Chapter Text
Once it’s all set up, they call Kristin.
It’s not like it’s hard. For them, at least. Anyone else who attempted to summon Lady Prime herself would probably struggle a bit more, due to the fact that She is very busy on a good day and unreachable on a bad one.
Techno and Phil, however, happen to be priority.
“Ready?” Phil asks. The storm has darkened their windows, snow drifts piling up halfway across their fragile panes of glass and clouds keeping the sun hidden behind a thick layer of iron gray clouds. They’ve lit candles, a chalk circle scrawled on the floor in a language long-forgotten by anyone except them and a handful of scholars. Phil has braided his hair. Techno thinks he might have pinched his cheeks a moment ago too, either that or he’s just flushing with excitement as they settle across from one another in similar, relaxed poses.
“Ready,” Techno echoes.
Summoning Kristin means going to the void. And for anyone not practiced, it can be… disorienting, to say the least.
Techno shuts his eyes. He can hear the soft whoosh of Phil’s breath as he exhales, and he can sense more than see the candles around them go out one by one. Then, he starts a low and steady chant.
In the ensuing minute, Techno reaches out. In front of him is an upside-down jar, and he carefully lifts it up. Still with his eyes closed, he reaches out with his Path now instead of his hands, sensing the small creature that had been trapped inside. It’s a beetle, jewel-colored and glistening, little legs scrabbling on the wooden floor as it desperately tries to escape. Techno doesn’t give it a chance; with a crushing pressure, he slams his palm down on the creature and revels in the crunch of its carapace, the soft gooey guts that coat the lines of his skin. It’s not blood, but it’ll have to do– for him and Kristin both. She usually wouldn’t even dream of arriving for such a meager sacrifice, but again, they tend to be a special case.
Sounding as though it is somewhere in the distance, a crow caws.
Maybe a bit too early, Techno opens his eyes. Gone is the familiar floor and walls of their home– gone are the armchairs and counters and doors to other rooms where sleeping boys lay. All that remains is an inky, starlit void surrounding them and the chalk circle, bright white against the darkness, and the candles that are still smoldering. Techno lifts his hands up from where he’d crushed the beetle and finds nothing smearing his palm, an itch of disappointment shooting through him. Across the way, Phil also opens his eyes. They shine a brilliant white, and Techno knows his own are the same. No pupil or cornea, just everlight.
He looks to the side, and there She is.
“Hey, Kris,” Techno says. She’s beaming, smile stretched so wide it’s almost unnerving as she sits cross-legged to his right and Phil’s left.
“My boys!” she cries, pushing herself to her feet and then throwing herself towards Phil. They both laugh as they tumble backwards, backs hitting the void’s floor as Kristin hugs her husband with unrestrained delight.
“Ew,” Techno comments towards the display, but he really doesn’t mind. He just rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, watching as Kristin peppers Phil’s cheeks with kisses and then shoves herself upright to glare at him goodnaturedly.
“Don’t you start,” she says, and Phil grins from the floor as she makes her way over to Techno– a little too fast. Everything about Kristin is always a little just over the edge of too much, her eyes too sparkly and her cheeks too red, her cloak too long and her hair a little too dark.
Despite her unbeing, Techno gives her a stiff hug in return when she opens her arms to him.
“I miss you,” she says into his ear, a tiny little whisper. “You always brought me such good presents.”
“Yeah well,” Techno mutters, pulling away after a second to look her in the eye and smile. “Bigger ones take too much energy these days. Murder isn’t just allowed anymore.” He holds up his hand, fingers curled into a fist, and focuses on a certain strand of his Path and pulls. “I did bring you something, though.”
“Oh?” Kristin asks, eyes shining with delight and stardust as she tips her head. When he gestures for her to, she holds out her own two perfectly manicured hands, cupped together. Techno opens his fingers and out from his palm scurries the pure-white soul of the beetle he’d crushed, worming its way onto Kristin’s hand as she laughs in delight. “Oh, he tickles!” she giggles as the creature crawls up her arm and disappears like a dot of snow amongst her long sleeves. “What a cutie! Thank you, Techno!” One press of her dark lips to his cheek has him flushing, and she grins knowingly as she leans back and whirls around to give Phil a pointed look. “ You never bring me any presents, you know.”
“I give you plenty,” Phil argues, coming forward and sitting beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder. Where his cheek touches the bare, swirling paint of her skin it parts like water and weaves around him, caressing his temples and combing through his hair. “My love.”
“Charmer,” Kristin cooes, and then glances around. “You know, I thought when I glanced over the other day I was going to get more than just a beetle.”
Ah. Right. Techno winces slightly and that draws Kristin’s attention, Phil giving him a little warning gaze as she zeroes on his discomfort.
“What?” she asks. “Was I wrong?”
“A little,” Techno says. Phil sits up, and Kristin’s shoulder mostly reforms.
“What did you see?” he asks, reaching out to put a hand on her arm.
She frowns. “I saw you,” she says. “And two others.”
“Children,” Techno corrects. “They were kids.”
“Oh,” Kristin says. Then blinks, her lips parting in a round oh. “Oh! Where did you get two children? Did you steal them?”
“No,” Phil says. “They were sent to us, kind of. Do you remember Dream?”
“Dream,” Kristin hums. “Yes. One of mine, in a way.”
“Techno owed him a favor,” Phil explains, and it’s definitely the short version of the story but it’s really all they have time for. The candles, despite not having any flames, are slowly melting down towards their bases. “And apparently, he thought it was reasonable to ask us to get rid of them for him.”
“He must not know you,” Kristin hums. Techno shakes his head.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen him,” he says. “And– it’s… weird.”
“Can you come to our plane for a bit?” Phil asks abruptly, and Kristin turns, frowning at him.
“Now?” she asks.
“You need to see Wilbur’s Path to understand what’s going on,” Phil explains, and her brow furrows deeper. The tendrils of her dress whip back and forth, absently distressed. “We think we need your help.”
“I suppose I could,” she says. “Phil, you’re sure you’re–”
“I’m okay with it,” he says. “I asked.”
“I know, but it always feels so…” Kristin trails off, then makes an eugh! sound and shakes her shoulders as though a shiver had just run up them. “Weird!”
“I can bribe you with a bottle of wine,” Phil offers, and she eyeballs him for a second and then nods once, firmly.
“Deal,” she says. “But I can’t promise I’ll be able to help, or even tell you what’s going on. Can you– explain it to me? Before I see it?”
“Wilbur… is sick,” Techno says slowly. Phil just nods and lets him explain, even though he’d probably be the worst candidate for it at the moment. It’s hard to verbalize exactly what Wilbur’s Path feels like, but he tries his best. “There’s a rotting carcass sitting in the center of his well. It’s poisoning him, and we think Dream somehow put it there. He had been–” Techno cuts himself off, braces, and then continues: “Dream had been killing him and then bringing him back.”
Kristin’s rage is immediate, but not overt. Her eyes darken to indigo so deep it might be black, and the temperature drops so sharply Techno nearly sucks in a surprised breath. Nothing that happens in the void affects them physically– he knows his body is sitting back in their home, completely untouched, but it is hard to remember that when you have a furious death goddess making your insides go funny with her mere presence. “What?” she snaps.
“Is that not possible?” Phil asks, more used to the heavy weight of Kristin’s power. Techno struggles to breathe for a second. “We’re just going off of what Wilbur told us.”
“It is possible,” Kristin says after a second, and the heavy weight ceases a moment later, something Techno is eternally grateful for. She is watching him, the anger in her eyes palpable, and the only thing that keeps Techno unafraid is the knowledge that she would never direct that anger at him. “Just… stupid. No, not stupid. Rude.” And then the weight comes back, heavier than before. “He knows what he’s doing is a slight to me. What the fuck!”
“Hey,” Techno wheezes, and Kristin’s eyes snap to him. For a second he can’t breathe at all– and then it disappears, and her gaze softens.
“Sorry,” she says. “Sorry, sorry, I just–”
“No, be mad,” Techno says, pressing a hand to his chest. “Feel free to be mad. I’ve been trying not to kill things for the past two days myself, but, uh. The kids. Might not be as forgiving.”
“They’re pretty fucked up,” Phil agrees, and Kristin wilts a little bit.
“I want to see them,” she says. “I want to meet them. Can I?”
“Always, love,” Phil says, reaching out to hold her hand. They twine their fingers together, and Techno makes a gagging noise.
“Shut up,” Kristin says fondly. “You have to deal with me for a little while yet.”
“Yeah, alright,” Techno concedes, watching Phil close his eyes and take a deep breath. Kristin smiles, brushing his hair back off of his face after a moment, and then gently moves. Lies him down– he crumples, resting on the void floor and chest barely moving as Kristin gives his hand one last squeeze.
“Wake up now,” she instructs, and Techno does.
Seeing Kristin in Phil’s body has always set Techno a little on edge.
Creatures of unbeing were never meant to be. There’s a dissonance in how Kristin moves, how she sits in Phil’s body like it’s too small for her. Too much liquid poured into one cup, overflowing and spilling out, usually in the form of excessive shadows that loom on the walls and puddle on the hardwood floors. Out of the corners of his eyes, Techno can see flickers of dark shapes at the windows, corvids of all shapes and sizes having somehow traversed the frozen tundra and made their way to the windows and doors. They peck at the glass and roof, the whole house holding its breath as Kristin leans over Wilbur’s sleeping form in Phil’s body, her eyes a dark pitch black, and places their hand on Wilbur’s forehead.
“Interesting,” she says. Phil’s voice has a certain timber to it whenever Kristin is inhabiting him, pitched higher and tone softer. Their robes shuffle as she repositions, pressing Phil’s hand more firmly to the kid’s skin. “You were right about the rotting corpse.”
“Told you,” Techno says. He’s standing across the room, watching intently. Wilbur doesn’t wake up, mouth half-open in his sleep, and Tommy is nothing more than a lump under the blankets. They rise and fall in miniscule motion, the only proof of life. He glances over at Kristin again, the way she draws Phil’s eyebrows in an expression of concern, lips pursed and slightly parted. It looks foreign on his old friend, unnatural.
After a few more minutes of quiet examination on both ends, Kristin pulls away from Wilbur. As their hand leaves his head, the kid settles, tension Techno hadn’t noticed slipping away like water off the back of a duck.
“I did what I could,” Kristin says, looking over at him and then back down at Wilbur.
“Do you know what it is?” Techno asks. “How we can– can we fix it?”
Kristin– Phil’s lips purse. “Yes,” she says. “And no.”
Techno raises a brow. She goes quiet, looking down at Wilbur with an unreadable expression, and then sighs heavily. Phil’s chest heaves up and down, throat bobbing.
“He’s Withering,” she says gently. Techno’s heart seizes up on it’s own, even though–
(Even though he’d known. Rationally, he knew Wilbur was afflicted with the worst of the worst. Curses come in all shapes and forms, and only some of them are intentional. He’s never personally been close to a case of Withering, but he’s heard horror stories. Skin blackening and cracking along splinter lines, wheezing breathes and disintegrating limbs. Magical illness that runs so deep not even the best apothecaries can provide relief. He’d seen the oily slick of Wilbur’s Path and known, he just…
He didn’t want to believe it.)
“I stopped it from spreading the best I could,” Kristin is saying, voice tight and still looking at Wilbur’s sleeping form. “I blocked off some of his Path, which will weaken him significantly but it’s better than if I didn’t. And I made him safer to be around– I worried for a moment that maybe the younger one could catch it, especially since he’s also seen the Void, but he seems to be alright for now.” A brief, flitting smile appears on Phil’s face, then falls. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
“But–” Frustration rises in him like the tide, pulling him toward the bed as he clenches his hands into fists. “Can’t you– I don’t know, get rid of it? It’s–”
“A curse,” Kristin cuts in sharply, eyes lancing through him. “You know curses can’t be removed unless it’s by the person who put it there.”
The strings are easy to connect. “Dream.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, neither of them speak. There is a rage simmering in Techno unlike anything he’s ever felt before– he hadn’t felt this when his mother died, when he’d been killed for the first and last time, when he’d been kicked out of Hypixel. That anger is nothing compared to the pure and raw hatred that courses through him now, filling his veins with righteous fury.
“I’m going to kill him,” Techno spits, because it’s the best he can do.
“When you do, make sure he’s reversed the curse on this one,” Kristin says, reaching out to smooth their hand over Wilbur’s forehead again. “Otherwise you’ll be dooming him. People who Wither away don’t come back– there’s no magic left for them to harness, nothing unpoisoned. You were right. It’s like…” Kristin’s eyes go distant, her voice a bit fainter. “It’s like Dream has left a dead lamb at the bottom of the well, and now the water is poisoned, and the filth and muck is slowly making its way into the rest of the earth around the well, infecting the groundwater for miles. And we’ve capped it for now, but the longer you leave the cap on the more and more gasses and vapors build up, until…” She lifts their hand from Wilbur’s forehead, and makes a small explosion with their fingers. “Boom.”
“So we don’t have much time.”
“No.”
Techno sighs. He wants to break something. He wants to break something really bad, but Wilbur and Tommy are by all means asleep and he doesn’t want to wake them. Not when Phil and Kristin are… like this. His stomach roils like an angry ocean of fire, fingers shaking despite the fact he’s clenching them so hard into fists that his nails cut little crescent moons into his palms.
Lady, he just wants to kill something.
“Techno,” Kristin says, and when he snaps his attention to her Phil’s face is pale. Their eyes flicker from void-black to Phil’s normal blue, and he steps forward, arms up and catching the body as their knees buckle.
“Almost done?” he asks, and Kristin nods their head.
“He’ll be asleep–” she starts, but Techno shushes her and swings their arm over his shoulder.
“I know,” he says. “Ain’t my first time doin’ this.” He carefully leads Phil’s body out into the main room. He sits Kristin in one of the arm chairs, watching as their head lolls to the side and she smiles up at him.
“Thank you,” she says, reaching out and grasping Techno’s hand in hers. Her voice aches when she says, “I miss you.”
Throat dry, Techno just nods.
“Say it back,” she demands, and well, Techno won’t say no to a goddess.
Who’s he kidding? Yes he will.
“I see you all the time,” he says, giving her fingers a squeeze. She squeezes back, humming and smiling as she tips her head away from him in a drowsy manner. He reaches out and feels Phil’s Path icing over under his touch, and Kris’ darkness receding. “And I’ll see you again.”
“One day,” Kristin murmurs, opening her eyes to look at him, two dark pools of void that spill out over Phil’s cheeks and sink into his veins like ink on parchment, “I’m going to keep you with me forever.”
And then the last of the void disappears from Phil’s eyes, draining onto the floor and dissipating into shadow. With a sigh, his eyes shut again and his body slumps into the chair, limp and yielding. His fingers go slack around Techno’s and he knows for certain then that Kristin is gone.
“Alright,” he whispers anyway. “That’s alright.”
Later, once he’s tucked Phil into the chair more securely and checked on Wilbur and Tommy and made sure the fire was burning high enough to keep the whole house warm, Techno slips on his boots and cloak and forces his way outside.
The storm is over– the blizzard has receded, leaving cloudy gray skies and an endless expanse of fresh, unbroken snow. A blanket has settled over the land, muffling all the sounds and expressions of the natural world, and Techno has to force the front door open with a grunt due to the pile of snow that has accumulated behind it. He has to make sure not too much of it falls inside, and then kicks his way out into the waist-high depths. It doesn’t stay that high. Like the southern deserts, the snowdrifts have been kicked around by the wind so much that in some places, they climb as tall as the roof of the cabin while in other parts, there’s barely enough snow on the ground to cover the dead spikes of grass. Techno pathfinds his way out to a spot where the snow is shallower and stands there for a long, long moment, tipping his head to the sky and staring up into the endless gray.
Then he pulls out the sword he’d brought with him, and starts swinging.
He’s not swinging at anything in particular, really. He’s just swinging. They’re brutal, cutting movements, following a regimented display of power and rage as he tramples the snow underfoot and leaves gashes in the snowdrifts whenever he feels particularly vengeful.
It’s not fair. He feels utterly powerless at the moment, alone. Phil is passed out, recovering from the possession, and the kids are– Wilbur’s sick. Tommy’s clingy to him to a point of concern, and the fact that the kid knows how to kill makes him see red. Over and over he moves, until every muscle in his body is sore and he’s left gasping for air, sword tip dragging on the ground as he sweeps in one last circle and then comes to a stop facing the cabin.
There’s a small shape in the doorway.
It’s open, probably letting in the blistering cold. Tommy is also not wearing any jacket or anything as he jumps out into the snow– he’s hardly even wearing shoes, the boots far too big for his feet and jumper pooling around his neck as he wades through the snow (which had been waist deep for Techno, and nearly enshrouds the kid entirely as he follows Techno’s footsteps).
Techno is quick to head over to where Tommy is, sheathing his sword and muttering under his breath in mild annoyance until he finds the kid. Tommy is in the snow, cheeks bright red when he looks up at Techno with wide blue eyes and raises his arms up.
He’s lost one shoe. His fingertips are pale.
Sighing, Techno leans down and picks the kid up.
“What were you thinking?” Techno mutters, breath coming in hot clouds as he rearranges them so Tommy’s on his hip, drawing his cloak over the kid’s shoulders the best he can. “It’s cold out, and nearly dark.”
“You have a sword,” Tommy says.
“Incredible observation.”
“I want to learn.”
“Not right now.”
“Later?”
“Maybe someday.”
Tommy leans his head on Techno’s shoulder. “Can you teach me after you kill Dream and get rid of Wilbur’s curse?”
Techno stiffens slightly. He’d been making his way back towards the cabin, but stops now, staring down at the top of Tommy’s head.
“Were you awake?” he asks. Tommy nods, the top of his curls brushing Techno’s chin, and he breathes out. “Kid–”
“That wasn’t Phil, was it?” Tommy asks, tipping his head up and back to peer at Techno again with wide eyes. “He sounded different. Weird an’ shit.”
“...no,” Techno admits. Tommy is too smart for his own good, dammit. “It wasn’t Phil.”
“Who was it?”
“None of your business,” Techno says lightly, thinking back to the utter awe he’d seen on Tommy’s face when he’d talked about Lady Prime. Yeah. That’s probably not a great conversation to have with him right now, and he does not want to deal with Tommy insisting to meet Kristin. They’d probably get along famously. The very thought makes Techno shudder. “It’s cold. You must be freezing, dummy.”
“Not really,” Tommy says, flexing the toes of the foot that lost his shoe. Techno spots it in the snow a bit ahead and makes sure to pick it up as they pass it. “I’m good at staying warm.”
“You two were pretty frozen on that horse,” Techno points out, and Tommy scowls deeply, kicking him in the side.
“Not my fault! Dream made us sleepy.” He goes still. “It felt… bad. Not a good sleepy. A fuckin’ weird sleepy, where your head goes all heavy like stones and your limbs won’t move.”
“The more you tell me about Dream, the more I want to kill him,” Techno says lightly. He’s testing the waters here for a reaction– and he gets one. Tommy shivers a little bit and tucks himself into Techno, eyes open and unseeing as they stare out across the landscape.
“He wasn’t bad,” Tommy says after a minute. “Not all the time.”
Techno hums, curiosity piqued. Tommy takes it as a cue to continue.
“He was our friend, sometimes. He protected us from the bigger kids. Wil’s not– don’t tell him I said this– he’s not all that strong. He’s smart! He’s real smart, and if you say he’s dumb I’ll kick you ‘cause he’s not. But he’s not good at beating up the other kids when they steal our food or blankets.” Tommy shrugs. “Dream was. Dream gave us better food and better blankets. He wasn’t mean when we didn’t deserve it.”
“When did you deserve it?” Techno asks, trying to keep his tone casual. It’s hard. It’s really, really hard.
“When I got a question wrong,” Tommy says. His nose scrunches up, expression like he’d just taken a bite of a cold apple. “Sometimes though, he’d say things that weren’t questions, but they actually were. Questions in disguise. You had to be careful ‘cause even if it wasn’t a question-question you could still say the wrong thing and he’d get mad and then he’d hit us. Me. I got stuff wrong a lot.” Tommy’s voice gets quieter and quieter as he talks, breath hot as coals on Techno’s neck. He’s stopped walking, standing there in the snow as Tommy explains and stumbles over his words. “I’m not– smart like Wilbur. I’m not really big yet, either, so sometimes I can’t do the things he asked and– it was my fault, it was, and I can do things! I can do a lot of things! I just– he never–” Tommy sniffles, and then his voice settles into a tired resolve. “I’m a big man. I’m strong. I can do things.”
Techno stands there, the warm line of Tommy against him, and inhales.
“Did you–” Words fail, for a moment. He clears his throat and tries again. “Did you know I’ve never met anyone with magic like yours?”
“What?” Tommy asks, rearing backwards to stare up at him. “Mine?”
“Your Path,” Techno says. “Feels like it’s made of water on fire.” He’s not good with words, but he thinks that gets the point across. “You have… an aptitude for it, that I’ve never seen in someone your age. How old are you? Five?”
He lets the teasing sink in for a minute and Tommy gasps, offended. “Nine!”
“So sorry,” Techno says. He splays his hand out on Tommy’s back, keeping him secure as he leans to glare. “Really. But I’m telling you the truth, kid– you can do things.”
“I know I can,” Tommy spits.
“Bigger things,” Techno amends. “Better things than Dream ever made you do. One day, you will be incredible.”
Tommy is watching him, staring up with wide, pale eyes. There’s a flicker of warmth against Techno’s subconscious and he opens up, lets it in. Waits as Tommy roots around in his Path, searching for… something. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find it, because after a minute or so the sensation disappears and Techno gently rebuilds his walls.
The kid’s voice is quiet but firm when he says: “I don’t like killing people.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Techno asks, and Tommy nods, so he says without any hesitation or dishonesty: “Sometimes, neither do I.”
Wilbur wakes up before Phil does. He has strength, and some of the pallor has been lost from his cheeks and replaced with a healthier pink. He shuffles out into the living room where Techno and Tommy are arguing over a book Techno tried reading him aloud– it had been a tome of old folktales and stories traditionally told orally, tales of heroes and villains and maidens and long, complicated war poetry that Tommy stubbornly refuses to understand the true value of.
“It’s stupid!” he’s hissing as Wilbur steps out into the living room. “If he really loved him wouldn’t he tell him that?”
“Sometimes saying things is hard,” Techno points out, and Tommy frowns.
“Well I never have trouble saying anything– Wilbur! You’re up!” In a flash Tommy is on his feet, padding over to where Wilbur is and grinning up at him. “You don’t look like shit!”
“Why, thank you Tommy,” Wilbur says, looking over at Techno with a strange expression on his face. He comes over, Tommy clinging to his shirt the whole way, and spares a glance at Phil (who is still passed out on the chair). He sits in front of the open book, next to Techno, and takes a minute to study the page before looking over at him. “What did you do?” he asks.
Techno looks down at the pages before him and bites back a smile. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Don’t play stupid,” Wilbur says, reaching out with one hand and poking him. “I know you did something. I feel better. A lot better.”
“Technically, it wasn’t me that did it,” Techno argues, tipping his head, and Wilbur reaches out with both hands and shoves his shoulder. Then goes entirely tense and still for a moment; until Techno reaches up and brushes off his sleeve. “Bruh. Get good.”
“What did you do?” Wilbur presses, then looks at Phil. “Or him. Both of you. What was it?”
“It was Not-Phil!” Tommy says happily. “Someone possessed him!”
“Well–” He has to give Tommy some credit, the kid’s smart as hell. “Yeah. That happened.”
“Who?” Wilbur asks. “Did they make me feel better? They didn’t–” His gaze goes far-away for a moment before snapping back into reality. “It’s not gone, but it’s… less.”
“ She, ” Techno emphasizes, ignoring how wide Tommy’s eyes get, “blocked it off a little bit. She also helped us figure out exactly what it is, and exactly how to fix it.” Both boys are staring at him expectantly, and with a spare glance to Phil, Techno sighs. He would really rather he explain, because when he wakes up the complete knowledge will literally be in his head, but. Techno’s the only one awake right now, and possession always takes a lot out of Phil. Which leaves him with the brothers, who are still waiting. Right. “You’ve been cursed, Wilbur. It’s called the Withering, and it’s when…” He sighs, trying to find a good way to explain. “It’s when your Path and someone else’s Path gets so mixed up and intertwined that they accidentally leave a piece behind, and that piece… rots, since it’s not connected to them anymore. By killing you and bringing you back, Dream was not only drainin’ you, but himself, too. And he… got sloppy. And now the only way it can be fixed is if Dream reaches in and takes the piece out himself.” He waves his hand a little. “It’s a curse. They’re fickle.”
Wilbur has gone strangely pale. For a second, Techno thinks he’s fucked up, that Wilbur is about to break down and start crying, but all he does is sit there. He reaches out, trailing a hand down the paper of the book still lying in front of them.
“We have to go back?” he asks quietly.
“If it’s any consolation,” Techno says, “I’m planning on killin’ him the second he fixes you.”
Something in Wilbur’s face hardens.
“Me too!” Tommy says cheerfully, before Wilbur can open his mouth. “I’m gonna help!”
“No you’re not,” Wilbur says sharply, still staring at Techno. Then, quieter: “You mean it?”
Techno tips his head at him, and nods. Just once. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
Wilbur studies him, eyes flicking from the corner of his mouth to his eyes to his forehead and back again. Each line of his face is far, far too worn to be an expression on a teenager, but he sits there and exists. Techno is undone. “Good,” he says after a second.
“And I’llll help!” Tommy finishes, pumping his fist in the air. “I’m gonna– I’ll take my knife and stick it up his butt! That’ll show him, nobody likes a knife up the butt. I’m gonna poke him in the eye! Like this!” He turns and grabs one of the pokers from the hearth, fingers clumsy as they wrap around the handle and he thrusts the hot metal forward, taking a couple steps back and away from Techno and Wilbur so he can wave it around. He’s not used to the weight– to be fair, a poker isn’t exactly a balanced weapon– and makes various fighting grunts as he does. “And then I’ll stab him,” he finishes, making a stabbing motion and letting the metal clatter to the floor. His arms shoot up in the air. “Tommy wins again! And the crowd goes wild!”
Techno’s so busy watching this display, he misses how Wilbur shifts forward a little bit. He doesn’t notice– not until he lunges forward and wraps his arms around Tommy’s knees, tackling him to the ground with a whoop.
“Surprise attack!” Wilbur shouts, and Tommy shrieks, both of them rolling around on the floor like a pair of puppies as they bite and gnaw on one another, yelling all the while.
“Techno!” Tommy screeches, voice high-pitched in a whine. “Help me!”
“I thought you were a strong warrior,” Techno muses, leaning back and eyeing them both. Wilbur’s got Tommy solidly pinned to the floor, an elbow on his back and hand in his face.
“I am!”
“It’s over, Tommy,” Wilbur says with a wicked grin. “I have the high ground.”
“Techno! Help me! ”
Techno turns back to their abandoned book and smiles, even as Tommy begins to shriek in a pitch that only dogs can hear. “Sorry. You gotta get yourself outta that one, kid.”
Phil is asleep for a long time. Almost two days– Techno shovels them out fully by the time he wakes up, and takes care of Tommy and Wilbur which… is a task, certainly. They’re not dead. They’ve been fed. That’s all Phil can really ask of him, okay?
(And if maybe he’d gotten them to read the ancient myths by reading out loud to them, whatever. Maybe they’d fallen asleep all together curled up in front of the fire. Yeah, sure, maybe Techno is relieved every time Wilbur’s cheeks flush a healthy red or he laughs without coughing.
He is then reminded that the solution isn’t permanent. Not by a long shot, and his mood doesn’t sour but the relief doesn’t linger, either.)
Phil wakes up, and it’s slow. A finger twitching. An eyelid flickering. Techno is attuned to him and zeroes in, removing a couple of blankets from the pile he’d accumulated over the course of his exhaustion and combing his fingers through his hair. He’d unbraided it and rebraided it a couple times with Tommy’s help, and a few of the pale strands are more… tangled, than others. He’d gotten the hang of it eventually. Techno redoes them now, and Phil shifts.
“Tickles,” he slurs. The kids are outside– Techno said it was fine, as long as they bundled up and Tommy kept Wilbur as warm as he could. He can hear them now, bouncing and laughing, two dark spots in the snow. It’s relatively safe up here, so he’s not worried. A hand raises and bats at his fingers, Phil’s movements slow and sluggish. “‘Echno.”
“Heya,” he says, a bit distracted as he peers out the frosted glass.
“Time is it?” Phil asks.
“Two days, just about,” Techno tells him, and Phil drops his head back, looking up at him with glaciers in his eyes. Techno just runs his hands through his hair again. “Mornin’.”
“Two days? ” Phil asks, and then groans, shutting his eyes. “Ugh. I am getting too old for this.”
“Go stay with her permanently, then,” Techno tells him, tugging on a braid. Phil swats at him again, shuffling in the armchair and heaving a sigh.
“No, fuck off,” he says. “Not ‘til you’re ready.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.” Phil glances up, then follows Techno’s gaze to the window. “They outside?”
“Yep.” Techno tugs another braid, slowly undoing it. Phil is warm and solid under his hands. Real. “I’m assumin’ she left you with the rundown.”
“More or less,” Phil says, and sits up fully. His hair leaves Techno’s hands, braid half-undone, falling over his shoulders in loose, messy bits. He stretches. “Fuck.”
Techno moves, shuffling across the room and tearing his eyes away from the windows. He doesn’t need to worry about them. If he tries hard enough, he can hear Tommy laughing. There’s nothing to feel anxious about, and yet– he puts it out of his mind by mechanically starting up a mug of tea. In goes the bag and the leaves, hot water, sugar. He brings it back over to Phil, who is stretching and making awful noises as he does so.
“Old,” Techno tells him, and Phil swears a couple times at him before taking the mug from his hands.
“Fuck off. Oh, thank you.” He cradles it between his palms, taking one long, slow sip. “So. How’s Wil?”
“Better,” Techno says honestly. “He looks… better.”
“I know Kristin did something,” he says, face scrunching. “Blocked off parts of his healthy Path. He’s Withering.”
“He is,” Techno confirms. “And it’s because of Dream.”
“Bastard,” Phil snaps. “He had to have known.”
“Tommy told me–” Techno falters, then inhales. No. He has to tell Phil. Phil needs to know what Tommy told him about Dream, and it doesn’t matter if it feels a little invasive. “Tommy told me,” he says again. “That Dream took them off the streets. And fed them and stuff. And if they were… bad.” The word curdles in his mouth. “They’d get punished. He’d hit them.”
“Lady,” Phil breathes. “Every new thing I hear about him makes me want to kill him more.”
“Same,” Techno says. He kneels on the floor by Phil’s chair, swallowing hard. “Phil, we gotta end him. We gotta go down there and fix this.”
“What happened to the first rule of immortality?” Phil asks wryly, and Techno whaps him on the leg. “Ow! Hey! Fuck you.”
“I’m havin’ a hard enough time with this without you teasing,” he drawls, and Phil rolls his eyes.
“Sure you are,” he says. “It’s so hard, after all. They’re so difficult.”
“They are! They wanted to play with my swords!”
“So let them! What’s a sword gonna do?”
“Phil. Phil. They’re kids. They’ll cut themselves or snap the blade or–”
“You think either of them are strong enough to snap a blade?” Phil asks incredulously, and Techno throws a hand in the air.
“I dunno! Maybe!”
“They are full of surprises,” Phil acquiesce, glancing out the window again with a faint smile. “Mate, you’re just overthinking things. Fine, you don’t have to let them play with your swords. Whatever. You’re just pissy because you like them and don’t want to say it out loud.”
Techno slumps onto the floor, crossing his arms. He refuses to meet Phil’s eyes, the old codger. “Not true,” he grumbles, and Phil just laughs. The chair creaks above him as he shifts, and they fall into companionable silence for a minute. Phil sips his tea audibly, and Techno watches the fire crackle. A hand lands in his hair, feather-light. It’s messy, undone. He hasn’t had time to fix it the last two days, and so Phil combs his own fingers through it and reaches out. His Path brushes Techno’s, a cooling presence, one that calms the fire inside him and relaxes his shoulders until they’re loose and gummy.
Their Paths twine, for a moment. Words go unspoken but understood, implicit. They skate along a lake of frozen fire together and then part, Techno building his walls back up and Phil surely doing the same. His hand never leaves the top of Techno’s head.
“We should leave,” Phil says eventually.
“Heh?”
“We should leave,” he repeats when Techno looks up at him. He’s watching the fire now too, eyes cast distant, lost. “Head south. Find– L’Manberg, find Dream. All of us.”
“Now?” Techno asks. “It’s the middle of winter.”
“And Wilbur doesn’t have long,” Phil points out. “Even if we wanted to wait, it could be deadly. I don’t want him to die.”
“...no,” Techno admits. “Me neither.”
It’s strange. Mortality isn’t something Techno has faced in recent years– his and Phil’s retirement up north means that they have really only interacted with each other, and sometimes the nearest town. But they’d never had any meaningful relationships beyond that, over the past decade. It’s just been them. And neither of them have to worry about their impending death, by age or sickness otherwise. It’s a terrible though, dying. It twists in his chest whenever he thinks about it, thinks about Wilbur stuck in that cold void forever. Yeah, Kristin would take good care of him. Logically, he knows that. But it scares him anyway.
Wilbur deserves to see as many sunrises as he can. He deserves them all. He’s just a kid; he didn’t ask for any of this. Lady knows Tommy didn’t either. And that’s the other thing. Techno knows Wilbur dying would ruin Tommy in a way that nothing else would.
He bet Dream knew that too.
Anger itches, like a lingering spark after iron meets flint, and he exhales sharply through his teeth. It scares him. Wilbur dying… scares him.
Their house would be so quiet.
“You’re right,” he says. “We have to go. Like, tomorrow. You up for the trip?”
“I’m not as young as I used to be,” Phil says, and Techno rolls his eyes fondly. “But I suppose I could manage.”
“I could get the horses ready by morning,” Techno theories. “We have potions of warm-breath and plenty of clothes. The town– we should make a pitstop, but only to grab necessary food and such. It won’t take long to reach the coast, and from there we can book a ship south to Las Nevadas and then head inland to L’Manberg. Two week trip, if nothing goes wrong.”
“That’s the catch, isn’t it,” Phil mutters, stretching an arm out. “If nothing goes wrong.”
Techno’s mind is already whirling with plans. He’ll double stock up on healing and regen potions for Wilbur, taking less warm-breath with them because Tommy can help with that. In town they’ll need food– and he needs to get out his old armor. Polish it. Sharpen his swords. He’s got a laundry list a mile long already, and glancing outside proves he’s got maybe half a day and all night to get it done.
Easy clap. He’s got this.
Techno moves to stand. “I’ll go get–”
He hadn’t noticed (too caught up in internal dialogue) that the brothers had already started moving inside. As he speaks, the door flies open, letting in a breeze of chilly air and two loud, echoing laughs.
Tommy’s nose is bright red, and so is Wilbur’s. They’re both shivering, feet and legs covered in snow that they stomp off together near the frame.
“Shut the door!” Phil says, and at his voice both of their heads snap up. “You’ll let out the heat!”
“Phil!!!” Tommy shrieks, kicking off his boots and struggling out of his outer layer of clothing. It ends up in a heap on the floor, which is ignored in favor of Tommy darting forward and crashing into the armchair. “You’re awake!!”
“Oof,” Phil says, because Tommy had really thrown himself right into his stomach. Techno winces in sympathy.
“Good morning,” Wilbur says, much calmer. He’s shut the door and is in the process of tugging off his own boots. It is not morning. Techno snorts. “How do you feel?”
“Like I just got possessed by a goddess,” Phil says, and Tommy gasps loudly. Wilbur gets up, arranging their shoes neatly near the door before coming over. He looks good, he notes fondly. The warmth in his cheeks isn’t draining, and he holds his head high. Occasionally, a cough will rattle his frame, but it’s less violent than before.
"What does being possessed by a goddess feel like?" Wilbur asks curiously. Phil groans, Tommy still bouncing around the armchair like a strange, large monkey.
"Yeah!" he chirps. "What's it like?"
"Like a really long nap," Phil says, reaching out and snagging Tommy's shirt. Techno makes no movie to help him. "And then the worst hangover of your life. Stop wiggling, you little shit."
"What's a hangover?" Tommy asks slyly, with the exact tone and facial expression that means he knows exactly what a hangover is.
“I said, stop wiggling,” Phil says, and Tommy settles down in his lap for the moment. He kicks his feet out over the armchair, putting his socks right in Techno’s stomach. Wilbur–
Wilbur leans up against Techno’s side, a tiny line of heat. His breath fogs a little and he’s watching Tommy and Phil, so all Techno can see is a mop of unruly brown hair. Again, his chest twinges. It’s the same feeling as when one finds a baby bird on the side of the trail and picks it up to return it to the nest– the cradling of something delicate and precious and newborn in one’s palm. Terrifying. Exhilarating.
“Listen to Phil, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and Tommy sticks his tongue out at him, upside-down. Phil skitters a hand up Tommy’s stomach, which sends him squirming and shrieking as the tickling commences. Beside him, Wilbur sighs, and everything in Techno’s mind implodes a little bit as he sags further against him.
“I’ll stop! I’ll stop! Please! Noooo,” Tommy whines, and Phil ends the attack with a ruffle of his hair. Tommy collapses, limp in his lap until he catches his breath and curls up a bit. Seeking out the warmth, probably.
“Careful,” Techno warns, and Tommy’s bright blue eyes snap up to him. “Phil’ll make you walk all the way to L’Manberg.”
Both kids tense up. Wilbur turns to look at him, slow, like he’s a boar in the woods.
“We’re going?” he asks tentatively.
“We are,” Techno confirms. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Tommy asks. “That’s so soon.”
“Yeah, well–” Techno keeps his eyes on Wilbur. “Some of us are on borrowed time.”
That seems to sober the both of them right up. Wilbur leans even further into Techno, and a little awkwardly, he lets his arm come around his shoulders. He’s still so skinny, so small– fragile. Techno is the bull in the china shop, most days; though, if you asked him, he’d say Phil was the more destructive of the two. Wilbur doesn’t seem to be scared. He just leans, and lets Techno… hold him.
“Tomorrow morning?” Wilbur asks. Techno nods. “How long will it take?”
“Two weeks,” Phil says gently. “Give or take.”
Wilbur nods. Only once, a sharp little disjointed movement. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. I can do it.”
“When we get there,” Techno murmurs, watching Wilbur’s gaze turn to him once more. “You and Tommy are staying somewhere safe. Phil and I know people– you let us deal with Dream. Okay?”
“We’re not letting anything hurt you two again,” Phil says, and Tommy shifts in his lap, snuggling up under his chin and one fist gripping the front of Phil’s shirt so tightly Techno can see the singe marks from where he’s standing.
“Do you promise?” he asks, voice a hushed whisper.
“Yes,” Techno says. Phil opens his mouth then shuts it– smiles fondly.
“We promise,” he says, bringing a hand up to cradle Tommy’s head.
By his side, Wilbur relaxes.
Techno doesn’t sleep that night.
His mind is a racing swirl of things he has to do to prepare for leaving in the morning. He makes sure Tommy and Wilbur get tucked into bed, of course– slinging them both into his own sheets himself, forcing Tommy under a blanket and practically sitting on the kid until he passed out. But hey, if it works it works. And Wilbur is much easier to corral. In fact, he seems dead set on sticking to Techno’s side until it’s time for bed, rarely leaving the little niche he’s carved out against him as they eat dinner and get ready to sleep.
It doesn’t take them long to conk out, and Phil is still tired but he’s packing, so Techno does most of the preparation. He drags down the ladder from the ceiling and clambers up into the spiderweb tangled attic, dragging down two ostentatiously decorated trunks that are coated in dust. Underneath the clasps and old oaken wood are dull pieces of metal that he intends to make shine.
Their armor is piled up and he drags the grinding stone outside so he can sharpen their swords, their weapons. Phil spends nearly four hours making arrows, fletching delicately laid alongside the shafts and wicked iron tips dipped in poison.
See, the thing is, the trip down to L’Manberg will be easy. They know people along the route, and can get to the city without fear.
The thing in the center of L’Manberg is their problem.
See: how do you kill an immortal? It simply can’t be done, some people would say. But others– those of endless void and starshine ilk might tell you otherwise. It is very much possible to kill an immortal being. If Dream were a Can-Not, it might be harder. But he is a Will-Not, the same breed as Techno, and so he intimately knows the way in which a murder might be had.
Having one-half of your team being married to the Lady herself is a bonus, of course, but it is hard work regardless. It requires a cocktail of potions with fumes so thick Techno sees double for a little while; swords enchanted with just the right smear of lapis and redstone; armor enchanted to protect from killing blows themselves, and of course–
“Benihime,” Phil whispers lowly to his weapon. The blade sings.
A weapon blessed by the Lady herself, forged with the blood of one hundred men.
This is not the first time Phil and Techno have teamed up to kill the unkillable. It will likely not be the last.
The final trick, of course, to ending the life of an immortal being is to cut them up and spread their pieces wide across the land. Maybe burn a few. Cut the cord to the mortal plane and all that. It’s easier said than done, and again, requires preparation.
By the time the sun tints the sky with a pastel pink and soft, sodium orange, Phil is passed out in the armchair once more. Techno is busy packing the last of their food they’ll need for the chilly ride south, mostly salted meats and dried fruit.
He’s tired but intensely wired. Focused on the task at hand. Pack this bit, arrange it so it fits, consider the shape and size so Tommy won’t be uncomfortable when he wears it. Horses can only hold so much weight, and they’ll be riding double–
“Techno?”
He looks up.
Wilbur is standing in the door– blanket around his shoulders, eyes drawn and tired.
“Kid,” he says, looking back down at the bag. “It’s sunrise–”
“I threw up.”
Oh.
Ew.
“Uh.” Techno can’t help but let his face scrunch up in disgust. “Where–”
“On the floor,” Wilbur says, kicking a foot. “I– tried not to get it on the bed.”
“That’s… okay. Thanks,” Techno says, moving to get up and abandoning the pack on the floor. He can finish it later. Wilbur looks pale and exhausted, and when Techno moves toward him, he flinches backwards.
Techno stalls. Waits a moment, and Wilbur relaxes a bit. He tries again, and this time Wilbur receives the hand on his forehead without a problem. They brush Paths– he can feel Wilbur’s reaching out towards him, a sickly, weak little thing, and he sighs. Wilbur seems to settle though, leaning into Techno’s palm with skin burning up under his fingers. “I’ll get you a potion,” he says, and Wilbur nods slowly, like his brain is just catching up. “And then we’ll clean up.”
“I tried not to wake Tommy up,” Wilbur whispers, footsteps soft against the floorboards. “I’m just– so tired.”
“I know,” Techno says. Wilbur presses into his back as he gets out a healing potion for him, uncorks it, gets some warm water to dilute it with.
“It’s not fair,” Wilbur says, and his voice is muffled.
“We’re gonna fix it.”
“Not soon enough,” Wilbur mutters, and Techno turns. He hands the potion over to him and Wilbur downs it without flinching, swallowing and then burping. He giggles– high, breathy, a little delirious. Clearly he hasn’t woken up all the way yet. Techno just smiles a little. “I wanna hit him,” Wilbur says, and Techno raises a brow. “Dream. I want to hit him so bad. I think about it, sometimes. Punching him. Isn’t that awful?”
“Nah,” Techno says. “He’s a crappy guy.”
“I want to kill him,” Wilbur says. Techno takes the bottle from his hand and puts it back on the counter.
“I’ve got good news about that, kid,” he says gently, putting one hand on Wilbur’s shoulder in order to steer him back towards the bedroom. “C’mon. You’ve got another two hours of sleep if you want. Need a bucket or anything?”
“No,” Wilbur says. “I think I’m good.”
“Okay,” Techno says. “Alright. Back to bed.”
Wilbur was right– he definitely threw up. Techno avoids the spot as he gets him back into bed, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his own mind, but he’s practiced enough to shove it away. The teenager pretty much conks out the second he’s back under the covers, so Techno is quiet as he cleans up, tossing the– ew, it’s really gross– bits out into the snow and covering it up.
Then, because he’s already outside, he goes to get the horses up and ready.
When Phil and the brothers step out into the sun, Techno is ready for them. The horses are ready, their packs are full, and all four of them are bundled up pretty tight.
Phil and Techno’s armor gleams. The enchantments shimmer. Tommy spends five minutes with his hands pressed to Techno’s back as his Path twitches and weaves around him, trying to poke at the magic and decipher what it is until Techno kicks him off so they can get going.
The cabin is locked up. They bid farewell to the garden, and the hearth is swept clean of coals. The windows are shuttered.
Techno… is a little sad. But it’s fine. They’ll come back, and it’ll be with these two in tow, healthy and happy.
“Ready?” Phil asks. He’s astride the horse that had carried Tommy and Wilbur here, Tommy sitting in front of him and bundled up underneath his cloak to keep him close and safe as the horse plows through snow. Techno’s got Wilbur with him, brown hair tickling his chin and catching on the stubble that’s gathered there. His shoulders aren’t unfamiliar with the weight of his armor, but it’s taking a bit of getting used to. He shifts.
“Ready,” he agrees. Wilbur tips his head up and smiles at him. Across the way, Tommy whoops. “Let’s go,” he says, and kicks Carl into gear.
L’Manberg awaits.