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“Again.”
Techno’s voice is low, carrying through the open space of the training field.
“You’re sloppy.”
He knocks Dream’s sword to the ground, reeling back to let him re-arm.
“Concentrate.”
He watches Dream move, noting the sluggish nature to his actions. (He seems barely there.)
Dream wraps a hand around the hilt, trying to ignore the clamminess of his hands rubbing against the metal much cooler in contrast. His vision swims as he tries to compose himself , painfully aware of how he’s stopped in the middle of the field, how he’s holding Techno up.
He falters.
Dream never falters.
“Dream…?”
He feels sick, too warm all of a sudden, and he wonders distantly if another fight has broken out somewhere, with more vicious and destructive intent than his and Techno’s sparring match.
He’s not unfamiliar with this feeling, a heat that spreads through him like a wildfire. It eats away at his very being, numbing at first but slowly growing in intensity the longer the cause of it persists. Sometimes there is a sharp pain in his chest, sometimes his hands and feet grow fuzzy. Sometimes his throat burns and tears prick his eyes as he tries to breathe around a burning rock setting in his stomach. Sometimes it feels like he’s dying alongside his server.
It hasn’t been that bad in a long time though.
(It hasn’t been that bad until now.)
He tracks Techno’s movements as he tries to recompose himself, raises his sword and ignores the way the world swims dangerously around him, the ocean tightening his lungs.
(He tries to focus on what he can feel, to distract from the ache quickly spreading through his body. It hasn’t been this bad, it’s been steadily growing worse the last few days but it hasn’t folded up like this before so he concentrates on his surroundings, as best he can.
Sword in hand, rubbing against a sweaty palm. Mud under foot, soft and wet. Breeze against his skin, cold and grounding. Warmth.
A nauseating, searing warmth.
Suffocating him.)
“Dream-”
He blinks, stumbling back as his sword slips from his grasp and clatters to the ground. He whips up to meet Techno’s gaze, and tries to blink back the blurred spots invading his field of view.
“H- huh..?” He croaks out, cringing at how wrecked his voice sounds. He shakes his head a few times, desperately trying to clear it of them billowing haze engulfing him.
Techno takes a hesitant step towards him, sheathing his sword as he tries to gauge Dream’s expression. It’s near impossible, with the masking concerning his face, but he can sense from his body language alone that he is more tense and fatigued than usual.
“Fuck man- are you good?” Techno asks, tone harsher than intended. His grimace only grows when he gets no immediate response. “Dream, are you good?”
Dream blinks, brain taking longer than it should to process the words. He clears his throat, feeling some small semblance of awareness and coherency returning. “Wh…? Oh- yeah. Yeah m’good. Sorry just… just tired I guess…”
Techno scoffs at that. “Dude, this seems like more than just fatigue.” He grunts.. “I’ve seen you running on like, negative hours of sleep and you were more coordinated than this. What up man? Please don’t tell me you’re sick or something, you know I’m shit at playin’ nurse.”
“No, not sick, it’s just…” Dream sighs. (Lies.) Techno isn’t going to give up until he gets an answer and he isn’t much in the mood to argue. He can’t really deny that something’s wrong anyway, not after his sorry display during training. “The server’s hurting.” He admits. “Guess it’s starting to take its toll.”
“Heh?” Techno gawks. “Oh, is that like your admin connection thing? Like you feel when the server’s being damaged or something? Yeah, I think Phil or someone mentioned it, I didn't realise it could get this intense though.”
“It’s not, normally. But people have been going all out lately. Lot of petty squabbles have been escalating into griefing- messy griefing. People here really like to resort to burning stuff.” He sighs. “It’s… not much appreciated on my end.”
Techno rubs his neck. “I can imagine, it sounds like it sucks.”
“Such is the life of an admin.” Dream chuckles, bitter. “We push through.”
“You shouldn't have to. Your server shouldn't be in a constant state of chaos. I dunno what it is with some of the people around here but I swear they go out looking for a reason to set something on fire.”
“Probably.” Dream sighs, stretching. “Gimme like ten minutes to recalibrate then we can return to training if you want. Sorry, for interrupting.”
Techno rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot, do you know that? I’m calling the training for today, we got enough done. You need to rest.”
Dream rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t press further. “Alright, let’s go back to your place then? I just wanna grab a drink then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Nah, stay as long as you want. Phil’s makin’ stew and he always puts on too much.”
“Is that an offer of free stew? ‘Cause I might just have to take you up on that.” Dream chuckles.
“Yeah, whatever nerd.”
Dream chuckles, walking back to grab the sword he dropped so they can head back. He’s about to bend down, when a sudden shiver shoots in his spine. He freezes mid-movement, face draining of any remaining colour. He feels a gentle running under foot, and his stomach drops. “Uh, Techno, we need to-”
He doesn’t get to finish, the words cut off by the steady rumbling crescendoing to a roar.
Somewhere in the distance an explosion sounds.
Oh.
Oh.
Dream forgets how to breathe.
The air is ripped from his lungs in an iron-tight force, robbing him of what little oxygen he had been running on. The world around him shifts and blurs in an obnoxious stream of colours that might almost be beautiful in a more desirable situation. He feels his legs buckle, knees crashing to the floor, and he thinks he hears someone yelling as strong arms wrap around his middle. He pitches forward, bonelessly.
His head never hits the ground.
The next few minutes- or hours, maybe, he isn’t sure- pass in a blur. He picked up and propped against something firm, brain slowly processing that it’s a chest. That Techno is holding him against him. He vaguely hears the faint click of a communicator and a voice talking to him. He thinks it’s Techno. He thinks he sounds concerned. (Is he the reason for that? Is he making him worry right now? It’s the last thing he wants to do, truthfully, to Techno or to anyone. He hates to be a burden and hates even more to be the source of someone's anxiety, knowing all too well how that fear can eat away at you.)
A voice cuts through the numbing haze.
“Dream? Dream, hey, you’re okay. I got you, Phil’s on his way. You’re gonna be alright just try and stay awake for me yeah? Try and focus on my voice.” Techno pulls him up against his chest and Dream lets his head fall against his shoulder. “I swear to god I'm going to kill whoever set off those explosives.” Techno hisses.
“Was probably an accident…” Dream mumbles. “M’sure it’s fine… I’ll be ‘kay…”
Techno swallows. “You’re not fucking okay right now though dumbass. You don’t ‘accidentally’ blow stuff up. I’d know. Whoever did it is beyond stupid and I’ll make sure they know that.”
“Mhm…” Dream hums. His tongue feels too heavy in his cotton-stuffed mouth, and to speak is to try and drag it through molasses. He curls into Techno’s hold, and he feels so goddamn pathetic right now but he doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. To try and push away and reclaim any semblance of dignity he lost the moment he was struck by vertigo. He just wants to fall asleep against something solid and warm.
He’s so fucking tired.
Techno pats his cheek, gentle. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me just yet, yeah? I know you’re tired and hurtin’ but I need Phil to check you over and I need you awake to tell him what’s wrong. Just hold on, just a little longer.”
Dream wants nothing more than to let go.
But he’s never liked to let people down. So against every curve of his body screaming at him to slip away, he forced himself to hold.
Techno keeps talking but the words are lost on him, falling through his fingers like sand. The only thing he can clearly make out is a loud thud in front of him after however much time he spends staring blankly at a patch of ground.
A hand cups his chin, guiding his head to look up. He doesn’t see much behind blurry eyes but there’s a vague outline of someone he thinks he should recognise kneeling in front of him.
There’s voices floating around him, in front and behind, and amidst all the crackling static and words melting together, he hears an apology. He does not have time to consider what the apology is for before hands come up and gently unclamp the straps of his mask. He wants to tell them no, to stop, to let him keep this one lasting piece of dignity he has, but the words distinguish in his throat like a candle abruptly snubbed out.
Porcelain falls away and a breeze whips against his face at once, the cool air welcome against searing skin. A hand presses to his forehead and he leans into the touch, a breathless whine escaping him when it’s quickly pulled away again. The voices around him are growing more concerned but he’s losing track of where they’re coming from, of how close they are. He feels like he’s being dragged to the depths of the ocean, to sink and sink until he drowns, if ever he is allowed to.
He lets himself give in to the tide.
The world passes by him in fragments after that, and he thinks maybe he should be sacred but there’s an odd comfort in the numbness. Feeling nothing is better than hurting after weeks of an endless ache in your soul.
Words filter in and out around him.
He is vaguely aware of being lifted, still resting against the solid warmth as he is picked up and carried away from the field.
“-didn’t want to move him-”
“-no physical injury… internal?”
“Dunno… admin shit…”
Time shifts and the air around him changes suddenly, from the crisp chill of a breeze to a more humid (though not undesirable in his condition) warmth from a fireplace.
“-really out of it…”
“Never seen him this— fucking collapsed-”
It takes him longer than it should to register that he’s no longer on the ground, or even in Techno’s hold, but sinking into the soft fabric of a couch. It feels comfortable. It feels safe.
“…sleep it off.”
“…how long…?”
Cool glass is pressed to his lips, water coaxed down his throat. A cloth is laid across his forehead and gentle hands brush back his hair. Dream has never much liked to ask for help- as the admin he is supposed to be strong, selfless- but just this once he lets himself accept it. Today he gets to be selfish.
”…need to take better care of him.”
A brief sneed of awareness flashes through him.
“We’ll take care of him, for now.”
And that’s Techno’s voice, Dream thinks. It’s the first coherent thing he’s heard., and it makes him feel more relieved than he thinks he has in months. They’re going to take care of him, they won’t let him slip away. He can rest, he can let himself rest.
His server is hurting. But his friends have him.
Today, Dream is selfish.