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It has been nearly an entire decade since Technoblade cared about Tommy Innit.
In that decade, Techno has gone through so many things . He settled in the lands of Hypixel, stuck to the server through its early days of barely scraping by, through its legendary rise to fame, to where it is now as the single most popular server in history.
He has conquered its lands, first as the most skilled player of Bedwars with his unbeatable win streak, and then as eternally immortalised in gold as the winner of the Great Potato War.
There was not a single Player who did not know his name, rumors of his conquests and wanderings reaching the farthest corners of the galaxy.
Technoblade’s biggest mistake was answering his brother’s desperate pleas and joining the server of his greatest enemy. Dream was never a good person. His persona was made up almost entirely of those sparkling green eyes of his, dark and arrogant.
His obsession with playing God was never something which could’ve ended well, and Techno saw that first-hand after entering his hellhole of a server.
In the blink of an eye, Technoblade lost his pseudo twin, his best friend, and his promised little brother all to the same person.
Wilbur wasn’t even close to the brother Techno had made a blood oath with, in those blissful days of childhood , and Phil was never the same after being forced to murder his own son.
And Tommy-
Tommy was a traitor .
Technoblade did not remember growing up with a liar , but he supposed that’s just what life does to people.
He had learned that lesson the hard way so many times , and yet just the sight of that bright blonde hair and those crystal blue eyes was all it took for Technoblade to throw it all away.
And now, once again, he was facing the consequences of believing that people were kind, that people were good . It was all a lie. No one was worth it; not even the ones he used to call family.
No one would ever know just how much he’d hurt after his final encounter with Tommy, after that final argument under the dark sky with the world exploding around them.
Technoblade did not have tears shoveling through the dust on his cheeks, like Tommy did, like Tubbo did, but the pang which went through his heart, every time he glanced at that singular piece of bedrock treasured in a cracked glass box, said more than tears ever could.
It had been a long time since Technoblade had cared about Tommy (the traitor), but the news of his death was still not something he could’ve hoped to prepare for.
The news had reached him, like most things these days, through a Syndicate meeting.
It’s been a hot minute since the last time they’d gathered, and in that time he has helped Phil with his attempts of resurrection twice more. Things around the server had sort of calmed down since Dream was put into prison. The calm before the storm.
In the days which followed the third and final destruction of L’manburg, Technoblade had managed to scrap out some vague semblance of peace .
It was nothing like what a worn cabin by the sea used to be, nor was it even close to a bright island surrounded by the void, but it was a wooden cabin in a frozen Tundra, and Techno had learned to be happy with that.
His days were filled not with the planning and acting out of mischief, but with preparing for an unknown, unseen war. His nights were spent with regret which tasted like cold nights in a cave and a legion of withers, instead of sleepy eyes and a soft kiss on the forehead.
Philza was not the man he used to be, and his wings were weak and rotten instead of dark and powerful. They dragged on the floor and spat feathers everywhere, instead of framing his figure ominously. He had nothing to relate him to the man who used to be called a god, who used to be known as the Angel of Death.
Philza was a father who had lost his sons, Wilbur was a fire which had long ago burnt out, Tommy was a child without his innocence, and Technoblade was a soldier out of war.
They tried to meet up relatively frequently, but in the end it appeared Niki and Ranboo had lives outside of their little Anarchist group.
The End table’s various gems glowed ominously in the fractured lighting of the room, and Techno swore he could hear a very quiet sort of sound whenever he sat down beside it. Maybe it was the portal. Maybe it was something else.
The voices were being exceptionally loud today, but Techno could not make out what any of them were saying. It all blurred together, yet he could feel the faint sense of urgency tucked into their incessant chanting.
That was the first sign.
Niki, Phil and him had been waiting for exactly one minute and thirty-seven seconds when the tell-tale clunks of Ranboo’s netherite boots with the floor could be heard, echoing softly against the stone walls.
He barrelled into the room, panting heavily, angry red scars, reminiscent of the aftermath of a whipping, running down the length of his cheeks.
Ranboo leaned heavily against the table, and his apparent haste to get here clearly alarmed the others. Niki’s hand was resting inconspicuously on the hilt of her sheathed sword, and Phil’s eyes looked closer to two blocks of coal than their usual crystal blue.
‘What’s wrong?’ Niki said, her voice cutting sharply through the tense atmosphere. Ranboo startled, staring at her uncomprehendingly before pulling up a chair and dropping into it heavily.
‘News.’
He did not elaborate. Philza’s eyes sparkled like a timeless fuse, and Niki’s lips pressed into a thin line. That word never meant anything positive, on this server, and especially not when Ranboo was in such a condition.
Maybe in a different universe, Technoblade would have pressed Ranboo to speak faster. Maybe in a different universe, Ranboo would’ve already spoken.
In this one, however, everyone remained silent, and Ranboo collected his wits and regained his composure (or lack thereof).
‘Dead. He’s fucking dead.’ His words were met with merely a raised eyebrow at the language from one, and a gentle tilt of the head from the other. Death was not as important here, in this room, as it would be elsewhere. Niki removed her hand from the hilt. Philza’s eyes settled back to ice.
The voices screamed .
‘Who?’ Technoblade questioned softly, eying his ruffled friend.
His heterochromic eyes held different emotions entirely. The red gave off absolutely murderous vibes, and it came as a shock to the rest. If there was one thing assured about Ranboo, it was the fact that he was always completely indifferent, painfully neutral, at all times. He never showed anger.
His green eye, however, shimmered with something like sadness. Something like grief. Something terrible, and something which never should have been there.
Unless-
‘Are Tubbo and Michael okay?’ Phil interjected swiftly, and the urgency in his tone was probably the reason for the tiny smile which flickered on Ranboo’s face for a brief moment.
He nodded.
Ranboo seemed to have calmed down a bit, and as such, the rest were tamed as well. The tension was manageable now.
‘Tommy visited Dream in prison a few days ago,’ Ranboo began, and a knife embedded itself into Techno’s gut. No.
Phil and Niki seemed to have similar thoughts. ‘And?’
There was a dark underlying message in the enderman’s tone, and it did not go amiss. He didn’t respond.
His silence was answer enough. No .
There was a strange, horrible feeling creeping up Techno’s spine. It slithered up, up, unpleasantly, and it curled around his stuttering heart. The voices thundered in the base of his head, providing an unpleasant buzz, shocked and fucking pissed.
‘Ranboo,’ Techno growled, yet the boy did not flinch. He didn’t even look him in the eyes. ‘What did Dream do .’
Ranboo’s next words seemed to drain the very life out of his soul as he slumped into his seat.
‘It was his last life.’
Technoblade stood up abruptly, his chair screeching loudly against the floor. Instantly, all eyes were on him.
Breathing seemed like torture . Breathing felt like taking air in through jagged pieces of broken glass.
Not a single thought went through his head as he trudged through the snow, away from the room, away from his only friends, and into his cabin.
Which is probably why he found himself sliding down the length of the wall of his slightly damaged, hastily created, entirely unplanned basement.
(The kid had trusted him enough to seek refuge in his house.)
It had been an eternity since Technoblade cared about his little brother and now that Tommy’s dead, he was reminded, quite violently, that he did, in fact , care.
There was a hole in Techno’s heart, and his love was pouring out. Sitting there in his dark, cold basement, trying to remember the shape of Tommy’s smile, that same feeling solidified and crystallised into something twisted and ugly.
(And Technoblade had broken that trust.)
How was it fair that someone like Techno was allowed to live, when Tommy, a mere kid , had lost all of his lives?
The piglin barely registered when Phil gently entered the basement and settled down beside him, although he did dimly remember being grateful. Philza offered no words, no false affirmations. Just his presence.
Techno doubted he was deserving of even that.
It should’ve been Tommy who sat here now. It should’ve been Tommy, alive and in Techno’s spot or rather not. Tommy would never have let this happen.
Tommy would be outside right now, wandering about, competing against the sun itself with how much warmth he provided. Tommy would be lightly bantering with Phil and helping him with the chores. Tommy would be messing around with Ranboo and Tubbo, living his life with his best friends.
Tommy should be here, alive, healthy.
Here is an ironic fact: all of them were immortal except Technoblade.
One would assume outliving two young gods would be an amazing feeling, but all Technoblade could think about was how Phil was missing both his actual sons.
He cursed this godsforsaken server, that evil green rat bastard , that stupid fucking server, and above all Techno cursed his own state of being very, very alive.
Techno has never felt regret before (A lie.), but he supposed it felt like apologies left unsaid and a gleaming axe framed on his lonely walls.
But truthfully, Techno believed that letting the sound of his brother’s laughter grow foggier than the sound of his sobs was his biggest regret of all.