Archive of Our Own

For once in Techno's comfortable cottage, it was peaceful. Well, about as peaceful as it can be when it comes to his family. 

The gentle bickering of Tommy and Wilbur resonated through the ground floor as Phil hummed to himself in the kitchen, ignoring the playful quarrel between his sons. Techno was sitting at the table reading while petting the soft head of the baby polar bear he'd picked up just barely a week ago. 

The novelty of having such an animal around still hadn't passed Tommy, and whenever he does see Steve, the little bear takes his full attention. 

It helps when Tommy wants his wings preened, although the feeling of hands touching his wings had begun to send him into panic again. He'd wake up early, mumbling about nightmares, most of which involved a burning building. Whatever sleeping schedule he'd tried to follow before was ignored.  

His wings were left untouched most days, opting out of preening whenever it was offered.

Wilbur thought to ask, but every time he had the chance he let it slip. The discomfort that Tommy displayed was obvious enough when they were alone together and some sense of pity kept him quiet when they were with the other's. It was inevitably a lose-lose situation for him, whether he wanted to change it or not.

During the time when Wilbur was trying and failing at fixing his past mistakes with  Tommy or practicing his guitar– he'd started crying when Phil showed him the ashened instrument, weeping into his father's chest as he hugged him– he'd spend by himself, thinking of ways how he could talk to Techno. Jealousy wasn't a good look on him, he'd realized when he was revived. As much as he hated the pride his twin held, he hated the anger festering behind his sternum more. Old resentment that had been simmering inside the brunet came to a head when they first came face to face. 

He'd been picking and biting away at his nails as he looked on into the remaining tinders of the firewood. He'd been trying to get over old habits and his new lungs didn't need to give out on him suddenly from the ash he'd fill them with. Techno was doing something outside with the horde of wolves he'd collected while Wilbur was considering going out to watch. They'd been avoiding each other completely, Techno especially. When one would enter a room the other would leave, or when one said something the other ignored it. 

Tensions had gotten to the point where Phil talked to both of them about it, separately of course. His scolding fell upon mostly deft ears. 

But if there was one thing Wilbur did best before dying, it was provoking people, intentionally or not. 

His feathers ruffle from the cold air as he steps outside. The snowstorm finally cleared out days before, leaving a thick blanket of white over the field. Most of it was undisturbed, aside from where Techno patrolled and where wolves paced. It took him a second to catch sight of a hay-filled dummy some meters away. He looked down where his twin was and the dogs were, watching as Techno spoke something he didn't care for. 

He watches as Techno whistles lowly, sparking the wolves into a circling mass of snarling, tooth-bared animals. The way they pace blurs their pelts together, forming a swirling wall around Techno. It would be near impossible to hit him straight-on without a bow or crossbow. He inspects the horde, fixing minuscule errors like a wolf too far from the others or one peeking its head too high. Looking over the wolves once more, he points to where the dummy is and whistles sharply. 

Both twins watch as the wolves sprint across the field, rabid snapping and growling echoing across the empty property. The first few wolves lunge at the hay-stuffed figure, ripping into it and pulling it apart. The following ones circle and bark at the torn apart figure, some jumping in to sink their teeth into it. 

It would be a gruesome and bloody sight if the dummy were alive. 

Another quick whistle and the dogs keen before returning to Techno's side. It's deathly silent as Techno stands there surrounded by pale fur, looking over each stance for imperfections and correcting them. His and Wilbur's wings bristle in the slight breeze that passes, Techno's notably tenser than Wilbur's. 

They stayed still for a moment, movements nearly mirrored, before the brunet finally started walking.

Wilbur barely made it to the top of the steps before Techno's hackles raised. 

"What are you doing?" Wilbur asked. 

Techno didn't answer. He kept his focus on the wolves as he guided them to the side of the house where a shack had been to set up for them. 

"How long have you been teaching those dogs?"

He's met with silence.

"How long have you been out here?"

Silence again. Wilbur walks down the stairs, snow crunching under his steps when he reaches the bottom.

"... How long do you plan on ignoring me?"

"Until you find out I don't wanna talk to you."

That made Wilbur smile, huffing as he looked at his twin.

"Ah, so not long at all then."

That gets Techno to glare at him, a deep frown etched into his face. The scars that decorate his skin don't make him look any younger. 

"Why are you so angry at me, Technoblade? None of this hostility was here before I died."

"That was before Tommy came home." Wilbur raised a brow at that, annoyance pricking across his chest as his wings flared slightly.

"What does Tommy have to do with the beef you have with me?" There's a bitterness in his voice that he doesn't bother masking. Words of anger turmoil inside his skull the longer he listens but that hardly deters him from stopping.

"Because him being around made me realize how horrible you were to him– to both of us."

The wind picks up barely, whipping their hair around slightly. Their stances mirror each other, restrained irritation barely held back from both of them. Wilbur's slight attempt at keeping his mood light diminished. If Techno was going to be difficult, so was he.

"I'm not that husk anymore. I would never do any of the things I did back then, now. I came back for a new start, I came back so I could make up for what I did because I missed you three. You can't hate me because I want to be different, you can't–" he doesn't finish before Techno takes a step forward, finger pointed jaggedly at him.

"Just because you're back doesn't mean I have to forgive you. That doesn't mean I can't hate you. I have so much to hate you for, Tommy has so much to hate you for," he takes a harsh breath, a strained twitch in his eye as he nearly growls.

"You egged him on to fight me–" Techno starts, prickles of anger beginning to crawl up his spine as his wings ruffle. He's cut off almost immediately by Wilbur.

"Oh, you're hardly innocent, you can't pretend you are."

"You made us fight!"

"I didn't make you do anything."

"Yes, you–"

"No. You better listen to me– I acknowledge I pushed Tommy to fight you, but I never told you to throw that punch. Sure, I tempted you to– I riled you both up, I know– I know Techno, but in the end, I wasn't the one in that pit. I'm not the one who hit and beat him in that pit. I'm not the one who nearly killed him because he wanted to avenge his friend. I didn't kill his friend.

I didn't go to war against him because his ideals didn't fit mine, and I didn't set those withers on him for it." 

The air around them stifles. 

"... Why did you come out here." It sounds less like a question and more of a threat. Wilbur glares straight at his brother, barely aware of the panicked beating beside his heart. He listens to the cruel voices encouraging him to react instead.

"I came out here because I wanted to talk, but you decided to be difficult. I wanted to make amends, but I guess we'll both stay unapologetic."

With that, Wilbur turns around and steps back inside, refraining from slamming the door. Only when he was inside did he notice how nauseous he felt, the pounding in his chest making the ground spin under him. It took a while to orientate himself as he leaned against the wall. It took just as much time to piece together that Tommy saw them. 

Watched them argue, spit fire at each other, and glare daggers into each other's chests. He sighs, rubbing his eyes as though that would fix the ache in his body. That wasn't how he wanted his and Techno's talk to go, even less now knowing that Tommy saw.

He'd bang his head into the wall if he wasn't worried about what the force of it would make Tommy think. 

He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

Maybe it would've been better if he stayed dead.

The bile rising in Tubbo's throat was probably the least difficult thing to swallow currently. His heart threatened to beat open his chest, letting his guts fall so he'd feel some semblance of grounding. The reflection of half his face looked at him through the axe blade he held, barely feeling the frown that stared back.

The netherite he was helped into froze his skin. Anxiety threatened to crush his ribs as Ranboo helped open the slits in the back to accommodate his wings, one of which struggled a little because of the added bulk assisting his flight. 

The apologetic grimace Ranboo gave him as he grazed over old feathers made Tubbo want to die. Instead, he just gave a sad and quiet 'Thank you.'

They both straighten up as Quackity walks over to them. With every passing day, sleepless nights slowly show their mark upon his face, exhaustion creasing under his eyes and into his frown. 

He straightens his own chestplate, uncomfortable with the weight it puts on his body.

"You guys ready?" He murmurs, looking between the two worryingly. There's meaning left in the unspoken pause between the three, quiet in space of truth.

"... I just want to see Tommy again," Tubbo whispers back, looking away as though it was something punishable, something that would earn him the same fate as his lost friend.

All he gets is a sympathetic look from Ranboo as Quackity steps closer. He puts a steadying hand on the brunet's shoulder, rocking him slightly.

"We'll get him back, Tubbo," he dips his head down a bit, catching Tubbo's attention to look at him," You just gotta have faith, man."

Faith was too far in the past for him to believe in it now. The tightness of his skin and the forever damaged follicles in his wing was only a testament of how little faith cared for him.

Faith is a cruel creature, Tubbo was sure it was out for him and Tommy.

It was always after them.

His wings flex in discomfort, his scarred half weighed down ever so slightly. Not enough to hinder his flight, but just enough to remind him of the springs and wire and leather clasping onto his bones, opening and flying against dead feathers.

Tubbo was lucky that Sam offered to help in building him a wing assistant, even if it feels like a slap to the face every second he has it on.

"Yeah, sure Big Q," he agreed, not bothering to argue. Quackity gives a small frown, tilting his head to talk as his yellow wings rouse.

He's cut off when a shadow passes over them from above.

The cold gust that washes over them from the shadow forces a violent chill down their backs. Even Fundy shuffled his way closer to the others, a concerned frown on his face.

Grass blows away from where Dream lands, bits of dirt flying into the air. Punz lands a moment later, much quieter and much less aggressively. A passive, silent glint flashes in his eye when he glances at Tubbo.

"You four and Punz are going after Technoblade. Distract him or kill him– I don't care. I'm going to make sure every inch of his base is turned to get Tommy."

Something in his wording makes Tubbo sick. There's a silence after Dream speaks, almost as though baiting someone to ask him something. Tubbo falls right into his snare as he pipes up.

"What are you going to do, exactly?" He asks, cruel curiosity killing him.

"Ah!" Dream exclaims, twisting his head to look at the teen full-on. "Well, you see Tubbo… I was planning some poetic justice," Dream said, the awful smile evident in his voice as a block of explosives materialized from his inventory. 

Tubbo and the others flinch back, the destructive item putting them on high-alert. 

"Oh c'mon, don't you think it's only fair to blow his home up after what he did to yours? Don't you think Technoblade deserves it after what he's done?"

It was targeted, Tubbo didn't need to do any mental gymnastics to understand that. He'd forgiven Techno, he knows that. So does Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno himself; he'd admitted it before The Pit. He's got a nagging feeling, though, that if he were to deny Dream he'd be on the end of another explosion. Tubbo backs off slightly, turning his head away.

Dream takes his silence as agreement.

"Tubbo, you'll be flying with me for now. I don't need you falling out of the sky because of your wing."

The jab at his wings is just an extra pound of salt in the wound. Dream moves on easily as Quackity and Ranboo support Tubbo, rubbing his shoulder and back in sympathy. Quackity glares daggers at Dream while Ranboo focuses more of his attention on Tubbo. As much as the teen wants to shrug it off, the remark boils into Tubbo's mind.

He'll do something irrational at some point, he's aware of that much. 

Tubbo relents, shaking his head slightly as he lets himself get pushed by the tides of people around him.

The sun begins to set over the tundra. 

Tommy sits out on the snow, back turned to the forest as he plays with a few of the dogs Techno let outside. The warm coat the blond wore engulfed him, the hood pulled over his head. Techno forced him into some armour before the coat, much to Tommy's annoyance because of its uncomfortable weight. He'd been given a pristine shield and sword as well, which he didn't argue about as he stowed them away. A soft cloth of wool draped over his wings like a cape, his limp one bound to his body just under his coat. 

Wilbur had flown off somewhere after another argument with Techno. He was planning on returning, seeing how he'd left his stuff still within the house. Phil set off earlier to find him, promising to be back as soon as he could. He rushed, barely packing materials as he muttered and swore under his breath, his wings stressfully puffing every so often. He spoke to Techno before leaving, arguing then agreeing on something before he took off. 

It certainly had to do with Tommy, seeing as how Techno's been shadowing him since their dad's departure. Whether Tommy was told to stick by his side or Techno simply followed him, the blond was never out of his brother's sight. 

It annoyed him, to say the least. In a sick way, it reminded him of exile and Pogtopia; the sudden, constant following stemmed from distrust left a gross taste in the back of his throat. 

Techno was a few meters away inside his house. The doorway to the ground floor wide open so he could see Tommy from where he sorted things. He's packing bags as far as the teen could tell. Carl and another horse named Andrew stood close by to the doorway, packs already settled on both of them. Behind Andrew was a cart with some items thrown in. 

There wasn't a single sign that someone was in the forest. There wasn't a sign of Phil and Wilbur being home soon. His wing ruffles slightly as a chill creeps up his back. Eyes watching him from the forest claw into his mind. He frowns, straightening his back as he looks around.

Then he heard a soft click.

The loading of a crossbow across the expansive white.

The dogs jumped to alert, their growls drowning out the slight creak as a crossbow aims.

Techno shouts something he doesn't quite process, a sharp whistling noise as the snarls of wolves begin to surround Tommy.

The snap of string doesn't meet his ears as three arrows screech across the field. 

He turns in time for one to pierce his lower back, just below his ribs. The two other arrows land amongst the mass of fur surrounding him. The arrowhead just manages to pierce his armour, the sharpened tip of it digging into his skin.

Something courses into his body, infecting him and impairing him in seconds. His fingers slowly start trembling, his muscles about as useful as slime as moments pass. His body sways, being pushed around slightly by the wolves circling him.

There's another snap somewhere behind him in the woods, the drawing of arrows just before it– then Techno's got a hand on his back and a shield in the other. The shield takes the brunt of the arrows as Techno pushes Tommy towards the cottage, his words slurring in the teens' ears. 

He stumbles, his wing trying to stabilize himself as he runs into the house. The door shut behind him. The wolves around Techno snarl and bark, their eyes trained on the forest.

All is silent for a moment. 

A rocket screeches from between the woods, exploding upon impact against Techno's shield. 

Tommy pants, lungs trying to fit air back into them as his body screams for rest. His back is to the door, only taking seconds to recover before he scrambles around. His thoughts scattered the second an arrow hit him, all reason thrown to the wind as he ran into the cottage. 

If he took a second to collect himself, he'd hear the familiar sound of wood splintering and breaking atop the house.

He'd also hear the click of steel against flint, the lighting of a match.

It all processes a second too late as he crouches down, covering his head as best he can as TNT explodes the roof and rooms above him. It disorientates him, white noise barely plaguing the edge of his hearing. 

Every twist of his body digs the arrow further into his skin, what he realizes is weakness nestling into his muscles as he looks above him. 

He just catches the thud of boots beside him and the cruel, harsh hand grabbing the back of his hood as he's practically thrown across the room. He lands in the outside's spotlight, a clear, gaping hole above him. 

He gets a second to stare wide-eyed at the sky before another explosion sets off.  

Tommy scrambles out of the way as heavy wood planks fall and collapse as the ceiling caves in. The room fills with dust. Panicking, he pulls out his shield, holding it up as he struggles to wield his sword. He stands, shaking, as he stares at Dream.

Dream stares right back as the air begins to settle.

Tommy is the first to speak during their standoff.

"You! Why would you do this to me–" Tommy starts, voice cracking. With only half a functional wing that flares, trying to make him bigger, his unused muscles twitch painfully. 

"– What kind of sick fuck are you to do this to me?" He finishes, his words wobbling as his eyes sting. The shield in his hand droops, nearly slipping out of his grasp as his shoulders slump.

The man standing opposite of him remains stoic. His white mask no longer pristine, speckled and stained in grime and blood and gore, chipped and cracked. A single cold, sharp green eye stares at him. 

It almost shines as shadows encompass his face, the fireworks and sparks outside flashing and lighting behind his figure. 

The bright colors glare Tommy's vision, starting to disorientate and nauseate him.

His eye twitches in discomfort, stinging before he's forced to blink.

On the bare edge of his hearing, he catches the slight whistle of a blade cutting through air.

He raises his shield in time with a scream, watching and jolting in horror as Dream's sword splits the top portion of it jaggedly, burning the wood slightly where it snags.

"I'm not the monster here, Tommy, " he snaps, shoving the both of them further from the doorway. Tommy nearly cripples under the weight Dream puts against him.

"You needed to be kept in check. You always started things. You caused these wars. You let yourself into exile." He smelt of metal and nauseating sugar and citrus, strength and regeneration and swiftness. The air stifled and strangled with the intent to kill.

"What don't you understand, Tommy? What about all of this–" Dream motions with his free hand to the shattering cottage, the fight and blood outside and wolves whining and tearing flesh from bone, "–don't you understand?" 

Dream puts a foot to Tommy's shield, kicking him away as he dislodges his sword. The teen skids, nearly knocked off balance as he shifts, limp wing almost unbinding from the force alone.

"All of this–" there's a twisted smile in his voice– a violent glint in his eye, "– is because of you!"

"S-stop it, stop talking," Tommy tries to interject, readying himself for another slash or stab. He's quickly interrupted by Dream talking over him. 

Dream paces around him, eye focused intently on Tommy like a starved wolf stalking a lamb.

"You can't keep shifting the blame to others Tommy– Toms. You can't act like you can be treated like everyone else. You know, you know the spotlight is always on you– it always has to be on you. It's never 'Tubbo took that' or-or 'Niki blew this up'. It's. Always. Tommy." With every pause after a word, he takes a step closer. 

"You know everything you do has repercussions, every step you take has to be watched," the masked man continues. With one inconspicuous step to pace, his sword gleams a fiery orange as it slashes forward. It pierces into Tommy's shield, searing and fraying the wood. The slight singe of the wood makes the teen bring the shield higher, eyes widening as he peeks over the split top. 

He braces himself as a large netherite axe cracks down over him. His knees buckle as the axe impacts splintering wood. Lights peek through the holes in the planks.

Using Dream's violent momentum against himself, Tommy thrusts his own sword up. The blade partially gleams off of enchanted netherite armour, partially cuts into the green fabric and freckled skin. 

It isn't enough to deter Dream, but it's enough to give Tommy a semblance of hope that he might survive this.

Might is a strong word.

Dream lets out an annoyed huff at the cut, ignoring it otherwise as it stitches itself shut.

The durability of his shield continues to dwindle as Dream strikes and strikes and strikes, leaving little room to recover and breathe. 

For the onslaught he gives, Tommy can only hope to land a good stab when Dream's weapons catch in the deteriorating barrier between them. It's when Dream holds his axe with two hands, ramming it down into the shield, does it shatter. Shrapnel scatters and scars as Tommy tries to dodge the sharp, curved blade, eyes widening as he screams. 

It just barely misses his skin, his pants not so lucky as it slices open a hole from his knee down. Cold air bites into his skin.

The impact of the axe head slamming into the floor shakes the entire cottage. The snap of Dream's attention from the axe to him terrifies Tommy as he scrambles up, grabbing one of the few potions from the belt he'd grabbed from Techno's storage. Tommy wished he'd been paranoid enough to grab potions for health and not for escaping. He can't run from this. He didn't have time to check what was inside the bottle before popping off the cork. He downs it quickly, the disgusting taste of pure citric acid burning and sticking to his throat as it goes down. 

With potency in exchange for time, Tommy can only hope he didn't waste precious seconds.

The bottle shatters as it's thrown to the side, glass shining with the dull explosions of color outside. He's left to dodge the heavy swings of sharpened blades that could slice him open with less effort than a blink.

Energy courses through his body, his limbs filling with sluggish static as his body responds quicker. The weakness arrow still affects him, but it takes a backseat to the swiftness flowing into him. He reacts quickly as Dream's attacks become more reckless and aggravated. Long minutes pass as it becomes a dodging game, Tommy panicking as his swiftness threatens to leave him exhausted and Dream using up his various potion effects.

One wrong step is all it takes.

His ankle swivels, twisting as he turns away from the sword blade as it's thrust towards his neck. He stumbles, gasping as he attempts to steady himself.

Dream takes advantage of Tommy's stagger, hand flashing to the teen's neck as he rams him to the floor, the planks splintering under the pressure. Sharpened pieces of wood stab into his back and wings, misplacing and pulling on delicate feathers. 

Tommy's vision darkens briefly as his head bangs into the wood. The difficulty he has opening his eyelids and the dull ringing in his ear go unacknowledged as he chokes, Dream's grip on his windpipe tightening.

Quicker than Tommy can process, they're both on the floor with weapons disregarded, Dream over him with both hands gripping his neck in a bruising hold. He claws at the wrists strangling him, trying to pry them away. Dreams' wings flare, blocking everything going on around them. Tommy is surrounded by Dream and Dream only.

Surrounded by his living nightmare.

Despite his vision slowly wavering, he sees as a fist raises, backlit by flashing colors as a firework explodes in the sky.

The force of it cracking against his skull bangs his head into the floor again, a warm spot starting to pool where it continuously connects to the planks. 

He barely has time to recover before Dream's fist connects to his face again, a horrible pain spreading across his skin as a sickening snap rings in his skull, his nose bent and cracked as blood starts to trickle down his face.

"I can't say it's been fun Tommy– because it hasn't. You've been this little bug that won't stop causing me issues. A constant little pest that chatters and chatters in my room, never shutting up. Now though, I'm going to get you. I'm done playing with you, and you won't be a hassle anymore. It's almost poetic; every life you've been given–" Dream pauses, a smile in his eye– 

"I've taken."

A scream tries to force itself from his lungs, cut off harshly by another strengthened punch. 

Then again.

And again.

Losing consciousness, the dark nails of death graze over his skin. Despite how cold it is, it almost reminds him of a home he never had. At least, not one he can remember.

Tommy forgot how fiercely death cradled him. 

His vision slowly fades, red seeping into his sight. He feels how his heart strains and pulses in his chest rapidly. 

Just as his mind sways, faltering and jumpstarting to keep him alive, he sees two shadows pass over him and Dream. The masked man sits back on his heels and gives Tommy a clear view of the sky. Something catches his eye as he tries to get air back into his lungs, some sliver of brown swirling towards the ground. 

A feather, his brain tries to piece together.

He winces and whines as he reaches a hand out, as though catching it would save him.

Coughing, a bit of blood spills out the side of his mouth and stains the side of his face. 

Tommy doesn't see the blade that rises over his head. He doesn't see the burning orange shining down the sword, the pulsing strength holding it above his sternum. He cries, salty tears pooling and mixing with deep red blood.

He tries to speak, tries to to get anything past the iron he chokes on.

A high pitched drone fills his brain as his eyes slowly shut.

"It's over, Tommy."

He tries to scream as the sword plunges into his chest.

It bores into his sternum, piercing him to the bloodied planks below him. His body tremors, nerves firing into overdrive as the burning blade stabs into him. His chest burns, blood seeping into his organs and out of his body as Dream stands. 

Tommy whimpers weakly, keening as Dream puts his foot atop the sword's guard and steps down. 

His body tries to curl in on itself but can't, his arms barely functioning as they try to grab the blade.

Dream watches him with a bored look. He leans further atop the sword. A striking green eye stares at shaking arms completely unbothered as he listens to the choking sobs and wails under him.

Tommy's hands barely make it halfway up before falling back, hitting the planks with a dull thump . 

Phil and Wilbur glide over the snow-covered scene, speeding past as Techno fights off Quackity and Tubbo at once while the dogs bite and chase Punz, Fundy, and Ranboo.

Phil focused on Techno's fight while Wilbur looked around for his younger brother. He tries to pinpoint where the pull felt the strongest, but every time he attempted to focus on the panicked beating, it sent fire into his veins.

He's pulled back suddenly by Phil as a firework fires up, both of them having to shield their eyes as bright flashing colors crackling above them.

Just as the sparks fade, a sharp, violent pain stabs into Wilbur. 

It nearly rips him out of the sky, how fiercely it feels as though his sternum is being ripped open. He screams from how agonizing it feels, old memories of explosions and screaming hitting him all at once for a moment.

Wilbur's own heart was beating out of his chest, a remnant of sharp pain right where Tommy's pulse is supposed to be. 

He realized almost immediately that the pulse that usually resides there is far too unstable, far too weak to beat on its own.

The horrifying thought provokes a chorus of screams inside his skull, all wailing some form of "LOOK DOWN" or "DANGER".

His head snaps down, as though out of his control. Looking closer into the wreckage, he catches sight of something glossy. Something dark, splattered around something ashened and gold. 

 It only takes a moment before his brain registers what he's looking at within the shambled cottage before he's rocketing towards the ground.

His landing is messy, fumbling slightly as he rushes to the body pinned to the floor. Blood drains from his face as his eyes widen in horror. He's on his knees beside his little brother, the blond's pulse barely alive in their chests. Wilbur takes one of the teen's cold hands, holding it to his chest as he screams.

Phil lands not a second later, about to ask the brunet what he was thinking, screaming and landing before he stops.

He sees a head of blond tilted to the side, blood dripping out of the corner of a mouth. He sees the destruction across the teen's face, puffy and surely broken in some spots. 

Dull grey eyes don't open as Wilbur screams and begs. 

Phil stands frozen in place as he looks upon his dying child. Lost in a fraction of a second as memories of swords impaling flesh, surrounded by destruction and death. Lost in the memories of sitting outside a room as his child lies still and stains the floorboard with blood. 

He can't let his child die.

He rushes forward, skidding beside his son. He tries to block out the whimpers coming from his youngest as he pulls Tommy up slightly. The sword cuts deeper into Tommy's chest before it dislodges from the planks underneath him.

The pain is what makes Tommy open his eyes and choke.

Phil holds the body of his youngest, listening to the weak, horrified whimpers passing between bloodied lips. Tommy's face quivers, tears messily falling down his red and bruising cheeks. He looks around fearfully, his whines and whimpers getting higher as he tremors. His mumbling and terrified stuttering is agony to hear. The only thing Phil can think to do is pull his son closer.

Both their eyes are blurred by tears, hushed and hurried apologies blending into soft and scared whines.

His room was destroyed, nothing left but debris and planks and burnt wood and papers.

He searches through the potion belt desperately, looking for anything to heal Tommy. He tosses glasses full of strength and weakness and harming, ignoring the occasional shatter as he cries.

Wilbur dug through what he could, looking around for anything that could help Tommy. His breath catches as he panics. Dust fills the air with how much he sifts through the wreckage. 

"Phil! Fucking help me! There's gotta– there's gotta be something left to help him–" Wilbur's brain is filled with voices chanting about some book he should be looking for. As much as he hoped he could find it, the ash and books that crumble in his hands don't encourage him. 

His words don't reach Phil's ears at first. 

All Phil hears is the weak, barely alive beating of Tommy's heart.

His hearing drones, tuning out the world before it all suddenly comes back. He hears the screaming, the fighting and bloodshed around him. He hears Wil calling him and begging for his help.

He falters as he stands. Phil stumbles to where Wilbur is, pushing him back towards Tommy as he searches for the book. The brunet looks at Phil in confusion before going back to Tommy, pulling his little brother closer. His eyes sting as tears spill. 

Is this what Phil went though when he first killed Wilbur? Hold onto a world as it fades and dies? What an awful realization. What a horrible, awful, painful realization, Wilbur thinks. Whether his thoughts are his anymore, he doesn't really care. 

He tried telling Tommy to live, he tried to feed that hope to him. He couldn't tell if he was trying to convince himself or his brother. 

Somewhere between his sobbing, he couldn't feel Tommy's heartbeat anymore.

Maybe that's what made him beg harder for Tommy to wake up. Maybe that flatline is what made him pray for a God– any God, to bring the air back into his brother's lungs. Maybe the withering abyss forming where his brother's pulse was is what made him scream his throat raw.

There were no more retries for Tommy. 

There wasn't another chance for him.

His body hangs from his brother's arms. 

There was nowhere for him to go, no more resets, no more respawns.

How sick does the world have to be to let a child die? How sick is it to let older brothers bury their youngest? How sick is it to let a father bury another son?

"You weren't supposed to die, Tommy–" he wailed into the still chest of his dead brother. His voice cracked pitifully as he continued.

"– You weren't supposed to die- you weren't supposed to die- you weren't supposed to die!" he repeated over and over, as though if he said it enough it would pull the blood back into his body. As if it would put the pulse back in his veins.

There was something horrifically derealizing when you held the corpse of your brother, Wilbur realized. He looked at the cold face of Tommy as the world slowed, his vision tunneling on the still air between the ribs he's holding in his arms. He watches himself cry, seeing him scream himself hoarse as ash and dust still in the air around him.

"Where is it– where is it?!–" Phil screamed from behind the brunet, nails and fingers clawing into the burnt wood and ash. He ignored the pain the splintered planks caused his fingertips. He searched desperately for any papers or books that had avoided the fire's touch. Any remnants of the work he'd so easily forgotten.

"–Where is the damn book?!"

His voice wobbled for a moment before he fell to his knees. He screams into the ground, anguish pouring out of him.

Technoblade heard the screams of his family. He saw the TNT explode his roof open. He saw the fire being set. Rage is what kept him from going to the remnants of his home. Rage is what made him whistle for the dogs. Rage is what made him dawn a skull mask as his vision went red.

Iron filled his nose as he laughed, watching as the wolves' teeth sink into skin and cloth, tearing apart whatever lands in their maws. While the wolves tore into the Butcher's Army, Technoblade settled his attention of an all-to-familiar, scarred face. How ironic it is that he and Tubbo stand opposed, no longer trapped on a stage yet still being watched by the masses.

Something was off with the teen though, Techno noted. He couldn't balance like before, one side off-putting him. One wing weighed him down, one wing damaged because of him.

Something about knowing he's maimed Tubbo upsets him. Something else makes him want to end his suffering, end Tubbo's strain, end his problems, end his life. 

He easily overpowered the teen when the wolves tore Quackity from their fight, dragging him off somewhere to distract him or kill him. He stood over Tubbo, the demands for blood screaming inside his skull. Technoblade took a deep breath.

He raised his axe, preparing to swing down. 

He exhales, starring down at Tubbo, his weapons scattered and out of reach. Just as he huffs, someone screams his name.

"Techno!" Someone wailed from inside the house, voice shattered from strain. 

There was no crunch of bones from the weight of his axe, there was no corpse under his swing.

Techno snapped his head to the sound, his hair loose and tangled from exertion. 

Puffs of smoke escaped his mouth with every breath. His body wracked from the onslaught of potions coursing through his veins, his pulse beats inside his skull.

He looked at the crumpled and dilapidated skeleton of his home, the split wood and cracked foundation that used to house his family. 

He looked at the hobbling form of Wilbur, wings flailing and flapping uselessly as he held something in his grasp– someone in his arms.

A curly crown of gold was held to his chest. Techno could smell the blood that splattered and stained it. The disgusting familiarity of rusted iron fills his lungs and the axe in his grasp falls.

He disregards whatever Tubbo was saying, the sound muffled and blurred in his ears as he turns and runs. The panicked thrashing of his wings pushed him forward, steps becoming clumsy as his mind raced and howled.

His brothers fall atop the blanket of snow nearly a meter away, one screaming while the other lay silent. Ivory wings fall open against the cold ground while large grey and brown ones flare and arch over two bodies. 

The sobbing screams of Wilbur claw across the red-stained snowfield. 

"He's dead! Techno, he's fucking dead!" Wilbur shrieked, tears streaming down his face.

All his care and self-regard were thrown to the wind as everyone stared at the once dead man, now holding a dead child. 

His words stained the air as Tommy's blood speckled the white bedding around them.

The smell of iron filled Techno's lungs as his features twisted and forced themselves back into something more human. The hatred he felt for Wilbur drained for this moment.

He stares at the limp form of his baby brother, a sword pierced through his body and blood flow halted. He pulls the sword out with ease.

"No, no-no-no," he stutters, eyes unable to pull away as he nearly rips off his potion belt. His voice grows louder and louder, nearly screaming as he stumbles with a health potion. It's a splash potion with fragile glass that shatters with the minor pressure Techno puts on it between his hands. The liquid seeps out of his scarred hands, dripping onto the cavity in Tommy's still chest. 

It doesn't work.

Techno hyperventilates as Wilbur presses his head against the blond's, sobbing. Techno grabs another healing potion, trying again.

Then again.

And again.

"Where– where's the book?! Where's the book that dad used?!" Techno yelled at his brother, watching him crumble and fall apart.

"It's gone Techno! It's fucking gone like everything else!"

He ignores how his vision blurs and stings. The world is silent around him. The fight was over. 

Tommy was dead.

Old promises of safety and protection sear into his chest, screams of mourning and anger blocking out whatever thoughts he might've had. 

He vaguely feels someone moving beside him. He can't take his eyes off of Tommy. He can't stop staring at the lifeless eyes of his youngest brother. He can't stop staring at the dark crimson that stains his face. He can't move.

Tubbo is screaming. 

He's holding Tommy's head, staining his damaged face with tears. Wilbur's trying to comfort the teen, rubbing his back as they both cry.

The crashing waves of voices turn to seething rage within seconds inside his skull. They coil and turmoil inside his bones, the overpowering sense of fury begging to be taken out on someone. 

He aims for Tubbo's neck.

Whether Wilbur could read what was going on inside his head or understood his rage, he pulled Tubbo away from his twin. There's shouting that sounds more like whining as voices strain and scratch.

"Techno, stop– stop!" Wilbur snaps, pulling Tubbo behind his wings.

"Give him to me, Wilbur. He's the reason Tommy's dead, he's the reason why all this ha–" Techno snaps back, wings flaring threateningly as Wilbur cuts him off.

"No! Tubbo is just a child Technoblade! He's barely older than Tommy, we don't need another kid dead. I don't care what gripes you have with him Techno– I will not let you be the reason another kid dies today." No one can ignore the wobble in Wilbur's voice. A voice made to lead and sing finally breaking. 

Techno's expression only hardens.

"Since when did you start caring about the teenagers you lead?"

He sees how deeply he cuts Wilbur. He sees how his heart shatters, how his wings sag. He sees how his words stab right through his heart. He's about to make another cruel cut when he's cut off as Tubbo steps forward.

"He's my best friend, Techno, he's my brother!" Tubbo yelled through his wailing. Even as he cried his eyes out, his face was pulled taut into a snarl. Even as he barely holds himself together as he stands over his best friend's corpse, he has to be an adult. 

"And he was my actual brother, Tubbo. What does friendship even mean to you? Does it mean throwing your friends under the bus? Does it mean hurting them?! Does it mean exiling them?! " Techno shouted. He couldn't ignore how Wilbur and Tubbo flinched at his voice. Maybe he was glad they were scared of him. Tubbo has just as much fire in his voice as he scowls and speaks.

"... You don't deserve the right to call him your brother." 

Silence.

There's a glint in Tubbo's reddening eyes that Techno recognizes. Irrationality, anger, naivety. That young ferocity that Tommy had, that fight inside him that kept him… alive… 

There's a sharpness in Tubbo's voice that reminds him of Tommy as he fought for his freedom. In one single morsel of a second, he sees Tommy, standing opposite of him above a crater. Young, scarred face forced to harden as he faced war and bloodshed and violence at his hands. Their voices screamed hatred at each other. Hatred.

Hatred, hatred, hatred.

He's about to do something brash– possibly fatal– when Phil steps out of the wreckage of their home. His expression blank aside from the steady flow of tears pouring from his eyes. He doesn't look at either of his sons. He stares forward into the trees, eyes and nose red from the cold and tears. His throat is just as scratchy as Wilbur's from screaming his vocal cords out.

"Pack your things, boys. We're leaving."

Wilbur turns to say something only to be stopped when Phil raises a hand to silence him.

"No arguing. Pack your things." He steps forward, only looking down to scoop up Tommy's body. He holds Tommy as though he was just asleep. They all wished that was the case. 

Techno finally whistles. The wolves leave gore in their wake. Wilbur's hackles sag, watching as the wolves pace and shift around Techno's feet. Some of them sniff at the deep crimson where Tommy's bloodstains. 

It makes him sick.

A day later, after Tubbo helped and guided his mauled friends back home, he arrived back in the snowy field. His sombre expression didn't flicker as Techno stared him down. Didn't break as wolves surrounded him, testing him as their blood-stained fur circled him. After what was probably hours of him waiting, Techno called the dogs off, moments before his brother and father called for him. They were leaving.

Tubbo walks up to Techno, yet doesn't look in his eyes. They stay at a standstill for what could've been years if it weren't for Phil's raw voice calling for his son. Tubbo breaks their silent standoff first.

"I hope I never see you again, Technoblade."

"Likewise."

They don't look at each other. They don't look at each other as they walk side-by-side to the cart attached to Andrew. They don't look at each other as Tubbo hands over two labeled paper-wrapped discs. They don't look at each other as Techno hands them to Tommy, adjusting his hands to cradle Mellohi and Cat to his sternum. Tubbo won't mention how numb he felt. Techno won't mention how he wanted to hide the hole in his brother's chest with the discs.

Tubbo doesn't look at Techno when he grabs his arms.

Techno doesn't say how it reminds him of Tommy.

"... Please bury him somewhere nice. He likes watching the sunset."

Techno sighs. He covers Tommy with a wool blanket.

"I'll make sure. Stay safe, Tubbo."

"Likewise."

Phil held the bridles of Carl and Andrew, walking them forward as Techno and Wilbur sat atop them. They'd decided to stay grounded instead of flying. The thought of flight sat wrong in their chests at the moment.

None of them have spoken their entire travel, staring endlessly forward. They were afraid that if they looked back, the world would come crashing down again. The corpse in the carriage was only a testament to their failure as a family. 

A child's body shouldn't have to be that sign, they knew. That didn't stop them though, unfortunately. 

No one spoke the entire time they traveled. There was nothing to talk about. Space that would've been filled with Tommy's laughter is instead filled with static silence. Days spent traveling would be rendered mute. Even as they approached the shimmering border between worlds, no one spoke. They were coming to the end of the world, yet it felt like history repeating its cruel, cruel fate. 

The sun had gone out, all that was left was to freeze to death.

There she stood against the horizon, a few meters from the barrier between her and land she could not enter. That daunting tug, the frozen vice that chained them down hesitated before falling from their exhausted bodies. There was no wind in the air, an almost stifling stillness despite being outside. 

Her large black hat hid away her eyes, but the soft frown that painted her face was unmistakable.

With her hands interlaced at her front, neither moved as they approached. The closer they got, the more clear it became that she was crying.

Hell was a cold and cruel place, and at this moment they'd mistaken the afterlife as real life.

It was obvious Kristin knew there was death that followed her husband and sons. It was obvious she wasn't ready to see the body. It was obvious she didn't want to see the body. It was obvious she wasn't ready to reap her son's soul. The way her face fell when she saw Tommy would haunt them forever.

"What happened to my baby's wings?!" she screamed, her voice raw from wailing over the thin body of her youngest. No one had the will to answer. No one had the will to talk about Tommy. It would remain a sore subject; never healing, never spoken. The fray in the family only worsened.

Techno left one day. Items were taken from Phil's storage as well as a shulker box. There was barely a note left for his father atop his made bed. Phil waited day after day after day for a letter from his oldest. He's yet to receive one.

Wilbur spends more days mourning than eating. He didn't react when Phil told him Techno was gone. He didn't react when Phil forced him to eat some bread. He didn't react when Phil tried to talk to him. Phil eventually gave up trying to reach him through his misery.

Phil would spend days away from home, focusing all his attention on his builds and projects. Hours when he would be home would be spent sorting items unnecessarily or trying to check on his remaining son. He accepted the fact that Wilbur would probably leave one day. He accepted the fact he didn't have any sons left.

Kristin make visits to Tommy when she can. She make the trek to his grave and speaks to his body, keeping him updated on the barely existing positives in their family's lives. She'd tried searching for him in the afterlife. She was never going to be lucky enough to find him, it seemed.

Tommy would be buried six feet under, where he would stay and rest. There would be no divine intervention, there would be no revival. Even with death and all her power, she'd be stripped of it sooner than she could try it. His grave is placed at a cliff's edge, overlooking the land and sunset. A jukebox is placed beside the freshly placed dirt. Spare discs were set to play indefinitely as Tommy's Mellohi and Cat were buried with him, forever to be in his possession. 

They were finally his now.

He was finally free from the Dream SMP.

Finally free.