Chapter Text
Techno had been a kid when he first met Philza. The man hadn’t had children of his own yet, hadn’t carved out a safe haven from the edges of the world. He’d been bold and daring, enough that teenage protégé Technoblade had to rescue him in their first meeting. They built and swindled and fought their way from city to city, neither of them vulnerable while the other had their back.
For you, Phil, the world. Techno had said.
And now here it was, Phil’s world, bleeding out on his own polished wood floor.
The boy was just a kid, tall and lanky and covered with a concerning amount of blood. Techno had been having a decently normal morning until then, until his doorbell rang and he’d opened the door. He’d been about a second too late to catch the kid on his way down. Now, he ran for his emergency med kit and tried to figure out the injury fast enough to do something about it.
Techno knew him. Sort of.
He’d met the golden-haired kid only once before, on the wrong side of a bad day. Tommy. He hadn’t known who the kid was until he was seconds short of killing him. He’d just been a target. He’d just been another job. An unfortunate kid on the other end of Techno’s gun. That day was the first time in years he’d heard Philza’s voice. Even longer since then to have heard that desperation from him, that tangible fear.
Never, actually, had he heard Phil’s voice like that.
It was the first fight that Techo had seen coming, and fled.
And it was the last time he ever worked for Dream.
There was a bullet in the kid’s shoulder. Techno was pretty experienced in extracting bullets, but not usually on someone else. Not since Philza. Still, he hadn’t done this for even himself in a while now; that life was one he’d been trying to shake off. Turning over a new leaf from hired hitman wasn’t fast or easy, but things had just started to settle into quiet.
So much for that.
He didn’t move the boy until he was properly stitched and bandaged. Carefully laying him down on his couch, he took the time to notice the less demanding signs of his condition. Sweat, dirt, and blood drying on his skin, and beneath all that, pale as paper from the blood loss. Hair a floppy mess, fingernails chipped and ragged. Jeans with ripped holes and scratched knees.
Where was the rest of Tommy’s family?
Technoblade could remember Philza rushing to save Tommy that day years ago—Crowfather was his title now. The surrounding gangs and corporations had good reason to leave him and his own alone. No one touched his crows.
Philza had another son, who had run in at his heels—his eldest in every way that mattered. Younger than Techno, with a clever shine to his eyes and fire in his every step. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name, only how he’d charged in without hesitation and the way he and their father shouted the one word: Tommy!
Where were they?
Trouble, that uncanny sixth sense of his was pulling out of a long slumber, thousands of voices saying much that he could not hear, but chiming in unison on Trouble.
“Yes, thank you,” he muttered back, “I would not have guessed that a dying kid showing up on my doorstep would be bad news. You’re so helpful.”
Still, it propelled him to check out his windows for someone stupid enough to be visible, and clean up the evidence of impromptu bullet extractions. He checked that Tommy was still breathing, and then went upstairs to the shut door that stood past his bedroom. He strode in, stepping over mostly unpacked boxes and an empty mattress, digging into the closet of unused gear and clothing to pull out his hidden case of weapons. It was supposed to stay locked shut, and eventually pawned off when the idea of doing so stopped feeling like being exposed and vulnerable. Now, he pulled out a gun, checked it and loaded it. Just to be safe. Just in case trouble came crashing through his window.
It had always paid to be prepared.
He took it back down the stairs and checked on Tommy again. The boy was breathing, his heartbeat terribly faint but definitely there. That was fine, that was good. All Techno needed was breathing and a heartbeat. He settled down in a chair that had the best view out the window of the city street outside, and waited.
For what, he wasn’t quite sure.
For Tommy to wake up and tell him what was going on, sure. Until then, though, he was waiting for anything else to happen. A bomb. A street gang. Another bleeding child.
Hours ticked away, their passing punctuated by Techno checking on Tommy, pacing to the window, and then settling back down again. His sixth sense—his voices—slowly quieted down, waiting with him.
By the time evening rolled in, Tommy’s pulse felt stronger, and Techno gave in to making a meal. He pulled out a can of soup to heat up, listening for the sound of something going terribly wrong. He dished up two bowls, setting one on the coffee table beside Tommy, and sitting with the other at his post.
The murmur of voices rose up in the back of his head once more, and Techno immediately swapped his bowl for the gun. The street outside was empty, but when he turned to check on Tommy, he was met with a pair of intensely blue eyes.
There was a frozen moment where they stared at each other, before Tommy broke the silence. “Are you going to shoot me?”
Techno relaxed his stance. “I’m not in the habit of removing bullets before putting more in, no.”
Tommy nodded, switching to taking in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the door before going back to Techno. “Is dad here?”
The question shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, and yet, it was jarring to be asked so casually about a man he wasn’t sure he knew anymore.
“I haven’t seen your father since I worked for Dream. Years ago.”
Not technically true. He’d watched Philza for a while after that day, assessing how his life had changed and priorities shifted. How it had left little room for him to fit in.
“Oh.” Tommy looked a bit lost. “He always said to come here if things went bad. I assumed that meant he was here.”
So Philza had kept tabs on Techno. This was news to him, the man could have been a ghost for all he’d seen of him in years. Even Techno couldn’t locate him these days, and he was good at finding people. Especially people who were so well known. For all the weight the man’s name carried these days, he’d have thought the Crowfather would be easier to find.
Philza, where’s Philza, the voices chanted. The question they used to ask all the time, back when Philza disappeared to make a place of his own.
“Hungry?” Techno said, shifting to the more present needs and pointing to Tommy’s waiting bowl of soup. “You should at least drink something, you lost a lot of blood.”
Tommy glanced down at the bowl. “I’d really not like to move at the moment.”
Techno grabbed a glass of water and held it out to him. “I mean, I can help, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“I wasn’t asking anything.” Tommy shot back, slowly reaching out his good arm for the glass. His hand shook hard enough that Techno kept hold of it as Tommy brought it to his mouth and drank. The kid released his hold soon after, letting his arm rest back at his side and looking a shade paler than he had a moment ago. “Ohh, the room’s spinning. What’s going on?”
Techno set the glass down, watching him closely. “Blood loss, idiot. That’s why you gotta focus on hydrating and eating actual food for now.”
Tommy closed his eyes with a groan. “But I just took a drink; and now I want to not move until like, forever.”
“You’re going to have to work on sentence structure too, but I guess that can wait for now.” Techno sat down. “Sleep. Eat. Drink. That’s all you gotta do. Easy.”
The boy’s eyes shot back open. “How about you tell me who you are and why dad told us to come here instead of wherever he’s at.”
“Talking is exactly something that wasn’t on that list of things to do.” Techno said dryly. “Talking is what we do when you stop going cross-eyed after making any sort of movement.”
“I’m not going cross-eyed.” Tommy insisted, “I’m . . . I’m just not, I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And anyway, I told you to talk and instead you’re making me talk, so really you’re the one to blame here.”
Techno stared at him, wondering just how close Tommy was to passing out, and if it was better for recovery if he hurried up and did it. “You can call me Technoblade,” he started slowly, “and I knew your father years and years ago, it’s basically ancient history. At this point, my skincare routine is the only thing that’s hiding my fossilized and crumbling form.”
Tommy frowned, narrowing his eyes. Either to peer at Techno or to focus his sight, it was hard to tell.
“As for why your dad sent you here,” he continued, “I have absolutely no idea. Not a clue. I didn’t know he even knew where I was. He’s terrible at communicating.” he hesitated, wondering if he really should be having a conversation, when a doctor would probably insist on letting the kid rest. He doubted even the strength of an iron will would make Tommy settle quietly into a nice peaceful rest. “What about your brother, where’s he at? You do have a brother, right? You did last I checked.”
Tommy sank into the couch cushions with a scowl. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Techno raised an eyebrow. That sounded layered. “And you don’t know where your dad is.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Right.”
Tommy huffed and immediately bit off a yell of pain, regret all over his face. “Aren’t there supposed to be drugs you give to shot people to make them feel good?”
There were, but Techno only knew the dosage for himself, not some blood-drained dehydrated teenager who refused to relax. He pulled his med kit closer to peer inside. “I ain’t no doctor.”
“You’re actually the worst, Tech-a-no-blade.” Tommy groaned, giving Techno’s name far too many syllables.
Techno pulled out a pain killer and read the tiny instructions typed on the back that he’d never read before. It didn’t say anything about how to adjust dosage for blood loss or possible hyper-metabolism, but it did give a guideline for the smallest, safest dose. It was a start, and better than nothing.
“Here, I’ll make a trade.” he said, taking out the medicine and putting it by Tommy’s glass of water. “I give you this, and you try to rest. No one’s getting to you here without going through me, and no one’s ever gone through me in my life. I’m going to lock down this place and then bring a blanket for me to sleep on that recliner over there.” he pointed to the only other piece of furniture in the room. “Refuse to rest, and I’ll knock you out myself. Deal?”
Tommy reached for the medicine. “Yeah alright, deal. This better work on me and not be some sugar pill.” But just before the kid closed his eyes and at least pretended to rest, there was a glimpse of his bravado cracking. Something complicated and vulnerable peeked from underneath, and then it was gone.
Techno settled into a light rest, voices in the back of his mind humming in distant chatter. Something had gone wrong with the safe haven Philza built, and a broken piece had found its way to Technoblade. Was this an aftermath, or just the beginning? Was there something Techno could do to help?
Did he want to?
Tommy muttered something under his breath that sounded like an insult.
For you Phil, the world. No matter what had happened since then, he’d always meant it. The man had gone to find a place to live, a slice of peace in this terrible place; Techno couldn’t hold that against him. And anyway, the kid needed someone. Not that he’d get attached or anything, that kind of thing was cringe and didn’t end well.
But the kid needed someone.
Techno could be a someone.
