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The air smelled of ash as Phil inhaled a ragged breath and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. If he didn’t look, it wasn’t real. If he didn’t look, he could pretend.
Phil was a strong man. He’d gone decades, centuries even, without breaking yet. He’d faced countless foes and made it out relatively unscathed. He’d looked the blood god himself in the eyes, and instead of facing a most torturous death, he’d come call him a friend. He’d taken someone with so much power festering inside them and somehow taught them.
But now, no one would’ve ever seen Phil as that man.
He inhales another painful breath, choking on the tears clogged in his throat as he raises a shaky hand. His Scarred fingers delicately run their way through once soft hair.
“My son…”
Phil’s eyes open slightly and look at the face of his son. His eyes glazed, his body limp.
His son’s blood spilled across the cracked stone floor.
His hands gently cup a cold face, using his thumbs to try to remove the soot from a once lively face.
“Phil.” A deep, raspy voice cut through the silence, “Phil, we need to go.”
“No. I can’t leave him.” He twisted a finger around that curl that would never stay in place, “I can’t.”
“Please Phil, He… he’s not coming back.”
And Phil could hear the tears in his friend's voice, a man even stronger than himself. Maybe that’s what caused him to turn his eyes away for the first time.
He locked eyes with the man, “I can’t leave him Techno.”
He saw Techno, ever the protector, look up at the debris marred sky and draw in a breath and swallow down his desperation, “Alright. We… we won’t leave him.”
Phil blinked, then nodded as Techno slowly walked over.
“You have to move first.”
He wanted to put up a fight, he couldn’t leave his son again. But Techno had already promised him they weren’t leaving him.
He shook himself lightly as he every so slowly untangled his fingers from rich brown curls. Phil let his eyes trace every line and mark on this face and allowed himself to lean down to place one last kiss on its brow.
“We’re not leaving you Wilbur.” He whispered, letting his hands gently lay him down.
As soon as he backs away the slightest bit, Techno’s figure is crouching down along Wilbur’s side.
“Hallo Wilbur.” He could vaguely hear Techno’s choked off utterance. “I’m gonna pick ya up now okay?” And after a moment, as if he could hear an answer, Techno shifts his arms to support Wilbur.
“He looks so small…” Tears threatened to take Phil back over.
Techno looked away and nodded. Wilbur wasn’t supposed to be still, he wasn’t supposed to be quiet like this. Wilbur was supposed to be standing tall, walking alongside the both of them as he teased Phil about being an Old man and Techno for always wearing a crown, singing songs only he knew the words to.
Wilbur is supposed to be alive.
“C’mon, let’s take him home.” The crunch of destruction under their feet and the silence of loss follows them along.
-
The tundra is cold, even with their armor and heavy cloaks still in place, it’s freezing. A fresh layer of snow had coated the surrounding land since they’d been home last and it looked so starkly clean compared to the blackened crater of earth they’d just been standing in.
Phil felt as though he was walking in a daze, his body was numb and his mind was running too quickly for him to pick out any one thought. The only way he registered they’d gotten close to home is because of the biting cold settling in his bones and muscles.
“We’re almost there.” He jolted. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped until Techno said something.
Beginning his trek again to catch up, he again looks at the body in Techno’s arms.
“What if he’s cold?”
“Ph-”
“Wilbur doesn’t like the cold.” Phil cut him off. “He doesn’t like the cold Techno, he says it makes him feel alone and he doesn’t like that either. He… he doesn’t like the cold…”
Techno unconsciously pulls Wilbur’s body closer, “I know he doesn’t Phil.”
And Techno knows they won’t get anywhere if Phil can’t see that his child was warm in these moments, so shifting Wilbur over his shoulder slightly, he unfastens the clasp of his cloak to wrap around Wilbur’s limp form.
“Look, he’s warmer now.”
Phil knows that he should probably be concerned that Techno was only left in his armor and the lightweight clothes underneath but he needed to make sure Wilbur wasn’t cold.
Even as a child, Wilbur hated the cold. He didn’t like that it meant he had to stay inside more often and that he couldn’t explore the surroundings of their old home. He liked to see the flowers and trees in bloom rather than dying from the frigid temperatures. He liked to sit next in green glass and strum his fingers over his very first guitar.
Phil always tried to make the most of the wintery weather though. He spent time each year sewing Wilbur a new jumper so he’d never outgrow that bit of warmth and comfort, so he’d never feel completely alone. When Wilbur was especially young, he’d make sure a fire was roaring and hum the songs he learned centuries ago to remind him that his father was there.
Inaudible hums left Phil as the lights of their cabin came into view. The lanterns they kept lit here were a stark contrast to the darkness they’d previously been walking in.
After a few more moments, his feet met the wood of the stairs leading inside.
Techno grunted, “Can you get the door for us?”
“Oh, oh yes… yeah.”
His hand grasped the cold metal of the handle and pushed it open, stepping aside for Techno to enter. Techno nodded towards him as he made his way to the main room. And once the door was closed, Phil followed.
He pauses, seeing the ever mighty Technoblade kneeling next to the battered body of his son with his face in his hands isn’t a sight he’s ever wished to see. Technoblade doesn’t grieve.
He works on autopilot building a fire, the cabin is fast to get cold and with the numbness still in there bones from the latter part of the journey he knows one is needed.
Wood and flint, construct and light.
Fire will make it warmer, Phil thinks.
Because Wilbur doesn’t like the cold.