Chapter Text
Tommy Innit lives a very boring life. If everyone in the world was put in one huge room and forced to tell their life stories, all eight point one billion of humankind would instantly fall asleep a second into hearing his.
But right now, something not so boring was happening. It's the dead of the night, as dark as his soul, he likes to describe it as. No one is supposed to be awake at this time, except for serial killers and drunk divorcees, maybe. But, there is something moving in his kitchen. No way the rats have finally found the air vent to his apartment after years of struggling to take the trash out before the stench gets worse. Considering how much noise was being made, there is definitely more than one rat in his kitchen right now.
Man, what does the world have against him? The gods can't even wait until he gets three proper hours of sleep.
What's worse is if the noise is being caused by a robber, because he really didn't want to see anyone's face at this moment. He'd rather die than deal with another human right now, that's if he wouldn't already get assassinated tonight. Point still stands.
Tommy grabs the nearest object, the mighty ballpoint pen. Great, maybe he could distract the robber with his bad calligraphy skills, hoping it's hideous enough that they would run out the door on their own accord trying not to puke.
He enters the living room, tiptoe-ing slowly to the kitchen. His vision was good enough that he could make out a silhouette. Ah, screw it. This might as well be the story to tell his grandkids. It's the most exciting situation he's found himself in in a while.
"You could've just asked if you wanted some money," Tommy says tiredly.
The silhouette freezes at being caught red-handed.
"Because I don't have any," Tommy follows. "Why don't you rob the mayor instead of some miserable and broke college student? I'm sure his ass would be more than happy to spare you some gold bars."
They clear their throat, tilting their head. Tommy can practically feel eyes bore into him, as if he's the one who's robbing the place.
"You can see me?"
Tommy snorts, shoulders relaxing. "Are you new to this whole robbing thing? I mean, you won't come out of here with any cash, but I can give you better tips."
"What? I'm not here to rob you," the stranger says with extreme confusion in their voice. "You aren't even supposed to see me."
"If I was schizophrenic, I would've known by now," Tommy shakes his head. He flicks the light switch on, and this time he's able to fully make out a man at the other side of his counter. Well, the man didn't really look like a man.
"Yikes, who are you supposed to be?" Tommy observes the horns on either side of the man's head, along with fangs sticking out of his lips. He holds his pen in front of him, trying to make the ink-filled device look as intimidating as possible.
"Uh, I'm actually just dropping by. For...broken pipes?" he says, running out of lies to tell. He awkwardly backs away from the teen, until embarrassingly bumping into the fridge behind him.
"Oh, okay," Tommy nods in understanding, setting the pen aside. No, he doesn't fucking have any broken pipes. "Right, not that ominous for my taste."
It was painfully quiet for a while, neither of them knowing what to make out of the unexpected situation.
Tommy clicks his tongue like a department manager making an important decision.
"Can you go away now?"
"Um, I don't think I can do that. This is kind of my job," the stranger with horns clarifies.
"So you're getting paid to stalk me? Damn, I must be really famous and didn't know."
It's almost like he's a character from The Truman Show, and with everything happening, he might as well be.
"Nah, I'm your guardian angel."
Tommy looks at him like he just said a cringe pick-up line for thirteen-year-olds. "Even my dead ancestor could come up with a better excuse than that."
"But, I'm telling the truth!" the man slams his hands on his thighs, expecting the blond to believe his horrible lies. "Why else do you think I have horns?"
"First of all, if you're an angel, you would have a halo and not horns."
"I'm a guardian angel, though. We don't really look like th-"
Second of all, get the fuck out!"
"No."
"Please take your Satan's son anime cosplay somewhere else, thanks," Tommy begs. Why does everything end up with him telling a deluded stranger to leave him alone? He'd much prefer the rats at this point.
"I'm not cosplaying as anyone," the man grimaces.
"Ah, you're a psych ward escapee then? What hospital are you from?"
"Tommy, that's not what-"
"Oh my god, he just said my name," Tommy winces, talking to himself. "I'm definitely not making it out of here alive."
He looks back at the crazed man. "Are you part of a cult? If you've come here to sacrifice me, just do it already. I surrender, okay? Let's not make things harder than it already is."
"Bro, I swear to god, just listen to me," the stranger begs, sounding impossibly more nightmarish. "I'm Technoblade, Techno for short. I'm your guardian angel, and for some reason, you are able to see me which has never happened before."
"Okay?" Tommy says hesitantly. "Prove it then."
Technoblade—damn, weird name—exhales heavily. He takes his hand out from behind his back, and Tommy was so sure he would be holding a knife.
It's even worse. He wasn't holding anything.
"That's your hand," Tommy says as if it wasn't obvious enough. "And there's nothing in it. Not very good proof, innit? Just murder me already, I don't want to deal with your delusions."
"Bruh, be patient," Techno says, more focused than Tommy in trigonometry class could ever be. Suddenly, fire shoots from his hands, burning a hole through the ceiling.
Wow, that's. That is... Life is odd.
"Convinced yet?" Techno waves his hand around, literally playing with fire.
"Sure, whatever...stop that before you turn me homeless overnight," Tommy pleads, concerned at how the flames were dangerously close to his empty flower vase.
His upstairs neighbours would not be happy when they find that he's burnt a hole through their floor in the morning. And what would he even tell them? That some hellspawn cultist came in the middle of the night and Dumbledore-blasted his fucking roof?
"So, you believe me, right?" Techno raises his eyebrows, fire still exploding from his palms.
"Well..." Tommy starts, still suspicious of the man- devil- guardian angel thing that was in his kitchen. "Do you have wings? Like the ones in movies?"
"I do in fact, have wings," Techno turns around, and something begins to rip. That something was his oddly-styled victorian era looking shirt, and despite not using any hands, two pairs of wings spring out of his back.
"Holy fucking-" Tommy gasps at them. They were like the wings of a bat, only much bigger and with deep red outlines. There were a couple of holes in them, looking like they were caused by severe burns, which would make sense anyway. "Are you Batman? Wait, no. Batman doesn't have dyed pink hair, nor would he wear the clothes of a medieval nobleman."
"My hair isn't dyed, it's natural." Although the guy still had his back turned, Tommy could hear the eyeroll in his tone. "Also, my clothes have holes in them now because of you."
"And what am I supposed to do about that?" Tommy narrows his eyes.
"I dunno, give me a new shirt maybe," Techno says sarcastically.
"I don't- Dude, ugh. Fine," Tommy gives up on even trying to convince him he doesn't need a new one. "Wait, can't you just summon yourself one? I'm sure you'd impale me out of disgust once you see my wardrobe."
"Not how my powers work, Tommy," Techno shakes his head, facing him again. "Also, I've seen your wardrobe. You're right, it's disgraceful."
"You've seen it?" Tommy's forehead wrinkles. "I can't believe I have to live the rest of my life knowing that some guy has been watching me sleep at night."
"I'm not always hanging around, I'm busy too," he explains, making Tommy wonder what the hell he does whenever he's quote unquote 'busy'. "My job is to watch over you to make sure you don't do anything stupid, and if you do ever do anything stupid, it's me who's always saving you from getting a possible concussion. Or worse."
"Wow, thanks," Tommy deadpans.
The blond walks away slowly to his room, still eyeing the pinkette whenever he has the chance. "Don't try anything funny, by the way!"
"Yeah, yeah," Techno says tiredly.
Tommy comes back with a snuggly-looking oversized hoodie. "This is my least favourite one, so I don't really care if you throw it in the trash after seeing it," he says, tossing the piece of clothing across the room.
"I can see why you're saying that," Techno makes a face at the dirty-white hoodie. It would make a good rag, though, since it already had stains from- from...what even is that? "Ew, is that tomato sauce?"
Tommy laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, don't ask."
Techno gives a constipated noise before putting the hoodie on, unable to hide a face of disappointment at the teen's atrocious taste in clothing. "Not exactly my type. Probably a size too small, but will do."
"Enough of that, asshole," Tommy groans at the lack of gratitude. Couldn't his effort be appreciated for once? I mean, he did purposely give him his worst hoodie that was sitting forgotten at the bottom of his closet, but still. "Can you fix my roof? Or better yet, get me a new house."
"Sure, I'll get you a new house," Techno shrugs obliviously. "A townhouse or an apartment complex unit?"
"What- no!" Tommy shakes his hands to reject the offer. "I was literally making a joke! Well, a new house sounds like a dream come true and all, but midterms are upcoming and I don't have time to be moving my shit someplace else."
"Deal's over, then. Don't come looking for me once your house finally burns down," Techno waves him off.
"As long as you fix my ceiling," Tommy sighs.
"Fine, but we follow my plan."
"Yup. Lead the way, Satan's spawn."
Good, he doesn't have to pay anyone to fix this mess. It may be manual labour without paid salary which probably evades some law, but hey, he's willingly doing it for free.
"Wait here," Techno request.
"Oh my god, don't walk out on me," Tommy would do anything to patch up the hole that goes through his neighbours' living room, even get on his hands and knees in front of this moron.
"I won't, I won't. Well, technically, I can't walk out even if I wanted to. I can do this, though," Techno snaps his fingers, and in a single millisecond, zap. He's gone.
"Hey life, I don't really like this dream," Tommy calls out into nothingness. Life doesn't respond. It's just awfully dead silent. The blond pulls out a chair from his counter, sitting on it because staring at the wall sounded absolutely exciting at the moment. This fever dream was the type to give him an actual fever.
And suddenly, he hears another zap. Just when he thought this guy was out of his hair- goddammit!
"Damn, I thought you left for good," Tommy yawns.
"Nah, I just went to talk with your upstairs neighbours."
Tommy didn't like the emphasis he put in the word 'talk'. It's almost like what Techno did wasn't just a simple talk. The violent undertones were drowning in his thoughts.
"You- did you kill them or something?" Tommy chuckles anxiously, preparing himself for either situations where the pinkette would say 'yes' or 'no'.
"Let's just say they're currently enjoying being away from their own consciousness," Techno nods calmly, single-handedly driving Tommy to the edge of his sanity. "A very quick, painless, and free one-way ticket ride to a calming vacation spot."
"Mhm," Tommy hums, slowly spacing out. "So, you're saying all this is real and not just my fucked imagination, right?"
"Bruh, if it's not, then explain how I could do this."
"Huh?"
A strong force finds its way on top of Tommy's foot, burning every vein throughout his leg. He could only describe it as a pressure plate being dropped on his toes, all while ten thousand hippos were sitting on said pressure plate.
"Fucking shit, you BITCH, you ARSE, you goddamn BASTARD," Tommy spews every cuss word he could ever think of at the man who still hasn't taken his foot off of his after stepping on it.
"Hm?" Techno sounds puzzled. The audacity.
"Motherfucker, I will cut your head off, piss on it, and dissolve it into toxic waste at my Chemistry classroom- my foot- ARGH MY FOOT, YOU FUCKING IDIOT."
"Ohh, your foot," Techno finally pulls his steel boots (Why the fuck does he even wear those?) away from Tommy's pancaked limbs. "Sorry, did I break any bones?"
Calm wasn't even the correct word, he's basically Netflix and chilling about the fact that he just stomped the ever-living shit out of Tommy's foot. "Don't worry, it'll be an easy fix."
"Ah, of course. You have experience, don't you? With breaking someone's foot and mending the bones right back into place?"
"Exactly," Techno gives him a soft smile. Wow, Tommy wants to spit on him. Fuck being morally gray, he's about to be morally vomit-coloured.
The pinkette kneels in front of him, outstretching his hands so that they were on top of Tommy's broken foot. They started glowing bright yellow, warmth radiating from his palms. There was a disgusting sound of bones cracking back into their correct spots before Techno stood up again. "All done."
"Fire powers, healing abilities, teleportation, you're written out of every childhood comic! You know, this is actually good for me. Since you're my 'guardian angel' anyway, you'll do anything I ask, right?"
"No way."
"I could make you lose your job by trying to get myself killed repeatedly until you finally fail to save my ass."
"Alright, alright," Techno raises his hands up in defeat. "We'll talk about it in the morning, so just go back to bed now."
Tommy sensed some hidden intentions behind his words. "You're not gonna try to wipe out my memory, are you?"
"Unlikely," Techno shakes his head, uncertain. "Very unlikely."
"Yeah, if ever you do, know that I'm a music major, so your mind games won't work on me."
"What? That doesn't even make sense. It would if you were a psychology major, but you're just spewing nonsense. Must be the lack of sleep."
"Well, it makes sense in my head, and that's enough for me," Tommy mumbles bitterly.
Techno sighs, refusing to drag out the banter any further. "Goodnight, Tommy Innit."
"Goodnight, Tech No Blade."
"Why'd you say it like th-"
"Shut up."
Tommy takes a deep breath, flicking the light switch off. "I better wake up with my memory intact and alive neighbours."
And so, the blond stumbles back to his bed, bringing his now not-so boring life with him. The soft pillows looked promising, and so did the thought of causing chaos through his newfound murderous cultist friend when he wakes up.