Requested by Eloquent_Silence we have Techno suffering an asthma attack. Just for the sake of this drabble please pretend there was at least a small window of time on the server where everybody was 'friends', or there weren't any wars going on

The arena was a lot dustier than Technoblade had expected.

He was used to the carefully kept standards of Hypixel, where the practice rings were trodden down by constant usage into flat plains and the ones for official competitions were often made of stone or similar non-corrosive materials. This arena was not much more than a circular construction of fences set up in a hurry around a patch of dirt after the festival was announced, only to be used for the handful of people who decided to engage in their improvised tournament.

Every movement of their feet on the hardened sand sent up a flurry of particles, that tickled at his nostrils and clung unpleasantly to the sweat-soaked nape of his neck. Already Techno could feel the faint sting of every breath rattling away in his lungs as the dust started irritating them. He tried keeping his breathing more shallow to accommodate, but during matches that could be a disadvantage.

He was standing on the sidelines for the moment, attempting to inhale as slowly as possible before he'd accidentally work himself into a full-fledged asthma attack. Dream was sparring against Sapnap, and by the looks of it, the latter was going to lose. If that happened Techno was up against Dream next since they had both destroyed all other opponents in their bracket. Techno smiled at the thought. The last time Dream and he went toe to toe it was a narrow victory, and the stakes were a lot higher then. He was looking forward to kicking the smug bastard down another peg in a casual bout.

Tommy threw him a glance when Techno coughed into his elbow to dispel some of the uncomfortable pricklings in his airway. "You okay there, big man?"

He hummed an affirmative without comment and kept his eyes trained on the battle, pretending to be concentrating on the spectacle and hoping it would dissuade any further questions. Techno had somehow managed to go years without revealing his condition to anyone but Phil, he wasn't keen on the idea of changing that. His symptoms were rather mild and only became an issue under certain circumstances, but he hadn't gone through the effort of bringing an inhaler to every single championship just in case they pulled Ace Race for things to fall apart now.

He couldn't allow anybody to find out.

Because then he'd have to deal with the questions and the weird looks and people treating him differently – treating him like damaged goods – and going easy on him as if he wasn't perfectly capable. Or worse, taking it for an exploitable weakness.

Technoblade swallowed and tried not to notice the gritty feeling left on his tongue.

"This round goes to Dream!" Eret grabbed the winner's wrist, raising it in the air as they declared Dream the official victor. "He'll proceed to the finals." Techno couldn't see his face, but he could feel the grin aimed in his direction when Dream turned his head. With a sigh, Techno smoothed the hair out of his eyes and made sure it was still secured into its braid.

"You need to kick his ass," Tommy told him seriously. "For the family honor and all that shit. Since Phil and Wilbur aren't participating, it all rests on our shoulders."

Techno huffed. "Didn't you drop out in the second round?"

"The fucking sun got in my eyes and blinded me!" Tommy pouted and leaned onto the fence with his full weight, making Techno worry for a moment that he was going to break it. He had to subdue a chuckle.

"Sure, I'll believe that."

Tommy stuck out his tongue as Techno jumped the fence, frowning at the way the action immediately disturbed another cloud of dust. Roughly, he exhaled through his nose and walked into the middle of the ring. Dream was standing at Eret's side, his dull practice ax slung over one shoulder. Technoblade was using a wooden sword himself.

Eret nodded at him with a smile, adjusting the sunglasses on their face. "The finale will be between Dream and Technoblade. First one to disarm their opponent wins, all other rules still apply." They spoke loud enough so the meager crowd that had gathered to watch could hear. Both took their positions opposite each other on the field.

When Eret gave the signal, the match began.

Technoblade hung back, preferring to see which strategy Dream would favor. With his ax, he was prone to slow but hard-hitting attacks, but Dream was nimble and Techno didn't want to be caught off guard. Given Dream's impatience, it'd be likely he would make the opening move regardless.

True to his expectations Dream was the first to charge. Techno sidestepped him easily, deflecting a few half-hearted blows thrown at him with his sword. More dust clouded the air as they moved around, Techno spinning out of the path of another attack had his heels digging hard into the sand. He could feel it in his lungs as his breaths automatically shifted towards the strong, settling inhales that kept him braced during combat.

They stung with a deep-seated pain that was hard to ignore, throwing his concentration off. The need to cough crept up Techno's throat. It felt as if a vice had slowly clamped shut over his chest, constricting and digging in. Despite the discomfort, he forced himself to focus when Dream came at him again, aiming lower.

Techno had to bring his sword down to catch the attack aimed at his leg, knowing Dream was trying to throw him off. Not wanting to give him the chance, he countered with an upward flick of the blade. He could hear the surprised huff Dream let out at his aggressive parry, but the man recovered quickly to pay back in kind.

By spinning on one leg and kicking Technoblade in the chest.

Sliding backward from the momentum, it took most of his effort to stay on his feet and not drop his weapon. His lungs pinched together badly enough Techno was momentarily convinced they had shriveled up altogether, stealing all oxygen from him. A cough tore through him involuntarily, which he pushed down and refused to let out, feeling his ribcage constrict with the effort of holding it in.

For just a split second Dream slowed down, hesitated in his next attack. Not wanting to give him the chance to notice something was wrong, Technoblade moved.

He knew his fighting style was sloppier than usual, his attentiveness to finely practiced techniques slipping with each passing second it became harder to breathe. Wheezes rattled within his lungs, shredding at the soft tissue. A pounding headache started forming between his temples rapidly, but Techno disregarded it in favor of delivering another strike.

Dream caught it, allowing the blade to slide off the wooden handle of his ax. Through the haze Techno could hear the crowd jeer on, yelling encouragements or the occasional taunt. Tommy hadn't been lying about the sunlight, beating down on them relentlessly and Techno couldn't breathe, couldn't for the life of him get any air into his body-

He coughed again, unable to help it this time. In that moment of distraction Dream's attack hit his shoulder, making him stumble back with a harsh rasp. It took every ounce of strength Techno had not to double over and start hacking up a lung, vision blurred and faltering. In the knick of time he managed to throw up his sword and intercept the next descent, but it pushed him back even more and then he was tilting, falling. The sky was above him and the yelling only increased and Technoblade still couldn't breathe.

He might have blacked out for a minute because when he blinked again he was sitting upright. Somebody – Tommy? - was jerking at the straps of his armor in an attempt to remove the constricting leather quickly while Dream had helped him into a seated position before stepping back to give him some space. Technoblade wanted to bat his brother away but the coughing fit he had been trying to keep in earlier had come back with a vengeance and he couldn't do anything much while it shook his entire body. He gasped for every labored breath, small trickles of panic making it harder still.

"Hey, Techno, you have to breathe okay?" Skeppy said, suddenly kneeling in front of him. Techno couldn't tell where he'd come from. "Slow, steady breathes. Come on, man."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Techno tried to do that. The breathing exercises Phil had taught him a lifetime ago came to mind. They were supposed to help him deal with the voices – eerily quiet now or maybe they were drowned out by the rushing in his ears. In for eight seconds, hold for four. When he tried that, it hurt. The air burning inside his chest. Out for seven.

Tommy tore the chest plate off him with a triumphant cry. His hand returned to press against Technoblade's back and rub in slow circles, soothing motions. He continued to breathe, in for eight hold for four out for seven. Again and again. Sometimes another painful cough interrupted him, but Techno could feel his erratic pulse returning to normal.

"You're doing great," Skeppy chirped, and Techno kind of wanted to punch him for sounding so chipper. Which meant he must be doing better already.

"I'm fine," he croaked, throat tightening painfully around the words.

"Of course that's the first thing out of your mouth after having a damn asthma attack," Dream groaned. "I thought I had accidentally killed you or something."

Techno wanted to laugh but it'd require a bit more oxygen than he was capable of spending at the moment. "Don't flatter yourself, Dream."

His opponent crossed his arms. "Hey, I did win the match this time."

The noise Tommy made in response was approximately the same as that of a dying whale if Technoblade would have guessed. He sprung up heatedly. "You did not! That round so didn't count, you can't just kick your opponent into choking and say you've won! That's three different kinds of illegal. I demand a rematch."

They both turned to Eret at the same time. The monarch slash temporary judge was busy corralling the small, nervous crowd into believing there was nothing wrong and didn't notice the storm headed their way.

"They could be at it for a while," Skeppy said. He offered his arm to Technoblade to help him up. "Wanna get out of here? I think Bad is hanging around the food stands."

"Please," Technoblade answered while getting up. Aside from being a little winded, he almost felt normal again. "They can duke it out. Maybe if we're lucky they'll even kill each other, you never know."

Skeppy snorted as they walked away, the tune of a distant argument quickly swallowed by the lively sound of the festival.