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

Savior In Green

a/n

guys you know where this is going-

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(3rd person POV)

This was the endgame. Wilbur knew they were standing on a precipice—if one of them jumped now, they were lost to each other forever. And so Wilbur leapt.

"Maybe it was better Tommy died before he found out what you are," he said slowly. Deliberately. "You must be happy. At least now, he'll never get the chance to know just what sort of monster you truly are—"

Technoblade moved in a flash. Wilbur had anticipated it, but still couldn't help a gasp of surprise as Techno barreled into him, sending both of them sprawling on the ground. Wilbur's head cracked against the packed earth, but the sting was a welcome one. 

Technoblade kneeled over him, his fists curled around the collar of Wilbur's shirt. Wilbur could feel Technoblade's anger radiating from him like heat from a raging forest fire, but when he looked into his old tutor's eyes, he could only see his own wretched smile reflected back at him.

Technoblade pulled one fist back, his entire body trembling. "Go ahead," Wilbur said. "Prove me right." There was a split second where Wilbur thought Technoblade would simply leave, like Wilbur had always known he would, eventually. 

And then his fist collided with Wilbur's face.

There was a sickening crunch and a lancing pain, and Wilbur knew from the amount of warm blood that dripped down the side of his face that Technoblade had broken his nose. Wilbur leaned back, looking up at Technoblade with wide eyes. 

Technoblade stared back at him with equal shock, the anger briefly ebbing from his face to reveal a genuine worry.

"I—" Technoblade began, but Wilbur cut him off with a derisive snort.

"That all you got, blood god?" he said, and promptly kicked Technoblade off him. Technoblade went flying, and crashed against the cot right behind him. Wilbur's breath caught as he watched the cot tremble, and then collapse.

"No!" Technoblade reached his arms out, but he wasn't fast enough.

Tommy's limp body fell to the floor with a hollow thud.

For a moment, all was quiet. There was only the distant rumble of thunder, so far away now, as Technoblade and Wilbur simply stared at Tommy's body lying in the dirt before them, like abandoned refuse, like a toy—once-loved, now broken—discarded by a careless toddler's fickle hands.

He hated himself for it, but his first instinct was to search the room for his father. He met his father's eyes as the old king slowly rose from his seat, his mouth a thin line of disapproval. Always disapproval, the voices hissed. Even now. Especially now.

Wilbur wrenched his gaze away from his father's, only to be met with Technoblade's, his pale face a study in grief. "What the hell did we just do?" Technoblade whispered, almost too quiet to be heard over the pounding rain.

But Wilbur was already rushing to his feet. Before Technoblade could say another word, Wilbur ran.

"Don't."

The warning was soft, but brooked no argument. Techno stopped at the edge of the tent where he'd been readying to chase after Wilbur, turning towards the sound of Philza's voice. Philza had gathered Tommy's body into his arms, but he was looking right at Techno.

"He needs his space," Phil continued, his blue eyes almost gray in the dim light.

How would you know? Techno wanted to say, but his gaze fell and caught on Tommy. What was left of his anger evaporated into mist as he took in the state of his br—his pupil. The blood and mud still on his skin and clothes, the dagger still protruding from his small, unbreathing chest. 

Phil held the boy with infinite gentleness, Tommy's head nestled against the crook of his arm, Tommy's cheek pressed against his chest—exactly like how one would hold a newborn babe. Techno wondered when the last time Phil had held Tommy like that—

If Tommy even allowed him to over the age of three—and realized it did not really matter. A father's arms never forgot the shape of a child. Not that Techno knew anything about being a father. Or being a son.

Techno nodded begrudgingly at Philza. "And we need to clean Tommy." Phil looked down at the body in his arms, his expression cloudy. "I suppose we should." "I want to help too." Eryn spoke up, surprising the two men.

They moved quietly, carefully. Techno grabbed the cloth he'd dropped during his tussle with Wilbur and went to wet it in the rain again, lingering in the cold to let the raindrops wash away the blood on his knuckles. Wilbur's blood. Eryn looked to Techno in concern.

His stomach tightened as bloodstained water dripped from his hands, but in a few moments, his hands were clean once more. When he turned back to Tommy and Phil, he'd found that Phil had taken the knife from Tommy's chest.

"Is this yours?" Phil asked bitterly, running his hand over the knife's carved handle. "You should know," Techno said. "You gave it to me." Phil looked up in surprise. Techno could only shrug, unsure of where they stood now with each other.

"It was a long time ago," Techno said. "You gave me a whole set."

"During the?—" Eryn questioned.

"Yes," Techno cut him off. "During that time."

For the first time, Phil seemed to look his age: ancient and weathered by his endless years. Techno could see him remembering it all: their empire of blood and glory, broken only by silent months of warm companionship. 

It seemed their bodies recalled just as much as their minds did, because they slipped easily into their grim work, side-by-side, never needing to speak a single word. As Phil combed the dirt out of Tommy's hair, Techno scrubbed at the stains on his arms and the stubborn one of his cheek. 

And when Techno's breathing began to slow at the sight of the jagged wound on Tommy's chest, Phil silently worked Tommy out of his torn shirt and into a fresh one that did not bear the scars of their battle.

Then they stepped back, surveying their work. Tommy was polished. Tommy was spotless.

Tommy was dead.

Of all the things that could have broken him, Techno didn't understand why it had to be the sight of Tommy actually looking clean. He'd held it together when they were walking back to camp, he'd held it together when Wilbur pinned him with accusations that simply echoed what the voices had been saying for years. 

Monster, monster, monster. He'd killed a thousand men, seen allies eviscerated and witnessed the fall of kingdoms. He'd seen Philza kneel. He'd seen the world end a hundred times over and watched its people rebuild it over and over while he stood back, helpless, wanting to scream at them for being foolish but also yearning, with all his might, to be able to love something enough to also love what grew from its ruins.

And looking at Tommy's peaceful face was what finally, finally, made Technoblade—emperor of ice, blood god, destroyer of worlds—cry.

He stood over Tommy's body, and let the tears fall. He felt himself come undone with grief and guilt, misery and madness. And all at once he understood. He understood the anguish in the war god's eyes. He understood the pain of the widows and orphans he'd left in his wake. 

He understood the agony of an entire world brought to its knees before a merciless god—and he felt it all.

A hand closed around his trembling shoulder.

Eryn's.

a/n

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