Work Text:
“Suck in a little for me, mate?”
“I am suckin’ in.”
“Ah. A little more, then?”
Techno huffs at the direction, before Phil feels his belly contract under the netherite chestplate that Phil is trying his damndest to push in. There’s enough give at the motion that the straps in the front and the back are almost close enough to connect, and Phil tries to conceal just how much he’s straining to contain his mass as Techno tries to tug the straps together. There's a moment where it looks like he might almost have it before he makes a frustrated noise and lets go as he exhales, tugging the whole thing off.
“Forget about it,” he huffs, tail flicking in frustration.
“You’re right,” Phil sighs, taking the chestplate from him and bending his knees a little to accommodate for the weight of it. “Ill-fitting armor won't do you any good. I’ll lengthen the straps some, and I think if I add some more plating-”
“No,” Techno cuts him off, frustratedly, taking the chestplate back from him and tossing it carelessly onto the nearby armor rack. “Forget about the armor. Forget all of it.”
Phil frowns. Clearly this was bothering Techno more than just sheer annoyance. Techno wasn't always the most patient person, but he didn't normally get this irritated over minor inconveniences, especially not when it came to battle preparation. Techno is a details man. It’s out of character for him to brush off something as major as armor.
“C’mon now, mate,” Phil says placatingly. “I’m not letting you go without armor. You sound like Wilbur.”
Of course, there's the usual pang in his chest when he mentions Wilbur, but it’s something he’s grown used to pushing right past, especially now that he sees his face, however ghostly, every day. Techno shakes his head, starting to pace the length of the base like a caged animal.
“No, I’m not goin’,” he declares. “Forget the Woodland Mansion. This is stupid.”
His tone is nearing petulant, and Phil is struck by how distinctly un-Techno-like it is. He’s not just upset about the armor.
“Techno,” Phil says evenly, crossing to him to put a hand on his massive arm. “I can fix the armor.”
Techno’s brow is furrowed as Phil looks up at him to make eye contact. He shakes his head again, then, miserably,
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Ah. Phil gets it now.
Techno’s gotten a little chunky. Well, really, because Phil isn’t in the habit of downplaying things when unnecessary, he’s gotten very chunky. The retirement lifestyle has treated him well, and the harsh winter has driven them inside more often than not. Phil, before this, has never seen Techno in rest. He’s only ever seen him wired and tense and working himself to the bone, constantly training and throwing all of himself into whatever he’s currently hyperfocused on; farming, or gathering materials for whatever new project he’s committed to, or fighting every battle he can get his hands on. He rarely used to see him sleep, rarely seen him take a moment for himself to sit and relax. And he knows that’s normal for Techno, that he can’t do anything halfway, that he doesn’t like to stay still for too long.
And sure, in retirement there are things he keeps himself busy with. He built their entire house, first of all, and when that was finished, threw himself into the upkeep of his underground base and the greenhouse and his wither stronghold. It was war preparation, what he did most of the time, but Phil had a sense it wasn’t being done in actual anticipation of anything, but more just out of habit. The lack of an imminent threat, as well as his heat-suited body trying very hard to push him into hibernation, had caused Techno to do something Phil had never seen him do; slow down. He slept, often and well, and ate, often and well. Techno had always eaten a lot, but to be fair, he’s seven feet tall, of course he had. But he had always seemed to eat purely for fuel. Now, he eats to enjoy himself, it seems. Phil wouldn’t necessarily say he’d gained weight. It seems to be the same massiveness he’s always had, just with the bulk of his muscles translated into something much softer. He’s still built strong as hell, but he’s got a gut. He is, undeniably, fat now. But Techno had never seemed to give much thought to it, so Phil hadn’t either.
“Oh, mate,” he says softly. “I didn't think you cared.”
Techno flushes a little, a darker pink spreading across his already pink face, and he huffs.
“Of course I care,” he says, unraveling the leather wrapped around the hilt of his sword and retying it, frustration seeping into his movements. “Not enough, obviously. I should’ve been carin’ more.”
“Tech, you’re retired,” Phil sighs. “You have no reason to care.”
“I’m not just retired, Phil, I’m obsolete,” Techno whines, pulling the wrapping tight and shoving his sword back into his sheath. “Look at me!”
Phil does look at him, letting his gaze calmly make its way up and down Techno’s huge form. He looks more like his piglin cousins, now, more like the pot-bellied brutes that roam the bastions. They’re not strong in the shredded way Techno used to be, where every muscle was being called to its fullest potential through purposeful training. They’re merely strong in the sense that they are , made that way by genetics and by constantly swinging around huge axes and crossbows. Phil’s sure none of them have ever given a second thought to their figures. And he’d incorrectly assumed that Techno hadn’t, either, because he just seemed so casual and comfortable with it.
He’d never shied away from taking seconds or thirds at dinner, easily eating more than Phil and Ranboo combined. More than once Phil has had to scold Techno for taking what Ranboo hasn’t eaten, because Ranboo is scrawny and gaunt as all hell, and he knows it’s probably just an enderman thing, but Phil’s fatherly instincts still tell him to make sure he gets fed properly. And when dinner’s over, he’s never seen Techno hesitate to rest his hands on his full belly, patting the roundness of it in satisfaction. Phil’s seen him letting out seams in his clothes or adding extra panels multiple times, always in a no-nonsense, casual way. He’s never seemed embarrassed about the level to which he clearly enjoys the baked goods Niki brings them, and he and Ranboo will experiment with the strange ways his enderman powers interact with cake until they both make themselves nearly sick with sugar. So why is he self conscious now?
“I’ve seen you,” Phil says, shrugging. “You’re a lot pudgier now, for sure. So? You don’t need to be in perfect battle form right now. You’re just going to be fighting mobs.”
“But I don’t know that, Phil!” Techno gripes. “What if somethin’ were to happen? There’s gonna be a time soon that people need me, there always is, and I’m gonna be useless for it. Can’t even fit in my armor, I- Jesus.”
It’s a kind of hysteria Techno rarely shows, prickly and self-loathing. It’s that as well as the nervous, harried way he’s holding himself and the familiar glaze in his eyes that gets it to click for Phil on why he’s letting this get to him so hard.
“Sit down for me,” he says, and Techno does immediately, sitting hunched over with his legs crossed on the blackstone floor. “You’re going to take a deep breath.”
Techno does, even if it’s somewhat reluctantly. He’s scowling at the floor, but his expression softens a little as Phil gently scratches behind a soft ear, now that Techno’s head is close enough to do so.
“They’re not happy about this, are they?” he murmurs.
“They’re not. Upset,” Techno sighs, leaning his head a little into Phil’s hand. “But they sure think it’s funny. Sayin’ I. Look like a real pig, now. And I think they’re disappointed, because I mean. Look at their Blood God. How he let himself go.”
Phil frowns, making a noise of disapproval. He’s used to the Voices demanding blood from Techno. This feels almost crueler.
“First of all,” he says, continuing to rub Techno’s ear absently. “Fuck them. They don’t even have a body, so frankly they shouldn’t be commenting on anybody else’s.”
Techno gives him a small huff of a laugh at that.
“Second of all,” he continues. “You haven’t let yourself go. You’re practically trapped inside the house and close to going into hibernation, mate, it’s completely normal for your body to change. You think I’ve looked like this for all eternity? I’ve been much fatter than this and much skinnier than this, and a hell of a lot more in shape, I’ll tell you that. You’re retired. You don’t have to worry about all that. I promise you you’ll still be able to fuckin’ suplex a pillager. And you’ve been training with Ranboo, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Techno says miserably. “But that’s for him, not me. I barely do anythin’.”
“You barely do anything because you don’t have to, mate,” Phil chuckles. “I’ve seen you two. You’ll be hardly trying and Ranboo will be fighting for his fuckin’ life. Because you’re still ridiculously strong, Tech. A little extra padding isn’t gonna change that.”
And Phil knows there’s more to it, that Techno isn’t worried about the Woodland Mansion, not really. He knows he’s lived his whole life being used again and again as the perfect weapon, as the strongest, deadliest warrior he can be, that as soon as he’s anything shy of that he feels like he’s failing. And he knows damn well that Techno won’t tell him any of this, but he knows him too well for that. So instead, he asks, gently,
“Not at this moment. Forget about the voices, forget about the armor. Besides all that, are you happy?”
Techno frowns, a look of introspection crossing his face. Phil has the impression that it’s never something that he’s really considered.
“I’ve never-” he says slowly, then hesitates. “I don’t think I’ve ever really enjoyed food. I never really thought about it much. But I. Don’t laugh at me, Phil, I like it a lot.”
“I’m not laughing,” Phil says calmly. “I promise you I’m not. Food is good. You should enjoy it.”
Techno sighs a little.
“I do,” he says. “And I like. I dunno. Relaxin’ sometimes. I’ve never been able to read this much. Every free minute I had used to be about trainin’ and fightin’. And I like just. Sittin’, and readin’, and. Eatin’, it just. Feels like I shouldn’t. Feels like I should be doin’ more.”
“You don’t have to,” Phil shrugs. “You don’t have to anymore, mate. You should enjoy yourself, that’s what you should be doing.”
Techno seems to let that stew for a second, then heaves himself to his feet.
“Thanks for talkin’ me off the ledge,” he chuckles, running a hand down his snout. “Jesus. They’re just so loud sometimes, y’know?”
“I know,” Phil assures him, patting his back. “But they don’t know shit, mate. You look good.”
Techno rolls his eyes, crossing to the potions cabinet and rummaging through it.
“I’m not worried about how I look, Phil,” he snorts.
“I know, but you do!” Phil grins, turning his attention back to Techno’s breastplate and checking how the straps are attached. “People gain weight when they’re happy, y’know. You should see Schlatt nowadays.”
“Schlatt?” Techno echoes. “We’re runnin’ low on ghast tears, by the way. But really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Phil nods. “He’s gettin’ real chunky. And it’s ‘cause he’s content, y’know? I told you, he’s completely sober now. Seems like he’s doing great every time I talk to him. He’s back with Quackity now, you know that?”
“Ah,” Techno says, barely disguising his disinterest. “So is Schlatt supportive of the new L’manberg then, or...”
“You’re no fun to gossip with,” Phil complains. “I don't know, mate, maybe. His kid’s the president, isn't he? Forget about politics for a minute. What are you going to do about it, anyways? Retired, remember?”
“Right,” Techno sighs irritably.
“You ought to have Schlatt up for tea sometime,” Phil suggests brightly.
Techno looks up from the potions he’s rearranging to cast him a doubtful glance.
“You should!” Phil presses. “He’s retired too. He won't bother you about anything. I know he wants to see you, he asks about you every time we talk.”
“I’ll think about it,” Techno says begrudgingly.
There’s a sudden clambering and muffled voices from the entrance to the base above, and Phil and Techno both tense for a moment before the hatch opens and a long, gangly leg drops down onto the first rung.
“Hey, it’s us,” Ranboo calls down, sounding harried as he descends the ladder inelegantly. “Sorry, I don't. I don't remember agreeing to meet here-”
“But I did!” Ghostbur puts in cheerfully as he floats down through the ceiling next to him.
“Good job, Ghostbur,” Phil says politely, because Ghostbur is, in a lot of ways, like Wilbur was as a kid, eager for praise and recognition.
“Sorry, I really am sorry,” Ranboo repeats, flustered, as he gets down the last few rungs and lands unsteadily. The kid is all limbs, really. “I wrote it down, but I guess-”
“You’re fine,” Techno dismisses him in the gruff voice he always seems to use with Ranboo to detract from the fact that he’s clearly very fond of him. “We’re in no rush, anyways. The trip will have to wait until Phil can fix my armor.”
“Fix it?” Ghostbur asks curiously, floating over to the armor rack and examining it. “What’s wrong with it?”
Phil doesn’t answer, leaving whatever specifics Techno feels like revealing up to him. With the same unapologetic casualness that Phil is used to, that he seems to have about the whole deal when the Voices are screaming in his ear about it, he pats the side of his belly and good-naturedly explains,
“Nothing’s wrong with it, just been awhile since I had to get this thing into it. Phil’s just gonna adjust it all a little.”
“Oh, the tummy’s causing issues, is it?” Ghostbur asks, tactlessly but cheerily. “Well, that’s alright. I think you look quite good with it, Technoblade! All plump and-”
“Alright, alright, thank you, Ghostbur,” Techno cuts him off, rolling his eyes.
Ranboo doesn’t skip a beat after that, because of course he doesn’t, he’s an exceptionally polite kid.
“Honestly, that’s a relief to hear,” he sighs. “That we aren’t going right away, I mean.”
“We’ll get some more trainin’ in, if that’s what you’re nervous about,” Techno assures him, turning back to the potions cabinet. “C’mere, help me reorganize this junk.”
Ranboo’s at his side in an instant, listening intently as Techno hands him glass bottles and vials and instructs him on where to put them, both of them politely ignoring Ghostbur prattling on about how arctic animals have blubber to keep them warm. Phil smiles a little watching them as he starts working at removing the old straps of the chestplate. Techno’ll be alright. He always is.
It may take awhile, but he’s gonna learn to relax.