Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Only the sea is enough to comfort him.

Tommy walks his beach, hands shoved in his faded blue shorts. There is nothing to scavenge today as the sun sinks into the shimmering sea. A warm breeze ruffles his golden hair, the sky bleeding from pinks and oranges to a dark, hazy blue. It is days like these and the sunsets like this that he doesn’t envy the blizzard choked kingdom to the north. Its citizens know nothing of the ocean’s salt on your tongue and the sun’s warmth on your skin as she whispers goodnight. 

The waves gently lick at the sand as he carefully steps over snails and crabs alike, scurrying to find a new home before the moon raises her curtains. Tommy envies these creatures and their ability to pick up and leave, the homes on their backs a happy burden to bear. 

The world has not treated him so kindly before, forcing him to seek this seaside refuge. 

As he climbs the hill to his home, his cow, Henry, calls out from the pasture. Tommy smiles at the fireflies lighting his path to the field as he runs to his pet, arms outstretched. Henry moos softly, knocking his head into Tommy’s chest as the boy strokes him gently. The moon takes her place in the sky as her chorus of stars sing a lullaby to the world below them. Tommy walks his cow to the barn, kissing his head goodnight.

He returns to his cabin and begins his dinner. There was talk in the village of war coming to their shores; of feuding gods controlling the royals like puppets. Tommy was never one to believe in myths anyway, as he has seen the power of the earth, sky, and sea. Nature yields to no demon, titan, or cruel god, no matter how hard they try to bend her elements to their will.

This still holds true as thunder rumbles off in the distance. Tommy peers out his window into the black night, catching a glimpse of clouds gathering for an imperial march. They hang just out of reach, gripping the ocean in their lightning strike fists. He shivers as he watches the waves rise and fall, never once stopping to consider their destruction. Tommy returns to his dinner, taking careful bites of stew as he reads over a tattered, worn book.

The storm comes swiftly. It batters the cabin with bruised fists, the rain screaming obscenities at the sandy shore. Tommy sings himself to sleep as the walls cave in, until it stops like a terrible crescendo in an off-key symphony. The waves rise and fall, angry and unforgiving as they slam against the cliffs. Even the life that resides in the sea cowers in fear. 

It is a long night.

The sun rises slowly, creeping out from behind the mountains that lay north; frightened of the storm that laid waste to the land. Tommy rises with the fearful daylight, slipping into fresh linens and scrambling downstairs before taking a bucket by his front door. He swings it at his side as he walks to the beach to scavenge materials left behind from the brutal monsoon. 

He walks upon the cold, wet sand, careful to avoid groggy crabs. He stoops to gather glistening shells, gently setting them into the bottom of his pail. Tommy admires the shimmering sea as her waves crash softly against the shore, the storm all but forgotten. There is not much of a haul, much to Tommy’s disappointment. A few glass bottles, splintered pieces of wood, and sea glass lay sadly in his bucket. He throws a rock back to the sea before turning to continue on his walk. 

He squints at a large shape on the beach in the distance, a seabird hopping about nearby. Tommy grips his pail tightly as he pushes himself to sprint, heels digging into the soaked sand. As he approaches the mass, he can make out dark blue fabric and he expects that it’s an old jacket, something that he can salvage, sew, and trade for food.

His hopes die in his throat as he comes to the mass’s side and discovers that it’s not just a jacket… but a person. A man with wet, dark brown curls pressed to his pale forehead. His face rests in the sand, eyes closed, almost as if he’s asleep. The waves lap gently at his still ankles and for a moment, Tommy is afraid. His heart beats wildly in his ribcage and he worries that he has just stumbled upon a dead man. 

He stares at the stranger’s chest and waits. Silence. Another moment.

The man’s chest rises and falls faintly, and Tommy is grateful. Grateful that he does not have to run into the village and wake up Sam to dispose of a poor soul’s body.

He sets his bucket down, collected items all but forgotten as he bends to pick up the man. Tommy lifts his chest and slings a damp, jacketed arm over his shoulders as he begins to drag the man back to his cabin on the hill. A breeze, not one of warmth, dances along the shore, licking at Tommy’s hair playfully as he struggles to help the sea-flung stranger.

Tommy kicks his door open, flinging the stranger onto his couch before he goes upstairs for medical supplies. He gathers bandages and splints before returning to his living room and pulling a chair over to the stranger on his couch.

“Right so…” Tommy says nervously, “This is going to be extremely awkward for me.”

He carefully unbuttons the man’s jacket and then the white, sea-soaked shirt beneath it. Tommy winces at the large bruises that bloom on the stranger’s chest, all in various healing stages. Scars, new and old, race along his pale skin like the sky flung lightning bolts directly through his chest. Tommy stares in quiet awe at a particularly large burn scar on the man’s side.

Tommy finds that the left arm is definitely fractured and his ribs aren’t in the best of shape. He gently wraps the man’s chest with bandages and sets his arm in a splint.

“I am not removing your pants. That’s a job for you to do when you wake up.”

He sits back, admiring his handiwork and staring at the man’s chest to ensure that he is, in fact, still alive. Tommy takes the salt-soaked clothes in his arms and carries them off to be cleaned, grabbing a bar of soap from his cupboard.

He takes the laundry through the dark forest behind his house. The trail through the wood is nearly gone now, choked with weeds and budding flowers. Tommy doesn’t pay the plants any attention, he used to be quite fond of flowers, but that is in the past now.

The trees grow thicker, their trunks large and bursting with age and wisdom as he walks deeper into the forest. The insects that buzzed at the front of the grove where the sun still poked through a thin canopy of leaves have long since fallen silent. Tommy doesn’t mind the quiet.

Finally, he approaches the old, crumbling stone well. He pushes aside wild vines adorned with small purple violets before he begins to crank the wheel. While Tommy waits for the familiar sound of the bucket splashing into water below, he wonders about the man in his house. 

Where did he come from? How did he end up in the sea? Did he do something to deserve the storm that flung him onto Tommy’s beach? Is he a sign of something greater to come?

Tommy feels the pail grow heavy as it tips, water rushing inside. He begins to turn the wheel again, the cold water sloshing over the sides as the bucket makes its journey back to the surface. Tommy unhooks the metal cask and hoists it over to a mossy patch underneath a great, billowing dark oak tree.

He dunks the grime covered white shirt into the water first. He scrubs at rusted red stains until his fingers are raw and red. The clear water slowly turns brown and muddied before Tommy moves onto the deep, midnight blue jacket. Judging by the looks of it, it was some kind of military uniform. He scrubs at it roughly, the water grows more and more dirty and his hands ache and ache. 

Finally, he is finished. He lays out both pieces of clothing on the moss as he takes the water to the cliff-side. He tosses the bucket, watching the muddy brown stream flow down to the ocean’s waves that wait for it hungrily. 

He returns to the forest and scoops up the wet clothes, carrying them out of the cool, shaded trees and into the glaring sun. He hangs up the jacket and shirt on the clothesline in his fields, before his eyes catch a white, blurred label. It says, Wilbur’s, and Tommy looks back to his home where the stranger lies unconscious on his couch. He must be Wilbur, then.

Tommy walks to the stables to let Henry out. His cow moos in irritation as Tommy unhooks the stall door. The chickens sit soundly in their coop, gentle clucks and hoots coming from inside. Tommy rubs Henry’s head as they walk to the damp pasture, cold raindrops cause goosebumps to rise on the teenager’s legs. 

“I’m sorry, big man, I know I’m late. I went to the beach to look for shit to trade in the village but I found a dead guy- well, I thought he was dead.”

Henry stares at him, tail flicking behind him. Tommy hangs his head. 

“I brought him back to the house because if I just left him there, then he probably would’ve died anyway.”

Henry licks his hand. Tommy scoffs.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m that great of a person.” He smiles, “But thank you, big guy.”

The rest of the day is relatively normal. Tommy feeds his chickens and chases away the rooster when he gets too arrogant. He walks his fields, checking on carrots and potatoes and strawberries, assuring that the storm hasn’t over-flooded his crops. The man called Wilbur sleeps soundly when Tommy comes in for lunch, not even stirring when the teenager drops a large pan and lets out a string of words that even the gods would be offended by.

Tommy sits at Wilbur’s bedside nervously all that night, afraid that if he leaves for even a moment, the man’s lungs would expel their last breath and he would return to a cold, heavy body. Luckily, no such thing happens and the next morning, while Tommy eats breakfast at his table, Wilbur wakes up with a series of pained groans.

His voice is hoarse and dry. “What the fuck?”

Tommy’s mouth hangs open as his egg slips off his fork. He rises quickly, chair tumbling backwards behind him as he rushes to the living room. Wilbur slowly sits up on the couch, grimacing as he wraps his right arm around his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, stop moving!” Tommy cries. “Your arm and ribs are still fucked up, mate.”

Bruises bloom under his bandages, Tommy needs to change them today. Wilbur stares at him, dark eyes unnaturally focused in the shining gold sunlight that streams in through the windows; as if Tommy was a particularly interesting book he was quietly picking apart in his head. Sweat pours down his face. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he accuses.

Tommy crouches beside him, gently patting his forehead with a cold rag from the cauldron. “I’m Tommy. You washed up on my beach a few days ago.”

Wilbur lays back, sighing in relief as Tommy cools him down. “My ship…”

“There was no ship, mate. Just you and your disgusting clothes- which I washed, by the way.”

Wilbur simply glances at him. Tommy stops, pulling back the cloth, offended. The other man’s mouth parts, but cries of protest die on his tongue as he murmurs something else instead:

“Water…”

Tommy stands up quickly. “Oh, right. I’ve got some fresh in my cauldron. Could you wait a moment?”

Wilbur nods weakly. Tommy smiles as he dashes off to his kitchen, prying open a cabinet and dunking a glass bottle inside the kettle. He carries it back to the living room and sets it on the table beside Wilbur.

“You’ve got to sit up a little more first,” he says, helping the older man rise. He then takes the glass and thrusts it into Wilbur’s uninjured hand. 

Tommy sits back while Wilbur drinks greedily. He gulps the water down and Tommy tries not to imagine the salt water that forced its way down his throat two nights earlier. Tommy reaches over and takes the unfinished bottle from Wilbur’s grip.

“I wasn’t done,” Wilbur pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Oh, I know,” Tommy says coolly. “But you haven’t eaten anything in Prime knows how long so consuming a fuck ton of water right now is definitely going to hurt you more than it’ll help you.”

Wilbur looks around the small house. “What do you suggest I eat then?”

“Well,” Tommy says as he returns to the kitchen, “I’ve got some scrambled eggs and bacon. Or could I make you something else?”

Wilbur sits up even further, grimacing as more pain shoots about in places he wasn’t aware of. He swings his legs over the side of the couch, feels smooth, hardwood floor on his bare feet; and he thinks he can definitely manage this. He slowly pushes himself off the couch, wobbling for a moment before he begins to fall forward; careening right for the coffee table. 

“Wilbur? Oh mate, what the fuck are you doing?”

Tommy rushes at him. Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut, embracing for waves of pain that are sure to come once he crashes into the table in front of him. But nothing ever does. He opens one eye carefully.

Tommy has caught him, one arm holding his chest up and the other, his uninjured right shoulder. Wilbur stares down at the pissed off teenager who in turn, glares at him.

“How do you know my name?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy straightens himself up, letting the other man lean into him. “I saw it written on the tag in your jacket when I was hanging it up to dry. What the hell were you thinking?”

Wilbur nods thoughtfully before turning his gaze to the window beside Tommy’s dining table. “I wanted to look outside,” he says simply.

Tommy stares at him. “You could’ve just said so, big guy.”

The two shuffle across Tommy’s small living area together, the younger boy doing most of the work while Wilbur simply leans against him. Tommy gently sets Wilbur into the chair closest to the glass and the man’s brown curls flutter in the soft breeze that flits through the open window.

Tommy moves to the kitchen, watching Wilbur out of the corner of his eye. The other man stares out the window, eyes almost glazed over as he watches the ocean’s waves crash against the shore. Butterflies and bumblebees flit lazily about the meadow, stopping to take rests on budding orange and yellow flowers. The sky is cloudless and clear, a shield that protects the earth from the black void above.

“Do you want bacon or eggs?” Tommy asks from the counter, spatula raised above the pan. “I’m also roasting some rabbit but that’s for dinner.”

Wilbur doesn’t look away from the window. “Eggs and bacon, if you don’t mind,” he says.

Tommy nods, shoveling eggs and slices of meat onto a chipped blue plate. He pulls a bottle of milk from the ice chest and grabs some silverware from a nearby drawer. He carries it over to Wilbur and slides it in front of him. Wilbur finally tears his eyes away from the scenery outside.

“This is a lot of food…” he trails off nervously. 

Tommy sits down across from him with his own meal, scooping an egg onto his fork before shoving it into his mouth. “Yeah well,” he says around the yolk, “I always make more than enough.”

Wilbur nods. “An old habit?”

“...No. In case I’ve got guests,” Tommy says. “Food brings people together.”

“Perhaps.”

They slip into silence while they both dig into their meals. Wilbur finds that he is indeed quite hungry. His stomach aches, a wide, gaping cavern demanding to be filled immediately. Tommy watches in quiet awe as Wilbur digs in, scarfing down his food in only a few minutes.

“Figured you were hungry,” Tommy smiles as he takes the clean plate away. Wilbur downs the milk and slides the glass across the table with a sigh.

“Yeah, well-” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand- “you figured right.”

Tommy dunks an egg covered plate into his cauldron, wiping it down with a rag. Wilbur watches him in silent fascination as a lazy breeze wafts through the window. 

“I’ve got to change your bandages today,” Tommy says.

“I can do that myself.”

Tommy scoffs. “Sure you can, if you want to fracture your arm even further.”

Wilbur glances down at the splint and white sheet that holds his injured arm. He sighs.

“At least it isn’t my dominant,” he says. “That would be shit, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it would.”

They fall into an awkward silence. Wilbur looks around the kitchen and living room. There’s a large bookcase groaning with the weight of being overstuffed in the living area. A couch and two grand chairs sit around a slab of wood, the coffee table. From the looks of the cabinets in the kitchen, there are four plates, four glasses, and four bowls. Behind him is a staircase that leads up into a black pit. This house certainly wasn’t made for just one boy.

“Where is your family?”

Tommy freezes. The plate in his hands falls into the soapy water and little waves slosh over the sides of the cauldron. He puts the rag at the kettle’s edge and turns away.

“I’ve got to check on Henry,” he says stiffly.

Wilbur has definitely hit a nerve. He watches as Tommy rushes out of the house through the back door, running to a field beside the cabin where a single cow basks in the sun. The cow must be Henry. Tommy wraps his arms around Henry’s neck and buries his face into his fur before leading him out of the pasture and into the forest, their silhouettes disappearing in the dark wood. 

He does not return until the moon hangs high in the sky.

Chapter Text

“I’m back,” Tommy says as he kicks his shoes off at the front door. There is no response.

“Wilbur?” He turns around. 

His eyes adjust to the dim light, the lanterns in the house have burned low. Wilbur is slumped over the table, still in the same spot he was when Tommy ran out of the house earlier that day. Tommy rushes over to him.

“Wilbur? Are you alright?”

He groans as he sits up slowly. “It’s about time you’re back,” he says gruffly.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Tommy fusses. He grabs some extra bandages and a cloth from the kitchen counter before pulling out a chair beside Wilbur. “Henry went and got his head stuck in a treehole so I had to get him out- turn towards me please.”

Wilbur huffs and turns his body to face Tommy. He keeps his head turned away, staring grimly out the window. Tommy works carefully, gently unwrapping the old bandages and taking an assessment of the wounds before cleaning them with the cold cloth.

“How are you so good at this?” Wilbur asks suddenly.

“Good at what?”

Wilbur hisses as Tommy gently presses the rag into a fresh cut. “You know… dressing wounds… treating them and shit.”

Tommy goes still for a moment and Wilbur worries that he’s hit another nerve and that the boy will go flying out the door again. Then he feels the cloth on his chest again and Tommy sighs.

“I don’t know. Experience, I guess.”

Wilbur nods, deciding not to press any further, and they slip into silence again. Tommy gently wraps his abdomen with bandages, careful to avoid any places that weren’t injured. He doesn’t rewrap Wilbur’s chest.

“You forgot my-”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. You need to give that tissue a break from being confined.”

Wilbur nods hesitantly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Here,” Tommy digs around in his pockets before pulling out a jar of greens. He holds out a hand, dumping a few crumpled leaves into Wilbur’s palm. “Eat them.”

“What?”

Tommy stands up to put the bandages away. “Eat the leaves, Wil.”

“You don’t know me well enough to call me that. I hate salad, by the way.”

Tommy laughs. “Okay, Wil. Let me know how you feel in an hour.” 

“Why?”

Tommy turns around. “That salad is a pain reliever. Fresh matsu leaves from the forest.”

Wilbur squints at him. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

“What could I gain out of poisoning you?” Tommy deadpans. “Besides, if I wanted to kill you with plants, I would’ve put some roka shavings in your breakfast this morning.”

Wilbur stares at him. “What the fuck is roka?”

“Eat the damn leaves if you don’t want to find out.”

Wilbur places the leaves on his tongue and swallows. He blanches and waves at Tommy for a glass of water.

“Already on it, boss man.”

Tommy fills a glass using clean water from his cauldron before sliding it across the table towards Wilbur. Tommy slides in across from him and waits patiently while he drinks.

“So, are you hungry for dinner?”

Wilbur glances at him as he sets the glass down. “Bit late for a meal, isn’t it?”

“There are no rules in Logstedshire,” Tommy shrugs as he stands. He takes a red apron from a hook next to the back door and wraps it around his waist. “I’m gonna make a pot of rabbit stew if you want some.”

Wilbur nods absentmindedly. “Is that where I am? Logstedshire?”

“Yup!” Tommy yelps as he lights the stove. “I take it you’re not from here, then?”

“I’m not,” Wilbur shakes his head. “You said that a ship didn’t wash up with me?”

Tommy bustles around the kitchen, grabbing a pot that was hanging above him and filling it with the last bit of water from the cauldron. He sets it on the open flame before taking some potatoes, carrots, and mushrooms out of the ice chest, and laying them on a flat cutting board. His hand flits over a modest knife block before he chooses one and begins to chop.

“It was just you, mate,” he says. “Why are you so worried about a ship anyway?”

Wilbur sighs. “Because it wasn’t mine.”

“You stole it?” 

“It was my kingdom’s,” he says sullenly. “I’m the leading general- or… was, I guess.”

Tommy sets the knife aside and grabs another rag. He opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of warm, cut up pieces of meat. The heavenly smell quickly fills the house and Wilbur finds himself drooling.

Tommy knocks the door closed with his hip and sets the tray down on the counter. “Really? A general?”

Wilbur nods, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth. “We’re at war with a rival kingdom. There’s talk amongst the ranks that we’re really fighting in a war between gods but who knows. We were returning home after a particularly nasty battle and-”

“Shit!” Tommy interrupts him as boiling water sloshes over the sides of his pot. He hurries over to the stove with a lid, the meat, and his vegetables, hastily dumping the food in. 

Wilbur sits up. “Do you need help?”

Tommy waves him off as he stirs the stew around. “I’m alright, don’t worry. Sorry, big man, continue. Did you win the fight?”

“It wasn’t just a schoolyard ring,” Wilbur grits his teeth. “It was a battle; and no… we lost.”

Tommy gently sets the lid on the pot as he leans against the counter. “Yikes. Sorry about that.”

Wilbur shrugs. “Nothing you could’ve done about it. We were fighting on enemy soil and losing badly, so I made the call to retreat. Of course, at that moment, a huge storm rolled in.”

Tommy nods. “I was making dinner when I saw the clouds in the distance. The wind gave me a bloody hard time falling asleep.”

“So, we’re trying to return home in this hellish storm and I see one of my ships just… sink into the waves beside us. The enemy had followed us out to sea; they wanted rid of us completely.”

Tommy stays silent. He removes the lid off the pot and gives the stew a quick stir before covering it back up again. He turns back to Wilbur, arm’s crossed over his chest.

“They ambushed you?” he asks quietly.

Wilbur nods. “A huge wave overturned my ship and I watched my men go flying. I fell into the water and… I remember resurfacing for a moment and seeing flames, watching my ship turn to splinters in the wind. Then everything goes black.”

Tommy doesn’t speak again. He and Wilbur sit in the heavy, tense atmosphere as he busies himself with ladling stew into two bowls. He pulls two spoons from a drawer and brings the silverware over to the table. He slides one bowl in front of Wilbur and the other across from him.

“Eat up,” he says as he grabs Wilbur’s glass and refills it. “You need to start rebuilding your strength early on.”

Wilbur picks up his spoon and drowns it in the broth. His mouth waters as he brings the brimming meal to his lips and a rich, earthy scent fills his nose. Tommy unties his apron and drapes it over the back of a chair before taking a cold can from the ice chest.

“Is it good?” he asks as he slides into his seat. The can’s label reads something in a language Wilbur doesn’t recognize.

He nods as he chews, nearly melting. “You’re an amazing cook,” he says around the food in his mouth. “How long have you been doing this?”

Tommy pauses. “What? Cooking?” He shrugs. “I dunno… a while, I guess.”

Wilbur swallows. “It’s certainly paid off.”

They eat in comfortable silence, the only sound in the house is that of their spoons clinking against the sides of their bowls. Wilbur looks out the window into the dark night. He sits up a little, heart leaping to his throat. 

“There’s a light out on the water,” he warns.

Tommy doesn’t move. “Yeah. One of the guys from the village, Ponk.”

“But, the sea…” Wilbur doesn’t tear his eyes from the window. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh, of course it is,” Tommy snorts. “Ponk knows that, he lost an arm to one of the beasts out there when he was fifteen.”

Wilbur nods slowly, hesitantly, before returning back to his meal. Tommy finishes his bowl, downs whatever is in the can and stands up. He takes his dishes to the empty cauldron and dumps them in. Wilbur watches as Tommy finds a rag in a drawer and starts wiping down the counters.

“Come to think of it,” Wilbur says, “how old are you, Tommy?”

The boy tosses his head back and laughs before turning around. “I’m sixteen,” he says, leaning against the counter. “What about you, Mr. War General?”

Wilbur chuckles dryly. “Twenty four.”

Tommy lifts an eyebrow. “That’s awfully young to be a general, isn’t it?”

“You’re awfully young to be on your own, aren’t you?” Wilbur shoots back.

Tense silence wraps itself around the cabin, squeezing the air out of Wilbur’s lungs. Tommy’s face hardens as he turns around and starts scrubbing viciously at the counter with his rag. The walls press in and Wilbur slides his bowl to the edge of the table. 

They sit in the quiet for what feels like hours, Tommy cleaning and scrubbing at every surface in his kitchen while Wilbur sits helplessly at the table by the window. He fidgets with his hands, mindlessly tracing pale scars and old callouses.

“My kingdom is gorgeous,” he says softly. “It sits right by the sea, sort of like Logstedshire, and huge ships come in and out of the harbor all the time.”

Tommy says nothing. 

“My men and I like to watch the docks from our places on the wall. Seeing all the people mill about, trading wares, and shouting in different languages… it’s a beautiful thing.”

Tommy nods. “I miss that,” he murmurs. 

Wilbur doesn't pry. He can’t risk the boy running off into the night. Instead he folds his hands together and looks out the window, imagining that he is home.

“I met a gorgeous woman at this booth in the docks,” he says. “Her name was Sally and she had the most beautiful red hair I’ve ever seen.”

“What did she sell?” Tommy asks. “I bet it was jewelry.”

Wilbur snorts. “Not all women like jewelry. No, she was selling knives.”

“Never trust a bitch with knives, Wil,” Tommy says knowingly. “She won’t hesitate to cut your heart out.”

“And I would thank her,” Wilbur retorts. “She was very nice and we had started seeing each other in the kingdom after my shifts at the castle.”

Tommy grins. “A secret love affair?”

Wilbur flushes. “We aren’t dating or anything like that.”

“Ah, but you want to date her, don’t you?”

“I- I wouldn’t mind,” Wilbur stammers. “She would make a wonderful mother.”

Tommy gasps. “A mother?! You’ve even considered marrying her!”

“No, I haven’t!” Wilbur cries, although his crimson face gives him away.

Tommy laughs and takes Wilbur’s arm, helping him stand and together they walk back to the couch. Tommy gently lowers Wilbur onto the cushions before searching the bottom level for a blanket.

“Can’t I sleep upstairs?” Wilbur peers around him, pointing to the aged steps. “You must have an extra room or something.”

Tommy shakes his head as he straightens up from a cupboard, two quilts in hand. “You’re too weak to walk alone. Can’t have you breaking your neck coming down the stairs for a glass of water or something.”

Wilbur pouts. Tommy grins as he tucks one blanket under his arm and spreads the other out over Wilbur. The older man lays back as the blue fabric covers him like a royal robe. 

“Aren’t we going to get hot?” he asks. 

Tommy jumps into a nearby chair and swings his legs over one arm. “Nope!” he exclaims while covering himself with the other blanket. “Believe me, the nights here are cold.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep upstairs?”

“Full of questions, aren’t you?” Tommy teases. “I’m sleeping down here for the next few days in case you try something stupid… like standing up on your own.”

Wilbur scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re quite an annoying child, you know that?” 

Tommy smiles. “Another question, big man. Got any more?”

“Are you going to blow out the lanterns?”

Tommy looks around the downstairs area. Most of them were already put out, melted down into nothing as pale white smoke curls into their glass prisons. The few that still burned were low and would burn out as they slept. He shakes his head and leans into the back of his chair. 

“No. They’ll go out soon enough.”

Wilbur nods. “Goodnight, Tommy,” he says. There is no response. 

“Tommy?” He looks over.

In the faint candle light, Tommy’s features look softer, younger. His eyelids are fluttering closed and Wilbur notes the faint puffs of his breath- he’s nearly asleep, head lolling against his chest. 

“Goodnight…” Tommy murmurs.

Wilbur smiles and looks up at the ceiling and for once in his life; he falls asleep in silence. There are no swords clashing or cannons firing; he finally feels safe.

Chapter Text

Wilbur wakes up to Tommy screaming.

He sits up swiftly, wincing as his body aches. He squints into the dark, the candles have burned out and only a sliver of moonlight offers a murky image. Tommy squirms and shakes in the chair beside the couch. It’s incoherent, mostly shouts and half-formed words weighed down by sleep.

“Tommy?”

Long, skinny legs kick out fearfully, fists raised to fight off an imaginary attacker as he shouts. Wilbur swings his own legs over the side of the couch, feet hitting the cold floor as he leans forward, shaking Tommy’s shoulder desperately.

“Tommy! Wake up!”

The blonde surges forward, eyes wide and wild. His chest heaves as he takes in large gulps of air. Wilbur leans forward a little more, his hand drifting from Tommy’s shoulder to his back. 

“You’re alright,” he murmurs while rubbing small, gentle circles on the boy’s back. “Just a bad dream, yeah?”

Tommy gulps and nods. 

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s none of your business,” he says shortly, falling back into the chair. Wilbur’s hand is pulled back into his lap as he shrugs.

“If you say so.” He picks his legs up onto the couch and lays back again. His hand rests across his stomach and Wilbur has never felt more glad to feel it move in time with his breathing. They sit in silence for a moment before Tommy groans. He tosses his blanket aside and gets up, stretching lanky arms in the air. Wilbur sits up on his elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

Tommy glances at him. “I’m not sleeping,” he mutters, walking to the front door. “I’ll be on the beach if you need me.”

“No.”

He turns around, incredulously. “What?”

Wilbur stares at him, defiant. “You’re not going anywhere at this hour. Get back in bed.”

“You’re not my dad,” Tommy scoffs. “Besides, did that storm knock your hearing out too? I said, I’m not sleeping.”

“I heard what you said,” Wilbur challenges. “But you’re going to need your rest if you expect to nurse me back to health. Get back in bed.”

Tommy crosses his arms. “No.”

Wilbur smirks. “Then I’ll drag your ass back into that chair.”

“You can’t stand on your own,” Tommy dismisses. “You’ll simply fall and I’ll have to rescue you again.”

Wilbur shrugs as he tosses his own blanket aside and sits up. His ribs groan and the arm in a splint throbs dully. His feet hit the floor and his fingers dig into the couch as he slowly pushes himself off. He grits his teeth as his legs shake and he teeters in the air awkwardly. Then, he turns towards Tommy and takes a small, tentative step forward.

The room spins and suddenly, he’s back on the couch, Tommy squawking angrily at his side while he inspects the general for any new injuries.

“Are you fucking mad? Perhaps you are a little hard of hearing; what did I tell you would happen?” 

Wilbur looks at him, a spark in his eyes. “Will you go to sleep now?”

Tommy growls. “Fine! I’ll go back to sleep as long as you stop trying to stand.”

“Deal.”

The two settle in once again. It’s silent for a few minutes, the air filled with just the sounds of their quiet breathing before Tommy turns his face towards Wilbur’s.

“Wil,” he whispers. “Wilbur.”

He sighs. “What is it, Tommy?”

“I can’t sleep, I-” he breathes in shakily- “I’m afraid.”

Wilbur studies the ceiling. “Is it the nightmares?”

Tommy gulps and nods.

“Fine.”

Wilbur closes his eyes and takes a deep, controlled breath in before exhaling softly. Tommy observes him from the chair, arms tucked under his cheek. The slice of moonlight paints the older man in a gentle, silvery glow. He begins to sing. His voice is deep and controlled as he murmurs out lyrics to old songs he thought he had forgotten. Tommy yawns and rolls over, burying himself under his blanket. Wilbur’s mouth twitches upwards as he sings, glancing over at the top of Tommy’s head. The boy’s quilt rises and falls evenly and for once, Wilbur is glad to have taken singing lessons at the palace. He closes his own eyes, his voice slowly fading from a quiet chorus to a gentle hum.

----------------------------

They do not discuss Tommy’s dream the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. His nightmares are vicious and constant and Wilbur’s voice is always hoarse in the morning after a night of singing it raw. And every time Wilbur tries to approach Tommy about the dreams, the boy ignores him. He attempts to ask about his past but the blonde simply responds that he needs to take care of Henry, or the crops, or pull more water from the well. 

But this does not stop Wilbur.

“So, there we are, sitting around the fire, I’ve got my guitar across my lap-”

“You play?”

Wilbur nods. “I’m damn good at it too. It was on the ship home… some damned Drowned probably has it now,” he grumbles. 

“What’s a Drowned?” Tommy inquires curiously. 

“None of your concern,” Wilbur says. “Anyways, I look into the forest and who do I see getting absolutely owned by a bunch of bewitched skeletons on his way back from the loo?”

Tommy leans forward, excited. “Who?!”

Wilbur leans in too, grinning. “The fucking prince!” He howls. “He was jumping around, trying to shake their arrows off his uniform.”

Tommy gasps. “He snuck out of the palace?”

“Yup,” Wilbur nods. “Threw one of his father’s older military masks on and boarded our ship as a new recruit. Once I caught him, he was begging me not to tell the king.”

“Did you?”

Wilbur leans back in his seat, rocking it gently, and sighs. “I had to. If I didn’t, I could’ve been hanged or worse.”

“What’s worse than being hanged?!” Tommy cries, bewildered.

Wilbur grins. “Losing my job.”

Tommy stares at him, annoyed. “That’s a lame fucking thing to be upset about.”

Wilbur shrugs and looks out across the front porch to the sea. The ocean is calm today, waves gently crashing onto the sand. It’s been nearly five days since Wilbur washed up on the beach. 

“You wanna go down?” Tommy asks. 

Wilbur looks at him. “Down where?”

“To the beach, dumbass!” Tommy says. “You’ve got enough strength to walk. Obviously your arm is gonna be fucked up for another couple of weeks, but at least you can stand for longer than a few seconds without falling over.”

Wilbur considers it. It would be nice to leave the house for once, the farthest he’s gotten is the front porch with Tommy’s minimal assistance. He nods and pushes himself out of his rocking chair. Tommy hands him a long, thin stick that’s been bleached pale by the sun. Wilbur’s fingers wrap around the support and he smiles as a warm, salty breeze ruffles their hair.

“I think that would be grand.”

Chapter Text

It goes on like this for the next few weeks.

Wilbur joins Tommy on the beach in the morning, walking alongside each other silently, content. Tommy gives him a small chore list; sweep the porch, dry dishes after meals, and keep fresh flowers in the vases around the house. Wilbur tells him stories of the war, the battles he won, and of Sally. Tommy tells Wilbur about the plants around the house and the folktales of beasts in the forests and sea.

Late one night, after Tommy bids the carpenter goodbye and Wilbur collapses on his new bed in his new room; Tommy returns to light the lanterns. Wilbur tosses his right hand across his forehead and sighs as Tommy leans against the doorframe.

“Like the new room?”

Wilbur smiles. “Loads better than the couch.”

Tommy snorts. “I bet.” He sniffs and glances down at his feet. “I’ve got something for you.”

“What?” Wilbur sits up. “You know my birthday isn’t until October.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, leaning forward. Wilbur has kept his birth date secret, teasing Tommy with little hints or completely throwing him off.

Wilbur grins slyly. “Nope.”

“You’re such an asshole!” Tommy groans. “I’ll be right back. Wait here and keep your eyes closed.”

Wilbur hums as he squeezes his eyes shut tight. 

“No peeking!” Tommy calls from the hallway. “I’m coming in.”

Wilbur shakes his head as he laughs. Tommy mutters under his breath as he returns, swearing as something clangs against him, the sound reverberating. 

Wilbur giggles. “You doing okay?”

“Fuck off,” he grunts. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Wilbur cautiously opens his eyes, allowing the gentle lantern light to flood his vision. Tommy stands before him, thrusting something into his arms with one hand, the other hidden behind his back. Wilbur looks down at the heavy object in his lap and he wants to cry.

A beautiful, hand-carved guitar glows softly under the light, glossy and new. Wilbur gently runs his right hand over the neck and down the strings. He looks up at the blonde, bewildered.

Tommy smiles shyly. “I carved it myself.”

“You made this?” Wilbur asks, lifting it with his one hand. 

Tommy nods. “Well, the body and neck. I took it into town to have it strung by Quackity.”

"That’s why you were gone all day last week?!”

Tommy laughs. “Yeah! It’s yours, man.”

Wilbur shakes his head rapidly. “I can’t accept this-”

“Nope,” Tommy says. “I’m not taking it back. It’s for you.”

Wilbur stays speechless, carefully admiring the instrument as he gently strums the strings with his uninjured hand. The noise is sweet and in tune.

“I have something else,” Tommy adds.

Wilbur looks up. “I’m not taking anything else-”

“Just shut the fuck up and take it,” Tommy snaps, thrusting another object into Wilbur’s lap on top of the guitar. A leather journal, handmade. “For your songs…”

Wilbur gapes. “Did you make this too?”

Tommy nods. “It's a wild pig’s skin. I was gone all day a two weeks ago hunting and then the days after that I was busy making it in the barn so-”

“Thank you,” Wilbur interrupts. “Seriously. These are so cool.”

Tommy flushes. “It’s no problem, big man.”

Wilbur smirks. “You’re such a softie, Toms,” he says as he reaches out, ruffling the teen’s hair. Tommy slaps his arm away.

“Fuck off man! Whatever!” He turns on his heel and stomps out of the room. Wilbur laughs as Tommy’s door slams down the hall.

“Goodnight!” Wil shouts, still smiling. Tommy does not respond, defiant. 

Wilbur carefully slides the gifts aside as he stands up and stretches, careful of his splint. He goes about his routine, brushing his teeth and washing his face, changing into his nightclothes, and blowing out the candles. Once the flames are snuffed, he crawls into bed, hugging the guitar and notebook close to his chest.

I can’t leave him behind. 

-------------------------------

Weeks pass and Wilbur’s arm is healed. Tommy decides that the general is ready to return home. To see his soldiers and his kingdom and the docks. To leave him.

“I’m going out,” Tommy says, adjusting the satchel on his back as he opens the door. “Be back later.” 

Wilbur lays the book he’s reading on his lap. “Where to?”

Tommy doesn’t turn around. “Town.”

“For what?”

“None of your fucking business, bitch.”

“Alright then,” Wil shrugs. “Come home safe.”

Tommy waves dismissively and steps out. Wilbur watches him round the house and head down the dirt road. The sun is high in the sky, and he worries that Tommy will return home with crimson shoulders. He watches until Tommy is just a black speck in the distance and there is nothing to look at anymore.

Wilbur attempts to keep an eye on the sun but eventually the words in his pages suck him in and before he knows it, Tommy is crossing the threshold at sunset.

“Welcome back,” he says warmly. “Have fun?”

Tommy grunts as he drops his bag in a chair and pads to the kitchen. He snatches a glass from a shelf and drowns it in the cauldron, pulling it up for air and chugging. He sets the glass down on the counter as he sighs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, it was alright.”

Wilbur stares, unamused. “Wow.”

“Hey, come outside, I got something for you,” Tommy says as he opens a chest and pulls a bulging sack out. “It’s on the beach.”

Wilbur lifts an eyebrow and places his book on the coffee table. He follows Tommy out the door and down to the water, indifferent to the feeling of the white sand under his feet.

A boat on the beach, the front end gently bobs up and down in the ocean, small waves reverberating around it. Tommy walks into the sea and tosses the sack inside, gesturing for Wilbur to join him. The older man rolls his pant legs up around his calves and wades in.

“What is this?” he inquires.

“Your boat home,” Tommy says simply, unemotionally. “You’re fully healed now. You can leave. Go home… get back to leading an army and find Sally.”

The sun slowly sinks into the sea, the sky a brilliant haze of reds and oranges. Like a battlefield, Wilbur thinks. He finds that he doesn’t miss the sight. He stands beside Tommy, ankles deep in gentle, lazy waves. A soft breeze ruffles Tommy’s blonde hair, dazzling in the sun’s bloody massacre. His blue eyes shimmer like the sea, tears evident and close to spilling over. He looks young. He looks lost.

“No.”

Tommy blinks. “No?”

“I’m not leaving,” Wilbur says simply. “I can't. Won’t.”

“So, you’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying!” he cries. He places two hands on Tommy’s shoulders, his own eyes getting misty. “You’re here, where else would I go?” he whispers.

Tommy stares at him silently until tears slowly begin to roll down his cheeks. Wilbur chuckles weepily and pulls the boy into a tight hug. He cradles Tommy’s head with one hand.

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispers. “Ever.”

“Promise?” Tommy asks. His voice sounds tiny.

Wilbur holds him tighter and smiles softly. “Promise.”

Chapter Text

A few months go by. Wilbur has never been happier, to wake up every morning to Tommy calling him down for a filling breakfast and to sing the boy to sleep after nightmares. Tommy is content, it’s been a while since he’s had company, to feel the comforting presence of someone older and stronger than him. Not that he’ll ever tell Wilbur this.

One day, while Tommy is at the stove preparing dinner, a red apron tied around his waist, Wilbur bursts through the front door. Tommy doesn’t stop stirring the stew, moving around the counter swiftly.

“How did your trip to town go?” he asks nonchalantly.

Wilbur drops a brown bag on the table, pulling out various carefully wrapped packages. “Fine,” he says shortly.

Tommy turns around. “Something happen?”

“No.” Wilbur crumples the empty bag in his hand and tosses it into the trash can. “It went alright, like I said.”

Tommy stoops and pulls the bag out, unfolding it. He gasps. “This is from Niki’s bakery! Did you guys have a date?”

Wilbur flushes. “It wasn’t a date! I stopped by to visit and she had me buy a couple things for the two of us to try, that's all.”

“Where’s your coin purse?” Tommy asks excitedly. He eyes it on the table and snatches it up as Wilbur scrambles after him. “Aha! You didn’t spend anything! She gave these to you!”

Wilbur crosses his arms. “Niki and I are just friends- wait, you know how much I keep in my wallet?”

Tommy shrugs and tosses it back to Wil. “I’m the one that fills it for you.”

“What?”

The blonde saunters back into the kitchen. “Where do you think the money comes from? You don’t have a job, dumbass.” He picks up the wooden spoon and resumes stirring. “Anyway, dinner is almost ready so-”

Tommy gets cut off by a loud crash. Wilbur ducks as something sails through the window and buries itself in the opposite wall. Broken glass shimmers all over the table, dispersed between the sweets from Niki. Tommy catches a flash of pink ducking behind a bush in the forest.

Wilbur turns around as the boy storms past him and outside, waving his spoon and shouting as he disappears into the greenery. It’s quiet for a moment before Tommy’s voice can be heard again, this time coming out of the forest.

Wilbur peeks over the table as Tommy drags a large, hulking man out of the bushes by his ear. The man caves in, holding a bow loosely in his hand as Tommy scolds him, wagging the spoon in his face and gesturing wildly to his broken window. 

It takes a moment for it all to click and Wilbur’s eyes widen as he recognizes the flowing red cloak, gleaming armor, and long pink braid cascading over the stranger’s shoulder. A large pack rests on his back and Wilbur doesn’t miss the even larger hilt of his famed sword. He rushes outside.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Tommy rants. “Putting an arrow through my house- your aim is fucking horrible, might I add.”

Wilbur approaches from behind, placing a firm hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

“Ah, Wil,” he says, “I was just telling this dumbass that-” 

He’s interrupted as Wilbur drags him back, standing between the two. He shields Tommy with his arm protectively, glaring at the stranger. A large scar runs across his nose and various smaller cuts litter his jaw and brow bone. His red eyes stare intently into Wilbur’s brown ones.

“State your business here,” Wilbur says sternly. “We aren’t going down without a fight.”

Tommy stares, confused. “Wil, mate, I don’t know if you noticed but he broke my window and I really need him to either pay me for it or fix it him-fucking-self.”

Wilbur turns around incredulously while the man peers around him and stares at Tommy, baffled.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says carefully, “This man is the god of war and vengeance.”

“A god of war and vengeance,” the man corrects. His voice is deep and monotone with a foreign accent to it. Wilbur stares at him. “There are others,” he shrugs. “My name is Technoblade.”

Tommy blinks. “Who gives a fuck? I need my window fixed.”

Techno bows his head. “I don’t have any currency but I think I can fix it-”

“You think?!” Tommy interrupts.

Wilbur ignores him. “How did it even happen? I thought you were supposed to be an expert marksman.”

Techno shrugs. “There was a rabbit near the house. I was tryin to shoot it and my horse, Carl, nudged my shoulder. He messed up my shot.”

“Your horse’s name is Carl?” Tommy asks.

Technoblade nods. “Here,” he says. He whistles and a large, sturdy brown horse ambles out of the woods, chewing idly on some grass. “This is Carl.”

The horse winks.

Tommy sighs. “You have a week to fix my window.”

Technoblade bows again. “Thank you.”

Wilbur eyes him suspiciously. A loud gurgle sounds through the field and the god flushes. Tommy stares.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s been a few days since I’ve eaten.”

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Tommy asks. “We’re having rabbit and mushroom stew.” 

Technoblade perks up. He nods. “I would love to.”

Wilbur gapes, dumbfounded as Tommy nods once and walks past him to the house, Technoblade trailing shyly behind. Carl follows dutifully behind his master and Tommy shouts behind him:

“Wil! Take the horse to the barn with Henry.”

When Wilbur returns from putting up the animals, he finds Tommy pointing to one of the chairs and Technoblade’s cape dropping from his massive shoulders. The god drapes the red cloak over the leather chair and Wilbur swallows nervously at the sight of his bulging biceps. This is a man who has killed many.

“The stew is cooling right now,” Tommy says from the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes; make yourself at home, Techno.”

The god lifts an eyebrow. “No one’s ever called me Techno before.”

Wilbur snorts. “Get used to it. Tommy gives everyone a nickname before he properly meets them.”

“Interestin,” Technoblade says. He turns to Wilbur. “Was Carl good for you?”

Wilbur shrugs. “About as good as a horse can be towards a stranger.”

Techno nods. “He is very good with new people.”

Wilbur can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. He returns to the table, finding it clear of glass. The window has been covered up with a thin blanket. He turns to Tommy. 

“You already picked up the shards?”

“I did,” Technoblade pipes up. His boots resonate through the floor as he walks from the living room to stand beside Wilbur. “Figured I broke it, I clean it.”

Wilbur stares. “Thanks…”

“Techno, boots off,” Tommy says from the stove. He ladles stew into three bowls. “I have no idea where you came from but I’ve been hearing talk of a nasty strain of wither pox in the western villages.”

The god nods and apologizes. He slides his shoes off and holds them together at their ankles. “Where should I put them?”

Tommy gestures vaguely to the front door. “Outside on the porch. We’ll clean them properly tomorrow.”

As soon as he steps outside, Wilbur is at Tommy’s side. “Is this really a good idea?”

Tommy glances at him. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wilbur whispers, “letting a god of war into the house? Tommy, I’ve heard the stories; he’s slain thousands.”

Tommy scowls. “You know I don’t believe in stories, Wil. You’re taking your own bowl to the table, by the way.” 

The door shuts behind them. Wilbur turns around, smiling widely as Techno walks across the room and eases into a chair beside the window. He tosses his pink braid over his shoulder, the knots pooling at the floor. Tommy stands on his tiptoes, face tipped up into Wilbur’s hair.

“Be nice or so help me,” he whispers threateningly. 

Wilbur rolls his eyes and grabs his bowl, while Tommy takes Techno’s and his own into his hands. The two walk to the table together and Wilbur slides into the seat across from the god. Tommy throws a red towel over his shoulder and sets the dish in front of Technoblade.

“Enjoy, Mr. Blade.”

“That’s a new one,” he says, flashing a small smile. “Thank you.”

The three dig in and Technoblade is pleasantly surprised. The rabbit isn’t too chewy or tough and the broth has a healthy mix of vegetables. He finishes his serving and asks for seconds within a matter of minutes. Tommy grins and gets up, bringing the god’s bowl with him.

“You must’ve been out of food for a while,” Wilbur observes coolly.

Techno shrugs. “That’s what travellin will do to you.”

“Where you headed?” Tommy asks from the kitchen.

Techno turns to face him. “There’s a war across the ocean, to the south of here. My assistance was requested by the king of L’manburg.”

Wilbur’s heart drops to his stomach like a stone to the bottom of a lake. His highness must have called upon the war god since he went missing at sea. Tommy returns with a bigger bowl and a surprised expression. He sits down and slides the meal across the table to Techno.

“Hey, Wil, isn’t that the kingdom where you’re from-”

He’s interrupted as Wilbur leans over and claps his hand across Tommy’s mouth. Technoblade chews thoughtfully on a piece of rabbit, confusion furrowing his brow. 

“No, it isn’t,” Wilbur lies quickly. “I’m from a village to the north.”

Techno swallows. “No, you aren’t.”

Wilbur’s mouth falls open. “Pardon?”

“You aren’t from this continent at all,” Technoblade says. “Your accent is very different from the northerners. You stretch out your words a little more.”

Tommy laughs, muffled behind Wilbur’s hand.

“If you really were from here, you’d sound more like Tommy,” Techno continues. “He has a Snowman accent.”

“What’s a snowman accent?” Wilbur asks, leaning forward.

Techno looks at him, unimpressed. “It’s slang for the people of Snowchester; a kingdom to the north, at the farthest tip of the continent.”

Tommy stops laughing. He shakes off Wilbur’s hand and stands up, stony faced and distant. He throws the towel on his shoulder at the counter.

“Wilbur, you can handle cleaning up,” he says shortly. “Techno can make himself useful and help.” 

He turns on his heel and goes upstairs. The two men stay at the table and listen as a door slams. Techno looks to Wilbur. The other man stares at a spot on the table. 

“Did I say somethin wrong?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “I had no idea where he was from.”

“He’s never told you?”

Wilbur stands up and begins collecting the dishes. “No. I’ve given up on asking about his past, he just shuts down; runs out of the house and won’t come back for hours.”

Techno joins him in the kitchen. “Perhaps something traumatic happened to him there?”

“I don’t know,” Wilbur says helplessly. He begins to scrub at the bowls. “I am from L’manburg, by the way. I was the leading general for the royal army. Washed up on the beach here after a nasty storm combined with an ambush took out my entire fleet.”

Technoblade glances at him, surprised. “You’re quite young to be a general.”

He snorts. “That’s what Tommy said when I told him.”

“How long ago did you end up here?” Techno asks. “It seems like a while.”

Wilbur sighs. “A few months ago.”

“And why aren’t you at sea, returning home?”

“Because, I like it here,” Wilbur says shortly. “Tommy nursed me back to health and gave me gifts and I found that I did not miss the fighting.”

“It is desertion.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Who fucking cares? My ships sank, they probably think I died at sea.”

They slip into silence. Wilbur works methodically, dunking the dirty silverware into the cauldron and wiping them down neatly. Technoblade is the opposite; quick, rushed movements and a sense of paranoia that if he takes too long, he’ll be under attack. Wilbur takes note of the scars that litter his hands and forearms.

“Do you play chess?” Techno asks suddenly.

Wilbur glances sideways at him. “Yes…”

“Would you like to play when we’re finished here?”

Wilbur looks around the kitchen. There are only a few dishes left to wash. Tommy has mentioned in passing that he had a friend who used to play, so that implies that there must be a board around the house somewhere. Wilbur nods.

“If you’ll finish the rest of these, I’ll go find us a board.”

Techno agrees and Wilbur sets off to search for the game. By the time he finds one, tucked in the very far back of a closet upstairs, Techno has finished with the dishes and waits patiently in one of Tommy’s leather chairs.

“Did you ask me to play because I’m a general?” Wilbur asks while they set up their pieces. 

Techno glances up from his side of the board. “Perhaps,” he says with a smile, “I would like to see how well you strategize.”

Wilbur smirks. “Good luck.”

The game begins. Technoblade opens, moving a kingside white pawn to F3. Wilbur holds back a smile and moves his king’s pawn to E5. Techno’s brows furrow and a scarred hand moves slowly as he nudges his knight’s pawn to G4. Wilbur grins. 

He slides his queen across the board to H4. “Checkmate,” he says proudly.

Technoblade stares. “In two moves…”

Wilbur nods. “You messed up right out the gate but moving your knight’s pawn was the final nail in the coffin.”

“Incredible,” Techno murmurs.

“It’s called the Fool’s Mate,” Wilbur says warmly. He leans back and looks outside. The moon hangs high, her chorus of stars surrounding her. “We should get to sleep. Tommy will have chores for you tomorrow.”

Technoblade nods. “Is it alright if I sleep in the barn? I’d like to be near Carl.”

Wilbur stares at him. “Sure,” he shrugs, “just don’t steal Henry.”

“Who?”

“You’ll find out.”

Wilbur walks Techno outside. The two stand quietly on the porch, listening to the waves crash against the shore, the moonlight smudging the sand with the ocean’s foam. A soft breeze whistles through, blowing a few pink fly-aways by Techno’s ears.

“I’m not here to harm you,” the god whispers in the night. 

Wilbur crosses his arms tight over his chest. “Swear it.”

“What?”

“When you go to L’manburg, you will leave us alive. Swear it.”

Technoblade stares, hard and determined. “I swear it.”

Liar, a voice murmurs. 

Wilbur nods, satisfied. He takes him to the barn. He pushes the door open and makes a bed of hay near Carl’s stable. He tosses Techno’s cape inside, to use as a blanket and stands by the door, watching the god get comfortable.

Techno sighs, content. “Thanks again.”

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” Wilbur replies. 

“Goodnight, Wilbur.”

“Goodnight, Technoblade.”

Chapter Text

Techno is woken by the sound of a door scraping open. Golden sunlight filters in and he squints as the vague outline of a person appears. Tommy stands over him, hands on his hips, grinning.

“Good morning!” he exclaims. “I’m here to take Henry out. Want me to take Carl too?”

Technoblade yawns and props himself up on his elbow. “Take ‘im where?”

“To the meadows,” Tommy says, stepping over the god’s pallet. “I’ll even take his saddle off, let him breathe a little.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Techno sits up and rubs his eyes, blinking them free of sleep. “Have fun.”

Tommy goes about the barn, removing Carl’s bridle and slipping a rope over his neck. He does the same to Henry and before he takes the animals out into the cool, crisp morning, he stops in front of Techno.

“Better get moving,” he says. “There’s shit to get done.”

Techno yawns and climbs to his feet, joining Tommy, his horse, and a brown cow with unsettlingly humanlike brown eyes. The group exits the barn and ventures out into the wide, grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers and other plants. A large field sits beyond it, running right up to the forest, with big, leafy green sprouts bursting out of rich soil.

“Alright, here’s a rundown of the chores,” Tommy says. “Wilbur sweeps the porch, dries the dishes after meals, and keeps fresh flowers in the bottles around the house. I do basically everything else.”

Technoblade lifts an eyebrow. “And he gets to pick flowers?”

Tommy nods. “He needed to get outside while he was injured; flower picking is fun and easy and he seems to enjoy it.”

“That’s fair,” Techno shrugs. “What can I do?”

“You, my dear pal, get to collect eggs!”

Techno stops. A butterfly flits lazily into his shoulder, settling on his white tunic. He swipes a massive hand across his chest and the insect is gone, wavering in the wind. Tommy turns around.

“What’s the matter?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

Techno waves at the air helplessly. “I mean- that’s it? Just get eggs?”

Tommy leans back on his heel, smirking. “I’ll give you more after breakfast- speaking of which, Wilbur is getting everything ready for me inside, and we kinda need eggs so… move it!”

“Fine,” Techno grumbles.

Tommy grins. “The chicken coop is round the side of the barn, there’s a basket beside it for the goods, and don’t let Clementine scare you off. He can smell fear. Good luck.”

Techno snorts and turns around, heading back to the barn. “It’s just a rooster, how bad can it be?”

------------------------------

It was indeed, very bad. When Technoblade comes in, a basket full of eggs hangs at his side. His arms, wrists, hands, and face are littered with scratches and various peck marks. His red eyes stare off into the distance as Tommy chuckles to himself. Wilbur smirks as he carefully takes the basket.

“I’m guessing you met Clementine,” he says slyly.

Techno nods wordlessly and collapses on the couch. Wilbur brings the basket to Tommy and gestures into the living room. Tommy glances over at the war god and laughs.

“I’ll be right over, Techno, give me a moment-”

“I can handle breakfast,” Wilbur interrupts, bumping Tommy away from the pan on the stove. “Go help out our new friend.”

Tommy shrugs and brings Techno to the table. “Let’s get you fixed up, big guy.”

Technoblade sits still and watches in silent fascination as Tommy cleans his wounds and carefully bandages them. When the blonde steps back to admire his handiwork, the god speaks.

“You’re very good at handlin injuries,” he says slowly, inspecting the wraps. “You must have had a lot of experience elsewhere.”

Tommy purses his lips and sighs. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”

“Breakfast is ready!” Wilbur calls. “Tommy, help me with the plates?”

The two bring the meal over, scrambled eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Techno’s eyes light up when Wilbur sets his plate in front of him and he grabs his fork hungrily. The boys sit down across from him and begin to eat.

“Alright,” Tommy begins through the food in his mouth. “After we’re done, I’ll clean up the kitchen. Wilbur, I need you to take Techno into town and get a new window.”

Wilbur groans. “Do we have to fix it today?”

Tommy shoots him a glare. “No, obviously not,” he swallows, “but we can at least have Sam get a start on it. You can also give Mr. Blade a tour of Logstedshire.”

Techno looks up as he shovels potatoes in his mouth. “What are my other chores?”

“I’m so glad you asked, big man,” Tommy smiles. “You can help me with my crops and Wilbur with the dishes after we eat.”

“That’s it?”

Tommy lifts an eyebrow. “What more do you want?”

Techno sighs and swallows. “Nothin, I suppose.”

“Good,” Tommy nods. “When you’re done, I need you to change clothes and bring your dirty ones to me.”

“Why?”

Wilbur snorts. “Come on, mate, seriously? You smell like a pig.”

Technoblade’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Sorry you had to find out like this, big man,” Tommy grimaces. “But yeah. I’ll wash them and in the meantime, you can borrow some of Wilbur’s clothes.”

It’s Wilbur’s turn to look surprised. “Tommy, do you see the size of him? He’ll split my clothes down the seams!”

Tommy looks across the table to the war god. His pink braid is dishevelled, strands of hair framing his scarred face. His hands make Tommy’s fork look like doll china as his bicep bulges from the repeated movement. His shoulders are broad and brooding.

“It’ll just be until you can get to Niki today,” he says gently. “She’ll take his measurements and we’ll have new clothes for him by the end of the day.”

Wilbur slides down in his seat. “It better be,” he huffs.

“Who’s Niki?” Techno asks.

Tommy grins. “Wilbur’s girlfriend.”

“Tommy!” Wilbur blushes furiously as he looks across to Techno. “She runs a very lovely bakery and can sew pretty decently. She is not my girlfriend, by the way.”

Tommy stands up with his plate and on his way to the kitchen, he stops beside Techno and leans down.

“He totally fancies her though,” he whispers. The god smiles and nods knowingly. 

The three finish their meal and begin to clean up. Wilbur and Techno wash the dishes while Tommy goes into the dark forest with a bucket.

“Do you know where he’s going?” Techno asks, gesturing to the blonde’s disappearing back with a towel.

Wilbur doesn’t look up. “No, but every time he goes in there, he comes back out with a bucket of cold, crystal clear water. I assume there’s a well back there.”

Techno hums. “He’s awfully skinny despite doing a lot of the work around here…”

Wilbur snorts. “He’s just tall. Tommy’s got strength in him, he just doesn’t use it very often.”

They resume their chores and by lunchtime, they’re ready to go into town. None of Wilbur’s clothes were even close to fitting the war god so they found a blanket in the barn that Tommy was able to sew into a crude toga. He returned from the forest and now has a basket full of large, royal clothes, stained with mud and dirt balanced against his hip. Wilbur avoids looking at the larger, dark red stains on the tunics and focuses instead on teasing Techno about a name on the inside of his red cloak.

“Who’s Grace, Techno?”

He grits his teeth. “None of your business.”

Wilbur adjusts the satchel slung across his back while Technoblade swings his own monstrous pack over his shoulders. The ruby red hilt of his sword shines in the sun that streams in through the open windows. Wilbur gulps nervously.

"Maybe you should leave the sword here, Techno," he says. "People will panic if they see it."

The god shrugs and pulls the blade out of his pack and hands it off to Tommy. The blonde sets it on the mantle, waiting for its owner's return.

“There we are! I had no idea our Blade was good with the ladies,” Tommy says as he turns around, grinning.

Techno sighs. “If it really matters that much to you, Grace was a friend of mine.”

“Was?”

Techno turns to Wilbur. “Yeah. She’s dead.”

Silence fills the room. Wilbur and Tommy stop smiling. Techno stares at them a moment longer before grinning. Large, sharp white teeth glint in the sunlight as he tosses his head back and laughs; deep and rich and empty of humor. Tommy and Wilbur glance between each other.

“Technoblade?”

The god wipes tears from his eyes and waves his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that… you should’ve seen your faces! I’m kiddin!”

Wilbur breathes a sigh of relief as he chuckles nervously. “Yeah, you- you really got me!”

“I don’t even know who Grace is!” Techno cries. “I took that cape off some queen’s corpse centuries ago.”

Tommy laughs anxiously. “You  make strange jokes, Techno. Oh, hey, before you guys talk to anybody, make up an alias for Technoblade. I don’t want people panicking because a war god swooped in for a visit.”

Wilbur sighs. “Yeah, alright. See you, Tommy.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Techno says as he waves goodbye. 

The two step out the door and down the front steps. Tommy can see them already bickering on their way down the drive before finally reaching the dirt road into town. He watches until they’re specks on the horizon before he looks into the basket on his hip. It will take a while to scrub the dirt and blood out of every piece of fabric. A few are so torn and shredded that they’re hanging together by threads at this point.

He sighs. It's going to be a long afternoon.

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong with Veronica?”

Wilbur sighs irritably. “That’s a girl’s name, Techno.”

“No, it isn’t,” the god huffs and crosses his arms. “In Tundrow, it’s a very manly name.”

“Mate, Tundrow doesn’t exist anymore…”

Technoblade doesn’t respond, keeping his gaze levied at the ground. Wilbur kicks a rock and it skitters down the road as a small trail of dust rises behind it. The two of them have been arguing about Techno’s alias since they left the cabin and they haven’t been able to agree on anything. Smoke rises in the distance as a small cluster of brick buildings comes into view.

Techno perks up. “Is that it?”

“Yup, that’s Logstedshire.”

Wilbur doesn’t notice how the god’s hands shake, itching to reach for his sword. “How many people live here?” he chokes.

Wilbur glances sideways. “About 40, including Tommy and I, why?”

Easy enough, a voice whispers.

We’ve killed plenty more than that, another one adds. 

We don’t even need the sword. We can do it with our bare hands.

Techno blinks hard and shakes his head, clearing his throat. “No reason.”

The sun beats down on their backs as they approach town. The first building has a sign hanging out front over the door. Niki’s Sewing & Bakery.

Wilbur stops and gestures at the door. “We’ll go in here first.”

“Your girlfriend’s place?” Techno asks. “I’m not stopping here just so you can pay her a little visit.”

Wilbur flushes angrily. “She is not my girlfriend! And we’re here for your new clothes, remember?”

Techno shrugs. “Whatever.”

He steps past Wilbur and pushes the door open. A bell rings inside, loud and clear as Technoblade ducks under the doorway. Wilbur hurries inside behind him.

Sunlight streams in through the windows, adding a layer of warmth to the inside of the shop. A long, wooden counter lays in the back, covered in flour. A glass display case sits in front of that, cakes, bread, and other treats laid out prettily inside. A few stands are spread throughout the shop, various dresses and shirts displayed neatly. Techno inhales and the smells of sugar and polish mix in the air, tickling his nose.

“I’ll be right out!” a woman shouts from behind a curtain to the right.

“It’s me!” Wilbur responds. “I’ve brought a friend.”

A squeal and the curtain flies open as a young woman runs out. Inside the small room is another woman, her top still unbuttoned. Her face turns bright red as Techno glances at her and looks away, uninterested. Wilbur flushes and quickly stares at the ground.

“Erm, Niki…” he says, hoarsely. “I see you’ve got a customer.”

The girl turns around, confused. “Oh! My apologies, Ms. Sherman!”

She rushes over and snaps the curtain shut. The woman huffs and within an instant, she rushes outside, top buttoned hastily. Niki cringes as the door swings shut.

“Sorry about that,” she says sheepishly. “How can I help you, Wil and friend?”

Technoblade looks down at her. Faded pink hair frames her round face and for a moment, Techno wonders if she’s a descendant of his. It’s impossible, he knows this, but there is something in her eyes; a hunger that makes him second guess himself.

“It’s Tech-”

“Techtris!” Wilbur cries. Niki looks at him, eyebrow raised. He smiles widely, “His name is Techtris.”

Niki nods slowly. “Alright, Techtris… what can I do for you today?”

Techno shoots a glare at Wilbur. He smiles thinly. “I’m in need of new clothes.”

Niki looks him up and down, pulling a pencil out from behind her ear and chewing on the eraser. Technoblade shifts under her gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed to be wearing such a raggedy old blanket in front of a true seamstress.

“Let me guess,” she teases lightly, “Tommy’s handiwork?”

“Yup!” Wilbur laughs, a little too loud. “Techtris came to us from the woods, he’s been travelling for days and his clothing was all dirty and torn. Tommy’s washing it now but…”

Niki nods. “I get it,” she smiles, understanding. “Well, what type of style are you looking for?”

“Something regal,” Techno says. He looks around the shop. “Preferably flexible, I travel and hunt often. I’d also like it to be light and airy.” 

“I can certainly work with that! Why don’t you just follow me in here, we’ll get you measured, and then we’ll talk about payment.”

Technoblade nods. He looks to Wilbur. “Why don’t you go ask your glazier about the window?”

Niki stares. “Who?”

“The glazier?” 

Niki’s dead stare did not offer any signs of recognition. Wilbur smiles and places a gentle hand on her arm as he leans in to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widen.

“Oh! You mean Sam?”

Techno’s palm hits his face. “Sure, whatever his name is. Wilbur, go see him while I’m doing this.”

Wilbur salutes and leaves. Niki smiles as she watches him walk down the road until she can’t see him anymore. When she turns back to Techno, he’s staring at her intently.

“What?”

Techno looks back to the window. “Nothing. Let’s get this over with.”

He turns and steps inside the fitting room, Niki hurrying behind him. She slides the curtain shut and turns around, finding herself face to face with Techno’s bare chest.

“Oh!”

He peers down at her. “My apologies. This room is very small.”

She laughs. “Trust me, I’m aware. It wasn’t built for gods, you know.”

Techno freezes. “What?”

“Oh, please,” she snorts, pulling a tape measure and pad out of her apron. “Did you really think you could fool me with a silly name like Techtris? Turn around for me.”

“That was Wilbur’s idea, not mine,” he grumbles, spinning.

Niki laughs. “I believe that. Wil isn’t great with fake names.”

“Do you like him?”

“Who, Wil? Of course I like him! He’s my friend,” she says. She pulls the tape measure across Techno’s shoulders. She whistles at the length. 

Techno shrugs. “I mean, do you wish to marry him?”

“Oh, gods no!” Niki cries, laughing. “I love him like a brother but I would rather walk into the sea than marry that poor sod.”

Techno lifts an eyebrow. “Is there another man in mind?”

Niki scoffs. “There’s certainly a woman in mind.”

“That’s fair,” Techno nods. He turns back around as Niki’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling the tape measure together.

“You have quite the stature, sir.”

Techno dips his head. “Thank you but please, call me Technoblade.”

Niki falters. “Like… the god of war?”

"A god of war,” he corrects, rolling his eyes. “People always do that.”

“Of course,” she says. “ A god of war…”

They continue the rest of the fitting in silence. Techno ignores how warm her hands are against his skin, her small frame, and the volume of her heartbeat as voices crowd his mind incessantly.

We can easily slaughter her, right here, right now, one says. See how fragile she is? It would be so easy to break her neck and leave her to be feasted on by rats.

“Gods, that’s dark,” Techno murmurs. Niki glances up.

Are you stupid ? another taunts, Wilbur will return eventually and we won’t be able to explain anything without incriminating ourselves.

“Shut your mouths,” Techno grumbles. “I’m not killin anyone.”

Not yet, anyway.

Niki takes a small step back. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Techno glances down. Dark eyes shine up at him fearfully and he sees himself in their reflection. Niki grips something in her pocket tightly and he sighs.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly. “Wilbur can attest to that, so…”

“So what?”

“Please let go of those needles. They won’t be enough to kill me anyway.”

Her eyes widen and whatever she was holding, falls into the cloth clutches of her apron. Techno nods, understanding, as she whispers a choked apology and leaves. He leans up against the wall and ignores the foul chorus in his head. The bell on the door rings sweetly.

“You can come out, by the way,” Niki calls to him. “I need your help with something.”

When Techno emerges, ducking underneath the curtain’s rail and gripping the blanket fiercely at his waist, he comes face to face with a group of women. Crimson waves crash across their cheeks as he gives them a small, awkward smile.

“Ladies…” he nods. They giggle as he approaches the back of the store.

Niki turns around when his head knocks into a floating lantern. She smiles as the god rubs his temple and grumbles under his breath.

“Magic?” he asks.

Niki laughs. “Perhaps. Don’t tell Tommy, he’ll lose his mind if he finds out. Make me do all sorts of ridiculous tricks and favors.”

“I believe that. You said you needed help?”

She turns around, facing a large floor to ceiling wall of shelves stuffed to the brim with fabrics. “I need you-” she jumps and points at a few pieces- “to grab those for me.”

Techno looks down at her. “Seriously? Royal purple, gold, and white?”

“Do you want new clothes?” Niki deadpans. “Or would you prefer to be dressed by Tommy?”

Techno thinks for a moment before shuddering. “I’ll help.”

Niki nods approvingly as the god steps around a counter and reaches up. She sneaks a fearful glimpse of his arm and the muscle moving beneath scarred pale skin. He glances down as he hands her the fabrics.

“I saw that,” he says.

“You didn’t see shit,” she responds coolly, dropping the rolls onto an empty counter. “Go back to the store now, thank you.”

Techno looks at the doorway he entered from. The women are still outside, talking amongst themselves and cooing over the sweets in the display case.

He looks back at Niki. “Are you sure I can’t just stay back here with you?”

She glances at him. “What? You afraid of a few women ogling you?”

“…Yes.”

Niki laughs. “Sure, fine. Just… keep your eyes closed.”

Techno lifts a brow. “You don’t actually sew your clothes, do you? You use magic.”

“One could say that, yes.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I watch then,” he says, pulling a stool out from underneath a counter. “Magic is a gift that was not bestowed upon me.”

Niki chews her bottom lip nervously. “As long as you swear not to tell anyone.”

“I swear it.”

Liar, a voice murmurs.

Niki holds out the paper with the god’s measurements on it. He watches silently as the fabric on the table opens its mouth and swallows. It twitches and tugs against itself before unravelling and falling in a giant heap on the table.

“Is that it?” Techno asks, slightly disappointed.

Niki looks at him, arms crossed. “Yep. Here.”

She scoops up the bundle and dumps it in Techno’s arms. He sets it on his lap and pulls something white out first. A tunic with gold trim.

“Try it on!” Niki exclaims.

He slips the shirt over his head. The neckline is low, dipping down to the middle of his chest but he’s amazed to see that it fits perfectly, accommodating every movement. It’s as if the fabric has magic sewn into the seams, allowing it to move and breathe with him.

“Amazin…” he murmurs. 

Niki grins. “It looks great on you! I love the gold on the sleeves and neckline, it brings out the ichor in your skin. Next one!”

He lifts up the dark purple heap. It’s… 

“A skirt?”

Niki nods. “Certainly an interesting choice,” she says, “but if that’s what the fabric thinks you need then that’s what you need. Try it on.”

Techno stands, letting the blanket drop to the floor. Niki yelps and covers her eyes with her hands. The god rolls his eyes.

“Relax,” he drawls. “I’ve got some dignity left in me.”

Niki slowly opens her fingers, relieved to see Techno has brown tights beneath the blanket. He steps into the skirt and watches as it ties itself up at his calf. He lifts an eyebrow.

“It’s…” he does a twirl, pink braid swinging behind him, “surprisingly comfortable.”

Niki smiles and clasps her hands together. “Well I’m glad. Everything looks great on you, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he bows his head. “For the clothes but also for being such a big help. Wilbur’s paying so, how much will it all be?”

“Let’s see… three pieces.”

Techno lifts a brow. “That’s it?”

Niki hangs her head. “I’ve made a special discount for Wil and Tommy.”

The bell rings again and a familiar voice calls out.

“Techno! Niki! I’m back!”

Techno rolls his eyes. “Speak of the devil.”

Niki smiles and bounces out to the front of the store. Techno looks around the back room once more, finally noticing the faint rise and fall of fabric before following behind her. Wilbur is waiting by the counter, money pouch in hand. He perks up upon seeing Niki and whistles playfully when Techno walks out.

“A skirt?” he asks.

Techno shrugs. “It’s comfortable. How did it go with the glazier?”

“He’ll have the window ready by the end of the week but you have to install it.”

Techno shakes his head. “Correction, we have to install it.”

Wilbur’s jaw drops. “Uhh, pretty sure I didn’t break it.”

“What happened to warrant a replacement window?” Niki breaks in. Wilbur turns to her, arms crossed.

“Techtris shot an arrow through the one next to the dining room table.”

Niki’s eyes widen. “Ooo, and that’s Tommy’s favorite one.”

Wilbur nods solemnly. “I know. Dumbass over here blames his horse for fucking up his shot.”

“Really?” Niki laughs. Techno flushes, embarrassed. “I wouldn’t expect a horse to be good at archery.”

“Carl is good at many things,” Techno grumbles. “Can we pay now?”

Niki nods. “It’ll be three pieces, Wil.”

Wilbur pulls out three small gold coins and drops them in Niki’s waiting palm. She places them in the silver register box and smiles.

“Pleasure doing business with you boys!”

Techno nods while Wilbur says his thanks and they turn to leave. As they pass the group of women from earlier, one of them darts over to the god and grabs his arm. Techno glances down, uninterested, at the young blonde.

“You look familiar,” she says. Her voice is light and musical, flirty. “Perhaps I’ll see you with me at dinner tonight in Quackity’s pub?”

She’ll be the dinner. Let’s say yes.

Techno rips his arm away from her and her perfectly manicured nails. “I’m sorry but I’m not interested. Good day.”

He ducks out of the shop and into the street. Wilbur quickly apologizes before joining him, squawking angrily about manners and how you treat women. Techno turns to him.

“I don’t feel romantic desires the way humans do. Women are quite literally nothing to me.”

Wilbur sighs. “That doesn’t give you a right to be rude…”

Normally we’d kill her, a voice purrs. He’s lucky we didn’t.

They begin the journey back to the cabin. The sun isn’t as high now, making its slow, methodical journey towards the ocean’s hungry waves. Techno guesses that it’s around 5pm judging by the golden glow that paints the seaside town in honey light.

“I hope Tommy is doing alright,” Wilbur says. He chews the inside of his cheek anxiously.

Techno lifts a brow as he glances over. “You said he was alone before you got here?”

Wilbur nods. “I think he’s been here for a while. But he refuses to talk about his past so I’ve tried to refrain from saying something that will upset him.”

“That’s understandable. We can’t judge someone for their past, only for their present.”

Wilbur groans. Techno’s eyes widen as he looks down.

“What?”

Wilbur laughs. “You said more wise god shit.”

“Wise god shit?”

Wilbur shrugs. “Yeah, you know… wise shit an old god says.”

Techno keeps walking. “I am not old.”

“Whatever you say…” Wilbur smirks. “Grandpa.”

Techno tosses his head back and laughs. Wilbur smiles, admiring the way the sun lights up the god’s pale skin. His pink braid a fiery trail over his shoulder, Techno laughs and his teeth don’t look so sharp anymore. His scars melt into the golden glow and he looks warm and alive and human.

If this is savageness, then by gods, it is holy.

Chapter Text

The voices retreat whenever Tommy is around. 

It’s the first thing Technoblade notices after two days. The incessant whispering crowds his head with unpleasant images and rude comments when he’s by himself or with someone else. But Tommy is the exception. They quiet down and Techno can breathe.

He hasn’t told either of the boys he is staying with about the chattering in his mind. It would worry them, possibly instill fear and Techno couldn’t bear to be the cause of their unrest. Until it’s late one night, Wilbur is out for drinks, and Tommy asks him a question.

“Why are you always talking to yourself?”

Techno glances up from his book. “They say that it’s a sign of intelligence when people talk to themselves,” he responds simply.

Tommy scoffs. “Who are they? Elves?”

“Doctors, dumbass.”

“But, you talk as though you’re responding to people,” Tommy points out. “Like there are voices in your head and you’re answering them.”

He knows.

Tell him, one urges. He’ll understand.

It’s the first time Techno hears the whispers in days. He sighs and sets his book face down on his lap. Tommy sits up, suddenly concerned.

“What is it?”

The god sighs. “You are correct.”

The boy’s face scrunches up. “Correct about the voices or correct that you talk to yourself?”

“Correct as in, I have voices in my head.”

“Oh! Well so do I, mate.”

Techno lifts a brow. “Really?” There is a sliver of hope in his voice.

Tommy grins. “Yeah, they’re called thoughts.”

He ducks as a book sails over his head. Tommy sits up and laughs while Techno smiles, exasperated and shakes his head. He fidgets with his braid, running the loose knots through his fingers.

“You’re an asshole,” Techno says. “I’m serious.”

Tommy sobers up. “They’re violent, aren’t they?” he whispers.

Techno nods. The light is sucked out of the room and his head has never been quieter. An invisible audience holds its collective breath.

“But you don’t have them right now?”

Techno nods again. He swallows the stone in his throat. “It feels like I can finally breathe,” he chokes. 

Tommy smiles softly. “Some days you will breathe and it will be enough.”

Wise god shit.

Techno exhales shakily and nods. That is the last time they discuss the voices.

----------------------------

The three men collapse into chairs on the front porch. Sweat trickles down their foreheads and into their eyes, burning with the sun’s white-hot rays. Wilbur sighs, exhausted.

“Thank god that’s done.”

The window looks good as new, clear and unbroken. Tommy sits on the porch swing beside Techno, drumming his fingers on his thigh. The god glances down and reaches up to let his hair fall from the messy bun he threw it up in. Tommy smiles as he gathers the pink strands in his own hands and begins to braid them.

“I think it looks good, doesn’t it?” he says.

Techno nods. Tommy holds onto his head with a gentle hand, reminding him to stay still. A bird calls out over the sea as it dives, snatching up a fish.

“I’m just glad we’re finished with it,” Wilbur says. “I was tired of the blankets over the window.”

Techno laughs. “You’re such a princess.”

“Do you have a problem with independent women?” Wilbur shoots back.

Tommy laughs as he tugs on Techno’s hair. “Yeah, a problem dating them-”

“Hey! Careful back there,” the god interrupts.

Wilbur crosses his arms and leans back, smirking. “Look who’s a princess now.”

Techno bares his teeth playfully. The three sit in silence, save for the distant crashes of the waves. Wilbur is humming something under his breath, an unfamiliar melody by Techno’s ears. A new song, he guesses. The air is warm and smells like salt and sweat and the sun gently lowers itself into the sea.

“When are you leaving Techno?” Tommy asks.

Techno glances up at him. “I’m not sure.”

“I recommend it soon,” Wilbur says. “Storm season gets even worse in two weeks.”

Techno nods absentmindedly. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not sure I even want to leave.”

Tommy’s fingers stop working. “Are you serious?”

“I much prefer bein here than killin people,” he says simply. “I think I’d like to stay, if that’s alright.”

For once, I agree, a voice says approvingly.

Tommy grins and nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely! I’m finished, by the way.”

His hands drop away from Techno’s hair and the pink plait lays neatly down his back, pooling beside him. The god smiles appreciatively. A flash over the ocean catches Tommy’s eyes and he perks up.

“The fish are fucking jumping!” He exclaims. “I’m gonna go catch one.”

He jumps off the porch and sprints down the hill to the sand, hastily rolling up his pant legs and pulling his shirt off before diving into the salty waves. Wilbur and Techno watch as he resurfaces for a moment before diving back under. Techno smiles as Wilbur leans forward, concerned. 

“What about the king's orders?”

“I never responded to his prayer,” Techno says. “Never sent a sign or even a letter back. I was just going to show up and hope that he knew who I was.”

Wilbur stares. “He prayed?”

“Of course he did,” Techno says.

“But… the king never prayed. He mocked the gods, said that religion was for fools.”

Techno shrugs, indifferent. “Men mock the gods until they need them.”

“GOT YOU BITCH!” Tommy shouts from the ocean. The two men look down and smile at the boy’s thin figure, arms raised triumphantly overhead. A small, silver fish wriggles helplessly in his grip. Tommy bends over and gently releases it back to the waves. The sun makes him glow golden, almost as if he’s being blessed. Techno turns back to Wilbur. 

“Are you alright with me stayin here?”

Wilbur shrugs. “If Tommy’s alright with it, I kind of have to be, don’t I? You haven’t harmed us all week.”

“I swore it,” Techno reminds him gently. “Every act of violence is deliberate, rewarding,” he adds, “and I would get nothin out of killin you two.”

Wilbur nods slow and unsure, watching the wind chimes spin slowly. “Good to know…”

Tommy returns to the porch, dripping wet. Puddles of saltwater fall on the wood around him and his chest heaves as he grins.

“What are we talking about, fellas?”

Wilbur stands up and stretches. “We were just discussing chess moves.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, disappointed. “Bunch of boring old man shit, then.”

“Who you callin old?” Techno asks, lifting a brow.

Tommy grins and jumps at the god. “You!” 

Techno roars playfully and lifts the boy above his head, carrying him upside down by the legs. Tommy screeches gleefully as Techno marches him around the porch, swinging him side to side. Wilbur watches from the door, smiling softly. He rolls his eyes.

“It’s getting dark!” he shouts over Tommy’s laughing. “Come in and get ready to wind down.”

Techno puts Tommy right side up and the teenager runs into the house, padding upstairs. The god follows behind, Wilbur shutting the door behind him.

“Why would you get him riled up before bed?” the general asks, exasperated. “You know how long it takes me to get him to calm down? My throat hurts when I’m finished!”

Techno waves dismissively. “You know he likes it when you sing to him.”

Wilbur flushes. “Whatever.”

The sky turns from milky blue to a royal purple as the two men argue further inside. Tommy collapses on his bed, still grinning. He listens to the sounds of Wilbur and Techno’s footsteps downstairs and warmth blooms in his chest.

Chapter Text

It’s been three weeks since Techno announced his plan to stay and the war god has never been happier. Tommy has given him more chores than he initially had and twice a week he goes into town to help out the villagers with their own tasks. The voices are louder then but he runs a hand down the braid Tommy ties every morning and they quiet down.

The sun beats down on Techno’s back as he inspects the green potato sprouts, he’s still unsure if they’re prepared to be pulled or not. He’ll ask Tommy at lunchtime. The god stands and stretches, hands reaching for the sky, shielding the sun from his eyes. His fingers part and he squints as a distant black object gets closer. 

A bird, a voice says. Must be an exceptionally large crow.

Techno nods in agreement and returns to his work. A few minutes pass and he glances up into the blue sky again. The object is closer now, and Techno notices that there are no wings beating, no cawing; this thing is just hurtling through empty skies. Towards the field. Towards him.

It’s over in an instant.

The black blur plummets into the carrots a few fields over, plumes of dirt shooting into the air. Techno stumbles back, shielding his eyes from flying bits of rock and old animal bones. As the dust settles, he stands up and sprints back to the house in the distance.

The door swings open easily, scaring the two boys at the dining table. Wilbur looks up from his journal, irritated and Tommy glares at the god. 

“Techno! You know how we treat doors in this house-”

“Somethin landed in the carrot field,” he interrupts, panting.

Tommy’s brows furrow. “What?”

Techno shakes his head, confused. “I don’t know what it is. It’s big and black and fell out of the sky; might be an injured bird or somethin…”

Wilbur and Tommy look out the window near the kitchen counter. A large black heap lays unmoving in the distance. They nod to each other before standing up quickly and rushing outside. Tommy steps agile over flowers and wheat buds, the humidity sticking his shirt to his back. Techno and Wilbur follow behind him, slower, careful not to crush the crops underfoot.

Tommy can see the small impact crater, dust still hangs faintly in the air. He slides in on his knees, the dark soil easily parting for him. Up close, the blonde can see two large, disheveled dark wings with hundreds of shimmering black feathers protecting something within them. One of the wings is bent horribly wrong, crooked and cracked. A bloody arrow erupts out of the feathers.

“That’s a big fucking bird,” Wilbur mutters as he and Techno approach from behind.

Tommy nods and slowly peels the wings back. He holds back a gasp and swallows hard.

The pale, unconscious face of a man faces up to the merciless sky. Swathed in emerald green robes, Tommy almost thinks he’s royalty. Long, shoulder length blonde hair frames his scraped face and something like recognition flickers in Techno’s mind. The man’s chest rises and falls faintly. Tommy sucks in a breath.

Like Wilbur on the beach.

“Wilbur,” he says. His voice is quick and sharp. “Go back to the house and set up the couch. Get my medicine kit from underneath the sink.”

Wilbur nods and sets off, racing through the fields. Techno looks back down at the teenager, impressed. Tommy’s jaw clenches and his blue eyes are dark, set in grim determination. He stands up and dusts himself off.

“What can I do-”

“You can take this man back to the house,” Tommy interrupts. “Careful of the broken wing. I’m going to check the crops and then I’ll be in.”

Techno scoops the man up in his arms, bridal style. He carries him to the house, holding back a sneeze as black feathers tickle his nose. He kicks the door open as Wilbur lugs a white box beside the couch.

“Set him there,” he says. “Where’s Tommy?”

Techno gently lays the man on the leather surface. “He said he’ll look after the crops and then he’ll be in.”

Wilbur stands by the window, fidgeting with his collar. “That kid is going to kill himself one day; taking care of people seems like all he knows how to do.”

“He’s an incredible leader,” Techno says.

Wilbur snorts. “Yeah. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Weren’t you a general?”

“I could never take in a homeless man, war god, and now a… winged person? all in the span of a couple of months.”

Techno chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”

Feet on the porch alert them to Tommy’s presence as he rushes inside. He pulls up a chair beside the couch and opens the white box. Techno and Wilbur watch in fascination as the blonde rummages around for a moment before pulling out an assortment of jars and bandages. Then he sets to work, starting with untying the man’s robe and letting it fall to his stomach.

“Techno, I need you to sit him up and then turn him around so his back is facing me,” he says shortly.

The god nods and leans over, pushing the man up softly until he’s been spun around. Tommy gently takes the broken wing and pulls the arrow out. Blood gushes from the wound and Techno cringes as it stains Tommy’s hands. The boy folds the wing into a natural position against the stranger and pulls out a roll of gauze, wrapping it around the man’s entire torso, weaving under the unbroken wing, and keeping the injured one in place.

He sits back after inspecting the rest of the stranger’s body. “Surprisingly, that’s the only major damage I can find. Those wings broke his fall and he survived mostly unscathed, save for the obvious cuts and bruises.”

“A miracle…” Wilbur murmurs.

“Not really,” Techno shrugs. “It’s more like an evolutionary design.”

Wilbur and Tommy stare at him. Techno sighs exasperatedly.

“You guys have got to get out more,” he says. “He’s a caviem.”

Tommy cocks his head to the side. “What?”

“Birdfolk, Tommy.”

Wilbur snaps his fingers and rushes to his journal. “Hold on, I need to write this down.”

Techno nods. “They were the first group of people to walk the earth. Old gods gave them wings so they could fly to the heavens for worship.”

“But they’re so exceedingly rare now, travelling in nomadic tribes…” Wilbur says. His pen has stopped scratching. “They were called monsters by regular humans, scared off into small sky villages.”

Techno nods solemnly. “We are all someone’s monster.”

“More wise god shit,” Wilbur murmurs.

Tommy looks down at the sleeping stranger. “Well, I don’t believe in all that god nonsense. But whatever happened to him…” his face is grim, “it wasn’t fair.”

Wilbur nods. “You’ve got that right, kid.”

--------------------------------

A few hours later, after Tommy’s shoved his medicine kit aside and Wilbur’s pen has stopped scratching, the man wakes up. His eyes peel open slowly, taking in the last fading rays of the sun. In his blurred vision, he can make out three shapes. Two men lean over something, bickering about who-knows-what while a larger figure lounges in another chair.

“So, can I move my bitch here?”

The brunette sighs. “No, Tommy, there’s another piece in her way. And she’s called the queen .”

The smaller figure, Tommy, pouts. “I only know one queen,” he says.

“Oh yeah? Who?” A deep voice rumbles. The stranger’s eyes flash over to him. The larger man lifts an eyebrow as he sets a book down on his chest, hands moving to a long pink braid. 

Where have I seen that before?

“My totally real, super sexy and hot girlfriend,” Tommy says proudly. The brunette across from him slaps a palm to his forehead. 

The big man chuckles and goes to pick up his book again, red eyes glance over at the stranger’s watery blue ones. “Uh, guys,” he says, slowly swinging his legs over the chair. “He’s awake.”

The blonde, Tommy, stands up quickly, knocking over whatever he was playing- chess, the man guesses- and bounds over to him. The man sits up frightfully, squawking in pain, as the brunette turns around to face him.

Three sets of eyes watching him.

“Ayup!” Tommy exclaims. “Took quite a tumble there, eh?”

The man nods slowly. 

“What if he can’t talk, Techno?” the brunette whispers. 

The man with the pink braid, Techno, shakes his head. “No, he should be able to, unless his tongue was cut out but the likelihood of that is-”

“It’s rude to talk about guests in front of them!” Tommy scolds. “I’m sure you can talk, can’t you?”

The man nods. Tommy smiles, so wide and blinding that it takes up his whole face. 

“Pog! What’s your name?”

The man stares at him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

Tommy blinks and turns around to the men behind him. They cross their arms over their chests and look at each other. A secretive conversation takes place between them, a conversation told entirely with their eyes, and they look back to the blonde and nod. 

“Well, I’m Tommy and that fucker-” he jabs a thumb at the brunette- “is Wilbur. The big guy is Technoblade.”

The man stares incredulously. “Like the-”

“Yes, like a god of war and vengeance,” Techno interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone do that?” he murmurs. 

“Who are you?” Wilbur accuses.

The caviem sighs, defeated and crosses his arms tight over his chest. “Philza. Phil for short. Are you going to kill me yourselves or hand me over to the authorities?”

Tommy looks up between Techno and Wilbur, confused. The two men furrow their brows and look down at him, just as baffled. Phil looks back and forth between the trio, worried and exhausted. Tommy turns back to Phil.

“We’re not gonna kill you, mate.”

Phil blinks. “What?”

Techno shrugs. “Unless you want us to.”

“Techno!” Wilbur elbows the god in the side before looking back to Phil. “He’s kidding.”

“No, I’m not,” Techno grunts.

Tommy smiles, wide and strained. “Ignore them. Anyway, where do you think you are?”

“Erm… Mortegno?”

Wilbur stares. “The kingdom of death giants?” He whispers, horrified.

Phil nods weakly. 

“You’ve come a long way then,” Techno says quietly.

Tommy nods enthusiastically. “I have no idea where that is but you’re in Logstedshire now!”

Philza stares at the floor. “I’m on the coast…”

“Mhm! The southern tip.”

“Fuck!” Phil murmurs. He leans back, suddenly relieved. “Thank the gods…”

Tommy leans in, tapping his fingertips together. “Sooo… what was up with the arrow in your wing? Also, can you lay eggs?”

Wilbur leans over and smacks the boy across the back of the head. Tommy yelps and rubs a hand on the injured area, turning around and bickering with the older man. Techno regards Phil with a silent apology. 

He’s familiar, a voice whispers. I can’t tell you how but he is.

Phil laughs. “Well, my tribe was just passing through Mortegno-”

“For some fucking reason,” Wilbur murmurs, interrupting. “You know death giants ate your people?”

“We were in need of supplies,” Phil pleads. “One of our women was pregnant, it was a necessary stop. Anyway, while we were there, I ran into the princess one night.”

Techno sits back down, arms crossed. “A princess? That’s highly unusual for their species.”

Phil nods. “Oh, but Kristin is wonderful! She’s wicked smart and pretty and she can uphold a conversation for hours-”

“You fell in love with her!” Tommy declares. “Obviously.”

“More or less,” Phil shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Her father wasn’t particularly fond of my kind though, so she’d sneak out and I’d meet her in the forest beyond her kingdom’s walls until one night-.”

Wilbur lifts a brow. “Let me guess,” he interrupts, “you were seen.”

Phil hangs his head. Wilbur scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Of course you were,” he rolls his eyes.

“Her father saw me fly to her window,” Phil says miserably. “I was going to propose…”

Wilbur’s eyes widen. “ARE YOU FUCKING MAD?!”

Techno and Tommy share a glance as Phil’s uninjured wing wilts. The man holds his head in his hands as he slouches, completely ashamed.

“Her father walked in. He saw me, the ring, and a real smile on his daughter’s face. He-” Phil swallows harshly- “He came at me, Kristin pushed me out the window and I fell.”

Tommy tilts his head. “You obviously escaped but… why did you assume that we were going to kill you?”

Phil sighs. “He sent his guards after me and set a bounty for my head. I fled to the countryside but you know…”

Techno nods knowingly. “Farmers are always in need of money and glory. Someone saw you in the sky and took a shot, I presume?”

Phil nods miserably.

“How long had you known her for?” Wilbur spits. “Seriously! Did you even bother to think about the consequences of a proposal? Hope she was fucking worth it mate because if Death Giants start traipsing through-”

Techno places a gentle hand on Wilbur’s arm. “Wil,” he says softly, “I think he knows.”

Wilbur stops his rant and exhales slowly. Tommy glances over at him, simultaneously concerned and annoyed. He looks back to Phil and smiles warmly.

“I’m sure Kristin was lovely,” he says softly. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

As if on cue, Phil’s stomach rumbles. He smiles weakly. “A while.”

Wilbur scoffs and crosses his arms. “Yeah, well we’re not going to feed a dumbass-”

Tommy claps loudly, interrupting the older man and turning on his heel. “Wilbur, Techno, talk with me outside for a moment.”

“What?” Wilbur turns, brows furrowing. “But, it’s dark.”

“Yeah, Toms, I was goin to bed soon,” Techno chimes in. “Can it wait till tomorrow because-”

He’s interrupted as Tommy grabs both his and Wilbur’s ears, dragging them onto the front porch. Phil watches from the couch, stunned and amused as the door swings shut, cutting off their cries. He watches through the window as Tommy speaks rapidly, the other two men standing silently before him.

Techno rubs his ear tenderly while Wilbur swears under his breath. Tommy stands before them, his height seeming to double as he places his hands on his hips. His face is set in a stern, disappointed frown. A soft breeze blows across the hillside and the trio gets a whiff of salt.

“You two have embarrassed me several times in front of our guest,” the boy starts off slowly. “Neither of you will be going to bed because you’re in charge of looking after Philza tonight.”

Wilbur’s jaw drops. “But, Tommy-”

“No ‘buts,’” the blonde says with a deadly stare. The two men hang their heads. “Now, we’re gonna go back inside and you two are going to smile and be nice to our guest.” 

Wilbur raises his hand timidly. Techno glances over fearfully.

Tommy sighs. “What, Wil?”

“Well, I was just wondering… why?”

Techno hisses under his breath. Wilbur should know better than to question Tommy’s instructions. Tommy blinks. And then he smiles, mouth stretching wide into a humorless grin.

“Because,” he says through his teeth, “that man has just been hunted and he needs company.”

“But why can’t you-”

Techno elbows him in the side. “Shut it,” he growls. “Do you have a death wish?”

Tommy nods. “Listen to the Blade, Wil. Or would you rather I send a letter to your king and tell him of how you deserted your nation?”

Wilbur purses his lips at the empty threat but otherwise says nothing. Techno sighs in relief. Tommy closes his eyes and exhales slowly.

“Now, we’re gonna go back in there and you two are gonna smile and be nice and hospitable for our guest, got it?”

The two men nod and Tommy huffs in approval. His hand reaches for the doorknob and as his fingers wrap around the shining gold, he turns around.

“And Wilbur,” he says, “keep your snide comments to yourself please.”

With that, Tommy returns inside, smiling widely and chattering happily about a meal for Phil. Techno follows Tommy, turning back to smirk smugly at a stunned Wilbur as the door promptly slams shut in his face.

Chapter Text

Phil is amazed at Tommy’s cooking. He rules the kitchen with an iron fist, fluttering back and forth between cabinets and his stove as he cleans, and shooing Wilbur and Techno out of his way. Phil smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they had earlier about his meal choice. 

“What would you like, Philza?” Tommy asks.

“Please, call me Phil- I’d like some poultry if that’s alright,” the avian says. Tommy freezes.

“Isn’t that er… cannibalism?”

Phil blinks, stunned for a moment. And then he laughs, loud and boisterous. Tommy stares. Techno sits in the chair behind him, chuckling to himself.

“Not technically,” Phil says, “The only bird-like features I have are the wings and a hatred for glass.”

Tommy deflates. “So, that means-”

“I can’t lay eggs,” Phil finishes.  

Soft curls of steam rise into the air from Phil’s plate. A corner is chipped but he can tell that the green dish was loved. He wonders who used it before him. He wonders why Tommy’s accent isn’t one off the coast.

“Hey, Tommy,” he says, gently stabbing a piece with his fork, “where are you from?”

Just like that, the whole house freezes. Wilbur drops a pot into the cauldron, sending soapy waves to crash over the side. Techno glances up at Phil and urges him a warning with his crimson red eyes. Tommy doesn’t turn around from the counter.

“I believe,” he says slowly, “that that is none of your business.”

Phil lifts a brow. “But, you’ve got a Snowman-”

He stops as Techno shakes his head rapidly. Tommy lifts his apron over his head and hangs it on the hook. He pulls his shoes on and before he leaves, he turns to Wilbur.

“I’m sure you boys are alright to watch the house? If Phil needs any medicine for his wing it’s under the sink.”

Wilbur nods timidly and cringes as the door slams shut. He shoots a glance at Techno who nods. Phil looks back and forth between them, confused.

“What was that all about?”

Techno sighs. “Tommy doesn’t like talking about his past.”

Phil blinks. “So, you don’t know why he lives on the coast with a Snowchesteran accent?”

Wilbur nods. “All we know is he’s got nightmares.”

“Bad ones,” Techno chimes in.

“And that he’s not willing to say anything.”

“And if you do mention it, he leaves the house for hours.”

Phil stares at his plate. The food smells heavenly but he’s suddenly lost his appetite. He pushes his vegetables around and slowly chews the meat. Techno glances over at him.

“Don’t take it too personal,” he says gruffly. “Tommy’s just like that.”

Phil nods despite not fully understanding. He watches as the god stands up, his chair screeching backwards as he takes his plate to the sink for Wilbur to wash. The two work together silently as they clean, only the sound of dishes clinking together fill the air.

They’re like a family, Phil thinks. Albeit a strange one, with a teenager in charge, but a family nonetheless.

“How’s your wing feeling?” Wilbur asks. 

Phil shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s fine-”

“No, it’s not,” Techno interrupts from behind him. Phil jumps.

“Lady Prime! Mate, where did you come from?”

Wilbur leans back and smiles. “Oh yeah, he does that sometimes.”

Techno points. “You’re all hunched over, no chance you’re feelin alright.”

“Okay, okay,” Phil says sheepishly, smiling tight. “It hurts like hell.”

Wilbur nods. “I’ll get you some matsu leaves.”

“Those still grow around here?” Phil asks as he sits up. “I haven’t seen them in years.”

Wilbur smiles as he crouches in front of the sink and rummages through jars and packages of medicine. Techno helps Phil stand and together they walk back to the living room where Phil promptly collapses on the couch, hissing in pain.

Wilbur follows behind them, a small jar and glass of water in hand. Techno offers his hand to Phil, who regards him with a lifted brow. Techno shrugs.

“Matsu leaves aren’t the nicest things to eat,” he says with a thin smile.

Phil caves and clasps Techno’s hand with an iron-tight grip. Techno doesn’t seem fazed by the older man’s grasp and Wilbur offers the jar. Phil carefully pinches a few leaves between his thumb and forefinger and brings them to his mouth. He blanches as he chews and swallows. Wilbur passes off the water and Phil gulps it all down in one sip. He blinks and shakes his head quickly.

“Prime, those are disgusting,” he says weakly.

Wilbur smiles. “Yeah, but they help. Trust me.”

Phil looks around him towards the back door. Techno releases himself from Phil’s hand and pats his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about him,” he says, “Tommy knows this land like the back of his hand. He’ll be home soon.”

Phil nods, despite the growing concern and worry gnawing away at his ribs. Wilbur returns to the kitchen, Techno following close behind.

“So,” Techno says, once out of earshot. “What do you think of him?”

Wilbur glances up at him from the cabinet. “Phil? I think he’s a fucking dumbass but… he seems genuine.”

Techno nods thoughtfully. “He appears wise.”

Wilbur stands and together they peer into the living room, watching Phil glare at the windows suspiciously. Wilbur scoffs.

“Yeah, appears.”

Techno shrugs. “He’ll be fine.”

Chapter Text

When Phil wakes up the next morning, Tommy is sitting on the leather chair across from him. The sky outside sits on the cusp of awakening, trails of the purple night fading away. A kettle whistles softly on the stove and what Phil assumes to be wind chimes tinkle gently outside on the front porch. The blonde glances over as the winged man yawns and sits up slowly.

“Good morning,” he says softly. “How are you feeling?”

Phil snorts weakly. “Like I’ve just crashed into the planet.”

Tommy smiles. “Yeah, that’s to be expected,” he says. “Think some shroud could help?”

“The tea?”

Tommy nods as he stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets the flier face down on the island. Phil shifts around on the couch, his worn, pink blanket slipping down his legs and pooling onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck yeah! I can’t even remember the last time I had a cup.”

Tommy laughs as he pours two mugs. “Relax,” he says from the counter, “I’ve taken out some of its… other properties.”

Phil deflates jokingly while Tommy passes the mug into his hand. Steam curls into the air and it seems like the house itself sighs with content. It’s a different kind of awakening, Phil realizes. One of soft whispers and warm meals and slowly waking up. It’s very different to the fast paced life of his tribe. Phil finds that while sitting on Tommy’s couch, warm mug in hand, bathing in the relative quiet; he doesn’t miss it all that much.

“Not what you’re used to?” Tommy asks. 

Phil looks up from the spot where he zoned out. He smiles sheepishly. “Not really. It’s a lot… calmer.”

Tommy nods. “Nomadic life is not as easy as others believe it to be.”

“Yeah,” Phil nods. He takes a sip and exhales, “It’s hard when you’re-”

“Always checking over your shoulder, not knowing when your next meal is going to be, making supplies stretch as long as it possibly can,” Tommy finishes. 

Phil blinks, stunned. “Yeah. How did you-”

Tommy smiles thinly. “I get it.”

Phil decides that it’s too early for the boy to run out of the house so he leaves it at that. They sit in silence together, each taking periodic sips of tea before something quietly dawns on Phil. 

This is no ordinary boy.

Who wakes up before dawn and makes tea? Who knows how to treat wounds and create salves and memorize the plants indigenous to a certain area? Who could possibly know about the fear of leading a nomadic lifestyle? Who understands the fragility of this world and yet basks in the feeling of being whole despite the fear of breaking?

Someone with a past they are running from, Phil decides.

“Where are Techno and Wilbur?” he asks after swallowing a particularly large sip.

Tommy glances up from his mug. “Sleeping.”

“You’re the only one who gets up this early?”

Tommy shrugs. “Got shit to do, don’t I?”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Tommy sets his mug down on the driftwood coffee table. “Someone has to feed the chickens, take Henry and Carl out, start breakfast, restock low supplies, clean up if Wilbur came home from Quackity’s late; not to mention-”

“Woah, woah!” Phil interrupts. “Slow down! You have to do all that? What do the other two do?”

Tommy smiles. “You’ll find out soon. It’s almost time for those two to get their asses moving anyway.”

Phil watches, baffled as Tommy stands and downs the rest of the tea left in his mug. He then goes to the kitchen and grabs a broom from a corner before making his way to a spot behind the dining table. Tommy grins at Phil as he takes the broom and mouths, Watch this! before beating the handle against the wood ceiling. 

Within moments, Phil hears a pair of feet hit the floor and dash about upstairs. A few seconds later and they’re running down the stairs, a disheveled Wilbur sliding around the corner. His hair is still sticking up in places and gold frames sit crookedly on his face. He stalks to the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“Tommy! I told you to stop doing that!”

Tommy sets the broom down and laughs. “No can do, Wilby. Grab Techno and get started.”

Wilbur looks around. “Does it matter which ones I pick today?”

“Not really,” Tommy says, stooping to pull pots and pans out of cabinets. His head pops back up. “Make sure to tell Techno that we won’t need eggs this morning, there are a few left over from yesterday.”

“Ooo, what are we having?”

Tommy grins as he flips a pan. “I was thinking pancakes. Phil?”

Wilbur turns around. “Oh… forgot you were here, mate.”

Tommy reaches up to give him a swift smack to the back of the head. Seems to be a brotherly thing, Phil notes. Wilbur winces and rubs the spot while Tommy apologizes. Phil smiles. 

“Pancakes sound great, Tommy, thank you.”

And just like that, the soft morning is broken. Wilbur pulls his shoes on and rushes out of the house towards the barn. Phil watches as he calls out greetings to the cow and horse in the field, each regarding him with a single flick of the ear.

Techno emerges from the barn, sleepy-eyed and groggy. Wilbur speaks to him as they walk to a nearby meadow and begin to hunt the ground for… 

“Flowers,” Tommy says from the kitchen. Phil pulls his gaze from the window. Tommy smiles while he mixes batter. “The bottles are empty.”

Phil nods and glances around the downstairs area. Finally, he notices the empty blue and green bottles placed on windowsills and tables. Vases.

“Their chore is to pick flowers?” Phil asks.

Tommy nods. “Only once a week, but yes. Techno has recently joined Wilbur in doing it, actually.”

Phil nods hesitantly. “Do you know what they talk about?”

“Not really,” Tommy says. He pours a small circle of batter onto a pan and gently sets it on the stove. “I just assume it’s some old man shit.”

Phil chuckles. “Wilbur can’t be more than twenty! He’s not old.”

“You should see his hairline then,” Tommy retorts. “That motherfucker is balding.”

Phil tosses his head back and laughs. Blond hair frames his face as gentle streams of rising sunlight paint his skin a honeyed glow. Tommy smiles softly as he turns around. He grabs the pan’s handle and gives it a quick shove, sending the pancake spinning into the air before it flops back down perfectly. 

Phil oohs and ahhs and gives a polite round of applause while Tommy grins and bows.

“Thank you, thank you,” he says, straightening up. “I’ll be here all week.”

Phil laughs again as he turns back to the window. Techno and Wilbur are close to the cabin now, striding through tall grass, each with a large bouquet in hand. He watches as they chatter to each other and Techno is smiling as he glances up, making brief eye contact with Phil.

“When will I see you again?”

The war god tosses his pink mane over his shoulder as he smiles softly. He glows in the dying sunlight, the blood caked across his face and armor shining unnaturally and Phil suddenly understands what it means to be worshipped.

“When Lady Prime decides it’s right.”

Techno is looking back at Wilbur and the moment is over. They’ve met sometime before, Phil is sure of it. If only he could remember where and how. There’s no way a god like Techno could have any memory of it, it may have only lasted a moment for all he knew.

The door swings open as the two enter the house, laughing about something. Tommy glances back from his place at the stove as he adds another small circle of batter to the pan. A stack of pancakes stand at attention on a plate behind him.

“Good morning, Philza,” Techno says warmly. He’s in a good mood, Phil notes. He smiles.

“Please-”

“Call him Phil,” Wilbur finishes. He smirks as Phil shoots him a playful glare. Red and yellow flowers light up in the windows as Wilbur gently places them inside various bottles, Techno occasionally adding a blue or purple one to the mix.

Phil watches, amused as Techno and Wilbur gesture for him to be silent while they tiptoe across the floor towards the island. 

“Don’t even try it,” Tommy says. His back is still to them as Wilbur and Techno withdraw their hands from the plate of pancakes. The two deflate and Phil laughs.

“How did you even know we were here?!” Wilbur cries.

Tommy turns around with three final flapjacks on his pan. He grins. “Because you try that every morning, no matter what I’m making.”

Techno nods as he returns to the living room to help Phil make his way to the dining room. He offers his arm and Phil latches on, being slowly pulled up by the war god. He wobbles off balance due to his injured wing, leaning into Techno’s shoulder. 

“I think we’ve met-”

“I know,” Techno interrupts. He lowers his voice to something much softer, possibly even full of fondness. “We’ll talk later, old friend.”

Old friend?

They all sit down at the table together, Techno letting Phil hold onto his arm as he lowers himself into his chair. Wilbur and Tommy carry over four steaming plates, stacked with pancakes. Tommy slides an enormous jar of syrup across the table and gestures to the end of the table.

“There’s regular sugar in the black bowl and brown in the white,” he says. “In case you want more sweet shit on your flapjacks, Phil.”

Phil smiles and nods while Tommy pours milk in three glasses, handing one to Techno and the other to Phil. The third glass sits on the island while he takes a small vial of dark brown sludge and gently tips it over the glass. Phil watches as the strange substance slowly falls into the frothy milk below, mixing with the white and turning the liquid a light brown. 

“Here you are, Wil,” he says, gently placing the drink in front of the general. “Fresh chocolate milk.”

Wilbur smiles like a little kid and Phil and Techno laugh. Tommy finally sits down and together, they all begin to eat.

Chapter Text

A little later in the day, when there are no more chores to be done and everybody is on their own for the rest of the afternoon, Techno approaches Phil on the front porch.

The avian looks away from the sparkling sea as the door gently shuts behind the war god. Techno nods once, smiling enough that Phil can make out the quick flash of teeth. Phil returns the greeting and gestures to the rocking chair beside him. 

“Have a seat, old friend,” he says.

Techno eases himself down and sighs as the wood creaks beneath him. Phil chuckles and looks back to the ocean and the gentle waves lapping at the sand. Tommy had left for a shopping trip to the next village over and Wilbur was reading in the meadow beside the house.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Techno says warmly.

Phil hums. “I can actually enjoy it from the ground too,” he says. He glances over. “Remind me how we know each other?”

“Of course. War, long ago, when you were travelling on your own without a tribe. Perhaps you’ll remember when I say that we were younger, arrogant, and aiding Tundrow in their battle against Lavedos?”

And like flint to steel, a spark is lit.

“We’ve run out of options,” the king says solemnly. “We must call upon the Wings of Death.”

Technoblade, considered a young god then, scoffs. His hair is wild and untamed, pink curls billowing down his shoulders like the mane of a lion. “What’s so great about this guy anyway?” 

The palace doors open, blasts of freezing wind pushing into the great hall. Techno turns around and is greeted by a man with large, looming black wings. His emerald robes stand out amongst the blue and white of ice and snow. Blond hair frames a young face and the man tilts his head up.

He grins, lopsided and carefree. “You called, your highness?”

The king stands from his throne, clasping his hands together, and bows. Techno stares in shock. Who must this stranger be to get the ruler of the Tundrow to bow? He turns back to the man, who’s taking easy steps across the floor.

“Your assistance is needed,” the king says simply. “We must crush the armies of Lavedos.”

The Wings of Death, as he is called, steps up beside Technoblade. He glances over, blue eyes sparkling with misguided mischief and gives Techno a once over.

“You must be a new god?” he asks. 

Techno nods stiffly. “One of war. Name’s Technoblade.”

“What a surprise,” Phil says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He sticks a hand out. “I’m Philza, Phil for short.”

“Quite a… plain name for someone with a moniker like the Wings of Death.”

Phil bristles. “Well,” he says through gritted teeth, “Technoblade sounds like something a stupid child brute would give itself, hm?”

Techno balls his fists at his side. 

“Boys,” the king interrupts. “Save the introductions for later. There is work to be done.”

Phil shoots a sly look at Techno. “Of course, sire.”

Technoblade nods. “Apologies, your highness.”

The king looks between them and nods once. He turns away from his throne and gestures to the hallway that leads to the other parts of the castle.

“We’ll discuss our tactics more in depth inside my study.”

As they turn to leave, Phil steps on Techno’s boot. “Apologies are for cowards,” he hisses before sauntering out of the great hall behind the king.

Phil groans. “Prime, I was an ass to you in the beginning!”

Techno laughs. “It’s fine. We were both young and eager to prove ourselves.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Phil says softly. “After that final battle, I was sure that you were going to retire like the others.”

The war god shrugs while he looks back out onto the water. “I did, for a while. But you know the curse…”

Phil nods solemnly. “I’m surprised you’ve let these two live.”

He’s addressing the voices, Techno realizes.

“They leave when Tommy’s around,” he says quietly. “Besides, I promised Wilbur I wouldn’t harm them.”

“How did you find your way here?”

Techno sighs. “Shot an arrow through their dining room window while trying to capture a meal. Tommy said I could either pay for it or help fix it and you know how I’m always broke; so, I stuck around for a week.”

He watches as fish leap into the air over the sea. Water sprays off their backs, glistening silver in the sunlight as salt drifts through the warm breeze. He smiles softly. “Guess I liked it so much I decided to stay.”

Phil chuckles. “Lady Prime has an interesting way of showing us what we need.”

Techno glances over. “Well, you found your way here. Perhaps you need this too.”

Phil nods thoughtfully. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

“You mentioned a tribe,” Techno says. “What happened to soaring the skies alone, tasting freedom in the winds?”

Phil smiles thinly. “Things change,” he says simply.

They decide to leave it there for the evening. 

----------------------------

The next morning, the four men have breakfast together before splitting off to go about their days. Techno leaves the house with a hearty wave and sets off for Logstedshire, Tommy at his side to go fishing with Ponk; leaving Wilbur and Phil to their own devices.

“I feel that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Wilbur says. 

Phil looks up from the ball of red yarn. The young man stands in front of him, fiddling with his fingers nervously. He smiles as he sets the two large needles down in his lap.

“I’m hopeless with these,” he says, gesturing to them. “Found them in a box under the couch.”

Wilbur perks up. “Tommy never told me he knits!”

Phil gently slides over, careful of the injured wing. He pats the seat beside him. “Care to teach me?”

Wilbur smiles softly. “Of course.”

He sits down and carefully takes the yarn and needles from Phil, adjusting them to fit his grip. The lesson is only about fifteen minutes long and by the end of it, Phil is still as lost as ever. The two sit in silence while Wilbur keeps knitting, content in the quiet.

“How did you come to be here?” Phil asks. “Your accent is not of this continent, so I know that you at least weren’t born here.”

Wilbur pauses. He licks his lips. “I am from L’manburg.”

Phil’s eyes widen. “The southern continent? That’s quite a journey.” 

Wilbur hums as he resumes his knitting. “I was the leading general for the king- young, I know,” he says before Phil can. 

“I hear your people are at war with Dremas. Rumors abound that the battle is one between gods.”

Wilbur scoffs. “All I know is that it is pointless. My ship was blown apart by the enemy while we were in retreat.”

“A coward’s way to fight,” Phil spits. “Attacking an enemy while their guard is lowered is one thing, but during their retreat? It’s ugly and unfair.’

“I was at the mercy of her Ladyship and luckily, she granted me a semi-safe passage to the shores here. Tommy found me one morning on the beach and nursed me back to health.”

Phil sits back, impressed. “He’s a child.”

Wilbur purses his lips. “Well, then he’s clearly a very capable one. He was by himself when I got here. The people in the village say he’s been out here for as long as they can remember.”

They both know what he’s really trying to say; Tommy’s been alone for years. 

Phil shakes his head, something about that is going to gnaw away at his conscience. They sit in strained silence, Wilbur’s hands still working at the needles, looping yarn in and around itself, creating shimmering red rows that seemed to bleed with comfort. 

“Where did you learn to knit?” Phil asks finally, hoping to cut the tension.

Wilbur pauses again. “Back in L’manburg. The queen herself taught me, before her death.”

Phil smiles softly. “That was very kind of her.”

Wilbur nods. “She was the one who pushed me to get the general’s seat. I was content with being the palace’s musician but… she saw something more in me.”

“She was right,” Phil says. “Do you play chess?”

Wilbur laughs. “Let me guess, you and Techno used to play all the time? You want to see how well trained I am as a general.”

Phil smiles and shrugs. “Perhaps. How did you know about the connection between me and Technoblade?”

“Tommy told me,” Wilbur says. He’s still knitting. 

“He could tell?”

Wilbur glances up. “I don’t know. Just said there was history between you two.”

Phil chews his bottom lip. “How could he know?”

Wilbur shrugs. “Hell if I know. He’s an enigma, that kid.”

He sets the needles aside, looks at Phil and smiles. “I’ll get the board.”

Phil watches as he stands and disappears up the stairs. He hears faint rummaging around and then finally, the sound of footsteps thudding back down.

“How did you fare against Techno?” Phil asks while they set up.

Wilbur glances up. He places a pawn and smiles. “I beat him in two moves.”

Phil chuckles. “Reliable move,” he says, “Fool’s Mate.”

“Guess that means I can’t use it against you, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Phil says. He grins. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

---------------------------

When Tommy and Technoblade return home that night, they find Wilbur and Phil asleep on the couch, side by side. Wilbur’s head rests on Phil’s shoulders, his soft, even breaths gently fluttering a few shimmering feathers. A chessboard sits on the table in front of them, apparently in the middle of a game.

Tommy smiles. “Looks like they had a lot of fun,” he whispers.

Techno nods. He gently sets his pack on the floor. “Phil is a masterful chess player. I’m surprised he didn’t crush Wilbur immediately.”

“Ah well, when you take strength at face value, it is sure to become weakness.”

Techno glances over at the boy, surprised. 

Wise god shit, a voice murmurs.

Chapter Text

It’s been two weeks since Phil crashed into the field. He is able to walk on his own, though he is still reliant on a large walking stick, gifted to him by Wilbur. 

“Tommy made it for me when I first arrived here,” he’d said. It was beautiful, sun-bleached, pale white and carefully carved.

Techno and Phil grew close again, recounting stories of their travels on the front porch after the chores were done. Occasionally, Tommy would sit at their feet and play chess with Wilbur, being coached by both Techno and Phil at times when he really needed it.

Late at night, when Techno and Tommy retreat into the comfort of their beds (they always work the hardest out of the four); Wilbur strums his guitar while Phil sings birdfolk songs in his native language. Eventually, Wilbur gets sleepy and says goodnight, leaving Phil alone to think.

His thoughts are always full of Tommy.

How did a young child, a boy, end up out here on his own? What is he running from? Is it a person? Could he be an outlaw? He’s certainly very skilled, having knowledge under his belt that only a grown man could know. And yet, he’s still only a boy.

“I’m going to the market,” Phil says one day. Tommy looks up from the boat he’s crouched by, squinting into the sun’s glare. “I’d like to bake you boys some of my tribe’s infamous seed bread.”

Tommy stares at him for a moment before standing. “Alright,” he says, brushing the sand off his knees. Water lazily licks at his ankles as he stretches. “That’s fine as long as you bring the cane and you actually use it.”

Phil smiles. He brings his free hand up to his forehead and salutes. “Aye aye, Captain!”

With that, Phil sets off down the road, a wide brimmed, green and white hat on his head to shield his eyes from the sun (courtesy of Niki, commissioned by Techno). He feels a wave of guilt crash around his stomach. He hates lying to Tommy.

------------------------

Phil comes home just before sunset. He waves as he comes up the road, Wilbur and Techno jumping up from their spots on the front porch. Tommy remains seated on the swing, watching as the other two run down the stairs to meet Phil. He takes note of the emptiness at Phil’s side.

The three men are laughing at something as they come up the steps, Phil hobbling between Wilbur and Techno. They collapse in their respective seats, Wilbur on the swing beside Tommy, and Techno and Phil in their chairs.

“I thought you were going to bake,” Tommy says coolly.

Phil glances up. He licks his lips. “Ah, yeah, you’ll never believe this but they were out of the supplies I needed!”

Tommy nods. “There’s always next week.”

Next week comes and Phil leaves for town again under the pretense of shopping for more clothes. Tommy notes the empty basket at his side when he returns.

--------------------------

One day, while Tommy is out in the pasture with Henry and Carl and the other three men are inside the house, Phil poses a question:

“Why do we let him take care of us?”

Wilbur and Techno look up from their chess game, confused. 

“What do you mean, Phil?” Wilbur asks.

Phil gestures out the window he’s watching Tommy from. The other two get up and join him and they watch as the boy plays with the two animals in the field, laughing and smiling in the sun. He almost seems to glow.

“I mean, he’s a child, someone significantly younger than us. He must feel pressured to take care of three fully grown men. It isn’t fair to him.”

Techno shrugs helplessly. “Tommy doesn’t let us help out much. I was fine on my own, you know that, Phil.”

Wilbur nods. “Yeah. We made Tommy give us chores so it didn’t feel like we were mooching off him, y’know? Like I said, mate, he was on his own and doing just fine when I got here.”

“He’s a pretty capable kid, Phil,” Techno says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You gotta stop worryin so much.”

Phil sighs. He grips the mug in his hand tighter.

-------------------------

Finally, one dull, foggy morning, Tommy announces that Phil’s wing is healed. 

“But,” he says seriously, “you’re gonna have to take it slow and get used to flying again. We’ll do this by taking short, low test flights over the fields first before graduating to-”

“I think I’m good enough to go over the ocean,” Phil interrupts. “This isn’t my first rodeo, mate, I’ll be fine.”

Wilbur and Techno look at him, horrified. 

What have you done?  Wilbur mouths, distressed. Techno is shaking his head slowly beside him.

Tommy blinks. And then shrugs. “If you say so.”

---------------------------

Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno stand on the beach, burrowing their feet into the cold, wet sand. Phil is on the cliff, wing unbandaged and free, preparing to fly. Wind whips around the men and they shiver despite the layers they’re bundled up in.

Wilbur and Techno suck in a breath as Phil begins to back up in the distance and gets a running start. He shakes his wings out, takes a breath, and sprints full-speed towards the drop. They watch silently, Techno and Wilbur holding onto each other. Tommy stands beside them, arms crossed over his chest.

Phil leaps and begins to fall. They all hold their collective breath. His wings beat weakly until, slowly but surely, picking up speed and wobbling through the air before evening out. He whoops and makes a turn, heading towards the spot where the boys are on the beach.

“Let’s fucking go!” Wilbur shouts. “He really did it, Toms!”

He turns and faces Tommy who is quickly shrugging off his jacket. Tommy looks up, stony-faced. 

“That wing has been bandaged for weeks, Wil. He’s not gonna make it; he is an Icarus.”

At that moment, Techno makes a strangled sound and Wilbur turns back. Phil’s injured wing has given out, too weak to be of any use. Fear is etched on Phil’s face as he crashes into the icy depths of the sea. Tommy runs down the beach and dives in after him.

Wilbur and Techno watch anxiously from shore as neither of them resurface. A minute passes by, and then two… and then three.

“Alright,” Techno says and he begins unbuttoning his coat. “I’m going in.”

Wilbur grabs his arm. “No, wait.”

“Wilbur, are you fuckin serious right now?”

Wilbur looks up at him, tears welling in his eyes. His nose and cheeks are blotchy and red from the cold. “Please, Techno, give them a little more time-”

Splashing from the ocean catches their attention as Tommy breaks the surface with an unconscious Phil slung across his back. He swims to shore as Wilbur and Techno race to the waterline to meet them. 

Tommy walks out of the sea, shivering and dripping saltwater. His teeth chatter as he lays Phil in Techno’s arms and checks his pulse.

“He’s alive,” he says breathlessly. 

Wilbur sags in relief. “Oh, thank the gods you’re both okay.”

Tommy nods absentmindedly as he trudges past them. “I’m g-going back home to dry off.” He turns back and gestures to Phil. “Make sure you guys ch-change his clothes and keep him warm… hypoth-thermia, y’know?”

Techno and Wil nod rapidly as Tommy leaves, slowly climbing the beach to the house. They glance between each other, concerned before following behind him.

Inside, they find a large pot of water boiling on the stove and faint thumping around upstairs. Towels and thick blankets lay in one of the armchairs opposite the couch, a fresh fire burning in the fireplace and Wilbur and Techno set to work caring for Phil.

When Tommy returns, he’s wearing several new layers, his hair flat and damp, clearly tousled by a cloth. He smiles tiredly as Wilbur bickers with his newfound brother, directing him on how to carry wet clothes.

“I’m not stupid, Wil,” Techno grumbles. “I’m aware of how to hold things.”

“Oh really?” Wilbur asks, voice high and mocking. “Mi mi mi mi mi mi mi~ that’s all I hear, you fuck.”

Techno rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, real mature.”

“Gods, all your arguing is giving me a headache,” Phil groans from the couch. 

They whirl on him. “Oh excuse me, your highness.”

“Yeah, why don’t you dive into the sea again, dumbass.”

“Mhm! That’s why we listen to Tommy.”

Tommy sighs from the stove as he stirs the stew. Wilbur and Techno continue to argue while Phil groans on the couch. Somehow, by grace of the gods, the boy loses himself in his cooking. 

Slowly, Wilbur and Techno stop their fighting as a soft, gentle humming fills the air. They look back and forth between each other, before looking at Phil. He’s watching the kitchen intently, softly. He looks up at them and points. They turn around. 

It’s Tommy. He’s humming and Wilbur wants to cry. The tune is unfamiliar but it yearns for home. 

Wilbur and Techno share a single look and nod. Wilbur sneaks upstairs while Techno tiptoes to a side table. He opens a drawer and carefully pulls out a violin case. Wilbur returns with his guitar. They shush Phil with a finger to the lips and begin to play.

The violin’s first notes are long and soft as Wilbur’s fingers gently skirt over his strings; they don’t want to drown out Tommy’s voice, or alert him to their added sound. Phil watches from the couch, shrouded in piles of quilts and new robes, as Techno closes his eyes and sways with the music. Wilbur smiles, slowly padding over to a chair and sitting down.

Tommy sways at the stove, stirring the stew absentmindedly. The fire crackles across from Phil as the smell of chicken and lime fills his nose and he realizes with absolute certainty; he can never leave this behind. Tommy’s humming fades as he ladles the meal into bowls and eventually Techno and Wilbur’s music comes to stop. 

“I’m stewing in agony,” Phil jokes as Tommy hands him his bowl.

“Well then,” Tommy says, “why don’t you try stewing in some warm chicken lime broth with spices and vegetables instead?”

Phil tosses his head back and laughs. Tommy smiles and takes a seat on the couch next to him. They all sit in silence for a few minutes, letting steam curl into the air as their hands begin to feel warm again.

“So, Phil,” Techno says, “think you’ve learned your lesson?”

Phil bows his head. “Yes…”

“You’ll listen to Tommy now?” Wilbur adds.

Phil glances over at the teenager beside him who flashes a wide smile. Phil smiles back and shakes his head.

“I’ll listen to Tommy now,” he affirms, nodding.

The blonde pumps a fist in the air as he whoops. The rest of the group laughs before Tommy stares at Phil menacingly.

“I’m gonna make you my bitch.”

Chapter Text

Technoblade stands beside Tommy, arms crossed over his chest. They watch as Phil swoops over the forest, the wind rolling off his back and rustling the top layer of the thick canopy. A flock of birds erupt from the leaves, blue wings flapping alongside him and Phil whoops. Techno leans over.

“How’s trainin goin?” he asks. The two had been outside together for days, practicing over and over until Phil stopped flying into the ground.

Tommy glances over and nods, the shadows on his face lengthening as the sky grows darker. “Fine. It’s just a recollection of muscle memory and learning his new limits at this point. He’s alright to leave if he so chooses.”

Techno hums. “How did you know what to do?”

“What do you mean by that, big man?”

“You know, like…” Techno grasps at the air, “to teach him to fly again. You don’t have wings or anything, you didn’t even know what he was at first.”

Tommy scoffs. “Well, I’ve nursed plenty of birds back to flight. I assumed it was the same thing, just a bit bigger.”

Techno stares incredulously. “You based the sanctity of Phil’s health on your knowledge of the common parrot?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?!”

Phil dives and comes to a stop in front of them. His hair is wind-blown, flying out in every direction as he grins. It’s the most alive he’s looked in the past few weeks.

“Ayup boys!” he says. “What are we talking about?”

Tommy steps forward. “Your recovery! You’re good to leave, Philza, if you so choose. Get back to Mortegno and fight for Kristen or whatever men in love do.”

Phil softens. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “May I have some time to think about it?”

Tommy blinks, surprised. “Sure, take all the time you need. But you’re done sleeping on the couch. I’ll have Techno and Wil set up a spot for you in the loft of the barn this evening.”

Techno deflates. “I didn’t think I’d be climbing up there tonight…”

“Cry about it!” Tommy says cheerily, clapping him on the shoulder. He looks at the sky and the retreating sun. “I’m gonna head in and get dinner started.”

The other two men wave as the teenager leaves. Techno watches Phil’s face as Tommy goes inside and a voice creeps in.

He’s not leaving, is he?

Techno snorts. “You’re not gonna leave, are you?”

Phil doesn’t look away from the small house as smoke slowly trails out of the chimney. “How can I?” he whispers. “He’s just a boy and I love Wilbur like a son.”

“Ow,” Techno playfully winces. “Tommy will be fine, he has me and Wilbur. Go back to Mortegno. Find Kristen. Be happy, Phil.”

Phil sighs and sniffles. He shakes his head, turning around and looks Techno in the eyes. They are shimmering with tears and wide and lost.

“I am happy, Tech.”

Techno takes a small step forward, at a loss for words. He places an arm around Phil as the avian falls into him, crying quietly. A gentle breeze wafts over the two men and the field they stand in together.

“He’s just so damn young…”

Techno nods, rubbing small circles on Phil’s back. Phil hiccups and chuckles wearily. 

“Ridiculous…” he blinks hard and wipes his eyes with his knuckles. “A grown man crying over an independent teenager.” He clears his throat and straightens up. “I’m alright now, Techno, thank you.”

The war god nods once and together they make their way back to the house. Neither notice the sun shines a little brighter as it sets.

------------------------

“You’re doing it and that’s final, Wil!”

Tommy slams the door before Wilbur has a chance to argue and the man watches in horror as the lock clicks. He turns around and catches Technoblde and Phil chuckling together behind their hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps. “Let’s just go make this stupid bed and then I can go back inside.”

Techno smirks. “Yeah, if you’re allowed.”

Phil laughs as Wilbur shoots him a glare. The three men make their way across the fields towards the barn. It’s grown dark now and fireflies light their path through the tall grasses as a gentle warm breeze wafts through the air. 

Techno climbs first, scrambling up the ladder with ease. Phil ducks in through the large dormer window, lantern swinging in his hand. He smirks at Wilbur smugly as he pulls himself up the ladder, panting heavily.

“I thought you were a general,” Techno observes coolly. 

“Yeah, Wil,” Phil teases, “Looks like Tommy’s spoiled you far too much!”

Wilbur blows a greasy brown curl out of his face. “Fuck you guys.”

Techno and Phil laugh as they gather hay and old sheets that Tommy had left for them. By the time they were done, the candle burned low, and Phil was relaxing into his new bed.

“Thank you boys,” he chirps. “It’s a good nest.”

Techno and Wilbur glance between each other. 

“Of course,” Techno says. 

Wilbur nods. “No problem, old man.”

Phil sits up. “Do you guys have a minute? Before you go?”

Wilbur and Techno glance between each other again. They both crouch and fall to the floor, crossing their legs beneath themselves. They nod. Phil’s wings flutter nervously.

“Well, I just..”

Techno stares at the floor. It’s dusty, Tommy hadn’t been up there in a while, he supposes. 

“This is about Tommy, isn’t it?” he whispers quietly. He looks up. “This is about you leaving.”

Wilbur looks confused. “You’re leaving?”

Phil shakes his head. “I can’t. Not after what I’ve gathered, the friendships I’ve made in the village… you two.”

Wilbur draws his knees to his chest. “And what have you gathered?”

The lantern’s flame glows faintly, the shadows in the loft long and drawn across every surface. They make Phil look older, his age finally showing through the cracks in his face. He sighs.

“From what the villagers told me, Tommy has been here since he was fourteen but he looked older at the time; apparently his height made Quackity assume that he was sixteen already.”

Techno scoffs. “You know Quackity isn’t the most observant, Phil. He’s a hybrid for Prime’s sake!”

Phil glares. “Watch it. The cabin was abandoned, so was the barn; Tommy fixed them up. Henry was hurt in the forest as a babe and Tommy took him in.”

“Explains why he loves that goddamn cow so much,” Wilbur grumbles. Techno nods. 

“Apparently, Tommy has a history up north- which I don’t know about. I don’t think I even want to know what that poor kid has been through.”

Wilbur stares and Phil sighs.

“In short, I am staying here because I can’t just leave Tommy to care for two grown men. I also… sort of don’t want to return to that god awful tribe.” He hangs his head.

“But… what about Kristin?” Wilbur asks. “Surely you want to see her again?”

Phil looks up, eyes wide and desperate. “More than anything in the cosmos! I’ve slain hundreds and I’ll slay thousands more if it means I get to see Kristin again but Wilbur, I… I’m not sure she wants to see me.”

The three men sit in silence, the gentle flickering of the lantern’s candle fills the air. Techno finally sighs and stands up, stretching his great arms above his head. He offers a hand to Wilbur who joins him. They stand together and gaze down at the ashamed avian.

“Philza,” the war god says, “if you’re a pussy, just say that.”

Wilbur snorts. “Honestly, mate, just tell us you love us. No shame in that either.”

Phil’s head snaps up. His wings droop into his nest of golden hay. “What?”

Techno laughs as he scoops up the lantern. Wilbur scrambles down the ladder first, calling goodnight before leaving the barn. Techno calls back and waves, before turning around.

“Phil,” he says. The avian looks at him and Techno finally realizes just how old they are.

Philza’s breath hitches. “Yes?”

“We don’t blame you for staying.”

With that, Technoblade turns around, the pink braid filled with flowers trailing down his back spins with him and he jumps from the loft to the ground below.

Chapter Text

It’s been months since the family was completed. Philza works with Tommy to care for the house and the other two men, much to Tommy’s disdain. The blonde slowly warms up to the avian and it’s not long before Phil adopts the name “Dadza.” 

The sun’s heat is gentle for the first time in days as the four lounge on the beach, a basket of food and water shared between them. Waves gently break on the shore as Tommy shoots watermelon seeds at the back of Wilbur’s head.

“Fucking hell!” The general swats at the air. 

Techno glances at Tommy. “What’s the matter, Wil?”

“These goddamn flies, I swear they didn’t use to be this fucking big…”

Phil laughs as Tommy reloads, taking in bite after bite of the fruit, red juice spilling down his chin. It looks too similar to blood, Techno decides, his stomach twisting in a tight knot.

“How’s Kristin?” he asks instead.

Phil’s wings flutter at the mention of her name as he grins. “She’s well! I’m hoping to sneak a visit with her soon; maybe on the summer solstice but we’ll see what her schedule allows. She’s preparing to become queen, you know?”

Wilbur lifts a brow. “Good for her! Maybe once dear old dad dies, you two can marry!”

Phil’s smile widens and Tommy whistles playfully, watermelon seeds flying out of his mouth like cannonballs. One nicks Wilbur’s ear and he glares at the air above the sea suspiciously. Something in the distance comes into focus; dark and looming on the waves. 

War ships.

Wilbur’s face pales. He swallows the stone at the back of his throat. “Tommy, Phil.”

The two pause their wedding planning conversation, looking quizzically in Wilbur’s direction. Blonde hair frames both their faces and it almost makes Techno question if Tommy really is Phil’s son.

“What is it?” The younger asks.

“Pack everything up and go back to the house.”

Tommy’s brows furrow. “Wha-”

“That’s an order.” 

There’s something burning in his eyes that Phil recognizes in an instant. A general’s instincts. He looks to the horizon and in that one, horrible moment, it all clicks. He takes Tommy’s shoulder gently.

“Let’s go, Toms,” he says. “We’ve got work to do.”

He leads the younger blonde away and Wilbur ignores the pain that cracks through his chest at Tommy’s dismayed glance back. Techno stands beside him, tying his hair up.

“I didn’t think they’d come here,” Wilbur murmurs, “I thought I’d be safe; that we would be safe.”

Techno doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s talking about Tommy specifically. They watch as the ships move across the sea, slicing through the waves towards their tiny beach.

Phil returns, two swords and a whip in hand. Techno smiles sadly as his ruby-hilted weapon returns to his fingers, its weight a new and unfamiliar burden to hold. He grips his whip and nods. Wilbur stares at his own weapon, something Tommy had Sam forge for him as his first official gift on the continent. He blinks away tears as he reads the inscription across the steel: Brothers in Wind, Sky, and Sea - From Tommy.

“I’m going to Logstedshire,” Phil says, slinging a bow and quiver across his back. “I’ll see who I can round up in the village.”

Wilbur nods. “Good luck.”

Phil takes off running down the sand before kicking up, his wings unfolding and carrying him across the winds. The two men watch as he soars into the distance towards town. 

“Holy shit, he’s gotten better at that, hasn’t he?”

Wilbur and Techno jump at Tommy’s voice. He’s standing behind them, his own weapon in hand; a sword carved with careful precision. Netherite armor gleams in the sun.

That hilt is not Sam’s work, a voice notes. Nobody in that puny little village knows the ancient language of Enchantment. Where did he get this gear from?

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wilbur asks. His voice is high and strained.

Tommy gestures to his sword. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He grins. “I’m gonna stab some shit!”

Techno shakes his head. “Tommy, you can’t fight.”

“And why not?”

The two men look between each other and then back at the teenager in front of them. Blonde hair falls into bright blue eyes and they take in his scrawny form, the armor that is all too big for him; he is just a boy.

“Because you’re weak.”

Tommy blinks. “Fucking what? ” His voice is low, lower than they’ve ever heard it before.

“You’re too young,” Wilbur says curtly. 

He scowls. “I’m seventeen, prick.”

Wilbur’s face softens. “We missed your birthday?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tommy spits. “Let me fight, please.”

Techno’s brows rise. Tommy’s never begged before. He crosses his arms.

“And why should we?”

Tommy looks at the two men, face hard, eyes pleading. He grips the hilt of his sword with both hands until his knuckles turn stark white. 

“I didn’t do enough to save my last family. Please-” his voice breaks- “let me protect this one.”

Wilbur and Techno are taken aback. The mountainous wall of Tommy’s past stood before them and now, a single brick near the top has been removed. A sliver of golden light shines through. Techno sighs.

“Fine. But stay close to one of us.”

Tommy nods, face hard and determined. There is something familiar there that Wilbur cannot place. The grating sound of metal against sand alerts the general as the ships dock in the shallow waves. Phil returns, flying high above the crowd led by Sam and Niki, with Quackity bringing up the rear.

“We’re here for you,” Sam says, clapping a huge hand on Wilbur’s scrawny shoulder. “For Tommy.”

Wilbur swallows hard and nods. “I trust you farm boys know how to fight?”

Sam grins, sharp teeth glinting in the sun. “Absolutely.”

“I aim to kill too, you know?” Niki asks playfully, bumping her hip into Wilbur’s. He laughs.

“I believe it, Niki.”

The chattering on the beach falls silent as a large board descends from the biggest ship. Wilbur holds his breath as a man exits, wading to shore. Eyes and hair black as coal burn into Wilbur’s own piercing gaze. He recognizes the obsidian forged weapon at his side and presses his lips together.

“I thought I killed you,” the other general calls.

Wilbur straightens up, gesturing vaguely. “Obviously you did not.”

The man bares his teeth. “How did you survive the storm?”

“Lady Prime decided I had more to offer.”

“Bullshit.”

Wilbur lifts his chin and Tommy holds his breath.

“You and your army are not welcome here.”

The other general shrugs. “That’s not my problem,” he says. “Orders are orders.”

And then he lunges. Their swords meet and from there it’s a tango. Obsidian against steel, metals flash as the sounds of battle rage all around them. Enemy troops burst from the other two ships, rushing to shore.

Technoblade grins as the voices in his head wake themselves from slumber.

A feast! Oh, what a delight!

Kill them all, end this now.

The enemy comes at him in droves, eyes widening when it’s too late; they recognize the famed pink mane, his indescribable strength, the way he bathes in their blood. His whip rests in his right hand, ruby sword in the left; for, he is a soldier reborn and he laughs at their pitiful deaths.

Phil rains arrows from the sky, watching with a satisfied frown as enemy soldiers fall in the water, the sea carrying them away from the beach. Their beach.

“Sam!” he calls- “Your left!”

The man turns at the last second and briefly clashes with a Dremas soldier before overtaking him. He flashes a quick thumbs-up to Phil and returns to the fighting.

Niki stabs and slashes with her needles, sharpened to deadly points. Tommy doesn’t miss the magic sewn into her clothes as she ducks and dodges impossible blows from the enemy. He smiles to himself, of course, she was bestowed such a gift.

Quackity chops and stabs at the Dremas soldiers, his ax and spear cutting down the enemy with ease. His small, yellow wings alert him to the dangers approaching from behind and he ducks as a man’s pickaxe comes flying. It nicks his mouth and by gods does it hurt. Blood drips down his chin as he lifts his weapons and unleashes hellfire.

Wilbur has an advantage this time. He knows the beach better than the other general, stepping across the sand with ease. Their swords match each other hit for hit despite this, parrying and thrusting before inevitably clashing with the other metal.

The other general grits his teeth. “I see you’ve improved,” he notes, taking a step back for a moment. “How has this puny little town done anything for you?”

As if to answer his question, a crowd of his soldiers are flung to the sea. He stares incredulously through the battle, eyes widening at the sight of Technoblade and the bone-handled whip at his side. He turns back to Wilbur and grins.

“Now I see,” he says. He lunges, sword raised. Wilbur meets him, blocking the blow. 

“You’re going to be crushed,” he snarls.

The other man laughs, ugly and crude. “Oh, we’ll see.”

Blood, the voices chant. Blood for the blood god.

But Techno ignores them, eyes darting across the beach. His heartbeat quickens, Tommy is nowhere to be found. His whip and sword move without stopping and the chorus in his head grows louder and louder. He can see Phil in the sky, wings of black death casting great shadows on the beach. He can see Wilbur in a deadly tango with the enemy general; it seems like a close battle.

Then, he hears it. Loud, whooping laughter over the shouts and grunts of battle. His eyes finally locate the source; Tommy stepping around the beach with renewed strength.

“Take that bitch!” he cries, swinging and slashing at various soldiers, cutting them down with ease. Wilbur and Phil catch glimpses of the boy, parrying and thrusting and stabbing his enemies without a second thought. 

He’s experienced, Phil realizes with sobering reality.

He’s good, voices muse. Perhaps a little too good… 

“You’ve got a child in battle?” the other general asks, thrusting his weapon.

Wilbur scoffs, blocking and parrying. “He’s the best I’ve got.”

“High praise,” the man says, lifting a brow. He makes a strange motion with his sword before bringing it back to the fight with Wilbur. 

A signal, Wilbur vaguely wonders. “This battle is pointless, you know? You are fighting for the gods, you’re a pawn.”

The other general shrugs again. “Oh, yes, I know,” he says. “But it’s fun, no?”

Tommy watches as more soldiers appear from the waves, dark uniforms dripping with saltwater. 

Take them away, please, he prays to the sea. Swallow them whole and let my family come out victorious this once.

Unfortunately, Tommy was never one to believe much in myths. 

A man who had continued to survive, a man hardened by many battles before this one, comes out of nowhere. He clashes with Tommy briefly, the two of them spinning about the beach, entangled in their swords’ dance.

“I know you from somewhere,” Tommy pants. He can barely keep up with the other man’s speed. “We’ve fought before- perhaps in another life?”

He grins. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I tore you limb from limb, I resurrected you; we became gods, Theseus.”

Tommy falters. It’s his fatal mistake.

The man grins as his broadsword, gleaming with magic and power, rips through Tommy’s armor. It pierces his stomach, and Tommy screams.

Chapter Text

When Techno was first staying with them, the barn had a leaky roof. Tommy had built a crude ladder and climbed to the top to patch the area as a surprise to the war god. He does not remember the fall, but he remembers the crash. The way his bones splintered and something had left a crack at the back of his head; the pain so blinding that he passed out.

When he woke up, he was on the couch in his house, Wilbur slumped against the sofa, asleep. Techno glared at him from one of the armchairs.

“He’s been here for the past couple of hours,” Techno had said. “You really scared the shit out of him.”

It was the angriest Tommy had ever seen the war god and he understood that it wasn’t just Wilbur that was scared; it was him too.

As the other soldier's sword pierced his armor and then his abdomen, he remembers that pain, and feels it a thousand-fold. He gasps as the weapon is pulled from him, replaced with fire in the wound.

“Tommy!” 

Wilbur’s cries alert the rest of the village fighters. Techno’s head snaps in their direction, eyes locking with the blonde, arrogant son of a bitch that put that sword through his brother. The man takes off, running to the waves; to the ships.

“Kill them!” Wilbur screams. His throat is raw. “Fucking kill them all!”

Techno roars, whip lashing out and hundreds of enemy soldiers fly into the waves. The sea swallows them whole, dragging them to the icy depths. Niki and Quackity work together, spinning and slashing and cutting men to pieces. Sam screams as he tosses his sword aside, ripping the enemy to shreds with his bare hands. Phil rains down flaming arrows, basking in the scent of burning flesh.

It is hell on earth for a boy from the heavens.

The other general nods hurriedly, seeing the carnage, and breaks his fight with Wilbur, calling to his troops. Phil watches from the air as the remaining men retreat, the ships pulling away into the sea.

Wilbur doesn’t hesitate, sprinting across the bloodstained beach to the blonde teenager. Tommy lays on his back, hands pressed over the Netherite armor, staining with blood and flecks of gold. The brunette drops to his knees beside the boy and props him up.

“Tommy, oh my gods-”

The teenager winces. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I think.” He smiles weakly, in pain.

Techno and Phil join them, tears in their eyes.

“Listen, Wil,” Tommy gasps. “Here’s what you’re gonna do-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he interrupts. His voice is wobbly as he cries. “We’re gonna take care of you, I promise. It’s our turn now.”

Phil crouches beside Wilbur and whispers something in his ear. Wilbur exhales shakily and nods.

“Okay, Tommy,” he murmurs, “Phil and I are gonna run home to get set up for you, okay? Techno will carry you up there, alright?”

Tommy grits his teeth in pain as he nods and the two men take off. Techno kneels beside him.

“We’ll get you fixed up, Toms,” he mutters. “You’ll be good as new, I promise.”

Liar, a voice weeps.

Tommy lifts a bloody hand and grips Techno’s shirt. He pulls the war god close. “Make sure everyone is okay,” he says. His breathing is shallow. 

Techno nods, blinking away tears. Gods don’t cry, dammit. “I will.”

“Check on Carl and Henry, make sure they- they aren’t hurt…”

Tommy’s voice stops. Techno stares down at him, at his chest. There is no movement.

“Tommy?” He shakes the young boy just a bit. Nothing. “ Tommy? ”

A hand on his shoulder. It’s Quackity. Blood still gushes from his mouth, various cuts and bruises litter his body. There is something wrong with his left eye.

“Go,” he says. “Niki, Sam, and I will manage things down here.” He looks at Tommy. “Save him, Technoblade. Try your goddamn hardest and fucking save him.”

---------------------

Phil shuts the door behind him, wiping tears from his eyes as Wilbur hurries around the house. He staggers to the cabinet near the cauldron, pulling out every bandage, every vial, anything that Tommy had used or gathered that had medicinal properties.

“Wilbur,” Phil says. His voice is hoarse. “Wil, we’re gonna need matsu leaves for the pain-” 

“Leki nectar to encourage healing, a needle and thread, slought to knock him out while we sew the wound, and a fuck-ton of luck,” he interrupts. Tears flow down his cheeks as he turns towards him. “I know, Philza. I know.”

Phil nods. He sets to work setting up the couch, laying a sheet across the leather, and positioning pillows in comfortable positions. He starts the stove to boil some water.

“I think he’d like some tea when he wakes up,” he says weakly when Wilbur shoots him a quizzical look.

The door bursts as open as Techno rushes inside. He lays Tommy on the couch.

“He stopped breathing on the beach.”

And just like that, the dam breaks. Wilbur rushes over with his medicines, while Techno and Phil rush to remove Tommy’s armor and the shirt underneath.

They work together diligently, side by side, with only the sound of their heartbeats to fill the room. When they finish, Tommy’s breathing has returned, only shallower than it once was. But it is enough, for now.

Techno takes the empty medicine vials to the kitchen, dumping them in the cauldron before collapsing into a chair at the dining table. Phil and Wilbur soon join him and they sit together in silence before Techno speaks.

“There is no way that Tommy is going to survive this.” 

His voice is gentle, hopeless, and sad. Wilbur’s head snaps up.

“Don’t you fucking say that.”

Phil places a gentle hand on Wilbur’s arm. “Mate, he didn’t mean it like that-”

“I don’t give a fuck how he meant it,” he spits. “You don’t get to just fucking give up on him. Do you have any idea how much he did for us? For me?”

Techno nods. “And I understand but that injury… Wilbur, you’ve been in battle. You know he won’t make it.”

Tears well in his eyes and Wilbur folds in on himself. He buries his head in his arms as he sobs. Phil breaks as he gently rubs Wilbur’s back. Techno watches solemnly out the window as Sam and Quackity lay the dead on the hill, Niki tending to the injured on the beach.

“Gods…” Wilbur murmurs. “What else are we supposed to do?”

Techno looks at him sadly. “Pray to Prime,” he whispers. His voice is hollow. “Pray to Her and hope that She spares him.”

---------------------

Niki joins Sam and Quackity on the hill. Her skirt is tattered and torn, pink fabric wrapped around cuts and wounds, and occasionally laid gently over the faces of the dead. Sam hisses as she pulls needle and thread together, sewing a wound on his arm.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Quackity asks, breaking the heavy silence. He’s staring hard at the cabin in the distance.

Sam grits his teeth. “He’ll pull through, Q, don’t worry.”

Niki nods. “This is Tommy, we’re talking about,” she says. “He’ll be up and about in a matter of no time.”

Quackity’s wings are limp on his back; golden yellow stained rust with blood. He’s not sure how much of it is his and how much of it is the enemy’s. He groans.

“I can’t stand just sitting around here doing nothing.”

Sam places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Pray to Prime, Quackity. Let Her be Tommy’s guide.”

Quackity shrugs him off. “You know I don’t believe any of that bullshit, Sam. The gods don’t give a fuck about us, if they did, Tommy wouldn’t have even been on that beach.”

Niki and Sam share a glance. They know what the duck hybrid is referring to. Tommy’s mysterious past, something that puts up a sky-high wall between him and the rest of the village. But it doesn’t matter because Quackity is right.

Tommy should never have been on the beach.

Chapter Text

When Tommy wakes up, he groans. Wilbur startles awake, wincing at the crick in his neck from falling asleep in a chair. He rushes to Tommy’s side, careful not to blow out a lantern in the process.

“How are you feeling, Toms?” he whispers. His voice is so deadly quiet.

Tommy sniffs. “Like hell. Do I smell tea?”

“Oh, yes,” Wilbur takes the cup Phil made hours ago from its place at the table beside Tommy. He helps the teenager sit up, carefully pressing the cup to his lips. “I think Phil said it’s shroud and not to worry because he took out its ‘other properties’ whatever that means.”

Tommy nods. “It’s good. Thank you.” He looks around downstairs. “Where are they?”

“In the barn,” Wilbur says, “resting. They fought with me about it, didn’t want to leave you, but of course, I won.”

Tommy snorts and then winces. “Fucking hell this hurts,” he says, laying back into the nest of pillows Phil made. Wilbur grabs his hand.

“It only hurts right now, I’m sure it’ll feel better in the morning.” Because you’ll be dead. 

Tommy’s grip is tight. Wilbur looks at him, surprised, and there is a ferocity in his eyes that Wilbur has only ever seen once. Before the battle .

“Before sunrise tomorrow, you need to help me get to Henry’s meadow.”

Wilbur frowns. “Tommy you’ve just been stabbed, I don’t think moving around is the best course of action for you-”

“Wilbur.” Tommy’s voice is low, teetering on the edge of something wild. “You’re going to put me in the field tomorrow morning before sunrise.”

Wilbur keeps his mouth shut and nods. “Okay, Tommy. In the meadow, tomorrow morning before sunrise, got it.”

Tommy nods and leans further into the pillows. He closes his eyes and waves lazily with his hand. “Now, go away,” he yawns. “I’m tired.”

---------------------------

Wilbur never left Tommy’s bedside that night. He kept careful watch of the boy’s chest, watching it rise and fall and holding his breath when it stilled for a moment too long. He drank more cups of shroud than he could count and before he knew it, the lanterns had burned low and the sun would rise soon. He gently shakes Tommy’s shoulder.

“Toms,” he whispers, “Tommy. It’s time to wake up, I’ve got to get you to the field, remember?”

Tommy’s eyes crack open as he winces, bringing a hand to his stomach. “Fuck this is a lot worse than I thought.”

Wilbur chuckles and nods, resting a hand on Tommy’s hair. “I know.”

He helps Tommy sit up and then carefully plant his feet on the floor. His heart breaks as the boy grits his teeth, blinking back tears as he stands. He leans heavily into Wilbur and together they leave, Wilbur doing most of the walking.

They get to the field just before the sun’s rays peek over the leaves in the forest. Wilbur and Tommy gently lower themselves to the ground, still wet with dew from the night before. Tommy takes a deep breath in and smiles.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this,” he murmurs. He tentatively lifts his shirt and undoes the bandages around his abdomen. 

“Tommy, what the fuck are you-”

Wilbur stops when Tommy raises his hand. “Mind your business, you twat,” the teen says. He’s joking of course, but he’s serious. He grimaces as blood spurts out of the wound and Wilbur holds back a sob.

Tommy is going to die out here.

The boy lays back on the grass, blood running down his stomach, staining the waist of his baby blue shorts. They are ruined and Wilbur wants to scream. Tommy places his two hands behind his head and closes his eyes.

The sun rises over the trees. It washes the meadow in golden light. It blinds Wilbur, tears streaming silently down his face. It embraces Tommy, runs its careful fingers over his wound.

And the bleeding stops.

Chapter Text

Wilbur, Techno, and Phil watch Tommy from the window by the kitchen. He hasn’t moved from his spot in the meadow, basking in the sunlight. Henry lays beside him, large brown body curled protectively around the boy.

“And you’re sure about what you saw?” Phil asks, eyebrow raised.

Wilbur nods, running a hand through his hair. “I swear it.”

Techno crosses his arms over his chest. “The sunlight healed him?”

They glance outside. Tommy still hasn’t moved and if it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest, they would have thought he was dead.

“It’s slow going,” Wilbur says, “but I saw it. The blood- the bleeding stopped. It didn’t disappear completely but it stopped.”

Phil nods thoughtfully. He looks to Techno. They have a conversation, nothing spoken out loud. Finally, they nod together and look back to Wilbur.

“He’s a god, isn’t he?”

Technoblade shrugs. “Sort of.”

“He’s a demigod,” Phil interjects. 

“A demigod?”

Techno gestures in the direction of the beach. “When he was… first injured, he bled gold and red. Only gods bleed gold.”

Phil nods. “And only mortals bleed red.”

“It makes sense, then, doesn’t it?” Wilbur says softly, looking out the window again. “I mean, it’s almost like he’s the sun itself with how achingly bright he is.”

The other two men share a glance. Techno places a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. 

“Phil and I are going to town,” he says. “Tommy may be a demigod but he still feels pain, we’re goin to stock up on medicines since he can’t go out and gather ingredients himself.”

Wilbur nods. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

A boy born of sunlight and solar flares and warmth and home, a voice muses. How fitting.

———————————————

Tommy healed slowly. It took about two weeks of basking in the sun before his wound was finally closed and the blood was washed from his baby blue shorts. 

The other men never mention it, Tommy’s godhood. When the sun makes his head shine golden and his smile lights up stormy nights, they simply smile and ruffle his hair. And Tommy is grateful for his family; that they know and they don’t care.

He is still their Tommy and everything is fine.

Chapter Text

Tommy walks his beach alone, hands shoved in his faded blue shorts. There is nothing to scavenge today as the sun sinks into the shimmering sea. A warm breeze ruffles his golden hair. Wilbur, Techno, and Phil are in town doing Prime knows what. They’ll be home in time for dinner.

He glances over the ocean, eyes hardly bothered by the sun’s glare. There is a shadow over the water and Tommy smiles softly as he watches the bird dive into the sea. It resurfaces a moment later, a gasping fish in its beak. It soars off, disappearing into the sunset.

His eyes focus on something on the horizon. A big, black ship slicing through the waves. 

Time slows.

Tommy remembers a blade tearing through his abdomen. He remembers the ichor, and the blood staining his beach. He remembers the cries of his family.

His heart sinks as the ship looms closer. He glances in the direction of town. It would take too long to run and get the others. A flag wavers from a mast, its crest impossible to make out.

Rows of soldiers stand at attention across the deck, their general standing before them. His hands are clasped behind his back, his face set in grim determination. If they don’t fulfill their orders, they can’t return home alive.

The ship stops, its bottom scraping the sand. A board lowers and one man disembarks. Tommy notes the lack of a weapon at his side. The man wades through the waves and Tommy extends a hand, pulling him out of the tide.

He pushes an envelope into Tommy’s hands. It’s sealed with black and green wax that glitters in the dying sunlight. Tommy’s face hardens. The messenger nods, a single, swift, wordless goodbye and returns to his ship.

Tommy stares at the envelope in his hands. The ship pulls away, their mission fulfilled.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his thumb across the wax stamp. He chews his bottom lip and tears across the seal without hesitation in a single motion. Inside, is a compass. 

Instantly, his hands begin to shake. The sun feels all too hot on his face and Tommy’s throat is suddenly very dry. He stares down at the device for eternity before gingerly lifting it from the envelope. His fingers tremble as he stares at it, the red needle mocking him, pointing to the forest behind his cabin. 

He slowly flips it over, heart leaping to his throat as he reads the silver inscription.

COME HOME.

Chapter Text

He is waiting on the couch when his family enters. They burst through the door, golden sunlight illuminating them from behind. Phil is laughing at something Techno said and Wilbur closes his eyes as he snarkily adds another point.

Their laughter stops when they spot Tommy, sullen; shoulders drawn taught as a bowstring. They rush to their seats, Phil and Techno in their chairs and Wilbur on the couch beside Tommy. Their knees knock together and neither of them move.

“What’s going on, Toms?” he asks. 

Tommy sighs. “I got mail.” He shows them the envelope, torn and crumpled between his fingers.

Phil brightens. “That’s great!”

“You never get mail,” Techno frowns. “The only people we know are in Logstedshire and they just come to the house if they need anything from you.”

Tommy nods and Phil deflates. 

“It’s got a royal seal.”

Wilbur freezes. His heart quickens and he wants to throw up.

“From Snowchester.”

The house is deadly silent. The air has been sucked from the room, out the windows and into the sea.

“Tommy-”

“That’s where I’m from, you know?”

None of the older men say anything. They wait. Phil’s wings tense and Wilbur places a gentle hand on Tommy’s arm.

He sighs again. “It’s time I told you anyway.”

“Aw, mate, you don’t have to-”

“I don’t know much about the half-god bit. Just that I had a father and an absent mother who I’m guessing is the sun goddess. My dad died and I became an orphan; ran around the streets for a bit before a nice couple found me. They worked in the palace. My adoptive mum was a maid to the queen and my dad was a cook.”

“I was too young to remember exactly what happened but they died. And I was afraid their majesties would kick me back out onto the streets and it was fucking cold on those streets but-” 

He exhales shakily- “but the king and queen took me under their wing; raised me alongside the prince.”

Technoblade’s brow furrows. “Prince Tubbo?”

Tommy nods, smiling thinly as he flinches at the name. “Tubs was my best friend. I was his knight, his own personal bodyguard. We’d chase each other through the gardens, through the kitchens, sneak out into the kingdom to hang out with some of my old mates.”

“Didn’t his parents pass in an awful shipwreck?” Phil asks.

Tommy dips his head. “Yeah. We were fourteen when Tubbo was crowned. Gods, he hated all the suitors' meetings. That was the most important thing to his advisors, that he found a spouse immediately despite his parents having just fucking died.”

Wilbur places a gentle hand on Tommy’s arm. A silent reminder. Tommy lets out a breath and his anger fades.

“Anyways, he snuck out to the gardens regularly to avoid his royal duties. He met the royal gardener, Ranboo,” Tommy’s lips quirk in a strange fashion, almost as if he’s trying to stifle a fond smile. “They grew fast friends and much to my disdain, married.”

“Oh, they were in love?” Techno asks.

Tommy smiles and shakes his head. “It was a genius plan on their part. Tubbo needed his advisors to move on from the marriage thing and Ranboo was a good sport. The tax benefits helped him greatly.”

“Things were alright for a few years. Tubbo and Ranboo had started a new tradition of taking daily walks through their kingdom, a way to show that they truly cared for their people. On one of these walks was when they ran into Michael.”

“I think I vaguely remember hearing about an heir being adopted…” Wilbur murmurs.

Tommy nods. “He was a street kid, like me. They took him in and raised him. It was my job to protect him. I was his uncle.”

Phil doesn’t miss the pain in Tommy’s voice. He knows what happens next and his heart cracks in two for the teenager.

“A neighboring kingdom invaded Snowchester with no warning. They came in the night and overtook the palace. I did everything I could to protect them but-”

His voice breaks and he slumps against Wilbur as he cries. His older brother simply nods, wrapping his arms around the younger and squeezing him tight. Techno and Phil exchange a glance.

“We know,” Techno says softly. “You don’t have to tell us anymore.”

Tommy nods. “After Michael… Tubbo lost it. He thought I was a spy that had infiltrated the palace despite us growing up beside each other for our whole lives. Ranboo tried to talk some sense into him but ultimately I was- I was exiled.”

The group sits in silence for what feels like hours. Wilbur holds Tommy close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and his heart beating against his ribcage.

“Been gone for three years now. Never received a letter or anything until today.”

He holds up the envelope, shows them the compass. Phil twists it in his hands, flipping it over to read the inscription.

“They want you to go back.”

Tommy snorts. “Yeah. Home. The past can haunt me all it wants but this is my home.”

Wilbur ruffles golden strands of hair. “That doesn’t mean you can’t haunt it back.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is...” Tommy trails off as he leans forward. He looks all of them in the eyes. Phil’s are an electrifying blue, crystal clear like the ocean’s waves. Techno’s crimson, and they remind Tommy of the cardinals in the north. 

Wilbur’s are warm and chocolate brown. They say three simple words. 

“Will you come with me?”