Work Text:
When Tommy wakes up, slightly delirious but very warm, the first thing he notices is how much his ears hurt.
Both of them kill— the pain is sharp and dull at the same time, an ache and stabs of agony— and each feels distinctly off. His thoughts are slow and sluggish too, dragging their feet through sludge as they bounce around his head.
His mouth tastes like spiderwebs and stone; it’s strangely reminiscent of the weakness potion that he took years and years ago, lit only by a lantern and Tubbo’s blinding grin.
But, well, he’s at Techno’s house now. He’s been draped in capes and gold— necklaces layered upon his neck, rings specifically crafted for his hands, bracelets that clink and clank every time he moves, specially fashioned hair clips.
Techno is a material man. His gold and his capes scream of protection, shout of safety for the entire work to see. He wouldn’t let Tommy be drugged under his own roof, not with the claims laid upon him.
Perhaps because of the supposed weakness potion, it’s only after he’s decided that Techno would never let him be drugged that he raises a hand to touch his ears.
They burn. It’s an incredibly unpleasant feeling; he has no idea what happened while he was asleep, but this doesn’t feel great. It feels very off, in fact, and he’s more than a little worried about it. It’s far too difficult to fight the fatigue in his head and bring his hands up to his sore ears. There’s a cloud fogging up all his thoughts and a weight on his bones.
Tommy’s fingers are shaking by the time he brushes the skin of his ears— something he immediately regrets— and the flash of pain that comes from it is enough to make him jump.
“Ow,” he says, words slurred and tongue heavy. He reaches back regardless, the curiosity beginning to shine through the fog in his mind.
Underneath his ruined, scarred fingers, he feels the distinctive cold of gold.
It’s a feeling he’s had plenty of time to get used to— one of the very first things Techno had done was drape necklaces over his neck and shove a crown on his head— and it takes him less than a second to recognise it.
“What,” he murmurs, feeling up the rest of his ears. They snag on various pieces of metal, ranging from small studs to long, thick bars. There’s an intricate, dangling one at the bottom.
Even through the haze and the fog, he brings his other hand up to his other ear, suddenly very aware that there is metal in his ears. The right ear is not the same. There are even more bits of metal but they aren’t the same; different distances, different styles, different types.
His ears throb. Tommy groans, still not thinking entirely straight, and leans his head back over the edge of the sofa. The fire crackles in front of him.
Fully closing his eyes, he grabs the nearest blanket in two hands and doesn’t stop the happy sigh that escapes him. The wind whistles outside, accompanied by his own steady, content breathing.
He’s barely two seconds away from falling asleep when it hits him.
There is metal in his ears.
His mouth tastes like spiderwebs and stone, his thoughts are just as slow as his movements and there is metal in his ears.
But— Techno wouldn’t. Techno swore that Tommy would never get hurt under his roof, that he would never be harmed ever again. He thought— he was supposed to be safe here, supposed to be away from this sort of shit.
In front of him, the fire roars. He drags his hands back up to his ears, praying that he was wrong and that there isn’t actually anything there.
“One, two,” he whispers, voice getting increasingly choked. “Three, five, six… nine?”
The metal catches on his scarred skin, tugging gently at his swollen ears. Each movement burns, sparks of pain flickering through his head.
He’s panicking. Techno was supposed to protect him from— from this! He was supposed to be safe here, but now there’s gold in his ears and his head hurts and Techno is nowhere to be seen and—
He wants Techno.
–
The wood in his arms is heavy. It’s the very best that he could get; his runt deserves no less, and to give him subpar wood would be an insult.
Techno… he doesn’t feel bad, not quite, but there’s a tickling guilt at the back of his throat that he just can’t shake. Tommy looked awe-inspiring, ears covered in gold and head framed by the gold that’s his hair.
The blood had been regrettable— clumsy piercing on his part, distracted by the whimper that his Tommy had made—but the gold had made the voices swell, crooning in the quiet of the night.
It’d been a struggle to push his rising instincts down, but he had a job to do and there was always the danger of hitting something he didn’t want to. Techno could do some genuine, actual damage if he didn’t pay enough attention and that simply isn’t something he can do when he’s more piglin than man.
He aches to be back at home, to hold Tommy in his arms and run his hands through his hair. But the cabin was just getting colder, the wind howling at the windows, and they needed wood.
The potion will last a long while longer. It was one of the strongest he’d ever made; potent enough that he was almost worried about giving it to Tommy. He’d nearly had second thoughts, but the need to see his gold in the ears of his Tommy that he instead sat near, potions of strength, of healing and regeneration, of resistance, all piled up behind him.
Tommy’s tough. Much tougher than Techno would ever want him to be; tougher than he should even be, the type of toughness that comes from exposure.
It makes him angry. A lot of things regarding Tommy make him angry, nowadays, but it's different to when they– when Tommy barely reached his waist, two out of eight front teeth missing and eyes as bright as they could be– were younger. That was surface level, annoyance more than anger, and it was directed at him.
These days, in his little cabin with his scarred, fragile Tommy, it's less of an anger and more of a rage that simmers deep, deep down in his bones. Woven into his bone marrow and fluttering around his bloodstream.
Well. Either way, the sun is just getting lower, and although the potion won’t be wearing off for a while, being so far away from his runt makes him… antsy, for lack of a better word. It stirs the piglin instincts, and that's never a good thing.
Whilst dragging his feet through multiple feet of snow is never a particularly nice experience, the detail he's slowly beginning to see on his cabin makes it worth it. There's still a tiny, pitiful trail of smoke rising from the chimney, proof that it's just about warm enough in the cabin. The warmth will be fading fast, though, and so he needs to work quickly.
His ears– now pointed and rigid– pick up the smallest, softest whining sound he's ever heard.
He picks up the pace. There's every chance it's just a small, dying animal, but Chat has begun to scream at him, their voices overlapping until the only word he can remotely make out is Tommy. That’s not a particularly good sign; as nonsensical as the voices often are, they almost act as a danger radar.
There's another whine– this one’s louder, more desperate– accompanied by the rustling of blankets. It's so distinctly Tommy that it sends his head reeling, instincts clawing and shouting and rushing up so quickly that he only just manages to shove them back down.
Then, wood still in hand but eyes frantic, he opens the door.
Tommy is still on the sofa. He's curled up, hands over his ears and eyes shut tight. There are continuous, panicked whimpers spilling from his lips. The sound alone is enough to send him into a frenzy, but accompanied by a boy who should be so much larger than life looking so… small?
Well, Techno’s no expert, but it's no surprise that that would set him off.
He's a complete blur of instincts before he can even think about it, slamming the door shut behind him and dropping the wood. Cradling his Tommy in his arms doesn't help; his runt only whines more, curling in on himself and shifting closer to Techno.
It makes him want to cry. But, but, even as his runt whimpers and cries and sniffles, the candle light glints off of the gold that Techno had so lovingly put in his ears, shining and glittering and perfect.