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Phil didn't know how long he had stood there.
His throat was choked with a painful lump, sobs forced down as he trembled pitifully, clutching Lady Death and Ian to his chest. Chat tried their best to comfort him, snuggling closer and gently cawing, but it only made his tears fall faster.
His legs were shaking, muscles aching after standing still for so long, but he couldn't bring himself to move, the weight on his chest leaving him paralyzed. Anyone could walk by and see him, having a breakdown over nothing, and they would surely mock him for having feelings, because that was how this server was run. You had to push everything down, because you would only be ridiculed if you let it out. It was survival of the fittest, and crying was a sign of weakness.
(Not that either of his neighbors would care if they caught him crying. Well, they would care, but it would be the concerned kind of care as opposed to the angry kind.)
After what felt like hours of standing in the cold, Phil could feel his knee start to lock up painfully, and he knew he needed to move. So, with a shuddering sigh, he lifted his head from where he had pressed it against the feathers of his friends, wiping at the tears that slipped out of his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, hand shaking.
The crow that was on his hat took off, flying into the distance to do who knows what. It was hard to open his door with his arms full, but Phil managed, quickly shutting it behind him with a little more force than was necessary. He stumbled into his house, and Ian and Lady death hopped out of his arms, setting on top of his bookshelf and the top of his desk chair respectively.
Suddenly, the weight of the poncho and crows on top of them was too much, and he didn't waste any time in hurrying to pull it off, crows scattering across his room in a flurry of feathers as he tossed the fabric into the corner, clawing at his throat as he tried to breath. Everything was just so much, and he was exhausted beyond belief. He wanted to crawl in bed and sleep for a week straight, responsibilities be damned.
Technically speaking, there was nothing stopping him, so Phil tugged his boots off, tossing them in the vague direction of his door. One of the boots skittered dangerously close to a crow, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His bed wasn't made, as had been his norm, and was as uninviting looking as always. It made the bird part of him deeply upset to see his nest so pitiful and small, but Phil knew he wouldn't have a proper nest for a long, long time.
His only son wasn't around, and items from close family were practically a necessity to make a good nest that brought comfort and eased stress. Not only that, but family (or flock, if you wanted to get technical about it, but Phil hadn't suppressed his hybrid nature for years because he was in a discriminatory area to be willy nilly about talking about it) members often found themselves in the nest, when they couldn't sleep, or needed company, or simply wanted to relax with their family.
The flaw with that, was that Phil's only family was dead.
Sure, Techno was family to him, and so was Ranboo, despite how hard he had tried to shove the feeling away, but neither of them seemed to express affection physically. Not that Phil did either, but he wanted to more than anything. Not even a full on hug (which would likely overwhelm him due to years of being, well, touch starved), just a simple brush of hands would do, but that was rare and seemingly actively avoided.
A proper nest wasn't an option, so Phil shoved the ill feeling to the side, pulling his blankets tight around him and clutching a throw pillow to his chest. A few crows flew over and landed on the bed, but Phil shuddered, a ripple down his spine and through his wings, bile rising in his throat because it was too much, much too much, and he shoved them off with no remorse, tugging the blanket over his head. He curled in on himself, hoping that they got the message and stayed out.
Chat murmured to themselves, and Phil didn't bother trying to understand them. He was exhausted, so he sunk into his mattress, limbs heavy and eyes burning with fatigue. The blankets around him were soft against his tattered feathers, and Phil trilled lowly, rubbing his cheek against his pillow.
Phil let himself drift, slipping into a blissful unawareness. When he eventually came to, he had no idea how much time had passed. His limbs were somehow heavier, eyes refusing to open. There was a weight settled on his chest, familiar in all the worst ways possible.
It was far from the first time this had happened to Phil. Phil had lived a long, long time, and he was no stranger to days where he couldn't get out of bed, where even the simplest of tasks seemed impossible.
He hadn't had one in a long time, but considering the events of the past months, it made sense. Phil didn't usually enjoy these days, hated them actually, but he couldn't remember the last time he had spent any amount of time just relaxing since before this week. A day in bed sounded so nice, so tempting, but Phil wasn't on his own any more, and his neighbors would be unreasonably worried if they saw him lazing about.
Peeling his eyes open, Phil blinked up at his ceiling, willing his vision to focus.
Chat had vanished from his house, the only sign remaining being scattered feathers and a slight crack in one of his windows. Phil groaned, shivering as he noticed the chill in the air. Of course his crows had left his window open, why wouldn't they?
Phil jolted when a knock sounded at his door, soft and hesitant yet jaring all the same. Phil knew it wasn't Techno - his knocks tended to be heavier and more curt - but that left it to be anyone else, and that didn't bode well for him.
He wanted to get up, grab his sword and open his door, see who was knocking, but he couldn't. His heart raced slightly, because of course the one time he relaxed there was a threat.
And then there was a soft call of, "Phil?" and he felt like an idiot. Of course it was Ranboo, who else would it be?
Relieved that he wasn't in danger, Phil almost forgot that Ranboo had never seen him sleep in this late. Almost.
Ranboo knocked again, firmer, and called Phil's name again, louder this time. Phil wanted to respond, but all he could manage was a grunt, eyes falling shut once more.
He heard his door knob twist, door swinging open with a quiet creek. Ranboo's footsteps were quiet as he approached him, and Phil fought to keep his breathing even.
Phil had to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from jumping when he felt the back of a hand press against his forehead. He fought to not lean into the touch, but it was a battle he lost almost absurdly quickly.
Ranboo hummed, moving his hand cup Phil's cheek instead, and fuck his hand was warm. There was a lump in his throat that refused to go away.
"Sleeping in, huh?" Ranboo murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Phil's face with his other hand and tucking it behind his ear. "You have been overworking yourself recently, so I guess it makes sense."
Ranboo huffed a fond laugh to himself, adjusting the blankets around him. His knuckles brushed against his shoulder and left burning marks, sending tingles up his spine.
"Sleep well, Phil," Ranboo told him softly. Phil bit down on his tongue to keep a chirp in.
Ranboo's footsteps sounded out, before pausing.
"Did he leave the window open?" Ranboo muttered. "No wonder it's so cold in here then." His window clicked shut, and then Ranboo was walking again, Phil's door shutting softly behind him.
Out of sight, Phil's eyes welled with tears. He didn't want to cry, not for what must have been the third or fourth time that day, but he couldn't stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks and soaking into his pillow. He didn't know why he was so emotional, but his absence had been noticed, and someone cared enough to check on him, to make sure he wasn't sick or injured.
Just a simple sign of care, of kindness, when no one was looking, had reduced him to tears, and Phil hated how emotional he had been since chat had preened him for the first time, but every act of kindness without prompting left him crying.
(And what did that say about his mental state?)
After a embarrassingly long bout of crying, Phil had fallen back asleep. He didn't get out of bed for the rest of the day despite how it made him curl in on himself in shame. He should be better than this, he knew it, but despite the knowledge he couldn't put it into practice.
Baby steps, Lady Death had whispered to him when she eventually reappeared by his side. Healing takes time. If this is all you can do today, that's fine.
Phil had almost started crying again, but by some strange luck had managed to force the tears down.
When Phil eventually woke up, for good this time, he was hit with the realization that he had slept for an entire day. The aches that had plagued his arms and legs from constant, non stop mining, had faded, and his mind felt clearer. There was a weight off his chest, and despite how much despised it, he knew it was because he had actually cried.
He took his time getting ready, stumbling throuh his kitchen (his balance was still off from not having his wings free for months) and making himself a coffee. The drink warmed his hands, a welcome feeling compared to the chill of his house.
Good things didn't last forever, and unfortunately for Phil he caved a little too easy into some of his impulses, and the drink was gone within minutes.
Sighing, Phil set the cup on his counter. He had a lot he needed to get done, especially since he wasted yesterday. He was reluctant to put his new poncho on, but he knew chat would scream at him the entire day if he didn't.
When he eventually got fully ready for the day and stepped outside, the snow crunched under his feet, his breath pooled in front of him as he walked down the connection between his house and Techno's. The air was freezing against the parts of his wings where most of the feathers were gone, ruined by explosions or ripped out in a fit of anxiety.
Maybe he should invest in wing coverings, Phil thought to himself, quietly checking on Techno's dogs. They were out of food, he noticed. He could give them more leftovers, knowing they wouldn't care if the meat was slightly rotten, but pups had been born not too long ago, and they would do well with fresh food.
How would he even make wing coverings anyway? He had heard of them, a few avian hybrids recommending them across the years when he mentioned that he traveled, but he had neither seen one or used one before, which was rather large obstacle when it came to actually making them.
Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't hear the crunching of snow behind, so he was unprepared for a sudden, "Hi Phil!"
Phil jumped, heart stopping as he whirled around, hand flying to his sword and wings puffing up instinctively. When he caught sight of Ranboo, sheepishly standing by the wheat a farm, and realized he wasn't in danger, he let out a long sigh relief. Ranboo waved at him happily when they met eyes. Phil made sure to turn his gaze to Ranboo's eyebrows after he realized - not quite looking him in the eyes, but still looking at him all the same, reminding himself that Ranboo didn't like direct eye contact with a mental slap to himself.
He opened his mouth to return the greeting, and then a slight breeze brushed against his feathers, and Phil was suddenly very aware of his wings, self consciously moving them slightly behind him. Ranboo clearly caught the movement, eyes flickering behind him to catch sight of his very visible wings. Phil felt slightly ill, exposed and more vulnerable than he had been in years, and despite knowing he could take Ranboo in a fight easily, this was a shift in their dynamic he hadn't accounted for.
Ranboo had never seen him with wings, Phil realized faintly with trembling hands. Ranboo had arrived after the day that haunted Phil's many sleepless nights, and thus had probably assumed Phil was a normal human (unless someone told him, but it seemed unlikely).
Ranboo's eyes widened, mouth opening, and Phil braced himself for the obvious questions that would come. Ranboo's eyes searched his face, and Phil felt paralyzed, unable to look away. It was hard to breathe, air stuck in lungs as Ranboo inspected him. After a few agonizingly long moments, something seemed to click in Ranboo's mind, face softening and eyes shining with understanding.
"How has your morning been?" Ranboo asked, instead of the many burning questions he must have, and all of Phil's air left him at once.
Phil could only blink at him as he made his way up to stand next to him, mind buffering. Ranboo blinked right back, slowly, and from the top of his roof he heard a crow whisper how strange it was that he seemed comfortable with eye contact, but Phil didn't bother to try and process that.
"Uh. It's been alright," Phil replied awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve under his poncho and willing his heart to calm. Ranboo smiled warmly at that, ears perking up and tail swishing behind him.
"Awesome," he said. "Oh, I replanted the wheat farm, by the way. Figured I'd take that off your plate, since you're digging out that massive hole."
"Thanks," Phil replied. His heart was still racing in his chest, because surely he was going to ask about the pair of wings now on his back. "That is taking up a bit of my time, yeah," he laughed.
Ranboo hummed in response. "I'd imagine. You need any help with anything around here? Aside from the massive hole, that is."
"Uhh."
It was hard to think, with the knowledge that Ranboo could see his wings, for the first time, at their worst state hanging over him. Ranboo wasn't making a big deal out of it, but considering his kind nature, Phil really shouldn't be that surprised. Ranboo was treating him with the same respect Phil gave him when he avoided eye contact, a politeness not many people on this server held. Ranboo was perceptive, more so than people gave him credit for, so he had surely noticed that Phil was uncomfortable. He was probably trying to distract him with menial tasks, Phil realized, heart warming.
(Ranboo was a good kid. Sometimes, he reminded Phil of Wilbur, when he was still a teen, knack for mischief not quite formed and a heart bigger than the wide grin on his face.)
"I need to feed Techno's dogs for him," Phil said, after he managed to sort through his list of tasks he did in a day and get his thoughts in order. Ranboo glanced over at the house the dogs were stored in, pulling a face when one of them yipped as if knowing it was being talked about. Phil chuckled.
"Alright. Where do you keep their food?" Ranboo asked, smoothing his expression out.
"In Techno's basement, bottom left chest. Couldn't keep it near their pen or they would try to escape," Phil explained, already walking towards Techno's house as he talked. Ranboo hurried to catch up, keeping pace easily with his freakishly long legs (seriously, he was all legs. Who gave him the right?).
"Makes sense," Ranboo said, "They would probably try and escape a lot if their food was nearby."
Phil nodded, not botherig to be being quiet as he opened Techno's door, knowing that if Techno was asleep still, next to nothing would wake him. Ranboo had to duck to get through the door, which was hilarious, but Phil forced down a laugh at it. He pulled the trapdoor to the basment open with one hand, lowering him to climbing down the ladder, Phil accidentally smacked his wing against the edge of the trapdoor as went door, wincing at sudden pain. When he reached the floor, he stumbled slightly, shaking his wing out.
"You good?" Ranboo asked, easily stepping down into the room.
"Yeah, I'm alright," Phil replied easily, ignoring the throbbing pain where he had hit his wing. He didn't bother looking to see Ranboo's reaction, instead busying himself with opening the fridge that held the good meat they used for for the dogs. He could feel Ranboo staring at him, gaze burning into his wings, but he didn't say anything, only stiffening slightly as he pulled a few backs.
The fridge door shut with a click, and Phil stood back up, turning to hand Ranboo a bag. Ranboo took it immediately, nodding to himself.
"We normally give them leftovers and rotten stuff, but there are pups, so," Phil explained, just to fill the silence as they returned to outside.
"Wouldn't they get sick?" Ranboo asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.
"Nah, they're fine," Phil said with a wave of his hand. Reaching the wolves pen took no time at all, and he could hear them start to bark in anticipation at the smell of meat. Ranboo's ears pressed into his head in attempt to muffle the sound, and Phil only felt a little bad when he laugh.
"They may try and jump at you," Phil warned, hand resting on the high fences. He had been knocked on his ass by the wolves far too many times. They listened to Techno leagues more, but his lovely best friend tennded to hibernate for long periods of time and left Phil to handle them on his own.
Phil pushed the heavy gate open with a grunt. Several wolves were already staring intently at them. After an excrutiatingly long process, they had been trained to not run out, but Phil knew their patience would run out quickly.
He wasted no time in entering, opening his bag of meat and dumping it into their trough. Ranboo did the same after Phil motioned him to, and the both stepped back and watched as the wolves lunged at their food.
The wolves pushed each other around, scrambling the get at the food, but a few of the pups seemed more interested in him and Ranboo. They sniffed at their ankles, and Ranboo giggled at them, keeping his tail raised as far as he could get it. Phil gave one of the excited pups a pat on the head, rolling his empty bag up so it was easier to carry. The pups were jumping up and down around, and he could hear Ranboo laughing. Phil couldn't help but smile, adjusting the way his wings rested on his back with a smile. This was nice, hanging out with a friend.
And then sharp pain erupted in his left wing, the limb being tugged down violently. Phil shouted a loud, "Fuck!" in a mixture of pain and surprise, stumbling as he was pulled to side. He tried to pull his wing free, but the pressure increased, pain increasing drastically as a still healing burn was torn open. He heard several crows caw in the distance, and Ranboo was saying something loudly, but Phil couldn't focus on either of them.
One of the pups had bit down on his wing, and was now trying to shake it back and forth like it was a toy. Phil bit back a scream, smacking the pup with his hand to try and get it to let go, but it didn't work. Several crows flew into his vison, mingling with the pups, and the older wolves had started to bark.
A raven flew at the pup attacking his wing, talons raised, and then Ranboo was there, nailing the raven right in the stomach and sending it flying into the snow with a loud Enderman like snarl, tail lashing violently behind him. Phil gasped, jerking away instinctively and ending up outside the door. Chat scattered, and the pups danced into the back of the pen, whining.
Phil swallowed roughly, trying to force tears of pain out of his eyes because it hurt, a sharp and burning pain, and it didn't help how sensitive his wings were, and he hated being so helpless-
And then the pressure vanished, leaving behind a pulsing pain. Phil stumbled backwards as quickly as he could, realizing very quickly that he was shaking. Everything had happened in a rapid blurr, and his heart was racing in his chest. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his breathing. He leaned against the wall of his house, dropping to the floor a moment later as he greedily took in several deep breaths.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually Ranboo crouched down in front of him. Phil couldn't bring himself to look up, too embarrassed to meet his eyes when he was panicking over practically nothing.
"Hey, Phil," Ranboo said, voice softer than he had ever heard it. "You alright?"
"Motherfucker bit me," Phil gasped out, heart still stuttering in his ribcage.
"Are you okay, though?" Ranboo asked, ignoring his comment. Phil shifted his wing ever so slightly, gasping as the pain flared up. Ranboo frowned.
"Is it okay if I touch your wing?" Ranboo asked softly.
Phil considered.
Letting someone touch your wings was a big show of trust. It wasn't something you let strangers do, or even friends. It was a sign of trust and closeness beyond any other. Phil trusted Ranboo, he really did, but he hesitated still.
Phil nodded.
Ranboo reached out, and Phil prepared himself for the worst, but Ranboo was nothing but gentle as he gently pulled his wing towards him. His hands were warm as he rested the limb on his lap. His fingers gently, so gently, pushed his feathers apart to inspect the bite on his wing. Phil hissed through clenched teeth as his fingertip brushed too close to the wound. Ranboo hummed thoughtfully.
"It's not too deep," Ranboo told him, absentmindedly stroking the uninjured part of his wing, "I think it just needs to be cleaned." Phil went boneless against the wall, a keen crawling past his lips. Ranboo's hand jerked to a stop, and Phil whined quietly in the back of his throat. Ranboo let out a quiet oh, returning to petting his wing. It wasn't preening, exactly, but it was similar enough to leave Phil completely vulnerable to Ranboo. If he chose to do something to him, he would be practically powerless to stop him.
"I'm gonna clean it out now, okay?" Ranboo said. His voice was muffled, almost as if Phil was hearing him from underwater, and that's when he knew he was truly gone. Being preened by chat was one thing. Sure, it was nice, and was comforting beyond belief, but it was nothing compared to the touch of a flock member, especially if one was deprived of it for extended periods of time.
Phil barely registered the sting of disinfectant, feeling like he was floating in a haze of contentedness. He was probably making Ranboo concerned, and when he came too he would hate himself for being so weak in front of the younger, but that was not this time.
For now, Phil was completely fine to drift, placing all his trust in Ranboo's kind hands and hoping he handled with care.
(When Ranboo realized Phil had fallen asleep, he would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned. It was highly out of character for him to be so vulnerable, but he supposed having your wing suddenly bit after compressing it into your back for months would do that to a person.
Petting his wing had definitely been the thing to make him pass out, though. Ranboo really hadn't accounted for the affects preening or anything close to it would have on him.
No matter. Ranboo would have taken care of him regardless.)