Chapter Text
When the news reached his ears, there was a lot going on. There was the screaming cheers from Wilbur, laughing hysterically, saying something how maybe there's some hope with the government after all. There were silent but burning comforts, Techno's grip lit up against his hand; it was one of the things reminding him this was real, he was here, on the other side of things. He wasn't another statistic, he wasn't a cover up, like he always had been, a mistake to be hidden from the world. He was someone who succeeded, who could finally breathe again, even if it was through trembling sighs that tumbled out of him. It was Phil reaching over, scratching his head in just the right spot as they had all learned how to do, and saying, You're okay Tommy, you won.
It all seems unreal.
It's almost blasphemous.
Tommy was a Piglin, detested and overlooked by society, seen as an aggressive force that could be a force of danger, yet sat in that chair with so many eyes on him, others saw him for what he was, a person. Just like how he had saw Techno bleeding out, pale and sickly, and knew he was a person too and couldn't turn his back on him.
Thank God he didn't.
He wasn't running from Dream anymore, ignoring countless calls or dodging horrible insults. He wasn't living paycheck to paycheck in a rundown apartment that stunk. He wasn't alone anymore.
He always had Bad, the man who gave him a job and didn't turn him away at a quick glance of him. Of course, Ranboo had always been there, that fucking guy is a saint. Always running out to meet him, keeping him steady when he felt like he was crumbling to ruins, and was the reason he was able to even realize he was being abused by Dream. If it hadn't been for him, who knows how long it would've continued, how bad it would've gotten.
He's nothing compared to Dream, a beloved and adored hero. Children look up to him, parents cheer for him, the world loves him. He was all charming smiles and sickly sweet lies, all to hide the ugliness of grief and the sorrow of losing oneself.
Yet people had heard his story and believed him. They had seen what he had done, how he had been so badly hurt, and couldn't sit in their perfect little bubble any longer. Dream had given up and it felt like some sort of victory. Dream never gives up, he's as stubborn as they come, to the point he twists realities to always put him in the right. It's what he did.
Yet he stood there and told everyone.
"In agreement with your pleading guilty, please tell the court the details of your crime." The judge had spoken, stern, watching and waiting. Almost a challenge, try backing out now, I dare you.
Dream, crestfallen and a withered being of a man he called a hero, a brother, only spoke with lowered eyes. The silver hung on his wrists, the shade of orange looking almost neon against his skin.
He spoke.
He spoke of how he had guilt-tripped his best friend into getting Tommy's job location. He spilled that he had plans to experiment with Tommy's Piglin nature to see if he could find any weaknesses to exploit against The Blade, the man he's been hunting ever since the start of his heroing. He told the world how he had to teach Bad a lesson for interrupting him, how he choked him and Tommy begged him to stop. Everyone listened as he admitted slamming Bad into the shop's walls, living for the way his collarbone broke underneath his hands. Horror spilled past his tongue as he explained how he wanted to make Tommy better, that he would hit him, made him listen to what he really thought of him.
The media could only come up with one word for him: A monster.
"The thought that Smiles could ever hurt a child, let alone his own brother, to this extent was almost unfathomable. But alongside the jury, I watched the tape." One reporter, named Eret, wrote. "The only silver lining in this situation, of prolonged child neglect, abuse, and attempted exploitation, is that the child in question has finally escaped that nightmare."
The Hero Committee called it an atrocity, making a public apology to the victim. They called him a disappointment, a display of what the worst could be and to encourage the public to report any suspected child abuse of any kind to the proper authorities, to let this be a lesson to not overlook the signs.
"Fucking hypocritical bastards, I mean there's no way they didn't fuckin know," was all Wilbur could say, a scowl on his face watching it air.
Tommy thought it was a bit funny.
"They're telling us to report their own government officials in?" He quipped, snorting. "That sounds like a bad idea, don't tell anyone I told you this."
"This is why we need people like Q who toe the line and actually give a damn," Wilbur groaned, flopping his head against the back of the couch.
How did Tommy feel?
That was a bit more complicated.
His head was overwhelmed, conflicting thoughts clutching at his heart.
It wasn't because he really felt bad about Dream going to jail, but he felt like he needed more. More than this. It didn't feel settled, he was still waiting for something to happen. His heart refused to be at ease.
He knew what was missing.
Closure.
Some may say he got it when he told the world and the world believed him, but he knew there's something far richer he could claim. A final line in the sand he could never cross until now.
"You're sure about this?" Quackity asks, sitting at his desk, staring at him with horror.
"I am,"
"And you want to visit him?"
"Yes."
He watches as the lawyer reaches up and scratches the back of his neck.
"Hmm, I guess me and Sapnap did owe Wilbur a visit, so we could just combine your visit." Quackity thinks, tapping the top of his pen methodically. "You could have your chat and then wait for Wilbur to have his."
"Huh? Why can't I stay with Wilbur?" He asks.
Quackity smiles, like he knows something.
"Cause the adults are talking then kiddo."
"I'm not a kid!"
"By every law known to man, you are," Quackity laughs, shaking his head with a grin.
At that, he just slouches against the chair and pouts.
He glances at the wooden frame on the lawyer's desk. It's a photo of him and Sapnap, outside of their work clothes. To think that Sapnap has become a leading advocate for kids without a voice and an avid critic of the Hero Committee — well, weirdly enough, it's just like him. He always did think Sapnap was too good to Dream and deserved a lot more than what he got.
An odd sense of pride swells in him at Sapnap's smiling face in the photo, Quackity's arm tucked around his build and drawing him to lay close against him. His smile is so bright and even from an outside view, it's clear—he's happy. The matching necklace they hang from their necks is evident of that.
"Alright, I'll put your papers in order. I'll need Phil to sign them too since he's your legal guardian now," Quackity says, typing something up on his computer and dragging open a couple of windows each with new and improved legal jargon he couldn't understand even if he wanted to. "And I'll set the visit a week from today. Everything should be in order by then, so make sure your brother is adequately prepared too 'kay?"
He smiles back.
It's good to have people he can count on, he doesn't have to carry anything alone anymore.
Pandora's Vault is a bit intimidating, even for a visitor.
The halls are dark, shrouded in shadows that linger and waver, with flickering lights overhead, it reminds him of a horror movie. Inmates are separated by room, large metal doors with only two silvers of space—one for the guard to speak to the inmate and another to slide food. The only way a prisoner gets out is by the key of a guard and even then, every step a guard takes is monitored and recorded. It's so tightly locked down, not a chance for an escape, and he guesses he should expect that for a federal prison.
"Sam," Quackity says, upon reaching the person who mans the desk, who is dressed strangely. He's wearing a gas mask around his mouth and then copper-brimmed goggles are on his eyes, a glimpse of dark green barely showing through the tinted glass. "These are the boys I told you about, we're here for Dream Simons."
Sam, the man, glances over at them, slowly taking them in.
"Is Sapnap visiting as well?" He asks, nodding over to where Sapnap is trailing just behind Quackity.
"He's here for safety matters, so no need for a guard." Quackity smiles and there it is, that glint of something more. He hooks his arm around Sapnap's shoulder, drawing him down to his height until he's folded over and his face is burning red. "He's a big tough flame guy, he's good, yeah? His flames don't hurt people unless he intends to and he's level-headed, all the good qualities of a guard!"
Sam just stares for a moment before huffing. He glances apologetically at Sapnap and despite being unable to see anything beyond the black gasmask, he can sense a smile there.
"I hope Quackity hasn't been working you too hard, he can be a lot to handle. Forgive him," Sam just says, grabbing a pair of keys from his desk, what he assumes to be the master key.
At that, Sapnap just chuckles and there's that smile again.
"Alright, no time like the present," Quackity says, releasing Sapnap his hold and clapping his hands. "Let's hurry on Warden sir."
Sam rolls his eyes.
"Follow me this way and please you two stay behind Sapnap at all times,"
He glances up at Wilbur and then looks back at Sam and nods.
"I can't believe you're visiting him," Wilbur whispers, confused. "You never explained why. Did he do something? Say something to you? I was already planning on making his life hell while I was here, but if I need to go further—"
"I just need to be done with this," Tommy says honestly, smiling up at Wilbur. "I'm okay, Will, really I am. I just, I feel like I'm chained to him because we're brothers and I'm tired of that looming over me. I want to end it all and live my life with you and Phil and Techno."
Wilbur looks down at him for a moment and smiles back.
"At any point we can leave, you know that right?"
"Yup," He hums back.
He reaches up and gently ruffles his hair, ruining all the hard work Techno did earlier.
"I have an adorable little brother, you're so brave."
"Wilbur, I will expose you as the Phantom and have you locked up here."
At that, his boisterous laughter comes rolling out, scaring some of the guards standing at their post by the doors.
They're brought to a room that reminds him of that one interview room in police shows. With the poor lighting, metal chairs, and gated windows offering the tiniest hint of sunlight. Sam pulls the gated door close, metal bars surrounding them.
"You know what to do when you're ready to leave," Sam says, but it feels more like a question.
"Yup," Quackity assures and hangs back towards the door, right by it in case he needs to call for someone.
There's another screech of metal and it's Sapnap entering this time, with Dream hanging from his arm. He looks so... different.
He falls into the metal chair and doesn't even put up a fight when Sapnap locks his cuffs to the table, securing to make sure he won't try anything. His hair is disheveled, ruined by a lack of sleep or the life he once had—he doesn't know which. His eyes, they're weirdly dim, almost glossy, as they stare at the table and the skin underneath is such a dark contrast to his pale skin that has been deprived of sunlight for some time now.
Then, he glances up and he sees it even now, this is him, this is the same Dream.
It's now or never.
He grabs the metal chair across from him and takes a seat.
This is it.
This ends with him.
"Let's make one thing clear," Tommy says, taking in a deep breath before looking Dream in his eyes. There, he finds a cold, dead stare; one that had nothing left to lose and nothing to live for—and it knew it. "I'm not here for you, I'm here for me."
In truth, he was terrified.
And with a sickening realization consuming him, he knew, at some level, he would always be afraid. Fear was his shield, one he kept for months on end, it was something that kept him safe and protected him, but now it was weighing him down, trying to make him cling to a former him. The kid that hid in kitchen cabinets tied together by lamp cables and hid underneath bed frames, learning how much sound a breath takes up.
Yet, now, Dream holds no power here.
Chained to a table by a pair of silver cuffs, adorning a neon orange jumpsuit with just a number tag to identify him—he was powerless. He was a nobody; he was just a ghost from his past who couldn't rest now.
Tommy can walk away and there's not a damn thing Dream can't do to stop him this time around.
Those cruel eyes stared onward, familiar like the taste of anxiety on his tongue, but he gave them nothing to feast on.
He was more than that little kid now and the whole world knew it.
"While it's true you're my brother, by blood at least," Tommy starts, the weight of what he came to say resting heavily on his shoulders now. "I've been taught by others, those you deem scum, that family is not just a term for blood. I'm not a poetry freak like Will, but being family is about having a bond, yeah? Our bond was our blood and I'm cutting it here."
He hears an amused snort come from Quackity at the jab.
There, he sees it. That flicker of flame he knew all too well raging in dim green eyes.
He would never change, he would never even try, he knows.
Sometimes, the ones you love are just the monsters that hunt you and you have to be the one to shoot the silver bullet.
"I'm done with this, with us." He says, hands curling in his lap. "We were once brothers—but not anymore."
And for the first time since this visit, Dream opens his mouth.
"What do you mean?" He says almost desperately, like he's crying out for something. He leans forward but is held back by the short chains and Sapnap's hand grasping his shoulder, yanking him back until his shoulder blades dig into the curve of the metal chair. He shakes his head, shifting in his head. "You—you can't just erase blood, Tommy! Surely, you're not that dumb."
There's a click of teeth and a hiss at his side. Without looking up, he's sure Wilbur is bearing a dangerous expression, a warning one for Dream. One more wrong word and it's over for him, he would know the pain of a thousand chilly nights and the way frostbite burns an abandoned body.
He reaches over and grabs Wilbur's hand, holding it safe within his own.
He doesn't have to look to see the smile that's on his face.
"You're right, I can't." Tommy smiles and it feels right. This is it—this is one step closer to freedom. "But I can let it not haunt me, Dream, I — well, I'm no longer your brother anymore. I only came to tell you that we were through, that we're no more, that this is over."
Dream stares with horrified eyes, more genuine than he's ever seen them in recent months, and it's only thing does he sees the smallest glimpse of the brother he once knew, before their loss.
"I'm disowning you as my brother," Tommy finishes, not letting his words get muddled. "It's already done, we're — we're done."
And just like that, Dream shatters.
The words enter the air, crisp and clean. The clear-cut truth can hurt worse than any blade, and cannot be healed by any drug when the words tear you apart.
He crumbles in on himself, a broken man with nothing to his name and nobody on his side. Some may say it's sad, tragic even. Others may call it justice.
Tommy?
Well.
He finds it invigorating; that's what freedom tastes like to him. It's fresh cold air freeing your trapped lungs, long deprived and beaten, and suddenly the world is new again. You are new again and the world is made of beauty once more, bursting with color.
Tommy knows who his brothers are. Their names are Techno and Wilbur. One, a Piglin, just like himself, with fiery hot skin that warms him better than any heater and calloused hands that hold him delicately as he braids his hair softly. Another, a Phantom, made of chilled air and wings that are but bone with blue skin that unsettles others, but his hands pluck against guitar strings and play old songs that lull him to sleep. Wilbur claims they're twins and Techno says, with an endeared smile, Only in your dreams nerd.
They hold him when he has nightmares. They never let a moment become dull or silence linger for too long. Wilbur teaches him how to cook, even when Techno says he sucks. Techno shows him how to use a knife, to tuck his knuckles back and slice vegetables thinly against the cutting board. They make a hot pot together and let him take all the glory, like big brothers do.
Dream is not his brother.
He is an abuser, a monster, a hero that has fallen from grace and forgot why he wanted to become one in the first place.
Tommy knows who he is.
He is Ranboo's best friend. He is Wilbur's and Techno's little brother. He is Phil's son. He is made by his past but not defined by it.
He is alive, even if Dream wishes he wasn't.
Isn't that a damn shame?
Dream can stay and continue to haunt a land he has long abandoned, forgoing it for a house of warmth and laughter, and wilt as time continues, but he will not. He will live again.
He may have been surrounded and covered in darkness, so heavily that it took hold of him, and through it all, he still managed to find them.
He stands up from the table and looks down Dream, fallen and broken, and does not weep.
This is the end for him.
He smiles over at Quackity who grins back and calls for a guard.
He waits until he can't hear Sam's polite small talk with Tommy as he guides him to the break room, offering him a snack and soda while he waits.
He waits until he can't hear footsteps any longer.
He waits until the silence his brother has known for far too long comes crashing in.
"You're pathetic," He hisses, stepping forward towards Dream and he looks down at the sniveling mess that he is. Hair astray, eyes wet, like he cares, but he doesn't. He knows what he is, beneath it all. "Here you are, crying because you no longer have someone to control, to hurt. You did this, you hurt him and now you will pay every consequence imaginable. You will die in here, alone, and if you ever see the chance of parole, even when you're wrinkles and bones, I will be there at every hearing, at every courtroom."
The bastard has the nerve to glare up at him with red-rimmed eyes.
"What the fuck do you know?" He hisses and slams his hands against the table. "You don't know shit! You could never understand, you villain filth."
He just snorts and leans back in the chair, never letting his smile fall.
"I don't know much, that's true," He says, staring at the fluorescent light above and even without looking, he knows there's a glimmer in those desperate eyes. "I don't know why you hate Techno so much, outside of him being a villain. I don't know why you hid Tommy as your brother from the media. Why you lost yourself and fell from grace. I don't know any of that."
"Then—"
He hates that desperate hope that he has, clinging onto anything that'll listen.
He'll crush it until nothing but despair remains.
"See, I don't need to. I don't need a justification like you disgusting heroes do," He laughs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. He smiles, watching Dream twist and turn, like a prey caught under a predator's grip. Struggle all you like, you're still dead meat in the end. He glances up across the room where his former enemy leans against the wall behind Dream. "No offense,"
"None taken," Sapnap snorts.
"And what? You're buddies with villains now too?" Dream turns back to look at Sapnap, his anger flaring up as he struggles against his metal binds. "First that fucking lawyer and now the scum of the Earth? How low are you going to fall!"
Sapnap takes a step forward and slams his hand on the table, next to where Dream sits and looks him in the eye, too close for comfort.
"At least I don't abuse kids, Dream, so even if I fall, I'll never hit lower than you."
He takes his hand away, not waiting for a response, and goes back to leaning against the wall, just watching the display.
"Do you know what I do know, Dream?" He says his name like it's an insult and it is. The moment he looks at this man, thinking about him, the more disgusted and angrier he gets. "I remember it like yesterday really. I suppose it wasn't too long ago but it's been enough time for a callous monster like you to forget, to not even think about it? But I? Oh, I will never forget Dream."
The inmate stares at him, bewildered and a little bit horrified, scared of what's to come.
Good.
"I could never forget the way he cried, when he begged you to try and understand. You showed no mercy, not even to your own brother, and cut what little left of pride and self-worth he had down." He says smiling, thinking of the way the glass covered the shop's floor. He remembers Tommy's pleas, his desperation and the way he sunk into the ground as Dream made him believe everything he said was true. Oh, how he wanted to kill him then. "Do you remember what you did? How you beat him? Left him covered in dark blues and purples, how he was bleeding when we got to him, and how you sprained his wrist? You bruised him, beat him, and treated him like he was dirt."
He narrows his gaze at Dream.
"And now you're crying because you've lost him? Don't make me fucking laugh."
The anger is building up, shaking through metal cuffs, and the only thing he can think of at that moment is that this is the same anger Tommy had to live with for months.
It makes him a bit pissed off, so he grabs the strands of dark blonde hair and slams Dream's head against the table, grinning at his stunned cries and the groan of pain that follows.
"Sorry, I just got a bit heated remembering it all."
Dream struggles to raise his head up but when he does, he glances back horrified at Sapnap, Aren't you going to help me? he wants to say, but sympathy is lost to the former hero who offers him nothing but a cold stare in return.
He has nobody and Wilbur will make sure it stays that way for the rest of his miserable life.
"Tommy always tried so hard for you but it was never enough, you gave him nightmares, made him terrified of messing up, of not being good enough," His grip tightens on his own hands. "It's almost enough to make my blood boil."
Fog falls past his lips, breathing out and dropping the temperature, watching as Dream shivers against the silver links. Now that's more like it.
"Justice isn't quite as sweet as vengeance, don't you think?" He says, grinning. "Tommy has been so hurt because of you, I think it's time to repay the favor. Let's have a little fun—until the thought of my brother haunts you with the worst chills imaginable. The mind is a funny thing like that. Association and all that crap."
He watches as green eyes go wide and Sapnap closes his.
To be honest, Tommy was having a great day.
Even if that did mean his family coming home from an expedition with an injured Techno who had blood dripping down the side of his head and Phil worrying his mind out as he sat him on top of their dining table to look over it.
"You got injured again? Who was it this time?" He finds himself asking, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands but he figures Techno needs a bit more than a creamy sweet drink to fix him up, so he hands his cup to Wilbur's instead, then places his back on the counter in order to help out.
"Ugh, 404," Techno groans as his forehead wrinkles and tenses with pain. "He wasn't careful enough and when he sent electric pulses through everything, he broke a lamp post that landed on me."
"I told you to be careful when dealing with him, you know how dangerous he can be!" Phil chastises. "His powers aren't so easily controlled like others you face, like how Sapnap's was. He can control his flame, condense or expand it. 404 can't, he works with electric currents that aren't so solid and easy to handle, which leads to property damage like this."
"There were civilians there, I didn't think he'd be so reckless!"
Wilbur clicks his tongue, wagging his finger. "Excuses, excuses, Techno!"
"I'd like to see you handle 404, you'd be squashed like a fly."
"What the hell, that's so rude! Phil, tell him to say sorry!"
"Mate, I'm more worried about if your brother has a concussion or not right now," Phil stresses, looking at the wound. "It's been a while since I've done anything like this so it's hard to tell, especially with the fact he's Piglin. Damages are different based on that."
Oh.
Well.
"Let me see," He starts and walks forward, grabbing one of their dining table chairs and stepping on it so he's taller than his brother. He ignores Wilbur's barely contained laughter. He'll make him regret that later. "Can you get me my first aid kit from my bag, and do we have gloves around here?"
Phil thinks for a moment and nods, "Yeah I think so, I have a spare box for chemicals in the lower cabinet, I'll go grab some. Wilbur, help Tommy if he needs it."
"I would've done so without you even asking, that's a little insulting that you even asked."
"Shh!" Phil huffs, shaking his head with a grin and grabbing Tommy's first aid kit from his bag in the living room where he last left it.
With Phil out of sight, Wilbur pops in beside him, inspecting the damage from a distance.
"So, Dr. Watson, what's the verdict?"
"Give me a hair piece Wilbur before I kick you."
"Everyone in this house is so unnecessarily mean to me," Wilbur huffs but nonetheless takes one out from his pocket and hands it over. Careful to not touch any of the stained hair and not irritate the scalp further, he gathers Techno's hair into a loose ponytail. He doesn't want to make it too tight, he just needs his hair out of the way for now. "Ouch, that looks like it hurts."
He's right. Along the right side of his forehead, the skin is scraped and torn with bits of glass shards tucked in. The injury extends past his hairline just a bit, but nothing too outrageous, hopefully. It doesn't look like he got an electric burn either, which is good.
"If you were a normal human, you probably would have died," He ends up saying out loud. "Piglins have a higher tolerance for electricity given our more tougher and thick skin. It's the same reason why it's harder to burn us."
Techno just stares at him, like, yeah?
Prick.
He feels Phil's footsteps behind him and the presence grow close. As he continues to inspect the area without touching it directly, he lets his tail shoot out behind and grab the glovebox, bringing it towards him. He takes a pair out, pulling them on him, before handing it back to Phil in exchange for the first aid box where he takes out the tweezers.
"Does anything else hurt besides this?"
"Not really, everything else feels fine." Techno answers.
"Then you probably don't have a concussion." He claps the tweezers handles against each other, signalling he's going to use them. At his side, Phil has already brought out a spare plate. Gently, he clasps on the small shards, pulling them out, even as his brother flinches at particular deeper shards.
He knows what he's doing. He's prepared his life for this, for helping people.
It feels nice to help them just a little bit, after all they've done for him.
After the last bit of shards are placed on the plate, he lays the tweezers down and takes a cotton ball, dampening it with antiseptic.
"It's going to burn like a bitch,"
"Can't hurt worse than any of Sapnap's flames," Wilbur hums. "Those were so annoying, so glad he's not a hero anymore."
At that, he laughs and pats down the spot, cleaning it of any debris or bacteria lingering. He picks up another cotton ball just to pay it dry before grabbing a large bandage to cover it.
Gently, he rubs his thumb over the spot and then takes the ponytail holder out of Techno's hair, giving the strands a gentle wiggle to free them.
"Don't wear your hair up—no braids or ponytails. Nothing, you hear me." He warns his brother, narrowing his eyes. "It could stress your injury. Like I said, if you were human, you'd be dead. Give it two days before wearing your hair up again. You just need some fucking strong ibuprofen and rest."
He turns to Wilbur.
"Go to the store and buy the strongest pain medication you can find. Rob a pharmacy if you have to, I don't care. Pick up some ingredients for tea and extra honey."
At that, Wilbur snorts and gives a jokingly salute.
"Yes, sir!"
Then he looks at Phil.
"Lots of food! And rest."
At that, Techno groans in his hands.
"Great more overprotective bird mode."
"Yeah, yeah," Phil laughs, patting Techno's back. "Into the nest you go mate."
Tommy hops of the chair and dusts the cushion.
Phil returns and ruffles his hair, "You did good, thank you. You didn't have to help him y'know, we can handle ourselves."
He thinks for a moment and feels his face turn warm.
"I want to help you guys. I want you guys, if you're hurt to come to me and I'll help. If you're injured, I'd rather you bother me." He insists. "I've been thinking about it all. I like our family, our friends, and I want to be there for you, for everyone."
Phil takes his words in softly.
"Son, what are you saying?"
His heart races in his chest.
"Let me help you guys, like a medic!" He proposes, smiling at him. "I don't have any healing powers so it won't hurt or suck things out of me. I'm already studying to be a paramedic so I have the knowledge! And well,"
"Well?"
"I want to support you guys, I don't want you guys on your own without help." Tommy admits. "You're—You're my family, I'm not asking this because I feel like I have to or whatnot, but because I want to. I care about you guys, I think I'll go insane if I can't help you guys in some way. Please, just, consider it?"
Phil smiles.
"Tommy, the answer was yes the moment you asked." He says softly with gentle eyes.
His heart soars and he grins wide, jumping to wrap his arms around Phil's torso.
"Thanks Phil," Tommy says and then thinks for a minute. He smiles. "Thanks Dad."
"Oh, you're going to make me cry." Phil laughs, gathering him up in his arms and wrapping his wings around him.