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The commune was quiet, snow falling outside, the wind wailing as it rattled the shutters, and the insufferable rattle and clack of the redstone pumpkin machine Philza had built in the basement going off at every other tic intervals. Techno didn’t understand it, well he did understand it but he didn’t understand why they still had it. The pistons went off anytime a pumpkin grew in, repeaters and observers and other nonsense he couldn’t be bothered to understand because why did they need machines when he could just farm pumpkins by hand? It wasn’t about pumpkins, objectively, it was a noise machine, meant to keep people from eavesdropping. The main problem was there wasn’t an off switch and the rattle was giving him a headache. Techno sighed, tail twitching and picked up his pot of tea, maybe he could just break one component, enjoy a few, blissful moments of silence before Phil’s flock of crows descended to tell him that the old man was on his way and was definitely going to be mad.
It wasn’t Techno’s fault that Phil was basically deaf at this point. His hearing was still perfectly intact and in fact very sensitive - ignoring the constant ringing and perpetual E noise that he couldn’t dislodge. He fished his cane out from behind the couch and wandered into the basement, the noise was louder down here, go figure, but he had things to rearrange, stores to go through, server forbid they ever run out of rotten flesh. What would his dogs eat? The good stuff? They didn’t pay rent. He opened a chest, leaned against the wall to look into it and sighed, someone had been moving his stuff around. It was probably Phil, which was fine, maybe Nikki, although she usually asked, but there was a pretty significant gap in between the potatoes and the carrots where he usually kept the beetroot and what did someone need with that many beetroots anyway? He went to check on his cow, and Carl. They were fine.
Probably a good idea to double check the downstairs, cane tapping at the floor in a soothing rhythm as he descended the stairs into the sub basement - unfinished, with a scrape in the corner that led down to the room Tommy had dug out, gremlin child, and he really should fill that in so it wasn’t a tripping hazard. He wandered past Phil’s monstrosity of a machine and nearly stepped on the bifurcated black and white tail twitching erratically on the floor. He brought his cane down, pivoted and managed to not crush the delicate appendage, as he stumbled, very gracefully, and backed off. Ranboo didn’t seem to notice. Better question, why was Ranboo in the sub basement? More pressing question, why were they sitting in a miserable puddle, hyperventilating and twitching? Techno crouched down, a slow, painful process as his bad knee popped, he ground his palm into the carved bird head on top of his cane - he’d definitely grabbed Phil’s by accident. Which wasn’t his fault actually, Phil was out and his gold topped one was nowhere to be found. Ranboo let out a scratchy vwoop, ears pinning as their breathing sped up, Techno could hear their heart beat, or at least imagined he could hear it. This was a terrible place to have a panic attack, it was loud, the ground was hard and cold and their limbs were squashed into a much too small space between two blocks.
“Hey,” Techno nudged Ranboo’s knee, “kid, what’s going on?”
Ranboo didn’t respond other than to let out a soft whimper, tail curling into their lap as they shivered.
“Ranboo, it’s me, it’s Techno, your neighbor,” he wasn’t getting very far, a soft, pawed hand bumped against his own but that was the only recognition he got. “Alright, I’m going to be right back, just give me a second. I’ll get something to help.”
He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, and hurried as much as he could upstairs to the chests with their potions stock. He rifled through, looking for the ones Phil liked to use and came up with a faintly green bottle with a turtle scute floating in the bottom. It was the best he was going to get. He turned and hurried back down the stairs, settling on the ground, sitting across from Ranboo and pressed the bottle into their hands. Small claws caught on the glass, paw pads pressed flat against the cold surface.
“Here, drink this.” Techno kept a hand on the bottle, just to keep it from spilling. “It’ll help.”
Ranboo shivered, eyes a little glassy, but they mashed their paws against the curve of the potion and looked down at it, eyes a little hazy.
“Is this… drugs?” They asked, voice hoarse, there were tear tracks running down their cheeks. Techno should probably help with that, the kid was allergic to water of all things. Why couldn’t they have been allergic to something easy? Like eggs? Who even ate those?
“Turtle master, one of Phil’s, it’s good for… this kind of thing, slows you down, helps with the pain.”
“Are you trying to… get me to do drugs?”
“I am pressuring you to do drugs actually. I’m that guy they warned you about in school.” Techno remembered his education as a shoat back in his home bastion, ages ago now, but they’d had several lessons on proper potion usage and how to say no if someone was being unsafe. Potent magic wasn’t something that should be messed with.
“Never went to school.” Ranboo’s tail flicked, they eyed the glass, but their breathing was evening out, their voice losing that waver which was good. “Or I don’t remember it. Same thing, really.”
“Even better, you have no reason not to trust me when I say you should do so many drugs to deal with your problems.”
“You seem like a trustworthy guy,” Ranboo fiddled with the cork, slowly pulled it out and downed the potion in a series of quick swigs. Techno watched the line of it trail down their throat as they swallowed. The effect was immediate, the tension in their body bleeding out as the slowness unlocked their limbs and pulled them under, the resistance helping to fortify against the burn marks and the strain. Techno pulled the bottle away, just to make sure it didn’t break and accepted the contact as Ranboo slumped forward into his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh.
“There we go, good job, is that better?”
Ranboo nodded, tail coming up to twine with his. Techno had figured out pretty early on that the gangly enderman did well when they were complimented - they liked being told they were good, that they were wanted, doing a good job. They’d talked about it once, after Techno had told them they were being very good and he appreciated their willingness to take instruction. It was a distinctly non physical relationship, and if he was honest he didn’t have any interest. Phil was right there, although he had the same sweet blush and coo response when he was praised and Techno liked that. He liked knowing the people around him felt appreciated.
“That’s nice,” Ranboo’s words were slurred, quiet, like he was struggling to get them out around a slowed tongue and lips that didn’t move right. “Feels good.”
“Good, you’re doing a great job, we’ll wait till it wears off and then we can go upstairs alright?”
Ranboo nodded, and they lapsed into an easy silence for several tics, Techno brushed his palm over the back of Ranboo’s head in a continual, soothing motion. Eventually the potion started to ebb and the gangly enderman twitched in his lap. Techno looked down, one hand cupping the back of his head, ears twitching forward. He chuffed, a low, quiet rumble. Ranboo flinched.
“You don’t hate me, right?”
“Why would I hate you?”
“Well, you and Phil, you’re all… I tried to kill you.”
“If I remember right, you did a terrible job and Technoblade never dies.”
“But we were enemies, I was part of a whole government, I’m kind of married to a different, separate government. We have a kid, who lives with the government. I’m not exactly good anarchist material.”
Techno leaned down and bumped his snout against the back of Ranboo’s head,
“You’re not part of the government, and besides, we’ve exchanged gifts, you live here most of the time and Phil and I are training you. You’re family here too, sounder, that’s what we call it back home.”
Ranboo made a contemplative sound, and Techno took it as a good sign when they slowly started to unwind.
“So, you don’t hate me?”
“Ranboo, I don’t hate you, you’re a friend and essentially my ward, you’re good. You’re doing good, Phil and I are so good with emotions all the time, but I promise we don’t hate you.”
Ranboo nodded, swallowing, then seemed to think better of it and pulled out their journal, hunching over it and scribbling down a few notes. Techno watched them write, angular basic text on homemade pages. He leaned back, stretching out his leg, the knee joint popping.
“Is Phil around?” Ranboo looked up, eyes flashing, looking a little guilty. “Were you busy?”
“Nah,” Techno cut them off before they had a chance to spiral. “He’s visiting Kristin.”
“Kristin?” Ranboo’s ears twitched, they squinted, nervous like they were trying to remember someone.
“She’s Phil’s wife.”
“She-“ Ranboo’s ears pinned fully, “but I thought you two were?”
“Oh, we are. Phil’s my husband. He’s just also married to Kristin.” Techno waved a hand, “he’s her Angel, she’s the goddess of death, tale as old as time really.”
“Right, and you’re?”
“Not married to her, no.” Techno shrugged. “Wasn’t super interested in the whole death god follower thing, I’ve got my own thing going on. She’s nice though.”
The humming in his ears got louder, a faint cry for blood that sent a warm trickle down his spine. He could smell it, metallic and close at hand. He shook his head, there wasn’t any blood here, no ancient rites to fulfill.
“Right, so you’re married to Phil-“
“For tax reasons.”
“For tax reasons,” Ranboo nodded, then frowned, “but you’re anarchists?”
“The IRS is scary, man, they kill people.”
Ranboo laughed, a crackling, void touched sound as they sat fully up, potion wearing off, they looked better, more alert.
“And Kristin is Phil’s wife, who’s also dead? And a goddess?”
“Yup.”
“And you’re not married to her?”
“Nope,” Techno shook his head, he could hear the cacophony of crows upstairs, over the sound of the machine right next to his ears. They should get out of the basement. Ranboo scribbled something else down and Techno heaved himself to his feet. “Come on, sounds like Phil is back, if you want to hear him ramble about his wife, now’s a great time.”
Ranboo nodded, slowly levered themself to their feet and brushed themselves off.
“Thanks, for helping me.”
“Anytime, I love pressuring people into doing drugs.” Techno snorted, pushed the door open and gestured Ranboo out and up, he could smell tea being brewed and if anything could fix them up, it was a stiff cup of Phil’s tea and a few cookies.