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When Wilbur ran up to Phil in the middle of a talk with his general, exhaled exactly once, and said, “It’s Technoblade,” the emperor’s first thought was rather unexpected.
Really, knowing the man was currently imprisoned for siding with the very nation Phil was coming back from fighting, his initial reaction ought to be along the lines of “he escaped,” or “he attacked someone.”
It wasn’t.
Instead, when Phil turned around, wings drawn up, and asked his breathless son, “What about him?” what his mind immediately jumped to, was that the man was hurt.
And he wasn’t far from the truth.
Sneeg had news from the fight with the Corvarian Empire, and orders to approve, but instead of accompanying the emperor to his office, the inchling found himself sitting on Phil’s shoulder, following them towards the prison.
“The Piglin general you nabbed in SMP?” he inquired. “How’s he been?”
“He was supposed to be fine!” Jack said, opening the door for them. Phil didn’t have to glance at the smoke accumulating at the ceiling to know he was tense.
“And why’s that?” he asked.
“He said he was fine!”
“You mean, like Tommy, every single time?” Sneeg asked. “Oh, this is gonna be weird. Literally the only Piglin I’ve met is Tommy.”
And it was. Wilbur had been the first of their faction to catch a glance of the mysterious new general that was scoring all these victories for SMP, and Phil could recall him saying the same thing.
“He’s like, thrice as big as Toms. But other than that, they’re scarily similar.”
“Why ‘scarily’?” Phil had asked.
“… Because I never want Tommy to look like that.”
It was only much later, in the meadow on that fateful morning, that Phil had been able to finally see him. Tensed and heaving, looking where Wilbur had disappeared. And Phil…
Phil hesitated.
Later, he blamed it on his instincts, the small fumble, the half-second of hesitation before he had struck. The bird brain had seen pointed ears and a pink tail and got mixed up.
Now, looking down at the same man, passed out, he wasn’t so sure.
“He was fine yesterday,” Jack recalled. “Well, looked fine at least. James said he was sleeping this morning, but I mean, we would’ve been asleep too if we could’ve, so we didn’t think much of it. Only, well…”
“Wilbur?”
“I’m positive,” the Phantling said, his skeletal tail wrapping around Phil’s leg to keep from swishing. “He’s hibernating.”
And, when he glanced at him, Phil knew the same memory was playing out in both of their minds.
*
“Sir, we can’t…”
“You can just call me Phil,” Phil said.
He wasn’t an emperor, at the time. In fact, the idea would’ve seemed laughable, with the way his raggedy boots were sticking to the mud, an ill-fitting coat struggling to cover his wings and keep him warm at the same time. The wind wasn’t kind, despite the cover the large pines were providing.
Even the burning buildings weren’t helping that much.
“Phil,” the person, a Starborn if Philza had to guess, said. “I’m sorry, we can’t leave yet. We’re missing someone.”
“We can start the transfer with most people,” Puffy suggested. “And have a few of you stay to help us look for them?”
Despite her assurance, Phil knew what she was thinking. The flames from what used to be the secret Hybrid commune were reflecting in her eyes, and the temporary shelter they made at a distance wasn’t faring much better. They were lucky Phil’s group had gotten there soon after the pillagers had attacked. Otherwise…
While the man was still hesitating, Phil gave Puffy a subtle nod and watched as she made her way to the small group of refugees, hoofs clacking against the cobbled path, her dark red coat flaring out behind her.
“It’s not that simple,” the Starborn said.
“Listen…”
“Eret.”
“Eret, I can fly over, if we need to cover long distances. The weather’s bad for the Enderians, but we have a fox Hybrid with us, she can track them down. Tell me how to help.”
At this point, Phil was almost more eager to get Eret to a safe place, than to find their missing member. The Hybrid looked ready to kneel over with exhaustion, the bandages on his arm more like loose rags that anything else, and the freckles on their face were barely twinkling. But Phil knew it would all be worth it, when all of the group was safe.
All of it.
“He’s hibernating.”
Phil blinked in surprise. Eret only waited.
“Bear hybrid?”
“Not quite. He- We tried to convince him to sleep in our temporary settlement, but he didn’t feel safe enough. One morning he was just gone, and…”
Phil placed a hand on their shoulder, gesturing to Sneeg with the other. “We’ll find him. We’re leaving no one behind.”
In the end, it was Wilbur who found him. Who noticed the sleep-particles and kneeled next to the opening to a small den. He needed to phase through to be able to drag a limp kid out in the open.
A Piglin hybrid.
Phil wanted to marvel at the fact that there was any left, when the bastions had done everything in their power to get all of their own on the right side before sealing the portals. But he was much too preoccupied with the state this one was in.
The little boy, who couldn’t be older than seven, was damp and cold, skin nearly white. His nails, broken and black with dirt where he’d burrowed himself into the earth in an effort to find safety, from the Humans and the wind, only for the cold rain to be nearly the end of him.
Taking him back home the long way, with the rest of the group, would prove fatal.
“Warm him up as much as possible,” Phil ordered. “Get him some dry clothes. Then I’ll take him to Stronghold myself.”
“I’m coming with,” Eret said.
Phil debated telling him he was much too tired for such a voyage. Eret stared at him, white eyes unblinking.
Phil nodded once.
“We’ll find better clothes for you too,” Sneeg offered, jumping on a branch to be level with Eret’s tall frame. “You can go sit over there…”
Phil passed on the commandment to Puffy and Sneeg, while Eret conversed in low voices with the Merling that had almost decapitated the scout before realizing they were allies. He then went looking for Wilbur, only to find him still with the Piglin kid leaned into his chest, in the process of rubbing some heat back into his extremities.
“Might wanna pass him over to Bad,” Phil said softly.
“Yeah, I know,” Wil sighed, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone. “Runs warmer, and all.” Then, after a short hesitation: “Be careful with him.”
And Phil was. He held him securely during the flight, despite the onslaught of wind and rain. When the skies cleared, a few hours in, the soft brightness of the stars seemed stronger than usual, and as tiredness lifted from Phil’s muscles, all he did was call out a thanks to Eret, just loud enough to be heard.
Predictably, the Starborn collapsed into the arms of a guard right upon setting foot in Stronghold. But he didn’t need to worry: Phil still held on to the kid, bringing him down in what was still a system of ancient underground ruins, renovated for the need of the rebellion. He deposited him to a guest room near the infirmary and covered him in blankets.
Hours later, with a crackling fire next to him, Phil watched the kid’s skin go back from white to a light pink, and the crease between his brows soften as he relaxed into the makeshift den.
Phil didn’t quite understand what he felt that night, holding the kid’s hand and watching him instinctively huddle closer. But he would come to recognize it, in clutching Wilbur close, or ruffling Tommy’s hair.
A day would come where the quiet love he held for his sons would be as natural as breathing.
*
Phil took a deep breath.
The similarities were unmistakable. They were in the tears of the carpet, where Technoblade had clawed at the ground, his hindbrain desperate for the protection of a den. They were in the frown he sported, even asleep, in the tensed way he held himself and in the shaking of his shoulders.
“Fuck…”
How stressed had he been? How exposed had he felt, the side of his cell opened for anyone to see, as he fell into the most vulnerable state Piglins could be in? How long had he been cold?
Why hadn’t he told anyone?
For a second, Phil was brought back to that day in the meadow, those few seconds of flurry as Wilbur and him ambushed the then-general. Specifically, at the way he made no move to call for help, to signal the intruders. Like it hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Phil had written it off as another sign of SMP’s disregard for their troops. But now that it was happening under his own custody…
“Go tell the housing department to prepare a guest room,” he told Jack. “One without windows, and with red hangings, if possible. Wil, go get a stretcher.”
His son’s face lightened with relief at the order, and he promptly phased into the wall. Jack left the normal way but showing no less haste.
“I wonder if he had a backup plan, in the army,” Sneeg mused.
“What?”
“Well, general or not, I doubt he’d be very keen on hibernating with anyone from SMP. Or maybe that’s why he tried to climb the ranks? He had to know this was coming.”
“It wasn’t,” Phil said shortly. He turned around, wings catching on the dungeon’s cold air as he walked towards the end of the hallway.
“Huh?”
“Piglin’s hibernation can be… Induced. By the right – or, more accurately, the wrong – conditions.”
He missed Sneeg’s short “huh,” already on his way out.
⋅ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ⋅
Tommy had disappeared.
Just a few hours before, he’d been rambling to Wilbur about all the activities he wanted to do now that they were back from the front, and now he was nowhere to be seen.
The timing was suspicious, to say the least.
Wilbur left to the main guard tower, ready to find out if any keys had been stolen, but in Phil’s opinion, his son was one step ahead, and he left the other way.
The guest wing was shrouded in a calm, muted atmosphere. Most people who resided there were refugees in need of long-term medical attention, or dignitaries from allied kingdoms. The formers were often sleeping off accumulated exhaustion, and the latter, probably at the dining hall, the library or wandering the garden.
The man Phil had come to visit belonged to the first category.
“So, what’s the meaning of this, then?”
Just as Phil was coming in view of Technoblade’s door, a serpent hybrid slithered to him, hands on their non-existent hips.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, polite as (almost) always.
“Thisss!” he hissed, gesturing to the guard standing at the door. Phil reassured her with a look when she moved to join them. I’ll handle it, he mouthed.
“I assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Word around the castle you got a hostile Piglin in there!”
The man took a quick breath, ready to continue his rant, but the sudden cold in Phil’s eyes stopped him right in his tracks.
“And they would be incorrect,” he said, measured.
“No offense to your son, of course, your Highnessss. Just… I know the little prince was born in the Overworld, but please be aware that wild Piglins-”
“And what, pray tell, makes them anymore ‘wild’ than you or me?” Phil asked, quiet but no less dangerous.
“I mean- You know that… Oh, please, you placing the prime-damned SMP’s Blade in the dungeons was already a risk for everyone here, but in a guest room? You can’t expect people to just be okay with that!”
“Ex-general Technoblade is no more danger for you than anyone else here. In fact, if you feel like pursuing this childish tirade, I suggest you do so to the prison guards instead of your emperor. We just cleared out a cell.”
The man’s fangs snapped as his mouth closed. With a thigh reverence, he promptly slithered away.
Phil took a few deep breaths, willing the anger out of his shoulder and smoothing his feathers, before resuming his way.
“I’ll see that he doesn’t cause more trouble, your Highness,” the guard said as he approached.
“Thank you, Clementine,” he sighed.
She unlocked the door and stepped to the side. To be quite honest, these precautions were much more towards protecting Technoblade himself, than the rest of the residents from him. When the end of his hibernation would draw near, it’d be another story, but for now, he was only a danger for dreams of enemies.
The warm, dark, quiet atmosphere was a balm on Phil’s nerves. He smiled softly upon spotting the book Wilbur had suggested to his brother, left open on the carpet, and the suspiciously shaped form under the covers. But his smile stiffened when he looked at the more obvious occupant of the room.
Technoblade looked younger, like this.
He had been impressive in the meadow, standing tall, poised and deadly. Even caught off guard, his stance had been unwavering and powerful.
It had felt wrong to see him go down. Or unconscious, on the way to Stronghold. Even deep in potion-induced sleep, there was something tense to the way he held himself.
Phil had been almost relieved when, back in the cell, the two had exchanged some sort of banter. Heavy, yes, with the weight of the man’s freedom and of Tommy’s life, but at least he was talking.
He was even polite! Phil had some experience interrogating Humans, and got yelled at, insulted, and spit on more than he ever thought possible. But the two meters tall Hybrid of a species known for being quick to violence simply sat there, ready to debate the usage of the word “kidnapping.”
But his guard was still very much up. Phil could talk with the carefully crafted, emotionless mask Technoblade presented him, but his real self has still buried deep under.
None of that now.
The warrior was completely relaxed, nestled deep into the blankets. For the first time, his tail wasn’t tucked close to his body, but lax, a turf of hair poking from the covers.
He almost looked like a teenager, and had Phil had the time, he would’ve committed to memory what the absence of fear looked on him. But, as it was, he had an actual teenager to wrangle.
“Well, I guess he’s not here, then,” he said, affecting sadness. “Tommy isn’t here, which is very disappointing. I’m sure wherever he is, he’d feel very bad if he knew just how much he was worrying his poor old dad by hiding like that.”
Phil watched the Tommy-shape twitch under the comforter, and waited, giving his son an opportunity to act his age.
Nothing.
“Tommy,” he sighed. “Your book’s still on the carpet.”
After another, much shorter silence, the nest of curls that was Tommy’s head emerged from under the blanket, which he pushed back onto Technoblade’s face.
Phil knew all the Tommy trouble-faces, and seeing this one was far more determined than apologetic, he jumped right into arguing.
Tommy pressed on. Clearly, he could feel that Phil’s words were half-hearted, but despite it, he couldn’t just allow this. Not so soon after having almost lost his little boy. He needed Tommy to be safe, and despite his words to the lizard hybrid, he just couldn’t be completely sure that this room would be.
Tommy was. And he was pulling no punches, including emotional manipulation.
(Wilbur would be so proud.)
“I couldn’t let Technoblade hibernate alone, because you’re not supposed to!” he pleaded. “It’s a group activity, you’re supposed to be together and safe. You know I hate hibernating alone. You’d never let me, right?”
“Tommy…”
“It wouldn’t be right for him either! Ranboo and Niki agree, too, just ask them! He’s nice, he’s been telling us stories, Dad!” Phil sighed.
“Chick, he’s a grown man. I know half-Piglins don’t like being alone like that, but he probably had to hibernate alone several times already, so-”
“That’s worse! You know that’s worse!” Yes, and as selfish as it was, Phil was very content to ignore this fact.
“Listen…” Phil had already planned on hanging around the makeshift den. The fact that this had occurred in his custody was still bugging him, and he felt responsible towards the Hybrid. Tommy gave up on the puppy eyes, pushing against the bedding to make himself bigger.
“Give me an actual reason why I shouldn’t be here. Go on.”
“It’s not safe, Tommy!” Phil pleaded. “I’d never forgive myself if I let you get hurt again, and we don’t know if-”
For a split second, Phil blanched. Was Tommy… Was his little chick growling at him? Luckily, that parental distress quickly faded, when Tommy himself made a surprise face.
The pile of blankets shuddered, trembled, then shifted. One arm emerged from the side, slowly wrapping around Tommy’s middle, to drag the chick back down against Technoblade. Over the flap of bedsheets Tommy had pushed on Techno’s face, deep red eyes peered grumpily at Phil, as he grumbled again.
He was-
“Well…”
He was protecting Tommy. From Phil! His own instincts cooed appreciatively.
“See!” Tommy squeaked from somewhere under the comforter. “You see!” He chuffed at Techno, nuzzling into his arm before sticking his tongue out at Phil.
“Alright,” he said, smiling despite himself. They were way too cute. “I’ll admit, there doesn’t seem to be any danger.”
“It’s your fault he’s hibernating now,” the runt mumbled. “The least you can do is let me keep him company.”
That was… It hurt less, now that Technoblade was finally comfortable. Still, that wasn’t something Phil would so soon forget. “We were very worried about you, and quite busy. But I know that’s not an excuse.”
He approached slowly, mindful of any protective instincts that might peer through the haze of hibernation. But he also knew Piglins could get short-sighted during hibernation, and maybe seeing him clearly would help Technoblade calm down?
When a warning growl sounded, Phil said, keeping his voice soft: “There’s no need for that, Technoblade.”
And, okay, maybe assuming that his presence would reassure the warrior had been naïve. At this point, Phil had done him more harm than good, despite his intentions. But still, Phil hadn’t been expecting a whimper.
And then, he turned his head to the side, exposing his neck, and submitted.
“Oh-”
Oh shit.
“Dad?” Tommy asked, uncertain.
Phil frantically searched through his (frustratingly limited) Piglin knowledge. Submitting, at least, wasn’t directed towards enemies. Done by adults, it was just…
For higher-ranked members of the sounder.
Phil’s hindbrain cooed contently, but that wasn’t the right sound.
He shushed Tommy. “Let me just…”
Bringing a hand to his throat, he pressed on his Adam’s apple to deepen his voice further, and gave his best imitation of a Piglin chuff.
Having heard the real thing, Technoblade would certainly notice the imperfection better than Tommy usually did. But Phil was hoping that-
With another little whimper, Technoblade dragged his head back down, huddling against a confused Tommy like he was trying to hide behind him. Looking more and more like a child being scolded by a parent.
Prime. Phil had known that the man’s instincts must’ve been starved, but at that point… Phil had seen horrors in his years of rescuing Hybrids from abuse and slavery. After a while, he had become accustomed to blocking those emotions, keeping a level head during operations.
This time, though, they were rushing through his defenses, sweeping him in the process.
“Wow,” he breathed. “I didn’t think…”
Another mistake, he realized, when Technoblade recoiled away from him.
“His heart is beating very fast,” Tommy said, ears pinning back, attempting to wiggle his arms free and hug the man.
The half-asleep Piglin took a gasping, shuddering breath. Phil dropped to his knees next to the bed.
Panic attack.
Phil chuffed again, once, twice. “Shh, it’s alright, Techno, I’m not mad. You’re safe…”
This was without doubt one of the scariest panic attacks Phil had seen. Technoblade’s eyes were clamped shut, and his shoulder twitched, but he was still half-stuck in hibernation and could barely move. At this point, Phil didn’t know if his words could reach him, so after a few frantic seconds, he leaned in to press their forehead together.
At last, Technoblade took a quieter, less strained breath. Tension leaked out of his shoulders, as he sagged against Tommy. The child was nuzzling his neck and squealing little noises.
Just before he fell back asleep completely, one word managed to pass his lips.
“Stay…”
⋅ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ⋅
“He called you Dad,” Tommy whispered, awed.
“Well…”
“He did!” Tommy rejoiced quietly.
“Submitting can be done to any higher-ranking members of the sounder,” Phil recalled, but the reasoning sounded weak even to him.
“Oh, come on! He thinks you’re the sounder-leader! That’s the dad. Or the mom, but you’re the dad.”
“Tommy,” Phil said, toneless. “He’s terrified of me.”
“Wah- No, he’s not!”
“I sent him into a panic attack,” Phil whimpered.
“Nuh-huh. When he saw you, he submitted, Phil, that’s not something you do to an enemy. I don’t know what happened after, but it wasn’t you. And don’t forget you were the one to calm him down.”
Tommy wiggled out of Technoblade’s now slack grip, only to slide under Phil’s wing. It tightened automatically around him, Phil finding comfort in the reassuring warmth of his son. He smiled when he felt a small headbutt.
“Your head is being dumb,” Tommy helpfully informed him.
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean,” Tommy drawled, raising a hand and attempting to smoothen Phil’s disarrayed feathers.
The calm that had returned to the warm room wasn’t echoed in Phil’s mind. Luckily, the role of emperor came with a never-ending variety of distractions to choose from.
“I have a meeting with Puffy and Sneeg,” he recalled.
“Asked them if you’re scary,” Tommy suggested, “or if you look like a wet chicken.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
Tommy patted him apologetically on the shoulder (or, well, as high as he could reach), then sat back on the bed. “Tell them I say hi. I’m staying here.” His head whipped back to Phil, almost as an afterthought.
“Yeah, alright.” He smiled as Tommy cheered silently.
“My instincts really like that,” he admitted. “I love sleeping in the nest, but watching over someone’s hibernation is different. I’m being good for the flock. Or, err, sounder.”
“I’m glad,” Phil said, and to his own surprise, the last of his reluctance really was gone. “If there’s anything at all, Clementine’s right outside, okay?”
“Okay!”
This time, Phil wasn’t interrupted as he walked back to his office. Both Puffy and Sneeg were understanding of his lateness, and he managed to catch Niki and direct her towards the guest wing. Clementine would certainly be glad for the company.
But, a few hours later, Phil still wasn’t able to settle down and get to work. He tried moving to the nest, to help him quiet his thoughts, but to no avail. And, as paperwork laid unfinished on the nightstand, questions kept assailing him.
When had Technoblade started seeing him as an authority figure? Had he even been aware of it? He certainly gave no indication of that, back in the cell.
Had this happened to him before? Was it just because Phil was in charge? Despite the possibility (can’t do much better than an emperor, as an authority figure), he had a sinking feeling that this development stemmed from something else.
He still remembered too vividly how puzzled and suspicious Technoblade had been of the accommodations they had prepared for him. Of the additional heat and Nether-friendly meals.
If a few thoughts about his general well-being had been enough to convince Technoblade’s hindbrain that Phil was part of his sounder…
Then Phil would rather not think about what his life must’ve looked like since the portals had been closed.
In fact, he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. This whole affair had been a true mess, but with the ex-general safely settled in the emergency hibernation den, Phil could move on to other things. Like this very important, very urgent paperwork, that no one else could do.
.
..
…
Oh gods. He hadn’t told the room staff to keep the heat up in the guest room. They’d come tend to the fire, but keeping it at a normal level, not-
Tommy. Right, Tommy would tell them. Or Niki. They could handle that.
Phil brought his attention firmly back to the paperwork, warbling at himself. He could do this. He wasn’t even thinking about how terrified Techno must’ve been, having a panic attack while still so close to unconsciousness. He wasn’t thinking about going to help. He absolutely did not feel like one of his children was uncomfortable.
“No?” Wilbur asked sarcastically from where he was cradled in Phil’s lap, wrapped tightly enough in blankets to restrain both his arms and wings.
“No, everything’s fine. But- maybe I should go check on him? I mean, them? Just in case?” Phil proposed, clutching him to his chest like an overgrown teddy bear.
“What you need to do is calm the fuck down,” Wilbur said, muffled against Phil’s shoulder.
Phil trilled reproachingly at him when he flailed his arms, trying to get back some form of personal space, but ultimately allowed him to sit up. Not too far, though.
“I am the voice that says things you don’t want to hear,” Wilbur announced.
“Your voice muffled through a pillow is what you’re gonna be if you keep this up.”
“And you are worried about Technoblade, because he imprinted on you.”
“He didn’t!” Phil exclaimed. “And I’m not!”
“Oh, really?” Wilbur challenged. “So, can I resume my duties?”
Phil clutched him back immediately, chirping chidingly. “No.”
Part of him knew it wasn’t fair, to pull Wilbur away from his responsibilities in order to pacify his own instincts. But his son only sighed when he cooed sadly.
“Hey, it’s alright. I’m comfy and safe, okay? Tommy and Techno, too.”
“I don’t-” Phil immediately said. Wilbur raised an eyebrow, but Phil couldn’t find the words to complete his sentence.
“Take your time,” the Phantling only said, before settling into a more comfortable position among the cushions, head on his dad’s lap.
He was, as he correctly guessed, in for a long afternoon.
⋅ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ⋅
A new wave of refugees had just arrived at the city of Stronghold.
They had traveled well into the night, and even the Antarctician soldiers escorting them were ready to collapse when the city finally came into view. Most of them were led to the temporary settlements on the outskirts, Hybrids of all shapes and sizes helping their wounded before collapsing into beds. The ones with the direst injuries were directed to Stronghold’s medical wing.
Phil couldn’t help but sigh in relief when the last one was safely settled in the med bay. They were far from the days when rescuing a small group of Hybrids (and flying back with their hibernating kid) would mobilize all of their forces, but that only meant dealing with more organization and more running around. Phil checked in with Ponk one last time, making sure the medical team had everything they needed before leaving.
The soles of his feet hurt from being up and about for so long. His soul, from seeing so much pain and suffering, but also hope, in all those refugees. Quietly, Phil yearned for the day when his empire would be complete. When he could surround himself with advisors and deal only with commerce and the occasional bad harvest. When the war was over, and discrimination, maybe not eradicated, but outlawed.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, he’d go back to his nest, make sure his chicks were safe and asleep, and-
“Do you want to go in, sir?”
Phil blinked up dumbly at Brian. The younger crow hybrid had a hand on the guest door’s handle but glanced up at his sovereign, head tilted to the side in uncertainty.
Phil looked around, realizing where his feet had taken him, and sighed again. This time, in acceptance.
“Yes, please,” he said, then slipped through the door.
Despite the excessive heat, the den immediately soothed the frazzled part of Phil’s brain. Something about the semi-darkness, the coziness of it all, made his eyelids heavy. Or, maybe, it was the calm, even breath of the room’s occupant. Slow and careful, he sat on the edge of the bed.
Technoblade was clutching the edge of the comforter with one clawed hand, but on his other side, it had slipped off his shoulder. Phil reached over, repositioning the blankets, and found his hand lingering.
Away from prying ears, he let himself coo at the sight, pleased to see the Piglin safely asleep. After months of preaching the benefits of indulging your instincts to Hybrids traumatized into masking them for years, it felt hypocritical of him to fight his own in such a way, but this situation was… complicated.
Maybe it didn’t have to be.
“Did you mean it?” Phil asked to the immobile air, running his fingers through Techno’s short locks. He was slowly growing out of the SMP military sanctioned haircut. It suited him better.
This place suited him better. But that wasn’t Phil’s place to say.
“Was it just because you were scared? Was it the hurt talking? Or is this something you want?”
Techno exhaled slowly. It still felt strange, to see him so utterly relaxed, after getting a month of constant vigilance from him. Strange, but not unwanted.
“Because if it is, you can have it. You can be safe here.”
Phil lifted one of his wings, draping it over the Hybrid’s form.
“I’ll wait for you to tell me.”
That night, for the first time since their return to Stronghold, Phil slept peacefully.