Chapter Text
Technoblade was not a fool. Was not easily tricked and controlled. So when Quackity comes with a message from Dream, he isn't fooled. Dream wouldn't trust Quackity. He wouldn't trust Quackity like that. So anything Quackity says is a lie. Which means Dream may be hurt. And when your moniker is "The Blood God" then you would be a disappointment to not pick up the faint smell and faded red stains. Chat certainly didn't help, screaming not to trust the shorter man. He has eyes, Chat. Have more faith.
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So he begins to pack. Writing his "Will" containing rescue instructions, contingency plans, and if all goes wrong, his actual final instructions. Making room in his enderchest for his good items. Slipping smaller items into hidden pockets.
Technoblade can take several guesses into what is happening behind closed doors. The more he thinks about it, the more terrible it gets, into he shuts down the line for his own good. It won't do anything to let his mind wander to the worst outcomes possible. What he knows of Sam is that he's authoritative. Quackity hates both him and Dream. Nobody has really heard from Dream, besides previous two resurrections.
And probably nobody knows about Dream's species. And he highly doubts The Warden would be devoting time and effort to a pure meat diet for a prisoner. Which fuels the idea to pack some jerky. Considering how well Dream kept his feline status from everyone, to the point not even Technoblade knew until post Doomsday he'd be surprised if Dream willingly let others know.
It's not a long journey, made quicker by then passage through the Nether and his long steps. Cloak swishing behind him as Chat mumbled amongst themselves. Some weren't fond of Dream, others were. And well, Techno was entertaining for everyone. He absently added to the conversation, but quieted a bit as he approached the prison.
Sam, from the moment they start talking, sets his hair on edge and makes his muscles bunch. Years of honed instinct almost screaming at him that this was a trap.
Chat too.
He tests boundaries, all while picking up knowledge. Because Sam liked his work admired. Because Sam is all too confident in his prison. In his systems and traps. And Technoblade is a fast learner. Keen eyes watching the Warden just as much as he watched the redstone. The waivers are also concerning, it's legalese and easily interpreted in however one wants, easy to twist into an abuse of authority.
So he watches as the lava lowers. Seeing his friend, even if Dream won't admit it, with back turned. He'd already crossed the Rubicon, and with an almost finality he steps into Charon's ferry. The other turns, and even from the distance he can see the distress.
Dreams mask is still on, but the rest of his signature getup is not, mismatched ears pinned to his head as he howls the warning. Fur spiking in clumped matts. And as he steps onto the obsidian he leans back to avoid the swipe. Joking to try and calm him down. The orange jumpsuit, the piglin thinks, clashes horribly with Dream's calico coloring. And well… the blood. It stains both the clothing and fur. The mask chipped, battered, and stained. The enchants that once helped mask the wearer's appearance are long gone. White fur is dingy and dirty, almost blending colors together.
Sam leaves, and it's all going to plan. He waits a few minutes, commenting on the netherite and the cell itself, encouraging Dream to write everything he knows. Because distractions work. A calming solution while they wait. And Techno has further plans.
"Here, sit." He spreads his cloak out, a softer place to rest than the smooth, and somewhat slick obsidian underfoot. There's no bed, no resting place. And the anarchist wonders how Dream sleeps.
Suspicious, the shorter siddles over, tail stiff and low. It's crooked, bent in two places clearly pointing to breaks and Dream limps, each step looking painful. Techno curses internally that he was unable to sneak much more than a few bandages. And while he'd reset limbs on the battlefield, it was nothing as delicate as a tail. Dislocated shoulders? Clean arm and leg breaks? Easy. The tiny and fragile bones in a cat's tail? He wasn't risking it.
So Dream settles in front of him, eyeing the comb in Techno's hand. "You helped me with my hair after Doomsday. It's only right that I fix some of this. I doubted they'd given you enough personal hygiene to properly self-care. Prisons aren't hotels." It's another attempt to listen the mood, and he guesses it works when Dream gives a light snort. Ears flicking.
Reaching into the cauldron, Technoblade dipped the one rag he got it, gently wringing it out. Without shampoo, a wipe down would have to-do. And in the few conversations they had, and his general knowledge of the variety of felines he knew, most were particular about cleanliness. The fact Dream had let it get this bad was worrying enough. Added to the visible wounds, both visible and not, along with the dried blood, he has a clear picture of what was going on.
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Several minutes and wring outs later and what's visible of his fur is as clean as it can get. Bandages aren't the best on fur, but he'd managed to wrap Dream arms. Shaking away the almost disturbing fact that Dream had barely talked. Barely made any noise. Despite the constant stream of talk the taller had kept. "Let me see your hands. I don't believe they gave you proper claw care."
Dream stiffens and puts the quill down. The handwriting is messy at best and near ineligible at worse. Dream extends his left hand, the paw like appendage pad up. There's something off and then Dream flexes his fingers. Nothing happens. For the first time since his initial breakdown he speaks, voice cracked and raspy. "Quackity declawed me a few weeks ago. I lashed out on reflex. Scratched his arm. They didn't want me to fight back."
The first thought, inappropriate for the situation and the sight before him is, "How am I supposed to do his nails now?" The rest is much more in line, including the nearly blinding ice cold rage that permeates every corner of himself. He slips the nail polish and file back into the hidden pocket and gently takes the hand in his own. Running over the pads and tips gently. He was by no stretch an anatomical effort. But he knew enough about feline biology to know how absolutely fucked it was. And that it probably wasn't a "professional" job.
"All of them." Dream intones before he can ask. It explains the limp.
"I promise, Dream, we're escaping." He knows the other hybrid doesn't believe him, as he wraps clean linen around each paw. But Technoblade wouldn't have even considered this a "favor". He cared about Dream. And well...Quackity made himself an enemy.
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It's day two, he thinks. There's no clock and neither one of them were good at telling the passage of time. And when one didn't bother anyway and the other had been marking time with daily torture sessions well, it probably wasn't the best system in the first place.
Technoblade had two goals. Get Dream talking and get him to purr. The first did hold some selfishness. It was getting boring just talking at Dream, and he did enjoy previous conversations and the second was, if he remembered correctly, beneficial to Dream's health. So they were back to the piglin trying to get some semblance of care for the others fur. The calico had offered to braid his hair, but he'd turned it down. If he could keep the digits relatively unharmed, there was a chance some rigorous potion and apple routines would heal the claws. So they sat there again, the top of the jumpsuit off, revealing scars both new and old, crisscrossing spots and white fur.
"Do you think I'm incapable of love?" Techno pauses, dipping the comb back into the water, the gentle swish adding to the ambient noise.
"That's a rather broad question, Dream. I'm gonna need you to be more specific."
"You know what I mean. I can't love people." Dream hisses slightly as a rather stubborn clump of blood is gently tugged loose from his fur. Technoblade would apologize, but last time he'd tried Dream just hissed. Rather not upset the Roomie.
"I find that rather hard to believe." He could add more, he wants to add more, but Techno isn't quite sure how to answer it without coming off wrong. Without making his friend shut down.
"I only care about how I can use people." Once again. Ridiculous. But Dream isn't in the state for a forceful argument. So he needs a different approach. Chat tempts him to point out being a near purring liquid against him as his fur is gently cleaned negates the "incapable of feeling" bit, but he's not risking it.
"I don't love people. I don't care about them like others do. Quackity-"
"Look, Dream. Can you seriously tell me that you don't care about people when you risked your life for my safety? And don't say it's about "getting out". You would have contacted me earlier. If you're talking about the whole romance thing, that's a very narrow bit of loving people. And what, you're going to believe Quackity you're evil because you don't fall in love?"
There's silence and Technoblade sighs, setting the comb down. "Well, you know 'bout me. Apply that logic of yours to me."
Silence as Dream's ears flatten. "I mean, you aren't-"
Gently, even if he isn't a touchy person, he pulls Dream against him. "That isn't what makes you a bad person. I'm not sure where you got that idea. But gods, not lacking love of any form doesn't make you evil."
There's silence for awhile after that. Just the two of them.
And well, if Dream starts to purr, then that's one goal accomplished.