𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐑, dreamnoblade oneshots

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢 | deceit (so natural)

deceit (so natural)
- wolf in sheep's clothing, set it off

2,518 words !

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"DID— Sorry, did you just—?"

Technoblade doesn't glance up, wiping the blood from his hands with a handkerchief. "Spit it out, Dream."

"That—" The blond man clears his throat, trying to calm the persistent stream of, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuckkk. Because, uh, what the fuck? "That's a fucking concrete block."

His partner-in-crime—though Technoblade committed more crimes than Dream—looks down. Said concrete block is slightly chipped and would look perfectly normal if not for the blood and, um. That might be flesh in the crevices. God, Dream is going to be sick.

Technoblade looks and sounds less than impressed as his gaze returns to Dream's face. "Yeah," he says.

And just—yeah? That's it? Just a, a single "yeah," and it's not even that committal? Like, y'know, oh, yeah, I just killed a dude. With a fucking concrete block! Happens every day.

What the fuck!

"A-and— You just, uh..." Dream takes a shallow breath. He's feeling a little lightheaded. "You...slammed it into that guy's face?"

"The back of his skull," Technoblade supplies.

Fuuuck. "Right," Dream mutters. "Right. The back of his skull. Gotta be specific about that."

Technoblade nods. "The neck is very fragile."

And— Well, God, when he says it like that—it's so casual! Technoblade is completely unbothered by this blood, uh... Okay, maybe Dream is overreacting at the wrong thing. Because he just watched Technoblade kill several dozen people getting to this room, which is definitely more impressive than Technoblade slamming a fucking concrete brick into someone's neck.

But uh. Yikes.

Dream takes another weak breath, looking at the sleeve of his jacket to avoid Technoblade's unconcerned gaze. It doesn't work, though, because the jacket isn't his—it's Technoblade's. It started raining while they were heading to the building, and the older agent just...handed it over?

And Dream took it, duh, because first of all, Technoblade is his senior agent, and secondly, Technoblade is one of the top agents, and third... Well, what was Dream going to do? Not take the jacket? That's fucking stupid, and Dream isn't a moron.

He exhales, feeling a bit more steady. "So he's—he's dead, right?" Dream asks tentatively.

Technoblade hums under his breath and fucking— He pokes the corpse with his foot. Fucking— What the fuck? What the fuck! Why? Why the fuck would he do that! Fucking moron. Fucking idiot. What...

Dream is kind of losing his mind. Kind of. More than kind of. Very much. Whatever.

"We'll have another problem on our hands if he isn't," Technoblade says, and it takes the blond a minute to remember what they're talking about.

"Which would be?" Because, well, what's worse than being surrounded by corpses? There are...a lot of corpses. Dozens of them. All because they needed to retrieve the little computer chip in the safe—and they did get it! They (Technoblade) also had to murder...many, many people to get to it.

Haha. Ha. No. No, this isn't funny, Christ. Holy shit, they fucking murdered people! What the fuck!

"I heard the bones snap," Technoblade explains. "If he's still alive, he's some type of superhuman, and those are much harder to kill."