come out and haunt me - c!technoblade x reader

【Ｓｔｏｒｙ】

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when the cabin appears on the horizon, lit up orange with torchfire against the dark and snowy sky, you know you are supposed to mark the coordinates on the thick parchment paper of your map and turn your horse around. that's what you and quackity agreed on, when you walked you into the dim room plastered wall-to-wall in his plans to keep technoblade locked away in death. your thighs ache as you slide off the back of your horse, and your shoulder wrenches when the hilt of your axe slides into your palm, so you find yourself pathetically standing eight-or-so paces from the stairs as techno steps out onto his wooden porch. he heard you, of course he did.

"well, hello."

you raise the axe, clearly in offense – and fall, knees first, into the powdery snow.

✧₊∘

"you know, there's uhh... an intended outcome of retirement," is the first thing you hear, before your eyes even open. warm light tries to beat through your eyelids, hard enough to force them closed as you shift, jerking against the weight spanning your body. "easy," the gruff voice says again, and the light dims enough for you to blearily blink your eyes open.

through the blur, you see the long line of technoblade's body as he adjusts a pair of thick curtains struggling against the bright morning, light pink hair pulled into a low, loose ponytail. your arm moves on instinct, reaching for a weapon, only to be blocked but what you realize are layers and layers of blankets; soft furs, questionable quilts, even something that looks like crocheted wool.

a broken "what...?" barely makes it out of your dry mouth before he strides confidently to your side, pulls your jaw open, and pours water onto your tongue. it's confusing is what it is, but you hold back the cough until you feel a little less like a beached fish and techno pulls away, wiping anything that spilled with a cursory brush of his rough thumb.

"you treat yourself like shit, kid."

"excuse me?"

technoblade leans back and settles his ass on the creakiest chair known to man, crossing his arms, biceps and shoulders pulling his otherwise baggy shirt tight. "i'm just trying to exist, y'know, alone and then you show up deep-sixed and dehydrated. you know your ankle's sprained? and something's messed up with your shoulder, i don't know enough to guess what."

"i'm not deep-sixed," you choke. "i'm here to assassinate you."

you stare at each other, quiet, until techno barks out a dry laugh. "you can't even sit up."

immediately, you jerk forward in an attempt to prove him wrong. pain rockets through your abdomen, up your spine, like both your muscles and bones are screaming bloody murder. fuck. you don't even try shifting your legs, knowing that the near-nonstop horse riding would not have been kind now that the ache has caught up to you.

"you don't know me, i could kill you from here, bacon boy."

techno just raises one dull fuchsia eyebrow. "okay. let me know when i should start runnin'." and then he stares at you like he's waiting for an answer.

"why'd you even help me?" you splutter, ducking away from his monotone dig. "probably woulda been easier to let the person trying to murder you get frostbite in front of your house."

"ahh, dead bodies make lovely lawn decorations."

it's your turn to stare at him. speaking is starting to wear you down, and you kind of want to sleep again, but you say it anyway: "answer the question or i'll actually axe you the minute i can feel my legs."