Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Is he in pain?”

Phil doesn’t glance up at the sound of his youngest son’s voice. “Probably not.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s quiet for a minute. “That’s good.”

Phil hums noncommittally, tracing the delicate veins and tendons in Techno’s hand. His oldest son doesn’t move, he hasn’t in…

Three days, Phil thinks?

Between potions and his body’s natural healing abilities, all of Techno’s injuries have healed. But he still hasn’t woken up.

They don’t have a doctor on this server, at least not one Phil can trust. Which is why he’d brought Techno back to his cabin, where it’s safe.

Finding Tommy there had been… unexpected, to say the least. His youngest child is thin and scarred and flinches at sudden movements. At first Phil had thought he was in for a screaming match, but then Tommy’s gaze had fallen on the limp figure in Phil’s arms, and any trace of resentment between them was forgotten in the face of Techno’s injuries.

It’s been a few days now, and Techno isn’t waking up.

Phil can’t shake the image of that anvil falling, crushing his son’s skull; the gold-and-green magic of the totem putting him back together.

He doesn’t know how Techno got Carl back but the next thing Phil remembers clearly is seeing his son riding away, red cape flowing in the breeze. And Phil had been laughing, whooping, but then-

Then, the arrows.

Three of them, hitting Techno’s back in quick succession with distant, sickening wet thunks.

Phil’s cry of joy had turned to a scream of rage. He’d snapped the ankle monitor and spread aching, damaged wings, gliding over the fight still going on in the town square to get to Techno. Just in time to stop him from sliding off his horse.

One of the arrows had been embedded dangerously close to Techno’s spine; one had nearly pierced his lung. All three had been tipped with poison.

The wounds are healed now, but Phil has no idea if there’s permanent damage to Techno’s spine. Or, worse, his brain.

“When will he wake up?” Tommy whispers.

Phil closes his eyes for a second against the grief surging through his body. Places his palm on Techno’s forehead, feeling the unnatural Nether heat radiating from him and taking it as a bare comfort.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not just a question of when Techno will wake up, it’s a matter of if. If he’ll regain consciousness, or just lay here as his body wastes away.

Technoblade never dies, Phil thinks, but it’s not reassuring. Not when it’s not Techno saying it, gruff and joyous or soft and reassuring.

“We- we just have to wait.” Phil brushes back silky pink hair, trying not to wince when he makes contact with the twisted scars on his son’s scalp.

Totems will bring you back from death, heal the injuries, but they can’t stop the scarring. Or the pain.

Maybe, Phil muses, it’s a mercy that Techno’s unconscious right now. He imagines he’d be having some pretty intense migraines if not.

Days upon days pass in this excruciating sameness, and Techno remains comatose.

Phil didn’t want to admit that’s what this is, but he’s been forced to come to that conclusion. Techno hibernates regularly but this is not that. Even in his deepest sleep, he still responds to physical contact, often latching onto anyone who gets too close and refusing to let go. And now-

Now, he is still. Silent.

Oh, there are moments. Techno’s fingers twitching in his hand, or his eyes opening for a second, or, once, turning his head away as Phil gently dabs healing potion on a bad bruise on his temple.

Tommy’s there the second time Techno’s eyes open. He gasps, scrambling closer to grab Techno’s hand. “Phil- Phil, he’s waking up-”

Phil just sighs, watching Techno’s unseeing eyes slip closed again. “It’s a reflex,” he says, too tired to keep his voice gentle. “He’s not really there, Toms.”

“But he- but he opened his eyes-”

“I know. It happens.” Phil strokes Techno’s hair, more for his own comfort than his son’s. There’s no telling if Techno has any kind of awareness of his surroundings.

Phil talks to him, anyway.

Because if Techno can hear them, maybe Phil’s voice can offer him some kind of comfort. Help him find his way back to the waking world.

He rambles, mostly. Prays a lot.

It’s habit, after centuries of life, and even knowing there’s probably not much the Goddess of Death can do in this situation- well, She is the only one that matters to Phil.

It feels too much like praying over a corpse, something Phil has done more times than he wants to count. But Techno’s chest rises and falls under Phil’s clasped hands in even, shallow breaths; his heart beats steadily. He’s alive, he’s still alive.

There are other things to worry about, too…

Techno’s longest consistent sleep during hibernation was three and a half weeks, and he came out of it weak, mildly dehydrated. Phil doesn’t want to risk trying to feed him in this state, but he’s starting to worry he might have to.

He can only wait, and pray Techno wakes soon.

Phil has barely left Techno’s side for an instant, which means he’s there when his son takes a slightly deeper breath, eyelids flickering.

At first Phil thinks it’s just another unconscious movement. Techno’s eyes open, and Phil smooths his hair back gently. Watches his eyelids slip closed, and then-

Open again.

“Hey mate.” Phil keeps his voice quiet and gentle for Techno’s sake. “Can you hear me?”

Techno doesn’t answer, he probably can’t right now, but his gaze slips to Phil’s. His red eyes are clouded and groggy but he’s looking at Phil, he’s awake, and that’s- it’s good, it’s incredible.

Techno’s face contracts in confusion, and Phil leans over, gently tracing his hairline.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe, Tech, you’re in your home, and I’m here. Just rest, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Techno blinks a couple more times before his eyes close again and he’s back asleep. Phil leans over and kisses his forehead.

And then lingers there for a minute with his forehead resting against his son’s, trying not to break into tears.

Techno woke up. He’s gonna be okay.

A few days pass like this- Techno wakes occasionally, staying conscious a little longer and seeming a little more cognizant each time. In those moments of awareness, Phil manages to get him to swallow sips of water and thin broth, enough that he no longer worries about dehydration or starvation. Those brief moments are succeeded by longer minutes, during which Techno is confused and muddled.

The first period of actual lucidity comes nearly a week after he’d first opened his eyes.

“Ph’l?” The word is slow, slurred, but recognizable.

Phil twists to face him, abandoning the water he’d been reaching for when he saw Techno’s eyes start to open. “Hey, hey mate, I’m here.”

“Wh’re…” Techno’s face draws into a frown. “I… don’ know…”

“Easy.” Phil smooths his forehead, flattening the palm of his other hand over Techno’s chest to keep him from trying to sit up. Not that he’ll have the strength for that. “You’re safe, Techno, you’re at home.”

“Wh’… wha’ ‘ap’n’d?”

“You got shot,” Phil says gently. “After you got away from the execution, you were shot with poisoned arrows.”

Techno makes a disgusted sound.

“I got to you, brought you back to your cabin. You’ve been in a coma for just over two weeks.” Phil cups Techno’s jaw, rubbing his thumb gently over his son’s cheekbone. “Your injuries are healed, but it’ll take some time for you to fully recover. You just need to take it easy, okay?”

Techno’s face contracts in another frown, expression quickly fading into a muddled haze again. Phil keeps smoothing his hair, letting him ease back into the half-conscious state he’s been lingering in, on and off, for days now.

The next time Techno really wakes up, he’s awake for longer. He’s still confused about where he is and what’s going on, but at least he’s conscious and talking. Able to answer Phil’s questions, albeit slowly.

Tommy’s there the third time Techno comes back to lucidity.

“Wh’t’re you doin’ in m’ house, Tommy?” Techno slurs.

The teen scrambles across the room to take Techno’s hand. “You’re awake.”

“Y’re not s’posed t’ be here.”

“It’s a long story,” Phil says, before the two of them can start bickering. That’s the last thing Techno needs right now. “I bet you’re hungry, Tech.”

He pulls a face, tusks digging into his upper lip slightly. “No’ really.”

“Tough shit. Tommy, go get some of that oatmeal and a gapple, please.”

Tommy perks up. “Can I have one too?”

“No,” Techno says, before Phil can say yes. “Leave m’ gapples ‘lone.”

“Go ahead, Toms.” Phil waves him away towards the ladder.

“Phil…” Techno whines. “He’s g’nna eat all ‘f ‘em.”

“We can get more.” He leans over, pressing his forehead against Techno’s for a second. “Let him be, he needs the extra kick.”

Techno hums. Squeezes his hand, and it’s such a relief to feel an actual conscious grip, rather than just the absent twitching of fingers Phil’s become accustomed to.

“Here, let’s get some water in you.” Phil slips an arm behind Techno’s shoulders. “This might make you dizzy, try to breathe through it, okay?”

Techno hums again, nodding slightly. Phil guides him upright, quickly adjusting the pillows behind his back with one hand.

“Hnn- urgh.” Techno closes his eyes, throat convulsing.

“I know, mate.” Phil leans him back against the pile of pillows gently, smoothing his hair away from his face. “Breathe through it.”

He gives Techno a minute to get his breathing back under control before helping him drink. When Phil puts the bottle down, Techno just lays there for another minute, blinking at the wall.

“Got hurt, right?” he breathes at last. “I- I go’ hurt?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did, but you’re getting better.”

Techno’s breathing quickens. “’s tha’ why my legs feel weird?”

Phil’s heart clenches. Oh, goddess.

He forces himself to maintain a calm front. “Weird how, Tech?”

“All- tingly. ‘n’ weak.” He makes a face. “Can’ move ‘em.”

Phil inhales, exhales. Sensation is good, it’s- it’s something, at least.

“Dad?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, taking Techno’s shaking hands. Techno almost never calls him Dad. “Breathe, mate,” he says gently. “I can explain, but you need to breathe, okay?”

A nod, hands squeezing lightly, deliberately.

“You were shot in the back.” Phil explains quietly. If this were Wilbur or Tommy, if this were literally anyone else, he would try to soften it. But this is Techno- who was born in the harsh unforgiving Nether, who’s always been old for his age, who has been the Blood God’s vassel for most of his life.

Padding the truth will do him no good.

“One of the arrows hit your shoulder, it wasn’t serious, basically a flesh wound. One went between your ribs, nearly pierced your lung.” Phil pauses to take a breath, steady himself. “The third arrow hit your spine.”

Techno’s eyes go blank for a second. “…oh.”

“The damage might not be permanent.” Phil holds his hands tighter. “I don’t know if there’s a way to fix this, but I swear on my life, Technoblade, I’m gonna try.”

Techno exhales shakily, gaze fixed out the window over his bed. “’s not your fault,” he says at last. “An’ it… ‘splains a few things.”

“Yeah?”

He weakly tugs one hand free, gesturing at his head. “’s quiet.”

“…the voices are quiet?”

Techno hums. “’s weird,” he says after a second. “Th’re jus’- gone.”

Phil squeezes Techno’s hand. “Is that good?” he asks gently. He knows what his opinion is- that it’s a very good thing. If the voices are silent, it probably means the Blood God has given up its claim on Techno, which would mean no more of the inconvenient and occasionally debilitating effects of that claim.

“D’nno yet.” Techno makes a face. “Wh’re’s T’mmy with that gapple?”

Now that he mentions it, Tommy has been gone a while. “I’ll check on him,” Phil says. He squeezes Techno’s hand again. “Don’t you dare try to move, Technoblade, I’m not above tying you to the bed.”

“No’ like I c’n walk, anyway.” Techno clasps his hands in his lap.

Phil climbs down the ladder- oh, he dreads the day when they have to get Techno down here again, especially if he can’t walk. He finds a bowl overturned on the floor, Tommy cowering under the table, and instantly Phil is worried.

“Mate, what’s-”

Someone knocks on the door.

Tommy flinches violently, pressing his hands over his head. “He found me, he found me, he found me-”

Phil doesn’t waste a second in scooping Tommy up and dumping the kid into an empty barrel with a hastily breathed sorry. He spares a glance around- no signs of Tommy being here- and moves to open the door.

He’s met by vivid green cloth and white porcelain, a mask with a sickening smile painted on it. “Dream,” Phil says flatly. “Can I help you?”

Dream tilts his head. “Philza. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, here I am. What do you need.” Phil, personally, doesn’t have anything against the man, but the way Tommy had reacted to his presence-

Yeah, he’s getting a really bad feeling about the guy.

A feeling that’s confirmed when Dream shrugs and too-casually says, “Looking for Tommy. He’s left his exile.”

“He’s not here. If that’s all-”

Dream sticks his foot in the door, keeping Phil from closing it. “I’m afraid I have to insist on taking a look around,” he says smoothly.

“No.” Phil curls his lip, slightly baring his too-sharp avian teeth. “I’ve got shit to do. Leave.”

Dream lets his axe slip off his shoulder, the flat of it bumping his leg. “This is Technoblade’s place, isn’t it?”

Oh, they’re gonna have an even bigger problem if he tries to get to Techno. “Yeah, and?”

“Is he around? I haven’t heard from him since, you know.” He shrugs. “The execution.”

“Haven’t seen him.” Phil scowls. “Now, like I said, I have shit to do. Do you want to leave, or do you want me to make you?”

Dream raises one hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Just let me know if you see Tommy, will you?”

“Sure.” Phil slams the door and locks it.

He moves to the window to watch Dream go, waiting until he’s certain the man is gone to go and get Tommy out of the barrel.

His youngest is shaking hard, hands clasped over his mouth. Phil lifts him out carefully, sets him on the kitchen table.

“It’s okay. Tommy, you’re okay, Dream’s gone.” Phil cups Tommy’s face in both hands. “Look at me, mate, you’re okay-”

Tommy flinches violently, but looks up, meeting Phil’s gaze.

“Hey, there’s my boy.” Phil smooths his thumbs over Tommy’s cheekbones. “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

“He- he’s gone? He’s gone?”

“Yeah, Tommy, Dream’s gone.”

“I n-” Tommy gasps for breath for a few seconds. “I need a fuckin’ gapple.”

Phil tries to smile, but he’s sure it’s undercut by worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tommy plasters on a wobbly, insincere grin. “I mean, I’m really fucking claustrophobic, so don’t put me in another goddamn barrel. But yeah, I’m fine.”

Phil hums, unconvinced. “The only reason we’re not talking about this now is that Techno needs to eat,” he says, and gets another bowl out of the cabinet.

Tommy hops off the table and grabs a couple gapples out of another barrel. Phil cuts one up into Techno’s oatmeal and carries it up the ladder, hoping he’s still conscious and lucid.

He is. “What w’s all that?” Techno mumbles, trying to lift his head.

“A surprise visitor.” Phil drops into his chair with a sigh. “Here, I’ve got food for you, you think you can eat?”

Techno holds up shaking hands. “Pro’ly not.”

Phil hums. “Looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

Techno makes a face, but he doesn’t complain as Phil spoon-feeds him. Phil suspects he doesn’t have the energy to.

Two weeks pass, and Techno recovers slowly.

Tommy builds another room onto the ground floor of the house, and Phil checks the work to be sure it’s properly done. It is- Tommy’s a good builder when he tries- and they move Techno downstairs.

He’ll be warmer, with the back of the main room’s fireplace set in one wall; it’ll be easier for him to get around on his own, once he gains back the use of his legs.

If he does.

It’s still not a certain thing. He has sensation, he has some muscle control, but he hasn’t been able to stand without support. Without pain.

Phil knows that Techno’s getting upset by all this, even if his son doesn’t show it much. But he’s had two decades to learn to read the hybrid, to know the way his face lines and his hands twitch and his ears flick with barely contained frustration.

“You need to give your body time,” Phil says.

Techno’s jaw is set, he doesn’t look at Phil. “I’ve had time,” he grinds out.

“Mate, spinal injuries are tricky, you know that-”

“I know.”

Phil closes his eyes for a second, wishing there were some way to fix this. “I understand that you’re upset-”

“I’m not upset, I’m pissed.” Techno glares away. “I can’t do anything except sit around and- and stare at the wall. I can’t go to the damn bathroom by myself. I haven’t trained or done chores or-”

Phil has to close his eyes again. “I know you value your independence, but you can’t get through this alone. There’s nothing wrong with needing help right now.”

Techno scowls, hands closing convulsively in his lap. After a minute he glances back at Phil, meeting his gaze briefly. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Phil sighs. “I know this sucks, Tech, I’m sorry.”

“’s not your fault, I know you did everything you could.” Techno opens and closes his hands. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of hunting down the asshole who shot me.”

“I didn’t even see who. I’m sorry.”

“Nah.” Techno shrugs slightly. “I’ll live,” he mutters.

Steve pads through the door, and Techno pats the bed. The polar bear jumps up beside him, curling up with his head in Techno’s lap.

“And- look, I’m working on a better solution- how do crutches sound, mate?”

Techno makes a face. “I won’t be able to swing a sword if I’m on crutches. Or feed the hounds. Or-”

“You’d be able to get around under your own power.” Phil’s had a couple days to think about how to pitch this to Techno, how to try to bring him around to the idea. “You could still work in your farms and on your other projects, you could cook your own meals. With practice, you could do most of your own housework.”

“Hate how you’re presentin’ normal stuff I do every day as positives of putting me on crutches.”

“Techno.” Phil leans forward. “I know you. I know it’s killing you to be so dependent on me and Tommy, I know this is- so, so far from ideal, but it’s just the way it is right now.”

Techno glances away again, jaw set and fingers tangled in coarse white fur.

“Please just- just let us take care of you for a little while.” Phil leans over to stroke Steve’s fur, too. “Let yourself rest. That’s the best way to help your body heal.”

~~~

Techno has to grudgingly admit that the crutches are… useful.

He won’t say nice, because it’s still humiliating to have to hobble around and watch Phil and Tommy do all his chores. But he supposes it’s better to be able to move under his own power.

It doesn’t change the fact that this situation is, in a word, shit.

He can’t walk without support; he can’t take care of his own house or his animals, he can’t get up the ladders into his bedroom or down into the basement. Phil hasn’t let him go outside to take care of the turtles or the hounds or Carl.

The only thing worse than the helplessness is the pain.

“Breathe.” Phil braces Techno with an arm across his chest.

He grits his teeth and tries to push through the pain. “I need- up-”

He fell. He’s sitting crumpled in a heap on the floor, legs twisted under him and crutches out of reach, and Phil’s just sitting here. Doing nothing.

“I’ll get you up in a minute, just try to breathe for a bit.”

“Phil-”

It hurts. Techno doesn’t know how to explain the tingling pain in his legs and the sharp ache in his back, the way it makes his stomach churn and his head throb.

Phil sighs, calls Tommy over. The teen braces Techno’s shoulders while Phil carefully, gently straightens his legs.

“Better?”

It’s all he can do to keep his head upright against the pain crashing through him. Techno grunts.

A hand cups the back of his neck, pulling his head forward to rest against someone else’s- oh, he can’t see. Techno tries to hold back another pained groan, failing miserably.

“Breathe, Tech, just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Phil squeezes the back of his neck, the gesture urging Techno’s instincts to submit to the scruffing by his sounder leader. He slumps forward without being able to help it, going limp against Phil.

The pain doesn’t stop, but it gradually eases down to a more manageable level. Phil keeps gently massaging the back of Techno’s neck. At some point Tommy gets up and starts bumbling around in the kitchen.

Finally Techno tugs on Phil’s arm. “Let me up, at least on the couch.”

“Okay. Okay, just a minute-”

There’s a crash in the kitchen. “Phil,” Tommy says, high-pitched and choked. “Phil, Dre- he’s coming back-”

“Shit,” Phil hisses.

Techno doesn’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound good. He grabs Phil’s arm as the avian tries to move away.

“Get me up-”

“Just a second, mate,” Phil says.

“Philza Minecraft get me off the floor now or I swear to Prime-”

“Shit. Shit, fuck, shit-” Phil takes another step towards the kitchen, then veers back to Techno’s side, getting his hands under Techno’s arms and hauling him up. “Tommy, get into the basement,” Phil calls.

Techno ignores the pain and helps Phil the best he can. “He’ll be suspicious if he doesn’t see me,” he grits out between spasms. “Jus’- we can play this, hide the crutches-”

He bites back another pained sound as he drags his legs up onto the couch, reaching for a blanket. Phil grabs the crutches and passes them down to Tommy in the basement, glances out the window.

“Okay, okay-” Phil throws the blanket over Techno, squeezes his arm in passing.

Techno knows they’re on the same wavelength when Phil grabs some supplies out of a chest and throws them haphazardly on the enchanting table. Techno’s fallen asleep over projects before, it’s not out of the ordinary for him to be passed out on the couch after a long night enchanting gear. The new bedroom- he’s not sure how they’re gonna play that off, but he can pretend to stay asleep and let Phil deal with it.

Phil takes a few deep breaths, flattening his wings against his back. Techno throws one arm over his face to try to hide the involuntary grimaces from the fresh spasms of pain ricocheting through his body.

There’s a knock on the door.

Phil takes his time getting there. Techno lays still, breathing in a rhythm he hopes mimics sleep.

Cold air washes over his bare arm. “Dream,” Phil says flatly. “What do you want.”

“Philza.” A pause. “You still haven’t seen Tommy?”

“No.”

“If you know where he is you need to tell me. He’s supposed to stay in his exile-”

“I haven’t seen him.” Phil sounds flat, disinterested; Techno knows him well enough to hear the edge of tension. “If that’s all-”

A longer pause. “I see you’ve done some renovations.”

“I’m staying with Techno for a while, since the alternative is house arrest in L’manberg.”

Dream chuckles, a harsh unpleasant sound. “Can’t imagine why you’d prefer this.” Techno hears him shuffling in the snow on the porch. “I see Technoblade is back.”

“I’m not waking him,” Phil says flatly. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“Nah, I’ll come back sometime.”

“I’ll let him know you were looking for him. He’ll be in touch.”

Techno probably won’t be, but whatever gets the homeless guy off his porch.

Dream hums, sounding dissatisfied. “Sure I can’t just come in and wait?”

“Technoblade will be in touch,” Phil repeats. “If he wants to talk to you. Now leave.”

A scoff. “Sure, sure, I can see where I’m not welcome.”

Can you? Techno wonders.

“Anyway, don’t forget, if you see Tommy-”

“Yeah, yeah. Go.”

More shuffling. The door closes.

Techno stays still for several more minutes, listening to Phil moving around the room. Finally, finally he speaks.

“All clear.” Relief bleeds through Phil’s voice.

Techno sits up, bracing himself on the back of the couch as he swings his feet back to the floor. Phil goes to the trapdoor, kneeling and calling down to Tommy.

“You can come up, mate, it’s safe.”

Tommy passes Techno’s crutches up first before climbing up himself, he looks shaky as he stumbles across to sit down on the couch beside Techno.

“What’s all that about him looking for Tommy?” Techno wraps his arm protectively around his younger brother’s shoulders, directing the question at Phil.

He doesn’t miss the way Tommy stiffens, whining softly. Techno glances down at him.

“Thes?”

Tommy shakes his head, trying to pull away. “I d- don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Mate.” Phil crosses the room to squat in front of them. “You really need to.”

He shakes his head harder. “No- no, he’d- he’ll kill me if I-”

“We’ll protect you.” Techno ignores that realistically, there’s not much he can do.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is deathly quiet. “Tommy, did Dream hurt you?”

He curls in on himself with a whimper. “I d- I don’t-”

Techno lifts one pale, bone-thin arm, examining spotty scars that look like burns from explosions. Tilts Tommy’s face towards him and the kid doesn’t protest, just closes his eyes as Techno searches his face for signs of past injury.

“Theseus,” Techno murmurs at last, part of him is ready to go and rage at Dream but his little brother seems so scared and he needs whatever gentleness Techno can muster right now. “Tell me what he did.”

Tommy’s breath hitches, hands curling into Techno’s shirt. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he whimpers.

“I know. I know, but you have to.”

Tommy whines, pressing his face against Techno’s shoulder. Flails with one hand for Phil. “He w’s trying to make me better,” he breathes. “To- to teach me to behave.”

“…what?” Phil glances up at Techno, looking horrified. “Tommy, mate-”

“He- he kept taking my stuff ‘n’ blowing it up.” Tommy’s breath comes in quick pants. “I left because- because he found my last stash ‘n’- I was gonna-” He sobs, turning into Techno more. “I j- jumped ‘ff a tower ‘n’ this was the only place I could think of to hide-”

“Okay. Okay, shh, you’re safe.” Phil’s seemingly shaken himself out of his stupor. “You’re okay Tommy, Dream isn’t gonna get to you again.”

“I want that bastard dead,” Techno hisses, late that night after Tommy’s fallen asleep.

Phil’s expression is strained. “I know,” he says.

Never has he more hated the weakness in his bones. “He- Phil, Tommy tried to kill himself because of what that-”

“I know.” Phil exhales harshly. “Tech, there’s- there isn’t anything we can do right now.”

“You could go-”

“I can’t leave you alone. I know- look, Tech, I know you hate this, but you cannot be alone here.”

“I’d survive without you for one day-”

“You’d be alone, unable to protect yourself and Tommy if someone attacked. If you fell, you’d be stuck until I got back.” Phil sighs. “I know Dream needs to be… dealt with. But not- not now.”

Techno grits his teeth, glaring away, the grind of his tusks against his lip grounding. “I know,” he gets out.

“When- when things are better,” Phil says. “When you’re more stable.”

He hates it and he understands it at the same time. He could- he could get through one day without Phil. Maybe. But it would be hard.

But Techno doesn’t want to deal with that reality, so he turns his head to face the wall and ignores Phil till the avian walks away.

Chapter Text

Last Techno knew, Wilbur was dead.

Which is why it’s such a shock to see his brother sitting at the kitchen table- bleeding, breathing, and alive.

Techno freezes in place just inside his bedroom door, leaning heavily on his crutches. That- that is undoubtedly Wilbur, sitting at the kitchen table, wearing Techno’s clothes, the shirt only half-on as Phil cleans a wound on his upper arm.

Techno’s not an overly emotional man, but tears burn his eyes as he stares at his brother. His little brother, who he last saw drifting around as a too-cheerful, too-cold ghost drenched in blue. The brother who was once a tiny baby Techno carried with him everywhere-

Phil glances up, offering a thin, shaky smile. “Hey mate, good to see we didn’t wake you.”

Wilbur’s eyes are red-rimmed, and his hair is dripping onto the towel thrown over his shoulders, like he’s just gotten out of the bath. He waves, half-hearted, with his good hand. “Hi.”

“Uh.” Truly eloquent. Techno hobbles further into the room. “You’re alive.”

“Yep,” Wilbur rasps.

“How?”

Wilbur coughs weakly into his elbow. “Dream,” he says after a minute. “He revived me.”

Techno tenses, exchanging a look with Phil. The avian shakes his head minutely- so they’re not talking about it right now, great. Techno sits down, trying to bite back a grimace at the stiffness and ache in his back that’s always worse in the morning. He leans his crutches against the table.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” Wilbur says quietly, gaze fixed on Phil’s hands, still working on his arm. “I didn’t- I couldn’t think where else to go.”

Techno was twelve (young by human standards, nearly adult for piglins) when Wilbur was born. When Phil brought home that tiny squalling baby and said he’s your little brother. They grew up together, and even if they weren’t close near the end of Wilbur’s life, they’re still brothers now.

“It’s okay.” Techno itches to reach across the table and touch Wilbur’s arm, and he indulges, if only to see the way his hand lands on him, rather than passing right through like with Ghostbur. “It’s- you always have a place here, Wilbur.”

A soft, half nervous smile is his answer. “Where’s- is Tommy around?”

Techno and Phil exchange another glance.

If Dream brought Wilbur back, then it’s not unreasonable to assume the man is trying to use him to get information about Tommy. But they’re going to be staying in the same house, so…

“Yeah,” Phil says after a minute. “He’s here.”

Wilbur’s expression is a strange mix of hope and desperation and pain. He looks away, sniffling, as Phil finishes bandaging his arm.

“Sorry,” Wilbur breathes after a minute. “Sorry, it- it’s just been so long.”

His skin is cool under Techno’s hand. His pulse beats, fragile but steady, and he takes rasping breaths.

Wilbur’s alive.

“You look like crap,” Techno says, because it’s better than crying. Which he feels like he’s about to do.

His brother (his brother is alive, is breathing) scoffs. “It’s nice to see you too, Technoblade.”

“And you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Well, mine were all bloody, so-”

Techno thinks he hides his flinch at the word blood. It’s still strange to hear that word and not have it echoed by a chorus of voices; he still doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that the Blood God gave up on him.

From Phil’s worried glance, he didn’t succeed at concealing his reaction. Techno hurries to change the subject.

“Got any plans? Now that you’re- you know.”

Wilbur shrugs, hissing as Phil guides his injured arm into the sleeve of the shirt. “Not really. Just- yeah. I dunno.”

Tommy barrels into the room with a screech and Techno relaxes, the weight of having to carry a conversation off his shoulders.

Wilbur doesn’t say anything about the crutches. Techno would appreciate the gesture, but Wilbur probably just thinks Techno sprained his ankle or something (which is bullcrap; if he had, he’d at worst be using one of Phil’s canes).

In fact, nobody brings it up to Wilbur at all.

And Techno’s- he’s not trying to hide anything, but it’s… well, it’s nice, to have one person who doesn’t look at him with the knowledge of what he’s lost.

Wilbur’s been there three days when it happens.

Techno moves to get up and go into the kitchen, and things have been- they’ve felt normal, like the old days when they were younger, so he forgets. He doesn’t grab his crutches, he doesn’t go for support, he tries to just get up off the couch.

He gets his feet under him and collapses, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor, a strangled cry of pain wrenched from his throat.

“-chno? Techno!” Wilbur’s hands hover over his shoulders.

Oh prime his back hurts. Techno squeezes his eyes shut, tries to breathe through the pain. A stifled whine slips out in spite of his best efforts to remain silent.

Then Phil’s there, feathers brushing Techno’s shoulders as familiarly calloused hands cup his face. “Breathe, mate, breathe, you’re okay. You’re okay, I have you.”

He gasps for air, he would’ve thought it would get easier but it never does, no matter how often it happens. The pain is still just as bad, the humiliation of being stuck on the floor until Phil comes to help never changes.

And now he’s sitting here and Wilbur’s watching. Wilbur’s going to know.

“Fuck, what happened?” Wilbur frets. “Are you okay? Techno?”

He grips Phil’s arm for support, trying not to whimper at the cramping, tingling sensation in his legs, the stabbing pain in his spine. “Forgot,” he gets out, strained.

Phil huffs a wry laugh, wrapping his arms around Techno’s shoulders, rubbing his back gently. “I know.”

“Not gonna give me some crap about it being nearly a month already-”

“Nah, mate.” Phil squeezes his neck lightly. “It’s a big change.”

“What happened?” Wilbur repeats, scooting closer. He sounds desperate. “You- you’re not supposed to be like this.”

Phil’s guiding his legs out straight in front of him, and Techno has to grit his teeth against the pain. A spasm goes through his back and he throws his head back against the couch, grinding his tusks against his upper lip with another stifled whine.

“Techno, Techno, talk to me, please-” Wilbur grabs his hand. The seemingly everpresent chill of his skin is a sharp contrast to the heat of Techno’s Nether heritage.

“I know it hurts,” Phil murmurs, “it’ll be over in a minute, breathe, Tech.”

Tommy must’ve overheard, because the next thing Techno is able to really register past the pain is that his youngest brother is here, too. Holding the little glass jar half-full of the regen and slowness salve Phil cobbled together to try to treat Techno’s pain.

“You gotta stop fuckin’ falling, big man.” Tommy’s words are joking, but his tone tells Techno he’s stressed, too. “Phil’s gonna strap you into a wheelchair if you’re not careful.”

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on!”

Techno can’t open his mouth to speak, or he’s not going to be able to stifle a sob.

“Techno was shot,” Phil says. “An arrow hit his spine, there was some- damage.”

It’s a very polite way of saying he’s crippled. Techno chokes on a cry as Phil massages cramped muscles. Wilbur squeezes his hand, with a soft pained sound of his own; Tommy leans his head on Techno’s shoulder.

It’s bad this time, and Techno fails to hold back tears as Phil keeps rubbing his legs and the pain keeps getting worse.

“Oh, mate-” Phil sounds apologetic, but he doesn’t stop. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry-”

It does, it hurts so bad. It’s all Techno can do to breathe.

After an eternity, Phil says something to Tommy, and the teen moves away. Phil pauses, but the pain doesn’t really ease.

Finally Phil’s voice filters through the haze.

“-ow you hate slowness potions, mate, but it’ll stop the pain.”

Techno doesn’t have the strength to refuse. He thinks he’d drink poison if it would just make it stop.

Slowness tastes like sugar and rotting things. What little energy Techno had left is sapped away as the potion takes effect, weighing his limbs down and making him tremble with sudden overpowering fatigue.

It also brings the pain to an abrupt end.

It’ll only last for so long- maybe the night, if he’s lucky. Techno can barely keep his eyes open, though, so he doubts he’ll really get to savor it.

A hand cups his face, and Techno turns feebly into the warmth. “There you go,” Phil murmurs. “Easy, easy, I bet that feels better, huh?”

He hums, vague and thin in the back of his throat. Phil brushes his hair back with a croon, a purely avian sound that has Techno trying to tilt closer. Phil chuckles softly.

“Go to sleep, mate.” Phil shifts, curling one hand around the back of Techno’s neck. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

He doesn’t fall asleep immediately, but he drifts. Just barely above the surface of waking. Just enough to be aware when his brothers and father lift him, carrying him into his bedroom.

It’s warm, and quiet, and he’s safe.

Techno lets go.

He comes back to awareness slowly.

There’s a hand on his head, fingers running through his hair. A voice softly humming an old, vaguely familiar tune.

Techno yawns. It takes him a minute to work out that he’s lying on his stomach, to recognize the feeling of a heating pad resting on his lower back under the blankets.

The humming stops. “Hey,” the voice says quietly- Wilbur’s voice, Techno realizes. “You awake?”

Techno inhales deeply, sighs. “Mm.”

Wilbur starts combing through his hair again. “You scared me. Last night. When you-”

“Collapsed?” Techno’s voice is gravelly, throat drier than is comfortable. “Happens. I forget.”

“Forget- what?”

“That I can’t stand.”

Wilbur’s smooth, steady movements stutter. “Can- can I ask? Da- Phil wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

Techno doesn’t particularly want to talk about it, but Wilbur should know, if he’s going to live here. “What d’you wanna know?”

“How bad is it? Like, I know you’ve been walking on crutches-”

“I have some sensation. It’s… tingling, and kind of numb, usually. At best.”

“…at worst?” Wilbur sounds like he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Last night.”

“Oh.”

Techno closes his eyes for a minute, pressing deeper into the mass of blankets. He doesn’t say it’s fine because it isn’t. It really, really isn’t.

“I- ah, I have enough muscle control to walk, but not enough strength and too much pain to support my own weight. So, the crutches.” Techno huffs.

Another few minutes pass in silence. Techno wants to get up but he knows better than to try to roll over, he’ll just twist his back and mess it up worse. He’ll have to wait for Phil to come and help.

“Um- Phil said when you woke up to put some of this salve on your back. I don’t know if you want- I mean, I can get him to do it-”

Techno inhales slowly, turning his face a little more into the pillow. “You can do it, just- be careful. It’s- the pain can be bad in the mornings.”

“Oh.” Wilbur’s hand seizes in his hair for an instant. “Yeah- yeah, I’ve got you.”

Techno tucks one arm under his pillow, making a face as Wilbur peels back the layers of blankets, removes the heating pad. Not that it’s cold in his room, but he likes the weight and the extra warmth.

“The voices are gone too,” he adds, not sure why he bothers. It’s not like the information matters-

“What? Tech, that- that’s great.” Wilbur pauses. “Right?”

Techno gives a vague shrug. He’s not sure how he feels about it… because on the one hand, he didn’t ask to serve the Blood God, but also… it was his life. Was what he did.

After a minute, Wilbur hums. “Can I pull your shirt up?”

“Yeah.”

Cooler air touches his back, making the new scars ache. Wilbur pauses, silent.

“Wil?” Techno mutters after a minute.

“Sorry, I was- I was just expecting it to look- more, somehow.”

Techno huffs. “It was an arrow, Wil. One stupid poisoned arrow.”

Yeah, he’s had plenty of time to be upset about that. To try to come to terms with the fact that a single arrow altered the course of his life.

It is what it is, he supposes.

“Yeah. I know, I just- yeah.” Wilbur hesitates. “Can I touch?”

“Kind of necessary to, you know…”

“I know, but I had to ask.”

Wilbur’s gentle, careful. The regen doesn’t provide any actual healing- the damage is too bad for that- but it manages to ease the pain and stiffness, particularly in the mornings.

“So- Tommy wasn’t serious about.” Wilbur waves one hand. “The wheelchair thing, then?”

“Nah. I get around on crutches just fine.” Techno scoffs. “Except for the fact that Phil hasn’t let me leave the cabin, everything is just peachy.”

“Well, it’s snowy out, you could slip-”

“Not you, too.” He groans, burying his face in the pillow. “Phil’s been in bird mode for weeks, and Tommy’s- I mean, he’s Tommy, but he’s fussing over me too.”

“I can’t just ignore that you’re in pain. That you’re- that you’ve changed.”

“That I’m weaker.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Techno wants to enjoy bantering with Wilbur, he’s missed his brother, but he hates this. Hates the saccharine sweetness of his family’s worry, the exaggeratedly gentle way with which Phil and Tommy act around him. “I am, though. My body-”

“Isn’t everything,” Wilbur says. “You’re still one of the smartest strategists I know. I mean, I watched you trounce Phil at chess the other day, and you had to have been in pain-”

He was. He always is, now.

“-you have so much willpower- Techno, this doesn’t have to be the end of your life.” Wilbur shifts, leaning more of his weight on the bed.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” Techno says, but it sounds pathetic even to him.

“Cause I kind of think you think it is.”

He shoves himself up on his elbows, uncaring for once of how much it hurts. “I think,” Techno grits out, “that I will never swing a sword again. That I’ll be shackled to those crutches for the rest of my life, that I won’t be able to do any of the stuff I used to do. I can’t even get off the floor by myself, how the hell am I supposed to garden? Or take care of my animals when I can’t carry a feed bag?”

Wilbur stares back, brown eyes impassive behind his round glasses.

“So don’t- don’t fucking tell me it’s not the end of my life.” His arms are suddenly too weak to hold him, and Techno barely manages to lower himself gracefully rather than collapsing.

“I mean, it will be if you let it.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean-”

“You’re refusing to see that there might be more. There are still things you can do. Maybe you won’t fight again, but can you really say that that’s such a bad thing?”

“Yes-”

“You never liked fighting. When we were younger.”

Wilbur’s quiet, introspective tone knocks Techno back from his growing anger.

“When I was six or seven I told you I wanted to be just like you when I grew up. Remember?” Wilbur’s hand threads into his hair again. “And you told me-”

“Don’t,” Techno repeats, remembering word-for-word with perfect clarity. “It’s a shit way of living.”

“I remembered that day for a couple reasons. For one, it was the first time I’d ever heard a curse word.” Wilbur chuckles. Sobers quickly. “But also because you sat me down and told me how hard it was, fighting all the time. You showed me your scars, and told me how they hurt. And you told me about the voices.”

Techno still half-expects to hear them raise a chorus at being mentioned. Instead his head is quiet. So blessedly, confusingly quiet.

“You didn’t like fighting then. I don’t-” Wilbur sighs. “I guess I don’t understand why you want to keep doing it now. I don’t know what changed.”

It takes a few seconds for Techno to get the words unstuck. “I grew up,” he mutters. “Got used to it.”

(secretly, he knows that he never really stopped hating it. totems and potions and stitches and scars, swinging his sword till his hand went numb and all he could hear was the crescendo of voices screaming for blood.

it’s so quiet in his head now, and Techno, selfishly, doesn’t want that to end.)

Wilbur hums, parting Techno’s hair and starting to weave the long pink strands into a braid. “Guess you have to get un-used to it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Techno protests feebly.

“Bullshit.” Wilbur tugs too hard on his hair for an instant, easing up before it actually hurts. “I may have been in limbo for thirteen years-”

Wait, what?!

“-but I still know you, Technoblade. I know you didn’t like the whole-” Wilbur pauses, waving one hand in the air. “You know. ‘Blood for the Blood God’ thing as much as you pretended to.”

Techno physically recoils from the words, still expecting the voices to take up the chant in his head. They don’t, obviously, and it’s…

He turns his face into the pillow to smother a relieved sound.

“I just.” Wilbur lets Techno’s braid thump onto his back. “I remember Pogtopia. And that- that wasn’t my brother. That wasn’t my Techno.”

A nasty part of Techno wants to snap then you never knew me.

But the better part of him knows Wilbur’s right.

“And you weren’t yourself, either,” he retorts.

Wilbur stiffens, relaxes again. Sighs. “Yeah.”

“I was thinking I might go out today.”

Techno doesn’t envy the easy, casual way Wilbur says it. He doesn’t.

Phil hums lightly. “Any place in particular, mate?”

A shrug. “I was thinking L’manberg. I’m supposed to go talk to Dream.”

Tommy jerks convulsively, knocking Techno’s crutches over with a loud clatter. Phil shifts his chair around the table to wrap a wing around the teen.

“Tommy?” Wilbur looks confused.

He doesn’t know- of course he doesn’t, he’s been dead. Techno leans back in his chair and wishes with all his might that he were not here right now for what promises to be an emotionally charged conversation.

“You’re not talking to him, Wilbur,” Phil says, harsh and final.

“Why the fuck not?” Wilbur’s anger flashes bright and hot, like it used to (like Ghostbur’s never did, Wilbur is alive). “I’m an adult, Phil, you can’t tell me who I can or can’t talk to-”

“I can, and I am, and what I’m telling you is that you will not be leaving this house if it’s to talk to Dream.”

“That’s some bullshit,” Wilbur seethes.

Tommy flinches, he’s breathing fast and hard and if Techno could get up, he’d take the kid out of the room because this is the last thing he needs right now. But his crutches are on the floor, so he’s stuck in this chair while Wilbur and Phil argue.

(despite being father and son, despite the fact that Techno knows Phil and Wilbur love each other, they get along like oil and water, sometimes.)

“You’re not talking to him and that’s final,” Phil snaps.

Tommy’s staring blankly at the table, and Techno’s starting to really worry about the kid. Phil starts to stand, presumably to pull Tommy up with him, but Wilbur’s on his feet first, slamming his hands into the table.

“You don’t fucking own me, Philza, if I want to go talk to the man who saved my life-”

Techno can’t suppress a disgusted snort. Phil does worse.

“You mean the piece of shit who drove your brother to attempt suicide?” he hisses.

Tommy shudders harshly under Phil’s wing. Wilbur’s expression morphs from anger to outright horror.

Pins and needles travel up Techno’s leg as he hooks his ankle around his brother’s under the table, and Tommy flinches again but doesn’t pull away. He’s pale, to the point of looking almost bloodless.

“Tommy,” Wilbur breathes. “Oh, Tommy, oh no-”

Tommy flinches again, taking another harsh breath. Techno grits his teeth, glaring away as resolutely as he can muster.

“I didn’t know,” Wilbur breathes. “I- shit, Tommy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”

Tommy doesn’t answer; Techno wonders if he could, even if he tried. “Phil,” he says, “crutches.”

Phil startles. “Right, sorry mate-”

He leans over, gathering up Techno’s crutches and handing them back to him. Techno gets up, leans heavily on the crutches so he can reach out and squeeze Tommy’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Theseus,” he murmurs. “Let’s get outta here.”

Another harsh flinch, but Tommy gets up, walks ahead of Techno into the living room. When Techno nudges him with the tip of one crutch, into Techno’s bedroom.

He closes the door as Tommy sits down on the end of the bed. He’s still staring with that empty look in his eyes, the dull deadness Techno hates. Techno sits beside him, leaning his crutches into the corner, against the wall.

Phil and Wilbur are gong to talk, undoubtedly. While Techno deals with primal terror in the best way he knows how: emotional support polar bear.

“Steve, c’mere Steve.” Techno pats his thighs. The bear stretches in his corner, huffing and yawning, before padding over and climbing onto the bed to sit on Techno’s lap. “No, not me, ya goof,” he mutters, nudging Steve’s head in Tommy’s direction. “You’re smart, pick up on the kid, c’mon.”

A couple seconds later, Tommy flinches back as he gets a lapful of polar bear. “Wh-”

“Shh.” Techno grabs one of Tommy’s hands, placing it on Steve’s head. “Pet him. He helps.”

Tommy makes a confused sound, but he buries both hands in the thick, coarse fur. Techno rubs Steve’s flank, taking comfort in the steady presence beside him. Which was the point of getting the bear in the first place.

Techno’s not a hundred percent sure polar bear is what Phil had in mind when he said you should get an emotional support pet after they moved here, but respectfully to Phil, Technoblade is simply built different. And Steve’s been great, very- supportive. Emotionally. Very good for dealing with the voices.

“S- sorry,” Tommy whispers after a few minutes. “I didn’t mean- ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Techno wishes he could reach over and sling an arm over Tommy’s shoulders, the way he would’ve done to comfort him Before. Back when Tommy was a kid it would’ve been easy, natural.

But now, Tommy flinches from any kind of contact resembling restraint. From any contact at all, sometimes. Techno can’t say he understands, exactly, but… well, he tries to, anyway. Tommy deserves all the good and gentle things Techno can manage to give him.

In the light of yesterday morning’s conversation with Wilbur, that thought sparks something in Techno’s mind.

He’s not a warrior anymore. He can’t be one, because he can’t walk.

Maybe he can do this, be this, instead. Maybe he can try to give Tommy safety and quiet and healing.

…yeah, okay, that’s not Techno’s strong suit, but it’s worth a shot, right?

He starts by sitting in silence until Tommy breaks it, half hidden by Steve still slumped on top of him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What- no, Tommy, of course not.” Techno twists to face him. “Why do you ask?”

“I mean- you pulled me in here and I- I thought-”

“You seemed pretty upset, and I thought you could use some space. And.” Techno gestures. “Steve.”

Tommy huffs. “I don’t need your- fuckin’- emotional support shit-”

“The way you’re clingin’ to him suggests otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy says heatlessly.

Techno hesitates, considering his next words for a long couple of minutes. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Tommy scowls. “See, that makes me think you’re gonna make me.”

“I’m not. I won’t make you.” Techno pauses again. “I’m just- offering. To listen. If you want to talk.”

“Ugh, could you be any more awkward.”

Techno huffs, dropping his head back against the wall. “I’m tryin’ my best here, kid.”

Tommy bites his lip, ducking back into Steve’s side. He just stays there for a while, curled into the bear’s fur, face hidden.

“It hurt,” Tommy mutters at last. “D’n’ wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Wilbur’s yelling now. Techno can hear his shrill voice through the wall, and he tries to ignore it. Doesn’t fail to notice how Tommy flinches, twisting his hands in Steve’s fur.

This is another thing Techno’s noticed that is different about Tommy. He used to be so loud, so vibrant, and now he’s quiet. Now, he flinches from raised voices (even not in anger) and pulls away when they reach for him. Like he’s always on edge, afraid to be hurt.

“Remember how they always used to be like that?” Techno murmurs, hoping to distract him.

Tommy exhales, shuddering and almost a laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’d think Phil would get along with his blood son better.”

“Better ‘n’ you, you mean.”

Techno grimaces. “I was practically an adult by piglin standards when Wil was born. Phil didn’t treat me like it, of course, cause in his eyes-”

“We’re still kids to him.” Tommy huffs another quiet, wheezy chuckle.

Techno laughs, too, quietly for Tommy’s sake. “Yeah, I love the guy, but he can be a bit much, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe, a little.”

Oh, Techno’s gonna regret this. “You can-” He clears his throat. “You can come in here anytime you need some quiet.”

Tommy shrugs one shoulder, face still buried in Steve’s fur. “Sure, big man,” he mutters.

Chapter Text

“Where are you goin’, Wilbur?”

It’s early. Really early. Nobody else should be up yet. Techno only is because the pain got bad enough that he couldn’t lay there and take it anymore.

And yet Wilbur is standing by the door, frozen in the act of putting on his trench coat.

“None of your business,” Wilbur snaps.

“I will wake Phil, don’t try me.” Techno limps closer. “So, Wilbur, where are you going?”

“I said it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is if you’re sneakin’ out to talk to Dream like Phil told you not to.”

“I’m not gonna talk to him.” Wilbur grins, sharp and manic, like Pogtopia all over again and it makes Techno’s skin crawl. “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.”

That… is not what Techno expected to hear.

“Uh.” He blinks a few times, trying to clear his head. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

Wilbur shakes back his curls- the new shock of white is especially off-putting when combined with that biting smirk. “No, you heard me. I’m going to kill Dream, and for once I think this is a murder that won’t keep me up at night.”

Techno doesn’t know where to even begin to unpack that. “…Wilbur, he is quite literally the most powerful person on this server. He will see you coming.”

“He fucked with my little brother,” Wilbur snarls, and Techno actually leans back, because holy shit Wilbur suddenly looks utterly murderous. “I hope he does see me coming. So he has time to realize what I’m going to do to him.”

Perhaps a better person would try to stop him.

If Techno was able, he would help.

“If you die again, it’s gonna destroy Phil and Tommy,” he says, even knowing how little of a difference it’ll make.

Wilbur flicks his hand, showing off- in quick succession- several gleaming potion bottles, multiple totems, and- is that Techno’s fully enchanted netherite gear?

Whatever, it’s not like Techno’s ever gonna use it again, anyways.

“Fair point,” he concedes. He leans a little heavier on his crutches, stepping towards Wilbur again and holding out his arm. Wilbur takes it with a slightly quizzical look. “He has three lives left,” Techno says quietly. “If you can get him to set his spawn near you-”

“I’ll get them all.” Wilbur chuckles, low and menacing. “And don’t worry. I’ll have help.”

He doesn’t offer any more details, and Techno doesn’t ask, because he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. “I wish I were going with you.”

Wilbur’s expression softens. “Me too.” He shuffles closer, pressing their clasped arms between them. “Don’t let Tommy worry?”

“I’ll do my best,” Techno says dryly. “Go. Do a crime. And uh. Don’t mention- you know.” He indicates the crutches.

“People are gonna have questions. And you’ll have to tell them eventually.”

“L’manberg still wants me dead for ‘war crimes’. If they find out I’m-” Techno hesitates, because Phil doesn’t like him calling himself crippled and Techno thinks disabled is too simple a word for such a big change.

“Compromised,” Wilbur suggests.

“Sure.” Techno rolls his eyes. “That. Point is it’ll make them that much more set on capturing me again, ‘specially since I can’t fight back.”

“Or they’ll decide you’re not a threat and let you live in peace.”

Techno should be so lucky. “I’m serious, do not mention this.”

“Got it.” Wilbur claps him on the shoulder, lightly enough to not throw off Techno’s uncertain balance. “I am off to murder a man three times in quick succession, but gods forbid I impugn your honor.”

“Get out before I kill you,” Techno says, flat but teasing.

Phil climbs down the ladder just as Wilbur disappears past the treeline.

Techno turns away from the window, exhaling harshly as his back twists. “Mornin’.”

Phil’s expression pinches with concern. “You’re up early.”

He is getting used to the concept of not concealing things. “Hurts. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Tech-” Phil hurries closer. “Sit down, let me take a look-”

“S’not worse,” Techno says, because it isn’t. He does sit down, though, because that will be a lot easier than staying up. “The pain’s the same, I just- can’t handle it right now. And I don’t know why.”

Great, he sounds frustrated and pissed off. Which kind of lines up with what he’s feeling, emotionally.

Phil hums, wrapping his arms around Techno’s shoulders. He keeps the hold gentle, which is good, because Techno is exhausted and over-stimulated and he doesn’t think he could handle much more right this second.

“I’m sorry, mate.” Phil sighs. “I know it’s rough sometimes. I can get you some slowness if you want?”

He’s so tempted to say yes. To let the potion force him under, so he can’t feel or think or stay awake, to just sit in that unnatural but so damn restful haze for a while.

But no, Wilbur is doing something crazy right now, and Techno is the only person in this cabin who knows where he’s gone.

“I’ll survive.” He leans back against Phil. “Maybe later, if it gets worse?”

Phil hums, sounding displeased, but he doesn’t push it. “I’m gonna fry some potatoes for breakfast,” he says.

This is something Phil just does now. Announces what he’s doing, particularly if it’s something Techno can help him with without standing up or straining himself. And Techno is getting used to swallowing his pride and helping, if only to make himself feel useful.

So he accepts the cutting board and the knife and the half-full sack of potatoes, and cuts them into neat slices the way Phil likes. He only has to stop twice to put his head down on the table and grit his teeth to stay quiet during a spasm. Pretends to ignore the worried looks Phil keeps throwing his way.

An hour passes like this, quiet while Phil makes breakfast and Techno works at a block of wood with his carving knife. Tommy’s not up yet, but that’s usual.

Techno’s just waiting for Phil to inevitably notice that Wilbur’s not here.

Tommy gets up and eats, he seems mostly asleep still and immediately goes to pass out on the couch without hardly so much as washing his hands. Steve lumbers in to drop his head on the teen’s lap.

Techno starts working on his chess piece again while Phil does the dishes.

“Have you seen Wil this morning?”

There it is. “He went out.”

Instantly the relative peace turns to tangible tension. Phil stiffens, wings bristling. “He what?” he asks, level and icy.

“I did try to stop him.” Techno’s spent his entire life being Phil’s ‘golden child’ and he doesn’t intend to stop now. “He’s uh. Pretty set on it.”

“On what-”

Techno’s communicator pings in cadence with Phil’s. He glances at the message, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what it’s going to say.

-[Dream] was slain by [WilburSoot]

One down, two to go.

“What the fuck,” Phil hisses. “You knew about this? You knew and you let him go?”

“I’d be out there with him if I could and you know it.”

Phil glares, slightly baring too-sharp avian teeth in a threat display. Techno’s incredibly desensitized to these and just glares back.

“You told him about Tommy-” he starts.

“Oh,” Phil breathes, covering his mouth with one hand for a few seconds. “Oh.”

Techno does not feel vindicated. “He has backup, he said, and he stole my best gear and a bunch’a potions and totems. So with any luck-”

Phil sets his jaw, starts for the door. “I’m going to get him.”

Now normally, Techno would jump at the chance to get some time to himself. However. What he really wants is time alone, not ‘time spent babysitting an emotional, barely-not-suicidal-anymore teenager by myself’.

“Do not.” Techno reaches after Phil, snagging his sleeve, and the avian doesn’t pull away even though Techno knows he could. Probably doesn’t want to risk dragging Techno out of the chair or something. “I’m not babysittin’ the kid by myself, c’mon.”

Phil looks conflicted, wings rustling behind him. Wavers, glancing between the door and the living area.

The thing that snaps him out of it is when Tommy starts to flail around on the couch, whimpering weakly. Phil tugs away from Techno and hurries into the living room, wings unfurling to hide Tommy away as he kneels.

Great, not Techno’s problem anymore. He gets back to work carving, ignoring the prickle in his heart that says to go to his youngest brother.

A couple hours pass before anything else happens. Techno finishes one chess piece and starts in on a second, identical piece.

Honestly he’s only doing it to have something to do. Nobody else in this family plays chess. Well, Phil does, but he’s usually too busy.

His communicator pings.

-[Dream] was slain by [WilburSoot] using [The Axe of Peace]

Techno grunts, setting the communicator aside. Somehow he’s not surprised to learn Wilbur took that axe, and if he’s honest he’s glad he did. It’s poetic, somehow.

The third and final death message appears less than twenty minutes later, and oh, if it isn’t poetic. If this isn’t sweet, final justice.

-[Dream] hit the ground too hard trying to escape [WilburSoot]

Tommy apparently sees that one, because there’s a thud and a gasp in the living room. Phil’s outside right now, feeding the hounds, so Techno heaves a sigh and grabs his crutches. Hauls himself up and into the living room.

“What the fuck,” Tommy breathes. “What- what the actual fuck?”

He’s gripping his communicator, knuckles white. Techno lowers himself to the couch, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“What did he do, what- what did Wilbur do?” Tommy hisses, whipping around to glare at Techno.

He shrugs, impassive. “He took all of Dream’s lives.”

“What?” Tommy looks like he’s about to cry. “But Dream- he’s- he’s my friend-”

“No, Theseus, he wasn’t.” Techno knows Tommy knows that, too, but he forgets sometimes. Abuse and trauma are weird like that, he supposes. “He hurt you, a lot. He made you want to hurt yourself.” He made you try to kill yourself. “He wasn’t your friend.”

“But-” Tommy looks nauseous. “But he’s just. Gone.”

“Yeah, he is.” Techno would rather it hadn’t gone quite that far, but he can’t find it in himself to be upset about it. Maybe all those years spent serving the Blood God skewed his morals, just a bit. He leans over (clenches his jaw because gods above and below that hurts), stroking through messy, over-long golden curls. “And now he can’t hurt you anymore.”

For a minute, Tommy just blinks at him. Then blue eyes well up with tears and oh shit, Techno didn’t sign up for this today-

“Oh,” Tommy breathes. And he pulls himself up on the couch and presses his face against Techno’s shoulder.

Techno doesn’t even have to snap his fingers before Steve comes over, sitting on the floor and putting his head in Techno’s lap. Tommy reaches down with one hand, petting the coarse fur.

Good. Great. Techno’s doing a great job.

Wilbur doesn’t come home.

Techno tries not to worry. Wilbur’s a grown man, he can take care of himself, he’s fine.

But- and here’s the thing- Wilbur is prone to poor self-care. Even more so after whatever happened to him in limbo. And yeah they’d know if he died, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurt.

It’s been two days and Techno’s messages are still going ignored, and he can’t just sit here and take it anymore.

He knows Phil is just about gonna kill him for this, but Techno’s too stressed and worried to care.

Phil was right about the snow being slippery under his crutches. Techno manages to keep his balance for the first six steps, before he misjudges and plants the tip of one crutch on a hidden rock.

He doesn’t even register slipping, falling, hitting the snow.

The only thing Techno knows is that he screams as he feels something in his back twist and pop, the pain suddenly going from aching to sheer fucking agony.

“-chno, Techno, mate, breathe-”

Beyond the all-consuming earth shattering agony in his back, Techno is able to feel that something is wrong.

“Ca- can’t-” He bites back another scream as Phil lifts him slightly, just enough to rest Techno’s head on his thighs. When he can breathe again, still gasping and pained but enough to speak he gasps out, “Can’ feel my le’s-”

Phil goes utterly still, except his hand smoothing Techno’s hair back off his forehead. “You can’t feel your legs?”

He nods, his back arches from the pain and he grits his teeth to not scream again.

“What were you doing?” Phil frets, and Techno wants to cry because Phil isn’t scolding him even though he messed up-

“Wil- ‘s not answerin’ an’ ‘m wor-ried-” He can’t hold in a cry, he can’t think straight, it hurts, it hurts so much-

Distantly he hears Phil yelling for Tommy but it’s all Techno can do to hold on through the pain and the terrifying fact that he can’t feel his legs, oh prime-

“Techno, I have a slowness potion for you to take, can you do that?”

He sobs again, he wants it he needs it it can make the pain stop-

Cold glass touches his lips, and Techno gulps down the potion, trying to throw himself into the blissful oblivion it offers.

It doesn’t come, and he’s still stuck in excruciating consciousness when Tommy and Phil carry him back into the cabin. Phil realizes, at some point, because the next thing Techno knows for sure is that he’s lying in his bed and Phil is holding another bottle.

He doesn’t even know what he drinks, it doesn’t matter, he just wants the pain to stop.

“Hey, Techno, how’re you feeling?”

Oh, that’s Phil. Phil’s here, that’s good, that’s really… pog. Techno hums.

“No pain?” A hand touches his forehead, brushing back his hair, ooh that feels nice. He tries to tilt up into it. Phil sighs softly. “Yeah, you’re really out of it, huh mate?”

“PHIIIIIIL!”

Techno makes a face, he… he really wishes whoever that was would stop yelling, they’re loud.

“Wil’s back!”

“Oh thank prime.” Phil sighs, leaning over Techno for a second and pressing their foreheads together. Techno likes that, he wants Phil to stay but he can’t make his arms work to grab him. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Phil goes… somewhere. Techno wishes he would come back. He likes when Phil is there.

“Where the hell have you been?” Phil snaps.

Huh… he doesn’t sound happy.

“Healing,” another voice says shortly. Oh, that’s Wilbur. That’s good… right? Yeah, yeah, Techno is pretty sure that’s good.

“And you couldn’t take a goddamn second to, say, answer your fucking communicator?” Ooh does he sound pissed.

“Turned it off. Where’s Techno?”

Techno tries to say something, but it’s… slippery. Everything is… weird, right now. Far away and hard to hold on to.

“He’s in his room and I swear on Death Herself that if you disturb him I will put you back out in the snow and leave you there.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with Techno?” Footsteps come closer.

I’m fine, he tries to say, but it comes out as a string of garbled nonsense sounds.

“Shit, is he okay?”

Hm. Maybe he should… not be eavesdropping? But they’re talking about him so… so…

“He’s high as shit right now so like I said, leave him alone.”

“What? Why is he-”

“Because,” Phil hisses, “you didn’t answer his messages. He thought you were in trouble-”

“Why though? I know how to take care of myself.”

Techno giggles, high-pitched and half delirious. Wilbur is… is so bad at taking care of himself, it’s, like, a thing.

“Shh. Anyway he decided to ride out to find you-”

Wilbur snorts. “Like he could’ve gotten Carl into Pogtopia-”

“-slipped in the snow, like I fucking said he would, and now he can’t feel his legs.”

“Oh.” Wilbur’s voice gets all quiet all of a sudden. Techno likes his quiet voice usually but this sounds unhappy. “Shit.”

“Hence the copious amounts of painkillers and healing potions he has running through his system.”

Painkillers? But he feels okay, he feels…

Kind of tired actually. Hmm.

Maybe he should sleep? Yeah… yeah, that seems like- like a good thing to do.

~~~

Phil’s there when Techno comes out of the potions-induced haze.

“Hey, easy, don’t try to move,” he says before Techno can do more than blink. “Just breathe for a minute, mate.”

“’ad?” Techno croaks, and oh, it must be bad.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Phil leans over him, threading his fingers through Techno’s, resting their intertwined hands on his son’s chest. “I’m right here, Tech.”

Techno’s expression contorts, and he lets out a soft, barely audible whine.

“What’s wrong?” Phil prays, he prays that Techno’s back hasn’t been even more damaged. Please, my Lady, please-

“M’ back-” He gasps for breath, sounding akin to sobs. “It hurts so bad, pl’se- ‘ad, hur’s-”

“I know. I know, shh-” Phil leans over, reaching for a slowness potion. “Here, mate, can you drink? Can you do that for me?”

Techno sobs in earnest when Phil lifts him into a half-sitting position, sliding behind him to support his son’s weight. Phil gets him to drink the potion, and then it’s just a matter of waiting for it to take effect.

Which, thankfully, it does quickly. Much more so than yesterday when he fell, which is good. Techno slumps against him, letting his head loll back on Phil’s shoulder.

“Better?” Phil murmurs, stroking back his hair.

Techno sniffles, nodding slightly. “H’w bad?”

“I don’t know.” Phil keeps smoothing Techno’s hair. “Do you think you can try moving?”

His expression contorts, but he only strains for a second before cutting himself off with a cry. “Hurts,” he gasps.

“Okay.” Phil stares across at the wall. “We’ll try again once you’re feeling better, yeah?”

“C’n- I c’n still feel m’ feet,” Techno says after a second. “’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Techno, that’s a good sign.” He tries not to feel bitter about the fact that this is what they consider ‘good’ now; it’s reality, and there’s nothing Phil can do to change it, as terribly as he might want to. “You probably just pinched a nerve or something yesterday, that would be why you couldn’t feel anything for a bit.”

Techno exhales harshly, turning his face into the crook of Phil’s neck. “S’okay,” he mutters after a minute. “Y’ can say I told you so.”

“I’m not gonna do that, mate. I’m not mad at you. Yeah, you did something stupid, but you were trying to get to Wil. It’s not like you did it to spite me.”

And he won’t say it, because he knows it’ll upset his son, but Phil can’t be mad at Techno when he’s in so much pain, when he’s still struggling to come to terms with all of this. It would be unfair for Phil to expect him to be completely rational and normal about it.

Techno makes a sound between a sob and a whine, clinging to Phil’s shirt. “Still did it though. W’s r’lly stupid.”

“And selfless, and exactly what anyone in this family would’ve done for you.” Phil rests his head on Techno’s. “It’s okay, Techno. I’m not angry-”

“J’st disappointed?”

“Not even that. I’m worried, mate. I’m just- I’m really fuckin’ worried about you.”

Techno’s breath shudders. “Please don’ be.”

“I’m your dad. It’s kind of in my job description.” Phil hugs him a little tighter.

“You fucked up.”

Wilbur doesn’t even flinch. He’s just sitting at the table with his head in his hands. “I know,” he mutters.

“I get that you were upset on Tommy’s behalf, I get it, but what you did was reckless and just- really fucking stupid.”

Phil should probably not be angry at Wilbur, but he knows his sons. He knows that Techno did what he did not to be rebellious, not to be stupid, but because he thought his brother was in danger and he needed to help. Because that is who Technoblade is.

Wilbur has a tendency to be thoughtless and impulsive, seemingly unaware of the effect his often self-destructive actions have on the people around him. It’s something that became even more obvious to Phil in the aftermath of Wilbur’s death, of L’manberg’s decimation.

So yeah, he feels justified. Even if yelling at Wilbur isn’t going to change anything and isn’t going to be productive, and blaming him for Techno’s suffering is irrational. Because Phil can’t block out the sound of the sobs Techno is trying to muffle, can’t stop hearing his son’s pained cries as Phil helped him move and stretch his legs.

…on second thought, maybe that’s why Wilbur looks so upset.

“I know,” Wilbur mutters.

Phil sits down heavily, leaning on the table. “I don’t need to tell you why I’m angry with you.”

Wilbur shudders, dropping his head to rest on the table, clasping his hands over the back of his head. “I didn’t think he would- come after me.”

In his pause, the stillness is heavy, underscored by Techno’s quieting but still heart-wrenching crying in the bedroom.

“I didn’t think,” Wilbur says at last, voice heavy with guilt and self-reproach. “Phil I- I never fucking think about things before I do them and I make everything worse- I break everything I touch-”

Phil’s anger deflates a little, realizing how much Wilbur is blaming himself. How closely this is dipping into dangerous territory.

“Wil-”

“-and now Techno’s in there hurting because of me, because he tried to come and find me-” Wilbur shudders. “It’s my fault if he’s completely paralyzed now-”

“Wilbur.” Phil leans over, grabbing his son’s hands. “Look at me.”

He waits until Wilbur’s gaze fixes on him, a muscle jumping in his jaw betraying his son’s struggle to contain his emotion.

“First of all, Techno is gonna be okay. I think he pinched a nerve when he fell and that’s why he couldn’t feel anything.” Phil shifts, fingers subconsciously tracing the scars on Wilbur’s hands. “He’s in a lot of pain right now, and that’s horrible, but it’s also a good sign. And it’s going to pass.”

Wilbur flinches, looking away for a minute. Techno’s sobs have died away into heaving, shuddering breaths, occasional whimpers. Phil’s glad Tommy is down in the basement, taking a nap with one of the hounds for company. That he doesn’t have to witness both of his older brothers coming apart.

“I did that to him.” Wilbur tries to pull his hands away. “You can’t tell me it isn’t my fault.”

“It is, and it’s not.”

“Can’t be both ways,” he mutters.

“Neither of you can help being who you are. It’s in your nature to make reckless and impulsive decisions, just like it’s in Techno’s to ignore his own needs to help others.” Phil exhales slowly, squeezing Wilbur’s hands. “You didn’t make him come after you. Yes, you should’ve known he would, but I think you’re going to punish yourself enough for it without me getting any angrier.”

~~~

Wilbur’s avoiding him.

Techno’s in too much pain to be upset about that.

He chugs the half-strength slowness potion Phil offers, it doesn’t do much to combat the pain but it’s better than nothing. Then he braces for the ordeal of moving. Being moved.

“Easy,” Phil murmurs. “Up we go.”

Tommy’s apparently become even more determined to fuss over Techno, because he’s here too, sliding onto the bed to brace Techno from behind when Phil pulls him upright. Techno grits his teeth, squeezing Phil’s arms so hard he can practically hear bones creak. Just anchors himself through the pain as best as he can.

“Breathe, breathe.” Phil squeezes his arms gently. “We’re halfway there, just take a minute.”

Tommy rubs his upper back gently. He doesn’t say anything, but the steady contact is good enough.

“I’m ready,” Techno grits out after a minute.

“You’re sure?” Phil looks worried. “You can give it another minute if you need, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

…okay, so maybe he isn’t actually, but- “I just want to get it over with.”

Phil’s face creases, even more worried, but he nods slightly. “Okay, then, let’s do this.”

It hurts, it hurts so much he can’t breathe, but Techno keeps his jaw clenched tight while Phil and Tommy get him upright.

They take him to the bathroom first- Techno is long past embarrassment over that particular situation- and then into the living room to sit on the couch.

It takes a long time for the agony to dissipate enough for Techno to be aware of anything else.

When he is able to think again, he’s aware of Phil pulling him forward slightly. Just enough to slip a heating pad behind his back. He lingers there, kneeling, hands resting on Techno’s knees.

“Doing okay?” he asks after a minute.

Techno shrugs, it’s all he can manage right now.

Phil sighs. Not exasperated or upset, he just sounds… tired. He rubs Techno’s leg gently. “I know it’s hard, but we’re gonna get through this.”

Techno looks away, keeping his jaw set. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he can.

He’ll never say so to Phil, who’s doing so much to take care of him, but he doesn’t see a way through. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to become, now that he lives with this weakness in his bones.

Phil’s quiet for a while longer, finally moving to get up with another sigh. “Hungry?”

Techno thinks he would throw up if he tried to eat right now. He shakes his head.

“Okay,” Phil says softly. “I’ll be in the kitchen, call if you need anything.”

Techno leans his head back; Steve pads over, climbing up on the couch to lay across his lap. He tries to fall asleep again, because at least if he’s sleeping then he doesn’t have to be in pain.

He doesn’t manage it, but he… drifts. The heating pad is easing away the pain, and the house is quiet. He likes that. He’s always liked quiet, but it’s nicer now that it’s not solitude. Now that he can hear Phil moving around in the kitchen, and Tommy doing something in the attic.

…he can’t hear Wilbur anywhere, but Techno can’t do anything about it if he’s not still on the property, so he decides to ignore it.

Phil rouses him and forces him to eat, at some point. Tucks a heavy, warm blanket around his legs- something Phil’s been working on for a few days, thick wool with blaze rods sewn in- and stokes the fire.

Techno’s grateful for that. It gets chilly in here, too often, and he’s always been sensitive to the cold but even more so now. It makes his bones ache and his back cramp.

A knock jolts him back out of his doze.

Phil’s at the door by the time Techno manages to lift his head, fingers tangling in Steve’s thick fur. Phil twitches a curtain aside, makes a surprised sound. Opens the door slightly.

“Niki?”

Techno wants to feel some kind of way about a surprise visitor- upset, maybe- but he’s just. Exhausted. And in pain. And besides, he’d called Niki friend, once; he’d like to think that relationship still stands.

He lets his head fall back again.

“Sorry,” Niki says. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“What brings you here?” Phil asks.

“Ah- to make a long story short, I helped Wilbur take down Dream the other day. And Dream had this list of coordinates but nothing was labeled, so I’m checking to-”

“Make sure you’re not missing anything important.”

“Exactly.” There’s a pause. “So, is this your place?” Niki asks after a minute.

Techno lifts his head again in time to meet Phil’s apprehensive glance. To nod, gesturing to indicate Niki can come in and shivering when it dislodges the blanket, letting a wave of icy air hit him.

“It’s Techno’s,” Phil says, turning back to the door. “I’ve been living with him for a while. It’s freezing out there, wanna come in?”

“If it’s not an imposition?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Phil moves aside, shooting another apprehensive, half apologetic look at Techno.

Niki stamps snow off her boots, nudging them into the corner Phil indicates. She’s shrugging off her heavy jacket when she glances up, straight at Techno, and freezes. He lifts one hand in a halfhearted wave.

Niki looks utterly floored. After a minute she shakes off whatever shock she’s had- yeah, okay, Techno can probably guess what exactly that shock is, based on how shit he must look right now- she hangs up her coat and moves further into the room.

“Hi, Techno.” Niki hesitates. “You ah- you doing okay?”

He lets his head drop back again. “Nope.”

Even the one word is more effort than it’s really worth, and Techno’s glad that Phil steps in before he has to try to say something else.

“I’d appreciate if you kept our location private,” Phil says. “It’s been nice to have a place the rest of the server isn’t aware of.”

Except Dream, Techno thinks, trying to readjust the heated blanket. But then, the bastard’s dead, so it’s not like he’ll be an issue.

“Yeah, I- I can do that.” Niki glances over her shoulder at Techno. “Um. Do you happen to know where Tommy’s been staying?”

Techno looks past her at Phil, meeting his dad’s barely noticeable grimace.

“Any reason why you’re asking?” Phil turns away, starting tea.

Niki sits at the kitchen table. “I stopped by another location on the list on my way over. A beach.”

Techno doesn’t know why Phil suddenly looks tense.

“It was… covered in what looked like creeper holes. There was a tent. And…” Niki pauses, as though hesitant. “A tower,” she says at last. “Single block, straight up. No way down.”

Logsteadshire.

Tommy’s exile; his suicide attempt.

“I’ve seen towers like that before,” Niki says. “And we- we may not be on the best of terms, but I’m just- I’m worried about Tommy. I know he was exiled, was that…?”

Phil’s wings don’t relax. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Prime.” Niki covers her mouth with her hand. “Is- is he-”

“Tommy’s safe.” Phil turns back to the table, setting out two teacups. “Tech, you want anything?” he calls.

Techno shakes his head, the pain is still making him vaguely nauseous.

“Tubbo’s planning to lift Tommy’s exile,” Niki says. “If he wants to come back to L’manberg.”

Techno snorts. They’d have a hard job getting Tommy to leave now, he’s thoroughly entrenched himself in Techno’s house and clearly doesn’t plan on going anytime soon. Besides which, he’s helpful. Not that Techno will ever admit that.

“Don’t suppose you know where Wilbur is?” Niki asks after a minute of silence.

“In the basement. Self-flagellating.” Phil sighs harshly. “You can go talk to him if you want, but he’s pretty busy stewing in his own guilt.”

Guilt Techno fully intends to let his brother wallow in a while longer.

He doesn’t blame Wilbur for this- doesn’t blame anyone but himself, he made a bad decision and is paying for it. But Wilbur was stupid too, and deserves to live with that for a while. Maybe he’ll actually learn something this time.

Techno actually manages to doze off while Niki and Phil are talking.

When he comes back to awareness- feeling actually awake, finally- Phil’s sitting at the table, alone, and Niki’s coming down the attic ladder.

“Have a good chat?” Phil asks quietly.

Niki answers in a similarly subdued tone. “I wouldn’t say we’ve made up, but it’s… progress, anyway.”

Phil hums. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Techno tries to straighten, nudging Steve off the couch. He’s starting to feel too warm- though of course he’ll never admit as much to Phil, it’ll just make the avian fuss even more about temperature regulation and if Techno’s had enough water today, and all that. Completely forgetting that as a Nether hybrid, Techno doesn’t need to drink nearly as much water as a human.

He can’t suppress a soft grunt of pain as he moves. Niki glances over, tucking short pink hair back behind her ear.

“Hey,” Techno croaks. On second thought, yeah, he needs water. He grabs the glass Phil left on the end table, taking a sip.

“…hi.” Niki takes a step closer. “Can we talk?”

Techno shrugs one shoulder, gesturing to the empty space on the couch.

Phil gets fresh sheets out of the linen closet and goes into Techno’s room. He doesn’t really need the sheets changed, but he appreciates the relative privacy, anyway.

Niki sits down, tucking one foot under her. “Are you okay? Really?” she asks softly.

“Nope.” Techno pops the ‘p’. “Abridged version, someone shot me in the back riding away from the execution and now I can’t walk.”

“…oh.” Niki touches his arm lightly. “I… I don’t know what to say, Techno. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “I’m coping.”

It’s not a lie, exactly. If you don’t take into account that ‘coping’ mostly just means ‘trying to forget there’s a problem’, and Techno doesn’t, because he quite literally cannot forget at the moment due to the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Niki asks softly.

“All the time.”

“That’s horrible.”

Techno shrugs, fingers curling into the soft fabric of the heated blanket. “It is what it is.”

“It’s still awful,” Niki says. “Can I… is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ve got Phil and Tommy fussing over me every minute of every day. With all gratitude for offering, please don’t.”

“Okay.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Ah- am I right to think you want this kept quiet?”

“That’d be appreciated.” He shifts, grimacing. “Especially don’t let Quackity have any clue. After, you know, the Butcher Army debacle.”

Niki pulls a face. “Yeah, he’s still pretty upset about you getting away.” She’s quiet for a minute, staring at some point in the distance. “I pity the fool who tries coming after you now, given you’ve got Wilbur in your basement.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never seen him fight like that. The day he went after Dream.” She picks at the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know what happened to get him so angry, but… he looked like he used to in Pogtopia, sometimes. It was frightening.”

That almost makes Techno feel better about deciding to ignore Wilbur for a while. He hums, rubbing Steve’s head when the polar bear nudges into his hand.

Niki glances across the room at the window. “I should be going,” she says after a second. “I’ll see you around, I suppose?”

“Sure.” Techno shrugs.

Chapter Text

“I think it’s time to think about moving.”

Techno barely hears Phil, too preoccupied with the cramping in his back. It’s growing colder, as autumn turns to winter, and it’s made the everpresent ache flare up worse than usual.

“Techno.” Phil kneels beside his bed, worry in his eyes as he brushes Techno’s hair off his face. “Is it still bad?”

He whines softly in the back of his throat, too tired and in too much pain to be embarrassed by the vulnerable sound. Or by the tears building in his eyes.

“Oh, mate.” Phil leans closer, resting their foreheads together. “You want painkillers?”

It’s hard to move, which is why he’s been laying curled up on his side all morning. Techno manages to nod slightly.

“Okay.” Phil’s hand cups his face for a few seconds. “I’ll be right back.”

Phil leaves the room, and Techno squeezes his eyes shut and tries to parse out Phil’s first sentence.

Moving… he doesn’t want to. Techno built this place himself, with his own two hands, it’s his home…

He can’t deny how godawful the cold is, how much hell it wreaks on his battered body. How tiring it is to have to every second compensate for the snow and the cold that his Nether blood wasn’t made to handle.

As the cold and the pain have been getting worse, so has his exhaustion. Hibernation is creeping closer, and Techno doesn’t know how he’s going to live through that. Sure, just lying in bed and sleeping for a month sounds easy, but he always wakes up achy and needing to stretch and move, and now-

At some point during his miserable musing, Phil’s returned. His fingers are a little on the wrong side of cold, brushing back Techno’s hair again and lingering on the side of his face, but Techno presses into the contact anyway.

“Here we go,” Phil murmurs, and Techno opens his eyes to blink at the potion bottle with its grayish sheen, the straw poking out of it.

There was a time when this would’ve felt humiliating and borderline dehumanizing. That is not this time, however, and Techno gratefully downs the potion through the straw.

He knows immediately by the taste and the burn of magic that it’s not the half-strength potions Phil’s been giving him. Rather than just taking the edge off, it dulls the pain down to be much more manageable. Leaving Techno’s body free to process just how exhausted he is.

In spite of his efforts, his eyes close, coupled with a jaw-cracking yawn. Phil hums.

“Yeah, we’re headed for that, aren’t we?”

Techno huffs, too tired to do much else.

“I know,” Phil murmurs soothingly. “Don’t go to sleep yet, Tech.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, forcing his eyes open again.

“Good, cause you need to get up and take a bath.”

Techno groans.

“I know, I know, but you know you won’t be able to hibernate if you’re not clean and comfortable.”

Techno is very, vividly aware of that. He can’t help worrying that the pain is going to keep him from sleeping properly; and if he doesn’t hibernate, he’ll get sick. And being sick would suck right now, he needs to sleep-

“Nope, hey, stay awake.”

Techno blinks, it takes so much effort. “’m awake.”

“Good. I’m gonna call your brothers and we’ll get you taken care of, okay?”

Phil gently pulls him upright, and Techno slumps against his dad’s shoulder. He’s so tired-

A sigh, a hand gripping the back of his neck gently. “Wil, Tommy,” Phil calls.

They come in quietly, but so quickly that Techno has to wonder if they were waiting right outside the door. Someone pulls away the blankets, and Wilbur sits beside him, slipping in neatly under Techno’s shoulder, arm around his waist. Tommy takes his place at Techno’s other side, and Phil drapes Techno’s arms over his brothers’ shoulders.

And then, standing.

It’s easier, with the pain dulled, and with Wilbur and Tommy and Phil doing all the work for him. All Techno has to do is let his brothers take his weight, and keep his eyes open and his legs moving as they walk him into the bathroom.

They don’t complain- nobody says anything throughout the process, except when Phil murmurs instructions- but Techno knows it’s all trouble, anyway. Knows they must be annoyed with him.

It’s been… days, now, he thinks, that he’s been stuck in bed. It’s all still so hard, being unable to do anything for himself, and even harder when his body gives out on him and makes that quite literal.

“I’m sorry,” Techno gets out, hating how his voice wobbles.

No one pauses. They’re almost to the bathroom, anyway.

“What for?” Phil holds the door open.

Tears of frustration and exhaustion build behind his eyes. “Being a burden on you.”

“Well, that’s fuckin’ stupid,” Tommy scoffs.

Techno’s foot catches on the threshold between rooms, and if not for Wilbur and Tommy holding him up, he’d definitely fall. “Heh?”

“Y’know, I’m with Tommy on this one,” Wilbur says. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Technoblade.”

“You can’t-” He huffs, closing his eyes tighter for a second. “You can’t mean that. Not when you’re draggin’ me into the bathroom cause I can’t- can’t do a goddamn thing for myself-”

“If we didn’t wanna be here we wouldn’t fucking be here.” Tommy squeezes his wrist. “And don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do the same thing for one of us.”

“He’s right,” Phil says as Wilbur and Tommy ease Techno down to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Family takes care of each other, mate. And you’re not burdening us.”

“I am, though. I am.” Techno stares at his lap, vision blurred by the tears he can’t keep from falling. “You’re all- here, waiting on me hand and foot because I’m useless-”

“Hey. Hey, no, Tech, not at all.” Phil’s hands cup his face, thumbs smoothing tears away, and Techno feels like a little kid again. “You’re not useless, and I know you know that. You’re just having a really rough time right now, yeah? Getting all in your head about shit.”

Techno nods slightly, leaning into Phil’s hands. He- he is, he knows that. Between the pain and the exhaustion, it’s all… it’s too much.

As his crying dies down, Techno is helpless to stop himself drifting into the semi-conscious state that generally precedes hibernation. He’s aware of responding to Phil’s murmured instructions, though he can’t make out the actual words; of warm water, and gentle hands working shampoo through his hair. Then, loose, soft clothing, and wiry arms bracing him and guiding him up.

Finally, finally he’s lowered down into a nest of blankets, warmed by some external source, and Techno lets go.

~~~

Phil watches Techno fall into sleep almost before he hits the bed.

He sighs softly, tucking the blankets around Techno just so, in the way he knows his son likes. Techno doesn’t stir- not even a twitch of his face, as Phil gathers his hair and starts combing it out.

Wilbur comes in and sits on the floor, leaning against Phil’s leg. “How’s he doing?” he asks in a whisper.

“Down for the count,” Phil answers, just as quietly.

“Did you, ah- you bring up moving?”

“Yeah.” Phil sighs. “I think he was too out of it to really process.”

“So we’re not doing it.”

“Oh, no, we definitely are.” He doesn’t want to force Techno out of his home, but the cold is clearly absolute hell on him, especially after the injury. Things might get better if they get him into a warmer environment. “I can handle things here perfectly fine while he’s sleeping, if you and Tommy want to go start work.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Wilbur drops his head heavily against Phil’s knee. “No offense, father mine, but I have no idea how you managed to live in the Arctic for so long.”

Phil chuckles softly, even that doesn’t rouse Techno in the slightest. “Yeah, well, Techno likes it here for some reason.”

“He’s gonna be pissed about you moving him without asking.”

“He won’t be when he realizes the benefits of a warmer climate.”

Wilbur hums. “Okay,” he says after a minute. “I’ll start getting stuff together. You still want that spot near the flower forest?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” Phil thinks about the picturesque view, the little knot of spruce trees nearby. “I’m thinkin’ single story, unless you and Tommy want attic rooms or something like that.”

Wilbur hums. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m trusting you to pick the right materials. No dirt huts or cobble monstrosities.”

Wilbur chuckles. “In other words, don’t let Tommy have influence over the build palette?”

“Now, now.” Phil parts Techno’s hair, starts weaving the silky locks into a neat braid. “I never said that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

Taking care of a hibernating Technoblade is laughably easy in comparison to the events of the last few months.

Phil pulls a comfortable armchair into the room and whiles the days away with books, or with packing for the coming move. Techno’s sleep is restless- not unduly so, but more than usual. Phil soothes him the best he can, more often than not getting his arm caught by searching hands and having to gently tease Techno’s fingers free.

In Techno’s few moments of wakefulness, Phil props him up on pillows and coaxes him to drink water and painkillers, to eat a few bites of gapple. It’s not true consciousness; Phil knows that Techno won’t remember any of this when he wakes up, but that doesn’t make any difference in the way he cares for his son.

No, that’s not quite true. With Techno so vulnerable, so muddled, Phil is softer. Gentler.

Wilbur and Tommy are camping out at the build site for the new house. One or the other of them messages Phil daily with updates on their progress or just in general, and in turn he tells them that Techno’s okay, that he’s still sleeping.

Four weeks pass, and Techno slumbers on into a fifth. Phil’s not worried- four weeks is Techno’s usual, but he’s been known to hibernate for as long as ten. Besides which, it gives Wilbur and Tommy more time to work on the new house.

It takes another two weeks for Techno to start waking up properly.

The process is, as always, tortuously slow. A fact which Phil hates now more than ever as he tries to soothe Techno’s pained whimpers, as his son is trapped just below the surface of wakefulness, too close to hibernation to be truly conscious and just enough awake to register the pain.

“C’mon, mate- drink this for me, come on-”

Another part of the process Phil hates- Techno is conscious enough to hear, but confused and often uncooperative.

He certainly isn’t cooperating now, thrashing feebly and turning his head away every time Phil puts the straw to his lips. Phil sighs harshly, wishing- not for the first time in the last couple of days- that he had even just one extra pair of hands.

“Techno- Tech, hold still-”

Finally Phil thinks fuck it and leans most of his weight across Techno’s chest, pinning the piglin hybrid’s head with his arm. He presses the cool glass bottle against Techno’s mouth, hoping that will clue him in to what’s going on.

And finally, finally Techno drinks the potion. Phil keeps Techno pinned, waiting for the painkillers to hit his system. He notices the second they do, because Techno quiets, soft chuffs escaping him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s better, isn’t it?” Phil sighs, stroking his hair back. “This would be so much easier if you would actually listen to me, you big baby.”

Techno grunts softly. Phil responds with a soft croon, squeezing the back of Techno’s neck gently. He hates intentionally sending Techno into his instincts, he knows Techno hates it, but he has to wonder if it’ll make things easier, at least until he’s able to wake up a little more.

Techno grunts again, and Phil recognizes the call for sounder-safe? He doesn’t have the vocal cords to respond properly, but he croons as low as he can, his best imitation of protector-safe.

It clearly works, because Techno starts chuffing in earnest, trying to pull Phil closer. Phil chuckles softly, settling in beside him carefully. Techno is much less careful, wrapping his arms tightly around Phil’s waist and shoving his entire face against Phil’s hip.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he murmurs, as Techno’s chuffs dip to a rumbling purr. Phil shakes out his wings, closing them over Techno’s head.

Finally Techno settles, and Phil resigns himself to being stuck here for the rest of the day.

~~~

Techno wakes up feeling… better, he thinks, than he usually does. Tired, and in pain, but not… not stuck in exhaustion.

“Hey, mate,” Phil murmurs, in that special soft tone he uses when one of them is sick. He must think Techno’s still all instinct-y and sleepy. “How’re we doin’?”

Would it be terribly dishonest of Techno to just… bask in it for a little?

He sighs, fumbling for Phil with one hand. His dad chuckles softly, smoothing Techno’s hair.

“Still out of it, huh?” Phil traces Techno’s hairline, fingers tracing his jaw. “That’s okay, you can keep sleeping for a little while.”

And he could, he could easily slip back under, but he doesn’t really want to, just yet. Phil’s voice is low and quiet and comfortable, and the pain isn’t- he can’t ignore it, but it’s not as bad as he remembers it being before he fell asleep.

“Your brothers are gonna be back soon,” Phil murmurs. “We’re just about ready to get going, but there’s no rush on that, you take as long as you need to wake up.”

Techno wonders where Wilbur and Tommy went… sounder-where? he grunts, because words seem rather difficult right now.

Protector-here, Phil croons in response, and that’s great, but Techno would really like to know where his brothers are.

He tries runt-where? instead, and Phil hums.

“Wil and Tommy will be here really soon,” he murmurs. “They’ve been workin’ on the new place, as soon as you wake up a bit more we’re gonna get on the road.”

Huh, that doesn’t really…

Where are they going? Techno doesn’t remember hearing something about a trip.

…yeah, he’s way too tired to deal with it. He’s gonna… gonna go back to sleep now.

“Phil, I don’t want to move, I told you that-”

“That was before all this.” Phil sighs, sounding exasperated. “I know you want to stay here, I wish you could, but Tech, this climate is really bad for you.”

“I can handle the cold fine,” he protests weakly.

“Maybe you could before, but now?” Phil leans forward. “Technoblade, I am begging you, for once in your life take the easy way.”

He looks away, grinding his teeth as he tries to figure out how to explain to Phil why that’s so hard.

The silence drags on for too long. Phil rakes his hands through his hair.

“Alright, well, this isn’t getting anywhere and it’s not a negotiation, anyway.” He stands up with a barely stifled groan, shaking out his feathers. “Wil and Tommy are packing up the rest of the house. Not sure how much we’ll be able to take with us this time, gotta get you out there as comfortably as we can, but we can make trips.”

“Steve-” Techno begins.

“-is used to warmer temperatures. He’ll be fine.”

Techno looks away again. This is his home, he made it all himself, he doesn’t want to go-

“We’ll get on the road in about an hour,” Phil says, and his tone brooks no argument.

Techno would definitely be a lot more obstinate about this if he had any choice in the matter.

As it is, he knows Phil and his brothers are perfectly capable of just putting him on a sledge or a cart or something and dragging him away without a second thought. Which is also infuriating, but if he’s gonna be forced to go anyway, Techno might as well try to see the bright side.

He really does fucking hate the cold.

“Nice and slow,” Phil murmurs, bracing Techno with one arm.

He’s walking mostly under his own power, but his arms are still shaky and weak from six and a half weeks of hibernation and it’s taking a lot of work to stay stable on his crutches. Hence, Phil’s hovering.

“We’re headed for the basement,” Phil says, still in that low gentle tone. “Getting down the ladder’s not gonna be fun, but I think it’ll be easier than risking a slip on the stairs outside.”

Techno grunts, too preoccupied with the simple act of walking to properly answer. Or to try to figure out what Phil’s plan is.

Wilbur’s waiting at the trapdoor, ready to slip into place under Techno’s arm so Phil can pass the crutches down to Tommy. ‘Getting down’ turns out to be more like ‘falling down’, but then he’s down, at least. Techno tries to ignore the gutted state of his basement- if he’s lucky, there’ll be room in the new place for him to set up his brewing stands.

“Okay.” Phil shakes out his wings. “You want to ride on Carl, or in the supply cart?”

“Do I get a choice?” Techno grits out, leaning heavily on his crutches.

“Yes. If you think you can handle it, you can ride Carl, that’s fine. We’ve already rigged the saddle so there won’t be as much risk of you falling. It might be easier in the cart, though.”

“Carl,” Techno says, just to be obstinate. And because he hasn’t lived this long doing what’s easier.

It takes all three of them to get Techno onto the horse, and he immediately starts regretting his decision as Phil starts fastening straps around his legs, but he sticks to it. He’ll ride if it- well, not if it kills him, that would be a stupid thing to die for and Technoblade never dies, but it’s better than sitting in the cart.

“Okay.” Phil slips a finger under one of the straps, presumably checking to make sure it’s not too tight. Lets his hand rest on Techno’s knee. “Comfortable?”

“Fine.” Techno holds himself up as straight as he can manage.

Phil’s expression is utterly serious. “I need you to tell me the second you’re not. I do not want you to be in pain if I can prevent it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Technoblade.”

Oh boy, full name. Phil’s serious.

“You are going to tell me as soon as it starts to get bad. I don’t want you to push yourself to the point where you can’t handle the pain.”

Techno swallows down a protest and nods. “I will.”

“Good.” Phil squeezes his leg and moves away.

Okay, so maybe Techno underestimated his ability to handle things.

Logically, he knows, he should be able to manage just fine. He’s ridden longer distances without breaks, he was used to hard travel.

But now, they’re barely out of the tundra, and the constant jostling is starting to take its toll. He can feel every hoofbeat like it’s jolting up through Carl’s hooves right to his spine.

He could live with it, he could. He knows he could.

Except that, well, he doesn’t have to.

And if he keeps pushing himself… Phil already doesn’t trust him to be honest about his pain and physical health. He’ll only be more obsessive about checking in.

“Phil,” Techno says, and his voice cracks.

Phil stops the cart immediately, jumping down and coming to stand beside Techno. “Yeah, mate?”

He grits his teeth, looking away. “Don’t make me say it,” he mutters.

Phil can probably tell how hard it is for Techno to admit even this much, because for once he doesn’t push it. “Okay,” he says gently. “We’ll get you down.”

It takes what feels like an eternity, but finally he’s being boosted into the cart, sitting on the couch wedged into the side. Phil climbs up beside him, unearthing a blanket from somewhere and tucking it tightly around him. It’s a kinder restraint, at least.

“There we go.” Phil drapes Techno’s heated blanket over him and straightens with a soft grunt. “It might be rough still, so if you need a break, say so. We can stop.”

Techno resolves to keep completely quiet for the rest of the trip. “Sure.”

By the time they get to the new house, Techno’s in too much pain to really take it in.

He was having a fairly good day, but the jostling of the cart was just slightly less hellish than riding Carl. He’s decided he’s done, he’s never traveling again. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.

“Just leave me here,” he mutters when Phil climbs in beside him. “It’s not worth getting up, I’m just gonna die in here.”

Phil chuckles softly, kneeling and shaking out his wings. “No, c’mon, mate, you’ll feel better inside.”

“Nooo.” Techno groans, suppresses a pained grunt as Phil pulls him upright. “’m gonna just- just stay here. Yeah.”

Phil sits back slightly, keeping Techno propped upright. “Is it really bad?” he asks quietly.

“Not- not the worst,” Techno hedges.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Jus’-” He groans again, leaning against Phil’s shoulder. “Can- just- I need a minute.”

“Course, mate.” Phil rubs his upper back gently. “We have plenty of time, just breathe for a bit.”

Techno nods.

For a few minutes they just sit there, and Techno gradually relaxes. They’re not moving anymore, so he’s able to focus beyond the pain. He can hear Wilbur and Tommy taking things inside, going up and down- stairs, he thinks? the sound isn’t quite right for that- and it’s fairly warm, at least compared to the Arctic.

He suspects Phil would let him just sit here for hours, if that’s what it took for him to be ready to move, and that’s- he doesn’t really know what to make of that.

“Okay,” Techno says at last, forcing himself to lift his head from Phil’s shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Phil shifts, and Techno can see the house. “Wil, Toms!”

Techno almost finds it kind of hard to believe Wilbur and Tommy built this place without help. It’s a nice spot- he could get used to this view, and probably will, especially as it gets warmer.

There aren’t stairs, like he’d thought, it’s a ramp. Up to the porch.

Techno glares. “You had ‘em build a ramp, Phil?”

“Will it be easier, or won’t it?” Phil asks, calm and placid.

“…well, yeah, but-”

“But nothin’, mate. Swallow your damn pride and take the help.”

Techno huffs, but doesn’t protest again.

And okay, it is a lot easier than it would be to maneuver up stairs on crutches. Techno can live with that- there’s a chance Phil will be less neurotic about letting him outside if he can get in and out on his own.

Inside, the living area is open, airy. There isn’t a lot of furniture yet, it doesn’t look like a home, but Techno’s pretty sure it will once they get everything moved in and decorated.

Phil keeps his hand on Techno’s back, pointing down the hall. “Bathroom’s through the first door on the left, you can fuss about the handrails all you want as long as you appreciate using the toilet and bathtub on your own.”

Techno makes a face, on principle. Realistically, he’s looking forward to the privacy. Though he’d bet the door doesn’t lock.

“Your room’s the first on the right, other side of the fireplace. I’m right next door, if you need anything you can just knock on the wall. Second on the left is where we’re gonna set up your brewing supplies and an enchanting table.”

“Cool.” Techno leans more heavily on his crutches. A place for his projects, perfect.

“Wil and Tommy are upstairs, there’s a bit of attic, just enough for storage space and their bedrooms. And a root cellar, more storage.”

Techno nods, trying to fix the details in his mind. “Great.”

“D’you want to sit down or something?” Phil shifts slightly more in front of Techno. “I can get the boys to bring the couch next, or- I think they got my bed in, if you’d rather lie down?”

He considers his options for a minute, swaying on his crutches. He probably should lie down for a while, it’ll be better, but all the same he doesn’t want to sequester himself away from the rest of the family.

“Couch,” he decides.

“Great. Do you think you can stay on your feet till they get it in, or-”

“I’m gonna try.”

“Okay, let’s move into the kitchen. Boys!” Phil calls. “Get the couch!”

Techno grins despite himself, watching his brothers struggle with the sturdy piece of furniture. Tommy swears profusely while Wilbur glares at him and the couch alternatively.

“Just- just leave it,” Phil says at last when they get it in front of the fireplace. “If one of you could grab Techno’s heated blanket-?”

Tommy groans dramatically, but he goes anyway. Techno hobbles over to the couch, and Phil helps him get down to it. Tommy brings the blanket, a minute later, as well as the heating pad and a pillow. He hovers, fussing with the blanket and pillow until Techno swats him away.

Yeah, Tommy talks a big game, but when it comes down to it he really is a sweet kid. Though Techno knows Tommy would just about kill him if he ever told anyone that.

He’s still close enough to hibernation that he starts to drift back towards sleep, but he stays floating just above the surface. Listening while Wilbur and Tommy argue over furniture placement and whine about carrying things, and Phil scolds them and half-heartedly attempts to corral them into doing what they’re supposed to.

It’s nice. It’s normal, domestic life, and Techno relaxes in it.

Their childhood was like this, or his brothers’ was, because Techno was practically grown up by the time Wilbur was born and an adult when they took Tommy in. He was never idle while the rest worked, unless he’d been awake all night and passed out over a project, and it’s utterly foreign to him to just lie here, but there’s not really much good he can do right now.

After a while, there’s a muffled conversation out on the porch, and then the door clicks shut. Techno blinks, lifting his head slightly as Phil comes across the living room to kneel beside him.

“Doing okay still?” Phil murmurs.

“Yeah.” Techno closes his eyes briefly as Phil checks his temperature with the inside of his wrist. “Where’s Steve?”

“Wil and Tommy are gonna bring him. It’s getting late, so they’re gonna spend the night at the other house and come back in the morning with some more furniture.” Phil shifts. “I’ve got painkillers if you need ‘em, and I can find more blankets or another pillow or something like that-”

“I’m good.” Techno takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Kinda hungry.”

“Gotcha, I was about to start something anyway. You need the bathroom?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Probably gonna nap.”

“Okay, good.” Phil inhales, sitting back on his heels. “My bed is the only one in right now, so you can take that tonight, and I’ll sleep out here.”

Techno makes a face. “I don’t want-”

“Stopping you right there.” He squeezes Techno’s arm. “It’s a good couch, but it’ll be shit for your back, mate. Don’t borrow trouble.”

Techno looks away, pressing his cheek into the back of the couch. That guilty feeling is sitting in his gut again, and he knows it’s stupid, but he says it anyway.

“I’m sorry to put you out.”

“Aw, mate.” Phil rests his forehead on Techno’s shoulder. “It isn’t- you’re not burdening me, I promise.”

“See, you keep sayin’ that, but I know that logically it’s not true.” He tangles his fingers in the blanket. “You- you had your own stuff, your own projects- Wilbur and Tommy, too. You all just- dropped everything to come and take care of me.”

Phil’s hand rests over his heart, a warm, comforting weight. “What is it gonna take to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull that we want to be here for you? You’re my son, Techno, and I love you.”

His tears are soaked up by the scratchy fabric of the couch. Phil sighs, presses his hand a little more heavily on Techno’s chest.

“’m sorry.” Techno fumbles to grab his dad’s hand and holds on as tightly as he can. “I know-” His breath hitches. “Know you just- just-”

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. Phil smooths Techno’s hair in slow, soothing movements, head still resting on his shoulder.

“I know,” Phil murmurs. “I know, it’s okay.”

“’m sorry I get so- so frustrated- a-and I’m difficult ‘bout shit-”

“No, shh, it’s okay.” Phil squeezes his fingers gently. “You’re hurting, you’re tired, you don’t need to apologize for anything. You’re not being difficult, Techno, you’re in pain. You’re in so much pain, I know.”

Techno’s breath hitches, and he turns his head, catching the next sweep of Phil’s hand on his forehead.

“It’s okay,” Phil keeps repeating. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Techno just lets go of the tension and relaxes into Phil’s touch. He can let go- he can rest, for now. His dad is here, his dad has him.

~~~

months later

“Hey, mate, doing okay?”

Techno doesn’t look up from the plants he’s weeding. “Fine,” he says after a second. “Raised beds were a good idea.”

Phil grunts as he sits down beside Techno, shaking out his wings. “I do have those from time to time.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Summer in this sunny dell is warm and peaceful. Well, as peaceful as it can be, with Wilbur and Tommy around. They built raised garden beds before the beginning of spring, and Techno’s spent months cultivating a small patch of potatoes. He still needs help getting up, but it’s easier, since he’s not sitting on the ground.

Phil starts picking through his hair, working out tangles in a mimicry of preening. Techno keeps working the potatoes, grimacing when he has to twist a little too far to reach a weed.

“Niki wants to visit,” Phil says after a while, the sun starting to creep towards twilight. “It’s up to you if you want her to come or not.”

Techno shrugs, brushing dirt off his hands. “That’s cool. If you’re okay with people knowing where we’re hiding out.”

“Ehh.” Phil sighs. “Ready to go in?”

Techno hums, nodding. Phil gets up first, helping Techno get his crutches under him. They’ve perfected the process by now, gotten the routine of standing up down to a smooth routine.

It’s a short walk across the yard, and Techno takes it slow, wanting to enjoy the evening. The sound of his brothers bickering inside, a crow cawing as it swoops down to perch on Phil’s shoulder. Steve is curled up on the porch, but he stretches, huffing, as Techno hobbles up the ramp. Pads inside after him.

“Techno, Techno Blade, tell Wilbur he’s being a bitch!”

Techno raises his eyebrows, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “What did Tommy do this time?”

Over Tommy’s indignant yelling, Wilbur rolls his eyes and says, “I told him we’re having asparagus.”

“Pog.” Techno started picking it a month ago, Tommy hates the stuff and it amuses Wilbur to no end.

“Betrayal!” Tommy screeches. “Philza, father mine, I’ve been betrayed- backstabbed by the one man I thought I could trust-”

Techno chuckles, leaning his bodyweight against the counter as he reaches for the towel. “Die mad about it, Theseus.”

“Threat- Phil, he’s threatening me, I feel threatened-”

And as the bickering goes on, Techno just relaxes in the warmth and the vivid, tangible love filling every nook and cranny of this room, this house.

He’ll never admit it- simply to save what scraps of pride he has left- but Phil was right that it would be easier, here. Without the cold to set off the pain, with the single story making it easier to get around, even the handrails in the bathroom- this house is easy to live in.

And especially with his family around to pick up his slack, to be strong where Techno can’t anymore.

“Okay, you shits, settle down.” Phil pries Tommy away from Wilbur, the kid screeching and kicking the whole time. “Whose turn is it to set the table?”

“Nose goes,” Techno says loudly, smirking as Phil turns to look at him in confusion, as Wilbur’s and Tommy’s hands fly up in unison with Techno’s.

“Looks like it’s your turn, Dadza.” Wilbur glances at the clock over the sink. “Oh, hey, someone come keep an eye on this, I gotta check on the brewing stands.”

Techno takes Wilbur’s place at the stove. It’s the least he can do, considering Wilbur’s making all his painkillers. As their resident drug cooker turned pharmacist, he’s the only person Phil trusts to brew the weakness potions properly- strong enough to provide relief, but not so strong as to be addicting.

Phil rolls his eyes and calls them little shits again, but he sets the table anyway. Tommy hops up on the counter, swinging his legs and grinning at Techno.

Tommy’s getting better, too- he still flinches away from knives and raised voices, but those moments are fewer and further between. He’s less afraid to be loud and disruptive and- yes, Techno will say it- annoying.

It’s hard to be truly annoyed by someone who is so endearingly careful when Techno’s having a bad day.

Sometimes, he still misses the weight of a sword in his hand, the chaos of a battlefield, the whisper of voices in his head; but Techno’s learning to find contentment in the simpler life he’s been thrust into.

He’s traded his armor for a wide-brimmed straw hat, his weapons for a pair of sturdy crutches carved with delicate patterns, the chorus in his head for the familiar voices of his family.

This, this is enough.