Archive of Our Own

Technoblade scanned the horizon, his eyes on the burning red glow of the day fading to night. The wind blew past him, bringing along the putrid scent of rotting flesh. The river was black against the dark landscape, weaving in between crumbling buildings barely held up by their own steel skeletons. He let his breath ghost out into the chilled air, his gaze darting between the street and the river. The building he sat on was the least worn than the ones around him, though that was very likely to change tonight. His ears flicked, listening for noises that could warn him into action. He heard Carl knicker to himself quietly. The horse had survived far more than anyone ever believed, and Techno was ever grateful for that continued miracle.

“Come on,” he whispered into the fading wind. It would be dark very soon and he wanted to get home. “Come on,” he growled, his apprehension growing with the fading light.

Movement out of the corner of his eye and his attention snapped to the left. Along the river. A figure, crouched low as it dashed along the edge quickly. Techno tracked it, barely sparing a glance as he adjusted the crossbow in his lap. He kept it unloaded when he was waiting, but now, with its purpose impending, he loaded it. The figure was agile, ducking under branches, vaulting over rocks, his coat flapping in the wind. Carl knickered, stomping his feet. It was as if he could sense Technoblade’s own anxiety growing, the need to run growing. He breathed out slowly, waiting.

The sun finally set and darkness spread out across the city. He lost sight of the figure, but that was fine. He’d see him soon enough.

Within a few minutes, his ears perked at a loud POP! Then he saw the bright trail of the firework as it launched into the sky, his ears flattening at the whistle; it was just on this side of painful for his ears. The firework exploded into a blaze of light, illuminating the surrounding area. And… attracting everything in the vicinity. Technoblade lined up his own crossbow, the rockets already loaded. Illuminated by the fading glow, he saw the figure standing, his arm raised up, the crossbow in his hand empty. Technoblade rolled his eyes; Wilbur was gonna get himself killed if he kept taking the dramatic route.

He hated these plans of Wilbur’s. Stake out the city, grab as much shit as you could in the day–Carl was all packed up with their supplies. But at the end of it, once the light faded and the zombies started pouring into the outside, the plan was to make as much noise as possible. And kill them all at once. The TNT was already placed; that was Wilbur’s job during the day. He also decided to be the bait. The zombies wouldn’t track after anyone if there was no one to track. So Wilbur would wait until the last minute, while Technoblade was the one to pull the trigger.

Their eyes met and they held that gaze for one long moment while silence fell after the firework explosion. Then… the groans came. An enormous horde of zombies started pouring out of the buildings, shambling husks of once-people slowly making their way towards their prey. Wilbur’s arm stayed up; it was his signal. Technoblade kept steady, all his focus there, on his brother in arms. Too early and he’d only hit Wilbur. Too late and he’d miss a good chunk of them. Wilbur quickly straightened his coat; it was his only protection, stitched together with the promise of safety and solidarity. He’d survive and they both knew it. 

He still hated the plan.

The zombies crawled over the mound of TNT at Wilbur’s feet, some of them already reaching for him. He delivered a swift, sharp kick to their skulls. Techno waited. Another leapt at him, its mouth snapping closed on Wilbur’s free arm. Technoblade’s finger twitched. Not yet. Not yet.

Wilbur’s arm dropped, the crossbow falling away as he shoved the zombie off his arm. Techno breathed out, his world falling into slow motion. The coat tore and Wilbur shoved his bare arm into an opening in his coat. Technoblade’s finger pulled the trigger and the rockets boomed as they released. One hit the far wall, blasting off chunks of concrete. A second hit the ground, exploding on the zombies still at the bottom. Their bodies flew apart and a path opened up. The third hit the pile beneath Wilbur’s feet as he jumped.

The TNT lit up from the sparks.

Technoblade swung his crossbow over his shoulder and sprinted down the stairs two at a time. He jumped to Carl’s back, the massive horse whinnying as it reared back. The two of them burst out of the door onto the street just in time for the TNT to blow. Technoblade’s ears flattened at the sound. The wind picked up, gusting smoke and ash and the scent of burning flesh at them. Technoblade shouted back to the wind, “COME ON!” 

Running feet pounded the pavement, panting, coughing breath, and Wilbur leapt through the smoke. Techno threw out a hand to his brother, and Wilbur grabbed it; palm to forearm, forearm to palm. A steady, solid grip, and Technoblade swung him onto Carl’s back. Rope tied around their waists–Technoblade was already tying the knot as Wilbur spun around. Their backs firm to each other and Techno snapped the reins. Carl surged forward and Wilbur spat a curse as he loaded his crossbow with bolts now. Technoblade paid no mind to the chase behind them or to Wilbur’s quick, panting breaths. He had pulled the trigger and now it was on him to get them home.

Carl was fast, even with all the supplies on its back. Technoblade didn't know where the horse came from, nor really if it was a horse at all. He was pretty sure horses didn't have sharp teeth or burning red eyes. Phil had told him enough stories from the past that he stopped questioning it. It was easier to accept the more their world turned to a hellscape. As a pack of zombies filled the streets, blocking their path out of the city, Technoblade was ever glad that Carl liked having him on his back.

"Brace!" Technoblade warned as he snapped Carl forward. Wilbur's arm looped around Techno's waist. They crashed into the zombies like a tsunami. Bodies and skulls cracked beneath Carl's heavy hooves. Techno's ear twitched as something tore and he turned Carl away from the wall of bodies. "Wil!"

"On it–shit!" Wilbur grabbed the loose pack, cursing the whole time. They couldn't lose anything. Not this time, not again.

Pounding hooves on pavement raced in time to his heart. They dove down avenues, vaulted over long-burned vehicles, blood splattering across Carl's broad front as they escaped the carnage. Soon enough, they were out of the city. Pounding hearts slowed in time to Carl's hooves as the cracked concrete turned to grass. The groans softened, quieted as they lost their pursuers.

The zombies stopped chasing after a point. It wasn't that they didn't leave the city, Techno had learned. Unlike the Rot that had taken everything from him back home, this disease didn't make the peaceful vengeful and relentless. Twenty long years he had been here. They were old enough to remember what it was like before. The infection started near six years ago. Slow, at first, but soon gripping their world in a hellscape that couldn't be shaken.

There were more of them back then. Niki, Jack, Sally, Fundy, Tubbo… It nearly killed Wilbur to have his son leave them, hand in hand with Niki for a promise that they could find a better world. And if they couldn't find one, they'd make one.

All Technoblade longed for was a home where he knew the people he loved were safe.

Technoblade hoisted himself back onto Carl, the torn pack now secure. They were out of the city, far from the worst of the zombies. Some still roamed the countryside, but in far less and usually more manageable numbers. Wilbur was fixing his crossbow and counting his bolts. They would be home soon, but Techno needed to talk to Wilbur.

“Wil,” he started, urging Carl forward. He felt his brother straighten, then smoothly relax.

“Yeah?”

“You’re telling Phil you got bit, right?”

“Fuck no!”

“Wil–”

“Look, Phil’s gonna have a heart attack if he hears I got bit! I got it. It’s fine.” 

Knowing Wilbur, it probably was, but Techno had to make sure. They didn’t fully understand how the virus spread. Sometimes people got bit and it was fine. Other times, it wasn’t fine. And other times, you got to see the same man who took you in to his family, the man who called you brother when you had no one else you trusted at your back, put a gun to his wife’s head and kill her point blank. 

“Sure, uh huh.” The silence that fell between them was uncomfortable at best. “Which arm?” Wilbur didn’t reply right away, but Techno heard the telltale sound of electricity buzzing and sparking. He didn’t need to hear Wilbur’s response to know which arm it was, but he still waited for him to say it. He needed to hear him say it.

“Left arm.”

“Thought so.”

The bags were heavy when they dropped to the ground. The loud thunk announced their presence. At least, Techno expected it to, until he heard Phil snapping from inside the house.

“Tommy! Stop waving that thing around before you shoot someone in the eye!”

Techno and Wilbur shot looks at each other, both wide eyed until they seemed to settle on a similar consensus.

“Crossbow?” Technoblade guessed.

“Crossbow,” Wilbur confirmed, nodding solemnly. Technoblade huffed out of his mouth, shouldered a bag, and pushed open the door. Sure enough, Tommy was waving around a fully loaded crossbow in the kitchen. A heavy hand dropped on the crossbow as Technoblade pushed it down and gave Tommy a look. The kid’s mouth closed slowly, replaced with a pout as he glared at him. 

“Listen to Phil, Tommy,” he said. “Unload it now and I’ll show you how to drop a zombie in one shot tomorrow.” The pout vanished instantly. The moment Techno’s hand came off the crossbow, Tommy unloaded the bolt and set it on the table.

“Oi! No weapons on the table!” Phil called across the room. But Tommy was already gone to go grab whatever Wilbur forgot to bring in. Techno leaned the crossbow against the chair, then dropped his bag on the table instead. Phil stepped over, his movements quick as he tried peering over Techno’s shoulder at whatever they scrounged up today. Techno let himself get shoved aside, sending a glance over at Wilbur.

Wilbur set another bag down in a nearby chair, still hiding his arm in his coat. When their eyes met, Wilbur sent him a challenging glare. Yeah, okay. Guess it was going to be one of those nights. Technoblade watched Wilbur start for the workshop. Hm, nope. He wasn’t getting out of this one that easily.

“Oh, these are nice, Tech!” Phil commented, lifting up the glasses as he held them against the lantern light to inspect them. “Not even a crack, where’d you get these?”

“Wil found some untouched storage west along the river. Hey, Wil,” Technoblade called at his friend’s retreating form. Wilbur flinched, then turned on a dime. He ignored it. “You said you found a shulker?”

“Uh, yeah,” Wilbur said, starting to gesture with both his hands. He froze, then shoved his left hand into one of the coat’s many pockets, hiding the torn spot on his arm. From behind them came Tommy’s groan as he dragged in the rest of the bags. “It looked like it used to be a shulker box. Nearly torn to shreds, unfortunately. Couldn’t scavenge anything from it.”

“Was it Punz’s?” Tommy asked, perked up. Wilbur shrugged. The answer didn’t satisfy Tommy, but he saw something shiny in the bag Phil had opened and his grubby hands were already diving in after it. 

“Anything else?” Phil asked, moving around the table to pick through the rest of the bags. Technoblade looked Wilbur dead in the eyes, even as he glared daggers at him, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut.

Alas, Technoblade was notoriously ‘bad’ at reading expressions.

“Yeah,” he started, fully aware of what he was doing. “Wil got bit.”

Glass shattered across the floor. Tommy swore and jumped back. He rushed over to the closet to grab a broom. Phil, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot. Very slowly, he turned, his face almost as white as his wings were black. Wilbur was full out glaring at Technoblade, but, oh, those expressions. He was sooooooo bad at reading them. Darn.

“You what?” Phil crossed over the shards of glass, reaching for his son. Wilbur pulled back, his gaze snapping to his father’s distraught expression.

“It–it’s fine,” he said, backing out of his father’s reach, his arms pulling out of his pockets as he talked. “It just tore the sleeve, it didn’t do any–”

“Wil, if you got bit, we need to make sure it’s not spreading, we need to make sure you’re not–”

“It’s fine!” Wilbur shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy flinched, his gaze directed at the ground, his tremble growing more obvious as the voices raised.

“If you’re infected, it’s not going to be f–”

“I’m fine!” Wilbur shouted, his fingers hooked in his coat sleeve. In one quick movement, he tore off the rest of the sleeve and brandished his arm like a shield. The room fell silent. Wilbur’s left arm crackled with electricity, the prosthetic sparking where rotting teeth had torn through wires. Makeshift cybertronics patched over like an old quilt where the arm was missing. They all knew it was fused to his shoulder, hastily done and meticulously kept after whenever something else failed. Spare parts were harder and harder to find in the wasteland their home became.

Technoblade knew his friend hated the reminder that he wasn’t whole anymore. He knew Wilbur hadn’t felt whole in a long time. He wouldn’t get infected through the bite on that arm, but it was still damaged and it would need to get fixed before Wilbur’s body started rejecting the cybertronics again.

Phil stared at his son’s arm for far too long. Long enough that Wilbur’s gaze found Technoblade’s again. Techno found rage there. Rage, betrayal, and an ache so strong, so powerful that Techno felt it deep in his own chest. Wilbur spun on his heel and stalked into the workshop without another word. Phil stared after his own son for a while, forlorn and hesitating. He startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but relaxed when he saw it was Technoblade.

“It’s almost time for evening patrol,” Techno said quietly. “Make sure Tommy doesn’t shoot himself again.” He left Phil, listening to him step away and gather Tommy. The door closed behind them and Technoblade made his way to the workshop. The door was open; Wilbur didn’t like closed doors. He didn’t like to feel isolated or alone. Technoblade stopped just inside the doorframe, scanning the room. Wilbur had sat himself down on a chair propped up against the wall. Techno watched him quietly. His prosthetic rested on the table, his other hand gloved and already digging through the sparking wires. Techno noticed the slight tremor in his hand, growing more noticeable the more agitated Wilbur became. When Tommy brought it up once, Wilbur laughed it off, telling them that he had the tremor all his life! They just didn’t notice it because he was so good at hiding it.

Techno saw through the lie, but he kept it to himself.

Wilbur hissed in pain, flinching back when he hit something wrong in the arm. Technoblade sighed and stepped into the room. He felt his brother’s gaze snap to him as he walked by. He could look all he liked. Techno gathered his tools, then grabbed the back of another chair. He dragged it to Wilbur, the back of the chair between them like a shield. He straddled the seat, and leaned forward to peer at the exposed insides of Wilbur’s prosthetic.

The bite didn’t do a lot of damage to it, not really. Wires were torn, some of the… muscle, for the lack of a better word, was ripped open. He had some spare parts around, probably. The metal was discolored, burned from reoccurring explosions. Techno didn’t like Wilbur’s plans. He didn’t like Wilbur’s insistence that TNT was their only option. He didn’t like seeing the scars of his brother’s decisions. He didn’t like seeing his own reflected back at him.

With a deep breath, he reached out, his gaze flicking up at Wilbur. Wilbur’s expression was frustrated, but the anger had drained out of him. He looked tired. Technoblade felt tired. He wanted all of this to be over. He wanted all of this to be done with. He was tired. Wilbur leaned into his touch. It was as much of an apology he was going to get. Technoblade cupped Wilbur’s head and pulled him in close. Their foreheads touched, resting against each other. He felt Wilbur settle down, comforted by his steady hand and steady will.

“Alright,” he said, pulling back first. His hand rested on Wilbur’s, feeling the tremor shaking through him. Wilbur’s hand fell away from his prosthetic; it felt like an offered olive branch. And, in return, Techno dipped in head in silent thanks. His eyes dropped back down and he focused on his work.

After a while of silence, Wilbur rolled his shoulders. Technoblade pulled his hands back; it was delicate work fixing his brother’s arm. “Are you done?” Wilbur asked, growing impatient.

“I won’t be, if you keep moving around,” Technoblade replied. Wilbur chewed his lips, then settled back into the chair. Techno went back to work. It wasn’t long before Wilbur spoke again.

“Why did you tell them?” he asked. Technoblade paused his work only long enough for his eyes to flick up at Wilbur’s. They dropped back down and he adjusted the glasses that had fallen low on his nose.

“You weren’t going to tell them,” he replied. Wilbur’s arm tensed as he clenched his fist. Technoblade frowned and sat back. “Wil,” he started pointedly.

“You don’t know that!” he shot back. 

“Hm. No, actually I do.” Wilbur glared at him, inching back into his chair like a stubborn child throwing a tantrum.

“I would’ve told them.” His eyes flicked away from Techno’s heavy stare. They darted back and then away again from his face as he added, “Later.”

“Wil,” Technoblade started, his voice as soft as it was exasperated. “Phil’s not stupid and Tommy’s got the sharpest eyes out of all of us. They would have figured it out long before you decided it was ‘kinder’ to tell them.” Wilbur hunched his shoulders, his hand trembling with the force of his clenched fist. He couldn’t work like this, not with the muscles tensed and shifting around. He sat back with a sigh and took off his glasses. “Alright. What’s this about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilbur replied, quick and sullen. 

“Wil,” he said, leaning forward. “Don’t do this to me. I know what you look like when something’s wrong.” He fixed his brother with a patient expression. “I promised Phil that I would keep you and Tommy safe. I promised Phil I would have your back. I promised you. Where you go, I’m going. To hell and back, even if it’s just to drag your scrawny ass back from the ledge.” He sighed, waiting. Watching as Wilbur’s shoulders hunched. He never wanted to talk about his feelings. Not the true ones, at least. Wilbur had a knack for the dramatics, had a love for wide, sweeping gestures and speeches.

But when it came down to the knitty-gritty, to the dirt and the mud and the worms of his emotions, anything out of his brother had to be dragged out kicking and screaming. Technoblade knew patience more than Wilbur; he’d wait all night if he had to, and he often found that he had to.

But tonight, it seemed, he wouldn’t have to.

“It’s,” Wilbur started in a quiet and strained voice. “It’s not going to get better, is it?”

“Relax your arm and I’ll have you fixed up soon enough,” Technoblade replied.

“That’s–” Wilbur’s lips pressed together tightly. “That’s not what I mean. This, all this. The apocalypse. It’s not going to get better, is it?” Technoblade stared at his brother for a while, weighing his options. He didn’t know much about how the infection worked here versus how it worked in the nether, and he left the nether when the Rot took away his whole sounder. He didn’t want to think about it happening here too.

“Relax, so I can finish up,” he said, then got back to work.

Wilbur flexed his fingers, then strummed the strings of his guitar. The stars twinkled high above them as they sat on the rooftop. Technoblade rested against the wall, his eyes closed. He listened to Wilbur tune the guitar until he was satisfied with the sound. Soon enough, notes and melodies floated into the air, his voice joining them as he tried not to stumble over half-forgotten words. Technoblade enjoyed this. It was nice. It was soft. It was a reprieve against the harsh, hostile lives the rest of their world turned into, no matter how short. It was the only time he knew Wilbur would smile. It was the only time where all his walls fell down and he let his heart sit wide open on his sleeve.

A crunching below made for a ‘lovely’ background sound.

Wilbur’s fingers slowed, the music dying away. Technoblade cracked his eyes open just in time to see Wilbur lean over the edge, peering down into the darkness. Another loud, sickening CRACK-crunch drifted into the gentle breeze.

“What’s Carl got now?” Technoblade asked as idly as if they were talking about the weather. And, honestly, it really wasn’t much different than that.

“Uh…” Wilbur grimaced. “I think it was a person. Maybe. That’s, um, that’s definitely an arm.”

“Better them than us.”

“Your horse ain’t right, man.”

“You’re just saying that because he likes me best.”

“Yes, and I’m eternally envious of the piglin who’s got a horse from the pits of hell who just loves the taste of human flesh,” Wilbur replied, drawing out his words to give them that extra bit of flair.

“Have you tasted human flesh? Give it a nice sear, add a dash of nether wart and crimson bark, and mwah!” Technoblade and Wilbur grinned at each other, soon enough falling into a bout of laughter.

Technoblade picked through the last of their supplies, his frown deepening. They were low on food again. There was enough to last a week. His head tilted, recounting. He could go without food for a few days, if he needed to. That would give the rest of them a week. Fresh water, though, was getting harder and harder to come by. Something had spilled into the air last week from the city. Fire or ash or maybe a power plant or something… The rain had come down and dropped whatever it was into their water supply. Tommy got sick from it.

He had survived, of course. Phil knew medicine, and Technoblade knew how to be relentless in foraging for what supplies they lacked. And Wilbur kept him company through it, his laughter contagious as he sang whatever songs he still remembered. Tommy survived, like the rest of them always did. The world may have ended, but they would still remain, no matter what hardships they faced.

But Technoblade knew how hard the world could be to its people. He had seen better men than him fall victim to the Rot, back home. Back before he left the nether for good, only to be thrown straight into another hell. How much longer could they last like this before they fell too?

Claws clicked across the floor, careful to not wake the boys sleeping in the other room. Phil's talons reached around Techno's arm as he pulled into his space. "How's it looking?" he asked.

"Not good. We'll have to make another run by the end of the week. I think High Town isn't as ransacked as down the river."

"High Town was on fire last week," Phil said. "Tommy and I saw the flames reaching all the way up to the old oak." Techno frowned.

"Phil, we're running out of places. Carl's been curbstomping zombies left and right, even more so than usual. They're going to find us if we don't move. We have to leave."

Phil shook his head, pulling back. He looked back at his home, Techno's eyes following as he went. The chimes he'd strung up when Wilbur was gone so he'd have music to listen to, the knick knacks and trinkets he saved to remember the things they left behind. The light trickling in through broken and remade thrice over windows. This was Phil's home as much as anyone’s here, the one he put together and held together for his son and the brothers he made. How could Techno ask him to leave all this behind?

Technoblade knew the pain. And still he knew he had to ask. "Is there any place we can go?"

Technoblade didn't know what he expected. Maybe that Phil would be firm again, tell him no, there was no way they could leave, nowhere for them to go. This was their home and they'd stay forever. That was the vibe he got the last time this question came up. But Phil didn't stomp his foot or hold his ground. Instead, he clicked his tongue, thinking. When he spoke up, his voice was contemplative, considering.

"There's… Niki. One of Wilbur's old friends. She left about five years ago to find a place she could call sanctuary. Back when things started to get really bad. I don't if he's still getting–" A loud knock at the door startled Phil out of his thoughts. Technoblade narrowed his eyes at it. There was no one around who'd be visiting, and it didn't sound like Carl accidentally knocking into it. He started for the door as another knock came through the sturdy wood. He had just grabbed the door handle when Tommy ducked out of the other room, bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

“You were supposed to be asleep,” Techno said.

“And you two were being loud as hell,” Wilbur said as he joined the other three in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Wandering over to Phil, he asked, “Who’s here?”

Technoblade huffed a breath and pulled open the door right when the person outside went to knock again. The stranger’s hand froze at the sudden movement, then slowly dropped down to their side. Wrapped tight around their head was a multi-colored headscarf. The only feature Techno could really make out was the dark of their skin and the warmth of their eyes. Both reminded him of the hardy bark of dark oak. Tommy poked his head out around Technoblade’s wide frame to see who the visitor was.

“Ponk?” Tommy said, his voice pitched up high in his confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, hello Tommy,” Ponk replied. Techno saw their headscarf crease as they smiled. “Always a pleasure to see you again.” Their accented voice was rueful; Technoblade couldn’t stop a smile of his own. He knew the feeling. They turned to Technoblade and gave him a small bow, then asked, “May I come in?”

Technoblade stepped aside, allowing the stranger known as Ponk in. Tommy and Wilbur seemed to know them, and Phil at least seemed familiar. He, on the other hand, had never seen them before in his time with the others. He didn’t like strangers in his house, but he tolerated them as Wilbur and Tommy talked excitedly with Ponk.

From their conversation, Techno learned that Ponk was from a city called Underlight. It was an underground city, the one that Niki founded as a sanctuary from the worst of the world above. The city had expanded and housed several hundred survivors, all of them thriving in the world below the apocalypse. Ponk, he learned, was a doctor, a researcher. Underlight had been created for two main reasons. One of which was a sanctuary. The other was to find a cure. To find the source of the Rot that had shaken their world.

Upon request, Wilbur and Technoblade showed Ponk their workshop, and Wilbur showed his prosthetic. Technoblade hovered nearby as Ponk studied his work, checking Wilbur for infection that the piglin may have overlooked.

“Fascinating,” Ponk commented as they sat back. “You worked on this on your own?”

“Phil had some books that survived the trip here. He’s good with medicine, but I’m good at finding what I need. It took practice and patience.”

“And a hell lot of pain,” Wilbur added, his voice light and teasing, even if his words were bitter.

“I can imagine,” Ponk replied. Satisfied, they pushed back from Wilbur and returned to the kitchen. They accepted a cup of tea that Phil handed to him, then took a seat at their table. "Thank you for allowing me into your home. I am here with an invitation. We in Underlight are expanding and Miss Niki has requested that you three…" Their eyes flicked up to Technoblade. "Four," they corrected. "Be invited to reside in Underlight."

Technoblade blinked. Well. That certainly was convenient. A place to live other than here. A place that sounded like it was thriving. A community. Techno remembered what he lost when he left his sounder; he knew what they could gain. The others around him started talking excitedly amongst themselves, even Phil, for all he didn’t really want to leave behind his home. But Techno knew invitations like these always came from a price.

"I'm glad to hear that you are excited," Ponk smiled. They held up a hand, their smile falling away into something far more serious. "But there is a small catch."

Techno's eyes narrowed as he straightened. There it was. He pushed through the group to the forefront, glaring down his nose at the stranger. "How much are we talking here?" he asked, his voice tinged with a growl.

"Oh, no," Ponk started, both their hands in the air now. "You misunderstand me. We are not planning on extorting you for money." Their hands lowered. "We have protocols you will have to follow. One of which is a health exam. You’ll all have to go through to make sure none of you are infected.” Ponk’s gaze drifted towards the door. “We will also have to check your… horse.”

“Carl doesn’t like anyone but Techno,” Wilbur warned. 

“You’re welcome to check him all you like,” Technoblade drawled. “But I can tell you now that if you try to keep him out of a place he wants to get into…” He leaned forward into Ponk’s space, holding his gaze. “He will.”

“... I’ll note the guards, in that case.”

“You said one was a health exam,” Phil said as Technoblade leaned back. “What else is there?”

Ponk fixed them all with a serious look, what they could see of their expression had taken on a darker edge to it. “On my journey here, I saw the signs of the infected tracking you here.”

“There’s always infected in the fields,” Tommy interjected. “I’ve gotten real good at dropping them before they get close.”

“Carl gets the ones that make it close too,” Wilbur added.

“I understand that, but I am not talking about the ones in the countryside. They are tracking you from the city.”

“Are you sure, mate?” Phil asked. “We’ve been here six years. They don’t track this far.”

“I travel much further than you, sir,” Ponk replied, their voice still steady. “And the signs show what I have seen everywhere for anyone who lives in one spot for too long near an infestation. They are tracking you here. Given enough time and they will find you. And you will be overrun.” They pushed to their feet, their hands behind their back. “The other catch of Underlight’s invitation is that you must make sure no infected are tracking you to our city.” Their voice dropped in tone, the deeper note giving their threat more weight. “If it is found that the infected are tracking you, then you and your party, infected or not, will be removed from the city.”

Technoblade’s eyes narrowed at the stranger, at the doctor of Underlight. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised. If they had survived for that long, there were reasons why they survived. Techno wouldn’t deny his hands were clean of their own horrors. None of them were infected. They made sure of that. They would make sure that they weren’t followed either. He could already see the gears turning in Wilbur’s brain. He’d lived through enough of Wilbur’s plans to guess where this was going. He stepped towards Ponk. “We would like to accept your invitation.”

He and Phil discussed with Ponk what they were allowed to bring with them, where they’d be going, and the timeframe they had to work with. While they talked, Wilbur took Tommy to their storeroom. A few hours later after Ponk left, Wilbur had them all sat down in the workshop, an old sword still glittering with enchantments in his hand as he told them of his plan.

It was a simple plan, really. Really. Of all Wilbur’s hare-brained schemes, this was the simplest one. Almost foolproof too, which was good, seeing how much of a fool his brother was at times. L’Manberg had a secret, known only to a select few people. Wilbur, one of the leaders of the city when it stood tall and shiny and new, was the last person remaining who knew what laid deep within the many vast tunnels under the city. L’Manberg was a bomb. TNT was embedded within its underground; it had been a last ditch effort should things sour between it and its neighbors. But the TNT there was buried far, far below anything that he and Wilbur had ignited in the last six years. More would have to be made. Redstone would have to be linked up. They would remotely detonate it a distance from the city. Every single thing in the city would be blown to bedrock. 

There was a wild look in Wilbur’s eyes when he finished, one borne of pain and triumph. Where Phil and Tommy seemed hesitant, Technoblade stood. He held out his hand and Wilbur’s laid across his. Palm to forearm. Forearm to palm. If this was the only way to keep his family safe, he would do whatever it took. 

“To bedrock,” he said.

A week later and it was ready.

Several hundred pounds of TNT carefully laid to trigger each other when one went off, all leading down to the TNT buried beneath the city. Now that they were aware that zombies were tracking them to their doorstep, Techno saw just how many that number really was. It felt like being lost in a soul sand valley again. Nothing but the signs of death on all sides of you. Your throat and lungs lined with sand and dust choking you slowly. Not a drip of moisture around to soothe. Nothing but the slow advance of death and doom on the horizon growing closer and closer each day. Ponk was right. Given enough time and they would be overrun.

They had to leave.

As many of their belongings as they could carry, plus whatever else that filled an old wagon of Phil’s, sat off to the side. Phil and Tommy were at the house together, taking time to leave their last goodbyes to their home. Tommy didn’t want to see L’Manberg fall. Techno couldn’t blame him. Carl had been left near the wagon to finish off the zombie they had seen come the closest to the house. 

Wilbur sat crouched in front of him, checking over the remote detonator and its wirings. Soon, soon they would be free of the hell pit before them. Soon, they’d be in Underlight. Soon, soon, soon.

But first L’Manberg had to fall.

“Is it ready?” Technoblade asked. The sun would be setting soon and he wanted to be far from the city before darkness fell over the city. Wilbur nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I think so. Should we get the others?”

“Tommy didn’t want to see it. He’s in charge of dragging Phil from the house anyways.” Techno’s gaze flicked down towards Wilbur. “If you’re going to do it, do it now.” Wilbur huffed a breath, nodding. He checked the wires again, paranoid to a fault. He breathed in deeply. Held it. Then, on the exhale

He pressed the button.

Silence fell. They waited.

And then…

"Uh," Technoblade started, staring out at the city. “Is it on a delay or something?” The city still stood like it had that morning, its buildings weathered and crumbling, but still standing. Wilbur stared at it too. Technoblade couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he watched as Wilbur rose slowly, the detonator in his hand falling to the ground, abandoned.

“It didn’t work…” came Wilbur’s quiet voice. Shocked, forlorn, forsaken. Techno hummed at him, confused. Wilbur spun on his heel, throwing his hand out to the still standing city. “It didn’t work, Techno! Don’t you get it! There should have been a massive explosion! We would have heard it from here!” His arm fell to his side and his head hung low in defeat. “I failed us.”

“Wilbur, look I’m sorry this plan of yours didn’t work out. Even if this failed, you haven’t failed us.” Techno stared at his brother for a long moment before turning away and beckoning him. “Come on. Let’s get back.” When Wilbur didn’t follow, Technoblade turned again. He turned back to see his brother staring at the sand beneath his feet, his fists clenched tight. The tremor was back. “Wil,” Techno started, his voice a warning. 

“Unless…” Wilbur whispered to the ground, a spark lighting in his eyes. It was as if Technoblade wasn’t even there as he turned to face the setting sun. The blood red sky illuminated his figure, wrapping around him like a halo. He stood tall, staring out at the darkening city, as if he were a beacon of light. A beacon of hope. The last true martyr of an otherwise cruel and unforgiving world.

He stood tall, resolved.

And then he broke out into a run.

By the time Technoblade’s head caught up with his eyes and his ears, Wilbur was almost out of sight. ‘Unless…’ He stared after his brother, then his gaze flicked to the abandoned detonator. The TNT could be lit by hand or by redstone. With how much TNT they embedded into L’Manberg, it was safer to detonate it with redstone. But something didn’t work. The spark didn’t connect. The TNT couldn’t be lit.

Unless.

Technoblade spun on his heel, whistling loud and hard and sharp. Barely a minute later and Carl (with Tommy clinging to his back) slowed to a stop in front of him. The hell horse panted, its breath hotter than the lava that licked along the nether’s shore. He brushed a hand through its mane, their gazes connecting. Carl always seemed to know what he needed from it. It had saved them more times than Techno dared to count. They were going to add another mark to that list.

“Tommy,” Techno commanded, turning his attention to his brother as he helped him off. “I’m taking Carl. I need you to go back to Phil.”

“What? Wait, where’s Wilbur? Did you detonate the TNT yet? Phil’s getting–”

“Tommy,” he growled. “Go back. To Phil. Tell him we’re handling it.”

Tommy stared at him, his eyes darting across Techno’s face until he found something in it that made him step back. “It didn’t… work, did it?”

“We’re handling it, Tommy.” Tommy’s head snapped to L’Manberg in the distance. He knew. He knew what Wilbur felt he had to do. His mouth opened as he tried to say something, anything– He startled when Technoblade’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Tommy, you have the sharpest eyes out of us all. I need you to go back to Phil and keep your eyes open for us. If we’re not back by daybreak, I need you to leave. You and Phil need to go to Underlight.”

“But what about you!” Tommy shouted, grabbing onto Techno’s arm. Techno stilled in the face of his brother’s fear, in the face of his brother’s concern. He was the one who protected his family; sometimes he forgot they wanted to protect him too. He let his gaze soften for his brother, but his voice remained steady.

“I made a promise to Phil. To all of you. I will keep you and Wilbur safe. Tommy, I need you to do this for me. If you don’t see us by daybreak, leave. Do you understand?” Tommy stared at him, then slowly nodded, his breath hitching as tears wet his eyes. “Good,” Technoblade breathed. He cupped Tommy’s head, then pulled him in close until their foreheads touched. He held them there, feeling Tommy’s shoulders shudder with a restrained sniffle. He nodded again. Technoblade nodded in return when they parted. He hauled himself up onto Carl’s back, then sent one last look at his brother, at one of the last pieces of his family. “I promise I’ll bring him back.”

“By daybreak,” Tommy said, straightening.

“By daybreak,” he promised, then he snapped Carl forward towards L’Manberg. Towards his brother, his brother in arms, his friend. 

He caught up to Wilbur easily. Carl was fast, hellbent in chasing down whatever Technoblade wanted to chase down. He slowed to a stop, Carl’s broad body blocking Wilbur’s path into the city. Wilbur’s breath came fast, panting with lungs probably burning, and he lifted his gaze to his brother. Technoblade took in the resolved look in his eyes, the sure and certain way he held himself. His eyes narrowed at the piglin’s stare.

“I’m not going back, Techno,” he said. “This is our only option if we want to go to Underlight. We have to make sure the zombies can’t chase after us. You’re not changing my mind, so don’t even try.”

Technoblade sighed, then slid off Carl’s back. Wilbur took a step back, tensing as if he were about to run again. He didn’t give Wilbur that chance. “I’m going with you.”

“What?”

“When I joined your family, I made a promise. You and I, no matter what, I'm keeping you all safe. Where you go, I’m going. Even here.” Technoblade held out his hand, his usually blank expression cracking into a smile. Wilbur couldn’t stop from smiling back.

“From hell and back, buddy,” he replied, slapping his hand into Techno’s grip. Palm to forearm, forearm to palm.

Both agreed and resolved to finish this once and for all, Technoblade hauled him and his brother up onto Carl's back. They raced into the depths of the city. Wilbur directed him down a maze of broken streets. Many of them had holes blown into them already; the results of their previous supply runs. Still they raced deeper. The pounding of Carl's hooves on the cracked asphalt alerted the zombies of their presence, but they didn't stop. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t have time.

"There," Wilbur hissed, pointing to a flickering sign. It was a subway tunnel. Technoblade eyed the opening of the tunnel, measuring it in his mind.

“Carl’s not going to fit in there,” he said as Wilbur slid off.

“Are you going to keep him here when it detonates?” Wilbur asked with a glance over his shoulder. He leapt up the scrap of cars and building remains half blocking the tunnel. “You and I can fit through here, looks like. Ready when you are.”

Technoblade dismounted, then turned to Carl. He looked into the blazing red of the horse’s eyes, into the intelligence he knew laid there. He combed his fingers through its mane, then pressed his forehead close to its own. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. We wouldn’t be here without you. I want you to go back to Tommy. Keep an eye on him, for me. If we don’t see each other again, he’s your ward, if you’ll take him.” Carl knickered, shaking its head as Techno stepped back. The horse huffed air into his face, then, with a knowing gaze, it turned and raced out of the city. Techno lifted his hand in a wave until Carl was out of sight. Then he turned to his brother. “Let’s end this.”

The tunnel was lit, to Techno’s surprise. Even after six years, the tunnel was lit. It was both an escape route and a tomb, depending on the city’s needs. The light kept away the worst of the zombies, but Techno could hear the groans from all around them. They were being tracked. They had been tracked since they entered the city, but now they were trapped with the infected. They turned their backs on their only way out and dove deep into the city’s underbelly. Techno’s nose was filled with the smell of rot, of mold, of mildew, and gunpowder. Still… deeper. Water dripped down here, Technoblade noticed. They were under the river, under the lake. The groans behind them grew louder. Wilbur led them through a maze of tunnels; it reminded him of the nether wastes, though far more moist. He lost all sense of direction in these tunnels, but somehow, Wilbur led him with ease.

Techno’s ears flicked back; the groans were closing in. Wilbur stopped, finally, at an old, rusted door. “Here!” he shouted in triumph, only to slap his hand over his mouth. But it was too late. Technoblade spun on his heel, one hand looping into his shield. He threw it in front of him barely a second before a zombie crashed into them. 

“Wil!” Techno shouted over his shoulder, crashing the zombie into the wall. It crumbled with a sickening CRACK! 

“I need a minute!” Wilbur shouted back, fumbling with something that sounded like a lock. Techno couldn’t look back. He couldn’t check on his brother. He couldn’t give them an opening. He faced the darkness behind them, faced the mass of zombies shambling their way towards them. He drew his sword and held his shield in front of him. He had to trust Wilbur knew what he was doing, just like he trusted him to get them here safe. Now, it was his turn to keep his brother safe. He shoved the wave of zombies back, snarling at them like a wild beast. He had to keep them safe! This time, he’d keep his sounder safe!

Wave after wave crashed into him. Every single wave he threw back. Blood coated his shield, splashed up against the wall and the floor like graffiti. He’d lost his sounder once. He would not lose them again!

Behind him, Wilbur slammed his fist on the door, snarling in his frustration. “I can’t get it open!” Technoblade threw the zombies back, feeling Wilbur press against his back. The click of a crossbow loaded. Fine. Technoblade switched his grip on his shield. In one fluid movement, he stepped back and turned. Wilbur mirrored his steps, dropping to a knee. He aimed for the closest zombie as Techno raised his shield up. The bolt released with a twang, harmonizing with the CRASH of the shield into the lock. Techno shouldered the old door open, throwing his sword into the room. He grabbed Wilbur by the waist, spinning them back around. He slammed the door in the zombies’ faces.

“Tech!” Wilbur shouted. He stumbled back just in time as a massive cabinet crashed down. With the door blocked, Technoblade allowed himself a breath. Red caught his eyes as he scanned the room. TNT. Right. There. 

The room opened up into a deep pit, inaccessible on all sides. Water trickled down the sides of the massive pit, dripping into the room from somewhere above them. Technoblade tracked the sound of it as Wilbur started on setting up the redstone. This was the room where it would happen. This was the room where they'd detonate the TNT. The TNT that lined the pit all the way up through the tunnels and the TNT they had placed on the surface above. It would start here. 

Zombies scrabbled at the door, the weight of their bodies making it creak and bend inwards. Technoblade was aware of his brother setting up the redstone, his movements fast like his father’s. The piglin felt his heart ache. He didn’t say goodbye to Phil. This would be his tomb and he hadn’t said goodbye…

“Techno,” Wilbur called. When he didn’t respond, Wilbur shouted. “Techno!” Technoblade’s attention snapped to him, and he pushed himself into walking over. He crouched next to his brother, helping him line up the last of the redstone. When it was done, their eyes met. “Are you ready?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Technoblade looked at his brother, his friend. He looked at the one he knew meant home, the return to a life he’d been forced to leave behind so long ago. He looked at Wilbur’s resolve, at the fear he found there. They had struggled for so long; neither of them wanted to die. But saving the rest of them came first. Saving Tommy and Phil was more important. The two of them knew that deep in their hearts, deep in their souls. It was why they went on the supply runs. It was why Techno followed every one of Wilbur’s plans, no matter how much he hated them.

Where Wilbur went, Techno went too. Where Wilbur jumped, Techno jumped too. They found each other in the ruins of their old lives and they knew immediately: there was not one without the other. Techno would walk into hell for his brother. He knew Wilbur would do the same for him. They were here, standing before the hell pit. And together, they would jump.

Wilbur’s hand slammed on the button.

Time slowed down for Technoblade. He saw the TNT lighting around them, glowing like fireflies, glowing like the glimmering ashes of basalt deltas. The light ignited the dark room, ignited like lava along crimson roots, and Techno saw the bottom of the pit glow. Wilbur’s eyes were closed in the silence that fell. He didn’t want to see the end.

Techno resolved to make sure that Wilbur would be the first to see the sun again.

He grabbed his brother and slammed his shield into the ceiling. Water crashed down onto them just in time for the first TNT to explode.

Silence was the first thing that Wilbur heard. Well, that and a faint ringing sound. He groaned, trying to twist over in his bed. His knee caught on a sharp rock, cutting open the skin. He winced with a hiss, his eyes snapping open as he tried to grab it. His body didn’t move. At least, it did, but–

Dust drifted down, but Wilbur’s gaze lifted up past the dust. It lifted up past the caved-in ceiling, up, up, up to the city. Or at least, where the city once stood. Daylight trickled in, faint and pink. Early. The sun might not even be up yet. All he saw was wreckage, including half the ceiling that had settled over them like a tent. A faint groan to his side had him twitching back in reflex, but. It wasn’t a zombie. When Wilbur looked over, he saw Techno. He saw his brother, his friend, his family nearly crushed under the ceiling. Water soaked their clothes and Wilbur pieced the events together. The TNT should have killed them. They should have been blown apart, but Technoblade saved them. He saved them by collapsing the ceiling (and releasing the water) on them. “You fucking idiot,” he breathed into a bitter laugh. His breath hitched. He wasn’t unscathed for sure. Something was broken, probably a rib or two. But he could breathe. And he could move. He could move. He shifted, squeezing himself out from under the collapsed ceiling. There wasn’t enough room for Technoblade. Wilbur stared at the giant slab of concrete resting on top of his brother. It hadn’t crushed him yet, but if Technoblade tried to move…

“Hey,” came a soft voice. Wilbur’s gaze snapped back to his brother’s face. Technoblade tried to smile at him. It looked more like a grimace. “Are you hurt?”

“Me?” Wilbur asked, his voice cracking on a sob. “Me? You’re asking me if I’m okay? You’ve got a whole ass ceiling on you!”

“Oh, yeah, I was, ha, wondering why it was hard to breathe. Thought Carl had sat on me again.” Technoblade tried to laugh, but all that came out was a shudder of pain. Wilbur felt frozen to the spot. What could he do? Technoblade was the strong one! All the time he’d known him, the man seemed strong enough to move mountains! Wilbur felt frail and sickly before him. Even with all his bravado, all Wilbur could do was command attention! What could he do when the strongest of them all was the one brought low?

“Tommy’s waiting,” Technoblade coughed. He groaned in pain as he tried to face Wilbur. “They’ll leave soon. Go.”

Wilbur stared down at his brother. He… he couldn’t just leave! No. “No,” he replied. “Not without you!” Technoblade didn’t answer, but Wilbur wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say anyways.

He looked around the remains of the room for something, anything that could lift the slab off of Techno. He couldn’t do it on his own. But the room had turned into a wasteland, nearly everything in it blasted to bits from the explosion. He couldn’t find anything around him that would save his brother. Wilbur choked on a sob, dropping to his knees. There was nothing he could do!

Whirring fans in his arm caught his attention. His gaze drifted down to his arm, the arm Technoblade had rested his heavy hand on many times before. He still remembered the pain of his wife’s teeth ripping into his flesh. He could still remember the burn of it, the fear that he’d turn into that without another word. He remembered blood and pain and, in all of it, stood Technoblade. Wilbur remembered how his brother had taken him in, taken him down to his workshop, simply a storage room for his weapons at the time. He remembered Techno swinging the axe, then wrapping the wound up for him. He remembered Techno putting together a prosthetic for him. One that hooked into his very being and made his blood sing!

Without his wife, without his child, Wilbur hadn’t felt whole in a long time. But when he looked down at his arm, he felt strong. He felt strong enough to take on the entire world and burn it to the ground. It was Technoblade’s strength that flowed like blood in that arm. And… maybe.

Wilbur stumbled over to his brother, his hands resting on the slab that threatened to take the last thing he still held precious. Technoblade was always there. He was always at his side, at his back. He was their protector. He was their rock. He was the anchor that tethered them, grounded them, kept them from drifting apart.

He wasn’t ready to loosen his grip just yet.

Wilbur braced against the stone, determination flooding his veins. He lifted. The slab didn’t budge. He lifted again. The slab did not budge. Wilbur shouted at it and shoved with all his strength. He shoved and struggled and pushed and lifted. The fans in his arm whirred, loud enough that it echoed around the room. The muscles flexed and strained, wires and metal snapping and crunching as he forced the slab to move. With all the strength his body could muster, with all the strength he knew Technoblade had hidden away, he threw himself against the slab.

It lifted.

Technoblade groaned and coughed. He lifted his head weakly towards his brother. “Move!” Wilbur snapped, shaking with the weight of the ceiling. He couldn’t hold it. He couldn’t hold it! Technoblade dragged himself out from under the slab, out onto the ledge the room had become. Metal crunched and pain shattered up his arm. Wilbur dropped the slab, collapsing back into his brother’s arms. His arm hung limply at his side. Wires and metal sat warped and sparking. It didn’t respond to him anymore. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d done his part. He’d saved his brother, the one who saved him countless times before. Light trickled in through the hole. They were alive. They were alive. 

Against all odds, they were alive. Together.

“One last time, Techno,” he muttered, pushing himself up on his feet. He held out his hand, waiting. “Let’s go home.”

Tommy kept watch. He kept watch through the setting sun as he returned to Phil. He kept watch through the night, listening to Phil describe the stories in the stars as he kept his mind busy. They were worried about Techno and Wilbur; of course, they were! It wasn’t much different than their salvage runs, though. There was always the fear that they wouldn’t return. No matter how invincible they seemed, that danger was always so very present.

"You have the sharpest eyes out of all of us."

So Tommy kept watch. He kept watch as a massive explosion rocked the city. His home. He watched L'Manberg crumble into nothing more than dust and smoke. He watched as thick, black, swirling and choking smoke filled the air above the wreckage, blocking out the stars. He kept watch.

And they waited. They waited for daybreak. For Techno and Wilbur to come back, come home to them.

Phil landed next to him, picking at his feathers on his good wing. "The sun should be up soon. I don’t think we'll see the sunrise." Phil wasn't wrong. The smoke still held heavy in the air. Their surroundings had grown brighter as the hours passed. Daybreak had probably come and passed already. Techno didn’t want them to wait forever.

But the thing was that Tommy wasn't great at following rules. And Techno was almost always late. And, really, Tommy couldn't say it hit daybreak yet if he didn't see the day break. "Just a little longer, Phil," he said. "They'll come. They promised." Phil nodded and waited with him.

Nearly an hour passed and Carl, who had returned some time in the night alone, perked up. The horse's head swiveled towards the city, its ears forward as it stood unnervingly still. Tommy’s gaze followed the horse's line of sight. Light broke through the smoke for the first time that morning, and with it, Tommy spotted them.

Wilbur with his right arm wrapped around Techno's waist, holding him upright with the piglin's arm thrown over his shoulders. His left arm hung useless, sparking and wires shaking with every labored step forward. Technoblade leaned heavy on his brother, every step nearly a stumble forward. He was limping. Blood splattered across their fronts and soot clung to the burned edges of their clothes.

But they were whole. And they were here.

With the light illuminating their backs, Technoblade and Wilbur returned home. By daybreak.