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

The Green God (3)

(3rd person POV)

"He was fifteen," Philza croaked. "He died for your war at fifteen."

"And you abandoned Wilbur at fifteen." The Green God sighed wearily. "They grow up so fast, don't they? Pity you were only there for the end." He brightened. "Speaking of Wilbur, I never answered his question, did I? Of how I did all this?"

He let go of Philza's sword to gesture at everything—the empty town, their shattered universe, their strange story.

"I don't care." Philza steadied his shaking hand and prepared to plunge it through the god's heart. After years of fighting, he had figured out exactly where to slice without killing. Death would be too kind a god than this monster deserved.

"Well, you should." Dream laughed. "Look behind you, Philza."

Philza would have cut off an arm before he took orders from him, but there was something in his words that made Phil's blood freeze over. Slowly, without moving his sword away from the Green God's chest, Phil turned.

He saw Techno making his way towards them, his unbound hair falling over his face like a burial shroud. His trident glistened in the dying sunlight as he spun it expectantly in his hand, ready to be Philza's fellow executioner.

But then, behind him, standing at the window they'd crashed through, looking numbly out at the scene, was Wilbur.

As Philza watched, still as stone, Wilbur slowly drew his bow. A slender hand reached back into his quiver and produced a single arrow. He nocked it, and aimed.  

Straight at Techno.

"Techno!" Philza screamed in warning.

Techno paused, tensing in confusion, and then he followed Phil's frightened eyes back towards the church.

Phil could see Wilbur's hands shaking. His mouth formed a single word in his wide-eyed fear. "Techno?"

"Aw, Wilbur." Dream's voice. The voice that had plagued Philza's sons for years, now plaguing him, too, as he found himself unable to move, or blink, or breathe, or think. "Why the long face?"

Wilbur began to smile.

"Wil?" Techno asked, uncomprehending. There was no world, no universe, no god-written stage, where Wilbur could do this to him. And yet here they were, standing across from each other. Strangers once more.

That was not his brother's smile.

Those were not his brother's eyes.

"Wil—" Techno said again. A plea. A prayer. A pardon.

Wilbur let the arrow fly.

The arrow whistled through the air, steady and sure—just like Techno taught him.

Techno rolled into the snow at the last moment, shaking himself out of his frozen shock before the arrow could punch through his heart. It thudded into the ground somewhere behind him, but Wilbur was already nocking another, aiming before Techno could get to his feet.

"Wilbur!" Techno called out, reaching for him, but there was nothing behind Wilbur's brown eyes, no clarity or kindness.

Wilbur shot again, and this time it found its mark in Techno's shoulder. And it hurt. It hurt.

Biting back a scream, Techno pulled the arrow free and flipped onto his feet, his shoulder a bloody mess. He stared across the way at his student, his king, his brother, who was climbing over the window, his expression remaining blank and painless even as the broken glass cut his palms open.