Chapter Text
Tommy heaves out the last of the stolen golden apples, crying in pain from the raging fever that burns through him. He looks down at his feet, willing them to move to allow him to get help. They do not move. They haven't moved since he first carved out his hideaway. They turned a sickly grey with black chare scattered across the dead legs. Trudging through the Antarctic weather with just a shoe and thin socks caused the frostbite. Tommy knew that his feet and lower legs were gone, no longer usable. He knew that he had to get rid of them before they became septic and killed him. He struggles to roll over to the ax he finds.
Tommy raises the ax, preparing to remove his legs to prevent more damage. He grinds his teeth and swings down hard. Tommy cries out quietly, hoping Technoblade is not home. Tommy grunts as he chops away at the dead limbs, tossing his dismembered limbs to the corner of the small cave. He is not worried about the blood loss, knowing that he has the required items to stop it.
Tommy cleans up the mess he's made in the corner, grabbing the health and regeneration pots from his bag, dumping the health potion onto the stumps, and chugs the regeneration potion. He knew that he might still die because of the strain the potions would bring to his body, but he didn't care anymore. He wants to be safe and warm.
Tommy jolts awake from falling off the misshapen bed, delirious from the developed fever that is not getting better. He teeters on the brink of sleep again, dragging his dead weight to the opposite corner of his missing limbs, curling up with the blanked he grabs. Tommy bounces between the land of the living and dead, slowly losing the battle, getting more drained and closer to the void of death.
Technoblade fumbles into his cabin, shaking the snow off his cloak. He turns around, making sure Carl, his horse, is back into the heated stables. Intruder, Find him, It's Tommy!! He's hurt! Help himhelp himhelphimhelphimhelphim. Technoblade shakes his head, "Hush, Chat. It can't be Tommy. He's in exile away from here." The voices ignored him, whispering Tommy's name.
Technoblade huffs and digs into his chests, organizing it from his rush movements before the Butcher Gang found him. He reaches into his end-chest, pulling out a spare tool he had and some resources to rebuild his armor. Technoblade finishes hammering at his armor, molding it to fit his stature, and climbs up the ladders into his attack. He flops down onto his bed, ready to sleep away the pain. He ignores Chat to the best of his abilities, hoping it is enough to sleep.
Technoblade wakes up late in the morning to a foul smell coming from the floors below. He sits up, grabbing his tools next to the bed. He stands up and climbs down the ladders, looking around his first floor, not finding anything that would cause the smell. He continues to his basement, where the scent is the strongest, confused. There is nothing that could cause the odor. He paces the cellar, thinking hard about the smell, still ignoring Chat.
Technoblade stops on top of loose rock on his floor. He doesn't remember making anything below this basement. Techno pulls out his pickaxe and mines the slab of stone. He gags at the smell that smashes into his face. He knows where the odor is coming from now. He can tell what would likely cause the smell too. He looks at the ladder that lines the hole, remembering the words Chat said when he first got home. Technoblade bristles and slides down the ladder, ready to fight the intruder.
He stops when he looks around the horribly made cave. He looks corner to corner, noticing the disturbing things, like the rotting meat in the corner to his right. He looks to his left, taking note of the ball of blankets in the opposite corner. He crouches down and inches his way closer to the bundle. He slowly pulls back the blankets to stop when he recognizes the head of hair. He takes a deep breath and rips the cloth off in one fell swoop.
He stares back at the state his brother Tommy is in. Chat screams at the corpse of Tommy, crying out to Technoblade, calling for his mistake, wanting retribution to happen to the golden child.