Requested by Anon: Techno meeting Tommy at the cabin after the failed execution. I'm very soft for these two...

Everything about getting home had passed in a haze.

Adrenaline had fueled Technoblade for the first part of the journey, the excess strength of it running in his veins as fluidly as blood did. Survival instincts took over from reason easily – the voices a coalescing chorus reminding him that Technoblade never dies and they were right, he hadn't died. He had clutched the totem and when the anvil dropped it had caved his skull into pieces, moments before sewing it back together, spilling brain matter against the glass.

Fleeing had never felt so sickening, but the totem could only do so much and the more destructive the injury, the longer its effects would linger and Technoblade hadn't been in any state to find out what it left him capable of. As soon as he saw the shape of his cabin appearing through the trees, all that adrenaline seemed to seep out of him at once like water through his clutched fingers, running thin and draining fast. Pressing his heels into Carl's sides, he spurred the horse to hurry along. "Almost there," Technoblade told him, nudging one trembling hand through Carl's dark manes.

With the last energy that remained him, he stabled the horse properly, making sure it had water and feed and enough warmth to last the night. Tomorrow he would have to go about finding a proper place to hide him, but after this stunt, Technoblade was sure it would take a while for anybody to come find him. He had time.

Trudging the few dozen feet from the stable to his door felt akin to climbing a mountain, the effort it took him nothing short of Herculean. Technoblade glanced at Phil's house and idly hoped the other was staying safe. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he had never been gladder to be inside, to be home.

Technoblade blinked, only to be face to face with a very disheveled Tommy standing in the middle of his living room.

The kid was frozen in mid-action, a teenager caught in the act of sneaking out of the house. For one fragile, short moment they simply stared at each other. A jumble of thoughts was prying for his attention in Techno's mind but the voices were louder still and all of it drowned out by how hopelessly tired he was. There were things he should say – so many of them. He hadn't seen Tommy since days after his exile, at Logstedshire. But when he could hardly focus on not collapsing on the spot, he wasn't prone to engage in any serious conversation.

He closed the door behind him.

Tommy's muscles remained taut as if he was expecting a sudden movement or bracing for an attack. His eyes were cautious as they trailed along Techno's form, taking in the sight before him. Finally, he broke the silence. "Wow, you look like shit."

And all at once, the tension was broken. Technoblade let out a sound that was partway chuckle and partway groan before shuffling over to the worn couch Phil had put against one wall. They barely ever used it, but it was the nearest piece of furniture for him to sink down into.

"Yeah, dying will do that to ya."

He couldn't tell what kind of emotion was crossing Tommy's face at his words and he wasn't even going to try to decipher it. Technoblade's skull felt like it was moments away from imploding, a constant hum of pain that intercut itself from time to time with a sharp throb whenever he moved or the light was too bright. The room span in dizzy circles. He closed his eyes instead, resting his head back on the seat and sighing.

Another moment passed and then he could tell Tommy was moving, trudging closer almost carefully – or as carefully as Tommy could get about anything. "What the fuck happened?"

"As I said, I died. Temporarily. I had a totem." Technoblade waved his hand, not up for much more explaining. Every second he could feel himself getting closer to passing out. "Your turn, tell me what you are doing living in my basement."

He could hear the way Tommy startled. Technoblade had figured it out the moment he had seen the teen standing there, angled in guilt and self-affront. It definitely explained the disappearing gapples. "I'm not living in your fucking basement!" Tommy defended himself and there was that nostalgic heat in his voice Technoblade could recognize from days passed. Almost like he had missed it. "I just needed a place to hide. Lay low, you know."

Technoblade laughed. "And you couldn't find any place better than underneath my floorboards, Tommy? That's sad."

The snark he expected in response never came. He peeled his eyes back open, watching Tommy just stand there, pale and frowny. There was something about that – something distant and painful. After everything that had happened, Technoblade had found peace knowing he still cared about his brother. He would never not care. That didn't mean he had to like it. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Tommy bit his lip, uncharacteristically quiet. "Nothing." The kid had never been a good liar.

Bending down to undo his laces, Technoblade could see him from the edge of his vision, nearly fidgeting on the spot. He unclasped his cape next, pushing it haphazardly over the edge of the couch without a care to where it fell. Every movement hurt and he coughed, feeling the blood in his throat. Lingering echoes of his death creeping up his lungs. Technoblade rubbed it off on his hand, smearing crimson on his skin. Immediately Tommy was there with a glass of water.

"Thanks." He took it and downed it in one go. Tommy was still watching him.

They'd have to talk about it in the morning, Techno realized with detached horror. The sun would rise and then they would have to deal with what this was – with Tommy running scared and Technoblade being too tired to think.

But they had already lost one brother and for now, all he wanted was to not dwell on losing another.

He stretched out on the couch, the pounding close to unbearable, and when Tommy brought him a blanket too - the shitty one he kept in the basement - Techno couldn't even thank him, just grunted his acquiescences as he took it and draped it across himself. Tommy hesitated a second longer, looking worn and aged, yet younger than Techno had known him in ages.

Back to being the child he was before this whole war started.

He only needed to lift the blanket a tad and then Tommy was crawling under it, curled up along his side, and it kind of hurt to be pressing his body into the back of the couch to accommodate two people but Technoblade had slept in way worse circumstances. Tommy's hand shifted to the front of his shirt, somewhere around where his heart would be beating slow but steady and grasped, face pressed into the crook of Techno's shoulder. It felt almost natural to drape his arm along Tommy's back like they did when they were kids and not half as broken.

"Did it hurt?" Tommy asked when Technoblade was already on the brink of sleep, barely present enough in mind to answer.

"Nah," he muttered. "Technoblade never dies." The voices cheered their agreement.

Tommy sighed, and before long they were both asleep.