Chapter Text
Winter passes by with a soft slowness to it, the days blending into each other under white lace-adorned skies. The snow and the ice arrived as soon as the season began, the turning of the calendars was a siren's call neither could resist. Cold settled, the low temperatures bringing a freezing silence into the world, the chill nibbling at people's faces until they were littered with rosy blotches of color.
Even so, the all-encompassing cold didn't bite as hard this year; it tried its best, snarling and snapping at Techno's fingers, threatening to pull him away from his family, to wake him from the dream he's living in. To say it never managed to sway him would be a lie, and Techno's been trying to be less deceptive since he made that promise to Wilbur. The chill was just so familiar, so insistent and so, so loud in its silence that he often found himself craving the exile, the pain, and the numbness. It never gets any less frightening: the way his heart sings whenever he hears his past calling, fearful and toxic.
The last few weeks have been incredibly difficult and surprisingly easy. Difficult, because Winter's hands are still wet with ancient blood, despite how many times they froze over; easy because Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy still hold his hand despite the itchy, ugly blood that coats it.
Techno's not one to open up about his emotions. He's no stranger to them, the intricate pattern of his sorrows is one he studied for many sleepless nights. No, he's very aware of why he's the way he is, his inner turmoil - though unwelcome - is familiar at this point. Telling others about it, however, is a challenge Techno never expected to face. How? How does he look in trusted eyes and tell them about the events haunting him? How does he show vulnerability in a world that preys on it?
It's not that he doesn't trust them: he does, even with the awful track record they have. He still remembers the bog water incident with Tommy (although it was Wilbur who put him up to it, so technically Techno blames them both) or the time they trusted Phil to steal something back from a guard (that was the first time they got locked up together. Good times). Still, Techno trusts them: with his back unarmed, with his bed by theirs, with his secrets.
He trusts them with his life. Every fibre of his being, wired to love them. The only problem is that trusting people is scary and Techno doesn't have a good track record with being afraid. Trepidation clouds his thinking and his demons twist his reasoning until he finds himself alone, isolated once again.
It comes to him in the most unexpected places.
They're just waiting to stab a sword through your back, his thoughts whisper when he's sitting on the couch, listening to Phil and Wilbur talk about cartography. They're playing with you, his shadow reads when he's by the lake with Wilbur and Tommy, Oh, Techno- once a warrior, now victim of his naivety, the bright spots in his vision coo when Phil extends a hand to him to help him up a hill.
Those he can deal with usually. But there is another kind of whisper- one he truly despises, with all he is.
You're killing them. I wonder which will come sooner: their realisation or their deaths?
Techno shifts a bit on the step he's sitting on, the wood stairs cold under his thighs. He originally came out here just to get some fresh air, but the doubts followed him and now he's on his own, forced to listen to their grating chanting. It's dumb, he knows that. He's not killing anyone. Phil told him multiple times before, he doesn't have to believe such lies.
Which will it be? The deaths, right? They trust you so much, they'll never leave. They'll wait for you to kill them, wait for the murderous frost with a naive smile on their faces.
Techno hates hearing this. All of this. He knows his brothers are smart and that they're right. He's not killing anyone, and if he's with them it will all be okay. He isn't hurting anyone by staying. He'd be hurting them if he left, the only option is to stay.
What would Tommy's face look like, frozen? Do you think his expression will remain betrayed until the ends of time? Or will the ice melt all his emotions away, leaving him as the dead statue you turned him into?
Techno stands up from the perch and aggressively focuses on blinking. Right, he's busy blinking at the moment so he can't hear any thoughts. Leave and never come back, would you?
Would Phil's hands be cold? Spring's touch, dead under your own. Or would they freeze right off? It's not like he'd have a use for them at that point, right?
Wilbur's inside, isn't he? Techno should go back and join him. He told him to come to him when things like this happen. He'd distract Techno, talk his ear off until he could no longer hear this torture over his voice. Right, Techno just has to go inside and ask Wilbur for help. Easy.
You're cruel, Techno- I can't believe you'd take away the songbird's voice like that.
He walks to the door, each step a blink he doesn't feel. His hand rests on the door handle.
Would Wilbur's lips be blue? Or would they be stained with red in his last attempt to call for help, for the return of the warmth you took from him?
Actually, Techno doesn't want to see Wilbur right now.
Instead, he turns around and heads into the forest, busying his mind with anything else other than the countless corpses on the battlefield, all frozen into soulless statues resembling his family. Nope, he's not thinking about that. Phil always says he's not hurting them and that he's okay. Yes, Techno's okay. There is a tree right there. Yes, that's an important observation. There are lots of trees in the world. Tommy likes oak. Yes. That's also important. What is Wilbur's favourite tree? Techno doesn't know, maybe he should ask later. Phil likes all the trees, he likes the variety. Yes, trees. Very interesting topic that Techno is busy thinking about.
As he walks through the forest, he focuses on unclenching his jaw and lowering his shoulders. The thoughts clouding his mind are at bay for the moment, but they loom over his vision, right behind his temple, waiting for him to lower his defenses. He's not one for losing though, so he strolls through the forest, dutifully counting the trees on his left. Counting helps distract him, he noticed. Not always, sometimes the numbers are too quiet compared to the screaming shrill of his doubts, but on slow days like this it comes in handy.
He counts forty-seven trees before he gets to the lake nearby. It's frozen over, the ice thick and littered with white cuts that swirl on its surface, a false copy of the way inky words swim on porcelain pages. Wilbur and Tommy were out the other day, so their tracks are still fresh on the sparkling ice. Techno didn't even realize he was heading this way, but now that he's here, skating seems like a good way to clear the shadows that seeped themselves into the corners of his brain. Their skates are still where they left them, in the small wooden box they placed by the water. Techno grabs his pair and puts them on, his cold fingers fumbling with the laces.
When he's finished, he stands up on his skates and starts sliding to the lake's middle. The cold air claws at his face as he gains speed; the uncomfortable sensation a welcome distraction from everything. He focuses on the movement of his legs, the shifting of his balance in rhythm with the beating of his heart.
The truth is hard to face, but it's still apparent: Techno is afraid of Winter. He's terrified to this day because of what he did all those years ago. So he runs and runs, insistent and panicked, in hopes of outrunning the white trail that follows him. It was fine, for a while- the lonely winters, the offerings of his very being, hoping to atone for a sin he wasn't even around to commit. How many years has it been? Three, four? How many lives were lost? Thousands? More?
Techno's always run. As quick as his legs took him, wherever the road led, always forward while only looking backwards. He is a bastard, planting graves on corpses everywhere he goes, never quick enough to catch up with the souls he takes.
But he's not cruel. He still has love in his heart, despite everything he carries with him each passing moment. He has people he loves, people he hurt with his running. That was a mistake he'll never be able to take back, but it is one he can still apologise for. After all, his brothers are still here despite what happened. Despite who he is.
He needs to apologise to them. To show he's sorry, to show he never meant to hurt them. To say, loud and clear, that he doesn't take their unconditional love for granted. They deserve that, at least- and maybe that will finally quiet the voice in Techno's head that's so adamant about their imminent doom.
He will show them. He'll do what he was never allowed after that fated winter and atone. Maybe even earn the forgiveness he so desperately longs for.
Techno looks up at the sky. The sun has since come out from behind her white dressing screen, smiling at her son who's misguided and heartfelt; busy with needless apologies that weigh heavy on his lips. Still, his heart is true and beating despite the pain so she stares at him with gentle pride from her place up in the sky.
Her son smiles back at her and as he sets off on his journey, she adorns him with the sunlight he's lost, each step he takes towards forgiveness adorned with gold.