Whumptober is over so it's back to this story for me!
Everything is red.
Technoblade doesn't remember how he got here – wherever 'here' is. Warm, pulsing crimson is all he can see, his hands moving over the vines encasing him to assure himself of their presence. They coil around his legs, his arms, his chest. They hold him, they protect him.
Safe, it says. I'll keep you safe.
When has anybody ever kept him safe before?
His head hurts, but through the haze Techno recalls all the times the world seemed out to get him. Struggling for life in the Nether, choking on dust and brine. Skin torn open and eyes burning and begging, begging, begging for a morsel to fill his aching stomach. Then the men came and Technoblade was so small, tiny. He was a child still.
They didn't care when they took him and brought him to a place where he could fight for their amusement.
How quickly he became their favorite entertainment, how much gold exchanged hands over his matches. More gold than Techno ever would dream to own. But none of them fed him, or held him, or soothed his fevers in the middle of the night when he curled up on his cot and cried for the sonder he never had. No, he was a monster to them more than a child.
A mindless mob meant to kill.
He never outgrew that image either, not even with those who considered themselves his friends. They called him to fight their war, they commanded him to perform their executions. Then they heckled him for the blood he had spilled not being the right person's.
Not one of them would keep him safe. Not one of them would blink twice at discarding him as soon as his usefulness had expired. Or worse, they would destroy the weapon they had forged him into lest it be wielded by enemy hands the next time.
Not one of them except I.
It cherishes him for other reasons. It makes him stronger and he makes it stronger and the world would need to fear them both and the world will not harm Techno as long as he stays in its embrace.
And it loves him.
no
no
false
it doesn't care
it can't be trusted
they are coming
leave
lies
it lies
There is the vaguest hum of static in his ears, but Techno can't comprehend it.
They are coming, it tells him. They want to hurt you. They want to hurt me. I will never ask you to fight if you do not want to. I only ask you to fight if you want to live.
The vines release him and immediately Techno feels their absence.
It feels horrible. He is colder than he has ever been. His head starts pounding, brain imploding between his temples. If they had taken a knife they could have carved out his heart and hurt him less. The sticky sweetness that had settled over his body withdrew with the vines and he could move again, though it was a clumsy stumbling at best. His legs needed time to adjust, to learn how.
But there was no time.
He could hear explosions in the distance. The earth rumbles above him and a few pieces of rock came falling down upon him, the room shaking with the force of their assault. Dirt stuck to him, to his bone-white hair bleached by his savior's influence. They're here.
The first person that comes through the gap is a woman, short stature and bright pink hair pulled back into a bun. Techno sprints at her before she can situate herself, before she can retaliate, before she can hurt him. She blocks his sword, but the strength behind it throws her across the room. Barely, she catches herself and manages to land on her feet instead of slamming into the wall. Techno advanced again, preparing to slit her throat.
And her lips are moving but he can't understand her over the red whispers.
Just as he reaches her, an arrow pierces his shoulder. Techno spins, raging. Blood, blood, bleeding due to them. They want to hurt him. It had warned him that they would only ever hurt him.
The person who shot the arrow freezes. Every inch of their body speaks fear – speaks regret. Techno doesn't understand. He charges them and despite them being so much taller than him they cower, hunching in on themselfs instead of doing the reasonable thing and getting out of his way or attacking a second time. Their eyes are wide, desperate. Red and green.
He doesn't want to kill them but it says he has to.
no
no please stop
stop
stop
sto-
Somebody else bars his way. Techno runs into them, two bodies colliding and rolling over the ground. Either they were planning this or they were expecting him not to slow down. Techno ends up on top, bracing both knees next to their chest. His claws dig into their shoulder, tangle into their hair. Pulling it back, exposing their throat. He has a dagger in his other hand.
no
stop
stop
STOP
Philza
Kill them
The blade stays hovering an inch over their jugular. With a small press, he could nick them, he could kill them. Yet they're not moving, or fighting back, or doing anything. As if they don't fear. They're watching him, face a blank mask completely blotted out. The static gets louder.
Something is holding Technoblade back.
And it bursts behind his eyes – pain, pounding, anger – to bring him to his knees. The knife drops from his shaking hands, he coughs and the crimson vines dig deeper into his lungs. Breathing hurts, thinking hurts, everything hurts.
The person beneath him must have been waiting for this. They move – their hand comes to reach for the back of his head. They force him to the side, turn him until their positions are reversed, and then shove something into his mouth. Liquid makes him sputter and leaves him no choice but to swallow a lot of it down.
Aching gasps escape his lungs. Some of the haze retreats and the static comes back into focus.
Phil holds him tighter, his hand never leaving the back of Techno's head. If he were squeezing any harder their heartbeats would melt together and Techno can feel the release of tension in every tremble of Phil's body against his.
he hates it hates it hates it
"I almost killed you," he says – not guilt, not acceptance. Maybe a confessional laid at the feet of his absolver.
Phil has more mercy for him than any of the gods ever did. "You didn't. You didn't even hurt me, see," and he cups Techno's face in his hands, makes him meet his eyes, "not even a scratch on me."
"But I could have-"
"No," Phil says it with absolute conviction, so Techno will have no choice but to believe him. "No, you wouldn't have. Never." His fingers drag along Techno's back. The earth shakes but it's only them within the confines of regret washed away by a simple embrace.
And unlike the false promises of the vines, Technoblade feels safe.