Phil couldn't understand what had gone wrong.
He had done his part of the deal, set up a safe place in the Nether for the drop-off (by no means an easy feat), and now the other party was late.
It was making him nervous.
Especially with what the other party was supposed to pass off to him for him to take to safety.
Grumbling under his breath, Phil grabbed his weapons and put his cloak in his satchel. His great wings were some of the only feathers in the Over iand/i Underworld that were enchanted to withstand the Nether's heat and not melt.
He carefully disbanded his camp, made sure there was no trace of him ever being here, and set off into the Nether.
You wanted something done right, you did it yourself.
…
George couldn't see.
Something tight was tied around his eyes, digging into his head. Blistering hot metal bars were digging into his skin, but there was nowhere he could go to get away from them—the cage was too small.
He couldn't see.
He whimpered, twisting his wrists in the rope that made sure he behaved. The cart holding his cage rattled and rumbled, knocking his head painfully if he didn't pay attention.
He didn't know what had happened.
He had been asleep in his bed, then he had been cold. Very, very cold. As if someone had dipped his heart into an ice bucket. There had been tinkling laughter—
Sapnap had come found him, probably heard him crying, and had crawled into the bed to try and keep him warm.
Then the explosion—and then—
And then—
George couldn't remember.
He didn't want to.
It was rough and big and scary.
Already the explosion was fading from his mind, leaving him feeling empty and hollow, head thick and heavy.
Where was Sapnap?
Sapnap could keep him safe. Sapnap was his friend, his best friend, and he'd keep him safe.
But even as George tried to summon the strength to call for his childhood playmate, he slumped back, unconscious as the heat from the Nether finally caved in on the last of his resolution to stay awake.
…
Sapnap was well and truly doing his absolute best not to cry.
But it was so hard.
The chains dug into his skinny wrists, the heat making the metal almost unbearable. The blindfold was disorienting and stifling, and the ground beneath his bare feet was swelting enough to cause blisters.
And he didn't know where George was.
Sapnap didn't even know if George had made it out—there had been screaming and blood and gunpowder.
Decimated bodies and blood-slaked floors. Ash in the air and crumpled walls.
Sapnap shook his head.
He didn't want it.
He focused on the pain on his body, trying to dispel the horror from his mind.
It helped.
Where was George?
He needed George—George would keep him safe, and he could keep George safe because he was a whole year older and he had promised…
What had he promised?
…
Phil found the dismembered bodies of the party within a few hours. The Nether air had all but evaporated the blood that was shed, leaving the air smelling rotten and twisted. The gored bodies were scattered about in pieces of chunked meat that was almost unidentifiable as human, tattered and stained shreds of uniforms and flags rent into rags.
Piglin slavers, if the hoof tracks and wagon ruts were anything to go by.
There was no sign of the children.
Phil didn't know if that was a good thing or not, but for now he needed to move.
So much was riding on those kids.
So much depended on their survival—
Phil grit his teeth and took to the air.
…
George heard screaming.
Lots of loud, husky screaming that sounded like that pig that George and Sapnap had watched the butchers chase around after it had escaped.
George giggled.
It was a good memory.
The squealing and screaming stopped after a while, leaving the hiss-pop-squeak of the lava in its place, leaving George to wonder where his captors had gone.
Had they left him alone, out here? Blindfolded and helpless?
George whimpered and tugged at his aching wrists.
There was movement next to him, the displacement of air as something heavy swooped down and landed on the wagon that held George's cage.
"Easy, mate—"
A low voice, soothing and gentle.
The rattling of the cage door, a vicious snap as the lock was wrenched off. A hand was on his shoulder, then around the back of his waist, and he was being pulled forward. He landed with a small whumph on a firm chest, and the ropes were being cut off his wrists.
"Leave the blindfold, mate," the voice said, hands rubbing the circulation back into George's numb fingers. "You don't need to see this."
George made a small whine and reached for the fabric anyway, but his arms were gently caught and brought to his sides. The person scooped him up and George felt him jump off the wagon and start walking.
"W-wait—" he cried, struggling a bit. "Sapnap-!"
"I know—give me a second—"
Scuffling, moving of rocks, then a soft exhale.
"You poor things—"
The man was walking forward again, then kneeling, and George heard a tiny little whimper as the man leaned forward, arms barring George into his lap.
"Hello, mate," the person whispered, just as soothingly and kind. "You wanna come with me too?"
"Wh-where's George?"
"Sapnap?" George reached for the blindfold again, but he was thwarted againby the stupid gentle hand. Then a sweaty, small body was being pressed against his and the person was standing and—
"Sapnap!" George gave up on the blindfold and dove towards the other small body, nearly knocking them both out of the person's grasp.
The person chucked as Sapnap responded, just as joyfully, and the two latched onto each as though they thought the other was going to die right then and there.
"Easy, boys, I got you, I got you—"
George and Sapnap were not listening. They were too busy holding each other, feeling each other's heartbeat, listening to the other breathe.
…
It wasn't all that difficult carrying two children that were clinging to each as though they'd been glued together.
Phil had had enough practice with Techno and Wilbur to know.
And these kids were tiny. The one more so than the other, but if Phil hadn't of known where they had been living before being shunted off in the middle of the night during an attack, he would have thought they were being abused and denied food.
Well, considering the one kid's parents—that may have been entirely possible.
Phil ignored the curl of anger in his gut. There would be time to deal with those people later—much later, if at all possible. He needed to get these guys home, safe, with Kristen and her hugs and good hot chocolate so they could forget this ever happened.
It would be good if they forgot this ever happened.
The one was already forgetting, his little child's mind refusing the trauma it had been presented with and shutting down.
The other might need his memories tweaked.
They couldn't remember tonight, or anything before it. Just for a little bit, just till they grew up and Phil got them ready.
Till Phil let them have some semblance of a normal childhood.
Before all hell broke loose.
…
The man took his and George's blindfolds off after about an hour.
He had immediately started crying upon seeing his best friend—bruised, bloodied, burned, but alive—and George had joined him in tears.
The stranger hadn't said anything, just let the two of them sip from a potion bottle. The potion was prickly and thick and too-sweet-nasty, but it made Sapnap warm and sleepy.
George too.
The two of them soon descended into a hazy state that the stranger took advantage of to move again, both of them held tightly to his chest as if they were the most precious things in all the world.
Wait a minute—Sapnap went stiff.
George was important—for something.
George was—very important—
Sapnap just couldn't remember why-
"Not ah—" Sapnap felt the stranger's hand on the back of his neck. "No mini-revelations for you."
Sapnap had no choice but to succumb to the darkness that swallowed his mind.
…
Phil exhaled carefully.
He had felt the kid stiffen, saw the look on his face as he looked at his friend, and knew the kid had made some kind of connection.
Phil knocked him out.
Hopefully, he could convince the kids that the piglins and the explosions and the dead bodies were all a bad dream, and he had found them wandering the Nether for some reason.
The one kid had been cursed with some kind of ice magic—recently—that might work.
They were wandering around the Nether because the one kid was cold and tired and Phil had found them and took them home.
That was better than the alternative truth—the crushing reality they would have to face one day.
But it wouldn't be today, or tomorrow. It would be years before the one boy would have to face his destiny.
And by then, hopefully, he wouldn't be the tiny, shaking little thing cuddled to a complete stranger's chest.
He'd be ready.
…
Getting out of the Nether was a lot easier than getting in.
By the time Phil reached his exit portal, just about everyone within twenty miles had heard what he'd done to the slavers that dared touched an OverWorld child.
They left him quite alone.
Oddly enough, the trouble didn't occur until after Phil stepped through the portal.
One second, he had been holding the kids steady so the portal's affects wouldn't upset their stomachs too much—
The next—the second kid was on the ground screaming in agony as he clawed at his chest.
Phil felt the magical shift immediately and whipped around just in time so see a blaze spirit giggle before slipping back into the portal.
Phil ground his teeth till he was almost positive one of them cracked.
He hated stupid wayward spirits—
He poured the rest of the water they had down the boy's throat, and the child fell still.
"Okay then—" Phil picked the two of them back up before either could protest and took to the air.
The one screeched like a girl, but hung on desperately.
Phil had moved his family here only a few weeks ago—for this specific reason—and he only had to fly a short hour before he set down.
By the time his tiny little house came into view, Phil felt the weight of the week drag down on him. The past few days of walking and flying in the Nether with the kids had blurred his memory, and he honestly couldn't tell if it had been yesterday or last week when he rescued them.
He felt every bruise and sore muscle, and the cut in his calf was throbbing despite the sip of healing potion Phil had let himself have. His wings were coated in grime, and he hadn't showered in a good long while.
Kristen was waiting outside house, Dream clinging to her leg, Wilbur flapping his wings excitedly, and Techno on Kristen's other side.
"What happened?" Kristen asked, taking the smaller boy and seeing his injuries.
"Attacked," was all Phil said. "Both have been cursed. That one with ice and this one with fire."
"Symbolic," Kristen chuckled, knowing full well who and what these two boys were.
"Indeed," Phil said, ruffling Wilbur's hair and smiling at Dream and Techno.
"Who are they?" Techno asked tactfully, looking quite suspicious.
"Your new brothers," Phil answered, following his wife into the house, the boys trailing behind like a couple curious puppies.
"More?" Wilbur asked.
Kristen laughed and Phil just chuckled. "Get used to it, mate."
Phil tried not to think about that last statement as Kristen shooed him off to take a shower and change his clothes.
He tried not to think about what he was doing, or the plan he was making.
The kids came first.
They always came first.
