Work Text:
Although winter has long left the weary doorways of the arctic cabins the plains are still coated with glittering and vacant snow. It will not leave in spite of the change in season.
Techno hates it.
Not always, just on mornings like this. Most days the snow is helpful. It wards off stray wanderers and keeps Steve cool.
But on mornings like this, when Tubbo marches out of the arctic commune with a hasty “see you” yelled through his open window, the snow is an enemy. Techno never asks where he goes. It’s not his business. The kid doesn’t have a job technically, but there are plenty of other reasons to escape.
Looking at Ranboo’s old house through the frosty glass he can think of a couple.
He moves towards the door, shuffling through piles of papers and books scattered like fallen leaves. Those will all need to be cleaned soon. With spring comes the leaks in his roof, and the melted ice will not treat his precious artifacts kindly.
The wood door opens with a loud thud and slush on the overhang cascades down onto the hem of his cape. Techno lifts the edge, shaking the water off, before marching across the wooden bridge to Phil’s cabin.
The door bangs open before he can reach for it and a flurry of green robes and black feathers stops right before him. Phil smiles up at him, arms heavy with an odd bouquet of blueprints and iron tools. “Mornin’!”
“Mornin’. Can you-” Techno gestures at Ranboo’s old house awkwardly.
“Oh, Tubbo’s out? Sorry mate, one of the farms broke down and I have to go…” Phil smirks at Techno’s not well-hidden frown, “You’ll be fine. The kid doesn’t bite, I promise.” He winks and steps off the path, rushing out of the commune before Techno can even blink.
Techno sighs and glances at the stone brick house, dark and empty. He stands there for a while, thinking about turning around and going back inside. But then a face appears in the window. It’s Michael, pink fur and shadowy socket standing out despite the distance.
The boy’s eye glow excitedly, and the face bobs out of sight to reappear behind a carefully opened wood door. Techno grumbles but makes his way over to the house as Michael takes a few steps forward, bundled tightly in his tiny brown sheep coat. Tubbo must have done that before he left, dressed him up for the cold.
Michael takes another step and topples right down into a deep snowdrift.
Techno rushes over, kneeling in the snow, “Hey, are you okay?”
The piglin pops up from the snow like a daisy, giggling at the silliness of Techno’s question. Of course he’s okay, he’s a kid. He shakes the icy powder from his fur easily, obviously used to the snow from his old home, not that Techno knew much about his life before this.
He figures that would make him an awful temporary guardian but unfortunately for Techno’s peace and quiet, Tubbo doesn’t seem to mind handing him off so easily.
The kid squeals in delight again and dives back into the thick snow like it’s a giant kiddie pool. Yeah, peace and quiet would definitely be better than this.
Techno’s head snaps up as the perfect idea crosses his mind. “Hey bud,” He scoops Michael up from where he was buried with giant hands, “Do you wanna see something cool?”
The word seems to trigger something in the boy, and Techno swears he sees stars engulf his tiny iris as he babbles something blissfully incoherent.
Ok, this was good. Maybe he could handle this tiny menace after all.
It’s a short walk back to the cabin, but Techno lifts the boy up around his head so that he can ride piggyback to not get lost in the sea fluff that rises to the edge of his boots. Michael doesn’t wiggle or get scared because of his height, so he must be used to this. Techno wonders who used to carry him.
Within seconds Techno is helping Michel down from his back, setting the bouncing kid onto the slippery bottom step. “Stay” he commands, before climbing up to his door and disappearing inside.
Michael looks up eagerly at the blackened doorway, waiting patiently for Techno to come back out. It’s so familiar it feels like there could be no difference between this door and the one on the floor of the yellow room. For the record, Michael is very patient.
Eventually, something does peek from the glowing cabin. Ragged, dagger snout and two charcoal-set glossy eyes stare down the boy. Its fur is feathers and halos, brighter than the winter it camouflages with. A puff of breath curls from its mouth like a dragon as it inspects the kid.
Techno rounds the corner after the animal, grinning downwards at both of them. “Michael,” he pats the bear's fluffy fur affectionately, “meet Steve.”
The kid perks up instantly, tumbling into the bear’s thick fur with both arms outstretched. Steve is overjoyed with his new friend, huffing warm breath and licking tufts of Michael’s hair so it sticks straight up in the cold.
Techno retrieves a saddle, and the bear and his boy bounce through the snow together, making craters, mountains, tunnels, and moats out of the ice. He watches for a while, backlit by the glowing torches of his glowing cabin. Maybe spring isn’t too bad. He waits for the kid to tire out, or the bear to grow lazy. But neither runs out of energy, everlasting under the fresh rays of the sun.
Suddenly Steve stops, transfixed by something beneath his lowered snout. The change in momentum throws Michael off the side, and he topples into a drift. Techno rushes over immediately, kneeling down and pulling him out of the snow. “You have got to stop doing that bud, you could've-”
But Michael is gone already, climbing over his arms and crouching over whatever stopped Steve in his tracks.
Flowers. They were short, with few pale petals so that the only contrast between them and the snow was their green stalks.
Techno stands upright, giving Steve a questioning look while the polar bear continued to sniff the plants. He didn’t know that he could be this gentle.
Michael sits backward in the snow, still marveling at the small patch of damp grass and the tiny garden within. He points at the flowers, looking upwards with questions in his eye.
Techno leans against Steve, who is now laying in a semi-circle around the curious boy. “The flowers? I don’t kn-”
“Snowdrops.”
The single word, uttered as gentle as the thing it described, sends chills down Techno’s spine. He looks up slowly, knowing what he will find but still frozen in caution.
The ghost descends into the snow, fluttering down to kneel on the opposite side of the flowers as Michael. They lean forward, brushing lace fingers through the solid petals and smiling like a cracked mirror.
Michael copies them, giggling when the downy petals tickle his hands. He clasps one of the stems firmly, plucking the little flower from the earth.
“They’re called snowdrops, bug”
The piglin babbles back, imitating the sound of his new word. The ghost chuckles as he stands, facing Techno, “He’ll get there eventually.”
The first thing Techno thinks of when he sees him is the axe, polished and lonely hanging on the no-longer-abandoned house wall. The second thing he thinks of is why that treasured weapon is on the wall.
And now, standing before the empty creature, he thinks of the memory that paints itself on closed eyelids. The soaked clothes and shouts and desperate threats behind his back. And when he turned, the sword separating his friend in half.
But here they are.
Techno stands upright, concealing himself with formality and disinterest, “How do you do that?”
Ranboo lifts glass arms to observe them carefully, like this is the first time they’ve seen something so impossible, “I don’t know…” His eyes meet Techno’s, another shocking reminder of what was stolen, “I think…you’ve asked me that before?” Curiosity is carefully penciled into each word. Every inch of this fading creature is young and foreign, burning up the space around them like a spot on a photograph.
That unshaken cold feeling returns, alien and heavy along Techno’s spine despite his heavy cloak.
In rage there is fire. He is a match to a wood-pile battlefield, and everything is consumed. Technoblade doesn’t know if he could remember how many lives he has taken, how many warriors have fallen to the same never-ending sword.
They will remain nameless.
They will not come back.
Not like Ranboo, who is both living and deceased. Who blossoms in the snow like the only flower for miles. A sacrifice with eyes open at the altar.
He wonders which god he does not worship did this.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Techno wonders, slightly stepping away from the flower patch. He hasn’t seen the ghost since Michael was returned, he doesn’t even know how often it visits.
The ghost hums and sinks back down across from the kid, folding both pinstripe legs underneath him. “Sure, but I’m not sure how much is left in here.” He gestures to his head, made mostly of a thin veil and wide, pale eyes.
Techno stays standing. He glances at the wooden fence line and the deep forest beyond. "Where did you come from?"
The ghost hums again, concentrating on the grid of snow Michael has drawn between them. They point, and the piglin draws an x in one of the nine squares. "I really don't know, I just kinda…appeared? Tommy told me that it was a blessing that brought me here and Tubbo…" he shakes his head and frowns, "Tubbo doesn’t talk to me. I don't think he likes me."
Michael babbles and points down, indicating the ghost to take his turn. The game ends in a tie and the snow is swept clean. “I don't want to upset him…” they mumble under their breath.
Techno clears his throat and looks away. It's not easy to forget that Ranboo was a kid, but nowadays he finds it almost impossible to think that he was married. He wonders how long the boy might have kept it from him, if he ever would have even told him on his own. "So…how is…what brought you here?"
"What?" The ghost smiles easily, "Am I not allowed to see my son?"
"That's not what I-"
"I know." They stand, rising from the cold, "I know, Techno."
He flinches. For some unknowable reason, he forgot he wasn't speaking to a stranger. The ghost stands next to him, staring out as the sun sets below the horizon.
Michael stays with his patch of greenery, plucking and weaving the long stalks and thimble blossoms into a wreath. Techno doesn’t meet a lot of kids, but it’s fascinating how every new action of theirs is a memory already lived. Someone must have taught him how to make those.
Steve lowers his head as the wreath is placed on it, and Michael dissolves back into the snow in a fit of giggles at the sight of the freshly kinged bear. The teardrop petals melt into his arctic fur as the emerald leaves starkly float against the white like a halo.
"You've hurt a lot of people, right?" Ranboo shocks him, breaking the peace with that infinitely simple question.
The ghost nods and continues without an answer, "you hurt people I know. You didn't mean to, but you took things from me."
It’s spoken like a fault, not an accusation. Techno stays quiet. He waits for the lunge, the blade to split cracks in his armor and run through his heart.
“I’m sure a lot of them were bad people too. I wouldn’t worry, the bad people don’t come back.” Instead, there is a sympathy. A garden for rusty weapons, flora for each unnamed grave.
It’s a lie. Techno knows it’s a lie, he’s heard of similar vacant creatures. How dictators live on after funerals, how martyrs breathe after earth-shattering explosions. “Are you…‘back’ then?”
“I don’t know.” Ranboo mutters, “Do you think so?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then it should stay a mystery,” he smiles like it was a joke. “You aren’t a bad person Techno. Sometimes I think you try to be one, because it keeps you safe. But…” he breaks off and sighs. There are dozens of things he could say to prove his point, a handful of evidence, a few key moments. But what is any of that compared to centuries of a life they’ve never seen, a person they’ve only known for seconds in comparison.
The ghost turns around to wave at Michael, who cheerily waves back, both arms laden with swirling crowns of pearl blossoms. He brings the sun, grows the flowers, breathes life back into the arctic desert inhabited by people who never consider it. He doesn’t belong. It’s a small suffering, a transplant from an uprooted family. A daisy grown in brimstone that misses the frozen lake outside his window.
“One last thing Techno, did you get your revenge?”
Time stills for a second as Techno’s heart sinks, but he doesn’t look away from the kid. “No, I-” There is still so much work to do. And yet he refuses to even play with the boy unless forced to. He should be ashamed, Ranboo deserved better than him to watch after his son. Ranboo deserved better.
Footsteps sound from somewhere behind them, lighter than Phil’s through the snow. Ranboo's head turns suddenly. He looks nervous, fear filling those eyes in that hauntingly familiar way. “Take care of Michael for me, okay? I can’t- I can’t hold him” And like they were never here, the ghost disappears.
The sun fills the empty space as if nothing else consumed it. Nothing might as well have.
Techno turns back towards the noise to see Tubbo crouched in the snow next to Michael, lifting the boy as he giggles and tosses his flowers on the ground. "Thanks" he calls, grabbing Michael's hand and walking towards the house. With the other hand, the piglin waves goodbye, seemingly unaffected by the sudden change in parent.
He watches them go, waiting until the door closes to turn away.
Steve finds his way under his hand, fondly brushing his head up under Techno's rough palm. He sighs and walks back to the cabin in silence, the door closing roughly the same way it opened hours ago.
It’s spring, but no flowers will grow within these walls. None besides the ones gifted to someone far more deserving than him. Someone who loses instead of takes. And someone who forgives all the same.