Chapter Text
Wilbur was a god.
It was as simple as that.
Wilbur remembered the first few moments of his existence, something he was told was uncommon, even for gods.
He remembered waking up. He remembered knowing nothing about the still-young world, yet still somehow knowing every small detail that came together to knit the universe together in a delicate blanket of life and being. Wilbur remembered opening his eyes, remembered how the sun’s golden light was the first thing he saw other than the blackness of his eyelids.
Gold was Wilbur’s favorite color, he had decided then.
He remembered the sky’s blue that stretched off for as far as the godling could see. He remembered the soft, fluffy white clouds that floated across the cerulean expanse, contorting and changing shapes in the wind’s soft breeze. Wilbur could remember the gentle smile that graced his features, lungs taking in the crisp air around him in a breath that had his muscles relaxing even more than they had been before.
He remembered noticing the welcoming dull yellow of tall grass, turning his head to watch as the fragile blades danced in the same breeze that skimmed across his skin. Wilbur remembered turning his head back to its original position to look at the sky, now orange and golden and glowing in a way that had the god’s breath taken away from him. He didn’t remember how time had passed him so quickly.
Wilbur remembered sticking out his right arm, palm facing the sky as he stretched and maneuvered his fingers, testing out the small appendages with a newfound curiosity. The way the phalanges had twisted, his tendons creating small ridges against his soft skin, and the wind blowing through the webs between his fingers had Wilbur more intrigued than anything else he had seen so far in his quaint his few hours of being.
Wilbur briefly remembered standing up, taking in the fields of grass and expanses of perfect earth and rolling hills of yellow with piercing eyes. He remembered the distant call of his name, a name he didn’t remember before then. He remembered turning to look behind him, two blurry figures smiling at him with something ringing in his head that they were as close to his parents as a god could get.
Wilbur remembered feeling happy.
He couldn’t tell you how long it had been since he had felt that way.
He couldn’t tell you how long it had been since he had truly felt joy in appreciating the world around him.
It was a few days after Wilbur’s ‘birth’ that he had gained his younger brother. Technoblade, he had called himself, with long pink hair floating in the almost constant breeze, red eyes staring into Wilbur’s godly soul with a look that Wilbur didn’t know would evolve into patronizing in the far distant future. Wilbur had turned to his father, Phil, with a questioning expression.
He didn’t understand why it was necessary for him to have a younger brother.
Phil laughed, ruffling Wilbur’s hair with a knowing smile as he passed by the brunet and headed for his red-eyed brother.
Wilbur would come to hate that look a lot sooner than he would’ve thought.
Technoblade, he had learned, was to be his twin. Although they were born days apart in mortal time, it was really only a few seconds in the eyes of a god. Wilbur accepted the statement from his mother a bit reluctantly, nodding before turning to watch as Technoblade sparred with his father. With their father.
Wilbur later came to hate watching them spar, instead taking to holing up in his room and plucking at an instrument he had made called a guitar. His mother would sometimes sit in, listening to her eldest son as he worked through his feelings in song. She would watch with a smile, sometimes letting her long and gentle hands work through the few tangles of curls on the golden-eyed boy’s head.
Wilbur would smile to himself, pausing to enjoy the small bits of affection before letting himself turn his attention back to pulling at the strings of his instrument with quiet hums, sometimes creating a tune that he would commit to memory to come back to and expand upon later.
It wasn’t a surprise when Wilbur’s first gift was revealed to be music.
It wasn’t a surprise when Techno’s had shown to be war.
Wilbur hated the way his father would coddle his brother after the revelation. Any time the blond man had spent with his brunet son before that had quickly been handed over to Technoblade, the pink-haired godling becoming their father’s favorite before Wilbur had known what had happened.
The more time his brother had spent with their father the more time Wilbur had spent with their mother.
It wasn’t long before Wilbur had begun to add lyrics along with his tunes, only furthering his ability to express his feelings to his mother and anyone who would listen. Within just a few weeks of singing, Wilbur’s voice had turned into the audible version of melted gold and honey-like ambrosia, sweet to the ears and warm to the touch. His voice would charm the hearts of those who offered to listen, which was more often than not only his mother.
There were some times where Wilbur would stay up for weeks at a time, working on songs and lyrics until they couldn’t be fine-tuned any further. Even if gods didn’t necessarily need sleep, it was still worrying to Wilbur’s mother. It wasn’t uncommon for Wilbur to sleep at least once every few days, claiming that it gave his voice a rest (even though his mother knew it never needed it) and him a break from his thoughts.
Wilbur’s mother knew that it was more the latter than the former, as much as the thought saddened her.
Soon enough, Wilbur’s second ability had begun to evolve.
Charm.
It wasn’t a surprise to his mother, although a bit shocking to Wilbur himself.
He supposed that he should have seen it coming sooner. Even if Wilbur’s mother was never affected by his words of honey and suggestion, the lesser gods who would sometimes come to visit their castle certainly were.
Any and every time Wilbur would sing, they would somehow be drawn to his room, sitting outside the door with dazed expressions and eyes glowing a faint gold. Most of the time they would be asleep by the time Wilbur had finished his practicing for the day, which only led the brunet to believe that his charm was worthless for anything other than coaxing a few who listened into sleep.
Wilbur’s father’s reaction to the news of his charm didn’t help the brunet’s insecurity in his ability.
Wilbur could remember his father giving him a gentle smile, ruffling his hair just like he had done when Wilbur was younger, and giving him a curt “good job” before walking off with Technoblade to help him strengthen his second ability, blood. Wilbur remembered only being able to let his smile fall as he stared after their retreating figures, grip loosening on the instrument in his hand.
He didn’t sing for weeks after that.
Within a year of the twins’ second domains revealing themselves, they were already coming into their third and final gifts.
Technoblade’s was protection.
Wilbur couldn’t help the disgust that swirled in his stomach when he saw the pride that showed itself clearly on his father’s face at the revelation. Wilbur honestly wasn’t surprised to find out that his brother held protection under his domains, considering the way he would act towards things he cared about. In the few times they had interacted whenever they weren’t with their respective parents, they would sometimes sit and talk about things they had taken interest in.
They weren’t anything alike, besides the one common trait that they shared, which was their interest in reading.
The hours they would spend just sitting in the castle’s library and discussing books were some of the few times that Wilbur actually felt like he and Technoblade were really related .
Wilbur’s third domain was madness.
The look of sadness on his parents’ faces had his heart squeezing.
They’re sad because of how much of a disappointment you are.
Wilbur had taken to believe it.
His third domain showed itself through his own mental state, which would fluctuate between manic highs of laughter and energy and depressive lows of apathy and suicidal tendencies and thoughts that would keep him up for weeks at a time.
After his third gift was revealed, even his mother distanced herself from him, even if unintentionally.
Wilbur had had enough.
In his eyes, even his family was sick of him. He thought that they had viewed him as a waste of space, nothing but a parasite that lived off of them and took up extra space in their home. He thought that they just saw him as a second-best to Technoblade, someone who was actually worth their time.
When Wilbur was a fully-fledged god, he had gotten out of his childhood home as soon as he could, adventuring off into the world without looking back or even a fleeting thought of doubt on his mind.
Wilbur had traveled everywhere, had seen everything.
He had seen mountains as tall as the sky, air so thin it squeezed even his immortal lungs to the point that it made it difficult to breathe in the unneeded oxygen. He had seen empires made by mortals, creating large buildings and pantheons in the name of themselves and the gods they worshipped. He had even seen fields of rolling hills, covered in the same dull yellow that had reminded Wilbur of his first few moments of existence. He had seen everything.
Wilbur had also experienced a lot of things as well.
Wil had been through nearly every great event to ever happen to the mortals who worshipped him. He had seen great empires rise and fall, had even assisted in the battles and wars that broke out as he picked favorites in who to help on their way to victory.
It wasn’t until a few hundred years after he had first left his family that he had seen Technoblade again.
At first, Wilbur could hardly recognize him.
It had been in the middle of the battle that would become the most well-known of the Trojan war.
Wilbur had been fighting on behalf of the Romans, leading small regiments of soldiers into battle in hopes of victory. Techno had been fighting on behalf of the Greeks, decked out in armour that Wilbur knew he didn’t need and flaunting weapons that were ultimately useless to the war god.
There was one point where the two had gone head-to-head against one another, fighting in an effort to defend the people they had sided with.
Of course, no one had expected Wilbur to win when going against the god of war.
The battle had only resulted in Wilbur’s hatred for his brother to grow. For it to burrow itself deep into his chest and sprout into resentment and jealousy along with his hatred.
Only, Wilbur had come to realize something in his journeys in the mortal realm.
He had realized that maybe, just maybe, he was more special than his father had thought.
It was painful when Wilbur had come into his hidden fourth gift, which was leadership.
It had been a dark night and he had holed himself away in a small little village far away from any large empires or cities. He had booked a room in an old and rundown inn that he was surprised the village even had running, considering how few visitors it looked to have.
It was the middle of the night and Wilbur was having a hard time getting to sleep. Although the god knew that he didn’t need it, he had always taken satisfaction in not having to face his worries and slowly declining mental state while unconscious and tucked away in whatever bed his journeys had brought him.
While Wilbur had certainly had worse to sleep on, on several occasions having to sleep on the rough floors of caves and in the barns of skeptical farmers, he had most definitely had better. Wilbur was a god, after all, it wasn’t abnormal for him to find himself sleeping in the castles of mortal kings on stormy nights. He could be sleeping in one right now if he so wanted. But he didn’t.
Wilbur enjoyed sometimes living like a mortal, not having everyone waiting on him hand and foot. He enjoyed being able to do things for himself and being treated as someone who could do as much. That wasn’t exactly something he was used to growing up with those who were supposed to be his equals, so being treated that way by those who were supposed to serve him always felt refreshing in a way Wilbur couldn’t really describe.
When Wilbur had gotten his fourth and unexpected gift, he had been tossing and turning for a good few hours.
The sky outside was dark and clear enough for him to be able to see the streaks of white that would sometimes cover the seemingly endless expanse of black. Wilbur thought the streaks looked similar to that of pouring milk into a cup of water, watching the white cloud before stretching out and infecting the glass in a hazy fog. Sometimes he would sit for days, just watching as the sun passed overhead and dipped below the horizon, letting the black and cloudy white fog of stars float in its place. Wilbur had noticed over his thousands of years in the mortal realm how the sky would cycle, the stars and watered-down milk streaks (as he so kindly named them) would turn in the sky as if rotating or spinning around the planet.
Wilbur remembered a time when he was still a young godling and had pointed out the observation to his father. The blond man had only chuckled and ruffled Wil’s hair, talking to the boy in a soft voice as he explained how the sky wasn’t spinning but the planet was. The brunet had sat for hours, watching the sky as his father went on and on about the different stars and constellations and the meaning that the mortals had given them as well as the true stories that they were inspired by.
Wilbur had taken more and more of an interest in the stars the longer his father had talked about them. It was one of the few times his father had ever had a full-on conversation with him, so you can imagine how much Wilbur had enjoyed himself.
When the flash of lightening had lit up the sky, the god couldn’t help the jolt of surprise he had given in response. He had grumbled quietly to himself, Wilbur turning to face the small window that was built into the wall of the inn. Wilbur was surprised when he had seen it, considering not many inns in small villages ever had windows in the rooms, but he wasn’t upset about it.
Wilbur watched the sky light up once more and he hissed in pain as a cramp found its way into his stomach. Wilbur was honestly surprised when he had felt it, knowing that gods didn’t get cramps. So when that pain turned into the searing feeling of being stabbed he was very worried.
Wilbur had gotten up from his rickety cot, the floor creaking as he stumbled over to the window and looked out the glass and into the street in front of the inn. He tried to even his breathing, face scrunching up in agony as it felt as if someone had twisted a knife around in his guts before pulling it out and sinking it back in again.
The god threw his head back and tried to keep back a scream. Sure, he had been stabbed before, having fought in his fair share of wars, but this? He imagined it was what dying felt like.
He didn’t know how mortals did it, he really didn’t.
With one final lurch forward that seemed to shoot fire through his muscles, he fell to his knees as it felt like the knife had been pulled out and replaced with a cold block of ice sitting inside the wound. Within a few more moments, the feeling had subsided and he had been left with nothing but a dull ache in the area the pain had sprouted from.
Wilbur stood up, panting and terrified as to what had just happened.
He was a god. Gods didn’t just have things like that happen to them.
The lightning lit up the sky once more, a deep rumble of thunder shaking the ground and inn around him and causing Wilbur to groan once more. He looked out the window, brows furrowing in confusion as he saw an oddly shaped blob laying on the ground of the road outside.
Wilbur had lit a lantern, shrugging on an old brown trench coat that he had had for years, and walked out of the inn. There was a fire in the main area that was lit and kept the entrance of the building warm, something Wilbur was thankful for considering the slight chill that lingered in his old yet surprising dry room.
When the god had walked out of the door, noting how the area where the inn-keeper typically sat and read books was empty, he let his eyes lead him to the same small lump he had seen from his room. He hurried over, only having the light of the lantern and the scarily frequent flashes of lightning to guide his way.
Given Wilbur’s abilities that came with being a god, his eyesight was still fairly good while in the dark. In reality, the brunet didn’t really need the lantern but had grabbed it without much thought. He supposed he was just used to playing mortal by now and it had become a habit.
The closer the god got, the more he was able to pick out specific details of the object. The key ones being that 1) it wasn’t actually an object but a person and 2) that person was actually a baby.
Wilbur could feel the way his face scrunched up into an expression of displeasure at the realization that someone had left a literal infant out on the road in the middle of a storm.
The god walked closer, setting the lantern on the ground beside him as he kneeled and picked up the baby in his arms. He uncovered the child’s face, moving beside the wrap keeping the baby tucked into a tight bean shape. Wilbur was surprised at the first thing he noticed being the vibrant gold of the child’s blond hair, which was being slightly tousled in the wind of the rainless storm.
Gold always was Wilbur’s favorite color.
The next thing Wilbur noticed was the striking blue that shone from underneath long, blond lashes, so bright it reminded Wilbur of the sky that he had seen the day he was created. Wilbur smiled softly, bringing his hand up to cradle the baby’s face.
Wilbur looked up at the sky as he felt the morning sun breaking through the thick clouds, the light covering everything it touched in a bright orange glow. Wilbur looked down at the baby in his hands, eyes widening at seeing how the child essentially glowed in the light of the rising sun. The child’s eyes seemed brighter and its hair somehow seemed to become even more vibrant.
‘A godling?’
Wilbur didn’t know much about godlings, but he did know a few things about them.
One of those things was the average mortal age a godling appeared to be when first created. For Wilbur and Technoblade, they both appeared to be only around five or six, already knowing how to speak in complete sentences and how to walk. Most godling children when created looked anywhere from five to ten, depending on what the godling’s ‘parent(s)’ wanted the child to appear as.
Never had Wilbur heard of a godling appearing the age of a newborn baby.
But, here he was, kneeling in the center of a small village with a newborn godling child and no one but himself and the baby around. Wilbur had no way of telling what god or gods the child belonged to, but he noted how the godling looked eerily similar to his father, with the same golden blond hair and bright blue gaze.
Wilbur could feel warmth flood through his body, his golden eyes that he had changed to brown to appear more like a mortal lighting up in the same vibrant glow of a new godling’s first sun. His limbs felt lighter and his body less tense, one word ringing through his head that told Wilbur all he needed to know: Leadership.
Wilbur had just received his fourth gift, a gift he didn’t know he was meant to hold until now.
The revelation of his new gift let everything fall into place for Wilbur. It explained his stomach ache earlier, why his magic had been acting odd for the past few days, and even why he had found it harder to mask himself as a mortal as of late.
Although Wilbur was confused as to how he had a fourth realm to rule over, he didn’t have much time to think about it as the baby in his arms began to cry, face scrunching up and tears flowing out like the liquid-equivalent of diamonds.
Wilbur panicked as he attempted to calm the child down as to not cause an earthquake or some other natural disaster that would be the result of the newborn’s wailing.
At that moment, Wilbur realized two things.
1) This child was meant to be his new little sibling.
2) Wilbur was going to be the best older brother he could and make sure the baby had the childhood he never got to have himself.
Wilbur came to learn two things after the day he found his little brother.
1) The boy’s name was Tommy, chosen by Wilbur himself.
2) Wilbur knew nothing about raising children.
But he tried, and that was what mattered.
Wilbur realized soon after finding Tommy that nothing he had done in his eons of living was harder than raising a child on the road, so he found a place to settle down as quickly as he could. Wilbur’s first thought was to go back to the god’s realm and raise the boy there, but he quickly dismissed it and was then stuck with the options of either creating an entirely new empire and raising his little brother as a prince or raising the boy in a small village.
It wasn’t a hard decision on Wilbur’s part.
“Tommy! Dinner’s ready!” Wilbur called out, humming softly to himself as he ladled freshly made broth into a bowl. Wilbur didn’t look behind him as the door slammed open, hearing little feet padding against the hardwood and into the small dining room. Wilbur heard the screech of a chair being pulled out and he had assumed that Tommy had sat himself down on the aforementioned chair. When the god turned around, he was holding two bowls of broth in his hands. He gently sat one down in front of Tommy’s spot before setting the other down in front of his own. “Do you want some bread, too?”
Tommy looked up at Wilbur with star-filled eyes as he hurriedly nodded his head, golden hair bouncing with the movements. Wilbur chuckled and walked over to the loaf of bread he had picked up from the bakery that same morning. He unwrapped the loaf from its cloth and tore it into two large chunks, handing the bigger one over to Tommy. The young boy, now around six in mortal years, grabbed it and tore a larger-than-necessary chunk from his half. The boy dipped the piece into his broth, letting it soak up some of the liquid before aggressively shoving the food into his mouth.
“You act like I don’t feed you,” Wilbur rolled his eyes, knowing well that Tommy and he ate better than most of the people who lived in their small village. There were some times where Wilbur would feel guilt for knowing that fact but quickly dismissed the feeling by telling himself how he blessed the village with enough food for all of them each harvest. It was one of the many perks of having a god living in your community, even if you were entirely unaware of it.
Tommy scowled up at his brother, swallowing the bread and rushing out his words as he went back in for more, “Well, you don’t.”
“Oh my-” Wilbur scowled at his little brother, eating his own food in much more reasonable proportions. “You better not be telling the neighbors that. You know that we eat better than a lot of other people who live around here. Not as great as kings and lords and everything, but we aren’t too bad off for not being of noble blood.”
Tommy looked back up at Wilbur and shrugged, speaking through a mouth full of bread and broth, “I know that, but I just like to fuck with you.”
Wilbur smiled at the golden-headed boy as he took a small bite of his bread (he was a little annoyed by the cursing, but he was sure that it wouldn’t become a problem later on), savoring the flavor of the loaf and broth mixture that bloomed on his tastebuds. While he had definitely tasted better, nothing could be better than sharing a meal with Tommy.
The two continued to eat, the young godling rambling on and on between bites of bread and slurps of broth about whatever came to the boy’s mind. Wilbur occasionally butted in to slip pieces of his input here and there and to keep the conversation going or put the boy back on track as to what they were talking about, but otherwise stayed silent and let his brother talk.
Wilbur sometimes wondered if he made the right choice.
He wondered if he made the right choice, choosing to raise Tommy as a normal mortal boy who lived in a small village surrounded by other small villages that were kilometers apart, with large expanses of woods and fields separating them instead of a prince who had anything and everything he asked for any time he wanted it. But then there were moments like these, where Wilbur and Tommy could sit at a small table and eat the simplest of meals as the blond boy chatted on and on about his friends and their daily adventures.
Wilbur knew that if he had chosen to raise Tommy as a prince never allowed to leave his castle that he would never get moments like these with him. Wilbur realized in times like this that this was one of his good choices.
Other times Wilbur wondered if he had made the right choice choosing to raise the boy as a mortal. He knew that when his gifts started coming in and the blond’s magic became harder to contain that it would only make things difficult. Wilbur knew that Tommy might end up hating him for not telling him sooner. But Wilbur was OK with that, knowing from personal experience that living the life of a mortal who didn’t have such tremendous weights on his shoulders was a much better life than that of a god who had to stress over keeping the entire universe in balance every second of the day.
But then there were times like these, where Wilbur wished that he didn’t spend Tommy’s entire childhood convincing him that he was as normal as the neighbor boys he played with every day. Times where Tommy would bring up small things that happened to him that the kid somehow knew weren’t supposed to happen to someone who was only human.
Times where he fell and his cuts and bruises disappeared before his eyes. Times where Tommy would get lost in the forest and it would always somehow take him back to wherever he wanted to go. Times where Tommy seemed to have an understanding of things that a six-year-old should never even know existed. Times where Tommy would stare off into the sky and tell Wilbur that he felt like he belonged up there. Times where Wilbur didn’t have the heart to tell Tommy that he did. That they both did.
And especially at a time like right now, where Tommy was sitting in his bed and crying into Wilbur’s arms because he felt so warm.
Wilbur knew what was happening.
He just didn’t know that it would happen so soon.
Wilbur didn’t know if he was ready to explain everything just yet. He didn’t know if he was ready to tell Tommy that he was a young god who would be forced to live forever and carry the burden of powers that mortals could only ever dream of. Wilbur didn’t know if he was ready to face the heartbroken and betrayed expression of Tommy at finding out that his entire life had been one huge lie.
“Tommy, shh…” Wilbur quietly whispered, holding the boy in his arms and letting him cry in an attempt to relieve the burning sensation that engulfed his entire body.
Wilbur knew from personal experience that the first gift always hurt the most.
The first gift was when that magic in a godling’s blood would finally begin to activate. The red that filled their veins would begin to develop small flecks of the same golden ichor that fully-fledged gods carried as their own blood and the godling would be able to cast small spells and grasp the smallest bits of magic. The revelation of a godling’s first gift was something that would begin to prepare them for what being a god really entailed.
Wilbur didn’t know if he was ready for Tommy to have to face that.
“Wilby,” Tommy whined out as he gripped onto the white blouse that his older brother wore, crying into the fabric as his breathing became more labored the longer the pain went on. “What’s happening to me?”
“Shh…” Wilbur hummed into Tommy’s fluffy golden hair, eyes glowing softly in the dim candle-lit bedroom that the two shared. “I’ll explain tomorrow, I promise. For now, just relax as much as possible and let it happen, OK bubba?”
It was a long night and by the time the pain Tommy was experiencing had died down, the poor boy was tired and on the verge of passing out. Wilbur could do nothing but let the blond lay his head on his lap and sniffle away the stray tears that made their way down his face. Wilbur ran his fingers through his brother’s golden hair, humming a soft tune to help calm the boy down. Wilbur understood how painful it was and understood even more how tired you were after.
“Mischief,” Tommy hummed out groggily, snuggling his head into Wilbur’s lap.
Wilbur smiled softly to himself, continuing to play with his little brother’s hair. Mischief fit him, Wilbur thought. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm…” Tommy yawned, his breathing evening out as he quietly drifted off to sleep.
Wilbur smiled even brighter, leaning back against the wall as he absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Tommy’s hair.
Wilbur’s father had barely acknowledged him after he had received his first gift, too busy obsessing and catering to his brother. Wilbur didn’t blame him as much as he used to. Music wasn’t nearly as interesting of a gift as war was.
But Wilbur promised both himself and Tommy that he would make sure Tommy never felt the same about his own abilities. Wilbur didn’t know what they would be yet, but he already knew that he would be proud of Tommy no matter what they were. He would be proud because they would be Tommy’s, and that was all that really mattered to him in the end.
It wasn’t long before Wilbur had drifted off to sleep himself, holding Tommy in his arms as he uncomfortably sat against the wall, his head resting on his own shoulder as he dreamt of the future that was to come.
It wasn’t long before Wilbur had woken up to the rising sun’s light in his eyes, the rays causing the god to shift awake and look down at his lap to make sure that Tommy was still there. Wilbur let out a faint coo at seeing how his younger brother had snuggled up to him, nuzzling his face into the white fabric of Wilbur’s shirt, his breathing even and calm.
Wilbur carefully slipped out of his brother’s grip, frowning softly in regret at knowing that Tommy would wake up alone and probably confused. Wilbur decided that the best way to make it better would be a nice breakfast, a thing that would double as nutrition and something comforting after the painful night the boy had had.
Wilbur walked into the kitchen, humming a soft tune as he got to work by gathering a bunch of different cheeses, fruits, nuts, and a freshly baked loaf of homemade bread. Wilbur knew that it wasn’t much, especially compared to what gods usually ate (besides ambrosia) but he knew that it would do for Tommy.
As the god worked, he let his mind wander, thinking about the best way to explain to Tommy what had happened last night.
He couldn’t decide the best path to go down, unable to pick between the ‘from the beginning’ and the ‘basic gist’ routes. He figured that he would be able to pick when the time came. He was the god of charm, of course, he would figure out something.
Wil figured that the best thing to do for now would be to decipher the key and most important details. Obviously, he would need to tell Tommy how he was a god and how Tommy was a godling. Tommy already knew that Wilbur had found him as a baby, so that wouldn’t be an issue for today.
Wilbur also thought that it might be a good idea to describe what exactly had happened to Tommy last night, as well as maybe a brief summary of what was going to happen in the future.
Wilbur realized that this was eerily similar to the ‘birds and the bees’ talk that mortals had with their children and externally cringed, setting down the last bowl he would need for his brother’s breakfast.
“Wilby…?” Wilbur heard the familiar voice of a groggy Tommy, turning around to see the boy wiping away the sleep from his eyes and standing in the doorway that connected their room to the dining room.
Wilbur smiled, “Tommy! I was just going to wake you. Here, have a seat. There’s going to be a lot to explain this morning and I thought that a nice breakfast would make the situation a lot better. For the both of us.”
Tommy gave his older brother a confused look, climbing into the chair that was pulled out for him anyway. Wilbur knew that it was because Tommy wasn’t one to pass up food, much less food that looked this good.
Wilbur pulled out his own seat, letting himself settle down and allowing time for Tommy to begin to eat. Wilbur took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before beginning, “So… I suppose that you’re a bit curious as to what happened last night, aren’t you?” Tommy looked up at his brother, nodding before digging back into his food. “I hoped that I wouldn’t have to explain so soon, but I suppose we can never really get what we want, huh?”
Tommy hummed in acknowledgment, more so focusing on eating as much as possible in as little as possible.
“Tommy, I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you much about my childhood,” Wilbur began, before adding with a chuckle. “If you can even consider what I had a childhood in the first place, really.” Wilbur took a deep breath, closing his eyes in an effort to lessen the blow that was to come. “Tommy, I’m a god.”
Silence.
More silence.
Wilbur was beginning to worry.
He opened his eyes, slowly at first, scared to see a dead child laying on his table. But what he did see was Tommy covering his mouth in a failed attempt to hide his laughter, “You? A god? Yeah right, Big Man.”
Tommy let out a cackle, throwing his head back as he laughed harder than Wilbur had thought he had ever seen the boy. This wasn’t exactly the reaction he had expected, but he supposed that it was better than anger, “Tommy… I’m not lying to you.”
Tommy snorted, going back to eating his breakfast, “It was a funny joke, Wil, but I’m not fooled.”
“Tommy.” The way Wilbur spoke had Tommy look to face him instantly. It was rare for Wilbur to sound so… Serious towards Tommy .
Wilbur could see the moment it clicked in Tommy’s head.
“Oh… Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Wilbur cringed at the careful look on Tommy’s face as he glared holes into the table’s wood. “And you’re a godling, which is basically the child version of a god.”
Tommy’s head snapped up, eyes blown wide in disbelief of what Wilbur was saying, “You’re- You’re lying. Wilbur, this isn’t a funny joke. It was a little funny at you saying that you were a god, but saying that I’m one too is too far.”
Wilbur sighed, “Tommy, I’m not joking. I know that this is a lot to take in, but what happened to you last night is a part of you being a godling. Gods who start out as godlings, because not all do, aren’t created knowing their realms or what they’re the god and/or goddess of. Most gods rule over three realms and it’s very rare for them to rule over any more or any less than that unless you’re one of the original ones created by Prime itself, which I’ll explain more on later. I, personally, rule over four: music, charm, madness, and leadership. Godlings will have to go through processes like what happened to you last night to uncover what those realms are, one for each realm. The process is different for each god.”
“You’re telling me that I’m going to have to go through what happened last night again?!” Asked Tommy, food completely forgotten as he screeched in disbelief.
“Yes,” Wilbur began, much more calmly. “But the first time is always the most unpleasant, so the next two times most likely won’t be as bad.”
Tommy frowned, looking down in thought before looking back up to his brother, “What’s my first one?”
“Mischief,” Wilbur smiled softly.
Tommy’s eyes lit up, finally seeming to accept his new reality and a lot easier than Wilbur had expected him to, too.
The rest of the day was spent with Wilbur explaining a bit more in-depth as to what being a god/godling meant exactly, as well as with him asking almost any and all questions that Tommy had asked him. There were a few that Wilbur chose to avoid, mostly about his childhood and things about how exactly godlings were made. Wilbur more so avoided the questions about the latter because he didn’t exactly know. His father had never exactly spent enough time with him to tell him and any time he asked his mother she would just always give him a knowing look. It wasn’t long until he gave up asking entirely.
Overall, it went a lot better than Wilbur had expected.
He thought that Tommy would hate him and tell him how he was the worst person to exist because he kept something so big from him. Wilbur was happy when he found that scenario wasn’t the case and Tommy was just excited to find out about this cool new thing that was happening to him.
Wilbur was glad that his worst-case scenario idea hadn’t come to life.
But Wilbur was still a little unnerved to find that Tommy ruled over mischief for one of his domains.
It wasn’t that Wilbur was upset by the revelation- quite the opposite, in fact. It was just that it made him worry for the years to come.
Most of the time, you can get a general idea of what a godling’s domains will be based on their personality alone, but with Tommy that didn’t seem to be the case. In cases like Tommy’s, which were a little uncommon but not unheard of, it typically meant that that part of their personality would come in after finding out their first domain. But when it did happen, it was usually for only the first realm and none of the others.
Wil was at least a little bit more calmed by that.
Wilbur knew that meant that he would have to keep an extra set of eyes on Tommy, just to make sure that he didn’t get into too much trouble.
But other than the occasional broken window or ruined flowerbed, the years passed a lot more easy than Wilbur thought that they would.
Tommy was nine now and had grown into quite the wonderer. There were times where the boy would come back with messy clothes and ruffled hair and stories to tell Wilbur that made the god a bit more worried than he probably should have been for the boy.
Stories of dueling with sticks with the other boys, chasing off rabbits and wild turkeys, and sometimes going as far as the blond-haired boy coming back with wet clothes and telling about how he had found a new pond or stream that he couldn’t help but swim in.
Wilbur loved every second of his brother’s stories.
Of course, Wilbur knew that one day Tommy would look back on said stories and laugh, knowing that they were nothing compared to what he had accomplished. Wilbur just knew that Tommy was going to do great things and that he was going to travel the world.
So, no, Wilbur didn’t find it much of a surprise when they learned that Tommy’s second gift was adventure.
Tommy was ecstatic, more or less bouncing off of the walls with joy at the news.
Wilbur was also happy.
Of course he was, his little brother had just earned his second domain!
But some part of Wilbur mourned.
He knew that Tommy was a rowdy young boy, always getting into trouble and going off and doing things that most mortal parents would probably have heart attacks over. He could only imagine how he was going to be when he was older and had all of his gifts.
Wilbur might not ever see him again, and that thought made him want to curl up into a ball and cry.
The idea was unbearable.
But at the very least, he hoped that Tommy would visit him. And if not that, then at least write him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he suddenly picked up and never came back, gone without a word and leaving Wilbur with no way to know how he was doing.
Wilbur realized then that was exactly what he had done to his parents.
Sure, his father had never really shown any interest in him. He had barely acknowledged his existence when they occasionally passed each other in the halls of their castle, too busy thinking and worrying about his duties as king of the gods and his more important, pink-haired son.
But Wilbur’s mother didn’t deserve that.
Wilbur realized how selfish he was then.
Sure, Wilbur’s mother distanced herself from him after he had earned his third gift, but that wasn’t an excuse for no communication after he had gone and left home. His mother had raised him and had been there for him when his father never had. Yes, it hurt when she started to spend less time with him, but she still spent time with him at all. That wasn’t something he couldn’t say his father ever did.
Wilbur decided that same moment that he would begin to write home. If not for his father, then for his mother. She deserved to know that he was doing well more than anyone else the god had ever known, so he would give her the blessing of knowing that he still missed her.
Wilbur hoped that maybe one day Tommy could meet his mother. She would absolutely adore the boy, he was sure of it.
Wilbur hoped that one day he might be able to take Tommy to where he grew up, in the realm of the gods. His brother would love it, being able to find countless more adventures to sink his teeth into and a number of more ways to cause trouble.
Wilbur hoped that there would be a point where he could take Tommy to where he grew up. But for now, there was something holding him back that he couldn’t quite name.
Tommy was fifteen when he had gotten his third gift.
Wilbur had found that watching Tommy grow up had been the best part of his immortal life so far.
He had fought in wars and won, had built empires that ruled over the lands for centuries, had taught some of the best poets and musicians of the modern world to date . But nothing, nothing could compare to the pure joy he felt watching as his younger brother grew up without those same feelings of loneliness and worthlessness that he had.
Wilbur did everything in his godly powers to give Tommy the best life he could without spoiling him too much (as much as he wished that he could). He knew that growing up with mortals would make him one of the most worshipped and most loved gods for centuries and would give him the outlook on life that a good ruler would need.
Wilbur knew that there were times where Tommy wished that they could live like lords and bathe in riches and everything that came with them. Wilbur knew that there were more times than the godling would admit that Tommy felt like his life wasn’t as good as it could be.
The first time they had talked about it, Wilbur felt his heart shatter.
The god had cursed himself for days, never letting his mind forget how Tommy felt like his life wasn’t as fulfilling as it could be.
It was a few days later that he had heard of a distant kingdom, known as the Esempi.
It was a rather new kingdom, known for its wealth and lenient rulers. It was a small kingdom as well, having plenty of room for expansion and no enemies. It was peaceful and had the potential to be something beautiful.
Wilbur was instantly called to it.
He didn’t quite know why.
Maybe it was the promise of an easy life, away from war and with food always on the table, never having to worry about money.
Maybe it was the idea that he could be a part of something beautiful. It was always in a god’s nature to be drawn to the new and young, things filled with the potential for more.
Maybe it was the idea of a life that Tommy deserved. A life that had all of the options above and more. A life that allowed for the kid to be a kid, to run around and explore and cause harmless trouble.
Wilbur liked the last idea the best.
It wasn’t long before Wilbur had decided that they were moving.
The village that he and Tommy had lived in since the young godling was a baby was something that Wilbur held close to his heart, and he knew that Tommy did, too. It was their home and all Tommy had ever known. It would hurt having to leave it behind.
But, in the end, it didn’t have much to offer. It was a small, close-knit community where everyone knew everyone. Travelers were rare and the biggest business that they had was the bakery, ran by a kind old man and his daughter. Wilbur and Tommy had never really fit in, anyway.
No one really commented on it, always exchanging pleasantries as the two passed by on their way to the bakery or to the small stands that the occasional travelers had set up to buy some goods. They lived on the outskirts of the village and always kept to themselves. They weren’t really hated or disliked since no one knew them well enough to form an opinion on them.
While that was usually OK for the bigger cities and villages that Wilbur was used to living in, a small place like this wasn’t really comfortable not knowing a lot about them. It caused a few rumors to spread here and there, nothing too big but Wilbur certainly didn’t like them.
Wilbur figured that, in the end, the villagers probably wouldn’t notice their absence in the first place.
Tommy seemed to agree, commenting about how he never really had any friends now, anyway. Something about how all of them were too busy working on their families’ farms or had taken an apprenticeship up in a bigger village further out. He had been alone for a while, it seemed.
Wilbur was a little upset when he found out but making sure not to let Tommy notice. Tommy had never told him, and the idea that maybe Tommy thought that he couldn’t trust Wilbur was nagging at the back of his head.
A new start also meant new room to grow.
A new start also meant that maybe Tommy and Wilbur could finally be as close as they once were.
Tommy was fifteen when he had gotten his third ability.
It was the same night that Wilbur and Tommy had begun packing everything for the move to the Esempi, soft laughter hanging in the air as they chatted and found ways to take as much as they could and what they found important (“Tommy, your stuffed cow isn’t important--” “His name is Henry, Wilbur, and we’re taking him!”).
Wilbur tried to ignore the shallow pit of anxiety that bubbled up in his stomach when Tommy had told him that it was betrayal.
And he succeeded.
“Tommy, I’m so happy for you! Come on, let’s get something from the bakery to celebrate!”
“Can you buy me alcohol?” Tommy asked with a mischievous smirk, talking over Wilbur’s shoulder as they hugged.
Wilbur scoffed and playfully pushed the boy away, “Tommy. You’re fifteen.”
“And?” Prompted the boy, trying to keep a serious face before bursting out laughing at one look at the disapproving expression on the brunet’s. “Wait, does that mean that I’m technically a fully-fledged god now?”
“No, not yet,” Wilbur hummed, digging around in a pouch full of spare gold that they kept for special occasions. The god chuckled at how his younger brother deflated, ruffling Tommy’s golden hair before continuing. “You don’t become a fully-fledged god until around a year or so after you get your third ability. There’s a huge magical difference between actual gods versus godlings that would probably cause you to implode if you were to suddenly get it all at once. That’s why you slowly earn your magic over the course of roughly a year, so it gives your physical body time to adjust to the large amounts that you’ll need to be able to transform from partial mortal to fully immortal. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it.”
Tommy nodded, “That makes sense.”
Wilbur could tell from one look at the godling’s face that it, in fact, did not make sense. Wilbur laughed, ruffling Tommy’s hair as passed him on the way out the door, “Come on, let’s go to the bakery. You can get whatever you want. As long as it’s non-alcoholic.”
Tommy groaned as he followed Wilbur out the door, no real disappointment in his voice, “Lame.”
As they made their way to the bakery, Wilbur couldn’t help but savor just how sweet it was. How simple it was. Wilbur often wished that he could live a simpler life, and he sometimes wondered if that was one of the reasons that he had chosen to raise Tommy as a commoner, rather than a prince or someone of higher social standing.
Whatever the reason, Wilbur was still happy that he chose it. Wilbur had come to realize that, while Tommy may wish that he had a much more extravagant life now, he would grow to hopefully understand why Wilbur had raised him the way he had.
Wilbur knew that one day Tommy would grow up and live whatever life he wanted to. Whether it’s the life of a king, a god, or even a nobody adventurer who sees the world as it is without ever leaving a mark of his own, it wouldn’t matter. Wilbur knew that every god could live those lives if they wanted to, but few ever willingly chose to settle down and live life as an average mortal who had no real importance to the universe but still existed.
Wilbur knew that the experiences that Tommy had now would not only shape his personality and his outlook on the world, but it would also give him the experiences that few gods had. The same experiences that would make Tommy such a great leader. If that was one of the paths he chose to pursue, that is.
Wilbur hoped that one day Tommy would understand, but even if he didn’t he hoped that Tommy would at least still have fond memories to look back on.
Memories like these, where he and his older brother would just walk into a bakery and grab whatever goods caught their eye. Times like these, where Wilbur and Tommy would just laugh and joke and enjoy life the way that it was meant to be enjoyed.
Wilbur smiled as he watched Tommy shove an entire cupcake into his mouth, laughing at the way it made him look like a chipmunk. Wilbur looked down at his own cupcake, the sweet treat covered in a vibrant golden frosting that melted on his tongue any time he took a bite.
Wil had always loved the color gold.
As the god bit into the cupcake, listening to Tommy as the godling went on about his love for women, Wilbur faintly recognized the familiar taste of the baker’s daughter’s work. He had been here so many times that he could tell the slight differences in the way that they made their treats.
Niki’s baked goods had always been his favorite, he was just sad that he probably wouldn’t be able to taste them again.
It had taken nearly an entire month’s worth of traveling to finally reach the Esempi.
By the time they had gotten there, Tommy was beginning to question if the Esempi was even real or if it was just a rumor that Wilbur had heard from a passing traveler who had eaten a few too many unripe opium poppy seeds. But finally, Wilbur was able to prove to Tommy that the Esempi was, in fact, a real place, and not a fictional drug world made up by a traveler that was tripping absolute balls.
Tommy had rolled his eyes and told Wilbur to shut up, at which the god had laughed.
Wilbur was excited to be able to start all over again.
One of the gods’ many talents was creating.
Creating empires, different realms, different types of plants and animals, creating mortals, and even creating existence as they knew it.
Creation was a natural part of every god and goddess that existed.
Creation was the one realm that every god shared. Creation was the magic in godlings that separated them from their mortal companions. Creation was a gift bestowed upon the modern gods by Prime itself, the being who created the gods in the first place. The being who had created the different realms of existence, who had given Philza, the first god, a world just for him. Prime was the being who had given Philza his beloved wife Kristin and had allowed them to create mortals, who had allowed them to create their children.
Over time, Prime had created more gods. It realized that Phil and Kristin would need a bit of help taking care of the mortals and would need time to be able to raise their godling children as well. In the end, Prime made four gods, counting Phil and Kristin.
Phil was the god of the sky, king of the gods, and creator of mortals.
Kristin was the goddess of death, rebirth, and the keeper of balance.
Awesamdude, later shortened to Sam, was the god of life, stagnation, and permanence.
Puffy was the goddess of creation and also the god who had gotten that last of Prime’s most beloved power before it had finally let itself rest in the deepest, calmest parts of the multiverse.
Wilbur was, you could say, Prime’s oldest grandchild. Not to brag, but it was pretty cool.
He knew that the gods’ family tree was a bit more complicated than that, having gods and godlings who would appear out of nowhere and would have none of the other gods claim them as their children. That would only leave Prime to be the creator, but Phil had always told him that didn’t necessarily make the gods Prime’s children.
Wilbur had sometimes wished that it would make more sense, but he had come to terms long ago that Prime itself’s existence didn’t entirely make sense by logical terms. He had stopped questioning it after a while.
But there were often times when Wilbur would wonder if that was how he had gotten Tommy.
Wilbur often thought that maybe, just maybe, Tommy was one of those gods that no one knew where they came from. Maybe Tommy was a gift from Prime.
Wilbur knew that it was rare for Prime to create a godling, but it wasn’t unheard of.
Wilbur had, at some point, left it alone.
He knew that he would never truly know where Tommy came from or how he had managed to stumble across the godling in the first place.
There were many things that were odd about Tommy and his appearance/existence in general, but they all just made Wilbur love him more.
But then there were also times like this, where Wilbur wanted to strangle the godling with a pillow and bury him under a thorn bush.
“Who that hell are you?” Tommy asked the man wearing a green hoodie and an odd white mask painted with a smiley face. Wilbur and Tommy had just begun to unpack everything and gather the needed materials to make their new home, both of them ready to collapse and sleep for a week. “Some weird-ass homeless Teletubby?”
Wilbur could sense the scowl the man let out from underneath his mask, “I’m the owner of this Esempi. Who are you, some child who needs to be put on one of those weird leashes for toddlers who misbehave?”
Wilbur slapped a hand over Tommy’s mouth before the godling could respond and get them kicked out before they even had the time to move in, “Sorry about him! He has a bad habit of insulting people when he first meets them. I’ve tried to tell him before that he needs to stop, but you know how teens can be.”
Wilbur nervously laughed, keeping his hand clamped over Tommy’s mouth to make sure the godling didn’t get them into too much trouble on their first day. He would kill the boy if he got them kicked out.
“Well, make sure he stays out of trouble. This is a peaceful Esempi, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Spoke the man, turning his head from Tommy to Wilbur to make it clear that he was addressing the brunet instead of the blonde. He stuck his hand out. “Dream Wastekken. Good to meet you…?”
“Wilbur, just Wilbur,” Smiled the god as he took Dream’s hand with his free one and shook. “The kid’s name is Tommy, my little brother. I plan to make sure he isn’t too much of a bother while we stay here in your country.”
Wilbur noticed the way the man relaxed, shoulders still slightly tense but he obviously didn’t view them as too much of a threat to him or his nation. ‘Good. That was good,’ Wilbur thought. ‘That means he won’t keep too much of an eye on us.’
“It was nice to meet you both, Wilbur. I can’t wait to see what changes you’ll both bring to the Esempi. I hope to see you around,” Dream crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head as his mask’s painted smiley face somehow seemed more genuine than before.
‘Must be enchanted or something,’ Wilbur thought. The god smiled kindly before replying, “Me too.”
Dream turned around and walked off, sparing one last glance at Tommy before disappearing into the woods around them.
Wilbur let go of Tommy, the blond godling shoving off his brother and firing off a string of curses as soon as he thought Dream was out of hearing range.
‘Looks like Tommy wants to stay here, too.’
Wilbur smiled, ruffling his little brother’s hair, “Whatever, now let’s get back to work. I want to at least have some sort of a roof over our heads when we have to go to sleep tonight. A bed would be nice, too.”
Tommy seemed to agree, quickly stopping his cursing and taking to grumbling under his breath as he went back to gathering supplies and digging through the stuff that they brought.
Wilbur couldn’t wait to see what their future was going to bring.
Little did he know how much both of their third realms were going to come back to haunt them in their future.
But for now?
It was just Wilbur and Tommy, working away and building themselves a nice place to stay.
By the time it was sunset, they had finished their house. Tommy had managed to rummage around in their leftover supplies, finding enough stuff to be able to make a bench for the brothers to sit on and watch as the sun said goodbye once more.
As the two sat, Wilbur letting Tommy ramble on about how excited he was for their future on the Esempi, Wilbur let himself take in the bright pastel colors of the sunset.
Oranges, yellows, reds, and pinks mixed together to create an entire art display across the sky. The most noticeable color was the bright golden glow that seemed to bask the entire area around them, the light coming directly from the aureate sun in the center of nature’s magnificent painting.
Wilbur had always loved the color gold.