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Bitter feelings are not new to Technoblade. If anything, bitterness seems to be rather common in his day-to-day life, an uncomfortable pit swelling in his chest time and time again. He has felt the bitter sting of defeat whenever he failed a mission. He has felt the bitter stab of anger whenever he was scolded by his superiors for not being the perfect and mindless weapon he was supposed to be. He has now felt the bitter punch of betrayal.
And boy, does betrayal taste the most bitter out of all.
Technoblade has never been a perfect superhero. He is not approachable by the public and the media, and he is rather brutal on the battlefield while most superheroes show more mercy than they should. His boar skull mask and his blood red cape paint an intimidating picture that most tend to shy away from, especially considering his unorthodox methods of heroism.
But when it comes to fighting a villain, well, Technoblade is the best of the best. His ability to enchant his physical attributes and the items in his hands has made him nearly unstoppable while he is riding the high of adrenaline. It takes a lot of energy, but the payoff is worth the cost of expending his energy.
Maybe he was a little too good at fighting villains, now that he thinks about it. He had apprehended nearly every single villain to ever face him in a fight, none able to stand up to Technoblade’s might. Technoblade was good at what he did, and that’s why his teammates turned on him.
He had been so naive, so trusting, because he thought he had found companionship in his fellow heroes despite them butting heads over how a villain should be apprehended.
But it turns out, his so-called teammates will do anything for a little extra pocket money, a little extra sway over the city.
They had received news of a villain holding several people hostage in a huge office building that belongs to a company that supplies the heroes with equipment. The villain had been demanding the equipment, the prototypes, the finished products, even ideas that haven't been engineered yet.
Technoblade, alongside a team of three, had gone to put a stop to the villain’s plans.
But when they arrived at the location, there had been nothing amiss.
And when Technoblade questioned his allies, they attacked him.
It had not been an easy fight. Technoblade had been out on patrol a lot recently, and so his energy was rather low at the start of the fight before he even activated his enchantments. It didn’t help that he was fighting people who knew his fighting style inside and out, people who he fought alongside once upon a time, people who shared tips and tricks to improve Technoblade’s skills.
But Technoblade emerged from the battle alive, victory bitter on his tongue, blood staining him from head to toe, three more numbers added to his body count.
News will reach the Headquarters soon enough. The fight was in a public space in the evening. People had witnessed the fight, and gossip spreads like wildfire no matter where you go. News will reach Headquarters, and Technoblade will be labeled as a traitor to the heroes because it had been a trap.
Headquarters had set him up. The extra patrols, the three teammates when Technoblade has only ever teamed with one hero at a time, the public setting, the setting being so far from the Headquarters. It doesn’t matter if the heroes attacked him first, it only matters that Technoblade survived and they didn’t.
What worries Technoblade is that Headquarters knows where he lives.
Technoblade is not afraid to pack up and leave everything he has ever known, he has done it several times in his short life, he has never been so attached to one place to feel saddened by leaving it. No, that’s not the problem here.
The problem is that he has two little brothers. Two little brothers that are minors and rely solely on Technoblade to take care of them.
Technoblade was not a hero because he believed in righteous justice or whatever esoteric concepts that the hero organizations like to preach. Technoblade was a hero because he was given an opportunity to make a lot of money while ensuring his brothers had a safe place to live.
The Headquarters knows where Technoblade lives. The Headquarters had set up a trap on the outskirts of the city to have Technoblade killed publicly without endangering too many civilians. And when that trap inevitably failed, Technoblade was too far away to reach both the Headquarters and his residence in a timely manner, especially while injured.
And he is injured, he thinks bitterly as he stumbles into an abandoned warehouse to hide from the eyes of the public. Burns mar his arms and face, first degree at best. Lacerations litter his body, a particularly nasty one slicing his stomach open from his navel to his right hip, another cutting through his eyebrow to the top of his left cheek, and he suspects that he has lost the use of his left eye. He is almost positive that he’s rocking a concussion, if the dizziness, foggy and hazy vision, throbbing headache, and nausea are anything to go by.
He’s… He’s in trouble.
The only thing he has going for him right now is his identity, but that won’t be a luxury he has for much longer. Despite the slice to his eye, his mask was not fully destroyed in the fight. Only the top left portion was chipped off, the rest sitting securely over his facial features.
It’s not particularly helpful, but Technoblade needs a win right now, and this is the best he can currently think of.
The warehouse is dark and reeks of sewage. Technoblade picks a wall that doesn’t look like it will infect his injuries in two seconds and presses his back to it, sliding down the wall. He has to call Wilbur, he has to warn him. He’s only sixteen, he won’t understand what’s going on until it’s too late. Technoblade fishes for his phone, a trembling hand snaking into a hidden pocket on the inside of his cape. What he pulls out is a mangled mess of glass and steel.
Well… So much for that.
Technoblade heaves for breath as he pushes himself back up, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He has to try and make it back home, he knows he won’t make it before officials from Headquarters take his brothers into custody, but he has to at least try! His brothers are too young to deal with the nonsense of the Hero Organization without jeopardizing themselves!
Technoblade takes a step forward and nearly falls back to the ground when a wave of dizziness threatens to sweep him off his feet. He’ll never make it to them in this condition, but he has to try, he cannot give up here. Technoblade never dies, he has to keep going, he has–
“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” a familiar voice chortles.
Technoblade bites back the urge to sigh.
Technoblade was a very talented hero who was able to apprehend almost every single villain he ever came across. In fact, there has only ever been one villain that has escaped Technoblade’s wrath and lived to tell the tale.
And he’s standing behind the former hero.
Technoblade turns around on unsteady legs to come face to face with the Angel of Death, a masquerade mask that’s supposed to represent a crow settled securely on his face, wings tucked neatly to his back, his villain get-up as pristine and neat as always.
The Angel of Death is a thorn in every hero’s side, slipping from the Organization’s grasp time and time again just to keep tormenting them with bank robberies here and bomb threats there. He is terribly eccentric in everything he does, taunting the heroes with threats of terrorism in one portion of the city just to appear in a different district altogether.
The heroes believe his ability revolves around luck, seeing as how the villain always seems to escape their grasp, always seems to be in the right place at the right time, always walks away from a fight injured only to return good as new mere days later.
Technoblade, however, knows that the Angel’s ability is far more annoying than simple luck. If it had been luck, there would have been bad luck cropping up alongside the good, and while one could argue that the heroes failing to capture the Angel could be the theorized bad luck, Technoblade knows better.
The Angel of Death’s ability is death defiance.
…Literal death defiance.
And how does he know this? Well, Technoblade had chopped the man’s head off one time. It had been late at night in some secluded alleyway, completely hidden from the public’s eye. There is no footage, but Technoblade knows his blade had sliced through the man’s neck, and Technoblade knows he saw the body pick up its laughing severed head and wave at him before darting off.
It’s something straight out of a bad horror movie, especially since his fellow heroes never believed him when he told them that particular story.
Since that night, Technoblade had given up on actively pursuing the Angel of Death. Did he fight him when the opportunity sprung up? Absolutely, he had to prove to his stubborn teammates that the Angel is far more dangerous than they originally thought. But it’s hard to keep fighting an impossible battle against someone who isn’t even that bad.
Because the Angel of Death is far from the worst villain Technoblade has had to deal with. His methods are extreme and destructive, but Technoblade has done his research; this guy is a glorified Robinhood; he steals from the rich and redistributes that money to the poor. He threatens to blow up the buildings of corrupt corporations, and those bombs only ever go off when the building has been evacuated. He’s got the bird symbolism and everything!
Unfortunately, he’s terribly annoying. And murderous towards heroes.
He stands before Technoblade now, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side, an unnerving smile stretched across his face. Why he’s in some disgusting and abandoned building, Technoblade doesn’t know, but that hardly matters right now.
“Listen,” Technoblade grunts, his voice raspy and pained, “I am not in the mood to deal with you.”
“I don’t know, mate,” the Angel snickers. “You seem to be doing pretty well right now, I’d say.”
“You have a very skewed sense of “well” then, old man,” Technoblade retorts. The Angel’s smile falls away from his face.
“You must not be thinking straight,” he murmurs in a low and dangerous voice, “because I know you’re not trying to antagonize me, right mate?”
Technoblade wheezes out a laugh. Look at this guy, trying to be so intimidating to him of all people. The same guy that rambled about how much he loves his wife to Technoblade during one of their fights.
“Bruh,” Technoblade chuckles, “if you won’t kill me, my injuries will.”
And the Angel must be right about Technoblade’s thought process not working as it should, because Technoblade swears he sees something almost like concern flit over what little of his face that Technoblade can see before he smiles once more. “And why is that, Blade? Who could’ve possibly done this to you? It’s not like you to get so beat up in a fight.”
Technoblade blinks, confusion replacing the witty and dark amusement he felt just moments ago. Is it just him, or does the Angel sound angry? Technoblade would have thought he would be glad to see the heroes turning on one of their own–especially Technoblade, who regularly gives the Angel a hard time.
But why should Technoblade even care, at this point? The Angel likely won’t let him leave, to seek medical attention, call for help, go home to his brothers, whatever the reason. And it’s not like Technoblade can even beat him in a fight to begin with, never mind with injuries of this scale. He’s probably going to die here, he realizes, and the Angel will be the last person he sees.
If Technoblade is one thing, he is spiteful. Spite to survive in a world that hates him is what drove him to heroism in the first place.
Bitter spitefulness drives Technoblade to answer the Angel’s question, because he knows the Angel will use this information to further torment the heroes, and Technoblade is certainly not on good terms with them anymore. “My teammates,” he answers, coughing in an attempt to relieve the dryness from his throat. “They didn’t like my methods, so they decided to kill me. They set up a trap, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.”
Saying it out loud makes everything feel worse. Shame curls low in his gut, flushing his cheeks and ears red with humiliation. Technoblade had been tricked. It had been such a simple trick, too. He might have killed the ones who ambushed him, but at the end of the day, they will have taken him down with them.
He tells the Angel as much, tilting his head back against the wall as a self-deprecating grin spreads across his face. What’s the point in trying to protect himself anymore? The Angel will either finish him off or let Technoblade bleed out. So what if he bares his throat, the Angel taking the time to slit it would be a mercy.
“I don’t understand,” the Angel mutters, “you were the best they had. You could stand your ground against anyone and win. You would have bested me a thousand times over if not for my gift. Why would they get rid of you?”
Technoblade flops a hand at him, his eyes falling shut. “It’s as you said, I’m too good.”
The Angel doesn’t say anything, the only noise in the warehouse being the sound of Technoblade’s labored breathing. He is going to die here, but the Angel will be with him as he takes his final breaths. Maybe, just this once, the Angel can show a shred of mercy.
Technoblade might not be able to save his brothers, but an unkillable villain that plays the role of a modern day Robinhood can.
“Can…” Technoblade falters, because it’s really hitting him now. He’s going to die here. He will never get to teach Wilbur how to drive, or hear another one of his songs, or get to bake a batch of burnt cookies with him at the end of every month. He will never get to see little Tommy grow up, or to help him pursue his dreams of becoming an actor, or celebrate his eleventh birthday that’s just around the corner.
He’s leaving his brothers all alone in a world that has done nothing but hurt them again and again.
The Angel lets out a questioning hum, prompting Technoblade to continue with a voice that’s a little too thick and a little too shaky to be normal. “Can you… I’ve got little… little brothers.”
He hears the Angel inhale sharply. “How old?”
“Sixteen and ten,” Technoblade answers. “Wilbur and Tommy. The… The Headquarters knows about them. They’re… They’re going to…”
He can’t say it. Everything feels so distant and foggy, sharp pain dulling as he slips further and further away from the grips of consciousness. He doesn’t want to say it anyway, because saying it will make it real.
“Where are they?” The Angel demands, and oh, right, he’s still here.
Technoblade gives the villain his address, because this is his only hope. The Organization will hurt them for sure, in one way or another, but the Angel has always been a wildcard, and Technoblade has no other choice but to take a gamble.
It pays off. “I’ll get them out of there,” the Angel tells him, and Technoblade feels the last of his strength being sapped by the wave of relief that comes with the Angel’s words. His legs buckle under his weight, and he slides back down the wall.
He feels a hand press against his shoulder, hears the Angel say something else, but Technoblade is already slipping away. He might be dying in an old and disgusting warehouse after being jumped by people he thought he could trust, but if this is the price he has to pay just to keep his brothers safe, Technoblade will pay it every single time without fail.
Consciousness comes slowly to Technoblade. It comes in the form of little sounds reaching his ears, in the acknowledgement of a soft surface underneath his back and a warmth cocooning his body, in the dull ache in his head and abdomen and the stinging in his arms.
When he blinks open his eyes–no, eye, he can’t actually open his left one–and sees the roof of what can only be a bedroom, he is very surprised to find that he is, in fact, alive.
“Ouch,” he croaks, just to relish in the fact that he can, only to hear a startled yelp in reply.
“Holy shit, what the fuck!”
Technoblade turns his head to the side, wincing at the numerous cracks he feels popping in his neck, and finds a blond man staring at him with wide blue eyes.
“You were out cold literally two seconds ago!” The man accuses, jabbing a finger at him as if that will make a difference to the fact that Technoblade is certainly awake now. “Jesus Christ , you scared the shit out of me!”
Technoblade stares. “Sorry?”
“No, no, don’t be–ugh! Never mind!” The man grumbles to himself, stepping towards the bed Technoblade is currently lying in. “It’s good to see you awake,” he says, giving the former hero a small smile as he sits on a chair right next to the bed. “How are you–”
The man is interrupted by the sound of the door behind him slamming open. Technoblade looks past him to see–to see–
“Techno!” Tommy cries, and Technoblade’s heart leaps for joy at the sight of his youngest brother. His hair is a mess of waves and curls, his big blue eyes are welling with tears, his little feet are pounding against the floor as he rushes for Technoblade’s bed, and Technoblade couldn’t be happier to see him alive and well.
“Tommy!” Technoblade gasps in reply, ignoring the sharp twinge in his abdomen as he reaches out shaking arms towards his little brother. Tommy leaps into his arms, his elbow hitting Technoblade right in the wound in his stomach, and the corresponding white-hot agony steals the breath in Technoblade’s lungs but it doesn’t matter because Tommy is here and he’s safe!
“Tommy,” the man scolds, but he’s smiling at them as Tommy makes himself at home next to Technoblade, clambering over his form to tuck himself underneath his right arm, his little head resting on his chest, his blond curls tickling the underside of Technoblade’s chin. Technoblade holds him tightly despite his protesting muscles.
He’s here, he’s alive, and Technoblade couldn’t be more grateful. He didn’t think he would ever see Tommy again, not after he asked the Angel to…
To…
Technoblade’s gaze snaps to the blond man, eyes widening when the man just gives him an all too familiar grin.
“You’re…” Technoblade utters, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish.
“Techno?”
Wilbur stands in the doorway to the room, a hand resting on the doorframe, glasses askew on his face, mouth open in a gape, and suddenly it doesn’t matter who the blond man is, because there’s Wilbur.
Technoblade holds out an arm for him, and that’s all the boy needs as he darts into the room in a similar fashion to Tommy, launching himself at Technoblade to curl into his other side, burying his head into Technoblade’s shoulder and sobbing.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay! I thought you would never wake up!”
Technoblade smiles, wrapping his free arm around Wilbur’s shoulders. “What did I always tell you?”
“Technoblade never dies,” Tommy answers with a giggle.
“That’s right,” Technoblade says, pulling his brothers just a little bit closer simply because he can. “Technoblade never dies.”
Hugging his little brothers has never felt so good. Technoblade might be the eldest sibling–and therefore, the one that must, by universal law, torment his younger siblings with petty words and even pettier actions–but he loves his brothers more than words could possibly describe.
He looks over Wilbur’s head at the blond man, unsure how to feel about the fond expression on his face.
“Thank you, Angel,” Technoblade tells him sincerely, because that is the Angel of Death, without a doubt, and he helped his brothers when he had no reason to. He is only proven right when the man’s smile widens.
“It was the least I could do for my favorite hero,” he replies, and oh, Technoblade does not have the mental capacity to properly process those words right now.
But there’s one thing still nagging at him, so Technoblade decides he might as well ask, “How did you pull off finding them while also helping me?”
The Angel smirks. “Mate, I’m a married man. I had help.”
“Phil’s wife is Tommy’s teacher,” Wilbur mumbles, to which the Angel squawks. “Kristin Minecraft. You remember her, right? She was the one with the cupcakes at the open house.”
Technoblade does remember her, to his own surprise. She had been very sweet, if not a little chaotic, when the siblings met her just a few weeks before Tommy and Wilbur’s classes at the local school started. She and Tommy had clicked really well, which had endeared her to Technoblade immediately seeing as how most of Tommy’s teachers cannot stand him.
“Wilbur,” the Angel–or Phil, Technoblade guesses–whines. “I was trying to keep it a mystery!”
“Techno would’ve figured it out eventually,” Wilbur says, and Technoblade feels unbearably affectionate at the pride he can hear in Wilbur’s voice.
“Children, the lot of you,” Phil grumbles playfully. “Always ruining my fun.”
“I’m an adult,” Technoblade defends, to which Phil snorts.
“Okay, but how long have you been an adult?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because if you’re not at least twenty-five, you’re not actually an adult.”
Technoblade refuses to answer, shoving his face into Wilbur’s hair.
“Mate,” Phil sighs, all the playfulness from before fading away. “Tell me you’re at least twenty-five.”
“I’m definitely at least twenty-five,” Technoblade mutters, peeking up to gaze at a very concerned Phil.
“He’s lying!” Tommy, the snitch, accuses. “He’s only nineteen!”
Phil looks like he’s going to be sick. Good. Suffer. Maybe it will save Technoblade from his mortification.
“You’re nineteen?” the villain asks, and Technoblade, seeing no point in lying when Tommy will just call him out, nods.
“And the heroes knew the whole time you were under their employment?”
Technoblade nods again, although he’s a little confused as to why that matters. He only grows more confused when Phil stands from the chair with a furious glare on his face.
“Boys,” he says, his voice venomous and icy, “I’ve got a few errands to run. Kristin will be home soon. Be good, and take care of your brother.”
And with that, the Angel of Death leaves Technoblade alone in what is presumably his house with his two little brothers.
“Ten bucks says he’s going to blow up the Headquarters,” Wilbur says.
“Heh?” Technoblade looks down at him, beyond confused at this point. “You really think he’s going to do that over my age?”
“He was already planning to do it,” Tommy chirps from his other side, oblivious to Technoblade’s growing alarm. “He showed us the blueprints of the Headquarters!”
Phil did what?
“Guys,” Technoblade utters, “I can’t just let him blow up the Headquarters, c’mon–”
“NO!” Wilbur and Tommy shout, their arms flinging around Technoblade’s stomach, leaning further into his sides to keep him pinned.
“You’re not even a hero anymore!” Wilbur tells him.
“Yeah!” Tommy agrees. “No more heroing!”
“I thought you guys liked me as a hero,” Technoblade mutters.
“No,” Wilbur huffs. “Tommy liked your job because you were on TV a lot. I’ve always hated it.”
“Wilbur…” Technoblade murmurs, his heart clenching in his chest as Wilbur shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “You’re not a hero anymore! You don’t need to save them!”
And… well, Wilbur isn’t wrong, but…
It feels so weird to know that Phil, the Angel of Death, is plotting another annoying scheme. It feels even weirder to not be trying to stop him.
And besides, Phil only left after hearing about Technoblade’s age and the fact that the heroes knew from the beginning that he was younger than most–not a real adult, according to the villain. Phil also nursed him back to health and took in his brothers despite Technoblade trying to kill him several times.
“You’re right. I’m not a hero anymore,” Technoblade hums, relaxing into the embrace of his siblings. “I guess I’ll just have to stay here…” he adds playfully.
“Oh no, what a disaster,” Wilbur deadpans, to which Technoblade and Tommy laugh.
Karma, Technoblade thinks as he listens to his brothers giggle about villains and mass terrorism. The heroes turned their backs on Technoblade, tried to kill him when he was weak and secluded, and would have done the same to his siblings had Phil not been in the right place at the right time. If the price for being so cowardly is to lose their Headquarters, then it is not in Technoblade’s jurisdiction to try and put a stop to that. No, he thinks he is quite okay with lying in this comfortable bed with his brothers pressed close to his sides, perfectly safe from the outside world.
“Oh, Phil is going to try and adopt us, by the way,” Wilbur says.
“He’s going to what?”