Requested by anonymous; just some good old sickfic with sbi fluff

Technoblade didn't get sick.

It simply wasn't a concept that existed within his mind. Over the past two weeks he had sat back and watched with amusement as all the people in their house fell ill one by one, struck down by the exact same flu.

Tommy was the first to fall victim – he had gotten it from Tubbo, because where else did Tommy get anything? Obviously, the youngest brother had not been pleased with being sick and decided to make that everybody else's problem. He had whined through the entire thing, bemoaning his boredom at being cooped up in bed and demanding company so he wouldn't grow lonely. Eventually Wilbur had been weak enough to give in to those demands and thus nobody was surprised when a few days later, while Tommy was already up again jumping around, it was Wilbur's turn to be miserable and feverish.

Neither were they surprised when Phil got sick next. It would be impossible for him not to since he was near the other two patients a lot to take care of them. By then Wilbur had gotten over his own bout of flu and between the three of them, the brothers had no problem looking after themselves for a little bit while their father recovered. Phil had warned Techno that it'd probably be his turn next if he wasn't careful and Techno had shrugged and said with full confidence that he never got sick.

He should have known pride comes before the fall.

After two days of constant headaches, he had to face it was probably not simple sleep deprivation causing them – especially since he had been sleeping more the past few nights than he usually did. Despite that, he still felt tired. He had also taken to wearing his cape around the house, not knowing when he had started to shiver all the time. Technoblade's muscles still ached from a sparring session that shouldn't have him break a sweat normally and he was even less hungry than usual, allowing his tea to go cold on his desk with no inclination to finish it.

But he wasn't sick. Nope, couldn't be him. Technoblade didn't get sick.

On the third day, he woke up feeling disgusting and sweaty. He peeled the blankets away from his face and groaned when the light hit his closed eyelids, prying inside to assault his brain with more painful pounding. Techno's mouth felt dry and sour so he swallowed, ignoring the tightness in his lungs. No sir, definitely not sick.

Getting out of his room and down the stairs took an eternity, his legs were annoyingly stubborn in their insistence to shake with every step. By the time he got downstairs he was wheezing as if he couldn't get enough air. Technoblade shook his head and rubbed his face a few times to cover up how shit he was feeling. Because truly, he wasn't sick. And that meant he shouldn't worry his family over nothing.

He was already regretting getting out of bed in the first place but that wasn't improved any as he walked into their living room slash kitchen area. Noise washed over him in the worst way possible. Tommy and Wilbur were arguing loudly over something Technoblade really couldn't care less about, with them each raising their voices as if volume would be the deciding factor in who won the debate. Phil was ignoring them, humming softly to himself as he poured tea into his cup, only chiding Tommy when his cursing got out of hand. Technoblade had half a mind to turn around and march straight back upstairs but was unfortunate enough that Phil spotted him before he could decide.

"Hey Tech, you're up early. Did they wake you?" Phil asked, indicating the two bickering brothers with one hand. Tommy had started flinging pieces of bread in Wilbur's general direction.

"Hm," Techno hummed – and then because he realized that wasn't exactly an answer he added, "Nah, couldn't sleep that well." He made his way over and sat down slowly.

Phil nodded his understanding, reaching out for Techno's mug to fill it up but he put his hand over the top of it to keep Phil from doing so.

"No breakfast?" Phil sounded skeptical. He must think something was wrong with Techno. Like him being sick. Which he wasn't. Not even a little.

Techno shrugged. "Need to properly wake up first." As if to punctuate the statement he yawned, a motion which made his jaw click with another pang of pain shooting into his head. He winced slightly but played it off by pretending to frown at the way Wilbur had put Tommy in a headlock. It was enough to distract Phil at least, who jumped up to separate the two. With one hand curled into the back of each shirt, he pulled them apart easily.

"Enough roughhousing, if you want to settle things with your fists you do it outside and not at my kitchen table." His words had a spark light up in Tommy's eyes and Phil started backpedaling immediately, not having meant it as an encouragement. Figures his gremlins would take it as one anyway. "No, I-"

"Two out of three and if I win you admit I'm right!" Tommy threw a smug grin in Wilbur's direction.

Wilbur scowled. "Tommy, that's so fucking stupid."

"You're fucking stupid!"

"Okay, let's go. Let's go right now-"

And then Tommy was tugging at Techno's arm, demanding he play referee for their impromptu duel. He really didn't want to, but he couldn't protest without Tommy barreling right over him and his head hurt and he felt like maybe he was about to throw up so Techno simply allowed it to happen. He didn't mention that he still had no clue what disagreement had even started this.

Techno sat on the grass outside while Wilbur and Tommy strapped on the leather armor they sometimes used for training. Phil joined him, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched and Technoblade found himself involuntarily leaning into the comfort, resting some of his weight against the older man. It was a crisp morning, but the rays of the sun made it passable and warmed his skin, making him tired again. He felt like he could fall asleep on the spot.

Well, aside from his brother's yelling.

"Techno?! Are you even watching?!" Tommy looked positively scandalized, wooden sword waving around like a club. Techno snorted, remembering how many times he had told the kid a blade was not supposed to be wielded above your shoulders.

He hadn't noticed they had already started. "I'm watching but all I'm seeing is you acting like a toddler."

Tommy raged at him some more, offended at being called a child. Techno tuned him out again and closed his eyes, feeling more than hearing the rumble in Phil's chest as he spoke. By the sound of it, he was taking over referee duty, meaning Technoblade was free to blink sluggishly at the moving shapes of Wilbur and Tommy beating on each other like amateurs. Their movements blurred together, or maybe that was just Techno's eyesight not cooperating.

"Tech," Phil said softly, hand brushing against Techno's forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? You're not sick are you?"

Technoblade pulled away again, recoiling from worried hands. "M'not sick."

Unsurprisingly Tommy won, being the much better fighter out of the two of them. Phil was laughing his ass off as Wilbur stalked over, sitting down and crossing his arms. "Shouldn't agree to fights you're not going to win, mate."

Wilbur grumbled something under his breath but it was lost as Tommy yelled from over on the field again. "You should fight me next, Techno!" He pointed the sword at him as a challenge. "And I'll prove once and for all that I'm the alpha male in this house when I beat you."

It was most certainly a joke – one Techno would be glad to take Tommy up on under normal circumstances. Except that today he felt like his entire skull was stuffed with cotton and his brain was trying to leak out through his ears, his stomach clenching around nothing. He gripped his knees tighter and felt Phil's gaze land on him uncomfortably.

"I don't think Techno is up for-"

He stood up before their father could finish his sentence. "Sure, I'll kick your ass for you," he drawled, hoping it sounded unconcerned. He didn't want Phil to fuss over him like he was sick when he wasn't.

Tommy cheered, still riding the high from his previous victory. He picked up Wilbur's practice sword and threw it at Techno, who managed to at least retain his dignity when he caught it in midair without fumbling. As he took his place on the far end of the field, he inhaled and exhaled slowly a couple of times to center himself, trying to concentrate on the sparring. He could do this, he had fought under worse conditions. He had beaten Tommy plenty of times before.

Caught up in his own thoughts Techno nearly missed the first strike aimed at his left side, only managing to parry it by an inch. Tommy sprung back to evade the expected counterattack, face falling a fraction when Techno didn't go through with it. He bit his lip – probably assuming Techno was trying to bait him – as he went on the offensive.

A couple of minutes passed, the two exchanging blows without coming to a real resolution. Techno knew he wasn't fighting to his full potential and Tommy must know too, eyes flitting around trying to figure out what Techno was stalling for.

In reality, he was trying very hard not to give in to the urge to lie down and stop existing for a while.

The physical exertion quickly started taking its toll on him, dizziness creeping up relentlessly until evading Tommy's attacks had become a chore and his legs were unsteady. When the other sword clashed into his own next the reverberations traveled all the way up Techno's arms and had him grinding his teeth in pain. Tommy pulled back and stopped, brows drawn high.

"Wait, Techno, what's wrong?"

Techno opened his mouth to answer but instead bent over and puked the few mouthfuls of dinner he'd had last night all over the ground.

Tommy cursed and jumped away to avoid being caught in the crossfires. Retching and coughing up bile, Techno's entire face scrunched up in disgust. Within seconds somebody was pressing their hand into his back, rubbing steadily and keeping his hair out of his face until he had calmed his heaving. Techno didn't resist as they gently but resolutely grabbed his elbow and lead him back inside.

He was sat down on the couch, a thick knitted blanket spread along his shoulders. Techno grabbed the edges to pull it closer, suddenly aware of how violently he was shaking. Phil brought him a glass of water to rinse the terrible acidic taste out of his mouth. "So what was that about not being sick?" he asked, the slightest hint of glee in his words. Technoblade would have accused him of schadenfreude if his head didn't hurt too much to form the words.

"I'm fine," he said firmly.

Tommy choked on a laugh. "Dude, you nearly hurled all over my sneakers. It was fucking gross. A little warning next time would be great."

"He's just being stubborn," Wilbur said as if Techno wasn't right there. Sitting down on the couch as well. He scooted until he had positioned himself halfway behind Technoblade, long fingers reaching out to brush through his hair. "You didn't braid it last night?"

"Didn't feel like it." Techno usually tied his hair up before bed unless he wanted to wake up with a dozen knots in it that were a pain to get out. But he had been too tired and had skipped it.

"I'll do it now then," Wilbur said, starting to divide the strands into three chunks. He kept his tugs as light as he could, for which Techno was grateful.

"And then you're going straight back to bed," Phil added, not leaving any room for discussion. Not that Techno had much of a mind to protest, not with the soothing sensation of Wilbur's care and the warmth of the cabin. He was exhausted. "I'll bring you some medicine and soup and you can sleep this off."

He nodded. "That would be nice."

"Wait!" Tommy's face broke out in an even wider grin. "Does this mean I've technically won? Since Technoblade forfeited."

"I did not forfeit. I got sick."

"Oh, so now you're admitting you're sick," Phil snorted.

Technoblade ignored him. "We'll have to do a rematch."

"You're on, big man!"

It could wait until tomorrow though, Technoblade decided. Or maybe even next week. When he was sure he wouldn't be sick anymore.