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They come for him at night. They plan carefully, and he can only imagine the heartless words passed behind stone walls and wooden doors carved with secrets. They wait until he works in his own office, falls asleep exhausted in his own bed, rather than making it to his friend’s room.
They wait, and then they strike . It happens all too quickly, and before Phil is even awake he’s being dragged from his bed, wings thrashing even as they’re being tied too tightly with coarse rope. They are people he thought he could trust, people he thought had been loyal subjects. He fights as long as he is able, but then there is a pain in his neck, the pain of a needle sliding into skin, and he is already drowsy from whatever drug is making it’s way through his system.
He wonders what Technoblade will think when he wakes up in the morning and finds Phil’s bed empty. He hopes his friend looks for him. He will. He has to. He always has.
Phil doesn’t give up on his fight until his eyes are closed and the world is dark. He kicks and thrashes and tries to shout around the heavy hand clamped over his mouth. He kicks at his desk, a couple books and trinkets clattering to the ground. The noise ends up not being enough and the arms around him only get tighter, pressing him into someone’s chest, and he feels like he can’t breathe, panic and instincts threatening to take over.
He is going to be gone come morning and he can only pray that Technoblade can find him, that his kidnappers are more incompetent than they seem (not that it will matter, once the Blood God gets his hands on them).
He can only hope as the hilt of a sword makes impact with his temple, and he goes limp in his captors arms. It is quiet.
…
Phil isn’t awakened with a gentle hand, or a soft-spoken word. He is awakened with a sharp slap, a cruel mark on his face as his eyes fly open and he surges forward in an attempt to throw off whoever has hands on him. He comes face to face with a pair of strikingly blue eyes, similar to his own, but without the familiar sparkle of mirth. They lack any warmth or mercy Phil had been praying for, just cold deceit and icy satisfaction. This is their leader, he can deduce, from the way he carries himself as he stands, the way Phil doesn’t recognize him. He wasn’t working on the inside.
“Fuck do you want, mate?” He says, forcing himself to relax, leaning back, even though the movement jostles his already aching wings in their tied position. They’ve tied his hands back as well, which isn’t the most comfortable, but at least they haven’t tied his ankles. Yet.
The man laughs. He’s laughing at him, he realizes. He seems almost pleasantly surprised.
“Well, aren’t you a talkative little birdie?” And there his hand is, reaching out towards his face, making to- to pet him?
Well. It was never implied that Phil was completely human, anyway.
The man twists away with an undignified yelp as Phil’s teeth nearly close over his mouth, and the avian pulls back with a smug grin, rocking back as his eyes check his surroundings. He doesn’t recognize any of it, not specifically, but he can tell they’re still in the empire from the way the surrounding pine trees tower around him, the way a fine layer of melting snow soaks into his pants, and the sunlight filtering through the treeline. They’re in a clearing not too far from where they’d taken Phil, then, which obviously meant they weren’t planning on keeping themselves hidden- or staying.
“Gag him.” The leader hisses, his eyes growing darker. He’s done playing. “And let’s get this moving, I don’t want to wait around for the pig.”
Phil moves without thinking when the man blatantly insults his friend, and he’s not even sure what he means to do as he lunges forward. Before he can make it too far, hands roughly grab him, shoving him back to his knees. A ragged cloth finds his mouth, and it’s stuffed in despite his attempts to shove the hand away, twisting his head near-frantically. He cannot stand gags, can’t stand the people who feel they need to silence him.
By the time another strip of fabric secures the gag, Phil has fallen still, glaring at his captor, who glances at something behind him.
“Pull him up, tie him. We’re leaving a message, and preferably not a murder scene when the other one gets here.”
The ties on his wrists are broken, and his arms are wrangled in front of him as he’s forced to his unsteady feet. They shove him back, pulling his arms above his head, and he’s raised off the ground, arms around his waist. His feet find a small platform upon what he now realizes is a beam, packed into the ground. He tilts his head up to see that it stretches quite a few feet above his head, chains- no, manacles hanging down, securely beaten into the wood with nails and metal. His wrists are shoved, not gently, into the manacles, and now the hands are leaving his waist, leaving him to struggle to stay balanced. His wings are twisted behind him, and he spits out a curse as his wings are nailed to the wood, like he’s a fucking bird on display, a prize.
They’re leaving him here, he realizes as they turn to walk away. Leaving him to bleed, to slowly dehydrate and struggle until he either dies or Techno finds him. He’s nothing more than a messenger, someone to show that these people are truly capable of. The worst part is, he knows exactly why they’re doing this, exactly what they want. After all, one can often tell when people discriminate against hybrids, especially in the Empire. Especially in a place that has recently passed extra protection laws for all hybrids. It’s a protest, simple as that, and they’re using Phil to get the Emperor's attention.
“No- No, what the fuck- Let me go, you absolute shit!” He struggles to keep his cool, chest threatening to tighten under his panic. He knows he can’t lose it, not now, not when even the slightest movement or mistake could lead to him falling, could pull his arms out of their sockets and he’ll eventually die of asphyxiation. He’ll die of asphyxiation anyway, if Techno doesn’t find him before he falls asleep.
His captors predictably ignore him, hightailing it through the trees until Phil can no longer see them. By now, Technoblade is wide awake, and he almost definitely knows that Phil is gone. He knows Phil is gone and he must be looking for him, which means he’ll find him soon. He draws in a breath, already feeling the pressure on his lungs, and lets it out, sending a quick prayer up to his Lady.
…
The first few hours aren’t so awful. It's uncomfortable, but Phil did not go through hours upon hours of rigorous training in the army, years of struggling in the wilderness just to survive, to have this be where he gives up. So he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze pointedly forward. At first he counts, but once he’s around two thousand he gives up on that, unable to focus. He takes a bit to try to discern his surroundings. He doesn’t struggle, he can’t risk any possible injuries he could sustain from the attempts, even if he does escape.
He’s painfully aware that his life does not rest in his own hands, and he thinks he hates that above all else.
…
When night falls, he begins to worry. A thousand thoughts cross his mind. Some days, Technoblade just assumed he slept in, or went out for a flight (He tries not to wince at that thought, at the pain and ache spreading through his wings). Some days, Technoblade just assumed he was busy. He’s a bit too scared that this is one of those days. But he also doesn’t know where he’s been taken, he won’t let himself assume. He can’t afford to.
He just hopes they make it soon, because he's getting tired.
…
By the next morning, he’s starting to have trouble keeping his head up, keeping his eyes open. And he knows, he knows , that if he falls asleep, he’ll die. His head will drop, and the angle that it falls at will suffocate him. His wings keep twitching and jerking against the restraints, and he’s tried to lean different angles just to alleviate the pressure on his arms. It doesn’t work and they ache.
…
The morning after, he finds himself faltering. He doesn’t know when they’ll find him. If. If they’ll find him. He knows Techno won’t give up, he knows it, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can last.
…
When he finally hears voices, he’s in a daze, the fast fading sunlight of dusk dancing across the glistening snow. His head is barely up, and he keeps catching his eyes closing, his head dropping. Every breath is a struggle, he’s thirsty and he misses his friend. His entire body aches from having to keep so still, cramps flickering up his legs and arms.
He can’t keep it up.
The voices are getting louder.
His head drops.
He’s gasping, choking, but he just can’t find the energy to lift his head, to take in breath after breath of precious air.
He’s leaning forward, arms straining, when someone catches him at the waist, shoves him backwards, back onto the beam. A firm, but not careless, hand catches his jaw, tilting his head up, bracing him as he greedily gulps air into his failing lungs.
“-that’s it, Phil, keep breathing, they’re gettin’ you down, just breathe .”
Technoblade .
Phil nearly sobs in relief, crying out when his wings are released, falling limply to the ground. He groans at the sudden pain shooting through the limbs at the movement after so long being still.
“I know, I know.” The hands are still supporting him. Phil doesn’t bother to open his eyes. He trusts his friend as he soothes him. “Almost done, Phil, almost done.”
When his wrists are released from the shackles, he slumps forward, stumbling into his friend's arms, energy sapped. The same hands that were formerly holding him up now shift to catch him, pulling him against a warm, familiar body. He tucks his face into his friend’s chest as his arms wrap around him, pulling soothingly through his hair, and he vaguely realizes that Techno’s hands are shaking.
“It’s alright,” He exhales shakily, pulling back slightly to meet his friend’s worried eyes, “I’m alright. You found me.”
“I found you.” Techno reaffirms, reaching the hand not supporting Phil up to cradle his jaw, fingers lightly ghosting across the bruise forming on his cheek. He leans into the touch, letting his eyes slip closed again with a slight hum. Techno chuckles wearily. “Let’s go home, get you looked at, old man.”
Phil nods. The knowledge that Techno will always find him, always bring him home , warms something cold in his heart.