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“Papa?”
“Yes, Wil?”
“Why does Techno cry at night?”
Techno had been a child at the time of this conversation, only nine years old. Wilbur had been younger. Techno remembered pressing his ear up against his little brother’s bedroom door, listening to Wilbur ask Phil terrible questions with terrible answers. Pain filled his gut as he waited for Phil’s answer. He didn’t know what he wanted Phil to say, but there was no good outcome, so instead, the whole world waited with bated breath for the anvil to come crashing down on everything.
“Don’t you worry about that, son.”
Though this was the best of bad situations, Techno still felt a flash of anger. Tell him , he thought furiously. Tell him what I scream to you, tell him what I hear, make him know.
The truth was, Techno was jealous, jealous that Wilbur did not have a problem like his, jealous that Wilbur could wear his emotions on his sleeve with no consequences, jealous that Wilbur did not hear the cries of a thousand carnivorous animals calling for death.
That was when Techno and Wilbur started to split.
Kill him. Blood for the blood god .
The voices screamed as Techno looked at his youngest brother, Tommy. Tommy was six years old, Techno was fifteen. Tommy was already all fire and explosions, his soul too loud for one body. Techno wondered what he would be like when he was older.
Don’t find out. Don’t let him grow.
His hand itched towards the hilt of the axe that hung on his belt. He tried to stop it, tried to remember that this boy was his brother, someone he was sworn by cosmic duty to protect, but it was so hard with the voices clouding his mind, screaming, clawing at him, drowning out all sense and all reason.
Kill, kill, kill .
He imagined it for a moment, a world with Tommy dead. Phil cradling the boy in his arms, crying. Wilbur staring at it all silently. They both glared at Techno until he ran into the night, never to return, because why would they want him there when he had killed their youngest, their golden-haired Tommy? They would both be broken beyond repair, and Techno would want to be broken too, but the voices wouldn’t let him crumble, only move on to the next person, the next blade, the next death.
“Techno?”
Wilbur’s voice crashed through his thoughts, sending the voices scattering. Techno turned to see his brother standing in the doorway, an ambiguous frown on his face. “What are you doing?”
Techno swallowed and found his throat dry. “Nothing.” His voice seemed hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. He pushed past Wilbur and strode away, trying to put the whole event out of his mind.
But the voices did not leave. In fact, they started to get worse.
“Just go away, Techno,” Wilbur muttered as he turned away from his older brother. This time, Techno was twenty-three, Wilbur was twenty-one.
“Why don’t you want me around anymore, Wil?” Techno asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. He’d just wanted to spend some time with his brothers, just wanted to pick berries or play with the dogs like they used to, when all three were small and the voices were distant thoughts in the back of Techno’s head.
“You know why.” Wilbur turned back to him, and there was something almost like anger in his eyes. “You’re dangerous to us. You can’t control what you do around us.”
“I—“ a well of anger, of guilt, swelled up inside Techno. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Wilbur, you—“ Techno scrubbed his face with his hands. “You don’t understand, it’s— I can’t ignore them, I can’t just tell them to go away, you think I haven’t tried that?”
“I think ,” Wilbur said, stepping closer, and Techno hated himself as he instinctively took a step back, “I think that you should stay away, because there is nothing good that comes out of seeing my older brother hold an axe over my baby brother with nothing in his eyes.”
Techno clenched his hands into fists to hide their trembling. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I’m telling you now that Tommy and I are leaving.”
Techno paused. “What?”
“We’re leaving. We’re going to travel the world. We don’t want to be cooped up here anymore, and I don’t want Tommy around you anymore.”
Techno was silent. This new information wasn’t processing. There was no world, no cruel version of existence, of this story, where Techno’s brothers separated themselves from him. There was no story where he was alone.
But there was, and there always had been. He had always been alone, even in a room full of those he loved best.
He was twenty-five when the man in green came. Tommy and Wilbur had long since gone, and the only way Techno knew they were still alive was in the letters Wilbur wrote to Phil, talking about building countries, meeting new friends, winning wars. By this time, the voices had grown so loud it was impossible to think clearly. They drowned him in their screaming, demanding blood, death, war. Techno didn’t know how long he could ignore them before they started shouting for a blade in his own heart.
“I know what’s in your head,” the man in green told him, his voice soft and silky smooth as he paced around the clearing they had met in. “I know what they demand.”
“How?” Techno asked, even as a great relief washed through him, a relief that only came from realizing you are not the only one carrying your burden.
The man smiled, and it was a strange thing to see. There were so many secrets hidden in the depths of that smile. “I hear things. Stories. Rumors. I can help you, you know.”
“There’s no helping me with this.”
“Hm.” The man came closer. “What if… the only way to quiet them was to give in? Just a little.”
A small amount of panic washed through Techno. “I can’t— no. No, I can’t do what they want.”
“Why not?” The man smiled wider, and Techno didn’t know if he was afraid or not. “Blood is spilled every day. What’s a little more?”
Techno drew back a little. “What do you want with me?”
The man nodded, as if he knew that he had gotten what he wanted. “I want you to come with me. Help me. There’s a… problem I need to take care of, and I need your help with it.”
Deep down, Techno knew he shouldn’t. He knew that this would only feed the voices, that once spoiled, they would demand more. He knew that disappointment would cloud Phil’s face. But he had been running for so long, trying to keep back the tide of the voices, and he was so, so tired.
So he took the man’s hand and shook it. “Okay.”
Phil had been so sad, Techno remembered, when he left. Phil had taken one look at the man in green and said, “Be careful, my son. That one is a snake and he hasn’t shown you all of his scales.”
Techno had been filled with anger then, and so he had shouted something hateful at Phil and stormed out, throwing his cloak around his shoulders. And years passed and he realized that Phil was right, that there were sides to the man in green—Dream, he learned, was the man’s name— that no one knew, that no one saw. And those sides were darker than the deepest pits in the world. But he did not want to admit that Phil was right, that Techno might have made a mistake, so he stayed. He stayed until blood coated his hands, until thousands were dead by his sword, and the voices demanded more, more, more . He stayed until he was destroyed, nothing but bits and pieces of his former self, slowly turning to ashes in the dust of his own ruin.
And he remembered, faintly, wistfully, flowers and snow. A pack of dogs, a wild horse he had tamed. Laughter and a warm fire. Peace. Silence. Home.
All of these things, all of the memories, the moments that had led up to this one, scanned through his mind, reminding him of his long, winding journey to realization. All he’d ever wanted was peace. Peace within himself, the ability to breathe without worrying if it was his last inhale, the ability to sleep without the voices of a thousand bloodthirsty gods flooding his mind.
All this and more passed through him as he stood in front of the old wooden door that he had not seen in so long. As he breathed in, and breathed out. As he knocked.
The door opened and he saw Phil, looking only slightly older than when he’d last seen him. Phil blinked for a moment, surprised. Then he smiled sadly. “Come in, Techno. You’ve been in the cold for so long.”