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“Kill me.”
“Kill me. Kill me, Phil! KILL ME!”
No, no, please. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be safe, together! But Gods know where Tommy and Techno were, and Wilbur….
“Look at them all! They all want you to!”
Oh, Gods Wilbur….His sweet, kind, loving Wilbur. The man in front of him wasn’t his son, he couldn’t be. This man had the same curly brown hair, long limbs, and beaten up beanie, physical this man was Wilbur. But the eyes….Wilbur’s eyes shined like the sun when he smiled, that smile that could light up an entire room, not the ones that looked back at him. These eyes were wild, crazed, there was an insanity behind them that Phil had never seen before, an insanity that promised chaos and destruction with teeth bared in a snarl more than a smile
“Killza! Killza!”
“You’re my son!”
But...but it was Wilbur, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that the person in front of him wasn’t his child, he was. Phil could fix this, he was too late to stop the explosion but he could still save his children. He just had to get them all away from here, he had to find Technoblade and Tommy….Tommy.
His baby was looking right at him. His blonde hair was coated in dirt and blood, it was a bit longer than Phil knew he liked, his clothes were torn and pieces of armor were missing from his set, leaving his arms and head vulnerable. The sight alone was enough to finally bring forth the tears he’d been fighting off since he entered the cave.
Even from afar, his baby blue eyes saw right into Phil’s soul. Whereas Wilbur’s eyes held madness, Tommy’s were scared. The grey smoke and debris around him made it stand out even further. They still held that determination Tommy always had, there were astonishment and confusion there as well, but the fear was so plain. Phil had been so focused on Wilbur he had nearly forgotten his baby boy was fighting in another war. A war for his friends and home, nonetheless. A home Wilbur had just blown up.
“Do it! Kill me!”
“No matter what you’ve done, you’re my son! I can’t…”
Was he still his son? The Wilbur he knew was charismatic and kind, he had given up so much of his own life to ensure that those he cared about were happy and safe. Not this Wilbur, this Wilbur had taken the haven his Wilbur had made and torn it shreds in front of those he was meant to love. There was no love in this place anymore.
“Wilbur?” The question was quiet, a mutter the wind had carried a bit too far, but it was so unmistakably Tommy. Tommy who had fought just as hard as Wilbur for their freedom, who had given up his most prized possessions to ensure it, Tommy who had to suffer just as much as his older brother. Tommy who had been alone with the crazed man, yet still retained his optimism. Phil had hacked into his sons’ com links, he had heard the pure happiness in his son’s voice as he gave his speech, the maturity as he passed on the presidency. Tommy had grown up so much since the last time Phil had gotten to talk to him, it had only been a few months, there was no reason he should have matured that fast unless something had forced him. Or someone.
Gods, he’d failed his children. But not any longer. It was too late for Wilbur, but it wasn’t too late for Tommy. He blinked the tears from his eyes as he turned away from his youngest and faced Wilbur. He was looking at Phil expectantly, hands bloody from the tight grip he had on the diamond blade, offering the weapon’s handle. The crazed haze had slightly parted in his dark eyes, filling the space was desperation. This was what he wanted, Phil realized as he numbly took the sword, Wilbur wanted to die here, he hadn’t meant to survive the explosion.
Would he finally be happy dead?
“I’m sorry…” Philza whispered as he grabbed his son’s shoulder with one hand and raised the sword in the other, positioning it in a way that would impale the other if he came closer. He tried to ignore the sound of the blade cutting through cloth and flesh as he pulled his son into a fatal hug.
“Thank you…”
The world was quiet as he lowered them down onto the stone floor, the roaring fires and falling stone fading into oblivion. He pulled the diamond weapon out of the other before throwing it to the side as if it had burned him. Wilbur was smiling up at him, it was a different smile from the one he had worn not seconds ago. That one had been crazed and desperate, fueled only by a madman’s delusions, this one was...peaceful, happy. It adorned his face with a serenity that he couldn’t remember the other ever having.
For a second he wasn’t holding a grown man but a little boy in a yellow jumper. They weren’t in a broken cavern but a large field, beautiful yellow flowers poking out of the tall grass around them, swaying in the breeze like a million suns against a sea of green. They were against the only large tree for miles, distantly he could hear the other two play fighting. It was the field that had been near their cottage, back when his babies had been actual children. They had gone every weekend when Phil didn’t have work, Wilbur used to play his guitar for him under the shade tree while Tommy and Techno got all their energy out in the grass. Soft music notes and laughter were the only sounds around them except the tree leaves rustling in the wind. It was his most favorite place in all the worlds, it was Wilbur’s too, he had still asked about the field when they talked longer after L’Manberg had been created. But those times were long gone.
“....he lied. There is a traitor,” Wilbur whispered to him.
“What?” Phil asked, wiping away some blood that dribbled down his son’s chin and cheek. The action only severed to smear the crimson fluid against his pale skin but he prayed it had some comfort to it.
“The traitor is Technoblade….and he’s got eight wither to spawn,” Wilbur answered, laughing slightly through labored breaths.
Fuck, he’d forgotten about the oldest! The oldest he’d last seen aiming a firework at his youngest….
“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered again as he moved his son’s head from his lap onto the cold stone floor. He quickly placed a numbing spell on the dying man, the least he could do was take away the pain he had inflicted.
The battle that followed was long and hard. In the end, Technoblade had gotten away, a fact that Phil was silently grateful for, and Tubbo had started making plans on how to fix L’Manberg right away. Tommy had gone back to Pogtopia to gather the stuff he had there, bringing along Niki. They’d come back with red eyes and shaking hands, but that was probably what they needed so Phil wasn’t too worried. Tommy had looked...conflicted to say the least. He was so clearly proud of reclaiming his home, but it was a bittersweet victory. Everyone carried the same exhausted smile with them, shoulders heavy but heads high.
It wasn’t going to be the same as it was before, that was for sure, too much had happened for it to ever go back. But maybe that was a good thing, Tubbo seemed to believe that as well which was a relief. The kid had immediately asked for his help on everything, a position he gladly accepted. He didn’t think Tubbo knew about the empire, funnily enough, he just trusted Phil to have the answers he needed, and if Tubbo never asked why he knew how to govern people then he wouldn’t be telling.
The blonde man sighed as he closed the door to his new home, sagging against it once he heard the tell-tale click of it locking. The house was far from complete, much like the rest of the nation, but it was a start. The battle against J. Schaltt and the withers had only happened a month ago, there was time to make everything the best that it could be. The small common room was dark, the fire had gone out long ago, all the various items and furniture were nothing more than dark blobs and shapeless masses.
“Phil…?” The blonde man's end shot up as a strangled voice sounded out through the small room.
“Hello?” Phil asked. He couldn’t recognize the voice, it was too quiet and distorted to make anything distinct out. No one should be in the house. It couldn’t be Tubbo, Fundy, or Quackity, he’d just come from a meeting with them, he’d watched as they all went back to their own homes. He’d seen Karl and Sapnap greet Quackity at their door and the other two headed in the opposite direction of his house. The new half-enderman kid from next door was scared of his own shadow, so he was confident it wasn’t him. It could have been one of the common folk from around the city but they had addressed him by his first name, it would take a dangerously stupid person to break into his home and expose themselves. There wasn’t anyone Phil could think of that would risk breaking and entering.
Phil pushed himself off the door, drawing his sword in the same motion, slowly creeping further into the room in search of whoever was there, “Who's there?” , He called again after not getting a response. He gripped the weapon in both of his hands as he made his way into the darkness, the wigs that adorned his back flaring slightly as the tension in the room grew.
A small thump sounded from the left of him causing him to jerk in its direction. Phil squinted at the area in front of him, trying to make out any movement that could have caused the noise but found nothing.
The area itself was a bit more clustered than the rest of the home. It served as his primary resting area with a large armchair placed next to the fireplace, books and documents scattered around the small table in front of the chair, and fireplace mantle. Normally the mess wouldn’t bother him, he could always clean it in the morning, but the erratic mess of papers created irregular angles and shadows making it harder to pinpoint if something had changed.
The blonde man cautiously made his way closer to the small fireplace before casting a quick blaze spell to light the wooden logs. Dream had made it clear that only traditional magic was to be used in SMP land as it was law, and L’Manberg, per a treaty that Wilbur had signed at the nation's start. But honestly, Phil couldn’t care less what Dream wanted. That “man” had played a heavy hand in the destruction of Phil’s family. Besides, a little flame wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
He tossed the flame that danced across his palm into the fireplace and watched as the wood caught aflame. A warm glow engulfed the empty home, illuminating the space with soft oranges and yellows, eliminating most of the darkness encasing the room.
“I know you’re there, come out. Now,” Philza tried a third time. The sound that followed his request was strangled, bordering on animalistic. It was a laugh of some kind, but high pitched and more reminiscent of an injured animal than a humanoid being, somewhere in the uncanny valley.
Another dull thud rang out from behind the sitting chair, snapping him from his thoughts. Wordlessly Phil lowered himself into a defensive crouch, sword raised, as he made his way closer to the piece of furniture. He tried to look around the seat to catch a glimpse of the invader but movement near the headboard caught his attention before he could. His head snapped up to the top of the sitting chair, eyes widening as slender fingers began to wrap themselves around the beaten blue fabric. The wooden floor beneath the seat groaned as it was pushed down, whoever was behind the chair using it to pull themselves off of the ground.
Anxiety closed Phil’s throat as he watched silently. Unless it was Dream himself, something Phil doubted, he could probably take them in a fight but the silence was unsettling. The atmosphere in the room was tense and heavy, nearly suffocating, something was off about everything. Something Phil couldn’t quite put his finger on but it was wrong.
The fingers were a cool grey color, it’s blue hues standing stark against the warm light of the fire. It was an inhuman color and Phil couldn’t recall ever seeing a citizen with that skin tone. It was almost death-like in appearance, not only due to the unnatural color, but the nails were chipped, dirty, and discolored. Flecks of a reddish-brown substance stained the grey flesh and yellow nails, though it was impossible to tell what exactly it was, it had a suspicious resemblance to dried blood. Though the hand was gloved covering any injury that may have caused the presumed blood. Philza could only see the hand but it was clear whoever it belonged to had been through something. Maybe they needed help? he thought, but wouldn’t someone in need ask for it?
Phil opened his mouth to ask when the person finally pulled themselves upright, “Wilbur?” The man in front of him was most definitely his middle child. They had the same curly brown locks poking out from his dark red beanie. He wore the same dirty white shirt underneath his long brown coat. He was Wilbur but...not. His eyes were fogged over and completely blank, the warm brown that used to be in them completely missing. His face was gaunt, Wilbur had always been on the thinner side but it was as if all the muscle that once was there had completely decayed, and the same grey as the hand that still gripped the chair in front of him. The same substance that coated his hands was smeared across his sunken cheek, accompanied by a steady stream of it cascading down his chin from his mouth, dripping slowly onto the blue fabric below him. Blood. There was no doubt in Phil’s mind as to what the dark-colored liquid was, it was in the same place he’d seen back in the cave. His hands bloody from the way he gripped the sword's blade while begging his father to kill him, the stream falling from his mouth after the blonde man drove the weapon through him, the smudge on his cheek from where Phil tried to comfort him in his final moments.
Despite the lack of pupils in them his dead eyes still had that insanity they did back in the button room, but there was a pain as well. Not like the pain that drove the madness nor the pain of existence Phil when Wilbur pleaded with him. They held the pain of betrayal. The younger man's cracked lips parted into a sardonic smile at the acknowledgment quickly before dropping back down into a confused frown, “Why’d you do it, dad?”
“Wha--Will?” Phil tried. He was unable to process the fact his dead son, the son he killed, was in front of him. It was impossible. After the larger group had defeated Tehnoblade’s withers and took care of the injured, Phil had snuck back into what remained of the detonation room. No one had found it yet, they were more concerned about the homes damaged than the seemingly unimportant mountain. Wilbur’s body hadn’t moved an inch from where Phil had left him, he sent a silent prayer to the Gods that meant he had passed soon after Phil left, though it was impossible to tell. Will had gone cold by that point, it’d been a few hours since that moment. That was what broke him first, the coldness, Wilbur hated the cold. He had as long as Phil had known the kid, yet he died cold and alone.
The frown on the corpse's face went from confused to angry in a matter of seconds, “Why’d you do it?! I didn’t want to die! Why Phil?! WHY?!” His voice became slightly more distorted than before.
“Please…” Phil pleaded, barely a whisper, “I didn’t want-- I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry,”
Tommy found them not long after, before Phil had the chance to stop the tears, that’s what broke him a second time. He couldn’t imagine the scene from the teen’s perspective; His father crying on the stone floor, holding the body of his dead brother, who Phil had murdered. The cry of pure agony that sounded from the kid was unlike anything that Phil had heard before. Tommy didn’t cry. He hated being seen as ‘weak’, no matter how many times everyone told him crying wasn’t weak Tommy never gave in. But he had openly sobbed as he crashed next to the pair, shaking his brother’s arm, demanding he open his eyes through choked breaths. It wasn’t until Phil physically pulled the teen off of the body that Tommy had stopped screaming, his sobs becoming silent.
“KILLZA! YOU KILLED ME! MURDERER! KILLZA!” The corpse screamed, sounding more and more like the inhuman laugh heard earlier. He suddenly appeared in front of the smaller man, encasing his arms in iron tight grips. The surprise movement caught him off guard causing him to break his fighting stance. He’d never seen Wilbur act like this before, not even in his deepest moments of madness, he’d never gotten physical with anyone like he was now.
“Will, you asked-- I didn’t want to!” He pleaded, voice just as quiet as before, “I’d give my own life to bring you back! Please...I’m so sorry.”
Techno found the trio just a few minutes later, how he knew where they were was a mystery. Tommy knew about the room, about the button, and the TNT, Techno didn’t as far as Phil knew. It was probably something to do with being the ‘“Human” GPS’. Tommy hadn’t said anything when the piglin-hybrid entered, simply burying himself deeper against his father’s chest, refusing to look at his living brother and gripping his dead one’s hand. Techno’s armor and crown were missing and he only had his rocket launcher with him, he had come to find them, that much was clear. Technoblade was much better at hiding his emotions than Tommy but he was so clearly in pain to Phil. His jaw was tightly clenched and his hands shook as he took his cape off, swinging it off his shoulder and draping it across his twin’s dead body, muttering something about the cold as he did so. Techno sat by Wilbur’s feet, away from the youngest boy but still close enough for them to mourn together. Phil pointedly ignored the drops of water slipping down the warrior’s face.
“MURDERER! YOU KILLED ME! YOU FAILED ME! YOU FAILED US ALL! WHAT KIND OF FATHER KILLS HIS OWN CHILDREN! YOU MONSTER! KILLZA! WHY?! PHIL, WHY?! WH--”
The scratchy, angry screams cut short as the sound of a blade cutting through flesh and fabric surrounded them once again. “No!” Phil shouted, ripping the weapon from his son once again. He had even realized he had raised it again, when had he done that? Why had he done that?!
The taller man fell forward, losing all ability to hold himself upright all at once. Philza caught him and lowered him to the ground, a sickening parallel to the last him he had seen his son. Wilbur was already dead, it shouldn’t hurt as it had before, but the pain in Phil’s chest grew nonetheless. Wilbur had asked him too last time, Phil just...did it.
“Will! Will, mate, please. You can’t die on me again! For fucks sake!” Phil closed his eyes as the tears threatened to fall once again. He cursed whatever God decided to play such a cruel trick on him, why couldn’t his family be happy for once?!
“Phil?” Wilbur whispered, all the angry from before gone in a flash, instead a deep sadness replaced it. He sounded so scared. Phil opened his eyes bracing to see the corpse of his son again but he was met with something worse. Gone were the milky white eyes and sunken face, instead, he saw the face of his little boy. Not the man from the cave, not President Soot, but his little boy in the yellow jumper. He was so tiny. He couldn’t be more than 13. Gods he was so young. “Dad?”
“Hey buddy,” Phil whispered back down, trying to wipe away his tears without jostling the boy in his arms.
The little boy’s face contorted into one of pain as tears of his own sprang into his deep brown eyes, “Dad it hurts!” He exclaimed, each word dripping with pure agony.
“I know, mate, I’m so sorry. But it won’t hurt for long, I promise,” Phil tried to comfort the kid. Each little noise the boy let out was a dagger in his already bleeding heart. How could he do this to his baby?
“Dad, why’d you hurt me? You promised you’d never hurt me...” Wilbur asked.
Phil opened and closed his mouth trying to find the right words to say. How do you explain to your dying child why you murdered them? Before he got the chance to try he felt the smaller body go lax in his embrace. No!
“No, no, no, no, please! Please wake up!” Sobs wracked his body as he begged the empty air once again, “Wilbur! Please!”
“No!” Phil shouted, shooting up. The only sound in the small bedroom was his heavy breathing as he took deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. He was laying on his bed, not the hardwood of the living room floor. His dark green blanket was pooled around his waist, just below the large wing. He needed something to drink, that would help. Phil swung his legs off of the bed with a groan, sleeping on his stomach wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position but it was either that or potentially injure a wing.
His breath slowed down to a normal pace by the time he reached the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the living room that was ajar to it. He made quick work of filling up a glass with water and gulping it down in seconds. Phil sighed, setting down the glass, he rested both hands against the edge of the counter and leaned on them heavily. He needed a few moments before he even thought about going back to his bed. His nightmares over killing Wilbur had begun to get more frequent lately, the lead up was always different but the end was always the same, him killing his boy again. The worst nights were the nights when he would kill his other sons too…. Phil pushed that thought as far away as he could. Guilt over murdering one kid was more than enough, he didn’t need to think about that. Gods he hated himself.
“You need blue!” A loud, high pitched voice interrupted the quiet without warning, nearly causing the older man to jump out of his skin. The blonde placed a hand over his heart as the ghost in front of him let out a joyful giggle, “Please, calm yourself.”
“Wil--Ghostbur. We’ve talked about scaring people,” Phil said, putting on his best dad voice. He glanced away from the being next to him, pretending to see something out the window. It still hurt to look at the ghost, he smiled just like Wilbur used to, yet he insisted he wasn’t Wilbur. Phil had yet to decide whether that was a good thing or not. He accepted the Blue thrown at him nonetheless.
“Oh,” The ghost said, tone shifting slightly to worry, “are you mad?”
“No, I’m not mad, just tried,” Phil reassured the specter with a smile.
“Philza, why do you scream when you sleep?” Ghostbur asked flippantly, tossing Blue between his hands.
That caused him to pause. Had he been screaming? His throat was sore, sure, but he hadn’t even realized he had begun making noise. He hoped Ranboo hadn’t heard, the kid was new, the last thing he needed was a neighbor who kept him up with screaming. Phil cleared his throat before answering, “Just a bad dream, mate, no need to worry.”
“Oh,” Ghostbur murmured, “Here have some Blue,” He added quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He was uncomfortable with anything that wasn’t ‘happy’.
“Thanks,” Phil accepted the gift. Everyone had learned that there was no say ‘no’ to Blue from Ghostbur.
“Was--” The spirit began but cut himself off. His eyebrows were furrowed in the way he did when he was trying to remember something, “Was it about Alivebur?”
Oh. It was no secret Ghostbur hated Alivebur, as he called his past self. It was a touchy subject Ghostbur avoided at all costs, the fact he brought it up first was an anomaly on its own.
“Uh, yeah, yeah. It was,” Phil answered honestly, exhaustion coating every word.
Ghostbur hummed slightly, “I don't like this conversation. The person reading this knows what happened so you don’t have to tell me!” Ghostbur said suddenly, forcing a strained, chipper tone.
That was another thing he did. Ghostbur liked to act as though they were playing characters in a story instead of real people. If Phil had to bet, it was just another coping mechanism he had put in place to protect himself from reality. Wilbur hated pity but it was almost too easy to pity the ghost. Phil sighed, simply nodding along, “Well, I think Ranboo--the kid next door--has been pretty lonely. He lives all on his own, maybe he could use some Blue?” He suggested, hoping the ghost would leave.
Ghostbur let out a dramatic gasp, eyes and smile widening at the suggestion, “You’re right! Philza Minecraft you are brilliant!” The ghost hugged him briefly before disappearing to the house next door. Hopefully, the ghost didn’t wake the kid up but Phil couldn’t handle another second with spirit.
It was beyond torture to have his son so close yet so far away. That was Wilbur but he didn’t act anything at all like the Wilbur Phil knew. His unending optimism was painful more than anything. Wilbur had been hopeful but he was also logical. He knew optimism would only take him so far but the ghost version of him seemed to believe if he was optimistic enough then every bad thing in the universe would fix itself. Gods he just wanted his family back!
Phil let out a frustrated growl as tears stung his eye for what felt like the millionth time. He just wanted his boys back! Tommy and Techno couldn’t be anywhere near each other and Wilbur was...whatever Wilbur had become. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t done anything wrong yet it felt as though the universe had a personal vendetta against his family. After everything, they’d all gone through they deserved a break. Or at least Techno and Tommy did.
Phil straightened his back up, taking a deep breath as he did so. He wasn’t getting any more sleep, that was for sure. He quietly walked over to the nearest chest and put the Blue in it. He wasn’t sure what made him keep it but he had yet to throw out a single one, they had a strangely comforting presence to them.
The winged man closed the chest lid, keeping his eyes down for a second before looking up at least, eyes landing directly on the blue armchair next to the fireplace. He’d get a new one in the morning but for now, he had plans to look over. Tubbo needed him, sleep could wait.