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Chapter Text

Philza Minecraft was immortal.

He had seen stars blink and fade, he had seen worlds crumble and burn, civilizations dissolve like sugar in tea, had watched End of Days after End of Days.
His heart had died a long time ago, buried into the ground and her face haunted him in the veiled visage of death.
He loved, because that was what he did, he laughed, for that is why he loved, and he breathed, because he’d rather have his lungs fill with something than nothing.

For convenience's sake, he claimed to have only one life while others held three. People believed him to be simply broken, defective, weak, and he couldn’t help but agree with them, if not for different reasons.

Philza Minecraft was immortal but lived like he was one mistake away from being nothing, from reuniting with his heart.
Perhaps, that’s why he loved his first son so much. He lived a similar way, for similar reasons.
Technoblade had not always been Philza’s son. First, he had been an ally, then a friend, and then family.
Technoblade was younger than he looked, with voices in his head, a golden crown adorning it. Technoblade never died.
Well, not truly.

Philza learned this one cold arctic night, before he had known he was committing war crimes with essentially a child, that the voices, the ‘chat’, were not just voices of the dead.
They were the voices of Technoblade’s past lives.
Each past instance of Techno’s old soul, all awake, all aware, all crammed in his head. Technoblade was uncertain if everyone dealt with reincarnation or if it was just Technoblade but as long as he got a headstart on the competition, he didn’t mind.
Technoblade told Phil the stories of his lives’ past and Phil quickly felt discomfort at the familiarity the tales had.

Theseus, a pink haired piglin hybrid who spoke only to those who spoke to him and to himself, sent to kill Phil, in fear of the Angel Of Death’s blade. Phil had let the boy believe himself a victor, if only so the man could once more fade into naught but legend.
The boy had returned home, a hero.
He had been sent back out, broken and bleeding, crying out. Phil had come to the boy’s, the child’s, aid, cradling him as he sobbed out his last breaths.
“I don’t wanna die,” was the boy’s last words. “I don’t want to be a voice.”

Technoblade was a pigman, one of the last not zombified, lucky enough to be immune enough to avoid infection and transformation due to entering the overworld.
He wore his hair in a fishtail braid, much like poor, young Theseus, the difference where there had been awkwardness and fear in Theseus’ battle style, there was confidence and practice in Techno’s.

Theseus thanked Phil for that last bit of comfort in his final moments.
Phil tried not to love the socially awkward and yet confident fighter as he panicked when Phil started crying.
But for all the love Phil had given, it had been eons since he had cried and to have that ability returned to him was enough to carve the reincarnating war pig a sizable chunk of his heart.


Wilbur Soot was just a street corner guitarist when Philza found him, but the boy quickly grew into a musician in his own right under Phil’s (heh) wing.
The memory was as recognizable as the sound of Phil’s own laugh, listening as the child sang a little song he had come up with on the spot, something about a boy and some ice cream?
The boy had beamed, dimples showing as Phil placed one or two nuggets of gold in his guitar case.

Wilbur Soot was a boy who was easy to love, easy to hold, or so he let you believe. He allowed you to think he was your son, your brother, your boy, but he never could convince himself to stay in one place, taking what he needed, and disappearing into the fog of the morning.
Wilbur Soot was a scared, sad, dark boy, who stared a second too long at railings, who hummed tunes that Phil had only heard in the darkest of places, who eyed everything and everyone like pieces of game, afraid everyone would turn on him before he could turn on them.
Wilbur Soot slipped into Phil’s heart like a part he had always known, this boy of light and dark, of impulsivity and control, of creation and destruction.
Wilbur Soot was more than a boy and Phil did not need to be immortal to tell. Perhaps he had been once like Technoblade, perhaps he had once been like Phil but the boy was more than a boy and his music was the only remnant of whatever power had once gifted those small, dirty hands.

Wilbur Soot was barely his son for a month when he left for the first time. Phil did not chase, he knew how consuming wanderlust could be.
Wilbur Soot returned, thinner and weaker but with a bigger smile, settling back into Phil’s life like a snake shaking off his skin. 

When Wilbur Soot left the second time, it was with Phil’s blessing and Techno’s protection, the two going as the sun rose.
When they returned, Techno had that crazed look in his eyes only battle gave him and Wilbur was a little richer.
When Phil accepted the small bag of nuggets, he sighed before laughing.
The feeling of concern, of fear for a being other than himself was washed away by Wilbur’s banter but still lingered, a heartache that had long faded from Phil’s empty chest. It was pleasant, the worry before the relief, the way Wilbur’s curly hair and brown eyes seemed to glow that felt like a balm on his soul.


Tommyinnit was the last to be found but he was not last in Phil’s heart. The boy was exactly what he said he was, always. Perhaps he felt more than he let on, perhaps he was not exactly truthful about many things, but he never said what he wasn’t.
If he was a big man, he was a big man. If he wasn’t a child, he wasn’t a child. If he was a gift from the stars above on a poor space traveller named Clara, that was what he was.

Tommyinnit was not immortal but he was not a child. The stars had wanted to bless the lonely astronaut but they had no reference frame for child growing! All they had was the pictures and books Clara would sigh over, ghosting a hand over her belly and the pictures.
Tommyinnit was a star, sent down and packaged in flesh, Clara thanking the star that had given up its own child for her happiness.
She returned to the planet, glowing.
She died with the starlight leaving her body in a wailing baby.
You see, humans were not made to hold stars, the brightness blinding them and the heat burning them.
It seemed like the stars and Clara had forgotten such a significant detail, the woman sobbing her gratitude on her newly born child as she faded away.
Tommyinnit grew like a child and like a star all at once, too fast and yet too slow, his mind still lingering in the playground while his body stretched like a beam of light. Admired only from afar.
Philza learned all of this over the course of many years, each small offhand comment, each inside joke with himself, each blow up, piecing together a tapestry of Tommy’s existence.

Tommyinnit has nebulas for eyes and starlight for hair and galaxies at the tips of his wings.
His wings.
Oh, his wings, big enough to allow him to be almost eye level with his earthly siblings, but too weak to be even close to his heavenly ones.
That did not matter to Philza, for Tommy wanted to fly, and if Tommy wanted to do something, by gum, he’d find a way to do it. That did not matter to Philza because if Tommy wanted to fly, he needed a teacher.
Phil’s wings were voids of life while Tommy’s were explosions of existence, but they were larger and more powerful and they had not been used in so long.

In the time before, when his heart walked the earth, when the world was simple and kind, Phil flew everyday, his wings grazing the border between the sky and the beyond, his heart and his flock flying behind him.
It had beyond years since Philza had flown but his wings remembered how to, the joy of flight still leaving its fingerprints on his spine.
When he first helps his youngest touch the sky, he knows Tommy is also marked by it. How could he not? He was a star, meant to shine high enough that all could see, but he was also a boy, a normal little boy who made people happy by his mere existence alone and only that.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Being among the stars, flying with Tommy, was the first breath of air that actually tasted sweet to Philza.

Three boys, three pieces of his heart. He almost felt whole again, for the first time in a long time. You’d think becoming immortal would mean you’d run out of firsts but apparently you just added more to your list.
It was a freeing feeling, the feeling of loving and being loved in return, teasing nicknames, exchanging worries, protecting one another.
Family was a freeing feeling.

But like all things, even Philza’s heart must die.

Wilbur was, unsurprisingly, the first to go.
The boy had always been a living contradiction, light and dark, creation and devastation.
Of course his life would be so similar, of course his death would be.
A prince and a tyrant, a leader and a destroyer, his son, his boy, his heart, Wilbur shook the foundations of every world he stepped onto.
Eventually even the ‘gods’ took notice.
Philza did not believe in the sovereignty of these ‘sky gods’, he had seen their rise to power after all, and he had seen those that had risen and fallen before.
If there was a god, the sky gods were not it.
They took Phil’s son, they took Wilbur, snatched him out of his warm bed in his sleep, and twisted him.
They made his son fight for his survival and then they made him make others fight. He only knew of his boy’s continued existence due to the stories of his son’s mercy and cruelty.

Philza wanted to fight, wanted to tear these so called gods from their perch on Olympus to reach his boy, but this was not his fight, this was not his struggle, and Phil knew Wilbur would not take his hand in kindness if Phil were to interrupt.
He loved Wilbur and Wilbur loved him but this was something Wilbur was supposed to do alone.

A part of his heart was stolen from him and suddenly Philza found it hard to laugh. He could chuckle at Tommy’s screams and at Techno’s snark but they felt hollow and empty, just like a third of his chest.

Tommy was the next to go, always following Wilbur, always challenging gods and demons alike, always taking Philza’s breath with his sheer stupidity and bravery, his little shooting star, chasing after everyone as if he could not take to the skies and leave them all behind.
Tommy took only the essentials, food, water, a toothbrush, and Wilbur’s guitar. If Tommy was going to find Wilbur, that instrument was (heh) probably instrumental to bringing Wilbur back as well.
Perhaps greek mythology was his eldest son’s thing and perhaps Techno was pretty on point with calling Wilbur Orpheus, but Phil had been there for every story and Tommy’s eyes shimmered with the same determination to save the one he loved as the mostly fictional man.

As Phil tried desperately to breath without Tommy, he prayed his son would have more success.

When Techno followed after the others, it was not in the same way Tommy and Wilbur had left, one snatched and one chasing, both of their bodies gone.
When Techno left, he left a pink furred pigman warrior in his wake, vacantly staring at the wall, mumbling to himself, only moving when it was time to fight.
It started off slow, the voices’ volume increasing, causing Techno to wince if noises got too loud, their panic clear but the meaning undecipherable.
Techno moved slower, fought more brutally, stared at knives and forks with an uncomfortably intense look. He no longer went out to farm his potatoes or to tend to his cows, to his numerous pets.
Whenever Phil suggested it, Technoblade just gave him a look like he had just suggested he rip his own heart out.
It got worse and worse, the glaze over Techno’s red eyes thickening, the periods between such times lessening, and then-
And then it stopped.

It stopped and Techno was fine and there were stories of the sky gods’ little pet admin’s cruelty, stories that made Phil go cold.

Techno was fine and they thanked their lucky stars. Neither confronted the cause of that terrifying pause.

And then it returned, in time for an angel to arrive by the admin’s side, both raining fun and pain in equal measure among innocent players, usually in groups of 100, competing in horrible games.

Phil woke up and his son was in the kitchen, staring, mesmerized, at the rat, who had gnawing in the walls, now impaled with an engraved fork onto the table.
Phil felt sick and he pulled the pigman into his arms, holding him until Techno returned home, shaking as he questioned quietly how long he had been gone.
Technoblade was no saint, no angel, he took delight in bloodshed and rubbing victory in his enemies’ face, but no one deserved the kind of death that was being given to him. No one deserved to become a passenger in their own body, unaware of what was happening, unaware of what they were doing.

His youngest sons’ cruelty mounted as Technoblade grew more and more distant and Phil did not need to be a genius to figure out what was happening.
But what could Phil even do? If he left Technoblade now, who knew what would happen. If he stayed away from his sons, they would remain at the mercy of demons calling themselves gods.
To leave one was to risk the other.

In the end, Wilbur made the choice for him.

Any stories pertaining 100 players losing a crucial life to an admin with a roulette wheel for a morality compass or an angel with a foul mouth and a pair of sticks vanished.
The whole day after was completely free of whatever the lingering disorder was. Technoblade was inconsolable.

The pigman spoke in cryptic codes and greek mythology and painfully desperate sobs, clinging to Phil like he was going to disappear in a blink of an eye.
“They’re screaming,” Techno gasped out, Phil’s black wings wrapped around him. “Something’s in here, Phil, and they’re not us, they’re not them, and they’re screaming too. Bellerophon, Bellerophon, he made it to Olypmpus and now he’s in my head.”
Phil fell asleep not long after Techno finally passed out, resolving that as soon as he got his other pieces of his heart back, he was never letting them leave without talking to him first again.

He woke up and Techno was gone.

Phil ran downstairs, wings puffed in panic, praying those accused false gods had not taken yet another son from him.
The front door was open and Phil let out a curse, tossing on a coat and grabbing his bow and quiver, chasing after the hoofprints left in the dirt. The forest that had been security swallowed him up like a particularly hungry beast.
With every step, Phil’s heart shriveled up more and more, leaving only anger and disgust.
Every pet that his sons had held dear was out, slain swiftly and hopefully painlessly. Phil prayed Techno was not the one holding the sword.

He heard a scream and Phil ran because, oh, gods, that was Wilbur’s voice, Wilbur was home, Wilbur was hurt.

Phil burst out of the forest into the clearing with a show of black feathers and deadly sharp arrows.
His son, his son, his Wilbur, his flame, his songbird, his heart, lay on the ground, sword still embedded in his chest, eyes wide in shock and horror and dull with the sting of death.
Phil’s own eyes widened and narrowed, not allowing himself to stop and think, stop and see who was standing over Wilbur, an arrow flying out and burying itself in the other’s chest.
Technoblade, his son, his ally, his friend, his emperor, his heart, stumbled back at the sudden thing in his body. His glazed eyes looked up at Phil and cleared just to show relief, why did it have to be relief, why couldn’t it have been hurt or confusion or anything but that,  and then Technoblade pitched forward, Phil’s deadly aim barely leaving the pigman time to realize he was dead.

Phil stood frozen in that clearing, bow still in hand, two-thirds of his heart bleeding out on the ground before him.
With a wail, Phil tossed away his bow, rushing towards his fallen boys. With a squelch, Techno’s sword was pulled free of Wilbur’s body, with a sound like cutting paper, Phil’s arrow was tugged out of Techno’s heart.
It did not take much imagination to see how this sight came to be, Wilbur returning home, triumphant and proud in his victory over the sky gods at his escape, expecting Tommy behind him and Phil and Techno before him.
Wilbur running into an absentee Technoblade, running on bloodlust and the screams in his head. Wilbur going to greet his older brother.
Wilbur screaming as he died.
Techno standing, half dazed, half not home upstairs.

Phil does not bury them, carrying them back home and placing them carefully in their beds. Ignoring the red staining their shirts, they almost look asleep.
He waits, waits for them to respawn, waits for Wilbur to stumble downstairs, a little betrayed, a little bewildered, all alive, waits for Techno to follow after, eyes clear, mouth empty of apologies but hands itching to recover a hurt, all there.

They do not come back. Phil is unsure if his sons just lost all three of their lives and Phil had not noticed or if the sky gods had ripped that from his boys too.
All he knows is he is suddenly alone and he needs to find Tommy.

It is hard to find to reach the ones who have been taking everything from Phil but the thin air does not stop Phil when he can’t breath anyway.
He flies and flies, wings slicing through air and cloud, reaching for the stars, for his star.

The sky gods’ perch is just as pointlessly pompous as Phil expected but he was not there to ravage the heavens, not yet.
He walked quickly and quietly through the halls, listening for Tommy’s voice or some sort of scratch or burn on the pristine walls, any sign of that blonde haired, starry eyed mischief maker.

He heard haughty and cruel laughter before a mockery of someone’s scream echoed. The laughter increased right after.
“Oh, maybe we should give him another pair, just so we can rip them off too!” one voice jeered.
“Or maybe we can send this pair to his old man!” another added on and Phil’s blood froze. “That hardcorer is still mourning those other two! It’ll push him over the edge!”
There was a chorus of ooooo’s and Phil realized there was someone also crying in there, quietly, as he got closer.
The alabaster white door was open just a crack, allowing the voices to flow out loud and clear. There was a snap and a feeling of power, followed by increased cackling.

Phil stepped back due to the almost physical force of energy hitting him. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut instinctively.
When he opened them, his arms were holding something.

He held back a strangled gasp as he realized what exactly he was holding; a pair of starry wings, nebulas frozen on the feathers, a mocking, golden bow tied around the two limbs.

Oh gods. They cut Tommy’s wings off.

The sky gods were not ready for a blur of black feathers to burst in and scoop up their latest toy, disappearing before they could get a good look at the intruder.

Tommy was limp and quiet in Phil’s arms and the light he normally carried was absent, leaving Phil in darkness as he rushed inside their lightless home.
Tommy was gently left on the table, put on his stomach to avoid advergating his wing cuts.
The medkit was in the bathroom where Phil left it and the immortal man snatched it up, rushing back to his youngest (and now only) son.
Tommy was still unconscious and Phil was still afraid, even as he put cleaning alcohol on the numerous injuries the young boy had.
It was painful, seeing Tommy, his son, his boy, his star, his heart , so still and, and quiet , bundled up in bed, suddenly so small without his wings.

Tommy only seemed to get worse and worse, the cuts where his wings, his wings, his wings, those accursed sky gods took his wings , should be getting infected.
The younger boy slipped deeper and deeper into sickness, barely opening his eyes for a few minutes and seeming to believe Phil a hallucination.
It didn’t seem right, for Tommy to die this way. It didn’t seem right for him to die at all .
On the last day, Tommy woke up. He woke up and was still a little delirious but it was almost like Phil’s star had come back to him.
He yelled and laughed, cackling while he cursed out Phil, threatening him with a dull stick.
His star, his star, his heart, please don’t leave me yet-

Tommy fell asleep on Phil’s shoulder, reading a book that did not interest the boy at all. Phil smiled softly and pressed his lips to Tommy’s forehead, deciding to worry how to move forward without two-thirds of their family, of his heart.

Phil woke up and Tommy was cold.

The winged immortal did not wait to see if his son would be revived, the sky gods would not allow Phil that kindness.
Phil finally went upstairs and moved his eldest two from their beds, laying each piece of his heart on a pyre.
He could not put his heart into the earth, not again. He didn’t want to forget where they lay, like he did with her .

First went Technoblade, the fires climbing higher and higher, just like the pigman himself, pushing himself higher despite the hatred from his opposition.
Wilbur followed shortly after, his flames more calm and peaceful, as if even the fire admired him and wished him to know peace at the absolute end.
Last but not least, young Tommy, the embers looking like stars against his pale face.

Phil had remained strong throughout all of this. The disappearance of his boys, the deaths of his eldest, the passing of his youngest, but watching their bodies burn, watching his heart turn to ash, well.
The sky gods saw Phil as a survivor, a builder, a man who sought peace, a father. All of these things were, of course, true.
But Philza Minecraft was more than that. He was a warrior, a sadist, a destroyer, a man who watched civilizations burn with a smile and had lit some himself.
Philza Minecraft had slain false gods and demons on thrones before. Even Zeus himself had given more of a challenge than they would.

Their only warning of the oncoming storm was a stray black feather, flitting into their hall, the Grim Reaper's calling card.

Philza Minecraft arrived at sunset, skulls of the ones he had lost in hand and accused sand in his hands.
While the demon left by his sons’ loss destroyed their heavenly perch, Philza Minecraft located those who had laughed when his youngest had lost his flight. He found those who had whispered into his oldest’s head, Techno’s Bellerophon. He found the ones who had outstretched their hands and snatched his middle boy from his bed, molding him into a monster against his will.
Philza Minecraft found the ones who broke his heart and he gave them the kindness they showed his sons; he drove them to insanity, to violence, to sickness, he deprived them of death and life and he only smiled when they cried.
If these sky gods thought themselves gods, if they thought themselves demons, they had not yet met the cold gaze of the Angel of Death.

Death came for all, after all.
All but Philza Minecraft.



The destruction of the sky gods’ heaven was the last clear moment Phil remembered for a long time, life once more blurring into practiced routines without a heart to feel with.
His wings once more were hidden and he faded in and out of history, name ever so slightly different every time.

A small cautious hand brushed against his covered wing and he turned, dropping the apple he had been buying.
Wide, galaxy blue eyes stared up at him, staring at him in disbelief.
“Dadza?” Tommy questioned with budding tears, even his disbelieving whisper echoing in Phil’s ear as if he had screamed it.
The boy barely had time to react before he was pulled into a hug, Phil near tears as he held a part of his heart that he thought he had lost closely. Tommy clinged just as tightly.
Phil felt something like relief, like hope, like love, fill his empty chest once more. 

Chapter Text

Tommy was not immortal.
Neither was Wilbur.
Neither was Technoblade.

They had not been the most average of people and Technoblade could be argued to be immortal, in a way, but all of them had been alive, then dead.

Stars burn out. Songs end. Battles can be lost.

And yet, here Tommy is.

Here he is, vulgar and loud and eager, as if it had been only moments since Phil had seen him, truly seen him, awake and aware.
Phil hopes that if he is dreaming, he never wakes up.
His son, his star, his wings, his heart, Tommy babbled on and on, Phil barely able to hear him through the static in his brain.
“But, I don’t understand!” Phil found himself interrupting Tommy despite his inner screams to shut up and just soak it in, it won’t last, it never does. “ How are you here?”
Tommy blinks up at him, almost as if he realized he should be dead and then he looks….. really nervous.
“......Tommy?” Phil says, feeling like he’s hearing something he shouldn’t.
“So, uh, you know how stars can be dead but we won’t know until like years later because light is a slow motherfucker?” the winged boy said, looking sheepish.
Phil’s heart stops.

“So, what, you’re a mirage?” Phil laughs, because he has no idea what else to do.
“Well, no, not really,” Tommy shrugged. “We don’t know what exactly is up but I’m like fog now and women are easier to escape from because I wink out of existence sometimes.”
Ah. that was- worse? Better? Phil’s grip tightened on Tommy’s hand.
“We?” asks Phil because his son getting friends is a thing he thought he’d never see again.
“Yeah! Me, Tubbo, and-” Tommy’s eyes dim for a moment but he ploughs on. “-And Wilbur.”

Wilbur.

“Wilbur’s alive?” Phil forces them to a stop, Tommy turning at his father’s choked up voice of disbelief.
“Well, yes and no,” Tommy starts avoiding eye contact. “The sky gods, they were….. Cruel. To please them, to protect himself and everyone else too, he had to be cruel too. But he never could be cruel to me, not really. He, he sort of split himself in two? Admin Wilbur, loyal servant of the sky gods, tormentor and tormentee and-”
Tommy is interrupted by a voice calling out to him, a familiarly painful one, followed by a youthful but unknown voice.
“Tommy!” called Wilbur Soot, his songbird, his son, his flame, his heart, almost transparent, tinted a slight shade of blue, with a vacancy in his eyes that horrified Philza to his core. The ghostly visage stopped at Phil, staring at him with pure soot black eyes. “Do I know you?”
Phil let out a strangled sound and Tommy winced, releasing Phil and stepping up to Wilbur.
“Wilby, that’s Dadza, remember?” Tommy said, his tone not changing but no less gentle.
Wilbur, or Wilby, as the ghost appears to be going by Tommy’s childhood nickname for the older, blinks and looks closer at Phil before the ghost seems to light up.
“Oh! Dadza! We’ve been looking for you!” Wilby beams and Phil’s chest aches.
“Uh, hello, sir,” Phil startles and turns to look at the young stranger with his two boys, assuming that’s the friend. “My name is Tubbo. I’m guessing you’re Philza Minecraft?”
He looks at the brown haired boy, clearly a hybrid in disguise, presumably some kind of green one. There weren’t a lot of options but Phil supposed it was none of his business.
“Yup,” Phil replied after a minute, taking the overly bundled boy’s gloved hand and shaking. “Thanks for looking after these two for me.”
Tubbo flushed but smiled, Tommy sputtered and cursed, and Wilbur laughed, and Phil felt his lungs fill with air and laughter tease a true smile out for the first time in years.


“Is Techno with you?” Phil asks much later, when Wilby was gone and Wilbur was there.
“No,” huffs the far more lifelike persona of his son, dressed in his usual wear instead of his casual yellow sweater. “But we know he’s here too. We think he’s like me, somehow, some sort of spirit, held somewhere. I can move around because I am attached to all of you but most spirits are trapped in someplace of sentiment.”
Phil frowned and nodded, watching Tubbo and Tommy cause some sort of trouble. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but the flurry of energy was recognizable even with someone, even after all this time.
“So, where would he be then?” Phil asked, looking down at his hands.

The hands that killed his son.

“I’m not really sure. I checked where the house used to be but it was nothing but ash,” Wilbur shrugged. Phil avoided eye contact. He hadn’t exactly remembered burning the building down but he must have. He did have a penchant for arson. “But we don’t really know where else to look. Any ideas? Homes of former family, friends, where you found him?”
Where he found him.
Where Phil found Technoblade? It was more like, Techno found Phil.
“I know where that is.” Phil said, rising to his feet.

Philza Minecraft struggled against the nearly frozen chains, the steel biting into his wings.
He looked up to see the soldier responsible for his capture, coming down stairs.
The soldier was a pigman, one of the few Philza Minecraft had seen since the great Plague and the Divide.
He was dressed almost like royalty but the muzzle on his face and collar on his neck showed his true status.
The leash attached to his collar dragged behind him as he approached, standing before Philza’s cell.
“What?” Philza Minecraft snarled out. “Your masters send their little pet down to tortue me?”
“They don’t know I’m here actually,” the pigman responded, adjusting his collar. “You’re a hybrid, right?”
In the future, Phil would recognize the excitement under those blood red eyes, but now Philza Minecraft only recognizes the red. 

“What gave it away?” Philza Minecraft snarked, his wings puffing up despite their bondage.
“Oh, yeah,” the pigman hummed, almost as if shaming himself with the tune. “I was just thinking it might be an elytra.”
“Why do you ask?” Philza Minecraft said. The pigman slowly reached up and tore off his muzzle.
“What are your feelings,” Technoblade asked, his sharp bloodthirsty grin illuminating his face. “On regicide?”

The arctic is cold and frigid and oh so familiar, just like everything else has been for the past few days.
The castle is just how the two left it at the end of their short but successful reign; completely whole but hollow, just like their rulers.
“We took over the Arctic Empire practically overnight,” Phil reminisced with a soft smile. “And then we ruled it the worst we could. Our people were fine, yes, maybe even happy, but the kingdoms around us quickly realized they needed some….. Better rules in place.”
Wilby giggled.
“You weren’t king when you found me and Toms though!” Wilby swirled around them, porcelain smile in place. “But I don’t remember much of how we met!”
“I do. I remember.” Phil says and Wilby stops, flickers to Wilbur, before settling back on Wilby, even more excited.
The other two stop, their eyes flickering with a hope he feels won’t be explained to him.
“I remember.” Phil repeats.

Philza laughs, Techno startling and looking back at him in surprise. The boy in front of him beams and sings louder, his beautiful voice exaggerated for the sake of humor.
Philza drops a single diamond in the boy’s guitar case, much to Techno’s dismay and the boy’s surprised delight.
Philza smiles brightly at the boy before hurrying to catch up with his younger companion. Techno frowns at Philza over the ‘waste’ of such important supplies but Philza waves off his concern.

“I hated you then,” Wilbur confesses a year later, fresh out of a panic attack and straight into an attempt to wall himself away. “You gave me a diamond and I hated you for it, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it, that you thought you were helping but now I was in bigger trouble.”
Philza hummed in acknowledgement and wrapped a dark wing around the preteen. Wilbur leaned into Philza’s side, instantly but not reluctantly.
“I wanted to kill you and I was convinced I could,” Wilbur mumbles, and if Philza had a nickel for every time a more than natural child had mentioned a former desire to murder them, Philza would have two nickels. Which, to be fair, isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. “I don’t know why, you’re almost, like, immortal.”
And Philza laughs, because he doesn’t want to lie to his son, not right now, when he’s being painfully honest, but the truth is something Philza has run from for a milenia and not even his son can make him stop.

“You hated me, remember?” Phil says softly, once smiling at painful and burning memories. Wilby’s smile freezes and he looks considerably less eager to remember. “You wanted to kill me and you know what? I think you could’ve.”
“Stop.” Wilby pleads.
“I probably would have let you. Would have preferred it actually, to losing you. To having your very soul split in two.” Phil goes on because he can’t stop himself and his son who once bended reality to his will is shaking his head, as if hearing that he was not the perfect man he wanted to be and yet was loved was hurting him physically.
“Phil-” Wilbur clawed his way to the surface, trying to look angry.
“I let you die instead. And it felt like you did. I lost you, I lost you all and it was like I was dying as I burned you. As I burned down the heavens for you. Did you know I did that?” Phil asked, smiling at his son.
He saw Tommy freeze and Tubbo hiss in question and he was Wilbur and Wilby both make a horrified but delighted expression.
“You… You did that? For us?” Wilbur asks.
“Why?” Wilby asks.
“Now, is it so hard to believe that I love my sons? Even if they torment people to protect others and themselves?” Phil laughed, even though there was nothing funny about this. Any of this.
Wilbur looks angry. Wilby looks confused.

A sharp pain blossoms in Phil’s chest and he reels back, grasping at his chest.
Tommy turns all the way to Phil, rushing to his side.
“Dadza?!” Tommy asked, hovering over the immortal man.
Phil gasped for breath, his lungs not finding purchase.
“Dad?!” Wilbur cried out, reaching out before wheeling away with a cry, holding his head.
Phil let out a strangled cry and then the world went black.

When Phil came back, he was face to face with the young hybrid Tubbo, leaning over him.
“Mr. Phil!” Tubbo cheered, face lighting up as Phil came back into awareness. “You’re awake!”
Phil sat up, his chest filling oddly empty, not unlike how he had felt when he had lost his boys or his love. He looked around, noting the lack of winged starboy and blue split personality ghost.
“Where’s… where’s Wilbur and Tommy?” Phil asked.
“Wilbur went in the direction you pointed,” Tubbo informed him before his face fell. “And Tommy….. Vanished. Don’t worry, he'll be back, like always. He has to.”
The last part sounds like it was for Tubbo alone so Phil says nothing about it, even though he gets an uneasy feeling from the statement. He was lucky Tommy already warned him or Phil would have slipped into a form of depression until he had gotten warnings. That would have been awkward!
“....I see.” Phil stands to his feet, stretching out his tense wings. He turned to the much smaller and younger hybrid. “So, how did my boys pick you up? They usually didn’t get along with others when I was raising them.”
“Oh! They kind of saved my life! I was in a pretty bad situation and was going to …...make some pretty drastic decisions to get out of it,” Tubbo frowned but drastically verbally backed up at Phil’s probably horrified face. “N-Not like that! I-I just… don’t worry about it. Wilbur related and Tommy pretty much dragged me out by the hair!”
“Heh, yeah, those two can be quite stubborn, huh?” Phil chuckled, smiling fondly. “But they have a way of finding like minded people and bringing them together. Wilbur actually helped me find Tommy, you know.”
“I’d ask you to tell me but last time you reminisced, you and Wilbur kind of passed out? And Wilbur has been acting weird ever since he woke up?” Tubbo giggles, almost nervous. “I’m very worried but I’m sure it’s fine!”
“Ah,” Phil said, frowning but trying not to do it so noticeably. “I’ll take your word for it..?”
The two sit in silence, the cold of the arctic not really affecting the two.
“Creeper?” Phil suddenly asks.
“Aw man,” Tubbo responds automatically but blinks, actually reacting to the question. “Wait, what?”
“Your species,” Phil clarifies, sitting down. “I can tell you’re a hybrid, as one myself. You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s fine,” the younger shakes his head. “Yeah, I am. What gave it away?”
“You don’t seem cold. Creepers have very thick coats of moss like fur,” Phil said. “But I don’t need to tell you that.”
Tubbo just smiled sheepishly, the green fur just under the fluff of his coat poofing up in defense of its owner.
Suddenly, the air feels charged and far too bright.

And then Tommy is there, blinking away the brightness from his eyes and stretching his wings out.
“Dadza!” Tommy cheers, looking relieved. “You’re awake?! Tubbo, how long was I-”

“Only about an hour,” Tubbo responded, his own relief peeking through. “Wilbur went on ahead.”
Tommy nodded and looked in the direction of the once grand palace.
“We should go and join him then, right?” Tommy said, ever rearing and ready to go. Phil stood, joining his reappearing youngest’s side.
“Sounds good to me,” he looks back at the creeper hybrid. “Tubbo?”
“Oh! Yeah, I’m ready!” Tubbo agreed, jumping up and joining them. “Let’s go!”

The castle is empty and hollow and, despite Phil being the original owner, he feels like he is intruding someplace sacred.
Wilbur is there and Phil freezes because he looks…… different? Again? Not Admin Wilbur, not Big Brother Wilby, just…….Wilbur.
“Dadza, I don’t think you should go in there, it’s, it’s not good, it’s not good at all,” Wilbur says, before he is enveloped in a winged hug. “Eh, Dadza, What-”
“You look better. Yourself,” Phil pulled back with a smile before turning a concerned look towards the palace. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s-” Wilbur hesitated before sighing and motioning to the palace. “Actually, maybe you should see.”
Phil frowns but squeezes through the broken and leaning doors, once grand and majestic.

He sees nothing at first, hears nothing.

But then the whispers of what Phil assumed were the wind picked up, becoming words and sentences in a vocal pattern so familiar, and Phil looked up.
“It’s him-Dadza-Hi, Dadza!-It isn’t real, we’re hallucinating again-not possible, should be dead-Wilbur left, he must have gotten-Dadza-Dadza!-Dad-Father-Dadza-Phil-Dadza-he’s really here?” the whirling mass of blood red and bright pink ghosts spinning above his head cried out, so many voices speaking at once, louder and louder, fighting to be heard, to be seen.
“Hello, Techno.” Phil called out, unsure if they could all hear him. The answer was the voices reaching a new volume and spinning faster.
“It’s really him!-Dadza!-Hi,Dadza!-Dadza, Hi!-You’re alive?-He recognizes us!-He remembers us!-You’re here!-We thought you forgot us-We thought you were dead-So long-Too long-Should be dead-Hallo.” the voices replied, delighted.
“Wilbur, Tommy, get in here,” Phil called out. “There’s someone important here.”
Tommy rushes in, staring agape at the ghostly swirl of Technoblade. Wilbur follows hesitantly, phasing through the door.
“Boys,” Phil motions to the ghostly mass. “Technoblade.”
“Birdinnit-Babyinnit-Ghostbur?-Dead-Dead-They’re not real, we killed Wilbur-not our fault!-weak-weak- Blood for the Sky Gods -No-No-Wrong-Forget that-4/4-SBI-Sleepy Bois Inc!” Techno’s many voices descended on the trio, swirling around them before once more taking once more their path above the once great dining hall.
“That’s Techno?!” Wilbur says, astonished.
“He did say he was curious how he would look as a ghost,” Phil murmured. “Considering all his past lives were living in his head.”
“Wow, so all the voices were past technos?” Tommy questioned. “Pog.”
“Pog?-Not pog-So loud-So, so loud-Intruders-Couldn’t get them out- killed Wilbur- Blood for the Sky Gods -But that’s wrong!-Blood for the Blood God-But we were the Blood God-Not a god-But gods aren’t real-The sky gods were just losers-They sucked-Missed you guys-Missed you so much-Been so long-Kept track-Counted-Missed you-So long,” the voices responded to Tommy, answering a few questions they had. “186-185.6-186.5-So long-So, so long.”
“Wait, is that in years?” Wilbur asks and Phil stiffens. Oh no.
“Yes-Years-Years-So long-Oldza?-Youngza-Immortalza?” the voices slow down, puzzled but then remembered. “Immortalza-Theseus-Oldza.”
“Dadza?” Tommy turns to the frozen older man. “How old are you?”
“Well, geez, Tommy, that’s kinda personal, dontcha think-” Phil tries to deficit with a laugh but-
“Philza Minecraft,” Wilbur says and it’s like the ghost of his son knows the weight, the history, that name carries. “How long have you been alive? You’ve always said you were around 40 but, that’s not true, is it?”
Phil sighs and then Philza Minecraft straightens up, his centuries of living and surviving, with and without a heart, bearing on his shoulders.
“I’ve been alive since before there was a spoken language you could even hope to translate, since endermen were men, since the Nether was a paradise,” Philza Minecraft says to Phil’s sons, spirit, remnant, and ghostly hurricane alike. “I have outlived all and I will outlive all.”
“All but dead-We knew that!-We knew some of that-we knew him before-some of us knew him before-This is annoying-Did they not realize?-They know now!-Oldza-Immortalza-Theseus-Dadza-Still Dadza.” the voices called out to their brothers.
Wilbur and Tommy stared at Philza Minecraft and Phil relaxed once more, shaking the tension out of his wings.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Phil says. “I just…..”
“We get it, old man,” Tommy says, playing up his dismissal to make Phil laugh, his usual assurance/distraction tactic. “Just no more secrets, aight? I’d like to know what kind of insults I can make.”
“I just,” Wilbur is too caught up in the shock to notice it. “Wow. That long?”
Phil just nods. He doesn’t like thinking about the past.
“Let’s just focus on getting your brother in one piece,” Phil shrugged. “Wilbur, what helped you? You seem less…. Separated.”
“I am,” Wilbur frowned, thinking. “I think it was the story? I was split because…..well…”
He doesn’t say. Tommy frowns, confused, but the spirits now whispering overhead and Phil understand.
“I don’t think Techno has the same issue,” Wilbur says. “I mean, he knows they’re all….well, him.”
“Not all of us-Bellerophon-Intruder-Technokill-Traitorblade-Technobad-Parasite-Not one of us-Liar-Liar-Not one of us- Blood for the Sky Gods -Might still be in here-Impostor-Haha amogus-Technowrong.” the voices corrected, Technoblade’s usual paranoia and distrust turned on himself.
“Okay, he feels like this because he murdered me, right?” Wilbur says, as if he was talking about anything but his own demise. Phil flinched but nodded, Wilbur had always been sort of morbid and far too accepting of his own death.
Techno’s voices did not respond to the question with the same uneasy agreement Phil did.
“FAILURE-FAILURE-SHOULD HAVE DONE BETTER-TECHNOWEAK-TECHNOBAD-TRAITORBLADE-TECHNOKILL-SORRY-SO SORRY-FAILURE-TECHNOBAD-TECHNOBAD- BLOOD FOR THE SKY GODS -TECHNOFAIL!” The ghosts swarm them for a minute, Tommy covering his face and Wilbur his ears, due to their sheer volume. Phil alone stares at the familiar and unfamiliar pink and red swirl of faces around them.
Some have masks, some have monocles, some have funny hats. A few have crowns. A few have braids.
All are his son and he will fix this. He has to. Afterall, without Techno, how would Wilbur have found-
Phil’s eyes widened.

That’s it. 

“Tubbo,” Phil says to the creeper player slipping, barely missing the Technoswirl returning to above their heads. “Do you want to know how Wilbur found Tommy?”

Phil tuned out the two teens squabbling as they walked out. Honestly, he should have known earlier on that Techno was also a teenager, considering how once he got past his general distrust, the two got on like a house on fire.
It was nice to get some quiet, to just relax with a book and a cup of tea.

“Daaaaaadza!” Wilbur kicked down the door, startling Phil, his wings flying up. Why did he have to jinx it? “Me and Techno found something weird!”
Techno followed through the door, holding out what Phil assumed was a particularly large and vicious raccoon, but upon closer inspection, was a small, winged, VERY dirty child.
“We found him in the trash,” Techno said quietly, holding the child almost tenderly in his arms. The child continued to attempt to bite through Techno’s thick gloves and thicker skin. “What do we do with him?”
“We can’t just leave him, Dadza! I’ll, I’ll take responsibility for him! He won’t be much trouble!” Wilbur cried out, verbally ready to fight for this strange kid. Behind him, Techno straightened up, also ready to fight. Both looked mildly terrified but not enough to back down.
Phil looked over his boys, frowning at the fact that even now they felt they were at threat.
Well.
Phil looked at the feral boy in Techno’s arms, his eyes a shocking blue as his useless teeth chomped into a stoic Techno’s arm.
Let’s deal with the rugrat first.
“Alright,” Phil said, patting the boy on the head. “I’ll get some soup cooking. Can you two-”
“Wash him? Absolutely! C’mon, Techno!” Wilbur responded quickly, not giving Phil time to retract his statement, dragging a startled Technoblade upstairs towards the bathroom.

“Maybe you should hold him, Wil,” Phil heard Techno whisper, the two boys trying to figure out the bed situation. It had been hard when it was two boys fighting over a bed but there was yet another child thrown into the mix. Phil had offered his own but Wilbur didn’t want his pity and Techno didn’t trust him that much yet and neither were trusting him with Tommy, as the boy kept screaming whenever names were used. “I don’t think he likes me.”
“What? No! He likes you! Or he will, I think. We, we gotta establish our roles now,” Wilbur murmured, ignoring Techno’s “Roles?” as he pondered. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be the cool, fun brother and you’ll be the awesome, strong, protective one!”
“Protective?” Phil could hear Techno’s raised eyebrow.
“Well…. Yeah. You were willing to fight a ton of dudes for me and Tommy is nowhere near as tough as I am. Your Big Brother Instincts will kick in and you’ll wipe the floor with whoever messes with Tommy and me! You’re super strong!”
“I’m….?” Phil could hear Techno’s ego grow. “Yeah. Yeah! I mean, I’m Technoblade, I can take anyone! You guys can trust me to watch your backs!”
“Yeah, Technoblade!” Wilbur cheered, only to be shushed by Techno.
“Ssssh, you’ll wake him up! We just got him to sleep!”
“Oh, shit, sorry, sorry.”
Phil gathered his courage and peeked in the room. He could see Wilbur, smiling sheepishly while one hand carded through the slumbering Tommy’s hair. He could only see Techno’s back but that in itself was a testament to the moment.
Technoblade was relaxed. He understood he was trusted and he gave his own in return. He would watch Wilbur and Tommy’s back and they would watch his.
Technoblade felt safe, probably for the first time in this life.
Phil smiled and went back to his book. He’d tell them to go to bed if they were still up in an hour.

“Wilbur found Tommy in the trash and both him and Techno were rearing to fight for his behalf already,” Phil laughed at the memory. “Tommy was chomping on his arm like a damn raccoon and the kid was acting like I was threatening a baby puppy.”
Tubbo blinked, visualed his still feral friend biting a grown person while said person was ready to fight, and chuckled, the image amusing to anyone with a sense of humor.
“He and Wilbur made a pact that night, ya know,” Phil went on. “To be the best brothers they could be. Before they trusted me to care for them, they trusted each other to care for Tommy. He brought them, us, together.”
“Tommy has a way of bringing people together.” agreed Tubbo.
Phil looked up at the mass of ghosts, to see if his words had any effect-

They were crying. Technoblade was crying.
Phil paled and looked over at Wilbur. This issue laid more with him than with Phil.
Wilbur looked back helplessly.
“Sorry-So sorry-We meant to-Not strong enough-Not good enough-Bad brother-Bad big brother-Bad Brotherblade-So sorry-Sorry-Wilbur, I’m Sorry-” the voices sobbed, Techno’s last regrets haunting the castle like, well, a ghost.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay! There was nothing you could have done!” Wilbur said, desperately trying to console the fractured elder.
“Let you get taken-Let Tommy leave-Let the intruder in- Blood for the Sky Gods -Killed you-Died-Failed-You trusted me-Sorry.” the voices cried on, drifting down, just above their heads.
“No, it’s,” Wilbur hesitated before sighing, going on in a defeated tone of voice. “It’s my fault.”
Phil startled and looked at Wilbur, Tommy mouthing an incredulous ‘What?’ to Phil and Tubbo.
“I let them use me, I didn’t send Tommy home when I should have, I didn’t leave when I could have,” Wilbur said. “I let them get in your head. I let them hurt you. I trusted you to watch my back but you trusted me too and I failed you.”
“No!-Ghostbur-Deadbur-Our fault-Didn’t look hard enough-Didn’t fight hard enough-Our fault-Our fault-Not yours.” The voices argued, focusing on Wilbur.
“And, what? You gonna blame yourself for Tommy ending up in the sky gods’ hands too? You’re smarter than that.” Wilbur huffed, crossing his arms.
The voices were quiet for a minute.
“.....Could’ve kept an eye on him-Could’ve went with him-Could’ve found you first.” The voices protest but it’s weak, Techno knows a losing battle when he sees one.
“Could have, Should have, What ifs,” Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in those.”
“.....We don’t-No-But-We don’t, no.” the voices are much smaller, much slower, mass swirling still above Wilbur’s head.
“Well, then, let’s agree we both could have different and move on,” and, with a confidence Phil knew was faked, reached up and nabbed a vaguely hand shaped wisp of pink, pulling the group down to earth. “Shall we?”
The masses were an indistinguishable group for a second before they slowed to a stop, forming an almost person-like shape.
The only distinguishable aspects were the braided pink hair, two tusks, still adorned by the common gold rings, and the hooved hand clinging onto Wilbur’s as if he was going to vanish. 

“......Okay.” Technoblade said, his voice still carrying the effect of many speaking as one.

There was quiet for a minute before the relief of all his sons, whole and present, if not alive, hit Phil and he was laughing, gasping for breath as he scooped everyone present in his wings, Tubbo surprised, and his boys caught of guard but remembering of the wing hugs Phil sometimes would give.
“Dadza?” Tommy questioned when some moisture hit his head. “You okay?”
“I’m just,” Phil choked around a suppressed sob. “Happy. I thought I’d never have this again. See you again.”
If his boys hugged him a little tighter after that, well. That’s for Phil’s ears only.

“Hey, before we leave,” Techno said later, stopping their exit. “We may have, sort of have, adopted a kid?”
As if on cue, they heard the sound of an enderman teleporting, followed by a voice.
“Hello, ominous and disturbing voices who are my only friends! I’m back and I have to tell you something bonkers-” a black and white ender hybrid walked into the room, stopping and staring at the group. “Huh.”
“Haaaallllo, Ranboo,” Techno greeted with a nervous smile. “Nice to, uh, meet you in person?”
“Wait, in person?” Ranboo, apparently, questioned.
“Oh boy,” sighed Wilbur. “And I’m the one who steals kids and becomes their big brother?”

Phil just laughed.
He could fit one more into his heart, now that he had one again.