absolution.

- happy birthday, toms

hey.

this is a pre-written one-year anniversary chapter for this fic. it'll most likely be the last post for... however long it takes for me to be alright with writing techno.

a comment had mentioned that it'd be the community's turn to keep techno alive via fanworks, and i agree with that. i've decided to keep writing him, if only to honor what he'd left behind. he'd also probably like for fanfic writers and artists and the like to continue making fan content—techno's generally appreciated said content from the beginning.

i'll most likely never write any au related to the modern world with him in it, though.

if you disagree or are unsatisfied with me deciding to continue producing technoblade-related content later in the future, i understand if you leave. thank you for sticking around this long.

as this was pre-written, i'm fine with posting this. the techno interactions are just for the nightmare sequence in the beginning. you can skip over almost all of them entirely by moving past any italicized paragraphs and get to other parts of this chapter, which are much fluffier as they go on. i don't remember if there's any other techno mentions so that's why i put "almost all of them," and i'm sorry if there are any techno mentions outside the nightmare sequence.

there are also many parts that show tommy being conflicted about technically being dead after finally being face-to-face with it. please read with caution like you've most likely done with this entire fic.

when i update again, i'll take the a/n chapter down.

i hope you enjoy reading whatever parts you can.

===

Tommy wakes up to someone jostling him. He can tell who it is—the texture of their palms isn't calloused like Techno's or Phil's, nor is it small like Tubbo's, so it must be...

"...Wilbur?" Tommy grumbles, stubbornly squeezing his eyes closed. He curls under the safety of the blankets over him a little longer, to hold on to the warmth that clings to it and him. The hand shaking him only gets more insistent, so Tommy cracks an eye open to a mostly-dark room, just barely registering the darkened figure of—yeah, he guessed right, it was Wilbur. "Wha' the fuh's goin' on...?"

"Get up, get up, get up!" Wilbur whisper-shouts, practically ripping the blanket off of him. Tommy's eyes shoot open as he lets out a yelp at the sudden cold ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶a̶k̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶d̶e̶v̶o̶u̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ ̶u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶v̶o̶i̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶D̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶g̶i̶v̶e̶.

"What?!" Tommy groggily whisper-shouts as he reluctantly sits up, sleep still hazing his mind. Instead of standing, he just glares up at the older brunet who's currently tossing the poor blanket on the ground far away. The ground! First throwing the blanket around, and then waking Tommy up at probably ass-'o'-clock in the morning, and now this! What disrespect! "What's fuckin'—what's going on?!"

Wilbur doesn't answer, looking at him with a—smile? Yeah, seems like it, though this one's more wider than usual. It's j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶H̶i̶s̶,̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶'̶s̶,̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶L̶E̶A̶V̶E̶-̶ too dark to really see what was truly on his face. He strides off without another word, exclaiming, "Let's go, child!"

Sighing quietly, Tommy looks at Tubbo across the room. The brunet's sleeping soundly, snoring so loudly it could possibly shake the walls. They're mostly soundproof anyway due to this exact reason, so it doesn't matter much.