#pred!phil

Phil wakes up with the sun on his face, covered in blood. That's never a good thing, but it's especially a not-good thing when one is a giant with adopted human children who doesn't immediately remember the previous day's events. He blinks dazedly at the sky, the taste of raw human still faint in his mouth and panics as the worst conclusion instantly plants itself in his mind.

His heart pounds and he sits up fast; worry, shame, and grief working their way into every nerve when the memories rush him like a flood.

Oh. Fuck.

At least I didn't digest my fucking kids, he thinks hysterically. He can feel them in his storage, huddled together and probably - no, definitely terrified.

Guilt curls unpleasantly in his gut, somewhere between the soldiers and his sons, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Boys?" He whispers. "Are you...?" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence - of course they're not okay, they're probably losing their minds.

He can feel them shift around. It's silent for agonizing seconds until there's a small, half whimpered, "Dad?" from inside.

His heart leaps, and then promptly crashes as he hears a whispered, "Tommy! Shut the fuck up - ! " accompanied by a struggling sensation in his storage.

He experimentally lays a hand across his midsection and gently rubs circles into his brood pouch. They jolt away from that part of the storage and press themselves into the opposing wall. Hot shame climbing his throat, he reluctantly stops.

"Hey, hey - it's okay, everything is okay," he gently murmurs to them, trying to imbue his words with as much love and reassurance as he can. "You're all safe; I would never do anything to - " he trails off guiltily. He's already hurt them. Pathetically, he finishes, "I love you. So, so much."

He slowly stands up, painfully aware of how his movements are affecting them.

They've never been in his brooding pouch before and this has been a horrible introduction. He never wanted to store them in the first place ( - a blatant lie. He had wanted this days into taking them in - ) and this has been exactly why. They see him as a monster now. They witnessed him massacre an army; thought for an entire night that their own father had eaten them - they waited that long to digest!

He breathes, trying to steady his rushing heartbeat. They can hear it, that's the nature of storage pouches, and he doesn't want them to know how scared he is.

"Give me ten minutes, okay? I'll bring you out soon." He speaks calmly, sounding more controlled than he is.

He doesn't have a giant toothbrush, he notes numbly.  There's gristle and blood undoubtedly stuck in his teeth, and he knows without checking that his breath smells like meat and death. He stares at his hands in dismay; they're caked in flaking, dry blood. His clothes are ruined. He doesn't want them to see him like this.

A cruel voice in his brain reminds him that they already have.

He walks a steady pace to a nearby river - at his size, closer to a small stream - and begins to clean himself off. He got rid of all his giant sized clothes when he took in the kids, reasoning to himself that it would be more trouble than it was worth hiding them for a few decades when he spent nearly all his time pretending to be human anyway. He regrets that now, regarding his bloodstained shirt and jeans. He rinses his mouth - once, twice, six times - and does his best to brush and clean with his fingers and watery reflection. He picks a few bone fragments from his teeth and tosses them into the river, before remembering that the twins love to play there. He stares at the water in horror and hopes neither of them ever stumble across the remains.

Well fuck, he thinks to himself. There's nothing I can do about that now.

He takes another look at his reflection. Most of the blood is gone and his mouth is considerably better than before, but it's still - it's not good enough. It will never be good enough.

How gross is his mouth right now? He cleaned what he could, but what if there's still blood clinging to his teeth? They'll see it when he brings them back up. They've already seen it. They saw it after he'd just eaten twenty or thirty people, they thought that he was trying to do the same thing to them -

He inhales sharply and blinks back tears.

He's a monster. They see that now. He has to face the music.

He makes his way back to the cottage. He stops on his way there to stare at the blood soaked field his rampage had taken place. There are still bits and pieces of people lying on the field. He regards the sky, feeling numb. They're due for rainfall soon... and the local wildlife will scavenge the loose meat. There's nothing else to be done except hope that the kids don't come out to the field between now and whenever it looks less fucked up and bloody. He continues to the house.

When he arrives, he kneels before the front door and tries to muster the courage to speak with his kids. He stares at the house for longer than he should and he can feel them nervously stir in his gut.

"Boys?"

They don't respond. He hadn't really expected them to.

"I... You don't need to be scared of what's about to happen," he begins gently. "It'll feel like a pull. Don't resist, alright? It's - it's okay if you do, I understand if you do, but please try to relax."

He can feel them moving, standing up and shuffling about in a panicked kind of way, and before he can second guess himself, he starts to bring someone up.

The muscles in his storage clamp down around a figure, and the screaming starts. His heart pounds wildly and he has to fight himself to keep going. They're struggling - he thinks it's Techno - squirming and wriggling, which is bad enough on its own, but fighting too, punching and kicking back. He flinches at the sharp pain, his eyes starting to sting. The tissue lining his storage tube is soft and easily damaged (because normal parents don't terrify their children into tearing them apart from the inside), and whoever is coming up is determined not to make the journey easy. He goes quickly, unwilling to prolong this for either of them, and when they finally reach the top and tumble into his mouth, it's all he can do to not spit them into his hand. They taste like Technoblade, confirming his suspicion. Tech is still fighting, punching at any surface he can reach, and being particularly harsh with Phil's tongue.

He forces himself to go slowly now. He brings Techno to the front of his mouth and cups his hands at his chin. Before his mouth is even fully open, Techno is clawing his way out. He lands in Phil's hands and scrambles up, blinking dumbly at his father with a slight shake in his body.

Phil stares at him. "... Hello," he rasps out.

Technoblade snaps from his stupor, shrinking backwards only to flinch away as he hits Phil's curled fingers.

"Oh - okay, okay, I'm putting you down - I'm putting you down," he sets Techno in front of their door while stumbling over his words. He leans back, giving him space. "You - you should take a shower."

Techno never take his eyes off Phil, retreating slowly and grasping blindly for the doorknob. As soon as he finds it, he's gone, and Phil sighs defeatedly.

He massages his throat, wincing in pain. It'll bruise and possibly tear, but he knows he deserves it.

He clears his voice. "Tommy? Wilbur?"

They still.

"Your big brother is fine. Someone else needs to come up now," he explains tiredly. "Please, please don't squirm. That makes it more difficult for both of us."

He starts the process again. Something is very wrong. The lump coming up is too big, has too many limbs and - fuck. They're coming up together. His eyes widen as he realizes, but it's too late now, and he knows there's nothing he can do if this is what they want. They're hugging each other, which makes it harder to move or attack him, but his throat burns from the stretch of bringing up two of his brood at once.

They fall into his mouth, still clinging to teach other. They're silent but shaking and Phil feels a fresh wave of shame collapse over him. He brings them forward and opens his mouth, gently releasing them into his palm.

Wilbur holds Tommy in a vicelike grip, his eyes squeezed shut and Tommy's face buried in his chest.

Phil resists the urge to inspect them. He keep his fingers a respectful distance from the pair, knowing that any kind of touch is traumatic right now.

He clears his throat again, and feels how torn up it is. It burns when he speaks and his voice sounds like a creaking door. "You're okay... open your eyes."

It takes a few seconds but Wilbur peeks. He opens his eyes wider, in awe of the sky and nature, though his grip on Tommy never ceases.

Phil starts to move them to the porch but Tommy squeals and curls even more into Wilbur's arms, causing him to freeze instantly.

"Sorry. Sorry," he whispers. "I'm just putting you by the house. I - I'm sorry."

They're silent and still.

He starts to move again, painfully slow and tense.

He deposits them gently on the ground and as soon as he's a safe distance away, the door swings open and Technoblade grabs Tommy by the leg, literally dragging him through the door. Wilbur scrambles in after, falling over himself to get away from Phil. The door shuts with a resounding slam, and Phil can't help but flinch away from the noise.

He stares at the house for a few seconds before shrinking down into his human form. Thirty minutes later, he gets up the nerve to knock on the door.

~ ~ ~

i wrote like 4k words and then decided to cut off the second half and just save it for the next chapter so weee earlier post then planned

The kids will be in Technoblade's room. They always go there when they're upset.

Phil's already brushed his teeth, scraped his tongue, flossed, rinsed with mouthwash, and even brushed his teeth a second time out of nervousness. His gums are bleeding, and after popping a mint into his mouth for good measure, they also sting a little bit. He showered off the grime and blood and he's dressed in his most comfortable 'dad clothes,' as Wilbur has taken to calling them. When he looks at his reflection, he almost feels like himself again.

He walks down the hallway, careful to make his footsteps steady and audible as he approaches the door. There are hushed whispers from the room, but as he nears the sounds die into tense silence. He comes to rest outside the room and knocks a gentle rhythm he's used with the kids since he took them in.

"Hey mate, can I come in?" He asks softly, voice still dry and raspy.

There's no answer.

He wants to turn around and flee. He isn't strong enough to do this, he isn't strong enough to be their father; he's already proven that he's a fuck-up parent and he should really just do them all the favor of leaving.

"If you don't answer me, I'm going to open the door," Phil continues, practically forcing the words out of his mouth. "You know the house rules; I need to make sure you're safe."

There's still no answer, so with his stomach churning in anxiety, he twists the handle and slowly pushes the door in.

The three of them are standing around with packed bags, ready to go, the window hanging open. Wilbur has a deer-in-the-headlights, blank expression on his face, holding Tommy up to the windowsill and looking ready to toss him outside. He and Phil stare at each other. He awkwardly lowers his little brother to the floor.

Phil just stands there, taking in the scene, before he's pulled from his thoughts as Techno drops a backpack on the floor with a thump.

He flinches away from Phil's gaze as soon as it lands on him. "Please just - just let us go," he says quietly.

"No. No, no you can't," he plainly responds, too shocked to elaborate. His eyes dart between each of their faces.

"We won't tell anyone," Wilbur pleads. "We're not even..." he trails off, searching for the words. He can't find them and simply begs,"please."

Phil shakes his head, backing away from the door. "Wilbur, you're thirteen. Techno is barely fourteen, and Tommy is eight. You're too young to be alone," he reasons desperately, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. "It's better if you stay here."

They stare at him. That's obviously not what the conversation is about, and at a better time, it's the kind of thing they would have pointed out and teased him for.

"Please stay."

Techno shuffles his feet like he's picking up the nerve to retort, and Wilbur's eyes widen. He shoots out a hand and grabs his brother by the arm, giving him a panicked, warning look.

"No, Wil." Techno's voice is hard, and he shrugs his hand off. "I want to talk about this."

He turns to Phil with a defiant set in his jaw. "If you're not going to kill us - " Phil flinches at the accusation, " - then just let us go - what was the point of pretending to love us anyway?"

Phil stumbles over his words, his desperation palatable. "I do love you. I love you so much, you're my boys and I never want to hurt you." It comes out as more of a beg than a statement. A beg to be believed, a beg for them to stop looking at him like he'll snap at any moment and start tearing into them the way he tore into the soldiers.

"You ate us," Wilbur protests. He doesn't sound angry or rebellious - it would be better if he did - he just sounds horrified. Shocked and vaguely hurt.

Phil's heart aches. "I didn't - I didn't eat you." It sounds weak, even to him. "I'd never digest you, I love you - that was my brooding pouch, like a kangaroo - I would never send you to my stomach. If you were in my stomach, you would have seen - " he cuts himself off, not wanting to remind them of what he'd done to the army, but judging from their faces, it's too late for that.

Techno won't even look at him. "You could have sent us to your stomach. On accident." The implication in his words slams into Phil like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air.

"What? I - no, Tech - "

"We saw how you ate Wilbur," Tommy softly chimes in, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and staring at the ground.

He's so quiet, and so matter of fact, and Phil just doesn't have a response. All he can do is stare and feel his guilt prickle across his back.

Tommy continues, "You were so... hungry. What if you'd eaten him for real?"

Phil shakes his head hard and fast. "No. No, no, no, no. I didn't - you don't know my anatomy, Toms," he pleads. His throat and voice still aches, but he doesn't care. He talks through the pain. "My storage - I imprinted on you years ago. My nervous system wired itself to identify you as my babies, my brood. Even if I was trying - and I would never, ever try - I wouldn't be able to send you to my stomach." He resists the urge to cry. He just wants them to believe him. "It's instinct. My body would send you to my brood pouch on instinct."

He can tell from their faces that they don't believe him.

Tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

"Guys, please - " he begs again. He starts forward but immediately stops, seeing them withdraw away from him. "You can't - you can't go." He tries to speak authoritatively, but it comes out too earnest and urgent. "I won't allow it."

"Why not?" Wilbur asks, aggravated. "We're not - we're humans, and you eat - "

"I haven't in years," he cuts in pathetically. "Yesterday was a fluke."

"We were managing just fine without you," he continues harshly. "We don't fucking need you - don't you get that?!" His voice raises to a yell. "You are just like everyone else. Every other adult who took us in, and promised they'd love us and protect us - as soon as we're inconvenient, none of that matters anymore. Maybe you even believe what you're saying to us, but you are a fucking liar. We'll fuck up: we'll break a dish or argue too loudly or come home drunk and you'll get mad, and then you'll eat us. You don't love us, and clearly you never did, because if you had then you wouldn't have lied!"

He's breathing hard, his face red, and his eyes glossy. He angrily scrubs at his face. Techno and Tommy look at him in horror, eyes flitting between Wilbur and Phil in dread.

"Wilbur..." Phil starts softly. He resists the urge to reach out and pull the boy close. "You're wrong, of course I love you. What those people did to you was horrible, and I would never - have I ever hurt you? Even yesterday, when I was out of my mind, I was just - I was trying my best for you. You're my son."

Wilbur's voice shakes hard in a mixture of heartbreak and anger. "You were out of control! It's dumb fucking luck that you saw as your kids instead of - instead of prey - if we're even to believe you! So what about next time?!"

Phil shakes his head vehemently. "There won't be a next time. And even if there is, I won't digest you because I can't - because my body recognizes that you don't belong in my stomach. You belong in my storage, mate, because I love you."

Techno steps forward, his hand coming up and pushing Wilbur and Tommy slightly behind him. "That doesn't matter, 'cause we don't even know if you're telling the truth. We want to go, let us go."

He hates everything about this conversation. They went from terrified of crossing him to unearthing deep rooted childhood trauma to - to this and it's not - this is worse. Something inside of him breaks.

He doesn't want to lose them, why can't they see that? If they just listened to him -

"I don't care if you're afraid of me right now, Tech, this is for your own good." There's a steely quality in his voice that doesn't match how he feels. 

Techno glowers at him. "We are leaving."

"No. No, you're not. I'm sorry, but despite how you feel about me right now, you are children. And more than that, you are my children. If you leave this house, I'll just - I'll just track you down and bring you back. As your father - "

"You're not our dad!" Techno spits out.

Anger curls tightly around Phil's heart. Of course he is, of course he's their - they're just being immature right now. They aren't seeing -

"And you can't make us stay," he says through grit teeth. "We will run the fuck out of here, and never come back."

He clenches his jaw. "If you try that, I will eat you again and keep you there until you're in your thirties."

Oh, shit - FUCK - he slaps a hand over his mouth, breathing hard.

He didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean to say that at all. It just - it just came out of his mouth before he even realized what it was.

They'll misunderstand him, they'll think he's saying that -

Oh fuck.

Phil's heartbeat picks up. This is the exact opposite of what he wanted.

He doesn't mean it, of course he doesn't mean it. He loves them. He loves them, he loves them, he loves them.

But they don't know that ( - they don't know that anymore - ) and the effect his words has is instantaneous. In a second, they've gone from righteous and rebellious to terrified.

He lowers his hand from his face. "I - I didn't mean it like that," he whispers.

Techno shifts backward next to Wilbur. Tommy has tears flowing down his cheeks.

"I didn't - I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he's babbling again but he knows there's nothing to say.

He grasps the doorknob and swings the door shut before he can do more damage.

~ ~ ~

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