Hidden Thoughts and Unspoken Truths - Dream SMP

From Rubble Rose History

Summary: Technoblade can't sleep again, so he journals. Wilbur is too nosy for his own good, setting Technoblade off. Tommy shares history that we are all familiar with and we are introduced to the idea of Dream.

Content Warning: descriptions of violence and angst

There were no warning bells that prepared Techno for the morning he woke up from a scream. Like any rational being, Techno moved to the source of the sound. He had his mask strapped tightly to his face, and favored leaving his crown and cloak in his bedroom as he went out. Techno gripped the axe he'd brought out with him, curious as to who or what could have made the noise at this hour. What he found was not what had been expected in the slightest.

Tommy unsurprisingly was behind the mess of flour in the kitchen. Tubbo, also unsurprisingly, was there as well, seemingly flour free. Ranboo was nowhere to be seen, but what surprised Techno was Wilbur, who held the bag of flour in his hands.

"What are the three of you trying to accomplish at two in the morning?"

Wilbur whirled around, spraying flour towards Techno as he did so. Techno moved two steps back, avoiding the flour, but not any less confused.

"Techno, uh what are you doing up?" Tubbo stammered, smiling nervously. Techno raised a brow, looking at the kitchen.

"Your scream woke me up," Techno stated, leaving his axe leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Wilbur apologized. "What are you three doing?" Techno repeated. 

"We were trying to... make breakfast?" Tubbo answered, and the end of his statement came out more like a question. Wilbur nodded in agreement. Techno kept his weight off the leg that hadn't fully healed and looked at the young boys. 

"Clean this up when you're done, I don't want to deal with an angry Kristin," He said before walking back to his bedroom silently. Techno shut the door of his bedroom, sitting at his desk. He brought out his journal and quill, racking his brain for the thoughts that typically poured out of him. He was riddled into silence, Techno realized. He didn't like that. He knew silence was never expected to bring out a grand prize or anything good. Shaking his head, the Blood God grabbed his cloak, crown, journal, and quill. He returned to the kitchen, passing the three boys without a word, and found his way into the garden.  

Ever since he was little, he'd always worked better outside, so he sat against the fence. He faced the house, setting his journal on his thighs as he wrapped his cloak around him. With one look at the dark sky, and glimmering stars and flowers, Techno began to write. 

He wrote about nothing, about the void of feeling, the tenseness in his shoulders. He wrote about Tommy, about Wilbur, about Niki. He tried to write about everyone, even if he could only form one sentence. He wrote goodbyes, some directed to Quackity. He wrote about the faces in his dreams, too many faces, some familiar and some foreign. He heard no more music, but he wrote about the melody, and the nostalgic air it all gave him. He had much to say, but it took time to put words onto paper. 

He tried to write about the war, he'd been trying to write about the war since he'd arrived. But, he felt himself slipping every time he tried, so he didn't push. The memories swam just below the surface, and he wasn't sure what would come of the world if he let go. He wrote about everything, every little thing he would think of. He wrote as the sun rose, and then he wrote about that. 

He wasn't sure what time it was as someone approached him. The footsteps were too light to be Phil's, but also too heavy to be Kristin's or Niki's. 

"Hello,"

It was Ranboo. Techno turned to the boy, closing his journal.

"Hello, Ranboo."

The tall boy stood fidgeting with his hands, he never seemed to make eye contact with anyone except Tubbo, which Techno found odd, but he never asked Phil about it.