Work Text:
Technoblade had been working for weeks to find a way out of the prison. He’d thought of every spell, every concoction in existence. Dream was, of course, no help. He was still bitter about the bell. It was a necessity!
Finally, he went to his last resort. Long ago, a figure who was foggy in the endless expanse that was his memory told him of an easy way to make a portal, but it was a portal that could take you anywhere. In this realm, or in another. It was one for a desperate man.
Technoblade was desperate.
He cast the spell. Made the portal. Stepped through the swirling gate.
The world he walked into was a strange place. Everything was… rounder, but sharper at the same time. There were more wrinkles in his surroundings, more spots of imperfection. The walls were white and sterile, and there was a smell in the air that reminded him of when Tommy and Wilbur filled his home with unknown chemicals as a prank. Somehow, despite not knowing its meaning, the word “hospital” came to the pig-hybrids mind. There was a large, mechanical-looking bed in front of him. What kind of red stone had they used to make that?
In that bed, was a man… boy, perhaps? He was skinny, bald, and frail, but he looked frighteningly like Technoblade himself. He wore glasses, his arms were thinner and teeth shorter, and he had far fewer scars, but other than that he looked like an exact replica. His arm was attached to a fluid-filled bag by a long cord, and he looked exhausted .
“Who are you?” Technoblade asked.
“Uhhhhh, Technoblade. Also,” the boy said, looking disturbed but also very intrigued. “I guess maybe… you? We’re kinda the same person?”
What the Hell was this Techno-clone on about?
“How do you know my name?”
“You’re me. My character. I created you. How did you get here?” Was that really the weirdest thing going on here? This dude must have a crazy life, and that was coming from Techno.
“I escaped dreams prison through a portal.” Simple. To the point. Just how he liked it.
“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Technoblade appreciated his dry humor.
“So, uh, not to be rude or anything, but what’s wrong with you? Were you beat in some kind of battle?” Not that he would expect anyone of his kind to lose a fight-- Technoblade never dies! --but it certainly seemed like this other Technoblade had taken a hit.
“Uh, I guess technically I’m still fighting it. Cancer.” He said as if that explained everything.
“Who is cancer? I’ll fight him for you, you are way too weak to do it yourself.”
“Harsh, man,” other-Techno laughed half-heartedly.
“Sorry, not sorry.” He was a little sorry. Not that he would ever admit it.
Other-Techno laughed. “Cancer’s not a person, Technoblade. It’s a sickness.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” The boy frowned. Techno felt his heart clench. In his experience, to lose your life--or the life of a friend-- to sickness was a far harsher ending than that of war.
Techno thought for a moment before he sat in the empty seat beside other-Techno’s bed.
“Then we’ll fight it together.”