Chapter Text
Tommy is not what you'd call a good kid.
He stole, swore, fucked with people and sometimes even hurt others. Tommy was most certainly not a good kid.
He'd been taught by his elder sister Clementine, because he couldn't attend school due to the villagers dislike of him and how violent he'd act when somebody pissed him off.
Tommy loved his sister, and she loved him. Afterall, three siblings left of eight with no parents? They were truly all they had.
Tommy would sometimes take trips with his elder brother, Henry, who went out into the forest to forage for things like moss or mushrooms, sometimes he'd return with sweetberries for his sister to make pies.
It was a calm life truly, if you could at least look past their situation.
They'd lived much farther away from Grayfall than most villagers, living where the ground was not suited to grow crops at all compared to the slightly fertile grounds just southwest of the village.
They'd often eat small meals, like sweetberry pie, or sometimes, a bird or fish caught by Henry.
Clementine had shown Tommy to mend clothes, much to Henry's protest. Clementine had argued that with how tattered and rough their clothes were, it'd be a useful skill, even if it was usually the women's job to do so.
Tommy wasn't very good at mending and sewing clothes and fabrics, nor was he good at cooking or preparing foods.
He wasn't skillful in hunting either, the most he'd be able to do was identify edible flowers, plants or moss, which Henry and Clementine had burned into his head after he'd nearly eaten a poisonous mushroom.
The twelve year old had always wanted to be good at something other than navigation though. He'd wanted to be useful like his sister was and baking and sewing, or how Henry was an expert at finding food in the forest, or hunting for them.
So, he'd made himself useful, even if it had cost him a bruise or scraped knee.
He'd stolen luxuries from villagers or travelers on the dirt roads leading out and into Grayfall, Tommy would take advantage of their turned backs to take an apple, or a crumb of bread.
Once Tommy had even stolen a chunk of cheese and a jar of milk.
Clementine and Henry never liked Tommy stealing, the younger simply stated that they could have better foods, instead of just fish and mushrooms, or having to get their cleanest water from the moss.
The two elder siblings simply shook their heads, telling him to give it up and that the villagers had made them live out here because of things like that.
Tommy didn't listen though, and continued to slip apples and cheese and crumbs of bread or jars of milk from passersby, bringing them back much to his siblings discontent looks and scoldings.
This had continued on for eight months, before a new bakery had opened in the village, it'd baked mostly bread and sold some grains, it was run by one person, who'd come from a far land Tommy didn't know.
But this person was kind and always looked pretty, she had gently braided hair that was blonde in colour, and wore softly coloured dresses like yellow or orange.
Tommy had stolen a small jar of grains from her once when she'd come back from a trip somewhere, and to his surprise, she'd given him a larger jar instead.
Her voice was soft and gentle, like drizzling honey into just made tea.
Tommy had met her a few times after that, always coming back from the farmer's field with grains and rice, and at their most recent meeting she'd given Tommy a carefully wrapped treat. She said it was called a pastry, it was filled with 'Hedive' jam which was an expensive fruit.
Tommy had tried to give it back, after learning it's contents, but she'd refused and said "I'd love meeting your brother and sister, they sound lovely, tell them it's a gift from Nihachu's bakery." And she'd walked away at that.
Tommy had returned home with the pastry, Clementine was fussing about stealing something so delicate and that the villagers must be coming for their heads that night.
Tommy simply said that the nice lady who was new to the village gave it to him, saying she wanted to meet his sister and brother.
The next night, Tommy was about to sneak an apple from one of the (In his words, ugly bitch) villagers, when the older man turned and smacked him with such strength sending him to grovel in the dirt road.
A few other villagers walked down the road, six, to be exact and once picked Tommy up.
Leaving him in the situation we see him in now.
"I say we leave him for the wolves and coyotes, let them maul him!" A man with a long beard spat as he was held back with a sore cheek from the backhanded slap he'd received.
"They don't even come out at this hour, it's only eight. We have time so calm down and save your rage, Sylvanus." The one who was holding him back by the arms in a harmful manner spoke, calm, but poison clearly in his words.
"So then what do we do? The little brat needs to learn, but I say tis' better to be rid of the problem than to keep it.!" The man with gray eyes spoke, furious.
"Need to learn? Well then, drag him to the forest cliffside, we'll give him a proper lesson then feed him to the wolves and coyotes!" One with glasses spoke.
The men seemed to agree at that, the one restraining him started walking, and harshly tugging him along, if he'd make it out of this, he'd have bruised and bloodied wrists, that he was certain of.
They arrived at the cliffside and the man who'd dragged him threw him to the ground, not even batting an eye at how he'd hit his arm on a rock.
"You fucks! I'll get you for this! Just wait! I'll tear you apa-" Tommy snapped at them, trying to sit up and glare at the men before a boot made contact with his jaw, blood started to flow from his nose, at that.
"Oh shut it! You won't do anything to us!" The one who kicked him yelled.
Tommy winched as somebody walked over, grabbing him to the collar of his shirt, which was more like a rag.
They brought their fist up, punching him into the rock as they let their grip go upon impact, they'd then grabbed him by his hair, tugging hard as he was brought up and then slammed down twice into the rocky ground.
"I say we take his arms! Can't do anything then, can he?!" He heard a few of them agree through his dazed state, his ears rang and his head hurt, his wrists which were still sore were grabbed and tugged on as a boot was placed on his mid-back.
"You seem very attached to these arms, yeah brat?" The man behind him semi-yelled.
Tommy didn't bother holding in a sob or his tears, which stung the left side of his face as the salty liquid grazed and brushed against the injuries from when his head was slammed into the ground.
"Aw! Is the little racoon crying?" One of them crouched in front of him and mocked him as the person behind him continued to tug tauntingly at his arms, threatening to snap the bone.
The other five men laughed, two even picked up old twigs and small stones, throwing them at Tommy's head, some hitting and other's missing.
The gray-eyed man continued to mock him, making crying sounds and bringing his hand up into fists, moving them as he fake cried, before tugging at the young boy's sore cheeks, wet with tears and blood.
The man stopped, standing up and laughing, joining the two who'd been throwing sticks and stones at Tommy, continuing to throw in remarks with each toss like "Baby" or "Bitch", sometimes a "Waa! Waa" too.
The Man behind him stopped tugging on his arms, before pulling extremely hard on them, easily dislocating his shoulders with an almost cracking noise as Tommy cried, trying to catch his breath.
Tommy heard a crack, and then another before searing pain and a burning sensation ran through both his arms in different spots, before a hand was brought down on his dominant arm, injuring it further as he heard a mixture of ringing, breathing laughter and cocky remarks.
His arms were given another tug, to further the pain he felt, it hurt so much.
He was dropped onto his stomach, Barely even conscious as he cried, barely aware of the minutes passing, quietly begging with half formed and choppy words as distant pain was felt in his chest, a crack and snap was heard, it was so loud in his ears.
His eyes were half lidded, he felt somebody jab at his head with harsh movements, the pain had dulled, he was more sore as all he could hear was ringing.
Tommy had stopped crying a while ago and some of the blood had dried, making his face stretch in uncomfortable ways, he couldn't move his legs, or arms..or anything.
A mixture of saliva and blood were dripping into a muddle that stained the grass underneath him, he was grabbed by his hair and dragged. When was he grabbed?
He suddenly felt nothing underneath him, using whatever he had left to move his eyes, looking at the cliff below. When did he get here?
Suddenly there was a rush of wind.
When had he been dropped?
Tommy felt his body hit the cold ground, he landed by a small river creek, in a thorn bush further injuring his numb body.
Half his body was in the steadily flowing water and the other half was in the thorn bush.
The ringing got impossibly louder and suddenly all the pain came back.
It hurt so badly.
Why did this..
Why did they do that?
Tommy let himself cry, before he passed out, cold and in pain.
Only one thought had crossed his mind though.
Would he see his siblings and mama and papa again?
Technoblade hummed to himself as he wandered in the garden.
Why'd he have to leave the book out here of all places? Couldn't he have left it somewhere more practical??
At Least the night was peaceful, the wind blew every so often, he could hear owls hooting and the rustle of the trees.
He approached the carefully carved bench he'd left his book on, Sam had made the bench as a gift for Phil's marriage, it's been there since before he and Wilbur had been born.
Techno had never met his mother, Lady Death, because apparently, gods and mortals, despite being claimed, couldn't stay alive after bearing twin gods.
He was sure Lady Death was a good person, though.
Technoblade picked his book up and moved flyaway hair from his face, looking at the small creek that ran through the manor's main garden.
"Red?" Technoblade muttered to himself, confused.
He gently placed the book down again, walking over the bushes and flower beds to the stream which was red.
He crouched down, making sure it wasn't just some sort of petal blurring together.
No.
Technoblade brought his hand down, putting his index finger into the water, and bringing it back up to his face, examining it.
"Blood." He murmured.
A crow cawed on the garden walls, and Technoblade looked up at t, staining straight.
It cawed again, flapping its wings in distress.
"So you've noticed too, Carl?" Lord Knowledge said plainly, but worry was detectable in his voice.
A second crow landed, fixing it's placement on the wall anxiously.
It cawed at him.
"A boy?" Technoblade said, almost surprised.
"There's an injured kid at the start of the creek?" Technoblade looked at the two crows.
They cawed in unison.
"I see, Tell Phil-" He paused, catching himself. "Lord Death, I'll be bringing the kid back then, Baba." He turned his head to the crow that landed first. "And you, Carl, tell Lord Destiny." The crow flew off in the other direction, for this 'Lord Destiny' person.
Technoblade Turned to the entrance of the garden, ignoring his book which he'd originally traveled here for, and sprinting for the exit.
His long, silky pink hair lagged behind him elegantly as he exited the garden and followed the creek, the blood in it's flow getting stronger each step he took.
Lord Knowledge pushed his way through the trees' low hanging branches and bushes, scraping his old and rough calloused hands. as he caught sight of a limp body, half in the creek and half out, injuries were to be found on every bit of the boy's body.
Technoblade quickly rushed through the creek, pulling the boy and maneuvering his head and neck carefully from the thorn bush, and laying the kid on his back.
He checked to make sure the kid was still alive, letting himself relax ever so slightly when the kid had a pulse, weak and threatening to stop, but there nonetheless. However, the kid was cold. Saving Technoblade from any comfort he could have taken refuge in.
The two crows landed not far from him cawing, telling him the two others had been notified. "Thank you, you can go." He responded, his normal monotone voice, strangely worried.
The pinkette took the cloth wrapped around his waist to cover the basic survival tools he had and wrapped it around the boy's left arm, which had a bone sticking out just above the elbow, bloodied, sharp and the area surrounding it almost looked mangled.
Technoblade straightened the arm out as much as possible without further damaging it, wrapping the cloth four times before ripping it and tucking it tightly under itself.
The Lord of Knowledge repeated this for the severe and still bleeding injuries the boy had, before he ran out of cloth to use.
Technoblade maneuvered his hand under the boy's neck, his other onder his legs, taking the youngling up bridal and getting a feel for how thin the child was.
That wasn't healthy, especially not for mortals.
The man stood, before crossing the creek swiftly again, ducking under trees, shielding the boy from almost all the damage he'd otherwise take with his own body, tearing his shirt which would have been ruined anyway, seeing how much blood had found its way onto it, staining the delicate white fabric.
The Withers valley manor came into view not long after, crows seemed to be abundant here, cawing with worry and welcome, as he made his way into a garden and entered the manor through there.
Technoblade promptly made his way to the section of the manor Lord Death had made many many moons ago if one of his children or wife, Lady Death or Technoblade's mother had gotten injured.
His mother was a claimed mortal, even so, she could still get injured badly.
He heard some rustling and muffled talking as he entered the hall, dimly lit by candles as he adjusted his grip on the thin boy who Technblade guessed couldn't be over thirteen, if even.
The 'young' god pushed the arched wooden door open with his shoulder and gently but hastily placed the blonde on the bed which Lord Death and his twin had prepared.
"We were alerted by your crows, what happened??" Lord Death, or Philza, asked handing Technblade a pair of gloves, they weren't tailored like most of his normal ones, but they'd work for medical treatment.
"I'm not sure, Baba and Carl were worried and anxious right after I noticed blood flowing down the creek. Baba said that there was a young boy, the source of the red water and that he was injured." Technoblade gestured and he untied the cloths wrapped delicately but fleetly around the boy's injuries, showing Phil and Wilbur just how gruesome they were.
"That is...horrible." Wilbur said, almost looking for a nice way to put it. Turning around, grabbing a basket filled with medical supplies like a disinfectant(which was really just alcohol made for medicinal usage.), swabs and bandages.
Phil nodded in agreement with a small huff, then taking a few of the swabs, and a glass vial of the disinfectant, twisting it's top off and dipping a cotton swab into the vial before gently swiping it around the bone protrusion on the child's left arm.
"This isn't a fall break, it's deliberate." He said to his children, who were cleaning the facial and right arm's injuries.
"What do you mean by deliberate?" Wilbur asked, looking up.
"I mean, it's not from a fall. It's too clean for that, somebody must've broken it." Philza continued to clean the area and bone itself, before holding the arm still as he could and straight as he could, slowly and carefully sliding it into its original place with a wet noise and a crack.
"So..he was beaten?" Technoblade said as he finished cleaning the facial injuries on the kid, putting the bloodied cloth into a wooden box, eyes still tracing over the injuries as he moved to get bandages. "It makes sense, actually. These facial ones are more like smash-ins and rock tosses than accidental wounds." He mused aloud.
Wilbur stayed silent as he continued to disinfect the right arms injuries.
"Wait..are both of the little guys' arms broken?!" Wilbur practically yelled, surprised and angry. If somebody had actually done this to a kid, they were sick and he was going to interfere with mortal dwellings.
Possibly murder one, too.
"Just keep cleaning and fixing the injuries, we don't have time to worry about that now, Wil." Philza said dryly, only sparing a glance at Wilbur, who huffed at his fathers response.
"Yeah, yeah. I Know, I know." The brunette replied, attempting to contain his seething rage for whomever had done this.
The kid was just so small and fragile, thin and looked tired. The kid couldn't have done anything so horribly twisted to deserve this.
Who could have even done something like this? Something so cruel to such a..young kid? It made Wilbur sick as the three gods continued to clean and bandage the young blonde's injuries.
The candle's flame flickers with a whisp, and it's light dances around the room as Phil sits at a desk in the far right corner, an oil candle illuminating the page he'd been reading, licking his thumb before turning the page and gazing at the words he barely registered.
He'd ended up staying in the small room with this kid after he and his sons finished dressing and tending his injuries, his excuse being 'His breathings a bit too shallow for my liking', despite the young blondes breathing being normal.
Phil had really just wanted to be here when the child awoke, as to make sure he wouldn't be confused about his whereabouts.
The only sounds filling the room were Phil's wings anxiously adjusting their placement, the candle flames whisps and flickers, the clocks ticking and the two blonde's breathing, one much smaller than the others.
He didn't know why he felt a need to help this mortal. Maybe it'd been because he was so small and fragile, or simply because he was a human.
Maybe it was the fact humans always reminded him of his long passed wife, but it could have been something completely different.
Philza didn't dwell on the topic much longer, hearing the young blonde's breathing pick up in a confused or panicked manner.
The god simply stood from his seat, and made his way to the child, letting himself relax from tension and anxiety he didn't know he was keeping in for the three hours he'd been here, waiting.
"Hello there, mate." Phil spoke calmly and softly, not wanting to alarm the younger.
The kid's crystal-blue eyes wandered over to Phil's own, emerald ones, seemingly struggling to grasp where he was or what was happening.
Phil brought a hand up the boy's small head, carding a hand through the fluffy golden hair, it's tips stained with dirt and blood, in a calming manner.
"W-who-?" The young blonde attempted to ask a question, wincing at the pain in his throat from not having drank anything in hours, or from the rocks thrown at it. Maybe it had been the pleading he'd done until he couldn't speak.
"Shh." Phil hushed the boy, continuing to card his fingers through the golden locks, tangled and knotted.
"My name's Philza, you'd been brought here by my eldest son about three or four hours ago. Your injuries are quite worrisome, mate." He responded to clear any confusion the child had, not very concerned with this child's name at the moment, just making sure he'd get enough rest until Cara had arrived from Mistvale to heal him.
The kid made a low hum as an acknowledgement, attempting to sit up but not getting further than moving his elbows back to support himself, as a hand was placed on his bandaged chest.
"You shouldn't, you'd worsen your arms." Phil hummed, looking out the window, which had it's curtains drawn.
"Just go back to sleep, you'll need to rest for a while until a friend of mine arrives, she lives quite far, y'know?" Philza laughed airily, pushing the kid down gently.
The child looked away, almost nervous, or maybe embarrassed.
Phil took the thin blanket which had since moved, and brought it over the fragile body belonging to the golden haired kid, humming contently as the boy complied with Phil's wishes, closing his eyes to rest.
Philza simply turned, licking his fingers and snuffing the half-melted candle of it's light, walking over to the desk, and snuffing the oil candle as well, taking his book and walking to the arched wooden door.
He spared only one more glance at the small child, content, and walked out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
Two days until cara would arrive.
Only two until he could have this child fully healed, and know what happened.
Lord Death was content with that as he walked down the candle lit hall, shoes clicking against the polished dark oak floors and dark green rug lining the walkway.