Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had been cold for a very long time. 

Of course, cold was just the simplest way of explaining it. It was not cold like snowflakes landing on your skin, nor cold like water drenching you in a sudden summer shower. It was cold like the first symptom of a bad fever, a cold that wasn’t actually cold but your body couldn’t even begin to understand the sensation so it just slammed the feeling down into the first descriptive box that it could find.

There were moments when Tommy wanted to scream. Wanted to kick and fight and try to do anything to break out. To break. Anything other than the monotone existence, the constant feeling of being alive just a smidge too far to the left, his mind creating a phantom image of his body that no longer existed simply because the idea of no longer having anything of it left was apparently too difficult to bear. Like losing a limb, except for his whole physical self.

All since Tommy didn't have a body anymore.

Not since Dream held him down, cracking his head onto the floor when Tommy wouldn’t stop fighting against the scattered magic that crawled up his skin, the last smell he remembered of blaze powder burning high and the taste of metal on his tongue not being blood but gold. And the first thing he heard after, was Dream’s wheezing laughter as the man held Tommy with both hands, lifted him aloft from the ground, and Tommy knew he was being held, knew not yet the shape of himself but only that he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel correctly, that everything was wrong, and that he was helpless in the face of his fate. 

It had been a month, three weeks, and two days since then. And Tommy only knew that because if Dream was a stickler for anything it was taking his notes, and talking to himself and his literally captive audience about said notes.  

Narcissistic bastard. 

Sometimes Tommy wondered if Dream had changed him because his actual friends never stayed long enough to listen to his ramblings. They had stopped asking about Tommy a while ago, lingering laughter that Dream finally got fed up with the kid and sent him away, statements of how they would miss him just a hint away from being sarcastic. The hurt had since long faded into a bitter inferno, and Tommy wouldn’t even begin to feel any pity when Dream finally locked them away in pretty little personalised prisons.

At least Tommy had eventually learned to tune out most of it, not exactly sleeping, just learning to percieve less of the fake sensations that were comforting and cruel all at once. 

Those sensations that he could never completely lock away, as now darkness was replaced with light and that stupid phantom reflexive habit in his mind told him to shield his eyes (that he no longer had) with his hands (that he no longer had), because that is what such a change in his environment should have meant. Now it was just bright, and it had been dark. A simple fact. 

He felt Dream’s fingers fiddle over his blade, moving him around, fingers pressing into him in a way that would never be painful no matter how hard his grip was, and Tommy wished with all his heart and mind that he could move himself just the slightest bit, and cut through Dream's hand to taste his blood. 

He was just about to tune the outside world out yet again, when Dream suddenly loosened his grip, holding Tommy away from himself.

Towards someone else.

Instantly Tommy roused himself from the half-sleep that he had learnt to lean into. Forced himself to get back from passively taking in his surroundings to actively interpret it.

The bright sky, a large space around them, dirt on the ground that were marked with overlapping footprints and gouges. And the largest man Tommy had seen, part piglin by the look of it, or at least a hybrid whose nether-ancestry was clearly dominant. Blood was rolling sluggishly down a cut on his face, short golden jewellery hanging from his ears and an actual goddamned crown placed over hair that was a faded reddish-pink.

And he was holding his hand out towards Dream, conversation tricking in as Tommy remembered how sound worked, his comprehension of the words still lacking. But the intention was clear as Dream switched the way he held Tommy, holding onto his blade and the handle pointed to the man. 

“Wait." Tommy whispered, all to himself, before fear flared up. "No Dream. Dream? What are you doing? Dream!” 

This couldn’t be true. This is where Dream laughed, and finally revealed that he had been able to hear Tommy all this time, all the curses and foul words and insults and desperate begging and sobs in his weakest moments. And Tommy would gladly take any punishment for the disrespect he had shown. He would do anything to take the punishment, just as long as it was physical, as long as it was real, as long as he could feel it. Dream had to turn him back. He had to! 

Dream made no such move. 

“Dream! Please, you can’t do this! No! No, no, no! I'm sorry? I shouldn't have argued, I should have just gone with it!” Tommy screamed, and his non-existing body reached out towards Dream in a desperate panic as familiar fingers let him go. “Don’t! You absolute----” 

The dagger was quiet, and still, as an item should be.

Now, when he wasn’t in the middle of trying to non-lethally lob Dream’s head off, as was custom, the glimmer that shone from Dream’s side was like a beacon in the furthest corner of the End realm. The golden dagger clasped to his belt had not been visible until his axe had cleaved through the green mantle that usually hid Dream’s movements, the consequence of the sudden appearance of it felt in the stinging cut over Technoblade’s face from where he stuttered in his offence and Dream did not, and he was almost impressed that his opponent had fought dirty enough to bring gold into battle to give himself advantage. It didn’t help him in the end, might have given the opposite effect, as Dream pulled himself up from the ground, wincing from the bruises and sprains that had accumulated onto his body, a bit worse than the normal throw-around that their duels used to have. 

Dream saw where he was looking before he could even demand it. 

"This?" Dream said, brushing a hand by the dagger, blocking it from sight. "Sorry, can't do that one. If you want a weapon I have plenty that you can choose from, and gold… yeah, that’s not going to be a problem, I can easily get some for you." 

And if he hadn’t already made his choice, that simple refusal made the decision for him. 

“I’m sorry,” Technoblade started, voice completely even. Shifting the axe in his hand, lines of red still staining the edges, he leveraged a look down towards the man. “...didn’t know overworld rules had changed so that the loser now gets to decide spoils. Should we play by nether rules next?” His breath had already recovered, and the chatter that had died down after the fight, satisfied and drunk on victory, started to peak their heads up once more. If Dream disagreed to be fair, he was agreeing to a second round. This time, not stopping by first blood. 

Somehow sanity seemed to prevail, and the chatter grumbled in disappointment as Dream only hesitated a second more before he unclasped the golden dagger from his belt. The other man still seemed reluctant to let it go, following the groves of enchanted runes that snaked their way across the entire dagger, and something twitched in Techno’s instincts seeing him drag his dirty fingers over it, muddling the shine.

"Look…" 

“If you didn’t want to lose anything," Technoblade interrupted whatever argument that he was about to begin. “you should either not have challenged me in the first place, or you should have gotten good.” Technoblade saw the offended twitch through the new cracks in Dream's mask, unable to argue the truth as he looked down onto the dagger. Of course, Dream could have his eyes closed, it was impossible to see at the angle he was looking, but if Techno didn’t know better, he would think Dream was some kind of hybrid as well by the way that the man seemed transfixed by the blade. "Is it sentimental or some shit?" 

Dream tilted his head back up. "Are you going to let me keep it if I say yes?"

"Nah. Was just going to mock you." 

"Of course." Dream scoffed, and his fingers were now tapping on the blade, as if he couldn't be more obnoxious. “How about this. I let you have it, and in a year or so I’ll challenge you for it back.” Dream stopped, and raised his arm to look at it in the sun, the dagger splitting the rays and sending dancing light over the mask. "Yes. Wouldn’t that be nice. A bit of a respite, a little adventure away from me.” 

“Uh.” Techno started, for a second wondering if he managed to strike Dream’s head a little bit too hard. If so, not his problem. He shrugged. "Do whatever you want. Just don't get your hopes up if you're as confident that you can beat me in a year as you were like, five minutes ago."

“I almost had you.”

“But you didn’t win.”

Dream finally, finally, held out the gold towards him and only years of practice and painful patience had Techno take the dagger slowly and not simply wrench it from his grasp. The moment the gold came into his hold, Technoblade choked the satisfied rumble in his chest before it became audible, the metal a comforting balm to the very core of his instincts promising safety and satisfaction. Strangely, the chatter in the back of his head that would normally be joining him in admiring and commenting about the newest little addition to his possessions fell silent, abruptly, only hushed whispers remaining from the spirits as if the long dead had all sucked in a breath and drawn back to converse with one another instead of bothering Technoblade as per usual. 

A false blessing, that felt similar to watching an Enderman teleport away after you met their eyes and pissed them off.

The dagger itself was no beauty, nor a piece for actual combat. Possibly suitable for a runt’s first weapon, a replacement for the golden nuggets the tiny ones were tasked to carry, but without the unique characteristics that would have informed any finder of its Bastion of origin. Not nethermade. Simple and rough, the edge of it barely sharper than the dull side but shimmering with magic that had the edge bite dangerously when he pressed his thumb against it. Tracing the runes of it, so small he had difficulties reading the coiled inscriptions that filled almost every available surface, Techno looked over every imperfection and flaw, and the frankly impressive number of enchantments that the dagger kept within itself.

Unbreaking, sharpness, mending, something more he couldn’t quite make out and… 

"Does this have a Curse of Binding?" He looked closer, squinting trying to trace the too-small letters. There was something off about the runes, but he couldn’t see exactly what. He had only been able to discern the cursed enchantment because he had been forced to learn, still remembering the time he tried on a bad pair of shoes, not even meant for his hooves, and they were stuck on him for three weeks; Philza laughing uproariously at him while they slowly worked through the durability until the curse had nothing but scraps to hold on to.

Dream had gone quiet, and Technoblade waved the blade in his broken porcelain face. "Does it like, meld to your flesh or something? Can't see how a weapon can be binding." 

"I… played around a bit, with enchantments, gold being easy to enchant, you know.” Dream stuttered back into being, laughing a bit awkwardly.” Don’t worry though, I handed it over just fine now, didn't I?" 

Ah. 

If Dream was doing some reverse psychological thing to get Techno to return it, it wasn’t working. Sure, he was calling Philza as per their agreement, but it wouldn’t be the first time he brought something obviously cursed into his hoard, and it would not be the last. See; the fact that they even had an agreement.

Technoblade nodded. "So, you played around with enchanting things instead of getting better at fighting, got you. Good on you for deciding to be mediocre on two things instead of adequate on one." 

Dream spluttered and took a deep breath, his teeth visible through the cracks in the mask as he smiled. After everything Technoblade would almost have expected the smile to be forced, to be full of hidden resentment, but none of the sort shone through as Technoblade wrapped the dagger to keep it from cutting open his bag.

“Treat it well. I’ll come back for it.” Dream said while watching Technoblade put it away, and after a moment’s pause, he added almost teasing, “Maybe.”

Tommy had no idea how much time had passed since Dream had given him away. His screams, eventually delving straight back into every insult he could conjure towards Dream as well as the man who now held him, had yielded no change to his situation. Finally released from his prison of cloth, he found himself surprised to see the world around him as if coated in blood and his first instinct was to try and blink the strange colouration away. Impossible, of course, not only because of the fact that he did not have eyelids anymore, but also because the world around him was coloured in a shade of an apocalyptic sunset.

"Oh are you kidding me." He groaned, the landscape around them claustrophobic as it lacked both sky and horizon, suffocating fog clouding in every direction. "We couldn't stay in the overworld, even?" 

“That's better.” The man murmured, almost as a reply, and Tommy focused back at his new unintentional jailer. 

He was looking straight at Tommy, pinprick gaze sharp but not enough to actually see through him, even if that was how it felt. Another Piglin was standing by him, speaking gravelly in a language Tommy didn't know, dressed in simple armour, and a bag of leather slung over her shoulder that was bulging with what appeared like a multitude of uniquely shaped items within, pulling the bag down as if it would break at any moment from the weight. 

A trader, and for a split-second bone-chilling dread ran through him. Everyone knew that there was only one thing Piglins would accept in fair trade. 

Tommy hated the relief as he was brought closer to the man, after the strange momentary examination, and away from the trader whose stare lingered on him a little bit too long as their conversation continued on, the man answering the trader in the same grunting tones.

He had got a sheath for him, Tommy realised as he focused closer upon himself, sturdy and thick, made from leather and blocking part of Tommy’s strange perception. It was almost comforting, as the man tied the sheath to his side and gently laid a hand on top of the handle sticking out. Further restricting his sight.

Like getting a window in a closed room. 

Or maybe getting a closed room to an open window? 

Tommy was not sure if the metaphors were helping his comprehension much. 

It wasn’t… bad, exactly. Dream had kept Tommy in his belt as well whenever he went out, but usually the cloak kept him from seeing anything but dark green. While the red mantle blocked some of the view, and he could only see out through the gaps between his fingers, it was at least something new. Lack of eyes, yet forced to percieve beyond his form in a boundless fashion, clashed with the screeching part inside of him that still claimed he was human. Now, he could just decide to ignore the very specific colour of red that the man's mantle had, and voila, almost normal. 

Except that he was unable to move and that the heat of the Nether that should have drenched him in sweat and parched his throat did nothing to sooth the ever-present cold that encompassed every second ticking by. 

But Tommy was happy to ignore that.  

“Hope you didn’t get me some bad quality material. I deserve a good fit, you hear me?” Tommy said to an oblivious audience, as the bartering drifted towards its end above him. 

A bag was handed over, sparks of purple shining through the textile, and accepted as the Piglin looked inside and nodded. She took a look over her shoulder and gave another nod, and following her gaze Tommy spotted a multitude of other Piglins gathered closer to a looming blackstone outpost. None of them came closer, hanging back with posturing brutes lingering in the front of the group, decked out in shimmering armour and weapons kept down but present. Now, Tommy migtht not know much about Piglin bartering, but he was pretty sure that it usually did not consist of one trader with a pile of bodyguards hovering in the back. Not dropping a single tense muscle in guard, as Tommy's holder headed off. 

Prime, Dream left him with someone real shady, didn’t he. 

Watching the wastes be replaced by an ash-filled delta right by the shore of a lava-lake, his holder traversed the Nether without pausing or stopping, didn't even seem to need a map. Every once in a while, the man would look down at Tommy, brushing a hand by him, like checking if he was still there, and it was getting more and more annoying each time. 

Longer as well. 

"Even if I would skip town if I could, don't exactly have the legs to do it, big man." Tommy snapped at him, when the man actually stopped, taking Tommy out of his sheath, and staying still just staring. Nails catching on the groves where the enchantments had made their home, the bump where Dream had “accidentally” dropped Tommy to see what would happen before he added Unbreaking to his form. "Literally nothing has changed since last time you checked. Move along, to wherever you're going." 

The sea of lava bubbled, accompanied by the distant screeching of a ghast that still failed to snap the Piglin from the daze.

Tommy groaned. “Come on. What’s the matter with you?”

He kept his point of view towards the air, listening to the searching wail of the ghast looking for something to barbecue. Like, say, a gold-sick Piglin who did not seem to consider the idea of getting to shelter in the twisted forest not too far off in the distance before admiring a new possession.

Tommy wished he had legs so that he could kick the man, get some sense into him before something else did. But trying to communicate that telepathically failed just as thoroughly as it had done, and with a defeated huff Tommy went back to scan the area around them for threats that he would be helpless to defend against. 

So far, the only thing of note was a lone Enderman was wandering by the beach, quick steps and completely aimless. Passing them by with no interest nor attention as it drifted to a nearby pile of gravel. Free and unfettered to do whatever mindless task it wanted. 

In a strike of bitterness, Tommy glared at it and the Enderman froze in its very movement as it was rising up from the pile, twitching with sparks of purple annoyance, jaw unhinging. 

The lava popped. 

The Enderman’s head swivelled around, fixating on the only thing it could see in the area that had eyes.

Even if the piglin had not even glanced in its direction.

“Oh shit.” Tommy breathed, a misplaced burst of happiness racing though him, drowning the instinctual terror that the warning buzz of the End-creature should have brought. “You’re... holy shit, you’re noticing me?”

Tommy should fade his attention, twist it back into the non-staring competition that he held with the piglin. But he could not stop, not even when the Enderman rose up to its full height, the gravel it had been mindlessly sifting through pouring back onto the ground. It knew he was watching. It knew.

As it gave a warning screech, his keeper’s head snapped towards the sound, violently wrenched from his haze by a siren of warning ingrained in the very nerves of all living creatures. The second that Tommy regretted pissing off the Enderman that had done nothing else but go about its day was drowned as the man dodged oncoming claws and pushed into a full sprint without missing a beat, rushing over plains and ridges, burst of purple following them right to the edge of the forest as the man weaved in-between thick trunks and low-hanging thick canopy, the dull beat of claws against woods halting their pursuer.

“Take that!” Tommy shouted with full glee, as the man rushed further in, large size somehow finding its way through narrowing flora, the screeching of the Enderman cutting off in a haste as it teleported somewhere further behind them, the sound skipping around on all sides for a couple of seconds, unable to get closer as the man hunched down , wines and shrubbery covering the ground where the trees did not, sharp eyes peeled and twitching, following the sound of the Enderman's outraged cry until it finally faded from close range. “That’s what you get for not moving!”  

There was no blood to pump through his veins, but a buzzing, excited hum rushed through him as the man rose yet again, ears peaked and twitching. He held Tommy’s form close to his chest, sharp chuffing sounds coming up through his chest like bad coughs.

“Why did---” The man snarled, and loudly exhaled, his whole body manually untensing. "Can't remember pissing one off that I didn't deal with." 

He did that.

Tommy did that.

“Just making sure we get to where we’re going.”

Tommy cackled, unbeknownst to his holder, as the piglin forced himself through the thickest part of the shrubbery to a less dense path. 

“If we are going somewhere.” Tommy continued as they trudged along, placed back into his sheath. “I don’t mind the change of scenery but hey, maybe take a walk to somewhere where we’re not in constant danger of falling into lava. Nope, no sir, would not like a lava-bath anytime soon, not a fan.” 

Tommy intentionally focused his attention away from a pit of molten stone that was setting fire to some nearby twisted trees, the man simply pulling his mantle away to keep it from catching on as well, jumping over where the stream of red-hot-death pooled and disappeared down a chasm in the netherrack. Casually, with no worry as some wines surrendered to the lava and spreading flames further behind. “See, also, Dream needs to know where I am to turn me back. So maybe we shouldn’t…”

For a moment, Tommy only felt his form. Unable to move, unable to breathe, locked into eternal petrification and his mind scrambling for something to grab a hold on. Forcing a breath, as useful as a starving man imagining eating and chewing to sooth his hunger.

“Because he will turn me back.”

It tasted like a lie.

“Even if he thought I was more useful as this than as a helper, which he is wrong about, he wouldn’t just abandon me. Or the experiment. He wouldn’t abandon the experiment.” Tommy doubled down. “Like, what if something unexpected happens when he turns me back, that has got to be important, he has got to check at the very least. I’m not going to be stuck like this. Not forever, not…”

“Hey now. Calm down.”

The voice struck through his rambling mind like an arrow, quiet and low, almost lost within the fire crackling away and eating at every piece of shrubbery it could find.

“...Hey?” Tommy focused on the man, who had momentarily stopped, fingers pressed against his temple. “Hey, did you just---”

“I’ll call him when we get closer. Every single one of you don’t need to remind me.” He cut Tommy off, speaking out into nothing, as he cut away some blood red wines blocking their path. Tommy slumped. Right. Of course. How could he have expected something else? His holder would sooner speak to thin air, or possibly a communicator that Tommy couldn’t spot from his perspective, rather than to him. Just because some random Enderman noticed him, didn’t mean that the man would. “I’ll tell you a story if you all chill for a second, don’t even know why you are all being so eager to get home.”

That was good to know, the man actually had a destination in mind.

Tommy nodded to himself, and then gave a sigh of relief as his phantom-body fell back into existance, kept himself afloat above the hollow reality. Clinging to the man's voice with intent. 

“Fine. About Theseus then, since we’re travelling. That or Pandora, considering how annoying you all are right now. Those are your two options.” 

There was a couple of seconds passing by, and then Tommy’s holder started to speak.

Monotone should sound boring. But while he didn’t make any voices for the characters in the story, the minor inflections of his voice set the tone, intensified, and softened at times. There was not a single stutter, words falling neatly into place without pause or hesitation. A story that had been told a thousand times, every time the same way, so rehearsed that no mistake could be found in the retelling of it. Told as if it was simply fact, truth and nothing else.

Tommy couldn't help but interject at times, reactions that had no recipient other than himself.

If he pretended, he could almost delude himself that he was listening to someone he travelled with. Just someone walking the same path, drawing on that strange companionship between strangers. 

It wasn’t too bad. 

“Hey, why did you stop?” Tommy asked as the man finished his story, jumping down into a crevice in the netherrack, stretching out in a slim cave to nothing but a dark dead-end. “I swear, if you’re going to do the weird staring thing again, I’ll find another Enderman to piss off. Don’t test me.” 

“…Good enough place.” He heard the piglin murmur, before the travelling-bag was off his shoulder and unkindly thrown to the ground in a clatter. 

A few minutes later, a small camp was formed. A torch lit and placed along the side of the wall, the entrance above hidden by vines and branches, and the man settled on the floor of the small cavity. Curiously, he spread a cloth out over the ground, and then reached up to pull the crown off from his head, laying it on top. His cape, with the golden clasp, followed next and one by one he pulled off rings and earrings to lay them in an imperfect line. Tommy’s prison laid from and center in the gathering of riches. 

This close to the rest of the gold, all the intricate little details that laid within the other adornments were plain to see, shining jewels and gemstones in mismatched colours, an earring with an emerald that looked like someone had cleaved one side straight off, making it misshapen and unsymmetrical. Unique, pretty in their own ways.

The piglin chuffed, and Tommy groaned as the man cocked his head and looked down onto his treasures, doing the staring-thing. In the dark, with only the torch flickering and a few stray bits of light passing through the vines, his eyes were shining, golden reflections dancing in darkened pupils. As if gold had crawled into his eyes to make a nest inside his head. 

“At least it's not just me.” Tommy muttered, watching as the man pulled out a bottle of shining liquid from the bag, along with a delicate piece of cloth and a small brush, picking up one of the rings to gently clean it. There was no difference in reverence as he worked through the pile, every little piece treated as equal no matter how many gems they had or how intricate they were, and something heavy settled through Tommy’s soul as he was picked up, just the same. Mimicking sickness and bile with none of the taste to accompany it “Or maybe that’s worse. I’m not, y’know, actually just a piece of gold. Just looks like one. Just…” 

“Dream sure didn’t take care of you.” The piglin muttered, cutting off his spiralling mind as he swept ash off from Tommy’s handle, pouring out some liquid onto a rag to scrape away the layer of oil and dirt that had gathered onto his blade long before the piglin got his hands on him. 

“You have no idea.” Tommy laughed. "You really have no idea.”

A discomfort that he had not been fully aware of, was washed away as the man worked. Perfectly similar to how he, back when he had his body, rarely noticed he was hungry until he had taken the first bite, or that he was freezing until he finally got back inside and took notice of his tense state and chattering teeth.

Fortunately, Tommy was laid back once more into the pile before the feeling of being polished curled back to unpleasantness. Then the man shifted, lying down onto his side and dragging the entire thing towards him, curling around the pile like a child hugging a plush. Cough-like sounds, soft and quiet that Tommy would probably not have heard if he had escaped being shoved between the piglin and the rest of the golden pieces. 

Focusing his perception on that one strange noise, it seemed almost at first as if the man was choking, or snoring while awake. It sounded a little bit like the language that he had used while bartering, but lower and softer, where the sounds back them had been sharp and strict. This seemed like gibberish in comparison, the same sounds repeated and churning together. 

It reminded Tommy of how stray cats finding their way to newly planted cat-nip.

“Are you… purring .” Tommy hushed, watching the man slowly blink and his gaze tracing over the small pile, constantly bouncing back to look at Tommy like he was caught off guard by the new addition to his gold. “Piglin-purring. I can’t believe…” 

Just as suddenly as they had started, the content sounds cut off, the man squeezing his eyes shut as if he had been stabbed (and Tommy checked, he had not managed to move himself to do such, even accidentally), followed by a sudden frustrated, sharp huff.

“Yes, it’s a dagger. It’s supposed to be…” The man shook his head like he was trying to chase away flies. “It’s not a baby blade, just because it’s small. You know this. I know you know this. It’s not a small sword it’s… Chat, stop calling it baby blade. Don’t make that a thing. ” 

“Absolutely not a baby.” Tommy agreed, offended by whatever demons or spirits the man was talking to. 

A second passed, before the man groaned. "It is, once again, not a baby, it doesn't need a bedtime story." 

“Yeah!” Tommy shouted, before the words landed. 

He… actually wouldn’t mind a bedtime story. Just something to keep his mind entertained while the man slept. 

"Fine. But you're getting the story about Pandora, since you're all being unusually terrible. She was created as a punishment, you know, according to some interpretations. Just like all of you." 

Whatever spirits the man had been cursed with (and he had complained about the fact that Tommy was cursed) must have been content, as the piglin closed his eyes and began his slow tale. 

There was no echo in the small cave, porous netherrack swallowing the words and the torch burning lower and lower, soon only leaving the dull, constant light from beyond the vines at the entrance. Tommy allowed himself to fade, gripping onto the voice as an anchor to keep him from drifting too far down to the hollow, the feeling of nothingness that was all and nothing within himself. 

Yet as darkness spread as far as it could when the torch finally gave out, outlines and colours around still visible and bathing in that constant red, silence fell just as softly. 

“Where’s the end of the story?” Tommy slipped back into the perception of the world, the man quiet and still, having trailed off in the middle of a sentence. 

His eyes closed, his breath evened out. Asleep. 

Tommy huffed. “Bastard.” 

Well. Screw him, Tommy would watch him sleep. See how he liked it. 

Tommy looked at the man's chest, followed it rising and lowering with every breath that he could imagine but not copy. 

Unwilling to completely fade, listening to the low content rumble completely unaware of him, the lava bubbling beyond the netherrack wall, he curled into himself and waited. 

They passed through the portal back to the overworld a day later.

"Hey." 

"...Hey" Tommy replied back, absentmindedly, as he took in the surroundings covered in freshly-fallen white snow. 

Look. Just because he knew the man couldn't hear him, didn't mean he couldn't pretend. A bit of make-believe to save his sanity. 

"I'm going to be back home in a bit, you mind checking in?" Tommy got a better view as the man pulled him from the sheath, and lifted him up to be studied, a communicator held in his other hand. He was smiling at Tommy, the pupils dilated in defiance of the snow reflecting bright light all around. "Got something new I want you to take a look at."

Tommy, uncaring and unable to be bothered by the cold brightness after the low and warm light of the nether, took the moment of his alleviation to peer around. 

They had stepped out into a snow-covered biome, the stones around the portal shining wet from the heat of the nethergate melting the snow around it, water pooling into cracks and puddles. The raised platform stood in the centre a wide clearing, a road heading off through thick evergreen trees, and he obsidian frame bulky and ill-suited like an overgrown tumor to the seemingly serene surroundings.

The piglin showed no discomfort at what must have been a drastic change in temperature, starting to walk down off the dais that served as the portal’s base, in opposite direction than the road, trudging through ankle-lenght snow without faltering towards the edge of the clearing.

“Mhm. Don’t be mad. It may be… slightly cursed.” 

Tommy huffed, still held aloft. “You might be slightly cursed.”

Something shifted, involuntarily catching his attention, and Tommy locked in, spotting movement on the other side of the portal. Closer to the road heading off through the woods, the purple shimmer of the gate was not quite transparent enough to be properly see-through, but beyond those swirls multiple shapes crept. 

And his unintentional jailer showed no sign of noticing them. 

"Now, Phil, I can explain, it’s not like last time." The piglin kept speaking, still with his back turned to the people who snuck out from beyond their obsidian cover. 

“Hey. Big guy. Hey!" Tommy urged, as he saw one of them make a sign to the others behind, axe in hand. "Behind you!" 

There was a subtle click, as the safety of a crossbow was loosened.

An ear twitched, and while the piglin’s smile had dropped, his eyes stayed the same. Wide and dilated, as the sound of heavy boots hitting the snow behind him were made obvious.

Chapter Text

Phil's voice cut off in the middle of a word as Techno turned the communicator off. 

Chat was fuming, sharp whispers that clawed on the inside of his ears as he lowered the dagger, held firmly at its handle so tightly he could physically feel the hum of enchantments running through its form. Even after putting it back into the sheath, it felt too exposed, and every single instance of footsteps moving about on the dais of the gate behind him was like arrow-bolts into the back of Techno’s skull. As if the people moving was breathing down his neck, thieves within arms-length to rip what was his from his grasp. 

“Traveller,” someone called, in butchered piglin, and the fact that they even called him by that denomination told Techno more than he needed to know about the ambusher’s current count of brain-cells. "You speak Common?"

"Not a traveller." He corrected, as he turned around to face them, one hand keeping the little blade out of sight. 

There were five of them, matching uniforms, simple armour but finer and unfamiliar at first glance, spreading out from the other side of the portal. Presumably, they had not expected someone to walk off the opposite side of the gate, away from the path leading to the only village in range of a day’s travel in these parts. 

“Right,” The apparent leader at the front said, with the tone of someone knowing how to say exactly one word in another language and refused to admit, nor cared, that he did not even know the full meaning of it. “Are you lost? There is nothing but wilderness further north, but we could be of assistance to aid in whatever you’re searching for.” 

He played at hospitality, a white smile that in no-way redeemed the readiness of his companions, all four of them holding crossbows at the ready, hand-axes of sturdy wood and iron in reach upon their hips. 

They seemed well versed in the one true language that needed no translation, but one glance at the stances, that awkward mix of the crossbows raised in his direction but none of the focus that would warrant any threat, told Techno they were not quite as fluent as he was. 

One of the crossbows dipped, as the woman holding it was not-too-subtly glancing over Techno’s adornments, finally drawn to the golden dagger hidden by his hand. Greedy curiosity dripping through her gaze. 

He was going to rip those eyes out of her skull. 

“My business is nothing you need to concern yourself about.” Technoblade said, a growl in the back of his throat underlining the message, the woman flinching back just a little as she looked up to meet his glare. 

"Actually, you being here is our concern." The man sighed, like the burden of his uniform sat heavy on his shoulders, a movement of his left hand causing the woman to straighten up once more. “See, the Good Lord of the valley has decreed that all imports to his land should be taxed, and well, that does include imports from the Nether-realm I’m afraid.” 

The leader was slowly, but surely making his way forward, completely at ease. 

“Taxes?” Technoblade blinked. “Last time I heard, there was no lord of these lands.” 

The idea that someone might come and look at the hoard the same way as the woman eyed the dagger that had not even been properly placed within it, was scorching. 

“Something we’re here to correct. Make sure everyone is aware of the new management in the area." And there was the source of misplaced confidence, "As long as you cooperate, you can go on your way, unharmed."

Techno inhaled, trying to keep his boiling blood under wraps. 

"We can start with the jewellery, and don't think we didn't see the gold you're hiding—." 

The leader nodded towards the dagger, the golden imperfect little blade, that was now freely visible as both of Techno's hands were used to hold the axe lodged deep into the man's skull, eyes that had lost the shine of life rolling back as the body toppled over. 

As shocked screams rang out, bolts misfired in panic, one gracing off his arm, Technoblade simply breathed, pressing down onto the man's split face as leverage to pull his axe out, blood and brain-matter splattering over the stone, and dodged an incoming bolt that tried to make a home in his neck.  

Well, he thought as Chat cheered in roaring laughter, it had been a decent attempt at diplomacy. 

He got two of them before they even had the chance to reload; severing the arm of the first and driving the blade of the axe deep into the ribcage of the other in quick succession. A third abandoned all hope of a proper ambush as they screamed in fury, crossbow dropped to be replaced by a handaxe and Techno switched his grip, blocking the strike with his axe and using his free hand to grab onto their head, slamming it hard against the unforgiving obsidian at the side of the gate, the unprotected skull cracking from the force. 

He breathed in, the voices ringing drunk on carnage calling his attention once more on the last. The fourth, whose poisonous gaze like blazes’ fires had been looking where it should have not, who would have taken the blade, would have corrupted it with greedy fingers if she had been given the opportunity. The spirits, enveloping his mind, called for satisfaction, for retribution of her crime. 

She was further away than before, back turned as she ran. Techno found the handaxe of the person he had just killed, raised it to let it sail through the air, a high-pitched scream telling him of its success as she collapsed, the snow failing to break her fall into frozen ground. Stepping over the corpses on the dais, he approached her as she tried to push herself backwards, the left leg dragging her down as the axe had struck below her knee. 

She was staring up at him, naked fear in glazed eyes and a tide of satisfaction welled up within him. Good . She should have known better, that terrified focus was miles better than the taste of greedlike rot her eyes had held, knowing that if they had got their way, his little blade would have been in her possession. Her mouth was moving, words passing by unheard over the rush of the spirits, over his own blood calling. 

Logically, he knew she was begging for her life. 

But the idea of mercy was far buried below a thrum of fury at her impudence, and he pressed his thumbs against those eyes until she stopped struggling. 

The clearing was wonderfully quiet, the murmurs of the spirits quieting down as they conferred with one another, a few voices of guilt quickly being drowned by justified ferocity. 

Gentle huffs, like choked exhales, fell from his mouth as Techno pulled the dagger from its sheath, anxious to see its presence. His crown, his jewellery, were all already so present against his skin, reassuring and calming the simmering call to arms; but he needed to see the dagger, feel the gold of it.   

The gold was covered in splotches of red now. 

That was good. A dagger should be covered in blood. 

The dull blade cut into the palm of his hand as he pressed it down, the pain soothing as blood ran in rivets down onto its handle, red dripping down onto the snow. The thick liquid gathered in the groves of the runes, and a distant disgruntled part of him knew how difficult that would be to clean; that part quieted by the simple beauty of it, gold warmed by life. 

Then, a shadow ran over the ground, too large to be a bird and Techno hugged the blade closer to his chest, snapping his head up to trace the shadow just as a darkly dressed Elytrian landed on top of the gate, enchanted bow drawn yet no arrow knocked. Through his heartbeat starting yet again on its song, his perception narrowed towards the threat looking down upon him. 

“Heya mate! ‘Call cut off so I thought I would check in.” A voice, so familiar just beyond comprehension, called over the clearing. “Are you alright? You said you had a new thing?” 

In response, Techno’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for the axe that had at some point been put to rest down on the snow. 

“Techno.” The man spoke, the smile widening into something sharp as he sat down on top of the gate, legs hanging off the edge. Unbothered and unthreatened by the corpses scattered around. “We have an agreement. You know this.” He spoke, but the words didn’t make sense, reaching out with an empty palm opening and closing, like he wanted Techno to come close enough to touch. “Give it here.”

That, Techno understood, and a growl rose from deep within his chest, stumbling up from his kneeling position to grab his axe once more. The dagger was placed back into its sheath. 

“Technoblade.” The tone was playfully scolding. 

Techno chuffed, a last warning to the man to back off, return to where he came from. The blade was his. The gold was his. And no one would take it from him. 

“You’re in deep, huh.” The man sighed, his wings moving restlessly behind him. One more second, and then he shook his head. “Okay then.”

The Elytrian stood, wings flaring out as he reached his arms above his head to stretch. 

Then, he attacked. 

The Elytrian moved as a blur, one moment right in his face, the next shooting off, never remaining within range for longer than a split second, hopping around like it was an annoying game of infinite tag and while Technoblade managed to knock off every attack, talons snapping after his neck when he dodged backwards, and a rain of arrows pelting down whenever the man rose to the skies, he never managed to get a proper strike. Over and over, until he finally nailed the timing and knocked the man down onto the ground, rushing forward to finish him off. 

Only to have the man roll to the side as the axe struck, a beat of his wing causing a flurry of powder-snow to obscure his movements, and dash close. Techno snorting as talons once more snapped at his face, only distantly registering that his other hand snagged against Techno’s side, before the man took off once more, using the piglin's own body as a springboard to soar to the sky. 

Breathing heavily not from exertion but from growing frustration, Techno waited for him to make another swoop down. 

Except the fact that the Elytrian didn’t.  

Something was wrong, something was lost. 

Hand flying down to his side, Technoblade would rather have had his throat skewered than feeling nothing but cloth and leather, and squinting against the bright sun above, the dull reflection in the golden dagger held aloft by the attacker was made obvious. 

“So you’re the little thing causing troubles.” The Elytrian narrowed his eyes at the dagger as if it was a naughty pet, strong beats of his wings keeping him up in the air.  

It felt like someone had ripped a tusk straight from his jaw, leaving a bleeding gaping wound behind for the rot to creep in. 

His blade. His gold. Out of reach and so, so far away.  

He needed to get it down. 

Luckily, there were convenient crossbows lying next to the newly dead. 

The winged man yelped as he just barely evaded the bolt, correcting himself in the air, holding the dagger and waving it back and forth as Techno grabbed a new bolt from a nearby corpse to ready the crossbow once more. 

“Come on now, follow me!”

Before he could make the second shot to fell the Elytrian, the man shot off towards the forest, a loud rattling call signalling his position. 

Technoblade gave chase. 

Through grounds that he followed by instinct and muscle memory alone, every once in a while hearing a rattling call from further ahead, or a single black feather left behind on the ground, smaller dark shadows darting off before he could get to them. The protection of the trees prevented him from finding a good place to shoot. 

He should never have let go of it. Should never have left it. Shouldn’t have kept it in the open, so easy to take. 

Techno’s hand drifted down to the sheath, finding it empty once more, even though he already knew it to be true, a whine tearing from his throat.

The cold wind that found its way down through the canopy of needles stung against his cheek, temperature dropping as the night drew near, but nothing, nothing like the feeling of his gold being taken from him. 

Voices urged him forward, insulted and amused and longing. 

His little blade. His little. 

His hands kept lingering where it had once been, the cut on his palm already coagulated and the throbbing pain dull and boring.

Another black feather, another mocking caw. 

He would rip the feathers off those wings, one by one tear them off, break the brittle bones and lastly crush the neck. 

The small homestead that the crows and calls led him to, tucked within the trees, laid like a shining beacon in the middle of lifeless woods. The door was left wide open, lanterns and candles fighting against the draft that was created, and there was no other sound as Techno stepped through the door. 

It was dark and deceitfully empty inside, and his steps took him without any hesitation through the entrance-hallway, through the living room, drawn by a familiar and siren-call of safety and home. 

The trapdoor down to the basement was open as well, a warm and welcoming flickering light from beneath, and equal amount of panic and longing mashed together in his system as he lengthened his steps, looking down into the den beneath the house. 

It looked completely undisturbed, filled with his treasures all in their correct spots and comforting pillows and covers bundled up in their midst. Candles and lanterns so newly lit that the smell of matches and smoke was permeating the air, the flames catching in the golden hoard. Armour and weapons hanging on the walls, ornaments placed in neat rows on the shelves lining the entire room, and the main part of the hoard in a disorganised mess on the floor, piling up against one-another, golden bars and coins and full blocks; jewellery and adornments that had been wrongfully carried by people who did not deserve them and paid with their blood for their insult. A controlled chaos. Not a single chain out of place from when he last laid eyes on it.

But the arrangement was still faulty, because there was a space on the wall where he could rearrange to add another.

With effort, Techno pulled his eyes away from the hoard, but the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, and nothing looked amiss, everything soft and inviting. Even the workbench at the edge of the room was strangely covered by a stray blanket, tools hidden beneath and making strange bulky shapes.  

Huffing, Techno dropped down, landing hard onto the wooden floor, pin-prick eyes looking all over and searching every dustmite that could reveal what he had been chasing. Ears peeled for any noise, making the sound of talons landing back up above at the trapdoor sound like a crackle of TNT. 

He barely had the chance to look up, see the grinning face, framed by blond stripey hair, looking down from above the ladder. Glowing and glittering vials clutched between his talons. 

“Welcome home.” The man smiled, opened the space between his fingers, and glass smashed against the floor. 

Instantly the word started to spin, his muscled forcibly relaxed as fumes from the potions scattered around his hooves filled his lungs. The floor turned into a wall as he slammed down into it. 

The Elytrian jumped down, and with some effort dragged Techno to the centre of the pile in the room, huffing at the weight before settling down next to him. 

A rapidly dying part of him was still angry, for reasons he couldn't quite get to the surface, but everything around was soft, and there was his gold just within reach. Safe and sound. 

“Shh, it’s alright.” The voice was soft, and the man bent down close over him, wings mantling over them as a protective dome, golden shimmer and green swung above him. Gold. His-not-his. “Exactly. Mine-not-mine.” The man replied to the words in piglin, tilting his head to allow Techno easy access to the golden emerald earring, not even flinching as Techno gave it a tug. 

But it wasn't right. 

The man made a noise of surprise as Techno's attention drifted from the earring. 

He tried to push himself up from the pillows, limbs not cooperating, and looked around, his gaze skipping over the familiar treasures all around him. Being in his den, without the very thing he had wanted to bring there ached enough to have him fight the lingering weakness that weighed him down. 

He didn't want familiar right now; it wasn't what he had been searching for. 

“Oh?” The man tilted his head, as he observed the distress. “You want the dagger.” 

Tugging himself free, the Elytrian stood from the floor and Techno tracked his movement back to the work-desk in the room, perking up as the angel pulled the dagger from where it had been crudely hidden under heavy cloth. 

Techno would have been insulted at the awful hiding-place. If it hadn't had worked. 

"I checked, it should be fine for now, but we need to talk about it once you're more aware again." The man said as he settled back down, and Techno snorted, snatching the dagger the moment it was brought into range. 

It had already been fine. 

All the perfect little groves, the twisted way the blade was just off balance. All perfect in its imperfection. 

There was still blood on it, flaking red, the majority cleaned but some still remaining in the dips and details, it needed further care to be completely restored. Furrowing his brow, Techno rubbed his fingers against the blade to try and get the blood away, amounting to nothing else but smearing the remaining bits out. 

Gentle hands with sharp talons dumped a damp rag on top of the little blade, as well as his hands. 

It smelled correctly, nothing like the second-rate overworld cleaning-products that served to corrode instead of protecting. Properly nethermade. With an approving huff, ignoring the laugh from above, Techno began to clear the blood off from the dagger, starting with the reddish stains. 

It took quite some time, having to let the liquid sink in to clear where blood had gathered in the sunken runes, and over and over again wiping it away, comparing the shine of the gold to all of his other treasures to see if it was truly clean. 

He chuffed, finally satisfied, and looked up. 

Philza was resting against the many pillows stacked in his den, talons running through Techno's hair, scratching against his scalp in firm but calming motions, the piglin's head comfortably placed in his lap. At the movement, he glanced down, sharp amusement in his eyes. 

“Welcome back, mate.” 

“I got a something new. It’s gold.” Techno informed him, nodding down to where the dagger was held with both of his hands. 

“Did you now?” Philza drawled, moving to allow Techno to push himself up to sitting, the last remaining pieces if the potion of weakness washed from his system. “Been a while since you’ve been that deep.” 

Techno hummed, squeezing his eyes shut to try and alleviate the lingering headache from the dip down into his instincts. 

“Chat’s been relentless since I got it,” They still were, chittering like rodents in the back of his head, some yelling and others yelling louder to try and block out the former. Something about stop snitching , which was never comforting to hear. 

“Didn’t exactly help that someone decided to steal it just after I’ve taken care of some pests. They wanted me to pay taxes, Phil. Taxes. ” 

Philza laughed, “Last thing I heard, you said that you had picked up something cursed, there were some noises, and then you hung up.” 

"Don't blame the dagger, it wasn't its fault." Techno said, and got a mock judging glance in return that he happily ignored. “So. What did you find?”

“Honest?" Philza shrugged. "It's fucked.” 

Techno scrunched his nose. “Dream said he’d been playing around with enchanting, and the craftsmanship is… not the best, obviously, but that's a bit insulting to the lil' blade.” 

The nickname had stuck, and he mouthed " don't ask " as Philza sent him another look. Chat sniggered victoriously in the back of his head. 

“No this is…" Philza waved his hand around, searching for words. "Perfectly fucked. Failed successfully.” 

"Is that a new overworld phrase? Philza, you know you shouldn't try to stay with the times, it's not fitting for your age." 

"Says the one who spoke archaic for years because it was fun ." Philza rolled his eyes, "It's a properly made enchantment, fascinating even. Everything loops back just as it should, it's active and working, but I'm just not sure what the effect is meant to be. It's like someone flipped a curse upside down." He squinted down at the blade. "Two curses. There's an inverted curse of vanishing here too." 

The soft enchanted shimmer was made more obvious in the dim light, streaks through the runes and over the gold like heartbeats or a breathing rhythm. 

"Is that going to be a problem? Is it going to bind me or something?” 

Not that such a curse would be a problem, the very idea of leaving the dagger behind for an indeterminate amount of time, even in the den, felt equal to swallowing a witherrose. 

Actually, he would rather be swallowing a witherrose. 

“More than your instincts? No." Philza continued. "It's weird. It's as if the dagger is trying to curse itself , and making sure that it… can't leave itself. So even if the enchantments are active, they're absolutely useless." 

"Unless, there is something bound to the dagger." Techno pondered, and Philza froze next to him. 

"Something?" 

"...Philza. I grew up next to beaches that trap souls." Techno started, the thought appearing just as he was saying the words. "Some of them, who got stuck with me." 

Speaking of Chat, the spirits were silent, though their presence laid like a heavy wet blanket pressing down. Waiting. Watching. 

A deliberately suffocated excitement. 

"...and who are suspiciously quiet at the moment." 

Okay. 

Okay. 

This was fine. 

This was absolutely fine. 

Tommy was not panicking at all.  

His keeper, Techno apparently, had mindlessly slaughtered the ones who had attacked him. They had begged and he had paid them no mind, and then he had tried to kill his friend who he was apparently close enough to cuddle up to inside his den. And neither of them acted like that was a problem, like oh hey, look a normal tuesday, just-trying-to-stab-my-buddy-day!

And it was all because of Tommy. 

As the piglin had taken down the first ambusher, Tommy had felt reluctant excitement at the victory, happy to not end up in the coffers of some tax-collectors. But then he simply had not stopped and Tommy had gained a front-row seat to the carnage. The horror had nowhere to go. No way to puke it up, or scream, or try to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the images of the slaughter away from his conscious mind. 

Nor the feeling and taste of blood that had covered him.  

At least that was gone now, and Tommy would spend the rest of his days praying that he never had to have that same experience again. 

It wouldn't be too hard, considering he might not have too many days left. 

They knew. 

Techno had as of yet not loosened his grip around him, but they moved from the main part of the den to the workbench, where Philza had already scrutinised Tommy once before. That time there had been a distant curiosity from the Elytrian before he had been hidden behind cloth, while Tommy had been busy trying to wrestle his reeling mind to understand what had just happened. This time as he was put down onto it, it felt much, much more intense. 

I felt like he was a corpse at the coroner's table. 

"Can you clear it?" Technoblade asked, his voice breaking off as well as squeezing his eyes shut, face grimacing in sudden pain. 

"Probably,” Philza answered, ignoring the flinch his friend made. “The easiest way would be to melt…" 

"No-!" Tommy cried, simultaneously as Technoblade spoke, his already low voice dropping into a rumbling growl. 

"No." 

"Assumed so." Philza took it in stride. "I'll figure out some other way then. If the curses are flipped I might be able to rewrite…" 

The man started to scratch things down on a stack of half-filled papers that were scattered over the desk, the flat surface making it impossible to follow exactly what he was doing from Tommy's point of view. And though Tommy should have at least tried to discern what he was doing, learn that bit of magic and enchantment that might save him from being locked into his current form, all he could think about was cut-off limbs and innards exposed. The fact that Technoblade's gaze at him had turned into a cold stare, so much different from that deep regard that he had used to study Tommy before. 

He had wanted someone, someone else than Dream, to know of him, to acknowledge him, and now that wish had been twisted in the very worst way. 

“I’m going to have to carve into it, just a little bit.” Philza spoke up, an assertive dot at the last word in the margins of the paper, and for a moment Tommy’s point of view was severely restricted as Techno snatched the dagger up and covered it with both hands. A rattling, threatening sound from the Elytrian followed a moment later, contrasting the misleading gentle tone that he used. “Mate, it’s this or melting it.” 

Reluctantly, fighting against himself, Technoblade handed the dagger over, and in a terrible Déjà-vu Tommy was reminded of how Dream had done just the same, and once more, once again, Tommy no ability to change that decision, no matter how much he struggled to find a physical grip outside of his mind, and no matter how much imagine himself reaching out, trying to do anything. He failed, put into the talons of the Elytrian.   

“Ready?” Philza said, piercing blue eyes looking up at Techno. 

“Not really,” Tommy choked out, just as Technoblade nodded, and Philza fetched a feather-carved knife from amongst the tools at the workbench. Pitch-black and insanely sharp, dipping the tip of it into a jar to cover it in a liquid that had the same viscosity as blood, except for the fact that it was unnaturally blue. “I’m fine, you know, fine with waiting for Dream, you don’t need to do this, you—” 

The Elytrian put the knife against his blade, the tip a bright shining blue from a paste of powdered lapis, unshaking and precise pushing down amongst the runes. It didn’t hurt, yet the painless sensation only made it worse; it was watching someone carve a piece away like they were cutting away at his skin, and heart, and eyes, and everything all at once and he was paralyzed and petrified, unable to do anything, fight nor beg. 

For a moment, the phantom feeling of his body was gone, and nothing remained but the cold and muted existence without any life. Tommy was a dagger, and nothing else.    

Then, something snapped, like a cord had been wrapped around his neck finally broke and Tommy could breathe . 

It lasted for just a second, before his body caught up with the fact that it existed and every receptor that had been put on snooze for the last couple of months decided to activate all at once.  

Everything hurt, all at once. 

Retching nothing but spit, his stomach empty, his lungs trying to escape his chest through his throat, ripping themselves apart as Tommy contorted into a foetal position, wretched coughs bursting through and the very noise of them feeling like needles stabbing into his ears. He tried to open his eyes, but even the warm light was too intense, as if he was putting the flames themselves into his sockets, the neurons of his brain throwing themselves into a knot trying to find the familiar paths through his body that were now foreign travels to his consciousness. 

Moreover, he threw his hands up to cover himself as much as he could. Surprisingly not because he was expecting the strike that would kill him, but simply because having air all around him felt wrong. 

For all that he had hated the petrification, for all that the claustrophobic torture of being the dagger, for some reason all Tommy could think of was to burrow deep into the ground and stay still, at least until the outside world stopped trying to tear him apart. Sparks like lightning still ran through him, as if his limbs had fallen asleep and now tiny creepers were wandering through below his skin, scaring themselves into explosions at his every little twitch or movement. His stomach cramped as if it hadn’t quite managed to get his intestine in the right order and was working to correct that. 

There was no room for input from his surroundings, at least none that he could understand as Tommy was too preoccupied to relearn in an instant how to interpret messages to his brain, like the uncomfortableness of a limb being slightly twisted and for a second not remembering what to do to turn it back to normal, non-bent position. 

Finally, the sensations started to die down, bursting through to the other side of the pain and when he opened his eyes again the light wasn’t quite as painful.  

Instead, he was increasingly aware of the two other presences in the room. 

There was gold all around, he was in the den, and looking towards the gold meant looking away from the very alive threats that he felt hovering just behind him like phantoms waiting for that last ray of sunlight to fade. Any self-preservation had apparently not yet returned to his instincts, as his first impulse had been to go to the gold, and Tommy forced himself into a hug to press his knees against his stomach, like a mouse or worm freezing with the hope that he would be ignored by the predators that hunted him. It had been almost painful to resist. Like the gold would be able to protect him, like it would hide him, and not cause him to end up in the same state as the people by the gate. 

It didn’t matter that Tommy knew better than them, knew what gold meant to piglins. 

Gold, that Tommy had replaced. 

Panic overriding the need to hide, sending signals to do anything else, Tommy pushed himself to move; to press his forehead against the wooden boards beneath him. 

“I’m sorry.” Tommy choked, his voice raspy from misuse and vocal cords still not quite ready to be used. He stayed on his knees, trying to shrink himself to something unthreatening before looking up at the two who were standing an arms-length away. Technoblade’s eyes were wide, once more that golden reflection filling within, and the act of being seen, of someone meeting his eyes and not just looking at him stirred an equal amount of elation and terror through him. “I’m sorry I’m not… I’m good at mining! I can get you gold. I can pay you back. I promise!”

Technoblade blinked, slow, and Tommy wanted to puke at the buzz of tension in the room. Every heartbeat that passed felt like lightning-strikes through his blood. 

“So, well .” Tommy begged, barely a whisper, nails denting into the long sleeves of his shirt as he clutched his own arms. "Please don't kill me?" 

“Don’t worry,” Technoblade murmured, and the tone was surprisingly muted. 

Actually, all of his movements were muted, especially compared to the Elytrian who had stepped back, watching with interest, twitches through his body like a bird trying to decide if the small movement on the ground was from something edible. Fortunately, for the moment, deferring to Technoblade, who had yet to strike down Tommy from where he stood. Motionless.  

Knowing just how quick the man was, now dried blood still splattered over his body and clothes, it was not proof of safety. Not yet. 

"Okay?” Tommy drew the word out, voice shaking and the taste of bile coming up in increments. He swallowed the acid back down, and wow, he had not been missing that taste. “Okay, cool, I’m…” He exhaled in a shudder; slowly unravelling his body, every shift a potential trigger of death, every continuing breath increasing hope by just a little. “So… I’m just going to head out then? Saw a village when that guy flew here, so if you just point me in the direction of the portal, I’ll…” 

“I don’t think so.” Techno took a step closer, and alarm overrode logic as Tommy scutteled back, crashing straight into the treasure trove and scattering golden pieces behind him. Part of him screamed as he felt the gold bump against his palms before rolling away, a wail like a child breaking a precious thing and knowing it would not be forgiven. 

Another part wanted, inexplicably, to continue back and nestle himself further in. 

Following him, one step at a time, slow and inevitable, Technoblade came to stop in front of him, looking down with emotions flickering over his face that Tommy could not decipher in time before they settled down. 

“You’re still part of my hoard.” Technoblade stated, and seemed almost surprised by his own declaration, a light questioning tone at the end of the sentence. 

Tommy’s mind went blank. “I’m a person.” 

“Yeah. Bit of a surprise. Still trying to take that in, give me a moment.” The piglin’s gaze was flickering all of Tommy’s form, disbelief clearly on display.  

“I’m not giving you a moment, and— ” The fear took its form in Tommy’s voice cutting short, “and you can’t keep me here.” 

“I can.” He said, slowly, like the speed of the conversation was the problem here and not the content.  

Tommy knew without a doubt that it was true, that all he could do was plead for a speck of morality that he would not find, because practically speaking there was no exit to the room, except for the ladder up that was currently blocked. Not to mention, Tommy had seen for himself how it ended for those who ran, felt and tasted the consequence of their desperation against his form. 

"No." Tommy said, unable to underline it with an argument that he would accept. 

The piglin smiled, a small but noticeable thing. 

“How about a name?” He said, too casual, as he crouched down in front of him. 

Tommy shook his head, refusing to play along with the nonchalance. "I'm not going to be spending time in this shithole, you don't need my name." 

“You were literally the one who asked me to treat you like a person.” Technoblade contemplated for a second. “How about Theseus, then?” 

It rang a bell, and Tommy grimarched. “The hero?” 

"You know about him?" Techno raised an eyebrow, and something almost delighted snuck into his expression. 

"You spoke about him yesterday, the minotaur-murder-guy? Fell off a cliff?"

"I wasn’t aware that you were conscious for all of that.” At Tommy's hesitant nod, Techno huffed. "Interesting. But actually, no. Not because of Theseus himself." 

He reached out and Tommy flinched back, not quick enough to avoid a hand cradling his cheek, and the feeling of a warm palm, the one that still held the cut that had just barely stopped bleeding, held against his skin left Tommy petrified. Something about it felt wrong, slightly off, especially when a thumb started to move back and forth not quite as smoothly as it should. As if his body couldn’t quite remember how tactile stimuli worked, pinpricks of numbness existed on his skin, only noticeable when his mind wasn’t registering the movement the way that it should.  

But before Tommy could get himself stuck in that impression, Techno continued. 

“You remind me of the paradox that Theseus’s ship is famed for.” 

Tommy blanched. 

“A thought experiment that asks whether an entity that has had all of its original components replaced remains the same entity.” Technoblade cited, eyes narrowing at the horror that distorted Tommy’s expression, continuing in that same tone, like all he was saying was simple fact, explained to a small child. “You are still the same as the little dagger I took into my hoard.” 

The longer he spoke, the more Technoblade seemed sure of his words. 

“I'm not." Tommy managed to get out, the simile revolting. 

Techno gave a small nod, as if he understood. A complete mockery as he continued. “I was right then, to treat you as an object, when you were one?” The glare that Tommy sent was answer enough, and still the man just looked like Tommy was an especially ferocious kitten. “If that is the case, do you have a person-name I can use?” 

Tommy bit his tongue, glaring up at Techno until his eyes started to sting, the piglin waiting for an answer with unfailing patience. Unblinking. 

Unable to keep the state going, Tommy looked away, pressing his lips together in a clear message.

Technoblade shrugged as he moved to stand, finally retracting the hold on Tommy's cheek. “Theseus it is then.” 

“So.” Philza piped up from his position at the ladder, apparently unconcerned about the situation, as if his friend’s actions were nothing special. Ending the stabbing-a-friend-tuesday with some accidental-turned-real kidnapping. “I could swing by the village, get some more bread and milk since we have another mouth to feed?” 

It was phrased as a question, a want for confirmation. 

He had known Techno was shady, even before the whole slaughter-thing, but of course the people he would be acquainted with would be just as deranged. 

“You mind doing that?” Techno mused, “Maybe another chicken as well while you’re already there. Eggs are a reasonable source of protein to tide us over, we can get more animals in the spring.” 

Philza nodded, grabbing a bit of paper from the table in the room, scratching down with a pen. Like taking a grocery list, he stopped and tapped the pen against the sheet. “He’s about the same size as Wilbur, a bit smaller, but should I get some new clothes for him to change into?” 

“Don’t want to hear him whine about his clothes being loaned away in his absence, so yes.” 

“Hey.” Tommy found his voice, as the two started to plan an actual shopping-trip right above his head. “We’re not done talking!”

Neither of them even glanced his way. 

“Wilbur might be delighted to share, you don’t know.” The Elytrian sent Techno a look, and got an answering huff, just as amused. 

"Hey!" Tommy spoke up again, louder this time, nails digging into the floor below him to the point where he felt splinters tearing from the wood. 

“Don’t forget I had to baby-sit him. Never met a more entitled kid.” Technoblade said, “Also, the ones at the gate said something about a new Lord, a bit concerned that that is going to be a problem.” 

Philza made an acknowledging hum, his brow slightly furrowing in thought. “The town’s folks might have some gossip about that, I’ll see if we have to handle it.” 

“Hey! ” Not even a twitch. 

“Speaking of which, I think I left my axe back at the portal.” 

“That one you can get yourself, I’m not carrying everything .” 

“...Chat is calling you weak, just so you know.” 

"Tell the little shits that I don't care." 

Tommy’s heart felt like it had stopped, a burst of petrification from within that curled up behind his ribs, locked his limbs and his breath. 

Like he was watching from beyond a glass wall, the casual banter of the two reached, yet did not involve him. Like it didn't matter that he was there. 

Like he wasn't alive . 

"Stop!"

Tommy's voice broke as he surged forward, grabbing onto the sleeve of Techno’s shirt, the fabric tearing as his nails dug into it. His fingers were shaking, the lump in his chest climbing up to his throat. 

His gaze was met, a blocked-off and unreadable expression, contrasted by a familiar intensity in dark eyes that was just barely holding back, and instantly Tommy's heart rate stuttered and raced in white-hot fear. He'd gone too far. 

Yet Tommy could not make himself let go of the arm, squeezing harder and digging his nails in. 

“We’re literally changing things to accommodate you, Theseus.” Technoblade reached out, and this time Tommy stayed still, as a hand pulled through his curls, deliberately cautious. “You were the one who refused to have a conversation.” 

His voice was just as even as when he was narrating the stories, stating facts without any inclination of his own emotions, but just slightly beneath, not something that Tommy would have picked up unless he had spent the night listening to it, there was a consistent, stuttering and rumbling sound. The way his breathing sounded unnaturally slow, noticeable only because it was heavy. 

It clicked. His pupils were dilated. The touch soft, not for the sake of softness, but rather because of the amount of effort needed to hold back.

It was the staring-thing. 

Or at least the beginning stages of it, and while Tommy had wished he could have kicked Techno while it happened on their way, the impulse was strangled before it could be turned into action. His legs feeling wobbly and weak, his muscles doing all they could do just to keep him upright. 

He also was not thrilled to find out where the line was drawn. 

Coarse fingers brushed by the side of his head, and Tommy made a full-body flinch as a dull pain that had as of yet only lingered in the background flared to life. Techoblade's eyes furrowed, parting the hair and the expression turned into a frown, as Tommy winced once more as the piglin prodded at the side of his head, the same place that had met the floor months ago from Dream’s hands. 

As his hair felt stiff and greasy, his skin strangely stiff in places, and the scabbed wound on the side of his head that Technoblade had found, nothing about his unkempt appearance seemed to have been magically fixed since he was transformed into a dagger. And the piglin didn't seem to approve, rubbing the sticky strands between his fingers. As if he himself was the epitome of cleanliness, decorated with splatters of blood. 

“Can I go clean up?” Tommy blurted out, before Techno got the idea himself.

“Of course, the washroom is just upstairs, I’ll show you.” Philza interrupted, before Techno could even say something, a sharp look passing between the two that Tommy couldn’t interpret. 

Whatever it was, Techno relented and gave a small huff as Philza stepped forward to put a guiding hand on Tommy's shoulder. His talons resting just above Tommy's collarbone. 

They headed up from the den, into the main living area that Tommy had only briefly seen when the Elytrian had taken him down earlier, still the majority of the home shrouded in darkness and absolutely freezing. The front door was still wide open, tempting and Tommy was quickly turned away from it with a small press of the hand on his shoulder, towards some stairs leading up to a second story. 

There were multiple doors, kept in different open states, proof of people living here. Tommy was led past them before he could take a proper look inside either of them, stopping in front of a door that Philza shoved open to reveal a unfittingly normal washroom.  

"There's products… well everywhere. Just grab whatever you think suits you." Philza said, gesturing to the mess inside. "Not sure we have the things you need, but tell me later in that case, I'll put it on the list." 

Tommy looked at him from the corner of his eyes. "Are you really okay with this?" 

"I don't mind making an extra trip," Philza answered, and Tommy opened his mouth to correct him, that them not having the correct hygiene products was not the main problem, when he caught the knowing, and teasingly obtuse, look in the other's eyes. 

The answer to his question clearly given.

"I'll leave you to it." 

He stepped back and allowed Tommy to close the door, slamming it a little bit too hard and locking it. It would not stop either of them if they truly wanted to get in, but a fake comfort was still a comfort. 

Pressing his ear to the door, Tommy heard the gait of the Elytrian walk about the corridor, doors opening and closing, with the sound of subtle clicks after the latter. He was locking access to the other rooms, and once all were done the pacing stopped. No sound of the man going back down the stairs. 

Tommy backed away from the door. Clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to get them to stop shaking. 

So, no sneaking out through the house. 

The only other option was the frosted window in the washroom, small and probably not meant as a way out, at least not if you were the size of a full-grown piglin-hybrid, nor prevented by giant wings. 

Lucky Tommy was not. 

Starting the shower only to block the sound, Tommy pushed a sturdy laundry basket to climb up on to inspect the frosted glass. While the window had a lock, fortunately it didn't need a key and fell right open at a push, frigid winter air rushing into the room as if it was trying to escape itself. 

Peering out, the last little bit of hope that had been smouldering in his chest, was doused and died by that same cold. 

The ground was far below. Ledges that might have been precariously used as holding-points in summer were now suspiciously shiny and glittering as the ice that covered them caught the light of the lanterns scattered about on the outside. If he jumped, he would be lucky if he only sprained an ankle, if not break one. Which wouldn't be very productive when it came to escaping. 

Closing the window, Tommy almost fell off the basket as he stumbled backwards, sinking down onto the floor, the rush of the shower filled his mind up with smattering noises. His stomach hurt, as if it was trying to eat itself, a bubbling cauldron of nausea. Crumbling, Tommy put his head in his hands, hanging down between his knees, trying to keep his breath level. The side of his head throbbed with a dull ache, and pulling his fingers over the site and down to look through blurry sight, there were flakes of crusted blood, singling down from his fingers as he rubbed them together. 

Made sense, since Tommy was still in the clothes he had worn when Dream had transformed him, that the injury would remain as well. 

Dream had struck him down to daze him. Technoblade had killed someone using the same kind of violence, all because they tried to take his gold. Take him.  

Tommy choked in a laugh, pulling in breaths that his mind was trying to tell him he didn’t need. He squeezed his eyes shut, and relished in the fact that he could, almost feeling surprised by the darkness coming from his own actions and not someone else. 

It was a ridiculous, minuscule amount of control, and it was enough to get tears burning behind his eyes. 

For a minute Tommy simply sat, listened to the water pouring down at the floor and watching the darkness of his own eyelids. There was still no sound from the other side of the door. He didn’t know how long he would be allowed to be alone, the fact that he had been allowed to go off on his own had been a minor miracle in itself, and he wasn’t about to see how long it took before either of the two came and fetched him.

Living with Dream had taught him dearly how he shouldn’t push privileges. 

He stood, walked up to the sink and turned on the tap there as well. His skin felt all weird; he’d never had a problem with getting dirty and messy when needed, but it seemed like the time without a proper body with proper tactile sensors had dulled his resilience against the crummy feeling. 

"Okay. One day at a time." Tommy told himself, between bouts of water splashed into his face, rubbing at it harshly. The skin felt rough, as if dirt or dried mud had been caked over. Or like old acne flaring up. Rubbing over it felt more soothing than raw, even when his skin started to tingle. "You learnt to deal with being a dagger, you can learn to deal with this." 

Tommy raised his head to glare at himself in the mirror. 

"Just wait for the right…" 

His train of thought stopped like a stone-pick meeting obsidian. 

It was not obvious at first. 

For a single moment, he was ready to roll his eyes, seeing the slight golden bits in the mirror. Because of course a piglin hybrid would decorate everything with gold. But then he noticed that the bits moved, all in synchronisation with his own reflection.

He reached a hand up to his cheek, feeling that vague gravel-numb feeling as he pulled his fingertips over the side of his face. All over there was a scattering of golden flakes, like holes poked through his skin, barely visible until they caught in the light, asymmetrically placed with some being bigger than others. Some as small as pinpricks, some as he twisted his head to the side, were the size of an eye. 

They were plastered like stars, a band of a galaxy draped over his skin. Less where the skin moved most. 

Lifting his sleeves, he found more of them, clumped together, slightly raised off from his skin. Small golden nuggets growing through. His nails scratched against the skin, drawing red lines and then the sensations simply stopped as he reached the gilded parts. 

No. Tommy tapped on the gold, without touching his normal skin first, and felt a very slight, off-putting response. Not quite touch, not quite pain, not quite anything but clearly there. It felt just like all outside stimuli had been, when he had been a dagger. 

And he remembered Techno pulling his thumb over his cheek, where golden inlays glinted clearly in the light. 

Tommy shoved his hand into his mouth, biting down to muffle his own screaming, as the fear returned with vengeance, and the fact that he could feel the hardenings with his teeth as he clenched around his hand did not make it any easier to handle. Of course the piglin wouldn't let Tommy go, of course he wouldn't, when the gold that he saw as his property was literally melded into Tommy's body. 

Was he going to be harvested? 

Spitting his hand out, when the urge to cry had been violently muted, Tommy reached for one of the bigger golden patches on his arm, one of those that were slightly risen, trying to get his nails situated around it and pulled.

Pain immediately greeted him, and not only from the flesh around the gold, but a burst of terrifying familiar coldness erupting within the metal, travelling up his arm. The pain only rose as he tugged at the golden growth, forced to stop. It was like trying to voluntarily pull a nail from his finger, the mind stopping what should technically be possible before true injury was made. 

Tommy couldn't pull them out. 

He wouldn't care. The screams of the woman who Techno had killed by crushing her eyes still rang loud in his memory, as well as the complete disregard the man had shown to her wails. If Tommy was just an accessory to the gold, then the piglin would not care for his pain, should he decide to separate the two. 

Tommy's sight narrowed into a tunnel vision, watching the golden, shimmering details and brand new elements to his body. In desperation to deny, Tommy grabbed a firm hold of his skin and pulled his sleeves back down to cover his arms once more, only to have the fabric clutched by his fingers tear apart, like the material was made of nothing but last year’s leaves left to dry, leaving a large hole in his sleeve and still putting the golden, sparkling gold on display.  

The gold, that was not just reflecting the light in the room. A gentle purple sheen flickered within the valuable metal, caressing over it like mist over a lake, pulsating with a consistent hum. It was more noticeable on the larger golden nuggets on his arms, but looking at the star-like pinpricks that were scattered all over they too glimmered with something just slightly darker than the gilded nuance that they should have. 

With his hand shaking, Tommy reached out towards a towel hanging on the wall, and clawed down through it. It tore into two without any sort of resistance, the thick and fluffy fabric ripping apart from a mere touch even if his nails were no more sharp than normal.  

Tommy blinked, until understanding managed to work itself through to a full conclusion. 

The enchantments were still there.  

Scrambling once more on top of the laundry-basket, Tommy threw the window open, the stream that had gathered in the washroom, from the shower still going, moving out in a billowing cloud. Squeezing himself out of the small opening, he was falling before he had the chance to think or even regret it, unwilling to let doubt freeze him into passivity; like an animal thinking it could keep itself from being eaten by staying still in the territory of a beast of prey. 

Trusting in the Unbreaking enchantment that had been carved into him. 

The fall felt just a second too long, before he slammed into the ground. The shock of hitting down knocked the air out from him, but pushing himself up, fingers slipping in the light snow, none of his limbs complained anything more than if he had walked into a wall. Nothing broken, nothing hurt. 

Tommy grinned, all bones perfectly in order. 

And he pushed himself up from the ground to keep them as such, as he heard a shout from somewhere within the house. Stumbling, before getting his legs in order, Tommy rushed for the protection of the woods to weave between the trees and over damp ground. The canopy had protected the ground from snow, leaving the ground bare apart from a layer of browned needles, and the foliage under his feet turned the path unstable and slippery. Roots and stones hidden beneath trying to trip him up at every step. 

He tried to throw a look behind him just as he heard a door slam open, and was rewarded by running into sharp and thick branches from the spruce-trees, scratching against his skin, but a cursory glance at his hands once he got back on track showed no damage. 

A roar from behind him, far too close to comfort, had Tommy almost crash into a tree as the furious sound cut into his nerves. Biting his lips to convince his body to not lock up and freeze, Tommy sped up. Already feeling a stitch at the side of his stomach, his breath coming fast and puffing out in a foggy cloud. 

“Theseus!” He barely recognized Technoblade’s voice, but it was accompanied by the chorus of screeching birds that had been resting in the trees, rising up and taking flight into the sky. 

“Come on, come on.” Tommy panted, as branches struck against his forehead and it sent him careening to the side, bumping into another tree that he pushed his arms against to keep moving. He could hear the sound of running behind him now, breaking branches and heavy steps. 

The world felt like it was tilting, his perception narrowing in to be nothing but the next bit of opening between the trees that he could pass through, not helped by the fact that his eyes kept flickering to the dark, cramped shadows below the trees, a windthrow that had torn the entirety of a root-system up, causing it to have a deep hole that Tommy had to bite himself again to break off the instinct to throw himself down into and curl up within its inviting shelter. 

Then, the hard crack of movement much too close behind him sent him careening towards it without the allowance of his conscious mind, jumping over the fallen tree and down. He slid, the dirt knobby and rough, frozen solid and shuffled himself into the roots and open burrow as far as he could. He could still see out, could still see the thick trees and the sky peeking through far above. 

"Theseus!" Techno was sounding less angry, more desperate as the name was called, once more, and Tommy was very glad he hadn’t given the piglin his true name. Hearing the label given to him was terrifying enough. "Come here! I won't be able to find you." 

That's the point. As he heard the man slow down, and stop not too far away from his position Tommy flinched; a nervous bubbling laugh knotted in his throat, and shuffled back into the roots as quietly as he could. Pulling his legs up until he was as tightly wound as he could be, he pressed his palms against his mouth to muffle the gasping breaths that the running had brought. A mantra calling and rolling around in his head to stay still. 

"Theseus." The piglin was breathing hard as well, moving around, and heavy snorts interrupting the otherwise silent forest.  

Tommy’s heart was a sledgehammer in his chest, the lack of oxygen, the result of his voluntary suffocation, starting to pull at his lungs. Why wasn’t he leaving? 

"Philza." Techno suddenly said, quieter and Tommy snapped his head up towards the break between the trees, scanning for anything moving above. The canopy was thick, if Philza descended from above Tommy might have missed him, but there was nothing sighted through the needles. Technoblade continued speaking and relief drained through Tommy's system as he realised that Philza wasn't present. "He didn't return home? No. I… If we’re lucky, I only lost track of him." a harsh sigh, "How much time do you think he has?" 

Tommy furrowed his brow. 

"And nothing you… I know, I know." Another pause, followed by a frustrated growl. "I just hope that he's actually refusing to answer, not that he can't." 

…What. 

"...yeah. Send the crows out to see if they find anything glimmering, and let's hope nothing has covered him yet." 

What. 

Technoblade ended the conversation, immediately raising his voice to once again call for Tommy, his voice echoing through the forest; that was silent as the dead, as if it too was holding its breath. Tommy stayed still. Staring out of his burrow, listening to the sounds of Technoblade moving further and further away from his location. Which should be good. Tommy should be able to crawl up in just a few minutes and move some other way, dupe the piglin and actually escape. 

But as he removed his hands from his mouth, he was all too aware that his limbs ached. It was difficult to move them, stiff. Unnaturally so. Looking down, his fingers were curling in on their own, shaking, and while he was looking at them, could feel them, they didn’t feel like his. Looking at them felt like how looking at Dream’s hands had felt, while his first warden had kept him. 

Dissonant. Distant.  

As if there was a layer between him and the rest of the world, as if the surroundings he could see with his actual eyes were built like a theatre stage, unreal and artificial. And it wasn’t only because of the unnatural way that the golden nuggets stuck up through his skin, but the more he looked at them, gaze flickering back to where they were put on display by the ripped sleeve, the more doubt started to creep in. 

Were the golden pieces that big before? 

Everything hurt, his stomach twisting, head pulsating in such a way that he could pin-point the notion as hurt. But it felt wrong. Muted. Not enough. The space around him closing in. 

A terrible, familiar feeling. 

He was so cold. 

Even the pain when Tommy struggled up from the windthrow was non-existent, barely getting his hands under him as his body spasmed, just in time to prevent himself from face-planting back down onto the ground. The needles and dead grass lying still below as he rose to move forward, mindlessly, his gaze searching for red. Hearing Technoblade’s voice before he saw him, and the moment that Tommy locked onto the red he was rushing forward. 

"Thes—" 

"Am I turning back?" Tommy grabbed onto the piglin’s cape, demanding, feeling his nails go straight through the thick material. He was swept into Techno's arms, enclosed and pressed tightly against him. The non-answer did nothing other than add gunpowder to potions, as Tommy’s voice rose up high, pushing against the hold. " Am I turning back?" 

"Yes." Technoblade said, releasing him just enough to look at his face. He looked like Tommy's presence was a miracle. "Philza can stop it, Theseus. Just come home." 

Tommy barely had time to nod before he was swept up, feet leaving the soggy ground as the Piglin started to run, easily holding him with an arm under his legs and another cradling his back. The forest rushed by, and Tommy curled into himself, his whole body shaking and teeth chattering against one another. Squeezing his eyes shut when the moving environment made him dizzy, made him aware of how strange everything looked. 

The cawing of birds, still agitated, were like fireworks exploding in his ears. 

Dampened ground was replaced with the hard sound of wood underneath them, and only a second later Tommy’s stomach was swooping as they dropped down. Being in the den again made nausea rise up, mix alongside the already existing panic knotting in his stomach as he remembered just why he had tried to run in the first place. All too late, unavoidable, as they lowered down on the floor. 

He couldn't breathe. Trying to pull in a breath, it got stuck in his throat, air barely entering his chest before it got pressed out again, in and out. Useless puffs of air. It didn't help that the arms around him were pressing against him to the point where it felt like his ribs should have cracked, stiff and shaking limbs arranged out of the way so he could be properly pulled into the piglin's lap, a stuttering rumble noticeable just from being held close.

“Mate, you’re going to have to let me see him.” And there was Philza, his words met with a threatening huff. “Fine. Just hold him.”

Talons tapped against his back, easily ripping through his shirt, and poking at his skin just shy of breaking it, until they made a dull sound at his shoulder blades. Tommy hadn't even noticed the fact that he hadn't been feeling much of his shirt against his back. At least not with his normal, organic sense. As the slow drag against that portion of his back continued, his mind followed the touch, made him more and more aware of the area it encompassed. There was a lot of space on his back that had the wrong kind of sensation, like a carapace. Had it been growing out of sight? Was it still?

Every little tap, and it was a stone thrown into a still lake, spreading the waves of the cold and murky water pouring over onto land. Dragging everything above ground below, down, down to the deep and hollow.

Stop. Tommy tried to make his mouth form the words, but they never came out. His mouth didn’t move.

“Have him drink this.”

His head was tilted back, and a rottenly sweet concoction was poured into his mouth. It was full of clumps, like sweetened porridge if you replaced the taste of porridge itself with every type of sweet thing you could have on it, the taste of apples strongest but not the only flavour, but still kept the consistency of gruel.

Immediately Tommy started to cough as the concoction hit the back of his throat, the shallow breathing he apparently still had had stopped as it blocked and he curled forward to try and spew it out, failing as a hand was put over his mouth, fingers pinching over his nose. The shallow breaths that had as of yet syphoned through and allowed him to have a sliver of the oxygen that he needed, was now completely stuck. Pressure building in his chest as he tried to simultaneously pull and push saturated air, and failing as he pulled at the hand over his mouth.

Survival instinct won, as the stocky liquid finally forced its way through the block in his throat. Miraculously not ending up in the windpipe, and the hand moved away the moment he swallowed. A few bits of whatever it had been, a hideous mix of glistering pink and gold, was expelled as a couple of trapped coughs still shook his system, until his body figured out that air could only move one way at once, yet again.

“Breathe.” Technoblade said, "Stay with me. You're safe. You're breathing." 

Everything was spinning. Everything was wrong. And from the scattered pieces of his body there was a notion that finally clicked into place, unexplained still as the feeling formed into a physical desire to just lie down, to be buried and still.

Tommy heaved a sob, and his head was pressed down into Techno’s collarbone. He wanted to feel. He wanted to feel. 

"I'm not letting you go.” Techno huffed in his ear, arms squeezing tight around him. “I am never letting you go." 

It wasn’t a hug, what Tommy did in return. It was rather like trying to dig himself down into the only thing that felt real, his nails piercing warm skin, and the Piglin didn’t even flinch. Even when small rivers of languid blood ran down. All to distract himself from the feeling of the tip of talons, or a knife, against the surface of his skin.

His tears were pouring down, mixing with snot and the ugly results of his panic, hiccupping breaths making his entire body jump. A hand stroking over his head, low and soft chuffs by his ears; until finally there was no tears left in his body to shed. Smells of burning candles, the taste of too sweet apples in his mouth. Grounding, gentle movements brushing over his skin.

The first deep breath that Tommy took almost made him feel dizzy from the surge of oxygen, but it settled before it turned frightening. 

There was nothing touching his back anymore.

Tommy twisted his head, trying to see what had been done to the gilded skin on his back, when Technoblade shifted around and draped his mantle, heavy and warm, over him before he could see. He cradled Tommy’s cheek, and pulled his face back to look at him.  

"'doing okay?" 

"I'm okay?" Tommy replied more like a question, the trembles were gone, and the pain he had felt in his stomach had settled to a gentle churning. With some effort, air went down all the way through his chest, filling his lungs to the brink. He still felt lethargic, but the heaviness of his limbs was not from stiffness anymore. They were simply heavy, as if he had finally been allowed to drop a weight and feeling the aftereffects, doubtful he would be able to get up if he tried.  

"Good." Technoblade nuzzled down, hiding a smile that Tommy just barely managed to see. “Good. ”

A cough startled him, and Tommy looked up at Philza who was leaning back against the work-bench, the black knife that he had used to free Tommy before in his hands, liquid lazuli being cleaned off it with a rag.

“I reversed the Mending enchantment.” He started, and it took a moment for the words to stick. “It now holds you in a non-changing state, but do you know what Mending usually does?” He waited until Tommy nodded, putting the knife back into its case. “Then you should know that Mending is the one enchantment that needs to be refilled.” 

"Wait. It's not done?" Tommy tried to disentangle himself, and was immediately pulled back into the hug. His muscles arguing against another attempt, and no competition to the arms around him.

"Best I could do on a short notice." The Elytrian said, and then spoke something gruff in piglin, flickering a glare at Techno. 

Techno chuffed in return, saying something back that Philza rolled his eyes at before pushing off the bench and walking towards the ladder, climbing up and disappearing above without another word. The trapdoor closed, and there were the tell-tale sounds of steps on the story above moving to somewhere else in the house. Fading from range. 

Without warning, Techno laid back down on the pillows, pulling Tommy alongside him before Tommy could even decide if he was going to try to resist and the change in position sent another dizzy-spell through his skull. After a moment, Tommy felt gentle weights hold him down as the piglin pulled and piled covers up on top. Soft, warm, and grounding, and Tommy didn’t have the willpower to stop the instinctive reaction to nestle down into them. The heaviness felt soothing against his aching form.

Tommy opened and closed his fists, twisting his arms back and forth, feeling the stretch of the golden nuggets as he moved. They felt like they belonged to him again.

"I'm not going to hurt you." 

Which, Tommy had not been thinking about in that moment. Still stuck between clarity and fog, as if he had just been allowed up over the surface after battling a storm that should have drowned him.

Well. 

Now he was definitely thinking about it.

Shifting to get some distance, the huff that met him was a mash of frustrated and amused, Technoblade easily gathering Tommy’s hands in a preventive motion to where he couldn’t use them as weapons and pulling him close once more.

“How did I know you were going to react opposite to what I meant.” He grumbled, Tommy’s remaining energy betraying him as it dispersed, and gravity along with an insistent tug from the piglin forced him down next to him in the pile. His temple pressed against Techno’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, and feeling his own pound in his chest. Unsynchronized, one slow and steady, one still trying to remember its rhythm. He took a shuddering breath.  

"...were you going to let me turn back." Are you going to, laid heavy and unspoken on his tongue. 

"No, we…" Technoblade chewed his words, gave up, and started anew. "Were you conscious enough when I was talking about Pandora, and her box, on the way here?" 

"You fell asleep before you finished." 

"Ah. Well.” He hummed. “The important part is that you know that she opened a box because she was curious and released the horrors of the world. And maybe that is supposed to be what one could take from the story, to know that seemingly unimportant actions can have drastic consequences. That you shouldn't open mysterious boxes. But we took another lesson from that." 

And now Techno looked back down at him, brushing a hand by his cheek, the finger bumping over the gravel-like golden freckles on his face.

"If you're opening a box, and know nothing of what it contains… make sure it closes quickly once more after you have a peak." 

"Oh." Tommy couldn't remember the way they had done it the first time, Philza's notes probably scattered on the workbench still. But it had seemed so final back then. 

"We didn't know it was you." and the way he spoke the last word was like there was a marvel contained within.

Tommy didn't feel particularly marvellous. Especially when the threat of being locked back into his other shape hovered like a promise in a maybe near-future. A fact if they simply decided to not power the modified mending. 

"Can you make it permanent?" 

He felt Techno shrug. "Maybe. Philza would know the specifics better, but he said he would have to reverse the current solution, and start anew to break the curses. Which could take quite some time." 

"I would have to be..." Tommy's muscles tensed, his shoulders climbing up towards his ears like he could already feel his physical form changing into its gilded petrification. He fought against it, concentrating on the warmth around him to keep the hollow away. “I would be a dagger, again.”

"Yup.” Technoblade confirmed, much too flippant. “I would care for you, know about it this time, but…”

“Please no.” Tommy interrupted, spat with a spark of desperation, too revealing. Picking at a nugget of gold inside his forearm. “You don’t know how it feels. Being stuck. All of this shit. It’s all; nothing-but-something, it’s too weird. I can’t… you just don’t know. ”

“Of course I don’t know. I’m piglin, not azoic.” Techno huffed, and then paused as Tommy’s brow furrowed at the strange word.

“…you weren’t an azoic hybrid before.” He stated slowly, eyes lightening up in a revelation that Tommy did not share. “An Ore.” He corrected, as if that explained things better.

“I’m a person.” Tommy bristled.  

Techno hummed, ignoring the outburst and for the first time he moved away.

Tommy’s eyes flickered, involuntarily, towards the ladder. The very idea of going to it had his exhausted muscles groan in refusal, not even to mention the fact that he didn’t know how long he would last before he had to be… refilled, again. Whatever Philza had said.

Another surge, much more unsettling, cried at the idea of leaving the burrow of blankets, illogically, like the pile was the only bubble of air to protect him from a deep ocean all around.   

The moment, the chance that had not been something to consider, was gone a second later as Techno returned to the pile, reapplying the blankets.

“Here.” He said, and pressed something into Tommy’s palm; a rough, burly piece of gold, about the size of half of Tommy’s fist. Tommy stared at it, frozen at the display and unwilling to interact with the clear piece of a piglin’s hoard, until Technoblade closed his fingers around him, looking right into his face with intent. "How does it feel?" 

"It's a fucking piece of—" Tommy began, and then cut himself off. It was just a piece of gold.

It was a glorified piece of rock, or metal, or whatever it was labelled under.

And it sang.

It hummed, rang with the melody of the earth itself. A melody with no tone, no voice, yet still it welcomed him and resonated towards him. Something beyond sentience, there was no hidden message; the song still echoing inside him like skipping stones over an endless sea. Ancient, calling to him, bouncing between every little piece of gold in his body, enhancing the connection like a second bloodstream, a lullaby to sooth.

It was---   

“Thought so.” Techno’s self-satisfied voice broke his attention, though the feeling remained, as Tommy snapped his eyes open. Unaware that they had even been closed. “An azoic acquaintance, though a diamond-hybrid, once laughed in my face as I asked him if it felt weird to have diamonds in the jewellery he always wore. Looking at you, it seems like there was something more to it.” Beneath his words, the rumble had started again, and his thumb was brushing over Tommy’s fingers, keeping his hand closed over the nugget. “I’ll write to him. He might have some pointers to help us figure out what you need.” 

“Why would you do that.” It didn’t make sense. For all Tommy knew, the piglin planned to keep him here, down in the den among all the other quiet and unmoving things. Something to be beheld and not something that could argue, that would need attention and interaction.

“I take care of my hoard,” Techno said, and a chill ran down Tommy’s spine. An arm wrapped around him in response, warm air brushing over his head as Techno huffed as if to comfort. “If one piece happens to be somebody and not something, I’ll adapt.”

“I don’t want to.” The words slipped out, and Tommy clenched his fist around the golden nugget in his hand; the song comforting and horrible all at once. Simply because he could feel it. Simply because it made it real. “I don’t…”  

“I know.” Techno concluded, and there was a scolding, threatening, undercurrent to the words that followed, the subtle rumble that had been consistent from his chest cutting off into a growl. "You ran, Theseus."

Tommy choked on the apology that automatically wanted to bubble up through his throat, forced it to stay inside his chest, and for a terrifying moment, Techno was quiet, letting the words hover in the air above them. 

He might decide, just like Dream, that it was simpler to keep Tommy around when he wasn't human. 

Well. Human-ish.

Right before Tommy was going to cave, to allow the appeasing lie fall through his lips, there was a sigh that broke the buzz in the air. His harsh exhale blowing warm air against Tommy’s head.

"You were scared. And not in a position to make an unclouded judgement.” Techno said, reciting rationalised motives, and Tommy bit his tongue before he could refute that assumption. “But what if you had turned back, what if someone had found you and torn you apart, taken you.” 

He spat the words out as if they were poisonous, and the venom slipped under Tommy’s skin like sharp fangs finding their mark. 

He could see himself, buried between needles and snow, deep within a forest where no one walked. Always awake. Always alone. 

He could see himself, held down by the people who were now already dead, greedy eyes and white smiles as they cut into his body to steal the gilded pieces of him and lock them away.

He could see Dream drag him away, ecstatic about unprecedented results. Excited about what they could try next. 

"Fuck."  Tommy cursed, quiet and broken. 

Techno hushed him, though his voice was still rumbling with quiet intensity. “I will never let that happen.”

Tommy heard it for the double-edged threat that it was. He closed his eyes, pressed his eye-lids together. Reveled in the darkness of his own doing.

“Promise.” Tommy said.

The piglin seemed just as surprised at the words as Tommy himself. It took only a second for him to catch himself.

“On every precious thing.” His voice softened, and Tommy nodded sharply in turn. Not looking up. Not quite ready to meet dilated eyes. Not quite ready to leave the darkness, ignoring the alien, invading content part that shone like stars within him, hummed along with the song. Revelling in the grounding closeness all around him. In the golden nugget in his palm. 

Prime. He was tired.

“...do you want me to finish the tale of Pandora? Chat is pushy about it." Techno asked, as seconds ticked by, and Tommy shrugged. If Techno’s curses wanted to, he wouldn’t argue. "Where did I stop?" 

It took him a moment to realise that Techno was waiting for him. Not talking to the spirits.

"You were describing all the wrong'uns?" Tommy finally answered, and felt Techno make a movement with his head, like a nod, and shifting around to make them both comfortable in the pile as he continued the tale.

And when Tommy interjected, with a question or doubtful scoff, Technoblade paused and listened. 

He was warm. 

Finally, exhaustion caught up, and Theseus succumbed to its grasp. 

For a long time, until he heard the distant sound of a door opening and closing on the floor above, steps returning to the house, Techno stayed. Eyes never leaving him, thumbing along the golden freckles, the little runt curled up against him with a golden nugget clutched in his palm. Techno muted a laugh, to not awaken the child. To think that when he first laid eyes on Theseus he had compared him to a runt’s first weapon, and here he was, a runt all on his own. Holding Techno’s very own first piece of gold, from way back, before his kin had shorn him. 

He had never had a bastion to belong to, and while Philza and later his wife and child had turned into something as close as could be they would always head off, as people of their ancestry tended to do. They always returned, but the empty home had been a chafing thorn in the deepest part of his instincts that longed for a home with constant life. 

A missing piece that he had resigned himself to live without. 

Now, holding the little blade, safe and sound in his den (and how Chat enjoyed the spoils of their joke), Techno had no idea how he could ever have resigned himself to such a fate when it had been shattered by chance. A perfect, imperfect mix, handed to him in unbelievable luck.

Both sounder and gold in one. 

Pressing a kiss against his brow, Techno moved slowly as to not rouse the boy from well-needed rest, carefully placing further blankets above him and tucking him in until all that was visible was his face. He couldn’t help but to reach out, caressing the coarse skin, a sting of displeasure coursing through as he saw how pale and sunken in the organic parts were. Uncared for.

His gold had been severely neglected. 

Beneath his hide, the hollowness that had pierced through when Philza had taken the dagger the first time, that had reanimated the moment they had heard the jump, was soothed by not gone. Remaining like a threat. He had thought the howling fear would disappear once the kid was back where he belonged, but the wooden walls felt as safe as a sheet of paper. Someone could come in at any time, and take him.

Theseus could get in his head to try and leave him again. 

He probably would.

At that thought Techno had to snap his hand away from the kid, prevent himself from gripping too hard at a body that might not be able to take it, no matter which enchantments that coursed through his form. Chat called out from within, displeased murmurs at the idea, incomprehensible noise turning into static as they gave suggestions how to prevent such a thing, no longer as a single monolith. Some gushing and chattering about food and warmth, some gently reminding him that broken bones heal, immediately drowned out by voices raised in insult.

Reaching up to pull at his earring, Techno soothed the part of himself that wanted nothing more than to watch the kid sleep just to make sure he was still there by reminding himself that Theseus did need things that the rest of his hoard did not.

Making a mental reminder to fix food and water, maybe mash another golden apple as well, to put beside Theseus so he could eat the moment he woke up; Techno blew out the lanterns and let the room fall into darkness before finding the ladder with familiar movements and climbing up. Closing the trapdoor, he snapped the lock shut, and finally breathed out, ignoring the scathing, fuming piece that told him that this was not enough. It was a struggle to keep himself from going down into the den again, and as Philza walked out from the kitchen, a newly empty bag hanging from his shoulder, he gladly took the distraction.

"...that was a bit cruel." Philza said in lieu of a greeting, but the sharp turn of his lips told a different story than his words. Technoblade met his amusement with his own mock-offence. 

"Cruel to take a child back home before he got hypothermia? Think you've forgotten about how to care for people, Philza." 

“Didn’t know that caring nowadays meant just straight up lying. Kid was absolutely terrified.”

"I think he was concussed as well, which helped.” Technoblade shrugged. "Still, didn't have to drag him back kicking and screaming, less likely to run again. The greatest victory is that which requires no battle." 

"Don’t quote Sun Tzu at me.” Philza scoffed, and sat down next to Techno by the trapdoor.

Right. He was supposed get food.

Techno still didn't move.

“So, what about the little blade in there? Am I going to have to make up some ritual to do every once in a while?” 

"Like you didn't have fun. Chat loved the dramatics, by the way.” They were still fighting; arguing and simmering in the back of his head, no longer with the frenzy of before but like a predator who had finally eaten its fill and were now playing with the remains. “Honestly, though, temporary curse breaking is not a bad idea for the future. Why are we not doing that already?" 

Philza laughed. "You're just fucking lucky we've known each other for so long, I always know when you're up to some shady shit." 

"I think it says something more about you, than me, that you immediately picked up on it.” 

Philza swiped at him, which Techno leaned to the side to avoid, the talons cutting off a few stray pieces of hair.

"You better hope he never figures it out."

And with that the mood fell. The fear crawled up like rot, never quite leaving, never quite possible to heal, not when it had a place to find nourishment.

Because Philza's improvised explanation was only plausible as long as no one disproved it.

“Dream said he would take him back.” He knew now, why the masked man had spoken so clearly to the dagger, why he had looked so keenly at the golden thing. As the memory played, fury boiled at his past self to let tradition go before instinct, to not have taken the chance so clearly presented and cut the bastard’s hands off, his fingers one by one, carved off every bit of his skin that had ever touched Theseus.

Chat roused, split apart, calling to chase the masked man down and then refuting itself by crying in refusal to leave the runt below ground so exposed. A migraine started to pound as the spirits argued, and truly, he did not know which side he favoured. Even now, looking down at the trapdoor; all it would take was a deft hand picking the lock, a well-placed hit with an axe to split the wood. He could be gone.

“Y’know.” Philza interrupted, cutting off Chat’s rising wail, just as Techno had started to reach forward towards the trapdoor. “The people down at the village weren't too thrilled about the new Lord of the valley, seems like a pompous pinching prick.”

“So?” Technoblade glanced at Philza; he had almost forgotten about that. Not exactly the top of his priorities. 

“Wanted to take your gold?”

The glance turned into a glare. “Don’t remind me.”

“Just saying,” Philza shrugged, “Pricks like him tend to have places where they would place that gold.”

It took a second of a vision flashing by; of layers of stone not for beauty but fortification, high walls to dissuade those within and outside from switching places, and stolen valuables hidden deeper still. Gold and gems that would be much more suited to be a backdrop to the most precious thing in Techno’s hoard. And while the image in his head was not coloured in netherred and gilded black, a deep part of Techno’s instincts sang at the idea of his runt, the little blade, in the heart of a bastion.

“Just saying.” Philza repeated, a hungry notion in his eyes that proved his ancestry from something beyond, and Techno grinned.