Work Text:
The letter comes early morning, the sun has not risen yet.
Eret frowns when the crow caws at their window, flapping its wings when they turn in their sheets to look at the thing. The stars are disappearing behind it, and they know why its here. In its claws is a letter, paper stained with water from the snow and ink smudged. Carefully, Eret gets out of bed. Peeling their sheets from their skin, they reached out for the crow. It lands upon their wrist, rubbing its head happily against their burning skin. They untie the leather that bound the crow and paper together, taking the wax sealed letter from the bird.
It rasps quietly, hopping off his wrist. Eret only spares a single glace towards the bird when he stands to open his door. When he had entered the hallway, he uses his thumb to peel off the black wax that was tamped with a familiar crest. Eret knows why this letter is here, but he does not know if he wants to go. He and the man this is sent because grew to hate each other. Eret truly did not hate him, but the other did not hide his anger.
She does not remember coming to terms with the man who she used to be friends with, nor does she thing she would have the guts to look him in the eyes after that day when they had all lost their first lives. But now, Philza has sent her a letter that bore news his long ago death.
Eret unfolds the letter when they get to the end of one of the castles long hallways, careful to not rip the paper. The words are written in simple hand writing, not curled like how the dead mans used to be. Philza was a simple man.
Eret,
Wilbur's dead. I feel as if it right to give him at least this, a funeral. It is late, I know, but it feels right to finally give his ghost a funeral.
The others know of his request, of his will. Tubbo, Tommy, Niki, and Jack have agreed. I hope you've caught on, if you haven't, then I shall say this bluntly. Help them lay him to rest, hold his coffin with them down the isle in Church Prime. I have sent a letter to his son, he has been long gone since doomsday.
If you shall join them, please wear your uniform.
He has forgiven you, you are welcome here, Eret.
Join your brothers and sister for at least this. Give them closure.
Your old friend,
Philza Minecraft
They sobbed. Even when his death has passed, when years of regret was all he could feel, he was forgiven. Forgiven and given the chance to prove, to himself, that he was worth their forgiveness. He knew then, that he would hold Wilbur's coffin on his shoulders with pride, the pride of knowing the even the worse of men could finally smile but not forget.
They had arrived in a flock, their presence only known when Fundy heard a hiss.
Fundy turned to look towards the door, where 5up was standing, to see him stepping around birds that strutted inside of their shared home. He startled forwards, placing his coffee cup down to wave off the crows that swarmed around their feet. 5up tensed as one had sat upon Fundy's head, frowning deeply as he reached over to take it from Fundy's head.
It only screeched at him, turning in circles as if it was asking for something.
"I swear-!" 5up groaned as the crow flapped its wings, "If these things are here because of you and I'm late for work-" The bird on Fundy's head screeched again, and 5up had to yell over it, "-YOU'RE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH!"
"Oh come on-" Fundy grumbled, reaching up for the crow. It did not flutter or screech at him as he took ahold of its body, "-At least help me out here."
As Fundy held the crow, the others started to thin out, suddenly leaving in flocks. It was if their work was done.
"Where did these even come from??" 5up quipped, slipping on his jacket.
"Seems like someone wanted to send a letter," Fundy sighed, gathering up the paper that was locked in the crows foot.
"Who?"
"My grandfather."
"Philza? I didn't think he liked you."
"Yeah yeah rub it in," Fundy rolled his eyes at his fiancé, letting 5up rush up the steps to plant a kiss on Fundy's lips, "See you after work. Don't get pooped on."
5up laughed as he pulled away, hand reaching up to cup Fundy's cheek, "If you need me, I'm a call away."
Fundy hummed, nodding as 5up lowered his hand and quickly made his way towards the open door and out to work. He watched 5up close the door, then stared at the oak for a moment, only to return to himself when the crow that still sat upon his head squawked.
"Yeah yeah, I'll read it."
He made his way back into the kitchen, picking his coffee back up as he looked over the letter. It was sealed with black wax, their family crest stamped onto it. His mechanical hands whirled as he shifted his coffee and the letter into the other hand. Sometimes he forgot he had these things, metal for arms and an explosion scar across his back and shoulders. It didn't feel like yesterday, only as if it had happened in a different lifetime. He remembers how his father cried over him, remembered the shock of it. When the years had past (though short- he grew up fast, he was a hybrid), Fundy had looked back upon the day and knew that not even the Dream Team had even planned the explosion to kill them. Fundy ended up losing two lives during the war.
He popped the wax off, one side of it staying on the lip of the paper.
Fundy,
I'm sorry.
I wasn't going to ask you of this, I know how you and your father left off,
Yes. Wilbur had disowned him.
But I think it's the right thing to ask you to come.
His funeral has been planned, it will be next weekend. I hope that you will come, it was put us all at ease.
If you do, help carry him down the path, let him rest. He wanted this, for you, your brothers and sister to carry his coffin.
Now as I write, I wonder how old you are now. Wil always had a hard time excepting that he could not have his little boy little for long. If you are as old as the last time we met, you will be unable to wear your L'manburg uniform... Will you wear his?
Next weekend, Fundy, I wish to see you there with us all.
Your Grand-father,
Philza Minecraft
His coffee mug had been set down again, face tucked into the palm of one of his metal hands. Fucking prick. Fundy thought, sighing as he opened his eyes to look back at the letter. The crow that had once sat open his head now flapped its wings as it took of into flight, flying out his open kitchen window.
Fundy could not go, that was for sure. He had left the Dream SMP behind, he was not going back for his shitty fathers funeral-
But he had gone for Schlatt's. Why could he not go to Wilbur's?
He hated Schlatt enough to go running back to his shitty father at the end of the war.
"I had a son," Schlatt slurred.
Fundy sighed. Schlatt had said so much during the nights where they'd just sit there. Doing nothing at all.
"I regret having him, like, all the damn time I regret it."
He only said these things when he was drunk, cheeks bright red.
"Sometimes... I wish you were my son."
Fundy had cried after this.
"Wilbur is an ungrateful bitch."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. I wish so damn hard that I could've had a son like you."
"Like me?"
He had cried so hard.
"Like you. You, Fundy, is all a father could want in a son."
"I'm not."
Maybe Schlatt loved him. Maybe he was lying.
"You are. Wilbur's blind if he can't see that. Maybe in another life I could have you, Fundy."
Life was so hard back then. Now it wasn't.
"Fundy."
Schlatt said his name a lot, pronouncing each syllable.
"My son," Schlatt laughed, broken, slurred, "Only if you were my son, Fundy."
Maybe this was why he had attended his funeral. Sitting next to the others, with people he didn't know and some that he worked with. Fundy could remember each word Schlatt had ever spoke to him, it didn't matter if he was drunk and screaming or he was high and soft spoken, he just remembered it all. He hated Schlatt for what he did to his home, to the people that lived there, but back then Fundy convinced himself that he hated Schlatt more than Wilbur. He hates the husk that looms around the crater, hands stained with blue and cheeks covered in dried tears.
He doesn't remember anything Wilbur said to him. Doesn't remember the bulk of his coos and the sting of his singing. Fundy could no longer hear his strong, powerful voice. Or the way Wilbur used to stare down at him, eyes sometimes soft and sometimes condescending. Fundy does not remember the voice of a man he should remember. After all, all others could remember was Wilbur when they looked at him.
"Fundy?" Wilbur had shouted.
Fundy couldn't remember a word.
"FUNDY?!" Wilbur was desperate.
Not a word.
"My baby..." Wilbur clutched his dying body, clutched his clothes.
Wilbur never sounded like that. Sad.
"Gods no."
He had lost his arms that day.
"Please, spare him."
Wilbur prayed to the gods often, praying to people who didn't exist to Fundy.
"Spare my baby boy."
Wilbur loved him. At first, he did.
In the end, Fundy could remember at least that. And a little part of him reached for the letter again, yearning to look for that crayon suit that had been blow to shreds before being stitched up again. He had lived that day, physically, but never truly.
At the end of the day, 5up told him to go. So he did.
The prime path was the same. Made of the oaks that had grown around L'manburg's walls. Church Prime was the same. Made of white quartz, with pillars that reached for the sky and long purple stained glass windows. The cross still stood on top of the building that gave them little peace.
Maybe it was cold feet that made him freeze at the entrance of the holy land, or maybe it was the fact that Eret stood again the fence next to him.
"You came," Their voice was exactly the same as before, deep and kind.
"Almost didn't," And Fundy didn't sound the same. His voice was deeper, stronger.
"Well," Eret pushed off the old fence, holding his hand out of Fundy, "I'm glad you did."
When Fundy took her hand, that's only when he noticed the white cuffs of a uniform. It was Eret's uniform, decorated with medals that Fundy knew so well. The other used to let Fundy paw at the gold and ribbons, letting the younger him run off with them only for Eret to laugh and chase him down.
"You're uniform," He chokes out.
"My uniform," Eret did not let go of his hand, "He forgave me."
And Fundy smiled, rubbing his thumb over Eret's hand, "You can finally wear it again."
"And yours?"
"Too small. Can even fit half of it on."
"I suppose that's for the better."
With that, Eret led him into the holy land and down the prime path, towards the church. They entered the front area, where another pair of doors stood on both sides of the room.
His heart hammered in his chest as the woman looked towards them. Niki stood, shaking as she pressed her hand over her mouth. And she sobbed as she ran into Fundy's open, swinging her around like she had been an old friend. And she was.
"Fundy," Niki spoke, hands clasping over his cheeks, smiling and laughing dreamily at him, "You're here."
"I'm here."
She let go of him, taking his hand from Eret and towards the others that straightened their own uniforms. Hers was still that light purple, no stains found.
Tubbo. His uniform still fit, but still snug across his arms and chest. He smiled sadly at Fundy. There was no need for words between them.
Jack. He rubbed his metal hand against his chin, robot still. His uniform still fit, no questions asked.
Tommy. His uniform rode up his arms. Folded and tucked by his elbows like all those years ago. They did not meet each others eyes.
After all these years, they would never be like they had back then. They had all grown up, but still shriveling like dying plants under Wilbur's giant shadow. But the died enough to understand that they all had somewhat moved on, some faster than others.
"Where you've been, big man?" Jack asked, eyeing Fundy up and down. Eyes finally resting upon Fundy's hand, where his ring was.
"I live a long ways from here," Fundy hummed, sitting next to the robot. He had been to hell and back, Jack had.
"Long ways?" Tommy rolled his eyes, "You could've stayed."
"I would've never been able to move on if I had stayed."
"We've moved on," Tubbo murmured, "We all have stayed here. But you left."
"If he hadn't of left," Niki scowled, senescing a fight brewing, "He wouldn't of met the person who put a ring on him."
Fundy flushed.
"You're getting married?" Tommy gaped, eyes wide.
"It's different this time," Fundy sighed, metal thumbs rubbing together. His gears whriling.
"Dream tore your heart in half last time, what could be different?" Tommy hissed.
"It's not Dream, don't you dare compare him to that man," Fundy frowned, teeth bared, "5up was the one to propose anyways."
And Tubbo laughed, happily, "Thank god!"
All eyes snapped towards the ram.
"Glad he got the guts to even to ask you out! 5up was head over heels for you when he met you," Tubbo smiled, it was not sad, "I'm glad you two are together. With you, he's the happiest man alive."
"He's helped me move on," Fundy hummed, face still flushed in embarrassment, "He told me to come, saying that I needed to go. I don't think I could've if he didn't tell me to."
Tubbo still smiled, placing a hand on Fundy's back.
"Gonna wear your uniform?" Tommy asked.
"Can't. Too small."
"I told you you could wear Wilbur's," Phil had entered the front hallway, shutting the door of the huge hall to smile at Fundy.
"No."
Phil held out his fathers blue uniform, decorated in badges of honor, stars and stripes, ribbons and gold. Lined with pure gold and yellow shoulder pads. White dancing across the cuffs and neck line. His white button down folded within the uniform, the one he used to wear when singing Fundy to bed.
"Please?"
"Fine."
His coffin is held by six, all wearing a uniform. Two hold the coffin in the back, a man whose eyes are white and pure, with another who's skin is made of metal and eyes of red and blue. The middle is a woman, whose tears stain her pink cheeks and a boy, with ram horns growing through his thick hair that covers his eyes. In the front, a blonde, he frowns and does not blink. Along with a hybrid, hair russet brown, face all too similar to the man who lays dead in the coffin they hold together.
Charlie couldn't breathe. These men, that woman, Charlie had never known them. But they were so important to Wilbur, his old friend, his brother. Charlie didn't even know their names, didn't even know why they stood up there, taking him down the isle, to rest.
Ted sat next to him, hands clasped together in his lap. His fingers were white.
They were unable to go to Schlatt's death, they did not have permission from the admin. But now, they got to watch Wilbur's coffin being set down in front of the row of seats by people who wore uniforms of war.
Charlie couldn't name most of the people in the church, unable to read their eyes. They all stared straight forwards, not at Wilbur's coffin, but at the people who sat it down. At the people who moved to form a straight line together, feet shuffling on the purple carpet that had been rolled out from the alter to the back row of seats.
With a quick motion, they saluted towards the coffin. Their left hand clenched in a fist and planted in the middle of their back and a proper two finger salute at their foreheads. It was like a goodbye. Saying goodbye to a man who led an army. Charlie didn't know why they were doing this, saluting to someone like Wilbur. They all bowed, some deeper than the one next to them and some short and quick. Five stood up straight and then moved towards the open seats in the front row, but one stayed where he was. Even the others seemed surprised.
The russet hybrid moved towards the back of the coffin, then got to his knees. He folded his hands together in a prayer and closed his eyes. And the hybrid prayed to the gods.
Charlie didn't believe in them as much as Wilbur did, even after insisting he had met a river goddess.
The letter had come during the evening, when Charlie was putting away the clean plates into the cabinets. Connor had arrived the night before, dark circles under his eyes when he sat down on the couch with the words "Expect the letter." falling from his mouth as he hit the hay. Ted had frowned, staring out the window until the crow had perched itself right next to him with a letter rolled and tied at its legs.
Ted opened the letter, and Charlie and Connor watched from the dinner table. He only handed the letter to the two of them. Ted yelled at Connor, stricken and upset at the fact that Connor did not tell them, angered at the death of a brother.
"How long?" Charlie had asked.
"Months," Connor said, "I only was able to get in after his death."
"After?" Ted choked.
"Maybe a day or two."
"And they haven't even thought about giving him a funeral?" Charlie whispered.
"You should've seen what he'd done to them. They were mad, heartbroken," Connor's head was in his hands, "They had a funeral for Schlatt, at least."
"Oh my god," Ted grabbed his water glass, smashing it against the tile in a rage, "FUCK!"
"I'm sorry."
They sat there. They sat there and did not speak. And when they did, Connor said this:
"His son, Wilbur's, sends his regards."
"Son?" Charlie asked, watching as Connor's face peeked out between his fingers.
"Yeah," Connor laughed, "He's a good kid. Too bad he and Wil never truly got along."
"With her huh?" Ted questioned, head tilted back.
"That river goddess? Yeah. I think so."
"Poor kid."
Now they sat here. Sat here watching the hybrid stand up and take his seat next to his comrades. Watching as Phil say a few things that only went through one ear and out the other. And suddenly, everyone was standing, whispering as some reach for another. Connor stood up, taking a quick glance at Charlie and Ted before raising an arm, waving someone over.
The hybrid. His russet hair was pushed back, strands falling over his brown eyes. He frowned at Charlie and Ted.
"He used to talk about you sometimes."
Charlie looked up.
"When I'd come back for dinner, sometimes, he'd talk about SMP Live."
Ted's hands loosened.
"Charlie, Ted, Connor, Schlatt, so many others. God, sometimes I think he wanted to go back," The hybrid sat down.
"You're his son," Ted said, eyes widening in realization.
"Yeah."
"God you even look like him. God you mothers red hair too," Charlie blurted out.
And the hybrid laughed, voice scratchy, "Yeah, I do don't I?"
"Sorry, that was blunt."
"No no it's fine. I'm used to people saying that."
Charlie watched the hybrid twiddle his thumbs together- his metal thumbs. Metal curves up his forearms and Charlie nearly gasps.
"I'm just- surprised you guys came. Didn't think you would come for this type of thing."
"We would've came for Schlatt's... but you know the rules," Ted stood up, dusting off his pants.
"Maybe I should've said it like this," Fundy hummed, "You shouldn't've come."
Connor laughed.
"I nearly didn't come. Like, that fucking asshole disowned me cuz I stayed maybe a minute longer at Schlatt's side," The hybrid's chin rested in his palm, elbow on his knee, "I only came here because my fiancé decided that I should go see these assholes."
Ted and Charlie watched the hybrid, carefully reading the soft chuckles that were breathed under his breath.
"I just-" He scowled, shaking his head, "Don't understand why you care so much, even after all this time."
"Well we've got to," Ted breathed, eyes wide, "These men where like brothers to me and Charlie. Maybe we don't know anything about them anymore, we still have to be there for them in the end."
And the hybrid stood, stretching his hand out, "Fundy."
"What?"
"That's my name," Fundy smiled, "Fundy."
"That name wasn't apart of any list Wilbur thought of," Charlie laughed, taking Fundy's hand, shaking it.
"Used to be Vienna," Fundy shrugged, "But fuck that."
Ted hummed, understanding.
"Hope we're invited to your wedding," Connor laughed, cheeks red and stained with angry tears. Yeah. Charlie nearly forgot that they stood meters away from his old friends coffin.
"Yeah, why not. More the merrier!" Fundy patted Connor's back, then looked back at Ted and Charlie, "Hope he's smiling in there, you know, over the fact that he got to prove that all of his stories were real."
Charlie chuckled.
"If you send any letters," Ted called out to Fundy as he walked down the purple isle, "Don't send it in black wax! It better be white, I want to go to that wedding of yours, kid!"
"White it is."