You still couldn't walk.

But moving was getting easier.

Your arms could stretch, and you could partially wriggle. It was progress. Somewhat. As much progress you had made in a few days time.

Walking was too much- everything in you was weak from trying to recover from the brink of death.

No matter how hard you tried- and believe me, you did- you would end up on the floor when you attempted the most basic of actions.

Want to grab a book from the bookshelf?

Nope.

Gotta wait for someone.

Want to look out the window?

Nope.

Gotta wait for help again.

It was terrible, and tedious, but you had Phil to help, and that made things bearable.

Every night you would nearly freeze over- no amount of raging fireplace would stop that from happening.

Because someone- didn't put insulation- in their fucking walls.

Not listing names.

Techno would linger around the house, but after telling him to back off, he completely shrunk into his own little areas.

It was like he vanished- traces of him left all throughout the house, yet he never approached you.

If he checked on you- then you wouldn't know, because you never saw him when you were awake.

The growing pile of pelts and animal furs was the only thing telling you that he visited the attic. Each night there'd be a new addition somewhere- either on the bed frame, or wall, or floor- anywhere a pelt could be placed in all honestly.

You weren't sure the reasoning- and it frustrated you to no end that he was still being nice to you.

If he wanted to care- he wouldn't have turned against Pogtopia. He wouldn't have put you in a situation like that to begin with.

Your emotions were everywhere- tangled string being strewn across every thought-

You felt betrayed? And hurt? But still festered with the pacifistic urge to assure him things were fine, and you were friends- but he was a fucking ass to try and hurt people-

And-

ARGH-

This is why you lashed out.

You... can't handle all these thoughts at the moment.

The bleak realization of deaths knocking, and Techno being so juxtapose, and if Tommy's alive- and what your brother's doing- and....

You sighed.

Fustrated.

You don't want to feel thankful to someone- you don't want to owe anyone for saving you-

You should've just died- you should've let another piece of your mother's legacy fade out.

Yet here you were, laying in a bed, thinking so many things yet unable to try and fix any of them.

It had only been a few days, but you despised sitting in this bed.

Because sitting in this bed meant you couldn't check on the world of the living. Aka, L'manberg. Or what's left of it.

You needed to know.

You tried asking Phil a few times- but he barely visited L'manberg because of the situation you were in. Too busy taking care of an unconscious body.

You know. Regular daily things that regular people do.

He only visited once, while you were still unconscious- and from that one visit he assured you things were fine, but you couldn't stop worrying.

You needed to see for yourself.

But without a properly functioning body- you couldn't really do that.

So here you were.

Phil tried to stick around as often as he could, but no one person could fully be in charge of entertaining another person, so you understood why you were sitting alone in a room right now.

Bored out of your mind.

Random book on your lap.

Phil said he found it on one of his adventures, and it was good for the first few pages, but then it dissolved into facts about structural integrity-

You were over with it, but couldn't move to a different book because the rest of the books were on a bookshelf that you couldn't walk to.

Bored.

That is what you were.

Stir crazy.

So very, very restless.

Trying your absolute best to find a way to entertain your mind, and not think about who couldn't survive the wither battle.

"Aye mate-"

"Phil!"

What a godsend-

You didn't even here the ladder creak with how caught up in your thoughts you were.

But there he was- wings still dragging, blue eyes still tired, yet strangely sparked to life.

You smile, flickering your eyes around how strangely happy he was at the moment.

"You look-... happier then usual..." You chuff, "What gives?"

He squints at you, tossing a new book onto your bed before saying, "I'm going to visit L'manberg tomorrow- figured you're well on your way to recovery- and you know staying in one place makes me itchy-"

A grin spreads across your face- hope- finally- holy shit- finally-

"Dude really?? When?? Do we need to pack, or is the trip short?" Your excitement is overflowing-

He sees that-

And cringes, which instantly makes you suck back in your happiness.

Oh no.

What-

What does that cringe mean.

"Philll-... What are..." Your face drops completely as you come to the bleak and utter realization. He wasn't going to take you with him.

"You're not taking me with you." You voice as your brows furrow, and you intently stare into Phil's eyes, watching him flinch at your disappointment.

"Aw come on dude- don't give me that look-" Phil groans, dragging both his hands down his face before taking a matter of fact sit onto your bed, "Listen- just because I said you're well on your way to recovery, does not mean that you're recovered and ready for a two day trip."

"PHIL.... Look- I can wiggle- see- that's progress-" You twist your body into a stretch just to prove you could move, feeling your lunges burn before you break into a cough- shit-

"(Y/N)." Phil speaks.

The lilt of silliness is gone as he gives you a serious face, "You can't walk- you're still recovering from having a literal collapsed lung- and you are shit at dealing with the cold."

"But-"

"You can't come."

You close your mouth. Giving him a blank look, worried eyebrows drawn in tight with stress.

You were so desperate to go to L'manberg- to see what was happening-

So worried about Tommy, and Tubbo- and who knows- maybe you even had a slight inkling for Fundy- the poor guy who lost his father- and maybe even Quackity- the dude who sang you songs despite being on opposite sides-

Maybe, just maybe-

You wanted to give a fuck about people- and show them you care.

Phil's gaze flickered between your two eyes, hesitant, and observing how rapid fire your thoughts were pacing.

"Mate- seriously- you don't want to screw up your recovery time by overexerting yourself." He paused, watching you glance up to look at him, "You understand that, right? Because if you weren't so fucking scuffed up, I wouldn't hesitate to take you back."

"I know." You said, face shifting into a bitter glare. A glare that you angled down at the sheets, because you know Phil didn't deserve to have that bitter look fixed on him.

Phil sighs.

"If the trip is so perilous for me... why did I make the trip out here in the first place-" You throw your hands up, "Why am I recovering here, and not L'manberg."

Phil shrugs, "I already told ya."

"When."

"When you first woke up."

"Please, enlighten me as to why I'm in Techno's stuffy attic, and not with the group of people that actually care about me."

Because Techno can't.

Techno doesn't. 

He really shouldn't.

Phil takes in a deep breath, "When I said I found you in Techno's arms, I meant that quite literally." He pauses, and you take the time to interrupt.

"Psh. Like he cares."

Phil finally squinted back at you, "He does. He does big time- while you were bleeding out- Techno was going batshit. Not verbally- but if you've ever seen him get into one of those stupid voice frenzies then you know he just-... lashes out-"

The room felt colder with Phil's description, and not a moment later Phil lifts his arm up, pulling back his sleeve to show you a scabbing gash running down his arm. Like he got nicked with a sword of some sort.

"May or may not have gotten nicked by him- may or may not have had to seriously reason with him to let me actually fucking help you, but the one things he absolutely refused was to put you down- so here we are."

You squint, bitter expression fixed onto Phil's arm instead of the blankets.

"Does it hurt?" You mutter, staring down the healing flesh.

Phil shrugs his sleeve back down, "Only when I scratch at it. But it's been a few weeks so not actively."

"Right." You murmur, "A few weeks. How could I forget."

"Yeup. A few weeks since that absolute shit show."

You look back into Phil's eyes, "Do you blame him?"

"Blame him...?" Phil asked- and a peculiar look rose to his face.

Like a flash of memories wafted over him- before he gave you that smile.

That same sort of smile he gave you right before he went off to reason with Wilbur-

A smile addressed for family.

"Never." Phil uttered, "I know its overwhelming for him at times."

"The voices." You utter.

"The voices." Phil calmly says.

With that, that certain conversation came to a close.

Both of you sitting in silence, Phil ambling to the chair next to your bed to pick up where he left off while reading.

Below the ladder, a figure shifted, uneasily seated on the floor, back pressed against the wall, red eyes staring out over the wood room.

A pelt was idly laying next to him, fur ever so soft in contrast to how loud the voices in his head were.

Did she think he didn't care?