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"Papa!"
A yip and a shout cutting through the silence.
Wilbur's head turned somewhat as his given name drifted through the open wind, his soft, brown curls bouncing against his hollow cheeks in slight waves. He sucked in a deep breath, usually dull eyes sparkling with adoration and unbridled warmth as he spotted the fox-hybrid running towards him.
"Floris!" He cooed, kneeling down somewhat and holding his arms open, ready to encompass the tumbling twelve-year-old as he raced through the grass and the flowers.
The child's nose scrunched, "Fundy, papa."
"Hm?"
"It's Fundy now, remember? Not Floris."
"Oh, yes. Of course, my apologies, dear Fundy," Wilbur cooed, readily accepting his son against his chest, and he lifted the yipping fox with a smile. "You've grown quite a bit, haven't you?"
Fundy nodded vigorously, his cheeks shining a covered red underneath the thick layers of fur, and his jagged claws dug deep into the rigid material that made up his father's coat. "M' taller now, papa! Aren't I? Aren't I? Aren't I?"
"You are, you are!" Wilbur laughed, his voice full of deep and reverberating symphonies – all rustic and cooling against the fox's warm fur. "My tall, tall champion. You're adorable."
Despite the embarrassment quite obviously flushed over Fundy's face, his bushy tail was wagging furiously behind him – a clear indication of the happiness running rapidly through his veins due to his father's, just somewhat, flustering compliment.
"M' not adorable," He grumbled, face tucking against Wilbur's neck in an act of defiance, and he shook his head.
The older man chuckled heartily, "You don't think that you're adorable?"
Fundy shook his head again, a tad more forcefully. "Nuh-uh."
Wilbur could practically smell the petulant defiance rolling from the young kit, clouding within the air rather vividly. He paid it no mind, however, as he began to gently tug at Fundy's pointed ears instead, the furry pair sticking stark from his ginger locks.
"Well, I think that you're adorable. And what Papa says goes, doesn't it, Fundy?"
A huffy grumble.
"Hm? Speak up, dear."
“...I guess.”
"Huh. You guess?"
To most, Wilbur would have sounded demanding – coming across as annoyed or at least slightly irritated with his son's lack of proper verbal response. But Fundy knew better.
"You're makin' fun of me, Papa! Stop it!"
The child could almost immediately pick up on the teasing lilt to Wilbur's tone of voice, his words laced and enchanted with a particular type of charm that only he was able to pull off. The older man's voice was unique and had Fundy practically chirping in return as he tried his best to copy it.
"Oh? Am I?" A brow raised on Wilbur's face, his lips quirked, and his cheeks flushed a pale pink – an exuberant thrill racing through his mind. "Are you sure?"
"Yup!" Fundy hummed approvingly, his little head bobbing up and down as if to solidify his answer properly. "You're doin' that- that voice."
Wilbur's gaze was knowing, but his following words were deceivingly curious. "Voice? What voice? My voice is always the same, is it not?"
"No! Papa, c'mon! You know what 'm talking 'bout!"
A grin split across the curly-haired man's face. "This voice?" He questioned, his tone growing increasingly higher. "Or this one?" It lowered that time, even deeper than 'Uncle Technoblade's' monotone drawl.
Fundy giggled. "Papa!"
"Oh, Fundy, my Fundy!" Wilbur hummed in return, lifting the fox hybrid into the air a little and sporting an increasingly wide grin as he did so. "You're so precious to me; you know that? You're so precious. My precious little champion. My little fox."
If only the hybrid's cheeks were visible under his fur – the soft skin glistening with an embarrassed, though vibrant, red.
“Papa...”
"I have an idea! How about we play some hide n' seek, hm? You can be the hider, and I'll be the seeker!"
Wilbur set the child onto the ground after a brief pause, small boots hitting onto soft grass and the little fox shook slightly, his fur only frizzing up even more.
"I get to be the hider?" Fundy questioned, all wide-eyed and hopeful. His hands were gently clutching onto his own jacket, claws digging in, and he was rocking back onto his heels. (Wilbur would never be able to deny those big, brown orbs. Despite being a fox hybrid, Fundy had definitely nailed 'puppy-dog eyes. ')
"Yes! Yes, go on, go on." Wilbur gave his son a gentle but encouraging nudge. "I'll count to twenty, okay?"
Fundy nodded vigorously, already spinning on his heel and rushing down towards the nearby forest with excited yips. Wilbur watched him go with soft eyes.
He hadn't really wanted to force a game onto his little son so soon after their reunion, but it'd been so long since they'd been able to see each other, so long since the older man had been able to look down at Fundy and see his child, and not the next person he was going to drag into war.
Wilbur wanted to cherish these carefree moments and make the most of them while they still had the chance to do so.
If that meant playing silly, childish games right till the sun began to set? Then so be it.
"Nineteen... twenty! Here I come!"
The tall man set off towards the woodland with long strides and determined steps, his lips upturned somewhat, and his hands were shoved deep into seemingly endless pockets.
Fundy would probably be in an obvious place right off the bat – the little boy still could not completely grasp the fact that when he wanted to hide, that meant finding somewhere where his tail and ears wouldn't stick out from his spot, too.
(One too many times had Wilbur played this with his son and almost immediately spotted a wagging tail or twitching ears from behind a log.)
"Fundy!" Wilbur cooed, glancing around dark trees and encompassing forestry.
A light giggle to his left, a shifting of bushes.
"I can hear you, dear. Where are you?"
Another giggle, and the sunny hum of, "Papa!" Before it quietened out again.
Wilbur swallowed lightly, stepping through moss and winding blades of grass, his shoulders hunching somewhat.
"Fundy, dear-"
"Papa, m' over here! Nearly got me!"
A light smile took hold of the older man's lips, pulling them upwards into an even warmer expression as he looked for his mischievous son. Perhaps, for once, Fundy had managed to find a half-decent spot to hide within? Wouldn't that be a surprise-
"Fundy-"
"Wilbur."
But that wasn't Fundy's voice.
It was as if Wilbur had blinked, and then suddenly, everything had changed.
One moment, he'd been planted within a familiar forest, all muddy boots and stretched lips as he looked for his hiding son within the shrubbery, and then the next -
“Wilbur.”
That was Tommy's voice. Tommy, Wilbur's little brother – his naturally blonde sibling with a fiery personality and a loudmouth. Tommy wasn't one to be serious; he preferred joking and pranking – wreaking havoc and having absolutely zero cares about how somebody would react to his actions.
So why did he suddenly sound so grave? Weren't they just-
"Wilbur. We need to go. C'mon, we can't stay here forever. I know it must be hard, but fuck him, alright, big man? Just-"
Wilbur glanced up, the reality of the situation hitting him right in the center of his aching chest.
"Fundy," He breathed, fingers clenching around nothing as he watched his son, his little fox – or not so little fox anymore. More similar to a grown man now, all long legs and sharp claws, all bared teeth and manic eyes as he let the flag catch fire.
The L'Manburg flag.
Wilbur’s flag.
The once prideful material - the once memorable colours and swaying wool had been completely set alight, burning from the bottom up as Fundy stood and watched it happen. He was a traitor to all at that point, a traitor to his country, his family, and most importantly Wilbur.
"Why?"
Wilbur felt his breath catch roughly in his throat as Tommy began to drag him backwards away from the scorching carnage, clouds of ash and pollution billowing high into the dark sky. Not even the stars were out that night, as they too were seemingly hiding away from the unfolding scene.
It wasn't fair. Why was Fundy doing that? Why was he betraying his father? Why was he with Schlatt? Why? Why? Why?
What had happened to Wilbur's little champion?
Even as Wilbur stumbled alongside through thick forest and overlapping shrubbery - the two brothers forcing their way back towards the shrouded gates of Pogtopia - Wilbur could almost still hear the faint tendrils of, "Papa, papa, papa!" rustling from a nearby bush. Wilbur could almost still see a wagging, bushy tail or a pair of fuzzy, twitching ears.
Wilbur could almost still pretend as if he was with his son again, and they were playing a simple game of hide n' seek.
"Nearly got me, Papa! M' over here, can't you see me?"