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Techno was sleeping. Well, obviously not, as he was awake enough to have that thought. He sure wishes he was sleeping, that’s for certain. But the sun was beaming through his window directly into his face and he could hear Phil puttering around over at the table, and it was only a matter of time before he really has to get up so he resolves to pull himself out of bed. And then he doesn’t. Because his bed was comfy, like that’s the whole point of a bed right? To be comfortable and relaxing to be in and help you sleep so if he goes back to sleep then he’s really just using it as intended-
“Techno, tea’s ready.” Phil comes over and gently nudges him with a warm mug.
Well. Damn. Guess he really has to get up now. Wouldn’t want Phil to think he doesn’t appreciate his tea after all.
Phil takes a step back as Techno stretches his arms up and rolls out of bed, right onto the floor. With a laugh Phil grabs him by the arm and pulls him up into a chair beside the table. Techno reaches out and grabs the mug Phil had nudged him with and wrapped his hands around it, soaking in the warmth. Phil doesn’t need to ask him what tea he likes, he just knows by now. And Techno doesn’t worry that Phil would poison it, because this has been well trodden by now, they’ve proven their loyalty to one another a thousand times over in dramatic declarations and acts (mostly Techno) and small gestures, a wisp of a hand (more Phil’s thing.)
“Th’mks Ph’”
“Mhm, don’t worry about it mate.” Techno just nods and sips his drink. Phil’s never been the best at accepting others appreciation but Techno still tells him anyway. There’s much more to do today, battles to plan and supply lines to organize, but in this post waking moment, they are simply Techno and Phil, two of a pair, drinking tea together.
-----
But those moments are temporary, though not lesser for it, and so here Technoblade, The Blood God, Champion of Hypixel, Commander of Armies, stands, in the middle of the freezing taiga, waiting for a field report that he’s starting to feel like he won’t be getting. Sure, he’s netherborn and wearing a fur-lined cloak that’s been enchanted to the End and back, but it’s still rude to leave a guy standing out in the snow for hours (it's been 40 minutes, but he feels like he deserves a little drama at this point.)
Finally, a scout comes running up to him, white cloak over gray uniform blending into the snow, and comes to stand in front of him. Now in most armies you’d have something like “respect” for ”superior” officers, but Techno isn’t too bothered with all that stuff, so the scout looks him dead in the eye and grins.
“Well? What’s going on out there? I’d rather not stand here for another 2 hours.”
“Psh you don’t even get cold, come off it. And with that cloak? You must be cozy as the sun. But alright, to business. Now first there’s a weakness on the western side-” The scout continues on for a bit, pulling out a collection of notes and sketches of enemy formations for Techno to study, and soon enough they’ve all the information and headed out to a hidden rest point, not heading back to the main camp as to not lead any potential followers back to their headquarters, and now Techno could head back to his warm tent and his co-commander, who’s probably gotten into some form of mischief or crime in the short while he’s been out.
------
“So you and Phil huh?”
Techno looks up from his maps to see a younger corporal grinning at him, and gesturing over to where Phil stands, dressed in white and blue and keyly, with gold jewelry adorning his ears and hands. The corporal is a piglin hybrid, not the full massive boar that Techno is, but Techno feels more comfortable around him than with others, hides his snorts and grunts a little less. But unfortunately, since this man knows more about piglin culture than others, he’s gonna have to explain a bit more.
“Uh, no we’re not like that. I just, yknow, wanted to give him something nice.”
“Mhm mhm where have I heard that before?” The corporal says, rocking back on his heels and smirking at Techno. “Y’know I don’t think anyone’d mind, and there’s no high command to tell you two off-”
“No,” Techno cuts him off, “we’re really not like that. There’s no romance or anything going on we’re just-” Techno cuts himself off with a rumble in his throat, a low warning thing, and Phil, with his sharp ears, turns a half touch towards him and lets out a little chitter back at him.
“Ohhhh I gotcha I gotcha. You’re bastionmates . Sorry for assuming, I got it now.” Techno looks back up at the corporal where his smile has gone from mess-hall teasing to genuine and understanding. He lets out the breath he was holding. Guess he didn’t need to explain as much as he thought he needed to.
Later, while carefully preening Phil’s wings, he wonders if that’s quite the word for their thing. Bastionmates was the term for the bonds formed between protectors of a bastion, that deep connection of shared guardianship, that understanding of the other. But while they patched each other’s wounds with the implicit knowledge that the other would not harm them, Techno can’t remember a time when bastionmates would just sit together and murmur at each other, lounging in the distilled comfort of the other.
There was always the underlying “we’re partners because of the places we’re in, we are both defenders and that’s what connects us, we have each other’s backs because we need to.” But with Phil? He didn’t preen his wings because it was necessary, he did it because he cared about him. They both know that this war wouldn’t be forever, they’ve both been around too long to believe something as small as a small server conflict wouldn’t last, but Techno recoils at the thought that all this would go away when that end came.
“You good up there?” Phil turns his head to the side to catch Techno’s eye with his own, tilting his head in a questioning way. Techno realizes that his hands have stilled within Phil’s feathers, forgotten while tangents ran away in his own mind.
Techno shakes his head to clear it and leans down to nudge his face into the back of Phil’s neck.
“Just thinking too hard, doesn’t matter.”
“Alright mate, just tell me if things get too loud up there.” Techno simply hums and then sits back up and returns to running his claws through Phil’s feathers in the way Techno’s learned that he quite enjoys.
-----
Techno’s sprinting across the field and it’s not to take down a priority target or shore up a weakened line, no, this is much more important. There’s people milling around him worriedly, and he knows that the growls and huffs he’s letting out as he storms across the ground isn’t helping, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. Phil had apparently just gotten back from his scouting mission and immediately gone to the med tent, shoving his findings into a courier’s hands, and then promptly collapsed. Techno only found out when said courier came trembling to his tent and told him what happened.
He knows that Phil is not the kind of guy to go to the medics for a small wound (even when he should) and never with that lack of explanations and casual calmness that he had with everything, including the more violent stuff (especially that.) So for him to go to the medics first and not even stop by to check in with Techno? That’s really, really bad.
The tents don’t have doors to slam open but the snap of the flap when he bursts through comes close, though it doesn’t convey Techno’s panic anger as well as he’d like it to.
“You can’t be in her- oh Commander I-” He pushes the attendant out of his way, breath curling into steam around him even in the tent, his crown and cloak humming in harmonics to him, the universe itself lending an ear to his rage and he sees him.
Phil is hurt.
Someone sliced his leg clean open, spilling blood-
BLOOD
NOT GOOD BLOOD
BLOOD SHOULD BE INSIDE
INJURED
HURT
PROTECT
WHO DID THIS
WE WILL END THEM
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
“ Sir.”
Techno’s face snaps to the medic’s face, his tusks curling and curling and growing but they weren’t moving and the room was much darker than it should be and the darkness felt like the inside of an event horizon and-
“ Sir!” Ignoring her fear, and he knows she is afraid, can taste it under his tongue, she grabs his hand and presses Phil’s wrist into it. Maintaining eye contact she nods her head toward it and Techno gently grips Phil’s thin wrist (always so thin, those frail hollow bones) and oh, he could breathe again. Phil’s pulse beats strong against his fingers and the Blood God knows that his man would be alright. Well, as long as the medics could do their jobs. He guilty glances around the tent and breathes deeply and the shadows recede as he calms down bit by bit. The head medic nods to him and begins to patch up Phil’s leg. Techno sits at Phil’s side and does not let go of his wrist and if he encourages the blood in his veins to stay there a little more than it normally would, well, anyone that has an issue with that can bite him.
-------
Phil’s put on bedrest for two weeks and he spends the first one in the med tent, under watch of the medics (and Techno, when he can get away from the strategies and plans) and the second in his and Techno’s tent. Techno is late to meetings and quick to finish them but no one complains. The hybrid corporal from before gives him an understanding nod and a reassuring rumble and Techno appreciates it, but right now there’s only one damn thing on his mind. He’s got two servings of hot stew and fresh bread in his hands and he’s on a warpath (heh, he mentally pats himself on the back for that) to his tent. He pushes the flap open with his shoulder and ducks inside, making a little click with his tongue to alert Phil to his presence.
Phil leans up on his arm and pushes himself to somewhere near sitting and all of Techno’s instincts scream to lay him back down, to cover him in gold, to wrap him up in hoglin leather and tuck him into the safest corner of his bastion- but he can’t do that right now. So he instead settles for setting the food down in front of them and gently helping Phil into a comfortable sitting position and sets himself down next to him. They chat and talk about how the war is going but Phil is drowsy from healing potions and starts nodding off with a crumb of bread (never a full piece, bird instincts take priority on that) in his hand and so Techno pushes away their food and moves away from Phil’s side to let him lay down.
But Phil’s hand juts out to grab his wrist, and that’s much stronger than it was last week, thank Ender he’s getting better, and tugs Techno back towards the bed-nest. Techno chuffs and pulls off his lower greaves and boots. He had meant to plot another series of tactics for the next battle but Phil’s more important. He lifts up the covers and lays down next to Phil, who immediately wraps his arms around him and tucks his head into his chest, letting out a series of chirps, to which Techno responds with his own rumble and purr and sets his hands over Phil’s wings.
-------
The battle has finally come and the Blood God is giving a sermon. Technoblade, Arbiter of Ruin, has finally entered the fray. He dances from enemy to enemy, his movements as graceful as they are terrifying. All the preparation, all the scouting, all the planning, has led to this moment. True, there will be battles after this, always more blood to spill, but for the army that he’s leading now? This is it. This will be the battle remembered and reminisced about through stories and bar side tales. But it is not yet a fable and is currently happening and the Blood God leaps with a ballerina’s grace to plunge his sword into the chest of an enemy captain.
Phil is above him, healed up and ready for some action, raining arrows like hellfire from above and the blood-sticky mud is curving up towards Technoblade and his cloak and crown are properly singing now and the world is twisting so in such lovely shapes and he is vaguely aware of the barking laugh that is bursting its way out of his throat that must be terrifying to both enemy and comrade alike, but none of that matters when Phil dives from the sky to break a man’s neck (and most of his bones, Phil’s stronger than you’d expect a hollow-boned man to be) and The Angel of Death catches The Blood God’s eye and laughs in harmony with him and the gold strewn across his hands and ears and chest glistens and they carve a bloody swath through the enemy ranks, and when this day is spoken of later, witnesses will say that you could barely see the distinction between the two of them, a hulking boar faced man with infinite black wings spilling out from behind him and four hands holding a sword, a shimmering purple potion, and a bow and arrow, burning with holy flame.
-----
Here, Techno thinks, is where he really belongs. Not out in the field reigning terror over his enemies, striking down foes with the ease of tearing paper, spilling enough blood to chart new rivers. No, he thinks he belongs here, sitting comfortably in the nest that Phil has made in their tent (a solid portion of the nest is made up of his stolen clothing, but he doesn’t mind), hot stew warming him from the inside out, and Phil himself tucked against his chest.
Techno’s hands run through the feathers, the preening long over with, but just to feel, to touch and caress. He smooths down the plumage with a clawed and scarred hand, and Phil chirps up at him, dozing in and out of consciousness. Techno makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat that’s somewhere between a snort and purr. Anyone else might think it’s odd or threatening, but Phil leans in close, nuzzling his head into Techno’s unarmored chest. Yes, Techno thinks, this is where he belongs, and he wraps his arms around his something and falls asleep.
----
Friend, Co-commander, Comrade, Ally, Partner, Bastionmate. These are all words Techno has tried to use to describe his relationship with Phil. None of them fit quite right, but that doesn’t matter. He is Phil’s and Phil is his and they are each other’s and he tightens his grip around Phil, pulls him ever closer into his chest, and leans his head down to whisper in his ear,
“For you Phil, the world.”