Chapter Text
The ground under him was soft, and warm. There was something squishy under his head, and he made a contented noise as he pressed his nose into the silky thing, inhaling deeply. It smelled woodsy--like pine and earth and smoke. Everything felt soft and fuzzy around the edges. He felt like he was in a particularly nice dream. He wanted to open his eyes, but didn’t want to risk actually waking up and shattering this peaceful feeling.
Eventually, Dream cracked one eye open. He was laying in a bed, laid out on his stomach, in a dimly lit room. There was a window near his head; it was covered in heavy curtains, but there was still a thin ray of sunlight piercing through. He stared at it with sleepy eyes for a long moment, and only then did it occur to him he hadn’t seen sunlight in months, not since…
He mentally shook off the thought, not wanting to bring reality into this lovely dream. Instead, he wanted to get up, to reach out and touch the warm light, but his body was so tired. His forehead creased in confusion. Was it normal to feel so tired even when sleeping? His fingers twitched, and even that tiny movement felt draining. His eyelids were so heavy; maybe he’d just close them for a few seconds…
======================
The next time he opened his eyes, he was a lot less comfortable. He hadn’t moved at all, but his body felt stiff. His back hurt, his mouth and throat were desert-dry, and he was really hungry. In short, he felt like shit.
Dream looked around the room again, managing to raise his head a bit. He clearly wasn’t in his cell; the walls were warm wood, and the floor was the same, as well as covered in a thick woolen rug. Where was he; how did he get here? This certainly didn’t feel like a floaty dream anymore. How had…
Suddenly, he remembered.
He remembered collapsing into the corner of his cell after Quackity had finally left, exhausted and hungry and in pain. He’d fallen asleep like that, in a pool of his own sticky blood. Quackity had given him just enough healing and regeneration potions to not die of blood loss, but never enough to actually heal all the way, not enough to actually take away the pain. He’d slept fitfully, dreaming of lava and metal blades.
Then, he woke up and Technoblade was in his cell. At first, he hadn’t recognized him, thinking perhaps Quackity had returned, but the visitor hadn’t touched him, hadn’t grabbed him; he only sat and spoke, calming words that washed over Dream like soothing water. Finally, he’d snapped out of it enough to recognize this newcomer, with his broad figure and deep, even voice--Technoblade.
Technoblade. Where was Technoblade?
Summoning his strength, Dream pushed his elbows under him, propping himself up. His flayed back protested heavily beneath something--bandages? A glance down confirmed this. His entire upper body, from shoulder to waist, was wrapped in layers of thick bandages. Now that he was aware of them, he could feel some on his legs as well. He was shirtless except for the bandages, but he was wearing boxers and loose pants on his lower half. Slowly, he managed to actually sit up with his legs over the side of the bed. He dragged his toes through the fibers of the woolen rug.
Is this actually happening? Dream wondered, heart racing with a mixture of elation and anxiety. Am I actually out? Shakily, he stood up, wanting to go find Technoblade, and maybe find something to eat.
He blinked, and he was on the floor. He groaned at the impact on his battered body.
Footsteps reached his ears, moving outside the room. The door at the far wall creaked open slowly, letting in light from outside.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, mate,” an accented voice said from the doorway. “You need to rest.”
“Philza,” Dream said, recognizing the man’s voice as well as the shadows of battered wings. He winced at the sound of his own voice. How long has he sounded this awful? It sounded like he’d been gargling gravel, and honestly, he felt like it too. He tried again to get to his feet. Hands reached for him in his peripheral vision, and he scrambled back on instinct, grunting when his bandaged back hit the side of the bed.
Phil looked alarmed, stepping away and putting his hands back in surrender. Dream flushed in embarrassment.
“Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Phil said. “Can I help you up?”
“I’m fine,” Dream muttered.
“Bullshit,” Phil laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. The winged man extended his hand again, slowly aso he didn’t startle him again. “You’ve been through the fucking ringer, mate.”
Dream stared at the offered hand for a minute, before deciding it would be more embarrassing to fall again than to accept it. Phil helped pull him to his feet, and extended his arm for Dream to balance with.
The hallway was bright compared to the bedroom he’d been in, and compared to the dim cell in Pandora’s vault. He squinted at the light, leaning on Phil more heavily than he would like to admit. They had just reached the living room when Dream realized something was different.
“My leg doesn’t hurt,” Dream said, glancing down at his right leg. He had gotten used to a low-level ache in his shin for the past month and a half whenever he put weight on it.
Phil nodded. “When Techno and I were treating your injuries, we noticed your shin looked like it had been broken and set wrong. We had to re-break it and set it correctly, then gave you healing potions to fix it.”
Dream grimaced at the idea of them breaking one of his bones, very happy he’d been unconscious for that. Being awake while it was broken once was enough. Still, he appreciated his new ache-free leg.
“Quackity broke both my shins with his sheathed sword,” Dream explained as they moved past the couches in front of the fireplace, and into the kitchen. “He made me set the bones myself before he healed them. I didn’t do a very good job on the right one, clearly.”
“Jesus,” Phil muttered under his breath, something in his face Dream couldn’t quite discern. He helped Dream settle into a cushioned chair at the dining table. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
“Thank you, Phil,” Dream said quietly. The winged man just smiled and nodded, handing him a glass of water before busying himself in the kitchen. The water was soothing on Dream’s cracked and dry throat, and he downed half of it in one go, licking his chapped lips. Before long, Phil sat down next to him, a bowl in each hand.
Dream grabbed the spoon with one wrapped hand, his stomach growling at the smell. The soup was some kind of heavy broth, filled with veggies and what Dream assumed was probably rabbit. It was delicious; after months of nothing but potatoes, it tasted like the best thing he’d ever had. It was hearty and filling, and Dream had to remind himself multiple times to eat slowly. The last thing he wanted was to throw everything up because he ate too fast after three months of borderline starvation.
“Where’s Technoblade?” Dream asked between spoonfuls.
“Getting more potion ingredients,” Phil said. “He’ll be glad to see you’re awake.”
“How long have I been here?” Dream asked, realizing suddenly he had no idea what day it was.
“This is the fourth day,” Phil said. “You slept for about 3 days solid. We thought about waking you up to eat, but just settled for giving you potions and water, and some light soup when we could. You needed your rest to heal.” He glanced at Dream’s back. “Speaking of, we should probably change those bandages.”
Dream stared down at the table, a bit at a loss. He’d been out for three days. He was also surprised that his rescuers had gone so far as to use what must have been a dozen or more potions on him. A voice in his head sneered at him. What a waste of important resources, it said. It sounded like Quackity.
“Dream?” Phil’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Are you alright?”
Dream nodded. Phil didn’t look convinced, but Dream was saved from the avian man pushing the issue by the heavy front door being pushed open.
“Phil, I’m back!” A low voice called from the entryway. There was the sound of boots being kicked off, and the man rounded the corner. “I got enough—”
Technoblade froze when he saw Dream sitting at the dining table. Dream was a bit amused despite himself by the hybrid’s surprised face, and the blond waved tiredly.
“Dream,” Techno said, still standing in the doorway. “Should you be up?”
“I’ve been in bed for days, apparently,” Dream said. Maybe he was imagining it, but Technoblade sounded worried. “And I was really hungry.”
“There’s some for you in the furnace, mate,” Phil said, gesturing behind him with his spoon. “You should join us.”
After a moment of hesitation, Techno nodded. He removed the thick red cloak he always wore, folding it over the back of an armchair by the fire. Dream watched the movement carefully, remembering with startling clarity the comforting warmth of that same cloak wrapped around him. He looked away, staring down into his bowl instead.
Dream felt Technoblade’s eyes on him as they ate. He was hyper aware of his exposed face, feeling naked and vulnerable under the hybrid’s gaze, and he suddenly missed his mask so much he could cry. His shoulders hunched up instinctively, trying to hide away, but this movement did nothing but send a fresh ache through his back, making him flinch.
“Are you okay?” Technoblade asked immediately. The spoonful of soup halfway in the air was forgotten as he watched Dream with what was plainly and confusingly...genuine worry. “Are you in much pain?”
Dream was about to shrug on instinct, but then realized that would definitely hurt. Instead, he waved his hand in a dismissive motion. “I’m fine.”
Philza leveled him with an unimpressed look over his glass, and Technoblade clearly wasn’t convinced either. Dream sighed.
“I just wish I had my mask, is all,” Dream muttered, inspecting the wood grain of the table. “I’m not used to people looking at me. I feel a bit…”
“Exposed?” Techno finished. Dream nodded. “What happened to yours?”
“It broke,” Dream said solemnly. “A couple months ago, during one of Quackity’s first...visits.”
Dream startled when Technoblade actually growled quietly, low in his throat as he glared at his bowl. The tall hybrid stood without a word and stalked upstairs, hooves clicking against the wooden floor. Dream shot Phil a worried look.
“Did I…?” Dream wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question he wanted to ask. Phil shook his head.
“No, you didn’t upset him,” Phil said. “He’s upset for you, Dream.”
For me? The words felt like a bit of a bluescreen in his head. But before he had time to ponder the words further, Techno had returned, something white held in his hand. He held it out to Dream, and Dream started.
It was the mask Technoblade often wore into battle: a hog skull that covered most of his face, leaving only his mouth exposed, his lips framed ominously by the short but sharp tusks of the skull.
“You can wear this one,” Technoblade said. Dream gaped at him in disbelief. Techno’s hoof scuffed against the floor. “If you’d like. I’ll replace your old mask, but until then, I just thought...You don’t have to wear it all the time, or at all, if you don’t want to. I just figured if you wanted something to cover your face, this could do for now.”
Dream took the mask from Technoblade’s hand with reverent fingers, trailing his thumb lightly over where the fastening straps attached to smooth, bleached white bone. His head spun; he couldn’t even begin to process the meaningfulness of the offering. He and Technoblade had been allies for a long time, because their goals often aligned and they were similarly chaotic and destructive in their wrath. Even if he’d started to lose hope, it made sense that Techno had come to rescue him in the prison. Dream had saved his life once, and Technoblade was a man of his word. The favor would have been worth nothing if it weren’t for sure the man would actually honor it. It made sense.
This...didn’t. Maybe he could wrap his head around using valuable resources to heal him--it was an implied part of the favor, the rescue. Maybe he could even wrap his head around Technoblade’s--and by extension Phil’s--seemingly genuine concern for his well being as wanting to thoroughly honor their agreement. But holding Technoblade’s treasured mask in his hands made no sense. No part of the favor conceivably demanded this. It was confusing.
Still, Dream fastened the mask’s straps behind his head. The cool bone rested comfortably against his face, and he felt safer, more in control, now that his face was hidden.
“Thank you,” Dream said, trying to convey his sincere gratitude. Technoblade’s lips quirked in a small grin.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, sitting back down in his chair. “Besides, it looks good on you.”