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Chapter Text

METANOIA, Chapter 24

The world is ending. Ran, of the house of Eyes, should have seen it coming. Everyone should have seen it coming. But the world is ending, and anyone who should have known will know it. It will sink into their bones while the flames grow, and the knowledge of it will consume them. It will swallow them whole until nothing is left. 

That is the vision of the House of Eyes.

He had thought he could bypass it. No, there was no changing this fact. There was no changing and undoing the things that were done to Thomas. 

Before him, at the crack of dawn, is the Gift of the Empire. Ran could see it now. He could see how there was no changing the things that were done to him. There are scars on Thomas that were impossible to see with the unknowing eye. Scars that had inhibited Thomas’ ability to heal himself. 

He’d been Blessed at an early age with the ability to heal everyone but himself.

He’s starting to think, a bit too late, that the gods haven’t favored this country for the good of their hearts. No, he’s not sure that they even have hearts. They’re doing this, and laughing.

Ran could see the sky crackle behind Thomas, and he could hear the ring of laughter, amusement. He could see the world cackle at their despair. A pleased audience. Ran could see it all, for once.

And he recognizes that it’s his ability. His Blessing is acting on him and he is seeing all too much. He sees so much of Thomas, and he sees everything he promised Thomas that he wouldn’t dare look at. Ran feels the Blessing split him and the world apart. He’s breaking apart. He looks to his side, and the Nobility who had come to kill Thomas are on their knees. He could see their skin part, the purest essence of their Blessings peeking through the seams.

He could hear a voice. It’s laughing. It’s not the audience of the skies. It’s not anyone by his side. It’s in front of him.

Thomas. This is Thomas.

Ran looks up, and Thomas is looking back at him.

There is intent in his eyes. A bitter amusement.

The world is ending.

And it’s his fault.

fin.

~+~

He’s staring down the pile of corpses before him, all of whom wearing armor and dark clothing. Technoblade grimaces at the sight. They went all out this time, not that it’s an issue for him. He wipes some of the sweat from his forehead, feeling the fatigue get to him. He’s nothing if not resilient though, so he pushes on back towards the camp.

It’s been getting really annoying, this game of hunt. People have been trying to kill him and really, he can’t do anything about it.

Technoblade abhors this situation. If he’d known that his love for various forms of literature would lead him to this situation then maybe he shouldn’t have even learned how to read one language for a particularly alluring book. It is a horrible situation that he’s been brought into, and he has all intentions to get out of it.

Oh if only he could. His knowledge on this situation is both extremely vast and also little to none.

Because for one, he is very fond of literature. He loves books. He loves reading. He loves immersing himself into worlds created by normal people. This media is how people without much extraordinariness in their life get a chance to play god. Technoblade knows that much. He knows this like he knows the back of his hand.

But then, Technoblade is faced with the dilemma of not recognizing said hand . 

Because contrary to preference, he is not, in fact, inhabiting the body that he recognizes, and by association he also would not recognize the back of this hand as well as he did for his old and original hand.

This hand, though, is also in some sort of paradoxical irony. Because he knows this hand too. He’s read about this hand before so he doesn’t really think it’s that unfamiliar. 

Then again, he’s read just about the bare minimum about the owner of this hand, seeing that the owner was supposed to die a week ago.

He exhales through his nose, sinking his head in these hands. 

The hand crisis is getting old.

Simply put, Technoblade is inside a novel. He is inhabiting the body of a teenager . Both an advantage and disadvantage in itself. He glances back at the pile of corpses before him, seeing how they’d all failed to set him off. He abhors this. It feels like the equivalent of being sent back to the nursery. He looks down at his hands, and he flexes them. No claws. No hooves. No extra ligaments somewhere at his thumbs. Nothing. He does get two extra, fleshy fingers though, so that’s something at least.

Technoblade looks down at the puddle of red, so calm and serene that he could see a glimpse of his reflection. Pink hair. Not fur. Hair . It goes down to his shoulders, unevenly cut. He doesn’t need to see the color in the reflection to ascertain the tint. He could see it as it falls to his very human face– there are no tusks, for one. There is no snout either. Just a very human, flat face. His face is with red eyes, but there’s no snout, and his senses were already a pretty blatant tell in itself. He’s human.

Just a… fleshy teenage human. At least, he has reason to think he’s a teenager. Human, he’s sure of. He’s hung out and sometimes killed enough of them to ascertain that much. However, a teenager is a big stretch of a guess given that he’s never really given the time to really pay attention to how things are for human progression. Technoblade had no reason to care for such menial things— had , because now he’s living as a human for some Prime-forsaken reason.

This is horrid. Horrible. An outright tragedy .

While it’s true that living in a human body has its perks—Technoblade had used magic once to simulate how it is to live in a human body—Technoblade has reason to believe that living in this body will be horrible. He has very good reasons to believe it, no matter how astounding and blatantly fictitious it may seem.

The novel was called Metanoia, ‘Change of Heart’ in another translation he’s come across. He does remember this world, it’s one that he had immersed himself in for a considerably long time now, reading and rereading the characters’ dilemmas when faced with a power and a responsibility to boot. It ends in the world getting destroyed due to the effects of its own inhumanity and greed. 

Sometimes some people had too much confidence in their kind. 

It centered on Thomas, a child who became the ‘golden goose’ of the kingdom. That’s the best way Technoblade could explain it. Thomas was precious only because of the benefit he brought to the kingdom.

Thomas is a healer. The rarest kind of Blessing that any noble could receive. His healing comes with a crucial cost, however, which is that he will experience the pain of going through the illness he’d taken away. He is never truly affected, though.  Despite the special aspects of his character as well as the fact that the novel begins in his perspective, this is not the main character. He is the antagonist.

The beginning of the story had a hopeful tone, but as it grew, it ended up growing darker, and things writing in Thomas’ perspective had shifted. He’d become disgusted with the kingdom while they claw at him desperately for a help he can no longer provide. Like all things precious, it’ll inevitably be exploited.

In the middle of his growth to despair, the writer had smoothly transitioned the focus of the story into the real main character. It had been a good third of the book when Technoblade realized that he’d barely even seen Thomas anymore where the dilemmas of the main Character had gone front and center. The book’s writing was just good, that way.

Thomas is the antagonist who will destroy everything. He will end the entire world.

And Technoblade is this kid’s older brother who dies before the actual main character pops into the story. Ran, the failed Deus Ex Machina. Failed, because in his mission to save Thomas from a cruel fate and from enacting a cruel fate, he’d actually enabled the kid to do both.

He found that failure amusing, in the book. It’s fun to read it. Something about witnessing a man’s catharsis and witnessing the consequences of man’s greed. It’s beautiful to see how in the face of someone’s distress, all the riches and the goal of man’s greed becomes futile.

Except now that he’s this world, alive and with the looming threat of that fact changing within the next decade. He is not fond of the idea of dying, no matter how ridiculous the circumstances are. There’s no guarantee that he’d live after.

Technoblade, starring as the older brother who dies before he could get any bit of intervention in Thomas of the house of Blades, is the heir of his house– at least, he’s casted as the heir of a house. He’s been sent away in fear, due to being ‘unstable’ in nature.

He’s pretty sure this character was supposed to die yesterday. One of the attacks should have set off the kid, seeing that the Blessings of the kingdom are volatile magic and this kid would have been pushed to the brink of self-destruction. The person that he is right now? He isn’t supposed to be breathing. He’s got a good hunch that maybe the nobility that are gunning for the House of Blades had set out their attacks to get him assassinated.

But what was he going to do? Let himself get killed all because he was a little bit disoriented? Nah, that isn’t him. That isn’t Technoblade, the man who never dies. That’s the untrained teenager they sent out to murder.

So while the kid had likely self-destructed or had been assassinated, Technoblade had decided to cross out the whole magic thing. He, instead, will be focusing on killing these suckers the old fashioned way. Besides, he’s not accustomed to using his Blessing yet. 

The book hadn’t been helpful for that, since he doesn’t get enough screen time for that information to be important.

They keep sending people to him in hopes that he would self-destruct or just keel over. Technoblade is getting tired of it, really. But it’s not like he’ll be dying anytime soon. It doesn’t really matter how much they send at him, Technoblade just knows that he’ll be coming out on top. People in this universe are such noobs, he can’t believe they actually fight wars like these.

Spars and sword fights are typically really short due to the severity of each strike. People get tired easily when swinging around a pure metal stick. Even as a Piglin, Technoblade had some trouble with maintaining good form for long. He had to prioritize getting out alive quick enough while murdering whoever it was that dared to challenge him.

These people, however, draw it out . He doesn’t understand why, but whatever it is, Technoblade does not have the time to do whatever it is that they’re doing. It’s not customary for him to strike first but seeing that they already have their blades out and are wasting their time doing whatever slow thing they do, Technoblade could take it upon himself to finish it early for the both of them.

He sighs, thinking of having to spend yet another day in that horrible camp. What is this place even supposed to be? It’s like it was made solely to ruin someone’s life.

Which… technically it is. Technoblade is more than aware of the reason he’s actually here. As the heir of the house of Blades, the nobility had deemed this character unstabled and ‘risky’, sending their concerns to the Emperor who had shared the same sentiment. It’s a mess. 

People are trying to wipe out the house of Blade– at least, wipe out his specific bloodline within that house.

Except, well, Technoblade is no longer just the ‘heir’, an unnamed canon-fodder character, but he’s him . And no iteration of himself is allowed to die. Not when he’s conscious. He is not going to tolerate any slander upon his oath to never die simply because he’s turned into this whelp of a child. 

He exhales. 

And to think that this kid was deemed unstable. He has powers, Technoblade can’t understand why the kid hasn’t used them yet to his advantage. Then again, this is a teenager. 

Either way, he’s going to be changing some things. Because for one, he might be in the body of a teenager but Technoblade has centuries of experience in his hands.

He glances at his bloodied hands, and he tilts his head curiously. He recalls Thomas, a character in the story Metanoia, mentioning how this had been the rumor spread around the city about his brother. How Thomas, the Golden Saint of Blades, had been a stark contrast from the brother who had risked the entire camp’s lives and had sabotaged the borders of the country due to his volatility.

Technoblade could make good use of that.

The World of Metanoia is simple in mechanics but complex in its politics. It is centered on the Kingdom of Hartcoure, a Blessed Nation favored by the gods of the world. The pillars of the kingdom are the Nobles who have been gifted their respective blessings. Magical abilities handed down to them by the Gods to help with ruling an entire empire. These Blessings aren’t purely good however, and Technoblade remembers the main character of the series describing it as the world’s reassurance that it is not in favor of one party. That it is fair in everything.

So while it has given blessings, it has also, in turn, given a curse.

Anyone who would use these powers for long is given the instabilities. These Nobles are glass cannons, where every use of the Blessing would cause them to grow deranged. Slowly, surely, and certainly. At one point in their lives, at the age of eighteen, they’re supposed to have manifested it. It’s explosive. Have you ever witnessed a god descend from the heavenly bodies and land in the middle of battle?

It’s destructive, because it is a balance. Something that is inherently powerful would lead to the destruction of the lesser powers of the existing universe. It takes the space in life, consuming it. 

The same logic applies when a Blessing manifests. Technoblade’s body was turning eighteen when they sent him away, titling him as ‘Unstable’. Rumors have it that he’d destroyed an entire tower, or maybe that he’d manifested in the middle of a gathering. Whatever it is, something must have happened that caused him to get exiled from society.

And that’s just the manifestation.

Imagine when a Blessed breaks. Overusing the abilities and in the end destroying the mind, the body, and everything that surrounds it. It’s a cataclysmic event.

Technoblade has no such issues. He hasn’t used his ability, and therefore he’s basically given this kid a fresh new mind. That’s to assume there’s still the original kid in this body. He doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s just depressing, but hey, at least the body lives, right?

The Kingdom of Hartcoure has multiple Noble Houses. His is the house of Blades, shared with Thomas and a few other adults, where people born within this house are gifted with abilities of Battle. Technoblade has yet to actually see the jarring effects of an awakening, but to his knowledge he’s been framed to be a volatile Noble– this is the premise of which he had been sent to Battle after all. So that he could have this negative reaction elsewhere.

Technoblade knows its effects. None of which are prevalent in him.

There’s the House of Galleon– newly renamed as the House of Nevadas, the house of riches and prosperity. Their use of their Blessings are centered on  One vital character from that house is Quackity, an alias he preferred to be called by. Quackity’s specific Blessing was never made clear to the main character of the series, but Technoblade knows that it has something to do with the manipulation of something. Chances? Fate? The mind? Whatever it is, he’d know to steer clear from him.

Quackity had been the one to enforce the idea of Thomas’ paid services, because screw free health care.

There’s the House of Wings. Their Blessings are apparent, with a physical manifestation on their body by the god who had blessed their lineage. The House of Wings are known to have literal wings. Technoblade remembers a small annotation by the side of their chapter, where he’d snickered about the seamstresses who had to create new patterns for their clothing. It must have been expensive, grabbing clothing that matches both the weather and the wings. (He remembers mentioning it to his friend, Phil, who snorted: “Mate, Wings aren’t that hard to maintain. ” Technoblade could have begged to differ. He’s the one who has to preen the damn things.)

Not much of importance in that house, seeing as they were just barely mentioned in passing. Technoblade has theories, however, that the Blessed of that house were able to escape the apocalypse some way or another. Technoblade doesn’t know how, but the wording had implications of their more personal connection to a higher being.

And finally, there’s the House of Eyes, the Emperor’s loyal companions in watching over the Empire. Technoblade had thought that it was odd how normal everyone in the novel had been about the House of Eyes, but he remembers the plot holes in it. He supposes it’s because it has the Main Character within it.

Ran, of the House of Eyes. Ran is the name of the main Character, with the supporting character Tobias, a commoner.

Technoblade only knows four important houses, along with the noble family.

As he approaches camp with bloodied hands and a sword, Technoblade realizes that there’s something that he could do. He weighs the outcomes. The risks outweigh the costs, certainly, and he could play this into his favor most definitely. He tilts his head.

The General of this camp isn’t part of the main families.

He plots.

The general of the camp looks rather surprised at his sudden presence. It’s as if he didn’t expect him to survive a small task out in the forest– that, or he’s horrified at Technoblade’s state of dress. He’s bloodied, like he’d crawled out of hell but the only ones to suffer for it were literally everyone else. Technoblade is getting really tired of this, and he’s only been in this body for less than a week. Normally he’d have more resilience but at this point he would really rather kill this guy and be done with the entire thing.

If it were up to him, he’d set this kingdom in flames himself.

Though, chances are, he’d really just end up with an entire kingdom in his hands and the title of monarch if he does. That is not Technoblade’s style.

Technoblade drops a bag on the General’s desk. It’s bloodied. It drops down with a clang against the table. “You know, This is gettin’ really old, General .” Technoblade speaks up. “All of these intrusions on our camp is gettin’ really boring to deal with, but thankfully I caught them.”

The general looks down at the desk, the blood seeping around, forming a puddle. “W-what,” he steps back away, fear and confusion etched on his face. 

He only steps closer. “Give it to me straight.” Technoblade says, imagining that it’d be hard to intimidate with this puny body. He misses his old form, with thick skin and fur and vastly high survival rate. “If you want to kill me, then by all means you could attempt to do so.” He takes a few more steps forward, and he realizes that despite his significantly lesser mass, Technoblade still towers over the whimp of a general. He smiles, but he doesn’t look pleased. “However, let it be known that as I am a rather unstable person I have a certain leeway to get away with winnin’ whatever challenge you’re blatantly showin’ here.” There’s a threat in that tone. He places his hands on his desk, on either side of the bag. He doesn’t seem to mind that much of the blood is starting to approach his hands.

“What do you want from me?” The general whimpers, and Technoblade can’t help but think how pathetic he is. He really does have half the mind to let Thomas, the antagonist, burn this entire Kingdom down. Problem is that he won’t just destroy the Kingdom, but the whole world. He’s not fond of that idea so he has to deal with the other consequences. Compromise.

“Names, for one.” Technoblade tilts his head. “Who paid you to sabotage my vacation?”

He blinks, “A- wait, sorry, a vacation? ”

“I said what I said.” Technoblade bluffs, knowing that this isn’t a vacation . He’s certain that this kid’s body had surely suffered a lot of fatigue and physical violence. He’s aware of the bruises just barely healed on the skin he has now. He could feel the physical remnants of the shame they put on such a high title in the forms of bruises and scabs and the tired sensation behind his eyes and the throbbing at the side of his head. Technoblade will not have it on his name. “I came here hopin’ for a little bloodshed to soothe the searin’ headache that politics gives me, me bein’ an heir of Blade , but I’m honestly a lot more disappointed that the blood that I seem to be spillin’ are those from our own Kingdom.” Technoblade cracks a knuckle, “Do you know anything about that?”

The man pales. “I thought your, I thought your instability was a rumour–” He was ignoring the important question. That doesn’t matter, though.

“Rumours have to come from somewhere, Sir .” Technoblade is bluffing, but he has a good understanding on how society in this book works. The Main Character of Metanoia ahd often commented on it. Chances are, with whatever it is that he’s saying, this man will get the image that he’s been thrown under the bus. He knows that. The Main Character, Ran, had been on both the giving and receiving end of this sort of tactic. Technoblade grins, and he grabs a shortsword, stabbing it through the wooden desk. It goes a considerable distance through, and he feels that maybe he must have hit the chair.

He only backs away, the coward. Technoblade doesn’t know his name, and quite frankly, he has good reason to believe he won’t have to. This camp will fall under the squadron that will be out to attack them in, say, a few days to a week. Technoblade knows how the nobility will deal with this somehow– they’ll cover it up with the enemy fire. 

Thomas had believed it, in the book. Until he didn’t, and he’d grabbed the answers from the dowager duchess. All she could say were the rumors of how his brother had really perished, but in the end it was still just as true as all the lies Thomas had been told.

Maybe it was true, maybe that’s what really happened. Technoblade won’t be here when it happens, though.

The man is quivering, and he looks like he’s at the verge of crying. Really, it’s pathetic. It’s like this man had gained this high position through Nepotism. He abhors these societal norms. He really wants reform. Anarchy.

He wants to destroy this kingdom, and he hasn’t even witnessed it himself.

“W-What do you want from me?” Technoblade hears the man say.

Technoblade wants to cry. It’s simple what he’d asked. “Didn’t you hear me? I said names .”

“I don’t have any!”

“Really?” he asks, deadpan. He raises an eyebrow. “Look, buddy, I’m not appreciatin’ the way you’re blankin’ out on me.” He drawls. “You have names. I have a hunch that you’ve got a few off the top of your head right now.”

He looks at the man for any sort of reaction. There’s a flinch, at least, but he doesn’t seem to be budging on the name at least.

The pinkett sighs, defeated. The General seems to be relieved slightly. Must have thought that he was in the clear, and that Technoblade believes him. Nah, if anything he’s just doomed himself more and Technoblade just has some sort of extended, second-hand pity. “Let me help you remember then–”

Technoblade grabs the hit of the sword, pulling it from the table, and he raises it. Technoblade swings it at his side, ignoring how the tip had just chipped off a piece of wood from the table, and he raises it above his head.

“ GODRIC, EGON, AND BRANT !”

He lets his hand fall to his side. Godric, Egon, and Brant. “See, it wasn’t that hard now was it?”

“You are insane!” The man is nearly in a sob now. 

Technoblade hums. “So I’ve been told.” It’s mostly the reason he’s here. “Well now that our business here is nearly over, I have yet another thing for us to discuss.” Technoblade grips the sword again. The man is tense. “I hope you understand that this is getting borin’, and seein’ that I’m not gettin’ any satisfaction with our current predicament I will be leavin’.” He says. “Unless, of course, you have any complaints with my decision to leave. We can certainly talk ” He lets the tip clang against the wooden floor while he grips the handle with intent .

“If you kill me, they wouldn’t let you get away with this.”

“ If I kill you.” He hums, swinging the sword lazily in front of him. “Luckily, it won’t have to get to that, will it?” He tilts his head.

The tip of the sword gets dangerously close to the man’s neck. He wheezes at the side, eyes focusing on the tip of the sword. “N-No, Tech–”

“You had better call me your Grace , Sir.” Technoblade tilts his head. “Because the next time you see me—” which he likely won’t ever witness, “Will be when I am the Duke of Blades.” 

“Fine!” he exclaims, voice cracking. “Leave! No complaints!” The General squeaks, eyes still on the sword. 

Technoblade raises an eyebrow. “Oh, Sir , you’re goin’ to have to write a letter for me.” He smiles, irritation clear in his face. “You think I’m leavin’ here, dishonorably discharged? Oh no.” He sheathes his sword, and the General slouches in relief. It doesn’t look good on him.

By the morning, Technoblade has the general’s horse as well as a few undeserved medals due for the King to award him. It’s part of the letter addressed to him. Technoblade thinks that these ‘merits’ will help him in the long run. 

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

He’s being welcomed back ‘home’ , albeit everyone involved had been a tad bit more frantic than he’d expected. Technoblade can’t judge them, they don’t seem to be expecting his arrival given the situation that the current ‘heads of the house’ had likely told the servants. Technoblade will deal with that when he actually gets to see them. 

For now, he could enjoy the opportunity to clean himself up with proper bathroom utilities rather than a leaky bucket of water and some soap. Soap. Just soap. Not even shampoo. He has no idea how the kid could have handled such a thing. He was a nobility . The sudden difference must have been depressing.

As a Piglin he had been fond of his hygiene, growing a good and decent amount of appreciation for it after he’d left the nether. The sand and sulfur baths are good, sure, but he’d honestly like a bit less soul in his cleaning products thank you. Not to mention, water and a good towel are just superior. 

“Your Grace,” Someone calls from the door, lingering by the small gap he’d left behind for the servants to hear him if ever he requires anything. “The heads of the house have requested your presence.”

Technoblade hums, raising his hand to see if it's wrinkled. He’s seen Philza’s hand wrinkle before, seeing that a good chunk of his physique is human. He hasn’t gone to that point yet, regretfully. He wanted to try it out since the camp didn’t really have that much water he could submerge in. 

He sinks slightly in the bath, letting the water reach to his nose. He doesn’t want to leave yet. He rises slightly to speak: “Do you know why?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace.” 

He sinks, exhales, and rises again with an irritated sigh. “Thank you, I’ll be on my way out then.” Technoblade says. 

He feels the presence of the servant fade, and Technoblade stands up and he dries up. Fortunately he has the same set of clothes. He’s always been fond of these loose blouses, except, well, they don’t fit as well as he’d hoped. Technoblade, in this weak small body, is a lot less brusque than he’d like. As a Piglin, he’d once been muscular in nature. The muscle mass is something to note of in a Piglin, usually. Technoblade had been recognized as one a brute before. He took that with great pride. 

Now he’s… a teenager. Judging by recent events, Technoblade thinks that the reason why is because he’s supposed to be nineteen years old. 

Technoblade dons a surprisingly elegant outfit. It fits, albeit just a tad bit too small. It’s probably because it has been a considerable while since the kid’s been at home in here.

He exits, and there is someone waiting outside for him. The stranger, the butler, bows. “Would you like to see His Grace of Blades before the visit to the Lady Clementine? The butler asks, head lowered. 

“That would be nice.” Technoblade says.

The butler raises his head. “I shall lead you to him, then.” He gives him a knowing smile, and Technoblade can’t help but feel out of place in this body. Is there something they’re both supposed to know? Something for the both of them to share?

He walks ahead of Technoblade, leading the young heir.

Technoblade hates it, being out of the loop. Of all the characters he could have been reincarnated into, it just had to be the one with the least amount of information within this damned book. He sighs, and he follows.

It surprisingly is a long walk. In his fatigue of having to come here on horseback, Technoblade hadn’t realized how long the walk is from the entrance to his quarters. Now, though, having rejuvenated through a bath, Technoblade has good reason to believe that this place is larger than it should be. He misses the small quaint aesthetic of his cabin in the tundra. 

This is looking a little bit too similar to the old castle he and Phil used to rule in. 

If this house is this large already, he doesn’t want to imagine what the Royal estates look like. He’s just certain that he’s got it good, having a suitably lengthed pair of legs.

“Can you tell me how father is?” Technoblade questions.

The butler looks surprised. “You call him so formally, now.” The old man says, looking a tad bit sad at the notion. “Truly, your Grace, I hope you know it in your heart that sending you away was out of his control.” Technoblade could discern a few things from this exchange. He used to be close to the Duke, then. That much is evident, if he’d called the man in power with informal names. Another is that this butler thinks that the Duke would have pity on Technoblade. He takes that one with a grain of salt. 

He can’t trust this house not to take a stab at him. 

Technoblade’s face remains impassive. “Well, I don’t think I care anymore.” He looks at the Butler’s eyes. Red goes against browns. “I’m here now, am I not?”

The butler hums. There’s a small smile on his face. “And I am glad you are.” There’s a glint in the butler’s eyes, and Technoblade has a feeling that he’ll be getting along well with this man. “I trust that with your return, some revisions will happen?”

The pinkett hums. “There is no need to mention it.” He says.

“As for your father,” there is a heavy tone in his voice while he speaks. “He is not getting better.” Technoblade knew that. This was what led to the power that the Matron, Lady Clementine, had taken from the house of Blades. Dowager Duchess. 

They come into a stop when they come across a pair of doors. The butler opens it and he steps aside for Technoblade to enter before him. 

And there he is. Sickly. So thin and frail that Technoblade could breathe wrong and it’d break one of his bones somehow. His eyes open slowly, and it moves up. Technoblade could see the recognition slowly grow into his face. A small and weak smile splits his face in two, “Technoblade,” he whispers, and it seems to be the loudest voice he could muster. 

He reaches out with a frail hand, and Technoblade thinks of it as a sign to step closer. “You’re home.” He says, grabbing one of Technoblade’s hands.

Technoblade nearly shudders. It’s cold, these hands are deathly cold and Technoblade recognizes that this man is closer to Death than anyone he’s ever known. He’s on the line, walking slow enough that it’s hard to recognize if he’s alive or dead. 

“I am.” Technoblade says, not knowing how to respond to this. He’d expected something else. Something better to go against. Someone healthy enough so he could exchange words with. This one could barely breathe.

There’s a smile on his face. “Thank you.” He says.

“What for?”

“You defied them.” The man chuckles, but it’s raspy and unreal. “In a way I couldn’t– not anymore.”

Technoblade tilts his head, not at all recognizing what this is supposed to be for. “I did.” He says, still not knowing what he’s agreeing to here. “How are you, father?” 

There’s a bitter look in the man’s eyes, but he looks to be accepting. “I’m dying.” He tells Technoblade. 

He does not know how to respond to that–

“Same as always I reckon, hopin’ the misery ends tomorrow.” He chuckles, and wheezes, but there’s a lightness in that tone. The man looks up at Technoblade, and he sees something familiar. He’s never seen that look directed to him, but he’s seen it before. A parent to a child. “You will be okay, Technoblade. You and Thomas will be okay.” The man 

Technoblade looks at him.

Pink hair and blue eyes. For something that looks starkly like the cold, Technoblade can’t help but see the eyes as something that was once a comfortable source of warmth. Undeniably, because he could still see the traces of it present on the man’s weary face. 

This man loves his son.

It’s sad that the owner of this body isn’t here to see it.

“We will.” Technoblade answers.

And there is relief in those blue eyes. Technoblade has never felt more like a stranger in this body. 

“Now, you’re back, and I’ve been stuck in this bed for ages now.” He tilts his head playfully, and Technoblade almost forgets that he’s ill. Terminally so. There’s no getting better for this man. “Tell me about how you’ve been?” He asks.

Technoblade makes up lies for him.

He doesn’t spend a long time in that room. Technoblade still has to visit the ‘Dowager Duchess’, after all. When he told the old man this, he had a bitter expression on his face. Blatant in his dislike for the woman who had taken over his home. “I hope in your talk with my sister-in-law,” he said before Technoblade left. “You remember who between the two of you is a true Blade.”

It didn’t need to be said.

The butler opens the door for him, and he lets Technoblade enter the room before he closes it behind him. He finds the Lady on the writing desk. Her quill sways gracefully as she writes on the papers on the desk. Technoblade doesn’t announce his presence, but he knows that she’s aware of him. 

She pauses writing, a single audible scratch in the room, and she sets her quill aside. The Lady sits back against the chair, and she looks up at him. She tilts her head. “Why are you home, Technoblade?” The Lady asks with a smile, but he knows her. This is the Lady Clementine. She isn’t the Duchess, but as the Matron of the house without a functioning duke she might as well be. A Dowager Duchess, Metanoia had dubbed her as

She is one of the reasons why Thomas had destroyed the world. Her interventions and her political schemes had never accounted for Thomas’ wellbeing. Technoblade abhors it. This woman had treated Thomas as a tool and Technoblade sympathizes with that.

Thomas is a person.

And thankfully, in another world where this mistreatment had gone by, Thomas had repaid that kindness a hundred fold. Technoblade had found that satisfactory. This is why he likes the character, the antagonist of the story. 

Technoblade tilts his head curiously, keeping his shoulders straight. He watches as the Lady Clementine grows uncomfortable, staring back at him. He imagines that the red eyes must be unsettling. He’s at least glad that these translate back to his ‘character’. 

“Well?” She asks, feigning impatience. 

He smiles. “For one I had been merited.” Technoblade tells her the news, and the confusion on her face certifies that she’s at least one of the perpetrators of his supposed death. “I’m due to meet the King in a week’s time to receive a medal of honor. The General had written a letter for it, even.”

And the best part is that this General won’t have time to write another one that will account for Technoblade’s violent ways. By now, that camp would have been ransacked and one town would be conquered. The news will arrive to town in less than a month after Technoblade’s arrival. The only thing at fault would be the family in charge of manipulating that territory’s battlefield, the House of Galleon. 

Technoblade looks back at the Lady. 

He wants to prolong this, really he does, but he wants to get this over with. These pretenses had never been his style, and Technoblade honestly abhors the snobbish Noble Society. If only they had been a lot less boring to deal with.

“I’ll cut to the chase.” Technoblade’s smile drops, and he sends her a heated glare. “Whatever you’re planning, Lady, I suggest you drop it.” He snaps, and she flinches.

The expression morphs from one of confusion, to horror, and ending with fury. “Insolent boy! This is no way to–”

“You have no right to speak to me on how to address you.” Technoblade turns away, looking at the portrait on her desk. He walks towards it, and he grabs the frame. This wasn’t made with modern Technology. This was made with Magic, and likely only a copy of whatever took this. He hums, prying his eyes away. He could think about world building later. Technoblade has more important things to address.

He looks up from the . “I know your plans.” 

“You are speaking nonsense . If this has to do with the voices in–”

“I have no voices .” Technoblade says, technically true. It’s one of the nicer things of having been incarnated in this book. The voices hadn’t come with. However, somehow this also means that at one point, either this kid had voices or the people had painted him as an uncannily similar image as Technoblade himself. “I played along because I was bored.” He lies, staring at the portrait. “Now, I’m bored again, and quite frankly peeved–”

He drops the portrait. The crack makes the woman flinch, eyes wide in a sad attempt to scare him. “I know your son isn’t of my dead uncle’s blood.” Technoblade’s red eyes peer through hers, burning. “I hope you know, Lady Clementine, that I could always point my knowledge to the uncanny information that my voices give me.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Yet it’s just as easy to morph a baseless rumor as it is to a widely believed one. High society has nothing else to talk about, after all— how would they react? The word spreads that I come back to the Manor with medals adorning my chest, and along it comes the news that the son who is third in line for the seat of the Duke is not actually of the Blessed blood. It’d be so easy to believe.

“So here’s the deal. You leave this house with nothing but with what you came with, and you leave with this and what little honor you have.”

“You think you can threaten me?”

“I know I can.” He grins. “Because my information is not as baseless as you might think.” Technoblade flips the picture over, and he places a finger on the cracked glass. He presses on it.

“If you continue to do what you plan with this house, to have your kid claim the title of Duke of Blades, I assure you that honor will not be the only thing that will be taken from you.” The glass breaks fully.

The woman seethes, Technoblade lets the smug expression on his face show– only to get wiped off by the sudden slap on his face. It stings, surprisingly.

He looks back at her, seeing that rage looks good on her ugly and aged face. “You do not get to do this to me .” She hisses, “I had been the one to raise Thomas, to raise you. The audacity of you, kicking me out of my rightful position after all the trouble you’ve put me through.” Technoblade could hear her frustration. She is at her wit’s end. “I did not withstand all these years without my child for you to take this away from me.”

Technoblade, in another world, might have felt pity. Might have felt shame. But he doesn’t remember this at all. He doesn’t remember being raised by this woman and he doesn’t remember anything of hers beyond today. Technoblade does not owe this woman anything.

“Maybe,” he begins slowly, “You should have thought of that before you sent me away. That lapse in your genuine care was a huge risk, and you’d lost.” Technoblade lightly dusts the glass on the table. “You are foolish to covet for something that is beyond the reach of your grimy, greedy hands. ”

This time he sees it coming. The hand stops midway, caught by Technoblade’s own. He grips at it tightly. “I suggest you leave , Lady Clementine.” Technoblade tightens the hold, and he could see her wince in pain.

“Let me go.” Clementine hisses, and he obliges. She rubs at her wrist, anger dropping into a simmer. She glances back up at him. “I will leave.” The woman clenches and unclenches her fist. Her gaze is sharp with a vengeance. “But let it be known. Technoblade, that you will rue this day.” She unclasps her necklace, and she places it on the table. There is a calm and cold anger in her actions. 

It’s the necklace that lets the people of the house recognize who runs the place. Technoblade had nearly forgotten about that tidbit in the world building, but he’s glad that the Lady had the courtesy to give it back without him mentioning it. Damn, he would have messed that up quite early on if he let her walk away with it.

She walks around the table. Her heels clack against the ground. “Watch your back, Technoblade. Things have changed since you left.” Clementine looks up at him. “Let it be known, I had tried to protect this house.”

Technoblade scoffs. “We won’t need your protectin’.”

Clementine walks past. “You can believe that if you will.” is all she says. “I will be gone by dawn. You have until then to beg on your knees.”

He doesn’t know where she’s getting all of this confidence.

Technoblade has good reason to believe that she has nothing to hold against him. Technoblade knows the book. He knows what will happen and the things that could happen. He watches as she crosses the room, and he leans against the table. 

When at the door, she looks back. 

“I raised you, Technoblade. Let it be known that I know you.” She says.

And Technoblade smiles. “Times change, Lady Clementine.” He says. Technoblade raises a hand, and he waves. “I would say it was nice, but…” He lets himself trail off, letting the woman continue the thought on her own. 

She gives him a look, something scathingly cold, and she shuts the door.

This is his study now.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, CHAPTER 2

The tales of change begin with fear. Fear is not always the sole catalyst of change. Sometimes it’s hope. Sometimes it’s love. Yet oftentimes, Fear is the primary trigger for something to shift, especially when the change is drastic enough to serve as the catalyst for other things.

Thomas of the House of Blades had known that. He’d learned that from long ago. 

It’s frightening, for one, to look beyond the window of his room. He misses his old room, where the windows didn’t take up so much space in his wall. He had already asked the matron of the house if he could get his old room back, but she told him with that kind voice of hers that he can’t have it back.

That he will have to stay in this room until he could manifest his Blessing. That is five years from now. He doesn’t like this room. There are things outside that are staring at him and he’s afraid. He doesn’t want to stay here, but he has to.

He can’t.

Not when the sky blinks at him, peeking at him curiously like when Lady Clementine’s son peeked at the box with the bird in it. Not when it looks at him like a toy. The sky blinks at him, and it’s quick, and every glance at his existence comes with a loud bang that echoes through the entire space he’s in.

Lady Clementine had laughed at him, and his imagination. Thunder and Lightning, she said it was. That it was simply the clouds and science and friction. But Thomas had known. It was more than that.

But Thomas had felt it. He’d known that the sky was blinking at him, and it’s blinking at him now. 

Watching his every move.

And he was frightened.

Thomas shut his eyes tightly. If he can’t see them, he won’t know they’re watching.

The sky will not stop staring at him.

It starts to hurt. And now, all he can see are the eyes.

~+~

Technoblade pays attention to the tutelage of the Duke. He’s relearning how to manage the manor as well as the land they own. Yesterday Technoblade had gotten the Talk on what the Blade really is, which is something he really didn’t need because he’s already read of it. This one, he does need though. It’s the ugly details that the writer of the book did not bother to specify. Accounting. 

Though it seems as if the Duke wants to stray away from the lecture: “I can feel myself dying.” The Duke says to him in the middle of teaching him the ‘last things he needs to know’. Technoblade thinks that the kid was supposedly in the middle of learning how to be an heir when he was forcibly sent away to die. Now, though, he’s ‘relearning’ these things.

That was, of course, until the Duke somehow decided that now is a good time to go on a spiel on how he is dying. Normally he would enjoy reading this, something poetic and worthwhile. Philosophical, in a sense, but they’re literally running out of time and Technoblade is in a hurry to know how to run a house.

Because running an Empire is different. Usually the other people have to do the filthy paperwork— other people being Phil, that is. He doesn’t have a Phil here, and he cannot for the life of him run this damned house without the proper tutelage of this man. 

“It’s… liberating, somehow.” The duke continues, and Technoblade can’t help but have the urge to roll his eyes. He won’t, because this is supposed to be a serious talk. For Prime’s sake this guy is dying. Technoblade doesn’t really think that now is the time to be sassy. 

But, to be fair, the duke can leave this spiel in a letter when he’s a bit closer to dying. Technoblade would really rather know how to budget the damn manor.

“Liberating?” He asks, feigning interest like a liar. 

“Ever since your mother died, the burdens seemed to have piled up on me.” The duke leans his head back against the headboard. 

Technoblade is sat at the Duke’s side while he’s in bed. He’s become a frequent visitor ever since he’d kicked Clementine out of the house. When he told the Duke the news, he’d rejoiced so much that he’d called the servants to give Technoblade some alcohol.

To which he firmly declined. It’s okay, but also he’d rather not spill to anyone how he’d accidentally taken over this kid’s body. Some people might take it as him ‘breaking’ through the manifestation and the King will have to call for an execution. 

“Isn’t it enough that we’re here to take that burden off for you?” Technoblade questions mindlessly, playing into this spiel. 

The Duke smiles, “Well, Technoblade, it’s just that I find it difficult to admit that I’m leaving this Manor into my kid’s hands.” He sighs. “I wasn’t as young as you when I married your mother, and your mother had been older than you when she inherited the House of Blades.” He looks upset. Technoblade wonders how he could speak straight without coughing when he’s in the middle of a spiel, but he’d have intermittent wheezes when he’d tutor him on the inner workings of the house.

It’s honestly a bit annoying, but Technoblade needs  to cut this guy some slack. He’s dying, and he isn’t even talking to his real kid. He should feel bad but really they’re in a time crunch right now– not that he could let this guy know.

“She was twenty-four when she inherited the house, twenty-six when she finally agreed to marry me.” 

“That’s still pretty young,” He says, “Surely it still must have been hard. Learning curves and everything?” 

“It was,” The Duke turns to look at Technoblade. “But it was okay, because your mother had me. I supported her when everyone else flocked to her, calling for her attention when the previous Duke had died.

“The secret, Technoblade, is family.” The Duke reaches out a hand, and Technoblade, like a dog who had learned how to ‘paw’, holds it. He doesn’t like these affectionate glances, but he has to adhere to them because this man is dying. He might as well just give him this much. “Your brother, Thomas, he’s young, but just because he is young doesn’t mean he’s blind.”

Technoblade blinks.

Oh. 

Right.

He has to take care of Thomas too. The past few days has been rather hectic on him so he hasn’t really gone to see the kid yet. Maybe soon, he could visit the kid. For now, though, he has to keep the house upright until the Duke passes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Father.” Technoblade says. 

There is a satisfied look on his face now. “I can die happy, then.” Is what the Duke says, before he goes back to discussing the attitude of the families they have to work with. Technoblade takes the information in, paying attention to every single detail that could help his ride in this body go smooth.

And the days pass, his health dwindles.

He’s dead. The Duke is dead, and now Technoblade has to deal with everything. It’s good, though, that he’d gotten rid of Clementine early enough so that she wouldn’t sink her claws into this house. Technoblade watches bitterly as the doctor removes his two fingers from the Duke’s carotid. 

She looks up at him with a look that confirms it. 

He’s dead. This is it, the first step into the book. Technoblade is alive, the Duke has died, Clementine Egon is gone, and Thomas won’t be moved into the room with the windows. 

Technoblade recalls that happening. Thomas was supposed to be moved into the room with the windows, where the Blessing will manifest too early due to Thomas being subjected to lightning. That won’t happen, this time. Thomas will no longer be moved into the room with the windows– but Technoblade doesn’t know if this will affect whether or not Thomas manifests. Up to now, it was up to interpretation whether or not the lightning event was what caused the manifestation to happen, or something else entirely.

Whatever happens, Technoblade will know to redirect it somehow. He knows the book. He knows the world. He can play everything into his hand. He’s got everything in control.

But first he has to do this methodically. Step by step. He can’t do it all at once because he knows it will backfire on him somehow. Realistically, he’s created a huge change already. For one, Lady Clementine had been a vital character in the story yet he’d removed her from the plot this early on. Another, he isn’t dead. He’s not sure how High Society will react to his reappearance into their world, especially after expecting that he’d be gone for longer.

Not that this matters, because Technoblade has plans for it.

Technoblade nods. “Prepare for the funeral.” is all he says, and the people who had been waiting behind him move. Technoblade, out of respect, doesn’t look when the father of Thomas and this body is lifted from the sheets. This isn’t his to see. 

He steels his face while he hears sobbing in the room. He doesn’t look into anyone’s eyes, afraid that they’d take his insensitivity for what it is. 

Instead of waiting idly by while the servants work on the past Duke of Blades, he turns around and leaves the room. There is a destination in mind, one that he could only imagine from the book that he’s read. Technoblade has to be the one to take Lady Clementine’s place in Thomas’ life.

This also means that he has to be the one to let Thomas know. 

Technoblade, fortunately, does not get lost. He gets called a human gps for good reason. He ends up at a familiar door. It’s nice that the thing suits his imagination, because otherwise he would be horrible at navigating the place. It’s honestly convenient that he managed to get this far without blunder. 

He walks closer, and he notices how the door is slightly ajar. 

“-I don’t think he’d know or trust me very well.” a young voice says.

“You shouldn’t judge someone you haven’t met.”

“But Henry–”

He could hear voices from behind it. One of them is the butler who had been kind to him, and the other… the other is familiar. It’s higher than he’s used to, younger, but Technoblade remembers what this voice sounds like. He hesitates in entering. This voice, this voice is something he never expected to hear again. 

Technoblade looks through the gap in the door.

It only confirms the mixed dread and anticipation in his chest. His breath hitches, and he’s frozen at the sight of the kid. There he is. With their mother’s blond hair and their father’s blue eyes. Technoblade’s opposite, to a physical extent.

But there’s something horribly wrong, because at the same time this kid doesn’t look like what he thought Thomas would look like. This kid isn’t Thomas. He can’t be, because this is a face he knows .

He… he looks familiar. Startlingly so. This kid, Thomas, is familiar, not in a sense that ‘oh, this is how I imagined him to be’. Blond curly hair, blue eyes with the roundness he knows all too well, and the certain and distinct crook of the nose. That sharp cut on his jaw and the square-cut face. 

This… this is Tommy . 

Tommy, from back in the Server. Except this kid looks younger, and he looks so much more healthier than he’s ever seen the kid be. There are no angry and red scars on him, on his hands and on his face. There are no bruises underneath his eyes. He is shorter, significantly so, but he’s seen this kid in photographs. There is the permanent youth on his face that Technoblade will always remember, but there is that same tiredness in the kid’s eyes.

This is Tommy.

Technoblade, taken aback, decides not to pursue his plans. It’s Tommy . This kid is just– this is him and Tommy . This is Tommy. This kid is Tommy . How could Tommy be here?

Tommy’s dead .

He blinks. This time there is a heat behind his eyes that grows more. Technoblade can’t believe it. He can’t believe the presence of something so familiar in a place that’s supposed to be so foreign. Technoblade clenches his fist, restraining himself from looking again to check.

What he saw was real. Technoblade doesn’t need to look again and risk being seen, being caught off-guard.

He saw Tommy . 

Technoblade claws at his chest, something resurfacing. The heat behind his eyes grows and something wet grows at the edge of his eyes.

He just… he just never thought that he’d see him again.

The pinkett takes a few more steps back, before he fully turns and walks away. Technoblade evens his breath, trying to keep it at an even pace. Hope clings to his chest, distracting him from the confusing set of emotions rising to his throat. Tommy is here. With him. They’re both here in the same house and–

Technoblade could speak to him, and they could plan or something. 

But for now he can’t.

He can’t, because The Tommy that Technoblade knows is gone, and he’s the Tommy that would refuse to talk to him alone. The Tommy that would derail, refuse to mention anything since he’d left . Technoblade exhales, rubbing his face. He’s not used to the flatness of it, without the tusks and the snout. Still, the act is a slightest bit of comfort to him.

Tommy is dead. And by Prime he knows that he can’t expect something like this. Something like a miracle. This is Thomas and somehow he just looks a lot like Tommy. He’s seen things like that. The chances are odd but it’s not impossible.

But even if this isn’t Tommy, Technoblade just…

He doesn’t know if he can face the kid. Primes, the fact that he didn’t see that coming had just taken all sort of preparation Technoblade had for the rest of the week. He doesn’t think he can prepare for whatever will happen later. 

Technoblade comes across a servant who seemed to be concerned. Is Technoblade that clear to read? He misses his real face– Technoblade wishes he could hide his expressions with the foreign features on his face. He maintains eye contact with the servant who approaches him.

When they pause in front of him, Technoblade speaks. “Tell Thomas about father.” is all he says before he walks ahead. He walks ahead to his study.

Technoblade stalls that day, allowing the servants to do to his father what they must have done for their mother. 

They take it as mourning for a father Technoblade doesn’t know.

Technoblade mourns someone else.

He thought that Tommy was dead when he found him. The Tundra was a respite for Technoblade, and the only visitor he’s ever had was Phil except Phil can’t visit anymore because of the L’manburgians who suspected he’d been an intentional murderer of his own son. Technoblade had known that the government was bad, but what happened to innocent ‘til proven guilty?

Technoblade, at least, could be persecuted. What he did was irrefutable, and he acknowledged at least that he did a crime– and he stands by that it was a crime worth doing. Technoblade could respect that. Could respect the bounty on his head and the people who were after him. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight back, but he at least understands the reasoning on why they’d be after his head.

But people like Phil. They’re good people.

People like Tommy. Because Tommy’s a good kid.

Too good.

Technoblade remembered thinking that while he carried the kid from a cave in his basement where the kid sat in. He remembered the hatred and anger seething in his heart when he saw the kid who had served his country with all the loyalty that would make a patriot weep in shame. Technoblade remembered the red, and the roar of his chat when they’d demanded the blood that spilt Theseus’.

He remembered the vital moments, where the kid is a thread of a line away from stepping into Death’s domain fully. 

The Piglin had prayed for the first time in decades as he shoved a totem of undying in the kid’s palms. Every time the kid’s breath hitched, Technoblade would pray harder, would promise vengeance in the name of the deity that had forcibly clung to him, would promise blood if the voices would just tell him something he needed for once.

It didn’t take long after, merely a night or two, until one of Technoblade’s many totems was used on a kid.

A child.

Tommy was sixteen when he’d almost been killed by the very nation he would have offered his neck to. He was sixteen years old, and the nation he’d fought his life for had nearly demanded his life and his head.

But Tommy didn’t die in Technoblade’s care. The Piglin was far too meticulous for that.

He’d begun to care for him, even after the kid had left his side. He’d begun to miss him even when his trust had been betrayed. It only took less than a decade to get him to finally admit it.

Because it only took less than a decade for the kid to die, after his exile.

It is said that there are two best ways to bring a family together– one of them is a funeral. The house of Blades. The house is a mess, central to one line of nobles. Technoblade doesn’t like how appropriate the house is for his name. He didn’t fail to notice how the nameless older brother of Thomas had suddenly been revealed to have Technoblade’s own name. He doesn’t like it, but at least there’s going to be less confusion. 

The first portion of Metanoia had centered on this house. Technoblade gets why. The House of Blades is the second closest thing to the Royal Family other than the House of Eyes. 

This great importance would also mean that there are many people who cling to any semblance towards them. Extended families cling into their ‘right’ to be involved with the House of Blades’ business. People want to get married into the tip of the triangle. This had made it difficult for his Mother, who was of the Blessed Lineage. The previous Duchess of Blades before she died.

She died in an explosion, the same way Technoblade had manifested and caused casualties. That just seems to be a recurrent theme between Blades. 

When she died and taken a good chunk of her husband’s health, Technoblade and Thomas, the heirs of Blade, were subjected to the attention of the minor houses. People would fawn to their favor, parasites flocking to the weakest of the pack. 

They had been the one to decide to send Technoblade away. Technoblade plans to return their kindness a hundred-fold.

The families, all on his mother’s side, were of the names Egon, Brant, and Godric. These are the three houses that cling to the House of Blades’ assets. His father’s side, the Aisling family, doesn’t meddle much with the politics of the House of Blades, seeing as their affiliations align mostly to the House of Wings. 

So these families, and more, had all visited the Blades’ manor when the news had come that the Duke had died, leaving behind an heir and his little brother. During the preparation for the funeral, many had visited, asking them how they are, if they need any help . 

But Technoblade has got that handled. He’d refused any help at all, and he’d relied on the subject of ‘grief’ for his seemingly ‘irrational’ decisions. In all honesty, he just did not want anything to do with them yet until he could filter them out. Technoblade doesn’t know yet who specifically are the rotten eggs, but the day will come when he could choose. So on his part, before he could discern who are who, he’d done everything he could to make sure that this burial did not end as a disgrace. He’d put his mind at work, fully focusing on only the work he has to do. By the time it’s finished, Technoblade had been less… shocked, at the appearance of someone he knows . 

And today is the burial. Technoblade stands before his father’s casket, and behind him he knows that Thomas is there. Technoblade had refused to look at Thomas that time, afraid that he’d be so easily read. There were people with handkerchiefs, dabbing at the edge of their eyes with dainty mannerisms.

Some people murmur, expressing their grief.

Clementine stands with her clique, all of the Egon family. She eyes Technoblade from behind a fan. He could see her scathing eyes directed right at him. He returns the favor with an equally cold expression. Technoblade watches as the woman breaks the gaze and turns towards who he assumes is her sister. He looks away as well, as someone tries to approach him to greet their condolences. 

Technoblade feels something tug at the back of his shirt, and he turns his head to find Tommy– no , Thomas up close. He’s tugging his shirt, and looking up at him with a look that… surprisingly doesn’t look all that upset. He just looks curious or something. It’s like he’s unaffected by this man’s burial. This has to be Tommy, right?

Thomas speaks up. “Will you be leaving again?” He asks. 

And something about that question stings Technoblade. Stabs at him so viscerally that he could feel it numb his fingertips. Seeing someone with Tommy’s face say those words to him had felt like the time an anvil had been dropped on him, or all the times he’d barely lived with a totem of undying clinging to his being. Something crushing, something tempting at his brittle existence.

This confirms it, though, because those are words that the Tommy he knows would never say. The vulnerability is a weakness, and that thought is a thought they both share. Technoblade 

“No.” Is all Technoblade says to him. “Never,” is a promise that he still wishes he could have made and committed to another young boy with those same blue eyes.

It didn’t occur to Technoblade that this is Thomas’ first impression of him. That Thomas, who had lived most his life being steered away from his volatile older brother, had finally met someone who was supposedly so dangerous. He did not think of how maybe, Thomas would have clung desperately to those red eyes that had been warmer than any of the words of the previous caretaker. The thought will never cross his mind how on that day, when a father is buried, a brother is redeemed.

But all of those thoughts that could have been, stay lingered in the air uncaught.

Thomas only stands quietly by this man’s side. 

The two brothers stand beside each other with two different epiphanies.

This is a man who is different. This is a kid who is different.

The burial was uneventful. It was short-lived, and there were no real tears. None that Technoblade would know of. He and Thomas do not shed their tears. It appears that neither of them need to shed any. 

He respects that. He could respect the lack of emotion over the overly presented crocodile tears.

“Shall we head inside, Your Grace?” A woman with red eyes looks at him. She looks stern, strict. This is his mother’s cousin, who has birthed without the Manifestation. A woman from the family of Godric, unaffiliated with the downfall of the House of Blades but remained passive in the face of its corruption. 

Technoblade has no reason to be aggressive on her, but at the same time, he has no reason to trust her. So instead, he nods. “We shall, Aunt.”

This is where it begins. The war. The families will strive for control, and this is the ugly, behind the scenes moments that the novel had spared its readers from reading. No, not to mention the perspective had been centered on a Thomas who was a kid. Clementine, as his guardian, would have steered Thomas away from the politics of the Duchy. 

But that’s not going to happen now. Technoblade will be dominating this.

If he’s dominated a kingdom before– an empire , actually, then he could sure as hell win this over. A bunch of them are losers anyway, and he could call them nerds all he wants but he knows that it’d be wrong to. At least nerds are smart, these ones are down and beyond the classification. He wouldn’t even call them mundane.

They’re idiots, the lot of them.

He looks at the rest of the crowd, and he’s met with a lot of eyes. Something in Technoblade tenses up at the attention. It’s jarring, all of a sudden, to be the center of the people’s perceptions. The eyes are so easy to get lost in, and it feels too easy to just succumb to their wishes.

Technoblade shuts his eyes for a second, and he sees fireworks. He opens his eyes again and there is a newfound resolve. Technoblade sends them back an equally scathing look, and he watches as more than half of their gazes turn softer. Less resilient. Weak predators.

And Technoblade hopes that they know that he knows what’s in their heads. Their greed smells like sulfur in the air. 

He looks away from the noble families, turning away so he could start walking and leading the heads towards the drawing room where decisions will be made. Only then does he notice Thomas still staring at the families.

Thomas looks at them with a certain sort of anger. Something cold, something unfamiliar. For a moment, he recognizes the villain of Metanoia with that righteous anger. Fury. 

“Thomas.” Technoblade calls, and just as he turns, that fury dissipates into something lost. He doesn’t know how to take that. What was that? “Will you join the audience?” He questions the kid.

He blinks. “Will you be needing me?”

“This is your–” he hums, that needs to be corrected. “ Our house, Thomas. You call the shots just as much as I do, but you always have the option to abstain.” Technoblade doesn’t mention how he won’t have that option.

The kid hesitates. “May I,” he eyes the families, “May I join the meeting?” He asks in full, and the eavesdroppers turn away and speak their gossip. 

“Yes.” Technoblade answers. 

He steps forward, letting the attention fall to him. “Shall we head on inside?” He asks the crowd. “I understand that it’s cold, and,” he eyes the heads of the houses. “I understand that there may be things that some of us wish to speak about.”

Technoblade watches as the families enter the manor. Many send him sorry looks, many wish them condolences. He takes note of the many who give him expectant glances. Those are likely the people who will be joining him in the room.

“Are you truly the designated heir for your house?” That is the first question that is shot at him the moment they settled into the meeting hall. The audacity of these people sometimes. He can’t believe how they could be so blatant. 

He rests his red gaze on the man who asked that, a nobody, he’s sure, if he’s nameless to him. “That seems to be the main topic of interest,” he comments. “But yes. It is written in my father’s will that I am the heir, and I will become the Duke to be decreed by the King.” He answers. 

Technoblade could hear someone’s breath, as if they were about to speak. He snaps his head to look at them and he speaks up before they could utter anything. “And I believe this was dictated in both my mother and my father’s shared will. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m certain that my name was uttered rather clearly.” Technoblade answers the silent question.

“Yet that decision does not lie solely on them, am I not correct?” Clementine’s voice is slow. She is sat to the right, beside the head of Egon. “As decreed by the King of two generations past, the heirs of the house has the undeniable right to abstain on the duties expected of them by their ancestor.” She tilts her head. “Will you be upholding the will, or will you be abstaining?”

He clenches his teeth. “I do not see why this is an issue, Lady Clementine Egon.” He eyes her, and she watches with ire as she sits there so casually. She knows nothing, how could she be so arrogant? “I will rule this house as Duke, as was expected of me since my birth.”

“Are you stable enough to do so?” A Brant questions. “Forgive if I may seem insolent for this question,” there is no room for forgiveness in this situation. “But the rumors are rampant, especially after your return from battle. How can we be ascertained that you aren’t at the brink of destruction?” 

Technoblade wishes he could answer that. 

“I believe that it should be better if his Grace Technoblade were to rule temporarily, while Thomas is declared as heir–”

“Why?” 

The room is silenced by Thomas’ sudden interjection. 

Clementine blinks. “Thomas, may I ask you to elaborate why you question that?”

“I don’t see how it would be practical if I were to rule.” Thomas replies in an even tone. “I am thirteen years old, yet no formal education has been given to me on how to run the House of Blades.”

That gives him an opening. He could thank the kid on this later, for giving him leeway to talk. “I have been preparing for this since I was eight years old.” He tilts his head. “And with the blood of my mother in my veins, and the Blood of Blade ,” he presses on those words, staring Clementine down. He watches with an innate satisfaction as the old woman backs down. He sees her begrudgingly sit back in a silent defeat. “Did you really think I would not have prepared myself for the possibilities? I was made to rule this House as my Mother had before me.”

“Yet your mother died at her mid-thirties,”

The room snaps to the attention of the one who had spoken up. 

“It seems that young and volatile runs in her blood, and the past Duchess’ blood runs thick in you.”

It’s a Godric, and not even the head of his house. Technoblade grits his teeth. He eyes Thomas, who looks like he’d blanked out. He eyes the Godric again and clenches his fist. “Then if I believe you’re suggestin’ what I think you’re suggestin’,” he says, slowly, putting weight on every word he says. “You’re implyin’ that all of the noble Houses, the Pillars of the Kingdom of Hartcoure, should not have a rulin’ role?” He tilts his head, watching as his eyebrows furrow. 

“That is not what I am saying.” He retorts. He leans forward, as if that would signify his presence in this room. Technobalde could see how the Godric head is eyeing the man down. “I believe that the Blessing that had manifested in you is not safe –”

There's a screech of the chair, and a blur of something moving at Techonblade’s peripherals. “And what the fuck is it that you want!?” Thomas hisses. Technoblade blinks.

Did he just curse?

Thomas is stood, and the action pushed the chair back. The family are shocked at the display of impertinence, and the most shocked one in the room– visibly , that is, is the Godric brat.

“Thomas,” Technoblade calls,

The Godric brat speaks up, sputtering. “Watch your language!”

“Watch your fucking tongue, bastard.” Thomas spat back. “My father died today, in case you didn’t notice, and you must be so bloody fucking callous not to realize this when you and everyone in this room are draped in the colors of mourning.” He points at him, and he scoffs. “And you are not even in the proper position to have an opinion in this room,”

“You are thirteen years old.”

“And you are not even a fucking Blade!” 

“Thomas!” Technoblade calls, and the kid’s attention is turned to Technoblade. “Calm down.” he says slowly, but there is no heat in that tone. “Sit down kid.” Thomas obliges.

The brat tenses, “You cannot expect me to just—”

Technoblade stares him down, and he shuts his mouth. “He might not be the heir, but he is a Blade.” He says, “Which is to say, he and I might be younger than you but it would do you well to remember that in this room, I hold more power than you.”

The Godric brat shuts up, 

“I suggest that you calm down outside.” Technoblade says, and it’s less a suggestion and more of a command. “Join the rest of your family, where those words might be more easily forgiven.”

He takes a stand, finally getting the memo. “I shall take my lead then, Your Grace.” The Godric brat says, before walking out of the room. 

Thomas was about to follow, “Stay,” he whispers, only loud enough for Thomas to hear from beside him.

“Now,” Technoblade intertwines his fingers and crosses it on the desk. “Shall we resume?” He looks at the rest of the people in the room, and he tilts his head. “I am to assume that the topic of the inheritance of the title for Duke is to be dropped?”

There are silent murmurs. “Yes, that is the general consensus.” A person of the Luning family says. Technoblade recognizes her, she is one of the more strict nobles, the ones who stick to principles and the purity of nobility. This woman should be unconditionally on the side of the House of Blades– that isn’t to say she will always be on Technobalde ’s side.

“Then we will move on.” Technoblade continues.

The meeting resumes, and Thomas was not given a reason to interject.

It is adjourned, and finally they’re all out of that stuffy room. Let it be known that black is not Technoblade’s color. He prefers whites for its cooler colors. He walks away to the opposite direction from the rest of the families who move into the banquet hall.

He could hear rampant footsteps behind him, and somehow he just knows that it’s Thomas.

“Look, okay, I know I was out of line but I swear I have a reason for what I did–”

“Thomas,”

“--And the thing is, I had always known that the other families would have their eyes on me so I just—”

“Thomas.”

“--Thought that maybe it would be better for you if I sullied my image so you look better–!”

Technoblade grabs Thomas by the shoulders, but not to hurt. Just to get the kid to listen to him. Tommy blinks, attention finally being drawn to Technoblade. “Listen to yourself.” Technoblade says sternly. “You do not have to speak about yourself that way. You curse when you wish to, not because you find yourself backed into a corner.” He tells him. 

“You never have to sully your image for the sake of the House. Do you understand?” Technoblade questions.

Thomas looks stunned. “I– Thank you?” He says, unsure, and Technoblade is glad that it at least helped a little bit.

He likes to think he’s done a good job. That’s one intervention down. These words were things that he’s thought of before, when he’s read of this attitude of Thomas’. Technoblade could pat himself on the back for this, only the first day and already a good bit of impact on the kid.

Technoblade lets go, “Just… go be a kid, okay?”

Thomas looks down at the floor. “I realize that I haven’t greeted you properly since you’ve arrived.” He looks ashamed for some reason. Technoblade can’t understand why. “Forgive me for my impudence, Your Grace.

“I am Thomas.” He holds his upper arm with his hand. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I don’t really… know if you remember me all too well.”

And there it is, epiphany after epiphany crashing down on him. This kid. This kid in front of him has to be around thirteen years old. Technoblade can’t see it. Can’t see him . He has Tommy’s face but he doesn’t have the things that they share. He doesn’t yet have that distinct fear of death in his eyes. There is none of that knowingness of each other. What he’d done, he’s done to Theseus before– the kid just doesn’t have the same reaction. 

And he can’t see Thomas . The one who is destined to destroy the world in four years. Eyes dead, suffering prominent. Without mercy for all the people that had exploited the mercy that had been taken out of him. Selfish. Destructive. Cruel.

But before him is a kid . A kid in every sense of the word.

He actually looks like he’s thirteen.

Technoblade had always imagined Thomas to be a brand of chaos that was much like the antagonists in all the other stories he’s read before. He imagined a glint in his eyes, the permanent snarl, the sharp words.

But the kid before him is unsure , and that’s not to say it’s a tell that he isn’t inherently evil. He knows evil people, he knows them like the back of his hand. This kid is just…

Just a kid.

And honestly, Technoblade can’t help but be the slightest bit disappointed. He had hopes. Multiple. For one, he’s hit with the realization that he’s alone again. This isn’t Tommy.

For another, he’d adored the antagonist of Metanoia, knowing the seventeen year old would appear in some chapters had his hopes high with the drama of the story. He had thoroughly enjoyed it as the Main Character of Metanoia had accidentally given the kid more and more incentives as to why he should destroy the world with himself in it.

There was a certain catharsis with watching someone who had been used, finally letting loose. Letting the world know it had failed him, and in turn he would destroy it for doing so. Technoblade had resonated with that.

Only, it failed to occur to him that the Thomas that he’s read before is nothing like the Thomas that he should be expecting. Technoblade had expected to provoke a vast change, something that is near impossible.

But with the changes, none of what had turned Thomas against the world have happened yet, nor will it happen at all. Technoblade’s presence will be a large change in the plot.

Because Thomas will never have to be the Duke of the House of Blades. He will never have to be subjected to the things that made Technoblade love reading him.

Technoblade will make sure of that, lest he let the world fall in on itself. 

So while in his head his plans shift, he finally looks at Thomas. He doesn’t know what he’s expressing, but he hopes that whatever it is is sincere. “Nice to finally meet you, little brother.” Technoblade says. He tries to grow a smile, but it’s hard to when all he wants to do is run away. “You did well there. Thanks for backin’ me up.”

“I,” Thomas looks away. “I hope I didn’t overstep or something–”

“You didn’t.” Technoblade cut him off before he could continue that thought. “This is our House, which means that you get an equal, if not more significant, say in the things that go on in it.” He drops his smile, and he recognizes that his voice is stern but Technobalde can’t risk this information being taken like it’s a joke. “You are of the House of Blades. Remember that.”

And he can’t expect it, the way the kid’s face shifts. It’s like he was caught off-guard. Surprised. The kid is looking at him with that same look that Tommy would give him when he’d given him that helmet, and when he’d let him take care of the dogs, and when he’d let him cook for the first time—  It’s like he’s been given the world. 

Technoblade swallows. “I’ll be stayin’ around more often. Is that alright with you?” he asks.

Thomas looks confused. “I–” he glances at the floor, as if thinking. “I don’t really know why you’re asking me.” Thomas says. There’s that defensive tone, like he’s guarding himself from the assumption of a responsibility or a courtesy. “This is just as much your house as it is mine.” He sounds so much like Tommy.

“Exactly.” Technoblade says. He reaches out, and he puts a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. He ignores the fact that he’d almost landed his hand on his head. 

The kid looks at the shoulder where Technoblade’s hand is, and looks back at Technoblade. He doesn’t know what he sees in Technoblade, but he hopes that whatever it is doesn’t end the world somehow.

“We’re home, Theseus.”

“He’s dead.” Technoblade had heard Philza say. He looked up from whatever book he was reading that time, raising an eyebrow.

Technoblade snorts a little, before turning his eyes back into the pages of the book.“Who is it this time?” He drawls, flipping a page. Technoblade recalls his train of thought back then. He’d been uncaring. Why should he have? It was normal on that server. Death clung to everyone in that place and Technoblade shouldn’t have been surprised that yet another one bit the dust.

“Tommy.” Only then did Technoblade realize the wetness in Philza’s voice. When he looked up, he realized the red rim in his eyes. “He’s…” Phil swallows, shutting his eyes. “He’s dead.”

He uncrossed his legs and he set aside the book. He doesn’t remember bookmarking it or recalling its page. Technoblade didn’t care at the time. 

“He can’t be dead, Phil,” Technoblade scoffs, but there’s the dread sinking down his chest and tugging at his lungs. It was harder to breathe, he recalled that much. “It’s Tommy , he can’t die.” He chuckled, but the laughter faded when Phil sent him a look.

It was vulnerable, mournful, that same dreadful gaze he held when he’d killed Wilbur. That despair is something Technoblade could never forget.

“He can’t be dead. Phil.” Technoblade stated that time, like his word would change the way of the world.

Phil shook his head. “Snowchester will be holding his funeral.” Phil said, turning around to leave. “Invitations are extended to everyone— all but his killer.”

Killer.  

Of course the kid would have had a killer. It should have been expected. Half the server hated the kid, but none had the mind to kill someone who was as loved as he was hated. None had the audacity— none, but one .

He could hear the door creak. It was on its way to being shut.

“Who killed Theseus.” It was no question. It was a demand.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, Chapter 6

It hurts. They all scream his name and beg for his mercy, and Thomas still has the heart to want to give them all he has. But his ears ring, and his heart is being wrung dry. They’re all shouting for his attention but Thomas is getting overwhelmed with all of their screaming.

Clementine had said that it was normal. A Blessing that great would have such drastic costs, so it’s only fair. She said to grit his teeth when he heals, not to let anyone know what the cost is. It would make them guilty, she said. It would make them shy in their demands, and that’s selfish of him to wish for.

Thomas hurts, and he feels the ache and the phantom pains of losing a leg. He has to curl his toes every now and then to feel the pressure of his ill-fitting shoes against his feet and the texture of his socks against his heel.

He wants to cry. So bad.

But it would make the bypassers concerned, and he has no right to be. He’s not injured, just in pain. They can’t help, and it would only make them so much more guilty.

Thomas hates it. He hates helping. He hates Clementine. He hates how he’s obligated to suffer in the place of those who he heals. He hates the smiles on their faces, their blissful ignorance at the pain they asked him to take.

He’s tired.

And it hurts.

So for the first time in his sixteen years of life, in the face of someone who looks up at him as if he’s a saint, Thomas glares. He feels the gleefulness of disobedience curling up in his chest with a horrible and dire fire. He scowls, letting his blue eyes that mimic the skies turn into an icy blue cold.

“Fuck no.” He tells the woman, and he watches without remorse the confusion and the despair that turns her smile into a frown. He does not feel any sort of guilt as he watches the woman start to sob to beg, clawing at his shirt while he repeatedly tells her no.

That he will not be using his blessing.

That she will die.

And for once he feels glee again, the giddiness at defiance. He feels like this would change things for once, that he could destroy the mold that people had forced on him.

It won’t.

The House of Galleon makes sure of that.

~+~

Technoblade glares, targeting the heated stare at all the paperwork he’s going to have to do. See, Technoblade has ruled an Empire Once before– in his defense, despite his anarchistic values, it had been entirely on impulse and solely to test if it’s possible that not all Empires or monarchistic rules are bad. He’s wrong, he wasn’t someone who he would spare, but to be fair he is at least fairly decent at running a kingdom.

He looks at the pile of papers he has to get through, as well as the documents he’d requested back from when he was sent back from the border of the Kingdom, where he’d gone through having to murder people and leave people to be murdered. He had felt infinitely less dread over the corpses and the orphans he had made than over the damned papers he must deal with.

And the worst part is that he knows for certain that there’d be significant dissonance over all of these because that Lady Clementine’s documentation is, forgive his language chat, utter fucking shit. Technoblade thinks that seeing whatever mess she made over his House warrants some choice words. He’s certain because he knows that this is one of the many things that will— correction, that will not send Thomas into ruin.

People would be embezzling their funds. They already have, actually, and while Technoblade is not a materialistic person the importance of their material wealth is heightened by the fact that this can and will contribute to Thomas’ eventual destruction of the entire world.

Sometimes he wishes that his ‘magical ability’ is to, instead, be able to manage whatever mess this is otherwise he will be destroying this manor and building it back up from ruin.

Technoblade sinks into his chair. Wishful thinking, the both of it. He sincerely wishes he could destroy this place.

Briefly he wonders if he could just kill Thomas and be done with it. This would make things a lot more simple, seeing that there won’t be a healer in the kingdom and the catalyst for the apocalypse will just die off before actually acting on the apocalypse.

Rationally he… he thinks that it’s the most viable option to bypass the apocalypse.

He looks at the necklace, something that he’d taken to wrapping around his wrist instead of his neck. It’s the necklace that Clementine had given to him. It’s a necklace carved in some odd stone, and the type of stone wasn’t mentioned in the book.

Upon his inspection though, Technoblade would know what stone this is carved from. It may not gleam like one due to the unsmoothened texture, but he knows the weight and he knows more than enough what it looks like. There’s the temperature under his hands too. It’s different now that he’s not a Piglin, but Technoblade should know regardless of what form he’s taken. He’s carved more of these things than should be possible in the world.

It’s an emerald. He’s carved many of these but he’s only given away so few of them. To Phil, to his son, and to Tommy.

Technoblade shuts his eyes, and he leans forward to rest his head against his hands. He sighs. He doesn’t like all of these coincidences.

Technoblade doesn’t think he can kill the kid. He just can’t.

There is a knock at the door, “Come in.” He responds, unsure of whether or not they could actually hear him.

Whoever it is, they seemed to have gotten the memo. It’s Henry, the butler. He looks like he’s rather conflicted, and the only thing Technoblade could think of now is what is it this time? Ever since the funeral and the burial, he’s been bombarded with letters.

People are welcoming him back into high society, and honestly, Technoblade had been expecting it. He should have. A lot of the dramatizations of the book had been centered on the concepts of High Society and the way the people in the front and center tend to run it. Ran, the real main character of the novel Metanoia, had to traverse the dangers of the political system matched with a power imbalance for those who are Blessed. It’s an interesting read, made all the more interesting when there are hints of Thomas through his expedition in the societal system of Hartcoure.

“Would you rather I give you the good news or the slightly more gruesome one, Your Grace?” Henry asks, holding a silver tray with two envelopes on it.

“I could deal with a little good before gore.” Technoblade murmurs, which fortunately is something Henry hears because Technoblade would have rephrased it drastically if asked the second time.

“So the good news doesn’t get soured?”

“No,” Technoblade looks at his stack of papers, then back up at Henry with a deadpan look. “So I get grounded with realism.”

Henry snorts, and Technoblade feels his lips twitch up a little. “I apologize for the impudence. Your Grace.”

“I don’t mind, I like to think I am a funny man.” He assures man. “Now the letters?”

The butler nods, and he walks closer. He lowers his hand down so Technoblade could get the letters on the tray. “The one with the royal seal is the good news, the latter one is… slightly disturbing.”

Technoblade takes the both of them, and he sees it. The first is an enveloped with an embossed design and texture, clovers taking over the entirety of the envelope’s space. In the middle, holding the opening of the letter together, is a golden seal. He eyes the decor, the design of its stamp. A four leaf clover in the mouth of a Chimera. The insignia of the royal family.

He pulls it apart, opening it, and sees the… disappointingly bad handwriting on it. To be honest, he’d expected cursives and fancy font and lettering and not whatever this is. To say it was chickscratch would imply that it’s ineligible, because it is readable. Just incredibly hideous to look at.

Of course it’s courtesy, even in his own house, to withhold the cringe that he feels like expressing, so he keeps it in while he reads the letter. In the back of his mind, while he reads, he’s in disbelief that High Society didn’t think of talking about this horrid script that he’s reading right here.

Then again, very little people actually get letters from the king, so he supposes that there’s not much to talk about unless he’d like to get pinpointed as the one who started that conversation.

“You’ve read this?”

“No, your Grace, though the messenger had just been rather loquacious about it.”

Technoblade hums, reading through the letter.

As expected, it’s about his inauguration as the Duke of Blades. The King is extending his welcomes and his congratulations. He also intends to see Technoblade face to face to assess his intentions. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to clear my schedule for the sixteenth.” He speaks.

On the sixteenth, Technoblade will be inaugurated. A lot of monarchistic rulers tend to do that despite the fact that there’s usually only one ruler.

“I bid you congratulations then, your grace.” Henry says, and there’s this oddly proud tone in his voice. Technoblade lets it pass by, and lets it fly over his head. He can’t stick with the idea that Henry will be permanent. The man’s old, and he might retire sooner with the assurance that the house is in safe hands.

This was a plot point meant to isolate Thomas. It was a nice technique, in his opinion, showing the villain being broken down so that the readers would see what the change was. The Metanoia in the story. Now he just feels bad.

And now he just feels the weight of having to be both Henry and a kinder Clementine to Thomas.

But it won’t happen yet. It’ll happen after the thunderstorm.

Technoblade sets the letter aside, placing it in one of the pull out cabinets under the desk he’s sat at. “Now, the gruesome news I suppose.” Technoblade eyes the other letter. It looks to be a lot more informal, messier. He looks at the stamp and he sees circles crossing over one another. It’s the house of Galleon.

He unfolds it, and he sees that it’s a memo.

This time he finds it really difficult to refrain from smiling because he’s faced with good news for once. The camp in the army he scared into letting him come back to the manor is gone. Dead. Wiped out. Technoblade’s was right then if that’s the case. Admittedly he was worried that he would have to deal with the backlash of the General writing a letter but he knew that the general would be a lot more occupied with the presence of the intruders.

Now the borders of their family’s land has been breached and the House of Galleon is extending invitations to some sort of honorary banquet or something. Technoblade snorts, looking at the letter. It looks a lot less prepared than his fathers’ funeral. They seem to be a lot less equipped with the preparations for this.

Then again, it seems that it was a lot hastily put together.

He wonders why.

“The messenger boy was rather ecstatic about delivering these letter to us.” Henry speaks out.

Technoblade blinks, confused. “Even this one?” He lifts the letter from Galleon.

Henry nods.

“Do you know why?”

He grins this time. “Well, it’s most likely because the kid thinks he’s delivering to a hero.” Henry says. “Word has come around of your valiant efforts in apprehending and slaying the intruders of the Northern border, and only evidenced by their significant loss after you’d left to reclaim your position here.” The butler points a finger on the letter.

Technoblade is especially confused now.

“They don’t see it as disobeyance?” Technoblade questions because he was certain he would have to face some sort of flak for conveniently leaving the place when it was suddenly ransacked.

Henry looks just as confused. “Why would it be?” Henry asks. “It wasn’t like your departure from the camp was of your volition. The General had discharged you from battle, and weeks before that your father had requested that you come back.”

The racing mind comes to a stop, and Technoblade backtracks. The Duke had done what? “Sorry, he requested that?”

“We had a letter sent to your camp, Your Grace.” He says, and he’s saying this as if it was fact. “Your father’s health had been on a constant decline, and it had gone to the point when the heir had to come home regardless of the demands of the other families.”

Technoblade grits his teeth. He didn’t receive any letter. His coming home here was pure coincidence.

But it makes sense now, why they were so frantic in their preparation in his arrival. Technoblade was late, and they had already likely assumed the worst in thinking that Technoblade had no reason to come back. Clementine had likely plugged it into their brains that Technoblade is no longer interested in being the Heir.

The debate during his father’s burial makes sense, especially when it had been Clementine who had been the one to point it out.

That’s when he’d come into this life, then. Clementine stopping the letters from getting to him, the surprise of the house upon his arrival, the timely assassins-- that’s the reason why he’d come across so many assassination attempts. Technoblade was supposed to die at that point under the families’ command when they’d found out that they had to speed up the process of taking his title as heir.

He places the letter down. “I suppose my schedule for the twenty-first will have to be cleared out as well.” Technoblade speaks.

Technoblade looks up, and it seems like Henry will not be leaving yet. He doesn’t turn around or bow to announce his exit. “Is there anything else?”

Henry smiles. “I hope I am not impudent as I ask this, but would it be alright if you would grant me a wish, your Grace?”

His gut sinks. Is this it? Will Henry be leaving? Isn’t it far too soon? Surely he can’t trust Technoblade so easily as to leave Thomas to him. Technoblade had barely any public appearances. “What is it?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“May I request that you bring Thomas along to either event?” Henry asks,

And again, for the nth time today he is confused. “Sorry?”

“I hope it isn’t much of a request, and I would respect it if it were, but Thomas is feeling lonely.” Henry says, and Technoblade can’t help but internally gawk at the notion. Thomas, the main character of Metanoia, is lonely.

That’s a red flag right there. That’s a startlingly red flag. Technoblade must balance this kid’s happiness, otherwise he’s going to be neglected and that neglection will lead to him either manifesting his Blessing early or the kid murdering him like he did with Clementine.

Which is something that happens. Thomas had murdered Clementine and her family.

“Is there a reason why he feels upset?” Technoblade questions, and he’s glad that his internal distress translates to worry for his younger brother, because Henry will likely be reassuring Thomas after this and telling him the truth in a euphemistic way.

“He will not say it himself,” Henry says, “But I have reason to suspect that he’s been… wanting some company?” He himself sounds unsure about it, but Technoblade would really rather not leave it to chance. If Henry says Thomas is feeling lonely then by Prime will Technoblade change that.

Except, well, Technoblade has a good hunch that he’s not exactly the type of person who people would think of first when they want company. He’s got a few horrid ratings on his presence, and he’d really rather not incur the wrath of a tiny apocalypse-harbinger.

“Do you think he’d need a playmate?” Technoblade asks, and he could hear Henry choke—“What?” He asks. Was that really a dumb question?

“No, sir, I believe he needs the company of family.” Henry says with an awkward and polite smile. Okay, he gets it. He’s not exactly the best person to go to when it comes to this sort of thing. Forgive him for wanting to suggest something.

But again, Technoblade cannot believe that he will be the best person for Thomas to hang around.

As if noticing his confusion, Henry laughs. “Sir Technoblade, you are ever efficient in all of this paperwork,” Technoblade could honestly beg to differ, “But you still have many things to learn when it comes to your brother.” Henry looks at him with a warm expression, and Technoblade tries his best not to just casually ram his head against the table. “He’s thirteen, it’s young, but he’s at an age where he doesn’t want to be treated like a child.”

Technoblade thinks back to the novel, where the reasoning that Thomas is supposed to be mature had caused the kid to repress his emotions and then eventually combust (literally). “But he is a child.”

“He won’t know it until he’s older.”

And that… is true. Thomas won’t know that he’s a child until he turns seventeen, when he looks back and realizes of what he has been deprived of in exchange of making good use of his Blessing.

“So, am I supposed to treat him like a child or not?”

“I suggest that you treat him like a brother.”

That effectively gets him thinking. Family. Thomas needs family. Technoblade had never properly made himself as a brother. He’s been a friend, a loyal one, Phil could attest to his loyalty. He’s just never been a brother before.

he should know that is a lie.

theseus wails in his grave.

“I’ll try.”

That is what leads Technoblade hovering at Thomas’ front door. Technoblade intends to bring Thomas to the Inauguration. He suspects that technically, this was always the plan. The King had told him to invite family, after all.

Now he just doesn’t know how to approach this. He’s not close enough to just barge into Thomas’ room and invade the kid’s privacy. He could knock, but then what will he say after Thomas opens the door.

Someone clears their throat from behind him, startling Technoblade. He turns to see a maid, someone who is just as old as Henry, standing politely behind him—how did he not notice her? He should have felt the presence of someone intruding his.

“My apologies for startling you, Your Grace,” she bows her head, pulling her skirt slightly to the side. “I believe that Thomas usually responds quite politely to knocks.” She says with a smile. A knowing one.

Technoblade exhales, “I know that.” He says, trying to redeem himself. He turns once more, and he knocks.

It doesn’t take long for someone to open the door from behind, and he sees Thomas.

The kid blinks. “Oh, uh, hi?”

He suddenly remembers why he felt hesitant with the entire ‘meeting Thomas’ thing. Technoblade still feels unsettled at the kid’s presence. He looks so much like Tommy that it makes it hard to deal with all of the predicaments that surround this kid. Technoblade swallows, and he puts on a subtle smile. “May I come in?” He asks.

“Sure.” Thomas says, pulling the door so its wider.

The maid behind him greets Thomas. “I am just here to pick up the laundry, Lord Thomas.” She says, and with his approval she goes straight for his personal bath.

“Would you like a seat?” Thomas asks,

“There’s no need,” Technoblade raises a hand briefly before placing it behind him to meet with the other hand. “I’ll be brief, just here to ask somethin’.”

Thomas blinks. “What is it?”

“I was thinkin’ of—” he pauses,

“Pardon me your grace,” Clara says, now holding a laundry basket on her hip.

Technoblade moves to the side to allow her some space to walk through. He realizes how awkward it is to be hovering by the door, but he also thinks of how much more awkward it would have been if he went anywhere deeper into the room without wanting to stay long.

When Clara is out of the room, Technoblade clears his throat and he continues. “I was thinkin’ of bringin’ you along for a few days of the next week.” Technoblade tells Thomas. “As well as formally requestin’,” he frowns a little, that wording seems wrong. “Invitin’, I mean, you to mealtimes.” Technoblade adds.

He watches as Thomas’ expression morphs. He can’t read it. Technoblade doesn’t recognize this expression on a face like Tommy’s. It looks in a mix of awe and confusion as well as shock. Technoblade could take it as disbelief, but that would just be something significantly sad. Is this kid really that neglected? Surely not, because the Duke didn’t seem to be the neglectful type, right?

Technoblade remembers the look on the Duke’s face when he’d talk about family, and he just knows that it couldn’t be anything else other than an unconditional love.

So he wonders why Thomas seems to have this expression of disbelief.

And… fear?

“I,” Thomas is speechless, like he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he doesn’t. “I—”

“You don’t have to.” Technoblade cuts him off. “You have things to do and I get that, and I respect that. I’m only extendin’ the offer in case you’re interested.” He tells Thomas, and he wonders what it is wrong with the question when Thomas’ expression begins to sour.

Technoblade was about to add an entire ‘haha no pressure by the way, no pressure at all kid’ type of spiel, but Thomas beat him to it. “No! No, I’d love to join you for mealtimes—” Thomas blurts out. “I just didn’t think you’d invite me to come with you to your inauguration. I thought it was a private audience with the King, and the banquet seems personal to you,” The kid crosses his arms, “fuck” he whispers under his breath, and Technoblade realizes belatedly how foreign it sounds on his tongue.

Right, this kid likely doesn’t curse worse than a sailor.

“Of course, I would.” He smiles, just a little. “You’re family.” Technoblade reassures, and he tries his best to sound genuine but he can’t really say that he is. A bunch of the things he says to the kid is meant to placate him and is not out of any personal sort of worry or attachment.

“Do you… want me to go with you?” Thomas asks, and Technoblade thinks that this is a vital moment. As the kid’s brother, he might be clinging to any semblance of approval the same way he had when he had been attached to Clementine’s hip as if she was his mother.

So Technoblade tries to smile warmly, mimicking the way Phil’s head would tilt, crease his eyes a little with that small smile. A look he’d often see when the man would talk to or about Wilbur. Technoblade had tried to copy that look before, with Tommy, when Technoblade had to lie to the kid about him being alright. He remembers how Tommy had mentioned that he looked like he wanted to take a shit.

He sincerely hopes he doesn’t look constipated.

“Yes,” Technoblade answers. “I would, but only if you’d have me.”

Thomas blinks, and he looks down. Technoblade notices how the kid’s ears are red and he notices how he tries to hide it. “Is it okay if I think about it through dinner?” Thomas asks.

“We have the rest of the week kid,” Technoblade answers. “Take your time.”

Technoblade watches as the kid just stands awkwardly there. They, well, neither of them have anything to talk about so really Technoblade might as well leave. “I’ll be on my way out then.” Technoblade tells the kid.

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” Thomas awkwardly leads Technoblade to the door, with Thomas holding the door open for him while he walks out. Before he leaves fully, though, the kid tugs the back of Technoblade’s shirt. When he looks back at Thomas, he sees the kid looking at the floor, to the side. “Thank you.” He tells Technoblade.

He doesn’t know why the kid is thanking him. Did he do anything? “What for?” Technoblade asks.

Thomas finally looks up, blue eyes looking up at reds, and speaks: “For thinking of me.” Thomas says.

And honestly Technoblade could deny it all he wants, but he has a special spot for the kid. Thomas, the antagonist of Metanoia, the villain in the story, was also a kid once. He is a kid now. But in some other timeline, Technoblade would be reading Thomas go on a decline as he realizes how no one truly cares for him, thinks for him. Technoblade would be reading as Thomas drops all attempts at being loved and becomes selfish and cruel, enacting all of his wile in attempt to make his life easier.

Only for it to backfire in the end.

So it was instinct, likely a human one, to comfort one person who is the subject of pity. Because that’s what it is. Pity. It’s merely human instinct, the way he’d raised his hand to rest it on the kid’s head. Him being a lot shorter reminds Technoblade of the Tommy he does know, the height difference seemed to remain constant despite the fact that he had shrunk significantly in size. It doesn’t seem to matter, because the child is short enough for him to be comfortable.

Technoblade doesn’t want to admit that a certain itch in his head had been relieved when he’d ruffled his hair a little, feeling golden curls through five fingers instead of three.

If he were still a piglin, he might have chuffed or grunted. Exhaled through his snout and mess with the kid’s hair a little more under the excuse of his instincts. He never did admit that he liked the softness.

“Alright, alright!” Thomas pulls the hand off of his head. “I get it! Doting brother, okay, noted! Geez.”

Technoblade removed his hand, complying to the younger one, and he tries not to notice how the kid had taken a long time to actually remove the hand on his head.

Technoblade doesn’t realize, nor does he remember, that he didn’t tell Thomas about both the Inauguration and the banquet.

Technoblade is alone in the dining hall. He has been alone in eating here for the past days since he’s been in this manor, actually. The table is set for two, with one person supposedly at each head of the long table. Except there’s only Technoblade right now and judging by how the steam from the food is starting to wane a little, there will only be Technoblade.

He sighs, wondering if he’s overstepped on Thomas’ comfort zone or something. He wouldn’t judge if he did, to be fair. Technoblade would also prefer not to be within the vicinity of someone overly friendly. Technoblade himself had been rather conflicted at first with Philza’s arrival into his life. So really, he’d get it if Thomas would prefer to get holed up in his room. He’d just resort to having Thomas get bombarded with positive attention rather than whatever it was that Clementine did to mess the kid up.

Really, to be fair the bar should be so low and Technoblade shouldn’t be such a tryhard. Clementine had been neglectful on purpose, and she had used a horrible reward system when it came to Thomas’ suffering and his Blessing. It was messed up.

So who’s to say that Technoblade treating Thomas with basic human decency isn’t more than enough?

Technoblade isn’t salty. He’s not.

He takes the napkin and he lays it on his lap. Technoblade prepares to have his meal.

Only to pause when he hears the door burst open.

It’s Thomas, and apparently Technoblade was not given false hope.

“You came.” Technoblade says, and it should be obvious. The kid is right there.

Thomas gives him a confused look. “I did say I would, right?” Thomas answers. “I mean, I hope I did,”

“No, you did.” Technoblade waves a hand. “Take a seat, the food is getting’ cold.”

The kid lets the door swing closed behind him as he walks to the head of the table where he is supposed to be sat at. He settles down, placing that napkin on his lap, and looks ahead at Technoblade expectantly.

Technoblade doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Instead, he just goes and eats the food before him. When he chews, he notices how Thomas is just looking at him. Technoblade swallows whatever is in his mouth before he speaks. “Why aren’t you eatin’?” Technoblade asks.

“It’s customary to have the head of the house announce that we can eat.” Thomas recites.

And really… Technoblade should have remembered that. That’s on him. He could still save face, though. “Well, kid, you’re in your own home and customs and etiquette could just damn itself.” Technoblade retorts, like a liar. “Loosen up, kid. In this dining room, with only you and I, I’m not the head of the house.” He is surprisingly good at bullshitting. “I’m your brother.” He sounds so good and inspirational, all for what? Making up for forgetting basic etiquette in front of a kid?

Technoblade tries not to choke when he sees that odd look of disbelief and awe that Thomas displays. He imagines it must be a culture shock to have the kid be exposed to such a ‘preposterous notion’ as Clementine might say when Thomas gets influenced by Ran a few times. He looks away, because really he’s starting to feel bad for blatantly lying to the kid who is looking at him like he’d witnessed Technoblade set the stars in the sky despite being taught that someone else likely did it.

Dinners are horrible moments for paradigm shifts.

“So, I can eat..?” Thomas asks.

“Don’t gotta ask me, kid.” Technoblade answers, hoping that Thomas takes that as a yes, please just eat.

He resumes with his meal when he hears the clanging of metal against porcelain from the other side of the table. Technoblade tries not to make it obvious that he let out a sigh (or exhale) of relief.

“How was your day?” Thomas asks out of the blue, and Technoblade honestly isn’t a fan of small talk, but if it’s for the sake of potentially stopping the end of the world then he might as well comply with what the kid wishes.

Technoblade hums, “There’s not much.” He answers. “Just, let it be known that I dislike Clementine’s organization skills. I spent a lot of today having to tidy that up.” He panders to the kid’s dislike for the woman, one that was innate even when he was younger. Technoblade intends to let the kid know that whatever Clementine was isn’t a good example of what family or good role-modelling should be. She was neglectful on purpose and it was only hard to see that because of the rose-colored glasses that Thomas had donned in the beginning of Metanoia.

Which should be… right now.

Instead he sees not a hint of defense on her part. Technoblade had been prepared for a rebuttal, but Thomas seemed to look pleased at the notion of Clementine being spoken of negatively.

“Lady Clementine is messy sometimes, yes.” Thomas adds, and he seems to be just easily and happily cutting his chicken. “I’m honestly not surprised that she fucken—” Thomas blinks, slowly looking up at Technoblade like he’d done a mistake.

It takes a moment for Technoblade to notice what he thinks he did wrong.

“Kid, you can curse around me.” Technoblade says. “You have before, and I didn’t stop you then and I certainly won’t stop you now.” He watches as the kid’s shoulders sag in relief.

He supposes that the attitude must have always been innate in Thomas in the novel. It had taken about half of Metanoia to reveal that Thomas curses like a sailor when around people he’s comfortable with, and eventually to people he actively dislikes. Technoblade wouldn’t be surprised if this facet of his personality was something that Clementine had smushed down earlier on only to have it burst in the end when she could no longer control the kid. Technoblade only starts to hate the woman more and more. If anything, she’s the real antagonist.

The novel had just written her off as a side character on the protagonist’s side because she shared Ran’s interest in ‘influencing’ Thomas.

“Anyway, you know that Lady Clementine’s a messy person?” Technoblade asks. “I’m surprised, I was always under the assumption that she puts herself together in front of you and father.” He lets his disdain be known. Blatantly spiteful, Technoblade would like to add.

“Not at all,” Thomas scowls, “She’d do it in front of the Duke, maybe, but never in front of me.” He glares at the plate.

And… Technoblade didn’t expect that. Clementine was written in such a way that enables the rose-colored vision in Thomas’ perspective, at least in the first third of the book. She’s manipulative in that way, and rarely was she caught slacking. Technoblade could understand a lighthearted slander of a woman who had raised Thomas, but this is just flat-out hatred.

“Well, she’s gone now and I’m here.” Technoblade chuckles, hiding his confusion with a lighthearted façade. “None of that mess will be getting into our House. Not under my watch.” He reassures.

Thomas snorts, “Nor mine,” He says.

Technoblade is glad at least. Thomas is a little more vigilant.

But also, that doesn’t stop the snort that comes out of his nose, mimicking Thomas.

“What’s that about?” Thomas questions, as if offended.

He honestly doesn’t have a defense for that, but to be fair it is funny. To have this kid be so cocky about keeping out the woman who had controlled him in another timeline. “It’s nothin’, Tommy.” Technoblade answers.

“Tommy?”

Technoblade freezes.

“Who’s Tommy?”

Whatever little hope there was, it’s utterly crushed. He sees the genuine confusion on Thomas’ face, and he knows that it’s true. He doesn’t know who Tommy is. And even if it was, Tommy is a horrible liar. He couldn’t lie about this if he’s somewhere in there. So, this person in front of him isn’t Tommy. Not at all. They could laugh the same, smile the same, look the same—but they aren’t. Thomas isn’t Tommy.

“It’s a nickname.” Technoblade lies, and the heaviness in his tongue could be blamed with the food he’d swallowed. “Thomas is rather formal. Tommy’s a nickname I’ve been callin’ you in my head this entire time.” This one is less of a lie than the rest of it. He has been doing that. He’s been doing that an unhealthy number of times, blurring the lines between Thomas, Thomas of Metanoia, and Tommy.

Thomas tilts his head, and he smiles. It’s a genuine one, a glad one. It’s so blindingly giddy, betraying the turmoil that rolls in Technoblade’s gut. “I like it.” Thomas answers, and it’s the lightest he’s ever heard Thomas speak. “Would… would it be okay if you continued to call me that?” He doesn’t want to. It would just. Confuse whatever it is that’s inside of him that writhes at the mere mentioned of the kid he’d lost.

“Sure.” He says anyway.

Tommy grins, and he looks so happy.

He feels crushed.

Technoblade was in Snowchester. He looked at the casket, one that originally was closed, demanded open by him. He looked down, and he made sure to memorize every detail. Every bruise. Every scar. Every injury that was bled dry so that it wouldn’t rot Tommy’s body. Technoblade listens the voices in his head, roaring for revenge and for blood. Proclaiming their oath to murder, to assist in the hunt, telling him things that he should and shouldn’t know.

He lets them scream. He lets every detail roam in his head, how his killer had treated Tommy in his last moments. How the murderer had inflicted every injury he sees, and every injury he can’t.

Technoblade looked down, only now wishing for the mercy of Death to bring him back. To bring him here so he could give Tommy a chance at life. A better chance. A good chance.

The voices whispered that he’s always had that chance, sullied time and time again by the people that should have cared for him and loved him. Technoblade knows. He was one of them. One of the many that should have.

He shut the casket, and turned back around.

“After the burial,” he spoke slowly. “Do you think you can handle another hunt?”

Tubbo is before him, fringe hiding the scar that Technoblade had inflicted on his face. Ranboo is beside his last best friend, scars riddling his face.

There was a look they all share, and Technoblade had known that their expression was not the only thing that they have in common. 

“You didn’t need to ask, Technoblade.”

The day comes for Technoblade’s inauguration. He and Thomas are the royal palace, and it was upon Technoblade's insistence that Tommy walks by his side. Technoblade glances to the side, and he spots Thomas looking nervous. Technoblade slows down, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder to tell him to slow down too. He drops his hand when the kid stops walking.

Thomas looks up at Technoblade, curious about what he wants to say this time. “What’s got you so stressed out, kid?” He asks. He grins, something smug. “It’s like you’re the one being inaugurated here.” It’s a lighthearted quip.

He doesn’t look fazed by it.

Technoblade’s grin drops. “Alright, what is it kid? What’s got you upset?” He drowns, staring Tommy down. The kid looks away.

“Hey, I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s botherin’ you.” Technoblade crosses his arms. “I’m willing to wait here all day long.” He drawls, elongating the ‘all’. “No pressure or anythin’, but the King is waitin’ and—”

Tommy lets out a frustrated groan. “Look! You’re okay, we’re okay! You don’t have to fix this thing because it’s just me being dumb!”

Technoblade shakes his head slowly. “No, you’re worried about something and there’s good reason why.”

“How can you know that it’s good reason?”

“How could I know it’s not?”

He places his face on his hands, and he groans again. “Why are you so pushy about this?” Tommy complains.

“I brought you here, and if you’re not havin’ a good time then it’s courtesy to fix that.” Technoblade reasons. “So just… tell me, what’s got you worried?”

Tommy purses his lips, and he gnaws at it. “Fucking—fine, okay. I’m nervous to see the King. Is that something you can fix?”

“Nope,” Technoblade answers without a single bit of hesitation. Tommy looks at him as if he’s proven a point, and Technoblade honestly has no shame. “We can deal with it by finding a better way to handle it though.”

“Like what?” Tommy challenges.

Technoblade shamelessly raises a hand. “Need a hand to hold?” He asks teasingly, and he watches as Tommy’s face goes red.

“Fuck you! I am not a child, bastard!” Tommy whisper shouts, and Technoblade grins at how easy it is to rile the kid up.

“Hey, I’m not a bastard if we’re both full blood brothers.” Technoblade retorts, “So, I take it you’re adverse to me holding your hand up ‘til we get to the King?” He asks, “You’re nervous, you look like you need it.”

“Die.” Tommy walks ahead of Technoblade, stomping away.

“Almost have, many times actually.” Technoblade says dryly from behind him.

He doesn’t notice how Thomas tenses up at that.

Technoblade catches up to Tommy easily. He looks to his side, and there’s an easier looking expression on Tommy’s face. Thomas looks less nervous when they walk, at least. He did something right today, and he hopes he gets a lot more great jobs today.

They eventually get to the throne hall where the King awaits them. The servants of the palace open the doors for him and Thomas. The kid lets Technoblade go ahead, letting the proper courtesy of nobility take front and center.

Technoblade walks ahead, and as he does he fully observes the king. He looks canon, at least, blond hair and green eyes, and looks just as old as Technoblade. Except Technoblade knows that he isn’t as he seems. That Blessing of his could attest to that.

In the Kingdom, only two people other than the King himself knows what his Blessing is. Technoblade is one of them.

When he arrives to the front of the hall, he politely smiles, and he bows.

“Technoblade, heir of the House of Blades.” The King announces, “And Thomas, the younger brother.” He has a charismatic smile on his face.

But what gets him is the voice. Why is it so familiar?

It’s already unsettling how familiar it is, but even so, Technoblade knows not to fall for the false safety of it. The king is wilier than anyone gives him credit for. He’s manipulative, and also one of the reasons why Thomas had lived up to seventeen without imploding just yet. Yet, because not even a king could lay off the demand for Thomas’ blessing. So he’d made a compromise.

He’s not a good guy, but he also isn’t unreasonable.

“Your Majesty,” Technoblade greets back.

“I’ll make it simple, since I’m sure you’re busy handling your estate.” The King says, and he brings out an envelope with the decree. “I apologize for the lack of ceremony, but seeing as the House of Blades has long since requested this to be hosted in a private setting I got the memo that you’d rather skip the unnecessary bits and just get the King’s decree.”

Technoblade smiles. “True,” he hums. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Technoblade graciously takes the envelop from the King’s hands.

The King eyes Thomas who is far behind, standing. Technoblade can’t help but wonder why. He’s sure that the kid had paid his respects when they’d arrived. “How old is he?” Before Technoblade could answer, the King waves a dismissive hand. “Sorry, that is rude. He’s right here and I shouldn’t talk about him like he isn’t here.”

“Hello, Thomas. Can I ask how old you are?”

Tommy blinks, and he bows and recovers before answering. “I am thirteen, Your Majesty.”

“Closer to twelve or fourteen?”

“The former, Your Majesty.”

The King smiles. “You might get along well with another kid I know.” Technoblade dreads the plans in his head. He’s planning on introducing Tommy to some sort of clique, the same way he did in Metanoia. “If you’re planning to attend the Galleon’s Banquet, I might be able to introduce you to him.”

He’s thinking of Ran, and he’s placing his bets on it.

Technoblade eyes Tommy, and he sees that the kid, ever so subtly, doesn’t look like he likes the idea of it. It’s like he’s dreading it. Technoblade should be surprised how easy it is for him to read the kid, but he’s had some experience with a similar face.

The King claps. “Now! I don’t wish to hold both of you off.” He waves, gesturing for the both of them to leave. “Go on, we’re both pretty busy guys after all. Life of Royalty and Nobility, never a day of rest huh?”

“Yup,” Technoblade says blandly, before returning his mask of politeness. He bows, “It’s been an Honor, King Somnus.”

He snorts, and there’s gotta be some strict noble boomer out there who would faint and die at the idea of the King snorting. “Please, enough with the formalities.” The King says with a smile. “Call me Dream.”

Technoblade’s gut sinks with the realization. That’s why he sounded familiar. He sounds like Dream. He doesn’t have the same mannerisms, nor does he have the mask and everything else save for the green color scheme, but this is Dream.

He tries to keep himself together when he leaves, Thomas following behind him.

“See? Wasn’t that bad.” Technoblade says half-heartedly when they’re clear of potential eavesdroppers.

Tommy hums in agreement.

He could reassure Tommy, but he’s currently caught in the fact that Technoblade had seen someone from the server. It’s Dream, the green teletubby who is homeless. He’s king in here.

Technoblade couldn’t be sure, because he could hear his blood rushing through his veins when he thinks of it. Dream is the king in this world, and he exist in the same plane as Thomas who looks like Tommy.

Technoblade glances at Tommy, he sees how the kid is just looking straight ahead, unaware of the growing turmoil and distress in Technoblade’s chest, twisting and churning and tugging, strings digging deep into the heart and cutting viscerally. He hates it. He hates how the progression of this story goes. Technoblade had thought he had it handled and he had thought he could go through this smoothly.

But the face of Tommy’s killer is here, and Technoblade isn’t sure if he things will be progressing as he’d planned.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, Chapter 10

Ran has not seen his friend in a while. Ever since the manifestation of his Blessing, Ran has been told time and time again of the Head of the Manor, Lady Clementine, that Thomas is busy with his duties as a Blade. Eventually he’d stop asking, and that leads him to today.

Being pleasantly surprised that Thomas is in front of him, within walking distance.

Thomas seems to have the same idea when he spots Ran, sporting a smile—yet Ran can’t help but notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as it used to. It looks insincere. False. Ran is a good reader, enhanced by his Blessing of clairvoyance. He’d gotten his Blessing just now, and it had named him the Heir of the House.

The King had decreed it so, placing a vouch within the house. It’s not fun in there after the original heir had been replaced by himself, and the tensions are high in the families. Things have been rough in Ran’s corner as of late.

So seeing Thomas in front of him is a pleasant surprise.

“Ran?” Thomas’ eyes are wide, as if he’s shocked with the sudden presence.

He grins, and he opens his arms wide.

Thomas throws himself into Ran’s embrace. For a moment he was scared that Thomas would have been estranged, but here he is, laughing at their reunion as he nearly topples Ran over.

Ran pulls away. “Long time no see!” He says gleefully.

“I’ve been busy playing saint and all,” Thomas answers, "War isn't fun at all, let me tell you that." and he can’t say that it sounds particularly cheerful as well. Ran ignores it, not wanting to sully their reunion. Thomas must have already been so stressed at his responsibilities. He is so young, too.

They spend their time in the town square that day, and for the first time in a long time Ran is able to forget that there are problems waiting for him at home. Thomas tells him many stories, things he’s discovered while he was busy. He rants about this one bakery with good bread but horrible customer service, and he rants about the lightest of things that Ran can’t help but forget that there are things worse than a scratch on someone’s shoe.

Thomas is a good person to have a conversation with, he knows when to change a topic—

Which is all the time. He’s a loquacious one.

So much so that they get the attention of onlookers, and many of them recognize Thomas as the healer of the kingdom. They flock to them easily, all until they’re forced into the carriage that Ran came in.

Ran flinches when someone throws profanities at Thomas for being selfish, for not taking the time curing his daughter when he’s out here buying pastries. Thomas doesn’t even send the man a single look, allowing for their guards to handle the physical aspect of keeping the two of them safe.

And just like that, the warm expression on Thomas’ face turns stone cold.

“You’re not evil.” Ran tells Thomas,

“I would rather be.” Thomas retorts dully, “Because if I were cruel, then maybe they wouldn’t be expecting so much from me.” He eyes out the window of the still carriage, watching the riot that his presence has caught.

Ran shakes his head, “It isn’t your fault that you have a life.”

Thomas snaps his head at Ran, and there’s an edge in his eye that Ran feels concerned about. “I don’t care, Ran.” He says in a frank manner. “I don’t care that there are people suffering, because I am not a good man.”

“Thomas—”

“I am sorry for sullying your day, Ran.” Thomas says apologetically, and it looks sincere for a second before he lets up. “But I have to tell you a piece of advice that will make your shitty life a lot easier to bear.

“You can’t trust a good man to stay good.” Thomas tells Ran. There’s a bitter expression on his face while he looks out the carriage window, something aged. “But you can expect evil from evil without a single doubt in mind.” Thomas turns to Ran, and looks like he knows something. For the first time as the Heir of the House of Eyes, Ran feels like he’s the naïve one out of the two. If it weren’t for the fact that Ran is more concerned for Thomas than anything else, he would have taken that advice. Maybe it was his naivety that saved him from a fate similar to the bitter blonde’s.

Thomas looks at him, and Ran could tell that Thomas knows what he’s saying. It’s like he’s lived the words that he spoke.

“There is no integrity in cruelty, and you can trust that.”

~+~

The twentieth comes, and he and Thomas are to ride the carriage to the house of Galleon’s banquet. Technoblade had been told that Thomas wanted to attend, and he had also thought that it would be a good idea to bring the kid along. This is when he first meets Ran, the protagonist of the story. Ran and Thomas and that commoner called Tobias get along well in the novel were the central characters of Metanoia until Thomas becomes a lot more busy by the sixth chapter.

When Ran reenters Thomas’ life, Thomas had changed drastically. In three year timeskip between the sixth chapter and the tenth, Thomas would have been different and nigh unrecognizable. When Technoblade had first read that part, he felt nothing but pity for the child who’d returned scathed and worn.

And sympathy. He sympathizes with Thomas as someone who was used as nothing more than a tool or a weapon.

It’d be a good bet to have the three together and have them stick together. Technoblade knows that Ran has done nothing but good to the poor kid only for Clementine to separate them from each other. Tobias, the commoner, was sent away and banished from the lands owned by Blade. Ran was not to be spoken with. This isolated Thomas further and sent him spiraling into the person who had destroyed the world.

So yes, it should be in his interest that the kid has a good support system.

Technoblade sighs, massaging his nose bridge. The stress is honestly getting into his head, and he’s unsure if the rumors that sent his Metanoia counterpart to dead smack in the middle of battle would stay as rumors by the time he’s done with today.

It should be in his interest that the kid has a good support system, yes, and right now is the twentieth, and this hour is when he and Thomas are supposed to ride the carriage to the House of Galleon’s banquet. The plan is simple, and it isn’t even a plan at all. It’s an ordinary agenda.

Except he can’t find Tommy. He isn’t anywhere the servants would usually find him in.

Technoblade has a few ideas, but he’s not sure how to go about it.

He turns around, away from the room. Henry is quick to notice that. “Sir, might I ask if they should prepare a smaller carriage?” Henry questions, likely assuming that Technoblade will be leaving without Thomas.

“No,” Technoblade says. “I’ll be goin’ with my brother. Just keep searchin’.”

Henry nods, and Technoblade takes that as a sign that he could be left to his own devices. He walks away and towards one of the cabinet rooms. Technoblade has read about these things, how cabinet rooms were small rooms where people could just lounge in. It’s a small room with minor hobbies and sometimes books—there will always be couches and seats in there.

He lets a few doors pass until he reaches the third. Technoblade tests the door, opening it and pushing it to check.

There is not a single sound at the swing. Not even a single creak. Technoblade looks at the hinges and see that it was sloppily oiled. He tilts his head curiously at that.

That’s odd. That’s very odd, but he thinks this could be something that’s left to the things in between the lines of the novel. He pushes it fully, and he shuts it behind him. Otherwise the way won’t open to him.

Technoblade walks towards the globe, something creaky and old and something that people would think is antique trash. It isn’t. He touches the globe, pushing it so it might roll—it doesn’t budge. This means he’s at the right place.

He pushes it once more, with a lot more force and with the intention to push the entire piece so that it might topple over. Technoblade hears a click from behind him, and he turns to see that the empty candleholder that sticks to the wall is lopsided.

He knocks at the wall. “Can I come in?” Technoblade asks, and he could hear a breath hitch from behind the door—because that’s what it is. It’s a door to a hidden room where he could listen into the conversation of the room adjacent.

It takes a while, but he hears a muffled yes from behind, and he takes that as a sign to go inside. Technoblade twists the candleholder fully and he pushes against the wall. Something that looks like concrete ends up being lighter than it. “Huh,” he’s always thought that Thomas would have had some difficulty with pushing this.

Technoblade swings the door open fully, and shuts it behind him.

When he does, the room lights up. It was the Blessed Magic of their ancestors, imbued in this part of the house and other rooms too. Technoblade knows about all of these because this is how Thomas had found out about Clementine’s double faced nature.

He looks at the place, surprised at how different it is compared to how he imagined it would be. It’s full of things that are soft, with cushions and capes that are particularly soft. Technoblade meets Thomas’ eyes in the center, and he’s looking back up at him with a guilty and knowing expression. It’s like he knows why Technoblade is here.

“If you didn’t want to go, you could have just told me, kid.” He hopes he doesn’t come off as scolding, because honestly he really doesn’t want to berate the kid too much and force anything on the kid. He doesn’t want to be anything like Clementine.

Tommy grimaces, and Technoblade has a feeling that it is exactly how his words were taken. “It’s not that.” He answers.

Technoblade shrugs, and he takes a seat on one of the softer places. “What are you doing?” Tommy asks, looking at him weirdly.

“Well, this place looks comfy.” He says nonchalantly. “And see, it looks like we need a talk.” Technoblade looks up at Tommy, and the kid looks guilty. He sighs. “Okay, I’m not mad.” Technoblade tells the kid. “I just want to know more about my brother, alright? It’s so that next time I don’t force you into things you don’t want to do.”

“And I told you, it’s not that—”

“And I won’t know that unless you tell me.” Technoblade retorts. “I need to understand you, where you are in your head, so I know and I can adjust.” He says. “You need to communicate with me here kid, because I’m lost, and it’s only been less than a month since our father died and just a little bit more than since I’ve come back to this House.”

Tommy looks taken aback, “Are you normally this fucking straight to the point?” Tommy says, as if he couldn’t believe him.

No, he isn’t. Right now he is resisting the urge to cringe so hard that he could physically feel his insides eating his entire being.

But in weighing his pride and dignity, and the fact that he wants to live, Technoblade is certain that he would choose the latter. It’s hard when the fate of the world relies on the health of a single person.

Technoblade shrugs. “War changes people,” he lies, because while he’s confident in the fact Thomas doesn’t know a single thing about the brother who had died in the war, he can’t be too sure. A lot of things were left to the interpretation of the readers when it came to Metanoia. “And I’ve learned that a lot of the moments in life are wasted in misunderstandings and ignorance. I don’t want that for you, for this family.” He should honestly get a pat in the back, all the words that Wilbur has been spilling at him with his silver tongue is getting into good use. Bullshitting these things come easily.

“I,” Tommy blinks, and he shakes his head. “Fine, okay,” he plops to the opposite side of Technoblade. “I don’t like the House of Galleon.” Thomas leaves it at that.

And honestly, that is very surprising. Thomas, the antagonist of Metanoia, dislikes the House of Galleon. He’s shocked at the mere implication of it, because the kid isn’t supposed to dislike anything yet. He hasn’t been exposed to a lot of the houses—no, he hasn’t been exposed to any of the houses of the Kingdom of Hartcoure.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the House of Galleon.” Technoblade comments despite knowing everything wrong with that house. At least, every slight that the House of Galleon, soon to be Nevadas, will inflict on the House of Blades. Right now, though, this Technoblade is supposed to know nothing and should just understand that the House of Galleons’ existence is just as important as the House of Blades.

“Well I don’t like them.” Tommy repeats, and to be honest Technoblade has not a clue why.

“So you won’t be joining me then?” Technoblade asks. “Because that can be arranged if you wish.” Though that would just be against the plan. He'd have to organize some other way to have Thomas, Ran, and Tobias meet and have them continue meeting.

“I can’t just do that.” Tommy reasons with furrowed eyebrows. “The King is expecting me.”

“Screw the King.” Technoblade retorts.

And the look on Thomas’ face when he says that. He looks utterly baffled, and Technoblade almost wants to laugh but he knows that it would make the kid recoil. And they’d start from zero again even though they were doing so well before.

Well, he doesn’t know. It’s just how Tommy is.

And he’s so similar to the kid before him.

“You’re looking at me as if I’ve done a heinous crime.” Technoblade says, knowing that he technically has.

“You did! That is fucked up! You insulted the King!”

“It should be fine if it’s in front of you.” He says. Technoblade shrugs. “Well, I said what I said. Screw him. Screw the House of Galleon. Do what you want, kid, it’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not that fucking simple.” Tommy argues. “If I disappoint the king then the House will receive less of his favor, and if I insult Galleon with my absence and they’d probably do something, and we can’t fucking have any of that.”

Technoblade knows that he’s right, but he also knows something more important. Between a little bit of a harder time in ruling the Duchy and the literal end of the world, it should be obvious what he should prioritize more.

So right now, like all the times before while reading Metanoia, like all the times he’d see glimpses of Thomas through the story, Technoblade hears the words he wishes to say in his head, forming a cohesive train of thought, braids of his opinions forming into one single line—“Why is that your concern?” Technoblade asks, because it’s that simple. That simple train of thought is what Technoblade had lived by and what Thomas should live by.

“Why it’s my concern—Can you hear yourself?” Tommy looks like he doesn’t get it, and Technoblade can’t blame him. Clementine was a horrible example. “It’s my concern because this is our House we’re talking about!”

He feigns ignorance, but internally he knows that Tommy is right. At the same time, though, he doesn’t want to encourage this behavior early on. He doesn’t want the weight of responsibility to eventually accumulate to eventually ruin the kid, so no, not this soon. At least not for now.

 “So what? I’m here, and I’m the one who’s going to fix whatever mess you make and I will continue to do so because I’m your brother.” He says, and it’s one of the rare times when something real makes it through the surface of his facade.

Technoblade shifts, leaning against a plush wall.

Tommy looks aghast. “You—you’re not getting it! You should be I don’t know, scolding me right now. You’re just enabling me to do some shit I’m not supposed to! You’re the Duke!”

It’s an uncanny sight, seeing this kid. Technoblade tries to shove down the aching familiarity in his chest when he looks at this kid. Thomas.

Thomas, who prefers to be called Tommy, looks and sounds so much like the kid he’d lost. The words themselves sound so similar to how Tommy would be in disbelief with the basic human decency that Technoblade would do. You’re supposed to are words that Tommy had often used in the brief moments of vulnerability that he’d allow for himself.

It’s cathartic, somewhat, for Technoblade to say the words he’d always wanted to say.

“And you’re thirteen years old,” Technoblade shoots him down. Tommy looks like he wants to tell him and argue about that, but Technoblade speaks before he could. “The most you should be worryin’ about is whether or not your peers like you or if you’ve been failin’ in calculus.” Technoblade’s lips quirk when Tommy tenses up at the mention of the subject. Yeah, he knows the kid’s been failing that course. “So this begs the question at large.

“Do you, or do you not want to go to the Banquet?” Technoblade says. “Do not think of the House, do not think of the King. Think of what you want to do, because I certainly don’t know what you want, kid so I can’t make this decision for you.”

Thomas purses his lips.

Technoblade and Tommy are finally in the carriage. Thomas is looking to the side of the carriage, ears red. Technoblade is willing to bet that his face is red too, but he can’t be certain because the kid has made it a point not to show it since he’s looking at the window. He snorts, and he sees as the red on the ears that had started to lighten up had begun to turn darker.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about—”

“You shut up.” Tommy snaps his head to look at Technoblade, red face revealed in its full glory, with its owner pointing a finger at the man.

Technoblade raises both his hands in mock surrender, before leaning against his side of the carriage with crossed arms. He lets there be a moment of brief silence, letting Tommy relax a little bit. When the perfect moment strikes: “I’m just sayin’—”

“You can fuck off!” The kid shoves Technoblade sideways.

“Let me speak.” Technoblade shoves the kid back, but not hard enough to actually hurt him. “It’s normal, that hesitation is normal, kid.”

“Just shut up about it!”

They’re currently both referring to Thomas agreeing to join Technoblade for the event. Technoblade wasn’t going to comment on it, originally, but he noticed how Tommy was getting antsy about making a big deal despite the fact that he ended up going anyway and it is difficult to resist the temptation to tease the kid. So on the way to the carriage, Technoblade had amped the overly supportive brotherly figure and had doused the kid in a teasing sort of peptalk.

And judging by the kid’s reaction, Technoblade has no end in sight. He’s not letting this up.

“Well, it seems like we need to talk about it.”

“I have enough talks for the day, shut it!”

Technoblade snorts. “Okay, okay.” He gives in. The older of the two ruffles the kid’s hair, and he laughs as he does it. Technoblade ignores how the act is familiar, how the way the kid lets a moment of his hand on his head last before he slaps it off and spills profanities at him. He just relishes in the success of it. He’s a lot more comfortable now, and that’s what matters.

Being in the kid’s favor is what matters, because this will let Technoblade shape the kid to be a lot more resilient in the face of the people. His Blessing will manifest soon—or not, but he has to prepare regardless. Whatever happens, Technoblade needs to be able to fend off everything that will be detrimental to the very thing that will end the world. Even Thomas himself.

There’s nothing more to it.

It’s a necessary exchange, the way Technoblade would exchange a grin with the boy. It’s necessary how the kid would lean to his comfort. It’s nothing else but necessity how Technoblade would encourage the kid to be vulnerable around him and strong everywhere else.

This is for the sake of the world, and his life by extension.

But for a moment he forgets this when Thomas punches him in the shoulder, when all the familiar mannerisms and exchanges will take place.

“Are you looking forward to your first party in decades?” Tommy asks, blatantly trying to change the topic from his embarrassment.

Technoblade rolls his eyes. “I’ve only lived slightly longer than a single decade,” Technoblade says.

“By slightly, you mean nearly two decades, right?”

“You’re gonna have to correct that statement, kid, since technically my last event was a year ago.” He retorts. “I quite literally crashed the last party I attended, I can’t say that I’m lookin’ forward to this one.” At least, that’s how the rumors go. The manifestation of a Blessing is explosive, and Technoblade, according to the rumors, had endangered everyone when he had been of age for his to appear.

He knows that this will eventually be the subject of conversation when they arrive. He’s just glad, he supposes, that this is a better topic than an entire crowd bombarding the last member of his family about his and his father’s timely deaths. Still, that doesn’t prepare him for the eventual crowd of High Society gossipers from flocking to him for any word they can twist into stories for them to tell.

Tommy tilts his head curiously, “You don’t look like you’re looking forward to it.” Tommy says.

“Do I?” he asks sarcastically.

“What’s your problem with the banquet?” Tommy questions, and Technoblade thinks it’s fair that he gives the kid an answer after literally bombarding the kid with brotherly affection just to get an answer.

Technoblade exhales, “The fact that this banquet would have been my funeral if not for coincidence.” He answers with a lighthearted tone. It’s a joking, self-deprecating, dark joke about his potential death. Something of his humor.

Except it looks like Tommy was struck by the answer Technoblade had given him. Was it too soon? Too dark? He has no idea how to navigate this.

He forgets that this kid isn’t like Tommy—the one he knows. This is Thomas, and he doesn’t share the dark history he and Tommy shared. The cruel hand that life had given the both of them. This type of jokes might not be up for his taste and Technoblade had forgotten that.

It’s just… so easy to forget.

“Hey,” Technoblade straightens his back. “I was only kiddin’. I lived, didn’t I?” The placating tone he puts on his tongue feels foreign and ill-fitting. He doesn’t like it, but he must do it.

“It’s not that, asshole.” Tommy retorts. “It’s a good joke, a great joke even, but I’m going to need you to fucken stop.” He chuckles lightly, but he could tell that it was a halfhearted attempt at covering up his reaction.

Technoblade exhales amusedly and leans his back against the side of the carriage once more, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t feel a single ounce of grief to those that died.” Technoblade says,

Tommy blinks. “Really?” he looks genuinely shocked. “I was under the impression that they were like, comrades of yours or something.”

“Nah,” Technoblade places his head back against the head cushion. He’s surprised at how comfortable these things are. These things should have been more prevalent where he came from, where did the value of comfort go in that damned server? “Those guys hated me, left me for dead most of the time when it came to fightin’.” He tells Tommy, and at least those were true. At that point, he’d already experienced the life of being this teenage human being. “So I got stronger, and since the thing that sent me there in the first place was my Blessing, I since then refused to use it.”

“You… refuse to use your Blessing? And you survived that place?” Thomas asks, and it looks like Technoblade is giving him some sort of mind-blowing paradigm shift. Technoblade doesn’t get why, to be honest. These things shouldn’t come off as news that goes against anything that the kid knows. It’s just new is all, so he doesn’t get why he’s acting like he’s disproving a lot of what the kid has believed all his life.

Unless it is, and Clementine had said somethings that have since then stuck to the kid’s brain.

He should really do something about her.

Technoblade raises his eyebrow. “Hey, don’t give me that,” he scolds. “It’s simple reasoning—I can’t exactly call it a Blessing if all it’s done is damn me, so I might as well just rebuke the entire thing. Simple as that.” He says.

In all honesty,

It’s just that Technoblade hasn’t yet figured out how this Blessing thing works. He doesn’t have a lot of room to work with when it comes to his character because he doesn’t know anything about this kid he’s inhabiting. Technoblade’s character had died before he could get an ample amount of screentime to reveal information such as this.

And he can’t exactly say that he hadn’t known since the beginning, since he’s riding on the rumors of being incredibly powerful but also incredibly unstable. A glass canon. Technoblade might be one, yes, but he’s only threatening if he could convince everyone that he could shoot said canon.

So, suffice to say, Technoblade has no one to turn to when it comes to his situation. He must figure it out on his own.

“That’s ridiculous.” Tommy comments, and Technoblade would have been offended if he actually meant what he said.

“Call it what you want, I call it practical.” He retorts.

It’s easy to fall into the pattern of bickering, giving and taking and letting things be taken.

Time passes by quick, and they arrive to their destination. Thomas is the first to get out of the carriage, mood uplifted after a little Cain-instinct-induced bonding. Technoblade snorts, seeing how the kid had nearly stumbled on his way out.

Tommy looks back with a glare, while Technoblade acts like he hasn’t insulted his entire being.

Still, he waits for Technoblade as he steps out of the carriage. He doesn’t take much haste in getting down, feeling all the eyes on him. The carriage they rode was in no way subtle. It had so easily displayed the crest of their house—which is rather uncreative, but it’s a jade-colored sword that breaks through the shield of their coat of arms. Technoblade thinks it’s cheesy.

Technoblade walks beside his brother while he feels all the stares dragging him back to the safety of his carriage. There’s a trotting sound of the horse’s hooves, and he doesn’t need to look back to confirm that their ride has left. Technoblade is starting to dread coming here.

He feels a hand bumping against his. Tommy is looking up at him, blue eyes full of a sincere worry that makes Technoblade’s gut churn even more.

“You need a hand?” He teases half-heartedly,

And Tommy smiles. “Yeah, sure.” He says, and it’s so blatantly a lie. Technoblade finds it so easy to tell despite the kid’s efforts to look worried and desperate.

Tommy thinks this would help Technoblade, guising it as him needing the help instead.

Technoblade takes the hand.

The weight of the eyes against his back doesn’t ease up, but the sensation of a grip against his palm grounds Technoblade in the fact that there’s a company that matters more than those eyes that have no right weighing so much.

As if to seal it in, Tommy leans sideways towards Technoblade to whisper: “I guess you were right,” he says unconvincingly.

Technoblade laughs at that. Half because of the inside joke and half because he knows that he is now the butt of the joke. Technoblade thinks he could settle his pride for a moment’s comfort.

He’s greeted by a servant in navy blue, bowing at him. “May I announce your presence, Your Grace?” The servant asks.

The pinkett raises an eyebrow. “Our presence.” He says. Tommy slips his hand off of Technoblade’s for a moment.

The servant nods, and he turns to the crowd. “THE ESTEEMED DUKE OF BLADES, TECHNOBLADE,” he inhales, “AND THOMAS, HOUSE OF BLADES.” His voice echoes nearly echoes, and it might have it weren’t muffled by the excited murmurs of the crowd below.

Eyes rest on him, and Technoblade abhors it. He looks at Tommy, and there’s something akin to awe in those eyes as the people lay witness to his presence. He clears his throat, and this steals Tommy’s attention.

“There are people waitin’ kid.” He says lightheartedly, and there’s a flushed expression on the kid as he rushes to Technoblade’s side on the way down the ballroom’s balcony.

It’s easy how the kid’s hand slips into his without a thought. Technoblade doesn’t comment on it for both of their sakes.

He looks away from Tommy and looks up ahead. They’re inside the room now,

And his breath hitches.

In front of him he sees a kid, someone just as young as Thomas, and someone just as familiar as him. Brown hair, grey eyes, and a grin that screams trouble.

He’s talking to a much taller teenager who looks nervous, and he sees that his hair Is a match of black and white. Patches of white on black or vice versa. Technoblade could say with certainty that this is Ran of the House of Eyes.

But beside him, the kid, the one who had drawn Technoblade’s eyes first. He sees a symmetrical face, unscathed, unburnt.

That’s… that’s Tubbo.

Tommy’s grip tightens, and Technoblade turns his head to look at the kid. He looks surprised. Technoblade looks up to see what the kid is looking at, and he realizes that they were looking at the same people.

Does… does Tommy recognize them?

Is this… can this be his Tommy?

Technoblade loosens his grip, and the act made Tommy turn his head towards him in alarm. It’s like he’s shocked at Technoblade’s presence too. Technoblade slips his hands into his pockets.

Some home springs in Technoblade’s chest but he can’t play into it. He can’t trust it. He wants to tell Tommy, tell this kid that he isn’t actually human, that he’s a Piglin with a life that is much longer than the average human lifespan. He’s from a place where people could have wings and horns and none of these abilities.

But he needs to remember.

This is Thomas.

They have a role to play.

“Do you want to stick with me or do you want to go with kids your age?”

Tommy glares, he eyes around for any eavesdroppers before leaning close. “You are a fucking prick—I am not a kid.” He shouts in a whisper.

“I said your age.”

“You said kid!”

Technoblade shrugs, he looks up again, and he points. “I think those kids over there might be nice. They seem young and bullyable.”

“You sound like a man who is out of touch with the way of life.” Tommy insults him, “You are sounding a bit ancient there, Techno.”

“You’re not addressing the bullyable comment, is that really how low you think of your peers?”

“I’m a Blade, they’re all bullyable to me.” Tommy says, and a sprig of pride bursts in Technoblade’s chest. That’s good. Encourage a healthy amount of narcissism so that he has a lot more self-worth this early on. Better to develop that attitude now rather than later when he’s more liable to ending an entire planet.

Technoblade snorts, “Yeah, that’s right.” He says, “You’re a free bird now kid, off you go.” He says, and he shoves Thomas forward.

The kid stumbles yet again, and he watches amusedly while Tommy looks back at him with a glare. “Die.” He mouths.

“They wish.” He says out loud.

Technoblade watches as a few notable people stiffen, clearly eavesdropping into their conversation. He eyes them with a knowing look, eyes likely gleaming red with a sadistic delight in seeing them squirm. He watches as Tommy looks at Technoblade, also just as shocked at the blatant disregard for their opinions. He throws Tommy a smug look, being a horrible influence on the kid is something he does well.

Tommy shuts his gaping mouth, and sends back a tight-lipped smile.

Technoblade turns away, moving to go somewhere else.

He has somethings to address to himself first.

There’s Tommy. Tommy is in here as Thomas. There’s Dream, as King Somnus—somnus is the Roman god of sleep! How could he miss that? And there’s Tubbo. Technoblade eyes Tubbo from across the room, watching him interact so freely with Ran, the protagonist. The casual nature they have with each other just screams the fact that this one is Tobias.

Technoblade thinks it’s no coincidence how so many people in his life, his real one, are all in here as the characters of the novel he’s read.

There’s something up in here. Technoblade needs to know what.

Technoblade watches from afar how Thomas beelines for the two of them. He’s honestly shocked at how brave the kid is, facing strangers. He’d been rather adverse to the other families’ children, so it’s startling to see the kid brisk walking towards two strangers.

He tilts his head curiously,

Thomas had met Tobias and Ran in this event, yes, but if he recalls correctly—

It was Ran and Tobias who approached the kid.

Has he changed the story this much?

His train of thought is cut off by the sudden presence that’s nearing him. Technoblade turns his head, only to see yet another shocking presence.

“Phil?” Technoblade says,

And the man with blond hair that reaches his shoulders and blue eyes that mimic the skies that he soars tilts his head. He’s smiling. “Glad to know that we’re acquainted?” Philza says, as if he doesn’t know who Technoblade is.

Because… he doesn’t. They’re strangers here, and Technoblade just yearns the presence of an old friend. He’s never felt so alone.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, I meant to greet you properly.” He didn’t, not when he didn’t even know who this one is.

“It’s no matter,” Phil waves his hand dismissively. “We’re both of equal standing as Dukes of the Kingdom. Formalities should cancel out.” He reasons.

And oh. They’re both Dukes, this means that

Technoblade blinks. “I’m not sure that that’s how it works.”

“And who the fuck cares, mate?” His tone is lighthearted. “These rules are formed by society to flaunt people’s rank, and you and I? We’ve no need to flaunt anything.” Phil grins, “A piece of advice, from Duke to Duke.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Take it easy.” Phil says. “Between you and I, we already lift a heavy load with the gods demands from us as well as the kingdom’s need for pillars.” He stares back at an onlooker, watching as they go uncomfortable enough to look away. “There’s no need to adhere to what the little folk want.”

And it’s true, and that had originally been what Technoblade had thought but he knows the power of a small majority. The smaller pieces piling up until it outweighs the power of a single individual. Technoblade had seen it happen with Thomas’ brother, and he’d read it happen to Thomas. Their demands are just as heavy as the demands of the gods that Blessed them.

But he says none of that to Phil, and instead he answers with a “Yeah, sure, that’s fair.” He says dismissively.

Because he could already place good bets on what house this man belongs to.

“Regardless, it’s out of respect that I greet you by your full title, Phil, House of Wings.” He says, and he could see the man roll his eyes.

“In one ear and out the other.” Phil mutters under his breath, but he still has that grin on his face.

Technoblade thinks it’s ironic how Phil is of the House of Wings but at the same time he doesn’t have them. He’s not accustomed to seeing Phil without them too, because his wings usually make him look larger than he actually is.

Now he’s just… actual size. He’s small, shorter than Technoblade, even.

“That’s your little brother?” Phil motions his head towards Tommy who is now conversing with Ranboo and Tobias. “Thomas, right?” Tommy is laughing, and Technoblade can’t help but feel safe in the idea of a happy Tommy.

A Happy Tommy is a Happy Life—mostly because he likely won’t end all life on earth.

“Mhm,” Technoblade hums as an answer.

The man tilts his head, and his eyes have an odd glint to it. It’s as if there’s a sheen on top of his existing irises. “He’s… can you tell me how old he is?” When he looks up at Technoblade, there’s no sheen in his eyes.

“He’s thirteen.”

And Phil’s eyes widen, and he snaps his head towards Tommy again.

The mannerism he’s exhibiting is worrying Technoblade. “What is it?” Technoblade questions. “Is there something wrong, Duke Phil?”

“Oh shut it with the formalities.” Phil hisses quietly, he turns to look around, checking to see if there are any eavesdroppers. “Listen, do you mind if we share a private conversation later?” He asks in a low voice, much contrary to the loud and proud tone he’d exhibited earlier. “I,” He glances back at Tommy with a worried expression. “There’s something wrong with your brother and you have to… you have to do something about it.”

Technoblade… doesn’t know what to expect out of that.

The House of Wings don’t have an affiliation with Eyes, that’s for sure. He doesn’t have similar abilities with Ran, the heir who has the Blessing of foresight. If this man could see something wrong with just a glance then he could have been an important character in the novel.

That is to say, Technoblade can’t even trust Phil.

At least, not this one.

“Forgive me for the disrespect,” he says, tone clipped. “But how would you know that?”

Phil looks up at Technoblade’s eyes, and there’s a genuine look Technoblade knows all too well. “Because my Blessing is of an affiliation with Death.” Phil looks back at Thomas. “And your brother… your brother has so much of Her ichor in his hands.”

His gut sinks.

Technoblade, for all his confidence in knowing what the world of Metanoia entails, for once feels lost in navigating this foreign world. He doesn’t know what this means. The involvement of the House of Wings in things that have to do with the main characters is miniscule, and this means that he doesn’t know anything from outside the bubble that Thomas and Ran had set for the novel. He doesn’t know what Phil is implying or if his brother is Tommy or not.

“Just… keep it easy, mate.” Phil rests a hand on Technoblade’s shoulder. “I’ll see you after the banquet, send me a letter.” He walks past Technoblade with an ease of a man who hadn’t just changed his entire paradigm over this world.

And he’s alone again, except now the absence of Phil where he was once present had shifted attention towards him.

The eyes are on him.

“He’d left the company for dead.” He’d heard someone say, but he can’t pinpoint who it’s from because there is so many people. “He’d received his title as Duke when the company he served has died,” There’s another prominent voice in his midst, and he doesn’t want to look at whoever it is because it would prove them right. “And he’d had the gall to attend this event. Where is his shame?” He’d come here to prove them wrong. “The King should have let him stay in that company for longer, and we wouldn’t be here to commemorate all these deaths.” It doesn’t sound like they’re commemorating them at all. "They should have just reassigned him to another camp at the borders. We'd lose the war for the sake of a child duke."

Didn’t Henry say that people believed him a capable hero? Was he wrong? Was he lying to him for his sake?

He has half the mind to snap at them, and he’s tempted to despite the fact that it would have doomed him to social exile.

There’s a tap over his shoulder this time, and Technoblade looks around to see whoever it was that wanted his attention this time.

He finds a stranger. “Your grace.” She bows, and Technoblade bows his head slightly. “Might I be so daring as to lull you into a conversation?” The Lady questions. The first thing that comes to mind is that she looks as old as Phil.

Technoblade tilts his head. “Of course, I don’t mind.” He responds robotically. “Do you intend to dance?” He asks as courtesy, but in all honesty he does not want to dance. Technoblade eyes the center of the room where people are spinning deathtraps. He isn’t bad, he would just rather not expose himself to the dangers of being trapped in a circle of heavy heeled boots.

He himself is wearing impractical, heavy heeled shoes.

“Goodness no.” The noble laughs, “I’ve lost good function of my leg ages ago, Your Grace.”

“A seat then?”

“No need, I will be brief in my gratitude.” They say with a smile. “In my excitement to finally meet you I had forgotten my manners. Forgive me, my name is Vil of the Kypos family.” She bows.

Kypos. Technoblade recognizes that name. That’s a supporting family of the House of Eyes.

“Greetin’s, Lady Vil. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

She spreads her fan abruptly and she grins. “I only wish to thank you, sir. You are so young, yet you have saved as much as you could in that camp.” The woman flaps, and Technoblade suddenly feels the weight of people’s eyes on him. What is she saying and why is she saying it so loudly in the middle of company? “My child, Pevale, you might not remember them in the heat of that battle, but you had defended him for long enough for him to be discharged before you left that camp.” She says, and Technoblade cannot put two and two together.

Vil continues to flap her fan, and the motion is so easily eye catching that more and more people seem to join in on eavesdropping. “Since they arrived, my dear child, I have only heard good things from them about you. I would like to express my gratitude to you sincerely in this moment when I finally get to meet you.” She smiles.

Technoblade is about to say that he wants to leave, but he gets dragged into a longer conversation. The Lady tugs Technoblade by the hand and she pats her hand over one of his. “Truly, thank you. It might not be well known—” It doesn’t seem like it would stay that way “But your valiant efforts in battle, it will not be forgotten in my family. I hope you know that,” She says,

And Technoblade hears the murmurs of the crowd turn into a lighter tone, something into his favor.

He glances around briefly, and he witnesses the eyes turn from controversial looks to that of genuine awe.

Technoblade looks back at the mother who had dragged him into a conversation, and he sees a playful glint in her eye that he would have otherwise missed if he had looked back a moment later. “I hope I let my gratefulness known well enough, your grace, truly there is nothing that could compare to my happiness in finally meeting you in this moment.

“It’s alright, Lady Vil.” Technoblade says, now playing into the skit. “I am glad I had managed to save someone, at least.”

“It’s a shame indeed how so many families were affected by the sudden intrusion, but it’s important to remember that you’ve saved some people.” She says, and this time there’s a genuine look in her eye. “I know guilt in a young man, I see it in my child’s eyes every day.” The woman looks down at the hand she’s still holding, “It is never right to blame a survivor.”

The murmurs in the crowd go quiet, but it never disappears.

But it’s a lot more tolerable now.

“I shall depart now, Your Grace. I hope you find good company in your moment of mourning.” She says with a solemn smile, but Technoblade could see the calculative glint in her eye.

He’s in her favor, and she’d steered the surrounding conversation into his favor. “Thank you.” Technoblade says, and it’s genuine.

With a nod, the Lady walks away and grabs someone else to walk with her.

“You seem to be in high spirits,” a familiar voice chirps in, and Technoblade is nearly startled if he weren’t so used to this. Phil in every universe seems to love startling any version of Technoblade. How did he even get here so fast?

“Well, I’m no longer being burnt alive with the stares.” He retorts under his breath.

Phil shrugs. “I guess my advice doesn’t matter when you’ve got the favor of Kypos.”

The Kypos family isn’t a particularly powerful one, and they aren’t mentioned in Metanoia. Technoblade had known the family from all the studying he’s done to run the House. They, however, are an influential lot of people. They aren’t powerful in the name of politics but people look to them a lot for cues.

And he’s got them in his favor.

“Your advice is basically akin to ‘suck it up’.” He deadpans.

Phil laughs, because every Phil likes Technoblade for some reason. “Alright, you’ve got this kid.” Phil pats Technoblade’s back, “I just want to let you know that I will be leaving early today, so if you have any plans of talking to me about that again—”

“A letter would suffice, yes I got your message earlier.”

The man blinks. “Oh, I forgot I mentioned that.” He chuckles, “I’ll see you another time then,” Phil waves at him,

And now it just feels like one victory is sullied after another.

Technoblade is honestly not sure if he could handle more revelations today. This is why he abhors public gatherings. He’s getting the memo—there’s something more to what is happening. His suspicions with Thomas is leading to something and this has to be some sort of alternate universe.

Or a dream. That isn’t too far off if he’s recognizing people he knows in strangers. He really should have suspected that this was a dream long ago. Tommy, Dream, and Phil is here?

“Who the hell is next?” Technoblade mutters under his breath. “Ranboo?”

He blanks for a few seconds.

Ranboo. Ran.

Technoblade exhales, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He cannot handle any more of this. The dual chrome, the color scheme. He’s no Enderman hybrid but Ranboo and Ran have the distinct tells. The split colored hair for one. He should have seen this coming. He really should have.

He’s starting to wonder what else he’s missing. Technoblade could place bets on who he’ll be meeting next. Next thing he knows, he’s going to find someone random like—he doesn’t know, Quackity maybe?

There’s a sudden silence that comes over the room like a blanket, and Technoblade’s attention is drawn to the elevated portion of the Banquet hall, somewhere close to the entrance. Technoblade blinks.

Maybe he should cease thinking.

Before him, on the balcony, is Quackity.

“Thank you for coming to this event.” Quackity says, his voice exactly the same as Technoblade had expected. Judging by the way he puts himself together, he’s likely the Duke of Galleon. He stares at the Duke of Galleon as he produces some speech that touches the heart of the masses (not). It might have worked if the rest of the crowd had a good heart in their chest, but as far as he knows the lot of them are plotting someone else’s demise for their own gain.

He lets Quackity’s words go in one ear and out the other.

 Technoblade walks to the side of the room where there is less company and less people eyeing him to see if he’s open for a ‘polite and lighthearted’ conversation. Vultures for gossip, the lot of them. Technoblade knows to avoid parties where he may be the center of attention but this one somewhat calls for his attendance.

He watches as the crowd applauds at the mention of the King. Technoblade feels something tick at the side of his head, and he realizes belatedly that his teeth are grit.

Ever since he’s realized that a version of Dream is in this place Technoblade has been frustrated. Dream is not a good person, and that extends to any iteration of him. There is something going on in that man’s head and Technoblade knows not to trust it despite whatever the novel says about him.

Someone grips his arm all of a sudden, and Technoblade snaps his head to whoever must have grabbed him. He was prepared to bark a reprimand at them, but he stops immediately when he sees Tommy.

“Are you okay?” The kid asks softly, and Technoblade recognizes that it’s in a manner of avoiding any eavesdroppers, but he can’t help but think that he’s asking something like this as to not to test his vulnerability. 

Technoblade relaxes, and he hadn’t even recognized that he was tense in the first place. He wants to ask Tommy if he's having fun, because at least one of them would be, but then he remembers where he is, and who he is with.

He looks behind Tommy, and he sees Ran and Tobias—Ranboo and Tubbo.

He looks to the side, and he spots Phil looking at them from the side of the room.

Quackity is standing at the podium.

Dream is at the center of the room.

“I’m okay.” Technoblade lies.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, Chapter 20

The world is in turmoil. No one yet knows the reason, but there’s a general consensus—someone is misusing their Blessing. Someone is going to break, but the thing is, no one knows who. Everyone could feel it, the general wrongness in the universe, as if the presence of something that should not fit in the realm of the living has been forcing itself amongst them. The King had made a decree to gather all the Blessed nobles into the palace as to have everyone oversee each other.

Ran is the last to arrive.

He flinches at the sudden flash of light followed shortly by a startling sound. The sky is roaring.

He looks up, and he stares at the dark and gloomy sky as it grows into an angry color of black. It’s barely the middle of the day, but it looks like the sun is not at all in sight. It is unnatural, because there is not a single drop that the sky will give them. The world is upset, and it let it be known.

Ran knows. He knows it so clearly. Someone is doing this intentionally, prolonging it. Either with the intention to keep the world that is being destroyed together or with the intention to

The Heir of the Eyes clenches his fist, mouth drawn into a frown. He knows who it is, but Ran knows that he’s doing better. He has to, and Ran could see that he’s trying. He shuts his eyes, and he sighs.

He swore never to use his ability on Thomas.

And Ran plans to uphold it, but not for much longer when King Somnus will ask him to See.

There is another crackle in the sky, and it prompts Ran to enter the palace. As he’d expected, it is gloomy, dark, and heavy with the knowledge that there is something so intrinsically wrong with the world. He watches as the servants of the palace trade looks, and would stare at him with untrusting eyes.

He grits his teeth, holding in the frustration that is building up. It isn’t him. It isn’t any of them. This isn’t someone breaking, this is someone fixing himself up. Thomas is trying, and he’s building it back up.

No one will be dying today.

The Duke of Wings had assured that. He’d seen nothing wrong that could have caused this and by extension he would have seen nothing wrong that this could end with. Ran could be certain of that much. The Duke of Wings is a man he could trust, especially now in these moments that he doubts the friend he has to trust. 

He’d seen Thomas, and he’d seen nothing wrong.

So there will be no deaths.

Ran has to make sure of that.

But it’s hard, because for every window that he passes by he could see and bear witness to the way that the skies a mere inch away from enforcing its divine rage on the people of Hartcoure. Ran questions if it could be because they want their Kingdom to lose the war. Between the gods banging at their skies and the enemies slamming through their boarders, Ran could only think that everyone involved are displeased. He watches as lightning stretches throughout the entirety of the land. He could look ahead and see that it stretches far away, all beyond the kingdom they inhabit.

The entire world is mad, and it wants to prosecute everyone.

The hope dwindles for every crackle of the sky, raucous laughter of the unnatural. He looks away, but he could see the way the room lights up for every blink of the sky.

Time is ticking.

~+~

Technoblade looks up from the desk when he hears a particularly loud crack echo all over the room. Technoblade stands abruptly, pushing the chair back with a scraping sound. He turns around to face the window behind him, walking closer to see the outside a lot clearer, and he sees how the dim clouds from earlier had formed a larger and more prominent mass of dark.

There’s a flash of light, something so bright that it nearly blinds him. Technoblade counts to nine seconds before the burst of sound creaks through him himself. It’s loud, and it’s near. If he had been a century younger he might have been frightened at the weather—but Technoblade knows worse things than a bad weather.

For one, the end of the world.

He turns back around to sit on his table, and he grabs a piece of paper from the side of the desk and begins to write a formal correspondence to say that he will not make it for the meeting that he’d asked for.

He was supposed to meet Phil today, but he’d failed to account that today might be the day when the storm comes. Technoblade writes a letter abruptly, rescinding the previous invitation to the town square. If given more time or more ease, Technoblade might have given more attention to detail—perhaps a neater handwriting or maybe even the more context behind his reason for missing out on their meeting this evening, but Technoblade needs to send this as soon as possible and he can’t waste time.

It might be too late to cancel, and he might find it a lot more difficult to redeem himself after this but the storm is coming and he really should have seen it. He just didn’t think it would be today. The weather has been rather bad as of late, and he knew that it was coming but he didn’t know that it would be so soon. The novel hadn’t really mentioned when exactly this thing happened. It had only said that it did so after the banquet, but he didn’t think it’d be less than a week.

Despite whatever it is that Phil wants to say to him, Technoblade knows that he can’t risk missing out on today.

Because today is a day when the thunderstorm happens.

Technoblade doesn’t know if today will be harsh on the kid, and he doesn’t know if today will lead him to the catalyst that begins the eventual downslope of Tommy’s sanity as mentioned in Metanoia. For all he knows, it could have just been a side-effect of neglect by Clementine or perhaps even just flat out fear that will go nowhere.

With that thought, he pauses, and he reads his letter. He hesitates.

Metanoia has a way with words that make the line between fantasy and figurative speech hard to discern. He’d loved it when he could read it up to his interpretation but now that he’s here he doesn’t appreciate not knowing much. Technoblade doesn’t know whether to take the words literally or not because for all he know, cancelling out on a meeting he had scheduled could get him on the bad side of the House of Wings,

And he can’t risk that either. It’s already too late to cancel it because surely the man would have been on his way to the agreed meeting place.

Technoblade crumples the letter.

Fear. All it is, is fear that twists Tommy’s perspective. Technoblade crumples the letter, and he tosses it to the bin.

Still there is that remaining doubt in his mind that maybe Tommy would need him, but Technoblade would only be gone for a day. Nothing more. He can trust the kid to be alright. Technoblade’s presence must have had some good impact now that he’s had some good amount of interactions with the kid.

Just yesterday the kid had thrown peas at him from across the table.

He’s a little runt. Technoblade cannot be blamed when he tossed back potatoes back at the kid.

So Tommy will be okay.

He comes out of the study. Besides, he’s already dressed for the meeting. Thomas himself knows that he’d be going out today too. The carriage is prepared at the front of the house. Technoblade has many reasons not to cancel the meeting that they’d agreed on today.

Technoblade comes across a maid—it’s Tommy’s personal servant, Clara. She approaches him, seeing that he was already about to go to her. “Is there anything you need, your grace?” She questions.

“Yes, actually.” Technoblade says. “There’s a particularly bad thunderstorm and I just…” how does he word this without seeming overly doting or protective? “I hope you keep an eye on Thomas for today while I’m gone.”

Clara smiles, and he dislikes how it’s the knowing smile that a typical mother would give a much newer parent. He saw Phil—the one he knows —give him that look when he’d discovered that Tommy was under his care. Technoblade is disgusted. He is not worried. His pride, at least spare him his pride.

“I will make sure to accompany him then, your grace.” She says. “I bid you safety on your journey.”

Technoblade nods, trying to dismiss the blatant ‘oh awe, you care?’ that Clara is saying to him through nonverbal language. “Thank you.” Technoblade tells her. He takes a step forward so he could go ahead and leave, but Clara takes a step back, as if she’s not done.

“Before you go--!” Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat. “Apologies for the impudence, your grace, and I might be overstepping but I wish to bid you my gratitude.” Clara bows her head, and Technoblade has honestly gotten a bit traumatized at people having to thank him. Lady Vil of Kypos is already an experience in itself, so for someone of his own house thanking him for something he might not know he did is going to be tough.

“May I ask what for?” Technoblade asks,

“For being there for Thomas.” She answers. “He is… it was like he was never a kid, before you came back. People had treated him like he was to be the Heir of Blade and I feel that it had forced him to grow up quicker.” Clara smiles up at him. “So thank you, Your Grace, for implementing all of these changes in his life.”

Technoblade is honestly flattered. He didn’t think that anyone would spot his intention and would just see it as a normal thing to do between siblings. It’s nice to see his efforts being acknowledged as well as confirmed, because at least he could see now that the kid’s self-esteem is going places that is further away from canon.

“I’m his brother.” Technoblade says, “I’m obligated to keep him happy.” And obligated to stop the end of the world from happening.

Clara looks at him with all the admiration of a mother. Technoblade wants to look away in shame because he had so blatantly lied in front of someone with such good intentions. Still, he can’t exactly say his true plans and his true intentions, so honestly it isn’t on him if she believed his lies.

The sky booms yet again, and it must have taken the woman out of her admiration-filled stupor. She bows briefly, “I shan’t keep you waiting then, your grace.” She says with a happier tone, “I shall heed your orders.”

They go on their separate ways.

And the ride to the town square of the Capital is uneventful— mostly. The thunderstorm is louder inside the carriage than it is inside the house, so he can’t blame himself for the headache that manifests from the ringing of the carriage as well as the inconsistent flashing lights. He abhors it.

There you are.

Technoblade turns his head to look, and he sees no one who could have possible said that. He shifts his seating so that he’s against the wall of the footman, and he pulls a hatch so he could look through. “Sorry, did you say anythin’.” He asks,

“No sir!” The footman responds, and it checks out because that wasn’t his voice that he heard.

He nods, and he shuts the opening.

That was the only odd occurrence during the ride, but he does remember the growing pit of anxiety in his gut the more frequent the thunder and lightning is getting. Technoblade shut his eyes, hoping that it might alleviate the developing splitting migraine that’s growing in his head.

The carriage finally stops, and he opens his eyes to see that he’s in their agreed destination. The sky is dark, and it makes it seem like it’s later than it actually is. He steps out, bringing out a hand to check if there is rain.

There’s none. There’s only thunder and lightning and dark clouds that make everything so gloomy.

He thinks back, about the House, and he remembers the events that might happen later. Technoblade shakes his head. He has to be more trusting than that. Thomas is strong, and Technoblade had given him a shove in the right direction. As far as he recalls, he had said that he had begun a regular correspondence with both Tubbo and Ranboo— no, Tobias and Ran. He’s got a support system that’s outside of the house and that should be good enough. Not everything has to be but to his control.

So the kid’s got this.

He continues getting down the carriage, and he walks towards the library that Phil had set up for the meeting. There is a man who waits by the front door, and he dutifully bows as he grabs Technoblade’s coat.

The duke of Blades enters the establishment, and immediately he finds where he is supposed to go. Phil had made it blatantly obvious that there will be an important meeting by two high-ranking members of society.

Technoblade approaches the single occupied table in the room, and he finds Phil sitting.

Phil looks up at him, and he smiles politely. “Hi, mate.” He says casually, “The ride here must have been rough, the thunderstorm in your area seems pretty concerning.” Phil looks down at the bowl briefly, and he looks up, “So, take a seat?” He gestures at the seat opposite of him.

Technoblade obliges. “So, sorry I have to get home quick due to matters in the House, but what is it that you have to show me?” He asks, “Because see, your wordin’ was not exactly good for the nerves.”

The blond in front of him puts a hand on his nape. “Sorry, must have sounded a bit dramatic.” Phil says sheepishly, “Seeing Thomas for the first time was…jarring.” The man chuckles, but he doesn’t seem very amused with the situation. Rather, he seems nervous. 

“How exactly did you see anything ?” Technoblade questions. “I have no assurance that what you’re saying bears any truth.”

“Well, it’s my Blessing” Phil answers. Technoblade wishes Phil weren’t so frank . Normally it should be fine, but this is hindering a lot of information and Technoblade abhors being the one who knows less. “Your brother Thomas, he bears ichor in his hands.” Phil says, he removes his hand from his nape and he crosses it in front of him. 

There’s also that thing. He doesn’t know what Phil means by Ichor. He knows that it’s the blood of the Gods, the greek myths that he’s read once had been able to teach him that, but he doesn’t know what it means in this world. It wasn’t mentioned much.

He realizes that he doesn’t know a lot of things if he goes by the novel alone.

“Ichor?”

“A Blessing of sorts. ”

Technoblade’s blood runs cold. A Blessing. A Blessing Thomas is not yet supposed to have. “He’s thirteen.” Technoblade tells him, “He’s not supposed to–there is no Blessing a child!” 

“I said ‘of sorts’.” Phil says in a collected tone, “Thomas’ Blessing isn’t like mine.” He answers.

“Then what is wrong ?” Technoblade is losing his patience with the way they’re approaching this topic. It’s slow, and it’s avoiding a lot of key information that could very well lead to Technoblade having to run around clueless with an unclear goal in mind. At the same time, he can’t just demand it under the insistence that they’re talking about the catalyst of the end of the world, because that will be opening a whole new can of worms that Technoblade is unwilling to disclose to someone who he can’t trust.

Because he can’t trust this Phil, not when he knows how sly the man can be to people who aren’t Technoblade, to people who hasn’t been his friend for centuries. 

They aren’t friends in this universe.

He refuses to think of it.

“Your brother, Thomas, is practically submerged in the gods’ attention.” Phil answers.

“And how is that any different from us?”

Phil raises a hand, “No, that’s an incorrect wording there mate.” He says, “I said that it’s different from mine , and literally everyone else’s.” Phil crosses his hands in front of him, resting it on the table. “I invited you so I could ask you .”

Him?

Technoblade isn’t liking where this is going, because the man is giving him a false hope right now. Technoblade doesn’t like it one bit, especially since it’s something that confirms his suspicion. He looks down at his hands, and he sees five foreign fingers rather than the familiar three. Technoblade clenches it, and he confirms that it’s real.

Phil is watching him as he reacts, and Technoblade can’t be bothered to hide his reaction. The man tilts his head with a knowing look. “You’re not what you seem.” He notes. “Mate, you know something, don’t you?” Phil asks,

And for the first time, Technoblade feels seen. Phil always has this way of intimidation that’s unique to him, where he isn’t intimidating because he’s dangerous. He’s not a dangerous man if you define the word by its most basic meaning. Phil is not volatile, but he holds a weapon and it is so clear to see yet no one can act on it because he does not draw it. He is not the type of man to draw it.

But there he is, exposing Technoblade’s most blatant secret. That he is not what he is.

“I need you to tell me what you see so I know what to say,” Technoblade scoffs, bluffing. “I was under the impression that you know more things than I do.” 

“I don’t.” Phil admits. “I see more, though.”

Technoblade stands abruptly, getting sick of this conversation. He doesn’t think that it’s been going on for too long but already he’s exhausted. “Then tell me what you see.”

“I see the Blood of the Gods on your hands.” Phil retorts, and there’s a dark glint in his eyes. “And that some of that blood you’ve got staining you is of my god’s, yet even she knows full well that she is unscathed so it begs the question of where and how you’ve attained such a status.” He looks at Technoblade’s eyes, peers right at his soul and for a moment Technoblade had thought that he’d found him . The true Technoblade, the one that is an imposter in a body that he doesn’t own.

Rationally, he knows that he doesn’t. He can trust the world that much.

“There’s no need to be afraid, no one will believe me if I said it.” Phil tells him, trying to coax him into admitting something that would likely lead him to being ostracized, and Technoblade thinks that it’s just a half-hearted attempt to placate his worries.

“Okay,” Technoblade says, “I can respect your word, Duke of Wings, but I have to ask what exactly you mean by your accusation.”

“Oh I’m not accusing you of anything.” Phil says, hands raised in surrender. “It’s just that I hope that you know anything, because whatever it is I saw on your brother, I see it on you.

“As the Duke of Wings it’s my responsibility to uphold your and your brother’s welfare as Blessed. I’m just as clueless as you when I found out that there was something off with you and your brother’s existence. There is something that is so intrinsically wrong linking the both of you together.

Technoblade’s gut sinks. The hope that he’s crushed time and time again is forcibly resurfacing and Technoblade can’t help but want to crush it again before it grows too much to kill.  He can’t, because these things that Phil is suggesting is making it so difficult to kill.

“Other than us being siblings, I don’t know anythin’.” Technoblade says, “I can’t help you with this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I could say the same about you.” Technoblade narrows his eyes. “I cannot trust you, and we’ve barely even met–maybe you’ve met my mother, maybe you’ve met my father, and you might think that whatever trust they share with the other dukes extends to me but that is incorrect.” Technoblade says, “Since I bore witness to the true nature of the nobility that is set to protect the Kingdom.”

And that’s a sore topic, not for Technoblade but for literally everyone else. There was an unspoken rule, an unspoken agreement and understanding that Technoblade had been sent out there to die. Some might have been against it, but it doesn’t deny the fact that a whole, they had been the one to send a teenager who had barely turned adolescent into the perils of battle.

Phil’s eyes soften, and Technoblade feels like a kid who he’s taken pity on. He abhors that look, but it’s a necessary trade for answers.

“You can trust me as the bearer of the House of Wings’ bloodline.” Phil answers. “Unfortunately, that is all I will be disclosing to you. Surely you understand, mate.” He must likely be referencing Technoblade’s Blessing, of which everyone but him knows. “As the House of Wings, I know many about Freedom and none speak it less than the claims the gods have on us–the less we know about each other, the better.”

Technoblade nods. It’s true, the knowledge of Thomas’ Blessing had led to his downfall. Technoblade had also plans in mind of the way he would hide his Blessing if ever it does manifest. “Then give me somethin’ to work with here, because I can’t just believe that my younger brother has a Blessing this early on.”

The casual and light look in Phil’s eye turns serious, “I know Death,” Phil answers. His eyes gleam with a certain knowingness, the same way Phil used to speak about Death in the other world. It looks like some things remain the same. “That is all.”

But it gives him nothing. So what if he knows Death? Does that have anything to do with Thomas? It does, of course, otherwise they wouldn’t be here in this meeting discussing a lie that is hardly believable–unless he’s betting on it, on lying –

He’s telling the truth.

Technoblade snaps his head to the side, looking at where he heard the voice, and he blinks. There’s nothing, no one. Just him and Phil.

“Is anything the matter?”

“It’s nothin’.” Technoblade says quickly. He breathes in, and he turns back to look at Phil. 

The man looks worried, but not enough that he would skip the topic of conversation. “I. don’t know. Anything. ”

Liar.

“Mate–”

Technoblade stands. “I’m sorry, but maybe we can reschedule this for a different day.” He says, because he’s tired. He’s tired and he just wants to proceed with his original plan. “Some other time, if you give me a chance to think about this another day then maybe—” He’s cut off by a particularly loud cracking sound, rattling him to the bones.

And briefly, he hears a voice whisper to him again. He’d almost missed it thanks to the loud storm brewing outside.

I found you.

He shudders, and the migraine comes back so harshly and suddenly that he’d been forced to lean his hand against the table to support himself. The other hand clutches at his head.

He feels someone gripping by his shoulders, and he looks up to see that the Duke of Wings is holding up to support him. “You okay mate?” Phil asks, and Technoblade grits his teeth as that splitting headache dissipates into nothing—as if it never happened.

“Yeah,” he says.

The old man doesn’t seem convinced. “You sit for now,” Phil says, “And I get you want to leave as soon as you can but this issue is just as pressing as anything else you might have.” Phil says, not knowing that the end of the world is all up to whether or not Technoblade’s brother ends up manifesting a Blessing five years too early.

Technoblade wants to snort. It’s almost comedic how no one else seems to know how pressing the issue is. He honestly has half the mind to spill everything to Phil, but he doesn’t share the same centuries that he’s spent with someone who had mentored him. To this man, to this stranger, Technoblade is just a young Duke who he noticed.

He can’t trust this Phil the same as the one who once trusted him.

“I’ll be leaving.” Technoblade says with finality. “And if I find anything at all, you can expect a letter from me.”

Phil has a disappointed look in his eyes, as well with worry and concern. Still, he gives an understanding nod.

“Then I bid you well wishes on your journey back.”

“The same for you.”

It’s not easy to forget Phil’s words. It lingers in his head and twists and uncoils in so many different ways. What does he mean? There is blood on both his and Thomas’ hands. Gods’ blood. He doesn’t know what that means. He can’t take it literally, because to his knowledge he hasn’t killed anyone important yet–not to mention, the gods that Phil speaks of are hardly in the novel at all and by extension are likely not going to make an appearance any time soon. 

So what does it mean to have a god’s blood on his hands? 

To share this trait with Tommy?

Phil, the Duke of Wings, is different now. He’s different from the original course of the novel Metanoia and this means that there must be something amiss. To be drowned in a god’s attention.

What could that mean?

Technoblade looks down on his hands. He clenches it, testing to see if it has five fingers instead of the tree that he’s grown used to. 

His breath hitches when another particularly close bolt of lightning shoots down, creating temporary cracks in the sky. Technoblade stares up, and he sees another–

There you are. This isn’t the first time he’s heard this. This isn’t the first time today that the whisper turns into a voice. And it’s loud, and it’s so easy to miss because of the thunder but he heard it. Heard them .

The lightning crackles more frequently, and Technoblade is struck with yet another batch of chattering– I found you, there you are, I thought we lost you, you’re here, we’re here–

Lady Clementine had laughed at him, and his imagination. Thunder and Lightning, she said it was. That it was simply the clouds and science and friction. But Thomas had known. It was more than that.

But Thomas had felt it. He’d known that the sky was blinking at him, and it’s blinking at him now.

Watching his every move.

And he was frightened.

Thomas shut his eyes tightly. If he can’t see them, he won’t know they’re watching.

The sky will not stop staring at him.

It starts to hurt. And now, all he can see are the eyes.

And it’s true. It’s real . Thomas’ experience in Metanoia, it’s real. The sky is staring down at him, and he can’t see the eyes but he can hear the voices. They’re spectating over them like entertainment. Fond and amused and bemused and angry. So many voices with so many complaints. Something familiar seeps through every crackle of light and he reels at how easy they seem to flood in his head. 

The brief months of silence that he was able to attain had made him unused to the presence of chat. It’s timely. It’s far too timely.

Technoblade touches his head, noticing how the voices are louder than he’s used to.

We missed you . The voices sing, We missed you so much, Technoblade . and it’s almost mocking how they speak to him. Technoblade shuts his eyes, and he realizes that the voices have taken a more sinister tone. The voice they have when they want something from him.

We missed you, but we found you again. 

Technoblade doesn’t know what to do–it’s real. The voices are real, and it’s no rumor. He had been bluffing when he’d threatened Clementine but now the voices are back with a word every second and Technoblade doesn’t understand how . These were beings from the Server. These aren’t urges or neuropathic symptoms. These are beings, souls and maybe even–

Maybe even gods.

Oh, oh.

He looks up at the sky, and it blinks back at him. Phil had said that he was special for that reason, that he’s drenched in Ichor. The gods’ blood and attention dripping on him. It makes sense how the lightning had affected him and not Phil–and likely no one else either.

His gut sinks with a realization that it can’t just be him. 

Tommy .

Technoblade opened the hatch in front of the carriage once more– “Footman!” Technoblade yelled, and the voices with enthused tones yell with him and bellow out their cheers and jeers. “As fast as you can back home.” He orders, and the ride becomes rockier with the increase of speed on the relatively challenging road. 

The voices speak in dissonance, tearing something in Technoblade’s brain. He’s used to them, though. He’s used to these beings speaking to him and about him with snide remarks and odd contrasting support. Technoblade had known how to handle them and how to ignore them.

But he hadn’t always been this way.

To someone new, to someone unused to it–

It was no wonder the rumors had sprouted back then. 

And whatever had happened to the Technoblade of the past, it’s happening to Tommy. Technoblade can’t have that. Technoblade cannot allow that.

He climbed out of the cave under his basement, holding Tommy. Technoblade had the kid in his arms, and he was freezing. His skin feels barely alive and the kid was hardly breathing at all. Technoblade had ignored the voices in his head for the sake of hearing Tommy’s–anything, anything at all he would have taken. He just needed to say something.

But the kid did not speak. His breath had frequently hitched and he had this raspy and faint whistling in his breathing.

For the first time for so long, and for the first time for it to matter, Technoblade had been scared. Frightened with his chest constricted by panic and worry and the need to fix this.

He tried so hard not to look too long at Tommy’s frost-bitten foot, something that couldn’t be fixed. When he placed Tommy on that table, finally taking in the sight of that kid who had looked so much healthier last he saw him, he couldn’t help but feel the tears well in his eyes.

Because this kid was going to die.

This kid was going to die, and he was barely seventeen. 

And he shouldn’t have cared, not at all. This kid was a stranger, and he had been horrible and annoying when they had been allies but he was good. He was good, and Technoblade was watching a good kid die on his table. 

So he tried. He tried as much as he could so he could fix him. He had taken his leg, the infection was going to kill the kid. He had doused him in all his knowledge, potions, and attention, but even that couldn’t be enough to save him. He had done his all, but there was nothing, and eventually the damage had been far too much for Tommy to have lived. The totem was going to have to save him. Only the Totem could have saved him. 

Things were better when that totem had seeped into Tommy’s existence, bleeding into the kid’s soul. 

Technoblade had watched over Tommy until he was better, until he was conscious. He watched the kid grow in months, cheeks fuller, flushed. Eyes regaining that life.

And the good kid did not die under his watch.

So why did he let him leave?

Why did he let him go?

This is a question he lets himself linger on for every passing day since he let the kid die in that server.

It’s night, and a lot darker out, when Technoblade comes back to the House. The rain had started to fall, but it doesn’t halt Technoblade from pursuing to go inside.

The place is a mess when he comes back. The entrance had nearly been empty save for the few servants who had greeted him and took his coat. Henry is nowhere in sight. “Where is Thomas.” He demands out loud, and the servants flinch at his tone. 

He didn’t have the intention to intimidate but he also did not have the intention to be patient. The effects of the thunderstorm is literal, and the worst part is that now that it’s literal it means the way the story leaves Thomas is far too vulnerable for his taste. It is real, and it leads to a timeskip where the Author did not bother to write the nitty gritty details of what happens after Thomas felt that odd pain.

And in this head he can’t filter chat. Technoblade can’t control the pace at which they speak and the audibility of the voices. He can’t pinpoint the helpful voices from the unhelpful ones and it’s rendering them useless. We are not useless! They screech in unison, and Technoblade can’t help but think that they should act like it if that was the case.

He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have gone through with today because he’s left with more questions than answers and it had wasted his time.

But we found you . One of them is optimistic at least.

“Answer me.”

Answer him! The voices cheer, mocking and mimicking Technoblade’s movements and actions with the emotional capability of a child. Technoblade is in a bad mood,

When he got this body, he thought it was coincidence that he’d been practically exiled for the voices and that his name was Technoblade. He was happy for the briefest moment, though, because the voices were gone and his head is quiet. 

But they’re here now, and his patience is strung tight in between his own panic and the voices’ own mania. He abhors them, how they watch him like a rambunctious audience at an ill-respected theatre.

“He’s in his room, Your grace.” One of them answers. “Clara and Henry are taking care of him but… but he’s in hysterics.” The servant is frightened, as if loading a glass canon. 

The servants in the novel were also frightened after Thomas’ manifestation.

They were afraid that the kid will implode.

Make fucking haste!

Technoblade wastes no time, he walks with broad strides, until even that wasn’t fast enough. He begins to run. He needs to get to Thomas before he does it.

Fear. The tales of change begin with fear.

Technoblade grits his teeth as the voices read to him. It’s mocking him, repeating what he’s done wrong, his mistake, and some of them cackle while some of them continue on. Technoblade knows these words. He’s read it so many times before out of comfort, taking solace in a character ’s suffering, except he isn’t a character, and he is a person. He is a person with Tommy’s face. Tommy’s eyes.

He ignores the breathlessness, the burning in his chest when he arrives. He tries not to explode in anger as he witnesses people looking and staring and watching into Thomas’ room. Technoblade sees the awe and the horror, watching as the younger Blade does something that makes them gape. “Get out of the way.” He commands in a booming, stern voice. 

The servants move, and they scatter from the door. Technoblade moves into the parting, and he turns to shut the door before they could see anything more. He looks over, and he sees what’s got them so interested.

The voices practically chirp in amusement seeing the violent display. The room is a mess, for one. One of the posts of the bed had collapsed, so the bed is a mess. Even without that, the sheets are scattered all over

Clara is keeping Thomas in her arms while Henry tries to keep the kid’s arms from flailing. The voices awe at the sight, encouraging the more rampant act. 

Technoblade is shocked at the sight, how rampant the kid is. In the novel, Tommy had lain there with a blanket over his head, and he wouldn’t complain. Tommy hadn’t dared, because the kid was afraid that it would present him with the ire of Clementine. He didn’t ever want to disappoint her, not even when he was in need.

But the kid is feisty, fearsome. He’s frightening in his own right and he’s only thirteen. Technoblade doesn’t recognize him from Metanoia. The naive boy who he thought would have hid is instead fighting.

He remembers what Phil says.

Is this his Tommy?

“Not again, not again!” Tommy wails, shrieking. “Where is he! They’re after him–!”

Technoblade doesn’t take long in crossing the distance between the door and Thomas. He takes Clara’s place in holding him together, and with stronger arms he brings down Tommy’s hands and cling them to his body so he doesn’t hurt anyone, not even himself in the process. 

Tommy doesn’t stop. “Let me go!” He yells, voice cracking with the shout. “I need to find him! Please!” and he’s begging, pleading like he’s afraid.

He clenches his teeth, shutting his eyes as he tries to remind himself how this isn’t like how it was back then. He holds Tommy together in a tighter grip, afraid that he’d fall apart like before–like with Tommy . “Theseus, you’re okay.” Technoblade says in a voice, words nearly choking him as Thomas’ screams match with the yelling in his head. 

The voices cackle at Tommy’s futile attempts, finding his distress hilarious.

“You’re okay, Theseus.” Technoblade tries again. “Please–” Technoblade feels a growing heat behind his eyes and he tries not to cry. He knows it’s inevitable. “Thomas, please. ”

Yet Tommy is unseeing, and he doesn’t stop wailing and fighting against him. Tommy reaches out, and Technoblade finds the telltale signs of the cracks in the kid’s skin. If Clara or Henry sees them, they’re honorbound to the king to report it. The loaded glasscanon breaking and falling apart– they all swore that same oath to the king.

But they don’t understand. He’s not breaking. He’s not getting anything. Technoblade shifts the two of them so that he could tuck Tommy under his chin or so he could shield him from seeing anything else. 

Technoblade sees a flash of light from under his eyes, and he opens them to see that the curtains are still drawn open. 

“Shut the curtains.” Technoblade tells Henry, who is frozen at the side of the room. With widened eyes and an impatient tone, he barks the order again. “I said shut the curtains!” Technoblade commands, and Henry is jostled out of his shock and rushes to shut the curtains. The voices do not stop their chanting. Cheering more and more as Technoblade’s frustration translates to anger and rage. 

The room’s flashes are muted now, and Technoblade rests one side of Tommy’s head on his chest and the other cups over the exposed ear. 

“Theseus.” Technoblade calls. He hums, and it isn’t a song. It’s just something. Anything. A sound to occupy him. He doesn’t have a song in mind and he just lets out a hum, just like he did before. Just like before.

Little godling. The voices chirp, and Technoblade doesn’t like how they coo at Tommy. It’s like they’re watching his pain for their amusement. It’s like they’re doing it again. It’s too similar, far too similar for his liking.

But it’s working, because this one is so similar to his Tommy.

“You’re here,” Tommy says softly, like he’s in disbelief. 

Technoblade tries not to let Phil’s words get to him, that they’re similar in some way. Tommy is not a stranger in this land, not like Technoblade. There’s something else. There’s something else, because this isn’t his Tommy

Technoblade can’t see his face, but he could imagine. He barely knows Thomas. He doesn’t know if his favorite food is still Curry, nor does he know what Thomas’ favorite game was before he had been forced to grow up. He doesn’t know which one of Tobias or Ran is his best friend. He doesn’t know Thomas, not as the kid is being held up by Technoblade’s two arms.

But it helps to know that he’s like Tommy. Because when Technoblade ignores the voices, it’s nothing new. The names they throw aren’t new. The mocks they throw aren’t original. It helps to know that he’s like Tommy, because when Technoblade scratches the back of his head, at his scalp where it’s not too close to the nape but not too close to the top, he knows that it would lull Tommy into a secured sort of calm. It helps to know that Tommy likes the sound of a heart muffled like breathing.

I miss Tommy.

This isn’t Tommy.

They throw their complaints at him with baseless rationality. Technoblade knows well to ignore it. “I’m here.” Technoblade says, and tilts his head up to look at Clara and Henry. He moves nods his head towards the door, and they get the message to open it.

Technoblade releases one hand so he could reach for a blanket. It’s got wooden debris on it, but it should be alright as long as he places the better part of the duvet on his head. He tugs, and he places it over Tommy’s head. 

“What–?” Tommy says in a muffled tone. 

“It works better for the lightning.” Technoblade retorts, and Tommy doesn’t answer. The voices cackle at the embarrassing sight. Technoblade doesn’t bother to scold them. He doesn’t even know if they’re his chat.

We are. The voices repeatedly claim. We’re your chat, we’re yours, this is us, don’t you miss us? Their responses spread into chaotic yells of replies. Technoblade grits his teeth. We are yours in every life.

When he wished for a true semblance of familiarity, Technoblade didn’t wish for this. He didn’t wish for them .

Not here for you. They mutter ominously. Not here for you . The voices say repetitively.

There’s the clearing of a throat, and he’s snapped out from the multiple trains of thoughts in his head. He sees that the door is opened, and there are the servants waiting at the door, holding awe and fear on their faces. Technoblade hardens his gaze, and they look away. He walks, and he brings Thomas along while cupping his head in his hands from over the thick blanket. 

“Fix Thomas’ room.” He orders the servants. “He’ll be in my chambers for the time being.” He continues walking, not giving them a moment more to stare at them like they’re a show. Technoblade had sported those looks before, for so many times before.

Thomas doesn’t deserve that same treatment.

He’s thirteen– the kid has barely lived.

There’s another crack of lightning, and the thunder follows. Tommy flinches in his hands and Technoblade grip tightens, but not so much that it would hurt the kid. Just to remind him that he’s here, that Thomas isn’t alone. 

What a shame, this would have been more fun. They voice their complaints in his head, a crowd agreeing at the lack of reaction. Technoblade knows not to have them get on his nerves, but it’s been a while since they’ve had something other than him to mock. 

They finally arrive to his room, and Technoblade makes haste to close the windows and keep the kid in the bed. 

Technoblade sits next to him, and he pulls Tommy into a hold. It could be mistaken as an embrace, but it isn’t so restricting. He looks down, and he finds light cracking at Tommy’s skin, crawling up from his wrist and up his arm. 

Hold it! The voices command. Hold it or he’ll die! And he listens to them, and the grip lands to Tommy’s wrist. Technoblade’s curses under his breath when he holds it himself. The voices grow louder at the contact. They cheer. Technoblade shuts his eyes, trying to control the splitting migraine in his head. Technoblade grits his teeth. 

“Technoblade?” Tommy asks, and Techno is glad that the kid is finally out of that daze. “Techno?” And he’s talking, and he’s not whatever that thing he was earlier. He wasn’t scared. 

He’s not scared.

“No, no don’t.” Tommy says, and he’s panicking again. Technoblade shushes the kid. The voices don’t stop cheering as his migraine seems to get worse.

“You’re okay, kid. You’re okay.” Technoblade repeats, “Just wait it out, you’ll be okay.” He says like a mantra.

Technoblade doesn’t know what happens in this part. He doesn’t know how it develops, how Tommy’s Blessing grows and festers on his skin and fades into his blood. 

And all of a sudden, the wrist is snatched from Technobalde’s hand. “STOP IT!” Tommy holds his own wrist, and his face is scrunched up in a pained expression.

Tommy’s blanket is over his shoulders now, off of his head, and he sees how the kid’s eyes glow with the Blessing. 

The kid is quick on his feet, going off the bed to back away from Technoblade. “They’ll find you and they’ll take you away and–”

“Tommy,” He hasn’t recovered from the voices being far too raucous, but he’s already on his feet. 

“No! No you don’t understand,” Tommy’s eyes are watering, and when the flash of lightning lets itself be known from behind the curtains, the tears start falling. “They’ll see you, and they’ll take you and they’ll take me and I’m,” Tommy is nearing into a sob. “Don’t– please believe me.” Tommy’s eyes glow while he cries, and he grabs his wrist and clutches it close to him. 

Technoblade reaches for Tommy– “Don’t touch me! They’ll take you away too!” He yells, and he looks so scared that Technoblade can’t help but see his Tommy.

Seventeen and injured. Seventeen who’d lost a leg, and a country twice, and a brother thrice. So close to breaking but he can’t even afford that until after he’d died.

But Thomas is thirteen, and alive, and he looks like him. He looks far too much like him.

“They won’t.” Technoblade says. “It’s all in our heads, and they can’t get out unless we let them.” Technoblade answers, and he reaches forward again. 

“You don’t know what I’m–”

“They’re looking at you, aren’t they?” Technoblade tells Tommy. “They’re watching you, and that makes you scared but that’s all they can do. ” He says.

Tommy’s eyes are wide, shocked. “They..?”

“The sky is blinking at you.” Technoblade says. “It does for me too.” He answers. “And that’s all they can do, Theseus. That is all they could ever do.”

He’s still shellshocked. “It’s not just me,” Tommy whispers, and Technoblade feels his heart ache. Tommy’s eyes water, now staring back at the lightning storm. His blue eyes reflect the faintest cracks of light on the sky, coming out of the small window he has in his room. “You… you see them too.” Tommy asks.

And he does.

He hears them, and they howl in his ears about his lies. About his bluffing. About he should be ashamed for taking advantage of his unfair knowledge over this kid. They jeer, 

Technoblade can’t care.

“It’s not just you, Theseus.” Technoblade says. “So just… wait it out with me, you can do that, right?”

And Tommy looks like a Sisyphus who mourns his boulder. Something he’d pushed and tipped over time and time again only to have him be relieved of the duty out of the blue without explanation. A reward for something he didn’t know he’d done. 

Technoblade sees that lost expression on the kid’s face, and he sees him . He sees him and he mourns. 

“Okay.” Tommy says in a small voice. “Okay.” He tells Technoblade.

He walks towards Technoblade, and out of his own volition hugs the man. When the Thunder claps, Technoblade would feel him flinch but he doesn’t leave. Technoblade takes Tommy into the bed, and he puts his blankets over the kid. Technoblade sits beside him, and he lets the time pass.

The lightning doesn’t stop, and it still makes Tommy tense up at the sound.

They wait in silence, until Tommy breaks it. “Why do you call me Theseus?” Tommy asks, and Technoblade feels his heart twinge. He’d called him that, didn’t he? For countless of times, yes. Yes. The kid must be so confused. They cackle as they strive for any sort of entertainment from this situation, and Technoblade ignores them.

He wants to fill the silence. “Do you know the hero he’s based off of?”

“He’s a hero?” 

Technoblade hums. “A Greek hero,” he answers. He looks down to see Tommy who was flat on the bed looking up at him with a curiosity that Technobalde recognizes. He could just outright see that the kid wants him to tell him more about it. OH Story time. Stories? I love when he tells stories. Technoblade exhales, “You know the Greeks, do you?” 

Tommy shakes his head, and Technoblade tries to ignore how the kid flinches at the sound of the lightning. 

He thinks that the history of the Greeks don’t exist in this world, or it isn’t as prominent. He should touch up on the mythology in this place if that’s the case. “Well, they’re people much like us, and like us, they have their own Blesseds as well.” Technoblade starts. “Theseus is a prince of a place called Athens,”

“I thought you said he was a hero?”

“He will be.” Technoblade answers, “He’s my favorite hero out of all of them, did you know that?” He asks. 

Tommy blinks, and his face reddens. 

Technoblade doesn’t bother hiding his smug grin. 

“Just continue your damn tale.” Tommy says, slapping Technoblade’s arm. He’s embarrassed. Technoblade likes the sight of that. He likes the sight of anything else. 

He doesn’t want to see Theseus cry ever again. 

So he continues his story, from the very top, with every detail he could remember about the hero. He tells him all his journeys, and then his friends’ journeys, and all his friends’ friends’ journeys–The storm doesn’t pass, but eventually Tommy stops flinching.

Technoblade does not tell Tommy how Theseus dies.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, CHAPTER 16

The war is affecting even the capital of the Kingdom. Thomas’ services are needed now more than ever but he’s been harder to reach ever since he’d been placed in the war. As a Blade he’s been assigned to the frontlines, and as a healer he’s been placed as a medic.

Ran had found him nowhere in his posts.

Instead he finds Thomas in a desolate place, and his arm is red and splotchy. Scratches are evident all over his arm, and he’s still scratching more.

And he’s in tears. He’s in tears when Ran finds him and he looks smaller than he’s ever seen him before. Thomas looks up when there’s a crack on a branch he’d stepped on.

Thomas raises a blade shakily, and Ran watches as that vulnerability snaps into something deadly. So quickly, too quickly.

He reveals himself slowly, and Thomas’ guard drops just as gently. 

His eyes water once more, and he stubbornly tries to wipe it off his face. “D-Don’t look.” Thomas stutters, but he glances shortly only to see Ran staring at him with a heartbroken look. “I said stop fucking looking!” Thomas yells, but Ran is not fazed by the voice. Instead his gaze only softens, and he reaches out for his friend.

“Thomas,” Ran says, but the blonde only steps back and away. 

“Stop it!” Thomas begs. “I don’t fucking need whatever the fuck you’re… you’re thinking!” He seems to stop caring about the water that streams down the side of his face, focusing on the task at hand.

He doesn’t want Ran to see the vulnerability of the Blade, the Saint of Hartcoure. 

But Ran only sees Thomas, his friend, a brother when no one else could be. 

“Thomas.” Ran raises a hand for him to reach. 

Thomas’ eyes water. 

“I… I can’t feel my arm.” Thomas says, and Ran reaches out to Thomas’ arm. “I–I can’t feel it–”

“You can see it.”

“They took my arm.”

“Breathe, Thomas,” Ran says slowly. “Your arm is here,” He says. “You’re okay.” Ran reminds him.

Ran stays with Thomas for the rest of the day, and they return quietly with Thomas with a healed arm and a facade that shows nothing of the vulnerability Ran witnessed.

~+~

He knew he couldn’t trust this peace. Since the storm has passed, Technoblade knew that the news would have gone out eventually, he just didn’t think it’d be too soon. Too soon is not a few months, Technoblade. The voices speak in low voices, all of which commenting unwitty remarks and small complaints. He doesn’t have the time to focus on it.

Because before him, sat with that same pride and smug nature, is Lady Clementine of the Egon family. She sips her tea with ease, as if her very presence was belonging in this place. 

She places the cup back into its saucer with a grace that does not belong to someone with such horrible deeds in her mind. The Lady looks up at Technoblade with a polite and blatantly fake smile. “Surely you understand, then.” Clementine says, glancing shortly at the letter that rests on the table between them. “With the wonderful news of Thomas’ manifestation of a Blessing, the House of Blade is finally able to step forward for the efforts in the war.” 

The war. 

The war has been an ongoing thing in this world, one between Hartcoure and Levin. Ran had not been summoned for it since there was an abundance of Blessed among their House, but in the House of Blade there was only one who had the manifestation. No one had cared that Thomas was fifteen when he joined that war, no one had thought twice about the fact that the kid had endured the sensation of so many amputations. 

He did not fight, he was too special to. But he might as well have carried the brunt of the war with the people that he’s healed. People had praised him, and Thomas was a saint at fifteen. They had fought the war and won, and they speak of Thomas as a true blade– the martyr of the battle that won them the war.

And they’re dragging the House of Blade into it two years too early with the reasoning that there is a capable Duke and two with the Blessing. 

Technoblade grits his teeth, and he should wish that there is good dental care in this world for how often he does it. Human teeth can only withstand so much of his piglin habits. 

“Of course,” Technoblade says.

Clementine smiles, tilting her head. “Now, with the potential absence, I would like to discuss the temporary management of the House.” She says, twisting her ring on her finger. “I understand that we got off on the wrong foot, Technoblade, truly I apologize for the misconceptions you might have about me.”

Technoblade finds it difficult to hide his scowl. He likes to think he manages though.

The Lady seems to think that his efforts are amusing, because her smile twitches when she looks at him. “But I am willing to help despite it,” She says. “Out of the two of you, Thomas is much too young to leave the manor as a soldier as you have–so seeing as you are such a loving brother I have to assume that you will be going in his stead, and that you will need to have someone to run the house while you are gone.”

He smiles, “That is an assumption, Lady Clementine.” Technoblade says. “There is nothing yet to discuss because a decision is yet to be made.

Clementine grins, raising the cup from the saucer and raising it further to mock a toast. “And I know that the chances of one decision is higher than the other.” She says, “There is no one else you know who can run this house as well as I do, Technoblade. I hope you keep that in mind moments after you make your choice.” 

“I recall that it had been my mother who had been called to service back in the day. There is no need for a proxy to run the house.”

“Yet when she died, and when your father fell ill, someone had to run the house and that someone was me.” Clementine says. “I am from one of the six pillars of the House of Blades, you can entrust to me the safety of your house.”

No.

Grievances and slights aside, Clementine is horrible at running the house, She would have run it to ruins is what. Technoblade will not be handing the emerald necklace to her.

But she’s also right.

Because Technoblade doesn’t know who else to turn to when it comes to running the house, and Tommy’s education is that far off enough for him to run it at thirteen. Technoblade cannot leave the house on its own when he’s at the battlefields. At the same time, he will not have even the slightest risk of incurring that wrath of Tommy’s that will eventually end the world if he doesn’t do things right.

“I’ll be sure to keep this in mind, Lady Clementine.” Technoblade says, “For now, I think you’ve paraded your presence all over this house for long enough.” He says with full intention to have the woman take it as a blatant message to have her leave . “Surely you have a child to attend to. Does he still believe that he’s my relative?”

Clementine laughs, “Oh Technoblade, you cannot seem to take a lighthearted jest.” She says, despite there not having any jokes for the past conversation. “Your brother Thomas is far more easygoing than you are. Maybe if you trust your brother enough you could trust him to keep an eye on me while I run the manor, hm?” Technoblade does not want to leave Tommy and Clementine in the same room. The old hag will topple over any progress he’s made over the kid and he’d probably get charged for murder if things keep going at the rate that it is. 

“Hypothetically to the next degree.” He retorts. “Now, I have some things to attend to.” Technoblade tilts his head up, looking down at her with condescension. It’s intentional, this time. “I think I’ve been blatant enough– leave .”

Clementine raises both her hands in mock defense, and she smiles amusedly. “I shall be on my way, then.” She chuckles. “The families are expecting an answer, I hope you decide wisely.” Clementine’s smile drops, “Though history aside, I do not wish for the family to fall.”

“Seems contrary, given your documentation.” Technoblade tells her. “There are still a few missing ledgers that I let pass by solely because I don’t want your hands on my papers.”

“I do what’s necessary.”

“You are full of greed.”

“But I intend to keep the House of Blades alive–I may wish to place my son in the true House but if I were to do a horrible job then there would be no House to leech off of in the first place.” Clementine looks serious, genuine in what she says, but Technoblade cannot trust her words because those were the very things that had crushed Thomas’ spirit in the first place. She does not change in the novel, and she will not change now. “And with your knowledge of my beloved son I have long dropped the attempts to pursue those risks, you are holding me on a leash, quite frankly.

“And so you should decide–there is no good option among the families, but there is always a lesser evil.”

Technoblade’s expression turns cold, and he stares up at Clementine without all the polite pretenses. “I will not say it for the third time, Clementine.” Technoblade says.

“I know that the assassinations had failed for a reason,” Clementine tells him. “And the families are in a disagreement whether or not to pursue their goal of reducing those in line for heir by targetting whoever is headed to the battlefield, so for the sake of your heart–can you bear to have Thomas face all of that?” 

“There will be nothing to face.”

“You have, before.” Clementine says. “You are a frank man, and a blatant one who gets more impatient with niceties so I will say it straight. You survived once, and chances are high and definite that you will be able to do it once more. Will you be ready to test if Thomas could survive one time at all?”

And he pauses at that. Clementine takes that as the opportunity to say more. “Only one Blade will be left in the House and the other is who they wish to never return– so believe me, I understand.  and I understand. I am a mother.” Technoblade looks at her eyes, and gone is that look of pleased irony and it is replaced by a genuine hardness. “I understand. ”

“Lady Clementine.” Technoblade says in a warning tone, but she does not stop.

“If you’ve survived the families’ full attempts before you could do it again. Thomas will be safe in this house with me.” Clementine tells him, and before he could say anything to prompt her leave once more, she scoffs and walks ahead. “Though like you said, you are blatant in what you want, so I will be taking that message and be on my way.” Clementine look over her shoulder. “Whether you decide to welcome me back or not I do not care, but I have cleared my conscience. I have nothing left to pursue except for your favor.”

She bows, and she walks out of the room. Henry shuts the door for her.

Technoblade is left with a headache.

He doesn’t trust her. He can’t trust her not to mess this up again. 

Technoblade looks up at Henry, and he feels tired. Henry will be leaving the house soon. He knows that much, and it will be another baggage to carry. Technoblade walks back to the table and grabs the summons that was penned by someone of the families. He turns around, and he leaves the room.

“She is escorted outside?” Technoblade asks.

Henry nods, “Yes, Your Grace.” He answers.

“Good. We have some things to discuss with the head servants.” Technoblade says. “Summon them to the study, please.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. Do you care for any refreshments?”

“Not now, Henry.” Technoblade sighs, “I’m not feelin’ up for it.”

In the room are head servants of the house, as well as Tommy. All of them share a grim look on their faces, sharing the same expression as Technoblade who seems just as stressed. It’s to be expected, he’s told them some gruelling news that must feel like deja vu, after all. 

The families are calling for another Blade in the battlefields of Hartcoure, and a Blessed of each family is being summoned. 

This time, though, they aren’t calling for a specific member. They were calling for either of them .

The pinkett looks at Thomas, and there’s a guilty look on his face as he stares at the floor. He’s looking like he’s plotting something, and it’s something that Technoblade knows and recognizes. Tommy is planning on doing something stupid, and Technoblade has to nip it in the bud before it gets into the unruly ‘planning’ stage of his plotting.

They intend to kill whoever is out in the battlefield. Technoblade knows that this will happen because it has happened before. In the safety of the manor there will be guards and there are the wards set up by the past Blesseds of the house. Technoblade can handle the bloodshed outside, but Tommy doesn’t know any of that. He doesn’t know how to wield a blade efficiently nor does he know how to defend himself or fight back. Not yet.

Technoblade had wished he could have been the one to teach this, to be the one to teach this soon , but it seems that it will be a little delayed.

“I’m goin’.” Technoblade says with finality, and Tommy’s head jerks upward as if startled out of his stupor. The kid didn’t seem to get the memo because he takes ‘finality’ as ‘challengeable topic’. 

“I don’t see why you have to.” Tommy speaks up, “You’ve done your service. You got your medals. You’ve done enough.” He says.

Tommy will be killed out there.

“Then who will?” Technoblade retorts.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. “Me,” he answers. “I can go.”

Henry turns his head to Tommy in shock, but Technoblade is not surprised. In every world, it seems like Tommy is the same self sacrificial dumbass. Technoblade sighs, and he pinches his nosebridge again to relieve the stress. The voices are in half, between letting Thomas leave the House to serve in the Army or having Technoblade shed that blood himself. 

More of them appeal to the idea of shedding blood in the first place. They don’t care who does it. The voices do not change. He doesn’t know whether or not to be relieved at that fact.

“No.” Technoblade says. “I’m going, that’s final.”

“The House needs a duke.” Tommy retorts, “And I’m of age to wield a sword.” He tells Technoblade, 

“But you do not know how.” He tells him. “You are thirteen years old, you will not go.” Technoblade says. “You’re not even supposed to be here.” He looks at Henry accusingly, and the man looks away with a sheepish look on his face. 

“Henry?”

“He insisted on coming.” Henry answers. 

“After seeing Clementine visit the house, you suddenly host a meeting?” Tommy questions, “Of course I would fucking tag along!”

Technoblade sighs. “You’re thirteen years old.”

“I know how to wield a blade!”

“You don’t.” Technoblade eyes Tommy, and he looks him down. At his age, thirteen, Thomas had been unexposed to the traditional education of a typical Blade. Clementine didn’t raise him like an heir, and while some changes had been made for the past few months he could say with certainty that the kid will not know how to hold a sword when he goes to the battle field.

Tommy looks oddly confident, though, and he looks to be significantly peeved. Technoblade has seen this expression on him before. There is a certain look that Tommy would have when his skills are underestimated, and Technoblade has witnessed that defiance time and time again when the kid had been under his care.

This kid, Thomas, he shares this trait. A defiant and stubborn flame that only seemed to die out when no one’s looking. 

“You’re not goin’.” Technoblade says with finality, and he waits until he’s certain that Tommy will not say anything. “Which leads to my reason for discussion regarding on how this house will be run in my absence, and I had intended to do this privately but,” Technoblade grabs the golden lace around his neck and he tugs it over his head. From under his clothes reveals an emerald that does not gleam due to the impractical carvings on it. Technoblade stands from where he’s seated, and he walks towards Tommy.

The kid seems to recognize the significance of the necklace because his eyes widen as he stares at it. 

Technoblade hands it to Tommy, who receives it with hands that seem to fear the thing. “You wear it for now.” Technoblade says, and Tommy looks up at Technoblade with wide eyes. There’s surprise, and there’s fear. Technoblade doesn’t like seeing that expression on the kid’s face. 

He raises a hand, and he rests his palm on Tommy’s head. 

“What… what do you want me to do with this?” Tommy asks, but he seems to already know the answer.

“Wear it.” Technoblade says for the kid’s sake. “For the time being, the servants and the guards of the house will recognize you as the Master of the Manor.” Technoblade turns toward the servants who witnessed what he did, “You’re to serve him as you have I, and maybe even more. Is that understood?” Technoblade tells them, and they all bow their heads and answer respectively.

He nods. “I will be discussin' the way I run this house and how I expect it to be when I come back.”

Technoblade looks at Tommy, and he looks just as vulnerable as the first day he

He remembers their first interaction. “Will you be leaving again?”, “No.” Is all Technoblade said to him. “Never,”   He says when, not if, because he’d promised that he’d stick around. He promised, and Technoblade is a man who keeps his promises.

This is just temporary. Technoblade will be leaving but just for a bit. He’ll come back. Maybe he’ll even speedrun the war and be over with the entire dilemma. If he wins maybe they’ll be untouchable enough that they’d leave him and his House alone. 

There are so many possibilities that he could achieve for the sake of preventing the end of the world, and already he’d toppled over so many red flags despite the fact that it hasn’t even been a year. Technoblade could end it all and he could live his life in leisure.

A short life, since human lifespans are significantly shorter than that of Piglin’s, but a leisurely one for sure. And he’d live it with Thomas who could take a break from all the dilemmas of Metanoia.

“For the matters of accountancy,” He begins, taking one stack of papers from the desk and shoving it forward. “It goes unsaid– I will not endure any sort of embezzlement of the funds.” 

The meeting is a long one, but Technoblade is very meticulous about the way he wishes to run things.

Dinner that night is awkward, to say the least. For one, Tommy, who is often the life of the party since Technoblade had encouraged a little bit of rowdiness and conversation into the table, is now evidently quiet. It’s taking out the morale of the entire room. 

Technoblade tilts his head, looking at Tommy who wouldn’t even look up from his plate as he eats. Tantrum? Adorable. He really is just a kid huh? Poor lil guy. Maybe you let him fight? It’d be fun to watch. The voices speak their opinions and all of them are under the impression that it would be better to have the kid come along. Bring him along why don’t you? And that is just contradictory to the entire goal, which is to relieve the weight from Tommy’s shoulders so that he doesn’t turn into the literal world-ender.

“I’m startin’ to think you’re upset.” Technoblade says, and he almost grimaces when the kid looks up with the deadpan expression of: you think ?

The voices cackle at the interaction. They really have no standard for entertainment at this point.

“Why the fuck will I be upset?” Tommy asks, irritated. “I’m eating in peace , what part of that is upset?”

“The part where you’re not usually this quiet, kid.” Technoblade says. 

There’s a scraping sound of metal on plate, and Technoblade winces. He looks down at Tommy’s plate, seeing a pea scraped along mercilessly against the fine china. “Really?” Tommy asks. 

“Okay, you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong is that you’re sending yourself off to fucking die!” Tommy shouts from across the table. The voices both cheer and roar, excited and insulted that their toy is being berated.“And that summons was my fucking fault so I don’t see why you’re not sending me .” 

Technoblade decides that he’s not very hungry anymore. Between Tommy being upset at him and the voices being upset and elated at Tommy, Technoblade is in the scale of ‘I’m officially done with today’. But still, he has to answer the kid somehow, and he can’t just say that he’s practically cradling the kid from having a repeat mental breakdown that will break the world down. That would raise a lot of questions and possibly have the kid render him insane. 

So like a liar, he answers and prepares for a long conversation where he believes the outcome will have the kid walking out without an ounce of understanding for the situation they’re both in. “I can’t promise you that I won’t die.” Technoblade tells the kid. “But you have to understand that the chances of me coming back alive is surprisingly higher than you might expect.”

Cocky, proud, he’s not wrong though. Rightfully proud. Rightfully cocky. The voices cackle as they spectate the interaction before them. 

“But you might die.”

“On the contrary, chances of you dying or something equal to it is a lot higher than mine.”

“That is not fucking true.”

“I say it is.” Technoblade tells Tommy. “I told you. I will do everything in my power to make sure you live your life as thirteen.”

“I don’t fucking want that.”

“What else is there to want?

Tommy’s red in the face, looking to be a lot more enraged than he’d originally let on. He stands, pushing the chair backwards and the sound of the drag behind him louder than their conversation. “Fuck you.” Tommy turns and walks away from Technoblade.

Technoblade looks down at his unfinished meal.

Nah, he doesn’t think he feels hungry anymore.

He stands, and he walks out of the room for the servants to clean up after them

“You’re really leaving.” It’s a statement, more like a comment of disbelief. Technoblade turns around, seeing Tommy. Behind Technoblade, resting on the stool,  is his armor, the one he is expected to use in battle. In his hand is a blade, half on the whetstone. It’s so cringe. Where are the netherite? This is horrifying to see. Imagine using iron. Cringe. He could honestly agree with them, but it shouldn’t matter. Technoblade is good enough with fighting to know how to fight without godtier weaponry. Fair. More blood. Rabid fighting. 

They’re currently within the armory of the manor, and Technoblade is choosing whichever sword will suit him best. Well, he’d already chosen one, but it required a fair bit of polishing. He doesn’t like the state of the swords and armor in this world. Maybe Technoblade could indoctrinate the ones who maintain these things to do it his way.

“You’re leaving again.” Tommy has a hard look on his face, as if he still can’t believe that Technoblade is really leaving. 

Technoblade glances at him shortly, and he looks back and resumes his packing. “I am.” Technoblade says. “But I’ll return soon,” He says in an attempt to the placate the kid somehow, but he remains insistent in driving in a point that Technoblade already solidly understands. 

“You told me you wouldn’t leave again.” Tommy accuses.

“I said a lot of things that I had to go back on.” Technoblade retorts, and he turns back to the whetstone so he could sharpen his sword on it.

“I would rather go.” Tommy says.

“And I told you no.” 

There’s silence, and Technoblade had thought that Tommy had given up. Technoblade is glad. He’s glad that the kid has got a better sense of self-preservation. Maybe this means that the priority on the self would lead to the kid not breaking himself to pieces for the sake of an affection he will never achieve. That he’s found that self-sacrifice is overrated. Technoblade is proud.

He suddenly hears the sound of a sword unsheathing, and Technoblade turns around to see Tommy holding a sword in his hand and standing prepared to fight. 

Spoke too soon.

Shut up.

“I can wield a sword.” Tommy says stubbornly, determination ablaze in his eyes. Technoblade has frequently seen that look on the kid’s face and he can attest that it never ends well. “Fucking try me.”

Technoblade sighs, knowing that there’s no telling the kid he’s wrong. He has to prove it. Technoblade looks at Tommy, and he recognizes that look. The pit. The pit! The Pit! The voices cheer, as if recalling fond memories of the way he’d first broken the kid. 

Of when he’d doomed the both of them without even knowing what he’d lost.

Technoblade sheathes his sword, and he stands up and faces Tommy in his full height. Technoblade has to look down to see the kid eye to eye. Technoblade walks past Tommy towards the field, and he notices that he’s not hearing anything from behind. He looks back and sees Tommy looking at him incredulously. 

“You want to spar.” Technoblade says, “Sheathe that sword until we get to somewhere better to fight in.” He tells Tommy, and he walks towards the field of their manor. 

His heart thrummed in his chest during the pit. The kid is so young yet he’s worn Technoblade out this much. He thinks he knows why these punches hurt more than usual though.

He looks at Tommy’s eyes and sees nothing but that raging fire. It’s not hatred. It’s something worse. Something that cannot be put into words. Technoblade’s heart had thrummed and it wasn’t because he was tired, nor because his blood was pumping far too much adrenaline. It was because he was scared. 

Scared to lose.

Scared to lose something that would have been so loyal. Seldom did Technoblade witness this type of genuine rage, of justice for someone who is cared for. Technoblade wanted it. And he knew that in every pummel he lands he is only pushing his chances further away. 

Technoblade didn’t want this.

But they were in a pit, and between him and Tommy there’s only one who would have won. Technoblade’s chat didn’t let him lose. 

They cheer, jest, and they warn against every action and encourage another. Technoblade had relied on them and on his instincts as a fighter– he’d been so stuck inside his own mind that he hadn’t realized that the kid was gasping, that he was having a hard time breathing and that every hit was getting sloppier.

So stuck inside his own mind and regret that he didn’t think of what he said.

Violence is the only universal language. The voices speak through him. I was pressured. They lie for him. I’m sorry. He wishes they said those words when Tommy lied on the ground that day defeated.

There had been no mercy in that pit. 

He wishes there had been.

Technoblade does not relent. “I will not lift my foot until you yield,” He starts. “And until you promise me that you will stay out of that field.”

Tommy’s face is scrunched in pain, but that defiant look in his eyes stay burning in those blue orbs. He glares at Technoblade, hands lifting the foot from off of his chest so that he could relieve some of the pressure. “Fuck you!”

They had sparred. They’d gone Blade against blade and it was something far too familiar for his own taste. Tommy had fought tooth and nail to win. He’d fought dirty, and far too good for his own age. Technoblade isn’t sure where or how Tommy could have learned some of the skills and moves he’s seen but he wouldn’t put it past the kid to learn this type of thing on his own. Still, he had managed to land Tommy to the ground safely. It had been difficult to hold back, much harder than it is to go in without restraint.

“I’m not going to let up, Theseus.”

“And I’m not fucking–” he wheezes, “Not fucking losing!” 

Denial. Maybe let him win. Let him another chance to attack? Round 2. Round 2! Round 2!  

The sword stays pointed at Tommy’s head from a good distance, and his foot maintains the same pressure as to not actually cause permanent harm. “Yield.”

“Fucking– No !”

He’s stubborn, fiery. Tommy had been quiet as they’d fought, putting every ounce of his concentration into winning while Technoblade had put every bit of his focus into keeping the kid unharmed. 

Yet of course he wouldn’t see it. 

It’s never usually seen. All these minute efforts were always things that were bypassed. Not much of a notice at all.

Technoblade tilts his head, and he glares back at the kid. “Can’t you see I’m doin’ this for your sake, kid?” He asks, clearly irritated. “Can’t you just get that this is for your own good?”

“I’m” he inhales. “I am,” he grunts, straining to get the foot off of his chest, pushing it to any direction as long as it lets up–it doesn’t. “I am fucking done with people saying what’s for my good or not!”

“But I’m not.” Technoblade retorts. “I am not, and believe it or not I know what’s good for you and it certainly isn’t a battlefield where you could die.” He says. “I will be takin’ that yield aaany moment now.”

Tommy punches the leg with one hand, and it quickly returns to lifting it off of his chest. “Fucking– Fuck you! ” Tommy yells. “Fuck you!” He swears. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He keeps shouting profanities at him, 

Technoblade watches as his fit of anger turn into angry tears, “Fuck you!” and really, with every ‘fuck you’ that’s being thrown at him Technoblade could see it turn a little bit more depressing each time. That is honestly not the intention. 

You’re soft. Too soft. Let him cry it out. 

He continues to look and he can’t help but feel that uncomfortable twinge in his chest at the emre sight of the thing. Technoblade hates this feeling. He sighs, and he sheathes the sword and tosses it away. The blade clangs against the floor, and that silences Tommy’s loud mix of profanities. Technoblade lifts his foot from Tommy’s chest, but he’d also kicked Tommy’s sword from reach. 

The pinkett gives out a hand towards the kid, and Tommy stares at it for a moment, and he stares back up at Technoblade. “I didn’t yield.”

“I’ll just take the win anyways.” Technoblade answers. “Because I made my point. You lost to me, and I gave you a mercy that no enemy will even think twice about.” He tells the kid, “Because enemies will see you as nothing but a hindrance in their success, never as a person. They have no attachment nor any use for you. Not even their morality will spare you because your very existence on that field proves that you’re willing to die.” 

Tommy looks like he wants to retort, but he doesn’t. Whatever it was that he wanted to say, he doesn’t look at all like he wants to say it now. He shuts his lips in a tight line and he grabs Technoblade’s hand. The pinkett pulls the kid up, and he steps back. Tommy wipes the wetness from his eyes and he stumbles back a little more.

The kid doesn’t dare to look at him. Look at you. The voices coo. Always so good with words yet it only took death for your spiels to bloom. They cackle. Words for the dead, words for the dead, regret. Regret. Technoblade shuts his eyes, trying to get himself to focus in things that happen outside of his own mind. Technoblade opens his eyes, and Tommy’s eyes are dry. His face still looks splotchy from the tears, though.

“Will you come home?” The kid asks, and he’s still looking at the ground. Technoblade wonders what the kid is thinking. He’s always wondered this for both iterations of him. So many things or none, Technoblade had always wondered. Are those blank looks really just blank or is he stuck in the thoughts that race in his mind, unable to escape from a rapid tide. 

“I will.” Technoblade answers. “I always will,” 

Liar. The voices sing. 

He doesn’t think he is, though. He doesn’t plan for it to be a lie, because he doesn’t plan on going anywhere else after the war and the only thing that could stop him is death. But Technoblade never dies.

Technoblade never dies. The voices chant. 

Tommy is the first to go back indoors that day.

Technoblade doesn’t see Tommy at the opposite end of the dinner table. 

When the time comes for him to leave, Technoblade is the one to knock at Tommy’s door. He waits, wearing that uncomfortable uniform of Hartcoure, the kid is mad. oh yeah the kid’s mad. Technoblade knocks once more, and he realizes that there’s likely no one here. Tommy wouldn’t go to a place where he would easily be found. That’s just not like him.

Technoblade steps back, and he walks towards the room with the globe. He enters it, and he twists the globe so he could enter through the wall.

And like he’d suspected, there he is. The kid is right there, hugging his knees to his chest. He looks so small, any iteration of Tommy looks small to him. Maybe it’s a confidence thing, but he can’t really say because for some reason both iterations of Technoblade that he’s experienced before is taller than the kid. 

It’s like he’s always meant to be the older figure for Tommy.

He doesn’t think he’d like it any other way. 

The kid needs him.

Technoblade shuts the wall behind him and he sits beside Tommy. 

They sit in silence for a while. A long while. It’s Technoblade who breaks the silence. He realizes that he’s been taking the initiative for that for so many times now. “I’m leavin’ today.” Technoblade tells the kid, and the kid doesn’t seem to react. He stiffens a little, sure, but he doesn’t even acknowledge Technoblade’s intrusion.

“Kid,” Technoblade says in a pleading voice. “Please don’t let me leave like this.” He tells him.

And Tommy blinks, and his eyebrows furrow. Technoblade still can’t see the kid looking at him. 

“Tommy–”

“It’s not like I want you to leave.” Tommy retorts. “Either you leave with shit ‘like this’ or you don’t fuckin’ leave at all.” He’s stubborn. Of course he is. Technoblade is glad that he is, and it’s much better than the alternative that he’d have to deal with which is the sad and compliant attitude that lead the kid into spiralling and ending the world. This fire is something he has to live with–not that he’s complaining.

But Technoblade sighs. It seems like he still hasn’t really made his point–or maybe he has, but Tommy still thinks that his point is significantly more important. He doesn’t really get how it could be that way. “And what’s the alternative?”

“Fight the fucking families or something! I don’t fuckin’ know!.” Tommy digs his chin even more behind his knees, as if hiding his expressions. Technoblade can’t imagine this being comfortable for the kid. 

“I can’t do that.” Technoblade answers.

“We’re fucking Blades ! You said so yourself!” Tommy says. “Just… just stay home with me or something.” 

Technoblade sighs. “But I’m a Duke, and we’re powerful, honorable, but I’ve got responsibilities.”

“Fuck those!”

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s hard to reason with someone who is ultimately against anything that’s being said. There’s no reasoning against someone who wants to go against reason. “I came here to say my goodbyes.” Technoblade says, and Tommy only blinks. 

The kid is quiet.

“You still have the necklace?” Technoblade asks.

Tommy hums.

“Can I have a look?”

The kid shifts his position so he could pull the necklace from out over his head and he hands it to Technoblade. The pinkett takes it, and he holds the carved emerald pendant. “You remember that Greek Mythology thing I told you?” Technoblade asks.

Tommy finally looks up. There’s a curious look in his eyes. Technoblade refrains from smiling because the kid might find him condescending. 

What are you going to bullshit this time?

“Did you know that Emeralds mean something special?” Technoblade asks. “Emeralds in those stories have a special meaning and it’s surprisingly accurate to the coat of arms carved into this.”

Tommy eyes the jewel in Technoblade’s hands. “That’s an emerald?”

“It’s not sparkly, but yes it is.” He says. “The angles make it less lustrous, but it’s an emerald alright.”

“What’s it mean, then?”

Technoblade glances up to see Tommy looking at him, and he looks back down. “Family at all costs.” Technoblade tells him, and he both lies and tells the truth. He’d lied that it meant that it was Greek Mythology. He’d told the truth of what it truly meant.

The voices boo, yelling their complaints. 

“Emeralds mean family.” Technoblade repeats. “I’m gettin’ you somethin’ better than a dumb heirloom. Okay?”

“That’d mean that we’d have two emeralds.” Tommy points out. 

Technoblade hums. “Yes.” He answers. “Because I’m only lendin’ you mine.” He says. “That way, when I come back and you return it to me, you get to keep an emerald of your own.” He answers.

“When you get back?”

“ When.” Technoblade confirms. 

When Technoblade leaves the room, he goes out with Tommy. When Technoblade rides the carriage, Tommy watches by the entrance of the Manor. When his carriage moves away. Tommy waits.

Technoblade shut his eyes, feeling the rocky ground from underneath the carriage’s wheels, and he feels content in the fact that he’s cleared out one hindrance. Now all there’s left is to decimate literally everything else.

The voices cheer in his head: Blood!

The battlefield is as quick to run as he’d expected. With the medals he’d received from the general who had ended, the King himself had raised his ranks. The families had vouched that Technoblade is to be general in the camp that he’s been assigned to. Technoblade doesn’t know whether to call it nepotism or not but there’s something that rubs Technoblade wrong when he’s been told he has to lead a battle at nineteen.

Maybe it’s normal in here, he’s seen it often enough.

But maybe they’re out to murder him.

Technoblade doesn’t know and quite frankly he doesn’t care. He just wants to finish this war by landslide and go home. It really should be easy enough. Technoblade has never lost a war before. A few battles here and there maybe, sure but he’s got good reason. Copium.

The carriage stops. He’s faced with a much better maintained camp. There are more people, better training grounds, and thankfully a better cabin for hygiene. He could work with this. These are definitely more palatable than whatever he’s had to deal with before.

A soldier jogs up to him, and Technoblade watches as the woman salutes, staying still until Technoblade salutes back at her. “Your Grace, your tent is ready.” The woman says, and Technoblade has to squint to recognize that underneath that helmet is someone who he knows.

Niki. She’s Niki. 

“Normally it’s proper for you to remove your helmet when saluting.” Technoblade notes half-heartedly, attention mostly on the fact that he’s likely met all of the members of the syndicate at once.

She blinks, and she curses under her breath while removing her helmet. “Apologies Sir.” she says.

“General is my title in these fields.”

“Apologies General.” 

Technoblade snorts, “I’m kiddin’.” Technoblade says. “None of the formalities, Niki.” He answers. 

“How do you know my name General?”

“I know everyone.” Technoblade lies. “Are the rest of the summoned army in here?”

Niki shakes her head. “No, General. Some will be arriving later on.”  Niki answers. “Some had to return and some have been reassigned but–”

“It’s no matter.” Technoblade would really rather work on his own for the time being. No one else to hinder his choices. He feels like a dictator for wanting all the decision making abilities for himself but it’s a necessary thing. “Now, lead me around the camp?”

The rest of the day is uneventful. It’s mostly because of the fact that Technoblade doesn’t have a lot of struggle. He’s led around and he’s introduced to a decent tent. He could live with this. Now he’s got a fair amount of knowledge on what occurs during the war but he doesn’t have a clue on the details. 

He could curse the novel all he wants about it, but Technoblade at least still has the upperhand to know which territories will be overtaken– one of them, Technoblade remembers, is the smaller land of Fabulon ruled by the family of Ophibrius, a family under the Imperial family themselves. This land is a vital point in the downfall of the Kingdom’s economy because this land is where all the food reserve is stored. 

Now he just has to defend it with his life. Simple. Good.

Technoblade knows that this will be the most difficult territory to protect given that this is the subject and the main target of the enemy, but he knows that with the high risk comes high reward. He wins this battle, he wins the entire war. He knows this because this will lead to the decimation of the majority of the enemy army. The camp adjacent to this one is likely going to have the most preparations and gear.

With this knowledge alone, Technoblade could win. He could work around the small gap in knowledge. There’s a reason this camp lost and Technoblade will easily mend that. If he doesn’t, he’d die, and he’s not fond of that.

The voices are split on it, divided equally between vouching for Technoblade and betting against him. They’re loud while he plans. Technoblade scours over the table, looking through the maps. He recognizes these places, and he crosses out the ones that will be destroyed in the process. Technoblade will send a memo, and that’s about all he’ll do about them. Whether or not they’d take his advice, Technoblade won’t care. All he should care about are the ones that directly affects him and he’s sure that those ones will win.

He writes to general after general and he has someone send it to them as fast as they could. 

The north will swallow the western city whole. The terrain is disadvantageous. Is your supply enough to withstand this army? His notes are vague but it generally points to the right direction. 

He looks at the map, satisfied with his predictions.

He’ll win this.

He wants to live, after all.

The first day in battle wasn’t much. He’d decimated the enemy’s forces easily with his planning. There are some lapses in terms of honor but it’s something he and the people involved don’t care about when it’s in the face of their lives. He’s made sure that the people he fought with have something to fight for. Everyone with a family at home, desperate to go home with success on their palms like medallions.

No casualties.

The second day, the enemy forces were prepared but not to the extent that Technoblade was expecting. He overestimated their generals. There’s nothing wrong with that. He didn’t waste much supplies on their overestimation. It’s a worthy waste.

The numbers of the enemy forces dwindle, but he makes sure to be cautious not to push on beyond the capabilities of the men fighting for him. Technoblade pulls back when he realizes that it’s too suspicious that the enemies are too easily defeated. The bloodshed is secondary to the success they’ve been gaining.

Technoblade had called the army back before they could get ambushed.

He did the right call. The enemy are starting to get more astute.

The casualties on his side starts to grow, and that much is inevitable when the enemy forces are drawing back on the other territories and are blowing full force on his territory. He’d expected this much, especially when he’s been getting reports from adjacent fields that noticed how the enemy’s numbers had dwindled and that the battle became stale. Their intention becomes clearer.

They want to claim this land for the same reason that was mentioned in Metanoia.

Technoblade writes a letter requesting for more resources on his field as well as the stamps of multiple prominent soldiers in his camp. Niki, of the family Ophibrius will be seeking aid from the Head of their house for a vouch. Technoblade is glad that he’s in the good graces of hers. He’s seen what it’s like being hated by her and let it not be known that he is not at all jealous of Wilbur.

Days after, more men are sent to him. 

The battle becomes easier then on. 

Eventually with his prowess in battle, leading from the front while having the mind to be able to counter the unbelievable odds at such a quick pace, he’d been donned with a title. Blade of the Gods. The Blood God. The True Blade of the Empire. Some things remain consistent across worlds.

People often mistake his pink hair as red, matching with the ruby eyes of his Mother’s line. Often at front and center of battle, Technoblade gets drenched in blood and gore and the bodies pile up so quickly at his feet that he constantly has to move to not get trapped in his own murders. 

A demi-god, they call him.

At this point they’re not too far off from the truth.

With the good rumors come the arrival of the worse ones. People are worried. There are murmurs everytime Technoblade returns from battle soaked in blood. They look at him in awe and fear.

And he hears it. Technoblade’s ears perk up at the sound.

“He must be going unstable.”  Someone murmurs, “Aren’t the Blessed volatile?”  

He turns around to face the gossiper, and he sees them visibly shrink at his gaze. Technoblade takes his helmet off of his head, and he places it on his hip with his hand as support. They look at the floor when he approaches him. “Let me make this clear,” Technoblade tells him, making sure that his voice does not imply danger. He’s already soaked in blood, an even more intimidating image would be detrimental to him. Technoblade whips his head around to address the rest of the onlookers. “Since I’ve become Duke of my house, I have refused to use my Blessing.” He says, raising his voice to be heard. “You can believe it or not, but 

“I will not die on this field, and neither will all of you when under my hand.” He looks at the others, the younger soldiers who have been conscripted into the battlefield. “Not even by my own hand.” He announces. “So take it out of your heads that I will be unstable, that I might explode amongst you, because I have yet to ever light the fuse of that glass canon you imagine me to be.” Technoblade eyes the man who had gossiped. “The only one in the field that you should fear is if you’d fare well against the enemy I tell you to face.” He says.

Technoblade steps back, and he turns to walk towards his tent.

The blood was getting sticky on the helmet. 

Blood god or not, gore stinks.

Technoblade had been in the middle of battle when he’d come across something so distinctly similar to something he’s seen before. Someone had nearly gotten him in the back, and it would have hit his chest plate if someone hadn’t intervened. Technoblade’s eyes widen at the familiar sight. He watches as the blonde man on a black steed turns around, and it feels almost like deja vu how he grins at him. 

“I’ve been briefed on the plan.” Phil says. “Look at you, actin’ like a true Blade.” The man says lightheartedly.

He dons his own armor, helmet with the decoration of wings on where the ears are. Phil unslings a bow from his chest and knocks an arrow back, shooting it at something behind Technoblade. “Go on, kid, I’ve got your back.” Phil says,

And Phil has been on this sort of field longer than Technoblade has–at least, in this world. 

So like Technoblade, he’s already been given a title in battle.

Angel of Death. 

Some things truly don’t change.

He fights a lot more smoothly on the field, that day.

“I assume that whatever I’ve seen on your brother is something that made itself known a few months back.” Phil asks as they share a meal on the table. He haphazardly places a bowl of stew on the map Technoblade has meticulously planned on. Some things, Technoblade thinks begrudgingly, really don’t change. 

The voices cackle. 

“He’d manifested early.” 

“That seems more like a symptom rather than a diagnosis.” Phil notes. “Are you certain there’s nothing you know?”

Technoblade raies Phil’s stew and he hands it to the old man. “Just focus on the war, I want this finished so I can go home and settle that.”

“You say that like we can finish an entire war in a week.”

He doesn’t tell Phil about the Antarctic Empire. He wants to, though. 

Technoblade is starting to wonder why the casualties in the field have started to go down despite the rise in difficulty. It’s not like he’s upset about it, he’s glad, actually. We’re Not. The voices let their opinions be known. But the point is, he had been prepared for the casualties in battle to increase– a necessary sacrifice to end this war early enough that it doesn’t last for three damned years.

Except the people who he thought would have certainly died when he spots them being dragged back to camp are alive and well the next three days. Technoblade could make a joke there but he doesn’t recall what mythology that is. 

So easily, to account for his calculations, Technoblade had to visit the tent where his men were treated.

And it’s surprisingly… well. There isn’t much gore, at least not as much as he’d expected. Some men are hopeless with their amputated limbs or ears that they couldn’t ever regrow, and some are injured enough that they could be sent home.

But there are only three bodies covered in white sheets.

Three.

That is far too low for it not to be anything other than a miracle.

He notices how the voices go quiet, murmurs rumbling at the back of his head and nothing else. He asks the nurse, the one who pulls open the tent of the infirmary, and he tells Technoblade that their casualties are very little, and the mortality rate is near miraculous. Some say that a god has blessed their war.

The murmurs in his head go loud and quiet at intervals and Technoblade feels like he’s playing hot and cold with the voices in his head.

No spoilers. The voices yell among themselves. STITCHES FOR SNITCHES. Snitches get no BITCHES. Technoblade’s head would have ached if it weren’t already. 

“Look alive, Nurses.” The nurse beside him announces, “The General Blade is here!” 

They rise synchronously, and all of them wear their masks and hats.

But he sees someone he recognizes, looking down. His eyes are blue and there’s no hiding the fact that he’s blond with how the hat doesn’t cover the eyebrows.

Caught.

Technoblade races towards that nurse, and he rips off their mask.

“ Thomas ,” He hisses. He grabs his wrist, and he pulls the kid along with him. 

“Sir Technoblade–!”

“He is not supposed to be here.” Technoblade places his ire on the head nurse. “This kid is my brother, he is thirteen years old, ” He says, and he watches as the Nurse gapes.

His face blanks, but it turns stern not a moment later. “Your brother, then, has been reducing the casualties since the day he arrived. Do you know how many families will be saved from grief?”

“And what of mine?” Technoblade retorts. “What else would be left to mourn for me if this camp goes down, with my brother with me?” He says. “Now stay in your post, you might have been conscripted but I know without a doubt that Thomas wouldn’t have signed up with his true identity.” He tells him off and he paces quickly to his own tent.

Tommy is trying hard to get Technoblade to let go, but the man doesn’t relent. 

“Fucking–” Tommy curses, pulling his hand from Technoblade’s grip, and he stumbles along when Technoblade continues to walk. “Fucking wait!” He doesn’t.

He walks in silence, hearing the mocking cackles of the voices in his head while they sing their jeers at him.

Phil had seen them on the way to the tent, and he sees Tommy and realization dawns on his face. He gives Technoblade a look, one that Technoblade does not reciprocate, and he walks past the man.

Technoblade could hear him vaguely as he tries to placate the nurses that leave their post to argue with the general.

They’re finally inside, and he shoves Tommy further into the tent.

The kid doesn’t fall, but he does stumble.

“What are you doing here?” Technoblade hisses, “You’re supposed to be runnin’ the house!” He grabs Tommy by the shoulders, looking at him at eye level. 

Tommy glares up at Technoblade defiantly. “The house will be fine.” He says, “I have a friend in there running things in my stead.”

Technoblade looks at Tommy’s neck and finds the notable lack of the emerald necklace on it, and he looks back up at Tommy’s eyes. “Who did you give it to?” He asks.

“I have it!” Tommy exclaims, he grabs the Emerald from his pocket and he shoves it into Technoblade’s hand. “We forged another stone for him–”

“ For whom. ” 

“We met in the Nevadas Banquet.” Tommy says, and Technoblade doesn’t believe that because Tobias and Ran can’t possibly run the House of Blades. “Stop fucking gripping me! I’m not going anywhere.”

“On the contrary, I want you away from here.”

“Not a fucking chance!”

“That’s not an option!”

“Fucking–”

“When I left you in that house I left you with the confidence that you wouldn’t have to be the one who leaves the manor!”

“I came here so you wouldn’t–”

“And what of your Blessing?” Technoblade grips Tommy’s hands, and he steals Tommy’s gloves from off it. His hands are glowing, crackling at the tips with remnants of the Blessing lingering. Tommy winces, 

He’d confirmed it long ago, that Tommy’s abilities remain the same.

Maybe it was inevitable that he’d get this Blessing, but Technobalde had been thinking that the other problems surrounding this Blessing are much more evitable . Technoblade abhors how one by one his plans are being evaded. 

All by this kid.

“We don’t even know if this Blessing of yours will kill you.” Technoblade says. “I want you out of here by dawn.”

“I haven’t gone volatile I swear–”

“And when you do, then what?” He retorts. “Then you go berserk, and you kill at the simplest push, and you will explode–”

“That won’t happen–”

“And I will have to be the one to kill my own brother, under the order of the king.” Technoblade says, “And I will rather have anyone else’s blood on my hand than yours, but eventually even I won’t be able to stop the onslaught that they’ll lay on our family and you will die– ”

“SO FUCKING WHAT IF I DIE?” Tommy yells.

It renders Technoblade quiet.

He’s right.

The kid is right, because Tommy doesn’t have to live to prevent the apocalypse. Killing the kid was always an option but Technoblade had forgotten that it was. The kid could always just die before the apocalypse could even begin to be a possibility, and that would clear Technoblade of all the problems. He could live his life as a Duke without holding the hand of a child who is basically a ticking time bomb for the entire world. 

So why couldn’t he just let the kid die?

He looks at Tommy, and he really looks. He looks at the kid’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and that same fiery expression on his face, and he can’t help but know that he will always. always be endeared to the kid. To any version of the kid. That he will see any instance of Tommy and say that he will protect him, that he will never leave him again, that he will do everything in his power to never make the same mistake of turning his back ever again. 

And the cracks aren’t the same, the pieces are all crooked, and they all don’t fit the frame that Technoblade has in his mind, but Tommy is Tommy.

He doesn’t think he could ever bear his death on his conscience ever again.

Not even if it isn’t him anymore.

So wordlessly, Technoblade grabs Tommy by the back of his neck, and he pulls the kid to his chest. Tommy, surprised at the act, doesn’t fight it. He stumbles towards Technoblade. Technoblade takes in a shaky breath, and he shuts his eyes.

Epiphanies are difficult moments in life, he has to admit. It’s especially hard when he has to verbally admit to it. 

“Please,” Technoblade says in a softer voice, one that contrasts his and Tommy’s outburst just moments ago. “Please, never say that again.” 

And he recognizes that his voice is vulnerable, shaky, but he doesn’t care. Because these things, these things are the affirmations he should have properly said once upon a time. The words that someone, anyone should have said to a child who will be mourned– was mourned.

The kid is shorter than him, and humorously he thinks that this too is a constant of every timeline where both Technoblade and Tommy would ever exist. 

Tommy lasts there for a moment, and Technoblade could almost feel Tommy relax.

“I don’t get why you’re so,” Tommy’s voice cracks, and he has to even his breath so he could speak properly. He doesn’t continue what he says. Instead, he shoves Technoblade back, and he wipes his eyes with an angry and frustrated look in his eyes. “Fucking– why do you care so much?” Tommy asks, and he sounds so desperate for an answer. “It doesn’t make any fucking sense– you barely know me.

“So why?” Tommy begs. “Please tell me why you care so much because you’ve been making so fucking— so fucking mad . Tell me what you want me for, what you want to use me for. Give me a reason why you’re like this to me. Tell me what I did, what you want me to do. Please, just—” 

Technoblade’s heart clenches at Tommy’s desperation, watching the kid fall apart before him in the confusion. “I don’t want anything. Tommy.” Technoblade tells the kid. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.” Don’t forget the end of the world~ The voices coo, mocking Technoblade’s sincerity. You’re talking to the ticking time bomb, your placating words should mean nothing. Liar. Liar. Liar.

“Then fucking why ?”

“Why do you keep insistin’ to join me here?” Technoblade asks, because it should be as simple as that. “Answer that question for me.”

Tommy’s mouth gapes, and Technoblade watches as his vulnerable confusion goes back to rage. “I don’t want to lose this.” Tommy says, “I don’t want to lose you. ” 

“Then the same works here.” Technoblade answers. “Tommy I–”

“You don’t get it–!”

“It’s clear cut to me, kid.” Technoblade retorts.

"I don’t want to lose you!" Tommy says, red rimmed eyes. "I can't. You don’t fucking understand. I'll… I'll shatter. It will shatter me." Tommy laughs, almost pathetically. “Again,” He chuckles like it’s a joke, “It’s going to break me apart again.” He says wetly. 

And Technoblade thinks that’s alarming. It raises some flags, because he recognizes that– this has happened before. It could mean so many things. 

Does the kid know that he’s been broken once before? Is it a different occasion, one that marks this Thomas different from the one he knows?

Tommy frustratedly wipes the tears from his eyes and he sobs, “Just, gods fucking damn it I’m a fucking mess.” Tommy inhales.

“Kid–”

“No, shut up, and you listen to me.” Tommy points at Technoblade’s chest. “I didn’t fucking have you before.” Tommy says, and his words don’t make sense until he continues:

“Because you died. Technoblade.” 

Technoblade blanks out. What did he say? 

“You fucking– you were supposed to die to the families, and then dad followed after and I was supposed to be left alone to Clementine–”

Oh, he spilled. The voices say disappointed, That’s so boring they comment. But Technoblade can’t get too mad because he’s still astounded. Watching as Tommy narrates everything that Technoblade had always known about the kid. As he narrates the plot of Metanoia, his life, the way he’d been used by Clementine, how it ‘all went to shit’. How he was depraved, cruel, fucked up,

Then when Tommy woke up next,

He’s received news that Technoblade is in the manor, and that Clementine was replaced.

Technoblade knows then and there what Phil had found similar between the two of them. The attention of the gods, their arbitrary mercies granted to the both of them in some divine intervention. Technoblade doesn’t know how, but he now knows what.

The kid knows. The kid knows everything that Technoblade knows about Metanoia, everything about Tommy’s life.

Tommy is like him.

But he’s Thomas .

Tommy hadn’t mentioned one key detail between him waking up and how:
“You ended the world,” Technoblade tells Tommy. “You ended the world that had wronged you so, and you smiled as you did so.” Technoblade says.

And Tommy’s already watering eyes glisten as it finally clicks in his head. "You…" Tommy sounds so tired, and vulnerable, and the smallness of his voice must betray the rampant wave of confusion in him. "You know..?" There’s some sort of relief in Tommy’s words as he speaks. 

"I know. I know how they mistreated you and lied to.” Technoblade says. “How you’d been cathartic at the first rejection you’ve given for your Blessing, how you’ve grown bitter because of all the people who only knew how to use you, how you’ve been pushed to the brink.” Technoblade grips the emerald necklace tighter, he stares at it, at the blade carved into the jewel, “How you’ve never gotten to hold this necklace. Not once. Never before.”

Tommy is quiet, eyes wide with a mix of emotions. His eyes are so blue, Technoblade can’t help but note that. “Is this… is this why you’ve been nice to me?” Tommy asks, “Pity?”

Technoblade shakes his head. “You’re more than pity.” Technoblade says.

I miss Theseus. I miss our little godling. Little godling’s gone.

Technoblade slings the emerald pendant around his wrist, showing it to Tommy like it’s the answer.  “I told you once before, didn’t I?” He asks.

And Tommy’s eyes water. “Stop it.” Tommy begs, and Technoblade doesn’t know what he’s begging for. “Stop. I’m not the brother you’re hoping for.” Tommy says desperately.

“Because you’re Tommy.” Technoblade says, and with guilt in his heart he lets the kid interpret it how he will–but Technoblade, he’d selfishly tell him half the truth. “You’re Tommy and you could be loud and crass and angry at me or the world but nothing will change that you’re my brother.” He tells the kid. “And I’ll be here for you for the rest of your life to remind you of that.”

And some part of him is guilty for reusing the words he wishes he’s said.

Tommy sniffles, and he chuckles lightly. “I’m not a kid.” He tells Technoblade.

Technoblade snorts, and he grabs the kid and envelops him in a hug. “You’ve lived long enough without a childhood.” Technoblade responds. “I told you, didn’t I? You get to be a kid this life.” He says. “You can live that life with me around.”

The next day comes, and they compromise. Technoblade won’t be sending Thomas home as long as Thomas stays in the infirmary and continues to hide his ability. The nurses who had been with him had looked relieved at Thomas’ return, and they glare at Technoblade with quiet mumbles among himself.

Sue him for being protective of the kid.

He just wasn’t aware that the kid knew better.

And the kid is there for when Technoblade’s company depart that rainy day on the field. Technoblade dons his armor with a lighter heart and with a good idea of the fact that he will have to talk more to Tommy about the matter.

For now he lets the two of them be at ease.

There’s a mutual understanding between the two of them.

So when he’s about to mount his horse, Technoblade calls for Tommy to come closer. He tosses the emerald necklace to the kid who catches it. He doesn’t look too sure of what to do with it. “Give it back to me until you get the emerald I promised you.” Technoblade answers his unspoken question, and he ruffles the kid’s hair .

He goes on his steed to get to the front lines. 

He gives Tommy a confident grin before the horse trots. 

It’s raining. It shouldn’t be shocking. After all, it happens often enough on the field. If anything, this should be to Technoblade’s advantage since he’s a lot more skilled in any terrain of battle compared to anyone else. This also means that while his allies struggle behind him to see what’s going on, he’s far ahead mowing his own way forward. 

They’ve done considerable progress under the guide of Phil and the rest of the generals. They’ve pushed back the enemy enough and their territory is widespread enough that it’s almost certain that they’d be winning. Just a little more, and the battle will be won and consequentially they would win the war eventually.

The only issue now is the rest of the war. It should be a domino effect, but his success here should lead to good things and a smoother sail compared to the novel itself. The strife shouldn’t last for much longer, and if it does, it shouldn’t be just as bad.

But there’s something wrong with today. Technoblade could feel it like how the calm in the waves prior a tsunami. It’s ironic, because contrary to the horrible weather things have been going smoothly. Technoblade knows well enough not to pursue the enemy too quickly, that he has to take his time as he’d calculated.

As usual. Only act as usual. Only step forward as usual. Do not get too greedy.

Phil’s got his back, after all, and the rest of the army had learned to catch up to his strict but patient pace.

Except that’s what he did wrong. As usual does not account for the visibility. It does not account for the sounds around him, how Phil can’t see as well as his Phil can in the rain, how his soldiers fall back short in every step he takes.

And he’d only realized this fault of his when there’s a blade piercing through his gut, sheathed between the crack of his armor. 

Technoblade thinks it’s a horrible thing, to be cursed not to remember his faults until after he’s suffering its consequences. How he realized that maybe he should have gotten that emerald for Tommy much sooner, or maybe he should have seen this coming, how maybe he should have waited for Phil, or  that it was a mistake that he allowed the kid to stay in the camp instead of sending him home.

How he promised to stay.

Because now he’d have to come face to face with a corpse and broken promises, and an emerald won’t be coming back to him.

He wonders how Tommy would break this time. The sky isn’t crackling. They don’t laugh at him. Not yet.

We told you, the voices coo in his head, and the first time in ages they are calm and collected, singing to him like it’s a final gift. We told you to bring the kid along, didn’t we? Technoblade feels his consciousness waning, fading in small bursts until he stops having to do anything. Until the energy he puts into breathing isn’t even enough anymore, until the energy he puts into keeping his lids up stops being enough.

One of us, Atlas, the voices sing in unison. You can rest now, he watches as the blue of the sky fades into grey, and that blond spot in the distance turns black. 

Technoblade shuts his eyes for the last time.

He wonders if he’ll find anyone in this afterlife.

He wonders if he’ll spend eternity alone.

You’ve done enough. The voices say.

Until even they fade.

Technoblade had remembered the lack of fulfillment. He did what he wanted to do. He’d avenged Theseus. His killer will rot, stuck in his body and unable to move on. He’d made sure of that.

But now he’s gone, and there’s no fulfillment.

So he immersed himself in the books.

Solace where it doesn’t know him nor what he lost.

Metanoia was the one he particularly liked. It was cathartic. It was revenge. Hopeful thinking led to failure, and he took solace in the fact that something so distinctly different could have mustered the same words as what he’d felt and wished. The world ended, and Technoblade could only hope the same. But it’s wishful thinking with every read of the book. It’s wishful thinking for every time he reads Thomas’ sufferings and plead for an intervention.

But wishful thinking was eventually all he had left.

Along with an empty tundra that everyone but him had left long ago. He couldn’t bear to leave. It felt like betraying a memory in his long life. He hadn’t wanted to replace this, not like what everyone else had done.

The forest was the one thing that keeps him company then.

The forest, and a worn book.

The brightness should have been blinding, but to his shock he doesn’t have to squint at the sudden lightness. He can’t feel that stinging in his eyes and that constant migraine present in his head. Technoblade looks aground.

And he sees nothing except one person.

Technoblade abhors it, how much he really misses that red and white shirt and those damned khaki shorts. Blue eyes that look at him with a specific recognition . He looks at the kid before him, and he’s never felt so glad before.

“Hey, Tech,” Tommy’s voice is weak, and he sounds hesitant. It’s like Technoblade couldn’t be all the more happier with seeing him again. To say everything he had always wanted to say. The Tommy he sees before him looks so much more like Thomas, with the lack of fresh bruises and the healthier glow to his skin.

Technoblade doesn’t know if he should be happy that Tommy looks so much more lively when dead.

“Theseus,” Technoblade breathes. All the words he wants to say, all at the tip of his tongue but unable to let itself be known. He abhors it, because he doesn’t know.

Does he have all the time in the world, now that he’s dead?

He can’t risk it. He’s tired of waiting, and letting time take everything from him. “Tommy–”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Tommy raises a hand. He takes a seat somewhere, and Technoblade doesn’t know what he’s sitting on because everything is just a void of white. Regardless, Technoblade sits by Tommy’s side. He wants to say anything, but, well, he’s been floundered by the blonde who had said he didn’t have to.

“How… how have you been?” He asks, and winces at the horrible small talk. Tommy— wait, Thomas was right. Technoblade is shit at this type of thing.

But now that he’s died, and he’s broken this entire “Technoblade Never Dies” spiel, he should have all the time in the world to improve on that.

Tommy, though, seems to be aware of it. He laughs, and he punches Technoblade on the shoulder. “You are so fucking dumb.” Technoblade chuckles. “I, well, I’m dead.” He leans back, and Technoblade can’t guess what it is that Tommy is leaning on. All he’s seeing is this white space and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Technoblade looks away at staring at this endless white. “I wish you weren’t.”

“I can’t say the same.” Tommy shuts his eyes and he bumps his head back. “It’s quiet here, for one. It wasn’t like this the first time.” He has this serene look on his face.

First time? “Where is here?” He asks instead. Technoblade looks around, trying to see what he’s looking for.

Tommy laughs at that, and Technoblade sends him a look.

“Sorry, it’s just that it’s fucken weird to be on this end of things, this time. Wilbur had been the one to greet me when it was my turn.” Tommy sighs wiping his face with his hands likely as a force of habit, but there’s still that amused look on his face. “You’re not going to be seeing much of anything ‘round here.”

Technoblade frowns, and Tommy must have taken that as a prompt to continue. “You’re not dying.” Tommy says, “This is temporary. Don’t worry about it.”

And there it is yet again, a recurrent sensation when he’s around this kid. The frequent dread that comes with having to deal with Tommy Innit, the young boy who knows not much of anything other than to bother Technoblade– even in death.

“The fuck is that look for?” Tommy questions, like he doesn’t know how much he’d ruined Technoblade.

Technoblade inhales, and he doesn’t know why he needs to do it. There’s no air in the afterlife. But the fill in his lungs is satisfying, constricting and filling his chest with something .

“Haven’t I done enough?” Technoblade asks, and there’s a begging tone to that question. “Haven’t I… Just, isn’t this enough?”

He looks at Tommy, and he sees that look. It’s something that he doesn’t often see on the kid, because he never takes his time. He’s always on his toes, and if not, he’s always ahead– leaping, running, leaving not a single moment to think. This is one of the rare moments where Tommy takes it in, lets his mind wrap around something slowly.

“You want to die.”

It isn’t a question.

So there was no need for an answer.

Tommy looks up, as if he’s pleading with something, someone . “I, I fucked up, didn’t I?” he asks in this deprecating tone that he heard too often from Wilbur. This kid really takes after that guy. Technoblade can’t imagine why.

“We did,” Technoblade smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes nor does it tell true of what he’s really feeling. Because yes, they both fucked up, and it was so blatant in hindsight how much the both of them mattered to each other but the underestimation of each other’s capability to get attached had hindered any willingness to be loyal. Tommy had thought that L’manburg would have cared for him more than Technoblade–and he can’t say he was wrong, there’s no measuring how much Tubbo loved his best friend, but that didn’t remove any of the affection Technoblade had for the kid.

And that’s where it went wrong.

It was always a matter of choosing a side, so of course it would have defaulted to a matter of who cared more.

“No, no listen.” Tommy brushes his hair up, pulling it slightly out of frustration. “You did something right, you did so much right that I can’t even decide where to begin.” Tommy puts his hands to the front now fiddling and trying to do something . “You did me right,” he whispers.

Technoblade swallows, and he wants to say how isn’t true. How it’s wrong, and how Tommy had so little good done for him. Too little, and too late. He wishes he could do better. He wishes that he still could. He wishes that he has this eternity to make it up for the kid.

“So I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took both of us at Death’s domain for me to finally say it. I’m sorry it took me dying to apologize, and I’m sorry that I betrayed and took for granted everything you did for me.” Tommy says.

“This part of me that you know, I’m dead.” Tommy says. “And there’s a reason I’m here and no one else is.”

“You’re dead is all I’m hearin’.” Technoblade retorts.

“I saw you, by the way.” Tommy says, changing the topic. “Tubbo and Ranboo were pretty vicious. Didn’t really think I’d elicit that type of reaction.” Tommy chuckles, “and you did me right.” Tommy answers. “You did me right. 

And Technoblade has no words.  

Tommy seems to know why. “Don’t worry.” Tommy says. “Time here for as long as I’ve died? I’ve had time to reflect.” Tommy tells Technoblade. “I was just waiting for you before I could go.”

“Go?” Technoblade asks, and the panic returns. He’s only seen Tommy once more again and now he’s leaving. 

“This is more like… hm, purgatory. Limbo. You’re not supposed to stay here for long.” Tommy says. “With that said you and I have separate directions. I’m just glad I finally saw you before I move on to the next.”

“Tommy, wait–”

The pinkett grabs Tommy’s hands, and he realizes that he has his three fingers still when he does so. With the familiarity of his body Technoblade reaches for an earring that hangs from one of his floppy ears, and he grabs the emerald. 

The motion makes the kid’s eyes water when the emerald is placed into the palm of the kid’s hands. 

“I saw you bullshit this to me too, you know?” Tommy laughs. “Family? Look at you you cheesy dumbass.” 

“It’s true.” Technoblade tells him, and Tommy shuts up. “The lie was the friend.”

Tommy smiles, and it’s a bittersweet grin. He looks up, and his blue eyes are teary. “You know, I won’t be alone in there.” Tommy says, and Technoblade doesn’t know what he’s referring to. “There’s another life waiting for me, I’m just waiting for my train to arrive.”

“Why can’t I join you?”

“Because you’re already there.” Tommy answers.

Technoblade balks, and Tommy snorts at his dumb expression. “Jesus, and I thought you were the nerd here.” Tommy complains, rolling his eyes. “Thomas, you dumbass.”

And it.

It makes sense in a way.

“He may not have my memories, not like you, but he’s every bit of Tommy as the one you know.” He tells him. “He’s a Tommy who you’ve done nothing but right to

“And he’s thirteen years old too. A friend of ours made sure we started young.” Tommy places his head on his hand, leaning forward as if watching something. “You have the rest of your lives to make up for us.” He grins, and his heart breaks at the acceptance that Tommy presents to him. Tommy stands up,

“Watch the hand.” Tommy warns while he walks out.

And much to his expectations, Technoblade is grabbed by the shoulder and dragged back, being pulled through something narrow. He can’t see what, but he can feel like he’s going through some sort of crevice.

All he can see is white, and he can’t see Tommy anymore.

The light dwindles.

It flickers, and it reminds him of a light going past a window– a train.

He sees nothing.

Until he does, where the remaining light dissipates into something shaded, a tent with the sun peeking through the small gaps in the cloth that can’t shield his eyes. Technoblade shuts his eyes as the consistent migraine grows into his head.

He feels things now, less like the synthetic sensation he’d felt earlier. He looks to the side, and he’s met with a splash of familiar color.

He sees Tommy. There’s an emerald hanging from his neck, and it’s lackluster. Not when compared to the glowing sapphire eyes that are staring right at him. 

The kid’s face is blotchy, red and tearstained. His eyes are puffy, and if Technoblade hadn’t known the situation he would have been both very amused and also extremely pissed– because who dare make Tommy cry?

Technoblade starts to feel a thrumming sensation, and he realizes it’s Tommy gripping his hand tight, then loose, at intervals that almost make up a rhythm. Technoblade watches as the kid reacts to Technoblade growing conscious.

“You’re holdin’ m’hand.” Technobalde drawls, giving Tommy a lazy grin.

Tommy’s face splits into an odd mix of a frown and a grin, until he laughs something wet. It’s hard to discern if it’s a sob or a laugh anymore. The kid launches himself into Technoblade’s arms, spilling so much heartfelt profanities and curses that some of the Nurses had to cover their ears just to protect their sanctity.

“I thought you fucking died.” Tommy sobs, "I thought I was too fucking late."

Technoblade chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint you, kid.” He jests, “I still have that emerald to get you, don’t I?”

He thinks this calls for a brief break from the field. Maybe even a few years.

Phil can handle this on his own for a few years. 

Back in the Tundra, it’s long desolate. There’s an image that’s stored inside a chest, and a turtle helmet that was once delicately cared for. 

The bell is dusted, having long been abandoned. 

Somehow the heavy air in that area had become lighter, like memories released its clutches from the home once loved and now abandoned. 

There are no inhabitants in the area.

So the helmet, the pictures, and the bell. It matters not to anyone in that place. 

Elsewhere the memories are fonder, held more delicately than the care placed on the material objects.

Someone is at peace.

The forest quivers, and it sinks into the shadows as if it never existed.

There is no trace of them in that place. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

METANOIA, Epilogue

When Thomas opened his eyes again he did not see the overwhelming audience and the burning puppets. Instead, he’s met with a ceiling that he hasn’t seen in so long, and a peace that hasn’t touched his skin since Clementine’s arrival into his home. Thomas is without a doubt confused about it.

He sits up, and he looks around. 

Timely enough, Clara knocks at his door, and opens it. She looks pleasantly surprised to see Thomas awake. Most notable though is the fact that she is significantly younger, and she still dons the older uniform that Clementine hadn’t meddled with yet. 

He blinks, wordlessly going along with a routine that he hasn’t done for a while now. He notices belatedly how the room is taller than he remembers.

Or maybe he’s just shorter than he should be.

It doesn’t take long for him to know what had happened. For some inexplicable reason, he’s been sent back in time. Thomas does not know what he’s accomplished to reward him with a second chance but if this happened then he will have to take his  steps with caution. Everything with a plan, and all that he knows will be used to his advantage.

His father is dying.

His brother will die.

His House will fall.

The world will end.

Thomas wishes naught of such. 

Soon, Clementine will claim the title of the Dowager Duchess, and his house will be drained of its glory by the very houses sworn into protecting it. Egon, Godric, Brant. Thomas remembers all of their faces. Thomas remembers every slight against himself. He has plans, and he knows it’d be an uphill climb but as soon as he can prove that he could rule the household on his own, he could remove Clementine from the manor and stop her from grappling for more power. 

Thomas' plan is slow, creeping, but it’s sure. Because he knows his environment. He knows what will happen because he’s always dreamed of this. He’s theorized everything, all of it in hindsight. Played and replayed in his head as wishful ‘what-ifs’. 

Slow, creeping, sure. Certain. 

Except it isn’t. Because one day he hears the manor go into chaos from outside his room. This doesn’t happen. Not even back in Clementine’s hold. The people have hopeful expressions on their faces, glorious as if they’ve won a battle. Spiteful to an extent as they prepare for something.

Clara was the one to finally tell him.

That his brother has come home.

The brother that was supposed to die. 

Technoblade. 

Thomas hasn’t seen him, nor does he remember anything about him. Technoblade was as absent in his life and in his memories as his own Father who had fallen ill after his mother had shattered. He’s alive, and for a while Thomas cannot bring himself to believe that it will change things. He cannot do this to himself again. Hope is a fickle yet stubborn thing that he refuses to let live once more.

Yet time passes, and eventually the first change happens. Thomas is called into his father’s room. 

He sees him. There’s no abandon in his eyes this time. Thomas would know. He shares the same pair of eyes. “Father.” Thomas greets with a bow, and when his eyes look up once more he sees something jarringly emotional. Something Thomas cannot recognize in his father–perhaps he does know of such a gaze. It was just never worn by his father before. 

“Thomas,” Father calls, and Thomas is easily drawn in. He steps closer to his father’s reach until his hand is in his. It’s cold. Thomas knew not to expect anything otherwise, but it’s almost shocking to see how those eyes do not fit his deathly hands. “My son.” Thomas can’t help but think that he stopped being his son ever since the House had been on its way to ruins. 

And it seems that they had shared the same dilemma. That conflicted gaze is a sinner’s stare. Guilty of a crime he hadn’t wished he committed. Guilty of the neglect.

Thomas hates his father for leaving him in this world.

For being so weak and leaving no opportunity for Thomas to share that weakness. 

For being so selfish.

But a part of him aches for the change and for the hope that one day it will go back to normal. Clementine will leave, and they’d have picnics at the back of the manor where the grass is dewey during breakfast time. 

“Why have you called me here?” Thomas asks with a polite tone, because in truth he does not understand why he was called. He hadn’t been called before, during his first run of things. Thomas hadn’t seen his father in two years prior to the man’s death.

He ignores the blatant hurt in his father’s eyes when Thomas sets that boundary between them. Hurt, and acceptance.

How weak of him.

Thomas wishes he’d had a different father.

“I… have you heard of your brother arriving to the manor?” He asks, and he almost sounds meek. This is the reason why the House fell long before Clementine got her reign on the house. 

If only he were stronger. Strong enough to protect the son he had left.

Strong enough to now stay for the two children he’d be leaving into the hands of the families. But he isn’t, and Thomas is expected to bear the consequences of that weakness.

“I have.” Thomas answered. He says nothing more, not knowing what’s expected of him. 

His father looks away, twisting the loose ring on his finger. He’s gone thinner. Thomas should imagine that it should have come to a shock to him since it’s been a lifetime and two years since he’s last seen his father. Except he isn’t so shocked. Thomas remembers the way the ring hung loose on the finger of this man’s corpse last he saw him. 

“Would it be selfish for me to leave one final request before we part, my son?” He hears his father ask, and Thomas wants so badly to refuse. To hurt him. To let him know Thomas’ thoughts on the things that he’s done–on the things he did not do.

“What is it that you wish, Your Grace?” Thomas asks.

And he knows how it stings. The formality and the impassivity of being unable to refuse. 

Thomas lets it be known. Their relationship had long since fallen into pieces. He will grant a request, but not as his son. He will do it as someone who is merely of a lower status than a Duke. 

He watches the hurt in his eyes.

Thomas thinks it cathartic.

“Your brother, will you stay by his side?” The Duke says in a pleading voice. He sounds like a man begging a god for yet another blessing. Thomas abhors him. 

But it hurts. It hurts to see what they are. Thomas has thought himself numb to all of this fickle feelings but when faced with the reality that the person the Duke speaks to is no longer the child that had once longed for his companionship, the true flavor of his words sinks into his tongue and declares itself bitter.

He wishes to be naive.

He didn’t want to be this angry.

“Of course.” Thomas answers.

“Thomas.” His father almost sounds like he’s berating him, and Thomas knows not what to think of it. “Please,”

“I will stay by his side and aid him, Your Grace. I swear upon my name.”

“None of that.” The Duke scolds, and Thomas isn’t sure if the expression of shock is clear on his face. “I will have none of this, not anymore.” He says, like the hypocrite. “It had been my fault that you had been left so alone for these past years, but when I am gone this will stop at once. I will not let my mistakes linger past my death, so I will put a halt on it now.

“You have family, Thomas.” The Duke says, and that is the worst lie that could ever be told to Thomas in his life. “You have your Brother, and one day the time will come when you come to realize that maybe Family will be the only thing you have left, and I don’t want you to realize that only when its slipped past your idle fingers.”

Thomas has the urge to do anything to refute that. He’s lived a life without family , and he’s seen many betray their own. These words have no bearing on Thomas, especially when he’d been left alone for a lifetime. A dead mother. A dead father. A dead brother.

Except these words were never uttered to him in the past, has it?

There was no reason to, because there was no hope of such. 

Because there was a dead mother. There will be a dead father. But his brother hasn’t died. He’s past his due date, past the place of which he’s fated to expire, and he’s home . A milestone that Technoblade had never met in the past.

So this little change–Thomas could at least appreciate how it’s obvious.

Father only cares because his heir had come back home. 

It’s conflicting. On one hand it had belittled Thomas’ existence in the face of a brother who was supposed to die. On the other–this little change is a beacon of hope.

He hates it.

He wishes that he could stop, that his fears come true sooner rather than later. That way this hope won’t bring him too high for him to fall from. 

But Thomas sees this kindle in his father’s eyes. He sees a hope. For Thomas. For the House. That warmth on his lips symbolized by whites and that irritating show of gums that Thomas had never expected nor hoped to see ever again.

He’s going to die soon. He’s going to be leaving Thomas to be tugged on, scraps torn into thinner pieces while people feast on his kindness. 

Why is he smiling?

He’d expected some things to change, but not so soon. With the news of his brother’s arrival comes with the news of Clementine’s departure. Clementine Egon, the Dowager Duchess, she had left the Manor. Thomas doesn’t know what to make of it. He’d planned to frame her himself so he could kick her out in his own right, but he didn’t expect for her to leave.

Father hasn’t even died yet.

This is all within the day. A single day , yet already so much has changed. 

Clementine Egon has left.

The largest hindrance in his path is gone, and… and Thomas is left with nothing but emptiness. He doesn’t know what to do, because there was this grandiose plan of sending Clementine out of the house with her reputation and the Egon family ruined, except that’s gone now. 

In its stead is his brother.

Technoblade, the Heir of the House of Blades. Thomas has no opinions on such a man. He has no idea what to think of him. He’s never met him before. Thomas’ memories of the man are short and far in between and Thomas has lived more than a lifetime’s worth of memories for him to even remember him. 

Not when he’d died so early on. 

They were separated long before that too. Technoblade had manifested, and his gift was one that had, according to the stories, nearly killed their mother. 

It’s why everyone had been so keen on avoiding him. He’s the one who had set the woman on a faster course to her own self-destruction. No one could blame her for wanting to protect her son, for bearing the weight of his manifestation, but everyone could loathe the young boy Technoblade for taking from them a perfectly competent Duchess.

Thomas knew then and there that this vulnerability is what caused the family to fall apart. The families had preyed on the weak father, convincing him to send the young boy–his brother to the merciless camps.

Thomas knows little of Technoblade himself save for the stories.

The stories of fear and despair that shaped Thomas into who he is. 

So he doesn’t know what to feel about Technoblade kicking Clementine out. He doesn’t know how to feel about Technoblade being back. About him being alive. 

Because Thomas couldn’t expect anything. 

He isn’t even sure if Technoblade would be willing to keep him in the house at all. 

So from a distance, Thomas watches. From a window in his room he sees the man going in and out of the manor for errands of his own, watching him speak to the servants, listening to the gossip that’s shared between the people who loyally work for them. Thomas is afraid.  

He doesn’t understand him.

This will be a repeat of the past, will it? 

Thomas, like any other day of his existence, is scared .

His father dies today. Thomas is aware of that because he’s counted it down before. The days. He’s counted the days every year, the slow and steady trickling of time into the certainty of how his life would have ended before it actually did. Thomas had once hated this day, but now he’s just accepted it as inevitable. He has no time to waste on these feelings because there were more pressing issues coming.

He stares at his reflection, and he can’t help but feel upset at how empty his eyes look. How desensitized is he by the death of his father?

Thomas looks down to his hands, and he scowls. 

The gods have not granted him an early blessing. They will soon, but not soon enough to avert this. Thomas abhors it. They grant him a chance of reliving and correcting his past, but they won’t allow him the same graciousness with changing it. 

Thomas steps back from the mirror, now looking away from himself. He’s clothed appropriately for a funeral already. All he’s waiting for is himself. The carcass is resting in its last vehicle, where it will be led into its final destination.

Down, under the dirt where it can see very little or none at all.

He walks out of the room, and he braces himself to see the faces that will kill him so slowly and cruelly. Poisonous faces and names that will sink claws into his shoulders and proclaim themselves his wings when they wish to drop him at the first chance they get. 

All because of one unchangeable point in his life.

His father has died.

There is no changing that fact. He’s lost that chance no matter how much he’d pray.

He wonders if Technoblade will die, just as he had before. Just as he should have. Like his father in his deathbed, his brother in war.

The thought is oddly dull in his mind. He’s already accepted that some things will not change. This much he can’t be greedy on. Instead he will allow himself the greed on the things he can control.

People are fickle, easy to sway. Thomas knows little about how to run the house but he knows enough to start without help. These fickle people are those that he will find soon, before the casket of his dearly departed father.

And those faces he’s seen before in perfect attendance. 

All alongside one face he is still unaccustomed to witnessing.

Thomas saw him, finally. The esteemed heir of the House of Blades. The black sheep out of the two of them when everyone had immediately placed their hopes and greeds on Thomas the moment they had kicked Technoblade out of the manor. It’s ironic that it only took his father dying to finally see him face-to-face.

To actually see him in front of him, sparing him a glance. Thomas is a good judge of character but he can’t seem to understand what the older teen feels when he looks at him. There’s something odd in that gaze. Unfit. 

Thomas had thought that Technoblade would have abhorred his supposed replacement.

Except he sees none of such. No animosity. He sees hesitation, and… and grief. Did he grieve their father?

All in six seconds of a mere glance, Thomas had seen all the possibilities that were and weren’t. Technoblade is not unkind. Not to him. Thomas could be sure of that. Thomas isn’t in danger, but he can’t say he’s safe either. 

Because the families. They’re like vultures. Eyes on Technoblade– their new target. The eyes are spared from Thomas but he doesn’t know what to do now that he can’t manipulate the image that they see of him. Not when they’re not even looking. 

All the control he once thought he’d have, the control he hoped to have gained in this turn– it was gone before he could even glimpse at it. His fate ultimately lies in the hands of this man.

It was inevitable for this false hope to spur into life. 

So from behind, where Thomas hides from the attention of the families, he walks closer to his shield and he tugs for his attention. 

He needs to know. 

Desperately, he needs to know if this nothing but a fleeting chance of rest or a sturdy home of safety.

“Will you be leaving?” Thomas almost hopes that he would say yes, that he would give him the truth that he would leave and return to the war to die. That he would leave Thomas so he could be left to his own devices. To plot on his own with the idea that there is no one on his side that he has to care about. No one but himself.

But the pink-haired man tends to his weeds, caring for it. Just as a blind man mistakes wheat for the pests of nature. He answers: “No.” He says, watering the weeds of the infertile soil. “Never.” He built a fence around the fruitless soil.

Thomas wants to crush this hope.

Why is this man cradling it so gently?

He grasps greedily.

Protect me, his mind screams , protect me in a way you always should have. It almost sounds like it’s begging.

They share little words since then. Technoblade is a silent man, but his presence speaks many enough for the both of them. No one approaches them for small talk save for the half-hearted attempts to start with their condolences. Even Thomas, stranger to his brother, could tell that he is unapproachable.

And easily it’s the best position to be in. No one will approach Technoblade, so with Thomas by his side he is by extension protected from people who wishes to speak with him.

The burial rites are coming to an end, and already he could feel all their syncronized stares rest upon the two brothers. Thomas had been the one to host this meeting the first time around, so he has no idea what to do now that he’s not at all expected to sit at the table.

He can’t help but imagine how it will go in that room.

How they would press on him, claiming that they will help him and that in order for them to do it to the best of their abilities they will need to have some control over his power. Like a fool, he’d agreed. He was so young.

Technoblade is much older, but he can’t trust that the man would be safe from naivety. 

But he can’t tell him, can he? He can’t warn him not to trust them.

Thomas is powerless, in a position where he can only watch as the strings gets tugged by another person. It is a helplessly familiar situation where he can’t help but just wait until the reins get handed to him.

When this man dies.

He watches as one woman averts her eyes, and another looks away, and slowly all of them eventually look save for one. His aunt, an unfamiliar one who is not at all present in the business of the house since his mother died.

She steps forward, and Thomas had glimpsed at Technoblade’s face–

Thomas can’t help but be at awe. Stern, scathing, and cruel and cold. He wasn’t sure that this man would have been capable of such an expression, especially when he hadn’t seen a trace of it when he’d looked at Thomas.

He… doesn’t know what ot make of it. He was certain that he’d be soft, almost certain that he’d be naive the moment he’d looked at Thomas without disdain.

Thomas watches wordlessly while Technoblade converses with their aunt, and when she walks past the both of them Thomas had noticed how no one had bombarded Technoblade. 

Their stares shift to him, though, and he could see their placating grins and their soft smiles targeted at him like they plan to lure him in. He abhors them. He hates them.

They ruined him.

They ruined his life. His world. Thomas had no want for power yet they use him to get theirs. 

“Thomas,” His name was called, and Thomas is snapped back into reality.  He looks up at Technoblade, and there’s that look again. It looks kinder than anything he’s seen in a while save from Henry and Clara. “Will you join the audience?”

What?

Is Thomas expected to come with him? He’s not the head of the house, and at his age he’s expected to mingle with the ones outside the meeting to placate the guests with his presence. 

“Will you be needing me?” Thomas asks.

He doesn’t want to be left, and really it’s the lesser of two evils.

“This is your– our house, Thomas.” He doesn’t know how to feel at the correction. Our . It hasn’t felt like he’s really owned anything in a long time. “You call the shots as much as I do, but you always have the option to abstain.”

He was never offered this power. He had to scream and shout to get a morsel of this. 

Thomas doesn’t know what to feel about him. 

This is his brother, but he’s been betrayed by those who call themselves family.

He hates that he knows that this hope will betray him some day. 

He hates how he still indulges in it anyway.

Red . He didn’t think that he’d see it so easily and so soon, but he sees it. Their lifelines. Their blood coursing like string. Maybe Thomas hasn’t been given an opportunity like this before to be angry. He’s always had a tendency to keep it in.

But he doesn’t fucking care, because he’s being forced into that same position all over again.

They will kill Technoblade, Thomas is certain of that. They will kill him so they could get access to a more flexible and malleable puppet. 

Thomas doesn’t want that.

He wants to avoid it at all costs, because he’s sick of it. So calling someone a bastard is nothing compared to their blatant audacity, and cursing is something that will likely ruin his reputation anyway.

Thomas is doing it out of self interest.

Not because Technoblade’s death may be averted. No, it’s because Thomas is certain that they will be at least hesitant in tugging their strings around Technoblade’s joints. Thomas will not let them have an opportunity for him to be used.

“ Thomas! ” Technoblade’s voice rings in his head, and Thomas stills. He turns his head towards Technoblade. His eyes and his anger are not directed at him, but he could feel it. He’ll be punished wouldn’t he? He’s been impudent.

Maybe in Technoblade’s stead, for the sake of some sick revenge, Thomas would be sent to the battlefields this time.

Except he… isn’t.

“He might not be the heir, but he is a Blade.” He says, “Which is to say, he and I might be younger than you but it would do you well to remember that in this room, I hold more power than you.”

Thomas looks at the Godric child, and he sees daggers get stared across the table. Thomas is all to ready to be sent out along with him. To settle with business privately.

When Godric is sent outside, Thomas prepares to leave as well.

“Stay.” Technoblade says, and Thomas, struck with awe, does.

Why?

The rest of the meeting goes by until there’s only himself and Technoblade left. 

Thomas is lacking behind, but something ringing, something like this heavy and irritating sensation in his chest is telling him to just say something. To apologize. To say and let it be known that it wouldn’t be in Technoblade’s best interest to sanction him with a punishment too heavy or to allow himself consideration as his brother–

In his excuses and proclamation of his uses, he is cut off by hands grasping his arms. “Listen to yourself.” Technoblade says sternly. “You do not have to speak about yourself that way. You curse when you wish to, not because you find yourself backed into a corner.” Thomas feels his world-view swirling into something abstract and near nonsensical. “You never have to sully your image for the sake of the House. Do you understand?”

Thomas stills,

Is this what he’s been missing this entire time? Is this what was taken from him? Technoblade was killed, and all of this, all of this kindness and pride as a Blade had been stolen from him?

Thomas had never known what he’d lost before he’d already lost it.

He is treated kindly.

He is treated with pride.

He doesn’t speak to him like he’s a burden left behind by two weak and lacking parents. Technoblade is stern in his reminder that he is a Blade, that he is everything right in being proud. 

Thomas can’t help but despair in those moments despite the blatant goodness that he is experiencing. These things are what he should have known from the start. This are things that he always should have had.

“I’ll be stayin’ around more often. Is that alright with you?”

He’s both inexplicably happy and enraged at those kind words, at the mere question and suggestion that maybe he gets to keep this.

“I don’t really know why you’re asking me. This is just as much your house as it is mine.”

Please, whatever god there is in the sky watching him in these moments. Let him keep this. Anything at all just to keep this.

“Exactly.” There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Thomas wants to scream at the sky and sob. “We’re home, Theseus.”

Thomas mourns what he always should have had.

He stays. Technoblade stays. Stubbornly, he stays. He keeps his promise, and Thomas is starting to abhor it. Why can’t he just leave? He will, eventually, and he’s only prolonging the inevitable. He’s letting the wound dry with the gauze so that it hurts more when it’s ripped. 

He doubts that there is malice in what he’s doing to Thomas. 

It’s disturbing to him how something that comes naturally to Technoblade, the lowest of kindness and consideration, is something so foreign. It only fuels this distinct rage that curls in his gut. This bitterness.

He knows that he’s still himself. He’s still the Thomas that the world had cursed with hatred and abandonment and this mind-shattering loneliness. He knows that everything and everyone save for one remains to be the same.

But the thought of losing this single important change is shattering him before he could even turn into a glass canon. 

He has meals with Technoblade. He’s invited to that banquet– invited , not dragged. Thomas can doubt that he’s really being given a choice, and he can doubt that maybe this attempt of giving him autonomy is all a fluke or some form of manipulation, but the fact remains that he asked.

It’s ridiculous how such a miniscule act of politeness is shifting his entire paradigm.

There’s something stirring in his chest, conflict, certainty, delusion. Contradictory things biting at each other and tearing him from the inside. 

Thomas can’t help but allow himself, at least the surface, just the surface, be pleased with the delusion of a nickname . Something of closeness. A name different of his own that symbolizes a bond. 

Tommy.

It’s informal, and it’s common, but no one had dared call him anything but Thomas before in his lives. Not even his friend, Ran, or Tobias. The thought of this kinship hasn’t even crossed his mind once before. 

He allows himself to like it. To curl around this sentiment. Just at the surface. Just to let Technoblade know that he wants this kindness and that he’d continue to be good for him to keep this up.

Things like these are never unconditional, but in the end Tommy has nothing to lose from deluding Technoblade that he’s happy.

The problem is in keeping vigilant that he shouldn’t fall for this trap. Sincerity is often a lie, a bait dangling like the fruits above a child who can’t climb. 

But Technoblade won’t stop lowering that branch.

It isn’t hard to love him.

Technoblade would look at him and Thomas– no , Tommy can’t help but feel that vulnerability. He could feel it welling behind his own eyes, something clogging his throat. He wants to scream, to question why he’s being treated like this.

It isn’t hard to love him. To trust him as a brother he’s always should have had.

It isn’t hard at all, which makes it all the more troublesome.

He can’t lose this.

It would shatter him, destroy him. Thomas cannot bear to lose those eyes. No matter how he looks himself in the mirror, he cannot reflect those same eyes that look at him with this fondness.

This almost feels unconditional.

He’s so human. So much more real. He’s vulnerable around Tommy the same way Tommy feels vulnerable around him. Tommy, who understands how heavy and dreadful the stares of the masses are, would hold his hand.

And almost he can be certain that Technoblade is sincere in his weakness. That he is scared, frightened, he can see it in his eyes no matter how silent he is on the matter. He could feel it in his clammy hands when Tommy takes them to comfort. 

A hand to hold.

He doesn’t remember holding anyone without experiencing agony. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s soothed someone without losing his own sanity. 

It’s odd, being proven that Thomas is capable of use beyond his own capabilities.

He almost feels happy. The bare minimum, and he feels giddy.

He shouldn’t.

Tommy has dreams, sometimes. He’d see faces he would not recognize, and voices that all sound the same. Blurred faces and voices of the same pitch, yet somehow he’s able to keep every character distinct from one another.

In these dreams he remembers emeralds. Tommy doesn’t remember much of its importance in these dreams, but he knows that it’s important. That it’s something that he once cradled in these dreams until the point when it stopped. 

He remembers the snow, neverending in a biome he is unfamiliar with and trees he’s only ever heard of in books. A forest grows beyond the window, in those dreams.

Every time he wakes up, he gets this urge to join his brother. To see if he’s keeping his promise to stay.

And every time, he isn’t disappointed.

His fear dissipates slowly until he’s riled up. Until he realizes that this is what it meant to be a kid.

He’s always been afraid. The world has proven him that there is reason for such fear. Tommy is afraid. He’s been counting down the days when it’d all change. It was nice for the shortest time.

When the storm comes, Tommy just knows . The world crashes down on him as familiar eyes rest their gazes on him. He curls, shutting his eyes. They’re grinning at him, greedy eyes looking for a tale of despair. 

He’d just woken up from a dream. He’d been surrounded by black, and fire. The flames were ever-present, and it is not translucent. It’d burn at his eyes the same way these things would stare at him. 

It was startling to wake up to such a terrible sight.

His dream felt like death, and in waking it seems like he’s confirmed it. 

These things had followed him, just like it had once before.

“Go away.” He whispers under his breath, and even if no one but himself should be able to hear it, he can tell that they’re pleased. He doesn’t like it when they’re happy. “Go away,” he can’t help but whimper, and now he’s curled around his blankets. 

Tommy doesn’t register the knocks on his wooden door because all he hears are the laughter and the greed. He shuts his eyes, but he could still see them all in the flashes that linger behind the window. 

In the light, he sees them in the light that peers through the smallest gap of windows. He can’t bear to close the curtains, because they’ll be enraged at him. They’ll only grow louder the closer he is. So he hides. But there is no hiding from cruel gods. Behind his eyes, he could see them imprinted into his lids and burned like a brand. He could feel that familiar curse coursing through his veins, reminding him that he’s only truly useful because of them.

He clenches his fist, hoping that this stubborn tenseness of his being would stop them from running in in blood. He doesn’t care when the hands begin to burn.

He’s alone, he’s safe. He’s alone, he’s safe. He’s alone–

There’s a hand on his shoulder,

And Tommy can’t help but remember the way people would claw at him for healing. 

When he opens his eyes he sees a servant injured, a painful mark staining through her clothing. He watches as the skin behind the tattered cloth stitches itself together. Tommy feels that same pain crawl through his arm, burning in such a familiar way.

He’s frightened.

He’s scared .

They’re going to use him again. They’re going to take him again, and break him apart until he’s served his purpose. His duty to the kingdom will never end, and the people will stay happiest as the child of Omelas continues to suffer. 

They’re looking at him again.

They’re looking at him again.

Thomas steps back, frightened. They’re going to hurt him. 

He grasps one wooden pillar, and he doesn’t flinch when the wooden frame falls apart and falls towards the people going after him.

Please, fear him. Be scared of him. Be afraid. Don’t believe him. Don’t treat him like saint. 

He doesn’t want to heal anyone. He doesn’t want to serve. He doesn’t want to be useful.

No more. No more.

They catch him, finally, and he doesn’t recognize who it is. They want him to heal their kid. They want him to restore a leg. He can’t . He’ll get hurt. Can’t they understand that?

He screams, “ Not again! ” Tommy screeches. He needs to be heard. He shouts, he screams, he wails, but they’re not listening . No one is listening.

Please,

Please listen to him.

His brother. They’re going to take him away so Tommy could be more useful. They’re going to take away all hindrances. They’re going to keep him away the same way they kept Tommy’s friends away. They’re going to take him away like they did before.

“ Let me go! ” He screams, and at that point he doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore.

They’re going to hurt him again. They’re going to take everything away until the only thing Tommy has left is his duty .

They’re going to take away his identity.

He will only be Thomas.

He doesn’t want that. Please, no more .

“You’re okay, Theseus.” He hears faintly, and he cannot believe what is being said. He won’t be, he won’t be okay until he does something. “Please–” He’s trying, he’s trying so hard.

The voices grow muffled, but he hears them. He sees them peering at him from the crevices. In the… the crevices of his room. 

“Theseus,” Thomas recognizes it as another one of his names. Theseus. Who calls him Theseus?

He opens his eyes, beyond the mist, beyond this gruelling fear, and he sees those red eyes. They’re so real. 

They are real.

“You’re here.” Tommy whispers.

Technoblade looks like a mess, but he’s looking at Tommy. 

“I’m here.” And it’s a promise, almost. 

He stays, like he always has. Tommy is afraid, because the voices are silent. He can’t understand what it means when they’re quiet. It’s like they’ve shifted their gaze.

Thomas looks up, and he feels scared. For his brother. For the one thing in the world that should matter. For the one thing in the world that he always should have had.

And they’re going to take him.

Thomas needs to save him. He can’t live in a world without him. Without his protector. Without his savior. Without his brother . He needs to save him, and for that he needs to take their eyes off of his brother. He lets the magic run through his veins, and he takes every injury that he’s inflicted. 

He winces at the onslaught of pain, but he manages to push himself away. 

He needs to save him.

Technoblade needs to understand.

Except… he does. He does, more so that him. Technoblade comforts Thomas, telling him of how powerless these eyes are. The voices that taunt him are nothing more than voices that cannot fulfil their threats. They mock. 

And Technoblade… he understands. He knows the threats.

And Thomas wants to cry.

This threat, this thing that has held so much power over himself and his sanity is a burden he shares. Is a burden that isn’t something that should have so much control over him. Technoblade is living proof, staying so resilient despite the fact that he hears them too. That he feels the unbearable weight as well.

He wants to land on his knees, with his forehead on the floor, cry and wail at the things that made him so weak. All because he didn’t have someone who knew.

As he tells tales of heroes, and of yet another name of his, Theseus, Thomas can’t help but feel that mourning morph into this gladness. 

He didn’t have this before.

But he can’t cry about it anymore.

Because for the first time, Thomas doesn’t feel alone. 

Months would pass, and so has this hesitation. He’s patient, and he doesn’t press on his unanswerable actions. He doesn’t push him for reasons, and Thomas can’t help but want to know how . How can he handle him? 

This loathsome, unloveable being. How can he handle him as he is without the reasons that justifies his existence? 

It is never hard to love Technoblade. 

He fears that it will be his downfall.

Both of their downfalls.

But Thomas lets it happen. He lets himself cling, be protective and useful. He allows his true nature of loyalty run amok because for once he could trust this man to wield it properly. No betrayals, no pain.

He let it happen, but he should have known not to.

Because his brother is leaving. His brother will be leaving him, and he is going to die. He is going to leave Thomas alone for that battlefield that had failed to take him the first time. 

He tried to convince him otherwise.

He really did. He knew he’d lose, but Technoblade had a way with inspiring hope where it shouldn’t grow. 

Today is the day he leaves.

“Kid,” Technoblade says in a pleading voice. “Please don’t let me leave like this.” Tommy hates how Technoblade sounds like he doesn’t want this too. He hates that he sounds so helpless, when he isn’t. When he could send someone else. Tommy knows that Technoblade doesn’t want to go, so he shouldn’t. “Tommy–”

“It’s not like I want you to leave.” Tommy retorts. “Either you leave with shit ‘like this’ or you don’t fuckin’ leave at all.” 

“And what’s the alternative?”

“Fight the fucking families or something! I don’t fuckin’ know!” 

Tommy is irriational, and he sounds childish. He knows it, but Technoblade had been the one stupid enough to tell him that he can be all of those things without consequence. This is on him for allowing Tommy to love him so easily. This is on him for being everything that Tommy had needed, for everything that Tommy still needs.

 “I came here to say my goodbyes.” 

He doesn’t want to say goodbye.

“You still have the necklace?” He does. “Can I have a look?”

Tommy so badly wants to be able to ignore him, but Technoblade just knows him. He knows him too much to be ignored. 

“Did you know that Emeralds mean something special?” Technoblade asks. “Emeralds in those stories have a special meaning and it’s surprisingly accurate to the coat of arms carved into this.”

“That’s an emerald?”

“It’s not sparkly, but yes it is.” He says. “The angles make it less lustrous, but it’s an emerald alright.”

“What’s it mean, then?”

“Family at all costs.” 

Those words linger long after Technoblade is gone. It stays, much like that stubborn, dumb thing that he planted into his chest. 

But he’s gone, and the house is empty. It’s empty, and Tommy knows for certain, with the voices in his head spilling threats that have been confirmed once before in his first life, that it will continue to stay empty until he does something.

Tommy looks at his necklace, the one that Technoblade had promised to replace with something better, and he couldn’t forget those words that he’d planted in his chest along with a plethora of promises.

“Family at all costs.”

He will lose him if he does nothing.

Which is why he does what he can.

He leaves Ran and Tobias a copy of that dumb Emerald so one of them could parade around as himself. Clara and Henry are aware of his plans but are too weak to stop him. His resolve is stronger than whatever it was he thought was his priority.

He joins the battle as a healer.

There is no one who dies in his hands, and he doesn’t care. He’s used to the pain. The pain that resonates in his dreams and in his memories. He could smile as he takes the brunt of losing a leg before that sensation disipates into a memory. He could laugh while he maintains that hole in his lung, the sensation of his lung collapsing in itself.

Thomas could bear it all, because he has to prepare for when Technoblade would be the one lying on these stained white sheets.

But he never gets the chance.

Technoblade is too good of an existence for him.

He’s too perfect. Too much of a blessing to exist in this god forsaken world. Technoblade is everything that Tommy doesn’t deserve, he knows that now.

Because he knows Thomas , from the facades to his disgusting deeds and wishes. He knows him, and still with that uncruel gaze he’d worry about him and fret for his death. 

Thomas matters to him the same way Technoblade does, for some reason.

He doesn’t deserve him.

And for the briefest moment, it seemed like the world had agreed with Tommy.

They had taken Technoblade away.

He felt his heart stop, and no matter how Tommy’s fingers cracked and splintered with his power there is no undoing that. No matter how Tommy willed his own heart to stop so he could bring Technoblade back, the world had separated his will from what is. 

Tommy knew it was coming. He’d expected it. He’d known it all, but there is no placating the burning ache in his chest as his grief and hatred grows brighter than it has. Nothing could compare to the loss of something so beautiful from the lack of witnessing it in the first place.

If he had once grieved the absence of Technoblade in his first life.

Tommy doesn’t know how much more he despairs over the loss of him in this one.

So he doesn’t give in. It doesn’t matter if he shatters. It doesn’t matter if the world breaks in half right now as he brings his fury to the face of the gods that damned him to yet another tragedy. 

Tommy had once destroyed everything and himself for the mere reason of its cruelty to himself. Only worse things can happen with its cruelty to his kind brother.

He doesn’t know if he could enact his revenge. He could feel death looming over his shoulder, people attempting to go close to him so they could kill the bomb before the fuse goes out. He could feel Technoblade’s comrades preparing themselves to kill the younger brother he’d died for, 

And he would have wanted it.

It would have been fine. It would have been well.

Maybe he could stay in that blank white space that he stayed in before he got sent back here. At least that place was peaceful.

Except he feels a pulse in his fingers, one that sticks to Technoblade’s carotid. It’s weak the first time, but it’s enough for Tommy’s powers to weaken, seeping in the destruction so that it could lead to healing.

Tommy feels Technoblade’s heart beat the second time, and now this time he could feel the pain of an injury healing. Tommy feels something go through his stomach, and he’s certain that it isn’t real. 

He looks away briefly, and he sees people gawking at him from afar.

Philza, the Duke of Wings, is holding everyone back. It is done despite his duty as the one to kill rampant nobles like himself.

There is a woman behind the duke, larger than life but at the same time lacking in presence. She’s smiling.

He blinks, and she’s gone. 

Frightened, just as he has been for most of his existence, he moves his hand to hold his brother’s. One finger is placed on his wrist, feeling that pulse come back. 

He allows himself to be greedy, the risk of shattering is all the same if he could not commit to bringing his brother back. The white flows from his hands, flowing like translucent jewels and crawling into Technoblade’s skin.

And Technoblade’s lungs take in air greedily.

His eyes flutter open.

“You’re holdin’ m’hand.” Technobalde drawls, giving Tommy a lazy grin.

This stupid, fucking, audacious prick . Tommy can’t help but smile, a laugh and a sob bubbled from his chest. He lets go of his hand, and he hugs the bastard. The people Philza is holding back are now surrounding them, checking if their beloved warrior and healer are safe from shattering but Tommy doesn’t fucking care.

His brother is saying something about emeralds. 

He isn’t losing him.

The world can go fuck itself, because he’s not allowing this to happen.

He’s holding an emerald in his hands, strung to his neck with gold. It’s polished, for one, but there’s something intricate about the gold that goes around it. There are blades, for one, but it’s curved around the emerald like a shield. 

It’s different from the emerald that the house is aligned with. That one goes on a different neck, but this one? This one is his . It isn’t the house’s. It isn’t the people’s. It’s his .

“What’s happenin’ kid?” He snaps out of his daze, looking up to meet scarlet eyes that look at him with fondness that only he could ever give. “You zonin’ out on me?” Technoblade teases, 

And Tommy grins. “Nah,” he lets go of the emerald and he raises the middle finger. “Just wanna congratulate you– you did a good job with preventing the end of the world.”

“Just for another year.” Technoblade shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s been done no inconvenience. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep it up ‘til I die.”

Tommy is eighteen years old. He’s older than he’s ever been in his life, and he’s certain that it’s something good. The world lives for another year, is what Technoblade says he likes to celebrate. 

When he’d won the war by Technoblade’s side– an undying general, Tommy and Technoblade had shut the families up with their leverage. The families serve them , not the other way around. 

Tommy is the one to make sure they remember that. There are tales that run amok between he duchies that this house is once more the fearsome thing it used to be. With that said, Tommy never lets Technoblade go alone. 

There was also the tales of his true manifestation. What people saw before was something abnormal, something akin to Technoblade’s when he’d first manifested. People had been cautious around Tommy,

Which is why he took the opportunity to send a very important message to the people that had once taken advantage of him.

If he or Technoblade dies an unjust death, the world ends with them.

So Tommy, cocky in his security, allows himself to stand tall with his sword pointed at Technoblade as a challenge. He’s grown tall, but he’s always the littler one between them. It’s something that Tommy would never hate–not that he’d ever admit it.

“Then I guess you have to keep yourself alive, asshole.” Tommy grins.

Technoblade chuckles, swinging his own sword to the side before taking on his own stance. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got my own tactics.”