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The 15th Minecraft Championship was well under way, and Phil was perhaps panicking just a little bit.
He had been teamed with Tommy, Connor, and Fundy; Green Guardians - fitting, considering Phil's color scheme. The tournament had gone decently for them so far, and Phil could confidently say he had been having a great time. His team was stood in the Decision Dome, awaiting what the next game would be as the crowd roared incomprehensibly.
Distracted by his thoughts, Phil jumped as the walls of the counting area rose - trapping the chickens inside them. Phil's breath hitched; wings shifting uncomfortably underneath the binding they were in. It was a necessity, he knew, but that didn't make it more comfortable - Phil hadn't even had time to stretch them out during the short break they usually provided him after the more physically demanding games because of communicator issues that had sprung up. He could feel every ruffled and untended to feather jab painfully into each other, and the bound limbs ached uncomfortably where they were pressed against his back. His teammates chatted excitedly with each other, riding the high of the event-brought adrenaline. Phil could feel the familiar adrenaline stirring in his veins, but his mind was too distracted by the sudden drop he knew was coming.
Sands of Time flashed into the air in front of them, and Phil found all at once he couldn't breath out - breath lodged in his throat. Phil's heart raced uncomfortably in his chest against his will, and Phil took an instinctive step back as his teammates groaned loud complaints about the game decision. Tommy jumped right into delegating positions and a plan for the game, and Phil could only half listen - mind still focused on the growing panic he knew was unfounded. His wings tried to shift around on his back, but the binding across them left them unable to move which only sent his mind spiraling more. Phil breathed out a shaky fuck, and almost missed the concerned look Tommy gave him mid-speech. Phil managed a shaky smile he hoped was reassuring - not wanting Tommy to worry - and then the floor dropped out from under them.
A scream was ripped out of Phil's chest, heart jolting because he was falling and he couldn't catch himself. Instinct overrode rational thought, and Phil tried to spread his wings out to catch himself but he couldn't and he was falling with no way to catch himself and gods he was gonna die. His limbs flung about uselessly, scrambling at the tunnel walls, and then Phil was stumbling wide eyed into Sands of Time.
A hand flew up to steady him before he could fall, and Phil gave Fundy a tiny grateful smile, moving to stand out straight and brush imaginary dust off of him as he tried to compose himself. Phil was all too wary of the thousands of eyes watching him and horribly self conscious of the panic he couldn't be feeling. Phil knew he would fall into the games every time - but even with the knowledge it didn't fail to send him into a frenzied panic and leave his heart racing painfully quick. Phil couldn't be seen weak by so many people; they would eat it up like rabid dogs for their new entertainment. Phil needed to be calm.
Tommy and Fundy began rattling off an explanation to a very confused Connor, and Phil only made the occasional agreement to their words as he desperately tried to calm his nerves. Phil had a whole audience watching him, he couldn't let himself fall now.
When the timer for the game to start finally set off, Phil wasted no time in racing towards an exit to gather sand and coins. Phil, admittedly, had grown used to Sands of Time being at the end of the tournament, but he would adjust. The banter with his team was light, stress settling across Phil like a familiar old friend. Skeletons crackled and zombies groaned as Phil raced through the unfamiliar halls, scooping up every coin in sight. Arrows flew into the wall behind him, and Phil winced as one sunk into his bicep. The skeleton disappeared with a few careful hits, and Phil spared a moment to dig the arrow out of his arm before continuing. Collecting sand was stressful yet it gave him a wonderful distraction. Despite the stress of the game, it was fun.
And then Fundy's voice drifted through Phil's communicator.
"I need help," Fundy said suddenly - and Phil could hear the poorly disguised panic in his voice and the slight shake of his breathing through his mic. Phil swore sharply, turning on his heel to move towards where his teammate had gone off to.
"I'm coming," Phil told Fundy, hoping his voice would calm Fundy's clearly shot nerves somewhat. Phil was jokingly called Dadza for a reason, after all - he put his comforting presence to good use. The tunnels back to the middle of the arena were confusing, and Phil's brows furrowed as he tried to hurry back as quickly as he could so he could help his teammate.
Fundy's voice suddenly pitched up into something horribly scared, and Phil only caught the beginning of a word before Fundy's voice dissolved into a distorted and garbled mess that cut out entirely. The silence after was so, so loud.
"Hello?" Phil asked carefully, skidding to a halt as he strained his ears to hear. There was no response.
The team line was down.
"You've got to be kidding me - is it down again?" Phil gripped to himself with a laugh, not wanting the people who had chosen to spectate him to be bored. It was better to be an optimist than to stress himself out over their communication being cut. "Jesus christ."
Phil sighed, his legs thudding against the ground as he raced towards the middle. Arrows whizzed past his head but Phil paid them no mind, turning into a hall and swearing under his breath at the hoard of zombies that shifted across the whole wall. Phil tried to push himself to run even faster to avoid them, but they managed to get at him anyway. Hands found their way to attack him - punches and claws and a few barely missed bites - and Phil very quickly found himself far more injured than he would like to be.
Phil scrambled at his belt, fumbling for a health potion - and in the dark, the gleam of the colored liquid looked all the same. Rotting hands clawed at him as he tried to run past the zombies, yellowed teeth cutting into his flesh - and then of course, Phil's toe slammed into a loose brick into the ground and he was sent flying forward. Phil’s head slammed into the ground with a thud, vision dancing with stars. All at once, the panic was real as his bound wings were subjugated to the full front of attacks, and Phil was kicking and writhing as he tried to get away. Scratches and bites and bruises angrily protested all across Phil's body as he tried to twist away, sweating hands slipping around bottles until he finally managed to free a health potion.
Phil realized his mistake a second too late.
Glass shattered across his side as Phil threw the bottle, and cold, burning liquid exploded across him - sizzling at his battered skin with loud, sickening pops. Harming. It hurt - a new, fresh pain joining his other injuries - and Phil could only manage a strangled gasp as he desperately tried to stumble to his feet. The potion leaked across his body, and Phil could barely choke down a horrified sob as it began to soak through the binds on his wings and trickle between already aching feathers and leaving behind a horrible feeling of nausea. Agony screamed across him and pure pain began to sink through his veins like it had been injected straight into him.
Phil gritted his teeth: jaw aching at the force as he struggled against the arms holding him. Shaking legs hardly held him up when Phil finally freed himself from the zombie’s hands, and Phil held a hand to the bubbling skin at his side as he weaved through the unfamiliar walls. His vision darkened and blurred dangerously, but Phil forced himself to keep going - because there were thousands of eyes watching him and just waiting for him to fail so they could get their juicy piece of gossip. The comm line remained horribly silent, and Phil could only hear his ragged breathing, the distant sound of other mobs shuffling about, and the horrid beat of his heart.
When Phil was finally sure he had escaped the zombies, he practically collapsed against the nearest wall and finally pulled his hand away from his side. His palm was stained red, and sure enough when Phil peeked behind cracked armor, his skin had peeled away into globs of flesh and the surrounding area was stained a sickening dark red, veins a startling back. Phil choked down bile as he titled his head up, letting his chestplate fall back into place as he returned his hand to its place. When Phil was confident he had gotten his shit together, he moved back to trying to turn towards the middle, the lack of team communication leaving behind a creeping unease that mixed uncomfortably with his pain.
“These fucking lines,” Phil muttered, more to fill the silence and keep his mind off his growing pain than anything. “And I’m fucking lost, great!”
Phil could only pray the fear and pain he was feeling didn’t leak into his voice as he ran. Fundy was still in trouble too, and Phil getting lost was only making things worse. Not to mention the timer could be at anything, and Phil would have no way of knowing because the stupid fucking line was down. Phil needed to help his team win. He couldn’t let them down.
(Last tournament's Ace Race was still a burning sting to his pride. Phil couldn't mess up again.)
Phil’s legs trembled as he stumbled around an unfamiliar corner, nearly falling over in the process, and locked eyes with a ravager.
"Oh, fuck," Phil breathed - and he needed to move, but he felt paralyzed under its gaze and damnit now wasn't the time and his heart refused to beat in his chest. He didn't even have time to process that they had added a new mob to the game, mind still stuck on the pain and fear. The ravager blew a heavy breath out of its nostrils, breath streaming into the air, and then it charged.
There was a moment, where everything seemed to freeze. Phil's breath was stuck in his chest as he watched hooves kick off the brick ground. For a single second, Phil had time to realize how absolutely fucked he was, because his limbs refused to cooperate with the screaming of his mind, and he was supposed to be helping Fundy and he needed to make sure his team won and there were so many eyes on him and the only sound was the roar of blood in his ears.
And then, much like a rubber band, reality snapped back into focus and Phil's eyes flew open in terror, and then a blinding pain tore across his side as a large forehead slammed into his stomach and shoved. Phil shrieked, loud and painful as he was sent flying back, limbs flailing uselessly as he was sent tumbling across the ground. His wings crunched underneath him as he finally slammed into the ground, and Phil screamed - staring wide eyes up at the rough sandstone ceiling as tears burned his eyes and his wings throbbed in agony .
Hooves thudded against the floor and then the ravager was above him, pinning Phil's arm down as it snarled at him and Phil screamed again, kicking uselessly at its stomach to try and push it off. Phil barely had time to fling a forearm up as it tried to bite into his neck, teeth sinking into Phil's arm with a growl - hot and foul smelling breath spreading across his face and Phil screamed again as it shook its head back and forth, trying to dislodge its teeth from Phil's arm and Phil was sobbing, scrambling for any type of hold as his wings tried to flap uselessly against their binds and everything hurt and the only thing that registered was pain and terror and he was going to die he didn't want to die.
Phil barely managed to free his hand to reach at his discarded sword, groaning at the strain before he finally managed to grab it. Phil wasted no time in jabbing it into the ravager's eye with a yell of effort that was forced out of him. The overbearing pressure on his chest vanished all at once, massive teeth ripping away from Phil's forearm with a wet tear that left him screaming in agony once again. It was only a painful rush of adrenaline and horrible fear that let Phil see the mob to its end, and the second it disappeared with a roar and a soft puff, Phil collapsed to the floor.
Broken chirps of pain and distress fell from his lips as shook, everything spinning dangerously through blurred vision. Phil pressed his face into the ground and cried - shaking and sobbing as racing thoughts of predator danger run run blocked rational thought .
Phil's head pounded with waves of nauseating pain and everything ached - wings burning with every twisted and snapped feather, and the gouge across his side along with the singe harming had left behind protested loudly as Phil tried to curl up in a weak attempt to comfort himself. Blood slid all over his skin, sluggishly pouring out of cuts and scrapes and mixing with the sheen of sweat coating Phil's skin. His lungs felt like they were rattling in his chest with every rapid breath and his eyes were blown painfully wide - hot tears sliding down his face and soaking into the sandy brick floor.
Phil warbled brokenly, pulling his knees closer to his chest despite the pain that shot through his side at the movement. His wings burned in a fresh agony with each movement, pins and needles prickling the skin as they grew numb from being pinned under his body - the only sensation remaining a piercing pain. The wound across his slide bled heavily, liquid sliding across his stomach and sticking his clothes to his skin and it hurt.
Phil squeezed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to calm himself - the only sound being his panicked breathing and loud chirps of pain he couldn't stop as he called out for flock even though he knew they wouldn't come. Everything hurt, a horrible burn across his side where he had taken so much damage in such a short time. Surely the heart system should have counted this as a death by now so the pain would stop, surely.
Phil swallowed roughly, dragging his arms underneath him and slowly pushing himself up. His arms trembled violently - giving out a moment later with a soft cry of pain. Phil’s lips quivered around sobs he couldn't let out - because there were so many eyes on him, so so many, and his skin was prickling with dread and fear and pain and it all had quickly become too much. A single, broken sob escaped him as Phil tried to push himself to his feet again and wound up with his forearms digging into the brick floor; the wound on his arm from the ravager's teeth being scraped against and leaving the pain bright and fresh.
A choking humiliation wrapped around him as Phil realized the full weight of what was happening and how pathetic he was being. He just needed to get up so his team could win but everything hurt so badly and he was so scared, and so Phil gave up on trying to stand with a sharp exhale and let himself sprawl across the floor - shaking in a horrible cocktail of pain and fear. Shame choked him, and Phil could almost hear the laughs of the crowd as he proved himself to be useless and pathetic and why couldn’t he just get up.
And then, because Phil’s whole life was a fucking joke, the commicator line flickered back to life.
“Back? Are we back?” Fundy asked rapidly.
“Oh thank god,” Connor muttered with a short laugh.
“Is everyone okay?” Tommy asked hurriedly, jumping right back into his role as team leader as they were finally able to talk again. “What’s our time?”
“I’m with Connor right now, we have 60 seconds,” Fundy replied. There was a brief silence where Phil tried to say something, anything, and yet found that he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried . It sent his mind into a further panic, because not only was he injured he couldn’t even talk with his team because he was stupid.
“Phil?” Tommy asked sharply, “Phil, come on man, we gotta win this.”
“Right,” Phil finally rasped, ignoring the bright sting the words brought. Because Tommy was right, they did need to win and Phil couldn’t bring the team down because of his idiocy. “Right, yeah, just- in a bit of a tough spot ‘s all,” Phil managed to choke out. Tommy gave an affirmation to his words before jumping into a plan of action, and hot tears spilled over Phil’s cheeks as he finally pushed himself into an upright position. Tommy hadn't even noticed anything wrong in his voice, and Phil was horribly alone. He could only half listen to what his team was saying because everything hurt and there was a tight ball of shame in his chest that squeezed at his lungs and heart. Standing up from the ground was a hell, and Phil leaned heavily against the wall as his vision spun dangerously - breaths jagged, wheezing things.
“–Phil, Phil, are you there? We need sand,” Tommy was saying when Phil could focus again - and Phil couldn’t stop a flinch at the harsh words, head pounding at the volume. Tommy wasn’t trying to be rude, he was just stressed about the event and it was okay, Phil shouldn’t be hurt by the words because Tommy didn’t know - and yet Phil was anyway.
“Sorry, yeah- coming,” Phil managed around the sobs he could barely choke down, hating how his voice wavered around the broken syllables. Phil scrubbed at the tears streaming down his face as he stumbled towards where he vaguely remembered the path to the middle being, body aching in a never-ending pain.
“Jesus christ man, you’re holding back the whole team,” Tommy muttered, and Phil clapped a hand across his mouth to muffle the whimper he couldn’t stop from crawling out his throat. Phil hurried to mute himself on the voice line as Tommy continued, nearly doubling over with the effort of trying to keep quiet so the tens of thousands of people watching Phil didn’t have more material to mock and shame him with. “I get that you're old and are experiencing late stage dementia but c'mon man, pick up the pace, we really need you to hurry up."
“That’s a little rude,” Connor commented after there was an uncomfortable silence ringing after Tommy’s words - because Phil normally said something after he was called old, but Phil had been completely silent as he desperately tried to find his way back through the blur of his vision.
“Yeah, you rude child,” Fundy jumped to say. Tommy squawked in offense, stuttering back a reply Phil couldn’t focus on as wide eyes flickered across the too tight walls that seemed to be closing in on him with every breath. His instincts were a constant mantra in the back of his mind of predator danger run run run trapped get away.
“Phil, are you coming?” Tommy asked - and his tone had calmed from the anger of before, drifting somewhere closer to concern.
Phil gave a stuttering answer, praying none of them notice his slip ups, and the line remained horribly silent.
“Phil, you’re muted,” Fundy said quietly. Phil jolted, scrambling to unmute with violently trembling fingers because fuck, of course, he was so stupid. He took an embarrasing amount of time for his finger to find the stupid unmute button, and Phil cursed at himself for being such an idiot.
“Phil-” Tommy began to say, but Phil cut him off by finally pressing the button.
“Shit, s’rry- yeah ‘m on my way,” Phil hurried to say: words slurring together in his mouth. His lungs felt startlingly empty and tight, and the ground beneath him felt as if it had been ripped away. More fuel to the fire, Phil thought humorlessly, tears pricking at his eyes as his head pounded.
“Phil are you- good?” Fundy asked bluntly. Phil blinked, startled by the sudden question. He had made sure he was fine, they didn’t need to know, they didn’t. Phil was okay. He was okay. He had to be.
“Yeah,” Phil said slowly, hoping his voice stayed even. His side pulsed in pain, and Phil finally noticed that he had left behind a trail of blood as he wandered in what was probably circles around the arena. Through the haze of pain and fear, it was almost funny, and a short giggle tumbled out of Phil's lips at the sight before he could stop himself.
“Yeah, you don’t normally play this bad,” Tommy jumped to add on, and fuck, Phil had messed up so badly, why couldn't he just move, “what’s up with you today?”
“Guys, the sand is uh- there’s only three, should I be concerned?” Connor interrupted lazily. Tommy and Fundy both swore, and Phil pressed a hand into his head as tried to will the pounding to go away. He had things to be doing, he couldn't be left rendered useless.
“Oh my god- we should just cash in, there’s no way we win this,” Tommy groaned, and Phil knew it was because of him, he knew it.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Fundy agreed. Phil tried to will his legs to cooperate with him, but he could barely stumble forward with the shaking in his legs and the pain across his body. He could hear the sound of his teammates cashing in echo throughout, but he was still horribly lost and fuck, he was losing it for his team, he was so stupid.
“Phil, are you coming?” Tommy asked - and there was something buried underneath the casual irritation Phil couldn't comprehend through the overbearing pain.
“‘M fuckin’... lost,” Phil mumbled, stumbling around a corner to met yet another dead end. His head swam as he tried to turn around and wound up stumbling back and bumping into a wall. A hand loosely held his side, and Phil noticed distantly that he was drenched in a cold sweat. Phil took a hesitant step forward, blinking down at the blood pooled at his feet. That probably wasn't good. There was far too much blood, and Phil was pretty sure he needed it to be inside his body - but no, he needed to focus on– what was Phil doing again? Not disappointing his friends - being okay, Phil was pretty sure that was up there - and winning- winning, that was it! The tournament. Of live viewers, that Phil shouldn’t be being so weak around and oh, he was so tried.
"Shit, dude, are you good?” Tommy asked suddenly, bright and concerned, and Phil- Phil didn’t have a response. “Fuck, someone should've stayed,” Tommy said with a frustrated sigh, and Phil made a soft, confused noise. Phil’s lips parted around a response, but before he could do anything, the timer loudly ended and Phil felt the familiar lurch of teleportation.
Sunlight pierced Phil’s eyes and sent a stabbing pain through his skull, and Phil only had a moment to process that he was in the cage before his legs collapsed beneath him and the world tilted violently. Phil slammed into the iron bars with a dull thud, and then he was crumpled ungracefully across the floor as his injuries loudly protested. There were several surprised and startled shouts - Phil’s name, a call for medics - but it all faded away into an annoying buzz as Phil’s eyes began to close on their own accord.
Phil desperately tried to fight the pull of unconsciousness, fingers twitching as a soft whine made its way past his lips. There were so many eyes on him - the crowd, the other players, his team - and Phil couldn’t let them see him so weak, he couldn't. Phil was supposed to be the strong one, the one who was okay. But everything hurt so badly and a terror he couldn't shake raced through his veins as he cried - and the choking shame that Phil had grown accustomed to reared its ugly head once more. Phil needed to get up and be okay. He needed to be okay.
“Phil? Phil, come on, stay awake man,” a voice said suddenly, low and familiar as his shoulders were gently shaken by large, warm hands. Phil knew that voice, recognized it in a deep, instinctual part of him - it was flock. A trill crawled out of him, calling out for flock as Phil tried to place the voice through the haze of pain and panic, until finally-
“W’br?” Phil managed, tongue heavy in his mouth. Phil struggled to flutter his lashes open against the weight that was tugging them down, and sure enough, Wilbur’s face swam above him when he peeled his eyes open - a blurry blob of yellow, brown, and tan. A hand carefully slid underneath Phil’s head to support it off the ground, and Phil leaned into gratefully despite the crawling shame that had returned with an angry vengeance.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. You gotta stay awake buddy,” Wilbur said softly, brushing Phil’s bangs away from where sweat had stuck them to his face. Phil whined softly, chasing his hand with a tiny chirp that only made Wilbur shush him. Metal clanged loudly nearby, and Phil flinched at the volume, his head pounding tenfold. Desperate chirps and calls crawled out of him because flock was safe and would protect him. A moment later, the awful noise stopped, and then a new figure dropped down beside him.
“Oh, dear,” they muttered. A hand raised to shoo Wilbur away, and despite Phil’s weak attempt to grab at his sweater, Wilbur disappeared. A loud whine escaped Phil as he tried to get Wilbur, flock, to return - but his attempts turned out to be in vain.
Arms circled around him, and Phil found himself being lifted. Phil weakly struggled with a slurred, “I c’n pl’y,” and he wasn't even sure what he was saying, but he was ignored entirely and placed on something soft. A cot, most likely, and a jumbled conversation happened around him that Phil couldn't comprehend no matter how hard he focused. His wings were crushed underneath him as he was sat down, and Phil gasped sharply, desperately trying to turn to alleviate the pressure on the no doubt broken limbs. A hand on his shoulder held him down against the cot, and Phil struggled weakly, tears spilling down his cheeks as they started moving.
“You need to stay still, sir,” the medic told him kindly, unaware of the horrible pain that was growing. Phil warbled in distress, movements growing weaker and weaker as the pain continued to rise. People flitted across his vision and there was a jumbled conversation as bandages were pressed against his side. Phil struggled a final time as his vision darkened dangerously, and then against his will, under the watchful eyes of thousands, Phil slipped into unconsciousness.
[———]
Phil woke to a steady beeping.
Phil groaned softly, head shifting the side ever so slightly as he tried to figure out what was happening. His body lagged behind the movements he tried to do as Phil attempted to do a check across his body - toes, fingers, all his joints, and finally his wings. Everything ached, and his side throbbed in a loud pain. His wings were itchy and uncomfortable where they were splayed against a soft material, an aching throb covering them as well. Phil's head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and a bright light above him he could see through his closed lids made the faint pounding worse. For a moment, Phil was confused on where he was and why he was so hurt, a panic settling in at the unfamiliarity - and then all at once, he remembered.
Right. Sands of Time.
Phil swallowed roughly around a sigh, hating how a lump had already formed in his throat at the mere idea. Because what had Phil been thinking during any of that? Not only had Phil thrown harming on himself, he had stood still like an idiot and let himself be attacked. The crawling shame in his throat mixed with the pain across his body into something ugly, and tears pricked at Phil's eyes no matter how hard he tried to force them away.
Phil's hand was held in a familiar, warm scarred and calloused hand - and when Phil finally peeled his eyes open, sure enough, there at his bedside with his face in the blankets, was Technoblade.
A soft coo found its way into the air at the knowledge that Technoblade had been waiting at Phil's side for him to wake for who knew how long - and Technoblade’s head snapped up at the sound so fast Phil could hear his neck crack. When his eyes locked with Phil’s, several emotions crossed his face; concern, fear - a bright anger that made Phil shrink back, wings ruffling in distress - before he finally settled on relief.
“Phil,” Technoblade breathed out, voice shaky and dripping with so many unidentifiable emotions. Phil had done that to him - had been the source of the tear tracks down his face and the faint tremble of his hand around Phil's. If Phil hadn't fumbled so badly and made so many mistakes in such a quick succession, Technoblade would have been perfectly fine. He wouldn’t have to have such a worried expression across his face, bottom lip visibly torn from where he must have been biting at it.
“You’re okay,” Technoblade said, unknowing of Phil’s mess of thoughts that were quickly slipping into a dangerous line of thinking. “Never do that again,” Technoblade muttered darkly - voice shrouded in hurt and concern and anger and fuck, this was Phil’s fault. Phil nodded, choking on ashamed tears already as the reality of the situation he was in finally crashed down on him.
"Hey, hey, no, none of that," Technoblade frowned, his free hand raising to gently thumb away at the single tear that had fallen. The action - so kind even after everything - only made the press of tears worse.
"Look, I just- I was watching you and- I couldn't do anythin' to help you," Technoblade said, eyes not meeting Phil's. "You- you were in so much pain and I was just so helpless to do anything. It… gods, you scared me so badly , Phil," Technoblade admitted quietly - voice a hesitant rasp. Phil's gut lurched at the words because fuck - not only had Phil let himself cry in front of thousands of people, he had forced Technoblade to sit and watch him make a fool out of himself. Guilt stirred in Phil’s chest with a new vengeance, stabbing into his heart and pressing at the back of his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Phil managed - choking back tears as he clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white and his nails cut crescents into his palm. "I just– I don't know what I was thinking. I'm just- a fucking idiot, I guess," Phil said with a short chuckle that was dangerously close to a sob. Phil stared resolutely down at his hands, not daring to look up and see the disappointment that was surely displayed across Technoblade's face - because Phil should be better than this, and they both knew that.
"No, no it's-" Technoblade let out a short, frustrated sigh. Phil took in a shaky breath as a weak attempt to calm himself because he shouldn't be crying, he shouldn't.
"I- gods, Phil, you need to start taking care of yourself," Technoblade said with a breathy laugh. Through his tears, Phil managed a tiny, trembling smile back that slipped away almost immediately. "I'd say I'm not mad at you but that'd be lyin'. I just- people care about you Phil, I care about you. You don't, you don’t have to pretend to be okay all of the time."
Sobs trapped in Phil’s throat choked him, and the steady stream of tears left his vision blurred. Phil had never been so embarrassed - so vulnerable and stripped down to his deepest emotions for all to see - but he managed a tiny nod anyway, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to calm down. Technoblade sighed softly again - and there was a brief moment where Phil dreaded what he would say next, and then Phil was carefully tugged up into Technoblade’s warm and gentle embrace. Phil allowed himself to sink into into exhausted beyond belief and horribly ashamed - because he shouldn’t have done any of that, yet alone in front of a live audience, and yet here he was. And Phil had been taken out of the tournament because of it and fuck, he was so stupid.
Technoblade pulled away just enough to brush Phil’s bangs back and give his forehead a tender kiss, bumping their foreheads together with a soft smile.
"You're okay," Technoblade said quietly, and that was that.
For a while, Technoblade simply held Phil as tears continued to fall down his cheeks. Phil forced down the sobs - because he had already humiliated and made a fool out of himself, he didn't need to do it again in front of Technoblade. Technoblade deserved better than the absolute mess that Phil was - and yet against all odds, here he was anyways, chest rumbling with a soothing purr that left Phil relaxing into his hold as sleep pulled at him once more.
"It's okay to cry, angel," Technoblade murmured, and that was all it took for the sobs Phil had tried so hard to keep down to finally burst free. And it was ugly and raw and everything hurt and it was all too much - but Technoblade’s hold didn't waver once.
Eventually, after Phil's tears had finally dried and he was left stripped bare, there was a brief knock at the door before it swung open. Tommy stumbled in - bandages scattered across him and eyes shining with tears. Guilt stirred in Phil's chest once again at the sight of his friend so distraught, and gods, when would Phil finally get his head out of his ass and stop upsetting his friends for once.
"Oh thank god," Tommy breathed, shutting the door behind him and taking a tentative step forward. "Phil, I, fuck- I am so sorry, I wouldn't have been so cross with you if I knew, I-"
"It's okay," Phil told him, managing a reassuring smile around the pain and growing guilt that forced tears bubbling up once more. Tommy didn't deserve to have to deal with the mess that Phil was.
"But-" Tommy tried to protest, face earnest and full of regret and there were clear tear tracks on his face and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. Tommy looked young, and Phil hated it.
"You didn't know," Phil interrupted Tommy gently. "You were stressed at the event and it's okay, mate. I don't hate you over this."
Tommy nodded, taking in a short breath before he flung himself into Phil's arms. Phil grunted at the impact, fighting back a wince as Tommy clutched at him tightly. Phil hugged back with one arm as Tommy tucked his head under Phil's chin and hoped he could convey his feelings with the soft coo he let out. Phil needed Tommy to understand he was forgiven - needed flock to be alright (because Phil’s mind was still caught up in left over emotions and he was clinging onto his instincts like a crutch.)
When Tommy pulled away a moment later, the door opened again, and Wilbur and Fundy stepped through. Fundy looked equally as frazzled as Tommy - his ears flat against his skull and his tail tucked between his legs. Wilbur's brows were furrowed in concern as he stepped in, and Phil couldn't bring himself to look either of them in the eyes.
"I'm so glad you're okay," Fundy said, eyes wide with an open worry. "Connor had a prior event planned so he had to leave, but he sends his best regards to you."
As Fundy spoke, Wilbur stepped forward with a few long strides to pull Phil into a quick hug - nose burying into Phil's hair for a brief moment as a sigh of relief left his shoulders slumping. Flock, Phil's mind whispered as he burrowed his face into the soft yellow sweater.
"Thank fuck you're okay," Wilbur said quietly, pulling away after a moment to give Phil a concerned once over - a frown forming as he caught sight of all of the bandages across him.
"Yeah," Phil agreed with a short, awkward laugh. Having so many people being so concerned over him was new. It was… nice, oddly enough, once he got past the horrid shame.
"Next time, please say if you get hurt, okay?" Tommy asked, guilt still evident and it only made Phil's own guilt so much worse - and he shouldn't be being so selfish but he couldn't stop himself. Tommy shouldn't be so worried about Phil, he should be off worrying about regular teenager things - anything but Phil.
"I will, I- I'm sorry," Phil said quietly. "I just- didn't think you’d care, I guess," Phil chuckled sadly, regretting the admission the second it left his mouth.
"Of course we care," Tommy said immediately, seeming offended at the mere idea.
"Yeah, I may not have been on your team, but we all care about you, Phil, we don't want to see you hurt," Wilbur added on, brown eyes full of concern and fuck .
"Yeah, seeing you get carried away was...terrifying," Fundy admitted quietly, wringing his hands together. Phil frowned down at his hands, guilt rising and pushing tears forward even more because they shouldn't have needed to be worried about him in the first place. Phil should have been fine. At his side, Technoblade frowned, leaning over anr gently knocking their heads together.
"None of that," Technoblade murmured, giving Phil's temple a soft kiss. "People care about you Phil."
Phil swallowed down a sob as he twisted himself into Technoblade’s arms, hiding himself away as tiny chirps crawled out of him and an overwhelming sense of flock safe flock overtook rational thought. Because they all cared, didn't they, despite everything, and Phil found himself crying in earnest once more as Technoblade carefully held.
His team and Wilbur didn't judge him for it the slightest - just made themselves at home in the platic chairs. Tommy complained about bordem and Wilbur grew tired of it, eventually forcing Fundy to fetch a Monopoly game while kicking at his shins until he grew tired of it. When Fundy returned - game board and vending machine snacks in hand - they all settled down on the tiled floor for a loud round of Monopoly. Phil laughed into Technoblade’s shoulder at their antics, a smile never leaving his face despite the exhaustion that had settled over him. When a nurse arrived to give Phil more painkillers, Tommy - the gremlin child he was - tried his best to annoy her by asking his usual slew of annoying questions. She simply laughed it off, and Tommy pouted for the following five minutes after she left.
Eventually, after a long game of Monopoly that got them a noise complaint, Tubbo and Ranboo arrived with a polite knock; Tubbo loudly announcing the second he was through the door that he had, "The good shit!"
The good shit turned out to be fast food - because hospital food was shit and letting Phil eat it would be the worst sin ever, apparently - and Phil was too tired to question whether or not it was exactly legal to do that. Ranboo had with him a get well soon card covered in far too much glitter and stickers and signed by nearly everyone in the tournament (some of which had left kind messages, and the whole thing left Phil swiping away happy tears) - as well as a nice, soft crow plushie Phil promptly named Brian. Phil finished his food as his friends moved on to a highly competitive game of Uno that Tubbo was definitely cheating in.
Scott dropped by to deliver a bouquet of flowers and a promise to do something to improve the team's ability to tap out players and generally have more people knowledgeable about avians (Wilbur had apparently punched Noxite, Phil learned, and he could only laugh at the news as his heart burst with warmth).
Watching his friends do all this for him made something impossibly warm settle in his chest - a mantra of loved loved loved blocking out the negative thoughts of before. Because they had no obligation to be here, and yet they were. When Phil snuggled back against Technoblade, Technoblade wasted no time in moving to carefully preened Phil's wings. Phil couldn't stop the tiny peeps that formed at the action as oh so familiar hands smoothed down sensitive feathers. Technoblade was nothing but gentle - as he always, always was - and Phil was left a puddle of chirps and coos in Technoblade's lap as fingers carded through the soft down across his back. Phil watched his friends through half lidded eyes as he was lulled closer and closer to sleep.
Phil was still in pain, and the humiliation of before still lingered in the back of his mind - and it likely would, for a long while, but...
Surrounded by friends - flock, even - and tucked into Technoblade’s side, maybe, just maybe, Phil could believe that he truly was cared for.