Work Text:
Tommy has never thought of himself as particularly unlucky. He’s always had everything he needs: a place to sleep (even if it was barely big enough for two), food on the table (even if he had to skip a meal or two every once in a while), and, most importantly, his older brother.
It’s been just the two of them for as long as Tommy can remember. When he was little, he thought Technoblade was the coolest person in the world. He still does. And as much as he argues against it when Techno calls him “kid”, Tommy doesn’t think he’ll ever stop needing him.
As he stumbles toward their tiny apartment in the dark of night, trembling hands pressed painfully against his stomach and sticky with blood, he’s never needed his brother more.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The end of Tommy’s pen smacks against his notebook in time with his rising heart rate, amplifying the pattering beneath his chest. He gave up on finishing his homework some time ago, attention now fully on the ticking of the clock. Five minutes turn to fifteen turn to thirty and Tommy is having a really hard time trying to stay calm.
Technoblade is normally home by now and he always texts when he’ll be more than ten minutes late. Tommy can feel the growing weight of his phone in his pocket, thread of messages unanswered. The only thing stopping him from calling the man is the overwhelmingly dreadful and increasingly likely possibility of him not answering.
Because if Tommy doesn’t have Techno, he has nothing. Nothing that matters, anyway.
Just when he’s sure he’ll explode from the anxiety, the lock clicks and Tommy holds his breath.
The door swings open and Technoblade, in all his glory, trudges in. Tommy scans him for any sign of what happened, horribly relieved when he finds nothing out of the ordinary. Pink hair falls over his shoulder in what he’s sure started out as a neat braid, brown eyes made darker by the purple crescents beneath them—he’d never admit it, but Tommy’s always kind of hated how different they look, how unlike brothers they seem in the mirror; it kind of hurt when he woke up one day to find pastel pink where there once had been bright blond, just a bit lighter than his own.
But right now, he couldn’t be happier to see that stupid (and annoyingly cool-looking) color.
Techno smiles, weary and small, but it’s genuine enough to confirm he’s really okay. Tommy finally releases his breath, a true sigh of relief, and it makes Techno’s face contort into one of concern.
He opens his mouth to ask but Tommy beats him to it. “You didn’t text.” It’s not an accusation, just a statement. Quiet, resigned.
Techno’s face falls, guilt radiating off of him. “Shit, sorry, kid. There were some…complications at work and my phone died before I got the chance to let you know.”
Tommy purses his lips, nodding curtly. “Okay.”
It’s not that he doesn’t believe the man, it’s just that he knows pressing won’t get him any more answers. They don’t lie to each other, it’s one of their rules, but Techno refuses to talk about his…side job, for lack of a better word. (The only thing he’s less inclined to discuss is Tommy dropping out of school to work so Techno doesn’t need a side job in the first place.)
Tommy’s caught him enough times in the bathroom, late at night, with the first aid kit that always seems to be in need of restocking, to have a pretty good guess at what it is. Most of the time, it’s small stuff, little cuts and bruised knuckles. But sometimes, it’s bigger—things that’ll scar and, in the worst cases, need to be stitched closed—and those are the times that scare him, that keep him on the couch, waiting for his brother to come home, or laying in bed, wondering what he’ll do if the door never opens. The one time he’d offered to help, Techno had sent him to his room and slammed the bathroom door in his face, so Tommy stays out of his way and prays it’ll never be bad enough that he needs his little brother's help.
“I really am sorry, Theseus,” the man says, and Tommy could never say no to the old nickname (he could never stay mad at Techno to begin with), so he tilts the corners of his lips up ever so slightly.
“‘S okay,” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly.
Techno eyes him knowingly. “No, it’s not, but I appreciate that.” He turns to hang his coat on one of the hooks and strides over to the couch, plopping down beside Tommy with a heavy sigh.
Tommy quirks an eyebrow and Techno huffs fondly, strong arms reaching out and tugging Tommy into his side. He instantly melts into the hold, grinning when Techno tucks Tommy’s head under his chin. It’s warm here, and safe, and there’s nowhere else Tommy would rather be.
“I love you, kid. You know that, right?”
Tommy hums, tilting his head up to meet his brother’s eyes. “‘Course I do, Tech.”
The man nods, brown eyes swirling with more fondness than he knows what to do with. “Good.”
“And I love you, too.”
“I know,” Techno sighs, arms tightening their hold on him. “And I’m the luckiest brother in the world for it.”
No, Tommy thinks. You’ve got it the wrong way around. I’m the lucky one.
Gritting his teeth, Tommy pushes himself off the wall of their staircase and wipes one hand against his pant leg, grimacing at the dried maroon caking the outer edge of his palm. With the other hand still pressing against the deep gash on his side, he somehow manages to heave himself up the thirteen steps and fish his keys out of his pocket—for once, his tendency to forget to put things in his backpack couldn’t have better timing. (What a shame; Tommy really liked that backpack. He wonders if his teachers will believe him…)
By the time he manages to get the door open and himself inside, he’s blinking spots from his vision and almost definitely seconds away from passing out. Whether from the pain or the blood loss, he isn’t sure. Instead of doing that, he drags himself to the bathroom and locks it. Though Techno shouldn’t be home for another few hours, Tommy’s not willing to risk it.
If he were anyone else, he might consider calling his brother or, for that matter, a fucking ambulance. But he’s not. He may not be the best at school, but Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows there’s no world in which they could afford the medical bill. There’s a reason Techno taught himself how to suture. He also knows that the man already has enough on his plate. He can’t be worried about Tommy’s life when he most definitely needs to be worrying about his own. Even if he’s not at a fight club like Tommy thinks he is, he’s somewhere doing something dangerous and Tommy won’t risk distracting him. Besides, he’s a big man. He can take care of himself. He’s enough of a burden to Technoblade as it is.
So he grabs the med kit from the cabinet and drops to their tiled floor with a groan. Haphazardly, Tommy digs through it with his dry hand and pulls out the rubbing alcohol, needle and thread, clamp, and gauze. He leans back against the sink, hissing when the movement jostles his wound. Gripping the edge of his bloodied shirt, Tommy pulls it up. “Fuck,” he rasps when it catches the edge of the gash and sends a trail of blood down his side and onto the tiled floor.
Not allowing himself to think about it for long, he uses his mouth to twist the cap off the rubbing alcohol and inhales deeply through his nose.
Here goes nothing.
The scream tears itself from his throat when the liquid makes contact, the sting so strong it could be sizzling. Tommy rapidly blinks the tears from his eyes and grabs the clamp and needle, thankful for its already-threaded state. With another deep breath, he brings his hands to his abdomen, using one hand to pinch the skin together and the other to slip the needle through it. He chokes on a mix between a sob and a scream, biting hard on his cheek in an attempt to compose himself. He can’t do this if he can’t fucking see. When the tears finally fall from his face, he pulls the thread through and moves onto the next stitch.
It takes him a lot longer than he would have liked, but that’s including every time he has to take a break to keep from throwing up or straight-up passing out. By the time he finishes and ties off the thread, Tommy’s surprised he’s still conscious. As much as he’d like to not be, he still has to clean everything up before his brother gets home or else this will all have been for nothing.
Allowing himself a few minutes to breathe, he slumps further into the sink, eyelids fluttering shut. When he feels himself slipping into sleep, he forces them open and pushes himself into a proper sitting position, wincing when the movement pulls on his stitches.
“Okay,” he mutters. “Okay, Tommy, almost done. Just gotta get through this next bit.” With a heavy breath, he grabs the rubbing alcohol and pours it over the stitches. It’s a bit duller than the last time—does that mean he’s in shock?—but the sting pulls a hiss from his lips regardless.
Once that’s over with, he grabs some gauze and wipes away the surrounding blood as best as he can before using fresh rolls to wrap around his torso. Great. Now he just has to wipe away any trace of this ever happening.
Tommy bites down on his cheek again, tasting iron, and if he wasn’t in the worst pain he’s ever been in, he’d laugh. Slowly and so so painfully, he sets off on cleaning up. Using the rubbing alcohol, he wipes down the tools and replaces everything as neatly as he can manage before wiping down the sink and floor, panicking slightly when he almost can’t get some in between the tiles.
When that’s done, he pulls a trash bag out from under the sink and strips, wincing when it pulls at his skin and praying to anyone that’s listening that he doesn’t rip his stitches. He tosses the shirt into the bag, only slightly mournful. It was far from his favorite and even if he could manage to get the blood out, there’s still a sizable tear in it. His pants, on the other hand, he can’t afford to just throw away so he plugs the sink, places the bloodied part in it, and blasts the faucet on cold. It’s something Techno taught him not too long ago, when he’d accidentally cut himself on some broken glass and stained his sweater. Cold water and soap. Surprisingly efficient.
Tommy lets it soak while he puts the kit away and adds the bloodied gauze to the trash bag, tying it off. Then, he grabs some Tylenol from the cabinet and swallows two pills with some tap water. After a few minutes, he drains the sink and grabs the soap to scrub away at his pants. Eventually, his hands are raw and his pants are free of blood. Tommy sighs, grabbing everything and turning to leave, but he can’t resist a quick glance in the mirror.
“Shit,” he huffs. “I look like shit.”
With red-rimmed and heavy-lidded eyes, a sunken face, and sickly pale complexion, he looks straight out of some zombie apocalypse film. Techno cannot see him like this.
Unlocking the door, Tommy hobbles out of the bathroom and to the bedroom. He doesn’t trust himself to stay awake until his brother gets home and he doesn’t want to risk Techno carrying him from the couch and figuring things out. So he makes his way to the bed and shoves the trash bag beneath it before draping his pants over the back of the desk chair. He’ll just tell Techno he spilled coke on them or something.
A breeze through the window sends goosebumps up his arms and he’s reminded that he has yet to put any clothes on, so he grabs the first set of pajamas he sees and maneouvers into them, throwing on a hoodie for good measure. Exhausted, Tommy crawls into bed and doesn’t even bother trying to keep the darkness at bay.
Tommy wakes with a struggle the following morning, still cold and in so much pain. He can’t be sure, but he doesn’t think the Tylenol helped at all. Or maybe it did but only while he was sleeping. In any case, he feels like absolute shit and the only mercy he’s been granted is that it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t technically need to do anything today.
Techno’s day job is weekdays only, so Tommy isn’t surprised to hear the man mulling around the kitchen, probably cooking breakfast. The scent wafts into the bedroom and, though he isn’t sure he can actually eat anything, makes his mouth water. Technoblade’s signature blueberry pancakes. It only takes another minute for the wariness to set in. His brother reserves those for special occasions and, unless Tommy’s been asleep for three months, it’s not anyone’s birthday and he’s pretty sure they have nothing to celebrate right now.
Begrudgingly, he drags himself from bed, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from yelping when he pulls a bit too hard on his stitches. As quickly as he can manage, Tommy lifts up his shirt and hoodie, anticipating to find red bleeding through the gauze and sighs in relief when everything looks good- or as good as it can be, he supposes.
Satisfied, Tommy takes a few breaths to prepare himself, testing his weight and range of movement before shuffling out of the bedroom, careful to keep his face free of pain or discomfort.
Techno must hear him because he glances over his shoulder, snorting at the sight of Tommy. “Rough night?”
Tommy swallows a grimace. “You could say that.”
“I figured as much,” Techno says, turning his attention back to the pan to flip a pancake. “You were already out by the time I got back. Must’ve been a long day. Thought these might cheer you up.”
Tommy hums, sliding into a seat at their tiny kitchen table. A few minutes later, his brother joins him, sliding his plate and a bottle of syrup in front of him. “Have at it, kid,” Techno prompts, digging into his own plate.
Somewhat nervous, Tommy cuts a tiny piece off and pops it into his mouth, free of syrup. Techno gives him a weird look for that, but he’s too busy trying to figure out if this’ll make him sick or not to notice. When he finally swallows and nothing happens, Tommy allows himself to properly dig in, minus his usual syrup.
“You feelin’ okay, Tommy?”
Just as he’s about to nod, his stomach lurches and Tommy has to swallow down the bile before it makes an appearance. With a groan, he pushes the plate away.
Now properly concerned, Techno puts down his fork and leans forward to press a palm against his forehead. It’s warm, of course it is, and Tommy is decidedly not that, so he can’t help but lean into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut.
“You don’t feel warm…” Techno mutters, brushing his hand up through Tommy’s hair.
“That’s ‘cause ‘m cold,” Tommy sighs, chasing after the touch.
Techno breathes deeply and Tommy can feel his intense gaze even with his eyes closed. He’s too tired to care.
“Alright. C’mon, kid, let’s get you to the couch.” Techno bends to support Tommy’s weight with a hand around his waist and he has to bite his lip to stop the hiss when Techno’s fingers press into the tender skin around his stitches. Unfortunately for him, his brother is more observant than most and catches it. “Does somethin’ hurt?”
Tommy shakes his head, risking eye contact. Disbelief pours off Technoblade in waves.
“Tommy,” he prompts sternly.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Nothing, I’m just nauseous.”
The man frowns, pausing. “Are you goin’ to be sick? Should we go to the bathroom instead?”
Flashes of blood flood his vision and the stench of alcohol fills his nose. “N-no,” he chokes out. “No, I’ll be fine. Couch, please.”
When Techno hesitates, Tommy shoots him the “baby brother eyes” as Techno likes to call them and it doesn’t take long for the man to guide him to the coach.
“Fine, but I’m bringin’ you a trash bag just in case. Don’t want you throwin’ up all over our brand new, expensive sofa.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. Their couch is quite the opposite, actually. They found it for free on the side of the road. Technoblade made sure to power wash it before bringing it inside, of course, but it isn’t exactly a nice piece of furniture. Besides, there are already some stains they’ve long given up on trying to get out.
Soon enough, his brother returns with a trash bag and their only properly fuzzy blanket to drape over him. “I’m goin’ to get you some tea. Put on a movie or somethin’.” He hands Tommy the TV remote and moves into the kitchen.
By the time he’s found something to watch, Techno returns with a steaming mug of something herbal and vaguely minty.
“Peppermint,” he confirms, setting it on the coffee table. “Helps with nausea.”
“Thanks, Tech.”
“No problem, kid.” The man gently ruffles his hair before settling next to him on the couch. “What’re we watchin’?”
“Only the best movie ever made.”
“I didn’t know you liked The Princess Bride so much,” Techno teases.
Tommy makes a face at that. “Ew, no. I’m talking about How To Train Your Dragon, Blade.”
His brother rolls his eyes at the nickname. “Don’t diss it ‘til you’ve seen it, kid. I think you’d like it.”
“Whatever. I’m choosing, not you.”
Techno shrugs, looping an arm over Tommy’s shoulder and pulling him close. He bites down on his cheek so hard he tastes blood, but otherwise he’d shout or curse or something at the way his skin pinches and tugs. It’s almost enough to make him vomit, so he grabs the trash bag and takes a few large breaths.
“Shit. Sorry, Tommy, I wasn’t thinkin’.”
“‘S not y’r faul-,” he mutters, cutting off with a gag.
When he finally calms down, Techno hands him the tea. “Drink some of that, see if it helps. I’ll go grab you some water, too.”
Tommy nods blearily, barely processing the words as he accepts the mug. The warmth feels nice against his cold fingers and it’s enough to ground him so that he can take a sip. Though the taste is weird going down, it really does settle his stomach significantly.
By the time his brother returns with the water, Tommy is pretty sure he won’t throw up. He takes the glass anyway, sipping slowly.
“Better?”
“Mhm.”
Techno smiles warmly and resituates next to him, this time, taking care to be gentle. Tommy starts the movie before fully settling into his brother’s side. And just like that, the cold and the pain disappear and he can drift contently with the feeling of Techno’s breaths beneath him and the sound of his comfort movie flooding his ears. Really, it’s no surprise. Technoblade can fix any problem, can take away all his troubles. Tommy isn’t so sure he deserves it, but after the night he had, he figures the universe owes him this much.
Sunday morning comes around and Tommy’s ready to never get out of bed again. He thought he was finally starting to recover last night, but he feels like he’s dying.
When he finally manages to push himself into a sitting position, the throbbing in his abdomen warns him of what he feared. Lifting his shirt and hoodie, Tommy curses under his breath at what he sees. Bright red bleeds outward from the wobbly outline of his wound in the gauze.
Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like it happened too long ago, but Tommy must have ripped his stitches in his sleep. For being such a mobile sleeper, he’s honestly a little surprised it took this long. That being said, he’s glad he hasn’t bled through the wrap completely and stained his sheets or mattress. That would be impossible to clean and a nightmare to explain.
With a frustrated huff, he climbs out of bed and peeks into the living room. The apartment seems empty and a simple call of his brother’s name gone unanswered confirms as much. Awesome. Techno’s out, but for how long? Tommy has no idea when he’ll be back, so he has to be quick.
He stumbles to the bathroom, locking the door, and pulls out all the supplies. Once everything is set out, he unravels the wrap, grimacing at the myriad of reds decorating his wound and the surrounding area. He’d torn several stitches at the center of the gash. With the race against time (and the desperate need to reduce the amount of sutures as much as possible), Tommy doesn’t bother redoing the whole row. Instead, he ties off the ends of the ripped stitches and slips the new thread through the split skin.
He isn’t sure if it’s better or worse the second time around because it hurts the same, if not more, but he’s not so lacking in blood that he’ll pass out. After several choice swears and barely choked back sobs, Tommy slumps back against the sink counter. He waits until his breathing evens out before wrapping the fresh gauze and hurrying to clean everything up. He’s just barely putting the med kit away when he hears the front door open.
Fuck, shit, balls, fuck.
Scrambling, he tosses the bloodied scraps into another trash bag and ties it off before shoving the whole thing into his hoodie pocket.
“Tommy?” It’s a little distant, probably from the bedroom.
He inhales sharply, holding it for a second. When the call repeats, much closer now, he exhales. “Be out in a second!”
Swallowing thickly, he shoves a hand into the pocket in an effort to look less conspicuous and prays Techno’s too busy asking about other stuff to question the minor bulge in his sweatshirt. Tommy unlocks the door and swings it open, nearly running face-first into his brother.
“Whoa, kid. Careful,” the man chuckles, hands grabbing his shoulders to steady him. “How’re you feelin’?”
Tommy shrugs, running his free hand lazily through his hair. “I dunno. Kinda shit.”
Techno frowns, lifting a hand to check his temperature. “Hm…you’re definitely a little warm. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Tommy nods, allowing his brother to guide him to the bedroom with strong but gentle hands. When they reach the bed, Techno waits for Tommy to climb onto it before he steps out to grab something. Sluggishly, Tommy slips the bag out of his hoodie and shoves it under the bed next to the other one. He’ll deal with those later.
Technoblade returns, thermometer in hand, as Tommy situates more comfortably, trying not to jostle his wound. His brother holds it up to his mouth and Tommy takes it, barely registering the feeling of plastic under his tongue. When Techno finally removes it, he smiles reassuringly.
“You’ve got a low fever, but you should be able to sleep it off. Get some rest, Tommy. I’ll be in the livin’ room. Call me when you wake up, okay?”
“‘Kay,” he mumbles, already half-asleep.
The man chuckles fondly, running a hand through Tommy’s matted hair with a whisper of “I love you.”
Tommy’s already out by the time he pulls away and exits the room.
When Tommy wakes up again, it’s not by choice. His whole body feels like its on fire, but at the same time chilled to the bone. The cold sweat leaves his hair stuck to his forehead and he can’t decide whether to throw the covers off or wrap them tighter around himself.
His first attempt at moving sends a spike of white hot pain through his abdomen and he whimpers. The tears flood beneath his eyelids, wetting them enough that he can flutter them open, if only a few millimeters. Another stab of pain radiates from his side and Tommy chokes down a sob.
This is it. This time, he’s dying for real. And that scares him more than his brother finding out ever did. So he swallows thickly and cries, “Techno.” It comes out more as a raspy whisper than anything, which just makes him feel worse. “Tech…” he tries again. It’s even more pitiful than the first time.
With the edges of his vision going black, Tommy does the only thing he can think of and rolls over the edge of the bed. For the second that he’s falling, his heart jumps into his throat and strangles any noises he tries to make. But when he makes contact with the floor, he can’t help the broken sob that rips from his throat. Injured side up, he curls into himself, gasping out weak breaths.
Please, he begs. Please let him have heard that.
Because if he didn’t, Tommy isn’t sure he can make it out of the bedroom. The sound of distant footsteps keeps him awake.
“Theseus?” He thinks it’s from the living room, but he can’t be sure.
Another sob leaves his mouth. “Te…ch,” he gasps.
The footsteps grow louder and the blurry outline of a figure with pink hair freezes in the doorway. “Tommy?!” And suddenly, there are hands on him, prodding at his blood-soaked clothes. “Fuck, you’re bleedin’.” Techno’s voice shakes—it’s never done that before. “What happened? Where is it comin’ from?”
Tommy barely has it in himself to flop onto his back, he can’t muster up enough energy to do anything more than whimper. He can’t see his brother’s face, but he can feel his frantic energy. Groaning, he lowers one hand to tug up the fabric of his clothes, exposing the completely soaked through wrap around his torso.
“Tommy…” Techno breathes, hands hovering over the wound.
It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open, so he lets them flutter shut. That shocks Techno into action. A firm hand presses down hard against his side and Tommy whines.
“I know, kid, but you gotta stay with me. I’m not lettin’ you die, Tommy. Do you hear me? Just stay with me.”
Tommy exhales a shaky breath, head lolling toward his brother. If this is it, he has to tell his brother the truth, that it’s his fault and he never meant to be such a burden and he loves Techno more than anything in the world. All that comes out is “‘M s’rry.”
“No, Tommy, don’t- you have nothin’ to be sorry for. Just please-” he breaks off. “Please don’t leave me, kid. I need you.”
I need you, too.
The words don’t make it out before darkness consumes him.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Tommy blinks open his eyes, immediately squinting at the glaring white lights above him. It takes him a few seconds to reorient, but he finally looks around what appears to be a hospital room.
Slumped over in a chair, Technoblade sleeps with his head resting on the bed and a hand loosely intertwined with one of Tommy’s—the same hand with an IV going into it. Seeing his brother immediately calms him, despite the guilt slowly churning in his stomach.
There’s an uncomfortable weight on his face—he thinks its an oxygen mask—and a white wrap around his otherwise bare torso. Clenching his jaw, he tries to push himself into a sitting position but his arms feel like jelly and his abdomen is incredibly sore. His failed attempt must have jostled Techno because the man startles awake, head lifting to look at Tommy.
“Hey, Tech,” he rasps, smiling weakly.
“Hey, kid,” his brother greets, just as soft and warm as always. “How do you feel?”
Tommy lets out a long breath. “Tired.” Which is an understatement, Tommy’s fucking exhausted.
Techno snorts. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” His expression darkens for a moment before he clears it with a gentle smile.
Different as they may be, Tommy knows his brother better than he knows himself. So he can tell when Techno is stressed and when he’s trying not to bring something up. Right now, his brother is both of those things.
“What happened?”
Techno’s face falls, eyes dropping to their interlocked hands as his body tenses. “You passed out and there was a lot of blood- god, there was so much of it-” he pauses, clears his throat. “Uh, the bleedin’ wouldn’t stop and your pulse kept gettin’ weaker, so I called the paramedics, got you to the hospital. They said you had an infection, which was probably the reason for your fever, and a lot of blood loss, so they had to get you into an O.R. immediately. You were in surgery for a few hours…” he trails off, glancing up to meet Tommy’s eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brother look so broken before and it makes him want to curl up in a ball and die.
“They said your heart stopped.” Tommy can hear the way he’s forcing his voice to be steady, to be monotone and clinical, though for who’s sake he isn’t sure. The way he’s holding Tommy like he’ll disappear, looking at him like he’s not real…Techno’s scared. And Techno’s never been scared before, not like this.
The guilt rages in his gut, so brutal and hot that he’s sure it’s burning a hole right through him. This is just confirmation that the only thing Tommy’s ever done is make Techno’s life harder.
Burden.
The word echoes through his mind until it’s engraved, white hot and booming. It drowns out everything else until all he knows is how badly he’s failed his brother.
Tommy doesn’t realize he’s crying until the grip on his hand tightens and Technoblade surges forward, wrapping strong but oh-so gentle arms around him. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, chin tucked over golden curls. “You’re okay, Tommy, you’re okay.”
His brother is cradling him, holding him like something precious and all Tommy can think is I don’t deserve this.
“‘M sorry,” he gasps, “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry.” The apology spills out of him, weak and broken between sobs.
“Shh,” Techno soothes, grip tightening as one hand rubs circles into his back. “It’s okay, Theseus.”
It’s not. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.
He can’t get the words out, so he settles for shaking his head where it’s nestled into his brother’s neck. Techno seems to realize he’s only working himself up even more because he pulls away, just barely but Tommy can’t stop the whine from leaving his throat.
Technoblade shifts to cup Tommy’s cheeks in warm hands, rough with callouses, and tilts his head up. “Hey, look at me.”
And Tommy can’t bear to let him down any more than he already has so he listens, watery blue eyes meeting fierce brown ones.
“Everythin’s goin’ to be fine, kid. I promise. Have I ever lied to you?”
Despite the panicked fog clouding his mind, Tommy manages to shake his head. Techno smiles, reassuring- soft.
“That’s right. Now, I need you to focus on me, alright? Breathe with me.” The pink-haired man drops one hand to grab Tommy’s, pressing it against his chest right over his heart. The soft thumping is grounding, allowing him to focus on the exaggerated rise and fall of Techno’s chest. Slowly, he matches it until he’s calm enough to breathe on his own.
“There you go,” he praises and Tommy can’t even be embarrassed about the warmth that floods him. Techno runs his thumb soothingly over Tommy’s cheekbone a few times before dropping his hand to interlock their fingers.
Silence falls over them like a blanket, comfortable despite the incessant beeping of the heart monitor. Tommy stays quiet, savoring the peace he knows will soon be shattered. Even as the air fills with tension to match the growing stiffness in his brother’s shoulders, Tommy doesn’t dare say a word. If this is where it all falls apart, he won’t be the one to hit the final nail in the coffin.
“Tommy,” Techno starts, wary, “I think you owe me an explanation.”
I owe you a lot more than that.
Tommy swallows thickly, dropping his gaze. He can’t bear to look into his brother’s eyes and see the disappointment he knows is coming. Taking a long breath through his nose, Tommy explains.
“It was a few days ago. I, um, missed the bus home from school and didn’t wanna wait for the next one so I said ‘fuck it’ and walked-” A quick glance up reveals a tense Technoblade, jaw set and eyes alight. It makes Tommy shrink into himself. When his brother remains silent, he continues, “It was fine until I got to The Pit…” The area just outside of their neighborhood in Pogtopia, known for its homeless population and drug trade, had been dubbed that name long ago. A stark warning to anyone who knew better.
“Tommy, you didn’t.” Techno’s voice is rough, dripping in disbelief and, worst of all, disappointment.
Shame floods him as he shrugs. “It’s the quickest route, I just wanted to get home. And I tried to be careful, but I must have gotten distracted, I dunno, and some bastard snuck up on me-” Tommy doesn’t remember much from that night, adrenaline or shock or something, but he can still see the sharp glint of steel, hear the rasped demand of ‘Gimme y’r money’, feel the searing pain in his side.
“He had a knife, wanted my money. I gave him my wallet but there wasn’t much in there so he took my backpack, too. But it was just full of notebooks. I guess he thought I was hiding the rest,” he mutters, shrugging, “so he swiped at me and I wasn’t fast enough to dodge. When the bastard realized he got me, he just ran off.”
Tommy looks up, trying to gauge the extent of Techno’s anger. The man’s face is tight, eyes pained and full of confusion. “Don’t tell me you walked home like that,” he begs and Tommy can’t help but wither under the intensity of his tone. “Why didn’t you call someone- call me?”
“I didn’t wanna worry you,” he admits, “or distract you, I guess. And I knew we couldn’t afford the medical bills, but it makes no difference now.”
“Why didn’t you say anythin’ when you were home? Why did you let it get this bad?” He’s frantic, composure cracking at the edges—it’s almost worse than if he yelled.
Tommy shrugs. “You already have so much on your plate, I didn’t wanna add another thing to stress about.”
“That’s not your job, Tommy.” Techno’s got his stern voice on, which would normally be enough of a warning, but Tommy’s exhausted and doped up on a shit ton of painkillers probably, so his filter’s fully out the window.
“Well, it wouldn’t have to be yours either if you let me work!”
Technoblade raises an eyebrow. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not droppin’ out of high school?”
“Why not?” Tommy groans. “What’s a stupid diploma worth to me?”
The man huffs, dragging a hand down his face. “If it means you gettin’ to be a teenager and havin’ a real future, it’s worth a damn lot.”
“I should be able to make that choice for myself.”
“I’m your guardian and it’s my responsibility to protect you-”
“What about you?” Tommy snaps. “Who’s gonna protect you?”
Techno frowns. “I don’t need protectin’.”
“You don’t get it,” he cries, eyes burning with oncoming tears. “What am I s’pposed to do if you don’t come home one day?”
And that seems to hit the mark because his brother’s face crumples. “Tommy…”
“I know you wanna keep me away from your shady night job or whatever but I see you.” The memories flash through his mind, little snippets of every night Techno’s come home with one injury or another. “I see you hurt and bleeding and tired and you won’t let me help you! I-” Tommy’s voice breaks. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers, barely registering the salty taste on his lips.
“Kid…” Techno breathes, brown eyes shining.
And Tommy- weary, scared Tommy can’t help but reach for his brother- his lifeline. The man doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, arms wrapping him in warmth and comfort and safety.
“I’m so sorry, Theseus. I just wanted to be strong for you, to keep you safe and happy.” He tightens his grip, one hand coming up to brush through the hair at the base of Tommy’s neck.
“You are strong. You’re the strongest person I know, Tech. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help, too.” Tommy curls his fingers into the man’s shirt. “And as long as you’re okay, I’m happy.”
Technoblade hums, burying his face into golden curls. “I love you so much, kid.”
“I love you more,” Tommy answers, voice muffled from where he’s nuzzled into Techno’s chest.
“Mm, no, I don’t think so. Simply not possible.”
Tommy giggles, tilting his head up to meet his brother’s eyes. “Can you promise me something?”
Techno stares back, gaze full of adoration. “Anythin’.”
“Let me help you when you’re hurt. Please.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “But only if you promise me somethin’, too.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Promise me you’ll call me when you need me. Doesn’t matter when or where, or what I’m doin’, just please- call me. And tell me when you’re hurt- never hide that.”
He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Here,” he mumbles, raising his smallest finger. “Let’s pinky swear on it.”
Techno snorts, but raises his hand and curls his pinky around Tommy’s.
“There,” Tommy declares. “Now we can’t break it. It’s sac-ri-lege.”
“Sure, kid, whatever you say,” the man drawls before dipping down to kiss Tommy’s forehead.
Content, Tommy melts. Here, in his brother’s arms, he has no doubt that everything truly will be okay.