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Technoblade likes his quiet life in the seaside city to the east of L’Manberg. He runs a small but popular potion shop, which carries a variety of common household cleaning potions, disposable healing elixirs and other, more obscure tinctures, which are only made available for distinguished customers upon specific request and with a substantial upfront payment.
It’s a drastic change from being the personal bodyguard of King Philza of the renowned Antarctic Empire, but a welcomed one.
At a point in one’s life, he had noted sagely to Phil before he packed up and left the capital, one becomes tired of drop-kicking toddlers and being the second worst thing to happen to orphans.
So Techno is happy with his retired life.
Or well.
He’s not actively unhappy.
He enjoys the anonymity and mundanity his daily routine grants him, and he’s grown fond of the small town and of the precious plot of potatoes he’s taken to growing in his backyard. He likes the sweet sheep hybrid who runs the florist around the corner and the kind girl with the dyed hair who runs the bakery two doors down, because despite his best attempts to avoid any and all unnecessary interactions, he’s gotten to be on fairly good terms with them.
It’s not his fault.
He tried really hard to avoid any get-togethers.
The nerds just won’t take no for an answer.
Ahem.
In any case, Techno is content with his retirement.
So when a new potions shop named DSMP, garishly decorated in a lime green theme, opens next door, Techno only feels the briefest amount of apprehension at the prospect of having yet one more neighbour to keep at a distance.
Only for his sense of trepidation to skyrocket when he meets his newest neighbour because Dream is-
Well.
Dream is something else.
---
“Revolution is a terrible name for a potion shop,” Dream remarks idly.
He’s leaning over the counter, too casual and confident for a man who deigns it necessary to have an ubiquitous mask covering his face, and Techno briefly entertains the fantasy of chucking a cursed elixir at his person.
It would be so easy.
Techno has fantastic aim and there are no customers in the store.
There would be no witnesses.
It would be the perfect crime.
Only, very regrettably, their neighbours might notice the sudden disappearance of one new potions master and the coincidental appearance of Techno’s new pet blob and, Techno suspects, put two and two together.
He wisely restrains himself.
“Says the one who named his shop DSMP,” he replies drily, “bruh, why are you even here? Don’t you have a business to run?”
Dream waves a hand airily. “Sap’s got it covered,” he dismisses easily and takes an exaggeratedly slow look of Techno’s small shop, “just wanted to say hello to my neighbour.”
“You’ve done that,” Techno says, suppressing a sigh at the ridiculousness of the conversation, “please feel free to vacate the premises.”
“What?” Dream shrugs, pushing off of the counter in a fluid movement that made Techno wonder about the other’s apparent aerobatic abilities. “What the hell is wrong with you? Who tells- you know what, fine, I just thought it would only be fair to greet my competition.”
“I would hardly call us competitors,” Techno refutes as politely as he can in face of such audacious claims.
Dream is a relative unknown in the town, whereas Techno’s customers come far and wide for his personalized potions.
To his surprise, Dream nods readily. “You’re right. This isn’t a competition, not yet, but I’m going to crush you in sales.”
Which.
“Heh?!” Techno starts in a louder tone than he intends, and draws in a deep breath through his nose to try and calm himself down. “You fool, you absolute deluded mad man. You have no idea who you’re up against. You’ll have to brew for another three hundred years before you can even hope to get on my level-”
“I bet you I have higher monthly sales for the majority of the remaining months this year,” Dream interrupts like the ill-mannered cretin that he is and, even with his features hidden behind the damnable mask, the blond sounds smug.
Techno twitches.
He has always had issues turning down direct challenges.
“And what would I get out of this bet?” Techno asks reluctantly, intrigued despite himself.
“Money?”
Techno pauses. “I’m already the best in the city, Dream,” he says after a beat, leaving the rest of his question unasked and simply raising an eyebrow to demonstrate his skepticism.
“I know Prince George,” Dream explains, “if you win, I’ll get him to transfer his annual 100,000 coin retainer contract from me to you.”
Huh.
Techno pauses, enticed by the ridiculously lucrative deal.
“Bruh,” he gets out, “I, why you would-”
“And if I winnn,” Dream drawls, “you have to publicly announce I’m better.”
The blond swaggers close and holds out a hand.
“What do you say?”
---
“This is a terrible idea,” Sapnap mutters, warily watching from his side of the room, “I’m not even sure unicorn mane is supposed to go into- SHIT!”
Dream coughs, waving a hand in front of his face as the acrid smoke from the cauldron drifts up. “Fuck,” he groans, “that’s the fourth cauldron, at this rate, I’m going to have to order another-”
“You’re on fire!” Sapnap bites out, “stop complaining about the damn pot.”
Dream sighs and pats out the small flames on his sleeves with a roll of his eyes. He’s been lit on fire on previous attempts to experiment with new potion ingredients so this is hardly a new occurrence.
Honestly, Sappity Nappity is such a drama queen.
“At this rate, we’re going to lose,” he grouses, “and I refuse to hand over George’s contract.”
Sapnap makes a face, “you’re the one who decided to challenge Technoblade. We would’ve eventually established a customer base here.”
“Yeah buttttt,” Dream agrees with a snap of his fingers, pointing it in the other’s direction, “you have to admit this way is much faster. How many customers came by today just because of the rumoured competition?”
“Uh huh,” Sapnap allows then pauses and, with a look that says he’s over Dream’s shit, asks, “and this has nothing to do with the fact that you find our neighbour attractive?”
Dream hesitates. “No, why would you even say-?”
He stops.
Does he find Technoblade attractive?
It’s true that the man is tall and surprisingly buff for a potions master.
Seriously, there is no way that the man maintains his muscle mass just by stirring cauldrons day in and day out.
Ahem.
Astoundingly toned physique aside, Dream reluctantly admits that Techno’s face is handsome.
In a classical sense of course, all sharp angles and fine features-
Huh.
“Uh,” Dream demurs, “maybe? I mean, it doesn’t matter but I have eyes is all.”
“Great, I feel so reassured, and when we lose the competition I sincerely hope you at least get a pity date out of this endeavour.” Sapnap snipes with a grim frown.
Dream flaps a hand to push away any lingering thoughts of Technoblade’s attractiveness and refocuses back onto the green slime within the cauldron. “That won’t happen.”
Sapnap snorts.
Dream ignores it.
Ye of little faith.
Instead, he peers at the texture of the slime and, after a moment, cautiously pokes at it with the wooden ladle he had been using to stir counterclockwise for the past five minutes. Upon closer inspection, it’s less slimy than it initially appeared, having taken on more of a paste like texture.
He holds the paste covered ladle up in the air and examines it with a critical eye.
“Don’t you dare,” Sapnap warns.
Dream shrugs and, in blatant defiance, decides to go with his gut instincts and smear some of the paste on the back of his hand.
He hears more than sees Sapnap’s loud facepalm.
“Calm down,” Dream reassures without taking his eyes off his hand, “if anything happens, I’ll just down a healing potion-”
He stops.
There is a cool tingle and, as Dream watches, the slime is disappearing and along with it, his hand.
“It works,” he says, a grin growing on his face, “it finally works!”
“Only you,” Sapnap sighs, “only you would go straight to experimentation on yourself.”
Dream brushes it off.
Technoblade’s chances of winning are fucked now.
---
Techno tries not to sigh when Dream pokes his head into the store for the second time this week.
Over the past two months, the sight of the masked blond man in his store has become a regular occurrence, much to Techno’s endless chagrin and confusion.
He’s not sure why his fellow potions master keeps visiting.
“Dream,” he acknowledges, before turning back to the customer in front of him.
“Here you go. Remember to consume within 12 hours, and if not, an ice spell must be cast to ensure the potion’s longevity.”
The deceptively sweet looking old lady pats his hand when he pushes the tiny blue vial over, in what would appear to be a rather grandmotherly gesture. Only, Techno is aware of who Baroness von Überwald is and why she comes by like clockwork on the last day of every month to buy a custom commissioned wolfsbane potion made with the strongest herbs Techno can obtain.
Less of a grandmother and more like a wolf hidden in grandmotherly clothing.
“Thank you,” she smiles, and there’s a glint of a fang, “good to see you have a friend at last, young shopkeep.”
“What can I say,” Techno replies blandly, “I’m just a charming guy.”
He tries not to be offended when the Baroness cracks a proper smile and Dream collapses into wheezing laughter.
In his defense.
Charm is not an attribute that a royal knight needs to level up, nor is it something that a potions master needs to level up.
“Glad to see you’re maintaining your sense of humour dear,” the Baroness observes with a twinkle in her eyes, “I’ll be back next month.”
Techno keeps the polite smile on until she smoothly glides out the door, then he rounds on the still snickering Dream.
“Charming,” Dream gasps out and, to Techno’s surprise, pushes up his mask long enough to wipe away some tears of laughter. “You’re killing me Technoblade, should consider switching occupations and be a court jester instead.”
And Techno wants to snap something witty back.
Only.
His brain seems to be short-circuiting because Dream is not a hideously deformed troll like Techno suspected.
Rather.
He’s a fairly regular looking man with green eyes framed by stupidly long lashes, freckles and teeth so white they’re blinding.
“Bruh,” Techno gets out, “why do you wear a mask?”
Dream tenses, then visibly pushes himself to relax. “Keeps the mystery alive,” he jokes, then with a decidedly more sly gleam in his eyes, he straightens himself and waggles his eyebrows, “why? Do you like what you see, Technoblade?”
“Cringe,” Techno responds, even though some strange feeling is making itself known in the pit of his stomach. “If you have nothing else to say, I’d like to close the store please.”
Dream looks briefly disappointed before he makes a tsking noise. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s the monthly sales tally.”
Techno pauses, then sighs and goes behind the main counter to grab his sales ledgers. “Alright, have at it.”
“Forty thousand coins,” Dream says breezily.
Techno freezes from where he had been about to show his own sales figures for the month.
“Heh?!”
Dream smirks.
“What’s wrong Technoblade? Can’t be that you have less sales than I do can it?”
Techno grips his ledgers in a tighter grip.
He wants to wipe the smirk off of the other’s face.
That’s the only reason he’s looking at Dream’s stupidly pink lips.
“I’m going to speedrun your store’s eventual bankruptcy,” Techno promises darkly.
---
“Wow,” George says with a small laugh a few weeks later, peering at the long queue outside of Techno’s store, “guess I should let my advisors know I’ll be switching my court appointed potions master soon.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Dream advises tightly.
Sapnap sighs and slumps into the chair. “Have to give it to the man,” he says mournfully, “who would have thought you could brew a love potion that doesn’t taste like shit.”
George makes an inquisitive noise.
“It tastes like golden apples,” Sapnap explains, “apparently, Technoblade struck a deal with the local treants and managed to get treant magicked golden apples. Which also serves to increase the effects of the potion to last three times as long as the leading market recipe.”
Dream tunes out the rest of the conversation.
He’s not sure why, but in recent weeks, whenever he thinks about Technoblade, he feels a strange tightness in his chest and if he thinks too long about the way Techno’s hands grip around the various vials, his cheeks start to burn.
It’s infuriating.
Dream isn’t used to being beaten.
By anyone.
He wasn’t the world’s best thief and escape artist through pure luck. Prior to his decision to retire, he had been the most expensive mercenary on the black market, known for being able to ‘liberate’ artefacts from any security system or location. He had established that reputation for himself through meticulous assessment of all escape routes, brilliant strategizing for all contingencies, and solid hard work to maintain his physical strength, dexterity and reflexes.
It’s been that way all his life.
Dream has always succeeded and eventually been the best at whatever he applied himself to, so for some random potions master in a backwaters little town to one up him is-
Dream groans.
It’s stupidly attractive is what it is.
He’s such an idiot.
“Is this what I’ve been missing?” George muses, sounding both entertained and intrigued.
Sapnap makes a disgusted noise, “don’t remind me, he pines so much I’m starting to suspect maybe Techno dosed him with early renditions of the love potion.”
“Fuck off,” Dream mutters, even as he feels his cheeks turn red, “I’m not pining.”
“Sure you’re not,” Sapnap agrees readily, “that’s why you go over at least once a day just to try out your flirting skills on him.”
“I’m not flirting,” Dream protests.
He wilts slightly under Sapnap and George’s combined looks of doubt.
Okay.
Maybe he has been flirting.
---
Techno isn’t sure when the monthly meetings about sales figures became weekly catch ups to discuss new potions they’re respectively attempting to perfect to one up each other.
Nor is sure when the weekly catch ups became semi-daily brewing sessions in Techno’s backroom, sniping at each other whilst they worked through new recipes.
And it’s fun.
Techno isn’t sure he would have ever imagined that he would enjoy the constant challenge but he does. In fact, Techno’s not sure he has ever tried this hard at brewing potions before, or at anything really.
But he supposes it’s true.
It is only with a worthy rival that one can reach their fullest potential and all that.
And for all of his faults, Dream is admirably dedicated to his crafts and it’s surprisingly easy to pass many a night away, chatting through brewing theories and herbology lore whilst huddling over cauldrons in the backroom.
Techno’s never really met anyone else who threw everything they had into what they were doing before.
It also doesn’t hurt that Dream is always maskless when they’re alone.
Techno’s grown used to the sight of Dream’s messy blond hair painted a golden burnish by the flickering candlelight, or the way he will sometimes catch sight of a pink tongue sticking out when Dream is in deep concentration.
All of this means that the lack of Dream’s presence in his shop for the past two days unnerves Techno for reasons he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Technoblade?”
Techno snaps out of the slight daze and clears his throat, peeling his eyes away from the window. “Ah,” he says, “thought I saw an orphan in need of kicking but I was mistaken. Uh, what were you saying?”
“Oh really?” Wilbur smirks from where he’s sprawled in one of the cushioned chairs, “and here I thought you were waiting for someone, what with how you perk up every time a blond man walks by the storefront.”
“You’re such a simp Technoblade,” Tommy comments, swinging his legs from where he’s sitting on top of a counter, “this is such a sad state of affairs. How the mighty have fallen.”
“Phil,” Techno says calmly, “control your idiots.”
In the magic mirror, Phil puts up both of his hands. “Nope, you’re on your own mate, I’m miles away,” he chuckles, “besides, you do seem a bit distracted.”
“I am always alert,” Techno retorts solemnly, then stares hard at the youngest, “Tommy, if you do not get off of my counters in the next ten minutes, I will gladly revoke my retirement and finally dropkick a child into the sea.”
“Fuck you,” Tommy snaps, “I’m a big man, and I’ve been training, I bet I’m fucking better than some retired potions nerd.”
Which is how, thirty minutes later, Tommy finds himself soaked from head to feet on their way back from their impromptu sparring match.
“Ow,” he grouses as he tries to wring out the water from his tunic, “what the fuck big T, thought you’ve been brewing potions this whole time, how the hell did you manage to swipe my legs out from under me so many times.”
He stares miserably down at his soaked boots, which makes a delightful squishing sound with every step.
Techno snickers.
“You didn’t actually have to throw me into the water,” Tommy points out petulantly.
“It’s called daily training and integrity, Tommy,” Techno remarks, “unlike you, I am a man of my word. Also, just because I retired does not mean…” He trails off into a mumble because, down the road and in plain view of their respective shops, Dream is conversing happily with a familiar looking brunet.
As they watch, Prince George leans in and gives the blond a hug that is just a touch too long to be appropriate for a prince and his potions master.
Oh.
Techno isn’t sure what expression is on his face, but it must be bad, because Tommy sounds tentative for once.
“Technoblade?”
“It’s fine Tommy,” Techno says past the pained pangs in his chest, “just cringing from this public display of simping.”
“Right.”
For once, Tommy doesn’t push it.
---
Dream collapses onto the workbench in his backroom with a huff, then deflates completely as the frustration drains out of him, leaving only a cold sensation in his heart.
He has no idea what happened between Technoblade and himself since George’s visit, but this is the fifth time Techno has brushed him off with some ridiculous excuse.
Dream isn’t stupid.
There is no way Techno needs to prepare for the annual potato harvest competition every single night for the past two weeks.
He understands that this is Techno’s way of distancing himself.
He just doesn’t understand why.
He thought they were getting somewhere, what with the near daily conversations and brewing sessions, but maybe it had just been wishful thinking on his end.
Dream places an arm over his eyes.
He should probably take a hint and stop bothering Techno, but his heart twinges at the idea of never hearing Techno’s quiet sardonic comments, of never seeing the way Techno’s eyes light up when he’s talking about some obscure Pogtopian theory on the effects of cocktrice wings in sleeping potions, or of the way he quotes random battle tacticians from hundreds of years ago, all of which are ridiculous traits and yet somehow, Dream can’t help but be helplessly fond of all of them.
“Oh fuck,” Dream mutters to himself with a low groan, “do I actually like Technoblade?”
He allows himself a moment to wallow in the horror of that potential reality, only to flinch when the front doors are kicked open.
“On the orders of the-”
“Not now,” Dream snaps, pushing himself up and off the workbench, annoyed at the whole turn of events and with the world in general for conspiring against him and making him develop affections for his rival. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The cluster of knights at the door look a bit put out. The one in the front clears his throat and unrolls a scroll. “Dream, otherwise known as Nightmare of the Kinoko Kingdom, you are hereby arrested for one hundred and three accounts of theft, attempts to resist arrest-”
“Well this is just embarrassing,” Dream interrupts, “guys, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have the wrong person. I have no idea who Nightmare is, but he sounds like an asshole. I, on the other hand, am an enterprising and much loved potions master.”
The knight ignores him and continues smoothly as if Dream hadn’t spoken.
“-countless instances of property damage, and an attempt to physically assault King Schlatt in a sexual nature.”
Which.
What.
Blasphemy.
Absolute slander.
“Wait,” Dream holds up a hand indignantly, “physical assault? Pretty sure Schlatt came onto-”
His brain catches up with his mouth.
“-uh, Nightmare,” Dream changes tack last minute, and tries for an innocent smile, “or at least that’s what I heard from the local gossip mill. No wait, come on now, we really don’t need to do this!”
He tries to make a grab for the invisibility potion he’d perfected a few months back, but is immediately frozen in place when the wave of knights part and a stumpy little wizard steps out from the crowd and strikes a staff against the ground.
Well fuck.
---
“Technoblade!”
Techno looks up when Tubbo bursts through the door in visible distress. “Tubbo,” he acknowledges, wracking his brain for the cause of the other’s panic, he’s fairly sure he isn’t late to any community get-together, which is the usual reason that forces the sheep hybrid to barge into his shop.
“Problem there is Technoblade!” Tubbo shouts, rushing over to the counter, attempting to grab a hold of Techno’s hand and prevent him from completing the rest of his stock count.
“What?” Techno questions with a raised eyebrow, “no inside jokes, use your words properly.”
Tubbo makes a face. “Dream has been abducted!”
Techno is surprised by the sudden tightness in his chest, mostly because it’s eerily reminiscent of the panic he used to experience when Phil would go missing.
When had he become so accustomed to Dream’s presence that even the suggestion of the other being in danger would cause his heart to thud so hard in his chest?
He swallows against the instinctive rush of adrenaline and pushes down on the desire to despair at his shameful simping for his supposed rival.
“The nerd goes on trips,” he points out as calmly as he can past the rushing of blood in his own ears, “have you checked in with-”
“No one’s seen him since last night,” Tubbo interrupts miserably, “and Sapnap found the shop door kicked in this morning and has been running around town looking for him ever since.”
“Bruh,” Techno tries not to sigh, “how, why is his absence only being noticed now?” But he’s already standing up and storing his ledgers away. “How did no one raise the alarm when he didn’t go home last night?”
There is an awkward beat of silence.
Tubbo is shuffling his feet and there’s a small flush in his cheeks. He mumbles something too low for Techno to hear.
“What?” Techno asks, reaching under the counter for the secret catch, releasing so he can grab the spare sword he keeps there.
Tubbo buries his face into his hands.
“Tubbo,” Techno tries again, reminding himself to be patient, “you-”
“We thought you two had seggs on the bReWinG tAbOuL,” the younger blurts out messily, “so we um, didn’t think to raise the alarm.”
There is another moment of silence in which Techno desperately tries to maintain some semblance of composure.
“HEH?!”
He fails.
Tubbo flinches back.
“You,” Techno begins then says weakly, “bruh.”
He’s not sure if he feels mollified by Tubbo’s apologetic look.
“It’s just,” Tubbo valiantly tries to explain, “you two are together a lot? At night? Um, alone?”
“We were just vibing man,” Techo attempts to deflect, then pauses when his brain finishes processing the rest of Tubbo’s words. “We?”
Tubbo’s eyes widen comically. “I!” he corrects desperately, “I thought!”
“Tubbo,” Techno says as calmly as he can, “how many people think that Dream and I-”
-are fucking on the brewing table?
He finishes in his head, unable to say it out loud.
“Does,” Tubbo begins quietly, uncharacteristically so, “is now really the time? Even if Big D and you aren’t anything, will you not help find him?”
Techno steadies himself and pushes away the troublesome thoughts.
“Alright, tell me what you know.”
---
It’s been a couple of hours since Dream awoke from his magically induced slumber and the party has finally stopped for a rest. He has kept the loud chatter going throughout the ride, using it as a diversion to mask his keen assessment of their surroundings and of his options.
From what he’s gathered, they are transporting him by means of a cell secured in a wooden cartwheel, pulled by one knight’s horse, with the remaining knights riding in formation around them.
Dream’s taken stock of the knights and during the boring ride and he’s fairly certain he can take them.
Mostly because the wizard seems to have left their party.
Dream is almost offended.
They thought they could capture him, with just some petty knights?
He shakes his head and reminds himself to focus.
He eyes the small gathering of knights clustered around the stream and away from where the horses and Dream are situated by the trees, then he does a check of the forest behind him.
He just needs a distraction.
He clears his throat and readies himself.
“You know,” Dream calls out as loudly as he can, “this really isn’t very polite. You have the wrong man I tell you!”
One of the horses whinnies and shakes its head.
“See?” Dream continues, clanking his manacled hands against the bars to be as annoying as he can, “your horse agrees with me.”
“Shut it,” one of the knights snaps at him.
Dream obligingly flips the man off, snickering when the knight makes a loud spluttering sound and stomps over, pulling off his helmet as he does so.
He’s an ugly scowling bastard.
Dream is glad that, of all of the idiots, it’s this one that took the bait.
He amps up the taunt, “what are you going to do? Lay hands on an innocent man? You just wait until I report you to your captain.”
The knight slams the cell door open and drags him out by the collar of his robes. “You little shit, don’t you dare think that-”
Except, he never got to finish, because Dream reels back as much as the position allows him and forcibly brings his forehead against the man’s nose.
There is a terrible, horrible crack.
The knight screams and staggers backwards.
Dream allows himself to drop to the ground and starts to roll towards the forest edge, biting down on the invisibility potion capsule he had installed as a replacement for one of his back teeth as he does so.
The effects are immediate.
Shouts are heard as the knights begin to rush over but Dream pays them no mind.
He clamps down on a shout when he dislocates his thumbs, but seconds later the handcuffs are slipping off. He holds onto them and runs into the woods, dropping them after a couple minutes and scrambling up the nearest tree.
In the distance, he hears the panicked shouting and screaming of the knights before there is the sound of people rampaging through the woods around him.
Suckers.
---
“Hullooo,” Techno greets, quite politely he thinks, as the portal rips into existence in front of his little cottage.
“Well then,” King Schlatt says with a small sigh as he steps out from the recess of the magic portal, “I thought you retired?”
Techno grunts.
Has he mentioned how much he dislikes any and all royalty aside from Phil?
Honestly.
He’s not an anarchist.
He swears.
But if he has to face another corrupt ruler clinging onto the last shreds of power with violence and tyranny, then he’s going renounce his retirement and become a hermit instead.
Techno allows himself to fantasize for a brief moment and decides that he would very much want to have a polar bear in the case of his eventual hermitic lifestyle.
“Uh,” he says eventually when it becomes clear that Schlatt expected an answer, “recent events have unfortunately forced me to take up my sword once more.”
To his credit, Schlatt maintains his composure, though that may partly be due to the influx of knights exiting from the still open portal behind him.
“That is unfortunate,” the king says slowly, “but it does not explain why you would deem it appropriate to call upon me, shop keep .”
“That depends,” Techno continues blithely, “did you abduct a citizen by the name of Dream?”
“Arrested,” Schlatt corrects tersely.
Which means yes.
Techno sighs.
What is his life?
“Who are you to question the rulings of a king?” Schlatt says after a slight pause.
“Well,” Techno replies blandly, “they do call me the Blood God after all.”
“They used to,” Schlatt points out smugly, then gestures at the small group of knights behind him, who immediately stand to attention and draw their weapons.
“You don’t want to do that,” Techno cautions, as something dark and vicious claws itself out of the deep dark pits of his mind and howls for blood.
Schlatt smirks, “scared?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Which is the last thing Techno allows himself to say before he drops the stash of potions he carries around at all times, for just such contingencies, and feels the immediate surge in power as the potions come into immediate effect. He tries not to laugh when knights begin to fall under his blade, as blood sprays and screams erupt once he launches himself into the fray.
He’s been reliably told that he appears psychotic when he does.
Ahem.
That said, it’s cathartic to fall back to into the rhythm of parrying, dodging, slashing, jabbing, kicking, rinse and repeat.
He has perhaps missed this.
Not the violence.
But the act of protecting someone from those who would cause them harm.
Only, Dream isn’t here.
His stupidly stubborn and impressively intelligent rival isn’t here because the asshole hiding behind the small crowd of knights had wanted to seek petty revenge and captured the blond, and is probably torturing him right now-
Techno snarls and his next swing is particularly vicious.
Oops.
It’s over much too quickly.
Once the last knight falls, Techno slashes to the right with Orphan Obliterator, trying to fling off some of the excess blood clinging to his precious sword.
“Now,” Techno says slowly, turning towards Schlatt and watching in satisfaction as the man glowers darkly in return, “let us resume our conversation.”
---
Dream likes to think he was normal before he met Techno.
He has been only been back in town for a few minutes before someone blurted out that Techno had apparently gone off to fight Schlatt in an attempt to get Dream back, which had immediately sent Dream’s blood pressure through the roof.
Thankfully, the effects of the speed potion were still present so it took little to no time for Dream to get to Techno’s little cottage by the edge of the town, fueled by the images of a hurt Techno struggling against a battalion of soldiers from Manberg flashing through his panicked mind.
So imagine his surprise when, instead of finding an empty abode, he is greeted by the gristly sight of wounded knights laid on top of one another and a fallen Schlatt being threatened at swordspoint by a bored looking Technoblade.
Then imagine his horror when, instead of finding the bloody sight repulsive or terrifying, the first that comes to his mind is that Techno looks incredible with a sword in his hand.
Seriously.
What has this man done to his brain?
He has never been this much of a simp.
“Technoblade?” he mutters, flinching when both Schlatt and Techno turn to look at him in unison.
“Heh?!” Techno gets out, “I thought you were kidnapped.”
At the same time, Schlatt growls, “how the fuck did you escape, you thieving bastard-”
He crumples limply to the ground when Techno strikes him on the temple.
There is a moment of silence.
“Potions master huh,” Dream asks, slowly dragging his eyes over the wreckage, suppressing the desire to whistle in admiration at the sheer number of fallen foes.
Techno stares at him.
“Uh,” Dream says after a beat, when Techno fails to speak or move. “You uh, you okay there Technoblade?”
“Oh I’m fine. I’m just imagining Tubbo’s death,” Techno says pleasantly, “for lying to me you see, because I did not just come out of my peaceful retirement because he sought to meddle in my lov-”
He cuts himself off.
Dream squints at him.
“Er, what ah, what did Tubbo say?”
“Nothing,” Techno immediately replies, stiffly bending down and using the Schlatt’s cape to wipe off the blood on his sword. “He thought it was funny to say you were captured.”
“I was?” Dream confirms uncertainly, “but ah, I escaped? I mean, well, you can see that, because I’m right here.”
“You escaped by yourself?”
“Yes?”
There is a moment of silence.
“I,” Techno says slowly, “I am beginning to think there is still much we don’t know about one another.”
Dream bends over when he wheezes, cackles spilling out of him at the absurdity of everything and at the understatement.
“You,” he gets out between gasps, “you don’t say, mister master swordsman.”
Techno gives him a crooked, ghost of a smirk and embarrassingly enough, Dream feels his breath catch.
It’s absolutely mad.
The man is covered in blood, his hair is matted from sweat and dirt and his normally pale skin is flushed red from exertion. He’s an absolute mess and yet, Dream is so attracted to him that it physically hurts.
His heart clenches.
“Did ah,” Dream starts to say then bites down hard on his lip when his stomach flips. He’s never been so scared about anything in his life, which is saying something, because he used to court danger for a living.
“What are you doing this evening?” He gets out in a rush, expelling the words as quickly as he can to prevent the mortification from settling in and trapping the question within his mouth.
Techno raises an eyebrow, then takes a slow look at their surroundings.
“Uh, bruh, I ah, I won’t lie to you,” Techno says, “I’m ah, I’m probably gonna be cleaning up.”
“Oh,” Dream nods in understanding, even as a twinge of disappointment pricks at his insides. “Right, you ah, how are you uh,” he gestures at Schlatt’s crumpled form, “I’m assuming you have a plan?”
Techno shrugs. “He can’t afford to try and take me on without wiping out his army and inciting war with the Antarctic Empire. I’ll reach out to Quackity, he’ll sort it out on his end.”
Dream barely hears the words.
He’s an idiot.
Just because Technoblade fought for him doesn’t mean the man is interested in him romantically, it just means he’s a good friend-
“But I, uh, I currently don’t have any plans for tomorrow evening,” Techno slowly adds, looking to the side and avoiding Dream’s gaze.
Dream’s heart leaps to his throat.
“No more preparation for the annual potato competition?” He can’t help but check, unable to allow the hope in his chest to take over without a firm confirmation.
His question seems to jolt something in Techno because the man gives him a surprisingly sharp look.
“Do you have any more unannounced visits from Prince George?”
Which.
What?
How is that related to anything?
Honestly, what-
Dream stops.
An utterly unfathomable idea is taking shape inside his mind.
“Are you,” he begins with a growing smile, “were you jealous?”
Techno glares at him.
Dream cackles again, delighted once more at the sheer ridiculousness of everything. “No visits,” he promises in between chuckles, “I’m not interested and George is too busy making eyes at a certain bard from the Antarctic Empire to be disappointed.”
Techno looks a bit chastened.
“So,” Dream asks once he gets his relieved laughter under control, “tomorrow evening? You tell me how long you’ve been a secret assassin in disguise and I regal you with my tale of heroic escape from the clutches of evil?”
Techno’s smile is small and tentative.
“It’s a date.”
(“Ha,” Techno says triumphantly nearly half a year later, “I told you Technoblade never loses.”
Dream glares. “2 months,” he grumbles, “you barely beat me for two of the months.”
“It wasn’t even close,” Techno retorts, holding up the contract he just signed with George, “say it with me boys, it wasn’t even close!”
“Who are the boys?” Dream mutters.
Dream rolls his eyes when his question is ignored and tries to squish down the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest at the sight of Techno’s triumphant smirk.
Damn it.
He might have lost that battle, but he hasn’t lost the war.
There’s a small box containing a very precious item that he has been hiding from Techno for the past month.
And he’ll be damned if Techno beats him to this one too.)