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

Tangled Up

(3rd person POV)

—bad. He needed to keep awake. Techno was telling him to, and Tommy always did what Techno said. Because Techno was his tutor, his teacher. His big brother. "I would have..." Tommy coughed. He felt blood trickle down his jaw, and then nothing at all. 

"I would have liked to hear you play together again." Wilbur's hold on him tightened. Somewhere far away, someone was screaming for a medic, and Tommy knew. Tommy knew it was—

"We'll play for you," Techno vowed. "When we get home, we'll play for you as many times as you want, Tommy. I'll let you beat me when we spar. I'll let you braid my hair, or even cut it all off if you want to. Anything you want, just keep your eyes open."

A shadow fell over them, in the shape of wings that Tommy had only seen once before, when he had flown out of Tommy's bedroom window and out of their lives forever. Or, not forever. Tommy tried to raise his head, to see his father's face, but the pain was too much.

"Dad," Tommy whispered. He still wanted to do so much. He still wanted to scream at Wilbur and then embrace him. He still wanted to find flowers for Techno's hair. He still wanted to go home, to the kingdom that they had protected. He still wanted to hug his dad.

But a darkness was quickly gathering. "Tommy?" Tommy had no idea who had said his name. It all sounded so very far away. "Don't leave me," Tommy begged. "Please. I'm so scared." "We're here, Tommy." A kiss on his forehead. Someone holding his hand. Strong arms around him. 

Wilbur, humming his old lullaby. Warmth, even in the dark. "We'll always be here."

—too late.

"Thank you," Tommy breathed. "Thank you. I..." He had so much left to say, so much left to offer. Love. Forgiveness. Cheer. But he would leave it there, until he woke up again.

Tommy's eyes drifted shut.

His mother's laughter had never sounded clearer.

Somewhere in the distance, the Green God began to smile.

He first held Tommy in a sunlit room.

He had come earlier than expected was such a small thing, so much smaller than his brother had been. The midwives had told them there was a chance they could lose him within the hour, and his wife had cradled the newborn against her chest, sobbing against his pale skin.

"My baby," she'd cried, "my little fighter. Be brave, Tommy, be strong."

But Tommy was so still in his mother's arms.

Philza had stood at her bedside, watching her coo and cry at a baby that did not stir. He had lived a million lives, and all its miseries combined could not compare to the pain of being a mourner at his son's birth-bed. 

And as the minutes churned on, heedless of the growing abyss inside his chest, he found that he could not even cry. It was a sadness too big for tears, a grief too infinite to measure. And when his wife had offered the baby to him, to give him his chance at saying goodbye despite her own despair, Philza did something that he would never forgive himself for. He hesitated.

He looked at the silent bundle in her arms, dead before he could even live, and felt the fracture in his heart grow. This was the fate of humanity, eventually. It did not matter if Tommy lived to the next year, the next decade or the next breath, he would still one day die. 

Bitter and numb and hateful of the world, Philza wondered if it were better that Tommy died now, before Phil could grow to love him more. People mourned the beauty of a wilting rose, but an unblooming bud would give a quieter heartache.

But Tommy wasn't a flower. He was Tommy. He was Phil's son, and he loved him now as much as he could love him later, though later might never come. But his arms were made of stone. They would not rise, as much as he willed them to. 

If he held Tommy now, he knew he would never let go. He would follow his baby to his grave.

And then there he was, sneaking past the guards and the midwives, passing under a grieving god's notice. He climbed up into bed, smiling at his mother, apparently oblivious—or immune, as often starry-eyed children were—to the anguish that coated the very air of the room.

"Is this my brother?" Wilbur asked, leaning over the baby in his mother's arms. "May I hold him, mother?"

A lump formed in Phil's throat. He turned away before Wilbur could catch sight of his face, and when he turned back around, Wilbur had Tommy in the gentle crook of his arms. The sunlight slanted over them, and Phil wanted to remember them like that forever: his two beautiful sons, immortalized in gold. Wilbur's earth-brown curls hid his expression as he bent over the baby, murmuring something Phil almost didn't catch.

And the baby began to cry. Wilbur pulled back, astonished, his face drawn in awe. "What is it?" he asked frantically. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Phil sobbed, falling to his knees before the three of them—his lovely, laughing wife, his kind, bewildered Wilbur, and his loud, shrieking Tommy. "You did everything right, my boy. You're perfect."

Now Wilbur held his brother—a baby no longer, but still so, so small—to his chest as they walked through the quiet, empty camp. Wilbur spoke the words he'd first spoken to his brother all those years before, over and over, like an enchantment or a prayer to bring him back to life once more.

"I will love you forever, I will love you forever, I will love you forever." But this time, Tommy did not wake up. And Philza was still made of stone.

(Eryn POV)

"Techno? Do you need some-" I froze. Was he...crying? "Techno?" I sat by him.

a/n

yep yep

back with another chapter!

ummmmmm

GUYS

I'll put in the romance SOON

I feel so bad ngl

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

hope maybe a secret chapter is in order!

ehehhehe

i mean idk

comment what yall wanna see ig-

soooo

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

byeeeeeee mah bootyful muffins!!!