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tommy decides one day, out of the blue, that his suit isn’t complete. it simply isn’t.
“what the hell do you mean, it isn’t complete?” technoblade asks, as he continues to tinker around with the iron glove in front of him.
they’re sitting side by side in technoblade’s lab, an illegal amount of metal tools and bits of tech splayed out on the long workbench. tommy has his suit in his hands, repairing a big tear in its side (he’d gotten in so much trouble after he’d stumbled into the medbay the week before (a questionable amount of tomato juice leaking from his side), passing out into technoblade’s arms. tommy doesn’t think he’d ever been yelled at so much in such a short amount of time after he’d woken up).
tommy looks down at the small, indented spider logo in the middle of his suit’s chest area. he squints. “it’s missing something.”
technoblade scoffs, not bothering to look up. still, his tone reeks of mild offense. “it can’t be. it has almost everything my suit has– mine. plus its own ai. what in the goddamn world could it be missing, kid?”
tommy grips his chin in thought, racking his brain for anything he can think of. he hums, tapping his nails on the bench, boring holes into the emblem. it’s small, but big enough to pass as a real spider. it’s indented as well, so something could fit inside it…
tommy snaps his fingers, bolting up to stare excitedly at his mentor. technoblade almost jumps at how fast he’s turned around, but spares a glance at tommy anyway. he shakes his head immediately at the sparkle in tommy’s eyes, a groan tumbling out of him.
“oh no. hell no, i do not trust that look. i don’t know what you’re thinkin’ you’re gonna do to my suit, but it ain’t whatever’s goin’ on in that brain of yours.” as if to make a point, technoblade wacks tommy on the head lightly with a magazine he’d magically equipped.
“ow– what the hell, man! i swear it isn’t bad,” tommy whines, swatting away the magazine. “it’s good, i promise!” technoblade rolls his eyes, but ceases his attacks.
“uh huh. somehow i feel like that ain’t close to the truth.” technoblade locks eyes with tommy, neither of them blinking. they hold each other’s stare fiercely.
when technoblade’s eye starts to twitch, though, a grin creeps it’s way onto tommy’s face. technoblade sighs, finally closing his now incredibly dry eyes, before turning back to his project.
“okay, fine. you win. do whatever you want, just don’t break anything.” tommy nods his head at a speed too quickly to comprehend, before launching him and his wheelie chair further down the table.
“thanks mr. blade!”
“sure, kid.”
five silent hours later, two past his curfew, tommy shoots up, sending his chair flying back into the wall (literally– it’s buried five feet up). technoblade startles from his impromptu nap, groggily removing his crooked glasses and pinching his nose bridge. who ever said taking care of a rambunctious, genius, teenager was a good idea?
“i did it, holy crap– i fuckin’ did it!”
technoblade peaks down at the mess on tommy’s side of the bench. in the middle of a plethora of metal scraps and tiny motherboards, a rickety spider sits.
and thus, shroud is born.
(“you’re gonna– you’re gonna what? shroud? what kind of fucking name is shroud? i– kid– god, it’s too late for this. alright, you know what? fine. go ahead, name your weird drone-spider thing shroud. have at it– no, no not now, tomorrow– yes, i said tomorrow, tommy it’s a school night– shit, morning. wilbur’s gonna castrate me. it’s three am, get your ass to bed–”)
shroud, technoblade finds, is a lot more useful than he thought it would be.
he’s– for once in his life– taking a break. technoblade’s settled comfortably into his main floor’s sofa, favorite book (art of war, of course) and a glass of wine in hand. he’s enjoying himself, though there’s a nagging at the back of his head telling him he shouldn’t be. he elects to ignore it.
technoblade has just begun his prefered section, chapter five, when something slams into the building scale window behind him. he’s quick to whip his body around, setting his drink down and tossing his book onto the pillows.
he sees nothing at first, just the glaring city lights in the dark. but another clang against his window sends technoblade double tapping his watch. a coating of red and gold metal plates flow from it, covering his hand like water.
technoblade flexes his fingers before calling out, “chat, what the hell is hitting the window?”
he takes a cautious step closer. it’s then, in the glowing window, that technoblade catches a thin red line dancing across the glass. he curses.
“i am not detecting any known threat, searching the database now.”
before technoblade can get a response out, the beam draws a circle into the window, slowly melting it. technoblade’s eyes widen, as he ducks quickly. the lazar breaks through, and technoblade cringes when the distinct smell of something burning reaches his nose. damn, he really liked that couch.
“uh, pretty sure anything that tries to break in and or kill me is a known threat, chat,” technoblade remarks from the ground. he breathes in a sigh of relief when he hears the built-in fire extinguishers emerge from the walls. at least the rest of his shit won’t burn.
“boss, i believe it is tommy’s newly installed suit attachment,” chat answers, their only slightly robotic voice echoing clearly across the room.
technoblade’s eyebrows furrow, and he carefully lifts himself up. now that there’s no more lazar threatening his life and his furniture, he walks to the window carefully. a little machine, no bigger than the size of his palm, crawls easily through the hole.
“shroud?” technoblade holds his gauntlet-covered hand out for the spider. it jumps into his hand. “what in the world are you doing?” shroud blinks.
looking closely, shroud’s hand painted body (tommy had insisted) is covered in dust and scratches. there’s a deep groove, suspiciously shaped like a bullet, imprinted into it’s side. it reveals some of it’s insides, a few wires peaking out and sparking. technoblade idly wonders if that’s the reason for his now charred couch.
“sir, i’m getting a transmission from shroud. i would also like to inform you that clementine went offline thirty seconds ago. should i attempt protocol eight three one, and play the transmission?” chat asks. technoblade’s breath hitches, before he’s sprinting out of the room and into the elevator. shroud crawls up his arm, much to technoblade’s chagrin, and settles onto his shoulder.
“yes, and pull up tommy’s suit– vitals and all. get me shroud’s transmission on lab seven’s main screen.” technoblade makes quick work of rushing out of the elevator and into his main lab– the one above his quarters, and the one he and tommy are often found in.
“on it,” chat says. there’s a beat before they say anything else. “sir, i cannot get tommy’s suit to reboot. clementine is not responding.”
technoblade flies around the room. he swipes purposefully through his holographic screens, attempting to locate any alerts that might’ve gone off while he was occupied. shroud grounds him, resting firmly on his shoulder.
“chat, search all cctv footage in a one hundred mile radius. be a dear and get me tommy’s last known location too,” technoblade commands.
an audio file pops up on his screen, startling him just the smallest bit. on his shoulder, what’s left of shroud’s side glows green, supposedly, technoblade guesses, where it’s antenna ought to be. technoblade is quick to play it.
there’s crackling, heavy breathing, and clanking of metal. technoblade’s eyebrows cinch together.
then a voice, “hey mr. blade? uh, i think i’m in need of some assistance.”
oh man, what did tommy get himself into this time?
“you’re probably wondering why clementine didn’t alert you– sorry that’s my bad, i may or may not have asked ranboo to hack her.”
technoblade smacks his palm to his forehead.
“don’t be mad! wait– never mind, i know you’re gonna be mad anyway. but don’t be mad at ranboo! he’s innocent,” audio-tommy chuckles. it’s cut off by a pained groan. “anyway, yeah tried taking down that gang i was telling you about– one’s workin’ for that one ugly bald man. king piss or something. and yes, i know you told me not to. didn't listen, surprise surprise. but hey! i was successful..”
tommy goes silent for a moment, before the low sound of impact spikes the audio monitor. technoblade frowns. what was he doing?
“only problem is, uh.. may or may not have taken some hits? and by hits i mean bullets? possibly multiple? mm, not really having the greatest time right now. clementine is basically fried– oh did i mention i fell from a helicopter? into a lake? again? i probably didn’t.. whoops.” tommy’s quiet once more. there’s a wet cough. technoblade’s heart clenches.
“.. well, i suppose it’s better than being dropped to my death by my friend's dad again. hah, wouldn’t that have been funny! hm, i guess that’s it.. oh yeah! location. forgot, sorry. sorta bleeding out right now. i’m pretty sure there’s blood in my lungs. im quite certain it’s not meant to be there… man, i really need to stop getting into these situations. wilbur is so going to ground me. then kill me. then bring me back to life to ground me and kill me again… fuck. shit. i’m starting to ramble– sorry. i don’t really know where i am? i’m just kind of sitting on this building near the lake? well, lying down. also webbed up the entry wounds ‘cause clementine said i could before she kinda fucking died. i’m sending shroud since he’s the only one not dead, so could you come get me? thanks, i’ll buy you a coffee if i survive. won't tell phil. maybe.”
the transmission ends there.
technoblade’s chest fills with ice as he scrambles from his stupor, wrenching his head from boring holes into the audio file. he makes his way briskly to the landing zone doors.
“chat, you hear that? i need those cctv sightings near any lakes in the area– one’s with buildings nearby. find me my kid.”
technoblade slams the doors open (despite him knowing full well they’re automatic), and cool air slaps him sharply in the face.
he glances at shroud, who in turn looks up at him. it’s little legs wiggle around before it propels off of technoblade’s shoulder. the nano plates in it’s legs open, and small repulsors emerge, keeping it levitated in the air.
technoblade nods in approval, as he sprints to the edge of the tower. he leaps off with no hesitation, stomach dropping like an anvil to his feet. technoblade bangs his two wrist bands together in haste as he falls.
in seconds, a full suit of armor has covered him, melding easily over his wrinkled clothes. the inner face plate lights up with holograms, and he takes off, shroud close behind.
“alright chat, call the medical team, tell them to be ready at the medbay. what d’ya got for me?” technoblade asks. he jets through the air, following the holographic blue imprints in his line of sight.
“already did, boss. they’re ten minutes out. i’ve spotted tommy near eighth street– setting route now,” chat says. “clementine is still down. i’ve tried accessing her main frame, but it will be at least another minute until i can have her back up fully.”
technoblade grunts, “‘s fine, just get her awake as soon as possible.” his palms clam up inside the metal, dread creeping up his stomach.
technoblade knows this isn’t knew– tommy gets injured at an incredibly dumb rate, even when he’s just himself and not a web slinging vigilante. heck, he had crashed into his lab last week dying, technoblade really should be used to it.
still, he’s not. he doesn’t think he ever will be. it’s one thing for him or one of his adult teammates to get hurt– it’s completely different when it’s his kid , who’s barely sixteen.
“clementine’s online boss, i have vitals loading now. eta thirty seconds.” technoblade nearly sighs in relief, but it’s quickly replaced by tensed shoulders as he stares at the information in front of him.
“tommy’s blood pressure is extremely low, and his heart rate is slowing at a steady pace. tommy is currently unresponsive. immediate medical attention is advised,” chat instructs.
technoblade’s breath stutters as a small crop of buildings come into view. near the banks, remains of a helicopter lay. if technoblade squints, he’s sure he can see a group of unconscious men webbed to the side of it.
what really takes a chunk out of his never-steady heartbeat, though, is the lump of red on one of the roofs that catches his eye.
“ah shit,” technoblade curses, speeding up his thrusters. he lands with a clunk, faceplate dissolving back to leave his head out in the open. “chat, call the police– have them pick up the guys down there.”
technoblade all but stumbles towards the heap of limbs, wincing at the large puddles of crimson surrounding them.
tommy’s mask is still on, but his bright white eyes are shut. technoblade can vaguely spot where his bloodied and marred skin sticks out from under his ripped suit, shining in the moonlight. technoblade swallows heavily.
technoblade bends down quickly, carefully sliding his arms under tommy’s shoulders and knees to lift him up. with the help of chat and clementine, he adjusts his hold in the best way possible so as to not aggravate the three bullet holes and illegal amount of lacerations spread across tommy’s body. at some point, technoblade notices, shroud makes it’s way back into the center emblem on tommy’s chest, eyes dimming.
“jesus kid,” technoblade mutters, face plate closing. he launches into the dark sky, “you’d better not die. i’ll kill you.”
“med teams waiting, sir. eta two minutes. thrusters on full blast,” chat informs. technoblade mumbles a thanks, but he can’t take his eyes off tommy’s limp form. rage and fervid concern burns like a forest fire in his chest.
it’s like the fifth fucking time he’s had to hold this god damn child like he’s dead, and if technoblade has to do it one more time, he swears he’s gonna lock tommy in his basement. technoblade’s tired of his gorgeous pink hair getting greyer and greyer every time he’s within the vicinity of tommy. he can only handle dying his hair so many times in a week.
technoblade grips tommy’s listless body a bit tighter (he chooses to ignore the way tommy’s head rolls to the side, completely languid), his lumescent tower coming into view. he breathes a short sigh of relief, touching down into a sprint.
technoblade runs through the doors, tommy like lead in his arms, to where his med team waits. they take tommy from technoblade slower than he’d like, settling him down on a stretcher in a flurry of nurses and doctors. he follows them through the hallways.
at some point, one of them sets an arm over his chest, stopping him from entering the presumed operation room where tommy had been wheeled into.
“you can’t come in, sir. we’ll keep you updated.” and then they’re gone through the sliding doors, leaving technoblade alone in the sterile hallway.
technoblade slides down the closest wall, suit receding back into his watches. he rests his head in his trembling hands.
before he can let himself be enveloped by any nasty thought, a light pressure on his foot snaps his eyes up. shroud stands there, tapping it’s legs happily (at least he thinks– it kind of looks like it’s dancing, but maybe that’s just the result of wiring damage). it must’ve detached from tommy’s suit earlier.
technoblade huffs out a small chuckle, reaching a finger towards it. shroud places a tiny arm on his finger and blinks.
“guess i should be thankin’ you for getting that transmission to me, huh?” technoblade grins lightly. he spreads the rest of his fingers out, allowing shroud to trot up them and his arm, then back onto his shoulder.
technoblade leans his head against the wall, and stares up at the ceiling.
he needs a fucking drink.
“looks like your little friend took a bullet for you,” technoblade chuckles shakily, collapsing into a chair next to tommy’s cot. shroud crawls down from his shoulder, and onto a very loopy, but very awake tommy.
(the surgery had been long, but had gone extremely well. thankfully, no bullets had lodged themselves into tommy, leaving clean exit wounds. all the medics really needed to do was a few blood transfusions, and stitching– not including the bruises, broken ribs and cuts to be taken care of. but, with tommy’s enhanced healing, he’ll be good to go in a few days. technoblade plans to use those days to chastise tommy– or torture, as the kid would say.)
“aw no!” tommy cries, picking shroud up to hold gingerly in his bandaged hands. shroud blinks, twitching. another wire sparks.
technoblade’s face falls into a practiced deadpan as he takes in tommy’s horrified expression. honestly, the kid should be caring a little more about his health, and less about his robot child’s– but who’s he to judge?
technoblade sighs, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. he yawns.
“it’s fine, theseus. we can repair him easily,” technoblade says. he pats tommy’s knee reassuringly through the heavy blanket, leaning back in his chair. he shoots up immediately, though, when he catches fat tears rolling down tommy’s cheeks. “kid? tommy, are you alright? does anything hurt? do i need to call the nurse–”
“my son,” tommy sobs. he’s hugging shroud as best he can, cradling him to his chest.
technoblade’s lips form into a thin line before he timidly reaches his hands out to tommy’s cheeks. the tears are soaking his bandages, and the last thing technoblade wants is for them to fall off.
“tommy, calm down– hey, don’t mess with your stitches, okay? we can fix shroud in like, an hour tops when you’re all better,” technoblade says softly. he wipes at tommy’s tears delicately.
tommy sniffs, “you’re gonna be alright, my son. everything's gonna be okay, you hear?”
shroud blinks again, and tommy nods, finally relaxing into his cot. technoblade follows, choosing to rest his forehead on the edge of the bed, next to tommy’s leg.
there’s silence for a moment, and technoblade swears he hears shroud purring as tommy pets him like a cat, before the door is slammed open.
“techno-fucking-blade. what the fuck is this?”
technoblade groans.
he’d forgotten to call wilbur again, hadn’t he?
goddamnit.