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Phil listens to the crows chitter at his feet, flapping their wings angrily as he shoos them away. They scream at him, their beady eyes narrowed even more than usual. Their beaks hang half-open in protest, their bodies standing as tall as they can force themselves to be. Phil knows that they're sentient, more so than any other creature Phil has ever met in his entire life. They seem to share the majority of his memories, if not all of them, and they're very intent on interfering with his life. Phil doesn't enjoy that very much, so he's had to set boundaries, limitations. They don't listen to him very often, but they know when enough is enough. Phil has only had to kill a few crows ever since they started to show up, and he prefers to not do that.
"I'm not going," he tells him, narrowing his eyes as he steps through the portal to Nethervoid. "I'm not fucking going, dumbasses," Phil repeats, running his fingers through his hair. He breathes in the last bit of Overworld air, feeling his heart slam in his chest a little faster when his throat seizes up. The Nether's air is shit, but Phil has gotten used to it. Before, he had almost died hundreds of times due to not being able to breathe. But now, he's much, much more experienced. The crows chatter around him, talking amongst themselves. Some are soft spoken while others are loud, and he finds that he prefers the combination of the two. "Shut up." Phil tells them, a laugh caught in his throat. They don't shut up - they do the opposite.
Phil walks along the walkway to Nethervoid, watching as the crows hop behind him, some waddling, some flying. Some of them have been able to replicate his voice nearly perfectly, and he finds that he likes those a little less. As much as Phil enjoys hearing himself talk, he isn't a fan of hundreds of his voices being compiled at once. Phil isn't entirely sure when the crows started to follow him, started to become sentient. He thinks that it's been a few years now, but he hasn't been paying attention. All he really knows is that they tend to lead him to important things, to death and destruction and life and creation. They're his soundboard, his way of proposing new ideas. They're as sentient as he, and Phil doesn't think he would give them up.
Even if they do make him want to tear out his hair.
He stretches out his wings, watching as the crystal comes into view, the Quartztress following a second later. He smiles when he feels the temperature drop, sighing in relief when the heat stops scorching his back, stops making his eyes water. Phil adores the Nether more than he can put into words, but he hates the weather, he hates the way it makes him feel. It's dry and agonising to be in for too long, but he's done his absolute best to get used to it. In some ways, he's become immune to its effects, but he still isn't quite free from the heat. Phil doubts that he ever will be.
The crows chirp around him, beating their wings even more aggressively than they had been only a few moments ago. "Wilbur! Wilbur! Wilbur!" They scream, and Phil feels his head hurt for a second. He turns, staring down at the tiny creatures. One of them peers up at him, one that's been with him from the start. Phil values his input more than the others, and he stares at him expectantly. "Wilbur," the crow blinks at him. "Help him."
Phil sighs, looking away from the small flock at his feet. They keep shouting his son's name, they keep yelling at him to save him, to help him. Phil doesn't know what they want him to save Wilbur from or who they want him to save his son from, but he figures that he might have to. "What's he need saving from?" He asks, taking one last look at Nethervoid before he moves back to the portal, folding his wings back. "Tell me, quick, or else I'm not going."
"Himself!" The crows scream. "Himself, himself! Hurting, he's hurting, gone crazy! Gone mental, gone insane, gone- gone, gone, gone! Gone, too late, too late!" They howl, furiously flying around him, shrieking in his face as they try to get their points across. Their eyes are crazed and frenzied, and Phil sighs. Of course they've decided to be unhelpful now. He steps back through the portal, watching as the majority of the crows follow him. A few stay back in Nethervoid, though they blend in against the pitch black that surrounds it. "Save him, Phil! Save him, save him! Save him!"
Phil glares at the loudest crow, wishing that he could kill that one without feeling a semblance of guilt. He's gotten too used to their company, he thinks. He should've just killed the first one when it appeared. Phil shakes his head, sighing internally. He's glad that he didn't. As annoying as they are, they're still company. They're helpful, sometimes. Whenever he's in danger or whenever he forgets something, the crows are there. They yell at him to be careful, to be safe. They tell him how to fix things, what he's forgotten, where he is. Phil can ask for anything, and the crows will almost always do it.
He feels the world warp around him, briefly blurring the lines of reality and not, before he's thrown back to the Overworld. He steps out of the portal with ease, having not stumbled out of it in years. He's gotten used to the way the realms work, and Phil is proud of himself for that. He'd consider himself a master of time itself, and he knows that the crows do the same, too. Maybe that's why they follow him, because he's unkillable. As much as they flock to death, they seem to be intent on following him, he who has been compared to life itself. Phil doesn't care that much, he thinks. "Where abouts is he?" Phil asks, watching as the crows pause, tilting their heads for a second. They all go silent for a brief, brief moment before they start to shout and chatter again, flapping their wings. "That doesn't fuckin' help me." He sighs, grabbing his sword off of the wall where he had put it.
"Lost but not found," one of the crows shrieks. "Gone, Phil! Gone! Land of the lost! Land of the insane!" Phil blinks, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"L'manberg?" He asks, frowning at the word. It's been so long since he's visited that place. He assumed that Wilbur was alright there, what, with leading a revolution a few months ago. Phil never really had a reason to go back, and he didn't think that either of his sons really needed him there. Phil walks out of his house, murmuring soft goodbyes to the dogs that sit outside of his door, constantly on guard. "Why's he gone mental?" Phil asks, glancing towards the portal in the distance. He never thought he'd be returning to L'manberg, he really didn't. He enjoys that world, he does, but he much prefers to be here. He prefers to be home, and L'manberg, that world, it isn't home. Not even close.
The crows don't say anything, they just droop their wings, their heads hanging low. "Too late," they laugh, bitterly. "Too late, too late. Too late."
"There once was a saying, Phil," Wilbur whispers, tears falling down his face. He looks at Phil will the saddest eyes that Phil has ever seen in his entire life. "By a traitor," Wilbur turns away, and Phil listens to the crows softly whisper behind him, shifting uncomfortably, unhappily. They don't like seeing Wilbur upset, they never have. Wilbur barks out a singular, shattered laugh. "It was never meant to be."
"Will, n-"
It's too late.
Wilbur slams his fist into the button on the wall, his other hand flying up to his head, saluting. Phil rushes forwards as fast as he can, the crows screaming at his heels, begging for him to save him. Phil whirls around, standing in front of the Wilbur, taking the brunt of the blast. He feels his wings ignite, burning and searing, his feathers falling off and scattering away. Phil clutches his son close to his chest, breathing out as he listens to explosions behind him. "Will.." Phil whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Too late," the crows sob, "too late, too late. Too late, Phil, too late. Gone, gone. He's gone, he's gone."
"Phil," Wilbur looks up at him, his eyes slightly less foggy, some form of understanding in them. "Phil, kill me, Phil," Wilbur shoves his sword into Phil's hands, tears streaming down his face a little faster. "Please, Phil, ki- kill me, please. Just kill me, Phil."
"You're my son!" Phil shouts, gripping the hilt of the sword. "You're my son," Phil repeats, feeling his chest hurt. "Wilbur, you're.."
"Do it," the crows whisper, sounding desperate and sad. "Do it, do it. He's hurt, he's hurt, he's hurting. End it, end it, fix it, fix it. He's hurt, he's hurt, he's hurt, save him, save him! Save him, fix it, he's your son, your son, have to fix it, have to.." the crows' voices are low and soft and sad, and Phil has never heard them like that before. Phil tightens his grip on the sword, looking away from his son for a moment.
"You're my son," Phil repeats, placing his other hand on the small of Wilbur's back. "I love you. I love you, Will. I love you."
And he plunges the sword into Wilbur's stomach.
Wilbur chokes on whatever words he was going to stay, stumbling forwards, only impaling himself more. He grabs Phil's shoulders, dropping his head on his shoulder. "Thank you," Wilbur murmurs, his voice husky and warm and exhausted. He sounds so tired. Phil does the only thing that he can think of, holding his son close to him. "I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Phil tells him. "It's okay," it isn't. It's not, and everyone in the room knows that. Every single crow at his feet knows that it isn't alright, but they know better than to say it. They know better than to talk right now. "You're going to be okay, Will. I promise. It'll be okay," Wilbur clutches his coat, leaning against his chest. "You can rest, Will. You can rest."
"Okay," Wilbur murmurs. "Okay. Thank you."
Phil drops to the ground, dragging Wilbur along with him as he goes. He sobs into the side of his son's shoulder, listening to the silence that rings in his ears. The crows aren't whispering, they've gone dead silence. They don't murmur or flutter around, and Phil wishes that they would. He holds Wilbur to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry," Phil whispers, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
"It'll be okay," a crow that sounds suspiciously like Wilbur, whispers. "I promise."
Phil trudges in the snow, wishing that he didn't have to walk. He misses flying, he misses it so unbelievably much. When Phil decided to shield Wilbur from the explosion, he didn't realise that it would do so much damage to him. He looks over his shoulder, shivering when the wind whips him in the face. Phil sighs at the cold stinging at his cheeks and ears, though he does his best to ignore it. The crows hop around his feet, getting in the way of his steps. Phil has learnt by now to just continue walking, to have the crows be the ones to move out of the way.
"Phil!" Techno's voice rings out from the house, and a second later, his son's head pokes out one of the windows. A tired grin is settled on his face, his tusks pointing upwards rather than to the sides. "Good news!" He calls, hanging halfway out of the window. Phil can't help but smile. He leans on the side of the house, tilting his head back to look up at the hybrid. "Turtle farm should be up and runnin'. It took me all night, but I think I've finally gotten it."
"He doesn't, he doesn't," the crows sigh. "He broke it, it's broken, it's so scuffed, it's scuffed, it's bad. You need to fix it, you have to fix it. Not bright enough, eggs are broken, not bright, not bright. Didn't work, doesn't work, have to fix it. Fix it." Phil raises an eyebrow, wondering if he should trust Techno on this one. The crows have very rarely lied to him before, and they've never lied about something as simple as this.
"Are you sure?" He asks. "Let's go check, I think I forgot to do something there, anyways," Techno shrugs, the grin still remaining on his face. He wanders down the stairs, beaming at Phil when he reaches the bottom. Phil grins back, and they start to walk, the crows chittering and flapping behind them. "Have you seen anyone around here recently?" Phil asks, tilting his head to the side. "I know that Quackity's been poking around."
Techno sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Don't even mention him," Techno laughs, though his tone doesn't sound entirely joking. "But nah, I haven't. I've just been wanderin' around, makin' sure everythin' is goin' well. You know how it is," Techno shrugs, looking at a crow that hops up into his hand when he offers it. "Do they talk to you?" Techno asks, stopping his movement. "Like..voices?"
"Yeah," Phil shrugs. "Like the voices you have, yeah. They're talkative." Techno laughs, ducking his head. He nods after a second, tapping the side of his head.
"Trust me, I know. Do you ever wonder why they chose us? Why it happened?"
"Sometimes," he admits. "I try my best not to think about it. There's nothing I can do about it, anyways. They're not really going to go anywhere anytime soon, it seems." Phil laughs, watching his crows flutter around him, landing on his shoulders and taking off seconds later.
"Fair," Techno shrugs. "Are they ever helpful?"
"Yeah," Phil shrugs. "Sometimes. Are yours?"
Techno snorts, looking away. "Nah. Not at all."
Phil laughs, ducking his head. "Yikes. Well, anyways," he looks out towards the beach. "Let's go check on the turtles."
"Tommy, Tommy!" The crows scream in his face, refusing to get out of his way. "He needs helps, he needs help! Save him, save him! Save him, Phil! Save him! Tommy needs help, he needs help! Help him, help him, help him! He's turning into Wilbur! He's turning into Wilbur, Wilbur! Wilbur, save him, you couldn't save him but you can save Tommy, you can save him!"
Phil closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a breath, feeling his chest ache. "Shut up," he tells the crows, shaking his head. "Shut up. Don't say that shit," he looks out at the night sky, watching as the stars start to go down. "You fucking know better."
"Save him! Save him! Save him! Tommy is hurting, he's hurting! He's in trouble! Save him, save him!" Phil snaps his hand forwards, watching as a knife embeds itself into a crow's chest. The crow falls to the ground, crying out in a pained warble.
"I said," Phil steps over the crow, watching as it dissolves into smoke, disappearing into nothingness. "Shut up. I don't need to listen to you," he keeps walking, glancing over to the island in the distance that he knows his son resides on. Phil taps his foot against the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. "God fucking dammit," he turns away from Techno's cabin, turning back around. "You're all so fucking annoying."
He wishes he could fly. If Phil could fly, he could save so many people. If he could fly, he could go back to normal. He can't even get to his portal because it's so fucking far out. Phil is so pissed at so many things, and he wishes that he could go back to normal more than anything. As much as he loves talking to Technoblade and living in the "new" Antarctic Empire, he hates it here. Phil frowns when he feels rain, pausing for a second.
"Fly!" The crows laugh. "You can fly, you can fly! You can fly, you can fly! You're free, free! New wings, new wings, new wings! You're free, Phil, you are free!" The crows laugh and flap their wings, soaring up into the air, twirling around him. "Fly!" Phil can't help but laugh with them, pulling his trident off of his back. He leaps up into the air, breathing out when the trident flies up into the sky, taking him with it. "Freedom!" The crows chitter and cackle, sounding happier than they have in months.
Phil soars through the sky, wishing that he could feel the wind in his wings, although he knows that this is as good as he'll get. Phil still wishes for more, but this is good enough for now. He'll get his real wings back one day, he'll make it happen. He flies through the night air, watching Tommy's island get closer and closer to him. Phil lands on the ground with ease, breathing out when he sees Tommy's house. It isn't much of a house, more of a crippled building, but it's still a house. Phil starts to walk again, frowning when he hears someone whispering. Tommy, he assumes. "Go talk to him," Phil tells the crows, waving an arm towards the noise. "You want to save him? Save him, then."
They don't have to be told twice. The crows soar towards Tommy, landing in front of him and around him. "What the fuck?" Tommy laughs, choking on a sob. Phil watches him from afar, careful to not be noticed. Tommy doesn't need to see him, not right now. Not after Phil killed his brother. "You're..Phil's," he whispers, holding out a hand. A crow hops onto it, settling down into his hand. "You're Phil's crows. I've never.."
"Hello, hello!" The crows laugh. "Hello! How are you, how are you? Happy to see you, happy! Good to see you! Hello, Tommy! Phil misses you, are you okay? Are you okay, you're safe now! Safe now, safe! You're good, good! Love you, love you, Tommy! Love you!"
Tommy blinks, and Phil swears that he can see tears in his son's eyes. "Did he tell you to say that?"
"We all know, we all know!" The crows chitter. "We know what he wants, he misses you! He's worried, he's worried! You'll be okay!" Tommy laughs, ducking his head and looking away.
"He's.." Tommy nods. "He's..tell him that I miss him, too. That I'm..not mad, or whatever. Tell him I, um, that I love him, yeah? Please?"
"Of course, of course!" The crows tell him. "Of course! We will, we will!"
Phil turns away, hiding his smile with his hand. Tommy is okay. "Thanks," he sighs, looking down at the crow that chose to remain at his feet. "For warning me. Will he be okay?" The crow looks up at him, tilting their head ever so slightly.
"He always is. Promise," without the other crows' voices overlapping, Phil can finally hear full sentences. "Will you be?" Phil snorts, looking away. "Phil," the crow chides. "Answer."
"Soon," he assures them. "Not right now. But I will be. I'll be okay once they're okay."
The crow nods their head, bobbing up and down. "Okay. We're with you. Always."
"I know," Phil smiles. "I know."
Phil closes his eyes, laying down against one of the trees outside of Techno's home. The crows flutter around him, some hopping onto his chest, settling by his neck. He settles back, sighing. It isn't really that cold here anymore - he's gotten used to it. "Hello, Phil!" Wilbur's voice rings out, and Phil cracks open an eye. Wilbur is stood in front of him, hovering above the snow. He's holding an umbrella over his head, careful to not touch the snow. "How are you?"
"I'm alright," Phil smiles, patting the ground next to him. It's just damp grass, the snow's been melted for a while now. "Come sit with me?" Wilbur's eyes light up and he does, practically throwing himself to the ground. "How have you been?" The crows hop onto Wilbur's legs, warming up to him almost immediately. The crows know who he is, they feel pity and sympathy for him, and Phil wishes that they wouldn't. Though he knows that he can't stop them.
"I've been good!" Wilbur assures him, resting his head on Phil's shoulder. "Do you think that they like me?" He motions to the crows, who preen at him.
"Trust me," Phil laughs, "they do."
"Good!" Wilbur grins. "I like them. They're nice, they talk to me sometimes. They talk to you a lot, I know that, but I like it when they talk to me," Wilbur laughs. "They're nice. Are they nice to you?"
Phil smiles, feeling another person sit down next to him. "Hey, Techno."
"Mornin' Phil, mornin' Wilbur," Techno pulls out two books from his bag, handing one to Wilbur. "Here you are, Ghostbur. It's about Gods and their peoples." Wilbur eagerly takes the book, snuggling closer to Phil. A few moments later and he's already reading, completely absorbed in the words. Techno is reading as well, though he doesn't look nearly as interested as Wilbur does.
"He's on his way!" A crow chirps. "He's coming!"
"Hey, Tommy," Phil waves at his youngest son, who comes to settle by them. "How're you?"
"Tired," Tommy admits. "But, uh..I'm okay. I'm good. How are you, Phil?"
"Not bad," Phil smiles. "I'm glad you're alright. We'll all end up alright, yeah? We always do."
Tommy snorts, holding out his hand. A crow lands on it, pecking at his palm. "I suppose we do. I reckon that this is going to finally be my year, big man," Tommy grins. "Maybe. Maybe not, but, uh..do they tell you the future?" Tommy asks. "Your crows, I mean. Fundy told me that some of his pets tell him about the future."
"It'll be alright," the crows sing. "Everything will be okay."
"Yeah." Phil smiles, giving him a half shrug.
"What are they..what do they know?"
"It'll be okay. It always will be."
"It'll be alright. It always will be."