Chapter Text
Phil stood at the small memorial for his son, remembering all that had led to him coming here. Never, never, did he ever think that Wilbur, the same son who looked so happy when he left home to make something of himself, would give a manic smile as he blew up the country he helped found. And even after everything, there was still an aching in Phil's heart. The sheer longing for a son who he would never see again. And with all of that longing and aching, he finally let down his guard and wept. Wept for everything that had led up to that one moment, and wept for what he had lost.
"Ender… where did I go wrong?” Phil mumbled as he looked at the memorial, feeling so many things as if a piece of his heart was missing. That feeling was amplified when he saw what the others had set by the modest memorial. A cake, some flowers, and… Wilbur’s guitar. Phil shook his head, giving a sad smile. He still remembered how Wilbur had pleaded and begged for a guitar of his own like it was yesterday. Wil was so excited when he finally got it, he strummed it the whole day until Techno told him to stop. While the guitar that lay there beside the memorial was more well-worn than the one the young Wilbur was so excited about, it was still very well taken care of, showing how much it's former owner cared about it.
Phil sighed as he sat down by it, several things bouncing around in his head. “Wilbur… I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you. If I came here sooner, maybe, maybe you would still be here. I know She’s helping you feel better, but I still miss you. I miss you so much and it’s only been a few days. L’manberg...while you might not know it anymore, it still has a lot of your touches to it, even now with the folks around here rebuilding it.” He said softly, not entirely sure what he was saying until the words began to just fall out of his mouth.
"That Tommy kid… he misses you, I think. He's been trying to ask me what you were like before you left. I can see what you meant about you two being close." Phil snorts as he remembers how insistent Tommy had been about being shown some of Wilbur's kid pictures. "Of course I didn't show him anything embarrassing, but...it was nice. I even showed him that time you tried to play my guitar." He continued to ramble on about his time in L'manberg, as if Wilbur could hear. And not that shade of Wilbur who called himself "Ghostbur" either, the real Wilbur, his son. His son who he killed.
After Phil finished talking to the memorial, he gave a sigh as he began to sing the song that was so familiar to him, the one both Wilbur and Techno had begged him to sing before, the song that was originally used to mourn those lost too soon. It felt appropriate after all. "Ash in the snow, falling so slow. Like tiny fragile hearts with nowhere to go. Little soldier boy, taken from home. Forced to fight a war that was not his own."