Chapter Text
It's a cold morning when Techno decides it's time. He slept well, and the rest of the house is still asleep after the hours they spent playing cards long into the night. He puts on his coat and leaves a note on the table, by Phil's usual seat. He takes his time putting on his boots, fixing his attire with more care than he usually does. Phil braided his hair for him just the other day, so it's still proper and nice, the crown on his head sparkling together with the silver beads Phil's woven into the braid. Techno opens the front door and steps out onto the fresh, untouched snow.
He has a certain place in mind, or rather, a certain person. He saw them a week before as they were leaving the tavern. It's not hard work finding them in the early morning hours, walking around in the middle of the marketplace.
It's easy enough to get them to accept his deal, and a few minutes later the person is a few silvers richer, and Techno has a horse he can borrow for the day. He walks up to the mare, who stares at him with knowing, dark eyes. Horses are beautiful like that- there's no way she knows what Techno's doing, but she looks at him with the same fondness as if she did. Techno mounts the horse and rides off into the forest path that leads to the open fields. This is his first apology that's not in the form of words, or actions; rather, it's an abstract version of a feeling that he's been carrying; a sigh, slow and deep as his horse gallops through the snow, a breath of silence after years of noise.
He forgives himself. It's still a conscious effort, the shame that he's ingrained in himself is hard to erase, but he still tries. The same way he doesn't blame Tommy for burning the church down, he doesn't blame himself for freezing the abandoned building he was locked in. He thinks of Phil, thinks of the life he brings, even when Spring is dormant; he tries to mimic it, to rephrase it and make that kindness his own, tries to treat Winter as if it was Phil talking to him. Forgiveness comes easily like that, when he sheds the years of guilt that stuck itself to him.
He thinks of words, sounds and feelings to say; thinks of what kind of melody Wilbur would put to them. He thinks about the violin he used to play and the guitar that fills the evening quiet when his thoughts are loud. He sings to himself, silent but loud, true but kind. He combines the love he's received from his family, tunes it to his own voice and paints that love onto the white skies above that gently bleed into the snow under his horse's hooves.
He's loved, and he deserves that love. Even when he's weak, even when he runs. He's allowed mistakes, he's allowed grief and time to process it. His friends' deaths weren't his fault. Even if it was, it doesn't matter much now. There's no point in kneeling before a god that doesn't listen, or praying to a person who's long gone to the wind.
Winter isn't dead. He's alive, he survived even when he didn't want to. But Techno loves Winter still. Loves him through pain and through grief, loves him when his thoughts don't. Because he's him. And if there's one person he desperately owes an apology to, it's himself.
He gave up on Winter. Over and over, he showed him he was just a curse. Something he vehemently assured Summer he isn't. Why would Winter be any different? What would another year of suffering achieve?
Maybe he'll never make up for what he did. Maybe he deserves death or worse, maybe he'll get what's coming for him soon. But it'll be different this time, because he has Spring by his side, who soothes the hurt with his touch. He has Summer, who'll overwhelm him with sunlight, melt all the doubts that freeze onto his skin. He has Autumn, who'll distract him as the months pass, and show him the beauty in himself.
But most importantly, he has Winter, who'll stay by his side no matter what. Who'll be with him, silent and knowing, who'll carry whatever burden he has on his back. No longer will they be enemies; this time, they'll work together, all of them, to stop a fate that isn't meant for him.
Techno smiles into the sky. Maybe he'll relax. Maybe he'll let nature take its place, let the world turn as it wants. He'll stay calm because he knows that the people who are the most important to him love him with each breath they take.
And with the ghostly beat of loving breaths in his ear, Winter rides on into the white abyss he's created; and for the first time in what might be forever, he finds his canvas of white oddly beautiful.