Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, hero work wasn’t as glamorous a career as it was made out to be. To Technoblade, it was just his job. A job that consisted largely of the stack of paperwork that met him at the end of a long day.

His only solace was found in patrol, when he was left to wander the districts of the city he’d pledged to protect. With his team, patrol was borderline entertaining. With Phil as their eyes in the sky, Technoblade and Wilbur were free to prowl the streets together, helping out where they could and making arrests when they had to.

But tonight, Technoblade was alone, deep in the dregs of the Ninth district. He only ever came out here on his own, when Wilbur and Phil were otherwise occupied. Ninth was just too personal to him. It had been his home once and though he’d left it far behind in his rise to the top of the hero ranks, he never lost his desire to protect it.

So here he was, wandering the streets he’d grown up on, reminiscing as much as he was working. His shadows— Chat, as he’d taken to calling them— danced along the pavement with him, their incessant whispering an added familiarity to the already-nostalgic environment.

Patrol had been quiet so far.

Earlier, he found a woman and her child sheltering under an awning and led them to a women’s shelter. He wasn’t very good with kids, but when he picked the child up, she became enamored with the velvet collar of his cape. He stayed a while longer then, helping them check into the shelter, until the girl fell asleep and her grip on his cape relaxed. His chest was still warm from the encounter. He hoped that would be the most excitement he’d get out of the night.

It was fully dark now and the air had chilled significantly. Most of the street lights were non-functional— he’d appealed to the city to have them replaced years ago, but as Phil often reminded him, government work was slow-going— so it was only thanks to his dark-accustomed eyes that he didn’t completely lose his way.

“Help!”

The scream was piercing. It rang like metal through the empty streets, followed rapidly by the sound of rubber soles slapping against the pavement.

Technoblade’s axe was in his hand before he really registered it. Chat leapt ahead of him, reaching through the shadows to surround the kid on a dead sprint towards him.

The kid only nearly managed to avoid slamming into Technoblade with the full force of his sprint. He was panting as he skidded to a stop, his pale cheeks flushed as he stared up at Technoblade.

“You’re the Blade.”

Technoblade ignored his stunned declaration. Instead, he caught the kid by the shoulder, yanking him behind him and shielding him with his body. “What is it?” he demanded, peering into the darkness from which the kid had emerged. He couldn’t see anything or anyone that might have given chase. “What’s wrong?”

The kid shrugged off his grip, tugging on Technoblade’s cape to make him turn around.

“Oh, it’s fine,” he said nonchalantly, as if his voice wasn’t still hoarse from screaming bloody murder. “There’s no one there.”

Technoblade blinked. Every hair still stood on end until he took in the boy’s words. “What?”

“There's no one there,” the kid repeated impatiently. “I just needed your attention.”

The kid couldn’t be older than thirteen and if he was that old, he sure was shrimpy. His blond curls were squished down under a sloppily-knitted hat, braided tassels ending in frayed knots near his collar.

The hat was the only indication that he was dressed for the cold. He wasn’t wearing a coat. He only sported a long-sleeved t-shirt, its sleeves riding up his wrists where he’d clearly outgrown it. His shoes— clearly once bright red but now a dull brown— showed off a handful of holes in the canvas.

Technoblade fought the urge to sigh loudly. He supposed he had nothing better to do than sign an autograph for an overzealous kid, if that was what he wanted. “What is it then?”

“I need you to teach me to fight.”

The declaration was clear, yet Technoblade still found himself stalling in confusion.

“You came after me… because you want me to teach you to fight?”

The kid nodded resolutely.

This time, Technoblade didn’t hold back his deep sigh. “I'm not going to do that.”

Indignation erupted across the kid’s expression. “But you’re a hero! You have to help me!”

“You have to be in danger for me to help you,” Technoblade said flatly.

“Okay, imagine I am in danger.” The kid held up his hands, his wrists crossed in a mock hold. “Someone’s got me. What do I do to escape?”

The phrasing caught Technoblade off guard. He stopped trying to figure out a way to flee this interaction and instead arched his brow. “Got you?”

The kid flushed hotly. “You know— when someone bigger than you grabs you and won’t let go.”

Technoblade took a step closer. The kid looked like he very much wanted to match him with a step back, but he held his ground.

“Who’s grabbing you?”

The kid’s face was a deep red now. “No one,” he insisted irritably. “Just imagine someone is. Now how do I beat their ass?”

Technoblade was losing control of this conversation alarmingly quickly.

“Please.” Given the awkward wince on the kid’s face, Technoblade could tell that this was not a word he used often.

Technoblade was going to regret this, he just knew it. But the kid looked so pitiful, glaring up at him with those defiant, shiny eyes. Technoblade didn’t have the heart to deny him.

He sighed again. “From the front or the back?”

The kid looked startled, like he hadn’t expected Technoblade to give in so easily. “Huh?”

“When they grab you,” Technoblade repeated impatiently, “is it from the front or the back?”

“Uh, both?” The kid seemed suddenly uncertain. “Depends, I guess.”

Okay. Ignoring that concerning tidbit for now.

“When they grab you from the front, your knees are your best friends. From the back, it’s your elbows.”

The kid’s face hardened in resolution. “Show me?”

Technoblade was pretty sure his job description didn’t include impromptu self-defense classes in darkened alleyways, but he didn’t have it in him to argue with this little firecracker.

When his hands landed on the kid’s bony shoulders, he did his best to ignore the way the kid stiffened before forcibly relaxing.

“Front,” Technoblade said shortly. “They’ve got you like this. If you’re close enough, you knee them right where the sun don’t shine. If you’re not, you kick them in the shin as hard as you can. When their grip loosens, that’s when you go in with the knee.”

The kid grinned wickedly.

“Back.” Technoblade spun the kid around, his grip firm but undemanding. With one hand still planted on the kid’s shoulder, he used the other to guide the kid’s elbow to his ribcage.

“Sharp and quick,” he instructed. “You want to get them in the soft spots. With your elbow, that’s under the ribs.”

The kid squirmed out from Technoblade’s grip and Technoblade let him go without a struggle.

As he turned around, the kid looked positively delighted at the instruction of violence. “Then what?”

“Then you run.” Technoblade’s voice was stern. “You don’t stick around to fight. You run and you scream for help.”

A strange look flickered across the kid’s face, but it was gone before Technoblade could even begin to decipher it. “What if nobody comes?”

A lump formed in Technoblade’s throat then, but he swallowed past it. After hearing the kid’s screams for himself— even if they were a false alarm— he couldn’t imagine ever ignoring them.

“Then I will. If you need me, stick your hand in a shadow and call. My Chat will hear you and tell me.” Chat chittered as they danced along the wall, thrilled to show off for the kid as he took them in appreciatively.

With the kid relatively disarmed, Technoblade decided it was as good a time as any to ask the tough question.

“Kid…” God, Technoblade sounded so awkward. There was a reason he always let Phil handle cases that involved kids. “If someone’s hurting you—”

The kid’s eyes snapped up. Any traces of joy were gone from his face in an instant, replaced with a guarded expression. “No one’s hurting me, big man.”

Technoblade held up his hands in mock defense. “You’re the one who asked about self-defense.”

“Yeah,” the kid said haughtily. “To impress women, dickhead. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Technoblade repeated flatly. He did not get paid enough for this.

The kid shifted back, suddenly looking all too flighty. “Well, I’d better get going.”

“Let me at least walk you home.” Technoblade waved haphazardly at the dark streets. “It’s not safe out here alone.”

“You’re out here.”

Technoblade fixed him with a flat look. “It’s my job.”

“Then can you at least travel through your shadows to get me home?” The kid’s eyes were sharp with curiosity. “I heard you can do that.”

Technoblade rolled his eyes. “No. I’ve never been where you’re going, so I have no anchor on the other side. Plus, the last time I took someone through my shadows, it was my brother and he threw up.”

The kid laughed sharply. “L.”

Technoblade let out a huff of laughter. He agreed. It had been rather amusing to watch Wilbur puke his guts up after shadow-traveling.

Regardless though, Technoblade had a duty to make sure the kid got home safe. “So. Can I walk you home?”

“What are you, my date?” Jesus, this kid could not be serious for one second. “I think I’m good, Blade.”

Well, Technoblade wasn’t going to argue with that. He just shrugged and stepped aside, clearing the way back to the street. “Be safe then.”

The kid gave a little salute before strolling past him. “Thanks for the lesson.”

Technoblade just grunted. He watched as the kid disappeared up the street, the district’s darkness swallowing him like a meal.

But of course, Technoblade couldn’t have a moment of peace.

Chat chittered angrily, dancing in the corners of his vision as they protested the kid’s exit.

Technoblade rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving haphazardly. “Go after him.”

Gleefully, his shadows darted after the kid. Technoblade let out a long sigh, leaning back against the brick wall and closing his eyes.

Through Chat’s eyes, he watched as the kid wandered through the streets. For a few minutes, Technoblade harbored the uneasy thought that the kid might not have a place to go home to. That he would settle somewhere cold and dark, huddled in shadows until the sun rose once again.

But Technoblade’s fears proved to be unfounded as the kid came upon a small house. Technoblade could see where it had once been green, but the siding was peeling thoroughly enough that anyone could be convinced it had always been beige.

“I know you’re following me, Blade.” The kid’s voice was sing-songy, his head tilted as his eyes just missed the unnatural shape of Technoblade’s shadows tailing him. “Get a load of this then.”

Through Chat’s eyes, Technoblade caught the startling movement of the kid clambering up a drainpipe to a window on the second story. With his nimble fingers, he pried the window open.

He looked back over the street, where Technoblade’s shadows leaned close to hear him.

“Tommy,” he said, his voice hushed as he perched on the window’s edge. He looked suddenly tired, despite the cocky curl of his lips. “My name’s Tommy.”

Technoblade let out a bemused huff of laughter, watching with sharp eyes as Tommy ducked into the house and pulled the window shut behind him.

“Tommy,” Technoblade repeated lowly. With Tommy safe in the house, Technoblade’s shadows returned to him. They chattered, a low, familiar buzz as Technoblade memorized the outside of Tommy’s house and anchored its location in his mind.

With any ounce of luck, Technoblade would never see the kid again. But if his luck failed him— as it so often did— at least Chat would be able to get him to the place Tommy called home. He wouldn’t have to be alone.

Chapter Text

When Technoblade told Tommy he could reach him through his shadows, he didn’t really expect anything to come of it. He meant it as a last resort— that if Tommy was well and truly alone, Technoblade would be there for him.

It had been almost a week of blissful silence and Technoblade was perfectly happy to let the encounter fade to memory.

But it wouldn’t.

Something about the incident stuck with him. Maybe it was the gauntness of Tommy’s cheeks, or the way his trembling fingers curled against the cold.

Or maybe it was the pure fear behind Tommy’s screams. As fake as Tommy had made them out to be, Technoblade had never heard such desperation in a child so young. It was chilling. Technoblade found himself looking over his shoulder constantly, his eyes darting for Tommy, hurt and frightened, as Chat reminded him of Tommy’s screams over and over again.

That was why, when Technoblade heard his pleas those few days later, it took longer than it should have for it to register as reality.

It only really sunk in when a sudden chill came over him, as if someone had plunged their ice cold hands into his shadow.

—Please. Blade, please, I’m here.

Chat erupted into chaos. Technoblade staggered, clutching his head as Tommy pleaded for what sounded like his life.

I need you, I’m here, please, please—

Technoblade didn’t think. With Chat lunging ahead to wrap Tommy in safety, he plunged into the darkness after them.

But when he emerged, axe in hand, he didn’t find a battle or a child in need.

Instead, he found Tommy, scowling at the shadows surrounding him. “I don’t need your spooky bodyguards,” he said, glaring up at Technoblade.

For a moment, Technoblade just stared at him. His heart was still pounding, adrenaline pumping from the desperation behind Tommy’s pleas.

“What?”

Tommy’s expression was slightly critical as he took Technoblade in. “Jesus, you hurried, didn’t you?”

Frustration rose like a wave in Technoblade’s chest. Pinching his brow, he let his axe disintegrate back into the shadows.

“What the fuck?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Tommy seemed keen to answer it anyway:

“You told me to call if I needed help,” he said too casually.

Technoblade waved his gloved hand in a wide, sweeping motion. “And you don’t, apparently!”

“I needed your attention!”

“I thought you were dying! Jesus.” Technoblade ran a rough hand through his hair. “This is not an emergency.”

“I didn’t say it was an emergency.” Tommy finally managed to shake off Chat, though they seemed reluctant to detach. To Technoblade’s annoyance, they’d grown awfully fond of the kid.

“You said you needed me.”

“I do need you,” Tommy snapped, with a roll of his eyes. “What you told me last time about defending myself is no good if the person has a knife.”

Technoblade’s mind came to a screeching halt. Then Chat erupted into a roar of indignation only Technoblade was privy to. He held up a hand to stop them before aborting the gesture to press it instead into the space between his eyes where a headache had begun to form.

He took a deep breath and looked Tommy in the eye.

“Someone is coming at you with a knife,” he said flatly.

Tommy scowled, kicking a large piece of gravel at his feet. “I just said that.”

“Tell me who.”

Technoblade’s sharp order left no room for argument, but Tommy managed to make space anyway.

“I don’t have to tell you shit, dickhead.” The glare was back in full force. Tommy stepped away from him, his shoulders hunched up in childish aggression.

Technoblade bit back a frustrated sigh. “Tommy, I can help you.”

“Yeah,” Tommy snapped. “Help me by telling me what to do.”

“Tell me who it is so I can arrest them,” Technoblade said impatiently. “What they are doing is extremely illegal.” He couldn’t for the life of him understand why Tommy was choosing to die on this hill.

“I know it’s illegal— I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then why are you being so stubborn?”

Tommy’s voice turned ice cold. “You know what? I don’t need your fucking help.” He brushed past Technoblade sharply, his jaw set in anger.

Technoblade caught him by the bicep and pulled him back. “Wait.”

Tommy went very still under his grip.

“I’ll help you. Just—” Technoblade let out a tight sigh. “Don’t leave.”

He couldn’t, in good conscience, just let the kid walk away. Not when he knew full well that Tommy was facing this kind of danger.

Tommy huffed, his face twisted in a sour expression. “Fine.” He yanked his arm out of Technoblade’s grip. “Then show me what to do against a knife.”

Technoblade bit back a sigh and relaxed his stance slightly. “This sort of thing has happened before?”

Tommy nodded sharply.

“Then when the incident happened—” God, Technoblade hated even referring to it as an incident. It was an attack, plain and simple. “Did you get hurt anywhere?”

Tommy shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“Kid.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tommy said defensively. “I swear, it was tiny.”

“Show me.”

Technoblade thanked every deity he could think of that, for once, Tommy didn’t argue. Instead, he shoved his right sleeve up to his elbow and held up his arm.

Technoblade was met with a smattering of bandaids on the back of his forearm. When he looked closer, he saw that they were actually failing to cover a cut there.

A defensive wound, Technoblade realized instantly. Tommy had lifted his arms to protect his face and had gotten slashed in return.

“Hold on.”

With one hand, Technoblade tilted his forearm closer. With the other, he began peeling the bandages off. Beneath them, the cut was revealed to be decently deep.

Technoblade let out a long breath. “Okay, first, I’m going to disinfect it because who knows what kind of shit you’ve been rolling around in.”

“Hey,” Tommy said half-heartedly, but he didn’t argue as Technoblade dug into his belt for the mini first aid kit Phil insisted he carry with him. It was small, but it was complete with a miniature bottle of disinfectant and some much needed bandages. Though Technoblade would never let Phil have the satisfaction, the kit had come in handy more than once in the field.

At the touch of the disinfectant, Tommy hissed sharply. Technoblade didn’t let him pull away, simply holding him still as he wiped the cut down.

Tommy looked away as he worked. His jaw was tense with discomfort, but Technoblade couldn’t tell if it was from the touch of the wound or the easy way he restricted the kid’s movements.

He cleaned and wrapped the larger cut relatively quickly before moving to a second cut higher up on Tommy’s forearm. It was shallow, but clearly another defensive wound. Technoblade disinfected it and slapped a bandaid on it.

Tommy examined it critically. “Is that a Hello Kitty bandaid?”

“Yep,” Technoblade said, tucking his med kit back into his belt.

Tommy hummed. “It’s cool.”

Technoblade agreed.

“All right,” he said, dropping Tommy’s arm. “Just keep it clean and you’ll be fine.”

Tommy yanked his sleeve back down and took a step back, clearly happy to put even a modicum of distance between them.

“Now you’ll show me what to do?”

Technoblade nodded. “It’s pretty simple. If someone comes at you with a knife, you run.”

Tommy scoffed. “That’s not helpful.”

Technoblade pinned Tommy in place with a sharp look. “Tommy. I’m not joking. You run.”

Tommy swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under Technoblade’s gaze.

“There is no fighting in that kind of scenario,” Technoblade said seriously. “The only thing you will succeed at is getting yourself killed.”

“I’ve been fine before,” Tommy muttered sullenly.

“You’ve been lucky,” Technoblade corrected. “That’s not the same thing. And it won’t last.”

“Well, great,” Tommy snapped sarcastically. “So glad I called you for help. Your advice has been invaluable.”

Technoblade let out a controlled sigh. This kid had a knack for testing the limits of his patience.

“If you have no choice but to fight,” Technoblade began, and Tommy’s eyes snapped up. “Keep your distance and keep your arms up. If they’re slashing—” Here, he gave a little motion as an example. “You pull straight back. If they’re stabbing, you move to the side. Quickly. And the moment you get the chance, you turn and run.”

Tommy’s eyes were hungry as he took in the information.

“Winning a knife fight isn’t an accomplishment. Surviving one is.”

Tommy’s jaw shifted as he ground his teeth unhappily. “Yeah,” he muttered with a little roll of his eyes. “Whatever.”

“And Tommy.”

The kid looked up. He was still wearing that stupid red hat and it made him look even more childish as he tilted his head up to meet Technoblade’s gaze.

“What I said last time, about someone hurting you…”

Tommy’s expression shuttered. “I told you. No one’s hurting me. I just… want to be prepared.”

Technoblade’s gaze dropped to Tommy’s arm, where his sleeve now covered the cuts decorating his forearm. “Right.”

“Besides,” Tommy said, dropping his shoulders in what was clearly meant to be a disarming motion. “Now I’ve got a hero practically on speed dial.”

“Emergency,” Technoblade reiterated. “You can call me in an emergency. Like, you’d better be dying if you’re gonna scream like that.”

Tommy let out a little snicker. “I scared you, didn’t I?”

Technoblade glared at him. “An emergency,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll be there.”

Tommy gave him a cocky little salute. “Yes, sir.” He tilted his head, his lips still curled in a smirk. “You gonna follow me home like a creep again?”

“Do you mean, am I going to make sure you get home safe walking through the most dangerous district in the city?” Technoblade deadpanned. “Yeah. I am.”

“Good,” Tommy said, grinning at Chat. “I like your creepy little shadow guys. They’re kinda cute.”

The shadow of Chat rippled across the concrete, ecstatic at the acknowledgment.

“Don’t encourage them,” Technoblade said with a roll of his eyes. “Now get out of here.”

Tommy obeyed, ducking out of the alley with ease. “See you around, Blade.”

“You better not,” Technoblade called after him. “Not unless it’s an emergency!”

He didn’t get even a nod of acknowledgement as Tommy disappeared down the street.

Chat hissed a chorus in his ear as they took off after the kid.

Technoblade let out a long breath and pressed a hand to his temple where a headache had begun to bloom. It seemed Tommy had a talent for inciting such pains.

He couldn’t understand why Tommy was being so stubborn. He was in danger, clearly. Or, perhaps more likely, given what Technoblade knew of Tommy’s personality, he was seeking it out.

He just couldn’t understand it. Tommy had a hero willing to protect him, and instead, he was wasting the opportunity by asking Technoblade for fighting lessons of all things.

This was why Technoblade let Phil handle the kids. Their illogicality confused him to no end, and Tommy seemed especially keen on poking that weakness. Worse, he seemed to know instinctively that Technoblade couldn’t help but respond to a call for help.

Hopefully, though, he’d learned his lesson. Technoblade didn’t expect to hear from Tommy again, not unless he was facing the sharp end of a knife.

With Chat guarding the kid’s walk home, Technoblade let himself relax minutely. This was not part of his job description. Definitely not.

Chapter Text

Blade?

The ice was back in Technoblade’s veins. He shot upright, Chat hissing their favorite teenager’s name over and over again in some sick sort of chant.

Please, I—. I need you. Tommy’s voice held none of its usual volume. It was small. Hesitant.

Alarming.

This time, Technoblade didn’t bother with his axe, but he was no slower than before as he melted into the darkness and reappeared before Tommy.

The kid was sitting in the same alley they’d first met, leaning back against the brick, cloaked in the wall’s shadow. Chat danced around him, both alarmed and thrilled to have him in their reach.

Technoblade dropped to a crouch in front of him, alarmed at Tommy’s subdued state.

“Are you hurt?” Frantically, Technoblade searched Tommy for injury. He clocked only bruising along the kid’s thin wrists; nothing that needed immediate attention. “What do you need?”

Tommy looked up. His eyes were sunken in, the bags beneath dark enough to be bruises at first glance.

“You got any food?”

Like clockwork, the adrenaline dropped from Technoblade’s system.

“You called me here for food?”

Tommy stayed silent. His face was impassive, but something in his eyes shone, some sort of triumph— as if scaring the shit out of Technoblade was something to be proud of.

Technoblade stood sharply, towering over Tommy’s hunched form. “What did I say?”

“That I’d better be dying,” Tommy said hoarsely. “If I was gonna waste your stupid time.” He grinned, showing off crooked teeth. “And I am. Dying of hunger.”

Even the way he said it was laced with sarcasm. Technoblade wanted to walk away. He wanted so badly to walk away.

But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, he dropped back to a crouch, ignoring the way Tommy flinched at the sudden movement. He took Tommy’s wrist between his fingers, measuring the kid’s pulse where it pounded a scattered beat against the pale inside of his wrist. It was fast, but not thready.

“You’re not dying,” Technoblade said coldly. He stood again. His voice was stiff as he said, “Stay here.”

With frustration lining every inch of his body, Technoblade left the alleyway and made his way to the corner store down the block.

The cashier gawked at him as he picked out a sandwich, two water bottles, and a handful of nutrient bars. As an afterthought, he grabbed an apple. Who knew when the kid had last eaten a fruit?

Even with the distance, he could still feel Tommy’s presence in the shadows. Chat had stayed with him, surrounding the kid with safety even if he didn’t need it.

Chat hissed and whispered, calls of bruises and fear and triumph. Triumph at scaring a hero, Technoblade imagined.

As Technoblade reentered the alley, Tommy stood, pushing himself up on the wall with a wince he tried to hide.

Technoblade held out the food. Tommy stared at it for just a second too long before snatching it out of his hands. Technoblade watched as Tommy tore open the sandwich and devoured it.

“Kid,” Technoblade began, his voice hard. “Anyone ever tell you the story about the boy who cried wolf?”

Tommy went rigid. His eyes— once alight with hunger— flashed sharp and angry. He resembled something like a cornered mongoose, all sharp teeth and unfounded courage.

Technoblade didn’t give him a chance to pounce. “This—” He gestured between them. “—is not a relationship. We do not have a rapport. I am a hero. Unless you actually need me to save you, there is nothing you should be calling me for.”

“You said to call if I needed help.” Tommy’s voice was suddenly sharp and just a touch sullen. “I did.”

“If you need food, there’s a shelter three blocks from here,” Technoblade said stiffly. “They’ll feed you. But if you keep calling me like this— making me think it’s an emergency when really all you need is a damn sandwich— then you can expect me to stop showing up.”

The hurt that flickered across Tommy’s expression then was unexpected.

“You said you’d always come.” Somehow, he sounded even younger than normal. He sounded like a child who’d been let down.

Technoblade tried not to let it get to him. He hoped his cold silence said enough.

“Fuck you then,” Tommy snapped, lurching away, his movements made unsteady by his fury. “I don’t need you. Take your stupid fucking axe and your stupid fucking shadows and leave the dying to us poor people. Sorry I wasted your precious time.”

“Tommy—” Technoblade pinched his brow.

“No. I get it.” Tommy stalked past him, brushing Chat off as they skittered after him. “Boy who cried wolf, yeah? What happens to him again?”

Technoblade’s stomach rolled with guilt at the reminder of the story’s end. A boy, swallowed. Consumed. Still screaming, but with no one who cared enough to listen.

“Tommy, wait—”

“You did your job,” Tommy said coldly. “You’re right. I’m not in danger. There’s no need for a hero.”

With that final declaration, Tommy stalked off. Chat jumped to go after him, but Technoblade held them back. He’d done enough damage.

Chat hissed angrily at him.

“I know,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” He’d never felt so empty. It was all he could do to hope that crying wolf was all Tommy had been doing, and that the danger he espoused was nothing more than a way to get under Technoblade’s skin. He’d much rather be annoyed than be too late.

But he knew damn well he’d just ruined his chances of Tommy trusting him enough to genuinely ask for his help.

Chapter Text

Tommy had always been a wolf-crier. He still remembered how his first grade teacher had read that story to him personally, while all the other kids got to go outside for recess. If he recalled correctly, he’d been claiming to have a headache every single day so as to be sent to the nurse’s office. (If he recalled even more correctly, he hadn’t been lying. He did have a headache every day. Fluorescent lights still got to him even now.)

He didn’t know why he did it. Why, even after all this time, he would scream for help, then shove it away the instant it showed up. He supposed it was cowardice. He couldn’t bear the uncertainty that would come if he truly let someone help him. The little control he had now was the only thing he could cling to and God, did he cling to it.

It had been almost three weeks since he’d walked away from Technoblade. Or, rather, since Technoblade had abandoned him.

Never in his life had Tommy wanted someone to see through his facade more than he did then. But in the end, even the hero failed him. Maybe it was Tommy. Maybe he was cursed.

He certainly felt that way now, crumpled on the floor as he did his best to crawl away from his father’s advancing form.

“I know you stole from me, you little shit!”

“I didn’t!” Tommy was breathless from pleading. “I didn’t, I swear—”

Another kick to the ribs knocked him on his side. He curled up, his thin body hunched to protect his already-bruised stomach.

He wasn’t getting out of this.

The shadow of the wall lay just ahead of him, out of reach from where he lay crumpled on the hardwood floor. He inhaled, ignoring the burn of his chest as he did so, and lunged for the darkness.

“Blade!” It came out a scream, shrill and desperate. He clawed at the floor, reaching for the shadows even as his father yanked him cruelly back.

He was flipped over onto his back, his head cracking loudly against the wood floor. His ears rang. He blinked, dazed, his left hand falling limply, outstretched towards the wall.

His fingers dipped into the shadow where a familiar chill took hold of him.

“Please,” he croaked out, as his father loomed above him. He’d never been so afraid, but it wasn’t his father he was begging. “Blade, help me, I mean it, please!”

Tommy screamed as his father slammed the heel of his boot down onto his shoulder. Saliva bubbled in his mouth as the pain overwhelmed him. His eyes rolled as he scrabbled at his father’s boot, his pants, anything to make it stop.

“I mean it, I swear!” Tommy could feel the grind of his shoulder bones against each other, but he didn’t stop reaching for those dark shadows.

They remained cold and unmoving. Empty.

“Please,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.” His air wasn’t returning to him as quickly as it should have been and he felt suddenly breathless. “Help me.”

With his knee now pressing heavy into Tommy’s clavicle, his father knelt above him. There was a cruel look on his face, but his eyes were clear and empty, the same gaze Tommy knew from the mirror.

Tommy swallowed, his gaze locked with his father’s. His fingers twitched in the shadows. “Please.”

“Oh, Tom.”

His father pressed the flat of the blade to Tommy’s cheek, the cool metal sending a shiver through him. He cringed and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut as tears leaked down his cheeks. He didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry, but it seemed he didn’t have a choice anymore.

“No one is coming for you.”

Yeah. Tommy knew that. And he was the only one to blame for it.

The air was gone from his lungs. He knew nothing but pain. His hand was limp where it lay, useless, in the shadow of the wall.

Then something cold closed around his wrist. It swallowed his hand, icy shadows encasing his skin and traveling up his arm.

The floor vanished from beneath him.

When he returned to his body, there was a new weight on him.

On instinct, he screamed and thrashed, kicking up at the person above him.

“Tommy!”

With his one good arm, he swung, his movements wild. It connected briefly with something he couldn’t identify. “Get the fuck off me!”

Suddenly, the weight was gone. Tommy was left cold, shivering, doused in shadow. Hissing surrounded him, familiar and comforting.

He dragged himself upright, onto his knees, his good arm braced beneath him. His head was spinning; his trip through the shadows hadn’t done his nausea any favors and now the ache of his head had spread from the point of impact through his skull.

“Get away,” he gasped, still trying his best to drag himself away. His shoulder burned with pain and he curled it close to him.

“Tommy, it’s me.” Technoblade’s voice was low and steady. Out of the corner of his blurred vision, Tommy saw the hero’s hands raised in a gesture of safety.

“Blade.” Tommy couldn’t breathe for his relief.

On some level, he’d known. He’d known the instant the shadows enveloped him that he was safe, that his hero had come for him. But he couldn’t escape the feeling of his father’s cold hands or the ice of the knife against his cheek. He couldn’t forget Technoblade’s anger as Tommy left him in that alleyway.

“Breathe.”

To his humiliation, Tommy realized all at once that he was crying. He sniffed, shoving tears away from his face. It was useless— the tears weren’t stopping. “I didn’t think—” A sob wracked his body. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I’m sorry.” Technoblade’s voice was low and his calloused hands were gentle where they held Tommy. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’ll always come when you call.”

Tommy sniffed and shook his head. “No, it was me. I shouldn’t have called—”

“Stop.” Technoblade’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “None of this was your fault.”

Tommy swallowed thickly. His whole body was shuddering, like he’d been sitting in the cold. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers.

“Hey.” Technoblade’s voice was low and soothing. “Settle down. I’ve got you.”

Tommy hiccuped and nodded. Tears were still coursing down his cheeks in rivers, but Technoblade’s hands— bare, for once— wiped them away as quickly as they appeared.

“You’re hurt.”

Tommy tried to hunch up at the accusation, but Technoblade didn’t let him. It was a blessing in disguise because even the little movement shot a burst of pain through Tommy’s forgotten shoulder.

“Easy.” With firm hands, Technoblade pulled Tommy’s arm out of its defensive curl. He bared his teeth in a disapproving hiss as he took in the sight of Tommy’s shoulder. “Don’t look.”

It was too late. As he craned his neck, Tommy caught sight of the reason behind the dull burn of his shoulder. It was hunched awkwardly, some part of his bone protruding against his skin.

He gagged.

“I said don’t look,” Technoblade chided gently, but he didn’t seem all too upset as he guided Tommy’s head up to look away. “It’s dislocated. A quick fix. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

Tommy exhaled with a shudder, his head falling forward to rest on Technoblade’s shoulder.

“You’re never going back there.” It was a vow. Chat hissed in agreement, circling like a frightening shield of shadows. “Don’t worry. I’m killing the wolf.”