Chapter Text
Technoblade has found that he doesn’t quite mind living in the overworld. He’s been staying with Phil for approximately seven light cycles, or days as Phil had called them, which when added up to seven made it a week since Technoblade had stumbled out of the Nether portal. It’s much colder than in the Nether, but he likes watching the sun rise and set, with Theseus sitting in his lap playing with his hands or curled up and asleep in his arms.
Surprisingly, Technoblade has found that learning Player is something he truly wants to do, for a few reasons, most of which he keeps to himself. It’s hard to communicate at times, because Technoblade’s Player vocabulary is small and his words don’t come out correctly, but he can understand Phil for the most part luckily. Technoblade spends the days in Phils house carefully translating letters to Piglin and practicing until Phil confirms he’s saying the letters right. It’ll be slow, but Technoblade figures he can teach himself to read based on his notes, and if he can’t… Technoblade is sure he could persuade a villager to.
Theseus, or Tommy , as Wilbur had declared the child, never wanders where he can’t see or hear Technoblade, and it does not make a small warmth bloom in Technoblades chest at the trust that he has been given. Wilbur -- Phil's son -- tries to draw the boy away from Technoblade with toys or snacks, but Tommy just makes quiet moos and remains within the room. It often ends with Wilbur whining and throwing himself on the floor, despite being much older than Tommy, and only then will the other boy join him.
“I think Wilbur wants him to be his partner in crime,” Phil says one day. Technoblade grunts.
“Left- I left Tommy in a room... He got attacked.” His sentences are getting longer, mostly due to his stubbornness and refusal to stop studying. He hates tenses and conju- whatever Phil had said, there’s no such thing in Piglin, as there’s no need. If an attack is happening you’ll hear it, or you’ll know it’s a story from the quiet. Never silence, the Nether is never silent.
“In the Nether? Is that why he won’t leave you?” Phil quirks an eyebrow, wincing as Tommy slams a wooden horse onto the floor and WIlbur shrieks with laughter. Techno nods and Phil hums. “You used his nickname.”
“What?”
“You called him Tommy, Wil seems to be rubbing off on you.” Technoblade rolls his eyes but the two men sit in silence as they watch the children play.
“We’ll be sad to see you go, when you do leave,” Phil says. “I know it’s for the best, and his safety but… It’s nice having other hybrids around. I was worried Wil might pick up the bigotry of the village, but it seems that worry was irrational.”
“I will write.” Phil smiles. Just then, Tommy toddles over to Technoblade, holding up the horse figure and smiling.
“Horse,” Technoblade says, and Tommy nods his head so hard the green buds on his head shake out of his curls. The stems are a healthy green and strong, and every morning Technoblade watches to see if they’ve bloomed yet. They’ve begun to bud a bit, but they are three weeks into their stay in the overworld and they haven’t progressed any further.
It’s halfway through the third week of Technoblade staying with Phil, the child following him around every moment of the day that he gets restless. The voices have been unusually silent since he left the Nether, but they’ve slowly been growing in volume again, urging him to fight something, to draw blood, and he wants to satiate them… But there’s a tiny toddler with gold hair that keeps following him around, loud cries sounding through the house whenever Technoblade leaves the room and the child can’t toddle after him fast enough.
So finally, three and a half weeks into their stay, he gives in. Tommy sleeps curled up beside him, so in the middle of the night, Technoblade slowly pulls himself from the bed, untangling his limbs from the child slowly, as to not wake him. Tommy stirs every now and then, but sinks into the pillow and the warmth left in the fabric without waking. Technoblade lets out a sigh of relief when the child hugs the pillow, and moves toward the bedroom window.
The window slides open without a creak thankfully, and Technoblade drops out, the only noise from his impact with the ground and the snap of a twig. He moves into the trees, making sure he walks straight so he can find his way back.
With nothing hindering him, Technoblade hunts.
The moon is halfway to setting when the front door of the house comes into view. Lantern that hangs above the door is on, and Technoblade freezes at the treeline. This scene is horribly unfamiliar. Everynight Phil blows out all the lanterns in the house once the children are settled, leaving only two in the kitchen for the adults to read beside.
The lights outside the house are never left on.
He shakes himself from his stupor and climbs the few stairs to the door, quietly swinging it open, and is immediately met with loud wailing and frantic moos. The floorboards creak as he steps in, and hurried footsteps sound from the… living room? Is that what Phil had called it?
“Technoblade!” Technoblade whips his head around to stare at Phil who is standing in the doorway to the living room, the man’s face is turning pink; Eyes angry. In his arms is a slumped, shaking figure, and Technoblade recognizes it as Tommy, the source of the wails. Phil’s eyes scan Technoblade, and he purses his lips, turning back around and looking down.
“Wilbur, take Tommy. Yes, you can hold him, just be careful, go play in your room okay? Don’t leave him.” Phil passes Tommy out of sight and Technoblade feels his hand twitch, but quick footsteps move toward the stairs at the end of the hallway and Phil steps in front of Technoblade, blocking him.
“Where were you?” Phil has to look up to meet Technoblades eyes, but Technoblade still swallows, he knows not to underestimate an opponent.
“Out. Had to.”
“Why?” Technoblade takes a deep breath, looking the other man over. He doesn’t appear armed, so Technoblade could likely beat him in a fight. The world around them is so unlike the Nether, it’s near silent and cold, and Technoblade stands before a Player with a mind, for once, clear of all intent to harm.
“Voices, get loud.” Phil opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, eyebrows furrowed. He stares hard at Technoblade, then finally speaks.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me you needed to leave? I wouldn’t have minded, and I wouldn’t have been worried!” Phil inhales sharply and holds the breath, closing his eyes and releasing it slowly. When he continues, his voice is tight, but much quieter. “I thought something happened, but I couldn’t figure out what because I couldn’t imagine why they’d leave him behind. Tommy thought you’d left him behind.”
This is unfamiliar, Technoblades head is reeling, no one has ever cared enough to ask where he goes, just that he’s sure to return. No Bastion cared for his needs or desires, just that they didn’t interfere with the sounders living within the Bastion, the Piglins that belonged.
And now here he stands, being scolded as if he were a piglet for not telling Phil that he’d left.
“Need to see him-” Phils face softens for a moment, and he crosses his arms.
“After we’ve gotten the blood off of you, he probably won’t let go of you for a bit after this and we don’t need a toddler covered in dried blood.” Phil turns to the kitchen and gestures for Technoblade to follow, so he does, sitting at the table as Phil wets a towel and pulls the medical box from the cabinet.
“There is, voices. In… My head.” Technoblade slowly pieces the sentence together and Phil hums.
“You mentioned, I- I know. I have them too, but they mostly take the form of crows that follow me.” Technoblade cocks his head to the side, and Phil laughs as he pats at a small cut on the Piglin’s forearm. “Birds, make noise in the trees.” Technoblade’s eyes widen a bit and he nods, then points to Phil’s wings.
“You… are a bird.”
“Hybrid, yes.” Phil sets his cloth aside and places a bandage on the cut. There are no other wounds on the Piglin, and most of the blood had been scrubbed off with a cloth, so the blond sits back in his chair and stares at the creature in front of him.
“The voices make you violent?” Phil asks, and Technoblade nods. “But you’d never hurt him?”
Another nod, and then, hesitantly, “I do not think I could.”
Phil smiles brightly then. “Then you’re no danger,” When Technoblade stares at the man, brows furrowed in confusion, he continues. “You’ve spent the past week learning a language just to learn about him, and communicate with and teach him it when he’s older. There is no other reason a seasoned Piglin warrior such as yourself should be in the overworld of all places, with a Player child safe in your care. As long as you have no desire or intent, I trust you’ll never be able to hurt him.”
Technoblade isn’t sure how to respond to that, a trust has been placed onto his shoulders he’s never beheld before. He’s been trusted to guard bastions, to make sure piglets aren’t slaughtered by another sounder but that had always been purely because of his skill and race, one of Piglins who centered their culture around blood and being proud warriors. In such a short span of time, a week in the overworld, Technoblade had two creatures put such faith in him in a manner he had never seen before, it confuses him so deeply he isn’t even sure where to begin dissecting the feeling.
What he does know, however, is that he would do anything to ensure that trust was kept, and proven to be well placed.
“Come on then,” Phil says as he stands, and Techno stares up at him in confusion as the man packs up the medkit. “Tommy tuckered himself out from the fit he threw when he realized you had disappeared, but the kid’s stubborn and won’t go to sleep. Something tells me he’ll try and stay awake until he sees you again or he passes out.” Technoblade nods slowly, but stands and follows Phil toward the stairs. As Technoblade walks behind the player, he takes in the shelves in the hallway holding trinkets and plants, and the green rug beneath his hooves, he listens to the sound the dark floorboards make when they creak beneath their weight as the pair climbs the stairs.
The sounds are so unfamiliar and strange to his ears… But Technoblade finds himself relaxing ever so slightly as he listens to the sounds the house makes around him, so very different from bubbling lava and screaming ghasts and the constant bother of piglins running throughout the bastion.
The sobs coming from what he’s come to learn is Wilbur's room, however, is a sickeningly familiar sound.
Phil raises his knuckles and quietly knocks on the door, opening it a moment later and whispering something into the room. He turns back to smile at Technoblade after a moment and steps out of the way, opening the door more for the brute. Propped up against the pillows on the bed sits Theseus, his eyes red his chest heaving… And then watery blue eyes meet Technoblades and suddenly the room is filled with loud mooing, and tiny arms sluggishly reach toward the piglin. Technoblade crosses the room in three large strides, scooping the child up and pressing the boy's head into his shirt. It’s something Theseus has done multiple times himself when upset… It ought to help the boy calm down now. Tiny hands dig into Technoblade's shirt and a quiet whimper comes from the boy, who’s chest begins to heave as he starts working himself up again.
“I will… I will take care of him,” Technoblade says, turning back to Phil who stands in the doorway, Wilbur standing beside him rubbing the tiredness from his eye.
“I know,” Phil replies with a small smile. “Now then, all of you, to bed. Off you go- That’s enough stress for tonight.” Surprisingly, Wilbur, despite seemingly never running out of energy to talk, is experiencing a drought of words. He walks past Technoblade slowly, patting Theseus’ head for a moment as he passes, and climbs into bed. Technoblade nods to Phil, and walks past the man and into the room he’s been staying in the past few weeks, Theseus held securely to his chest. It’s there, as Technoblade shuts and locks the window he had left through, that he allows the instinctual purr to rumble through his chest. Theseus’ breathing hiccups, and to Technoblades relief, it gradually slows down as he rests against the headboard of the bed, keeping Theseus in his arms, not once loosening his hold.
He runs a hand through golden strands and quietly whispers to ears that will not understand, “ I’m sorry that it is me you are stuck with, but I will keep you safe.” Technoblade falls asleep that night laying on his back, one arm resting on Theseus’ back as the boy lays on his stomach, both hands clutching Technoblades shirt.