Chapter Text
“Christ, it’s fucking cold.”
Staring out the window of the cable car, Phil can see the hazy peak of the mountain far in the distance. His breath is hot against the glass, casting a fog across the frosted windows, his knee bouncing as the gears above them creak and whirr. Beside him, Technoblade makes a soft grunt of affirmation. He’s significantly better dressed for the weather—a sharp contrast to Phil’s flannel, which is doing very little to ward off the cold.
“Ranboo said this place had heating, right?” He’s got a coat packed, buried somewhere in his bag, but he hadn’t expected the damn cable cars to take so long.
“Think he mentioned a fireplace, at least,” Technoblade hums. “Pretty sure this place was built at least a hundred years ago, though, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
“Shit.” Phil shudders, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him, and he hears his friend laugh, low and teasing. There’s a soft rustling sound, and Technoblade’s thick leather gloves drop into his lap without warning. Phil slips them on with a grateful smile. They dwarf his hands, but they’re warm nevertheless. They do little to fend off the chill of the metal seats or the wind that whistles through the cracks of the door, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Tell me why we agreed to this again?” he bemoans. Technoblade snorts.
“‘Cause you and I didn’t have the heart to say no to the kid,” he answers, leaning over to stare out the window at the passing pines. “Besides, Wilbur ‘n the others will be there, too. It won’t just be the freshmen. It’ll be fun once we all get indoors.”
Phil nods, watching his breath expel as misty fog in front of his face. “You’re right,” he admits, trying to keep his teeth from chattering together. “Indoors and under some blankets, maybe,” he adds as an afterthought.
Techno chuckles quietly, but whatever he was going to say to make fun of Phil next falls silent between them as the clicking rails of the cable car shift, a slower and deeper sound as the angle of the car levels out and they’re pulled up to flat ground. The view of the mountain peaks are almost completely lost to the thick spruce forest surrounding them on that side now, so Phil turns back to the other window, grinning in relief as the clicking track of the cable car slows even further. In front of him now was the cable car station, snow-covered benches and a set of footsteps imprinted in the snow leading to the door.
“Thank God,” Phil says, leaning down to grab at his duffel bag. “Almost to warmth. Almost there.” He starts to stand up just as the cable car decides to finish their journey with a surprisingly forceful stop. Phil, suddenly unbalanced, stumbles forward, slamming a hand against the cold metal of the car’s interior to keep himself upright. He’s more thankful than ever for Techno’s gloves that keep the cold from leaching into his skin as Technoblade grips the back of his flannel and hauls him back up, laughing as Phil shakes him off with a curse.
“Almost there,” Techno echoes Phil’s earlier words as the doors open and they step out into the fresh winds of winter. “Except, you know, the hike we still have to make to get up to the house.”
Phil shivers anew as the wind nips at his ears and neck, reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt with his free hand. “Fucking shit.”
His friend only laughs at his continued misery.
They’re about halfway up the snowy mountain path when Phil gets the feeling they’re being watched.
It starts with a prickle at the back of his neck, a shiver he can’t seem to shake. He pulls his flannel a little closer and shuffles a little faster to catch up to Technoblade, but the feeling doesn’t subside. He spares a nervous glance behind him, and there’s nothing there but the winding path and the silent, snow-covered forest. Nothing moves, save for the rustle of the branches in the wind and the snow that’s slowly beginning to pick up, carpeting everything in a fresh, fluffy layer.
“Why’re you so jumpy today, man?” Technoblade huffs, when Phil turns around and very nearly collides with him. He’s standing expectantly, arms crossed and shoulders squared, fixing Phil with a long, searching look. “Aren’t you supposed to be like, Mr. Survivor?”
“I was a Boy Scout, Techno,” Phil retorts. “Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy this shit.”
Technoblade just grins.
“Whatever,” Phil huffs, stuffing his gloved hands a little deeper into his sleeves and folding them tight across his chest. “Just… fuckin’ hurry, okay? It’s freezing.” With a soft laugh and a shake of his head, Technoblade turns to lead the way, and Phil scampers after him with one last look over his shoulder, unable to shake the odd prickling sensation.
The path is long and winding, and though in the summer sun this route might be the perfect hiking trail, it’s anything but right now. The wind rushes through the snow-covered boughs of the trees and the deciduous bushes, clacking the branches together and rustling the few leaves that remain. It can’t be anything more than that, but Phil can’t shake the feeling that the sounds he hears isn’t the wind at all. That the crackling he hears isn’t the natural shifting of the nature around them, but steps breaking through the undergrowth, growing closer to them by the second.
Phil can’t shake the sensation of his skin crawling, worse than the goosebumps brought on by the chilling wind. He rubs his hand up and down his arm, squeezing his bicep in a self-soothing pattern. It does nothing to help his nerves, especially when the wind howls at a high pitch that has the snow-dusted hairs on the back of Phil’s neck stand on end.
“Fuck,” he whispers harshly, biting at the inside of his cheek. “Think we’re getting closer?” he asks, lifting his head up to glance at Technoblade before briefly scanning their surroundings.
“We’ve gotta be,” Techno responds, though Phil doesn’t miss the wavering uncertainty in his tone. “There isn’t another path up to the cabin. Right?”
Phil blinks, eyes wide with this new train of thought.
“Shit, I hope not. We are going the right way, we have to be.” He swallows tightly, throat scratchy with the cold, dry air he’s breathing. “We have to be.”
And yet, as they keep walking, the path is nothing but shadows and snow ahead. The branches of the tree shake with the wind and stretch out toward them, trails of scratchy wood knocking against their shoulders as they push through the seemingly never-ending trail before them.
“Hold on.” Techno comes to a stop, Phil instantly pausing beside him and turning to his friend with a question on his lips. Before he figures out how to voice it, though, Techno walks a few paces further toward a snow-caked sign at the side of the trail, brushing at it with his elbow. Three sections appear, one pointing back the way they had come from, the other two pointing further ahead. “Workers’ lodgings? Nope. Sanitorium? Nah. Fire tower? Hmm… Ah! Beloved Lodge. We’re on the right track, man, it’s all good.” Techno shoves his hands back into his coat pocket, shoulders jumping in a shiver.
“Thank fucking God,” Phil breathes, a brief smile shared with Technoblade before the wind picks up again, blowing further flurries of snow around their faces. “Hope everyone else makes it in alright, shit.” He casts another look behind him, almost hopeful that one of their friends will come careening up from the path behind them just so Phil’s skin can stop prickling.
“Sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll know,” Techno calls, motioning for Phil to keep walking with him. So Phil turns, reluctantly, rubbing his gloved hand along the back of his neck as his skin continues to crawl.
As it turns out, within a few minutes they find that they’re nearly to the cabin. The light is a distant, warm glow through the trees that makes Phil’s heart race with the anticipation of a warm blanket (and maybe a drink)—and then Phil hears it.
There’s a sharp crack like the snapping of a branch somewhere behind him, louder than anything Phil thought he might have heard before. He whirls in an instant, one hand going to Technoblade’s arm while the other reaches for something, anything to defend himself. Technoblade makes a startled sound as Phil’s fingers close around a branch at his feet, hefting it up against his chest, bracing himself as he stares out into the darkening woods.
Something’s coming.
“You heard it this time, right?” Phil hisses between clenched teeth. Technoblade grunts an agreement, shoulder brushing against Phil’s, drawing himself up to full height as the snapping grows steadily closer and closer, traveling through the shadows. “Fucking Christ, what the hell is that?”
“Shhh,” Technoblade mutters, holding up a hand. “Hold. Still.”
Whatever it is, it’s getting close now—close enough to make Phil’s blood freeze, his heart in his throat and every muscle in his body screaming to either run or fight. He weighs the stick in his hands, shifting it back and forth, and judges the distance between himself and the approaching danger. He’s a good shot—he could probably make it, but would it even do anything? He might be able to scare whatever it is off, but Technoblade’s giving him a look that screams don’t.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“Just—stay calm, okay?” Technoblade whispers, scarcely even audible. “Could just be a rabbit, don’t freak out on me, man.”
“Fucking hate rabbits,” Phil fires back, all bared teeth and narrowed eyes. “And that’d be the biggest rabbit I’ve ever seen, mate.”
Technoblade doesn’t answer him.
Phil wisely shuts up.
They barely even breathe as the rustling grows closer. Moonlight peeks through the rare gaps in the clouds, but it isn’t enough to light the way, and the storm is only growing with each passing moment. He feels like he’s the rabbit, pinned beneath the gaze of some unknown predator, and it makes his teeth grit and his skin crawl and every instinct in him scream to do something.
Beside him, though, Technoblade is motionless, deathly silent. He could be a statue, were it not for the clouds of his breath pooling into the evening air.
Phil can feel the frozen bark crackle underneath his tight grip, twisting the leather of the gloves. He’s a single movement away from hefting the stick back and throwing it through the air like the world’s bluntest javelin, but Techno’s words still linger in the back of his mind. Fighting against every snap instinct in his body, Phil forces his body to freeze. His muscles are taut, the front of his boots digging into the earth, ready to turn and run in an instant if a threat appears before them.
Another crack splits the air, closer than ever before. Phil’s whole body locks up, chest wound so tight with fearful anticipation he can scarcely breathe. He can see Techno’s silent breaths stop, too, catching in his throat as a great shadow looms from the edge of the rough forest trail. Phil’s eyes are wide, almost painfully dry, but he refuses to look away for even a second to blink until he knows what this thing is.
But when the moonlight hits the creature that’s been following them this whole time, relief hits Phil so squarely in the chest it feels as if he’s been punched. A strangled wheeze passes his lips as he manages to choke out some words:
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
An elk blinks up at them from further down the path. A massive bull, with arching antlers and broad shoulders, pawing idly at the snow as if they’re the ones making a spectacle. It snorts at them, looking rather bored, and ambles a little further up the path until it’s little more than a few feet away.
“A fucking deer?” Phil whispers, a relieved laugh threatening to bubble up in his chest, and Technoblade elbows him—hard.
“A deer that can gouge your eyes out if you make it mad,” he reminds Phil. “Just keep stayin’ quiet. It’ll leave us alone.”
Right.
True to Technoblade’s word, the deer doesn’t seem interested in trampling them. Instead, it sniffs the air as it steps closer, its breath pooling out in clouds, dark eyes twinkling curiously. It doesn’t seem scared of them, just a little cautious, every movement slow and steady as it approaches. Phil holds his breath nevertheless, not daring to move an inch as it wanders around them—pausing only for a moment to lean a little closer to Technoblade, as if to get a better look before moving on, leaving the path to amble back into the forest, vanishing into the shadows.
The second it’s gone, Phil sags against Technoblade with a breathy giggle, the branch slipping from his fingers to land in the snow.
“That’s—I was scared of a fucking deer? Christ, I don’t know if I should laugh, or…”
Technoblade grins. To his merit, he looks only a little shaken.
“Told you it’d be fine,” he says after a moment, clapping Phil on the shoulder. “You worry too much. Now, c’mon, let’s get up to the lodge. I’m tired of bein’ cold, and the others’ll be getting here soon.”
Phil shoulders his bag. The woods seem a little less scary, now, and he feels a little childish for panicking over something so simple. But Technoblade isn’t judging him—not seriously, at least—and so he takes just a quick moment to steady himself before nodding. A smile of his own finds its way to his lips as he shoulders his bag, and soon enough he’s following Technoblade up the winding trail, toward the warmth and safety of the lodge.
He doesn’t look back.
“Phil? Do you know where they keep the popcorn?”
Phil, from his place on the couch, barely looks up from the crackling fireplace.
“Mate, why the fuck would I know where it is?” Tubbo whines from the kitchen, and he rolls his eyes, unable to keep the fond smile from his lips. “Dude, talk to Ranboo. This is his family’s place, don’t you think it might be better to ask him?”
“...Ranboooo.”
Ranboo, curled up comfortably in a plush leather armchair, sighs. He shoots Phil a look that screams betrayal and regretfully begins to untangle himself from the pile of blankets, gangly limbs flinging all over the place with his dramatics. Beside him, Niki giggles, looking anything but sympathetic, wrapped snugly in a blanket of her own and nursing a thermos of hot chocolate. Her cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, her hair still tangled and damp from the snow. She and Jack had been the last to arrive—something about the cable cars getting stuck, briefly, before restarting. They’d been lucky to make it to the cabin before it got too dark.
Tommy, of course, has been a menace since they arrived. He’d greeted Technoblade at the door with a handful of snow down the back of his shirt, lunging out from behind the nearest tree. He’d been lucky to have only been tossed into the nearest snowdrift, but that hadn’t stopped him from complaining ever since, shaking and shivering and wrapping himself in as many blankets as he could. Phil had taken pity on him (and himself) and made hot chocolate for the entire group before he’d even gotten the chance to settle in and warm up.
God, he really is getting soft on the freshmen.
Tommy has since taken to begging for popcorn, to which Tubbo had eagerly agreed, ransacking the kitchen in hopes of finding some, much to Ranboo’s vocal protests. It’s dissolved into petty squabbling now, and however lighthearted, it’s starting to make Phil’s skull pinch with the beginnings of a headache.
Wilbur hasn’t been much help, either. Phil has already caught him nosing around places he shouldn’t be more than once, wandering around the lodge and digging through bookcases as if he’s somehow already bored with being snowed in. It’s been less than an hour, and Phil’s already found himself wondering how the hell they’re going to make it through the weekend.
So much for a vacation.
There’s a loud clatter from the kitchen. Phil startles, but the sound is followed by merry laughter, Tubbo calling out an apology as he holds up the now-broken bowl to a disgruntled Ranboo.
“That’s what you get for roughhousing,” Phil mutters with a smile as he watches Tubbo get an earful about being a respectful guest. It’s good to see the boys relaxing again. Final exams hadn’t done them any good—after all, the first semester is always the hardest. But they’d made it, somehow, between the parties and the pranks and the last-minute cramming, and they’d earned this little vacation.
A boy’s weekend out, he’d called it, when explaining it to Kristin, because Niki is one of the boys, too.
Speaking of Kristin...
He still hasn’t checked in with her like he’d promised to. She’s probably unbothered, enjoying a quiet home free of Phil’s late-night gaming, but with the storm picking up, she’ll be getting worried if he doesn’t get a hold of her soon. He types out something brief, not wanting to bother her with a call, but—
He muffles a curse.
He tugs the blanket closer, ignoring Technoblade’s plaintive noise of protest as it’s tugged away from where it covers the man’s toes. His friend just shuffles closer to him, resigned to having to share, their shoulders brushing as Phil leans over his phone.
“Oh, come on, you piece of shit,” Phil hisses between his teeth, tapping on the screen as he watches the circle spin over and over again. It’s quickly followed by the familiar red text he’s come to hate: Message failed to send. “Of fucking course.” Technoblade shoots a confused look in Phil's direction, startled by the exclamation.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “...Besides the obvious.”
Phil grimaces, holding the phone up.
“Still no signal,” he mutters. “Was gonna send Kristin a text to let her know we made it to the lodge safe and sound.” He glares at the empty bars on his screen. “She’ll be fine without it, at least for a bit, but…”
“Could be the storm,” Technoblade murmurs. “It’s really picking up out there. We’ll be lucky if the power doesn’t—”
A light flickers.
“Oh, you fuck.” Phil throws his hands up. “You had to fucking jinx it, didn’t you?”
The light flickers again—once, twice—and goes out.
Every light goes out.
Phil tenses instinctively, shoulder brushing against Technoblade’s, who just huffs, seemingly unbothered and unsurprised by this change of events. Across the room, he hears the bickering in the kitchen die off into startled exclamations, the light of phones spilling across the darkened room. It’s about the only thing illuminating it save for the steady orange flicker of the fireplace, the storm blotting out the usual glow of moonlight against the snow outside. Phil feels a shiver run down his spine, already anticipating the chill, and unsettled by the sudden plunge into darkness. His fear, though, is easily overwhelmed by fond exasperation.
“I hate you,” Phil says to Technoblade. “You know that? Now I’m gonna have to be cold again.”
Technoblade laughs, standing up.
“It’s fine, Phil. I’m sure the power’ll be back up in no time.” He eyes the storm outside, which shows no sign of stopping, the wind howling so loudly the house has begun to creak. He stiffens. Phil glares. “...Maybe.”
“It’s fine!” Ranboo interjects, before Phil has the chance to flip Technoblade off like he so dearly wants to. The lanky boy shuffles in from the kitchen with Tommy and Tubbo in tow, his phone’s flashlight lighting their path. Their hands are empty, their attempts at cooking abandoned without any working appliances. “This place was built for storms like these. There’s a backup generator in the basement, it should be enough to get the lights and heat going again.”
The relief in the room is palpable.
“That settles it, then,” Technoblade says. “I’ll go and get the power working again, and everyone can stop complainin’ and get on with Ranboo’s games.”
Phil’s knee bounces, unable to suppress his rising annoyance and the stress of being confined to one place for so long. He could do with a good walk—a chance to clear his thoughts and actually do something, rather than just lounging around on a couch waiting for someone else to fix it. Plus, he knows a thing or two about generators, whereas he’s pretty damn sure Technoblade’s never touched one in his life.
Though, he’s pretty sure it’s Techno’s fault the power’s gone in the first place—speaking the disaster into existence. Maybe he deserves to embarrass himself trying to fix it.
Phil opens his mouth, and hesitates.