Chapter Text
Let's say there was a forest. And let's say that forest had a mind of its own. It had been left alone for a decade or two, and after so long, four souls entered and never left.
Now, let's say these four souls stumbled across each other's paths and never left one another's side since. They grew close, despite their differences, and they became a family, if you will. They each had their respective roles, but that isn't what made them a family.
What made them a family was their bond, their eternal trust in each other, and the belief that they'd never leave one another behind.
When the forest turned against them and took one of their own, this family did nothing but fight back. Sacrifices were made, hope began to slip, and giving up became an option.
But did they give up? No, of course not. Did you really think they would?
The Angel of Death took it upon himself to rise up, The Blood God at his side and a musician that regretted ever falling silent holding their hands. They did everything in their power to find their missing piece.
And they did.
They found the young boy who had been hidden away in a world that was never really a world, but a reality that shouldn't have existed in the first place.
The Angel of Death had asked, he had prayed, and he had begged for the forest to return their boy to him once more. To give the young prince one more chance.
"But we love him." The forest had said once and once again. And Philza stared deep into its soul - just as he did before - shaking his head solemnly.
"But so do we."
And with hesitation and reluctance, the prince was indeed returned to them.
But alongside that, they were given a chance at a new life. Who were they to refuse it?
So they started again.
Phil moved far away to a land that hadn't been touched. He settled down in a clearing, trees that looked no less ordinary surrounding his newly built house. Mountains peaked over the top of the trees and a river ran along just outside the perimeter of the area.
At his side were two twin boys with matching floppy brown hair. One had a locket that cannot be opened, but he wore it around his neck nonetheless. The other held a flimsy stone sword that had a green and black piece of fabric tied to the hilt, gripping tightly onto his brother's sleeve. And in Phil's arms was a baby boy with blonde hair and sea blue eyes. He babbled happily, reaching up to pat Phil's face, to which the man smiled affectionately.
They can start again. They're each other's now. They can have what they've always deserved.
The twins, aged 8, didn't hesitate to run inside their new home.
Upon entry, there was a coat rack and a shoe holder. Phil tutted when he saw the discarded shoes of his little ones at the door. He shook his head with a smile, putting them away without a word.
There was a long hall before him, and to the left was a door that led to Phil's office. It had a lock, because trusting a child, let alone three, entry to his workplace could only do so much damage. The twins didn't seem too interested in his office anyways.
To the right was the door that led to the living room, and just outside it was the staircase. Small fairy lights twirled around the banisters, lighting up the currently dim corridor.
Phil could hear the children rummaging about, and he left them to their own devices.
He placed his youngest in a cot situated in the corner of the living room, flicking on the little music box hanging above him, the toy spinning slowly. There was a crow, a fox, a humming bird and a fish. A strange combination, yes, but it made the little one wiggle around happily, clapping his hands as he stared at the spinning toys.
Phil was pretty proud of himself for making it.
There was a fireplace, currently not lit, and it had photo frames sitting on top. They were empty for the time being, but Phil knew the house would be filled to the brim with family pictures soon enough.
The couch had a pile of blankets on it, and Phil took notice of how the red one with a white trim was missing. His questions were soon answered when his eldest twin ran into the room, said blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape.
He smiled fondly at a faint memory that popped up in his head at the sight of him.
He ruffled the boy's hair before letting him run off to find his brother again. Though, Phil walked into the kitchen to see the other twin lodged deep in one of the cupboards, clearly searching for something.
Phil pulled him out, rolling his eyes lightheartedly as the kid complained before shooing him away. Along with his brother, the twins ran upstairs - buzzing with excitement - to their respective bedrooms. In the living room, the youngest continued to babble.
Stretching out his wings, Phil relaxed, smiling widely to himself.
His sons had been returned to him, and they were given another chance. He was no longer a god, but his title as The Angel of Death remained.
He was a just a man who wanted to do something. And here he was, allowed to raise three kids as his own; three kids who deserved it. And he was going to give them the whole world.
He'll make sure they grow up and know that they were loved and cared for and he'll never ever leave them.
He'll make them laugh and sit with them at night if they have nightmares and bring them flying with him up above. He'll teach them how to fight and sew and play instruments so they can sing songs over a familiar campfire. He'll teach them how to make mushroom stew and how to care for pets so they can get whatever they wish. He'll make sure to remember all their birthdays and celebrate with gifts and cake and their dream day out.
He'll spend as much time with them as possible, and ensure that they know they're safe with him.
He'll love them. Phil would love them, no matter what timeline or lifetime or reality.
In the garden, there were a family of foxes, watching Phil through the kitchen window. Perched on the fences were a group of birds, chirping as the sun set.
Situated in the middle of the dining table was a vase full of orchids. They stood proud and tall and were well cared for. Phil will teach his youngest how to replace them, so he can do so even if he's not there.
Phil left a fresh loaf of bread out on the counter, free for anyone to take if they were ever hungry.
He even set up an area just out in the field to help teach his eldest twin boy to spar, and maybe his brothers would join him one day. Buried in a secret storage room was an iron sword, ready to be handed down when Phil deems it the right time.
He called the boys downstairs.
Wilbur and Techno bounced into the kitchen, greeting their father with youthful smiles. They were bright and happy, and Phil didn't say anything when they quietly shoved each other playfully.
Phil led them to the living room and picked up Tommy, the baby boy in the cot made for a prince.
The white streak in his hair never truly did fade away, and it stood out clear as day. The same went for Wilbur's, and the brunette had bragged about them matching.
(Phil may or may not have cried at the 8 year old's words.)
Techno couldn't have cared less about it, but that's not to say Phil helped him dye pink streaks in his hair instead so he didn't feel left out.
He brought them all to the couch, lounging lazily on top of each other. The twins were careful to not accidentally fling themselves on top of Tommy, instead huddling in Phil's side contently. Cradling baby Tommy in his arms, Phil brought his wings around Wilbur and Techno - it felt incredibly natural, and not just because he was their father.
Wilbur fiddled with the locket around his neck, humming softly. He relaxed under the weight of his father's wings, closing his eyes with a smile. On the other side, Techno did the same, though remained silent.
"I'm still calling him Theseus." Techno said after a moment, to which Phil chuckled lightly.
"But his name's Tommy." Wilbur whined, huffing as he crossed his arms.
His brother shot him a playful glare. "His real name is Theseus."
Wilbur stuck out his tongue. Techno mimicked him. Phil laughed affectionately, breaking apart their mini argument.
"How about both, hm? He can be both...he can be anything he wants to be."
Tommy seemed to agree, letting out a high pitched squeal.
If you told Phil that he'd be a father of three kids, he wouldn't have believed it. And if you told him he'd do it twice in his life, he wouldn't have believed that either.
Tommy, Wilbur and Techno grew up in his care, and he raised them to the best of his ability. He was their father figure before their father, but that didn't matter to them.
Memories of their last life came to them as dreams, and sometimes the boys would question it, whether perhaps the dreams weren't just dreams.
Phil didn't say anything, and merely left them to believe what they thought was true or not. But he knew, to some extent. He knew that it wasn't a coincidence that both Techno and Tommy dreamed of apple picking and hair braiding, or when they all felt nostalgic when they took walks by the river outside of their house.
Wilbur had picked up guitar, and played music on a daily basis. he had written several songs, and it was fair to say that Tommy was his biggest fan, Techno coming as a close second. Whatever was inside his locket was never really revealed, and after a while, he had stopped trying to pry it open. He just knew that it was important to him.
Techno's iron sword was gifted to him on his 14th birthday, and he cares for it dearly. Though, it is quite a mystery why he only lets Tommy touch it, and nobody else.
And Tommy? Tommy was doing good. Though Techno chose to wear a paper crown around the house, which was soon replaced with a real one that Phil had and crafted, Tommy didn't. He took a liking to the piece of jewelry, but he didn't want one of his own.
In fact, when he wore the crown on his head, he had said it felt like an unnecessary weight on his shoulders. Phil pretended he didn't feel a pang in his heart.
It was rather surprising when Tommy decided to take up painting. He painted a lot of things, for himself and his brothers, and it wouldn't be a surprise if he chose to sell them one day.
His twin brothers encouraged that he did, and it'd be a matter of time before Tommy leaves the next to start a life of his own.
The biggest project Tommy took up was a family portrait. He spent weeks on it, and Phil often found him working dead at night, colourful splatters staining his cheeks and hands.
Those nights, he'd accompany him, watching how the painting would come to life with every stroke of his brush. Sometimes one of the twins, or maybe both, would come down too, and they'd bond in the early hours of the morning, each with a mug of hot chocolate.
Portraits had always been something Phil knew Tommy was scared to do (and for good reason, though Tommy didn't know that), but after some convincing, the blonde picked up his brush and paint, and began to work.
It had turned out better than Tommy expected, and Phil didn't hesitate to hang it up proudly in their living room.
Standing in the middle was Phil, proud wings spread out behind him, appearing as if the feathers were twinkling. Tommy said his wings reminded him of the night sky, so he replicated it in his art. He was wearing his usual black and green robes, including his bucket hat, and Tommy somehow dressed him up in riches that he knew they didn't have.
Though, it did make him look more grand and dressed up, so he wasn't complaining. Tommy said the gold brought out his eyes.
Techno and Wilbur stood side by side in front of Phil, their backs straight and wide smiles each on their faces. Techno was wearing his staple gold crown, adorned with jewels, and Wilbur had a patched up beanie that he's had since he was little.
Their clothes were no more fancy than Phil's, having just been simple dress pants and collared shirts. Wilbur wore a yellow sweater over his shirt though, and his locket hung proudly from his neck. Techno held his sword, the blade pointed to the ground and his hands holding the hilt.
It made the pinkette smile when he saw that the piece of fabric, which seemed to be made out of the same fabric of Phil's robes, were included as a miniscule detail.
Tommy was simply wearing his red and white shirt and he didn't look as smart as the rest of his family. But that was alright, because he stood just in front of the twins, and Wilbur had an arm slung around his shoulders. He looked incredibly happy - both in the portrait and in real life.
It's fair to say that Tommy spent a lot of time on making it perfect, and it was a bonus that his family was right by his side during it all.
It was now displayed up above the fireplace. Family photos were stuck to the walls like a collage all around it, and they had strung extra fairy lights on that particular wall, lighting it up.
Phil wouldn't have thought that he'd find himself with a family, a family that loved him and he returned that love twice as much.
The years flew by in the blink of an eye, but it was alright. They lived well, and they had everything they ever wanted.
The days of the past still lingered in their present day lives. The two realities collided several times, but it only brought them closer together.
Orchids were still Tommy's favourite flower, Techno still liked fighting every once in a while and Wilbur still sang a familiar, unfinished song from a past they didn't remember.
Sometimes the nights got a bit too cold, and Phil had to remind Tommy that he was there to keep him warm. Sometimes Techno would hear whispers, and Phil had to ground him, muttering 'in for 5, out for 7'. And sometimes Wilbur would misplace his locket, but Phil would find it in no time, calming his son down with a few simple sentences.
Phil had to constantly remind himself that they were doing alright now. Nothing bad was going to happen.
No one was going to take Tommy from his bed or their lives, Techno wasn't going to run away because of his fear of embarrassment, and Wilbur wasn't going to be thrown out to fend for himself.
This was a new life.
It's been 16 years.
Perhaps there were still hints of the past, like white streaks and a never ending apple collection.
But they were doing good, right? Yeah, they were.
Night had fallen and a fire crackled as a family curled up in front of their couch, surrounded by pillows and blankets. Someone played a guitar, another spoke about greek mythology and the other two cuddled together, sleepy smiles plastered on their faces as they listened without complaint .
They drifted off one by one, limbs tangled as they rested on top of each other. The fire died and the moon shone through their windows, lighting up the dark.
There were four heartbeats. There has always been four heartbeats.