this world we have built is burning down around us | Dream SMP Time Travel Fic

we're tying up loose ends (and hoping the strings hold)

Technoblade watched as Tubbo, face stiff with stoicism and drying blood, shoved Dream's corpse off into the water, letting the waves of the sea reel him into their depths to vanish forever.

The Admin would not get a proper burial, not now and not ever. Even if Tubbo had not surrendered the dead body to the ocean, the timeline would not have held up long enough for anyone to give him one; perhaps if they'd brought him back to the mainland there would have been just enough time, but none of them had ever thought of anything except leaving the corpse behind to rot, alone and unwanted.

The notion may have been cruel, enemy or not, but Techno had no honor for those who had no honor themselves. After all, Tommy was meant to have been the corpse left behind to rot, alone and unwanted. Dream had, once upon a time—a time when Techno hadn't been there, a time when Tommy was alone because nobody, not even his own family, had bothered to be concerned about the child that never seemed to need it—been planning to leave Tommy just the same as they'd done to him; Dream had been breaking Tommy until he was nothing more than a shell, until he was rotting inside and out, until the boy was jumping to fly and falling to die.

Techno didn't know if exile had been a means to an end for Tommy's death, if Dream had intended it to simply hurt Tommy or if burying him six feet under had always been the masked man's endgame. Sometimes Techno wondered if Dream would have said nothing to anyone when the boy did perish, if he would have thrown Tommy's body out and wiped his hands of it, if he'd have buried him and delivered the news mournfully and spitefully to L'manberg as an excuse to break everyone down further, if he'd have cradled his victim in his arms, giving the teen no peace even in death, and carried him all the way to L'manberg where he could present his body and crow about it like a vulture proudly picking at deceased prey. Perhaps it could have been some mix of those, but none of them would ever know.

Tommy had, by some miracle that preserved the last remnants of stubborn fight and flame still left within the blond, escaped that fate, handing the tragedy down to Dream instead, who was more deserving of it; no longer was the tale a tragedy, for an innocent (not a hero, never a hero, and Techno knew in his heart that used to beat alongside his little brother's that it was better that way) had not been left to merciless hands forever, and instead an evil tyrant had received his just dues with agony, right before the world would painlessly end for the rest.

Techno would still never forget that for all Tommy had survived, for all he'd escaped, he would never forget, would never be the same; too many scars, physical and mental, were left behind in Dream's wake (even Wilbur's and Phil's and his own).

Techno stared down at his brother, bundled in the warmest furs he could find and sweating profusely, and his hands didn't shake, not even as he hefted his axe (well kept, not even slightly dull, the shine of its bit gleaming in proof of that, but nothing he couldn't toss out later with nothing more than a huff) carefully, testing its weight and letting out a deep breath.

Setting it down on the table side, he moved to rummage through his own chests, cursing himself for not keeping it more organized, and hurried to find anything suitable for the job. He pulled out some leather strips and bandages, shutting the chest with a loud thump and click, before settling back at Tommy's side.

He eyed the boy's left leg, the bluish grey creeping up too close to his knee fading downward into a nasty black that Techno recognized as necrosis. The healing and regen had fixed the dying tips of the blond's fingers, but the damage to his left leg had not gotten better. Unfortunately, the potions had only slowed the frostbite's spread, sparing just enough time to remove the infected part and hope for the best.