Chapter Text
“You got white hairs now,” Philza says after a long moment.
Wren paws through his red hair. “I do?” He laughs lightly. “Jeez, already? Must’ve taken after Mum, finally. I-”
He yelps as his brother suddenly grabs his face. He feels Philza’s talons scratching through his hair, combing through the stubborn white forelock that’s sprouted on the top of Wren’s head.
(Philza’s hands are shaking.)
“Fuck off,” Wren good-naturedly scolds. “I’m not turnin’ into a fuckin’ pensioner. It just runs in the family. You’d have it too, if you could get any older.”
“I’m sorry, Wren, I just-” Philza looks off to the side. “-it just hits different sometimes.”
-<>♥<>-
“Oi, who’s sneakin’ around?” Wren calls out into the house. “Swear t’ fuckin’ gods, if somebody brought home another fuckin’ boyfriend-”
Philza stares at him with wide eyes, his umbrella trailing against the ground.
(Ah. Playing princess again.)
“Hi, mate,” Wren softly says, voice going quiet as he takes in his brother’s ruffled wings. “What are you doin’ up so late?”
Philza bluntly pulls down his sleeve. Right along his wrist is a darkening, suspiciously hand-shaped bruise, purpling at the fingertips with the indent of talons.
Wren quickly crosses the courtyard, kicking up dust along the cobblestones as he hops closer. “Gods, what a fuckin’ dent! You didn’t hurt yerself, did ya?”
Philza puts his hand over the bruising silhouette. The angle’s all wrong- he wouldn’t have been able to do that to himself.
“That-” Wren’s voice drops to a whisper. “-that wasn’t anybody in the house, was it?”
Philza harshly raps his umbrella against the ground, drawing attention to the vibrant bloodstains on the waxed paper. He lets out a mocking, rocking, wordless trill, its cadence unmistakable for the words it mimics.
Hey, little songbird. Give us a song.
Wren lets out a punching sigh. “Just some creep outside, then. Jeez.” His smile turns a little cruel, but he can’t be bothered for kindness at this hour. “You better have given ‘em a good dent to match. You know Rosie hates it when I snatch her pruning knives.”
Philza puts his free hand on Wren’s head. His mouth moves, almost, but no sound comes out. I’m sorry, he mouths.
“Sorry for what? Someone else bein’ a bitch?” Wren looks back down at the bruise. “Come on. Mum moved the god damned meds again.”
-<>♥<>-
“I’m sorry,” Philza whispers in rusted Talon as he cradles his friend’s head, as he feels Techno’s life grow weaker with every bloody passing breath. “I’m sorry, please, don’t die, don’t die, please-”
-<>♥<>-
“How’s your friend?” Nathan asks.
The elytron man startles loudly, wild wings rattling with the jerking motion. His face relaxes as he processes the question. “Techno’s fine. He’ll live. He got his lifemarks an’ everything.” He sighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry for forcin’ a ride out of you. I panicked, I-” His taloned hands fumble over a coin purse. “-look, I can pay for it-”
Nathan claps his hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Y’ needed the lift. Just try not to look so crazy next time you hail a carriage, alright?”
The elytron snorts. “I can live with that.”
-<>♥<>-
“I’m sorry you have to live like this,” the Angel of Death whispers to the Blood of the Covenant.
Techno huffs loudly as he presses down on Philza’s head. “I won’t be suffering with my eternity, old crow. I’ve got you.”
-<>♥<>-
“I’m sorry,” an Angel feverishly whispers to the empty call of Endlantis. “I didn’t know what else to do, I couldn’t-” It curls up smaller and smaller in the too-large bed of another god’s house. “I tried, Ender, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Feowertyne sighs sadly and closes the door. He’d best return later. Broken pantheon bonds never severed cleanly. They can speak when the Angel isn’t still shaking with the aftershocks.
-<>♥<>-
Philza laughs nervously as he holds a swaddled egg in his arms. “I’m sorry, m’lady, I think I’ll need to work from home for a while.”
-<>♥<>-
Philza smiles in a self-chiding way as he wraps a bandage around his knee. “Sorry for botherin’ you like this, mate. Only one more week, I swear.”
Techno’s eyes soften as he watches Wilbur chase dogs around the farm. “It’s fine. Take as long as you need.”
-<>♥<>-
“Theo!” Benihime lets out a squawk as its grandson roughly taps it in the face. “Sorry- Fundy. How you doin, mate?”
-<>♥<>-
Philza puts down his rifle when he sees Tubbo shuffle out of The Charon’s cabin. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”
-<>♥<>-
“I’m sorry,” Philza whispers.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Fundy sobs. “I want my dad.”
“I know,” Philza murmurs as his broken wings wrap around Fundy’s weeping body. “I know. I’m still sorry.”
-<>♥<>-
Philza walks towards a door. “Anyways, I was tellin’ him tha-” He yelps sharply as his antlers knock painfully into something solid.
“You alright, sir?”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I-” Philza dazedly steps back, scarred eyes blinking rapidly. “-I can’t see glass, I’m sorry-”
-<>♥<>-
“PHIL-” Tommy jumps back as Philza snaps his wings open. “Yo, what the fuck, man?”
“Sorry, mate,” Philza wheezes as his talons curl into his shirt. “Gave me a bit of a nasty shock there.”
-<>♥<>-
“I’m sorry,” Trixtin whispers to Her Angel’s sleeping form, mournfully tracing the scars on his face. “You didn’t know. You didn’t know.”
A mottled antler flicks. Blue eyespots blink lazily as they take in Her presence, but he does not stir.
“I thought you knew, but you didn’t. And now look at you.” She looks at his stardusted hands. “I do that a lot, don’t I? Let you break for me because I don’t stop and think about what you know. We can’t keep doing this.” Her hands trace his scars down to his neck. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I’m sorry.”
When Philza wakes up, the centuries-old weight of his wife’s blackstone necklace is gone.
(And he’s alone.)