a series of sbi oneshots

died, and revived - a sequel to a voice in my head

Prime hated him, Tommy was sure of it.

It didn't matter how many churches or paths he created in their name, Tommy always got the short end of the stick.

He was sixteen when he died, jaw bone crunching beneath Dream's hand. He lay on the burning, black obsidian watching his own blood pool on its glassy surface. Water dripped down the crooked edge of his broken nose, and the image of salt and copper mingling was the last thing he saw before waking up in a void.

Prime hadn't greeted him there, as he had believed they would.

Instead, he was greeted by Death.

Cold, soft fingers had brushed the blood and tears away, and the veiled goddess had leaned down, whispering her condolences.

She had promised him no one could touch him there, that she would protect him from the terrors that had plagued his life.

And then the inky darkness had slipped away, and the image of Technoblade's cabin had faded in.

He must have been in mute shock for the first day, watching the world through the eyes of his former-friend turned enemy.

And Tommy is lost.

He doesn't get Technoblade. One moment, he's reading Tommy's scrawled words, making fun of his handwriting with a subtle fondness that leaves the teen reeling, and the next he's convincing the other syndicate members that he hates him.

Maybe he didn't ever want to know what Techno thought of him.

He watches as the piglin stumbles from the syndicate's hidden fortress, the arctic wind whipping around him, catching his fur-lined cape and attempting to yank it from his shoulders. He knows he owes the man answers, but he can only bring himself to watch in mute horror as Techno leaves the borders of the Antarctic commune, lost amongst the chorus of other voices that ramble in Techno's mind.

There's a voice calling after him, likely Philza, but his words are lost on the wind, and if Techno hears the avian, he doesn't pay him any mind. Where they're going, Tommy has no clue. He is not privy to Techno's thoughts, only his eyes and ears.

There's a sinking feeling in the chest he doesn't actually have as Techno marches towards the portal without a single word spoken to him.

Tommy watches through another man's eyes as he marches into the entryway of the prison, cape fluttering and eyes burning a harsh red.

Technoblade's wrath might have once made him flinch, but he had no corporeal body to react with as the piglin slammed a hand against the button to summon the warden before stepping back again with a calm fury.

Techno unsheathes his swords, and folds his hands over the pommel, eyeing the portal with narrowed eyes. It's a false display of calmness, a restrained rage.

The teen feels as though he can't breath in the tense, silent moments that follow.

"...Technoblade." The warden's tired voice echoes from the intercom. "What do you want?"

"What else?" He snarls, teeth bared at the empty portal.

"Put the sword away." Sam orders, unaffected.

The piglin gives a huff– not quite laughter, but something far more bitter. Sharp-edged. "And get beat to death? I'm good thanks."

They both hear the way that the warden's breath catches across the redstone.

Too soon. Tommy mutters, mostly to himself, though he can't help but notice the way Techno tenses at even a whisper of his presence.

"...I don't believe that's necessary. You're not– not–"