This fic is based on iwhia by Bunflower on AO3 and is a loose interpretation of chapter 5. nightmares. I wrote it as part of a gift work!
The parts with italics are lifted from that fic as well
Enjoy some soft emduo
Phil never feels a need to pretend to be a better person than he actually is.
He is flawed. Stitched together from mistakes and regret, spine perpetually bent under the burdens of the past. Everybody is, really, but Phil has just had more time than most to come to terms with it, a lifespan laid bare.
And mostly, this acceptance has brought him peace.
(and mostly, whatever he can't accept he can outrun)
But at night, fear finds root.
[Trembling hands lift Technoblade into his lap, cradle his face as the man coughs, blood and spittle bubbling past his lips.
This is wrong. How is Technoblade here? He shouldn't be here, this is the wrong time, the wrong place—
Techno's hand closes around his wrist, nails digging tightly into the skin. Red eyes blink up at him, glassy and unfocused.]
He wakes up, body shaking. The blanket slipped off and left clammy skin exposed to the chilly air of the cabin. A snowstorm is raging outside and the fire has dwindled, making everything feel so much colder than usual.
The battlefield of his nightmare was freezing, and for a moment, it becomes impossibly hard to tell the difference between dream and reality.
[He's freezing cold and burning hot all at once, his vision blurry as he struggles to catch a breath that just won't come. Techno's breathing has dissolved into faint whistles, and even as Phil crawls back he knows it's too late. There's nothing he can do.
Technoblade is dying.
His eyes are half-closed, his face pale and streaked with blood. There's rage in his eyes, but he still closes his hands loosely around Phil's. Still holds his gaze even as the light within them fades, still offers Phil one last smile before he shudders and goes still.
Forgiveness.]
It burns inside his chest, tight and painful. Something sharp and real threatening to rip its way out. Threatening to spill. Phil clutches his chest and doesn't care when his claws dig in hard enough to draw rivets, to hurt.
He doesn't care, because he's a bad person.
[Fingers clutch at his robes, cold and stiffened by death. Phil's hands shake, one wrapped around his son's back, the other clutching the sword that still pierces his chest. His child's blood spills across his palms and drips down to the stone below as Phil's wings burn behind him.
The ground crumbles and he falls.]
What wakes Techno up is the noise Phil makes, half scream and half strangled sob of despair. He's desperately heaving, mind fogged over by recently having woken up, not entirely lucid. Too near to feeling the blood still staining his hands, the fiery touch of the explosion caressing his back. Too near to cradling Techno's body quickly stolen from life, staring at him with both hate and understanding in equal measures.
"Phil?" Techno's voice is heavy with the lingerings of sleep, but already edging into panic. In the dimness of the room Phil can tell the way he looks around, the way Techno searches for any outside source that would harm them, that would lay a finger on Phil. There is none, and thus Techno turns towards him instead.
When he sees Phil's face, his voice breaks. "Phil…"
And it's not until Techno holds his cheeks in warm hands, using his fingers to wipe away the tears, that Phil realizes he's crying.
It feels kind of pathetic for him to cry over a dream. But then again, nothing he does ever feels pathetic when it's with Technoblade as his witness. One of the two people in the universe in front of whom Phil's pain would never feel like a weakness.
Whom Phil dares to let see him fall apart.
"Techno-" He doesn't have to ask for an embrace, being pulled in before another word can pass his lips. His body is shaking, wings unable to be kept up so they settle against his back. Techno doesn't ask what's going on, holding him close without question.
But when his hand slips down to grasp Phil's, the avian jolts.
He pulls back, stomping down the spark of guilt at Techno's confused head tilt. He's still not demanding an explanation, though somehow Phil knows that's a display of self-restraint on Techno's part.
"It was… it was bad," Phil offers, laying his forehead on his friend's shoulder instead, to hide from that terrible expression. "It was horrible, Techno, I-" He has to pause there to take a stuttering breath.
[As the sun rises, he presses one last kiss against his friend's brow.]
"I killed you," he admits finally.
For a moment there is nothing but the weight of the silence crushing him.
Then Techno's frame shakes, slightly so. Phil leans away, watching as Techno tries his best to stay somewhere between sympathy and laughter.
He's absolutely failing at it.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Techno says, yet the apology is completely undercut by him still trying not to chuckle.
And despite the wetness lingering on his own cheeks, Phil finds himself smiling. Brittle and flimsy, but undeniably there.
"What are you laughing about, you little shit?"
"Nothin'," Techno assures him quickly. "It's just… you wouldn't. Kill me, I mean. So it feels like a stupid thing to have nightmares about."
"Nightmares aren't always supposed to be realistic, mate." Phil watches him. "Also, I'm not really appreciating you pretending I'm not perfectly capable of kicking your ass."
"Keep dreaming, old man." Techno laughs for real this time - boisterous and alive. The cabin doesn't feel half as cold anymore. Phil still leans into him when he continues. "But nah, I didn't mean physical strength. I mean you wouldn't. I know you."
(Wilbur knew me too, Philza thinks but can't say out loud)
"Here." Techno gently reaches for his wrist, waiting on any sign Phil doesn't want to be touched right now. Finding none, he moves it to place Phil's palm on his chest, over his heart.
Techno's skin is warm.
Phil can feel his heartbeat.
"I'm alive," Techno says simply. Then his fingers tighten around Phil's wrist, feeling for a pulse. "We're still alive… both of us."
Despite everything. Alive, far away from the gates of hell.
"We are," Phil agrees. It's been a long road.
(and when they get to those gates, surely they will walk into them side by side)