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The cold is a feeling Tommy expected, but didn't want.
Of course, it was his fault, considering he stumbled into enemy territory unprompted and unwanted, but—he isn't exactly tip-top shape at the moment. The biting frost of the arctic and the crimson cascading down the fabric of his suit, the tie of his tux blending in with the blood pouring down his side.
Wound gaping, Tommy holds down a gag as he stares at it, eventually whipping his head away; it certainly wouldn't feel any better if he vomited whilst having a hole in his ribs.
Calvin was ruthless—and he looked mildly horrified after the deed had been done, but it was Tommy’s fault for stumbling into the Antarctic Empire without warning. He had stabbed a fifteen-year-old kid, anyone would feel bad, but Tommy had turned tail and ran away before Calvin could call anyone else for help.
He doesn't want their help, he'd rather blindly, as if he was drunk, stagger through the ice and snow back to Business Bay and retrieve healing from Bitzel or Luke—Deo, if he was around. Wilbur’s off in Newfoundland, and considering the Arctic and Business Bay are still at odds, he doubts the man would help him out anyway.
The pain travels down to his toes, to his fingertips, up to his head; it’s white hot, and his breaths become shorter and shorter and the cold isn't doing him any goddamn help.
He can't even do anything about it, because he's miles away from his faction and has all that way to go—with, again, a hole in his side. It's some sort of underwater type shit, his head going foggy, eyes watery; he's proud he hasn't cried, he's been stabbed before, but that was a while back and he'd gotten help within minutes. He's been hurting for about twenty. Tommy doesn't think he's gonna last very long like this- which is a scary thought, for his friends to search for him and find his limp body lying in the snow.
He's sure the three back home would be terrified, and Wilbur would be concerned, in an annoyed fashion where he'd scoff at Tommy being stupid but also question if he's okay and where he is—Philza and Techno would blink and be surprised he's finally down for the count, but that's simply because Tommy just kept coming back.
Now it's really starting to hurt, and yeah, maybe he should've stayed with Calvin and let him drag the blond back to the Empire simply because he'd die if he tried to walk himself back home. But Tommy is as much as a prick as he is stubborn, and it's par for the course that this is happening now.
A childish part of himself wants one of the Arctic’s members to find him, to find him before he passes out in the snow and freezes to death. For Calvin to run back into the faction and yell for help, despite the fact no one’s on good terms with Tommy besides his own friends.
His nose is running red, sniffling- everytime he puffs out a breath you can see the air—snowflakes are a sheen across the bridge of his nose, charcoal tuxedo becoming covered in the gloss of the snow. Fingertips freezing, each inhale feeling as though he's puffing and exhaling fire. Like he ran a marathon in the cold and this is the aftermath, with the added spice of a legit knife in his side.
Tommy knows you don't pull a knife out once you've been stabbed if you don't have immediate healthcare around you; it speeds up the process of killing you due to blood loss.
His fingers itch, he wants Deo, Luke, Bitzel— god, he’ll take Wilbur or Charlie at this point despite what's happened in the past, because they're not bad enough to where they'd kill a kid since they didn't like him very much.
Tommy can't do it. He stops, stops walking, wheezing out another breath before he falls to his knees. His pants are soaking wet, even as they fall into the drenched snow, the coldness speeding up the process of turning the teen into a human popsicle.
“Fuck,” Tommy mutters, teeth chattering. I’m so fucked. He can't do anything about the cold, and it seems hopeless, really, because there's no one around to tug him up from under his arms and set him straight.
Snow is a lot colder, up close. With your cheek pressed into the freezing, frozen liquid, so harshly it feels like your entire face is burning off. His eyes flutter closed - but the footsteps following behind him throw him off his axis, if he wasn't already.
He whines, trying to turn; the snow pressing into the open wound is horrible, even if it is a little therapeutic with it acting as a stand-in for real ice and compression. The stranger approaches, and Tommy blanches at the red and white, gorgeous fabric pooling onto the snow.
“The Blade,” Tommy greets, coughing, and it's pathetic. Choking on his own blood at his rival's feet. “How are you, on this fine evening?”
“Fine,” Techno kneels, eyes narrowed, eyebrows raised behind his pig skull. He looks unimpressed, which is usually a default emotion for the man, but with a large tinge of pity. It usually makes Tommy’s blood boil—but he's covered in snow, that wouldn't even work. “Although, you don't seem to be doing so well yourself.” His eyes gleam, with a tip of his head, gesturing at the wound.
Tommy inhales a painful breath through his teeth. “I- Uh. F-fuck, I’m. Yeah.”
There's a silence long enough for Tommy to get tired of it. One that consists of Techno staring down at him, probably having an internal debate whether to leave him here or take him back to his home. And, Tommy thinks that Techno’s morals aren't so low he'd leave a kid out in the harsh weather to die- especially one he knows , but who knows, it's Technoblade.
He glances back up at him, his face morphing against his will into something more childlike, pleading; eyes shining with fresh tears. He can't help himself— he's in so much fucking pain.
At that- that seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Tommy doesn't cry. He whines and complains and is annoying, but is sometimes endearing and very little brother-shaped. Techno remembers a time before the war when Tommy would try his best to kill the man, and fail, and it always gave him a good laugh. Sometimes, at the end of these occasions, he'd ruffle the blond’s hair and wish him luck for his next try. The shine of admiration in baby blue was enough for him.
Techno rolls his shoulders, sighing and shaking his head; the flurries of the blizzard whipping his hair to the side, before leaning down and swiftly scooping the teenager into his arms.
Oh, okay. We're doing this now. Tommy’s cheeks flush in embarrassment- completely red with the added glow from the cold.
Tommy startles, and winces, once or twice due to the jostling. “Sorry,” Techno soothes, at least, as best as he can. “‘s gonna hurt, kid.”
All he can manage is a meek nod, and Techno doesn't say anything in return. He doesn't seem to be upset at Tommy even though they're in the middle of trying to kill each other—Tommy doesn't get why Techno’s set of standards for when it comes to slaughtering other people has suddenly taken a one-eighty.
While he's grateful he was saved from imminent death, this is Technoblade. Ergo, Technoblade shouldn't be saving his enemy in a battle from doing exactly what Techno wants.
(Even if Tommy is Tommy, and maybe, Techno isn't so low he'd play such a dirty move on him.)
“Tommy,” Pink is the only thing in the blond’s vision, and a large, gloved hand comes up and presses the back of his skull down. Down to where the side of his face is pressed into the crook of Techno’s neck. It's much more comfortable than trying to lift it up so he doesn't invade the man’s space, but it seems Techno doesn't give a shit. Or; if he does, he certainly isn't showing it, because his neck doesn't tense up even as Tommy’s muscles clench in the bitter frost. “Stay still.”
His torso, stocky and large, covers over his small, lithe-esque frame easily, blocking the wind. As if Techno was the one protecting him from the cold, not his warm clothes.
“Sorry,” he can barely hear himself over the sound of the wind, swirling around them. If he squints—which he's already doing and already hurts to do—he can see lights in the distance. They've either been walking a while, or Tommy never made it far in the first place.
He would've been dead within the hour. But, somehow, Techno easily leaving his faction and stumbling upon him before the snow got worse saved his life. The addition of his body warmth and the heated fabric of his clothes - and his cape, are extremely helpful, in Tommy’s case.
“‘urts,” Tommy slurs, tripping over his words. The syllables mesh together and Tommy feels like the world is spinning way too fast. The pain in his side, though, has subsided. It's peaceful. Quiet. Way too quiet. “only a ‘lil, ‘tho, ‘is… ‘is kinda fadin’.”
He sounds so little. Like a child with their pacifier in their mouth and the kid’s trying to speak around it. He's fifteen, he shouldn't sound like this. Much less in front of Technoblade. The hands gripping him tighten, and he seems to speed up.
Techno glances at him, eyes darting. “Don't you dare fall asleep.”
“Awhhhhh,” he whines, shivering, pressing closer into Techno. “But I’m tired.”
“If you fall asleep,” he deadpans, breathing out a quick exhale. Exertion flows in Techno’s blood, a cough kept at bay in his throat. “You might not ever wake up. I’ve only got so long.”
Tommy doesn't think he really registers what that means until Techno’s hand comes back and pushes him back down. He gasps, and his teeth tug on his bottom lip. Maybe if he bites hard enough he’ll start bleeding, and the horrible tang of iron will keep his brain up and running like a fax machine.
The walk up the steps of the entrance of the Antarctic Empire is the hardest part. While, it should be the easiest— it isn't. The switch in temperature is already drastic and makes Tommy’s eyes go wide, but the absolute hell his ribs feel is so much worse.
He feels as though someone took a tweezer and pulled out every organ a human needs to function properly, as if someone shoved nails in his eyes, as if a woodpecker pecked at his brain until there was nothing. It hurts, and he winces, face scrunching up as he reaches bloody and purple-tipped hands to grab at Techno’s blouse.
Though, it is a fast walk to the infirmary.
There's already people waiting for them, which obviously proves the fact Calvin went and warned the residents of this faction of Tommy’s probable situation of certain fucking death . Which, while, he again is thankful for but good god is it embarrassing.
For everyone’s eyes to be on him, but not in the way he wants. He wants people to pay attention to what he has to say, not to why there are tears drying on his cheeks and why his frostbitten hands are holding on for dear life into Techno’s shirt. He looks like what he doesn't want to be: a weak, delicate child.
Philza’s wings spread out, reaching the two first. Tommy holds down a sob and shoves his face into Techno’s neck, a red flush of shame flooding his nape, his cheeks.
“Is he alright?” Phil murmurs to his friend, “Is- I heard what happened.”
“We need to get him help immediately,” Techno stresses, fingers ghosting down Tommy’s spine comfortingly- very out of character for him. “Help me bring him.”
“Yeah, yeah mate, I can do that.” Tommy grits his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw as Phil’s warm hand presses against ice-cold skin, a mumbled apology coming from the man’s lips.
Majority of the guys behind Phil and Techno shuffle around uncomfortably; the blond’s blurry vision landing on Wisp.
“He's literally red,” Pete says, horrified, in the background. He approaches closer, watching as both Techno and Phil work Tommy into a position where they can easily lay him down on the bed. “Poor kid, he's freezing . ”
“It was my fault,” Calvin mutters. “I stabbed him on sight, why- why the hell would I even do that?”
“Not sure,” Wisp butts in. If Tommy was sentient enough, he'd probably flip the man off. “but what you did probably wasn't the best answer for when someone accidentally walks up behind you.”
Tommy is gently placed on the infirmary bed, Phil calling Pete over to help hold his arms down so he can get a good look at the injury. Techno kneels next to him, and- with one slice of reluctance, he grabs Tommy’s hand instead of having Pete pin him down. “Hey,” Techno murmurs. Tommy turns to him, eyes blurring. “You're gonna be fine.”
“ Hurts ,” is all he can say.
“I know it does,” He shoulders his cape, the flurries attached to the velvet fluttering off and onto the ground. The cape follows suit, pooling on the floor on a big heap of fluff. The sleeves of his blouse have way too much of Tommy’s blood on them, probably from wrapping around Tommy’s waist. Long, pastel pink hair- slightly frizzed, hangs low. It reaches his waist, crouched on his haunches by his bedside. “and you're cold, right? Don't answer that.”
Tommy coughs, and fuck, that hurts too, and Phil warns him, “I’m gonna put you under. This is gonna hurt like fucking hell, mate, it'd be better.”
He hopes they don't kill him while he's asleep—but at this point? That scenario seems so goddamn unlikely even if he'd believe it a few hours ago.
He nods, once. Techno worries at his lip. “I could.. I could probably call your friends back at Business Bay for you. Nod or shake your head.”
He shakes his head. He doesn't want them to have to travel through that damn blizzard. Wisp eyes him worriedly, his hands retreating when Tommy’s pupils dilate at the proximity, flashing angrily. Traitor, Tommy thinks. Fucking traitor.
The last thing Tommy feels before his eyes fall close is the beeping of a heart monitor and Techno’s ice-cold hands on his.
-
The first thing Tommy sees when he wakes back up is, unfortunately, Technoblade.
And usually if you wake up in a white room stuck in a bed, crippled, bandages wrapped around your waist, and everything hurts and the only person next to you is the Technoblade, you are probably going to die. For Tommy? That is, ironically, the opposite.
He does know Techno was next to him when he fell asleep, but the fact that the man’s presence is still here makes Tommy’s face heat up.
Another thing he notices is he's not in his tuxedo anymore, his iconic business suit. The garment is gone, which is for good measure, because it was dripping wet and freezing-fucking-cold when he was brought in by the man nearby. Someone must've changed him, considering he's now in a soft, quartz-colored clothes instead of the fancy fabric he had on earlier.
“What are you doing here?” Turning his face out of his slumber deep in the confines of his pillow, he faces Techno, wrinkle lines imprinted in his cheeks. A moment, two, the only sound echoing through the room being the dripping of the IV next to him; pricked in his wrist. “I woulda’ thought you would've gone home by now.”
“I live here,” Techno says simply. If Tommy squints, the corners of his lips are perked up. “The news about you has made it around the entire world by now.”
“Everyone knows?” His eyes flash, not aggressively, but in a strange type of fear. “Do they know exactly what-”
“Yeah.” His chin dips, landing on his collarbone. He looks strangely unperturbed at the fact everyone knows Technoblade carried TommyInnit to safety; and the oxymoron there is that Techno doesn't even like Tommy. And now he's pulling the savior shit. Makes no damn sense.
A rush of embarrassment shoots up his veins. He shivers, Oh. That means Deo and the guys all know too. Fuck.
“Fuck me, man,” Tommy mutters. “Fuck. How long am I stuck here?”
“Probably until you get better,” eyes gleaming in concern, Techno lays a gentle hand on Tommy’s forehead, thumb rubbing just under his hairline. There's a silence, a tender moment there.
Techno doesn't remove the hand after two, five seconds. It stays longer than it needs to, but Tommy isn’t complaining. Turning his cheek and pressing into the hand— hopefully— is unnoticeable on Techno’s part but who knows, he's always been observant.
If he saw, he doesn't say anything about it. Neither does Tommy.
Tommy’s heart aches, pounding. Not just because of the aftermath of the anesthetic, or the anesthesia, but because that action makes him feel the way he does around Deo, or Luke, or Bitzel. Hell, maybe throw Wilbur in there too.
For Techno to check his temperature so gently—that’s something Tommy won't forget for a long, long time.
“Why'd you do it?” He grips the bed, eyes watering. “Why would you help me, especially in this situation, Techno?”
It goes quiet. It's not tense, not uncomfortable. Some sort of comradery. Maybe Tommy’s thinking about it too hard, that he and Techno may have started a budding friendship after what happened last night- if Tommy didn't sleep multiple days after whatever the hell they did when he was put under.
Carrying a rival through a blizzard to keep them safe, caving yourself around their body to keep warm; that's not something Techno would do to just anyone lying out in the snow.
Tommy’s still waiting for an answer, and all Techno does is grab his cape and lay it across Tommy’s shaking frame, like an extra blanket. He leans back in his, most likely uncomfortable, plastic chair and shuts his eyes.
“I don't know, Tommy.” And Tommy
knows
he's telling the truth. “I have no idea why I did it. Maybe you'll help me figure it out.”