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(i needa remind you to read the tags since i've seen in previous DSBI fics how some readers skip the tags. read the tags my dudes /srs.)
Kaleidoscope Lead
It’s been two days since Technoblade first woke up half-blind. Everything is a blur of colors, similar to how things look like when he’s just woken up with bleary eyes. Except he’s had this sight for as long as he’d woken up in the damned chambers of the Duke of Obsidian. He could recognize the voice of that bastard Duke any time.
“You self-righteous bastards at Emerald” The Duke hisses in irritation, and despite the fact that all he could see were the blobs of black hair, red eyes, and pale skin, he could practically hear the sardonic grin on his bastard voice. “Are so fucking irritating. ” he continues.
“Oh it’d be so delicious to see what Philza brings up this time, with his virtue bullshit.” He lands yet another kick at Technoblade’s face. "I hope you break him, little shit." Then he stomps.
Tears unwittingly flood his eyes when he feels the kick. It stung, all the way down to the bones of his jaw. He’s surprised he hasn’t lost teeth, they feel like they’re ringing already.
The torture stops upon the sound of the door opening, and there’s a faint whiff of something that would have been unbearably toxic if it had been any closer to him. “Kid, I don’t think I invited you here.” The duke says, but the hatred and spite in his voice had gone. “Is there anything you need?”
“I only came to report that… that one egg had failed.” the mentioned kid responds, and Technoblade would listen in more if it weren’t for the fact that he was already drifting to unconsciousness. “There’s only one egg left, father.”
With yet another stomp on his ribs, the duke sighs. “No matter, make sure you succeed at the next.” He spat, “For this month and perhaps even the next, your seat at my banquet is withheld until you give me good results. Leave, Thomas .”
Technoblade didn’t feel the air move for a bit, as if it was still for a moment, before it all spurs into motion again. The door clicks closed, and he’s back again with the bastard.
He doesn’t think he was conscious enough to remember the pain.
When he comes to, the blur of colors are different. He sees no light in front of him and the surrounding colors are dark and murky. The smell, he notices, is gruesome. He could tell even without his ability that this place has a history of unwillingly spilt blood. He pulls at his arms, and he hears the jingle of chains accompanied by the cuffs on his wrists. Not to mention the excruciating pain in his ribs. Every movement is an aching pain, different from the usual burn of a spar. It’s merciless, enough that he wonders if he wants to die.
But he wants to go home, at least to be able to say goodbye to his parents and to Wilbur, his twin brother. He’s glad that they took him instead of Wilbur, he doesn’t think he can bear the thought of Wilbur being on the receiving edge of this torture.
There’s a jingle from afar, and this causes Technoblade to snap his head up. He glares at the new figures in his vision, light spilling past what he assumes are the grills of a prison cell and with a golden head on pale skin. When it goes closer, he realizes how small this person must be.
“You’re awake.” the voice is muddled in his head. “Damn, this makes this harder.” the voice seems youthful. Technoblade could hear the youth in their voice.
There is a bottle on his lips, and the liquid spills into his mouth. Technoblade tries to refuse it but small hands hold his cheek. He could smell something poisonous on those hands, and it alarms Technoblade. It’s fainter than the scent he’d smelled when he’d last been awake, but it’s as dangerous. “Drink it. It’s a healing potion.” The voice hissed, “I have no fucking doubt that you’re hurt, I need you conscious enough to fucking survive this shit household.” There is no ounce of kindness in that voice, rather, there was a desperation in it. A child shouldn’t voice that kind of desperation. It’s not right.
Technoblade jerks his head, snarling at the kid. Some of the suspicious liquid spills past his lips, on his cheek.
“You don’t leave me any choice,” The kid utters, before a fist punches at his bruised rib. The strength isn’t enough to hurt him, usually, but given that maybe a few had already been broken and is at least less than a centimeter short of puncturing his lung, Technoblade could feel excruciating pain from what should have been an ineffective punch.
He gasps, but this only gives opportunity for the liquid to slip through his lips and forcibly down his esophagus. He coughs at the few drips that managed to slip into the trachea, but the liquid goes down regardless.
The blurriness gradually goes down, but not so much as to actually regain his usual sight.
He sees a child, with blue eyes, blond hair, and white. He sees white clothing, and the way the light of the lamp the kid brought shines at their golden hair. If Technoblade had been delirious for at least that moment he would have thought he’d seen what Wilbur described an angel as.
“You might not believe me,” the voice this time is softer, “But I have no intention to leave you here to rot and die.” With that, the kid leaves.
Technoblade stays awake for longer this time, but he ends up asleep again.
The kid comes again while Technoblade is awake, but this time his vision is clear enough so he could see the expression on the kid’s face. It’s a smile, a rather fake and plastic one. Technoblade recognizes the insincerity of an Obsidian child, it’s similar to all the other kids of this House when he’d come across them during the grand banquets of the houses.
This child seems to be no different from the scheming faces of those that he’d seen before.
“You look particularly energized today.” The kid chirps, and he could finally hear him clearly.
He is young. Couldn’t be older than fifteen perhaps.
Technoblade does nothing but glare at the kid. A child or not, he’s still one of the Obsidian House’s children. He’s just as bad, if not worse .
“You’re quiet, I would have assumed the potion would have fixed the throat they tried so badly to bruise.” The child frowns, and there’s a specific playfulness that tells Technoblade that he’s just… playing with him, that he knows that Technoblade should be well enough to speak.
“...What did you force me to drink?” Technoblade rasps, and it’s true that it felt better to speak when his throat didn’t feel like it’s been repeatedly punched–which it was, actually.
The child blinks. “Ah, so you can speak. Nice.” He smiles, and the smile brings chills down Technoblade’s spine. Only the house of Obsidian could match this level of sinister. “It’s a potion of regeneration, which is why your progress is slower than you’d expect.” The child answers. “The healing one would have been… far too abrupt for what they did to you.”
What they did to you. Technoblade takes note of that.
“What do you want from me?” Technoblade asks. “That you, a member of the House Obsidian, acts with such generosity .” He mocks.
Again, with that innocent blink of his. “Nothing,” The child answers.
There is a moment of silence,
“I mean it,” The child says. “When I said that I will not leave you here to rot.” There’s a… jarring amount of sincerity in that voice. One that Technoblade is unaccustomed to hearing from a child of the Obsidian House.
Technoblade holds the child’s gaze for a little longer. Despite the little he could see, Technoblade would have noticed if the eyes were at least genuine.
Instead there’s this determination. It floods whatever genuinity that could have been in those blue eyes. “Aren’t you going to make a clever quip about what I said?” The kid asks, but Technoblade scowls.
“Sheesh, ask if there are any questions and you get ignored by the crowd.” The child rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I’m off. If you need anything, I can’t do anything about it til I return next.” He says that so casually like this would be a normal encounter between the two of them. “Won’t be in a while, they’ve been questioning where I’ve been going, you know?”
Technoblade takes note of yet another thing. They don’t know he’s down here , unless of course the kid was bluffing.
The kid leaves when he realizes he’s getting nothing from Technoblade.
But he comes back.
And he comes back again.
And again,
And Technoblade abhors the kid more and more as he starts frequenting. He’d refuse the food he’d be given, opting to eat the greasy mush of tasteless army-rationed cornbeef that not even pigs would enjoy eating. He’d spit the supplement pills that he’d be fed. He’d refuse to answer the kid every single time he visits.
He’s not going to grant him the satisfaction.
He comes back again, this time with a basket hung from one of his hands and a scent more toxic than before. “So, you’re not looking any better.” The kid comments, hand on his cheek in some form of sick consideration. “This is getting tiring, keeping you alive.”
Technoblade could scoff, but that’d break the silence he’d vowed against the child.
The kid walks closer, and he kicks him in the rib that he knows was broken.
A pained gasp erupts from Technoblade’s lips, and this caused a gap enough for the kid to slip something round into his lips. Before Technoblade could spit it, he shoves Technoblade’s head upwards and covers his mouth and nose.
His hand stinks of pepper . It triggers his need to sneeze, but any exit is shut. It forces Technoblade to swallow whatever was in his mouth.
When it got down his throat, the kid released his hand.
He’s forced into a coughing fit at the sudden intrusion of the scent down his lungs and the pill down his throat. It wracks his body enough for the ribs to start hurting, aching where he was brutally kicked.
“Did you like that?” The kid asked, bending so that he’s eye to eye with Technoblade who is chained lowly to the wall. “It’s mint flavored, might make you feel the slightest bit cool in this damp and humid environment.” He said with a plastic smile.
“What did you give me?” Technoblade demands.
The child feigned shock: “You can speak?”
“Answer the question.” He hisses, going as close as he could towards the kid.
“It’s a pill that makes up for all the food you missed out on before, also sort of a mix of regen thanks to my amazing abilities.” The blond child answered, wiping away the saliva and pepper from the hand that held Techno’s mouth. “The army ration shit you’ve been eating is spiked with a drug that inhibits your strength and your connection to your mana. You’d do well to eat what I give you instead.”
“And what, eat somethin’ that messes with my head?” He snaps back, “I’d take my chances.”
The child’s eye turns sharp, and he smacks Technoblade in the face and brings his face up with a tight squeeze of both his cheeks. His jaw aches from the pressure and from the old bruises that even the regeneration potion couldn’t heal before– if that was regeneration. “Listen, and listen well, Technoblade.” The child hisses, “Me being down here? Believe me, you persistent fuck : it’s in your favor.
“Currently I am pulling strings up there so your dumb, privileged ass doesn’t end up in the hands of my sadistic, or maybe even masochistic, creeps of half-siblings who would not as much as blink when they suddenly decide to gouge out either of your pretty red eyes out of its sockets.” There is an inhumane look in his eyes as he explains thoroughly the position Technoblade is in. “The moment you’re out of the room, you’re free game for lions out there waiting for a prey to step in their territory.”. He pulls Technoblade’s head close, the strain of his muscles aching because of the odd stretch that the pull of his head is making. “And quite frankly, you’re fucking lucky that I not only want you out of this damp, dank, humid and murky cell, I also want you out of the fucking mansion.
“Oh, and the absolute kicker ?” The kid roughly pushes Technoblade’s head back, and his head throbs at the impact of the cell’s wall against his skull. He could feel his ears ringing, and the ache of his head was worse than it had been earlier. “Is that I want you alive when you step out of the vicinity of this wretched fucking place.”
The blonde takes something in the basket, and when Technoblade could blurrily see what was in his hands, he saw a handful of pills similar to the ones he was forced to eat just earlier. “I will not treat you nicely, I’m a proud child of this fucking house, after all,” He again holds Technoblade’s head, and the dizziness Technoblade feels from the impact makes him weak to the hold. He doesn’t fight back. He can’t . “But, I will keep you alive.”
He opens Technoblade’s mouth, and the pills enter like coarse grains of sand. Tommy blocks all airways, and forces him to swallow without as much force as earlier.
The dosage of the regeneration potion in every pill must have been too much, because he’s unconscious before he could put out a word.
He comes back after a long while. Technoblade stopped eating the supposed army rations since then, considering the inhibiting drugs that might have been mixed into it. He doesn’t starve, luckily enough, and it must have been because of the pills he was forcefully fed. His constitution improves, even as he fights through the growing hunger that passes every now and then.
When the kid comes back, the scent of the toxins are stronger. Technoblade is partially grateful that the regeneration effect of the pills lasts this long, maybe even longer, otherwise he would have fainted on the spot.
“Are you going to be difficult ?” The kid asks, a bottle in his hands this time.
Technoblade doesn’t answer, instead he looks down at the ground.
He finds that the soles of the kid’s shoes are bloody. He tries not to be shocked. He’s of the Obsidian House, after all. The sight of blood on the shoes of someone so young is just… jarring is all.
“Answer.”
Technoblade doesn’t.
The kid shakes the bottle of pills in his hand. “Meal time? Since you’re so against eating real food.”
Technoblade doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks up at the kid’s face. He notices how it’s a lot paler than he remembers. His eyes seem rather dull as well.
But who is Technoblade to care for something like this?
This kid, whether or not he wanted to help, is an enemy with motives.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He shrugs, and he pops about five pills into his hand. “You won’t be seeing me here anymore.” He tells Techno. “So you’re going to have to settle with a few extra pills right now and heal up before you resort to the shitty rations. It’ll strain your body but…”
The child hesitates, as if stuck in his thoughts.
“But you… you’ll be alright.” He reassures with that same plastic smile on his face. He wonders if any of them could fake these smiles as real as Wilbur could. As far as Technoblade is concerned, they have a concerning lack of acting abilities for those who are ‘Prosecutors of the Kingdom’.
Technoblade opens his mouth so the kid could finally feed him the pills and leave before he starts irritating him, but the action seemed to shock the kid. “Wow, you really were willing.” He comments in awe, before wiping his other hand against his clothing.
“Just do it.” Technoblade snaps.
The kid likely decided not to fight over it, and thus fed five pills into Technoblade’s mouth. “Anything you need before I leave this shithole permanently?” The kid asks with a snark in his tone, likely expecting something like good riddance.
He doesn’t expect an answer, as usual, and instead opts to leave the cell.
Before he could shut the cell door, however, Technoblade asks: “What is your name?”
He doesn’t know why he asked, he doesn’t trust this kid or any kid of this house after all. What use is a name when they all identify as one: the House of Obsidian?
The kid seems confused at the sudden question, probably even more so than Technoblade himself. “It’s Thomas.” The kid says. “I fucking hate that name though, so if you’re feeling up to a little bit of comradery or something, call me Tommy.”
True to Thomas’ words, he didn’t come back. Technoblade lost count of how many days it’s been, but the five pills seemed to extend for a few days short of three weeks. He was considering finally eating on the drugged rations, but he hears a jingle of keys from the front of the cell.
There is an opening of his cell doors.
It wasn’t Thomas. It was the men of the Duke, and they unclasp his chains from the wall and mercilessly tug him by the collar on his neck towards the upper ground.
And he’s tossed into a bleak room made of stained white quartz tiles, and before him is the Duke sat on a velvet chair, cross-legged. “You should start praying to your deity, Emerald bitch,” The duke says with a huff of smoke and a sadistic grin. “That you have at least a single worthy answer in that pigsty brain of yours.”
Technoblade would never in his life admit it to anyone, not even Wilbur, if regretfully given the chance.
But he had hoped that it was Tommy who opened the door that day.
Tommy is woken abruptly. He grabs a knife from the pillow and he slashes without regard for whoever the fuck it might be. Anyone who knows him well enough would know that he does not fuck around with people sneaking in his room while he’s asleep.
There’s a familiar laugh when the metal clashes against metal. He looks up, and sees a scarred face and a gleeful pair of grey eyes. “Good morning,” The perpetrator greets.
“Fuck off, Tubbo.” Tommy tucks the knife back under his pillow before he stuffs his face in it again.
“I will if you fuck off the bed.” Tubbo retorts, tugging the blankets off of Tommy’s body. “Get up, we’re having the banquet today.” He says and he roughly kicks Tommy’s prone body.
Tommy groans, and he turns so he faces up. He glares at Tubbo. “I will fucking eat your bees.” Tommy threatens.
“I hope you die a horrible death then!” Tubbo chirps in reply, before he grabs at Tommy’s arm and tugs .
Something you have to know about Tubbo is that he is extremely strong. If anyone were none the wiser they’d think that Tubbo’s gifted ability had to do with his strength. On the contrary, the fifteen year old Tubbo is just naturally buff as fuck and Tommy has a lot of problems with that.
For one, Tubbo tugging his arm has a lot to do with why he is suddenly on the floor with a likely bruising shoulder.
“I hate you.” Tommy hisses from where he lies, and Tubbo just rolls his eyes before helping the blonde up.
Tubbo, despite being stronger, is a considerable height shorter than Tommy. He must have taken from his blood mother who was the fourth princess of a western kingdom. Now she rots in this castle, indulging in the riches, wealth, and filth of the Obsidian house.
He doesn’t blame her.
Some people learned how to cope at least.
“Why do we have a banquet this early?” Tommy loudly asks Tubbo while he gets dressed, with Tubbo just sitting on his bed fixated on an odd device in his hands. “Father didn’t tell me we were going to meet.” Not to mention that he hadn’t hatched the damned egg yet. He was told not to attend the banquet this time or the next if he’d be subpar. He temporarily lost his seat.
Despite that, Tommy knows that he’s still one of the Duke’s favorite children if he had so willingly handed him Technoblade for his fourteenth birthday. Losing the seat is nothing if he could at least afford Technoblade with his merits.
He’ll reclaim it, though.
There is the distinct sound of soft wings fluttering, heard only by himself.
“Dunno, has something to do with urgent matters. A servant came by to tell me, and he’d been on his way to fetch you when I told the old fuck that I’d do it.” Tubbo shrugs. “Hell, he even insisted that Ranboo come back to the house just to discuss it.”
The news makes Tommy grin, but there is a dread in his chest when he thinks about the implications of it. Sure, he’d love to have Ranboo back in the house instead of whatever the fuck it is he’s assigned to do outside with his abilities, but that means that there is something happening in this house that could be deemed more important than maintaining the border or collecting information with his ability.
There is a knock at the door, and Tommy knows that it’s from his maid, Clara.
“I’ll… I’ll be on my way,” Tommy says grimly. “Tell father, in case I’m late, that I’ll be feeding it. ” He tells Tubbo while he sheaths the knife that had been under his pillow.
Tubbo frowns. “You know none of us would love you any less if you fail to hatch that stupid thing, right?” He asks, fiddling with a toy in his hands while he looks at Tommy with the most concern a child of the Obsidian House could muster. “You’re plenty skilled enough to survive in the house without the promised ability of a damn insect egg.” He grumbles, and Tommy just rolls his eyes.
“Don’t be such a worrying fuck, Tubs,” Tommy assures lightheartedly. “We both know an ability is the backbone of this house. I wasn’t given one so easily I’ll just have to take one.”
Right. It’s been two years now since he’s gone through the house’s initiation (or what he prefers to call hazing ) and since he was declared as a child without an ability. It’s not uncommon for a person to receive no gift, but it makes them as insignificant as the common people. An ability is as important as a well-made sword among the noble-houses. Being known to be without one isn’t embarrassing, but it renders him unimportant.
The truth is, though, that he had been gifted it.
“I hate your thought process.”
“You love me, clingy bastard.”
Tubbo punches Tommy on his good arm, and grins. He doesn’t refute it.
Tommy smiles back.
“I’m sorta glad you failed with the second egg.” Tubbo admits. “I heard you have to constantly feed it even after it hatches. Imagine feeding two clusters of insects, that’s going to be terrible .”
The blond rolls his eyes. “Small mercies,” he says, “Though I can’t say I’m glad. Nearly lost my seat when dad found out about the dead egg.”
Tubbo rolls his eyes, and punches Tommy again. “Who cares about dad or the seat, the only good thing about that is that we at least get to eat together, and occasionally Boo as well.” He slings an arm around Tommy’s shoulder, “Fuck dad,” He cheers.
Tommy just laughs.
His gift, the one he received on the day of his initiation, is a one time peak at the future. In the future he saw, he and Tubbo weren’t close, nor were he and Ranboo. In fact, Tommy had been isolated for being without an ability. He was left without a seat, and left to his own devices. People saw it as a disadvantage to be without one, and so did Tommy. Evidently, because of that the Thomas of the timeline he foresaw was less… involved. He thrived in the chaos and the filth, had far less integrity than Tommy has right now, but the Thomas in that timeline was almost a stranger to him. Less smart. Less opportunistic.
At least Tommy now was a lot more risky. Tommy is able to be cocky and confident in his information because it has proven useful to him for multiple times now. He’s backed up by knowledge, and Tommy couldn’t think of anything else more powerful than that.
And that’s what makes him different from the Tommy in the Vision he was gifted, where he couldn’t even land himself a seat in the banquet. Tommy was deemed one of the Duke’s favorites for his ‘innate sleekness’. They just don’t understand how calculative Tommy is.
But that’s where the line ends.
Knowledge is power, yes, but it isn’t an omnipotent one. It won’t help in situations where knowledge is overpowered by anything else. Besides, his worth is waning now that the current thread of events are deviating at such a large extent from the original. He needs a fallback.
Which is the egg. His future Kaleidoscope.
The flutter of wings could be heard by no one else but him.
Not for long, though, Tommy thinks with a smile.
“Alright, Tubs, off you go.” Tommy pushes the teenager to the door. “Clara,” He calls her attention as he opens the door and shoves Tubbo out. “Can you up the dosage?” He asks.
The woman nods as she carefully places the tray with the tea set on the table.
Tommy sighs, and he sits on the softest couch in the room while Clara prepares his poison.
House of Obsidian, also known as the House of Prosecution. They’re in charge of overseeing the protection of the border between the chasm and the Kingdom, as well as the prosecuting of particularly overpowered nobles under the command of the crown. This means that their family inevitably makes multiple enemies.
Through the method of Mithridatism, Tommy and multiple other children of the house slowly build up their immunity to poison.
Except Tommy is an exception. In order to hatch the egg, he needs to feed the shell consistently with an increasing dosage of toxic blood. He could feed it with a stranger’s blood, maybe, but that would mean that the egg would have no loyalty to Tommy. It won’t recognize Tommy as part of their Kaleidoscope.
So Tommy has no choice except to poison himself.
Clara places a teacup and saucer on the table before him, and he stares at the cup in contempt. The things he does are things that no normal child goes through. He knows that much. He’s aware of what children outside are like through the stories and delusions of his mother who wishes desperately for things to return as they were.
He takes the cup, and places it before his bitter smile.
A child poisoning himself.
The dedication is what made the Duke favor Tommy, enabling him to hatch the egg properly.
Tommy takes a sip, and two, until the sips turn into gulps that eventually empty the cup. He faintly smells the toxic waft to his nose, covered thickly by the scent of cinnamon and citrus. He poisons himself with a smile.
To the Duke’s knowledge, Tommy had failed to hatch one egg.
The faint sound of fluttering wings starts to overwhelm his senses .
With Clara having left on her own, Tommy took the dagger he’d sheathed before Tubbo and sliced a shallow but deep enough cut on his forearm. A Kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters from the edges of his vision, flooding towards the cut in his arm.
He’d hatched one egg, and according to his plan, no one knows of it.
Tommy smiles as he sees the wings flutter over his skin, the grin turning eerie as the insects crawl to the edge of his cut. He looks at it and the cacophony of reds, blacks, and whites flutter and flock over his skin. Tubbo’s worries were for naught. After all, it wasn’t the quantity of blood that the butterflies want. No, it’s the quality . The toxicity of his blood is what the butterflies go for, as well as the cruelty of the host.
The grin is sardonic as he sees the small creatures slowly but cleanly lap at the gore.
“Thomas, how wonderful of you to come.” The Duke croons from his seat. He looks pleased, as if Tommy had achieved something that piques his interest.
“I would never miss it for the world, Father.” Tommy smiles politely, staring into the red eyes of his father. They look nothing alike, having taken most of his mothers features instead, but the old man loves to compare himself with his successful children. ‘They take after me’, ‘It’s because of me that they flourish as so’, ‘They are blessed to have a father like me’. Tommy abhors this man,
But he doesn’t need to waste resources.
“What have you brought us here for, father?” Tubbo asks without hesitance, cutting into his medium-rare steak. “Surely if you’ve invited Ranboo, it must be important.” He places the piece of steak in his mouth with a fork and stares at their father.
The Duke smiles. “I have grand news for the Obsidian House, Tobias.” The man grins. “Though of course, we should wait until your brother arrives, hm?”
With that, they begin to eat. It is silent, as it usually is, but Tommy could feel the anticipation in the air despite there being only three people in the room so far.
The silence is broken by a clanging of metal against ceramic, and Tommy takes that as a sign to look up from his own plate. “Thomas,” The man says in a plastic yet saccharine tone. “How is the Kaleidoscope doing?” He asks with a pleasant smile.
Tommy knows that it’s fake. He couldn’t be any more pissed that one egg had been reported dead.
So Tommy smiles back excitingly. “Father, oh you wouldn’t believe it!” He exaggerates his eagerness. “The egg is doing wonderful! The color when I feed it has been a lot healthier than all the other times, I can tell!” Tommy tells him.
The duke hums, and he leans against his hand placed on the table. He’s interested. He always is when the topic of the Kaleidoscope is brought up. “Tell me again, why can’t we just poison someone and feed its blood to the egg for you?” He asks impatiently,
But Tommy is patient. He knows how insistent the Duke is that someone in the house takes claim of the egg. Fortunately for him, Tommy is the only one willing, and Tommy is expendable enough to be subject to increased doses of poison and in case the Kaleidoscope decides that Tommy is far too weak to be their master.
So he answers: “If we feed it a mere stranger’s blood before it hatches, it wouldn’t recognize me, or anyone else for that matter, as its master.” Tommy says, “And if the toxicity of that person’s blood is too low, the butterflies would just kill it and then themselves.” He is confident in his answer, “There is always a chance, of course, that the butterflies would choose a more capable, tastier master to serve,”
Because he’s seen it before, when he’d manifested his true ability.
“And of course, I wouldn’t want something so important to lead to waste because of a simple chance.” Tommy says,
And maybe this is why the Duke holds Tommy as his favorite.
There is a certain risk in how Tommy holds himself. A disregard for his own welfare for the sake of results. That’s how it’s seen from the outside, after all. Baseless risk. Idiotic bravery.
But Tommy knows .
Still, it’s not as if he doesn’t take advantage of their misconceptions of him. It’s entirely their fault if they’re proven wrong, after all.
The duke, as if pleased with the answer, laughs. “Ah, a calculative child.” He says, “You take after me, truly.” His red eyes glimmer with greed, and Tommy thinks how it’s funny that he thinks it’s a compliment.
With that, the banquet goes on. The Duke asks Tubbo about his current project. It’s something that has to do with automation, a sort of machine. Tubbo’s brilliance with futuristic technology is what brings him to the banquet every time, after all. His ability was like Tommy’s but it’s a constant influx of visions rather than Tommy’s single burst.
But the greatest thing that Tubbo brought to the house is the same thing that scarred his face so badly that not even the most expensive healing balms couldn’t fix it.
The Duke found it amusing, and said that it makes Tubbo’s bland face at least a little bit interesting and intimidating. Said that it would make up for the look of naivete that Tubbo naturally had.
Tommy, at the time, would have killed to have the power he has now just to have his Kaleidoscope maul at his father.
But here they are now, eating together. The same meals, the same smile, and the same calculative look in everyone’s eyes.
The house is always the land of the enemy. Tommy makes sure never to forget that.
There is a feeling of a space bending, and in a blink there appears a tall teenager with hair black as night and eyes a toxic green and a scarlet red. He wears a mask, but despite the lack of facial features something is intimidating about him.
Tommy hides his smile behind a drink.
Ranboo is home.
“Father,” The boy greets, bowing his head just a little to acknowledge the presence of his father.
The man returns a curt nod as well, before he motions him to sit.
Ranboo does so. He takes a seat by the right side of the man, and proceeds to eat the meal presented before them.
“Now, the news.” There is a cruel grin on his face, one that usually meant that yet another house will be at the mercy of Obsidian. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before he continues. “Currently, there is a special guest in our dungeons that the House of Emerald would do anything to take back.” He hums, and the pleased expression on his face reminds Tommy of how important it is that he takes control. “I’ve acquired the second son of the House of Emerald.” He announces,
And at the sound of that, the two others who seemed formally disinterested had perked up.
“What?” Ranboo gasps, and on his face is genuine disbelief and shock. There is a slight awe at the situation. Tommy could smile at that. Ranboo is indifferent to the house, because they’re all the same to him. They’re all just jobs waiting to happen in Ranboo’s eyes.
“How’d we manage that, father?” Tubbo asks, eager in a sense.
Tommy knows Tubbo. He knows that he holds a distinct hatred for the Emerald house. After all, it was because of them that his own creation had backfired on him. A mere sixteen year old whose own weapon was used against him during a field mission gone wrong. It was fresh after his own initiation, after all, when he’d created a weapon so strong and so damaging that it excited father to send him to the field. His first mission was to sabotage the storage house of Emerald. It would have been easy for Tubbo, of course, but on that day the family itself had been checking its inventory.
And that led to Tubbo’s demise. Tommy never was told of the details, but Tubbo could only be angry about it. Behind that facade of indifference is a rage that scares even Tommy.
The worst part is that they would never know what they did to him. They would never know the transgression they have done against the House of Obsidian.
“We picked up scouts among the Southern border, just by the chasm.” He answers, pleased. “He was among a group of four. Obviously, I killed the rest, but I could recognize those blood red eyes and obnoxious pink hair any time.” The duke lit a cigar, as if his fingers were twitching with excitement and only it could control him.
Tommy gasped, pleased. “You mean to tell me that the stranger I’d met weeks ago was the Technoblade?” Tommy exaggerates his excitement. His father gives him a pleased, cheshire-like grin.
“Will you give him to me, father?” Tubbo asks out of the blue, and gone was the facade of indifference. There is something in his eyes that told Tommy about how willing Tubbo is to take the role of the new toy’s master. “I will… I will take vengeance.”
That was evidently distasteful in the duke’s eyes, especially since he cared very little about that minor transgression. He doesn’t care about Tubbo. He didn’t care because he knew that it technically wasn’t an intentional attack on their house. If it were, they would have long burned for it. But Tubbo’s face has little to do with the grand scheme of things. If anything, it worked in the Duke’s favor of sharing his hatred of the Emerald house with everyone in his family.
“Hm,” The Duke feigned thought, as if he even considered Tubbo’s request. “No.”
Instead, his eyes land on Tommy. There’s an excitement in them that Tommy had spurred on for the past weeks now.
“I think it’d be rather satisfying instead to have such seemingly harmless creatures eat him alive, no?” There is a manic look in his eyes, excited by the prospects. “To slowly drive him crazy, wondering if the gradually worsening pain he’s feeling is real.” Tommy knows where this is going, especially since he’s been planning this for so long. It’s just so easy to twist his father. “Thomas, I will be giving you a pet.”
Tommy’s eyes widen, but he already knew long before that he’d be chosen. After all, he’d repetitively beaten it into his head. Of such delicious possibilities that could be done with these butterflies. Months and months of feeding him false plans would lead to him giving into the temptation.
“Of course, if and only if you satisfy me in the end, otherwise you won’t be only losing a pet,” The threat stops there with the intention of leaving Tommy a fear of the unknown. A possibility that he could lose anything arbitrarily.
He could feel Tubbo staring a hole into his head.
He doesn’t give Tubbo an apologetic look. It’s for the greater good that he takes control of the pet after all.
The rest of the banquet continues without a hitch, with the Duke telling Ranboo to snoop around and frequently report about the satisfying results of Technoblade’s disappearance, and Tubbo eating his meal in silence.
After all, to some extent their abilities were a burden for everyone in the House of Obsidian.
Tommy was twelve years old when he’d gone through his initiation and been gifted with an ability. He remembers it, how the initiation forced him to his knees with a broken heart being mocked and tears flooding out of his eyes. Tommy was greeted by the cold expression of the Duke, his Father, as if the sight was a normal occurrence for him.
What a father, Tommy had thought with disgust. Who thinks the sight of a crying child with blood in his hands is normal? Tommy hates him, but that’s not unusual in this house.
“Look alive, Thomas.” Father said then, a disinterested tone in his voice. “You’re about to receive your gift.” And the dull way he said it sounded like he wasn’t expecting Tommy to receive a gift from the house in the first place. It’s not an unusual occurrence after all, for a child’s body to reject the gift of the house.
When he took the knife, dripped his blood on the family crest, nothing changed. There was no strength, no aura, nothing new with his physique. When Tommy’s ability didn’t manifest before father’s eyes, he’d simply left. Just as he’d expected, yet another failure of a child.
But contrary to evidence, Tommy’s ability had manifested. It’s an unusual influx of knowledge of a timeline where he’d been ineligible for the ability. It’s near omniscient, if it weren’t so centered on the House of Obsidian and the House of Emeralds’ century-long conflict. A sequence of events, a linear thread of information that weaves into everything he knows. He’d foreseen it, every bit of information of the future, far and near. An egg that rival houses would control, insect creatures that halve the population of the Obsidian Household, the internal rebellion within Obsidian, the actions and move of the enemies beyond and within the house. It burned into his mind, every occurrence and every turn that leads to the ending:
The House of Obsidian will Fall, and Tommy will fall with it.
That is, of course, if Tommy fails.
Tubbo doesn’t talk to Tommy after the meal.
Tommy doesn’t blame him.
“Happy Sixteenth Birthday, Thomas.” Father greets, and with a smile he hands the leather of a chain-leash. Tommy made sure to make his eyes sparkle at awe, reflecting the gratefulness that he’s supposed to have for the gift he’s given.
The child gasps, and there’s an excited grin on his face. “I can’t believe it.” He says lightly, “You’re really giving me it?” He asks in positive disbelief.
Father smiles proudly, and he puffs out the smoke from his lungs before ruffling Tommy’s messy golden curls. Tommy makes sure not to grimace at the blood that dirties his newly washed hair. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the fact that at least it wasn’t from the hand that held the cigar. He hates soot, but the blood was just as much as a pain to wash away. What a pain. “Yes, Thomas, you’re getting your first dog. You’re old enough for one, after all.”
Tommy grins, and he looks down at the new pet.
On the ground, heaving heavy breaths of air, is a man with pink hair. It’s cut unevenly, and matted heavily with blood, but Tommy recognizes the way it might have looked ethereal on his head. He’s a teenager, Tommy recognizes that, and he’s definitely older than Tommy but the restraints on him would likely keep him down enough so Tommy won’t be overpowered. After all, those cuffs on him are enchanted. He lies on the ground, bleeding out but not enough to kill him. Just enough to hurt.
“I will make sure to train him thoroughly, father!”
The smile drops when Father passes by him and slammed the door shut. “Hand me a towel.” Tommy demands from a servant beside him, and he snatches it from their hands to wipe at his hair. He hates it when it gets to his hair.
Not to mention, he’s only just turned fourteen today. Not sixteen.
Tommy looks down at the beat-down man, and there’s a feeling of dread in his chest. He has to do this right, otherwise the things he saw as a child would surely happen. He won’t go through that path, because he wants to live.
The man’s name is Technoblade. He’s known this since the moment he saw pink hair and blood red eyes when he told father the news. Tommy wasn’t supposed to be privy to this information, but he has been expecting his forced arrival for about two years now, since his initiation. It’s going to be rough from here on out, but afterwards should be a smooth sail to success.
All he has to do is ensure Technoblade’s survival.
“Oi,” Tommy called, and the arrogant authority in his voice when speaking with the servants contrasts the adoration he’d laced into his tone when he spoke with his father. “Treat him and take him to the chamber of the West Wing. I don’t like playing with broken toys.” He commanded, and immediately two grunts take Technoblade by the arms
He stares at the blood trail on the floor with a scowl on his face. It’s filthy. He hates how filthy it is. “Clean this up for my father,” He commands the remaining servants. Tommy knows for a fact that Father prefers it filthy, with blood and preferably chunks of meat, as a sick form of admiration for the carnage he causes, but Tommy isn’t the sort. He dislikes carnage, but he doesn’t discourage it especially if it is for his personal gain.
Tommy leaves the room with distaste in his mouth. He is fourteen years old, and already so used to the sight of gore. He’d wonder if in another life he’d be normal, where he’d scream at the sight of blood or cry at the sight of a broken up stranger, but Tommy has more important concerns than to mourn for a lost innocence.
For one, he has the goal to survive, and he would be unable to do that if he doesn’t succeed with letting the bastard Technoblade survive.
He succeeded with multiple steps, after all, starting with the recovery of Technoblade’s constitution in the prison cells, and his acquisition of Technoblade rather than Tubbo. One by one the plan to ensure Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy’s survival is coming together slowly. The house of Obsidian would have been on its way to ruin if Tommy hadn’t interfered, and thankfully everything is going smoothly.
Now the last step is to get in the good graces of his new ‘pet’.
Since this pet that Tommy’s worked his ass off to be gifted with will be the catalyst for all the destruction of the House of Obsidian.
No one but Tommy knows and believes in the staggering results of the Emerald House’s true rage , when one of theirs is brutalized.
Technoblade doesn’t remember how long it took , what feels like days of excruciating pain could easily be an hour and vice versa. But eventually, he hears his voice again.
“...really giving me it?” There is a glee in the child’s voice, one that was especially saturated. It rings irritatingly in Technoblade’s ears.
Technoblade’s consciousness comes back with the familiar stench of poison in the air.
“Yes, Thomas, you’re getting your first dog. You’re old enough for one, after all .” and there is the voice of the bastard who’d hurt him, who promised pain for his brother and his father, and promised to make his mother feel the rage of a widow who’d lost everything before he’d kill her too.
Hatred spikes in his chest, and the urge to wrap the chains on his wrists around the bastard’s neck is stronger than ever.
Yet there is a tug on Technoblade’s wrists, tugging it further from the direction of that bastard duke.
“I will make sure to train him thoroughly, father!” Thomas chirps in that voice again.
He hears the door shut, and as it is he’s finding it difficult to stay awake.
The change of personality is jarring for Technoblade despite the fact that he was fully aware of Thomas’ false persona. “Treat him and take him to the chamber of the West Wing. I don’t like playing with broken toys.” The tone is cold, and it doesn’t belong in a child’s voice.
Just like that, he’s being dragged out. The pull against his arms is making him grimace in pain, and by Prime’s name the things he would do just to strangle these bastards. It would be so easy, with the chains already over their nape.
“W-Who is that?” He hears the frail voice of a woman, somewhere close, in the hallway he’s passing by.
“Ah, shit, it’s Thomas’ mother again.”
“It’s nothing, Madam Innes,” The other grunt says, and Technoblade takes note of the name. Innes, the name of the House of Lapis. The house of Obsidian is a house that encourages Polyamorous Marriage, yet it is unequal in the worst way. While it is possible for other noble families to create bonds of marriage equally among every spouse, the wives of the Duke are limited to only the duke.
(It is repulsive, how they abuse something that could have been beautiful. How they restrict others to fit their greed.)
This cruel system had allowed the Duke ten wives of his own, all of which have borne or are bearing children. This means that the Duke would never be scarce of heirs, and never be scarce of killers to raise. Mistress Innes was the fourth wife of the Duke, with two known children unnamed to the public.
But now one is named, and he was the child who brutally helps Technoblade.
“The young master had just been given a pet by his grace,” The grun explains, and there is a gasp from the other party.
“A, a pet?”
Technoblade can’t judge from just a voice, but she seems… naive. Childish in a sense. He could hear the horror in her voice when she stuttered the word, as if it was cancer to her tongue. She didn’t seem like she’d belonged in this house.
“No, no, that…” He hears a rustle of clothes, and the two guards jolt back.
Hands are on his face, and memories of two hands gripping his face tightly rise to the surface of his mind. The shock causes Technoblade to open his eyes, likely breaking his cover.
The first thing he sees are eyes, so strikingly blue that it contests the skies itself. Then the hair, loose golden curls framing her thin face. She might have looked beautiful, once, but there is an illness evident on those gaunt cheeks and sinking eyes, and the dark circles that ring around her long lashes.
But then he notices how familiar she looks.
She looks like Thomas.
“M-My child,” She sobs, holding his face so gently. She’s smiling at him, like a prodigal son had come home. He is nearly disgusted by it, with the way she called him her son. He is no one’s child but his parents’, and the claim is near repulsive. “My son, my son, you’ve come back.” She weeps, but the two grunts holding him yank him back.
Technoblade takes this opportunity to feign unconsciousness again. He lulls his head forward, hiding his expression for long enough to regain his composure.
Son .
What kind of demented people are in this cursed House?
He could hear the screaming and wailing of the woman who is likely being held back by servants. “My child!” She screeches from a further distance now. “My Atlas!” The name echoes through the hallways, and there is a sudden stillness in the air.
Even the grunts who held him froze, “Fuck.” one of them hisses under her breath.
Technoblade doesn’t understand.
“We have to get out of here before the young master hears of it.” The other one tells her, and they start to walk faster, taking quicker and longer strides.
The woman repeats curses under her breath, prompting them to go quicker. The air in the hallway would have been chilling if it were based on how the two grunts acted.
Technoblade doesn’t understand what is happening: the insistence to leave the scene; the sudden interference of what he assumes is Thomas’ mother. It only disgusts him more.
Secrets upon secrets in this house.
It’s no wonder why the kingdom hates the Obsidian house, despite the prosperity and protection it brings against the mythic creatures of the South. A necessary evil, many would say, a menace, is what an Emerald would proclaim.
They enter a chamber, and the two toss Technoblade to the ground. He hears the slam of the metal door, and a body slumping against the ground.
“Fuck,” one curses. “Fuck, that was far too fucking close .” She hisses, and there is a shiver in her voice.
“That demented bitch, fucking hell.” The other says, and there’s a loud thump against the door as he cursed. “She knows. She knows that he’s dead so why does she keep spurring on master Thomas’ fucking wrath!” The other goon hit the door again.
The first one exhaled shakily. “I fucking hate it here.” She says, “I want to go home.”
Technoblade could only think, with a bitter taste in his tongue and an even worse flavor in his heart: So do I.
Tommy opens the door and it reveals Technoblade. He is still on the ground, but he at least looked cleaned up enough. There are loose and badly wrapped bandages around his arms and his chest, and the bruises on his face were swollen but not swollen enough to inhibit actions. Tommy crouches, and he knows for a fact that the older teenager is awake. He doesn’t test it. Instead, he pretends.
And Tommy was right to assume so. When he’d heard the footsteps from outside that metal door, Technoblade slumped against the wall to feign unconsciousness yet again. He had no doubts, after all, that something dreadful will happen if he were conscious. Thomas was likely going to attempt at something.
The kid sighs, and treats him on the floor where they left him. Tommy takes the expensive healing balms from the depths of his pockets, having been given time to prepare while Technoblade had been carried and ‘treated’ in these much comfier holding cells. It’s neater, for one, if the stark white tiles had any indication. It’s better than the murky and damp holding cells underground, where the netherrack furnaces eternally make it a torture for injured people down there.
He hated it when he had to spend time there,
And he wasn’t strictly talking about when he’d spent time with Technoblade there.
Tommy treats his wounds as gently as he could, an act already spurring inside of his head. He’d prepared an act, something to make these next few months easier on Tommy and Technoblade would be none the wiser for it. He’s willing to weaponize his own abilities, his own body, even his own pain if it meant that he’d survive. The House will Not fall.
And he won’t die.
He won’t allow it.
So Tommy, upon finishing his mending, sits against the wall closest to Technoblade’s falsely unconscious body. He places the man’s head on his lap, and he begins to braid it. Tommy hums a song, Chirp, he recalls, playing from a wound up music box, and he proceeds to weave uneven but long strands of pink hair.
He speaks soft words in hushed tones that would only be allowed for Techno to hear: “I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “I told you, though, didn’t I?”
“I can’t afford to be kind.” Tommy gently brushes a hand to move it away from Technoblade’s head. “It kills, you know?”
And distantly, as Technoblade’s eyes are forcibly shut and as he tries his best to pretend to be asleep, there is an urge to punch him. A selfish urge to hurt the child for the things his family did to him. He didn’t need to afford being kind when he didn’t have to force himself into a situation where he’s the savior.
He finds it disgusting how easy it is for this kid to see himself as a victim of circumstance.
Hate trickles in Technoblade’s throat. He could kill him, right now, and even if he dies as punishment, at least one of the precious children of the Obsidian house would go down with him. He wants to see that man angry over something he wouldn’t have control over. He wants to hurt .
But despite his belief and his stance on what he believes Thomas' internal thoughts are, Technoblade finds himself hesitating on wrapping the chains around Thomas’ neck.
Despite his thoughts, Thomas’ acts were contrary. The way Thomas is treating him is different than how he’d been treated in the cells. There’s a care in it, just as off-putting as when that mother had grabbed at his face. The kid fixes the injuries that were supposed to be taken care of by the two grunts, braids his hair, and even sang to him.
“No one is going to hurt you anymore,” Tommy mutters, and the child knows exactly what he’s saying. “They won’t hurt you anymore,” He says, taking advantage of what is and isn’t known. Admittedly, when he’d heard that name in the hallways, he had been pissed . But like everything in the world, it could still be used as a tool.
Technoblade is none the wiser, as he realizes something. It clicks, when he hears the desperation in Thomas’ voice and the lingering regret and hatred in it.
They .
The woman he’d seen before, with golden threads of hair and sky blue eyes, was likely of the House of Sapphire before she was married into Obsidian. The House of Sapphire, who had once spoken of having two children affiliated with Obsidian.
So Thomas must be the younger brother, the only one out of two children who survived the house.
And Atlas must have been the older brother, one that might have been Technoblade’s age if he’d only survived.
Is this the reason for the sudden interest? Did Thomas project his grief over to Technoblade?
In the back of Technoblade’s mind he wonders if just a little bit of innocence lies within Thomas. Maybe something salvageable. He remembers Thomas’ words, promising that he’d keep Technoblade alive even if it meant that he’d be cruel. He wonders if it was out of desperation. An innocence he fights desperately to keep– but he recalls that he is the child of the man who’d been the source of all this suffering. He remembers how the knife digs into his flesh, cracking through bone, and having it reattached and regrown out abuse of the ancient magic. It was…
It was frightening .
But he is all the more grateful that he’d been taken instead of Wilbur. The thought of Wilbur going through all of this in his stead is easily worse than all the times the Duke of the Obsidian House had injured him only to cure him again.
The brief sanctity he’s given is mercy enough for him to drift into unconsciousness. The fingers that run through the hair he’d once loved lull him to sleep.
When Tommy notices the more even breathing, the relaxed eyebrows, the way the eyes barely twitch, the way his forearm muscles are loose. He grins. Oh, he must have felt safe enough to sleep within his vicinity. To think that things would progress this easily, it would be so much easier than he thought. A pliable pawn that is held dearly, so easy to bend to Tommy’s will for when he’d execute the flawless plot. When he’s finished, he lightly moves the head from his lap and down to the floor.
He exits the room, knowing well enough that he’d done his part. He’d plant a few beans, and let the stalk grow upwards. All he has to do is to let it cultivate.
Technoblade wakes up, and he’s alone in the room.
Tommy arrives again the next day . He has a plate of food in one hand and a basket in another. Technoblade hesitates to admit that the aroma from the plate makes his mouth water.
Technoblade is sat in the bed at the corner of the room. There’s a chain that is cuffed to his leg, attached to the wall. He tested it out a while ago while he was alone in the room, and found that he couldn’t reach the front door if he tried. He could reach the lavatory, though, which is a mercy in itself.
“You’re up!” Thomas chirps, and he made sure to look particularly happy about it. “You look filthy, catch.” Tommy tosses the basket towards Technoblade, who manages to catch it.
Tommy smiles. He must be well enough for his reflexes to still be sharp. Father must have used the rather expensive healing equipment to prolong Technoblade’s endurance. There’s no fun in fragile toys, after all. Though, he can’t promise mental wellness, obviously, because whatever his father put this poor man through was likely something Tommy knows all too well about. He’s put other people under similar duress, and he has been put through similar things.
Alas, these were the pains of being a child of the Obsidian house. Tommy hates this house, but there’s nothing that complaining and whining would do. If you can’t beat them, join them, obviously. That’s how things are in the Obsidian House.
He places the food on the bed, and Technoblade looks nothing if not suspiciously at the food item. To his relief, none of the toxic scent emanating from Thomas is on the plate, but that doesn’t mean that he trusts it either. There are plenty of toxic but unscented ingredients that could be found, especially if you have money.
Tommy, on the other hand, sees Technoblade’s suspicious glances and instead rolls his eyes. “It’s not poisoned,” He says, “If you so wish, I could take a bite out of every type of food you have on that plate.” He offers.
Instead of an answer, because Prime forbid Tommy being on the receiving end of any answers, he is asked a question instead. “What do you want from me, now that I’m your ‘dog’?” Technoblade nearly spits as he demands an answer, mocking the words that the Duke said to Thomas.
Ever patient, because he knows the stakes, Tommy answers “I want you,” he begins, and he points at the bed. “to rest well,” points at the bathroom, “to clean yourself up,” points at the plate, “and to eat well.” Tommy crosses his arms, as if that was the last on the list. “In summary, if it was too long and you didn’t listen, I need you to recover fast enough so you can leave this shithole.” He says with finality.
The answer stuns Technoblade. That can’t be it. Why is he so insistent that he leaves? “Are you afraid of our house?” He taunts, despite being the captive in this situation,
Tommy just rolls his eyes. He’s not a man of pride. He doesn’t react negatively to being mocked. He’s thrown away all pride because he knows he’s the scum of the Earth who survives just because he manages to think fast and cheat. So yes, he doesn’t care if they think he’s a wimp,
But he answers honestly: “I just think it’s petty and stupid.” Tommy responds, leaving the answer as that. “Now, are you going to eat or am I going to have to bring you your supplements yet a-fucking-gain?” He motions his head towards the plate of food that’s getting cooler by the minute.
Technoblade sets aside the clothing that he was given, and he reluctantly takes the plate. He looks up at Tommy with another suspicious stare. Tommy sighs, because if this doesn’t let up he is going to have to force feed this bastard again. “Look, big guy, I could honestly kill you right now through much more fun means. If it’s any consolation, if I wanted you dead, you would have died in that cellar long ago.” He says. “And if you’re worried about drugs, dunno how to say this I don’t think I can convince you that it is really just some good, innocent and nutritious food. By all means smell if there’s some suspicious ingredients in it or not, because I am not in the mood to forcing regenerative pill supplements down your fucking throat again.” He stays standing by the door to watch Technoblade eat.
He doesn’t say much of anything while Technoblade eats. In between breaths and scarfing down the food on the plate, Technoblade would glance at Tommy as if moving a mere inch would lead him to think that he’d be the subject of an attack. Technoblade, of course, has good reason to. Tommy isn’t stupid, he doesn’t think Technoblade would easily trust him after all his continuous transgressions against the man. In his defense, though, it was done with the intention of keeping him alive.
Tommy approaches Technoblade when the plate is finished, and Techno stiffens at the sudden movement, as if prepared to attack or defend. “Relax, I’m just picking up the plate.” He says with raised hands. He swiftly takes the plate and moves away. He leaves the basket in the corner of the room that Technoblade can’t reach. It doesn’t have a lot of things that could sabotage his captivity, so it’s safe to leave here. This is for convenience’s sake after all. If Technoblade breaks anything, be it the room, or the chains, or maybe even himself, the basket has things to alleviate it.
And clothes.
Primes, Tommy hates filthy clothes.
“If you need to use the bathroom, it’s right over there.” Tommy points. Technoblade already knows this, so he doesn’t see the point in looking at where the kid points. “Honestly, dunno what else to say about the room. I guess just be glad I keep this cleaner than Father does with any of his cells.” He rolls his eyes, “I’m off, rest well, try not to escape prematurely, don’t die without me.”
Tommy pauses before he leaves the room, “and I meant it when I said that my siblings do not hold the same inhibitions as I do.” He says, leaving Technoblade some room for thought. He knows, based on how he experienced the Duke’s ire. “Rather than being exposed before their eyes, death may as well be kinder.”
Technoblade starts to think, wondering if this was a ruse to keep Technoblade willingly captive. He knew that Obsidian children were cruel but he didn’t think it’d be to this extent.
Thomas leaves the room. He leaves Technoblade alone without as much as touching him.
Technoblade knows not to be thankful. Leaving him alone was a bare minimum.
He comes back the next day. And he comes back with a hefty lunch the day after, and he comes back for the lunch of the next day. It goes on and on and on. It’s usually quiet, wordless exchanges of a plate, sometimes clothes, and sometimes medicine and potions.
At one point he bothered to ask: “Why do you insist on delivering these meals personally yourself?”
And Thomas answered: “I’m overlooking your recovery, aren’t I?” “As far as everyone else knows, you’re always going to be at the brink of recovery.” He raised a finger to his lips. “No one else knows.” He says.
He leaves abruptly that day.
It becomes routine at this point, how Thomas would come in and out of the room . Technoblade would be lying if he said he’s become used to it, but it would certainly be unusual for him if there would come a time when Tommy would miss a meal.
Every meal Tommy attends is different from the last. Some have more fruit, some are more savory, sometimes the meal is foreign.
As it is, Technoblade feels like he’s being handed the food that comes straight out of the grand table of the house. It was as if the food he’s been eating is the very same food that the Nobility of the house enjoy.
He wouldn't complain, but it did make things about the kid particularly suspicious.
“Where have you been getting all this food?” Technoblade asks, breaking the silence once for a long time.
Surprised by the sudden ice breaker, Tommy’s back straightens. The boy is confused, why would he ask something like this? It seems rather trivial. Regardless, he answers. “Well, I get them when the maid serves.” Tommy answers. It’s true, the moment he gets a meal handed to his room, he hands it to Technoblade while he eats some of the bread and the things he deems easy to eat.
“Why do you give me one meal each day?” He asks, and unbeknownst to Thomas, Technoblade had meant to ask how . If he was meant to be suffering in the eyes of everyone else, it would be odd for him to ask for extra meals from his maids upon the appearance of his pet.
Tommy, on the other hand, takes it as a question on why he doesn’t get more .
“Geez, selfish prick, I gotta eat sometime .” He answers, crossing his arms. He thinks about the meal today. Damn, the servants had catered to him this once and somehow the meal landed on a lunch period . Damn it all.
While Tommy mulls over the loss of his favorite meal, Technoblade is currently in a state of shock, damaging his internal perception of the kid. Technoblade freezes, now staring at Thomas who is confused at the reaction. Hell, even Technoblade is confused at the confession and its implications.
This means that Tommy spares his lunch for Technoblade. A child of the house of Obsidian abstains from eating just to feed his pet in secret. Technoblade never thought he’d bear witness to a child of this cursed house being the least bit generous . With the confusing goal of letting Technoblade free or not, it wasn’t something the kid should be considerate about.
And he knows. He knows that one meal a day is the bare minimum. Except he is also aware of the inherent selfishness and self-centeredness of these folk. They don’t woo with pleasant supper or kindness. They seduce people, lure them in with things they will never ever give and lay claim to desperate folk.
So for a moment, his memories about Thomas come up to the surface of his mind; specifically the memories of his first time in this less unpleasant cell, with Thomas combing his hair and treating his injuries while he feigns unconsciousness. He recalls blurrily the concerned expression on a mothers’ gaunt face and the grievous screech she let loose when he’d been taken away.
When he’d mused the idea around his head, he hadn’t assumed that he’d be the least bit correct. He’d assumed that it’d be some kind of ploy, some kind of ruse in case Thomas knew Technoblade wasn’t unconscious.
But the way he is being treated. The distant expression Thomas would have on his face while he looks at Technoblade eat. The way he gives every single lunch of the day to Technoblade.
A brother. Surely he doesn’t assume Technoblade is his brother ?
There’s a distinct disgust that Technoblade feels from the revelation. He is no brother of the Obsidian. He is no child of the Obsidian. The only brother he will or ever have is Wilbur, and that’s only because his mother can no longer conceive and because the House of Emerald is already with an heir.
The assumption creeps on his skin, something akin to fear and disbelief tingling in the back of his head.
“I was askin’ about your maids, specifically.” Technoblade corrects, as if his answer didn’t just shake his beliefs of this child. “It would be suspicious if I get a hefty meal every day. They would think you weren’t starvin’ me.” He explains.
Tommy’s eyes are wide, and his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Ah, right, well,” He shrugs, leaning casually against the wall. He doesn’t know any better. “Don’t worry about it.” Tommy says with a playful grin. “I know how to keep secrets.” He winks.
Technoblade wonders if he is really any good.
Tommy’s blood drips down his forearm, dripping down an intact shell stained with red . The arm is numb, but it will heal perfectly fine. The weather is cold enough that he could wear something that fully covers his arms in velvet rather than the short-sleeved clothing that lies in abundance in his wardrobe.
The egg glows for a bit, and Tommy pulls his arm back. He doesn’t want to hatch it prematurely. If he does, only so few would occupy the shell. He needs the Kaleidoscope of butterflies to grow in numbers. There’s no rush, after all, now that he’s taken Technoblade from Tubbo. He’s a lot more secure in his position.
A butterfly creeps from his shoulder and down to his bleeding arm. The rest of the butterflies flutter to his arm, feeding on the residuals. He smiles at them, his little pets.
The way the egg is cultivated has a large influence on how it hatches. For one, these butterflies specifically are carnivorous. It can and will eat at anything Tommy wills it to, though it cannot abstain. That’s how Tommy raised them to be, after all, with his intentions of harming, killing. His ambition for success and gore. It grew this Kaleidoscope of Butterflies into his perfect weapons.
And this Kaleidoscope should be the same. It will feed on him, his blood, his mind, and his will. It will morph itself so that it will become the most perfect, symbiotic relationship. It will fit his needs as they are the moment he raised them, and it will deliver as long as he provides it with the most suitable poisonous blood he has to offer.
The butterflies stop feeding on his blood, and he wraps his arm with a bandage.
When he exits the greenhouse, there’s a sudden hold on his upper arm. Tommy, on instinct, raises a knife against whoever dared to hold him.
The knife is disarmed, and before Tommy could bring up another attack he realizes who it is. He blinks. “Tubbo?” Tommy asks, and he lowers the knife. Tommy smiles at his brother, “Dude, you should really stop creeping up on me. One day I might just really kill you.” He says lightheartedly.
“Give him to me.” Tubbo demands.
Realization sinks in. Tubbo still wants Technoblade. Tommy frowns: “I, no, I don’t think father will–”
“Fuck that.” Tubbo hisses. “Who gives a shit. He definitely won’t .” His best friend looks frustrated, desperate, almost. “I need him. I need to… to…” He raises his free hand to his scar. It’s quivering. “He’s gotta pay, right? Tommy?” Tubbo continues, but instead of the anger there’s this… this eerie but light nonchalance. “Just… just give it to me, and you can… you can stop with the butterflies, right? You don’t owe dad shit .”
But Tommy can’t. He doesn’t want Tubbo to die. He needs to keep him alive. If he gives Technoblade to Tubbo, he’ll die .
“I’m sorry, Tubbo.” Tommy places a stern foot down. Just this once. This once, and never again. “I’ll… I’ll avenge you. I promise. I’ll destroy him so intricately that you never even have to touch him, much less speak to him.” He tells his best friend, his brother, white, desperate lies. “I’ll make sure that when my butterflies hatch, it will hurt.” He promises impossible things. “It will be slow, it will be ugly,”
Tubbo’s hold weakens, and there’s a look in those eyes that Tommy doesn’t recognize. Tommy doesn’t like it. Not at all.
“Okay,” is all he says. Tommy was expecting some sort of dejectedness in his expression, but Tubbo seems strangely alright. He lets go of Tommy’s arm, only not noticing the blood on his hands. He looks at it a second longer, and he looks up at Tommy with an odd look in his eyes. “You promise.” He says, repeating it as if he was testing it on his tongue.
Tommy grabs Tubbo by the shoulder with his uninjured arm. “Look, after this we can… we can do anything you want without supervision, but this is one thing I don’t want to mess up.” He tries to placate Tubbo, “And I’m doing this because I know for a fact that I do so much more , not because I want to take anything from you. You know that, right?” It’s not a lie, per se. Tubbo had been merciless in the original timeline as bragged by the Duke.
“We don’t need to prolong it.” Tubbo says. “Just killing him should be alright, Tommy.” Tubbo says weakly, something like concern glinting in his eyes. As if it’s a reassurance. Tommy doesn’t know for whom it was.
“I promise, he’ll pay.” Tommy lies, pulling his brother into his still bleeding arms.
He wants to. He swears he wants to.
But… but Tubbo will die if he does.
As he hugs Tubbo, whose shaking shoulders he ignores, Tommy makes it his mission to watch Technoblade thoroughly . Because he knows Tubbo, and he knows that anyone who has ever made him vulnerable inevitably pays in the end. He has to make this exception. Just this one exception.
He doesn’t want his only family to die .
He’s going to keep a keen eye on Technoblade from now on.
Tommy frequents the cell. He doesn’t linger, but there’s not a single meal he’s failed to deliver Technoblade. Tonight however, is alarming.
“It’s dinner time.” Tommy announces halfheartedly.
When Technoblade receives the plate, he notes how much stronger the scent of toxic is on him. Like every meal, he hands him a plate, waits patiently for Technoblade to finish it, and walks out of the room without much of an exchange. Nothing much changes other than the times he’d come with a change of clothes, or maybe even the way his golden hair curls over his eyes. Tonight, however, the scent is drastically more powerful than before. The plate and its food is without a single whiff of that toxicity that had belonged to Tommy, so that begs the question: why does he smell like poison?
Is it his ability? The gifted of the Obsidian House, affiliated with poison?
But it doesn’t seem like it. Technoblade’s intuition screams that no, that isn’t the case. There’s poison that doesn’t belong running in Thomas’ vessels and ruining him.
He shouldn’t be concerned, but the kid is pale. His expression is a lot more focused, as if he needed the extra strength to function properly. Even his stance was unlike before, where usually he’d stand still and upright, he is leaning seemingly casually against one of the walls of the room.
Technoblade plans to eat his meal quickly, not wanting to deal with this. It’s not his concern. He shouldn’t care for his captor, not even when he’s a child. He doesn’t know how much younger Tommy is than him, and that wouldn’t matter anyway. The Obsidian House’s standards are different, foreign . He couldn’t recognize it even if he tried.
He looks up again to check at the kid, and he finds that his eyes are closed, and he seems out of breath.
At that moment, he decides to eat his meal slowly, giving himself enough time to… oversee Thomas’ current condition. He seems ill, with fever, perhaps. Maybe it has to do with the poison currently running through his blood. Technoblade eyes Tommy, and he’s just still.
There’s a clink of the now clean plate against the surface of his cuff, calling Thomas’ attention. His eyes open groggily, before he pushes himself off of the wall.
Like usual, he takes the empty plate being handed to him, and as always, he turns around to leave.
Technoblade is convinced that maybe he was overthinking, that the kid is just tired from a spar earlier today perhaps.
But that is until there is a crash of ceramics meeting the solid tiles of the floor. Technoblade looks up abruptly from his cuffs, and he sees Tommy wobbling where he stands. His hands were cupped over face, back faced against Techno.
He makes sure to hold Tommy stable before he topples over, and the stench of blood penetrates his nose with an even stronger scent of the poison in it. Quickly, he turns Tommy to face him.
The hand cupping his mouth is gushing with blood.
Technoblade, on instinct alone, wipes the kid’s fringe away from his eyes and places a hand over his forehead. He’s burning . “Hey, kid, kid. ” He wipes the sweat accumulating on his eyebrows. He pulls Tommy with him, to sit on the bed, and the kid is too weak to go against it.
When the blood stops flowing out his mouth, Tommy pulls his own hand off of his face.
The stench of the poison is even stronger than before, but Technoblade should be immune enough to be unaffected by the second hand toxins. The House of Obsidian isn’t the only household that practices mithridatism, after all.
It looks like this kid isn’t far enough through it to withstand it–or it was intentionally overdosed on him. The kid is being poisoned. The amount of toxicity in his blood isn’t normal, especially for a teenager .
Primes, he’s fourteen years old .
Distally, there is a righteous anger that erupts from Technblade’s chest. He shoves it aside, instead focusing on Thomas.
The kid takes large gulps of air, and with the blood stained hand he reaches for his head.
Technoblade took his hand and used the loose parts of his sleeve to wipe the blood off. Silently, Technoblade wipes Tommy’s mouth of blood, and the dazed kid could only stare while Technoblade wipes it off.
As if the action woke him up completely from his daze, Thomas suddenly slaps the hand off from his face, a cold look flashing before a saccharine, bloodstained smile quickly replaces it. Technoblade frowns, but Thomas keeps the grin.
With a now smug grin, he wipes his own hands with a handkerchief. “You didn’t have to do that.” Tommy says in an attempted cooing voice. “If I were none the wiser, I’d say you were concerned, Technoblade.” He laughs after licking his own teeth clean.
Technoblade, now being mocked , frowns even deeper. “Of course I’d be concerned.” He snaps at Tommy, who seemed confused at the admission. “I just saw a kid cough out blood. What human wouldn’t be concerned?”
But this admission only made Tommy feel irritated. “It’s nothing.” Tommy snaps back.
“It’s not nothing– ”
“What, you probably have gotten your fingers and nails pulled out and regrown, whipped front and back with a steel-tipped whip, concussed, and so so mercilessly healed , but a little blood makes you squeamish?” He mocks, knowing what his father loves to do. He notices the flinch in Technoblade, how his fingers twitch as if trying to assure him that it’s still there with him. “It’s nothing .” He says with finality.
Thomas stands, and despite the instability, he manages to do it alone. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about your situation than mine.” He stares at Technoblade with a dull expression. “After all, at least my blood will be spilled in my household, should I die. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to perish on enemy grounds.”
He walks away from him, ignoring the crack of glass under his shoes, and heads to the door.
As he grasps the handles of the door, he’s called by his captive: “Kid,” Tommy pauses. He doesn’t know why. “Walk beside the walls.” is all he says, before Tommy leaves the cell.
Tommy doesn’t know why Technoblade bothers.
Thomas had been on his way from his greenhouse when he’d come across Tubbo’s Mother, his step-mother and the second wife of the duke. She looked chirpy, despite a hint of toxicity in the air around her. Poisons and Obsidian. There’s rarely ever one without another. “Theseus! Darling,” she coos, and Tommy very nearly scowled at the name. Only his brother and his mother called him that. “I’ve just come through one of the greenhouses when I saw these flowers were blooming!” She nearly sings, proud of her work.
From her little wicker basket, she brings out a flower crown. “I was going to give this to my little child, Tobias, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere.” She pouts. Tommy’s eye twitches. Of course she doesn’t. She rarely ever thinks of her own son unless she wants something from him. “So I’ll give this to you instead!” She cheerfully hands it to him, and he sees what flowers are actually on it.
He could almost laugh. Of course, she doesn’t know. Tubbo would have hated it the moment she’d hand it to him.
But he smiles, “Thank you, Mother.” He says politely. He keeps the smile while she places it on his head. “How do I look?” He asks.
“How princely,” She grins, looking specifically at the right side of his face, where Tubbo’s scar would have been. “You look adorable!” She coos,
“Thank you,” He says again. “I’ll be off then, it is nice seeing you.” Niceties, the lot of it.
She waves at him as the maids bow their heads.
He despises this house.
Thomas sighs, taking off the fresh flower crown from his head. Tubbo’s mother had given it to him when she saw him in one of the greenhouses. She enjoys it there, saying that it’s the only place in the house that’s ever so lively like her old home.
He looks down at the flowers on the crown and cracks a smile at it. The flowers, gold, blue, and reds, are poisonous. He has no idea which child of the house made these out of their gifted ability, but all of these were experimental, toxic flowers. Father had initially planned to utilize them, but when he found out how useless it is to a person who practices a relatively mediocre level of mithridatism– practiced by nearly every noble in the kingdom as a countermeasure against potential assassinations. It might as well just be regular flowers. This removed the kid’s chances to land a place in the banquet– not that she had much chance on it either way. Tommy, Ranboo, and Tubbo’s positions might as well be permanent there.
But he somewhat despises how carelessly they handle things like these. A greenhouse open to everyone in the house, even those who were so innocently unassuming. He wonders if anyone has died to these flowers yet.
He recalls the maids beside the woman, shivering and attempting to keep themselves upright. One of them had fallen later on, and the rest had to place the woman in the garden’s compost. Only two returned after that journey.
The smile turns sardonic. Who is he kidding? Of course, people have. He just forgets that unimportant side characters are people too. Shame on him.
He enters Technoblade’s cell, one arm looped around the flower crown and the other supporting a plate of food. Upon entry, the man looks up from where he is seated. “Hello again!” He greets once he closes the door. Technoblade responds as usual, which is a curt nod.
Tommy hands the plate of food, “Since you’re recovering well, we can start discussing things.” he says, and when he finds that keeping hold of the flower crown was troublesome in his endeavor to find the items in his pocket, he places it on his head. His hands take out folded parchment from his pocket. He hands it to Technoblade.
Who, in turn, doesn’t make a move at all. “Do you have a problem with the parchment or something?” Tommy asks sarcastically, pulling Technoblade’s attention into the paper and instead of his… hair?
“That flower crown.” He says pointedly, “Should that be on your head?” There’s a small concerned lilt to his tone.
“Well, no? I mean I don’t think flower crowns are mandatory.” Tommy then takes the crown off his head. “If you insist, though.” He removes it from his head: “What, think a boy shouldn’t have flower crowns?” Tommy mocks without any real heat in his tone. He leaves the paper on Technoblade’s bed, and then he proceeds to sit on the ground while he waits, setting the flower crown before him.
When Tommy receives a questioning look, the kid is prompted to speak. “Well, you’ve gotta eat before we discuss serious stuff. Duh.”
Technoblade thinks back then, when he was with his family. How his mother would braid beautiful flowers into his once long and cherished hair. The crowns his brother loved to make for everyone. Technoblade glares at Tommy who had unknowingly mocked those memories, but the stare waned when the concern overtook all of it.
He watches Tommy unwind the stems from the crown, disassembling it. He watches with a wary eye. They’re unfamiliar flowers, but it smells like death .
Tommy, noticing the stare, looks up, and gives him a dirty look. “Go eat your food,” is all he says before he starts again.
“We can discuss it while I eat.” Technoblade says, taking the map and setting it on the floor. Tommy leaves the half-undone flower crown carelessly on the floor. Tommy doesn’t really care for those flowers. It’s useless, after all. He turns his attention back to the parchment, unfolding it on the floor. His eyes widen when he realizes it’s the map of the house.
The kid is especially proud. “I’d say that these were difficult to get,” He laughs a bit, “But it quite frankly isn’t. Blueprints aren’t difficult to get, it’s getting anywhere at all that you have to be careful about.” Tommy says, “People have died just walking through the halls, you know? The blueprint won’t help on its own.” He’s aware of the unsettling ease he said it, how easy it is to mention someone’s death. He’s aware of how fucked up he is, but that doesn’t bother him. If it did, he would have died long ago.
“How won’t this help me?” Technoblade questions. “By the looks of it, just go through here,” he points at one part of the house, the greenhouse with the flowers, “and leave through here.” he points at the exit of the house, where the chasm would welcome him.
Tommy smiles. “That would be the case, yes, if that greenhouse wasn’t stuffed with the killer plants.” He crosses it out with his finger. “Maybe you could have left if this wasn’t renovated a year ago to accompany my younger sister’s abilities.”
“Here?”
“That’s a corner you want to avoid.” Tommy grimaces, and Technoblade is already expecting the rebuttal. “That’s the corner of the Second wife and quite frankly, she and all her children have a very strong vendetta against you.” Tommy explains. “Not to mention, Tobias himself was strongly wronged by your house. Chances are, you’d wish you were dead.”
It goes on for a while, with Technoblade asking questions about all potential escape routes and Tommy exhausting all those options with facts he already knows about his siblings.
By the end of it, Technoblade has a finished plate and a tired, hopeless and frustrated expression. “So, what, I can’t leave this place?”
Tommy instead answers honestly: “Obviously you can,” Tommy says with a grin. “Just not on your own.” He points at one corner of the house, close to the Duke’s room. “Over here is a secret passage that opens once a month.” It’s a wall, one that isn’t designed in the blueprint. It’s why the blueprint was mass produced, after all. It’s a farce, accurate but only to the extent of it being recognizable. “It can only be opened through drips of Obsidian blood.” Tommy knows this passage well, “And it’d be a bulletproof escape route if it weren’t for the fact that it is known by three people and three people alone.”
“I assume that’d be excluding me?”
“Obviously.” Tommy scoffs. “You’re not included in any technicality. You don’t even know how to recognize the door from the wall.”
Technoblade seems to be burning the map into his head. Tommy has no doubts about it, actually, especially because he encourages this behavior. Should anything happen, then at least Technoblade, in the rare situation where Tommy would be otherwise occupied, would be the least bit wiser than any of the House’s previous victims.
He answers any questions Technoblade has about the house. He’s patient, willing to answer. Technoblade is at least grateful for that but he’s unsure of which are true or not. His eyes wander to the pile of flowers on the floor, and he’s reminded that maybe it’d be better to believe one mouth than none at all. Of course, there is always room for doubt.
It goes on until Technoblade runs out of anything to ask about the house. Tommy burns the map, explaining that it’d be evidence if he left it as is.
“Why are you helping me?” Technoblade questions out of the blue.
“A house of virtue is like its name, no?” Tommy answers, eyes on the fire burning the map. “Out of all the houses, yours upholds virtue of all things. The strongest pillar, deemed as the weakest by many but loved all the same. If such a house deemed as weak is strong enough to be the pillar of virtue, what would happen when that strength is used for less savory means– say, revenge ?”
“And what does that have to do with your aversion to just murdering me to save the trouble?” He asks bluntly, not seeing where he is going.
Tommy smiles bitterly. “I’m afraid that if one pillar pulls,” the fire reflects a comedic tragedy in his eyes. “The rest will follow miserably in its track, destroying everyone and everything along with it.”
The answer is vague to Technoblade. He doesn’t see how this necessarily means anything at all. To him, Thomas is spouting words that he already knows in a pattern he’s unfamiliar with. To him, he would never know the rage of a family who has lost their son, because he was never there to witness it. He would never know the sacrificial grief of his twin brother when he finds out that it should have been him , nor of a father when he figures he should have ended the Obsidian house long ago. He would never know the power of a mother, so well versed with Death that no one could ever compare, as she collects souls like the reaper taking what’s long been overdue.
But to Tommy, who witnessed the pyre, the massacres, the rage of a good man gone to war, well, he is nothing if not afraid of good people. He’s seen it all, and is rightfully frightened of these people. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that they were good people before the fall, but he knows equally well enough that these people, with all their patience and understanding, could very well end everything and everyone.
Because there are reasons why good people hold themselves to a standard. He isn’t inclined to taunting them out of it. Angels and Demons and the Sun and the Skies will fall when good men willingly kill.
And before Tommy is the single catalyst of turning good men into sinners. Good, credible men who people so easily trust thus can just as easily betray. The gun of a good man burns, because there’s purpose in every shot. Good men, turned sinners, are the worst killers of all.
“We’re done for the day.” Thomas announces when the map stops burning.
Tommy stands up, and on his way out he seems to plan on collecting those flowers again.
Technoblade didn’t like the idea of Tommy touching it again, “Wait!” He exclaims, at the energy in that one word is enough to shock Tommy who is so used to the deadpan of Technoblade.
He looks at the older teen questioningly.
“I, uh, can I keep those?” Technoblade asks,
Tommy blinks, looking down at the flowers he was just about to collect. “Uh, yeah? Sure I guess?” He isn’t really sure why. Maybe he thinks they're pretty? But Tommy is in no lack of these flowers. In fact, he hates them, so he’s more than willing to give it. Internally he argues that maybe he shouldn’t, because they’re poisonous , but also he argues that Technoblade would have felt faint from the scent alone if he hadn't practiced mithridatism.
After deciding that he’d be safe at least, he goes to pick up the flowers,
“No, it’s okay, I’ll clean them up instead.” Technoblade says. “You can, uh, leave now. Thanks.”
Tommy does so, but he’s especially confused when he does.
Little does he know, Technoblade had eradicated the flowers already using his own ability. Through the blood dripping through his own palm, the flower sizzles and dies. Technoblade scowls. To a kid. This was given to a kid . Poisonous flowers, enough to be burned by his blood so easily.
This house is sickening, Technoblade thinks. A child, a mere fourteen year old, being poisoned time and time again. The blood dripping from Thomas’ mouth had never left Technoblade’s memories, and sometimes when he’s alone the concern is the only thing left to accompany in the lonely cell. Technoblade couldn’t help but start seeing Thomas as just a kid born into the wrong family. He doesn’t know, after all, that Thomas is perfectly aware of the poison that sat on his head, so it was inevitable for Technoblade to slowly fall into this delusion that Thomas is pitiful, a victim.
And no, that doesn’t excuse Thomas’ cruel act. The way he’d so easily do vile acts of cruelty as a means of fulfilling sublime acts of kindness. It’s wrong, and Technoblade knows for a fact that Thomas is aware of it. He is also aware that Tommy’s want of keeping Technoblade alive isn’t out of the goodness of his heart, but it’s so easy to at least appreciate that when your life is the subject of protection in the situation.
Technoblade had known that there was something off with this house, but that doesn’t stop the rush of panic and adrenaline when he witnesses Tommy rush in the cell and slam the door shut . Normally he’d knock. Any knock. Sometimes the kid would make little rhythmic patterns before he enters. Not today.
Today he enters the room empty handed, blood in his hands. There’s a distinct cut through his forearm, bleeding through the sleeve of his shirt.
He leans against the door and slides down.
Technoblade is at a state of panic,
Yet no more so than Tommy himself.
Tommy had gone out today. It’s not unusual to slip past the walls of the House. They do that all the time. Yet the stark difference between granted permission outside and sneaking out is the distinct lack of the footmen and guards. Nobility seldom go out without them, seeing that they would always be targeted by someone– the poorer, the richer, those who scheme or those who have been schemed against. It’s not uncommon for lives to be at stake in the life of nobility.
But Tommy is of the House Obsidian, and a child who has a seat in the banquet no less. People want his neck sliced and his head on a silver platter. They want his limbs and guts spread across the entire continent. Because to them, there has to be a reason he’s seated at the banquet. Someone cruel, someone powerful . They’d have to get rid of him while he’s still a child, or maybe they want to get rid of him to take his spot. Whichever it is, it is all a matter of avarice . That’s just how the world works.
He’d wanted something outside the walls. He’d come back with blood on his hands, both his and a stranger’s. Not to mention that he hadn’t come out unscathed. A vice-like grip had likely bruised on his upper arm, and his stomach is showing signs of some sort of ache. His cheek is sore, and his arm bruised. The only injury that hadn’t been inflicted by a stranger was a distinct cut on his forearm.
A summons for his hidden ability.
The cut had summoned his brutal Kaleidoscope, swallowing the assassins whole. He watched mercilessly as they screamed without a sound because of their already decimated larynx. The butterflies remained unsatisfied, so whatever the scoundrels had lacked had been taken from himself instead. They ate a little from his own life, but just enough to keep their host alive.
So Tommy had won. He’s a child of the Obsidian, of course he would have. He is expected to come home from worse scenarios, all with a cynical grin on his face.
But no power can eradicate the fear of death. This one was a sudden attempt. A frightening one.
And he’s at the brink of it, edging frighteningly towards Death where it pampers him with the kisses from his butterflies. They sense it, his death, and they are more than willing to claim what’s theirs before he rots.
He’s at the brink of death, but the first place he thought to go to is Technoblade’s cell. If he dies, would someone else take Technoblade? Will someone destroy all his efforts? He had to… he had to stop it somehow.
But here he is, at the unreachable corner of his cell where Technoblade can’t reach because of the very chain Tommy had forced on him. Really, what had he hoped to achieve by rushing in here head first?
The weakening constitution makes him want to lie down. He slides sideways, so that he’s lying down while facing Technoblade.
He has red eyes, Tommy notes. Atlas’ eyes were red once. Like rubies, Tommy muses.
Tommy blearily watches as Technoblade struggles to get to his side.
“Thomas!” Technoblade begs. “Stay awake, please!”
Somehow, amusement bubbles in his chest when Technoblade screams for help, for someone to help the young child dying in his captor’s room. No one will hear them. That’s how the room is designed after all.
Just as Tommy was about to point it out, Technoblade, with a frightening amount of strength, breaks the chain that cuffs him to the corner of the room opposite the door. If Tommy wasn’t already near death he would have been at least scared for his life.
He is scared, though, because if Technoblade had set himself free, who knows what he could encounter outside. People want him dead, more so than they want Tommy dead.
And if Technoblade dies, Tubbo and Ranboo will fall with the house.
“N-No,” He begs, reaching out weakly for the man rushing to the door. “No, don’t leave. You can’t leave. You’ll. You’ll die, they’ll kill you.” Tommy is at the brink of sobbing, and he’s too tired to hate the feeling of that specific swelling in his throat. He is at his wit’s end, desperate, because all his efforts would have been for naught if Technoblade leaves now. Everything he’s done since he was twelve would have gone to waste. The ability he had been so secretly proud of would have been for nothing . “Don’t go, please .” Tommy begs, because even the most prideful man would resort to begging if you’re at your wits end.
Contrary to his belief, however, Technoblade’s primary concern wasn’t escape.
He is seeing a child die before him. He’d seen attempts at his life already, yes, but this was dangerously close. Past redeemable. He is coughing blood but he doesn’t seem to notice at all. Technoblade breaks his chains without the want for freedom, but just to reach far enough so he could help the kid.
Technoblade shoves Tommy’s begging at the back of his head but he hears it all the same. Something about how Tommy was frightened for him clawed something ugly in his heart, sinking claws into the visceral parts of his organs so it stays there forever.
Something flutters around Tommy, something he can’t see directly but is so vivid from the peripherals. It’s a curse, he surmises, and it’s killing him.
He takes Tommy into his arms, and Primes the kid feels so cold.
“Hey,” he wipes Tommy’s fringe away from his damp forehead. “Hey, kid, stay awake, hm?” There’s a quivering in that otherwise monotone voice. Something anguished.
Technoblade’s blood burns underneath his veins, his gift begging to be used. His own heart beats true, screaming something of life. He wants this kid alive. He needs to keep this kid alive.
Desperately, Technoblade bites his arm, ripping the flesh so that enough blood drips from his own forearm and into Tommy’s mouth. “Please,” Technoblade begs. “You’ll live, come on Tommy, you’ll live .” It’s a sad sight. A captive saving a captor, but to Technoblade he doesn’t see these roles. He sees instead a child, a victim, dying before him.
And Technoblade is trying desperately to save him.
Technoblade looks into Tommy’s eyes, and it’s the first time it’s been this miserable .
He babbles, repeating his words. “Don’t go,” “Please don’t leave,” “They’ll kill you,” “You’ll die.” “Please.”
These words shouldn’t be said so many times. That tone he is hearing shouldn’t be said by a kid so young. He’s fourteen. No one deserves to be in this situation saying those words like a lifeline.
It stings.
It stings horribly.
Technoblade, when the blood dries and nothing else can be spilled, holds Tommy close to his chest until the desperate babbling softens into whimpers and the blood-like butterflies in his peripherals are chased away.
Tommy is the first to pull away. He leaves without looking at Technoblade.
He is greeted the next day with a healing potion for his arm, chains to replace his broken ones, and a meal as usual.
But things had changed after it.
Technoblade couldn’t count hours, even if he tried . It's easy to know what time of the day it is, at least, because each time Thomas comes in there’d be light behind the solid iron door. Not to mention that he would literally announce: “It’s lunch time!” .
He’d been warned against this. Kidnapping and captivity isn’t foreign to nobles like him, so his father warns him. Be vigilant, his father once said. Be vigilant, remember that what you feel in situations like these are due to desperation. Nothing else.
And Technoblade is fully aware of that. He knows how desperation would twist things to resemble comfort. It is a way of adapting to a situation that would otherwise make him insane. He is fully aware of it all.
Just like how he is aware of the situation at hand, how Tommy lives just at the brink of survival in this house. How the sympathy claws into Technoblade when he puts bits and pieces together, painting a pitiful picture that Technoblade can’t help but feel for. He was raised in a wonderful and loving family, after all, and Tommy… Well, it could definitely be better.
And the kid just takes it all in stride, as if what happened that day had never happened at all.
Techoblade cannot count hours, but he can count every lunch that Tommy would deliver. He carved it into memory, every time the child would visit. He could count twenty three lunchtimes. That is twenty three days above the days he’d been imprisoned elsewhere in this household. It’s been less than a month, and Technoblade is already going mad.
Because there is the slightest bit of endearment for Tommy.
In those twenty three days, pieces of Tommy slipped through the cracks of his Obsidian facade. Tommy himself doesn’t realize it, but Technoblade could see the changes in how he holds himself. For one, Tommy’s language is distinctly crass in nature. Fondly, he’s reminded of his twin Wilbur, the heir of Emerald. Despite his status, he is the more rambunctious of the twins, and especially crass in nature.
“I’m just saying, I could very well kick someone’s balls with ease.” Tommy complains as Technoblade eats his meal. The meal that Tommy skips just so he could eat. “People taunt everyone so easily without considering how close my foot could go to their fucking nuts.” He’d grumbled, and the way he said it so abruptly made Technoblade choke on his food.
That time, Tommy had panicked and scolded him: “Don’t you fuckin’ dare die because of the word nuts or so help me Prime I will start killing everyone in this house and then myself.”
And he’s… touch starved. Technoblade recognizes that. He recognizes how he’d so subtly lean in when Technoblade couldn’t resist the urge to pet his head or ruffle his hair. Technoblade would allow Tommy this. The affection. Prime knows the child needs it.
Some days it’s… worse. The child gets needier. In those times he would enter the room shaking. If Technoblade could remove the glasses that fooled him into thinking Tommy is a victim, maybe he could recognize it as Tommy shaking in rage, frustrated at every inconvenient order that his Father would demand from him–but Technoblade, with his kind, naive heart, sees it as fear. He’d reciprocate that anger, except it would never be directed at Tommy, rather it’d be directed at the house.
“Are you alright, Tommy?” He’d dropped the formality of using Thomas long ago. Technoblade had never realized it.
Tommy would respond with something like a grunt, bumping his head against Technoblade’s shoulder.
And Technoblade would place his hand on Tommy’s head until the child catches and evens his breath. Technoblade is never the one to pull away from the hug. He always lets Tommy exhaust his want for it.
When Tommy pulls away, the child brings up that cheerful facade again, cursing and ranting about minor inconveniences. To his credit, Tommy does a good job at ranting about matters that aren’t as important.
He’s silent for a moment. Tommy looks to be deep in thought while Technoblade takes this time to eat.
“Can you tell me about your family?” Tommy asks out of the blue, and Technoblade looks up, shocked. It’s not his usual rambunctious attitude nor his playful tone. It’s not a preface to whatever joke he has planned. To some extent, Technoblade can’t believe that he’s developed a considerably deep comprehension of the kid he’s supposed to at least dislike.
Tommy, on the other hand, can’t help but imagine what kind of life Technoblade once led. Especially after witnessing the carnage that a grieving family could do when their son is discovered to be dead. He watched that house take over the other houses, and eventually the entire kingdom. Tommy looks at Technoblade and he wonders what kind of family would promise vengeance like that.
He recalls the passive nonchalance that the house had when Tubbo’s face was permanently scarred. He could remember how broken Tubbo was that they had decreased his self-worth to the point where they’d forgotten that he was still a part of the house. Tommy couldn’t handle that. He knows that in the future, Tubbo would have clawed his way back, but he saw how agonizing it is to do it alone.
It’s so different from what Tommy knows. No one else fought back for the transgression on Tubbo. No one else even considered how he felt, just himself and Ranboo.
“I have a twin.” Technoblade answers. “His name is Wilbur, and somewhere there’d be documents where he’d have a middle name that he’d somehow sneaked in.” He looks at the young Obsidian and couldn’t help but grin at his curious expression. “His unofficial middle name is Soot.”
The kid’s face curls into some sort of confused scowl. “ Soot ?” He questions. “You mean, like, fucken dirt?”
Technoblade looks amused. “Yes, like Dirt, Tommy.”
Tommy scoffs. “Is this normal out there?” He questions, aghast. “If so, no fucking wonder you were kidnapped. You fuckers out there are asking to be beat up.” Tommy rolls his eyes, not realizing how Technoblade tenses up.
He’s familiar by now with how normal they treat something so horrifying, but still it doesn’t make Technoblade comfortable with it. To Tommy, everything that the Duke did to him was trivial. By the looks of it, he also knew what exactly Technoblade went through.
“My mom is named Kristin.” Technoblade says.
“Oh, a sorta common name, innit?” Tommy muses. “What’s the spelling?”
“K-r-i-s-t-i-n.” He spells out, and somehow this makes Tommy laugh. “What’s funny?” Technoblade feels defensive about his mother’s name.
“Well, I imagine that a lot of fucken people would mispell it with E’s placed wrongly.” He snorts. “No doubt at all.”
Technoblade grins. “Yeah, actually.” He huffs lightly. “She’d be frustrated when letters addressed to her would start with ‘Dear Kristen, Christine, Kirsten’.” He remembers fondly the letters Kristin let him draw over. The creative things she allowed him to do using scratch paper. “If you hand me a paper sometime, I can show you the things we do with the papers.” He tells him,
To which Tommy nods.
“She’s very… lax with the whole virtue thing.” Technoblade says. “She’s not like a lot of other nobles.”
Tommy tilts his head. He remembers something about her, just in the back of his mind. “Father hates her a lot.” Tommy states. “Something about disgrace to nobility,”
Technoblade frowns. He could tell the truth to Tommy, after all it’s not a secret , but it’s generally not spoken about.
He decides not to.
“Your father is sorta a dick,” Technoblade shrugs. “Anyways, there’s dad. I like to call him Phil but his full name is Philza.” He tells Tommy, moving on from the topic of his mother. “Well, he’s sort of just a guy. Don’t know what else to say about it.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Surely that can’t be it.”
“Well, there’s the fact that he hiccups really frequently?” Technoblade suggests. “To this day, I have no idea what is up with that. Still, it sorta just turned into his personality trait somehow. Oh, and he has a stupid hat that he never ever takes off unless it’s time to wash it.”
The kid’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! That fucken striped bucket hat?” He asks. “Yeah! I’ve seen those. I’ve been to banquets before and everytime I see your dad I always see that ugly shit on his head.”
Technoble laughs. “You’d get along well with Wilbur.” He says out of the blue.
Somehow, this kills the light air that they share between them. It gets heavier, and Technoblade has an inkling as to why.
They both muse about the possibility. The reminder of their situation, where one is the captive and the other the captor. One a caged bird and the other a caged lion. It weighs heavily on Technoblade’s shoulders. On Tommy’s shoulders.
Because there’s a sort of longing that Tommy feels. What would he feel, being in a family like that? Where he could say good things without a single drip of malice, where genuinity isn’t a form of vulnerability?
A small family where everyone matters equally.
It… it sounds wonderful.
“Can you tell me about your family?” Technoblade asks this time. “Just the ones you want to talk about, at least.” He reassures when there’s hesitation on Tommy’s face.
Tommy thinks for a moment, a grim expression on his face. It is so different from Technoblade who could recall his family with such a fond and genuine expression.
“I have four mothers–three of them are my step-mothers, and one father.” Tommy starts. “My mother is from the House Innes. She used to be the most beautiful out of all the wives.” His face isn’t fond, but it has a bitter longing on it. Technoblade’s heart aches for it. Tommy touches his face, as if he were imagining it for himself. “People tell me that I look so much like her, back when she was in her prime. I can’t see it, really. I forgot what she looked like when she was pretty.
“Clara, my personal servant, is a lot more my mother than my actual one.” Tommy thinks, and there’s a semblance of fondness on his expression. “She’s vigilant, she teaches well, she’s indubitably loyal to me. She taught me a lot of the things I know now.” Yet there’s a boundary that Tommy would never dare cross. He can acknowledge that she takes the role of a mother, but he had never needed one. To him, Clara is just something to fill his needs. “She’s useful. All the maids of the house are, since all my siblings require it.
“I have many siblings. The duke’s got many wives, after all, obviously he’d bear an army somehow.” Tommy scoffs, irritated. “Two of my half brothers, I’d say I’m close with, they scheme and play pranks with me and shit. I have a cool sister but she’s barely in this house because of her gifted ability.” Finally, a fond expression forms on his face. He thinks of Tubbo, Ranboo, and Beau. “My sister isn’t as close to the other two, but she’s close to me, I guess. She’s cool, hella based, we can curse at each other without blood spilling. I call that a dub at least.
“The duo have been by my side for far longer and for a lot more.” Tommy hums, remembering when he’d faced Ranboo’s problems alongside Tubbo, trying to hide the amnesiac nature that threatens Ranboo’s position in the house. He recalls the vulnerability Tubbo allowed himself to show, of how alone he felt in this house ever since the incident. And… and how careful they were after…
“I have a full-brother too.” He continues, but his breath hitches. “I had a full brother once.” He corrects.
He stops saying anything, lost in thought. He doesn’t know what to think of it. Before this, he has only spoken once about him before. To two people at once. That was the only moment when his response to anyone even uttering his name didn’t resort to someone’s tongue being torn out. But now he doesn’t feel the aggressiveness that comes with his want of protecting his brother’s name. A brother so kind and so pure that no one in this house deserves to even say.
Tommy’s thoughts stay in his head, the mess of emotions trying to string itself into words.
Technoblade lets him have his silence. He doesn’t break it, afraid of ruining the air of comfort.
“He’s kind,” Tommy says shortly. “He saw the best in things, tried to teach optimism or something to me.” There’s a bitter laugh that grew from Tommy’s throat. He’s not sure if it’s a sob, or he finds it genuinely funny. “He was terribly naive, but somehow sort of a badass.” His laugh is wet, but he doesn’t cry.
Tommy looks up, and there’s no excess of water in his eyes. Rather, there’s a fondness in it. Something bittersweet and accepting.
Technoblade’s gut sinks in realization.
Oh, of course. It’s Atlas. Technoblade should have known. Thomas doesn’t see Technoblade in these moments of vulnerability, he sees his older brother. A selfish part of Technoblade preens at the recognition, but an even more selfish part, locked in the depths of his heart, is irritated at being compared.
Before Tommy could continue, Technoblade speaks up.
“I am not him.” He tells Tommy.
He studies how Tommy reacts. The fondness disappears but there’s something strong still under the facade of stoicness. There’s a grim determination, knowingness , with what Technoblade says.
“Of course not.” Tommy deadpans, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. For a moment, there is relief in Technoblade’s heart. “Because I won’t allow kindness to kill you.”
Technoblade’s heart feels heavy. He doesn’t know what it is, but somewhere, in his mind, echoes a conniving voice. “I won’t allow kindness to kill you too .” It continues.
Days have passed since that conversation. And in usual Tommy behavior, he completely ignores it and acts like nothing of the like had happened. He never stops talking. Technoblade realizes. Tommy loves speaking about the most random things. It’s his personality at this point. In exchange, Technoblade tells him things too. One of the more fond topics he speaks about is his family:
“He seems rather loose.” Tommy comments distastefully when Technoblade tells Tommy about how his dad could only let out a shaky breath when he and Wilbur ruined one of his precious miniature temples. He’d told them off about how it was a shame, how bad one should feel for ruining something someone else put so much effort in. “How would you effectively learn if all you get taught is to feel bad ?” He complains.
Technoblade raises an eyebrow. “So you think corporal punishment is necessary?” He asks Tommy.
“Yeah,” Tommy huffs. “Something as unimportant as someone’s feelings isn’t going to be good collateral. It’s hard to learn if there’s no punishment.” He crosses his arms,
Technoblade frowns. “I could destroy one of your plates right now.” Technoblade says, to which Tommy frowns at. “Or I could choose to waste the food you give me. It’d waste your efforts at bringing me food secretly.” He suggests, and Tommy’s frown deepens.
It’s because these meals are the food that Tommy spares from his own just so he could feed Technoblade without suspicion. Technoblade knows that. It’s why he never spills a meal.
“But I won’t, you want to know why?”
The kid answers with gritted teeth: “Because I could very well beat the shit out of you just to eat.” He says, bristling in frustration. “I could fucking chain you up so you won’t be able to fight back, and I’d do anything in my power to put food in your mouth.”
Technoblade sighs.
It’s so easy to forget that to Tommy, everything Technoblade does, his compliance and his help, is because Technoblade has been punished. “The reason why is because I know it’d make you feel bad.” Technoblade answers. “Because I value what you think of me, and I value how you feel about me. Do you understand?”
Tommy’s face relaxes from its anger, now shifting into confusion, clearly not understanding. “Okay? And?”
Technoblade just fixes a smile on his own face. “You’ll… you’ll get it someday, maybe.” He places a hand on Tommy’s head. “Just know that your perception of me is something I want to care for.” He pets his head.
He doesn’t comment on how Tommy’s head leans into the touch.
But his heart grows warm.
There’s something amiss with today, with how duties upon duties suddenly pile up in a day . Tommy’s time is usually free, but there have been more demands today and a lot more things pulling his attention from things.
So when finally, by the end of the day, he comes into Technoblade’s cell with more plans in mind, there is this light feeling in his chest. He could see Technoblade after a tiring day in the house.
But he comes across a locked cell, one that he couldn’t open.
He shakes it open, and only then can he hear a racket from inside. It sounds like the bed and the chains being violently rearranged.
Except this isn’t right.
Tommy slams the door open, again and again until finally the doors come off its hinges.
There’s a moment between Tommy breaking his door and him actually seeing what was before him. Before him, he sees Technoblade down on the floor, pinned by the throat with his most loyal maid’s hands around it. She dons her darkest clothing, the stealth uniform that she usually wears when Tommy assigns her to do something discrete.
Except this time Tommy had never assigned her to do this.
For a moment, Tommy feels betrayal. Why would such a loyal maid hurt something he owns? How dare she defy him, when she’d been by his side for most of his life? For a moment, a childish part of him wants to cry. A childish part of him reacts with the need to whine, beg her to stop, have mercy on Technoblade, perhaps even ask her why she’s trying to take this away from him.
But he sees the clear attempt at Technoblade’s life, how it’s clear that she has no plans of stopping despite hearing the metal door forced open.
There’s a distinct betrayal of trust that happened.
So Tommy sees red.
Tommy grabs the assaulter by her hair, dragging her away from the injured Technoblade. He slams her head to the opposite wall, but like all assassins that the house of Obsidian raised, she is resilient in nature. She pushes herself from the wall, launching herself to land a finishing hit on Technoblade.
Obviously he would never allow that. Tommy uses the crook of his elbow to hook her neck in before she could go far. With the motion stopped, he proceeded to pull her down to the floor.
She attempts to get up, but Tommy’s pinned her to the floor with his foot.
“Clara,” He coos. “I don’t think I told you to enter this fucking room, did I?” He asks in a childish voice, as if he isn’t purposefully incapacitating her lungs.
Clara desperately holds Tommy’s foot, trying to alleviate the unbearable pressure on her chest.
“Listen here, bastard.” Tommy hisses, unclasping the watch on his wrist. “I don’t fucking know what audacity you have to try and ruin what’s mine ,” He leans close, watching her struggle under his foot. “But whatever it is, obviously I have to beat that fucking attitude out of you.” Tommy removes his crushing foot from her sternum, watching as she gasps for hair at the relief of the pressure.
She looks up to him with a reverent gaze that all of their assassins hold for the family, and Tommy can’t help but feel annoyed. “Get up,” He says.
The servant follows. Once she is on her two feet, she bows her head. Not before she glances at Technoblade.
Upon witnessing that, Tommy wraps the silver watch around his knuckles and he punches her.
This lands her to the ground again, now sat down.
“I said, get up .”
Technoblade watches in horror as this repeats. Tommy, commanding the maid to get up only to beat her down. He witnesses how the glass of the silver watch cracks, and breaks, and the shards would imbed itself into her skin while Thomas beats her each time she stands. “You,” he slams his fist again, it lands on her eyebrow. Her eyes are already swollen. “Can follow us however you want,” he kicks her in the ribs just when she was about to stand up. “But the moment you disgrace any child of this house,” he pulls her arm up while she was still down. “Or sully any of our toys for that matter,” he uses his other hand to twist her face to look at him. “There is no obedience nor loyalty that can nor will redeem you.” He lets go of her face, and he kicks her arm up.
The injured teenager could hear an audible pop right before the scream of the lady that tried to kill him.
He steps on her dislocated shoulder, watching her whimper in pain. “Father says I’m not old enough for a sword.” Tommy tells her, “I’m sure you know that.” He chuckles darkly for a moment, before he leans closer. “I will make you wish ,” he digs his heel in, “that I was.”
He was about to land another hit on her with his now broken watch, to nail each shard deeper into her skin, but a hand stops his arm, pulling it against his attack. It’s firm, but it’s not painful.
“Toms,” It’s Technoblade. “She’s… she’s Clara ,” he reminds Tommy. “You don’t have to go this far, kid.” His voice is soft, and Technoblade himself has no idea if it’s out of comfort or if it’s out of fear. Tommy had spoken about Clara. He’d told Technoblade about her, how she’d become his mother when Atlas had gone and taken his real mother’s sanity with him. Technoblade surmised that Clara is the closest subject of love that Tommy is capable of.
And watching him mercilessly beat her–it looks painful. Technoblade is no means an empath, nor is he well-versed with emotion, but he could see the searing rage of betrayal in Tommy’s eyes with every hit he lands on his most loyal maid. “You can stop,” Technoblade adds.
The kid snatches his arm from Technoblade’s hold. He steps away from Clara, now turning to Technoblade with a look of concern on his face. “Are you okay?” He raises a concerned hand on Technoblade’s injured arm. Tommy’s own hands are stained bloody, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“I’ve,” He glances at Clara, still writhing on the floor. “I’ve seen better.” Technoblade answers quietly.
Technoblade’s hands shake. How could he forget? How could he forget ? This is a child, yes, but everything is horridly twisted in the house of Obsidian. He saw how there was no mercy in Tommy’s eyes. Nothing, not even hesitance.
And despite that, Technoblade knows. This is a child, one who would innocently place flowers he didn’t know were poisonous on his golden head, one who was astounded when Technoblade would fold maps and blueprints into large frogs, cranes, right before they set out to burn it. A touch starved child so deprived of anything good in this house that he is purely unfamiliar with it.
The innate need of Technoblade to protect Wilbur, love his family, had somehow extended to this child deprived of everything a good family could have offered.
So, wordlessly, and without much reason, Technoblade pulls Tommy into his arms. “She’s… she’s loyal to you.” He whispers to Tommy as he pitifully eyes the servant, the subject of Tommy’s rage. “She deserves mercy.” Technoblade could see a tear fall from her swollen eyes, mixing with the blood that spills from her head. But despite that, something changes in Technoblade when he looks at the woman so wounded and bruised. There’s a dark satisfaction in him despite knowing better, despite upholding the virtues he’d been so religiously raised with. A pleasant feeling curls at his heart at the thought that Tommy did this for him.
But he keeps his word. He could walk his talk but it doesn’t require him to believe it. “Clara deserves mercy, she is loyal to you.” He repeats despite the grim gratification in his heart.
He reciprocates the hug, the tight hold reminding Technoblade that this is a child . And Tommy answers so easily:
“I cannot afford to be kind.”
As he says that, a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters into the room. It’s familiar to Technoblade, from a time when Tommy had been just as vulnerable. Technoblade couldn’t see where it all came from, but if he were any less injured he might have trusted his sight when he saw the insects phasing through the walls of the room.
The insects flock around the body, and Technoblade finds himself holding Tommy tighter to his chest when he witnesses what these Butterflies did to the woman. He witnesses how so many butterflies chip away small pieces of her body, from skin turned to muscle and muscle to blood and organs. When the blood is sipped dry, all that is left are bones and it goes until even that is decimated to leave just crumbs of calcium.
Tommy can’t bear to look. While he is angry, merciless, he is also mournful.
Technoblade holds Tommy until Tommy is the first to pull away.
He walks away, leaving one ominous butterfly in an unseen corner of the room while he commands another servant to fix the door.
The servant doesn’t even dare look at Technoblade, afraid of the blood in the room and on Tommy’s hands.
Tubbo looks up from his crafting table, pushing his welding mask up to give his brother a smile. “Oh! Hi Tommy, nice of you to come by–!”
Tommy lunges, landing a punch on Tubbo’s face. The boy stumbles back a little, before rubbing his jaw.
“I take it you found out?” The shorter of the two asks nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t fazed by the sudden attack. As if he was expecting it. “You seem upset, big man.” He gives a grin.
The blond had just come from the cell. It’s obvious, with the blood on his hands and the mess on his clothes. He doesn’t care, quite frankly, because he has other things to fix other than a broken, useless, disloyal maid.
“You tried to kill him ?” Tommy screeches in disbelief, “Are you out of your mind , Toby?” He yells, pulling Tubbo closer by the collar. “Of all people too– you told Clara to kill him? ”
“To be fair, everyone in this household is.” Tubbo deadpans. “Trying to kill him, that is. Not the main problem, really. The problem here is you, Tommy.” Tubbo accuses, which only angers Tommy more. He readies himself to go off, to land another punch, but Tubbo grips at Tommy’s wrists. “Oh don’t play coy , big man.” He mocks. “You’ve been lying since long ago about those butterflies, haven’t you? You didn’t fail your second egg,” Tubbo looks over Tommy’s shoulder with a knowing look, as if he sees something that he shouldn’t.
Tommy’s grip loosens, and Tubbo reciprocates.
The shorter teen laughs, but he doesn’t seem at all amused.
“If this is about the emerald bastard–”
“I don’t care about that.” Tubbo hisses. “I realized that I never did.” He admits. Tubbo takes Tommy’s still injured hand, gently, as if he wants to comfort his brother’s pains. “It stopped mattering to me the moment I realized that the rest of this house is fucked up for abandoning me, leaving only the ones that really matter. I stopped caring long ago, but I thought I did.
“But you , Tommy, you’ve been obsessing over this bastard. You’ve been skipping meals, increasing your dosages even! ” He grabs at Tommy’s still injured hand, the grip causing the wound to open and bleed through the bandage. “You’ve been feeding it more frequently than you did with your previous ones! If I lose my place in the banquet, so be it, as long as it ends your selfish want to be approved by father!”
Tommy’s eyes widen. Right. Right , that’s how Tubbo sees it. He sees all of this as a superficial need to prove himself worthy despite his lack of a gift. That’s the image he’s been letting everyone else perceive, so of course this is how Tubbo sees things.
“Listen to me, and listen to me well, Tubbo.” Tommy tells Tubbo. “Everything I do isn’t just because of that shallow, cruel fuck .”
“Well it certainly doesn’t feel like it.” Tubbo deadpans. “You, of all people, Tommy, should know that you’re lying .” He hisses. “Everything you have done or will do will always be centered around him.”
“I want to protect this house!”
“It never protected you! ” Tubbo shouted. “It never… it never protected me. ” He breathes heavily, finally letting his realization be known. “I do not give a flying fuck about this house. I don’t care if shit starts lashing back at it. I don’t care if we’re disgraced nobles, but I do care if you or Ranboo perish because of it.” Tubbo looks like he’s pleading. “For once in your life, Tommy,” He begs. “Will you just… just protect yourself this once?”
Tubbo inhales, wiping his fringe off of his face. “Look, I…” He looks at Tommy with mismatched eyes, where Tommy realized that he’d finally taken one scarred eye’s contacts off today. “I know he… he somewhat makes you happy.” He says, and Tommy sputters at the fact that Tubbo knows . “I don’t care, it’s fine by me. I know you’re not actually keeping him to kill him. Again, don’t care.” There’s a genuine tone in his voice. “And I know that your want of being favored stems with the leeway Dad would be willing to grant you.
“But if in between saving him and pretending that you’re killing him, you had to perish in his place?” This time, it’s Tubbo leaning in and holding Tommy threateningly by the collar. “Well, I won’t stop with just Clara attempting at his life.” He says coldly.
Tommy blinks for a moment, before a grin cracks at his lips. The grin breaks into a laugh, and this makes Tubbo flinch. It’s a… a rather unexpected reaction. “Oh my Primes .” He gasps. “Are you, are you really threatening me into taking care of myself?” Tommy points out, finding this entire situation hilarious . “Prime forbid you actually tell me you’re fucking concerned, clingy bitch?” He brings Tubbo in for a hug.
Tubbo blinks as well, realizing the hilarity of the situation, and he too starts with a giggle, before cracking in rambunctious laughter. “We are so fucked up, aren’t we?” Tubbo says, the heaviness of the situation already dissipated into lighthearted banter.
Brothers, is what they are.
Tommy had become more . Technoblade can’t explain it, because it’s not just one thing that he notices. He notices how the kid frequents the cell, hovering around a lot more and being more open in general. He lounges at Technoblade’s bed comfortably, and because of how used he is to having his space be invaded by Wilbur, Technoblade isn’t at all bothered. In fact, something warm settles in Technoblade’s chest the more Tommy hangs around. He notices how Tommy is a lot more energetic and loud, not that he wasn’t before, but the playfulness that he’s showing
And every time he leaves, Technoblade can’t help but be more disappointed than the last time.
At this point Technoblade had completely succumbed to the role. He doesn’t care if Tommy sees him as Atlas. He doesn’t care if he’s filling in shoes that he does not own. What matters to him is that… that somehow Tommy found somewhere safe.
He tells him of the more vulnerable things in the house. How he has two half brothers who he loves dearly yet is forced to hold at arm's length lest the father of the house use them against each other. Tommy doesn’t say their names. Technoblade understands why, but there’s an urge to pry. Because just in case, Technoblade should know who to spare.
Just in case . The selfish plan formulating in his head is a drastic one, and the pillars of society could very well fall apart if he decides to pursue it. But he knows for a fact that if he was convincing, his family could get behind this plan.
But he won’t. He can’t, because he knows that he cannot sacrifice the safety of so many people. Truth be told, the house of Obsidian may be cruel, but they still hold a vast importance in the country as the primary line of defense against the creatures of the chasm. People can dislike them all they want, but they get their job done in a way no one else can.
Not that they’ve tried, Technoblade thinks selfishly.
In exchange for Tommy's vulnerability, Technoblade exchanges his stories. He tells Tommy of the things he should have experienced. A life of happiness, where you don’t have to expect cruelty from someone.
Obviously, there is some distaste at first. Tommy would scrunch his nose at the mention of Philza. Well, to be fair, Tommy’s technically been conditioned since birth to automatically dislike any house other than his own, especially against Emerald. So Technoblade is understanding at least.
“You miss them, don’t you?” Tommy asks. At that moment, they’re sitting side by side on the bed, both of their backs leaning against the wall. Technoblade turns his head to look at Tommy, and for one too many times Technoblade can’t read what’s in the kid's mind. “Your family?”
Technoblade studies Tommy with a keen eye. He is staring at Technoblade attentively, as if trying to read him instead.
“I do.” He answers,
And something flashes in Tommy’s eyes.
“Okay.” Tommy says. He turns his head away but he leans against Technoblade’s shoulder.
Like instinct, Technoblade shifts so that his arm goes over Tommy’s. Tommy’s head lies on Technoblade’s chest.
“Okay.” He repeats.
There’s an aching sensation in Technoblade’s chest.
He wants to bring Tommy with him.
Tommy hears the egg crack. It snaps him out of his poison driven daze. What? He looks at the egg, where his blood continues to drip from, and sees that it’s glowing a stark white. It contrasts against his blood, stained forever on that shell.
He quickly retrieves his arm, grasping it so that it stops bleeding into the egg.
Perhaps it has been a long time coming since Tommy started feeding it. While his first Kaleidoscope was rather premature, it was still rather vigilant in fulfilling its purpose. This one is much older, since Tommy had taken his time with hatching this one. He hadn’t needed the guarantee anymore, not since he’s already gotten the subject of his protection as it is.
He watches it, seeing the cracks form through the surface of the shell.
“Oh shit, oh fuck .” Though he’s admittedly unprepared for the hatching. If he fails this one, then he at least still has something to present to the Duke of the house. Even so, actually failing two eggs is going to cost him a lot, since the abilities of just one type of Kaleidoscope is limited.
His current Kaleidoscope are eaters. Violent in nature. It takes and it takes. The Kaleidoscope has nothing more than the ability to eat voraciously, through flesh, skin, and bone.
The next one is supposed to be stronger. While his carnivorous butterflies were strong, it was born prematurely. It needs more time to develop. With the help of this cluster, Tommy could double its numbers and perhaps even grant himself another ability. Those were the ones he was supposed to present.
The egg cracks, breaks apart as antennae sneak through the crevices.
A single creature crawls to the surface of the shell. It’s large, just slightly larger than his existing butterflies, and the scales are more abundant and thicker. It’s white, and there’s some sort of fluff around where its wings meet its head.
He crouches to study it, eyes wide and mouth agape in awe. It’s… it’s pretty. It looks really pretty, and gentle. It’s not as intricately designed as his Kaleidoscope, but the purity of it is something so different from the grandeur that he’s become used to. Others, colored browns and pales, climb out of the egg, but only one truly catches Tommy’s attention.
Tommy offers his finger to the moth, and it slowly and gracefully steps into his finger.
It moves to his open injury, and on its own it eats at his blood, cleaning it up.
Quite frankly, he doesn’t know what it means when the egg that’s supposed to birth butterflies instead births a moth.
The wings flutter, and as it accelerates, the colors of pure white start to change.
Tommy gasps at the sight that starts to form when the Eclipse of moths begins to form a mirage.
And his heart stutters, because he knows why this egg birthed the graceful and gentle moths.
These eggs mirror the will of a person. Their wants . It’s a symbiotic relationship where they take a host’s blood and in exchange it will give the host the means to achieve something they’ve always wanted.
So when he sees red eyes glimmering in so much genuine love and affection, and blond hair that Tommy and his biological mother share, he feels something similar to rage . “Atlas.” He breathes, feeling the tingling sensation of rage crawl through the tips of his fingers. He feels like he’s being mocked for his vulnerability.
Tommy kneels, and he shamefully places his hands on his face, hiding from the mirage of a concerned brother. Under his distressed form is a deranged sort of relief, finding a sick amusement from his situation. He never thought he’d see him again.
Not even in the form of a mirage.
Tubbo watches beside the Duke when Tommy flaunts his new ability . There is pride in the Duke’s eyes when the kaleidoscope of butterflies swarm in organized circles around Tommy, falling under the boy’s command.
The shorter Obsidian child looks at Tommy who is so giddy looking at his vast color of butterflies. Tubbo would be happy for him if it weren’t for the fact that he knows something in particular about it.
They’re not all butterflies. Tommy told him this when he’d first shown Tubbo. Tommy had discovered that there could be other breeds of this butterfly, and for some reason this last egg had been different.
Tubbo, though, has a different hypothesis. Something that had much more to do with a particular guest and his influence. Quite frankly, he still does not know how to feel about it. Tommy has become more reckless, more driven by emotion than by rational thinking. He’s always been like this, yes, but the attitude and behavior is enabled as of late and Tubbo can’t say he hates it.
Because Tommy feels less like he’s walking on death’s row.
The truth is, whether or not the new Eclipse serves as evidence, Tubbo knows for a fact that something had softened in Tommy in a manner that neither he nor Ranboo would be capable of influencing. He looks… he looks his age.
It’s a bittersweet truth.
He doesn’t tell Tommy.
“Techno!” Tommy cheers when he shuts the iron door behind him . “Look! Look! I finally finished it. I finished hatching the second egg!” Tommy says with pride, huffing. He’d excused himself from his father when he’d shown off his ‘new’ ability of the carnivorous butterflies, saying that he’d test it out,
But to Technoblade, Tommy plans to show off the real newly acquired ability.
“Oh?” He plays into Tommy’s excitement, an infectious giddiness growing in Technoblade’s chest seeing a wide and childish grin on Tommy’s face.
Clementine, the largest insect among the Eclipse, crawls down Tommy’s hair and down to his shoulder. “It’s different from the bloody kaleidoscope,” Tommy brags, gently rubbing his finger on Clementine’s head. “She’s gentler, and prettier.” He coos.
Not for the first time, Technoblade sees such a genuinely gentle side in Tommy. Usually he sees it when Tommy’s defenses are lowered, but today it’s flaunted, proud and in full. Technoblade looks at the moth, the subject of Tommy’s affection, and chills crawl down his spine.
There’s something malicious about that moth.
He can’t specify what.
Tommy brings it to his hands, and suddenly the rest of the Eclipse swarm around him. The kid sees Technoblade’s stiff stature and laughs rambunctiously. “Chill! These bastards aren’t harmful at all.” Tommy says affectionately. “They’re not like the Kaleidoscope.” As if listening, the red butterfly at the corner of the room flutters its wings.
Just like that, the moths swarm and swirl into a mirage of colors, swirling until it forms a solid image–
Technoblade gasps.
It's Tommy. There are two of them right now.
“Cool, innit?” There’s a smug grin on Tommy’s face.
“How are you doing this?” Technoblade reaches out, but all he touches is air. “It’s… this isn’t your ability.” He recalls. A person is only gifted a maximum of one ability by a House. Any more is either just an enhancement of antiquities or the support of a familiar.
This is neither. These butterflies are something else. It’s more malicious rather than neutral.
It’s a parasite. Technoblade recognizes it as such.
“I wasn’t gifted one.” Tommy lies, completely disregarding his gift of vision. It might as well be null, since it seemed like a one-time use ability. “So I made one.” A glimmer shines through his eyes, and normally it should frighten Technoblade but instead it just concerns him.
Tommy’s laughing a lot, clearly excited by his new mirage. A new ability to play with.
“Look!” Tommy shifts
Technoblade watches the mirage shift from a blue eyed blond to a shorter brunette with grey eyes and a scar on his face. “This is Tubbo, he’s my best friend.” Tommy feels exhilarated, his mind hazy with excitement. He turns the mirage into a tall teenager with a mask, because he’s not disrespecting Ranboo’s boundaries. For fuck’s sake Ranboo wears a mask in his own castle, Tommy’d never show his face to even people he trusts. “That’s Ranboo!” Tommy laughs, seeing how exaggerated the white locks of hair are.
There’s something wrong. Technoblade knows that there’s something wrong. At first it seemed alright, but this seemed far too hyper.
The kid looks like he’s sweating. The kid is swaying on his feet at this point.
It looks familiar. He’s seen this before, hasn’t he? On Tommy?
Still on his feet, he turns his sunshine-like smile towards Technoblade. “You can… you can see them again if you want.” Tommy says, a lot less energetic and a lot more sincere and soft. “I… I think I can, you know? I can recreate it from you, if you’re willing.” The kid offers. Like a child hoping to impress someone that inspires him.
And despite Tommy’s already swaying stature and pale complexion, Technoblade feels a specific want for it. “You can?” Technoblade asks. “You don’t gotta,” But by the tone of his voice he sounds like he does want it.
Tommy smiles, and he lifts the moth.
Under his command, the moth flies towards Techonblade. He tries his best not to freak out when it goes for his face. Tommy looks amused, and as if knowing it, Tommy says: “Relax, it never hurt anyone.” He giggles.
The reassurance helps Technoblade. It lands softly on his face, wings spread on his eyes.
And just like that, a mirage of colors replace the dull white of the cell he’s held in. He’s in the garden of his home, surrounded by his family. Wilbur is there, seated beside him on the ground while he strums on his guitar, and his Mother and Father are sat together at a swing. Kristin swings at inopportune moments, catching Philza off guard most of the time.
The vision is beautiful,
But there’s something lacking in Technoblade’s eyes.
The moth on his eyes flutters its wings, easily compliant to Technoblade’s discomfort. It shifts, and Tommy joins the mirage. On his head is a crown of flowers, and Technoblade knows for a fact that those flowers aren’t harmful in any way. He looks happy, dressed in emerald colors and affection. He smiles wide, blue eyes glistening under a bright sun rather than the dim torchlight.
There’s a thump that doesn’t match the mirage, and following the sound is the illusion that befell Technoblade’s eyes.
Replacing the happy, innocent Tommy, is a pale, tired, and betrayed boy. There’s a distinct fear in Tommy’s eyes when he looks at Technoblade, something just a little more than disbelief. There’s more hurt in those eyes than Technoblade had ever seen before. He’d seen the mirage.
Technoblade realizes with horror what he’s done.
Before he could say anything, Tommy is already out the door. His Eclipse and Kaleidoscope are already out of sight.
“Tubbo!” Tommy yells when he slams the door to the mechanical room. He looks panicked, as if something is wrong. Something is wrong. He’s changing. That is never good. He likes himself how he is, and he despises the person that he’s turning into.
Tubbo, obviously, does not know what made Tommy fret so much as to shout his name in such panic. “Tommy!?” He drops whatever he was doing, and rushes to his brother. Tubbo holds Tommy by his arms, trying to get him to still. “Hey, what’s going on bossman?” He asks frantically.
“I-” He gulps. “We have to get him out of here, quickly.” Tommy tells Tubbo. “I have to stage some sort of intervention, a distraction maybe, get him out of this fucking house as fast as we fucking can, and–”
“Tommy,”
“And maybe we could get a self-destructing footman to deliver him out of here and into safety. We have to curse it into secrecy, make sure that it spills nothing of the truth before it dies–”
“Tommy.”
“No, but father would know what goes in and out of this place. Anything within the vicinity of the house would-”
Tubbo shakes Tommy, pulling his attention from the top of his head and back to Earth. “Tommy!” He yells. “Bossman, listen, what is going on?” He asks, “What’s happening with you, what’s with the sudden initiation of the plan?”
It’s only been a few hours since he’d hatched the egg. Something happening this sudden should be a cause for concern.
Tommy inhales, and he lowers his head. He closes his eyes, and all he could see was the mirage he let Technoblade make. “I… he makes me soft .” He hisses. It was fitting. To an extent the Tommy that was in Technoblade’s mirage looks so fitting in that scenario. “It’s… He’s making me vulnerable and I hate it.” Tommy admits to Tubbo, baring his soul just as Tubbo had once bore his. “It’s more than the discs. It’s like… It’s like–” He cuts himself off, shutting his eyes.
The shorter of the two gives Tommy a sympathetic look. “Like Atlas?” He asks softly,
And the blond releases a shaky breath. That’s the only confirmation Tommy needs. His brother. His brother who had filled him with so much hope only for it to crash down on both of them.
“I can’t have it in the house anymore, and at first keeping him alive was in the interest of keeping the house alive, but now I can’t bear the thought of his death.” Tommy admits. “It’s so fucking– He makes me want impossible things.” The flowers, the light blue sky and the smiling mother and the kind father. For a moment, when he had been on death’s door, he could feel the burden of the butterflies chip away with every second that Technoblade’s ability pulsed through his veins. He thought for the briefest moment of the relief of getting rid of what was once his only asset.
And the worst part is that Tommy didn’t stop at that. He took more. He became greedy for Technoblade’s care and it hurts. Because by the end of the day Tommy had dosed himself a higher amount of poison when he felt the gift of the butterflies fade. He would tell his father of tall tales of what he does to Technoblade, and even just the implications make him want to choke.
It’s a vulnerability he cannot afford. A softness he can’t ever have.
“This… it feels like him all over again.” He says, “I don’t think I can handle another one, Tubs.”
There are the rarest moments of vulnerability in the house of obsidian, and even more seldom between each other. But Tubbo and Tommy are the only exceptions in this fucked up house. They bare each other’s soul to one another, and even when they don’t, they just know . It’s a risk they both took the moment they allowed each other to know their weaknesses. In a sick way, there is a sort of collateral between them. Share my weakness, and I’ll share yours. That comes second to it all, however. The collateral is by pure instinct, but the trust is something that is special between them.
So Tubbo takes Tommy into his arms, the taller one sinking his head to Tubbo’s shoulder. “We have to get rid of him,” Tommy says. “If anything happens to him I don’t know what I might do.”
Tubbo doesn’t need Tommy to directly say it, but he could hear the to myself trailing quickly after the sentence.
“We can make a plan, Toms.” Tubbo reassures. “You, me, and Ranboo, eh? Us three against the world like before.”
Tommy wordlessly nods, exhausted at having to feel .
“We can set the stage, have Emerald Footmen infiltrate the house in secret.” Tubbo muses. “And the distraction would be enough. We can… we can stage his death somehow, have your butterflies chew out an unrecognizable body.” He plots in his head. “Technoblade will escape, and Father will be none the wiser, and if we’re questioned suddenly about how on earth that pink haired pig is still alive we can always lie.”
There’s a tired exhale.
“A-And we’re good at lying, aren’t we?” Tubbo is trying his best to placate his best friend. “We’ve lied before to save Ranboo’s ass from the initiation, a-and we’ve lied before to get your stupid butterfly eggs into the house.” He holds Tommy tighter. “You’ve lied so well to keep me in my seat at the banquet.” Tubbo reminds him, “We can always cause a war, you know? Get Emerald, Obsidian, and some other poor house we can rope in into war, and you, Ranboo and I can escape. With your butterflies, my explosives, and Ranboo’s teleportation, we can run first wrong we see.”
Tommy is wordless, and Tubbo knows well enough that it’s unusual for Tommy to be so. He keeps speaking regardless.
The day lasts with Tubbo talking, rambling about all the possible routes, and Tommy listening.
By the dawn of the next day, a plan is formed.
“Do you have to go?” Tubbo asks Tommy worriedly while Tommy holds the plate. It’s the lunch of the next day, and Tommy has never ever missed a single day when he’d feed Technoblade.
Tommy nods. “It’ll be over soon anyway.” He tells Tubbo. “I.” Tommy inhales. “I want this, okay?” He says stubbornly.
“Dude, just last night you were losing your shit over having emotions.” Tubbo snorts, to which Tommy slaps him in the arm for.
“Fuck you!” He curses out.
“But seriously,” Tubbo’s grin turns into a frown. “Do you have to? I can do it instead, you know me, I won’t poison him.”
Tommy pauses and actually considers. He feels far too vulnerable with Technoblade. It’s different from Tubbo and Ranboo, where both are painfully aware of the world they live in. There is no mistake in a wolf finding a family in another wolf. But Technoblade is naive, prey, and Tommy is a feral canine cub finding himself attached to a deer. It will end in nothing but vulnerability. He knows he wants to see him, but he doesn’t want this. He knows that this will fuck him up.
He makes a choice.
Technoblade waited patiently for the next time that lunch came. Embarrassingly, when the door opens, Technoblade would admit to anyone that he had hoped that it’d be Tommy. It wasn’t. Instead, it’s a familiar, short brunet that brings him a plate. He introduces himself as Tubbo. He refuses to say anything else.
“Hey,” Tommy greets, and the voice is what brings Technoblade up from his lying position. Tommy laughs at his eagerness. He didn’t think he’d be this lonely after nearly a week of having someone else deliver Technoblade’s food. It was foreign to him, but he needed it. He needed to get dumped back into the reality that it won’t be forever.
“Toms,” Technoblade gasps, as if in disbelief. “Are you,” He takes in the sight of Tommy, now at least having regained his color. “Are you well?” He asks.
Tommy shrugs instead. “As I’ll ever be, I guess?”
As usual, he hands Technoblade a plate. He begins to eat.
“This is goodbye.” Tommy says when Technoblade is nearly finished with his food.
The older teen looks up, confused. His red eyes look so painfully familiar that Tommy can’t bear to look him in the eyes.
“Sorry?” Technoblade asks, as if hoping he heard wrong.
“It’s happening tonight.” Tommy announces. “The escape, I mean. The stage is set, and there won’t be any opportunities past this one.” Based on Ranboo’s reports, the distractions are on their way to Obsidian. They’d come with a need to save Technoblade, but in reality their only role in the process is to act as nothing but lure while Technoblade is exiting elsewhere.
And those footmen would likely perish, but hey, sacrifices have to be made. Tommy has to feed the sharks something so that his prized fish swims away while they feast.
“You’re… letting me go?” Technoblade asks slowly, and for some reason the tone sets an unfamiliar panic in Tommy’s chest. It’s not like the fear he gets when there’s an impending punishment. It’s a sinking in the gut, a specific type of dread of something that he could control. He hates it.
Tommy keeps up his facade. There’s an excited smile on his face, trying to be genuinely happy that Technoblade would be reunited with his family and his life would go back to normal. “Yes! Aren’t you excited?” Tommy chirps. “Now you don’t have to live in fear for your life, no more poisons, drugs, or whatever you think is abnormal.”
Technoblade still looks upset for some reason. Tommy thinks it would have been so much easier if he was the least bit eager. At least Tommy would let go so easily to a man who would let him slip away. “But what about you?” Technoblade asks,
And Tommy hates the way his heart aches at the implications of it. He’s soon to be free, yet he looks back. “You’re not Atlas to me.” Tommy says.
Despite the light lilt in his tone, and the smile on his face, the selfish part of Tommy wants to keep Technoblade forever. Ignore the logistics, ignore the aim on his life, ignore the rest of the house just rearing to destroy a child of Emerald.
He wants to keep Technoblade to himself forever.
But that’s exactly why he needs to let go, because Technoblade will be a vulnerability and he can’t afford that. He can’t have another one. It’s a cost that he’s unwilling to pay.
Because if anything happens to Technoblade, the only thing different from this timeline and the one in his vision is how Tommy would join Emerald in their carnage. As appealing the thought is, the mere idea of losing Techno will make him go insane.
So he’ll lose him on his terms.
“This was the plan since the beginning, don’t you remember?” Tommy reminds him. “The sooner you’re gone the sooner we’re all safe.”
“Will you?” He asks.
Tommy furrows his eyebrows. “Will I what?”
“Will you be safe?” Technoblade asks, clearly this time.
The kid snorts. “Duh, you think I survived the past fourteen years cos of fuckin’ luck?” He rolls his eyes. “The day after tomorrow, or probably for however long the journey takes, you’ll be back to the Emerald house.” There’s a false cheerful lilt to his tone when he tells Technoblade the good news.
Tommy doesn’t feel so great about it.
Neither does Technoblade.
It’s true that he wants to go home, but he doesn’t want to leave Tommy .
A single red butterfly flutters towards the cell. It phases through, attaching itself to Tommy. It’s a signal.
He turns to Technoblade, nodding. “This is goodbye?” Tommy asks with a smile.
Technoblade says nothing.
Tommy takes Technoblade’s chain and leads him out of the cell. He could hear the distinct sound of strife from afar, but Tommy thinks nothing of it. Knowing the other children of the house, none will infiltrate the mansion.
The blond leads Technoblade through the castle by a pair of cuffs and chains. He remains to be in front, as if he is tugging Technoblade along with him. Multiple people have come across Tommy bringing Technoblade along, but he acts as if Tommy has something planned. Something dramatic, something so cruel that they want no part of. That’s what it meant to be a member of this house, after all.
To be fair, he does have something planned, just not anywhere close to what they were expecting.
Technoblade doesn’t know what the kid has planned, but he trusts Tommy enough to follow him blind.
They meet up with Tubbo on the way to the agreed exit.
Just as Tubbo was about to open the door, there was a clash in a nearby vicinity. Tommy frowns, and he hands Tubbo the chains. “I’ll be back quickly. Make sure you stop at the edge of the tunnel.”
Technoblade was about to protest when Tubbo tugs the chain harshly. The older teen turns to look indignantly at the brunet but he only stares back. “He can handle it.” Tubbo answers, before pulling Technoblade’s chain through the tunnel.
The walk is silent for a few seconds after the door shuts behind them. It’s Tubbo who breaks it.
“You make him feel safe.” Tubbo says.
Technoblade has no idea how to respond.
“That is the worst poison you could ever feed a child of Obsidian.” He continues.
The rest of the walk has no words.
True to his word, Tommy returns. He is just a bit bloody, and he’d acquired something like a sword. “Let’s go, Ranboo and Father are in the house. The ruckus has mostly been dealt with.” Tommy tells the two.
They rush to a desolate part of the chasm where Tommy had set up Technoblade’s escape.
“Okay, go.” Tommy shoves Technoblade towards the cart he’d bought just for this. The rider, the one in charge of the reins, is a disposable who would die within a given time frame.
Just as Technoblade is about to enter, there are footmen sneaking past. “It’s His Grace!” one of them yells just loud enough for Technoblade to notice. Tommy, on the other hand, curses under his breath.
“Fucking hell,” He says under grit teeth when he sees Technoblade turn his head to look.
Tubbo is already on his way to them, and Technoblade isn’t so dumb as to be blind to what they plan to do.
“Tommy,” Technoblade says with a warning tone. “They’re people I know.” He says. When Tommy says nothing, just walking and pulling Technoblade by the chain, the older teen grits his teeth. “Tommy, I know them!”
“What a shame.” Tommy hisses sarcastically. “Get in the cart, we’re getting you the fuck out.” He pulls, but Technoblade tugs against the futile restraints.
Technoblade pulls fully, and this effectively yanks the chain out of Tommy’s hands.
The ruckus catches the attention of the group of footmen, and they move to their direction in a quicker pace. Meeting halfway would have been sooner.
He’s so close. He just needs to hold onto Tubbo and stop him from killing anyone. Technoblade could hold two of them back, and they could go to Emerald somehow.
Except there is a sudden pain in his head, familiar from the events of months ago. The sting of metal rings against the skull of his head, hitting a vulnerable spot. He falls to his face due to the sudden impact, and he’s seeing blots of white in his eyes.
Still, he’s conscious enough to look up and witness as Tubbo kills every single one of those people. They’re his people. He remembers them hovering around when he’d spar with one of them, and he remembers the laughter and the jeers and cheers.
Now he sees them falling one at a time while blood gushes out of their throats.
Something gets stuck in his throat. He doesn’t… He hates seeing this. He’s back in the nightmares again.
He tries to get up, just to try and stop Tubbo, a kid , from killing any more of them, but two familiar boots block his view. He tilts his head up to see.
It’s Tommy, and he has an Emerald Footman’s sword in his hand. Technoblade can’t think quick enough to guess where Tommy got it from.
“You,” Technoblade gasps, betrayal burning in his heart. “You killed them.” He whispers. “They were good people, Tommy!” He yells, and it didn’t occur to him at all that this could compromise his escape, because the grief and the disbelief of what these kids had done overpowers any rationality he has left.
“They weren’t in the plan.” Tommy answers with a dull tone. “They would ruin your escape somehow. I can’t afford that.”
“They’re on our side!” Technoblade yells at him, “They want the same thing you do!”
“But they can’t deliver it.”
“They would have!” Technoblade shouts. “They would have understood, they would have listened and played along.” He tries not to think of their soulless eyes. Dead. They’re dead people now. “They were good people.” He repeats. “They would have been kind,”
Something shifts in Tommy’s expression, just for a brief moment, before it returns to its stoic stare. “I told you,” Tommy looks down at Technoblade with a deadpan stare. He steps closer, and Technoblade does not move an inch. “I told you, didn’t I? Time and time again.” And Technoblade tries to look for at least a glimmer of regret, of hesitance. “I am a proud child of the house Obsidian,”
The sheathed sword is raised above his head, and the only thing that glimmers in Tommy’s eyes is intent . “I can’t afford to be kind .”
Tommy swings the sheathed sword at Technoblade’s head.
The last thing Technoblade sees is the inhumane, saccharine smile on Tommy’s face and eyes that are more dead than the corpses of his comrades that lie futile beside him on the field. It’s so different from the moments of vulnerability where Tommy would seek comfort from his captive. Little moments where he’s reminded that Tommy was a child.
He doesn’t see the relief on Tommy’s face. He doesn’t know how much relief it brings Tommy to know that he could finally return to his normal life without maintaining the duality of vulnerability and invincibility. The fact that he no longer has the threat of Technoblade’s death looming over his head takes a weight above Tommy’s shoulders that weighed him down since he was twelve years old.
So now that he can rest easy knowing that he’d change the fate that awaited him if he stood still, Tommy goes back to the house with the most genuine smile on his face.
The smile turns sinister, acting out the play that he has plotted out for Technoblade’s ‘disappearance’.
Tubbo returns to his side, and the boy doesn’t ask when the Eclipse of moths flock over to his side, forming the illusion of a chain and a man stumbling after him. When they reunite with their father, captive Emerald Footmen chained to the statue in the middle of the house, Tommy’s grin stretches wider.
“There they are.” Tommy leans over the railing, hand still holding the illusionary chain. This catches the attention of the Duke, confused at the presence of his children standing side by side. “Fuckers aren’t welcome here, but since we’re so hospitable why not have a little treat?”
He tugs at the chain, and the act pulls the illusion of Technoblade down the stairs.
There is a sick and wet thud that meets the floor, and for a second even Tommy was fooled into thinking that it’s real. Following after are the Kaleidoscope of butterflies, slowly decimating the man, piece by piece, nicking such small pieces until skin reveals blood, blood dries out to reveal flesh, and flesh is eaten to bone. Even the bone falls apart, leaving nothing, not even a drop of liquid or ash, left on the floor.
The Emerald footmen look at the scene with horror and grief, watching their precious prince get mauled by the Kaleidoscope of red, black and white. All the while, Tommy coughs blood out of the sheer fatigue of keeping up with this mirage. To everyone else save Tubbo, he looked like he was giggling behind his hand. It was worth it, though. It was a convincing illusion, because Tommy could see the hope fade in their eyes. Distantly, there’s a part of him that feels that sorrow of parting as well.
He smiles, but it feels more bittersweet than anything.
It’s true, then. Tommy feels a hand hold his, he turns to Tubbo who has a stoic expression on his face.
He must have turned soft.
When Technoblade comes to, he’s in the arms of his brother. His real brother.
It’s almost foreign seeing so much emotion so clearly. There are no layers to peel, no complexities to unravel. Just pure love, and longing, and grief, and relief.
It’s odd to see how freely his brother cries, after seeing a child be forced to break in order to even show a single speck of emotion. To Technoblade, it’s all become so alien to him. The open affection, the unconditional care.
Internally he wonders about a world where Tommy was raised in this family instead. Would he be so open? Would he be without such a burden of vices?
His father hovers, just behind Wilbur who was hogging all Technoblade’s attention. The only thing holding him back is his mother, Kristin, hugging him.
Technoblade sees something achingly familiar in Kristin’s eyes, so similar to Tommy’s. He supposes that old habits never really die, especially now that he’s witnessed what his own mother had gone through in her childhood. It’s a shock how she still manages to be so kind despite it all. Even so, evidence of her bloodline could be seen on the hardened edge of her eyes, the scheming nature, all of the familiar darkness just swirling behind her soft and caring gaze.
He cannot help but think of saving Tommy.
Technoblade looks up at his kind brother, his doting father, and his loving mother, and decides that maybe it would be easy to convince his family of the same thing. It’s not the first time that someone from Emerald stole someone from Obsidian, after all.
A plan swirls into formation in the back of Technoblade’s head, ringing where Tommy had struck him for the last time.