Ranboo was watching the fight while pretending to clean swords.

It wasn't too hard to do. In fact, he was probably the only one in the entire armory even going through the trouble of pretending. Many others had full-on stopped what they were doing to see the match unfold as soon as the glass vial had been pulled from the other man's pocket. Potion use in the arena was not the most common of sights. But when the sword was pierced cleanly through Technoblade's chest Ranboo actually flinched.

The weapon he was tending to clattered to the floor when he got up, making more than one head turn in his direction. Ranboo hardly noticed – only knew by the subconscious shiver that always ran through him when too many eyes were put on him. As if his enderman instincts could sense it. But that was shoved aside in favor of pretty much scrambling towards the arches, pushing past the outraged handler who tried to make a grab for Ranboo's arm.

"Technoblade!"

Ranboo barely caught himself from barreling straight into him, heels digging into the sand. He put one hand on Techno's shoulder to press the other against the rapidly growing stain of blood seeping through leather armor. Armor that had absolutely failed in its job. Techno let out a pained noise. "Techno, are you-" Ranboo cut himself off with a nervous warble, low in his throat.

Despite a rushed reassurance that the wound wasn't fatal, Ranboo knew it'd need some kind of medical attention, especially with how Techno took to leaning on him while he walked his way back to the armory. The handler at the gate didn't comment on Ranboo's little 'running onto the pitch in the middle of a match' stunt, though probably only because it saved them the trouble of accompanying Technoblade to the infirmary themselfs. They instructed Ranboo to do it instead – he wasn't about to complain.

The physician (whose name Ranboo was no closer to remembering) watched them enter with an unamused expression on their face. By the look of it, they were a lot busier today than Ranboo had ever seen it be before, which... wasn't the most reassuring of thoughts. "Guess we'll... wait a bit?" he said uncertainly.

Technoblade shrugged as he sat down on one of the cots. "Won't kill me to wait. Probably."

"Probably," Ranboo agreed, not falling for this attempt to lighten the mood. He really wanted to just go up and grab a potion or something, but after being lambasted over it before it was an offense he'd rather not repeat. They had made it clear it wasn't his choice who got the potions and who didn't. Plus, he already had two small vials sitting in the chest underneath his bed that people were suspicious of going missing.

At least it was better than polishing swords. Much better, in fact. The repetitiveness of the task was nice – it was similar to peeling potatoes in a sense. Comfortable, conversant, easy too – but it hurt his wrists. When the rust would not flake off naturally, prying it loose could be difficult. No, Ranboo would take the potatoes any day of the week.

Technoblade rubbed at his eyes, blinking a few times. Aside from being more watery than usual, Ranboo couldn't tell any lasting effects of the potion. That was good. But it did bring an earlier question back to mind.

"Uh, about the guy on the pitch. Did he know you?" Ranboo asked. "What he did felt awfully personal to me."

"If you'd call... kicking his ass once... knowing him," Techno answered. He had to stop between words to take deep, rasping inhales. "I have... a bit of a... talent... for getting on people's... hit lists... Don't know if... you've noticed." His usually deep chuckle was awful and wheezy.

"No, I did. I did notice." Ranboo laughed. "That's how we uh, how we met. If I recall correctly."

Techno frowned. "Was it? It's been... a while."

"First time I came to your house it was to execute you. Or... hm, not sure if I knew that at the time so maybe it doesn't count. Yeah, let's only count the times after that. The good, nice times."

"Sounds fair to me," Technoblade said with a shrug.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ranboo watched other people scurry around the room completely ignoring them and tried not to bounce his leg, tried not to tear off his skin. He tried not to so hard. Nope, no sir. Wasn't going to-

Technoblade said something next to him Ranboo couldn't quite catch, so he bend closer to listen. After a few strained gulps of air Techno could try again. "Breathing," he lisped then, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. "Getting kinda... hard. Can't-"

"What?" Ranboo asked, head whipping around. Technoblade didn't answer but slumped against him. His head rolled to the side a little, chest moving rapidly up and down. Despite that, he wasn't making much of a noise. And that... well, Ranboo might not know a lot but he knew that was bad. Very bad. "Techno?!"

He got up and cringed when Techno slouched onto the cot. Ranboo hurriedly helped him lie down properly. "Uh, m-medic?" he called out to nobody in particular. "Can I get some help over here?"

Thank Prime somebody noticed his distress. It was the handler who always came to their room to get Technoblade for fights and who also brought their food. Somewhere from between waves of concern Ranboo's mind was kind enough to recall his name as Mel.

"What's wrong?" he asked, as if Technoblade wasn't right there choking on nothing. Ranboo wanted to grab the man and shake him but was too busy pulling the leather chest plate out of the way to reveal the wound that lay beneath.

"I- I don't-" Ranboo bit his tongue, hard. The pain helped him refocus. This wasn't the time to panic. He had to do something useful. "I don't think he can breathe properly?!"

Techno stretched out his arm, coughing too hard to talk. He thumped Mel on the chest once, then did the same on his own chest trying to convey his problem without words. Mel nodded.

"He has a collapsed lung. We're going to need to release the air," the handler answered, already turning around to one of the bedside tables.

Ranboo idled on the spot, nerves too frayed to do anything else. "How do you know?"

"It's a pretty common thing for fighters, we see it all the time." He caught the look on Ranboo's face and his expression softened. "It's nothing to worry about, really. I'll help."

And Ranboo latched onto that security immediately. "Tell me what to do."

Mel turned back, holding up a needle. It had to be at least four inches long, Ranboo stared at it in horror. "You hold him still, this isn't going to be fun."

And without the least bit of hesitation, he bend forward to jab it into Technoblade's chest.

The piglin flinched – probably more of an involuntary spasm than anything else. Ranboo threw himself on top of him, keeping Techno's body still with the weight of his own. Mel pressed the needle in deeper, the sound horrible and squelching as it dug into flesh and organ. He seemed to be searching for something specific, wiggling the instrument around. Every time it moved Techno twitched in pain, jaw clenched to keep quiet. Ranboo started speaking before he knew why.

"This is why I like healing potions. This is why you're supposed to carry them on you all the time. Because if you don't fix the... the holes in your fleshy bits right away air gets into them and this happens and it's not good... it's not very good, is it?"

"Who are you talking to?" Mel asked, still twisting the needle in place.

"I don't know," Ranboo whined desperately. But then Techno's hand found his wrist, fingers curled around it. He squeezed – almost too tight, almost too painful. Ranboo shot up and noticed half-lidded eyes narrowed, staring at him. Techno nodded, urging him to continue.

Somehow, the distraction was working for both of them.

"But apparently – apparently – you can just stick a needle into a person and reinflate their lung when it's gone all flat. Who would have thought? I certainly hadn't. I don't think I've ever had that thought. Do people have thoughts like that?"

He was rambling, complete nonsense. Ranboo hated that spewing words was all he could think to do. He hardly even noticed when Mel pulled back and Techno stopped moving as much under him, breathing gone more steady. It was still raspy, interspersed by the occasional cough and cut off winces whenever his chest prompted another spike of pain. But he was breathing again.

"See?" Mel said, rubbing the blood off on his own pants. "Piece of cake."

Ranboo didn't answer. Techno was breathing.

Or he was trying to, an endeavor made slightly harder by Ranboo still being half on top of him. Techno huffed lightly, pushing him off. "Not even close," he said.

Ranboo wasn't sure if he felt the need to laugh or cry. Perhaps both, simultaneously. That didn't sound very productive but he could make it work.

"What's going on here?" The physician had finally noticed an emergency was happening in their own infirmary. Took them a while, Ranboo noted bitterly. "Mel, how often have I told you to leave running this place up to me? Get your hands off my materials."

"And how often have I told you stab wounds should get potion priority right away?" Mel shot back. Oh, Ranboo thought. They don't like each other. He didn't know why, but felt like that might be important information. He wished he could write it down.

"Slaves never get potion priority," they hissed back. "That's been ordered from up top and you know I can't argue with that. Unless you want to?"

Mel balked, mouth slapping shut with enough force for his jaw to audibly click. He looked like he wanted to argue, Ranboo wished he would argue. For only one person – one person he could have deluded himself into thinking might be on their side – to stand up for them.

But then Mel dropped his head, looked away. "No," he said. "I don't." He turned around and walked out of the infirmary without saying a word of goodbye to either of them.

The physician rolled their eyes, not even looking at them when they spoke. "If you're done," they said to Ranboo still curled in place and Technoblade breathing unevenly on the cot. "Go back to your cells. I have actual people to help."