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Techno opened his eyes.
It was cold. That was the first thing he noticed. Cold air bit at his cheeks, gently tugging at his hair. He sat up, looking around at his surroundings. The second thing he noticed was that it was empty. Snowflakes blew past him in sharp gusts, stinging his eyes. The sky was the dark gray of a thunderstorm, without a cloud in sight.
Slowly, he got to his feet. His boots sunk into the snow beneath him, crackling in time to the wind’s haunting melody. The song of a blizzard. He knew this place, he knew he did. But he didn’t remember how he knew it. Just that he did. There was nothing in sight as far as he could see, just a gray sky stretching on infinitely in everything direction, snowflakes whipping past him and running cold claws down his neck.
Only one thing to do, then. And that’s figure out where he was. If he knew this place- which he kenw he did- then he may as well use that little information to try and find a way back to the commune. Not that he knew where the commune was from here.
Techno frowned, hesitating only a brief moment before stepping forward. The faster he got out of this place, the sooner he’d get home. And home meant back to bed, to be hidden away beneath soft blankets and dogs curled up around and on top of him. The safety that came with a home he’d built himself with hands that he’d let himself believe could only destroy. He needed to get back there, to make sure the hounds and foxes and Steve and Carl were alright, and to make sure Phil was alright.
So he walked. Step after step, boots crunching in the snow with every footfall. His cloak fluttered behind him, just above the snow. It flicked it at his ankles, blowing at the back of his heels as it fought against the same wind that swept his hair back over his shoulders.
He kept walking.
Step after step, mound after mound of snow kicked up in his wake. And still, there was no sign of an escape from the cold air and whipping wind. Slowly yet steady, he felt the chill creep deeper, numbing his fingers and his ears and his nose until calloused hands began to shake. Until his footsteps began to slow. Until his whole body, one so used to the ice and snow, began to shake and beg for warmth.
It was only then that he actually heard it.
The whispering sob, the distant howl of something different from the wind. Slowly his mind processed the sound, the familiarity of it that barely slotted into his brain shutting down from the cold. Techno knew that voice. He couldn’t remember how, but he knew that voice. Maybe it was too far away to recognize.
So, he turned towards it. Slowly and steadily, step after step, he walked. Even as his body begged and screamed and ached for him to give himself up to the snow, he walked. He walked until the sobbing howl grew louder, until he recognized the voice and saw the shadow of the man it belonged to.
Techno halted, eyes widening and frozen lips parting to speak only for no words to come out.
A man was hunched over, arms wound around something he held close to his chest, something that appeared so fragile. A dirty brown cloak billowed in the wind from the storm, a chill surely reaching the hunched man’s bones. Yet still he didn’t move, his breathy sobs and howls didn’t halt. He clutched tighter at the fragile thing in his arms.
At the body of a man in green held in his arms.
Everything in Techno’s mind slowed. The recognition of the voice, of the man crouched in the snow, of the man in green that was so pale and lifeless. A chorus of screams and pleas played in his mind, a memory he’d somehow forgotten but was so familiar he should’ve recognized it sooner.
The screaming of a man he knew so well, of a man who he would’ve given the world to protect, of a man to whom he himself had slain. Golden hair brilliant eyes, obsidian wings and that stupid bucket hat. Calloused hands and a scarred back, a ring on his finger and a laugh too bright for this world . A single name rang out in Techno’s mind, the name tied to all those things in more, to the reason that Techno was still sane, the reason he wasn’t alone to walk the earth and the reason he lived for himself and no longer to serve in wars not his own.
Phil.
Techno stumbled forward, throat burning as he wanted to scream but couldn’t; airways blocked off and air refusing to enter his lungs as much as he wanted to cry out because Phil was dead. Phil was dead in his son‘s arms and every joyous memory Techno had of him was drowned out by memories he didn’t believe. Memories that his mind told him were his own but he didn’t believe. They couldn’t be his, he wouldn’t accept it.
Memories that chanted and purred and hissed and laughed that Techno had slain his best friend .
Wilbur looked up, sobs coming to a halt as his tear-stained face lifted to stare at Techno. For a moment he didn’t seem to process what he saw, but then rage contorted his grief-stricken features. “ You stay back! Get away from him! ” Wilbur shrieked, voice cracked and breaking as he held his father closer to his chest, hiding the pale and bloodied face in the crook of his neck.
“ Stay back! ” Wilbur repeated, hatred and anger burning behind every word. He glared at Techno with more malice then Techno had ever seen. And he didn’t understand. Because those memories had to be false, because never in a million years would Techno hurt Phil.
“How dare you come here,” Wilbur snarled, brown eyes blazing with fury, “and pretend to weep when you- you killed him! And you don’t have the fucking decency to wipe his blood from your damn hands!”
Techno looked down, horror dawning on him as he saw it; as he recognized and processed the blood on his hands. Crimson and brilliant in color, staining and dripping from his hands. Coating every finger and splattered across the white of his shirt. Phil’s blood. Techno stumbled backward, falling to the snow as he scrambled to get away, away from the memories and the blood on his own hands and Wilbur’s accusations that he knew to be true. His voice wasn’t working, not a shout or a plea or even air leaving his throat as he fought to get away this horrid scene.
From his best friend laying dead in his own son’s arms, slain by the man who’d walked by his side for centuries with the promise to protect and care. Philza was dead. And Technoblade was the one who’d done it.
He scrambled to his feet again, mind screaming as his frantic brain finally organized enough to command his legs to move and to run. There was no going back now, not to the cottages or the commune or to his old home. Not when they’d all find out what he did; who he’d killed .
He moved before he could think; guilt and anguish stabbing into his ribs sharper then the cold air that pierced his lungs ever could. His mind was moving faster then he could process, confusion and denial clouding his vision from anything except the crimson blood that coated his hands. Phil’s blood .
Techno ran, cold stabbing into his throat and freezing his fingers. Freezing blood to his fingers. Phil’s blood Phil’s blood Phil’s bloOD- White clouds of fallen snow rose behind him, boots kicking up the ground as he fought to get away. He could still hear it, could still Wilbur yelling and yelling and accusing . Could still hear Phil’s panicked cries, his yelps of pain as a brilliant sword pierced through his stomach, could still hear the sound of his best friend coughing up blood before the sword was drawn from the fallen man’s stomach, raised to the sky and poised over his throat. Techno squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to push the images in his mind away. He saw them even with eyes closed as if the look of fear in Phil’s eyes were etched into the backs of Techno’s eyelids.
He tripped over something, boots kicking against one another as he crashed forward, eyes snapping open as he fought to his feet. He kept running. Away and away from the voices that didn’t go away and the pleas that never stopped.
The wind whipped around him, the storm picking up speed in time to Techno’s own frantic heartbeat. Ice that clawed at his face, freezing his cheeks and sending what little air he could force into his lungs to come out in wisping huffs. It tugged at his hair, pink strands blown into his face as he fought his way forward through the storm. The wind howled and roared, deafening his ears and making his mind ring with the sounds that never seemed to leave.
And then there was another voice. It was familiar, too. Just as Wilbur’s had been, it was so familiar to him. But not in the way that it came from a close friend, or someone who used to be. Familiar in the way that made his stomach lurch, heart squeezing inside his chest with the weight of new guilt added to his shoulders.
Slowly, shakily, his sprint slowed to a walk. And with each step, he moved closer, afraid to see what it was this time; to see what sin of his was going to be on display this time. He walked and walked and yet the cries didn’t cease or get closer. They simply continued. And so did he.
Techno’s chest heaved, arms pulled close to his chest to protect frostbitten fingers from further cold. His fingers were still stained red. Red red red in a shade that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wanted to turn around, to stop going closer and closer to the hunched over figure in the snow, to the figure that he knew he had hurt somehow. And yet something in his chest was pulling him. Tugging and tugging and winding him in closer, forcing his steps closer and closer to the figure in the snow.
They held no body in their arms, unlike Wilbur had. Shaggy brown curls fell into the boy’s eyes, small goat horns poking up from tangles of matted hair. There was a ring on one horn, the golden band glinting slightly despite the gray sky above that bore no sun. A white furred collar hid the boy’s expression, shoulders hunched and head bowed towards the snow.
Techno paused, staring silently at Tubbo as tears silently ran down the boy’s face. His face was twisted in a snarl, eyes closed and body folded in on himself. Then his eyes snapped open, puffy and wild and searching for something to blame. He looked up at Techno, something clouded in his gaze for a moment.
“Where were you?” Tubbo demanded, voice cold and quiet but oh so loud against the storm whirling around them. “You- you knew what was happening. Where were you?”
He opened his mouth, preparing to say something in defense of himself. To say something that could voice the dozens of thoughts that had passed through his mind; the hundreds of reasons as to why he’d failed and why he couldn’t save Ranboo. Reasons upon reasons that stacked high with guilt in his waking hours and sleeping ones, guilt and anger at himself for failing the lanky boy that he’d come to care for.
“Where were you?!” Tubbo yelled, staggering to his feet, hands curled into fists as he stalked towards Techno. “Why couldn’t you save him?!”
Techno barely even realized he’d stepped back; barely even processed that the storm was screaming in his ears, louder and louder as Tubbo shouted every question Techno had asked himself, as Wilbur’s wails and shrieking accusations rang loud in his mind, as the sound of metal gliding through flesh and bone echoed and echoed in his mind.
He spun around, hands grasping at his ears, his eyes, his scalp; anything that he could pull that he could sink his fingers into to make it stop .
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Techno didn’t open his eyes, hunching forward on himself as the voice he’d known to be gentle and teasing turned cold. As the cold breath and rotting stench of a corpse filled his nostrils.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
He took a step back, breaths unsteady and rasping, rattling around in his own lungs before hollowly escaping. Every breath stung, every intake of air brought no relief to the aching in his heart in his lungs in his body, rasping and freezing and guilt stricken and covered in blood .
“What’re you so afraid of?”
And the second voice joined the first; a knife jabbed into Techno’s heart alongside the first. More blood coating his hands, dripping and dripping and spilling onto the snow beneath his boots.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Cold and rasping, the smell of rotten flowers that drifted into Techno’s nostrils, filling his frantic mind with haze and the sound of a body hitting water; with the image etched into his mind of blood spreading through the water, red red red and the skin that sizzled and burned and the steam that curled and the empty eyes that stared at the rocks below. Black and white hair that flowed around it, cape soaked through with crimson crimson crimson .
He’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed .
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Phil’s pleas echoed through his mind, eyes wide with betrayal and fear as he scrambled away, one hand pressed to his stomach as blood bubbled past pale lips; sweat soaking his brow as he yelled and pleaded and tried to understand.
Red red red. It soaks the snow beneath his boots and it paints the sky a vibrant red.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Techno screamed, lips finally parting in an agonizing release. He screamed and he stumbled, hands tearing from his hair to grab at his cloak, his shirt, to sink fingers into the chest that pounded and beat in time to the souls that chanted their melody.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
He stared around wildly, eyes widened as he looked and glanced and stared between the corpses that just kept growing; between the circle of more and more of those he couldn’t save.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Niki’s eyes were pale and empty, blood running like a river from her open throat and down her soft sweater. Her lips chapped and fingers blue, eyes a milky white and teeth stained red.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Tommy with threads around his throat, digging and pressing and pushing and tearing pale skin, clothes tattered and torn and blood soaking through a gaping hole in his chest as he uttered a soft whimper of a plea.
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Ranboo’s face was hollowed, burned and blistered away from the water that had eaten away at his skin after death. Blood that poured from the wound in his chest, fingers eroded and eyes staring into him. A snarl on his lips, eyes wide in fury and disappointment as he shrieked and begged- why didn’t Techno revive him?!
“What’re you so afraid of?”
Phil’s previously uninjured wing torn from his back, blood spilling down into the snow at his feet, glistening and glowing as blood seeped from his stomach and throat; hands no long clutching to stop the bleeding. Phil stepped closer, hollowed black eyes never leaving Techno’s as a grin slipped onto his face.
“What’re you so afraid of?” Phil asked, breath smelling of rust and rotted flesh; a maggot pushing out of his open mouth and flies buzzing over his shoulder. He chuckled, the sound unnatural and too rasping and cruel. “What’re you so afraid of?” He repeated.
“What’re you so afraid of?” The corpses repeated, one step closer. Boots dragged in snow, undead feet gliding towards him, a ring of blood dripping dripping dripping, crimson turning bright white snow dark.
Their words wrapped around Techno, binding him and squeezing tighter and tighter; a promise of vengeance in their decaying breath for what he’d done. For what he hadn’t done. For Phil’s life he’d taken, for his failure to save Ranboo and Niki and Tommy. For the blood that coated his hands and stained his cloak crimson with every step.
The corpses stepped closer, their whispers turned to roars, demanding and pleading and screaming.
“WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF?”
Phil’s corpse leaned in closer, a rotting hand raising to grip Techno by the throat. He clawed at the undead hand, fighting and prying at the fingers that curled so tightly and steadily squeezed. He gasped, panic making his struggles quicken as he fought to break free; to get away from this nightmare of regret.
The corpse laughed, unnatural and cold and almost gurgling. “I know what you’re afraid of, mate.” It breathed. It’s hold tightened, fingers clenching tighter and tighter around Techno’s throat as he pried at the fingers, holding onto his breath as best as he could with it forced from his lungs. “You’re afraid of failing and hurting us.”
And the words stung and yanked the rest of Techno’s breath from him because the words were true. They were the ugly truth that was repeated every time he failed someone, that he couldn’t do it. That he was always going to fail them and would always end up with someone he cared for getting hurt.
“But you’ve already failed us.” And the squeezing turned to crushing, and Techno’s neck crumpled inward, head falling limp with a last sharp gasp.
He didn’t remember when he woke up, or when he even got out of bed. Just that he was suddenly downstairs, sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate clutched tightly in his hands, the mug threatening to crack if he kept up the pressure much longer. Techno stared at the fire still burning, focused on the flame but not actually seeing it. Phil’s corpse’s last words kept ringing in his mind, repeating and rebounding in a way that would never let him drift back to sleep easily. Chat repeated it back to him, a chorus of curiosity and comfort and insults and taunts and random comments about what they wanted for breakfast.
Techno closed his eyes, letting out a slow exhale as he placed the untouched mug of hot cocoa on the floor beside him. He rubbed at his eyes with one hand, the other propped behind him as he leaned back against it.
Distantly he heard a shuffling and the opening of a door, followed by two pairs of footsteps. One light and muffled by fuzzy slippers, the other lumbering and heavy. Techno didn’t react to either, eyes remaining closed as he sat lost in the nightmare that still played in his mind.
He heard the telltale sounds of Steve and Phil sitting down on either side of him, the polar bear letting out a quiet huff as he pressed in close to Techno’s left side. Phil sat down on his right, his own mug in hand as he watched the fireplace. Neither Techno or Phil spoke, both sitting in silence for a while as snow gently fell outside the cabin.
“Same nightmare?” Phil prompted, quiet and full of the same concern he always had whenever he found Techno sitting in front of the fire at an ungodly time of night.
Techno nodded, eyes opening once more to stare at the fireplace. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the nightmare, and chances are it wouldn’t be the last time. But that didn’t mean it bothered him any less this time then it did the previous times. A few times a week, every week, the nightmare came back, taunting him and torturing his mind with vivid false memories of a best friend that he hadn’t in fact killed, that was sat beside him right now.
Phil opened his mouth to say something before closing it. Instead he shifted, resting his head against Techno’s arm. He let out a gentle chirp, quiet and questioning. Techno let out a chuff, bumping his head against his friend’s.
Want me to stay for a while?
Yeah, thank you.
Just a nightmare. Just like it always was. Just a nightmare. And maybe that fact brought Techno just the smallest bit of comfort.