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ufuckingpastry · 3 years

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Amongst Feathers and Emeralds

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Content Warning: Trauma/Dealing with Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Hallucinations, Derealization, PTSD, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Note: I do use terms in this that are meant replace terms used in the Homestuck quadrant system with words that would fit in the Dream SMP universe. See the relationship note below.

Relationships:

Chapter 2: In the Place We Call Our Own

The ghost returned.

Technoblade saw it out of the corner of his eyes most days now. Wisping around like disturbed mist, just out of reach, just within sight. It left a permanent tension in his shoulders, a paranoid glance around every so often, and a hyperawareness that still left him jumping at the slightest unexpected touch. After the third time Technoblade jumped that morning, Phil grabbed his shoulder and turned him around purposely. Technoblade's eyes skittered away, unable to look at his friend's worried gaze.

"Techno," Phil started, his hand sliding down to hold his. "Are you okay? You've been… off ever since the incident." The incident. It's what Phil started to call his hallucination of Tommy. Phil avoided talking about it, like it was a curse. Like some terrible disease he wanted to let rot someone else's soul. Technoblade squeezed his hand and heaved out a sigh.

“I’m alright. I…” he trailed off, holding the words back on his tongue. He had promised not to keep things from Phil and he knew what keeping him out of the loop did to him. And yet… And yet he felt like he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Phil why. He couldn’t tell him the things he saw. The things he saw in the waking world and in dreaming nightmares.

What could Phil even do to help? Phil slept with him most nights now, his feathers a comforting weight on his side. Even though he knew why Phil slept with him, why he followed him into every room he could, and waited outside the door of others. Phil didn’t trust him to be alone. Not anymore. Not after so many incidents where he put himself into harm’s way. He didn’t even seem to trust Ranboo to be the only person to stay with him. Phil trusted Ranboo, of course he did. But what if Ranboo couldn’t stop Technoblade? What if Technoblade was so blinded with his hurts and his anger at the thing that made him this way that he hurt Ranboo without remorse. What then?

So Technoblade kept silent. It pained him. It made his chest ache to do so, but he saw no other choice. And, eventually, Phil stopped asking. And that.

That hurt worse.

Days passed after the incident, but Technoblade didn’t have another hallucination like the Tommy incident. Perhaps it was because he threw himself into his work, into helping Phil with anything he needed. Technoblade wanted to prove to him, prove to Phil that he was okay. That he was getting better. Prove to Phil that he didn’t need to glance his way and worry himself sick. Because he knew that’s what Phil was doing. Even when he wasn’t looking, Technoblade still knew Phil worried. It wasn't something he could stop easily, no matter what he tried to do.

And then, eventually, he did start to feel… better. To a degree. He was doing better. He hadn’t had as many nightmares, hadn’t been caught with another hallucination, hadn’t had any problems that Phil could see. And slowly, Phil seemed to stop worrying so hard. Phil left him alone more often, let him out of his sight for longer and longer periods of time. Phil seemed to think he was getting better too. It was going to be okay.

It would be okay.

Even if Technoblade had to pretend that it was okay for Phil to stop looking at him like that, it would be

okay.

A few weeks later, and Technoblade was no longer sure it was going to be okay. It had been… rough. Somehow. Somehow he had fallen back into the mess of his mind. The ghost was back, even if he couldn’t see its form, he could feel its eyes watching him. He stuck closer to Phil, but he had been doing well. And Phil felt like he could trust him enough for the next step forward.

“Do you really have to leave?” Technoblade asked as Philza opened the door. He looked back to Techno, the expression reading regret and worry. Technoblade wanted to bury himself in Phil’s arms, beg him to stay, plead that he never left for any reason. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to Phil. He was already grounded; Technoblade didn’t want to lock him in a cage too. Some of his feelings must have shown on his face because Phil stepped forward and pulled him up against his arms. Technoblade fell into his arms, embracing his best friend tightly. He could feel the brush of wings as they encircled them. There was safety in these wings; he knew that deep in his soul. Tension seeped out of his shoulders as Phil pressed his forehead to Technoblade’s. His voice was soft when he spoke again.

“I have to, mate. I won’t be gone for very long. It’ll take a few days, but I’ll try to come back sooner.” He squeezed Technoblade, inhaling a breath that felt far too shaky. They parted after a moment, both hesitant to let go first. Phil’s wings folded on his back, but his hand came up to cup Technoblade’s cheek. “I promise I’ll come back, Techno. I’ll always come back to you.” Technoblade leaned into the touch and sighed. He touched Phil’s arm, and closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of his hand on his cheek. Phil breathed out and rubbed his thumb on his cheek.

When Philza left, Technoblade leaned back on his hooves and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. He was not going to cry less than a minute after Phil left. He had spent far too much time in the last month on crying, hidden, locked away where Phil couldn't, wouldn't see. Any more felt like overkill at this point. He lifted his lip up around one of his tusks, finding a point in middle distance to unfocus on. He should be better by now. It had been a month since he had been with the egg. A month! Phil said the corruption disappeared from his face a few days into his recovery, though he could still feel the scars where they burrowed into his flesh. He hadn’t been back to L’Manberg since. If they needed anything from there, Ranboo usually came back with it. Phil hadn’t left either, but now he needed to. He was moving more of his stuff over from one of his secret bases. For him to be gone for a few days meant the base must be far. Technoblade could handle a few days without Phil. Just a few days… alone…

That thought, imagining being alone for a few days, sent panic crawling up his spine. His mouth dried, his heart thrummed, and the scars in his face ached. His breath quickened and he could almost hear the voice in the back of his head, hear the egg’s whispers, praising him for returning back to it, and, and, and

Technoblade squeezed his fists together until they shook. He resolutely turned his back on the growing panic. He would… he would… Potions. They needed more potions. He could make more potions and it would be fine.

Technoblade poured over his books, collecting supplies and more stands and brewing them until his breathing slowed and the voices in his head were quiet enough he could pretend they didn’t exist. He put the potions away slowly, breathing in and out in time with his movements. Once they were put away, he settled down by the fireplace, focusing on keeping the fire alive. How was he going to survive a few days without Phil if the thought alone sent him into a panic? Technoblade dropped his head into his hands. Why wasn’t he better already? It had been a month! Why wasn’t he better!

He growled and pushed to his feet and began to pace to burn off the sudden burst of aggression. Brewing had taken most of the day and the night was creeping in. He was not afraid of the dark, nor of what spawned in the dark. But being alone in the dark, trying to sleep without the knowledge Phil was nearby…

Well. Technoblade breathed out as he slowed to a stop. It wouldn’t be the first time he went without sleep and, no matter how hard Phil tried to prevent it, it wouldn’t be the last. Steve growled softly, lifting his head to stare at the piglin. Technoblade stepped over and pressed his face into Steve’s fur, trying to block out the rest of the world.

It worked for a few hours, until a knock on the door startled him upright, his sword already drawn out of habit. He pushed the door slowly, weapon ready to defend, but he paused when there came a chirp. Technoblade lowered the sword with an exasperated sigh.

“Ranboo, you nearly scared me half to death. What are you doing out this late?” Technoblade asked, stepping back so Ranboo could walk in. Which. He did not do. “Uh? Ranboo?” Technoblade ducked into the doorframe, leaning out so he could get a better look at—oh.

Ranboo tilted his head at Technoblade, the unfocused and glazed over look giving away the enderwalk immediately. He chirped again, then set the grass block he’d been holding down in front of the door. Technoblade followed the motion with his eyes, then slowly brought them up to look at Ranboo some more. The kid was just standing there, smiling. It would’ve been creepy if Technoblade didn’t know him. Actually, scratch that. The enderwalk thing was creepy still, but…

“Maybe I should come with you. To make sure you don’t get into any trouble," Technoblade said carefully, measuring out his words so it didn't sound like he cared thaaaat much.

Ranboo vwooped and turned away. He walked down the steps as Technoblade hurried to grab some warmer layers to put on top of his armor. He chased Ranboo down, who was busy digging up another grass block. Technoblade fell into step with him, watching him as he walked. It was. Calming. Soothing to just be with someone. Phil and him would do that a lot, just exist with each other. Ranboo and him hadn’t ever just existed with each other, not like this. They didn’t stray too far from the house; just walked around the property. Technoblade eyed the mobs outside the fence and walked in a way that would protect Ranboo from any stray arrows. The kid wasn’t wearing any armor. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing the winter cloak he made for him.

Technoblade chewed his lip. He might just. Go back in and get it for him. But no, he didn’t know Ranboo’s house well enough to know where he would put it and he didn’t want to go rummaging around in his chests. He knew well enough how that felt. A memory came to him unbidden, of finding Tommy underneath his house, finding him stealing his golden apples and gold and-

Ranboo vwooped. The sound pulled Technoblade out of his thoughts. He turned to face the half-enderman. His eyes studied Ranboo as he studied him back. Whenever Ranboo did this… enderwalking thing… his eyes never stayed focused. There was a purple tint to his eyes. It made the red eye look even deeper, even darker, more like blood than rubies. On the other hand, the purple tint muddled the green. Turned it to dirt, to mud. It sent a twitch to Technoblade’s hand to wipe it clean, to bring his friend back to the emerald he was used to.

But now, almost as if Ranboo knew his thoughts, knew the dark places he lingered in, the line he toed between light and a dark, bottomless pit of his worst fears, the half-enderman stared at him. Locked eyes, even though Ranboo normally looked a little to the left of him. Technoblade felt pinned by the gaze, by the silent stare of his friend who was not quite there. The hint of purple still darkened his eyes.

Ranboo was the first to look away, not that Techno felt he could even try on his own. He set down the grass block he had been carrying. Technoblade hrmed at that. Hopefully, the snow would cover it soon. It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the property and he wondered if Ranboo had done it on purpose.

“Bruh,” he complained. “Think of my property value.” Ranboo only chirped in response. The piglin sighed and went to dig it back up, but Ranboo was walking away. Another grass block appeared in his hand. Technoblade would have thought by magic, if not for the convenient hole in the ground. “Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuh.” He hurried after Ranboo, falling into step with him. He could fix it tomorrow. Right now, keeping an eye on Ranboo was more important. Technoblade glanced up at the stars, huffing out a cold breath. He had never really looked at the stars before, not past when he was trying to find his way around. The living GPS, that was him. For sure.

But… after his time trapped underground…

“Did,” he started quietly, more thoughtful than actually asking a question. “Did you know the first time I saw the stars, I thought it was glowstone? I thought, if I could tower high enough, I’d be able to reach them? Touch them. Mine them out. Do you see that one? I wanted to take that one home with me. I even made a lantern for it.” Techno laughed quietly to himself. His gaze lowered to the snow with a sigh. “Phil taught me what they were. He laughed at me when I asked if he’d help me mine out the star. I cried for a week when he told me we’d never reach them. But he did make me this.” Technoblade showed Ranboo his hand, pointing out an old, worn ring. It was made of glowstone, of nether gold, and hardened with quartz. Ranboo tilted his head. It would have looked like he was listening, if Technoblade didn’t know better.

“He told me it was blessed by the stars. I was young then. Er, younger. I believed him. Of course, I did. He had never lied to me. What else was I going to do? I found out, later, that he had made up the story for me. To comfort me. I. I never blamed him for it. It was a comfort. It is a comfort. And, unlike the stars, it will never stop glowing.” Technoblade smiled fondly at the memory. Next to him, Ranboo chirred. It sounded almost like encouragement, to keep going. It felt easier to talk now. Perhaps it was because he knew Ranboo wouldn’t remember this in the morning. If that made him a bad person, for taking advantage of his friend in this way… Well, he had committed worse crimes.

And so, he told him. Finding the words was hard. It was infinitely hard. The burden he carried felt heavier by the minute, with every word he spoke into existence. Technoblade told Ranboo about when Bad and Antfrost trapped him with the egg. He told him about the way it wrapped its vines around his skull, around his throat. How it buried inside him and gripped his heart. He told him about the ghost he saw, the ghost he still saw everywhere. The ghost of the egg haunting him, beckoning him back, encouraging him to leave this place, his home, and return to it.

“And for what? Power?” He laughed bitterly, slapping a hand to his head. “What do I lack in power? Phil and I destroyed nations. We were young; we felt ageless! I mean, have you seen our sparring room? He and I have cracked enough scars in the world I’m surprised it’s still standing! I still have enough withers to wipe out everything! We blew up an entire country to bedrock! What power do I still lack!” His laughter faded, his smile morphing into a frown. Technoblade stared down at his hand. He closed it into a fist, opened it, and closed it, and opened it again. His hands were cold. His body, warm as it usually was, felt cold. He should go inside. He should go rest with Steve. Phil would worry if he stayed out so late.

Chilled hands rested on his and he startled to see Ranboo touching him. He looked up, checking his eyes. They were too far from the torchlight. Still within the fences, but the darkness made it hard to tell if he was still affected by the enderwalk. But Ranboo chirped, vwooping in Ender. Technoblade relaxed. He still hadn’t woken yet. He didn’t know if he could continue this conversation if Ranboo was awake. Ranboo squeezed his hands, a gentle rumble emanating from him. Speaking was still hard, but he tried.

“I don’t… I didn’t remember what happened, not exactly. I feel like…” He bit his lip and looked away. He hadn’t admitted this to anyone, not even to himself. But, with Ranboo here, with Ranboo listening (sort of), it felt easier to admit. Somehow. “I feel like I lost myself in there. Like, there’s still a piece of me that was eaten away and still lives in that pit. It feels like, sometimes. Sometimes I’ll close my eyes and I’ll be there. I’ll be back there. It,” his breath hitched and he squeezed Ranboo’s hands. He would not cry. He would not. He was supposed to be getting better. He was supposed to be better. “This, all of this. Being back home, being saved, it doesn’t, it—”

Technoblade cut himself off, worried now. Worried for the first time that if he spoke his thoughts, then he would speak it into existence. He worried that this reality, where Phil was real and here and not a ghost that would fade the second he touched him—that it would vanish. That it would all vanish and he would be back there. Back above the egg, back with it reaching into his skull until he wished for his death or joined them. Ranboo chirred, seeming to encourage him to speak again.

“It doesn’t feel real, Ranboo. I’m. I’m… afraid,” he whispered. “I’m afraid one day I’ll close my eyes and when I open them again, I’ll never have left. I’m. I’m so afraid, Ranboo.” Technoblade pressed his head onto Ranboo’s hands, his breath shaking with his fears. He felt raw, hollowed out. His vulnerabilities on display to someone he never thought he’d trust with this kind of information. Someone he wouldn’t, in normal circumstances. But it was fine. Ranboo wasn’t awake anyways. He wouldn’t—

“Techno,” came Ranboo’s whispered voice. Technoblade’s head snapped up, his fear plastered over his face. He couldn’t see… They were too far from the torchlight; he couldn’t see if Ranboo had woken, but—

“Techno,” Ranboo called again. His voice was gentle, sympathetic, understanding. “I know how you feel. At least, to an extent. I’ve had times where I didn’t feel real. Where I heard a voice in my head and it told me such terrible things. And I know it’s not the same as you, not quite. But, if you want it, I could try to help.”

“You’re… awake.”

“Yeah,” Ranboo said. His head tilted down, looking away at the admittance.

“How… how long? How much did you hear?”

“I woke up when you were talking about the stars?”

“Bruh. Why?”

“Because you need to talk about this stuff. I know it’s hard. I know it hurts. But, Techno. Techno, it’s not going to get better if you don’t talk about it. It won’t. Trust me.” Technoblade looked at him, tried to see through the dark. But even then, he felt… he felt like he could trust Ranboo. Ranboo, who had never truly done him any harm. Ranboo, who took the time to make and enchant a netherite pickaxe for him when he had lost his. Ranboo, who came with him on trips, joking around, there for him at his back. Ranboo, who had found him when he was going back to the egg, who had stood his ground to make sure he was safe, even at the risk of his own self.

“Techno, you also need to talk to Phil about this. He’s worried sick about you and… We didn’t know what happened to you either. You disappeared one day and he couldn’t reach you. And the next time we see you, it’s Dream bringing you back. You need to talk to Phil.”

“But, I… it’s…” he couldn’t bring himself to admit it again. Not when he knew Ranboo was awake. He dropped to the ground, his shoulders slumping forward. He was cold and exhausted and… He was so tired. He still felt raw and seen. It wasn’t doing anything good for his breath. He thought about telling Phil, opening up to him about this and not knowing how he would react. He could probably trust that Phil wouldn’t think any less of him for this, but what if he did? What if he did think of him as weak for not being okay? For having fallen so far with the egg’s vines buried so deep in him?

Ranboo followed him down, holding onto his hands. Then, with a gentle sigh, he removed his hands. Technoblade twitched, simultaneously wanting to chase after those hands or bury his hands in the snow until he stopped feeling anything. He didn’t suffer for long before Ranboo set a grass block in his lap. Silently, he took Technoblade’s hands and rested them on top of the grass, urging him to start touching it. Trusting him, he did. It… it felt nice. Tough and coarse, enough to survive the cold climate. It wasn’t enough to slow his breathing, but it. It was grounding. Sort of.

Then, Ranboo took his hands off the block and brought them to his cheeks. He chirped, urging him to touch his skin. Technoblade rubbed his thumb over the tear scars and he felt something in his chest break. It was dark, too dark without the torchlight. Tears dripped down Technoblade’s face as he felt the physical manifestation of the hurt Ranboo felt. He choked on a sob as Ranboo chirred encouragingly at him.

It felt like far too soon before Ranboo was encouraging him to his feet. They were both cold and exhausted and Ranboo promised he’d stay the night, to keep an eye on him. Technoblade laughed, both bitter and grateful of the parallel that he had followed Ranboo out into the night for the very same reason. They talked on the way in, talked as Techno tried to warm them both by making tea. Ranboo accepted a mug, but he didn’t drink, citing that it would burn him if he drank it.

“But thanks,” Ranboo said, wrapping his long fingers around the mug. “Speaking of… all of that, uh. Do you mind if I ask a question?”

“Shoot,” Technoblade said as he settled back against Steve. He had a blanket covering his lower body. He was focused on tracing the knitted symbol as Ranboo spoke.

“Do you have a… oh what’s the word, it’s, uh.” Ranboo frowned, then buzzed something in Ender. Technoblade recognized the word. He hunched his shoulders and looked away, his face heating up.

“The translation is ‘starfate’,” he started. “And, uh, Phil?”

“Okay, good." Ranboo rubbed his fingers on the mug, adjusting his grip. Suddenly, he jerked upright. "Oh, wait, did I cross a line with having you touch my face? That’s a thing for endermen starfates, but, uh. I don’t know how it works for piglin and I only meant to help you calm down. It’s not like I was flirting—”

“No, no, it’s. It’s alright Ranboo. I needed that and it helped. Thank you.” Technoblade breathed in. “Besides, it’s, we’re not… We’re not official yet.”

“You’re not… what.”

“He doesn’t know.”

“What.”

“I haven’t brought it up yet.”

“You haven’t brought up… Techno, I thought you two were! And you’re telling me you’re not? You act like it!”

“Well, you know, it’s not really a… thing for humans really.”

“Phil is the furthest thing from a human, besides the two of us. And half the server… But, seriously? How long has it been that you’ve felt like this? And not brought it up.”

“Uh…”

“Bruh.”

“A decade or so?”

“Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.”

---

Talking with Ranboo helped. It was a strange thing to realize, but realize he did. Not with the dawning day, not with Ranboo’s cheerful smile and mischievous grins, and not even after the terrible nightmares that still plagued him in the darkness and the silence. Rather, Technoblade realized it when he was laying in bed, woken up before the sun peeked over the horizon. He realized it with a breath: an inhale and an exhale and suddenly, there it was. Talking about it helped more than he really understood.

Ranboo had offered to help him deal with the… Technoblade didn’t want to call it trauma, but… yeah. That thing with the egg and its effects after. Ranboo gave him a memory book, a journal of his own to record when the world grew fuzzy and the ghost reappeared at his side. The book was bound in textured leather, something he could run his fingers on and ground himself on. And it was strange. The first day he used it, he saw the ghost flickering in from behind his eyelids. He felt its touch on his arm, gentle, guiding, piercing, urging him to return. And he reached for the book with impossibly heavy arms and just… touched it.

Technoblade touched the book until the ghost shimmered away. He didn’t always write in the book, even though that was the original intention. Rather, he drew it in. Sometimes squiggles he would connect and fill in, sometimes lines so close together they made dark, noisy blocks across the page. And sometimes he did write. He wrote the things he saw, the things he continued to see. And, in a way that surprised him, it helped. At the thought of sharing these words with anyone, even with Phil, his hands shook and his heart twisted up in fear.

One day, while they were panting in the snow after a long sparring session, Technoblade brought up that fear. He didn’t admit it was a fear, but he could tell Ranboo understood.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s why I don’t let you guys read my memory books,” Ranboo had said, his gaze trained on the spaces between his fingers as he held them to the sky. “There’s… things in there I don’t want you to know about, things that make my hands shake at the thought of you or anyone reading them. Is it healthy? Heck if I know. Heck if I even care.”

Technoblade had snorted and they agreed. What was written in the memory books stayed in the memory books. And, if they wanted to share it, then that was fine too.

The third day Phil was gone, Technoblade took Ranboo out onto the tundra, tridents in hands and enderpearls aplenty. He showed Ranboo how to trident and pearl, something Phil showed him a long, long time ago. And it was fun! It was the first time Technoblade could remember smiling and laughing, especially whenever the enderman failed the launch and landed square on his ass. It was after a particularly hard landing that Ranboo straightened and tilted his head.

“What’s up?” Technoblade asked, holding out a hand.

“Uh, Tubbo’s calling me,” Ranboo said. He took the offered hand and stood up with Technoblade’s help. “One sec.” He stepped aside so he could talk to Tubbo in relative privacy. Technoblade stuck his trident into the snow and leaned on it, scanning the horizon. A figure in the distance caught his eye. He peered at it, tilted his head. It looked too far for him to really tell what it was. But then it twitched. And twitched again. And it turned its head.

Technoblade’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide as he started at the ghost. For that’s what it was: the Egg’s ghost. But this was different. This was real. It was not a wispy thing, like smoke and haze. It was a body. Twitching so loud in his ears he could hear the bones cracking and snapping. Heavy blobs of flesh fell apart, rivulets of blood dripping off the red flesh, and its body twisted and rippled like worms, like maggots feasting upon a corpse.

“Techno?” came Ranboo’s voice, a whisper in his ears, too far away, too distant, too much like smoke. The ghost twisted towards him, a shaking step forward, another stuttering, twitching, unnatural step forward. Then the ghost was bolting for him. It broke out into a run, faster than light, faster than sound, faster than he could pull his trident out of the ground and stab it in the—

Technoblade startled when hands touched his face. Cold, cool hands, rough and worn and scratched from landing in too many berry bushes touched his overheated cheeks, touched his shaking face, touched and turned his gaze from

from

From things not real.

Technoblade reached for his book and rubbed his hand on it, panting as he tried to ground himself. Ranboo’s voice came back to him, clear as day, checking over him.

“Techno, Techno, are you okay? You’re here, you’re real. Whatever you saw wasn’t real. You’re here, I promise.”

“I… I… Thank you. Thank you, I’m… I’m okay. I’m okay now.”

“Yeah? For real?”

“I think, yeah.”

“Let’s… let’s maybe get you home?”

Technoblade glanced behind Ranboo. He saw no trace of the ghost, no trace at all. He sighed a heavy breath of relief. He opened his mouth to agree when one of his ears twitched. There was the gentle ring, the laugh like chimes, the specific twang of Forkza.

Phil was home.

---

Philza returned home, grunting as he landed hard on the roof of his house. Each landing felt harder than the last. He breathed out, stretching out his legs. He glanced down at the floor, wondering if it was worth it to just drop down or use water to break his fall. It wasn’t too far down. He considered the floor for a moment before lifting his gaze to Technoblade’s house. He could hear the animals, hear Steve sleeping inside. But… there was no sound of Techno. Phil stood to his feet, ignoring the weakness in his knee. He slowed his breath, blocked out all sound except for any that would come from his friend. There was nothing.

Where? Where could he have gone? Was Ranboo home? He could ask him. Or, no, they could use their communicators. He went to activate his when a shape landed heavy on the roof next to him. Phil saw the black shape, purple particles drifting, a flash of eyes, and readied his sword to slay the enderman before it attacked—

“Phil! You’re home!” Ranboo’s voice cut through his panic and Phil froze. He exhaled out forcibly and lowered his sword. He studied Ranboo’s face, checking for signs of worry, of fear, and found none. Okay, he didn’t know Technoblade was gone. Fuck. Ranboo jumped to his feet, his grin falling away when he saw the look on Phil’s face. “Phil? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Techno’s not home,” he said, sheathing his sword. He dropped to the stone bridge below, wincing at the sound as Ranboo followed suit. He glanced at the half-enderman again, and saw none of the worry and concern he expected. Rather, Ranboo wasn’t even looking at him. He tilted his head past Techno’s house, his gaze lifted to the sky. Phil tried again, putting more urgency into his voice. “Ranboo, Techno’s not home.”

“Sure looks like that.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Nope!”

“What? Why?”

Ranboo opened his mouth to speak, but then an even heavier thud landed below them. A cloud of snow poofed up with Technoblade’s less than graceful landing. He sighed at Ranboo.

“Ranboo, when I told you let’s head back, I didn’t mean for you to yeet yourself that far. Where the hell did you even land?”

“The roof!” Ranboo replied happily, pointing towards Phil’s roof.

“… Did you aim for the roof?”

“Uh… I aimed for the mountain actually.”

“Exactly.” Techno blinked, then turned to Phil, his face contorting into relief/worry that flattened into his regular blank stare. “Hey Phil,” he greeted, waving at his friend. Ranboo jumped over the railings and landed next to Techno, who then proceeded to talk more about his training. Phil straightened, looking over his friend. He looked… okay. He held his shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t constantly scanning the horizon. He didn’t have that lost look to his face, the worry and anxiety and the fear barely hidden below. He… didn’t look nervous and afraid, though the earlier worry that crossed his face made him take pause. Still, it was… it had been a long time since he had seen Techno smile that wide. Phil relaxed and leaned on the fence as he watched them talk. It was nice to see the two of them interacting. After a bit of watching, he patted the fence.

“Alright boys. I’m going to put my stuff away. Have fun.” He turned and walked into his house to start organizing all his new stuff. Technoblade watched him go, feeling something in his chest pulling at him to follow. A hand came down on his shoulder. He looked over to see Ranboo staring at him.

“Are you good? For real, I mean. Whatever that was, it… it didn’t look like you liked it?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Was it the egg?” A nod in Ranboo’s direction confirmed the question. “Are you going to tell Phil?”

“I… maybe not yet. I know, I should. I just… can’t. Not yet. I will, but not yet.”

“Okay.” Ranboo scuffed the snow with his foot. “Are you going to at least talk to him about the starfate thing?”

“You’re not going to drop this if I say no, will you.”

“Remind me how long you’ve kept this a secret?”

“It’s not a secret!”

“Then talking about it should be no problem!”

Technoblade rumbled at him, frustrated to be outplayed like he was. Ranboo nudged the piglin towards Phil’s house. Technoblade huffed fondly and climbed the stairs to follow his friend inside. He opened the door and paused at the entrance. “Phil?” Technoblade stepped up close to Phil. The trip must have been a good one; Phil was smiling and his wings hung relaxed. Technoblade’s gaze traveled up the ruined wing and felt a pang in his heart. From his wings, his gaze made its way to Phil’s face, who had turned during Technoblade’s silence.

“Yeah, mate?” He must have seen some nameless emotion cross Technoblade’s face because he closed the chest slowly. “You alright there?” His hand came up, back on Technoblade’s cheek. He leaned into the touch with a sigh, grateful for that. After seeing the ghost so real like it had looked (he could still see the unnatural way it moved when he closed his eyes), this helped. Having Phil back helped in a way Ranboo could never help him. He and the enderman weren’t fated, not like he felt, no, knew he and Phil were. Technoblade just hoped he wasn’t about to ruin their friendship over his own feelings. He couldn’t stand it if that’s the direction this turned to. He exhaled and looked up to Phil, opening up his heart to his best friend.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘starfate’?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think I have. What is it?”

“It’s, um, it’s a term from piglin and… Ender too? It’s a—it’s,” Technoblade pressed his lips together, then spoke the word in piglin for Phil. His gaze focused on Phil’s heart emblem as he spoke. “It translates directly to ‘fated in the stars to be together’. It’s like—you know the word ‘soulmate’? It’s like that, but platonically. I—” Technoblade huffed out a breath. “I’m not explaining this well, am I?” Phil chuckled softly, his eyes closing in his amusement. He gazed back at Technoblade, happy and content.

“Alright,” he said as he leaned back against the chests. “So, what about it?”

“I…” Technoblade looked up, then away.

“Techno?” Phil started. He pushed up from the chest to cup Technoblade’s cheek again. “What’s going on?”

“Will you be my starfate?” he blurted out, then snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked together. Phil blinked and only stared at him. Immediately, Technoblade regretted asking. He should’ve kept quiet, kept his mouth shut. He had ruined their relationship now, ruined their friendship, ruined it all! Technoblade started to step back, unable to stop his mouth from running. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I—”

“Techno,” Phil said, closing the distance between them. His other hand came up to his face and his wings encircled them. “Shhh, it’s alright. Thank you for asking, but…” Phil trailed off. Technoblade gazed at him, waiting for his best friend to finish his thought. His heart thudded in his chest with his growing anxiety. “The way you’ve explained it, it sounds like we already were?”

Technoblade’s brain stopped. Completely. No longer working. All brain cells gone. Even the voices, noisy as they were, stuttered to a halt. And then, almost immediately after, the voices turned into a roar. Technoblade winced at the sound and tried to say something to Phil. Nothing came out of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. But then, there was Phil, rubbing his thumb over his cheek and bringing their foreheads together.

"Shhh," he crooned, not talking to Technoblade, not really. Phil knew about the voices, knew how loud they could be. He kissed Technoblade's forehead, then dropped a hand to pat his shoulder. "All good?" He asked. The voices died down and Technoblade breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Good, because, mate," Philza said as he started to move away. "I wasn't entirely honest to you about why I was going to be gone for so long. I was going to surprise you later, but maybe now is a good time." He pulled out a handcrafted wooden box and handed it to his friend--his starfate. Technoblade eyed the box and glanced at Phil before he popped it open. His breath caught in his throat.

Laid carefully on emerald silk was a single earring. The earring was almost entirely made from gold with small emeralds inlaid near the top. The gold flowed out into a single feather, ornately sculpted so that even the vanes could be seen. Technoblade traced the feather carefully with the tip of his finger. The earring hummed with magic, enchanted in a way that was familiar, but he couldn't place.

"Phil…" Technoblade breathed, dragging his gaze away from the earring to his starfate.

"They're not made from the friendship emeralds, don't worry. But," he smiled sheepishly. "That's where I got the idea from. I went to Foolish so he could help me get them right. We used my feathers for inspiration."

"Phil," Technoblade started again. He needed Phil to know what this meant, to him, to them, but Phil was still talking.

"Sorry there's only one. But," Phil turned and brushed a lock of his hair back, revealing the earring’s other part hooked in his ear. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Technoblade very carefully put the box aside and surged forward. He scooped Phil into his arms, careful of the wings, and buried his burning face into Phil's shoulder. He squeezed him tightly, resolutely not crying from the sudden emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"Whoa, mate!" Phil laughed. It was an airy sound, one that reminded Technoblade of chimes tinkling in the wind. "You good?"

"Stop talking. Please, just stop," Technoblade muttered into his shoulder. It was easier to talk when he could pretend he was hidden. Talking was still very hard. "You don't-- you don't even-- you didn't even KNOW what starfate meant! And here you are giving a-- Philza!" Technoblade peeked out from Phil's shoulder to try to communicate with his eyes alone.

"Did I do something wrong?" Phil asked instead, as if there was a single thing in the universe he could do wrong. And at that, Technoblade released some of his tension with a laugh.

"No, of course not." He set Phil down so he could stand next to him against the chests. Phil's wing came up around them again and Technoblade relaxed further. He turned his gaze to the floor, talking with his hands when needed.

"There's gifts you give to your starfate, and then there are starfate gifts. It's--at least with piglins, it's customary that when your starfate gifts you gems or gold, you make that into a gift for your starfate and it means stuff. You make it with the intention they'll think of you when they see it, like--"

"Like designing it after one of my feathers?" Phil offered.

"Exactly. And that, that's significant. It means stuff."

"I wanted to give you something nice."

"Is that all?" Technoblade asked with a quirk of his lips. Phil gave it a moment before he ducked his head with a laugh.

"You caught me."

"Never put it past Philza Minecraft to make something just pretty and not practical!" Technoblade laughed with him. He then bumped hips with Phil and dropped his voice to a whisper. "So, what's on it?"

"Prot four and piercing if you need it. Just a little something so it doesn't break during battle," Phil said with a shrug, as if saying that alone wasn't anything special.

"You know me well," Technoblade said as he checked the feather again. In a pinch, he could use it to stab someone, but that would have to be some mighty big circumstances that Technoblade would even consider damaging his starfate's gift.

"So, you like it?" Phil asked as he sidled up closer with the lilting tone of voice one uses when showing off a build they worked hard on. Technoblade bumped their heads together and smiled.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes."

Technoblade huffed and lifted up the earring so he could inspect it further. He could read the protection and piercing enchantments, could recognize those pitches humming this close. But… there was something else here. Some other enchantment that tugged at his memory. It must not be one he used frequently because he could not place it. Phil hadn't offered it up either. So, it either didn't matter or it was meant to be some grand surprise. Knowing Phil, it could be either. If it didn’t matter, then it didn’t matter. If it was going to be some grand surprise, well, Phil kept his secrets well. No amount of asking would give him the answers he sought if Phil wasn’t going to give them freely. So Technoblade held the earring up to Phil with a gentle smile.

“Help me put it on?”

---

It took some getting used to, having the earring in. That he only had the one made him feel unbalanced, out of sorts, like there was a heavy weight resting on him and he hadn’t learned yet how to compensate. And it made noises. Little chimes of sounds, little chimes like Philza’s laugh or his hums while he worked around the house or as he designed yet another build. Technoblade hovered over one of his sketches, a brow arching in a silent question at his frie-starfate.

“Just something I saw in a dream, mate. It’s gonna need soooooooo many sea lanterns.”

Technoblade hummed, content to sit down with his starfate and a warm cup of peppermint tea. Almost immediately, Phil’s hands ended up in his hair and started braiding as he described the build and his dream. Phil didn’t need him to do anything more than listen when he got like this. He only needed to be the wall to bounce ideas off, the ear to flick idly as Phil talked and talked and talked. The chimes in his ear matched the chimes pouring out of his friend’s mouth.

Speaking of dreams and the things found in them… Technoblade’s dreams were getting worse. He didn’t know how, or why, with how far from the egg he was. But after seeing that thing, his dreams now were nothing but blood and writhing bodies and dying, gasping breaths from sickened, punctured lungs. He couldn’t even tell if they were the bodies of his friends anymore. They closed around him like choking flames, so much so that he slept with the windows wide open nowadays. Phil had tried to sleep with him once, but he couldn’t stop shivering. He tried to close the windows once, but Technoblade had yelled so loud in protest that the angel flinched. Phil didn’t ask again, but he also stopped sleeping with him now. Technoblade’s heart ached at the knowledge, but…

Every time he thought to speak on the darkest points in his mind, his hands began to shake. His lungs closed on him, and he felt his heart beat so loud and so hard he was sure it would pound right through his sternum. Even now, with Phil’s hands working through another braid and his laughter about… something, somewhere, someone...

His hands were shaking as he pulled out his book, barely even aware of what he was doing. He just needed to touch, to ground himself. Just, a little something before—

"Hm?" Phil hummed interest above him. "What's that?"

Fuck. "Uhhhhhhh. A book."

"I can see that, mate. That new?"

"Ranboo gave it to me."

"Ranboo…" Phil's hands stilled in his hair. Technoblade couldn't see his friend's face, couldn't see his expression. Still, he could imagine it, imagine the frown creasing Phil's face as the gears turned in his head, connecting dots that shouldn't need connecting. Phil breathed in, breathing in that way he did when he was about to say something, but changed his mind at the last second. “Techno,” he started. “Did… Are you having memory problems?”

Oh.

Of course he would think it was the same as Ranboo’s books. Otherwise, why would he have been given one instead of making one himself? (It was because he still half-felt like he didn’t need the help. He never would have made one on his own if Ranboo hadn’t shoved the whole damn thing in his hands.) Technoblade tried to answer, but seeing as he was currently beating back the anxiety of spilling his wounds to Phil with nothing but the cowhide of a book, he was a little preoccupied. Phil didn’t wait long, didn’t wait his stuttering out before interrupting with his own shaking words.

“Because, Techno, I. I understand if you need time to process. I understand. I—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking in Technoblade’s hair. The piglin could feel his starfate tuck himself into his back. His feathers drooped around their bodies, shaking with the effort Phil spent to not sink into his flesh until they were of one body. It didn’t ease his anxiety, but the pain he was causing him smothered everything in its path.

“Tech, you—you promised. You promised this starfate thing wasn’t going to change anything. You promised! So, why? Why do you keep pushing me away? Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong! It’s been two months! It’s been two months since I thought I finally lost my best friend…” Phil hiccupped and buried his face into his hair. “Don’t you leave. Don’t you fucking leave! Don’t you fucking go where I can’t follow! Mate, please…” His hands curled into fists. “Not again, Techno. Not again.” Technoblade stared off into middle distance. His heart ached. He felt stabbed, the knife buried deep in his chest. He felt like he was bleeding, maybe like he was dying.

“I don’t even know what happened to you,” Phil whispered into his hair like prayer. “I don’t even… Please, Techno. Talk to me,” he begged.

And now, Technoblade really did feel like he was dying.

He opened his mouth, the motion causing the earring to chime like a bell. Why did it feel so heavy? Why was this the burden that weighed him down? Why was this the thing that felt like the last straw to break his back? He tried to speak, but found that no sound came out. Instead, he lifted a hand back to Phil. He rested it on his arm, thumbing his friend’s pulse in his wrist. He didn’t turn. He didn’t want to see the pain he caused. And Phil wouldn’t want to be seen. He hadn’t tried to forced Technoblade to turn during his outburst. Both of them too stubborn, too exhausted to let the other see their vulnerabilities opened up like festering wounds. Even though they both desperately wanted to.

It was quiet in the house when Technoblade spoke. It was quiet when Phil’s hands went back to work on his braids. It was quiet, even though he could feel Phil’s hands shaking.

It was quiet between them, for the next few days. It was quiet and Technoblade could feel his heart breaking.

But he couldn’t tell him.

“Not tonight.”

---

Technoblade dragged the brush down Carl's flank one final time. Grooming the warhorse always took a while, but it was a task he greatly enjoyed. A very loud voice in his head was dumping praise on him for still taking care of Carl, even if maybe Technoblade had 'forgotten' to eat again today. He went to set down the brush when he felt a presence at his back. He whipped around, exchanging the brush for a sword, and stopped.

"Hello, Technoblade," the woman greeted, smiling warmly behind her hood. Technoblade did not recognize her, but he lowered his blade anyways. She did not look like she could harm him. She did not look like a threat at all, not when she was draped in a black cloak that just barely brushed over the snow. What he could see of her clothes, they seemed barely warm enough for the harsh cold climate. He couldn't even see a hint of armor under her clothes, yet she seemed unperturbed by the piglin who had threatened her with an enchanted netherite blade.

"Who are you?" He asked. Though lowered, he kept his grip on the sword, not trusting the stranger enough to sheath it.

"Not even a hello back!" She laughed. It sounded like chimes, like a church bell over a graveyard.

"Hello," he said. "Now who are you?"

"You don't recognize me?" She asked, removing her hood. Technoblade looked at her face, at the brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders, her smile warm and inviting and comforting. There was a hint of mischief, but not one that spelled threat. He shook his head. She didn't look too surprised. "No, of course you don't. You were fairly young the last time you saw me." She leaned on the fence, her smile warm, even as the shadows close to her grew. "I'm Philza's wife."

Technoblade narrowed his eyes until the information finished processing. When it did, he straightened and sheathed his sword.

"Ah," he said. Death's smile widened, showing her teeth. He glanced at Carl. The horse did not care that the literal embodiment of Death stood before them, though the horse did snicker when a few crows hopped forth. “What are you doing here?” he asked, reaching into a pocket for some birdseed. He tossed it at the crow and suddenly five of the void-covered creatures dove for the ground. He looked back at his guest. Death skirted around the fence, stepping close to the house and gazing up at the window. Her smile faded and she heaved a sigh before answering him.

“There’s some things I need to talk to Philza about.” Death’s gaze turned towards him, her smile now completely gone. “But I think you might need some talking too as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come here, Techno,” she said, offering her hand. Technoblade closed the fence gate behind him and took her hand with little hesitation. He had nothing to fear from her. The second his hand closed around hers, she tugged him into darkness. It was a familiar darkness. Old, timeless, unchanging. It was like Phil’s, the few times he let it seep past his wings. It was only in darkness like this that Technoblade allowed himself to feel vulnerable, to accept the harsh truths to himself, to accept the things he never wished to face. By the way she gripped his hand, Death knew this too. She tapped his hand with a finger. “I would recommend you don’t let go until I’m done with you.”

Death took him up to the house, towards Phil’s house, and they hovered up near one of the windows. Technoblade briefly worried that they would be seen, but even the crow that hopped on the window sill didn’t seem to notice them. Death would make herself known when she wished to be known. She pointed his attention to the window and he peered through it. Inside, Phil was at his table, the small one they'd share tea or meals over when Phil didn't want a hungry polar bear hovering near. He sat, his elbows braced on the wood, his wings encircling his form. Technoblade couldn't hear through the glass, but the way Phil's shoulders hitched and shuddered could mean only one thing: Phil was crying.

Technoblade stilled, even his breath catching in his lungs. Phil, alone and upset, crying so softly so that he wouldn't hear him and rush to his aid. He wanted to now, wanted to jump through the window and drag him into his arms, and bury away everything that ever dared to hurt him. But Death kept her vice-like grip on his hand. Unmovable. Unchangeable. Still, she tapped a finger on his hand. It was a gesture he associated with Phil when they held hands, but needed his attention. Technoblade dragged his gaze away from his starfate.

"You're lucky he loves you, Techno." Her own gaze flicked to his. "I refuse to take any more of the things he loves from him. What I receive, I'll take and keep, but only that. But you're hurting him. And I can't bear continuing to watch."

"I…” He started, then looked back at his friend. Phil’s shoulders hitched and Technoblade knew. He took care of Phil, preened him, made him meals, took care of the house when he felt too exhausted for it, and yet. He knew. He knew. “I didn’t mean to make him cry. I just… couldn’t.”

Death stared at him for a long moment. He turned his head away from her. His guilt felt like crows picking at carrion, tearing away his flesh until only bone remained. She then pressed her hand to the wall. The wood flickered like candlelight and she pulled them into the house. They made no sound, their presence not yet known by anyone but themselves. Death turned to him, her grip on his hand like, well, death.

"You are a smart man, Technoblade. Smart in battle, smart in choosing your friends and allies. You are not smart with,” she gestured at Phil. “This stuff. Talking. Dealing with your problems.” Technoblade remained quiet. What could he even say in his defense? He knew he was bad with it, he knew! So what purpose did he have in speaking it aloud. She huffed and dropped her free hand.

“Technoblade, I know what you’ve gone through. You’ve come close to me far too many times and every time I wonder if your body will finally give out from the stress. But you always jump back. You drag yourself out of hell, alive, but not whole.” Death opened her cloak. Inside, lights twinkled like stars. She plucked one out and held it up. In it, Technoblade saw Fundy and Quackity dragging him back from Phil, dragging him to his execution block. There was pain on his face, open and fearful, but not for him. Never for him. It was for Phil, for what they had done to him, for what pain they caused his starfate. She hid it back in her cloak before his death and resurrection played out. His shoulders hunched forward, his head tilted in the direction of his earring. Gods, why did it feel so heavy?

“Every near miss, every slip up, every time you drop your gaze in my direction, I receive little bits of you. I am no god of war, but I hope that when your first death comes to me, it is through fighting battles against physical foes. Not the wars you wage against yourself.” Death didn’t wait for him to argue, to protest. Instead, she poked his stomach. “When was the last time you ate, Techno?”

“… I forgot…” he said, his gaze dropping away from her.

“You did not.” Her free came back up and cupped his face. “Not eating, not sleeping, not taking care of yourself is a form of self-harm. You throw yourself into your work. You don’t want to think about what happened to you, I know. You don’t want to think about how it affects you. And you feel like you can’t tell your friends.” Death sighed and rubbed a thumb on his cheek. “I know Ranboo had to sneak it out of you. But you did tell him and, it helped, didn’t it?” Her hand moved with his cheek as he nodded. “See? You can admit these things to yourself.”

“…It hurts,” he admitted.

“I know. It always does.” Death’s hand dropped off his face as she turned her gaze to her beloved. “But hiding it, keeping it hidden inside yourself only hurts worse. And it won’t get better. You won’t get better the longer you keep it to yourself.”

“Then… what?”

“You need to talk to him. He can see that you’re hurting, that there is something that troubles you. And you know it too. He doesn’t know what happened. He’s told you, even though it hurt him as well. And still, you feel like you can’t,” her voice echoed, repeating his words from earlier. She even said it in his voice. He flinched at the sound, at the sound of his guilt.

“How?” Technoblade heard himself ask. He heard his own bitterness, his shame, his guilt, his anger to have been brought low by something as simple as an egg! “How do I even tell him? Where do I even begin?!” he asked, screamed, shouted. His voice wavered and his eyes felt wet. Death looked at him and beckoned for his attention.

“You can start at the beginning.” He looked up at her, the wetness in his eyes dripping with his fear. She continued speaking. “I saw you, trapped there, Technoblade. I did not see what you saw, but,” she sighed. Her gaze dropped to the floor and, for the first time that evening, Death looked old. She looked old in the way that Phil looked old sometimes. The slump of her shoulders, as if the weight of hundreds of years weighed heavy upon them. He wondered, then, between his own tears of grief, how much suffering she watched, how much suffering she bore, to watch the creations of life fade and wither before her.

“I didn’t see through your eyes, but I have seen it. You are not the first to be brought low by this kind of corruption.” Suddenly, her gaze grew hard, the line of her shoulders straightened with determination. “And I fear, if we are unable to find the way to stop it, you will not be the last. But I think now… now,” she said with force, with the iron strength of will. “Now, we must. Before… before this world fades like those before it. We must. We must find the way. You, all of you, must help. But you, the way you are now…” She trailed off, her gaze settling upon his face. Death reached up and wiped at his tears. “You must talk to him. If you want to heal, you must do this.” Technoblade hunched his shoulders and he felt her rise up so she could press her free hand to his cheek. He felt seen. She saw his tears, his hesitation, his fear of hurting, his fear of being hurt by the ones he loved so dearly.

“It hurts, I know, Techno,” she whispered. “But you are one of our strongest, oh Blood God. Deified by those who believe in you too.” It was then that she smiled warmly at him, squeezing her hand around his as if to reassure him. Then her hand slipped away. And Death released him from her grip.

The last thing Technoblade saw of Death was the crow on the window sill, looking at him in the eye as its feathers shimmered with void. It flew away as a heavy sob sounded behind him. Technoblade turned, the floorboards creaking under his weight and Phil stilled. He looked up, his tears streaking his face, his eyes red from crying for what must have been hours. The two stood there, looking at each other, staring at their own vulnerabilities, illuminated by the dim, flickering lantern light. Then Phil huffed out a bitter laugh and dropped his gaze to the table.

“Bruh, you should’ve knocked first,” he hiccupped. He covered his mouth with a hand, his wings trembling minutely with the repressed sorrow. And Technoblade knew. He knew. It would never be the right time. It would never feel like he wouldn’t be hurt by speaking. He knew.

He knew what he must do.

Technoblade strode over to him, crossed the house in a few strides, and pulled Phil into an embrace. The angel gasped in surprise, but Technoblade didn’t let him try to pull away. He squeezed him tight to his chest, his own tears now allowed to pour forth. He buried his face into his starfate’s neck, into his pulse, into the place he knew was his. And his voice broke when he spoke. It broke the quiet they had borne and it broke into a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry for doing this to you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I—”

“I know, mate. It’s… it’s okay,” Phil said and it burned. Phil’s attempt to make it right, his attempt to fix what he didn’t know what broken, to avoid being broken himself again.

“No!” Technoblade hunched, pulled him in closer. He couldn’t let Phil take the blame, take his sorrow and hide away. He couldn’t, wouldn’t! “No, Phil, I’m sorry I made you cry. I.” He lifted his head up, staring into his friend’s shock and grief. And he said, for the first time in two months.

For the first time since Phil thought he had lost his friend forever.

Technoblade asked, “Can we talk?”

---

Philza leaned against Steve, a warm mug of peppermint tea steaming in his hands. Technoblade was… not sitting down. He was wandering the house, grabbing things to touch and a blanket to keep them warm, and stoking the fire. Phil wanted to poke him, urge him to sit down and talk, but… He didn’t want to pry.

That. That was a lie. He wanted to poke and pry and tear into Techno’s skull so he could finally learn what had fucked his friend to hell and back. The last two months, especially the last month, had been hell. Techno had snapped at him, brushed him off, pushed him away and Phil still had no idea what his friend, his starfate, had gone through. What kind of trauma had Technoblade carried that hurt him so badly?

He assumed he would find out. He was tired of waiting. He was exhausted. Every night for the last week he had cried. Waited for his friend to be out of earshot so he could sob from his frustration. So Phil was used to waiting. And he would wait some more. He would wait forever if he had to. He hoped he didn’t have to.

“Phil?” Techno started as he sat slowly onto the floor beside his oldest friend. “What… what do you know? About what happened?”

“Hardly anything at all. Puffy showed up one day, looking for you. I hadn’t seen you in three days, and, when Ranboo mentioned he saw you and Bad together, Puffy knew immediately that Bad had done something to you. We—Puffy and I—went looking for you. We didn’t find you, but we found Antfrost and Bad. We lost them because Sam told us that Dream had escaped. I came back home to Ranboo and we found Dream and you, crashed in the snow. Dream was… something. He didn’t get a chance to explain because I… we were too afraid of you dying.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes.” Phil watched Techno curl around himself, a noise like a whine slipping out unwanted from his mouth. The angel reached forward, his hand twitching back as he hesitated. But, when Techno didn’t reject him, he leaned in. “May I?” he asked, reaching for Techno’s wild hair. His starfate nodded. They scooted around each other in the dim light. Phil’s hands buried into his friend’s hair, realizing only now that it was unkempt, knotted, and almost beginning to mat. It cracked something in his chest to realize how little his friend was taking care of himself.

And he felt it reflected in him with how little he had taken care of himself. He could feel Techno’s eyes on his wings, on the feathers longing to be straightened and preened. He missed his friend’s hands in his wings, but he was afraid that Techno would reject him again. That he would push him away again. So why did it matter if he took care of himself?

Why did it matter?

And, as he started working through Techno’s hair, as the piglin relaxed against his legs for the first time in weeks, he realized: this is why. This is why it mattered, to take care of yourself. Because it hurt the people around you to see you in such a state of disrepair. And them knowing they could help, if only they were given the chance for it. And, even if their help didn’t work at first, you could still talk to them, be open with them, be vulnerable to be hurt back, and they could still try.

This is why it mattered.

It took a long time to work through Technoblade’s hair. And Phil hadn’t really planned to do much of anything, but listen whenever Technoblade felt comfortable enough to speak. Because Phil could tell it was hard. If it wasn’t hard, he would have talked about it by now. Even things that were hard for him, he could talk about them. But knowing that he hadn’t? It meant that this was impossible for him, or it seemed that way. And the realization hurt Philza enough that his hands shook in Techno’s hair and he wanted to weep.

But Technoblade started talking. Slowly, at first. Reluctantly, almost. But he did and Phil listened.

And.

And it was horrifying.

Technoblade didn’t spare any details. Everything he said, everything he mentioned, he mentioned so Phil would understand. Because it was important. Because the details were important, at least to him. So they were important to Phil too. And, through it all, he listened. He listened to Technoblade describe Bad’s treachery. He listened to Technoblade describe his fall and his cage above the egg. He listened to Technoblade describe the visions he saw, the hallucinations, the nightmares, the things the egg offered him. All this pain for power that Technoblade didn’t even need. That Technoblade didn’t even want.

They had done their time with power, back with the empire. They had done their time, and the fact that every single person here felt like that’s all Technoblade wanted, that he wanted more power? Phil felt ill to his stomach. He felt enraged! He felt helpless to stop, to help, to do anything!

But Technoblade didn’t need him to do anything grand. He only needed Phil to listen.

And, for as long as Technoblade talked, Phil listened.

He listened until he was falling over Technoblade, nodding off to sleep and jerking away, just so he could listen.

“I think, we should take a break, tonight?” Technoblade offered. Phil fell over his shoulder and into his lap like a particularly feathery worm.

“Please,” he said with a laugh. There was nothing funny, but Phil couldn’t deal with the sorrow and the horror and the dread without a few laughs forcing their way past his lungs. And Technoblade knew. He hooked his hands under Phil’s body and lifted him up. He started for his bedroom, but paused.

“Do… do you want to spend the night? We can… we can close the windows, if you want?”

And Phil

Phil sighed. He reached up to cup Technoblade’s face. His voice was unsteady, afraid, vulnerable, but he was trying, goddamn it!

“Please. We can crack them, if it gets too hot for you?”

Technoblade breathed in and nodded. He carried him up to the top floor. As he made ready for bed, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Phil leaned over, gazing at his friend. For the first time in a very long time, Technoblade looked truly speechless as he looked at his hair, at the braids Phil wove into them. He looked at the care Phil put into him and

and

Technoblade crumpled to the floor. Philza rushed to his side, only to hear him heave a heavy sob. To hide him, Philza let the void drift past his wings and into the room. Nothing would spawn in this darkness, the darkness they both found solace in. Technoblade would be safe.

And, that night, with the windows cracked open and the void whispering sweet lullabies to the two of them, Phil and Technoblade cried together.

The next morning was bright. The sun streaked in through the windows, warming the room and the people inside. Phil rolled over, snuggling into Techno’s side. A shiver ran down his spine as Techno ran his fingers through his feathers.

“Hi mate,” he greeted, holding the ‘a’ as a yawn interrupted his speech. Techno straightened a feather, and Phil let another shiver wrack through him.

“I missed this,” he whispered, as if the morning would break apart if he spoke any louder than that. Phil snuggled into his side more. “I missed you. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you, Phil. I—”

“I know,” Phil replied. He rested his cheek on Techno’s side, his wing stretching lightly. He hadn’t preened in a long time, too worried for his friend’s wellbeing over his own. Techno hadn’t finished telling his story and… well…

“How about: we get out of bed and make breakfast and you finish telling me everything?” When Technoblade stiffened, he added, “You can preen me, if you want.” Techno’s breath hitched and his fingers already in his feathers buried deeper.

“I do want.”

They took their time getting out of bed and down the stairs. Technoblade cooked breakfast for them this time, though Phil helped him in chopping up vegetables and steeping some tea for them to share. Halfway through the preparation, Ranboo popped his head in.

“Hey—oh boy, that smells good. I wanted to check in?” the half-enderman explained. Phil greeted him, but grew worried as he made no real attempt to leave. He didn’t want Technoblade to feel pressured to talk with more people than he was comfortable with, plus he didn’t want to give Techno the chance to say “not today” again. But then, Technoblade surprised him.

“Hey Ranboo. Have you eaten this morning?” Techno asked over his shoulder. Ranboo was busy petting Steve, but his ear flicked at the question.

“Are you offering?”

“Yeah. Phil and I are talking about,” he paused, then waved his hand pointedly. “Things, if you want to listen too. If, Phil, you’re okay with that?” Phil blinked, shocked for just a second too long at Techno’s willingness to be open with Ranboo. Though, Ranboo had given him that book. Techno explained it briefly, that he was using the book to ground himself. Ranboo must know something, at least. Technoblade called his name and Phil realized belatedly he was staring at Techno and hadn’t answered the question.

“Yeah, I’m fine with it. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m going to be preening you?”

Phil’s face flushed pink at the reminder. Ranboo glanced at his direction, then at Techno, then again at Phil as his blush deepened.

“Ohhhhhh, starfate thing?” Ranboo asked.

“Self-care wing thing,” Techno clarified as he stepped over with plates. “Phil gets blushy when I do it for him,” he said with a laugh. Phil felt like he could die on the spot.

“So should I not watch?” Ranboo asked. He had a plate in his hand and was currently eating some of the omelet Technoblade prepared.

“I could braid your hair,” Phil offered. Ranboo beamed at the prospect. Breakfast was amicable, the three of them laughing and joking with each other. It was warm. It was bright. It was a good precursor for the darkness Technoblade was about to drop on them.

Technoblade sat with Steve at his back and Phil to his front. Phil had a wing stretched out for him to preen. He was already making soft sounds as Technoblade started on straightening his feathers. It was embarrassing, but at least Ranboo seemed to be doing the same as Phil worked his hands into his hair. Techno started talking again after they all settled.

There were less horrifying details this time. Technoblade had moved from his time with the egg to the more recent times. And Phil found it strange how many things he had missed. He thought he was keeping a careful eye on his friend in his efforts to predict what things might trigger an episode. His view of the Tommy incident was helpful to understand. That he had noticed things that shouldn’t have been right, but those things were overruled with his emotions. Phil remembered that, remembered seeing his friend shout and threaten empty space. He could understand.

He was working through another braid when Technoblade got to what Phil missed while he was away. It hurt to know Techno had a panic attack right after he left. Though it did explain all the potions he came back to. As he continued talking (and Ranboo added in his own details from their chat), Phil felt sated, gentled. He felt like maybe he didn’t even need to hear the rest of it. Lunch was approaching and Phil had brought back a couple rare items he wanted to add to the salad. He wasn’t fully paying attention when something caught his ear.

Technoblade was talking about one of the last times he saw the egg’s ghost. He was in the middle of describing it when Phil’s hands stilled in Ranboo’s hair. A long, faded memory filtered into his head. A memory of standing tall above the people below him, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat and the shadows that wormed their way through the space around his wings. A chirp beneath his hands brought him, not back to the present, but alongside it.

“Mate,” he started, his voice wavering unbeknownst to him. “What did you say?”

And Techno’s voice, Techno’s words, fell alongside the words the villagers below him spoke. Word for almost exact word.

“It was red.”

It was red.

“And blood dripped off it in rivulets.”

And blood dripped off it in rivulets.

“And the body,”

And the body,

“Looked like maggots burrowing into flesh.”

Looked like maggots burrowing into flesh.

It was happening again.

It was getting bad again.

And if they couldn’t stop it, if they couldn’t find out why history was repeating, then…

then…

“All is already lost,” he remembers saying.

“Phil?”

Philza startled back into himself. Ranboo had turned around, confusion writing itself across his face. He could feel Techno at his back, a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Phil, are you okay?” Ranboo asked. Phil blinked and willed his fingers to move again, refocusing on the braid he had been working on.

“Yeah, just,” he bit off the rest of his words and turned half to Techno. “That sounds pretty horrifying, mate. Sorry you had to see that.”

Techno’s hand squeezed his shoulder, then went back to straightening his feathers. The rest of conversation was easier, now that Techno was coming to a close. Phil tried to pay attention to his friends, tried to pay attention to the conversation, tried so hard to not fall into the memories thought to be long forgotten boiling beneath the surface. Phil could feel them there. And, similar to Techno talking about his trauma, Phil sorely did not want to rediscover those memories.

The next evening started much the same. He and Techno planned a small evening together. Just them, some tea, and maybe more of Techno’s hands in his wings. A gentle shiver ran down his spine at the fantasy playing out in his head, a warm smile crossing his face. From behind him, he heard the door open and close. He smiled, his breath coming out in a small laugh as he turned.

“Techno, I wasn’t expecting you this ear—” Philza cut off at the sight of the figure before him. Death lifted her hood off her head and gazed at her angel.

“Hello again, my dearest angel,” she said gently. Philza immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head before his lady. Her footsteps were soft, featherlight, and she rested her hand on his head. “Please, stand.” Philza stood for her, his wings folded tight to his back. It had been decades since he last saw her. The last time being when she brought Wilbur to him. He still remembered that, remembered telling Techno to stay in the house while he talked to her. She had still seen him. She laid her blessing upon him, promising him greatness should he seek out that greatness.

And now she was here, the deep void of her eyes pulling him in. Whatever she requested of him, he would do in a heartbeat. His soulmate, his love, his lady. He waited with baited breath for her orders. But she just gazed at him, then walked around his home. Her fingertips trailed over the chests, her gaze lifted up to see the image of Wilbur hanging above.

“You’ve made a home here, haven’t you? Good, I’m glad. It is good to have a place to return to after so many centuries of travel.” She paused and lowered her gaze, then turned towards him. “My dearest angel, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Talk?” he asked, confused. He paused, trying to think of why his lady would need to talk to him. And, like all the things he was keeping quiet so he could think, he remembered Techno’s talk with him, the things he described. “There’s, there’s something I want to talk about too. But, is there something you need of me? You know I’d do anything for you,” he said, as if she needed the reminder. At his comment, she paused and lifted her gaze up to him.

“My angel, what… what do you mean?” Her expression transformed into a frown, into worry. He stepped forward, not caring if he was being bold. He hadn’t seen her in so long. His hand came up to her face and rubbed her cheek. Her own hand covered his, slipping her fingers in between his.

“Do you remember… that village that I… that I had to…?” he trailed off. Her gaze narrowed, her mouth parting as she thought.

“Which… which village, Phil?”

His hand twitched and he pressed his forehead against hers. He tried to will her to remember, to remember the one he remembered, and not the others. Not the hundreds of other villages. She touched his cheek with her free hand and he choked on his voice.

“It’s happening again. It’s happening again.” His eyes opened at the same time it clicked for her.

“Is that the thing we missed?” Death whispered to herself, her own eyes widening in realization. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, not on this, not again. So he hummed at her, a noise of question. She didn’t speak, didn’t share, and he didn’t pry. She would tell him if he needed to know. Her eyes closed and she breathed out slowly. A soft curse in a long-forgotten language slipped out of her mouth. They stood like that, existing in each other’s company, until Phil remembered that Death had come to talk to him.

“What did you want of me, my lady?” he asked quietly. She lifted her gaze and took a step back. He missed her touch immediately. When she met his eyes, he saw the tendrils of void slip out around her. He held his breath and waited.

“I need you to keep an eye out, my love. Someone is going to die soon. I don’t know when and I don’t know who. But if they die, then this world will change. And not for the better.” The darkness faded as she delivered her message, but…

“If you don’t know who, then why tell me? How can I stop it if I don’t know anything?”

“Because I’m not asking you to stop it. If you happen upon it, if I receive more information before, then yes, by all means stop it. But, for now, all I am asking of you is to keep an eye out. Perhaps their fate is set, perhaps it is already changed.”

“Is… it’s not Techno, is it?” Death remained silent in the face of Philza’s question. He reached for her, holding firm. “Is it? Is it Ranboo? I can’t—!” His hand squeezed hard on her shoulder in his desperation. She touched his chest, touched the emblem on his chest.

“I promised you before, my love. I will no longer take away the people you love. If they give themselves to me, I will, but I will not be selfish.” Her eyes darkened, the feathers of a million crows lifted behind her back as the void again slipped its tendrils into this world. “I promise this to you,” she spoke, her voice echoing. Her powers settled and her hand pressed warmth into his chest. His own hand covered hers, his other pulling her in close. She went, followed him into his embrace. When their lips met, he felt like he was sinking into the void at the end of time. His feathers wrapped around them, even though nothing would harm them if she wished it. Nothing upon this plane or the next would harm her angel. He was breathless when they parted. The darkness morphed around her and he held onto, reluctant to let her leave so soon.

“Please, stay,” he begged, even though he knew his begging would go unheeded. She touched his cheek.

“Soon, my love, I will. But there are things I must do first.” Her gaze unfocused for the briefest moment, before she continued. “XD has been searching for something. They believe we missed something. I do not know what they expect to find, but,” her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Perhaps your warning will aid us. And I want to find them. Warn them as I did for you.”

“We… what did we miss?” Phil asked. She looked at him, a strange expression on her face, an even stranger glint in her eyes. When she replied, her voice felt distant, as if she wasn’t really talking to him at all.

“What else came through that night—that night with that village—when we weren’t paying attention?” she whispered. Then the void wrapped around the Mother of Crows, Mother of the Void, Death, and she was gone once more from Philza’s arms. In the silence that followed, he touched the emblem on his chest and considered her words. He turned his head, looking out at the breaking day. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to visit Dream again.

#dream smp #dream smp fic #technoblade #philza #ranboo #amongst feathers and emeralds #dsmp #dsmp fic #emrails #let me know what you think about this fic #also this took forever to write #the whole fic is 26k+ words #this chapter being 14k of that

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