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

...And New Beginnings.

(3rd person POV)

Philza rolled the apple between his palms, feeling its weight in his hands for a moment before he tossed it into the basket by his feet. Already, it was piled high with the ruby-red fruit, spilling over into the grass below. 

He stepped back and inhaled deeply, the scent of apple blossoms and spring and life crawling into his lungs and settling there like an animal in hibernation. He could taste the sweetness on his tongue. He could feel the breeze against his skin.

The apple orchard was ready for harvest, and everything was all right with the world.

"Dad!"

Philza turned to watch his son weaving between the trees. He couldn't help the laugh that exploded out of him at the sight of his youngest son's arms piled high with apples, toppling to the ground with every excited step he took. 

By the time he reached Phil, he only had a handful left with him, the rest leaving a trail of red through the orchard.

But he was grinning as if he had accomplished something great.

"Best delivery boy in the whole kingdom," Tommy said proudly. "I'm still waiting for that promotion to Head Apple-Picker."

Philza ruffled his hair affectionately. He's gotten so tall, Phil thought as the golden strands slipped between his fingers like running water. "You have to beat out other competition to get that title, Tommy. Can't have the people thinking I'm giving you special treatment."

"It's only right to give special treatment to your special boy!" Tommy declared, rolling the apples into the grass by his feet.

"That is nepotism."

"No, it's being a good father."

Phil's smile faltered, almost infinitesimally. But Tommy caught it anyway.

"Hey," he said with a gentler voice than Philza deserved. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Phil said, feeling fissures form in his chest where his heart used to beat. He took a deep breath, letting the taste of pollen linger on his tongue before he swallowed the bitterness down. "Nothing's wrong. And that's the problem, isn't it?"

Tommy stared back at him with soft blue eyes. Someone once told Philza that children were merely reflections of their parents, but he knew that couldn't be true. Because every time he looked in a mirror, he only ever saw the worst of himself—all the places he'd abandoned, all the people he'd killed, all the sons he'd left orphaned. 

But when he looked at Tommy, all he ever saw was proof that the universe still had the capacity for goodness.

Tommy really did get a lot taller. In time, he would grow to be even taller than Philza was.

If only he hadn't died before he could.

There were many things, Philza knew, that Tommy could never do now. To even have him standing before Philza under the shifting shadows of their kingdom's apple trees was an impossibility. 

Tommy's brows drew together in confusion as the silence between them stretched on; Philza knew he was only prolonging the inevitable.

Just let me stay in this lie, he begged, for one second more.

A minute passed. Two. Tommy shifted on his feet.

"Dad...?" he whispered.

Philza sighed, and, in a quiet, broken voice, he said, "This isn't real, is it?"

Tommy stared at him blankly.

And then he began to smile.

"Follow the breadcrumbs," his little sister said. "That's what papa always says."

The path was well-worn and cut through the thickest part of the forest. The trees were so close together that the sunlight could no longer pierce through, leaving the two of them walking through the dim with no guide but their hands in each other's and the memory of their father's murmured words. 

Follow the breadcrumbs. The little things would be the ones that kept them on the right track: a crooked tree, a low-hanging branch with all its leaves plucked off by passing hands, a pile of rocks by the side of the road that a younger Techno had spent three bored minutes stacking together—now moss-covered and leaning dangerously to the side, but still standing.

Following breadcrumbs through a cold, dark forest with his little sister's hand curled around his fingers. This was a route they knew by heart, and a story they've lived hundreds of times before.

"Follow the breadcrumbs," his sister repeated, tightening her grip on Techno, "and you'll never get lost."

And then, slowly, she began pulling him to the side, heading straight towards the brambles.

Techno pulled her back onto the road, small feet skidding reluctantly across the dirt. "Papa also says to not stray from the path," he reminded her sternly, eyeing the dark trees standing like silent sentinels on either side of them. 

The path was safe. The path would take them home. Anything else was a dangerous gamble. Though he knew this forest well, it did not know him at all, and gods knew what monsters lurked behind the bushes, waiting for wandering strangers. "Keep away from the dark—"

"Or the Spider will get you," she finished, and her voice was dead and dull.

Techno's heart skipped a beat. He was used to her jumping from one emotion to another, but this was something different. Something that was not her at all.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes," she whispered back, as if there was an invisible threat she was careful not to startle. "Just tired."

"Do you want me to carry you on my back?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "We always have to walking side by side. This is how it happened."

Confusion and panic warring inside him, Techno said, "How what happened?"

She suddenly paused, pulling Techno to a stop with her. She had her eyes fixed straight, looking off towards a horizon Techno couldn't see. There was only the dark, and the weight of her small hand slowly growing colder in his.

"Techno," she said slowly, quietly, too unlike the brilliant girl that spoke of souls and adventures and frogs in the rain just a few hours—days—years—eons ago. "Techno," she repeated firmly, turning towards him with wide, fearful eyes. "Techno, what's my name?"

Techno opened his mouth to answer, but silence was his only reply.

In another place, another time, another future, She rode on, searching. 

a/n

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