Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t see Blade for the next few days. Crowfather brought him his meals most of the time, and Siren the rest. They sometimes sat with him while he ate, mostly in silence.

Crowfather (Phil?) would sometimes sign a couple of sentences, and Tommy would reply in the same way - it was only small talk though, nothing even remotely as interesting as the (albeit brief) chat he had with Blade.

Tommy had learnt a lot from the book Blade gave him. For example, he learned that most avians preferred not to eat meat unless they were birds of prey, and that piglins had a thing for gold and often hoarded it. That creepers often had trouble with the air so may wear masks sometimes. That enderians could not only teleport to random locations, but control where they went if they were practised enough. That goats had a habit of headbutting people they cared about, even before their horns grew out.

There wasn’t much about raccoons though.

He wondered if Blade had any books that focused more on raccoon hybrids. 

They were common though, Dream said.

He made a mental note to ask Crowfather next time he came down.

***

Techno had been sitting in his room feeling guilty for the past few days. The voices were not helping, alternating between 

“What have you done” 

“Everyone will hate you now” 

and 

“E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘E”

Both were equally annoying.

Phil was concerned; Techno could tell whenever he came down to the dinner table, only to take the plate up to his room. He hated being like this, and yet he didn’t think he had it in him to tell Phil how massively he’d fucked up – how would Phil react when he found out that Techno had revealed his name to a hostage?

“Hey mate. Can I come in?”

Speak of the devil. Techno made a non-committal grunt.

Phil entered, still wearing his green and white striped hat. The veil was pushed up though, revealing the emerald earring that Techno had given him hanging from his ear. He’d probably just seen Tommy; and just that thought set off a new flood of voices:

‘Nooo poor boyyyy :(((((‘

‘Noooo Techno how could youuuuuu?’

‘You should apologise to everyone then jump off a cliff’

‘E’

‘E’

‘E’

And there they went.

“Techno, did you hear me?”

Techno grunted again, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Voices bothering you again?”

He nodded.

“Here, I brought water.”

Sure, Techno could do with something. He didn't really feel thirst, but he supposed it was a piglin thing - a lack of water in the nether was likely the cause. That didn’t mean he didn't get dehydrated - he had passed out one too many times on a summer day for that to be the case.

He sat up slowly, taking a sip. He ran a hand through his pink hair; it was greasy and tangled from days of avoiding everything, including basic self-care.

He grimaced - he took real pride in his hair, and he never liked when it got too bad.

Phil either noticed, or had developed new mind-reading powers, as he suggested he brush it.

“Just like when you were younger.”

It sounded nice. Phil seemed to understand his expression.

He got a hairbrush and some dry shampoo off the dresser and walked over. Techno turned around, taking out the scrunchie that was keeping his hair out of his face. 

The brush through his hair was both comforting and grounding, distracting (at least for now) from the voices that were still chanting at him.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure about that mate?”

“Mhm.” 

“Look, you’ve been hiding up here since you came out of Tommy's room the other day. Are you sure?”

“I- um- yeah, yeah it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

...

“You can talk to me about anything, y’know once I-”

“Phil I accidentally told him your name.”

Silence. Techno mentally prepared himself for the anger, and the voices were prepared to distract him at any time.

His therapist said they were a trauma response.

He said they were annoying.

The awaited anger never came. Instead, a gentle hand brushed through his hair contemplatively. 

“Is that it?”

Techno nodded.

“Techno, that’s not too bad.”

“What if he tells Dream?”

“Techno there’s probably thousands of people called Phil in England alone, and I hide my accent for a reason.”

He paused, and began braiding Techno’s hair; it was intricate, probably a Dutch braid or something. Techno couldn’t do those, and he never had the patience to learn.

“So you’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Techno.”

Techno suddenly felt rather stupid for hiding in his room.

“Sorry,” he said, passing Phil the scrunchie he had been fiddling with.

He tied the end of the braid and sighed.

“Techno, I won't lie, I am slightly annoyed that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

”I’m not mad!” he hastily added, seeing Techno’s expression.

“I just don’t want you to spend days in your room like that. It- it scares me.”

Techno turned back to face him with an unplaceable expression.

Phil took off the hat, letting his blond hair fall around his shoulders. 

“Should I have talked to you sooner?”

“No- yes- Dad, I’m pretty sure you know better than I do. You are a brilliant parent.”

Phil’s dark wings spread slightly before returning to their default, and he looked distant for a second, smiling, as though he was reminiscing about something not-so-long gone. A gentle breeze swirled around him - a sign that he was feeling something pretty strongly. 

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Techno, I think the kid kind of misses you.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I apologise for disappearing?

“You don't have to, but he might appreciate it.”

“How should I?”

Phil tapped his chin in thought.

“Well, he really liked that book you gave him. Should I ask if he wants anything specific?”

Techno considered.

“Nah, I think I know what he’d like.”

“Well I’m going out later anyway so you can come with me if you like. I’m doing the whole ransom message thing over at that shitty cafe.”

“The one that gave Wilbur food poisoning for a week?”

“‘Yup. I’m thinking we use their computer for it, with any luck the heroes will close it down once they’ve tracked the signal.”

“D’you wanna message Dream directly? There hasn't been any news about him, and Niki didn’t even know he existed.”

Niki, more commonly known as Nihachu the hero, was a double agent - she was secretly part of the Syndicate, an underground gang of villains, and would pass on any information she had from the hero tower where she worked. 

Her motive? A view on the state of the government and the hero system that was shared by the syndicate.

Techno had informed her many times of how dangerous it was for her, but she continued nonetheless. She knew the risks, she said, and was happy to help in any way she could.

Phil said it was a good idea, and Techno agreed to go out with him if Wil kept half an eye on the kid.

* * *

An hour later, Techno was wearing a burgundy jumper tucked into black trousers, and gold jewellery - necklaces safely circling his neck under the jumper, earrings trailing over his pointed ears and rings around his fingers. It was more comfort than glamour - Piglins hoarded gold, can you tell?

He was sat in the car beside Phil, who was wearing distinctly more casual clothes and had turned his wings invisible - uncomfortable, but necessary for his identity.

“Where should I drop you?”

“I was thinking Eret’s library bookshop? They have a really wide range.”

Eret’s was a library, but you could buy the books as well if you enjoyed it. It was a good system, hence why Techno suggested it - that, and that Eret was nice to talk to.

They chatted some more, about if Techno wanted anything from Morrisons while they were out (he did, more potatoes), about which way it actually was to Eret’s (Techno was right, the second left rather than the first), and similar small talk.

“Here, get out now and you can walk down the road. Call me if you need, I won't be far.”

“Phil, I’m almost 20, I'll be fine.”

He sighed.

“Yes, I know, but just because you’re a legal adult doesn't mean you have to be completely independent.”

“Alright, yes, I know. Bye Phil!”

“Bye!”

Techno walked down the path towards the bookshop. It was run by Eret, a very nice person who always wore sunglasses, even indoors. They had a similar style to Techno so they got on quite well, despite not talking very often.

A bell chimed as he walked in, and Eret looked up from behind their desk at the newcomer. 

“Hellooo,” Techno said.

“Ah, Techno! I haven’t seen you in a while; what’s been going on in the grand life of a pink-haired fencing champion?”

“Eret, that was years ago. Plus, I wasn’t even that good.”

“You got to nationals twice in three years! Anyway, are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?”

“Uh, you got anything on raccoon hybrids?”

“Oh, I might… If I do, it’ll be over there - look, I’ll show you.”

They strode towards the non-fiction section, pausing as they waited for Techno to follow.

“Why do you want raccoons specifically? They aren’t that common, thus there’s not that much research.

“Uh, Phil found a kid-”

“Another one?”

“Yes, but while we try to find his parents we figured it couldn’t do any harm to know a little more.”

“Why not use google?”

“Eh, I prefer to have all the info in one place.”

“Fair, fair. I’m assuming the kid is a raccoon?”

“Yeah.”

Eret carried on brushing his fingers along the shelves of books before they found one, handing it to Techno.

“Is the book for the kid? This might be a bit advanced for him, I can see if there’s something else…”

He continued browsing, now onto the bottom shelf, with Techno standing awkwardly behind her.

“Yeah, sorry but that’s it. It’s a bit advanced; is that okay?”

“He’s a smart kid - I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

“Ok, cool.”

As they got back to the counter, Eret scanned the barcode and asked, “Purchase or loan?”

Oh. Techno had not considered that. The kid was a hostage, so wouldn’t be there for long, right? For some reason, his heart sank a little.

“Uh, just a loan please.”

“Need a bag?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Eret handed him the book and his receipt.

“It’ll be due back in two weeks and I have your email already, so hopefully I’ll see you then!”

“See you then, say hi to Goose for me!”

Techno left the shop, holding the book. It had only taken ten minutes, but Phil wouldn’t be done for about an hour, if not two.

He wasn’t that far from their house - 45 minute’s walk at most. He texted Phil.

Hey Phil, should I walk home? I don’t have anything else to do. -Techno

Yeah sure if you want 😀

Great, I will do just that. See you later! -Techno

He set off walking down the street at a slowish pace, as he had nowhere to be just then. He liked doing that, taking a stroll - God knows it scared the life out of Phil when he disappeared to walk around the neighbourhood at ungodly hours, for no reason other than that he just felt like it.

When he got home, Wilbur was sitting on the sofa scrolling mindlessly on some social media or another. They were all the same really - just a way to waste time.

“Boo.”

Wilbur jumped practically a foot in the air. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Techno! Don’t do that to me.”

“How’s the kid?”

“He has a name.”

“Alright then, what’s his name?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Techno and went back to scrolling.

“ Tommy is still in the basement, right?”

“No, I decided to let him roam free once more,” Wilbur remarked sarcastically, continuing to scroll … Twitter, judging by the font. “Of course he’s still in the basement.”

“No need to get aggressive, Wilbur. I wanted to grab him some food.”

Never mind that it was only half past 4.

He went to the kitchen. What to cook? There were potatoes in the cupboard (obviously, but they were running low) and some salmon in the fridge. 

He remembered one recipe he’d made a few times before - a potato and salmon grill, it was called - and it was both quick and easy.

Now, where to start? 

Grabbing a pot and filling it with water, he turned on the radio, and Jazz FM started playing.

He swung his hips to the music as he chucked the potatoes into boiling water, long pink hair tied back into a messy bun. He flaked the salmon into chunks in preparation, then at the roughly 10 minute mark added 100(ish) grams of frozen peas to the potatoes.

After about 2 minutes, he drained the pot he was using of water and tipped the remainder into a mixing bowl. He gently tossed the salmon with the potatoes and peas, sprinkling in some salt and pepper.

Finally, he spooned it into a dish and spread some greek-style yoghurt over the top, then scattered with cheese. He put it under the grill for a few minutes, and took it out as a song ended.

‘… that was the infamous “Take the A train,” by Duke Ellington, written in 1941 and inspired by the rapidity of the trains that rumbled down the express tracks. Next up, a beautiful piece from the very next year, “Trav’lin’ light” by-’

Techno turned off the radio and dolloped a serving out onto a spotted plate for Tommy, before poking his head round the doorframe and asking if Wilbur wanted any yet.

At the answer of no, he put the dish back in the (now off) oven to keep it warm for Phil, who had texted saying he’d be home soon.

Techno took off his oven gloves and put on his villain mask, then grabbed the steaming plate and some cutlery. What had he forgotten? Oh yes, the book! He took it from the table and headed down to the basement. 

He struggled slightly to unlock the door with his hands full, but managed.

Upon entering the room, he first put down the plate, then looked for the child. 

Shit.

He frantically scanned the room again, checking where he hadn't before.

Shit.

“Tommy?”

He was met with a thud from below the bookshelves in the corner as Tommy fell off the top. He looked up from the ground as the shelves began to topple towards him. 

“Look out!”

Techno leaped to him and grabbed him out of the way, leaving the bookshelves to fall with a sickening crunch onto the floor.

They both stayed where they were for a moment, shocked.

“Are you okay?” Blade asked, shaken.

Tommy squeaked, eyes wide.

“Kid?”

Tommy’s breathing quickened, the kid frozen.

Blade shifted on the floor to a sitting position in front of Tommy.

“Kid, breathe.”

Tommy was struggling to breathe, frantic, his hand on his chest. His panic was very much evident.

“Kid, pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?”

Blade took a few slow, exaggerated breaths.

Tommy tried his best to copy him, he really did, but his breaths still came short, fast and shallow.

“Okay, can you tell me 5 things you see? Or, well, sign I guess”

Tommy thought it was stupid. He couldn’t fucking breathe here, and here was the Blade, telling him to look at this fucking room?

“Please. I promise it will help.”

Fine.

He glanced at his surroundings, looking for 5 nameable things

Bed book door wall you.

“Good job, now 4 things you can hear?”

You, the floorboards upstairs … my hands moving.… he shrugged.

“That’s alright, good job. You okay?”

Tommy thought and - sure enough - his breathing had slowed down. 

…Yes.

“Do you know what happened?

Ehhhhh kinda.

“You just fell off the bookcase - no you’re fine, everything is okay - and then you had a panic attack.”

There’s a name for that?

“ I still don’t sign, unfortunately.”

Oh.

“You want the notebook?”

Nah.

“Well, I brought food. It’s on the table.”

Blade got up from the floor and righted the bookshelves with ease.

Tommy was astonished by Blade’s strength, before he remembered that he was literally a supervillain, as well as a piglin hybrid.

He went to the table and found both the expected meal and a book.

A comprehensive guide to raccoon hybrids.

Tommy was confused. He didn’t notice that before.

Blade hummed to himself as he began to put the books back on the shelves, then turned as Tommy knocked on the wooden table to get his attention. 

He was holding the book on raccoons and, upon seeing Blade look, pointed at it questioningly. 

“Yup, that’s for you!” 

He left out the part where he would have to return it later.

Tommy’s eyes widened, sparkling.

For me?

“Yeah; I wanted to say sorry for disappearing.”

Tommy trilled excitedly. He began scarfing down his food and flipping through the pages, pausing occasionally when he found something interesting.

Blade continued to shelve the books from the floor. He glanced over at the kid and smiled.

Goddammit, he was getting attached. He was getting attached, which meant that as soon as Tommy was gone, he would spiral. 

Goddammit.

But in his opinion, it was kind of worth it.