Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They say that there’s an island, far off the coast.

Large enough to house several lakes, nestled between rushing rivers and deep forests. It is said to be shrouded in fog and strewn with reefs so dangerous that even the most skillful sailor could never hope to touch shore. They say that the island is perched on a plateau so high it gets lost in the clouds.

And that it would take wings to get up there.

This place was much akin to a legend. Only glimpsed at, never more than guessed in the distance, by people who died a long time ago.

But the Monsters are very real. And, well, they have to come from somewhere, haven’t they?

This island is called The Origins, and Techno never thought he’d get to see it someday. After all, he is Human.

(Mostly.)

Here’s how it happened…

***

Midnight was approaching, and the village was the stage of two battles.

The first was impossible to miss. Shouts, explosions and the beat and humming of heavy wings all blended into a widespread chaos that was all too familiar to Manberg, small cliffside town.

And to Techno. More specifically, the sound of this kind of battle.

From the other side of a locked door.

One last time, he threw himself against the thick wood, but in vain. They had strengthened it since his most recent ‘breakout.’

Forehead leaning against the door and with a groan of frustration, he once more considered the injustice of life. The neighbors inevitably had to practically drag their son, George, two years his senior, out to help them in the fights. And here he was, asking for nothing more, locked up once again.

They trust George.

Not you.

Never you.

Gritting his teeth, Techno took a few steps back. They never let him take any tools into the large room that made his “house,” but he had a spearhead hidden under his bed, maybe he would manage to-

Boom

Spinning around (and hoping his cry of surprise was lost in the general chaos of the battle) he gazed for a second at the smoking hole in the wall of the house.

Nice.

Before setting off.

Sliding down the hill to the armory, with the spring ice hardening the grass, was never easy. A collection of monsters, busy ransacking the village, made things much more interesting.

(And more dangerous, but oh well, you can’t have it all.)

Techno dodged a fireball launched by one of the gigantic bees whose deep humming he could feel even in his teeth (if he ever got the chance to argue with the person who had decided to give explosives to huge bees, he would have some complaints to make). The crows were of normal size, which was only a small consolation as this ‘normal size’ could still stretch a wingspan of one and a half meters, and because the night sky concealed their ebony plumage as surely as an invisibility potion.

Having avoided a hooked beak so narrowly that he had almost tasted feathers, he finally tumbled into the armory, dancing among the villagers too busy to notice him slipping in the closet.

Schlatt (who always got out of actually fighting under the pretext of being busy ‘handling the operations’) tried to catch him by the collar of his shirt when he came out, dragging his latest invention, but he missed his shot (L!) and only succeeded in hitting the back of his head, just under his helmet.

Finally, he camped on a hill a few distances from the battle, deployed the stabilizers on his net launcher, and waited, panting into the darkness.

The stars always seemed to shine brighter than usual during attacks, as if the Sky itself was accompanying the monsters in their fight.

(Or maybe the teenager could actually see them when he managed to sneak out during battles, locked up as he was on the other nights, with his only window giving on an alleyway.)

The destruction happily continued its course down below. As always, the prison had been the first target, and all that remained was smoldering, acid-eaten ruins blackened in flames and riddled with sharp black feathers. Techno couldn’t understand why they kept insisting on rebuilding it. Did the trafficking of captured Hybrids really pay that much? Of course, he’d never dare to share such a thought. The others didn’t need any more reasons to regard him as a traitor. Not that it mattered much at this moment: their latest prisoner, an Enderborn dressed in the rags of what must have been rich clothes at some point, had to be far away by now.

(Schlatt had threatened him with jail time more than once in his attempts to force him into falling in line. Techno hated the part of him that he sometimes caught wondering what the Hybrids would do if they found him in there.)

Monsters and their creatures were flying in all directions. A half-dark, half-bright figure levitated in the heart of the flames. Techno made out a tall being, skin midnight blue and dressed in a long, floating cloak, slipping away with a handful of pastries, an echoing burst of laughter revealing long sharp teeth, and considered taking a shot, but already, his shape was fading, wild, fierce and delighted.

Monsters raced through the air, wreaking havoc. Techno waited, net launcher at the ready, barely daring to breathe.

“Come on…” he whispered, his wish turning to vapor in the cold air.

Then, a star disappeared.

He blinked, narrowed his eyes, and it was a second's turn. The first one then reappeared, and Techno understood.

Somewhere, far above the fight, a night-colored shape was gliding between him and the stars.

In a single, fluid gesture, he aimed and fired.

***

The morning brought a smell of smoke and dust.

Techno lifted his helmet to wipe his forehead, considering the progress they had made in the rubble. He leaned down and picked up a shard of blackened wood. The perfect imprint of a hand was carved into it.

"Come on guys, we're almost there," said Dream, who must have had a completely different definition of the word ‘almost’ than Techno.

He had greeted the teenager wordlessly when he came to help them. They all knew Techno was looking to soften the anger that would surely befall him as soon as Schlatt had a minute of his own, but Dream was not among the most hostile towards him.

He went so far as to scoot imperceptibly closer to him when the voice of the village’s chief was heard, but not even the golden boy himself could save him from what was to come.

“TECHNOBLADE!”

“In my defense,” he said, knowing it wouldn't do any good, “one of those freaky bees exploded my house.”

He stumbled back, narrowly avoiding a slap in the face. A group of bystanders was quickly forming, eager to witness him getting put back in his place once again.

“I DON'T CARE!” yelled Schlatt. “When we’re under attack, you stay in your fucking shack!”

“But I can help!” he blurted out.

It was pointless. It never did anything. But years and years apparently didn’t suffice to overcome his damned hope. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if it’d be better. To lose it completely.

This time he wasn't quick enough and couldn't avoid Schlatt's hand. Except where he expected a blow, the man snatched his helmet.

He instinctively stepped back, head tucked into his shoulders, knowing he was being stared at and hating every second of it.

"Techno, come on," Schlatt said, falsely sorry, which was much worse than his anger. “You know why we can't trust you. It’s your own fault. And you know you lost your chance of proving yourself a long time ago.”

“Even if I told you that I captured the Crowfather?”

A heavy silence fell over the small crowd. Techno inhaled, and words came rushing, eager, desperate. “He crashed near the point, we have to-”

Bursts of laughter interrupted him.

"I'm not a child," he growled, despite Sapnap's gestures calling him to shut up. “I know what I’m saying, I can-”

"You don't know the first thing about fighting," Schlatt lectured him.

And whose fault is it? Techno thought bitterly.

The crowd absorbed his words as usual, even those whose faces had initially betrayed a doubt. Schlatt always had a knack for making whoever he was talking to sound like a child or an imbecile.

“And you're far past the age of pretending. But no need to worry, everyone, we'll have found a way to keep him away by the next attack.”

The crowd finally dispersed, chatting. Dream and his friends slipped away with the others, with a last pitying look, and Techno was the only one left to hear the mayor's next few words.

“Don't kid yourself, they'll never see you any other way. Know your place.”

Finally alone among the ruins, he gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, cautiously concealing a pair of pointed ears.

Chapter Text

In many ways, Techno preferred the wildness to Manberg.

He had been trying to integrate into the village for years now. Oh, he lived there alright. But to really be a part of it, to feel at ease with others, at home. Without success.

By comparison, blending into the forest had always proved startlingly easy.

Even as decisive footsteps brought him straight to the northern tip of the pointe, with no attempt at subtlety, birds kept on tweeting, unbothered. Treading on the ground studded with pine needles or spongy moss, stepping over fallen trees and brushing aside shrubs branches swollen with buds, he made his way northeast of Crystal Lake, without making as much as riddles on the wood’s usual activity.

Normally, he would have taken the time to observe the ballet of songbirds, drunk on spring as they were, to pick some of the first nuts or berries of the season (he was never not hungry), to check his weapons caches, but that morning, he had only one thing in mind.

He was going to show them.

It didn't take long for him to find a series of broken branches, the pale-wooded tips of which all pointed in the same direction. Brushing those of his fingers that weren't tight on the hilt of his sword against the raw wood, he instinctively softened his steps, advancing in the shadow of the evergreens towards a long trail of bare earth.

His heart clawed up to his throat at the thought of coming across an empty net, or worse, an ambush (after all, the Monsters never attacked alone, and Techno might not have been the only one to see the crash…), and he raised his sword, but his steps did not falter. However, he came to a halt as he rounded two large boulders.

He was smaller than Techno had imagined.

His worry proved futile, at how the thin ropes of the net crisscrossed, tightly hampering the creature's limbs. Their pale fibers contrasted vividly against the ink-black feathers they had broken and wrinkled.

And against the red of blood.

Techno walked around the fallen one slowly, nearly in a trance, his mind unable to fully comprehend the implications of what he was seeing, even though he had thought of very little else since last night, when-

On the other side of the wings, an eye.

Wide open, staring at him.

 … He was still alive.

His heart leaped almost painfully. Small black scales surrounded the creature’s face, before disappearing under a crown of feathers pointing through blonde hair. But other than those details, he looked startlingly human.

Human and terrified. Techno gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the complexity he saw in the dark gaze (anger and helplessness and fear) that was scrutinizing him. Despite the ropes that were stretched through his mouth, effectively gagging him, Techno could make out a scowl. He stepped closer, cautiously.

The Elytrian, for he was indeed one, struggled in his bonds, with a violent jerk, then a second. Techno watched warily as his claws, black and deadly long, twitched towards the ropes.

 But impressive as this display of power was, his limbs quivered with the effort, and he only managed to drive the netting deeper, powerless to prevent Techno from bringing his sword close to the creature's face.

 The anger thinned out until it vanished, leaving behind a trembling fear mingled with... Discouragement?

No. Resignation.

The creature closed his eyelids tightly, body shaking under the strain, and waited.

Techno realized he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly, inwardly berating himself. You’d almost thought he was the one about to- about to be-

He tightened his hands on the hilt of his sword. He couldn't give up now, he had waited too long, he was so close to his goal he could almost taste it. The years of being sidelined, despised by unfounded prejudices stretched behind him, and there laid the power to ensure that the years to come would be nothing like it.

The opportunity was right in front of him.

Techno raised his sword.

***

Techno had taken up arms in the past. On things other than a training dummy or a fencing partner. But he had never slaughtered (because it wasn't murder, not really) a creature already trapped. At first, he tried to convince himself that this was where his unease rooted.

Schlatt never took part in the fighting. But when the villagers caught those cursed crows or giant bees, he was always the one to finish them off.

Techno raised his sword, and on the other side of the blade he didn’t see a Monster. He saw a man curled up, awaiting death.

Techno raised his sword, and he saw himself.

The weapon fell. Limply, at the end of his arm. The thought of giving up, of having to walk back to the village empty-handed, to endure the other’s mockery, was bitter. The thought he’d have to keep living just like before, alone? Almost unbearable.

But not as much as the idea of killing this… Person.

Techno knew how stubborn he was. Once he made his decision, his mind wouldn't change. So he didn't waste any more time hesitating.

The sharp blade cut and sliced easily, and the Elytrian's eyes widened in shock.

The ropes fell one after the other. Now that he had made up his mind, Techno had ceased to subconsciously avoid observing his ‘catch,’ and the way the strings tackled and twisted his limbs, digging cruelly into flesh and feathers only spurred him on.

A little too much, it would seem. As he focused on the task of tucking his sword under one of the ropes without aggravating the state of the plumage underneath, he didn't notice when an entire section of the net sagged, releasing a clawed hand.

Seeing him in this state had made Techno forget how agile the Crowfather was.

There was no warning sign. No fumble or hesitation. A second Techno was untangling one end of the net.

The next he was pinned by the neck against one of the boulders.

His sword was knocked to the ground. The grainy rock behind him dug uncomfortably into the back of his head under the rim of his helmet. Huge, outstretched wings, feathers drawn up aggressively, enclosed him in a world of darkness. But Techno was only distantly aware of this.

Two black eyes took up his entire field of vision. Strange and surrounded by a sharp edge of scales and feathers and anger. He could only feel claws where they brushed his throat with each of his gasping breath.

He was going to die here. He was going to die as he had lived, alone and stupid, unable to close his eyes.

Fury rose like a flame in the Elytrian’s gaze, made of clenched teeth and bloody feathers. Then it swayed. The talons pressed a little more intimately against his throat.

He whirled around and his damaged wings threw him into the air.

Techno fell to his knees.

***

The next few days were spent rebuilding.

Schlatt stormed out of his office, gritting his teeth after his conversation with the hunters who had left the Enderian in their prison. This day, there wasn't a person in the Manberg who didn't feel his ire, but he reserved the worst of it for Techno.

Who took it with poorly concealed indifference. If the other teenagers in the village noticed that his attention was elsewhere, they probably assumed the new latch on the outside of his door as the cause, and tacitly avoided mentioning it.

Normally, Techno would snarl at their pity. But these days, something else was there to distract him.

He found himself heading into the woods more and more often. Things rarely changed in their small village, sunk in its routine as in deep ruts, and the calm that the forest brought to his heart was no exception.

However, he started to avoid the place where his catch– victim– where the Elytrian had crashed. A little shame, a little fear. Less regrets than he had expected.

Instead, a few days later, his steps led him to a depression in the stone of the valley, in the hollow of which was nestled a lake of white-cold water in a mossy casket.

He approached it with the caution he had shown since an unfortunate incident involving a thirsty brown bear, and as often, the precaution proved its usefulness.

A herd of hummingstags were drinking at the shallower side of the lake, the glistening red of the males’ antlers rising in rhythm to watch their surroundings. Techno let his alertness drop - these animals had better ears than him, and a healthy dose of anxiety. Except for himself (and perhaps Punz), few of the inhabitants of this forest could approach a group of hummingstags without being spotted.

Shlack

Until now.

Hooves splashed white sprays of water as the herd scampered off, raising their slender legs high and promptly disappearing into the tall ferns that arched their fronds on the west side of the clearing, abandoning behind their fallen friend.

Techno worked on bringing his breath back to normal, taking a long, silent inspiration as the hunter approached.

His scaly feet (talons?), wrapped in dark bandages, trod soundlessly on pine needles. Not that this level of stealth was necessary: the hummingstag, a young male, had fallen without a cry, a neat kill from a precise arrow.

Looking at the Elytrian, for, of course, it was him, as he meditated a few moments before beginning to skin his catch, Techno realized that he should really go. Releasing an enemy was a one-time thing, and no one would ever know. He could also reason that no one had believed him, in the first place. If anything, it was their fault.

But to stay, to watch the Elytrian start a fire on the beach, without the intention of attacking or running into the village to alert the others, was outright betrayal.

And yet. Techno had never seen a Hybrid outside of the frenzy of battle, from a hole in his walls, and a long-buried curiosity resurfaced.

He hadn't noticed if he had pointy ears.

“I know you're there, mate.”

Techno fell to the ground, quickly engulfed by the ferns. Twice unnecessary, considering that, a) he had already been spotted, and b) the other hadn't even glanced in his direction.

The most rational part of Techno considered running away. Without knowing exactly why, he suspected that the other would let him go. That would have been the safest path, but something held him back.

Maybe it was curiosity. Or the cold looks and stifling loneliness that awaited him in what was supposed to be his home.

Still, he slowly lifted his head, letting the tip of his helmet gently protrude above the tops of the fronds. This time again, Crowfather was watching his hands work, and Techno was struck by the image of George, convincing the feral cats to approach him, by politely looking aside to reassure them until they got over their uneasiness.

Good thing he never pretended to not be a bit wild.

(It wasn't like there had never been someone to civilize him.)

He approached with less caution than the individual sitting by the lake should have induced, but caution nonetheless. Despite the silence of his gestures, a thin smile curled the being's lips as Techno landed at the foot of one of the tall rocks. He leaned against it, adopting a nonchalant posture that even he could hardly believe in. The Elytrian, on the other hand, kept his limbs relaxed, as unthreatening as possible.

“So, you didn't know I could talk?”

His voice sounded more amused than anything else, mocking without any real bite, but Techno was so much on the defensive he practically lived there.

“Uh, our language,” he invented quickly. “I didn't believe that you, uh, spoke our language.”

“No?”

To be honest, he hadn't really thought too hard about it. But he had no intention to be honest.

“It's not like you ever talked to someone during your, uh...”

“Attacks? Oh, we tried. At first.”

Come to think of it, the level of coordination and expertise they displayed in their rescue / destruction / pastry theft missions could only have resulted from complex reasoning. Techno hated to admit it, but Schlatt's misleading whispers and manipulation could affect him as much as anyone else.

The smell of grilled meat was now diffusing through the clearing, quietly but mercilessly reminding Techno that with all his expeditions into the woods, he hadn't worked hard enough to eat quite as much as he needed to. He leaned slightly more comfortably against his rock.

“So, uh, how come you're still-“

“What's your name?” asked the Elytrian, interrupting him without care.

Techno blinked. “Technoblade.”

“An old name.”

He blinked again at the approving hum. He had always liked his name. It was one of the only things that really belonged to him. That no one could take away from him if he didn't follow the ‘rules’ of whatever village had the misfortune of dealing with him. When he looked again, it was to meet the other’s gaze.

“… Thank you. Uh, and you are?”

“I’m Phil!”

‘Phil’

Really?

“... As in ‘Philip’, or…?”

“Nah, like in ‘Philza’.”

“Okay, that’s a little less weird.”

It was only when he heard the other's laugh that Techno realized what he had spoken out loud.

And, as he began to feel overwhelmed, between the laughter and the flush that rose to his cheeks, between the calm that had crept into his limbs against the most elementary reason and that damned smell of meat, he quickly turned on his heels and disappeared back into the forest.

“Good day,” he said as an afterthought.

“Bye, Techno!”

Philza was the only person who spoke his name that day. And when he returned the next afternoon, after many changes of mind, it was to find the edge of the lake deserted.

But an oilcloth bundle awaited him, hanging in a tree safe from furry and feathered opportunists. Inside were a few pieces of meat.

Chapter Text

George had once said that Techno's efforts to come back, time and time again, to deliberately throw himself in the midst of danger when not only he was exempt from it, but he was straight up banned, stemmed from a complete and utter lack of survival instinct. Techno himself had argued: he always pulled through, didn’t he? It was astute knowledge of his limits, not recklessness.

He was currently reconsidering that answer.

Obviously, he wasn't going to stop frequenting his forest because of a single individual. The land stretched for kilometers in every direction! And, though he had trouble admitting it, he quickly got depressed and uneasy without some alone, foliage-over-his-head time. Rebuilding invariably entailed spending long days in constant contact with his ‘allies,’ and few of them were as quick to ignore the obvious as Dream and his friends. But at the same time, his tiny house always felt empty and dark, as if someone had been sick in there, and the touch of death was lingering. There he was too much alone, without a single living thing to even acknowledge his existence.

Which was why he ended up in the woods.

Even though the woods in question also happened to harbor a deadly Elytrian.

Because he needed some quiet time.

...

Techno managed to pretend he didn't have a specific goal in mind for about half an hour of walking.

The next few minutes were spent mourning his so-called survival instinct. He would’ve liked to blame simple curiosity, but the complexity of the emotions guiding his steps indicated otherwise. He hadn't yet been able to determine what, exactly, it was, when he came within sight of the lake.

Deserted.

With a low grunt, Techno leaned his forehead against a pine tree. Unfortunately, the rough bark did nothing to alleviate his incipient headache.

He shouldn't even be here. Let alone disappointed.

"Stupid," he muttered, taking a seat.

The fatigue of the last few days (his house wasn’t among the priority reconstructions, and the vulnerability of sleeping when anyone could enter through the teared-up wall kept him drowsy but aware) (the lingering image of a bloodied net did not help), mixed with his reluctance to return to the village, found him sitting not far from the shore, back against a water-polished boulder.

At first, he let his thoughts wander, watching them spin in circles as if lost in unknown woods, endlessly returning to the same problems. Then, noticing the heaviness in his eyelids and unwilling to doze here (but would it truly be worse than sleeping in the house he had been assigned to, which felt more like a prison at night, despite the gaping hole letting in the cold?), he picked up a fallen branch and began to trace shapes in the rust of the pine needles that littered the ground.

But it soon turned out that, like his thoughts, his hands did not let him wander too far from the reason for his presence. A smile curled the corners of his lips at the clumsy figure of a winged humanoid in the dirt. He added a grimace to it.

Behind his back, high up the valley’s side, the thick foliage of the dogwood bushes rustled, in a low, almost laughter-like sound. Techno turned around, not too quickly, though not without some tension, but he found only the undergrowth, as peaceful looking as usual.

He returned his gaze, but not his attention, to his drawing. And, as he expected, footsteps and the silky wrinkling of feathers echoed behind his back. The noise was deliberate, as was its interruption some distance from Techno. It wasn't until he half-turned, recognizing the presence behind him, that Philza stepped forward again.

He smiled at the drawing, and oddly enough, the fear of being teased barely brushed the young man.

Instead, Philza whirled around determinedly, heading for the edge of the forest. Techno kept on, pretending not to have noticed anything, more so because he didn’t know what to say that out of genuine concern. In many ways, he still found it difficult to believe such a strange thing could happen to him, and there remained the nagging impression that the moment would fly away like a flock of startled birds if he recognized it directly.

He didn't hide his smile as Philza struggled to tear off a large dead branch from an aspen, then, instrument in hand, he was at it.

Techno turned, then turned again, watching him scrawl the ground around him, in large strokes far more ambitious than Techno's doodles. The teen lit up when he saw a building take shape, perhaps a shop or an inn, located vertiginously high. The ladder that allowed access to it seemed extremely unsafe for wingless people.

Then the outlines of the drawing began to emerge, and Techno's eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.

An island.

And not just any island...

Captivated by the legend, he didn't notice the drawing was completed until Philza came to stand next to him, a satisfied smile on his face. Techno followed his gaze.

The feathered figure he had drawn stood in the building, but not alone. Techno struggled to guess what Origin the other character might be, he saw neither Blaze rods nor horns, although it was a possibility, since a helmet covered their head...

Oh.

He turned to Philza, half disbelieving, wanting to ask for confirmation, even though he had found peace and comfort in the silence that had been craddling them in a kind hold since the Elytrian had arrived, but he didn't need to.

All he needed to know was in the creases at the corners of Philza's eyes, and the black shape of the hand he held out to him. It was hardly necessary for him to think about the emptiness of his own home, of which he’d been the sole occupant since a too-young age.

Phil's hand was warm in his.

***

In the days that followed, Techno exchanged more words with one of their most powerful enemies than with the rest of his own village.

Not that it was a lot of words. Despite the extent of the destruction they continued to mend, painfully slowly, the Elytrian seemed a fairly peaceful being.

He had fitted into the forest without making waves, and the peace and quiet Techno came to seek there kept on in his company. Which was fortunate, considering that nothing scared Techno away quicker than chatty, prying people and awkward conversations.

Philza continued to dance around explaining the reasons for his prolonged presence on the coast, confident if not subtle, but Techno was nothing if not autonomous, and quickly solved it.

The older Hybrid tended to keep his huge black wings elegantly folded over his back, but Techno had retained a painfully precise memory of his first interaction with him, and of the broken feathers that remained in the net after he had disappeared behind the treetops.

Flying over the forest for a few minutes, he reasoned to himself as he was installing new shingles on a roof, was a whole different ordeal than taking off to the great sea, towards an island so far away and so well hidden it was more of a legend than a location on their maps. It was no surprise that Philza would not be able to take such a journey with wings in this state, hence his presence in Techno’s forest.

On the one hand, the absence of any of his Monst- Hybrid allies appeared suspect, but at the same time, the continual improvements to their defense system allowed them to detect arrivals from quite far. Maybe that kept them away?

Being grounded in such a way didn't seem to worry Philza more than that, though. He was still smiling whenever Techno came to find him, whether it be by their lake, in a clearing, sitting on a fallen tree or at the cliff.

It was at the edge of this very cliff that Techno met him one morning, weighed down by both his bag and his anguish.

He continued to be amazed at the inexplicable friendliness the Hybrid showed him, but that didn't change the fact that if they no longer behaved like enemies, he owed him an apology.

And everything that an apology involved.

The ledge did not overlook the foam-fringed waves of the open sea, but rather those of the trees, leaves rustling in the wind. Techno sat without greeting, muscles tense in an unnerved silence. Philza gave him an uncertain look, brow furrowed in what might have been worry, if Techno had been the type of person to elicit that feeling, but didn't question him. The feathers of its wings fluffed up quietly.

“Uh, how are you?” Techno asked, forcing the words through an uncooperative throat.

This time, no doubt. Techno winced when he saw the other's eyebrows rise until they disappeared in his hair. Well, okay, maybe this kind of question wasn’t in his habit. Which his ex-enemy seemed both to know and to notice. And to worry about. Because he was getting to know him well. Okay, cool, no problem. This was fine.

"I’m good," he replied cautiously.

“And your…” Abruptly, he designed the man's arm, where he remembered having seen bloodstains while cutting him free from that damned net.

“Oh, believe me, it takes a lot more to worry me!” Techno nodded stiffly. “But what about you? Is everything alright?”

And he didn't have any business, sounding like that. His tone careful, and concerned. For him, not of him. Techno forced himself to make eye contact, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m fine. I wanted to apologize.”

Phil cocked his head to the side, birdlike. In other circumstances, Techno would have laughed at his expression.

“For the net. I am sorry. I, I brought bandages...” Now that he had started, the words rushed out of his mouth, eager as he was for this to be over.

“I know it's not enough, but-“

“Mate...”

Techno froze, staring at the black talons, resting on his arm, deadly in their sharpness but feather-soft. Philza rolled up his sleeve, revealing neatly wrapped up, clean white bandages.

“Oh…”

Techno felt his confidence falter at the sight. The bandage idea had been easy, since experience had long since taught him to always keep a few in reserve, hidden in his house. He could easily do without, especially now that the urge to participate in any fight had left him for good. He’d just have to work on avoiding Schlatt's ire until he could get his hands on new ones. What Philza would ask him in retribution, now that this was out of the question, on the other hand...

“Oh, okay. So, what can I, uhm, can I do?”

“… Mate, what are you on about?”

“To make amends?”

Philza frowned, looking at Techno as if he spoke a dialect just different enough from his language that he could hardly understand. Was he really going to make him say it? In a hurry to get this over with (as soon as he knew what he had to do, he could begin to stage a plan, instead of worrying aimlessly) he continued, voice clear and well-articulated, just like adults liked: “I did something wrong, and I have to redeem myself. What do you want me to do, Philza?”

“Well, first of all, I’d like you to take a deep breath.”

Techno closed his mouth, dumbfounded. He dared not add anything, just nodding and breathing. A small chirp left Philza when it came out shaky. Despite the sad-sounding noise, his words were filled with determination.

“Also, please call me Phil. And finally, apologies accepted.”

“Wha- what?”

“I don't blame you, okay?”

“But I…”

“It was fair game. I don't regret the attack, or the damage we did to Manberg, but I also don't feel like you had much to do with the kidnapping of that Enderian. Or like you had anything to gain from it.”

Techno nodded in silence, still firmly in shock territory.

"Besides," Philza continued, frowning thoughtfully, "I've thought about it, and I don't remember ever seeing you in Manberg. Are you new to the area?”

Techno stiffened, a hand instinctively rising to his helmet. “No,” he replied sharply.

Much to his relief, Phil didn't take offense, nor did he keep pushing. But that didn't seem to reassure him either. His wing on Techno's side rose, as if going to wrap around his shoulders, but the teenager spontaneously tensed, and it lowered back. He mercilessly crushed the disappointment trying to rise in his guts.

“Anyway, I'll tell the others to leave you be next time around, don't worry. Though taking shelter might be your best option.”

Techno jumped slightly, surprised by this proposal. Sure, the idea of the peaceful-looking hybrid trying to kill him the next time Manberg got caught between wood and bark of a rescue did not make much sense. But to be placed under special protection... Techno was not used to indulgence.

“I’ll… be sure to do that. Thank you, Philza.”

“Don't abuse our trust. And it's Phil, mate, remember?”

And the wind kept hitting the edge of the cliff in whistling howls, swirling the trees and chasing the clouds, but Techno suddenly couldn't sit there anymore. It was just too much.

Too much understanding in this look, too much sympathy. Techno had always hated pity, but now seeing so much kindness directed at him seemed wrong. He didn't deserve it. He didn’t deserve Philza’a attention.

He stood up, stammering a half-formed excuse while inwardly cursing his utter lack of tact (yes, he could multitask), when Phiiilzaaaaa- when Phil nodded.

“Probably a good call. I imagine by this hour your parents must be starting to worry.”

Oh.

Uh...

“Yeeeeeeeaaah,” Techno drawled out, forming the least convincing syllable in the history of articulate language.

"It is true that these woods can be dangerous," Phil continued, idly knocking his heels on the cliff.

“Not for me,” Techno couldn’t help but mutter.

“Oh, that's exactly what my youngest wou- what my younger friends would have said,” Phil laughed. “Come on, good evening, Tech.”

Peaceful silence reigned over the forest that night, as Techno walked towards Manberg, but not in his head.

Chapter Text

Phil had to admit, Techno’s forest was nice.

He was and probably would always be partial to Origin’s own, to the shadowy dark oaks and the skeletal birch, branches reaching for him as he flew by, but this one definitely checked his most important criteria.

Untouched by Human’s hands.

In nearly a week, Techno was the only person he had seen here. Which shouldn’t have come as a shock: those woods sure knew how to appear dark, impenetrable, and inhospitable.

A feat that the kid didn’t even seem to notice. Phil’s first thought, back then on the crash site, had been that he must be quite determined to kill him, to brave the sentient forest so far. His surprise had climbed even higher when the Human let him go.

Observing him for afar had answered a few of his questions. The teenager didn’t seem to be conscious of the magical attributes that the very essence of the place held, nor the way it welcomed him.

A few human-made pathways meandered near the village, but the young man used hummingdeer’s paths to navigate the sea of foliage. He didn’t try to shape the wilderness in a form that would fit him better, and never took more than he needed.

When he was holding himself very still, not quite asleep but close, dancing on the knife’s edge of not-consciousness and more-consciousness, Phil could feel the way the forest crooned at the young Human, welcoming him as of one of its own creatures.

The woods treated their creatures fairly. Unfortunately, the Humans didn’t appear to have learned that specific lesson yet.

When his gaze had first fell on Techno, Phil’s immediate thought had been “I’m going to be killed by this kid?”

The sword dangling before him had been sharp and in good condition, but its bearer was another story. Serious eyes and an almost on-point stance couldn’t hide his sunken cheeks, thin limbs, hands dried by the lasting cold and clothes that had seen better days.

Even worse perhaps, he was alone.

Phil couldn’t think of anyone on Origins he’d ever allow to go on a mission as dangerous and uncertain as this one alone. What were the other Humans thinking…

After sparing him, Phil had stuck around the forest for a bit. That type of ear-twitching curiosity was a trait more Avian than Elytrian, but after looking after Tommy for that long, Phil could indulge in some himself. (You know what was an Elytrian trait? Flock instinct, that’s what.)

It wasn’t for nothing. The Human did come back, and this time, Phil’s sight no longer clouded by fear and pain, the state he was in appeared much clearer.

Did Humans treat all their chicks this poorly, or was this one an exception?

The forest soothed and cradled him as best it could, pushing berries and nuts towards him, but the boy was distracted. Pensive.

And when Phil ended up running into him again while hunting, well. Ignoring him would’ve been rude, wouldn’t it?

Neither of them said much. The kid didn’t come off as the talkative type (not as much as Wilbur or Tommy, that was certain). Smart, though, Phil could almost see the gears turning behind his weird little helmet as he examined his words. That was another thing: if the teenager had any control over his facial expression, he sure wasn’t using it. His cringe when learning Phil’s name had been priceless.

Their conversation had been short. But when Scott and Wilbur had come that night, ready to accompany him back home (and more than a little worried, though he was quick to reassure them), it was enough for him to decide to stay. Just a few more days.

With all the rescued Hybrids that had circled through Origins in their years as a safe haven, Phil knew an unfortunate bit about malnutrition. But he was disappointed all the same when Technoblade (Phil didn’t know Humans still gave old names like this one) kept looking just as thin, even after his gift.

But he’d be lying if he said it was the only reason why he tried to push Techno to accept his friendship. Going as far as drawing it on the ground when he’d realized the boy talked in action better than in words.

His hand had been clammy but firm in Phil’s.

And he’d thought he was getting better after that, less on guard, smile short but coming easier, revealing bits and pieces about him. Until the apologizes.

He was still horrified by the heart-shattering fear he had displayed, like Philza might ask of him, what exactly? What had people asked of him before, to make him that fucking scared?

(Also, who were they and where did they live?)

But he still did it. He walked up to Phil, throat bared subconsciously and figuratively, and offered reparation, because their friendship was apparently that important to him. And after he went, stumbling on his words when sneakily asked if his parents might worry about him, Phil was left to wonder: did he even have anyone?

His instincts had been chirping aggressively for days already, vouching for the kid who thought he wanted to fight, but was after something else altogether. Demanding for Phil to bring him somewhere safe, and warm. To let the blisters on his hands heal and the guard around him lower.

Truth to be told, Phil was getting close to indulging them.

***

So, it was possible that Techno may have made a slight miscalculation.

The inhabitants of Manberg usually did not mind that he disappeared in the forest for several hours a day. No one really cared about his safety, and as long as he was doing his share of the work, he could hang out wherever he wanted. One of the many benefits of not having parents, or guardians, or just people that cared about him.

The keyphrase here being “as long as he was doing his share of the work.”

For the first few days after the attack, nothing out of the ordinary awaited him on his return to the village, aside from a few mocking comments asking, “what he had caught this time.” He easily brushed them off.

But as the days passed, his caution wore off.

You see, despite the open disdain of the residents of Manberg, despite the loneliness that stuck close to his skin, Techno had never completely given up hope. The hope that one day, he would get to show his worth, to prove once and for all that he was, in all ways that mattered, Human.

And what better way for that than to kill one of the Monsters?

Techno did, in fact, possess some shreds of survival instinct, despite what George might think. Only, unlike the other teen, he had a reason for wanting to face the nightly monsters. A goal, a hope.

That hope was dead. He had killed it and spared Crowfather in a single gesture.

This probably partly explained how easily he got attached to his ex-enemy. He had been forced to come to terms with never being accepted by Humans, and Phil had caught him adrift.

And then, he had seen himself get treated as an equal for the first time in his life.

In the end, it shouldn’t have come to a surprise, when he started distancing himself from the citizens of Manberg. Only one problem remained: his workload had not lessened with his desire for acceptance.

He breached the edge of the woods, returning home after offering his apologizes (trying to offer, anyway) to Phil, bandages intact in his bag, still a little stunned by how it had gone, and only realized that the evening had landed its fall when the illuminated windows of the houses reflected in his eyes.

"Oops," he muttered, approaching reluctantly.

And he did indeed get yelled at that night, but not just for being late to the daily ‘let’s lock the freak up’ event.

"The reconstruction of the village is a common affair," Schlatt's second lectured him. “Just because your house has been fixed as a priority doesn't mean that-“

Techno had already made a mistake.

He really should have shut up.

"Nobody even bothered to cover the huge hole in my wall for a good week," he recalled, his voice drawling despite the nervousness that drummed in his ears. “And you know as well as I do that it was only fixed to keep me from going out, because for some obscure reason you still insist on lock-“

A resounding slap echoed in the night air, and Techno brought a hand to his cheek before any pain registered.

Unlike the town’s mayor, this woman was not lacking in strength, and Techno had stumbled a few steps back. He gritted his teeth, brushing away reflex tears and stinging skin alike.

“You shut up, and you stay very quiet tonight, half-blood. I don't want to see you get any close to leaving the village tomorrow.”

And she stayed true to her word. The next day, Techno decided to keep a low profile, just until his misstep was forgotten and he could go back.

"Hey, look who decided to show up," Sapnap drawled when he came to give them a hand, from where he was perched on the roof.

But a twinkle in his eyes belied any real bite. Techno set to work, with a thought for what he would have become without these three fools.

Two days passed. Being able to reunite with Phil was pretty much the only thing keeping him going, but no matter what he did, it was never enough. Schlatt kept saying he could go "have fun rolling around in the grass” when he'd be done with “his share of the work," but nothing Techno did contented him. Dream and the others’ worry grew each time that they would come back from their breaks to see him still at work, but there was little they could do about it.

Two more days passed. Techno realized they wouldn't let him go back.

At least not for a long time. Distracted as he had been by the strange-wonderful-frightful meetings, it had slipped his mind that he had yet to be punished for his escapade on their most recent night of fighting. And everything seemed to indicate that they had finally managed to hit him where it hurt.

He had never realized how much his daily walks helped him get through it. Brought peace to his head and calm to his lungs. Caught in the village as he was, his status as an outcast was constantly thrown in his face. Of course, Dream, Sapnap, and George tolerated him, going so far as to joke with him at times, but in public they were careful not to be overly friendly. A part of him wished he had the strength to resent them for it.

But it's not as if he could afford to turn his back on the only three people who weren't showing him outright hostility.

Three days passed. Fatigue weighed down his limbs, a normal consequence of the hard work of rebuilding, and the technically-enough portions he was provided. But even worse was the gray veil that seemed to have descended on him.

He spoke little, rarely smiled. Each gesture concealed an effort. He knew he needed all the food he could get his hands on, with the way he’d been working. But everything took on a taste of ash between his lips, and he often couldn't bring himself to swallow more than a few bites.

He wasn't sad, strictly speaking. The bags under his eyes remained dry, even when he thought he deserved to cry over his plight. Just… empty.

There were still a few advantages to this torpor. The visits Schlatt paid him several times a day left him almost indifferent.

Of course, he did "wake up" from time to time. Occasionally, he was seized with anger. He even caught himself on occasion smiling at the ridiculous things the Dream Team said and did, most of the time not even on purpose.

One evening as he was waiting for sleep to come get him, a week after he had last seen Philza, or the forest, the mist parted as it did at times.

This once, he would have preferred it to stay.

Phil's wings must have been almost healed by now. He might be surprised when the strange boy from Manberg didn't come back to see him. Perhaps he would believe it was his fault, that some of his words had repelled him. (Techno considered everything he heard in a day. He didn't think Phil had words in him that would drive him away). Maybe he would assume he had only meant to stay until his apologies had been accepted.

Eventually, he would give up.

He was probably already back to Origins. To the fantastic island, with its high-perched inn / building, cliffs, and all the creatures... All the Hybrids that inhabited it. With the young Enderian who had been rescued from their prison by the small team and brought back to his kind, safe and warm.

Techno rolled over in his bed, a lump in his throat.

He knew that thinking about all of this only made him sadder, so why couldn't he change the course of his thoughts? He had suffered from insomnia for as long as he could remember, and as a child, he used to go for a walk under the moonlight when sleep couldn't find him.

That was of course no longer an option.

Obviously, Phil deserved to go back to Origins. Who did Techno think he was, wishing for him to stay, hidden in the woods in hostile territory, injured? Just because he had been merciful (or stupid) enough to forgive Techno did not absolve the young man of all faults. He should have been glad the adult had found his way home, instead of selfishly moping at the idea of losing his company. He probably didn't even want to spend time with Techno, simply too nice to admit it. He looked like the kind. The cheek he'd been slapped on during the day burned where it rubbed against the rough material of his pillowcase, but he made no move to stop.

Maybe Techno really was a bad person.

But he was a bad person who had just given up on the hope of ever being accepted by humans, and who would probably never be able to talk to a Hybrid again, if the latch on his door worked as well as it looked. So he allowed himself to feel a little sad.

***

He must have managed to fall asleep eventually, because the light woke him up the next morning. Lying still, he noticed that the grey mist had enveloped him back. Although it was an improvement from his condition the night before, he couldn't make himself be happy about it. Or to feel much of anything, really.

The ray of light slipping under his too short curtains moved slowly around the room. Techno knew he had to get up, go back to the house they had started fixing the day before. He’d had to get on with it soon if he wanted to have worked hard enough to be able to eat before noon.

The warmth of the sun crept in through the windows, chasing away the cold and dampness that had pierced his blankets part of the night, making them uncomfortably warm. He should have stood up. Or at least, move aside a section of the bedding.

He didn't.

Techno couldn't manage to muster even half enough motivation to start his day, and eventually closed back his eyes. What was the point?

He didn't move when the heat got stifling, nor when the door to his little house slammed open.

“What are you still doing here?” Minx muttered, the sound of her boots on the hardwood floor creeping closer. “Now’s not the time to be sick, you little...”

Techno straightened up with a sigh. Normally he hated being seen without his helmet on, let alone in such a vulnerable position, but that morning he couldn't find the energy to care.

"You're late," Minx commented, as if that wasn't abundantly clear.

Something pained passed in her face when she met Techno's glassy eyes. She hesitated, then winced. Then she went.

The door closed, clicking softly behind her. Techno sighed into the still air.

The visit had at least given him the motivation to get up and start his morning routine. He didn't want to imagine what would happen when that wasn't the case anymore.

Schlatt would find something. He never lacked imagination.

His footsteps led him to a house under construction without him needing to think about it, and he didn't realize he had reached his destination until Dream's voice rose from behind the building.

“... about Technoblade. I think he's depressed.”

“Man, anyone with eyes can tell he's depressed.”

“No, I mean depressive. Like, clinically depressed.”

“Oh…”

“Mom had a list of symptoms in her things, and I don't want to… I mean, I can't answer for him, obviously, but I feel like he's ticking more than enough boxes right now.”

“Your ma should be passing by here in not too long, right?” Sapnap asked hopefully.

At the head of a half merchant, half explorer ship, and with artillery capable of deterring a small country’s navy, Captain Puffy was a legend among the children of Manberg, and one of the few adults Techno respected. The fear of the illusion shattering if it turned out she acted just like everyone else had always prevented him from meeting too closely when she passed through the village. Though Dream often told him that she met “all kinds on her travels,” and always saw people before their race.

Apparently, she also knew a lot about mental health. Seemed like qualities hadn’t been properly distributed among the adults.

But that didn't matter. Techno didn't need to see Dream shake his head to get the answer into his voice.

“She's always near the Hermits at this time of the year… And anyway, Beau said the sea has been oddly rough for about a week, she's never seen anything like that.”

“Okay,” said George. “No Puffy, just us. So, what do we do?”

The surprise made Techno blink, before a tiny smile curled his lips. His expectations were frankly low, but at least they were showing good intentions.

“Spend more time with him, I guess? Do you think they’d let us invite him over to George's?”

“Hey, why-“

"That's good, but it doesn't solve much," Sapnap interrupted them. “The first step would be to find out why he’s falling into depression now. What could have caused this?”

The three friends continued their discussion without hearing the receding footsteps.

Techno wasn't sure what to do with the idea of someone actually caring for him. Or with the idea they had...

Techno couldn't be depressed, could he? He was not doing well, strictly speaking, but...

He slipped between the houses, avoiding passers-by as he would have skirted around pumas in the forest, fingers crossed that the crow that croaked as he walked by wouldn't alert anyone. He was already running late, a few more minutes wouldn't make his troubles much worse. He jogged up to the cliff above their small harbor, then began to descend the narrow path that had been declared ‘too perilous’ to be taken a few months earlier. Close to the village, this was the only place where no one would come looking for him, hidden from the houses by the stone ledge, though not from the harbor below.

It didn't replace his forest, but it remained a safe place, between ocean and stone, where he could reflect. Only, his day had one more surprise up its sleeve...

“Oh! Good morning!”

Techno froze, his eyes fixed on the person sitting on the edge of the void.

Chapter Text

In his worst moments, Techno had wondered if letting the world go on without him would really be such a bad thing.

The cheerful voice at the void’s side made him jump. A bit too literally. His foot slipped minutely over the edge of the narrow, wobbly path, sending a few pebbles rolling far, far below.

Techno had never been able to formulate an answer to that grim question. But his instinct did not hesitate.

One of his hands outstretched, and before he could truly understand what could’ve happened, he found himself gripping the stone wall in an iron fist. A slow exhale passed his chapped lips.

“Woah, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. It's a little dangerous here, isn't it?”

The lady (or maybe the girl? He couldn't have guessed her age within ten years) sitting on the cliff’s edge gave him a genuinely sorry look. In his surprise, Techno forgot to answer.

The heart-shaped face, round cheeks and snub nose turned towards him showed an honesty most would have confounded with naivety. A long skirt, sewn in strips of several dozen different fabrics, with intertwining embroidery and pearls, covered the entire length of her legs, right down to the tips of her toes, dangling in the air. Techno was shaking at the mere thought of climbing the cliff in that kind of clothes. Women truly were something else. Also, she had pink hair. It looked so pretty that Techno considered dyeing his own.

"Yes, but it's quiet, usually," he finally replied, without thinking about it.

He blushed as he realized how rude his remark might come off. Fortunately, the lady only laughed softly, brushing back a thin braid the wind had displaced.

“Oh, I assume. It’s nice to know that some of you are still able to appreciate the calm of the sea.”

Techno cautiously took a seat (still shaken by his almost-misstep), wondering briefly what the lady could mean by "some of you." It was only when his eyes fell on the few ships anchored in their little bay that he understood.

He had never seen this woman before, so she had to be a passing traveler, probably a crew member of one of the trading vessels. ‘You’ had to refer to terrestrials of their kind.

Satisfied that he could use his deductive abilities to avoid having to, you know, actually ask the question (imagine that), he answered truthfully:

“Normally I prefer the forest, but you’re right, it is a welcomed calm.”

… Normally. Techno considered standing back up, looking for a place where he could truly be alone. But it had been too long since he’d been with someone who didn’t know what he was. He couldn't resist the idea of a normal conversation.

"I've heard the seas have been rough the last few days," he said.

That's how people made small talk, right?

The woman smiled. Even seated, he could tell her small size, but she exuded a peculiar confidence.

“Oh, it has, but that's not going to stop us. And either way, I get help from my little friend. They’re sensitive to climate.”

At these words, a tiny, aqua-blue octopus came out of a pocket in her skirt, and Techno simultaneously understood: a) why women complained about a lack of pockets and b) that at this rate, this mysterious person would quickly become the third adult he respected.

“That’s so cool!” he blurted out.

The octopus straightened up pridefully, snapped their beak and turned purple.

“Aww, thank you! But what about you? How are you doing?”

Techno's smile froze. Right. When normal, worthy-of-respect people conversed together, they inquired that kind of question.

“Good,” he coughed.

And he may have been able to avert his eyes from his interlocutor's frown, but he couldn't help hearing the concern in her voice when she replied. “Are you sure? Don't take it the wrong way, but you look tired, kiddo… And you have something on your cheek.”

His hand was itching to cover the mark (thankfully too old to still be shaped like fingers), but he restrained himself. Desperately seeking a credible excuse despite his empty head, he found himself confessing: “I... I haven't been following the rules well lately, and the... adults in the village resent me a little. It's just a little- I mean, it's not that bad, it's just stressful. That's all.”

Fail failure failure she looks even more worried...

“Kiddo, do you need help?” she asked seriously.

“No!” he exclaimed, too quickly.

If she spoke of him to anyone in Manburg, they’d tell her the truth. And this would be over. It shouldn't have moved him – he was used to it, for Prime’s sake – but in his current state, the thought of such a cool and nice adult looking at him with contempt and disgust made him want to throw up.

Or maybe to die, just a little.

"Kiddo," she said, her already soft voice growing even more delicate, as if talking to a startled kitten. “If there are people in your home who are... doing bad things, you should tell an adult that you trust.”

But there's no one, a little voice lamented somewhere far back in Techno’s mind, a small whisper that he thought silenced years ago, at the age when he couldn't let himself be weak anymore.

He stood up so quickly that he almost toppled over into the void. Perhaps the elders had not exaggerated the danger of this path, after all. Although at this point, Techno could see more than one type of danger.

Look at yourself, he thought bitterly. Lying to strangers, good people. Pretending to be something that you’re not, for your own selfish wants. Desperate to hear a friendly voice. Pathetic.

“I have to go,” he mumbled, but the sound of his words got lost in Niki's, even though she didn't move out of her place, in the rushing of the waves, and in-

“Hey, Mate!”

Gasping in shock, Techno turned around. Phil was standing at the edge of the cliff, on the forest side, smiling, and the teenager was almost frightened by the force of the relief in his chest.

Short-termed relief.

Phil stood before him, majestic and utterly foolish, his amazing wings sparkling in the sun, and the stranger was sitting right there.

In a panic, he tried to intervene, but slipped on the grass and the young woman caught him with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Niki!” a jovial voice exclaimed.

HEH?

But if Phil- It meant…?

“Hello Phil!” she (Niki?) greeted, delighted. “Do you know my new friend?”

Friend???

“Of course, that’s Technoblade!”

They were- Techno's brain had finally elected to stop working. Fourteen wonderful (cough cough) years later, and it was over. Goodbye, neuronal activity.

“... some time since I saw him. Tech? Techno?”

Nobody shortens my name like that, he thought vaguely, not even Dream and the others.

He didn't realize he was wobbling a bit until Phil took him by the shoulders. But his grip wasn't restrictive or painful, and despite the sharpness of his talons, Techno didn't feel unsafe. Though the contact still burned, foreign on his skin.

“What happened to you?” Phil asked worriedly.

Unfounded concern.

“Nothing?” he forced himself to say. “I'm fine, we've just been very busy, you know, the rebuilding...”

He paused, unsure if Phil was even listening to him. Instead, the Elytrian's eyes were busy tracing the blisters and untreated cuts on his hands, his greasy, messy hair, the dark circles under his eyes and the way they stood out from his pale skin. A worried sound escaped his mouth, more bird than human.

Techno bowed his head in embarrassment, but it would have taken a lot more to make him pull him away from Phil’s touch.

“He said that his parents are-“

Lies, lies, liar

“I don’t have parents,” he blurted out.

The sea breeze blew over the silence that followed his confession. A complex expression crossed Phil's face, who exchanged a charged look with Niki. Of course, no one could possibly have interpreted this without having some context. But Techno could have sworn there was a tiny trace of positive emotion behind it? Oddly enough, the feathers on his wings had ruffled and fluffed.

“Niki, you've already been extremely patient with me,” Phil started.

“Take all your time,” she replied graciously. “I know how important this kind of thing is to you.”

Techno expressed the verbal equivalent of the ‘???’ emotion, but neither of the other two paid him any mind. Phil smiled, the feathers behind his ears straightening happily.

“You're the best.”

“I know.”

With a last wink, and a wave in Techno’s direction (imitated by the now-blue little octopus), the young woman...

The young lady…?

… Unrolled the piece of fabric that Techno had taken for a skirt… And let herself fall gracefully off the edge.

Eyes so wide they almost popped out of their sockets, the most’human leaned down as far as he dared and managed to glimpse the shimmering glow of aqua, mauve and pink scales disappear between two waves, barely lifting a splash.

“She’s…”

“Yep,” Phil confirmed, without elaborating.

With his hand still resting on Techno's shoulder, he gently pulled him towards the path. Despite the softness of the pressure, far from being strong enough to force him forward, Techno obediently followed the Elytrian. He would’ve followed him anywhere.

“I find us a little too exposed here, would you mind going into the forest? I’d like to discuss a few things with you.”

Techno's heart spasmed into his throat. With adults, "discussing" never meant good news.

Naturally, he nodded anyway.

In a well-practiced gesture, Phil swung a long gray cape over his wings, covering them, and pulled an oddly shaped hat, striped white and green, over the feathers on his head. (Techno didn't believe he'd ever seen a more ridiculous hat.) Seeing him do this, Techno remembered they would have to walk around a few of Manberg’s houses to reach the tree canopy, and grimaced.

"I'm not exactly allowed in the forest right now," he admitted. “That's why I... Otherwise, I would have come back.” He was afraid Phil would doubt him, or show annoyance, but only worry could be seen on his face (that and the dumb hat).

“Oh, why is that?” Phil wondered.

“Uh, we're very busy...”

(He really needed to find at least one other excuse.)

As they reached the top of the cliff, and when the houses reappeared, Techno hunched his head.

"Don't worry," Phil whispered.

"I'm less worried about myself," he replied, “and more about a fool in a dumb hat.”

Phil laughed at his jab.

“I don't see what could go wrong,” he said.

And of course, of course, that was the moment they turned around a corner, only to come face to face with Schlatt and a bunch of villagers ready for battle.

"Hello," the mayor said calmly, as if they were surrounded by guests in an inn, and not armed warriors.

“Hi, mate!” Phil replied, almost happily. “I don't believe we've met before?”

Electrified by adrenaline, Techne raised an arm in front of his friend, despite the marked - and stupid - absence of concern the friend in question was showing. Speaking of worried and stupid, Sapnap stood in a corner, hopping in nervous energy, gaze bouncing between Schlatt and them. Beside him, one of the fishermen widened his eyes in their direction, much less repentant.

“I saw them on the cliff, from over at the dock!” he cried. “It's Crowfather!”

“Everybody calm down,” Techno pleaded, as if sweat wasn't running down his neck.

Some part of him, the one that was tightening his muscles and adopting a fighting stance, noticed that he could have pulled away. Stepped aside. Common sense, along with Sapnap's frantic gestures, begged him to dissociate himself from Phil, physically and metaphorically, as quickly as possible. To take the fisherman's cry as an opportunity to step back, mustering a horrified surprise, and separate from the Monster before he was killed with him.

But he was the only thing standing in front of the Elytrian, and despite being a weak defense in the face of armed Humans, he would not budge.

"Someone is revealing their true face, I see," Schlatt drawled dramatically.

Techno raised his hands in a calming gesture, internally cursing himself for not bringing any weapons or even tools with him, not that it would have done much in the face of these-

Two shadows rose on either side of the teen. He could’ve almost thought them the shades of his own arms, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the armed crossbows pointed both behind him and at him. Phil was strangely silent for someone about to be shot with arrows.

Warm pressure around his waist. He looked down stupidly, only for his gaze to fall on Phil's black claws. But instead of threatening him with their points, he encircled him.

Is that what a hug felt like?

Then the world jolted out of its axis, and Techno's preoccupations reorganized. Much like his organs.

The air whistled through his ears, faster and stronger than the most powerful wind of the open sea. He cried out, arms closing in a vice grip over Phil's, the only barrier between him and a vertiginous fall.

Because they had taken off.

Between the locks dancing in front of his face and the tears the wind had drawn from his eyes, Techno could hardly see, but he did not fail to hear the characteristic hiss of arrows and bolts around them.

“Phil!” he yelled, his voice choked.

And they danced, to the rhythm of mighty black wings.

Techno watched the ground rush under his hands as they circled again to avoid a flight of arrows, Phil's movements elegant and precise.

The panic subsided, replaced by an exhilarating fear.

Techno wiggled around in his friend's secure grip, until he managed to cling to his chest properly. Another net shot in their direction, and he hid his nose into Phil's neck.

Eventually, the space between arrows grew wider, the nets fell further and further below, the many turns became a long climb, and Technoblade's heart rate dropped to levels compatible with human life.

“YES!” Phil yelled, before bursting into ecstatic laughter.

“You. Are. Absolutely crazy,” Techno hissed.

But he found an irrepressible smile at the corner of his lips as he snuggled into Phil’s embrace.

The unlikely duo landed gently on top of their cliff.

Chapter Text

The forest had never felt so peaceful than in contrast with the swirling escape they had just gone through.

Without Phil's support, and in the backwash of adrenaline, Techno staggered, legs limp, and fell to his knees on the edge of the cliff.

Phil sat cross-legged beside him on the grass, much more gracefully (despite his old age). Though to be fair, for him, doing flips mid-air under a deluge of arrows must be something of a regular occurrence.

“You all right, mate?" he worried. “You're not hurt?”

“You're so weird," Techno sighed, shaking his head gently.

Nevertheless, he let his companion inspect him for potential wounds. To be honest, the memory of the kind contact he had just received prompted him to get as close to the Elytrian as he would allow, even if he didn’t particularly care for injuries.

Blowing a lock of brown hair that had fallen before his eyes, he asked: “So, doc, am I gonna make it?”

“I don't know, what do you think?”

“Well, I'm not hurt," Techno said.

“But that doesn't mean you're okay.”

The human looked up, surprised at the seriousness Phil was showing. A gentler seriousness than he was used to, worried and delicate, but no less determined. He let one of his hands be taken in careful fingers.

He followed the crow-born’s gaze to the calluses, scratches, and blisters on his dirty palm. He didn't know how long he could have continued to work at that pace before exhaustion got the better of him.

At least that wasn't a problem anymore.

“Phil, what am I gonna do?”

The tone of his voice, small and whining, was almost childlike. Would have sounded childish if not for the emptiness hidden in it. But for once (just this time), he didn't try to pull himself together. There was something in Philza's attitude, something gentle, that told him he wouldn't mind.

“You can't go back there," he said softly.

But without regret. On some level, Techno knew that he should have congratulated himself. That anything would be preferable to the insults and the stares, the isolation and the cold, gray fog that had taken him.

But a part of him whispered, with the bitter taste of reason, that he had no one else, nowhere else.

“And you?" he forced himself to ask. “Your wings must be almost healed by now.” Anything to not think about his situation.

“My wings?" Phil repeated, caught off guard. “Yeah, it's been a while.”

In the face of the teenager’s obvious surprise, he added, with the hint of a smile: “I just had a reason to stay.”

Techno, trying to ignore the visceral instinct reminding him how much he didn't deserve any of this, mockingly asked: “What? A fool? A Human?”

“Except you're none of those things, aren’t you?”

Did he-

Techno's gasp betrayed him more surely than any confession. Too late, far too late, he reached for his helmet.

For where his helmet had been.

It had always been a size too big. No wonder such an aerial ballet had been enough to dislodge it. None of that eased the panic. His ears, his very pointed and very pink ears, pined back as a whine fought his way out of his throat.

“Breathe, Techno, Tech. It's okay, don't worry.”

A clawed hand drew small circles on his shoulder. Techno focused on the touch. He was getting so much today; he was almost dizzy with it.

“I waited for Techno, my Human friend. But you must know that I don't care what you are, right? You're a good person.”

After a few more breaths, Techno felt his heart calm down. This was definitely a day for surprises. Selfishly, he took the opportunity to scoot just a little closer to Phil. The hand on his shoulder sent warmth to the core of his being, and he couldn't help but want to curl up against his rescuer. Chase every point of contact between them, every ounce of warmth. He wanted Phil to look at him and smile.

He held back.

“A ‘good person’ who can't show his face anywhere in the region anymore,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

And this was already shaping up to be a terrible, no-good day, but at the same time, being able to confidein someone was an incredible feeling. Being allowed to talk to another person about his problems, instead of turning them over and over in the silence of his room. The trees were very cool, but they didn't offer much in the way of meaningful feedback.

And it went beyond that. Not being left alone with his trouble. What had survived of the child in him whispered that he didn't have to worry, that Phil was an adult, that he would take care of everything. Even if nothing worked like that in real life, it still soothed his mind.

“I can arrange a ride for you," Phil said, "to a place where it won't matter. Somewhere you can be safe. What do you say?”

Maybe there was hope on his gaze, maybe he was imagining it.

“That it sounds too good to be true,” he grumbled. “Where's the catch?”

Although visibly amused by his distrust, there was a shadow of true concern in the Elytrian's voice when he answered: “It’ll take at least a day. The timing is bad...”

… He was being serious?!

“I can get through a day in the forest," Techno said hurriedly, before Phil had time to change his mind. Prime, he was going to owe him so much after this. He started again, more confidently: “I practically grew up here. And it's still better than the alternative.”

One thing he wouldn't regret about Manberg, was not having to live in constant fear of being discovered.

“It's a deal," Phil concluded excitedly. “See you here, tomorrow at noon.”

***

Techno got carried away.

By the excitement of change, by the relief of having help, of not being alone.

Well, he was alone physically. But he wasn’t alone with his problems, and it meant the world.

The hours passed slowly, especially when he was so excited, and he worked on saying his goodbyes to the forest. He regretted not being able to do the same with George, Sapnap and Dream, but knowing he hadn't been caught would have to be enough for them. As for him, visiting his favorite corners of the forest one last time would serve as farewells. The end of a chapter.

The sun had just slipped behind the trees, too low to be reflected by the water of the lake. And less reflection meant more chance of the walleyes coming up, and more chance of Techno spotting them.

And nailing them.

He was sharpening an improvised trident from the underbrush, taking advantage of the vigilance of a herd of hummingdeers to let his guard down.

He tried to imagine the kind of place Phil could send him to. It would have to be far, far away from the Hybrid hunters. Which made the chances of ever seeing Phil again quite slim, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And anyway, he had always loved hearing the stories that Captain Puffy, Dream's mother, brought back from her travels. But despite him having been dreaming of escaping for years now, he struggled to imagine a place different from the one he had always lived in. The sand dunes and high mountains did not- Techno screamed in pain as an arrow tore into his thigh.

Dropping to the ground after a second of blind panic, he narrowly avoided a second projectile.

“You're lucky they want you alive," came Punz’s voice, as even as always.

Of course, thought Techno bitterly, despite the adrenaline beating in him like a second heart. Of fucking course, having been chased and almost killed wasn't enough, they had to send the Hunter after him.

Precise despite his shaking hands, he snapped the shaft of the arrow, but left the point inside. It would lessen the bleeding, and anyway, not even the imminent threat of Punz's footsteps in the valley would have sufficed to give him the courage to tear it out by himself. Glancing over the foliage, he forced through the pain to get his legs under him, inhaled, once, twice. Then bolted.

Despite Punz's impeccable reputation, Techno could have escaped him. And that wasn't just bragging.

The Hunter ran relentlessly, sticking to Techno’s trail like a bad cough. He already knew that the sound of his footsteps against the forest floor would haunt his nightmares – if he survived that long. Even worse was the silence. At that signal, Techno would throw himself to the ground, duck behind a tree, or try to run in a zigzag pattern before the arrows inevitably flew.

Which still meant that Techno could hear his footstep. For a hunter, he was frankly average at handling the field. The mercenary trampled on just about every twig in his path, skidded in the gravel, and stumbled in depressions in the ground. Without a doubt, knowledge of the terrain worked in Techno's favor here, and on no less than four separate occasions he managed to get his pursuer to walk through hawthorn bushes, with their two-inch-long thorns, and surprised him with a nice, steep, slippery slope of mud.

It was not enough.

In the end, Punz was a trained adult, armed, in good physical condition and used to this kind of hunting. At fourteen, frankly miserable years of life, chronically underfed, with a wounded thigh, his shapeless trident left behind and glorified hide-and-seek with Dream and the others as his only training, Techno was simply no match.

The finale played out on the shore. Techno managed to parry the first blow with a piece of driftwood, and the axe’s blade bit deep enough into the wood that Punz had to abandon the weapon.

The next second, Techno felt a violent pain in his temple, then black.

***

“After all these years, I really thought they were empty threats.”

“Play the smartass all you want," said Schlatt, smugly. “After all, you don't have much else left.”

Techno did his best to appear superior and indifferent, but from the other side of the bars, it didn't look quite the same.

“I always knew you'd end up here," the mayor continued, affecting disappointment (rather badly, might we add). “We did everything we could to keep you civilized, but I guess when the rot grows deep enough, there's not much to do...”

“There's no one here to manipulate," the teenager growled.

“Are you sure of that?" Schlatt laughed, amused and crueler than iron.

I almost killed for that man, Techno thought. He had expected to feel anger, or at least panic, but his life force was dripping out of his thigh despite the rag he was pressing there, and tiredness was putting a damper on his emotions. Unfortunately, that wasn't all. This last week, locked up under the sky, had eaten away at his soul, faster and harder than he had realized. Fatigue was weighing him down terribly.

Techno gave a venomous look but answered nothing.

With a last self-satisfied smile, the mayor left.

The most’human sat down carefully. The arrowhead still embedded in his leg, as well as the aches and pains of waking curled up against the stone floor of his cell, should have discouraged him from such acrobatics as standing, but he couldn't bring himself to look up to Schlatt. After all, at this point, he didn’t have much on his side other than their size difference.

He curled up in a ball in the corner of his cell (for no other reason than to keep warm) and tried not to overhear the conversation between the mayor and Punz.

“... not enough to... Hybrid.”

“But just en... Like a... No one will ask questions.”

“Once broken,” Punz said, “he'll make a good slave.”

But try as he might, he couldn't miss Schlatt's last remark.

“That’s been true for a while already.”

***

Techno had always hated working on the prison. The thick stone that made up its walls filled the cells with a frigid dampness that the news of spring's arrival had yet to reach (the memory of Phil’s touch only made it worse), and the harmness enchantments carved into the door frames vibrated up to his teeth. He couldn't even imagine what a mage or a Hybrid would have felt, locked in here.

So, yes, Techno had always hated working on the prison. His only consolation? If Schlatt ever went through with his threats of finding somewhere safer than his house to keep Techno in, that knowledge would serve him well.

He knew the building like the back of his hand, and that included weaknesses in the masonry. As soon as the two men walked away, he dragged himself to the bottom hinge of the door. They always put the top one on first, so this one might not fit perfectly. Which would leave a slim gap, barely enough space for his fingers. He didn’t need more.

When his first nail broke, he thought of the coyote that had found his way to a trap, last winter. Someone had poked at its bloody paw, and the hunter had simply barked out: “Caught alive.”

And as much as the idea of proving Schlatt's accusations in any way made him want to break something, Phil had said, "on the cliff’s edge at noon."

He couldn't afford to miss this rendezvous.

Hours passed. Without a window, he had no way to monitor the passage of time, but a sense of urgency never left him. It was more than proving Schlatt wrong. It was the warmth in Phil's eyes, his attentiveness when he listened to him, the way he always seemed happy to see him arrive, the feathers behind his ears perking up. Even his dumb hat.

Techno had never had anyone like that. He could hardly imagine ever finding someone else.

The cold had quietly invaded his injured leg, and the mortar burned under his fingernails. His head was growing heavier, his throat dry. He kept going.

A few more hours passed. No one came, not that he expected anyone. He didn't need anyone's pity, he was better off without mockery, and he didn't care if George, Sapnap and Dream's sympathy didn't extend this far. He’d always been fine on his own.

(So why did it hurt so much?)

Just as he was on his own, in a dark corner of the prison, when the hinge finally gave way.

Techno allowed himself a long exhale, time to rest his trembling arms on his knees, then braced his back against the wall and pushed with both feet. The door creaked and cracked, moving away from the wall just enough to leave a thin opening. A healthy person could hardly have squeezed through, but Techno didn't have time to dwell on that.

The arrowhead in his thigh scraped against the wall as he went through, drawing a groan out of his lips, but he gritted his teeth and kept pushing. He'd have time to cry later. If he let himself think about how bad he was hurting, he’d curl up and sob until they came to get him.

For now, he had to move, despite the painful protests of his legs, cramped from inaction on top of everything else. Finally on the other side, Techno pulled himself to his feet, staggered, and barely caught himself against the wall, which he could see through the stars dancing before his eyes. Not only had no one brought him food in the prison, but he hadn't had a chance to eat breakfast this (yesterday’s?) morning either. And already, his dinner the night before had not been very substantial. That explained at least part of his symptoms.

... Malnutrition, however, could not explain why he was seeing a pile of goo lying in the center of the hallway.

“Huh?" he let out.

“Huh!" repeated a cheerful voice.

... Come on, Techno was too cool for auditory hallucinations.

The pile of sludge, a rather vibrant green color, shifted back and forth, before raising and assembling into a vague humanoid shape, as if molded by an invisible, preschool-aged giant. A surprisingly crisp white t-shirt emerged, and within seconds, Techno found himself facing...

“I am Slimecicle!" the creature exclaimed, spraying droplets of mucus in all directions as it spread its arms.

“I'm... uh, in a hurry?" replied Techno when it became clear that the thing wasn't going to say anything more.

“Nice to meet you, Techno-blade-hurry! Friend of Philza!”

The mention of Phil shook Techno like a welcome shock, tearing him out of his surprise. He hated himself for the hope in his voice when he asked: “Philza?”

“No, I'm Charlie!”

“Do you know him? He- We were supposed to-“

Slime's uncertain smile face sagged in what might have been concern. “Of course, I know him! He's the one who sent me to get you!”

... Getting him?

This was NOT the time to cry, Technoblade!

And oddly enough, even though the prison remained just as dark, oppressive and cold, even if Techno was no less hurt or tired, the presence of ‘Charlie’ made the situation just a little less hopeless.

“Let's go, then,” he managed to say.

Chapter Text

Weirdly enough, despite the urgency of the situation, Slime didn't yell at Techno when he stumbled after him instead of moving with discretion and efficiency. To be honest, he looked more like a crab, heavily leaning against the wall and reaching for his bad leg. The relief of having help, even if that help came in the form of... that, caught him by the throat. He was so tired of always being on his own.

“Let me see that," Charlie said instead, focusing on his thigh. “We Viscosities are not only experts in all things secretive, but also secretions!”

The unexpected phrase drew a puzzled smile from the teenager, and he watched Slimecicle hop (or rather, bounce) to him.

And slap his hand on the wound.

The young Human gasped in surprise, his arm shooting out to push him away, without much success. Almost against his will, his eyes lowered.

Techno watched his wrist disappear into Charlie's chest, then yelped.

The Hybrid happily parroted his cry, more curious than mocking, then stepped back, his body reforming perfectly where Techno's hand had been. A bewildered look showed the teenager the thick layer of greenish, translucid fluid now covering his wound, sealing it entirely. The pain – that specific pain, at least – was even slowly subsiding.

“Thank you...?” he ventured.

But Slime, displaying an energy that had Techno dizzy just by looking at him go, had bounced forward, only stopping when he reached a gaping hole in the hallway wall. A gust of cold wind blew through it, slipping and sliding between the prison walls with a dull moan. A restless sky, whose dark clouds were shifting in silence, waited for them on the other side.

“I made it myself," he bragged, patting the edge of a stone slab, tainted green by acid burns. “D’you like it, Techno-blade?”

And social abilities ranked about as low as possible on Techno's list of skills, but even he knew what to say in the face of such childlike enthusiasm.

“It’s very nice, Slime.”

“Yay!”

... While anxiously checking the layer of mucus on his thigh.

Climbing down the equivalent of two floors, from a melted-edged cavity in a cold stone rampart, between exhaustion, bruises, and a literal leg injury, proved difficult, but not impossible. Slime, who could stick to the wall (because of course he could), nervously walked around him, repeating that "humans are very fragile, the others told me so!" and “careful there, bone boy!”

The last few meters were the easiest. Techno was adjusting his foot on a hold, fluttering his eyelids to chase the stars dancing a dizzying waltz before his eyes, when a building exploded behind them.

Then a second one.

After the first few reconstructions, the humans of Manberg had learned to build the prison some distance from the city. This gave the two escape artists an unobstructed view of the ongoing chaos.

With a silent gasp, Techno’s gaze accompanied one of the trails of fire, and his body followed suit, sending him staggering a few meters below, still standing but increasingly bruised.

At least he got to the ground fast?

“What the...?”

“I'm not sure," said Slimecicle. “My friends call it a 'diversion.'”

“Okay, but I'd like to know why now-“

“… But it feels more like they're blowing up the town, doesn't it?”

“But I thought you only ever attacked to rescue a Hybrid from...”

He gazed at the prison, then blinked several times, turning to his companion. When Charlie smiled, he didn’t look so alien anymore. He almost looked familiar.

“It's okay, Techno, don't worry. We're here to help you.”

“But I'm not..." he began in a small voice.

“We're not leaving anyone behind," he promised.

Despite his initial (apparent) goofiness, there was no room for hesitation in Slime's eyes. Techno decided that figuring that particular knot of thoughts could wait for later. Preferably after eating something.

Another explosion echoed. Far away, over the ocean, rain painted gray streaks in the stormy sky, and even though the turmoil was still distant, the strong wind that lashed at the blades of grass was pushing it toward them. Storm and fire wouldn’t keep apart for much longer.

“Okay. Fuck, okay. Where are we going?" he asked, relieved to see the oppressive anxiety of the prison slowly turn into a nervous excitement more appropriate for combat, even though the best of his form was far behind, on the forest floor somewhere.

“The cliff!" Slime replied, as the grass beneath his feet (‘feet’) yellowed and withered. “We're escaping by the sea!”

“Of course.”

“C’mon, no time to goop around!”

The way to the coast was clear (“You might even say the coast was clear,” giggled Slime), at least for now. But considering the snail's pace at which Techno's leg restricted them, he shouldn't have been too surprised when someone managed to get in the way.

He was, however, surprised by the identity of that someone.

“No, for the last time I'm not going to wait for the-“

They met at the corner of the prison’s outer wall. A young man, almost entirely Human, whose capacity for surprise was dangerously close to saturation point, a sentient pile of plasmodium, and...

A crude smile, drawn in charcoal on an oval of white porcelain.

“Dream!?”

“Techno?! What?! You- how-“

“I told you your disguise was ridiculous," came George's satisfied voice, from somewhere behind his friend. “Tech, tell him his dis-“

“My disguise is impeccable, you’ll know! Techno, how did you recognize me?”

“Uh...”

“It doesn't fucking matter!” And suddenly, Sapnap was there as well. “Because he's already outside!”

“You came for me?”

Something in Techno's voice was enough to snap the three teenagers out of their argument. In one motion, they turned to him with a spectrum of emotion that covered worry, relief, and confusion. Sapnap looked him up and down and winced.

“Of course, we came to get you," Dream said softly.

“I mean," George muttered, insulted. Sapnap elbowed him.

“What a coincidence!" exclaimed Charlie.

For reasons of his own (seriously, Techno wasn't about to ask him any questions. He really didn’t want answers), he seemed to have taken advantage of their discussion to almost completely fuse with the wall.

“And, uh, are you gonna introduce us, Techno?" George asked.

“Camouflage!" the Hybrid informed cheerfully as he sprawled on the stones with a wet sound of suction.

“That’s Charlie, he's supposed to take me to safety," explained Techno, who needed to lean against a non-ectoplasmic part of the wall.

He hesitated, aware that the tolerance the three teenagers were showing him might not extend to such a clearly non-human being, but...

“Nice to meet you," said Sapnap.

“I love the color," added Dream.

“We're in a bit of a hurry, in case you forgot!”

... That would be knowing his friends poorly.

“We’ll hold them back!” offered Dream, solemn and anxious. “Which way are you going?”

“The cliff,” answered Techno, who could have collapsed with relief (on top of everything else).

“You got it!”

“Wait!" the teen shouted. “I… Thanks. For everything.”

And there they were. A bunch of idiots, dressed in black clothes for ‘discretion,’ even though Dream's mask all but glowed in the dark, and Sapnap had kept his stupid bandana, and George was wearing the most unpractical outfit in existence. But they were smiling at him with so much sincerity, and Techno realized with surprise that he would really miss them.

Sapnap got closer, just enough to hug him briefly. Hopefully, they would attribute his brief stagger to his injuries. And not shock.

“That's what friends are for,” George reminded him.

They left in a hurry, bickering as they always did.

“Ready, Techno-blade?" asked Charlie.

He exhaled.

“Let's go.”

***

The diversion was working extremely well, judging by the number of people running around between windblown flames (high) and the number of glances they were sending toward the prison (low).

But not perfectly well.

A good distance still separated them from the cliff when a new figure stepped in. The light from an explosion lit up half her face in a flash, and Techno's worn-out heart sank.

“Please," he begged as Schlatt's second in command stepped toward them, longsword in hand.

“Oh-ho," Slime muttered.

Adopting a fighting stance despite his condition (and lack of a weapon, unless he threw Slime? Last resort only, for as nice as he was, Techno would rather not touch him) would have been laughable in less dangerous circumstances. But Techno’s options were limited.

“I don't want to fight," he pleaded anyway. “I just want to leave.”

“Liar,” she spat. “You're working with the Monsters to kill us all, and you deserve everything that's coming to you!”

“I never hurt anyone! I wouldn’t!”

“I feel sorry for the people who’re going to buy you,” she scoffed. “You'll make a terrible slave.”

In one motion, she raised her sword and sliced straight through Slime's chest.

“...”

“Ummm," said Techno.

“This is very embarrassing," Charlie added.

“But, well...”

“I’m not very-“

Withdrawing her blade with a look of horror that shouldn’t have given Techno this much satisfaction, she swung her weapon across the creature's body. Charlie crashed to the ground in a small, green, slimy heap. The woman took a step forward, was thrown off balance by the sudden and suspicious lightness of her sword, looked down, and nearly slipped on a trail of gelatin. Unfortunately, she caught herself, and threw away what was left of her sword, which is to say just the hilt, to the ground. The rest of acid on it sizzled on the grass.

“Yeah, he does that," admitted Techno, who couldn't suppress a smile.

So far, he liked having friends.

The most’human stepped forward, fists raised, and he deflected the first blow, then avoided the second. Slime cheered him on, as his body mass quietly returned to humanoid form (though smaller, and he seemed to have forgotten the neck). Increasingly confident, Techno adjusted his stance, raising his arms to protect himself, and just when he thought that he wouldn’t need help, that he could survive this fight...

The woman was thrown to the side.

“Wilby!" Slime gurgled.

“I don't know what that word means!" Techno shouted anxiously, spinning around, looking for a sniper, someone...

“So you’re the one, huh?”

Techno squeaked (sorry, exclaimed), narrowly retaining his footing when he stepped in goo. He whirled around, then looked up.

A strange figure was standing tall (and not just a little tall) behind him. An airy veil partially concealed his features, skin the same color as the sky above their heads, but Techno still managed to recognize the pastry thief he had almost attacked during their last fight.

“The cardamom rolls were good?” he blurted.

This was exactly why he preferred to avoid meeting new people.

Despite this, the Phantling squinted his all-white eyes and laughed delightedly, caplet jerking on his shoulders. Under other circumstances, the sight of his razor-sharp teeth might have worried Techno, but not like this, not with the warmth in his smile. After all, Techno had seen that look in someone else before.

“So, you're the one Dad wants to adopt, aren’t you?”

“Wha-“

“Charlie, you forgot the neck.”

“Oh, of course! Many thanks, Wilbur.”

Slimecicle's neck lengthened comically until he almost joined "Wilbur" up there. The stretchy nature of his skin (“skin”) made his head bounce around wildly when he started up again. Techno quickly grabbed the knife from his unconscious (?) ex-adversary and followed the other two toward the cliff.

The rain had reached them.

“That’s not it,” he refused.

He was far too old for anyone to want to adopt him. And anyway, who would want to adopt him? He’d buried that dream ages ago. Wilbur must have been exaggerating. It was probably just an expression.

Lost too far in his thoughts, he unconsciously let his muscles untense. The pain reached him from just a little farther. He pushed his hair out of his face. It was starting to get wet.

“No need to pretend, bunny, I know what he's like when he wants to bring someone back to the nest.”

Wilbur's feet weren't treading the soggy ground, rather levitating a few centimeters above it, his cloak billowing behind him like smoke in the wind, but his hand was real and warm when it rested on Techno's shoulder.

“I've always wanted another little brother, anyway.”

Surprise gripped Techno's throat, but it was a wet, fragile emotion, not filled with horror nor the bitter taste of adrenaline.

It didn’t make him want to cry any less.

“Maybe I'm older than you,” he suggested weakly, because it was easier than trying to extract and examine the cocktail of emotions that these words, this possibility had raised in him.

Almost like a family?

“Hmm, you two look like you’ve around the same amount of regeneration left,” Charlie thought aloud. Bouncing appeared to be his default state.

“Ooooh, maybe we're the same age," Wilbur offered, a glint of excitement in the corner of his eyes, where star-shaped freckles glowed faintly. “We could be twins!”

“… This is in no way how twins work.”

Wilbur seemed determined to continue this conversation (with what arguments, Techno didn't know), but just then, just as they reached cliff’s edge, in view of the stormy sea below that the clouds were trying to imitate, three new silhouettes came into focus and out of the fog-smoke-rain.

What now?

“Fire!" Schlatt shouted, and on either side of him, the fighters released their shots.

Knife raised, eyes squinting in the now-downpour, Techno intercepted the crossbow bolt aimed at Charlie (probably in vain, all things considered), and barely had time to worry about Wilbur, when an arrow shot through him like it would a fog, his wisps rapidly solidifying afterwards.

Schlatt opened his mouth.

Here we go again…

“It's so very kind of you to have brought all these Monsters here," he began, yelling over the wind and waves and rain and screams and crackling fire. Techno wanted to argue, but he was so tired, and Wilbur was putting himself between the two of them. “They'll be far more valuable than you'll ever-“ A gigantic bee bared out of the fog, slamming into one of the hunters head-on and sending him rolling away, his arrow lost in the grass. The laughter of a young boy, almost spectral sounding in the storm, filled the air as a shadow flew over them, wings beating too fast for the naked eye.

“Thanks, Tubs!" Wilbur yelled.

“Come back here!" Schlatt shouted, beside himself with anger.

Techno mercilessly pushed his knee-jerk fear down, and grinned, teeth out, weapon raised, shoulders up. Wild at last.

“Train for another 300 years and try to make me!”

And Wilbur laughed. Wilbur, who didn’t know him, who must’ve spent most of his life fearing Humans’ cruelty but was ready to accept him as one of his own, perhaps even as a brother. Wilbur, who mentioned, like it was only natural, the possibility that Phil would want to keep him. Warm and safe, nestled with them, never alone again.

There was a shadow behind Wilbur.

Far up the hill, out of reach of the bee-child. The curve of an already drawn bow, arrow knocked back, too far, too late.

Wilbur who was laughing, warm in the cold downpour, present, physical. And right in the line of fire.

Wilbur, Phil's son.

S h l a c k

An aborted movement, a cry lost in the surrounding turmoil. A wave of pain.

Techno's tired (so tired) legs were finally freed from his weight as he collapsed, the ground cold and damp against his knees, the sound of the other two's fright echoing in his ears. The world had narrowed to the fletching protruding from beneath his rib cage, and the pain pulsing there.

“... chno! Techno!”

The blink of an explosion, and through scalding-hot tears, he guessed more than he saw a greenish shape bounce high in the air, before slamming into Punz with a sound of suction. Schlatt was squinting through the rain as the white oval of a not-face flashed behind him. After that, Techno didn’t see anything else.

A hand supported his arm, and his weight was guided to rest on a shoulder. It was warm.

“It's going to be okay,” Wilbur promised, his voice controlled despite an aftertaste of panic that dulled its edges.

Techno barely felt the ends of the arrow being broken, or the pressure of bandages around it. The arms pressed around him, as well as Wilbur's shoulder under his cheek, seemed far more important. The contact burned with a fire as intense as it was harmless, filling a void he had never been aware of. He didn't want to move. He didn't deserve to have Wilbur worry about him. The Phantling should have just kept laughing, happy and free.

“W’lbu',” he whimpered.

The pain twisted in his stomach. He hoped it would fade with a little time, like it did in his leg. He could barely feel it now. Just cold. Despite the pain, or maybe because of it, he tried to sink a little deeper into Wilbur's arms. An explosion (or was it a lightening bolt?) threw a handful of light through his closed eyelids.

“Techno, do you trust me?" the Hybrid asked hastily.

“Do I’ve t’take ‘nother arrow for you?" he muttered, too tired to affect annoyance.

Wilbur's laughter sounded wet, an oddity considering it was Techno who had been hit. It must be the rainstorm. Someone screamed, but he couldn't tell where it came from.

“Okay, good. I promise you'll be fine,” Wilbur said. “See you on the island.”

And he pushed him off the edge of the cliff.

Chapter Text

Techno had had dreams less strange.

And nightmares less frightening.

Sensations came from afar, like through thick waters. Yet he was reasonably sure that wasn't the case.

Because he was still falling.

The searing pain in his abdomen had gracefully stepped down, handing over the reins to the icy, visceral panic of falling. Darkness, confusion and rain prevented him from making out sky from cliff and horizon from water, but a nagging instinct still forced his eyes open.

His injured leg had been getting colder and colder for several hours now, even as it burned to the touch, and as frightening as those implications were, he had been getting used to it. Which did nothing to keep him from startling when it suddenly turned colder than snow.

A whimper fought to escape the tight muscles in his throat as the feeling quietly moved up his thigh. It almost felt like...

Water. Real one, this time. And yet, he was still falling, falling...

Half of his body was covered in the sensation, when the wind whistling in his ears gradually subsided, and his heart sank back from his throat. Slowly, his body returned to normal gravity, limply hanging as he was suspended mid-air.

The panic of the fall had taken over what little remained of his consciousness and energy. Despite the danger, despite the uncertainty and bone-chilling terror, and the battle still going on up there, he would have had more luck making a river break its banks than keeping his eyelids open a second longer. Still, he had time to see one more thing.

If a word had managed to escape his throat when he fell, it would have been Phil's name. How the feathered man, with his weird hat and cheery attitude, was able to weave himself into his life in just a few weeks, he did not know. And yet it was not his face, or his warmth, that Techno felt in that last waking moment.

A curtain hid the sky from him, but it wasn’t made of jet-black feathers. Instead, pink hair rustled around him. A pale, blurred face, larger than the moon, whispered indistinct words. The cold wetness of scales crept through his clothes, but the respite from the pain was a welcome one.

And so, the rushing of the waves against a gigantic form, the increasingly distant chaos of the battle, the curved silhouette of a webbed finger above him, and a faint humming accompanied him into darkness.

***

By this point of the story, you've almost certainly figured it out: Technoblade was not one to run away from a fight.

But when his mind grazed the surface of consciousness, perhaps much later, perhaps immediately after, he decided that the effort of waking up was not worth it. A vague sound, which could just as easily have come from branches rattling under the wind than from voices, slid over him. The chill and dampness remained, but the movement (had there been movement?) had dwindled to almost nothing.

“... to wait any longer, it…”

“... without Phil, he would...”

“… two arrowheads in him, Fundy, not to mention hypothermia. And… like the look of this wound at all...”

“You think the infec-“

“HEY, WHO'S THAT?”

A pained sound formed far down Techno's throat, and hurried "shush!" accompanied him into nothingness.

***

The next time, it was a sudden pain that woke him.

His body reacted before his mind could catch on, a spasm trying to pull him away from the hurt-scare-hide, but hands restrained him. He whimpered; a pitiful sound that reflected his general condition. His ears pinned back.

“I'm so sorry, mate... You're safe, you're going to be okay Tech, I promise.” Techno wanted to lean toward the voice. He liked it; it was nice. Nicer than the hurt. “But we can't leave them in much longer. Your leg is already far too-“

“Them?" he asked groggily.

“We gave you as much anesthetic as was safe.”

“Ana-what?”

A breath of silence. Techno almost managed to fall back asleep. The surface beneath him was rough but dry, warm under his burning skin, and these days it was better than he could have hoped. He wished they would let him stay here. He didn't want to go back out into the storm. He’d be quiet if they let him stay. He’d be so good.

“Let’s hope that's just the fever talking,” said a new voice.

“On three.”

Techno's mumbled protests morphed into a scream as a second shockwave of pain shot through his battered body. A sob followed almost immediately.

Pressure on the wound, stop the bleeding, recalled the most awake part of him. The part that had always had to do everything itself. He arched his head, burning-hot tears pooling his ears as he tried to press a hand to his abdomen. But he encountered no flesh, no blood. The bright light kept his eyes sealed shut.

“You’re okay, chick," the voice repeated.

Techno was reasonably sure that if he thought hard enough, he could remember who it belonged to. What he wasn't sure of was whether it was necessary. There were people working above him, and despite the occasional blast of pain, they were actually taking care of him.

Maybe he could afford to let them look after him. And allow himself to sleep, just for a little while.

He fell to unconsciousness with the sensation of a hand in his hair.

***

A warm light filled the room. Techno stirred almost imperceptibly, his face trying to escape the brightness by burrowing deeper into the softness of his pillow.

... His pillow?

The feeling of wrongness chased the last of the sleep mists from Techno's mind more effectively than any sunlight. His eyes opened.

The size of the windows immediately told him that this was not his house, nor any other in the village. But anyway, he couldn't be in Manberg now, he suddenly recalled. Not after the flight, the prison, the cliff.

But then, where…?

Getting up instantly revealed to be a bad idea. Yes, because of the pain still very much present in almost every part of his body.

But there was something else.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply while waiting for the bruises between his ribs, the blisters on his fingers, the headache buzzing in the back of his head, and of course his abdomen, aka bandage-town, to calm down. Then he lifted the blanket.

His left leg was gone.

In its place, a strange object of dark metal and bluish wood lay innocently on the bed. Under other circumstances, the mechanic in him would have rushed to examine its components, poke and prod at the mysterious build, but as was the case, he pulled the blanket back and had to force himself to not throw up.

Techno took a deep breath. Then he exhaled, slowly. He let himself fall back into his pillows (slowly), and closed his eyes, but when what was left of his leg appeared persistently behind his eyelids, he opened them again. Name five things you can see, he remembered.

Curled on his side, Technoblade raised a hand to the pillow near his face and admired the bandages around his fingers. He had never really been able to wrap his right hand properly, without anyone to do it for him. But now...

Now he was in a large, bright, clean, well-furnished room, though it was still relatively empty. Relatively, because first aid items (or second aid items, actually) were covering the desk in front of one of the windows. A pretty but strange plant, exotic from the tip of its thick, powdery-pink leaves to the base of its rosette that faded to turquoise, rested on the windowsill. Half-folded clothes, far too nice for him, laid in a heap on the dresser. Some of the many pillows and blankets that surrounded him - it was a miracle he hadn't died of heatstroke yet - had slipped to the floor.

And, of course, there was Phil.

Asleep in an armchair next to his bed, a wing resting in his lap, the other dragging on the floorboard. Techno wasn't sure what emotion gripped him when he saw him there, but there sure was a lot of it. And his throat and eyes were having a field day with it.

Because Phil had come for him. He had waited on the shore, in hostile territory, because he couldn't leave Techno there. And not only that! When he realized that Techno would miss their rendezvous, he, and everyone else, had unleashed hell on those who had hurt him. And they had brought him back.

The tears flowed, as soft as the silence that enveloped the room. In the village, when he fell asleep (or fell from exhaustion, rather) somewhere, he’d always wake up at the same place, usually to the cold or rain. The last time he’d woken up at a different place, had been the prison.

And now here.

Warm and safe. Healed and bandaged and comfortable, almost whole, with Phil nearby just in case he-

“Oh, Tech...”

The time of a wingbeat, and the Elytrian knelt at his bedside, worry puffing up his feathers and uncoiling a concerned chirp from his throat. Techno wished he could absorb the warmth of the hand on his shoulder to always keep some with him.

“Can you hear me? Do you know who-”

“Phil,” he croaked.

Rarely had he felt so vulnerable, weakened and wounded as he was, depending on others in unfamiliar territory.

He didn't even worry for a second.

“That's good," the adult continued, as if he had accomplished some great feat. “You were injured, two arrows. Probably because no one within range would be able to hit you, right darling?”

Techno's sleepy surprise softened Phil's concern.

“Niki brought you back, and we took care of your wounds and hypothermia. We did… Everything we could. But Tech, the one in your leg had time to get infected, and even with our antibiotics...”

“I saw," he said, in a small voice. A tear was absorbed by the pillow.

“Oh, Techno... I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I’m...”

And there were tears in Phil's dark eyes, and that, that concern, that love, was so much more important than a lost leg.

“It's okay," Techno articulated, determination rising in him even though he was digging his shoulder into Phil's hand. “M’not there anymore, ts’all that matters.”

“You're the bravest out of all of us," Phil said with enough awe to make the teenager blush. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

The infection explained his weakness, at least. Vaguely, Techno pondered how early they would expect him to do his part, and repay his debt for all the trouble they had gone through to help him. He also wondered what the hell anti-bi-otics were. But Phil's question was more important. His dry throat hardly let the word pass.

“Warm.”

“Are you too hot? My sons always tell me I overreact, wait, let me-“

“No, warm.”

To demonstrate his point, he shuffled a little, burrowing a bit deeper, a little more comfortably in the covers.

Phil's smile grew even more affectionate, if possible, his ear tufts pointing toward the ceiling. Was feeling his heart swell a symptom of infection?

“That's good. Very good, Techno.” Chirp. “Does anything hurt?

Of course, he thought. Everywhere. But why mention it to Phil, if they had already done what they could for his injuries? All he could do now was wait to heal. And either way, he really shouldn’t whine too much after needing that much help.

Phil frowned when he shook his head, a quiver in his wings, and Techno amended with a weak: “Not too much.”

“Okay... We can give you another dose of the potion in about an hour, and we'll see then. Don't worry about asking, okay mate?”

He combed a hand through Techno’s hair, who melted under the touch. His eyelids were closing.

“You were so brave," Phil whispered. “The others can’t wait to meet you, but you deserve to rest a little more, don't you?”

***

Techno slept for a long while, or at least it felt like a long while. At times, his eyes would open to glittering stars on the other side of the window, embers in the fireplace casting an orange glow in the foot of his bed in the silent room. Some others, he’d wake up to curtains drawn against bright sunlight, a quiet fire in the hearth and the noise of indistinct conversations a little further into the building. Sounds of dishes clinking, water sloshing, laughter.

It was good.

The first time, he gathered his energy and sat up heavily, ready to go on an adventure. In other words, his thirst had finally grown to surpass his fatigue, which meant the moment had come to try the prosthesis. But he had barely put his feet - his foot - down when he noticed a glass of water lying innocently on the nightstand and sat back down, caught off-guard.

Alone in the room, he still looked around, some part of his foggy mind expecting a Hybrid to pop out of the window, the fireplace, or the walls to take it back. (Honestly, it wouldn't have been completely impossible.) When the air remained equally still, he reached and took a hesitant sip, that quickly dissolved into him downing the whole thing.

That glass of water proved to be the constant of his first week. No matter what time or how often he woke up, it was always there, freshly filled. And the mere fact that someone here (or multiple someones) made sure he didn't have to disturb his injured leg was enough for him to feel a lump in his throat.

(He thought about what would be required of him in return, but oddly enough, it didn't worry him more than that.)

At first, these quiet moments uncomfortably reminded him of his old, empty house. But then, the feeling passed like clouds in the sky, swiftly pushed away by a wind of change. Because, despite the room that didn't really belong to him, despite the occasional silence, everything was different here. Honestly, he felt more like he did in the forest. He was wanted here, and that made the calm enjoyable.

But that didn't mean that the moments when he didn't wake up alone weren't interesting.

Once, he caught sight of a man with a shiny head, whose skin creaked and cracked like dry wood, leaning into the hearth. Literally: an uncertain sound from him made him jump straight into the flames.

Or maybe the flames were him.

A small creature, more fur than skin, snooped around his room one evening. He watched the... fox? in silence. His shining eyes met his, and was greeted by a sharp-toothed smile.

The first time he found a slime ball stuck on the side of his nightstand, Techno grinned at the thought of a certain, bouncy Hybrid. And the first time he woke up to see the ceiling above him through a green filter, he jumped and (literally) bumped into Charlie.

“Tech-blo!" he rejoiced. “How’s it gooping?”

“I’m definitely getting better. Very goopy. Thanks, Charlie.”

“It's only natural," he assured.

Techno forced a smile, despite the disbelief locked between his ribs. He found himself searching the other's chest for a trace of a scar, in vain. Did being disemboweled hurt, even for a Slime?

He should have expected Charlie to see right through him. After all, he was an expert in that matter.

“You know, there isn't a biped here who hasn't needed rescuing at one time or another,” he reminded Techno. “Everyone who helped did it because they wanted to, and you deserve all the help you got, and more, Technoblade.”

If he realized how much his words did to reassure the teenager, he didn’t show it. But Techno had long learned that there was not just one kind of intelligence, and to never underestimate someone.

When he relaxed, Charlie's expression became more cheerful. He even bounced a few times. While working to un-stuck himself from the ceiling, he exclaimed: “I'm so excited to show you around! There are so many wonderful places here! I can’t wait, you’re gonna love it.”

(Hopefully, his enthusiasm was the only thing contagious about him.)

“And where is here, exactly?”

An askew smile.

“The Origins, of course!”

Chapter Text

If Techno had been told he’d ever enjoy meeting so many new people, he would’ve expressed a healthy amount of very reasonable doubts. However, this answer failed to take two important factors into account. First, people who respected him as he was and had heard positive things about him. And let’s not forget: the boredom of being bedridden for so long. At the end of the day, one thing was certain: the people who found their way to his room were lots of things, but boring? Never.

Techno sometimes woke up to the sound of the guitar. He would have had to be a notch less coherent to admit just how much he enjoyed it, though. After all, Wilbur already thought far too highly of himself.

Techno was wriggling out of the mists of sleep, without haste and, for once, without worry. His head turned slightly, following the music, and his eyes fell on a nest of brown curls. Sitting in the armchair by the fire, or on the floor, leaning back against the bed, Wilbur's lapis-zinzolin fingers would weave calm but happy melodies from the strings.

“It's the least I can do," he said when Techno thanked him.

Familiar as he was with this phrase, it was the first time Techno found himself believing it. Because Wilbur truly did not expect anything in return, and it wasn't even a matter of paying off his life debt (not that Techno would ever ask anything like that of him. That would have been illogical: they had launched the attack for the express purpose of rescuing him from slavery, after all). No, he sincerely enjoyed conjuring melodies from the cords of his guitar and those of his throat, and for some unimaginable reason, he sincerely enjoyed Techno’s company itself.

At first it seemed completely incomprehensible. Freshly rescued from the brink of the abyss (figuratively and literally), Techno had become even more mute than usual. (Somewhere not so deep down, the kindness seemed so odd he was terrified that saying the wrong thing would make it disappear.) He only spoke when Phil asked him a direct question, and only where the two were alone. Once in a while, the teenager would think of an opinion, a remark, a question, but when he opened his mouth, the words refused to assemble into a sentence. So, he remained silent.

But Wilbur was chatting as soon as he wasn't singing, about everything and anything, and one afternoon, Techno caught himself making a sarcastic quip.

He couldn't even remember what it was, but in the end it didn't matter. What did, was that Wilbur's face instantly broke into a radiant smile, his white eyes crinkling until they almost disappeared.

Wilbur never took offense to Techno's remarks, no matter how disrespectful. On many occasions, the teen would instinctively tense up after a particularly biting comment, half-expecting to get hit, or at the very least, told off.

He was never met by anything but gentleness.

On the contrary, Wilbur loved to banter with Techno perhaps even more than he loved to complain with him. His laugh was high-pitch and full-bodied left him breathless with glee. Sometimes, when he got carried away in a rant, Techno caught a flash of pride in his eyes.

He wondered if it was a big brother thing.

Despite the winter clinging to the April air with ice-white claws, and the occasional frost on the window, Techno soon realized that it never got too cold inside the ‘pub,’ even for his abnormal preferences. Which didn't mean his still-drowsy mind didn't welcome an extra source of warmth.

With... Its… Feathers.

...?!

“Eh?”

“No moving," a sleepy voice muttered.

There was a weight on top of his blankets. And an extra blanket, bright red, on top of those. The fatigue of recovery still fogged Techno’s mind, but it seemed to him that the voice might have something to do with the shape under the comforter. The feathers in his face, too.

He turned, only to come across Phil's other son. ‘To’... Something. Toby? Nah, he didn't look like a Toby. Anyway, the young Avian was curled up against Techno's uninjured side, face smushed into the covers where his ribs were. Slowly, gingerly, the semi-human ran a hand through the kid’s hair, admiring the bright red feathers peeking through.

He honestly didn't think he had ever been this close to a sleeping person. He found it surprisingly nice. It wasn't a hug, but the contact was still reassuring. And warm. A half-awakened instinct in Techno demanded that he move closer to the child.

He wondered if his Origin was finally showing itself, or if normal Humans also enjoyed that kind of contact. Hard to say, considering he couldn't remember ever being this close to a Human. Although the Dream Team often snuggled together, so there was that.

Hmm.

Several blankets still separated them.

Which was stupid and frankly kind of offensive. How dare they?

The kid’s breathing had slowed again. Holding his breath, Techno began to pull Tooooooo... Toffee? So that he could remove the comforter, and thus achieve a decent level of closeness. He almost immediately received an elbow to the chin for his effort.

At the thought of the Avian deciding he didn't want to cuddle after all, a whine rose in his throat.

“Quit moving, bitch,” the Avian muttered. “Phil likes you so'm imprinting on you.”

“... Like a bird?”

“Chirp chirp, motherfucker.”

Techno giggled. He couldn't help it. Fortunately, his almost intact ribs did not make him regret it too much. He nudged the Avian (preening form his reaction), who finally allowed him to lift the blanket and crawled under it.

Techno tensed. Feeling another person right against his side was a first for him.

Not that Tom... Tommy! Not that Tommy seemed to mind. He pressed his forehead against Techno's collarbone (almost giving him a mouthful of hair in the process), stuck his cold feet against his leg, sighed, and fell back into drowsiness.

And as Techno slowly and hesitantly relaxed against the younger teen, he couldn't help but think that it summed up his entire situation here pretty well. He had been robbed of the chance to enjoy these simple pleasures, this security, this contact. Getting used to it would take time, and it wouldn't be a linear process (Tommy grumbled and a hint of tension returned to the most’human's tired muscles). With a lump in his throat, the teenager hugged him a little tighter.

But he was ready to make the effort. And a little something whispered to him that his new friends (family?) would be as well.

(Much later, when Phil came to rekindle the fire that night, it was to find his two youngest, curled up close together, with only their heads sticking out of the blankets. He'd always loved the way Tommy's characteristic frown relaxed when sleep took him, the way he would clutch anything within reach, even in his sleep. But in the end, Tommy didn't differ that much from his usual self, even in the arms of Morpheus.

Techno, on the other hand...

He looked so young. Still a foot in childhood, and still thinned out, scarred, and worried all the time. Philza's heart broke a second time at the thought of all he had endured, whether or not the teenager himself recognized the severity of it. Only the presence of his kid in front of him, peacefully asleep, helped him relax again.

Instead of moving toward the fire, Phil turned around.

“Wil... Wilbur, you're gonna want to see this...”)

***

Somewhere in the distance, three boys were sitting with their feet dangling.

More exactly, two of them were sitting, and the third was lying down, his head resting on one of his friends’ lap, just above the bandage that ran up his leg.

The other broke the silence.

“I hope he's okay.”

“Shh!" George lectured him, as Dream turned around to make sure no one was standing within earshot. Not that many people went so close to the cliff, but still.

“I'm sure he is," he said, a hand in George’s hair. “They stopped the attack all of a sudden. I think if something... had happened to him, we'd have a lot more damage to clean up. You remember when that salmon-Merling died?”

“We didn't help him much, in the end," George muttered.

“He's almost certainly fine, and no one found us out," Dream reminded him. “That's all that matters.”

“I still can't believe your stupid mask fooled anyone," Sapnap snickered. “Let alone that they thought you were a ‘lynx hybrid.’ Is that even a thing?”

“Wrong family of species," George huffed with a smile.

“Uhm, speaking of that...” Something in his voice made the other two glance at him.

Slowly, purposefully, Dream ran a hand through his hair. Gently tracing the outline of two small bumps.

“You’re saying…?” George began.

“Dream finally reached puberty!" Sapnap teased, reaching to nudge him. “Welcome to the adult world, it’s really-“

“Sapnap!”

“… terrible.”

“You won’t be able to stay here much longer, will you?" George asked.

The rushing of the waves filled the air between them for a few seconds. The other two boys let him find his words. After all, they still had time.

Just a little more.

“I'll be old enough to follow Mom soon, even on her more dangerous trips,” Dream said at last, though it wasn't quite an answer. Excitement, apprehension, and a kind of detachment jostled in his voice.

George sat up, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“It's about time. My parents are bursting to get rid of me, apparently it’s more than time I get my sea legs.”

They laughed, but the sound died quickly when it became apparent that one of them was showing considerably less enthusiasm.

“Any progress with your parents, Sap?”

The blue of the horizon filled his eyes. So far. “Well, they agree that you and George could benefit from some time at sea," he said. A frown belied his light tone.

“But not you, yeah?”

“Dad doesn't trust anyone else to run the forge,” he sighed.

Before turning, giving them a determined smile. “I'll convince them,” he promised. “Y’all just need to promise me you won’t do too much cool stuff before I get there.”

“Sap...”

“... And not to give me any details on all the snogging you'll do while I’m gone!”

Outraged protested distracted them from their worry, even just for a moment.

One at a time...

***

“Yes, good... Take it easy.”

One hand on the wall, the other on Scott's arm, Techno breathed out shakily. Initially, he'd been worried about hurting the man with how heavily he was leaning on him, but either the Starborn was stronger than he looked, or Techno was underestimating what a person could handle. Or he was still “unhealthily light,” as Niki had phrased it.

“Remind me again why my prosthesis is hoof-shaped?" he asked, with as much annoyance as he dared to express.

“Because it's the optimal shape, duh,” Tubbo replied, from where the kid was sitting on the dresser, notebook in hand.

“You have bug legs, Tubs," Scott reminded him.

“Well exactly! That shows I'm not biased!”

“I'm biased," Techno mumbled as he took another, painful, step. “Vertically biased.”

“We could probably change the shape when we find out what your Origin is,” Scott suggested.

And if it wasn't some strange concepts. Giving him something, just like that. Worrying about it fitting him. Finding out his "Origin," as they called it. Techno liked the expression much more than being asked “what animal” he was.

“Probably something from the Nether, seeing how hot you keep your room,” Tubbo suggested.

“I don't know," Scott said. “He could just as easily be a desert species. No offense, but you don't exactly have a typical Netherborn temperament. Come on, you're almost there.”

Techno let out a grunt that sounded more like a yap. His remaining leg hurt, the muscles between the end of his thigh and the beginning of his prosthesis burned, he thought he was ready, but a few steps from his bed and he was already shaking, a lump was forming in his throat...

“The first one is always the hardest, but you can get through it,” Scott gently reminded him. “Just one more step…”

… And Techno let himself fall heavily (not that he was that heavy...) onto the window seat. Almost in disbelief, he turned to see how far he had walked.

“YAY!" Tubbo cheered, the buzzing of his wings almost sounding like applause.

He leaned over and tapped his antenna-and-half against Techno's forehead. Then he chuckled, as the young man's left ear tilted to the side in surprise.

“There you go," Scott said with satisfaction. “Jack is building you a ramp to practice on. And since Niki and Phil say you're almost fully recovered already-”

“Phil is going to try and keep you in bed as long as not-Humanly possible," Tubbo interjected. “He forces Tommy and Wilbur to sleep in his room every time they get sick, and I always barely escape. It's a bird thing. You've been warned.”

“… Thanks, Tubbo.”

“… As I was saying, a few more doses of antibiotics, just to be...”

“Antibiotic, doesn't that mean... Anti your bios? Anti-life?”

“Uh, yes, but-”

“You're not poisoning me, are you?”

“Considering you didn't know what fucking anesthetics were either, it's more like the Humans were trying to kill you," Tubbo muttered with a surprising amount of rancor.

But what's the point of wasting time and energy stopping the pain, if it doesn't do anything for the wound itself? he wondered once more. But asking the question had already made Phil cry once, so he kept the thought to himself this time.

“And with a few weeks of practice," Scott continued valiantly, "you shouldn't have any trouble moving around. It's just a matter of... Techno?”

But the young man's attention had slipped through his fingers.

“It's pog, isn't it?" Tubbo asked, leaning in close to him.

Techno nodded, without taking his eyes away from the scenery out of the window. He smiled a silent smile.

He was going to like living here.

***

At the prospect of being bedridden, for several weeks even, a number of obvious problems had appeared to Techno. And boredom hadn't been too far down the list.

When consciousness had first returned to him, the room he had been allowed to borrow appeared both similar and a world away from his old one. Solidly built where his own let in the slightest draft, and part of the rest of the building instead of isolated. But it was no less impersonal. Perhaps even more so, for here he had no stash of food, or first aid supplies hidden away, nor were there any books or the (albeit few) recreational items he was used to.

No, here as in Manberg, Techno expected to contemplate the ceiling more than anything else.

He could not have been more wrong.

“Don't you have... I don't know, things to do?”

“Of course, we have things to do," Wilbur retorted, crossing something out of his notebook.

“Who the fuck do you think we are,” Tommy added, threatening him with a thimble-bearing finger.

“You will know, brother, that we have a lot of things to do.”

“So...?” said Techno, who was slowly getting used to their antics.

And to participate in conversations. And to receive genuine answers. To not have to watch his words, to enjoy the presence of other people...

Finally. And one moment at a time.

“So, what's stopping us from doing them here?”

“It's warm in here, you know," Tommy claimed, squirming himself more comfortably in the blankets beside Techno.

“Mm-hmm," Wilbur agreed. He waved his quill in their direction. “And you know, there are several perks at staying in the pube.”

“Like...”

“Hey guys, Fundy and I made cheese buns, you want some?" Niki asked, poking her head in the door.

(A normal-sized head, this time. Techno would certainly have written off the memory of his trip to Origins to a fever-driven hallucination, had it not been confirmed to him that yes, Niki could indeed grow to a size that allowed her to comfortably hug whales, why? That was an actual thing that really happened. ‘How else do you think I climbed that cliff?’ she had asked with a wink.

Their village never stood a chance, did it?)

The boys gave delighted exclamations, and Niki laughed at their antics and praise, moving her wheelchair to the bed. Once the tray was deposited to its destination on the nightstand, she rested her hands on the patch of colorful fabric that Techno now knew concealed and protected a vibrant, scaled tail.

“Thanks, Niki," he said.

“Always a pleasure, Tech! Try to finish one, okay?”

“... Okay.”

He still struggled with accepting that he could eat, and it was just the end of it. That they wouldn't request anything in return for all that food. The obvious satisfaction everyone at Origins had in seeing him eat had caused some unfortunate misunderstanding initially. Even after a serious conversation, which Phil mentioned should have taken place “much earlier, jeez” Techno had his moments of anxiety. Slime said he had to “completely change the way he thought about food,” but really, it wasn’t weird that he was used to only eating as much as he’d been helpful or obedient, right?

(Spoiler alert, according to Phil, not ‘right.’)

Niki wheeled away, and Techno was about to reiterate that the two Hybrids didn't need to keep him company that often, really, he’d be fine, when voices came from the hallway.

“Oh, hello! ... Yes, I’m coming from there... If you hurry, there might be some left...”

“Quick!" Wilbur called as he stuffed several buns into Tommy and Techno's hands.

The latter ignored him, straightening up against his pillows to look at the door expectantly.

“Hi, boys," Phil greeted them as he entered, his feathers ruffled by the wind and a smile in his voice.

“H’o ‘il!" Tommy attempted to say, around a mouthful of bread.

“It's so sad that there's no cheese buns left," Phil sighed as he took a seat in the armchair the brothers had completely forgone.

For a moment, Techno worried that he’d get angry and clutched Tommy's wrist protectively, but the Avian put his other hand on it, reassuring.

“Indubitably,” Wilbur replied, because he was pretentious.

“Especially when I just made your rounds, Wilbur, and went to water Tommy's flowers so you two could stay in with Techno.”

The brothers exchanged a look. Techno wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but now that the stress was over, he was greatly enjoying the entertainment.

“So very sad," sighed Phil, who, paradoxically, seemed to be quite enjoying himself. “I was hungry, too, after all that hard work, I wish-“

“Fuck, okay then," Tommy caved.

“Weak," Wilbur booed him, but he imitated his brother and returned some bread to the tray.

A wisp of rosemary-oregano scented steam escaped from the crumb as Wilbur split his bun in half, before immediately sinking his sharp teeth into the toasted crust on top. Techno was surprised to find a remnant of appetite somewhere in his belly, even though he had eaten breakfast only a few hours earlier. But for now, he had something else on his mind.

Despite his efforts in this direction, Phil had not yet taken any of the baked goods. Instead, he was looking at the young man bundled in his bed. The object of his attention had to turn away and calm himself with a deep breath before he could look the Elytrian in the face without drowning in the affection and fondness that showed in his gaze.

“The boys aren’t bothering you too much?”

“Not at all," he answered honestly. “I'd probably be bored halfway to the End without them.”

This was new too. Being able to tell the truth without fear of it being used against him.

“Right, we ought to find something for you to do," Wilbur agreed. “Do you play an instrument? Or Tommy could teach you to knit. Not crochet, though, unless you’d be interested in making a cluster of knots.”

“HEY!”

“How about you?" Phil asked. “How are you feeling, sunshine?”

And what better proof of the progress he'd made in the last few weeks, when Techno barely hesitated before shyly raising his arms.

Phil’s smile softened; his feathers puffed up. The edge of the bed dipped when he took place at his side. Half-sitting against his pillows where he’d been slowly slumping down since this morning, Techno was smaller than Phil. He didn't hate it.

Arms wrapped around his back, holding him just tight enough. Not yet enough to put his damaged bits back together, but closer and closer. He buried his nose in Phil's neck and let blond hair tickle his cheeks. The fire still hummed in the heart, but he couldn't get enough of that warmth. Feathers circled around his back, softer than any blanket, both a comfort and a protection. Phil smiled as Techno allowed himself to be enveloped entirely under his wing.

And that, was a real hug.

They say that there’s an island, far from the coast.

Big enough to hold flowery valleys overlooked by snow-crowned mountains. It is said to be lined with reefs and shoals, and that even the most skilled mapmakers can't pinpoint it within a hundred miles. They say that the island is perched on a plateau so high it blocks the sun.

And that you’d need to fly to get up there.

For some, this place has all the makings of a legend. And why wouldn’t it? These people lay hands on and avert their eyes from anyone who differs from them. They use fear, hatred, greed and a morbid and deadly fascination as they were tools. If they could climb up there, they would soon destroy this sanctuary, with its inhabitants.

Many legends are realities that simply wish to remain so.

This island is called The Origins, and Techno never thought he’d get to see it someday. After all, he's not much more than an orphan with unfortunate genetics.

Except that for him, the legend doesn't have to remain one.

He's home.

Fin.