Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night was cold, the Arctic wind banging against the windows of the great castle. The storms were settling in with the winter season, the rabid gusts howling with unbridled rage. 

A little boy sits at the windowsill. He flinches at every sound, shying away from the anger of the outside world. He bites back a cry as lightning cracks across the sky. 

A soft knock sounds on his door. The little boy doesn’t move, still curled up on the windowsill. He wants to pull himself away, but he simply cannot will himself to move.

“Are you alright?” The mother opens the boy’s door, concern lacing her voice. She catches sight of the child, perching precariously on the window. She walks over and takes the boy in her arms, gently pulling him away from the storm’s rage.

“Don’t like the storm.” The boy mumbles, pressing his head against her shoulder. He hides from the outside, from the howling winds and thundering clouds. 

“It’s going to be okay.” The mother reassures him. “The storm is out there, it cannot get in.” The little boy frowns. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am.” The mother sets him down on his bed, sitting down next to him. They sit in silence for a long moment, both of them watching the rain pound against the glass panes. 

“Can...Can you tell me a story?” The little boy asks, clinging to his mother’s arms. The mother smiles warmly. 

“If you want.” She replies gently. The little boy perks up. 

“Yes please!” He says, his eyes shining. 

“Alright, settle down then.” The little boy clambers into his bed, resting his tiny head against the pillow. His mother waits patiently as he tosses and turns, until finally he rests.  “Comfortable?” She asks. The child nods. “Good.” 

And so, the mother begins the story. 

“Centuries ago, before this land was founded, before the Antarctic Empire was ever created, there was magic.” 

“Like dad’s?”

“No, child. Older magic, the kind at the very making of the world.” 

“Oh… is there a difference?”

“Just a bit. You see, your father’s power comes from his achievements in his life. The gods smiled upon him and gave him his wings and immortality. But his magic came at a price; and now he only has but one life to lose.”

“I thought he got it because he killed all those monsters?”

“No, he was tasked by the gods to kill the abominations that walk this realm and the others.”

“Oh… and that’s why he got his magic?”

“Yes.”

“But what about the other kind?”

“This kind… that magic is tied to the intermakings of the world itself. Linked to life itself, some claim. People cannot be given this power by gods or spells. One must be blessed by Vita herself, or cursed by her wretched counterpart.”

“Who’s that?”

“I will not speak that cursed name.” 

“...What does this magic do?”

“Patience, child, I’m getting there…”

“...”

“The magic beats in time with the world. It is unpredictable, and no Gift is alike. Some are blessed with the ability to make the world grow, to turn winter into summer, to heal those with nothing but a simple touch.”

“Woah…”

“But some are not so lucky.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some… some of the Electus are not chosen by Life. Some are marked by chaos, by death.”

“...” 

“These souls are doomed. They bring nothing but strife to these realms.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair?” 

“That they hafta bring that stuff. They didn’t ask for it.”

“No one ever asks for their fates…”

“...”

“The legends of the Electus go back a very long time. Since the beginning of Mankind. They have been touched by the gods, after all.”

“Can you tell me one?”

“I was just about to.” 

“Okay!”

“There was once a young girl named Kira. She lived in a little village not far from here, but almost a hundred years ago.”

“Wow…”

“Kira was born differently from the other children in her village. She was born with her eyes open, and far wiser beyond her age. Her irises were brighter than the others, unnatural even. The legends say they were bright green, as if the color of a wild jungle.

“Everything seemed to perk up around her. Grass stalks stood a bit taller. Flowers appeared more vibrant. It was as if the plants were drawn to her.

“One year, a horrible famine struck the village. No food would grow, and the future seemed lost. The villagers prepared bleakly for starvation.”

“No! They can’t die!”

“Shhh, it’s alright.

“Kira went out to the fields, desolate as the rest of her village. She sat among the dying crops and began to weep, sobbing for the lives that would never be. 

“But then, a miracle occurred. The dead wheat began to grow under her tears. The stalks grew toward the sky, as if they had never been dead in the first place. 

“The villagers rushed out to see Kira, surrounded by healthy crops. They revered her as a hero after that, as she saved the village from starvation. The famine was defeated because of her ability. She was one of the first to receive the Gift, and she used it to keep hundreds from succumbing to hunger.”

“She sounds so cool!”

“The legends do sound that way, yes.”

“...”

“...”

“What about… what about one of the not so good ones?”

“... are you sure you want to hear a story about that?” 

“Yeah!”

“Very well. There was a child named Troy. He was as wild and bright as fire. He was always rowdy, but… the villagers claimed he was a nice boy.

“One day, an accident occurred. The stories don’t always say what, but it always sounds horrid. Most agree it was a farming accident, one that resulted in the death of Troy’s elder brother.”

“Oh…”

“Troy came home from the fields to find his brother dead. He fell to his knees and screamed. And in that scream, all of his emotions tumbled out of him, collecting in the sky. 

“A great storm formed overhead. The clear day turned dark, and rain began to fall. Every scream resulted in a great clap of thunder. Every tear was another raindrop.

“The village flooded. Everything was destroyed because of Troy’s grief. He was cursed with a Gift, yet one that brought destruction. The villagers drove him out, fearing for their lives.

“Troy would become the Storm Sorcerer. He brought death with him wherever he went. He could not be stopped. One day, he just vanished. No one has seen him since the Calamities.”

“Oh… why didn’t anyone try and help him?”

“Hm?” 

“If the villagers had helped him instead of driving him out, maybe he wouldn’t have become the Storm guy.” 

“...You have a kind heart, my son.”

“If I ever meet someone like that, I’ll take care of them.” 

“I have no doubt about that.” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Listen— the storm has calmed down.”  The mother says, changing the subject. Perhaps she had been wrong to tell the stories of the Electus, but … she felt compelled to do so. As if something was telling her that her little boy needed to learn of these stories. 

“Oh yeah…” The little boy says through a yawn. He blinks sleepily up at his mother. She adjusts the covers of the bed, standing up slowly. 

“I told you it would be okay.” She smiles.

“Maybe this storm is just because someone else is sad and needs help.” The little boy says through another yawn. The mother’s heart twists with emotion. 

“Perhaps.” She concurs softly. 

“Someday, I’m gonna help everyone.” The little boy promises.

“I believe you.” The mother says. “I know you will.” She begins to walk toward the door. 

“Good night, mama. I love you.” The little boy says, half asleep. 

“Good night. Sleep well, I love you too.” The mother replies. She shuts the door softly, walking down the hall. The little boy closes his eyes and falls asleep to the sounds of a storm.

-

He dreams of another boy, with war following in his wake. People screaming and fighting, swords glistening with blood. 

He takes the other’s hands and the screaming stops.

“Hi,” the little boy says.

“Hello.” The other replies.

“Do you want a hug?”

“Yes.”

-

The little boy tells his mother of the dream.

His mother says it’s just a dream. 

-

The mother takes a little box from her room. She opens the case and pulls out the ancient scrolls. She reads them once, twice, and then throws them into the fire. 

The little boy is not ready for the weight on his shoulders. She so desperately wants to protect him from his fate, and she will do whatever she can to help him.

-

The mother dies. 

The little boy feels empty. 

-

The little boy grows. And he forgets the stories. He forgets his mother. He forgets his dream from years ago.

He lives on. 

-

In the very same place, years later, there is a woman and a baby. They have travelled over distant lands, running from a terrible monster.

She finally collapses in the realm of ice and snow. She forces herself to stand up and keep walking.

The woman leaves the baby in an alley.

“You will be safe.” She promises. 

She runs, drawing the beasts away. 

And the baby cries. It cries songs of war. 

-

The world shifts, and the plans have been set. The ball is rolling, and almost nothing can stop it.  

And a god smiles, as chaos will reign soon. 

-

Wilbur was not, by any stretch, cautious. 

He jumped in head first, taking risks and seizing the day. He rarely gave the potential danger any thought. Wilbur liked to live life to its fullest. 

Which is why he was sitting in one of the back alleys of the Antarctic Empire, standing next to Niki, Jack, and Eret, devising a plan how to best prank the owner of the bakery and nick some of the freshly baked cookies. 

Theoretically, Wilbur could walk in and just ask. He was the beloved son of the king, after all. The world was literally at his fingertips. 

But he lived for the thrill, and by damn he was going to break some laws today. Wilbur chuckled to himself. Twelve years old, prince of the Antarctic Empire, and he should technically already have a criminal record.               

“The plan is simple.” Niki said, eyeing the bakery across the street. “Jack and Eret create a distraction. Break a window or two. Just get the old hag out of the store.”

“Will do.” Jack saluted, Eret nodding next to him. Wilbur smirked, adjusting his beanie. It was imperative he hid what features he could, of course. If anyone found out what the prince did in his free time, it would be one hell of a scandal. 

“Wil and I will run and grab as many cookies as we can. We’ll meet back here and get back to home base. Understood?” Wilbur nodded with the rest of the group. Niki clapped her hands. “Excellent, then you two get going.”

Jack and Eret scampered off, rocks clutched in their hands. Wilbur watched them, crouching next to Niki. It had been three years since they’d started doing this. Wilbur had been restless in the palace all day. His brother was usually busy, training or something despite them being the same age, and Phil was often gone at the warfronts during those times.

He had been lonely.

Wilbur started going down into the city more. He knew he wasn’t supposed to but it was fun. He had a knack for survival, he discovered. He tested his luck in various ways, such as scaling the alleyway walls or running through the less-than-good sections of town.

That’s where he met these three. They had latched onto him, and he grew attached too. Wilbur decided to keep going back to that part of town, and thus their group was born.

It would take a year for him to tell him he was the prince. They didn’t believe him until he showed them his necklace, the one earmarked with the royal crest and his initials. He could feel it against his neck, a reminder of who he was. It was stupid to wear it out all the time, but he couldn’t part with it. His mother made it for him, after all.

Him and the others tended to pass their time with petty theft. Wilbur didn’t know why he did it so much— probably for the thrill. Maybe a distraction. His twelve year old brain couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.

It didn’t really matter. The group did it, and he had fun.

His father would be disappointed in him. 

Niki nudged him and pointed. Wilbur lifted his head and watched as Jack chucked a rock through the store’s window. It shattered upon impact, glass falling into the interior of the shop.

“What the hell!?” The shopkeeper flung the door open and marched out. Jack and Eret immediately pretended to be terrified and apologetic, babbling about a game gone wrong, and how they didn’t mean to do it. The man began to chew them out immediately.

Unbeknownst to him, Niki and Wilbur slipped into the store. Niki pulled out a trash bag and tossed it to Wilbur. He grinned and ducked behind the counter. With a grunt, he pulled out the stockpile of cookies onto the table.

They wasted no time filling their bags to the brim. Eret and Jack were doing an excellent job at keeping the shopkeeper busy , Wilbur thought with a small smirk. 

Him and Niki began to creep out, carefully nudging open the door. They edged toward the alley. Jack gave the faintest of nods as he flung his hands in the air, acknowledging their success. The man opened his mouth to say more. Wilbur grinned. This was perfect, they would escape without a hitch, and he wouldn’t realize what had happened until they were long gone.

The man turned around and locked eyes with him. Niki froze next to Wilbur.

“Well fuck.” She cursed. 

“What the hell are you kids doing?” There was a moment of silence. Wilbur gulped. He exchanged a glance with Niki, before stepping forward.

“Well… you see…” He trailed off. Jack and Eret began inching away from the man, turned toward the alley.

“I’m waiting.” The man growled out. Wilbur exhaled, turning his eyes down in “defeat.” He mentally counted to five before lifting his chin. He inhaled sharply—

“RUN!” Wilbur shouted suddenly. He took off toward the shelter of the backstreet. 

“You little shits!” The baker screeched as he raced out of his store. Niki cackled as she and Wilbur ran side by side, clutching matching bags full of sweets. Eret and Jack were waiting for them, pulling off of the walls of the stores. They sprinted through the streets, pushing through the crowds. The group dipped into one of the side streets. 

Jack pulled open a maintenance door. Wilbur ducked into it, followed by the others. He paced under the pipe lines, pulling open one of the hatches and stepping into the tunnel. 

They finally exited the facility lines into an abandoned building. Wilbur was immediately assaulted by a ray of sun. He shielded his eyes as Eret brushed past him, beelining toward the ragged couch cushions and flopping down onto them.  

They had nicknamed this place “The Hangout.” It wasn’t creative, Wilbur knew, but it was fitting. Him and the group could stay here all day. Various knick knacks that they had stolen (or Wilbur had smuggled out of the palace) littered the floor and table. 

It had taken a lot of work, but the group had managed to drag cushions, tables, chairs, and some food into their little home. 

Wilbur loved it here. 

They had really made this place home. 

“Yeah, let’s GO!” Jack shouted, pumping his fist in the air triumphantly. He adjusted his glasses, his heterochromatic irises shining as he eyed the sweets Niki was carrying. She tossed one of the cookies to him, the boy catching it out of the air. 

Wilbur dropped his own load onto the barrel they had dubbed the table. He rested his chin against it, dropping to his knees. “That was a good run today.” He declared, grinning. 

“I concur with that statement.” Jack said solemnly though a mouth full of food. Eret lifted a brow, pulling his sunglasses down slightly. 

“We almost got caught.” He pointed out, deadpan. Niki nodded.

“Well, that’s not a big deal.” Jack replied, shrugging. Eret stared at him, his mouth forming a small “o.” 

“We would have ended at the precinct!” The other protested, throwing his arms up. Jack shrugged again. 

“Would they really throw the prince of the Empire into a prison cell?” He said sagely. Eret paused, rubbing his temples. Niki pursed her lips, glancing over at Wilbur. He sighed, standing up dramatically. 

“Yes.” He admitted. “My dad absolutely would.” Jack nearly spat out his cookie. 

“What?” He said, half choking. Wilbur snickered at his expression. 

“Yeah, he would.” Phil wouldn’t leave them in there for long; but he would let them learn their lesson, Wilbur being his son regardless. He had certainly softened in the past few years, ever since it happened. 

“Jack, you should know by now.” Niki said good naturedly, making a tsk as she swatted the back of the other boy’s head. Jack sighed, mournfully taking another bite out of his food. 

“There goes my get out of jail free card.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. Wilbur burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. Eret snickered next to him, adjusting his sunglasses so they rested firmly on his face. 

“What, were you planning on committing arson or something?” Eret joked. Jack darkened instantly, his eyes flashing. 

“Maybe.” He responded cryptically. The four stood in silence. Wilbur cleared his throat, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t think I could help you if you committed arson.” He admitted. The silence returned. Niki scoffed slightly, rolling her eyes.

“Well, that was a productive conversation.” She said, clapping once. Wilbur laughed again, picking up a cookie. He raised it in a mock salute, taking a bite out of it. 

“Y’know, Wilbur,” Eret began, sitting cross legged on the floor. He glanced at the other boy, turning his focus to his friend. “Come to think of it, you never did explain why you started hanging out with us common folk.” The question sounded weird out of a thirteen year old’s mouth. It sounded too serious, too grown up. Eret only had a year on him, yet he seemed so much wiser. 

Wilbur paused. An answer popped into his head immediately. However, he was loath to say it. Wilbur liked these kids, he liked hanging out with them, but he wasn’t ready to spill his past. 

It was kind of stupid, considering how most people knew the bare bones of the history anyway. Yet Wilbur didn’t want to expose the part of him that drew him to this place, the true reason behind it. 

“I needed new company.” Wilbur drawled. “One can only stand Technoblade’s sole company for so long.” 

“Fair.” Eret said, chuckling. Jack and Niki scoffed as well, causing Wilbur to grin himself. 

“I don’t think he would steal from the bakery for fun.” Jack said. “Isn’t he super upright or something?” The others turned their attention to him, waiting for an answer. Wilbur paused, thinking. 

“Eh.” He finally said. “Yes and no. He’s just quiet, that’s why everyone thinks he’s some super goody two shoes.”  

“Doesn’t he like to train, like, a ton?” Eret asked through a yawn. Wilbur hesitated before answering. The subject was hard to explain, extremely personal. It was one that both Phil and Techno insisted he didn’t share. He trusted his friends, yeah, but this was one thing he couldn’t share.

“Yeah.” Wilbur answered. “He does.”

“Cool. I wish I could train with the guards.” Eret said, almost wistfully. 

“I could put in a word for you.” Wilbur offered. Eret shook his head.

“It’s fine.” He said, almost defensively. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” Wilbur bit back a frustrated retort. He wished his friends would accept his help sometimes. He knew he could make their lives better; yet they were insistent on denying it.

He supposed he could understand why. They didn’t want to rely on him, or make him feel like they were just using him. Wilbur’s heart twisted with emotion— it felt like guilt. Guilt that he couldn’t help more. 

He respected their wishes. He wouldn’t do anything they didn’t want him to. Not unless it came down to saving their lives. 

Niki snapped her fingers, dragging Wilbur back to reality. He tore his gaze off of Eret and glanced at her.

“Speaking of Techno, rumor has it he bested the captain of the guard.” She said, her eyes shining. “That would be crazy, that guy’s supposed to be one of the best warriors in the Empire.”

“It’s true.” Wilbur shrugged. His eyes glinted as he spoke the next words. “It wasn’t the first time, either.” 

“Shut the front door.” Jack said, scoffing. “Technoblade’s your age, there’s no way he’d be able to beat the captain of the guard who’s been training for decades—“ 

“Techno’s always been good at fighting.” Wilbur shrugged. “And Phil trained him to be even better. He likes to fight the entire squadron off, usually.” There was a moment of silence as the group processed the revelations. 

Wilbur knew it sounded crazy. But he had seen it happen— multiple times. He knew it was partially because of his brother’s affliction , but it was still incredible that he managed to do it. 

Wilbur was slightly jealous, but he could rest easy knowing he would always be the superior musician. He chuckled to himself, thinking of the times his brother attempted to play his guitar.

“How often does this happen?” Eret asked, sitting up. Wilbur blinked over at him and shrugged.

“Weekly?” He tried. “Maybe more, I don’t really pay attention.” 

“How are we just now finding out about this.” Jack deadpanned. “The guard captain being bested by a child seems noteworthy.” 

“Dunno.” Wilbur lied. Of course he knew why, but once again it wasn’t his place to say. “Just not a big deal.” 

“Not a big—“ Jack sputtered, shaking his head. “Your family is cracked.” Wilbur laughed at that. 

“Oh, you have no idea.” He snickered. “There was this one time when…” 

-

“Oh shit, the sun is setting.” Niki observed, glancing out the window. Wilbur leapt to his feet, a bolt of panic running through him. They had been talking for hours now, gorging themselves on cookies and reveling in Wilbur’s stories of the palace lifestyle. He knew he should have been paying attention to the time.

“Already?” He scrambled over to the glass panes, peering out. Sure enough, the sun’s dying rays were casting an orange glow over the snowy city as it sank below the bay’s waters. He internally cursed himself for being so ignorant and losing track of time. 

“Oh man, you better run, princeling.” Jack cackled, ambling over to stand next to them. Wilbur scowled at him. 

“Shut up, I’ll be fine.” He protested, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He pulled on his beanie and headed toward the makeshift door. 

“I’ll bet 10 silver pieces he doesn’t show up tomorrow.” Eret called lazily from his corner. “Emperor Philza’s gonna flay him alive.” 

“He will not!” Wilbur protested. “He might be upset, but I’ll be here tomorrow.” It was true, no matter the consequences he would inevitably be facing. Wilbur could escape any room, despite the numerous guards that were placed or the locks instilled. He had a gift for running, he supposed. 

“Raise it to 15 pieces.” Jack returned the banter. “I bet Philza fuses over him instead.” Eret pointed at him, nodding in agreement. 

“Damn, I missed that opportunity.” He shook his head, sighing. 

“20 for both.” Niki chimed in, her voice lofty. Wilbur turned around one more time, crossing his arms and glaring at his friend. 

“You guys are awful.” He accused, furrowing his brow. Eret turned his palms up, a look of faux innocence crossing his face.

“It’s called making a profit.” He explained slowly. 

“Fine.” Wilbur said begrudgingly. “I can’t stop it, I suppose.”

“Damn right you can’t.” Jack said, grinning. “But you can rest easy knowing that your life makes good gambling stakes.” Wilbur glared at him, debating if he should give him the bird on the way out. 

He knew a better person would have resisted it. 

But Wilbur was not the alluded to better person. 

“Go to hell.” He stuck his tongue out and flashed his middle finger, before ducking into the tunnel and beginning the painstaking crawl back through their exit. 

He could still hear his friend’s laughter echoing from their base. Wilbur smiled fondly. For all the crap they gave each other, he was happy to have them in his life.

They helped patch some odd hole that refused to fill.

Wilbur felt his mood plummet as his thoughts spiraled to it. He refused to let himself go there. Wilbur continued to jog through the tunnel, ducking his head to avoid the overhanging lights.

A wave of cold, fresh air hit him as he pushed open the maintenance door. He stepped out into the alley. Wilbur adjusted his beanie, pulling the collar of his trench coat up. 

His breath crystallized on the frigid air. Wilbur craned his neck up, searching for the sun. He caught sight of it, barely hanging above the rooftops of the city. 

He stepped out in the streets, merging with the traffic of the streets. He kept his head down, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. 

The city was thinning out, the citizens returning to their homes or hitting the taverns that dotted the outskirts of the city. 

Wilbur turned down a road that would lead back to the main hub of the city— and the castle. He couldn’t wait to get home. He was tired, he supposed, and sleep would be nice.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Wilbur froze, the blood draining from his face.

“Young man.” The baker’s gravelly voice resounded against his ear drums. Wilbur forced a smile on his face and he turned to face him. 

“Yes?” He winced as his voice cracked. Way to kill the moment. The baker studied him, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him. 

“You robbed my shop.” The baker said, raising his voice. “You and those other thugs! You kids stole from me!”

“Sir, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wilbur began to back away, pushing the man back. The baker wasn’t deterred, instead whirling around and signaling one of the patrolmen who had been lazing around next to one of the storefronts.

“Guards!” He called, his voice colored with rage. “This little bastard stole from me!” The soldier raised a brow and began to walk over. Shit. Wilbur raised his palms and forced a look of confusion on his face. 

“I didn’t steal anything.” He said. The baker adamantly shook his head. The man was practically shaking with rage, glaring daggers at him. The guard sensed the tension and called more of the other soldiers dotting the area over.

Wilbur’s heart rate quickened. He had to get out of here, before he landed himself in the precinct.

“Don’t try and talk your way out of this, you weasel!” The man shouted, finger outstretched and pointing squarely at Wilbur’s chest. “Him and his band of thieves stole from my bakery!” The guards glanced between the man and Wilbur. 

His heart sank as the lead guard stepped forward. 

“Kid, you’re gonna need to come with us.” He said, flicking his wrist lazily. Wilbur began to back away slowly. The guards snapped to attention, watching his skittish actions. The lead soldier took another step forward.

“Kid.” He said warningly. Wilbur turned on his heels and sprinted back into the backstreet from which he came. Blood roared in his ears as he ran. 

“After him!” A shout sounded behind him. A bolt of fear raced through him. Wilbur skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with a brick wall. 

He glanced between the wall and the alley entrance. The footsteps echoed closer and closer. Wilbur laid eyes on a dumpster, trailing up the wall. He pursed his lips, sweat beading his lips.

He could see the ladder. He could theoretically reach it by jumping off of the trashcan. But if he missed, Wilbur would definitely break his arm.

“Kid, we won’t hurt you.” Wilbur stiffened at the sound of the guard’s voice behind him. His throat bobbed as his knees trembled. Wilbur’s breath was shaky.

He had no choice. He had to take the leap.

“Kid…” The voice sounded terribly close, as if Wilbur were to whirl around he would be face to face with the man. 

Shit. Shit. No, no, no. If the guards caught him here, he would be dead. Phil would be livid, just as Eret predicted. His father wouldn’t let him out of his sight for weeks. 

There was no other option. He paced back a few steps, then took a running start at the trash can. He heard the soldiers shouting behind him, but he elected to ignore it. One chance, this is it, have to make this.

Wilbur raced toward the dumpster, leaping up on it. He lunged for the facility ladder, gripping it tightly as he rammed into it. He exhaled sharply as the air was knocked out of his body.

Wilbur pulled himself up, rung by rung, until he was on the roofs. He could hear the guards scrambling below him. Wilbur couldn’t help but cackle as he peered over the side. He raised his hand and mock saluted. 

“See you later, gentlemen!” He called, laughing wildly as he raced away from the edge. Elation pumped through his veins. He could scarcely believe he made the jump, but it certainly just saved his ass. 

Wilbur had no idea how far he ran. He jogged across building after building. He leapt from precipice to precipice. The sun continued to dip lower and lower. He sighed, pausing. The castle was within view, but he would have to hurry if he wanted to get home before nightfall.

Wilbur peered down, finding the ladder down. He grasped it and slid down slowly. He leapt off into a snowdrift, humming to himself. He shook out his leg, feeling a small cramp coming on. 

He leaned against a wall and counted to ten. Wilbur pulled himself off the bricks and began to saunter toward the exit. He couldn’t wait to tell Techno about his harrowing escape. His twin wouldn’t care that much, granted, but he still wanted to brag about how awesome his escape was.  

Wilbur froze when a sound pierced his thoughts.

It was a loud cry, carrying through the winter wind. He turned around, narrowing his eyes at the alley.

There was deafening silence for a fraction of a second before the crying resumed.

Wilbur shuddered. He hated the sound, but part of him was drawn to it. Yearning to know what it was. To shut it up. 

He glanced warily up at the setting sun. He had an hour or two left, surely. He could find the source of the sound in that amount of time. Wilbur stepped back into the alley and began to search. 

A sudden screech caused him to jump back, fists raised defensively. The noise died back to a whine. Wilbur steadied his nerves and inhaled slowly. He smoothed his collar and stepped back into the alleyway. 

“Woah…Whatever that is has a set of lungs.” Wilbur crept closer, edging into the alley. The crying grew louder, the sound bouncing off of the brick walls. He flinched at the sound, scrunching up his nose in distaste. He moved deeper into the backstreet. 

Phil would flip out if he found out where Wilbur was. He was overprotective, in Wilbur’s opinion. He fussed over him and Techno, despite the fact that they could take care of themselves. Perhaps it was the death of Wilbur’s mother that made him act like that.

Wilbur didn’t remember it very well; he had been five at the time, barely old enough to put his shoes on without help. He did, however, remember the crying. There was still crying today, of course, but nothing like the waterfalls that fell from the eyes of his father and kingdom. Wilbur had been too young to understand the weight of it.

He knew he should grieve, but there was an empty hole of nothing instead. 

Wilbur reminisced about it frequently. Sometimes he would get so lost in his thoughts that Techno would have to shake him back into reality. His adopted twin would ask if everything was alright and Wilbur would place a dazzling smile on his face and proclaim that everything was just fine, when he knew deep down it wasn’t . 

Wilbur shook his head, rapidly dispersing the thoughts. He didn’t have time to fall into one of his spells. He wanted to know what was making all this noise . 

“Hellooooo?” Wilbur called, jogging over to the dumpsters lining the alleyway. He opened the lid of one, ignoring the smell and peering inside. “Is anyone in here?” He stared intently at the garbage bags, waiting for another shriek to sound. 

They remained silent. Wilbur scowled, shutting the lid and turning around. 

The crying resumed, this time closer. He lifted his head, turning in a full circle. This source of the noise had to be close, he was certain of it. Wilbur backed up, closing his eyes.

He began to edge left, following the sound. Wilbur peeled open his eyes, ducking into one of the off sectioned overpasses of the backstreet. His eyes lock with something on the ground. 

Wilbur edges closer, walking on the tips of his toes. The sound was off putting, causing him to flinch back. 

Part of him wanted to sprint out of the alley. But no, he was brave, he was a prince. Wilbur could face whatever this was.

“Hello?” He called hesitantly. He strode closer, lifting his chin. The crying decreased slightly, only to return to full volume. He knelt down, staring at the object which the crying had to be coming from.

Wilbur reached out and nudged the basket. Another shriek emitted from it. He bristled defensively, fists clenched. 

No . Snap out of it. Wilbur shook it off, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling slowly. It was just a shrieking basket. He had nothing to be scared of.

Wilbur reached forward again and pulled the basket closer. He ignored the shaking in his hands, forcing himself to be brave. He had no reason to be scared. He looked inside quickly, prepared to be faced with a feral cat or something. 

Wilbur’s jaw dropped when he found the source of the noise. He stumbled back and fell back, landing in one of the snowdrifts that had accumulated in the alley.

“Oh my gods.” He muttered. He could feel the blood draining from his face. 

There was a baby in the alley. 

More like a toddler, Wilbur decided as he stood up and peered down at it. The child was small, no more than three or four. It still fit in a basket, wrapped up in blankets and screaming at the top of its lungs. 

“Hey little guy.” Wilbur tried, cooing softly. He had seen people do this before. He would never understand why it always seemed to work on the kids, but they usually calmed down. Sure enough, the crying wavered slightly. He took that as a sign to inch closer to the toddler.

It was almost laughable. How he, Prince Wilbur, was afraid of a baby. 

No, not afraid. Just cautious. Anyone would be if they found a random child in the back end of an alley. 

Wilbur toed closer, moving closer at a snail’s pace. The crying had quieted down, reduced to periodic sniffles. He hesitantly reached out and poked the basket. A screech emitted from it, and Wilbur leapt back. 

“Woah, hey!” Wilbur yelped. The baby howled in response, the cries tripling in volume. Wilbur bit back a sigh. He shut his eyes, counting to ten, before creeping closer. 

“Okay, let’s try this again.” He said softly. “I’m Wilbur.” The sobs quieted down. He moved closer again, this time looking into the basket. 

The baby stopped crying completely. It had dirty blonde hair that stuck up in tufts, with a thin layer of grime coating it. Wilbut frowned. This kid had clearly been traveling for a few days now. It had blue eyes the color of the sky. He shuddered slightly. The pupils seemed to carry more intelligence than a baby should have. 

Wilbur shook the feeling off. He hesitantly poked the kid’s hair. It was soft under his fingers. The toddler giggled, reaching up with stubby fingers and grabbing his hand. Wilbur couldn’t help but smile. 

“You’re a cute kid.” He said fondly. He immediately froze, and began cursing himself. No, he couldn’t afford to get attached. Wilbur had to walk away from this, he was not allowed to form any emotional attachment. Nope, he was not. He didn’t care about this baby, it was just a random toddler in the streets.

The baby made a squeaking noise, still holding onto Wilbur’s finger. He blinked up at him and smiled. 

“Damnit.” Wilbur cursed, feeling his heart melt. He sunk back on his heels. The baby giggled, sticking its tongue out. Wilbur laughed with it. “What am I going to do with you?”

He absentmindedly let the toddler play with his finger as he thought about the possibilities. There was no way in hell he could leave this kid out here. It was supposed to be freezing tonight, the toddler would die from the cold. He supposed he could give it to one of the villagers. They would take care of it.  

Selfishly, he didn’t want anyone else to raise the baby. Wilbur wanted to keep the kid, and watch it grow. He had no idea how to be a parent; but he might as well try. Phil had been a good dad, and raised him pretty well-- so he could do it too. 

The more he thought about it, the more his resolve grew. 

He looked back down at the baby. Its crying had fully ceased, now laughing to itself as it played with Wilbur’s hand. He let out a shriek as the baby bit his finger, drawing back quickly. The toddler laughed, the sound bright and full of joy.

Wilbur examined his finger, and upon determining it was fine, he laughed too. The kid had already committed aggravated assault, and Wilbur had only been around it for ten minutes. 

Yes, he was definitely meant to find this baby. Wilbur felt a strong rush of love, an urge to protect it. Only twelve and already adopted a kid. He beamed at it, standing up and stretching. He wrapped his hands around the basket. 

“I think I’m gonna take you home.” Wilbur mused out loud. He picked the basket up, locking eyes with the toddler residing in it. Brilliant blue eyes stared owlishly back, unblinking. The crying ceased, the baby barely making a sound as Wilbur held his --(Wilbur decided that baby looked like a boy)-- basket. 

A small medallion caught his eye, buried beneath the blankets. He hesitantly reached for it, tugging it free from the fabric. He turned it over in his hands, feeling an engraving on the back. 

“Tommy.” He read out loud. “Is that your name?” Wilbur asked the baby, peering at him. The toddler perked his head up at the mention of the name. His blonde hair bounced slightly as he sat up, mouth slightly agape. Wilbur nodded to himself. 

“Tommy it is.” He giggled. Wilbur slipped the medallion back into the covers, and cradled the basket in both arms. “Come on, let’s go home.” 

-

“You lost him?”

“Sir, it was an accident, we didn’t know that she would steal him--”

“I specifically said no one was to see him except for me.”

“But she’s your mother, we assumed--”

“You can’t trust anyone.”

“...Sir, we’re sorry.”

“....”

“Sir?”

“Get the Hunters. We have work to do.” 

Chapter Text

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon when Wilbur finally made it home. The city was bathed in vibrant lights as he navigated the streets. He stayed well out of view, favoring the shadows.

He had an iron grip on Tommy’s basket. The toddler was playing with the loose threads of his blankets, blissfully silent. A small present from the gods, he decided. A crying baby would draw too much attention to him, and he couldn’t afford any of that. 

If he was found with this child, he had no idea what would happen. 

He was so dead anyway. 

Phil was going to ground him at the very least. Wilbur skipped lessons, and there was no way he didn’t know he had snuck out. It would be painfully obvious that he had, considering the sun had set and he was not at the palace.

Phil always came to ask him to come to dinner. Wilbur typically refused. And when he wouldn’t be there to answer the door, when he wouldn’t be there at all, Phil would know something was up.

Wilbur stifled a sigh. He had already come to terms with the impending punishment, but somehow it still made his stomach roll.

Maybe it was getting in trouble that hurt. That rubbed him the wrong way. It’s not like he really did anything wrong— no, that was a lie. He stole cookies. 

But that would never be pinned on him.

Sneaking out wasn’t explicitly against the rules. Phil didn’t like it, but he didn’t really do much about it unless Wilbur was gone past dark. That was when Phil checked on him, when the sun went down. He didn’t usually bother him before that.

And it was certainly dark now. Which meant he was certainly in trouble. 

He glanced down at Tommy. Fondness filled him as he did. Getting in trouble was worth it, he decided.

Wilbur could see the castle. The great stone towers were coming into view, the pillars reaching into the deep blue sky. Green and yellow strands of light twisted above it as silver splotched stars and the orb of the moon casted an ethereal glow down onto the rooftop of the palace.

It was an ancient building. It had been in ruins when Phil found it, and he rebuilt it with the citizens of the Antarctic Empires. They renovated it, modernizing it as they built the city from scratch. It had taken years, but it was done, and now a haven for thousands of people.

Wilbur was proud of his father’s achievements, even if he wasn’t proud of him .

He circled around to the back of the gates, frowning. He had to figure out how to slip in with Tommy and without being noticed. It was a daunting task, but he could do it.

The bars of the wall were spaced out enough that theoretically , Tommy could fit through. He stepped back, examining the setback. He glanced down at Tommy, who met his gaze eveningly. As if daring him to try. 

“Tommy, I need you to trust me.” Wilbur began. The toddler stuck his tongue out, waiting expectantly. Wilbur bent down and gently removed him from the basket. 

“I need you to be very quiet.” He whispered. Tommy blinked at him, almost as if in acknowledgement. Wilbur walked over to the fence. He tenderly turned Tommy onto his side and pushed him through the bars. He fit through without a problem. 

Wilbur slid down and set him on the frosted grass. Tommy felt it with his hand, pulling up a fistful and staring at it. “Stay there, I’ll be over in a second.” 

Wilbur slung the basket over his shoulder. He grabbed the bars of the fence and pulled himself up. It was a familiar action, one he had repeated hundreds of times. It was the same… expect this time he had a basket on his back.

The thought alone nearly made Wilbur blurt out a laugh. He smuggled a literal child back to the palace. Of all the things he had done, this had to be one of the strangest. And yet, it was one of the things he was most proud of.

Wilbur paused at the top, resting. Tommy was staring up at him. The baby waved at him, grinning toothily. Wilbur snickered and waved back. He shut his eyes, letting the cold air refresh him. 

Wilbur grasped the bars in his hands, sticking his feet between the bars. He slid down slowly, making sure not to go too fast. He had jumped off from the top during one of his first returns from sneaking back. He had twisted his ankle and been unable to walk properly for a week. Wilbur counted himself lucky that he hadn’t broken it. 

Wilbur’s feet hit the ground. The grass crunched beneath his feet, and he stood up. He stretched out his arms before unslinging the basket from his shoulder. Tommy quietly clapped, a bubbly giggle emitting from the kid.

“Thank you, I’m quite proud of that too.” Wilbur said, mock haughtiness entering his voice. Tommy giggled harder. Wilbur smirked and knelt down, picking the kid up. He gently laid him back in the basket and wrapped him back in the blankets. 

“Almost there, I promise.” Wilbur said, gently bopping his nose. Tommy grasped his finger, shaking it firmly. Wilbur’s grin only grew. “Who gave you the right to be this cute?” He muttered. Tommy chortled at him, unapologetic.

He began to walk across the courtyard, sticking to the shadows. “Can you stay quiet Tommy?” The kid slumped back into his blankets, as if agreeing. Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. 

He just had to get to his room.

The courtyard was eerie in the dark. The grass was almost black, the tips glinting coldly in the moonlight due to the frost. Wilbur walked on his toes, crossing quickly and leaping onto the stone floor of the pavilion. From here, it was a straight shot to the back stairs. Elation filled him. He was so close—

Wilbur froze as a familiar sound echoed against his eardrums. It rattled against his skulls, the clanking of metal. The guards. “Oh shit.” He mumbled. He was exposed, too exposed. He looked fervently around, eventually settling on one of the great columns supporting the roof of the sheltered section of the yard. 

Wilbur ducked behind one of the pillars, counting to ten. He heard the heavy footsteps of the guards as they tromped past, the metal boots clinking against the stone floors of the courtyard.

Tommy stirred slightly, his too-bright blue eyes half closed. The kid was tired, and Wilbur couldn’t blame him. He knew he was going to get scolded when it was eventually discovered he was back home, and the thought alone made him want to pass out. 

He knew an argument was impending. He could feel it brewing in his bones like an oncoming storm. Wilbur bit back a frustrated noise. He would cross that bridge when he got there, he decided.

He hesitantly peaked his head out from behind the corridor, narrowing his eyes as made sure the coast was clear. He began to edge out, then making a breakaway for the stairs. Tommy’s eyes shot open, and he began to track Wilbur’s steps. 

“Don’t you worry, Tommy.” Wilbur whispered. “We’re almost to my room.” He continued to trek up the stairs, leaping up two at a time. It was exhausting, but it was safer to take the back stairs anyway and climb them as quickly as possible. Either way he would be stuck climbing stairs to reach the third floor. It was better if he stayed out of sight.

He paused behind the exit door, catching his breath. Tommy was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue on. He smiled, wiping his forehead and clearing the sweat from his brow.

He slowly pushed the door open, glancing back and forth. He clutched the basket to his chest. Tommy didn’t protest, instead burrowing further into his blankets. Wilbur cautiously stepped out into the hallway. His door was three down. If he sprinted, he would make it easily.

“Ready, Toms?” He asked. The kid’s eyes were barely visible in the blanket burrow. They shone with excitement. Wilbur mentally counted to three, before stepping out into the hall and racing down. His heart rate thudded in his ears, and he was acutely aware of his surroundings.

Wilbur flung his door open and ducked inside, shutting it firmly behind him. He clicked the lock into place and slumped against it, grinning.

“We made it.” He laughed out loud. Tommy poked his head out of the fabric burrowing, blinking curiously at his new surroundings. His mouth was parted in a small “o,” his tongue sticking out. His hands rested on the basket’s outer edge. 

It was adorable, and Wilbur couldn’t help but make a small cooing noise in the back of his throat. 

“Welcome home, Tommy.” He smiled softly. Tommy grinned at him, before breaking into a yawn. Wilbur chuckled. “I get it, you’re tired. Let’s find you a place to sleep.” 

Wilbur’s room was nicely sized. It was spacious, with plenty of room for Tommy to play around. But he couldn’t risk him staying out in the open when he wasn’t around to monitor him. If someone came in while Wilbur was gone, Tommy was toast. It would all fall apart.

So needless to say, it was imperative that Wilbur found him suitable lodging.

Tommy yawned again. He was tired, painfully so. The journey must have taken a lot out of him— and, of course, he had no idea what had happened to him beforehand either. Where he had come from, how he got in the alley.

He doubted he ever would. Tommy would forget, or perhaps he just didn’t know. Wilbur felt a fierce rush of protectiveness. He couldn’t fathom someone abandoning their own child like that. Sure, some parents had their reasons... but that didn’t mean leaving a kid in an alley was acceptable. 

Wilbur shook the thoughts off. He didn’t have time to reminisce on things that didn’t matter anymore. Tommy was safe, Tommy had a home.

Wilbur scanned his room, searching. Tommy shifted in his basket, eyes blinking blearily. The baby yawned and rolled over, burying his face in the blanket it was encased in. 

Wilbur had no idea what he should do with Tommy. He got him back to this castle successfully, but now he had to keep him safe. He didn’t want to risk losing him, so the best thing to do was keep him in his room. 

But where?

He continued to scan the room. He had to find a place where he could keep Tommy out of sight, but still have enough room for him to play when Wilbur was gone.

A small smile broke onto his face when he locked eyes with his target. 

Wilbur strode over to his closet and flung open the doors. It was massive, what with him being a prince and all. It was the size of a small room, with enough space for Tommy to stay. He only ever used half of it anyway. He didn’t have that diverse of apparel. 

He shoved aside some of his jackets, clearing room in the center. Wilbur gently set down Tommy’s basket. Moving deeper into the closet, he grabbed some of his extra blankets for the winter months and laid them across the floor. He bolted out of the off room and grasped one of his pillows, putting it at the head of the makeshift cot. 

“Alright, little man.” Wilbur grinned, gently pulling Tommy out of the basket. The child squirmed slightly, displeased with being pulled from the makeshift bed. Tommy glared up at him, lower lip jutted out as he pouted. Wilbur laughed. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something better.” He placed Tommy down on the new blankets, the toddler sinking into the icy blue covers. He perked up and patted it once, smiling. Wilbur backed out slowly, before turning to his own bed. 

He looked at the shelf above it, which held relics from his childhood. Wilbur climbed onto the mattress, reaching up and tugging one of the items off. He turned it over in his hands. It was a cow plushie, one that he had clung to for years. 

Wilbur ambled over to the closet. Tommy was rolling around on the blankets, blonde hair scuffed and tangled. He was only now noticing how the kid was in desperate need of a bath. He added it to his mental to do list, faintly wondering if he could smuggle some sort of bucket into his room. He didn’t want to bring Tommy out of his room if he could avoid it; it was simply too risky, lest he get discovered. 

“Tommy.” Wilbur called softly. The kid stopped rolling around, freezing on his back. He blinked up at him, head tilted curiously. Wilbur knelt down next to him, holding out the cow. Tommy looked at him and then back at the toy, hesitant. Wilbur raised a brow. Most kids would go for any possession instantly; so why was Tommy waiting? 

Wilbur would have to figure it out. There was something else at work, something engraved deep into the bones of the kid. A fear? Wilbur shuddered at the thought. The idea that someone had been hurting this kid sparked something in him. An anger, perhaps. 

He vowed to himself that someday he would find whoever hurt Tommy. Wilbur promised to avenge this kid. But for now, he would make his life as good as he possibly could.

“This is Henry.” Wilbur said softly. He pushed the cow into Tommy’s arms. The child took it, examining it. Tommy beamed up at Wilbur and hugged the cow, then standing up and wobbling over to him. Tommy threw his tiny arms around Wilbur. 

“Tank— t’ank you.” He said awkwardly. Wilbur’s heart clenched, and he smiled. He could feel happy tears burning at the corners of his retinas. He gently hugged Tommy back.

“Of course, Toms.” He murmured. The kid pulled away, teetering back to his mattress and grabbing Henry. 

“Hen’y.” Tommy murmured absentmindedly, clinging to the cow. He yawned once, twice, then closed his eyes. Wilbur watched him, waiting for his breathing to even out before standing up. Tommy curled into his side, head buried in his pillow. Wilbur gently pulled his other blanket out of the basket and wrapped it around him. Tommy was sound asleep already, exhaustion clearly having got the best of him.

He exited the closet, slowly pulling the doors shut. He would open them later, once he was sure that no one else would come and bother him tonight. Wilbur secured the doors, before walking to his bed and sitting down on it. 

And so he waited. 

The first knock was rapid, urgent sounding. Wilbur was standing up to get it when someone called his name. It carried the official tone of one of the palace guards. Ponk or something, that’s his name. 

Wilbur threw open his door, hand on his hip. He was still in his street clothes, he realized with a jolt. The guard glanced him up and down, before breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods, Prince.” He exhaled, clearly pleased to see that he was there. “We’ve been looking for you for hours.” Wilbur's throat bobbed. He had never been gone long enough to warrant a search . But then again, he usually beat the sun home. He was always back for dinner, even if he took it in his room.

“Sorry.” He muttered, feeling his ears turn pink. The guard stood at attention, his posture and demeanor fixed back to the stony expressions he was so familiar with. 

“I must go inform the king.” The soldier bowed once, before jogging down the hallway. Wilbur watched him go, apprehension filling him. He nervously wrung his hands together. Phil would come running any second, coming to lecture him about the dangers of sneaking out. 

He threw a glance over his shoulder, checking to make sure the closet was still shut. Tommy was still asleep, much to his relief. He had no idea what the kid’s sleep schedule was. He could be one of those that was up and down a thousand times during the night.

Wilbur had been like that, if he recalled correctly. Phil will still tell him about that, reminiscing on the sleepless nights he would have because of Wilbur. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Maybe karma would be served. 

He shut his door and walked back over to his bed. He paced back and forth. Wilbur was going to have to steel his nerves. Phil was going to be royally ticked off; maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn’t. 

Wilbur didn’t want to get scolded. But there was nothing he could do to stop it at this point. He had sealed his fate when the sun set before he made it back home. 

But Tommy was worth it. Saving that kid was worth it. Wilbur walked over and pressed his hand against his window. He drew it back with a small hiss. It was freezing on the inside alone; he couldn’t imagine the conditions outside. 

Yes, he would take whatever punishment he was given. Tommy was definitely more important than his pride. 

The second knock was more of a gentle rap. Wilbur knew who it was before he opened the door. He shuffled over to the entrance of his room, taking his time as he opened the door. 

“You fucked up.” Technoblade said through a yawn. Techno was standing at his door, fingering through his book. Wilbur lifted a brow. His brother’s hair was loosely tied back, yet the dyed pink standards still hung over his eyes. The book he was holding was one of the longest Wilbur had seen; he couldn’t see the title, but clearly it was interesting enough that Technoblade was paying more attention to it than he was to him.  

He was aware he fucked up, thank you very much. He didn’t need a reminder from his brother. Who wasn’t around much anyway.  

“Hello to you too.” He said through gritted teeth. He immediately fixed his tone, barely catching himself. “What’s up?” Wilbur said, trying to hide his irritation. Techno hummed.

“Good to see you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere.” He deadpanned, turning a page in the book. His disinterested attitude rubbed Wilbur the wrong way. He fixed his face into a faux smile.

“Yeah. I’m not. So what do you need?” He asked a little more forcefully. Wilbur and Techno had been close, once upon a time. They had the brother’s bond, the twin thing, despite not being biological siblings. They were the same age and had become best friends since the moment they met, when Phil brought him home on one of his adventures.

Then his mother died. 

And they went separate ways. Techno and Wilbur had less to talk about, less to do. He became reserved, choosing to avoid contact rather than seek solace in the company of others. He took after Phil, in that sense. Both him and his father abandoned Wilbur when he needed them.

Bitterness surged in his chest and caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly, pushing his emotions back down. He couldn’t afford to let his feelings get the best of him now. He could hold them down, he had been doing it for years.

Wilbur cleared his throat again, waiting for a response. Techno glanced up at him, eyes dull. 

“Dad’s coming. Thought I would give you a small warning. But he’ll be here any second, so...” Techno said, not looking up from his book as he walked past. Wilbur stared at him, brain processing. 

“Well, shit.” He muttered. He glanced back toward his open door, edging back to the safety of his room. 

“That’s what you get for staying out past curfew.” Techno responded lazily. Wilbur winced.

“I got… sidetracked.” He said loftily. Techno shrugged, disinterested as he turned a page in his book.

“Cool.” He replied. “Good luck with Phil.” With that, Techno walked away, leaving Wilbur to his fate. He groaned out loud, walking back into his room and shutting the door behind him. He checked to make sure the closet doors were shut and secured. As he stepped back, a knock sounded on his door.

Wilbur froze.

“Dammit…”  He swore, shaking his head. He ran one hand through his hair, fixing his composure as he walked over to the door. He took a deep breath before pulling open the door.

I am so grounded. 

-

Wilbur stepped out of his room only to immediately be engulfed in a hug. Vast grey wings enveloped him, holding him close. Wilbur begrudgingly hugged the person back. 

“Hi, Dad.” He muttered. Phil didn’t respond immediately, keeping his arms and wings firmly wrapped around him. Wilbur’s heart twisted. He scared his father, he realized. The sun had long since set and he was just now appearing. 

“Where were you?” Phil asked, drawing back. His eyes were tired, slightly dulled. It was a common appearance, one that plagued him since Wilbur’s mother died. Dark circles were omnipresent below his eyes, his hair streaked with pale grey veins of stress. His feathers had lost some gloss to them, the brilliant purples and blacks fading to worn down diluted greys and silvers. 

“Out.” Wilbur answered cryptically. He winced internally. That was not the answer to give, but it felt right. Phil raised a brow.

“Out where?” He pressed. Wilbur kept his mouth shut, weighing his options. Phil probably knew. He could guess, at least. Wilbur didn’t really need to say it.

But he would anyway.

“The city.” He said, barely masking the tremor in his voice. He wasn’t afraid of being scolded, but he knew the things that Phil would say. The thing about deadly consequences and that usual shit. About how he was a prince, therefore a target.

Not that he gave a damn about what his father said.

His father, who was gone from his life for three years. 

His father, who abandoned him when he was lost in grief. 

His father, who didn’t have the right to care about him.

Wilbur lifted his chin, defiance entering his stance. He wasn’t going to take this lying down, he decided. Phil didn’t know anything about him. He was different, he was responsible. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he was thirteen. He would be an adult in five years. 

He could probably parent himself better than Phil could, at this point. That thought made his stomach twist in a strange way.

He had to parent himself, navigate on his own for years. He nearly sank, nearly succumbing to his grief. with his mother dying and his family drifting apart.

It was like being lost at sea. He considered himself lucky to have found a lighthouse. 

“Wilbur,” Phil began slowly, taking on his dad voice. It broke him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to shore. Wilbur stifled a sigh, leaning heavily against his door frame. He watched his father fixed his posture, straightening up and preparing to deliver some sort of speech.

“Alright, dad.” Wilbur said flippantly. “Lay it on me.” Phil flinched slightly, but pressed forward.

“You can’t keep doing this.” He said softly, shaking his head. “You can’t keep—“

“Keep doing what? When did you start to care, anyway?” Wilbur challenged. He could feel the familiar sense of anger rising up. He didn’t bother controlling it like he did with Techno. Phil was a different case. His father had walked away when he needed him, and Wilbur just… he couldn’t forgive him for that. Not yet. 

Maybe someday, but that seemed unlikely when he thought about it.

Phil didn’t react to his barb. His gaze iced over, a pained glaze coating his irises. He closed them briefly, but exhaled slowly and spoke once more. 

“You can’t keep running out. Don’t think I don’t know about your daily excursions, Wilbur.” Phil began, his tone borderline irritated. There was an underlying sadness, one Wilbur shut out from his perception. 

“Okay, and?” Wilbur deadpanned, rolling his eyes. Phil’s outer feathers ruffled, his discomfort clear. He cleared his throat, but didn’t look away from him, didn’t break eye contact.

“It’s not safe.” Phil said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you know what will happen if— when someone finds out who you are? Do you know what they would do to you?” 

Wilbur had no answer. He had thought about it a great deal, sure. He knew the risks. He knew that someday, he may never come back. He was the prince, after all, and people did wish him dead.

But seeing how worried his father was did cause an ounce of regret to brew in his heart, to cause his stomach to churn. 

“They would hurt you, Will. They would kill you. To get to me, or— or just for some petty revenge.” Phil continued. He ran one hand through his hair, his distress clear. He lowered his voice as he spoke again.

“I can’t lose you, Wilbur.” His father said softly. “I can’t. Please, I’m begging you to stop sneaking out. You can still go down to the main city, just— take guards, don’t go alone.” 

“You don’t think I can take care of myself?” Wilbur snapped back, crossing his arms. 

“I do think you can, Wilbur.” Phil responded immediately. “I think you’re too smart for your own good. I think you would get into situations you can’t get out of. Which is why I’m scared for you.” 

What he was saying made sense. Wilbur was proud of his intelligence. He was whip smart, and he knew it. Him and Niki made such a formidable team because of it. Their plans almost always worked because they were smart, because they knew what they were doing.

Maybe he was overconfident. Maybe his dad was right, and that would get him in serious trouble someday. 

But they weren’t there yet, and until that day came, Wilbur refused to be afraid. He would keep going out, because he needed some sort of life. What was going on in the palace barely counted as one, in his opinion. It was monotonous, boring. Same thing over and over again.

Wilbur reckoned that his grief would have eaten him alive if he hadn’t started going down to the city. 

Besides, he wouldn’t have found Tommy if he hadn’t gone. 

“You don’t need to worry ‘bout me, dad.”

Wilbur mumbled. For a brief moment, he felt a semblance of affection cross his heart. As if things weren’t shattered and broken in his family. As if he could rely on his dad without being afraid he would leave him.

It was short lived. Knowing that he wanted to care just filled Wilbur with white hot rage, because he didn’t get to suddenly care about him, after almost three years of electing not to. 

“It’s my job to worry about you.” Phil said, hesitantly reaching forward and resting his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. He pushed it away immediately. 

“Well, you did a shit job at it for years. No need to start doing it now.” Phil stepped back as if he had been struck. Wilbur had hit home; he wasn’t even ashamed of it. He raised his eyes, not bothering to hide his own hurt. 

Phil shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t address what he said, because he knew it was true. Wilbur found grim satisfaction in it. 

He hated that he did. 

Part of him wanted to apologize. But he knew he wouldn’t, because the anger was overbearing and he couldn’t beat it. He looked at his dad, and all he saw were shortcomings and failures. The abandonment, the fact that he ran away.

It was a vicious cycle that Wilbur was caught in, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of it. 

“Wilbur, you’re grounded.” Phil sighed. “Two weeks.” Wilbur knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop the sheer frustration from hitting him. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the palace for two weeks. He supposed he could sneak out, but Phil would definitely be monitoring the gates now that  he had definitive proof that he had been going out when he shouldn’t have.

Wilbur didn’t know where the hurt from being grounded came from. Maybe it was because it was cutting him off from his friends. Maybe it was because his freedom was restricted. He didn’t know. Wilbur glared at Phil, not bothering to hide his anger.

“Fine.” He hissed out. His father sighed, flinching. He was hurt too, which Wilbur couldn’t fathom. He had no reason to be upset. All the strife was because of him, anyway. Him and his inability to face his problems. 

Wilbur wondered frequently if his anger was misplaced. If he should cut his father some slack, and realize that he was hurting just as much as he was. 

He almost always pushed the thought away. He is my dad, he should have been there for me. Wilbur bowed his head, beginning to shuffle back into his room. He wanted to go to sleep, and check on Tommy. Not stand out here and awkwardly converse with his dad, who had finally broken eye contact and was staring at the floor in silence.

“Will, I’m sorry—“ Phil started to say. Wilbur didn’t want to hear it, not hear another lecture like the one he just got. 

“Whatever, dad.” Wilbur snapped. “See you tomorrow.” He turned away, not giving Phil a chance to respond. He could feel the sadness in his gaze, but he refused to let it sink into his soul.  

Wilbur shut the door, huffing slightly. Perhaps being grounded wasn’t awful when he thought about it. He strode over to his closet and tugged the door open. Tommy was awake already, looking up at him, successfully having dislodged himself from his blankets that Wilbur had so carefully wrapped around him. He smiled. 

He knew he was in for a long night, but somehow that filled him with exhilaration. 

“Okay, Tommy.” He said, sitting down. “This is your room now.” Tommy grinned, the toddler giggling. He stood up and wobbled over to him. He was still holding Henry tightly as he did. The kid plopped into his lap and continued to beam at him. His eyes shone with happiness, with contentment. Wilbur sighed, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Wilby.” Tommy said, pointing at him. 

“Wilbur.” He corrected the kidsoftly. 

“Wilby.” Tommy repeated, crossing his arms. Wilbur sighed again. 

“We’ll work on it.” He promised.

“‘Kay, Wilby.” Tommy said, sticking his tongue out. Wilbur’s heart twisted affectionately.

He was already in too deep.

Tommy giggled again. 

Not that he was complaining. 

-

Philza sighed, running one hand through his hair. He stared at the closed door, as if he could will it to open once again. Selfishly, he wanted to barge in and demand that his son come eat dinner with him and Techno. 

But no, Wilbur had asked for privacy, and he would respect that. 

He turned away from the shut door, trekking down the hallway. Phil was at a loss for what to do. Ever since… the death, he had felt severed from the rest of his family. As if a great barrier had been put up as they grieved. Wilbur and Techno had been too young to fully understand the weight of what had been lost.

Part of Phil wished they remembered her. It was selfish, he knew it. The boys didn’t deserve to grow up without a mother, but he supposed it was best that they scarcely remembered life with one.

Her death left a hole that refused to be filled. Techno and Wilbur felt it, Phil could see it on their faces. An absence they knew was there, but one that couldn’t be recognized. They continued on, continuing to grow. Perhaps someday they would forget the hole had ever been there.

It was different for him.

Phil had lost the love of his life. That hole was gapping, and he let it consume him. He had lost himself in his grief. He accidentally drove his sons away. That was what hurt the most, he decided. That he had lost so much of himself and was only just now starting to recover, and in the process he nearly lost the rest of his family.

Wilbur and Techno had every right to be angry with him. For three years, he locked himself in his room, or he journeyed to the distant reaches of the kingdom and left them behind. For three years, he avoided them, afraid to let anyone in. He pushed them away, and they were his sons.

It was when they turned eleven that Phil had come back. When he realized his family needed him, and the kingdom needed him. He had to pull himself out of his sorrow.

Techno forgave him quickly. He too had lost himself in his anguish, training daily and honing his skills as a warrior. Phil learned a month later about the voices— he couldn’t help but wonder if he had been there, if he had been a good father, then maybe the voices wouldn’t have come. 

Wilbur still hadn’t given him a second chance. 

He claimed it was water under the bridge, but it was impossible to miss the bitter gleam in his eyes when he spoke. How eager he was to push Phil away. How much he loathed family dinners. How he was usually absent most of the day.

Gods, Phil didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t keep running away from what he caused. He couldn’t just walk away. He wanted to fix things— yet when he looked at Wilbur and saw the underlying sadness in his eyes, he didn’t know what to do.

Phil pushed open the doors to his own chambers and beelined for his desk. He pulled his chair forward and sat down, grasping his paperwork and leafing through it. He could already feel his mind wandering.

No. He had to focus. Focusing meant forgetting, in a way. And gods, he wanted to forget for now. Get lost in his work and not think about how his family was falling apart like sand in his grasp again.

Go to Wilbur.

Try and make amends.

Be a good father.

Phil shook his head, staring at the paper in his hands. He reread the text, once, twice. 

Go to Wilbur.

Try and make amends.

Be a good father.

He reclined in his chair, rubbing his face. His head was already aching, whether it be from the internal debate occurring or the paperwork laying in front of him.

Wilbur didn’t want to see him. It didn’t matter.

He had a kingdom to run, anyway. He will see his son tomorrow at breakfast. Maybe. 

Phil grabbed his pen and set off to work, ignoring the way his heart clenched as he shut it out once more.

-

The woman is traveling. She is a fugitive. She is not welcome anywhere, not allowed to rest, not allowed to stop. She must race through the night. 

She leaves behind the towers of ice and returns to the land from which she came. She cannot let the beast find out where she went. The fugitive must continue to flee. 

Her mind is spiraling to the possibilities of what is to come. She can only hope someone found the child, that he is safe. The beast would never let him rest, and she could not stand by and watch the child grow up to be nothing but a weapon.

Even if it meant sacrificing everyone she loved.

But who was to say they were the same people?

The fugitive could remember a time when this would have never happened. When she was not afraid of what the future held, because the beast was docile and loving. Where her home was not terror filled, where life was good. 

But she cannot afford to dwell on what was and what could have been. The reality is that the present is now and she must keep going. The fugitive has no choice.

She pulls his cloak tighter around her shoulders and prays for strength. She stares at the looming mountains of the Uncharted Territory. Perhaps the fugitive can lead the beast here and keep him busy for a few years if she’s lucky. She will have to be smart, she knows. 

She is not sure she can outsmart the beast. It is a clever trickster, his intellect scarcely matched. But she knows him well, and perhaps there is a glimmer of hope. 

She needs to give the child time. She cannot roll over, it is imperative that she keep traveling. 

The fugitive exhales slowly before beginning the climb. 

-

Puffy was running. She couldn’t stop. For everyone’s sake, she must keep going. 

Chapter Text

The little boy runs down the hall, practically skipping. He’s in a rush, it’s clear from his panicked eyes and short gasps of air. The palace walls are towering above him as he throws open the doors to the stairs that lead to the roof.

He can’t miss this. 

He tears through the hallways like a mini whirlwind. His boots skim the floor, barely touching the white and grey checkered tile floor. The little boy scarcely breathes. His heart pounding as he rips open the door to the final floor. 

He leaps up each step, crossing the flight in mere seconds as he ascends the stairs in twos and threes. The little boy doubles over briefly, his stomach churching as his side spasms with pain. The little boy curses once, before pulling open the door to the roof.

He walks out onto the terrace, staring up at the night sky. Cold silver stars wink back at him, framing a pale grey half moon. The roof of the palace is exposed, without fences or blockages. It was designed for the king, who used the roof to return home many times.

The little boy hopes he will land again soon. He has been up here every night for weeks. Watching, waiting. Praying, begging. For some sign of his father, who had been absent for months now. 

The little boy stares at the sky. The stars smile back. 

He waits.

And he waits.

And he waits some more.

The little boy is about to give up, when a soft flutter of feathers draws his attention away from the sky.

The great king of the land stands on the edge of the roof, silhouetted by the moon. Silver strands of light illuminate pale blonde hair, covered by a green and white hat. His vast wings are folded in, dark grey feathers outlined in white.

“Dad.” The little boy calls. “You’re home.” The king stiffens, ocean eyes widening in shock.

“You’re still awake?” The king asks, his voice strained. 

The little boy nods. “I wanted to see you.”

The king isn’t sure how to respond. Words rest on the back of a heavy tongue. He has so much he wants to say, yet nothing he wishes to speak at all. 

“Son.” The king walks over. A hand brushes the little boy’s shoulder. “You should be asleep.” 

The little boy doesn’t even bother hiding the hurt that crosses his face.

“I haven’t seen you for months.” He says, pain edging his tone. “Why can’t you be happy to see me?” 

“I- I am.” The king stumbles over his words, distressed. “I really am.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” The little boy says bitterly. “Dad, I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” The king says. He hesitantly ruffles the little boy’s hair. He leans into the touch, clinging to his father’s arm. The two stand together as if nothing had ever happened, as if the father had not run away from the little boy over and over again in their family’s time of need. 

No, they stand together in the pale moonlight, hugging one another for the first time in months.

The little boy draws back first, as if awakening from a dream. He looks his father dead in the eye. A question bubbles to the surface, slowly but inevitable all the same.

Both the king and the little boy knew this topic was coming. Both of them steel themselves, their nerves frosting over.

“Please stay.” The little boy says. The king lets out a shuddering breath. He turns around, eyes shadowed. The little boy, having received no answer, steps forward. He raises his voice as he speaks again. 

“Dad—“ 

-

A pen departs from a slip of parchment.

-

The record keeper pauses, leaning back. He sighs, running one hand through his hair as he shakes out his arm. His sleeves are permanently stained with midnight blue ink.  

He breathes out again, lifting his gaze from the newest volume he is working on. He scans the room, locking eyes with the first two completed journals.

As exhausting as this has been, he has to tell these stories. The world has been deprived of the truth, and it’s up to the record keeper to illuminate it. 

He stretches once, extending his arms high over his head. The record keeper was proud of himself for uncovering these stories. But now it was up to him to tell them, and he must keep working. 

These forsaken souls are depending on him, after all. 

The record keeper glances over at his clock, and then back out the door. He’s waiting for something, for someone , to pass by. His shelter was set up perfectly, in between the major roads. Every traveler must pass through here, lest they wish to brave the Wildlands. 

The record keeper looks back down at his half-filled page. This story is far from over, alas. The record keeper figures that he best continue to write down what he already knows instead of chasing what is yet to happen.

He dips the quill back into the ink, shutting his eyes and breathing deep. He opens them moments later, shaking off whatever emotion had overcome him. He then presses the pen against the parchment and gets back to work. 

-

“Dad,” the little boy asks again. “Will you stop leaving?” The king does not look at his son. Guilt pulses from his every movement. 

“I can’t, little one.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.” 

“Liar.” The little boy says, his voice tinged with hurt and anger. “You could stay, you just don’t wanna.” Sudden tears spring to his eyes, like flowers in bloom. “What did I do? What did I do wrong?” 

“Nothing, baby, nothing.” The king tries to reassure, his own eyes watering. “It’s not you, it’s me.” 

“Dad.” The little boy tries once more. “Please don’t go.”

The king hesitates. His tired eyes flash with emotion, buried deep beneath the surface. He shuts his eyes slowly, the unreadable expression returning. 

The little boy’s heart sinks, as the expression is all-too familiar. It’s the one the king wears every time he flees again. 

“I’m sorry.” The king spreads his great grey wings and runs to the edge of the roof. The little boy cries out after him, stumbling across the dully illuminated grey bricks. He skids to a halt at the edge, watching as the king soars away, climbing into the embrace of the stars.

And the little boy,

And the little boy sobs. 

Again. 

-

It was far from the last time the little boy would cry.

But eventually, he would quit caring, because the little boy would grow used to being alone. 

-

Wilbur awoke slowly. 

The light from the morning seeped in through transparent silvery blinds. The golden hue illuminated his room, turning the many shades of blue various tones of amber and orange. He yawned, sitting up.

Wilbur grabbed a blanket and threw it over his shoulders. He ambled over to the window, peering outside into the courtyard, nudging the blinds aside.

It was the height of summer, but that didn’t stop the frigid temperatures from setting in during the confines of the nights. Wilbur threw the curtains back, exposing the window and the world outside.

He exhaled, his breath clouding the glass panes. Wilbur hated being grounded. He longed to be near the sky, outside in the grass, then roaming the city streets. He sighed, crossing his arms. Maybe he would sneak out later, if he could be certain he wouldn’t be caught. 

A small knock sounded from the other side of his room. Wilbur turned slowly, dragging his feet across the carpeted floor. He reached for the door when another knock sounded. 

That was behind him.

Huh? 

Wilbur turned in a full circle, eyes locking on the closet. The knock echoed out again.

Oh.

Wilbur scrambled over and flung the doors to the closet open. Tommy was standing on shaky legs, one little fist raised. He blinked at the open space, then looked back up at Wilbur. 

“Wilby!” He called,pointing up at him. “Morning!” 

“Good morning, Toms.” Wilbur said affectionately. He glazed over the nickname. He could deal with it later, he decided. It was too early for lessons. 

He knelt down, looking into the closet. Henry was on the side of the little bed, at the foot of the pillow. The bed itself wasn’t messed up, save for the makeshift covers that were kicked up by the toddler’s sleeping.

“Did you sleep well—“ Wilbur began to ask, when footsteps at the end of the hall cut him off. He froze, straining to gauge where they were. The sounded like they were getting closer and closer, sending a sudden bolt of fear through him.

I’m sure it’s nothing.

This time, the next knock was definitely on his door. 

Wilbur swallowed, anxious. He nudged Tommy back into the closet, holding up a finger and then miming zipping his lips. He hoped Tommy would understand what he was trying to imply.

“I’m coming!” Wilbur tugged the doors shut. He quickly scurried over to the door and flung it open. 

“Morning, Wil.” Phil was standing in front of him. Wilbur blinked, confused. 

“Oh, hey dad.” Wilbur said awkwardly, pulling open the door further. His father never visited his room, unless he was in trouble. It was an unspoken agreement. He resisted the urge to glance back and make sure that Tommy was hidden. That the door was fully shut, that there was no way Phil could find him. 

“Can I come in?” Phil asked awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably. Wilbur rapidly shook his head.

“No, no, you can talk from out there.” He said, keeping his voice cold, his syllables clipped. Phil flinched back, but stood his ground. 

“Alright.” His father took a deep breath, preparing himself. Wilbur braced himself as well, lifting his chin defiantly. He was prepared for another lecture, he supposed. All he had to do was zone out, and it would be over quickly.

“I’m sorry.” 

The words shattered his mind, breaking apart Wilbur’s plan in an instant. He looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. 

“What?” He demanded. His father never said sorry; they didn’t talk enough to have things to apologize for. Even after particularly bad scoldings or the occasional explosive fight, neither of them said sorry.

“I upset you last night.” Phil said, dipping his head. “And- and I wanted to apologize.” His father shifted his feet, clearly struggling to keep the words brief. There were things he wanted to say, it was clear from his body language. 

Part of Wilbur wanted to hear them. Wanted to know what he had to say, wanted to see if where this was going. But the other part just wanted to back down, nod and accept and get him to leave.

He ended up going with the latter. Tommy was still in his room, and he didn’t know how quiet the toddler could stay. It was best if he got his father out of there before something happened that would lead to the kid exposing himself. 

“Thanks.” He managed to say. Phil looked at him with an odd expression, one mixed with surprise and expectation. For what, Wilbur didn’t know. Probably some sort of sharp, malicious retort, one born from his inherent bitterness. 

But there was nothing. Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“Anyway.” He cleared his throat. Phil tilted his head, and began to turn away, sensing the end of the conversation. Wilbur breathed an internal sigh of relief. 

A small bang sounded from his closet. Wilbur jolted up, standing up sharply. For fuck’s sake. Phil narrowed his eyes, whipping around. He peered up and over his shoulder.

“What was that?” His father inquired, beginning to step in.

“Nothing!” Wilbur yelped, shifting to block his way in. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just something falling, I’ll pick it up later.” He crossed his fingers behind his back, praying that his father would let it go and trust him.

Thankfully, the gods seemed to be smiling on him. Phil stepped back, albeit Wilbur did not miss the way his eyes flashed with hurt at being pushed away.

Wilbur pushed down whatever emotion attempted to bubble up in retaliation. He didn’t care. 

“Is that all you have to say?” Wilbur asked, struggling to keep his voice frosty. He was confused, his emotions suddenly muddled. It was so straightforward yesterday, what the hell changed?

He said sorry for making him upset.

Wilbur brushed the thought off. It didn’t matter, and it wouldn’t change anything. He repeated it like a mantra, a simple guide to keep him anchored. He had no interest in attempting to sort out whatever blasted feelings that were grasping him.

Wilbur’s hand rested on his door. He wanted expectantly for Phil to exit his area, tapping his foot against the floor. His father exhaled, the familiar sad, pained smile crossing his expression once more. 

“Yes. I’ll  talk to you later, then.” Phil said as Wilbur began to shepherd him away from the door. He rolled his eyes, nodding hurriedly. Please get away, Tommy please stay hidden. He smiled easily, ignoring the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, love you, I’ll—“ Wilbur froze, his hand hovering over the door. His breath caught in his throat as his brain caught up with what his mouth had elected to say. His eyes widened, and he looked up at Phil, who was wearing a mirrored expression of utter shock. 

Wilbur can’t remember the last time he told his father he loved him. 

He had frozen upon saying the words, time itself seeming to have stopped. They had just slipped out, as if part of some old habit. A habit that Wilbur thought he had long since abandoned, because he could not forgive and could not love his father.

Phil looked equally as surprised, and frozen in place. He made no moves, his blue eyes flashing with barely contained surprise. His mouth was parted in a small “o,” but he quickly fixed his expression. 

“I- I love you, too.” His father said. Wilbur found that he didn’t want to cut him off, and didn't want to say how he “didn’t care about his love.” 

What the hell was happening? Why did he suddenly care about his father again?

Maybe finding Tommy reminded him how important family is.

Wilbur shook it off immediately. No, one time thing. He was just tired from watching the kid all night, exposed and vulnerable. There was no love. 

“I expect to see you at lunch.” Phil said slowly. There was no question, no offer to let him skip. Wilbur bit back a sigh. He nodded begrudgingly.

“Fine.” He muttered. “I’ll see you then.” He hurriedly shut the door, closing out his father. He would go to lunch, but he didn’t have to keep talking to him. 

Wilbur counted to five before ambling over to his closet and opening the door. Tommy glanced up at him, holding Henry. The kid was playing with the stuffed cow, curdled on his makeshift bed.

“Wilby!” He exclaimed. “Wilby, Wilby, Wilby!” The toddler practically launched himself into Wilbur’s arms. He fell over, letting out a small “ oof” as he did. Tommy giggled, and Wilbur laughed along with him.

“Hey, kid.” He ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Good job staying quiet.” Tommy beamed up at him. Wilbur ignored the hangers that had crashed to the ground. It was probably Tommy who did that, but in the end, Phil didn’t find him, and the secret was safe. 

“Can we pway?” The toddler asked. Wilbur glanced up at the clock. Three hours until noon. He turned back to the toddler.

“‘Course, Toms. What do you wanna do?”

-

Lunch was dull. It was awkward as Wilbur had predicted, none of them wishing to speak to each other. Techno picked at his food, barely eating a bite. Wilbur shoved the meal down, eager to escape. Phil watched in dismay as the family continued to fall apart.

A typical family meal, if you asked Wilbur. 

At least playing with Tommy had been fun. The kid certainly had an imagination. Stories of monsters and gods, villains and heroes. Stories of running and escaping, and happy endings.

At least there was a happy ending after the stories Tommy weaved.

Wilbur didn’t ask questions. 

He had his suspicions of what had happened in Tommy’s past. Perhaps someday, Tommy would tell him.

But that day certainly wasn’t today, and it likely wouldn’t be for ages.

“Hello?” Wilbur called as he opened the door to his room. His gaze slid to the closet. He had elected to leave it open. No guards would intrude on his room without permission, he was sure of it. He figured it would be safe for Tommy to roam.

The toddler came charging out of the closet, giggling and beaming. He waved his arms over his head.

“Hi!” He called, grinning lopsidedly. “Y’re back!” Wilbur had discovered that the kid could speak in somewhat full sentences, albeit slightly slurred. He would help him with his Common Speak soon, he had resolved. Whoever had originally taught him did a terrible job. Most kids that were Tommy’s age could say many simple words with ease, yet he struggled with basic ones such as “thanks” and “your.” 

It made his blood boil.

Wilbur knelt down, and he set down all of the food he had stolen for Tommy from the lunch. The toddler ambled closer, staring at the cheese and crackers curiously. 

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted.” Wilbur admitted. “I can get something else if you—“ He barely had a chance to finish his sentence before Tommy had all but fallen on the food. Wilbur scooted closer, making sure the toddler didn’t choke in his hurried eating. 

“You sure were hungry, little guy.” Wilbur said after a moment, examining the now-empty plate. He was mildly impressed. “Techno used to eat that quickly. Maybe you’re his long lost brother.” The laughter died in his throat. 

Wilbur pursed his lips as he mentioned his brother. He hated reminiscing on the past. Yet dreams continued to plague him, constant tellings of what had happened and what went wrong. And then the daily reminders, casual things that shouldn’t carry the weight of heartbreak. 

“T’ank you, Wilby!” Tommy said, beaming. It snapped him out of his thoughts, drawing him back to the world like a meteor in orbit. He smiled softly, chuckling. That nickname had stuck. Part of him hated it, yes, but… some of him relished in it. 

“Wilbur.” He said slowly. “My name is Wilbur.” Tommy shook his head rigorously.

“Wilby.” The toddler declares. “Y’er Wilby.” Wilbur stifled a sigh, simply opting to pick the child up and plop him onto his bed.

“Wilb ur. ” He instructed sharply. Tommy flinched back suddenly, the kid’s pupils dilating. He immediately drew back, worry lining his features. Shit, shit, shit, what did he just do? 

“Wait, no, it’s okay.” Wilbur tried, turning his palms face up slowly. Tommy eyed him nervously, mimicking the look of a caged animal. He was terrified. Wilbur swallowed thickly.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” He murmured softly. “I promise.” His emotions swirled in his gut, leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he waited for Tommy to start to calm down. The kid was shaking violently, but the tremors were starting to die down. He wouldn’t meet Wilbur’s gaze.

He hesitantly reached forward and took Tommy’s tiny hand in his. Wilbur maneuvered himself onto the bed, holding the toddler’s hand. The two sat in silence. 

Tommy pressed his face into his side, the tremors finally ceasing. “S-sowwy.” He mumbled. “Didn’t mean ta… plwease don’t be mad…” 

Wilbur hugged Tommy closer, his heart practically falling apart. “Tommy, I could never be mad at you for that.” The toddler sniffles slightly, rubbing his eyes to hide slow tears. 

Wilbur scooped Tommy up and held him in his lap, gently bouncing him on one knee. He remembered his mother doing this when he was upset. It never failed to calm him down, and he hoped it would work for Tommy.

Sure enough, the kid had relaxed within five minutes. Tommy’s breathing had evened out, his eyes no longer misted over with tears. 

“You can call me Wilby.” Wilbur whispered. “I don’t mind.” Tommy grinned up at him, little arms hugging him.

“Okay, Wilby.” Tommy said cheerfully, as if the past ten minutes hadn’t happened. It only added to Wilbur’s morbid curiosity.

Gods, he wanted to know what happened. He wanted to know who he was going to tear apart. 

He threw a wayward glance at his clock. It was around one thirty, the afternoon sun high in the sky, light rays beaming off of his clock. Wilbur wondered what Niki, Jack, and Eret were doing.

They were probably at the hideout, making stupid bets or daring each other to do dumb things or basking in the glory of whoever they stole from today. They were probably laughing and having a good time per usual.

He hoped they missed him. Maybe they did, or maybe they didn’t care that he was gone. Maybe they were happy to be rid of him for a day, not have to worry about him. Maybe they were glad to catch a moment without him, of how things used to be for them.

Wilbur shuddered, forcing the thoughts down. He couldn’t let himself fall down that rabbit hole. As he bounced Tommy, he let his gaze drift to the window. 

The upper city smiled back at him. The tallest towers reached for the clouds that lazily drifted above the empire’s capital. He stood up, still holding Tommy while lazily bobbing him up and down, and sauntered over to the window.

“Man.” He sighed. “I wanna go outside.” Tommy didn’t reply, the toddler having rested his head on Wilbur’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He pursed his lips, gently combing his fingers through Tommy’s hair.

“You’re so cute.” He muttered, another rush of affection hitting him. Wilbur turned back to his window, fully pulling back his curtains. 

Theoretically, he could totally fit through his window. 

It wouldn’t be as easy as it used to be, but he could still do it. He would just have to make sure to pull it shut again. Then there was the issue of being quiet on the roofs and gates as he got past the guards in the palace. And of course, getting to the hideout without someone figuring out he was gone. 

The odds were long, but man it would be worth it.

Wilbur glanced down at the sleeping toddler in his arms. He walked over to his closet, setting the kid down in the makeshift bed. He tucked him in, placing Henry the cow next to him. Wilbur smiled fondly. 

He stood up and stretched, pulling his rough spin clothes out from above the kid. He was careful not to let a single thread brush Tommy. 

Wilbur changed quickly, pulling off his palace attire and throwing his incognito clothes on. He slid his arms neatly into the tattered trench coat he favored, pulling on his gloves as quickly as possible. 

The clock still favored him. He had plenty of time until dinner, plenty of time until sundown. Wilbur grinned. He was looking forward to this. Challenging himself however he could, his agility and stealth pushed to its limits. His heart accelerated at the thought, adrenaline already pumping through his veins.

Wilbur grabbed his hat, pushing his messy brown locks into place beneath the red beanie. Stay hidden. That was the number one rule whenever he fled the confines of the palace. 

Being spotted was a death sentence. Not literally, of course, but Phil would definitely bolt the windows shut if Wilbur got caught sneaking out.

He could picture the worry in his father’s eyes. He paused, fingers brushing over the window lock. 

Wilbur hadn’t felt this conflicted about sneaking out in ages. He hadn’t cared about what his father thought for years. So why did he suddenly hate the thought of disappointing him?

Because he checked on you after a fight for the first time in forever. It means nothing. 

Wilbur’s grip tightened on the windowsill. He did not care. He didn’t give a single fuck. Nothing would ever change that ever again, it was all too damaged now.

Wilbur turned around, and he grabbed his bag, full of some food and coins. Wilbur strode over to the window. Niki and the others were waiting, probably more casting bets on how long he was grounded for. He longed to be part of that conversation, to be with his friends.

A small hand tugged on his jacket.

“Wilby.” Tommy began. Wilbur jolted. He hadn’t heard the kid get up. He must have realized he had stopped bouncing him, and the abrupt change woke him up. Tommy hesitated before speaking again. “Are you gonna leave?” The dismay was clear in his voice. 

Wilbur’s heart practically stops.

“Dad? Are you gonna leave again?” Phil does not respond, instead taking off and leaving Wilbur alone, and he’s gone, gone, gone, and he wouldn’t be coming back for months or years or longer—

He remembered the crushing feeling of abandonment, of knowing that he was second best, not enough, because his father ran and ran and ran and didn’t stop.

“Wilby?” Blue eyes shown with emotion, dragging Wilbur back to reality. His little fist was clenched at his side. His lower lip wobbled, the toddle fighting back obvious tears. 

Wilbur glanced at the window, curtains fluttering in the light breeze. He can just make out the towers of the city. He looked back at Tommy, his blue eyes mournful. His heart clenched, and then he proceeded to shut the window. 

His friends could wait a few days.

Tommy couldn’t. 

“No, Toms.” Wilbur replied. Tommy’s gaze lights up, his smile broadening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-

The beast is hunting. 

He stands alone on the precipice of a great rock, surveying the expansive territory of the Wildlands. His hand falls to rest on his sword. The steel underneath is stained silver-red, vermillion having sunk deep into the small divots of the blade. On his back, a hunting rifle rests atop his forest green cape. 

Beside him, two followers stand. One is like a living flame, quick and dangerous, burning bright and wearing his heart on his sleeve. The flame is unafraid of what the future holds; he is following blindly, with minimal questions. 

The other is a restless sleeper. He lives in a state of lucid dreaming, drifting throughout his days. He follows because he has nowhere else to be, and fears that no one would understand his inner turmoil like the beast does.

All three of them have a drive, a purpose. Only one of them truly knows what theirs is. 

“What are we doing out here?” The flame asks. His black coat flutters in the wind, twin pistols strapped to his legs. The flame favors explosives and guns, weapons of power. He adjusts his white headband, which loosely holds back coal black hair.

The beast adjusts his mask, the snow colored porcelain resting against a hidden face. He bites back a sigh as he turns to face his comrade.

“We’re searching.” The beast replies. He pulls a compass out from his satchel that was loosely slung over his shoulder. He opens it, letting the thin red arrow spin, until it points northbound once more. He looks up, narrowing his eyes.

“Still looking for her?” The flame says with a sigh. “You know… perhaps it’s time to give it up.” The beast wheels on him, his anger spiking.

“Do you know what she has?” The beast snarls. “ Who she has?” The flame shifts uncomfortably, drawing in on himself. The restless sleeper looks up, hand drifting to a rest on the stainless steel dagger hanging from his hip.

He isn’t sure who he would fight for should a fight rise up amongst them. All the restless sleeper knows is that he will fight. 

The flame stands up tall and nods once. “Right. That kid.” He spits out the last word with comptent. The restless sleeper sighs. 

“That kid ,” the beast begins, “is the key to our success.” The tone invites no challenge, and the flame knows it. He smooths back his hair and steps down, eyes flashing warily.

The beast lifts his chin. He turns back to the terrain below him. It’s a tangled mirth of trees, dark jungled branches stretching toward the sky. Rich greens blot out the sun, encasing the interior of the forest from view. Growls of jungle animals can be heard from below, reaching their eardrums as it echoes off the bark of the trees and the stone walls of the mountain range. 

As the beast pulls his compass back out, checking their direction, the restless sleeper steps forward. He moves to the side of the flame and the beast, staring into the canopy of the trees.

He does not want to go down, he decides.

The jungle is wild and dangerous. Enclosed and away from the sky. No clear escape, no way to run.

The restless sleeper does not like that, no.

He can only hope that the beast’s next heading draws them away from the cursed land. 

The restless sleeper moves his glasses, careful to keep his eyes hidden. They are dull, the color seemingly drained from tired irises, the formally warm chocolate brown turned a brittle sand tan. Circles dark as night plague under his eyes, and no light shines back from his pupils. 

The restless sleeper is a tired man, but deep beneath the surface of his exhaustion, a steady drive burns. His motivation may not be as obvious as the beast’s or the flame’s, but it is still there nonetheless. 

As rings true with most followers, he lives to make others proud. 

( The record keeper pauses. He wishes he could have told the restless sleeper that the world did not revolve around serving others, and that it was okay to break away and do the right thing for the world— and himself.

But alas, the record keeper had been a follower once too).

“There.” The beast points with a gloved finger. The restless sleeper and flame follow his mark, down into the tangled depths of the jungle below. 

“Down- down there?” The flame’s voice cracks once. The beast, unbeknownst to the followers, lifts an unimpressed brow beneath his mask as he turns to face them. Instead of seeing his disapproval, they see a blank mask, an unreadable forefront. 

“Yes.” The beast says shortly. He steps off the outcropping of rocks and slides down into the convoluted depths of the dark woods. The flame shrugs as he looks away from the restless sleeper. He follows in the beast’s steps, leaping from the stone and disappearing into the murks of the woods.

The restless sleeper peers down, cautious. He does not want to go down there. He knows it will be dangerous, and it could result in their deaths. But the beast was insistent that was where the runner was, and the restless sleeper had sworn to follow him.

He takes a deep breath before plunging down into the depths of the jungle.

The restless sleeper made a promise, and what choice did he have other than to keep it? 

Chapter Text

The king is grieving.

The king has been caught in a perpetual loop, he knows this for certain. Some days, he thinks he is okay, and the next, he can barely get out of bed. He sleepwalks through each hour. 

His grief has lessened over time, but it still haunts him. It hangs over him like a shadow, dogging his steps. The king tries to shake it off, but it clings to him.

And the king hates it. He hates the way it affects and makes him feel. It’s better than it has been in years, but he can ever fully shake it.

He still suffers through each day, no matter how bad it is. He has a job to do, after all. He cannot neglect his duties, not again. He has promised himself never to let himself fall like he did in the past.

The king cries himself to sleep some nights. He cries for everything that is lost, until his exhaustion claims him and he succumbs to darkness. He wakes up with tears stains on his cheeks.

It happens left often then it used to, but the king still mourns, and he still sobs. He walks around with a heavy weight on his chest, but he will not let it break him apart ever again.

Sometimes, he thinks back to the worst days. After his queen died, and when he fully lost himself. 

-

Originally, the king flees. He runs from his duties, his job, the world. He runs away from everything, afraid to face the kingdom after the death of his love.

Running from the kingdom wasn’t the worst thing he did, though. He knew he could afford to neglect his duties, his administration even agreeing it was best he took time away to collect himself. 

No, the worst he did was abandon his children.

The king had left them behind when he fled. He barely spared them a good-bye, too wrapped up in his grief to realize that they needed him. That they could share their pain and support each other.

But no, the king hadn’t been able to come to that conclusion. He left his two sons behind. 

It was one of the worst mistakes of his life. It still is.

He thinks he ran because he was afraid. No, not was. He is afraid. The king is afraid to form attachments again. Fate has a cruel mind, and eventually, everyone dies. And the king’s heart is already ladened with grief so heavy he fears it may break him.

Why would he want to have people he loves if he’s just going to have to say goodbye at the end of the day?

The king hates that he thinks that way. He doesn’t want to be so distant. He looks at his kingdom from afar and he cries, because he can feel himself drifting away.

The first year is the hardest. He thinks about staying away forever. He thinks about staying in the solitude of the mountains. He thinks about simply vanishing forever. They would tell stories about his disappearance. He would become nothing more than a folklore.

His son would ascend the throne when he came of age. The little boy would be a good ruler someday. And his warrior brother would be there to help defend him. They would surely be there for each other.

They didn’t need him. 

The king could just… leave. 

But that passes after he witnesses an attack on one of the out villages. In his absence, the kingdom had grown weak. The king had flung himself into that battle, barely pausing to think about the potential consequences of his actions. If he dies, he dies. He knows he must fight for his people.

And he fights. He takes a sword against the rouges, and when he loses it in the heat of battle, he fights tooth and nail. The king walks away bearing new scars and a sense of renewed drive.

He remembers why he cares about his people. He remembers why he cares about his nation. He refuses to let himself be disattached from his home again. 

The king knows he can’t go back yet. But he will return, because it’s what he is meant to do.

-

The king receives a warm welcome home from his people. It takes him three long years to return to rule, but he manages to bring himself back to the Empire. 

His advisers help him return to kingship. Adjusting back from being a recluse in the mountains back to the literal emperor of a nation. 

While the kingdom may have embraced his return, his family did not.

It hurts, but the king knows he had ruined things. He ran away from everything and everyone. He fled from his life, because he was too afraid to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And now his sons hate him. He can barely stand to look at him, and the king can’t blame him. 

It takes another year for the first change to come. 

Things had been stagnant between them. Neither of his sons interacted with him, and the king could sense the distance between the pair as well. This fractured family was his fault. It made his stomach churn. 

But the king does not stop trying. He practically begs for forgiveness, apologizes over and over again. It takes time, but results are eventually yielded. 

The warrior shows him mercy first. The king confines his fears in him, and the warrior tells him his. They both cry at the end of the conversation. The king cries from relief and grief, the feelings so jumbled he can’t separate the emotions from one another.

It doesn’t matter. He managed to make up with one of his sons, and he is happy. The warrior and the king fall back into place, and the first crack in the family is sealed.

His other son is less inclined to speak to him.

He avoids him every time the king tries to talk to him. He exits the room whenever he arrives. He locks himself in his bedroom at night, and the king cannot get through to him.

He eventually gives up, backing away. His son would talk to him when he was ready. He had to hope he would, anyway. 

-

Years passed, and nothing changed.

The king still doesn’t give up. 

-

Phil stares at the locked door. He raises his hand to knock, but thinks better of it. He exhales slowly, ignoring the familiar bite of tears and sting of grief. 

He turns away and walks down the hallway. Maybe someday it would be okay, but it wasn’t time yet.

-

Puffy’s boots are soaked as she races through the jungle. 

She’s been navigating it for days, journeying through this hellish terrain. Leaves are tangled in her hair, and she doesn’t have time to stop to pull them out. She can’t remember the last time she slept for more than a few hours. 

Stopping means resignation, and resignation means being caught.

Being caught by the Hunters. Being caught and charged with treason. Being caught and executed by her own—

Puffy shook the thoughts off. No, she wouldn’t be caught. After all, she knows every trick the Hunters will try and use. She knows every move, and she can stay two steps ahead. She helped teach them, and the student rarely is able to best the master. 

Puffy slows down, her chest heaving as she gasps for breath. She leans heavily against a tree, pulling out her water canteen and taking a slow sip. Her throat burned and begged for more, but she forced herself to ration it. She couldn’t afford to make herself sick.

There was a river ahead of her, the water an ugly mix of brown and sea green. It was wide, the bank well out of jumping range. Its waters whipped against one another, the rapids painfully clear as little white capped waves broke apart and reformed over and over again. 

Puffy really doesn’t want to cross it. But she can’t turn around, not without risking running into the Hunters. They are definitely on her trail, she knows this. She purposefully left a semblance of trail, for Tommy’s sake. 

Gods, she hopes someone found the kid. She hopes he’s safe and with a family that will love him and take care of him.

Puffy wishes she could have saved Tommy sooner. She hadn’t known what had been happening to the child for years. But now he was out of that situation, and had a chance to live a normal life.

Puffy would gladly give her life for that kid’s future, she decides. It might make up for her other shortcomings. 

She takes in a shuddering breath, and stands up. Her time to rest is over. She has to keep moving, and get across this damn river. Puffy eyes it cautiously, pacing the bank.

The muddy waters swirled before her. She swallows thickly. The water could be deep, too deep for her to wade across. Puffy secures her satchel across her shoulder, shifting it so it’s across her back instead.

She has no choice except to try. If she stands still any longer, it will be game over for her.

And maybe Tommy. If they capture her, gods know what they’ll do to her to get their hands back on the kid—

Stop it. She closes her eyes briefly, shunning the thoughts. She cannot afford this train of thought to progress any further. 

Puffy hesitantly tests the water, kneeling down and pressing her hand against the surface. She draws it back, rising to her full height. It is cold, the water still rippling from her contact with it.

Puffy takes a deep breath. She steps into the river, ignoring the sudden chill that races up her spine. Her heart pounds faster and faster as she walks further out into the river. The water soon rises to her hips, and she begins to walk on her toes.

She reaches the middle of the rushing water, the liquid halfway up her torso. Puffy prays that this is the deepest point of the river. 

She continues to walk, ignoring the way the mud from the river bottom threatens to spill up and into her boots. The river finally starts to slant up, and Puffy can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. 

Her clothes are soaking wet, the dirty river water dripping off her shirt. Puffy sighs, leaning against a tree and dumping the water out of her boots one by one. She cast a glance back at the raging river, scowling once. The rest of her clothes would have to dry on the way.

Puffy continues to walk, shoulders sagging as the jungle continues to get more convoluted. She picks her way through the tangled mire, careful not to break any branches along the way. She has to be gentle with the foliage, lest she wants to give the Hunters a clear path to follow.

The night has long since fallen when Puffy finally stops. She leans against a tree, eyeing a new slope up and over a great outcropping of rocks. 

“Probably a good place to rest.” She muttered out loud. It has the high ground she needs to guard herself from intruders, and is above the jungle floor where creatures lurk. 

Puffy has only just begun the ascend when she hears something on the wind.

She freezes, hand hovering over a new grip. Surely not. Puffy’s hands involuntarily start to tremble. She begins to climb faster, desperate to find somewhere to hide.

The sound echoes again. Definitely voices, not silent enough to avoid detection, and far closer than Puffy is comfortable with. Her stomach drops. Please. 

Her hand collided with a flat stone sheet. A small ledge, just big enough for her to lay on. The voices sound again, even closer than they were seconds ago. Puffy has to hurry. She will not be found today. 

She hoists herself up and over the ledge. Puffy’s heart is pounding as she waits for the voices to pass. She hardly dares to breathe, pressing herself against the cliff side. She mouths prayers to the gods, begging for them to grant her mercy. 

After what seems like an eternity, the voices finally pass, dying down and fading into the distance. Puffy counts to twenty before peering over the ledge’s side. She breathes a sigh of relief upon realizing she’s alone again.

Puffy slides down from the cliff side, picking her way back to the forest floor. If those people were Hunters, then she best head the opposite direction while she still can. She pulls her tattered hood over her head and sets out. No time for rest tonight. 

It’s a long way to the next city, and she best get there before her supplies run out… or the Hunters find her. 

-

The beast is lurking. He grows closer every day. 

-

It had been three days since Wilbur brought Tommy home.

And if he was being honest, it was three days of hell. Running around and making sure Tommy had everything he needed, while also keeping him a secret, was a challenge.

It was one Wilbur embraced, however. He was never one to back away from something, after all. 

Wilbur found out quickly that Tommy despised baths. He screamed and fought him whenever it was time for one, and Wilbur panicked every time because the kid was so damn loud. He shushed him, and it usually worked, but it did little to reassure Wilbur that they would not be discovered.

Tommy always flung water in his face in his struggles to break free. Wilbur’s hair was always a mess afterward, his brown hair soaked and clinging to his scalp. 

Wilbur hadn’t cared, though. He had dug this grave, and he was not backing out. 

So despite all the little fits Tommy threw, Wilbur still successfully gave him a bath. He was still shocked no one came to check on all the noise that had been coming from the bathroom. Not that he was complaining, of course. He just thanked his lucky stars and moved on. 

Trying to brush Tommy’s hair had been a feat on its own. Wilbur hadn’t realized how matted it was until the brush got stuck in the child’s hair. He swore loudly, stepping back.

“Oh gods, Toms, hold on for a second…” He trailed off, biting his lip. Tommy was completely still, the little boy’s face made of stone. Wilbur swallowed thickly. 

“This might hurt.” He confessed. “I’m really sorry.” Wilbur wrapped his hands around the hairbrush and pulled, dislodging it from the tangled mess of Tommy’s hair. 

The kid whimpered slightly, hands flying to the spot where the brush had once been. Wilbur’s heart sank, and immediately moved to face him.

“Oh man, Tommy I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, are you okay?” He blubbered, guilt overtaking him. He rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself. Tommy tilted his head as he looked up at him, curious.

“‘S alright.” He said, almost hesitantly. “Didn’t hurt dat much.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” Wilbur asked earnestly. “We can try again later.” Tommy shook his head, lower lip jutting out.

“Wanna fix my hair.” He proclaimed. He crossed his arms, a determined glint in his eyes. “Stupid hairbrush won’t scare me!” 

Wilbur gnawed on his lip anxiously. He didn’t want to hurt Tommy, but he could understand how awful tangled, knotted hair could be. It was uncomfortable, and although brushing it definitely would hurt, he supposed it would be best to fix it.

“Okay.” Wilbur agreed. He walked over to the closet and gently picked up Henry, then jogged back over to Tommy. He handed the kid his stuffed cow. “When it hurts, just hold on tight to Henry.” He instructed gently. 

Tommy nodded, the kid setting his jaw. Wilbur exhaled slowly, and began to start brushing again. 

It must have taken a half hour to work out all the tangles. Tommy was a trooper through it all, barely flinching or crying out whenever a particularly messy one was undone. 

By the end of it, his hair was in much better condition than Wilbur thought was possible. After washing it as well, the blonde locks looked like sunbathed honey. 

Actually, all of the bathing and cleaning up helped Tommy a lot. He looked healthy, his eyes already shining a little brighter than the first day. Wilbur had felt a surge of pride, knowing he was helping Tommy be happy.

He really did want the best for this kid, and he would do everything in his power to make sure it happened. It was a mantra he repeated in his head. It felt good to help someone else. And seeing Tommy smile… well, that was all the reward he ever needed.

The next step was stealing some new clothes. He had ended up waiting two days before forming a semblance of a plan to get him some. He didn’t want to leave Tommy alone for very long, and going on the hunt for new clothes would force him to leave Tommy alone for at least an hour.

And given how clingy the kid was, he hadn’t wanted to do it yet. Not until Tommy could be certain Wilbur wouldn’t abandon him. 

But finally, Wilbur decided it was time. 

Tommy’s had been battered, the shirt he discovered to be white ripped and torn at the sleeves and bottom. It had been so discolored initially that Wilbur thought it was tan. Tommy’s pants were in the same condition, the brown cloth all but shredded at the bottom. 

So naturally, Wilbur went to steal some new apparel from the laundry room. 

He was practically a master thief at this point. He could totally pull it off; besides, there were never any guards in there. It was usually deserted in the middle of the day, during lunchtime when breaks for the staff were allotted. So Wilbur could just sneak in there, find some toddler sized clothes, and get out before anyone noticed he had been there.

It was a foolproof plan.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Wilbur promised as he pulled one the door to his room. Tommy didn’t protest, instead sitting on the floor of his room. He was playing absentmindedly with Henry and a stuffed polar bear Wilbur had found and given to him. He smiled fondly, then exited the room and shut his door.

He hoped he could be quick enough to avoid anyone coming to his room without invitation. His only concern was if Phil or Techno came knocking and he wasn’t there. Of course, the chances were fairly slim, but given what had happened a few days ago, he was loath to take any chances.

Wilbur jogged down the hall, sliding down the banister of the main stairs. He made sure to cling to the shadows of the vast halls, keeping out of sight of everyone. He finally reached the laundry room, at the bottom of the palace. Wilbur nudged open the door, peering inside cautiously.

His heart sank.

There were people in the room. 

Why the hell were there people in the room? 

Wilbur began to back away. Maybe he had miscalculated the time, maybe they were working through the break, maybe, maybe, maybe.

Either way, it changed things.

Wilbur returned to his room, dejected. He was determined to find Tommy clothes, and he wanted to do it today . Wilbur began to pace the room. Tommy was still playing with the toys, making small sound effects as he did. 

Wilbur paused after a few minutes, turning to the window. He hasn’t wanted to consider this option, but… but he could always sneak out to the city. 

It may even be safer than stealing some from the laundry room. If he went to the city and bought some (or stole some— that wasn’t ever off the table—) then there would be no apparel from the palace that would go missing. 

Wilbur gritted his teeth, making up his mind. He sighed, turning to his closet. He pulled out his commoner clothes, turning the rough spin over in his hands.

He changed quickly, pulling on his familiar coat and securing his hat. It was routine at this point, his movements robotic. Tommy finally glanced up at him, tilting his head.

Wilbur pulled open the window. He had a few hours. He could definitely make it to the upper town, find some new clothes, and make it back before sundown. It would be a fun trial, one he was already itching to begin. 

Wilbur exhaled, then turned to face Tommy. The toddler was staring up at him with wide eyes, shining like jewels. Wilbur smiled, kneeling down.

“I gotta go out for a bit, Tommy.” He says, careful to keep his tone benign. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Promise you’ll come back?” Tommy asked instantly, his voice wavering. Wilbur swallowed heavily, throat bobbing.

“Yes. I’ll be back, I’ll always come back.” He said, sweeping the toddler into a hug. “I’ll always find my way back to you.” Tommy beamed at him, his doubt dissipating like morning dew.

“I trust you, Wilby.” He declared. Wilbur’s heart clenched, and he hugged the toddler tighter. 

“Thanks, Toms.” He whispered. Tommy hugs him back. Wilbur gently releases him, placing him down on the floor. He straightens up, flexing his shoulders lightly.

“Okay bud, can you go wait in the closet?” He asked Tommy. The kid nodded in affirmation, teetering over to the makeshift room. Wilbur followed quickly, kneeling down. Tommy looked up at him expectantly.

“If anyone comes into the room, and if they open the closet.” Wilbur began to instruct, speaking clearly. “Shout ‘die’ at them. It usually shocks people into silence.” Tommy nodded sagely.

“Die.” He echoed, his voice solemn. Wilbur smiled with approval, ruffling his hair.

“Good.” He affirmed. The toddler grinned broadly. 

“Die!” Tommy said again, brightly. “I like that word.” Wilbur chuckled, standing up.

“Me too, little buddy.” He smirked. “Now, stay quiet. I’ll be back before the sun falls.” Wilbur strode over to his window, unlocking it smoothly. He pulled open the glass barrier. A placid breeze hit his face, barely strong enough to shift his hair around. 

It was a good day for a run to the city. Wilbur grinned, the thrill of the adventure already thrumming through his veins. He looked back at Tommy, who was sitting in the closet, and winked once. The kid waved at him, then reached up and managed to pull the closet shut. 

“See you soon.” Wilbur said out loud. He turned back to the outside, eyes tracing his soon to be path. Now. 

Wilbur leapt out the window, sliding onto the roof. He inched along slowly, then took off running, sliding down and landing in the courtyard. He scaled the familiar chain link fence with ease. 

One last sliver of doubt stuck to him, clinging to his mind. Wilbur shook it off. Tommy said he was okay with him going out for a bit. He had no reason to be guilty or worried.

It would all be fine. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? 

(Wilbur knew the worst, but there was absolutely no way it would happen. He had been careful about covering his tracks. No one would find Tommy, he was sure of it.)

-

Technoblade regretted many things. 

One of those things was definitely deciding to look for Wilbur. 

His brother had been acting weird for a good number of days. Techno thought little of it at first. It really didn’t matter to him what Wilbur decided to do with his free time. 

He couldn’t let Wilbur harbor whatever secret he was forever. This leads to the reason as to why Techno was searching for him. They may not be as close as they used to be, but he still wanted to know whatever was weighing heavily on his mind.

And then he vanished today.

Techno had looked everywhere for him. He checked the library first, expected to find his brother sorting through stacks of volumes about whatever subject had peaked his interest this week. But the room was all but abandoned, leaving him to scratch his head as to where to look next.

He checked the training halls, his gaze lingering on the battered dummies in the corner, waiting to be fixed. Those were his fault. Techno exhaled softly and turned away. He hadn’t expected to find Wilbur there anyway.

He searched every inch of the palace, save for one room. Deep down, Techno knew he should have checked there first. It was where his brother was most of the time, anyway.

He stood outside Wilbur’s room, feeling more frightened than he had in years. Techno had trained himself to fear nothing , and yet confronting his brother struck terror into his heart. 

Techno bit back a sigh, reaching up and knocking on the door twice. Silence met him. He counted to five, then tried again. Nothing.

Wilbur usually answered. If not physically, then with words. The silence was… surely he didn’t… he wasn’t stupid to sneak out now was he?

Techno was well aware of his brother’s antics. He didn’t care, but leaving the palace without permission when he was grounded was plain dumb. 

He had no idea what would have driven his brother to sneak out. Maybe it was part of the reason he was acting so weird. Techno shrugged to himself, then pushed open the door. He would ask him when he got back.

Wilbur’s room was sparse. His bed wasn’t made, pale blue covers shoved aside and draping off the mattress. A few stray books littered the floor and his nightstand. Wilbur’s window was open, the curtains thrown aside. Evidence he had snuck out. Techno shook his head, disappointed. His brother had once again gone against better judgment, and Techno hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble again . 

All he could do was wait now, he supposed— 

Techno froze as he heard a sound come from the closet. It wasn’t a loud noise, more like a mouse skittering through the walls. Small footsteps, so light Techno almost missed them, echoed from within the off room.

An intruder.

The palace was seldom breached, but it had been done before. There were clear instances that came to mind, times full of stark terror. Which is why Techno never walked around unarmed. 

His hand fell to his dagger as he crept closer, moving softly. Techno danced across the room, careful to not make a sound.

His hand was firmly clasped around his dagger as he approached the closet. Techno’s heart was hammering in his chest, but he kept his face still as steel while he reached for the doors of the closet. He counted to five and ripped the doors open.

At first, he thought he was dreaming. 

“Holy shit.” Techno said blankly, hands falling limp at his side. Owlish blue eyes blinked back at him. Small hands clutched a stuffed cow. A child was sitting on a blanket inside Wilbur’s closet. 

Techno blinked, rubbing his eyes. When he reopened them, there was still a kid there, whose arms were now crossed and a pout across his face. He sighed, a headache starting to form in his temples.

“What in the name of the gods did Wilbur do now,” He mumbled, “To end up with an orphan in his closet?” 

“Die.” The kid spat. Techno blinked, mildly surprised. 

Nope, he was definitely awake. 

“What.” 

“Die.” He repeated. Techno opened his mouth to say more, then shut it again. No, it was best to just wait for answers. Wilbur wasn’t here, but he would surely be back soon. The sun was setting and he was grounded. He couldn’t afford to be out for long. 

So Technoblade sat with the kid, plopping down in front of the toddler. The kid stared back, narrowing his eyes. Techno did the mature thing and did not stick his tongue out at him. He kept his arms uncrossed, however, ready to grab the child in case he made a dash for the door.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He vowed, tracking the child’s every movement. The kid didn’t move, his eyes steely and full of irritation. But underneath it, Techno could detect a small trace of… fear.

Techno knew he could be terrifying. Despite his age, he was one of the best combatants in the palace. He could best the captain of the guard in hand to hand, and his swordsmanship was impeccable. He had thrown himself into his training, after everything that had happened. 

And with his affliction, violence came naturally. 

Techno shut the thoughts out, exhaling. He could feel their whispers clawing at the back of his mind, threatening to rise up and take hold. No. He grabbed them and shoved them back down.

Letting go was both awful and freeing. He was in a trance where nothing mattered but his own two hands. His actions were scarcely his own when he fell down the rabbit hole. The muddled screams in his head drowned out the sense of reason within him. He became… an animal.

Stop. 

Techno violently shook his head, clearing it. The kid flinched back, eyes darting across the room. Techno froze. The child’s fear had grown, his knees curling to his chest. He was making himself smaller, to appear less threatening and weak.

Techno had no idea what to do. Dealing with children was never his forte. Wilbur would be back soon anyway, and he could help calm the kid down. After all, the child was in his closet.

Sure enough, a window slid open behind Techno. 

“Wilby!” The child exclaimed, standing up and teetering to the window. Techno turned around, following the kid slowly. 

“Hey, Toms.” Wilbur said, a foreign affection lacing his tone. His brother knelt down and ruffled the kid’s hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort. Techno was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy. He would never admit it out loud, but he missed the way he and Wilbur used to be, how close they were. 

Techno shook it off quickly. No, he was not here to wallow in self-pity. He was here for answers.

“Hey, Wilby.” Techno deadpanned. His brother’s head jolted up, eyes widening with realization. 

“Techno, I can explain—“ Wilbur babbled immediately, standing up. He raised a hand, cutting his brother off. Wilbur’s breathing was heavy, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal. He was scared. Techno swallowed thickly, but forced his voice to remain monotonous.

“I just wanna know why the fuck you have an orphan in your closet.”

Chapter Text

Technoblade, contrary to popular belief, was not heartless. 

His typically off-putting demeanor tended to lead people to believe that he literally had no soul. The rumors that floated around the empire about him almost always reached him. Techno knew everything that was said about him, every word uttered around his fighting skills and combative abilities.

He certainly hadn’t always been that way. He had originally just been some random child, wandering the streets of the Antarctic Empire. He had no home, he had nothing to his name. 

If someone had asked Techno if he thought this is where he’d be in a few years, he would have laughed in his face.

It was still surreal. 

Techno had been a scrappy, resourceful kid. He had no idea where his biological parents were. He had long since lost track of them, and to be frank, didn’t want anything to do with them.

They left him alone to die. And Techno didn’t know why . 

He was four when they ditched him, and somehow he managed to stay alive to seven. Strangers showing him kindness, random places to take shelter in, and random instances of luck enabled Techno to survive.

He was starting to get tired of trying. But no, his will to live lingered, and Techno thrived. Not only was he smart, he was also not afraid to get his hands dirty. He had learned a long time ago that the streets would not be kind to you if you were not willing to fight for what was yours.

Then again, most people had enough decency to leave a kid alone.

There was a time when Techno was five, maybe six, where he lived with a couple other people. He could barely remember their faces, but they kept him alive. At first, he thought he would be okay, that he would be safe.

And when he was seven, they threw him out. 

Techno was back to square one. He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, to know that no one wanted him. But no, he couldn’t afford to focus on that fact. He continued to wander the streets, sticking to the back alleys. 

He stole from whatever shop he could find, stayed in abandoned buildings, but always kept moving. He was afraid of the shopkeepers finding him, of them guards tracking him down and arresting him. 

(In hindsight, that wouldn’t have been the worst. Someone would have given him a home, he supposed.)

It wouldn’t matter how much he moved in the end. He was still found. 

It was a chillier night than usual, frosty wind biting deep into his skin. It sent chills racing down his spine, a meager attempt at keeping warm. Techno drew in on himself, unable to stop the tremors from spreading through his body.

He had been through bad nights before. But this was the first time he had been run out of his own shelter. A group of people had taken over the collapsing house he was planning on spending the night in while he was out gathering food. They chased Techno out, unwilling to share the space with some random kid.

And that led to Techno leaning against a brick wall that was already coated in a fine sheen of ice, desperately trying to fight off the cold. His lower lip wobbled slightly. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but he was very close to tears now. He could actually die tonight.

Techno had no possessions with him. He had left his tattered blanket at the shelter, which could have been the one thing that could have allowed him to make it through the night. 

The sun had already gone down, the backstreets of the city illuminated only by the failing street lights and weakly shining stars. Techno curled in on himself, trying to preserve his already failing body heat. 

He wasn’t going to wake up tomorrow, there was no way. Techno began to mutter prayers, not that it mattered. The gods never did anything for him. But it still felt fitting, considering he was going to— 

A sudden noise drew him out of his thoughts. Techno’s head shot up. He pushed himself back into a sitting position, ignoring the scream of protest his muscles gave. He shuddered once, the cold hitting his face. 

It felt like someone was watching him. His spine was tingling, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Techno twisted around, facing the exit of the backstreet. 

“Hello?” Techno called. His hand flew to the glass shard sitting next to him. He could fight someone off need be. It wasn’t ideal to use broken glass, but he certainly wasn’t off the table.

“Hi.” A man was standing at the edge of the alley, face hidden by a hat. Techno narrowed his eyes, suspicions already forming in his head. His heart beat faster. 

Well, maybe he would get murdered instead of freezing. That would certainly spice things up. At least he would be remembered by someone. 

“Who are you? W-Why are you h-here?” He demanded. He wanted to leap to his feet, but his limbs refused to work. He was too cold.

“I was just… I don’t know.” The person stepped closer. He had something in his arms. Techno eyes it warily. He glossed over the fact that he declined to provide a name. 

“Wh-what’s that?” He demanded. His hand inched closer to the glass. 

“A cloak. Mine, but it looks like you need it more.” Oh. Techno didn’t argue the point. The stranger dropped the fabric in front of him. He snatched it up, throwing it across his shoulders. He burrowed into it, steadily warming up. The chills subsided, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

The man was still standing a bit away, studying him. Techno shifted uncomfortably. He clearly had something he wanted to say. 

“If you have a question, just ask.” Techno muttered, deadpan. The stranger hesitated a moment longer. 

“Did someone dye your hair?” The man blurted out. Techno sighed, the sound long and drawn out. Of course. 

“My hair’s always been this pink.” He snapped back, twirling one strand in his finger. It was a strange affliction, he supposed. But there were worse things to be stuck with. Techno tried to ignore the strange glances it earned him, yet he failed frequently. The man nodded. Techno braced himself. 

“It’s pretty cool if you ask me, mate.” He said, not unkindly. Techno raised a brow. No one has ever said that about his hair; most of the time it got him made fun of.

“T-Thanks.” He stuttered slightly. Another gust of wind howled down the alley. Techno shuddered. The man glanced at him, his eyes flashing with worry. 

“Are you okay?” He asked slowly. Techno scoffed.

“Perfect.” He spat back. The man didn’t flinch back, instead tilting his head, expression soft. 

“Why don’t you come with me?” The man extended a hand, his smile warm. Techno’s eyes flitted between the outstretched hand and the person’s face. He swallowed thickly. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had a real home. 

Techno grasped the man’s hand, allowing him to pull his feet. He brushed the dirt off his pants, shifting uncomfortably. The other man waited patiently, hands tucked into his pockets. Techno cleared his throat.

“What should I call you?” He asked hesitantly, as if he were breaking some fragile peace that hung between them.

“Phil.” He said simply. Techno blinked, the name eerily familiar. His brow furled.

“Do I know you?” He asked bluntly. Phil chuckled softly. 

“Probably.” The other man shrugged. His grub widened, a mischievous glint into his eyes. “I am the king and all.” Techno’s jaw dropped.

“ Heh? ” No way. No way. Techno wasn’t— he couldn’t be in the presence of the Philza. Why was the king of the empire tromping around in the slums? Why was he here? Why did he just offer to give Techno a home?

It made no sense.

“Why— why are you—?” He stumbled, unable to fully process what was happening. Phil shot him a half smile.

“You… you look like you just need a little help.” He said simply. “And I think… well, I hope I can.” Techno nodded, throat bobbing. His thoughts were a blur, unable to be discerned. 

He still had no idea how he got here. 

Phil’s wings snapped open, black feathers glinting in shades of blue and purple in the Arctic sun. The black faded into a soft grey, a white sheen shining off of the tips of the feathers. 

“Woah…” Techno couldn’t hold back his awe. He had read about the emperor’s great wings, his gifts from the gods, but never truly believed they were real until now. Phil smiled again.

“Alright, are you ready to go?” He asked, voice kind. Techno nodded. Phil knelt down and spread his arms. Techno ran into them, his own hands clinging to the robes of the winged man. He nodded once.

“You won’t let go, right?” Techno wasn’t afraid, per say. He was just anxious about being up so high, without support, with the wind whistling in his ears. He shuddered slightly. 

“I promise I won’t drop you.” Phil said, his tone slightly amused. Techno swallowed, forcing down his fear.

“I know.” He said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. His heart jackrabbits in his chest, pounding so loudly he’s shocked Phil didn’t comment on it. 

Techno’s air was knocked from his lungs as the king took off, headed toward the heavens. Techno bit back a scream, burying his face in Phil’s shoulder. His heart hammered in his chest as clung on as tight as he could.

“Mate.” Phil whispered softly. “I know you’re nervous, but this view… you won’t want to miss it.” Techno took a shuddering breath. He could be brave. He could do this. He counted to ten.

When he opened his eyes, the city was far below. Techno was flying. 

The ground was far beneath him, the rooftops of buildings yards below. He could see the lights flickering on and off throughout the city. The towers stretching up toward the sky that always appeared so tall seemed so miniscule now. Techno exhaled, unable to take his eyes off the city below. 

He found he wasn’t scared anymore. 

The view wasn’t filling him with paralyzing fear. 

No, it was beautiful . 

“The sky is freeing.” Phil said softly, sounding distant. “Nothing but the wind on my back and my thoughts are up here.” 

“What about the birds?” Techno challenged, unable to bite it back. Phil laughed. 

“I suppose they’re here, too.” He conceded. Techno couldn’t help but smirk. The silence resumed, Techno engrossed with the view. Clouds lazily floated past as Phil continued to fly. The palace was coming into view, grey spires reaching up to the heavens. The winged man’s gaze flitted up, eyes flashing in the low lighting. 

“Sometimes I wish I could go higher.” Phil whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind. Techno nodded numbly, unable to take his eyes off the glowing city below. “I want to go to the stars and touch them.”

“Maybe you will someday.” Techno mumbled. 

“Challenging the gods is one thing I don’t plan on doing.” Phil responded loftily. His wings beat lazily as he drifted on the currents. Techno pulled his gaze off the ground and stared over Phil’s shoulder, studying the flickering stars.

“It would still be cool.” He muttered. “To hold a star.” 

Phil was silent for a long moment. Techno looked up, watching as the king examined the sky. Stars were reflected in his pupils, the dots of light flickering in and out of focus. He wondered what was going through his mind, making him stop and think.

“It would be.” He finally agreed. He said nothing else on the subject, instead angling his wings down and diving toward the palace’s roof.

Techno’s breath caught in his throat. He grinned slowly, unable to hide his excitement. A foreign emotion wormed its way into his heart. It was a fuzzy feeling, but… it felt nice. 

And for the first time, Techno felt like he was going home. 

-

Techno was officially adopted a week later. He became the second prince of the Antarctic Empire.

It took him months to get used to that title, and he still wonders why the gods decided he was worthy of this home. 

-

It all started to fall apart when his mother died.

His life had been going great. The royal family welcomed him with open arms. They had a son his age, Wilbur. He was quieter than Techno was, but still eager to interact with him. 

The two bonded immediately. Their shared love of literature united them, and even despite their young age, Techno and Wilbur would frequently be seen hanging around the library. 

Phil was a kind man. He was a good king, and a good father. He always made time for Techno and Wilbur, no matter what was going on in his day. Techno never failed to spot the heavy bags beneath his eyes, but there was always a happy shine in his eyes when he spoke to his family.

Techno still remembered how he lit up when he called him “dad” the first time. It had been an accident, a slip up. He apologized immediately, red in the face, flustered and embarrassed beyond comprehension. Techno had promised not to do it again. But Phil— his father — had beamed and said he would be honored to keep that title. 

(Of course, recent events have made it hard for Techno to think of him as “dad.” But he’s getting there.)

His adopted mother was gentle. She was a stubborn person, never took no for an answer, but always there when someone needed comfort. 

She was also one of the bravest people Techno ever knew. She marched through everything with a smile, and would do anything for family. 

Her death was not fast. It was slow, drawn out, and painful to watch. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to experience it. 

Out of everyone in the universe, the queen was the last person to deserve that kind of agony. And he resented the gods, the fates, destiny itself for it. He never forgave them, and he still doesn’t think he can. 

She was sick, Phil had said. He had promised she would get better. That it would pass, that it was just a cough, just the chills, just a cold.

It was not. It was something worse, something that ate away at her core until there was nothing left. Until it stole the life from her body and left Wilbur and Techno without a mother and their father without a wife. 

It splintered their family. It tore them apart like the disease that ruined his mother.

Techno wanted to stop it. He remembered seeing Phil packing a small bag, tear stains on his cheeks, muttering to himself. 

And Techno watched him leave. 

He did nothing to stop it— he could do nothing to stop it.

He couldn’t have tried to fix anything if he tried . 

Techno was naive. He never learned. He had a family, but it seemed to be on the brink of destruction. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be happy.

At least he had Wilbur. They could support each other, right?

-

Wilbur stopped coming around his room. He snuck out all the time. Techno only saw him at meals, and even then, chances of that were scarce.

He sat alone in the vast dining hall. His mother’s seat was covered with a black sheet, until it was inevitably removed. His father’s chair had a fine layer of dust coating it. His brother’s was pushed in fully. 

Techno sat alone, and he let himself cry. 

-

Techno remembered when the voices first started to plague him. 

It was a few months after the death of his mother and departure of his father. He was sitting alone in his room, staring blankly at a piece of paper on his desk. A pencil was in his hand. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing. Writing? Drawing? Homework? It didn’t matter, he supposed.

As he stared, he heard it. 

It was a whisper. Little taunts in the back of his mind. Techno could scarcely discern what was being said. 

But it filled him with anger. It made him want violence. It made him want to cause pain. 

Techno’s pencil snapped in his grip. He exhaled, blinking himself out of whatever trance he had entered. His mind cleared of the fog, and he exhaled slowly.

He shook his head. He was imagining it, there was nothing there. He resumed staring at the paper, broken pencil in hand. 

The whisper returned not even five minutes later. But this time Techno could have sworn there were two.

-

He thought they would go away, in time.

He was wrong. Oh so wrong. 

It got worse with every passing day. 

-

Techno started training with the guards when he was eleven. 

Techno threw himself into training. He wanted to fight, get out the anger that continued to bubble up inside him. It felt like a volcano, one always on the brink of eruption. Sparring helped dull the voices, numb them to the point where he scarcely noticed them. 

So Techno fought. 

He had out done the small drills he had been given, the ones meant for children. Techno could, quite frankly, beat any of the other people his age in the palace. The voices in his head screamed for more, and no matter how hard he tried to beg them to silence themselves, to leave him alone, they would always come back stronger than ever. 

He had taken to hanging out with the children in the palace, the kids of cooks or guards or the other residents of the castle. It was fun, for a time. They would all set up mock fights, doing drills like the palace guards. Trainers would come in and watch, scouting out those who had potential for service later. 

And so they fought daily, improving their skill, vying for attention. 

The voices loved that. 

Techno tried to ignore them when they ran through training. When sparring started, they would howl and bay for blood. It was headache inducing, yet usually Techno could ignore them most of the time.

It finally broke on a normal day; all disasters happen on normal days, after all. It was like a dam collapsing under the sheer pressure of the water behind it. Techno could no longer restrain the voices, and they took control.

If he was being honest, he barely remembered what happened. One second he was sparring, laughing along with his opponent, and the next his vision was filled with red.

His legs moved on their own accord, his arms swinging with more force than he thought was possible. Techno dimly registered his opponent’s sword snapping under the weight of his swings. There was a scream and then—

Then he woke up. 

Techno stumbled back, shock pulsing through him. His knees shook with the effort of standing as he broke through trance. He gasped for air, eyes flitting up and locking on his fallen partner. 

He remembered the blood on his hands, his opponent sprawled on the training mats. Red leaked from a wound to their side. It pooled beneath the fallen opponent, the blue of the ground turning purple. 

And yet Techno found he wasn’t horrified. He found that blood did not make him flinch, that it didn’t make him retch, that it didn’t induce nausea or disgust. It was simply there for him.

And a strange, awful part of him shrieked for more. 

Techno had fled the training hall, hurriedly muttering apologies. His partner had shaken it off, declared it was fine and headed to the medical wing. 

Techno locked himself in his room and paced for hours. The voices screamed at him, begging for more. To go back and finish what he started. 

He had collapsed onto his knees and sobbed. He slept on the floor that night, having cried himself to sleep. 

He had no one to lean on. No one but his mind, which was falling prey to the voices. Techno dreamt of blood that night, and he was standing in the center of the carnage, the steel sword in his hand turned vermillion. 

The next morning, Techno received notice he would start to train with the Royal guards. He had been excited, eager to learn more. Yet the feeling of terror lingered, the fear that the bloodlust would continue to rise up to the surface. That he would lose himself, and hurt someone again. 

There had been close calls, but nothing as serious as the first day. Techno struggled to stay in control, but refused to lose his mind again. 

Techno had a revelation one day, while cleaning up some scratches from the drills earlier. He winced as the antiseptic touched the open wound. The red slowly died down to a pink, the blood flow stopping. He stared at the cut for a long moment, thinking. His heart clenched, and Techno turned away.

He grabbed his sword and marched back to the arena. Techno pulled out one of the training dummies, setting it up a few feet ahead of him. The wooden sword bounced merrily in its grip. Techno paced back, and he began to strike.

He ran through every drill covered, every technique, all he could think of. A desperate attempt to clear his thoughts. 

It failed. Techno kept thinking of the revelation he had, and he hated it. The voices kept dragging it to the surface, until he was forced to face it.

Every creature bleeds. Every creature dies. His mother died, and someday so would his father, his brother, and Techno himself. He couldn’t change that, no matter how hard he fought. 

Techno’s sword took the head off the straw dummy. It rolled to a stop a few feet away. Techno glanced at it once, before driving his sword into the ground. The voices hissed in revulsion as he stormed out of the training quarters. They wanted more, more violence, more destruction, more carnage, just more. 

Techno hated them. And he hated himself, too. 

-

He was terrified. They grew louder with each passing day. Since the incident during the training session. Techno stayed in his room. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and that scared him. If he came clean and told someone about the voices, Techno had no way of knowing how someone would react. They would call him crazy (maybe rightfully so), and maybe some other, worse things. 

If he kept it hidden, it could get worse. That would lead to a whole slew of new problems, and Techno didn’t know if he was equipped to handle them properly. 

Yet most of all, he was scared of what he could do to his family. 

His family, that was already ripped apart. Phil had only come back recently, and he found it hard to talk to him. Wilbur was always gone. 

But the voices were always there.

They were the only consistencies in his life. Always there, always speaking, always driving him to do something. 

He would fall into trances during his training sessions. He would destroy the straw dummies by accident, his swings so aggressive and violent that it led very few to be willing to spar with him.

Techno couldn’t blame them. He was a loose cannon, unable to control himself when they took over. It was terrifying. The very thought caused his chest to seize up and his breathing to grow shaky. 

He would lie awake at night, knowing that there was almost nothing he could do to stop them. Techno had no control over the voices. He had scoured the archives for mentions of afflictions like his, but there was nothing.

He knew he was cursed. Maybe that’s why his true parents threw him out. Because he was a liability. Techno didn’t know, and thinking about it made his head hurt.

It was all too much.

He was scared.

There was no one to lean on, no one to talk to. No one else knew, and no one else could ever know, because they would treat him like an animal and he would be cast away and— 

Breathe. 

Techno took a shuddering breath. He closed his mind, eyes squeezed shut. He counted to ten, slowly going up and down the number ladder. His heart rate decreased slowly. Calm. He was calm, he was okay. 

Techno would learn to deal with it, he supposed. It would be okay. 

-

It was not okay. It just got worse. 

He didn’t know how long it would be until he finally broke.

-

Techno wasn’t sure what led him to talk to Phil again. Nor was he sure what led him to forgiveness. It was a long path, for sure, but he knew it would be better at the end of the day.

His father did come back, and he stayed. Techno avoided him at first, not sure if he could trust him or not. He couldn’t help but remember the failures, the way he just left. 

It hurt. It still hurts. 

He didn’t want to be resentful of his own father. He wanted a good relationship. 

And so he took the first step.

Techno talked to him one day. He was brutally honest with everything he said, not sugar coating the facts or how he had affected the family. Phil had stood tall through it all, nodding and agreeing. He knew he had messed up; and he apologized right after Techno was done speaking.

“It might take a while to forgive.” Techno had said, almost ashamed he couldn’t let everything go right there. But Phil had simply nodded again. 

“I understand. Take all the time you need. I’m so sorry, and I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.” He had replied. Techno remembered awkwardly hugging him and then exiting, left to ponder what had happened.

It took another two months for him to finally forgive him. It had been simple, really. Techno had just walked up to him and said “I forgive you.” Phil started crying, and Techno would be lying if he said he hadn’t cried too.  

Since then, things eased back into how they used to be, if not better. 

Techno trained more, trying to keep the voices at bay. It was exhausting, but the only thing that made them shut up. He was planning on keeping them a secret, and if fighting until his limbs fell off was what he had to do, so be it.

If only Phil hadn’t noticed.

His father had seen how exhausted he was, how he stuck to the training rooms, only exiting when necessary. And so he pulled him aside, asking if everything was alright.

Techno thought he could hide it. That he could maintain a barrier, keep the voices inside and the world out there, and be fine. He could be stone faced, and everything would be okay. The voices were his burden to bear, and his alone. It would be fine, it would be fine, it would be—

He broke in the first five minutes.

Phil asked him again what was wrong when Techno didn’t respond, his voice gentle. He didn’t know why he told him. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just keep it hidden. 

But he did break down, and Techno would have to deal with the consequences. 

“Phil, I—“ Techno swallowed thickly, fighting back sudden tears. He knew what he was about to admit to. This could be the first step to recovery, or the first step to something worse. Phil turned to him, blue eyes full of concern. “I hear things in my head.”

He expected Phil to scoff, or walk away, or to act frightened. He expected some sort of outburst, something to signal disapproval. But instead, his father rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Like what?” He asked, voice gentle. 

“They’re… they’re always shouting. Some days it’s worse than others, but they’re always there. They are screaming for blood, and they get excited and frenzied whenever I fight.” Techno explained, wringing his hands together as he did. 

“And I— I lose myself to them. When it’s so bad, I can’t do anything but let go, and it’s awful, because I watch myself fight and hurt and— and almost kill, but can’t stop it.” He continued, his heart pounding. His eyes burned with unshed tears, blurring the edges of his vision. 

“I’m scared, dad.” Techno admitted. “I don’t— I don’t know what they’re gonna do to me.” And to you, and to Wil, and to everyone else.

“Tech.” Phil began softly. “Do you trust me?” Techno looked up, brows raised. 

“Yes.” He said, earnestly. He believed he could trust his father not to run away again, and to stay here. That he would help him. 

“Then please trust me when I say this. Techno, I promise I’ll do everything I can to help.” Phil promised. He pulled him into a hug, and Techno melted into his embrace. He bit back a sob, forcing himself to be stoic. 

“Thank you.” He managed to say. “I’m.. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my son.” Phil responded instantly, his tone colored with emotion. “I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.”

“Not your fault.” Techno replied. The two sat in a comfortable silence, Phil still hugging Techno, his great grey wings keeping him warm. And for the first time in years, Techno felt safe.

Like maybe things will be okay.

And the voices died down, and Techno almost forgot they were there. 

-

They came back, of course, but now that Phil knew… the burden seemed to have eased. 

-

Techno didn’t know why he decided to seek Wilbur out. 

Maybe it was watching him leave every day and realizing he wanted his brother back. Or maybe he was just tired of having a broken family.

They were one in the same, he supposed.

Either way, he decided he would do something about it…

… which is definitely what led to him finding Tommy. 

-

As Techno stood in the room, arms crossed, he wondered exactly where he went wrong to end up with this situation. Gods above, he wished he hadn’t been the one to discover the kid. 

He was quite possibly the worst one to have done so. Techno wasn’t overly fond of small children, and on top of that, this kid was hidden in Wilbur’s closet. Meaning Phil didn’t know. Meaning it was a secret.

Techno could keep secrets, sure, but this… this was one hell of a situation to be caught in. 

“What are you doing in my room?” Wilbur demanded, breaking the terse silence. Techno blinked at him. 

“I think the bigger question is why was there a child in your closet.” He shot back, tapping his foot against the floor. Wilbur frowned, holding Tommy closer.

“Answer my question first.” He said, his tone hostile. Techno didn’t flinch, instead drawing himself up more. 

“Yours is less relevant.” He responded airily. Wilbur glared at him, clearly in disagreement. 

“You wouldn’t have even found Tommy if you weren’t snooping around in my room.” He defended himself, lifting his chin. Techno sighed. Technically, he was right. 

“Fine. I was looking for you.” He admitted. Wilbur looked taken aback. He fixed his expression quickly, back to the skeptical demeanor he had been carrying since the conversation started. Techno watched him as he moved further into his room. 

“Why?” He asked as he shut the window. 

“Because I wanted to ask why you’ve been acting so weird lately.” Techno cast a side eye at the kid— Tommy — then back at Wilbur. His brother was glaring at him, brown eyes cold as chips of ice. “I think I found the reason.”

“Yeah. Well Techno, meet Tommy.” The toddler stuck his tongue out at him, yet Techno refrained from mimicking the action. His eyes flitted to and from the kid and his brother. He sighed, one hand running through his hair. 

“Okay Wilbur, my turn. Where did you find this kid?” Techno asked, exhausted already. Whatever the story was, it was bound to be good. Wilbur pursed his lips, sitting down on his bed. He still has a hold on Tommy, and the kid was eyeing Techno warily. 

“A back alley.” He admitted. Techno raised a brow, a thousand theories compiling in his mind.

“What district?” He demanded. Wilbur tilted his head, thinking. 

“Don’t know. Was too focused on avoiding gua-- getting home.”  He said finally. Techno elected to glaze over the second sentence. As far as he was concerned, he was none the wiser to Wilbur’s rebellious antics. 

“Was anyone else around?” He inquired.

“No.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just left there by accident?” Techno asked, almost hesitantly. This question hit closer to home, and part of him didn’t want to know the answer. Wilbur scoffed slightly. 

“How do you ditch a kid in an alley by accident? ” Techno stiffened slightly, breath catching. One hell of a question for my parents . He brushed the comment off, turning his attention back to Tommy. This was about this toddler, not him. 

“Bad circumstances coerce people into doing crazy things.” He said cryptically. Wilbur pondered that, narrowing his eyes. He nodded slowly, conceding the point. 

“True.” The silence that followed was nothing less than uncomfortable. Techno scrutinized Wilbur, narrowing his eyes. His brother had Tommy sitting in his lap, the toddler having dozed off in the middle of their conversation. His little face was pressed against Wilbur’s arm, hair flopped in front of his eyes. 

“When are you going to tell dad?” Techno asked suddenly. Wilbur scrunched up his nose, looking appalled at the prospect. 

“Never.” He responded simply. Techno stares at him in mild disbelief. 

“Wilbur, you can’t raise a kid in your closet.” Techno said, exasperated. Wilbur crossed one leg over the other, bouncing Tommy slightly. 

“Yes I can.” He declared boldly. 

“No, you really can’t.” Techno replied dryly. 

“Yes I can.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No-- this is getting nowhere.” Techno stood up suddenly, snapping. One hand flew to his forehead, a show of how irate he was. 

“Wait.” Wilbur’s eyes widened, visible fear flashing in them. “Are… are you going to tell dad?” He clutched Tommy closer, shielding him with his left arm.

Techno paused. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He had been focused on confronting Wilbur, and had not expected to find a kid in his closet. He weighed his options.

Telling Phil was definitely more beneficial. There was no way their dad would throw out the kid; hell, he would probably adopt him on the spot. But for some reason, the very thought of telling Phil terrified Wilbur.

Techno could understand, he supposed. He had observed the frosty silence that plagued the two for years now. Tommy could potentially be what broke the freeze out. 

But if he told Phil, Wilbur would never trust him again.

Selfishly, Techno wanted a relationship with his brother. 

It became more and more apparent as to what he had to do. 

“I won’t tell dad.” Techno says with a small sigh, resigning. Phil would probably find Tommy sooner or later anyway. Techno didn’t have to play messenger. Wilbur perked up immediately, his face crumpling with relief. A small smile played his lips.

“Thanks—“ He started to say. Techno raised a hand, cutting him off. Wilbur eyed him suspiciously. 

“But I’m going to help you raise this kid.” He added, drawling slightly. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t selfishly motivated— but nonetheless, his brother would need help with the kid. Wilbur’s face fell instantly. Tommy shifted in his sleep, mumbling a word that sounded suspiciously like “die.” 

“What.” His brother said flatly. It was phrased as a statement rather than a question. 

“You’re not equipped to raise a kid on your own, Wilbur.” Techno stated, matter of fact. As resourceful as Wilbur was, there was no way he could manage a toddler all on his own. Maybe with Techno’s help, it would be okay, but he had absolutely no confidence that Wilbur would be able to deal with Tommy by himself. 

“Yes I am!” Wilbur snapped back, irritated. Techno sighed, long and drawn out. He hadn’t wanted to play this card, but it was a useful tool in his arsenal. 

“Why don’t I ask Dad—“ Techno deadpanned slowly. Wilbur jolted like a wild animal, fear flashing through his eyes again. 

“Nope, never mind, yes please help me raise Tommy.” The silence returned, awkward as ever. It was stifling in the room, neither of them speaking. Tommy was snoring slightly, that being the only sound that echoed through the room. Techno cleared his throat. 

“Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll be back tomorrow. To help.” He said quickly. Wilbur nodded, then stood up. He grabbed Techno’s arm, pulling him toward the door. He was shocked to find he was disappointed that his brother didn’t invite him to stay longer.

It’s fine, he told himself. He forced his expression to stay neutral, not allowing any of the sudden hurt to leak through the wall he put up. 

“Yeah. Bye.” Wilbur ushered Techno out of his room, still holding Tommy as he shoved him out. He hesitated slightly before shutting the door. Techno raised a brow.

“Got anything else you wanna say?” He challenged, voice lofty. Wilbur’s eye twitched.

“I was gonna say thanks, but nope, not now.” His brother replied sulkily. Techno snickered.

“You’re welcome.” He intoned. Techno shut Wilbur’s door quietly, not letting him reply. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Leave it to Wilbur to find a kid on the street and decide to take it home. He laughed slightly, shaking his head. 

Man, Wilbur really didn’t know what he was getting himself into. 

Chapter Text

Logically, Wilbur knew he should not be leaving Tommy unattended. Especially now that Techno was in on the secret. As much as he wanted to trust his brother, he also knew that he and Phil had a decent relationship. Meaning Wilbur didn’t know how much faith he could entrust in his sibling to keep Tommy a secret. 

But he still yearned to be back in the city.

Wilbur couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that drew him to the towering skyscrapers or the bustling markets or the forgotten districts. All he knew was it was a little call, beckoning him to return to the outside world. 

Maybe it was loneliness. A deep, dark part of Wilbur agreed that it was his desire to be with his friends, to be back with the people he actually loved. 

You could love your family. A traitorous whisper wrung itself forth from the back of his mind. It encircled his thoughts, trapping his mind in a downward spiral.

Could he love his family? Could he forgive Phil? Could he forgive Techno? Could he let them back in?

He knew he would have to start trusting Techno. His brother, frustratingly enough, had discovered Tommy. He was a liability— one who Wilbur wanted on his side for that reason alone. Otherwise, he would be perfectly happy if he and Techno never spoke again.

(It was a lie. Wilbur would never admit how happy he was to talk to his brother again. It was strange, considering how much resentment he harbored. 

But he couldn’t deny the burst of relief he felt when Techno looked him in the eyes when he spoke instead of being buried in a book, disinterested.)

Phil was a different case. Wilbur hadn’t forgotten the mess up, when the taboo words of “I love you” slipped free from his mouth. His father had been shocked to hear them… yet hopeful. His eyes had lit up, and the first genuine smile Wilbur had seen in years had crossed his face.

And strangely, that was the best he felt in years too. For that split second, when he wasn’t angry, when he had unintentionally been forgiving, he felt okay.

Wilbur exhaled. What Phil had done was awful, but was it as unforgivable as he thought? He was grieving, too. He just didn’t act wisely. Maybe Wilbur should try and repair the damages done to their relationship. 

Maybe he should try to forgive.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

Either way, if his father found out about Tommy, he would have to figure out how to get along with him again. Just like with Techno. He glanced at the closet. For a split second, he thought about grabbing the toddler and striding to Phil’s door and knocking, and showing him the toddler.

No. It was simply too risky. He shook the thought off, but the idea still lingered. Maybe someday. He amended. If Techno had reacted as well as he had to the kid, maybe Phil would too. 

Hell, maybe Tommy would be what facilitated the reconnection of his family. Maybe he would be what fixed everything.

Wilbur shrugged his shoulders, rolling the muscles. He had slept awkwardly, a testimony to the restless night he had endured. He made sure his door was locked so no unwelcome visitors would barge in again, but the anticipation of someone coming to knock had kept him up into the waning hours of the night. 

There was also the undercurrent of jealousy, of hurt, that kept his mind from resting. Wilbur sighed, his thoughts already springing back to the previous day. 

He had seen his friends when he was out in the city. Wilbur remembered walking down the street, clothes that he had actually paid for bundled in his arms, when he heard a loud laugh that could only belong to one person.

He had turned everything so slightly and spotted Jack. His gaze trailed further down the block his friend was standing on and his eyes landed on Niki and Eret. The three were exchanging coins, Eret looking sullen about some bet he lost whilst Jack was elated. Niki whispered something to Eret, the other cracking a smile and whatever words were said.

Wilbur’s heart clenched, a sudden pain overcoming him. A stabbing emote of jealousy, a knife lodging itself deep into his chest. He wanted to run to them, scare the shit out of Jack, annoy Eret, and pester Niki. He wanted to tell them about Tommy and why he had been gone. He wanted to tell them everything that had happened. 

But Tommy’s face popped into his head. The sad little blue eyes when he tried to leave the first time. The way he clung to his pant leg, tugging the fabric as if to keep him grounded. Wilbur swallowed thickly. 

He turned away, in the end. He forced his feet to carry him back to the palace, back to his solitude. He didn’t mind that much… it was for Tommy, after all. 

Wilbur still felt a bit of his heart fracture, longing to be with his group. He didn’t want them to not be happy… but he just… god, he wanted them to miss him. And he doubted they did.

Who would? He was just a spoiled prince slumming it down—

A small hand landed on his arm. Wilbur jolted out of his thoughts, eyes locking with Tommy’s. The folder frowned.

“Wilby is sad.” He observed. Wilbur looked away, studying the floor. He didn’t want to get into it, much less with Tommy. At best, the kid wouldn’t understand. At worst, he would blame himself. 

“Just a bit, Toms.” He murmured. A forced smile crossed his face. Wilbur could feel the sadness lingering in it, the cloud he couldn’t shake. “I’ll be okay.” 

The little boy was silent for a moment. Wilbur hated how upset he was. The sadness was suffocating, the emotion threatening to swallow him whole. 

Tommy reached forward, little hand wrapping around his wrist. The kid locked eyes with him, sapphire blue boring into tired brown ones. A sudden warmth filled Wilbur, a fraction of his sadness lifting. 

Piece by piece, he could feel it starting to dissolve. Relief washed over him, an ounce of contentment replacing the sadness. He was okay. He shut his eyes, shuddering slightly.

“Wilby less sad?” Tommy asked hopefully. Wilbur smiled at him, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah. I am.” He murmured. The sadness lingered, the oppressive feeling of abandonment lurking at the back of his mind. But there was something else, an ember of happiness that shined through, eating away at whatever had been holding him down. 

Resolve planted itself in his heart. He had to get out. Wilbur had to go and see his friends, for however long, and remind them exactly who was missing. He would only be gone a short while. No one would miss him.

Except Tommy. 

Tommy would miss him. Could Wilbur really leave him alone again? Techno might come around. He wouldn't really be alone. 

Selfishly, Wilbur made the decision. 

He stood up, walking over to his closet. Tommy followed him, sitting down on his makeshift bed. Wilbur pulled his clothes out again, familiar yellow cloth and black pants in his arms. 

Wilbur grabbed his jacket. Tommy looked at him, expression unreadable. Yet he felt as if the kid was disappointed in him, like he was doing something he shouldn’t be and the kid knew it. 

And leaving him behind felt wrong as well. Wilbur shuddered slightly. He looked at the window, the clouds drifting across a gorgeous blue sky.

Just for a few hours. 

Wilbur shook his head, a small laugh emitting from him. How many times had he put in the rough spin clothes, prepared everything for a trip, only to stay here in the palace? Was it even worth it at this point? 

Even if it wasn’t, he was still prying the window open. 

“What are you doing?” Wilbur jumped, heart stopping. He had been so focused on his mental debate, so far in his thoughts he hadn’t heard his door open. He turned around. 

“Hi, Techno.” He sighed. His brother grunted a greeting. 

“Answer the question.” Techno said, eyes unblinking. Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“Out.” He mumbled. He turned back to the window, pulling it open. A small breeze met him, gentle wind sending a wave of coolness through Wilbur’s body. He breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air. 

Behind him, Techno was glancing between Wilbur and the closet, eyes narrowing as confusion crossed his face. Wilbur leaned against the window sill as his brother spoke. 

“You can’t just leave Tommy here.” Techno said, his voice a deadpan. Wilbur quirked an eyebrow. 

“Are you trying to tell me how to parent?” He retorted. “You’re not qualified.” Techno sighed, a long, drawn out sound. He looked like he was on the verge of passing out. 

“Neither are you.” He pointed out dryly. Wilbur sniffed, shaking his head. He tugged himself off the window sill. He felt antsy, like he needed to move. He forced himself to remain still, not even allowing so much as a finger to twitch. 

“More than you.” He snapped back. Techno narrowed his eyes. His face was shadowed, an emotion Wilbur couldn’t identify crossing his face. 

“Do you really want to play that game?” He said slowly, a warning tone coloring his voice. Wilbur, oblivious to the tension, crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

“Try. Me.” Wilbur enunciated each word. Techno drew himself up. 

“To start, you fucking stole Tommy off the street.” He began, counting on his fingers. “You’ve ditched him gods know how many times, you’re keeping him in your closet instead of telling an adult who can actually—“

“I’m not telling Phil. Ever.” Wilbur interrupted. Techno shrugged his shoulders, dropping his hands.

“Then what do you intend to do when the kid gets too big to stay in your closet?” Techno challenged. 

“Have you seen the size of my closet?” Wilbur shot back without missing a beat. “It’s huge, I think he’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but what about when he starts wanting to explore outside the room, huh?” Techno hissed, his temper clearly rising. Wilbur faintly began to wonder if he made a mistake. Techno stepped closer, riled up. “What happens when he decides to sneak out like you? What happens when—“

“I’ll deal with it, okay?” Wilbur cut him off sharply, his own anger spiking. “It’s not your business, anyway.”

“You made it my business when you brought this kid into the palace.” Techno responded coolly. There was a moment of silence, stretching between the two. Wilbur glared at him, having no response at the ready. 

“You’ve always had your head in the clouds, brother.” Techno said loftily. Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, and?” He challenged, voice heavy with malice. Techno’s eyes grew cold, as if a winter wind blew through them suddenly, causing his irises to freeze over like a pond in the dead of night. 

“You need to ground yourself.” His brother practically snarled. “You can’t let this kid get hurt because of your selfishness!” Wilbur’s anger spiked, suddenly and without warning. He forced himself to remain neutral, letting a strained smirk cross his face. 

“I thought you didn’t like this kid.” He said silkily.  Techno grunted, crossing his arms.

“I never said that.” His voice was dripping with contempt. Wilbur circled him, as if searching him for weaknesses. He knew what it was, of course. Wilbur knew he should stop. But part of him was craving the outburst, longing for the chaos. 

“I thought you wanted him gone.” Wilbur hissed, still circling like a predator on the hunt. 

“ I never said that.” Techno said so forcefully it caused Wilbur to start. He stopped moving and drew himself up. 

“Oh, did I strike a nerve? Do you suddenly feel connected to this kid? Maybe it’s because you both don’t have—“ Wilbur’s voice broke off in a startled yelp as he felt himself lifted off the ground. Techno’s hands were fisted around the collar of his shirt. 

“Shut up.” Techno snarled. His eyes flashed dangerously, almost an eerie shade of red. The color of rubies spilling on the floor, of the crimsons that painted the sky during the early hours of dawn, of blood being drawn from a body. It unsettled Wilbur, but he forced an egoistical, sly smile to stay on his face. 

“You and that kid have a lot in common, huh? Is that why you’re suddenly so defensive?” Techno’s grip tightened. 

“You’re just a scared little boy.” Techno spat, as if he was convincing himself.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.” Wilbur replied coldly. 

“At least I’m not so desperate for love that I run away every fucking day.” Techno seethed. Wilbur opened his mouth to retort when a small voice drew both of the brothers’ attention off of each other. 

“Techie!” Tommy teetered out of the closet, grinning as he wobbled over to them. He practically collapsed into Techno’s leg, giggling. He reached up, arms stretching, and grasped a loose strand of his hair, twirling it in his fingers and humming softly. 

“Why don’t you put me down.” Wilbur hissed out, jerking his head toward Tommy. Techno lowered Wilbur to the ground, unhanding him slowly. Silence followed, broken only by Tommy’s small song. 

Wilbur sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew Techno was right, deep down. He couldn’t run off. Tommy was depending on him. 

“Sorry.” He said to Techno, unable to look him in the eyes. He could feel the heat in his ears, an embarrassed blush spreading across his face. “You didn’t deserve that.” Techno shrugged.

“You’re right. But I shouldn’t have tried to strangle you.” Techno said, voice resigned, Wilbur snorted.

“That’s true, too.” He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, doubling over. Tommy glanced at him, then giggled too. Techno looked bewildered.

“What?” He asked. “What’s so funny?”

“You!” Wilbur exclaimed, still chuckling. His ribs hurt, but he didn’t care. Techno’s expression was priceless. 

“Me?” Techno sounded appalled, only causing Wilbur to laugh harder. 

“Yes!” He shrieked. “The way you said ‘I shouldn’t have strangled you—‘“ He broke off, his laughing fit returning. 

“I was being serious?” Techno said, looking concerned. Wilbur gasped for air, shaking as he pulled himself together. 

“Listen. You shouldn’t choke anyone.” Wilbur said. “And you saying sorry just…” He shook his head. 

“Alright.” Techno said, blinking. A silence descended over them, yet it wasn’t as stifling as usual. It felt… comfortable. Wilbur didn’t mind being in his presence. Techno looked oddly at ease as well, playing with Tommy aimlessly. 

Albeit, it did look like he had something he wanted to say. He really did have a shit poker face when he wanted to speak. Wilbur sighed. 

“Spit it out.” He said, rolling his eyes. His brother glanced over at him. 

“What?” Techno asked, putting up a facade of confusion. 

“Say what you want to say and be done with it.” He waved him on. Techno flexed his shoulders, gently setting Tommy down. The toddler proceeded to amble over to Wilbur, falling into his arms.  

“You’re lonely.” Techno said bluntly. Wilbur flinched. He was right, of course. Despite his friends, he couldn’t help but wish for more. 

He missed having a good family, he realized. It had become increasingly clearer as Tommy came along, how much he missed having a brother he could count on and a father he trusted. 

He sighed. And seeing his friends having fun without him, without even acting like he was missing… that cut deep.  

“Yeah.” Wilbur admitted. Techno looked at him, sympathy entering his eyes. Wilbur bristled, about to retort when his brother spoke instead. 

“You don’t have to be.” Techno stood up, walking to the door. He paused. “I miss you, brother. My door is open.” Wilbur stared at him. He swallowed thickly, emotion overcoming. 

And he uttered words he didn’t think he would ever say to his brother again.

“My door is open, too.”

-

Wilbur started opening his door when Techno knocked. 

He started going to visit him.

He started sparring with him.

He started taking Tommy to his room (assuming the coast was clear). 

And they bonded, like true brothers. For the first time in years, Wilbur wasn’t lonely. 

-

Phil can’t remember the last time Wilbur and Techno held a conversation for more than a few seconds. 

It’s a depressing fact, but true nonetheless. So it was needless to say that he was shocked when stumbled across his two sons laughing together in the library. 

It wasn’t the awkward laughs one might use at boring state dinners, surrounded by people you needed to impress. It wasn’t a bitter laugh thrown at an enemy. No, they were real, genuine sounds of joy.

Phil blinked, tilting his head to one side. How did this happen? When did they start speaking again? He was overjoyed to see some parts of his family healing, but that didn’t stop the pang of confusion from echoing through his mind. 

And so he decided to wait outside the library. He hung back until the doors opened. Techno stepped out, practically glowing. He looked exhilarated. He looked happy. Phil’s heart twisted, happy to see him look joyful for the first time in months. 

“Hey.” He cleared his throat. Techno turned to him, smile faltering slightly. 

“Hi.” His son greeted. His ease returned as quickly as it left. Phil leaned against the wall, wings twinging. He adjusted himself quickly, releasing the pressure on the limbs, chiding himself. He was too tense, unable to relax anyway. 

“You and uh, you and Wilbur seem to be getting along.” Phil observed. Techno raised a brow, but nodded anyway. 

“Yeah, we have lately. It’s been… nice.” Techno confessed. He smiled. “We have a lot more in common than either of us thought. And I… well, I missed him. And he missed me.” Phil’s chest was light, yet heavy at the same time. He was overjoyed for his sons, happy to see how they were able to get along with each other… yet he wished for the same thing. 

Goddamnit, he wished he hadn’t fucked it up in the first place. Maybe then their family wouldn’t be so fractured. 

But it’s getting better. 

“That’s good.” Phil replied, smiling. It was genuine; he was happy for his sons, and always would be, despite the small pangs of envy. Silence resumed between the two. Techno stared at him, scrutinizing him. 

“You want that, too, right?” His son accused, not unkindly. Phil stiffened slightly. Of course Techno picked up on it.

“Huh?” He feigned confusion. Techno raised a brow, looking rather unimpressed. 

“You want to get along with Wilbur again.” He replied, voice monotonous. Phil pursed his lips, studying the floor. His shoulders sagged, a familiar weight burdening them.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t.” He admitted. Techno was silent for a moment. His eyes were glazed over, clearly in deep thought. Phil waited for a response, doing his best not to let his mind slip too far into the usual cycle of his failures. 

“Fire will always scorch the earth.” Techno began, his voice laden with something that mirrored a storyteller’s trance. He was painting a picture, spinning the truth into his metaphors. And Phil found himself drawn to it, listening intently. “But the earth will keep turning. And the earth will recover. What was lost will come back stronger, healthier.” Phil raised a brow.

“One can only hope that’s true.” He said, sighing. Techno shrugged. 

“If Wilbur and I can start to get along again, so can you two.” He said, actual concern coloring his voice. Phil pursed his lips. He wanted to believe that his son was right; but the lines in the sand had been cut deep. 

But hope springs eternal, no matter how foolish. He hoped they could be repaired, and things… things could get better.

“I sincerely hope you’re right.” Phil said, shaking his head. 

“I think I am.” Techno said, an emotion that sounded like confidence coloring his voice. “Just give Wilbur a little more time.” Phil nodded. The two resumed to sit in silence. 

Techno looked like he wanted to say something, as if words were on the tip of his tongue. Phil waited patiently for him to speak. Yet no words came out, and his son shut his mouth. Phil narrowed his eyes, concern flitting through his mind. 

“What’s wrong?” He inquired. Techno’s head jolted sharply. 

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He said, shaking his head. “Everything is great. And it will get better.” Phil didn’t believe him; it was clear something was pulling on his mind. But if Techno didn’t want to tell him, it was best he respected that.

“Alright.” He said, smiling. “I won’t keep you any longer.” He stepped out of the way. Techno dipped his head. He awkwardly stepped forward and enveloped Phil in his arms.

“Bye, dad. Love you.” He mumbled. Phil blinked, taken aback. What is going on? Both of his sons saying that they loved him in the same week? 

“Love… love you, too.” He said, clumsily patting his son on the back. He released Techno, the pink haired boy trotting past, back toward the stairs. Phil watched him go, a small smile playing his lips.

Maybe we are healing. 

-

Karl didn’t scare easily. He did foolish things all the time. He walked into battle without batting an eye. He argued with the most deadly man in his homeland. He stood up and sang a horribly off key tune at karaoke night in front of an entire bar. 

No, Karl wasn’t scared of much. He figured life was worth living. Fear was simply a factor that drove him forward. 

But as he crept along the walls of the palace of the Antarctic Empire’s capital, he was acutely aware of his own heartbeat increasing with each step. 

Getting into the palace had been no mean feat. Entering through the roof was easy enough, but navigating the floors without being caught was the real challenge. He knew the guards’ schedules down to the minute, which only served to make him more anxious. 

Yet somehow, he found himself in position. Still hidden and out of sight. It should be a relief, but the next task was even more daunting. 

He awkwardly shifted, glancing out the door. The lone patrolman would be here soon, and the next phase would be initiated. 

How the hell do people stay comfortable in this? Karl thought to himself, adjusting the collar. He had stolen a guard uniform already, the ice blue shirt clinging to his form. He had already pulled on the black gloves, insulating his hands against the biting cold. 

He had neglected to put on the jacket, not yet. He wasn’t sure why he was waiting. Perhaps it was because he was already overheating, doing his best not to hyperventilate while waiting for the target. Karl could feel every individual bead of sweat. The smallest of sounds made him twitch, eyes darting to find the source.

He was never this tense. Karl was a trained spy, proficient in espionage and undercover work. He’d been doing it for years. So what was it about this job that was causing him so much anxiety?

Maybe it was because he’d never been the one to kill the person he was replacing.

Karl admittedly usually had a team with him. People helping make sure that everything was ready as he slipped into place. But this time, it was all up to him. Resources were spread too thin, Dream had said, and that it was a “need to know basis.” The less people that knew, the better. 

Karl drew his knife. The iron blade curved into a wicked point, which gleamed in the low lighting. He could see his own reflection in the steel. Tussled, disheveled hair. Wide, wild eyes. Sweat beading his forehead, droplets dripping down and pooling on his chin before hitting the floor. 

He really was a mess.

Get it together. He chided himself. He turned the blade away from him, his face vanishing from the surface. Karl flexed his shoulders, preparing himself. 

He had one shot. If he fucked this up, if he was caught, he would be thrown into prison and executed. Needless to say, a lot was riding in his success.

Truth be told, he could care less about whoever Dream was searching for. He was just happy to have escaped going on the Hunt itself, instead getting to infiltrate the guard of a foreign land. Sapnap had called him crazy for passing up the chance. 

“Come on man!” Sapnap had thrown his hands up in the air, the black haired man staring at him incredulously. “It’ll be an adventure!” Karl had shaken his head.

“So will ‘joining’ the guard.” He shut the flap to his satchel after checking to make sure all items were in order. “Besides, I’m not suited for chases.” It had been a half truth. Yes, he hated running. 

But mostly, Karl just didn’t want to hunt Puffy.

Kind, caring Puffy. Stubborn, rash Puffy. He shook his head sadly. News of her betrayal had rocked Dream to his core. It was no shock how quickly a Hunt was organized, how rapidly he ordered his spies out into the world. It was a betrayal that had struck everyone in the land. 

And of course, whatever Puffy stole was of extreme value too. That was maybe the biggest driving factor. Karl sighed. It was just one big mess. 

Dream had ordered infiltrators into various lands on the off-chance that Puffy would let herself be seen. He had said it was better to be safe than sorry. Karl wondered why a description of the item itself hadn’t been provided- but it wasn’t up to him to ask those questions. 

His assignment was one many dreaded. The Antarctic Empire was a far, distant land. It was cold and harsh, the journey to the capital city taxing. There could be miles between cities, full of tundra wasteland or taiga forests or frozen ice lakes as vast as a bay. Wolves prowled at night, hungry for the weak souls that dared enter their realm. The nighttime temperatures were deadly, even the weaning hours of dusk enough to kill a man.

The people who lived in the Empire’s borders were said to be made of the same winter winds that blew across their home. Tough as steel, and strong as ice. They had to be to survive the land that always seemed to be trying to kill them. 

The first time Karl came to the Empire was a reconnaissance, years prior, after the death of the late queen. Unlike the others assigned to the job, he enjoyed it. The cold didn’t phase him like the others. 

Ever since then, he had always felt a strange draw to the land. It wasn’t something he could identify; but there was a mystery here, one that needed to be unraveled. 

It still didn’t change how many people saw this assignment as a punishment rather than an opportunity. Quackity had asked what he did to piss off Dream to get sent here. Karl had simply laughed.  

No, he volunteered for the Antarctic Empire.

Who knew what stories were waiting here? He would never admit it, but in his pastime, Karl loved to write. To tell stories of the places he went and the people he saw. Maybe the Hunt would have provided him that too, but there was something about the Arctic that called to him.

And yet, he did feel large amounts of fear as he stood in the shadows, waiting for a lone guard to pass. The reward comes after the work, he supposed. 

Karl swallowed thickly. He knew what he was about to do. He couldn’t help but be apprehensive. It was terrifying, killing someone with his own hands. He shut his eyes briefly, shoving down his fears and misgivings. 

The guard was supposedly en route. The one who looked similar enough to him that Karl could take his place and few would bat an eye. He glanced at his bag. It sat unnoticed in the shadows. He found himself checking to make sure it was there every few moments. Not because it had his jacket, no. Because it had his journals. Those meant more to him than any other possessions.

Karl was counting down the minutes. Any second, his target would come around the corner to sweep this section. It was his daily routine, intel had relayed. His hand tightened on his blade as he stood behind the corner of the wall. Any moment. 

The door swung open. Bored, tired eyes scanned the room as the other stepped in. Karl wasted no time, lunging forward and pulling the other man deeper into the confines of the room. He barely had time to react before Karl’s knife was embedded in his heart. 

He was dead before he even hit the floor. 

 Karl stared blankly for a moment, mind processing. Holy shit. To be frank, he had expected it to be more difficult, for there to have been a struggle. But there had been nothing, and now he was just gone.

A terrifying thought, how instantaneous one can die. And no one would even know this boy was gone, because Karl was becoming him. 

It had never felt this wrong before. Karl had never given much thought to those who came before him, to the people who previously occupied the roles he filled. Perhaps it was because they were already gone by the time he came to the stage. 

But this boy had been alive seconds earlier. And Karl was the one at fault. He shut his eyes, counting to ten. He couldn’t allow himself to continue down this thought trail because he had a job to do, damnit. 

Karl exhaled, pulling on the final piece to his uniform, pulling the jacket from his bag and throwing it around his shoulders. He glanced over at the body, crimson accumulating beneath the wound that had killed the person. I’ll have to clean that once I’m done with the body. Karl forced his gaze away, stilling his cold, trembling hands. 

He was not Karl. He was whoever he just killed. A boy his age, someone who looked like him, who had the misfortune of being picked out by Dream. Now he was gone, and Karl was now him. An exchange, horribly uneven, yet not the first time it had happened. 

It was strange. Karl had worn many faces, but somehow this felt wrong. Everything about what he was doing had a strange sense of pure wrongness about it, a backward feeling even as he forced his feet to march forward. He shook the concerns off.  

He had a job to do. 

Karl dragged the body to the nearest window, miraculously avoiding the sights of anyone. He peered out of it. Relief washed over him. Thank god. 

The west side of the palace overlooked a vast lake, one deep enough that it might be the sea itself. Arctic lakes were rumored for both their beauty and their mysteries. The legends of the lakes usually illustrate a gruesome tale of children swimming too far out from shore and being taken by the Sirens that hovered in the middle of the lake. 

Of course, Karl didn’t believe it. He could go on for hours about the rip currents that plagued large lakes, and how easily one could forget about them and be swept away. Now, he prayed for one to take away the evidence of his wrongdoing.

Carefully, he crept out the door. The day was frigid, too cold for anyone to come to the water. The lake was pristine, sunlight reflecting a pale yellow hue onto the still blue surface. Panting, Karl hauled the body— which was now cold— to the side of the lake. 

He mustered whatever strength he had left to hoist the deceased guard onto his shoulders. He prayed for luck in finding the current. He studied the water, searching for unnatural ripples. There. Legs shaking with effort, he laid the body into the water and pushed it. 

The rip current lapped it up hungrily. Karl watched the body drift further from the shore, and then grabbed by the water and pulled down. 

And the lake stilled again, as if nothing had ever happened. 

Karl shuddered. By the time this was all over, he wondered if anyone would mourn the boy. If they would search for the body, or if he would be added to a list of cautionary tales, and if Karl would be painted as a demon from another world, stealing the young man’s body for an “evil” scheme.

He scoffed at the very thought. Karl turned back to the palace, taking the back stairs. He needed to get his weapon and fall in with the rest of the guards, his new brothers. A thought struck him, yet he pushed it away. 

If I failed, would anyone mourn me? 

The time for doubt was over. He had a mission, and he was going to see it to the end.

-

The record keeper exhales. A single tear has made its way down his face. The author wipes it away quickly. 

He is the only one left to mourn the boy at all. 

Chapter Text

It really should have been a normal day. And in Wilbur’s defense, he hadn’t been planning on going out.

But life sure liked to throw the most random things at him. Some of those things were babies on the side of the road, while other things were explosions caused by what Wilbur suspected to be whale oil. 

It had happened when he, Tommy, and Techno were all hanging out in his room. Wilbur had been watching Techno and Tommy play with the stuffed animals. He stifled a small snort, making a note to tease his brother for this later. For someone who claimed to hate kids, he certainly had a knack for making them happy.

Wilbur had tuned the pair out, eyes on the horizon. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning against the wall. He had a perfect view of the city skyline again. 

The draw to go back wasn’t as bad as it had been in previous days. But today it was still an itch, one that Wilbur just couldn’t scratch and find peace. He was content with Techno and Tommy, that was a certainty. No, the call today was paired with an ominous feeling that something was wrong. 

The world felt too calm. As if a great storm was about to roll in. Wilbur pushed the feeling aside, thinking little of it. He was probably imagining things. Trying to make up an excuse to go back into the town. 

And then he saw the smoke. 

At first, he thought he was imagining it. The cloud was darker than the others that dotted the pale blue sky, but it wasn’t too unnatural. But when its size continued to grow, he knew something was off.

Wilbur stood up and paced forward. It was very clearly smoke, the pale slate color having shifted to an ugly dark grey. He hoped he was imagining the pale orange glow that was illuminating the sides of some of the buildings. His breath hitched. Oh my gods. 

Techno followed his gaze and stiffened. His brother scrambled to his feet and walked over. He placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently as if to offer some solace. Wilbur stared at the plume of smoke. He narrowed his eyes, watching the ghostly cloud grow larger by the second. His throat bobbed. 

“You don’t think that’s a problem, do you?” He asked. Techno blinked, shuffling over to his side. He examined the smoke, lips pursed. Wilbur could sense his dismay, the anxiety that mirrored his own. 

“I don’t know. It could just be… a really big chimney.” He offered lamely.  Wilbur swallowed thickly. Techno glanced over at him. He sighed deeply, patting his back and removing his hand. 

“I’ll watch Tommy.” He said quietly. “Go make sure they’re okay.” Wilbur turned to him, blinking. Techno gave him a firm nod. He wasted no time running to his closet. He pulled his trench coat over his clothes, buttoning it hastily. He grabbed his hat and pulled it down. 

“Thanks.” Wilbur muttered, pivoting to face the window. He adjusted his hat, pulling it over his hair until only a few brown curls hung out the side. Techno nodded, bouncing Tommy on his knee. 

“If my friends could be in danger, I would go run to check on them too.” He responded. Techno hesitated slightly before speaking again. “Just… don’t be too long, okay? And stay safe.” 

“Awww, are you actually concerned for me?” Wilbur teased. His brother scoffed, but he didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed with emotion before he answered.

“No. But I don’t wanna be stuck taking care of this kid all alone.” Techno mumbled. Wilbur smirked.

“Awww, is he too much for you?” He continued to joke with him, laying against the window’s side. Techno wrinkled his nose.

“No.” He declared. “No toddler is any match for— let go of my hair you gremlin!” Techno broke off as Tommy reached up and grabbed a strand of his brother’s impossibly pink hair and yanked it. Wilbur snorted, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

“I dunno, looks like he’s got you beat.” Wilbur observed. Techno removed the toddler’s fingers from his hair gently, wincing as some strands came free with his hand.

“Shut up.” He said gruffly. “In a real battle, he would be burnt toast.” 

“Die.” Tommy said intently. “Would not!” Techno blinked down at him. 

“Would too.” He deadpanned. 

“Would not!” Tommy replied. 

“Would too!”

“Would not!”

“Would—“

“As adorable as this is.” Wilbur cut them both off. Techno looked over at him, looking sheepish. “I need to go. Techno, are you sure you got this?”

“Positive.” He nodded firmly. “You can count on me, brother.” Wilbur smiled softly. A warmth filled his heart, because for the first time in years he believed him. 

“I know.” He turned back to the window. He steadied his breathing, then slid out onto the roof. 

“Wilby, wait!” Tommy cried suddenly. Wilbur jolted his head up, curling his fingers around his window sill and stopping his descent. Tommy stood up suddenly. He scrambled over to the closet, disappearing inside of it. Techno shrugged, confused as Wilbur was. 

Tommy reappeared seconds later, a gold coin clutched in his tiny hands. Techno picked him up and brought him over to the window. Tommy held the medallion out. 

“For luck.” He mumbled. The toddler dropped the medallion in Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur turned it over in his palm. His medallion. He smiled at Tommy, a fuzzy warmth flooding him. 

“I’ll be back soon, Toms.” He promised. 

“I kn’w.” Tommy responded. Wilbur reached forward, arms straining as he gently ruffled his hair. With that, he released his hold on the window and let himself fall back into the roof. 

His fingers skimmed the brick material as he slid down it. Wilbur bunched his muscles and leapt for the next landing. He cast one last glance at his window. Techno was holding Tommy, and gave him one last wave. 

Wilbur gave a two finger salute and smiled fondly once more before running out of the palace and toward the smoke. 

-

Techno plopped Tommy onto his bed. The toddler wasted no time, already up and back to poking around his book shelf. Techno glanced at him, furrowing his brow. He had never been left to watch kids alone, much less one that only two people in the entire palace knew about. 

“Okay, what do kids like?” He wondered out loud. He watched Tommy amble around in the bookshelf, mildly impressed that the toddler managed to fit in between the shelves themselves. He sighed, walking over and pulling him away from the books.

“Wilbur would kill me if you got stuck.” He chided gently. Tommy just stuck his tongue out.

“Die.” He proclaimed. Techno rolled his eyes.

“No.” 

“Die.”

“No.”

“Die. Die, die, die, die, die!” Tommy giggled, clapping his hands. Techno could already feel a migraine coming on. Heaven help me. He fervently scanned his room, hoping to find something to entertain the kid with. 

Wait. Tommy had just been playing in the bookshelf . Maybe the kid wanted to be read to or something. He scooted over, hands fumbling for a book. Tommy was squirming, breaking free of Techno’s grip. He tumbled to the floor in a pile of blonde hair and loud laughter. Techno cracked a smile. 

“Okay, here.” He said, finally finding the book he sought. Techno dislodged it from the bookshelf, pulling the leather bound pages out from the other volumes. He ran his fingers over the title, smiling. 

“How do you feel about reading The Art of War?” Techno asked, looking at Tommy. The toddler grinned. And Techno couldn’t help but smile back.  

-

The city was alive with panic. Wilbur covered his face with his arm, coughing as he tried to expel the smoke from his lungs. 

Attacks in the Empire weren’t uncommon, but one in the capital was rare. They did have lots of enemies, sure, but few were bold enough to risk traveling through the tundras to this city. Wilbur was five when the last attack happened. He could barely remember it, but he did know that the people were apprehended swiftly.

This didn’t feel like an attack, though. There was a second scent in the air, that smelled closer to the whale oil used to light their lamps. If someone had accidentally used too much of, Wilbur was certain that it could be used to cause an explosion.

It didn’t matter right now. Wilbur had to focus on finding his friends. 

The smoke got thicker the further he pushed into the city. He could hear guards shouting orders at each other. Confusion and fear continued to ripple through the crowd. Wilbur swallowed thickly, backing into the shadows. He didn’t think he would be noticed, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Wilbur turned on his heels, circling around the crowds. He found himself having to shove his way through some, muttering hurried apologies as he did. Wilbur ran his finger over Tommy’s medallion, exhaling slowly. He would be okay, and he would get back to the palace just fine.

He felt someone collide with him right in that moment. Wilbur gasped as the air was knocked from his limbs and he went sprawling to the pavement. The golden circle was torn from his grasp, bouncing and landing a few feet away. He snatched it up instantly, shoving it back into his pocket. He glanced up at the person who had knocked it over, face twisting into a scowl. 

“I’m so sorry!” She gushed, extending a hand. Her face was obscured by a cloak, a deep purple the color of the midnight skies. He could see curly white hair poking out from beneath the hood of her traveling cloak. Interesting. 

“It’s fine.” He muttered a response, grasping her hand and allowing the woman to pull him to his feet. Wilbur dusted off his pants, shaking out his trench coat quickly. 

“Are you sure?” She inquired. Wilbur gave her a firm nod. Please, I just want to get out of here and find the others. 

“Yes, I— fuck!” Wilbur swore as another person bumped into him. He barely had time to react as Tommy’s medallion was dislodged from his pocket. It hit the concrete below, landing right in between him and the stranger. He knelt down and snatched it up quickly. Shit. 

“Where did you get that medallion?” She asked slowly, eyes flashing with shock and… recognition. Wilbur immediately fell to the defensive, practically bristling.

“None of your business.” He spat. Wilbur could feel more questions coming on, so he turned to leave. “I need to go, sorry.” As he started to walk, more people came careening out of a passage. Wilbur yelped as they swept him backward, as if he was being carried by a riptide in the ocean. 

The woman steadied him as the next horde rushed by, all of them talking loudly. Wilbur could feel the fear radiating off of them. He smacked the woman’s hand away as soon as they passed.

“I don’t need your help.” He hissed 

“Is everything okay here?” A guard had approached them, his eyes flashing with weariness. Wilbur’s heart stuttered.

“E-Everything is fine!” The woman stumbled over her words. “Thank you for checking in, I really must be going.” Wilbur nodded in agreement, careful to keep his eyes firmly on the pavement. He adjusted his hat, pulling it lower on his face. 

“If you say so.” The guard’s voice was suspicious. Wilbur backtracked quickly, not giving the guard a chance to say anything else. He didn’t bother looking back at him or the woman. He had to focus on getting back into the safety of the crowd, where he could vanish with the rest of the common folk.

Wilbur breathed a sigh or relief as he glanced over his shoulder. Neither of the two pursued him further. That was too close. It didn’t matter, he supposed. He escaped and was free to find his friends. 

It wasn’t until he got halfway to the Hangout that he realized Tommy’s medallion was gone. 

-

Puffy hated the cold. She hated winter, she hated snow, she hated everything about this place. She did like the city, she supposed. The disorderness of the outer sector suited her tastes. It reminded her of the busy ports of her old home.

The homesickness hit her suddenly, a pang stabbing the center of her stomach. She sighed, shoulders slumping. Puffy tried to keep thoughts of what she dubbed “the before” out of her mind. It did nothing but drag her down.

Puffy had no idea why she came back to this wretched kingdom. She had initially left Tommy here, after all. That was when the Hunters had been breathing down her neck. She had no choice but to draw them away and leave without him. She could only hope that someone had found him.

However, the Empire wasn’t exactly known for its welcomeness.

Puffy glanced around her. She had primarily come here for supplies, she supposed. Puffy couldn’t afford to keep stopping to hunt or gather, and if she could get supplies it would give her time to place more distance between her and those pursuing her. 

Market trips were agonizing. Puffy was constantly glancing over her shoulder, making sure her hood was secured and pulled low over her face every time money changed hands. If someone recognized her, or if someone started asking around, she would be in trouble.

She had never been this uneasy before. But now, a single gust of the wind caused her hand to fly to her dagger, waiting to hear the familiar sound of a gun being loaded or steel being drawn. Even amongst the crowds, with her hood pulled up, Puffy still found herself peering at every strange face, expecting at least one of them to be the very people hunting her. 

He would not be foolish enough to venture to the Antarctic, would he?

Of all the kingdoms to intrude in, this was quite possibly the worst option. The people of the Empire could be aggressively nationalistic; perhaps it came from the pride in being able to survive the horrendous conditions life presented them with. Puffy shuddered, another gust whistling through the trees. Internally, she scoffed at the people around here, who didn’t even flinch.

This godforsaken land. She cursed softly. How had anyone looked at this barren frozen wasteland and thought “this is a great place to settle?” It made no sense. At least it was close to the water. Puffy could feel her heart pulling him home, to the coastal lands from which she came. To be back on a ship and sail to the horizon without a care in the universe.

But she could never go home again. She would be lucky to get on a ship without Dream figuring out where she’d gone. The world wasn’t as small as it used to be, the edges of the maps having been filled in by explorers— by people like her. There was nowhere for Puffy to hide. 

The silence was suddenly deafening. Puffy jolted her head up, sensing something was wrong—

And then there was an explosion. It rocked the world, causing her knees to buckle as it threw off her balance. 

Chaos reigned. 

Puffy’s ears were ringing as she leapt back to her feet. She did a full 360, vision blurry. The explosion had been further away than she initially thought, upon analysis. She couldn’t feel heat from a fire, nor could she see anything but smoke. It must have been powerful. 

People were shouting orders at one another, and shrill screams rose above the fray. A cacophony of awful noises, all of them piercing her eardrums and penetrating her thoughts. A headache was blooming in her left temple. She resisted the urge to cover her ears. She couldn’t afford to pull his cloak down, even a hair. Being recognized was far too risky. 

So Puffy did the only thing she could. She ran. 

She wove through the crowds, as a snake would through a field of grass. She ducked her head as she passed through the swaths of people. Keep your head down and everything will be fine. 

The tactic had been serving her well for quite some time now. Perhaps the panic would provide cover for an escape from the city. She had gotten the supplies she needed and was free to leave whenever she wanted. And now sure seemed like a great time.

Puffy lifted her eyes from the ground slightly. She was closer to the inner city, she realized with a jolt of dismay. She had to retrace her steps to get back to the exit. From there, she could steal a horse and a weapon and ride straight through the tundra. Hopefully she could journey to the edge of the Antarctic in two or three days, if she went without rest. Then it would be back to the borderlands.

Back to square one. Trying to find somewhere the Hunters would not find her . She sighed. She looked up again and gasped. 

Puffy barely had time to react as a kid seemed to appear out of nowhere. He ran into her, sending her stumbling back and him to the ground. A flash of gold caught her eyes before it was quickly snatched up by the boy.

“I’m so sorry!” She gasped out, immediately extending a hand to him. She took that moment to study him, taking in his features. Everyone is a threat. 

He sported a red hat, pulled low over his ears and hiding most of his hair, save for a few brown tufts that stuck out from beneath it. His trench coat was the color of warm chocolate, covered in patches and stitch work. The threads were frayed at the ends, ripped up by something. He didn’t have any visible weapons, at least none strapped to his belt. He could be hiding them in his boots if beneath his coat, she supposed. 

But there was one thing she truly noticed, a particular fact that stood out to her.

He was someone who didn’t want to be found either. Interesting. 

Puffy slightly shook her hand, repeating her offer silently. The boy stared at for a heartbeat, before grasping her hand and allowing Puffy to pull him up.

“It’s fine.” He said softly. He was clearly uneasy, already edging toward the crowd. 

“Are you sure?” Puffy prodded. The boy scowled.

“Yes, I’m—“ He broke off as another person practically checked him in the back. “Fuck!” He shouted, stumbling forward. A gold flash fell to the floor. She stared at, shock filling her as she realized what it was. The boy snatched it up quickly, but not in time for Puffy to have not noticed it. 

Tommy’s medallion. Puffy stared at it mutely for a moment, struggling to process what she was seeing. He had Tommy’s medallion. 

This kid found Tommy. Hope sprung in her heart, a sudden burst of exhilaration. Maybe he had taken the toddler in. Maybe Tommy would get a chance to live normally, and stay here, out of sight of Dream forever.

“Where did you get that medallion?” She asked, breathlessly. Even though she was ninety percent sure that it was Tommy’s, she hoped the boy would confirm her suspicions. The young man glared at her.

“None of your business.” He said tartly. Puffy pursed her lips. “I have to go.” She was about to call him back when a sea of new people, all covered in ash, came running out from a back alley. The boy fell back, running into her again.

Puffy steadied him. 

She didn’t know why she decided to steal the necklace. Maybe to remind herself that Tommy was safe, or maybe to take the one thing that could fully identify the toddler to the Hunters. Whatever the case, her hand snaked into the boy’s pocket and tugged the medallion loose. She transferred it to her pocket just as the boy turned around. 

“I don’t need your help.” He practically snarled. Puffy backtrodded, about to speak when they were interrupted by a guard. 

Her breath hitched when she realized who it was.

Puffy didn’t interact with Karl much. She knew he was close with Sapnap, and by extension friends with Dream, but other than that he was usually out on some espionage mission. Like the one he was clearly on now. No, he can’t recognize me now. The boy next to her tensed as well, eyes flashing with mute fear. He stepped back. 

“Is everything alright?” Karl asked, voice terse. His eyes were narrowed, as if he sensed the unease the two shared. The kid next to her was creeping away like a mouse cornered by a cat. He was clearly waiting for some shoe to drop. So was Puffy, but she had to hide it. Karl hadn’t shown any true sign of recognizing her yet. There was still a chance to escape. 

“E-everything is fine!” Puffy stuttered slightly. She cursed herself slightly. The boy nodded vigorously next to her. He clearly wanted the guard gone as much as she did. 

“If you say so.” Karl murmured. He studied them a bit longer, then turned away. His gaze had lingered on Puffy for much longer than she was comfortable with— she had to get out of the city now. 

“Sorry again, kid—“ Puffy started to say, turning to the spot where the boy had been standing mere seconds ago. It was now barren, new people trekking over it. She raised a brow. When did he slip away?

It wasn’t her business, she supposed. As much as she yearned for news of Tommy, there was no way that boy would tell her anything. His hostility and distrust of her had been abundantly clear. 

Puffy glanced back toward the spot where Karl had been. He had rejoined the other guards, shepherding wailing civilians away from the danger zone. She breathed a small sigh of relief. He would be busy for quite some time, giving her a chance to run before it was too late. 

She pulled her cloak around herself tighter. Puffy adjusted the hood once, making sure her face was obscured. She stepped back into the sea of people, slipping into one of the currents traveling away from the marketplace, to the outer edges of the capital. 

Puffy ran her fingers over the name emblazoned on the metal. She smiled, satisfaction filling her. Tommy was safe. He was in the Antarctic Empire, and even with one of Dream’s lackeys here, there was no way he would find the kid.

She had done her job. Puffy tucked the necklace into her pocket and dissolved back into the crowd, letting it carry her back to the outskirts of the capital. 

-

Karl pulled his jacket off, stumbling over to the barracks bed he was occupying. His legs were stiff with soreness, and he smelled like soot. Smoke still clogged his senses, ash dusting his hair and painting the brown in a fine grey sheet. His eyes still stung, and he could guess that they were streaked with red veins.

All he wanted was a hot bath and to sleep. But the bathroom was too backed up, so he would settle for the second option. What a fucking nightmare of a day. His legs collapsed out from under him as he fell onto the bunk. He closed his eyes, intending to go right to sleep, when a nagging thought struck him. 

Oh, right. Karl pried his eyes open, exasperated. He let out a long winded sigh as he sat up. Glancing to make sure no one else was around, he quickly leaned over and dislodged his journal from between the mattress and the frame of the bed. He needed a better hiding place, but for now this would do. 

Karl flipped open the pages, skimming each page in his hand. Most of it was blank, as he had only recorded the first few days. He turned it black to the first few pages, ignoring the entries from previous days. Most of them contained details about his nightmares, anyway. He didn’t need to read those; he would relive them tonight, anyway. 

Karl dug in the crevice a little more, grasping his pen and pulling it free. He stared at the blank page, wondering where the hell he should even begin. He inhaled slowly, clearing his thoughts. 

And he began to write. 

-

Day Three 

Things have been tense here. The fire in the lower city caused everyone to raise their guards. Partolsmen are required to have their IDs on them at all times, since the current “suspects” of the bombing are traitorous army members. From another kingdom. Fitting, right? Personally, I think it was just a pipeline explosion or something, but apparently up here you can never be too cautious. 

I had panicked for a second, thinking I had thrown the ID into the lake with the guard. Turns out I had put it in my bag. No execution for me today, haha.

Bad joke. I’m still terrified.

People are always looking for someone to blame, I guess. Even if it really is just some poor stroke of luck. It’s almost more horrifying to think about how readily others will blame innocents from crimes that nature itself caused. A real testimony to humanity, but I’ll shut up about that now. 

Things got WAY more intense than the normal job. I’ve never been under this much scrutiny. If I make one misstep, I’ll hang. 

Yeah, dramatic I know. It’s a lot. And I still have nightmares about the… yeah. 

This sounds more like a letter than a journal entry. Maybe it is a letter to someone. Who knows who will read this someday. Maybe it’ll vanish with me when I die, or maybe someone will find it and take it. 

Anyway, the city, yeah. I was stationed at the gates today when the explosion happened. My fellow guardsmen grabbed my arm (I think his name is Ponk or something) and we both ran toward the smoke. 

I’ve never seen anything like this.

At least on battlefields, the adrenaline is too strong for any real fear to snake in. The death there isn’t processed until later, and everyone is fighting for some cause. 

But this…

Everyone was screaming and crying. The fire took ages to put out. A little girl approached me and asked where her parents were. I didn’t have an answer. I don’t want to get into this, not now anyway. 

The explosion was in one of the poorer sections of town. It nearly reached the marketplace, but at least we were able to put it out in time. It destroyed so many homes, and scorched up one of the schoolhouses. We haven’t been told anything about repairs, except that the king has been doing his best to sort it out all day.  

I may not be from here or even supporting this nation, but I do truly hope these civilians are able to rebuild. 

The strangest things happened in the city, besides the explosion, of course. I could have sworn I saw both Puffy and one of the princes. But there was too much smoke to tell, too much screaming. Besides, I still haven’t seen the princes in person. This kid could have been some scruffy street urchin, but he did look awfully similar to the portraits in the castle. 

As for Puffy, I don’t have enough confidence to report it. Besides, I don’t want to be the one to bring her in I don’t want to give false information. The trek up here is grueling, and if I was just imagining it, there would be no point in dragging the Hunters here. 

I should go. I have a patrol soon, and I can’t be late. 

All for now, 

Karl. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur floated through the streets like a ghost. He had no time to mourn the loss of the medallion, the medallion that the stranger had undoubtedly stolen. He hoped it served her well.

He had a feeling Tommy would hope that, too. 

He navigated the crowds like a ship in a storm. Wilbur knew where he was going, his heart pulled to the Hangout like it was a lighthouse. He prayed it was still standing and that fire hadn’t consumed it. 

His encounters had been bizarre today. The guard had seen off, and that woman… Wilbur suspected she knew something about Tommy. Selfishly, he didn’t want to know. It was probably for the best he ran off before she could ask any more questions. 

“Watch it!” Wilbur barely avoided getting hit by a swinging bucket of water. The person wielding it shot him a dirty look before rushing back to the fire. 

“Sorry!” He called back, face flushing red with shame. Wilbur scooted back to the alleyways. It was best he stayed out of the way of the people who were trying to work. Maybe he should have stopped to try and do something, but the sheer panic in trying to find his friends carried him onward. 

Finally, the familiar building that was the Hangout came into view. It had been untouched by the fire, but smoke still hung in the air. It was too far north, the disaster leaving this sector of town unblemished. 

That answered the first question. The second one being if his friends were here, or if they had been in the eastern sector when the first had sparked. Wilbur ducked around the abandoned building. He found the entrance and pulled the door open, slipping inside. 

“Hello?” He called. “Is anyone here?” He waited with baited breath, stepping further into the building. 

“Wilbur?” Niki’s shocked voice came from a few meters ahead. She appeared a second later, eyes wide with shock. Wilbur waved, shooting her a half smile. 

“Hi.” He greeted, waving once. Niki broke into a smile and raced over and swept him into a hug. Wilbur let out a small oof as the air was squeezed from his lungs. 

“It’s good to see you.” She said after releasing him. Niki beconked him with one hand. “Come on, the others are back here.” Wilbur followed her, relief washing over him. They’re okay. 

“Guys, look who finally showed up.” Niki drawled, stepping aside to reveal Wilbur. Jack and Eret broke off whatever conversation they had been having, both turning to face him. 

“Oi, you cock!” Jack shouted, barreling at him. Wilbur yelped as the other boy practically tackled him, both of them barely remaining standing. “You scared me!” 

“How? You knew exactly where I would be.” Wilbur said with a laugh. “You probably won the bet.” Jack scowled. 

“You went radio silent for like a week. All of us know you sneak out even if you get grounded. What were we supposed to think?” He retorted, crossing his arms. Wilbur shrugged. 

“That I was grounded?” He suggested.

“You’re the prince. You have a huge target on your back just by breathing.” Eret reprimanded. Wilbur glowered at him, a sudden anger filling him. Not this bullshit again. He heard enough of this from his father, and he didn’t expect his friends to say it too. 

Maybe it’s because they want an excuse to see you gone. Who wants a prince with them anyway? 

“You sound like my dad.” Wilbur spat. Eret exchanged a glance with Niki. He pursed his lips, sighing. 

“He’s right about that.” Niki said, albeit hesitantly. Wilbur clenched his fists. He turned around to glare at his friends, fixing each of them with scold glare. Deep down, he knew that they were right. It was unsafe for him out here. Yet he thought that they would know him well enough to know that he could handle himself. 

“You know what?! Coming here was a mistake.” He said, crossing his arms. He pushed his way past Niki, sweeping toward the door. Wilbur could feel his emotions swelling up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to crash over his mind and swallow him whole. 

“Wait, Wil—“ Niki tried, voice fringed with desperation. Wilbur didn’t bother looking back. They just want you gone. 

“Don’t. You’re just like everyone else—“ He snapped, glaring at them with as much anger as he could muster. 

“We only said this because we care about you. We don’t want you to get hurt because you keep sneaking out to visit us.” Niki said. “And then you vanish, and we fear the worst. We really are glad to see you, Wilbur.” 

He wanted to believe then. He was trying to believe them. But seeing them less than a week ago, laughing and smiling like nothing was wrong, and then this… Wilbur shuddered, his mind spinning. 

“We aren’t saying this to hurt you.” Jack added. Wilbur looked back up. He exhaled slowly, pursing his lips. 

“I…” Wilbur sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I saw you guys the other day.” He confessed. 

“What?” Jack said, tilting his head. “And you didn’t come say hi?” Wilbur winced, shaking his head. 

“I was dealing with something.” He said. “And besides… you all looked happy without me, so I figured there was no reason to stop by.” Niki walked forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. She shook him twice. 

“You dumbass.” She said, “We always want you around. We aren’t complete without you, man.” Jack and Eret nodded behind her. Wilbur’s eyes flitted between her and the other two, searching for signs of a lie. 

But he found none. His shoulders sagged, and he nodded. 

“Sorry.” He muttered. “Just kinda used to people not being there.” Niki gave him a half smile. 

“We’ll always be here, I promise.” She replied. Wilbur smiled back, grateful. 

“Yeah! Who else would steal cookies with us?” Eret said, smirking. “Who else would dare cross the fearsome baker of the North Sector?” 

“Only us fools.” Wilbur finished. He smiled at them, casting a side eye out the window. “I hate to do this, but I need to go.” 

“Huh? You just got here.” Jack said, tilting his head. “Why are you rushing off?” Wilbur mentally debated how much he should tell them. He planned to give them the full truth soon, yes, but now was not the time. He didn’t know how long he had to get back, until someone thought to check on the princes.  

“I promise I’ll explain everything next time I come down, okay?” Wilbur said, turning his palms up. “Just trust me. It’s a lot.” Niki raised a brow skeptically. 

“I’m holding you to it.” She said finally. “Stay safe on the way back.” Wilbur nodded, giving her a salute. 

Jack walked over and pulled him into an awkward hug. “Don’t die on the way back, princeling. We missed you, and we would miss you.” 

“I’ll do my best.” He said, nodding solemnly. Eret waved as he passed. Wilbur pushed the door open, exhaling slowly. A new elation had filled him, happiness flooding him. They do want him around. 

As Wilbur ran home, he found himself rejuvenated. He did have people who cared, both in the palace and out in the streets. He smiled to himself, and he returned home for the first time in a very long time without a single regret.

-

Wilbur had many bad ideas. Many bad ideas. But he had learned to embrace that about himself; he thought it was endearing. 

He knew that Techno would kill him if he found out what he was planning on doing. Yet he had no fear of death, because this would be worth it.

Wilbur had promised that his friends would receive an explanation for why he had been absent. What better way than through show and tell? 

“I have training today.” Techno said as he stopped by Wilbur’s room. Wilbur glanced up from the book he had been reading. Tommy was still asleep in the closet, the little toddler worn out from keeping both of them up all night for no particular reason. 

“Ah. Have fun.” Wilbur said through a yawn. Techno nodded, glancing at Tommy. He didn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes flashed with affection, and he smiled to himself. Who would have thought. 

“I’ll be done this afternoon.” He said, waving as he shut the door. Wilbur stared at the door, an idea blooming. He stood up slowly, pacing over to his closet. He bundled up his coat and hat in his arms, careful not to disturb Tommy. 

He had already cleaned the ash off of the jacket, but the underlying smell of smoke remained. Wilbur pulled it on, adjusting his hat. 

“This has to be your worst plan yet.” He muttered to himself. Wilbur dug in the back of his closet, still being as quiet as possible, pulling out the very basket that he had found Tommy in. 

He stared at it briefly, still wondering if he should do this. It’ll be fine. A quick trip, there and back. They meet Tommy. No one knows either of us are gone. 

“Hey, Toms.” Wilbur knelt down and gently shook the kid away. Tommy yawned, blinking his impossibly blue eyes open. 

“Nooo…” He mumbled, rolling over. “Wilby go awaaaaay.” Wilbur snickered slightly. He picked Tommy up, blankets and all, setting him in the basket. 

“We’re gonna go meet some of my friends.” He said. “Okay?” Tommy yawned in response, nodding sleepily. Wilbur cracked a fond smile. He paved over to his window, pulling it open. He would have to be clever about this, not using the rooftops to travel. It would be foolish, and possibly deadly. 

He held the basket with both arms as he swung his legs over the side of the roof. Wilbur slid down carefully, slowly separating one hand from the basket to steady his descent. Instead of continuing on the roof, he let himself drop onto the concrete of the courtyard. Tommy stirred slightly, eyes opening. Wilbur held a finger to his lips. 

He crept through the garden, snaking around the pillars. Guards rarely patrolled this time of day around here. It was the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. 

Wilbur glanced at the gates, frowning. It was deserted, the doors locked. He had no idea where the guards were— maybe still handling the disaster from the previous day. No matter. It just made his life a little easier. 

Wilbur managed to fit the toddler through the grated bars, the iron spaced far enough apart that Tommy fit through easily. He slung the basket across his back and scaled the fence, swinging himself onto the grass outside the palace. He gently placed Tommy back into the basket. Wilbur pulled the covering down as far as it would go, hoping it would be enough to keep prying eyes from wondering what was below. 

From here, it was a straight shot to the Hangout. 

Wilbur took the same route as he had the previous day. He let the crowds be his covers, steering away from any flashes of dark blue coats. He was relieved when the Northern District came into view, and the deserted building that served as their meeting place came into view. 

He paused on the back doorstep. Wilbur set the basket down. It was probably best he preface things, greet them before showing them Tommy. Why was he so anxious all the sudden? He took in a shuddering breath. It’s fine, this is fine, they’re going to love him. 

“Stay here.” Wilbur said, picking Tommy up and setting him on the floor. The toddler blinked at him, tilting his head. “I’ll come get you in five minutes. Can you wait here?” 

“Yeah!” Tommy said cheerfully. Wilbur ruffled his hair with a small smile. 

“Perfect.” He turned around and pulled the door open. “Hey guys! I’m here!” Wilbur shouted through the building. Eret waved a greeting. The group had elected to hangout in the main room. Wilbur waved back.

“Ayup.” Jack called out. 

“Hey.” Wilbur stood awkwardly, mentally preparing himself. Somehow, this felt harder to explain the second time around. He supposed when Techno found Tommy, it hadn’t been Wilbur’s choice. As much as he had been ready to tell his friends, he was still anxious as hell about it. 

“Wilbur, you promised us an explanation today, if my memory serves me correctly.” Niki appeared from behind the corner. Wilbur pursed his lips and nodded. 

“That I do.” He said, drawling for effect. And to buy time as he figured out what to say. Niki swept her arm in an arc. 

“The floor is yours.” She said, bowing. 

“What, no greetings?” Wilbur teased. Niki shook her head. 

“Nope, I just wanna know what is going on.” She said, voice a deadpan. 

“Seconded.” Eret raised his hand. 

“…Third-ed?” Jack tried weakly. 

“Fine. Okay. Just… don’t freak out on me.” Wilbur said. “Okay?” Niki quirked a brow, crossing his arms. 

“Why would we freak out?” She asked. “Wilbur, what did you do now?” A warning tone had worked its way into her voice. Wilbur coughed, clearing his throat sheepishly. 

“I… uh, well, I may have found… a kid…” He started to explain, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. Niki’s expression became more disappointed as he spoke. 

“Wilbur, please tell me you didn’t steal a child.” She said, her hand coming to rest on her forehead. “Please tell me you aren’t that royally stupid.” 

“Nice pun.” Jack applauded from the corner, face solemn as he clapped. Niki turned around and fixed him with a withering glare. The other boy cleared his throat, whistling once and looking at his feet. 

“It isn’t stealing if the kid didn’t have parents!” Wilbur protested, throwing his hands up. Niki groaned, sitting down at one of the chairs. 

“Wilbur, you idiot .” She snapped. “Does your dad know?” Wilbur laughed nervously, the rook suddenly feeling very stuffy. 

“Nope.” He responded with a weak smile. Niki fixed him with a murderous glare.

“You actually lack brain cells.” Eret piped up. 

“We’ve known that for a while.” Jack retorted, shrugging. Wilbur scoffed slightly, rolling his eyes.

“I resent that.” He replied, walking over to the door. He pulled it open fully, relieved to see Tommy still sitting outside. Wilbur smiled at him and knelt down, gathering the toddler up in his arms. 

“Alright… I want you guys to meet Tommy.” He said, turning around. Tommy blinked in the sudden change of light, blue eyes glittering in the sun. Niki peeled her head off the table, her expression softening the second she laid eyes on Tommy. 

“You’re still an idiot, Soot.” She muttered. “But yeah, this is a cute kid.” 

“Wilby, who ‘re t’ey?” Tommy asked, pointing at the assembled group. 

“Wilby?” Jack said, smothering his laughter in his arm with a fake cough. Wilbur glared at him, eyes cold. He shifted Tommy to his other arm and slowly drew a slashing line across his neck, not breaking eye contact with Jack. His friend extended his palms to the sky, stepping back. 

“These nimrods are my friends.” Wilbur explained gently to Tommy. “That’s Niki, Jack, and Eret.” He said, pointing to each person respectively. 

“Nimrods!” Tommy said gleefully. “Die,” The toddler added quickly. The group exchanged an amused glance. Tommy surveyed each of them, grinning. Niki raised a brow, hands on her hips. 

“I— did the kid just tell us to die?” Eret asked, brow furled. An amused smile crossed his face as he stared the kid down. Tommy didn’t blink, bright blue eyes rounded like an owl’s. Eret blinked, then cursed under his breath. 

“He does that a lot. Don’t worry about it.” Wilbur said ambiguously, choosing to ignore the fact that his friend just had a staring contest with a toddler. 

“Wilbur, I’m guessing you’re the one who taught him to say die.” She guessed. Wilbur shrugged, whistling. 

“I refuse to confirm or deny on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” He said cryptically. 

“Is this really an argument you want to have?” Niki challenged. Wilbur raised a brow, drawing himself up. Eret sipped his water, whispering something to Jack that Wilbur couldn’t discern. 

“I don’t know, is it one you want to have—?” He retorted, a small grin spreading across his face. 

“‘He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight,’” Tommy intoned, nodding sagely. Wilbur stared at him, his mouth slightly agape in shock. Eret spat out the water he had been drinking, choking on a fit of giggles. Niki was blinking, lashes fluttering as her gaze flitted between Tommy and Wilbur. 

“Is it just me or did that kid just quote Art of War ?” Jack asked, having removed his glasses to stare at Tommy incredulously. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have let Techno babysit you.” Wilbur groaned, shaking his head. Leave it to his brother to read Art of War of all things to this kid. He would be spewing things about warfare for ages now. 

“Wait, hold up— Techno knows, but Phil doesn’t?” Niki asked, voice rising. Wilbur winced, and Jack let out a bark of laughter. 

“Oh, this should be good.” He said, shaking his head. “You’ve done it now, Wilbur.” He shot a glare at the other. 

“Why did you tell your brother instead of your father?” Niki demanded. “You realize it would make much more sense to tell Phil, right?” 

“He might make me get rid of him!” Wilbur protested. Niki gave him a withering stare, his mouth pressed in a thin line of disappointment. 

“You and your dad may have beef, but I highly doubt he would do that.” Niki chided. Wilbur rolled his eyes. Logically, he knew both her and his brother were correct, but there was no way he would admit it. He was too stubborn; he had dug this grave and he would lie in it. 

“That’s what Techno said.” He admitted, his voice dull. Niki smirked, arms crossed triumphantly. Tommy glanced between the two, engrossed in the argument. 

“The kid looks like he wants to gamble on who will win.” Jack observed, his voice a drawl. 

“You may be right.” Eret agreed solemnly, clearly struggling to stifle a smile. Wilbur elected to ignore both of them, chalking it up to their usual bullshit. Idiots, he thought affectionately. 

“He’s right.” Niki said, also ignoring the other two. Wilbur sighed melodramatically, laying one hand across his forehead. 

“You’re worse than him.” He complained. Niki snickered, coughing to hide the sound. 

“Why?” She prodded. “Because I’m right?” Wilbur rolled his eyes. 

“No, because you aren’t supposed to agree with him.” Wilbur protested, throwing his free arm in the air. Niki shook her head, not even bothering to try and hide her laughter. 

“I’m not going to have any success convincing you to tell your dad, am I?” She asked with an exaggerated sigh.

“Nope.” Wilbur said gleefully. Niki looked like she wanted to say more, lifting up her chin. Wilbur braced himself, ready for a long debate. 

“ ‘If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.’ ” Tommy interrupted, attempting to console them both, although it was clearly directing it at Niki. 

“He did it again!” Jack groaned, head in hands. “Why would your brother do this?” Eret chortled softly.

“Best entertainment I’ve had this week.” He declared, taking another shot of water. 

“I’ll drink to that, I suppose.” Jack agreed, raising an air glass and mock toasting. “But I still want to know why your brother read Art of War. ” 

“It’s Technoblade. He lives for that stuff.” Wilbur responded dryly, hoisting Tommy up higher. Tommy nodded in agreement. He suddenly grinned, repeatedly poking Wilbur’s shoulder. 

“I crawled in Techie’s bookshelf!” He declared. Wilbur blinked, processing. He did what. 

“He did what?” Eret asked, choking on his water again while echoing Wilbur’s thoughts. He shook his head, exasperated. 

“I’ll have to talk to Techno about his methods of babysitting.” He said, scrunching up his nose. Tommy giggled. 

“And you just found this kid on the side of the road?” Niki asked, tilting her head. Wilbur nodded. 

“Yeah, it was weird.” He said. “But I’m happy I found him.” Wilbur held Tommy close, letting the toddler climb on his shoulders. He smiled fondly. 

Quiet conversation descended in the group, discussing what had happened in Wilbur’s absence. The group had kept their notoriety up, going after whatever bakery they saw worthy to take on. 

Wilbur told them the story of Tommy, from start to finish. Niki still pushed him to tell Phil (Tommy quoted the same Art of War lines in the process) while Eret and Jack placed bets on who would break first. Wilbur felt they had settled into a cycle of normalcy, and he was happy to be around his friends again. 

All too soon, the sun had started its journey down the sky. Wilbur cast a forlorn glance at it, sighing heavily. He had to leave before it was too late, and he got caught out. 

“Alright, I need to run. I’ll be back soon.” Wilbur said, standing up. Eret glanced at the sky. 

“Wow. Time really did fly by.” He said with a sigh. “It was nice to see you again, Wilbur. You better come back soon.” Wilbur nodded, smiling. His heart felt warm, happiness flooding him. Tommy waved to each of them with stubby fingers and shining eyes.

“And bring Tommy.” Niki added. Wilbur raised a brow.  

“No promises.” He said enigmatically. Eret glanced between Wilbur and her, leaning over and whispering to Jack to start a new betting pool. 

“That wasn’t a question.” Niki responded, her eyes hard, the threat clear. Jack snorted, muttering something under his breath about not crossing Niki. 

“Yes ma’am.” Wilbur amended with a salute and a lustrous smile, pulling the door open. He waved goodbye and swept out the opening, ready to beat the sun home. 

-

The journey home was easy. Wilbur was elated, happy to have seen his friends and happy that they had liked Tommy. The toddler was being blissfully quiet in his basket. He also looked joyful, eyes shining as he examined the city.

It was hard to move around with the basket. It added an extra factor to keep track of, but at least Wilbur could practically walk to the palace gates. Getting back in was the tricky part.

Tommy was complacent, clinging to Wilbur’s back as he scaled the wall outside the palace grounds. It had been a daunting experience for both of them, and unfortunately the basket had been the causality of the endeavor. 

Wilbur avoided the guards with ease. It wasn’t near as stressful when he snuck Tommy in the first time. Maybe it was because he knew he had the capabilities to do it, or maybe because it wasn’t the dead of night. Either way, Wilbur reached his room quickly. 

“That was awesome, Tommy!” He proclaimed, swinging the toddler in an arc. Tommy giggled, clapping his hands. 

“Your friends ‘re funny!” He said. “I like them.” Wilbur beamed at him, hugging Tommy close. The toddler reciprocated the action, his own arms wrapping around Wilbur’s shoulders, 

“Good. I’m glad, they’re good people.” He said, gently setting Tommy down on his bed. Wilbur glanced out the window, taking in the rays of the dying sun. It was setting slowly, the Arctic coming closer to the Days of the Midnight Sun. Or as Wilbur called them, the days where no one slept. 

A harsh rapping on his door drew his attention away. Techno. He ambled over, pulling it open. His brother charged in, practically knocking Wilbur out of the way. He exhaled sharply, the air pushed out of him. 

“Hey!” He snapped, shutting his door. “What the f—“ 

“ Wilbur!” Techno stage whispered, sounding furious. Wilbur winced at the sharp tone. He shifted uncomfortably, having a gut feeling that something was very wrong. Something that he may have caused. 

“What?” He asked, lifting a brow. Techno quickly tugged Tommy from his grasp, ripping open the closet doors and plopping the toddler inside it.

“Don’t ‘ what’ me!” Techno whirled around, eyes flashing with anger. “You snuck out with Tommy! What were you thinking?” Wilbur swallowed thickly, shame rising up in him. He could feel his face flushing red, and he ducked his chin. 

“I—“ He started to say, trying to come up with some sort of defense.

“Dad’s coming.” Techno said. “And he is pissed.” Wilbur stared at him, his mind blanking. 

“Wait…” He said, trying to process. It all clicked in an instant, and he stiffened. “Oh, shit.” He cast a glance at the closet, which was blissfully shut. Techno ran a hand through his hair, shoulders tense.

“Dad’s going to find him.” Techno said bluntly. “You better be ready for it.” Wilbur lifted his chin, clenching his fists. It will be fine. He told himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady. 

“No, he won’t.” Wilbur responded. Techno lifted a brow, shaking his head slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking resigned. 

“When he does— which he will in literally ten minutes— it will be fine.” Techno said slowly. “Will you trust me when I say that?” Wilbur looked away, eyes studying the floor. He wanted to believe his brother, yet it was his father he had little faith in. 

Give him a chance. 

“He won’t find him.” Wilbur said firmly, doing his best to hide the tremor of doubt that worked its way into his tone. Techno shrugged, casting one more glance at the shut closet doors, before heading to the exit. As if on cue, a small knock sounded.

“Good luck, brother.” Techno said, pulling open the door. Wilbur cast him an anxious smile, before leaning against the closet’s doors. Tommy, I really need you to be quiet. He begged silently. 

Techno ducked past their father, slipping out the door with a small nod to Phil. Wilbur mentally prepared himself, stealing his nerves. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he crossed his fingers behind his back. Now would be the best time for a little luck. 

“Wilbur?” Phil said softly. “May I talk to you?” 

“You’re already here.” He intoned. Phil pursed just lips but nodded anyway. He stepped into Wilbur’s room and shut the door, pacing forward until he was standing in front of him. 

Wilbur wished that he had gained the time to take off his damn trench coat. He pulled his hat off, kneading it with his hands in a desperate attempt to keep his anxiety under control. 

“Wilbur, I have… I’ve tried to give you space.” Phil began, his voice weary. Wilbur had his back pressed against the closet, praying to every god out there that Tommy would stay quiet. 

“Yeah…” He muttered, unable to hide how distracted he was. 

“But you can’t keep sneaking out, and now you’re acting strange. And I don’t know what to do about it. Wilbur, I have told you the risks of going out, and—“ Phil broke off. He studied Wilbur, eyes narrowed. Wilbur could feel sweat beading his forehead. 

Tommy please don’t do anything. He begged silently, trying to remain as casual as possible.

“What are you trying to hide?” His father asked, suspicion coloring his voice. Wilbur shook his head rapidly. Shit. 

“Nothing!” He yelped. “Nothing at all, I swear.” Phil opened his mouth to say more when a small thud sounded from behind Wilbur. 

From the closet. Where Tommy was. He stiffened immediately, his eyes widening. Phil raised a brow, confusion flooding his gaze. Shit, no. Techno was right. This really would be the end. 

Wilbur tried to smile, about to attempt to cover it. Phil held up a hand, his patience clearly starting to wane. Wilbur cursed every god he could think of. This is it. He sighed, knowing there was no way that he could hide this anymore. He mentally saluted his and Techno’s efforts, hoping they were not all for naught. 

“Wilbur, what… no, who do you have in your closet?” 

Chapter Text

The hardest thing about parenting was a moment like this. 

Especially for Phil, who felt he had no right to try and parent at this point. He barely qualified as a father. After walking away over and over again, how could he possibly claim to be one? 

But he still had an obligation to keep his sons safe. And even if they didn’t want him to, he had to try and raise them right while he was still here. 

Phil had gone to talk to Wilbur earlier that day, about something that had long since sunk into the abyss of his mind. It had been overshadowed by the fact that when he had gone to his son’s room, it was empty. The window was opened, a small breeze trickling in. The curtains swayed it in, hastily drawn aside but still in the wind’s path. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Phil stood, staring at the open window. He had done it again. Wilbur had snuck out, despite his promises not to. Perhaps Phil had been foolish to believe he would keep it in the first place, but part of him desperately wanted to believe that he wouldn’t do it.

But no, he had left again.

Phil couldn’t blame him that much. He knew how dismal the palace was, how the environment had been so negative the past years. But he had hoped with him rebonding with Techno that he would stop running off. Why can’t he understand how unsafe it is for him? 

Phil had gone down to the training hall. He had seen Techno practicing, swinging his sword in slow arcs over and over again. He was muttering to himself, pausing every few seconds and stretching. Then his son launched into the routine itself, air striking opponents in his mind. Phil watched silently, waiting for him to finish. When Techno finally paused and looked over, he raised a hand in greeting. Phil stepped into the arena, walking over to Techno. 

“Hello.” He greeted. “New routine?” 

“Yeah.” Techno said, turning the steel over in his hands. “Thought it might be fun. In a real fight, it could be fatal.” 

“It’s looking good.” Phil offered. Techno scrunched his nose up and shook his head. 

“Kept misstepping. I need to work on my footwork anyway.” His son said sullenly. He shook out his shoulders, adjusting his pink hair. “What brings you down here?” He asked after a moment.

“Have you seen Wil?” Phil asked, eyes flirting around the arena. Perhaps he was here and Phil just missed him. Maybe he hadn’t snuck out and he was simply too paranoid. 

“What, he’s not in his room?” Techno asked, tilting his head. Phil shook his head. He sighed, running one hand over the back of his neck. 

“His window is open too.” He explained, sighing. “I had hoped he had been down here with you, but…” He trailed off, gesturing at the most deserted facility. Techno had sheathed his sword, putting it back on the shelf.  

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” He said, a slight edge to his voice. Phil couldn’t discern who it was directed at— perhaps it was him, yet his gut told him something more was at play. Techno was brushing past him, briskly walking to the exit. 

“Where are you going?” Phil called, curious. 

“I’m going to wait for him.” Techno declared. “I’ll be pacing upstairs if you need me.” Phil blinked. Was he concerned for Wilbur? Despite the situation, he smiled slightly. It did make him happy to see his sons getting along again. 

As the day trudged on, there was still no sign of Wilbur. Techno had kept his word and was pacing the upstairs like a wolf on the prowl. Phil made him stop to get food and water, taking over the shift to keep surveillance. Techno had rushed back, but his other son had still not reappeared. 

The sun was finally starting to set when the first evidence of Wilbur’s return appeared. Phil had been going to check on Techno when he saw Wilbur’s door suddenly shut, a flash of pink hair disappearing inside of it. 

Phil walked over to the door, hand wavering in the air as he held it up to knock. The door stared back at him, as if to taunt. Was it his place to do anything? Phil worried his lip. He took in a shuddering breath and knocked. He still had a job to do, despite the past. 

“Good luck, brother.” Sounded from within the room, before the door was pulled open by Techno. His son nodded to him, before making his way down the hall, muttering about how he was too tired for “this.” Phil elected to ignore that, instead turning to Wilbur. 

His son was still in a tattered trench coat, buttoned up and hiding his shirt. He also wore a red beanie hat, pulled down past his ears and obscuring his hair. Wilbur was awkwardly leaning against the door to his closet, as if he had been about to change but been caught by Techno before he could. 

“Wilbur? May I talk to you?” Phil asked, biting the bullet. He tried to keep himself as non threatening as possible, knowing that in order for this to go even remotely well, the tension had to be kept at a minimum. 

“You’re already here.” Wilbur muttered, casting an anxious glance behind him. Phil took that as a green light to step in. Careful not to let his wings catch in the door, he turned and shut it softly. Wilbur pulled his hat off, then started wringing his hands together.

Strange. Phil quirked a brow, sensing something was off. He looked more nervous than usual. He always seemed on edge during one of these talks, but tonight he looked like he wanted to jump out the window and run. 

“Wilbur…” Phil began slowly. He exhaled, formulating what to say. “I have… I have tried to give you space.” He heard an off handed “yeah” from his son, nodding restlessly. “But you can’t keep sneaking out, and now you’re acting strange. And I don’t know what to do about it. Wilbur, I have told you the risks of going out, and—“ Phil paused, tilting his head.

He could have sworn he heard something sound from behind Wilbur. His son looked at the floor, hands behind his back. 

“What are you trying to hide?” Phil asked, still trying to remain neutral. Wilbur’s head shot up. 

“Nothing! Nothing at all, I swear.” He said, waving his hands back and forth. A crash sounded from behind him, contradicting his statement. Wolbur gave him a weak smile. Phil raised a brow. 

What is going on? He wondered. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. He bit back a sigh, holding up his hand to keep Wilbur from launching into an unnecessary, long winded explanation.

“Wilbur.” Phil said firmly. “What…” He paused, shaking his head. “No, who do you have in your closet?” 

-

Wilbur knew this was inevitable. He knew he couldn’t keep Tommy a secret forever. But it still didn’t stop his blood from freezing when Phil asked who was in his closet. 

He wondered how the hell he would be able to get out of this one. 

Phil was standing right in front of him, patiently waiting for him to open his closet door. He was patiently tapping his foot against the ground, one brow raised. 

Wilbur boiled it down, exhaling slowly. He had two options. 

He could either attempt to lie, try a last ditch effort to keep Tommy hidden. Wilbur could make something up, divert Phil’s focus away from the closet and cover it up. 

Or Wilbur could come clean. He could open the doors and show Phil who Tommy was. He could stop lying, and tell his father everything. He exhaled, one hand running through his hair. It was matted with sweat, stress having gotten the better of him. 

“Okay. Please don’t freak out on me.” Wilbur began slowly. This required a different approach from the last two times people met Tommy. This was his dad , and he had to make sure Tommy left a good impression. 

“Why would I freak out?” Phil challenged, albeit not unkindly. “Please tell me you aren’t harboring a criminal in there.” 

“No, nothing like that!” Wilbur promised. He stepped over slowly. This is it. He took a deep breath. “I just have a feeling this will be… surprising.” Phil hummed, looking tense. 

Wilbur counted to three and pulled the closet door open. 

“Wilby!” Tommy shouted in greeting. He dropped Henry the cow, the toddler jumping up and grabbed his leg, hugging him. Wilbur smiled fondly. Leave it to Tommy to make any situation seem better. 

“Hi, Toms.” Wilbur leaned down and patted him gently, ignoring Phil’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Wilbur.” Phil’s voice was husky, clearly struggling to rein in his shock. “Is that a toddler in your closet?” Wilbur swallowed thickly. There was no going back now. His heart rate had doubled, head pounding as his pulse beat in time with his spiraling thoughts. 

Wilbur sighed. There was only one thing he could do now. Carefully, he knelt down, gathering Tommy into his arms. He shut his eyes briefly, hoping for the best. Wilbur turned slowly, bringing Tommy into the light.

“This is Tommy.” He introduced him slowly. “And yeah. He’s been in my closet.” Phil stared at him incredulously. 

“This is not what I was…You’ve… you’ve had this… what?” He broke off, a small chuckle escaping him. Wilbur blinked at him. The last thing he expected from the situation was for his father to start laughing. 

“What?” He asked, scowling slightly. “What’s so funny?” Phil coughed slightly, righting himself. 

“The fact that you’ve been raising a child in your closet without anyone finding him for—“ He started to say, shaking his head slightly. 

“I found him.” Techno had reappeared at the door, book in hand. Wilbur shot him a glare. 

“You were snooping in my room!” He accused, pointing at him with his free hand. Phil had gone quiet, and was studying the assembled group. Wilbur ignored him, full attention on Techno. 

“You were sneaking out.” His brother argued. Wilbur rolled his eyes. Excuses, excuses.  

“You still shouldn’t have been snooping in my room.” He retorted. Techno let out a huff, snapping his book shut with a loud snap and crossing his arms. 

“You still shouldn’t have been sneaking out.” He reminded him. Wilbur gave him a deadpan expression. What a betrayal, how dare he. Phil snorted next to him. 

“Die!” Tommy interrupted both of them, shrieking in delight. Phil blinked, as if snapped out of a trance. He walked over to Wilbur, kneeling down slightly to examine Tommy. 

“Hey, mate.” He said softly, definitely brushing over the fact that the toddler just said die at the top of his lungs. “Tommy, yeah?” 

“Me! I’m big man Tommy!” The toddler declared, pointing at himself. Phil laughed softly, his eyes gentle. Wilbur watched with mild shock, mouth agape. “You bird!” 

“I guess I am.” Phil chuckled again, amused. “But you can just call me Phil.” Tommy tilted his head, thinking. Techno opened his book again, pretending to be disinterested. However, Wilbur didn’t miss the way he looked up whenever Tommy spoke, as if recording what he was saying. He would have to tease him for it later, after this finished. 

“Wilby call’d you dad.” He said finally, blue eyes shining. “I’m gonna call you dad, too!” Wilbur jolted slightly, blindsided. Phil’s eyes shot open, unbridled shock in his expression. He fixed it immediately, his smile full of gentle joy.

“That’s fine with me.” He responded. Almost nervously, he glanced over at Wilbur and cleared his throat. “May… may I hold him?” 

“Uhh…” He hesitated slightly, shocked that Phil was asking him for permission. He nodded after a second of silence. “Yeah. I think he likes you.” Wilbur gently handed him to his father. Tommy clung to him, little head resting on his shoulder. 

“Where did you say you found him?” Phil asked, gently swaying back and forth. Tommy looked content, which caused Wilbur to subconsciously smile. Upon realizing Phil was waiting for a response from him, he coughed, clearing his thoughts. 

“He was just kinda in an alley.” Wilbur said with a shrug. “Nobody was around. I kinda figured if I left him he would die, so I just… brought him home.” He explained, wringing his hands together again. He braced himself for a lecture, steeling his spine— 

“I’m proud of you.” Phil said, giving him a half smile. He glanced down at Tommy, the warm gaze returning. Wilbur’s mind blanked, struggling to process what he was just told. He stared incredulously at his father. 

“What?” Wilbur yelped. That was the last thing he had expected to hear. 

“You did the right thing. But you should have told me, even if…” Phil trailed off. Wilbur shifted uncomfortably, suddenly reminded of the bad blood. He didn’t want to think about it. He had been happy seconds ago, with all three— no, all four of them gathered together and just talking. 

It felt normal, as if that’s how things should have been. Not this sudden void that felt as if it had opened up in Wilbur’s chest. It threatened to snap him up and devour him, sending him back to where he used to be. He refused to let that happen.

Wilbur found that he wanted things to be better. He was starting to find that he wanted to forgive and let the past go, even if it took time. I will put the work in. He glanced at Tommy, who was falling asleep in Phil’s arms. 

Damnit, he would make sure this family was okay. He could meet Phil halfway just like he did with Techno. 

“Sorry.” He said finally, looking away. “I just wasn’t sure how you would react.” Wilbur added, albeit half heartedly. He did feel rather stupid, given how well Phil was taking to Tommy. The toddler also seemed to like him, which was a good sign in Wilbur’s book. 

Tommy liking him gave Wilbur incentive to make up, he supposed. Maybe it was time he let his heart thaw. He kind of liked the idea of forgiving his father, anyway. Tommy yawned, shifting slightly, eliciting an aww from Phil, before his father turned to look at Wilbur. 

“Wilbur, did you really think I would just abandon this kid?” Phil asked, flabbergasted. Wilbur ducked his head, ears turning pink from sudden embarrassment. 

“Well…I…” He stumbled over his words, voice cracking. He flinched, his face turning redder. Techno snickered, fully shutting his book. 

“That’s what I said, dad.” He said with a grin.  

“Suck up.” Wilbur muttered under his breath, a teasing tone crossing his voice. He glanced up at Phil, who was starting to walk out of Wilbur’s room. He immediately leapt up and started to follow him. 

“Wait…just for confirmation, are we gonna keep him?” Wilbur asked sheepishly. 

“Of course we are.” Phil responded immediately. “He’s already gotten attached to us, anyway. It would be cruel to just leave him now.” 

“Is that cover for saying you got attached?” Techno asked bluntly. 

“That too.” Phil agreed, running one hand through Tommy’s fluffy blonde hair. The kid blearily opened his eyes, blue orbs shining with contentment as he snuggled closer to Phil. Wilbur cooed slightly, standing on his tiptoes to ruffle his hair. 

“Where are you taking him?” Wilbur asked after settling back down. 

“I hate to break it to you, but he needs a bath.” Phil said point blank. “I’m guessing you were sneaking him around whenever you could, and couldn’t find time with all the guard activity in the palace, yeah?” 

“Uh…” Wilbur and Techno exchanged a glance. “Yeah, pretty much.” Wilbur admitted. 

“I’ll get him cleaned up and in some fresh clothes.” Phil said briskly. “And we can deal with legal matters tomorrow.” 

“Do you have to sign paperwork when you pick an orphan off the street?” Techno asked, tilting his head. Wilbur nodded, exchanging another confused glance with his brother. 

“I did it with you.” Phil told him. “Even the king has to do that, as we are all bound to the law. Just to keep track of who’s where, and also to write Tommy into my will, enrollment in future classes, all of that.” 

“That makes my head hurt.” Wilbur deadpanned. 

“Me too.” Phil agreed. “But we can worry about that tomorrow. First, let’s get Tommy better situated.” He said, casting a loving glance down at the sleeping toddler. 

“Do you think he’ll try and stay in my closet?” Wilbur whispered to Techno. His brother paused, thinking. 

“Dunno. It would be funny if he did.” He said. 

“Wait, shit we gotta keep up!” Wilbur jumped, racing after his father. Techno sighed, and his rapid footsteps sounded after him. 

“So I guess this mean we have a new brother?” Techno half asked, jogging to catch up with Wilbur as he trailed Phil and Tommy. Wilbur lifted his chin, eyes landing on Tommy’s sleeping form. He smiled softly, unable to prevent the rush of affection that swelled up. 

“He already was.” Wilbur responded, smiling softly. “And… he’s really gonna be part of the family. I can’t believe it.” 

“I can.” Techno deadpanned. “Y’know, we could have been spared all of your lamenting if you had just sucked it up and told Phil when you first found Tommy.” Wilbur huffed, the embarrassment returning. 

“I didn’t know how he would respond!” He protested again, feeling rather like a broken record as he threw his arms up in the air. Techno sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. It forced Wilbur to stop. He turned, raising a brow. 

Techno’s face has gone serious. He looked determined all of the sudden, as focused as he was during training. Wilbur waited with baited breath for him to speak. 

“Wilbur, Phil wants to amend things.” Techno said, his voice hushed. “He isn’t who you think he is. He’s… he is a good man, and he can be a good father again. Just try and give him a chance.” Wilbur tore his gaze off his brother, staring at his shoes. Everything had come to a halt again, like a train suddenly crashing down off its tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing his brother’s hand. 

“I don’t know how to forgive him.” He said finally, voice small. “I think I want to, I really do.” It had been a slow revelation. It had started when Wilbur first brought Tommy home, the night he told his father he loved him. And when him and Techno reconnected, he found himself yearning for a family that wasn’t shattered, one that was whole and complete and happy . 

“I know it’s hard.” Techno replied, giving him a half smile. “But you can do it. Everyone deserves a second chance. If he messes up that badly again, if he abandons us again, then you never have to talk to him again. But giving him forgiveness seems right, yeah?” Wilbur nodded, smiling back.

“I’d have to try to do it for Tommy, anyway.” He muttered. “Might as well do it for me, too.” Techno patted him on the back, nodding affirmatively. 

“That’s the spirit. And I’ll be around to help both of you. We will have a family again.” His brother said fiercely. Wilbur could see the same want he felt, the desire for everything to be “okay” again. 

“I’m glad we made up.” He said after a moment of silence. “I’m glad I can say I have a brother again.” Techno looked taken aback, before breaking into a grin as well. He pulled Wilbur into a tight hug.

“Me too.” He said. “You’re not too bad yourself. I… Well, after all of that, I don’t think I could ask for a better one.” 

“Softie.” Wilbur taunted, poking his arm teasingly. Techno rolled his eyes, releasing him from the hug. 

“Yeah, yeah. Tell anyone about this and I’ll use you for target practice.” He threatened. Wilbur snickered. 

“If you could catch me, sure.” He replied, sticking his tongue out. 

“So immature.” Techno reprimanded, striding past him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve embraced it!” Wilbur swept his arms wide, practically bubbling with laughter. “It makes life more fun.” 

“I would believe it.” Techno responded, his voice suddenly gentle. Wilbur beamed at him, feeling lighter than ever. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt as at ease as he did currently. Everything seemed to work, everything falling into place. 

Things were going to get better. Wilbur could actually say that he believed that. Techno had ducked into his room. He followed him, ducking inside. 

“By the way, you teach Tommy to quote Art of War?” Wilbur piped up, stretching his arms above his head. The day had left him spent, but he found himself with rejuvenated hope and a sense of relief. Now that Phil knew, and he was letting Tommy stay… things were looking up. He smiled to himself. Not that he had stopped grinning like a fool for the past half hour. 

“Maybe. Why, did he start saying some of the lines?” Techno responded, yawning once. Wilbur let out a hefty sigh. Of course. 

“I’m gonna keep reading him Art of War, by the way.” Techno added, eyes twinkling. 

“You’re gonna turn him into a philosopher!” Wilbur protested, his head falling to his hands. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Techno challenged, struggling to hide his amusement. 

“Do you know how freaked out Jack was to hear a kid quoting that book? I thought he was going to have an aneurysm!” Wilbur retorted. The very memory made his resolve break, and he couldn’t help but start to giggle. “And Eret literally choked on his water!” The laughing fit overtook him with the memories. He gasped for air, choking on his own amusement. 

“Consider it karma for sneaking out with the child.” Techno declared. “And I’m going to keep doing it. Tommy will have the book memorized by the time he turns ten.” Wilbur froze at the thought, horrified. He shuddered, his spine tingling. 

“You actually suck. I take back what I said about you being an awesome brother.” He said with a scowl. Techno simply guffawed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“‘ In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.’” Techno replied solemnly, a devil’s grin spreading across his face. Wilbur glared at him, crossing his arms. He really hated that book, he had decided. 

“You know what?” He asked, lifting his chin. Techno quirked a brow, leaning against one of the pillows. He looked completely at ease, and Wilbur could admit he felt relaxed too, despite the “argument.” In fact, it just made him giddy, happy to have a brother he could taunt and make fun of, but also know that he could rely on to take on the world with.

“I’ll bite. What?” Techno responded. Wilbur called upon all the hate he could muster, and pointed one finger at his brother, eyes hard. 

“Die.”

-

A little boy stands at the edge of a battlefield. He stares over it, the carnage so great he can scarcely fathom it. He walks through the destruction, keeping his eyes down as he passes the bodies of the dead. 

He can hear someone shouting for help. The little boy longs to do something, anything to ease the suffering, but a force spurs him on. 

At the center of the battlefield, the pinnacle of the hill, a figure stands. The harbinger stares out at the horizon, his blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. He wears a tattered blue coat, along with standard army apparel. A gun has been dropped next to his feet, long since discarded. 

There is something familiar about the harbinger. The little boy walks forward, and taps him once in the shoulder.  

Jaded blue eyes, so bright he fears they may be supernatural, meet his own. The little boy can see that there is a power behind the cloud of grief, moving and toiling like a hurricane.

“Hi.” The little boy says, extending his hand in greeting. “What’s your name?” The harbinger looks at his hand cautiously, before shaking it once. 

And the harbinger mutters his name. The little boy strains to hear it, but he finds that it is lost to the wind. 

And then the world crumbles, like sand between the little boy’s fingers. He watches the tired harbinger dissolve as if he were smoke, and the he himself collapses.

-

He woke up in cold sweat. Another variation of the same dream. He turned over to his side, curling in on himself. 

One day, he supposed he shall figure out what it means. But tonight is not that night. 

He falls back into a restless sleep, yet forgets about the dream come dawn. 

Chapter Text

Tommy’s adoption into the royal family spread around the capital within two hours of it being announced. 

Wilbur had stood in between his father and brother during the event. It had been the first time in a long while he had forced himself into the pale blue dress shirt, since he had buttoned the gold knobs and secured the midnight colored cape across his back. The thin golden chain seemed too weak to hold the thick furred cloak in place, but it did its job well enough. From his ear dangled a clip on emerald earring; it was tradition for the royal family to wear one. 

Wilbur had hesitated before placing the silver crown on his head. He hated the damn thing; it was cold and uncomfortable, pressing into his skull and sending a tremor down his neck every time he shifted his head. However, he couldn’t deny how beautiful it was, with the shimmering sapphire and glistening diamond stones inladen on the acmes of the crown.  

He placed it on his head slowly. He could tolerate the discomfort for a few hours; it was for Tommy, after all. 

Wilbur was impressed with how fast the tailors worked. Tommy had been public to the palace for twelve hours, yet they still spun him fresh clothes within hours. He looked adorable in his formal attire, his little black boots the size of Wilbur’s hand. 

“Wilby!” He had cried upon seeing him, holding Phil’s hand as he teetered down the hallway. His face split into a wide grin. Phil chuckled, gently releasing his hand as the toddler ambled over to Wilbur. Tommy made grabby hands up at him, clearly wishing to be elevated. Wilbur smiled, stooping down and hoisting him up. 

“Don’t you look sharp, Toms!” He said affectionately. The toddler grinned, eyes sparkling.

“Dad said I’m a big man!” He declared, tiny fists thumping his chest. Wilbur smiled, ruffling his hair. 

“He’s right.” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Agreeing with Phil was odd; Wilbur couldn’t exactly remember the last time he did. 

Talk to him. Something whispered inside him, urging him to reconcile. 

Later. He glanced up at his father, who seemed blissfully unaware of the mental debate Wilbur was suffering through. We have the get through the announcement first. 

Phil had cobbled together a speech date within twelve hours. Obviously he had to announce the whole adoption and new prince thing. Wilbur knew it would be him and Techno standing still for an hour while Phil spoke, and then they all waved. 

Sometimes, Wilbur could pick out Niki or Jack or Eret in the crowd. They usually hung around the outskirts, if they came at all. News travelled like wildfire through the city, and circulated the empire itself within a week. News as big as a new prince would reach the outskirts in mere days. 

“I forgot how hard it was to button this shirt.” Techno had appeared at the edge of the hall, fiddling with golden buttons. He was dressed similarly to Wilbur, although his long pink hair was done in a braid. Wilbur hadn’t even bothered to brush his. 

“Loser.” Wilbur snorted. “Not able to button. Butterfingers.” 

“At least I brushed my hair.” Techno retorted.

“Touché.” Wilbur said, crossing his arms. Techno dropped his hands, raising a brow.

“Your crown is crooked, O Wonderful Heir.” He reached forward and adjusted it. Wilbur batted his hand away, glowering at him. 

“Yeah, yeah. It looked fine.” He muttered, face turning red. It wasn’t just the fact that he managed to put his crown on wrong; he hated when people referred to him as the heir. It made his eye twitch and spine shudder. The fact that someday he would take Phil’s place as king scared him. He tried to minimize the thoughts around that subject. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” Techno nudged him. “Are you ready?” 

“For?” Wilbur asked, tilting his head. 

“Tommy to be known to the kingdom.” He responded, eyes drifting to Tommy, who was still clutched in Wilbur’s arms. 

“Yes.” Wilbur responded. “I just hope the people like him.” 

“I literally do not know how anyone could hate him.” Techno scoffed. He leaned forward and ruffled Tommy’s hair, mimicking Wilbur’s action. Tommy giggled, clearly happy.

“Okay boys, are you three ready?” Phil asked. His hand brushed Wilbur’s shoulder. He drew it back instantly, guiltily looking away. He was shocked that he didn’t mind the touch; once upon a time he knew he would have flinched away. But now he found that he wanted Phil to stay around, that he wanted his father to hug him. 

“Yep.” Techno said, shifting his shoulders. “Ready to stand around for an hour. Sounds great.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Phil shifted to Wilbur, nodding to Tommy. He gently handed the toddler to his father. “Alright, it’s time. Let’s go.” He turned around, wings sweeping the floor as he strode to the balcony. 

The palace had been constructed with a view over the main city. Wilbur had never used it to get into it, however; it was too exposed. It did provide a nice view, however. And it was easy for the speaker to be heard. Phil had given many speeches from the balcony, and would give many more. And someday, Wilbur would too. 

It was a strange thought. 

“Thank you for assembling here today.” Phil began as soon as they had taken their places. Wilbur prepared himself to space out, already finding his mind wandering. It was bad, he knew, but to be fair, he already knew what was going to be said.

Wilbur let his mind drift, allowing it to get lost in his thoughts. The night had been long, as it had been running back and forth through the hall and sorting paperwork and explaining the story and introducing Tommy— Wilbur slept for one hour, if even. He was entitled to space out just a bit. 

“…After deliberation—“ Phil continued, hoisting Tommy up higher. Wilbur jolted back to attention at that, barely biting back a subconscious laugh. 

“Deliberation, my ass.” Wilbur whispered to Techno. His brother quirked a smile, biting back a snicker. 

“Don’t.” Techno hissed back, “I can’t stop laughing now.” Wilbur smirked, but straightened up. He stared attentively ahead, eyes flitting across the assembled crowd. 

It was funny to think about how frequently Wilbur immersed himself down there. How he ran around in rough spin clothes and huddled in the marketplace. How he ran through the city and knew it like the back of his hand. 

How he found Tommy amongst the city as well. 

Wilbur smiled, glancing over at Phil, who was still speaking. Tommy was staring curiously down at the city, his bright blue eyes wide. Wilbur waved at him, the motion small. Tommy grinned at him and waved back, opening and closing his fist. 

“And so, I am pleased to introduce Tommy, Prince of the Antarctic Empire… and my son.” Phil finished speaking, eyes sparkling. The crowd began to clap. Phil softly whispered something to the toddler. Tommy began to wave, a little grin spreading across his face. 

“They love him.” Wilbur said, smiling. 

“Of course they do.” Techno replied. “He’s adorable, how could anyone hate him?” Wilbur nodded. 

“True.” He agreed sagely. Techno adjusted his own cloak, the golden clasp having come undone. Wilbur shifted, feeling antsy. 

“How long do we have to stand here?” He muttered, resisting the urge to stretch his arms. Techno shrugged, discreetly rolling his shoulders. 

“When people stop clapping.” He replied. “So… we could be here for a while. No one ever likes to be the first one to stop clapping.” Techno grumbled, eyes flitting shut. 

“Please… take one for the team.” Wilbur begged softly, scanning the crowd. “My mouth is starting to hurt from smiling.” Techno snorted. 

“That is a you problem, brother.” He replied. 

“So mean.” Wilbur grumbled. He shifted his shoulders, counting. Finally, the applause dwindled down. Phil motioned for them to follow him, keeping his chin up as he walked back into the palace. Wilbur had to restrain himself from sprinting after him, instead keeping his poise. 

For about five seconds. 

“Arghhhh… my head hurts.” Wilbur said, collapsing onto the chair. He slid his crown off, the pressure on his head releasing. Phil chuckled, setting Tommy down. 

“Oh, the woes of being royal.” Techno teased gently. “Such a hard life.”

“Shut up.” Wilbur grumbled, tempted to throw his shoe at him. 

“Die.” Tommy agreed, teetering over to him. Wilbur shifted on the chair, spreading his arms out. He let out a sharp breath of air as Tommy clambered on top of him, practically curling up on his chest like a cat. 

“You’re so stuck now.” Techno said with a guffaw. “He’s not moving any time soon.” Wilbur glared at him. He slowly held his hand up, lowering all but one finger. 

“Wilbur!” Phil gasped, clearly resisting the urge to laugh. Techno rolled his eyes, albeit they were glimmering with amusement. 

“Real mature.” He taunted. 

“I know, right?” Wilbur grinned, lowering his hand. 

“Do you actually want us to move Tommy, or—“ Phil started to ask. Wilbur shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m fine. I don’t mind.” He responded. “We’ll be along whenever Tommy decides he wants to move.” He gently ran a hand through the kid’s hair. 

“If you say so.” Techno replied with a shrug. “If I find you as a fossil, I’ll know what happened.” Wilbur scowled at him. 

“Shut.” He snapped, pulling off his shoe and chucking it at him. Phil burst out laughing as Techno let out a shriek, ducking out of the way. 

“I’m so going to get you back later.” He snapped, yet it lacked any harshness. 

“You can try.” Wilbur said, a devil’s grin across his face. 

“Whatever. See you later, brother.” Techno replied, waving. Wilbur watched him exit, mentally preparing for war. 

“I’ll… see you at dinner..?” Phil said, phrasing it as a question. Wilbur blinked at him, shifting his head to peer at him past Tommy. He gave him a half smile. 

“I’ll be there.” He promised. Phil smiled back, dipping his head. He followed Techno, his black wings vanishing from view. He sighed, making himself more comfortable. Tommy was already half asleep, somehow. 

“What is your sleep schedule, bud?” Wilbur muttered, not unkindly. Tommy opened one half lidded eye, one brow raised. He looked exactly like Techno when he was disappointed in Wilbur. 

“Alright, I won’t question it.” He said, chuckling. Wilbur sighed, finally comfortable. He found himself dipping into quiet contentment, just him and Tommy. Just like how it all started. 

But now there was no secret. There was no hiding. Tommy really was part of their family, and Wilbur didn’t have to be afraid of him being taken away. He nestled him closer. 

And whoever had hurt Tommy would never be able to again. Because they would be foolish to come after him now, with the Antarctic Empire protecting him. He was safe, and that thought alone filled Wilbur with joy.

He succeeded. It was going to be okay. 

“Welcome to the family, Tommy.” Wilbur said affectionately. He hugged the toddler, wrapping his arms around him, and gently pressing their foreheads together. Tommy beamed at him. 

Wilbur smiled. He was happy. The family— his family was healing . A small thought nagged in the back of his head. 

There was but one thing left to do now. 

After dinner. He promised himself. He could afford to sit for a moment, just him and Tommy— his brother. 

-

Wilbur did not do it after dinner. He didn’t do it until the next day, in fact. He had lost his nerve, his thoughts too jumbled. He didn’t think he could articulate what needed to be said at that moment. 

No, it was best to wait. He would do it in the morning, he said.

Spoiler: Wilbur didn’t. He wimped out in the end, taking one look at his father and decided it could wait. 

Techno tried to prod him into it. He said it would end up better for everyone if he sucked it up and spoke to Phil. He told him that both of them wanted to fix things; it was up to one of them to take the first step. 

And Wilbur had already made it thoroughly clear it had to be him. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Which is how he found himself seated up on the roof of the palace, letting the wind brush past him and rustle his hair. He stared blankly at the horizon, the sun setting and painting the sky bright oranges and pinks. He barely felt the chill, although he knew it was onsetting and biting into his skin.  

But he didn’t care. He was a coward, and cowards deserved to be punished. He deserved to feel cold, because he didn't have the guts to talk to his father. 

Wilbur curled his knees to his chest, exhaling slowly. It was going to snow tonight. It would be cold on the streets, and even colder on the roof. He should get down soon, before it iced over and became impossible to climb down.

But it was nice up here. A haven, one the rest of the world was shut out from. It was just him, the sky, and—

“Hey.” Wilbur jumped, his heart leaping out of his chest. Phil had landed silently next to him, his pitch black wings folding in softly. His feathers rustled in the wind, yet still they hardly made a sound. 

“Hi.” He replied after he stilled his racing heart. “What’re you doing up here?” He asked, not unkindly. 

“Looking for you.” His father replied. “I… well, I was worried about you.” Wilbur blinked at him, tilting his head to rest on his knees as he examined Phil. 

“Thanks.” He replied. “I’m fine, as you can see…” He trailed off, twisting his head to stare back at the horizon. Angry grey clouds were brewing at the edge, being pushed closer and closer with each strong breeze. 

“Yeah.” An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Say it. Talk to him. It was literally set up for Wilbur. Phil came to him, and it was a peaceful environment. It all gave him favor. 

But he felt so tongue tied, the words heavy in his chest. How could he explain how he wanted to let go of years of resentment? It all felt too hard, too much. 

But he had to try. He owed his family that, at least. And dammit, Wilbur wanted things to just be okay. 

“I… I don’t want to be mad anymore.” Wilbur began, his breath rattling in his chest. His nerves were flaring up, anxiety threatening to put a halt to everything. Phil was silent, looking away. His eyes flashed with hidden hope. 

“It’s been… it was hard, when you left.” Wilbur continued, pushing forward. “I was so angry at you, because it felt like you just walked away from me and Techno when we needed you the most.” 

“I don’t have an excuse for what I did.” Phil said miserably. “And you were right to be angry at me; I would have been—“ 

“But that’s the thing!” Wilbur interrupted. “I don’t want to be angry. I really am tired of not having a family.” He ran a hand over his face, ignoring how cold his fingers felt. Wilbur collected his thoughts, letting it settle before speaking again. 

“It wasn’t fair what happened. When mom died. It ripped everything apart. But- but with Tommy, I feel like we can— well, maybe repair what happened. And… and being angry… I just… it hurts me, too.” He rambled, practically gasping for breath. His emotions were bubbling to the surface, starting to overwhelm his senses. 

“Take a deep breath, Wil.” Phil murmured. “It’s okay.” Wilbur tried to, but all he did was let out a small whine, tears blurring his vision. 

“Fuck, I— I—“ He stumbled over his words, unable to form coherent syllables.

Soon, he was crying. Hot tears streaked his cheeks, hiccuping sobs emitting from his lips. He had been so angry , so hurt. Wilbur had been helpless to stop Phil from leaving. He had been helpless to stop his mom from dying. 

Which is why he was so upset. He had been tired of the world itself. Wilbur had every right to be angry, but could he really justify holding onto that for as long as he did?

Probably. His father all but left. But he came back, and Wilbur stubbornly hung onto his righteous anger, assuming he hadn’t changed. 

But Phil had made an effort to show he was improving. That he wouldn’t run away. But Wilbur still couldn’t forgive. 

That anger was eating him alive. It had tried to consume him over and over again, devouring his soul and chewing his heart up until nothing remained but an empty void. 

He didn’t know when his vision started to clear, when his gasping sobs became controlled. Wilbur glanced over and saw Phil’s eyes misty with tears as well. His father ducked his head, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was on the verge of crying.

Wilbur exhaled, finally able to gain a semblance of control. He stared blankly at the sky again, his tears freezing on his face. He bit his lip, gnawing on it as he began to formulate what to say next. Phil was waiting patiently next to him, his father managing to maintain a neutral face despite the tears forming in his eyes. 

“It’s gonna take some time.” Wilbur whispered after a moment, his voice hoarse from the sudden bout of crying. “But Ph— dad, I really, really want to forgive you.” 

“I know. And— and I’ll be ready when you are.” Phil said, hurriedly wiping his eyes. Wilbur hesitantly reached over and wrapped his arms around his father. Phil stiffened slightly, but reciprocated, holding him close. 

He felt like they were father and son again. 

“Dad, I…” Wilbur hesitated before speaking. “I love you. And I… I mean it.” He found that there was nothing but sincerity in his voice, real affectionate directed at his father for the first time in years. 

He could practically feel Phil’s smile, his father holding him tighter. Wilbur leaned into the touch, forcing himself not to break down crying again. 

“I love you too, my son.” He whispered back, so quiet it was nearly lost to the wind. 

Wilbur drew back and smiled at him, coughing slightly as his throat itched. A sudden wave of cold rushed over him, as if he was being drawn back to the real world. 

And then he shuddered. And wouldn’t stop shivering. He glanced down at his arms, finding the skin red and angry. He definitely should have brought a coat. 

Phil glanced at him, concern filling his gaze. “Are you okay?” He asked softly. 

“‘M cold.” Wilbur confessed, curling in on himself. He shuddered as another gust of wind slammed into him. He turned his head down, trying to cover his ears and conserve whatever body heat he could.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Phil suggested softly. Wilbur nodded, allowing his father to help him stand. He glanced down, throat bobbing. His limbs were too numb, he realized with dismay. 

“I don’t th-think I can c-climb down. T-too cold.” He stammered, embarrassed to admit it. Phil shrugged. 

“I can carry you.” He offered immediately. “If you’re okay with it.” Wilbur nodded numbly. He allowed Phil to pick him up, his head slumping against his father’s chest. 

He dimly registered his wings snapping open. He felt them free falling, spiraling down into the main courtyard of the palace. Wilbur would have liked to see, but he was simply too cold. He huddled closer, mentally cursing his stupidity. Should have brought a coat. 

“Almost there, Wil.” Phil said softly. “We can get you warmed up.” He couldn’t coax a response out of his throat, not even a nod. 

He felt the temperature shift as they entered the palace itself. Wilbur’s muscles untensed as the warmth hit. He relaxed slightly, managing to slightly open his eyes. His vision was blurry, but at least he wasn’t completely freezing. 

“Here we are.” Wilbur felt them turn, Phil nudging the door to his room open. His father beelined for the bed, laying him down on it and pulling the covers up. Good thing I didn’t make my bed this morning, he thought deliriously. Wilbur let his eyes start shut, allowing his body to rest. He heard Phil making rounds, fixing up parts of the room. 

“You’re all set. I’ll leave you alone now.” Phil said at last, beginning to head toward the door. Wilbur lifted his head, eyes opening. He locked eyes with his father, shaking his head slightly. Phil turned around, waiting for him to speak. 

“Wait. Stay?” He mumbled, almost sheepishly. His father rustled next to him, clearly surprised. His face softened almost instantaneously.’

“Of course.” Phil replied. “I’ll be here all night.” Wilbur shut his eyes, drifting off into slumber, content to know that his father was watching over him. And for the first time in a very long time, his heart felt full. 

-

The streets were frigid as the sun set, a cold gust of wind rushing through them. Nepja, they call it. Their god of winter. Karl shuddered as he walked, the wind chilling him to his core. The stories described the deity as mischievous, cruel with a twisted sense of humor. Some of the Electus were said to be cursed by him. 

Karl, personally, had no idea where the gifted got their abilities. He personally thought it was some kind of genetic mutation, but who was he to say? He was just some spy from the SMP. 

He pulled his coat tighter around himself. Karl couldn’t help but cast fervent glances over his shoulder. His paranoia at being caught continued to increase with each day. It was odd; he had never been this anxious before.

But he had never been stationed in the Antarctic Empire for this long. Last time had been a few days, doing basic reconnaissance. The situation hadn’t required much analysis. 

But Dream was clearly desperate to find whatever he lost. Desperate enough to place a spy in the Empire, that is. 

Karl chided himself mentally. He had volunteered for this, after all. Who was he to complain? He may very well have signed his own death sentence. 

Rendezvous days were the most risky. All it took was one wrong look, one eavesdropper, and it was over. Karl drew in a sharp breath. The Antarctic Empire wasn’t known for its quarter.

Still, he had a duty, and he was not one to shy away from it. 

Karl’s satchel was full of information, pages and pages of reports. So much had happened in the past week. It wasn’t everyday a new prince was brought into the royal family. It gave Karl a profuse amount of things to do, rapidly scribbling reports, preparing for today. 

He reached the meeting place and paused, a tremor running through him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and Karl was suddenly acutely aware of his pulse pounding in his ears. 

He was being watched. 

Stay calm, he told himself, exhaling slowly. He rolled his shoulders, eyes ticking around the perimeter. 

“Who’s there?” Karl called, his hand drifting to his dagger. If they were soldiers, he stood no chance, but he would rather die than be taken in. The figure stepped out of the shadows. His grip tightened on his knife. The person removed their hood slowly. 

“Quackity.” Karl’s face crumpled in relief. “Thank god, I thought you were… not Quackity.” The other man lifted a brow, drawing back the hood of his cloak.

“Who else would I be, dumbass?” He teased, voice light. Karl scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, can never be too careful.” He retorted. Quackity rolled his eyes, patting Karl on the back. 

“Lighten up, buddy.” He said, slinging his arm around Karl’s shoulder. “ I won’t turn you in, don’t worry.” Quackity said, smirking. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled. Quackity was someone Karl trusted with his life; he had grown up with him, after all. It was nice to see him, especially as the last contacts had been dull with little news from home. 

“You know you’re happy to see me.” He teased, poking his cheek. “Smile!” 

“Fine.” Karl said, unable to suppress a grin. “It is good to see you.” 

“I know, my presence is always a blessing.” Quackity said, throwing his head back and laughing. He stepped back, and Karl shook himself out. He adjusted his coat, smoothing down the ruffles. Karl checked his satchel, making sure everything was in order.

“Good thing you didn’t squish the report.” He said with a snicker. “Dream would have skinned you alive.” Quackity stuck his tongue out, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I was careful. Speaking of, Dream requested confirmation on the new prince. You have the visual, right?” Quackity said, rolling his eyes. Karl nodded once. He always had them. “Not sure why he cares. And Sap won’t tell me, no matter how much I begged him.” A sinking feeling hit him, tying his stomach in knots. 

Something felt off about this. 

Karl pulled the black and white photograph out. Cameras were a funny thing, but proved useful in situations such as these. Thank whoever thought of that. He managed to snap a picture of the new family portrait. He tucked it into the report file, handing it off to Quackity. 

“Awesome.” The black haired man shot him a grin, flipping through the papers before snapping the folder shut. Karl managed a half grin, trying his best to seem confident.

Of course, Quackity wasn’t easily fooled. For all of his flamboyant, boisterous acts, he was an observant person. He had a knack for noticing when someone was hurting. Karl had been a fool to think he could hide his anxiety from him 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Quackity asked, his playful demeanor evaporating like smoke. “Are you okay?” Karl swallowed thickly. How could he explain what was going on inside his head? Quackity was rash, and he would likely immediately label Karl a traitor. 

No, he could bite his tongue. He could play this off. 

“Just… been rough here.” Karl said ambiguously. “Cold. And that explosion a bit ago… everyone was on edge.” Quackity nodded sympathetically. 

“Well, you did choose to come here…” He reminded him. Karl sighed. 

“I know.” He admitted. “I just didn’t foresee it being this difficult.” 

“You’ll be able to come home soon.” Quackity reassured him, patting his arm gently. Karl smiled at him, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

“I hope so.” Karl said, running a hand through his hair. A small silence descended over the two, standing in the street. Snow was starting to fall; Karl knew it was best they wrapped this up before night fully fell. He had one question he desperately wanted answered, one he hoped Quackity could answer. 

“Did… did they catch Puffy?” Karl asked, almost hesitantly. Ever since seeing her here the other day, he had been wondering what had happened non stop. 

“Not sure. They stopped back home for fresh supplies, but rumor is they’re close.” Quackity said, glancing at the sky worriedly. He turned to Karl, an apologetic smile spreading across his face. 

“I hate to do this…” Quackity began. 

“Yeah, you should go.” Karl finished for him. He winced, realizing how bad that sounded. “Not that I don’t like seeing you! Just that… with the wind— night— all of that—“ 

“Relax!” Quackity said, laughing. “I getcha. I was about to say the same thing.” Karl relaxed, nodding. 

“Alright. Well… until next time.” He said awkwardly. 

“See you soon.” Karl watched him go. Quackity vanished into the night like he had never been there, like the final embers of a fire finally dying out until it was nothing but ash. 

He swallowed thickly, vision blurring slightly. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Somehow, he felt as if he had made a terrible mistake. 

“What does Dream want with the new prince?” He muttered out loud. It made no sense. It wasn’t like Prince Tommy was the new heir; he had simply been found and adopted. 

Karl paused, narrowing his eyes. His breath caught slightly 

He had been found . 

In a street. 

Alone. 

Somewhere deep inside him, something clicked. 

-

Day Fifteen 

I wasn’t going to write today. Nothing interesting happened until I met with Quackity. But I think I finally figured out what Dream is after. I’m rather stupid for not seeing it sooner. 

He wants the prince. He wants… Tommy, that’s his name. That’s what  who Puffy stole. It all makes so much sense. 

I wonder if she’s okay, or if she’s dead.

I feel sick. I didn’t realize we were hunting a child. I don’t think I want to do this anymore; but I guess I don’t have a choice, do I? I’m loyal to the SMP, that’s my home. I have to do whatever I have to ensure the success of my homeland. 

But why does Dream want Tommy? What possible purpose could that kid serve? I’ve only really seen him twice and both times he was just… being a toddler. I still can’t believe that Prince Wilbur had him in his closet, what the honk.

They all look happy together. I don’t know if I can help splinter that apart. But it’s too late to turn back; Quackity got the copy of the picture and has taken it off to Dream. He’ll recall me and then confront the king. 

And knowing King Philza, there will not be peace. He would not let that offense slide. 

Dream’s too stubborn to realize what a mistake it would be to confront the Antarctic Empire. We’ll go to war, all for a kid. 

A kid who will have to grow up surrounded by chaos… because of me Dream. It’s too late to stop this. I can’t— I don’t— oh god. People are going to die. 

I have to stay loyal to my country. I’ll stay here until I’m called home, and I’ll be ready for war. 

Heaven help us. 

All for now. 

-Karl.

Chapter Text

It turns out that Wilbur had, in fact, managed to get himself sick. He woke up the next morning freezing cold, despite the mountain of blankets he burrowed under. His body ached as well, the pain in his legs doubling whenever he shifted. 

“Shit.” He groaned. Wilbur cracked his eyes open to find a blurry world. His room was still blissfully dark, the curtains blocking out all rays of sun. A wave of exhaustion hit him as he attempted to sit up. He slumped back down, his head flopping against the pillow. 

Wilbur decided the best thing he could do was try and sleep it off. Maybe this was just a morning thing, maybe it would pass within an hour. He shut his eyes, falling back into peaceful slumber. 

“Wilbur?” He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard his name called. Wilbur wanted to reply, but his throat felt like someone was rubbing it with sandpaper. Quiet footsteps drew closer, the door shutting softly. 

“Oh man, last night did a number on you.” Phil’s worried voice floated above his head. Wilbur blinked his eyes open, managing to nod. 

“Water?” He forced out. His father made a concerned sound in the back of his throat.

“Of course. One second.” Wilbur muttered an exhausted thank you, dropping his head back against the pillow. He continued to curse himself for his stupidity. He knew that going to the roof without a coat was dumb. He knew that he could get cold, and that it could make him sick. 

And here he was, definitely bedridden for the duration of the day. 

Wilbur’s head was pounding, probably from the tension in it. It felt like someone was pressing down on his temples, making his head spin. He exhaled shakily, wishing for the feeling to pass quickly. It was irritating, really; he brought this upon himself. He shouldn’t have been so thoughtless. 

His door swung open again, his father bustling in. Wilbur accepted the glass of water gratefully. He pushed himself into a sitting position. Black spots danced across his vision. He inhaled sharply as pain struck his left temple. 

Wilbur downed the water, collapsing back against his bed sheets. He bit back a curse, one hand pressed against his pounding head. A small whine echoed through his skull. He realized with a jolt it was coming from him .  

“Hey, it’s okay.” Phil cooed softly. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get something to help with the fever.” Wilbur didn’t try to call him back. The pain continued to increase, his eyes filling with tears. What the fuck, what the fuck. It was excruciating, some of the worst agony he’d felt. 

Wilbur had done many things to injure himself in the past. He’d sprain and broken bones during “training” (or jumping off roofs), along with the unfortunate incident where he nearly ripped open his arm. 

But this was hell. When Wilbur cracked open his eyes, he found that he couldn’t see anything out of his left eye. His vision was shrouded in black and grey lines, wriggling around his line of sight and obscuring it completely. 

Phil’s footsteps sounded outside his door, and he soon reappeared on Wilbur’s right. He twisted slightly, glancing up at him. His father’s gaze was concerned as he laid a hand against his forehead. It felt cool, easing some of the fire that burned through his head. 

“You’re burning up. I think it’s best if you stay here for the day.” Phil said quietly, laying a damp cloth across his forehead. Wilbur didn’t recoil from the cool touch, instead finding that it relieved some of the pressure and heat racing through his skull. 

“M’kay.” He agreed, his words slurring. His thoughts were becoming jumbled, harder to discern. He was starting to give up on forming anything remotely coherent. 

“I’ll leave you alone, but I’ll check in when I can.” His father reassured. “Try and sleep, okay? Your fever will break faster if you do.” Wilbur managed a nod, immediately regretting it as it sent more flares of pain from his left temple down his neck. 

He was faintly aware of his door shutting. Wilbur shut his eyes, ignoring the pain behind his eyelids as he struggled to rest. It was difficult to get comfortable; he practically bit back noises of pain as his head spasmed. He could feel exhaustion starting to overcome him, beating the agony back and starting to lead him on to serenity. He barely noticed his door opening just slightly, caught in a trance between slumber and lucidity. 

“Wilby?” Tommy called, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?” His tone was dressed in concern, making Wilbur smile slightly. Aww, he cares. He opened his eyes just enough to see the toddler silhouetted against the backlight from the halls. 

“I’ll- I’ll be fine, Toms.” Wilbur stuttered slightly. “It’s just a little cold.” He shied away from the light from the hall, instead resting in the darkness his room provided. 

He heard small footsteps pattering closer. Wilbur blearily opened his eyes, the world flickering in and out of focus before his eyes. 

“Can I help you?” The toddler stares up at him with wide blue eyes, shining with anticipation. Wilbur gave him a weak smile. 

“Nah, just stay out of trouble.” He responded, his voice raspy. His throat was killing him, a dull ache blooming into stabbing pain. Wilbur hugged his pillow, sighing softly. 

“Tommy? Tommy?” Phil’s voice drifted down the hall. Wilbur heard him come in, nearly silent save for his wings brushing against the door. “Ah, there you are. What are you doing bugging Wil?” 

“I wanna make sure he’s okay!” Tommy turned to Phil. Wilbur cracked a smile, amused by Tommy’s attentive care. The toddler’s concern was adorable.

“I am okay Tommy, really.” He promised, trying to reassure him. The toddler gave him a skeptical look. “Go have fun today, okay?” 

“Well…” The toddler hesitated. He glanced between Wilbur and Phil, before ambling over to their father. “Okay. Feel better, Wilby!” 

“I will soon, don’t worry.” He reassured him quickly. Wilbur watched Tommy turn and dart out the door, blonde hair vanishing down the hall. Phil chuckled softly. 

“He reminds me of you.” He said quietly. “When you were younger.” Wilbur smiled softly. 

“Yeah…” He trailed off, his head starting to feel light. He really wanted to rest, to try and fight off this fever. Phil seemed to sense this, straightening up quickly. Wilbur watched him head to the door through half slitted eyes, already feeling himself falling back into unconsciousness.

“Get some rest, Wil. We’ll keep Tommy out of trouble.” Phil promised. He faintly heard his father shutting his door, leaving him alone. He closed his eyes slowly. Wilbur obliged Phil’s request and sank into slumber, drifting into a void of darkness. 

-

Tommy, however, was less than pleased with Wilbur’s absence. And so he decided to spend his day finding every nook and cranny of the palace. 

The toddler had taken the initiative to explore the palace. Techno faintly wondered how he got stuck babysitting again. 

“Fuck you, Wilbur, for getting sick.” He cursed out loud as he watched Tommy attempt to climb another tapestry. Techno heaved a hefty sigh as he dragged himself over to the glorified blanket that the toddler was hoisting himself up on. 

Techno plucked him off with ease. Tommy didn’t protest, instead giving him a devil’s grin as if already plotting his next climb. There were too many tapestries in the castle, too many curtains for the gremlin child to crawl on. 

“Tommy. I told you to stop climbing on the curtains.” Techno said with a sigh. Tommy simply giggled. 

“Okay, Techie!” He said. Techno carefully set him down, raising a brow. He promptly ignored the fact that Tommy called him Techie . 

(Maybe he was happy to have a nickname like Wilbur. He would never admit it). 

“Do you mean it?” He deadpanned. “Or am I gonna turn around and then find you halfway up the curtain?” Tommy just smirked, the expression eerily similar to Wilbur when he was about to do something ill-conceived. 

“I’m taking that as a no.” He said, sighing. “Man, I can’t let you climb the curtain.” Tommy shot him a pouty look, his lower lip jutting out as he crossed his arms. 

“ ‘The wise warrior avoids battle.’ ” He whispered, reminding himself to be patient as watched Tommy attempt to climb another tapestry. Techno watched him slip down and run off. He trailed after him, biting back another sigh. It was going to be a long, long, long day. 

-

The little boy is running. He can feel something stirring, deep in the marrow of his bone and his heart of hearts, something felt wrong. He could hear metal on metal from a distant shore. 

It scares him. The little boy has never heard war sounds this terrible. A horrible screeching noise rises above the cacophony, as if a solo in a gruesome orchestra. 

It only spurs him further. The little boy quickens his pace. 

He reaches the edge of a village; the foothills surrounding it are coated with snow. Icicles hang off of the ruined buildings, despite the fires raging in other corners of the town. Cobble streets are stained with a ruddy brown that could only be blood; some of the stones also appear to have been scorched with fire. 

He spends little time amongst the ruins. All that lies in the town are ghosts. The little boy continues to run forward.

He skids to a halt. Just outside the town is a massacre. 

The little boy can see discarded guns, scattered swords, and small fires still blazing. Embers still sputter, stubbornly clinging to life. 

But the people are dead.

The little boy stares mutely at the destruction. Never before has he seen something so terrible. He doesn’t think there is any survivor, any winner. 

The death is widespread, the blood thick on the ground. He wrinkles his nose against the stench from the carcasses, already hanging heavy in the air. He swears he can hear a crow caw above him, the birds descending upon the dead. 

His stomach churns. The little boy steps back, intending to flee, when something catches his eye.

No, someone.  

It’s the same scene again, the little boy realizes with a jolt. The aftermath of a battlefield, with the same lone figure overlooking it. The little boy has dreamt this before. 

“Hello?” He calls out. The person on the hill starts, turning around. He immediately stiffens, as if seeing a ghost. He recovers quickly, poising himself as if he never stumbled.

“Don’t come closer.” The harbinger’s voice— painfully familiar, yet so foreign— rings across the ruined plain. “You- you’ll get hurt.” There’s regret edged in his tone, yet the little boy canning discern why. 

The little boy knows he cannot listen. There is something driving him forward, making his feet move. He continues to pick his way across the carnage, pressing onward with determination.

He can still see the harbinger. He’s standing alone, on the vertex of the hill. The little boy is running toward him, concern flooding him. He has to reach him before it’s too late, he has to help him—

-

“Tommy is a gremlin . An absolute devil child.” Wilbur pried open one eye as he heard Techno come barging into the room. Huh. That was odd. Techno never barged anywhere. 

Either way, he was awake. Kind of. He felt like he was caught in a lucid dream, awake but asleep. He wasn’t fully sure this conversation was happening. The pain from earlier had receded, only twinging whenever he shifted too abruptly. Wilbur had no idea how long he had been asleep. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. 

Whatever the case, Techno launched into the story of that day. He gave a detailed explanation of Tommy’s attempts at climbing the curtains. Across the entire palace. He was with Phil now, probably still climbing whatever he could. Wilbur listened as attentively as he could, yet he still found himself slipping on the brink of consciousness. 

Should’ve brought a coat, damnit. He cursed his stupidity, biting back another coughing fit. He turned his attention back to his brother. Techno looked forlorn as he continued to describe the curtain climbing incident. 

“That’s my boy…” Wilbur said, chuckling. He broke off in the coughing fit he had been trying so hard to suppress. Techno winced, eyes flashing with concern. 

“Damn, you really do look like shit.” He deadpanned. Wilbur rolled his eyes. He winced as he felt a flash of pain behind his eye, starbursting in his head. Techno grimaced as well, eyes flitting down.   

“Thanks.” He muttered, rolling over. His head felt light, emotions raw in his chest. It was sudden, how quickly his mood turned. It was probably the fever messing with his head, but whatever the case was, he could feel his heart bursting with emotions. He glanced over at Techno, a strange rush of affection hit him. He shot him a lazy smile. 

Techno raised a brow. “What are you smiling about.” He said, his voice not straying from his normal monotony. It wasn’t phrased so much as a question, borderlining an accusation.

“Techno.” Wilbur called out dramatically, feeling like he was floating. Techno raised a brow, his brother looking apprehensive. “You’re the best brother ever.” Techno scoffed, looking away. 

“Better than Tommy?” He teased, not unkindly. Wilbur hardly hesitated before answering. The answer was clear in his mind, it was there before Techno finished speaking. 

“You’re tied.” He declared. “You are both really, really awesome.” Techno seemed taken aback, stuttering slightly. Wilbur looked at him curiously. Previously, before all of that happened with Tommy, he wouldn’t have declared anyone his brother. But now he found that he had a father and two brothers again. He had a family, and he could earnestly say he loved everyone in it. 

“I… that’s… a big honor?” Techno tried weakly. He barked out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Don’t really know how to respond to that.” Wilbur lightly swatted his arm. 

“You say thank you, dummy.” He chided, his words feeling heavy in his mouth. Wilbur could feel his energy dipping again. But it didn’t matter; he was honestly happy to talk to Techno. 

“ Thank you. ” Techno intoned, his voice a deadpan. He sat down on the bed, leaning against the back of it. 

“You’re welcome.” Wilbur said, voice laden with amusement. Techno snorted softly, clearly entertained by their exchange. 

“Did you and Phil talk?” He asked suddenly. 

“Yeah.” Wilbur responded, his head clearing slightly at the mention of their father. He pushed himself up slightly, propping himself up against his pillow.

“And?” Techno gestured for him to continue, almost impatiently. 

“It was… good.” Wilbur tilted his head, running over the discussion. It was hard, drawing anything from his memory in the state he was in. But he managed, pulling out the exchange from yesterday. 

“How?” Techno leaned forward, chin resting on his hands. 

“We just… talked. We both cried. But I do think that things are gonna be okay.” Wilbur said thoughtfully. “He said sorry. I said sorry. And… well, I think that we as a family are gonna be okay.” Techno was silent for a moment. Wilbur rubbed his hands together, anxiously awaiting a response.

“Who would have thought a toddler would bring us all together.” Techno mused, tilting his head. “It’s almost incredible to think that the child you literally kept in your closet would be what— who healed us all.” 

“Yeah.” Wilbur smiled softly. “Who would’ve thought. And I… well…” He sighed, ducking his head. 

“Yeah?” Techno asked, curious. Wilbur internally sighed again. Once he admitted this, he would never be able to live it down. He could always play it off as him being sick, of course.

“You were right. About telling Phil. It probably would have... fixed things a lot sooner.” Wilbur said slowly. It killed him to admit anyone else was right, but he would give credit where it was due. And Techno had been right, at the end of the day. 

“Maybe I was. But... I’m kinda glad we didn’t.” Techno responded deliberately. His eyes were warm as he spoke. His brother rubbed his chin, clearly thinking. Wilbur blinked, not sure if he heard him right.

“Huh?” He asked, craning his neck forward to hear him better. Techno gave him an amused glance. 

“Well, we wouldn’t have gotten to spend so much time together if we had told him right away. I wouldn’t have gotten to call you my brother again if we had.” He drawled slightly, clear notes of joy coloring his voice. Wilbur stared at him, his heart filling with a rush of emotion. It was so strong it felt as if a tidal wave had slammed into him. 

“That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me.” Wilbur laughed. The action sent small tremors of pain through his head, but not enough to keep him from smiling. He was elated, and there was no way the stupid grin on his face was going away any time soon. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Techno grumbled, almost embarrassed. Wilbur cleared his throat slightly, ignoring the scratching feeling that followed. 

“I’m glad we got to fix things, too. Techno, I… I mean it when I say you are the best brother anyone could ask for.” Wilbur said, his tone serious. Techno gazed at him for a second, his calculating face returning. 

“I’m gonna hug you now.” He said suddenly, his voice assured. Wilbur jolted, shaking his head slowly to avoid sending more pain rattling through his skull. 

“You’re gonna get sick if you hug me.” He pointed out, crossing his arms. His brother huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so difficult?” He demanded, voice lacking conviction. 

“I’m just trying to keep you from getting sick!” Wilbur protested weakly. 

“Shut up. I never get sick.” Techno scooted forward and hugged Wilbur tightly. He stiffened slightly, before returning the gesture. He bit back happy tears. He truly had never felt his heart this full. Not since his mother’s death. 

Gods, he was happy and lucky. Wilbur patted Techno once, before pulling back, slightly. 

“I’m sorry for being an ass. And abandoning you.” Wilbur blurted out, almost sheepishly. Techno gave him a soft smile, patting his back in return. 

“I’m sorry for not making an effort. And abandoning you, too.” Techno said. He leaned forward and briefly touched their foreheads together. Wilbur smiled back, pulling away. 

“Get out of here before I get you sick.” He commanded, flopping back against his pillows. He inhaled slightly before speaking again, heart hammering. “Tech, I… I love you.” He couldn’t remember the last time he said to his brother. 

“Love you too, Wil. Get better soon, I can’t watch Tommy all by myself.” Techno responded, standing up. Despite his exhaustion and through his haze, Wilbur didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up. 

-

Wilbur awoke to the sound of his door opening. He was much more alert than he had been earlier, his senses slowly returning. His head still felt tight, but at least the floating feeling was gone.

Which is probably why he was able to pick up on the noise. He left his head, scanning his room. His gaze fell to a rest on his closet, which had its doors swinging. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who decided to enter his room and go to his closet of all places. 

“Tommy?” Wilbur sat up, staring over at his closet. He ignored the sudden bout of dizziness that hit him. Receiving no response, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, ignoring how his joints screamed in protest. He stretched his back, shuffling over to the off room. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his eyes landed on the toddler. Tommy was curled up in the back of Wilbur’s closet, eyes vacant as he gazed off into space. He was deathly silent, out of character for the energetic kid. 

“Hey, Toms.” Wilbur bit back a pained noise as he slid down onto the floor next to him. “What’re you doing up?” 

“Can’t sleep.” He said, so softly Wilbur almost missed it. “Nightmare.” He buried his face in his arms, curling into a little ball. Wilbur’s heart twisted in his chest. 

“Aww, come here buddy.” Wilbur spread his arms. The toddler wasted no time cuddling close, turning his face away from the world. Wilbur could feel him shaking; whatever the nightmare had been, it clearly had shaken the poor kid to his core. 

“‘M s’rry.” Tommy muttered, his voice shaky. Wilbur tilted his head. 

“Why?” He asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure why the kid was sorry— he had a bad dream, for gods’ sake. 

“For waking you up.” Tommy responded, turning his head away from Wilbur. 

“Toms, you never have to be sorry for that.” He replied immediately. Tommy glanced up at him, eyes curious. 

“You aren’t mad?” The toddler asked, wiping his eyes. Wilbur’s heart clenched again. He hugged Tommy closer, running one hand through his hair. 

“Not in the slightest.” He promised. Tommy still looked doubtful, his eyes flashing with an emotion Wilbur couldn’t place. He wished he could reassure him that it was okay, that he wasn’t mad at all; yet the toddler seemed to be too skittish to believe anything he said. 

He once again wondered what had happened in his past to cause reactions like these, to turn his personality up onto its head and turn Tommy from a cheerful, bubbly toddler to a boy who looked like he had seen far too much in his short life. 

Wilbur wished he knew who had done this to Tommy. A surge of anger raced through him; he was going to kill whoever did it. Wilbur felt his jaw tighten. He immediately unclenched, doing his best to remain as placing as possible. 

Tommy’s breathing was still heavy, rattling in his chest. His little fists were clenched to the point where they were bone white. 

Wilbur wished he knew how to calm him down. He tried to think back to when he was a kid; he certainly had his share of nightmares. He remembered how his mother would help him back to sleep. What she had done always helped, but he had no idea how Tommy would be affected by it. 

“Do you want me to sing?” Wilbur asked suddenly. “Would that help you fall asleep?” Tommy blinked, lifting his head. He looked hesitant to respond. 

“But you were sick.” Tommy protested weakly. Wilbur shook his head. 

“I don’t mind. I like singing.” He insisted, trying to sound as sincere as possible. Wilbur appreciated Tommy’s concern, but he wanted to help him relax. And if singing was what would help, then he was glad to do it. 

“Okay…” Tommy trailed off, still looking uncertain. 

“I promise it’s okay.” Wilbur promised. Tommy nodded, resting his head against Wilbur’s shoulder. He smiled softly, already having an idea of the song he was going to sing. He remembered his mother singing it when he couldn’t sleep, and hoped it would help Tommy as much as it helped him. 

Despite his raspy throat, Wilbur still began to sing. He hummed the notes, giving Tommy a chance to settle. 

“‘Let me sing a lullaby as you close your eyes…’” He began softly. Tommy yawned, his lashes fluttering. He remembered his mother singing this lullaby, on nights where his dreams kept him awake. He hoped it would help Tommy fall back into slumber. 

“And as you’re drifting off to sleep..’” Wilbur continued, watching as Tommy closed his eyes. “‘How I hope that the dreams that you find are bright.’” Tommy exhaled, sagging in Wilbur’s grip. 

“‘Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies? Where a tomorrow waits for you and I…’” Wilbur’s hurt panged as he sang, memories resurfacing. He had sung this song to himself each night after his mother died. Sometimes, he could imagine that she was singing along, her no voice in the wind that blew through the city. 

“‘So hold me tight one more time but don’t kiss me goodbye, ‘cause I know that I’ll see you on the other side.’” Wilbur reached up and wiped his eyes, feeling them tear up. Tommy was barely awake, engrossed in the melody as it lured him back to sleep. 

“‘I will think of our song when the nights are too long… I’ll dream of you for that’s where I belong.’” Wilbur blinked, clearing the tears from his eyes. The memories of his mother still stung, but he knew she would be happy to know her lullaby was still being sung. And she definitely would have liked Tommy. The thought brought a smile to his face. 

“‘Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies? Only, in my dreams do we meet again.’” Wilbur finished, the last note wavering in the air. Tommy had fallen back asleep, his breathing even and face relaxed. Wilbur smiled, laying his own head against the wall. 

“Love you, Toms.” He whispered as he shut his eyes. Wilbur let himself drift off to his dreams. 

-

“Why are you helping me?” He is back on the battlefield, gore and blood splattered around him. The harbinger is staring at him, dull sapphire eyes boring into his own. 

He hesitates before answering, eyes scanning the carnage surrounding them. A breeze sweeps through the ruined city, sending a chill through his spine, The harbinger waits for an answer. 

“Because…” He starts, cautiously walking forward. He places his hands on the harbinger’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug. “Because you look like someone who just needs a little warmth.” 

Chapter Text

The little boy is here again. 

He’s in the same place, staring at the same destruction, outside the same ruined town, standing next to the same person.

He makes his way through the village as quickly as he can. He spends no time lingering. He’s seen this scene enough times, seen the destruction over and over again. 

He’s lost track of how many times he’s walked through the ruined village. He sees the collapsed roofs and the burnt houses, the upturned cobble paths and the blocked off streets. The little boy simply moves on. 

He doesn’t think that any answers lie in the ghost town. 

The little boy practically runs through the battlefield. He doesn’t spare anything half a glance. He shuts his ears to the sounds of the dying soldiers. He’s here for one thing, one person. He cannot help them now, anyway. 

The harbinger doesn’t try to chase him off this time. He simply allowed him to walk over and stand there with him. It was colder than the last time, wind brushing across the valley and over the hill. 

The harbinger’s hair is tied up, a tangled mess of blonde locks. It’s streaked with silver and white, signs of stress. His eyes are jaded, like jewels coated in sheens of dust. 

Yet he cannot be more than sixteen. Just a few years older than the little boy. It sends a sudden bout of sadness through him. He hadn’t realized how young he was until he got to really observe him. 

He wishes he knew how to help. The harbinger slowly sinks to his knees, collapsing onto the dead brown grass beneath their feet. 

The little boy sits down next to him, leaning back on the hill. The duo remain silent, neither of them able to find words. The little boy sits with his back to the carnage of the ruined world. 

“This is the last city in this region.” The harbinger says suddenly. “The last one he wanted me to…” He trails off, looking away. 

“What do you mean?” The little boy tilts his head. 

“I don’t know how to describe it, what I can do.” The harbinger says with a sigh. “It’s… it’s complicated.” The little boy hums, his curiosity spiking. Guiltily, he begins to formulate how to phrase his next sentences. He clenches and unclenches his fists. He had no idea how the other man— other boy will react. 

“Why are you here? Why is— who is causing you to do this?” The little boy asks. The harbinger studies him, eyes flashing with suspicion. 

“The monster… he’s been using me for as long as I can remember.” The harbinger’s voice is distant, reminiscing something he can not see. The little boy finally notices the broken fetters on the ground next to them. Dark steel cuffs strained with red so dull it was brown. The harbinger pays them no mind, as if they were a familiar sight. 

“He made you do all this?” The little boy asks, his stomach churning as he surveys the destruction. 

“I didn’t do any of this. I didn’t kill anyone. The… he used my ability to start this.” The harbinger’s tone invites no further questions. 

“Are people blaming you?” He tries anyway. He doesn’t expect an answer; he wouldn’t even blame the harbinger for getting mad at him for asking. 

Instead of getting mad, he simply laughed. 

It was devoid of any amusement, full of sadness. There was nothing happy about the sound. It was a mixture of giggles and wheezes, maniacal and lacking reason. It was a sound that made him flinch away, averting his eyes.