Chapter Text
technoblade stared into the fireplace.
his pale, blotchy skin mauled by thick scars and old remnants of long-since-faded acne were masked beneath the pearl white blanket draped over his broad shoulders. gentle fluff tickled against his neck, soft and unassuming and light, but just uncomfortable enough to make him shift the position of the blanket. his ivory t-shirt hung loose, muscles having dwindled down into nothing more than scrawny arms with jutted-out wrists.
the remnants of his hero career were something that would never leave. something deep and guttural and staining. something that left him instinctively reach for the dagger no longer on his waist whenever there was an unexpected noise. something that made dreams consist of flashes of blood and screaming and the faces of those he could never save, no matter how hard he tried. something that left waking up something to dread.
if there was one thing he could tell his past self, fresh out of school with bright eyes and ambition lining every fibre of his scrawny being, it would be to turn back.
to shun the life of the hero, for it was not a life he could lead.
the life of a hero was nothing more than a lie, in truth, the life of a hero was to be a martyr.
while he had been good at it, sure, he had climbed the rankings faster than anyone had ever even thought about, and he'd stayed at the top for a long, long time, it was not something he could continue doing.
when normal people closed their eyes, they saw black. they saw nothing, and nothing was normal. that was to be expected. that was normal.
when techno closed his eyes, explosions rang out in his ears, screams and desperate pleas for help reached his brain, the distorted, disfigured faces of those he couldn't save were burned into the back of his eyelids.
techno was not normal.
normal was a privilege.
normal was waking up in the morning and not wanting to shed the sinful skin that clung to his frail bones. normal was walking into a building without having escape plans etched into the wiring of his brain. normal was being able to exist without wishing you didn't.
technoblade didn't have that privilege.
embers flickered amongst the flames, beads of ash and speckles of blazes danced against the glass. despite the gentle swaying of the fire beneath the mantle, technoblade felt no warmth.
he didn't think he'd ever feel warmth again.
he didn't think he deserved to feel warmth again.
techno dropped his gaze to the floor, tearing his eyes away from the fire. instead, he stared at his palms. at each of the lines carved into his skin, some natural, nothing more than wrinkles and regularly-occurring crease, some jagged and angry and disgusting. it was hard to look at his hands without seeing red. without seeing the beading of crimson or the gentle trickle of wine-red blood pooling in the midst of his palms. without seeing the lives of those he couldn't saved etched into his skin in the form of stained carmine.
a knock rang out at the door.
it was weak, but the paranoia laying deep within techno's mind still made his heart stutter for a moment.
all breath escaped his weakened lungs, chest freezing in place, and, if not just for a split second, he wondered if this was what death felt like.
he couldn't breathe.
why couldn't he breathe?
the knock came again, only it was more frantic and heavy.
staggering to his feet, techno steadied himself against the wall, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the way it burned. his hands curled into fists, cautious as he approached his front door. he didn't know who it could possibly be. he barely knew anyone anymore, let alone someone who would be knocking so desperately in the dead of night.
still, something felt wrong in ignoring it, so, despite the terror clutching at his heart, he listened to his gut feeling, and wrenched the door open.
there, half-conscious, was none other than the villain he'd spent so long fighting.
theseus.
blood dribbled down from his sickly blue-tinged lips, the crimson starkly contrasting his albicant face. blossoms of plum and pine bruises stained his skin, a gut-wrenching array of sage, scarlet and sandstone blemishes that coated far too much of his skin for someone so young. his red-tinted teeth were clenched so tightly that for a split second, techno almost didn't notice the abnormal gaps of vanished teeth and sluggishly bleeding gums. a gash lined his gaunt cheekbones, deep and flecked with far too much dirt to not be worrying.
well, no, the really worrying part was theseus' hands pressed tightly to his side.
and the trail of fresh blood leading straight to his door.
and pooling beneath theseus' feet.
techno swallowed thickly, frozen in place, horror rooting his socked feet to the spot.
"'m sorry," theseus gasped, breathing shaky and unsteady, swaying unsteadily. "i didn't know where else to go."
maybe there was one more person he could help.