Work Text:
It was Ranboo who noticed it first.
People (i.e., Phil and Techno) told him that he had a tendency to be… overprotective of those he cared for (i.e., Phil and Techno). But this time made sense, he reasoned, lurking by the side window and wondering if it would be obvious he was keeping an eye on things if he asked to enter and pet Steve for the exact duration that Techno’s guest was there; he had gotten a glimpse of a familiar set of wings, small and golden, slipping through the front door with the glint of an enchanted sword at his side. It was only logical of Ranboo to slink around the building and check to make sure the former butcher wasn’t coming in to finish the job.
He knew, of course, that Techno was able to defend himself, and he didn’t have to— to quote the piglin— play “guard dog”. But what if he was asleep? What if he randomly started hibernating for five weeks again? Or what if Quackity tried to play dirty, locked Techno in and set the house ablaze? Those series of questions were what led him to the front door, a nervous vwoop escaping as he noticed it was left ajar. Techno always made sure to close the door behind him, in part to make sure the animals didn’t escape, but also to ensure that he would have a proper warning if anyone tried to sneak in— the door was purposefully left slightly creaky for that very reason, unable to be opened without making a sound.
Which meant that Quackity likely entered without permission. Which meant Techno was in danger.
Ranboo pushed the door open slightly, just enough to squeeze in and check the living room. The chests, lined up nicely against the back wall and untouched; Steve, comfortably sitting beside the fire and demanding to be pet when he caught sight of Ranboo. Even the brewing stands were untouched, prepared potions sitting corked in their stations and easily swipeable. Everything on the first floor looked fine, and Ranboo was tempted to brush it off as a paranoid moment, that perhaps he hadn’t even seen Quackity enter… until he saw the trapdoor to Techno’s room, left open above him.
“You have fiancés for this,” Ranboo could hear Techno’s familiar deadpan drawl as he inched through the house, tension lowering at the sound of him awake and responsive. He put a hand on the ladder, peering up to see if he could catch sight of anything. There was the sound of shuffling and a small thunk, something falling to the ground.
“They’re not as thorough as you.”
Another thunk. Ranboo furrowed his brows, not understanding what he was listening in on. He climbed the ladder silently as the conversation continued, unaware of the one who listened in,
“Maybe if you took the time to teach them instead of coming to me—”
“What, you don’t like the view?” he teased, getting a huff in return,
“Again, fiancés.”
Quackity and Techno were seated on the ground, their backs to the trapdoor and the former— Ranboo averted his eyes, holding in an embarrassed “Oh.” at the sight of Quackity shirtless, wings relaxed behind him.
Phil had told him about preening, something often reserved for those trusted the most, part of the avian-equivalent of their flock. It was an exercise of trust, someone behind you for a long period of time, easily able to attack before one was able to pull themself out of the lull and defend themself. This seemed different than what he had seen with Techno and Phil— namely, the use of a scrubber and water; he wasn’t surprised by the gentleness in which Techno brushed the wings, Ranboo had witnessed him do the same with Phil, and handling his animals, but he could admit that he didn’t expect to see said gentleness when dealing with the man that had tried to kill him only months ago.
Ranboo… didn’t know why, but he felt like he shouldn’t be seeing this. He descended the ladder silently, closing the trapdoor behind him and tiptoeing quietly through the rest of the house.
(Techno froze at the sound of the trap door closing and Quackity turned back, silently questioning why he stopped. He narrowed his eyes but turned back to his work, muttering,
“Thought I heard something,” he repositioned the remaining displaced feathers, asking in mock annoyance, “is that better?”
Quackity scoffed, “you can’t say shit! You got them dirty, you have to clean them, man!”
“Maybe if you defended your six better—”
“Blood, Technoblade! Blood on my wings!”
The front door shut as they descended into familiar banter, their visitor unnoticed.)
—
There was an understanding between Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity about their relationship; they were open to the idea of being, well, open, and if anything important were to come up, they knew the best thing to do was sit down and simply talk about it. There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about— where Karl went to for days on end without warning, why Quackity came back covered in blood some nights— but when it came to their relationship? They found the time and the words.
It was that structure that had let Sapnap tease when he saw the bruises on Quackity’s neck. The two of them had taken a break from woodchopping, Foolish working on the roof of one of the houses a ways away with what they provided, and it was at their proximity that Sapnap caught a flash of purple beneath Quackity’s collar, relatively well-hidden— but not well-hidden enough.
“Fun night?” he waggled his eyebrows, laughing, “Should I be jealous of Karl?”
“You think Karl could do this?” Quackity questioned, amused, “Dude got tired after two rounds, I went to Techno’s.”
Sapnap choked on his water. Quackity continued on, not noticing his fiancé’s surprise, “It was a mistake, I don’t think my ass will ever recover.”
“Wait, what?”
Now was Quackity’s time to be confused, brows drawing together, “Did I not tell you about Techno?”
“No, you didn’t!” There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity, “When did that start?”
“Few weeks after L’Manberg got exploded?” He estimated, “Saved me from a zombie, said my fighting was shit, and now we just message each other whenever we want to throw down.”
“And you said rounds?”
“Piglin stamina, man,” Quackity let out a low whistle, shaking his head, “he can go for hours.”
Sapnap went quiet, thinking over everything he had been told, “Are you looking for a third?”
(“Sapnap wants to spar with us,” Quackity offered later that day, dodging a fist aimed at his stomach. Techno paused, considering the idea.
“It would be fun to spar someone who’s actually able to go against me.”
Quackity scoffed, offended, “You wish you were at my level.”)
—
Tommy would like to state for the record that he wasn’t even entering with the intention to steal anything this time.
He was not snooping, nor looking to see if there was anything that could go missing that Techno wouldn’t notice; he was just looking for a scarf he left behind, that was all. Tommy was definitely not swiping a golden apple or a diamond block from another as he went through the chests, and definitely was completely in the right as he entered Techno’s room without the piglin’s permission, or Techno even knowing he was there at all.
He would know later, of course. He always seemed to figure out when Tommy… visited, despite the latter’s best efforts at hiding his presence.
The room was simplistic, a bed here, a bookshelf there, a large kiddie pool empty and leaning up against a dresser. Tommy looked through the closet, trying to see if he could find the scarf he had misplaced during exile. Coming up empty-handed, he considered alternative places— the dresser, everything inside monochrome and nothing like the thing Tubbo had made for him when Niki was teaching them how to knit. A secret room behind the bookshelf, though he gave up halfway through pulling the books for a secret lever.
He dropped to his knees and looked in the last place he could think, beneath Techno’s bed, and was surprised to see a trunk. Maybe it was his stuff, tucked away to be ignored, so Tommy saw no harm in… giving it a look through. It was locked, but a lock was no match for TommyInnit’s incredible lockpicking expertise, his dexterous and skillful hands— he broke the lock with his axe and popped the trunk open, peering in.
There were a variety of things Tommy had never seen Techno wield or wear before, from knick knacks— to clothing that seemed to be the oddest combination of shirts and jackets. They didn’t look like they would fit the piglin’s frame, meant for a leaner individual— baby clothes? Tommy laughed gleefully, holding up a jacket; no way, were these actually Techno’s baby cl—
Wait a minute. He recognized the jacket, blue with white stripes going down their arms, a high collar and a zipper down the front; this jacket had been strewn about nearly everywhere in the server, a victim of its owner’s notorious undressing and need to be shirtless.
What was one of Quackity’s jackets doing under Techno’s bed?
He glanced back down into the chest, taking in the contents. A book that, upon further investigation, was actually a Spanish to English dictionary; a single quill made from a golden feather, stashed neatly in a carved box that seemed to be made for it; and a diamond axe, an intricate design carved and burned into its handle and a small smile of sharp corners stamped at the underside of the knob.
Tubbo had shown Tommy a few pictures, of things that had happened during his exile. The Butcher Army was one of them (Tubbo had grimaced, admitting that it wasn’t one of his smartest moments), and he had seen Quackity working on this very axe in a picture Tubbo had gotten of him and Fundy, caught off-guard and smiling wide. So what was Quackity’s axe doing in a chest under Techno’s bed?
The sound of the front door creaking alerted him to Techno’s return. He put everything back in the trunk and pushed it under the bed, cleaning off his knees as he stood. Tommy smiled when the trapdoor opened, revealing the owner of the house, and he narrowed his eyes, suspicious as to what the boy was doing in his room.
“Techno!” Tommy greeted, completely, one hundred percent casual. He watched Techno’s internal, silent debate of whether he wanted to confront Tommy or just kick him out; his smile grew wider at the loud sigh Techno let out, the latter deciding he had enough patience to speak to Tommy today.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“Good to see you too, big man. How’ve you been?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Tommy.”
“I thought we were past it by now, Technoblade, I really don’t know why you’re still surprised when I show up—”
He had to relent, Tommy did have a point. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Well, you see, I misplaced something, and then I got to looking around all casual, as I do, and why do you have Big Q’s shit?”
“Heh?”
“Under your bed,” Tommy clarified, gesturing vaguely in its area.
“Why were you looking under my bed?”
He rolled his eyes. “I already said it, I misplaced my scarf—”
“It’s not here. I threw out all your stuff.”
Tommy scowled, but accepted the answer and headed downstairs with Techno. He paused in front of the door, visibly weighing whether his curiosity was worth possibly getting killed. It seemed he decided on an answer when he refused to leave, instead turning to Techno and posing his question, “Why d’you have Big Q’s axe?”
“He gave it to me,” Techno quirked a brow, amused with Tommy’s disbelieving scoff, “it was a peace offering. It’s symbolic.”
“It’s shit.”
“We made him a better one.”
That made Tommy pause, an unreadable expression passing over his face, “You made him a new one?”
Techno shrugged and nodded, unsure what the problem was.
There was something here that he was missing, Tommy knew that much. But he pulled on a smile and began the trek home, turning to shout his goodbyes when he was halfway across the front yard. Techno stood by the window, watching him go; he threw a glance to Steve, who napped comfortably beside a crafting bench.
“You’re an awful guard bear, you know that, right?”
—
Dream had spent far too long in prison. He lost track of the days long ago, when he destroyed his clock and Sam refused to replace it, but Quackity’s... visits had brutally reintroduced him to the 24-hour cycle, leaving him battered and bruised, nursing his wounds only for him to come back a day later and repeating the process.
It had taken him a long time to decide on it, but he knew with each passing day that he was one step closer to saying the wrong thing and having Quackity just kill him in his cell, and Dream knew he had to improvise. He had backup plans for a reason, it would just take longer. But ensuring his survival at the cost of an extra week in prison was worth it: he needed Quackity dead, or he wouldn’t live to see his own escape.
And he had just the favor to solve his problem with.
Or at least he thought he did. But Punz came and visited after being sent to subtly check in on Techno and see if he was in the right position to accomplish the task, and by the look on his face, he didn’t have good news.
The lava was replaced and the netherite barrier was dropped, the two of them left alone as Punz admitted, “We have a problem.”
Dream shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to control himself as he snapped, “What?”
“Technoblade… probably wouldn’t kill Quackity if you asked him to.”
“Why not?” His patience was running thin, and his mind was already working to find a new way of going about his plan, seeing if there was anything he could speed up to get out sooner.
“They’re, uh,” Punz cleared his throat, not making eye contact with Dream, “I asked Bad, who found out from Sapnap that they. Uh. And then I hacked their communicator, and. Mm.”
“What?”
“Just… read the messages.” Punz held out the comm and Dream grabbed it with more force than necessary, scowling but complying with the suggestion. His scowl faltered as he read the most recent messages, confused.
<Technoblade> Still coming over tonight?
<Quackity> come here instead
<Quackity> jack manifold built a restaurant nearby
<Quackity> i want to try it after
“You’re joking,” he stated, “Is this real? Are they working together or something?”
<Quackity> u up?
<Quackity> im antsy for the casino opening tmrw
<Technoblade> And what am I supposed to do about it?
<Quackity> u know ;)
<Technoblade> Don’t be cringe
<Technoblade> I’ll be there in 10
Dream scrolled through, pointedly silent as he took in the messages sent back and forth.
<Quackity> im not gonna b able to walk right for a week dude wtf
<Technoblade> I told you to stretch beforehand
"They’re just sparring,” He reasoned, unable to consider the alternative. But Quackity and Techno, sparring? There was no fight between them, Quackity couldn’t last a minute.
<Quackity> im omw i left my jacket at ur house again
<Technoblade> I’m not home, just let yourself in
“There’s also, uh, the one between Quackity and Sapnap.” Dream wasn’t even sure if he wanted to, but he had to see if there was a hint of this being anything other than what it appeared to be.
<Quackity> so many regrets
<Sapnap> sup
<Quackity> i finally rode him
<Quackity> i hate him again
<Quackity> everything hurts
<Sapnap> LOL
<Quackity> y are u laughing at my pain
<Quackity> this is the real reason why i tried to kill him
“This can’t be real,” Dream decided, returning to the messages between Techno and Quackity, and more incredulous with each line read, “‘I’ll stop by tomorrow and drop your clothes off’? ‘You were great last night, want to go again tonight?’ ‘Can you show me what you did with your feet again’!?”
Punz let him stew in his disbelief, looking almost as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders with the admission of what he now knew about the two. As silence fell upon them he asked quietly, “What do you wanna do about it?”
Dream stayed silent, considering his options for a moment. “Tell Phil I want to see him. I think I have something he wants to know about.”
(“I fucking hate your horse.”
“Carl is one of the best horses—”
“He hates me, and he’s an asshole,” Quackity interrupted, “and I’m never riding him again. I should have went through with the threat and killed him.”
“I would kill you.”
“He’s a horrible horse!”)
—
Phil knew that Techno and he weren’t family.
That did not mean they weren’t close to one another; on the contrary, Phil considered Techno his closest friend on the server, and knew that Techno thought of him the same way. They were allies in times of war and close companions in times of peace. They had each other’s backs through thick and thin, regardless of any disagreements that might come up between them, and Phil would sacrifice anything to keep Techno safe and happy.
So it stung, slightly, when he had to learn about Techno’s... relationship, from Dream of all people. The guy was in prison and still heard about it before Phil did, gloating that he knew about Techno and Phil’s weaknesses, their attachments. Sure, they didn’t talk about everything with each other— Niki had called them “emotionally constipated”, and Ranboo nodded along as he laughed in delight at what he considered an accurate description— but he figured Techno would tell him about something as important as an attachment Dream could threaten? About… someone, as important as that?
He had mulled over the information he had been given for days, not confronting Techno on it. Phil was unsure on how he was meant to even bring it up, knowing that they both avoided talking about anything deep like the plague; but it had to be addressed, in part because of the guilt he felt at knowing something Techno obviously did not intend for him to know, and partially because it was something that Techno cared about, and he wanted to provide his support, regardless of how… unexpected the reveal was.
Phil might not be his dad, but that sure didn’t mean Techno didn’t want his validation, whether or not he was willing to admit it to himself.
That was what led to Phil poking his head over the bridge that connected their houses, making eye contact with Techno as the latter looked up from feeding the fishes. It was best to get this over with. Be blunt, but gentle.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Phil winced, already aware of how bad that sounded, “It isn’t anything serious.”
Techno furrowed his brows but nodded, standing up and setting the remainder of the fish food to the side. They settled down in Techno’s living room, Phil deciding that it would be best to confront his friend in his home territory. Make him feel comfortable, and all. He shifted on the couch, clearing his throat.
“I know we don’t… talk about important stuff, a lot,” he began, noting any changes to Techno’s expression— he was listening intently, keeping his attention as focused on Phil as he could as the man fumbled for his words, “but I wanted you to know that if you had— have— anything you want to talk about, I’m always here to lend an ear.”
Techno blinked, and the two sat in an awkward silence; Phil could tell that Techno was conflicted, unsure what he was supposed to say before deciding, rather lamely, “Uh, same?”
This wasn’t going to be easy.
“I just mean that if there’s anything you want to tell me,” he continued, pointedly making eye contact, “about anything, or anyone, I’m all ears.”
“Thanks?”
They fell into silence once again.
“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”
He looked surprised, “What, like right now?”
“Why not?” Phil countered, and it seemed like a valid point as Techno considered it for a moment, ultimately responding with a shrug,
“I can’t think of anything you don’t know about.”
“Nothing? Nothing at all?” He pressed. Be blunt.
“It seems like you have something in mind,” Techno pointed out drily, to which Phil hastily defended himself, shaking his head,
“I’m not gonna push you to talk about it, mate—”
“What is there to even talk about—?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m open to listening to whatever you have to say—”
“See, it sounds like there’s something you want me to talk about—”
“— at your own pace—”
“— but I have no idea what you’re referring to—”
“My house is a— shit, what was it called? A safe space for you to talk about whatever you want to talk about—”
“Just tell me what you want to know about!”
“I wanna know why you didn’t tell me you were seeing Quackity!” That was too direct, Techno was obviously retreating from the conversation with how he fell silent. Phil hastened to correct his mistake, “I told you when I started dating Kristin, and I just thought we were close enough that you would tell me if there was someone… important, in your life.”
Technoblade never died, but at the expression on his face, it seemed like he was considering making the statement false. Phil continued, trying to get himself out of the hole he dug but only digging himself in further, “You don’t have to tell me anything else, I just… wanted you to know that I’m here for you, mate. I don't know if it's serious, or just a, like, friends with benefits thing, but I'm here for you.”
He knew that expression on Techno’s face, undoubtedly making the same one on his own. Was it possible for him to escape his problems by running more away to the Arctic again? Double retirement?
Techno took a moment to collect his thoughts, choosing his words carefully, “Where did you… learn this?”
Phil winced, but knew that nothing good would come from lying, “Dream. He wanted to see me, and started threatening Quackity if you, uh, ‘didn’t keep him in check’.”
“How many people think I’m... dating him?”
“Well, it’s me, Dream, I think Punz told him, I’m pretty sure I heard Tommy and R— wait, think you’re dating him?”
Techno let out a deep sigh, nodding, “I think we need to have a talk with a few people.”
—
“So you’re… not dating?” Ranboo asked on behalf of the group, demanding clarification for the fifth time that day. Techno gave a firm nod, and he continued, hesitant, “I accidentally, uh, walked in on you grooming his wings, once.”
He pointedly did not make eye contact with Phil, fully aware of the soft gaze that would be directed at him at the idea of having another person who considered him a part of their ‘flock’. Quackity took over, explaining, “It can be done between friends, too.”
Tubbo cocked his head to the side, new questions coming to mind, “How’d the two of you become friends?”
They glanced to each other, uncertain. The official story was that Techno had saved Quackity from mobs and from there they formed a hesitant peace that developed into friendship, but the real story… Quackity nodded, giving him permission to admit the truth. “He hid out at my house as a duck for, like, a month after the execution.”
“He tried to kill me when I healed enough to become human again,” Quackity added cheerfully, ignoring the varying levels of confusion and concern on everyone’s faces, “but eventually he fell for my devilishly good looks—”
“This is literally why people thought we were dating, stop that—”
“And we became... friends.”
Techno tilted his head side to the side, considering, “Friends is a strong word.”
“Sworn enemies,” he corrected, deadpan, “Technoblade, my loathed. My archnemesis. My despised.”
“You wish you were my sworn enemy—”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Tommy interrupted before they could devolve into banter, surprising everyone involved with an insightful question. Techno muttered his response, glaring as Tommy leaned forward dramatically, cupping his ear in the universal signal to ‘fucking speak louder’; he cleared his throat and repeated himself, barely above a whisper,
“I forgot.”
Silence fell over them, before being interrupted by a delighted cackle from the three kids, varying levels of discernable ‘He forgot!’ s scattered about their laughter. Phil, for the most part, was able to contain his amusement, standing up and clapping Techno on the shoulder in a silent ‘I’m happy for you, son’ that both of them would later deny ever occurred.
The night continued on, and they devolved into stories around the fire, Quackity recounting about the look of disappointment on Sapnap’s face when he realized they were sparring partners, and how he had been invited to spar with them, Techno offhandedly mentioning that he and Quackity were racing each other to see who could become fluent quicker in Spanish and Piglin, respectively. To the delight of the two of them, Ghostbur drifted in with an admittance that he knew about their friendship the whole time, unaware that the others hadn’t known.
In the comfort of Techno’s home, Tubbo fell asleep with his head on Ranboo’s shoulder, Tommy’s limbs strewn across the two of them with a makeshift pillow of a rather shittily-knitted green scarf beneath him. Ghostbur had done his best impression of a living person, gleefully whispering about his attempt before saying goodbye for the evening, not needing to sleep like the others. Phil was seated on the recliner— “He has an old man chair,” Quackity muttered, half-delirious and thinking himself the funniest man on earth in his tired state— with his wings wrapped around him in a mimicry of a blanket.
Techno blinked slowly, sleep threatening to overtake him in the coziness of the scene around him; the fireplace was on its last dwindling embers, and those who he cared about— those he would admit it to, and those he would never give the satisfaction of telling his true feelings to— were visibly safe and comfortable, all in one spot. Beside him, Quackity shifted beneath his blankets, glancing over and making eye contact with the only other person awake.
“I expected you to be the first one asleep,” Techno muttered, unsure what else to say. Quackity huffed, a quiet sound of amusement,
“That’s me, always defying expectations.”
Techno stared at him, and the two of them snorted in each other’s drowsy states, neither able to be taken seriously with half-lidded eyes and slurred words. Silence fell over them as they picked their respective directions to zone out into, broken by an explanation that was not expected to be offered,
“‘m waiting to see when Karl gets home.” Quackity yawned, glancing at his communicator again before returning his attention to Techno, “aren’t you going mansion-hunting or some shit tomorrow morning? Go to sleep, dumbass.”
"Don't worry about it," Techno let out a noncommittal hum, waving off the concern, “I’ll stay up with you.”