Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

Plot Twists (+ a/n)

a/n

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OKAY 

ON W DA STORY

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(Eryn POV)

Technoblade turned instinctively at Tommy's scream, just in time to see Tommy draw back from Wilbur's reaching hands. Pain flashed across Wilbur's face, but he was otherwise unscathed. Both of them were safe. No knives in their backs, no arrows through their throat.

A shadow fell over Technoblade, and by the time he remembered where he was, it was too late.

Technoblade turned and faced the tip of a bloody sword, a breath away from his face. But it was not the war god's obsidian blade, coming to reap his soul. It was a familiar silver broadsword, pierced right through the war god's chest.

Technoblade could only stare as war god looked down at the blade embedded straight through his heart, his sword arm still raised in what would have been a killing blow. Instead, the obsidian sword fell harmlessly out of his limp hold and onto the dirt, and the war god followed close behind.

Behind him stood a winged man, his golden hair catching the rays of the setting sun. No, the voices screamed. Not you. Not you. Not you. "Hello, Techno," said Philza. Wait. Phil? What the hell? What was he doing here-

(3rd person POV)

Wilbur saw him first. Perhaps that was how it was always meant to be. Some part of him would always, unfailingly, be looking for him. Tommy followed a beat later. Wilbur saw his brother's shoulders go slack, like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. "Dad...?"

Their father was standing before Techno and the unmoving body of the white-cloaked soldier. At the sound of Tommy's voice, he turned, and looked at his sons for the first time in a decade. And so he enters the scene once more, the voices whispered. 

And before Wilbur could say anything, Tommy was already running.

One move. That was all it would take.

On the ground beside him was one of the blood god's throwing knives, lost during their battle. With the last of his strength, he curled his fingers around the hilt. His love was calling him home. He could hear it in the warm wind. But he could not face him before he was avenged. 

And so with all he had left, the war god aimed.

And threw.

(Eryn POV)

I lunged forward to protect Tommy, but I seemed to have moved a moment too late. 

Dad. His father was here. His dad, standing among the blue irises the same shade as his sad eyes. The years fell away like smoke, and Tommy was a boy again. There was no explosion. There was no war. There was no leaving. There was only a son, and his father.

Tommy felt a hysterical laugh bubble out of him as he ran, even as his cheeks still stung with tears. There was everything. There was confusion, there was grief, there was anger, there was relief, there was disbelief, there was joy—

"Dad!" Tommy shouted, spreading his arms wide as he ran, like a bird about to take flight.

"Tommy." Dad's smile was still the same, after all these years. He opened his arms, welcoming Tommy into an embrace. "My boy. You've grown so much."

—and then there was pain, as the knife found its mark in the prince's heart.

Techno watched Tommy fall backwards, impossibly slow. It took a moment for the reality to sink in, and by then, Wilbur was screaming, screaming so loud it drowned out everything else, even the voices that began screeching inside Techno's head.

"Tommy!" Philza shouted, running towards Tommy's unmoving body, but Wilbur was already there, cradling his brother to his chest. Techno could only watch, utterly numb, utterly cold, utterly lost inside his own head.

No, no, no, no, no—This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening. It was over. The war was over. He'd done everything he could to protect them, to protect Tommy. Why was this still how it ended?

"That is what it feels," someone gasped, "to lose everything." By the time Techno turned towards the war god, ready to rip him limb from fucking limb, he was dead, a smile on his face. Fuck you, Techno thought furiously, fuck you fuck you fuck you—

"Techno!" Wilbur's scream brought him violently back into his body, with the force of a comet crashing into earth. "Help me!"

Techno staggered towards them, his blood as heavy as lead, his vision hazy. But he could see the one thing that mattered. His Tommy, lying so still in his brother's arms. His Tommy, who braided his hair with sweet-smelling flowers. His Tommy, who was quick to anger but quicker to laugh. 

His Tommy.

The sun was setting over the Blue Valley.

I wept. I was beside Techno in a flash, soothing him. This wasn't easy for me either.

There was a terrible, terrible silence—the kind of silence that always came before something devastating. The calm before the storm. Tommy had always hated silences. It gave his mind too many spaces to fill with darkness. So he brought light, instead. Noise and laughter and jokes and jibes, anything to keep the quiet at bay.

Wilbur had helped with the weight, like he promised, but now it was back, pressing against Tommy's chest, suffocating him under its burden. There was pain. So much pain. He thought he'd already felt pain, but what did he truly know? He was only fifteen.

Tommy felt himself lifted into someone's arms. The arms of the man that had snuffed out the lives of two armies in one fell swoop. Tommy wanted to push him away again, to spit his anger and his disgust, but he was too weak to do either. He could only lie there, staring up at his brother's face, twisted with anguish. His mouth was moving, speaking words Tommy could barely hear.

Let me go, Tommy wanted to say. Give me back to the ground.

But then Wilbur started humming. It was a song. The song. The song Tommy had been humming just this morning, lifetimes ago.

"What...?" Tommy breathed, the rest of the question dying on his lips. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He should. He knew he should, because otherwise he'd be—

"Your lullaby," Wilbur sobbed, his tears hitting Tommy's cheeks. "It's the lullaby I used to play for you on my guitar, when you were younger." And just like that, everything that came before was forgiven and forgotten and

—gone. But was that such a bad thing? Rest would be nice. If it meant his lungs would stop hurting. If it meant his chest would stop aching. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was—"I miss your music, Wilbur."

Tommy could feel someone stroking back his hair, so gently. So lovingly. "Keep your eyes open, Tommy." Techno. "Keep your godsdamned eyes open."

a/n

ahh crap yeet my story plan out of the window-

sooo

have a good day, afternoon or night wherever you are!

byeeeeeeeeeeeeee mah bootyful muffinss!!!