barbarism (dreamnoblade)

chapter fifteen

|||Technoblade POV|||

Holes begin to puncture through the thin fabric as his fists tighten into the sheets, violently shaking as he keeps his head covered. A sheen of sweat coats his skin, despite his body already filled with a deep coldness.

Technoblade didn’t know what time of day it was, the curtains had been pulled shut by Wilbur before he left. He can’t remember the last time he slept, or maybe he was sleeping now, he couldn’t bring himself to move from his bed to check.

He shivers and curls deeper in a ball, nails beginning to dig into his palms.

He can’t remember- but he can.

He remembers what happened- but he doesn’t remember killing her.

The blood that trickles down to his wrist was lava against his skin, the liquid causes him to flinch and erratically rub at the flesh. He itches and itches but it only brings more memories forward. In a desperate attempt to get rid of the thoughts he raises a finger to his teeth and clamps down on it. Technoblade feels the crunch underneath his teeth, the squishing of flesh, but the pain doesn’t register. Instead the itchiness finally dissipates, leaving him alone with his blank mind. 

He was at home, it was strangely quiet. But it was always quiet since he used to live here alone.

Technoblade’s mind hurts, and so does his stomach. It rumbles with the desire for food. Eventually the pangs of pain get too much and he has to pull himself up.

His eyes adjust to the little light in his room, the curtains weren’t completely opaque so a faint orange light manages to seep through the black fabric. Techonoblade’s eyes now sting, it looked like it was around morning. Even laying there brings memories, happy memories though. He remembers when he would wake up every morning to farm potatoes, he misses those days.

Raising a hand to his brow he wipes away the cold sweat, shuffling to get onto his feet as they shake. He remembers vaguely how he ended up here. Wilbur had helped him and brought him here, he said that being here would help calm him after…

The hands he had clamped around his stomach begin to feel foreign, like a stranger's hands were grabbing him and trying to hurt him- her hands. Phantom feelings creep along his skin, down his chest to his hips in a slow careful pace-

Technoblade doesn’t even realise that he’s crying until the droplets hit the floor below, he raises a hand to wipe at them, but they don’t stop pouring out. Like trying to seal a bucket with holes, the water pushes out from the gaps.

“W-why won’t it stop?” He starts rubbing at his cheeks until it burns with a wet rash, but the water won’t stop leaking. Saltiness enters his mouth, wetting his cracked lips as they curl down into a sob.

“Why?!” He screams and falls to his knees, slamming his fists against the wood, it cracks under his force. He feels the splinters pierce his skin but he doesn’t care.

‘You’re acting pathetic.’

“You’re the pathetic one! I fucking hate you! I want you to disappear!” Technoblade screams into the wood, the tears blurring his vision, sobs choking him.

‘I’m not going to disappear-’

“It’s your fault that happened…” Technoblade whispers under his breath, “if you never existed everything would be fine-”

‘Someone has been in here.’

The voice ignores the statement and Technoblade feels like he’s talking to himself, maybe he is truly going insane, he shouldn't have expected a response in the first place. The voice won’t care about his opinion or his feelings. The only person he could trust to do that was Wilbur.

Technoblade can’t bring himself to care that much about his privacy, but he still gazes up to find that the voice was right. Items had been shuffled around, the floorboard where he hid his-

The vial!

He immediately scrambles over to the gap, shoving stuff out of the way to find that the vial was gone. The feather was still there, his feather.

He picks up the delicate object between his bloody fingers, looking at the gray behind the layers of tears blurring his vision. Someone had stolen the vial Philza had given him. He remembers the time it was given to him, the warmth of father’s wings and hands as he was pulled into a hug. The calm soothing words that told him to stay strong.

If only he could.

‘You need to find whoever took that, hybrid blood is quite satisfying to drink. I was looking forward to that.’

Technoblade’s hand curls into a fist, “that’s all you care about, do you have any motivations besides bloodlust?”

‘I was created to spill blood, how I get it doesn’t matter to me.’

The Blood God should count itself lucky it can’t feel quandary, it had a purpose, it knew what it was supposed to do and that’s what it did.

Technoblade was almost the complete opposite, questioning his existence and purpose with every step he took. Even the people around him were confusing, he knew it was partly because he hadn’t had experience with people. The only person he could understand was Wilbur-

‘What about that masked freak?’

Did Dream care about him? If he did, then where was he when Technoblade needed him. Was he safe? What if Dream got attacked as well? Technoblade wanted to go check on Dream, see if he was safe and well, but the thought of leaving now scared him.

She can’t be the only remaining survivor of the cult, she just somehow got sound of him. Technoblade didn’t know how she knew where he’d be, was it just a coincidence? If so then he could run into any of the other ones at any time, he was never safe. 

But he can't afford to feel scared. He's had to deal with trauma for a long time, Technoblade doesn't deserve the self pity he's drowning himself in.

The floorboards creak under his weight as he cautiously steps outside his bedroom, everything was so familiar but he felt so out of place.

The potted plants he had taken care of for months are dead, dried leaves littering the shelves, but he still waters them out of habit. He does a lot out of habit.

He sweeps the floors and shelves, cleans the kitchen of any dust. When he reaches his fireplace he notices that the photos had been turned around.

He doesn't care enough to move them back. Technoblade instead decides to go outside.

It takes a few moments of calm breathing at the door before he gets enough courage to kick it open. A bright warm light floods into the room, plunging him into a soothing orange.

Technoblade stumbles outside, hand raised to shield his eyes. 

He should've expected this, why is he so sad then?

All his fields were rotten and brown, the dead leaves and stems coating the soil in a disgustingly dry brown. All his potatoes, his effort.

Technoblade couldn't bear to look at it right now, he trudges back inside with an angry scoff. He comes to the dreary conclusion that he didn't need to deal with any of this.

He plasters his broken finger and shoves all his items -including the feather- into a bag. He shouldn't come back here anymore, his brothers needed his help.

His brothers didn't deserve this, for him to pity his misfortunes. He had to move forward, push it all down to the dark places in his mind.

He didn't need pity. He didn't deserve it.