Chapter Text
“Tech, mate, did you get all the ingredients I asked for?” Phil asked as he dropped their empty bowls in the sink to be washed. Across from Dream, Technoblade nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “I left the bag in the brewing room.”
“Can you get me a healing potion and some clean bandages?” Phil asked. Techno nodded again, and set off downstairs without a word. Phil turned to Dream. “Mate, I need to look at your injuries again, and see how they’re healing. Do you want to do that here or in your room?”
Dream blinked, confused on what difference the options could possibly make.
“Does...Does it matter?"
“Not really, no.” Phil shrugged. “It’s just whatever makes you most comfortable.”
That...hadn’t occurred to him.
“Here’s fine,” Dream said. He wasn’t really keen on either; though he knew his wounds needed more care, he really didn’t want anyone to see him. It’s a bit too late for that now , he thought, glancing down at the bandages covering his chest.
“Okay cool. Also, I was thinking you might want a bath,” Phil said. His demeanor was a bit more cautious now, clearly unsure how Dream would react to this suggestion. “So you could wash off and soak in the water a bit. Only, one of us would have to help you, at least with your upper body, so you don’t open up the wounds on your back.”
One one hand, a bath sounded heavenly. He had tried to wash well while in prison, to keep himself both sane and presentable. He did a good job, all things considered, until Quackity started visiting him daily. His hair in particular had suffered in prison; he knew it was filthy and tangled, and he hadn’t been able to cut it in months. It reached almost to his shoulders now. However, Dream chewed his lip, his face surely darkening at the idea of having to be helped in the bath of all things. The idea was horrifyingly embarrassing. He was very glad for Technoblade’s mask covering his face.
Even with the mask, his hesitance must have been clear enough. However, before Phil could try and convince him further--and probably make Dream more embarrassed in the process--Dream simply nodded.
“Thank you, Phil,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Would you rather Techno or I help you?”
“...Techno, I guess,” Dream said, quietly. Even if asking his ally to help him bathe was humiliating, and even though Phil had been nothing but kind to him today, he trusted Technoblade more.
It was at that moment that Technoblade resurfaced from the basement, holding a potion in one hand and a woven basket in the other, which was presumably full of bandage strips. Supplies acquired, Phil began carefully unwrapping the bandages covering Dream’s chest and arms. Dream looked resolutely at the floor as Phil explained their plan to Techno. Technoblade, to his credit, took it in stride. He didn’t seem that surprised; Dream wondered if he and Phil had discussed it previously.
“Maybe we should cut your hair too,” Techno said, tilting his head. “It’s pretty long.”
A vision of sharp metal anywhere near his face flashed through his mind.
“Please don’t!” Technoblade and Phil both startled at Dream’s outburst. Dream bit his lip hard. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, his knuckles white against his thighs, and tried to calm his suddenly thundering heartbeat. “I...I mean…I just...”
“It’s okay,” Technoblade said. “We don’t--”
“No, I’m sorry, I--”
“Dreamie, it’s okay,” Technoblade repeated. “Breathe. It’s okay.” His low, rumbling voice was strangely soft, calming. The taller hybrid--slowly, so Dream wasn’t startled--took Dream’s clenched fists in his hands, gently coaxing them open and massaging the nail marks on his palms. Technoblade’s fingers were warm, and calloused from years of fighting and farming. The gentle touch was hypnotic, and Dream’s breathing slowed back to a normal pace. Phil went back to unwrapping bandages once Dream had calmed. Oddly--though, he found he was glad--Techno didn’t release Dream’s hands.
“We don’t have to cut it.” Technoblade said. “If you want it long, or just don’t want us near you with sharp things, either is fine. It’s your choice.”
“No…” Dream swallowed. Technoblade’s thumbs were still rubbing circles into his palms, tethering him. “No sharp things.”
Technoblade nodded solemnly. “No sharp things,” he repeated, his voice a quiet murmur. “If you’ll let me, I could wash it and get all the tangles out. I could even braid it for you, so it stays out of your way.”
“That’d be nice.”
After a couple more minutes, Dream was divested of all bandages, including the ones on his legs, and was dressed in only boxers and Technoblade’s mask as he allowed Phil to check his injuries and how they were healing. Most of the shallower cuts he’d had on his legs and arms were reduced to slightly scabbed scratches, and most of the bruises were fading to a pale yellow and green. There was still some darker bruising on his right shin, where his leg had to be rebroken a few days ago, and on his wrists from where he struggled heavily against his cuffs.
“It all looks about as well as can be expected,” Phil said eventually. “The cuts on your back are the worst, obviously, but everything is actually scabbed over. We’ll still wrap them to keep them from getting irritated, but as long as you don’t move around so you’re pulling at it, they should all stay closed and heal soon.” He handed Dream the healing potion. “You take this. I’ll get your bath started.”
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He set Technoblade's mask down on the bathroom counter carefully. Dream gaped at his reflection in the mirror, standing only in boxers and devoid of all bandages to cover the wounds. He’d seen himself in prison, but never fully like this, never in a mirror when he could see his face and the whole gruesome picture put together. He looked truly awful.
His skin had always been fairly scarred; he had a rough upbringing where he was mostly on his own, fending for himself against mobs and the elements and other players. However, those scars were victories, reminders of battles won, what he’d been able to overcome, even as a kid.
The scars from these wounds would be shameful. A reminder of how weak he’d been, how helpless he’d been, trying to remain strong but always inevitably breaking to the pain, begging and crying at Quackity’s feet, hoping for mercy that never came. And his bones--you could see them through his skin. All the muscle and bit of fat he’d once had had disappeared, leaving him practically skeletal, sunken-cheeked and haunting.
Trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, Dream turned away from the mirror. He wanted to smash it, to destroy the warped shadow of himself staring back at him, taunting him. Instead, he stripped off his boxers and stepped into the bathtub, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind with everything else, locking it up as tightly as he could.
The warm bath water felt nice against his skin, soothing aching muscles and bruised skin, though it slightly stung against the scabbed cuts on his back and chest. He sighed, sinking further in to rest his head on the back of the tub. He let himself rest there for a bit, focusing on enjoying the warm water, before he sat up more and grabbed the bar of soap. It smelled wonderful as he dipped it in the water and lathered it against a washcloth--the smell of sandalwood and cedar and leather.
He was careful not to strain his back as he leaned forward a bit, scrubbing the cloth lightly down his legs, washing his lower body as thoroughly as he was able without contorting too much or aggravating any scrapes. When he was done, he left the cloth and soap on the side of the tub, leaning back again.
“You can come in now,” Dream called to the closed door, his eyes drifting shut. The door opened and shut quietly, and Techno kneeled down by the tub without a word. Gentle, weapon-calloused hands checked over healing scrapes and bruises on his arms, then carefully washing the areas with the soapy cloth, paying extra attention to some of the deeper, scabbed over wounds on his upper chest.
“Lean forward,” Techno said, and Dream did, resting his elbows on his knees. Dream hissed through his teeth as Techno pressed against a couple particularly tender spots of his healing whip wounds. “Sorry,” Technoblade murmured as he washed his back, trying not to aggravate the wounds.
“‘s alright,” Dream said.
“Lean your head back,” Technoblade instructed. He cupped his hand along Dream’s forehead as he soaked his hair in the sudsy bath water. Not for the first time, Dream felt something strange and foreign flicker in his chest at the care Techno treated him with. After soap and conditioner, Dream felt half asleep, lulled by Technoblade’s hands washing his hair. Once his hair was rinsed, Technoblade looked away while Dream wrapped himself in a towel, but left his arm extended for Dream to balance with.
“Are you good to walk to the living room?” Techno asked, probably noticing the way Dream’s eyes were drooping heavily.
Still, Dream nodded, and once there, Techno had Dream sit on the floor in front of the fire, while Technoblade sat in an armchair directly behind him. Wielding a comb, Technoblade slowly but surely unraveled the numerous knots in Dream’s hair. Though some of the knots did tug on his scalp, the process was much more painless than he’d expected--he knew his hair was not in the best shape at all. It was probably due to the precision with which Techno approached every snag and tangle, and Dream admired his patience—then again, he must be very practiced, with the hybrid’s fine rose hair being several times longer than his own.
Finally, as the fire started to wane slightly, Techno was able to brush through Dream’s hair in its entirety without getting caught. Then, starting at Dream’s hairline, Techno started to section it into little pieces, braiding them together. And damn--if Dream had thought Technoblade washing his hair was hypnotic, this was doubly so. He could easily drift off like this, he thought, with his head leant back against his ally’s knee and the warmth of the fire brushing over his skin.
“Stay awake, Dream.” Techno’s voice made him blink his eyes open. Dream made a disgruntled noise, brain fogged with sleepiness. Techno laughed quietly. “I’m almost done, nerd. Then I’ll re-bandage ya’, and you can sleep all you want.”
Dream grumbled something incoherent, but stayed still as Technoblade finished off his braid. The hybrid didn’t make Dream get up, and instead kneeled behind him with the basket of bandages. Dream was so tired he barely registered Technoblade lifting and maneuvering his arms around to wrap his back and chest. In fact, he didn’t register much of anything until he was being lifted up--easily, like he weighed nothing.
“Mmh...wah?” Dream shifted his head, finding it resting against a solid shoulder. They were moving, he realized, hearing the click of Technoblade’s hooves as if through water as the piglin hybrid carried him with ease.
Technoblade shushed him. “Just taking you to your room, sleepyhead.”
“C’n wa’k m’self.”
“Course you can.” Dream felt Technoblade’s voice vibrate in his chest, under his cheek. “Just go to sleep, Dreamie.”
Dream did.
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Technoblade pushed the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle the sleeping man in his arms as he did so. He knelt on one knee by the bed, looking down at Dream.
Dream’s nose was tucked against his collar, his cheek pressed into his shoulder as he slept, his warm breath tickling Technoblade’s collar. He didn’t think Dream was aware of it, but his fingers were curled in the front of Technoblade’s shirt, holding tightly even in sleep. He didn’t let go even as Techno carefully settled him onto the mattress, pulling the blankets up to his waist. Technoblade teased Dream’s fingers open like he had earlier that evening, rubbing his knuckles and the back of his hand, but carefully avoiding his bruised wrist.
Techno scowled at the dark bruise. He couldn’t wait for it--for all of them--to be gone. He wanted every remaining mark of Quackity and Sam’s cruelty gone from Dream’s delicate, exhausted body. The voices raged in his head whenever they saw them, feeding off Technoblade’s protective wrath to call for their blood. Even after shooting Sam in the eye and taking his first canon life, Chat wasn’t satiated, and neither was Technoblade.
He didn’t know where this protectiveness was coming from, but if there was one thing he’d learned, there was no fighting it. It had never worked for him before, not with Philza, not with Wilbur, not with Ranboo or--most recently--Niki. This new warmth in his chest for Dream couldn’t be got rid of, and would likely only grow from here.
He hated it sometimes.
Technoblade sighed, watching for a moment as Dream slept, his face half-buried in the pillow, the hand that wasn’t still in Technoblade’s grasp tucked up by his chin. His face was still thin from hunger, but after a full meal and a bath he had more of a glow of life about him, for which Technoblade was endlessly thankful. He brushed his lips over the back of Dream’s hand before placing it down by the other, and then pulled the blankets at his waist up to his shoulders before leaving Dream to sleep.
Phil was in his brewing room, sitting on a stool as he monitored healing potions bubbling away in the brewing stands. He looked in Techno’s direction as he entered the room. Phil didn’t say a word; he just shifted his body towards Techno and opened his arms. Indeed, Technoblade sank to sit at Phil’s feet, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and burying his face in his friend’s lap. Phil’s arms came to rest on his shoulder blades, one hand running over Techno’s braided hair. The two were silent, the only sounds the bubbling potions and the wind rustling tree branches outside.
“Is he asleep?” Phil asked eventually. Techno nodded into his lap.
“I should’ve come sooner,” Technoblade muttered, his voice muffled by Phil’s jinbei.
“You didn’t know, Tech.”
“Doesn’t matter. I still should have come. I knew he’d ask to be freed eventually. I knew the second he went in that’s what he’d use the favor on. I should at least have visited, checked in on him. He couldn’t ask to be freed if I never saw him.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Phil said firmly. “He’s here now, and he’s recovering. That’s what matters.” Technoblade groaned in frustration. Phil sighed, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “I know what you’re thinking, mate, and you’re wrong. You’re not selfish.”
Techno made a noncommittal noise. “He needs someone to help him with no strings attached. Not someone like me.”
“You’re not helping him because of this feeling,” Phil said. “If anything--knowing how you are when you care about someone--you’re helping him in spite of this feeling. Don’t tell me your first instinct isn’t to hide yourself away from him.”
“Of course it is,” Techno grunted. The avian man knew him too well. Phil chucked.
“You have a good heart, Tech,” Phil said, stroking Techno’s hair fondly. “Even if you don’t think so. And you know, even before all this, I could see there was something there, between you two. You’re just what Dream needs right now, Techno. He needs someone who cares.”