Chapter Text
Wilbur has no idea what he’s supposed to do for his unexpected day off.
To be a superhero is a very time-demanding sort of thing. Wilbur has days off, technically, according to his contract, but they’re not so often for him to have things like hobbies or anything like that.
Most of the time, when he is given an entire day off, it is spent with him mostly catching up on sleep from the later night patrols. That, or he’s mostly scrolling through his phone for hours on end, lightly monitoring the city’s activities.
Which is always eventful. There’s always something going on. Something is always on fire, or about to blow up, or getting attacked by some sort of creature, and again, that’s kinda part of the reason why being a superhero is a time-demanding thing. Giant lizards do not care for anyone’s schedule. They just start attacking city hall.
Wilbur feels like he should be checking up on the state of city hall right now.
He refrains, if only because he feels Phil’s vague disappointment and worry materializing on the spine of his back, and also because about half of his limbs still fucking hurt. The meds, while comforting in just their sheer existence, take a little too long to kick in, and he can’t properly focus on anything. He just stares at his empty plate for a solid few minutes with nothing but a keen awareness for the ache still lingering on every inch of his arm, and then he stares at his empty cup with the distracted wondering thought of what his patrol partner is up to.
Probably cursing out whoever could be considered responsible for the mess of yesterday.
The mission was an objective failure, an honest stain on the crowfather’s very neat record, and it was entirely out of their hands. Their intel said there was one bomb. It was supposed to be one bomb. Wilbur was supposed to be able to find and stop that one bomb. Clearly, he didn’t.
Clearly, someone is getting fired over that, but that’s not Wil’s problem, thankfully enough. It’s Phil’s. It’s always Phil taking care of it.
Wil huffs, leaning away from the counter and dragging himself away from the kitchen entirely.
It’s not his fault, and it’s not his guilt to bear over how everything went, and logically, he knows that well, but he still can’t help but to think how it might’ve gone if he just ran a little faster, or checked the right floor, or listened to Phil entirely and just got out. If he did, then he wouldn’t have been caught up in it like this. If he did, then, standing there at the window, trying to look past the smoke, that wouldn’t have- there wouldn’t-
A tight feeling rises up through his throat. Wilbur, for a split second, stumbles on his next step, and he practically slams himself into the side of the couch in his effort to not fall to the ground. This has the side effect of aggravating all his current injuries. He lands directly on his bad arm.
“Owww….” Wilbur whines, crawling over the edge of the couch, collapsing into the cushions with his legs still mostly hanging off it. “Ow.” Wilbur emphasizes, like anyone is going to hear him. Nobody is hearing him. The apartment is utterly silent to his complaint.
Wilbur huffs again, harsh and sudden.
If he were on patrol, he’d get to complain to Phil. Phil would hear him. But he’s not on patrol, because Phil kicked him off for today, because Wilbur’s technically a liability, which is fair, but still not favored, and now he’s here, half-curled up on his couch with just enough pain to be considered uncomfortable.
God, this is just boring.
Wilbur twists and flails around in his spot to try and find some relief, and with nothing much else to do, he puts himself back to sleep, face tucked away in the space between the couch cushions, hands tucked up against his slow beating heart.
He sleeps, with the hope of speeding along his already mediocre healing ability, and with the hope of passing the day by.
He wakes up with a startle to a knock on his door at around mid-afternoon. He nearly falls off the couch at the sound of it, all his senses not quite right, and the danger signal in his head somewhat malfunctioning. What’s wrong? Something is wrong. Something is happening, and he’s in the wrong, or he’s about to be.
He hears the knock again, genuinely thinks his life is in danger and he’s about to fight for his life- and then a few more seconds pass, and he remembers off-handedly that Phil mentioned sending someone by at some point.
Right, right. Someone for his arm, he said.
The person at the door knocks yet again. They’re very persistent about it, if nothing else. Wilbur contemplates just letting them tire themselves out so that he can turn over and go back to sleep, but they knock throughout Wilbur’s entire thought process, so he has a feeling they’re not leaving.
He groans, frowning up at the ceiling with his head pressed further into the couch cushion under him. Why him? Why now? Five more minutes, at least. If he is to be forced off-field, let him be unconscious for the most of it, if nothing else. It seems only right.
Whatever. He drags himself up eventually. Everything within him feels somewhat numb, oddly enough. He’s off-balanced. He’s not really in pain, though, so that’s fine. He’s just too exhausted, all of a sudden, and a little pissed off for the fact that he’s not being allowed to go back to sleep to relive that exhaustion.
The knocking has grown into something non-stop by this point. Wilbur glares at the door from the hallway for a few seconds before actually walking over to open it. The knocking stops the second the doorknob clicks in being turned, and Wilbur doesn’t know who he’s expecting on the other side, but it’s not the Blade.
The Blade is at his door. Towering in where he stands with a bag on his arm, entirely in uniform, as if he’s still on duty and Wilbur was some passing stop. His somewhat-animal skull mask is as immensely off-putting as it always is, and it turns every speck of Wilbur’s disgruntled mood into a sudden dread and need to not be forced into this interaction.
He stares up at the guy for a little longer than is needed, probably. He needs those few seconds to process.
“...No, thank you.” Wilbur chimes once he’s taken it all in, with all the politeness of turning down a door-to-door salesman, while also trying to immediately shut his door.
The door does not shut. It stops, caught by something wedged in between, and Wilbur looks down to see a boot in the way. Blade’s boot, more specifically.
“Nope.” He repeats, quickly bracing himself against his door. “Absolutely not-”
“Yup.” The Blade replies, and then he shoves the door open, and shoves Wilbur with it, with no effort at all. Wilbur very narrowly avoids falling onto the floor, screaming in getting pushed back. “House visit.” Blade almost sings as he steps through the doorway, Wilbur stumbling backwards with a sputtering breath.
“Breaking and entering! This is breaking and entering!” Wilbur shouts, unsure if he should be trying to call for back-up or something. Who are you supposed to call when a superhero is robbing your house? “You’re not- Hey!”
“The law’s on my side.” Techno insists. He then calmly closes the door behind him, uncaring to Wil’s current rising panic, and he strides through the hall as if there’s everything normal about him just- inviting himself into Wil’s apartment.
Wilbur follows after him with a sort of offense at the fact he’s acting so casually. “Why are you- Wha-” Wilbur can’t pull together his words, he’s too thrown off by it all. “Why do you know where I live?!” He eventually settles on, appropriately shrill.
“Because Phil told me?” Techno answers, and ok. That’s fair. Phil did say he was sending someone. Wilbur knows this. But why the Blade, of all people? They work well in the field, and they do know each other, but why him? Why not anybody else? Of all people- “I mean, technically, I offered to come, but he did tell me where you live.”
Wilbur stops beside the kitchen door as Techno goes towards the counter, putting down the bag he had hanging on his arm. He starts taking out some stuff, and Wilbur takes the moment to both gather his wits and gather his questions.
“...Why does Phil know where I live?”
“Ehh, your address is logged in the commission’s database.” Techno shrugs, putting aside a couple cans of soup.
“Wait, really?” Wilbur doesn’t like the fact his address can just be looked up by other high ranking heroes. His fears are then immediately eased on Techno’s next words.
“Well. It was.” Techno reassures. “Phil scrubbed it, so. You’re good.”
“Oh. Phil has that high of a clearance?” Wil blinks with wide eyes, a bit surprised by that, and grateful for Phil making such a gesture.
“No.” Techno replies. He then immediately holds up a pill bottle, something that absolutely is not store brand, but rather something that their medical center at the commission might give to their more injured heroes that they need right back on the field. The good stuff, if anything. “I brought you some drugs.”
“You-” Wilbur chokes a little, on both the implication that Phil illegally accessed and altered the commission's records, and at the sheer delivery of that sentence.
He hits his chest while coughing, leaning against the doorframe. He wonders if he’s still sleeping, and having a weird fever dream of sorts. The Blade has broken into his home and is delivering him cans of soup and drugs. That seems like fever dream material.
“What.” He manages to grit out, through his strangled voice. Techno pretends to not notice his clear dying and keeps on talking.
“And be glad it's me bringing them, because Tommy was insistent upon doing this, and I have a feeling his entire-” He waves a hand up. “-everything, would’ve just sent you into a temporary coma, or something-”
“Names.” Wilbur warns half-heartedly, still mostly in shock. Tommy. The Blade has made no other mention of who Tommy might be, but Wil still knows immediately who he’s talking about. He still thinks of the speedster’s face in an instant, no other details needed. He holds his hands out in something baffled. “Uh- Identities, Blade.”
“Techno, actually.” Techno corrects, far too offhandedly for something like his literal first name.
“What.” Wilbur spits out again. He turns his head away, as if he can physically avoid what he just heard. “No- don’t tell me that, what-?”
“I mean, at this point, I think it’s only fair.”
“Huh?!”
What is going on? What is happening right now? First Phil just lets himself into his apartment, and now the Blade- Techno- is just- handing over his actual name, while also letting himself into Wil’s apartment. Without any hesitance whatsoever. And he’s handing over Tommy’s name too, not that Wilbur feels like Tommy would be all that offended, he has a hunch the kid would rather have his real name other than the stupid nicknames Wilbur likes to make up-
“Do you genuinely live like this?” Techno then asks, with such honest brutal judgement that all of Wilbur’s conflicting feelings are put on pause.
He looks back at where Techno has made his way across the kitchen, now staring towards his rather barren living room, his head tilted to the side like he’s trying to really take in the whole sight of it. Wil feels a vague sort of shame in his chest, and he stomps it down with an unyielding stubbornness.
“Do not make fun of my decor choices.” Wilbur insists, pointing a finger out.
“That implies there is decor to make a choice about. This can’t even be considered minimalism.” Techno immediately tosses back, Wilbur gasping in offense. He then turns back towards Wilbur with a questioning sort of look, almost concerned. “Are you gettin’ paid?” He asks.
Wilbur bristles in place at the implication of him being too broke to afford proper home decor. “I get paid!”
Techno doesn’t seem too convinced. He clicks his tongue, and slowly turns back to Wilbur’s living room. “Innnteresting.” He says, Wilbur narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you should consider buying, like, a painting, or something. A vase. Have we ever thought about havin’ some plants? Phil has plants. Which reminds me, I forgot to water them this mornin’. I gotta remember to do that when I get home.” Techno mostly mutters the last part, but Wilbur still hears it.
“Why do you-” This is Phil’s roommate, Wilbur’s brain suddenly supplies, alongside the other realization that he’s starting to know far too much about Phil’s civilian identity.
This is far too much. It is far too early for this. Nevermind the fact it's mid-afternoon, Wilbur feels like he shouldn’t be knowing these sorts of details right now.
“Alright, enough- time to get OUT of my apartment!” Wilbur decides, making his way towards the hero, fully intent on dragging him out by the braid if need be. It probably won’t be a successful effort, considering the fact Techno has literal super strength, but it's about the message of it. The intent.
“Yeah, sure, in a bit.” Techno agrees, and he stops Wilbur in his tracks by reaching his hand up and taking his mask off.
Wilbur automatically looks away, hands slapping at his eyes.
“I- wha- Identities, Blade!”
“Techno.”
“I’m not calling you that.”
“You literally call Phil by his first name.”
“Everyone knows his first name, that’s not the same! That doesn’t count!”
“Wilbur, you’re not even wearing your mask.” Techno says, and Wilbur stills. For both the use of his name, and for the fact that- he’s not. He hasn’t since last night. He opened that door without even thinking of it- and-
He looks up through his fingers, and his hands fall away upon seeing Techno’s face looking back at him. He looks- startlingly normal. There’s faint scars over his skin, jagged and dragged over the bridge of his nose, but it tells a story Wilbur feels like he already knows. Long time heroes always have their marks to bear.
Wilbur feels for a moment that he’s known this face all his life.
“It’s good to meet you.” Techno tells him, a little needlessly, because they’ve already known each other. Wilbur has known him throughout multiple life or death situations, multiple near disastrous missions, and he’s known his voice in all the bickering and chatter that was thrown all throughout, usually with Tommy and Wilbur arguing over the channel on their comms, Phil and Techno giving their input when it started to get a bit much.
Wilbur knows him, he’s fought beside him, he’s been in his company for quite some time, but it is still something else to actually see his face. The same way it was with Phil.
It’s not as jarring as he thought it would be.
“Uh.” Wil falters, but he settles, unable to not mirror Techno’s own calm demeanor. “Likewise.”
“How’s your arm?”
Wilbur glances down at his bandages. He moves it up and down. He looks back at Techno. “Honestly, I’m not feeling much of it.”
Techno raises a brow. “Uh. A little concerning, but- ok? I can look over it?” He offers.
Wilbur has a second of wanting to refuse, but he remembers again that this is who Phil sent, and the Blade is someone who can be trusted. He has a good mission record. He’s reliable on the field. He somehow manages having a sidekick speedster who listens to no man nor god.
And also, maybe it would be good to have someone else deal with his bandages.
He agrees, and a few minutes, as they sit beside the counter with the medkit open again, Wilbur’s wounded arm between them, Wilbur asks-
“His name is Tommy?”
“He looks like a Tommy, doesn’t he?”
---
Wil returns to patrol duty on the next day.
They move past the failed mission with nothing else other than lingering bruises, to Wil’s knowledge. They start their day in wandering their patrol area, and quickly get caught up in a on-foot chase. A perfect start back into the chaos.
Wilbur throws himself into the rush of it, and stays fast on the guy’s heels while Phil takes to the sky, likely so that they can corner him when he inevitably heads out into the open. Their target scatters off into an alleyway that leads to a fire escape, which leads to a roof, predictably enough. Wilbur quickly climbs up the ladder to follow with a scoffing sigh. Why is it always the roof that the villains tend to flee towards? As if that’s the best route with a hero that can literally fly.
It doesn’t matter how poorly the guy has planned his escape out, Wilbur still chases after, and he sprints down the end of a rooftop as their guy runs off, going towards the edge, clear intent to jump and land to the next building.
Wilbur means to follow, puts all his momentum into making the same jump, but he sees a glimpse of the drop over the edge as he comes near, and all the adrenaline in his veins suddenly goes sour and wrong, twisting hard in his stomach.
He gets close on the jump, stumbles on his step, and no, no-
He kicks himself back before he even realizes what he’s doing. He lands right on his back with a pained grunt, everything in him screaming, as if he’s narrowly avoided getting his head cut off. He sits up, breathing hard, scooting farther from the edge, looking down at the drop again, and feeling a sick swoop through his chest. Absolutely not. No way.
He puts himself at a decent distance, trying to calm, and then he realizes with a start that the guy is still running off.
Shit.
“Wilbur!” Phil calls, and he’s landing down on the same roof, coming over with worry in his eyes. He kneels down beside him, hands held out. “What happened? What happened?”
“It’s-” Wilbur’s mouth suddenly goes dry, and he’s not sure how to make a good reply. He settles on the more time pressing thing here, trying to push at Phil. “They’re getting away, Phil-!”
“Are you okay?”
“The fucking guy!” Wilbur snaps, throwing an arm out to their target just merrily running off into the distance. Phil’s expression goes stern, attention focusing down onto their guy’s head, and he stands up and takes off with enough force to make Wilbur flinch, wind pressing back his hair.
He watches with a held breath as Phil soars out high, and then dives down on their target with enough speed to just- yank him off his feet. They go back into the air. Wil climbs off from the ground with a wide-eyed stare, and he steps back a bit as Phil circles around, and then drops their guy.
The poor soul lands on the roof a few feet away from Wilbur, with a cut off scream. Wil winces. Phil lands down a few seconds later, far more gently.
“Holy shit, is he dead?” Wilbur immediately asks, and the only reason he isn’t freaking out a bit more is because Phil seems entirely unconcerned.
“He’s breathing.” Phil tells him as he walks up, so casually that Wilbur isn’t sure if he should be worried or not. “Are you okay?” Phil then asks, more focused on how Wil had stumbled earlier.
“I tripped.” Wilbur lies outright, trying to move past Phil to take a better look at their guy.
“You fell backwards.” Phil points out.
“And I tripped backwards.” Wil insists. Phil still waits for a better reply. “I, uh. Lost my footing.” Wilbur adds on, and then he cranes his head up, pointing a finger out. “Should…should we cuff him?”
Phil takes a few seconds to still look at Wilbur, but he does eventually turn his head to look at the body on the ground, and he gives a thoughtful sort of noise.
“Probably not?” He guesses.
Their guy gives a miserable groan.
—
Wilbur doesn’t think much of the odd little incident.
So he hesitated a jump that he normally would’ve made without a second thought. That’s fine. He moves past it without any worry. They bring their guy to the commission to process him (and to put him into a medical center, because he did maybe break a few bones on impact) and they head back out on the field after the same usual report and debrief.
They end back up on the roof, as per usual. Wilbur feels hyperaware, all of a sudden, of how much they seem to always end up on roofs.
He feels very aware of the fact the roof doesn’t have any railings.
Phil seems none the wiser to Wil’s slight hesitance on coming near the edge, and he stands directly on the corner, nearly leaning over the drop, wings half tucked in with his eyes scanning over the street. Wilbur’s seen him do this a million times before, and he’s watched Phil drop off the side of a building to fly even more so, but for this time, like this, there’s something stuck in his throat. There’s a certain sort of dread filling up his chest, and Wilbur picks lightly at the edge of his shirt to ignore the whining urge of reaching out so he can pull Phil back.
He’s fine. They’re both fine. They’ve stood here time and time again, this is practically their spot, with how much they’ve used it as a vantage point.
Wilbur still can’t seem to get his heart to settle.
A breeze blows through with a slight whistling noise, Phil’s bangs flying wildly to the side. He closes his eyes and leans his head forward to fix them with his hand, and Wil can see the way he practically teeters on the edge, wings folding back. He’s fine. He’s fine. He can fly, he’s fine, but Wilbur still feels a panic clawing down his back, and his feet are stubbornly rooted to the floor.
He hates the idea of Phil losing his balance and falling over, and he thinks of running over to help, thinks of falling with him-
Wilbur twists his head to stare at only the ground. He’s alright. He can’t even bear to think of taking his usual spot on the edge, sitting with his feet hanging over the street, but that’s fine. Maybe some caution is in order. Phil’s always told him to have a bit more caution over his safety, when it comes to heights. Wil supposes now is a good time to actually listen.
“Alright, let’s head to the next block over.” Phil says after a few minutes of nothing, his wings unfurling out with an arm held up towards Wil’s direction. When Wilbur doesn’t come, Phil turns his head with something confused. “Wilbur?”
“Over here.” Wilbur calls, all the way across the roof, right by the ladder leading down.
“What the fuck are you doing over there?”
“I’ll take the stairs.” Wilbur says, already midway through climbing off the roof, his hands having a death grip on the railings of it. “Meet you down on the road.” He calls out, and his head dips down and disappears before Phil can say anything more.
“Uh.” Phil waits for a second, wondering if he’s being messed with.
Wilbur does not reappear.
He gives a slight frown, and waits a bit more, and then drops off the roof, gliding down to meet Wil with a small hum on the back of his throat.
---
It starts to become a bit of a repeating instance, the way Wilbur begins to avoid the rooftops. Phil gives the leniency of pretending to not notice for the first few days. It begins to become a problem after the first week, though.
He will admit, he’s never realized how often he flies with Wilbur until suddenly he’s not flying with him at all. Wilbur seems to have the perfect reply to every situation, some scattered excuse or distraction or just a dragging conversation that slows Phil down enough for Wilbur to find some other route to take, rather than the sky.
It’s not technically an issue, in the way they go about it. Wilbur starts to claim the importance of one of them staying on ground level a lot more as their missions go on, and Phil can’t deny that point, but he also can’t help but feel he’s leaving Wilbur behind with taking off alone into the sky. Wilbur insists on taking evacuation priority, on staying with the civilians, on doing crowd control, and it works, it’s logical, but it’s- it’s also slow.
Phil’s always had this issue with past patrol partners-- they move too slow. They can’t keep up with him in the sky, and they stay too far with how he soars through the city. Wilbur had since fixed this by just having the nerve to force Phil to take him along, but now he just- avoids it.
Avoids him, mainly.
If Phil tries to find him on the roof, he’s already taking the stairs. If he tries to land down, he’s moving off across the street, civilians all in way. He’s frustratingly quick in the moments where Phil wishes he weren’t, and it feels like every time Phil does manage to catch a minute with him, a disaster is spontaneously happening down the block.
It is getting. On his nerves.
Wilbur probably knows it. Nevermind, he absolutely knows it. Phil knows what Wilbur looks like when he’s nervous about something, and he’s also not an idiot. He knows that something is up.
The rational response is to force a civil conversation, and talk this out like adults.
Phil can do that.
They come back to the commission once more to give another criminal for processing. Wilbur wanders off as he usually does as Phil goes about dealing with the report, and if Phil skips some details and rushes through the debrief in his haste to get somewhere else, well- who’s going to tell him off? He follows after Wilbur with the full intention of cornering him in some section of the building, and unfortunately, much to his luck, Wil’s caught in conversation with Techno and Tommy, the three of them moving outside into the street, instead.
Not the most ideal placing, or at least not until Phil realizes this probably works better in his favor, with a new idea popping into his head.
“Wilbur.” Phil calls from the front door, and Wil jumps from the sound of his voice, head whipping around with surprise at Phil being done with the report so quickly. Phil grins wide. “Wilbur, would you come here?” He asks, perfectly polite.
“Uh, ok, it’s time to go.” Wilbur says, and as he moves to leave in the opposite direction, he is instantly stopped by Techno suddenly holding him by the arm. “Do not do this to me.” He hisses at Techno, who has too much faith in Phil to realize the current danger Wilbur is in.
“This seems kinda important?” Techno reasons, and Tommy gives a wide-eyed look back and forth between Wilbur and Phil, in an almost eager sort of way. Like how one would wait for a fight to break out. Phil starts to walk a little faster towards them. Maybe a bit too fast.
“Wait, wait, nonono-” Wilbur begins to say, at the same time as Techno starts to realize he’s maybe misjudged the gleam in Phil’s eyes.
“Hold on, Phil-?” Techno asks.
“WAIT.” Wilbur shrieks, and he’s immediately torn out from Techno’s grip as he’s dragged off into the sky, Phil taking off and soaring straight up with enough force to make both Techno and Tommy close their eyes for a second.
“Aaand there he goes. Ok. Well.” Techno tilts his head back, feeling slight regret as he watches them go. “That’s not- Uh.”
“Damn, they're going high.” Tommy notes, holding a hand up over his eyes to block out the sun. He turns his head to Techno. “Is Phil gonna kill him?”
Techno furrows his eyebrows. “No…?”
“I don't like the way you said that, big man.”
“I’m not really sure what that was all about. Also, this is- probably not our problem anymore.” Technoblade decides, and yes, truly, it’s out of his hands. Wilbur’s done for. Techno probably did not help in that situation at all. He never did claim he was the top hero on the board. “Let's go.” He says to Tommy, and Tommy takes a solid minute to keep watching before then nodding and following after Techno’s heels.
Wilbur screams the entire way up. It’s a little different from the usual screams that Phil is used to, which are more for dramatic effect and complaining tones so that Phil will stop trying to do unnecessary flying maneuvers. This sort of screaming is a little more genuine, and Phil’s frustration fizzles out easily into worry at the way Wilbur clings to him for dear life, more tightly than normal.
“I’m gonna hurl, I’m gonna fucking hurl.” Wilbur threatens by the time Phil starts to actually slow down, and Phil, for Wilbur’s sake, lands them down on the roof of a skyscraper, which doesn’t have the most space to stand, but is a more solid spot for a decent conversation.
Wilbur nearly collapses the second he’s put down. He clings to the center of the roof with both hands dug in, and presses his face to the ground, closing his eyes to the sight of the city around them.
“Ohhh my god. Oh my fucking god.” He sputters out, and Phil just outright stares for a solid few seconds. He’s not sure what he’s witnessing right now.
“Are you… scared?” Phil asks.
“No! I’m- nauseous, because you flung me up in the air without warning!” Wilbur yells back, glaring up at Phil, and then immediately closing his eyes again, pressing his face back down.
“I didn’t even barrel roll.”
“Oh my god.” Wilbur repeats, not seeming to care much. He’s shaking. He’s trying to curl in even harder himself, and he’s breathing far too quickly for this sort of height. They’re not even in the clouds. “What the fuck. Oh my god.”
“Wilbur.”
“I want- Can we go down? Can we get down?”
“You’ve never acted like this before.” Phil asks, and he balances his feet on the edge of the roof, wings tucking in against his back. “Is something bothering you?”
“Can we have this conversation on the ground?!” Wilbur shrieks out, a little more high pitched than usual. There is no doubt about it. That is sheer terror written across his face. Phil just stares in the sight of it, unused to seeing it put out like this.
This just seems odd. “Since when have you had a fear of heights?” Phil asks, a little judgemental, because this is the same idiot who threw himself out a window on the first week of them knowing each other.
“Since- I nearly fucking fell to my death?!” Wilbur snaps, anger and fear all tangled up in his words. “Since-” He goes to say, and he falters quick at the sight of Phil’s shock, the concern creeping in. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Wilbur denies, sounding horribly unconvincing.
“You’re scared of falling again?” Phil asks.
“No I’m not.”
“Clearly, you are.”
“I’m not.” Wilbur insists. He breathes, and readjust himself in where he’s still knelt down to the floor, and then he nods a bit. “Ok. Maybe a little. Or a lot. It doesn’t- Can we- can we please get down now?”
“Alright.” Phil agrees. Wilbur jerks his head up in shock, as if not having expected that to be so easy. “Alright. I’m sorry. Come on.”
“I was meaning to tell you.” Wilbur suddenly blurts out, now going apologetic.
“It’s fine. Come on.” Phil says, pulling Wilbur towards him.
“I was, I was, I just didn’t know how to- oh fuck.” Wilbur forgets whatever he was about to say as he realises that in order to go down, it has to be the same way they went up. Straight through the sky.
He screams the normal amount going down. Phil can’t do anything about making a dive less terrifying.
---
They deal with it later on, when the city has gone dark, and the time goes late. The world is merciful to Phil for just tonight, and it goes quiet with nothing much to see.
Phil stands on a roof, looking over the city. Wilbur stays with him, this time, but he still stays far from the edge, and he holds himself in a way that seems uncomfortable, eyes mostly kept to the ground.
Phil thinks over their options for a long while. He looks out at the drop below, the street ground seeming so far, and he turns his head to Wilbur.
Wilbur lifts his head to look back at him. There’s a silent question on his face, as if wondering if they’re going to move down the area or not. Phil puts all that aside for a moment. He walks up to Wilbur, and grabs him by the arm.
Then he starts to pull him towards the edge.
“What’s happening-?” Wilbur asks, going with it for about two and a half steps, before then starting to actually struggle, digging his feet into the ground. “Hey, Phil. What are you doing? Wait, wait, Phil, hold on- think about this-”
Phil doesn’t pull him entirely off the roof. He just yanks him over towards the end of it, stepping off the ledge, and then flying out before it, hovering near. Wilbur stands still in where Phil’s left him, actively making an admirable effort to not look down.
“What are you doing?” Wilbur asks, sounding as if he’s holding his breath.
“Step off.” Phil says, waving a hand out.
“What?”
“Exposure therapy.” Phil suggests. “You’re scared of heights now? This is the solution. Fall off.”
“And die?”
“I’ll catch you, you little shit.” Phil reassures, maybe not in the most reassuring tone, but he’s genuine in the sentiment. “We’ve done this a million times before. Why not again?”
Wilbur suddenly looks as if he’s been stabbed, face scrunching up with something pained. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, but he doesn’t actually step forward. Or away. “Y’know, this does seem like a great bonding exercise, like- a trust fall, of sorts-”
“Exactly like that.” Phil agrees. “We’ve done that a lot.”
“Right. But I really don’t think that’s- uh.” Wilbur glances down, and he grimaces. He holds his hands up to his chest. “I don’t-”
“Do you think I won’t catch you?” Phil asks, almost sounding hurt.
“You’ll catch me.” Wilbur instantly replies.
“Then?”
Wilbur looks down again. The road is empty and quiet, and the fall is far lesser than the highest Wilbur has ever jumped. He still looks up at Phil with something pleading either way, his head shaking in denial ever so slightly.
“Staying afraid is only going to cause you more trouble down the road. You know how often we deal with things off the ground. You know how often I fly.” Phil insists, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes, I understand that.” Wilbur nods, hanging his head.
“So, obviously, we need to work on this.”
“Or you could-” Wilbur sighs. “Just get someone else.”
Phil blinks. “…excuse me?”
“You could request a transfer. Or- file some complaint, either one?” Wilbur confesses, now looking rather resigned to this sort of choice. “I’m not the only hero that can work with you, Phil.”
“Do you want to leave?” Phil asks, wondering if he’s maybe missed something throughout this. Maybe he’s misread all this.
“I’m not- particularly the best choice, here. I mean- I didn’t think I'd stay assigned with you for this long.” Wilbur admits, Phil’s expression easing out.
“No, neither did I, but you're good company.” Phil tilts his head, frowning a bit. “We’re friends, now, aren’t we?”
Wilbur falters for a second, but nods. “Yes.” He grins, a little more like his usual self. “I like to think so.”
“Do you want to leave?” Phil asks him.
Wilbur averts his eyes down to the street, despite the way it seems to make him go tense. Phil flies a little closer.
“Wilbur. Do you want to leave?”
Wil’s jaw shifts for a moment like he’s considering answering, but no true reply comes out. Phil gives him one full minute to speak. It ticks by fast, and the moment it’s up, Phil sighs, arms dropping down by his sides.
“Well, you’re not, so I don’t know why I'm asking.”
Wilbur blinks in surprise. “Wait, what?”
“Let it be known I offered baby steps, ok?” Phil declares, towards no one in particular. “I was nice.”
“Wait-” Wilbur tries to say, now a little confused, but then Phil’s repeating the same motions as he did before, and Wil screams as he’s taken off from the roof, the two of them going straight up, right to the clouds.
Wilbur has no clue what Phil’s aiming for. There aren’t any skyscrapers around this time, and he doesn’t look like he has a specific destination in mind, and Wilbur means to yell as to where they’re even going, except it’s then that Phil- lets go.
He drops Wilbur, and Wilbur screams, flailing mid-air as he plummets straight down, his voice probably being well heard by part of the city below them.
Wilbur doesn’t have the proper mind to consider betrayal or anything of the sort, but if he did, he wouldn’t have the time for it before Phil then meets him again, diving down fast enough to catch him before he falls too low.
“Are you trying to fucking KILL me?!” Wilbur shouts, clawing at Phil in an attempt to get an unbreakable grip, refusing to be let go again. “Are you INSANE?!”
“Funny, I feel like I said something similar the first time you tossed yourself out of a window.” Phil laughs, so very delighted in a way that’s such a contrast from Wilbur’s miserable terror. “This is rightful karma, don't you think?” Phil asks, flying them back up, Wilbur realizing now what’s happening here.
“No, no, it's not-“ Wilbur says, trying to hold onto Phil tighter.
“Bird style.” Phil notes, a fun little call back to that one conversation, and he forces Wilbur off and drops him again, Wilbur shrieking out as he goes.
“PHIL-!” He cries, and he screams the whole way down again, right until Phil catches him, yet again.
“This is spiritually healing, I think.” Phil tells him, Wilbur trying and failing to catch his breath. “Do you have any clue the fucking heart attack I got every time you mentioned being near a window?”
“I regret my past actions, I regret them, I regret them so much.” Wilbur shakes his head, trying to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders.
“Little late for that.” Phil says. He drops him again.
“Dont, dont, dont-!” Wilbur tries to argue, and it's futile, and it’s lost to the wind as he goes falling down, gravity yanking to the city below.
They do this several times. Wilbur screams several times, enough that he starts to realize that screaming is maybe just going to dry his throat out, to which he then switches tactics and starts swearing out Phil. Phil seems to find it funny. He still keeps dropping him. He also keeps catching him, time and time again, never so late that Wilbur has to actually worry if he’ll hit the ground, and never straying so far that Wil feels like he’s in true danger.
“Is this seriously easier than just- getting a new patrol partner?” Wilbur manages to say, after what feels like eternity falling, but is probably closer to like an hour.
“Well, I also think it’s funny.” Phil says outright.
“You’re such a fucking bastard.”
“Are you still scared?”
Not so much, but maybe that’s just because Phil’s actually still holding onto him, and not making any move to drop him again.
Wilbur presses himself further into the space of Phil’s shoulder.
“…The city is nice from up here.” He does admit, because he doesn’t think Phil’s ever actually taken him this high at this time of the night, and from here, the city lights are vividly bright. Sparkling, almost.
“Yes, it is.” Phil agrees. He shifts his hold on Wil, but doesn’t let go again, and Wilbur gives some quiet sigh of relief. “I’m glad you can see it.” He says genuinely, and Wilbur sighs again, more exasperatedly fond this time around.
“Yeah.” Wilbur says. “I’m glad, too.”