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Chapter Text

On an unassuming December 14th, the sun slowly set on the horizon: reds and oranges and yellows bleeding into the darkening sky and staining the fields a soft pink. Its rays warmed the land, staving off the chill of the quickly approaching night. The ocean - warmly glowing under the sun's praise - caressed the shorelines soothingly, biding the land and all of its sleepy inhabitants a tender goodnight. The clouds meandered overhead, soft and fluffy as they made their way across the sky. A few stars twinkled in the sky, winking at all the sleepy younglings across the land.

Across the forests, wind shifted the leaves of the trees as crickets began to chirp - mother wolves nudging their protesting and squealing pups into their dens. In their trees, owls slowly awoke, preening their feathers in preparation for the night they had ahead of them. Foxes softy padded along the pine floors, ears held high in search of prey.

In the rolling plains, not a single animal was to be seen, rabbits curled up together in piles in their burrows underneath the dirt. The horses that spent had their day racing across the grass had retired for the day - neighing each other a soft goodnight. 

In the snowy tundras, polar bear cubs pressed against their mothers to conserve warmth as they stumbled to their dens. Arctic foxes yipped playfully at each other as they settled in for the night with bellies full of fish.

In the far distance - across the ocean and beyond the horizon in a city of gentle spruce that was sat over a lake - lanterns softly illuminated the sky, casting a warm glow over the houses. In a stuffy office, a tired child soldier scratched away at paperwork, a compass glinting purple on his desk and causing memories to resurface. A vice takng advantage of a second chance paced his floor, mind clouded in worry - the events of nearly a month ago replaying in his mind on repeat. In a house festive and decorated for the holidays, a hybrid worried for his newest friend as he got ready for bed. In an empty house, an orphan forced thoughts of a ghostly father behind, angry tears quietly streaming down his face. Below an endlessly spinning llama, two fiancées cuddled, talking in hushed tones about the well-being of their third piece and everyone else around them.

So far away yet so close, in an open tundra filled with a fresh layer of soft fluffy snow, a horse gently nickered - warm breath pooling in front of him. Inside the cottage, steam gently trailed from a mug of hot chocolate, the beverage slowly sipped by a retired warrior. Sat next to him, a worried father stared into the flickering fireplace with a troubled expression.

And, in a plains bordered by woods - with smoke drifting into the air and ashened ruins of a home still warm to the touch - a bloodied and bruised teen sat upon a man-made tower of dirt, counting the seconds until he would jump towards the ground and end his life.

The cold breeze was sharp and unforgiving against burnt fleshed, stinging harshly at the exposed skin. The boy shivered slightly, staring at the clouds where they drifted below him. The air was thin and cold, and he could see a few stars in the sky as the sun set before him.

In the boy's hand - for that was what he was, a mere child strung along into war after war - he held several pictures from a time long, long ago. Silent tears slowly dripped onto the pictures, hands trembling around them with a white knuckled grip.

The boy thought, and thought, and thought - mind a swirling storm as he gently pocketed the pictures. He leaned over the edge, staring down at the land below him with tired eyes that spoke of knowledge years beyond what he should know. 

The fall was so tempting, the oh so familiar pull of gravity so wonderful sounding to the boy. It would be so easy for him to simply let himself fall - and yet he refrained. Something in the back of his mind was poking at him, begging to be listened to with desperate, screaming pleads, and so he listened.

Up on a tower made to kill, made to end, a realization slowly dawned on the boy; and lke the gentle pittering of rain fading away to the roar of a storm, the boy finally made a realization.

The boy stood on shaky legs, hands twitching violently at his side. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, will hanging by a single, tearing thread.

When the boy jumped - heart leaping into his throat as wind howled around him and he fell freely towards the earth below him - he landed in a pool of freezing water, not the unforgiving ground. 

Gathering everything that was left still usable after the explosion, the boy fashioned a makeshift sword, and set off into the night.

Chapter Text

Tommy would say he honestly didn't know what he had been thinking, choosing to hide under Technoblade's base of all places.

It hadn't been a good idea to make such a decision so rashly - not when his mind was still reeling from a revelation and series of events that left him shaking and at the mercy of resurfaced memories. But realistically, there was no where else he could have gone. L'Manberg wasn't an option, their stance on him made clear as day by his exile. The rest of civilization wasn't an option because was exiled from everywhere and he had been such an angry idiot that so many of those on the outskirts held a neutral yet negative leaning view towards him. He had needed somewhere far aware that he could guarantee wouldn't be discovered immediately, and so Technoblade's house was what he had stumbled upon, no matter how accidental. 

The problem with Technoblade's house being his choice of hideout was that it, obviously, belonged to Technoblade. The piglin hybrid hated Tommy - though it was a more passive hate (if it wasn't, Tommy likely wouldn't be around still), and if he was caught, he would most likely find himself on the receiving end of the Axe of Peace, sharpened netherite slicing apart his skull. 

(A small, quiet part of Tommy whispered maybe that wouldn't be so bad.)

Tommy had done his best to only steal the bare essentials, or things Technoblade would be least likely to notice were missing from his house - knowing that if he was caught and miraculously left alive, everything would be taken back by its rightful owner anyway. Even with that precaution, Tommy's heart still leaped into his throat at every movement and sound he heard, the creeping fear that his thievery had been noticed never leaving him and keeping his heart an uncomfortable thud.

At present, Tommy was sat on the pile of wool he'd barely been brave enough to steal, knees pulled to his chest and arms loosely draped around them as mulled over the most recent events in his life.

He reached forward into the chest he had hastily put together and brought a piece of bread to his face, nibbling on the end of it and thinking as he chewed. He was going to have to ration his meals, he noted to himself, sparing a glance towards his meagre stockpile. What little he had felt comfortable stealing was, unsurprisingly, not a lot at all, and it would not last him. He couldn't steal from Technoblade frequently, as doing so would alert the man to his presence immediately, and Tommy was determined to not get caught instantly.

Technoblade was not a man to be messed with, Tommy knew that for certain. He had grown up with him, after all, he would know better than almost anyone. As much as Tommy wanted to be able stay with him, wanted to able to trust him to not murder him in his sleep, wanted be to run into his arms and feel safe for the first time in months, he knew he couldn't. 

Technoblade had retired, sure, but no amount of time spent in retirement could erase his bloodied past. Technoblade was and always would be a warrior like no other, - skeletons in his closet and corpses in his wake regardless of the passage of time, and if Technoblade caught wind of the fact that Tommy had not only been living underneath his basement but had been stealing his things as well, there would be a hell to pay no one could match. 

It absolutely did not help that their last interaction had been nothing but Tommy swearing at and insulting the man, shifting the blame for all of his problems because he was in denial - just like Technoblade had said. Tommy couldn't handle the fact that everything was his fault, and his fault alone. Because he never learned, never understood there were consequences for his actions, even though he wanted to scream until voice broke that it was unfair. He hadn't meant to burn George's house, he had only wanted to rob him, but unfortunately, Tommy had grown up in war and didn't know anything other than violence; didn't know how to go about when nothing was wrong.

Tommy didn't know how to live with a good thing without turning it into nothing. 

Tommy felt like a fucking idiot - shivering on a pile of stolen wool in a little hole under his murderous older brother's basement as his mind ran circles around his past, nothing left to do other than think.

 …..He had used Technoblade as a weapon, hadn't he? Tommy huffed a bitter laugh. He really had a wonderful track record when it came to healthy relationships, didn't he?

It wasn't like Tommy had tried to use Technoblade, though if he thought about it, most people didn't exactly wake up thinking about how toxic they were going to be that day. 

(Well, except maybe Dream. But Dream had visited him and kept him company when no one else had, so it was okay.)

In hindsight, Tommy really shouldn't have been shocked when Technoblade had set withers upon the newly reclaimed L'Manberg. Technoblade had always stood up for his beliefs regardless of how those around him felt about it. He shouldn't have been surprised when he was exiled by his best friend (were they even friends anymore?) either, because as he had recently learned, nobody had ever cared about him in the first place. Not in the same way he had cared about them, anyway.

(Tommy still cared about them. He hated himself for it, but knew would never be able to bring himself to truly hurt his old friends no matter how much they had wronged him.)

Tommy shouldn't have been surprised when he was left to waste away on an island with no one but Dream - the stinging pain of exile unshaken in its familiarity. He should have expected for history to repeat itself and for him to be trapped with no one but a man who did nothing but manipulate him into being his perfect plaything for his causes, whatever Dream's cause was anyway.

Tommy wasn't angry at Wilbur anymore, not really - and he certainly wasn't angry at Ghostbur. Sure, Wilbur had majorly fucked up, and there was no erasing that, but during Tommy's exile where he had nothing but time to think, he had started to empathize with him - just a little bit. Wilbur had turned his pain to the outside, and Tommy internalized it. They were self destructive, yet in vastly different ways, the burn of his forearms and faint taste of smoke he could never rid himself of reminding him of that fact at every waking moment. They were similar in mind, yet so different in their actions. 

He certainly hadn't forgotten what Wilbur had done to him; dragging him into a war he had no part of and subsequently ripping away his childhood and manipulating him into continuing to fight for causes he wasn't even sure be believed in. Tommy didn't think he would ever forget, but Tommy had started to move on.

Because as much as Wilbur had hurt him, Wilbur had also been hurt - betrayal singing for paranoia and trauma fraying sanity at the edges. It wasn't an excuse, but it gave reason and pulled forth a bitter sort of sympathy. Tommy couldn't forget the fear he felt of accidentally invoking Wilbur's wrath, dreading the thought of shouting echoing throughout the walls of Pogtopia - but he also couldn't forget the person Wilbur used to be. His older brother with his yellow sweater and mischievous grins, a "dirty crime boy" with a penchant for the guitar and a habit of messing with his siblings.

Dream had been similar, in the way that Tommy had been absolutely terrified to make him angry, to provoke the man who held his life by a thread. The difference was that Dream was his friend, and had cared about him despite how scared he made him feel. Or rather he had been his friend, before the revolution. But the revolution had been over for a while, it made sense that they would be friends after L'Manberg was independent and there was no longer a war going on. Though...friends didn't hit friends, did they? Friends didn't threaten to kill each other seriously. But friends did visit each other (Tubbo had never visited) when they were staying in different places. Friends spent time together.

Just thinking about thinking about Dream gave Tommy a headache, strings pulling tighter on his already constricted heart. Tommy's thoughts and feelings around the man were no longer cut and dry; because while friends didn't hit friends, enemies didn't take the time out of their lives to visit each other just to hang out. Tommy had never been so conflicted. His mind had been constantly at war since he had first had the realization that maybe Dream wasn't his friend, at the top of his self made tower with tears streaming down his face and cold wind biting against his skin, the edge so tantalizingly close.

Tommy - though he never acted like it (he was too stubborn, prideful, and angry, and maybe, if he was feeling particularly self reflective, he was scared. Ignorance was bliss, yeah?) - was smart. He knew from a logical standpoint that Dream was not his friend and hadn't been for a long time, but his dumb and hopelessly naive heart refused to believe that - couldn't comprehend that Dream, though he had certainly acted like he cared for him, had been lying to him all along.

(Had he?)

Tommy sighed quietly - a shaky exhale acting as a weak attempt to clear his head from the tangled mess of thoughts that Dream brought along. His appetite had vanished along with his good mood, and he wished he had never started thinking at all. There was a reason he avoided thinking too hard on things. It always hurt, and Tommy didn't like dwelling on things that only hurt.

He reached a hand out into the near dark of his currents abode, fingers tracing along the lid of his chest until he found the latch. He set his bread back into its place as gently as he could with shaky hands. 

Tommy's eyelids were heavy as always, yet he didn't think he would be able to sleep. There was a very high possibility that he would have a nightmare, or accidentally sleep walk again, both of which would immediately alert Technoblade to his presence.

Tommy was no stranger to forcing himself to stay awake lying down (so many nights scared to sleep in too late - or trying to catch when Wilbur left) however, and the wall of his little base that he was leaning on was cold, hard, and uncomfortable.

Tommy poked at the wool on the floor, shifting around it until he was satisfied, and then slowly slid down until he was on his side and curled up on himself. He pulled some of the wool around him to try and conserve as much body heat as he could in the cold space. The torch he had hastily put together when he had first carved himself a home under Technoblade's house was almost nothing but embers, dimly illuminating the stone walls around him and providing no warmth. 

Tommy had grown used to the cold every night at Logstedshire - especially when Dream took his (albeit thin) blanket away, but the soft grass of the plains had never been as cold as the stone he was surrounded by. He supposed it made sense - he was in a snow biome after all - but that didn't make the cold seeping through his small pile of wool any more comfortable.

Tommy had made the right decision getting away from Dream, surely. His entire home had been blown up, so why would he have stayed there? It wasn't like anyone would be able to visit him anyway. Sure, Dream had been his friend, but running off was the best thing he had done.

Right?

Tommy frowned, staring at the wall opposite him with unfocused eyes. It had been a spur of the moment decision, sure, but it was a good decision. Tommy's breath hitched, eyes dancing across the stone he was laying on.

God, what had he been thinking? Tommy had been so sure of himself when he ran from the remains of Logstedshire (or at least more sure of himself than he had been in weeks), so determined to get his discs back. How could Tommy even begin to hope to defeat Dream? The man was not only the Admin, but he was one of the best fighters in the entire SMP - beaten by only the man whose house he was currently under. He had been so stupid coming here, thinking he could just break in and steal from Technoblade , thinking he could-

Thinking he could have his family back.

Tommy felt so, so pathetic thinking it, so ashamed to want something like family when there were whole countries to consider - whole countries he hadn't considered - but it was all he had ever wanted from this bitch of a server ever since he had been exiled the first time, since-

Since Pogtopia. Tommy shuddered involuntarily at thought, mind clouded with stone walls and shouting and cries for destruction and another damned button-

Ever since Tommy had been present at every step of his older brother's descent into madness, fueled by hurt and agony with a fun bow of paranoia on top, he had wanted his family back. 

Ever since he had watched, helplessly, as Technoblade fired a rocket straight at Tubbo, stealing away his best friend's second life, he had wanted his family back. 

Ever since he had felt a rumble beneath his feet, heard the too familiar hissing of TNT before the nation he had lost both his lives and his entire childhood for crumbled to a fine dust in front of his eyes - ash and smoke filling his lungs and coating the ground gray, he had wanted his family back.

Ever since he had stared, in shock, as Philza plunged a sword into Wilbur's heart, he had wanted his family back.

Ever since Technoblade had told him that if wanted to be a hero then had to die, and set withers upon the land he had sacrificed everything for, he had wanted his family back.

Tommy's eyes burned. Had Technoblade ever cared for him? 

Technoblade cared for Phil, and Phil cared for him back, that much was obvious. Technoblade had always been the favorite, and everything on the Dream SMP had only gone to prove that - what with Phil murdering Wilbur and then leaving with Technoblade, not even checking to see if Tommy was okay-

Tommy went rigid, blood running cold.

Did Phil really care about him? Surely he did, he was his father after all, but when Tommy really thought about it, Phil hadn't been there for him for a long, long time.

(Later, Tommy would remember all Phil had done for him during his childhood. Later, he would remember how he had run away from Phil with Wilbur because he wanted to be just like his older brother. Later, Tommy would think back on his entire life before this stupid server, and he would feel like a fucking idiot.)

Tommy tried, desperately, to remember if Phil had ever asked if he was okay after everything, if he had ever taken Tommy's well being into account after he had murdered one of his sons, and Tommy realized with a low whine that he hadn't. 

His throat felt constricted, tears pooling in his eyes - and Tommy fought to keep still, to stop trembling like a leaf in the wind, but he couldn't. He pulled the tattered remains of his shirt tighter around him, the cold stone of the floor seeping through the wool he laid on. A choked sob was torn from his throat, and Tommy realized fully how stupid he had been. He had hoped, for a fragile second, that Phil would at least care for him somewhat, but he had only spoken to his father twice in the weeks he had been on the server.

Wilbur had died only wanting Tommy to help him destroy L'Manberg, and Technoblade had walked away unscathed with his demand for Tommy to die hanging in the still air. Phil had killed Wilbur - though Tommy had heard Will beg to be killed, and as horrified as it made him, in the back of his mind he couldn't help but emphasize - and then he had left with only a fragment of a conversation with his youngest living son. 

Tommy's throat tightened, and he suddenly found he couldn't breathe. He had no one, and the realization shattered the small confidence he had built up.

Tommy buried his face into his knees, and cried. His sobs were near silent, and his entire body trembled from the cold and fear. He had learned to cry quietly during the first war, the L'Manberg revolution, where he had to be strong for everyone else, he had learned in Pogtopia, where he didn't dare to invoke Wilbur's wrath, and he learned now, where the mere thought of being caught by Technoblade sent terror up his spine.

Tommy missed his family. He missed when he wasn't scared of his older brothers, he missed when Phil still gave him affection, he missed being able to- being able to see Tubbo.

A shaky hand pulled at the small rope around his neck, cold metal dragging against his sternum and then his compass was in his hand - Your Tubbo lovingly engraved on the inside.

Tommy clutched it to his heart as he sobbed, cool metal digging into his hand. 

He missed being a kid, carefree and unmarked by war.

Tommy missed so much, and he had so little. He had so little, and he couldn't even get what he wanted back. 

So Tommy cried, curled in a ball under Technoblade's basement, compass held tightly in his grip, hyper aware of every noise above him, until his eyes could no longer stay open and he fell into a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

What Tommy assumed to be his second day underneath Technoblade's house passed without anything noteworthy happening. There wasn't much to do cramped up in a tiny and dark hole under the earth, after all.

His small carved out box was, objectively, the worst place Tommy had ever stayed in. It was endlessly cold, stone floor hard and uncomfortable, and the air was stale and bitter. In Pogtopia, it had been similar yet so very different. The ravine had been wide enough for him to stretch his arms out to either side of him even at its most narrow points, and it was always lit - torchlight casting flickering shadows and lanterns warmly lighting the area around them.

However, Tommy couldn't help but find a bit of comfort in his hole, resting on his little pile he was using as a bed. It wasn't the peak of comfort, physically, but it felt right, in a strange way that he couldn't explain. 

There wasn't much to do in forms of entertainment, and if Tommy had been put in this situation just a few years ago - back when he had been untouched by war and the sharp sting of betrayal - he probably would have lost his mind from boredom.

Tommy wasn't that kid anymore. He wasn't dressed in a too big suit, his fluffy fringe falling into his eyes and a new scheme to scam someone out of their valuables on his lips. His goal wasn't to defeat Technoblade, an impossible challenge he couldn't help but strive for, wanting to be able to puff up his chest and say he killed a god.

Tommy was so, so tired of fighting and conflict, yet it brought such a rush of adrenaline that was so damned comforting - the sting of fresh wounds and the thudding of his heart. The aftermath and the reasoning behind war was always bloodied with lies and betrayal and distrust, and Tommy hadn't felt safe in calm in months. So he was content to simply lay there, heart heavy with everything he pushed away in self preservation. He was content to let his awareness slip away from him; not asleep, yet not awake either. 

In another world, Tommy would be horrified by how quickly he had given up hope, but this was not that world. Tommy had learned that there was no point in fighting back. Tommy thrived with others yet fell apart on his own, and he had never been more alone then he was now. Struggling would only invite his end quicker than ever. 

(Would that really be so bad?)

When Tommy eventually became fully aware of his reality, he had no idea how much time had passed, how long he had laid there unmoving. Had he eaten a normal amount in past weeks, maybe the pain of his stomach could have clued him in, but Tommy hadn't gone longer than a week with healthy, hearty meals for a long, long time. The revolution had some rough spots, but it was usually healthy if not a bit plain, and Pogtopia had been the worst. The only thing they could consistently get were potatoes, as any other farms would have alerted Manberg of their presence, and as much as they tried to vary their diet, sometimes it couldn't be helped. Exile had only been the cherry on top, and Tommy had only really eaten somewhat consistently for the first week.

So when Tommy blinked, feeling very much like he had just been dragged up to the surface of water he hadn't known he was drowning in, he had no idea how much time had been wasted. The torch he had made who knew how long ago was snuffed out completely - his cavern bathed in darkness.

Tommy slowly gathered his hands beneath him and pushed himself up with shaky arms, head spinning at the sudden movement. He groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead as the world spun with color. He had gotten up too fast, as his body was oh so helpfully telling him.

When Tommy's vision cleared, he reached towards where he remembered his chest being, intent on eating some of his stolen bread. He frowned as his hand found nothing but air, having been almost certain he had put his chest in the location he was searching in. Tommy leaned forward, because maybe he was too far away for his hand to touch it, and suddenly he was tipping forward, falling against his chest with a gasp of pain. The chest slammed against the wall as he hit it, and Tommy froze, heart stopping in his chest. The sound of wood against stone had been so, so loud, and Technoblade's heightened hearing would have allowed him to hear so clearly through the stone and he didn't want to die-

Tommy scrambled to his feet, grabbing his stone sword as he stumbled back, pressing himself against the back corner of his shelter while shaking violently. Technoblade had heard him, he had heard him, he was going to come down and plunge his sword right into his heart because he was an idiot-

Tommy didn't dare to breathe, because Technoblade would hear him through the floors and then he would know someone was down here, know someone had hidden themselves below his house. Tommy's heart slammed in his chest, cold stone digging painfully in his back. The rough stone handle of his flimsy sword cut into his hand painfully, but Tommy didn't dare loosen his grip, knowing he would drop it with how badly his hands were shaking. 

Tommy stayed shoved into the corner of his hideout for what felt like hours, eyes wide and desperately searching for something in the darkness. His legs trembled with the effort of standing for such a long time, his body unused to any sort of prolonged physical activity, but he didn't dare let his guard down, the slightest lapse of attention could mean giving Technoblade even more of an upper hand than he already had.

Eventually, when his legs could no longer support him, Tommy concluded that his life probably wasn't in immediate danger and slid down the wall, sword clattering quietly against the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes, a painful lump forming in his throat as he realized how supid he was being. He hadn't heard any sign of Technoblade being inside the house, so he was panicking about something so unlikely to happen it was almost funny. Technoblade had no reason to be as quiet, unlike Tommy. Technoblade was, as far as he was aware, completely alone and in the middle of nowhere. There was no reason for him to keep quiet.

Tommy, on the other hand, had every reason to keep quiet. He was hiding from both his friend (?) Dream, and from Technoblade himself, both of which (?) would kill him on sight.

(Well, Dream probably wouldn't kill him. Hit him, definitely, but not kill.)

Tommy buried his face into shaky hands - still trembling from fear and adrenaline and feeling very much like an idiot. He continued to just breathe, focusing resolutely on the feeling of the air as it slowly passed through his lungs and not his own stupidity. No amount of breathing could stop a small sob from escaping, and at that point he knew better then to try and stop it. Tommy silently sobbed into his knees, feeling so, so tired. Tired of the pain that sprung up to surprise him amongst the numbness of day to day life, tired of war and conflict, and tired of not being able to have even a shred of comfort. 

Eventually, after an embarrassingly long bout of crying, Tommy could finally breathe without terror lacing up his spine. He slowly uncurled himself, head feeling like someone had stuffed a bunch of cotton balls in it. Tommy once more reached towards his small stash of goodies, and this time he didn't fall over like an idiot. Once found, he slowly opened the chest and reached down, fumbling around in the dark until his fingers met with the loaf of bread he had stolen, the rough texture grating at his senses.

Tearing out a small piece for his daily meal, he put the bread back. He was moments away from closing the chest and being done with it, but he hesitated. Reaching back down, his hand gently touched a bundle of fabric laying at the bottom of the chest.

Wilbur's coat smelt like ink and smoke and ash and burn, and it was so distinctly Wilbur. Tommy's knuckles turned white as he fought to keep his hands still, a few tears dripping onto the coat held in his lap.

Tommy had thought Wilbur's old coat had been gone along with the man himself, until one rainy night at Logstedshire where Ghostbur had handed the coat to him, cheerfully proclaiming he didn't want him to catch a cold. Tommy had ditched the coat as soon as he had finished digging out his hole underneath Technoblade's house, as it had reminded him too much of Pogtopia, but the cold had progressed to the point where he couldn't ignore it and he needed something to keep himself from freezing.

He slowly slipped it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders. The sleeves fell past his hands as he closed the chest slowly, making sure the lid was as quiet as possible when it closed, the irrational fear of Technoblade hearing him rearing its ugly head once more. Munching on the stale bread slowly, Tommy thought over the limited options he had available to him.

Since Technoblade wasn't home, he could, theoretically, go up and see if there was anything he needed to survive that he had missed in his original panicked rush. Of course, that ran the risk of Technoblade returning home while he was looking, and Tommy let out an involuntary shiver at the thought. He could almost hear the shing of his sword being drawn before his world became nothing but pain.

Tommy sighed. He didn't even know what he would take if he were to venture upwards. All he needed, really, was food, and what he had would last him a while. He slowly laid back down, exhausted from his emotional outburst.

He didn't know how long it would take Technoblade to show up, but in the meantime, he would just have to wait.

-0-

What Tommy guessed to be another day underneath Technoblade's basement passed much the same, minus almost having a panic attack over something absurd. Time blended together in a cloudy haze. It almost felt like he was floating, in a way. Tommy didn't eat that day, worried to exhaust his resources too quickly despite knowing he would die quicker if he didn't eat. His whole body ached, protesting every time he shifted his position on his pile of wool. None of his injuries seemed to be infected, thanks to some miracle of luck, so Tommy let himself be unaware of what was happening without fear of dying in his sleep from an infection.

(He hadn't been scared of death for a long time, anyway.)

Everything had mushed together into a clouded haze when Tommy started to get dragged into awareness. It was a lot like waking up, except he was already awake. Tommy made a quiet noise of irritation, having enjoyed not being aware of his shitty reality for a few hours.

When it became clear he was most decidedly awake, and was not going to drift off anytime soon, Tommy reluctantly sat up,  blinking at his surroundings. Tommy was tempted to light a torch, just so he could see something other than overbearing darkness, but he didn't want to burn away the oxygen he had left in his hole.

Tommy tried to listen for what had pulled him from his half asleep state, and for a heartstopping moment he thought maybe Technoblade had finally returned, but the thought was quickly scratched. He probably would have had a much ruder awakening if that was the case. Tommy shuddered, an echoing laugh and the hiss of withers flashing through his head. 

Tommy stretched his arms to the side, feeling his muscles pull and old injuries throb in protest at the movement. He winced, rubbing gingerly at his upper arm, where a zombie had sliced it open a few weeks prior. Tommy stuck both of his legs out in front of him, slowly bending down to press his torso against his knees, his back popping loudly at the movement. When he was done, he twisted to look behind him, then did the same thing in the other direction, back popping again. Tommy did a few more stretches, knowing it would be good for his blood flow, before he promptly laid back down, staring at the outline of his chest with unfocused eyes as he desperately searched for a break from his painful and fear filled reality.

Tommy didn't know how long he spent staring at the chest, mind drifting into another haze of unawareness, but at some point Tommy came to the realization that he shouldn't be able to see anything, let alone the outline of the only thing in his entire space that wasn't him. Tommy squinted, blinking a few times to make sure he definitely wasn't hallucinating, before concluding that his eyes probably had just adjusted, and there was no use in worrying about it.

(Later, he would most definitely be worrying about it.)

Tommy drifted in and out of sleep for a while, before he was jolted awake by a very, very familiar sound.

Several floors above him, echoing through the stone, was the sound of a door slamming shut.

Chapter Text

There were very, very few times in Tommy's life where he would say he was left paralyzed from fear.

The first time he would say had been way back in his childhood, when he had first been adopted by Phil all those years ago. Tommy had been messing around with Wilbur, trying to annoy the older into paying attention to him for lack of a better thing to do, and in the process he had accidentally knocked a vase to the floor - it shattering into tiny pieces. He had been absolutely sure Phil was going to kick him out like his biological parents had, and he hadn't calmed down until Technoblade had ran to get Phil. The second time had been in The Final Control Room, the sound of pistons echoing in his ears along with the shing of swords being drawn. There had been panicked shouts, someone calling his name and then nothing but pain. The third time had been the L'Manberg election, when Schlatt had announced his and Wilbur's citizenship was to be revoked. Wilbur had dragged him several feet before he finally got control of his limbs, arrows whizzing past their heads. The fourth time had been everything that had happened on November 16, but the hissing of TNT, a diamond sword entering Wilbur's chest, and being told to die by his older brother stood out the most.

The fifth time he was underneath Technoblade's basement, the echo of a shutting door ringing in his ears as his heart leapt into his throat, blood freezing as he laid there, entire body tensed up in fear. Any sort of coherent thought was abandoned for almost primal terror. 

He could hear distant footsteps above him, barely sounding over the sound of his own heart thudding like a sledgehammer in his chest. Everything had sharpened into a terrifying focus, his tattered clothes rubbing against his skin and his wool bedding rubbing sharply against his hands. Every pause in Technoblade's steps sent his heart rate skyrocketing, his breath stuttering into nothing as he waited until Technoblade was moving again so he could breathe. His heart was beating fast, much too fast, and it hurt - and a part of him screamed that he was wasting the energy reserves need to slow heart again but every step from the anarchist, the killer above him sent it impossible higher.

Eventually, the footsteps stopped once more, and Tommy's breath hitched, eyes wide and searching despite the darkness that surrounded him. His nails dug into his palms painfully as he waited for Technoblade to start moving. Tommy should have expected this, really, but he had hoped, foolishly, that Technoblade would take his sweet time on returning, that he would get distracted with gathering resources to give Tommy enough time to leave before he ever got back.

Tommy clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting back a whimper. He was stuck here. He couldn't leave while Technoblade was there, and even if he lived, he couldn't afford to be caught. A gentle thump sounded out from above his self made prison, and Tommy jumped, the rustle of fabric near deafening, and then the footsteps started back again, except they were right above him. 

Tommy tightened the grip of his hand, nails cutting into his cheek, because Technoblade was above him and if he heard a single off noise he would know, know Tommy was there and kill him. 

Technoblade's boots clacked against the stone, dangerously close to where the entrance to his hideout was and tears streamed down his face and his lungs hurt and his heart was so loud-

And then the footsteps disappeared, the sound of old wood being strained reaching his ears through the stone before the faint footsteps were back, accompanied by the groan of an opening chest. Tommy sobbed once, silently, curling so his face was in his knees as his throat burned with choked down cries. His entire body shook with barely contained terror, heart thudding painfully in tune with the steps of the man above him; quick and to the point, sharply meeting floorboards and his own chest.

After what felt like hours passed, Technoblade's footsteps stopped altogether, with no discernable reason as to why. Tommy's heart slammed in his chest for an agonizingly long time after, fear leaving him in silent sobs that shook his entire frame, but eventually, he managed to start to calm down.

His eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he was so, so very awake. His heart was still beating too fast too fast too fast it's so cold need to slow down and he couldn't dare to breathe deeply, gleaming blades so sharp they distorted the air haunting his vision despite the nothingness of his surroundings - but tears were no longer streaming down his face, shaking reduced to small shivers as a chill he had never noticed before settling in his bones as he slowly drifted down from his panicked state.

Tommy would feel like an idiot if his fear wasn't so incredibly justified. Technoblade was not known to be kind and forgiving, that was Phil. Phil was the nice one. 

(And so had Wilbur, before the revolution. Before L'Manberg. Before the Dream SMP.)

Technoblade was a warrior, blood staining his hands that he laughed off because it was funny. Technoblade wasn't to be messed with, and now that he was finally there, back at his little cottage in the snow, he would not want to be disturbed.  Someone would have to have either truly lost it or be Dream to even think about surviving an attack from Technoblade if he intended to kill. Living underneath Technoblade's basement, stealing his things, and hiding away like a coward were all things that would lead Technoblade to kill him without a second glance.

Before the Dream SMP, Tommy wouldn't have said he was scared of Technoblade. They were family, after all, Techno had no reason to hurt him! But the Dream SMP had changed Tommy's perspective on so, so many things, and Technoblade was no exception to that.

Technoblade was an anarchist, and he always had been. He had never, ever been pro-government. Tommy had been foolish to think that Techno would take them forming a government in front of him, the very thing he was against, lightly. He had been transparent from the start, so to Technoblade, he was the one who had been betrayed. 

But no amount of rightful blame that fell on Tommy and Wilbur's shoulders would erase the feeling of watching, helplessly, as Technoblade shot Tubbo, ending his best friend's (?) second life. Nothing would erase the horror of watching as his nation he had sacrificed everything for exploded into dust and rubble, watching Philza, his own father, murder Wilbur, and then Technoblade telling him to die like the death of one of his younger brothers meant nothing to him.

Technoblade had always been distant and uncaring, but a part of Tommy had always hoped that it was just a facade, that deep down he did actually care. But the Dream SMP had shown him that Technoblade's care was given to only those who stood beside him, those who didn't oppose his goals or interests.

So living so close to the man who would kill him without hesitation sent fear racing through his veins, almost animalistic terror because he was older stronger knew more better tactics could kill him so easily bow his head submit submit to stay alive-

Tommy hated it. Hated the way he had to sit up so, so slowly to avoid making any noise because he was terrified of being heard, hated how he physically couldn't move to open his chest, the mere thought of the creaking of the hinges making his heart race  

Tommy's fingers tangled into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he desperately listened for any sign that Technoblade was still in the house, hunger pains bothering him for the first time in weeks. He needed to eat a piece of his bread, but there was no way he could make any sort of movement while Technoblade was still in the house. His enhanced hearing would, logically, not hear him simply moving, but the opening of a chest was loud and distinct and even if it was faint it would alert him so, so quickly that someone was in his house.

When footsteps started again, some unknown time later, Tommy jumped out his skin, choking on a gasp as his nails sliced into his head. He ripped his hands away from his head, heart pounding as Technoblade walked to do whatever it was he did in his day.

Tommy reached a violently shaking hand up to his head, trailing along the wounds now marking his scalp. His hair was brittle and greasy against his palms and he felt vaguely ill as he pulled his hands away, fingertips stained red. 

He gingerly touched a fingertip to one of his nails, blood running cold as he traced the long curve. Tommy poked the end of his nail with his thumb, hissing in a breath at the sharp prick, blood welling up.

"What the fuck," Tommy breathed shakily, voice hoarse from disuse and throat burning with pain. He wouldn't call himself an expert - he was cowering under Technoblade's basement, and only the stupidest of people would wind up in such a situation - but human nails were most certainly not shaped like that. 

Above him, metal suddenly clanged against metal, and Tommy jolted, heart leaping into his throat as he practically flung himself into the back corner of his hideout. The clanging continued, slow and methodical, and Tommy's heart slammed during the pauses between each hit. He slowly shrunk into himself, thoughts of battle and war and swords clashing together invading his mind, each harsh sound ringing in his ears, so uncomfortably loud despite the stone floors between the source of the noise and himself.

Tommy pressed his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as he desperately tried to block out the noise, danger danger danger metal hurts so loud danger, hissing TNT explosions rocking the ground, the only thing he's ever worked for crumbling to the ground, the gleam of an enchanted blade as it sunk into flesh, rockets firing with the intent to kill loud means danger get to safety danger danger danger-

Tommy bit down on his lower lip to try stop himself from making any noise, teeth digging painfully into his skin. A whimper tore its way out of him, tears streaming down his face because it was so loud and metal meant hurt and pain and death run run get out not safe not safe not safe and he couldn't breathe, heart too fast too fast because there was smoke in the air and it was burning his lungs and he was trapped and confined and was stuck laugher echoing throughout the walls and color exploding and a sword slipping through his ribs his friends screaming loud means hurt hurt means pain and death get away get away danger and it was too loud, too loud and he couldn't breathe.

Tommy sobbed, heart beating too fast in his chest as he shoved his face into his knees, painfully pressing his hands over his ears to block out the sound, and his hair and skin was so dirty and greasy and he wanted to stop touching it so badly because it was so disgusting but the noise was so loud, too loud, and he could only hear death singing oh so loudly for him. His ears hurt, his breathing was so loud and fast and the clanging wouldn't stop and his ears itched so badly, burning at the touch of his hands but it was so loud, he couldn't bear the noise above. He was sobbing, biting down on his lip in an attempt to stop so hard that it felt like his teeth hurt, jaw aching at constant use. Blood dripped off his chin, mixing with tears and no doubt ruining his shirt even more, but he couldn't focus on it. Couldn't focus on anything, his heart stuttering with every loud clash of metal. 

His entire body shook with fear and exhaustion and the cold was so, so present and his teeth chattered around his sobs, goosebumps all over. Tommy flinched with every loud clang, nails cutting into his head once more, when the noise suddenly stopped. 

Tommy stiffened, choking down his sobs as he waited for any noise, anything at all. There were footsteps, and then the sound of a chest opening and closing, more footsteps and then silence.

Tommy stayed frozen, shivers racking his body, until his heart finally calmed down - the only noise he could hear being his own breathing. It was then he noticed just how bad his hole smelt, iron and musk filling invading his senses as he breathed deeply in an effort to calm down. He scrunched his nose up, breathing heavily into his knees. He dropped his hands from his ears when he was sure the noise was gone, nails clicking against the ground. 

Tommy was so, so tired. He had no idea how long Technoblade had been home, how long he had been in this hole, and his tailbone hurt from sitting on hard stone for so long, and he was so cold. 

Tommy wanted desperately to settle down onto his pile of wool, obtain some sort of warmth and drift off into a wonderful oblivion, but he physically couldn't bring himself to move. He was so, so terrified that Techno would hear him, so he wrapped his arms around his knees and did his best to fold himself to be as small as possible, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. He wanted to sleep so badly, exhaustion clouding his thoughts and dragging his eyelids downwards, but he was so, so scared; so hyper aware of everything going on - a drastic change from the unawareness of his first fews days under Technoblade's house. 

Tommy wanted to feel safe. He wanted to feel the warmth of another human being for longer than a second, wanted the comfort of another's touch, something he hadn't felt in months. He could count the amount of times he had been hugged since the start of the revolution on one hand, and all had been brief, no longer than a few seconds. Pressed into the corner of his shitty hole in the stone below the basement of someone he had foolishly thought was his brother, Tommy desperately wished someone was there with him.

He wished someone would comfort him, would take the time to ever ask if he was okay, would pull him close and help him make sense of the tangled mess of thoughts in his head, and would tell that he would be okay.

Tommy hadn't been okay in months. Participating in the revolution, listening to Wilbur's rants and promises of grandeur and freedom - promises he had accepted without hesitation, rants he had listened to with stars in his eyes because his older brother was so cool - had been a contract he unknowingly signed. Good things didn't happen to heros. Soldiers didn't get comfort, warriors didn't have time for family-

Problem children didn't get loved. 

Tommy very nearly started sobbing again, body shaking more violently at the painful, painful realization. Nobody cared. The moment he started fighting, no matter how hard he fought or how much he sacrificed (his discs, two of his lives, his brother, his best friend-) he would always get the short end of the stick.

Technoblade was so, so right. It hurt, tightened his chest painfully and brought tears to his eyes but Technoblade was right. He was right about the government corrupting people - Tommy had watched it first hand with Wilbur, his older brother, and he watched it with Tubbo, his best friend.

The war, the betrayal, the fighting- it was all too much. Tommy didn't have any time to breathe, caught up in the moment, so of course when he finally was given time to think (though he was so alone) his spirit shattered.

Tears slipped out of his eyes, and Tommy realized with a laugh that was more of a sob then anything that he had cried more during his exile then had in his entire life. He was so pathetic, shivering in a ball in a stupid hole, and everything was so overwhelming, and he just wanted a fucking hug.

Tommy sobbed again, silent as always, and wondered, not for the first time, how much better his life would be if had never joined the SMP in the first place. 

-0-

Living under Technoblade's house while Technoblade was there, Tommy discovered, was exponentially worse then when he wasn't there.

Fear of discovery kept him deathly quiet, and he didn't move aside from his shivering, which would come and go. Technoblade never seemed to sleep, and Tommy had no idea what he did during his free time, but he could hear his footsteps throughout the day (or what he guessed was day, anyway). 

Whenever Technoblade cooked, the sudden clang of pots and cooking utensils usually sent him into a panic attack, silent sobs shaking his frame. When he eventually calmed down, he could smell the food through the floor, and that made things so much worse. He hadn't eaten anything in what he guessed was a couple of days, and he didn't dare to open his chest, so he was stuck with nothing but pain, his own breathing, and the sound of Technoblade walking around to keep him company.

The cuts on his arms burned, his multitude of bruises and cuts flaring up every time he shifted slightly. His back ached from his uncomfortable position in the corner, the courage to move having not found him. His ears itched, yet he didn't try to itch them, having torn open his skin with his suddenly sharp nails that felt more like claws the first time he had tried it. His ears also felt like they were being stretched, yet no matter how much prodding he did, he couldn't find the source of the feeling. His tailbone hurt like hell, the stone floor hard and unforgiving beneath him and sending shivers throughout his whole body.

His lip throbbed with pain from where he had bitten into it, skin peeled off where he had been worrying his lip with his teeth.

It was so uncomfortable and he was so tired, desperate for an ounce of comfort or sleep, yet he couldn't.

Eventually, after an eternity of fear and pain, he heard the loud creak of door hinges, and then a door shutting. Tommy froze in his place, because he knew that sound. That was the front door, thick and heavy to block out the cold. There were no footsteps in the house, which meant-

Technoblade wasn't in the house anymore. 

Tommy immediately scrambled for his chest, peeling the lid open so, so slowly, in case Technoblade could somehow hear him despite logically knowing his hearing wasn't that good. When the chest was open, Tommy grabbed the bread he had been eating with shaking hands, the texture distinct and jaring against his palms as he brought it up to his face and took a large bite out of it. Tommy chewed slowly, both wanting to savor the taste and knowing if he ate too much too quickly he would just throw it back up.

Tommy swallowed, wasting no time to take another bite. Good good build up reserves for winter go back to sleep rest rest now. 

Tommy put the bread back, the lid shutting with a click, and then settled back down one his pile, the wool infinitely more comfortable then the cold stone despite how it scratched at his itching ears and rubbed all the wrong ways against his hands. It wasn't warmer by any means, the wool having cooled since he was last in it, but it was so much better than leaning against the wall that he almost cried.

Buried under the wool, Tommy finally felt the pull of sleep reach him, breathing slowly down dramatically the longer he was sure Technoblade was gone. Safe at last heart too fast but safe safe safe safe.

His pseudo blanket slowly began to warm up, and Tommy could feel himself drifting into his previous state of unawareness, halfway between awake and asleep, and he didn't try to fight it.

And as Tommy drifted off, he could have sworn he heard a familiar voice.

Chapter Text

Technoblade was a name that was known by almost everyone who ventured outside the Hub World, tales of war and blood echoing throughout the air. Stories told around campfires of a legendary warrior undefeated, not a single death to his name.

He spent his life stained with blood; blood from his enemies, blood from people who stood in the way of his ideals, or blood from those who simply got caught in the crossfire. Wrong place, wrong time. 

Technoblade's weapons were extensions of his self, battle an elegant dance that no one could match the pace of. He was too fast for his adversaries, the rhythm of his heart off beat to the rest of the world. An unholy choir backed him, singing for blood and death as he danced across the battlefield with corpses in his wake, voices harmonizing in a terrifying symphony.

Or, to put it simply: Technoblade was good with a sword and had the voices of the fallen in his head that held a particular fondness for the letter 'E'.

Not a single soul aside from Phil knew he had voices of dead people in his head, but that was beside the point. Technoblade's name was whispered with reverence and fervour, everyone bowing their heads as he passed in either fear or respect. And, for all his reputation marked him as a terrifying, cold blooded monster who only knew how to kill, monotone voice promising death with a wicked grin, blood staining his sharp teeth, Technoblade did, in fact, have a heart. 

Technoblade didn't display his feelings often, or in ways that most could understand, but they were there. Phil knew Technoblade had a heart; the man had raised him, of course he knew that he could feel more than bloodlust and rage.

Technoblade showed Phil the most of himself, the most of his sheltered and broken heart. Technoblade trusted Phil, enough to tell him about the voices in his head, the demands for blood he often couldn't ignore - not because they controlled him, but because he wanted to make it stop - something he had never told anyone, ever. Something he had kept to himself for as long as he could remember, his closest guarded secret. None of his friends or anyone in his family knew of the voices and their unrelenting demand for blood, and it had been Technoblade's plan to keep it that way until the day he died. Until, of course, the Dream SMP. 

The server had caused a lot of problems for everyone involved. He was no exception.

Technoblade had been so, so angry at how the rebellion had only used him as a weapon, because he was so much more than that, and he deserved to be treated like it. Technoblade had been so hurt, at how his own brothers had used him. He had trusted Wilbur and Tommy, had thought they saw him as more than a tool to be disposed of, but as proven by one fateful day he would never be able to live through the same again, he was wrong.

Watching them form a government right in front of him - the very thing he hated, and had stated that clear as day when he first agreed to help them - had been a slap across the face, a truth clearer than the bluest of skies: he was not seen as a person to his family. 

The voices had grown so protective then, demanding the blood of everyone involved for lying to him and hurting him, and they wanted him to kill them all blOod fOr thE blooD GoD-

So he had. He had pulled out his aptly named Rocket Launcher and fired into the crowd, screams morbidly soothing to his ears.

When the ground had hissed below him, Techno had stilled for a moment, a mere second left to process that Wilbur had actually done it, before the ground erupted into fire and burn. When he saw Phil, his father, standing there with Wilbur, he hadn't known what to think. Relief was the only thing he could feel, the voices split into BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD and DADZA COME GET YOUR CHILDREN. When Philza had taken the sword thrown to him, wings tightening on his tense body, Technoblade could only watch in disbelief as the sword was thrusted right into Wilbur's heart - taking what Techno knew to be his brother's last life.

Technoblade had immediately slipped into a numb apathy, channeling his anger at being used into a passionate speech given towards his now last remaining brother, resolved on not thinking about Wilbur's body slowly sliding off Philza's sword, the sword which stayed in Philza hand as he battled the withers Technoblade had summoned, the blood of his little brother staining it, ignored Tommy's cries of anguish over the loss of L'Manberg and Wilbur, the scream of agony as he was hit by a wither, his first encounter with the withering effect that was special to the withers themselves, the scream that echoed through the now hollowed out land, the instincts he tried to bury deep screaming, sounder in danger pack in danger his fault his fault protect the little one sounder in danger danger dangeR danGER DANGER-

….

Technoblade didn't like thinking about November 16th very much.

Phil, Technoblade knew he could still trust. Despite his brothers having betrayed him, he knew he could still rely on Phil, the man having been by his side for years.

Technobladr trusted Phil more than anyone in the world. He trusted him enough to let his walls slip, to be more vulnerable around the man, even if it was only in being more expressive in his speech. They had conquered the world together, formed an empire stronger than any other. Phil was one of, if not the only one who understood the way he showed love. The only person who could understand what he was trying to say without him having to actually say it, the only one who understood that he loved them without him ever having to say it.

(Wilbur used to get it too, a traitorous part of him whispered. Wilbur understood I loved him too. He elected to ignore that part.)

Technoblade didn't like being viewed as a heartless monster, because he could feel. He wasn't upset by being viewed as terrifying, it was useful in most situations he found himself in, and though he did feel a spark of regret when he was used to paint hybrids in a hostile manner, there was almost no way to change the view of the public. But being seen as heartless? It dug a knife he forgot was there a little deeper, a stabbing reminder that he was the same as a sword to everyone around him, and likely always would be.

Those on the Dream SMP were no different than everyone who had only heard stories of him, at least at first. Tense, cautious, and fearful. But as time went on, and Technoblade hadn't immediately killed any of them, they had loosened up, even joking around with him at times. It had been a nice change of pace, and Technoblade had almost felt himself relax, lower his guard ever so slightly. Despite actively working against many of them, he was treated like a normal person, his reputation and hybrid status meaning nothing to them. It was….nice.

And then The Red Festival happened.

The festival had been the result of peer pressure from the Manburg Cabinet, and the demands of the voices in his head, reaching their loudest crescendo as they screamed for death and blood. Tommy had been so, so angry at him, and though it was justified, Technoblade had been just as angry back, even if he hadn't shown it. Tubbo had forgiven him, and he was the one who lost his life. Was Tubbo's opinion not valid? Did he not see he was wasting their time? The worst part had been Wilbur, encouraging the fight, unknowingly aiding the voices in their roar for blood.

Technoblade's family had fallen apart so quickly, warm memories burned into bitter ash by the flame of broken hearts. That was all in Technoblade's past, though. He was retired, after all, his old violent ways hung up.

The Dream SMP had been an eye opener, and as Technoblade had laid in his quaint cottage in the snowy tundra, a blizzard billowing outside, his mind circled back to Tommy, his only remaining, alive brother, and the way he had been treated when he had payed him a visit in exile. He had been angry, he had shouted and blamed and accused Technoblade of things he didn't do, and it had taken Technoblade far too long to get the hint that his brother genuinely wanted nothing to do with him.

And so he was alone.

It was nothing new to Technoblade. He spent an incredible amount of his time living under Phil's roof out adventuring, often missing important events in his younger brothers' lives. He had never been there when it counted, but he was still there. Distantly, but he truly had loved his brothers.

(Still did, no matter the pain of being used that flared up when he thought of them.)

Technoblade's cottage was homely for all that it wasn't home, and that was enough. He didn't need home, anyway.

It wasn't like Technoblade was completely on his own; he had his horse, Carl, and Phil visited as frequently as he could without those in L'Manberg growing suspicious. Phil had actually planned to visit today, something that Techno had looked forward to since he had first read the message sent to him. 

The only slight flaw with the genius plan was that Technoblade was currently several miles away from his house.

Technoblade wasn't lost, naturally; he had planned ahead for the event he currently was in. It would be such a great flex, truly, to tell Phil he had arrived back to his cottage the morning of the day he arrived, instead of loitering around his house doing nothing, not wanting to miss Phil's arrival.

Technoblade gave Carl a gentle pat on the neck, absentmindedly scanning his surroundings for threats. Carl snorted softly in response, and Technoblade counted it as a win in the bonding department. The sky was lowly lit, stars slowly dimming as the sun rose over the horizon, staining the snow a yellow orange that definitely did not remind him of Wilbur's favorite sweater.

The crunch of snow under Carl's feet was by no means silent, the only other noise being his breathing and the rustle of fabrics and armors. The air was cold, biting at his lungs and exposed skin, but it was a welcome chill. It was moments like these that Technoblade lived for, if nothing else. Moments where he wasn't thinking yet was so aware of the world around him, appreciating the beauty of his life in a rare moment of peace.

E

Well. All good things had to come to an end somehow.

The voices admired the sunrise in awe as Carl trudged along through the snow, pace quicker than normal so they could finally escape from the cold of the outdoors.

Technoblade chuckled softly at the voices amusement, feeling an odd sort of fondness towards the very thing that may have driven his whole family apart. "It's like you've never seen a sunrise before," he joked quietly, not wanting to disturb the beautiful stillness in the air.

IT'S PRETTY OKAY

BRUHHHH

CAN WE NOT APPRECIATE IT

TechnoInsult

But SUNRISE

E

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT

Technoblade snickered, urging Carl to move just a tad bit faster. Phil had a strange tendency to arrive at incredibly odd hours, after all. 

"Enjoy it while it lasts, chat," Technoblade said simply. The voices went quiet, a few whispering agreement before ceasing their chatter and a few simply shouting NO before silencing. Technoblade shook his head, focusing his attention on watching for threats once more, though he kept an eye on the sunrise longer then he normally would have, drawn into admiring it by chat's apparent love for it.

The voices, for all they demanded blood and death, had seemingly calmed during his retirement. Technoblade had gotten better at ignoring them, and their cries for blood had lessened ever so slightly. It was a net gain, really, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth - not about this, anyway.

The sun had barely moved by the time Technoblade's cottage came into view, bleeding red into the sky above and shining blindingly off the snow. Carl quickened his pace seemingly even more at the sight of his house, and personally, Techno couldn't help but agree with the unspoken statement. As pretty as it was to adore simply being alive, that didn't mean Techno enjoyed being cold for extended periods of time. He was a piglin hybrid, after all, and he much preferred the heat.

When they reached the entrance of the small shelter he had built to protect his horse from the elements, Technoblade swung his legs off Carl and landed softly in the snow. Beside him, Carl nickered impatiently, and Technoblade let himself smile as he peeled the door open and Carl immediately made his way into the structure.

Taking Carl's armor off and replacing it with heavy blankets was a welcome routine, but Technoblade was more than glad to gently shut the shelter door, exhaustion creeping in his bones. Technoblade trudged towards the door to his house, hand fumbling for the doorknob before it swung open with a groan.

The door slammed shut behind him loudly, Technoblade having thrown it shut with more force than was probably necessary to prevent the cold from seeping in.

He wasted no time in pulling off his armor and tools, sword hung by the door next to his cloak. His boar skull mask was placed on the lifeless fireplace, next to a pouch full of emeralds. His armor was placed on a stand in the corner, hands moving to buckles and clasps on muscle memory more than anything. The rest of his tools were tossed in a chest, a mental note of their location made.

Technoblade crossed the room from his chest area quickly, easily lifting firewood out of the stockpile he had made. The wood was heavy and rough in his arms, clacking together as he tossed them into the ashes of what used to be his fire. Kindling was not hard to acquire, and soon Technoblade had a warm fire to combat the chill that had settled deep in his bones on the journey back.

FireChamp

Technoblade immediately laid down on his couch, allowing himself to fully sink into it. His body ached from near constant fighting, travel, and harsh conditions, so a nap in front of warm fire on a soft couch sounded divine. Or, well, really good.

Technoblade shifted into a more comfortable position, tugging a soft blanket over himself. His eyelids had been heavy the entire trip back, but he hadn't let himself drift off. As much as he trusted Carl, his near sentient companion, the horse could not open doors and getting bucked by a horse trying to wake him up was not on Technoblade's to-do list. The pull of sleep grew stronger with every passing minute he spent laying there, awareness slowly slipping away as he drifted into a peaceful rest. 

Technoblade's eyes blinked open what he guessed to be half an hour later, after a quick peek at the sun's position in the sky through his window. Technoblade laced his fingers together and raised his arms over his head as he stared through the glass, letting out a pleased grunt at the pull of his muscles. 

There was nothing to do other than wait for Phil to arrive. Technoblade's recent excursion counted as any training he would have done during the day normally, and because it was the middle of winter, he had no farms to tend to or animals to check up on. Technoblade frowed, eyes not really seeing the landscape before him as he searched his memory for an activity he could have forgotten to do.

It didn't take long for Technoblade to stumble upon a conversation he and Phil had during the man's last visit. Phil had mentioned needing a new sword, as his current one was trash and meant for spiders, but he hadn't wanted to spend the time getting stacked enchantments when he had no pressing threat to prepare for. Phil's laugh had an edge to it that Technoblade couldn't dissect following the words, but that wasn't the point.

Technoblade had many, many enchanting books to his name, and a helping of time to waste. The biggest threat to life was life itself, after all. Or something like that.

Gathering the resources to make the sword was laughably easy, all the necessary materials having been scattered around his house, and Technoblade was hit with the irrational urge to sneak into L'Manberg just to flex how much spare netherite he had. It would be funny, he reasoned to himself, despite knowing that was the last plan he wanted to desensitize himself to.

Making the netherite sword wasn't the easiest task there was, but Technoblade had forged enough tools and armour out of netherite to know his way around the rare ore. It only took him 10 minutes of slow shaping, the clash of metal against metal harsh against his heightened hearing but bearable all the same. It was actually adding the enchantments that was the difficult part of making the sword.

Enchanting something was a painstaking process - that was only lengthened by mistakes or how many enchantments you actually wanted to add. Technoblade had, thankfully, not been born yesterday, so he doubted he would mess up, but there was nothing he could do to change the amount of time it would take to add several enchantments, skill level aside.

For Phil, the one person who he felt even had a shred of understanding towards how he worked, he would do anything. Maxing out the enchantments on a sword was nothing compared to how far he would go if Phil asked him to. Phil, technically, was his father, but their relationship was less of a parent and child and more that of two war-buddies. An odd relationship, sure, but Techno wouldn't change it if he could. 

(No matter how much closer to a simple friendship their relationship got, deep, deep down, in a part of him he was much, much too prideful and scared to show, Phil would always be his dad.)

When the sword was finished, Technoblade left it carefully balanced on the anvil, moving to search through every drawer in his house at least three times before he found his whetstone. Prize finally secured, Technoblade grabbed the sword off the anvil and sat down on the edge of his couch, gleaming sword in one hand and whetstone in the other. 

The process of sharpening a sword was familiar to Technoblade. He had spent many nights unable to sleep, battle and war haunting him - and sharpening his weapons at any possible point was a habit he had yet to break, comforting in the assurance that he would always be ready to fight. It soothed a worry that he had never truly gotten rid of, the fear of not being able to fight back if he needed to in the case of an emergency.

It was mindless, methodical tasks that truly grounded Technoblade and helped him relax. They brought him into reality, and sharpening a sword was no exception. The movement of his arm and hand were repetitive, the noise reaching his ears and poking his wandering mind back down to the world he was living in.

Technoblade spent a probably unnecessary amount of time on the sword before a series of knocks sounded out, his ears twisting towards his door as he was startled into reality, the sword in his hand now sharp to an almost unnecessary degree.

PHIL

DADZA

PHILZA MINECRAFT POG

PHILZA

Technoblade rose from his sitting position, adjusting his grip on the freshly made sword's handle. His boots quietly landed against his stone floor as walked towards the door, pausing to listen for any suspicious noises. Another knock sounded out, in the pattern that he knew was Phil's, so Technoblade did the reasonable thing and opened the door right when he knew Phil was about to knock again.

Phil's hand smacked against Technoblade's chest before quickly being drawn towards his body as Phil stumbled back, eyes blown wide before they locked with Techno's and narrowed into an irritated point.

"Oh- oooh you motherfucker ," Phil snapped out. Not even a second later his angry expression melted into amusement, a short chuckle filling the still air.

"Hallo," Technoblade greeted. He couldn't help but notice the heavy bags under Phil's eyes, or the way his feathers that poked out from under his cloak were ruffled and unkempt, the usual sheen that accompanied the ebony feathers replaced with a dusty and dull color.

"Hello, mate." Phil glanced at the sword loose in Technoblade's grip, raising an eyebrow as he looked back up at him to ask, "You expecting an attack?"

"Nah," Technoblade replied, holding the sword out, "It's for you, actually."

"Seriously?" Phil asked, taking the sword out of his hand and inspecting it. With his bangs casting shadows over his face, the bruises under Phil's eyes were even more prominent. Technoblade tried his best to keep the worry out of his expression at the sight.

"Yup." 

"Pog!" Phil grinned. Technoblade hummed in agreement, shifting so he wasn't blocking the door frame. Phil wasted no time in walking inside, shrugging his heavy cloak off and letting his wings spread into the room as Technoblade shut the door behind him.

"Come on, this is a small house Phil, you can't just take up all my space," Technoblade complained lightheartedly. Phil responded by smacking him with one of his wings.

Technoblade clutched at his gut, staring at Phil in disbelief. For how tired Phil looked, he possessed a surprisingly high amount of energy.

(It did not remind him of his little brother. It did not.)

"Bruuh."

Phil dissolved into laughter, a hand covering his grin. Technoblade allowed himself a small chuckle, watching Phil laugh fondly. It was nice to see Phil laugh, something he didn't do nearly as much as he used to. The Dream SMP had placed a heavy weight on the shoulders of its members, and Phil was a fine example. Technoblade did his best to help, in his own way, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't enough.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Phil placed his new sword on top of the fireplace, next to Technoblade's mask - and then flopped onto the couch, wings sprawling outwards with a contented sigh. Techno briefly considered joining him - the couch looked plush and inviting to his still tired brain - but he quickly decided against it, instead moving into his kitchen.

"You hungry?" he called over his shoulder, already searching for ingredients. Phil was always hungry when he visited, so asking was really just a formality.

"Yes," Phil groaned, dropping his head onto the back of the couch. "Dream was at the docks when I left, so I had to row all the way over so he didn't see me flying. I'm exhausted, dude," he said, rubbing at his eye.

"Did you walk here too?" Technoblade asked as deposited his finds onto his counter, a cutting board and bowls quickly acquired.

"Yeah, it was snowing when I hit land," Phil confirmed tiredly, eyes closed when Technoblade looked up at him. Concern slowly raised in the back of Technoblade's mind as he thought back on his journey home.

"It wasn't snowing this mornin'," Technoblade said slowly.

Phil hummed. "It was yesterday. Wings had too much snow in em when it cleared up," he explained. Technoblade's hands stilled, knife still halfway through a carrot.

"Phil, that's-" Technoblade faltered, unsure of what to say. Words had always been the rest of his family's thing, anyway. His whole family felt, but Technoblade was the only one who couldn't put it into words. The concern and worry for Phil's wellbeing was there, but he had no idea how to express it.

Phil sighed quietly. "I know."

"No, seriously, that- you spent an entire day walkin' over here?" Technoblade asked, voice colored in disbelief.

"Mhm," Phil confirmed. He opened his eyes, twisting around to look at Technoblade. "Seriously, mate, I'm fine."

"Those eye bags are not convincin'," Technoblade told him.

"Oh, shut. Yours are just as bad as mine," Phil retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't tell you to get more rest," Technoblade argued. 

"I sleep perfectly well, thank you."

Technoblade pointed his knife at Phil. "Self care, Philza. You're supposed to be the best of us." Phil let out a short, bitter laugh that quickly faded into nothing. He turned away from Technoblade, staring into the fire.

"I know, I know," Phil said, almost like he was assuring himself. He grew quieter as added on, "It's just harder, after….Will…."

Technoblade very suddenly got the impression that this was not a conversation he should be having while holding the person he's supposed to be comforting at knifepoint.

Setting the knife down, Technoblade crossed the distance between his kitchen and couch easily with long strides. The cushions dipped beneath his weight as he settled down next to Phil - not too close to be invasive, but not too far away he seemed uncaring.

Phil didn't speak for a long time, expression dark as firelight illuminated his face, flames dancing in his eyes. Technoblade spent the time shifting awkwardly, feeling as if he should say something, but having no idea what he should say. His heart twisted, seeing Phil so upset, and he wanted to help him, but...well, he wasn't exactly an expert when it came to social situations. The only sound was the gentle crackling of the fireplace, but eventually, Phil spoke.

"I haven't been on this server for very long," Phil started slowly, voice quiet.

"You really haven't," Technoblade said, attempting to be lighthearted. The joke was met with a resounding silence.

"It just…." Phil buried his face in his hands, pulling his wings closer to him as he drew in a shaky breath. "I can't stop thinking about it, Techno. I should've...I should've been there for him- for both of them, but I- I wasn't -" Phil said, voice hoarse and small as it broke.

Technoblade processed the admission for a few seconds, waiting until he was sure Phil was done before he spoke - words measured and careful.

"You had no way of knowing. No one could have predicted that- that this would happen, but that's all in the past now. What matters is that you're there now," Technoblade said, absolutely not thinking of his little brother, shirt torn as he screamed at him - all alone with no one but the ghost of his sibling and the man who had put him in that position in the first place.

"Yeah," Phil agreed, voice choked and breath quivering, "Guess you're right."

Suddenly, a weight appeared on Technoblade's shoulder. Technoblade tensed up at the sudden contact, glancing down to see Phil resting his head on his shoulder, hair spilling onto his shirt as he blankly stared ahead. Technoblade quickly forced himself to relax, not wanting Phil to feel like he had to move. If it was giving Phil comfort, Technoblade would live. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping an arm around Phil's shoulder, pulling him closer. Phil relaxed completely in his hold, eyes slipping shut.

"Thanks, Technomate," Phil murmured.

Technoblade was silent for a long moment,  but eventually, he softly whispered an, "Of course," but Phil was already asleep by the time he gathered the courage to say it.

There were still several things that Technoblade felt needed to be addressed about Phil's mental state, but for now, he was content with being used as a pillow.

(Unbeknownst to either of them, in a small, hollowed out hole beneath the basement, the youngest member of their family struggled to breathe.)

Chapter Text

On a late, warm December afternoon, the sun was slowly setting over the horizon - warming the world and all of its inhabitants. A gentle breeze billowed through the leaves of the trees, a chill touch against the people and animals that walked the land in the last hours of the day.

In a city of spruce known as L'Manberg, lanterns lit up the sky in a soft glow of orange and yellow light - and a man called Philza sat on his windowsill, wind gently brushing his hair to the side.

Phil's hands were loosely wrapped around a cup of tea, ceramic warm against his palms. His bucket hat had been discarded on his desk in the room behind him, and wings sprawled around him. Eyes closed, Phil simply listened to the wind and inhaled the scent of his tea, one leg slowly dangling back and forth.

From his high up perch, Phil could hear the distant bickering of Fundy and Quackity -  something about blocking a view and ownership laws - and the short clunks of Ranboo dropping things in his own house next door. Had it been only a few weeks prior, Phil might have been able to hear the distinct laugh of Tommy as he said something absurd for the pure sake of comedy, Tubbo's confused laughter at his best friend's antics accompanying it.

Phil sighed quietly, peeling his eyes open to observe at the quaint market below him, the colorful roofs of the stands billowing in the breeze. Ghostbur's lovely creation upon the world.

Tommy's exile left a sour taste in Phil's mouth. Phil wished he could have been there when the situation went down - been there for one important event on the server, for once, instead of hearing about it days after it had happened from a casual remark by Fundy who had been trying to make fun of Tommy's intelligence.

Tubbo, not even a year prior, would have been appalled at the idea of exiling his best friend, of lauging at his strife. One late night, when neither of them could sleep, Quackity had described Tubbo's expression during the exiling as cold, an icy fury in his eyes as he yelled at Tommy.

Tubbo was not the type of person to yell, or get angry. Or rather, he hadn't been that type of person, but during his time on the server Phil had very quickly realized he knew nothing about his family.

(Tubbo had always been more of a family friend, but the point still stood.)

Phil could not erase overheard conversations from his memory, try as he might - could not forget the way Tubbo's words were clipped and cold, or the way Tubbo snapped and grew irritated at even the smallest of things. It settled an aching worry over Phil, a blanket of anxiety he could call an old friend squeezing at his heart every moment he spent on the Dream SMP. No teenager, no child, should have to deal with the stress of being a president, let alone a kid who had only just got out of a war.

Phil hadn't been there when Wilbur started to spiral into the person he had died in Phil's arms as. He hadn't been there to bear witness to the events that led to the eventual crumble of his sanity, hadn't supported his own son when he needed it most, and that was a regret that haunted his every waking moment. 

(Sometimes, when Phil jolted awake in a cold sweat with tears in his eyes, his shaking hands were stained with blood, Wilbur's blood - and it didn't go away until he had scrubbed his hands raw and his vision was too blurry with tears to see anything anyway.

Phil had started wearing gloves outside his home so nobody saw the scratched up mess that was his hands.

Phil didn't sleep much anymore. )

But Phil didn't need to have been there to know how Wilbur acted before he detonated everything he had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for. Phil had plenty of anecdotal evidence of how his son had fallen from grace, snippets he could pry from Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy - and once, Niki, when she had found him curled up outside her bakery a mere few days after the incident and gently pressed warm bread into his trembling hands. He knew the warning signs Wilbur had, knew every red flag he had ever waved.

And Tubbo was showing all the warning signs Wilbur had. 

Phil, for all he had managed to wash his hands of his family's ordeals, knew who Tubbo used to be. He knew how he went about revenge, even if it was playful and not at all like the things that had been done on this server (oh god they had sent children to war-), and he knew Tubbo wouldn't go out with an act of mass destruction, and that was what scared him. 

Tubbo, much like Wilbur had been, was unpredictable, emotions unstable from forcing everything down and a facade of okay that was held together by a thin thread. If Tubbo finally snapped, there would be no way of telling where his emotions would direct him, and whether the destruction would be outwards, or inwards.

Tommy could very well follow the same path, Phil realized, feeling slightly ill. Phil had no way to know how he was holding up in exile. There was no way to know if his son was doing okay, no way to make sure his sanity wasn't slipping and that he wouldn't have to put a sword through another one of his children's chests.

It wasn't like Phil didn't want to visit Tommy; it was quite the opposite, actually, and Phil would have visited him a thousand times over if it weren't for Dream.

Only a week after Phil had learned of Tommy's exile, Dream had visited his homestead and informed him that he wasn't welcome at Logstedshire and never would be. Phil had been left numb the rest of the conversation, the simple phrase jamming a knife into his heart he couldn't dislodge. 

Tommy didn't want to see him, his own father. He didn't want to see Techno, his older brother, despite surely knowing Techno had never stopped caring for him (did he?). Ghostbur had left with Tommy, supposedly, but Phil didn't think he counted as proper company. Tubbo, who was Tommy's best friend (or rather, he had been; the exile happening in the first place was practically a neon sign screaming that something was wrong) was the person who had exiled him in the first place, friendship tossed aside for a nation that, in end, didn't matter. Tommy had no one.

No one but Dream.

Phil didn't trust Dream, and he wasn't sure if he ever would. The smiling mask he never took off, his hood which was always up, fabric covering every inch of his body. Dream always sounded uncaring, words casual no matter the setting. He was unerverving, and Phil doubted every word that came out of his mouth.

So when Dream told him Tommy wasn't interested in Phil visiting him, Phil wouldn't have believed him. He would have called bullshit with a smile on his face and visited anyways, because the masked man held no power over him, but he didn't.

Phil didn't, because of Techno. He believed Dream, because Techno had told Phil during one of his many visits to the last remaining of his sons who let him care, that Tommy had told Technoblade in no uncertain terms to fuck off and never come back. Phil had been shocked, but Techno had never lied to him about something that serious - and it made a scary amount of sense. If it weren't for the conversation, Phil wouldn't have believed Dream. He would have dismissed the words easily, because Tommy had no reason to not want Phil to visit, surely.

But things were different now. Things were so, so different, and Phil sometimes wanted to scream until his voice broke (and sometimes, hidden in woods far away, he did) because his family was so broken and wrong. Tommy and Techno were completely on their own, isolated by either themselves or the people they thought they could trust, Wilbur was dead by Phil's own wretched hands, and Tubbo was shouldering the weight of the world when he had only just barely turned 17-

The grip of his hands around his cup of tea grew tighter, knuckles fading into white. Phil's chest ached, eyes stinging, because he was the strong one. He was the one who was supposed to be there for his family, he wasn't supposed to arrive far, far too late and kill one of his children instead of helping them-

Suddenly, the cup in his hands shattered, shards of ceramic slicing open exposed skin with a sharp and burning pain, warm liquid burning at the already abused appendage and the harsh sound bringing him back down to reality.

Phil stared down at the mess now on his lap, numb. Crimson flowed from open wounds, flesh stinging and burning. Mournfully, Phil realized he never got to take a sip of tea.

He sat there, paralyzed, watching red drip onto his pants for a long minute, before he remembered he should clean his hands up so they didn't get infected . What was left of the tea cup fell onto his windowsill when Phil eventually forced himself to move, legs trembling beneath him as he slid back into his house. Phil stumbled towards where he kept his upstairs medical supplies, hands burning as he reached up and tugged his cabinet open. The rough texture of first aid kit's casing rubbed against open wounds as he grabbed it, setting it down on his counter with a soft thump. Trembling fingers slide under the latch, the sound of velcro harsh on his ears.

Phil's hands were shaking, he noticed, bringing them up to his face to make sure he didn't have any pieces of his cup stuck under his skin. He found nothing, his vision far too blurry, and he had to squint to make anything out. There wasn't and obvious pieces of white, and there was a brief moment where he remembered it hadn't shattered into that many pieces, and then all he could see was blood staining his fingers a horrible crimson, dripping to the floor, sword not leaving his grip until Techno gently pried it from his fingers, tears he never let fall burning his eyes because Wilbur was dead and it was his fault-

Phil choked, awareness spiraling down as he grabbed the nearest absorbent object to him and yanking it over to scrub at the red on his hands violently to try and get the image of Wilbur, lifeless with blood trailing out of his mouth and a gaping wound in his chest left by a shining teal sword out of his mind, and his hands burned, fresh wounds torn open even more with each pass and it wouldn't go away why did he listen, why did he kill him how could he be such an idiot, and then his legs buckled beneath him, world tilting dangerously before his head smacked painfully against wood.

One of his wings was pinned beneath him at an awkward angle, the disheveled limb protesting sharply. Phil realized, distantly, that he was crying, salty tears sliding down his face, but his hands were still coated in Wilbur's blood so he forced the cloth over them over and over, and it hurt, and he had to bite down on his lip to muffle his sobs because it hurt so bad he couldn't think and Wilbur was dead, he had killed his own son he was a monster-

Phil eventually found he could no longer move his hands, pain blinding, and he was shaking violently because he killed Wilbur and he couldn't get the blood off his hands, and weak cries of distress were torn from his throat as he choked on smoke and ash, ears ringing as a harsh reminder of his failure as a father and everything hurt-

And then there was blissful nothing.

Chapter Text

Technoblade would say that retirement was treating him well.

One would think, for a warrior with such a bloody past, that he would have a hard time settling down. And he had, at first, each day a struggle to get through, and he still did struggle, but as with most things, it got easier with time. The voices had been overbearing in the beginning, screaming louder than they ever had before and leaving him huddled on the floor days, but he had gotten better at ignoring them, and they themselves had ceased their calls for blood somewhat.

Technoblade had slowly fallen into a routine he followed every day, just to have something to do with sudden abundance of free time. The consistency was comforting, and it meant he didn't have to think too hard about what he would be doing that day when he woke up in the morning. The amount of options was often very overwhelming, so limiting them as much as possible helped.

Phil visited him often, spending more time at Technoblade's house than his own. He always came with a new story about the shenanigans the citizens of L'Manberg had gotten up to. While Technoblade didn't like the government, he (though he would never admit it) was glad that the people had at least found a moment to relax. Phil seemed more lively when he was talking and laughing at the antics of the rest of the server anyway, and it was better than the silence Phil would fall into. Silence from Phil had stopped being comfortable ever since that day. 

Carl - his only remaining horse from Pogtopia days - helped give Technoblade a reason to get out of bed beyond not wanting to add more onto Phil's plate. He needed to be fed, brushed, taken on runs, and have his space cleaned up. For all that his horse was almost sentient (and maybe he was), he didn't have opposable thumbs, or fingers to begin with. If he tried to do anything, it would end in disaster for both him and his environment. 

All in all, his experience in retirement wasn't as bad as it would look on paper. He was never alone for longer than a week at most, and he had a structure to his day that helped keep him sane. It was great, truly.

(One of his brothers was dead, everything that had made him who he was ripped away as he drifted along cluelessly. His other brother hated his guts.and he was alone because he had been betrayed by his best friend. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his dad without heavy eye bags, hands covered in gloves when he used to go without them - the reasoning behind it so terribly easy to guess. Sometimes the voices grew so loud he was left paralyzed on his floor for hours, nails digging into his scalp as he tugged at his hair to make them stop.

It wasn't that great.)

Being able to enjoy life on this server was a privilege, Technoblade had realized one unassuming night. The people back in L'Manberg, they didn't have time to stop and smell the roses for any amount of time. Sure, they were in a period of peace, but they didn't have the security of knowing they could wake up and be safe like Technoblade did. Technoblade could relax.

Which led him to now, standing in the library situated in his loft and trying to pick a book out to read.

It was a few days after Phil had last visited him. Technoblade had been sleepless the night after his visit, kept up by worry chat refused to let him shove from his mind. Phil had nearly broken down in front of him, and Technoblade wasn't confident that holding him at knifepoint had helped very much. Worrying about others made Technoblade uncomfortable, especially when he was worrying about Phil. He hated the idea of Phil hurting.

Technoblade's chosen distraction from the mess his family had become had been books. To some, it may have been odd, a renowned warrior spending his free time reading, but Technoblade had always enjoyed a good story, be it fictional or historical (he had always had a certain fondness towards Greek mythology, but he couldn't sit down and read any of it without his chest tightening, something deep inside him unsettled by the stories he used to love. He pretended to not know why).

Dust slowly drifted in the air, sun illuminating bright panels on the floor of his attic where he stood. He was pleasantly warm as he skimmed through his collection, searching for something interesting.

Technoblade slowly dragged his fingers along the spines of his books, carefully reading each title.

The Art Of War!

Technoblade snorted softly. He'd read Sun Tzu's The Art of War front to back so many times he had the entire thing memorized

"I suppose I could read it again," Technoblade mused, hand drifting towards where he knew the novel was located.

YES!

Technoblade's lips twitched into a small small at the voices happy cheer. His fingers were moments away from closing around the well loved book when he stilled, ears flicking to attention. His entire body tensed as he suddenly became hyper aware of every sound in his house.

The fireplace crackled gently, the wind gently sung outside, his heart pounded in his ears, and- there.

A muffled cry of distress.

Technoblade inhaled sharply, biting down a curse. Something was in his house. Technoblade knew he had shut his doors, so something had broken into his house and probably ruined something, and he was having a good day.

Technoblade slowly crept towards the ladder that led down from his attic, stepping carefully to avoid placing his foot down where the floorboards creaked. His heart pounded in chest, uncomfortably loud in his ears. 

KILL THE INTRUDER 

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

Technoblade ignored the voices, scaling down his ladder quietly. Technoblade wasted no time in grabbing his sword from its place by the door, netherite dragging slightly against the stone it was resting on. Technoblade winced at the harsh sound, glancing around to make sure there was nothing that had heard him in the immediate vicinity.

His kitchen was in the same disarray it always had been, and his couch and loveseat were still covered in the excessive amount of blankets Phil had brought him and he hadn't bothered to move. He moved into his storage area, finding everything in the place it was supposed to be, tools, weapons and armour hanging in their rightful places. Technoblade frowned. It wasn't a robbery, then, because they surely would have known he had good gear, gone straight for that, and then left. Why else would someone break into his house, if not to steal?

Technoblade froze as a realization hit him like a brick, blood running cold. 

They could be there to kill him.

Heart in his throat, Technoblade realized he couldn't possibly put on his armor to defend himself. It would be far too loud and they would know he was coming almost immediately (not that he needed his armor, but with no way to determine the skill level of his adversary, it would have been nice). Technoblade cursed under his breath, exhaling shakily as he shifted into a defensive stance. He had fought in worse conditions, sure, but that was different, people hadn't been in his house to kill him before.

The cry sounded distressed. Why would they be upset if they were there to kill you?

Technoblade stiffened, muscles tensing, before slowly dropping into a relaxed stance, shoulders slumping. Oh, he was an idiot. A moron. The voice (louder than the rest, clear and understandable) had a fantastic point.

Technoblade sighed tiredly, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. "I'm a fool, chat," he groaned, rubbing at his eyes. 

L

HAHAHAHAHA

LMAO

Technoblade shook his head, adjusting his grip on his sword. The sound had come from below him, and Technoblade wasted no time in making his way further down, searching every possible hiding place in his house for the source of the noise. His efforts turned up nothing, and Technoblade huffed an irritated breath, scaling the ladder down towards his basement, voices screeching a chorus of shrill YES. 

He winced, ear flickering as his feet touched the floor. His basement was unchanged, everything in its natural order, and frustration bubbled up in his chest.

"There's nothin' here, chat," Technoblade said. "There's literally nothin' in my house. Am I hallucinatin'?" he wondered out loud. It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be that surprising. He literally had voices in his head, after all, hallucination was never off the table.

(Auditory hallucinations would be new, anyway.)

GO DOWN

Technoblade frowned. 

"Down?" he repeated disbelieving. "What the heck is down?" He distinctly remembered not building anything below this point, so why would there be something even further down?

Technoblade paced around slowly, ears raised and alert. He didn't quite know what he was searching for, but the voices were screaming that there was something down below his basement, and Technoblade was tempted to leave his basement and sweep over his house again because walking in circles was pointless and annoying and why were chat so adamant about there being something down there anyway - and then he heard it.

Technoblade paused in his pacing, staring at the floor. He raised a foot, stepping down again experimentally. He did it again, with more force, and very suddenly was hit with realization that the floor underneath him was hollow.

What.

Kneeling down, cold stone seeping through his pants, Technoblade knocked on the spot with his hand, discovering that yes, the floor below him was in fact hollow. 

"Heh?!" Technoblade said eloquently. There was not a hole under his basement last he had checked. He very specifically had not dug further down than where he was currently kneeled because the heat of the fireplace wouldn't be able to pass through the stone and warm the room, which was something essential out in the middle of the tundra.

Someone had dug underneath his basement. 

Someone bad dug under his basement, and that someone was more than likely the source of the noise he had heard earlier. Someone was in his house. 

INTRUDER ALERT

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

Technoblade quickly stood, brushing the dirt off his knees and climbing back up the ladder quickly, irritation burning hot in his veins as chat screamed for blood. Whoever this was had to be incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to be hiding under his house of all places. Technoblade hurried to grab his pickaxe, not bothering to grab armor as he practically fell back into his basement in his haste to find the intruder and demand an explanation out of them (and kill them, more than likely).

Technoblade scowled, pacing around to find the hollowed out spot again. He had never been so worked up during his retirement, and the rush of adrenaline felt like an old friend - the race of his heart and anticipation a welcome excitement. Enchanted netherite cut through the stone like a hot knife through butter, echoing through the room as chunks of rock tumbed into a long, dark hole and disappeared from sight. A ladder led down into the darkness, clearly hastily put together and not at all stable looking. A creepy dark hole. How wonderful.

Technoblade steeled himself, grabbing a torch from the wall (because it was far too dark for him to even hope to see without one) and began his descent, rungs dipping under his weight.

The further down he climbed, the colder it got, warmth from the fire fading away completely. The wood groaned under his weight, and though running off without armour was a stupid idea in hindsight, especially if he planned to fight, he didn't think the ladder could handle the weight of a full set of netherite without collapsing.

The first thing Technoblade noticed when his feet touched the floor at the bottom was that it was freezing, goosebumps raising along his skin as he shivered. The second thing he noticed was how small the space he was in was, barely leaving enough room for him to comfortably stand, the walls rough uneven and hastily carved out. The third thing he noticed was the chest - sloppily put together and already falling apart. The fourth thing he noticed was a pile of wool, resting on the floor on the middle of the wall.

The final thing Techno noticed as he dropped into the hiding spot of his intruder, was the figure tightly curled up on the wool.

They were dressed in an all too achingly familiar long, brown coat, the tear on the back sewn up but the bloodstain as prominent as it was the day it was created. A fluffy, ringed tail curled around their leg, and gray ears poked out of a mess of dirty blonde hair, wide, dulled eyes staring at him as they laid frozen and-

"Tommy?" 

Tommy jolted violently, limbs flying and smacking into the wall as he scrambled back into the corner of the hole, eyes blown wide as he started to shake. "I- I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry you can take everything back I'll go please I'm sorry-"

"Woah, woah, hey, calm down-" Technoblade tried to interpret, feeling almost paralyzed in shock as he watched tears pooled in Tommy's fear filled eyes.

"I'm so fucking sorry please don't kill me!" Tommy cried, voice choked and trembled and quiet and so very unlike the Tommy he had known it felt like he had just been slapped. Technoblade's eyes widened at the outburst, and Tommy clamped a hand over his mouth, entire body shaking. His ears were twisted and flattened against his skull, and the meaning was not lost on him. Technoblade felt something stab into his chest at the sight of his little brother, cowering because of him. Tommy was breathing far too quickly and Techno's instincts were screaming at him to do something. 

Technoblade stared at Tommy, mind blanking because he had no idea what to do. Comforting people wasn't his thing but Tommy was so scared and thin and he had very cleared turned into a hybrid sometime between Techno visiting him in exile and now, something Technoblade knew - just like he knew that when the sun set it would always rise again - was a response to trauma or high stress situations, dormant genes rising to surface to protect the person and what had happened to his brother?

Technoblade took a deep breath, because panicking would not help the situation. He needed to make his brother feel safe. A sword would not help. He raised his hand, slowly tossing his sword to the side, netherite blade clattering quietly to the ground. Tommy flinched at the movement, pressing himself further into the corner and bringing his arms up in front of his face, a low whine of fear escaping him. The torchlight illuminated Tommy's face behind his arms, dark shadows under his eyes and cheekbones far too prominent than they should be.

"There," Technoblade said softly, trying his best to seem as non-threatening as possible, Tommy's arms shaking as he held them up to block a hit that Technoblade would rather fall onto his sword than deliver. "See? Sword's gone now."

Tommy stared up at him disbelievingly, tears spilling onto his cheeks, and Technoblade wanted to find the person who had done this and make them pay for daring to hurt him.

(Protect the sounder protect the little one protect the sounder protect them his instincts screamed. For the first time in years, he let them.)

Technoblade slowly crouched down so he was eye level with his brother, setting his torch on the uneven ground and holding his hands in the air with his palms splayed out. Tommy whimpered, eyes flickering back and forth rapidly like he was searching for an exit, drawing his legs closer to him as Technoblade moved, gangly limbs pressed tightly together and he looked so small, he wasn't supposed be so scared-

"Hey, hey," Technoblade whispered, gently shushing Tommy as he whimpered, "it's okay, Toms. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're safe." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and gentle, much like one would use for a scared animal, because at that point, that's what Tommy was. He had grown hybrid features - something Technoblade had never expected to happen to his brother, they were supposed to keep him safe, not let him fall so far that this would happen - and had been entirely alone right underneath Technoblade's nose for who knew how long. He didn't even seem aware of reality, eyes glazed over as he trembled like a leaf in the wind.

Technoblade hated that his brother had been driven to the point of hiding underneath his basement, all alone in a freezing hole, why didn't he ask for help who had done this-

Technoblade spared a few seconds to try and determine how many of his newly formed instincts were taking over, how human his behaviors would be, and Technoblade felt his throat constrict the longer he stared at Tommy and he wanted, so badly to wrap him in his arms and never let go but he knew that wasn't reasonable, and it would only make him panic worse and he didn't know what to do Tommy was panicking and hyperventilating and he needed to breath but he wasn't breathing and he wouldn't stop shaking what is he supposed to do what is supposed he do whatdshouldhedo-

Maybe try letting him like...smell you? His traits look really new, so it might help.

Technoblade exhaled heavily, relief and worry torn out of him in a breath as a voice filled the back of his head, low and concerned. Technoblade had never been more grateful for chat, the voices having stayed quiet the entire time. The advice was odd and definitely not something he would do for any other person, but unfortunately the voice had a damned good point. The newer features were, the more like a wild animal they would act. 

It was with that knowledge that Technoblade took a deep breath, desperately trying to squash down his anxiety, and slowly reached out a hand, letting it hover in the air just in front of his brother. A quiet cry of distress filled the tight space, mixed with a hiss and he noticed the claws on Tommy's hands and he was trapped in a small container, defenseless, with what was essentially a scared and feral wild animal in place of his little brother and he had just wanted to read today, not get his throat torn out by his panicked brother.

"See?" Technoblade murmured, receiving another fear filled hiss in response. The noise hurt, because Tommy shouldn't be so scared of his family. He should feel safe around them. "I'm not gonna hurt you, bud, I promise."

Tommy stayed in his place, staring at Technoblade's hand in fear and he was shaking so badly, limbs tucked as close as they could possibly be to his body in an effort to get away from him. Tears streamed down his face, a choked sob bubbling up and rapid breathing filling the otherwise silent air.

"You gotta breathe, bud," Technoblade told him, concern lacing his voice. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry and anxiety pricked under his skin and he hated it. Tommy gave no response, eyes still fixed on his outstretched.

Technoblade experimentally wriggled his fingers a bit, and Tommy flinched, whining lowly. Technoblade fought to keep his expression neutral, chest tight because his brother was hurting and he had done nothing to stop it.

"You're okay, Toms. You're safe," Technoblade said, trying his absolute best to sound even vaguely comforting. Staring Tommy in the eyes he noticed - not for the first time - the heavy bags under Tommy's eyes that looked like bruises and Technoblade couldn't help but wonder when the last time he had slept had been. 

Tommy's eyes flickered across Technoblade's figure, searching for something. Technoblade forced himself to stay still, fighting down the urge fidget because Tommy seemed to be looking at him with a clarity that had faded away mere seconds upon Technoblade's arrival into the place he had claimed as his own. 

Tommy shifted in his place, and Technoblade realized with a start that at some point Tommy had stopped breathing. Tommy inhaled slowly through his nose, staring down at Technoblade's hand as he sniffed the air. Technoblade was glad the hand thing was actually doing something, because he felt incredibly stupid sitting there doing nothing while his brother cried. Tommy leaned forward ever so slightly, and Technoblade forced himself to keep his breathing even - because Tommy looked like he was considering something, and he couldn't break the moment, because there was so much riding on it.

Making sure his movement was slow and so easily predictable, Technoblade held his arms out for a hug. He didn't dare to breath, and he waited for a moment. And another. And another. 

And then Tommy sobbed, loud and broken and dove into Technoblade's arms. His clawed hands gripped tightly at the back of his shirt as Technoblade fell to fully sit on the floor, arms wrapping around Tommy immediately because finally his brother was safe and he was there and he was still hurt but he was with Technoblade and he was going to make it better and little one hurt protect protect protect.

Technoblade held close Tommy as he sobbed, tears dampening his shirt but he couldn't care less about it, he could always make a new one. Tommy was freezing, skin ice cold where he had his face pressed against Technoblade's shoulder and his clothes were ripped and torn and how long had he been alone, freezing underneath his basement?

"I'm right here, bud. I'm not goin' anywhere. You're safe now. I've got you," Technoblade whispered, slowly rocking them back and forth. Tommy clung to him tightly, breathing far too quickly as he sobbed and once again Technoblade wished Phil was there because for all his experience in freaking the fuck out he was absolutely abysmal when it came to comfort but gods damnit if he wasn't going to try.

"Follow my breathing, okay? In, and out, slowly," Techno instructed softly. He exaggerated the rise and fall of his chest, hoping the motion would help. Tommy dragged in a slow inhale, but it was cut off with a sharp gasp, followed by another sob and a small whine of fear.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay," Technoblade assured him, bringing one hand up to rest in Tommy's hair - which was greasy and filled with dirt and grime but he would manage to power through it for his brother. "Just breathe with me." 

Technoblade inhaled once more, and Tommy brought in another breath with him, shaking all the while. Technoblade exhaled slowly, and Tommy's was rushed and not at all how it should be but it was progress. 

"Just like that, yeah. You're doing great," Technoblade praised. Tommy made a quiet noise in response, almost like a chirp, still dragging in trembling breaths and Technoblade was only somewhat sure that it was a positive thing.

Technoblade rubbed Tommy's back gently with his thumb, hand resting in-between his shoulder blades. Tommy's trembling slowly died down as his breathing finally started to slow down, tears still soaking into Technoblade's shirt. His tail brushed against Technoblade's leg, and he was practically sat in his lap, and though Technoblade usually didn't like touch all that much his instincts screamed at him to never let the small, shaking, starved boy in his arms go and despite everything, the less animalistic part of Technoblade - the human half, one could say - agreed wholeheartedly.

Eventually, after what could have been hours or only 10 minutes, Tommy's sobs turned into nothing but shaky breaths as he went limp in Technoblade's arms. He continued to hold him, the silence crushing with nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the air. Tommy was still shivering, pressing himself into Technoblade to absorb as much of his body heat as possible and Technoblade pulled his cape around Tommy, internally cursing himself for not noticing the cold sooner. 

"We need to get out of this hole, Tommy, it's far too cold down here," Technoblade said, more to himself than Tommy but he still needed to hear it. Tommy stiffened, and out of pure instinct, Technoblade gently nudged his head against Tommy's, something he had been actively trying to not do for years. 

Technoblade sighed, rubbing Tommy's back with hand slowly as he spoke. "I'm probably gonna have to carry you," he said lowly. Tommy was shivering too badly for his limbs to have any sort of motor control, and judging by how malnourished he had looked and the way he could feel his ribs jab into his stomach, he was in no condition to be climbing up janky ladders he could easily fall off and crack his skull open on.

Tommy let out a small mrr in response, and Technoblade would be the first to admit (only on the basis that such a thing had never needed to be uttered before) that he wasn't exactly a raccoon whisperer. He, frankly, had no idea what that meant and even the possibility that it was negative tugged painfully at his heart.

"Is it alright if I pick you up now?" Technoblade whispered, knowing full well if he did it without asking Tommy would only freak out again. Face still buried in his shoulder, Tommy nodded, and something in his mind settled at the knowledge Tommy was aware enough to be able to listen to him. 

Technoblade slid an arm under Tommy's knees, carefully lifting him as he stood, immediately noticing how light he was. He weighed practically nothing, and it could not be healthy. 

Tommy wrapped his arms around Technoblade's neck, tightly clinging to him. His claws poked into Techno's shoulders, but it wasn't painful (or maybe he just had a high pain tolerance), so he chose to ignore it along with how startlingly little he weighed - instead focusing on the glaring problem he now had.

How the hell was he supposed to climb up a ladder while holding someone?

Technoblade didn't have much experience in carrying people places. He knew, in theory, how it would be done, but he was far from a touchy person and he had never been surrounded by people who needed to be carried often, let alone up a ladder.

Technoblade wasn't about to be defeated by something as absurd as a ladder, so after only a few moments of staring at the poorly crafted rungs and contemplating every life decision he had ever made, he started towards it. Tommy, so thankfully getting the memo that something had to change about their situation, wrapped his legs around his waist, leaving him with a free hand.

Climbing up, Technoblade was only vaguely reassured by the fact that because the space was so small, even if he did drop Tommy, there wouldn't be enough room for him to even fall. The wood beneath his feet groaned dangerously, and if Tommy had weighed a healthy amount, there was a decent chance it would have collapsed under their combined weight. 

When Technoblade reached the top of the ladder with both him and Tommy in one piece, he was tempted to swear at it for its crimes against his peaceful day, but Tommy was still shaking in his arms and more than likely injured and he didn't have the time to cuss out pieces of wood just because it would make him feel better to be distracted.

Technoblade hastily left his basement, wishing he'd installed stairs leading down to it instead of ladders because it would have made his life so much easier, but what was done was done. When Technoblade entered his actual house, where all his equipment was and he had stairs, he pulled away from Tommy to really get a good look at him in better lighting.

Tommy was filthy. His bruised skin was covered in dirt, dried blood and soot, and pulled tightly over his bones. His hair - longer than it had ever had been, bangs falling just above his lips - was in a similar condition, matted with mud and blood and dusted with ash. His clothes were ripped and torn in several places, yet Wilbur's jacket looked the exact same it always had been.

(The sewn up patch and bloodstain on the back hadn't always been there.)

"You need to have your injuries tended to," Technoblade said, not missing the clearly visible injuries he was covered in now that he was in better lighting. Tommy warbled at him, barely audible, and Techno had no idea what that meant, but the sudden increase in Tommy's breathing filled him on what he was missing where the sound fell short. 

"Woah, hey, what's wrong?" he asked gently, trying to not sound too frantic because if Tommy heard him panic it would make everything so much worse. Tommy didn't respond, only letting out a small whine.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you're fine, Toms," Technoblade reassured, once more feeling terribly under qualified for what he was trying to do. Tommy was hurt and clearly suffering and he had nearly no idea what had happened in exile.

Tommy said nothing, and after a few moments of making sure he wasn't about to hyperventilate again, Technoblade made his way towards his kitchen. Had Tommy not just spent who knew how long trapped in a tiny cold box, Technoblade would have cleaned Tommy's wounds in the bathroom, but he didn't think moving him from one small space to another would go down very well. It wasn't particularly sanitary when it came to food, but it had access to warm running water, so it was fine. Technoblade could always clean it up later, anyways.

Technoblade gently deposited Tommy on top of the counter, careful to make sure he didn't accidentally sit on his tail. When Tommy was sturdy and settled, Technoblade gave him a once over, making sure he wasn't going to tip over and crack his skull open on the floor and die. It wasn't very likely, but Technoblade wasn't going to take any chances. His little brother was often described as an idiot, and often for good reason, so dying by falling off a counter was totally something stupid that he would do.

"But he was a hero!" Tommy pouted, slamming a tiny fist into the sheets, the other clutching his cow plushie to his chest. "That's not fair." Technoblade chuckled, shushing the boy with a smile.

"Don't wake Wilbur up, you know he likes his beauty sleep, he'll hunt you down," Technoblade warned, pointing a finger at him. Tommy giggled, leaning his head back on Technoblade's shoulder to look at the book held in his lap, and Technoblade fought the urge to kiss his brother's forehead. He wasn't soft, and he would not bend to the whims of a six year old. He did, however, wrap an arm around Tommy, who snuggled into him immediately.

"What happens after Thesoos is exiled?" Tommy asked, still pouting.

"Theseus," Technoblade corrected softly. "After he was exiled, he was eventually taken in by Lycomedes-"

"Who's that?" Tommy interrupted.

"He was a king of the Dolopians, in the island of Scyros," Technoblade explained.

Tommy gasped, eyes shining. "He was a king?"

Technoblade hummed an affirmative, feeling incredibly fond at Tommy's never ending enthusiasm. Maybe he was a little soft.

"That's so cool," Tommy whispered.

"Yeah," Technoblade agreed absently, before continuing. "After Theseus is taken in by Lycomedes, he lives his life there before eventually dying," he concluded, choosing to omit nearly everything at the end of the story. There was so much more he wanted to explain, but he doubted Tommy would be either interested in hearing about it or would actually understand it.

"How does he die?" Tommy asked, tilting his curiously in a way that he definitely didn't find adorable shut up Phil.

Technoblade hesitated, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, he could tell the truth - that Theseus had been pushed off a cliff by Lycomedes. He could mention the theory that Theseus committed suicide. But neither of those things were things Tommy needed to hear.

"He fell off a cliff," Technoblade decided on. Maybe when Tommy was older he'd tell him the actual story.

"That's stupid," Tommy declared, and Technoblade let out a startled laugh. "I wouldn't die in such a stupid way. I'd die doing something cool, like fighting!"

Technoblade shook his head, snickering. "Sure, Tommy."

Technoblade squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away the memory. Something from a decade ago held no relevance to today. Thinking of his brother - young and innocent and so excited to see the world and comparing to his battered future self made it hard to breathe, so Technoblade shoved it into the ever growing 'pile of things to think about alone' he had gotten from just that day. 

"I'm gonna get you some clothes for you to change into, okay?" Technoblade told Tommy. Tommy didn't move or say anything for a few nerve wracking seconds before he eventually nodded. "I'll be right back." With that, Technoblade set off. He hated to leave Tommy alone, especially since he had no grasp on his mental state, but he couldn't stand to see his brother in torn up clothes that barely blocked out the cold and not do anything about it.

When Technoblade reached his room, he let out a shaky sigh, leaning heavily against the wall. His forehead pressed against the wood, and he sat there breathing in and out. His chest was tight, and he loosely grabbed at his shirt, trying to calm his heart. There was a pressure behind his eyes that he hated, but Tommy wasn't saying anything and he had no clue how to deal with that. 

You did really good Techno!

E

TechnoSupport 

Good job

The voices were back. 

Technoblade chuckled weakly, rubbing at his eyes. Chat whispered soft reassurances to him as he stood, legs shaking because he couldn't keep it fucking together. 

Dragging in a final, shuddering breath, Technoblade pushed himself off the wall and got the clothes he had entered to the room to get in the first place. The longer he left Tommy alone, the more worry prickled under his skin, because with his brother's mental state up in the air who knew what he could do.

Technoblade walked back towards Tommy, feeling probably unnecessarily worried - but if he had learned anything it was to trust his gut. When he reentered his kitchen, Tommy was in the exact same place he had left him, quietly inspecting his claws with an unreadable expression. Technoblade's floot landed louder than he intended to, and Tommy jumped, nearly toppling over before he righted himself 

Technoblade's heart leapt into his throat, and he was so incredibly thankful Tommy hadn't fallen, because he might have started crying from stress on the spot. Tommy also might have died, and that would have been incredibly upsetting for multiple reasons.

"Sorry," Technoblade said, walking towards him, and Tommy relaxed ever so slightly. Technoblade set the clothes on the counter, before quickly searching through his cabinets for his medical supplies. They were, unfortunately, limited, seeing as he hadn't had the time to build a stockpile in the relatively short period of time he had lived in his current abode. 

"You're going to need to take off your shirt," Technoblade said over his shoulder as he washed his hands. Tommy didn't respond. A moment later, he heard the rustle of fabric. Satisfied, Technoblade gathered the supplies he would need and turned back around. 

When his eyes settled on Tommy, he nearly dropped his supplies in shock. He had thought Tommy looked bad, but seeing him without anything baggy to hide it made it so much worse.

Tommy was skin and bones, ribs and bones so visible Technoblade felt ill. All across his skin were colorful marks of blue, red, purple, yellow, and even black, bruises all over and placed purposefully in a way that couldn't be an accident. He was covered in scars, the most notable a star shape directly on his heart, a wide line right in between his ribs, and a patch of burn scars in seemingly random locations across his torso and arms. Technoblade's heart was fast in his chest because he remembered a time when Tommy only had three scars, all accidents and not at all major, and now he was covered in them, like some sort of twisted tattoo, and none of them were more than several months old at most.

Who did this? Technoblade thought, horrified - the wide eyed and passionate boy he had known gone and replaced with a terrified shell of who he used to be.

DREAM, the voices screamed, DREAM DID THIS, KILL DREAM, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD.

Technoblade bit down on his tongue, hard, forcing down any sort of facial reaction as his blood boiled.

Dream.

Technoblade had never particularly trusted Dream. Sure, at one point he would have considered them friends, though it was a shallow friendship based solely on fighting in tournaments. He had even participated in a duel against the man, and won. That didn't mean he had trusted him very much, but it was enough that he felt comfortable asking if he had a server of his own Technoblade could join. 

(He had only asked because of the concerning letters Wilbur and Tommy had sent him, but Dream hadn't needed to know that.)

When he had joined, he had expected Dream to be the same as Technoblade remembered - loud, energetic, and happy to be there - but he very much hadn't. His excitement at mere existence was gone, emotions held on a tight leash, where before he'd worn his heart on his sleeve in nearly every situation except a battle. His tone was low, words carefully chosen, entire demeanor shrouded in mystery. Technoblade had his suspicions, but he had brushed them off; Dream was on Pogtopia's side, so it was likely stress from everything going down. 

When he switched and sided with Schlatt (someone who Technoblade also had called a friend, once), Technoblade had been immediately on guard. Anyone who was willing to switch sides so quickly was generally not to be trusted. Putting walls around L'Manberg and exiling Tommy had set off a few alarms in his head, the voices whispering of power and control. 

And now, his little brother, battered and starving sat before him as undeniable proof that trusting Dream was the worst mistake of his life.

Technoblade forced himself to move forward, chat quietly talking amongst themselves. Tommy had wounds that needed to be treated, and he wasn't going to stand there and stare at him like an idiot. The emotional impact of what had happened during exile, he didn't know how to help with - but injuries he knew. He could help there, and he could fix it immediately.

Tackle the problem one chunk at a time so you don't get overwhelmed, he reminded himself.

Tommy had a few injuries that seemed to have had actual treatment, but the chances of them being wrapped because they were potentially life threatening were unfortunately high. Tommy stiffened as Technoblade entered his personal space, but he stayed motionless aside from pressing his ears against his head and curling his tail closer to him. 

Technoblade reached up - not missing his brother's flinch - and pulled off the old bandage on Tommy's face. He did it slowly, trying his best not to hurt Tommy further than he already was. His knuckles brushed against Tommy's face, and Tommy jolted slightly, but didn't move, eyes on the floor. Underneath where the bandage had been was a wide gash, starting from his jaw and ending a few inches up his face. It was nearly entirely healed over, so Technoblade quickly moved on. 

(Had it been treated properly, it could have healed without a scar. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of medical supplies in the middle of nowhere. It also meant that he could have an infection somewhere. Technoblade would tackle that problem when he got to it )

Tommy's arms were both wrapped, starting from the wrist and ending right before the elbow on his right arm, and above the elbow on his left. Technoblade reached for his left arm, and Tommy flinched away violently. Technoblade froze, arm still hovering in the air as he looked up at Tommy in concern. Tommy didn't meet his eyes, shaking significantly more than he had been just seconds ago.

Technoblade narrowed his eyes, concern and worry building. Why was Tommy so scared of him looking at-

Oh. Oh.

Technoblade's heart stopped. He didn't want to be right. He really, really didn't want to be right, but there was no other explanation. Slowly, ever so slowly, Technoblade unwrapped Tommy's wrist.

Off-white wrappings fell away, and all the air was sucked out of him as he froze. 

Across Tommy's forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, were several cuts - scabbed over and surrounded by irritated and angry skin. They were too straight, too perfect, too uniform and all in one place to be anything but intentional.

"Tommy," Technoblade breathed, staring at him with wide eyes, not bothering to hide his horrified expression, mind racing.

"I'm sorry," Tommy whispered hoarsely, hunching in on himself as tears pooling in his eyes again.

"I'm not mad, okay? I'm not mad at you, I promise," Technoblade was quick to reassure. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many feelings he couldn't put down into words, and a lump formed in his throat because Tommy- Tommy had self harmed. His baby brother had gotten into the headspace where he was self harming and where had Technoblade  been, where had Phil been, where had Tubbo been, how had they let this happen-

Tommy, Techno, focus

TechnoFocus

CALM DOWN 

Technoblade swallowed roughly, hands moving to uncover Tommy's other arm on autopilot. It was unharmed aside from a gash that was clearly from an external source and Techno sighed quietly, shoulders slumping in relief. It was just one arm.

(Only being on one arm didn't make it any better.)

Technoblade quickly turned his sink on, making sure the water would be warm but not hot. While it ran, Technoblade gathered his softest washcloths, running them under the tap. He felt almost disconnected, body moving of its own accord as he desperately tried to fight back the urge to cry because his little brother had hurt himself and he was so overwhelmed and he had no idea what to do. The cloth in his hands absorbed the water quickly, excess puddling up and dripping off the edge, and Technoblade briefly considered the consequences of bursting into tears at that very moment. Ultimately, he decided against it, and shut the water off. 

Ringing it out so it wouldn't drip water everywhere, Technoblade moved back to Tommy's side and began the slow process of gently cleaning off all the dirt and ash and blood covering him. Technoblade started around his wounds, careful to not accidentally reopen any of them. When he was done with that, he cleaned off everywhere else, pausing to switch to a different washcloth partway through. 

When he was done, he applied antiseptic to Tommy's injuries, whispering apologies he didn't need to make every time Tommy hissed in pain or whimpered, and then properly dressed them. When he was done, he stepped back slightly, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Every cut that required it had been treated, but worry had made its place in his mind and refused to let go. 

Technoblade sighed, sparing a few seconds to breath. Tommy's hair was still dirty, and Techno wasn't about to let him put his head on his pillows when his head still had dirt on it.

Stepping forward, Technoblade picked Tommy up, setting him down in front of the sink. He made sure to be gentle when he pushed his head down, adding on a, "I'm just cleanin' your hair," perhaps a bit too late, judging by how Tommy had completely frozen when Technoblade's hand had met his neck. Oops.

While he waited for the water to warm again, Technoblade ran his hands through his brother's hair. It was knotted and greasy and he had to tug far more aggressively then he would have liked to to detangle it - and his hands were just as dirty as Tommy's hair at the end of it, but it was much better then when he had started.

Tommy was leaning heavily on the counter, arms folded on the edge of the sink, head hanging over it. Technoblade cupped his hands under the faucet until they were filled with water, and then he carefully poured it over Tommy's hair, making sure he didn't accidentally get it in his ears. He repeated the process until Tommy's hair was soaked. With one hand, he gently scrubbed through Tommy's hair, brushing out the dried blood and mud that coating his scalp by gently scratching at it with his fingers, and with the other, he poured more water over it. Technoblade wished he had soap, but he didn't think Tommy would be able to stand long enough for him to get any.

TechnoSoft

AWWW

BIG BROTHER TECHNO POG

TechnoHug?

GREMLIN CHILD

HUGS FOR THE HUG GOD

E

POOR TOMMY

WHO HURT HIM

AWWW

Technoblade couldn't exactly respond to chat - that would be a very difficult thing to explain to his very out of it brother, but he felt a deep appreciation for how they had been during the roller-coaster that was the past however long. They usually got louder when something 'interesting' was happening, not shut up entirely, so he was incredibly grateful they had decided to stay quiet. He didn't know if he could have done that if they hadn't left.

"M'srry, Tech," Tommy mumbled after several minutes of a comfortable silence.

Technoblade frowned, continuing to slowly wash out Tommy's hair. Of all of the things to say, an apology? "You don't need to apologize."

"But-"

"No buts," Technoblade interrupted, not willing to listen to whatever bullshit excuse he had for needing to apologize for needing help. "You're just a kid. You don't need to take care of yourself on your own all of the time," Technoblade said, hoping that Tommy understood him quickly - so he didn't have to worry about accidentally snapping at him due to the irritation of repeated unnecessary apologies. Being angry at him would make everything so, so much worse.

"Really?" Tommy asked, voice small and disbelieving. Technoblade  hated it. Tommy was supposed to be loud and brash, not small and submissive. He should know asking for help was okay.

"Really," Technoblade confirmed. He shouldn't have to be telling him that.

"Oh," Tommy said, breath hitching. He didn't say anything else.

Technoblade grunted, continuing to wash Tommy's hair without another word. There were so, so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he needed an answer to, but he held back from asking. Tommy would only get overwhelmed, and he would have only made things worse by demanding answers.

Tommy leaned into the touch, sighing softly as Technoblade's nails lightly dug into his scalp. Technoblade could only wonder how long Tommy had gone without positive human contact. Was it days? Weeks? Months?

(It couldn't be years. It could not be years.)

Eventually, Technoblade was satisfied with how clean Tommy's hair was. It would be much better if it had been washed with shampoo, but it was good enough for now. Technoblade reached over and shut the water off, pulling his hand from Tommy's hair. Tommy whined at the loss of contact, and Techno grunted in response as he walked to grab Tommy the change of clothes.

"They may not fit perfectly, but they'll warm you up pretty quick," Technoblade told him, setting the pile on the counter next to him. "You can dry your hair with this," he added, placing a washcloth on top of the pile.

"Thanks," Tommy mumbled, and Technoblade nodded before turned his back to give him privacy. Technoblade busied himself with putting the medical supplies away, cleaning up the small mess he had made. It was a short lived task, so Technoblade decided to stare at the wall - focusing on just breathing. He felt jittery and stressed and he very much did not like the situation he had found himself in. For his little brother, however, he was willing to endure.

A while later, and after a lot of deep breaths, there was a soft call behind him, and Technoblade turned to see Tommy, now dressed. The clothes - a large sweater over a smaller sweater over a long sleeve, thick pants and two layers of socks - hung on his frame, fabric of the sleeves falling over his hands and to mid-thigh because it was far too oversized. 

He looked like an idiot. 

(Safe, a primal part of him rumbled contentedly.)

"Can you walk?" Technoblade asked, instead of saying something stupidly sappy. Curse his brain. Tommy hesitated, before giving a small shake of his head, eyes trained on the floor.

"That's okay," Technoblade said. He then, making sure to broadcast his movements, walked over and scooped Tommy into his arms.

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" Technoblade asked softly, already heading towards the stairs that lead to his bed. The steps were silent underneath his feet, for once, and Tommy's head lolled against his chest, breaths brushing against his collarbone. When Technoblade got to his room, he pushed the door open with his foot, hinges creaking in protest.

The covers of his bed were swiftly pulled back, and he slowly settled Tommy onto the bed. Tommy didn't put up a fuss at the manhandling (only a few months prior he would have been cursing Techno out), simply shifting into a more comfortable position with a quiet huff. Technoblade tenderly brushed Tommy's bangs out of his eyes, heart twisting in anguish because he knew, as soon as Tommy had properly rested and gotten decent meals, that he would be hurting. He was panicked and compliant now, but Technoblade knew he had been forced in a half aware state by a mix of newly emerged instincts and fear. He looked almost peaceful, laying there, but it wouldn't last.

Technoblade made to take his hand away, but he was stopped by a hand circling around his wrist. Technoblade looked at Tommy quizzically.

"Can- can you stay?" Tommy asked quietly, cheeks dusted red.

"Of course," Technoblade replied instantly.  He couldn't even fathom saying no at that moment. His brother had been through so much, deprived of so much comfort that he felt like he was being stabbed in the heart every time he thought about what he had been through. He was beaten and hurt and Technoblade had long since lost care for how it would hurt his dignity. Needing help was not a weakness, and Technoblade would be damned if he helped with the false narrative that it was that everyone else had helped create.

Technoblade crouched down, unlacing and tugging his shoes off - Tommy watching with a confused tilt to his head. When they were off, he stood up, pulling the heavy blankets back with ease. Tommy's eyes widened, but he quickly got the message and scooted back, leaving room for Technoblade to slide in next to him. Technoblade closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them back up. Unsurprisingly, Tommy was staring at him, confused.

Technoblade hesitated for just a moment before he gently pulled Tommy into his arms, who went completely limp against him, face pressed into his shoulder. His fluffy ears tickled his neck as they twitched a few times, the wind outside howling. Technoblade bowed his head slowly, and pressed a small kiss on top of Tommy's head, shakily breathing in as he pressed his nose into Tommy's hair. His brother's scent filled his nose, petrichor and dirt and grass and Tommy, and sounder safe safe sounder safe sounder safe sounder safe sounder safe.

Technoblade exhaled slowly, breath stuttering, and then softly murmured into Tommy's hair.

"Welcome home, Theseus."

Chapter Text

Tommy was warm.

That was the first thing he noticed, awareness slowly washing over his clouded mind. He was warm, the feeling so foreign yet so familiar at the same time. He was surrounded by something soft and heavy, weighing him down - not enough to trap him, but enough to be comforting. It was like a hug, warm and secure. Heavy or weighted blankets had long lost their effectiveness at keeping his crave for touch away, but it was still a nice feeling he had missed so sorely in Logstedshire. 

He wanted to drift back away, content to lose himself into the comfortable haze of sleep -  forgetting everything he had been through and all of his problems, every little thing that weighed him down on his daily life fading away into nothing, when he realized something.

Tommy hadn't had the luxury of being comfortable when he was sleeping in a long, long time.

Tommy barely managed to stop himself from ripping his eyes open and searching his surroundings to figure out where he was when it clicked in his mind that something about his situation was amiss. He couldn't stop himself stiffening, body tensing in preparation for a punishment towards having a comfortable sleeping area. His heart slammed, anxiety freezing his veins and tightening his chest as he held his breath, not daring to make a sound. Someone had to have done this, there was no other explanation, and Dream was going to be so mad-

"Oh, you're awake." 

Tommy's heart stopped. The voice was deep, in a familiar monotone he had only heard from one person, ever. He knew that voice. He knew that voice, and he knew he was fucking dead.

"Tech?" Tommy rasped, the warriors name slurring together on his tongue. His voice was far, far quieter than he wanted it to be, and he could barely force it past his lips, throat protesting at being used. His eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to pull them open, vision blurry as he searched his surroundings. 

He was in some sort of bedroom, covered in several layers of blankets. There was a bookshelf on the far wall, with a table next to it, chair missing from sight. A few plants were scattered around the room, and next to the wardrobe was a window, shutters closed. Lamplight lit the room in a warm glow, settled on a nightstand by the bed. And, sitting in a chair next to the bed he was laying in, was Technoblade.

Technoblade was dressed in his new outfit that he had seen on his first and only visit to Logstedshire. The crimson red of his cape was replaced by soft blues that made him look more approachable, at least to those who didn't know him. His hair (more wild then he had seen it in a long time) fell to his shoulders, loose strands tickling at his collarbone. Last time Tommy had seen him, Technoblade's hair was still long, snaking down his back in a braid that he would dare say was iconic, for all that it got tied into a tight bun during battle. 

"Hey," Technoblade said, sitting on the chair with his hands clasped like there was absolutely nothing strange about the situation. 

"Where….?" Tommy coughed, words not able to leave his mouth as his dry and scratchy throat refused to listen to him. 

"You're at my house. I found you under my basement," Technoblade explained, not blinking as he stared at him, and Tommy quickly ripped his gaze away, staring at the door on the far wall. The knob was golden, he noticed. 

"Oh." Tommy felt sick. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and it was hard to breathe. Technoblade had found him. He had found him under his house, with all the items he had stolen from him. Technoblade had found him yet he hadn't killed him, he hadn't killed him when he rightfully should have so surely he wanted something but what did he want? Why hadn't he just killed him? Did Technoblade want to use him as a worker? Something to play with?

"Yeah," Technoblade said, reaching up to adjust his caplet where it fell around his shoulders, golden cord flaring out before resting back against the soft blue material. 

"I'm sorry," Tommy blurted out, heart beating uncomfortably loud in his ears because Technoblade wasn't doing anything.

Technoblade blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing and Tommy shrunk in on himself under the searching gaze. "What?" Technoblade asked slowly. 

"I- I'm sorry for digging under your house and stealing your stuff, and-"

"You don't need to apologize," Technoblade said suddenly, and Tommy made a small noise distress in the back of his throat at the firm tone.

"But-" Tommy tried to argue because of course he had to apologize, was Technoblade crazy? He had broken into his house and stolen his items he worked hard to get so why wouldn't he apologize, apologies were the only thing that made punishments less severe. 

"Tommy," Technoblade warned, voice sharp and low and Tommy barely bit down a whimper, ears flattening against his skull as he pressed himself against the bed, bracing for a hit that never came.

"Sorry," Tommy whispered, staring down the blankets covering him and preparing himself for the worst.

Technoblade sighed heavily,  and Tommy flinched, expecting a hit, but nothing came. "It's fine. Here, you need to eat this," he said instead, reaching over to the nightstand and picking up a bowl of something. Tommy didn't understand why Technoblade was being so nice, but he understood an order when he heard one.

Tommy slowly brought his hand under him, arms trembling with effort as he pushed himself into a sitting position. When he was situated, Technoblade held the bowl out to him. Tommy grabbed it slowly and carefully, making sure nothing spilt, and held it in his lap. His hand shook dangerously as he grabbed the spoon and scooped up some of what looked like mushroom soup. His hand was trembling so much that the spoon was jerking around, and then it slipped out of his fingers, splashing back into the bowl and sending a few drops of broth onto the blanket. 

Tommy froze, heart stopping as his eyes flew open in fear. Oh, he was fucked, he ruined one of Technoblade's blankets and he was going to be killed-

"I'm sorry-" Tommy rushed to say, shaking and clutching at the bowl tightly to try in vain to keep it. His eyes burned with tears and he was shaking and he hated that he couldn't stop shaking because he was going to spill more-

"Hey, no, it's okay, Toms-" Technoblade tried to say, eyes wide, but Tommy didn't listen, because he knew he needed to apologize for ruining it so he was allowed food in Dream's presence. 

"Please don't take it away, I'll be good, I promise," Tommy begged, shaking violently as he gripped tightly at the bowl, hunching over it as if he would fight Technoblade when he decided to take it back. He had been so generous and he had just ruined his things like an idiot. 

"I'm not gonna take it away from you, Tommy," Technoblade said slowly - each word carefully enunciated. Tommy didn't dare look up, didn't dare meet his eyes, because Dream didn't like when Tommy made eye contact when he wasn't asked to. "I promise," Technoblade added, and Tommy barely kept himself from looking up in shock, grip on the bowl white knuckled. Technoblade never made promises, not like this, in the way that they were so clearly promises. 

The silence after that was deafening, Technoblade's words hanging in the still air. Tommy was so confused, and he didn't know if he was allowed to eat again and Technoblade wasn't saying anything, wasn't giving him anything to work with, so what was he supposed to do? Tommy wanted so desperately to ask if he could eat, because he was so hungry, and the soup smelt so good, and he hadn't had a proper meal in ages, but Technoblade wasn't doing anything.

"Do you think you could eat without dropping it again?" Technoblade asked after the silence had grown uncomfortably long, and Tommy fought back a noise of fear, because he had upset Technoblade, surely. He wasn't doing anything now, for some weird reason, but he knew he'd be punished later, if not now. 

Technoblade was looking at him expectantly, Tommy reluctantly shook his head, not trusting his voice to work.

"That's fine. Here," Technoblade started, and then he was taking the bowl out of Tommy's hands and Tommy barely bit back a whine, but some of it must have escaped from the look Technoblade was giving him, and he internally cursed himself for being so weak.

Technoblade blinked at him, before waving the spoon now in his hand around vaguely through the air.

"I can uh...do it for you," Technoblade offered, and Tommy hated feeling so useless, and vulnerable, and he didn't know what Technoblade wanted but Technoblade hated him, he knew that, so he didn't understand his motives. He couldn't say no to him, because he wouldn't like being questioned, so Tommy gave a small nod.

If you asked Tommy a few years ago where he thought he'd be in life, getting spoon fed by Technoblade would not have been anywhere close to being considered. But, by some cruel stroke of luck, that was his reality. 

The soup was pleasantly warm as Technoblade gently placed the spoon in his mouth, and it tasted just as good as it smelt. At first, it was a surreal experience and Tommy wanted to sink into the floor and never be seen under the light of day again, but very quickly a primal part of him forced its way to the surface, clambering over coherent thought because finally. A new, fresh part of him he was so unfamiliar with cried out in joy because he was finally being taken care of and he was safe, and underneath the shattered remains of his pride (and dignity) Tommy couldn't say he didn't agree. It was weird and in the back of his mind he was waiting for the ball to drop, but he was going to grab any comfort he could with both hands.

Were it not for the fact that Tommy wasn't the one in control of the pace, Tommy would have shoveled the entire soup down twice over. As it were, Technoblade was controlling the pace, which was good. His stomach probably wouldn't have been able to handle so much so quickly, despite how he may want it to. 

Unfortunately, good things didn't last forever (as Tommy had learned time and time again on this bitch of a server), and far too quickly the soup was gone. Tommy wished there was more, because he was still so hungry, but he knew better than to ask. 

"I'll be right back," Technoblade said, standing up with the now empty bowl in his hands. A whine bubbled up in his throat, and Tommy shrunk back in shame. He shouldn't be acting so needy, Dream never liked it when he was needy. Asking for more would only end up in getting hurt. Technoblade grunted softly at him, ending with a small snort, and Tommy felt all the tension inexplicably drain from his body, heart briefly swelling with an emotion he didn't recognize. Technoblade didn't move for a second, and worry prickled under Tommy's skin, and he searched through everything in the past five minutes he could have done to upset him, but then Technoblade turned and walked out of the room. The door squeaked as he opened it, and Tommy jumped at the sound, biting back any noise so he had no reason to turn around.

The hallway where Technoblade had disappeared to was mostly empty, aside from a small shelf with a potted plant and a few lanterns lighting up the walls. With Technoblade gone, Tommy allowed himself to relax back into the pillows behind him, still shaking. 

He was so tired, and he desperately wanted to go back to sleep and forget everything that had just happened but his heart was still thudding painfully in his chest, and he wasn't even sure if he was allowed to sleep or not.

Eventually, he heard footsteps approach the room he was in, and Tommy tensed as Technoblade walked through the door, footsteps light as he settled back onto the chair. Tommy averted his eyes quickly pulling his shoulders close to him as he fought back the urge to fidget. Dream didn't like it when he didn't sit still.

"...Hey," Technoblade said, after a long moment of silence. Tommy didn't respond, unsure of what was wanted from him. "So uh. You're a hybrid now."

Tommy's ear twitched against his will as he was suddenly made aware of the new appendages. Right. He had almost forgotten, but now everything felt odd and out of place and he wanted to curse at Technoblade for reminding him, but he bit back a response, knowing he would get punished for talking back. Technoblade had never liked being yelled at anyway.

"Mhm," Tommy hummed, running one of his claws over the other, attention now caught by the clacking noise they made when they hit together. He was thoroughly captivated for all of two seconds before he remembered he was supposed to be paying attention and stopped. 

"Was that a uh...recent development?" Technoblade asked, shifting in his chair in the corner of Tommy's vision. After only a moment Tommy nodded.

"Yeah. Sometime uh, un-under your house," he explained, nervously picking at the sleeves that hung over his hands (Technoblade didn't seem to mind him fidgeting, and Tommy was going to use that ability to his advantage as long as he possibly could).

"Oh," Technoblade said simply. There was another awkward silence, where Technoblade didn't say anything so Tommy said nothing also, not daring to step over his boundaries. Technoblade hated when Tommy was loud and obnoxious and talked too much, so silence was the safest route to ensure he wasn't killed. Tommy's eyelids were so heavy, and he fought to keep them open. He couldn't fall asleep, but Technoblade clearly noticed his struggle, and cleared his throat quietly (it still made him jump).

"You should get some rest. You really need it," Technoblade told him, voice weirdly softer than it normally was.

"Okay," Tommy agreed instinctively. Even if he wasn't in threat of being killed for disobedience, he would have complied anyway, because he was so tired.

The blankets were soft and warm as he slowly laid back down, and Tommy made a noise of contentment that sounded entirely unhuman, but Technoblade said nothing about it so he figured he was fine. He was still terrified, but he was so tired and his eyes were so heavy that he found himself slipping into unconsciousness within seconds of laying down.

As he drifted off, he felt a warm hand oh so gently brush his bangs out of his eyes, a quiet whisper filling the air before he was out cold.

"Goodnight, Toms." 

-0-

As soon as Technoblade was sure Tommy was asleep and not going to wake up anytime soon, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, breathing heavily as his fingers caught in tangles he hadn't found the time to brush out. Tommy looked almost peaceful, were it not for the hollowness of his cheekbones and the fresh bruises still covering his face. 

Technoblade was reminded of a simpler time, when they were both much smaller and much younger; where he would sit by Wilbur and Tommy's beds whenever they were sick so they would have someone by them in case anything happened. Phil had called him sweet, and Technoblade had always vehemently denied being anything close to the sort. He was being perfectly logical, he had argued, because if their condition got worse and no one was around to see it then something terrible could happen.

With a bitter laugh, Technoblade realized that he had left his brother's figurative bedside for too long and something terrible really had happened. 

The worry that settled under every inch of skin was familiar, gluing him to his seat and making him incredibly restless at the same time. He hadn't slept since he found Tommy underneath his basement two nights ago, and the effects were making themselves known now. Chat had split opinions the first night one whether he should sleep or stay vigilant, but by the second night they had gotten insistent that he should rest. Technoblade hadn't listened to them, and now here he was, approaching a third sleepless night by his brother's side.

There was nothing on the ceiling as Technoblade stared up at it, leg bouncing rapidly. Guilt curled in his stomach, because he should have been there for Tommy, not have to find him dying in a hole underneath his basement.

Technoblade wasn't a person to let his emotions shine through, keeping everything under a close lock and key, but his family had always been the exception. So here he was, sleep deprived and anxious because his little brother was hurt and scared and he didn't know what to do. 

Tommy had been so submissive. He'd been so scared, so unlike his normal self, not making eye contact the entire time and only speaking when asked a question. Technoblade had hoped that when he had found him, his behavior had been a one off occasion. He had hoped that Tommy would wake up and go right back to cursing at him and insulting every possible thing about him he could, but he hadn't. Tommy had been jumpy, and silent, and made no effort to protest anything happening to him. He had let himself be spoon fed, even.

Not even a year ago, if he had tried to spoon feed him, Tommy would have called Technoblade a bitch and insisted that he wasn't a pussy, and then tried to fist fight him like an idiot. He would have screamed and swore and ran away from him into the night while sprouting the random bullshit about being Usian Bolt but better and more attractive and Technoblade would have laughed and chased after him, threatening to scoop his eyes out with the spoon and Tommy would have screeched about injustice until Phil or Wilbur made them sit down and stop trying to kill each other every two seconds. 

Except this was not that time, nor was it anywhere close to that time. Tommy had changed, changed so much that he hardly recognized him, if not for the fact that he looked the same. It scared him, despite how he hated to admit it - and the words would never crawl out of his throat because he was too prideful to admit it - but Technoblade was scared that he wouldn't be able to help his brother. He was scared he wouldn't be enough, and that he would only hurt Tommy more, and would only make him retreat further into the shell of his old self that he had become. 

Not for the first time, Technoblade wondered what had happened to his brother in exile. 

Chapter Text

Tommy, for the first time in so many nights, woke up peacefully.

His eyelids were heavy as he blinked at the wall of the tent across from him, shivering at the chill in the air. Based on the level of light shining through the thin fabric and the heavy smell of wet grass and dirt invading his nose, it was early in the morning - sunrise, most likely. Another near sleepless night, Tommy realized groggily, the beginning of a headache already starting to form. He had stayed up late into the night staring blankly up at the roof of his tent, thinking out everything and nothing, and he had woken up at what his younger self would describe as why the fuck am I awake o'clock. 

Tommy adjusted his position on the thin blanket he was resting on, wincing as the movement pulled at barely healed wounds. Under the blanket he was laying on, rocks poked into his side, pressing against the bruises littering his body painfully. He was tempted to lay on his other side, but a slight shift of his position reminded him why that was a horrible idea - a still healing sword slash burning. Tommy sucked in a breath, nails digging into his palms as he became all too aware of the various injuries littered across his body. 

The pain was grounding, keeping him tethered to reality despite how much he didn't want to be. A voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Wilbur told him spacing out all day wasn't a good thing, but he elected to ignore it, grief stinging his heart at the thought of his deceased older brother. There wasn't a point in worrying about what was and wasn’t healthy anymore. He didn't have the energy to care about much of anything anymore. 

"Tommy?" Dream's voice drifted through the air, distant, and Tommy jolted out of instinct. His heart surged with happiness, a smile forming despite the apprehension that tore through his veins. His friend was there, and he wasn't going to be alone anymore.. 

Tommy hurried to push himself into a sitting position, and was reminded why sitting up too quickly was a bad idea as his world spun, almost like he was falling over, color dancing across his vision.

("I'm peering into a different dimension Wilbur!" he exclaimed, hand pressed against his forehead.

Behind him, Wilbur sighed exasperatedly, and despite not looking he could see him shaking his head. "Sure, Toms.)

His arms ached as he stood on shaky legs, stumbling out of his tent like a newborn fawn. He could almost relate to them, despite his lack of childhood innocence that the young deer would carry. As he stepped onto the grass, the dew soaked into his socks in a way that was somehow comfortable. The chill of the air made him shiver, the smell of wet dirt invading his nose as the morning sun shined brightly in his face. A hand was raised to shield his vision as his eyes searched across the area of Logstedshire, passing over the ocean that led back to his home (was it ever really his home?) and quickly latching on to the green figure that leaned against his Nether portal. He was wearing his Netherite armour as usual, enchantments gleaming purple as he stepped further into the area Tommy had been exiled to.

"Hi, Dream!” Tommy called out, waving with an excitement he only half felt when Dream turned to face him. “How are you today?" Tommy asked excitedly, staring into the smiley mask his friend always wore. It was unnerving, just like it always had been, but he did his best not to show it. It would be rude to be scared of his friend, after all. Dream didn’t respond immediately, instead walking up the short path to stand in front of him before he spoke.

"I must admit, not that good. You slept in, and I spent so long waiting for you to wake up," Dream said, sighing slightly as he adjusted his mask. Tommy froze, smile quickly fading into a frown. He had upset his friend by being an idiot again, and Tommy felt the familiar guilt curl in his stomach. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just didn't didn't sleep much last night-" Tommy said, knowing if he went without an explanation or apology he would make his friend angry. 

He never got to finish, Dream interrupting him with a sharp edge to his voice as he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Did I ask why?" Tommy flinched back instinctively at the movement, heart leaping into his throat as he stared at the sword hanging so innocently at his friend’s side. 

"N-no, you didn't-" Tommy tried to start on an apology, but was interpreted once more. 

"You know what I said about stuttering," Dream said. His still relaxed posture gave the impression that he was calm, but Tommy could see the way his grip on the handle of his sword had tightened, and he knew that meant he wasn't calm.

"I'm sorry," Tommy mumbled, lowering his head to study the ground below him. Wet grass was parted beneath his feet, blades tickling the skin exposed by the rips in his pants. He really needed to get knew pants, he thought, waiting for Dream to say more, heart thudding in his chest.

"Now you've gone and made me frustrated, Tommy," Dream said after a long pause, and Tommy could hear the frown as he talked. His voice was colored in disappointment that made his eyes well up with unshed tears, and he could feel Dream’s gaze burn into the back of his head.

"I'm sorry Dream, I'll be better," Tommy said quietly, a painful lump forming in his throat. He hated crying, hated being weak when he was supposed to be strong. 

"You've said that so many times before, and yet you never have." Dream's voice was cold, and Tommy stiffened, nails digging into his palms. He hadn't? Tommy had tried his best to what was asked of him, did everything in his power to follow his friend’s commands to the very last detail in order to make him happy. Had all that effort really been in vain?

"I'm sorry, I'm trying really-" Tommy said, raising his head to look Dream in the eyes (at least, the eyes of his mask) so he could see how sincere he was, because he really was trying to do everything that was asked of him, he was.

"Are you?" Dream said, the simple question choking Tommy up immediately. He was trying, he was, why couldn't Dream see all the clear and obvious effort he was putting into complying to his friend’s every request. 

"Yes! I am trying, why can't you see that-"

Tommy cut himself off with a gasp, pain stinging across his cheek as Dream raised a hand lightning fast and smacked him across the face. 

"You do not get to talk to me like that, ever. Do you understand?" Dream hissed, and Tommy shrunk in on himself, cradling his cheek with shaking hands as he nodded frantically. "Good. Don't do that again, okay?" 

"I won't," Tommy grumbled, because he was hurt, frustrated, hungry, frustrated, and so exhausted, but he realized as soon as the words had left his mouth that he should not have said that.

"What did I just say?" Dream snapped, raising his hand once again. 

"I'm sorry-" Tommy squeaked, eyes wide as he watched Dreams hand, shoulders rising to his ears as Dream placed his hand on his shoulder, nails digging painfully into his bruised skin. 

"No, you're not," Dream told him, confidant and calm, like he was reciting the weather. "You keep apologizing, but you haven't seemed very sorry."

"I really am sorry, Dream, I mean it,” Tommy promised, pouring as much sincertery into his voice as he could. His legs were starting to shake under him from both disuse and fear, and he could only pray Dream didn’t notice the obvious sign of weakness.

"We'll see about that," Dream chuckled, lightheartedly, and Tommy wanted to cry. He could hear the dark undertones in his voice, could hear the danger hidden beneath the layers of sweet.

Tommy kept his mouth firmly shut. He had fucked up twice in a row, he couldn't fuck up again, because then his friend would leave him and he would be alone.

"You know, I'm doing this to help you, Tommy," Dream said, head tipped ever so slightly to the side. "I'm your friend, and I just want to see you grow. Being mean won't help that."

Tommy nodded silently, not daring to make any noise. He couldn't lose his friend. His best friend; his only friend. The only one who had stayed by his side throughout all the war. The only one who had always been there, regardless of sides. The only one who truly cared about him.

"Neither will leaving me," Dream added suddenly, and Tommy whipped his head up so fast he heard his neck crack.

"What?" he croaked. Dread pooled in his chest, limbs paralyzed as his heart raced. 

"I know what you did, Tommy," Dream said, and Tommy's heart leapt into his throat.  "I know where you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tommy said, body starting to tremble, and suddenly the temperature surrounding them dropped, a icy cold wind whipping past them and cutting against his skin. Tommy shivered, pulling Wilbur's jacket tighter around him as the sky darkened, clouds covering the sun.

"Don't lie to me, Tommy. I'm your friend. Why did you leave me?" Dream asked, hand splayed over his heart, voice sincere and hurt. 

"I…" Tommy's words died in his throat, heart thudding painfully, and above him, rain began to pour from the clouds. Tommy was soaked almost immediately, but Dream remained as dry as ever. His teeth chattered painfully, skin burning with every pelt of freezing cold rain, and his vision began to tint with white.

"I did everything to help you, and yet you ran away from me?" Dream asked, and Tommy could barely hear him over the howling wind. 

"I didn't-" Tommy tried to defend himself, hands twisting at the hem of his torn shirt as he shook violently, feeling seconds away from being blown over, but Dream was clearly having none of it, roughly shoving him against something cold and hard. Tommy shuddered at the feeling of Dream's hands on him, back stinging in pain as he was slammed against a material he identified as stone with a turn of his head.

"Shut up!" Dream spat, taking a step towards him. "You're a brat, Tommy! An ungrateful, selfish brat! I did everything to help you, when nobody else cared! And this is how you repay me?"

Tears spilled down Tommy's cheeks, and he pressed his back further into the stone, trying to make himself as small as possible.  "I'm sorry, Dream," he said, arms held over his face in a mockery of an actual block to try and prevent Dream from hitting him more. He had done good, he had apologized, he didn't need to be hit, he got the message he didn't need to keep going please-

"You can't keep getting away with being so selfish," Dream growled, grip on his sword so tight his hand shook, and Tommy was stood below his best friend, back straight as he stood on a wall of obsidian, expression neutral and so very like the president before him, horns poking out of his neatly combed hair, rain starting to fall from the sky as his entire world crashed around him, You're selfish-

"I'm sorry Dream, I'm really sorry," Tommy whispered to the flickering form of his best friend, before the illusion crashed down around him and he was trembling before a green clad figure, smile mask haunting as ever.

"This is the last fucking straw. I thought we were friends, and now you've clearly betrayed me. And you know what happens to traitors," Dream said gleefully, and then with a shrill sound of metal against metal his sword, Nightmare, was in his hand.  

"Wait, Dream I'm sorry," Tommy begged frantically, because he was going to die he didn't want to die please.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Tommy," Dream said, voice coated in honey, a smile evident, and Tommy felt like he was dying with how hard his heart was pounding, how much he was shaking. 

"I'm sorry I'm sorry wait please no, please I'll be good I promise I'M SORRY-"

With a quick thrust of Dream's arm, sharp pain exploded in his chest, and Tommy screamed at the top of lungs, throat burning because it hurt so badly make it stop and he was clawing at the sword embedded in his chest because he couldn't breath and hurt so badly make it stop make it stop-

And then there was darkness. 

-0-

Tommy jolted awake with a choked scream, hands flinging up to claw at his chest. His hands met soft fabric, and Tommy sobbed, eyes uncomfortably wide as he frantically searched his surroundings, vision blurred with tears. He couldn't breath, and his heart was beating so fast and Dream was going to be so upset with him for making noise during the night, he didn't want to die-

"Toms?" Technoblade's voice - rough and heavy with sleep - cut through his panic, and Tommy whipped his head around to face him as he scrambled to press himself into the headboard, as far away as he could manage to be. Technoblade's hair fell into his wide eyes, loose strands sticking everywhere and highlighting the shadows under his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up please don't hurt me, please I'll be quiet I swear," Tommy begged, chest painfully tight and ears pinned against his skull, he had messed up so badly and Technoblade was going to hurt him, or kill him, or kick him out, and it was all his fault why was he so stupid.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Technoblade said, quickly pushing himself to sit upright in his chair and Tommy flinched back. 

"Please, please I'm sorry, I'm sorry please I didn't mean to I swear I'll be good-" Tommy choked on a sob, hands tangling into his hair and nails digging painfully into his head. He couldn't breathe, his chest was so tight and his lungs felt like they were collapsing inside him as he tried to inhale, eyes squeezed shut and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart.

"You're hurting yourself, Tommy," Technoblade said, and then there were hands curling around his wrists and pulling his arms away from his head and Tommy barely bit back a scream, thrashing in his grip, desperately trying to shake off the forceful hold.

"No, please!" Tommy shrieked, "I'm sorry Dream please don't hurt me, not- not again please I'll be good-"

"Toms," Technoblade breathed, voice laced with too many emotions to identify and Tommy sobbed, uselessly tugging his arms back. "I- I'm not Dream, okay? I'm- I'm your brother, Technoblade. The Blade, remember?"

"Please, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," Tommy sobbed, and he could smell the grass of the plains around him, the grip of fingerless gloves digging uncomfortably into his skin.

"Hey, hey," a voice gently shushed him, low and achingly familiar but he could hear the wind rustling the leaves, birds flying off from his dramatic display and he knew he was in Logstedshire. He was with Dream and he was going to be punished.  "It's okay, you're safe, I'm not gonna hurt you. You're at my house, in the tundra. It's just you and me here."

"I'm sorry, Dream, I'm sorry," Tommy said, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders to be as small a target as possible so he could maybe escape a harsh punishment. Submit, submit, submit to the stronger older submit to stay safe.

"Dream's not here, Toms. It's just me. I'm Technoblade. You're at my retirement home. I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice said gently, and Tommy wanted to believe it so badly , but he knew he was with Dream. He was with his only friend, in a windy plains by the sea and he could smell the salt and grass in the air and he had fucked up, he'd upset his friend if he didn't make up for it he'd be alone forever. 

'I'm sorry Dream I'll be better I promise-" 

"Tommy," Dream interrupted, stern and commanding. A whine was torn out of his throat without his permission, and he curled tighter in on himself in shame. "Do you think you could name five things you can see for me?" 

Tommy shuddered, another whine escaping him, but he knew better than to ignore an order. He couldn't lose what little he had over refusing a simple request. It was hard to see when he blinked his eyes open, vision blurred with tears and colors melding together in one blurry blob. Failure to comply wasn't an option so Tommy squinted and did his best to see.

His hands were being held by ungloved hands, maroon sleeves contrasting greatly against the cream colored bedding. 

"Uh, your hands, your sleeves, the uh, duvet, my hands? A-and um, your...ring?"

"Good job," Dream praised softly, and Tommy keened at the positive words, something deep in his mind whispering safe . "Four things you can touch?"

Tommy shuddered, bringing his hand out of Dream's to feel around where he was sitting. "Um, your hands, again, the blanket, the s-sweater I'm wearing, and um, the pillow."

"Mhm. Three things you can hear?" Dream requested, hands gently being placed over his, warm and calloused and Tommy shuddered with a silent sob at the careful handling. Twisting his ears to try and listen for any sound, Tommy strained his hearing. It was hard to hear anything over the sound of his own heart pounding, but not giving an answer wasn't an option. 

"Y-your voice, the uh….wind? An-and a um, horse," Tommy said. He hadn't remembered there being horses near Logstedshire, but then again, he hadn't been fully… there during his exile. 

"Two things you can smell?"

Tommy inhaled sharply. "You," he replied instantly, and he cringed back, expecting a hit for such a weird response, but nothing came, so he let his shoulders drop, "and uh, pine?"

Wait.

Logstedshire was bordered by oak trees, not pine. And there should be the sound of waves lapping against the shore, not the distant sound of fire crackling. And Dream wore gloves, too, so why could he feel the calluses and raised scars on his hands?

"One thing you can taste?" Dream- no…. someone asked.

"Uh...blood. I bit my lip too hard." The taste of iron was familiar, and Tommy found a sick sort of comfort in the taste and the burn of pain on his skin.

"Okay, okay. You with me now?" they asked, thumb tracing gentle circles on his inner wrist, right where his hand connected to his arm. Tommy nodded. "Alright, who am I?"

Tommy took in a shuddering breath, staring down at the hands covering his own. The nails were sharper than a normal human's, blackened, and there was a strikingly familiar scar running across the top of one of their hands - wide and jagged. The ring on their finger was a simple gold band, clearly worn from frequent use, with shaky yet intricate engravings that Tommy knew.

He vividly remembered, years before anything to do with the Dream SMP happened, watching Wilbur painstakingly craft that ring. He remembered complaining loudly as he sat there, and he remembered Wilbur shushing him because he was being too loud and it was supposed to be a secret. 

Tommy remembered Wilbur doubting whether or not the gift would be received well. He remembered seeing him be reduced to tears because it didn't look right, and it would be hated because it wasn't perfect. Tommy remembered rather bluntly calling Wilbur an idiot, because the thought and effort put into it was obvious, and the gift would be loved despite the slightly scuffed nature of it.

Tommy remembered Phil ruffling Wilbur's hair despite his complaining, and reassuring him it looked great and he would love it. He remembered Wilbur being so nervous when giving it, and he remembered the beaming smile on the gift receivers face when he saw it. He remembered how he was never seen without it, and how it was placed on a cord on his neck when he was doing something with his hands, like washing the dishes or tending to his potatoes or sweeping the floor with him whenever Tommy could convince him to spar with him.

Tommy knew who that ring belonged to.

"...Technoblade?" 

"Yeah, yeah. That's me. I'm not gonna hurt you. You know where you are?" Tommy shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He was with Technoblade. He had woken up Technoblade and made him calm him down from a panic attack and didn't even know where he was- god, he was so stupid.

"That's okay. You're in my house, in the tundra," Technoblade explained softly, and Tommy nodded, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, I didn't mean to," he apologized quietly, wishing his hands were free so he could fidget with something, or dig his nails into his palms. Technoblade didn't seem to mind his fidgeting, but he wouldn't dare move to do it.

(And if he secretly enjoyed the warmth of Technoblade's hands, well, only he would ever know.)

"You don't need to apologize, Tommy," Technoblade said, and when Tommy dared a glance up there was a small frown on his face. Tommy quickly tore his gaze back down to their hands. He had upset Technoblade, of course he had. Upsetting people was the only thing he was good at, clearly. 

"I'm sorry Technoblade, I-"

"You don't need to apologize. It's okay," Technoblade said, giving his hands a small squeeze.

"Sorry," Tommy whispered, but there was a familiar tightness in chest again and was hard to breathe, and he had fucked up so badly again, it was all his fault why was he so stupid.

"It's okay. You gotta breathe, Tommy," Technoblade told him, and his voice held an undertone of authority that made him shiver, thoughts of masks and neon hoods flashing through his mind.

"I'm sorry," he repeated lamely. There wasn't anything else he could say, and his chest hurt and it was so hard to breathe despite it being one of the simplest concepts and Technoblade was going to be so mad because he couldn't stay calm for two seconds.

"It's okay," Technoblade said, like there could exist a world where he would be okay with Tommy being an idiot. "In and out, slowly. Like this," Technoblade instructed, dragging in a slow and loud breath, before letting out just as slow. Tommy tried to follow the same pattern, hands trembling in Technoblade's grip. He inhaled, but it was shaky and as soon as he let the breath go he was already dragging in another. His heart was beating so fast and his breathing kept getting cut off and faster and faster and he couldn't breathe. 

"I can't-" Tommy choked on a sob, curling in on himself as tight as he could as he shuddered, ears pinned uncomfortable against the side of his head. He couldn't do the simplest of things, and he had been so calm two seconds ago, and Technoblade was going to be so angry, and kick him out into the unforgiving snow and he was going to die, he didn't want to die. 

"You can, okay, you can. You're safe here," Technoblade said, but Tommy could barely process his words. The pounding of his heart was so painful and the icy chill of terror mixed with sobs left him shaking uncontrollably, 

"I'm sorry," he said between gasping breaths, because he couldn't fucking calm down and he couldn't keep a breath in and he was such a worthless idiot. 

"It's okay, Tommy," Technoblade said, sounding like a broken record - but they would both be broken records in that regard, because there was nothing else to play. Tommy was a broken record broken by records because he was dumb enough to get attachedand it was so hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry Dream, I can't-"

Technoblade suddenly brought up one of Tommy's hands, pressing it against over his heart. The fabric of his shirt was soft, and Tommy was distracted for a brief moment. "Breath with me, okay? You're at my house, and you're safe here. Dream doesn't even have a house, so you know you're safe."

Tommy could feel the exaggerated rise and fall of Technoblade's chest under his hand as well as the faint beating of his heart, and he did his best to copy it. His shoulders shook with sobs as he tried to calm down, and it was so hard, but he knew he had too.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tommy repeated hoarsely, hot tears sliding uncomfortably down his cheeks. Wasn't he pathetic, crying in front of someone who wanted him dead - and for a good reason too. 

"It's okay, Tommy, you don't need to apologize," Technoblade reassured him gently, dragging his thumb over Tommy's knuckles on the hand placed over his heart. The contact was warm and burning, and it only made the tears fall faster. 

Eventually, Tommy managed to get his breathing somewhat in control. Technoblade helped, exaggerated breathing giving him an example of how to properly breathe. Tommy hated that he needed it, but Technoblade's hands were warm around his, and he hadn't once been angry at him, and Tommy was going to take every shred of comfort he could get regardless of how undeserving of it he was.

His chest hurt, and Tommy was exhausted. It was different from the ache after training during the revolution, or the long days in Pogtopia, or all his sleepless nights in Logstedshire. It was a mix of all of them, and Tommy couldn't tell if his shaking was from exhaustion or the tears that wouldn't stop despite how hard he tried to make them. 

"Would you like a hug?" Technoblade asked softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to break the silence, and Tommy nearly whipped his head up in shock because Technoblade surely wasn't offering him a hug, right? There wasn't any teasing or mocking tone in his tone, but Tommy hesitated still. Surely, he was being tricked, but nothing more was said.

Tommy so desperately wanted to accept the offer. He wanted to believe that Technoblade was being legitimate, but there was no way he was being truthful. Taking the risk, with the potential of being killed (because he and Technoblade clearly weren't friends anymore), was far too dangerous an endeavor for his liking. 

He was probably testing him. It was the only logical explanation. Technoblade had never been one for much physical contact, and Tommy was pretty sure he had only ever hugged him once, back when he was a small child who couldn't comprehend boundaries. 

But...Technoblade had never been one to do things out of pity. He didn't play with people's feelings when it served him no purpose. He had no reason to lie.

Tommy took in a steadying breath, before lunging forward. Technoblade let out a quiet oomph as he made contact, arms tightly wrapping around his torso. His hands gripped tightly at the back of his shirt, soft fabric clenched tightly in his fingers. Technoblade didn't hesitate to reciprocate, holding him closer. 

"I've got you, Toms. You're safe. I promise," Technoblade whispered softly, and Tommy wanted to believe him so badly. He wanted to feel safe for once, wanted to be able to relax, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Wilbur whispering you're never going to be safe here.

Hiding in Technoblade's warm embrace, nose pressed into his neck and the smell of iron and fresh books and fire and Techno almost overwhelming , Tommy could almost start to believe.

"I'm sorry I woke you up because of a- a stupid dream," Tommy mumbled into Technoblade's shoulder. Shame bubbled up like an old friend, tightening his chest and making tears rise.

"Nightmares aren't stupid," Technoblade reprimanded, and Tommy wanted to crawl back into a hole and never face the light of day again. Was he really so pathetic that Technoblade felt the need to comfort him.

"I'm a teenager, I shouldn't- I shouldn't be having nightmares," Tommy argued.

Technoblade was silent for a long, heart stopping moment, before "I have nightmares too."

"You do?" Tommy asked in disbelief. Technoblade hummed in agreement, resting his forehead against the side of Tommy's head.

"Yeah. Not all the time, but I do. So did Wilbur, when…" Technoblade trailed off, voice strained. "When he was alive."

Tommy swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat. Every mention of Wilbur dug a knife a little deeper into his heart.

"Did...does...Phil?" Tommy asked quietly, scared to break the heaviness in the air. 

Technoblade sighed quietly.  "I don't know," he replied. That was reasonable, Tommy figured. It was hard enough to imagine Technoblade having nightmares, let alone Phil. Tommy had been there to witness what was probably the aftermath of Wilbur's nightmares, tense shoulders and eyes narrowed sharply as he paced the stone floor, footsteps echoing uncomfortably loud. 

In the low, dancing torchlight, his eyes had looked so slitted and predatory that had made the hairs on his back rise and something deep in his throat rumble. It didn't take a genius to figure out that was the beginning of his hybrid nature just barely starting to rise. 

"I'm sorry," Tommy started to say, because even if he was apparently allowed to have nightmares as a teenager, that didn't make him waking Technoblade up any better. He never got the chance to continue, Technoblade interrupting as he was opening his mouth to talk against with a light nudge against his forehead that made him feel inexplicably warm inside. 

"Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong," Technoblade told him firmly, the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. Tommy bit back a response, shrinking in on himself slightly. He knew he would mess up eventually, and Dream had never liked it when he apologized too much, why would Technoblade be the same? Technoblade sighed slowly, and Tommy could feel the rise and fall of his chest, warm breathing brushing against hair.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Technoblade asked, instead of scolding him.

Tommy let out a confused noise in response. Of all the responses he expected, it wasn't that.

"Your nightmare," Technoblade elaborated, and Tommy thought of a green hoodie and smiling mask smacking a hand across his cheek and-

"N-Not really, if that's okay," Tommy said, cursing himself for stuttering and the now rapid pace of his heart. Why couldn't he stay calm for two seconds, Technoblade would get tired of his panicking very quickly and then everything would come crashing down. 

"Yeah, it's okay. You're allowed boundaries," Technoblade said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Tommy hummed again, unsure of how to respond but knowing a lack of any sort of response would be hated. Dream always hated when he didn't respond to him. 

"Do you uh, wanna talk about….anything?" Technoblade asked, adjusting his hold on Tommy ever so slightly. His arms were so warm, a hand splayed across his shoulder blades and he almost felt safe, a feeling Tommy had long since abandoned and dismissed any thoughts of feeling again.

"What?"

"Well, when I found you, I had to bandage your injuries, right? And uh, on your arm-"

"I don't want to talk about this," Tommy snapped out in one breath, heart stopping. Technoblade had seen….. them, of course he had seen them. I never should have moved to my arms, he thought viciously, ears pinned against his skull.

"That's fine. I do need to know, though, uh. Do you think it will happen again," Technoblade asked, voice a familiar uncaring monotone. Tommy hated the way he missed the softer tones he had been using before, hated the way he wanted back the comfort he knew he didn't deserve. 

"I don't know," Tommy admitted quietly, voice muffled from where he had pressed his face into Technoblade's neck. He felt so ashamed and embarrassed, and he wanted to lie and say no, and he hated how he couldn't give a yes or a no. "It- it was the first time in a while, but.."

Tommy's throat was painfully tight, and his eyes were burning, so he let his words fall into the air and trail off. The silence was heavy, almost overbearing, and anxiety rose in his chest the longer his words went without a response. He felt like he should pull back out of the hug, face the meaning of his words like a man instead of hiding like a coward, but he was so warm and there was a small flame of hope in his chest he couldn't bear to crush that screamed he was safe.

"Well, if you ever…feel the urge, please say something, okay?" Technoblade requested gently, one hand slowly moving up and down Tommy's back, fingers leaving trails of fire as they dragged against his skin. Tommy couldn't help a shudder, something deep on his chest rumbling in content. "We don't have to talk about it, but I don't want you to be alone if you're feeling that way."

Tommy had expected anger. He had expected to have answers demanded of him, but Technoblade's words from earlier rang in his head. 

"You don't need to take care of yourself on your own all of the time."

"Okay," Tommy agreed quietly. He felt so small, hiding in the arms of someone who he had thought was his enemy, but in a different way than others made him feel. Wilbur and Dream (despite the latter being his friend) had made him feel useless and childlike, but wrapped up in Technoblade's warm embrace Tommy feel protected, even safe. He was so much warmer and comfortable than he had been in months. 

"You should go back to bed, you need your rest," Technoblade said after a long, comfortable silence. An immediate agreement almost slipped out of Tommy's mouth, and it took all of his willpower to force it down. 

"Can- can you stay a bit longer?" Tommy asked quietly instead, heart pounding in anticipation. It was painful, but Tommy hadn't had positive physical contact in months . He was going to milk the opportunity for all it was worth.

"Yeah. I can stay, Toms," Technoblade said, sounding almost choked in a way that Tommy couldn't even begin to decipher. He didn't understand the tone hidden deep in his voice, and frankly, he didn't have the energy. Not at that moment anyway. There was a time where he would be panicking over the newfound inflection. This was not that time.

Tommy let himself fully sink into Techno's embrace, hand rubbing circles into his back. Tommy could feel the pull of sleep, and he didn't fight it. 

Finally safe in Technoblade's arms, Tommy let himself fall into a blissful sleep.

-0-

It didn't take Technoblade very long to realize Tommy had fallen asleep in his arms. His breathing, which had been shaky nearly the entire time he had been awake, had finally steadied out, the tremble in his limbs calming as he slumped against him. His ears were lowered in content, twitching in his sleep and brushing against Technoblade's collarbone. He hardly weighed anything, and Techno was willing to bet that the weight he was feeling was from the clothes he was wearing and nothing more. 

Technoblade allowed himself a moment to breathe, nose pressed into Tommy's hair. His breaths were slow and shuddering, pine and grass and petrichor and Tommy filling his nose as had a small moment of respite. Sounder safe.

Techno let out a final breath before reluctantly removing Tommy from his arms. Tommy immediately whined in his sleep, likely now very cold. Techno smiled despite himself, suspiciously soft as he tucked his younger brother back into bed. Tommy snuggled closer to the pillow, shivering ever so slightly, and Technoblade frowned, gently brushing Tommy's bangs to the side.

It was likely that he was making up for the sudden lack of warmth (Technoblade was a piglin hybrid, and as a result ran very warm), and he would be fine in a few minutes, but the worry that had settled what felt like permanently settled under his skin begged to differ.

Sighing, more in exasperation at himself then anything, Technoblade reached up and undid his heavy cloak, pulling it from its place around his shoulders and carefully laying on top of his brother. The large, fluffy lining around the neck almost buried him from view, and privately, Technoblade would admit it was adorable. 

An extra layer never hurt anyone anyways. 

Technoblade left the room as quietly as he could, slowly shutting the door behind him. Not completely shut, but closed enough so that it appeared so at first glance.

The steps of the stairs creaked underneath his feet, and as soon as he reached ground level he was stalking into his storage room, eyes locking onto the gleaming axe resting against his wall. The Axe of Peace, it was named. The grip was cool as he picked it up, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned on his heel. Anger, suppressed up to this point, was boiling in his veins as he made his way to his front door, and with Tommy not around, Technoblade allowed it to show.

TechnoAngry

So it WAS Dream

There wasn't any doubt?

Technoblade ignored the voices, instead pushing the heavy front door open. The chill of the outside air rushed in immediately, stinging his exposed skin as he stepped onto his porch. Snow was falling from the sky at a fairly rapid pace, and Technoblade was starting to regret leaving his cloak behind. The door shut behind him loudly, and Techno could only pray that it didn't wake Tommy up. 

The air burned his lungs as he lingered on his porch, admiring the fall of the snow. It was peaceful, and a stark contrast to the growing storm in his mind. 

It didn't take long for the peace to be shattered by his anger, so he turned and set off into the tundra. Freshly fallen snow crunched beneath his boots, strides long and purposeful. His mind could only focus on one thing as he walked. 

Dream.

Technoblade had known Dream was responsible for Tommy's behavior, but having Tommy call him Dream had both made him ill and cemented the idea that Dream had done something horrible to his brother. It infuriated him, and his grip on his axe was white knuckled as he walked to the treeline. The voices stirred in the back of his mind, whispering, blood for the blood god.

Technoblade unslung the axe from his shoulder, testing the weight in his hands as he walked into the woods. He had never trusted Dream, and this only proved how right that assessment had been. 

Dream had messed with Tommy's head. He had used his too friendly voice and demeanor and charisma to get into his head and make him become the shell of his old self that he was.

It was ironic, the whole situation. Dream, though not the root cause of all of the problems on the server, had done nothing to stop it. The Admin, someone who was supposed to watch over and keep everything healthy, had done the exact opposite. Dream had let the L'Manberg revolution spiral, had let Schlatt continue to hold any sort of power, he had fueled Wilbur's insanity, and he had done something to Tommy during his exile.

Admins were supposed to be the good ones. Dream was a clear example of the opposite: he wanted to fuel the chaos and sow seeds of distrust, just to reap the rewards of misery. 

Blood for the blood god, the voices chanted, growing louder and louder with every step. Blood rushed in Technoblade's ears, muffling the singing of the wind around him 

Technoblade wanted to rip off his stupid, smiling mask he always wore, just so he could see his face in all its detail as he slowly tore him apart. He wanted his death to be slow, and painful, so Dream could feel something even close to the pain he had inflicted on others. He wanted to drive his sword through his shoulder, pin him to the ground as he beat some sense into his closed minded brain, stain the fucking green hoodie he always wore, ruin the dumb lime green with red stains and spread his entrails across the fucking floor for daring to mess with his family, protect the sounder-

Technoblade raised The Axe of Peace and slammed it into the nearest tree with a shout. It sunk into the bark with a heavy thunk, branches shaking loudly from the impact, clumps of snow falling around him and mixing with the already falling snow. 

His breathing was fast and ragged, body shaking with rage. Blood for the blood god, death, kill him, blood, give us blood.

His lips parted in a snarl. He was going to kill Dream, even if it killed him. He was going to kill him three times, drain his lives away slowly, one by one, and he was going to enjoy it.

Technoblade tried to pull his axe from the tree, only to find he had sent it several inches into the bark during his rage.  He gritted his teeth, yanking it back with both hands. The tree cracked dangerously, but Technoblade paid it no mind. He continued his pacing, voices chanting louder and louder. 

Blood

Technoblade didn't bother to smother the growl in his chest, baring his sharpened teeth as he paced back and forth wildly. 

Blood 

He wanted to hunt Dream down so badly, beat the stupid mask so hard it become one with his fucking face. A feral grin showed off all of his teeth, sharp and deadly. 

Blood

The hands holding The Axe of Peace were trembling, shaking just as much as the rest of him, but it only made his grip stronger, tighter, and he was going to hold Dream up by the neck and watch the life drain from his eyes.

Blood

The voices were chanting, demanding blood louder than they had in weeks, and who was Technoblade to deny them? It was for such a good cause, there wasn't any harm in having a little fun. 

Give us blood 

Oh, blood they would be given. He was going to stain the snow a pretty crimson red when he was done with him, and he was going to deliver his head to the voices on a silver platter.

GIVE US BLOOD the voices shrieked, wailing, louder than they had been in years, and Technoblade had dropped his axe and slammed his hands over his ears before he could properly comprehend what was happening. His hands didn't help, because they were still screaming, words indistinguishable, an inherent mess full of agony. They were so loud, and Technoblade's nails dug in the side of his head as he desperately pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the screams but it wouldn't stop.

Technoblade's legs were shaking under him, the world tilting into a spinning, blurry blob around him. Technoblade stumbled forward, eyes squeezed shut, and the voices were screaming and they wouldn't stop, make it stop make it stop make it stop.

His foot caught on something, and then he was collapsing to ground, knees slamming into the ice hidden by the fluffy powder. His nails dug into the side of his head as he rocked back and forth because they were so loud make it stop make it stop make it stop, and tears burned his eyes and he was going to die, he didn't want to die-

A sharp pain erupted up the side of his skull, and voices vanished all at once, leaving behind a deafening silence. Only his harsh breathing filled the air he stared wide eyed at the snow, tears sliding down his cheeks as he gasped in lungfuls of air. A little ways away, The Axe Of Peace layed glimmering innocently in the snow. Pulling his shaking hands away from his head, Technoblade was met with the sight of bloodied nails, and the tears fell even faster. 

Technoblade leaned forward to press his face into the snow, letting himself fall to the side and lay amongst the growing powder. His head pounded, right behind his eyes, and the cool snow was so nice against his skin. He could lay there forever, in a blanket of peaceful, cool calm, away from the terrible screams of before. 

But Tommy needed him.

Technoblade couldn't let himself lay in the snow forever. Tommy wasn't in the right mental state to be left alone, he couldn't do that to him. Reluctantly, Technoblade pushed himself up with shaking arms, pressing a hand against his forehead as the world spun. He slowly reached forward, hand flailing a bit before landing on his target. He slowly dragged The Axe of Peace over to him, lifting it up and digging the handle into the snow to use as a crutch. 

With great effort he heaved himself up and stumbled forward and leaned heavily against a tree for balance. He felt much like a newborn deer, bumbling about. When he was confident he had found his footing, he began walking towards his house. His footsteps were slow, and he kept stumbling, legs shaky and pace stuttering. Eventually, was able to clear the trees, and almost cried in relief. He moved with a renewed vigor, until he was almost falling into his cabin, shutting the door behind him quickly. 

The Axe of Peace was left leaning haphazardly by the door frame as he made a beeline for his couch, collapsing into the soft material. He didn't bother taking off his shoes, pulling his blanket around him and curling up into a ball. He was shivering, and his head pounded, and he was so tired. 

He needed to rest. And god, was he going to rest.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Technoblade jolted awake, heart fluttering from a dream he couldn't recall. His head was no longer pounding, a mercy he would accept with open arms, but there was a heavy weariness that came with exhaustion hanging over him as he blinked at his unlit fireplace. 

His axe was undisturbed by the door, and as he shifted, he was greeted with sore and stiff muscles. 

How long had he been asleep?

It was a question Technoblade had no way of answering, and it couldn't have been longer than a day at most, if he took past instances into consideration. It didn't affect much regardless, aside from Tommy and Carl. Technoblade couldn't let any harm come to either of them.

Tommy would probably be awake, Technoblade thought, slinging his legs over the side of the couch and heading towards his kitchen (quietly mourning the cleanliness of his blankets all the same). Even if he wasn't, waking him up wouldn't be hard, and he needed to get consistent meals in him. A simple soup would work well. He wished he could make something else, but he knew the effects of starvation on the stomach. The small portions he was making were all Tommy's body could take. 

Cooking was an easy task, something he could do that didn't require tactical thinking or complicated plans. It helped that he could probably make a soup blindfolded, provided he knew where the ingredients were.

Making a meal for two people was a relatively new experience, but Tommy being physically unable to stomach his usual portions gave a little bit of leeway. Not that he enjoyed the opportunity to mess up, anyway. The reason was too upsetting. 

When he was done, he made his way upstairs, making sure not to spill anything. The door was gently pushed open with his foot, and when he walked in, Tommy was still sound asleep on the bed. Technoblade's cloak had been pulled tighter around him, and he looked so small despite being exceptionally tall.

Technoblade allowed himself a small smile, setting his bowl down on the nightstand. With one hand, he gently shook Tommy's shoulder, and he startled awake, wide eyes staring up at him.

"Hallo," Technoblade said Tommy blinked at him. "I made you soup." He moved the bowl in his hands around a bit as demonstration. 

"Thank you," Tommy rasped, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Technoblade held the bowl out to him, and Tommy quickly took his, holding it close to him as he immediately started devouring it.

"Slow down," Technoblade huffed, grabbing his own soup from the nightstand and settling into the chair beside the bed. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

Tommy froze, and Technoblade worried he had already messed up, but Tommy nodded before he could panic too much. When he went back to eating, he was slower than he had been. Content he was fine for the time being, Technoblade turned to his own meal. They ate in relative silence, only the faint sound of the wind disturbing them. Technoblade was used to eating his meals alone, and when he didn't, there was usually conversation, so the lack of talking felt very off.

"Y'know, I have a comforter, not a duvet," Technoblade started suddenly, and then immediately felt like slapping himself. Of all the ways he could have started a conversation, something that happened yesterday and was entirely irrelevant really should not have been his top pick.

Despite being a very weird attempt at small talk, Tommy still looked up from where he was hunched over his soup, spoon halfway to his mouth. His brows furrowed in confusion, but the ever present anxiety that had hung over him seemed gone, even if temporarily, so maybe Technoblade's lack of social skills weren't all that bad.

"Earlier, you uh, called it a duvet," Technoblade explained, gesturing towards the comforter with his free hand, careful not to slosh his own soup around. He had spilt a few too many bowls of cereal in his childhood while trying to tell a story for him to take any risks now. "But it's actually a comforter."

Tommy slowly lowered his spoon back into the bowl, head tilting to side as he inspected the fluffy piece of bedding. His eyes flickered up to meet Technoblade's for a second, mouth opening to say something, but he quickly shut it, going back to staring at the covering. Technoblade shifted in his seat awkwardly, fighting the urge to tap his foot.

"It's not just me callin' stuff weird things, either," Technoblade added, allowing himself a small amused smile as he remembered all the ridiculous arguments he and his family had, and the 'interventions' they would hold for his weird names for things. The memories were bittersweet, and the smile faded as he found himself comparing his family from then to now. Oh, how far they had all fallen. 

EXACTLY THEY'RE CALLED FRENCH FRIES

NO THEY'RE CHIPS YOU IDIOTS

THEY AREN'T EVEN FRENCH?

CHIPS ARE WILDLY DIFFERENT THINGS

YOU MEAN CRISPS?

I HATE IT HERE

TechnoDiscourse

Tommy let out an inquisitive hum at that, ears twisting to be more attentive as he looked back up at him. Clearly, he remembered the arguments too. Technoblade nodded in confirmation to his silent question, bringing up another spoonful of his soup as he gathered his thoughts. 

"Really?" Tommy asked quietly, picking at the hem of his sleeve with one hand as the other held his bowl close to his stomach. He wasn't looking at Technoblade anymore, staring into his soup like it held the secrets of the universe, but Technoblade wasn't an idiot (well, most of the time, anyway). He knew, based on what he had pieced together, speaking up must have taken a lot of courage, and was most likely responsible for the tell-tale signs of anxiety. 

"Yeah," Technoblade rushed to argee, realizing perhaps too late that the resounding silence following Tommy's words wouldn't help matters at all. "There's a legitimate difference between them."

Tommy nodded at that, and Technoblade could see the way his jaw clenched and his grip tightened on the bowl. His ears had shifted back into a loose imitation of what they were like panicked, and Technoblade felt his heart drop. He hadn't responded for three seconds and immediately shattered the confidence Tommy had built up by being an idiot. What had Dream done to him?

(In the back of his mind, he wished Phil was there. Phil was always better at talking to people then him, knew how to comfort them at their lows. Technoblade only knew bloodshed, and that would only make things worse. Tommy was fragile, and Technoblade had no idea how to handle with care.)

"A duvet has a like, patterned cover you put over it and can change, whereas a comforter is in one piece, and to change the pattern you have to change the whole thing," Technoblade explained, free hand gesturing vaguely in the air as he talked. The way he was rambling reminded him of Wilbur, back before the Dream SMP, and Technoblade shoved the memory down forcefully, ignoring the pain in heart. He didn't have time to be thinking about that.

TechnoExplain

Tommy blinked at his soup. "Huh," he said thoughtfully. Technoblade let his shoulders relax from where they had unconsciously tensed up, returning to eating his soup while his ears burned in embarrassment. One sided conversations were not his cup of tea. Calming someone down from a panic attack? Technoblade could do that. Actually holding a conversation with someone? Techno would much rather do a 1v10 then be forced to make small talk.

Tommy was drumming his fingers on the side of his bowl when Technoblade looked up again, both hands cradling it. The soup itself looked untouched from when he had first started eating it, and a frown made its way onto Technoblade's face.

"You can eat, by the way," Technoblade said, trying to sound as offhanded and casual as possible. Tommy jolted slightly, but nodded all the same. Technoblade watched as he slowly dug into the meal, making sure he was definitely eating before he continued with his own meal. The light of the lamp and sunlight barely peeking through the curtains only made the hollowness of Tommy's cheeks more prominent.

Technoblade frowned at his soup, feeling slightly ill. How long had it been since Tommy had a decent meal? The beginning of his exile? Before that?

Technoblade didn't know, and that was what sent his blood boiling. He didn't know how long Tommy had spent silently suffering, because he hadn't bothered to check up on him. Technoblade pushed the anger down, schooling his expression as he shoved another spoonful of soup into his mouth as a distraction. Getting angry again wouldn't help anyone, the events previous a clear example. 

After forcing the rest of his meal down, Technoblade allowed himself to relax his posture completely. The back of his chair pressed uncomfortably into the back of his head as he stared up at his ceiling. 

He traced the patterns of the wood beams with half lidded eyes, fingers drumming a mindless tune. He could hear the wind outside slowly start to die down. That was good, Phil wouldn't be able to fly in the conditions there had been the last few days.

Then again, Technoblade couldn't remember ever seeing Phil fly at any point on the Dream SMP. He always had his cloak covering his wings, and even when he briefly didn't, the feathers were dull and unsorted. 

It got him thinking. The explosion of L'Manberg had been large, and there was still a cloud of smoke in the air surrounding it, piles of ash hidden by the elements. The burn scars Tommy had could easily be attributed to the explosion. The likelihood of Phil injuring his wings during the explosion was very, very likely. 

Why hadn't he told him, then? What had stopped Phil from just telling him he couldn't fly, assuming that was the case?

Technoblade sighed. He had been doing that a lot recently. He supposed it was some sort of divine punishment for thinking he could get away with retiring, despite not believing in those sorts of things. Maybe it was only natural. No one in his family seemed to want to let him catch a break, and that had lost its endearing light a long, long time ago.

Technoblade let his eyes fall shut, mind wandering. Thinking about everything going on was hardly appealing, as that was practically the only thing he had been doing lately. The voices, having mostly calmed since his...episode, provided a good white noise. Thinking took too much of his energy, sometimes. It was easier to stab and go then attempt diplomacy, and thinking was much the name. What was the phrase again? 

NO THOUGHTS HEAD EMPTY

Thanks, chat, Technoblade thought, holding back a snort. With his voices, his head was never really empty. No thoughts, head full, would be a more accurate description. His head was often very full, even when he didn't want it to bed. He should make chat pay rent, he realized. They couldn't keep living in his head for free, no, that was preposterous. What would rent even be? How did one charge the voices in their head rent? Could he feasibly make it leaving him the fuck alone?

Technoblade's long, internal tangent was interrupted by the quiet clearing of a throat. Forcing his eyes open, Technoblade fixed his posture, cracking his neck while he did so. When he focused his attention on Tommy, he saw the bowl had been drained entirely.

"I'm, um, done," Tommy mumbled, hiding behind his bangs.

"I'll take it down," Technoblade told him. Tommy obediently held the bowl out to him, and Technoblade tried not to frown at the way he flinched when Techno moved to take it.

Stacking their bowls together, Technoblade left the room quickly, heading straight down the steps and into his kitchen to place the dishes in his sink. When he was there, he shoved his face into his hands, whispering a harsh, "Fuck," to himself. He didn't know how much longer he could go without getting extra help. The voices getting riled up was a very bad sign, and the last thing he wanted was to lash out at Tommy. 

Pulling his communicator out, Technoblade opened up his contacts, clicking on the one right at the top with a shaky sigh. He wasn't why he hadn't done this yet, but he supposed it had something to do with his pride keeping him from admitting he needed help with something.

[You whisper to Ph1lza: Hey Phil…..]

Chapter Text

The door swung nearly closed with a quiet creek its hinges - stopping right next to the frame, but not closing anyway. Footsteps receded down the hall, eventually fading into nearly nothing.

Now alone for the first time in what could have been only a day or weeks, Tommy breathed a heavy sigh of relief, heart stuttering in his chest.

Technoblade was so confusing. Tommy had been so sure that Technoblade had hated him; he had set withers on him and told him to die, why wouldn't he? It was the only natrual conclusion to draw. 

But yet, despite that, Technoblade was letting Tommy stay at his house, feeding him seemingly regular meals and not getting irritated that he wasn't talking. Then again, Technoblade had always complained how loud and annoying Tommy was, so he probably welcomed the change in behavior as much as Dream did.

Tommy let his ears relax for nearly the first time since their arrival. Speaking of which, being a hybrid wasn't something Tommy had ever considered, but looking back, it explained some behaviors he had never been able to rationalize before. Maybe that was why Pogtopia had been so conflicting, and why his hole under Technoblade's basement was somehow comforting. 

It didn't matter too much - though Tommy knew if Wilbur was still around, he'd tease him for being a furry like they did to Fundy. His heart twisted, thinking about Wilbur, but there wasn't anything he could do to lessen the pain, not really. Wilbur had been hurt by people, and he had hurt people, and he was gone. There wasn't much more to it.

Tommy strained to hear what Technoblade was doing, but he couldn't make anything out. He didn't bother to try and move somewhere to hear easier, knowing if Technoblade heard him sneaking around there would be hell to pay. 

Tommy leaned against the headboard, scratching at his wrist absentmindedly. He had to focus on not pressing too hard, knowing he could accidentally cut himself easily with the sharp claws now adorning his fingers. 

Tommy, personally, wouldn't mind if he got hurt, but he had no way of knowing how Technoblade would react. 

Tommy didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he heard footsteps. His ears immediately flattened, anxiety rising after only a few moments of respite. 

The footsteps grew closer, and Tommy shrunk in on himself. Technoblade was back, and who knew what his plans were for Tommy.

A sudden knock sounded out, and Tommy snapped his head up, choking down a distressed noise as the door swung open.

"Hallo," Technoblade said. He was leaning against the doorframe, one hand raised to knock. Tommy blinked at him, heart racing in his chest. In Technoblade's free hand was a first aid kit, and Tommy stared at it in confusion. Tommy was already tended to, unless Technoblade had done something while Tommy was sleeping (Dream only did that when he was really mad, but Tommy had done his absolute best to be good for Technoblade so it didn't make sense). 

Technoblade must have noticed where his eyes were. "I need to redo your bandages," he explained, moving into the room and settling himself on the chair next to the bed.

"Oh," Tommy said, shrinking back from him slightly. His ears were drooped, and his tail was puffed up underneath the blankets as he tightened and loosened his grip on the blanket.

"Yeah," Technoblade said, opening the kit up with a harsh zipper noise. "So uh, shirt off."

Tommy's hands moved to take his shirt off before his brain had even processed the order, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. He knew it was purely for medical purposes, but the fact that he was deemed weak enough to need medical attention was embarrassing. 

Pulling off the several layers he was wearing was a difficult process, and as he pulled the last longsleeve over his head, he was panting slightly. He hated being so weak, but his muscles had started to give up on him recently for a reason he pretended not to know. 

When he was done, Technoblade slowly reached out, gently holding Tommy's hand in his. Tommy could feel every callous and scar on his hand, the contact warm and intimate in a way he couldn't describe. Technoblade's other hand went to the gauze over his arm, carefully unwrapping it. Tommy could see his expression pinch in the corner of his eye, and guilt rose in him. He knew why he was reacting that way, and it was no one's fault but his. 

"I'm sorry-" Tommy tried to say, because he needed to make sure Technoblade knew that he didn't mean to make him upset, but he never got to finish.

"Stop apologizin'. I've said you don't need like twenty times," Technoblade said gruffly, not pausing in his task as he spoke. Tommy hunched his shoulders up, because he sounded annoyed. He had fucked up, clearly, despite trying to be on his absolute best behavior for him. 

"Okay. I'm sorry," Tommy apologized quietly, biting down on his tongue when he realized he had apologized again. His newly sharpened teeth dug painfully into his tongue, and the taste of copper burst across the roof of his mouth. 

Technoblade sighed heavily. "It's fine."

Tommy didn't respond. He didn't think it was fine, he had annoyed Technoblade by apologizing too much, and he wanted, desperately, to try and argue with him that it wasn't, because even if Technoblade for some reason couldn't see it, he knew he deserved to be punished. Technoblade had been so nice to him, but surely he didn't want Tommy to grow too comfortable. Surely. 

(Tommy ignored the voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Wilbur that whispered he hasn't hurt you because he genuinely cares about you, you idiot.)

Technoblade's knuckles brushed across his skin as he carefully worked through the process of redoing Tommy's bandages, each contact burning. Tommy tried his best to stay still so Technoblade's job would be easier, ears pressed against his skull and jaw clenched to stop himself from making any noise. Everytime he hissed through his teeth in pain, Technoblade would murrmer an apology, like it was somehow his fault Tommy had been the idiot who had gotten himself hurt in the first place. 

When Technoblade went to peel off the covering of the slash across his shoulder, Tommy choked on a cry of pain, not able to stop himself from making any noise. 

"Mm," Technoblade hummed, nudging Tommy with his forehead almost apologetically. Tommy had to stop himself from leaning into the contact, because Technoblade was there to help him with his injuries, not cuddle. 

The next few minutes went much the same, and Tommy felt small and embarrassed and terrifyingly vulnerable under Technoblade's careful touch, but he couldn't deny how almost safe it made him feel. He knew, logically, that Technoblade had no reason to be attached to him to the point of not hurting him (he ruthlessly shoved the thought that they were brothers away), and he had no reason to protect him, but the feeling was there regardless.  

"Alright, you should be good now," Technoblade said eventually, leaning back and giving him a once over. Tommy tried not to move under his scrutinizing gaze, only shifting ever so slightly. While he went to put the first aid back together and gather up the old bandages, Tommy pulled his shirt and multiple sweaters back on, wincing at the pull of his aching muscles. 

As he watched Technoblade put the first aid kit away, Tommy couldn't help but wonder how long this would last. Technoblade had been kind to him, sure, but there was no reason for it to be a continued kindness. All Tommy had done was use up his resources, and he was too weak to work to gain those resources back.

Tommy opened his mouth, to ask how long it would be until he was inevitably kicked out, but he closed it immediately after. Technoblade hadn't addressed him, so he would surely get mad if he spoke out of turn. Dream always had, anyway. There was no reason for Technoblade to be any different.

Tommy worried his bottom lip, careful to not break the skin with his sharp canines. Anxiety hummed in his veins, and Tommy picked at his sharp nails that were more claw-like than anything to try and distract himself. 

Technoblade eventually finished with the first aid kid, giving Tommy a searching look.

"What?" Technoblade asked, and Tommy tried not to startle. 

"What?" Tommy said in response. His heartbeat started to race ever so slightly more. Had he accidentally said something Technoblade didn't like?

"You look like you wanted to say something," Technoblade explained, and Tommy blinked, relieved more than he probably should be. Technoblade had still noticed him staring, which was unacceptable, but he clearly wanted an explanation before he gave out a punishment.

"Um." It was hard to breathe, the words refusing to leave his mouth. Tommy wanted to just spit it out, to say what he needed to, but he couldn't. Technoblade didn't say anything, staring at him with an unreadable expression. 

"It's just- you've been so generous letting me stay here and using your resources-"

"Not that many resources, honestly," Technoblade interrupted, voice casual, and Tommy shrunk back, whining quietly despite how hard he tried to force it down. 

"Sorry, continue," Technoblade said with a grimace.

"I just- how long can I stay?" Tommy finally blurted out, raising his head to look Technoblade in the eyes despite how badly it made his hands shake.

Technoblade's expression was smooth, dark eyes soft despite how angry Tommy knew he should be. Tommy's breathing was too fast, he knew, but looking at the Technoblade was an act of defiance. Surely, this would cross a line, surely he would finally be punished.

"Like, with me?" Technoblade said slowly. 

"Mhm," Tommy said, ducking his head again. He shouldn't have said anything. Fuck, he was so stupid.

"I mean, to be honest, I want you to stay until I'm sure you're healthy, but after that, you're free to go." Tommy blinked up at him, searching his face for a lie.

"Free to go?" Tommy repeated, confused. Technoblade had taken him in, surely he would want to keep Tommy there. 

"Yup. I'm not gonna keep you here against your will, but I do wanna make sure you don't die or whatever. That would suck," Technoblade said. He seemed completely nonchalant about it, like he wasn't uprooting Tommy's entire perception of reality in one fell swoop.

"So I don't have to leave?" Tommy asked in disbelief. Technoblade had to be pulling a prank on him, surely, there was no other explanation that made sense. Wilbur hadn't wanted him to leave Pogtopia, Dream hadn't wanted him to leave Logstedshire, so why would he be any different?

"Not if you don't want to," Technoblade said, like it was that simple."You can stay as long as you want to, okay?" His voice softened at the end, expression fond. Tommy felt an emotion he couldn't identify well up inside him, choking his throat and pressing at the back of his eyes.

"Okay," Tommy said, voice choked. 

"Your injuries are okay, right?" Technoblade asked, giving him another once over with a concerned furrow of his brow.

"Mhm," Tommy nodded.

"That's good," Technoblade said, almost more to himself than Tommy. "You wanna stay in bed, or do you wanna go downstairs?"

"Whatever you want," Tommy replied immediately. Technoblade frowned, and Tommy's heart jumped. Had that been the wrong answer? He almost expected Technoblade to hit him, but he didn't do anything other than sigh tiredly.

"Downstairs it is," he decided, standing from his chair. Tommy hurried to follow, tugging the blankets off himself and twisting his body to the side. When he pushed himself to stand, his legs were shaking, body protesting at the movement. The first step was shaky, and Tommy stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face with a jolt of his heart - but a warm hand steadied him. Tommy fought not to lean into the contact, but the contact was heavy and nice. 

Technoblade stared at him silently, before he reached over, and Tommy fought to not flinch, but he just draped his arm over Tommy's shoulders. Technoblade tucked Tommy into his side as they walked, and he was warm, so warm, and Tommy couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch, something in his chest rumbling contentedly at the familial touch. 

His legs were undeniably sore as he walked down the stairs, but Tommy kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to be complaining, it would irritate his currently so kind host. 

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tommy expected him to be let go, but he wasn't. Technoblade guided him towards the couch, and Tommy collapsed into it gratefully. Technoblade walked off once he was settled, and Tommy didn't bother watching where he was going. He pulled his legs up beneath him, crossing his ankles. His feet were padded with soft socks, and Tommy went to feel them without any thought. 

Tommy was jolted out of his thoughts when something heavy was draped over him. When Tommy looked, he found Technoblade's cape had been placed over him. Technoblade hummed, and then reached out and adjusted its position around him, securing it over his shoulders.

Tommy gasped quietly, eyes widening. The fur around the collar tickled his cheeks, and the inside was soft, and the inside was soft and fluffy when Tommy ran his hands through it.

"Thank you," Tommy said, ducking his head to hide his face amongst the fur. Technoblade's lips twitched into a small smile, and Tommy couldn't stop himself from smiling back, heart inexplicably warmed. Technoblade's eyes were soft, and he seemed almost fond.

Technoblade cleared his throat awkwardly, and the moment was over.

"Do you want something to read, or…?" Technoblade trailed off, adjusting his glasses almost nervously. 

Tommy shrugged, staring down and flexing his toes where he had them held in his hands. He wasn't quite sure why, but it helped soothe the pittering of his heart. 

"I'm fine either way," he said. He wasn't lying, either. A book would be nice, admittedly, to distract him from the anxiety of messing up and making Technoblade angry. 

Technoblade nodded. "Book it is then, I guess," he said. Tommy nodded back, watching through his bangs as Technoblade walked towards his bookshelf. His hand trailed across the spines, before he eventually settled on something, pulling it free gently. The fire popped and crackled, a welcome background noise, and Tommy's ears slowly started to relax. He was still nervous, undoubtedly so, but he couldn't help but admit that this was...nice. 

Technoblade returned in a few long strides, holding the book out. Tommy took it gently, curling around it almost protectively once it was in his hold. He looked down at the cover, unsurprised to find the title to be Greek Mythology and Miscellaneous Myths. He wasn't even mad about it. The times when Technoblade would read him his favorite myth of that week when Tommy couldn't sleep and snuck into his room held a special place in his heart.

He remembered looking up at Techno with stars in his eyes, grinning widely as he explained them to him, imagination working quicker than it ever had to keep up. Technoblade had always sounded so happy, smiling shyly when Tommy asked him to read to him, and with a pang of his heart, Tommy realized those days were over.

That didn't matter. Tommy could still enjoy it anyway, he didn't need Technoblade to read to him. He would probably be annoyed if Tommy asked anyway, and that wasn't something he was in the position to risk. Technoblade had been patient with him so far. He couldn't risk seeing what happened when that patience snapped. 

(He couldn't risk provoking him like he had done to Dream.) 

"I'm gonna go and take care of some things outside. You're fine on your own, yeah?" Technoblade asked. Tommy blinked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, despite an instinct deep inside him screaming no don't leave stronger protect stay stay stay. He couldn't be needy, Dream hated it when he was clingy. Technoblade nodded, lingering just a moment, before he moved to the door. He pulled a blue caplet over his shoulders, before pulling the door open. Cold air rushed inside, and then he was stepping outside, door slamming shut behind him. 

Tommy jolted at noise, clutching the book to his chest as his heart leaped. His ears twisted as high as they could, searching for the sound of Technoblade walking. He didn't find anything, only the whispering of the wind and the crackling of the fire. 

Tommy let himself sink into the couch once he was sure Technoblade was gone, pulling his cape around him tighter. It smelt like him, Tommy realized, some part of him incredibly gleeful at knowledge.

Tommy opened the book, gently flipping through the table of contents. He could remember Techno reading nearly all of them to him, but he was sure that some details had been omitted due to him being a literal child. Just like Tommy would do if he told the story of L'Manberg to a toddler, though he didn't know many toddlers. 

Tommy's eyes caught the story of Theseus, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel. He fit the story uncannily, in several unfortunate ways,  but he remembered Techno telling the story distinctly.

It hurt, thinking back to when his family was...well, family. They hadn't been one in so long, and Tommy wasn't sure if they ever had been in the first place, but what was done was done. 

There was no use in wasting time wishing for the impossible, after all.

Chapter Text

When Tommy was jolted awake by a nightmare that slipped from his fingertips the second he tried to remember it, he had no idea where he was. 

His mind was clouded in memories he didn't want to remember - flashes of images that had been ingrained into the back of his eyelids rudely making themselves known. Tommy's chest heaved with ragged breaths; eyes wide as tears pressed into the back of them. A cold sweat left him drenched as he frantically searched his surroundings - finally locking into where he was with the help of the fucking lamp, of all things. Tommy swallowed roughly, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to force himself to calm down. It took far longer than he wanted, but eventually the dull thud of his heart faded away into a more relaxed state - only a faint lingering anxiety remaining.

Tommy groaned softly, ears twitching absentmindedly as he fought the urge to itch at his skin. Claws were quite the inconvenience, as he had very quickly discovered when he became aware he had them. It was a struggle to get used to them - and the extra appendages that provided new places for unfamiliar sensations. Tommy had always prided himself on his ability to adapt (even if he tended to complain while doing so) so he supposed it wasn't the worst thing, but it was most certainly a change.

Lost in his thoughts, Tommy almost missed the sound of footsteps - almost. He stiffened, moving from his relaxed posture to something that was more professional so he didn't seem like he was trying to disrespect Technoblade.

Sure enough, there was a knock at the door a moment later - and then the door swung open to reveal Technoblade. His hair was ruffled with sleep, looking more unkempt than Tommy had ever seen it before. Staring would only bring forth punishment, so Tommy tore his gaze away - choosing to stare down at his hands instead as he waited for Technoblade to speak.

"Hey," Technoblade greeted awkwardly with a short wave. Tommy managed a weak smile as he averted his gaze once more, twisting the blanket in his hands as he tried to calm the stupid race of his heart. "Uh. I have breakfast? Downstairs." Technoblade said - sounding ever so slightly anxious, which was absurd. He was the one with the power here, he was the one who owned the house - Tommy couldn't say no to him, he had no reason to be unsure.

"Okay," Tommy nodded, reluctantly pulling himself out of bed on shaking legs. His tail whipped around behind him for balance as he stumbled forward - the feeling entirely foreign as he made his way forward. Technoblade offered him a tiny smile as he moved towards the stairs, and Tommy desperately tried to ignore the happiness the sight gave him. He nearly fell down the stairs because of his poor footing - but Technoblade's hand flew up to steady him much like last time. 

Tommy stayed quiet as he slid into the chair he had taken previously, fighting the urge to bounce his leg as he drummed his fingers on his thigh. He watched Technoblade's back as he got the soup ready for them to eat - and Tommy couldn't help but wonder if Technoblade had eaten anything aside from soup either. It was admittedly quite relaxing watching Technoblade bustle about the kitchen - but he eventually had to tear his gaze away to look down at the table as Technoblade approached. The bowl of soup was set in front of him with a quiet thud - and Tommy had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from jumping straight into shoveling it into his throat.

"You can uh, eat," Technoblade said after a moment of silence, and Tommy wasted no time in picking up the spoon and shoveling the soup into his mouth. It was warm, and tasted wonderfully delicious even as it burned his tongue. Technoblade laughed softly at him, and Tommy fought back the urge to glare at him or utter a playful phrase of anger like he used to. That was the past, and this was now. He had to be obedient so he wasn't hurt. 

Breakfast was a silent, awkward afare - and Tommy had to force himself to slow down at several points because of a nausea that had unfortunately decided to rear its ugly head. He managed to keep it down long enough to eat a decent portion of the soup, but the more he ate, the more uncomfortable he became.

Tommy's ears pressed tightly against his skull as he willed the swirling nausea to go away, you stupid fucker. Technoblade had been so kind to him his entire stay at his house - Tommy couldn't risk ending Technoblade's kindness by not finishing the meal he had made for him.

But the longer he stared at it, the more and more unappealing it looked to the churning in his gut. Tommy slowly lowered his spoon, pushing the chunks around absentmindedly as he tried to will himself to continue. The soup itself was more broth than anything, he noticed as he resolutely ignored the growing feeling of eyes on him, and it wasn't that hard to guess why. While Tommy hadn't explicitly told Technoblade that he had gone a while (an understatement) without a good diet, he didn't think it would be that hard to guess with how visible his bones were. 

After a horribly long while of silence, Tommy finally glanced up to see what Technoblade was doing, and found that he was staring directly at him. Tommy averted his gaze as soon as they locked eyes, grip on his spoon tightening as he tried to swallow down his panic. One day he would get the no eye contact thing down. One day.

"Are you okay?" Technoblade asked after a long moment. Tommy nodded stiffly, forcing his grip to relax as the need to run fluttered to life in his chest. Technoblade didn't say anything - continuing to stare at him silently: head tilted ever so slightly to the side in thought. Tommy fought to keep himself still, fighting the urge to blurt out an apology he knew would only bring him a scolding.

(Don't you ever speak out of turn, Dream's voice hissed in the back of his mind.)

"Do you not like it?" Technoblade guessed eventually. Tommy shook his head frantically as his heart jolted.

"No, it's good," Tommy rushed to say - and the best part was that he wasn't even lying. Technoblade was a good fucking cook, and Tommy would be lying if he didn't say it was one of the best meals he had been given in months. "I just, um…" Tommy swallowed roughly around the lump that had formed in his throat, staring down into his bowl. 

"Oh," Technoblade said a second later, as if had come to some great epiphany. He sat his spoon down as he added, "Can you not finish it?"

Tommy took in a steadying breath as he shook his head - hands starting to tremble where they were rested on the table. He clenched his hands into fists to try and calm himself, having to keep mind of his claws so he didn't cut his palms open (not that Tommy would mind, but he couldn't risk it).

"That's fine," Technoblade said easily. Tommy blinked up at him in surprise - momentarily forgetting he was supposed to not make eye contact - and Technoblade just shrugged. "I don't expect you to be able to finish everythin'. Don't want you to throw up or anythin', that'd be a mess to clean up."

Tommy nodded -  more to show he had heard Technoblade than anything - as he pulled his hands back to twist his fingers together in his lap. He hadn't expected it to be that easy, but then again, Technoblade had always been full of surprises. Tommy wasn't sure what to do with himself now that he was no longer eating because he hadn't dismissed nor given any direction. So Tommy made sure to not make too much noise as he sat there, tail tightly curled around his waist.

"You can go sit down somewhere more comfortable, if you want," Technoblade said after a long minute of uncomfortable silence. Tommy stiffened - because surely this was a test of his obedience - but Technoblade just went back to eating like nothing was wrong. And for him, Tommy supposed nothing really was wrong. Tommy took a few moments to breathe deeply, anxiety coursing through his veins at even the mere idea. He wanted to move, he did, but surely there was a catch. There was always a catch to these things.

Technoblade said nothing more as Tommy sat there, continuing to silently eat. It took an embarrassingly long moment for Tommy to realize that Technoblade likely wouldn't get mad at him . It was probably an order disguised as a suggestion anway, Tommy told himself, ignoring the desperate pleading in the back of his mind that screamed but what if it wasn't. He knew the chances were slim to none - but he couldn't help but think maybe, maybe, it really had been a suggestion. With so many - too many, nasty things that dug up old memories and rubbed salt into old wounds - thoughts racing through his mind, Tommy stood up.

Technoblade didn't even look up from his soup as Tommy stumbled over to the couch on shaking legs - practically collapsing into its soft material. Technoblade's cloak was still piled onto the cushions, and Tommy didn't hesitate to grab it, making sure he was extra careful to not to tear at the material with his claws as he pulled it towards him. Tommy wrapped it around his shoulders, burying his face into the soft fluff of collar and pulling the soft inner lining against him. The weight over his shoulder and back was nice, comforting; the smell of copper (blood, his mind whispered) and paper and burning wood and Techno invading his nose as he pressed his face against it - soft fur tickling the back of his neck.

Tommy sunk further into the couch, curling up as much as he could manage to try and absorb the cloak's warmth, finally feeling relaxed. His stomach had finally started to calm from the nausea of before and he was pleasantly full - if bordering on a little too full. The fireplace crackled quietly in front of him, and the only other sound was their quiet breathing.

The book he had been reading before was resting on the cushion next to him, innocently lying there. Tommy had nothing to do anyways, and he would rather busy his mind with fantastical worlds outside his own than dare to think about his reality for even a moment. So Tommy reached over and pulled it towards him, happily returning to reading.

It was later when Tommy brushed his bangs out of his eyes with an irritated huff for what felt like the millionth time. He tried to focus back on the page, but his hair fell back down a moment. Tommy scowled down at the page in front of him - growling slightly as he shoved the loose strands behind his ear. For a few moments, it seemed to be fixed, and Tommy happily returned to reading. But of course, because Tommy couldn't have nice things, it didn't last - and soon enough his hair was sliding back into his face. 

All calm abandoned, Tommy bared his teeth, using both his hands to try and stuff the annoying strands behind his eyes. All he had been trying to do was continue where he had left off in the book Technoblade had given him, but of course he had to face a problem as irritating as his hair falling into his face. Tommy wasn't allowed to have one good thing, clearly.

"You need help with that?" Technoblade asked suddenly from behind him, and Tommy jumped, nearly dropping his book as his mood did a complete 180.

"With what?" Tommy asked as he twisted around to face him. His heart rate refused to settle from the scare despite how hard he tried to even out his breathing, and Tommy could only pray his fear wasn't visible. 

"Your hair," Technoblade elaborated as he set a bowl down on the counter. "It's getting in your way, right?"

Tommy nodded slowly, unsure of what Technoblade was trying to ask of him. 

"You want me to put it up for you?" Technoblade offered. Tommy blinked at him. Surely Technoblade wasn't actually offering to do that….right?

"If you want to," Tommy said after a moment of thought. It would be nice, but…he couldn't just ask for it, that would be ridiculous. Making requests in general was bad enough - but asking for a want rather than a need was practically a death sentence. 

Technoblade frowned slightly at his words, and Tommy's mind whirled with several undesirable thoughts because had that been the wrong answer? 

Technoblade said nothing, walking around the counter. Tommy fought not to shrink back as he approached, carefully placing the bookmark back into his book. Tommy gently set it to the side as Techno rounded the couch, heart leaping into his throat at the proximity.

"Scooch," Technoblade said with a wave of a hair brush Tommy must have missed him grabbing on his way over. Tommy complied obediently, sliding across the couch to allow Technoblade to settle down. Technoblade reached out, twisting Tommy so his back was facing him - and Tommy accepted the manhandling without complaint. Tommy gulped quietly as Technoblade pulled his cape down from where it rested on Tommy's shoulder so it pooled around his lower back, leaving his upper half exposed to a chill.

Technoblade gently ran his brush through Tommy's hair, not pulling too hard on any tangles like Tubbo always would. The bristles pressed into Tommy's scalp and brushed against his neck, and he couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sensation. It was nice - almost unreasonably so - as the brush went by with soft passes. Technoblade was careful to not unnecessarily jab his ears, maneuvering around them with ease. Tommy felt himself leaning into the touch as Technoblade placed a hand on his shoulder blade to keep him still. 

His head tingled pleasantly at the pure domesticity of the moment, and something in Tommy's chest rumbled again: creeping up the back of his throat and fighting to be freed. Tommy choked it down, refusing to let whatever it was ruin the moment he had worked hard to get. 

The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the gentle sound of the brush passing through his hair. Tommy's eyes slipped shut on their own accord, weighed down by the heaviness of months of restless nights. He wanted the moment to last forever, where he was finally relaxed and safe from all the horrors of reality of the outside world, but of course, eventually it had to end.

Technoblade set the brush to the side once he was clearly satisfied, and despite knowing there was more, Tommy couldn't stop the sharp pang of disappointment. Technoblade's returned almost immediately, gently gathering Tommy's hair in a bunch - fingers trailing against Tommy's neck as they passed. Goosebumps raised on Tommy's back as Technoblade began to braid his hair with a speed and care that was surely only born out of years of practice. His hand kept brushing against the back of Tommy's neck, and it was so nice.

The rumbling in his chest grew more intense, trying to force its way past his lips. Tommy fought against it, feeling almost like he was choking, and then Technoblade's thumb brushed across the base of his ear, and Tommy gasped quietly - a short, stuttering thing he practically choked down. The rumbling sound forced its way out in a short, bubbling burst, but it was still quiet enough that Tommy didn't think it would be heard as long as he kept forcing it down with all his effort.

Technoblade didn't say anything, silently continuing to braid his hair. Tommy prayed he didn't notice, leaning back into his hands slightly. He hated how nice the moment was, because he knew it wouldn't last, Technoblade would finish the braid and move on with his life, and all of the joy would dissipate like nothing had happened. 

Tommy had thought that he had gotten away with it, and then Technoblade's hands paused in his hair.

"Are you purring?" Technoblade asked in disbelief. Tommy froze , ears twisting back as his heart stopped.

"Um." Tommy desperately searched for something to say, a response to explain himself, but the words froze in his throat and an overwhelming panic overshadowed conscious thought, because he had fucked up again – and then there was a hand scratching at his ear and Tommy melted. Tommy found himself pressing his head into his hand with an aggressive he hadn't had the willpower to summon in months, his purr growing so loud Tommy's entire frail frame shook under the weight of it. It felt so nice, so unreasonably nice, and Tommy never wanted Technoblade's hand to leave (and when was the last time Tommy had been given a hug, a brush of hands, any friendly human contact at all? )

"I didn't know raccoons could purr," Technoblade said with a huff of mild surprise - returning to braiding his hair a moment later like nothing had happened, like it was something that was just- okay . Tommy blinked at the wall across from him, still expecting a reprimand or punishment or something, but nothing happened. 

Tommy remained panicked for a horribly long moment, before he finally allowed his shoulders to sag. There was no real point in worrying - Technoblade clearly didn't care. So Tommy let the purr that was rumbling in his chest continue on despite the embarrassment and lingering fear it brought him. Technoblade made no further comment - continuing to silently braid Tommy's hair.

He finished all too soon, and Tommy could feel the weight of the braid drop against his shoulders. It was an odd feeling - yet another thing he'd have to get used to - but it was far from the worst thing he'd endured. 

Technoblade pulled away, twisting Tommy back around to give him a once over. Satisfied with his work, Technoblade nodded.

"That should help," Technoblade said, his voice coated in amusement. Tommy smiled back. 

"Thank you," he murmured shyly. Technoblade's wry smile shifted ever so slightly at the words - turning into something softer; something Tommy would dare to call fond.

"Of course," Technoblade said, and that was that. A moment later, he stood, moving out of Tommy's field of view. Tommy tried his best not to be disappointed by the action - hiking Technoblade's cloak back up around his shoulders and returning to his book. Tommy couldn’t stop himself from ghosting a hand over his braid, a tiny smile remaining plastered to his face as he returned to reading. And maybe Technoblade really did have different rules than Dream or even Wilbur had. And maybe.

Maybe. Maybe, things wouldn't be so bad. 

(So close by yet so far away, a wide eyed child collapsed to his knees - shadowed by a tower that creeped into the smokey skyline.)