Work Text:
Philza Minecraft was a calm, patient man, a skill he was forced to learn while raising his two sons, but just because he was a patient man does not mean he was never annoyed, which is an important detail because right now he was close to popping a blood vessel.
His eldest, Technoblade, was not responding to any of his or his brothers messages and calls. Techno was too old for Phil to be able to blame teenage angst and too paranoid for Phil to think his son was purposefully ignoring them.
Phil was also a smart man, he knew and understood the dangers that came with being in this field of work, whether it be as a business man or as a less. . . honest man, and how those dangers would affect his sons once they joined him. The only truly strange thing was that Phil hadn’t seen any messages directed towards him, not for ransom, not to threaten or gloat, not even a peep.
Whoever had taken his son knew what they were doing.
-
Tommy was an impatient person that was having an awesome fucking time.
Now you may be wondering, how could he be having an awesome time when he always has an awesome time being the big man he was? Well, what if you had the strongest villain like ever sitting on your couch and just listening to you, no violence or threats needed, just a ‘hey don’t move.’
You would think it was awesome, and that is the life he was currently living.
“Excuse me, I asked for a non-fat, light whip mocha caramel macchiato. I would like this remade.”
Ok, maybe not literally currently but still, “I am so sorry about that ma’am, let me take care of that for you.”
This might seem a lot less awesome, working a minimum wage job at a coffee shop three buses away from his apartment, but his manager was nice and he got free drinks and snacks, so it was still a little bit awesome. Aside from the rude customers he encountered on a daily basis, few were actually memorable or mean enough for Tommy to formally complain, not that he didn’t informally bitch about it.
As the espresso shots brewed and Tommy burned his fucking paw pads off while he steamed the milk, a man walked up to register. Internally, he groaned, why did he agree to be the only worker here if only for an hour? “I’ll be right with you, just let me finish this up.”
“No worries.” Ah, he sounded young, childless and dead inside, the perfect customer. Someone that would probably take Tommy’s spit in a cup just to avoid confrontation. Not that he would actually do that.
Finishing up the drink, handing it to the woman and receiving an approving nod took a little less than a minute, and now he was staring at quite possibly the tallest person he has ever seen. What the fuck.
“What can I get for you today? Our current specials are the pistachio honey lattes and red thai tea,” Tommy smiled at the man and at his awesome memorization skills. The man just frowned as he stared at the menu, eyes blank. “Sir, do you need any help with the menu?”
The man finally seemed to actually notice Tommy was there, and Tommy hates to say it but had he been a middle school girl he would definitely have a crush on this customer. Not to say the man was cute or handsome or anything, he was probably a pervert anyway. The man was tall as shit, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, gold rimmed glasses, deep eye bags, dressed as a creep and a dirty looking, dark brown trench coat. Yeah, definitely a wrong’un, who wears a trench coat anyway.
“Oh, um sorry,” he then coughed nervously, “Just a, uh, a large black coffee with a shot and a medium matcha latte, with oat milk.”
Tommy hummed as he put it into the POS, “That’ll be 9 dollars and 26 cents, would you like to add any pastries to your order?”
“What do you have?”
“A variety of macaron’s, a variety of cream puffs, plain buns, sweet mexican bread, and american style chocolate chip cookies,” damn, he was good at this, no wonder Sam hired him, “Although, all of them contain dairy.”
“Why would that matter?,” the man was confused. Was he braindead?
“Both of your drinks have no dairy, one of which is with a dairy substitute, so I just assumed,” Tommy was feeling tired all of a sudden, “Anyway, would you like any or no, so I can ring it up.”
The man hummed and turned to stare at the pastry case, and Tommy desperately wished to bash the man’s fucking head in, he has already been standing here for five minutes, “Um, no not today, maybe when my brother comes back.”
Fucking bastard, wasting Tommy’s precious time like this, “Oh, is he off at college?”
“No, he went missing a couple days ago. He’s probably dead and my father and I will never find the body.”
“Oh, sorry.” Tommy was quitting this stupid fucking job because who the fuck actually says that to someone, I mean what a way to kill the vibes. Thirteen dollars an hour plus tips was not enough for this. “Uhm, name for the order?”
“Wilbur,” The man hummed again, paid, and finally left Tommy alone.
A few minutes later, Tommy set out the man’s drink, not seeing the hundred dollar bill that was now resting in his tip jar.
-
Dream was having an awful time. Guilt racked his mind and he couldn’t stop seeing the blood on his hands no matter how many times he washed them. Prime, he couldn’t stop thinking about his fight with the Blood God.
It wasn’t meant to go that far, but when he felt a couple of his ribs crack and saw that the Blood God seemed to be unwilling to stop, Dream had pulled out his knife and just stabbed.
He wasn’t thinking clearly as his ribs threatened to pierce his organs, or as crimson eyes bore into his as his opponents hands just kept coming down. Then there was blood, far too much for a fist fight, as the blade cut through cloth and hardened skin and a large hand came up to push Dream away.
Afterwards, Dream just ran as far as he could away from the scene.
What he couldn’t run from was the action of his job, or lack thereof , because more often than not Blood God and he would ‘spar’, and after seeing no red cape or boar skull mask for three days, Dream came forward about what happened and the Committee had him report to the public.
Three days after their fight, Morpheus told the world that the Blood God was more than likely dead.
-
Phil liked to think he wasn’t an angry man, he liked to think he was levelheaded, mainly because having two sons with anger issues will do that to someone. Phil usually viewed anger as counterproductive, something that led to screaming matches where no one listened and pointless violence.
However, he believed his anger was justified having just seen on the news that his son has been murdered and they couldn’t even find the fucking body.
His anger was a quiet, cold thing that grew slowly and morphed into various plans for revenge, but now it was hot and burning, screaming for him to tear the city apart and find his darling boy, his poor Technoblade.
He understood why no one came forward saying they had Techno, to tell the Angel of Death his son’s blood was on your hands was a death sentence.
As he left to his office he prayed to Lady Death to take care of his son.
-
“Oh Mr. Blaaaaade, I have a coffee for you,” Tommy called out loudly, “I’m not exactly sure what you like, so I just got you a macchiato. Caramel, a classic.”
Toeing off his shoes and gently petting Henry who was purring at his feet, Tommy heaved a heavy sigh of relief. No more customer service smiles, no more rude bitches he couldn’t yell at, no more weird people who came in just to tell him their brother was dead. He trudged into the kitchen, passing by the Technoblade sized lump on his couch.
“Y’know I was thinking of ramen, or maybe ramen,” Tommy laughed at his shitty joke, “Ooh, I have some hot pockets, what are you thinking of, Big Man?”
He was met with silence, not too weird, this is the Blood God we are talking about.
(Tommy still kind of felt proud that he could call the Blood God by his name.)
Henry jumped up on the counter next to him, a cute, fuzzy face making Tommy want to just crush him. “Hello, big H. What are your thoughts on dinner?”
The cat let out a loud chitter, “Not all of us can live off salmon, y’know.”
Another chitter, and a quiet meow, “Hot pockets it is.”
Before Tommy could even take his dinner out of the freezer, two beefy fucking arms wrapped around him, and then he was being lifted up off the ground and carried to the couch. Tommy was forced to lay down by the piglin hybrid, held tightly against a chest that was much more ripped than his own.
He really needed to hit the gym.
“Technoblade, any explanations for this?” Tommy managed to wiggle enough to see the villain's eyes and he was met with blown pupils, comforting chuffs, and a loopy smile. Ah, instincts ok. That’s fine.
It had happened before, his magic making whoever he had healed instincts to get set off, many times Tommy had been trapped by an enderman, a goat or a sheep.
“Gold runt,” it was practically a rumble and filled Tommy’s chest with warmth, “Gotta keep you close. Treasure, my treasure, my runt. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Alright, bitch, I guess I can stay, only ‘cause you’re so clingy.” Tommy said louder than need be, but still turned around and cuddled closer to the chest. Techno was so warm, and the rumbling sound that was basically a purr was so calming. This was the most comfortable Tommy has been in years.
And then thick fingers began carding through his hair, working out any knots, massaging his scalp, scratching at that perfect spot behind his ears. His eyes began to droop as Techno filled his ears with praise and terms of endearment.
Tommy let out his own purr, letting his potential packmate know he wanted the same.
The next day, Techno refused to talk about what had happened, but he was much more willing to cuddle with enough badgering, which Tommy considered a win. And no he was so not clingy. Or lonely.
-
Six days after what Dream had dubbed the incident, he finally left his apartment, even if it was only to see someone.
His phone had been blowing up, and with the endless guilt that weighed upon him, Dream lacked the energy to look at his phone, let alone answer. Which had left Dream with the guilt of ignoring his friends, his family.
So, he crawled out of his misery hole and walked towards his favorite coffee shop. On the way there a short man with shoulder length blond hair slammed right into his shoulder. Dream was too tired to be offended and the other man seemed too angry to care about a stranger.
As he entered the door chimed softly, and his favorite barista was just finishing up tending to a customer.
“Tomathy, how’s work?”
Tommy looked at him, face bright and ears perked up. The boy ran around the counter to nearly tackle Dream, tilting his head so it would butt against Dream’s, something that lit his instincts up with a lamb around.
“Big D! It’s been so long, how've you been man? No drama with Gogy or Sapnap? Oh, we have a new drink I think you’d like. Did you know that-” Dream let out a wheezing laugh, interrupting Tommy, earning him a string of insults.
“I missed you. Let’s go to my place once you finish, alright? You can talk my ear off then,” Dream smiled as Tommy nodded, “And how about that new drink?”
-
“I saw the news, Dream.”
The two had been curled up on the couch for hours now, having moved from talking about anything and everything to watching an old black and white horror movie. Dream had almost forgotten about what he had done if even for a moment, it had been nice with Tommy’s padded fingers running through his hair, grumbling softly when he hit any knots.
Now he had to confess everything, confess to the last person he wanted too.
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” And Prime was he sorry, not a second has gone by where he hasn’t thought about what he could have done differently, “Our fight, it just- I don’t know. It went too far, he just wouldn’t stop. ”
Dream wanted to fucking cry as Tommy slid his hand into Dream’s own. “I didn’t want to do it, I just panicked, and- fuck Tommy. But I had too, you have to believe me, please, Tommy, please believe me.”
His grip on Tommy tightened as he rambled about what had happened that night because truly he didn’t want any of this to happen. He never wanted to be a murderer. He wanted to fix the system, to allow villains a chance.
And yet here he was, pleading with a kid to forgive him.
“I saw him that night,” Tommy paused, not looking anywhere near Dream, “I healed him, Dream. He’s not dead, you aren’t a murderer. I believe you.”
For a moment, Dream felt his world freeze, maybe it was the relief that he wasn’t a killer, or the unexpected soft kindness from Tommy, or maybe it was tears that started to fall from his eyes as he shoved his face into Tommy’s stomach.
Dream heard a soft chittering sound, meant to calm, and he sobbed, held in the arms of the person he trusted most.
-
The day after Technoblade finally left Tommy’s apartment, which thank Prime because that man was stinking the place up, he received an unnamed package with no return address. Hmm, not suspicious at all, not at all.
There were a couple options as to what this box was. A prank, a bomb sent from Techno’s lawyer (or whatever the villain equivalent is of having to protect whose hiring you), or it was a thank you gift.
Tommy hoped for anything but the second choice. He opened the box up quickly before jumping behind the couch, holding tightly onto Henry who was meowing up a storm, has the man never heard of stealth?
When nothing exploded, Tommy poked his head up. Ok, safe for now.
Creeping slowly over to the innocent looking cardboard box. He nudged one of the flaps open and jumped back again. When nothing happened, he finally threw caution to the wind and fully opened the box. Inside was a stuffed pig and a note.
Tommy smiled as he read it, ‘ I owe you one, Theseus. - Blood God’ .
Maybe he’d scrapbook it.
-
“Technoblade Rosales Watson Minecraft, you are grounded for the next ten years for the stress and worry you put us through!”
“Bruh, I literally died and the first thing you do is ground me?”
“YOU DIED?!”
“Yeah, but some kid saved me. Embarrassing, I know.”
“...Tell me more.”
“Phil! You can not be letting him off this easy!”
-
“Dream, did you say Blood God tried to kill you the other day?”
“Uh, yeah why?”
“And you didn’t think to call me you arrogant, self-obsessed dickhead? What if you fucking died? I swear to Prime if you pull stupid shit like that again, forget Blood God, I’ll kill you myself.”
“... Understood, Tommy.”