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DREAM is twenty-two the first time he jumps off a train. It is terrifying and horrible and if he ever does it again, he’s going to fucking die. Honestly, it’s a miracle he didn’t this time.
Somehow, Technoblade is unfazed. While Dream spends the ten minutes after jumping off the train laying in the grass, trying to come to terms with what the fuck just happened, the older agent sits next to him. He talks calmly on his phone to whomever the fuck he’s talking to.
Dream doesn’t get it. How can he be so, just… God! Technoblade just doesn’t give a damn about anything. It’s hella impressive.
Eventually, the blond wrangles his breathing into something acceptable and sits up. Technoblade ends his call at the same time. Dream wonders if it was purposeful.
“Isn’t this mission supposed to be, like…” He struggles for the right word and can’t. Dream grimaces and runs a hand through his hair before throwing his hands up. “Christ! You said this mission wouldn’t be dangerous!”
Greaaat. Nice going, Dream. Blame the guy who’s just doing his job.
Technoblade pockets his phone. “It isn’t,” he replies, wholly unbothered by Dream’s accusation.
“We just jumped off a fucking train!” Which is a very important thing that happened! Why isn’t Technoblade acknowledging it? They could’ve fucking died! Or broken a bone! Or some shit like that!
A fucking train! Dream jumped off a goddamn train!
Technoblade glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “Do you consider that dangerous?” he asks, voice perfectly level.
Dream stares at him, exasperated. He hopes that his eyes convey his immense irritation, and if they don’t this charged silence better. “Yes!” he all but shouts.
Technoblade snorts a little and turns away. “Wait until they start shootin’ at us,” he muses.
The blond freezes. What? Until what happens? Until fucking what?
It takes him a moment to realize he hasn’t spoken aloud, so Dream demands, “Until they what? Who’s shooting at us?”
“The guards.” The senior agent says it pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. They are very much not discussing the weather; why the fuck isn’t Technoblade more, like… Fuck! Why isn’t he bothered by this? Dream could die! Technoblade could die! They could both die!
Dream imagines Technoblade’s mind must be very interesting. That, or extremely fucked up. Or maybe a combination. The best of both worlds, right?
His next breath is ragged before he ventures, “And, uh, why would the guards be shooting at us exactly?”
“If we get caught, they’ll attempt to stop us by any means necessary,” Technoblade explains. “This typically includes guns.”
Right, fuck. The computer chip they’re after has information on it that could kill hundreds of millions of people. They’re not going to get it without a fight.
Somehow Dream missed that connection. He’s an— Yeah, “moron” is an apt descriptor. Holy fuck.
“Oh my God,” Dream mutters. He can’t help his panicked look as he turns to Technoblade. “They’re going to try to kill us?”
“Only if we get caught,” the agent counters.
“Is that likely?” Please, please, please say no.
Technoblade doesn’t respond immediately, which already doesn’t bode well. He looks thoughtful, brows furrowed minutely as he squints at the sky.
“The chance is higher with you here,” he admits at last.
Which is obviously not the response Dream hoped for. At all.
“Well—!” he begins loudly because he’s not useless. He’s not a detriment to this mission; otherwise, he wouldn’t be here.
And then he thinks for a moment. “Um. Is it really?”
“You’re not trained as a field operative, so I’m of the opinion that you’re more likely to slip up than I am,” Technoblade explains.
Dream hates how rational he sounds. “I… That makes sense.”
Most things Technoblade says make sense. His way of discussion is somehow blunt without being cruel. “Straightforward” might be the word.
Technoblade nods before climbing to his feet in a single fluid motion. Dream is envious, which is fucking stupid. It’s just standing.
“We should move,” Technoblade says, changing the subject. “Surprising neither of us, hopefully, the Internet service here is poor.”
Dream smiles a tad at that, looking around from his position. “I don’t see any cell towers,” he comments uselessly. That’s kind of a no-brainer: they’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. All he can see is the forest and a few mountains rising behind them.
“Exactly.”
Dream frowns. “Then who were you talking to?”
“No one.”
There’s a pause before Dream can answer.“Wh…what?” He was—? But he was talking! There was definitely someone on the other end.
Technoblade starts walking, and Dream watches him go dazedly. “You seemed shaken after jumpin’ off the train,” the older agent offers. “I thought you could use a breather but would be embarrassed if I didn’t.”
H…uh? Dream blinks a few times. His brain finally catches up to him, and he processes that oh, Technoblade moved, then fuck! Technoblade’s walking away! He rises far less gracefully than the other man and has to jog a little to catch up.
“W-wait,” Dream begins unsteadily. He shakes his head, clearing the fog. “You… You weren’t talking to anyone?”
“I thought we’d already established that,” Technoblade agrees, “yes.”
“And you…weren’t talking to anyone…for me?” For him. For…Dream. He can’t wrap his head around that, that Technoblade would pretend to be resting…so Dream could rest.
That…doesn’t make any sense.
Except Technoblade confirms it with a curt nod. “Yes.’
“Because you thought I’d feel embarrassed?” Dream echoes faintly.
Technoblade raises an eyebrow. “Are you goin’ to repeat every word I said?” he asks drily.
Dream can’t help the starry-eyed look he gives Technoblade. He…pretended? For me? He’s caught in a bit of a loop, hooked on that one fact—for him. For Dream.
Not gonna lie, he thought Technoblade was more than a little emotionally constipated when they first met. Still kind of does. That right there, though… Yeah, that earned Technoblade a few points towards “not emotionally constipated.”
Dream feels bad about that. It’s not Technoblade’s fault he works as an assassin—as far as he knows, of course. Truthfully, Technoblade is the most personable of the field agents he’s met.
Maybe that says something about the other field agents. Yikes.
He’s more fixated on this…this incredibly nice thing Technoblade did for him. Dream realizes that he has to say something in response. “You’re…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Fuck, that’s, like, really sweet. Nice! That was nice of you. Not sweet; sweet sounds…” Dream grimaces, nose scrunching up. There’s a bit of a negative connotation to “sweet” for him.
Technoblade hums, however. “I understand the sentiment.”
“Yeah.” A faint smile quirks Dream’s lips, and they continue walking.
The forest got thick quickly. Dream can’t see more than a few dozen feet in any direction, having already lost sight of the tracks. He hopes Technoblade’s internal GPS can get them back.
Other than the crippling fear of getting lost in these woods forever, the scenery is…nice. The company isn’t bad either; the last few days have proved that Technoblade isn’t bad for conversation. Dream desperately wants to poke at him for stories about his other missions.
Look, Technoblade isn’t one of the top-ranked agents for no reason. And the Blood God nickname! There has to be an interesting tale behind that.
Or a bloody one. One where Technoblade had to break his morals for some reason or another. He wasn’t born unfeeling, after all. (Probably.)
Dream feels a sudden rush of concern for the older agent. Maybe Dream is less experienced in the field, but he doesn’t want to be a burden. He’s going to carry his weight and more.
Which reminds him, he didn’t thank Technoblade in his babbling.
“Technoblade?” Dream ventures. The man tilts his head slightly towards the blond, indicating he’s listening. “Um, thank you. For the breather.”
Technoblade shrugs. “You’re my partner,” he says. “It wouldn’t do me any good if you weren’t at peak performance.”
“Oh.” Dream’s hands clench unconsciously. “Right.” A wave of disappointment washes over him—why? He doesn’t…
Because I thought he cared.
The realization hits him with the subtlety of a trainwreck. Dream misses a step, and Technoblade absently—is it absently, or is he paying attention?—grabbing Dream’s arm to steady him. It takes effort for the blond to continue walking, suddenly consumed by his thoughts.
He respects Technoblade, of course; this mission would’ve failed a while ago without him. Technoblade’s tactical prowess is amazing, and Dream is a little overwhelmed at being in a legend’s presence.
The awe is wearing off, though, as he spends more time with the senior agent. Technoblade, for all his accomplishments, is human. And though they’ve only spent a few days together, Technoblade’s walls are lowering. Dream catches hints of smiles and noises that could pass for muffled laughs. He’s winning this tiny fight to become…what? Technoblade’s friend?
Yeah. He… Dream wants to be his friend.
And he thought the feeling was returned. That’s why Technoblade pretended to be on a call—to let Dream rest, because he cared.
Except he didn’t. It was because of the mission, because everything is about the fucking mission. And once the mission is over, they’ll go their separate ways, and Dream will never see Technoblade’s face again.
He wants to, though. He wants to see Technoblade again. Dream already craves a second mission—a rematch, per se. By then, Dream will be better. He’ll be able to carry his own weight, take down some people on his own.
Dream wants to be his rival, but also an equal, someone worthy of Technoblade’s attention.
Being considered a friend is the only thing ranked above that.
Dream wonders if Technoblade pieced that together.
The heavy silence continues, tension simmering between them. It makes Dream stiff, spine straight.
Technoblade, as always, doesn’t notice.
“That was the wrong thing to say.”
Dream trips over a root. Technoblade grabs him by the shoulders instead of the arm this time. When the blond finds his footing, he’s looking directly into Technoblade’s eyes. “Wh-what?” he stammers out.
Technoblade’s eyes are dark and determined. He’s frowning, gaze flicking across Dream’s face. Analyzing, then. Gauging his reaction. For what purpose, though? What mystery is there?
“You’re more than just a part of the mission, Dream,” Technoblade says slowly. “I didn’t mean to sound so impersonal earlier.” He pauses, eyes once again seeking out Dream’s. The blond hasn’t looked away, though—when he tried, he found himself unable to.
“I couldn’t do this without you,” Technoblade murmurs.
Dream finds his face heating up. “O-oh,” he says faintly because, uh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He did not prepare to return… this. Dream is… Well, shit, he’s flattered, naturally. Technoblade is a figure from legend for Dream, so to hear that… Who wouldn’t be speechless? It means a fuck ton, and what can Dream offer that meets that?
“You’re…also, uh, really important.” Nice fucking going, Dream. Fucking spectacular. Dream winces but forges onward. “I’m just your IT guy, you know?” He forces a smile—sell it, sell it, you’re not selling it—and chuckles. The sound is nervous and entirely unconvincing.
Technoblade frowns. Shit, he picked up on that.
Well, of course he did, moron.
“Is that what you think of yourself?” Technoblade asks.
“Well, yeah?” Dream feels like he’s walking a knife’s edge—one wrong word and Technoblade will tear him to pieces. By which he means Technoblade will possibly attempt to give him a pep talk, and while Dream would appreciate it, he has doubts about Technoblade’s pep talk skills. “I mean, I’m not downplaying what I’m doing—I am the IT guy. I…break into servers for you.”
“You were the one who got the information at the gala,” Technoblade challenges. “I certainly couldn’t have done that.”
Dream knows without seeing that his face is going red. Yeah, he remembers the gala. Aaand unfortunately, he remembers the guy whose heart he…kind of, maybe, sort of shredded to pieces and stomped on.
They needed the information, and the ginger had it. Dream smiled and winked and charmed his way into the man’s arms, conned him into revealing the name of the man they interrogated on the train. It was for the…arguably greater good, but Dream… God, he feels like shit about it.
Technoblade also could hear every single word spoken because of the ear pieces. By God, Dream wishes he was dead. He’s been furtively trying to ignore the gala, but Technoblade is clearly Satan and wants him to suffer.
Dream buries his face in his hands, looking out from between them to step over roots and twigs. “God, that was a disaster,” he bemoans.
“You’re an attractive person,” Technoblade says, which is absolutely not helping anything, dear God. “Using that to your advantage shouldn’t be embarrassing.”
A strangled noise claws its way out from Dream’s chest. It sounds a bit like a dying animal, which Dream wishes he was. “Technoblade,” he begins, then stops. “God, just, um. Please shut up.”
Dream can see the ginger’s face in his mind, the man’s kind smile, the way his features contorted into horror as realization dawned…
Technoblade huffs with amusement. “Since you insist,” he drawls.
“I do,” Dream shoots back. He speeds up, hopefully indicating that he is done with this conversation. Like, completely and one hundred percent fucking fed up with talking about the gala and the ginger and broken hearts.
They continue walking in silence. Dream eventually lowers his hands and allows Technoblade to lead again. It’s not like they’re heading anywhere in particular, but it feels more natural to follow the older and more experienced agent.
Time is odd here, deep in the forest where he can barely see the sun. Dream has no idea what time it is or where he is, just a vague internal clock that tells him he needs to start talking. Now. Or he’s going to die.
Dream stomps on that urge to babble until it shrivels up a little and fucks off to where it came from. He’s not initiating a conversation until all thoughts of the gala are well and truly gone.
Shitty gala. Shitty gingers. Shitty Technoblade, for fuck’s sake. For some reason, the agent finds the situation hysterical.
At least, that’s what Dream figures. It’s hard to tell when Technoblade never laughs, never smiles, never flinches. The monotony is getting to Dream.
He glances at Technoblade from the corner of his eye. He somehow acquired a stick while Dream wasn’t paying attention and twirls it between his fingers. It reminds Dream of the Harry Potter series, and then Harry and Hermione and Ron, and Ron was a ginger, and so was—
“So!” Dream says loudly. He thinks Technoblade might’ve lurched forward slightly. He clears his throat. “Uh, are we meeting someone in these woods?”
Technoblade blinks a few times. “No.”
“Then…why are we going this way?” Dream asks.
“It will take an hour or so for them to stop the train and get back to the point where we jumped off,” Technoblade explains, “them” meaning the people who work for the guy Technoblade may or may not have murdered. “They’ll then search the forest for us. We need to either be far away from them or well-hidden. I’m not interested in fightin’ a bunch of nerds right now, so we’re going for both.”
Dream doesn’t feel like fighting anyone now either, so the feeling is evidently mutual. “That makes sense. I think.” He glances at their surroundings, noting the tall trees and their sturdy branches. They’ll pose a bit of a challenge to climb, but between the two of them, they should be able to get high enough. “Is someone picking us up?”
Technoblade shakes his head. “We couldn’t call for back-up if we wanted to,” he says, referring to his phone—no service—and Dream’s phone—completely fucking shattered from the jump. “I figure we’ll make camp at sunset. Tomorrow, we can find the tracks again and follow them to town. Catch a plane from there, then find the chip.”
That… When Technoblade says it like that, it sounds easy. The mission will be over soon, and Dream won’t have to deal with strange pretty boys whose hearts break so easily or men with guns that will hunt him through the forest. He’s glad that his time in the field is almost up. When he gets home, he’s going to fucking crash. His plan is to sleep for fifteen hours, then make a plan to kick Technoblade’s ass with George and Sapnap.
Some part of him, though, the one that’s driving him to do another field mission… That part of him will miss this. It’s thrilling and terrifying, yeah, and Dream is going to avoid jumping off trains in the future, but it’s a bit like a rollercoaster. He wants to go on another mission, and he wants Technoblade to be his partner again.
He also doesn’t want to die in the middle of the wilderness. Sure, they have this four-step plan to get the chip, but that doesn’t account for… Well, bears, for one. They’re going to avoid the men with guns, but what about bears? Or boars? Or mountain lions? This is a fucking forest! Who knows what creatures are out here?
If they die in these woods, no one will know. It’ll be weeks, if not months, before their bodies are recovered. Hell, before they’re found.
Dream is not going to die in this stupid fucking forest with Technoblade. He refuses to.
“Sounds simple enough,” he agrees. What’s he going to do, tell Technoblade his plan is fucking moronic and doesn’t take bears into account? No way.
“Don’t jinx it,” Technoblade says.
“Ah, right.”
A few more steps pass in silence, aside from sticks and leaves crunching underfoot. Dream is startled by Technoblade asking, “Do you think you could convince the airline to give us first class?”
Dream pauses slightly and frowns at Technoblade. “Huh?” What the fuck are you talking about?
A small, confident little smirk—goddamn, a smirk—plays across Technoblade’s face. Amusement glimmers in his eyes, sharp and dangerous, like the glint of a gun’s barrel. “Your charm seemed to work pretty well on—”
Understanding clicks, and Dream doesn’t think. He slams into Technoblade, cheeks burning. They land roughly against the ground, Dream on top as he barks out, face likely red as a tomato, “Shut up about that!”
Technoblade simply blinks up at him, wide-eyed and limp. “You know this means nothing, right?” he asks.
Dream returns his dumbfounded blinks. “What?”
“That you have me pinned.”
“Uh…” It hits him, then, that he’s probably crushing Technoblade. “Shit! Shit, sorry.” Dream jumps up, watching Technoblade nervously. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting; the man isn’t going to attack him. Probably.
Dream isn’t expecting him to just…lay there, though. Which he does, musing to himself, “I could kick you hard enough to break your ribs.”
“Um.” What the fuck? Just— What the fuck, genuinely? Why would he say that? Why does Technoblade feel the need to say that? Like, okay, yeah, Dream… Dream knows that Technoblade is a badass. He’s seen Technoblade beat up multiple people already; Dream isn’t even a threat to him.
Why did he say that, though? What the fuck? Is it a threat? Is he threatening Dream? He doesn’t think so, but this is fucking Technoblade! Maybe it is a threat. Maybe Technoblade’s warning him, but Dream’s going to be a moron, and Technoblade is going to kick him in the fucking ribs. And then his ribs are going to fucking shatter.
But why would Technoblade do that? They’re partners.
“Are you goin’ to help me up, or am I just stayin’ here?” Technoblade calls lazily, draping one arm across a tree root.
“Wh—” Dream shakes his head, yanking at his hair tiredly. “Y’know what?” he asks. Technoblade arches his brows. “You are going to stay there. Shut up about the whole gala thing.”
The older agent shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t figure you to be a heartbreaker,” he says idly.
“I-I wasn’t—!” Dream cuts himself off with a groan because yeah, he did break the guy’s heart, and… Ugh. The blond plops down next to Technoblade and drops his head into his hands. He shouldn’t have done that; the ginger didn’t deserve Dream’s…shittiness.
Technoblade frowns at him. “Why are you sitting down?” he asks, and he sounds so genuinely puzzled that Dream almost laughs. He should, really, but he’s kind of pissed at Technoblade right now.
As far as Dream can tell, Technoblade has an allowance of one emotion per month (approximately). He can’t store them; he either spends it or loses it. And he chose to use his one—one—emotion on sounding so purely confused, Dream could die laughing about it.
Instead, he says, “Because you’re sitting down…?”
“There are people tryin’ to kill us, Dream,” Technoblade deadpans. “We don’t have time to sit around.”
Dream stares at him. “But you’re—!” He angrily gestures to the agent.
Technoblade meets his angry glare with solemnity. “Dream,” he says patiently, “the earth has claimed me. I can’t move. You’ll have to leave without me.”
“What the fuck, Technoblade!”
Dream prepares himself for whatever dry quip Technoblade has ready, but there’s…nothing. Technoblade is simply watching him, head cocked, a slight furrow in his brows.
There’s an intensity to his gaze that Dream hasn’t seen before, and he shifts his weight nervously under the invisible weight. The outright attention makes his breath catch, and he almost freezes. Dream stands his ground, though, as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“What?” he snaps.
Technoblade blinks. “Huh,” the agent murmurs, then clicks his tongue and stands. Dream scowls; what the fuck was that? (Maybe he’s imagining it, but there’s a hint of red blooming in Technoblade’s face. He has to be imagining it. Why would Technoblade be blushing?) “Let’s get moving.”
And then he’s off at a faster pace than before, weaving through the trees with ease. Dream is slower to follow—what the fuck was that?—and once more finds himself having to run to catch up. When he does, he mutters, “You’re a hypocrite, you know that?”
Technoblade almost looks surprised. “Am I?”
“Yes!”