nods, and turns back to Tommy. “C’mon then, kid, up you get.”

“I am not going anywhere. This is my house.”

“Tommy, you are ruinin’ my property value. Please get out from under my house.”

Something in Tommy shifted, and he reluctantly stood from the bed. Techno was surprised to see that his body language was more reserved, rather than coiled and ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. 

“You’re not gonna to somethin’ stupid, like, sprintin’ off into the middle of the night, right? Because that would be real inconvenient.”

“Is there any point? The God apple’s worn off, now, you’d probably catch me before I made it to the trees.”

“Smart.” Something in Techno’s gut twists uncomfortably at the defeated tone.

“The great Technoblade thinks I’m smart?”

“Absolutely not, I was humourin’ you. C’mon, Phil’s place, chop chop.”

Tommy follows Techno out of the hole in the ground, quietly walking about a foot behind. To Techno’s surprise, he doesn’t try and run—his steps just stay behind him in a steady beat, crunching snow underfoot—

He thought too soon.

The minute Phil opens the door, Tommy turns and sprints towards the tree line, and really, Tommy, why do you just want to make my life difficult—

“Be right back,” Techno says, before sprinting after Tommy. He was fast, but had lost whatever energy had spurred him to run and was quickly slowing. This would have been fine, since it meant Techno could grab him and carry him back, but, well, it was night, which means mobs. And one of said mobs—a skeleton, to be specific—had an arrow fitted in it’s enchanted bow, aimed directly for Tommy's back. 

“Tommy, move!” Techno yells, pouring on speed, but it’s probably not fast enough, because the bow is almost fully taught, and Techno’s still got a chunk to go—

Tommy starts to turn just as the arrow flies, and Techno jumps, closing the distance and lunging between the arrow flying for Tommy’s unprotected neck.

The arrow pierces his skin, pain ripping through his arm and bone reverberating dully as the arrowhead hits bone. 

“Alright, that’s it,” Techno grunts, hauling Tommy over his good shoulder and running back to the door as another arrow lodges itself at his heels. Tommy squirms and shakes in his grip, but Techno isn’t letting him go now. He’ll probably end up getting himself killed. 

“Shut up, Chat,” Techno mutters under his breath, “I am not technosoft.”

Technosoft! Chat yells happily.

“What the hell was that?” Phil asks as Techno steps into the house, gently laying Tommy down on the sofa.

“Hell if I know. Tommy? Care to explain?”

“I’m a big man who doesn’t need to be looked after.”

“If I hadn’t jumped in front of that arrow, you’d have lost your life.”

“I had it under control!”

Techno gestures at Tommy helplessly. 

Phil tuts and mutters under his breath, examining the scars flecking Tommy’s arms and checking his temperature multiple times. Techno watches, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to storm back to Logstedshire and actually kill Dream as Tommy flinches whenever Phil moves too suddenly. What had Dream done?

“I’m going to have to rebreak his arm because it hasn’t set properly, and he’s severely malnourished. Whatever he’s taken has given him a fucking fever as well.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, and he starts to sit upright. “No, no, no arm breaking needed here, I’m feeling perfectly fine, fever will be sorted out by some time in the snow, I’m sure!”

Techno sighs and pins him back down with a hiss as it jostles his bad arm. “You’re gonna stay right here, I’m already injured enough as it is without havin’ to go out and catch you for a second time.”

Tommy looks from Techno, to Phil, to Ranboo, who’s rooting through chests and already carrying a pile of bandages, and lays back down again, trembling. 

“Don’t worry, Tommy, we’ll knock you out first, we’re not just gonna break your arm with you fully awake,” Phil says, and the tension that leaves Tommy’s body is so very concerning. 

“Tommy, you didn’t actually think we’d just break your arm, did you?”

Tommy looks at Techno with wide eyes, before slowly shaking his head, as if he wasn’t really sure. 

Techno sighs, ignoring Tommy’s flinch, and asks, “Ranboo, can you get poppy seeds, fermented spider eye, sugar…er, awkward potion, and glowstone powder, please?”

Ranboo nods and quickly brings the ingredients, as well as a pestle and mortar. “You should just give me the instructions and let Phil patch you up. All those injuries cannot be comfortable to deal with.”

“I dunno what you’re on about, Ranboo, I feel great.”

“Nope, Ranboo’s right, get on the stool.” Phil points at the smallest, most rickety, three–legged stool they own.

Techno glares at Ranboo while slowly sitting down. “Okay, so, first, you wanna brew the awkward potion with the sugar, and— Phil, give a man a little warning!”

Phil shrugs apologetically, swabbing Techno’s arm where he’d just pulled out the arrow. “It’s easier when your muscles aren’t tensed.”

Techno grumbles, before continuing, “And while that’s brewing, grind the fermented spider eye, poppy seeds, and glowstone in the pestle and mortar. Then brew the potion with the stuff you ground up, and that should do the trick.”

Phil efficiently patches up Techno’s wounds (even though he insists that he is perfectly capable of patching them up himself), Ranboo brews the potion, and Techno stares at Tommy to intimidate him into staying, because he keeps fidgeting and glancing at the door and Techno really can’t be bothered to go outside and fight mobs.

“This good?” Ranboo asks, swirling a dark purple potion.

“Yeah, looks about right. Give it to Tommy, it’ll reduce his fever and knock him out, then we can sort out his arm.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Tommy asks, as Ranboo hands him the potion.

“I mean, pretty sure. Why are you questionin’ my brewin’ skills?”

“Because you’re only ‘pretty sure’.” Tommy drinks the potion.

“Alright, now, lie down before you get knocked out.”

Because Techno’s potion knowledge (and Ranboo’s skills) are not to be questioned, the potion works perfectly. Tommy’s temperature goes down and his breathing slows, allowing Phil to reset his arm and wrap it up in a splint.

“You notice how weird he was actin’?” Techno murmurs from Phil’s shoulder.

“Yep,” Phil replies, “but what can we do? He didn’t look like he exactly wanted to talk about it, and you know how stubborn he is.”

Techno huffs. Phil’s right, of course, but he doesn’t have to like it. 

Rays of golden light started to filter through the window as the sun rose, and he could hear the skeleton that had been lingering outside start to burn. 

“Here, I’ll take him to my place.”

“You sure? He’ll be fine here, y’know.”

“Yeah, he will, but…” Techno trails off. He’s not sure how to explain the feeling deep in his gut that he needed Tommy to be near him, so that he personally could ensure his safety, because while his brain knew that Phil was capable of protecting him, he couldn’t let Tommy out of his sight.

“It’s fine, mate. If you’re sure.”

Techno nods, scooping up Tommy (still far too light) and taking him into his house, before tucking him into Techno’s own bed. It’s not like he’ll be using it anyway, Techno reasons, settling into a nearby armchair.

Chapter Text

Techno draws his sword as the door swings open. After Techno almost gutted him, Ranboo’s started knocking, and apparently passed the message on to Phil, so whoever’s come in clearly hasn’t gotten the memo. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Techno sheaths his sword, sighing, and collapses back into the armchair he’d been occupying for the last day, as Chat shouts happily at the familiar voice. “You could’a knocked. I almost gutted you.”

Wilbur glares at Techno, unamused, before moving over to Tommy, perching on the bed and running a hand through his hair. “That’s my little brother right there. Tell me what the fuck happened, or I’m not the one here who’s going to be gutted.”

Techno keeps a steady eye on Wilbur’s hands. He knows he’d never willingly hurt Tommy, but he can still remember the events leading up to the War. “Dream. I’m still not sure of what’s been goin’ on, Tommy hasn’t been awake long enough to tell me, but as far as I can tell, a lotta physical and mental abuse. Kid’s been shakin’ every time someone so much looks at him, and he keeps trying to run away.”

Wilbur shakes his head, threading his fingers through Tommy’s hair again, and running a critical eye over Tommy’s face (which is scarred, pale, and still has bags under his eyes despite the worrying amount of sleeping he’s been doing. Phil insists that it’s normal, due to the effects of the potions and apple, but Techno doesn’t have to like the image of Tommy lying still, not speaking or moving or…well, doing anything at all.). “And Dream?”

“Left him tied up where Tommy’s camp was. Would’a killed him, but I needed to find Tommy, and death…seemed like too much of an easy end for him.”

“I would have killed him.” Techno looks up to Wilbur’s face in surprise—he’s always preferred words over violence, but now, his face has a distinctly murderous tension to it.

“Well, you weren’t there. Are you gonna go hunt down Dream?”

Wilbur’s fingers twitch and he remains silent for a moment, almost as if he’s considering it. Then he looks at Tommy, and his face relaxes slightly. Rather than answer, he drags Techno’s desk chair until it’s next to his armchair, and collapses in it. 

For a while, that’s it. 

Techno and Wilbur sit side–by–side in his bedroom, watching over Tommy. Chat counts quietly in the back of his mind. Phil or Ranboo duck in twice a day to bring food, and to try to persuade one of them to go outside and “touch some grass”, to no avail.

More often than not, Wilbur falls asleep leaning on Techno. Techno doesn’t sleep at all. 

Partly because Tommy wakes up at the most random times, and Techno needs to feed him the soup laced with regeneration potions. Partly because if anyone got the drop on him, he’d never forgive himself. 

“How many times has that soup been replaced?” Wilbur asks, nodding at the bowl of soup sitting on the bedside table. “Is Phil just downstairs whipping up a soup storm, or something?”

“Nah, I’ve been keeping it fresh with my…powers.”

“You have food heating powers?”

Techno levels a flat glare at Wilbur. “They’re not specifically for food heating.”

“Well, what powers do you have? I’ve never seen you use them.”

Techno shrugs, feeling his ears flatten against his skull. “I don’t like to use them. People see I have powers, and they try to take them, or chain me up and force me to use them for their benefit, or they just do experiments to test my limits. I’m perfectly capable without them, so I don’t use them.”

Wilbur nods slowly, pulling a face. “People suck.”

Techno hums in agreement. 

“Why are you using them now, though?”

“No point in wasting soup. And…I trust you, I guess.”

Wilbur’s lips twitch. It’s the closest thing to a smile Techno’s seen since he arrived. 

After three days of sleep, Tommy fully wakes. 

“I am not Technosoft,” Techno grumbles under his breath, hovering around Tommy, using the back of his hand to check his temperature, and thrusting the bowl of soup at him. 

“I think your Chat’s right, Technoblade,” Tommy says. His voice is hoarse, and Techno’s torn between fetching him some water, and fluffing up his pillows. 

“Chat calls you Racooninnit .”

“So maybe they’re wrong sometimes—”

The door slams open, and Tommy flinches, almost rolling out of his bed. 

“I go to the toilet and he immediately wakes up? What the fuck?” Wilbur shouts, and Techno glares daggers at him before turning back to Tommy. 

“It’s just our idiot brother, Tommy. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

Tommy laughs nervously. “I didn’t think he was going to hurt me,” he says loudly, but Techno notices the tension leave his shoulders as he leans into Techno’s side.

Wilbur sits on Tommy’s other side, and Tommy watches nervously as he fiddles with the blanket. After a moment of indecision, Wilbur apparently makes his mind up, and gently nudges his shoulder against Tommy’s. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Ah.”

Techno groans internally—these two have known each other for years, why are they being so awkward?—and stands. “Tommy, I’m gonna go get you some water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tommy and Wilbur turn to him with identical expressions; wide eyes that clearly said don’t leave me here. 

Techno turns and walks out of the room. They need to sort themselves out, and he isn’t entirely convinced that his presence is going to help. 

Overlapping shouts of tommy! and dadza! fill his mind as Chat pushes him in two directions. Techno shakes his head and flicks his ear, heading to the kitchen. 

The smell of soup wafts through the halls, and Techno watches as Phil runs between three different pots of soup. Perhaps “whipping up a soup storm” was an accurate description. 

“Phil? You alright down here?”

“Techno!” Phil turns around, pulling a ladle out of the soup and splattering it up the walls as he gestures wildly. “What the fuck are you doing down here? Something wrong mate?”

“Are you stress–cookin’?”

“Absolutely not.” Phil grabs a rag and starts vigorously scrubbing down the walls. 

“Nobody needs this much soup,” Techno points out, waving an idle hand at the three pots gently bubbling, before pulling out three glasses and filling them with water from a jug. 

“What if you guys want choice? And I can’t just leave you kids at home—”

“Phil, we have no evidence that you’re older than me. Although you do have old person vibes.”

Phil snorts, ladling soup into bowls. “Are you going back up, then?”

“I don’t think I could actually stay down here. I’d go crazy.”

“Technosoft.”

“I’m not—” Techno sighs, shutting his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “You’ve set off Chat.”

“I’m right.”

“I’m leaving. I will not stand for this slander.”

Thankfully, by the time Techno arrives back at his room, the awkward tension in the room has been replaced with a comfortable silence. Tommy’s leaning against Wilbur’s shoulder, and they’re both murmuring to each other gently. 

“I brought water and soup,” Techno says.

“How the fuck are you balancing those?” Wilbur asks, watching the bowls balanced precariously up Techno’s arms.

“Skill.”

“Honestly, Wilbur, you should know better than to question The Blade.” Tommy shakes his head, and makes grabby hands at Techno. He holds out one arm, allowing Tommy to take the water from his hand and the bowl balanced on his forearm, and then uses his free hand to place his and Wilbur’s food and drinks on a side table. 

“Ah, my apologies, Mr. Blade, for offending your sensibilities.”

Techno huffs. “I guess I could forgive you.”

They eat dinner all sat on the bed, elbows knocking. One of Wilbur’s legs dangles off the side, and Techno has to put the lamp on the floor to prevent it being knocked over (again) but none of them move for the rest of the night.

Techno is woken up hours later by the click of the small camera on Phil’s communicator. There’s a solid weight pressing on his arm, his fingers tingling with pins and needles. He fights a smile and continues to sleep.

When Technoblade next wakes up, the chairs he and Wilbur were occupying are taken by Phil and Ranboo. 

“You know, it’s weird to watch people while they sleep,” Techno murmurs, using his free hand to rub at his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” Phil replies, and Ranboo nods in agreement.

“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” Techno tries instead.

“Then go outside. Breathe some fresh air,” Ranboo says.

Techno points an accusatory finger at Ranboo. “You are a traitor. Anyway, window’s open, we’re gettin’ plenty of fresh air.”

“You mean, that window?” Ranboo points at the tiny little window propped open by a thin iron rod. 

“Do you see any other windows?”

Ranboo opens his mouth to reply, when Tommy groans and turns over, kicking most of Wilbur off the bed and burrowing his face into Techno’s shirt. Wilbur, woken up by the sudden change in location, grumbles loudly and grabs the blanket to pull himself back on the bed. Since neither Techno nor Tommy were holding onto it, this does nothing other than drag the blanket off them and onto Wilbur, who’s fully sitting on the floor. Tommy whines and flings a hand out blindly, slapping Wilbur in the face, and in retaliation Wilbur grabs Tommy’s leg and drags him halfway off the bed.

They fight over the blanket on the floor for a couple of minutes, before Tommy eventually ‘wins’ (Techno chooses not to point out that he watched Wilbur let go of the blanket), wraps himself up in the blanket, wiggles onto the bed and faceplants into the pillow. Barely five seconds pass before a loud snore sounds from the pillow.

“How does he do that?” Ranboo asks.

Wilbur shrugs, putting on his glasses. “He’s been able to do it since he was a kid. It’s a talent.”

There’s someone at the door. 

There’s someone at the door and Wilbur and Tommy are asleep, curled up on the bed. Techno heard Phil enter his own room hours ago, and Ranboo’s probably gone back to his own house as well. 

There’s someone at the door and Techno doesn’t know who, and he can’t breathe, and he’s light headed as he goes through the motions of strapping on armour, clipping on the potion belt that had been gathering dust, drawing a shining netherite blade out of its sheath as he approaches the door. 

He takes a deep breath. He’s Technoblade, the Blood God. People have run in terror at the mere whisper of his name, he’s turned the tides of war, he’s protected his family. And he will protect them now. 

He swings open the door, ready to stab his opponent. And slowly looks down, until he sees Tubbo, in a simple coat lined with fur and hair shaggier than before. 

“H—hi, Technoblade.”

Techno lowers his sword, but doesn’t sheath it. “What’re you after?”

Tubbo pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Techno. “One of Philza’s crows brought it to me.”

The paper is covered in Phil’s barely–legible chicken scratch, but Techno gets the general gist. “Well, it ain’t like you didn’t already know where I live, I guess.”

Tubbo nods, and they stand there for a few seconds. 

“Well,” Techno says, “I guess you better come in. Tommy’s asleep, but—”

“It’s fine. I’ll wait.”

Techno sheaths his sword and starts leading Tubbo up the stairs. He’d be a fool to have no weapons hidden under the jacket, but from the look of it the kid isn’t wearing any armour, so it’s not like Techno couldn’t easily overpower him.

They arrive at the bottom of the staircase, and Techno is saved from the difficult decision of whether to leave Tubbo in the living room or invite him upstairs by a child wrapped in a red blanket. 

Tommy rubs his eyes and blinks. “Tubbo?”

Techno notices out of the corner of his eye that Tubbo relaxes slightly. “Tommy.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I…I came to see you, Big Man.”

“But I thought I was exiled.”

Tubbo shakes his head. “That was a mistake. And I don’t know exactly what’s happened, but Philza said you were ill, and I couldn’t just…” Tubbo shrugs helplessly, fiddling with the sides of his jacket. 

Techno barely jumps out of the way as Tommy charges at Tubbo, the shorter of the duo easily catching him. 

Techno shuffles around them, locking the door—it wouldn’t do for the mobs to get in, after all—and then goes up the stairs. 

“The fuck’s going on?” Wilbur asks, half asleep. “‘M cold.”

“Tubbo’s here.”

“I thought that fucker exiled Tommy. And didn’t he try to kill you? Oh, I’ll—” Wilbur started to move, one hand reaching for the bow in the corner of the room, but Techno placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay. Phil sent him a letter, and I think he missed Tommy. And Tommy missed him. They’ll be fine.”

Wilbur huffs, settling back on the bed, but continues to watch the door. 

Tommy and Tubbo stumble into the room a few minutes later, sniffing and rubbing at red eyes. Wordlessly, Wilbur moves over on the bed, and Tommy and Tubbo curl up in the remaining space.

They’re out in a blink.