Chapter Text
The fireplace crackled behind him.
The prison break had been hours before. Phil had gotten out of there early, after his job as a diversion had been done. The withers were set loose, and Techno yelled into his comm to get out of there and set up medical supplies for when they returned.
His mouth was dry. It was from worry, probably. Techno wasn’t one to be late. He should be arriving sometime soon, unless he got held up. But why in Prime’s name would the prison be a challenge for Techno with a bunch of withers on his side?
It shouldn’t have worried him so much. They had fought in countless battles together, and he knew his friend could handle himself. Having Techno return late didn’t quite frighten him, but what did was the concern with which Techno shook his shoulders and demanded that they return for Dream.
Dream. He didn’t know the man all that well, despite working with him during Doomsday, but Techno did. Even then, there had been nothing that unnerved Phil more than the terror in Techno’s eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. The potions and bandages, along with a bucket of clean water, were set out on the coffee table, mere feet away. There was nothing to do but wait.
Steve grumbled in his sleep near the front door, a partially chewed bone in between his outstretched paws. It had been from the remains of a creature Phil had found among the skulk of the underground. He had intended to figure out what it was, but Steve had looted his belongings beforehand. The skulk, however, wasn’t harmful to the living, so Phil left it alone.
The minutes ticked by painfully slowly. Each click of the grandfather clock shoved up by the living room wall had Phil praying that there would be some sign, some word that they were alright. Techno wasn’t answering his messages or his almost-frantic calls. There were a large variety of reasons why he wouldn’t be answering, but it did nothing to quell Phil’s uneasiness.
Eventually, his ears made out lumbering steps, marching slowly toward his cabin. It could easily be a stray zombie, or some kind of animal. But his instincts told him it was neither, which was why he abandoned his sword by the chair and made his way to the front door. He didn’t bother grabbing for a coat; he wouldn’t be outside in the snow for very long.
Phil reached for the handle. There was only one set of footsteps. He could recognize that ragged breathing anywhere. Maybe he had been wrong, and Dream had not returned with them, despite Techno being very insistent that he would come back with them. Dream wasn’t someone to be staying in one place for long, he knew, so he likely headed off to one of his hidden bases around the SMP.
“Phil!” Techno called out, and his heart broke a little. Techno sounded very, very panicked—almost like he had been on the day that Phil brought him home. “Can you grab the door?”
Without any more hesitation, Phil tugged it open. There was little wind tonight, though there was a storm about to pass through. As far as the arctic went, it was perfect weather to travel through. Despite that, he was immensely relieved that Techno managed to make it through without incident.
In front of him, windswept and bloodied, stood Technoblade. Cradled delicately in his arms was what appeared to be a mass of crooked, burned, and badly-maintained wings.
“Who is-” he started, but by then Techno was already stepping through the door frame. Even without Techno’s good nose, he could smell the blood. The wings and Techno both were drenched in it.
“It’s Dream,” Techno said breathlessly. “Did you get the—oh, good. I’m…I’m gonna need your help. Please.”
The wings rustled. Techno looked down, a soft expression crossing his pained face. “Now. He-” his voice cracked, “he might not make it, Phil.”
Phil’s gaze swept them both, watching Techno place Dream down on the couch with more delicacy than he thought he’d ever seen from him. “Okay. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
In the corner, Steve’s head rose, eyes watching them both curiously. The unknown bone lay, forgotten. His nose sniffed the air, probably smelling the strong scent of iron. Phil let himself lament for only a moment about getting the smell out of the furniture before pushing the thought away entirely.
While Techno dug through the medical supplies that had been set out, Phil gently moved one of the wings aside, trying to get a better idea of how bad the damage was. Phil had lived for centuries, had fought in countless wars, and even he struggled to remember the last time he had seen someone injured this badly. His immediate concerns were the wounds, but as he gingerly picked up one of Dream’s hands, his focus shifted to the skeleton that he held. Something—multiple somethings, really—were clearly broken.
Goddess above, there was so much blood.
Phil reached over towards the coffee table to take a potion, only to be stopped by Techno’s hand before his fingertips could hit the bottle.
“No potions,” Techno said. He took one of the clean rags Phil had set out, dampening it with the nearby bucket.
Phil frowned. “Techno, he clearly needs them,” he said, still moving to pick it up. “We aren’t—it’s not like we’re running low on potions here.”
“It’s not—it’s just not a good idea,” Techno said firmly. “I’ll explain later, Phil, I promise, it’s just…” he trailed off, his attention more focused on Dream than it was on Phil. “Potions…aren’t a good idea for him. Not righ’ now.”
Perplexed, Phil nodded regardless, and set the potion back onto the side table. “Alright,” he said. “If you say so.” He picked up a roll of bandages, scanning the body that was still covered by the remains of what was once a prison uniform. “We’ll have to make do without, then.”
Techno seemed mildly startled when he pulled a pair of scissors to cut the clothing away from Dream, but allowed it regardless. Phil took a mental note of the reaction, set the scissors down, and tugged the cloth remains away. “Work as quickly as possible, mate. Without potions to replenish the blood, we don’t have that time extender.”
Something in Techno’s face looked a little sick, and his voice was strained when he went to speak. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
Phil wasn’t all that convinced, but he kept those thoughts to himself. “Just handle the bleeding. I’ll do what I can.”
Dream didn’t wake up, per se, while they worked. Rather, he stirred slightly while Phil stitched him up. They hadn’t used any potions to numb the pain, something Techno insisted no matter how much Phil protested. Instead, Phil used a numbing cream he had on hand to try and soothe if Dream were to ever wake up.
Right as he was threading the needle through a particularly nasty gash on Dream’s shoulder, he stirred, mumbling something unintelligible. Phil paused, momentarily drawing away, as did Techno, who was wiping down one of Dream’s hands to splint.
“Dream?” Techno asked, setting down the wet rag. “You awake, nerd?”
Again, Dream shifted, his head turning to the other side. His body was slightly quivering but didn’t appear to be awake. A groan barely left his mouth, hoarse and practically whispered.
“Mate?” Phil said, just to be sure. “You with me?” When Dream didn’t reply, he waved Techno on to continue, albeit a little more cautiously than before.
“You’re sure we can’t use-”
“Yes,” Techno said flatly. “No potions.”
When Phil returned to the stitches, Dream didn’t move again. They finished shortly afterward, and Techno picked Dream up to carry him to a proper bed.
The feathers left a trail of blood where they dragged against the floor.
Techno watched from the doorframe of the spare bedroom. Dream was lying in the bed that once belonged to Tommy, wings carefully stretched out and wrapped. Phil had been extra careful, carefully wiping away congealed blood and straightening feathers wherever possible. Some of the bones in the wings, let alone the rest of the body, were badly broken. They had to splint much of it so the wings couldn’t be moved while they healed. Phil assured him that they could be fixed. They had to. Dream loved them far too much to have it be any other way.
The room was dark. There was a small fireplace that he could have lit, but he didn’t dare just yet. The arctic was cold, though, so what Dream couldn’t offer in body heat he made up for in wool blankets and layers of fur. He hoped Dream would like it. It pressed against his body softly in a way obsidian didn’t, and would be kinder on his unprotected bones without the soft layer of fat or muscle to cushion him.
Here, there were no chains or restraints. Here, nothing was holding him down or causing him grief, at least not physically. In the cell, Techno had seen the heavy-handed marks left in Dream’s mind. Not just when Quackity or Sam was in the cell with them, oftentimes it was just Techno’s mere presence that set him off, especially when he was drowsy and his thoughts not quite aware of his surroundings. Simple things, too, like gently urging him to eat or trying to coax him over to the cauldron to help clean him off. That latter one in particular was especially bad. For a while, at least, just washcloths would have to do until Dream got a little more comfortable.
What was he even doing, thinking that far into the future? Dream needed to wake up first. He needed to see, to understand where he was, to wake up , before Techno could start helping him with any of the other ways the prison had hurt him, body and mind.
Towards the end of Techno’s stay, Dream started sleeping more and more, with almost no nightmares waking him up. It was bound to happen eventually, but it didn’t make Techno worry any less when Dream barely even stirred at the clicks of the dispensers that announced a visitor’s arrival, halfway convinced he had fallen into a coma or worse. The confusion would only last for moments until Sam pulled Techno towards the barrier of lava, and chained him to the wall on one wrist.
The first time he had done that, it had been hours until Quackity arrived. Techno had known even then that Dream was being tortured; he had seen the state he was in, and it was obvious.
But even with all that, Techno somehow found it hard to believe it would continue. Maybe just because torture was just too terrible of a thing for him to really even consider. He wasn’t even entirely sure why they were torturing Dream in the first place—Dream certainly wasn’t about to tell him—but now that they had Techno stuck there in prison, he figured it was at an end. He’d already made up his mind that if anyone came into that cell to try and hurt Dream, they would find themselves unceremoniously chucked into the lava.
Now, this might be a little harder to follow through on after Sam had come in and chained him to the wall, but hey, he would figure something out. In hindsight, maybe he should have struggled more against Sam. In his defense, the guy was in full netherite, and Techno wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t help Dream if he was dead.
Techno experimentally tugged at the short manacle that kept him close to the wall, but it didn’t budge. “Yo, is this netherite too?” he asked Dream. Well, asked the mound of bloodied feathers that was hiding Dream from view. Shortly after Techno had arrived, after hoarsely berating him for a bit, Dream had curled up under his huge, owl-like wings and refused to say a word since. “This and the floor? Seems like a waste, y’know. Could put it to better use elsewhere.”
Dream, predictably, did not respond. Techno sincerely hoped that this silence was just a passing phase; he had no idea if he was stuck to the wall for the foreseeable future—which would be very annoying—or if Sam would eventually come and unchain him later. The realization that he couldn’t really move, or do anything to help Dream, had his chest feeling tight with nervousness. He couldn’t think of any reason why Sam would come to chain him up like this, in a place where he couldn’t move, or go get water from the cauldron, or do anything, unless it was a temporary solution to keep him out of the way. He didn’t like thinking about why Sam wouldn’t want him moving.
Also concerning was how Dream didn’t dare get close to him. It was just Techno approaching, at least until Sam pulled them apart. Dream seemed to want to stay close to the back wall, in a small corner that he was certain the Dream before prison wouldn’t be able to fit in.
Somewhere outside the cell came the unmistakable sound of redstone mechanics clicking together, and Techno’s ears swiveled toward it. Was this Sam coming back? Took him long enough. He had so many games he wanted to play with Dream. He even managed to sneak in a pack of cards under his belt.
The minutes ticked by, and eventually, the lava fell enough that Techno could see two figures on the other side. One was unmistakably the Warden, with what looked like slightly fewer weapons than he’d had the last time he was in the cell. The other figure was just as recognizable, if much less imposing.
Seeing Techno looking, Quackity offered a wave and a grin, stepping onto the moving bridge that would take him across the lava. “Technoblade!” he called out. “Long time no see, man.”
“Yeah, that’s kinda been on purpose,” Techno said. He didn’t miss the way that Dream curled up tighter on the floor, the wings covering him shivering. “Lemme guess—you’re here to get me out because there’s another mind-controllin’ egg on the loose.”
Quackity laughed, stepping off the bridge and into the cell. “Not quite, Techno, not quite,” he said, his grin widening. The assortment of strange tools and weaponry on his belt was more than just mildly concerning. And Sam hadn’t come across, either.
“Well, uh, I’m at the end of my list of ideas,” Techno said, shrugging as well he could with one hand still chained to the wall. That was a lie. “Maybe you come back some other time.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t think so,” Quackity said. Something in his tone had shifted. He wasn’t smiling anymore. With his eyes still on Techno, he said, “Dream. Aren’t you going to greet me?”
The mound of feathers shuddered, and the wings were pulled back. Dream pushed himself up onto his knees with what looked like a great deal of effort, his head bowed forward. He was shaking, badly.
“Hello, sir,” he whispered. Techno’s stomach dropped.
“As you may have noticed, Dreamie, we have a guest today,” Quackity said conversationally. “All thanks to you writing that letter to him, of course.”
Dream’s wings twitched. He didn’t move.
“So. There are two of you here, now, y’know,” Quackity continued. The barrier of netherite blocks had risen back up, and Quackity leaned against it. “And I spent a lot of time thinking about how we wanted to do this. Because, Techno, I’ve been visiting Dream a lot, keeping him, ah, entertained, and all. I don’t want you to feel left out.”
“I think Dream and I could just entertain each other,” Techno said, keeping his tone carefully steady. “You don’t need to go through all this trouble.”
“It’s not any trouble at all, really,” Quackity assured him. That wide grin had come back. He pushed himself upright, taking a step over to Dream, who still didn’t move. “See, Techno, you may not know this, but I actually hate you. I really do! You and Dream, as a matter of fact.”
“Seems a bit harsh,” Techno said, trying hard to keep the conversational tone in his voice. “I have done nothin’ wrong in my life, ever.”
He knew exactly where this was going. Despite that, it took everything in him to not pull the cuff away from the wall and make it look like Quackity had gotten under his skin. He knew what was going to happen, and he was trying desperately to stop himself from accepting it.
Quackity ignored him. “And, y’know, Technoblade, you did kill me one time, you did do that, and it sucked. And I really, really wanted to kill you back.” He withdrew something small and handheld and shiny from his inventory, and Techno realized belatedly it was a netherite knife. If Quackity came close enough, he might be able to grab it.
“I wanted you to hurt like you hurt me, like you hurt so many other people. But! But, I realized, see, that you don’t care about that. You fight in wars for fun; you don’t care about getting hurt.”
Both were incorrect statements, but Techno was too focused on the knife in Quackity’s hand, on the way he was standing directly in front of Dream now, to dispute it. There wasn’t much room for banter here. Prime, he didn’t like where this was going.
“And you do care about people, huh? You care about your friends, you care about Dream, which,” he shrugged, “is honestly a big mistake.”
He abruptly drew his foot back and slammed it into Dream, knocking him flat on his back. Dream gasped at the same time Techno started forward, yanked back by the chain. “Woah, hey, Quackity, let’s maybe talk about this,” Techno said quickly, pulling again on the manacles. “You don’t have to—”
Quackity crouched down next to Dream, turning his face to the side and pressing the knife against his cheek. Dream’s eyes were wide, his breathing erratic. But he didn’t pull away. “Oh, I know, Technoblade, I know,” he said. “But I want to.” He dragged the knife into Dream’s skin, and Dream made a strangled sound. His fingers curled into the obsidian below, suppressing noises of panic.
“Seriously, man, stop,” Techno said, his tone tinged with alarm. “We both know it’s me you hate, don’t—”
Quackity cast an annoyed look up at him. “C’mon, Techno, c’mon,” he said, drawing the knife back. A new red gash was leaking blood down Dream’s face. “We both know this is better.” He raised the knife, and plunged it into Dream’s shoulder, close to the base of his wing. Dream shrieked , his wings flaring out, lurching upwards before Quackity’s hand on his chest shoved him back down.
“Quackity, stop!” Techno shouted, yanking against the chain again, succeeding in nothing other than nearly dislocating his wrist. “You can’t—Sam!” he shouted, turning his attention across the lava. “Sam, stop him, you can’t just—”
The Warden stood alone on the opposite side of the lava, trident held in one hand. Slowly, he turned and flipped a lever on the wall. The dispensers above clicked. The lava started to fall.
Dream screamed again, and Techno’s attention immediately flew back to him. Quackity had his hand pinned against the ground, digging the tip of his knife into the joint of his thumb. He was missing fingers, Techno realized distantly, somewhere outside his panic. He was missing his ring finger and part of his pinky.
He shouted at Quackity again to stop, to just stop , but Quackity just laughed and kept going. And going. And going . There was no way to tell time in the cell, but it had to have been for hours, switching sporadically between tools, methods, pain. Techno’s voice was hoarse from begging him to stop, to hurt him instead, and Dream was sprawled on his stomach, gasping for breath, blood dripping off him.
Quackity finally pulled back with a cheerful, “See you tomorrow!” and departed, leaving Dream unmoving on the floor, and Techno still stuck to the wall. His wrist ached, and the chain creaked from the force at which Techno was pulling on it.
“Dream,” Techno said quietly, after a long, long pause filled with the sound of Dream’s ragged breathing, as if speaking any louder would make him relive the horror he had just witnessed. “Dream. Are you…no, stupid question. Hey, hey, can you just…just come over here, I can help.”
Dream shuddered, but didn’t move beyond that.
“Please, man, I can’t do a lot, but I can still—”
“I’m sorry,” Dream croaked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry .” He curled up further, dragging one of his wings partially over himself. The motion seemed to hurt him much more. Quackity had gone for that one when Dream involuntarily used it to protect himself. The brown feathers were stained red.
“Don’t…don’t be sorry, Dream,” Techno said, his voice cracking. “You got nothin’ to be sorry about. Please, just…let me help you.”
Dream shook his head, but didn’t speak again.
Later, Sam came, and, with a sword at Techno’s throat, unchained him from the wall, warning him not to try anything. Techno used all of his self-control to refrain from throwing Sam into the lava, simply nodding when the Warden gave him diluted healing potions, a roll of bandages, and instructions to not let Dream die. And then he was gone.
The next day, Quackity came back, and the cycle started over again.
It was a brutal circle, one that repeated more times than Techno could count. Sam would restrain Techno, Quackity would come, he would leave Dream a bloody, broken wreck on the floor, then Sam would give Techno a pitiful amount of medical supplies, and leave them alone for hours. Then it would happen again. Techno had thought maybe that it would get easier, that he would get used to it. But the sounds of a man in agony, begging for his life, were not something you could get used to.
Looking at Dream now, bandaged and barely breathing in the bed, he wondered how he’d made it this far. Dream had been in prison for at least six months before Techno came; how had he survived?
However he did it, it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was keeping him that way. Helping him recover, helping him get better. Techno had seen the way that prison had destroyed him, in more than just the state of his body. He hadn’t yet admitted it to Phil, but it was the state of Dream’s mind that he was more worried about.
Techno cast one last look at Dream, making sure he was still breathing. He would be fine. He would be fine . They had helped him in time. His injuries were bandaged, and he was safe. They could figure everything else out later. Tomorrow, maybe. Fatigue was making him feel slow. Prime, he needed sleep.
Techno lowered his head, offering up a small prayer while his hand found the doorknob. Please be okay.
He drew the door closed, taking only one last glance at the unmoving figure on the bed before letting it shut completely. Techno sighed, his shoulders sagging, and let his head thump against the closed door. The scent of blood clung to his clothes like a second skin. He should probably take a bath before he went to bed.
“Mate?” Phil asked gently from behind him. “You alright?”
“D’you want an honest answer here, or nah?” Techno asked, not raising his head. He closed his eyes, briefly squeezing them shut. If he could cry, he certainly would be by now. “Because I think you probably already know the answer to that one.”
“Dream’s been…tortured, Techno. All you said before was that he ‘wasn’t doing well,’” Phil said slowly. “You didn’t mention, when I first got you out, all of this .” He vaguely waved a hand, indicating…everything, Techno supposed.
He sighed, finally looking up. “To be honest, Phil, to be perfectly honest, I want to do a lot more than put a pickaxe through Quackity’s other eye.” Even though he was angry, all he sounded was tired. That was probably the emotion most prominent at the moment, just a dull, blank fatigue that swept away everything else.
“Quackity was the one who did all this?”
“Yeah.” Here, Techno hesitated. He needed to tell Phil what happened in Pandora’s Vault, needed to tell him why Dream was on literal death’s door in the other room. At the same time…it almost felt like betraying his trust, and his privacy. Dream liked to be independent, he always had. Techno wanted to respect that. And…he also just didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it. But Phil needed to know if he was going to be involved. Techno knew that even if he didn’t say anything, Phil would help, but it wasn’t right. Not for him, or Dream.
“He was torturin’ him, Phil,” he said at last. “Every day. Whole time I was there, and before it, too. Came in with weapons and—tools—and just….” He gestured helplessly at the door to Tommy’s— Dream’s —room. “That. And I—” He breathed out slowly, hands clenching at his sides. “I couldn’t do anything about it. Sam had me chained up, and Quackity would just—torture him, instead of me.” Techno took a deep breath. “He knew, Phil, he knew that was the one thing he could do to hurt me.” And Dream would cry, and he’d scream, and he’d beg, and Techno was forced to turn his head away when the pleas for someone to save him got to be too much (Dream screamed for Techno, but he also screamed for Quackity, who held the knife, and for Sam, who had helped, and Techno didn’t know which one had hurt more). Phil didn’t need to know the details.
“Goddess,” Phil breathed, a hand going up to cover his mouth. “For months?”
Techno nodded. “He said it was for months even before I showed up. If I had to guess, probably around half a year. Three months longer by the time I got ‘im out.”
He drew away from the door, hearing no sound of movement inside. Dream would sleep, probably for a long time, but he would live. He might not be awake, but he would live. He would live. He had to.
“I thought Quackity would take ‘is wings, honestly. I kept…waitin’ for it.”
Phil followed him silently all the way upstairs, to the bath that had already been drawn whilst he was out fighting for Dream’s life. The water had long gone cold, but Techno couldn’t be bothered to heat it back up.
“Avians have major arteries running through their wings,” Phil said quietly, just over his shoulder. “So if they wanted him alive, Quackity couldn’t have done anything. They are in…pretty bad shape, though. I’d prefer to get potions into him, but-”
“No potions,” said Techno firmly as he rooted through the soap bottles. Several of them didn’t have labels, so he had to sniff them to figure out what was inside.
Techno wasn’t looking in Phil’s direction, but he was sure he nodded. “No potions,” Phil agreed. “We’ve done all we can for now. Go get some sleep. I’ll watch over him.”
Techno wished the bath that followed was enough to wash Dream’s cries from his ears.