Chapter Text
Tommy has never liked the cold.
As a child, he’d never want to go outside with Wilbur when it was snowing. He’d stay right by the fireplace with Technoblade, who also seemed to hate the cold.
Considering he was a piglin from the fiery nether, that wasn’t that surprising. His brother would pull him close, and Tommy would always curl into his warm chest.
When Technoblade was on his weekly trips with their father, Wilbur would bundle them up in a ‘blanket igloo’ as he had called it, and sing to him as they fell asleep together.
And in those small, rare moments where Phil was the only one there, he would wrap his huge wings around the small boy, humming to him.
But now, none of them were here. He was by himself, navigating in this freezing fucking weather. His toes were numb, and they surely had frostbite by now. Him having no shoes didn’t really help either, since Dream had decided he didn’t need them after he pulled a stunt too big.
Tommy remembers that day. Sometimes, he can still feel the fist against his stomach when he’s standing really still. He’s glad he’s not standing still now.
He’s not glad that it feels like he’s about to collapse from the cold, though.
He just needs to make it to Technoblade’s house. Once he’s there, he can chug a few potions and steal some food from the old bitch. He’s not sure where he’s going to go after that, but he’ll figure it out. Anywhere but exile is good enough for him.
Part of him is screeching to turn back, to go back to exile before Dream finds out. It’s saying Dream’s the only one who loves him. Which isn’t entirely false.
Wilbur was gone, Tubbo exiled him, Technoblade certainly hated him, and Phil—well, after he killed his son, he lost the father title.
The thought of Phil put a bile taste in his mouth. He hated that man with his entire cold, icy, heart.
He could almost taste the soot and dirt as the explosions rang out in his ears. He could see Wilbur’s body slung against his fathers, pale and unmoving. He could hear the cackle of Technoblade, and the hiss of the withers.
The sheer terror he felt was enough for him to collapse onto the snow right in front of the steps for the house. He tried to pick himself back up, but his limbs felt so heavy.
He wasn’t in pain anymore. Everything felt numb, and oddly warm. Tommy knows that’s not right. That’s a bad sign.
If he were listening years ago when Technoblade gave a whole lecture about getting frostbite and the signs when Tommy almost got it, he would know what to do. He would know that he has to get up before he passes out, and immediately get warm.
But he wasn’t listening, and he was too tired to get up. Even if he tried, he doesn’t think he could’ve done it anyways.
He shuts his eyes. Not a good idea either, but does it really matter? This is where his last life is taken. This is where the pathetic, annoying, teenager dies.
Maybe death’ll be kinder to him than most people were.
—
Technoblade shudders as the cold wraps him and Carl, blowing snow onto his fur.
Even though he’s from the nether, the hottest place in all of Minecraft, he’s grown quite used to the cold. Retirement was serving him well in the arctic.
Well, up until he was unfortunately executed. Or, attempted execution. The totem he stuck into his shirt served him well. Dream was a big help too, saving Carl like that.
He now owed the man a favor, which wasn’t really a good thing. Dream could use it for anything, and his retirement was as good as over.
Which was pretty disappointing, because that meant he couldn't hibernate this winter. He supposes Phil could watch over him when he comes back from searching for whatever he was lookin' for.
He huffs as he approached his house, exhaustion taking over him. The effects of the totem were beginning to wear off, and he could feel a migraine taking effect.
Carl snorted, flicking his head forwards as if he was trying to point at something. Technoblade followed his movement with his eyes, and saw something laying on the ground near his stairs.
It was too dark to see, but he guessed it was a zombie or some other monster. As he came closer to the figure, he realized it wasn’t a monster at all.
It was a person. His grip on his sword tightened, and he looked at his surroundings. He supposes the butcher army could’ve been hiding in the trees, sending someone up here to trick Technoblade. But then, again, the government wasn’t that smart. Plus, Quackity would’ve needed time to recover from the damage he did to him.
He grinned at the memory of him swinging a pickaxe at his jaw, blood painting the walls. Chat liked it too, because they began to sing.
Technoblade slid off Carl, keeping his sword on ready if whoever was on the ground was pretending to be dead. He moved the figure’s body forward, so that their face was now facing Technoblade.
What was staring back at him made him abruptly drop his sword into the icy snow.
It was Tommy. His little brother.
The boy’s face was beat up greatly, one of his eyes having a black spot on it. His hair was messy and ratted, looking as if it had been unkept for months. As his eyes traveled down Tommy’s extremely skinny body, his clothes looked even worse.
There was a huge rip in his shirt, and it looked as if a sword had found its way into Tommy’s side. That was enough for Technoblade to snap back into reality, and prop the boy up.
His brother wasn’t unconscious after all, because he whimpered quietly, seemingly trying to get away from the piglin. His attempts were no use, because he collapsed against his shoulder shortly after.
“Jesus, Theseus.” He muttered, and waited for a response. He didn’t get one, so Tommy must’ve passed out. That meant he had even less time to save his life.
He climbed up his stairs, kicking the door open. The house was warm and smelt of pine. He looked towards the fireplace, which was well burnt out. It had been hours since Technoblade had been here, so it wasn’t surprising.
He quickly swiped everything off his wooden table, setting Tommy down onto it. The boy made a pitiful sound as he was put down, but made no indication that he was awake.
Technoblade navigated to his medical supplies, a chest Phil set up for him just in case he wasn’t around. He ripped open the chest, grabbing various supplies—including an abundance of potions, and turned back to Tommy.
The kid laid flat on the table, chest rising and falling so hesitantly you’d think he was scared to breathe. He set aside his thoughts for now, and gets to work on the stab wound.
Techno takes his brother’s shirt off, throwing the dirty thing on the floor.
His eyes widen in horror as he looks at Tommy's back. It's covered in burn scars. They look to be from an explosion, considering the wideness of them.
TNT, maybe? It doesn't matter. What does matter is finding the bastard that did this and ripping his throat out.
Chat hollers at the idea, but he puts it to bed for now. Tommy needs help first.
He narrows his eyes at the entry point, frowning as he washes the blood off. He notices that the area around it was pretty burned, so the sword had to have fire aspect.
He then daps the cloth in a regeneration potion, bringing it to Tommy’s skin. The boy flinches, and he holds him still so the effect can take place.
He can barely focus on the task at hand, and it doesn’t help that chat is screaming a million different things at him. Once the potion does its work, he removes the cloth and unravels the bandages.
Technoblade lifts Tommy up, moving his head to rest on his shoulder. He wraps the bandages around the wound, tying it off at the end.
He puts his brother back down, heading to the fireplace and grabbing a few logs from the side to throw in. He tugs a flint and steel out of one of the nearby chests, lighting the fireplace.
Technoblade then hurries to his room, pulling out a random shirt from one of his drawers for Tommy. He runs back downstairs, helping the kid into it.
He searches his body for any more serious injuries, but finds none. Beside bruises here and there, and of course—the burn scars, there's nothing else Technoblade can do but wait for him to wake up.
He pulls Tommy off the table, laying him down onto his couch. It's next to the fire, and it'll ensure he doesn't get frostbite after being out there for god knowshow long.
He was about to sit down, before he realized the kid didn't have any socks, so he went back upstairs to grab some. He looked for the fluffiest ones he had, which were basically all the socks he had, stored for his hibernation this winter.
Which, obviously, he wasn't having anymore. It wasn't even an option, considering he had a half-dead teenager unconscious on his couch. He chuffed, returning to his brother and pulling the socks over his cold feet.
Then he collapsed onto his own chair, staring at the limp boy. He didn't even know where Tommy was all this time. He heard about the exile, but no one told him anything. Which, really, wasn't all that surprising. He was a war criminal who blew up their country. But, to be fair—they definitely deserved it.
All that corruption was messin' with peoples head, causing them to do bad things.
Including exile his little brother.
For what? Burnin' down some ragtag's house?
He feels a little proud of Tommy. He would've liked to see the castle go up in flames, or even better—burn it himself.
Now all that was left was to find out who in hell thought it was a good idea to do this to his brother. He's not entirely sure what he's gonna do to them, but Chat certainly has a few…ideas.
His mind drifts back to Tommy.
Tommy, who had betrayed him and stood with the government.
Tommy, who had proved to be untrustworthy and arrogant after they fought in the pit when he killed Tubbo.
The same Tommy who used to braid his hair.
The same Tommy who used to beg him him to spar, and he'd always end up letting the kid win.
He thought back to the times in Pogtopia, when Wilbur would push him around so hard he'd almost cry.
When Tommy would wake up screaming each night, calling out for Tubbo's name as he recalled the memory of fireworks exploding in his head. Technoblade had walked away, ignoring him.
( He would come to his senses eventually, and realize that these things happen in war. That Tubbo had to die. It was a necessary action. )
(( He never did come to understand. ))
He thought about the way Tommy avoided him for weeks after that, flinching if he got even a foot close to him. He ignored that too, saying it would pass. Eventually.
He thought about the fear in Tommy's eyes as he spawned the withers. The cries of his brother haunted his dreams on good days.
He avoided the pain he put him through for so long. He never realized that his brother never was picking sides. He never defended anything. He was just trying to survive, in the chaos of every adult in his life running out on him.
Technoblade should've seen that. He should've done his job as an older brother. He should've protected the kid when he needed it most.
But he didn't. He was on the opposing side, facing Tommy in the eyes as he didn't hesitate to destroy everything the boy had known since they came to the Dream SMP.
He failed.
Technoblade lets out a strained breath, having half the mind to give himself a matching wound to Tommy's.
But he doesn't. He just stares at his brother, whatever left of his heart breaking into tiny pieces.
—
Tommy wakes up in phases.
First he rises to consciousness, but refuses to open his eyes. He knows he's in limbo, and he's not ready to face it.
Or, maybe, Dream brought him back, and is about to give him one of his painful lessons he always gives when Tommy does something he deems 'bad behavior.'
After a few minutes though, nothing happens. He doesn't hear the hiss of TNT, nor the chattering of his dead brother.
All he hears is silence.
And then, quiet shuffling that forces his eyes open. The first thing he realizes is he's not in exile. He's not even in limbo. He's in a house far too familiar. It's not a good familiar, either. It brings a chill up his spine, as he tries to remember where he is.
"Theseus."
Tommy doesn't respond. He just stares at the piglin he once called his brother, swallowing thickly.
Technoblade shifts his axe in response. "Why are you at my house?"
"I… don't know."
He hums. "You have ten seconds to get off my property."
Tommy backs up slightly, intiminated by the threat. He nods slowly to signify he's leaving. Then he turns his back, and braces for a hit. None comes, but he remains ever cautious.
"If I ever see you here again," he starts. "You're as good as dead."
He's at Technoblade's house. He's at Technoblade's house. The man who promised to kill him the next time he saw him. Tommy jolts up, falling onto the floor in the process.
It hurts, sending a wave of pain through his chest. It feels as if he was stabbed all over again, TNT hissing in his ears as Dream orders him to, "Put your stuff in the hole—"
"—Tommy! Calm down!"
He realizes he was thrashing against Technoblade's hold, causing him to resist even more.
"Let me go—fucker!"
Tommy's expecting a hard slap to the face after that one. A punch here and there. Maybe even a netherite boot digging into his stomach, slowly cutting off his circulation until he can barely breath.
He gets none of those. Instead, Technoblade carefully releases his arms, holding out his own in surrender.
Tommy crawls away from the man, backing up against the wall.
"Tommy," the piglin greets, flicking his ears forward.
His gaze flickers to his stomach, which is covered in bandages. He also notices his old red shirt has been replaced with a pink one.
His feet feel warmer than they've ever felt, and he looks down to see the fluffiest socks he's ever seen. He's only seen these kinds of socks when Technoblade was hibernating back at the old house before they even joined the Dream SMP.
Every time he hibernated, Tommy would insist on standing right by his side, protecting him from any potential threat.
Phil would constantly tell him that, "Techno was fine, and he didn't need protecting," but he would never back off.
In Pogtopia, it seemed the piglin had forgotten his hibernation in winter, because he never did it anymore.
"You…" he gulped. "Why the fuck am I here? In bandages, especially."
"I found you passed out on my lawn, and I brought you inside to help your wounds," he explains. "Simple as that."
"Wha—help me? Why are you helping me?"
"Just cause' I'm helping' don't mean I care," he reminds. "Your death would be… a minor inconvenience, is all."
"Of course. I'm just a fuckin' inconvenience is what I am, ain't I?" He scowls, getting up from the floor. It doesn't do good to his headache, but he doesn't care. He needs to get away from this ego-shittin' man.
Technoblade stretches his gand towards Tommy. "You'll just hurt yourself if you get up."
"Then I hurt myself." He snaps, pushing it away. He scans the room, catching sight of the door and walking towards it.
"Now where are you goin'?"
"None of your business."
"Heh, yeah it is. I'm the one who rescued you off my yard."
"I didn't ask you to!" He yells. "You should've just let me bleed out there. It would've been better for the both of us."
"Then my property value would go down. A dead body wouldn't do well for it."
He holds back a laugh. "Oh, boo fuckin' who, man."
Tommy continues towards the door, and this time Technoblade really does grab his wrist. He flinches back hard, and his brother lets it go with a pained expression.
"Listen," he starts. "All I'm sayin' is that I used half my potion supply on you, and for you to get yourself killed just cause' you're stubborn won't do anyone any good."
This time, he doesn't contain his dry laugh. "Right. Everyone would be better off if I was dead."
Both of them are silent, unmoving as Tommy stares out the window at the cold, pure, snow.
"You won't make it ten feet before you die."
He grumbles, but he's right. Tommy knows he's going to die if he goes back out there. His whole plan of escaping Dream? That won't do any good if he's limp on the ground.
So he'll play Technoblade's game. His game of pretending he's cool, but as soon as Tommy messes up, he'll be there.
With a stack of wither skulls, maybe? The thought of it sends shivers down his spine, and he can taste the ash again.
He bites down hard on his lip to rid of the feeling, and turns to face Technoblade.
"Fine. I'll stay. But only until I'm healed up, and then I'm gone."
"That's all I'm askin'," he replies. "You should lay down."
He has half the mind to shoot a snarky reply back, but he really doesn't want to test his patience. He's seen what his brother can do.
The pit showed him that. The mere memory of that has him reeling away from the man, who seems to respect his decision by backing up.
For now.
Tommy listens to him regardless, nervously crawling back onto the couch. It's warmer than it was near the door, and he realizes that he was freezing.
Technoblade notices his goosebumps. "You want a blanket, kid?"
( "You want a blanket, Tommy?" Dream asks, smile so warm he feels the coldness of winter falter.
"Ye—yes, please—please," he responds, teeth chattering. Even with the fire the man so graciously provided him, it's still freezing.
He grabs a blanket out of his bag, which leads Tommy to believe he knew that he'd be cold and want one. But he doesn't question it. He's learned not to question Dream. )
(( "Put it in the hole, Tommy." Dream orders, shifting his jaw aggressively.
He holds the blanket over the hole hesitantly, and turns to the man. "Please, let me keep this one thing. I promise I'll be good."
"You say that every time," he snarls. "And every time, it always ends bad. For the both of us. So put it in the hole."
"But it's freezing! How am I supposed to—"
Dream puts his hand on his axe, sending a silent warning. He really doesn't want a matching scar from his other axe wound that the man inflicted.
He stares into the mask, who's grin only seems to get bigger. If he could see under it, he'd guess that Dream was in fact grinning.
Tommy sighs, dropping it into the dug out hole. He feels a hand slip onto his shoulder, caressing it softly.
The hiss of TNT fills his ears, and he barely has time to react before it explodes.
"See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?" ))
He shudders at the mere memory, and violently shakes his head. "No."
He doesn't want to have it taken away from him all over again. Or worse—Technoblade'll make him burn it.
"You're freezing, you need a—"
"I said I don't want one." He snaps, flinching back for interrupting him.
Dream hated when he was interrupting. It took a few weeks to get that into Tommy's thick skull, but he learned.
Technoblade doesn't reply, and just lets out a piglin-sorta nosie. He then leaves Tommy's side, and starts burrowing through his cabinets.
"You need to eat," he says, voice muffled from being inside one of his cabinet's that looks to be falling apart.
He shifts onto the floor, huddling himself by the fire. He thinks about responding. To be honest, he's starving. Dream left and took his entire food supply with him, so he hasn't had anything to eat since then.
But the thought of eating makes him sick. The thought of forcing down another rotting apple because its the only source of fucking food he's got makes him sick.
"'M not hungry."
Technoblade laughs. "Heh. You look like a twig."
"Yeah, and you look like a fat fuckin' piglin, but I guess we all have our flaws."
"Still got that old snarky attitude in you, I see." He comments, pulling out something from a sack. He painfully recognizes it. It's even worse than eating a rotten apple.
"Oh—no, no—If I eat another fuckin' potato I'm going to kill myself."
"Calm down." he glances up. "It's for me. And I thought you 'weren't hungry'?"
"I'm not." He bites back, pushing himself further away from the fire. It's cold, but the heat reminds him too much of Dream.
Technoblade sighs. "I'm gonna make you soup. That alright?"
Tommy keeps quiet, stuffing his head in between his knees. The piglin doesn't ask him again, but he can hear the sound of liquid being poured into a bowl.
The hum of the stove fills the quiet house, unsettling Tommy. It's too quiet. Any quieter and he'll think Dream is playing that trick on him. Where he stays quiet for so long, allowing Tommy to fall into a sense of safety.
The silence always scared him, but what came after was much worse.
"It's too quiet," he whispers, sure no one will hear him. Unfortunately for him, he forgot about piglin's enhanced hearing sense.
Technoblade stops looking endlessly at the floor, and now is looking at him. He turns away in shame, cursing himself for complaining.
"You want me to turn on some music?"
He whips his head around. "What?"
He sighs. "Do you want—"
"No, I heard you—why would you do that?"
"You just said it was too quiet," he reminds. "Turnin' on music would fill the void."
"I…I dunno, if you want."
"If I—" he sighs, mumbling something incomprehensible. Tommy shuts his eyes. Braces for a hit. Or maybe a lecture. Instead, familiar music fills his ears, and he turns to face Technoblade. The man's crouched over a jukebox, adjusting the disc inside.
It's pigstep. He used to play it all the time at the old house, and occasionally he'd hear it drifting through the mines of Pogtopia late at night when he couldn't sleep.
Tommy rests his head against the couch, exhaling loudly. Technoblade probably heard him, even over the music, but he doesn't look back at the man.
This was the first peaceful moment he's had in a very long time. Even when he was alone in exile, it felt like he was being watched.
He pushes his head farther into the couch, as if it would rid of the thoughts of Dream pooling into his head.
It seemed to work, just a little bit, because he felt himself falling asleep.
He knew it wasn't safe. That Technoblade could do anything at any moment. But he was so tired, and could no longer keep his eyes open.
***
Technoblade's jaw clenches as Tommy seems to finally be asleep, his breathing rate returning back to normal after it sounded like the boy was hyperventilating.
There wasn't an emotion to describe what he was feeling right now. His fists were now red from when he grabbed the edge of counter so hard they turned white.
This wasn't the Tommy he knew. His little brother was annoying, loud, and so warm. He'd light up the room with a stupid joke in seconds, even making himself laugh sometimes as well.
This boy curled up on the ground in front of him? He was so different. So broken. This Tommy flinched at every sudden movement, scanning the room like he was scared something would jump out at him.
He collapses gently on his armchair, trying to make little noise as to not wake his brother up. He really needs rest after whatever the hell he went through.
Techno pulls out his communicatior, rubbing his thumb over it. He pulls up Phil's chat, just staring at it.
He should tell him. He really should. Phil was way better at this than he was. He barely knew how to deal with his stubborn horse some days. But a scared teenager? He couldn't deal with this.
He thinks it over, then stuffs it back into his pocket. Tommy's already pretty prone to running off as soon as he dozes off—Phil being here wouldn't do any better.
So he flicks his head back, looking at his limp brother again. He thinks about putting him back onto the couch, but decides against it. He doesn't know how Tommy'll respond to touch. Especially with all those scars down his back.
God, he's so small. He looks like he did back when he was just a child. The thought of someone hurting his baby brother makes him seeth with rage.
But he keeps it contained. Tommy's already scared enough.
He shuts his eyes, with the intent of trying to sleep. He's exhausted. From the execution to this, he's barely had time to breathe.
Technoblade does not sleep that night.