Chapter Text
Philza Minecraft was a fourteen year old kid, he was, and he was the average teen for his time and he was grateful for what he has and he is grateful for his guardian.
But that's not to say the kid didn't have past. Oh no, no you'd be very mistaken if you believed so.
Technoblade, emperor of the Arctic Empire, found said kid in a newly discovered--but very old-- hybrid facility. The kid had slowly became the only one there, the others were sold like animals. But Phil.. He wasn't sold. The people who ran the facility didn't sell him. They preferred to keep him to themselves and use him as some sort of example to how well trained the other hybrids were.
It was disgusting. Really. It was.
And when Technoblade and a few of his loyal soldiers found the place they were no less disgusted. Gods, no.
The place was awful.
It was made of stone and placed in a village, the building had vines and cracks and water dripping from the room if you went into the basement, which is where the hybrids were kept. On the outside, the build was rather nice, a stool attached to it where it sold the children.
He says children, more so teens. Phil was the youngest one that was ever taken by them. And Techno believes that makes it worse.
When the Empire found the boy, he was curled up in a cage right at the back of the basement, curled up and shoulders hunched, shaking like a leaf in a storm.
He had a glassy look to his eyes. Not quite there at all. The owners cowered at their arrival. But Techno almost had to kill one of them, which he did on the way out, because they kept saying, 'let us keep the Angel, please, please just the Angel, it's beautiful and we can't leave it.'
It made the whole situation worse. The boy had scars from whippings, welts on his ankles and wrists from chains, another scar around his neck where a collar was, but tightened way too much.
The boy was twelve when he was found.
Techno refused to give him away anymore. He refused when the boy stuck to his side and refused to leave for all but a few months. Techno learned to teach the boy that he was free and that he didn't have to kneel or offer himself for something like entertainment.
It was heart breaking to see. A child so utterly broken and abused not knowing how to be a person, not knowing how to live or even take care of himself.
Techno learned two months into the boy's rescue that his name was Philza. Philza Minecraft.
Learned his proper exact age a few days before. He could make a good guess and the doctors gave an estimate. But now he knew exactly it dawned on him just how helpless this kid would've been. Unknowing and struggling and hurt.
But this isn't about Technoblade. No, Techno has his own fair share of trauma with humans and hybrid's being treated like animals.
Phil learned to fly four months after his rescue, and managed to preen his wings for the first time in years.
But he was free now. He knew how to be a person now, he knew that nothing was expected of him. He knew how to live. And Techno watched proudly as the kid's personality changed from being a small scared stress feathery ball to someone bright and happy.
That didn't change the amount of times Phil had broken his mirror with his fists.
The piglin hybrid didn't know what to say or what had happened the first time. He believed Phil's lies that he tripped without a second thought. But by the third time he had suspicions.
As Phil sat on his bed, dressed and wings preened, staring at his reflection. His wings, his blackened fingertips with claws, the feathers that traced his pointed ears and jawline, black and grey feathers that were in his hair.
He couldn't see anything but the animal he was raised to believe he was.
He watched intensely as his wings twitched and fluttered.
His throat started to bob and he had to swallow back the urge to put his fists in his feathers and yank till there was nothing left if it only let him not feel like a fucking pet-
His pointed ear flicked at the sounds of birds outside. That should be outside and not with people why on earth would that mix-
He hated his wings.
He knew that he shouldn't, too. He knew that they should be his pride. And they were, once. He was excited to show his parents the feathery wings that had begun to grow from his back, as small as they were and as painful the process was.
He was only five, then.
His parents were the first to call him an animal, a monster, before selling him away.
He took a deep breath in, trying to calm the raging memories. And he stood on shaky legs, staring at himself, he managed to ignore the drops of salty water falling from his blue eyes.
He grit his teeth, anger and sadness both.
Why couldn't he be normal? Why did he have to be like this? Why-
His clawed hands had curled into fists.
This was his fault. He wasn't normal. He'll never be normal. He's an animal. A freak. A pet-
The mirror shattered into pieces as his legs decided to make him drop onto his knees, shaking and crying like the child he was. He felt blood soak through his clothes as his legs were cut by the glass beneath him. He held his head in his hands and cried. Because it's not fair.
It's not fair that he was made like this. It's not fair that his fucking body is everyone's problem. He just wants to be like everyone else.
But he can't. And he knows.
He covered his entire face with his hands, chest hitching in between cries.
He heard his door be knocked on, he doesn't care.
He heard it be opened.
He heard footsteps running in and a hand on his shoulder. He heard his name being called.
But he didn't want to make a fuss. It's stupid. It's dumb. He needs to accept that he's different. That he's a monster that everyone crowds around and looks at in awe and curiosity. He's not made for his own happiness but he's made to be everyone else's.
His wings curl around him, blocking himself from everyone's view because he can feel eyes on him.
He hears his name being called by several voices. But it's not who he wants to hear.
It goes silent, for a moment. The only sound is people shuffling out the room and his cries that aren't suppressed anymore.
Because no one cares. They're leaving and they don't care.
The door shuts, he hears it click and he believes himself. No one fucking gives a shit.
But then he hears a rumbling voice say his name softly, a hand on the top of his head, firm and warm and Techno's.
His wings come back behind him and he throws himself into the man beside him, who's also on his knees. He crashes into his chest and Techno accepts him, wrapping his arms in an embrace that feels like a safe and warm forcefield. He feels safer and more protected than ever.
His cries are stifled as he locks them in his throat.
"You can cry, Phil, I'm not going anywhere."
That's the thing that breaks the cracking dam. He sobs. Hs cries for everything that's not fair. Cries for why people won't love him because of his species.
He cries about his parents who threw him away to people who pet his wings and collared him. Away to people who caused him nothing but pain for seven fucking years.
And Techno lets him, he doesn't care that Phil's tears wet his shirt, or care about the glass now cutting his own knees instead of Phil's now.
Techno rests his chin upon blonde hair, rocking slowly side to side and lightly petting Phil's hair with one hand.
"You're okay," Techno mutters, loud enough for Phil to hear.
Phil's sobs die down eventually, Techno doesn't comment on how long. He becomes a sniffing and still crying but softer mess.
"'m s' s'rry," He slurs as he keeps his face pressed into Techno's chest.
"jus' 's st'pid," Techno lightly nods, still softly rocking the boy side to side, not moving till he does.
"Do you wanna tell me why I'm sitting in a pile of glass now or later?" Techno says with his usual dry tone, it gets a small wet chuckle out of Phil before he hiccups again, a broken chirp or two leaving his throat.
"Don' like havin' wings, 's st'pid, 'm diff'r'nt,"
Techno swears he could feel his heart shatter at those words.
Phil speaks again before Techno has the chance to respond.
"mirror make's m' th'nk 'm j'st a- a-" Phil chokes on his words, a small sob falling from his lips before he finishes.
"'s okay, Phil, you don't have to tell me now." But Phil shakes his head against Techno's chest regardless, swallowing his cries and taking a deep breath in.
"j'st a pet. J'st a pet out'of it's c-cage." He almost chokes again but doesn't.
Techno purses his lips into a fine line. All the piglin can manage without starting to tear up himself is a soft,
"Oh, Phil."
He presses a soft kiss to the crown of Phil's head, a soft, rumbling sigh leaving him.
Phil's breath hitches and he speaks again, "'m not- 'm not jus' a dumb bird am I, T'chno? I don't- I'm- I'm not- I'm not just a pet, right Techno? I--"
"No,"
Techno says, a little sharper than Phil expected.
"You're- gods, Phil, no you're not just a fuckin'-" He sighs, hugging Phil tighter when he didn't know possible.
"You're a kid Phil. You're a kid. A bright, great kid. You're not just some animal I can tell you that, Phil. You're- Bruh, you're such a good kid." Techno huffs in frustration at his own wording. He's not good at this and he knows it.
"I'm not- I'm not good at this Phil, this whole.. uh, fuck, What I'm tryin' to say is-"
"Thank you," Phil says quick and sharp, moving his head and looking up at Techno, the piglin hybrid looks down and Phil's tears have begun to dry, the smallest and softest of smiles on his face but it's still there.
"Thank you," He whispers again, And they both know it's not just for Techno's words.
"Thank you, For- For everything."