Work Text:
It starts out with a feeling of profound wrongness that slips its way under Technoblade’s skin, an insistent pressure against his skull that something was not right. Though he’d been traveling for more than a fortnight at this point, it wasn’t pain or exhaustion that pressed itself against his thoughts; it was more like the feeling of walking through a doorway and knowing, in your bones, that something in the room isn’t right. With each step the feeling sinks deeper into his mind like an errant splinter, like an itch that can’t be scratched.
Techno almost wants to turn around, find another merchant's road to follow, post up in some far away town and sit silently in a corner until some lonely farmer offers him a bag of coins to slay some wretched beast. It would be easy. But something in him couldn’t stop moving forwards, towards the discomfort thrumming in his mind.
With every mile the pressure in his skull mounts, until finally a town appears cradled in the palms of a valley. It’s small, quaint, and any other day techno’s eyes would glaze right over the near rows of streets and houses. But radiating off the town is an almost palpable aura, like every sense is being assaulted. At the core of it is something sickeningly familiar; something Techno hasn’t sensed in years. It settles in his stomach like a pit, twisting his insides into a bitter rage.
It’s a cub.
Whatever the source is, it can’t be of this world. The magic that claws at Techno’s soul should not exist, not after the death and destruction that has followed Techno’s kind.
He is the last. So whatever trick this is, whatever is screaming at his sense protect-help-scared-pain, Techno is going to destroy it.
His feet bring him closer, working on memory as the rage takes over his mind. He follows his senses, stalking through the quiet streets until he stands before a plain wooden door. Without pause, he pushes through, eyes falling on the shopkeep standing behind the counter
“Where is it.” Techno growls, deep like the rumble of a falling mountain. The woman behind the counter falters, hands frozen around the bundle of herbs she’d been strangling with twine. Her eyes flick to look at techno, pupils small and dark, and though nothing cracks her icy facade Techno can smell the fear leaching into the air.
“You’ll have to be more clear, sir.” she says. She’s all ice, he can see it now, cold and sharp. The anger building in his chest wants to release, for his claws to slide out of his skin and tear through the ice and snow and this entire damned town. Even through the thick blanket of herbs and spices that hang in the shop's air, the smells of sick-cub-death-afraid-help-help-help is so strong it’s overwhelming. Whatever hellish magic this place has dredged up, it’s freshest here.
“Do not play coy, as if I am some common fool . I can feel whatever spirits-damned abomination you’ve created, whatever hell you’d unleash for this, this-“ there aren’t words to describe the war of instinct and memory in his bloodstream. Wood splinters and bends as he leans in closer to the shopkeeper, his fingers digging ruts into the counter. “This magic, this scent has been extinct since the War of Rage, and you will tell me how it seems to have completely entrenched your shop, even if I have to rip it from your throat myself.”
Their eyes are twin mirrors of iron will. This is not a fight this woman can win, nor would it even be a fair one in the slightest, and she knows it. As much as Techno would hate to cause a stir, he will raze this entire town to burn out that smell.
Several things happen at once.
One, the woman shifts, agile fingers wrapping around a thin necked bottle and smashing it against the doorframe behind her. Techno’s hands flex, and his small wood ax is gripped surely in hand. Before it can find its target in the shopkeeper’s chest she strikes, jagged glass edges glancing across his cheek. She has him bested on speed; normally such a pathetic attack wouldn’t draw near him.
And now there is blood scenting the air.
Her arc of motion continues, mouth open with a warning at the edge of her throat- Techno swings a fist into her chest, and she tumbles back into the shelves that line the store wall. The air leaves her lungs with a wheeze, and she struggles to pull herself up to her feet.
Then her form shifts, hazes, skin and space constricting until no longer is a sharp eyed woman staring at him, but a cat— crouched with ears back, fangs bared. Techno has a blink to be surprised before it lunges, flying past his shoulder and out the door. His fighting stance shifts, the blood thrumming in his ears egging on a chase, a hunt. But logic threads itself in his ears, reminding him- she would not fight with nothing to defend, she would not flee if something was hiding, something dark, something hurt-pain-HELP-CUB, TURN AROUND, FIND IT FIND IT FINDITFINDIT-
Footsteps, from the doorway. Soft, barely there, not weighed down by armor. The rasping sound of blade against sheathe, and the smell-
It’s choking him, nearly bringing him to his knees, the smell of a cub, a sick cub, a cub in pain. Darkness wavers at the edge of his vision and he almost lets it, almost tears apart the man that dares stand before him dripping with the scent of a cubs suffering. But instead of a blade leveled at him, there is a hand, palm up and stretched forward- a signal of surrender. Mercy. Techno allows himself a second to catch his breath, and perhaps allow this man to keep his.
“Listen,” the stranger breathes out. “Please, please just- it’s not what you think.”
“What I think?” Techno spits between grit teeth. “What I know is that despite everyGurahl being extinct since the Great Wars, despite being hunted down for the gifts that kept those warring bastards alive, you are surrounded with what could only be the product of a darkness beyond nature. The bear people haven't walked the lands for generations-!“
“Except you.”
Silence, and Techno tightens the grip on his weapon. “Impossible.”
There is something on this man's face that makes Techno feel not threatened, but… known. As if he can't hide from his piercing gaze, despite any hint to his lineage hidden beneath layers of fur and leather.
“Not impossible, mate-“
“I will not entertain this, idiocy!” Techno interrupts. “You stall! You stall payment for your sins, or the sins of whatever wretched mage you hide. Now you will tell me before I rend the skin off your flesh and burn this town to the ground-“
“Da?”
Fear spreads across the man’s face for the first time, and he stiffens. A shadow flits between his legs, and a child stands gripping his fathers pants with tiny desperate fists.
“No, wil, go back downstairs now.”
The child clings harder, shaking his head. “But da, it’s… you said to watch him, and you left and now he’s breathing all fast, and…” finally, his eyes find techno, glinting like little golden coins.
“ Please Wilbur, go-“
“But he’s sick!”
“I will give you one minute,” Techno breaks the back and forth, “to explain what is going on.”
The two of them stare at him owlishly, the man’s hand gripping his young one's shoulder with the force of fear.
“If I am not satisfied with this explanation, I will let your cu- your child go, and you will pay for whatever atrocities have been committed on this ground.”
The tension hasn't dissipated, but at the assurance of his child’s safety the man seems to lose a weight off his shoulders. “Wilbur, go downstairs. I’ll be down in just a minute, I promise.”
The child hesitates, but follows the order of his elder. Now it is the two men, staring, unsure of who will go first.
“You… You are a Gurahl. You wouldn’to be reacting like this if you weren’t, and don't try to tell me otherwise.” His words are steady, confident. There’s no use hiding when Techno could simply kill this man where he stands, and his secret would be safe. At technos nod, the man continues. “This isn’t what you think, it’s not some dark magic to once again steal from the bear shifters, no. We would never even think to… no, I just- I think it might be easier to simply show you. If I outright said it, you wouldn’t believe me. So please, for both of our sakes, please just come with me.
With a huff, Techno moves, letting the man lead the way down a set of darkened stairs. His ax stays ready but lowered, should this be a trap. If all else fails, he can always rely on the fact that nobody still alive has fought something like him before.
Candles dance through the long corridor, lighting empty doorways as they walk. With each step the scent that has hung over him grows stronger, almost palpable as ur hands thick in the air. It takes all his strength not to simply lose himself to the animal clawing at the back of his skull.
At the end of the hallway stands a door, half propped open, little whispers filtering out into the hallway. As Techno nearly fills the doorway with his height, he watches the young boy from before dart away from a mound of blankets atop the bed and flit behind his fathers back. His tiny scowl burns holes through technos armor.
“What is this?” Techno asks, surveying the room. It feels like the room of a healers den, full of cabinets that smell of sweet herbs to reduce fever and pain. A tub of water sits in the corner, and another of what smells like bile lurks under the wooden bed frame. The man gestures towards the cot, whispering some kind of platitude to his child, one Techno doesn’t bother to hear. With careful, measured steps, Techno approaches the tiny, wriggling mass of blankets, and-
It is a child. It is a baby. Soft blue eyes peek from the nest of blankets, rimmed with red, followed by a tiny nose and flushed cheeks. More wiggling and the blankets fall away, revealing a head of golden curls, a halo of light that nearly glows in the dim room. And there, perched atop his head like a crown, are two little ears. Bears ears.
Without realizing it Techno has dropped to his knees, level with the tiny cub that sits upon the bed. He is still as stone, hands hanging loose, unknowing, only able to watch the cub reach a hand still pudgy with baby fat, patting against his cheek, tracing the fresh wound that still drips blood. And then, oh then the babe smiles .
“ How.” Techno whispers as the cub wiggles back into the nest of blankets, eyes flitting closed.
“I found him in the northern mountains. There were… he was the only one we found alive. It’s been a few weeks now, and we’ve been trying our best but he gets sicker and sicker every day. I haven't seen him smile until just now. Until you.”
“Sick?”
The man hums. “Fevers, aches, vomiting, weakness. We’ve treated him for everything we can and even then some. Some days are better than others, but… well, we can only do so much.”
“Cubs this young shouldn’t be away from their packs.” Techno mutters quitely. “He’s so young, being out of the den, away from the magic of his pack, it would be draining him. The fact that he’s awake is a miracle.
“Can you help?”
Finally Techno tears his eyes away from the child before him. The man’s face is set in a thin line, but his eyes reflect hope, prayer, desperation.
Can he help?
It had been decades since Techno had the embrace of his own pack, since the slaughter that wiped his kind from the earth. Any longing for that time has been banished years ago, the moment Techno knew that he was the last one left. No more Gurahl to watch over the land as had been done for centuries, no more warmth of the den, the scents and smells of his den mates filling the air. Their faces are blurred in his mind like tracks covered with fresh snow, but he can feel them now, humming in his veins, guiding his hands up and towards the child.
Technoblade was never meant to become a fighter.
His mothers hands on his were soft and warm, the guidance of the pack elder as he learned the ancient art of mending what is broken.
“There is something we can do,” the memories whisper, “ something no one else can ever dream of. We find life, we cherish it, and keep its light glowing, but when death comes knocking the Gurahl are the only ones who can stand in its way. We are the weavers of souls, child, we are grave robbers in our own right. We rob death of its victories, and bring those worthy back from the brink. No one else, not the richest of kings or most faithful of priests, can do what we do.”
Warmth pools in his hands, a feeling so long forgotten, and the only thing left in his mind is the child in front of him. His little chest heaves with effort, lashes fluttering like the wings of a sparrow as Techno rests a scarred hand atop his head.
It must work, he thinks, it must work, it must work, it must. Because what will he do if he fails? What will he do if this miracle slips out of grasp?
No, he decides. He simply will not fail.
The little one's soul is tangled like a ball of wool, knots of sickness, pain, and longing winding across technos fingers. He smooths them out with a touch so gentle he’d forgotten he was capable of it. Their energies meld and dance, a tide that ebbs and flows like the great seas of the north. Minutes, hours, he cannot tell when they pass. But eventually, he slumps against the little cot, the tiny cub breathing peacefully beside him.
There’s a hand on his back, gentle, rubbing along his shoulder blade in a comforting motion.
“Thank you.” the man breathes out.
Techno lifts his head despite the exhaustion. “I will not leave him.” The man nods with understanding.
“I wouldn’t ask that of you, mate. I’ll explain what happened to the town, god knows they’re probably up in arms after your entrance, but don’t worry. We’re a small bunch here, but we protect our own.” He stands, gesturing to his son to follow. “The room is yours for the night, and in the morning we can speak more. But for now, rest.”
Techno nods, so deep into his instincts now that all he can do is let his head sink down into the cot, slumping halfway onto the bed. He lets himself drift, fading into sleep, lulled by the soft breaths beside him.
_____
The sun is streaming warm and rich through the window when Techno wakes. At some point in the night, he must have maneuvered onto the bed, tucking himself around the cub. His hood has fallen back, exposing his milky pale hair braided back with ribbons and beads, frizz and knots evidence of a sound rest.
The little one still sleeps, and in the light Techno can see how much his pallor has improved. His cheeks have faded from an angry flush to a healthy pink, and his breaths seem to flow in and out without strain.
A tinge of awkwardness shuffles through technos mind at the daylight revelation that a baby is now bundled against his chest, and frankly he’s never been this close to a child… ever. But up close, there’s something entrancing about the little life pressing itself into his warmth. Especially the tiny, golden furred ears that twitch in his sleep.
It’s not often that a shifter is born with animalistic traits in their human form, but for a Gurahl? It’s unheard of. Legends say that the special bond formed between bear shifters made it impossible for such a child to be born, but here in his arms is proof that legends can be wrong. Techno himself is a testament to that fact as well.
Two Gurahl, alive, together.
With a slow creak the door opens, and instantly Techno is on his feet, clutching the cub to his chest. The man from before stands, his face plastered with surprise.
“Oh! You're awake!” He exclaims, moving into the room fully. Techno relaxes, shifting the baby now grumbling awake.
“Yes. I’m sorry I slept past dawn, it’s… unlike me.”
The man chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh mate, you’ve been asleep longer than that. I think this morning clocks you both in at a week! Seems you both had a mini-hibernation. ”
Techno couldn’to stop the surprise from showing on his face, eliciting even more laughter. “I… well. I suppose I apologize even more, having taken up your time and space for so long.”
“Are you kidding? You could’ve taken another month and we wouldn’t have cared. Especially after what you did with Tommy.”
Tommy. So that was the little bears name. Not the most traditional sounding, but who cares?
“We couldn’t make proper introductions before, so let me officially welcome you to our town.” The man continues. “My name is Philza, though most call me phil. You saw my son briefly, his name is Wilbur.
“Philza.” Techno repeats, nodding. “I am called Technoblade. I want to offer you my deepest, deepest apologies for my actions before. I thought…”
Phil waves his hands through the air, shaking his head. “It’s nothing! Eh, well, you do owe Niki an apology, but she understands. I think. She doesn’t want to kill you, so we can just count that in your favor.”
Techno has no idea how to respond to that.
“Anyways,” Phil continues with a chuckle, “how does breakfast sound?
_____
Technoblade, warrior for hire, wandering swordsman, man of few words, spends the next few days awkwardly hovering behind Philza, holding the cub that is now decidedly his . It’s quite a sight, Techno looming at least a full foot taller than Phil, a tiny bundle of golden curls carefully balanced in his arms. Phil had offered Techno the room in his house that had been working as a nursery for Tommy, and Techno accepts the offer graciously. His instincts are so high strung that he can’t imagine sleeping out of sight of the little bear, unknowing if he’s safe and content. They both sleep together on a wide mattress close to the ground, Tommy curled into technos chest, ear pressed against his heartbeat.
Tommy brightens every day, slowly gaining more and more energy until Techno wonders if the sun has manifested on earth with all its spitfire. Evidently this baby is old enough to toddle around, and within a day or two Tommy is gleefully following anyone he can around, babbling all the while. Phil says he must be around 2, with how well he can balance, though he’s small even for that age.
Apparently, Techno happened to stumble across one of the few towns that had a population of mostly shifters. Philza reveals his crow form to Techno the day he wakes up, and walks him through town introducing him to the other shifter families living there.
He apologizes to Niki, the cat shifter shopkeeper, who also works as the town apothecary and baker. She punches him lightly in the shoulder and demands a rematch on even terms. That earns her a genuine smile, and a promise to spar someday. Her fiancé, a human, also demands a sparring session; Techno worries that soon the whole town will call dibs on attempting to fight him.
Four days after waking up, Techno gets to truly meet the little terror that is Philza’s son, Wilbur. He’s in the middle of spooning warmed milk into Tommy’s mouth when a shadow falls on him; the fledgling is watching him from the doorway, eyes drawn into a scowl.
“You can’t have him, you know.” Wilbur says. Techno puts most of his focus towards Tommy, and the very full spoon he’s trying to feed him.
“And why is that?”
“He was mine first. Well, technically Da found him, but he’s my little brother. Then you came along and suddenly I can’t play with Tommy because stupid Techno wants him!” Wilbur crosses his arms with a pout.
Ah, children. Once they get the whole “having a personality” thing, they become a true nightmare. Will Tommy be like this one day? Surely not.
Techno spoons more milk into Tommy’s waiting mouth. “Would you feel better if I gave you time to play with Tommy?”
Wilbur seems surprised at the offer, but quickly restructures his face into firm grumpiness. “Yes. That would be very nice. And I want to take him to my nest again sometimes, and maybe feed him too.”
“Well lucky me,” Techno remarks, “because I was thinking of hiring a babysitter, and looks like you’re the perfect candidate. I’ll have to check with your father, but if you’d like to watch Tommy while I’m out every now and then, I’d be quite happy.”
Wilbur’s face lights up with joy, and maybe, just maybe, children might not be that bad after all.
_____
Three weeks later, Technoblade finally asks Phil when he wants him to leave.
They’re out on the lawn, watching the two boys play with the newly awoken butterflies as the scent of spring wafts through the air. Phil is whittling a miniature figure, practiced hands guiding the small knife down the grain of the pale wood.
“Now why would you do that, mate?”
Techno hesitates. “Tommy’s healthy now, and I… I don't want to intrude on you. On this.” He makes a wide gesture to both boys, to the town beyond. “I’m not like you, Phil. I’m a fighter, I dont craft, or cook, or create. All I know is blood. I can’t imagine you wanting that around, nor can I imagine anyone else. As much as the thought of leaving Tommy pains me… if it’s what is needed, then I’ll do it.”
Phil hums, eyes turned down towards his project. “Techno, let me ask you this. Do you love Tommy?”
“Yes.” Techno answers, without hesitation.
“Would you do anything for his safety, and to ensure his happiness? Would you go to any length?”
“Yes, Phil, yes, which is why-“
“Well congratulations Technoblade, you have your answer already. Because what Tommy needs, what makes Tommy happy, is you. He loves you too, Techno. And I would never ask you to leave when you mean the whole world to that little boy, and vice versa.”
A lump forms in Technos throat, though he would never admit the impact Phil’s kind words had on him. “You would have me? Without rules or deadlines?”
Phil nods, warmth radiating from his smile. “You know, theGurahl people were never meant to wander. They had their villages and dens, high in the mountains, and there they would stay! Generations and generations, all calling the same space home. Now, we may not be a den, and we may not beGurahl, but just the same, our home is yours if you’d like it.”
Shifting, Phil places the now finished carving into technos hand, curling their fingers around it together.
“Flock, pack, whatever you’d like to call it, you’ve already earned it in my eyes.” Phil says. “Plus, I think Wilbur might kill you if you left.”
Techno looks down at the piece of wood pressed into his palm. Two bears look up at him; one standing tall on its back legs, the smaller nestled between its legs. The cub is even rubbed with some kind of dye, darkening the pale wood into a golden brown.
Technoblade had been a wanderer far longer than most men had been alive, or could ever hope to live. Maybe now it was time to stay.