Chapter Text
Wilbur watches as the final streaks of daylight faint away. He sighs, rubbing his tired eyes awake. He steps out the front door of his house, yawning sleepily. It’s slightly questionable that it’s nearly 6 pm and this is the first time he’s left the house today, but unfortunately- or fortunately, depending on whom you may ask, it is not abnormal for someone like Wilbur to do that.
He stands still for a moment, taking the time to appreciate the crisp air with a deep breath. His house is quite cozy, with its homemade pillows and poorly painted flowerpots. He admits that it looks a little sad from the outside, but he supposes that's what happens whenever you migrate somewhere with no money, no family, and a fuck-ton of unpacked trauma.
He winces at the overgrown grass, mentally noting to get that cut later. He makes his way off of the property and onto the trek towards to his favorite place on the entire earth: Niki's bakery. Not only does it have his only friend, gorgeous architecture, and a beautiful view of the bright stars that paint the gentle night sky, but most importantly it has the world's best creation- a nice morning (well, technically night) coffee. Ever since he discovered it when he’d first moved to the Antarctic Empire, he hasn't let a day pass without it. Honestly, it's a great motivator when trying to get out of bed: going to a bakery and having a steaming mug of Niki's coffee.
Speaking of which, the wonderful smell of baking bread and cinnamon fills the air. Wilbur smiles, thanking any god there may be that Niki stays open so late. Otherwise, it would be much harder to have such luxuries. Niki smiles brightly at Will as the door chimes go off and the clock hits 7 pm, just as they always do.
Wilbur's heart always seems to burst out of his chest when he sees her smile. Especially when paired with the recognition that she’s smiling because of him. It reminds him that he's not so much of a fuck up, that there is at least one person that doesn't wish him dead.
Dammit, Wilbur is lonely.
He just needs a fatherly hug, someone to tell him everything is okay.
He needs someone to be proud.
"Ayup Niki!" Wilbur greets, sitting at his usual booth and pretending to wipe away the wave of depressing thoughts with an imaginary wet kitchen towel.
"Having a nice night so far?" Niki asks kindly, starting to brew his drink.
"I have, actually. I have a good feeling about today. Not sure why, but I feel like King Philza himself just told me I won the lottery," Wilbur jokes.
Niki laughs, sliding the cup over to him as she sits on the opposite side of the table. "What an odd scenario you've managed to get me to picture,"
And so, it continues, the friendly mindless chatter echoing through the quiet streets of the Antarctic Empire, every now and then broken by the sounds of a car, or teenagers raving havoc.
They give their goodbyes with a gentle hug, one that would have been extremely wholesome if it weren’t for Wilbur complaining during the entirety of the embrace about the 'burns' on his tongue because of the fact he drank his hot coffee too fast.
"Have a good night, Wilbur. Be safe," Niki says, sounding like an overprotective mother. At least, what he assumes a mother would be like, because the time with his own was cut too short.
Wilbur still misses her, even if she didn't miss him back.
"Night, Niki. You should close up shop and start heading home soon. You need to get your beauty sleep." He emphasizes the beauty sleep by dragging the vowels out.
"Yes sir!" Niki laughs out, dramatically saluting.
Wilbur waves, allowing the door to ring again and signify his exit. He rubs his hands and begins his daily (nightly) routine: a peaceful walk around the empty streets.
" Let me go! " A young, panicked voice screeches, echoing through the alley and disappearing into the dark abyss.
Wilbur jumps, stifling a sharp gasp as he has curses his luck. Not so peaceful tonight.
He's able to spot a small kid, maybe 5 years old, with his arms pinned above him. Giant- holy shit those are wings, Wilbur recognizes, are puffed up with soft red feathers and stretched out taller than the kid himself. The child thrashes, screaming profanities at the captors. His bright blue eyes are filled with overwhelming terror; his messy blonde hair filled with sweat and grime.
Two ugly looking men with strong builds are snarling at him, one of them holding a switchblade in their hands. They press it against the neck of the terrified kid, and the boy stills instantly. He gasps out a horrible, choked noise, eyes filling with tears that threaten to spill over. The man digs the blade in tighter, resulting in the breaking of skin.
"Shut up."
"Pl-please!" The boy pleads. "I'm sorry, I'll be quiet I promise, please-"
He is cut off by a set of hands shoving themselves over his mouth in an attempt to quiet him. The man with the knife leans in, whispering into the ears of the avian.
Wilbur stares, still as a statue. If his mind didn’t feel eons away from his body, he might have tried to interfere, but he could hardly even do something as simple as breath.
"I'm going to cut your wings off and you aren't going to move or make a sound. If you be good, I'll leave after, and you won't say a word about this. Otherwise, I'll find you and finish it off. Got it?" The child's chest heaves, tears streaming down his face in a mix of blood, sweat, and dirt. He nods desperately, whimpering out horrible chirps of desperation.
The man smirks and lifts the knife from the skinny avian’s neck. He nods to the other guy to make sure he has a strong hold on the innocent little hybrid.
Wilbur rushes forward in horror, feeling finally returning to his fingertips. A rush of memories he'd locked away race through his mind, playing out before him like some sort of cruel joke of a movie.
The memories of being shunned, insulted, and beaten for his unique features.
The looks of disgust from his own 'parents' as they demand he leaves the house.
The horrible days of running from the hunters, the hunger pains, the sharp glares, the burns of the sun-
"STOP!" Wilbur shouts, his arms flying out in a weak offer of peace. Three sets of shocked eyes stare, and suddenly time seems to slow. A knife that was previously aimed to remove one of the very things that made an avian who they were, was thrown directly at Wilbur.
Wilbur gasps, lunging to the side. At least he still has good reaction time.
His form blinkers out of sight. He turns invisible, something he'd sworn to never do again.
Why does it seem like there’s always someone that wants to kill him everywhere he goes?
He slams a hand over his mouth, muffling any noise that would rudely reveal his current location to the criminals. He chose the Antarctic Empire for the very reason of it being completely hybrid friendly. Shit lotta good that seems to be doing Wilbur now, as the men laugh in realization.
"A phantom? Two in one day, you know what your blood would sell for?" The taller of the pair cackles, head snapping around frantically in a search for Wilbur.
Wilbur's chest aches. Focus, Will. Focus.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The other taunts.
It takes all of his self-control not to lose it and attack them, but he knows the attempt would be useless. He would never win a fight like that, no matter how determined he is to save this random kid’s life.
Speaking of, the blue-eyed boy seems to be trying to take advantage of this moment of distraction, biting into the hand that had been restraining his ability to speak, and rushing forward to escape the panicked arms thrown out to try and grab him.
Wilbur runs forward too, meeting him in the middle. He grabs him a bit harshly, and they both go invisible. The men scream out in fury as the phantom hybrid runs for his life, somehow carrying an entire other body with him. Newfound adrenaline rushes throughout his veins.
Wilbur doesn't stop until he makes it to some random nearby park, collapsing onto the grass under a tree and trying to catch his breath. The energy seeps from his body and his eyes dull as he looks to the kid next to him. The little boy fades back into sight at the same time Wilbur does, proof his powers are deactivating.
What the fuck is he going to do with him? Obviously, he couldn't leave the kid here alone for the men to find him again, but would the boy even follow him back somewhere safer?
"Who are you?" A small voice asks. Wilbur’s eyes make contact with a pair of calculating blue ones.
"Um, my name is Wilbur?" He replies, although it sounds more like a question.
"Tommy," The child replies, and Wilbur thinks offhandedly that it's sort of funny he shares a name with the prince. Actually, he kind of does look like the Prince Thomas that the phantom can recall standing next to King Philza and Technoblade...
"Thank you for saving me,” The child says politely. After falling into an awkward silence, the boy’s eyes start to wander around, gaze desperate as if searching for someone. “Do you think you could help me find my daddy?”
“I-” Wilbur starts, but the little boy was not done.
“I was with him, but I saw a really pretty moth and I ran off. Daddy told me to always stay by his side, but I got distracted. I named her Clementine! She was so pretty... but then I got lost. I tried to find him, but he was gone! And then the scary men came, and I just want to go home, and cuddle with Henry, and...” He trails off with a frown. “Daddy also said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, but I already broke a rule, and you seem like a nice stranger! And I've always wanted to meet a phantom!" The boy rambles, teary eyed and delirious, at a shocked Wilbur.
Thousands of thoughts run through his head, but the only thing Wilbur can really think properly about, is that he's glad Tommy has a family and isn't the same random homeless kid he can remember himself being.
"Do you know what your daddy looks like? We can search around for him. We might have to wait until morning to go out looking, but that might be harder because..." Wilbur trails off, sighing.
"Oh! It’s okay, I remember Tubbo telling me that phantoms are allergic to the sun. He’s really really smart,” Tommy’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Well, that's okay, we can just find Daddy before the sun comes up!" He declares, jumping up excitedly.
Wilbur frowns, praying that he finds the adorable kid's parents by tomorrow. He doesn't think he could stand the look of sorrow on Tommy's face if Wilbur fails.
He realizes faintly that the urge to take the boy home, feed him, and shower him in affection is due to the sheer innocence of the person before him.
He's just a kid.
Just like Wilbur was.
Just like Wilbur is .
"Okay. That's fine. We can just go back to my place and clean your cuts up. You must be tired; you've probably been awake all day...” Wilbur thinks for a moment, debating his options. On one hand, his poor parents are probably worried sick; on the other, Wilbur is terrified of running into the creepy men again. He doesn’t want to scare Tommy further, so instead he suggests, “Why don’t you try and sleep a little first? you can sleep on my bed, and I can do other things until you wake up. Is that okay?"
"Okay!" Tommy replies, yawning. His wings rest comfortably behind him, the pure adorableness of it all has Wilbur smiling softly before he can stop himself. He grabs one of Tommy's small hands and starts the walk back home.