Bones in the Ocean by bunflower

Chapter 14

"Wilbur, open the door."

No response.

"Open this door, or I'm kickin' you off at the next port."

Silence.

"Well, that's just fantastic. Next thing y'know, he'll be callin' himself captain..."

He turns around, and his words falter, his half-hearted attempt at a smile slipping from his lips in an instant. Phil has dropped into one of the spare chairs in the room. He's hunched over, his head in his hands and his hair falling forward to curtain his face. His shoulders are trembling-though, with sorrow or anger, Technoblade can't quite tell.

"Guess I should've seen this coming, huh?" Phil asks, followed by a breathy, hollow chuckle. "Kid's always been stubborn as shit-guess he got it from me." He looks up at Technoblade then, and his gaze is sad and tired, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy underneath. "He won't let us out until we talk. He means every word of that."

"Guess we'll be here a while, then."

Phil doesn't respond.

True to his word, Wilbur doesn't let them out.

It's nearly sundown, and they've seen neither hide nor hair from him. Technoblade's practically paced a trench into the floorboards, whereas Phil is eyeing the window as if considering taking a swim. They're both tired, and hungry, and stressed, and Technoblade is damn near his breaking point. He's sick of the unspoken tension, of the quiet, of the thread between them that's damn near ready to snap with so much as a glance in the wrong direction. The silence is practically unbearable-nothing like the comfortable quiet they'd once shared.

He's had enough.

If Phil won't talk, he will.

"Listen, Phil-"

"Whatever you have to say, mate, I don't want to hear it."

"I just-"

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't want to associate with criminals."

"No, Phil, that's not-"

"What was it you said? 'The only thing a pirate's good for is the gallows'? Come to escort me there yourself- again?"

"Phil, will you just-will you just shut up and listen to me for once!"

Phil's jaws click shut.

"Yes, captain," he spits out, and then falls silent. Technoblade fixes him with a pointed glare, but the heat of his anger dies when his gaze falls once more on the dark circles beneath his friend's eyes, and the tremor in his shoulders. It's easy to forget he isn't the only one affected by what happened-both of them having had old wounds ripped wide by the argument. Both of them are at fault-both of them suffering. But all it takes is one look at Phil to remind him, because his friend should never look so worn-so closed off from the world around him in his pain. He doesn't look so much angry as he does defensive, like a cornered animal biting at the hands that reach for him. There's a shadow in his gaze, something dark and haunted and pained, and his hand is drifting to his chest, toward the bandages where beneath he knows the man is forever marked. His bitter words from their fight, spat in fury and self-defense and a frantic scramble to get the last word in, suddenly echo in his mind.

'You could've stopped, you could've renounced piracy after-'

After his parents' execution.

Gods.

He suddenly feels sick.

"...Phil," he starts again, this time softer. Phil's fists clench, white-knuckled, so hard his nails bite into his skin and start to draw blood. Technoblade moves instinctively to grab his friend's wrists and pull them close, but the second his fingers brush skin, Phil rips his hands out of reach with a low hiss. Icy blue eyes dart up to meet his gaze challengingly, every inch of Phil bristling and ready for a fight.