Archive of Our Own

A soft gasp leaves Techno's mouth before he claps his hands over it. The noise he made, while objectively quiet, sounds loud as a cannon right now. Against his will, his eyes pinch shut, shaking while he tries to curl up smaller.

The footsteps in the room pause, before suddenly picking up again. It sounds like they're growing closer, louder and louder till they're right outside the closet door. The tips of Techno's fingernails dig into his face with how hard he's holding on. A fearful sort of groan tries to push out of him anyway, though it’s overshadowed by the doorknob turning.

The faint light shines through his eyelids, just enough for him to know that the door is opened. He can hear breathing, heavy and out of time. It makes everything within him feel wound tighter and tighter, a breath away from snapping, till—

“Techno?”

At Wilbur’s voice, Techno’s eyes snap open. His vision is a bit blurry for a moment, messed up from the dim light and squeezing of his eyelids. But it’s clear enough for him to see his brother, standing within the doorway.

With the back light, Techno almost doesn’t see that Wilbur is covered in blood. 

Almost.

“Wilbur?”

—

A rhythmic knocking at the door, resounding around the room almost like music, has Techno’s head snapping up from his book. Before Wilbur even has a chance to grab his own bookmark, Techno is jumping up from his chair and skipping over to the door.

“ Techno ,” Wilbur hisses behind him.

“It’s just Phil,” Techno says right back, not bothering to pause. 

It’s probably a bad call, since the second of looking over his shoulder to speak is enough to make him trip over the edge of the carpet. His knees smack into the ground with a loud thud. The pain bubbles up after a second, making him hiss his own pained noises out.

Wilbur sighs as he finally stands. “Techno, what did I say?”

“You weren’t even nagging about that,” Techno pouts.

“Are you both okay?” Phil’s voice calls, muffled a bit by the door.

“Yes, Techno just fell,” Wilbur calls back. The older boy crouches before Techno, grabbing at his legs. “Let me see.”

The knobs of his knees are dusted red with a few thin cuts lining them. Not much more than a rug burn, though it does sting with the movement.

“Does he need anything?” Phil calls.

Techno can tell from the way his voice sounds that he’s leaning right up against the door. Like maybe he’ll be able to see in that way or phase through. Of course, the thick oak door stands strong.

“Maybe just some bandages,” Wilbur says, walking the rest of the distance over to the door on his knees.

“ ‘s just a bruise,” Techno objects, forced to fully stand and walk properly over to the door. His etiquette teachers would probably like it more, but it just feels like a waste. “I’m fine.”

“It could get infected,” Wilbur says.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Techno says right back.

Before Wilbur can say anything, mouth already open, Phil is speaking: “I’ll bring some up in a minute. Get your lunch.”

Mollified by being agreed with in some sense of the word, Wilbur crouches over to the small flap at the bottom of the door and pulls it open. It looks a bit like an over sized mail slot. Or maybe like a mouth, though Wilbur rolled his eyes when Techno said that.

Crouching on his heels, Techno holds open the flap while Wilbur grabs at the tray.

Two plates are slid in and end up between them. There’s pies that smell of meat, bread with a red jam, and a small pile of little cookies beside the tea cups. Techno quickly says his thanks before dropping the flap and then dropping fully to the floor.

“It’s rude to eat on the ground,” Wilbur scolds, though he’s already picking up a slice of bread while folding himself onto the floor more elegantly.

It’s not the most comfortable place to sit either, but usually Phil will sit with them, on the other side of the door, for a bit. The man is interesting, and also basically their only connection to the outside world. Techno thinks he would be interested by the stories Phil has to tell regardless, but boredom makes the mind just as hungry as a body without food.

As is, Techno can only frown a bit at Phil’s descending footsteps. It makes him feel lonely for some reason. His brother is still sitting across from him, but everything is too still and quiet in the little room.

“When do you think they’ll come to get you for your coronation, Wilbur?” Techno asks.

A look of shock falls over Wilbur’s face, lips flattening out in almost fear. But before Techno can even take a breath to question it, it’s wiped away.

“Why? Excited to call me ‘Your Majesty?’” Wilbur asks, cheeky smile on his lips.

“Yes,” Techno answers honestly. It makes Wilbur’s dimples pop out. “But I don’t have to call you that every time, do I?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Wilbur taps a finger against his lip, like someone in a play. He’d make a good actor, Techno thinks. Or maybe a singer in a show. There probably won’t be time for that when he’s king though. “Maybe I could give you a pardon, as the king.”

“No, as my brother,” Techno demands. The pedantic clarification feels important in his mind.

“Oh? Does that give you some kind of authority?”

“Yes. But only over you.”

Wilbur giggles at him, covering his mouth with his fingers. It brings some heat to Techno’s cheeks and he can’t help pouting a little bit. 

“Wilburrr. Don’t laugh at me. It’s not polite!”

“Oh, sorry. My mistake.” The smile on his face does not feel apologetic, even under Techno’s sullen expression. “ Your Highness. ”

“ Wilburrr, ” Techno whines again.

With another little giggle, Wilbur pushes a cookie into Techno’s hand. It is sparkly with sugar and a soft caramel color. Phil doesn’t do the baking of sweets, but he knows a really good bakery in the city.

Techno takes a big bite, avoiding Wilbur’s face as a few crumbs escape his mouth.

“You know, Techno, we might not be able to spend time or play together as much after I’m king,” Wilbur says suddenly.

His tone sounds down and his face has dimmed. It’s like a candle nearly burned to nothing but a wimpy pile of melted wax. Techno tilts his head to the side.

“I’ll help you with your work so we’ll have time to play,” Techno says. “Plus, you’ll be the king, so you’ll make all the rules. You can say we get to play any time you want!”

“Oh? What will you help me with?”

“Um,” Techno’s eyes trail around the room, as if an answer will be hidden in the rafters. “Oh! I’ll take care of your horses so that your carriage will be ready whenever you need!”

“Horses? Are you going to become a stable boy?” Wilbur’s face looks like it always does before he giggles at Techno. Which is better than the sadness, but still not good.

“No, only your horses,” Techno mumbles. “The royal horses.”

“Ah, I see.” Wilbur nods. “A very important job for a prince.”

“Yes.” Techno squints his eyes at Wilbur in suspicion. Then an idea dawns in his head and he bounces a bit. “Oh! I know! Phil can come to the castle too and be our chef!”

“I don’t know if Phil is interested in that,” Wilbur says.

“What was that about me?” Phil’s voice calls, his footsteps growing closer on the stairs.

“Phillll,” Techno calls, laying down on the ground so his face is lined up with the flap. He can just about make out Phil’s shoes from this angle. Though, when the man crouches down, then he can see his knees and hands. “Will you come with us to the castle when Wilbur is made king? You can be the royal chef!”

“Oh, uh,” Phil stumbles awkwardly. 

With a sigh, Wilbur lays down on his side too and sticks his hand out of the flap.

“Oh! Here.” Phil hands over the roll of bandages. “I’m not sure that’s up to me, Techno.”

“It’ll be up to Wilbur though. He’ll be king!”

“Techno,” Wilbur says scoldingly, though Techno’s not sure why.

Before Techno can question him, he’s being pulled upright by his brother. With a tug to his ankles, his legs are straightened to show off his reddened knees. It reminds him of the stinging pain and he cringes.

“I guess I’ll have to stay on Wilbur’s good side and we’ll see,” Phil says, voice sounding like he’s joking.

“Okay! We both like you, so you’ll definitely get hired!” Techno chirps.

“Oh. That’s good,” Phil says quietly. 

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking anymore. Usually Phil sounds like he’s almost laughing, but Techno thinks in this case the seriousness is good. All the chefs at the castle were much more humorless. Though, Techno likes how silly Phil is, so maybe he should keep joking and also work at the castle.

With that plan in mind, Techno presses his lips into a thin line to prepare himself as the bandages are smoothed over his knees. It hurts a bit, but his lips only wobble a little through it.

“Everything okay with the bandages?” Phil asks.

“Yes, thank you, Phil,” Wilbur says politely.

“Thank you, Phil,” Techno mimics.

“Of course. Let me know if you two need anything,” Phil says kindly.

As if wanting to say thank you again, Wilbur fiddles with his hands. 

It seemed like Wilbur didn’t like Phil for a long time, or at least wanted not to like him. Which makes sense, since usually the people that watch over them are not very fun or likable—though Techno didn’t mind a few of their nannies and teachers over the years.

But Phil’s not really watching over them anyway. He’s just a cook. His only job is to drop off their meals outside the door and retrieve their plates. For the first few days that’s all he did, but then he started asking them questions and lingering. Wilbur did not like that and didn’t even let Techno answer the questions. Which wasn’t very fair, since the questions weren’t dangerous in Techno’s opinion. Phil just asked about who else visited them and where their nannies were.

Eventually Phil moved on to just talking about other things and making jokes. The news about the outside world and what was going on won Wilbur over and the jokes were at least more amusing than the boring walls to Techno. The man is not particularly witty in Techno’s opinion, but he is kind of funny. Like the floppy walruses by the beach or the long necked giraffes in the savanna. 

Not that Techno’s ever seen Phil’s face to know if he looks like such things. Though he hasn’t seen any of the animals outside of books either. The description that Phil gave of himself after much badgering on Techno’s part—shoulder length blond hair, blue eyes, and a ‘normal enough’ face—does not seem so spectacular.

“Can you bring me some new books? I’ve read all the ones here two times at least,” Techno says.

“Techno!” Wilbur scolds. Again. He does that all the time now, like he has to make up for everyone else not being around to do it.

“He asked if we needed anything.”

“You don’t need—”

“It’s fine, Wilbur. What sorts of books do you want?” Phil cuts in, making Techno perk back up where his shoulders had started to fold in.

“Hmm. Oh! A story about animals that act like people. Or people that act like animals. No! Take care of animals!” Techno says, voice growing louder at the end.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Phil says with a chuckle. “What sorts of books do you like, Wilbur?”

“I don’t need any.”

“No need for need. What about want?” Phil sounds like an old tricky man in an epic. Techno giggles at him. “Reading is important and good for you and all that.”

“Just bring Techno two, I’m fine.”

Wilbur does not look fine, he looks down. For some reason. Phil is bringing them new books, which will be fun. He’ll probably even bring them better ones than their advisors picked out.

Biting his lip, Techno tries to think of how to sway Wilbur now that the cookies are gone.

“Wilbur, I want to read your book after,” Techno says, grabbing onto his elbow and tugging.

“You’ll get whichever ones you want,” Wilbur says, sounding bemused.

“I want the one you pick.” Techno hangs heavier on Wilbur, nearly pulling him off balance. “Pleaseeee.”

“Don’t whine, Techno, it’s improper,” Wilbur says. 

The words are diminished by two of his fingers prodding into Techno’s sides. It’s really only an initial taste, since as Techno squirms, Wilbur smiles and starts wiggling his fingers into his sides.

With a shout, Techno falls back onto the ground and tries in vain to get away while loud laughs break out of him. His body shakes more than moves as Wilbur mercilessly tickles him. It’s not a good way to be when trying to escape the pokey fingers. Techno’s too busy howling to really notice.

“What is going on in there?” Phil’s voice calls, sounding amused on his own.

“Insolence correction,” Wilbur says, grinning evilly.

“M-mean–n Wil—bu-bur,” Techno chokes out around his laughter.

“Have mercy on your poor brother, Your Majesty,” Phil says, obviously a noble defender. He should definitely work in the castle.

“Your Highness,” Wilbur corrects quietly, but he does take his fingers off of Techno while sitting back on his heels.

Heavily, Techno pants around left over giggles. His brain feels kind of buzzy, either with joy or breathlessness. Maybe both. From his place on the floor, Techno rolls over so his cheek presses against Wilbur’s knee. His brother makes a face that isn’t quite a smile, before petting his hair.

“So, who won then?” Phil asks.

Wilbur sighs, like he’s being very burdened. But Techno knows that means that he won, so he simply smiles and holds back a couple more giggles.

“I suppose if you find a copy of a drama play, I would like it.”

That sounds boring, but Techno bites down on the insult before it can come up. Wilbur likes those sorts of things, so it’s good that he asked for it. Maybe if Techno asks really nicely, Wilbur will read out the different parts with silly voices.

“You’ve got it. I’ll try to bring them as soon as I can,” Phil says.

“Thank you, Phil!” Techno sings, before Wilbur even thought of it this time.

Though, Wilbur doesn’t bother repeating him. The older boy silently pushes the tray of empty dishes out of the flap and walks away from the door before Phil’s footsteps disappear. 

Techno waits till they’re fully gone and he can’t even hear the echoes in his brain to join him.

—

— ang, bang, bang!

The annoying pounding is far too loud for the tiny room. The sound echoes over itself again and again till Techno’s head starts to hurt with it.

Sluggishly, he forces his sticky eyes apart and rubs at them. There’s nothing to see in the dark, as far as Techno can tell. The faintest light is coming from the window, hardly illuminating the room. It  does nothing for the knocking that is far more appropriate for the proper day. As Techno looks at the door while sitting up, a frown pulls at his lips. Who is knocking at this hour? And why so loudly.

“Wilbur,” Techno whispers, though the word hardly crosses his lips with how quiet it is.

He’s suddenly glad that Wilbur makes them sleep in the same bed. The older boy had looked almost scared when he tried to convince Techno the first night, saying something about the draft. Though he doesn’t think it is actually the cold that worries Wilbur. And now, Techno’s chest clenches with that sort of fear too.

“Wilbur!” Techno hisses louder.

Blindly, Techno crawls across the small space between them, reaching out for Wilbur among the blanket and pillows. One of his hands lands heavily on Wilbur’s soft stomach, making him let out a pained noise even in his sleep. It seems to make him wake as well, so Techno can’t feel sorry.

“Wha—?” Wilbur mumbles, jerking up in the bed.

“Wilbur, someone’s here,” Techno whispers through shaking lips. His voice comes out a bit shaky too.

Instantly, the limpness of sleep seems to flee from Wilbur. He sits up very straight and grabs Techno’s forearm very tightly, pulling him closer. The angle of Wilbur’s body very nearly covers Techno and he can see even less of the room than normal. Though, it likely doesn’t matter, since Wilbur’s head is swiveling around.

“They’re at the door,” Techno whispers, as if Wilbur can’t hear the knocking.

“I know,” Wilbur whispers back. “They can’t get in. I’ll go see who it is.”

Then Wilbur goes to stand up and walk away. A cry leaves Techno’s lips as he jolts forwards and wraps his arms around Wilbur’s waist. The older boy falls back down onto the bed, weight crushing Techno a little bit, but he doesn’t care.

“Don’t go,” Techno whines.

“I’m just going to check who it is. It’s okay.” Wilbur pets Techno’s tangled hair.

Techno simply shakes his head firmly, holding Wilbur all the tighter. He doesn’t want his brother to go away. The person might be bad. They might hurt Wilbur, or kill him. Just like their father. And then Techno would be completely alone, locked inside an even smaller tower.

“Nooo,” Techno mutters.

“Okay, okay.” Wilbur slowly hugs him back. “I’ll stay with you.”

There’s a pause in the knocking. Techno breathes very shallowly, trying to hear if the person behind the door is doing something. What if they have a key? He hugs his brother tighter at the thought.

“Wilbur? Techno?” A voice calls through the door, muffled by the thick wood.

Though, the sound makes Techno perk up a bit. It sounds like—

“Phil,” Wilbur says quietly.

“Why’s he here? It’s not time for breakfast,” Techno says.

“I don’t know. I’ll go ask him.”

Once again, Wilbur starts pulling away from Techno. A small whine breaks from his chest, but he does let his brother go. He stares intently at his back all the way, as if something will emerge from the darkness and snatch him away.

Wilbur pauses before the door, breathing for a couple seconds before he leans closer and sets his palms against it.

“Phil?” Techno can just barely hear him calling out.

“Wilbur! Thank gods, I need to—” Phil’s voice rises with emotion, before falling a bit too quiet for Techno to make out the words.

Holding his breath, Techno leans forward on the bed. His ears twitch as he tries to figure out what Phil and Wilbur are talking about in hushed voices, but he can’t tell. Only the occasional word will reach him, things like “ what? ” and “ why? ” from Wilbur. Nothing that sounds good.

Techno’s cheeks are puffed out with exertion, before he finally takes a deep breath again. His head spins a little. 

He grabs the blanket tighter in his palms before swinging his feet over the side of the bed. They hang above the ground, plenty of room for the monsters under the bed to grab at his ankles. With a shiver, Techno tentatively slides off of the bed and slowly pads closer to Wilbur.

“ —not sure, he announced it last night apparently, it hasn’t even hit the papers,” Phil says very quickly.

“How can you be sure?” Wilbur asks.

“I know people that work in the castle. I’m certain of it. By this morning word will be around that he’s declared you illegitimate.”

What? It sounds like Phil’s talking about Wilbur, but that makes no sense. How could Wilbur be illegitimate? And who could even say such a thing? Very soon, Wilbur’s going to be made king. People shouldn’t talk about him like that…

“W-what?” Wilbur stutters over himself. 

It does not sound like him at all, always well spoken. He must be very upset by the words. Or even… afraid. Why? Who could make Wilbur afraid like that?

“And I’ve been ordered to not come in today, but I had to let you know. You have to be careful, okay?” Phil continues.

“I’m—” Wilbur starts speaking again, before Techno trips over the tips of his toes a little. Wilbur's head snaps around and he stares at him with very large eyes. Even without his glasses, Wilbur looks like an owl. “Um.”

“Wilbur?” Phil asks.

“Okay. I understand,” Wilbur says.

“... Stay safe.” And then Phil’s walking down the staircase.

“Phil?” Techno calls, even though it’s too late. The man doesn’t hear or respond. As his lips fold down his fingers wrap themselves tighter in the blankets. “What’s wrong?”

Wilbur is quiet for a minute, not even breathing. It makes Techno's insides twist up even tighter. His belly hurts.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep,” Wilbur finally says, stepping closer.

“But—” Techno tries to protest, but Wilbur grabs his wrist and tugs him back to the bed.

After Techno stiffly lays down on the bed, Wilbur smooths the blankets down over him. He plants a kiss on his forehead, like someone much older. Usually, Techno would poke fun at the boy for doing such a thing. As is, all he can do is hold tightly onto Wilbur’s hand as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Techno tries to stay awake, but he drifts off while watching Wilbur stare unmovingly at the door.

—

Absently, Techno raises one of his hands to his tight hairstyle to scratch at it, only for Wilbur to smack his hand back down.

“Ow, Wilbur,” Techno complains.

“Keep your hair and clothes tidy,” Wilbur says sternly.

“Why? No one will see.”

Wilbur is silent, but the line between his eyebrows deepens. Now Techno wants to smack him and tell him to keep his face tidy. Instead he just frowns up at the boy.

“Is someone coming today?” Techno asks.

“Maybe.” The lines on Wilbur’s face get deeper.

“Will they bring food? I’m hungry.” 

As if to punctuate his words, his stomach rumbles slightly. It’s far past the time they would usually have breakfast, but Phil hasn’t shown up again. 

“I don’t know, Techno! Can’t you be quiet for a little while!” Wilbur shouts.

The sudden increase in volume makes Techno flinch, his hair falling over his eyes as he peeks at his brother. Nearly stomping, Wilbur jumps up and storms away from him. There’s not really anywhere to go in the tiny tower. So instead he just paces back and forth, over and over while refusing to look at Techno.

Before Techno can come up with something to say to Wilbur, the bottom of the stairs creaks. It takes a second for Wilbur to hear it and stop, frozen solid it seems.

“Wilbur—?” Techno starts asking before he’s shushed.

His brother hurries over to the door and stands before it, smoothing his hair and clothes out. Then he just stands there and stares, breathing kind of funny.

Techno wants to hop up and stand before the door too. Usually he’s the first one to greet Phil when he comes up with their food. But maybe it’s Wilbur’s strange mood or the thick atmosphere drowning him, Techno stays stuck to his chair.

The steps don’t sound like Phil’s footsteps either.

Automatically, Techno tucks his shifty hands below his thighs and tries to sit up still and straight like he’s always been told to. It feels like the right thing to do.

Three swift knocks ring out, making both Wilbur and Techno jump. For a few seconds, Wilbur just stands there not doing anything. Techno’s face screws up in confusion to what Wilbur is doing. Is he listening for something?

Seemingly randomly, Wilbur calls out: “Yes? Hello?”

“Your Majesty, Sir Billiam is here to speak with you, Wilbur and Technoblade. May he come in?” A lady’s voice rings out. Probably a servant.

“Yes, of course,” Wilbur says, though when he takes a few steps back, his face is not very pleasant.

Techno can’t blame him. Their uncle is not very pleasant to be around and is always picking out things that they are doing wrong. Especially Wilbur. But being good around their uncle is very important, so maybe that’s what this is. There’s an ache in Techno's shoulders with how he’s trying to sit up so straight.

The bad look is gone from Wilbur's face by the time a key turns in the lock and he looks very polite.

The servant opens the door and very quickly darts in to hold it open. It’s a bit anticlimactic, or maybe nerve wracking, since the dark doorway stays empty for a few long seconds. Only a little sliver of wall is shown of the curving stairs and Techno can’t help raising his bottom off of the chair to try and see more of outside the room.

Then, very slowly, echoing footsteps start rising up to them. It’s louder than when the door is closed. Wilbur’s hands clutch very tightly behind his back as he stands at attention.

The footsteps grow louder and louder as they close in. It nearly hurts Techno’s ears by the time the man is turning the corner. His heart beat is also very quick and up in his ears too. It’s a bit confusing, and Techno can’t help looking between his brother and his uncle and even the servant.

“Wilbur,” Billiam says as he steps fully into the room. “Good day.”

Wilbur nods a bit before raising his chin. “Sir Billiam. I hope all is well.”

“Yes, yes. Where is your brother?”

It’s a funny question, since Techno is sitting right there. In fact, Billiam quickly meets his face when he’s surveying the room. Yet his question still stands.

“Stand and say hello, Techno,” Wilbur urges.

Techno slides until his feet hit the ground and then he stands. Across the table he says: “Hello.”

A wobble seems to go through Wilbur’s lips, right in time with Billiam’s nose scrunching. 

“It seems your late father employed a certain class of teachers,” Billiam says. Confusion falling on him heavily, Techno tilts his head. Him and Wilbur were the one taking classes, not their teachers.

Wilbur clears his throat. “Did you want to sit?”

“Yes, right. I did come to take lunch with the two of you.”

As Billiam starts walking over, Techno sits back into his chair. The man squints at him when he does it. Techno checks and his hands are tucked below him, so he’s unsure what the distaste is from.

The door clicks shut and a glance shows that the servant has slipped away. Maybe to get them food. Another tiny noise rises up from Techno’s stomach and he hopes it’s not audible.

With grand movements, Billiam sits down in a chair across the table. Not the one across from Techno, which is a bit relieving. Wilbur takes that seat, hurriedly sitting beside Techno. Notably, he also sits on his hands. It’s strange. Wilbur never needed to do that to sit still before.

“Is there news?” Wilbur asks after a lapse.

“Ah, yes. There has been some progression within the kingdom,” Billiam says vaguely.

“That’s, good,” Wilbur smiles, fake as a painting.

“Yes, very.” The smile on Billiam’s face is worse. An old painting, with yellowed cracked varnish.

The air grows just as brittle as quiet rings out. Techno looks between the two others, trying to think of something to say. He’s not sure if he should or not, but the silence feels heavy and hot. To keep himself from picking at his collar, he digs his fingernails into his palms.

Finally, the door swings open again.

The servant is carrying a tray full of plates, right above her shoulder. It’s a little bit impressive. Usually they don’t even carry that much in the castle. And she went up the long staircase with it all.

Techno avoids looking into the weird staring match going on between Wilbur and Billiam. Instead he watches the servant very carefully place everything down before them. Not even a drop of tea spills from the tea cups as she places them delicately, like they have very specific places to be.

There’s bowls of some type of soup set before them. If Phil was the one serving them, he would explain what is in it. The servant doesn’t make a peep as she bows stiffly and walks back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Trying to be elegant, Techno picks up the spoon and takes a small bite. It doesn’t taste as good as Phil’s food either, but he’s hungry enough not to care.

Billiam smiles. “Apologies on the late lunch, I just had some important news I thought best to share in person.”

“It is fine,” Wilbur says, not having moved an inch. “What is it?”

“Well,” Billiam pauses to take a sip from his tea cup. It seems like his eyes dart down to Wilbur’s cup shortly. “In the investigation following your father’s passing, some interesting information has come to light.”

Even pinched below his legs, Wilbur’s hands seem to shake a little bit. Perhaps because of the mention of their father. After all, Wilbur did see more of what happened that night. And in some ways, Techno thinks that Wilbur and their father might have been closer. Techno feels worse for Wilbur with their father’s death.

Forcing his fingers steady, Techno picks up his own tea cup and takes a sip. His mouth feels dry.

“What is it?” Wilbur repeats, a bit more quiet.

“It has been found that both you, Wilbur, and your brother are illegitimate heirs of King Thompson and thus have been removed from the line of succession.”

A bit of soup falls out of Techno’s spoon as it freezes before his mouth. He can’t help staring wide eyed at Billiam, confused and shocked by the words. Phil had something about Wilbur being called illegitimate, but this makes no sense. Why would their uncle say such a thing? He knows it’s not true.

It doesn’t seem like Wilbur is quite so surprised, though he is still struck with his mouth ajar a smidge. His eyes drift off of Billiam’s smiling face and turn to Techno for a second. Then they flick back over very quickly, sticking onto Techno and his spoon tightly before he sits up straight.

“Um, well, that is…” Wilbur trails off, right as he stomps his heel into Techno’s foot. Just barely, Techno holds back a pained noise. “That is…”

“Mm, it did not come as a surprise to many,” Billiam says cryptically.

Wilbur’s heel is still digging into Techno’s foot and he finally remembers to lower his spoon. Was it for the bad manners? At a time like this? Those sorts of things hardly seem to matter.

Displeased and jittering, Techno reaches his hand out to pinch Wilbur’s side, but his brother snags his hand before he can and squeezes it tight. Techno couldn’t free his hand if he tried.

“Right, well,” Wilbur clears his throat.

He looks upset. For good reason! If Wilbur is said not to be their father’s heir, then his place as king will be gone. Gone to Billiam…

The realization hits Techno with a bolt of heat. Could it be related to that? Their own uncle, would he do such a thing for a bit of power? 

But doesn’t Billiam love his brother the same way that Techno loves Wilbur? He could never do such a thing as lie about Wilbur’s bloodline or try to hurt his children, if he had them. The thought nearly makes Techno want to cry, his head hurts so bad.

With a jolt, Wilbur stands and pulls Techno along by their joined hand. He folds in the middle, bowing down before Billiam. Techno can only stare in shock, before Wilbur digs his fingernails in and he has to shakily replicate the pose.

“Long live the king,” Wilbur says firmly.

“Yes.” Even though Techno can’t see his face, he can imagine an even wider smile. Sharper teeth sticking out of his lips and shoulders shaking with evil glee. “Through God's will.”

Then Billiam stands, footsteps walking off to the door. Wilbur stays bent over, so Techno only peeks up through his bangs. Without a backward glance, Billiam walks out the door, and then closes it behind them.

The sound of a key turning in the lock is louder than ever.

“Damnit, damnit! ” Wilbur hisses, practically tossing Techno’s hand when he lets go of it. “Damn it all to hell!”

“Wilbur?” Techno whispers, almost feeling afraid of how his brother will respond.

Wilbur looks at him through the corner of his eyes, hands shaking. In fact, his whole body seems like it’s shaking. Tightly, Techno wraps his arms around himself.

With continued hissing that Techno can’t understand, Wilbur swipes the tray off of the table. The cups and bowl overturn and spill liquid all over the thing. But it doesn’t seem to matter, since Wilbur stomps over to the bathroom and then there’s a crashing sound. When he comes back, the tray is empty.

That doesn’t seem to satiate Wilbur though. His brother tosses the tray onto the table and then stomps over to the door. Techno almost expects to start cursing again, right at Billiam, or as close as he can get. Instead, he starts turning the knob quickly, as if expecting it to open.

The door is locked, just like always. Techno used to check every day, in case they left it open. It never was, and it isn’t now. It’s obvious that Wilbur realizes that, since he groans.

But again, his fury is only fueled on more. With his whole body, Wilbur starts yanking at the door. At the door knob and crease and the flap on the floor. Wilbur claws at it all till his fingers must be sore, or even bleeding. Techno’s shoulders start shaking as he stands silently and watches.

“Mother fucker!” Wilbur shouts as he kicks the door.

Turning on his heel, Wilbur runs across the room over to the little window. If he attacked the door, he lays siege on the window. The edges of the thing are soldered together with the iron of the bars painted across it. Even if all the glass broke, no one could squeeze through.

That doesn’t seem to matter to Wilbur. He claws at the metal, as if it will bend beneath his fingernails. When it doesn’t he bangs his fists on the glass, releasing hollow thudding noises. And when that fails, Wilbur swipes a candle holder off of the desk and reels his arms back as if going to smash the thing.

“Wilbur!” Techno screams at the top of his lungs.

It makes his brother freeze, though his whole body is still shaking with pants. Like he’s run a lot or just been in a fight. The metal rings out as Wilbur drops the candle holder onto the ground.

“P—Please don’t,” Techno chokes out, needlessly. 

But it’s scary to see his brother like this. He’s always big and strong, doing better than Techno and never disappointing anyone. Even the few times when jealousy bit at Techno, he was always awed by his older brother. Impressed and desperate to live up to Wilbur, if only to impress said boy too.

Now Techno feels smaller than ever in the face of his brother’s upset. It’s not right. None of this is, but this more than ever.

Fear grips Techno tightly, enough that all of the air leaves him. The noise that leaves him is squeaky, like one of the prettily feathered birds in their garden crying out. Perhaps it is an accurate descriptor, since Techno’s eyes feel wet.

A sigh leaves Wilbur across the room as the boy continues staring at the window, or out it. Techno doesn’t know since he can’t see his face. And then he can’t see his back either, when his eyes go blurry with moisture.

His stomach hurts.

—

For the second night in a row, Techno is awoken far earlier than he should be. The only difference is that this time it’s not an outside force waking him. It’s his insides trying to get out.

A sharp pain grips Techno’s belly as he wakes up and rolls onto his side. He touches one hand to the area, groaning a little bit as sweat and heat laces his skin. There’s no chance to even try squirming away from the discomfort though, since the noises leaving his mouth quickly morph into gags.

They run through him like a hand is physically squeezing his stomach and throat, shoving everything upwards. Techno claws closer to the edge of the bed, desperation mixing with the pain, or maybe dredged up by it. It hardly matters, since as his mouth opens to let out a cry, burning acid spills over his lips.

Through the rounds of retching and gagging, Techno feels arms wrap around his nearly limp and tingly body. One of them presses close to his stomach, forcing a pained shout out of him. Luckily it pulls back, but if they say anything, he can’t hear over the ringing.

It’s miserable, and feels like it lasts forever. Every time he manages to pull a single breath in, it’s shoved right out back alongside more vomit. The vile fluids hurt worse than salt rubbed into wounds and alcohol used to wash that out. 

Eventually, Techno finds himself sobbing, and nothing comes up to interrupt it.

As his ears slowly clear, he is able to make out Wilbur’s voice right by his ear.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe,” Wilbur whispers over and over.

It makes Techno feel dizzy. Or maybe the bed is spinning? Or maybe just his insides? Either way, the inside of his brain feels like it’s growing tangled and messy with the movement. As the sobs die down, Techno is forced to try and measure his breaths just to fend off the breathlessness.

“You’re okay, I’m here,” Wilbur pushes the sweaty hair off of his forehead.

“Nm,” Techno blubbers out, words not working in his brain nor mouth.

“Do you feel better?” Wilbur asks.

Quickly, Techno shakes his head back and forth. It’s a mistake, since that makes him feel even worse. All of the features on his face scrunch up, trying to stop himself from throwing up again.

“O–okay, you’re okay. Just, just relax,” Wilbur says, voice stuttering. It must be Techno’s head tripping still.

Distantly, Techno can feel Wilbur rub at his face and hair a bit, before throwing one of the blankets off of the bed. The smell of sick isn’t quite so strong afterwards. Usually, Techno would be embarrassed to be getting sick in bed at all like a little kid. But as is, he can’t process it hardly.

Just as Techno started to doze back off, sweat drying on his body, the pain in his belly pricks back to life. It’s not too bad at first, just like two fingers are pinching at his organs. But then they grow, more fingers and more grabbing and using their long fingernails.

Techno whines and squirms in discomfort.

“Are you feeling unw—” Wilbur starts to ask, before a dry heave leaves Techno’s lips. “ Fuck. ”

A dish is shoved before Techno as more bile is pushed out of him. It burns worse this time somehow. Liquid fire, if Techno could imagine it. Like that story of a city destroyed by a volcano, lava exploding out of him with ruthless fingers.

Techno’s too tired to even sit up after this round, completely limp on the bed. He’s far too hot, even though his entire body is shaking. Shivers, like he’s outside in winter. He wishes there was snow falling on him. It would be better than the stifling heat.

“ ‘m hot,” Techno mutters.

“Um, you feel kind of cold, though. I’ll get you some water.”

As the hands disappear from his body, Techno suddenly feels like a boat with no anchor. Floating off and away, nothing to hold him down. It fills his chest with fear and he can’t help the pitiful cries and whines that leave his throat.

When warm fingers press against his cheek, a surprised gasp leaves Techno as he struggles to pry his wet eyes apart. Wilbur’s face is very close to his, all lined up and covered by his bedraggled curls.

Techno wants to reach out and clutch onto the boy so he won’t leave again, but his limbs feel too much like lead.

“Here, take a sip.” Wilbur pushes a cup against his lips.

The water tastes nice in his gross mouth, though the first swallow burns. The pain clears up some after that, luckily, and he almost feels a little bit better.

That doesn’t last long though. Seemingly before Wilbur can even set the glass down, Techno’s stomach is clenching painfully in his chest. Uselessly, he tries to sit himself up as his pitiful cries are broken up by even more retching. Then the water comes right back up, hurting his throat more than ever.

Wilbur holds his body upright and pulls his hair back out of his face. It’s a single chip on the side of a teacup of agony, but Techno leans against him as much as he can. 

It continues like that for some sort of eternity. Any time he settles down, his body will revolt again and force him to throw up more. Even when there’s nothing left in his stomach, his body keeps trying and trying till his muscles feel as torn and battered as his throat.

The moments in between aren’t much better. His entire body is constantly damp with sweat and making his teeth click with shivers. After enough time, even that starts to hurt. Wilbur’s fingers rubbing circles on his skin only help so much.

As the pale sun starts shining through the window, Techno seems to start falling asleep properly. Only for quick knocks to ring out from the door.

Techno starts whining immediately, annoyed and displeased to be interrupted when he was finally finding some rest. Wilbur rubs his forehead with a shushing noise before standing and trying to walk. Immediately, Techno whines louder.

“No, no, don’ go.”

“I have to see,” Wilbur whispers very quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Nooo,” Techno continues to cry, insides feeling like they’re crumbling apart.

He doesn’t want Wilbur to answer the door. Their uncle might be back, with his mean smiles and cruel words. What if he does something else to Wilbur? Something worse? Techno doesn’t want anything to happen to Wilbur, for him to go.

“Wilbur! Techno!” A voice calls through the door.

Phil.

The fight deflates away from Techno, too much to hold onto when he’s so tired and achy and sick. Wilbur very quickly flits away as silent tears roll down Techno’s cheeks and his hand hangs limply over the side of the bed.

“Phil!” Wilbur calls back, loud enough to make Techno’s head hurt.

“Wilbur! Is everything—” 

It’s even harder to try and listen in to them today than yesterday. Getting up to hear better seems impossible too. Techno catches the snippets loud enough to reach him as he struggles in the tide of unwellness.

“No! My uncle— I think— sick, you’ve got to help us!”

Wilbur sounds really scared. It fuels the feelings on in Techno’s chest, making his lips crumple.

“What?”

“We need to get out! I already—”

Phil says something else, but then they both get quiet. Did he leave? For some reason, the thought makes Techno sad.

Clumsily, Wilbur stands and rushes back over to Techno. There’s a strained smile on his face as he looks down at Techno.

“Phil’s going to find the key, or, well— he’s going to get us out and then we’ll go to the doctor,” Wilbur says.

A vague noise leaves Techno’s mouth as he turns towards Wilbur, trying to lean against him. Luckily, Wilbur understands and instantly cups the back of his neck with his palm.

The next stretch of time is a blur, too much and not enough going on at the same time. At least for his foggy brain. It’s like trying to see chunks of vegetables through a thick murky broth. And the only utensil he has to help is a fork…

All the thought of soup makes his mouth tighten and fill with saliva.

His whirlwind of sickly thoughts are cut off by a very loud crash. The shock of adrenaline manages to let Techno sit up very quickly, head spinning as he expects to see the door cracked to bits or fallen over. Instead, the door stands just as strong as ever, Wilbur standing a few feet back with his hands clutched together.

“Wha—?” Techno asks, confused and a bit frightened by the loud noise.

It’s only compounded when another crack rings out, and this time he gets to see the door shake a little bit too. Something is hitting the door. What? Why?

Wilbur turns towards him and hurries back over, grabbing onto his shoulders. Which is probably good, since the little burst of energy is all burnt up and gone now. His body goes floppy in Wilbur’s arms, a doll with no stuffing inside it.

“It’s just Phil, don’t worry about the noise. He couldn’t find the key, so he’s just going to kick it open,” Wilbur explains.

Techno’s face screws up at the words.

“Kick i’?”

“Yeah! Or maybe pry it open with one of his cooking knives. He–he knows how to do these sorts of things.”

That doesn’t sound like something a cook knows how to do. Or someone like Phil. Although Techno’s never seen the man, he doesn’t seem like one of the big muscled people that work as guards. Honestly he sounds like one of the academics that would lock themselves in the royal library and scold Techno for touching the old books. Though, Phil is much nicer than them.

Well, he’s sure trying now. Techno’s head is pounding nearly in time with all of Phil’s banging on the door. He seems to be putting even more into it than Wilbur did, which sure is saying something.

Eventually, the pain grows so great that groans start spilling out of Techno against his will. Wilbur presses his hands against his ears, but it doesn’t help enough. More tears prick in Techno’s eyes as he jerks towards the bowl and starts retching again.

Only a little neon liquid manages to trickle out of his mouth into the bowl, but Techno feels more exhausted than ever. The only thing that stops him from collapsing into the sick bowl is Wilbur pulling it away in time. Techno pants like he just ran for hours.

The sounds at the door have stopped at some point during all that. Wilbur glances towards it, as if hoping that it has magically popped open. But it stands tall and strong.

“Wilbur? Is Techno alright?” Phil’s voice wavers some, but maybe that’s the wood messing it up.

“I’ll be right back,” Wilbur whispers before walking off. 

Techno has no energy to throw a fit.

“He’s getting really sick,” Wilbur calls through the door. “Do you think that you can try something else?”

There’s something murmured, but Techno’s eyes are closed so he can’t hear it. Far too sleepy.

Finally, nothing can stop Techno from dropping off into unconsciousness.

—

He’s a sheet beneath the hands of a maid. Scrubbed against a washboard, rung tight till drip-dried, and then flapped up and down before being pinned to a line. It does not feel nice to be manhandled in such a way.

But Techno is forced to face it, since the constant motion just won’t let up. He whines and groans, but it’s not until he pries his eyes open that finally the hands let him fall still. It takes a few seconds for Wilbur’s face to register. He’s not a maid, after all…

“Techno, you have to wake up and eat some soup right now, okay?” Wilbur says.

He wants to whine and say no, to yell at Wilbur for waking him when he feels so yucky and tired. But his brother looks scared. His eyes are rimmed red and his face is pale. Is he feeling sick too?

Silently, Techno lets himself be levered upright.

“Phil made it for you. He said— He’s going to be back later, so we just have to wait till then, okay?”

It almost sounds like Wilbur’s talking to himself. Nodding seems like too much effort, so Techno doesn’t bother. A strained noise leaves Wilbur’s throat.

“H-here,” Wilbur says, pressing a spoon into Techno’s hand and laying a tray across his lap.

The air is molasses, or honey maybe. Dragging on his arms and the spoon. Techno manages to lift it a couple inches before falling limp again. 

“Phil said you have to eat,” Wilbur stresses.

Techno tries to lift the spoon again, he really does. But he just can’t.

“Techno…” Wilbur whispers.

Finally, the older boy grabs the spoon back and brings it to the bowl himself.

“Take a few bites.”

If Techno was able to feel embarrassed, he certainly would be now. He can’t remember ever being fed like this, even when he was a little kid. But it takes so much effort even to just open his mouth and swallow the bites of broth. There’s no room left over for feeling embarrassed and his face is strangely cold, too much to blush.

It really is only a few bites before his stomach starts to protest. Techno pinches his mouth shut and turns away, refusing to eat any more. Aside from a displeased noise, Wilbur lets him.

“Do you want some water then? You need to eat and drink.”

Wilbur leans away, maybe to grab a glass of water. It hardly matters, since Techno’s stuck staring at the bowl and tray before him. It’s nearly swirling within his eyes, wobbly and not solid. Like the entire thing is soup instead of wood and porcelain.

The sight makes Techno dizzy. He closes his eyes, trying to block it out. But it doesn’t help. The spinning has invaded his skull already, inside of him as much as out.

“Techno?” Wilbur asks, from far away.

Roughly, Techno leans forward and gags. The noise gurgles out of him, clogged by fluids and torn up throat. There’s a trickling noise and splash as his stomach is emptied.

Wilbur gasps quietly beside him as Techno peeks his eyes back open. Bright red catches his eyes immediately. Trails of it, swirling in the bowl of his sick. Is it… blood?

Weakness crashes into Techno at the thought. The pillows propped up behind him aren’t enough to support his body when all his muscles have turned to liquid. Wilbur swipes everything off of Techno before grabbing him tightly and looking into his face.

“Hey, hey, don’t fall asleep! Why don’t you talk to me for a bit, Phil might be here soon.”

His ears warble and pop around the words, not quite wanting to take them in. Techno does take in Wilbur’s face. Absolutely terrified, more than when their dad died or their uncle was here or anything.

Techno tries to open his mouth to say something since Wilbur asked, but nothing but a raspy breath comes out. 

“P–please, Techno. Tell me– tell me about the book you’re reading,” Wilbur pleads.

“Um, it’s—” Techno’s voice cracks, like a log being engulfed by flames. Pop, pop, popping. His throat feels dry enough for it. “ ‘s something…”

Words flutter out of his reach, right out of his ears, or maybe eyes, since there’s little black blotches floating around. Techno furrows his brow as he tries to focus, but it feels like he’s slipping. The book should be easy to talk about, but now, even the name of it evades him.

“I’s…” The inside of Techno’s mouth feels full and thick, slurring around the sounds.

“Techno? Are you o—” Wilbur’s voice slowly dies away to a rushing.

Rushing, down, down, down. Techno thinks that he should be flinching or trying to right himself since he is falling, but his muscles refuse to move how he wants. Instead they feel tense, aching like they’re about to pop.

Maybe they do pop. He can feel his limbs and head jerking as the blackness bleeds in and he falls too far down to think anymore.

…

He comes back slowly and to crying.

At first, Techno almost thinks he’s the one crying. Everything hurts and something in him feels very wrong. Sick and uncomfortable and scared.

But when he tries to move, a bolt of pain runs up his arm so brightly that he can’t help gasping. And the crying continues on unimpeded by the inhaling, growing louder if anything.

Who’s crying?

It’s a direction for his mind to face and he tries to find it. Eyelids and body useless as they are, the crying is grating. Techno needs to know who it is, more than the exhaustion needs him to sleep.

Bright light burns his eyes when he manages to open them. A gurgly hiss escapes him, and finally the crying stutters. 

There’s movement above him, dizzying and confusing. Two hands land on either side of his face, as if to hold his brain still and let him think better. It must work, since when Techno squints, Wilbur’s face clears above him.

“Techno?” Wilbur croaks.

Then a few fat drops of liquid splash on Techno’s cheeks, warm and wet. He squints harder, enough that his eyelashes meet, confused and cringing back slightly.

It takes far too long for Techno to realize that Wilbur must be crying.

“Wil,” Techno stumbles to say. His lips feel numb and clumsy, but his brother leans closer, so he must hear.

“Techno… I don’t know what to do,” Wilbur cries. “I’m sorry.”

That scares Techno. Being sick doesn’t feel good and he’s a little afraid at just how unwell he is. But it’s nothing compared to his brother admitting that. To his brother crying before him.

Wilbur hasn’t cried a single time in the months they’ve been locked in this little tower.

Scared tears break out of Techno’s eyes as his shoulders shake. It’s like there’s nothing left to do aside from it. Maybe that’s why Wilbur is crying too. He doesn’t know what to do. And neither does Techno.

So he cries.

“Shh, shh,” Wilbur shushes, wrapping his arms around Techno. The hug is warm, warmer than the blankets and burning in his throat. “Don’t— don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

It hardly works, not when Wilbur’s crying. How can everything be okay if Wilbur’s crying?

“I promise, you’ll be okay.” Wilbur sits back and meets Techno’s eyes when he says it.

His face does seem sure, only stray tears sticking to it. Wavering breaths flutter in and out of Techno as he searches Wilbur’s face for dishonesty. His brother stays firm while looking down at him.

“You too?” Techno asks quietly.

Wilbur’s eyebrows rise a bit, before his serious look returns.

“Yes. We’ll both be okay.”

“Pinkie promise?” Techno’s words are starting to slur again.

It takes all of his focus to raise his hand, pinkie sticking out and trembling. But Techno tries to make his face serious too, to show that he means it to Wilbur.

“Pinkie promise,” Wilbur whispers, taking Techno’s pinkie in his own.

By the time Techno’s pinkie hits the bed, he’s already drifted back off.

—

The world is exploding. Like a match dropped into a barrel full of gunpowder or a cannon improperly loaded. Everything around Techno is breaking apart.

He wants to jolt up and maybe run for cover. His body refuses to move beyond a twitch though, not responding to the fact that his heart is absolutely pounding in his chest. 

A grand gasp rings out beside Techno and he can hear someone sit up. Wilbur murmurs something, before wrapping his arms around Techno and picking him up a little bit.

“I think— I think it’s Phil,” Wilbur says, squeezing Techno.

From the propped up angle, Techno can better see the dim room. The door is shuttering in time with the loud breaking sounds, much larger than earlier. Pieces and chips of wood are flying off of the thing.

Quickly, Wilbur leans over and starts wrapping one of the blankets around Techno’s body. It almost hurts, how tightly Wilbur is holding him. But he can’t help squeezing the bit of Wilbur’s shirt that he can reach either. 

The cracking grows louder and more violent until there’s a sudden bang and the sound of metal falling on the floor. Wilbur gasps again, prompting Techno to look through the darkness.

There, standing in the middle of the shattered wood, is a man holding an axe.

Certainly, if Techno had an ounce of breath in his lungs to spare, he would scream at the sight. Wilbur seems to be a bit frightened too, since he holds Techno even closer and shifts a bit away.

“Phil?” Wilbur asks, sounding hesitant.

“Yeah, mate,” Phil says—and he does sound like Phil even without the door between them. “How is he?”

Wilbur stands with a start, dragging Techno along with him. The motion makes his stomach feel weak and shaky, enough that he huffs and closes his eyes. An unknown hand presses against his forehead, large and calloused. Phil’s hand. The one that passed cookies and rolls of bandages through the little flap in the door.

“I talked to a doctor friend who will help us, let me take him,” Phil’s voice comes, closer than ever.

“I’m right here,” Wilbur whispers, before he’s shifted about and feels topsy-turvy.

Something tickles Techno’s face, and he thinks it might be Phil’s hair. It does hang around his shoulders, right where Techno’s head is resting, right? The thought floats away, just like the locks of hair with his breath.

One of his hands is grabbed and held tightly as they slowly descend the stairs for the first time ever. Techno knows that Wilbur is keeping ahold of him, even as he falls asleep again.