Chapter Text
Tommy thought he had to re-explain to Wilbur what he was trying to achieve. After all, the last time he and Tubbo made the Black Flash, Wilbur dismissed it as a trick of their minds from all the adrenaline.
But to his astonishment, Wilbur caught on immediately, pointing out that he was there when Tommy landed the punishing blow on Slimecicle. "It's definitely something the old man would like," he admitted, his eyes flitting down as he muttered the words.
He could never get used to it, this slow, incremental turn in the guy's behavior toward him. Tommy was well aware that, at some point, familiarity would dull his prickliness. Yet each little word of grace, every kind gesture, made his stomach stir and flutter all the same. He had to keep eye contact with him as short as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was return to that giddy part of himself that thought Wilbur was cool.
When night came, he brought it up with the crew, getting half-and-half in terms of reactions from each member. Tubbo, as he hoped, responded with gusto, joining him for an early rise when the next day came.
They returned to the field, the other members of the Manburg Crew trickling in one by one. Even Jeb, who couldn't stand being away from his nephew even though he nearly slipped and knocked his head along the path several times, as Minx pointed out. Tommy admired his persistence despite being halfway on the mend.
The strategy talk had been put on pause as they figured out how this Black Flash could figure in it. That made Tommy work up quite a sweat in the dawn hours; making sense of the thing to the others was hard enough as it was.
"Can you go through how it felt? From the top?" Wilbur asked after sighing. Phil was busy preparing them breakfast back in the bungalow, and the sun was lighting up the sprawling roofs of red and gold behind the screen of conifers surrounding them.
"I already told you," Tommy groaned, shaking off the numbness in his arms. He had been trying and failing to repeat what he did to make a Black Flash for a while. "Okay. Tubzo, how about you talk about it?"
"Well," Tubbo began haltingly, rocking on the soles of his feet. "It was kind of like in action movies. You know? When you get tunnel vision and your body just flows in the air and you're so focused you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears."
"So, like an adrenaline rush?" Minx posited, pointing at them with a finger twined with several loops of her hair.
"Or doing a line," Jeb added through the bundled jacket over his collar. He snickered, then yowled soundlessly while clutching his head.
Tommy couldn't help but huff in frustration. Then, Techno chimed in.
"Maybe it's more like Zen."
Zen?
Techno turned to them, making small gestures with his hands as he elaborated. "Total oneness of mind and body. That kinda stuff. I'd say you guys were so honed in that every little action you took was at 100%, and your cursed energy could only follow likewise."
Tommy's face brightened. Zen! It was the perfect word. Leave it to Techno to put the right term to a thing they had trouble even conceiving. He could never be more thankful for him.
And he was about to voice it, too, when Wilbur spoke in his dry tone again. "You would have us meditating while trying to dodge a space rift, then?"
A pensive look fell on Techno's face. "Well..."
They continued to puzzle over their theories and practice them until another three days passed. By then, Jeb was back on his feet, and the bungalow's stores began to run out. Tommy wondered about the owner when they left by the sunset of the third day. How would they feel when they came by and found their pantry practically ransacked? Phil couldn't give him an answer. In fact, he had no clue. No one in his circle ever really discovered what happened to that person. But there were rumors about them moving to Brazil and getting caught in a gang war, leading to what could only be a nasty end.
November 2, 2020
"Ready."
Tommy held his breath. He sat on a birch log with Tubbo and Jeb on either side of him. The latter grumbled about how sweet last night's sleep was when they woke him, though he quickly shook off all hints of grogginess upon getting reminded why they were waking early. He now had his phone out, pointing the camera at an oval clearing sprawled before them and ringed by short, gray grass. Wilbur and Phil stood a few feet away, the latter holding up his arm like a flag marking a countdown. Indeed, he was proctoring the thing playing out in this little bare patch of earth beside the mirror-like water of Carney Lake, one of Michigan's many perfect sites for outdoor activities. This particular one, however, wasn't family-friendly.
"And."
The crisp air made Tubbo clear his throat. Jeb threw a concerned glance his way; he had just recovered from an illness, and he worried that it was the boy's turn to catch one. Tommy, for his part, didn't think that would happen. Tubbo had a hardiness in him that shone in the worst of moments. A mere chill wouldn't knock him down.
His eyes focused on Phil's hand. It was steady, born of years of hard work, so he had to peer closely to see if it was twitching, a sign that this nerve-wracking tension building in his chest and curling his hands could break loose at last.
The source? Techno and Minx facing off, at last. It was the promised sparring session, a moment only one of them looked forward to with the utmost enthusiasm.
Minx had her jacket off, baring her pale arms to the dawn's half-light. Tommy studied the fibers twining beneath the skin, in awe at how taut they were. Yet Minx showed no sign of strain as she took her stance. She was a cat on the prowl with her prey before her, her paws primed to launch her like an arrow from a bowstring, and her eyes were hooded by an air of confidence. Her hair flowed in curling cascades down her strong back, the strands having long turned dark brown after months of no redying. They created a mane that crowned her poised figure: an image of pride in prowess.
Techno was sleeveless like her, showing off his own powerful frame. But he didn't share Minx's fervor. Rather, he stood with his feet together and his arms loose, as if he was simply waiting for a bus to pass by. An odd expression was on his face, a mix of bewilderment and resignation. It made quite a picture in Tommy's head. He would've snapped one if he wasn't so engrossed in what was about to commence.
The Ax of Peace was nowhere in sight, replaced by a humble stick of roughly the same length. Minx eyed it scathingly when he walked up to the clearing.
"Why? Because I'm a girl?" she asked in a cloying mewl, batting her eyes childishly. It looked so off on her, which might have been the point.
A flash of recognition passed Techno's face, and he answered with a shrug. Wilbur picked up the question, catching the flicker of teasing satisfaction in Minx's eyes.
"He's just keeping things clean and safe."
"Pfft. Guess he's taking after you."
Tommy didn't know what to make of that. But he was inclined to believe that Techno was being nice. He didn't doubt that Minx could handle her own even if he had an actual weapon, but he felt that a sparring match shouldn't get ugly in any way.
Whether that would happen nevertheless, he was about to find out. Tommy could make out the shift in the weight of Phil's hand now, and his guts clenched with excitement. He and Tubbo leaned forward, the wind and the birdcalls in the distance silent in their ears as Phil gave the two combatants one last appraising look.
Then, he swung his arm down.
"Fight!"
Minx pounced before Phil's hand stopped. Tommy rose from his seat, watching as Techno ducked and sidestepped every blow with no reprieve. Fifteen seconds in and it was clear who was on offense and defense. Techno was a bamboo stalk swaying in the wind, gently backing away and swinging the stick to parry or strike with a silent, unhurried concentration. Minx was a hurricane, whistling and ripping the air with each motion she made, eager to crush anything in its path.
Then, Tommy felt something shift in the air. He could see the tide of cursed energy swelling under Minx's tresses, making them grow in both size and number until Techno blocked one of her strikes, drawing their faces closer by a few inches. And then they swung, forming a mace that whined in the wind from its own weight.
When it struck, it made the sound of a wrecking ball falling straight to the ground. The ringing made Tommy flinch away. Beside him, Tubbo gnashed his teeth while Jeb hollered in his seat, kicking giddily at the dirt.
It sounded like a hard hit. It had to feel like one, too. A bit of trepidation clutched at Tommy's throat as he looked back.
But Techno was unbowed. An aura of golden brown light coated his entire body, holding back the strike by what looked like a nail's breadth. Yet it was enough. He swung the stick in an arc, forcing Minx to step back. Then he swung it a few more times, tracing a net in the empty space while she had to collect herself. The edge of the thick grove came within view as Minx continued to retreat, her face holding back a snarl.
Techno leaped and then flash-stepped forward, sending the stick into the ground in a blow that matched Minx's. The wind from the stroke rippled through the trees, knocking the leaves and needles into a shower of gold, red, and green. It left a dent in the ground.
Minx, however, was nowhere in sight, slightly to Tommy's relief. She had used her hair to swing into the bough of the nearest tree, fixing her bangs out of her face while huffing.
A few seconds passed, and she smiled cheek-to-cheek. Bending forward, she crossed her legs while cupping her chin with her hands, her fingers spread coquettishly.
"You weren't underestimating me, then?" she asked in a saccharine tone. It put Tommy on edge.
Techno looked up from the crater he just made with a smirk. "I ain't dumb enough to do that," he replied.
The twitch in her face told Tommy what her inner voice said. “Good. I’d have to kill you, otherwise.”
Minx straightened and walked toward the trunk of the tree, leaning against it with a prim expression.
“In that case,” she began, twirling her hair once more. Then, she flicked the finger she used at Techno. “Why aren’t you using your domain?”
Techno paused for a moment, making Tommy wonder if he was considering the move. Would he finally see his trump card in action?
But Techno had other plans. He ran his thumb on the stick he held. It remained intact despite the blow, no cracks or splinters, bolstered by the precise flow of cursed energy. A testament to his control.
"I think," he declared with a little smirk, "It'd give you too big an opening."
Giving Minx no time to think, he dragged the stick along the rim of the dent, kicking up a couple of pebbles as he twirled on the spot. Upon making a full turn, he swung it upward, sending the little rocks up in the air in a cloud of dust. In the next split second, he struck them like tiny baseballs.
Jeb whooped. Techno just made a perfect baseball swing, and he caught it on camera. The boys wouldn't know this, but they were amazed either way.
The speed of the resulting projectile astounded Minx. All she could do was fall back to dodge it. Even then, it was a close shave; bits of her hair flew into the wind as it whistled by.
But she had yet to lose the battle. Riding the momentum of her fall, she swung herself back to the field, aiming to kick Techno square in the torso. The other side-stepped the move, which she quickly followed up with another swing of her hardened hair.
Techno noticed it before it could happen. So he flash-stepped all the way to her back, setting up his own offensive now that there was such a wide opening.
A grin lit up Minx's face. Instead of following through with a swing, she thrust her hair into the soil and launched herself backward. Techno shielded himself, but the strike shattered his makeshift weapon.
Tommy was dismayed by this. Or was he delighted? He forgot to pick which one he wanted to win. Jeb was cheering like a hooligan now, and Tubbo wrung his hands so tightly that they turned red. Curiously, Phil and Wilbur were awfully silent. Tommy watched them closely out of the corner of his eye. They seemed to be studying the match, dissecting every move and muttering to themselves with focused expressions.
A shift in Phil's face made Tommy turn back to the match. The two were now fighting right in each other's faces. Techno seemed to be making a seal with both of his hands through every blow he made, while Minx kept breaking it with each of her own. They both looked fierce as they went neck and neck, the whips and cracks of their arms and legs filling the air.
Was Techno trying to use his domain after all? Maybe that was why Minx upped the ante. But she had goaded him a couple of times to use it. What was she trying to accomplish here?
But then, Tommy remembered how she always bore herself on their quests, the way she took pride in her actions and choices. She didn't join the Institute in the end, but she held the sorcerer name high, fiercely guarding it with tooth and nail and high spirits. Even a sparring match was sacred to her, and he could tell that Techno understood and respected it, no matter how off-putting her fervor could be.
There was a break, and Tommy's breath caught in his throat. Catching Minx's arm, Techno yanked and pinned her under his own in a grapple. Minx answered by puffing her hair like an umbrella to wrest herself out of his grip. At that instant, Techno's hand became wreathed in red, crackling flame, and he used it to chop Minx on the back of her neck. She shielded herself with her hair—just as he intended.
Tommy noted that with a sense of finality. What Techno just did was set up one of the many forms of his technique. The next blow, no matter how hard she guarded against it, would hit her nonetheless, and she would have no choice but to keel over and concede.
He watched it now, time slowing in his head as Techno stepped forward for the decisive blow. His face turned blank with a practiced clarity of purpose, and the fire running through his limb roared. Minx still hadn't regained her footing; it was over...
Until large swathes of dark brown burst out of Techno's top and covered him from head to toe. They tightened like wires across his body, making him stumble as he struggled to break free. A faint, pink light thrummed in each strand, and as it slowly brightened, the fire on Techno's hand waned until it sputtered out. The look of astonishment on his face unnerved Tommy; it was so alien to see him so caught off-guard like he no longer had an idea what to do next. The grunts he made, the futile jerks of his body as he continued to fight against the bindings: they poked at something within Tommy's chest, filling him with an urge to dash to his side and beg on his behalf.
Techno made one more burst of effort and then went limp, turning the palm of his outstretched hand to the sky.
"I give up."
Minx walked up to him, her hands on her hips, and a taut look on her face. Her eyes blazed with the light from her binding hairs, and she looked at Techno closely, weighing the truth of her words.
Then, her expression brightened. The bindings on Techno's body burned away in an instant. She turned to the others, made a little skip, and threw her hands in the air.
"Yaaaayy!"
"Man, fuck that," Jeb muttered dejectedly under his breath, jamming his phone back into his pocket.
The air of tension over the clearing faded. Techno dusted himself while Minx cantered away back to her tent, humming a tune to herself as her face beamed as bright as the sun.
Yes, a tent. On Tubbo's gentle suggestion and Tommy's boisterous insistence, the team agreed to switch back to tents this time. It was a move Minx didn't jive with, especially after those luxurious nights at the bungalow. Tommy bet that this recent victory would blot out her complaints for a while.
Before she left the clearing, she looked back and said, "That was fun. Let's have another! Next time, you try much harder than today."
The last few words bore a steely edge to them, but she bounced away happy as a kid on summer break all the same.
Meanwhile, Phil walked up to Techno and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, that was sparring!" he told him. "I never saw you struggle like that since our first few sessions, mate."
Techno shrugged, inspecting the redness of the palm of his right hand. "Yeah, well, you learn something new every day. That technique of hers is as tenacious as she is."
"You could've turned the tables on her before that," Wilbur chimed behind Phil. "What made you hold out?"
Techno wrung his brow before replying, "She caught me by surprise. That's how it works. Sorry if you were betting on me or something."
A hint of wryness crept on Wilbur's face, deftly hidden under a nonchalant expression. "Actually, I was betting on her."
Techno looked at him, blinking very slowly.
"Oh."
When night fell, a campfire was lit in front of the line of tents. Tubbo was ecstatic, zooming around and taking pictures while the others shuffled to get dinner going.
"Oh, Miiiiiiiiinx~."
"Psst, Jeb! No, don't pose. It'll make it look... ugh."
"Tech, over here!"
"Phil! Can I just say this was an excellent move on your part? Also, can you..."
Tommy watched him zip along their little circle with wonder. Surely, they made another on this same road trip before.
He blinked. A chill crawled along his back and arms. The mood was different then. Tubbo wouldn't have smiled like this, at all.
He scooted closer to the fire.
"Tommy! Tommy!"
Before he could look up, Tubbo drove into him like a linebacker, nearly toppling him to the ground. He muttered a quick word of apology, then wrapped his arm through Tommy's back, holding him up while he raised his phone over them like it was on a boom.
Tommy looked at himself on the screen. His face was a mask of surprise, his bangs askew on his forehead. Tubbo's was slightly pink, shimmering with a thin layer of sweat. The orange of the campfire danced on their cheeks and eyes, and the soft murmur of the rest of the crew played over the creaking of creatures out of sight. Above Tubbo's hand, the sky shone with great banks of silver stars. The wind was gentle on the towering pines and birches, and the wood and ground and lake beyond whispered and breathed of autumn.
He felt it again, that strange feeling of expansiveness, of his small frame spreading out to encompass the world. It buoyed his face as he made the cheesiest smile and Tubbo finally pressed the button.
Minutes later, a pan was laid over the fire, strips of bacon sizzling on the surface and tickling the crew's noses with their flavor. A packet of marshmallows, a last-minute grab from the bungalow, sat ravaged near the logs they used as benches, the two boys happily taking most of the contents and browning them next to the pan.
As they chowed down, Phil opened himself a can of beer and took a sip, passing it around after making a hearty sound. They failed to notice it skipping over Jeb after he quietly refused, returning quickly to Phil's hand.
He raised a hand to gain their attention. Then, he spoke.
"Our plans are a little fuzzy, but I think we're making great small steps in the right direction. I'm in danger of repeating myself, but your passion encourages me every day."
The boys pumped their fists, humming their approval through their marshmallow-filled mouths. It made the others chuckle as they nodded along.
Phil went on. "Thanks to that, I came upon a bright idea of my own. Our foe isn't the type to fight on even ground. Facing him means getting ready to have the carpet pulled out from your feet in more ways than one. And I have just the thing to help us do that."
The focus was on him now. Everybody leaned forward or quieted down, curious to know what he had in mind. Phil leaned back as he glanced at each of their faces, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes.
"Let's save that for tomorrow morning, shall we? Now, come on and dig in. The bacon's ready!"