Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Purpled is having a fucking strange  morning.

It was enough that he opened the door (it was parting a bunch of dangling vines, but he’d never had a door, it was similar enough) to see Technoblade, high contender of the best warrior on the smp, standing next to Quackity, high contender of the best smooth talker. Who hated eachother. Now they wanted him to go take down some red egg cult party of his other employers with them, when he really just wanted to finish his coffee and spend his off-day lounging around the cave.

Quackity paid well, though. And it was only a few hours of work…

He caved in pretty easily, stashing his surface camp up in his inventory (needed to move areas around the skull now that he’d met the eggheads anyway) and following after the two very different  figures.

The increasingly weirdest part were the glances they were sending his way through the conversation (argument) they were having with eachother. Which he wasn’t listening to.

Well, maybe he was listening a little, because it was kind of funny.

“Look, all I’m saying is that we need to structure the plan so that I can talk to Bad before we go leaping in with seven hundred wolves and make him nervous. Would you be inclined to listen calmly if someone was threatening you with an army of wolves?”

“No, but it’s not strategically sound. Right, Purpled?” Techno name drops him, the first time either of the two had directly referenced him instead of giving indirect glances and glares.

“So you’re so unsure of yourself you need Purpled’s support?”

“I don’t need his support, this is a plan for the three of us, we need to involve him anyway.”

“Okay, but you just asked for him to back you up instead of giving a sound argument as to why I can’t talk to Bad first, and I’m the one who collected you both, I’m making the plan.”

“It’s a dumb plan.”

“Oh, so now you’re just insulting- ”

“You’re both right.” Purpled yawns, rubbing one set of eyes.

“What?” Techno asks.

“How?” Quackity crosses his arms.

“People don’t calm down with axes and wolves at their throat, and it’s strategically unsound to send Quackity in alone and undefended in a last attempt to win Bad over. So we camp near enough that we’re unseen, but can access the chamber quickly to fight back. We dig a hole into the chamber wall behind some vines and structure.” Purpled shrugs. Both parties stay quiet for a moment, thinking. It seems a flaw can’t be found with his plan, which Purpled takes satisfaction in.

“Sounds fine to me.” Quackity nods.

“It’s not idiotic.” Techno shrugs, “Just difficult.”

“Well, alright, team! We need to figure out gear and a tunnel then.” Quackity claps his hands and grins wickedly.

Purpled sighs, thinking of a purple coffee mug and a lovely cool, damp cave.

{<>}

“So how do you feel about government?” Technoblade asks. He’d been running the motions of villager trades, farmed items to emeralds to a few suits of prot diamond, which Purpled assumed would be combined to give Quackity something more protective than suspenders and car-salesman mystique. The man himself was off to his in-progress country (?) to supposedly ‘collect party clothes’ for Purpled after he’d mentioned making a suit.

“Neutral at best.” Purpled shrugs, continuing to run harming potion over the edge of his axe.

“And at worst?” Techno asks, walking down the unpolished space to an anvil.

Purpled equips his sword and tosses a splash potion of harming into the air, catching it mid-arc with the blade and exploding the mist and thin glass onto the edge, infusing it with an extra glimmer of maroon. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“Point taken.”

There’s silence once more, besides the dinging of enchanting levels being spent on armor combination and the hiss of harming potion being applied to the edge of netherite blades.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how interested would you be in an anarchy commune over say, working for a government-associated casino?” Techno asks, breaking the silence.

“An interest of one, to both.” Purpled responds, flipping a knife in his hand and sheathing it. He rubs the excess harming potion essence off on his pants, flexing his hands. Techno is staring at him, but he just shrugs.

“You just said-“

“I live in the woods alone, like a hobo, by choice.” Purpled points out, and Techno shuts his mouth, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“Well, that makes sense.” Techno nods a little, before turning back to his work. Purpled starts in on checking his armor buckles, before Quackity slides down the ladder army-style and throws his arms in the air.

“I return, with a correctly colored suit!”

{<>}

The red banquet job goes off without a hitch.

Techno and Quackity manage to stop bickering like alley cats for long enough to scare off the eggpire, there’s only the one civilian death, and everyone else gets out with all limbs in place. Purpled collects his money and is ready to set up camp around his skull cave for the week and never talk to anyone involved again unless they have more money.

Of course, that’s not how it goes, because the guests leave the egg room and he is immediately abandoned after the mercenary section of the job for Quackity, Techno and Sam to contain the egg. After several hours of scaring off stray party guests who look conversational, waiting for someone to deliver his paycheck, Quackity and Techno emerge. They seem surprised to see Purpled waiting outside the egg chamber.

“You’re still here?” Techno asks, “What about your hobo life?”

“I haven’t been paid yet.” Purpled shrugs.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’ve got your money over at Las Nevadas, you can come pick it up with me.” Quackity smiles and waves his hands. Purpled sighs and gets off the stray blocks he’d been seated on.

“Or I could pay you at the artic house and Quackity could compensate me for that.” Techno offers.

“That’s an unreasonable amount of travel, I can just show him Las Nevadas,” Quackity starts.

“Just wanted to let him know it was an option. To not go see Las Nevadas.” Techno shrugs, looking over at Purpled, who is trying very hard to keep his antennae from vibrating out of his hood with irritation.

“What’s closer?” Purpled asks.

“Las Nevadas.” Quackity answers.

“Let’s go there.” Purpled waves his hand in a ‘get moving’ gesture, and the three start off towards Las Nevadas. Techno and Quackity start some argument over paying him in different formats, and then Techno coming along, and then something else, that inevitably leads into arguing anarchy and capitalism and whether or not Las Nevadas being a country made it a government. Purpled really just wanted to get paid and curl up somewhere damp and cold to sleep, but he was quickly learning nothing was simple with Technoblade and Quackity.

“And we’re here!” Quackity cuts off Technoblade, gesturing to a sign proclaiming ‘Welcome to Las Nevadas’. There’s buildings and roads and structures behind it, a fleshed-out strip of city life plopped into a desert. It’s humid and hot and makes Purpled feel more sleepy than engaged, but whatever works for Quackity. Purpled yawns.

“So where’s my money?”

“This way! It’s in the back of the restaurant.” Quackity leads off down the road, and Purpled follows, followed in turn by Technoblade. He didn’t know why Techno was still there, but he wasn’t going to protest a seven foot anarchist hellpig monitoring his monetary transaction. Quackity led them down a concrete road to a diner-style restaurant that smelled of grease and something inexplicably cave-like that put Purpled just slightly on edge. Quackity was quickly bustling, wiping tables with a cloth as he passed and bumping open the door to the back room with his hip, obviously comfortable here. Purpled and Techno wait in peaceful quiet for a few glorious moments, before there’s a loud crash noise from the back. Purpled summons his sword to his hand and blocks to his offhand in more instinct than thought, running to the back to see what the hell was going on. Quackity is holding a slime block, with several collapsed shelves next to him, absolutely covered with goop. He whirls around, looking guilty. Purpled lowers his sword.

“Uh, you okay?” He asks. Quackity nods and smiles, shoving the slime block into a chest (it didn’t compact, that was curious) and walking past the broken shelves to another chest.

“It’s all here! I separated it out from the rest.” Quackity smiles, a bit too wide, which makes Purpled suspicious, but he looks in the chest and the emeralds are all there. The stacks weigh right, and Purpled taps a few against the wall to check they’re the right material. He deems them right and true, and stashes them in his inventory. Quackity and Techno seem to be having a wordless argument over the broken shelves, and Purpled steps around them to the door back out front. He leaves the restaurant and walks out to the street, sighing with relief at finally being able to go back to the cave and sleep for a week. He hears something like someone exiting a store and maybe words, but the humid air is dragging his eyelids shut and he’s already walking back.

{<>}

Purpled wakes up the next morning comfortable and cool, with a mild crick in his neck from sleeping on his back on the ground of the skull cave.

He also wakes up to someone else in the room, which quickly dissuades any feeling of satisfaction at sleeping well. He silently equips his sword, before jumping up and whirling around to face the intruder.

The intruder is Technoblade, who looks supremely unimpressed with the sword pointed at him, and appears to be knitting a scarf.

“Mornin. Got a job.” He huffs. Purpled lowers the sword and sighs, pressing his fingers between his sets of eyes.

“What now?”

“Berry farm.” Techno says, with enlightening detail.

“What?” Purpled asks.

“You do jobs other than killin’ people? I want a berry farm. Easier than stealing from Phil or Ranboo or lookin’ round for berries to feed my foxes.” Techno explains shortly.

“Yeah, sure, what am I being paid?” Purpled sighs, unequipping his sword and crossing his arms.

“I’ll give ya whatever I deem the value is when you’re done. Baseline fifteen iron blocks?” Techno asks. Purpled’s eyes widen slightly in mostly suppressed surprise.

“I don’t do fancy redstone setups.”

“Not what I was askin’. Just a farm. I’ve got a spot.” Techno shrugs, “Fifteen iron blocks work?”

“Yes. That’s fine.” Purpled answers hurriedly, closing the deal before Techno backs it down. Techno nods, stands up, and walks out. Purpled follows after him, taking only a moment to hurry down to the basement and collect a few odd berries to plant. The walk is quiet, but not tense. Purpled pulls out a few spare bread to eat for breakfast, and Techno looks at the scenery while he steers his boat. The arctic is there faster than Purpled expects, though he suspects that’s because Quackity’s chatter made it feel a lot longer the first time. Techno strides around to the side of the house where there’s a small open space.

“This is where I want it. Go wild, I don’t care, just as long as it works.” Techno says, before going back around to a door, walking in, and disappearing to let Purpled be. Purpled plants the berries he has first, making three even rows of tiny, leafy shrubs, before running off to fell spruce trees for fences. He’s two trees in, swatting at high up branches to collect saplings to plant for efficiency, when his antenna twitch under his helmet and hood, sensing movement and warmth. It wasn’t Technoblade- the steps were light and loud, not heavy but silent, and the presence was staying out of his peripheral. They weren’t stupid, though, if he was anyone else they’d be inaudible. He finishes swatting branches down, collecting up saplings. He switches to his axe, moving to swing at the tree, but instead swinging around and summoning his shield to his arm, leaping toward where he’d guessed the person to be. The presence, or man, puts his hands up.

“Philza.” Purpled says simply.

“Uh, hi mate. Mind putting the axe down?” Phil grins earnestly, and Purpled narrows his eyes.

“What were you doing?”

“Well, I was trying to figure out if you needed spruce, because I have some, but if you want me to go-“

“I’m fine.” Purpled shoulders his shield and turns back to chopping down trees.

“Techno would probably prefer you didn’t destroy all the trees. Property value, and all that?” Philza extends. Purpled sighs, pocketing the logs from the tree and placing a sapling in its place. He takes a breath, thinking over his options.

“Fine.” He nods to Phil, who smiles and nods and turns to walk to his house. It was connected to Techno’s by a short bridge, but Phil led him around to the door and started rummaging through his chests. He pulled out a stack of spruce wood and tossed it over to Purpled, who tucked it in his inventory.

“Okay.” Purpled nods and goes over to the crafting table, making sticks and then fences and a few fence gates. Phil watches him the whole time, which is unnerving. He had eyes like a hawk, in a literal sense, and being watched through the motions of crafting just felt weird.

“You’re good at that. I can see why Techno likes you.” Phil notes.

“Tell Techno if he likes me so much he can hire me full time for busy work, as long as he quits showing up at my house.” Purpled snaps back sarcastically.

“Well, maybe not busy work… have you met Niki and Ranboo?” Phil asks.

“Yes.” Purpled responds, switching his minimal log collection into more wood for sticks.

“Really? Interesting. Ranboo joined a bit after you were online often, didn’t he?”

“We were both part of new l’manburg,” Purpled shrugs, “His pets wandered into my base occasionally, and we passed by each other a few times when I left before the explosions.”

“Oh.” Phil says, looking down.

“I don’t care about you blowing it up, if you’re worried about that. I’m as neutral to you as I am to everyone else. Just kind of irritating to lose a base.” Purpled shrugs again, finishing his crafting.

“I’m going to place these fences now.” Purpled leaves the house and Phil and the weird conversation, and he goes to place fences and collect the few berries that grew to start more planting.

{<>}

Several hours and an irritating amount of thorn scratches and tears later, the farm was done. It was straightforward, fenced in, with little poles holding lanterns to spawn proof it. There’s some hoppers and chests and composters around by the fencegates, and a simple setup of slabs to keep from walking straight into thorns while absentmindedly gathering or managing technology. The sun is setting, so Purpled knocks on Techno’s door to summon him to evaluate his work before the light is gone. Techno answers quickly, opening the door and quirking his head.

“The farm is done.”

Techno looks slightly confused, nose scrunching, but he steps out anyway. He looked like he was settling down for the night, gold reading glasses perched on his nose, book under one arm, and normal high-laced boots and fancy clothes replaced with warm slippers and drapy pajamas. Purpled shuffles out to the side of the house and gestures to his handiwork. Techno looks at it, walks around the perimeter, checks the hoppers with the book. He collects his book and nods.

“Good work. Come in, I’ll grab my iron.” Techno leaves the door open while he goes inside, and Purpled follows him, closing it behind him. Techno rummages through his enderchest, counting out blocks and mumbling under his breath. Purpled stands by the door, rubbing a berry thorn scratch with his thumb.

“Here. 25. Five for the hoppers, five for the slabs.”

Purpled looks at the iron blocks handed to him, squinting.

“I got the hoppers from your-“

“Five for the hoppers, five for the slabs. 15 was minimum. You did good. Or should I pay you less for working all day?” Techno asks sarcastically.

“No. This works.” Purpled crosses the room to the enderchest, putting the iron in it.

“Well, I’ll be off. You know where to find me, I guess.”

“And no more showing up while you’re asleep.” Techno nods, with a sarcastic smile.

“That would be nice, yes.”

Purpled turns around to put his hand on the door, and the other door opens.

“Techno, you will not believe th- oh, hello Purpled.” Philza greets.

“I was just leaving-“

“At this time? It’s about to snow. You’ll end up dead in the woods.” Phil raises an eyebrow.

Purpled looks outside, and there is not a cloud in sight.

“Trust him.” Techno says, like he sensed Purpled’s doubt through his skull.

“I think Ranboo has a few spare beds from netherite mining, we could set you up in one of the lower rooms. Do you mind animals?” Philza says, already climbing the ladder to check for a spot.

“I can manage a storm and some mobs.” Purpled shrugs.

“You’re already cold. What am I gonna do? Mug you?” Techno asks, leaning his weight against the villager trade setup as if to prove a point.

“There’s some soup in my chests, have you eaten dinner?” Phil climbs back to Techno and Purpled’s level.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Purpled takes out a piece of bread and sinks his teeth into it.

“Alright. You can ask Ranboo for a bed, Techno and I can move around some animals.” Philza nods, and the two are gone before Purpled can edge in another word about how it was * literally* just some snow and mobs. He sighs, trudging around to a door and stepping out. It was really darkening fast, the spawn proofing of the area the only thing between Purpled and severe irritation by mobs. Purpled crosses over to Ranboo’s cozy-looking cabin, knocking on the door.

“Hey, did you guys need something? I don’t have anymore-“ Ranboo opens the door and stops.

“Oh! Hey... Purpled.”

“Hello. I was told to retrieve a bed.” Purpled informs him.

“I think I have a few left over from netherite mining, right this way.” Ranboo says, walking into his cozy cabin, tail swishing. Purpled follows hesitantly, closing the door to keep the cold out. The glass in the window was tinted white, diluting the light that came in, making lamps the only real source at this hour. A cat weaves past Purpled’s ankles, purring. Purpled kneels down to pet it. It wasn’t often that cats didn’t mind him, but he supposes it makes sense, if this cat was Ranboo’s. Ranboo pokes his head from around the corner.

“What color bed?” Ranboo asks.

“Don’t care. Just a white one is fine.”

“Purple it is!” Ranboo smiles and disappears back around the corner. The cat paws gently at the top of Purpled’s cheek, and it takes a lot of self control to stop his second eyes from watering or blinking open.

“Stop it, you’ll expose me.” He whispers to the cat, kissing it’s soft head. It meows at him and butts against his shins again. He smiles and strokes it, fur surprisingly soft against his thorn-irritated hands. Ranboo comes back around the corner, holding a purple bed inventory card. He tosses it to Purpled, who catches it and tucks it into his inventory.

“See you around!” Ranboo waves as Purpled leaves.

“Yeah, sure.” Purpled waves back, trekking through the snow back to Techno’s. Clouds had started to gather, but only a few. It hadn’t started snowing yet. If it ever would. Purpled enters the house to the sounds of chatter and clicking.

“Chat, I said one  meal stream, and I meant lunch.”

“When have they ever listened?” Techno laughs, coming up the ladder. A few crows and then Philza flutter up after him. Then more crows. Then more crows. Then more crows, and then more crows, and yeah.

“Oh, hey Purpled! Say hi to Purpled, chat.” Philza directs to the hoard of crows. A few land on him, clicking their beaks, and they seem experienced enough with people to not land on anything but his armor, but he was not expecting to be a crow perch. One of them pulls at his hood and another at the hair dangerously close to the top of his head, and he waves them away.

“This is my chat, Purpled. Sorry, they’re a bit irritating sometimes. We’re off to eat dinner, the second layer down is cleared up for you.” Philza says, promptly leaving with Techno and his murder of crows. Purpled sighs and climbs down the ladder to the second layer. Thankfully it’s cool and damp, proper cave like, and he sets down his bed and can finally go to sleep so he can leave.

{<>}

Purpled wakes up just before the sun lifts above the horizon. Sure enough, the snow layer was much thicker than the night before, several tree branches felled and mostly buried. A few mobs wandered at just the cusp of his vision, the very edge of the spawn proofed area. It was irritating that he couldn’t open his secondary eyes and see what the movement was through tracking the patterns it followed, but he was in Techno’s house, and that meant humanity. He goes back down the ladder, grabs the bed, takes the back door outside and starts the trek back home. The sun was rising on the snow, and it was rather beautiful, the different colors reflected on the flakes like a thousand tiny shards of glass. Purpled doesn’t take much time to stare. He had work to do when he got home.

{<>}

Techno wakes up to check on Purpled to find him already gone, with quite literally zero trace except a few moved animals and a new berry farm. Techno hadn’t expected him to finish it in one day, had thought he’d gone home before the sun had started dipping below the hills. Oh, well. He’d seemed fine enough to stay the night. And it had gotten him to talk to Ranboo, if only briefly.

The plan was going well.

Chapter Text

Purpled had his undisturbed peace back for a grand total of one day.

He put his new riches away, rebuilt the entrance to the skull with a redstone contraption for more privacy, replenished his stores of bread, and took a great nap. He wasn’t lonely at all, either! Just… maybe putting on one of Ponk’s old sweatshirts because he was cold.

And putting on a beanie he stole from Punz to cover his antennae. Because his safety was compromised until the door was built.

Turns out his safety was compromised anyway, because the next afternoon he heard the sounds of pistons and walked out to see Quackity with a shit-eating grin. Though he usually had a shit-eating grin.

“Purpled! I’ve got another job for you!” He yells over. Purpled sighs and waves him into the cave.

“You could message me like a normal person.”

“You never respond to messages.”

“That’s the point .” Purpled says pointedly.

“Well! I’ve got a half a stack of emeralds if you’d help one of my new employees gather materials for Las Nevadas today.” Quackity claps his hands together.

Purpled puts his fingers between his sets of eyes and sighs.

“Fine. But just the rest of today.” Purpled says.

“Works for me!” Quackity marches back outside, and Purpled follows. They walk in silence for only a brief time.

“So what do you do when you’re not busy?”

“Work on my bases. Run around in the woods. Gather materials.” Purpled shrugs.

“No I meant like, for fun?”

“Practice fighting. Or clutches. Or bridging. Or-“

“Yeah, I get the gist. You really need a hobby.” Quackity laughs. Purpled shrugs.

“Fighting’s fun. Gets your mind off stuff.” Purpled shrugs.

“You really  need a hobby.” Quackity laughs again, with a tinge of worry.

Purpled just keeps walking along, shrugging again.

“What do you suggest? Gambling?”

“No, I suggest a part time job or something. You need to talk to people.” Quackity says, tilting his head so he can look at Purpled’s face.
“I don’t like people.”

“Well you might like some of them, if you talked to them.” Quackity points out.

“I don’t like talking to people either.”

“When was the last time you held a conversation with someone besides me or Techno?” Quackity asks.

“I talked to Philza and Ranboo yesterday.” Purpled points out.

“Before yesterday.” Quackity asks. Purpled stops walking for a moment to stretch out his hands (still stiff from coating blades with harming potion + berry scratches) and Quackity walks back around to his side.

“Uhhhhhh… chat messaged lil nas when he visited? When was that?”

“In person.” Quackity adds. Purpled doesn’t see why he keeps adding criteria to his question, but sighs, thinking.

“Oh yeah! The eggheads came to hire me to off Puffy a month or two before the banquet.” Purpled offers proudly. Quackity bites his lip, some tic Purpled hadn’t seen before.

“Well! After you help gather materials, how would you feel about a part-time job? Something like guarding doors, keeping Las Nevadas establishments honorable?” Quackity says cheerily, swapping the mood his face presented like a push of a button.

“How would I be paid? And I don’t do it full time. Three days a week, maximum.” Purpled flexes his fingers one last time and starts walking again.

“Let’s say three diamonds daily? Shifts from about noon to night.” Quackity offers.

“Reasonable. I might take you up on it if today is decent,” Purpled shrugs, “No promises.”

“Of course. You’ll probably meet most of my staff today, if you haven’t already.” Quackity starts off on a new conversation topic Purpled barely follows, dodging questions that hit a little too close to digging for information. Quackity is quite good at carrying his own topic, though, so most of it is half-listening as the walk is finished. A tock or so later they’re at Las Nevadas, and are immediately located by a familiar fox man.

“Quackity! We have shit to do, man, where did you run off to?” Fundy runs up the road, halting a few blocks off when he spots Purpled. Fundy squints at Purpled, who waved half-heartedly.

“What the fuck?”

“Hello, Fundy! This is Purpled, he’ll be helping you today and might be joining the staff!” Quackity says cheerily.

“I know who this fucking is, Quackity, I just haven’t seen him since the god damn Manburg takedown. I thought you died in the woods, until you turned up at the banquet!” The last comment is directed at Purpled, and Fundy strides over to take Purpled by the shoulders and look him over. Purpled leans backwards but is otherwise unable to escape the fox man.

“I was busy.” Purpled offers, leaning back further as Fundy looks him over. Seemingly satisfied, Fundy releases him.

“Maybe turn up at a few large events if you disappear again. Most of us thought you ran off and died.” Fundy says scathingly.

“So I’ve been told.” Purpled shrugs.

“Well! We need to work on some house savings while the others get ahold of some customers.” Quackity grasps his hands together and strides down the road. Purpled follows, Fundy just behind him. Fundy seems irritatingly insistent on bringing up the rear, which is fair enough, because Purpled is too. Quackity leads them through the impressive strip of city, until they come to the opening of a strip mine.

“I’ll be off to work on some sales pitching, so you boys have fun.” Quackity teases, ruffling Fundy’s hair. Fundy makes a reproachful sound, and Quackity is gone.

So Purpled’s alone for the afternoon.

“Why do you smell like cave and… metal? Rubbing alcohol? Where do you spend your time?” Fundy asks.

Purpled is alone for the afternoon because he did not  run away, thanks, he made a tactical retreat. Straight down the pit to the strip mine without using the ladder. Unfortunately, Fundy was very persistent, and simply changed the question.

“Have you ever mined competitively?” Fundy asks.

“No.”

“Do you want to? It makes the time go faster."

“No.”

“Awh, well that’s probably for the best. I think your pickaxe has better enchantments, and I’m not stupid enough to do that twice, ha-ha.” Fundy shudders, like he was remembering something cringeworthy.

“Why would you enter a competition crippled?” Purpled lowers his eyebrows, confused.

“Funny story! You ever met Ranboo?”

Fundy is, also, a conversation partner. He filled one sided conversation as easily as Quackity, less awkwardly then Techno, and occasionally rose a startled laugh out of Purpled. Before he knew it, they were walking along a strip mine side-by-side, each taking out two blocks for a 2x2 tunnel.

“So then Tubbo does this stupid spin, and I can practically hear  his yell through his stream gear. It takes like a solid minute for him to go on a voice chat, and so I go-“

“Why are you working for Quackity?” Purpled interrupts. Fundy didn’t seem to mind, shutting his mouth and raising his eyes to think over the question.

“Well, I guess just because he asked. We were really good friends in a rough spot for both of us, so we just reminisced a little and he asked me if I’d like to be friends again. It’s nice to get to know each other in a more normal way, y’know? I get a little split of the profits when he can spare, a time-killer and people to hangout with, he gets another worker and a pal to mess around with, why not?” Fundy shrugs, cracking into a vein of coal. He doesn’t look or feel like he’s lying or misleading in any way, and Purpled huffs out a breath.

“Why, did Quackity not just ask you?” Fundy tilts his head at Purpled.

“I’m just in it for the cash,” Purpled shrugs, taking a swing at a piece of diorite, “And because I don’t think he’d leave me alone if I said no.”

“Sounds like Quackity.” Fundy smiles, and Purpled can’t tell if it’s the fox face or if the smile is knowing . Purpled breaks another block and rolls his shoulders, unsettled.

“What did you say after that?” Purpled prompts to escape his own conversation hell, and Fundy lights up.

“Oh! So then I say, ‘You get a little spooked, Tubbo?’ And he says-“

Purpled spends the rest of the day until the sun sinks listening to Fundy talk, occasionally prompting him forward or asking a key question. He probably shouldn’t, but he’s sort of adjusting to being around people. It’s nice sometimes, not to be surrounded by nothing but endless silence and the world reflecting back into your ears. Maybe another set of footsteps beside you.

Those were thoughts he could go over after he’d finished fixing his UFO. This was temporary. A pickup job for a few months to cover a lost score and get more material. Purpled shakes his head and zones back in, walking down the road towards Quackity.

“Gentleman! Lovely work.” Quackity grins as Purpled and Fundy hand over their materials. Quackity swipes through his inventory.

“Your half stack of emeralds, as promised, Purpled.” Quackity tosses over the emeralds and Purpled counts them and tests them, nodding.

“Thanks. Fundy.” Purpled splits the stack evenly in half, tossing Fundy 16 emeralds. He looks at them, confused.

“I thought you were in this for cash?”

“You worked too. It’s only fair. Your time is worth as much money as mine is.” Purpled shrugs.

The other two are quiet. Purpled takes his cue to leave, but Fundy grabs his shoulder before he can walk too far.

“Thanks, Purpled.” Fundy smiles. His voice sounds a little scratchy, and Purpled shrugs again.

“No problem. I’m rich as hell.”

“Then you wonder why you need me to pay you so damn much. Come back in a few days. We’re always busy in Las Nevadas.” Quackity grumbles, but he’s smiling too. It’s confusing. Purpled takes this cue to leave, instead, waving and turning around to walk away. He gets back to the cave just as the moon hits its peak, and sleeps soundly curled up in his cool, dark corner.

{<>}

“Yeah, I know. He was over yesterday, I was in the room with him and Phil.”

“That’s the only thing he could think of besides the eggpire hiring him.”

“...you got him for a part time job?”

“Of goddamn course I did, and he split his pay with Fundy unasked just because he was nice to him.”

“Send me the schedule, I need to write down a few things."

Chapter Text

Purpled has another undisturbed day. And then another one.

It feels weird being alone after being bothered. His antennae are all shaky and rattly looking for heat signatures that aren’t there, and a few lenses of his lower eyes keep catching light reflections as fake movement. He gets stuff done, though, collecting up iron and stone and redstone, finding a few more shroomlights near his nether portal, and experimenting with a few colors of glass and water. He’d like some beacons, but that would advertise his location unnecessarily, which is stupid as hell. The evening of the second day Purpled shoves on his helmet and considers a walk, but if he wasn’t getting paid for his time, then he didn’t want to be around people. Dogchamp was enough, walking him and petting him and feeding him. Dogchamp made good company.

Dogchamp made his sleeping space covered in fur and warmer than he liked. That was okay, because he still slept better than being separated from Dogchamp by layers of stone.

The third day was interrupted mid-morning by the sound of pistons and a succeeding mad dash through his inventory to put on a helmet. He hears yelling, and equips his sword and shield, running up the stairs.

It’s just Technoblade, yelling his name.

“Oh! There you are.’

“Hello.” Purpled sighs, unequpping his shield, “What do you want this time?”

“Well, I was gonna pay you for some information, but if you’re in a bad mood-”
“No no! I have information. So much. All the information.” Purpled interrupts.

“Alright then. Come on.” Techno turns around and starts walking away, which is confusing, but Purpled’s life has been confusing lately, so fair enough. If Techno wanted to walk all the way over and drag Purpled to his house instead of putting payment in his enderchest and making the one trip, then Purpled could badger him for extra from the travel, and Techno could feel more secure or whatever reason he needed a three sentence exchange several biomes over for. Techno starts chatting, to him, to the open air, to his chat and to the occasional passing mob. Purpled can’t tag it between ‘nervous chatter’ and ‘casual filler’, which probably means he’s out of practice. Purpled listens, spaces in and out, and watches Techno’s cape swish. He thinks about what he’s gonna tell Dogchamp about today all the way to the arctic, until he spots someone who is definitely not one of three people he knows lives there. Niki Nihachu is in Technoblade’s yard, setting up a long wooden table.

Okay. Not the weirdest thing he’d seen all year.

Techno walks straight through the gate and up towards the house, and Purpled follows.

“Hullo, Niki.” Techno greets.

“Ah! Hello, Techno!” Niki looks up and smiles.

“And hello to you too, uh, Purpled.” Niki waves to Purpled, who has been expertly masked behind Technoblade.

“Hi.” Purpled says intelligently.

“You two know each other?” Techno asks.

“Not really…” Purpled shrugs.

“Not that well.” Niki smiles warmly to Purpled.

“It’s good to see you.”

Purpled’s hands tighten into fists.

They’d met in a bunker lined with war supplies. Meeting his eyes, a smile, a nod, the only acknowledgement he’d had for following his heart.

She barely remembered his name .

Purpled knew he shouldn’t place validation over doing what was right, but damn  him if it wasn’t so hard. Was wanting the side you fought for in a thankless war to recognize your face so wrong?

“It’s good to see you too.” Purpled nods to Niki. She smiles and turns back to wrangling the table leaf, Techno walking to the inside of the house. Ranboo and Philza were chatting by the chests, and they both looked up as Techno entered. Purpled lets the door shut behind Techno, skipping the need to greet Philza and Ranboo and sitting down on the steps, staring off into the middle distance.

“Purpled, there’s some chairs by the pond, do you mind?” Niki asks, shaking Purpled out of slowly spacing out.

“Oh, sure.” Purpled hops off the steps, passing Niki (still very much tangled in combat with the table latch) and grabbing the chairs piled by the pond. He sets them out around the table, and Niki manages to lock the table leaf in, giving herself a proud smile. Purpled returns to the steps and almost gets mowed over by Technoblade stepping out the door.

“Phil wants you.” Techno looks down at Purpled, who sighs.

“Okay.” Purpled gets up and walks inside, almost immediately accosted by Ranboo smiling and handing him a sandwich.

“Breakfast!” He informs Purpled.

“Already had some.” Purpled tries, but Techno bumps his shoulder.

“No you didn’t. Philza made you a sandwich.”

Purpled can’t tell if that’s a threat or a genuine statement. Purpled takes the sandwich.

“So when do you want to talk?” Purpled bites into the sandwich, which is peanut butter and sweet berry jelly.

Fresh sweet berry jelly. Like the farm he made outside. Hm.

“We can have a conversation over lunch, Niki brought cookies.” Techno gently lifts a crow off a brewing stand and puts a few glasses down.

“Why did Philza want me?” Purpled asks.

“To thank you for the berry farm!” Philza jumps down from the ladder, taking Ranboo’s arm like an inbetween rung. Ranboo is entirely unphased, like he was used to being used as a climbing post. Phil smiles and pats Purpled’s shoulder, which Purpled immediately shrugs off.

“Makes for good food. Chat likes it, too, and so does Techo and his foxes, not like he’d admit it.” Phil elbows Techno, who huffs at him.

“So thank you for making it!” Philza smiles at Purpled, and Purpled shrugs again.

“I got paid.”

“Oh, I know. But you did good and did it in a day.” Phil smiles again, looking at Purpled.

“...you’re welcome?” Purpled tries.

Phil nods and moves on, grabbing a few plates and going outside, extending one arm for a crow to land on. It lands directly on top of his hat instead, knocking the brim over his face, and the last thing Purpled hears before Techno shuts the door is Philza spluttering and wooden plates falling to the snow.

“So that’s why the plates are wood.” Ranboo notes with a snort.

“What can I say, chat’s a menace.” Techno smiles before finishing his potions brewing. He hands two to Ranboo and one to Purpled. The pinkish gleam of the liquid is clearly healing potion, and Ranboo puts his in his inventory like this was a totally expected boon. Purpled looks at the glass bottle in his hand, then at Techno, then back to the bottle.

“Down payment. For good info. So you know I can pay you.” Techno blurts. It sounds suspiciously made up on the spot, but Purpled doesn’t see how it can be a trap. He wasn’t lying that  much. He takes the bottle into his inventory, setting it in his hotbar panic slot. Techno and Ranboo both grab a few things strewn over the room- mostly bowls, though Ranboo also grabs a few books- and walk out to the table. Philza and Niki are chatting, Niki petting a few affectionate crows, and they exchange brief hellos with the other two. The bowls are set down, Niki opening a package from her inventory to reveal cookies. There’s an immediate grab for them before she holds them above her head to proclaim they were after  lunch. The four take seats and it becomes clear this is a lunch gathering. Purpled sits down on the stairs, still confused as to why he was here.

“Purpled.” Techno says, somewhat chiding, and Purpled looks up, cocking his head. Techno is pointing to a fifth chair, not the same wood as the others, but still there. It had been set up some time between when Purpled set up chairs and when he was inside, which meant it was here on purpose.

Was he… also invited to lunch?

Technoblade was paying him to sit through lunch with his friends.

Technoblade was paying him to sit through lunch with his friends?

Technoblade  was paying him  to sit through lunch with his friends???

Purpled gets up from the steps and sits in the chair. He’d been placed between Niki and Ranboo, but with the spread of the table he wasn’t close to either. It was square- Niki across from him and Ranboo to his left, Techno sitting at the head of the table with Phil’s chair dragged away from Niki and to the corner where Techno was. Purpled must look as lost as he feels, because Phil has a look like he’d been struck with a dawning realization, turning to Techno with his eyebrows lowering in suspicion.

“Techno, you did invite Purpled to lunch normally, right?”

Techno looks extremely guilty, as much as someone with tusks can cringe.

“ Techno .” Phil laughs, tone still chiding. Niki giggles. Ranboo seems to take pity, turning to Purpled.

“He did this with me, too.”

Ranboo does not elaborate, which helps just so much.

“Techno, what did you say to get Purpled to come-“

“Look, every conversation up until this point had been a business transaction , I automated to doing a business transaction -“ Techno starts, lifting his hand to gesture defensively.

“You did not .” Phil drags his hands down his face.

“We are exchanging information! That’s what a conversation is, Phil, paying people for information.” Techno points out, waving his hands to illustrate his point.

“You are footing this bill with your own money, Technoblade, the syndicate does not need to pay for this, my god-“ Phil’s shoulders start shaking.

“I’m gonna pay him if he wants it!” Techno holds up his hands.

“You brought him on false pretenses, you’re paying him no matter what!” Phil laughs, loud and long, and Niki rolls her eyes again, chuckling good-naturedly. Ranboo smiles along, saccharine, and Purpled tracks his feet kicking the cookie box under his chair while the others are distracted.

“Well, now that we have that  out of the way,” Techno clears his throat, looking sheepish, “Purpled, do you know anything about this whole Las Nevadas thing?”

“Who’s asking?” Is Purpled’s automatic response. He could deal with people after info, a lot better than he could deal with eating lunch with them.

“Hm,” Phil stretches a hand up casually, and a crow lands on his wrist, depositing something in his palm. He looks at it, then looks at Purpled, then squints at the paper again and smacks the crow in a gentle, chiding manner.

“The Syndicate is asking.”

So they’d stopped the cover-up, then. Purpled leans backward, adopting his business mode- aloof, cold, and capable. Powerful. Someone who had connections and money and was blessing the people around them with their time.

“Well I’d tell the Syndicate ,” Purpled hovers on the word, “That Las Nevadas is shaping up to be an extended casino more than it is a threat .”

The table lets out a sigh. They knew what a threat was to the syndicate. Government. Dictatorship. Not capitalism. Not yet, at least.

“And I’d tell Technoblade, Philza, Niki and Ranboo it’s the place I work part time with a few other employees, who are all Quackity’s friends and charity cases.”

There are some interesting reactions to that- Niki grimaces, Phil smiles like there was a weight off his shoulders, Ranboo looks like he wants to ask a question and Techno looks… frustrated? Less angry and more like he lost a bet, but still.

“Who all works there?” Ranboo asks.

“From what I’ve seen, Quackity and Fundy, but there’s supposed to be some other dude called Foolish who’s helping Quackity build, and Sam does one of the… specialized jobs, when he’s not managing the prison. Plus some intern starting training, no name given.” Purpled recalls, citing names and jobs from the shift schedule he’d been messaged. Ranboo nods, satisfied, and Niki pipes up with a question.

“Do you know anyone this intern might be?”

“No idea. Haven't asked yet but I have a feeling Quackity’s gonna be dodgy with answering. I could figure it out, for a little bit of a price-“

“Alright, that’s enough.” Philza raises his hands and everyone sits back.

“We know enough for now, thank you Purpled. Now let’s eat.” Phil uncaps a few bowls and things are passed back and forth- soup, salad, bread, meat, a large assortment of different kinds of potatoes.

“Purpled, if you want to leave, we won’t stop you. Techno did  give you false pretenses.” Phil kicks Techno under the table and Techno flicks mashed potato at his face. Dead accuracy- almost hits Phil in the eye until Phil flings it away with his wing.

“I’ll, uh,” Purpled looks around. A bowl of beetroot soup and a tray of smoked cod is being passed between Niki and Ranboo. If it was three weeks ago, the answer would indubitably be no. But there were people here, with good food they’d cooked that wasn’t semi decent bread and charred or boiled plain fish. And they invited him to lunch, even if they did do it a little wrong.

He’d stay for the soup.

“I’ll stay.” He hurries to fill in the pause between words, and the syndicate smiles at him. Niki passes the beetroot soup over knowingly.

“Have you ever read the Art of War?” Techno asks.

Phil makes a noise that can only be described as an angry raccoon attempting to strangle a pigeon.

{<>}

“You had him over for lunch? How was it?”

“Good. A bit rocky to start, but he’s loosening up. I think.”

“You should trust your own judgement more. It’s never failed me.”

Nails drum on a desk.

“Well, it failed me once.”

“We’re being professional here, Quack. No vendettas. We agreed.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Click .

{<>}

Chapter Text

Quackity strolls along the edge of a picture-perfect pond. It was Purpled’s first day of work, and he had introductions to make and training to do. He was glad Purpled accepted the job- the kid needed some friends, or at least social interaction, and he was a hard worker. Plus Fundy liked him, and when your weird voodoo psychic dream hand-wavy bullshit friend likes someone, you know they’re legit.

The piston door was already open when he arrived, and he walked in slow, looking around for a purple hoodie. He heard talking and stopped to listen.

“So they had this lovely beetroot soup, Ranboo made it? You know Ranboo, half and half guy with the pets we had to kick out of the old house. So Ranboo gave me the recipe on my third bowl in, and Niki made cookies as well! There were so many potato things too. Techno got like all of them at once, do pigs need more carbs or like potatoes or is he just weird? Or big? I don’t know, man, do you? And this was also a book club meeting of some kind. Phil gave me next month’s book so I can come b-“ Purpled’s rambling voice suddenly cuts off and Quackity hears the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

“Who’s there?” Purpled’s voice is cold and hard compared to his bubbly rambling moments ago. This tone of voice is much more familiar, and Quackity steps out, hands up. Purpled has purple wool in his offhand, which is confusing, but his other hand has a very deadly netherite sword that Quackity wants nowhere near him.

There’s also no one else in the room.

Purpled sees Quackity and lowers the blade.

“How long have you been standing there?” Purpled asks.

“Not long at all, I just got here.” Quackity answers. Purpled looks suspicious- he was like some kind of human lie detector, and Quackity had barely fudged the truth- but puts the sword away. He still has a stack of purple wool in his offhand, but Quackity won’t give him grief for it.

“Why are you here? My shift starts at noon.”

“It’s a long walk, and I was thinking about getting you some lunch before we start. My treat.” Quackity smiles in a way he hopes looks kind.

“Sure. One minute.” Purpled turns on his heel and crouches down, and Quackity sees who, or rather what, Purpled was talking to. His heart breaks a little bit. A big white-grey dog with a purple silk collar and a metal name tag sits on the floor. The name tag reads Dogchamp, and the dog is probably around 90 pounds of plain muscle, excluding his extra luxurious fluff and almost mane-like fur around his neck. Sitting down he reached well past Quackity’s hips. Purpled wraps his arms around Dogchamp’s neck for a quick hug, the dog setting his head on Purpled’s shoulder like Purpled did this often, before Purpled gestures for him to follow. Dogchamp gets up and trots after Purpled obediently as he opens a hidden door into an open, warm space. They both disappear and Purpled comes back dog-less and covered in white hair.

“Had to go sit him down somewhere safe. Let’s go.” Purpled says, brushing hair off his pants and walking off. Quackity follows, the scene before he walked in playing over and over in his head. Purpled talking, enthused, about what sounded like a visit to the arctic. Talking to his dog, one sided but like the dog could respond  if it wanted to. Probably the most words Quackity had ever heard him speak, directed to Dogchamp like he did this frequently enough for it to be a half-unconscious habit. How long has  it been since Purpled had trusted someone human enough to talk to them like that? How long, excluding business and the past week, had it been since Purpled talked to someone about anything?

“Hey. Stop.” Purpled directs the statement to Quackity.

“What?” Quackity asks.

“You’re thinking too loud. Whatever you saw or heard or thought you saw, no you didn’t.” Purpled says roughly.

“Can I not walk with you in pleasant quiet?” Quackity teases, and Purpled sighs.

“You had the stupid pity look on your face. Like when you stopped the execution at the banquet and Bad got all shaky. Stop.” Purpled shifts uncomfortably, like even this level of conversation unsettled him. He was a perceptive little rat.

“I’m not pitying you.”

“You’re pitying me. I have an excellent dog and that is all  the company I need to keep, thank you.” Purpled says in a manner that doesn’t book argument, and starts walking faster. Quackity sighs internally and mentally starts listing notes for Techno and workplace trust-building activities.

“Alright. Fine by me.”

{<>}

This morning had been a rattle.

Purpled barely managed to affix his helmet over his antennae and draw a sword, and if Quackity hadn’t been eavesdropping, he would’ve been done. His guard was down too low. He needed to start laying down boundaries if Quackity was going to employ him, and ones for Techno visiting, as well.

But that would be later, because if he did that now  it would feel over defensive after the Incident. For now he could focus on Quackity’s single minded need to introduce him to his coworkers.

“Foolish looks a little bit intimidating, but I promise he’s nice. Just a guy who likes building and wants to hang out around more people. He even lets some of the Badlands people live around his house. You know Fundy, you and him have similar duties and will be hanging out a lot. Sam’s busy and a bit of a mess, but he’s respectful and polite. You probably won’t see much of our intern at first, he’s still learning a lot, but I’ll introduce you when the time comes. I’m sure you’ll get along fine, though!” Quackity rambles cheerily, walking down the main road. Purpled’s antennae flick under his helmet and hood, and he turns around to where the movement is.

“Ah, Foolish! Hello!” Quackity turns around with him. A golden statue is standing behind them.

The statue smiles and waves, which is unexpected.

The man was huge. Larger than life in every meaning of the words, with glamorous ancient looking clothes, gold skin, and a height that was at least two and a half times Purpled’s. His smile was bright and sunny and very, very sharp. His eyes were emerald green, in the fact they were actually (or at least appearance wise) made of emeralds.

And he had a shark on his head, which somehow didn’t seem that odd compared to everything else.

“You must be Purpled! It’s nice to meet you, Quackity told me you’d be working with us.” Foolish leans down in a bow and offers his hand to Purpled to shake. Purpled shakes it, gloved hand absolutely dwarfed by Foolish’s.

“Uh, hi.” Purpled smiles (never the most natural thing to him, and he probably looked a bit shell shocked) and takes a step back so looking at Foolish’s face doesn’t take an uncomfortable craning of the neck.

“He might look a little odd, but he’s nice. And an excellent builder.” Quackity encourages Purpled. Quackity then turns from encouraging Purpled to talk to Foolish.

“He’s a bit rough around the edges, don’t mind his manners. He’s a good kid though, and good at fighting and building.” Quackity says encouragingly to Foolish.

“Building? Oh, have you done anything I might recognize?” Foolish looks immediately more engaged in the conversation.

“My UFO.” Purpled says. Foolish looks blank, but polite.

“It’s on the prime path, near spawn.” Purpled elaborates.

“Oh! That UFO! It’s a nice work, definitely recognizable. For certain makes walking around so much more scenic.” Foolish grins again, lips closed to hide his teeth, and Purpled realizes he is probably trying very hard to be friendly and nonthreatening. Not everyone was lucky enough to be able to hide behind a helmet, gloves, and extra eyelids.

“Thank you. It’s one of my best. What have you worked on here?” Purpled asks.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked! I’ve done a summer house for me in the desert, the big mansion at Snowchester, Kinoko Kingdom, some stuff here and there for Las Nevadas, a bunch of little things.” Foolish laughs.

“The mansion is the second biggest and best house on the server, right behind his summer house.” Quackity notes smugly.

“Oh, flattery.” Foolish waves a hand, but looks pleased.

“Well, I live in a rock, so I haven’t heard of most of these, but I’ll have to check it out, if this place is any point of reference.” Purpled looks around at the buildings of Las Nevadas, and Foolish beams wider.

“Oh, you’ll have to let me show you! Well, come on, Fundy is back this way with Sam, we’re ready to have lunch.” Foolish walks off to a restaurant and Quackity and Purpled follow. Quackity seems immensely pleased with himself, and the restaurant door rings cheerily when it opens. Fundy is holding four plates like a proper waiter, and sets them down before waving to the three.

“Hello Purpled, Quackity I got you a sandwich, Foolish I got you some of those golden carrots, Sam here’s your mushroom stew.” Fundy says in a long sentence, setting down a plate of what looks like mixed berries over steak for himself.

“And for Purpled, I didn’t want to presume, would you like anything?” Fundy asks with a polite smile.

“Some water is fine.” Purpled shrugs.

“He’ll have beetroot soup.” Quackity suggests.

That bastard.

Fundy runs off to the kitchen again and there’s the sounds of buttons being pressed very quickly, in a fashion that they cannot finish a sound before the next one starts. At least lunch wasn’t incredibly high effort? Foolish and Quackity sit down on one bench, leaving a spot for Fundy and Purpled on the other side with Sam. Sam looks like he’d pulled a late shift and is here against his will, but he at least looks comfortable, slurping at his mushroom soup without a care in the world. Or with too many cares, that he simply had lost the amount of energy required to look distressed externally.

“You can sit down, Purpled.” Quackity suggests, and Purpled does sit down, the upholstered seat surprisingly nice for the low quality look of the diner. Fundy is already back with a drink tray of water bottles and something that looks like straight honey, which Foolish takes. Fundy also sets a bowl of beetroot soup down in front of Purpled.

He’s hit with something like a freight train, all sound going to background noise for a moment. He’d had beetroot soup yesterday. This was somehow different- he hadn’t ladeled it himself, they were inside, Fundy had patted his hand in a friendly manner, something something- and he misses. His chest hurts. He missed Ponk’s beetroot soup.

Purpled fades back in to someone waving a hand in front of his face.

“rpled? Do you want a straw?” Fundy asks, somewhat worried.

“No, thank you.” Purpled says, snapping himself out of wherever he’d been. He looks up at the table and everyone other than Sam (fallen asleep on the bench) looked worried.

“Sorry, spaced out a bit.” Purpled smiles and takes a drink of his soup. Foolish and Fundy relax, but Quackity stills looks suspicious. The soup is good.

“Well, as you probably know from shift schedules, Sam does mainly overnights here as entertainment, and works most of his days at the prison. Foolish is working on construction and expansion with me, plus enlisting customers. Our intern is going to run games and tables, and so will you and Fundy, but you’ll probably be a busboy with Fundy as well. The intern can cover most of the games stuff. Basically, you go where you’re needed to help out.” Quackity explains, taking a drink of his water. Purpled switches his brain off, ready to consume information, and skates through the conversation. Quackity explains restaurant information and game information and where he is and isn’t allowed, going over it twice or three times for Fundy and Foolish. He’s walked through Las Nevadas, instructed on the ins and outs, followed behind by Fundy and Foolish (Sam was left asleep at the restaurant, laid out on a bench with a suit jacket bunched under his head and a gold-studded cosplay hat and coat laid over his shoulders and face) who give running commentary on what they deem important. Foolish is a very effective measure of supplying shade and also, apparently, water bottles, since he lived in a desert. Purpled’s firmly barred from entry to the strip club and given a work badge that he has to wear to bars so no one serves him drinks. Purpled thinks that is a little funny, since he’d been waiting for Punz in Hypixel strip club dressing rooms with a very stocked alcohol cabinet more times then he could count.

Not that he said that. Quackity would probably try to wrap him in bubble wrap.

Foolish mentioned something about making an ID checker machine, which sent the three of them off on a long enough tangent that Purpled could turn around and sneak a breather for his poor secondary eyes. If he didn’t open them every now and again he’d be overwhelmed by heat signatures and light even back at the cave. Then Fundy spotted something he was working on and went sprinting up to it and Purpled had to re-close his lower eyelids. It was a nice change of pace, though.

When everything was over and done with, it was almost the end of Purpled’s allotted work time. The sun was dipping down, just touching the edge of the horizon, bloody and red over the sand and through the cool air. The four of them had ascended to the top of the needle, Fundy passing around some water and Quackity standing at the opposite end for a smoke break. Purpled looked out over the city as the sun set, lights flicking on and casting miles-long shadows and a hazy glow of warmth. His top eyelids drooped with warm exhaustion.

“Well, I should probably go find Sam and make sure he’s alright.” Foolish smiles and waves, hopping down the hole to the bottom of the tower.

“I also have things to do! So many important things. Like… feeding my child, fuck, oh god-“ Fundy is suddenly overtaken with panic, doing a running leap to the tower descent. Purpled raises and eyebrow. Quackity looks mildly irritated, taking a drag of his cigarette. The end glows in the fading light, and Quackity exhales a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipates into just the smell of tobacco and ashes.

“Smoking kills, you know.” Purpled says, bemused, fiddling with a fraying bit of one black glove.

“Stress kills more. Leave me be.” Quackity jokes back, sighing after.

“So what is it you needed to ask me?” Purpled asks.

“Why would you think I need to ask you something?” Quackity tilts his head, tapping the edge of his cigarette on an ashtray.

“F and F seemed pretty keen on getting out of here.” Purpled leans back on the glass railing, looking nonchalant.

“Well, I was gonna pay you. And offer you a place to stay.”

“I have a house. Two, actually, three if you count the UFO.” Purpled responds, ticking off on his fingers.

“Just overnight. It’s pretty late. Might make a habit of it, seeing as you’ll be working these hours this month. If you’d like to, that is.” Quackity plants his half finished cigarette in the ashtray, lacing his hands together and sitting languidly in the tray. It’s a ploy- his whole body is vibrating with tension and his foot is tapping inaudibly and invisible under the table. Unless you had antennae, that is.

“I’m not gonna say no to wages. But I’d have to know what kind of sleeping situation it is.” Purpled shrugs.

“It’s kind of cold and shitty, to be honest, but there’s a single door that locks and no windows. Plus an ender chest and crafting tools.”

“Perfect,” Purpled yawns, “Take me there.”

It’s an overall short trip. The room is pleasantly and fittingly cool and damp, and Purpled takes one look at the bed and falls face-down onto it. It’s a nice bed. Quackity huffs a laugh.

“You didn’t take off your armor and shoes, idiot.” He says, browsing a few chests and unhooking a key from his keychain. Purpled takes off the armor and shoes and drops them in a chest, leaving his hat over his antennae and gloves on. He slides into the bed and waits for Quackity to leave. Quackity sets the key down- probably for the door- and looks at him curiously.

“Do you sleep in the hat and gloves?”

“...yes.” Purpled says carefully. Quackity doesn’t look like he believes him, but walks out with a wave and a quiet ‘goodnight’, turning the lights off as he goes. Purpled jumps up, grabs the key and locks the door. He puts the key in his back pocket and takes off his beanie and black gloves, leaving them on the floor by his bed. He goes through this ritual every night, finger-combing hat pressed hair, reorganizing his sword and blocks to his second and third hotbar spaces, leaving shoes and gloves and beanie where he can reach. He takes his armor back out of the chest and puts it in his top inventory slots, before setting down to bed. He’s surprisingly tired. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.

Chapter Text

Quackity wakes up at 1 in the morning to teenage screaming. He’s up like a shot, grabbing his keys and sprinting to Purpled’s temporary room. He doesn’t even put his shoes on, running across the road in a white undershirt and wrinkled slacks. His wings flutter, fluffed and distressed. He tears down the two block barrier and slams into the door with the key, almost dropping it in his rush.

He opens his door to a scene like the worst comedy sketch in the history of ever.

Slime is standing by the bed, impaled straight through the chest with a netherite sword. Purpled is standing with his back to a corner, wielding an axe like a sword with purple wool blocks in his offhand. Slime seems just fine, grinning and friendly as always, but Purpled is a wreck, mussed hair and wrinkled clothes and…

There’s purple antennae on his head, like a neon glowing moth. He has two extra eyes, lensed like a fly and dark royal purple, colored like the tattoo stripes on his cheeks, and they looked like they were the stripes on his cheeks, darting nervously around the room while Purpled’s human eyes focused on Slime. His ears were triangular and tipped in little glowing purple scales. His shaking hands had purple pads on the ends of his fingers and where knuckle met palm, the same luminescent neon purple as his antennae, and there’s a small puff of soft-looking lavender fluff around his wrists like a bee. His antennae were rattling, which was truly the only way to describe it, making a clicking hum that Quackity assumed meant distress.

“Ah, greetings meat brother, thank you for the violent dap! Dap me up!” Slime says, taking the handle of the sword and pulling it out of their chest with a squelch, stepping toward Purpled. Purpled makes a wheezing, panicked noise, raising his axe.

“Slime! Let’s not dap up Purpled, come on buddy, come here.” Quackity says, rushed and panicked, wings flaring. Slime immediately turns toward him, dropping the sword with a clatter.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas! You know Purpled from UFO?” Slime says happily, stepping back toward Quackity.

“Yes! Yes, yes I do, now why don’t you come over here so I can introduce you to him.” Quackity laughs nervously, and Slime takes a few steps toward Quackity.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas, Purpled from UFO already introduced themself to me. They gave me a sword, like you did!” Slime says happily, pointing to where the dropped sword was, still with a fine coating of green goo.

“I think you just scared him, buddy. Purpled, this is Slime, our intern!” Quackity says nervously, looking over to Purpled. He still had antennae and too many eyes, all of which were locked on him with a look of blatant horror. Slime smiles and waves.

“Hello Purpled from UFO! Dap me up?” Slime asks, extending their hands.

Purpled grabs his sword and gloves in one horrid, rushed movement, cutting his hands on the blade, and sprints past Quackity and Slime. He shoulders the door open and is out on the road before Quackity can open his mouth.

“Purpled, wait!” Quackity yells, cursing internally and ascending the stairs two at a time. Purpled is already two dozen blocks down the road, crushing a helmet over his antennae in a way that looks painful. He has his gloves on and Quackity can’t see his face.

“Purpled, come back!” Quackity yells, starting to run after him. Purpled grabs an enderpearl and throws it as far as it’ll go, running toward his goal, and in moments he’s gone with a snap of purple light and the sound of space folding over itself. Quackity runs to the top of the hill by the sign, but he’s too late. Purpled is gone.

He swears at the sky.

Slime walks up next to him and quirks their head.

“What does that word mean, Quackity from Las Nevadas?”

{<>}

Purpled forgot his fucking shoes.

This wouldn’t be a problem if there weren't ten thousand blocks between Las Nevadas and the cave. This wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t lowered his guard and taken the beanie and gloves off.

He forgot his beanie as well. It was one Punz gave him, not knowing why he wore them but wanting him to have a more comfortable head covering then a big purple hood, a piece of string and two clothespins. They’d cracked a joke about wanting to look Purpled in the eyes when they finally beat him at a round of Bedwars.

Purpled was mourning the loss of a good cover. Not a brother. And he couldn’t cry, because that would be unreasonable, and bright, stain-your-cheeks neon purple.

Purpled was starting to fucking hate his favorite color.

Purple was the color the grass was supposed to be. Purple was the color of the leaves during the seventh season. Purple was the color that luminescent moss and algae stained the ocean and the rivers and the streams and ponds and lit the caves where people lived. Purple was the color of life, and his color, and therefore his name. He was * blessed* to be purple. His name and his colors were a mark of honor.

He goes to his cave, and he changes his purple hoodie for a black one, and his armor and tools for diamond, affixing his helmet with an extra chin buckle and pulling up the hood. His antennae are firmly held under the helmet, wrapped around the top of his skull like a circlet and hidden under hair, a tight helmet (that he tucked his ears into) and a hood. He switches Dogchamp’s collar to a black one, and he puts down a white bed and swaps his wool out for a stack of white. He takes a long look at a dusty, formerly lost makeup kit, and then applies the right skin tone over his lower eyelids.

He walks to his cabin. He opens the floorboards, and breaks the lock on a chest, digging through to the bottom and unwrapping a bag of a few small items. He dumps it out on the floor- box, eye drops, holder, solution bottle.

He does what he swore to himself never to do again.

Putting on colored contacts is, apparently, a skill you never forget.

{<>}

Techno’s communicator buzzed off of his nightstand, taking out a glass that shatters on the floor, which is the thing that actually wakes him up. He’d only ever had it this full of notifications once, and that was when one green bastard was desperately trying to get backup when he was very firmly asleep.

Good riddance he was hibernating.

He is not, however, hibernating at 2am this fine day, and so his communicator vibrating a glass off his side table and it shattering to the floor does wake him up.

He sits up with a groan, groping blindly at the side table and wincing as the light hits his eyes.

He had five missed calls and twenty-five messages from the past minute. Ten of these messages were Quackity screaming urgently at him to get in a VC, another five were incredibly garbled trying to explain something about Purpled, and ten messages were variations on his name and the words ‘please wake up’ in all caps.

Quackity calls again.

Techno picks up on the first ring.

“This better be good, Quackity, you broke a glass and woke me up at 2 in the mornin’.” Techno groans.

“I- fucking- Techno! Techno fuck, shit Techno I fucked up, it was going so well- ” Quackity starts. Techno can hear Quackity’s shoes pounding the ground, pacing back and forth in a way he can visualize far too clearly in his head. He can hear Quackity’s ragged breathing as panic sets in, and he can hear his wings ruffling and twitching, which is how he knew they were out. This was familiar territory, unfortunate but familiar. When Quackity used to get panicked, he’d call Technoblade. Verbally or over communicators, it didn’t matter. Techno would respond on the first ring, of the sixth call if he’d been asleep, and he would sit and watch Quackity pace and mutter and yell at himself and he’d pick apart whatever the situation was until Quackity was no longer panicking over it, and was either laying down with his head on Techno’s lap or hanging up after several sleepy thanks and an ‘I love you Techno’.

That was when they were friends. Quackity hadn’t called Techno’s communicator for something like this in ages. Apparently, Purpled was something he felt comfortable verbally impaling himself over with Techno now.

Techno looks at the desk drawer where two shitty friendship bracelets are kept and sighs loudly, interrupting Quackity’s tirade. For old time’s sake, he supposes.

“Breathe. Stop walking so fast. And start at the beginning.” Techno orders. Quackity exhales violently through his nose- Techno can visualize his expression in perfect clarity, for god’s sake why did he remember all this so well- and the footsteps slow down.

“Today was Purpled’s training day for starting work,” Quackity starts, and Techno throws his blankets off his legs. He goes to fetch a broom and make himself some tea from Phil’s stores. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Purpled wakes up at three in the afternoon, and that’s only because Dogchamp is barking at him. He blinks his eyes (one pair, and he doesn’t rub, for contacts sake) and groans, stumbling out of bed. He wanted to sleep off the rest of the week and not deal with any of his problems, but Dogchamp’s appetite had another idea. He opens the blocks into Dogchamp’s area, shuffling around to drop more food and water into his automatic feeders and waterers. Dogchamp trots around behind him, waiting patiently to be scratched behind his fuffy earsies, and holding something in his mouth. Purpled finishes fitting the water container back into the newly cleaned machine and turns to give Dogchamp his well-deserved scratches and a cooked steak. Dogchamp woofs softly around the item and places it in Purpled’s hand, wagging his tail with joy. It’s a leash- the long retractable kind, with 60 feet of line and a belt clip so you don’t have to use your hands to walk your dog unless it’s doing something immensely suspicious or moving it’s jaw in a way that suggests chewing something it definitely shouldn’t . Purpled had gotten it as soon as he’d gotten Dogchamp, and the case was vibrant purple. He sighs.

“Alright, boy, I’ll take you on a walk.”

Dogchamp licks Purpled’s face and wags his tail. It messes up his makeup, but Purpled doesn’t see that. He smiles softly and goes to grab Dogchamp’s harness.

It takes a very short time for Purpled to be ready. He’d fallen asleep in shoes, gloves and a helmet, as well as with his covering makeup done and colored contacts in. You weren’t supposed to sleep with them, which he’d learned the hard way through Ponk’s incessant bothering after the first instance of needing one forcibly removed with a week of wearing an eyepatch afterwards. Oh well. It wasn’t like Ponk was there to bother him if he needed help again.

it hurt. everything was too much. the eyepatch didn't help.

Dogchamp is exceptionally well-trained in putting on a harness and sitting to be attached to his leash, and Purpled is out walking around the pond as soon as that’s done. The leash bangs against his thigh from where he has it clipped. 60 feet of line meant a lot of plastic covering. Not like anyone would see him.

His antennae try to twitch from where he has them trapped.

Someone is watching him.

He opens one lower eye just a sliver, looking for heat or light or a reflection of a creature. He doesn’t see any heat, but he does see one spot that is unusually cool up on the mountain cave.

Purpled closes his lower eye. He sighs. He’s going to pretend that was a side effect of having one eye just slightly cracked with makeup over the secondary lids, and not something he has seen a grand total of once before, last night, hovering over a borrowed bed.

Slime observes the human. It’s definitely made of meat, that’s for sure, but they don't know if it’s the right meat one. The meat one Slime  wanted wasn’t human, they were purple. Quackity from Las Nevadas had told Slime to find the purple meat person, Purpled from UFO, and apologize carefully.

It had been a little too late to ask what either of those words meant, because Quackity from Las Nevadas had immediately ran away and locked themself behind the door Slime couldn’t sludge through to talk to Technoblade from Syndicate. That was a little confusing, because Technoblade from Syndicate talked back, and Quackity had said they didn’t talk anymore. Silly Quackity! Slime talked to them every day, of course Quackity from Las Nevadas talked. Perhaps it was one of those goofy meat phrases, and it really meant that they were upset at each other. But that wouldn’t make sense either, because Technoblade from Syndicate and Quackity from Las Nevadas made eachother happy! They had heard it in Quackery's voice while they talked. But that was for another day. For now Slime had to find Purpled from UFO.

They zone back in to watching the human walk their ‘Dog’. It was obviously supposed to be a dog, but Slime could feel that it was definitely not what Quackity had told them dogs were. It had too many teeth and extra fluffy feelers around its neck, and it felt like it probably glowed a tiny bit in the dark.

That wasn’t what he was supposed to be focusing on, though, so they watch the human young. They walk around the pool and then look around aimlessly. They seem tense.

Maybe Slime should go cheer them up! That was a good idea.

Slime goops down the side of the mountain and generates some vibrations where they’d made a voicebox.

“Hello fellow meat brother human! Would you like to see my bones?” Slime asks them, smiling (humans did that to show they were happy! Wasn’t that fun?). Quackity had laughed when Slime had shown them their bones, and laughing meant joy. Perhaps Slime’s bones would cheer up this human young!

The human young flinches, hard, and turns around to face Slime too fast. They get tangled in their “Dog’s” leash, and trip, which is incredibly dangerous seeing as they are also holding a sword.

“Uh oh!” Slime says, offering out one of their carefully formed hands, “Need a hand?”

The human young untangles themself quickly, before shuffling backward, panicked, and then regaining their footing.

“What the fuck, man?” The young says, putting away their sword and gripping their arm. That’s when Slime observes a small patch of purple under their eye, and Slime’s observation becomes recognition.

“Ah, so you’re  Purpled from UFO! You look like a different person entirely, haha. I am supposed to carefully apologize to you, but I don’t know what that means! Sorry I scared you! Dap me up?” Slime extends their hands to Purpled.

Purpled hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, slaps down on both palms. Slime grins, extricating their hands from Purpled’s, and Purpled looks over their newly slimy hands. Oh, how Slime loved doing that.

“Well, uh, since you’ve apologized, would you mind not telling anyone about…” Purpled wipes his hands off on his pants and gestures to his head. Slime boy’s face lights up.

“Of course! It’ll be a secret! Come on, human  meat brother, you wanna go to Las Nevadas?” Slime elbows him and grins, wiggling his eyebrows. Purpled heaves an internal sigh.

“I’d love to, but I don’t have work today.” Purpled smiles tightly.

“You left your ‘hat’ and ‘shoes’ behind! Plus you can get paid,” Slime leans in close, “And then gamble .”

“I’ll do all that tomorrow when I’m on.” Purpled says finally.

“Alright! But you could  come today. And ‘Hang Out’!” Slime boy grins so widely Purpled doesn’t know how he’s going to weasel himself out of this.

Until his communicator dings. It’s Technoblade, thank god.

Well, that’s a thought he’d never thought he’d have.

“I’m a little busy today, sorry.” Purpled points to his communicator. Slimes face falls.

“But you’ll come tomorrow?”

“…Yeah. I’ll come tomorrow. And we can ‘hang out’.” Purpled says, smiling hopefully, and Slime’s face lights back up.

“Yes! See you tomorrow, Purpled from UFO!” Slime waves exuberantly, which is a gooping hazard, and then he’s off.

Purpled checks the message.

<Technoblade>: Come child

<Technoblade>: We need someone to break a tie

<Purpled>: there’s three of you

<Technoblade>: My chat voted

<Technoblade>: Phil’s chat voted

<Technoblade>: and Niki did

<Technoblade>: Come break the tie the crows want you

<Purpled>: flip a coin

<Technoblade>: We have to justify an argument coins don’t have neutral stances or intelligence

<Technoblade>: You are like the only person on this server with any semblance of braincells enough to settle dumb arguments

<Purpled>: oh calling me the smartest on the server are we

<Purpled>: flattery will get you nowhere

<Technoblade>: …you get a portion of whatever bet wins

<Purpled>: now we’re getting somewhere

<Purpled>: what are we betting

<Technoblade>: gold carrots

<Technoblade>: and I’ll up you five iron blocks since I know you consume iron at a rate unreasonable for any person

<Technoblade>: Why do you need so much iron, anyway?

<Purpled>: things

<Purpled>: omw 

<Technoblade>: I never lose

<Purpled>: ^bribery never loses

<Technoblade>: You might actually just be weak to it

<Purpled>: what can I say I’m a man with money

<Technoblade>: That should actually lower the effectiveness of a bribe.

<Purpled>: mmmm, iron

<Technoblade>: If you actually started eating it I would not be surprised

<Purpled>: :)

Purpled pockets his communicator and grabs a boat. Dogchamp was still with him, but that was okay. He needed a good, stressful boat ride anyways.

{<>}

"He's coming over. I invited him to settle a bet and have some conversation."

"Oh? What's the bet?"

"..."

"Techno. What's the bet."

*Click*

"You asshole!"

{<>}

Chapter Text

Purpled’s coming is signaled by the barking of an odd hundred dogs. One of them sounds distinctively different from Techno’s pack, which is how he figures Purpled brought his own. Techno gets up from the chaos that is the house to go check the door. He opens it to see all the dogs in the pen up and barking at Purpled and his dog, who is about a half size larger than all of them and feels a little… off. The dog seems well behaved though, sitting at Purpled’s side and stopping barking when Purpled gestures for it to. Purpled himself looks like he’s had all the color squeezed out of him like a particularly unhealthy rag. His normally vivid purple hoodie is replaced by a plain black one, lacking patches or pins or any of Purpled’s extra pockets. His shoes are white and new looking rather than scuffed and purple, with no stickers or dirt or scratch marks to be seen. He has a diamond helmet instead of a netherite one, with no well-loved and patched black beanie underneath, and the black hood is pulled up over his head so his face is in shadow.

He moves, and Techno feels like this is fundamentally wrong. He can see Purpled’s face now, but it isn’t * Purpled’s*. His eyes are the wrong color- a neutral shade of grey-blue- and the marks under his eyes that Techno assumed were some tattoo or makeup aesthetic choice are gone. He looks like a normal teenager, like Techno would have imagined him under everything before he knew his eyes weren’t colored contacts and the marks weren’t a style choice. This was Purpled with colored contacts and makeup, with normal clothes and without the vivacious shades of purple he threw himself into. He looked miserable and like a totally different person, which ran hand in hand.

Techno voices none of this.

“Purpled, your dog is messed up.” Is what Technoblade says instead, because cracking jokes and breaking tension is his number one talent as a person. Purpled seems actively taken aback, before sliding into the posture Techno has mentally labeled as ‘cocky bastard position’.

“Dogchamp is a perfectly normal, healthy and amazing dog, you are just a prick- ”

“No, that is absolutely not a normal dog.” Techno shakes his head.

“I am going to tell Dogchamp to bite you.” Purpled narrows his eyes. Techno tilts his head and meets his gaze. They stare.

They burst out laughing.

Purpled seems in better humor, if not happy, and Technoblade is relieved at the broken tension. He brings the dog inside with him as he walks up, which Techno doesn’t protest.

“Might keep your dog downstairs. Steve’ll get upset at him.” Techno advises, and Purpled raises an eyebrow at that.

“Steve?”
“Emotional support animal.” Techno explains.

“Not very emotionally supporting if he attacks things.” Purpled tilts his head, prompting further info.

“He’s a polar bear, and I didn’t judge your messed up dog, so.” Techno shrugs. Purpled snorts.

“Your dog is messed up, he says,” Purpled sits said dog down, scratching him behind the ears, “No I didn’t judge your dog, he says.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have warned you about Steve.” Techno huffs, climbing the ladder to the main level. Purpled follows after a moment. He waits for Techno to be off the ladder first, which is a waste of time, but maybe he was saying goodbye to his weird alien dog. Or doing elsewise weird alien shit.

God, he could not get over Purpled being an actual space alien . Or the fact that his sworn enemy and best friend both knew, and guess which one told him?

Not Phil, apparently!

Don’t get him wrong, Techno wasn’t weirdchamp. With the conglomerate of hybrids, magical creatures, strange abilities, afflictions, and other people on the server, being an ass about odd people just was not a choice. He wouldn’t be even if most everyone was piglin or human.

He just was having a hard time stretching that he had a bookclub of an immortal bird, an endermen, his own piglin hybrid, and apparently a space alien, and Niki Nihachu was better put together and more confident then all of them.

Infuriating. Purpled being an alien should have been a cat that stayed in the bag, and that was beyond Techno learning without Purpled’s consent and feeling mildly guilty for it.

Phil, Niki and Ranboo are still having a heated debate in the room above, as Purpled had been promised.

“He doesn’t have fucking wings! I would absolutely know-”
“But would you really , Phil?” Ranboo raises an eyebrow.

“Of course I would! If he was some kind of bird hybrid I would be able to tell.” Phil says, crossing his arms.

“And I would know, Ranboo. We were part of a country together, we’ve spent some time in the same place.” Niki points out.

“Well you wouldn’t know if he was hiding them, now would you?” Ranboo points out, and Phil groans. A crow lands on Ranboo’s shoulder, cawing at Phil, and Phil gives it a murderous look.

“You get jebaited by everything, chat!” Phil laughs.

“Doesn’t change the fact I know he has wings.” Techno interrupts, taking a stance by Ranboo.

“The voices don’t think you do.” Niki challenges.

“Chat chose the wrong poll option on purpose , I tell you.” Techno insists.

“Who are we talking about?” Purpled asks.

“Quackity doesn’t have wings!” Phil throws his hands in the air, his own wings rattling.

Oh.

Purpled bites his cheek. He hadn’t really thought about it, but- Quackity had fluffy yellow wings on his back, when he stopped Slime from murdering Purpled. It was just another detail that had been swept up in the panic.

“Chat says you know something we don’t, whatever the hell is up with that, so settle the bet, Purpled.” Phil demands.

Purpled considers, fiddling with his gloves. There’s a tinge of pain, so he stops doing that.

“Yeah, he has wings.” Purpled nods.

The room erupts into chaos.

“I told you.” Techno says with a smug look.

“Yes! I didn't lose thirty gold carrots today!” Ranboo pumps his fist. Purpled is immediately laden with affectionate, celebrating crows, which is a problem when trying to keep his hood up. Niki gives a despairing sigh and Phil howls, chittering angrily at the crows that are perched on him in a way that can only be described as smug. He goes out the door, probably to cross the bridge to his house and pay his bets. Techno pinches the bridge of his nose like he has a migraine and mutters under his breath.

“Don’t make stupid bets if you didn’t want to lose money, chat.”

Several enterprising crows are perched on Purpled’s forearms, staring at his leather gloves, which Purpled has belatedly realized have blood on them.

One of them caws and flaps away, which is fucked up and worrying, but at least Purpled has one less bird weighing him down. Phil returns with golden carrots, and Niki hands over hers as well. Techno and Ranboo split the proceeds, with each of them leaving out five for Purpled. Techno disappears and quickly reappears with five iron blocks, all of which are given to Purpled for the benefit of one sentence.

“Well, I’m off to go give my rabbit a very good meal.” Ranboo smiles smugly, and Niki sighs.

“I’ll come too so you don’t overfeed him.” She puts up her hood to go out in the cold, and then there are three.

Plus a murder of energetic crows, but Purpled doesn’t know if that makes it four or one hundred three, so they don’t count.

“Thanks for settling the bet, mate.” Phil sighs.

“No problem. Just had to sell out my employer, you know, fun things.” Purpled jokes.

“Well you can tell Quackity you got a good snack out of it when he asks.” Techno jokes back, moving over to his chests.

“Snack?” Phil questions.

“Techno thinks I eat iron.” Purpled explains, with a huff of laughter.

“There is no other reason for you to have and use so much, space boy.” Techno responds, thoroughly distracted digging through his chests.

Purpled feels a little stiff. His fingers twitch toward his hotbar buttons, to equip a stack of wool.

“Don’t call me that.” Purpled says. His voice is rough and low, and it very quickly lowers the mood in the room. Phil looks at loss, and Techno’s posture has stiffened as he rummages, still looking for something. Phil runs his hands down his face and sighs.

“We both know, mate.”

Purpled turns on his heel and slides down the ladder. He was not dealing with this today. Realistically, he should be questioning them, threatening them not to tell. His hearts squeeze and his lungs feel too small for the air, like the feeling when a spaceship hatch opens and all the recycled air is suddenly replaced by a wave of fresh oxygen. He just wants to leave. His antennae ache where they're trapped

“Purpled.” Techno says simply, and his tone is enough for Purpled to look up from his single minded focus of taking Dogchamp and leaving.

Techno is holding a box of bandages, a cloth, and a healing potion. Phil is right beside him, with a sorrowful look on his face that Purpled wants to tear off. He wants to cry. It would stain his contacts.

“So Quackity sold me out?” Purpled’s voice is hard and angry.

“No. Chat told me.” A crow alights on Phil’s fingers and drops a note, flapping to direct it to Purpled. Purpled lets it fall to the ground.

“Quackity directed my suspicions,” Techno shrugs, “He was breakin’ down over losin’ your trust. He was going to apologize for telling me tomorrow.”

Purpled tenses with anger. His hands curl into fists, nails stabbing into his palms through his gloves. His cut hand from the night before starts bleeding again.

Purpled takes his stupid diamond axe and throws it at the wall so hard it loses three triple unbreaking durability points. Dogchamp whimpers, and Purpled instantly crouches down, letting Dogchamp come to him. He’s careful to keep his bleeding hand away from Dogchamp’s mane of soft feelers, and out of his fur. Philza sighs and sits down across from Purpled.

“Can I see your hand?” He asks, gently. Having his face in Dogchamp’s thick fluff calms Purpled significantly. Purpled slowly extends his bleeding left hand, spreading it with the palm up. What could Phil do to it to make it much worse? The black leather is slowly soaking with blood. There was already dried red stains on it from shoving the glove on the night before, and Purpled still hadn’t looked at it. Phil pushes his hoodie sleeve up to the elbow, exposing the end of the long gloves. He undoes the top three buttons with steady hands, and Purpled’s arm shakes. The last person to undo his gloves had been Punz, years ago. They’d only pulled them up to his wrist to dress a cut on his forearm. No one had seen his hands, excluding Quackity, since he’d landed on the wrong world.

Phil undoes the lower three buttons and unwraps the arm section of the glove. The lavender fluff around his wrists is pressed flat as it can go as Phil brushes his fingers over it. Techno sits down by Phil, holding the healing supplies. Purpled’s other fingers lace into Dogchamp’s fur as his left hand shakes.

“Gonna hurt a bit, mate.” Phil warns sofly, before starting to pull the glove off. Purpled hisses through his teeth, pinned antennae trying to shudder, as the leather is pulled away from the bloody skin. After an agonizing moment it’s off, and Purpled thanks Prime that the leather was properly sealed and didn’t dissolve into the blood and stick worse. Phil holds Purpled’s hand steady as Techno uses a corner of the cloth to clean off the blood. There’s one gash across Purpled’s palm, and the pad on his thumb had been cut open, which causes a full body flinch when Techno wipes the blood away.

“You okay?” Phil asks softly.

“S’more sensitive than other spots. Used t’feel out food in the dark.” Purpled explains, muffled by dog fur.

“Is there a special way we need to treat it?” Phil asks.

“No, it’ll fix itself like any other skin. Just hurts like a bitch.” Purpled hisses. Gloves were a custom when going out on the homeworld, because of the pads, but they served the double purpose of covering being an alien when they were elbow high and on an alien planet.

Oh, how his family would feel if they knew he’d been covering his wrist feelers, and even ate with pads covered. He’d be scorned.

Techno finishes cleaning the blood off and pours some health potion on the clean part of the cloth, wiping it over his palm first. The bubbly sting fades after a moment, stopping the bleeding and accelerating a beginning scab to form. He moves to Purpled’s thumb and Purpled pulls back, nervous. Health potion was always a hundred percent worse over wounds on his hands, and it was all from getting even the lightest nick on a pad. Phil looks at him, concerned, still holding his hand still. Techno hesitates.

“Do you want us to just bandage that one?” Phil asks.

“No,” Purpled grits his teeth, “It’ll take forever and a half to heal normally. Go ahead.” Purpled relaxes his hand and closes his eyes.

“I’ll count down.” Techno says, folding his legs under himself.

“One, two...” Purpled clamps his mouth shut.

“Three.” Techno finishes his countdown and rubs the cloth over the wound. Purpled’s arm spasms and he sinks his teeth into his lip. The stinging ache of accelerated healing was more like sticking thirty pins through his thumbpad, and it hurt like a bitch. After a long moment the pain goes away, and Purpled finally relaxes.

“Good job.” Phil hums. Purpled opens his upper eyes to watch Techno dress bandages over his palm, Phil holding ends when needed and keeping Purpled’s hand steady. Techno doses the bandages with healing potion, and the relieving glittery numbness has Purpled let out a sigh. Techno moves to his thumb, and it sinks in how weird it is having another person touch the skin of his hand. They’re both gentle and steady, but Purpled still feels shaky inside. Having people see his hands, and especially having people touch his hands, felt like he was ripping open his skin and letting them look inside. His gloves and hoods and helmets were a reliable shield, and having them stripped, even if it was just one, made him sick to his stomach. Having people know made him feel ill. They had power over him, even if they didn’t know how to use it, had access to a secret he’d kept hidden for a good most of his life.

It was liberating, in the way of private relief, that he had a step towards freeing himself, but it was mostly just fucking terrifying .

“Purpled?” Technoblade prompts. His hand and thumb are wrapped, with a glittery pink healing potion over the bandages, but he’s shaking. Dogchamp cuddles closer onto his lap, and Purpled retracts his hand. He uses his right to grab the glove from where it had been discarded, starting to pull it on over the bandages.

Phil snatches it from his hand immediately.

“No, you shouldn’t wear this. It’s covered in blood and all dirty, you’ll get an infection. We can find another glove or clean this, but you still shouldn’t wear any for a while, the potions need to set and your hand needs to breathe.” Phil explains at Purpled’s glare. Purpled continues to glare at him, but Phil stands strong, looking disapproving. Purpled sighs.

“Fine. But I’m locking the doors.” Purpled gets up from the floor, Dogchamp behind him, and locks the doors. He ascends the ladder one-handed and locks the upper doors as well, before shuttering the windows and going up a level to shutter those too. Dogchamp stays close by his side, rubbing against his legs. Steve seems to have no problem with an alien dog, or is simply too scared to attack Dogchamp. Phil and Techno are both waiting in the main room when he comes back down.

“Are we gonna talk about this, or?” Techno prompts.

“You don’t tell anyone, or I kill you. You don’t answer any questions that could reveal it, or I kill you. You act like you don’t know anything, or I kill you. If I find out you even somewhat as suggested or prompted any sort of curiosity about it-”

“You kill us.” Phil finishes, crossing his arms.

“You might be severely overestimating how easy we are to kill. I do have that whole ‘Technoblade never dies’ thing for a reason, y’know,” Techno starts, chuckling, and Purpled steps into his personal space with a murderous expression on his face. It’s the angriest Techno has seen Purpled look, and Techno recently watched Purpled throw an axe into a stone wall so hard the blade was halfway through it.

“I am an assassin by trade, and a mercenary by choice. I have killed cockier bastards with worse odds, Technoblade,” Purpled hisses, “I wouldn’t try it, because where you might shine in combat, I will kill you while you sleep so quickly that you won’t even have time to open your eyes.” Purpled leans in closer, whispering.

“And I know your weaknesses, Technoblade. You might be comfortable looking over one set of shoulders for the rest of your life, but you can’t look over two.”

That runs a shiver down Techno’s spine. He didn’t doubt Purpled. Quackity had estimated he was the second best at PVP in the whole server, and Techno knew it wasn’t brute force or direct fighting skill that got him there. It wasn’t Quackity misnaming it, either. He was an excellent judge of talent and character. It was Purpled’s strategy. Techno had seen him fight. He spun circles around people, used his own items and all means available at the time to press them into defeating themselves. Technoblade could beat him in a flat duel, but Purpled was too smart to do a flat duel.

He’d use his advantages. He’d manipulate Techno’s weaknesses.

And his largest weakness was not in the pvp tier that Purpled was.

Thank gods he wasn’t planning on telling any of Purpled’s secrets.

“No need for the threats, mate. You could’ve just asked.” Phil laughs. Techno nods his assent, and Purpled steps backward. His face is less murderous than it is confused. The makeup covering his cheek markings (lower eyelids, Quackity had said. Hard to believe.) had rubbed away on his dog’s fur, and it made him look more normal. Or, well, less normal, but more normal for Purpled.

“Wh- that’s stupid.” Purpled points out, like it’s obvious.

“Well, we’re not gonna tell your secret if you don’t want us to, mate.” Phil explains.

“I’m talking about if someone, like, paid you-”

“We wouldn’t.” Techno says finally. Purpled shuts his mouth with a click, looking frustrated.

“Would you sell out something Quackity told you was private?” Phil asks and oh, that is a good one, two birds with one stone.

Purpled looks conflicted, and is silent for a solid 30 seconds of internal monologuing.

“...no, I wouldn’t.”

And he really, really wouldn’t.

That was- it was new. Not selling people out. Punz would’ve been actively disappointed if Purpled didn’t accept bribe money, and Ponk was a fellow businessman, and businessmen knew blackmail and when to use it. That went both ways, too. Purpled couldn’t tell something like this to Ponk and Punz and not tag on a threat. Phil and Techno didn’t need a threat.

Quackity, apparently, didn’t need a threat. Somehow he felt like Fundy and Foolish and maybe even Sam wouldn’t either. And if Quackity had confided in him something that Purpled needed to keep his mouth shut about? Purpled would do it, no questions asked. If Fundy had confessed to a murder in a run-on sentence or if Foolish told Purpled some weakness with being a revival god or if Sam confided that he wanted to destroy his own prison, Purpled wouldn’t sell them out. They were nice.

They made him beetroot soup.

His gut twists thinking about ten golden carrots and five iron blocks sitting in his inventory. Was that private? Had Quackity been hiding wings like Purpled had been hiding antennae? Did Purpled need to register a threat on his behalf?

Purpled is interrupted by Phil humming and nodding.

“It’s like that. We won’t tell anyone you’re an alien if you don’t want us to.”

Purpled lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He nods.

“Well!” Techno stands to his full height and stretches.

“Today has been eventful, but I’m hungry. I’m getting dinner.” Techno walks over to his chests and furnaces and starts moving things around. Phil sighs.

“Potato soup again?” He asks.
“Of course.” Techno huffs.

Phil smiles, rolls his eyes, chuckles.

“Come on, Purpled, let’s get your gloves cleaned.” He says, bringing Purpled up the ladder with him. And Phil really is with him, he launches himself up the ladder with his hands on Purpled’s arm and a few flaps of his wings. They're still damaged, but they can sure flutter.

“A little warning, maybe?” Purpled asks, dizzily. Phil chuckles.

“Sorry mate. Old habits.” He explains. Phil grabs something from a drawer, then another something from a shelf, and then walks to the bathroom. Purpled follows him. Phil puts the rag under the water and rings it, before putting down a tub and Purpled’s glove, as well as a bottle of… something.

“You ever cleaned leather?” Phil asks.

“No.” Purpled responds.

“Well, I’ll teach you. We do it enough in this house, with Techno always getting blood on his boots.” The second half is muttered spitefully, but still feels lighthearted. First, Phil wipes off the excess of blood with the cloth. Then he runs some cool water in the tub, mixing it with the bottle (saddle soap, apparently). He massages the blood out of the material while Purpled watches over one shoulder, until the majority of the stain is worked out. Then he grabs a toothbrush and works it over to get the tough bits off, before finally draining the tub and pressing the water from the glove out flat.

“Don’t ring them out or they'll misshapen.” Phil explains, hanging up the newly cleaned glove on the towel rack. It was suspiciously long and had a few clothespins. Purpled feels like this has been done before.

“Wanna wash your other one?” Phil asks. Purpled hesitates for a moment.

Ah, well. They’d seen his other hand.

Purpled unbuttons the sleeve of his glove, pulling it off. He runs fresh water in the bin and follows the amount of soap he’d seen Phil put in. A single crow flits in to land on one shoulder, the one that Phil wasn’t leaning over to watch. There was no particular grime beyond general glove nastiness, so it takes a shorter time, but he’s still rather proud of himself. He hangs it up by the other one, and Philza nods his approval. It had been a little difficult to keep his bandages dry, but he’d managed, and he rinses and dries his hands of grime and soap.

“What’s the fluff?” Philza asks as Purpled rubs his wrist feelers dry. Purpled shrugs.

“They’re like, uh… I don’t know the professional word but we call them feelers. They’re like the fluff on bee feet, we use them to sense changes in the air and feel extra and stuff.” Purpled shrugs again. He’d never really had to explain himself to an offworlder, because an offworlder had never known before.

“I know I’m gonna sound like an ass, because I used to get this a bunch with my wings, but can I touch them…?” Phil asks. His face is just plain curious. He’s not warm or cold or anything that would suggest dishonesty. Purpled holds out the wrist of his uninjured hand.

“Sure. They’re sensitive, so be careful.”

Phil nods seriously, putting his hand to Purpled’s wrist. It was. Not awful. Phil ran his fingers over the little sensors, and it was a lot of feeling, but it wasn’t bad, per say. It was almost nice to have them fluffed after being trapped in a glove. After a short moment, Phil pulls away.

“Curiosity satisfied. They’re very soft.” Phil informs Purpled.

“Thank you?” Purpled tilts his head, and Phil laughs.

“Come on. I’m sure Techno has dinner ready.” Phil slides down the ladder and Purpled steps down after him, and sure enough, Techno has the table full of three bowls of potato soup and a fluffy loaf of bread. There’s a slab of butter by it, as well as a bowl of nuts and fruits. Phil reaches for the bread and his hand is smacked away immediately.

“No bread for avians.” Techno says sternly.

“But Technoooo …” Phil whines.

“No. Unhealthy.” Techno snipes back, setting down a pitcher of water and a vase of flowers. Phil sighs and grabs a handful of seeds from the nuts/fruits bowl.

“If you want seconds, ask.” Phil tells Purpled, having apparently moved on from the bread slight. Purpled gives himself a piece of bread with butter, and pours some water into his glass, somewhat pantomiming Techno. He digs into the soup. It’s really good.

Techno watches Purpled consume potato soup at an unreasonable pace for anyone other than a teenage boy, and smiles. Phil raises an eyebrow in an unspoken question, and Techno points to the trash, where the very edge of a golden carrot top can be seen. Phil smiles and does a silent chuckle.

Soft . He mouths.

Techno huffs at him.

Purpled sees both of his hosts being significantly distracted, and furtively slips a flower from the vase to under the table. It was a lily of the valley, which looked tasty. The soup and the bread and the fruit and everything is delicious, of course, but Techno had put the vase with everything else. It definitely wasn’t supposed to be food, but it was on the table in the fashion of food that was being eaten, so…

The next time Techno isn’t watching, Purpled swallows down a blossom.

“I knew it.” Philza says suddenly, startling Purpled. He drops the flower and is immediately disappointed in himself.

“You’re not gonna-”

“No, I won’t make you pay the bet, but he is like a moth!” Phil grins and sits back in his chair.

“...what?” Purpled raises an eyebrow.

“Help yourself.” Techno states, pushing the vase of flowers over instead of answering.

The conversation veers away after that, but it is a very satisfying meal. Beyond just the floral side dish

{<>}

“How’s he doing?”

“It isn’t… excellent. But he’s stayed for dinner. And he showed me and Phil some of his weird parts when we cleaned up that cut on his hand you mentioned.”

“Oh, thank prime he’s okay.”

“Yeah. And he knows we know, and is… decent? With it.”

“Is he mad at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“...are you mad at me?”

“...”

“I… don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Philza says his gloves have to dry overnight, so Purpled decides to stay. They haven’t moved the animals back from the last time he stayed, so Purpled is given a bed in the same area. Techno mentions it’s cold (implication instead of outright asking- he should write that down) and Purpled explains that he sleeps better in cool, damp places. Phil and Techno go off to bed and then it’s just the matter of Purpled going to sleep.

And taking off his helmet.

Purpled takes off his shoes and his other armor. He sets his shoes by the bed and the armor in his top inventory slots. He fiddles with the cards for armor before setting them in their holographic places.

He takes a breath, pushes his hoodie back, and unequips his helmet.

His antennae fall limp from his hair. The quiet room is suddenly overwhelming, with every living thing in the house detectable by movement. He can feel Technoblade’s chest rising and falling three floors up, and he can feel Philza ruffling through chests, and he can feel the whistle of the winds changing outside the shuttered windows. Purpled closes his upper eyes and it’s a blatant relief in not feeling too much after so long feeling too little. 

They’re dry, but you win some you lose some.

His wrists feelers puff up to a more comfortable level and he moves around to find where he’d left the wet cloth to wipe his face with. It had been a while since he’d walked sight-free, but it was about how he remembered, like feeling colors without seeing them. He wipes off the last of the makeup on his face and rakes his fingers through his hair so it isn’t oppressively tangled in the morning.

He feels Philza come down the ladder, but it’s too late to find his helmet again.

“Hey, mate, brought you some water and-“ Philza turns around and Purpled feels his wings ruffle and muscles on his wrists loosen in shock. He darts forward to catch the glass of water before it shatters, and just manages to do so. Philza exhales shakily, heartbeat dropping from the sudden spike.

“You have antennae.” He points out.

“Yes.” Purpled nods.

“You- your eyes are closed, how did you grab the water?” Philza asks.

“Felt that you were going to drop it.” Purpled explains, gesturing to the antennae and the wrist feelers and the pads.

“You can see like this?” Phil asks, the curiosity in his voice returning.

“Somewhat? It’s like… you know when your eyes are closed and the wind blows by and you feel it on your face?” Purpled asks.

“Yeah?”

“It’s like that, but a lot more, and across my wrists and antennae. I feel movement through displaced air and the temperature changes that makes, I hear sounds better from my ears and the sensing scales on them, and it makes an image in my head of the room based on movement and sound and heat.” Purpled explains. It was as eloquent as he could put it while recalling biology lessons from years and years ago.

“That’s… oh, that’s interesting,” Phil says with a smile in his voice, “What do your extra eyes do?”

“They’re a lot more temperature-based, heat and light seeking and all that. They’re eyes but in like, infrared.” Purpled says. He opens them so Phil can take a look, and he nods appreciatively.

“So you can see, move, and kill all in the dark, without ever opening your eyes…” Phil trails off, and the corner of his mouth twitches, thoughtful.

“What?” Purpled asks.

“I was wondering if your species tended toward isolation.” Phil says bluntly.

Oh. Hm. How does he answer this?

“Nah, we’re pretty social. Stick to our groups and all that.” Purpled shifts uncomfortably, taking a drink of water.

“Mm. Alright. Sleep well.” Philza waves and turns back up to the ladder. He climbs up two levels to Techno’s room and crashes down on the extra wide bed, wrapping his wings over himself and Techno. Techno mutters something and throws a blanket over Phil. Purpled tries to stop feeling from where he is downstairs, and climbs in his own bed to go to sleep.

Dogchamp curls up by his side, and Purpled can’t rest until Dogchamp is snoring gently and his breathing is steady enough to drown out the sudden, overwhelming lack of warmth.

{<>}

The next morning Techno is up early and ready to go. He makes breakfast (hash browns, beef sausage, roasted almonds and sunflower seeds, toast, and a vase of moth-friendlier flowers that weren’t poisonous like lily of the valley, gods forbid) and checks in on Niki and Ranboo- doing a sleepover at Ranboo’s house and still firmly asleep. He’s awake early enough that he’s just dishing breakfast when Purpled creeps up the ladder, fully dressed with armor, and seeming ready to grab his gloves and run.

“Good morning.” Techno greets, and Purpled jumps with shock. Techno sets a plate down at the table, with a vase of orchids, alliums and tulips. Purpled blinks.

“Morning?” He greets. Purpled immediately reaches for a white tulip, which Techno mentally notes, and bites down on the petals. Techno gestures to the chair and Purpled takes a seat, digging into the food. Techno goes out to feed the dogs, and when he comes back, Phil is at the table with Purpled, chatting with him over breakfast.

“There’s some dog food under the sink- hello, Techno.” Phil greets, sliding a half-eaten piece of toast off to the side, trying to hide it. Techno snatches it and puts it on his own plate, and Phil makes a disappointed noise.

“You need dog food?” Techno ignores Phil and turns to Purpled.

“Yeah, thought I would feed Dogchamp so he doesn’t have to eat when we go all the way back to the skull.” Purpled explains. Techno spots the dog curled around Purpled’s legs under the table.

“He eats like a regular dog?” Techno asks, and Purpled nods. Techno walks to the cabinet and pulls out a bowl, serving out a portion of raw rabbit from the icebox and setting the bowl down under the table. Dogchamp enjoys this immensely, chowing down, and Techno sits down to join the other two in breakfast.

“I was just telling Purpled that you kept good care of your pack, and that he could bring Dogchamp over whenever he’d like to introduce him better.” Phil explains, and Techno nods.

“Yeah. Can’t promise they’ll adjust, but Steve liked him, so he can’t be all bad.” Techno jokes, and Purpled smiles around the blue orchid petals he’s munching.

It was nice for Purpled to eat with his hands out. Having people to eat with, flowers to munch and pads free almost felt like home. Thankfully, it didn’t make him feel homesick, just… content. Techno was a decent cook, even if it was just picking the right flowers and flipping hash browns.

He can pretend Phil isn’t staring at him through casual conversation until he clears his throat.

“Purpled, did you sleep with contacts in?” Phil asks. It’s casual and curious sounding, but Purpled can feel the question has layers.

“Yeah. Didn’t bring anything for them.” Purpled shrugs.

“Would you like something? Your eyes must feel dry.” Phil offers. Purpled raises an eyebrow.

“Wilbur used to wear em. Red eyes when disaster was comin wasn’t very ‘socially acceptable’.” Techno illustrates with air quotes.

Purpled politely doesn’t mention he never really saw Wilbur with brown eyes, and nods.

“Some eye drops would be nice, yeah.” Purpled nods. Techno gets up from the table and goes to climb the ladder, Purpled and Phil eating in silence. Techno comes back down with some dusty contact care supplies, and Purpled nods his thanks and reaches for the eyedrops. He puts them in with an ease that speaks of too much practice, and makes Phil’s hand on his fork tighten. Purpled blinks and rubs his eyes gently.

“Better, thank you.” Purpled smiles.

“Take them. We don’t need it anymore.” Techno pushes the stuff across the table and Purpled shrugs and puts it in his hoodie pocket. Breakfast is finished in quiet, and Purpled collects his gloves and goes.

Phil lets out a contented sigh.

“So when are you going to tell me what you and Quackity are plotting?”

Technoblade, sky warrior, overthrower of tyranny, slaughterer of men, and bloody idol, chokes on his hash browns and has Philza rolling on the floor with laughter.

{<>}

"He likes flowers."

"Like Tommy?" Quackity says, before cursing himself internally. That was most likely a sore spot, idiot!

Techno huffs softly, in laughter. That's surprising- it had been a while since they'd laughed in each others presence. And he'd just prodded the wrong button.

"No, definitely not. He eats them. Would probably make Tommy yell at 'im."

"I'll remember that, then." Quackity says lightly.

Techno exhales, from his side of the line. It's the little sigh he does when settling into something, be it a chair or he handle of a sword. Commonly, it pervades conversation.

Little things are what you notice listening to someone.

"So when're you visitin'?" Techno asks.

"W-huh?" Quackity laughs, unbidden and nervous.

"Terms and conditions, Q. You send over one of your goons to make sure Purpled won't freeze to death, I send over one of my people to make sure you aren't lettin' him drink n gamble." The nickname slides into conversation naturally, and the nature of the question is so reasonable that Quackity can't pull back the boundaries to cool professionalism without making himself look like he was avoiding it.

The line is silent for a moment.

"I'll send Fundy over with Purpled in a few days."

"Do I get a date?" Techno asks, teasing lilt lightening his voice.

"Nope. You'll have to guess. And stay on your best behavior." Quackity quips back.

"Besides, I've got a date with your older brother in the next week. Scheduling one with you would just be impolite."

" Wha-"

*Click* .

Quackity kicks his feet up and laughs to himself. His chest feels light.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, but he was a gambler.

{<>}

Chapter Text

Purpled has to run and ice-boat to get back to the skull in enough time. He leaves Dogchamp in his area, does a quick shower in the basement, throws on some clothes (a white hoodie with black stripes, grey pants, white shoes, diamond armor) and pulls on gloves and some lower eye makeup.

He looks like a mini Punz, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Purpled runs almost the whole way to Las Nevadas so he can get to his shift on time, and Slime is there to greet him.

“Purpled from UFO!” Slime grins, smacking his goopy hands together in joy.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Purpled smiles.

“You look like Punz from DreamSMP.” Slime says conversationally, and Purpled cringes.

“Yeah, I know. My black hoodie is dirty.”

“Why not wear your purple hoodie?”

Purpled mentally lags for a response, but is saved by the appearance of Fundy, who barrels into Purpled like a ginger freight train.

“HELLO!” Fundy greets Purpled enthusiastically. Purpled makes a wheezing noise that can be barely associated with ‘my ribs’ and Fundy loosens his death grip under Purpled’s arms.

“You’re back!” Fundy grins so hard at Purpled that it looks like it hurts, and the joy is infectious. A little of the anxiety weaving into Purpled’s throat dissipates.

“I’m back.”
“Oh! Okay, so Quackity gave me the authority to pay you, since I’m vice owner to Las Nevadas and all that fancy stuff, so come this way. You didn’t get your diamonds from the last shift, and I can show you how to handle customers, we have customers by the way-” Fundy starts.

“I suggested them!” Slime chips in.

“He did, we’re very proud. Quackity’s handling them right now, he’s somewhat on do not disturb? But we need to get you your stuff back!” Fundy drags Purpled by the sleeve and Purpled walks along good naturedly, Slime by their side. It was nice to hear Fundy’s exposition again. Fundy babbles about the goings on all the way to the restaurant, doling Purpled out three diamonds that he puts in his inventory. Slime boy rehydrates and they’re back on the prowl.

“Sam is sleeping in the extra bed behind the strip club, if you were wondering, and Foolish is working on some diplomacy with a few cookie-selling neighbors. They’re thinking about opening a stand up in Las Nevadas, and Foolish is very persuasive. This way! Quackity still has your hat and shoes from the other day, we’ll ask him where those are before we open shop for the restaurant.” Fundy explains.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas told me not to interrupt his conversation. It was very important!” Slime says.

“It’ll be okay if we knock.” Fundy responds.

“What’s a knock?”

“We’ll show you when we do it. They’re just here.” Fundy knocks on the door to the hotel, pointing it out to Slime, and the quiet sound of voices behind it dies down. There’s a muffled yell, and a harried-looking blonde pokes his head around the door.

“Whossere?” He asks loudly.

“Tommy! I told you I could get it.” Purpled hears Quackity from behind the door, and it’s suddenly pulled open, revealing the room. Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot, and Quackity are all visible, Wilbur somewhat behind the other two. Quackity’s eyes widen when he sees Purpled. He has fluffy golden wings out behind his back, which Purpled notes with mild relief.

“WIlbur, do you mind if we take this outside?” Quackity asks Wilbur almost immediately. Purpled is feeling somewhat whiplashed, having assumed Wilbur was dead and currently carrying his bottle of contact solution and eyedrops in his hoodie pocket.

“Is that Pun-” Wilbur starts.
“Purpled? Aren’t you lost in the woods?” Tommy asks.

“Well, no.” Purpled purses his lips, because it was a very obvious question with a not very obvious answer.

Quackity pulls WIlbur out by the arm, and Tommy walks out on his own, looking over Purpled in a manner similar to how Fundy did. Speaking of Fundy, the fox has disappeared behind several shrubs, and Purpled doesn’t have enough heart to tell him he’s visible. He’ll just keep their attention away, instead. Quackity spots Slime and immediately latches onto the way out.

“Slime! Can you take our lovely guests over to Foolish so he can show them around the casino? Purpled and I need to discuss something.” Quackity smiles kindly, looking distressed.

“Quackity, what-” Wilbur starts.

“Wilbur, I am so sorry for interrupting our conversation, and of course the same to you Tommy, but I will be returning shortly because I need to smooth something over with my employee,” Quackity dictates eloquently, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Promise. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Tommy nods, looking at Wilbur. WIlbur looks conflicted, but sighs.

“Fine. Might as well look around.” Wilbur groans. Slime leads the two off, starting a sentence that would likely end a non-sequitur.

“Purpled, I wanted to apologize-” Quackity starts as soon as they’re out of earshot, and Purpled holds up a hand.

“Wait.”
“I really am so-”
“Fundy is behind the bushes.” Purpled deadpans. Quackity whirls around to see Fundy, who is very much behind the bushes.

“I’ll go, uh…”
“Open the restaurant for our guests.” Purpled suggests.

“Yeah.” Fundy nods vigorously and scurries off. When Fundy leaves, Quackity sighs.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you about Slime, and I shouldn’t have came barging in, but I was panicked, and-”

“I don’t need an apology for you finding out.” Purpled starts with a low exhale.

“Then what-”

“I need an apology for telling Technoblade. The running away and the stabbing Slime- that was on me.” Purpled explains. Quackity cringes.

“I was getting to that…”

“Then get to it.” Purpled states firmly.

“I’m really sorry I told him. I was all panicky, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do about it. I shouldn’t have done that, it was a breach of your trust and privacy, and I hope you can forgive me.” Quackity goes through the apology, voice steady, like he’d thought it over way too many times. Purpled takes a breath, closes his primary eyes, and takes another.

He opens his eyes, and looks at Quackity, four to two. Purpled reaches out and takes his hands. It isn’t the same, with gloves on, to someone who didn’t have pads on their fingers and palms. Purpled spreads his palms flat and Quackity’s hands lay on top of his own.

It’s close enough.

Purpled takes one more breath, listening to Quackity’s pulse with a gloved finger. It speaks of honesty.

“I forgive you.”

And then he does.

Quackity doesn’t know quite what Purpled just did, but it feels significant, and Quackity is immensely glad Purpled has forgiven him. He lets out a sigh of relief, feathers flattening.

“Thank you.” Quackity squeezes Purpled’s hands, before letting his drop to his sides. Purpled shrugs.

“You’re my boss, it would be awkward to leave everything up in the air.”

“It still means a lot you forgave me. Now, if you don’t mind-“

“Go damage control Tommy and Wilbur, yeah. I’ll handle Fundy. But I’m messaging you some boundaries and I expect you to follow them” Purpled waves Quackity away with a smile, and Quackity smiles back, giving a wave goodbye.

“Of course! We’ll chat later.” And he jogs off.

Purpled turns to go to the restaurant to deescalate a panicking fox. He finds Fundy in the back, going through the refrigerator and muttering under his breath. He’s clearly stressed.

“Hey.” Purpled leans against the doorframe and Fundy flinches, slamming his head on the top of the fridge and cursing.

“Jesus, Purpled! Warn a guy.” Fundy removes himself from the fridge and rubs his head, groaning.

“Sorry. Want me to bus tables?” Purpled asks. Fundy looks hopefully upon him.

“Would you?”

“Sure. It’s my job, isn’t it?” Purpled grins thinly, still leaning on the doorframe.

“You’re my savior!” Fundy ruffles Purpled’s hair, what he can from under the helmet, giving him a one-armed hug, smiling wide. “Oh, thank you!”

“Hey! Personal space!” Purpled protests weakly, pushing Fundy off.

“And you still have to cook and clean the kitchen. I’ll just do the customer-facing stuff.” Purpled huffs.

“I would literally pay you to keep me away from Wilbur, don’t get any ideas.” Fundy sighs with relief, going into a chest and laying a few things out. They’re a few different kinds of things- Tabasco, dried lemon zest, garlic powder, lime juice, unground pepper, sparkling grape juice, and soy sauce. Purpled tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, curious. Fundy slams down a bottle of peppermint extract and smiles maniacally.

“Quackity didn’t tell me he was inviting Wilbur, so I’m getting a little revenge.” Fundy taps his fingers together like a cartoon supervillain and laughs.

“Okay, I’m not gonna tell you no, but sparkling grape juice? That’s one of, like, three things I can safely drink in this country.” Purpled points out.

“Oh, no, that’s for Tommy. Quackity’s gonna get wine for him and Wilbur and I want Tommy to feel included.” Fundy explains.

“Ohhhhh, that makes more sense. So we’re poisoning Quackity then?” Purpled asks.

“Yep. I’m putting three teaspoons of peppermint in his drink, and concocting a special sauce for the occasion.” Fundy laughs evilly again, getting a mixing bowl from the pantry, and cracking open bottles and shakers. Purpled watches with fascination as Fundy mixes his concoction. His base is lime juice, soy sauce, and Tabasco, with a strong emphasis on the last, and he carefully taps out gross amounts of strong seasoning.

“Add salt. It’ll contrast the lemon and lime.” Purpled suggests, and Fundy grins.

“Good idea. How much?”

“How badly do you want Quackity to start coughing on the first bite?”

“Oh, you’re * evil* .” Fundy says appreciatively, unscrewing the cap on the salt and shaking an incredibly unhealthy amount into the ‘sauce’.

The door rings, and Purpled leaves with a salute.

“Good luck, solider, and mark the drinks with flags. Tommy doesn’t deserve mint.” Fundy laughs, and Purpled closes the door to the back and grabs silverware, water glasses, and a pitcher.

“Welcome to Las Nevadas’s favorite food establishment, what can I do for you today?” Purpled puts his tray down on the front counter and smiles.

“Table for three, Purpled. And bring out some wine, the red.” Quackity asks. Purpled walks the group over to a window booth and puts out their place settings, pouring water into glasses and rushing to the back.

“Three glasses, two red, one sparkling grape.” Purpled tells Fundy. Fundy gestures to his three pre-made glasses: they have colored flecks spun through the glass, one red, one navy, one brown.

“The blue one is mint, the brown one is regular, the red one is sparkling.”

“Got it.” Purpled nods, placing the glasses on his tray with the loaf of bread Fundy had scuffed together. He walks them out and places them in a careful order: Quackity first, to the left, then Wilbur’s to the right.

“Oh, Tommy is underage, can you send that last one back?” Wilbur asks politely.

“It’s sparkling grape juice. Compliments of your chef today.” Purpled turns and catches Quackity’s eye with the last statement. He’s taking a sip of his wine as Purpled sets down Tommy’s glass.

“Poggers, thanks.” Tommy mutters. Quackity’s eyes widen and he freezes. Purpled sets the bread down and watches Quackity, who is still frozen.

“On the house.” Purpled gives Wilbur his best customer-service smile.

Quackity swallows with a wince. Purpled feels joy.

“Oh! Thank you, that’s very kind.” Wilbur smiles, looking over at Quackity.

“Can I get you all any starters?” Purpled asks politely, pulling out a notepad and pen. Tommy looks over the beginning of the menu.

“Can we have cheese bread?” He asks.

“Yep! One order of cheese bread, anything else?” Purpled asks, noting it down.
“Note this down on me, please?” Quackity asks. Purpled nods and closes the notebook.

“Alright, that’ll be out in a few.” Purpled walks off to the back and gives Fundy the order. He throws together bread and Purpled puts it on his tray and covers it, waiting and watching for the proper time to deliver a starter and take food orders. Wilbur puts his menu down on the table and Purpled skates over with the bread, setting it just a little more toward the front right and Tommy.

“Alright, is everyone ready to order?” Purpled asks, pen poised over notebook.

“Yes, I think so.” Wilbur clears his throat and smiles.

“What will you all have tonight?” Purpled asks.

“Quackity would like smothered smoked cod,” Wilbur starts.

“Wilbur would like the steak with berry sauce, medium rare” Quackity continues.

“I’d like some fish and chips.” Tommy pipes up last. Purpled marks it down, noting to put the special sauce on the smoked cod, and to give Tommy extra fries, because he deserved extra fries for sitting through whatever the hell * that* just was. Purpled almost wishes he were worse at reading people, because watching this was painful.

“Alright, that’ll be right out. Anything else I can do for you?” Purpled asks.

“Would you bring the bottle out? Wilbur was wondering about the make and labels.” Quackity asks. He catches Purpled’s eyes, dropping his smile and giving him a desperate look.

Don’t fuck this up. It seems to say.

Purpled gives Quackity a flat, saccharine smile, watching the hope drain from his eyes.

“I’ll be sure to bring that out for you. Would our alcohol free guest like the sparkling grape juice bottle, or perhaps another kind of drink?” Purpled asks politely, directing his gaze to Tommy.

“Do you have… coke?” Tommy asks awkwardly.

“Of course, would you like refills and ice, or just the chilled can?” Purpled asks, poising his pen over the notepad.

“The can, please.” Tommy smiles, warming up just a little bit. Purpled nods and rushes off, tearing his page of notes and passing it to Fundy.

“The smoked cod is Quackity, the fish and chips is Tommy. Don’t confuse them, please.” Purpled says, before grabbing the uncorked wine bottle, the sparkling juice, his water pitcher, and an iced can of Coke straight from the cooler. He balances them on the tray, watching as Fundy goes through the manic motions of monitoring smokers and furnaces, then waiting until Wilbur’s wine glass is empty to return with the tray. Purpled pours out fresh red for the two adults, leaving the bottle in the middle of the table. He tops off water (can’t be too careful to keep them all sober) and Tommy’s sparkling juice glass so he continues to feel included. Purpled puts that bottle back on the tray and gives Tommy his coke, which he grabs immediately.

“Pogchamp, man, thanks.” Tommy grins wide, a little more genuine in his loud exclamation than a moment before, which makes Purpled a lot more comfortable. If he could make Tommy comfortable he might not be that bad a waiter. Quackity sips his topped off glass with relief at the diluted peppermint, and Purpled registers a quiet sigh. Wilbur has ignored Purpled entirely in favor of his conversation with Quackity.

“So you’re saying you want to keep me in reserve for artificial competition? Why should I give my proceeds to you if I’m running my own show?” Wilbur lowers his eyelids slightly and traces the rim of his wine glass, and Purpled would like to remind him that this was a public space and he was right next to his brother, gross. Quackity sits back a little and levels his gaze to Wilbur.

“Because you’ll net more if we have artificial competition and you stay on my side. With the long con, the people who hate me and still want to gamble will go to you, meaning more customer net. It’s the same the opposite way, those who hate you will come to me to spite you. If we join together you have more profit, since you’re a smaller business venture, and I get more customers. The illusion of separation is what gets us money.” Quackity sips his wine.

“And besides, Wilbur. You’re a politician, not a businessman. You need me. If that wasn’t obvious by you coming here and proclaiming yourself mine already.”

Purpled makes a subtle gag face at Tommy over laying out the table, and Tommy laughs bubbles into his drink. Purpled skids off to the back again, unloading his tray on his section of the counter. Fundy is laying finishing touches on Quackity’s smothered cod while steak, fried fish and french fries cook.

“How is it?” Fundy asks, drizzling special sauce over Quackity’s meal.

“Unbearable. They’re flirting about business ventures. I’m taking the extra price off giving Tommy more coke and extra fries, because I could not sit through that.” Purpled groans.

“Agh, TMI! Didn’t need to know!” Fundy winces, face wrinkling, and Purpled laughs.

“I think Quackity thinks he’s in the clear. You absolutely need to watch when I run the food out.” Purpled grins maniacally, putting the finished plate on his tray. Fundy takes the other two meals off the heat and starts fixing up plates, while Purpled watches the table. Tommy is digging into the cheese bread, putting a straw on each drink. Purpled watches as he sips all three at once before making a fowl face, unnoticed by his escorts. Wilbur and Quackity are talking, animated, over wine, and Purpled can tell Quackity is frustrated because of how he pauses to bite his lip between statements. Wilbur seems animated and entertained, swirling wine and giving theatrical gestures that make Tommy shrink away.

Fundy finishes cooking in record time, which is good, and Purpled balances the tray with an extra can of Coke for Tommy. He sets down Quackity’s first, before stepping to the right to leave the view clear.

“Smoked cod, medium rare steak with berry sauce, fish and chips and a coke, anything else?” Purpled asks, holding his tray with one hand and folding his other behind his back.

Quackity cuts into the cod, raising his fork.

Purpled smiles with satisfaction as he takes his bite. His eyes go wide with shock and he hides his mouth behind his hand. Wilbur’s attention is unerringly on him, and he looks curious. Tommy is totally missing it, focus on Purpled.

“Dessert menu?” He asks.

“Of course, that’ll be out momentarily, will that be all?” Purpled turns his head to Quackity, who’s hand slams on the table as he coughs.

“Are you alright?” Wilbur asks, concerned. Quackity looks up at Purpled, who smirks, and determinedly switches his expression to positive, turning to Wilbur.

“Fine, just swallowed wrong.” He rasps.

“That’ll be all.” Wilbur waves his hand dismissively at Purpled. Purpled suppresses the urge to attack him viciously, turning on a heel and walking off to the back.

Fundy grabs him as soon as he’s through the door, laughing so hard tears run down his face.

“Holy shit you have to look at this.” Fundy says, stifling yipping giggles. He pulls Purpled by the arm, pointing through the back window to the one filled table. Quackity is eating his food with a pained expression, scraping sauce off where he can. As Fundy and Purpled watch, he accidentally licks sauce off his spoon, and quickly goes straight to chug his water. Fundy howls like a hyena and Purpled scoffs, setting down his tray to watch the show. Wilbur seems suspicious, asking Quackity something, and Tommy looks like he’s trying really hard not to laugh.

Tommy looks over to the left, nearly meeting eyes with Fundy before Fundy drops to the ground to avoid him. Instead, he looks straight at Purpled, who waves, before ever so slowly lifting up two bottles: peppermint extract and Tabasco sauce. Purpled’s face is dead straight as he lofts them slowly, before smiling.

Tommy starts laughing so hard Purpled can hear it in the back room through the window. Wilbur almost looks over and spots him but Purpled drops to the ground just in the nick of time. He meets eyes with Fundy on the ground.

Fundy snickers. Purpled snorts.

They burst out laughing, Purpled so hard he’s almost moved to tears. For once that doesn’t make him fear his face turning purple with natural dye. Purpled cleans himself up and runs out dessert menus, enjoying Tommy’s delighted face at the amount of chocolate options and Quackity’s blatant humored misery. The rest of the meal speeds by as Purpled runs drinks, plates and desserts. He meets eyes with Tommy over an awkward exchange while taking away an empty double-chocolate with chocolate cookie ice cream bowl. Quackity and WIlbur seemingly can’t decide whether to shake hands or sign over a deal, leading to a disgustingly overt exchange debating physical contact as a means to make promises .

Purpled sticks his tongue out and closes one eye for a brief ‘ew gross’ expression and Tommy snorts into his coke can. Success.

He finally runs the check and Quackity signs off as ‘on the house’. Tommy is the one who actually checks the receipt to make sure the price is right, despite not paying for it. He notices XL fries, 3 coke cans, and a large chocolate dessert taken off under the caption ‘ENDURED PAIN’. He looks up at Purpled, pointing at it with words on his tongue, but Purpled winks and takes the check to the back. Tommy watches him go with a smile.

He might have to revise Purpled’s ‘big man’ status.

{<>}

“No one stopped by today.”
“No, I was busy with my date.”
“Spare me. How’s Purpled?”

“He’s… well, we’re getting there. Seemed bad this morning but we’re back on track.”

“Does he look like him?”

“No. He doesn’t. We’ll get there.”

“How are… you… doing…?”
“Oh, Techy, I thought we were being professional~”

“Nevermind-”
“I’m doing okay. I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m glad you answered.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Quackity waves to Wilbur and Tommy energetically before they finally disappear from view, and he deflates with a sigh. Entertaining Wilbur’s constant questioning and simultaneously trying to give Tommy some positive attention was exhausting. Wilbur made Quackity suspicious, even if Quackity wanted him on the team. And he still hadn’t managed to invite Tommy to Las Nevadas on his own without Wilbur blocking the line of conversation or accusing Quackity of suspecting him.

He did, but you don’t tend to admit suspicion in polite company, especially if said ‘polite’ company is someone you’re trying to recruit to manipulate the gambling market.

Purpled walks out of the restaurant, gently rubbing his eyes. It was a weird brand of uncanny valley to be expecting nonhuman traits and not see them.

“You better apologize to Fundy before he pulls out the strong stuff.” Purpled says conversationally, like that isn’t the singular most terrifying threat Quackity has ever heard.

“Yeah, I’ll be on it. Managed to totally forget about that shitshow, with everything else going on.” Quackity sighs, rubbing his own eyes. Purpled awkwardly sets a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe get some sleep?” He suggests.

“I could tell you the same thing. Your eyes are the wrong color.” Quackity jokes, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

“Yeah…” Purpled stares off into the distance, looking thoughtful. After a moment he looks like he’s had a realization, and pulls a few small items from his pockets. He unscrews something that looks like a bottle cap storage device, puts some fluid in it, and pokes his eye. It’s strange and somewhat gross looking to watch, but Quackity watches anyway as Purpled takes two blue-grey colored contacts out, exposing vibrant purple. He drops eye drops with two fast blinks and stores everything back in his pockets. He squints, rubbing his eyes, before sighing and closing them instead. Quackity feels for the second time as though he’s watched something important and not quite understood it.

“Ever think about telling people you’re a moth hybrid?” Quackity asks. Purpled looks startled.

He’d never really talked about these things before. No one knew. And inquiries like these were very different from a clearly naturally curious Philza asking basic anatomical questions.

“Nah. That’d be…” Purpled thinks about how to describe it, “Like, worse than concealing. Directly lying about my nature instead of letting people assume. It’d be wrong.”

“Is that a your people thing or a you thing?” Quackity asks. Purpled hums.

“Both, I think. You know how all overworld and netherfolk and enderbeings have a concept of pride or honor? But some people, or species, take it a lot more seriously? It’s kind of like that. Like, there’s the basic harm against like, a pigeon brute's pride, that some people would be fine with. That’s the hat and long gloves and all. But misdirection or lying about who you are? That’s like, patronizing someone in their own house. That would damage anyone’s pride.” Purpled explains haltingly. Quackity nods, understanding.

“That makes sense. Have you ever thought about… telling people? It’s pretty tolerant here, if nothing else.” Quackity gestures to the greater SMP. Purpled hums again.

“You ever do something so often you don’t even realize you’re doing it?” Purpled asks. Quackity’s heart twists, predicting the course of this conversation.

“Yeah.”
“Like holding a waterglass in a certain way. Or tying your shoes one lace over the other.” Purpled explains further.

“Yeah.” Quackity nods, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s like that. Like I’ve been hiding for my own safety so long it’d be weird to take the hat off.” Purpled takes a breath, then exhales. He turns his face and closed eyes more towards the sun, letting the light wash over it. It puts him facing away from Quackity.

“Like if I went walking down the prime path with my antennae open I’d be more afraid then comforted.”

Quackity’s heart tears into smaller, thinner pieces. He takes his hand and puts it on Purpled’s shoulder, and Purpled doesn’t shrug it away.

“Maybe not the prime path. But mainstreet? Eventually?” Quackity asks. It’s a shot in the dark and a bit of an overstep, but Quackity has to try, before his brain tears him to shreds over it. Purpled opens his eyes a little and looks at the fountain, at the beams of the setting sun splicing the water and sending dancing lights over the ground. He takes another breath.

“Maybe. Eventually. Hopefully.”

Quackity smiles, wings fluffing on his back.

“Then take all the time you need. I’ve got plenty to make it worthwhile.” Quackity says.

He hopes it comes across that it’s more than just money.

It does.

{<>}

<Technoblade> Come on purple boy

<Technoblade> I will give you two (2!) iron blocks for this.

<Purpled> bro i just wok up give me two minsuye

<Purpled> okay yeah ill come? Watch niki and ranboo?

<Purpled> this sounds suspiciously like you trying to invite me to lunch

<Technoblade> Okay MAYBE they don’t need supervision and just want you over.

<Technoblade> I will still pay you two (2!) iron snacks to hang out with them

<Purpled> give me. Twenty minutes.

<Purpled> +travel time

<Technoblade> I wait patiently

<Technoblade> come hungry! I made pastries! -niki

<Purpled> hell yeah

Purpled stumbles around collecting things. He had his beanie and shoes back, which was a blessing. He throws on his hoodie, ties worn shoelaces, and rubs skin tone over his purple lower eyelids. He looks as put together as ten minutes in front of a mirror while squinting and ten taming an excitable dog who wants to run will allow. Dogchamp licks his face as he clasps the leash, and Purpled has to close his eyes to avoid full mauling. Then they’re off, messaging Techno the whole way along. A few whispers from Quackity pop through about the morning's adventures in Las Nevadas, and he gets a blurry image from Fundy of what looks like Foolish tripping over a road sign and Slime cheering loudly. Purpled sends back an image of Dogchamp weighing down his boat and Fundy has several excited messages along the lines of ‘DOG!!!!!! BIG!!!!!!’ in reply. It’s a decent morning. Probably would be better without the headache, but that happens when your diamond helmet is just too small and you’re wearing a hat underneath. Also what happens when you wear colored contacts for like, two days straight.

Oh well. He had places to be.

Purpled finishes his boat trip and, seeing as it was late morning and most mobs were burned or hiding, lets Dogchamp off the leash to bound around freely in the snow. He runs around happily, barking and sniffing at plants. Purpled occasionally has to click his tongue at him to stay away from a berry bush, but it otherwise goes smoothly. They come up on the Antarctic commune and Purpled opens the gate, only for Dogchamp to leap over the fence and run off towards the dog pen. Purpled jogs over to keep watch, in case Techno’s pack chooses violence, but it doesn’t seem to be necessary. Niki and Ranboo are standing by the dog pen, Niki petting Dogchamp as he tries his hardest to stretch up and lick her face. She laughs, crouching down and scratching him behind the ears. Ranboo spots Purpled and waves him over.

“Hey.” Ranboo greets awkwardly.

“Hello.” Purpled nods to him.

“Morning, Purpled! You have a nice dog.” Niki giggles as Dogchamp tries to lick her ears. Purpled clicks the buttons on his glove against the leash at his belt (best replication of antennae noises he could find) and Dogchamp comes back around and sits by his side.  Purpled strokes his little mane of feelers gently, letting out a short contented sigh.

“Good morning, Niki.” He nods again in greeting.

“Did Techno invite you?” Niki asks, standing up and rubbing dog saliva off her face.

“Yep.  Even managed to workaround the pointless made-up reason before I arrived.” Purpled grins at his own joke, and Niki snorts.

“That’s Techno, for sure.” Niki turns to the side, still bodily facing the conversation but now also filling dog feeders. What dogs that aren’t otherwise distracted seem fascinated by Dogchamp, but at the very least they aren’t barking. Ranboo does a few passes through his inventory, seemingly looking for something. He must be comfortable to keep it on single-item swipe in this area. Purpled still notes the holographic cards displayed from the wristband- netherite tools with a dizzying array of neat blue runic enchantments, some food in random unfilled stacks, torches, wood, three crafting tables, cobblestone, a single grass block, wool, raw meat, a bucket of milk. Purpled stops taking note after what must be the last netherite tool Ranboo is carrying because the disorganization hurt his head. After a moment Ranboo removes something without a card from his inventory space- a bookmark. It’s purple, and glittery. It looks handmade- thick, sturdy and rough paper with woven string lining the edge and coming to the top to make a tassel. The string is light green, with a few small purple glass beads circling the edge of the tassel. The paper has an Enchantment word on it, in glitter purple gel pen, which was the glittery part of the otherwise smooth (but swirled with different shades) purple paper. It’s mirrored on both sides, and reads ‘Binding I’.

“I made you a bookmark.” Ranboo says, extending his white hand to Purpled, bookmark resting on the palm.

“The binding enchantment makes it magnetic to paper, so you don’t lose your place. Since you’re part of the book club now.” Ranboo explains. He looks nervous, but hopeful. Purpled extends his gloved hands to take the bookmark from Ranboo. He looks it over in his palm.

It’s pretty. Sturdy. His favorite colors.

The glass on the tassel catches the sun, reflecting it in little purplish stars on his hands. Purpled takes it and grabs his book from his hoodie pocket. There’s a scrap of torn off notebook paper keeping the place. He replaces it with the beautiful bookmark, and carefully returns it to his hoodie pocket. Ranboo watches on, fiddling with his fingers.

“Thank you. It’s… very nice of you. I like it a lot.” Purpled looks back up at Ranboo, whose smile stretches across his whole face. Literally.

“You’re welcome! It was fun to make. Now we all match.” Ranboo says happily. Niki smiles, taking something out of her back pocket- a light pink colored bookmark with a black binding enchantment, edged with light grey thread and with small clear glass beads on the tassel. Ranboo takes his book from his disorganized inventory, showing a split black and white swirly dyed paper, with purple binding, a red-green alternating thread, and purple glass beads.

“Techno and Phil have theirs too, but they’re in their books.” Ranboo explains.

“What colors are they?” Purpled asks.

“We can show you!” Ranboo says. He’s beaming again, seeming happy someone is taking an interest in his work. They step inside Phil’s house and Ranboo quickly locates two side-by-side copies of the book on the coffee table, each with bookmarks sticking out. One has red paper, with gold glittery binding, white thread with tiny flecks of black like the edge of a cape, and tiny gold beads instead of glass beads. The one on the right has forest green paper, with black binding and dark red thread. The beads are also gold- seemingly made to match.

“That one's Techno’s, and that one's Phil’s. I made theirs have gold beads because Techno likes gold and Phil likes to match him. So we’re a whole unique set!” Ranboo points to each bookmark and illustrates with his hands, before clasping them together and grinning at Purpled.

“That’s really cool. How’d you get the gold so small?” Purpled asks.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked! If you superheat gold and put it in a heat resistant wide syringe, like a glass blowing one, you can get these tiny even circles. So from there you just set them on a sheet of something heat resistant and moveable, and roll them around while they cool to keep the sphere shape. Then, before they’re solid enough to be fully cool, you take a tiny extra-wide steel sewing needle, stab a little hole through them, and push them off into water!” Ranboo explains. Purpled nods along.

“Isn’t that all a burn risk? Like if the gold rolls off onto your arm or clothes.”

“Well, I’m minorly burnproof. Mostly. The worst part for me is getting them off into water without touching the water, which is an ordeal.” Ranboo sighs.

“Oh, that’s cool. I like em. Might try it sometime.” Purpled says with an approving nod. Ranboo grins, going to respond, probably thanking for the compliment, but the door opens and Techno and Phil walk in.

“And then I said- oh, you’re here.” Techno looks at Purpled with mild surprise.

“You kids getting along?” Phil asks. Ranboo nods his head vigorously, smiling.

“He gave me a bookmark.” Purpled offers.

“Oh, a high honor.” Techno nods seriously. Phil picks up their copies of the book. It’s some old recount of a town full of serial killers, written more like a fictional story then real fact.

“So, since we’re all here, what about a book club meeting?” Niki proposes.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Techno smiles. Purpled takes his book out of his pocket, running his fingers through the tassel. This might be a fun afternoon.

{<>}

The book club meeting had technically ended in an unclosed debate, seeing as that’s when Phil and Techno went to go make dinner. Niki, Purpled and Ranboo, however, had been outside trying to prove the efficiency of a wooden shack at silencing the sound of screaming, which was an incredibly difficult experiment to do, they were finding out, because there were a lot of variables.

It was mostly a lot of fun.

Niki, they discovered, was incredibly good at replicating the noises people make when stabbed in the throat (“Practice” she explains, “And a really dumb bet from being bored in a ravine”). Ranboo was good at making soundproof shacks. Purpled was good at yelling real loud. By the time Techno called everyone in from the snow to come eat dinner, they were breathless from laughter and the lawn was covered with various styles of low-roofed shack. Ranboo and Purpled had an impromptu race- Ranboo looked him in the eye when he was walking by his side to the door, what was he supposed to do, not break out running?- and stumbled into the door neck in neck. Unfortunately, Ranboo’s long legs gave him the advantage on the stairs, and Purpled had to duck behind so he didn’t sprint full-throttle into the doorframe. Niki walks in last, giggling at their silliness. The other two shed coats, gloves, boots and hats by the door, seating themselves at the table. Ranboo seemed to have picked a higher-set chair for long legs, and Niki sat in a plush cushioned one. Purpled, for manners sake, takes off his diamond armor and puts it in his top inventory slots. He shakes off most of the snow and adjusts his beanie down over his ears more. He takes a seat by Ranboo, set up how it had been the other day outside.

“You can take your gloves off, Purpled, it’s warm in here.” Niki offers. Phil bites his lip and Techno looks stiff. Purpled curses them for being obvious.

“No thanks. It’s a preference thing. Picked it up during Hypixel.” Purple lies smoothly, practiced. The fun part was thinking up the original story a few years ago, that bordered just against truth, enough that his fingers didn’t tighten with a lying tick.

“You used to frequent Hypixel too?” Ranboo asks, curious. He flips the edge of his collar- there’s a golden H button pinned under it.

“Yep. Purpled Bedwars.” Purpled nods.

“Neat! I never grabbed a game title, just bounced around.” Ranboo smiles, conversation satisfactorily ended when he shoves a bite of roast potato in his mouth.

“What about the hat?” Niki asks.

“Matches my outfit.” Purpled completes the question seamlessly, consuming a beetroot with violent intent. Phil lets out a sigh and Techno eats a baked potato at an entirely unreasonable speed.

“Do you wear them all the time?” Niki tilts her head.

“Yep.” Purpled nods.

“To bed, too?”

“No, I sleep without them.”

“What about the face tattoos? Where did you get those?” Niki asks.

“Style choice, got them when I made my hypixel competition brand.” Purpled takes a long drink of his water, and Niki chews a bite of bread.

“How old were you?” She asks.

“Dunno.” Purpled takes a bite of toast, and the table suddenly goes silent and still. He sets down the toast.

“What?”

“Purpled, how old are you?” Ranboo asks.

“Uhh, 17ish? Maybe 16 or 18, depends.” Purpled shrugs.

“...Okay, not an expert on remembering ages, but I think if you’re below 400 years you don’t usually lose track.” Techno says, one eyebrow raised.

“Did you miss a birthday? I forget the date sometimes.” Ranboo suggests.

“Nah, just spent a… few months? Grinding? Don’t know how many months. A la, don’t remember age.” Purpled shrugs.
“Could you not find a date and calculate it?” Niki asks.

Purpled does not know how to explain that he didn’t know how to calculate his planet’s years to Overworld years in a way that will not betray 1. He lost a digital calendar in a bar fight and 2. He is not from this planet.

“Too much work. Age is overrated. I’ll know when I can legally drink.” Purpled says finally.

“I think,” Philza suggests, “We should move on from this topic.”

And so they do.

{<>}

Purpled goes home with leftovers and a social-happy Dogchamp. He leaves the leftovers in the fridge and lets Dogchamp curl up on his bed while he gets ready to sleep. His face makeup has been smudged off, which he doesn’t mind all that much. It’s a quick evening, and Purpled doesn’t set an alarm. As long as he woke up before noon he’d be fine. In fact, the closer to noon, the better.

He had a plan, and it wasn’t a fun one.

{<>}

"Good day?"

"Yep. Purpled looks mostly like Purpled. How's yours?"

"Exhausting, but satisfactory."

"No examination today."

"Nah. Couldn't spare people. It'll be soon."

"At this rate, my people will be over there before yours are over here."

"Shut up, old pig."

{<>}

Chapter Text

The next morning is an anxious blur. He has his hoodie, and his netherite. He has his shoes and pants with the UFO patches, and he has a lovingly-crafted bookmark to fiddle with.

He has his gloves and beanie tucked into the hoodie pocket, and only a helmet and pockets to shove his hands in to walk to Las Nevadas. He almost turns around at the sign.

Almost. Because Fundy sees him, from where he was waiting by the road. And Quackity is there as well- at Purpled’s request. In case he needed a backup liar.

Fundy barrels into Purpled full-speed, knocking his purple hood down and leaving his ears to open air. He takes his hands out of his pockets and wraps them over Fundy’s shoulders.

Fundy pulls back, and his expression is blank for all of two seconds.

“I knew there was something different! You still smell like moss under the iron shavings.” Fundy says. It sounds more joyful then accusatory. Quackity looks worried.

Fundy pulls Purpled into another, gentler hug.

“Welcome to the family, Purpled.”

Purpled hugs back, over the fox man’s shoulders, and wonders why he was every worried. Behind Fundy’s back, he presses his inventory button and unequips the helmet. After a little while Fundy removes his arms and looks up again.

“Wait, you have antennae- “

“Purpled from UFO!” Slime yells, interrupting Fundy. He runs up to the sign, and Purpled extends his hands to be slapped. As expected, Slime daps them up.

“Dap me up! You have no hat or helmet or gloves on!” Slime notes curiously. He grabs Purpled’s hand and raises it above his head, looking it over, before tilting Purpled’s face with one slimy hand, examining his eyelids and ears. Purpled opens his lower eyes and Fundy makes another shocked gasp.

“Those are eyelids? ” He exclaims. Fundy bumps Slime to the side and grabs Purpled’s face in his own hands, tilting it side to side. Purpled sticks his tongue out at Fundy, but his face still isn’t disgusted- just curious. Purpled’s antennae shudder once anyway. After a second Quackity puts a hand on Fundy’s shoulder and tugs him back a step.

“Alright, I think that’s enough harassing Purpled for today. Let’s get to work!” Quackity turns around, slinging his arm over Fundy’s shoulder and walking the other way. Slime quickly follows, and Purpled pulls his hood up over his head. Through the babble that immediately started up between Slime and Fundy, Quackity looks over at Purpled, concerned. Purpled gives an okay sign with his hands and Quackity nods, satisfied.

Purpled sighs and closes his lower eyes again, looking up at the sky. There was a very difficult balance to walk for Purpled, now that he’d adjusted to hiding. Instead of relief at finally being free from the understimulating hell of gloves and hat and hood and other, he had to hard walk the line between too little too late and feeling like his brain was going to tear from too much feedback. Keeping lower eyes closed and hood up to somewhat muffle heat and sound helped, but there was still some borderline discomfort. It was better, though.

Not constantly fearing catching his hood or hat on something and losing control of his secret helped.

They pass Foolish and Sam. Foolish smiles and waves, and Sam hands a piece of paper to Quackity.

“Tasks list.” He says, before turning back to the crating table he was leaned over.

“Morning, Purpled! You look well today.” Foolish smiles, and his emerald eyes flash with some sort of meaning and depth. Purpled’s second sight gives a shiver of something below the surface. Purpled has the feeling he wasn’t hiding anything from Foolish.

He still looks cheery. His heart beats genuine. Purpled nods his own greeting.

“You too.”

“Alright, gang! Here’s what we’re doing today.” Quackity smiles and flattens the tasks list out on a table next to Sam and Foolish’s. The other two go back to discussing blueprints of something or another, and Purpled really wishes he couldn’t feel them flirting behind him.

“The cards and the tokens all need restocking and replacing, and the tables need cleaning as well. If either of you could figure out the fluorescents problem in the back of the casino,” Quackity gestures to Fundy and Purpled, “It would be appreciated. Connor is coming later this afternoon, so Slime will be with me to ready and escort. If you need something to do, ask Sam or come back to the list to check stuff off. Got it, everyone?” Quackity smiles and looks around the table. It’s nods all around, jubilant from Slime. He seems excited about Connor visiting. Fundy loops his arm around Purpled’s and they’re off to the casino (Purpled being dragged, but only a little bit).

“Alright, looks like it’s us again.” Purpled says conversationally.

“Oh yes,” Fundy grins, foxlike and full of mischief, “It is.”

{<>}

They end the day doing swan dives off the needle. Fundy matches Purpled’s bets of his wages for his own mined diamonds, despite Purpled being considerably better at water bucket clutches of all kinds. He’s two deep in the hole when Quackity walks out of the casino, watches Purpled F5 for two seconds midair and do a 360 to almost land straight on a cactus, and immediately starts yelling, putting a stop to the fun.

Purpled doesn’t make Fundy pay, but it’s not like anyone else needs to know. Fundy can think he forgot while Quackity lectured him on public safety and the importance of fucking self preservation, Jesus Christ .

Quackity ruffles his hair at the end of it, so he isn’t too mad.

“Alright, you two. I’m giving you responsibilities so you stop jumping off buildings.” Quackity says, trapping Fundy under his arm and ruffling his hair. Fundy makes outraged noises and Purpled tilts his head, antennae flicking curiously.

“You two can get some overtime pay if you go visit the arctic tomorrow.” Quackity explains lightly. Fundy goes dramatically limp under his arm.
“Pleeeeeaaaaase don’t say it-”

“You don’t have to talk to Phil, no, you just have to talk to Techno. Maybe Ranboo, as well.” Quackity scuffs Fundy’s head one more time before releasing him. He flops on the floor and puts his hands to the sky.

“Praise the lord!”
“What are we visiting for?” Purpled asks.

“Techno will tell you when you get there.” Quackity waves his hand dissmissively, “And you’re also supposed to talk to Ranboo about advertising the cookie stand in Las Nevadas. We’re corporate partners, not enemies.” Quackity sighs.

“Alright, how much is overtime?” Purpled asks, poking at Fundy with his shoe. Fundy swats him on the shin.
“Since it should only take you an hour or two, I’ll give you a full day’s pay.” Quackity says easily, “Both of you, that is, and Fundy is excused from Las Nevadas for all Wilbur days for the next two months. Plus I’ll make dinner.” Quackity offers. Fundy groans.

“See, I knew you would say something like that! Now I have to go.” Fundy flips over and sighs again, pushing himself up.

“Gonna go feed and walk my kid. Wanna come, Purpled?” He asks.

“Nah, I’m a bit tired.” Purpled shakes his head. Fundy shrugs and walks off.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Quackity asks. He looks a little hopeful.
“Going home. It’s been a long day.” Purpled exhales, and his antennae droop. It had been the longest he’d gone out in the open without being asleep in a very long time, and he wasn’t quite ready to trust being asleep here again yet. Quackity nods his understanding.

“That’s alright, take your time.”

“I’ve got stuff to work on, anyways.” Purpled amends, “So I’ll check in tomorrow.” Purpled turns to leave.
“Sleep well, safe travels.” Quackity says, walking off in his own direction, probably back to his endless work.

(Purpled doesn’t see him duck behind the strip club, off to have another conversation about the purpose of a visit to the Arctic).

“Thank you.” Purpled says to himself. The sun sets over the sand, leaving Las Nevadas a hazy vision of light and sound behind him. Purpled looks out over the desert, watching a few flakes of snow melt in the sky. There’s an emotion, in the pit of his stomach, sliding up his throat. It’s glittery like the sand and the sun and the lights.

He pushes it down.

He’d been neglecting his real job.

{<>}
Purpled taps another even line into the block of iron. His fingers are stained with blue crystal pigment, and the incomplete enchantment sits dully on the gilded block.

Attempt number 2304.

Purpled chips a dot into the symbol, before taking his tool and filing the gash with pigment. The iron glows, golden veins filling up and searing toward the emerald set in the center of the block.

He’d gotten further before. He’d failed earlier before.

His heart still bangs with hope every time the light glows instead of dying.

His antennae lean back. He leans forward, the sizeable chunk of metal and material sitting on the table in front of him shimmering. The gold slowly drips into the emerald’s glass setting.

Please. Please. Please.

The enchanted glow fades from the iron. The golden veins fall still and silent. The shroomlights attached to the engine flicker and die, taking the light with it. The emerald stays flat and green, refusing to light with symbols, refusing the diamond-infused core placed inside it.

Attempt number 2304 failed. He marks off the attempted translation in the notebook and sighs. Four more attempts, all failures.

Just 7000 more fill-in-the-blanks to try.

He rinses the lapis off his hands and leaves his workstation a mess, collapsing flat on his bed. Dogchamp curls up beside him with a sympathetic whine, and Purpled laces his fingers into Dogchamp’s fur.

At least it didn’t blow up.

He falls into uneasy, but dreamless sleep.

{<>}
"How was he today?"

"Good. He fully introduced himself to the rest of staff. No hat, no gloves."

"I suppose you're winning, then?"

"Is this still a bet for you, Technoblade?"

"This is a deal. I'm still waiting for your end currently."

"Purpled and a staff member are coming tomorrow. My employee knows why."

"Good. I don't want to rehash all the terms of our deal."

"You didn't answer my question. Is Purpled just a bet to you? Another piece on a board?"

"I wouldn't treat a person like that, Quackity."

.

"You know I wouldn't treat a person like that, Quackity."

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit... defensive. About him."

"You wouldn't hire him for his definition of job?"

"...you still use workarounds."

"You still dodge questions."

"No. I wouldn't. And neither would you."

"Neither would I."

"That says something about us, huh?" A chuckle.

"We might have to remake our deal anyway, is what it says."

A laugh.

"We finally both figured that out."

{<>}

Chapter Text

The sunlight glares off the snow, which is irritating. Purpled closes his lower eyes with a frustrated sigh. The hat was on, as were the gloves, but Fundy had refused to let him put on his helmet as well, with threat of severe irritation against his person.

Speaking of Fundy, he looked like a mess.

His hair was messed up under the hat, and his ears were flattened down and twitching. His tail swished nervously, and he was tapping and pulling and tugging in an unending display of movement. Purpled sighs, flattens his hands, and then grabs Fundy’s shoulders.

“Stop.”

Fundy quirks his head.

“Stop what? I’m n-“

“Stop being nervous. You’ll be fine, and if you aren’t, then we’ll leave. We have no obligation to be here besides Technoblade and Quackity’s whim, and maybe a few diamonds. I don’t know about you, but none of those particularly interest me to put in much effort.” Purpled shakes Fundy a few times to set in the message. Fundy’s tail lags in movement, and his hands hang in the air. He processes the statement for a moment, before letting out a sigh. His posture is much better, and even if they aren’t standing, his ears have stopped twitching.

“You’re right. I don’t have to be here if I don’t want to.” Fundy says it like it’s revolutionary.

“And if they give you shit, then I’ll give it right back.” Purpled adds. Fundy grins, yet again foxlike.

“Awh, you do care-“

“I will stab you.”

“You’d ruin my coat.” Fundy huffs. He goes back to warming his hands in his pockets, more at peace than before. The snow under their feet gets slightly thicker, the commune coming into view between the trees.

Hm, that was weird. Maybe someone wanted a more aesthetic looking tree farm.

Purpled opens the gates and Fundy shuts them behind them, and they walk up to Techno’s house. Purpled knocks on the door.

“Who is it?” Purpled hears Niki yell. Fundy’s ears perk up at that.

“It’s Purpled!” Purpled yells back.

There’s the sounds of something clanking around, before rushed footsteps to the door. Niki opens it, wearing a flour-covered apron.

“Purpled! We weren’t expecting you t- Fundy?” Niki’s happy surprised face quickly transforms into shock when she sees Fundy standing on the steps.

“H-hey, Niki…” Fundy tilts down the edge of his hat, waving weakly with his other hand. Niki’s face morphs again, into a soft smile. She pulls him in for a quick hug, fleeting enough that Fundy’s hands never have a chance to leave his pockets.

“It’s good to see you. Come in!” She turns around, calling out the last two words, and Purpled steps inside. Fundy takes his shoes and winter overcoat off at the door, and Purpled does the same with his shoes. Fundy tugs at his sword hilt, equipped at his side, and Purpled smacks his hand away.

“No weapons out in the house, if Niki is here.” Fundy explains.

Purpled nods without questioning, putting his sword in his hotbar. They venture deeper into the house, and Purpled has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Technoblade is bent over an arrangement of delicate cupcakes, icing them with cotton-candy pink icing. His face is intensely concentrated. His tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth, and there’s a smear of pink icing on his cheek.

This, however, is not the funny part. The funny part is he has somehow procured a black apron labeled with white impact font, reading ‘EAT THE COOK’.

Purpled claps his hand on Techno’s shoulder.

“Nice apron you’ve got there.”

“God!” Techno swears, nearly pitching the frosting at the wall. Purpled scoffs a little and Techno baps him over the head with a wooden spawn, laughing quickly turning to a swear. Techno looks up from Purpled and opens his mouth, obviously to look to Niki, but spots Fundy instead. His mouth snaps shut into a hard line and he glares.

“Come to finish the job?” Techno asks. Fundy shrinks under his gaze, ears flattening and tailing curling under his legs. He stutters something unintelligible, and Purpled sighs. He grabs the wooden spoon from Techno’s hand and smacks him on the top of the head. Hard.

“Ow.” Techno says, voice flat. It has the desired effect of facing him away from Fundy and interrupting the glare, though. Techno looks at Purpled balefully, and Purpled crosses his arm.

“Leave him alone. We’re here on business cause you asked. You can’t complain about getting an employee you don’t particularly like.” Purpled says sternly.

“He tried to kill m-“

“And you sent him through several respawns, that easily could have been cannon deaths. Twice. You’re even.” Purpled states, meeting Technoblade’s stare. They glare at eachother for a moment, before Techno sighs.

“Just for today.”

“And play nice.” Purpled adds, handing the wooden spoon back over. Techno accepts it like a peace offering.

“So, uhm, why a-are we… here?” Fundy asks.

“Heh?” Techno tilts his head.

“Quackity said you’d tell us.” Purpled explains. Techno mouths something that is lost on Purpled, before clearing his throat.

“He said he’d uhh, wanted an examination. Of the commune.” Techno says, with an empty smile that leaves Purpled wanting for honesty.

“Oh? What for?” Fundy asks. He has an expression on his face Purpled can’t quite figure, but his voice raises in tone to match Techno and his hands still in front of him, moving to be deliberately nonchalant.

“In… exchange for an... examination of his country.” Techno answers stiffly.

“Oh, for like-“ Purpled starts, and Techno slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Yes, for book club books.”

Fundy and Purpled make eye contact. Fundy gives a small nod. They’d talked about things like this.

Purpled bites down on Technoblade’s hand.

“Ow.” Techno says unemotionally, taking his hand away from Purpled’s mouth with a maligned expression. He looks at the wound, before squinting his eyes.

“Are you poisonous, you little gremlin? ” Techno asks empathetically. Fundy starts laughing violently, squeaking and doubling over. Purpled raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Techno shakes his hand, before visibly taking a point of damage, comm ticking.

“Wh- w-wait, holy shit, oh my prime-“ Fundy wheezes.

“You poisoned me!” Techno looks to Purpled, accusatory. Purpled’s mouth twitches.

“The silencing of the public voice is it’s own poison, Technoblade.” Purpled makes up on the spot. It’s the overdramatic sort of thing he’d picked up from talking to Techno, which Techno apparently realizes, face full of despair.

“You bit me and I’m taking damage .” Techno says, flabbergasted, and Fundy makes a gasping for breath squeaky sound, laughing so hard he falls to the ground. Techno looks reproachful, walking to the sink and starting to wash his hands. Niki pops her head out from around a corner.

“Everything alright in here?” She asks.

“Yep.” Purpled nods, ignoring Fundy rolling on the ground and Technoblade washing his hands with a vicious expression.

Niki slowly raises a single eyebrow, before disappearing back behind the hallway corner, to return to what she had been doing and give them some space. Fundy’s laughing fit slowly comes to an end as Techno scrubs soap on the part of his hand that was tinged an interesting shade of blue. Purpled looks around, true to his task, doing an examination. Despite having been over within the past week.

“Ohhhh my god, I can’t believe you just poisoned him, I didn’t even know you could-“ Fundy starts, before cutting himself off with a look of dawning realization. Techno drops the bar of soap in the sink, same expression on his face.

They both round on Purpled, looking outraged.

“You told him? ”

“Since when does he know?”

Purpled grimaces. It was going to be quite a day.

{<>}

It was quite the day, but not for the reasons Purpled expected it to be.

Number one, having to dodge between two people who wanted you to take care of yourself and also maintain a secret from Niki Nihachu was like juggling harming pots. (Not that he’s done that. Just a metaphor. That would be a very dumb, not smart thing to do, and he definitely has known not to do it for his whole life. For sure.)

Number two, Technoblade was nonchalant about Purpled being a part of his bookclub, which made Fundy get the murderous gleam in his eye that Purpled just knew meant he was getting pranked for this.

Number three, they also had to actually do an inspection on the vaguest criteria ever, and Fundy definitely knew something Purpled didn’t.

Number four, he was feeling a major headache coming on from the noise, light, and lack of heavy helmet to stifle his antennae and ear scales.

“Can we see uh, the, sleeping… areas?” Fundy asks awkwardly as Technoblade walks them through his villager zombifier (emphasizing safety of the setup- like it mattered, he wore netherite all the time?) for the third time.

“Suuuuree.” Techno nods slowly. They walk inside- Techno hesitates pointedly around the ladder on several floors to fuss at impeccably straight posters, and Fundy looks around like a squirrel on a sugar high. Purpled spots Niki duck under a window frame again, and feels the world’s most irritated migraine coming on behind his eyes. He presses between his lower and upper eyelids and sighs-groans. Closing his upper eyes is minor relief.

“So I usually... Purpled?” Techno’s voice suddenly adjusts in volume, from awkward and loudly showy to lower and softer.

“Hm?” Purpled opens his upper eyes and a beam of light through the window makes him squint. His throat makes a clicking sound against his will. Techno looks at the windows and then looks back at Purpled and then looks back at the windows.

“Do you need some ibuprofen?” Techno asks.

Purpled would prefer a weighted blanket and the darkness of his cave, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Sure.” He nods.

Techno disappears to go grab ibuprofen, and Fundy raises an eyebrow at Purpled.

“How long have you known him?”
“Since… revolution against manberg? Earlier?” Purpled shrugs.

“No, I meant like. Bookclub. All this.” Fundy waves his hand around.

“Oh, a little after the banquet?” Purpled shrugs, “I stop by pretty often, now, but usually I’m invited.”

“Hm.” Fundy says simply. Then,
“He really does pick up strays.”

“Obviously? He has like eight hundred dogs and gives his foxes golden apples.”

“I approve of one of those things.” Fundy says magnanimously, before Techno returns with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. Purpled takes the ibuprofen dry (“It’s a useful skill that will help us later!” “Punz, you are full of shit and want me to suffer”) and chugs down the water, before handing both back to Techno.

“Here, sit down.” Techno moves some pillows around on the couch, before walking to the shutters and drawing them shut, lowering the light in the room. It’s instant relief on Purpled’s senses, and he sighs. Techno turns and stares at him until he relents and sits on the couch. Fundy watches from where he’s leaning against  a wall, not quite privy to the wordless communication between Purpled and Technoblade.

“Water or flowers?” Techno asks after Purpled sits down.

“Just bring the whole vase.” Purpled mutters, pressing his fingers between his closed eyes and… other closed eyes, Fundy supposes. Techno nods and walks off, keeping his steps lightly to minimize noise and apparently, movement.

“I can go talk to Ranboo alone.” Fundy offers, because Purpled had a headache after being open with him .

“Nah, I’ll be fine when the meds kick in and I have some water.” Purpled responds, because he knows Fundy was torn up over Ranboo as much as he was torn up over Phil. Not that he would ever say that, but the expression he held when talking about them was the same.

“You might not be released,” Fundy jokes, “What if I bring him over here so we can all talk business quietly?”

“Sure.” Purpled nods, still tight and tense, and Fundy quiets back down and tilts his hat over his face to give him some space. Techno returns with a shallow vase of white flowers and water, and as Fundy watches with mild intrigue, Purpled drinks the water and then starts munching blossoms. Incrementally, the tension in his shoulders eases in the dark and quiet, Technoblade sitting himself quietly in a chair and working on a knitting project.

A few minutes after the vase is empty and set aside, Purpled rises to his feet. Techno immediately looks over, lowering his knitting.

“Feeling better, we should-”
“ I will go get Ranboo.” Fundy puts his hands on Purpled’s shoulders and lowers him to the couch.

“What do you need Ranboo for?” Techno asks.
“Business.” Purpled says vaguely. Fundy slips out the door, and is immediately faced with Niki, who is tending to a polar bear tied to Techno’s house.
“Fundy.” She acknowledges, running her brush over the top of the polar bear’s head. Fundy swallows dryly. As much as polar bears scared him, an angry Niki scared him more. An angry Niki with a polar bear…

“I’m not mad.” She states, “Not at you, anyway.”

Fundy sighs with relief.

“I- that’s good. That’s good.” Fundy nods.

“I missed you. Where did you go?” Niki asks. Fundy takes a pained breath, staring at the sky. It’s clear and blue, with pale sunlight and few clouds.

“Where did any of us go? Away.” He says. Anger and sadness and that feeling he’d had before Quackity came all ball up in his throat. He thinks it might be lonely.

“We really are a mess,” Niki sighs.

“When were we not?” Fundy grips his hands and drops his gaze to the ground.
“When we were together.” Niki answers, after a short pause, “That’s when we thought we could do anything. That’s when it was real.”

“And then we went away.” Fundy responds, quiet and raspy.

“And then we went away.” Niki agrees, lacing her hand into polar bear fur.

“Why did we do that?” She asks.

“Because we didn’t have that reason to be together.”

A symphony, ever unfinished, scatters chords to the winds like leaves in the fall.

An orchestra without a conductor splits into pieces, with every section playing it’s own part, alone.

“I’m not angry either,” Fundy says, “But I don’t want to try again.”
“Neither do I.” Niki agrees.
“But why should that keep us from being friends?”

“I… don’t know, Niki.” Fundy shakes his head.

“It still hurts too bad.”

“Alright,” Niki exhales, running her brush down polar bear fur, “I’ll wait for you here.”
“I might never come.”
“Then send someone who will.” Niki states plainly.

Fundy looks at Ranboo’s cottage. He sighs, and he walks away.

Niki leads Baba back around the house, with a pain in her chest no fire could burn away.

{<>}

Ranboo hears a knock at his door and goes to open it. Fundy is standing there, hands in his pockets, and he looks up at Ranboo when the door opens.

“Heyyy, boo…” Fundy sounds nervous, and Ranboo recalls that he can’t exactly remember their last conversation.

(He remembers their fight. He remembers it better than L’manburg.

He could never forget Fundy.)

Welp, he could always execute plan one.

“Hey Fundy! What’re you over here for?” Ranboo asks, a friendly smile adorning his face. Fundy relaxes somewhat.

“Uh, just some talks about your cookie business. Me and Purpled are here as Las Nevadas representatives to talk about advertising and maybe running a smaller stand in the borders.” Fundy explains.

“Oh, that’s… nice?” Ranboo tilts his head.

“Yeah I know Foolish talked with Tubbo and he was weirdly insistent on not doing that, but we wondered if he asked you.” Fundy shrugs.

Ranboo had read over his notes on the cookie stand this morning. It was a front for checking on Las Nevadas activity. Why Tubbo wouldn’t want a stand inside confounded him.

“We can talk inside?” Ranboo opens the door more and waves inside.

“Oh, no, Purpled’s up at Techno’s house. He got a migraine but still wants to help,” Fundy rolls his eyes, “So if you could come up there?”
“Sure! Let me grab my armor.” Ranboo walks to his enderchest, pulls on his netherite, and they’re off through the snow. The silence is a bit stiff, but the walk is short, and soon they’re coming up the house and opening the door. Fundy taps snow off his shoes and Ranboo takes his helmet off, setting it in his inventory. The room is dark and the shutters are still pulled, but Purpled is standing by a few chests instead of sitting on the couch. Techno has seemingly disappeared, but Fundy knows better than that.

“So, uh, business?”

“How do you want your advertisements to look?” Purpled asks. He pulls out a book and a pen- seemingly well used- and opens it, flipping through pages. It’s clearly been well loved, dyed-leather corners worn and pages crinkled and textured.

“We haven’t, well, Tubbo doesn’t want a stand in Las Nevadas.” Ranboo stutters.

“Yeah, that’s fine, business prerogative, but you’re not going to pass on a chance to advertise . Tubbo wouldn’t.” Purpled points out, pointing his pen at Ranboo.

“Uhm, well, maybe something friendly-looking? The walls are mainly to scare Quackity off, not customers.” Ranboo suggests.

“Okay, good start.” Purpled scribbles something in his book.

“Do you want face-association or brand-association?”

Thus lead into one of the most well-balanced business discussions Fundy had ever heard. Purpled did his job well, designing a brand of advertisement through some form of expertise, and slowly bringing Ranboo out of his shell. They ended up all sitting on the couch, Purpled in the middle with his book on his lap. There were several rough mockups on the large pages, drawn in a sketchy style like blueprints. After a time, Niki and Technoblade brought in snacks, freshly made cupcakes from Techno’s baking lessons. They were surprisingly good, as well. The afternoon passes a little further over crumbs, paper and pen ink, and when Purpled and Fundy leave, they feel lighter than when they arrived.

{<>}

“Okay, I know you’ve done a lot of work recently,” Quackity starts, and Purpled stops him with a sigh.

“What do you need?”

“Could you babysit Wilbur tomorrow? Fundy’s out on bribe leave, Foolish is busy with building, Sam is working with Tubbo and Ranboo, and I don’t think Slime can do it alone.” Quackity asks. He gives Purpled big eyes, like that would sway him.

“An extra diamond at the end of my shift.” Purpled offers.
“Deal.” Quackity extends his hand to shake. Purpled slips off a glove and shakes it. Quackity smiles, wide and unbroken.

“I’m staying here tonight. Tell Slime boy not to wake me up until tomorrow.” Purpled turns and leaves, off to his shared little section of Las Nevadas. Quackity breathes a sigh of relief, wings calming and flattening. As he watches Purpled jog away, he doesn’t see him put the glove back on.

{<>}

"So, when do I get to come over with my friends?"

"Anytime, Technoblade. Las Nevadas is always open for business."

"You are a rat. You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Quackity."

"Alright, alright. If you call me before you come over I'll be ready all hours. It's just you coming to the off limits stuff, though."

"Me and Phil. We arranged that two parties could conduct the living examination."

"Fiiiine, you and Phil. Killjoy."

"I'll see you soon, Quack."

"See you soon, Techy."

{<>}

Chapter Text

Purpled wakes up the next morning well-rested. Only after he sits up is Slime in his face.

“Good morning Purpled from UFO! Quackity left you a note!” Slime smiles, and Purpled can’t help but smile a little back.

“Morning, Slime.” Purpled sits up, rubbing all of his eyes. It was like a ten-pound weight had been lifted, woken by Slime without any panic, hands ungloved and all eyes open.

“Note?”

“Yep! Right over there.” Slime points to the table, where there is a folded set of clothes with a paper on top. Purpled swings his legs out of bed and ambles over to look at it.

Purpled-

You don’t have any spare clothes to change into here, so I took the liberty of designing you a uniform.

Hope you like it.

Q

Purpled sets the note aside and looks at the clothes. There’s white dress shirt, the same material, cut and design as Quackity. The pants are similar, but different-tinted purple enough to be obviously his- and there’s purple suspenders and a purple necktie as well. With the gold chain there’s a small UFO charm. It’s nice, and probably what he would’ve done with the uniform given the chance. There’s also a pair of black dress shoes, which Purpled immediately defaces with purple inked stars and swirls.

“What are you doing, Purpled?” Slime asks when Purpled picks up the shoes and a pen.

“I’m making them more me-styled.” Purpled explains, “So I like wearing them.”

“Oh! Like how I make my uniform green?” Slime asks. He rushes over to a chest,grabbing some fabric, and steps behind a door- Quackity had apparently lectured him on modesty. He emerges in his own version of the Las Nevadas uniform, clearly somewhat affected by slime. The tie is green- probably the original color- with the suspenders and pants, which seem to have been dyed slowly. The seams of the white shirt are slowly fading with green like sweat stains, but it doesn’t look too acridly horrible yet. Slime smiles proudly and Purpled nods.
“Exactly like that.” Purpled confirms. He steps behind his own door to change clothes. He does the tie, since he’s not a heathen like the rest of this goddamn country, but loosens the suspenders, because well-fitted suspenders simply weren’t a fun enough look. Slime does his own approving nod at Purpled’s outfit, and they’re out to the surface, where Quackity is seemingly already waiting.

Oh, that was just- that. Yeah. Quackity can’t stop himself from smiling. He hides his grin behind a hand, clearing his throat, His wings ruffle up pleased anyway, which is irritating. Purpled gives a little smile, and Quackity could actually cry, because all his eyes are open, he’s not wearing gloves or a hat, he has his own uniform and ugh .

“When’s my shift start?” Purpled asks, straightening his tie.

“About an hour or two, breakfast?” Quackity asks. Purpled shrugs. Slime nods, the chunk of slime on his head swaying dangerously and waving the popsicle stick around.

Quackity should probably ask about that eventually, but that was an issue for a Slime Lesson Day. Quackity takes the boys (his boys) over to the hotel where, sure enough, breakfast is being served. Sam is sat leaning against Foolish, who has his own cushion to kneel on (comfortable for him, got low enough for the table in slightly bigger form). Fundy is just setting down more plates at the table, one of meat for Slime (was he a carnivore or just enthusiastic for a human charade? Either way, pork and steak for breakfast made him a little more solid) and one of seedy toast and vegetables for Quackity. Sam and Foolish both had pancakes, with likely more in the back. Fundy waves hello to Purpled. Slime bounces over to take his seat.

“You do this every morning?” Purpled asks.

“Just about. Sometimes Sam or Foolish are busy or slept elsewhere, but Fundy’s a good cook. He likes making us food.” Quackity waves Purpled to an empty seat before sitting down himself. Fundy returns with two plates of pancakes and a vase full of white clover and dandelions.

“Syrup and butter are on the table,” Fundy explains, “And these are american pancakes, not how I make them.”
“Yes, the argument has been had,” Foolish chuckles, somewhat nervous, “Let’s not have it again.”

“Oh, thanks.” Purpled accepts a plate of pancakes and the vase. Fundy takes his seat and pulls up his chair. Sam watches Purpled with horror and intrigue as he munches a dandelion. Slime watches with his usual vivid and jubilant joy.

“May I have one?” Slime asks.

“Sure.” Purpled pulls another dandelion from the vase and hands it to Slime, who’s hand closes around it, turning a shade of goopy green- going undisguised. The table watches as it dissolves, staining the hand a yellower shade of green.

“Mm! Tasty.” Slime supplies.

He goes back to shoveling meat in his mouth.

Purpled munches a clover, looking mildly impressed.

“What else can he dissolve?” Purpled asks.

“Please, don’t ask.” Sam responds, looking haunted.

Fundy cuts into a pancake and decides this isn’t his problem.

The rest of the breakfast goes surprisingly well. Sam seems to have slept better, not dozing off through any conversation, Slime is eating in a less viscerally disturbing manner, Fundy thoroughly enjoys his pancakes, Foolish doesn’t bend any tableware, and Purpled empties the vase of weeds. Quackity considers it an immense success, especially with enough time left on the clock for Fundy to pull a disappearing act.

“Here’s today’s task list.” Sam puts the paper on the table.

“For me and Slime?” Fundy asks.

“Yep. Everyone else is busy, so you get maintenance stuff.” Sam nods.

“Fundy from L’manberg,  we get to spend time together!” Slime notes excitedly.

“We sure do.” Fundy affirms, taking the list and standing up.
“Are we going to be ‘hanging out’?” Slime asks.

“Yep, let’s go do some chores first.” Fundy takes the empty dishes and Slime grabs the rest, and they head off to get started for the day. Purpled looks to Quackity.

“So where am I meeting my charge?”

“Just over by the sign, he’ll be here in a few. If you need anything-”
“Text you first, I know.” Purpled nods.

“Good. Make sure to behave.” Quackity ruffles his hair before walking off to do whatever it was that needed to be done. That leaves three.

“Well, we’ve got to go meet the cookie kids,” Foolish says with a note of nerves.

“Do you have any honey? Or milk. Wheat maybe.” Purpled asks.

“I’ve got some honey left over from projects.” Sam offers, “Do you need some?”
“No, but a gift will help the proceedings. Ranboo likes to give them during exchanges and Tubbo likes to recieve things.” Purpled explains.

“Really? What do you recommend?” Foolish settles back down on his pillow.

“Make them warm milk with honey? Or just bring honey. Or stuff like wheat, which they need for the business.” Purpled shrugs.

“That’s a surprisingly educated idea.” Sam notes.

“I have to go now, good luck!” Purpled waves and walks out the door.

“Wait, wh-”

Purpled closes the hotel lobby door and walks out into the sunlight, with no relation to the sudden influx of confusion from the other two people in the hotel. He adds his hat and gloves to his outfit and heads off to the sign to meet his charge.

“Ah, you’re not Quackity?” Purpled hears Wilbur’s familiar voice, and looks over to where the man is standing. He’s a bit down the hill from the sign, Tommy scuffing the dirt beside him.

“Don’t sound too disappointed. I’m your babysitter today.” Purpled shrugs.

“I- babysitter? ” Wilbur sounds offended, raising his hand to his chest and puffing up. Tommy stifles a laugh behind his shoulder.

“What else would you call me?” Purpled says flippantly, before turning on his heel and walking toward Las Nevadas. Wilbur splutters, but two steps of footsteps follow him anyway.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

{<>}

“What’s Quackity doing?”

“Work.”

“Can we see your economical plans and projections?”

“Nope.” Purpled pops the p.

“Where are we going ?” Wilbur asks, irritated.

“Baby pen.” Purpled straightens his gloves.

“What’s the baby pen?” Tommy asks.

“Where the babies go. There’s plenty of shiny toys for Wilbur to be entertained.” Purpled replies, taking a snipe at Wilbur, and Tommy bites his lip to hold back a laugh.

“I am not a child! Stop talking about me like this.” Wilbur crosses his arms, angry, and Purpled shrugs.

“Eh. Come on.” Purpled waves the group up the needle, and has the other two take the elevator up top ahead of him. He hops up into it when it’s clear, and climbs out the top to see the other two looking around, awed. The top of the needle was set up fancy, tables adorned with flickering candles in lamps, a table in the middle covered in files and a pitcher of cold lemonade. There’s a table in the corner with some red yarn and knitting needles, and a jukebox in another. Purpled takes up residence leaning against a wall, and watches Tommy wander around the room as Wilbur goes straight for the files. Tommy paws over the yarn curiously, while Wilbur wordlessly delves through the files like a man possessed. Quackity had told him over breakfast not to answer any questions not mentioned in the files, but Wilbur had yet to acknowledge anything else in the room. Tommy sits at the table set out for him, messing with the yarn. Purpled spaces out, fiddling with some redstone wires between his hands. There’s a few minutes of quiet before Tommy clears his throat. Purpled spaces back in and looks over at him.

“Hey, bitch. What’re you doing on the wall?” Tommy asks.

“I’m leaning on it.” Purpled responds, untangling a wire and stretching it out slowly.

“Stop.” Tommy states, looping a bit of yarn around a needle. Purpled takes a moment to register- stop… leaning on the wall? He wasn’t irritated (more than usual), so what gave?

Oh. Sit down.

“Okay.” Purpled pulls out the chair across from Tommy and sits down. Tommy pulls the yarn over. Purpled twists at the end of a wire. It’s silent again as they work.

“You knit?” Purpled asks.

“Yep.” Tommy nods, taking his hand off one of the needles to pull at the shoulder of his cardigan. It was blue wool, and knitted.

“Cool.” Purpled nods.

“What’re you doing?” Tommy asks.

“Fixing these wires.” Purpled takes a piece of wax from the bag in his pocket, and patches over part of the redstone casing.

“What for?” Tommy asks.

“Projects.”

“How?” Tommy sets down his knitting again and pokes at a wire in the clump.

“You have to bend them really slowly so the casing doesn’t snap. Then pry them apart.” Purpled explains, slowly separating another wire from the fried clump.

“How’d they get that way?” Tommy picks up one of the fixed wires, sliding his thumb over the red material.

“Project.” Purpled answers vaguely.

“Can I try?” Tommy sets the fixed wire down and offers his hand.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to read.” Wilbur spits, flipping over a page with irritation. Tommy wilts, withdrawing. Purpled places a janky wire in his hand.

“Bend it slowly. Try to use the least force and bend the least corners.” Purpled explains. He holds his gloved hands out as he does it, giving an example. Tommy mimics him, and his eyes light up as the wire slowly bends into shape. He straightens it out without cracking any of the molded redstone powder and Purpled nods his approval.

“Good.” He hands Tommy another wire separated from the bunch, and Tommy pounces on straightening it. They’re hard at work for a quiet few minutes, lamps flickering and Wilbur softly flipping through pages.

“How’d you learn to knit?” Purpled asks, cursing his gloves as he wiggles at two fused wires.

“Self taught, from a book.” Tommy explains, “Helps to have extra clothes, specially warm ones.”

“Could you teach me something?” Purpled asks.

“Sure, what'd you want to learn?” Tommy asks, setting his straightened wire down. Purpled sets down his own clump of fused material down with a shrug.

“Just the basics, I guess. Might help pass the time for babysitting.” Purpled suggests.

“I can still hear you.” Wilbur points out absently.
“I know.” Purpled retorts. Tommy takes out the yarn he’d been working with. It was like… an elongated ball.

“This is a skein.” Tommy explains, “Medium size, a few yards. And cotton.”

“Doesn’t yarn come in balls?” Purpled asks.

“It can, if you rewind it. That’s easier to use when you’re working. This is easier to measure, buy, and sell.” Tommy illustrates, surprisingly clear and succinct.

“Makes sense.” Purpled nods. Tommy looks over his project- about an inch of work- and quickly unwinds it.

“It’s easier to start at the beginning. Here’s how you do a loop knot.” Tommy holds his hands out as he ties a little circle, and Purpled watches attentively. Time speeds by as Purpled slowly catches onto knitting. Tommy tells him that it would probably be easier without gloves, and Purpled avoids the question. The needles eventually make their place in his hands, and the messy first few rows turn into neater mediocre stitches. Tommy instructs him to let the yarn a little looser around his hand after the thousandth time redoing his grip on the needles, and they get even better. Eventually Wilbur finishes his information files and looks over to their table. They were in the same chairs, but he has to do a double take, because Tommy is delicately working over redstone wires and Purpled is slowly knitting a candy apple red scarf. They both look intently focused, and it feels like the foggiest memory, of two heads of blonde hair, one learning redstone wires, and one learning how to knit, in a dimly lit van with bubbling potions.

Wilbur neatens the folders and shakes off the feeling.

“It’s lunchtime, will we be eating here?” Wilbur asks, breaking the semi-peaceful silence. Tommy jolts a little bit, part of a casing crumbling in his hands.

“Nope. There’s food over at the hotel.” Purpled stands up, holding his knitting vacantly, like he didn’t know whether to set it down or pocket it. Tommy hands him the wires and he shoves them all in his hoodie.

“Well then?” Wilbur prompts, and Purpled shoves him in the down elevator. They’re all three down quickly, but Wilbur still ruffles like an offended bird.

“No need for violence.”
“You didn’t know how the down one worked.” Purpled states with a shrug. He steps aside and lets Wilbur and Tommy go to the hotel, following behind them like the world’s most violet bodyguard.

{<>}

Ranboo has very little warning before all eight of his separate worlds collide into one very energetic and exhausting afternoon. Sam retrieves him and Tubbo from the cookie fort (they do not make eye contact. They do not speak about it.), Foolish asks them about how they want their advertisements placed, and they’re given surprisingly thoughtful gifts of two cups full of warm milk and honey. They do a walk around La Nevadas, chatting business, before going to the hotel to draft an official placement plan, get lunch, and maybe catch Purpled for the mockup advertisement designs.

Which is, of course, when Wilbur, Tommy, and Purpled join the room.

Tubbo meets Tommy’s eyes. Wilbur glances around between the people in the room, confused. Purpled waves hello.

“Ah, hey guys. Sandwiches are over on the bar.” Foolish greets, acknowledging Purpled with a nod. Tommy is frozen like a deer in headlights while Tubbo stares him down. Wilbur clears his throat as Purpled goes over to grab sandwiches.

“Hello, Tub-”

“Tommy.” Tubbo cuts Wilbur off, looking at his friend like it was a wild west shootout.

“Tubbo.” Tommy grins sheepishly like he’d been caught arm-deep in a cookie jar.

Tubbo sighs. Tubbo rubs his eyes. Ranboo sets a hand on his shoulder, supportive.

“Wanna help advertise cookies?” Tubbo asks.
“Like you need to ask .” Tommy immediately plops down in the chair beside Tubbo, all tension dispersed. Wilbur opens and shuts his mouth like a fish.

“Come on, babypen, I’ve got sandwiches.” Purpled returns with the plate of assorted and sits down by Foolish. This leaves Wilbur a spot by Ranboo, a place he takes with much reluctance.

“Purpled, do you have the drafts Ranboo said you’d made?” Foolish asks.

“Mhm.” Purpled nods through the sandwich in his mouth, pulling a wide draft book from his front hoodie pocket. He flips through the pages until he settles on some, tearing them out and laying them on the table. They’re the drafts Ranboo and Purpled had made.

“Needs more red.” Tommy suggests.

“You’re right, big man. Red’s an advertising color.” Tubbo nods sagely and colors the text in with one of the pens on the table. Purpled slides the sandwich plate down to Tommy. Sam refills Ranboo’s milk and honey. Ranboo stares at a wall, flipping through mental files on any way to cope with this situation.

“Is there any with lettuce and tomato?” Wilbur points to the sandwiches. Ranboo decides that improv is the only way left. He hands Wilbur a BLT, and prepares to refute horrible advertising suggestions from his two best friends in the entire world.

{<>}

“How was it today? You mentioned you were too busy to have us over.”

“Just… a bunch of things at once. Wilbur won’t stop trying to snoop, and I’m working over deals with some kids who started a cookie stand, and we’re still constructing and working out the kinks. And I’ve got a shitton of admin to keep the place living.”

“Sounds busy.”

“Is busy.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not for a second. Not with the people I’ve helped.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Purpled waves to Tommy at the end of the day with a feeling of satisfaction in his chest. His charge and his new (old? complicated?) friend walk off, and he descends the hill with relief. He pulls off his gloves, letting sweaty skin hit the air with a sigh. Ranboo and Tubbo had gone home after lunch, leaving Foolish and Sam with an advertisement plan and a contractual promise not to actively sabotage them and maybe start a stand in the city, actually. Purpled stretches and groans. His antennae ache under his hat, so he takes it off. It feels very good to do. He stops by the hotel to say goodnight to Foolish and Sam, he stops by the ship to say goodnight to Slime and Fundy, and finally stops by the casino to say goodnight to Quackity. Purpled steps into Quackity’s office near-soundless, except the creak of the door. He looks up and gasps, putting his hand to his chest.

“Prime, you scared me.” Quackity sighs.

“Just wanted to say goodbye. Sleep well, and all that.” Purpled shrugs.

“Oh. Are you going to stay here tonight?” Quackity asks.

“No, I’m doing a book club meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got some work to do tonight.” Purpled shakes his head.

“Book club?” Quackity asks politely.

“Yeah, up in the arctic.” Purpled nods.

“Sounds fun. Mind if I tag along?” Quackity asks, “I need to talk to Techno.”

“Sure. I’m still going home, so just be around in the morning.” Purpled shrugs. Quackity nods.

“Alright. Good night.”

“Good night.” Purpled waves and leaves the office. The sun sets over the city. Flakes of snow fall from the sky. It’s like a dream, full of light and warmth and sound, sparkling snow and sun and LED lights.

The glittering feeling is back, crawling up his throat, pulling at his eyes. He rubs at them, antennae shaking with emotion.

He takes a breath. He turns away from the sign, the hill and the lights. His chest hurts with it. He can’t breathe with it.

He needs to go to work.

{<>}

Purpled sets the core into the glass setting. The grooves click together, and the pieces settle into place with a soft light. The shroomlight glow attached to the wires pulses softly. Purpled sets out the wires from his pocket, pinning them into place against the square of metal.

Note: attempt 2305. Same inscriptions to series 2300-2304. Different wiring configuration: redstone material, circuit board alignment.

Purpled pins in the last wires and stretches with a yawn. He’d have to be up relatively early tomorrow. He’ll activate the core next evening. Purpled gets up from his cabin desk and ambles to the cave to go to bed, Dogchamp trotting along behind him.

Next evening.

{<>}

Quackity scuffs his shoes on the ground. He’d messaged Purpled about being at the door a few minutes ago, and had yet to get a message back.

<Purpled>: out in a few

<Purpled>: with dog

<Quackity>: dog?

There isn’t another response afterwards. Another few minutes later there's scraping stone sounds and Purpled emerges from the mouth of the cave. He’s wearing his usual clothes, and holding a leash with his big dog on the end. The dog woods softly at Quackity. Quackity offers his hand and it’s immediately licked, the dog happy panting.

“Morning.” Purpled greets.

“Good morning.” Quackity nods in return.

“Let’s go, then.” Purpled turns and walks off. Dogchamp trots off after him. Quackity follows, watching Purpled communicate with his dog- if Dogchamp wanders off too far or is about to get tangled, Purpled clicks one of his antennae. If he’s eating something he isn’t supposed to, Purpled’s antennae make several clicking sounds. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and Dogchamp well trained. It isn’t horribly long before they’re at the arctic. Quackity shivers a little through his button up. It had been a while since he’d been up here. Purpled pulls on gloves and a hat, tugging Dogchamp along and emerging through the treeline. Purpled kicks open the gate and lets Dogchamp and Quackity through. The space around the houses is filled with things- a berry farm, a dog enclosure, a few half torn down tiny shacks, a pond, and another house Quackity assumes to be Phil’s. There’s a hut in the background shaded black and white, and a bridge spanning between the two main houses.

It’s a lot less… lonely.

Quackity tugs at the collar of his shirt. His nerves were spiking. He knew Techno had good reason not to kill him, but it was still stressful. Purpled walks straight up to the door and knocks.

“Just a minute!” Calls a gruff voice. There’s a metallic clanking sound and clicking footsteps before the door opens, revealing the tall figure of Technoblade. He’s in a casual poet’s shirt, with his usual pants and sash, as well as knee high boots. His coat is thrown over a chair, and there is no jewelry on his person.

Except, that isn’t quite right. There is one piece of jewelry- made of woven thread. Quackity would recognize it anywhere. There’s a rectangle of navy, with a yellow duck pattern, and two tapered yellow ends tied together to string around the wrist.

(“You’re horrible at making friendship bracelets”

“Oh god, I know. Are you sure you won’t let me just forge mine?”

“You can forge it”

“ Thank yo-”

“After you complete one of these, you can undo it if you want to.”

“Quack!”

“I can’t play to all your strengths, Techie.”)

Quackity is in mild shock he kept it. He supposes it’s different from the golden bracelet he’d thrown at Techno’s feet. Techno had no use or reason to unweave thread.

He could’ve burnt it, Quackity thinks, could have gotten rid of any traces of friendship. Could have forgotten you.

He didn’t.

Quackity feels somewhere between smacking Techno across the face and hugging him for thirty minutes. He settles for letting Purpled do the talking while he stares at the worn friendship bracelet.

“You look unprofessional.”

“You dress like grape soda.” Techno retorts, ruffling his beanie and by extent messing his hair up. Purpled makes an offended sound, fixing his hat, and Techno turns his eyes to Quackity.

“What did you need?” Techno asks, nonchalant.

“How’d you know I was coming?” Quackity asks in response.

“I have an extensive net of informants.” Techno replies, deadpan, and giving Purpled a pat on his shoulder. Purpled headbutts Techno in the side hard enough that he trips backward in the doorway.

“You are a menace to the commune.” Techno sighs dramatically. Quackity takes the opportunity to step into the house.

“Nice place you have here.” Quackity comments, looking around at the comfortable house. And that’s what it was- comfortable. There’s half enchanted armor and a book on the anvil, a warm cup of tea on the table, Techno’s coat slung over a chair. The fire crackles and the whole place smells of cooking stew, a colorful woven rug draped over the floor and one of Phil’s robes and a forest green knit blanket draped over the couch.

“You never answered my question.” Techno picks up greaves he’d been enchanting, looking over the neat lapis inscriptions.

“Can’t a man be curious over how his esteemed employee spends his off hours?” Quackity flutters his eyelashes, and Techno rolls his eyes.

“No, actually, not after he sent out a whole examination.”

“Fine. I wanted to give you a lovely present.” Quackity extends his hand with a piece of paper. Techno takes it, smudging the edge with lapis. It’s a poster, proclaiming two free passes to a behind the stage tour of Las nevadas. Techno reads it over before looking up at Quackity.

“We already agreed-”
“Oh, I know, but I’ve got to keep up appearances. This is a shrewd business decision, after all.” Quackity sits down on the couch and crosses his legs.

“When’s book club?” Purpled asks. He’d disappeared into the kitchen, and now has a lily of the valley petal stuck to the side of his mouth.

“I thought I told you to stay out of the lily of the valley.” Techno scolds.

“I’m poisonous, they can’t hurt me.” Purpled snipes back.

“Exactly. You don’t need more poison. Niki and Ranboo are over with Phil, I’ll catch up.” Techno tells Purpled, picking up his etching tool and setting to finish the enchantment.

“Don’t take too long, or we’ll eat all the cake.” Purpled disappears back to the kitchen and Techno sighs, scraping a line into the metal.

“Making our deal didn’t give you the rights to come into my home.” Techno tells Quackity.

“You didn’t stop me.” Quackity retorts, uncrossing his legs and crossing his arms.

“Inviting Purpled didn’t mean inviting you.” Techno continues on.

“You’re wearing my bracelet. We’ve already admitted that this is more than a petty bet to get Purpled to one side or the other.” Quackity says empathetically.

“It was never just that to me.” Techno scratches another line into the metal, a little too deep.

“What do you want me to say, Techno? I want you back? We never should have stopped being friends? You were a threat to my home, I did what I had to-”
“You did not, you tried to execute me, while I was in retirement.”

“You never told me that! You think I wanted to kill you? Why did you think I dropped my sword, because I wanted to kill you but thought I was outmatched? No, it was because after everything you did, you were still someone I cared about once-”
“I don’t want to hurt you Quackity, but not chasing after me is a poor excuse for trying to have me executed.”
“If you didn’t want to hurt me you shouldn’t have BLOWN UP MY HOME.” Quackity slams his hands on the coffee table, voice rising.

“It was a government who hurt people. You know my beliefs.”

“And you know mine.”

Quackity and Technoblade stare eachother down.

Quackity sighs, wavering and uncertain, staring at his hands.

“We’re a mess.”

“A mess who both want the past back.” Techno adds, huffing.

“The past is gone,” Quackity says with certainty, “But I think we can be civil in the future. If that’s also what you want.”

“It is.” Techno nods.

“Then let’s shake. To being civil.” Quackity extends his hand. Techno nods, extending his own hand. The wrist has his bracelet on it. They shake, and both their breathing becomes just a little bit lighter.

“Alright. That stupid bracelet is coming undone, so let me fix it.” Quackity orders. Techno laughs.

“I knew you’d notice that. Here, you can leave it on the table. I’ve got a book club meeting.” Techno unties the bracelet and hands it to Quackity, standing up and walking to the kitchen.

“Don’t steal anything on your way out.”

“No promises.”

{<>}

Purpled stretches his arms. It had been a fun day, but a long one. Techno had taught him several new tricks about forging after bookclub. Phil kept lookout on the couch, reading a book, and Purpled had let out his antennae and hands. Now he was sitting at his desk in his cabin, applying his new knowledge to perfecting the last enchantments on the power core. He taps in the last line of lapis and sighs with relief. The iron glows, the redstone wires gaining their shine. Golden veins fill, and the enchantments shimmer. But they don’t pulse and fade- the light gets brighter, blue and purple, red and gold. The shroomlights flicker like lanterns, on and off and on again, and the gold rushes to the glass setting of the crystalline core. Purpled stands up, stepping clear.

The core fills. The diamond in the center of the emerald lights up like a firework, illustrating tiny engravings on the surface of the green crystal. Purpled takes a single step closer.

The emerald develops a single, hairline fracture. The room smells like metal and sawdust, Purpled’s eyes ache with light. His antennae flick at the tiny movement. It sounds both musical and damaged, like a record scratch over a piano note. The energy hums in the core, in the power converters, in the control unit.

The emerald splits open like an eggshell and everything goes white.

Purpled is thrown away from the blast- he hits the wall and it splinters from the force of his body and the force of the blow. Blocks are eviscerated on impact, iron shrapnel turning into dust that scrapes every surface clean like sandpaper. The light flashes, impossibly bright, and Purpled closes all his eyes the second that there’s a sound- and the sound. It’s like thirty blocks of tnt went off in the same tick, and then all Purpled can hear is ringing.

When he feels like he’s back in his body, he aches. The blast had left him at three hearts, even with half of his netherite on. His throat clicks and warbles in pain. He blinks until he can see and then holds his ears until the ringing fades.

That- was. It. He.

Purpled yells into the dirt. Fuck.

He was supposed to have weeded out the exploding formulas three years ago! He was supposed to have made sure experimentation was safe, and he had taken out the bad variables. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He was supposed to have fixed this.

Purpled stands on shaky legs and stumbles to the wreckage. Most of the cabin was gone, save a few spare blocks, and there was a pit in the ground to the left half. By some miracle his valuables chest was okay. He picks it over and places cards in his inventory, before walking around to the cave.

He’d spent so much time on this. He’d fixed it. He wasn’t supposed to have this happen anymore. The enchantment fill-ins had taken so long, and taking out the bad combinations had taken longer, and fixing the emerald core had been months of work.

Purpled drops the valuables in a storage chest. He grabs tnt. Dogchamp whines from where he’s sat.

Purpled was supposed to be good at this. He’d spent years figuring out the core from memory, and longer years grinding up material, and longer years trying combinations. He just had to work through it.

Purpled runs to the UFO, and when his sprint runs out, he walks, and then climbs.

He knew this technology, it was his world’s technology. He remembered. He could do it. He could fix the core.

There wasn’t a core to fix.

Horrible, blind rage fills his body. He shakes and then he tears . He kicks at consoles, punches chests, tears at paneling. He smashes glass and rips shroomlights, throwing tnt down wherever there’s a place for it. His hands hurt, his head hurts, and his body aches, but his throat is burning and his eyes are blurry with tears and he can’t do this anymore. He can’t. It’s so stupid.  

All those years, trying to get home. Wasted. All that time, keeping his distance, grinding and calculating. None of it worth a thing.

The core was too damaged. He could never get home.

He was too damaged .

He wants to scream, so he does, screaming until his throat hurts in the middle of a trashed UFO full of explosives. He falls to his knees, voice quitting out. His eyes burn and his chest feels like it’s been stuffed with shrapnel. He slams his fists on the floor of the ufo until his fingers are too bruised to feel anything but ache and his arms shake with exertion.

There’s redstone in his inventory. A lever.

Purpled drags himself up. He puts the redstone in his hand, trailing it out of the UFO, down the solid paneled glass (it was supposed to be a beam. He punches the glass until there’s a hole through the middle.) and to the ground below.

He takes a lever. He places it at the end.

He flicks it.

There’s a tiny cloud of dust. The redstone glows dull and red in the dark. Purpled stares at it. The glow travels, an unbroken red line. It reaches the top and disappears into the UFO.

It’s quiet. Purpled hasn’t been in the dark long enough to attract mobs. The blood on his hands will bring them soon enough.

The sky lights up with fire and sound. The ground shakes.

Purpled is hit by something- the blast, shrapnel, a piece of hull. It doesn’t matter.

His vision goes dark, and he’s gone.

{<>}
A haunting, whistling howl. A whimper. Four feet thud against stone.

The moon is full, and a dog has a mission.

Chapter Text

Techno wakes up at four in the morning to the sound of a large dog barking. This would be less of a problem if the dog sounded remotely like any of his dogs. He stumbles out of bed and climbs downstairs, wrapping his cloak over his shoulders and pulling on a pair of boots. With great foresight, he grabs a boat from a chest and slides it into his inventory, before opening the door.

A big dog with a purple collar and harness sits on the front step. There’s a name tag reading ‘Dogchamp’ hung on the collar. He woofs at Techno, before walking down the step and then in a circle. He looks to the direction of the main SMP, then back to Technoblade.

Dog pog

Oooooooo purpled

Purpled content

DOGCHAMP MY BELOVED

Go go go go

Is purpled in trouble???

doggers

Techno sighs, shoots Phil a message:

<Technoblade>: purpleds dog showed up without purpled so im following him dont murder people if im missing later

And he goes off to follow a strange dog.

After it seems Techno is following him, Dogchamp looks to be in a hurry. He runs in a straight line, and Techno has to hold a sprint to keep up, occasionally pressing a button to eat a golden carrot and refill his hunger. They arrive at the water and Dogchamp dives in without question, swimming with a purpose. It’s faster than any dog has a right to swim. Techno thinks he spots a few fins retract into Dogchamp’s legs when his boat lands.

Alright. Messed up dog.

Dogchamp leads him to the very heart of the SMP. They’re at the gingerbread house when Techno sees something that makes his stomach drop to the floor.

No UFO.

Techno picks up the pace as Dogchamp bounds over to something on the ground. There’s wreckage and ashes all around it. A few tiny fires flicker here and there, barely lighting the area. Dogchamp whines and licks at the mound. Techno bends over and looks at it.

Purpled.

Blood trickles down his forehead and from his lip. There’s purple tears on his face, as well as ash and soot, and his hoodie is burnt and ripped. There’s a few darker patches, and one ankle is twisted just too far the wrong direction. His breathing is reedy and thin.

Techno sends a prayer to the wrong god, kneeling down and picking Purpled up into his arms gently. Dogchamp runs around his feet as he gets his balance. Kid was surprisingly dense. Techno runs, remembering where his boat was. Phil knew weird medicine and Ranboo always kept burn cream on hand for his water sensitivity. Techno had plenty of gapples saved, and a chest with enough health and healing to supply ten injured. It wasn’t the closest, but the best bet was the arctic. Dogchamp trails behind as Techno hard sprints to get to his boat. Purpled’s weight throws him off but he’s fast enough. He should be fast enough.

He has to be fast enough.

Please. Please. Please.

Techno hops into the boat and lays Purpled over his lap. He calls Phil and starts rowing. Phil picks up on the second ring.

“Techno? Where are you, mate?” Phil asks sleepily.

“No time to explain. Set up the couch, get healing and health. Grab my gaps and bring bandages and burn cream.” Techno orders.

“What are we treating?” Phil asks. He sounds much more sober, and Techno hears shifting and thudding as Phil gets up and around.

“Explosion-” Techno looks at the teenager on his lap; his skin is pale and one of his antennae looks cracked, “-severe.”

“How many?”

“Just one.”

“Should I get Ranboo?”

“No. Just you and me.” Techno says immediately. Purpled had trusted him, and he was not going to break that trust.

“Alright, I have the potions.” Phil says. Techno hears the clinking of glass.

“Couch is set up. Where are you?”
“Just ditching a boat,” Techno leaps out of the boat, clipping his communicator to his belt and carrying Purpled close to his chest. There’s blood on Techno’s shirt, from somewhere. It worries him that he doesn't know where.

“Alright, I’ll be ready.” Phil affirms. Techno skids down a hill, Dogchamp jumping down beside him.

“Do we have time for basic facts?”
“Not human, extra broken appendage. Sensing organ.” Techno explains through huffed breath.
“Male, around 160-170 pounds. Teenager, around 16 to 18.” Techno enters the woods with relief.

“Head trauma, bloody mouth likely from lip but should check, probably severely bruised and may have broken ribs or bones. Has at least a sprain in ankle.” Techno sees the light of the house, snow thickening under his boots. He hears Phil rummaging for a few extra supplies, then a click.

“Door’s unlocked.”

Techno slams through the gate, not bothering to close it. He goes straight for the door and slams that open. Phil is sat in the chair by the couch, and immediately stands up as Techno sets Purpled down gently. Phil throws a splash healing, cracking it open over the back of the couch and letting Purpled breathe in the mist. He gives Techno a roll of bandages and a cloth, which Techno uses to clean Purpled’s head injury. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it needs stitches or staples. He wraps it in a clean white bandage, pouring a contained amount of healing over the top. Phil takes off Purpled’s purple hoodie. The black tanktop underneath is in slightly better shape, but still stained with red. Phil dresses the burn wounds, cleaning and dressing with cream and wrapping with pink glittery healing-soaked bandages. Techno and Phil switch spots, Techno removing Purpled’s sneaker and sock to brace his ankle, and Phil looking over Purpled’s antennae. It’s cracked lengthwise, beeding sluggishly, the row of featherlike feelers disrupted by blood. Phil cuts a long thin strip of thick paper and bandages the antennae around it, tying with thin bandages to get inbetween pieces rather than flatten them to the main strand. Phil cracks another splash potion- instant health, that lets Purpled breath with less of a thin wheeze- and sits back with a sigh.

“Alright. Looks good, mate.”

Techno tapes off some bandages.

“Think we should check his ribs? Or legs?”

“You can check his legs, but nothing burned through the hoodie, so it’s probably just bruises.” Phil sighs as Techno rolls up Purpled’s pantlegs. There’s nothing but a few small scrapes, which Techno cleans off and lets sit. Phil takes one look at Purpled’s ribs and takes a roll of bandages to brace them.

“How’d this happen?” Phil asks.

“No idea, but the UFO was gone.”

UFO is gone :crab:

Technobrother??

E

KILL THE PERPETRATOR

Oh F

E

Techno puts his face in his hands.

“You should probably call Quackity.” Phil says absently, pulling the roll of bandages under Purpled’s limp body. Purpled has just enough sentience to wheeze slightly at the shift of his body. Techno groans.

“I should.”

“Tea?”

“Make extra.”

Phil chuckles and walks off to the kitchen. Techno stands up and taps Quackity’s contact. It rings, and rings, and dies. He calls it again. Quackity picks up.

“What fucking time is it?” Quackity mutters groggily from the other line.

“Four fifty three. Purpled’s hurt.”

Techno hears a sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?”

“Dogchamp showed up at my house-”
“Not the whole story.”

“Purpled’s UFO blew up and he was caught in the blast.”

“Where are you?” Techno hears shifting from Quackity’s side of the call. He assumes Quackity is getting ready to travel.

“My house in the arctic commune.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Quackity, you’re in las nevadas, that’s-”
“I will be there in five minutes. Take me through what happened.”

“Well, Dogchamp showed up at my door ‘bout an hour ago. He was actin weird and Purpled wasn’t with him so I followed him. Purpled was on the ground and the UFO was blown to bits, scattered everywhere. Explosion damage. Ran home with him, me and Phil just finished patching him up.” Techno explains. Quackity breathes heavily from the other end of the call, feet thudding and wings snapping.

“Do you know how it happened?” Quackity asks.

“No idea. His knuckles were beat up, had some glass in em before we used healing and health. I wouldn’t rule out foul play till he wakes up and tells us.” Techno says, pacing across the room worriedly. Dogchamp whines from his spot keeping watch.

Quackity lets out an actual, genuine hiss of anger, bird vocals and rage catching up with him.

“Prime, when I get my hands on whoever did this-“

Dogchamp barks and Techno glances out the window. The lights in Ranboo’s cabin are on, and the half-endermen is traipsing over the lawn.

Shit.

“Sorry, Quackity, gotta go, Ranboo is up and Purpled’s just- he doesn’t have- yeah you know, I’ll call you back in a minute.” Techno ends the call and quickly clips his communicator to his belt. He steps out onto the porch, cold air biting at him. Ranboo looks up at him from where he’d been wading through snow.

“Oh, hey Techno, you alright? All the lights are on and I heard you and Phil up, so I was wondering what was happening?” Ranboo tilts his head.

“We’re fine, just knocked over some stuff trying to make a late night drink, you know how it is.” Techno smiles wide and hopes to the blood god Ranboo accepts this at face value.

Ranboo looks at the boot prints in the snow and then back to Techno, unimpressed. Techno adjusts the neck of his shirt to hide the blood on it, if ineffective.

“What’s going on?” Ranboo asks again.

“Nothin big, Purpled just uh- he sprained his ankle out on a walk so we’re taking care of him. He’s asleep.” Techno says awkwardly.

“Oh, is he okay? I have some extra gapples I’ve been meaning to give to Niki, here-“ Ranboo strides up to the porch, past an unprepared to block Techno, and straight into the house. Techno rushes inside to cover his view, but it’s too late. Ranboo has already seen Purpled’s antennae and one sprawled out hand. He squints, staring at Purpled. Techno steps in front of him anyway.

“Yeah, you’re really not supposed to see this, so if you could just leave and never talk about this again-“

“Did he get caught in an explosion?” Ranboo walks over to the couch, kneeling down. His tail flicks as he looks over the bandaged burns on Purpled’s arms.

“He was- we took care of it, Ranboo, so if you could just-“

With surprising confidence, Ranboo removes a gapple from his inventory and walks to the kitchen. Phil has seemingly left to grab something while the tea boils. Traitor.

Ranboo grabs a cutting board, a knife, a fork and a tenderizing hammer.

“You’re supposed to feed explosion victims gapple mush after you use potions, so the expelled shrapnel wounds and damaged skin can heal through the absorption rush.” Ranboo instructs, cutting the apple to pieces, then smashing it a few times and cutting the last bits with the fork. He gets a bowl and scrapes it in, handing it to Techno.

“Tubbo makes sure I remember all my first aid, so I can help him and Michael in case anything happens.”

Techno takes the bowl, somewhat speechless.

“Feed it to him slow and make sure all the bits and pieces are out.” Ranboo continues, rifling through the cabinet for his favorite tea. Techno returns to the living room, deciding Phil and Ranboo can talk themselves out when Phil gets back down. Techno tilts Purpled upright somewhat, checking over his upper body for any impaled splinters or shrapnel. There is none, or what’s there is removed, so he slowly trickles the gapple into his mouth. Thankfully he swallows on his own. Techno had taken care of enough injured and sick people to dread forcing a swallow. Techno hears Phil and Ranboo’s back and forth in the kitchen, and the kettle whistle with boiled water.

Quackity slams open the door, disrupting the peace instantly. He’s breathing hard, sweat on his forehead. His button up is buttoned wrong, with a navy tanktop underneath, and his beanie has been shoved over a rat’s nest of hair. His wings are ruffled and distressed, fluffed out so far he has to tilt to not hit them on the doorframe. His face is knotted with worry, eyes puffy with sleep, and his shoes are soaked with snow and mud. He sees Purpled and is instantly kneeling by the couch, wings unconsciously stretched over him to shield and protect. Quackity holds Purpled’s face gently as he goes over the bandages with his eyes, totally ignoring Techno’s presence until he’s registered every injury.

Purpled still doesn’t stir.

“He’s as treated as we can get him. Just had most of a gapple, healing and health, and we patched and treated all the injuries.” Techno explains.

“Jesus,” Quackity breathes, leaning backward and staring at the ceiling, “Adoption should not be this stressful.”

“Well.” Techno shrugs, voice flat. Quackity presses his forehead gently to Purpled’s, before retracting yet again. Phil comes in from the other room, trailed by Ranboo.

“Hey, Quackity. Thought we should probably get him some different clothes and put him to bed upstairs.” Phil has a bundle of soft-looking clothes and blankets in his arms. Techno nods.

“I’ll carry him up the ladder.” Techno lifts Purpled, gentle and slow, holding him to his chest and hooking Purpled’s arms over his neck to leave a hand free and climb the ladder.

“I’ll stay here and keep watch.” Ranboo says softly. With short nods all around, Techno carefully ascends the ladder, trying not to jostle Purpled. At the top floor Techno sets him on the spare bed and Phil kicks Quackity and Techno downstairs for tea. Ranboo pours cups silently, and Techno takes an extra upstairs for Phil. With the speed of Philza Minecraft, Purpled is already in retired clothing for pajamas and settled into bed. Phil bullies Techno into cleaning up and changing into pajamas, and then it’s a game of turns between bathrooms, clothes, cups of tea, and sleeping spaces. All the tea ends up gone, Ranboo taking off his armor, Quackity shedding his button up, Phil and Techno in their pajamas. Ranboo takes the downstairs couch, Phil and Techno use Techno’s bed, Purpled sleeps in the spare, and Quackity settles on the floor next to him with a blanket over his lap.

It’s as comfortable as a bunch of stressed magnanimous allies are going to get.

Phil’s asleep in minutes, a cultivated skill. Techno lies awake for a while, slowing his breathing, listening to the heartbeats in the room. It’s meditative to feel Phil’s heart beating near his own at this point. Purpled’s slower heart rhythm is becoming familiar, and Quackity’s somewhat stressed heart rate has its own kind of familiarity. The voices simmer and lessen, satisfied at the safety of all friends.

Of who they’d already decided to be family.

Techno drifts to sleep. Quackity stays up until his eyes are too heavy to hold open. He’s draped a wing over Purpled’s torso from where he’s leant next to the bed. Quackity repeats calming motions to the very end of consciousness, doing the things he’d wanted all those times he was injured and alone. Quackity might not have had someone there to hold his hand through suffering and pain, but Purpled would. He would be that for Purpled. Quackity falls unconscious with burning protectiveness rooted deep in his spirit.

Chapter Text

Pain.

It’s the first thing he feels on taking a breath, the last thing he felt before going to sleep and waking up here. There’s light from somewhere and it burns his eyes. His ribs ache and breathing feels like being squeezed. His ankle gives a dull throb, his knuckles feel shattered glass, his headache is splitting. One of his antennae has a numb burning feeling, and his arms feel like the skin had been stretched too tight over the bones.

He warbles and groans, and there’s immediately a cool hand against his face.

“Hey, purp.” Says a soft voice.

“Fu-ck-ck-ck-” Purpled groans, throat clicking the last noise over and over. The hand strokes his cheek. It’s nice.

“Bright.” Purpled rasps, asking the hand and the voice to fix it.

“Te -- get -- window.” Is what Purpled collects next. His ears feel like loud nothing, and focusing too hard and something he can’t quite hear hurts worse, so he doesn’t. The light lessens significantly, which is a blessing.

“Hey, kid. Can you drink this?” Asks another voice, deeper, but still soft.

“Mmmmnnn.” Purpled groans. He wants to respond, so he pushes up on his hands a little, trying to avoid weight on his bruised knuckles. Cool hands help him balance. He doesn’t open his eyes but one antennae flicks and his ear scales pick up enough to place two murky figures, one tall and one short. The taller one is holding something and the shorter is helping him sit. Purpled raises his hands sluggishly and the taller one helps him drink the drink. Whatever it is burns on the way down and tastes like fruit so sweet it’s rotten. It makes him feel tired, so he lays back down. The painless darkness swirls back up around him, and he’s gone.

{<>}

The next time Purpled wakes up he’s a lot more lucid. He looks over at the window- the light seeping around the edges of the heavy curtains is warm and less bright, so it’s either early morning or evening. He sits up too fast and the room spins, throat making a distressed warbly clicking and a groan.

His brain is still moving slowly, so he goes over the pieces one by one.

One: This is Techno’s house, in the man himself’s room. He’s sitting on an extra bed.

Two: He has several bandaged bits and pieces, including an ankle, most of his ribs, his arms, his knuckles, his head, and an antennae. All of these bandages are fresh.

Three: he’s in a huge white shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and a pair of greenish-grey pants.

Four: the explosions.

Purpled shoves four deep into the back of his head and decides to focus on the others for the time being. He was injured but taken care of in Techno’s house with Techno’s clothes, so it seemed Techno had found him. Purpled swings his legs out of bed (with minimal distressed clicking, he was not a baby, thank you very much) and looks around for something to lean the weight of his left side on.

The door clicks open.

Quackity stands on the other side, stepping in and kicking the door closed with his heel. He’s holding a tray with something warm, his one antennae working decently (the other one was worrying him). Quackity sets the tray down on the end of the bed, before looking up and seeing Purpled.

His eyes immediately light up.

“Purpled! You’re awake.” Quackity smiles, wide and genuine.

“What… time is it?” Purpled asks, working to get his voice right. It’s hoarse from being just awoken. That’s the only reason he needs to focus on right now.

“It’s about seven pm. Here, you need to get something to drink and eat that’s not potions or gapples.” Quackity drags over a small dresser with drawers, clearing the lamp and various objects from the top and placing the tray of food he’d brought. Purpled’s hunger beats out his need for answers, and he goes straight to drinking the broth Quackity had brought.

“You’ve been asleep since whenever you were out last night. Techno brought you in around 4am, and I got here around 5. We’ve been waiting here since. You’ve had most of a gapple, one instant health, two healing, healing bandages and a bottle of water.” Quackity lists off. Purpled sets down the empty broth bowl and tears into the bread. It’s good, and likely made by Niki, due to the quality.

“Who all knows?” Purpled asks through a bite.

“Phil, Techno and I. Plus Ranboo-”
Purpled sets down his glass of water with a slam.

“-I know, I know, Techno said he was too late to stop him. He’s not averse. He’s only been helpful.” Quackity eases. Purpled still feels unsteady. His privacy had been redacted. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but that didn’t stem the flow of fear, shame and anger. What he’d feared for such a long time had come true.

He’d… he… doesn’t really have a reason to fear discovery, now that the UFO was-

No. Don’t think. Don’t.

The reason he couldn’t risk openness on the dreamsmp was not people’s violence, but people’s curiosity and tendency to steal.

Purpled takes another bite of bread and stares blankly at the wall.

“So how are you feeling?” Quackity asks. The bed indents from where he sits down.

“My ribs hurt. My head feels fuzzy, and my arms are stiff, and my knuckles and hands ache.” Purpled lists. He takes another bite of bread, shoving down number four and related feelings. Quackity’s wings fluff up and he stretches one over Purpled’s shoulders.

“Do you need any pain medication? I can get you some ibuprofen for your headache.” He asks.

“I’m passable. Probably just going to sleep after this.” Purpled shrugs.

“I didn’t want to rush you, but…” Quackity sighs, “Do you know who blew up your UFO?”

Purpled freezes deadly still. He sets the bread on the tray, slow, still making eye contact with the wall. There’s tension in every aspect of his body, he’s stretched as a live wire, shoulders pinched and back straight.

“There’s no rush.” Quackity says softly. His wing brushes around Purpled’s shoulder in a soft hug-like gesture. Purpled relaxes a miniscule amount, enough to take another bite of bread.

“I- I can’t- not now.” Purpled shakes his head, and Quackity nods.

“That’s okay. We’ll be here for you. I’m gonna get you some ibuprofen, okay? We’ll also have to change out your bandages by tomorrow.” Quackity moves on from the topic, and Purpled fully relaxes, nodding sleepily. Warm food and what felt like a potion crash buzzed through his system, and by the time Quackity came back upstairs Purpled was fast asleep, arms curled around Dogchamp, who had seemingly decided his owner was secure. Quackity smiles softly and leaves the bottle on the pulled-up table, taking the tray downstairs.

{<>}

Purpled fully comes to at 5am the next morning. The softened edge of healing potions had worn off, leaving him stiff and sore and achy. His headache was killer and his ribs throbbed if he tried too hard to curl his torso. His finger mobility was relegated to ‘unoiled tin man joints’ but he managed to get the cap off the ibuprofen and take some with water. It was still relatively dark behind the windows, the softest shade of grey light signalling the sun would be up in an hour or two. There were two avians in the room, Phil piled under Techno’s blankets and Quackity leaning his side against Purpled’s bed. Purpled gently removes Quackity’s wing from his lap and swings his legs out of bed. He starts to put weight on them before he is suddenly sharply reminded of a very much still splinted and broken ankle. Purpled hisses under his breath, one antennae shivering and throat clicking softly in pain.

Yeah, fuck that.

Purpled puts all his weight on his left leg and stands up on it. He shuffles a few blocks to the ladder using furniture, picking up his clothes and a few non-inventory designated weapons into his inventory. He slides down the ladder to the main floor and almost trips stepping to the ground. Even before the goal of getting out of the house and back to his- his cave, just- ( don’t think about it ) his cave and his own inordinate number of healing potions was the goal of getting something to eat, because he felt starved. Purpled manages to slowly hobble his way through the room, relying on the wall and the sofa, and then doing a few unsteady quick hops to the kitchen.

Oh. New obstacle, that was showing he was probably more concussed then he realized: Techno was up (as shown by him not being in his bed) and staring at Purpled. Damn him and his unusual sleeping patterns.

“Good morning?” Techno greets questioningly. Purpled glares, but the white shirt he’s wearing slips down his shoulder, cancelling any weight that might have held. He fixes it with the hand not holding himself up.

“Was hungry.” Purpled mutters. He’s just short of reaching for the counter, so he goes to propel himself off the wall-

And is immediately stopped by Technoblade.

Covenant the kid scared him. Techno holds Purpled’s arm steady, breathing a half sigh of relief. Whatever dangerous acrobatics Purpled was doing around the house to get here were not going to happen any longer. The image of him standing in the doorway- beat up and damaged, with a cut on one cheek and a bruise on the other, too many bandages and drowning in Techno’s shirt, wearing Phil’s pants loose around him- it hit the back part of his piglin brain in a way that it hadn’t been triggered in a little while. Techno hefts Purpled up under the knees, how he’d carried him back the other night.

“H- asshole, put me down!” Purpled slams his fist into Techno’s arm and Techno sets him in a chair.

“I’ll get breakfast, so stop jumping around on a broken ankle.” Techno huffs.

Brotherblade

e

NEW KID

Feed hound army feed hound army

Breakfast for purpled!!!

make him a sword cane

Well damn, that wasn’t a half bad idea. Techno switches from making dog food to making Purpled food, warming golden carrot and beef stew on the stove and adding a bowl of sticky rice from Phil’s collection. Techno sets the bowls, a glass of water, and a mini vase of clover buds down for Purpled to eat. He pulls up a chair and his own portion of food to keep company.

“I’m not letting you carry me around everywhere I want to go for the next two weeks. I’m not a baby imp.” Purpled says around a bite of stew. Good, that would get him his saturation and strength back.

“Oh no, I have a plan.” Techno says maniacally.

“It’ll just be the first few days, where you shouldn’t be up and around to begin with.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to. And in this case, you shouldn’t.” Techno shoots back. Purpled’s mouth clicks shut and his one antennae twitches in thought.

“Fine.” He says, like he ever had an option. Techno clears up the dishes, dropping them in the sink after a quick rinse.

“I’m going to go feed the dogs. Don’t jump around, and yell if you need something.” Techno sets a few books down on the table to encourage Purpled to stay still.

“If I yell, everyone else will wake up.” Purpled points out.

“Exactly.” Techno nods. He walks out holding a few tubs of dog food, cape swishing.

Purpled sighs and opens up an old tome detailing the tale of a gladiator tournament. In the quiet, he reads.

{<>}

Ranboo didn’t want to intrude, really.

But, after sleeping on a too-short couch for hours keeping guard over a house for someone injured, anyone would be naturally curious over the wellbeing of the injured party. Especially if they might be a new friend. Double especially if you recently found out they were hiding being an alien from goddamn outer space.

Ranboo might want to intrude a little bit.

So, like a good neighbor and member of a commune, he runs over some chocolate chip cookies, Techno’s favorite tea, and some golden carrots. His basket is full and his kindness is plentiful and he knocks on the door feeling very okay with his plan. Ranboo hears swearing and a thud, before the door opens to Purpled, who is heavily leaning on the door with one foot held up slightly. He’s covered in bandages and wound dressings, one wrapped around his head and interrupting his hair.

“You know.” He says darkly, staring Ranboo down.

“Uh, hi.” Ranboo responds. One of Purpled’s antennae (!) was still bandaged, but his perpetual leather gloves were missing as well. It showed finger pads and pads where fingers connected to the palm, as well as soft looking lavender fluff around his wrists like a moth or a bee. There was also-

“Oh, you’re webbed! Like me!” Ranboo raises his white hand and spreads his fingers. Where his black hand was more paw-like, with thin fur and squishy pads on his fingers and palms, his white hand was more smooth, with a little bit of red webbing between the fingers. Purpled has significantly less, to the point where it’s almost human, but there’s obviously a little extra purple webbing between his fingers.

“Not the conversational topic I thought you’d bring up.” Purpled tilts his head, but shuffles back from the door, opening the way to Ranboo. Ranboo goes through and Purpled clings to the door, slowly pushing it forward and dragging his single foot. Ranboo sets the basket down on the coffee table.

“Would you like help?” Ranboo asks, offering an arm. Purpled sighs and grabs on, finally pushing the door closed and using Ranboo to hobble to the couch. He’d been set up with a cup of tea and a book, so Phil was likely awake. Purpled takes a sip of his tea, tucking an ice pack against his torso, and sighs peacefully.

“What’s the basket?” He asks.

“Oh! Just some gifts to drop off. Want a cookie?” Ranboo asks, pulling a cookie out of the basket and offering it. Purpled accepts the cookie and takes a bite.

“These are pretty good, are they the ones you sell?” Purpled asks.

“Yep! I’ve been making a lot of cookies recently. And, about that,” Ranboo remembers another conversation he needs to have, “Could you not mention the cookie thing to Techno? I’m running it with a husband he doesn’t really get along with for a reason he doesn’t approve of so it would be great if you could keep that between us.”

“Sure.” Purpled nods. Ranboo deflates with relief at the ease of the conversation.

“What else is in the basket?”
“Just some golden carrots and tea.” Ranboo lifts the lid to show Purpled and he nods.

“You can probably just put them in the kitchen, I’ll tell Techno when he gets back.”

“Thanks.” Ranboo smiles and quickly drops the box of cookies, the tin of tea and bundle of golden carrots on the counter. He tucks the basket back over his shoulder and returns to the living room.

“Did you need something else?” Purpled asks, carefully keeping eye contact to his book.

“Nothing much, really, just wondering how you were doing.”

“My ribs hurt, I have a headache, I can’t walk, I can’t manipulate my fingers too much without pain, and the skin on my arms feels stretched. You know, just weekend things.” Purpled shrugs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ranboo offers.

“No.” Purpled responds in a snap.

“That’s okay. Did you need anything before I leave?” Ranboo asks.

“Let Dogchamp back in.” Purpled points to the back door. Ranboo nods and walks over to the back door. He opens it and Purpled’s large dog immediately bounds back inside. He shakes himself off before trotting happily into the living room, hopping up on the sofa and putting his big head in Purpled’s lap.

“One more thing.” Purpled tilts his head up to Ranboo. His purple eyes catch Ranboo’s, and the shiver up his spine is only half discomfort at the eye contact- Purpled’s eyes were dark and angry, a sudden change from his lighthearted mood that reminded Ranboo more than a little of an enderman. The color didn’t help the comparison.

“If you tell anyone about this,” Purpled gestures to his antennae, to his hands, making a clear message, “I’ll kill you, and then the people you love, and I’ll make sure they suffer.”

“I don’t think you’d want to kill Tommy or Techno. Or Phil.” Ranboo blurts. Purpled’s mouth clicks shut, and he blinks.

“Right,” He whispers to himself, “mutual friends.”

Purpled clears his throat.

“Maybe I won’t kill you, but it would really suck for me, so maybe don’t do that.”

“Sure.” Ranboo nods, a mimicry of Purpled’s own response to his concerns. Purpled looks like a monkey’s paw just curled on his hand, expression pinched.
“I won’t tell anyone. And if it’s needed, I’ll keep them out of here while you recover.”

“Thanks, Ranboo.” Purpled says, sighing with relief, before turning back to his book and letting his free hand pet Dogchamp absentmindedly. Ranboo leaves him to his thoughts, taking his basket and heading back to his cottage. He doesn’t have any particular rush. After dealing with Tommy for so long, Ranboo could handle a few misconstrued death threats.

{<>}

“You’re awake.”

“I always am.”

“You hibernate.”

“When I’m not hibernating. Did you need something?”

“...no. Just wondering if talking would pass the time.”

“Sleeping would pass it better.”

“I’m keeping watch on him.”

“Go to bed, Quackity.”

“Maybe I will, Technoblade.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

“No dogs on the sofa.” Phil reminds Purpled, coming down the ladder.

“I am but a poor injured boy seeking comfort from his puppy, Philza.” Purpled deadpans, making no move to push his huge hound off the couch or look up from his book. Phil sighs and sets down medical supplies on the coffee table. Purpled looks up instantly at the clinking of glass.

“What?” He asks harshly.

“I’m just going to change your bandages.” Phil holds his hands up, one holding a roll of potion-stained bandages. Purpled narrows his eyes at him-all four of them.

“I can do it myself.”

“Not with cracked ribs you can’t.” Phil shoots back.

“Watch me.” Purpled tears off some of the tape holding the bandages on his arms, shoving the sleeve up and beginning to unravel. Phil sighs.

“Quackity!” he yells up the ladder.

“I’m awake!” Comes the response, before a thud sound. Within a few moments Quackity is down the ladder, face flushed.

“Tell Purpled he can’t change all his own bandages with cracked ribs.” Phil instructs.

“Purpled…” Quackity immediately turns to face him, walking over to the couch and kneeling down. He gives Purpled a pleading face and Purpled sighs.

“Fine. Fuck you.” Purpled extends his half-unraveled arm to Phil, other hand petting Dogchamp. Phil remembers the last time Purpled had extended his arm to be bandaged, and thinks a lot has changed. Phil sits on the couch, gently undoing the rest of the dressing. The burns are looking a lot better, scabbed up and slowly shrinking from the effects of the healing potion. Phil cleans gently and reapplies cream, before re-wrapping the upper arm where most of the burn was. The rest had pretty much healed over, leaving some slightly shiny but otherwise okay to leave open skin.

Phil moves down to the knuckles, cleaning off the main areas of injury, before changing the bracing thick bandages to an array of butterfly bandages and different shaped band-aids to keep the small cuts closed, clean, and not irritated. Phil mirrors his practice on the opposite arm, adding some bruise cream to Purpled’s banged up forearm. Quackity watches carefully, sitting by Purpled and rubbing his shoulder. His wings were fluffed up and extended around Purpled protectively. Phil gives Quackity a sideways look while Purpled is looking away, raising an eyebrow and smiling. Quackity glares at him, and Phil soundlessly chuckles, returning to his task.

Next is ribs.

“Unbutton your shirt, I need to check how your ribs are doing.” Phil requests. Purpled does so, fingers still slightly stiff. After two buttons Quackity leans over to help. Phil unwraps the bandages bracing Purpled’s ribs, and he winces. Phil squints and gently prods Purpled’s torso. He hisses, and Phil nods.

“Yep, you’ve just cracked one or two. No splits or bone separation, which is good, but it’ll hurt like a bitch.” Phil takes more bruise cream and applies it to Purpled’s now aesthetically appropriate purple torso, cleaning the few small cuts and adding some gauze over the two bigger ones.

“No need for any more bandages or a brace, but you’ll have to sleep more upright and keep icing it in short periods tomorrow. Healing pots are gonna be your godsend.” Phil moves on to checking Purpled’s head, doing the flashlight concussion test using his comm, and unwrapping his bandages. There wasn’t a particularly large injury, and it had pretty much healed over, so Phil adds another piece of gauze and calls that good as well. The antenna is harder.

“I have to check your antenna now.” Phil says, reaching up to check it.

“No.” Purpled shakes his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t mess with it. If it’s broken it’s broken, I’ll know when I have some healing.” Purpled shakes his head again. Quackity takes Purpled’s hand gently.

“Phil’s not going to hurt you, Purpled.” Quackity reassures.

“He doesn’t know how to fix it. He’ll just make it worse.” Purpled’s face looks blank, but Dogchamp growls from his spot on his lap.

“Okay, we’ll do that last.” Phil easily moves on, Purpled kicking up his ankle to the coffee table and Phil checking it. It was splinted and braced with two solid pieces of cut wood made for the purpose, so Phil leaves it be. There didn’t seem to be any severe swelling, so they got there with potions on time. Speaking of, Phil hands Purpled two potions and a gapple.

“Drink the healing, then the health, and then have the gap.” He instructs. Purpled nods and follows instructions. He frowns at the taste of the healing potion, but drinks them both promptly, and then crunches down the gapple. Purpled tilts his head and his broken antenna twitches from its prison.

“Fixed.” He notes, tugging at the ties. Quackity helps him undo them, and sure enough the lengthwise crack on the antenna is healed. Purpled sighs with relief.

“That’s much better. I kept feeling like there was a pillow on my head.” He flicks it a few times before returning his focus to staring down Philza.

“That’s enough for now, I think. Just don’t do something monumentally stupid and hurt yourself.” Phil instructs, standing up and brushing his hands off. Quackity squeezes Purpled’s shoulder supportively.

“I’m not a total fool.” Purpled says, somewhat pouty.

“Techno told me you went down the ladder alone on your ankle, Purpled, I’m allowed to doubt your self preservation instincts.” Phil comments snarkily, moving to the kitchen to start lunch.

“Oh, Ranboo stopped by while you were downstairs. He left some stuff on the counter.” Purpled calls after him. Phil spots said stuff on the counter, picking up the note by it.

Thought you guys could use some cookies and tea. Purpled definitely needs golden carrots.

-R

Sure enough, a container of cookies, a bundle of golden carrots, and a box of tea were left beside it. Phil puts them away before starting lunch. He’s just started frying up fish for sandwiches when Quackity steps into the kitchen. His wings flutter nervously on his back.

“Purpled’s gonna be okay for sure, right? No permanent damage?” Quackity whispers, taking a few steps closer to Phil. The precaution is probably wise- Purpled’s hearing was uncanny, with his alien pieces.

“Physically? Yes.” Phil nods, sighing.

“But I’d be lying if I told you he’s not going to be a little messed up in the head after this. Not knowing whoever did this, I can’t give you a very clear picture of how, but I’ve seen enough in my time to know you don’t come away from these things without some… damage.” Phil moves the cod around in the pan, wondering if he should add more sauce over the top.

“That’s the problem then,” Quackity exhales, “He won’t tell us what happened.”

“Give it time.” Phil suggests, “Right now he’s probably not even telling himself.”

“I KNOW YOU’RE WHISPERING IN THERE, DICKNIPS,” Purpled yells from the other room.

“You shouldn’t use that sort of language, young man.” Quackity says at a perfectly respectable volume for communicating room to room.

“FUCK YOU!”

“Why must I always return home to my house being demonetized,” The kitchen door opens, revealing a snow-glazed Technoblade.

“Cause you’re a stickler is why.” Phil snipes back. Techno has a huge axe slung over his shoulder, which is pinging all sorts of Quackity’s self-preservation radars, but he sets it down and all it’s covered with is sawdust and leaf residue.

“I know you aren’t dissing my religion in my house when you can’t say the word simp, Philza Minecraft.” Techno grumbles.

Phil tilts his head to the left and one eyebrow twitches as he plates fish on sandwich bread.

“Kristin’s on my side again?” Techno unclips his cape and slings it over the back of the chair.

“You have no proof.” Phil sniffs.

“Do you have salt and vinegar?” Quackity asks, because the only reasonable response to fight-or-flight activating at the sight of your ex-best-friend-now-civil-partner draping an axe over his shoulder like a weaker man would drape a towel is to bury yourself in his cabinets to look for chips. Obviously.

“No. You have horrible taste.” Phil adds tomato and lettuce to the sandwiches, as well as varying slices of cheese- Phil hung out with four people and all their cheese opinions differed. He wasn’t going to risk it. Purpled stumbles in through the door, propping himself on the wall. He braces his arms on it weirdly and Techno sits up fast enough his chair scrapes.

“Do not. ”

“You can’t carry me everywhere.”

“I am working on a solution. Don’t.” Techno glares. Purpled rolls his eyes.

“Killjoy.” He mutters under his breath. Quackity waves himself over and assists Purpled in limping to the table. Phil finishes crafting sandwiches and adding chips to plates, distributing meals and setting a bowl of fruit on the table. Quackity gets up to grab two glasses of water, Techno makes it three.

“So how are we sleeping tonight?” Purpled asks, ever the planner.

“Hm?” Techno tilts his head.

“I assume I’m no longer under medical watch, so Phil can go back to his house. I don’t mind taking the couch, and that leaves two beds upstairs-”
“We’re not sharing a room.” Quackity blurts.

“You can’t get out of being carried by sleeping on the main floor.” Techno says at the same time. Phil sighs.

“What Quackity wants to say-”
“Don’t you dare, old man-”
“What he wants to say is he doesn’t want to leave you alone. And I agree, the couch is a bad idea.” Phil finishes, looking smug. Quackity bangs his head on the table like that was some sort of revelation?

“Okay, but Quackity isn’t sleeping on the floor again.” Purpled states, pointing a bread knife that Phil takes away and places back by the bread.

“I don’t see why not.” Techno drawls.

“Your sarcasm isn’t any better.” Quackity notes.

“Who said it was sarcasm?” Techno raises an eyebrow.

“If I had a wooden spoon,” Purpled says slowly, “I would not be the only one with a concussion right now.”

“I’ll get a bed roll from my closet and you can all sleep upstairs.” Phil smiles serenely.

“ Thank you Phil.” Quackity sighs.

“So what was today’s outing about, Techno?” Phil asks, knowing full damn well what today’s outing was about.

“Wood.” Techno answers vaguely.

“Making something?” Quackity asks.

“No. Just wanted wood.” Techno states. Phil’s smile grows. No one else at the table can tell if that’s sarcasm. Purpled sets his water glass down, just done chugging it.

“Alright, someone take me to the couch, I want out.” He tells the table at large. Phil gets up to direct him to the living room. Quackity sighs at the air.

“Did we agree to be civil?”
“That’s no death threats. I can still wish you passive-aggressive discomfort and bad sleep.” Techno says, with absolutely no conviction behind it.

“You can tell me you’re having fun bantering without a workaround,” Quackity smiles, “I won’t judge.”

Techno stands up, shoving Quackity’s beanie down over his face. Quackity squawks in outrage.

“I’ve got work to do, nerd.”

“Oh, avoidance tactics, are we-” Quackity starts, fixing his hat, but Techno picks up a glass of water and dumps it over his head.

“That was my only shirt, asshole!” Quackity calls at Techno’s receding back. Techno just laughs.

Phil watches Techno descend to his workroom with the satisfaction of being right, again.

{<>}

The afternoon goes by quickly. Purpled does a quick power nap, swaps out ice packs, and gets stopped from cleaning his gear by an annoying but sensible Quackity who tells him having little coordination and fine motor control was not good around very very sharp objects. Instead, they play cards, and when Purpled gets too tired to play reasonably, Quackity pulls up movies on his comm. They watch treasure planet, because it’s one of the few Quackity has downloaded that aren’t sappy romances. Techno comes up to give Purpled potions and dinner, getting roped into watching the movie with them. Purpled sits in the middle with the long tray, one man on either side, with Dogchamp curled up on the floor sleeping peacefully. He’s out like a light as soon as he drinks the healing potion, head on Quackity’s shoulder and legs folded over Techno’s lap. Quackity turns down the volume just slightly, eyes heavy with sleep. He’d stayed up too late watching over Purpled, and he was paying for it. He watches as Techno retrieves something from his inventory, though. He stretches Purpled’s uninjured leg out and extends a… tape measure?

“Mm?” Quackity questions sleepily.

“Go to bed.” Techno says, voice soft.

“Mkay.” Quackity blinks, slow, and then closes his eyes and doesn’t open them. Asleep. Techno tucks the blanket from the couch over the two of them, before finishing his measuring and making a note in his mini notebook- he barely used it, but this was important to remember. He returns the items to his inventory and resigns himself to staring at the ceiling with Purpled pinning him to the couch. To his surprise, as Quackity’s comm runs the ending scene and the room quietens, he drifts to peaceful sleep.

{<>}

“Why were you… tape measure?”
“Purpled punches me every other time I pick him up. My arms are bruised, Quack. My pride can’t take this much more and neither can the kid’s.”
“So you’re fixin ‘im?”

“I’m helping him while he heals.”
“Dunno how that’ll…”
A yawn.
“Relate to pride n tape measures.”
“Since you won’t remember this in the morning, I’m making him mobility aids.”
“Fuck you… I’ll member it…”

“You haven’t ever before, Quack.”
“Know me too well, techie.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Quackity wakes up to screaming, which jolts him awake and shoots a great deal of adrenaline into his veins. Purpled’s on his lap, screeching, making all sorts of alien warbly noises. Quackity grabs his shoulders and shakes him, but he doesn’t wake- too caught in the throes of his nightmare. Tears trail down his face, staining Quackity’s shirt with purple pigment. He shakes harder, slapping Purpled’s cheek lightly, and he shoots up like an arrow, palms grinding into Quackity’s thighs. Quackity looks to the left just enough to register Techno holding Purpled’s leg so he doesn’t hurt his ankle, before releasing Purpled’s shoulder and taking his face instead.

“Purpled, come back to me, it’s okay, you’re at Techno’s, I’m here.” Quackity murmurs comfortingly, trying to calm Purpled so he doesn’t hurt himself. Purpled doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Quackity as soon as he hears his voice, near-strangling in his grip, crying on his shoulder. Quackity’s wings fluff around them, arms wrapping over Purpled’s back. Techno on the other end of the couch fixes Purpled’s legs so they’re under him and not in danger of hurting his ankle, before standing up and running to the kitchen. Quackity strokes Purpled’s hair.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re with us, you’re safe now.” Quackity comforts.

“I- it w-was so b-bright and, and l-loud.” Purpled stutters out between heaving too-fast breaths and sobs.

“Breathe. Calm. It’s alright, you’re okay, it’s alright.” Quackity repeats. Techno returns with a glass of water, a weighted blanket, earmuffs and two bottles of pills. He sits by Purpled and Quackity’s side and checks over Purpled’s bandages and injuries while Quackity rocks him, to be sure he hadn’t hurt himself during his nightmare.

“I c-c-c-can’t do it,” Purpled’s voice catches on the click of the c, “I couldn’t fix it.”

“You’re alright. Try and breathe.” Quackity whispers, going for it and stroking a hand down Purpled’s antennae. Purpled goes limp and boneless, breathing still too fast, but steadying.

“What couldn’t you fix?” Quackity asks, when Purpled can get air in his lungs at a normal pace.

“The c-c-c-core.” Purpled clicks, “For the ship.”

“What happened?” Quackity whispers. Purpled goes stiff again, breath stalling, so Quackity gently pets his antennae to calm him down.

“I worked so hard .” Purpled whispers brokenly.

“I know.” Quackity comforts, “I know you did.”  Purpled’s holding onto Quackity so hard it almost hurts, so Techno starts working his hands loose. He drapes the weighted blanket over Purpled’s shoulders and carefully stretches Purpled’s fingers out of Quackity’s shirt.

“Why did the core break?” Techno asks quietly.

“C-c-c-couldn’t take the strain. Too much testing, or too broken to begin with. Too damaged . It- exploded.” Purpled stutters through the sentences. Quackity, and Techno when he sees, gently move Purpled to the side so he isn’t quite as on top of Quackity. He still clings to him, but more to his side, with Techno on his other to offer water and earmuffs if he gets overwhelmed. Quackity pets an antenna, and Purpled sighs.

“Is that what happened to your UFO?” Techno asks. He looks somewhat doubtful.

“No, that was in the cabin. My UFO-” Purpled stops. Closes his eyes again.

“I had TNT.” Purpled says in a hoarse whisper. Quackity’s stomach drops.

The other damn shoe. Quackity couldn’t asphyxiate who did this to Purpled, couldn’t make suffer the person who took his home away, because Purpled did it to himself.

“Oh, purp.” Quackity rewraps his arms around the boy, but Purpled shoves him away. He looks angry. Quackity can’t tell if it’s at him or himself.

Techno can.

He isn’t one for physical comfort, but he drapes an arm over Purpled’s blanketed shoulder anyway. He offers him the glass of water.

“Drink.” Techno instructs.

“I-”
“Drink. It’ll help you calm down.”

Purpled drinks. Techno takes the glass and sets it to the side when he’s finished.

“Keep talking.” Techno orders. Purpled shrinks a bit, but Quackity puts a hand on his leg supportively.

“We won’t hurt you.” He says. It’s more assuring than it should be.

“The core blew up, and I- got mad. Really mad.” Purpled’s hands ball into fists and his antennae straighten and tense. He blinks his lower eyes, and then his upper ones.

“I can’t make a new core, so I’d just- wasted, all that time, years of work and pain and grinding, over nothing. There was nothing left. I couldn’t-” Purpled stops and breathes harshly, so Techno adjusts the blanket on his shoulders, patting one of Purpled’s arms awkwardly.

“I can’t go home.” Purpled says quietly. Quackity’s heart falls to pieces in his chest and Techno wants so badly to fix this pain for Purpled, but there is nothing he can do.

“I can’t- the ship doesn’t work without the core. And I was angry. So I blew it up and hoped-” Purpled closes his eyes again, tilting his face to the ceiling.

“I hoped that if there wasn’t anything left of my life’s mission that Prime would take mercy on me and- I don’t know what I thought.” Purpled opens his eyes and looks at his palms in his lap. He seems tiny, on the couch, tearstained and hurt and stitched together again.

“And now there’s nothing left of home.” Purpled’s voice breaks on the last word, and he starts crying again, two palms trying to dry four eyes and failing. This time Techno pulls him close, draping his arms over Purpled’s shoulders. He’d hollow out his chest and let him live there, if he could, and that was terrifying. Quackity rubs his back and they let him cry.

If in different degrees, they both know how it is to lose a home.

Purpled cries himself out, until he’s exhausted and hollow-looking. Techno gives him pain meds and half a health potion, and he falls asleep on his shoulder, so Techno lifts him and carries him up the ladder to bed. Quackity collects his communicator and abandoned dinner dishes before he joins them upstairs. Purpled, in his sleeping haze, has still refused to let go of Technoblade. Techno gives up pulling at him and sets Purpled down with him in the larger, not spare bed. Quackity wordlessly sheds his outer shirt and slides in on Purpled’s other side, wings draping over him like an extra blanket. The tips brush Techno’s shoulders. They don’t say anything.

Neither guardian thinks they’ll get much more rest, looking after their charge. They’re both lulled to sleep by steady breathing and steady heartbeats, and all three of them sleep soundly till the morning.

{<>}

Purpled wakes up sore as fuck. This is probably to be expected after enduring two explosions just… three days before? Two days before? But he’s also fully exhausted after a screaming night terror and sobbing his eyes out like a wimp.

Speaking of. He’s pinned under Techno’s arm and Quackity’s wing. Quackity’s also got two of his limbs strewn over Purpled, and the blanket from the couch, weighted blanket and two extra blankets at the base of Techno’s bed have been arranged around them in some sort of nest. Long and short of it, he was thoroughly trapped.

The other two were both still asleep. Phil was in the other house.

Purpled pokes Techno’s shoulder. Out cold. He frees one hand from the grip of the blankets and removes Techno’s arm from over his chest. Quackity is harder- he has to move slow and steady not to disturb him, he was a very light sleeper.

After he’s extricated himself from the two, he sits up and slides off the end of the bed. His ankle hurts like a bitch, so he takes the same hobbling path as the last morning, before sliding down the ladder like a fireman. The landing is hard (ow ow ow ow ow ⎓⚍ᓵꖌ 𝙹∴) but he manages to hobble through the unpolished stone space. It’s the bottom floor, full of villager trading stations, and Purpled gets to the end of the hall and swings his pickaxe at the stone. It’s silk touch. He breaks two blocks, then the two behind it, replacing behind him and collapsing into the tiny box of space. It’s dark and cold and quiet, only muffled sounds (voices?) of villagers through the stone. Purpled taps his comm to open his inventory, sorting out the cards for supplies and weapons and armor. He doesn’t sort through the cardless section, because there was no space to summon items or for a glitch to expulse the less stable section of inventory. The comm lights the space just barely, holographic inventory slots reflecting dull and grey against the stone. Purpled didn’t carry much, beyond his gear, food, and some blocks. He re-sorts it, shuffling more cards, and then decides the first way was better.

Oh, he hadn’t checked his messages, had he.

<ItsFundy:> purpled where are you

<ItsFundy:> qusakcty is gone

<ItsFundy:> where are you two

<ItsFundy:> do you know where he is

<ItsFundy:> im comobg to get you

<ItsFundy:> what the fuck purpled where the hell is your ufo

<ItsFundy:> this isnt funny respond for fucks sake

<FoolishG:> hey purpled! I’ve been told you and quackity are missing, so if you see this, I would maybe appreciate some reassurance that you are safe or that you both are safe if you are with Quackity.

<ItsFundy:> cmon man plese respond

<Slimecicle:> purpled from ufo! You and quackity from las nevadas both have gooped off somewhere, it seems. Remember to tell us when you get back!

<Awesamdude:> purpled do you know where quackity is

<Awesamdude:> for that matter where are you

<Awesamdude:> some mild notification when you disappear would be nice

<Awesamdude:> oh my god what happened to the ufo purpled

<Awesamdude:> purpled answer me

Purpled sighs, beginning to draft messages. He continues reading.

<TommyInnit:> hey big man

<TommyInnit:> your ufo is gone and i heard you went mising

<TommyInnit:> if you eed someone to talk to or maybe like a rescue from wherever the fuck you are

<TommyInnit:> you can hit me up

<TommyInnit:> alright ranboob seems to know something abou you so im gonna assume youre okay ignore those other messages

<Purpled:> i might take you up on the offer actually but i need to write out like 6 separate apologies rn because my coworkers are freaked the fuck up

<Purpled:> will hit you back up

Purpled switches to his messages with Fundy.

<Purpled:> we are both okay and alive

<Purpled:> im a little bit injured (NOT severe do NOT try to come find me) but quackitys dandy

<Purpled:> probably should have contacted you earlier, himself, but i think he was just worrying over me while i slept for the most part. And the i was awake and he was worrying over me more

<Purpled:> unrelated to the point which is were fine were cool and also safe and together

<ItsFundy:> fcuk

<ItsFundy:> what happened that yuo both DISAPPERED and also a whole two fucking building blew up

<Purpled:> i think you should take a minute to breathe on the we’re alive and okay thing cause i gotta message foolish + sam

<ItsFundy:> PURPLED DO NOT CLOSE THESE DMS

Purpled closes the dms and moves over to Foolish.

<Purpled:> this is said reassurance we are both safe

<Purpled:> quackity is uninjured and we are together.

<FoolishG:> this does not sway my worry over your health

<Purpled:> im a lil fucked up but on the mend

<Purpled:> nothing i cant handle

<FoolishG:> an itemized list of what happened would be nice. Especially since that is what fundy is very loudly demanding in my ear

<Purpled:> whoops gotta message s and s

<FoolishG:> purpled.

Purpled opens his message history with Sam.

<Purpled:> we’re safe and secure

<Purpled:> we are also together if you were wondering

<Purpled:> already messaged f + f over a few more details

<Awesamdude:> what happened to the ufo

<Purpled:> i have not messaged slime so I am going to do that now

<Awesamdude:> purpled what happened to your ufo

Purpled closes the messages with a vengeance and opens the few messages he and slime had sent privately.

<Purpled:> hey man we aren’t back yet but I will be in about a week or two

<Purpled:> thought you’d like to know quackity from las nevadas and I are safe and all that

<Purpled:> I don’t know if i can convince quackity to stop by earlier but i will try

<Slimecicle:> that is very kind of you! Fundy from lmanberg wants to know where you are and why you wont be back for two weeks! They are not being very nice about it

<Purpled:> sorry about that buddy, fundy’s probably just worried.

<Purpled:> you can tell him there’s no reason to be worried if you want. Im fine just healing and cant travel right now

<Slimecicle:> Sam from Badlands is asking where you both are !

<Purpled:> we’re safe and thats all that matters right now

<Purpled:> quackity isn’t awake so I don’t want to disclose any information he wouldn’t want to tell you all

<Slimecicle:> that seems very reasonable. I will see you soon?

<Purpled:> as soon as I’m able to

Purpled closes his comm and mutes it as several sets of enraged dinging start. He sighs, closing all four eyes and letting his ears and antennae do the sight. He sees his own outline, from the buzzing vibration of the comm making sound and bouncing it around his cube of space. He lets it buzz for what might be a minute or ten, before opening his eyes and then his messages with Tommy.

<TommyInnit:> freak the fuck up? Hell do you mean

<TommyInnit:> oh. Oh i get it now

<Purpled:> who messaged you

<TommyInnit:> fundy

<Purpled:> yeah ignore that.

<TommyInnit:> these screenshots are sort of incriminalting you here

<Purpled:> i have a mild concussion let me live

<Purpled:> wait shit dont tell the others that

<TommyInnit:> who do you think I am. Of course im keeping that info to myself

<TommyInnit:> can i lord it over them or would that be fucked up

<Purpled:> it would be fucked up also can you not mention youre talking to me

<Purpled:> im sorta camped out cause i dont wanna talk to anyone and then i noticed like 300 unread messages so i had to address that

<TommyInnit:> alright i wonr

<TommyInnit:> wanna do an inventory though

<Purpled:> ?

<TommyInnit:> its when you list off all the injuries you currenlty have to a friend so you can make sure yo uknow how to act around eacother

<TommyInnit:> idk if its just a military thing or if mercenaries do it to

<Purpled:> i mean i dont usually work with people so dunno

<TommyInnit:> so ye or na

<Purpled:> sure

<TommyInnit:> okay you went first so i have a burn on my finger from trying to take nuggets oyt of the oven bare handed

<Purpled:> at least one rib with a hairline fracture

<TommyInnit:> scrape on my arm from tripping and falling on it when walking to tubbo

<Purpled:> second degree burns on both upper arms

<TommyInnit:> bruised legs (same reason)

<Purpled:> broken left ankle

<TommyInnit:> burn from cigarette sparks on my cheek

<Purpled:> scratched up knuckles and hands from glass

<TommyInnit:> carpet burn on knees from falling out of bed

<Purpled:> shrapnel injuries (various)

<TommyInnit:> okay im out

<Purpled:> me too, unless we add just recently fully healed stuff

<TommyInnit:> no ive got a good idea what happened to you

<TommyInnit:> if your ears are ringing i recommend those anime intro thingies

<TommyInnit:> i absolutely hate them but not knowing the language and them being loud knocks out the fuzziness

<Purpled:> sound advice from a guess

<TommyInnit:> okay shrapnel injuries (various)

<Purpled:> fuck you theres like 800 of them and 99% are just scratches

<TommyInnit:> do you still have the yarn

<Purpled:> yeah why

<TommyInnit:> i knit to calm down

<TommyInnit:> and it sounds like a knitting lesson might help

<Purpled:> i cant talk without being discovered and my hands are a bit too bruised to knit BUT

<Purpled:> id like to listen to you walk me through the next steps.

<TommyInnit:> weirdo

Incoming call: TommyInnit

Accept

{<>}

“This is a disaster.”

“Shh! He’s asleep.”

“Fine. But we need to talk about what we’re going to do about this.”
“He needs to heal first. Then we’ll talk to him about living situations and work out the mess he’s in.”
“That could be from two weeks to a month. You want to wait a month to give him a proper home?”
“ Two proper homes. And papers can wait to be signed.”
“I haven’t checked Las Nevadas yet. So far it’s one certified proper home.”
“Which is why we’re here, isn’t it? You can check Las Nevadas when Purpled comes back. I’ll schedule a welcome home tour.”
“Your reasoning is solid. Doesn’t mean I won’t be annoyed.”

“You’re always annoyed. Go to sleep, Techno.”
“You’re the one who needs sleep.”
“Go to sleep. ”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Neither of them can find Purpled. It’s starting to make Quackity panic, and he can’t tell if that’s the stupid bird brain acting up again or if it’s a legitimate response to Purpled disappearing into nowhere at some time before eight in the morning. Quackity would look to Techno for a point of reference, but he’s pretty sure piglins pack bond like birds do, if not worse, so he’s not sure if that is a reasonable reference point.

Techno makes coffee. Quackity makes breakfast. An hour of searching was down, this would require strategy. Finding a teenager with a broken ankle should not be this difficult, Quackity thinks, and he jots down another mental note to ask Purpled how he came to be so good at hiding.

They’re quiet. Both of them know the other is neurotic about the situation. Neither of them want to start the conversation. The line between being civil and being friends was thin, between two bleeding hearts. A beat could pass the line.

Techno pours two coffee cups. One has a spoon of sugar and a dash of milk. The other has two spoons of sugar and enough creamer to make the coffee oak wood colored. Techno hands Quackity the lighter cup, which is exactly how Quackity drank his coffee before he got too tired to enjoy making something bitter taste sweet. Quackity drinks it and burns his tongue. He gives Techno a plate of eggs and toast and sausage, gives himself the same, and they both stand at the counter to eat, because that meant Quackity could pace back and forth between bites, holding coffee that didn’t taste like burnt treebark, and Techno could keep proper watch on the full span of the floor. It’s a restless meal. Quackity rinses his coffee cup and starts to pour another when Techno clears his throat.

“So how are we spinning this?” He asks.

“You search outside, I search inside?” Quackity offers. Techno’s finger twitches, which is the only indication of this particular mood.

“I didn’t think about him being outside. I should message Phil.” Techno takes his communicator from the hem of his pants and starts tapping at the screen.

“Should I ask Ranboo? Having more people outside makes sense, there’s only so many places inside.” Quackity asks.

“No, I have the hound army. Phil can search his house.” Techno shakes his head. Quackity sets down his coffee cup with a slam.

“He can’t have been gone that long! We just need to give the dogs a trail, right?” Quackity opens his inventory and digs around for a moment.

“Wait,” Techno puts his face in his hand, “You’re right.”

“Here! I knew I brought some of his extra clothes.” Quackity extricates his arm from the inventory box and holds up a patched purple hoodie victoriously.

“That’ll work.” Techno nods and takes the shirt. They both ditch breakfast dishes and run over to the dog pens. Techno summons out a single dog, letting it sniff the hoodie and giving it half-whispered orders. The dog immediately starts sniffing around, before bounding to the house.

Good. Prime knows Purpled shouldn’t be out in all this snow, in his state. Quackity gives a single shiver before he follows. The dog scratches at the door and Techno lets it in. It lowers its nose to the ground, sniffing about, before deciding on the ladder and staircasing down the levels inelegantly. Techno slides down the ladder and Quackity is left to climb quickly. They’re on the bottom floor. The dog takes some time to track, sniffing around the somewhat larger hall of villagers. Slowly, it steps toward the very fall wall, before sitting down right by the wall. It paws at the stone and looks at Technoblade.

Techno purses his lips. He steps forward, and breaks the block of stone. It reveals a small, dark little gap, just enough space for a person. Purpled’s curled up in the bottom of it, face peaceful and smooth, mouth open with a soundless snore. His legs are pressed to the edges of his seemingly self-imposed box and his back is to a corner. His communicator is faceup, balanced on his knees.

He’s in a call with Tommy, by the display. He has earbuds in, and Tommy’s little circle icon is lit up green and then gone and green again, like he was talking. Purpled makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, like the clicking and the warbling but more like the ‘mmm’ sound people make when asleep and bumped. Quackity gently nudges Techno to the side, breaking the other block with his own pickaxe and then reaching for one of Purpled’s earbuds. He was leaned enough on the far wall he didn’t topple over and wake up, thankfully.

“So there’s sheep everywhere, and at this point Tubbo’s spaced out, so I- oh, are you awake?” Tommy’s voice sounds through the wire.

“Hey, Tommy. Sorry to interrupt but Purpled’s out cold and should probably be moved to a bed.” Quackity says quietly. Tommy’s little circle of green stays gone for a moment.

“Alright, but give him a minute. He needs a minute, you know?” Tommy says. There’s the tone of an ended call and Quackity removes Purpled’s other earbud, tucking his communicator into the pocket of the pants he’d been loaned. Techno takes his turn to nudge Quackity off, kneeling down to lift Purpled up again. Purpled stays soundly asleep. With the time he’d have to have gotten up, it’s no wonder. Techno walks over to the ladder wordlessly and Quackity follows. They ascend two floors, and Techno sets Purpled on the couch. He shifts Purpled’s hair from his face and glances over to Quackity.

“I’m going to finish breakfast and keep him a plate.”

Techno walks off to the kitchen. Quackity settles on the couch, sighing and opening his communicator. It seemed he had a lot of explanations to make, while he looked after his kid.

{<>}

This is getting old. Purpled wakes up in a different place from where he fell asleep, achy all over. Quackity had a hand on his leg, like he was assuring himself Purpled wouldn’t disappear. Purpled’s warm, a blanket draped over him, and he’s comfortable laying on the couch. He doesn’t want to be awake. Being awake means he has to think .

Quackity’s hand moves. He pockets his communicator and folds his hands in his lap. Sometimes Purpled wishes he couldn’t see with his eyes closed, because he really just did not want to be constantly connected to reality.

“I know you’re awake.”
“Nnnnnnnn.” Purpled shakes his head.

“We need to talk.”

“Nnnnnnoooooo.” Purpled grumbles. He turns to shove his face in a pillow but that hurts his ribs so he ends up just making a wheezy sound and flopping back on his spine.

“We were worried about your wellbeing Purpled. And you dug yourself into a wall, so we had good reason.” Quackity points out, making a reasonable point.

“Can we just forget what happened and move on to only talking about medical stuff?” Purpled grumbles. It’s muffled, through the sleeves of Technoblade’s shirt.

“Mental health is just as important as physical health.” Quackity makes another excellent point and Purpled makes a growly sound in his thorax.

“And you take care of neither so whose advice should I be taking on this?”

Quackity exhales slowly, stiff, and Purpled realizes that maybe that was a dickish thing to say.

“I can wait to have this conversation if you aren’t in the right space yet.” Quackity says, and boy does that sound nice but Quackity has an edge of an ice to his tone that wasn’t there before and Purpled wants to go back right now. Everything was so much easier when there was absolutely no one around who Purpled cared to impress or be mindful of. He could take his own shit and everyone else could take theirs.

He’d done this before. He’d gone down this path and- Prime what had he done the first time? 

Who is he kidding, right now Purpled can’t even unbutton a shirt on his own. He’d probably be on his second cannon life if Techno didn’t interfere.

“Sorry.” Purpled says. It sounds strained to his own ears. He doesn’t know what else to say, beyond the web of awful.

“It’s probably a lot for you right now. I want to know if I can do anything to make this easier.” Quackity’s dialogue is still clipped, but it’s less cold.

“Space.” Purpled requests, “I need alone time.”

“Alright,” Quackity sighs.

“We have been crowding you a little. Techno’s downstairs. I’ll bring you breakfast and then take a trip over to Las Nevadas and some other places for stuff, okay?” Quackity smiles, enough of a movement that Purpled can see it with his eyes closed.

“Sounds good.” Purpled mumbles. Quackity does just that, leaving Purpled with breakfast, potions and alone time.

Purpled exhales.
How did he spend his time, normally?
He’d grind for stuff. Can’t do that, he’s injured, and there’s no need for all the extra anymore. He’d review blueprints and enchantment translations. That’s off the table, as well, he didn’t know where the book was and it wouldn’t be of any more use.

Okay, scroll back.

Real estate empire?
(“Purpled.” Ponk’s eyes don’t look right. His voice is icy.

“Ponk, man, you’re always telling me not to wear the colored contacts, what’s up-”
“Stop following me around. I’m not in real estate anymore, and neither are you.”

Purpled reels back. He gives a shocked laugh.

“Ponk, what- we’re friends, I don’t-”

“We aren’t friends. We were business partners. Stay away from me.” Ponk’s voice is hard and cold in all the wrong places, no ruthless business, just ruthless.

“For your own good.” It’s a little softer. Something warm is behind his eyes. Purpled clings to it desperately.

“Is something going on? If you need help I- you- you can come to me dude, I have three houses and plenty of gear.” Purpled stutters through the sentence, throat clogging with pain and desperation. Ponk’s face is flat again, the warm thing gone. It’s not right.

“I don’t need your help. Leave me alone.”

Purpled stands on the prime path. He uses two palms to dry four eyes, and his desolate sadness solidifies to cool, cold anger.)

No. No. Not again.

He could practice swordfighting with one leg out of the game, just to have the skill. He could bash his head on a wall until his thoughts made sense and his friends wanted him back.

(“Both of your two friends are in it, Purpled!” Punz throws his arms in the air. He looks ecstatic, he sounds joyful, his words are insulting.

“Ponk s- I don’t wear colored contacts anymore.”

“That’s the thing,” Punz leans in close, the look on his face changing from happy to cutthroat in the briefest moment, “ They aren’t contacts.”

“I’ll take care of the target. That’s where this partnership ends. Buisness only. Happy?” Purpled spits.

“Always!” Punz says cheerily, “Because the egg is here with me. And it’s such a shame. You could be so happy too.” Punz switches from cheerful to morose.

“And I don’t associate with people outside the eggpire.” The cutthroat expression is back, the ice in his gaze, the red eyes trained on Purpled. It’s Punz but it’s not Punz, because Purpled never had that expression trained on him. They were mercenaries. They worked together.
“You know what? I don’t work with cults. Tell Badboyhalo that the netherite was a consultant fee for bringing his sales pitch into my cave.” Purpled walks out the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Not anymore.)

Purpled doesn’t feel much like training, or hitting his head on a wall. He doesn’t feel much like anything. It feels a lot empty.

...knitting?

Tommy did it to calm down, and anything that could calm down Tommy Innit must be a true wonder on the nerves. Purpled takes out his knitting. His fingers are stiff, and the needles don’t move quite smooth against his hands, but that’s okay. No matter how awful the product looked, every stitch was a bit of yarn untangled. A little more of the web of thought and awful in Purpled’s head taken out. Moving and pulling and knotting the wool into a pattern, weaving through strings of his brain and the red yarn and making orderly rows of peace and calm.

He finishes a few rows, a solid two inches at least of scarf. His head is quieter. It’s sloppy work, and he’ll probably have to take it out.

That’s okay. It’s enough for now.

Purpled sighs and sets down the knitting. Having extra senses made it so he didn’t have to squint too hard but it was still a task with muscles he didn’t have developed in his currently damaged hands, so it was a little sore. He stows away the knitting and stretches his fingers out.

Technoblade ascends the ladder. He’s covered in sawdust and his hands and pants both have smudges of something brown and chemical smelling.

“Hello.” Purpled tilts his head in acknowledgement. He’d gotten his comm out, but between fingers just a little too stiff to keep game score averages and his only messages being leftover worried spam from informing his coworkers of things there wasn’t much to do on it.

“Hello. How many swords do you have?” Techno asks.

“On me or in total?”

“Both.” Techno shrugs.

“Two in my inventory, two in storage. Mostly fully enchanted, one netherite. Why?” Purpled inquires.

“Can I use the diamond one? I need something balanced for you, and if it has the enchants you use all the better.” Techno extends his hand. Purpled presses the button on his comm to open his inventory. He swaps his hotbar sword slot out, netherite for diamond, then switches his open hand to his sword. It’s weighted and cool on his hand. The grip is worn right, but there’s a few specks of blood that never washed out of the leather. It feels wrong to hand over a weapon to someone with so much sway over Purpled’s situation, despite the better weapon in his inventory and the fact that if Technoblade wanted to, Purpled would be dead about 84 times over. Techno takes the sword. He examines it, nods, and then pauses.

“You don’t have any attachment to this, right? I could, say, remove the handle.” Techno tilts his head, gaze questioning.

(their inventory had pan au chocolat when they took the weapons out their hand was gone they couldn’t defend on their left purp hurt ponk purp hurt ponk he h-)

“No, not really. Do whatever I guess.” Purpled shrugs. Techno narrows his eyes slightly, posture reading dubious.

“I’m gonna at the very least believe you don’t mind remaking however this is attached to you because that was a suspicious response.” Techno says scathingly, before descending the ladder and disappearing again.

Purpled grabs a potion off the table. He drinks. He tucks the ice pack he doesn’t quite remember getting against his side, and leans his head back to sleep through the mood he was in.

It takes recalling his day pranking Quackity with Fundy and the compliance of Tommy to get to bed. It had been a while since he needed happy material to go over in order to sleep. At least he had new stuff, now. His roster was expanding instead of contracting with faded memories of a homeland slipping through his fingers as the months passed by.

What was it they said about potion effects? Too many at once or in close time makes you feel weird?

Purpled is asleep before he can recall.

Chapter Text

Techno gets up the ladder and first drags Purpled around for lunch. He’s sleepy and limp, so he probably drank a healing potion, but Techno watches him eat a satisfactory amount before he takes his food and gets back to his own task.

The wood was coming along well- he’d smoothed and cured the two crutches, so all he had left to do was wait for them to dry and apply padding where they’d hit Purpled’s armpits. The cane, for use after retirement of crutches and foreseeable future ankle pain, was proving to be harder. It was a tricky beast to balance the blade and add the head of a cane to the sword handle. Techno ended up carving the head of the cane, taking off the bottom piece of the grip, and capping the cane over it. The bottom part was easier- all he had to do was carve out the wood to fit the length of the sword and bend the hand guard forward to click in place. He combines the two cane halves and tests it. It works fine as a cane, and the sword isn’t sticking or loose, so all that’s left is sealing the wood. Techno takes a short break for water and retrieving a sewing kit before doing just that. He leaves the cane to dry and works to fashion purple padding on the crutches.

He’s just tying off the first row of stitches when he hears light footsteps and the sound of the door opening. Quackity was back, then. He goes back to work on the small cushions and is only roused when someone climbs down the ladder. Quackity, of course.

“Brought back dinner.” Quackity explains. He opens his inventory and pulls out a few cards- baked potato, mutton, apple, cookie- and sets them down on the plate he’d brought. The items appear and Quackity lays the plate on Techno’s workstation, removing the dirty one from lunch.

“Where from?” Techno asks.

“Las Nevadas. Sam made me take a few meals back.” Quackity huffs a little laugh.

“Do they know-“

“Nope. Just that we’re staying somewhere with some anonymous benefactors.” Quackity shakes his head.

“How’s-“

“Purpled is fine. He’s being checked over by Phil and he’s eaten dinner.”

There’s the sound of a thud and a loud ‘OOF’. Techno raises one eyebrow. Quackity shrugs, tired-looking.

“Phil is durable.”

Techno sighs, because he isn’t wrong, but he’s also not quite correct.

“What are you working on?” Quackity asks. He leans over Techno’s shoulder, looking at the worktable full of sewing supplies, wood, and various sharp tools. Techno notes with vindication that Quackity does not remember.

“Mobility aid.” Techno starts a new line of stitches on the purple fabric.

“What kind?” Quackity asks. Techno curses himself for not recalling how chipper and therefore persistently irritating a friendly Quackity could be.

“Crutches, and a cane for the future.” Techno points out the two mostly finished tools.

“What’re the pillows for?”

“Top of the crutches.”

“How much longer until they’re done?”

“An hour or two.”

“So you should take a break and eat or it’ll be too late when you’re done.” Quackity pushes the plate closer. Damn him and his sound logic.

“My eating habits-“

“Are erratic at best, yes, but it doesn’t seem to me that setting down some sewing to eat dinner at a normal time will make you explode.” Quackity says petulantly. Techno sighs. Arguing his (indefensible) point would be a waste of valuable time, so instead he sets down his sewing to eat dinner. Quackity flops down in a chair and eats his own food. They’re quiet for a moment.

“So why are you letting me stay?” Quackity asks, tearing at his mutton with his teeth. Techno shrugs.

“You’re better with the kid then I am.”

“Seriously? Man, you need to up your opinion of yourself. Purpled adores you.” Quackity laughs.

“You know what I mean. I can’t do that whole hugs and breathing exercises thing you do.” Techno huffs, but he tucks the reassurance into his chest and holds it like a precious gem.

“That’s not everything he needs.” Quackity points out.

“It’s a lot more helpful than I am.”

“Oh, shut up. You’ve spent all day and yesterday making him stuff to help walk around, you got the details of his trauma, you’ve helped him get up and down places, you help with medical care-“

“I get it.” Techno interrupts with another huff. Quackity sighs.

“I guess what I’m getting around to is that neither of us can do this alone.”

Quackity is looking very firmly at a wall, fiddling with his fingers. Right. He doesn’t want this conversation either.

“Good thing we’re civil, then.” Techno runs a finger over the bracelet in his pocket.

“Good thing.” Quackity parrots, softly.

They’re quiet for a minute. Techno finishes his food and stacks the dirty dishes, moving back to his sewing for something to do. Quackity fiddles with the rings on his hands. Techno clears his throat.

“How are they?” He asks. Quackity flinches, before sighing.

“Don’t know.” He looks at the rings with a pained expression. Techno didn’t know much about Sapnap and Karl, but he knew they made Quackity happy. That’s all he used to need, really.

Quackity hadn’t been very happy recently, Techno is realizing.

“You should talk to them.” Techno suggests, setting his sewing down to look over at Quackity.

Quackity bites his lip. He runs his finger over the beautiful ring on his left hand. It’s Karl’s, Techno could tell by color alone if he hadn’t also heard Quackity gush over them a hundred times. It’s a gold band inset with emerald and purple stones, and it’s well taken care of. Most of the things Quackity owned had little rips, wear, or scratches, but the rings were clear of anything like that. The gold is well taken care of.

(“Techno, you have to teach me how to take care of gold.”

“Are you stereotyping me? Not all Piglins, Quack, I can’t-“

“ No! You made me my bracelet, idiot! I need to know so I can make sure my engagement rings are spotless. ”)

“It’s… not that simple.”

“Well, you talked to me, and now we’re okay. They love you, don’t they?”

Quackity makes an expression that is pathetically sad as he runs his thumb over Sapnap’s ring. Techno sort of wants to hit him.

“The only other married person I know is Phil, and if his wife were anyone else, he would die for her. If they proposed or said yes or whatever they mean business. Talk to them. Idiot.” Techno smacks Quackity lightly on the head with the blunt part of a seam ripper. That knocks Quackity out of his funk, and he laughs.

“Whatever you say, Techno, killer of men.”

“And women. I’m an equal-opportunity blood acolyte.”

“Dork.”

{<>}

Quackity trips noisily into the room with a huge grin on his face. He’s yelling something that could be spanish or could be Techno’s name. He’s also irreversibly tangled in his jacket, which makes Techno huff affectionately and set down his book to help.

“You’ll never guess what just happened.”

“I never try.”
“Awh, come on!” Quackity smiles, spreading over his whole face. He radiates joy. Techno manages to pull the blue sport jacket off his wings so he can flex them free. Two eager eyes try to follow Techno as he starts to sort through the yellow-gold feathers.

“You’ve been proposed to?”

“Be serious.”

“That was serious.” Techno gives his best flat look and Quackity smacks him in the shoulder with a wing.

“Well if you aren’t going to guess,” Quackity gives a dramatic pause, a pouty expression, and a cocked elbow, “I suppose I’ll tell you.”
“Please do.” Techno combs down the spine of a flight feather and Quackity melts, grin softening.

“I got my first scar.” Quackity pulls his sleeve up and points to a spot on his upper arm. Sure enough, there’s a healed-over gash in the skin, a few inches long.

“Fell on a rock. Healing potion that Sapnap gave me didn’t quite cover it. Cool, huh?” Quackity smiles softly at Techno and Techno can’t help but nudge his forehead against Quackity’s.

“Cool.”

Techno looks at Quackity, fresh faced and missing battle scars. He hopes he stays that way for a long, long time.

{<>}

Technoblade looks at his hands. They’re covered in blood, the kind of coating that only comes with two things. Slaughter and battle. They weren’t too different, where Technoblade was concerned. Chat is a humming drum in his head, loud but indistinguishable. They have Carl back, which is good.

He hurt Quackity, which is bad. Several of the more distinct shadows are berating him about that.

He’s berating himself about… that.

Techno folds, sitting on his knees. His hands are laid plainly in his lap. He’s home, but it doesn’t feel like it. Home left the roost with peace, leaving only rattling cage doors. This is one of them, this place he’s in. It’s cold.

Is Quackity cold? Is his body permadead on the ground, forever frozen? Is he going through an agonizing respawn from slowly bleeding out? Is he still bleeding out, losing warmth? Have his allies found him?

Techno picks up his communicator, smearing blood on the screen. It’s a mix of his own and Quackity’s.

No death message.

What’s the saying? The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb?

Techno lets his hands rest on his knees. Blood drips onto the floor, slowly. There’s a few small flickers of golden dust in it. Whether it’s from the totem or the crushed crown hanging off Techno’s head, he doesn’t know. All he sees is red, slowly dripping, two shades, mixed with gold dust.

If it wasn’t so horrible, it could be beautiful.

Chapter Text

Purpled stares blankly at his arms.

The scars weren’t so bad. He definitely had a few gnarlier ones. These were fresh, too, so they looked worse than they’d probably settle as. And they were smaller than some of the other burn scars on the server.

No one would notice, right?

Purpled takes one of his zip up hoodies from the box Quackity had left. He pulls it on over his tank top (Phil had decided no more bandages) and sighs.

Another scar to add to the collection, then.

Phil had said his ankle was healing well, but he’d still need a week or two on healing pots to get it walkable. That apparently meant three weeks, because he needed off days to not get a dependency and time to lower the dosages.

No walking for three weeks. Purpled was not looking forward to it. Especially because of how interpersonal and reliant it made him. He couldn’t do anything without someone there. Thankfully his hands felt eons better, and his ribs were good enough to not need icing. There was progress toward independence. He wasn’t helpless. It would suck when they kicked him out, but he’d be able to take care of himself a little. Purpled yawns and rubs at his eyes. Phil had smacked him on the head with a wing when he’d found out Purpled had taken another potion to sleep, but all it had really done was make him feel decidedly more sleepy, so it was a goal reached, in Purpled’s opinion.

Quackity and Techno start climbing up the ladder and Purpled prepares himself to deliver the prognosis. It’d be nice to not have dirty dishes in front of him, but there was nothing to be done about that. Hop-skipping didn’t extend to also carrying things.

Quackity emerges first and immediately clears away Purpled’s dishes, adding them to his pile. He’s to the kitchen and back by the time Techno is up. Techno seems to be going slow, dragging his heels and carrying something behind his back.

“Phil says I can walk in three weeks. Until then I can’t put my full weight on my foot.” Purpled states, calm. He looks to the spot on the wall between Quackity and Techno.

“Well then, Techno had something to give you.” Quackity bumps his shoulder against Techno’s. Techno doesn’t react, but it seems to be with some force.

“Yeah, I was workin’ on somethin’ to help you get around to places. Seems you don’t like sittin’ on the couch.” Techno drawls slowly. He removes one hand from behind his back and extends it.

It’s a pair of wooden crutches. They’re smooth and sealed, dark spruce wood with hardened leather caps on the bottom. There’s purple pads on the top of the handles, so they don’t bruise his arms. Purpled rises shakily on his single foot, grabbing the crutches and tucking them under his arms. They fit perfectly, resting comfortably in his armpits. Purpled slowly looks up at Techno, to his horror, a genuine smile over his face. He carefully takes a few swinging steps around the room, slow and measured. Punz had taught Purpled to use crutches, just in case, and apparently it wasn’t a skill you forgot. Just to test, Purpled crutches over to the kitchen floor and does a few turns. He still has a goofy grin on his face as he comes back.

“Thank you!” Purpled rests his weight on the crutches for a moment, just reveling in the independence of standing.

Then dread hits his stomach when he realizes.

He can walk now. His hands work, and he doesn’t need to learn how to use crutches. He’s now more than independent enough to care for himself, and that means he has to leave.

Quackity and Techno are smiling at him, and he wants to stay. He wants to stay so bad it hurts. He doesn’t want to go back to a cold cave with only Dogchamp for company, he doesn’t want to drag himself through healing his own injuries and jury-rigging to get hard to reach places. He doesn’t want to struggle alone. He wants to hear slow breathing near him while he sleeps. He wants to make fun of Quackity’s rom-coms with Techno, and learn more from him about enchants. He wants to learn how to fix Quackity’s wings and get antenna pets and have someone there to pick him up when he falls and he wants to have people and a home. He wants and he can’t have anymore, because it isn’t his to take, and because Techno spent two days making him crutches in his haste to have his house to himself again. Because Tommy knows how to preen wings, and Ranboo knows what to craft Techno as gifts in return.

He isn’t needed, and by Prime he isn’t wanted, so he has to leave.

It’s all so much he doesn’t realize he’s crying until Technoblade and Quackity’s smiles drop.

“Hey, hey, kid, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Quackity takes a few steps closer and extends his hands, offering comfort. Purpled bends down on his one leg, steadying with crutches, and places his box of stuff in his inventory. He uses two hands to dry four eyes and shoves his hoodie up.

“Sorry. I’ll be going.” Purpled gestures to the door and grips his new crutches with white-knuckled hands. He takes two steps before Techno steps in front of him. He’s holding a cane. It’s carefully crafted and also just Purpled’s height. The top is a carved UFO, and Techno looks nervous.

“I don’t know where you’re goin, but you probably want this back.” Techno hands over the cane. Purpled takes it with some confusion. He has a suspicion, so he tugs on the top of the cane. Smooth as anything, a glimmering strip of diamond slides from the cane. Techno smiles at him.

“Thought you might want some help walkin’ in the future. Phil can teach you how to use it.” Techno explains quietly. Wiring crosses in Purpled’s brain. A cane was meant for long-term, for future issues from a break. Phil could teach him. If Techno didn’t want him in his space then why would he give Purpled a reason to come back into it?

The cane was amazing. It would go in an inventory slot from the hidden sword, and Purpled could paint it to look even cooler, beyond the UFO-shape handle. He liked it, and it was made specifically for him.

Was he… did…

“You don’t want me gone?” Purpled asks, unsure and quiet. Techno recoils and Purpled immediately thinks he’s messed everything up, scrambling to do something to pull back his uncertain idea that maybe he wasn’t having everything taken away again.

“What gave you that idea?” Techno’s voice is harsh and Purpled’s scrambled mind can only put it to Ponk’s face. Then there’s Quackity, holding his arm, pushing his hood away and pressing their foreheads together.

“We want you here. With us.” Quackity clarifies and Purpled feels like he’s getting whiplash. He wants to stay. He can’t believe they want him to be there, because what if he’s wrong again?

He starts crying again and hates himself for it. Everything is too much and he can’t tell if they’re lying to him. He doesn’t know what sense to use to check if this is a potion-induced delusion. Quackity makes a chirpy sound and Techno sits Purpled down on the couch, setting his crutches down. He’s sandwiched between the two of them. Quackity wraps his arms over Purpled’s shoulders, and Techno drapes his cape overtop. They’re two pillars of comforting warmth, and Purpled cries off the potion and the still tangled mess of emotions in his chest. Quackity huddles his wings around Purpled and coos quietly. Tracking the vibrations around the room is surprisingly calming. Techno lets Purpled lean on him and huddle under his cape, and between the two of them he’s hidden from the world. It’s comfortable. Purpled really doesn’t want to leave, but he has a lot of questions that need answering. He wipes his face and cleans his hands of effusive purple, before shifting Quackity’s wing away and sitting back up.

“Okay. I’m good. We’re good.” Purpled exhales, looking to the men on both sides of him. Quackity’s wings are still stretched like he wants to envelop Purpled in fluff. Techno gently bonks the top of Purpled’s head with his own.

“Why did you think we were kicking you out?” Quackity settles on resting his hand on Purpled’s shoulder, the one not occupied by cape.

Oh. Well then.

“It’s just- uh. I’m not really… doing anything? And I feel better, and I could use my own potions. So, you know, getting crutches meant I could walk home,” Purpled gives a spastic gesture, ending his sentence early because he can’t think of anything to add.

Quackity feels like he might beat a man to death with his own hands.

What had happened to damn near everyone else on the server sucked. What happened to Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo made him mad.

But this? His own kid so certain he was unwanted that he was ready to walk miles alone in the cold on a broken ankle just because he had crutches? It made his blood boil. Quackity grips his own palms so hard they hurt. Purpled’s antennae make a clicky nervous noise and Quackity snapshots back down to reality.

“We want you here. We want to take care of you.” Quackity rubs Purpled’s shoulder and Purpled gives a watery looking smile. Techno bonks his head against Purpled’s again. He gives Quackity a Look, and Quackity shakes his head lightly. Too soon, and too emotional of a moment to spring it on him.

Purpled cuddles closer to their sides, making a contented insectoid hum. Quackity orders the little strands of antennae, trailing up like a feather. Techno puts on a Marvel movie. All is well in the world once more.

{<>}

This time they manage not to fall asleep on the couch. Techno still has to carry Purpled upstairs, but Purpled is glad to finally be able to cleanse himself properly. He draws up a quick warm bath, gets clean, and puts on some of his new pajamas. The bandages around his ankle prove an issue, but he manages to not jolt his ankle and get clean. Around the end of it his ribs start aching and his lungs rattle with effort, but he’s finished enough he can just lay down.

It had been a while since he slept in something that didn’t look like he owned it. Techno’s old shirt was too comfortable to relinquish, so he crutches over in that and a pair of his pajama shorts. It was the kind everyone owned and no one could tell you where to get, soft and old and comfortable.

Purpled leaves his gloves in the bottom of his clothes box.

The guest bed is soft, but less comfortable than Techno’s. Some instinct of Purpled’s has apparently cleared it, so Purpled nonchalantly gets back up and crashes down on Techno’s bed instead. Techno is brushing his hair out, with some help from Quackity.

“I told you I should just braid it, it’ll tangle worse in the morning-”
“If you braid it it won’t dry. And it’ll still tangle. So there.” Quackity uses a comb to pick out the bad tangles on one side, while Techno rips a bristle brush through the apparently cleared side. When Quackity finishes, he smacks Techno’s hand away and takes the brush. He starts combing more gently, focusing on the hair instead of pulling through it. Purpled sees Techno’s shoulders slump with relaxation, and watches Quackity carefully sift through pink hair like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

Overall it’s an excellent spectator sport.

Purpled snuggles into the blankets, unconcerned with his two caretaker’s minor quarrels. Technoblade, with loosely braided hair, climbs over Purpled to get to his side of bed. Unquestioning, Quackity ignores the guest bed and bedroll Phil had brought to sleep on Purpled’s other side. It takes a minute or so to get comfortable- Techno braces himself half on the wall half on an extra pillow. Purpled leans his back to Techno’s chest, and Quackity throws arms and wings around them both. He’s safe and warm and wanted.

It’s nice.

{<>}

“You know, I really think-”
“Yes, I’m aware. It’s too soon.”
“There’s no time like the present.”
“Be patient, Techie.”
“Speed up your timeline, Quack.”
…

“Despite your horrible impatience, I don’t think I’m mad at you.”
“I don’t think I can be mad at you.”
…

“Not for long, anyway. You have too tiny wings that make you squishable.”
“You had to ruin the moment.”
“We’re still cuddling, you’ll live.”

{<>}

Chapter Text

Two days of calm go by. Purpled’s ribs feel eons better, and he’s close to finishing Tommy’s scarf. Or at least three quarters through. Technoblade goes back to little home improvement projects, taking care of his animals, and working crafts. Phil comes over for lunch, or dinner, or both. Quackity sets up shop at the kitchen counter, clicking through countless messages on his communicator and going through paperwork with a concentrated expression. Purpled would feel bad about keeping him from his work, except he needed a break, even if it was only a half one.

They watch movies at night, and Purpled gets so much warmth and approval he feels like an overfull cup.

On the third day, Ranboo is back. He’d taken a short trip after he left his present. Purpled knew the reason, which was probably the only thing about Ranboo he knew better than Techno.

He had, however, made a promise, so his lips were sealed.

It’s nice to feel something more normal. Ranboo doesn’t remark much on Purpled’s uncommon features, beyond asking basic questions to not poison him or break boundaries. He probably knows what it feels like to be treated differently than others. It’s nice.

Promising not to talk about one thing, however, did not protect Purpled from being quizzed on his injuries.

“How are your hands?”

Ranboo asks while Purpled expertly chops through vegetables for dinner.

“Good.” Purpled sets the knife down to show Ranboo his knuckles. There’s only a few faded bruises and tiny remnants of scabs. Ranboo nods approvingly, and they continue to make dinner while the ‘adults’ do work outside.

“How are your ribs feeling?”

Ranboo asks after they’ve eaten. It’s quieted down significantly. Quackity and Techno are reading a book, Quackity laying perched over the back of the sofa and indicating with soft flicks of a wing to turn the page. Phil is making bread in the kitchen. Purpled and Ranboo are working quietly on cookie stand plans.
“Good. Hurt less.” Purpled shrugs, absently scribbling a doodle for a theoretical simplified logo. He pretends Quackity and Techno aren’t listening, because he’s polite like that.

“Do you need help carrying stuff?”

Ranboo asks, offering hands to take any of the several things Purpled was trying to carry and walk with. Purpled gives a harried nod. It was still morning, and he did not have much trust in his rusty crutch skills. Purpled hands over the several covered food bags. He hadn’t put on all of his gear yet, but Niki was yet to arrive for the meeting and sort-of introduction, so it was fine. Ranboo walks out with Purpled to the table. Purpled lays down his tote bag of less two-handed supplies and Ranboo sets down his double portion of food to carry. Purpled flashes Ranboo an awkward thumbs up and turns to head back up the stairs and finish more prep.

There’s a shocked gasp and the thud of something being dropped. Purpled spins so fast to see what’s happening Ranboo stretches a hand to catch him.

Niki is staring, blatant and open mouthed. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He’d gotten careless, and now she knew, she knew, what was she going to do he’d lied-

“You’re hurt!” Niki takes a few running steps over to Purpled. She checks him for bandages (he only had a few bruises and scratches on his face and hands, really) and stares openly at his ankle.
“Sprained or broken? Did you tear a ligament? Is it dislocated?” Niki asks, gripping Purpled’s shoulders like an interrogation. Purpled is still suffering shock, enough so his lower eyes open to assess that he’s safe.

Niki pauses at that. Ranboo looks panicked, wavering like he couldn’t tell whether to help Purpled or retrieve backup.

“You have lovely eyes.” Niki says with a smile.

That’s it. Put Purpled down as goddamn insane, this has to be a dream. His throat clicks with an affectionate noise he can’t quite catch, and the smile grows.

“Awww, you’re like a pretty bug.” Niki pats one of Purpled’s hands. It feels nice.

“Niki, your box-” Ranboo points to the box in the snow.

“Oh SHOOT my box-” She rounds, running over to the box to fix whatever damage she had done to food and/or baked goods.

Purpled crutches inside to deliver the good(?) news and tell the others Niki is here. Book club was back on schedule, and if Phil had his way, with a new member.

{<>}
Two weeks pass in what feels like a happy dream.

If he can toot his own horn, Purpled has gotten pretty good at navigating with crutches. He has enough practice and upper body strength to go up a ladder minus one leg now, not that Techno will let him. Most of his time is spent calling Tommy (then, by extension, Tubbo, since they were almost always together now) or talking to Ranboo. When he can pester Quackity and Techno into stopping their tasks or interrupting their recreation, they play board games (with or without Phil, Ranboo and Niki) or watch movies (The three of them were most of the way through the MCU, at this point.).

What’s most surprising is how easy he fits.

In the vague before he’d had to make a place for himself. Excluding one on one, he wasn’t well listened to, so he’d stopped talking and started learning to look menacing. Earn your keep, accomplish your privacy. Hide anything alien until your head spins and make yourself impassable.

Now he just felt like he fit. Banter flowed over meals, games, movies, and design work. Tommy had started calling every two days just so they could knit together. Ranboo started talking about all his projects, not just the ones Purpled was obliged to help with, and Purpled was happy to spend time editing and revising and joking around. Techno took Purpled on walks around, Phil started teaching things over doctor’s visits and kitchen counters, Quackity always brought something new to the table, and Niki had firmly decided that Purpled would also learn to bake.

Hobbies. Friends. Pastimes.

There was a whole life he’d missed hung up in a UFO, and Purpled wondered why he’d lived in denial so long when there were so many things to live for on this planet. Two weeks felt like clawing years back, years of time hiding and throwing himself into work.

For the long and short Purpled was waiting for the shoe to drop. For a sudden curtain cut. An abrupt close, a loophole, messing it all up. Purpled had to carry his new life like a glass cannon.

Purpled had been recovering for around three weeks now. He has two more to go on crutches, and his ribs are fully healed. He convinces Quackity to take them back home- his home that is. Las Nevadas. If Purpled kept Quackity away from work much longer he was going to kick a wall with a broken ankle.

He also had, in fact, texted Fundy back. He did not want to go because Fundy said he had a homecoming surprise.

So, the five of them pack to go. Niki is busy, but Ranboo is busy at Las Nevadas, so he’s coming along. Purpled decides not to ask Techno and Phil why they’re coming. Quackity hadn’t made them stay behind, after all.

Walking so far after so much sitting and minor movement is a challenge, but he has backup. Dogchamp follows, giving his support, and any time he needs to rest they stop or Techno carries him a ways. They always ask permission and Techno lets him down when he feels better. It’s nice.

It takes a while to get to Las Nevadas. Quackity sends a message on his communicator but the purpose is seemingly pointless, because six people are already tearing over the hill to come and meet them.

Purpled had absently picked up the beanie this morning. He had a lot to do, and less stimulation would help. He still wasn’t wearing gloves. It felt weird, but he didn’t have any cut the right way to be comfortable.

Tubbo and Tommy crash into Ranboo full-tilt, knocking him on his back in the sand. Purpled hadn’t seen the little zombie piglin following them, but he adds himself to the giggly pile, and Ranboo makes an extra space for him to snuggle up.

Sam runs straight to Quackity, checking him over as a worried parent does. Foolish eyes down Philza like they’re in an old western, before he offers his hand and Phil grins. They shake and do a one armed hug.

Fundy and Slime head straight to Purpled.

Fundy is sprinting at him, but mercifully slows down when he notices the crutches. Slime attaches himself to Purpled like a backpack, so excited his speech is mostly consonant noises. Fundy hugs Purpled under his arms, burying his face in his hoodie.

“We missed you!”
“So glad you’re back!”
“Are you okay?”
“What have you been doing?”
“Boo!”

Joyful chatter mixes into itself. Purpled thinks that maybe he could get used to this.

{<>}

“Look at our boy. I’m so proud.” Quackity smiles, leaning back against Technoblade like a mother watching their child go off to school.

“He could kill them with both ankles broken.” Techno agrees. Phil slaps him with a wing on one side, and Quackity on the other.

“Ouch! I get it! He wouldn’t do that. He’s also adjusting well, or something.” Techno huffs, but it’s less annoyed and more to hide a fond chuckle. Both of his birds are wise to the bullshit.

Quackity and Technoblade watch Purpled sweep a crutch and knock over the gaggle of three teenagers around him in one fell swoop.

“You’re right. He could kill them so easily.” Quackity’s voice is still warm with affection. Phil snorts.

“You’re both worse than Mumza.”

Tommy makes a dramatic wailing sound, having been sat on by Tubbo and Michael. Ranboo does a clearly fake look of sympathy while giving Purpled and Fundy an approving nod. Purpled sweeps his legs again and he topples like a house of cards. Fundy wheezes with laughter.

“Those four together is going to be impossible, I hope you both know what you’ve wrought.” Phil munches on a piece of bread from seemingly nowhere. Techno removes it and bites down.

“Oh, I know.” Quackity says with an ominous expression.
“Please. You couldn’t make an evil overarching plan like this if you were dreaming.” Techno snorts, palming his fingers through Quackity’s feathers.
“I take offense to that.” Quackity says with absolutely no bite, leaning into Techno’s hand. Techno hmm ’s and Phil chuckles quietly. They watch the kids get on.

Fundy grabs at Purpled’s hoodie sleeve, wailing. Purpled laughs and tries to pull him off. His sleeve rides up his arm and suddenly it is dead quiet.

Purpled’s antennae flatten backwards, and he shoves down the sleeve. It’s too late. Tubbo and Fundy have recognized explosion burns. If Tommy didn’t know before, he surely knew now.

Fundy gives a brief glance to the building above and meets Quackity’s eyes with a weighty expression, before turning back to the hushed conversation of the three huddled around Purpled. The lighthearted air is gone, and Quackity and Phil both lean forward like they want to go jump down to check on them.

“Wait.” Techno holds his hand up.
“He’s in trouble! They’re surrounding-”

“He can handle himself. Don’t baby him. These are friends, he needs to know he can trust them.”

Quackity is taken aback by the statement from Technoblade of all people. He listens, but that doesn’t mean he’s not ready to run down and help.

Tubbo finds where the burns meet Purpled’s neck, hand hovering where he holds the hoodie. His mouth pinches into a frown for a moment.

Then he does something odd. He sighs and lifts up the hair on the right side of his face. It’s facing away from them, but Techno tenses. Phil pats his back. Guilt was a familiar vice when they lived in a world like this.

Purpled’s eyes widen. He says something quiet, lips barely moving. Tubbo gives a harsh laugh.

Suddenly, the tension is released. Tommy gives Purpled a one-armed hug and they walk off somewhere. Fundy and Slimecicle head off to where Sam is, probably to get back to work.

Oh, shit, work.

“We should probably do this tour.” Quackity stands up and offers a hand to Techno and Phil. They take it.

Somehow, they doubt there will be any issues.

Chapter Text

Fundy and Slime had left to go help Sam, giving Purpled strict instructions not to work, as he was still on rest time. That left him alone with Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo.

He was afraid to interrupt, to be honest. The three of them had a practiced ease, a conversational flow and inside jokes Purpled wasn’t privy to. Apparently, he needn’t have worried. They’d all had their own separate groups before- Tommy and Tubbo were best friends, Tommy and Ranboo had bonded in L’Manburg, Tubbo and Ranboo had their marriage and snowchester and Michael, the three of them worked. But he’d also had his rivalry with Tommy, his time with Tubbo in L’Manburg, and now his bonding with Ranboo in the Arctic. It clicked fast, jokes and chatter and plans exchanging smoothly. They worked. It was a unique sort of understanding, between age and not fitting elsewhere and losing everything you’d known. It was fun.

Purpled belonged.

It was terrifying.

And he only really knew one way to deal with fear, and that was brutal competition, so he challenges Tommy and Tubbo to a cookie eating contest. Neither of them seem to remember he can’t run, so they dash off, and Purpled gives them the benefit of the doubt in assuming they were collecting the cookies.

Ranboo walks with Purpled, which is appreciated, because crutches + sand does not equal victory.

“Scary, huh?” Ranboo sighs contentedly.

Purpled nearly trips.

“What do you mean?” Purpled shakes sand out of the sneaker that stabbed into the ground a little too quickly.

“They’re perfectly in tune. I’m pretty sure their hearts beat the same rate.” Ranboo laughs.

“And it’s scary?”

“No, I mean trying to befriend them. It was scary for me too. Trying to work yourself into the rhythm.” Ranboo explains. Purpled stays quiet.

“I talked to Tubbo about it once. He told me that I shouldn’t try to match them- every friendship is different. Every one is special. Different people bring out different sides in others, and that’s good. If it worked the same every time you’d get bored.” Ranboo states. He shortens his steps to match Purpled’s crutch strides, Purpled notices.

“Makes sense.”

“You were friends with Tubbo during New L’Manburg. So was I, but I joined later. You were here with Tommy before everything, and that’s special too. I know talking to you has helped him.”

Purpled turns his head toward Ranboo with shock.

“What?”

“Yeah. He’s been more… stable, I guess? I don’t know. He seems happy you’re friends.” Ranboo shrugs.

Huh.

“Well, we should probably get going before they make an advanced start.” Purpled crutches a little faster and Ranboo laughs.

“You guys are gonna get so sick.”

“Oh, you’re getting sick with us. This isn’t optional.”

“I don’t suppose I could lose on purpose.”

“Not in a million years, boo boy.”

{<>}

All things considered, the tour goes well.

Techno does not summon a single wither, or end up suplexing Quackity, or stab any staff members. Phil approves of the rules set for Purpled (and Tommy, and Tubbo, and Ranboo at this point) around the casino. Quackity operates their best machine to give an example of the games, and he makes a few diamonds off Techno and Phil.

It’s easy, like they’d turned back the clock. Like the years hadn’t happened, and Techno had just said yes to a date (“I was under pressure!” “I asked you out out of fear. You literally don’t date.”) and a new friendship was made.

Phil leaves because Techno forgot his papers, and they’re alone. They’ve been alone before, in the past weeks. This feels different. Quackity just toured Technoblade around Las Nevadas. It was like guiding him around Quackity’s heart and soul. Techno could easily decide the casino fell just slightly too close to the definition of government and break their entire deal. He could destroy Quackity’s new home, tear apart his new family. They sit and breathe, hearts beating, quiet.

“I had something to ask you.” Techno says.

“Do you have a logistics question? I’m happy to answer.” Quackity turns to face him. Techno wrinkles his nose.

“Take off the customer service face, that’s weird.”

“Do you not like me when I’m polite?” Quackity flutters his eyelashes and Techno shoves him.

“I liked you better when you tried to kill me.”

“Traitorous.” Quackity flops down where he’d been shoved, draped over the steps. They’d ended up in front of the drive-through church.

“I do have to ask you something.”

“Ask, then.” Quackity stands back up and looks at Techno. He’s fussing, smoothing his cape and patting his pockets.

“You remember when we made bracelets?”

“Of course I do. You were terrible at it.” Quackity says fondly.

“Shut up. Anyways, I uh, kept them.” Techno pulls a string bracelet out of his pocket. It’s main body is pink, with a gold crown pattern, and candy cane tassels to tie with. It’s been redone since Quackity last saw it. It was loose and malformed, before, with uneven knots. Techno had refused to let him keep it. Now it was redone, smooth. Quackity wonders how Techno learned thread crafts, and then realizes that is a stupid question, because there is exactly one person on the server who could have taught him that.

Quackity reaches out and takes it, running his thumbs over the thread.

“You’ve gotten better.” Quackity’s voice threatens to betray him, throat thick with unshed tears.

“I have yours, too. I made a few- some edits? But it’s the same. And I wanted to, uh…” Techno pulls out another two objects from his pocket. One is hidden, but the other is the corresponding thread friendship bracelet. It was the navy one he’d worn those few weeks ago, with the yellow duck. Over the duck’s eye, stitched in with black, was a tiny scar.

“I know we’ve changed. But I wanted to ask if we- if the two of us could be friends.”

Techno shifts his position, so he’s on one knee. He opens his palm. Sitting in the center is a golden bracelet of interlocking plates, with several colors of gem corresponding to Techno’s crown. It’s dented slightly, from being thrown in front of Techno’s feet and forsaken. There’s a long scratch over a red gem- Quackity remembers that it happened during the first wither battle, when he’d raised his arm to shield his face.

It’s been cleaned, though. The clasp is replaced from where it had been broken.

Quackity extends his hands, running fingers over the golden surface. 

“I think I’d like that.”

With a relieved sigh, Techno puts the bracelet on Quackity’s wrist. Quackity accompanies it with the thread one, and ties the navy bracelet over Techno’s.

“See? Now we match.” Quackity puts his wrist next to Techno’s. After a brief moment of indecision, Quackity pulls off a length of gold chain from his other wrist and puts it over Techno’s.

(“I’m wondering how wedding rings are the cultural constant.” Techno states at the ceiling.

“Oh?” Quackity turns his face toward Techno, forsaking watch-the-ravine-ceiling.

“Exchanging gold is like- the most specific Piglin symbol. Bracelets for close friends and family, rings on fingers or tusks for partners. Necklaces and buckles for your bastion. Earrings for people you spend your life with. There’s no reason for humans to do it too.”

“Hmmm. I never thought about that.” Quackity looks at his engagement bands, glimmering in the lamplight.

“Maybe gold is just a good color for love.”)

Techno makes a soft huffing sound.

“Phil should be at the sign by now. Let’s go find them.”

{<>}

A cookie-eating competition between four teenage boys goes about as well as it sounds. Purpled wins, through the benefit of having some fun extra organs no one needed to know about. After that they find a good place to sit (on top of the needle roof) and settle down, jumping around and talking.

“I think we should get the legal right to kill.” Tubbo suggests.

“Agree.” Purpled nods instantly from where he’s balanced on the roof.

“How would we use it, though? Is it like a one time pass, no consequences from anyone?” Tommy flips over onto his stomach, peering at the others.

“I think we’d each get a single pass. We can show them and they’ll be like oh yeah of course, murder me right up.” Ranboo offers.

“Drista would give us kill passes.” Tommy states.
“Drista would kill you and then make a pass saying it was legal.” Tubbo shoots back.

“Doesn’t change that she would do it.”

“But then wouldn’t it be compensation for your respawn?” Ranboo asks.

“If we could bully her into giving all four of us coupons it’s profit.” Purpled suggests.

“She’s like fourteen.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Small-minded.” Purpled retorts.

“She hasn’t met you, if you planted the idea it might work-“ Tubbo starts.

“No.” Ranboo taps Tubbo’s head chastisingly.

“It’s not bullying if we just give her the idea next time she ends up banning or respawning one of us!” Tubbo responds.

“…I‘ll allow it.”

They lapse into quiet for a brief moment as a tap-fight ensues. Tommy has Ranboo on the ropes with silent cheers from Purpled when they hear the sounds of the elevator.

“Purpled, I told you not to do unreasonably dangerous things today.” Quackity’s voice calls up.

“You don’t know it’s me, there’s three other people up here.” Purpled calls down. There’s silence for a moment and Purpled can imagine Quackity’s face as he processes the statement.

“You just admitted-“

“It’s not me, I’m lying.”

Another brief moment of silence.

“Would you come down?”

“I can’t come down if I’m not up here.”

“He’s right, Big Q. You’re getting scammed.” Tommy nods.

“Wh- he’s not scamming me, he’s just lying!”

“You can’t keep up with the mindgames, Big Q.” Tubbo adds.

“He’s playing 5D chess with multiverse time travel and you’re playing checkers.” Ranboo assents.

“I know Purpled’s up there, can you guys come down for dinner?”

“No I’m not.” Purpled grins at the people on the roof as Quackity makes a frustrated sound. 

“Schrödinger’s Purpled.” Ranboo giggles.

There’s the sound of flapping as Quackity jump-flies up on top of the needle.

“There. He’s right there, scam over.” Quackity points to Purpled.

“Welcome to the roof boys Quackity! You can’t leave.” Tommy shouts. He immediately launches at Quackity’s legs. Quackity shouts, going down hard on his knees, swearing. The others on the roof laugh, Purpled so hard he starts coughing for a brief second. Tommy and Quackity tussle until Quackity has given in to being virtually hog-tied with teenager.

“I do actually have to bring you down for dinner.” Quackity protests.

“No you don’t.” Ranboo says happily, flopping down over his knees in the spineless way Purpled had gotten used to.

“Dinner is for people who are not roof boys.” Tubbo stretches himself out over Ranboo like a weird piece of classical art.

“I’m gonna start counting.” Quackity says at the sky.

“No.” Purpled says desperately, suddenly scrambling for his crutches.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Counting?” Tubbo asks, like a poor fool.

“If two of you aren’t down there soon…” Quackity clears his throat.

“I’m GOING chill OUT!” Purpled gets his two crutches in hand and swings down the edge of the roof in a way that usually requires landing with two feet, like a scrub.

“Now I want to know what this is.” Ranboo says curiously.

“You really don’t.” Purpled responds. Quackity clears his throat again, and there is a brief moment of silence.

“ Û̴͎n̷̢͘ö̸̹… ”

{<>}

The group gets down in time for dinner.

It’s a chaotic affair- Fundy runs plates at an almost violent speed. Phil and Foolish are having some sort of staring contest and it has coated their corner booth in a terrible aura. Techno and Quackity bicker loudly about the benefits and drawbacks of capitalist anarchy, with occasional backing vocals from Phil and Sam (“At least I don’t get my talking points from my dad” “At least my dad’s better at arguing then you, Technoblade!”). Slime, and Fundy when he can sit down, join Purpled’s new quartet, who watch the argument at the other end of the table with interest. This is when they aren’t having their own conversations, of course, which mainly consist of ‘Can Ranboo’s jaw unhinge far enough that Slime can’t do the same’. The wise or unwise observer would not mention what that ended up looking like. Nor would Wilbur, who walked in and turned tail immediately without being noticed. At the end of this first experiment there were several tests by Tubbo to the extent in which Slime could not technically taste (I.E. how much capsaicin could he consume before it becomes conventionally physically painful). In an amazing twist, dinner gets eaten successfully. The dishes are done by Fundy, Tubbo, and several hundred crows. With the table cleared, Sam goes to bed, Phil and Foolish go to ‘do buisness’ which the others leave them to of mortal fear, Tubbo and Ranboo head home to their son, and Fundy takes Slime to read history books before bed.

“Well I’d better be off then, I’ll-“ Tommy stands up, seemingly realizing the awkwardly few people buffering him from Techno.

“Here.” Purpled removes two items from his pocket and shoves them at Tommy. He unwraps the messy, singed sketchbook paper around it and takes the things into his hands. They’re bright candy-apple red, and soft. The stitches are slightly messy in spots, but Tommy traces his fingers up and sees the progress. They’re a knitted cap and scarf set, handmade.

“Thanks for teaching me. You were right.”

“I’m always right.” Tommy responds automatically, before clearing his throat.

“Thank you.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘you’re welcome’, I just thanked you for-“

“Shut up, prick!” Tommy shoves Purpled’s shoulder, but he’s laughing. He tucks on the beanie, letting the scarf wrap loosely around his neck.

“Now we match.” Tommy points to his beanie and Purpled’s.

“Hmmm… nah. You don’t have cool shit on yours.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

“You can have some of the pins from my spare.”

“ Thank you.”

There’s silence for a second. Tommy grins as he softly touches his gifts. Purpled thinks he looks a lot like Quackity going over his old pictures. He unfastens a pin from his hat- it’s in the back, tucked near his ear, scratched with time. It’s an old New L’Manburg flag. Purpled pins it onto Tommy’s hat with an affectionate sigh. Tommy thinks it sounds a lot like Wilbur reminiscing when he does that.

“Now we match.” Purpled concludes.

“Good,” Tommy nods, “Good.”

Tommy turns and leaves, and Purpled gives a cool wave and a warm grin. Tommy grins back. There’s something building in Purpled’s throat and he pushes it down to address the other two people in the room.

“Are we headed back?” Purpled asks.

“Not quite yet.” Quackity gives a conspiratory smile.

“If you’re telling me there’s chores, I’m pulling the broken ankle excuse-“

“There are no chores.” Techno reassures.

“Then are we just standing here? What’s up?” Purpled asks.

“We,” Quackity starts, mustering his confidence, “Have wanted to ask you something.”

“For a while.” Techno interjects.

“Yes. For a while.” Quackity nods.

“Ooookay?” Purpled tilts his head.

“We thought today would be a good choice.” Quackity smiles again.

“It’s a nice day, and we got the last of our things we needed done.” Techno expands.

“So we’re going to ask you.” Quackity hesitates. He couldn’t see whether or not he should sit down or stand up for this. They’d hedged long enough that Purpled was looking suspicious.

“You’re an orphan.” Techno states.

“I mean- I guess?” Purpled looks taken aback.

“Would you like to not be? Legally?” Quackity asks.

“ What are you on about?” Purpled narrows his eyes.

“Purpled Bedwars,” Quackity clears his throat and fluffs his wings, “We would like to officially adopt you as two legal guardians with separate households, under the laws of the Greater Dream SMP, prime be willing. Do we have your permission?”

Techno removes documents from his cloak, showing titles- an official legal certificate of adoption.

Purpled’s face is entirely blank. Quackity cannot quite tell why without additional context to what is going in his brain, and that scares him.

“How the fuck did you find my last name?” Purpled says finally.

“That is actually an incredibly long story involving several things we are morally bound not to tell you.” Techno laughs nervously.

“No offense.” Quackity adds.

Purpled sits down heavily at a booth. Quackity wrings his fingers. Techno shuffles.

“So?” Quackity asks.

“Give me a minute. My brain’s been booted to yesterday.” Purpled mumbles, pressing a hand below his eyes. He takes a deep breath, ragged and audible, blinking in a dizzying pattern. Quackity’s struck with the thought that this could ruin everything. Saying no wasn’t a big deal, but this could put the distance back between Purpled and the rest of the world. If Purpled had wanted another kind of relationship then what they were offering he could pull back, make everything awkward and stiff again.

Quackity thinks of the excited boy he’d seen, talking to Tommy about knitting and marketing over the phone, eyes lit up. He thinks of that same boy, only a few weeks before- why did weeks always feel like years?- relegating that excitement to a dog who couldn’t hope to respond. They’d succeeded in getting a kid out of a mercenary. They could fail to give him a home.

Purpled lowers his hands. Quackity feels a spike of fear.

Purpled’s beaming. He can’t believe it. It was real, and they wanted him. Everything they’d done was real. It was in writing, they cared about him, they wanted it in writing. Forever, this was forever, and he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

There’s something in his throat. It’s a glittery feeling, like the Las Nevadas lights, like the sun on the snow in the Arctic, like the shimmering glow of the UFO. It tastes like flowers and homemade chocolate chip cookies and healing potions from a steady hand, like oversugared coffee and beetroot soup.

Love. It feels like love.

Purpled stands up with lovingly crafted crutches and he tackles his two guardians into a hug.

“ Yes , you have my permission.”

Chapter Text

ONE MONTH LATER

It turns out trying to legally adopt someone on an SMP with a fractured government system and no obvious department to do so is kind of hard.

Thankfully, Quackity had a background in law that he continued to refuse to explain to Techno. Between the two of them they put together papers and got Callahan’s confirmation that yes, what you assume you are doing is right. Foolish wrangled Eret (technical de facto authority?) into evaluating the two homes (wildly awkward) and confirming each guardian's capability to care for their charge.

That left the signing- Quackity, Techno, Eret (as confirming authority), and Purpled (minors over sixteen have to approve legal proceedings with their direct involvement) all needed to sign the last paper and confirm that, for guardians they would care for their charge, for the charge he consented to his new legal guardianship, and for the overseer they approved the adoption.

Of course, Quackity and Techno being extra as fuck, this turned into a party.

Fundy, Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy and Wilbur handled catering. They were all food service or something similar, and Quackity didn’t want to push it. Fundy and Wilbur had made uneasy peace after a stiff conversation, but Purpled veto’d fried food in case a boiling pot of oil was too tempting to end Fundy’s pain.

Of course, where some came, all came-Phil and Niki attended. Tommy and Tubbo brought Ranbo and Foolish, Sam and Slimecicle came with the others from Las Nevadas. Eret was obviously there to officiate. Purpled thought about inviting Hannah, but decided against it- it might get back to Ponk and Punz. It might already, with Foolish and Sam attending. Purpled doesn’t think about that. It was a bit too early for those wounds.

The ceremony- if it can be called that, they were just signing papers- would take place at the drive through church. The party, decor from Ranboo and Tubbo, took place at the restaurant, now owned by Tommy (and Wilbur, but he was more hired help). It wasn’t fancy. They planned it in the evening, just before a reasonable dinner, serving appetizers and dessert since Quackity and Techno had their own reward dinner.

Purpled runs it over one more time in his head. Simple, easy, he knew everyone. His coworkers, his friends, his new family.

His new family.

Purpled’s head starts spinning again and he breathes out through his nose, closing all of his eyes. He’d tucked his hat in his pocket for the ceremony. Casual clothes seemed insufficient, and Quackity had vetoed Purpled’s work uniform (he’d had time to customize, now, time to settle), so to cater to Technoblade’s sense of poetic irony and Purpled’s clothes budget they wore their banquet outfits. Purpled agreed that it felt appropriate. Quackity had his gold-bangled ‘work uniform’- the collar was longer and sharper, the shirt was ironed, the shoes were shined to a brutal gleam with a severe heel, and several belts with metal studs completed the look. Fundy called it Quackity’s dramatic bitch outfit. Technoblade wore his gaudiest cape and boots and a bloody velvet sash, with pressed and fitted black pants and a dramatically ruffled white shirt. Purpled had his purple suit, covered with gold chains. He’d added gold cuffs to his ears because it felt appropriate. He also wore the gloves Tubbo had made for him- they were proper gloves, black leather and fingerless, fastening with a button around his wrist just above his feelers, and he’d also grabbed his uniform shoes, marked with stickers and glittery purple pen.

In the most practical sense of the word they were dressed to kill. Everyone else would be, the party was semi formal.

Purpled moves from thinking his clothes over to thinking the rest through. He’d adjusted nicely to using all his senses again, so there was no worry there. Dogchamp would accompany him on stage at his own insistence. The ceremony started in twenty minutes.

The ceremony started in twenty minutes.

Purpled sighs, opening the door. He walks up the little hallway and out to where a few people had gathered early.

“Purpled from two places! You look very well dressed.” Slime greets immediately. Fundy and Foolish turn to see Purpled. Fundy beams, and Foolish gives his nod of approval.

“You’ve got drip, dude! Hell yeah.” Fundy walks up casually, brushes Purpled’s shoulders off and pulls at his collar. Foolish gently bumps him away to properly straighten Purpled’s tie, tucking a yellow flower into his suit as well.

“Perfect. Don’t eat that yet, you three are matching.” Foolish informs Purpled with a shoulder pat.
“You got Phil to get Techno?”
“Of course. Who am I?” Foolish grins, showing off sharp teeth. Purpled smiles back.

“Let’s go!” Fundy bounces on his heels, holding Slime’s shoulder to pull him along.

“I think you guys are more excited about this than I am.” Purpled grumbles, but he falls in step happily, antennae twitching with held in nervous energy.

“Of course I’m excited! I get a half brother.” Fundy declares.

“What?” Foolish tilts his head.

“Techno is like, a quarter related to Wilbur in the way he helped raise him. And then Eret is my adopted dad, and Eret and Quackity were engaged at one point. So, Purpled is like my half brother, because we’re technically related twice.” Fundy explains. There’s silence for a moment.

“Don’t tell Quackity that.” Purpled concludes.

“I think if Fundy from L’Manburg wants, you can be half-siblings!” Slime adds cheerfully.

“You know, Slime, you’re right.” Purpled nods.

“Half-brothers?” Fundy looks at Purpled hopefully.

“Sure.”

“Well! That’s settled, I’ll let you kids go on ahead.” Foolish breaks off with a little wave, seeing Eret loitering by the Eiffel Tower. Fundy and Slime dash in to greet Quackity, who is in intense conversation with Sam. Sam is straightening his beanie, and as Purpled watches Sam sets his chin on Quackity’s head affectionately. Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo are playing what looks like an intricately customized game of Rock, Paper, Scissors (Purpled has seen seven different hand symbols and he watches with horror as Ranboo bends his thumb in a way that is very much not humanly possible) on the floor in the middle of the aisle. Phil, Niki and Techno are chatting under one of the arches. Wilbur looks like he’s napping where he’s sat on the stairs. Purpled heads over to Techno and the others.

“Purpled! Man of the hour,” Niki smiles warmly at him, “You look handsome.”

“Didn’t know you owned a shirt without a hood.” Phil remarks.

“Every piece of clothing you have is green.” Purpled snaps back.

Phil opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“You’re your father’s son.” Niki notes sagely, patting Techno and Purpled on the shoulder.

“He’s not my dad.”

“Not yet.” Phil chuckles.

Purpled smacks him in the side, the netherite under his dress robe dinging faintly. His knuckles burn, and he hears the tick of a half-heart damage.

“Paranoid.” Purpled hisses, shaking his hand. Phil laughs again.

“I have a reason to be, child.”

“Where’s Dogchamp?” Techno asks like a champion topic-changer.

“He’s out.” Purpled shrugs.

“Don’t you need him?” Niki asks.

“Yeah, but watch.” Purpled holds his fingers in his mouth and whistles, antennae clacking with a summons.

Dogchamp appears out of a shadow like he’d always been there, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. Purpled pets him with an approving hum.

“Alright!” Phil’s voice is a bit too high. Purpled doesn’t bother checking their faces, not when he can feel the raise in heart rate at Dogchamp’s appearance.

He has the best dog.

Purpled is summoned from petting his good boy by the sound of a champagne glass being hit by a spoon. It quiets down, and everyone turns to look at Quackity. He’d called attention, Sam standing behind his shoulder like a personal guard.

“Let’s get this done, people!” Quackity raises the empty glass, and everyone rushes to their place. Foolish walks Eret to the lectern before standing with Sam. There weren't chairs, so non-participants stood on the sides as Techno, Purpled and Quackity stepped up.

“Would anyone like to say a few words before we begin?”
There’s the brief, awkward silence of an audience trying to pin down who would become a public speaker. A green, slimy hand is raised. Quackity gives an affectionate sigh.

“Come on up, Slime.”

Slime comes on up, shoes click-squelching on the quartz. Purpled watches, intrigued.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about human cultural customs.” Slime starts. His voice is surprisingly serious.

“I know this is important, and I know it makes my friends happy. I don’t really understand why Quackity from Las Nevadas and Techno from Syndicate need to sign papers for Purpled from two places to be their youngling.” He continues. He’s caught the audience’s attention, now.

“All these customs here seem weird to me, but I like them a lot. They put a lot of meaning in little things I take for granted. It makes this place- no matter how dry and bright- my home, I think. In all the long, long, long time I’ve been alive, this is the place I have least wanted to watch return to dust. I’m happy that my friends are happy, and I hope that makes them happy. So, a cooked bread to family?” Slime raises up one hand. There’s a mix of laughter and cheers. Purpled watches as Quackity non-stealthily wipes his eye.

“Anyone else?” Eret asks, smiling faintly.

“Ranboo should go!” Tommy shoves Ranboo’s shoulder and he trips onto the stairs.

“Wha-”
“Upvote. Speak at my adoption.” Purpled nods.

“Do I-”
“You have to.” Techno affirms.

“Well…” Ranboo steps up more centrally, clearing his throat.
“A lot has changed in about two months.” He starts uncertainly. There’s some quiet murmurs of assent.

“I, um, don’t really know what to say, beyond…” Ranboo looks around for approval again.

“I’ve made a lot of new friends in Las Nevadas. Purpled’s a good friend. So is Techno. I can’t say much about Quackity, and I’m sure he’d say the same, but I’m glad they’re all happy. This- this’ll stop a lot of fights. And it’ll probably start a lot of better ones. The good kind.” Ranboo immediately steps down, embarrassed, but Tubbo and Tommy clap and whoop loudly.

“To the good kind of fighting.” Quackity gives a nod.

“Well then, is that all?” Eret asks. There’s murmurs of agreement. Techno pulls out a feather quill, Quackity removes a gold fountain pen from his pocket, and Purpled takes out a glittery purple gel pen.

“From the powers invested in me as a former monarch of the greater dream smp, I approve of this adoption, and all the parties involved fitness to carry it out.” Eret signs his name at the bottom of the page on the supplied line, in steady black.

“I accept all responsibilities legal guardianship of Purpled Bedwars may give me, and pledge myself to care for his physical and emotional health as my ward.” Quackity pronounces, signing his line with a flourish of navy.
“And I the same.” Techno gives Quackity a dirty look for saying the line first, adding his signature in gold.

“I consent to my adoption and future care by Techno double-o Blade and Quackity A. Headquarters.” Purpled states, strong and clear, before signing his name- Purpled B.- in glittery purple ink.

Eret raises their hand and stamps the paper.

There’s a roar of applause. Purpled is crushed in a hug, yellow wings and a red cloak draped over his back. He wraps his arms around his new guardians.

He smiles. The lights glitter, and love surges up his throat and into his whole body. They join their friends and family.

It’s not perfect. It probably won’t ever be- not the kind of perfect Purpled had been searching for, with propulsion engines and flight courses.

It was the closest he could get. That was more than enough.

{<>}

“Isn’t this something else.” Eret gives a content sigh.

“Mhm.” Foolish hums happily.

“Lovely little get-together, for sure.” Phil nods.

“Happiest this place has been in… a while.” Eret agrees. The three of them are lined up, leaning on the wall. They watch Purpled sit still as confetti is meticulously braided into his hair by Tommy and Tubbo. Ranboo looks like he’s eyeing Quackity as target two. Slime is watching with intrigue as Tubbo walks him through the motions of a braid, and Fundy is slowly devouring an entire berry pie, deep in conversation with Niki. Quackity and Techno are sharing a large piece of baklava in a competitive fashion. Sam shows Ranboo something with a repeater, chatting amicably, apparently about how Quackity would handle confetti braids. Wilbur is inhaling a piece of cake with a contented expression, decided solidly on the company of baked goods over fellow people.

“I can cook!”

“Tommy, would you like to share with the class why you have a scrape on your knuckle?” Purpled says menacingly (or as menacing as possible while getting confetti’d).

“Actually-“

“Now I want to know.” Sam sets down his repeater. Ranboo gestures his own assent, steepling his fingers and giving a curious expression.

“So we were making biscuits-“

“Not all of us can be good at everything!” Tommy smacks Purpled’s shoulder and Purpled steps on his foot without turning.

“We were making biscuits, and we need to cut in the butter-“

“Oh! I remember this.” Tubbo grins maliciously.

“Tubbo, no.” Tommy gives a despairing cry.

“He grabbed the thing and started going so fast the handle edge scraped his knuckle!” Tubbo continues with cheer.

“So he starts bleeding on my carefully prepared counter- “ Purpled illustrates with his hands to Sam and Ranboo.

“You shoved me into the sink!”

“-And trips, banging into the microwave that was just left open- “

“Tubbo wanted a hot pocket-“

“-So he’s on the ground with blood on the counter, the microwave door is fucked up, I’m standing there holding a butter knife, and Wilbur walks in.”

Wilbur unburies himself from his cake to comment.

“So now they’re both banned from the kitchen.”

“You can come to the Arctic! I’ll teach you how to make biscuits.” Niki offers.

“ Thank you Niki, finally, a woman of culture.”

“You’re gonna get banned from Phil’s kitchen eventually, mark my words.” Wilbur ads, before returning to his cake.

“Quackity from Las Nevadas!” Slime starts a new conversation.

“Hm?” Quackity looks up, losing the last bite of baklava to Techno.

“I’m learning how to braid! Tubbo from Snowchester is teaching me, can I try on you?” Slime asks.

Quackity sighs, forseeing many hair brushes and showers in his future, but switches spots with Purpled and takes off his beanie. Purpled looks with intrigue at the little yellow feathers surrounding Quackity’s ears. Ranboo, apparently settled that his target was acquired, switches spots to sit with Niki and Fundy. Slime joyously starts braiding. Quackity had longer hair then Purpled, which helps his learning (according to Tubbo).

Eret takes another sip of his drink. Phil nudges them.

“You should join them.” Phil nods over at Fundy, Niki and Ranboo. Eret shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I’m just an officiator.”

“You seem just fine with keeping us away from the party.” Foolish flicks Eret’s arm.

“You’re different.”

“Mmm, I think Fundy is looking at you.” Phil mentions. Eret looks up and meets Fundy’s eyes. Fundy looks down quickly, but then Niki is looking over at them.

She waved at Eret.

“That’s your cue.” Foolish pesters.

“That’s not-“

“Go! You’ll be fine. We’re building bridges tonight, anyway.” Phil shoves Eret’s shoulder. They walk off looking apprehensive. Phil catches Fundy’s smile when Eret sits down with them, and he thinks that he’s glad Fundy found a father after all.

“So when was the last time?” Foolish asks.

“L’manburg, for most of them,” Phil responds with a sigh, “The first version.”

“The others?”

“Purpled’s was probably before Wilbur, if I hear correctly. Techno’s was way back in… gosh, it might’ve been the empire. Ranboo’s was when he first arrived and started making friends, I’m sure. You know Sam better. I couldn’t tell you much about that slime.” Phil stretches his wings with a chirpy groan.

“Couldn’t tell you anything with Slime either. Sam’s probably not been since… before Wilbur, too. Maybe in bits and pieces with Ponk and the hotel.”

“So it really has been a while.” Phil swirls his drink, looking wistful.

“Well, it’s getting better.” Foolish reassures.

“It’ll take a long time.”

“Everything does. You and I know that.”

“I suppose we do.” Phil says. He sets his drink down, raises his hand to Foolish.

“A dance?” Foolish asks.

“For happiness,” Phil said, “And the hope that for once it won’t take so damn long.”

“There isn’t any music.”

“You’re better at picking music. Put something on your communicator.” Phil shrugs. Foolish heaves a sigh, taking Phil’s hand and tapping a few things on the communicator screen. Sure enough, a bubbly waltz comes on.

“I’m leading.” Foolish says.

“You know the rules! I offer, I lead.” Phil drags Foolish over to the open tile floor. Foolish groans and takes the following role. Phil gives a smug grin.

The others were picking up on the music, by now. Tubbo drags Ranboo out to the floor. Phil and Foolish start their waltz, a style involving minimum possible touching that hadn’t been seen in at least a few centuries. Tommy had picked up on music by now, and picked up that Tubbo and Ranboo were dancing, so he grabs Purpled by the sleeve and they did something (Wilbur and Quackity had a mildly tense debate over who was leading and if it was a waltz or tango). Eret and Niki get out on the floor next, talking quietly about something-or-other that lightens their steps. Sam and Slime get up so Sam can teach Slime about the age-old tradition of dance. Wilbur and Fundy sit side-by-side, and what they say is as quiet as Niki and Eret’s conversation. If you paid attention, you could probably see a few tears. After a few minutes they quiet down and Wilbur’s arm is draped over Fundy’s shoulder.

It’s a beautiful night. There’s good food, good friends, and a better atmosphere. Phil says something quiet to Foolish about a forest and building bridges. Foolish says something quiet back about one last nail, and the two of them look over at Quackity and Techno.

With a few goodbyes, Quackity and Technoblade leave for their dinner.

{<>}

“Did we ever decide if we were going to settle this over dinner?” Quackity asks, twirling his rewarmed spaghetti.

“Poetic parallels.” Techno responds. Quackity groans.

“Do tell.”

“Well, we befriended each other over an Italian food dinner. Seems right we settle our adoption agreement over an Italian food dinner. That was always my plan, anyway.”

“You’re insufferable.”
“So are you.”
It's quiet filled by the clinking of dishes and glasses for a second.

“Should I start with my checklist? Or do you want to go first?” Quackity asks.

“You go first.” Techno gestures Quackity to start.

“Well, agreement one was you don’t hurt Purpled. You haven’t hurt him that I know of. Agreement two was we treat him like a person, no matter what. We’ve done pretty well there, all things considered.”
“I’d say we’ve covered making him feel comfortable and giving him a home and place to heal.” Techno adds.

“Do we want to debate over who first?” Quackity asks.

There’s another small pause.

“You know, I don’t think our bet matters anymore.” Techno says pensively, staring at his pasta.

“Couldn’t agree more. And seeing as we’ve both kept our sides in making sure we’re all up to snuff to raise a kid-”
“All that’s left is raising the kid.” Techno finishes.

They stare out over the Las Nevadas skyline. The view from the needle was really unparalleled. There was still music and laughter from the diner, just barely audible from their seats in the glass sky. It was almost cold, on the edge of hitting another layer of atmosphere. The city glowed under the night sky, lights giving it a hazy, dream-like quality.

“We might not do so bad at that.” Quackity says with a smile.

“Don’t hold your breath.”
{<>}

EPILOGUE

The party the night before had gone far too late, but no one had wanted to interrupt the joy and peace of it all. Purpled had finally tripped back to his bed in Las Nevadas, opening his door and flopping down. He’d fallen asleep almost immediately after he’d taken off his jewelry, jacket, and shoes, so he woke up with the gross post-party exhausted feeling in the morning. It wasn’t long after he woke up there was a knock at his door.

He opened his door (it was covered in stickers and glitter pen, like almost everything he owned) to Quackity and Techno.

“You’ve got a shift in the casino today.” Quackity greets him.

“Good morning to you too.” Purpled grumbles.

“The book club will be holding our meeting there and doing a bit of gambling.” Techno adds.

“Fine, fine! Gimme a few minutes and I’ll be out to breakfast.” Purpled closes his door on them and puts on his uniform (plus the gloves Tubbo made and Punz’s old beanie). He cleans up and heads to the restaurant. Tommy and Fundy served breakfast, Tommy having stayed over. Sam is bolting some oatmeal while Foolish delays him with conversation, Slime is enjoying the texture of oats (three different bowls, because no one had any idea how much and of what he needed to survive), while Quackity and Techno are bickering over something or other. Purpled slides into his seat on the end as content as he can be.

“Order?” Fundy yells at Purpled, setting down two bowls of oatmeal for Techno and Quackity.

“What everyone else is having, add raisins and daisies.” Purpled requests. Fundy nods, smacking a falling fork back up with his tail and rushing away. Tommy perches himself on the back of the booth behind Sam to eat his oatmeal.

Purpled looks forward to this afternoon, spending time with his book club and wasting money. He looks around at the people and the food and the noise. It’s very different from a cave, or a UFO, or an isolated cabin. 

This, he thinks- this is home.