Archive of Our Own ^beta

He is studying by lamplight when he hears an all-too-familiar voice say, “Technoblade, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’m busy,” he responds mindlessly, reading the last few lines of the right page and flipping it over to start the next. His glasses rest on the tip of his nose and his posture is terrible, hunched over his desk as he is, but he has no desire to sleep.

“What are you reading?”

“Kropotkin,” Techno answers. “Not right now, Ghostbur. I’ll hang out with you in the morning if you stick around.”

A soft laugh. “Tommy thought I was Ghostbur too.”

Something about the words catches his attention. Actually, he thinks it’s the voice. Gone is the wispy, falsetto, overemotional, melodic rasps of the specter-in-denial. This voice is calmer, smoother, still raspy but undeniably baritone and grounded. In his chair, Techno straightens, and he twists halfway about to look up at Wilbur.

Wilbur, half-translucent, smiles at him. “Finally got with the program, ey?”

Techno is at a loss for words. Internally, the voices kick up, increasing in volume from ten to two hundred as they realize that the ghost before them is not yellow-turtleneck clad, but rather sporting the ratty revolution clothes he died in. Not Ghostbur. Wilbur.

“Are you alright?” Wilbur asks trivially, glancing around at Techno’s attic, at the bookshelves and bell and double mattress. “I tried checking what you were doing earlier, but it looked like you weren’t up to much then either.”

“It’s been a slow day,” Techno says. The voices scream at him for giving such a bland response.

“On the contrary, Tommy’s had quite an exciting day.”

“Why’s it always got to be about Tommy?”

Wilbur blinks in surprise. “You don’t remember what today was?”

“Not particularly.”

“Tommy and Tubbo went to settle things with Dream, once and for all,” Wilbur mutters. “Dream very nearly killed Tubbo and locked Tommy up forever.”

“‘Nearly’,” Techno echoes. “So I suppose they’re actually fine?”

“Apparently no thanks to you.”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember Tommy coming here to steal my belongings and supplies for some big showdown,” Techno says, narrowing his eyes. “Hard to tell these days when Tommy’s stealing for a reason or just for the sake of it.”

Wilbur is quiet. Techno wonders if Wilbur disagrees and chooses not to argue, or agrees and chooses not to admit that.

“Every time he asked, I showed up,” Techno mutters. “You know that.”

“I do know that,” Wilbur sighs.

He coule make a point about how coming to Tommy’s aid upon request doesn’t always mean he stays on Tommy’s side once he sees what Tommy’s goals are, but honestly, he’s pretty sure Wilbur already knows that. Over the course of his life, Techno has taught himself to be unrepentant about being critical of which causes he supports. Despite what others think, Techno is well-aware that he is a valuable asset, but he rarely allows others to tell him what his stance on a matter ought to be. He weighs his options carefully - he is not a pawn to be mindlessly sent into the fray. He is more than they ever expect.

“You’ve always had a soft side for your family,” Wilbur admits. And then with a pause, and an innocent glance upwards towards the ceiling, he says, “Or your pack.”

“Oh, really? Hybrid insults? I don’t know what more I expected from a human-passing nerd like yourself,” Techno chuffs. “You’re still cut from the same cloth, Wil.”

“God, I’ve missed you.”

Techno blinks in surprise, glancing up at Wilbur.

“The afterlife is so dark, man,” Wilbur says. “And it’s just me and Schlatt and Mexican Dream out there. And— Jack Manifold, for like, a few hours, but I digress. None of them even come close to you, Techno. Not even Schlatt. Sometimes I miss you so much it physically hurts, and I didn't think anything could hurt me like that anymore.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“You could. You chose to stay, and not to move on, so you could,” Techno argues. “Just leave the server. As soon as you’re in a new one, you know it’ll just take one totem and you jump back to three lives.”

“This is where Tommy is. This is where Phil is. If I leave, I can never come back here,” Wilbur points out. “I can’t go.”

“Phil will go where I lead,” Techno says. “I’ll leave if you’ll follow.”

Wilbur smiles. “Tommy won’t.”

“What the fuck did he ever do for us?” Techno growls. “We gave him a home. Friends to fall back on whenever he had a need for it. We gave him items and guidance and protection and all he ever does is turn around and tell everyone that he’s self-made and that he’s never had any help at all. He lies and says I betrayed him, that what he wants is what everyone wants. But it’s not. What he wanted wasn’t even the same as what you wanted.”

“You mean the discs?”

“I mean your god-forsaken country,” Techno says.

Wilbur closes his eyes. The voices kick up again, eager to debate the morality and ethics of the various versions of Wilbur's nation.

“Look me in the eye and say you’re proud of what happened to it after you died.”

“Techno.”

“You had the right to want it gone,” Techno says firmly, gripping the arms of his chair. “You tried honesty, you tried stepping down, you tried leaving them to their devices, and all that came from it was corruption and greed and the endangering of every single citizen. Personal sentiment aside, it was rotten to the core; destroying it was a public service. Sometimes you have to raze the ground and try something new.”

“Technoblade, please,” Wilbur whispers.

“It stood for nothing you believed in. It tore our family apart. It demanded the labor and service of the many and defiled on the freedoms of the individual. It was no better than Schlatt’s administration, and no matter what they say about you going insane, you were right to rid the world of your own corrupted creation. You died to make that happen, and what did they do? They spit on your grave and didn’t even bother to put up a gravestone. And then, after they tried their best - against your dying wish - to recreate what you started, they failed miserably. How they ever thought they could do better than you is beyond me. It was meant to live and die with you. They—”

“Technoblade, I’m not here to talk politics.”

He opens his mouth to argue further, but he can’t make himself speak. Just because the voices never shut up about L'manberg doesn't mean that Techno can't have more self-control. He shakes his head with a sigh and presses his hands to his face. He’s just taken his glasses off when he feels Wilbur’s nails scratch over his scalp, carding through somewhat-greasy strands of pink hair. Instatnly, the voices quiet, flipping from incessant, angry shouts to soft coos and contented sighs. “What are you here for?” Techno asks curiously.

“You,” Wilbur says.

They lapse into silence. Long minutes pass, marked only by the ticking of a clock mounted on the wall. Wilbur’s gentle scritching soothes the voices and abates them into a contented murmur. He was always better at shutting them up than anyone else. Eventually, Techno opens his mouth and asks, “Wilbur, how do I do right by you?”

“Live,” Wilbur says. “Live fully. Protect dad, because he’s family and he loves you. Allow yourself to love others, and offer fairness and respect to strangers.”

Sic temper tyrannis. “I was already—”

“I know,” Wilbur says. “God, you’re so much easier than Tommy.”

The mention of the boy’s name makes the voices rise again, making him wince at the volume. Nonetheless, their anger is infectious, and he allows himself to huff. “How many times does he get to burn down the bridges we build? When is it fair to leave him on the other shore where he stranded himself?”

Wilbur sighs.

“You want to say I should never give up on him,” Techno grumbles. “But it’s easy for you to have faith in him. He never used you. He loved you.”

“He loved you as well.”

“Envied. Respected me. Admired the skill. Appreciated the protection, maybe. But not loved.”

Wilbur doesn’t deny that. His hands go still, though. “Techno. Phil loves you. I loved you.”

“You have to love me,” Techno complains, nudging his head back into Wilbur’s palms. “You’re my twin.”

With a long sigh, Wilbur gently flexes his fingers, scratching Techno’s scalp as he goes. “I think he’ll mature a bit with time.”

“I disagree. He’s going to get older and more bitter. He’s stubborn and there’s no reason for him to confront or reevaluate the past. Tommy’s tried having a change of heart before, and it’s never stuck. He’s going to hate what I did and deem me the villain, and there’s nothing I can do that’ll change his mind about it,” Techno says. And he’s certain of it. In the face of defeat - or loss - it’s always an easier option to shuffle the blame onto a party you already hated rather than admitting your own fault. It stings that Tommy was so ready to label Techno in that category of those he truly distrusts, but what can he do about it now? He did his best to support, protect, and help Tommy. It’s not his fault that he’s not willing to buckle and forfeit his beliefs just because Tommy wants everything to go his way.

“I’m sorry.”

He wants to complain about how it’s unfair, that Wilbur escaped the consequences of his actions through death, but Techno bears the blame tenfold, simply for standing for the same freedom Wilbur had championed. A beautiful, tragic parallel to their relationships with Tommy, because even after everything Wilbur did in his cruel behavior towards their brother at the end, Tommy would forgive it in a heartbeat, and yet he has no trace of genuine affection left for Techno at all. Only fake platitudes when he wants something. There’s a metaphor to be made about a coin, about one side always facing up and the other always down, and that the orientation is arbitrary and only perceived by the beholder. Techno would rather not dwell on it.

Here’s what he ends up dwelling on instead:

They grew up in lockstep, identical or opposite and nothing in-between. Wilbur got all the charisma, all the artistry, while Techno got the athletics and academia. They looked identical until their fourteenth birthday, when they decided to become opposites. (Wilbur had his tusks filed down to human-length, Techno dyed his hair pastel pink, and each of them bought pairs of glasses with different shapes for the first time.) The day Wilbur moved out to travel the universe with Soothouse was the day Techno moved to Hypixel full time. Wilbur called Phil a minimum of once a week to chat and catch up, and Techno met with Phil for months at a time with large gaps of radio silence in between. Wilbur forged SMP Earth; Techno fought a potato war. At the same time Wilbur decided to fully take Tommy under his wing, Techno began his rivalry with Dream. Perfect synchronization, even when people thought they couldn’t be further apart. Like some law of the universe that was simply always true without exception. Until…

Well.

There’s always an ‘until’ in life, isn’t there.

“I can’t stay forever.”

“I know.”

Wilbur begins combing through his hair properly, tugging out tangles from the shoulder-length locks. The voices go near-silent. They always do when Wilbur plays with his hair.

Techno closes his eyes and pretends that the man behind him is alive and well. If Wilbur were alive, they wouldn’t live together, probably. They haven’t needed proximity for comfort in a decade. But still, Techno wishes he had the opportunity; had the assurance of his brother’s safety and wellbeing.

“That kid you’ve got hovering around,” Wilbur says. “Another one of Phil’s adoptees?”

“Not yet,” Techno says. “We haven’t scared him off so far.”

“He’s not Tommy,” Wilbur says in a tone that sounds like a warning, but his next words fade from caution to calm, “but maybe that’s all the more reason to give him a chance.”

Techno exhales steadily. “Okay.”

“I’ve got to go.”

He goes still.

A weight settles around his collarbone - Wilbur’s arms - wrapping over his shoulders as he rests his chin atop Techno’s head. “I trust you. I love you.”

Techno relishes this, relishes the present-tense ‘trust’ and ‘love’. He raises a hand and clutches Wilbur’s wrist. He has no need to voice his perspective; Wilbur had always been able to read him like a book. Wilbur already knows he is sorely missed, knows he is an ache and a gap in Techno’s soul that cannot be filled by anyone else. It wouldn’t even be a contest.

Nobody in existence even comes close.

The pressure of his twin’s touch fades, like there had never been anything there at all.