Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Technoblade doesn’t remember much before the street. He remembers a kind face, a warm hug, a note pinned to his shirt.

And then he is pushed into the cold and left there.

Sometimes, to make it dramatic and a better literary masterpiece, he likes to think that it was a freezing night, rain pouring and pattering on the ground, the stars barely visible. That, well that would be a good story, a good time for him to be abandoned.

But that’s not what happened.

He knows the soldiers came. He knows the set buildings on fire. He knows people screamed while he hid with his mother. The two of them fled the city, headed toward London, but they didn’t make it. They made it to a small town a few miles away, and things became expensive.

He became expensive.

Technoblade was five, the first time he was left alone in the streets. His mother left him with a note pinned to his chest, a hug, and a reminder to change his stars. That day was sunny, if a bit cold.

There were pink flowers growing in the street, and people trampled them. They were alone, with nobody to protect them, and no one cared. Technoblade knew, even then, what it felt like to have no one care, no one to protect him. So he decided to do the right thing.

He became their protector.

It wasn’t necessarily a difficult task, but it was important. He took his job seriously, standing in the middle of the street with a spear he’d made, glaring at people who even dared to come close to his flowers. He poked at the horses who came near him, though he felt guilty when they huffed and whined at him. Most of the people stepped out of the way, except for the nice dressed ones. Those people shoved at him, calling him a dumb kid or ridiculing his flowers.

It was then that he decided that he would protect against the nice clothes people, the people with money. They were cruel, and he didn’t like them.

“Hey!” Someone shouted, and he had looked up, glaring. His makeshift spear was pointing at the shouter, a man dressed in shining metal atop a horse. “What are you doing in the middle of the street? Go back home!”

“No! I’m protecting the flowers!” He yelled back, growing at the man as he brushed some stray hairs out of his face. The man in metal looked at him, tilting his head in obvious confusion.

“You are…protecting flowers?”

Technoblade nodded, curious as to why this man couldn’t use his eyes. Wondering if perhaps the man did not have eyes, Technoblade walked closer to the horse, looking up into the man’s face and squinting.

“You can see, can you not?” He asked, and the metal man hesitated for a moment, then broke into laughter.

“Yes, lad, I can see.”

“Are you sure?”

The man nodded his head, gently hopping off his horse. He knelt down next to Technoblade, extending an arm for him to shake. Technoblade takes it, fingers unable to grasp around the man’s hand, but he shakes up and down anyway, as all the grown people do. It’s a bit awkward, and he doesn’t really understand the point of it, but he deals with it. Adult things are stupid anyway, but he’s going to have to get used to it, especially if he wants to protect the flowers.

“My name is Sir Alastair of Norchick, and I am a knight,” the metal man —Alastair— said, though Technoblade had no idea what a knight was. He told the man that, and he was answered calmly. “A knight is like a protector. Just as you protect your flowers from their foes, I protect you from yours. And I wear this suit of armor to stay protected.”

“But there are no bad guys here, sir knight,” Technoblade said, blunt in a way that most would find insulting, though Alastair did not.

“Ahh, but there are, young child. And even if there was not, I would still be here. You need protection, do you not?”

Technoblade had squinted up at the man, annoyed at the idea of needing protection. He was not a weakling, a baby. He had protected his pink flowers for four days already, a feat that he had believed to be amazing.

“Do not fret, child, I mean no harm. You are scrawny, a twig of a thing, but you have spirit, and for that I must respect you. I must be off now, I have tournaments in the morning. Will I see you there, or will you still protect your flowers?” The knight asked, and Technoblade shrugged, not knowing. He had heard of the tournament, something about swords and horses that he hadn’t comprehended.

The knight only smiled, ruffling Technoblade’s hair and getting on to his horse once more. He, and his horse, which Technoblade decided to name Marcus, galloped off, and the boy was left to his flowers once more.

-/-/-/-

The flowers had wilted while Technoblade slept. Their pink petals were scattered around the pavement, and the stems were trampled by inconsiderate travelers. Glaring at any and all bystanders, no heathens, who had allowed this to happen, he sat in the middle of the road by the broken flowers. He was barely able to hold back tears, his red eyes had already began filling with tears. Still, he sat, stabbing at bystanders who moved to step over his flowers, pushing them away.

He failed to protect them in life, so he would protect them in death.

Eventually, dawn turned to dusk, a chill settling over the area, and he was forced to leave his flowers behind. He hated doing it, hated the feeling that he was abandoning something important, but what’s dead is dead. He couldn’t stop that. But, if he continued to live, he could do better at protecting something else.

He wandered around the streets, moving past buildings that smelled of alcohol and drifting toward those that were well worn. He stopped at a shack that was well built, though still fracturing and definitely not structurally sound. Deciding to use his age as an advantage, he slipped in the building, following the sound of metal against metal.

Revertabrating tings filled the air, and everything felt right, even the man with the greenish hair.

“Hello there. Would you…would you like a job?” The man asked, and Technoblade nodded, and that was that.

-/-/-/-

Fast forward a few years, and Technoblade turns eight. He gets a bit of a growth spurt, shooting up so his eye level rests at the man’s — who he now knows as Sam — mid chest. His hair has grown out more, and he weaves it back and sticks a hat over it, unwilling to cut it.

Working with Sam is weird, but something he has grown accustomed to. He doesn’t do much other than the heavy lifting, but it’s enough for him to earn room and board, so he won’t contest it. Sam makes things, which Technoblade finds completely fascinating. The way one day, all there is is a block of metal, and the next there is a sword or a suit of armor.

And sometimes, sometimes Technoblade is allowed to help. Really help, not just bring Sam more metal or fix the fire or move something. He gets to grab a hammer and pound away, watch the metal form into a sheet and then into armor.

He loves it.

“Technoblade!” Sam tells from across the shop, and he quickly finishes lacing his shoes and runs over.

“Yes, Sam?” He asks, expression blank, but he has the feeling that Sam knows of the grin he is hiding.

“I’m not sure when your birthday is, or of the exact date, but I do know that it has been three years since you’ve been here. And, because of that wonderful anniversary, I have a gift for you,” Sam begins, stopping as he sees Technoblade’s tilted head. He laughs, saying, “yes, really, for you.”

Technoblade is presented with a necklace, a simple one. The cord is made of leather, the charm small. But he takes a close look at the charm, shoving it close to his face to see it better. It’s the normal metal that Sam uses to create things, but it’s inset with gold swirls and a small green gem.

When he puts it on, it settles perfectly over his heart.

Safe to say, he rarely takes it off.

A few days later, he’s wondering the streets again, looking for some gems to buy (steal with his excellent and mildly concerning skills) for Sam’s latest project. Someone, an absolute buffoon in his opinion, wants a sword inlaid with green gems. Technoblade likes swords. He also very much likes green gems. But together?

No.

The likelihood of losing the gems is astronomically high, not to mention the fact that it’s a sword. Meant for violence and blood (blood, the little voice in his head coos), not for looks. Though, the sword is likely for some rich and unintelligent aristocrat, like the king. Not that Technoblade actually knows who the king is, or if he’s unintelligent, but the stories Sam tells him of the other kings seem to say that.

Sam uses the phrase ‘alambaman ideals’ quite a bit, but Technoblade has decided it’s best to stop questioning that. For his own well being, of course.

The eight year old, after snatching bracelets off of considerably more than one person, decides to veer off into an alley for a quick nap. Maybe not the most intelligent idea, but the sheer amount of people had become annoying, and a quick nap should solve most of his anger.

The alleyway he chooses, one he’s very familiar with and has renamed it to ‘sleep street’ because alliteration is useful, is actually quiet for once. Usually there’s a person or two just sitting against the buildings, which is understandable but annoying, but today no one is. He smiles slightly, pulling a ragged blanket out of his bag and moving towards a small covered area farther in the alley.

A child looks at him.

(Technoblade definitely does not scream. He’s too dignified to scream.)

The child giggles.

The child, who Technoblade assumes is a boy, looks to be about two. He’s got bright blue eyes and a mop of curly good hair. As much as Technoblade thinks infants are annoying, he has to admit that this one is cute.

Technoblade can’t just leave a child somewhere, so he does what anyone would do. He takes the child with him. After his nap.

For now though, he settles the child in his lap, softly smiling as he clings onto his shirt, babbling happily. The child pokes at his face, but with a scolding expression from Technoblade, he stops.

“You seem like an…alright child. I’ll protect you, okay? Better than the things I’ve protected before,” Technoblade whispers into the child’s hair, holding him close. “Because guess what, you’re more important than a flower in the middle of the street.”

And if Technoblade doesn’t sleep like he was going to? Well, that’s for him to know.

—-/-/—/—-/—-/

Technoblade carries the younger child on his back, listening to his quiet babbling. Surprisingly, he doesn’t find the kid annoying. His voice, or really just noises, sooth the somewhat overwhelming voices in his head, the ones demanding blood and violence. He doesn’t understand why the voices have appeared, but Sam assured him not to worry. Apparently they could simply be a way of showing him towards his destiny, but he’s not sure if he wants a destiny of blood and destruction.

Maybe violence is in his name, but Technoblade does not want violence to be his fate.

“Child, do you have a name?” Technoblade asks, ducking into the blacksmith shop that Sam and him had moved into. The boy just babbles, so Technoblade decides he needs a name. Sam looks at the two of them, smiling.

“Adopting strays, are we?”

Technoblade just nods, not really needing to answer out loud.

“Are you going to name him, then?” Sam asks, looking at the child and gently tapping his nose, then ruffling Technoblade’s hair.

“Yes. I’m going to name him Theseus.”

And Theseus smiles.

Hours later, further on into the night when Sam is preparing for bed, Technoblade sets Theseus on the ground in front of him. Theseus stumbles around slightly, exploring the small, walled off area that they sleep in.

“Theseus?” Technoblade calls, watching as the toddler moves over to him. “I haven’t introduced myself quite yet. My name is Technoblade, and I’m eight. Sam is teaching me how to read, and how to be nice to people, but I don’t really like being nice to people. If they want respect, they should get good.”

“Techie!” Tommy giggles, running to Technoblade but tripping, getting back up quickly with tears in his eyes.

“Theseus! Are you okay?” Technoblade asks, scooping the child towards him. Theseus grins, bopping Technoblade’s nose with renewed enthusiasm.

“Techie!”

“Thats…that’s not my name. It’s close, but not—“

“Tech…Techno!”

“That’s closer! Can you say Technoblade?”

“‘a Blade!”

“I—can you combine those two words?” Technoblade asks, wanting Theseus to say his full name, rather than the (frankly adorable) shortened version. In all honesty, he could deal with the short version, but he has a reputation.

He can’t ruin that.

Not even for the adorable toddler he snatched off the streets.

“No!”

Technoblade starts to argue, but the look on Theseus’s face makes him think otherwise.

“Alright. What if…heh…what if you said your name? Can you do that, Theseus?”

“Tommy!”

“I—that’s not even close?”

“Tommy!”

“Heh?”

“Tommy!”

“Alright, Theseus, we can call you Tommy. Only sometimes though, okay?”

Theseus only grins in response, and Technoblade wonders if it was a bad idea to take a random child off the street. But then Theseus babbles happily, repeating a strange version of ‘pig’, and he reminds himself that he could never regret it.

“How about we get some sleep, child? Does that sound okay to you?” Technoblade asks, allowing Theseus to climb into his lap.

“Techno sleep?” Theseus asks. Then, with a dramatic huff, he flips onto Technoblade’s lap and falls asleep instantly. Technoblade just tilts his head, confused at the actions of this child, but he sleeps alongside him.

“Yeah, Theseus, Techno sleep.”

-/-/-/-/-/-

The knights are back in town for another competition, Technoblade notices. There are signs posted all over town, and thankfully he has learned to read because of same. For a twelve year old, he believes he’s incredibly intelligent, able to read English, and speak two languages. He’s also capable of blacksmithing, though he doesn’t really like it.

There’s nothing wrong with it, but sometimes the constant clanging of metal grates in his ears more than the voices ever could. The voices are constant, but he’s used to their background chatter, a stream of incoherent thoughts aside from the random chants of violence. The swords though? They’re random, loud, not anything he can ignore.

Theseus sits on his shoulders, kicking his legs like the bored child. His golden curls are shoved under a cap Technoblade had found (stolen), and his blue eyes shine brightly with excitement, as any six year old would.

“Techno! We gotta see the knights!” He screeches, and Technoblade winces, but continues walking forward, reprimanding him with a gentle pat on his leg. “Sorry, Tech, I’ll try and be quieter. It’s more stealthy, like a ninja! Ninjas are pog, right Tech?”

“Yes, Theseus, ninjas are pog,” Technoblade agrees, no longer bothering to try and understand the meaning behind Theseus’ words.

“Tommy, not Ta-he-see-us!!”

“Sure, Theseus,” Technoblade replies, laughing slightly as Theseus pouts. They walk as close as they can to the arena, Technoblade climbing onto a platform and sitting down, his legs dangling down. Theseus watches the arena excitedly, kicking his legs.

“Techno they’re going to fight with swords! Swords! That’s so cool!” Tommy chirps, and Technoblade can hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah, they are.”

“You should do it! You could fight like them, you’d get to be super cool!”

“Well, I fight to protect you, Theseus. And I feel like that makes me cool, right?” Technoblade replies, softly smiling as Theseus nods aggressively.

“Uh huh! But you could be pog!”

“I’m not already?”

“Nope!”

Technoblade snorts slightly, otherwise ignoring Theseus’s response and the following chatter from the child. More people crowd around them, settling into places on the ground to watch. One lanky kid, in oddly nice clothes, climbs next to him, resting his feet atop a blonde man’s shoulders.

“I’m Wilbur!” He says, extending a hand over to Technoblade. He ignores it, not wanting to deal with more people than necessary. “That’s my dad, his name is Phil!”

Phil waves awkwardly at him, and Technoblade raises an unimpressed eyebrow. It’s obvious that neither of them are used to their surroundings, as they both look uncomfortable, though Phil looks more at ease.

Theseus does not hold the same distaste for humans as Technoblade does.

“I’m Tommy, and he’s Techno! He’s takin me to see the knights fight with swords!”

“Theseus!” Technoblade scolds, not happy with him screaming next to his ear, already getting a headache.

“Sorry Tech,” Theseus whispers, resting his head against Technoblade’s and allowing him to breathe.

“It’s okay, kiddo. Just…stay calm, okay?”

Theseus nods, then turns to Wilbur. “Techno gets grumpy sometimes, but it’s okay, I love him anyway. He’s my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother?”

“Shush, bitch.”

“Language, Theseus.”

Theseus huffs, but apologizes, then starts chattering with Wilbur. Phil looks at Technoblade, an adoring expression on his face.

Technoblade doesn’t know if that expression is for him, because he’s never really been the reason for adoration.

“Do you like knights, mate?” Phil asks, his voice oddly soothing. Technoblade nods, cautious. “I think you would make a good knight.”

Technoblade shrugs, but he has to hide a smile.

He thinks he’d make a good knight too.

Chapter Text

The knights are barely visible from where Technoblade is standing, but Theseus narrates the entire thing. Theseus isn’t really a good narrator, as he constantly gets off topic or starts babbling with Wilbur, but it’s helpful. And Technoblade can slightly see the knights, so it’s fine.

The clanging of metal against metal is enough to tell him who is winning, how it’s happening. He can tell, based on the sound of the hits and the bobbing of the knights’ heads, that the taller one, the one with more mass to him, is winning.

He knows the other one could win easily, a simple smack to the knee to take the knight out. The winning one isn’t holding himself properly, the pieces of his armour grating loudly against each other.

Theseus kicks his feet excitedly.

“Tech! Tech! They’re beating each other up!” He screeches, and Technoblade knows that he’s grinning. He can feel it in the way that Theseus squirms excitedly, the way that he laughs and chants pog. Theseus is easy to read, never afraid of showing his excitement or even being too loud. He’s got that stupid confidence that children tend to have, thinking they can do anything.

Of course, Technoblade is still young, but he’s not a child. He’s just not an adult. He’s twelve. That’s practically in the teens, and that means he’s old.

Sam is old too.

Sam is simply too cool to be old.

“Techno! Look! There’s blood!” Theseus shouts, pointing at the knights. Technoblade can just barely see it, but it’s not something Theseus needs to see.

Theseus does not need his life ruined by blood (Splatters on the street, surrounding the trampled flowers that he couldn’t save, because everyone knows he was not strong enough. On his face as he scavenged for food, stealing from shopkeepers. On a rag as Sam cleaned his face after a fight with some random person, a disappointed expression on the older man’s face.).

“Alright, down you go, Theseus,” Technoblade says, lifting him off his shoulders and setting him on the ground.

“But Tech-“

“No,” he says, voice turning strict. Theseus pouts, but nods, knowing to follow Technoblade’s instructions.

There is cheering all around them, people getting excited over the blood, over the fights, the fury of one knight attacking the other. Technoblade adjusts Theseus’ hand in his own, then turns to Phil.

“Bye, Phil,” he says. He doesn’t know why he says it, but the man in the ugly hat was nice. And it’s nice to be nice to nice people. Karma.

“Bye mate! Stay safe!”

Theseus waves excitedly at Phil and Wilbur, screaming something about writing.

Theseus cannot write. Technoblade dreads the pain his hand will feel.

He sighs, leading Theseus away.

-/-/-

Sam is waiting for them. He’s sitting on the counter, hair messy and a sword strapped to his back. There is a bag by his side, and Technoblade tilts his head, confused.

“Sam?”

“Techno. Tommy.” Sam greets, smiling softly. “Can I talk to you, Technoblade?”

Technoblade nods. It’s scary, being talked to by himself. He feels like he’s going to get in trouble, even though he’s done nothing to warrant it. He sends Theseus off, and he bounds into a different room, gasping as he sees his toy pig.

Technoblade watches as Theseus hugs the stuffed pig, heart content.

“Techno,” Sam starts, and Technoblade redirects his focus onto him. “I need to go out of town. A short trip, nothing more than a week.”

“Why?” Technoblade asks, panic beginning to take over. What if it’s his fault? What if Sam needs a break from him, he’s been too annoying lately? What if the million things wrong with him are pushing Sam away, and this is just-

“A business deal. I didn’t want to take it, but there’s this whole business on it being the king, and I can’t really say no. I’m just making him and his son and wife matching bracelets.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to come with? I know you’re comfortable here, but if you’d rather come with, with Tommy of course, you can,” Sam says, voice light, not pushing for one decision or the other.

Technoblade does not want to be a bother. But he really wants to go with. He nods, cautious and hesitant as the voices in his head scream at him to stop being so weak.

Sam just grins, ruffles his hair, and tells him to pack up.

Technoblade definitely does not run off to pack. No, he walks. Elegantly. Because he isn’t excited that Sam is letting him come with, no, not at all. He’s just…interested in the business deal.

Yes.

(The voices yell at him for lying, but he simply ignores them, packing a bag for both Theseus and himself.)

-/-/-/-

“Techieeeeee,” Theseus whines, grumbling as Technoblade scoops him up off the chair he was sleeping in.

“No more nap, Theseus,” Technoblade says, a slight scolding tone to his voice. Theseus pouts, closing his eyes and resting his head against Technoblade’s shoulder.

“Not napping,” he mumbles, fists clinging to his shirt. Technoblade sighs.

“What are you doing, then?”

“Resting my eyes,” Theseus says, and Technoblade laughs.

“Will a story wake you up?”

“Story!”

Technoblade takes that as a yes, setting Theseus down as he packs some of their stuff into a bag.

“Do you want to hear about Medusa?” Technoblade asks, knowing Theseus will answer with a yes, simply because it’s a story.

“Yes!” He screams, and Technoblade scowls for a second at the sudden sound. He huffs, patting Theseus on the head affectionately.

“Alright, sit still,” Technoblade says, picking Theseus up and moving him completely out of the way, giving him his small pig toy. Theseus squeals, hugging the toy, then looks at Technoblade expectantly.

“One day, a long time ago —“

“How long ago?” Tommy asks, interrupting Technoblade.

“A very long time ago. As I was saying-“

“Like dinosaurs????”

“I-sure. Like when the dinosaurs existed. Not technically though, because this is a myth and not—whatever. Anyway. Phorcys and Ceto, who had already had monstrous children, had three more, all gorgons.”

“What are gorgons?” Tommy asks, moving closer to Technoblade. Technoblade picks him up, setting him back in his spot and telling him to stay.

“Creatures. They’ve got wings, fangs, metal hands, and snakes for hair—“

“Is that what happens when I don’t brush my hair? I get snakes?? I’m gonna brush my hair all the time, I don’t want snakes—“

“This is a story, Theseus. You won’t get snakes in your hair.”

“Oh. That’s good. I don’t like snakes, Techie.”

“Anyway, two of the sisters, Stheno and Euryale, were immortal, which meant they couldn’t die. The third, Medusa, was mortal, so she could die. She was also very very pretty. She caught the eye of Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. Poseidon took her into Athena’s-“

“The smart one!”

“Yes, Theseus, the goddess of wisdom,” Technoblade says, voice gentle and proud of Theseus remembering. “He took her into Athena’s temple. Well, found her, she was an attendant. But Poseidon really liked her—“

“Did they become friends? Like me and Tubbo?”

“Tubbo?”

“Uh huh! I love Tubbo! He’s married!”

“…how old is Tubbo?”

“Six!”

“Okay. They didn’t become friends. Poseidon raped her,” Technoblade says, before realizing that that probably isn’t the ideal thing to tell a six year old.

“What’s that mean?”

“He hurt her. Really really badly.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Theseus says, pouting. He hugs his pig tightly.

“Athena saw what happened, but she couldn’t punish Poseidon for it, because he was too powerful, so she punished Medusa by making her have snakes in her hair, instead of being beautiful. She was also cursed, and any person that looked into her eyes was turned to stone.”

“Like fossils!” Tommy chirps, excitedly wriggling.

“Yes, Theseus, like fossils. After that, there was a king. King Polydectes of Seriphos. He wanted to kill a man called Perseus so he could…be friends with his mother. So he sent him on a quest to decapitate—take the head off—a gorgon, specifically Medusa. The king thought he would die, but he didn’t. And Medusa was killed.

“But Medusa shows us that there is good from death, sometimes. She, when she died, gave birth to Pegasus—“

“The horse!” Theseus explains, jumping into Technoblade and acting like he’s flying. Technoblade sighs, allowing Theseus to cling to him.

“Mhm. And Chrysaor, who became a king. After that, Medusa’s head killed a lot of people, despite Medusa not actually killing that many,” Technoblade says, ending the story. Theseus looks confused, and Technoblade sets him down once more.

“But does Medusa come back? That’s not the end,” he questions, voice pitched in a whine.

“It is the end, Theseus.”

“Oh.”

Technoblade regrets his decisions. He should’ve picked a different story, one that didn’t just end in death, but he supposes that mortality and evils if the world are good things to be exposed to. Maybe just not to a six year old.

Theseus mumbles, crawling back into Technoblade and clinging, and he leaves him there, smiling to himself.

Maybe not every ending has to be bad.