Chapter Text
A pale hand snuck into the brown curls of a sleeping boy; illuminated with amber and orange. The person suddenly gave a hard tug on the other, jolting their twin awake with abruptness. In turn, Wilbur responded with a half-hearted grunt as his eyes slowly opened, pausing in a half-lidded state as he finally smelled it; smoke.
He couldn't have been quicker to shake off his plush blankets, milk chocolate eyes shining with panic. But just as he was about to scream for help, an index finger was pushed to his lips. The perpetrator who had woken him up making a soft 'shhh' sound, effectively silencing him.
The air stung with ash and smoke as Wilbur looked on in fear. The grand room the two were in—or the princes' bedroom—was curiously bright, even though it was the middle of the night. Twisting and twirling fires were scattered everywhere, consuming anything relatively flammable. The cool air and silence that Wilbur had grown fond of were nowhere to be seen now, the flames roaring and crackling with anger. And as he felt a wave of heat swamp over the room, the place grew suffocating and unbearable.
Even though he relaxed under the familiar touch of Techno, he suddenly froze at the icky feeling of a foreign liquid dripping down from his twin's fingers—blood, to be specific. His doe-like eyes widened in fear, skin-crawling at the unfamiliar feeling. It didn't help that his room was currently aflame, dancing hues of yellow and orange lacing themselves with drapes.
"Techno, what happened—" Wilbur demanded in a hushed voice. Although his tone was forceful, the slight shaking in his hands told otherwise, barely visible to the naked eye.
But, the soulless crimson of Techno's eyes quieted him quickly, Wilbur getting the memo without a word. But still, Wilbur's gaze was one of begging to speak as his eyes darted between the fire and Techno. Helplessly and desperately looking for an answer.
Yet Techno only gave his blank stare in response, Wilbur stunned as he finally took in the other's disheveled appearance.
His usually carefully styled brown locks were a mess—matted and clumped with dried blood. A splatter of the crimson liquid also stained his clothes and pale cheek; the after-effects of…something.
Staring at the twirling ribbons of heat that were eating their way through the room, Wilbur finally burst, "Tech, I don't know what you're planning, but we're going to burn alive if we don't get out of here!"
Fear overriding his trust in Techno, Wilbur sprung into action, tearing his gaze away from his twin's as he made a break for the door.
But just as his feet hit the hot and singed carpeted floor, a hand immediately flashed out without any hesitation. Grabbing Wilbur's wrist in a steel grip. Techno looked a bit more shaken than his usual stoic self, seemingly debating what to do before saying, "Don't." His voice was raspy from unuse.
"Don't what? Don't try and save our miserable lives?"
Techno squeezed Wilbur's wrist. His voice was monotone as ever, the reflections of fires dancing in his eyes as he said, "Don't go. Or else they'll know."
"Who—" Wilbur paused. Obviously baffled as his eyes shifted between Techno and the advancing fires. He was still very aware of the crimson liquid that was slathered on Techno's palm, which irked his entire being. He took in a shaky breath. "Who'll know?"
"The raiders," Techno said, desperation barely seen in his crimson irises. "If we run now, they'll know the people they sent didn't kill us."
Wilbur froze. Mouth gaping as he suddenly trembled, a new thought placed in the front of his mind. "Then the fires—"
"They set our room on fire for a reason. If we put it out now, the intruders will definitely know we survived. After all, why would they set the room on fire only to put it out?"
It was a wonder how Techno…knew these things. And, as their father said, 'Almost like he wasn't a person at all. But a calculating monster born in the body of a small child.' But Wilbur knew that wasn't true. Techno was caring. He protected him, saved him when no one else did.
But he was also a genius sculpted by things that a person his age shouldn't have known. And that's why Wil was scared of him. A reason from many why Wilbur would look upon Techno and feel a pang of envy. For the praise he got. For the gentle kisses that were placed against his forehead by their mother.
Things that Wilbur should've gotten as well.
He bit back another question as he begrudgingly nodded his head, still in shock as he clung to Techno's touch. He felt nauseous at the smell of smoke that mingled with the metallic tinge of blood—still wanting to ask where the crimson came from.
But he knew. The absence of the said people who were trying to kill them spoke volumes.
"So…what do we do now?" He murmured, slowly edging away from the fires as Techno let go of his wrist. "…I—I don't want to die here, Tech."
The last part he said was nearly silent, barely a whisper as he shook. Wilbur slowly lifted his hands, tearing them both through his brown curls. And, slowly crouching to the floor, he cowered. Too scared to really think.
Wilbur squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring how he could still see the flickering fires behind his eyelids. “Why…why do you think they set our room on fire?” He whispered.
“Well, a lot of reasons…” Techno said, his profile illuminated by amber and orange as he studied the blood that was stuck under his fingernails. He didn’t seem to mind the uncomfortable feeling of heat. “Maybe to get rid of the evidence, maybe to excuse our death as being caught in a fire. But really, I don’t know”
Wilbur didn’t respond.
Techno stayed silent for a moment, waiting for a response before he weighed his options, looking away. “Anyway, we can’t put out the fires…and we can’t run away quite yet…” he paused, noticing the look of devastation on Wil’s face. “Uh, I mean—we can’t run away per se, but we might be able to sneak away instead?”
Wilbur broke into a weak smile at the offer.
“Sure—”
Interrupted mid-confirmation, the big mahogany doors of the twins’ room suddenly burst open. Five armed men—there might’ve been more—ran into the flaming room, their weapons still sheathed as they looked around with searching gazes.
It was too late to duck away and hide as one of the men met eyes with Wilbur, surprise jumping to the front of the man’s expression.
“They’re still alive!”
Hearing the proclamation, the rest of the group spun around to see where the man was pointing. Noticing the two boys, all of them unsheathed their swords quickly—well, as fast as an inexperienced fighter could—one of the many burly men shouting, “Fuck! How did those damn brats survive?! I thought Gareth and his gang would’ve taken care of them by now!”
At the group’s unruly arrival, Techno suddenly moved to stand in front of Wilbur. His piercing crimson glare boring holes into the men as his lips drew back, the small boy snarling at the adults.
Wilbur didn’t seem scared too scared either, in fact he was vaugely the opposite, meekly glaring at the group with eyes of anger.
"See that kid in that front?" One of the men looked at his ally before gesturing to Techno off-handedly. He grimaced at being mentioned. "Yeah, it's probably because of him. Brat's a monster, didn’t you hear? The leader must’ve told you."
Techno's glare suddenly faltered as his tense posture slumped, a stroke of fear flashing in the child's eyes. A crack in his somewhat collected persona.
"I'm...I'm not a monster."