Chapter Text
“I might know someone who could help.”
Technoblade barely knows Foolish, but he could hug him right now.
Tubbo brightens. “You do?”
They’re all standing out on the porch, Foolish’s kids back at his home and Michael sleeping soundly on Tubbo’s shoulder. The totem god speaks in low tones, careful of waking the toddler, but he sounds sure of himself. For a second, Techno allows himself to hope.
“It’s a 50/50 whether they’ll be willing to help,” Foolish admits, “but even if they do, it’ll cost you. Not money; something else.”
Technoblade squints. “They’re a god,” he declares cogently, without a single doubt in his voice.
“A god and their follower.” The correction is minor and practically irrelevant, but Techno appreciates his candour. “They know a lot about Dream, more than I do, and they have admin access. If anyone might know what he’s up to and where Ranboo is, it’s them.”
Tubbo sighs, sharing a look with his older brother. “Do you trust them?”
“No. We’re not friends. But I think they’re a fair deity,” he offers. “Do you want me to try?”
“Admin access would be invaluable right now. There should be a record of wherever Ranboo teleported in the server logs.” Technoblade loathes to admit it, but this is probably their best bet. “I say we try.”
Much to his surprise, his little brother nods in agreement. “Contact them. And…thank you, Foolish. This means everything to me.”
Foolish smiles warmly at him, an expression very fitting of the man. “Of course, Tubbo! Anything to get Ranboo home safe. I’ll message Callahan. Let me know if I can do anything else, but for now I’m gonna go tuck the kids in. Have a goodnight!”
They wave him away as he plods back to his own house in Snowchester. Michael even manages a sleepy snort as a goodbye, or maybe he’s snoring. Annoyingly, Technoblade is left alone with Tubbo, with not a single social buffer between them. Without Phil or Tommy or even Foolish to act as a barrier, the silent tension that’s been haunting the pair begins to thicken. Techno hates it with a passion. As if he wasn’t terrible enough in social situations, this is a situation with Tubbo, who he doesn’t even know how to begin to approach now.
Despite the unease in his chest, Technoblade clicks his tongue. “So, uh, how have you handled Michael’s stash?”
Much to his horror, Tubbo stares blankly at him. “...stash?”
“Tubbo,” he chokes out, pained, “his gold.”
“Oh! Oh, yeah, he has a couple things in his room.”
Technoblade makes a noise like he’s dying. “A couple? Tubbo. Tubbo, please tell me your son does not have three gold things and you called it a day.”
His little brother flushes. “Uh…”
“Oh my god.” He immediately enters the house again, followed closely by the shorter boy. “Show me where you keep your valuables—and yes that is a threat, but not like that. I’m goin’ to call CPS on you.”
Tubbo sputters. “Do we even have CPS?”
“No, but I’m about to make one,” he declares, letting himself be dragged to their storage of ores.
Predictably, Ranboo is filthy rich. Then again, Technoblade already knows that, because the kid loves to mine like his life depends on it. Seeing stacks and stacks of gold is hardly a surprise at this point. Honestly, he’s more surprised that Ranboo hasn’t taken this opportunity to spoil Michael rotten.
The funniest part of it all is when Tubbo starts sifting through the gold stores and Michael’s head shoots up, the toddler suddenly wide awake.
“Gold?” he squeals.
Techno nods. “Gold, runt.” He looks up at Tubbo. “Can I see?”
His brother hands him the bag of various golden knick knacks he and Ranboo have picked up over the months, mostly from the nether. Technoblade looks through them with a critical eye, valiantly fending off the baby zombie piglin trying to get his grubby hooves on everything he holds up.
“Nothing pokey, please, his tusks are already a hazard,” Tubbo warns.
Techno snorts. “Trust me, I know. I recommend makin’ him custom pieces at some point. Hand-me-downs are fine and all, but he’d prefer a horde that his sounder made him.”
“Right,” he agrees, looking faintly guilty, “that makes sense.”
Recognising his guilt, which is no doubt already eating him alive, Techno frowns. “Don’t feel too guilty. He’s never had a horde before, Tubbo. He wouldn’t have in the nether. You didn’t royally traumatise him or anything; he’s fine, and he’s little enough that he probably won’t remember.”
Flushing, he shakes his head. “I should’ve known better,” he mutters.
“You’ve never had a piglin child, unless I missed something else,” he huffs, prying Michael’s finders off the hilt of a golden sword, “so how would you have known better?”
A pause. When he meets Tubbo’s gaze again, the younger boy is giving him a “no shit, dumbass” look. That’s when Technoblade realises it.
“What, because of me?”
“No shit, dumbass.” Ah. Right on the money, then.
Techno snorts. “You weren’t exactly around when Phil was buildin’ me a horde, Tubbo. You didn’t know, but now you do. Don’t trip yourself up over it.” All of a sudden feeling like the conversation is sentimental enough to be choking, he clears his throat. “Now help me hold your son back before he stabs himself.”
Michael is able to find quite a few pieces that he likes, predictably, and Tubbo signs off on most of them. However, the little piglin continues to help Technoblade search through the remaining knick-knacks, apparently desperate for just one more gold thing he can call his own. Just when Techno is ready to call it a day and tell the runt he’ll bring him something later, a delighted squeal ruins all his plans.
From the collection, the piglet drags out a shining, shimmering crown. There’s a painful lack of jewels in the piece of finery, enough that Techno considers telling Michael to leave it, but then the boy turns to him, his singular eye shining.
“Like Boo!” he cries. Then, he spots the crown on Technoblade’s head and shrieks. “Like you and Boo!”
His instincts have him preening, a short rumble departing his chest in a poor mimicry of a purr. “Like me and Boo,” he echoes fondly.
Utterly delighted, the piglin plops it on top of his head. It slides down a bit on the side without an ear, seeing as it’s rather big for him, but he’ll grow into it. Better yet, if Techno can get his hands on it for a couple of days, he can make it much, much shinier; he’ll reforge it to be worthy of the little warrior in the making.
Boo doesn’t know why they’re surprised at the architectural quality of Boatem. Sure, they’ve only seen Gemini’s builds so far, but from the way the hermits have been talking, they could tell everyone on the server is a builder in their own right. And boy does this township prove it.
Every inch of Boatem is beautiful, sprawling with copper, oxidised and fresh, moss, deep slate, oak wood, spruce wood, and a thousand other materials Boo probably can’t name. On their way to Impulse’s house, Pearl points out her own home; an upside-down boat that she built from the ground up. They gawk, predictably shocked into silence by the sheer audacity she has, being so talented. They tell her so, which makes her laugh delightedly.
“So you, Impulse, Grian, Mumbo, and Scar live here, right?”
“Yup! They live just around this path,” Pearl explains. “You can see the higher bits of Scar’s place from here.”
They follow her pointed finger and nod, humming. “So, who’s in charge?”
She and Xisuma both visibly hesitate. X tilts his head, nothing but genuine curiosity on his face, which is enough to ease Boo’s nerves. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you a council? Is there a president?” they ask. “It must get chaotic with all of you in the same area.”
Pearl hums. “Well, yeah, but we don’t have a government, if that’s what you’re asking. We just kind of…figure things out! It’s just the five of us and visitors, really. I guess we meet sometimes to talk about things, but nothing formal.”
“There aren’t any governments on the server so far,” Xisuma laughs, “although we’ve had a couple in past worlds. No government this time; only anarchy.”
Boo blinks quite a few times, as if dumbfounded, but quickly recovers with a smile. “Anarchy pog. I love anarchy!”
“Oh, yeah?” Pearl goads.
They grin. “Yeah!” Then, something flashes over their face and they smile wider. “That sounds right, actually. Anarchy. Anarchism. I think I’m an anarchist.”
She cachinnates, the noise ringing out. “Of all the things to remember!”
“That’s great, Boo!” X interrupts, rolling his eyes fondly at their companion.
Quickly, she joins in. “It is! Proud of you, Booey.” She nudges their arm ever so gently, eyes bright with encouragement.
“I mean, it was just—just a memory,” they splutter.
X gasps. “We can put it on the detective board! Yes!”
Unfortunately, their revelry doesn’t last very long.
The sky splits open with a crack of vicious, deafening thunder. Rain pours down in a torrent, unrelenting and sudden. It beats against Boo’s body and only a moment passes before they’re screaming, droplets carving canyons down their skin. It seems like a split second until Pearl’s wing flaps out, sheltering them from the storm, but the damage is done. Water hisses, steam rising from the Enderman hybrid’s wounds as they cower underneath her grey feathers.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” Xisuma hisses out. He uses his frequently-coveted admin powers, typing in a command on his communicator. A perfectly dry towel appears in his hands, which he passes to the trembling teenager.
“Thank you,” they breathe, wiping themself down as fast as possible.
“OVER HERE!”
The trio snap their heads up to squint through the downpour. Standing in the doorway of a small, two-floor starter base is a man Boo thinks must be Impulse. He waves at them furiously, indicating that they should join him.
Relief crawls up the teenager’s spine as Pearl grabs their arm and checks that they’re ready to run. The second they nod, the pair take off, Xisuma following shortly after.
“Woo!” exclaims Impulse as soon as they duck through the doorway, no doubt dripping wet. “That came out of nowhere! You guys okay?”
“We are,” Xisuma says, “but Boo might not be.”
Pearl squawks, already shaking out Boo’s sleeves for them. “Are you okay? Does it burn? Any wounds reopened? Any fuzzy vision?”
“I’m okay! Only a little, I don’t think so, and no,” they list off.
She does a circle around them, looking for any excess steam as the water is burned off them. Or worse still, any blood. Luckily, she doesn’t find anything, but she does make a cawing sort of noise before motioning for the teen to move back a bit.
“Cover your ears,” she warns.
When they do, she does what she did for Gem over a week ago and flaps her wings directly at them. The force of the wind dries them in mere seconds. When she’s done, she drags them into a hug with an anxious huff. Boo sinks into her hold with a pleased hum. They weren’t that worried about the rain and the damage it could do, seeing as they were only in it for a couple of seconds, but they’ll take the hug anyway.
Pearl finally lets go and ducks over to Xisuma to check on him as well, met with only an amused smile and comforting words.
Meanwhile, Impulse smiles at Boo. “Hi! You must be Boo.”
“That’s me! Impulse, right?” At his nod, Boo brightens. “Thank you for the journal and the, uh, note. It’s really been helping.”
Impulse, already practically a torch with how much energy he brings, somehow lights up the entire room. “That’s great! Pearl’s told me a lot about you and, honestly, I’ve been second-hand worrying about you. It’s good you’re getting some memories back.”
“Mhm, mhm! I even remembered something on the way here,” they add. With that said, they glance out the window at the pouring rain and frown. “Dang. I really wanted to see the rest of Boatem, but I guess not.”
“I wouldn’t worry; it looks like a small shower,” Xisuma pipes up. “Impulse can show us around when it’s over.”
Impulse laughs, surprising them both. “Uh, I wouldn’t bet on the wait being short. I know what a nesting Avian looks like and, well, we’re about to get coddled to death.”
Blinking dumbly, Boo only understands what he means when Pearl chirps loudly and indignantly. Her beautiful wings are puffed up as if someone’s offended her, but her expression says she’s worried. In fact, she grabs Boo gently by the arm and tugs them towards what looks to be Impulse’s living room, a small but cosy place with comfy-looking couches and soft-looking rugs.
“Uh.” Boo glances over their shoulder at the other men, who only snicker. “Help?”
Their hesitance is clearly a crime. Pearl deems it unforgivable and picks them up off the ground. The yelp they make is soundly ignored as she carries them bridal style and dumps them on the couch. Pleased with their temporary placement, she devolves into a litany of chirps and begins an intense search for blankets and pillows. She places them around in some kind of pattern, an odd formation that almost resembles a more comfortable nest. Boo has seen her nests at Gemini’s, but they’ve never watched her make one this intensely.
When the primary layer of the nest is complete, Pearl lifts her head as if realising something. She looks over at Impulse and X with a glare and squawks demandingly.
Impulse laughs. “Alright, alright, we’re coming. Flatten those feathers, Pearl.”
They settle into the nest, Boo quickly joining them. Their Avian companion continues to build up pillows and blankets, seemingly never pleased with the softness of the space. Knowingly, Impulse and X don’t attempt to help her. That would annoy her more than anything.
While she finishes her work, Boo pulls out their journal to scribble out a recount of the day. First, they skim over the first page to make sure they remember everything.
Things I Remember (Boo's Journal)
- My name is Boo.
- I couldn't teleport before, but I can now.
- I love Michael. Michael is in danger.
- I love hot chocolate.
- I knew a creeper hybrid.
- Snow
- I knew an Avian, and they let me preen their wings. I was am their flock.
- I'm not a builder and I'm hopeless with redstone.
- I don't like explosions.
- Someone is after me.
- I have memory problems.
- I'm an anarchist.
- I've never used an elytra before.
In a somewhat messy scrawl, they add that they’re an anarchist and preen at the regained memory. Then, they flip to the back of the journal, where Xisuma left them a map of the server earlier.
Boo looks over the outskirts of Boatem. They like the idea of being close to Pearl, Grian, and the others here, but maybe a spot between them and Gem?
Hm. There’s a nice, empty area in the spruce forest beside Boatem.
“Hey, Xisuma?” they ask, looking up.
X gives them his undivided attention. “Hm?”
“What about this area for the bunker? Is anyone building there?”
Xisuma shakes his head, appraising the chosen spot. “I don’t think so! That’s a great spot, Boo,” he declares. “We can go find it after our tour and make sure nobody’s claimed it that I don’t know about.”
Boo grins and fiercely ignores the slight flick/wag of their tail. “Sweet! Thanks.”
Their quiet conversation is interrupted by a furious chirp-squawk combination. Before they know it, Pearl is tugging them deeper into the nest with brusque, frustrated noises.
“I think that means it’s naptime,” Impulse suggests with a snicker. “Sleepy time for all of us.”
Giggling, Boo joins him and Xisuma in laying down across the blankets and pillows. Surprisingly, it is quite comfy for a last-minute nest. Pearl rumbles, pleased, and situates herself so she’s curled against Boo, her wing stretched out to lay on the trio like a blanket. As if to preen them, she runs her hand through the enderman hybrid’s hair, chirping.
Boo chirps back. It makes them jump, but Pearl just makes more delighted noises, so they’re quick to sink back into her touch. They warble, feeling warmer and safer than they think they ever have. Or maybe that’s the amnesia talking.
Despite the tense situation, that night is a peaceful one. Tubbo, Tommy, and Michael curl up together in the master bedroom. Techno doesn’t see it himself, but Phil tells him about a thousand times how precious the sight is. Phil takes the guest bedroom while his eldest takes the couch closest to the front door, his axe carefully placed so he can reach it with a moment’s notice.
The morning, too, is surprisingly nice.
Phil and Techno are up at dawn, an old habit of theirs, and quickly take to invading the kitchen. The former insists on making a full meal for them all so that they can meet the day at their best. Somehow, Techno gets dragged into making pancakes for his brothers like he’s back in their childhood home. Maybe he doesn’t hate it.
Despite himself, he smiles when thudding footsteps come down the stairs. Beside him, Phil snickers, elbowing him to get his attention. He follows his gaze to the kitchen doorway, where a drowsy Tommy rubs his eyes with both hands.
“Morning, sleepin’ beauty,” he huffs, still moving his whisk through the batter as he watches his little brother.
Tommy, drowsy and showing off some nice bedhead, grunts halfheartedly before stumbling across the tiles towards them. Phil ruffles his tangled hair as he passes, but he marches on, apparently on a mission. For a moment, Techno is sure he means to flop down on one of the barstools and fall asleep again, but much to his shock, Tommy face-plants directly into his back. The boy buries his face in his shirt and just…stays there, utterly content.
Techno blanks for a solid minute, even stopping his whisking until two twig-like arms latch around him.
“Warm,” Tommy declares wisely. Phil snickers.
Just as the piglin hybrid comes back to himself, an involuntary rumble starts in his chest. Oh no. Not the purring. His reputation is ruined!
Tommy honest to Prime giggles. And then—and then, get this, he tries to purr back. It’s a terrible, human imitation of a very piglin habit, but Tommy rolls his Rs as if his life depends on it. The breath is snatched from his brother’s chest like a fish from the sea. Then, his pleased purrs only intensify.
“Dad,” Tommy giggles again. “Dad, Tech’s making the happy noise.”
Phil swallows the knot in his throat, a blockage caused by an outpouring of love, an excess he has for his boys and yet not nearly the amount they deserve. “Mhm,” he hums, beaming like the sun. “I hear it, Toms. I think you did that.”
He hums back and stays right where he is, entirely and perfectly happy to remain. It takes Technoblade an eternity to recover, but he eventually gets back to making his family pancakes. And if the purring doesn’t stop, even as they set the table, well, Tommy will never tell.
He also won’t tell a single soul just what Techno murmurs to him as he lets go, as he has to leave him to sit down and eat.
(“Love you, Theseus.”)
He won’t admit that he doesn’t get nauseous at the sound of that nickname for the first time in years. And he certainly won’t tell anybody what he’d said back to his big brother.
(“Love you, too, Tech.)
It’s as good as ‘I’m sorry.’
It’s better than ‘I forgive you.’