Chapter Text
Upon a golden meadow aflame with the sun's dying light, there lay a little cabin of wood and stone. For miles around there was only empty field, and beyond that lay secluded forest and mountaintops that stood tall above valleys and rivers winding around the property.
The sky was blue, only dotted with occasional cirrus clouds. The sun was warm and the wind was cold as it rustled through mismatched sets of windchimes that hung from the sturdy porch.
The structure was nothing special, just a cabin handcrafted with aged and loving hands for a family that could never be. A stone fireplace kept its few rooms warm, and despite only one person having kept residence there those rooms were filled to the brim with pointless belongings and souvenirs from a life of travel and adventure that seemed so long ago. Its owner was not inside, though.
Instead, the man who called this place home was kneeled over in the field. He was uncaring that the dirt threatened to stain his carefully embroidered green robes. A ripe tomato lay in his hand, and he rolled it in his palm as he inspected it. So far, the harvest from his small garden had been plentiful. It promised an easy winter, with how many of his crops he had already preserved in jars on the windowsill back home.
He went to throw the tomato in the basket beside him, as it currently held most of the crops he’d collected, but found himself pausing. With a hesitant glance around- no one was there, of course- he shrugged and bit into the fruit. No one was there to stop him, and he didn’t plan on cooking dinner for another hour or two. What’s a little snack?
With a huff he rose to his feet and picked up the basket. His snack would serve him well as he moved down the line of plants, continuing to pluck the ripe ones. Though occasionally, he would find one or two that had been breached by insects. Without another thought, he would toss those behind him and they would swiftly be snatched up by hefty black birds. He sighed fondly at the sight.
Ever since he was a child, birds would follow him. It started small- finches, bluejays, cardinals, pigeons. Eventually it moved to crows. They always favored bringing him presents and would caw indignantly if he tried to shoo them. He had never understood why. Until sometime in his late youth, he found he’d sprouted wings, big and black like the ones of the birds that followed him. It wouldn’t take long for him to learn to fly, and even learn to enjoy the company of those damned birds.
Still, he kept his wings tucked close to himself as he continued down the line to harvest. The last thing he would want is to ruin the fragile stalks and stems by being clumsy and bumping into them with his wings. It wasn’t too much longer before he would find himself at the end of the line at the edge of his garden with a full basket of various crops and vegetables. With a sigh, he collected his basket and propped it against his hip.
The garden was done. He only had two more things to take care of before he could call it a day and relax at home with a book. Maybe sit out on the rocking chair on the front porch. He smiled to himself at the thought and began to move back towards the cabin. Once he dropped off the basket, he could return to the field. He moved slowly through the tall grass, in no real rush.
The wind whipped through his shoulder-length hair, as golden as the field around him. Warily, he pressed a hand to his green-and-white striped bucket hat to assure it wouldn’t blow away. Above his head, a murder of crows soared and screeched as the headed for the forest. He watched them for a moment, following their flight path with bright blue eyes until they disappeared into the trees. There, his gaze lingered. The treeline at the edge of the field, promising a thick forest all the way to the base of the mountains beyond… it felt… slightly off.
He was no psychic, not a man of magic or anything, but he had lived here long enough to know when something wasn’t quite right. Call it observation. Still, something within him twists his gut with dread. He’ll have to walk through that very same forest to gather water from the river today. The thick canopy of leaves would shadow it near pitch black, perfect for anything to hide in. Oh, stars, why did he leave this task for the end of the day? And yet, like a whisper on the wind, he could feel the presence of his beloved beside him, assuring that he would be okay.
Of course he would. With a sigh, he continued his trek to his house. Within a few minutes, he was standing on the porch with the basket safely delivered to his doorside. Faintly, he wondered if he could leave his remaining responsibilities to the morning. No. He was a grown man. He would not fear what lie in the dark. Confident in his abilities to take care of himself and sure that his beloved would protect him from harm.
The fact that he planned to take his axe to the woods was purely because he was running low on firewood.
He marched along the same old path with a new basket for the orchard and a bucket for the water. He wouldn’t need much more tonight. Just enough to last him until morning when he could take all twelve buckets to the riverside and manage the tedious task of filling them all and bringing them back two at a time. Crows circled him from above, one bold enough to land on his shoulder. At the sight of this, the other crows fought to land on his other shoulder and even his head. He laughed as way too many crows perched precariously on him and nearly fell over with his every move. He let them stay for a minute or two before shaking himself off and flaring up his wings to get them to move. They’d never go far, though. Always content to fly above him or hop around at his feet.
It wasn’t a lonely life, not by any means. He had always been appreciative of solitude. Even still, he had the crows. Though, he couldn’t shake the lingering emptiness a living person was meant to fill. Unfortunately he knew exactly who was meant to fill it and why she could not be there. The air around him simmered.
Soon enough empty field faded into neat rows of trees. They were all different fruit trees, but most weren’t producing anything at this time of year. Except for pear and apple. The sun cast an orange glow on rough treebark and soft grass. Not a single fruit lay rotten on the ground. If there ever were any, the crows had probably eaten them by now. Anything left long enough to rot was swiftly cleaned up by the crows within a matter of hours, leaving the property pristine as if nothing had ever occurred.
He took one look at the low sun and decided, now isn’t the time to harvest the whole trees. If he didn’t hurry, it would be dark by the time he went to the river, and he was already exhausted from his other chores. He didn’t want to go back and drag out the ladder, or even spread his wings to reach the fruits high and nestled in the branches like eggs in a nest. Instead, he would merely stand on his tiptoes and pick the fruit hanging lowest to the ground.
One by one they would be deposited into the basket- a bit more carefully than he had done with the vegetables. He surely didn’t want these fruits to bruise. Not when there were so many things he could make with them. Juices, desserts, jellies and preserves- and so much more. He would only have to skim through the thick recipe book he’d picked up in his travels to find enough ways to prepare a meal that he’d never tire of using the same ingredients.
There were four apple trees and two pears. All the other trees were bare. Unfortunately, as were the berry bushes. Though he couldn’t live off of such sweet things, he wished he could have coerced the berries into producing this year. They weren’t the happiest from the late freeze during the spring. Only the blackberries seemed to want to bless him with good harvest. That was okay. He had plenty of seeds for next spring, and with everything he’d already gathered he needn’t worry about the oncoming threat of winter.
In fact, for a moment he wondered if he could just leave the fruits. He had plenty already to last him, yet the little voice in his mind nagged him not to waste anything. Maybe he could-
Snap
He instantly turned to the treeline marking the edge of the forest. His ears flicked and he scanned the woods for any signs of movement. When had he even gotten so close to the treeline? He hadn’t even noticed that he was on his last pear tree, his basket near full now that he was at the ends of the orchard. And yet, nothing moved. He knew he was being watched, but nothing moved at all. There were no other sounds. Actually, why didn’t he hear crickets or frogs? Where had the crows gone?
He spared a glance up at the sky, only to find it empty. As was the ground behind him. Not a single crow lingered at his feet. None to hop around at his ankles or peck at his cloak. Whatever was in the woods wasn’t just a deer or fox- or even wolf, either. It was smart enough to stay put once his attention was drawn to the area. It left a tug in his chest that fizzled out into tingles. He shivered.
The bucket at his feet lay empty. He was out of water back home. On one hand, he could follow his gut and just leave it to the morning- though that meant he would go hungry and thirsty for tonight. On the other hand, he had an axe and he sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone think they could intrude on his property.
With a sigh, he turned back to the tree and picked one last pear. Out of his peripheral, he just barely caught sight of movement in the woods, retreating deeper into the inky shadows. He did not fear. He only deposited the pear in his basket, picked up his belongings, and trudged into the forest.
The instant he was inside, it was dark. Over his shoulder, the safety of the orchard and field were just in sight, yet they felt so far away. Ferns tickled his ankles and vines threatened to trip him as he made his way deeper into the forest. Occasionally, a break in the canopies would allow vivid orange light to seep through and dot the mossy floor, but mostly it was awash in the blues and grays warning of nighttime soon to follow. Little stones crunched beneath his feet. After all, there was no point in being stealthy. Whatever was in the woods already knew he was there.
A few times he would tense as something scurried past or a twig snapped or a shadow seemed to move, but it was always his imagination. A fox or deer hurrying away from him, a squirrel dropping empty shells from a tree, the swaying of branches letting in just a bit more light. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Nerves would do him no good.
Instead, he focused on the brighter side of things. Despite the darkness, the forest was magical at this time of day. The leaves were just barely beginning to turn different shades of green from the early autumn, and mushrooms were beginning to sprout. With luck, he could harvest those, too. The edges of white winter coats were spreading on the underbellies of the animals. Even the wind practically sang as it weaved through the treetrunks. Speaking of the wind, it was actually pretty gusty in the forest at times. The strong wind kept it from becoming overgrown and unmanageable with bushes and thorns. Though right now, it was but a gentle breeze with the occasional harsh draft. He was thankful for it, as his hands were too full and he would be unable to catch his hat this time if it attempted to blow away.
It was still eerily quiet in the forest. No birds chirping, no crickets or frogs- and even though he had seen squirrels, they didn’t so much as chitter grumpily as he passed. He hoped, really hoped, that upon reaching the waterside the ambience would return to assure him that everything was normal.
Fortunately for him, his wishes were granted. As he approached the riverside, soft chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs could be heard. His feet went from soft dirt and moss to gravel and sand as he approached. The river wasn’t large- more of a creek than anything. It was shallow in some parts and waist-deep in others where rocky spillway waterfalls fed into the valley. A few fireflies swirled around, oblivious to the bewitching reflection of light dancing on the water as it flowed.
He couldn’t help but smile to himself. This felt safe. Felt right. He kneeled close at the water’s edge, depositing his basket and are beside him. After rolling up his sleeves, he dipped the bucket in and watched as the water poured into it. The sound of rushing water alone was comforting, and suddenly he couldn’t wait to get home and rest, exhausted from a full day’s work.
The sound of rushing water, unfortunately, hid all other noises. He couldn’t even tell someone was approaching until he saw them from the corner of his eye. In an instant, he whirled around with his bucket in hand and let the water fly from it. There was a resounding splash, and then nothing as the world seemed to still around him. He had the element of surprise by confusing his opponent with the water, and from the looks of things, it worked. Though he soon found himself surprised and confused as well.
In front of him stood a figure way shorter than he had imagined. A small child, maybe only six or seven years old, was now drenched from head to toe and shivering. Most of his face was obscured by long strands of rose-colored hair that stuck to his face thanks to the water. The man stood before this child, horrified. How did a kid even get here? The nearest town was hours away, and that was either by horseback or flight. Hesitantly, he spoke. “Uh… hey there, mate.”
The child flinched back and let out a sound akin to a wild animal growling. “Woah, woah,” The man lowered his voice and forced himself into a psuedo-crouch to appear less threatening, “I won’t hurt you. Just… How did you get out here? Where are your parents?” The young boy did not answer. He only stood, shivering.
“I’m… I’m Philza, but people call me Phil. What’s your name?” The man introduced himself, and electricity shot through his veins at the sound of his own name. Foreign, yet familiar, and oh so very powerful. As if praying to a long forgotten god. No one has said his name in a very long time. And still, he was met with silence. He sighed. “You’re shiverin’, mate. I can’t leave you out here alone like this. How about I bring you back to my home and you can warm up by the fire, yeah?”
The boy seemed to perk up at the mention of fire, and yet the moment Phil reached out to him, he shot forward and bit his hand. Very quick, for a child, Phil noted as he cradled his now-bleeding hand close to his chest. Red slowly pooled into teeth-shaped marks on his pale skin, leaving stains on his palm that stretched up to his thumb and index finger. Even with the kid’s expression hidden in his own hair, Phil could practically feel the fear radiating off of him. He scanned the boy, looking for any kind of clue or anything that would give him answers- and that’s when he saw it. Where the kid had been standing the whole time, so very close to the basket of fruit.
Phil experimentally reached towards the basket, and the child growled in return. Something within him swelled. Hungry, then. Phil nodded to himself and quickly snatched the basket. The kid seemed stunned by this, whether it be from how fast the older man’s reflexes were or from the sheer courage it must have taken to steal from a presumably feral child. His face twitched slightly in its snarl, and he moved to run off again when-
“Here.” Phil offered, a large pear in his outstretched hand. The child stared at the fruit a moment, fully tantalized, before glaring with even more ferocity. Phil frowned. He very slowly set the pear on the ground, then moved back a step. After a moment, the boy reluctantly stepped forward and took the pear. He dug into it immediately, all sharp teeth and claws, barely taking a moment to breathe between bites. Phil let out a content huff and turned to refill his bucket. He was sure the child would be busy for another moment or two.
Luckily, he was right. By the time he had filled his bucket of water nearly to the brim, the child had scarfed down the whole pear. Phil picked up the basket and rolled an apple to him this time. The boy, once again, picked it up and began to eat. Phil smiled. He picked up his axe to strap it back to his hip- the boy growled warily in protest, but relaxed once the weapon disappeared from view under a curtain of green robes.
“Come on, mate. Let’s go getcha warmed up.” He gave his best friendly grin, though he was out of practice. If the faint beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of his mouth were any indication, though, he’d obviously lived a joyful life.
One by one, he dropped fruit from the basket onto the ground behind him. One by one, the kid picked them up and either took a bite or held them gently in his arms. Once they were out of the forest, Phil noticed that the sounds of life had returned and the sun had almost disappeared. Crows circled above, cawing happily at the two of them. The sky had turned a pale twilight blue and shadowed everything in soft shadows. The golden field was no longer alive with color, instead quiet and sleepy with the promise of safety just on the other side. It rustled lazily as they moved through it.
By the time they were halfway through the field, the boy was using his thin, dirty shirt as a makeshift basket for all the fruit he’d picked up. He was shivering violently by then, too, as the wind blew colder with the oncoming night.
One crow was brave enough to fly low near the boy, but retreated as soon as he made a swipe at it. Phil couldn’t tell if the boy was afraid of them, or if he saw them as just another snack. Still, Phil guided the boy right to the wooden porch of his house and swung open the door. It didn’t have a lock. He didn’t need one. Phil stepped inside and shuddered with delight at the sudden rush of warmth that the house provided. His feathers puffed out, but he tried to keep his wings close to his back as to not startle the boy behind him.
He quickly laid his juiciest looking apple on the floorboards inside and stood back, awaiting the boy’s entrance. And yet, oh. The kid lingered outside, a skeptical glare upon his features and only partially visible behind his still-drying hair. Phil frowned. Of course he’s smarter than that. He probably thinks it’s a trap. He set his basket and bucket of water down, then slowly lowered himself into a kneeling position on the floor.
“Hey, mate…” Phil spoke softly, “I don’t actually know if you understand me or not, but I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. Come inside and warm up, won’t you? I’ll even fix you a meal.” He promised, trying his best to let his intentions be conveyed purely by tone, if anything. The boy very hesitantly moved closer. Phil bowed his head slightly. Blonde hair curtained his face, but he didn’t care. He would let himself look weak and vulnerable to earn the young boy’s trust, and fortunately it worked, as he heard the telltale creak of feet on floorboards right beside him.
Phil watched the blurry figure of the child move past him through his hair, and he slowly rose to his feet once more. The apple lay beneath him. The kid had neglected it altogether in favor of making himself at home near the roaring fireplace. He plopped down and let go of his shirt, allowing all the fruit he’d collected to tumble out around him. Casually, he picked up one at random and continued to eat. Phil sighed in relief.
He picked up the neglected apple and put it back in the basket, then closed the door with a soft thud. Immediately the boy shot to his feet, glancing around wildly at each window, door, any possible exit. “Woah, woah! Calm down, mate, it’s okay. I just have to shut the door to keep the warm air in, okay? Keep it nice and toasty in here.” Phil explained. The child slowly seemed to calm down. Good. He does understand. “Look, the door doesn’t even lock. You’re good to go whenever you want.” He assured and even swung the door open and shut a few times to demonstrate. The kid's head tilted- or, wait, was that a nod- before he sat down on the floor again.
Phil practically slumped against the door in relief. He’d successfully managed to get the child in the house with him. Good. Now… what does he do with him? I mean, obviously he would help him. Let him warm up, make a nice meal to share- maybe even give him some clothes or offer a place to stay for the night-
He froze. Stay. Did the kid even have a real place to stay? He’d been miles from the nearest town, and Phil hadn’t even gotten a real answer on where his parents were- if he even had any. Then what? Should Phil just let this random kid stay here? Sure, he probably has enough food for the both of them to last the whole winter, but is he prepared for the responsibility of a whole other living person?
A voice in the back of his mind, so sickly sweet and persuasive whispered yes, and he really wanted nothing more than to agree to his beloved, but he was also scared. Yet, when he gazed upon the tiny form in front of the fireplace, eyes fixed on the dancing flame as he scarfed down fruits like he’d not had a meal in years, Phil knew he was going to help the kid. He was set on it. Maybe his definition of help was pretty broad. Maybe his definition of help didn’t have an expiration date. Still, he didn’t have to worry about that yet.
Phil lifted the bucket from its place on the floor and carefully carried it over to the stove. He set it on top with a huff and took a glance down into the firebox. There was still some wood in there, so he picked up a stray match from the countertop, struck it, and lit the logs aflame. The water would have to boil for a while for it to be safe to drink. He stared at it a moment, then moved to search through his cabinets. What kind of meal could he whip up?
There was some dried meat, canned beans, and a bit of bread he could use. He didn’t exactly know what the kid liked to eat, but something about the way he’d demolished those fruits told him that it was likely he wasn’t picky. All in all, it sounded like a good enough meal for him. Then tomorrow he could fix soup with some of the vegetables he’d harvested. At least by using what he had in the cabinets, he wouldn’t have to worry about needing to wait for the water to finish boiling to wash off any produce.
Phil grabbed two plates, not missing how the boy flinched as they clattered together, before arranging the food on it. He only struggled a little in opening the can of beans. They weren’t warm or anything, but he really didn’t want to wait for them to warm up on the stove. He was actually pretty hungry- probably moreso that the boy who’d eaten at least ten fruits by this point. Even still, he barely remembered to grab silverware before making his way over to the boy and setting it down along with the plate.
He sat down only a few feet away from the boy, on the floor as well. The kid stared at him, but very slowly took his plate. He inspected the silverware, poking at the pointy edges before deeming it a valuable weapon and attempting to stow it away in his pocket. Phil snickered, and the boy paused at the sound. He slowly began to eat, exaggerating his use of the silverware to demonstrate. The kid blinked twice before attempting to mirror his actions.
“Sorry we don’t have anything to drink just yet. We have to wait for the water to boil for a while first.” Phil said after a moment. The boy only stared at him, but his eyes gleamed in understanding. “Say… are you any more comfortable with telling me your name yet?”
The boy hesitated, chewing slower as if taking the time to really consider it. “…Technoblade.” He whispered, then continued to shovel food into his mouth.
“Technoblade?” Phil couldn’t help but let a startled scoff leave his lips. For one, he was surprised the boy even spoke. For another, “Who would name you something like that?” The boy’s expression soured slightly and he pointed a begrudging thumb at himself. Phil stiffened immediately. “It’s, uhm.. a wonderful name, mate. Very cool.” Technoblade only huffed in response.
Guilt weighed on Phil’s shoulders a moment. He hadn’t meant to hurt the boy's feelings. “Technoblade,” Phil started, eager to change the subject, “Do you have any parents?” He asked. Technoblade shook his head. Sorrow rised in Phil’s gut. “Do you have anywhere to stay?” He dreaded the answer, and rightfully so as the response was another head shake.
Phil drug his hand down his face. Suddenly the food on his plate- that he’ barely eaten, might I add- didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. He spared a wary glance towards the front door, a window with its curtains drawn set inside the wood. It’s dark out. It’s surely very cold. Winter would be coming soon. There are no villages nearby for miles.
“Would you… like to stay here?” He reluctantly asked, but he couldn’t find it in him to regret the words after they’d left his mouth. Technoblade tensed. After a moment or two, he gave a half-hearted shrug. Though, that was good enough for Phil.
In fact, something warm bubbled within him. Perhaps excitement at the thought of the end to his days of solitude? He smiled. This house could not be home to the people he’d intended it for, but perhaps he could build the family he’d always wanted. Maybe it could shelter the people he chose. Handcrafted with care, every log in the wall or plank on the floor carved with steady hands. Blankets woven with nimble fingers. The same palms he would set into someone else’s.
An empty plate slid towards him across the floor and bumped into his feet. He snapped out of his thoughts to find Technoblade staring at him expectantly. “Uh.. do you want more…?” Phil asked with a tilt of his head. Technoblade shook his head in response, instead he pointed towards the stove. “Ah, right!” Phil took the bowl and stood up, “Gotta check the water.”
Phil made his way over to the kitchen where he set the wooden plate aside to wash later. He then removed the bubbling bucket of water from the stove and set it on the countertop to cool. From across the room, Technoblade was glaring at the plate Phil had neglected on the floor. Numbly, he realized he still hadn’t eaten much of his own meal. He wasn’t really in the mood to eat it, but it would be a shame to let it go to waste.
“We’ll have to wait a few more minutes for the water to cool down before we can drink it.” Phil said as he went to pick up his plate. Technoblade nodded in response before turning to watch the fire again. He was trying his best to keep his most courageous scowl steady on his face, but his eyes were drooping ever so slightly in exhaustion and Phil could very clearly see it. The boy was tired. “Stay here.” He instructed, but it wasn’t so much a command than a suggestion. Phil ate from the plate as he walked down the halls of his house. It was a bit dark now that the sun had gone down and the candles he usually left burning for light were low. He’d need to replace them soon.
He entered his room and grabbed one of the extra blankets from his bed. That left two blankets on the bed. He’d just added this one to it the other day when he noticed the chill settling into the bones of the house. Still, he could afford to be a little chilly if it meant the kid would be comfortable. He set his now-empty plate on his nightstand. It was surprising he finished it, yet he found that the more he ate the more his appetite returned and the meal was too pleasant to pass up. Outside the windows, he could see the field completely dark, only lit by stars and moon above. It’s probably really cold out there. Phil grabbed an extra blanket and a couple of pillows.
Technoblade was in the exact same spot when Phil returned, looking as though he could drift to sleep any second. Phil couldn’t help but drape the blanket around the boy himself, though it made him tense. He set a pillow down beside him and then let the pillow and blanket he’d brought for himself tumble to the floor. Technoblade eyed it curiously, but said nothing as Phil walked away to collect the water. He returned with two cups, one for each of them. Techno didn’t hesitate to greedily gulp it down in one go, though Phil worried he would choke.
Once Technoblade had downed the whole cup, he laid down against the floor and snuggled close to the blanket and pillow given to him. Phil laid down as well. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable, but he’d slept in worse places before. Besides, it was warmer next to the fireplace and he’d rather not take the kid to another room and risk him panicking cause he couldn’t see the door.
The kid seemed perfectly content here, still glaring at the dancing flames. Every so often he would spare a wary glance at Phil as if waiting for him to strike, but soon enough he deemed it not worth his time to check and he let his eyes flutter closed. Phil stared at him a moment. So. That’s definitely a new responsibility. He’d need a bath in the morning, and definitely some new clothes. Phil didn’t have anything that would fit him, only old clothes he’d gathered in his traveled. He had no idea how to make anything for him, either. Sure he knew how to sew and had knitted a few blankets, but making blankets and patching holes were completely different to creating a whole new article of clothing. He glanced to Technoblade’s sleeping face and decided, he’d just have to learn.
Something about the long, rosy pink hair that lay in tangled and messy swirls on the wooden floor. Something about the steady and rhythmic rising and falling of a tiny chest. Something about this young boy he’d known for less than a few hours asleep on his floor made his heart swell. An angel, he decided. You’ve sent me a little angel. A baby bird on battered wings. Phil could practically feel his beloved smiling beside him as they both gazed upon their gift. I know nothing of his past, and nothing of his future, but I will raise him. I will protect him and love him.
Until he is ready to leave the nest.
