Chapter Text
Many Years Ago
Phil wasn’t sure what to make of the sight before him.
He had been on the road for about a week by now. Days from any civilisation. There was nothing for miles aside from forests and the occasional ruin.
So why was there a child on the road?
He looked to be no older than four or five at the most. Tousled brown hair caked in dust and dirt hung loosely over his face. His clothes, once brightly coloured, regal even, were little more than mud covered rags. His hands and knees were scratched and bruised. His dark eyes stared blankly upward from where he lay on the road. If it weren’t for the faint whimpering cry he made, Phil would’ve thought him to be dead.
The young man froze, glancing around. This had to be an illusion, some sort of trap. There was no way a child could be this far out in the wilderness. Especially not a child with those clothes, the bits of gems and jewels however dirty were still a sign of royalty. What sort of royal child would just be out there in the middle of nowhere?
Unless, there had been an ambush?
But then, why would the attackers leave something they could use for a hostage?
Unless this was the trap?
Before Phil could ponder any further about the sight before him, the boy’s head turned, weakly looking up at him with pleading eyes.
“...mister…?” a faint voice croaked.
Phil bolted towards the child, quickly running through his training in his mind, scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t going to leave the child, but he wasn’t about to be attacked by anyone either, if this was indeed a trap.
He cast out his senses, projecting his mind into the forest around him, unscrewing his canteen as he knelt beside the child.
“Hey mate.” He smiled, slipping a hand beneath the boy’s head. “You ok? Where’s your parents?”
To his relief, he sensed nothing. No one lying in wait within the trees, just the occasional animal or bird that dashed through the brush.
“...daddy...where’s....” the boy’s voice was so hoarse.
Phil shook his head as he pulled himself back into his mind, gently sitting the boy up, holding the canteen to his lips. “Here mate, just take a drink. You can tell me in a bit.”
The boy took a weak sip, then another, then snatched the canteen in his hands and began to chug.
Phil quickly pried the canteen away before the boy could choke.
“Slowly bud.” he patted the boy’s head. Gods the poor kid was thirsty! How long had he been out here?
After a long moment of nearly inhaling the water, the boy finally seemed to come to. He still looked exhausted, but his eyes were no longer deadened at least.
“Feeling a bit better there mate?” Phil asked, wrapping his spare cloak around the boy.
“Hm!” the boy nodded, then frowned. “You’re a stranger.”
He seemed to turn his nose up, literally, at Phil.
“Daddy said to never talk to strangers!”
Phil blinked. Oh boy…
“Well,” he nodded in agreement. “Your daddy is very right. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, but-”
“Espec...spec..specawy” the poor boy failed to pronounce, “when they are hybwids!”
...ouch…
Phil took a breath. So this kid was from one of those families.
Still, it looked as though the boy had been out here for a while, and it wasn’t as though he could just leave him. His conscience would never forgive him if he did.
“Well,” he crossed his arms, puzzling over how to work out this conundrum he had just been presented with.
There was no way in hell he was going to leave a kid, out here in the middle of nowhere, on his own. But, he couldn’t expect this kid to just blindly trust him either.
“Hmmm.” he had a thought. “Well, would you like to go back home to your daddy then?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, then darkened.
“Nuh uh!” he crossed his arms as well.
Phil raised an eyebrow. That...wasn’t what he had expected.
“Why not?”
The boy seemed to take a moment, his expression morphing rapidly from contempt to confusion, to utter bewilderment, and then hurt. Within seconds the boy had begun to bawl.
Phil fluffed his wings, sighing. Gods he was never good with kids. Just what had he said? What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do?
How his own parents had managed with him had been a mystery…
He sighed.
“Are you ok?” he finally asked. Often the simplest of questions could lead to the most useful of knowledge, he remembered his father had told him. It was time to put that theory to the test.
The boy shook his head. “No!”
“Why are you not ok?” Phil settled himself down beside the boy, tucking the cloak closer around the child. To his surprise, the boy pulled the cloak tighter about himself, burying his face into it.
The boy sniffled.
“Daddy didn’t want…” he wiped a wad of snot from his nose.
Ew… Phil cringed.
“Daddy...daddy didn’t want...Warren.” the boy hiccuped.
“Is that your name?” Phil asked. “Warren?”
“Nuh uh.” the boy’s hiccups continued to worsen. “My bwuther.”
Phil was taken aback. What sort of parent just abandoned their child? Unless...
“Your daddy didn’t want your brother?”
“He didn’t like Warren.” the boy’s voice nearly dropped to a whisper as he glanced around, fear beginning to cross his face.
“Mister?” he looked up at Phil, his eyes wide. “Warren’s a hybwid! Like you!”
Well then. Phil closed his eyes, slowing his breathing against the seething rage he felt towards whoever this boy’s father was. That would explain it.
He released a held breath as he opened his eyes, smiling gently.
“But you’re out here, because…?”
The boy looked around cautiously once more.
“Don’t tell anyone!” he whispered, a sly grin crossing his face. “I hid in the wagon!”
“Ooh! Clever!” Phil stood, holding his hand out for the boy to take. If what he was gathering from the kid was correct, there was another child around here, somewhere.
Alone.
In the middle of the woods.
With night rapidly approaching.
Gods what am I doing?!
He felt a dried, dusty hand grab his own.
“Woah!” the boy stared up at him. “You have big wings mister!”
Phil chuckled. “Thought you weren’t supposed to talk to hybrids?”
The boy clapped his mouth shut with an audible puh sound and looked away.
“Uh uh!” he shook his head. “Not at all!”
“So I guess you can’t tell me where the wagon went then.” Phil sighed dramatically. “Oh well.”
The boy whimpered, then shook his head again.
“I can too!” he insisted, pointing down the dusty road, framed by dark pine trees. “It was going this way!”
Phil tipped his hat against the sun, following where the boy had pointed. His eye caught sight of a faint set of footprints. However, they led towards where the two stood, rather than where the wagon had supposedly gone.
“Hmm.” he pointed out the prints. “Did you walk back the way you came?”
The boy nodded.
“For how long you reckon?”
The boy counted on his free hand.
“A day!” he proudly held up three fingers.
“May-maybe, if you fly way up!” the boy raised his hand up in emphasis. “You can see them!”
“I was thinking exactly that!” Phil smiled.
“And then-and then we can fly and then we can catch up!” the boy jumped excitedly. “And then we can get Warren! And then we can go home!”
I don’t know about that…
If this “Warren” wasn’t wanted by his own father, not to mention if this kid’s father or anyone who was affiliated with him saw this kid with Phil, there was no telling what could happen.
“I bet you can fly really really REALLY far mister!” the boy pulled on Phil’s hand.
“I can.” Phil nodded. Oh gods, what should he do? Should he just take the kid to the nearest town and hope for the best? But then, if he left the other…
“Why are you walking if you can fly?” the boy asked. “If I- if I had wings I’d go zooooom all-all over!”
“Why don’t you run all the time when you can walk?” Phil answered with his own question.
The boy pulled his hand away.
“I can-I can totally run so fast!”
Before Phil could even comprehend what had happened, the boy had bolted down the road.
Wait shit fuck no!
___________
“You’re still under house arrest!”
Phil clawed his way back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him as he dropped to his knees, gasping and laughing in confusion and shock.
He’s alive! He leaned back against the wall, pressing a hand to his mouth, stifling his teary laughter. He’s alive! He’s alive!
He couldn’t help it. The mixture of shock, of joy, of utter bafflement, and an underlying buzz of fear, churned within his mind. The only thing he could do was laugh until his chest hurt and his eyes were watery and his mouth tasted metallic-
Metallic?! he realised with a start.
He pulled his hand from his mouth. It came away splattered in dark crimson.
It was only then he noticed the crossbow bolt lodged in his left pectoral.
So the laughing hadn’t caused that.
The world began to warp suddenly, the floor grew wobbly beneath his knees as he felt himself begin to fall.
He managed to catch himself before he hit the ground, fighting the dizzying nausea that began to grow from behind his eyes.
He could laugh about the stupidity of the Butcher Party later. He could celebrate his son being alive later.
Now, however....
Phil grit his teeth and slowly dragged himself back to his feet, leaning against the wall, his mind churning with how he was supposed to proceed now.
Potion first.
Potions before anything at this point, he told himself as he carefully made his way towards the kitchen.
Healing potion. Then remove the bolt. Then keep pressure on the wound. He listed to himself as he shakily opened a cabinet, carefully selecting a small bottle before quickly downing it.
He choked, coughing. Red droplets began to form on his countertop as he felt his wings trembling behind him. The world was spinning.
Phil jumped at the loud banging sound against the door, the movement jogged the bolt, sending a sharp pain through his chest.
He could barely hear what was being shouted through the door as his vision flashed red, then white, then grey. He tried to respond to the voice, only to realise his own was gone.
The last thing he heard before the world faded to black, was the sound of the door being slammed open, and Tubbo’s cry of disbelief.
Phil crumpled to the floor and his mind went blank.