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The cabin was quiet, at this time of night.
A slight clink echoed throughout the room as a bottle hit against metal, taken off the still warm brewing stand as the last of the blaze powder fizzled out where it burned beneath the apparatus and set on the nearest surface, an anvil stored beside chests and an unnecessary amount of crafting tables. The second bottle followed quickly, corked and set down beside the first, and the third was held up to the window, the moonlight being used to study its color— an unnecessary step for the skilled potioneer. He brought the bottle to his nose, the slightest hint of melon wafting from the top, and silently concluded that he was satisfied with the work, lightly corking the final bottle and moving toward the ladder on the other side of the room. He stopped briefly to run his hands through Steve’s fur in a silent goodnight and checked that the front door was locked before heading up to his room.
Techno pushed open the trapdoor, setting the bottle aside carefully before pulling himself into the room entirely. He paused at the scene in front of him, his expression souring.
“You’re gonna get feathers all over my bed.”
“Steve couldn’t come up the ladder,” Purpled defended, idly carding his fingers through Quackity’s wings, “I had to make due with what I could find.”
The two seemed to have taken ‘we can rest at my house for the night in case the Eggpire tries to retaliate’ as ‘you have free reign over the house and everything in it’. Techno vaguely recognized the shirt Purpled wore as one Tommy had left behind, the red a surprising variation from his typical color palette; they had managed to find one of the first aid kits, judging by the mercenary’s rather well wrapped ankle, propped up on a pillow Techno could have sworn was from the living room.
Quackity, meanwhile, had found his way into Phil’s closet, the stolen shirt ill-fitting but its back open enough to let his wings out, one stretched across Purpled’s lap and the other relaxed, hanging off the bed. He didn’t mind the fingers going through his feathers as he lay on his stomach, his head resting on folded arms and a drowsy smile on his lips, utterly content.
“I would have preferred you trying to break the house and get Steve up here instead.” Techno picked up a golden feather from the bed, glaring at the offending thing. “At least he doesn’t shed.”
“This is discrimination,” Quackity complained, voice muffled against his arms, “speciesism. I’m shocked, Technoblade. I expected better from you.”
“Butcher Army,” Techno reminded, unbothered by the accusation; Purpled snorted at Quackity’s inability to counter the reminder, the man grumbling to himself but otherwise not arguing. The mercenary reached over to accept an offered potion, muttering his thanks and downing it in one go, grimacing at the taste as he set it on the side table beside them. Its effects were nearly instantaneous, color returning to a once pallid face, the pain in his leg already lessening to a bearable ache. He looked down when Quackity made a noise of complaint, scoffing at his insistence.
“I’m pretty sure there’s laws against child labor,” Purpled commented, nevertheless giving in and returning his attention to the outstretched wing. Quackity gave a noncommittal hum, unconcerned.
“There’s no laws in the arctic.” He lifted his head, adding on, “and anyways, you offered.”
“Yeah, before I got tired. Techno, help me out here, man,” Purpled turned to the piglin hybrid, who seemed overly invested in making sure his helmet was in peak condition before being placed on its stand; he cleared his throat and Techno looked up as if he hadn’t been listening, but a flash of guilt on his face revealed that he was really just hoping to not be dragged into the conversation. “I’m a poor, injured, innocent child.”
Techno raised a brow, “You left a full set of netherite out downstairs.”
“I’m an injured, innocent child."
“I just gave you a healing potion,” he added, and Purpled sighed, exasperated,
“I’m an innocent child!”
“You’ve killed multiple people,” Quackity piped up from the bed. A string of curses followed when he felt a harsh tug on his wing, and Purpled gave a cheeky grin at the glare sent his way.
“Oops,” he deadpanned, setting aside the plucked feather.
“You are a fucking child,” Quackity grumbled under his breath, pulling his wings in close and turning to lay on his back, “cranky as hell when you’re tired, do you need your nap time, you little piece of—”
“G’night, Purpled,” Techno interrupted, glancing over his shoulder when he heard the kid shifting around on the bed, attempting to get comfortable. They could hear as Purpled’s breathing slowed, the mercenary relaxing in the room’s newfound silence. Quackity laid still, staring at the ceiling and trying to not wake up the kid, entirely aware that he’d get a knife in his throat if he surprised him. He glanced over in the dark, able to make out Techno’s silhouette as he removed a frankly ridiculous amount of gold jewelry, setting piercings and rings down in a wooden bowl near his armor stand. When the piglin hybrid turned to him he shut his eyes, feigning sleep, but his ears focused in on the sound of footsteps drawing nearer. Quackity heard breathing far too close to his ear, and he cracked an eye open, glaring; Techno was squatted down beside the bed, studying him.
“Are you still awake?” Techno whispered, and Quackity opened his eyes to fully display his annoyance, hissing out in a similarly low volume,
“What if I said no, huh? What if your question woke me up?”
His brows furrowed lightly and he answered the question, uncertain if it was rhetorical or not, “Your breathing was uneven.”
Quackity considered his words carefully and thoughtfully, before bluntly stating,
“That’s fucking creepy, man.” He turned onto his side to face Techno fully, his wings appreciating the change in position. “What do you want?”
“I wanna sleep without getting killed in the middle of the night.”
Quackity snorted. “Wow, the mighty Blood God thinks I can kill him.”
“Contrary to popular belief,” he drawled, moving to stand, “I don’t sleep in my armor.”
“What next, the bedframe isn’t made out of the bones of orphans?”
“Oh, no, that’s true,” Techno replied, deadpan, “I have to replace my bed weekly, the dogs love to chew it up.”
Quackity huffed, caught off guard by the attempt at humor, before reassuring the man, “I’m not gonna try to kill you tonight, alright? I just wanna sleep, I’m tired as hell.”
“You barely fought.” The statement wasn’t accusatory, but simply that, a statement of fact. They had gone over the plan beforehand, and all three of them had agreed that the best decision would be for Quackity to stay on the outer edges of the fight, providing what weapons and healing potions he could to his allies, acting as support rather than attacking outright. Though a few members of the Eggpire didn’t seem to get the memo, Techno mused, as he looked over the few scrapes and bruises, eyes lingering on the bandaged forearm. Quackity seemed unbothered, waving off his words,
“‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,’” he quoted, shutting his eyes and getting as comfortable as he could be on his side. Techno grimaced, disgusted,
“That’s not what that means. And don’t quote my own brand at me.” He paused, considering, “When did you even read the Art of War, anyways?”
“When we were hunting you down,” Quackity dated it far too casually for what he was talking about, “thought it might help. Y’know, ‘know thy enemy’ and all that shit.”
“He’s just a fanboy.” Purpled interrupted with his own conclusion, turning over and opening his eyes upon the realization that the others weren’t going to sleep, or shut up, anytime soon. Quackity scoffed, offended,
“I am not a fanboy, and anyways, don’t you have like all his Hypixel mer—”
“If he kills you, just kill him back,” Purpled interrupted with his own suggestion, because he was the practical one, and certainly not because he didn’t want Quackity to finish the sentence, “you got more lives.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be embarrassing,” Techno countered, and had it been anyone other than the Blood God himself, he might have been accused of whining. “Imagine being killed by Quackity, of all people.”
“Fuck you, maybe I will kill you tonight.” There was no heat behind the threat, not even putting in the effort to open his eyes and glare. Nevertheless, Purpled tsked at his words, pointing out a catastrophic flaw in the idea.
“But that means he won’t make breakfast tomorrow.”
They could pick out the silhouette of his silent consideration in the dark, weighing the pros and cons of finally killing someone he had once hunted down for months, versus his extreme dislike of cooking for himself. Quackity sighed, coming to a decision, “you’re right. I won’t kill him.”
Techno stared down, scrutinizing him for a moment. “Switch spots with Purpled.”
“Fuck off, man, I’m not gonna kill you!” he groaned, but glanced over at Purpled to silently question if he would put up with the demand. The mercenary shrugged, unconcerned with where he ended up as long as he had the chance to sleep at some point in the night.
Quackity grumbled under his breath as he got up, letting Purpled slide over before he took the now-open position against the wall, his wings pushed up against wood. He grimaced at the feeling but said nothing, looking over to Techno to see if the bastar— the man was content with the switch. Judging by the fact that he had his back toward them now, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over to undo his boot buckles, Quackity considered their placement sufficient enough for no one to die tonight.
Techno kicked off his boots with little regard for where they ended up, leaving that a problem for Morning Technoblade. He glanced back as he fiddled with the ties on his chestplate, questioning over his shoulder, “so what’s wrong with you?”
Quackity let his head fall, not having the energy to put up with them ganging up on him and keeping himself up. “What now?”
“You’ve just been… off,” he elaborated, ever the eloquent speaker, and Purpled made a noise of vague agreement. Quackity drew his brows together, confused, and slightly offended.
“How the hell have I been off?”
“You haven’t actually tried to kill me, like, once.” Techno explained, “I fully expected you to pull out a knife and say ‘got ya’ before stabbing me to death in my sleep.”
Quackity rolled his eyes. “I don’t dedicate every waking minute to trying to kill you, man. You’re not that important to me. I have other shit in my life to worry about.”
“Butcher Army.”
“God, that was like six months ago!” he groaned, hitting his head back against the wall. He heard Purpled adjusting to get comfortable again, taking the lack of response as an indication that he might be able to sleep as he curled up with his back to Quackity, head laying on his hands and extra blankets stolen from both of the other parties, ever neutral.
The rest of Techno’s armor had been slotted away on the stand, a cover thrown over it to dim the dull glow of enchantments. He hesitated for a moment before getting in the bed, refusing to give them his back. He took a moment to study Purpled, once again relaxed and attempting to sleep, and Quackity, whose eyes had drifted off toward something in the corner of the room, spacing out and barely registering the last addition to the bed.
“Quackity,” he murmured, watching the man slowly turn his gaze to Techno, blinking and tearing his focus away from whatever thoughts had stolen his attention.
“I’m good, man,” he responded automatically, wincing when he realized Techno hadn’t asked a question. “The Egg fucked with my mind a bit, I just need to sleep it off.”
“Are you guys incapable of being quiet? Will it literally kill you or something?” Purpled groaned from between them, blearily opening his eyes to glare on either side of him.
“It’s his first sleepover, let him be,” Quackity chided, looking over in time to catch Techno rolling his eyes, unwilling to show he found the joke funny to not encourage more at his expense. He ignored the attempt. “We’re gonna paint our nails and talk about boys now, if you want to join us.”
“Yeah, sure, let’s do it,” Purpled agreed, turning his attention to his right and knowing entirely what he was doing as he asked his question. “So Q, how’re your fiancés doing?”
Quackity didn’t find it funny. “Okay, we won’t fucking talk about boys and paint our nails.”
“That’s good, I don’t think I had purple polish,” Techno said, the last comment before the three fell into quiet, all of them awake and none of them wanting to be the first to fall asleep or the one to continue the conversation. In an ironic twist, it was Purpled who spoke up, clearing his throat and indulging in his curiosity,
“What’d it promise you, then?”
“Hm?” Quackity wasn’t following.
“The Egg,” Techno clarified before, in his perpetual state of being unable to take anything seriously, cracking a joke, “I don’t know if you remember my neighbor, but Ranboo’s kinda stacked if you wanted anything.”
“Right, right,” Quackity laughed along, “I was actually thinking of turning on you guys for a block of netherite, you guessed it.”
“Really? It only took me half a stack of diamonds.”
“I was gonna do it for free.” Purpled shrugged, “or maybe ask for a MrBeast Burger, max.”
“Kids these days,” Quackity tsked, shaking his head in his dramaticized chastising, “no sense of loyalty—”
Purpled scoffed, “you’re only like two years older than me—”
“Back in my day,” Techno began, receiving twin complaints of ‘Shut up, old man!’ before he could finish his joke; he rolled his eyes, “I’m your age, Quackity.”
Quackity froze, not computing what was just revealed to him.“Wait, what?”
“Did you… not know?” Techno asked, surprised, and falling into his own minor existential crisis as Quackity had his, both of them considering what had been said. Purpled spoke right as Quackity reevaluated how old he thought every member of the server was and when Techno began to wonder if maybe he should stop hanging out with Phil so much, interrupting their crises.
“So what’d it offer you? Like, legit?”
Quackity quirked a brow, unimpressed with the casual attempt at questioning him, “right, because we’re all so close, the best of friends. Let me just tell you what my deepest desire in life is.”
Purpled sighed, exasperated. “Come on, it didn’t talk to either of us, what’d it say?”
“Wait, it didn’t?” He looked between the two, surprised to have been the only one targeted by the Egg. Techno gestured vaguely to his own head.
“Couldn’t really hear it over the noise, if it did,” he explained. “Just tell the kid what the telepathic evil Egg told you.”
Quackity stayed silent, considering the pros and cons of telling them what he had been told. There were, frankly, absolutely no pros he could think of, and only a long, long list of cons. And yet the three lay in the dark, injured and exhausted from fighting the same enemy, three unlikely allies teaming up despite their differences to go against something that had threatened them all. He stammered, trying to find the right words; his voice was far quieter than he wanted it to be as he decided how to explain the siren’s call that had reached out to him, murmuring promises that any weaker man would have succumbed to.
“It promised me a… a home, I guess.”
The admission sat heavy between them, and for a moment Quackity wondered if he hadn’t actually said it aloud, the lack of response deafening. Reassurances were already being formed in his head, humorous dismissals on the tip of his tongue and ready to drown out the moment of stupid vulnerability, but any more words got caught in his throat, refusing to be spoken. Techno beat him to it, interrupting the silence with a snort,
“Who’d want a house from a cringe Egg anyways?” The mercenary laughed between them, a short huff that would have been suppressed if they were any less tired. Techno continued through the now broken tension, “Like ‘oh, here are some guys I know, Bacon and Toast, they’re your brothers now’. What kind of family is that?”
“Wait, w— wait a minute,” Purpled began, gleeful as a realization hit him, “you’re literally a pig, yeah? And I’m fire at what I do, we’re— oh, and Quackity, you’re, you’re like a chicken or something, right?”
“I am not a chicken—”
“Oh my God, we got the whole breakfast,” Techno concluded, stopping a pillow that came swinging from behind Purpled. “Maybe we should make our own cult.”
“I fucking hate you two, I make myself vulnerable for one minute—” He raised his voice to be heard over the two as their laughter got louder, “shut the fuck up—”
“Oh, he told us to shut up, he’s getting defensive!” Purpled teased, handing back the pillow.
“Quick, go for the double kill, remind him about how bad he is at PvP,” goaded Techno, and in the single moment where he was distracted with the conversation Quackity attacked, launching a wing over to smack him in the face. Techno spluttered on feathers and Purpled laughed harder, clutching his side and trying to catch his breath, the humor of the situation being elevated by their collective exhaustion. They fell into companionable quiet as Purpled’s laughter died down, and Quackity pulled his wings in close once again, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
“Y’know, I think I’d understand if you turned on us for a hivemind.”
“Purpled, what the actual fuck.”
“I’m just saying, it would make sense!” he defended, “I was cool with everyone in the Eggpire, I get wanting to join them.”
“Didn’t you parents ever warn you against being a follower, Purpled?” asked Techno, his grin audible. Quackity picked up right after him, mimicking a middle-aged woman,
“If your friends went and joined an evil hivemind cult, would you?”
“Yes, obviously, sign me up,” Purpled responded with absolutely no hesitation, glancing over as they snorted on either side of him, amused. They dissolved into silence once more.
It lasted a whole thirty seconds before Techno got annoyed with the sound of Quackity’s constant adjusting, exasperated, “Dude, just lay down on your stomach.”
“Fuck off,” Quackity snapped, an automatic response to any situation in which he had to deal with Technoblade. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I can hear Phil in my head right now, he’s screaming at me to stop you from lying down on your wings.” Quackity narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if the statement was an exaggeration, or if he genuinely could hear Philza Minecraft in his head. He wouldn’t put it past either of them, assholes.
Begrudgingly he gave in, turning onto his stomach. One wing stretched out with its new space, golden feathers draping over the other two on the bed and hanging slightly off the edge, relaxed and free. Purpled grinned, reaching up toward the wing and studying them with the newfound proximity, muttering to himself,
“Hell yeah, free blanket.”
Quackity brought the wing up to smack his face.
Techno chuffed, his chin resting on top of Purpled’s head, an arm comfortably draped over the kid beneath the wings that now cocooned them, a welcome warmth in the arctic. It was easy to give in to the call of exhaustion that made itself known, body growing heavy in the comfort and quiet, and Techno shut his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him. All was calm for a moment, nothing but the sound of distant animals disrupting the peace they created.
His breath caught at the feeling of something sharp against the side of his throat. He cracked an eye open when the weapon didn’t immediately dig into his artery, and watched silently as Quackity drew back his hand, the almost clawlike nail leaving not a single scratch behind. They made eye contact, and for a moment neither of them spoke, the entire encounter surreal. But a grin grew on the other man’s face, drowsy and wide—
“Got ya.”
—and Quackity closed his eyes, the tips of his wings curling in behind Techno, enveloping the three of them in a gentle, feathered embrace.