Chapter Text
There was a clash of wood, of the tough sticks hitting each other, and Tommy gives a cheeky smile to his brother. Techno rolls his eyes, though Tommy knows him well enough to know that he is smiling. Techno is an idiot, Tommy thinks, pretending Tommy isn’t really cool. Almost as stupid as his twin.
He’d almost seen Wilbur fall out of the window yesterday trying to look cool with his guitar. Pretty sure he was trying to serenade the salmon.
“Good, you’ve learnt. What now?”
Tommy slashed towards Techno, the metal glinting in the cold light. Technoblade easily stopped the blade, stepping forwards, forcing Tommy backwards.
This wasn’t a fun fight anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.
Not since Phil had left, Technoblade with him.
Not since Wil and Tommy had been forced to fend for themselves.
“Forwards?” Tommy suggests, his palms sweaty from his tight grip on the wood, his hands almost slipping off. Techno raises an eyebrow.
“That is what I would do, but you don’t have that kind of strength. Let’s say…” Techno pauses, adjusting his hold on the staff. He steps forwards, knocking Tommy's staff back and forcing him to stumble backwards, “What would you do?” Tommy stares at him.
“Stab or some shit?”
Tommy feigned a stumble, before striking forwards, his blade grating against Techno’s Orphan Obliterator with a horrible screeching sound. Techno's eyes narrowed and fear crept into Tommy's heart.
You don’t fight Technoblade, he knew.
He’d seen it in Tubbos scarred face and the way he flinched at the New Years fireworks.
He’d seen it in the scowls Quackity gave, every time he saw a mirror and the scar from Toothpick .
A whispered lesson from Wilbur in Pogtopia, in the dead of night, after Tommy had woken up from restless nightmares to find Wilbur watching him in the dark, eyes gleaming with something that Tommy probably should have taken as a warning.
“Don’t fight Technoblade.”
From Dream, after their infamous duel, where at some point in exile, Dream had told him about it. He had scowled, downed something from his flask (healing pot or something else, Tommy hadn’t asked) and had bitterly muttered out to the seas around Logstedshire;
“Don’t fight Technoblade.”
“Right,” Techno sighs, a lengthy noise (as always), “Just hope you don’t fight me.”
Don’t fight Technoblade.
Tommy grins.
“Like I would ever fight you dickhead. I’d protect you. As the man of this household.” Techno stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, disbelieving.
“You are like 5.”
“I’m ten prick. Double digits. One. Two. Practically an adult.”
“You are so stupid.”
“If I did fight you, I would win!”
Tommy isn’t going to win this fight. That he knows.
He doesn’t know why he is still fighting.
He supposes it's fighting against exile. Against the way he used to watch the lava and wonder what it felt like to die.
It's fighting against Dream, the way he killed him with no mercy, brutally and angrily. A way that almost tore him apart, mentally as well as physically.
It’s fighting against the way Dream killed him, over and over again, taking one canon life after the other, whether it be a sword through the chest, an arrow through his heart or being brutally beaten to a pulp.
It's fighting against the horrible sensation of being ripped apart as his body tried to repair itself, trying to meld with his mind again as Dream brought him back to a world he had wanted to desperately escape.
Fighting against going from painful, repetitive, haunting solitaire with Wilbur to that awful obsidian cell, Dream grinning at him like a kid whose volcano science experiment finally worked.
“Sure you would. Come on, let's go again.”
Tommy groans, pushing back his blond hair that had dropped in front of his eyes. It was lightly soaked with sweat and had a habit of doing that constantly. He wondered if he could plait it like Techno’s or get him or Phil to do it for him.
“Only because you need the practice.”
“Right.”
Now he was here Tommy regretted not making sure he had the appointment with Puffy before he left. He had known when it would be, but like an idiot, like he always did, he’d stormed here in a rage, a desperate way to vent. He always ended up making stupid decisions like that. That was how he died the second time, too eager, challenging Dream on a whim.
Isn’t that how he had died the first time too? Pressing the button in the middle eagerly, not wondering why it was there.
And wasn’t that the same reason he had died the third time, taunting Dream on, pushing him to his limit until Tommy lay shattered on the ground.
Tommy caused every death in some way or another.
He would cause this one too.
Technoblade knew how to start fights. Good on him.
At least Tommy was learning how to defend. Techno was just going to hit him with a stick until he blocked it. Advanced Techniques apparently.
From how he was pretty sure Phil was laughing, these did not seem like advanced techniques.
“Your Advanced Techniques are shit,” he says.
“Tommy. Potatoes are very important to battle.”
Tommy isn’t sure he is joking.
If Dream saw him now, he would’ve reminded him that this is what got him exiled. Stupid reckless behaviour, like he always does. He should’ve know that his stupid prank against George would have escalated. He should’ve.
He wondered, if he were to be exiled now, would it even matter?
Would he get exiled from the ruins of L’manburg? Or just the general Dream’s Essempee?
Would he be cast away, unable to go anywhere yet again?
Would he have to find another empty corner of this full full world?
Being exiled wouldn’t change much. Maybe Tommy just wishes to think he is free. Free from the taunting voice of Wilbur, the threats of Dream. Tommy can’t be free.
Maybe he would run to Tubbo if he got exiled. If coincidences brought him somewhere near there…
If Tubbo still wanted to be his friend, after all he’s always in Snowchester.
And Tommy is here, in the cold tundra, fighting Technoblade.
Techno frowns at Tommys stance, nudging his leg with the staff until he is correct. Tommy scowls bitterly, but adjusts it into, not the right position, but a better one. Techno glances at his hold on the staff. Awfully impractical. It's the kind of hold you would use for a much heavier sword. Very showman-like for an iron or wooden sword, or pole in this case.
Tommy wouldn’t need to know how to use a heavier sword ever. Iron should be efficient enough in dealing with monsters and hopefully skill will suffice. And if Tommy trains with Techno for a couple more years, maybe until sixteen, he would
Tommy swings forwards and Techno ducks, slashing out his own sword, which catches Tommys. He shoves it backwards and Tommy stumbles, off balance. Techno reminds himself to keep his strength in check. He doesn’t want to harm him.
Techno wants to kill him, that much Tommy knows.
He just wonders whether the cold will get to him first. The snow is painfully cold and while Techno isn’t affected, he’s wearing his Antarctic Empire outfit, or something similar to it at least.
Tommy hasn’t worn anything similar since he and Wil left two years ago. He doesn’t think he ever will.
Phil and Wilbur are on the veranda now, Wilbur is flicking through his book, barely reading it, Phil skimming through his own. They keep glancing up towards Tommy and Techno, like it isn’t really obvious. Tommy scoffed. Fatherly instincts. Not for big man TommyInnit.
“Tommy,” Techno berates him, as Tommy barely swung away from the incoming staff. Tommy slung the wooden pole towards Techno’s legs, aiming to catch him off guard.
Techno simply steps backwards, leaving Tommy stumbling.
“Could’ve killed you.”
“Prick! I’ll fucking stab you bitch. Who could’ve killed who?” Tommy retorts, though sweat beads down his forehead. Techno doesn’t respond, simply blocking Tommys next blow.
“Be careful.”
Techno’s sword cut down where Tommy was standing mere seconds ago. Reminiscing wasn’t helping. Then again, nothing could help him now.
His fighting lessons from when he was younger came back to him. It had taken ages for Tommy to convince Phil to allow Techno to teach him, and eventually he relented, under the condition that he watched whenever it happened.
“Keep yourself defended. Any empty spaces…”
Tommy barely moved his sword in time to stop an incoming attack from Techno.
Techno raised his poles up towards Tommy, who barely blocked it. The poles interlocked.
“This is common. Control the wrist movements and try to get the staff away.”
Tommys hilt smacked Techno’s wrist, almost disarming him. Almost. Tommy scowled as Techno raised his eyebrows back, unimpressed.
“But if you fail…”
Tommy glared at him, his inability to disarm his older brother obvious.
“...They can disarm you.”
Tommy’s sword skidded across the snow, it's tracks getting covered by the fast coming down snowfall.
Tommy’s staff skidded across the grass, quickly hidden by the tall wispy blades and soon blooming flowers of spring.
Techno rested, holding his staff next to him, casually leaning on it.
Techno's sword glinted under the harsh sun as he swiped towards Tommy who was desperately stumbling towards his sword.
Something in the air changes
Something in the air changes
Technoblade swipes
and Tommy rears backwards, clutching his stomach, screaming in pain.
Tommy stumbled back, his hand already bright red. The pain ached.
Don’t fight Technoblade.
Phil was up within seconds, running over to Tommy, Wilbur on his heels.
Techno stares in horror as Tommy pulls his hand away to reveal bright red blood that oozes through his fingers. When- when had Tommy gotten hurt? That was an attack from a sword, sharp and striking. A netherite sword.
Tommy stumbled backwards through the snow as Techno closed in, like a predator hunting his prey. His fingers closed around his sword, desperately.
He knew he was going to die here.
He’d always known he was going to die here.
Tommy closed his eyes.
And opens them in a field of snow, cold wet leaching through his spring clothes. His attacker freezes in front of him, eyes on Tommy. Pink hair waves wildly in the air and a gory pig mask stared him down. Tommy stares back, the sweat that used to coat his brow, having been blown away by the cold.
Blood drips through his fingers and his attacker's sword crashes to the ground. The words Orphan Obliterator are engraved on it, but his attacker doesn’t seem worried about the sword within Tommy's reach.
“...Tommy?”
Phil, Wilbur and Techno stare at the boy that used to be their younger brother, now being replaced by a 16 year old boy, with blond matted hair, grey eyes, and more scars than he should’ve had. A compass rested on the boy's red and white shirt, coated with blood. The boy blinked wearily, eyes clearly not seeing anything before his hand dropped to the side, blood oozing through brittle scarred fingers.