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“Angel, answer now! It’s urgent!” When Alex’s voice came spilling over the radio, Phil had not immediately recognized it. The man’s usual self-assured drawl was completely absent, replaced instead with an urgency in danger of manifesting as a tremor through his words. Phil paused a moment, the steadily growing pile of firewood in front of him a testament to the many hours he had spent outside already, before it clicked in his brain that he was, in fact, listening to a panicked Alexis “Quackity”, last name not given.
Phil set his axe down and brought the radio from his hip to his mouth before he really had the time to process any thought besides ‘fuck’. Alex was not the sort of man who showed fear, and the severity of the potential cause made Phil’s heart stutter in his chest.
“What is it Quackity?” His own voice was steady, and his hands did not shake, though he felt the familiar way his body reacted to the idea of a threat with tensed shoulders and feet preparing to sprint. Like Alex, Phil was a man who hid his fear well.
“Thank fuck- I found-it’s a long story and I’ll explain everything I can, but right now I’ve got a kid dying from hypothermia. I need a car and a place for him to recover.” Phil blinked, and felt himself slump slightly as confusion and concern gradually began replacing the building panic from before. No immediate threat, but a dying child was certainly an emergency.
“You found a kid? Where are you?”
“I’m eight miles North of the Chapel.” Alex huffed, a breathless quality infusing his tone. “Found him on the ground and soaked to the bone. Phil it’s fucking 20 degrees. I can’t even figure out where he found water enough to get like this.”
Alex had a point. It had not snowed any time recently, and the bodies of water in the immediate area should have been frozen. Phil set down his logs and strode briskly towards his home. Techno was out, so Phil would just have to explain why he took the car without telling him later. Hopefully with a hypothermic but still alive kid to do the explaining for him. Doing the math quickly in his head he lifted the radio to respond, “Do what you can to dry him off, give him your shirt if you have to, I can be there in 20 minutes.” If he sped. And if he ignored the fragile shocks. Techno was going to kill him.
“How did a kid get into Las Nevadas territory without getting caught?”
“Is that really what you’re going to focus on?” Alex snapped. Over the crackle of the radio, Phil could hear Alex shuffling and panting, Phil assumed from trying to drag the kid somewhere with a little warmth.
“Fair point.” Phil conceded, as he entered his home. It was a four-bedroom affair Techno and he had built when they’d decided to try being a part of a community instead of lingering around the outskirts. Wilbur had been the catalyst of a lot of change for them. He still was. Phil shook his head, as though the action could fling the train of thought away, and snatched the keys off the kitchen wall hook. “I’ll be there soon.” And with that, Phil put clipped the radio back on his belt.
He paused in the kitchen, glancing over at the stairway, thinking of Wilbur. Wilbur who was likely asleep…maybe. Wilbur who was still recovering from burns and a wound to his gut that nearly killed him. Wilbur who he wasn’t sure would not try again if he realized he was truly home alone. One moment of indecision, then Phil strode back out the door towards one of the nearby homes, the path there well memorized.
Niki answered a few moments after Phil knocked the specific pattern that indicated it was him at the door. Techno had come up with the idea to promote security. It also came in handy for speeding things along, no need to creep forward with your gun if you had confidence a friend was calling on you.
“Oh! Hello Phil, everything okay?” Niki looked lovely as ever, her bobbed blond hair tucked behind her ears, bright eyes attentive on Phil and scanning the terrain behind him in one quick sweep. There was a reason she was counted among the greatest fighters in their town, nothing escaped her notice. It was that attentiveness Phil hoped to borrow.
“Hey Niki. I got a call from Quackity that there might be something going on. He said he found a kid in trouble.”
“Oh god, it’s got to be bad for Quackity to be calling you.” Niki’s mused, expression melted into one of concern at the explanation. Phil could also see the slight anticipation settle across her features as she started to realize what he was going to ask of her.
“That’s what I thought too, he almost sounds shaken.” Phil shook his head, then met her eyes again, letting his voice drop to something quieter. Something more vulnerable. “I need to take the car to find them and bring the kid here. Wilbur is still at home. I think he’s asleep but, if you had some time, even thirty minutes to stay at mine and make sure he’s okay, I would truly appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Her sure answer came almost as soon as Phil had finished asking. The gratitude he felt for her in that moment threatened to drown him.
“Thank you.” His voice was thick, and he managed a smile for her.
She nodded back, no nonsense. “Just let me get my shoes and coat on, then I’ll head over.”
“Sounds good.” Phil acknowledged, and turned to make his way back to the car.
“Phil-“ Niki’s voice cut off. Phil turned around to face her and gave her a nod to continue as he saw her hesitate. “Is- how has he been?”
He couldn’t stop the memories that flooded him at her question. Wilbur’s last letter to Phil, rambling and terrifying with its implications. Techno’s desperate call over the radio, begging Phil to please come, he couldn’t stop him, he missed it, he’s so sorry, please we need you. The desperate drive to the coordinate’s Techno had given him, unable to think past the static in his mind whispering that he would be too late. That he would lose a son that day. Finding the rubble ruins of his son’s attempt at building his own community. Finding his Wilbur laying in the rubble, burns marring his hands and doing his best to stop the bleeding from a wound he had given himself with a knife Phil had forged for him. Techno had been holding him, doing his best to stop the bleeding and get Wilbur to speak to him. It was one of the very few times Phil had seen Technoblade cry.
He’d read once that Hell is other people. For him, Hell was a moment.
“It’s a fight. But he’s better than he was. I’m hoping it continues that direction.” Was as honest an answer as he could manage for her.
She nodded, gaze solemn. “I hope that too.” They shared an understanding in what they both did not say. That it was hard to love Wilbur sometimes, as a friend or as a father, but that did not mean they would ever stop. They would not let him slip away from them.
Phil nodded back at her, then turned and walked away.
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It took some coaxing before the car engine sputtered to life. Lack of gas and usable roads had eliminated most reasons to use the car, but neither he or Techno could bear to just get rid of it. Techno mostly tinkered with it for something to do and the community liked having a vehicle available in case of emergency. It was certainly useful now, Phil thought as he zoomed as quickly as he dared over the frozen ground, dense woods flying by his window as he neared the crumbling chapel that the nearby communities had dubbed “The Community Center.”
It was agreed neutral ground for the members of the four surrounding towns to meet and trade, mostly in the warmer months or in times of crisis. The dense woods of the area made it a decent place to ry to build new lives and new towns, hidden from the piercing gaze of the Combine. Once the different settlements realized they were not alone in the area, no one wanted the fragile stability they had formed to shatter. Hence, the tentative but earnest peace they all committed to. Las Nevadas, led by Alexis, was already inclined towards neutrality, and Alexis had taken it upon himself to become the messenger and middle man for the rest of them. It gave him a significant amount of influence, but Phil was willing to let him have it along with the pressures of such a role. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the looting and petty land wars Phil had grown used to. Thankfully, most people around here seemed just as tired of violence as he felt.
It did not take long for Phil to find then once he passed the Center, due to the bright marker Alex had left in the snow by the side of the road. A huge risk for Alex to take, and the bizarre behavior quickened Phil’s footsteps as he exited the car, leaving it on with the heat blasting on high. He entered the tree line at the spot the marker lay and started jogging straight forward, calling out Alex’s name as he went.
“Fucking - code name’s Angel!” Alex’s voice rang out irritably after a few minutes of Phil’s searching. Phil quickly spun in the direction of the call and ran as quickly as he could through the rotting foliage and fallen sticks. When he finally spotted them, he saw Alex had managed to wedge himself and what appeared at a distance to be a blonde unconscious teenager against the trunk of a massive tree.
“It’s just us out here you twat.” Phil easily shot back and knelt down in front of them to take stock of the kid’s condition. He looked young with his full cheeks and frame so slight it was not difficult for Alexis to cradle him. He might have looked cherubic with his curly blonde hair and peaceful expression is it wasn’t for how pale he was. Alex had managed to wrap the boy with his own jacket but the clothes underneath looked soaked.
“It’s all one piece, I couldn’t take anything off without completely undressing him.” Alex explained quietly, watching Phil take in the scene. “You parked far?”
“Only a few minutes’ walk.” Phil answered, feeling to a pulse on the boy’s wrist and checking for any immediate injuries. He moved to unwrap the extra layers of warmth for better access and froze at what was revealed. The bright orange of the jumpsuit and the serial number stamped above the boy’s heart sunk its hooks into his gaze. His breath caught, the heavy shadow of memory settled around his neck as he struggled to pull his eyes away. He pulled his eyes away from the boy’s chest down legs legs to his feet. One foot was bare, the other was cased in what looked like a battered boot made of fiberglass and metal. Sleek once most likely. A prototype, probably. He couldn’t breathe.
“Angel? You good?” The voice sounded muffled in Phil’s ears, heavy eyes slow to meet Alex’s questioning gaze. Phil tried to respond, but his mouth had gone horrifically dry. What was there to say? At least, what could he say that Alex would understand? Instead, he shifted his arms to hold the boy to his chest and rose to his feet. If Phil had not been holding something, maybe Alex would have noticed those steady hands were shaking.
“Let’s go.” He ordered, turning to head back to the car before Alex even got on his feet to follow. The drive back was a blur of color, Alex giving updates on the kid, and a constant ringing in Phil’s ears. Over the next few hours there would be explanations given, doctors called, and a guest room in a house for three occupied for the time. Over the next few weeks there would be a community slowly trying to integrate a silent, jumpy new member into it’s fold. Over the next few months, the question of where the young man had come from would rise and fall in a steady buzz of gossip, almost overtaking the discussion about Wilbur Soot and how he had nearly died chasing a fool’s dream.
All the while, Phil felt like a part of him never left the car that day, trying in vain to outrun something he would never be able to escape.
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It never failed to catch Philza Craft off guard how differently he felt once the last of the winter frost finally melted back into the thawing earth. Phil loved the cold months for the stillness they brought. For the way the crisp air and the grey skies both sharpened his senses and blanketed him within the stasis of the very ground beneath his feet. There were lots of little joys he took from winter, from the pattern of frost on the windows, to the ache of thawing your frozen hands in front of a fireplace, but if he was honest with himself, he loved most how it was a favoritism he shared with Technoblade.
Both Phil and Techno, wanderers, warriors, leaders, found a solace in the cold. Winter winds caused hot blood to cool and survival to take precedence. The lengthened dark hours allowed better cover, and advantage to those who could navigate it. Winter could reset the world around you, both in the promise of rebirth and the biting touch of death. As long as a person knew how to keep the death away, you could emerge into spring as safe as you could ever be, and Phil and Techno had become experts in the field.
Phil had been in his early twenties when ‘The Incident’ happened. He remembered he had only packed a granola bar and Gatorade for lunch because he’d woken up late for work. He’d been plotting about if and how to swipe some ramen from his colleague in the break room later and the likelihood he’d be caught out. Noodles and tardiness; the whimper at the end of Phil’s world. Life as he had known it had ended swiftly and traumatically, carried in on marching black boots, and blasted into every dissident with the otherworldly firepower the Combine had brought with them. For as long as recorded history could relay, leaders would rise with the dream of ruling all the nations of the world, campaigns rising and falling as waves on the shoreline over time. It took the Combine, conquers from a void ripped open by bad science and hubris, only seven hours to do it. Earth was an occupied world, and younger men like Techno only remembered it as such.
Phil had been at ground zero that day, and dragged the weight of his culpability behind him like a chain. In the early days it caused him to drag himself from hiding place to hiding place. For every new casualty count, every city whipped out, every child orphaned, every new law designed to crush, he wondered what-ifs. What if he had complained about the inconsistencies the data revealed to him? What if he had challenged the head of the program? What if he had said ‘fuck it’ and destroyed the data, consequences for him be damned? Would it have mattered? Would that have stopped the portal from opening, and the death of the earth from crawling through? The fact that he didn’t know was painful. The fact that he hadn’t tried nearly killed him.
He had no goal in those early days except to live and not...be...caught. He hadn’t had the highest security clearance at Black Mesa, but he knew enough that he might to do more damage if the Combine pulled it out of him, and he could not bear the idea when some days he could barely clench his fist without feeling blood dripping between his fingers. He had survived, collecting scars on his knuckles and a list of places to avoid at all cost. Then, one freezing day in February, fifteen years after the world ended, he crossed paths with Techno.
They had nearly killed each other at first, Phil getting caught in one of Techno’s traps and barely escaping in time to keep Techno at bay. Techno had thought he was part of a wandering group of looters. Thankfully between swings of their fists (Phil had managed a lucky swipe and knocked Techno’s gun away), Phil had been able to convince Techno he got the wrong man. Techno was only seventeen, but already a dangerous fighter and competent survivalist. Phil still wasn’t entirely sure how Techno had built those skills to survive, there were some things his friend simply would not talk about. Still, Phil would pick up stories over the years, about bandits, starvation, and moments of mercy that painted a picture of a terrifying adolescence spent learning to survive and fight. They quickly discovered a kindred spirit in one another.
Theirs was a layered relationship. Phil regarded Techno with respect and awe, truly impressed by Techno’s abilities and the complexity of his mind. He lost count of the number of times Techno saved his life in the years to follow. But underneath that, there were many moments Phil would look at Techno and see a boy grown up too quickly. In those moments Phil felt more like an uncle or a father to Techno, and Techno seemed willing to let Phil fill that role, sometimes seeming to actively seek it. Phil loved him, trusted him, and knew Techno felt the same. After so long being alone with his guilt and agony, life suddenly felt worth living.
However, just as there were things Techno would not tell Phil, Phil did not tell Techno about his past. He kept his involvement bringing the end of the world to himself. At first, it was due to his own shame from his own, but then it was because if Techno hated him for it, Phil would not survive the heartbreak. But it was okay, they didn’t need to share everything to understand one another.
Then they met Kristen and Wilbur. Kristen with her velvet laugh and dark sparkling eyes. Kristen who was the sharpest shooter Phil or Techno had ever seen. Kristen, who had a sense of humor sharper than a knife. Kristen who started treating Techno like he was as much her son as Wilbur, who was sixteen, all knees, and full of mischief in those days. Kristen, who Phil fell head over heels in love with almost too quickly for him to mark.
They all came together during the winter, crossing paths when all of them needed an extra set of hands and fresh company to keep. They all survived by keeping one another alive and if not happy, at least they were never alone. In spite of all the flaws Phil saw in himself, Kristen didn’t seem to mind them and somehow, she told him she loved him right back. They were a family for a few brief, beautiful years. Then one day, they were too slow. The Combine caught up with them, and Kristen save their lives by giving up her own. Phil is still sure Wilbur never forgave either of them for that. Phil couldn’t bring his mother back, but in the months after her sacrifice, after the waves of drowning grief had ebbed enough for thought, Phil decided he would give Wilbur a home. He would give all of them a home. He would make sure they were safe enough to grow.
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A year passed with Tommy making his place in their community. The beginning was rough, but Phil had been expecting that. Taking care of both Wilbur and Tommy has taken a lot out of both him and Techno, but they made it to summer with both boys alive and healing and they did not regret a second of getting them there. The only thing they could not seem to influence, was that Tommy did not speak. He was loud with his movements, and once he realized he was safe and they would not be sending him away any time soon (or ever Phil resolved), he showed himself to have a wicked sense of humor. His smile was blinding bright and his expression full of emotion. But no voice ever graced their ears. They could not tell at this point, if it was a trauma response or something else. Only time would tell.
It was one year and three months since Wilbur had tried to kill himself in the remains of a community he had tried to establish, his L’Manburg. Now, somehow, Phil’s strange little family had grown again from three to four. Spring was always associated with new beginnings, Phil mused, hopefully this year Tommy could truly engage with the way the town came together to not only survive, but live.
Once the last of the year’s frost had melted into the ground, early one spring morning Phil met Tommy in the kitchen for their morning coffee. Phil was a natural early riser, and Tommy still couldn’t seem to sleep for longer than a few hours at a time. Phil still held on to hope that one day Tommy would get a full eight hours. This was Tommy’s first spring conscious and well enough to truly be a part of it, and after their coffee, Phil took them both to the community garden, handed Tommy a bag of seeds, and began the gentle process of teaching Tommy how to bring the garden to life.
As hyper as Tommy could be, he always focused with a single-minded intensity on new tasks, as though he would only get an explanation once and was determined to remember all of it. Phil wondered, for the millionth time, just what Tommy had experience in Aperture. He had heard rumors about experiments gone horribly wrong, and thousands of people signing up as subjects only to never be seen again.
He determinedly made sure to continue providing Tommy advice throughout the process, hoping to convey that Tommy could always find help. That he was not alone. It took some time for Tommy to get into the rhythm of the planting, but eventually he seemed to get the hang of it, maybe even beginning to enjoy it if the determine expression on his face was anything to go by.
He eyed Tommy’s sleeve, and the newly embroidered bees at the elbow and alliums around the cuffs of his sleeves started a creeping smile across Phil’s face.
“Looks like Tubbo got his hands on your shirt there mate.” He teased. Tommy started as he still did, no matter who addressed him or how. Them he blinked at Phil in confusion, before understanding flooded his eyes and colored his cheeks.
He huffed in a manner that might has appeared irritated if not for the way he immediately started worrying at the embroidery, fingertips running over the bumpy texture in small thoughtless circles. Phil wondered at Tubbo’s motives, and whether he’d hoped that having something to worry at on his clothes would distract Tommy from pinching at his skin instead. Clever and subtle if so, and subtlety was not usually Tubbo’s specialty.
“He’s good with his hands that one.” Phil carried on, hoping to put Tommy a little more at ease. “Although when he’s not doing something like decorating his friend’s clothes he’s usually making something that’ll explode.” He glanced over at Tommy and winked in a way he hoped conveyed mischief. “Thanks for giving him the distraction, just for a little while. “I still can’t figure out if Ranboo is helping keep him from destroying the town or enabling him.”
Tommy glanced up to meet Phil’s gaze, the tension in his shoulders loosening enough that he was able to roll his eyes at Phil’s words and snort. He put down the bag of seeds and crossed his arms over his chest, as though to give himself a hug, and clutched at the fabric of his shirt before glancing pointedly at the bee on his elbow, and then back to Phil. It took a few beats of processing, before Phil gave a short but loud cackle.
“Are you seriously calling Tubbo clingy?” He wheezed, delighted at the sly smile Tommy couldn’t seem to hold back. The boy shrugged and tossed his head to the side in a cocky manner as though to imply, ‘I mean am I wrong?’. Phil could almost hear him say it, and he felt a familiar pang of longing to hear Tommy actually speak. To know that he could. To know Tommy knew that he could, as though it would heal them both if he could talk about what woke him every night and caused him to wander the house.
Phil had discovered over the years, that you could discern a lot about a person from their laugh. When he had first heard Techo laugh, the boisterous deep bellied sound spoke of strength and the kind of stability a person could find in that strength, like leaning against an oak and the bone deep faith its trunk would support your weight. Wilber’s laugh had always had a breathy, lyrical quality that reminded Phil of water or wooden wind chimes. He pointedly did not think about how his laugh now sounded like glass crunching under foot. He wanted to know what Tommy’s laugh sounded like. He imagined it would be loud and bouncing. Something wild and bright. He wanted to find out if he was right.
“Get back to planting you little shit.” Phil huffed, humor evident in his tone. Tommy smirked and picked the bag of seeds back up, whistling as we went back to sowing.
They stayed in the garden until the sky began to pale with oncoming twilight and the moon hung full and dim in the blue sky above them. Something peaceful curled up and rested in Phil’s chest that afternoon, working in companionable silence with Tommy. That silence was broken once in a while in order to tease each other with a prank or quip, Tommy showing again how mischievous he could be every time he managed to trick Phil. It was calm. Domestic. Phil could imagine coming back next year, and the year after that, a decade from then, doing this with Tommy and anticipating the year ahead, and yearning he had for that future to be real made his eyes burn. It would happen. He would make sure they were safe enough to grow.
“You still out here old man?” Techo’s voice carried as he walked towards the garden fence, booming as it always was, to where Tommy and Phil knelt in the dirt.
“Oi! Watch who you’re calling old, you’ll be right where I am soon enough.” Phil groused back good naturedly, pointedly ignoring how his knees and back twinged as he rose to stand.
Techno snorted and crossed his arms. He finally reached the fence, Wilbur trailing along after him, much to Phil’s cautiously please surprise. “Nah, I’m not gettin old. I’m just going to be the wise retired teacher once I’m done with all of this.” He gestured vaguely around them as if to indicate the entire experience of their lives in one motion.
Wilbur scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re going to say something about-“
“-Technoblade never dies, yup.” Techno finished for him, nonchalant but with a smirk that betrayed his enjoyment of Wilbur’s ensuing groan.
“Daaaaad”, Wilbur wined to Phil, “Techno’s being a shit.”
“And you’re not?” Phil huffed, and his pleasure only grew when he saw tease land as gently as he’d hoped.
Wilbur rolled his eyes, but his posture was relaxed, that alone being a hard-won gift. “Tech dragged me out here to come get you both. It’s passed dinner and you’re going to break your back if you don’t rest it, especially at your age.”
“Okay that’s enough out of you lot.” Phil groused, hands on his hips, only to feel an arm slip through his and grip his forearm tightly. Looking down he saw Tommy giving him a sympathetic, disingenuous smile, before he proceeded to try to lead Phil forward towards his boys.
Phil didn’t completely understand what was happening until Wilbur started laughing. Genuinely truly laughing, which Phil would blame on distracting him further. It was only when Tommy opened the garden gate for him that it finally clicked. “I’m not a damn old woman!” He exclaimed and disentangled his arm, shaking his head at Tommy’s shit eating grin. “You little brat, go annoy one of those two.” He chuckled, pointing at the two laughing figures in front of them.
Techno barked out a protest, but the joking mood between them all deflated painfully as Tommy’s expression shut down into the horrible blank mask he’d had after he’d first arrived. Phil built back a swear. It was so hard to know what triggered him sometimes. They quickly discovered non-telegraphed touch was always bad. Cake, for some reason, made Tommy flip a table. Horrifically, Tommy had sat down and sobbed once after hearing Wilbur play ‘Dream and Little Dream’, scaring all of them shitless and making Wilbur scared to play again for a month. They didn’t know what he had gone through and that ignorance fed their anxiety. How could they fully care for him if they could only guess at where his pain lived inside of him? Phil could maybe guess better than anyone else, but he had never worked with Aperture Science and he was sure an experience with that organization left its distinct brand of trauma.
Tommy wrapped his arms around himself again, this time a defensive motion and hunched in on himself. There in the middle of the freshly tilled garden, he looked dwarfed by the darkening sky, the moon above more a sword of Damocles than celestial body. Phil wanted to take him back home and hide him away from its light, too cold and too strange suddenly for comfort.
“Huh. Phil, you know I’m the biggest brat here. Stop ignoring my achievements and let’s get back home already.” Wilbur drawled unimpressed before turning on his heel and stalking back towards the house. His shoulders were tense again, the hands he held behind his back clenching and unclenching as he walked. It was a tell he picked up from Phil.
Techno’s eyes darted between Phil, Tommy, and Wilbur before shrugging. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get lost. Try to keep up.” And with that he too turned and started back towards the house.
Phil turned to see Tommy still standing in the same spot, but his eyes were glued to Wilbur’s back, stare boring into him and he drew farther and farther away.
Phil sighed, “Alright mate, I think we better-“, but he did not get chance to finish before Tommy sprinted out of the garden, past Phil, and did not stop until he slammed into Wilbur’s back, causing the both of them to stumble. From his spot behind them, Phil watched and Techno caught up to the both of them, and after some rearranging and loud exclamations, the two older boys threw their arms around Tommy’s shoulders, his around their waists, and all three proceeded to walk away, matching one another’s steps as when went.
Phil’s heart felt heavy and warm in the aftermath. He loved them. He would keep them safe. And one day when Wilbur had more good days than bad, when Techno’s hands didn’t shake as much after a loud noise, if Tommy ever laughed with his voice, Phil would explain everything. Would tell them about his past and his regrets and maybe they could all heal a little more.
Or…he could just do it. Face the fact that there would never be a perfect time and they may all stay as they were, helping each other live as best they could. He could stop running and hiding behind excuses. And he wanted to. Maybe one day he would.
Phil sighed, gave the cold moon one more glance, and slowly followed his sons home.