Chapter Text
“Just pull the fucking lever!”
Techno’s heart drops, and he turns to Phil immediately, his gaze pleading. Dad. Help me. Something, please.
Phil’s eyes are wide as he leans over his balcony, doors hanging open behind him. He looks twice as terrified as Techno is, face preemptively twisted with agony, as if he’s already had to watch Techno die in front of him. Like he’s just killed another of his sons.
Oh, God.
His dead twin stares at him, gaze unreadable. In one hand is the lead holding his blue sheep- what had Ghostbur called it, Friend?- and in the other he holds blue. He grips it like a lifeline, but he stares at Techno blankly. He wonders if Ghostbur is trying to forget this; he can see the color of the blue deepening as sadness seeps into it. Ghostbur doesn’t like remembering sad things, Techno knows.
Suddenly, it hits him. His totem. He hadn’t given it up when he’d surrendered. He doesn't have to die.
Quackity dodges a blow from Punz, the netherite sword only narrowly missing the skin of his neck. He stumbles only briefly, before he’s pelting for the lever.
Techno yanks his bag around his body, skewing his cape as he pulls it open. Frantically, he digs, breathing getting quicker and quicker. It doesn’t matter if he’ll respawn; it’s just one step closer to his last life, and the last thing he plans on doing is dying.
I won’t let Phil have any guilt on his conscience for this. I won’t let him feel at fault for a death. I need him to be happy.
His fingers hit it before he actually sees it. Underneath a mass of string and sticks, he brushes against round, solid gold, cold beneath his fingertips. He yanks the little object free, tangled in a bundle of string. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hugs the totem close to him. He braces for the pain as he hears the lever flick, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
And God, does he feel it. The impact is immediate, and even if the pain only lasts a split second, it’s utterly devastating. He hears it crush his skull, feels his body start to crumble beneath him. Everything blinks out of existence.
It’s only him, alone in a world of black. He’s... floating. In his hands is the totem, glittering up at him. He turns it over, staring at the emerald eyes.
They start gleaming, slowly growing brighter and brighter until he has to look away. The light is overwhelming, but it's so warm, and he's so cold. It engulfs him, surrounds him. It reminds him of Phil's hugs.
He blinks, and L'manberg unfolds before his eyes, the smell of spruce and blood filling his nostrils. He looks down, and he's sitting with his back pressed to the cage, right on top of the anvil. It's covered with blood, his blood, and it even coats the wood beneath the floor, seeping from between the bars. There is no body, and his hands are empty, cool where they once held the totem.
There's not a single drop of blood on him, despite the persistent, sharp ache throughout his body. The added height of the anvil gives him enough leverage to free himself from the small cage, and he heaves himself out easily.
He catches sight of Dream, mounted on his horse, and immediately his stomach drops. He can't fight Dream right now, not unarmed and armorless.
But Dream just waves his hand, beckoning him over. He directs Carl gently, and they start toward a hole he hadn't even noticed beforehand.
The commotion of the fight makes it easy for him to dash away on shaky, unsteady legs, following just behind Dream. He makes it down the corridor to a room adorned with a sign that reads simply “Final Control Room.”
He remembers Tommy and Wilbur's stories about this place. He's only barely pieced together the narrative, and even then, he's not positive, what went down exactly. All he could gather is that Eret had betrayed L'manberg. Anything past that, Tommy would shut his mouth and get quiet the rest of the day.
“There’s chests,” Dream tells him as he dismounts, and gestures toward the one with his name on it. "I trust you'll make it work. You always do."
Sometime between that exchange and Techno digging through the chest, Dream disappears without another word. Faster than he’s probably ever gone in his life, he starts buckling on the iron armor. It beats nothing, even if his enemies are in full netherite. He starts loading his belt with all the potions, ready for a fight if he has to have one.
And he gets one.
Just as he’s starting to lead Carl through the path in front of him, he hears stone crumbling behind him. Shoulders tense, he twists around, pickaxe held in front of him. It’s the only thing even remotely resembling a weapon that he could find.
It’s sharp. It's true; he can make that work, easily.
A familiar blue sweater peeks through a hole, and in comes Quackity, still covered in his netherite from earlier, axe held tightly in his hands. His hair is a disheveled mess, poking out every which way from beneath his helmet. But his eyes burn like fire, enraged and importunate. He regrips his sword, once, twice, and furrows his brows.
“How the hell did you survive?” He demands, voice low.
Techno grins, and finds that he doesn’t feel so numb anymore. The voices whisper loudly in the back of his head, craving for blood already. He’s not sure he wants to fight them this time.
“Did you really think you could kill me that easily?” He asks incredulously. “You’re even dumber than I thought, Quackity.”
The man bristles, knuckles white with how hard he holds the axe. He parts his lips, clearly ready to start shouting.
Techno doesn’t let him get the chance, cutting him off firmly. “I did so much for that damn country of yours. I killed when I didn’t have to, worked tirelessly for days on end just to give your revolution a fighting chance! And how did you repay me? By betraying me. You build a country right in front of me, refuse to listen to reason or force. You hunt me down, even after I’ve decided to put our differences to rest and live in peace! You hurt my friends, you hurt Phil.
“It’s not about what you did or didn’t fucking do,” Quackity says easily, anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his voice as he stares Techno down. “It’s about power, and respect. We’re trying to build a nation. You’re a fucking pawn, Technoblade. We kill you, we get the power and respect you stole from us.
“And it doesn’t matter how long it takes me, or how many tries,” he all but snarls. “I will fucking kill you.”
A challenge. His pulse thrums steady and heavy, his blood fire in his veins. His heart is pounding, and the voices have risen to a crescendo, louder than ever before. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him, and don’t give him a fighting chance.
He twirls his pickaxe in his hand, and laughs a little. “I just have one question,” he murmurs, and studies the point of the pick. Slowly, he turns his cold gaze back to Quackity, and locks eyes with him. “ Do you really think you’re enough to kill me, Quackity?”
Techno almost admires the way he doesn’t flinch, such a stark contrast to the boy he once knew, screaming at the meer sight of Techno. His gaze is steeled, and it’s such a shame that this confidence is going to go to waste. “You know what?” Quackity ventures, and shifts his axe. It glints in the light of the lantern on the wall. “Let’s fucking find out, you son of a bitch!”
The first lunge and swing of the axe is far too easy, too clumsy and messy. Techno dodges and dips into the tunnel he’d come in from, blocking off the entrance as quickly as he can. The voices are screaming now, begging him for violence, itching for a fight. His skin tingles as he pulls out the potions in his belt one by one, smashing them at his feet. He doesn’t even bother checking what they do.
Quackity’s pick busts through the makeshift wall, and his gaze is trained on Techno as he squeezes through the gap he’s chipped into it.
Techno wields his own pick, and the voices drown out the words he can see Quackity speaking. All he hears is ringing and the demands for blood, feeding off of one another. He doesn’t fight it, his body falling into autopilot, trained with years and years of fighting. He narrowly avoids getting his arm taken off.
“I’ve got a pickaxe, and I’ll put it through your teeth! I’ll put it through your teeth, Quackity!” He yells, and the tip of the pick connects with the inside of Quackity’s forearm, digging in to the muscle. Blood pours from the hole, and Quackity screams, swinging the axe again.
It buries itself into Techno’s chestplate, and he takes the moment where Quackity has to yank it free to slam the pick into the boy’s side. He doesn’t scream this time, only hissing a high-pitched noise through his gritted teeth.
Techno swings again, aiming for his temple. Quackity ducks just in time, and his pick cuts through empty air. He feels the blade of the axe slice into his side, and he swings automatically for the arm that brandishes the weapon.
A horrible screeching fills the air as the point of the pick drags across the armor. He manages to barely nick the skin on the inside of his elbow, and he takes that and runs with it, digging in as hard as he can.
Stumbling, Quackity shoves Techno away, pacing backwards as his axe nearly slips from his grip. Techno catches the stumble, and swipes his leg out, kicking out Quackity’s legs from underneath him.
He falls to the stone floor with a heavy clang, armor scraping noisily against the rock. He grunts, and looks Techno in the eyes, nose upturned. He says nothing, even as Techno drops to one knee and presses the point of the pick to Quackity’s carotid.
Wordlessly, Techno takes one final swing, and the pick sinks into Quackity’s neck with a sickening squelch. Blood sprays from the hole, and Techno stands slowly, watching as Quackity fights to keep the life in his eyes. The voices sing their praises as the boy falls limp. If Techno remembers correctly, that leaves him with one last life. He grins as Quackity's body blinks out of existence, leaving only his items behind.
The shouting outside slowly fades in, and he tenses. They're looking for him. He’s becoming increasingly aware of the slash on his side as it burns persistently. He hurriedly pulls off his armor, switching it out for the netherite set on the ground.
Whipping around, he ducks back into the control room, digging one-handed in his bag. It takes much too long for him to find Carl's rope, but he ties it on as fast as he can.
Carl whinnies gently, nudging Techno's hand. With a little smile, he starts leading the horse down the hollowed out corridor. The two of them only barely fit through it.
The other side brings him to the sewers under L'manberg. He takes a deep breath, and casts glance over his shoulder. The shouting outside has faded away now, too far
He runs. He runs as fast as he can, like God himself is on his heels. Carl gallops at his side, silent, almost as if he knows the gravity of the situation. The voices are whispers again, telling him over and over again, run, run, run.
They're not coming for you, he hears, once. Immediately, there's a counterargument of they're chasing you. Run. They're right behind.
Phil, Phil, Phil, they say.
"I know," he murmurs, chest heaving as he climbs out of the sewers, and practically throws himself onto Carl's back. "We'll save him, we will."
He's thrilled once he makes it to the ocean, because he knows that there's no way he can be followed. He reminds himself of this as he climbs into the boat, and helps Carl in. He'd picked up the compass he'd given Phil when he'd killed Quackity. They had no access to him, not anymore.
When he reaches the arctic, it’s pouring the snow, leaving huge snowflakes in his hair. He pulls his cloak around him tightly, and shivers gently. Carl huffs, and Techno scratches his neck before settling himself in the saddle again.
This time, he doesn’t rush. He brushes snow from Carl’s mane as he trots quietly, hooves crunching in the snow.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he tells Carl, and means it. Even the voices love this horse, to the point he’ll have to spend time with him just to satiate them. Carl whinnies again in response, and he sounds happy. Techno doesn’t want to think about how he can read his horse’s emotions. It makes him seem… well.
The roof of his home comes into view, and he sighs, shoulders slumping for the first time in hours. They’re home. Carl’s safe, he’s safe. It doesn’t matter to him that the fight has only just begun, and that he has revenge to exact. For now, he can breathe, and that’s what counts.
“We’re gonna have to hide you somewhere,” he says with a click of his tongue. This shit can never happen again.
But just for now, and only for now, he slides off of Carl’s back and pulls open the fence gates. He needs rest. The sound of the pick breaking the skin of Quackity’s neck has been echoing in his head ever since he heard it, and he wants it to go away. He doesn’t feel guilty, but he does feel unclean.
As soon as he’s tied Carl to the fence for extra security and shut his gates, he turns to his doors. Yawning, he reaches to pull it open.
Only for it to swing open right in front of him.
His hand flies to his pickaxe, and he immediately swings.
A familiar scream fills his ears, and he blinks, tunnel vision clearing just as the boy in front of him scrambles backward. The pickaxe only barely misses. Techno’s jaw drops.
“ Tommy?”
“I- I wasn’t doing anything!” Tommy squeaks, and immediately, as if it’s normal, starts unstrapping his diamond armor. Armor Techno recognizes to be his.
What did Dream fucking do to you, he thinks angrily, but doesn't say. His fingers twitch, the voices echoing his anger, already yearning for bloodshed. He forces himself to take a breath, not wanting to scare Tommy with his irritation, even if it isn’t directed at him.
“What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you live in Logsted?” He asks, exasperated.
Tommy starts tossing his armor on the ground, and he pulls out potions too, slowly sitting them on the ground. His hands raise into the air, and he cycles backward until his back hits the far wall. “Please, just take it. I’ll leave, I’ll-”
“I don’t-” He feels like tearing his hair out already, which really, is not uncommon around his little brother. Apparently, even when he shows up unannounced in Techno’s secret home. “Tommy, they tried to execute me!”
“They exiled me!” Tommy whines right back, and Techno wonders how this turned into trying to one-up each other.
“I- Jesus Christ, Tommy, why are you in my house? How are you in my house?”
Tommy purses his lips, and fiddles with the hem of his dirty, torn shirt. He must be freezing, Techno thinks. He unclasps his cape, and gestures Tommy over. Sheepishly, the boy starts creeping closer, anxious and quiet. Not like Tommy at all. With quiet rage boiling under his skin and demands for blood echoing in his head, he pulls the cape around Tommy’s shoulders.
Hesitantly, Tommy pulls it around him, shaking as if he’d only just realized how cold he’d been. “Thank you, Techno.”
Techno stops. Tommy had thanked him.
He’ll have Dream’s head on a stick.
“You can keep that armor for now,” He says calmly, trying to pacify the terrified look that still remains in Tommy’s eyes. “I don’t want it. Seriously.”
“You don’t want my armor?” Tommy croaks, brows furrowed. “I can… keep it.”
“For now,” Techno reminds him, brushing past him as he steps inside, dragging his boots on the rug. He glances over his shoulder. “I’ve got something better for you, but… later. Okay?”
And Tommy beams, eyes crinkling and cheeks red. “Okay!” He cheers, and pulls the door shut, bouncing a little. He bends down, pulling the armor back on and picking up his stolen things one by one.
Techno smiles, and starts digging in his chests, too paranoid the not equip himself with something. A hand twists itself into his shirt, and he turns around, ready to chew Tommy out for being such an annoying little brother.
The look in Tommy’s eyes stops him dead in his tracks. He gazes at Techno with such gratitude and sadness, and he wants to kill Dream for giving Tommy this look. He wants to kill him over and over again, until he never respawns again, and his body is a broken and mangled mess on the ground. He wants his little brother back.
And suddenly, Tommy’s arms are around him. It’s sad, but goddammit, he can’t remember the last time someone had hugged him, nevermind his little brother. He falls apart at the seams, melting against Tommy, slowly bringing his arms around him. Tommy is dirty, and even though the boy’s skin is practically iced over, Techno can’t help but feel warm.
His hands find Tommy’s overgrown, snowy hair, and he cards his hands through it gently, careful not to snag the tangles. He hears Tommy let out a noise that resembles a choked sob.
“Welcome home, Theseus,” he whispers softly, right into Tommy’s ear. He squeezes his little brother as tightly as he can, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go. “Welcome home.”