Sleepy Bois Turnabout?

Late Promises

In a hospital room, Philza sat staring at his hands crossed neatly in his lap. He felt like his joints were going to strain from keeping them in this position so long, he wished he had something else to do with them. He wished he had something to chew on. He wished he hadn't yelled at Technoblade. Something kept creeping its way into his field of vision, something shady and thin and cold. It stung as it weaved its way over his eyes. Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment.

He was embarrassed. How pathetic was that? He was embarrassed at how he was acting, at the position he was in. He'd been on the other end of these situations before. He'd looked people in the eyes and told them they were wrong, that they were morons, that they were pathetic. He'd shoved them aside just to get a verdict. He hadn't really, of course, but he realized now he may as well have. Attempting to calm them down, to say anything else was important, he may as well have. Now here he was suffering the karma.

Was that what this was? Some cosmic lesson? Was this supposed to be fate or destiny? His lip curled into a snarl at the thought. He'd never had many options on the existential but if a single person dared to utter the words 'happens for a reason' in his presence he would find himself the one on trial for what he'd do to them.

No.

He dropped his face into his hands. No, he couldn't. He couldn't get lost in his power like that, this wasn't about him. He couldn't do anything stupid. He shouldn't even think about that, not unless he thought about it as what it was, bailing. A little fantasy of personal revenge he could take out on some abhorrent hypothetical and then he'd get taken away and not have to worry anymore because everything would be out of his control. It was a cowardly thought. He had to be here. He had to do what he could while he still could. He was going to actually avenge Wilbur, not just shove his rage off onto some easy target so he could feel 'better' faster.

Philza exhaled, searching around his pockets for a pencil or something, settling for a pen. He desperately wished he had bothered to put his bracelet on this morning as he chewed. He desperately wished he'd been more compassionate to Technoblade. He desperately wished he'd been stricter, that he'd been kinder, that he'd done any number of tiny stupid things that would have kept Wilbur away. That would have kept Tommy home... but Tommy was safe now. He looked over at the bed. Whatever had happened, whatever he'd had to see, Tommy was safe now. He-

"Dad..." a croak came from the bed next to him.

He was awake. Phil stood so fast his chair was knocked backward into the wall as he rushed over to his son's side. Tommy squinted, frowning at the light in the room.

"I-" he swallowed. "I can talk again..." he murmured, face contorting into a million emotions Phil couldn't read.

"Y- what?"

"I'm..." he looked around, taking in his surroundings. "Where- why am I in a hospital?"

As Tommy sat up, Phil's hands shot out to make him lay back down but Tommy only grabbed onto them, using Phil's arms to steady himself. He exhaled shakily, doing that thing where he'd swallow constantly out of emotion or pain. Knowing it wasn't anything desperately serious, Phil decided not to force anything. He allowed Tommy to remain upright, buzzing for a doctor but caringly keeping his hands up for him to hold onto.

"You're..." he broke off.

What- what did he even say? How could he explain anything? For that matter, how could he ask anything of him? Was he really going to sit here and demand an explanation of some kind?

Tommy frowned, not noticing his struggle. "Where's W- where's Technoblade?"

"Oh," Phil tried to hide his relief at the starting point he'd been gifted. "He's getting some of your things. They're gonna have you stay the night, we think."