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Techno’s morning starts like most of them do- groggy, stiff, and painful. The sun has just started to creep over the horizon into his room, forcing its too-cheerful light into his eyes. The animals outside are announcing their irritation at being made to wait, and Techno answers them with an incredibly dignified “hrrng.” He burrows deeper under the blankets and tells himself the animals can wait. They quiet eventually. Suspiciously. Just as he’s thinking he might be able to sneak in another hour of sleep, something crashes.
Resigned, Techno throws his blanket off and rolls into a sitting position. He regrets it immediately, but there’s no way he’s getting any work done today if he goes back under that traitorous quilt. The cold air doesn’t seep into his bones so much as it teleports inside of them, radiating out painfully like his very marrow has frozen. It’s particularly humid today, and the ache in his fingers tells of an approaching storm. Phil will want to move their weekend trading trip up to make sure they’re well stocked for a blizzard. Techno groans at the thought.
Bed abandoned, Techno stands at his mirror and gives his body a once-over. His hands, wither-black and cracking, ache. Freezing pins-and-needles static is a constant reminder of the creeping illness, radiating up his arms like he’s spent a little too long digging around in a snowbank. When he reaches for his comb he has to hold it uncomfortably tightly to keep from dropping it altogether. His braids turn out sloppy and uneven, but he’s not willing to waste the time on a second attempt.
More concerning than his hands is his face- or more specifically, his eyes. Techno hadn’t realized it until Phil pointed it out during a particularly bad flare, but the red in his irises gets duller when his Wither symptoms are acting up. At the time, they’d apparently been almost grey. Once Phil pointed it out it became impossible to ignore, and now Techno will catch Phil trying to get a look at his eyes every time he’s a little sluggish. It’s annoying , and it means Techno has to add “avoiding eye contact with Phil” to his growing list of chores today.
Speaking of his to-do list, he really needs to get started on that if he wants to have any hope of avoiding Phil’s notice. He’s usually up before dawn working on some project or another. Phil’s probably looking for him. Throwing on his only shirt without any buttons or clasps and a loose pair of pants, Techno makes his way downstairs.
First and easiest on the list is feeding the animals. Carl huffs when Techno enters the stable, clearly annoyed at the delay, but he’s easily bribed with an apple. While he’s distracted, Techno fills his food and water and looks around for anything that might have caused the crash. Everything seems to be in place, because Carl is a good horse who doesn’t start trashing his stall every time breakfast is a few minutes late. He gets an extra apple for his politeness.
The wolves are much more excited to see him, and much more impatient about being fed late. Techno grimaces when a particularly excited wolf headbutts his hand, sending sparks of pain up to his shoulder. More excited and less polite. Eventually they let him push through to the meat fridge, and they all settle down once they’ve gotten their steaks to chew on. Taking the opportunity to look around, Techno sees the source of the crash: one of the wolves has knocked over a barrel full of random items he hadn’t gotten around to sorting in his storage room yet. Scraps of leather, pieces of stone, and golden carrots litter the ground around it, and when Techno squints he even makes out an ender pearl tucked under a rabbit hide. Joy.
Just as he’s squatting to clean the mess up, Techno’s day gets worse. The crunch of snow and loud chatter gives his visitor away, because Tommyinnit has never been quiet a day in his life. Some of the dogs bark excitedly, and Techno thinks he feels a migraine coming on. He shoves the items in the barrel haphazardly, rushing to set it back to standing.
“Hey big man, the fuck are you still doing out here? Phil says you’ve gotta help me load the wagon!” Tommy crosses his arms in a move Techno’s pretty sure he’s supposed to read as intimidating, which is honestly laughable. He kind of doubts Phil actually said that, mostly because the man tends to be more hands-off when it comes to Techno and Tommy’s “brotherly feuds”, but that doesn’t change the fact that the wagon needs to be loaded and if left to his own devices Tommy will take twice as long and forget the potatoes.
“Yeah, yeah, I was just cleaning this up. Go start without me, I’ll be there in a minute.” If he’s lucky, Tommy will get bored and find something else to do and Techno can drag crops up from the basement away from prying eyes that will ask him why he’s panting lifting a sack of potatoes.
Techno is not a lucky man.
For some reason, Tommy sticks to him like honey. Techno almost thinks to ask Phil if he told Tommy to babysit him, but if he didn’t that would just raise more questions so he keeps quiet. The same can not be said of Tommy, who has been talking since they started dragging goods out of the basement. Mostly he’s telling half-true stories about his many valiant and impressive victories that Techno is really not listening to, but sometimes he has to tune in enough to field a question such as:
“Did you fuck up your wrist or something? You’re carrying that box all weird.” Techno glances down, shifts his hold into something that looks more normal and sends a wave of numbness through his fingers, and shrugs.
“Nah, I’m good. Grab the bread next, it should be at the top of this pile.”
Tommy doesn’t look like he believes him, but he turns towards the next box anyways. Relieved, Techno settles back into the rhythm. If he lets himself space out a bit, he can ignore the way the tremors in his legs are turning into full spasms- he’d been so concerned with his hands that he’d forgotten that his legs get just as bad if he ignores them. They’re nearly done loading the wagon; once that’s finished Techno just needs to get the horses ready and make sure Phil’s finished getting the paperwork in order and then he’ll be able to sit for the half-day journey to the nearby village. If he’s lucky he might get a nap in. Phil handles most of the actual trade (the villagers tend to raise their prices when they see Techno’s blackened hands), and Techno can get away with going off on his own to look for new medicines and chill away from prying eyes if he tells Tommy to guard the cart. Then it’s just another long ride home and he can finally crawl back into bed.
Of course, there will be water in the Nether before something is easy for Technoblade. Shifting the weight of the box again makes his entire arm numb and he swears, watching the box tips and then slide out of his hold completely. Tommy has just enough time to turn towards him and open his mouth in the start of a question before all of the potions shatter in a beautiful, horrible crash. It takes a moment for the particle effects to settle over the pile of glass and multicolored puddles. Techno spends an extra minute staring blankly at the way the colors mingle and mix. He doesn’t want to see Tommy’s face when he yells, “ Phil!”
Phil comes running, of course. Techno is still staring at the mess like that will fix it when Phil’s shouts of “What the fuck happened, were you guys fucking around again, those aren’t cheap to make” turn into a loaded silence. Techno should say something. His hand is still numb.
“Techno?” Phil’s voice has lost all of its irritation (he must have been busy when Tommy screamed), and now he just sounds… worried?
“Sorry Phil.” It sounds empty. He needs to fix this. Techno made this mess, he needs to clean it up. There’s not time to brew more potions before they head out, but maybe he could dip into his stores to replace some of them at least. He can fix this.
“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Right, he’d forgotten Tommy was across from him. Watching him stare at a pile of glass. Yelling for Phil. “Are your hands fucked up again or something?” And always so observant- way more than anyone gives him credit for, honestly. Techno sighs.
“Sorry, Phil,” he repeats, shaking his hand like it’ll clear the numb fog from it. All it does is send sharp pin pricks of pain up his arm. “I’m fine, just a bad hands day, I can clean this up before we go. You can see if there’s replacements in my chests. I’ve got strength at least, but I don’t know about jump boost- huh?”
Phil cuts him off with a low, irritated noise. “You were loading boxes with your hands flaring?” Techno flinches. Right, he shouldn’t have risked damaging goods like that, he at least should’ve had Tommy handling the fragiles, but then the boy would’ve noticed his hands sooner and that was exactly what Techno was trying to avoid . Techno pushes the troublesome appendages into his pockets when he notices Phil’s sharp gaze on them.
“They look pretty bad. Why didn’t you say anything?” Before Techno can answer he continues, “Right, actually, don’t answer that. I know I’m not going to like whatever reason you come up with.” He waves his hand dismissively and Techno deflates, turning his gaze back to the mess. “Tech, head back upstairs. Tommy, can you grab his meds and meet me up there?” There’s a bit of chatter, but Techno doesn’t hear it as he climbs the ladder one-handed. The numbness hasn’t faded out of his hand, and the other is starting to prickle in a way he knows means he’s not going to have either of them soon. Frustration threatens to choke him until he bites his cheek hard enough to remind his body how sensation is supposed to feel.
–
Techno has to suppress a glare when Phil appears in his room a minute later, hands full of meds. It isn’t Phil’s fault Techno was born cursed- literally, Withering is a curse for Netherborn children. Techno was lucky his Withering didn’t set in until he was a teen, already old enough to notice the signs and take off before his sounder could put him out of his misery and burn the evidence to keep it from spreading. Chronic withering isn’t contagious, but Piglins can get superstitious about it. Techno still dreams about the runt who had been born with an inky trail around his heart and grey eyes sometimes. He doesn’t usually sleep much after those dreams. Phil interrupts his reminiscing with a nudge- permission to take his hand. Like it matters. Like Techno could even put the salves on himself if he wanted to. If it were up to him he’d just curl back up into bed and wait for his stupid body to remember he’s still alive, however long that takes. Dutifully, he pushes his hand into Phil’s lap.
They’re quiet for a while, Phil rubbing the bitter smelling salve into his numb hand and Techno watching. When Phil switches to his other hand, also fully numb now, Techno breaks.
“You’re going to miss the trade window if you don’t leave soon.” Phil doesn’t respond, so Techno presses, “I already interrupted your work and made a mess, you need to leave soon and I know Tommy won’t finish loading everything in time.”
Phil’s motions pause for a moment, then continue. “We’re not going, Techno.” Techno’s heart, weak as it is, skips a beat. Has he really thrown off their schedule that badly? He’d thought, he’d hoped that his mistake hadn’t caused that much delay, but maybe- and Phil’s spending his time rubbing feeling back into Techno’s hands instead of rushing to pack?
“What are you talking about, there’s- the storm’s coming, we needed to go today- I can-” Phil’s hands still again, this time just gripping Techno’s wrist. Not hard enough to hurt (not that he’d feel it), just enough to silence him. Enough to get Techno to finally look at his face instead of his stupid, rotting hands.
“
Technoblade.
It’s okay, Techno. We can go later, we’re fine, okay? Tommy is finishing loading the wagon, and we’ll go early tomorrow to beat the storm if we need to, but right now I’m more concerned about
you
. It’s been a while since your Withering has been this bad.” Techno averts his gaze again, bites his cheek. His silence is telling- he can’t lie to Phil, but he should have known the man would see through his silence just as well. Phil lets out a long breath. “Okay, okay, that’s… We’re going to talk about that another time, okay? Right now I just need you to tell me what you’re feeling so we can treat it. I know your hands are bad, how are your legs?”
Techno grimaces. “I mean, they’re never
good.
” Phil narrows his eyes. Techno crumbles. “They’re spasming pretty bad. Could probably use a bath.” He thinks about trying to hide his other symptoms, the way the cold has sunk under his skin and his vision lags behind his movements like his head can’t keep up. He’s just… so tired. That’s another symptom, but it’s also just a general state for him. He’s tired, and he’s spent enough energy today trying to pretend he’s doing better than he is. If Phil’s already convinced himself to waste time on Techno, there’s no point making it worse by drawing it out.
Phil is too nice. His kindness cannot be shaken, even when Techno whines and fights and tries his hardest to push him out. He wears Techno down until he’s too wrung out to fight anymore. Until Techno lets him draw him a hot bath, massage some of the pain out of his legs, and brew him a fresh cup of tea to chase the strength potion he knows will push the Withering back to its normal state eventually. Techno even lets him fetch the tamest dog, smiling to himself when Apollo nuzzles into his leg before laying down to sleep. Phil settles beside him, book in hand, and Techno lets himself rest his head on Phil’s leg to sleep. It’s not his fault Apollo took the pillow. Phil doesn’t seem to mind, though. He just drops his hand to Techno’s head and gently undoes the braids, running his fingers through Techno’s hair absentmindedly until he falls asleep, finally warm.