Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Techno had always been a fighter. For as long as he could remember, life was a constant fight.

In the Nether, he fought for food and shelter and dominance, the scorned runt left for dead.

Then he met Phil, and was free from it, for a time.

Until his newfound family came back bloodied and bruised and with an arrow stuck in his arm, and Techno decided to fight again. He asked Phil to teach him how to fight, with swords and axes and bows, until he could take down a zombie in two strikes and a creeper in three. He learned how to be fast, be nimble, and be cautious, but that was never really enough for him.

Then the wars started, and his hometown was destroyed. He struck out on his own, leaving Phil and the newly adopted Wilbur to fend for themselves.

As a traveling mercenary-for-hire, he learned chaos, or perhaps remembered it, and began to grow addicted to combat and the ways of anarchy.

He returned home once, for a month, only to find Phil had adopted another son, a fourteen-year old named Tommy, and he and Wilbur and Phil ran a small blacksmithing shop together, doing well without him.

He stayed for a month or so, and then vanished again, competing in gladiator-style tournaments. He won constantly, and nearly quit until a new competitor entered the ring. His name was Dream, and he was an upstart 20-something who was arrogant and provided a challenge. Nobody else could stand a chance against Techno, but Dream could keep pace.

And he was content, for a time.

Until Dream vanished, and Techno got a letter from his hometown.

Dear Technoblade,

You have been formally been selected for the mandatory draft into our illustrious army of Manburg! Your attendance to your new barracks is required by June 12th, under punishment of death or servitude.

Signed,

President J. Schlatt.

He returned home, only to find walls had been erected around the entirety of his country, with guards posted around all entrances and exits. His father was in a coma in the local hospital, his siblings gone, and their blacksmithing shop burned to the ground.

He reported to the mandated barracks, bewildered, and found Dream as a high ranking military officer, his friends his direct subordinates. Techno himself was regulated to grunt work, often subject to derogatory words, destruction of belongings, and tripping in the halls.

Amongst that humiliation, he remembered his remains of anarchy, and the brutality of the wars the kingdoms had waged, and thought, "I can do better than this."

It didn't truly sink in that he had to leave until he was forced to shoot an innocent sixteen-year-old who reminded him so much of Tommy.

The kid survived, and Technoblade fled that night, using an enchanted compass to find Tommy and Wilbur.

He found them in an abandoned mine connected to a ravine, collecting supplies and plotting to overthrow the president. They welcomed him back, for the most part, even when he told them he only wanted the government destroyed, no new government to be created on the ruins of the old.

And yet they tried to set up a new one anyway, and so he abandoned them.

He hid at the base of a snow-covered hill, trading with the local village and farming like his dad had taught him to, so many years ago. Forced himself to dull his edges and quell his bloodthirst.

He became the village protector, disappearing and reappearing at random, but trading regularly with the locals and protecting them from pillagers and monster hordes.

And he was content, for a while.

Dad came to visit, as did the ghostly visage of his younger brother, dressed in a yellow sweater and handing him bits of 'blue' Techno kept in a chest, next to Wilbur's old glasses and Tommy's old red handkerchief and a few of Phil's feathers.

Then one day, he came back from hunting to find his door ajar and snow tracked inside. He went inside to find his littlest brother, shivering in one of his old cloaks with no shoes on, two enchanted compasses around his neck, and a battered sword clutched to his chest. One compass pointed straight at Techno's fireplace, and the other at some far-off point, towards where Manberg lay.

Techno didn't say anything, just pushed the door shut behind him and shoved the cloak he had been wearing towards Tommy, stepping over him to get to the kitchen.

As Techno began making some rabbit stew, Tommy spoke.

"I'm sorry, I just had nowhere else to go."

And suddenly, Techno had something to fight for again.

Chapter Text

It had been two months.

Two months since Phil had told him that Tommy had been exiled.

Two months since Wilbur- Ghost bur- had shown up and started handing him blue dye and acting like he had when they were kids.

And two months since Techno had started construction on a new room for his house.

He told himself and Phil it was because he needed more storage, but he had plenty.

He told himself it was to use up excess resources, but that didn't mean anything.

He refused to admit it was because he hoped that Tommy would reach out to him, that he wanted to mend this rift that had formed.

And for two months, he had found himself exploring the nearby woods and artic wastes, looking for any sign of civilization, anything to show that Tommy was looking for him something he couldn't quite find.

And two weeks since Wil- Ghostbur had stopped showing up and handing Techno blue dye.

Techno was worried.

He adjusted his cape over his broad shoulders, contemplating his haul for the day.

He had gotten a few rabbits, enough for plenty of rabbit stew over the next couple days, and also found a new cave he could explore over the next few days looking for Tommy.

His door was ajar.

He had closed it when he left, and Phil knew better than to leave his door open when he dropped by.

He drew his axe, readjusting his grip, eyes narrowing and mind focusing even as the voices screamed at him rip tear kill, blood for the blood god, honor your past kill kill kill. He nudged the door open with the handle of his axes, readying his grip to strike-

and there was something lying in front of his fireplace, thin and small and with a ripped white shirt, and all his instincts screamed rip protect shelter and he's by his brother's side, wrapping his thick winter cloak around Tommy and settling him more comfortably by the fireplace, his kills and axe dropped in the entryway and forgotten.

Eventually, he goes back for them, sweeping the snow back outside and cleaning and butchering his kills, his axe hung back on the wall beside the fireplace. He calms himself in that mundane task, no matter how much he wants to hug his brother tightly and swear to never let him go again.

When Tommy came to, it's to a remarkably calm Technoblade, quietly stirring some rabbit stew and paying no visible attention to Tommy, though Tommy never remembers to check Techno's ears, and they perk up just a bit when he registers Tommy's breathing picking up and the creak of the floorboards.

Techno carefully kept himself calm, ladling out soup into two bowls, one for himself and one for Tommy. He picked up the bowls and carried them over to Tommy, plopping down in front of the fireplace and setting a bowl in front of Tommy's still-trembling legs.

He learns, later, that Tommy was trembling out of fear and not cold, and he breaks down and begs for forgiveness, the only time he had done so in five years.

It was Tommy who broke the silence.

"Why-" Tommy starts, hesitant, and it reminds Techno of that first day that Phil brought Tommy home, tiny and beat up with a bandage on his nose, braces on his teeth, and a handkerchief around his neck that's still in one of Techno's chests- "-why did you let me stay?"

The look that overcame Tommy's face, mournful and tired, made Techno want to simultaneously pull Tommy into a hug and burn the whole world to the ground, so he settled for the first option.

He set his bowl down, sighed, and then pulled Tommy into one of his bear-hugs, burying his face into Tommy's hair and shoving down the urge to cry.

Retirement really did make him soft, huh?

He held Tommy for a good thirty seconds, then pulled back, looking Tommy in the eyes.

"Because you're my brother."

And then Tommy's dam burst.

He shoved himself back into Techno's arms, and sobbed like his life depended on in, occasionally wailing incoherently. Techno just held him, stroking his back like he did when seven-year-old Tommy would crawl into his brother's bed, crying about a nightmare, shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth.

After Tommy had called down enough that he wasn't hiccupping out sobs every five seconds and could speak with relative coherence, Techno gripped him by the shoulders, stared him in the eyes, and asked him that fateful question.

"Alright, who do I need to kill?"

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry Tommy."

Tubbo?

"You're so annoying."

George?

"If you want to be a hero, then die like one!"

Techno?

"Just shut UP, Tommy!"

Wilbur?

"Annoying."

"Useless."

"Loud."

"Too much."

"Idiotic."

"A pain!"

"Just leave us alone!"

"I don't wanna talk to you, Tommy."

Nobody does.

The sound of armor clanking and snow crunching is what wakes Tommy up, and he immediately sits up straight, tense.

It's been a week since Dream made Tubbo exile Tommy, and he'd been left alone on this tiny island for that whole week. The only person to stop by didn't really even qualify as a person, just Wilbur's distorted ghost, happy and optimistic in a way the real Wilbur hadn't been since they were kids.

But 'Ghostbur' didn't make noise when he moved.

Who-

The flaps of his shabby tent pushed open, and a pale hand reached in and pulled Tommy out of his meager shelter and into the freezing snow, his iron chestplate and leather boots and pauldrons doing little to shield him from the biting chill of the white powder.

He turned his head upwards, intent to yell at whoever decided to interrupt his exile, sword already materializing into his hand- only to focus on the accursed smiling mask.

Dream.

"What the fuck do you want, you oversized green slime?" he shouted. He would have shouted more, but there was suddenly a netherite sword pointed at his throat, and that shut him up real quick.

"Take off your armor and empty your inventory." Dream demanded, his mouth set in a neutral frown. It was the most serious Tommy had ever seen him.

Tommy stared at him in disbelief. "No, why the hell would I-"

The sword moved closer to Tommy's throat. "Take it all out now or I kill you, right here."

Tommy just stared for another few seconds, but eventually complied, dropping his stone sword, slipping off his pauldrons, and unbuckling his chestplate. Next came his inventory, and out came a few bushels of berries, a furnace, a crafting table, a pickaxe, axe, and shovel, three pieces of rotten flesh, two mutton chops, a bow and four arrows, and two pieces of iron. He scooted back in the freezing snow, hands up. "There. That's all of it."

"Boots too. Now." Dream demanded again.

"My shoes?! You can have my armor, but why do you care about my damn shoes?!"

His frown deepened into a scowl. "Now!"

Tommy held his hands up in surrender again. "Fine, fine!" He slid his boots off too, settling them on his chestplate.

"Good. Go back into your tent."

"Why? What the hell are you gonna do to my stuff?! It took me ages to get it!"

Dream's voice, while flat before, was suddenly dripping with anger. "Shut the FUCK up Tommy. I told you to do something, so you do it. No FUCKING questions asked! You get me?!" He brandished his sword again, and Tommy suddenly remembered who he was up against.

Dream, the PvP champion contested only by Technoblade, decked out in his best armor with a fully enchanted netherite sword, pointed directly at Tommy's chest.

Tommy might be a smartass with little-to-no self preservation, but his older brothers had imparted a LITTLE common sense into his peabrain.

So he stepped back, hands up, and made his way over to his tent. He had almost slipped inside, until he heard a clicking sound and the cracking of fire. Turning around, he caught a glimpse of all the stuff he had going up in flames, and reason flew out the fucking window.

"DREAM! WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! YOU JUST LIT ALL MY FUCKING SHIT ON FIRE YOU FUCKING MANIAC! MY FOOD, MY SHOES?! YOU BURNED MY FUCKING SHOES?! I'M IN THE FUCKING ICE AGE, HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO GET FOOD OR ANYTHING IF YOU BURN MY FUCKING SHOES?!" he yelled, running at Dream and gesticulating angrily. Dream merely stood his ground in front of the burning fire pit, face as hidden and impassive as always under that stupid fucking white mask with that smug fucking grin on it, mouth set in that same fucking infuriating neutral frown, like some kind of fucking disappointed parent or some shit.

When he got close enough, Dream ducked, grabbing Tommy by the legs and hauling him into a fireman's carry, knocking the wind out of Tommy and leaving him gasping for air and choking on frustrated tears as he watched his iron chestplate melt onto his burning leather pauldrons, his boots smoking next to charred food and a puddle of iron already getting contaminated in the dirt.

Dream threw Tommy back into his tent. "Stay there. This is for your own good."

By the time Tommy gathered himself and stopped crying enough to see properly and get outside of the tent, all traces of Dream being there had vanished, as had the pit where Tommy's stuff had been burned. He would have questioned whether or not it even happened if he wasn't freezing cold, with parts of his clothes ripped, wet, or torn, and no shoes on.

He went back into his tent and crashed into a fitful sleep.

...

The next week, it happened again.

He had managed to make himself a new pair of makeshift leather boots, found some berries and even planted some in a small clearing not far from his camp, and even fashioned himself a new blanket from sheep's wool.

Then Dream showed up at ass-early in the morning, dragged him out into the snow, and demanded he drop everything in his inventory.

"No way in hell! It took me forever to get this stuff back, I'm not letting you burn it like you did last time, Dream. No way in bloody hell!" he shouted, clutching the berries he had been eating to his chest, eyes darting around wildly.

Dream had simply retorted, "It's for your own damn good, Tommy. I can't trust you with tools." and beat the living shit out of him.

When Tommy was on one heart, he relented, dropping his stuff.

He still had his blanket, but he was freezing when he fell into a fitful sleep that night.

...

Ghostbur stopped dropping by.

Tommy missed him.

He missed just about everybody, actually.

Tubbo, Fundy, Sapnap, Bad, George, Phil, honestly even Techno would be better than the oppressive silence that was him and the blanket of cold white that surrounded his pathetic campsite.

No, he reminded himself.

Techno was a fucking traitor, leaving him and Wilbur just because they wanted L'Manburg to have a leader.

It didn't matter anyway.

Techno fucking hated him too.

Right?

...

Dream showed up every couple days now.

He showed up, dragged Tommy outside, burned his stuff, etc.

But the last time, he said Tommy was getting too thin, and gave him a few pieces of bread.

Before Tommy could react, Dream had disappeared.

It was weird, but in some odd way it made him feel warm.

...

Tommy started to look forward to prepare for Dream's visits, waking up early and having himself already outside. The moment Dream arrived, he took out the meager supplies he had amassed and dropped them at Dream's feet, not looking up at the smug fucking smirk he knew Dream had on under his mask.

Those days he was given a piece of food if he 'did well' or 'looked too thin'. If he wasn't, Dream made him apologize for being difficult, or he beat the living shit out of him.

His sleep grew more restless by the day.

...

He figured out how to keep some of the stuff he amassed every day.

He kept one of everything in his tent when he sat outside for Dream, and gave Dream a dummy set of stone tools to burn, hiding and hoarding his real stuff carefully in a hole under his bed, covered by a mat he fashioned out of sticks and cloth rope.

Every day, he gave Dream stuff to burn, and hid the valuables he managed to collect by the time Dream showed up for the daily burning.

He had collected three iron, a pair of leather boots, two arrows, three pieces of bread, a wheat stalk, a few berries, and a potato.

It wasn't much, but he slept better knowing he had stuff he could keep.

...

They did the usual song and dance today, but something felt... off. Tommy couldn't put his finger on it, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him not everything was how it was supposed to be today.

He checked on his stash quietly, shifting his bed and reaching down into the hole- only for his hand to his something small, and... papery?

He pulled it out to find a note, and that sinking feeling grew hard in his stomach, alarm bells ringing in his ears.

Dream found his stash.

There was a crash from outside, and he scrambled out- only to find a very pissed off Dream, holding Tommy's blanket in his hand, expression murderous.

"How fucking COULD you, Tommy?! I thought you were finally fucking getting better, I was finally starting to fucking TRUST you again, and then you pull this shit?! God FUCKING damn it, Tommy! I give you a LITTLE freedom, and you go and do this bullshit?!" he yells, brandishing the bundle made of Tommy's blanket, his fist clutching the ends of it so tight his knuckles were splotched in red and white. "Take off all of your shit. In fact, TAKE DOWN YOUR FUCKING TENT. NOW!"

Tommy just stared at him, terrified. "B-but, Dream! I'll die! I'll freeze to death if you burn my tent! What am I supposed to do without shelter in the freezing cold?!" he yelled, shaking in the freezing night, his hands shaking and body curled into itself.

"Take it down, NOW, Tommy. You're burning your own shit tonight."

Something in Tommy felt like it broke.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled, the first time he'd yelled in weeks. It hurt his throat, but he stared Dream right into the eyeholes of his stupid porcelain mask. "I always knew you were fucking sadistic, you green-clad bastard, but this is a new fucking low. I can accept burning my shit every morning. I can accept exiling me from everybody I've ever known or loved, but asking me to essentially kill myself when just a couple days earlier you told me it wasn't my FUCKING TIME YET?! What the fuck kind of shit are you on?! I can't believe you, you fucking shitlord. No. Fucking NO, I am not letting you take my shit again. Just fucking kill me, if that's what you're after. Just fucking kill me." he raged, something in him growing, getting angry like he was when he first got there. He was fucking done.

"Are you done having a temper tantrum, or do you need another minute, bitchbaby?" Dream asked calmly, but Tommy could tell by Dream's body language that he had made a huge fucking mistake.

"I- I-"

"Good. You're done." Tommy blinked and Dream was on him, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him backwards into a tree, knocking the breath from Tommy's lungs, then pinning him to the tree by a forearm to his throat, faster than Tommy could process. "Listen here, you little motherfucker. I don't want to punish you like this, but since you've decided to behave like a fucking feral dog, I have no choice but to treat you like you are- a fucking feral dog. If you can't handle that, then maybe it is really your fucking time to die." He let go of Tommy's throat, and Tommy slumped onto the ground, only for Dream to kick him directly on his still-healing ribs. "I don't honestly give a shit either way. But like a dog who disobeyed it's master, I have to teach you not to bite the hand that fucking feeds you."

He reared his foot back for another kick, but Tommy wasn't able to react in time to try and shield his fragile ribs. "You treat your betters with respect, you insolent child. I am the ONLY person who gives a shit about you anymore. Or did you forget?! You fucked up so many times we chose to EXILE you because you can't be trusted around real humans. I decided to take it upon myself to TEACH you how to act, so you could MAYBE be redeemed back into actual society, and you decide to do THIS fucking SHIT, hoarding like some kind of pest and lying to your fucking betters." Tommy heard a crack, and pain exploded through his torso, already being numbed by the pain and his newly gained incredibly high pain tolerance.

"I gave you one chance, to maybe beg for forgiveness, try to get back into my good graces, and you decided to fucking CUSS ME OUT like some kind of FUCKING FERAL CHILD, so now you get the alternative." Dream shouted, spitting in Tommy's face and rearing his foot back for another kick. "Me beating you until you BEG for death. In exchange, you get to keep your PATHETIC tent and your FUCKING blanket, but you're moving them onto an obsidian platform so you can't fucking hide shit from me again. Are we CLEAR?!" The foot collided with his stomach, and bile flooded from Tommy's mouth, but he nodded frantically anyways, eyes frozen shut from his tears and whole body tensed for more pain.

The next hit caused him to black out.

...

When Tommy next awoke, he was fully healed, back inside of his tent, wrapped only in his blanket with no bed in sight.

He shivered, wrapped the blanket around him, and peaked his head outside of the tent.

Dream's distinctive green was nowhere in sight.

Tommy retreated back into his tent, and sat down to think.

He didn't want to stay here, not where Dream could find and hurt him again at a moment's notice, no consequences. His ribs ached.

He couldn't go back to L'Manburg, nobody there would ever welcome him.

Phil wasn't an option, the man lived in L'Manburg.

Wilbur was dead.

He could try and find Technoblade's hidey-hole?

He was somewhere cold, right?

Tommy could make some rudimentary adventuring gear, head into the frozen wastes, and, what, just hope that Techno's base was in the direction he headed, and die in the freezing cold or to the hands of monsters?

He remembered Wilbur saying something about it being through the woods and across a frozen river, or that could be Wilbur misremembering a children's Christmas Carol, you could never tell with Wilbur.

It was a terrible plan, but it was better than Dream keeping him there forever, just to torment him and treat him as lesser than, right?

...

It took two weeks for Tommy to speed run the tools and things he needed fast enough before Dream could interrupt him in the middle of crafting something or other.

He kept it standard, a forge, a crafting table, some food, stone tools, an iron or two.

Dream beat him every night after searching his tent if he found even a stick that Tommy forgot to take out of the tent, each time yelling about he was lesser than, an annoying dog to be tamed, less than any human or hybrid, less than, less than, less than everybody.

It was starting to wear him down, get to him, but he did his best to hold out.

It felt like he was being chipped away at, like each time he was healed after a beating part of himself was removed.

He found himself growing quieter, more compliant, searching for ways to please Dream, make him go away faster, don't mess up don't mess up don't mess up no matter what he'll hurt you.

He was fine.

One day, Dream announced he'd be back in a few days.

It was his only chance, so he gripped it with both hands.

The next morning, he woke up early as always, sitting outside in the snow until midday, until he was sure Dream wasn't coming back that day.

He went back inside, grabbed a piece of iron, and made himself a shoddy cloak out of his bedding. He made himself some wraps for his feet out of leather and wool, and wrapped them around his feet.

He grabbed his tools from the pit, and inside of the pit he found something that he had never noticed, something Dream apparently hadn't either.

An enchanted compass, with an engraving on the inside.

An engraving Dream couldn't have ever faked.

It was a crown over a pair of tusks, Techno's secret coat of arms that Tommy had helped him make when they were young and foolish, and Techno was still doing those BedWars tournaments. Before the war, before the Dream SMP, before anything.

It pointed into the woods.

Not sparing another second, he hung the compass around his neck and materialized his sword into his hand.

Time to find his brother.

Chapter Text

Tommy ran through their twisting tunnels, sprinting desperately to where he knew the control room to be.

He had ran into Phil in the chaos, and Phil promised to try and talk Techno down while Tommy tried to find Wilbur.

Tommy just hoped Wilbur wasn't at the button yet.

He rocketed around the last bend, slamming himself against the doorway and gasping for air.

He looked up, only to find a rather shocked Wilbur staring at him, hand hovering in midair.

"Tommy? Tommy what are you doing down here? You've won, shouldn't you be celebrating in L'manburg?" Wilbur asked, his hand dropping. He drew his mouth into a facsimile of a smile, but it was too stretched, too pleading and hollow to ever be considered genuine. He made a half step towards Tommy, as if to help him, before freezing in place.

Good.

Because Tommy was downright passed, and there was no Dream or Techno to stop him from letting it out this time.

Nobody but the crazed shell wearing his brother's skin like a worn coat.

"Wilbur, what are you doing here?" Tommy shot back, straightening up once his breathing had settled down. "No, I'll save you from responding. I know exactly why you're here. I'm here to tell you that you're so unbelievably FUCKING stupid for deciding this is what you're doing. I can't fucking believe you, you Techno-headed piece of shit."

Wilbur's false smile quickly fell, replaced by the mad grin he had been sporting the last couple of weeks. "And what would you know, Tommy? All you've ever done is steal valuable resources and use them as decoration or have stupid temper tantrums."

"I've only thrown fucking temper tantrums?! You fucking arsehole! I helped create this country, helped to build it up, worked to regain it from a tyrant, and yet you're the one who gets to decide that its no longer fucking worth it?! Guess what, you bitch! I made this fucking country too! I took it back with you, as did Tubbo and Nikki. Even if we don't include anyone else, all four of us have to agree on this kind of shit." he shouted out, an axe materializing in his hand while his other curled into a fist. "I don't care what kind of FUCKING NONSENSE our brother and that green fucking bastard spewed to you, L'manburg is not your unfinished symphony, yours to fucking choose to abandon and destroy. It's a wholeass fucking country, you dumb motherfucker, and a democracy on top of that! If you blow it up now, you remove all the decision making from anyone but you!"

Wilbur, for once, looked shaken, his grin falling off his face and something akin to fear flashing through his eyes.

"I know I'm just a fucking kid and all, but I picked up some fucking shit from the lunatics who I got adopted with! I understand you, Wilbur, I know you feel like L'manburg isn't perfect anymore, but nothing in this fucking world is perfect, Wilbur." Tommy ground out. his grip on the axe tightening "But being imperfect doesn't mean it gets to be fucking BLOWN UP, you arsehole! So step away from that button, take a fucking deep breath, and get some goddamned therapy, you fucking loon, before I drag you to that shit myself!"

Wilbur's face drained of color, his mouth slack, and he stumbled away from the button.

It seemed as if the whole world had come crashing down on him. Well, Tommy was the only one to help him right now, so he got down to it..

He walked over to his brother and sat down beside him, giving him a hug. Wilbur didn't move at first, but after a few seconds he felt hands grip the back of his shirt and wet soak into the front of his shirt.

He stroked Wilbur's back like Wilbur used to do for him, and together, they started gluing the pieces back together.

Just Tommy and Wilbur.

Them against the world.

Chapter Text

When he first signed up for the Bed Wars, a tournament set in the Capitol's biggest calouseum, he thought it would be a competition to injure and not to kill.

He should have known better.

The phantom pains of an axe going through his chest and hitting his heart was the only physical reminder he had, floating in the void, a timer counting down the seconds before his release from the tournament.

Twelfth place.

Techno vowed to never place that low again.

His next tournament, he got second, a silver crown placed on his pink, now red hair.

He left that tournament speckled in blood, and learned to tie his hair back.

The next, he got first, and left with satisfaction in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and a heavy gold crown atop his pristine pink hair.

"Techno." his father called out, stopping him from leaving for his sixth tournament.

His younger brothers were upstairs sleeping, fourteen and ten respectively, and so he stilled, turning around to face his father's quiet disappointment.

"Yes?"

"Be careful, son. Don't let your want for bloodshed be your undoing."

Phil's eyes were saddened with a grief Techno could never really understand, too young to comprehend and too closed off to try.

"The voices crave violence, Phil. I need to sate them." he responded.

His father sighed. "Violence for violence's sake is the rule of beasts, Techno. You are far too intelligent to let your wants rule you like this."

That ticked Techno off. "Yes, father, I am intelligent. A quite intelligent beast who you dressed up to look human, taught to speak and fight. All I know is fighting! I might as well put it to some good fucking use! I may be a beast, Philza, but you are a monster."

He slammed the door behind him as he left.

He continued to win, and win, and win, and the voices grew louder, angrier, more fervent. Calling for blood, destruction, anarchy.

He gained the name Technoblade, The Blade, on one occasion he had been dubbed the Master of the Pit.

Nothing felt worthwhile other than the bloodshed.

It became his whole life, for awhile.

Win a tournamen, go to his rented apartment, clean himself up, and get supplies to live off of.

His winnings gave him more than enough to live off of, as it did other winners in other cities, but he didn't become a celebrity as they had, no tours or mansions.

Instead, he had his comfortable apartment with a bedroom and a library and anything he needed, and fell into a rhythm.

Until the wars hit.

He was drafted into the army, and quickly clawed his way up the ranks to General. His brothers were also drafted, and he used his power to get them added to his command. He promoted the older of the two, Wilbur, to be his second-in-command, and Tommy Wilbur's.

Together, the three brothers won battle after battle, but ultimately lost the war.

His men were slaughtered by the dozens, and he only just barely managed to escape the carnage the Dream Kingdom waged on their homeland.

Techno decided enough was enough, and went into hiding, only coming out of the woodwork for tournaments and supplies.

His brothers formed a rebellion, staking a claim on their hometown and several of the surrounding areas, collecting supplies and allies..

They gained power, amassed support, and prepared for war..

Technoblade merely watched.

Perhaps that was his biggest regret.

The war was close to six months long, ending in quite a few lost lives and a peace treaty brokered at personal cost to Tommy, his youngest brother.

Two of his most prized possessions, stolen from him.

But there was peace, for a time.

His brothers created a government, ran for president, and won, starting a mostly peaceful four year term.

Then eccentric billionaire Mr. J. Schlatte moved into town, and it all went to shit.

Their next election, one of their close friends ran against them along with Schlatte, and won, leaving his brothers exiled and scrambling for solutions.

This is when they turned to Technoblade for assistance.

Anything for his brothers.

He should have noticed the spark of madness in Wilbur's eyes when he declared they'd be the bad guys. He should have noticed the eyes he sees in the mirror every day reflected in his younger brother.

He should have tried to stop him.

But he just sat, passive, as his younger spoke of destroying the country he lost two of his lives creating and his youngest was caught up in the drama of war and fighting and thinking of things in black and white.

He even encouraged it, at points.

Why couldn't he be more like their father, compassionate and understanding instead of emotions dulled with misuse and empathy stunted with violence.

When the world blew, he stared in amazement and rage as craters appeared under the ground, houses collapsing and pathways blown to smithereens.

He ended up further away from everyone else, and decided that then would be a perfect time to release his most powerful weapon.

The voices agreed.

The withers took out the rest of the town and removed several people's first or second lives, and then Techno disappeared in the chaos, and vowed to never fight as anyone else's tool again.

He fought for himself and himself only.

The rest of the world could go fuck itself.

He ended up in the Antarctic, settling himself down not too far from a village and creating himself a cabin in the freezing cold.

Phil visited him there, once, and told him of Tommy's exile.

He asked Phil to make him a bee farm while he was there, and that was the extent of their communication, for a time.

In the Antarctic, his bloody hands found new passion in tending to his bees, and remembered old ones in the form of farming. He built himself a sort of retirement, and the voices quieted in the face of repetitive tasks and killing of monsters, back to how he used to be, before the wars and fighting and dead brothers and exile.

Wilbur showed up one day, transparent and missing half of his memories, clad in yellow how he used to be and carrying around blue, whatever that was, and handing it to Technoblade whenever he got upset.

The hollow shell that used to be his brother hurt, all smiles and a false recounting of the world; just as painful as the shell that only remembered the bad, who had cracked smiles that never quite reached his maddened eyes yet were wilder than they should have been.

Then he found Tommy in a hole in his basement, curled up and sickeningly thin like a starving raccoon, and Technoblade remembered the sweet anger of bloodlust.

After all, violence for violence had always been the rule of beasts. And oh, how Technoblade was a monster.

Chapter Text

Tommy's first death was at age eleven.

Most were at twenty, or thirty, some reckless stunt. Some people lost their first life in their late teens, but Tommy lost his first life at eleven.

Trapped in a room with his older brother and his fellow revolutionaries as a god and his mercenaries stormed in and murdered them all, a person he had once thought of as a friend standing by and watching their deaths with muted acceptance.

Tommy woke up at eleven in his bed, his chest aching with phantom pains atop a healed scar, his first of many.

His second death was in the same year, an arrow through his head, and he had a thin horizontal line through his forehead to show for it, about a dime in width and small enough to cover with his pinkie finger, hidden easily beneath his golden hair.

The war ended with Tommy's discs, his most prized possessions, being taken from him by a god like some sort of trophy.

But he dealt with the loss, and eventually gained them back.

His second war was waged over the course of years and not months, and by the end of it he was fifteen and sported new burn scars, sword scars, and three new arrow scars as well.

Over those two years, he turned thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen. A month after his fifteenth birthday, his best friend (sixteen at the time), was named the new president, and Tommy his vice.

That very same day, he watched as his older brother blew up the country they created together, his not-real-uncle spawn two of the most dangerous creatures to ever exist and allow them to bring havoc to the already destroyed country, and his older brother beg his father to kill him, half burnt from the explosions and madness bubbling in his eyes.

He stuck around for the rebuilding, helped his best friend rebuild, had a funeral for his brother, and his sixteenth birthday went without issue.

Aside from the usual griefing of houses, but that was just how things went. Stealing and burning shit was what happened here, and if you didn't like that someone stole your shit, then steal it back.

He didn't think it was that big a deal when he took Ranboo for the bonding activity of griefing George's summer cottage.

The guy didn't even really live there that often, so Tommy figured it'd be fine.

Tommy was the exception to the 'griefing was okay' rule, it seemed.

He was thrown from his home and country a week after his brother's birthday, a god stealing him away to a faraway island and stealing all of his shit before blowing it up.

But then Dream started on the whole 'being nice' thing, and Tommy couldn't tell which way was up anymore.

Dream burned his stuff, beat him bloody, was responsible for two of Tommy's deaths, and was the reason he was exiled.

Dream also gave him new stuff to replace the burned things, patched him up, taught him how to fight to safeguard his last life, and was the only person (who was alive and not an amnesiac who kept forgetting to visit) who kept him company every day of his exile.

And besides, Dream took his stuff because he's started two wars already, he clearly can't be trusted with material things; Dream beats Tommy so Tommy remembers to be a better person and to punish him for his wrongdoings; the two deaths were ultimately Tommy's fault, as they were both caused by Tommy starting shit with other people; and Tommy's exile was his fault too, for not following the rules and being rude to other people.

But he was just doing back what everybody had done to him, and nobody had ever told him that griefing was wrong, or that swearing was bad (aside from BBH, but the big man doesn't count, he had odd rules for everything), or even that you shouldn't look your betters in the eye, or anything like that!

But Dream was teaching him those rules now, and wasn't he nice for that?

And around and around it went.

But Dream didn't lie to him.

What Dream said had to be the truth, right?

Dream was his friend, and friends don't lie or hide things from each other.

Tommy was a bad friend, hiding those chests underneath Logstedshire. He should really just tell Dream they were there so they could burn the stuff together.

Maybe the beating won't be as bad if he comes clean about it, instead of Dream finding out on his own or some shi- something like that.

Tommy?

Tommy!

"Tommy! Pay attention when I talk to you!"

He snapped back to attention, his gaze automatically snapping to Dream's hand. "I'm sorry, Dream. I'll do better next time." he said, already unclasping the straps of his chestplate.

"As I was saying, we should probably be upping your training soon, seeing as you're starting to master the basics." Dream continued, gesturing for Tommy to lay it on the ground. "I'm thinking we can get you started with basic forms, then move on to basic sparring. Continue upping it until you can last a minute in the ring with me, and then teach you harder material." When Tommy got down to the boots Dream had given him, Dream held up a hand. "You can keep the boots, Tommy. You've been good lately."

He moved his hands away from his boots, grinning. "Really? Thanks, Dream!"

"Yeah, sure, don't mention it. Anyway-" Dream turned his attention from wherever he was staring at off in the distance directly to Tommy. "You want to tell me something. Tell me."

Tommy gulped, wishing he had armor to take off while he said it so Dream would be less angry, but it was all already on the floor. "I- I haven't been good, Dream, I haven't been good at all, and I'm sorry, I've just been so conflicted lately, but I figured it out in me 'ead, and I figured i should just come clean, cuz I shouldn't be hiding things from you, and I wasn't even planning on using 'em for anything, but it was nice, to just... have things, but I hid them from you and I wasn't supposed to, and I'm sorry, but I don't really even want 'em anymore cuz we're supposed to be friends and hiding things from friends is bad, and all that and-"

Dream raised up a hand.

Tommy fell silent.

"Take me to the stuff. You did good by telling me, so show me the stuff and I can decide how big of a punishment you deserve for it."

So Tommy nods, and he leads Dream over to the little hidey-hole that leads into his little vault under Logstedshire, his hands clamped shut over one another and his teeth clenched tightly.

Dream stepped into the room silently, going to each chest individually and pulling items out.

A diamond chestplate, redstone dust, iron leg guards, diamond pauldrons, an iron helmet, a diamond axe, a diamond pickaxe, three iron pickaxes, an iron sword, two iron axes, a stone hoe, and three iron shovels went into the pile, as well as iron, gold, and diamond ingots.

Once he closed the last chest, Dream spoke. "Is this all of it?"

Tommy could feel his heartbeat quicken. "Yeah."

"Dig the hole, Tommy."

He dug, his hands pulling at soft dirt until it hit hard stone, about three meters deep.

"Put the stuff in. Go outside and grab that armor, too."

He shoved the stuff into the hole haphazardly. The sun hurt his eyes, but he grabbed his iron armor and went back down to shove that in, too.

He opened his inventory, too, made it public sight so Dream could see it as he grabbed all of his tools, ingots, ores, and food and dropped all of that in, too.

Dream dropped a stick of dynamite in the hole, but instead of blowing it up himself, he handed the bow to Tommy.

"Set it on fire, Tommy. Now."

Tommy drew the bow, the arrow catching fire at the tip once it was fully drawn.

He shot the arrow into the hole and gave the bow back to Dream, standing stiffly as he listened to the fuse light.

(Another one of Dream's rules. No covering his ears or being scared over 'dumb things')

The explosion made him flinch, but no tears rolled down his face this time.

He continued to stare at the hole, waiting for Dream to do something, anything.

Talk over a punishment, start beating him, something.

But Dream just stood there.

Contemplating.

And then Dream pulled something out of his inventory that had all of Tommy's thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Dream was holding a collar.

Dream turned to Tommy.

"I've been contemplating this for a while, whether or not I was giving you too much freedom when I'm not here to accompany you. Clearly, you've thought better of your actions, but that doesn't mean that I can forgive you immediately. So I'm going to bring you to my base." Dream said, moving forward. "Your first instinct is going to be to freak out. Don't. I want to be able to trust you again, Tommy. Don't betray that trust by saying no to the only opportunity I'm giving you for redemption. Following your impulses is what got you into this mess."

Tommy gulped, staring at the collar, but he stood his ground. He didn't want to betray his only friend's trust.

"I'm going to come closer, and I'm going to put this on you. You're not going to fight it. If you do, I won't hesitate to force you into wearing this. I know you want redemption, Tommy. So bare your neck and let me put this onto you."

Some deep, feral part of him screamed at him that he shouldn't ever be collared, he should be free, but he squashed it down as best as he could manage, swallowing tightly and moving his chin upwards so Dream could have better access to his neck.

Dream was closer than he'd ever been before, and the smooth, hard leather of the collar pressed firmly against the back of Tommy's neck.

Dream closed the collar, settling it against Tommy's windpipe and just above his Adam's apple. As he tightened it, it seemed to seal to Tommy's skin, and something akin to a pulse burst against Tommy's throat and through his whole body, leaving his head tingling and his body fuzzily warm.

Why was he worried about Dream, again? Dream only wanted what was best for him, and listening to Dream made everything make so much more sense.

Why fight it?

Dream's hand on his arm snapped him back into focus, the fuzzy warm feeling there but not encompassing.

"Time to go, Tommy."

He nodded, and Dream slipped his hand into Tommy's and led him outside and to the Portal.

Tommy smiled. The Nether was always so warm, like a comforting hug.

Dream led Tommy through the Portal and down the side of the Nether, away from their normal hangout spots and into someplace unfamiliar.

It didn't matter where Dream took him though, cuz it was Dream, and Dream could never do anything bad.

Right?

Chapter Text

Tommy couldn't really pinpoint when the murmuring had started.

It seemed like it'd been there forever, but he distinctly remembered parts of his childhood where he didn't have that little background commentary at all.

He had asked Wilbur, once, what the murmuring meant when it said certain things, but Wilbur had told him that he was just being silly, that he was just hearing other people talking from different rooms.

But there were times he was alone, well and truly alone, and he still heard the little not-quite whispers, little snippets of his surroundings or how he was feeling.

The older he got, the more distinct and Other the murmurs seemed, until one day he was alone in Pogtopia, bruises hurting and head pounding, where the murmurs- the voices- grew to a fevered pitch, screaming at him.

Some were angry at Technoblade, at Wilbur, at Tubbo and Dream and Schlatt and Big Q. But more were angry at himself for letting himself get so beat up, for not helping, for being so goddamned useless that he couldn't even beat Techno in a fair one-on-one fight for his best friend's second life.

When Technoblade found him, hours later, sitting quietly in a dark, bloody room, he simply dragged him to Techno's farming room, bandaged him up, and told him about the Voices and what it meant for him.

He managed them better after that, and there wasn't another lapse in control.

Until he and Ranboo discovered George's house, and the fact that he missed out on an entire war just to build some stupid cottage.

And the Voices got angry.

They demanded retribution, and Tommy did too.

He doesn't remember much after then, not until he found himself somewhere quiet again, this time the sewers, and he came to -not with bloody fingers and a pounding head, but to a lighter in one hand, soot on his clothes, and a gapple that definitely wasn't his clutched in the other.

Ranboo showed him his memory book that night, and the pages told him that Tommy convinced Ranboo to help Tommy in griefing George's house, and that half the time he seemed out of it.

The next day, Dream arrived. He demanded retribution for George's lost property, and Tommy remembers accepting in some part of him that he needed a consequence, yet fighting against it anyway because that's just how he'd always choose to go down.

(He'd never take Ranboo down with him, though. It was his fault, his mess, his punishment. The hybrid boy didn't need to deal with that)

So he was put on probation, but that wasn't enough for Dream, so he was exiled.

The voices raged in his head, called it unfair, said Tubbo was awful, Dream was awful, that he was being betrayed; but it didn't really register to him, too far gone in the numb grief of his best friend's hardened face and cold, angry eyes.

His Tubbo was gone.

He couldn't find any trace of the sweet boy rambling about bees and smiling gently even as he was being louder, more crass, and more violent that Tommy.

All he could think as he was escorted out was "I'm going to make it up to you, Tubbo. I'm so sorry."

Exile never helped the voices.

Or maybe the voices didn't help exile?

Either way, the voices filled the void that people left behind, having nobody to talk to except the ghost of his dead brother (a possible hallucination), the image of his (ex?) best friend (a definite hallucination), and a forgetful hybrid boy who gave him snacks and tools and blankets as 'housewarming gifts'- his mind screamed at him not to accept, that Ranboo was giving them out of pity and nothing else, but then he remembered how honestly he talked and how little he hid, and Tommy couldn't think that of Ranboo anymore. Ranboo didn't seem capable of pity.

He also had Dream, he supposed, but the Voices didn't trust him and neither did Tommy.

He forced Tommy to give up his tools and armor, which alone was enough for him and the voices to get outraged, but then he blew up the stuff he worked so hard to get?!

It was enough for his vision to turn red.

The first time Tommy went into a rage in front of Dream, he didn't remember much.

But his wrist was broken and set, and his hands were bloody under the fingernails, and the bruises around his neck suggested a sleeper hold.

The voices were silent, though, so Tommy couldn't bring himself to regret it just yet.

It was a month into his exile when Tommy first noticed how the voices fluctuated.

When he was alone, they flittered quickly between loud and quiet, angry and helpful, sometimes something in between. Most of the time they were relatively quiet, though in general it was a mixed bag.

He had mined out a room, in his mine, that was just for the days everything got too loud.

All that was down there was an ender chest, a music box, and a few blankets, but it was nice.

He also had a Screaming Ledge in the nether, but it was often too hard to reach when he was particularly stressed out.

When he was around others things were different.

When he was around Dream, at least.

When they went through their normal routine, the voices were angry, but not raging as they used to be.

They learned with him what the consequences for unchecked rage was.

During sparring, they were a frenzy of information, yet not nearly as loud as they could've. They fed him information, observations, and a couple that sounded like family told him how to correct his stance and strike with better precision.

When him and Dream were companionable, they were little more than background noise, quiet and content like they used to be.

When he made mistakes, they joined Dream in screaming at him for his misdeeds, for going against the few rules he had out there. They often agreed with Dream's favorite method of getting the point across, though Tommy's ribs really didn't.

Often enough, they demanded he hurt himself further, break a limb or sink his fingernails into his forearms until they bled, but Dream wasn't too fond of that alternative, either.

He would gently take care of him, murmuring softly about how he wished Tommy wouldn't do such things to himself, how he didn't want him hurting, how he wanted Tommy to come to him for these things.

The voices quieted down to barely a simmer in moments like those.

The few that were loud enough to be heard thanked Dream for caring.

He told Dream about the voices, one quiet night.

Just a simple sentence.

"Hey, Dream?" he asked quietly, his head resting on Dream's shoulder.

He felt Dream shift, his arm loosely curling around Tommy. "Hm?"

"The voices say thank you. Just to let you know."

Dream just hummed, stroking Tommy's back until he fell asleep.

Dream gave him a gift, once.

On the anniversary of that dumb beach party, Dream gave him a little box, tied up with red ribbon and covered in white wrapping paper.

He opened it to find a mask, just like Dream's, with little inscriptions on the inside band.

Dream confided in him, quietly, that Dream got voices too, sometimes, but his parents had given him a mask to wear to help muffle them.

Tommy had thanked Dream, immediately pulling it onto his head despite the Voices' protests.

That was his first day as Dream's protégé.

Chapter Text

Ghostbur was running.

He was running as fast as he could, dodging snowflakes in a whirl of yellow and grey as he raced away from Logstedshire

He was running because the way Dream was treating Tommy wasn't right, that's not how things are supposed to go between friends, but he was just a ghost and couldn't help Tommy, so he was determined to find somebody who could.

Somebody like Technoblade.

Before he forgot again.

He burst into the doors of Techno's home to find him tending to the fire, though he whirled around at the banging noise the door made.

"Techno, Techno, I need to tell you something before I forget, please you have to listen really carefully because I don't think I'll remember for long!" he shouted out, wringing his hands nervously.

Techno wasted no time in setting down the fire poke and getting ready to listen. "I'm listening, Wilbur. Tell me."

"You know how Tommy's on tour with me, and all that? Well I wandered back to camp because I forgot something, and I saw this big hole in the ground, and Dream was there, and Tommy was on the floor next to Dream and he started hurting him, it was awful, there was blood everywhere and Tommy was crying but he wasn't doing anything, Techno I think Dream might not be a good person! Friends don't do that to friends, Techno!" he rushed out, eyes closed and body all scrunched.

Then he felt the pressure leave again, and he opened his eyes to see Techno kind of angry, in the same way he used to be when he'd beat up school bullies and tell off teachers. Ghostbur smiled weakly, wondering what he was doing there. He had been running here for something, something important, and probably something upsetting based on Techno's expression right now.

Hadn't he just been with Tommy? Oh, he hoped Tommy was alright.

"Hey, Technoblade? Did I forget something again? You seem upset, here, have some blue, calm yourself," he offered on reflex, shoving the blue into Techno's hand.

The tension in Techno's shoulders released somewhat, and he smiled and rubbed Ghostbur's hair, causing Ghostbur to smile as well. "It's okay, Ghostbur. You just let me know about a pest I gotta take care of. Would you mind going to check on Phil for me, Ghostbur? I gotta take care of something real quick."

Ghostbur blinked a bit, processing. Then a grin spread across his face. Seeing his dad? A wonderful time! "Sure thing Technoblade! Good luck with your, uh... pest problem! Bye!"

He hopes all of his family can be together soon.

Later, as he's visiting with his dad, a message flicks across the server public chat.

Dream was slain by Technoblade

Chapter Text

Tommy knew his day was going to go to shit from the second he woke up.

He was awoken by a shouting match from above, and then left to stew in silence for what felt like forever.

Having had enough of the silence, he snuck upstairs out of his little hidey-hole in Technoblade's basement to find some more food.

Big fucking mistake.

Tommy had just opened a chest to search its contents for food when he heard the unmistakable crunch of weight on snow.

Technoblade was back.

"It's ok, Carl. We'll just get you back into your stable, and we'll find you somewhere safer in a bit." he heard Technoblade mumble, and Tommy had just enough time to take his hand out of the chest and take a couple steps away from it before Technoblade walked in, looking through his inventory and not paying attention.

Then suddenly the menu closed, and Tommy could barely process Technoblade's eyes on him before there was a sharpened netherite axe aimed directly at Tommy's throat, close enough to draw blood if he swallowed.

He took a step back, hands raised, and the blade edged closer to his neck.

"What are you doing here, Theseus? I thought you were in exile on that crappy island." Technoblade wondered aloud, eyes narrowed.

"I-I-I- I just couldn't do it anymore. Dream... he likes to say he's my friend but friends don't do that sort of thing and I-I'm all jumbled in the head now and Wilbur disappeared and I wasn't sure wh-what to do, but I figured, 'well, Technoblade's never bullshitted me before, s-so maybe he can help me unjumble everything!' But then you weren't home when I showed up so I-I-I figured I'd wait for you. I'm sorry, I can l-l-leave. now if you like. Don't want to waste your t-time." he stuttered out, eyes squeezed shut.

When he didn't get a physical response, he opened his eyes to find Technoblade's head cocked to the side, as if contemplating something.

Then the axe was abruptly removed from his neck, a hand gripped his shirt collar, and he was dragged out the door, up a flight of stairs, and instructed to sit down.

He sat.

Why hasn't he just hit me or kicked me out ?

He sat there for a few hours, with Techno occasionally popping back in to grab something from a chest or to see if Tommy was still sitting there, he couldn't tell which.

Then Technoblade appeared again, grabbed him again, and pulled him outside towards a structure that definitely hadn't been there a couple hours ago.

It was simple, maybe five blocks wide, five blocks long, with a simple wood roof to keep the snow off.

The door was open and he was shoved inside, making no move to catch himself and merely sitting back up once he landed.

The floor was cobblestone, and there were two furnaces to the right wall, a bed to the left, and a crafting table in between the furnaces.

"You will be living in here from now on. At sunrise, be outside of your house or prepare to be dragged out. As long as you stay here, you're helping me around the house. You have one hour to get your shit out of my basement and into here and the whole thing sealed up. And I want my gapples, blaze rods, and eyes back in my chests by the end of the hour too. You can keep the rest of your shit, but you steal from me again I'm removing one of those sticky fingers. Got it?" Technoblade demanded.

Tommy nodded.

"You will respond with a 'Yes sir' when I ask you a question, Theseus."

"Yes, sir."

Rules. Ok, he could deal with rules. At least here, the rules were clearly stated and he got to keep his stuff.

One hour. Okay.

At dawn the next morning, he was taken out of bed and thrown into the freezing snow.

"Dawn or you get thrown out of bed, Theseus." Technoblade reminded him.

"Yes sir, sorry sir." he replied, scrambling to get on his feet.

"Good. Let's get you some shoes and proper clothes, Theseus." Technoblade said, sweeping him up and down with his eyes. He gestured for Tommy to follow, walking back over to his house without waiting for a reply.

Tommy scrambled to follow, staying just a couple paces behind Technoblade, close enough to be useful without being in the way. At least, that was the way Dream put it when he'd asked-

Technoblade suddenly stopped, and Tommy would've ran into Technoblade's back if Tommy hadn't caught himself.

Technoblade handed him a potion. "Drink."

"But-"

"Drink, Theseus. Now." Technoblade demanded, so he drank the potion, shuddering as its effects took hold. He looked back down at his hands, only to find them nearly completely transparent, fading by the seconds.

"Get back into your house. There's a small box in there, get inside it. It's next to the chests. Go. Now." Technoblade demanded, drawing his axe from the straps on his back.

Tommy scrambled to do as told, running through the snow and nearly crashing into the door before getting it open. He barely fit into the box, but with the invis pot it wasn't noticeable.

He sat there, crouching in the small box, for what felt like hours, until Technoblade opened the box and ushered him out.

"Dream stopped by, Theseus." Technoblade informed him, leading him back over to the house. "He told me you went missing from exile a few days ago. So I'm going to ask you one time, and one time only, what happened during your exile. Not how you felt or thought, just the events taking place. Do you understand, Theseus?"

"Yes, sir." he responded, feeling numb. "The day I was exiled, Dream took me away on a boat to the north. We stopped on a random island, and he threatened to take away my last life if I didn't remove everything in my inventory, including my weapons and armor, into a hole in the ground. Then he set some TNT on top of it, and he..." he closed his eyes, swallowed down the sobs, and continued... "He blew it all up. Then he built me a dirt house and left me alone for a week. This cycle continued for a while, but after he blew up my stuff he was always so nice, and would tell me what was happening in L'Manburg."

Techno raised his eyebrow, and Tommy remembered, 'objective'. He swallowed, smiled uneasily, and continued. "By the time Christmas rolled around, I was missing my friends, so I asked to go to L'Manburg, and he told me I couldn't, so I decided I'd have a beach party and invite all of my friends. Nobody came, not even Ghostbur or Phil, except Dream. This was around the time I started hiding chests from him to stock up on resources. After awhile he found out about the chests, and blew everything up. Even Ghostbur's house. He even broke my nether portal and said the next time I went into the Nether he'd kill me. So I decided to l-l-leave."

He stared down at the ground, fiddling with his hands as he waited for Technoblade to process.

"So Dream would stop by, blow up your resources, act friendly, help you get back some of your stuff, and then leave you by yourself until the next week, when he'd repeat the process? But you tried to deviate from the routine by hiding items from him, so he retaliated by blowing up all of the items and your entire base as well, and then banning you from seeing anyone else at all? Sound about right?" At Tommy's quiet, 'yes, sir', he continued. "Ignore the him being nice thing in all of your future decisions regarding him. He was doing that to manipulate you."

Tommy blinked a few times, trying to puzzle that into the mess that was his head.

Dream was never his friend, was he? He acted nice and gave back items to get Tommy to... what? Be complacent? Stop fighting back? Why?!

Technoblade interrupted his musings with a flick to the forehead.

"Pay attention, Theseus." Technoblade told him, red eyes faintly narrowed in annoyance. He immediately refocused onto what Technoblade was saying. "Now, I'm going to be clear, here. This arrangement of you living on my property is a business relationship as of right now. You work for me, I provide you protection from Dream. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"That means I ask you to do anything, anything at all, you respond with a yes, sir. No matter how dangerous. You get to keep any items you collect on your own time, you will get full netherite everything that you're expected to take care of, and my orders are first priority over everything. I'll also teach you how to properly fight, because Philza certainly didn't. You can back out at any time, but this is a one time deal. You leave, you won't get my protection again. Deal?"

"Yes, sir. Deal."

"Great. Let's get you some proper clothing." Technoblade said, gesturing for Tommy to follow him again. "No employee of mine is going to dress in rags. Another thing, I'll expect you to be properly dressed every morning with the outfits I'm providing you with today. The only stipulation is that you dress for the temperature. If it's cold, wear warm clothes, etcetera."

He led him over to the chests, grabbing out wool, leather, gold, and blue dye.

Technoblade then led him to a nearby village, and he kept his head down, keeping his gaze set on the swish of Technoblade's cloak, refusing to see any color aside from red in front of him.

Before long they arrived at a tailor's who took the raw materials and declared the clothing would be made in an hour and the boots in two. The waiting time was spent at a weapons shop, where Tommy was asked to handle different swords and axes until he found one of each that balanced well. He was informed they'd be practice blades, the edges with covers put on them, while Technoblade worked on the mining for netherite weaponry.

The tailor was finished right on schedule, and at first Tommy could hardly believe the clothing handed to him.

Quality boots? White tunics? Well-made pants that seemed durable enough to work in? Blue vests? A blue cape lined in fur?! All way too expensive to waste on a useless idiotic kid like Tommy.

But Technoblade insisted, and Technoblade was his superior, so he changed into them anyway, after a shower at the local bathhouse at least.

He looked at himself in the mirror after he finished getting dressed, and almost felt like the person in the mirror was someone different entirely.

His wild, curly hair wasn't all ratty, instead combed out. It was long enough to be pulled back with a blue ribbon, and it weighed itself down enough that it didn't look bad framing his face.

His face wasn't too bad in and of itself- the blue that had always seemed to tinge his lips had left, though he was still very thin, his baby fat from his cheeks nearly all gone. His lighter skin made the blue of his eyes look like ice, matching well with the ice blue of the cape that draped down his shoulders to his mid-calf, the hood and inside lined with white polar bear fur and with gold threading along the edges. The fasteners were also made of gold, as was the ring on the choker Technoblade had also made him wear. His white shirt was tucked into high-waisted brown pants, the bottom of each leg and the top of which were leather, hugging comfortably to his skin. The boots were also fur-lined, and combined with the grey wool socks meant his feet felt wonderfully toasty. A leather harness strapped around his torso, with two straps going over each of his shoulders, one around his middle, and two down the front and back of his legs, with a strap around each of his thighs to hold it all in place. On the left side was a loop for a scabbard, and on each of the vertical straps was several loops for potions, both the drinking kind and splash potions. On the strap around his waist was pockets, and on the right was a quiver for arrows. On each of his thigh straps was another loop, these ones for knives, and there was a holster on the back waist strap for a hatchet.

He looked like some kind of royal guard or something, all things considered. He imagined with fully enchanted netherite armor he could possibly even look intimidating.

Tommy could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Tommy cursed as he stumbled, falling face-first into the freezing snow.

Shaking, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, running his shaky hands through his hair. Why did he think this a good idea?!

Running from his home into the freezing cold, injured and alone, no tools or armor.

He was an idiot.

But he couldn't stay there anymore.

He wiped the freezing tears from his face, stabbed his shoddy stone sword into the ground, and shoved himself up onto unsteady legs.

He had to find shelter.

He'd been walking for what felt like hours.

He'd managed to avoid all of the mobs that had showed up, but he could no longer feel his feet.

What's the point?

There's no shelter, no warmth here, only the terrible, terrible cold. He couldn't go back, Dream would kill him.

Or he'd die of frostbite before anyone could find him, cold and alone, so, so alone.

His mouth twisted in a bitter grimace, he took a look across the horizon, seeing nothing but the never-ending expanse of white- until a faint glimmer of something caught his eye. He focused in on it, and saw smoke rising out of a brown-and-white smear on the horizon.

A cabin.

He staggered forward, all thoughts of his conditions falling away as he ran towards shelter, towards safety.

As he got closer, the cabin grew form; two stories, a chimney, made of dark oak and cobblestone. A bee farm on one side, a stables in the front with one horse.

Sweet, sweet warmth.

His bare feet hit a stone path, only thinly dusted in fine powder. He gripped his arms tighter.

Almost there. He passed the stables, the single horse inside huffing at him.

Tall, dark hide, light mane, diamond horse armor.

Oh shit.

That's Technoblade's horse.

It's fucking Carl. Oh no. He couldn't stay here!

He'd just warm up, grab supplies, and run off again.

The door was heavy.

Or maybe he was just weak.

He shoved it open, stumbling inside and crashing into a heap on the floor.

"Shit." he muttered, rolling over and sitting up.

Okay. He's inside. Now what?

Close the door, check out supplies, find a resting spot, get warm.

Okay.

He can do this.

He took an iron pickaxe and axe, a bushel of carrots and a few golden apples, and a set of rusted iron armor, orange-brown flecks coming off in his hands.

He also stole a bed, some wood, and a few pieces of cut stone.

He was far too weak as he currently was, shaking and barely standing upright, so he resorted to finding Techno's secret basement (because he had to have one, Techno had built one in all of his bases) and digging underneath it, replacing the material whenever he could to make sure Techno didn't notice right away.

He then dug himself out a little hidey-hole, set down a crafting table, and made himself a small chest to hold his valuables.

He didn't have access to an Ender Chest anymore, or he would have hidden everything he truly cared about in there, but he was able to hide the chest underneath a floating slab with some paneling around it he could open to get at the important stuff.

He put the carrots on top of the slab to disguise it as a makeshift table, placed down his bed, and fell into a fitful sleep.

He awoke to muffled movement, and he startled awake, fumbling to take off his chest plate on reflex until his mind registered where he was.

Underneath Techno's house.

With Techno upstairs and moving around.

Immediately, warning bells rang through his mind.

Did he cover his tracks well enough? Did he steal too much stuff? Was Techno gonna find him? Would he make him burn all of his stuff and then kick him out in the snow? Would he, if he found him, react just like Dream?

His logic caught up to his anxious thoughts, and he forced himself to calm down, taking a deep, steadying breath.

He could worry about that if it came to it, but until then, he would stay silent and wait.

'Like a raccoon buried in the walls indeed, Technoblade.' he thought fondly, briefly brought back to their family's life together before all this nonsense.

Techno playing hide-and-seek with Tommy and Wilbur, often with Techno as the seeker, and him chasing them both through the big, rambling mansion, a family property passed down from Phil's grandfather, a paranoid man who built secret passageways and rooms all throughout the walls.

Tommy had been an expert at navigating those passageways, often leading Techno to call him a little raccoon and chase him through the hallways, grabbing and tickling him if Techno got the chance, and the game continuing unless Phil called them for food or they had lessons. Oh how he wished they could be like that again, carefree and worriless.

He was snapped from his musings when his awareness caught on speech and pacing, a sure sign that Techno either had company, was talking to his voices, or had noticed something had gone wrong.

Just in case, he materialized his axe into his hand with a flex, gripping the leather-bound wooden handle in a white-knuckled grip, hands shaking minutely.

He was on his last life.

He couldn't respawn, he couldn't come back to life, this was it for him.

He didn't want to die like this.

The movement and talking stopped, for a bit, before Techno yelled something and there was the sound of extremely frantic movement, back and forth and back and forth and opening and closing chests and doors and windows, over and over until suddenly everything went quiet.

Then Tommy heard something that wrenched his heart right out of his chest.

Tubbo.

His Tubbo.

Was outside.

Talking to Technoblade.

He gripped his compass in his hand tightly, his fingers numb as he thumbed over the amateur inscription.

My Tubbo.

He prayed to every God that wasn't those assholes Dream or Techno that Tubbo got out of there in one piece.

The voices faded, and eventually silence encased Tommy.

He waited for an extra bit, to see if any movement was happening in the upstairs.

Once he figured out Techno had left, he debated with himself.

Go back upstairs and risk getting caught, or stay down here and keep himself safe.

Upstairs or here.

Upstairs or here.

Upstairs orhere.

upstairsorhere.

upstairsorhere

upstairsorhereupstairsorhereupstairsorhereupstairsorhereupstairsorhereUPSTAIRSORHEREUPSTAIRSORHEREUPSTAIRSORHEREUPSTAIRSORHEREUPSTAIRSORHERECHOOSECHOOSECHOSEONEYOUSTUPIDFUCKINGIDIOTJUSTCHOOSE-

But then footsteps echoed from above and Tommy realized he spent too long trying to decide so the universe decided for him.

He looked down idly at his hands.

Huh...

When did they get so bloody?

He did his best to wipe the mess off on a relatively clean part of his trousers, then grabbing one of his precious few water bottles and pouring a bit of it over each of his hands and tearing off a thin strip of bedsheet for each hand.

Once they were wrapped, Tommy grabbed a carrot and began munching silently.

Dream hadn't liked hearing him chew, and it was a great habit to have when you're trying to hide.

The footsteps faded, and Tommy decided that rest probably wasn't the worst option.

Plenty of nights with Dream waking him up whenever he felt like it had turned Tommy into a very light sleeper, so he settled into bed and was confident enough he would wake up if he were in danger.

He stayed hidden for another week.

Every day, he woke up, grabbed a carrot or some water, and sat in tense, contemplative silence for movement or noise.

Once that began, he manifested his axe, and spent the rest of the day(?) in fight-or-flight mode, ready for Technoblade (dream) to find his hiding place (all his chests, his home, everything gone) and kill him for trespassing and stealing.

After the movement stops, have whichever essential need he didn't when he woke up and fall into a fitful sleep, and repeat.

A cracking noise was what woke him today, and he immediately shot up, eyes darting around the room wildly as he held his axe in a death-grip in front of him.

When he finally registered nobody was in the dark room with him, he relaxed minutely, only for the sound to happen again.

And again.

And then slivers of light began to peak out of his ceiling- right where the ceiling connects to Technoblade's basement- and any semblance of calm flees his head and all he can think is fuck fuck fuck he's found me he's found me dream's found me he's really going to kill me this time no no no nonono fuck FUCK it's my last life I can't lose it like this fuck fuck FUCK NO IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS - and then the stone breaks, dropping down to the ground and he follows it, and Tommy's mind is too far gone to register that the boots are black and not lime sneakers, and the cloak that swishes behind him is blue and not lime green, and the pants are black and tuck into the boots but all Tommy can see is white pants that are slightly raggedy at the bottom and show black socks when he moves sometimes, and a green cape that's in tatters at the bottom but is never replaced and has bloodstains in small bits and dream's here he's going to die he disobeyed the rules he ran away and he's going to get punished it's his fault it's his fault he's such a stupid fucking child why the fuck can't he follow such simple fucking rules and Dream's coming closer, his sneakers sliding across the floor, and if he looked up Tommy could imagine the scowl deepening on Dream's face, gripping Nightmare harder with his left hand as he stalked closer, shoulder tensing in that way it always done when Dream's getting ready to sink into Tommy's leg before forcing a regen potion down his throat.

"Tommy." he called out, stopping about four feet away.

Why was he stopping? Wasn't he going to kill him?

Oh. He wants him to take off his armor first, right.

Tommy kept his eyes locked on the floor as he reached up to the straps on his chestplate and taking it off, quicker quicker he hits you if you take too long, along with his helmet, pauldrons, and shin guards, his axe and pickaxe joining them in a matter of seconds.

"Tommy, look at me." Dream said.

Was this another test? Tommy wouldn't fall for that again. He's not supposed to look at Dream unless Dream's showing him something or making an example of something. (never look your superiors in the eyes, you dumb fucking idiot, how DARE you)

"Tommy, where are you right now?" Dream asked.

Tommy wanted to scoff. Logstedshire, his exile, obviously.

But when he went to say that, something in him made him pause.

Was he in Logstedshire?

He glanced around, but where he was didn't look like Logstedshire.

No trees, no snow, no grass patches, no shaved logs, no bell.

Where was he?!

he's taking too long say something say anything talk talk talk talk talk just fucking TALK YOU FUCKING IDIOT SPEAK

"I-I-I, I dunno. I'm sorry, I-I don't- I don't know, please I'm sorry Dream I just don't know, please." he stuttered out, shrinking in on himself and bracing for an impact, either from a fist or Nightmare buried in his leg again.

Neither came, and he cautiously peeked open his eyes to find Dream squatting where he was standing just a bit ago, except Dream's hair was never that long, and when did he dye it pink? Dream's hair was always a dusty brown, spiky and short, and where'd the fur on his cape come from? Dream never had white fur on his cape, not even when Tommy nearly got frostbite if not for Dream's help in lighting a fire. When did his skin lighten, either, and when did he start wearing white dress shirts or have gold chains or a red sash across his chest?

Dream never wore any of that.

That was much closer to Technoblade's choice of clothing, but that's-

"Tommy-"-and that was definitely not Dream's voice- "Tommy I need you to look at me, alright? You're hyperventilating."

He glanced up and immediately squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a flash of pain. When none came, he opened them and cautiously looked again.

Blue eyes met pinkish red, and Tommy suddenly remembered where he was, and who he was with.

Fucking Technoblade.

He was under fucking Technoblade's house, and he had just taken off all of his armor.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Techno had been hearing the scurrying sound for a week.

Small bits of food had been going missing, crumb trails leading nowhere sensible were littered everywhere, and there had been a scurrying sound in the walls.

For a week.

At first Techno had assumed the food going missing was Philza, the crumb trails left by him accidentally, the skittering just his auditory hallucinations, his Chat, acting up again.

But when it continued for a week straight?

Then Techno realized he had a pest in his walls.

He'd had a problem with mice a couple months ago, so he set out the usual traps and things, assuming that would be the end of it.

But his traps were disabled cleverly, the food left in them taken, not evidence of mice or any other creature.

Locking his chests hadn't worked either.

He was about ready to tear his walls open looking for the darned thing when he noticed an odd smell.

Not gross animal smell, no, but a consistent tang of something just to the side of human, something like blood and tears that he hadn't smelt in years.

The creature was smart, smelled vaguely humane, and didn't do it's business everywhere.

That led to two possibilities.

One, sentient animal.

Two, a shifter like himself and his family.

Something small and dexterous with its hands, so Fundy was out.

Wilbur was a stag, and besides that he was dead; and Phil, even if he wasn't a sparrow, knew he didn't have to hide being in the house from Techno.

He didn't know any other shifters, though Tommy was a slight possibility.

He was... sixteen now, right? That was about the right time to develop shifting powers if they didn't develop already. Fundy's showed up when he was thirteen.

But if it wasn't Tommy, but just some random shifter seeking refuge, he'd have to think of a way to lure them out somehow.

He doubted leaving a note would work, and he didn't want whatever small creature they could turn into freezing out there in the winter. Frostbite was never a pleasant experience, and Fundy had told him enough about how cold it was for a fox in the Artic.

So how?

Eventually, he decided to make the traps safer, yet more elaborate. He knew that being trapped, or even trapping another shifter, was massively looked down upon, but clearly they didn't trust him, even though he was half-shifted most of the time.

He quite enjoyed the half-shifted form, human enough to have enhanced speed and durability, but animal enough to have thicker skin, better hearing, and extended smell.

Now he simply had to wait.

His waiting paid off after another month of setting traps.

He woke up one morning to a very pissed off raccoon, hissing angrily even though they were very much malnourished and wouldn't really stand much of a chance against Techno in their weakened state.

"Well hello there, dude. Can I assume you're the guy who's been eating my food and crawling around in the walls?" At the much more subdued yet still angry noises, he continued. "I've got a deal for you, dude. If you're a shifter like me, that is. If you're just a raccoon, then I won't hesitate to kick you out far, far away from my base, probably somewhere warmer. If you aren't, then you let me treat that leg of yours, feed you until you're at a healthy weight, and leave you with a bag full of supplies. Deal?"

Dead silence from the raccoon in the cage.

"Alright, either you bang three times on the cage, or I start trekking." he told the raccoon, feeling a bit silly.

There was another awkward silence from the raccoon in the cage, until they rather violently smacked themselves onto the left side of the cage, repeating it twice with a pause in between.

(Maybe it was to let Techno know it wasn't accidental, maybe it was to recover between hits. Techno had no fucking clue.)

"Alright. I'm gonna let you out now. If you run, next time I catch you I'll just leave you in the damn cage, got it?" The silence meant nothing, but Techno continued anyway.

He pulled the latch away on the left side and held it in place with his thumb, his other hand feeling on the right side for the small groove which opened the panel that had the second latch in it, When he found it, he pulled on the inner divot and grabbed the second lever, and the opening cleared just enough for the raccoon to scurry out.

They really looked like they wanted to run from Technoblade, but they stayed still as he put away the trap and grabbed the first aid kit and a couple potions.

"Alright, here's the difficult part. I don't want you moving on that leg if you can help it. but either you move onto the couch or I'll have to pick you up and move you there myself. Your choice."

After about a minute, the raccoon motioned with their front leg at Techno, which Techno took to mean picking them up.

He reached over slowly, telegraphing his movements, and gently scooped up the raccoon. They froze, but didn't make any sudden movements or start hissing again, so Techno must've been doing something right.

He set them down gently on the couch and opened up the first aid kit. grabbing out bandages, gauze, and antiseptic. He gently reached for the raccoon's hurt back paw, holding nothing, and when the raccoon let him hold it he inspected it gently.

It looked as if something had impaled it, the marks consistent with a trident point or arrow. He treated it all the same, anyhow, rinsing away the blood, looking for puss or sign of infection, then adding some gauze to stop the bleeding and some bandages to keep the gauze in place and keep pressure so the damn thing would stop bleeding.

"Alright, one last thing. Do you want a health pot or a regen pot?" he asked, holding both in his hands. The raccoon tapped first on the regen, then the heath pot, before tapping twice on the regen pot, nodding their head and laying down.

He shrugged, set down the heath pot, and divided the regen pot into a quarter dose and leaving it in a little cup for the raccoon.

When he got back from putting away his supplies, the raccoon had finished off their potion and fallen asleep, curled into a little ball with their tail coming up to rest in front of their face.

Techno studied them for a long while, before just sighing and going to grab some cloth.

When had he gotten so soft?

Chapter Text

Tommy was a fighter.

He's been fighting since the day he was born, screaming and kicking as his mother lay dead just a few feet away.

Fighting for his life as he grew older, fighting an alcoholic dad and dodging the bottles, fighting the bullies as they beat him to the ground.

He learned how to be fast, how to hit hard, how to fall and get right back up, and most of all how to just keep going.

He'd like to say he'd never sat still a day in his life.

He fought on the cold streets of New York after his dad drank himself to death, learned how to check the odds and beat them anyway.

He learned and fought until he couldn't fight anymore.

Until his opponent was no longer people trying to kill him but instead offers of family and friendship, the waters he had to tread each day getting shallower.

And then he learned something new.

How to care.

He met a boy just a couple years older than him, playful and teasing and annoying and so much like home that Tommy was afraid.

He'd never had a home before.

He felt too wrong, too bad and full of violence to ever fit into Wilbur's home.

But he was brought there anyway, and he found a place with Wilbur and his toddler kid Fundy and the man who came over every now and again, introduced himself as Tech and barely spoke.

He found solace in that odd warmth.

It was too late for school, for Tommy, and so Wilbur signed him up for online school in exchange for taking care of Fundy while Wilbur was at work.

he should've asked what work  Wilbur did, where he went each day. But he didn't. How naïve.

Then everything changed, so suddenly and subtly that Tommy cursed himself every day for not looking into it more.

Wilbur was much quieter than usual, that day. It was a week after Tommy's 19th birthday, and little five-year-old Fundy had just told Wilbur that it was Fundy's time to grow up, asking when his birthday was and when he would get his own cake- and Wilbur had just snapped at Fundy, pounding his fist into the marble countertop and shouting at the little boy to just "Shut UP, please, Funs. Daddy's really not in the mood right now."

And Tommy was thrust back into being five and scared, his father throwing a bottle at his head and screaming for him to shut up- and then he found himself standing protectively in front of Fundy, one hand out to keep Fundy behind him and the other shielding his face, and he glared at Wilbur and told him to get the fuck out of the apartment and think about what the fuck he had just done to his five year old son.

And Wilbur, shocked and in horror and ashamed, just left, hands shaking and face stuck as if he were about to cry.

Then he felt little hands grip his fingers, and he remembered.

Fundy.

Fundy didn't need a fighter right now.

He needed a protector.

So Tommy dropped to the ground and faced Fundy, holding his arms open for a hug which Fundy gladly collapsed into.

He hugged the little ginger boy, softly carrying him to the couch and swearing to him that his daddy yelling wasn't his fault, it was Daddy's and if Wilby ever did that to Fundy again Uncle Toms would rip him a new asshole.

By the time Fundy had calmed down, it was too late for them to get to kindergarten on time, so Tommy called the school and arranged for a sick day for Fundy.

They stayed inside and watched all of Fundy's favorite cartoons and ordered pizza and were together.

Across the city, Wilbur strapped a bomb to his chest and blew up the lab he was working in, sobbing that he wouldn't let his kids be experimented on anymore.

Tommy learned what had happened the next day. Not from the news, not from the police, no.

From the company, the S-M.P.

From Tech and this guy who introduced themselves as Eret, who wore shades indoors like an asshole and looked like they came from big money.

Eret told him there was an accident at Wilbur's work involving a gas explosion, and that Wilbur was caught in the middle of it, as well as several of his coworkers. The company would pay for their continued housing and Fundy's schooling through college, and would do their best to ensure that Fundy be placed with Tommy for the foreseeable future.

Tech, after Eret left, forced him outside to 'go drinking', and informed Tommy what really happened.

Wilbur was the head scientist of a team of scientists, working to create 'augmented humans'. Trying to create super soldiers. The name of the project was D.R.E.A.M., and in it there were three stages of development happening simultaneously. One, theory, two, animal testing, three, human testing.

The human testing seemed to be fronting no results, until a human woman by the name of Sally was found to be pregnant.

That child was Fundy.

Wilbur, unable to stomach a child being used in the experimentation, persuaded the board of directors to allow him to care for the child and monitor the possible development of superpowers. Wire taps were added to the house, cameras in the kitchen and living room, and a singular infrared camera in Fundy's room/nursery. In exchange, Wilbur had to work more and was paid extra.

The genetic testing had only ever worked on children, and the only known child to survive said testing aside from Fundy was a young boy who went missing, the scientist who took care of him found dead of alcohol poisoning.

The boy was Tommy.

The only reason they allowed Tommy to stay with Fundy in that apartment was to better monitor them both.

They didn't truly know whether or not Tommy had developed powers, but they would never let him go if they found out.

Tech left Tommy at the bar with his phone number and an address, usable only in emergencies.

For the first time in his life, Tommy found something more important than just surviving.

He had to become more than a fighter, more than a protector. He had to be better, faster, stronger, smarter than those hunting him and Fundy.

He had to take down the S.M.P.

Chapter Text

Hi. My name is Jared, and I'll keep this short.

If you haven't watched the video, if you haven't seen the news, then I want you to click off of this stupid chapter and go watch it. You're all Techno enjoyers like me, you should watch his newest video.

Did you go watch it?

Then I'm sorry.

Technoblade is dead.

I'm refusing to use his real name because he and his family have asked for privacy in this, and they deserve that privacy.

If you ask me, they deserve anything and everything that they need to get through this.

They also deserve to know that there are millions of us who mourn with them. We might not have known him, but we will mourn for a light lost in this world. I've watched his videos, been a voice in his chat, for well over two years now. And, as you all know, I've been updating this fanfic, the best way I can express my love of his channel and character, for almost as long.

I don't feel right continuing this fic. Or any of my other DSMP fics. I've been on hiatus for awhile due to personal issues, but this is the icing on the world's bitterest cake. This fanfic will be put on a permanent hiatus until I feel ready to continue it. I'm sorry if anyone is disappointed by it, but this is the reality we have to face now.

God... reality seems do distant right now. It still doesn't feel real.

As I post this right now, I've only been away for about a half hour. I woke up to a text from my best friend and that video, and now I sit here writing this.

I don't know how to end this... sorry, I've been rambling.

I'll close with this, then.

Technoblade, you will be sorely missed, by your friends, family, and your friends on the other side of the screen. I know you'll never see this, but I still wish you luck, wherever you are, wherever you ended up. You may have passed on, but we won't let your memory die. I won't let your memory die.

Technoblade never dies. Not his memory, not his legacy.

With all of the love and compassion in my heart,

one of your many, many voices in chat.