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The fight is fast-paced, barely giving Phil a moment to breathe let alone check on his team. The kids are well-trained- they can take care of themselves- but that doesn’t stop him worrying.
Tommy’s power is little more than a red blur in the corners of his vision. Techno’s shadows are ever-present, every once in a while he can hear Wilbur’s singing or Tubbo’s explosions or see the purple particles of Ranboo’s teleportation.
When it’s finally over, the latest villain on the ground, Phil’s only thought is for his team.
He’s hopped up on adrenaline and giddy success, gliding to the ground and landing lightly. He folds his wings away, un-summoning them.
“Everybody check in,” he says, touching his earpiece.
“Blade,” Techno says, his voice a welcome comfort. “I’ve got Ender and Chaos. No injuries.”
“The f---?” Tommy screeches, making Phil wince from the high-pitched sound and the burst of static.
“Chaos-”
“Uh, sorry, I tried to stop him,” Ranboo says, much softer. “But yeah, um- Blade is hurt.”
“What?” Phil glances around desperately for them. “I’m gonna need a location.”
“By the bank-”
“We’re fine, thanks for asking,” Wilbur cuts in, grumpy. “Siren reporting, I’ve got Atmos, he’s gonna need medevac.”
“Okay-” Phil stops, running his hand over his masked face. He needs to prioritize. “Siren, how badly is Atmos hurt?”
“I think he got hit by one of the villain’s projectiles, it mostly glanced off his armor but he got cut a bit. He’s stable for now but he’s not breathing very well.”
“Okay, have you called-”
“Yes, Crowfather,” Wilbur grouses. “I was checking in, as is protocol.”
“Alright, Ender?”
“I’m fine,” Techno says. “The guy landed a pretty good hit on me, dislocated my shoulder, it’s not serious.”
Phil exhales heavily. “Alright. Siren, stay with Atmos, go with him back to medical. Blade, I’m coming to you.”
“No, no, it’s fine-”
“Don’t listen to him!” Tommy yells.
Phil doesn’t, naturally. The cleanup team is already there to pick up the villain of the week, and Phil gives them a quick briefing on what to look out for, what else they need to find and get rid of before some unsuspecting civilian gets hurt.
And then he’s off to the damaged bank to check in on the rest of his kids.
“Medevac is here,” Wilbur says as Phil’s climbing over destroyed cars and rubble. His breathing is labored, but he ignores it, he’s just getting old. “They’re getting Atmos ready to move, I’ll see you guys back at HQ?”
“Yeah, mate, see you,” Phil gasps.
“You good, Corvus?” Techno asks, voice slightly strained. “Soundin’ a little breathless there yourself.”
“There’s a f--- ton of rubble around here.” Phil pauses, taking a few deep, aching breaths. “I’m almost to you, mate, doin’ okay?”
“He’s not, but he won’t tell you that,” Ranboo says. “He- he’s in a lot of pain.”
“Traitor,” Techno mumbles.
Phil chuckles, wheezy and breathless, clambering over a chunk of concrete and sliding down the other side. He spots the three kids easily- Tommy and Ranboo are crouched over Techno, who’s leaning against the side of a car, clutching his arm. The lower half of his face- all that’s not concealed by his mask- is set in a tight-jawed grimace.
Phil moves to them quickly, dropping to his knees at Techno’s side in the space Tommy makes for him. “Hey, mate,” he says, keeping his voice cheerful and gentle despite the pain clawing at his chest, the tightness squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Let’s get this taken care of, okay?”
Techno nods. “It’s- I can’t feel my fingers,” he says, voice shaking.
“Okay.” Phil braces his arm gently, heart twisting at Techno’s soft whine of pain. “Boys, keep a lookout, one of you call for extraction.”
Ranboo nods, tugging Tommy away. They don’t go far, just a little ways down the street, close enough to call for help or come if Phil calls them.
Techno’s pretense immediately drops, face screwing up as he lets out another wounded sound. “Hurts so bad,” he whimpers.
“I know,” Phil murmurs, gently probing the injury. “Shh, I’m right here mate, it’s gonna feel better soon.”
The medics aren’t big fans of Phil’s field treatment, but he’s gone through the training and refuses to let his kids suffer while waiting for the professionals. Which, right now, means he’s gonna get Techno’s dislocated shoulder back in, medics be damned.
“Just breathe,” Phil says, carefully adjusting the position of Techno’s arm. “You need to relax, okay? Do one of our breathing exercises.”
Techno nods, resting his head back against the car, lips moving silently. Phil waits until Techno’s breathing is steady, his muscles lax, and pops the joint back in quickly.
Techno screams, but relaxes again right after. “Thank god,” he pants.
Phil smiles. “Better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Phil forces another breath in. “Move your fingers for me?”
Techno taps each of his fingers to his palm- with visible effort, and soft whimpers- but he does it, which is a relief.
Phil nods slightly, rubbing Techno’s shoulder lightly. “Good, that’s great.”
Techno frowns, pushing himself upright with his good arm. “You okay?” he asks. “You’re still breathin’ kinda weird-”
“I’m fine,” Phil wheezes past the tightness in his chest.
“What the heck- Ph- Corvus, you’re hurt-” Techno’s struggling to move closer, reaching for him.
Phil glances down at the blood on his robe, coming away on his hand when he touches it. “I’m not- that’s not my blood,” he tries to say, but suddenly he can’t breathe at all.
He collapses to the ground, body convulsing. Through the confusion and agony, he’s aware that Techno’s calling desperately for medevac, that Tommy and Ranboo are there, but the world crashes into darkness.
Phil comes around slowly, aware of the sounds and smells of the medbay before he’s fully conscious.
A heart monitor beeps in his ear, annoying and consistent. The tang of antiseptic burns his nose when he inhales, and he can feel the plastic tubing of an oxygen cannula on his face, the pinch of an IV in his elbow.
He shifts under the scratchy sheets, and there’s a soft gasp beside him. “Ponk- Ponk, he’s waking up-”
Phil reaches blindly for whichever one of his boys is here, he’s too disoriented still to identify the voice but he knows it’s one of his kids. His hand is caught, pulled in against a warm chest.
“You’re okay, Dadza,” the voice says. “Just- you’re okay now.” The voice turns worried. “Right? He’s okay?”
“His vitals are steady, that’s a good sign. Phil,” the voice says, a bit louder, “can you hear me?”
Phil tries to respond, but he’s too exhausted to speak. He can’t even open his eyes.
A thumb pulls up his eyelids one at a time, a bright light flashes in his eyes. “Phil? Are you with me?”
“Is that bad?” the younger, worried voice asks after a second.
“It could be.” There’s a pause. “Don’t worry yet, Tommy. He might just need a bit more time.”
“Okay.” Phil’s hand is pressed to warm skin.
“You do need to go get some rest, though.”
No… no, Phil doesn’t want him to leave. He tries to close his fingers around the hand still clutching his.
“I don’t wanna leave him,” the young voice protests weakly.
“I know. You can come back in the morning.”
After a few seconds, Phil’s hand is set back down at his side. “Okay. Okay, just… just take care of him, please?”
“We are, Tommy,” the second voice says, kind. “Get some sleep.”
Phil listens to the sound of retreating footsteps, a door whooshing open and closed. The other person stays for a few minutes, fussing with the medical equipment hooked up to Phil.
Phil tries to get his eyes open. He tries. To at least give some sign that he’s alive in here, that he’s awake, he’s okay-
A sigh. “Vitals holding steady. Heart rate and respiration are low, but acceptable. Patient shows no signs of consciousness.” There’s a pause. “There’s been no abnormal brain activity since the last seizure. The fluids seem to be helping to flush the toxin from the patient’s system.”
Phil wants to wake up, but instead, he finds himself falling back under.
~~~
Techno’s a bit woozy from the painkillers, but he’s all too aware of the situation.
It’s early. The younger boys are still sleeping, or they were when Techno glanced in on them on the way here, all three curled up in Tubbo’s bed in the medbay. Techno’s not supposed to be out of his bed yet, after the surgery to repair the damage to his shoulder, but he’s sitting in Phil’s room in the intensive care section.
He stares at Phil lying pale and unmoving in that bed, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, air pushed in and out of his lungs by the ventilator whirring and clicking in a steady, sickening rhythm. Wilbur’s holding Techno’s good hand in a crushing grip.
“He slipped into a coma last night,” Ponk says. “He wasn’t breathing well, so we put him on the ventilator.”
“This is a nightmare,” Wilbur mutters. Techno’s inclined to agree.
“I don’t understand, I thought this was the same stuff Tubbo got hit with?” Techno shakes his head, trying to clear some of the fog from his mind. “And he’s okay already, so-”
“The dose was much smaller, and he got to us quicker.” Ponk sighs. “Phil got a direct hit, he kept moving which made the toxin circulate faster- frankly, he’s lucky to still be alive.”
Techno’s shoulder aches. The only thing he can think about is Phil, with a bleeding wound in his stomach, poison in his veins, taking the time to fix Techno’s shoulder before thinking about himself.
“I sh- should’ve noticed sooner,” he whispers. “He- he wasn’t breathin’ right, and he said he was fine, and I-”
He can’t stop replaying it in his mind. Phil collapsing on the street, seizing for minutes before the medics finally got it to stop. Phil, not breathing. Phil, with that toxin in his bloodstream, ignoring the signs that something was wrong because Techno was hurt.
“It’s my fault.”
“What?” Wilbur’s voice is shrill.
“No, Techno,” Ponk says quietly. “It’s not your fault. He’s always been a bit blind to his own well-being, especially when it comes to you kids. It is not your fault.”
“He came to help me, because I couldn’t hold it together-”
“No- Tech, he would’ve done that for any one of us, it’s not your fault.” Wilbur squeezes his good shoulder. “You- you can’t blame yourself for this.”
He definitely can, but Techno stays quiet about it.
“What, um… what’s his prognosis?” Wilbur asks quietly.
The others don’t know about all of this yet. Wilbur and Techno are handling it, because they’re the oldest- they’re almost twenty-one, the others are all teenagers still, they don’t need to be pulled out of bed to worry over the man who’s practically their dad.
Ponk shakes his head slightly. “It’s impossible to say. His bloodwork shows that the toxin is breaking down at the rate we’d expect, but I don’t- I don’t know why he’s not improving.”
“Why he’s getting worse, you mean.” Wilbur’s grip tightens for a second.
Ponk nods, expression grave. “We’re going to keep doing everything we can for him, but there’s no way to…” He pauses, glancing away. “I can’t promise he’ll wake up.”
Wilbur makes a sound like he’s been punched. Techno just stares at Phil, unable to see anything but his dad hooked up to all that medical equipment, the tubes in his nose and throat and the wires stuck to his head and chest.
Phil is just lying there, in a coma, and he might not wake up, and Techno can’t stop feeling so horribly guilty.
Ponk goes out after a couple minutes. Wilbur moves closer to the bed, taking Phil’s hand; Techno can’t move at all.
Wilbur bends over, resting his forehead against Phil’s for a few seconds, whispering something Techno can’t make out. He straightens, gently placing Phil’s hand back down beside him. Pauses beside Techno as he starts to go out of the room.
“I’m gonna go check on the boys,” he says quietly, voice rasping. “Do you… are you hungry?”
Techno shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t think he can eat right now.
“I’ll bring you something anyway.” Wilbur grips his good shoulder again briefly and goes out.
The door clicks shut behind him, and Techno stands there for several minutes, stewing in his guilt and worry. Finally he goes across to sit in the chair pulled up at Phil’s bedside, carefully taking his dad’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tears burning in his eyes. “I should’ve been paying attention, I shouldn’t have let you…”
Phil is silent, unmoving. A sob breaks from Techno’s chest, and he puts his head down on the bed and cries.
“Wake up,” he begs. “Phil, please, you’ve gotta wake up.”
By the time the others come in, Techno is composed again. He has to be, because the younger boys are going to be looking to him for reassurance.
Wilbur drags in a few more chairs; Tommy and Ranboo are struggling with Tubbo’s big beanbag. Techno gives up his seat to Tubbo, because the kid looks like he’s gonna pass out.
Wilbur pushes Techno into one of the chairs he’s set up in the corner and pulls a tray table over in front of him. Techno stares blankly as Wilbur puts a cafeteria tray down, loaded with toast and eggs and a glass of water.
“I’m not hungry,” he protests weakly.
“You need to eat.” Wilbur puts down a bottle of pills. “Mercer said you can take two of these every six hours for the pain, as needed. Don’t make me force them down your throat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Techno repeats.
“Don’t test me, I will mind-control you.” Wilbur folds his arms, glaring.
Techno knows he means it, too, so as much as the thought of eating makes him feel sick, he picks up the fork and chokes down a bite of the scrambled eggs.
“Good.” Wilbur’s eyes glitter as he turns away, immediately softening as he goes and kneels beside Tubbo, speaking quietly to the teen.
Techno feels like he’s going to puke, but he eats half the eggs and a piece of toast and drinks the whole glass of water. Tommy’s taken the chair beside Phil; Tubbo’s dozing in the beanbag, having taken the meds Wilbur gave him on the medics’ orders, with Ranboo curled around him protectively.
“It’s my fault,” Techno whispers, when Wilbur sits down beside him.
His twin sighs heavily. “We talked about this earlier. No.”
“He- he just had to come fix my shoulder, he should’ve stayed put and waited for help-” Techno covers his mouth with his good hand, he feels like he’s about to start crying again. “If I hadn’t- if I’d hidden it better-”
“Stop, Tech, don’t do that to yourself.” Wilbur sighs again. “It wasn’t your fault. Phil’s- he’s stupidly self-sacrificial, you know that.”
“It’s not his fault,” Techno says softly, barely audible even to himself. “He’s not- it’s not his fault, either.”
“No, it’s not.” Wilbur rests his head on Techno’s shoulder. “He’s just who he is, that’s why we love him.”
Techno stares at Phil. “Yeah,” he whispers. “He- he’s gotta be okay, right? He’s- he’s gonna wake up.”
Wilbur is silent, and Techno blinks away tears. He has to- he has to hope that it’s gonna be okay, because he doesn’t know what any of them will do if Phil doesn’t recover.
~~~
“We need you to wake up, Dad.”
“Phil, c’mon, you gotta fight this.”
“Don’t leave us. Please, please don’t leave us.”
“Please, just give us a sign. Anything.”
“I know you’re still in there, Phil. Wake up, please. Come back to us.”
Waking up feels like fighting against a current. Everything is so heavy, and Phil struggles to open his eyes, or move, or… or anything.
When he finally does manage to blink, his surroundings are dark. He starts to panic, the steady beeping growing frantic, but then-
“Hey- hey, hey Phil, you’re okay, you’re okay, breathe-”
The voice is familiar, and he listens instinctively, drawing slow breaths, as deep as he can manage.
“You’re okay,” the voice repeats, shaking. “Uh- shit- okay, I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ponk down here, just- just keep breathing.”
Phil’s vision clears the longer he blinks. He can’t really see the walls, though. Or much of anything else, actually, except the halo of yellowish light cast on the ceiling.
“You’re okay,” the voice says again, a hand squeezing Phil’s. “Just- oh my god, Dad, can you say anything- can you hear me?”
Phil hums, weak and raspy; a warm weight rests beside his shoulder for a second. There’s a sound like… crying, maybe?
A whoosh. “How is he?” a different voice says, quietly.
“He’s, um- I think he’s awake, like, actually awake.”
There’s a hum, footsteps. “His vitals are looking better. Phil,” the voice says, a bit louder, “can you hear me?”
He can’t move, so Phil forces another weak, whistling sound from his throat. A face comes into sight, hovering over him. A light shines in his eyes, and Phil flinches, blinking a couple times.
“That’s a good sign, right?” the first voice asks, worried.
“Yeah, Wilbur, it’s a good sign.” The person glances away for a second, and back. “Phil, do you know where you are?”
He… he’s not sure. It’s hard to think. He can’t see anything but the man’s face and the ceiling and the circle of light.
He groans, and the hand holding his squeezes tighter. “Is- that’s not good, is it?”
“Do you know who I am?” the man asks.
No… well, he thinks he should, but every time he reaches for it, the name slips away. Phil groans again.
“Do you know what happened to you?”
He doesn’t remember much of anything… except that there was… there was someone he was supposed to help, right? There was someone relying on him, he…
“Is he okay?” The person sounds near tears. “He’s- he’s not-”
“He did just wake up from a three day coma, it’s gonna take time.” The man moves away. “He’s responding about as well as I would expect, right now.”
“Can I- is there anything we can do?”
“Talk to him, keep him calm. Hit the call button right away if his condition changes.” There’s a brief pause. “He’s conscious, Wilbur. That’s an improvement.”
He hears the whoosh again, and the room is quiet for a while. Finally the person sitting beside him shifts, pulling his hand against warm skin.
“You’re okay,” he breathes. “You’re okay, Phil, you’re gonna be okay.”
The next time he surfaces, his head is clearer.
Phil turns his head slightly, mouth twitching in a smile when he sees Ranboo slumped in the chair beside him, holding his hand. There’s some show playing on the TV, something animated, that the teen is watching.
Phil squeezes his hand, and Ranboo twists to look at him. “Hey,” he breathes. “Um- you’re okay, Da- Phil. I can- I can get Wilbur or Techno, if you want?”
Phil squeezes Ranboo’s hand again, he doesn’t want him to leave.
“Okay. Um- I do need to call Ponk, though, so- so yeah, uh- one sec.”
Ranboo leans away, pausing the show and doing something else Phil can’t quite see. A few minutes pass before Ponk comes in, quickly moving to stand over Phil.
He shines a light in Phil’s eyes, asks him to touch his fingers to his palms, has Phil follow his finger with his gaze.
“Okay,” Ponk says at last. “Do you know where you are?”
Phil is pretty sure he’s in the medbay, at headquarters. The trouble is getting his voice to work.
“Mm… med bay,” he gets out, forming the words with careful precision.
“Good.” Ponk nods slightly. “You know your name?”
“Philza… Craft. Corvus.”
Ponk nods again. “Do you know my name?”
“Y’re Ponk.” It takes concentration to speak, but from the way Ranboo looks incredibly relieved, he suspects it’s an improvement. He can’t really remember much of anything after the fight.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Ponk asks.
Phil frowns, thinking… “Te’hno. Fixin’ his shoulder.”
Ponk frowns a bit at that, but he nods again. “Do you know what day it is?”
He doesn’t. He shakes his head helplessly.
“That’s okay.” Ponk shifts. “Are you up to talking about what happened?”
Phil nods, he wants… he needs to know.
Ponk pulls a chair over. Now that Phil thinks about it, there are a lot of chairs in the room, actually… and is that Tubbo’s beanbag?
“You got hit with a dart during the fight,” Ponk says quietly. “We tried to flush the toxin from your system, but between the dosage and how thoroughly it had circulated, it started to affect your brain. You had a couple of seizures, and during the night, fell into a coma. That was five days ago.”
He gives Phil a minute to process that information. The only thing Phil can think is well, that’s a new record for my worst injury.
“You woke up two days ago, but this is the first time you’ve been coherent. You’re doing pretty well, all things considered.” Ponk shifts. “You’ll be in recovery for a while, probably. It’s gonna take time, but if this continues, you are going to recover.”
Phil nods slightly. There are more pressing things, though. “H- how’s Tubbo?”
“He’s fine,” Ponk says. “He got a much smaller dose, and he got back to medical much more quickly. He’s already up and around.”
Good, that’s good. “Techno?”
“He needed a small surgery to repair the torn muscle, that went smoothly and he’s recovering exactly as he should be.”
“Everybody’s okay,” Ranboo says softly. “We’re all okay, Phil, just- just worry about yourself.”
Ponk nods. “He’s right. You need to focus on your recovery.”
Phil exhales softly. “Okay,” he breathes.
For what he later finds out is a couple days, Phil’s only able to stay conscious for a few minutes at a time.
In those brief periods, he sees his boys.
Ranboo holds his hand, sitting there in silence. Tubbo rambles about the newest bomb design he’s working on. Tommy crawls into the bed and lays curled up beside him, uncharacteristically quiet. Wilbur sits and plays with Phil’s hand, humming to him.
Phil doesn’t see Techno at all.
Whenever he wakes up, he tries to look for his missing kid. He’s often too tired to speak, or to move very much, but they’ve adjusted the bed so he’s half sitting up and he can see the room.
The other boys seem to be camping out in Phil’s room, at least one of them with him round the clock. Techno’s not there at all, and Phil can’t help but to worry about him, in a groggy confused kind of way.
Ponk is there, too, almost every time Phil wakes up. He does neurological checks, and frequently makes adjustments to the medical equipment Phil’s still hooked up to, and Phil hates it all but he understands that it’s necessary.
He doesn’t know where Techno is, and no one will tell him, and Phil doesn’t know why.
He wakes up one night- he knows it’s late, because it’s dark and the younger boys aren’t there- and Techno’s finally, finally sitting beside him.
“Tech,” Phil rasps weakly, reaching for his hand.
Techno flinches, tucking his arm- the one in a blue sling- closer to his chest. He doesn’t answer.
“Mate, wha’s wrong?” Phil tries to push himself upright a bit, but his elbows slide uselessly against the sheets.
Techno does reach over then, holding him down with one hand. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he whispers, nearly inaudible. “Stay- stay put.”
“What’s wrong?” Phil repeats, fumbling his hand up to rest on Techno’s. “Talk t’ me.”
Techno inhales deeply. “It’s my fault.”
“Huh?”
“That you’re stuck in here,” Techno whispers. “If I- it’s my fault-”
Phil frowns. “Wh- no, it’s not.”
“You had to come fix my shoulder, if you’d stayed put the toxin wouldn’t have circulated so much and maybe you-”
“Stop.” Phil aches. “Tech, ‘ave you been stayin’ away cause you blamed yourself?”
Techno still doesn’t look at him. He nods.
Oh, his boy, his boy. Phil squeezes his hand as tightly as he can manage. “You didn’t do this,” he breathes. “Tech, I didn’ even know I was hurt. If I had I’d’a waited f’r medevac. ‘s not your fault, you didn’ make me come an’ take care of you.”
Techno shakes his head slightly. Phil sighs.
“Y’re not to blame,” he rasps. “So no more of that. ‘s an order.”
Techno glances up, meeting Phil’s eyes for a second. Phil’s heart just breaks thinking about how long Techno must have been blaming himself for this, how much he must have suffered over the last week.
He lifts his shaking hand to cup Techno’s face, managing it by sheer force of will. Techno exhales shakily, turning his head into the touch and holding his hand over Phil’s.
“This isn’t your fault,” Phil murmurs. “’s nobody’s fault, mate, ‘cept that asshole we took down. ‘kay?”
“Okay,” Techno whispers. He sniffles, blinking hard as if to clear away tears, and Phil smooths his thumb over his kid’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“That I didn’t… I stayed away.” He closes his eyes with another shaky exhale. “I thought… I don’t know why. That you’d be mad.”
“Oh, mate.” Phil blinks away his own tears. “Never. ‘d never be mad at you.”
“I’m sorry,” Techno whimpers, pressing Phil’s hand harder against his face. “I’m- I’ll stay.”
Phil rubs his thumb over Techno’s cheekbone gently. His brief period of energy is quickly waning, and he thinks he’s going to fall asleep again soon, but right now he just wants to rest in this moment. Techno’s here, he’s okay, and Phil finally knows all his kids are safe.
~~~
“Good to see I didn’t have to force you to talk to him.”
Techno ignores his twin. He’s too emotionally drained to deal with this. He doesn’t even lift his head from the bed, despite how much his back hurts from sitting hunched over all night.
He hasn’t slept, though. Even when Phil fell back asleep, Techno just put his head down beside his dad and cried.
He’s cried out, now. He’s exhausted. But he doesn’t want to sleep.
Wilbur sighs, coming over and pulling Techno upright. He’s gentle, at least, but Techno still lets out a high-pitched groan when his back straightens, it hurts.
“God, when did you last sleep?” Wilbur sighs again. “C’mon, bed.”
“No, I don’t wanna leave him.” Techno’s aware that he sounds childish. He doesn’t care.
“You need to get some rest,” Wilbur says.
Techno lurches forward as much as he can, grabbing Phil’s hand again. “I’m not leaving him.”
Wilbur sighs heavily. “And yesterday he wouldn’t step in the room. Fine. Will you sleep on the beanbag?”
Techno doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to let go of Phil. He’s not moving.
“Techno,” Wilbur croons, and oh no, he’s in for it now- “listen to me.”
And Techno could resist- Wilbur isn’t using his full compulsion, not yet- but he’s so tired.
“Good,” Wilbur murmurs, gently taking Phil’s hand away from Techno and placing their dad’s arm gently back down on the bed. “Come here, come with me.”
Techno stands slowly, wavering. Fighting it to the best of his ability, because he doesn’t want to leave, he’s not leaving Phil-
“Just over to the beanbag,” Wilbur says. “Come with me, Techno.”
He gives in. He’s too tired to fight back anymore.
He moves in a daze as Wilbur leads him to the other side of the room, gently pushes him down on the beanbag. Wilbur tucks a blanket over Techno, smooths his hair down.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, and it’s not a command but Techno can’t fight that, either.