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Technoblade, it turns out, has a bit of an affinity for animals. Or maybe it’s just Phil’s crow. The first time the bird fluttered up onto Technoblade’s shoulder instead of Phil’s, the pirate had sputtered in feigned indignance, though he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “Oh, Brian, you little shit,” he waggles a finger in the bird’s face, who nips playfully back and ruffles its wings. “Playing favorites already, are we?” And he shoots an accusing look at Technoblade, who can’t keep the grin off of his own face as the bird nuzzles closer into his neck with a happy croak. “What can I say?” Technoblade drawls, lifting a finger to scratch at the soft feathers atop the crow’s head. “Animals just like me.” After that, the bird sticks a lot closer to Technoblade, as if to spite Phil. The look on Phil’s face when Brian gives him the cold shoulder only to cuddle up next to Technoblade instead never fails to make Technoblade laugh, if only to add insult to injury. It’s all in good fun, though a part of Technoblade does enjoy the bird’s company. It’s nice to have a companion when his work gets dull or things get too quiet. Brian is always quick to answer him with a throaty caw or a softer croon when he voices his thoughts aloud, and it’s easy to pretend he’s having an actual conversation with the bird. It’s better than admitting how silly he must look. He was genuine when he told Phil about his tendency to bond with animals. He’d made quick friends of the dock’s mousers back when he worked at the port, and a quicker friend yet of the ship’s own feline companion. The little calico kitten—Crumb, Ranboo had called her; named after she’d been found covered in her namesake in the pantry of his old estate—is fierce and cuddly all at once, and though her bite packs a punch, she’s swift to sweeten up to Technoblade when he offers her some dried fish. So, yeah, he’s pretty good with animals. He usually prefers their company, anyway. Phil is far too noisy. His hidden talent comes in handy sooner than he expected. They’ve dropped anchor not far from the shore of a small island. The crew is taking advantage of the brief reprieve to splash and swim in the clear blue waters around the ship. Technoblade still isn’t much of a swimmer—he hasn’t so much as set foot in the ocean since that night so many months ago. He stands and leans against the railing, watching as the crew’s younger members tumble around in the waters. Tubbo and Tommy are taking turns dunking on another, squawking and shrieking playfully. Somewhere beneath the glittering surface, he can see the flash of black and white scales, and every once and a while the boys are tugged under from below. Ranboo’s perplexing form had been accepted into the crew with surprising ease, after the revelation during battle. Tommy and Tubbo seemed to have known beforehand, much to his chagrin, because they scarcely so much as flinched when Ranboo first transformed again after the incident. It doesn’t surprise him. The three are practically inseparable. It only makes sense that they’d have known Ranboo’s secret from the very beginning. He has his own suspicions that said secret might be the very reason Ranboo fled his family in the first place. There’s a shadowed look in the kid’s eyes when he speaks of his parents, no matter how fond the stories seem, and Tubbo seems to tense whenever the subject of him returning is brought up in conversation. But it’s not his place to share, and if the kid does tell his story, it’ll be when he’s ready to, and only that. Regardless, the kid is enjoying himself, and that’s good enough for now. They all deserve a break, particularly after that last fight. Phil most of all—not that he’ll take one. His injury is healing well, despite his best efforts to keep reopening it with his constant antics. Eret’s tongue-lashing in the wake of his new stitches had subdued the pirate enough to keep him from scaling the crow’s nest too frequently, although Technoblade still catches him up there now and then. The stitches have been removed, leaving behind only an angry red scar, and the sight of it still makes Technoblade’s stomach twist. A few inches difference, and it could have been Phil’s heart instead of his shoulder. It could have been Ranboo. Phil’s quick thinking saved the kid from a bad hit. A potentially fatal one, at that. He’s got no clue why the men were firing at the very person they were supposed to bring back in one piece, or how Phil managed to get to Ranboo’s side fast enough, but he won’t sully his gratitude with pointless wonderings. He doesn’t want to lose a kid on his watch. And neither does Phil. The man is watching over the crew as they swim, just as Technoblade is. He leans casually next to him, looking for all the world like the perfect picture of indifference—were it not for the way his eyes continue to dart toward the children as they splash around. He’s whistling a merry tune under his breath, leaning into the wind as he always does, but Technoblade can see the way his muscles are coiled beneath the surface, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. That’s something else he’s begun to notice about Phil, now that he can read him better. Phil is always on guard, always on edge—even when he seems reckless and carefree. When he says he’s keeping an eye out in the crow’s nest, he truly is, nearly every moment dedicated to scanning the horizon. Phil seems to be prepared for every bad situation, and Technoblade is loath to think what could have caused the man to live in such a way. Beneath his shining smile, there’s a tension that doesn’t seem to go away, a suspicion in the way he glances behind him when his back is turned to the crew. He remembers how he found Phil—cuffed to the wall and abandoned by his crew for the Navy to collect—and thinks that perhaps his suspicions aren’t unfounded. Still, he wishes he could pry a more genuine smile out of the man now and then. He’s annoyingly persistent in his stubborn attempts to tease and bother Technoblade with awful jokes and relentless banter, but the smile never fully carries over to his eyes—save for when he’s up in the crow’s nest, and the weight of the world seems to trade itself for a pair of wings. An awful squawk jolts him out of his thoughts. Beside him, Phil makes a soft sound of surprise, and Technoblade follows his wide-eyed gaze to the rigging. At first, he thinks it must have been Brian—the crow is nothing if not persistent in his harassment of various crew members, but when he looks up to the ropes he sees white feathers instead of black, struggling violently where they’re tangled amidst the gaps. “The hell?” Phil voices his thoughts. “Is that…?” “A bird,” Technoblade affirms. “Must be from that island. But what’s it doing this far out?” “Questions later, mate—I think the poor thing’s stuck.” And so it is. Tufts of down flutter from the sky above, panicked noises filling the air, and Technoblade is scaling the rigging before he can even think about his panic from the weeks prior. He reaches the bird, and reaches out a hand to steady it, but the creature is having none of it, its struggles renewing with fresh vigor and fear. “Hold still,” he says softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s alright. Shhh. Everything’s alright.” His hand stills in soft white feathers. The bird seems to still as well, as if sensing no malice from him. “That’s it. I’m just here to help you, that’s all.” His voice drops to a soft murmur as he works at untangling the fragile wing from the coarse ropes. “How the heck did you manage this, huh? Silly thing.” The bird makes a softer noise at that, only to shriek in pain when the wing finally comes free from its confines. It clings frantically to the ropes, the wing draping limply beside it, and it’s clear the poor creature is hurt. And so he gathers the bird close to his chest with a sympathetic noise, and begins the arduous task of climbing back down with only one hand.