Chapter Text
As he was dragged into the bright light of the afternoon sun, Wemmbu couldn’t help it as he squeezed his eyes shut tight in an effort to protect himself from that light.
Going from where Wemmbu had been locked in the darkness of the LAW’s underground prison and from where he had been chained in the shadowed wings of the stage to the brightness of the midday sun was almost blinding. Wemmbu instinctively flinched away from it, losing his balance as he went reeling backwards.
He pulled his shoulders in, trying to arch his wings around him in an effort to catch his balance. Pain exploded through his shoulders and raced down his spine from where his wings had been chained against his back, they wouldn’t move very far and he was trying so hard to use them to catch himself, to prevent himself from falling. It hurt, the shackles, as they forced his wings to bend in ways that weren’t natural. And around his ankles, lashing back and forth with every step that Wemmbu took, his tail twitched anxiously.
If he had been alone instead of being forced onto a stage as a puppet for the LAW and Lettuce, Wemmbu wondered if he would be crying from the pain.
He wanted his dads.
Despite the fact that Wemmbu logically knew that neither of his parents would be here, he couldn’t help imagining what would happen if they were here and if they saw how he had been chained and kept like a dog. Neither of them would have been happy; with Lettuce, that is. After what had happened to Dad, both of them despised even the idea of a prison.
Wemmbu could picture it now; Pops, Techno, watching what had happened and then sinking into that rare, frigid fury of his. The one that Wemmbu had only seen when either Dad or him or one of the others that Pops loved were in danger. Maybe he would storm the stage, slaughtering anyone who would even make an attempt to stop him from getting to his kid.
Technoblade would have torn through these chains before Wemmbu could even blink.
And then Dream would be there; gathering him into his arms like he used to when Wemmbu was hurt as a kid. He might have been taller than his dad now, but that didn’t mean his dad couldn’t pick him up anymore. Then they would be away from here, away from Lettuce and the rest of the LAW. Wemmbu knew that Dream might have wanted to shred through the code of anyone who was involved, damaging it beyond repair, but he had always loved Wemmbu more than the idea of taking revenge.
Instead, Dream would have left the revenge to his husband. And then Technoblade would have met up with them later, when the LAW and a majority of the server were made ash.
Then his parents would do what they always did when he was upset or hurt. They would take care of him, make sure that he was okay.
Sometimes, Techno would train with him, let him test new fighting moves until it was finally perfected. Other times, Dad would let the world code appear, the screens and display panels floating around them while he showed Wemmbu what he had to do to keep the world functioning. While he couldn’t actually do any code-editing himself, Wemmbu had always found it fascinating.
On the most difficult days, his parents would make something warm to eat and then all three of them would end up on the sofa, curled up by the fire. They would read or talk or, when the situation needed it, simply sit in silence.
He missed them.
Wemmbu was barely able to catch himself; able to stop himself from falling to his knees. His heart plummeted into his stomach and he was sent stumbling forward again.
This wasn’t fair. He just needed a moment.
A moment to catch his breath, a second to regain his balance.
However, even as Wemmbu was nearly sent sprawling across the floor and even as he tried to draw to a stop for a moment to catch his balance, there was a hand between his shoulder blades, shoving and forcing him forward.
There was something inside of him that wanted to bare his fangs, filed flat against his will, at the unexpected touch. It wanted him to snarl viciously, animalistically. Wemmbu wanted to lash out at the hand; wanted to whirl around and snap at the person to stop touching him. He wanted to tear the hand that dared to touch him off of his back. It was too close to his wings, the wings that were practically helpless when they were chained to his back. His tail shuddered again, fear shooting through him.
What if the LAW decided that he didn’t need his wings anymore? What if they broke his wings or cut them off instead of just chaining them to his back?
Wemmbu had decided that if they did that, they were going to die – no matter what happened.
It would be impossible to bite the hand, though. Even after they had filed his teeth flat, they didn’t trust him enough to realize that he wasn’t going to bite anyone.
The muzzle, rough and ill-fitted, rubbed his skin red and raw.
There was a different part of him that wanted to melt into the touch, the hand against his bare skin hauntingly familiar. Loppezz. It had to be her; had to be her who dared to get close enough to touch him, even if it was just to push him forward. He wanted to shove the emotions that the idea of her brought into him.
How could be have ever trusted her?
Her home, a small part of him whispered, the destruction was your fault.
It wasn’t. Wemmbu knew that it wasn’t. There was no way to save the place, no way to stop the explosions that had torn through the place.
It couldn’t be.
Wemmbu knew that it wasn’t his fault, so why did Loppezz blame him?
She had a plan, the same voice from before murmured. It was a plan that you didn’t care enough to listen to, even if was a good one. It would have been okay if you had cared enough to follow along with her plan instead of forcing through your own path.
It wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault. It was someone else’s fault. It had to be.
Wemmbu could feel his shoulders shaking and his wings quivering, twitching, beneath the chains as he was practically dragged onto the stage.
And that was when he felt it.
The staring.
Eyes. There were thousands of eyes locked on his trembling form; hundreds of people, staring up at him from the open-air auditorium in front of him. He could practically feel it as they traced the chains that weighed him down, that twisted his feathers into the wrong direction, that rubbed his skin raw. Wemmbu’s steps faltered again.
He fell.
Scrambling against the rough stone of the platform, he struggled to get up.
No one even tried to help him up.
The spot that Lettuce and the LAW guards wanted him at was scarcely a few more feet from the area where he had previously fallen. Wemmbu was forced to his knees again next to Lettuce, his mouth twisting into a scowl beneath the muzzle. Even if his entire face wasn’t visible, it would have been clear to just about anyone that he was furious at the circumstances.
Static.
Everything around him felt as though it was hazy; sound had turned into a low buzzing sound and the only thing that he could register was the feeling of eyes on his form. Wemmbu could barely believe that it was only months ago that he had beaten Flame, that he had inspired so much fear at the sight of him alone. Now, Wemmbu knew, his entire reputation was likely gone.
That was okay.
As long as it got those eyes off of him.
Wemmbu found himself scanning the crowd over and over again, searching desperately for anyone that could help anchor him by sight alone. Anyone that he knew, even if it was distantly or through a brief meeting.
Even if it was someone that he hated, like Clownpierce or Ferre.
Even if it was someone like Parrot; who was more likely in that throng of people staring at him like Wemmbu was some sort of zoo animal. If anyone that he knew was around, it would be him. This whole spectacle seemed like something that he and Theo would come to. He had always admired Parrot in the past; Wemmbu had always thought that he was smart. But then everything with Flame had happened and Parrot turned on him like it was nothing. Parrot who had decided they were enemies in an instant. Who decided he didn’t deserve peace.
Parrot, who had never even considered him a friend apparently.
Wemmbu let his eyes dart back and forth across the crowd, searching for the familiar glint of glass and gold in between the members of the crowd.
It took a moment, but there it was.
The glimmer of a spyglass from a distance.
There he was. And there was Theo, standing beside him.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Given the distance between they were standing and where he was kneeling on the stage, the facial features of both of the other avians were a little bit blurry to him. Additionally, Wemmbu could barely see Parrot’s face at all, as it was obscured by both his own arm and the spyglass that he was holding up. He could see the tension that was stretched across Parrot’s shoulders clear enough, though, and the horror that was showcased across his tense frame. He looked more distraught than Wemmbu would have thought he would be.
Next to where Parrot was standing, he could see Theo scowling. Wemmbu could see the latter clearer than the former, his face less obscured than Parrot’s face. His feathers were ruffled, fluffed up and his eyes were narrowed. He looked upset. Mad.
Wemmbu couldn’t really figure out why he would be so mad.
Despite his confusion, though, Wemmbu wouldn’t let it show on his face.
Wemmbu had thought that both of them had hated him after what they had done. He would have thought that this whole charade would have made them proud, to see someone as high as him be dragged so low. He would have thought that Theo would laugh. He would have thought that Parrot would smile, would have said ‘you deserved this’.
But that wasn’t happening.
And he didn’t know why.
They didn’t look like they were proud of what they had caused.
Instead of prideful, Wemmbu considered for a moment as he stared out at Parrot and Theo, they almost looked shameful.
Deserved.
Wemmbu stared at the pair for a moment longer before tearing his gaze away from where they had been standing in the crowd in an effort to force himself to scan the gathering for just about anyone else. His tail flicked across the ground as he shifted his gaze, placing his hands on his knees. He wanted to see anyone else. Please. Anyone would do. Anyone who wouldn’t make him think twice about what they actually felt for him. Anyone who wouldn’t make him overthink just about everything he had been through.
Right beside him, however distant as the LAW leader might have sounded to him at the moment, Wemmbu could hear Lettuce rambling through the buzzing in his ears. As he made an attempt to listen for a moment, Wemmbu could have snorted as he heard Lettuce mention something about a king on the server.
Hah.
As if a king, a tyrant, would ever work on the Unstable SMP.
It would never work.
Wemmbu would have thought that the server had learned this lesson in the aftermath of the Zam Empire, with the fall of the Invisible Mafia, with just about any group on this server that has managed to gain power in some way or another. It was also one of the first lessons that Techno had taught as a kid. Pops had drilled it into his skull; all governments would eventually fall to some form of tyranny.
And where there was tyranny, anarchy was soon to follow.
Then-!
Pain!
Agony tore through him, ripping Wemmbu right out of his thoughts as someone, Lettuce, threaded his fingers into Wemmbu’s hair and grabbed at his horns. It hurt, having someone use his horns to drag him to his feet. Not even considering the fact that, usually, his hair was usually tied up into a high ponytail or a braid and out of the way instead of having it be loose and down around his shoulders.
Unlike the way that Wemmbu usually tried to keep his hair, clean and glossy, it was left in matted locks around his face.
If it had been any other scenario, he would have been ashamed to even show his face until he was able to take a proper shower, until he was able to brush through the entire length of his hair. The LAW guards that the prison would barely even let him keep it clean.
They hadn’t even let him braid it to keep it out of the way for good. Instead, they had hacked at it until it was shoulder-length, jagged and ugly. It didn’t even look even vaguely similar to his Pops’ hair anymore.
Right now, there was nothing that Wemmbu hated more.
Except being a prisoner, that is.
--
“Wemmbu,”
The fingers that ran through the damp tangles of his hair were gentle as they began to use a comb and a brush to untangle each of the snarls and knots in his hair. Every so often, they would pause for a moment and spread a small amount of oil across the tips of his hair. Wemmbu always adored it; it smelled like apples, which was his favorite scent.
Wemmbu shifted a bit on his knees as Technoblade began to talk, his voice low, rumbling.
He didn’t know where this was going.
“The only thing that works in this world,” Techno said; the tone of his voice was soft and stern all in one go. “is that you treat others as they treat you.” His fingers caught a loose tangle and he tugged at it for a moment before it came undone.
“If they have treated you with kindness, kid, then you should return that kindness tenfold.”
Technoblade threaded his fingers through his hair, parting it into three different sections. He had stopped speaking for a moment, as though he was letting his words sink in. Wemmbu could hear him shuffling about, gently tugging at his hair every so often. The brush was set to the side. Then Techno began to talk again.
“And to those that will hurt you, that will try to use you,” Techno’s grasp on Wemmbu’s hair tightened ever so slightly, enough so that the latter let out a soft cry. Then Technoblade let go of his hair, murmuring out an apology. “that might try to hurt your friends or family to try and get at you,”
Wemmbu frowned, glancing over his own shoulder to try and see what Technoblade was doing instead of finishing his braid. He couldn’t help it as he blinked when his mentor grabbed his chin and tugged it up to make sure that Wemmbu was meeting his gaze.
“Then you should repay that injustice a thousand times over.”
And then, for a moment, Technoblade’s stern gaze soften.
“But if you can’t…” Techno paused for a moment, as though considering his own words.
“Then I will.”
--
When he was younger, something that Wemmbu had always adored was the length that Technoblade kept his hair at. He had loved the soft pink strands, even if they were usually bound in a waist-length braid. He had always wanted to emulate it as much possible.
Then he had decided on his own style instead of copying his Pops’ style; he had settled on the high ponytail that Wemmbu had always loved so much. He would really only braid it if he wanted his hair more out of the way than usual or if he didn’t want to risk it being cut in the middle of a fight, like when he fought those thousand players with Flame at his side.
Now it was unlikely that Wemmbu would even be able to pull it into some kind of ponytail at all, never mind the one that he usually preferred.
As the ender demon hybrid was dragged to his feet, his horns yanked on and his hair pulled in a way that was tight enough to hurt, Wemmbu began to thrash in Lettuce’s grasp. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get free, the soft rattling of the chains and shackles as well as the weakness potion that pulsed through his veins making sure that he knew that. Still, he wouldn’t stand for this humiliation without a fight.
He wanted to try. Even if it was just for a moment.
Around him, the roar of the crowd’s voices grew louder and louder as Wemmbu struggled.
Then Wemmbu saw it.
Just out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. Something so familiar that it caused him to stop struggling completely; something so familiar that it stunned him for a moment. Wemmbu fell limp in Lettuce’s grasp, his head lolling slightly as he struggled to catch another glimpse of what he had seen.
Of who he had seen.
Them.
It was them.
There, just on the fringes of the crowd and barely out of Lettuce’s line of sight, was a hint of pink hair, tied into a braided crown, and a thick, scarlet mantle bordered by white. There was a golden crown, patch marked by jewels of a multitude of colors, tangled into that same pink hair. He wasn’t even trying to hide.
They just didn’t expect him.
Beside him, there were a set of emerald eyes, sharp and piercing as they glared out from behind a white mask that was gilded with jagged lines of gold. From out of the hoodie that he wore, green as the eyes behind that bone-white mask, strands of blonde hair shown in the afternoon sun.
The mask might have been smiling. But it was clear that neither of them were happy.