Archive of Our Own

Wilbur, 

It’s only been a week since I joined the server. It’s only been a week since you died. 

Since I killed you, I suppose. It’s dishonest to avoid that. Difficult to say too, but that’s what I did. I killed my son. 

I don’t want to dwell on that. I don’t need to rehash it all- it was already hard enough to start this letter. I should probably explain that. 

You sent me letters when you were here. You couldn’t have known they’d get to me, as far out as I was. But this was the server--this was the city, even--that you wrote them. I’m in L’Manberg, by the way. I didn’t expect to stay, but what can I say? After everything I saw, it was hard to go back. 

I felt compelled, maybe. I wanted to help rebuild this city you cared for--before whatever happened to make you not. I wanted to stay close--for Techno, for Tommy. Maybe it’s losing a piece of your family that compels you to keep the others close. Techno and Tommy aren’t my sons, but they most certainly are family. 

And you had a son too. It’s strange, meeting this grandson I’d only heard about through letters. Especially since he’s all grown up himself. It’s been nice, though. I can see you in him. 

And then there’s you. Or not you. He claims he’s not you. 

I don’t trust Ghostbur. He looks like you, but he’s not. And it hurts to see this imposter day after day, rebuilding alongside us. 

I’m getting off topic. You sent me letters, so tonight I thought why not send some back? You won’t ever get them, but I guess that’s just another thing to deal with. You’re not going to get them, but I don’t know- I just need to write them. 

Or maybe this is a one-time thing. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize this is a terrible idea, and I’ll never do it again. It’s easy to make these strange decisions when you can’t sleep. But I’ve written about this before: a book for that ghost’s library. And as difficult as it was, it was also good. I did something good there. 

So I suppose we’ll just have to see. Maybe I’ll write again. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I have to admit, I’m surprised to be writing again. It really did feel like a dream when I wrote last. But it’s daylight out, and here I am. I’m taking a lunch break from construction, and it’s quite rare for me to have space like this. There’s always someone around--either that ghost or Tommy or Tubbo. 

They’re all off doing their own thing today. Surprisingly, I found the solitude quite lonely. Strange, how I can journey alone for years on end, but in this place I feel abandoned so quickly. 

I think that’s leftover from you. Is that cruel to say? You won’t get these letters, so perhaps I can just be honest. Before, my family was whole--if not far away. Now, you’ve left this gaping hole, something I can’t repair, and it’s more and more obvious when I’m not distracted. Building L’Manberg helps. Even dealing with Tommy’s antics helps. 

I keep trying to find pieces of you here. I want to know the L’Manberg you loved. I don’t care much for the city itself. In fact, I have to admit there’s a piece of me that loathes it. This is the city that took you from me- before I took you from me, that is. 

But you put yourself into this nation, and I want to see that. All the things you gave it and all the things it took. Maybe I won’t find them--not after it was reduced to rubble as it was. But I can’t help but look. I keep finding myself looking. 

I’ll let you know if I find anything.

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I've found myself frequenting Technoblade's base when I get lonely. I'm sure L'Manberg's cabinet wouldn't approve, but I haven't told them. It's certainly none of their business, and I've been very clear that I have no allegiance to L'Manberg. 

I know you loved that city, but I just can't bring myself to be a part of it. I'll build for it. I'll even live there for now. I'm looking, remember? Looking for signs of you. I still haven't found much. I think I may have been right. There's nothing to find. 

The city on stilts is not the city you made. And that's okay. They rebuilt despite that scar beneath it all. They created something new from the rubble. It's fascinating, in a way, to see it completely anew. 

It's still not what I was looking for. 

I think Ghostbur has most of the old things. He has the books. He knows the flag. He sings the anthem. I learn a lot of old L'Manberg from him. 

He still unsettles me a bit. He's too similar, too eerily different. It's hard to see and hard to understand. 

Maybe he's like this city: new, remade afresh from the old. New L'Manberg isn't Manburg, isn't L'Manberg. Ghostbur isn't you. 

The more I realize you're gone, the more I can't stand being here. 

I help Techno out a lot at his base. I can't look at New L'Manberg anymore. And I can't look at your ghost. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur,

I never told you what was in that book I gave to Ghostbur. 

I wrote a few things. About that day. About the past. Well, you don’t need to know that all. There is one thing I want you to know, though. I think it’s very important that you know. 

I’m trying to get you back. 

I want you back, Wil. I need you back. You’re my son, and that’s just three words. Three words can’t be enough to describe what I really mean. It can’t tell you how much I need you to know. But it’s all I can say. You’re my son. And I’m going to get you back. 

That’s a goddamn promise. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

What did I tell you? I knew L'Manberg's cabinet would be pissed. House arrest? Are you kidding me? 

It's been- Prime, Wil, it's been a long day. Techno almost died today. He was so fucking close, and all I could do was stand there and watch. I shouldn't have been so scared, perhaps- Techno's always got a plan. But still, it's frightening as hell when your family is in trouble and you can't even go past your own balcony. 

I kept thinking Not Techno too.

Is this the L'Manberg you came to despise? Is this why you demolished your home?  

Is this what I should have been looking for? Is this the old L'Manberg, or is it something entirely new? 

It isn't right. These people were good. They were kind. Now they've lashed out. They tried to take Techno's life because they felt threatened and had to make a show of power. 

I should have known back when they exiled Tommy. 

I thought it was the pressure. I thought it was just a wrong move. I certainly know about making wrong moves under pressure. 

This power's gone to their heads. It's unjust. They can't be allowed to get away with this. 

They have to be taught that this isn't right. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur, 

Ghostbur came around today. I think I’m growing used to his presence. He is, after all, the only one who sticks around long enough to talk. Techno obviously isn’t allowed in New L’Manberg, and Tommy is with him. I've lost the trust of Tubbo and Fundy. Ranboo, my neighbor, still stops by at times, but he seems nervous to. He's close to Tubbo, I think. 

So Ghostbur, yeah, he’s my guy right now, I guess. 

I still can’t figure him out. Is he supposed to be you? He insists that he’s not, but he must have something of you in him. He’s your ghost. And more than that- more than how he looks- it’s how he talks and how he smiles. He’s softer, but I see you in that softness. He’s quieter, and he’s far less chaotic, but he brews potions and collects books and cares so deeply about the things he makes. 

It just seems as though a weight was lifted from him. He’s you, but lighter. And I can’t believe I didn’t realize you had that weight on you to begin with. 

I should recognize you. I should know if this is you. I should have known if that man in the button room was you, but I still look back and can’t wrap my mind around it. I’m afraid you’ve changed so much that I can’t recognize any version of you. I was gone for too long. I should have known these immortal years would do something like this eventually. It felt like barely a blip since I last saw you, but time wore you down. It got to you first. 

I’ve decided, whether this ghost is you or not, I’ll be his father. He reminds me of a less mischievous, younger you. So maybe this is another chance. 

The chance to be a father. A better father, at that. 

I’m not giving up on my search, though. He hasn’t changed my mind about that. 

Whether this is you or not, I want to bring you back. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I’ve left L’Manberg. I have to admit, it was some time ago. Things have been busy, too busy to write. 

Selfish as it is, it’s a relief to be busy enough to forget. That has to be another thing that makes me a terrible father--because I am relieved to forget the letters, to forget your death, to forget you. 

I forget you. It feels like my hardcore days, running around like I have no responsibilities, no burdens, no guilt. As if I am not a father, as if fatherhood is something to run from. Why did I leave you alone for so long? How could I forget my own son? 

Perhaps because I have known for a long time. It did not take driving you through with a sword to show, to prove, the truth I have kept shoved away for so long. 

I failed you long before stepping foot on this server. I have been a terrible father for a long, long time. 

I’d rather like to forget that. I’d like to be Ghostbur, unburdened by the darker thoughts, the harsher memories. If I could forget that day, I would. 

Don’t we all try to forget the things we can not handle? 

I try not to look at my wings for the same reason. Did you see them in that room, or were you too blinded by your crater, your chaos? They were torn by the blast. I used them to protect you, and then I killed you all the same. 

Why did I do that? 

Isn’t it rich? That I still don’t know? 

Why did I kill you?  

Sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t- Not this. Not now. 

I was going to tell you a story. 

My wings, I try not to look at them, but sometimes they hurt. Sometimes I need to pluck a feather, rub ointment between the plumage. If you were here, maybe you’d make fun of me for being so old, for all my aching joints. Or maybe you would look at my wings, and I would see something in your eyes. The same something I have when I pick up the sword from that day. 

I was tending to my wings when Techno told me of Icarus. 

I know of Icarus. Who doesn’t know of Icarus? But because I would rather like to forget--the burn of my wings, the sight of their ruin--I listened. 

Icarus had broken wings too. His father warned him: do not fly too close to the sun, and do not dip too close to the sea. Techno said the funny thing about it is people always focus too much on the sun--because that is what killed him. 

But the sea–that is just as dangerous. For it was sitting by, relaxing, retiring, that let the Butcher Army take Techno. For it is complacency that he refuses to give in to now. 

He’s been planning something. 

I may join. Like I said, someone needs to teach L’Manberg a lesson. 

But I find myself thinking of Icarus’ father now, who held his son after he’d fallen, who gave him the wings of his demise- who tried to warn him, but doomed him all the same. I wonder how he carried on. That’s the thing mythology never tells you, that stories never do. What happens after? 

He goes to Sicily, according to Techno. The myths don’t really talk about Icarus after that. 

Did the father forget?

The world didn’t. 

Everyone knows of Icarus. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur,

This morning, Tommy asked me what my most valuable possession was. I understood why he asked; I knew what was on his mind. After all, he and Techno went to get them back today. 

I also know that information like that- on this server? That’s the sort you take to your grave. 

The thing is, I might have told him. If only I’d known what it was. 

Because isn’t that the entire point of what we’re planning here? Isn’t it human life over possessions? 

Why does Tommy care for them so much? Why is this the hill he is willing to die on over and over and over again? 

Not today, I suppose. 

I’m still thinking about it. What is my prized possession? 

Perhaps it’s my wings--though do I possess them if they are a part of me? They’re lost, somewhat like Tommy’s discs--except, there is no way to get them back. 

What would I do to have them again? Would I turn back time? 

Do you think Tommy regrets giving up his discs in the first place? It was all for a nation that crumbled in the end, that’s doomed to crumble again. 

I don’t regret it. 

I’d do it a thousand times over. 

My wings were worth what I gave them for, as ironic a tale as it is. 

And maybe Tommy would too- do it again the same. At the end of the day, he chose L’Manberg over the discs. He chose L’Manberg over Techno, over our trust, over our plans. 

That’s what Techno said. He chose L’Manberg. 

I don’t understand it. Not after everything they’ve done to Tommy. 

But I guess he's made his choice. 

Phil 

-/-

Wil,

We did it. After everything, we finally did it. 

I thought I would understand better. I thought I would feel closer to you. 

L'Manberg had to go. You were right about that. The government and alliances took precedence over the people, and that's not right. It turned good, just people into tyrants. Your attachment to it corrupted you. 

After the fight, I talked to Ghostbur. He yelled at me. I've never heard him yell before. I've seen him sad, disappointed, but never angry. It was sort of closer to how I remember you. I know that sounds bad, but Ghostbur- he doesn't know how to have those negative feelings. 

It reminded me of times when you didn't hide. It reminded me that I used to know you. 

He was distraught about Friend. Have I told you about Friend? That's his pet sheep. To be honest, I forgot I was caring for him.

To be honest, I also don't know if Friend has infinite canon lives. 

It made Ghostbur happy at the time, and it was just a sheep, you know? Find another sheep, color it blue, and it's just the same. Is that cruel? I can't seem to figure it out. 

Either way, at that moment I think Ghostbur genuinely hated me. Didn't think the ghost had it in him, but he is still, after all, you. Not completely, but enough. 

To be honest, I forgot he had emotions. 

So much for trying to be a better dad. 

Not an hour after our argument, we spoke again. He'd forgotten our previous conversation. Already, he’d forgotten. You'd think that was a blessing. 

I've seen it before–when Ghostbur forgets. Everyone pretty much has. There's so many things he's forgotten from life. And there's things he forgets in death too. I've seen him forget conversations with Fundy, with Quackity. 

He's never forgotten me before. I mean, I'm sure there are things he's forgotten, arguments from before, but he's never said anything. He's remembered me. He even remembered that I killed you, and I don't know why, and I don't think I want to know why. 

And I can't get this feeling off of my skin. He's forgotten, and does that mean I fucked up? He can't understand why I did it. He's not you, not completely. Would you understand? If you were here now, would you agree? 

It had to go. 

This was the right thing. 

And maybe it’s for the best after all. Ghostbur wants to be alive again. 

There could be a silver-lining to all of this. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur,

I wonder if we should have heeded Icarus’ warnings. 

Was the story not about balance, after all?

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I feel like I might throw up. 

We tried to revive you today. It didn’t work, obviously. Nothing works. Not even this--not even something as cruel as this. 

How many times will I have to kill you? How many times will I have to hear you beg me to end your life? It sounds like the concoction of some eternal hell--like the ironic punishments from Techno’s greek tales. My boulder to push, my food to reach, my liver, pecked clean day after excruciating day. Have my sins finally caught up to me? Did the world catch me when I finally had something to lose? 

How many times can I think killing you will make it all better? 

Ghostbur doesn’t want to live. He doesn’t believe he’s you, and he doesn’t plan on being a part of you. He doesn’t want resurrection- he wants to cease to exist. 

I’ve been struggling to see you as the boy I raised. That you from the button room, he was a stranger to me. I try to see, and I try to understand, and after everything, I think I finally can. 

Ghostbur is more like you than I thought. Ghostbur, for all he acts like that innocent boy, is still the you who pressed the button. He may not remember, but some memories stay in your bones long after your mind’s given them up. 

And do you want to know the worst part? I had thought if he wanted to live, that if Ghostbur, this little piece of you, wanted to come back, that you might want to as well. I thought that even as you begged me to kill you, that you hadn’t really meant it. Perhaps I had read it all wrong- and that would make everything so much worse and so much better all at once. 

Because if you hadn’t wanted to die, then it would be no one’s fault but my own. 

And if you hadn’t wanted to die, you might want to live and return, and I could make it all better again. 

But you did. I knew that then when I heard the truth in your voice. I know that now, as Ghostbur has had to so remind me. 

I have never failed as much as I have as your father, Wil. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur,

They say Tommy is dead. I don’t believe them.  

I know him. Maybe he’s too headstrong and too careless. Maybe he jumps into battle without thought or in front of friends in danger. Maybe Tommy’s a bit too prone to danger himself. 

But this isn’t it. After all his disappearances, his near-deaths, who could kill the resilience of that kid? After everything, it’s not in a locked cell that Tommy will breathe his last. 

And we may not have been on the right foot lately, but there is no universe that I survive the loss of more family. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur,

It has been… a while. I guess. It feels like everything happened- every fucking thing, all at once- and then nothing. 

It’s not that I didn’t want to write, just that I couldn’t. Not after everything.

I think you’d be disappointed in me. 

That's the thing children fear most from their parents--disappointment--but they never say how we’re just as scared. And they never tell you how unavoidable a thing like that is. Parents are disappointing, and I never grow used to this feeling, knowing I’ve disappointed you. 

But look at me, talking as if I know a thing about parenthood. 

We are trying to make a difference. No more exploding things--unless we have to. No more taking down governments--unless they’re forming. Techno and I are sitting back, watching, taking action before it’s too late. We’re forming a team to keep any more governments from forming. Now, maybe, the server can live in peace. 

We call ourselves The Syndicate. We've all got codenames, and we’ve taken to paying homage to Techno’s myths. It took me a while to pick a name, believe it or not. Usually, I’m not so picky. 

I chose Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind. He has wings, and that made Techno laugh when he heard. “Of course that’s why you picked him,” he said. He’s an Anemoi, one of the wind gods of different seasons. 

Zephyrus himself was the god of the spring wind, the gentlest one. He signaled the ending of winter, the growth of flowers, planting, a time of productivity and fruitfulness. 

I picked him for the irony of it all, in case you couldn’t tell. When I stepped onto this server, the air turned cold, the town to rubble. I live in the snow most of the year, and for a guy who ran his own son through with a sword, I’m hardly the gentlest sort. With me came the frost, but now it is spring. 

We made it through the winter. 

Four months now. It’s been four months. 

And maybe I picked Zephyrus for the hope of it. The hope of spring, of rejuvenation, revival. 

But it's hard, having hope. 

We’re leaving winter behind. 

You should know though, I almost picked a different guy, a different myth. A father who held his son and his broken wings and never got him back. 

I’m starting to realize… I may never see you again. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur,

All this time I thought I could deal with everything when you got back. I could deal with the guilt, the grief, the loneliness when you were alive and well again. I thought I could sweep that mess under the rug, clean it all up later. 

How can I think of myself when you’re gone? How can I hope to be fine when I killed my son? When my son asked me to kill him? I can’t. How could any one man hope to be that strong? Dare to even try? 

There is nothing. Nothing . I can do to repent. But the closest I could think to try was this. Was bringing you back. 

But perhaps there is no way to dupe the respawn, to load totems of undying on a stone altar and coax your soul from wherever it’s left to. 

Perhaps… you are gone. 

I don’t want to give up, Wil. I don’t want to lay my sword down. I don’t want to face these things I have been avoiding. I can’t look at this guilt and grief and loneliness, this mess , until you are here . Until there is a reason for me to acknowledge what they have done to me. 

I want to scour more tomes, collect more totems. But I cannot kill Ghostbur again, and I can’t handle another failed attempt. 

I can’t handle all this heartbreak. 

How very weak of your father- to think of giving up. 

But I have tried everything, and I am afraid there’s no way of bringing you back. I can see that now. 

I will never see you again. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur, 

I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. 

You were the tiniest baby, yet you had the widest eyes. You had eyes that saw everything, even way back then. They looked into mine, and from that moment on, I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do for you. 

All I wanted was to give you the world. How did we get here? 

There is a reason I feel guilty. 

A reason I feel grief. 

A reason I feel lonely. 

It’s because you’re not here. I gave you what you wanted, and I took the world away from you. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur, 

You’re back. 

It seems impossible, but that’s what Ranboo says. That you’re alive. You’re here. I can talk to you again, and you’re guaranteed to remember it. 

Despite Ranboo’s own problems with memory loss, I believe him. He’s good at keeping track in that book of his. After everything, maybe I should be more cautious. I should wait until I do see you and do speak to you to really believe it. 

And a part of me is just waiting- waiting for the disappointment. 

Waiting to realize, again, that you are gone. That, perhaps, this was all a dream. I will wake up yet again, thinking this server never existed in the course of our history, and that we never left home. Techno will be fighting his vegetable wars, and Tommy will be finding more orphans in boxes for friends. You will be working on a song, never knowing what L’Manberg could be. 

Realizing they’re just dreams hurts every time. 

Yet I can’t help but hope. 

I didn’t believe Ranboo when he said Tommy died, and I certainly didn’t believe a word of what came after. It was too much to hope for, maybe. When Tommy returned, when everyone spoke of a book, one that could revive the dead- it seemed like too much. Like another too-good dream. 

But it was true. And you’re alive. 

I have to go find you. 

Phil 

-/-

Wilbur,

I’m still waiting to wake up. I’m still waiting to realize this is all some dream.

Or maybe, some nightmare. 

Why did you lie to me? 

I ran into Fundy while looking for you. I have to admit, my relationship with your son hasn't been the best. It seems like I’m a pretty shit granddad too. But it was nice speaking to him today. We reminisced. I told him some stories from our family, and he told me what it was like growing up in L’Manberg--what you were like in those days. 

Your letters don’t make sense. They’re riddled with lies. 

What was the truth, Wil? Is this why you were a stranger in that button room? 

I should find you. I can ask now, maybe finally understand the things I thought unanswerable. 

I should worry if you’ll even want to see me. There is so much else to be concerned about now that I have this second chance. 

But all these little pieces I held on to, your stories and your happiness and your successes. Your letters --what of them are real? 

Could you not have told the truth? Did you think I wouldn't hear you? Were you afraid of what I’d say? 

I would have come earlier. I could have arrived weeks, months before it was too late. I know I’m not the best father, but that does not change how I would move earth and sea for you. 

Your letters were lies. But I have said nothing but the truth in mine. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I’m not sure if I was ready to see you. I don’t know if I ever was, to be fair. I wasn’t ready when I found you, unrecognizable. I wasn’t, the first time I saw Ghostbur’s face. I really wasn’t at the altar, or in the streets of New L’Manberg, always looking for you. 

After a few days, you came around to see me. My boy. It seems impossible that anyone could know the relief I felt in that moment, the way my heart dropped its weights and my chest filled with air. I should have cried- or laughed- or hugged you. 

Not only were you there, flesh and bone, living and breathing, but I saw you. I recognized you. 

It’s hard to parse through it all. You said… this was the right timeline? You said this was how things should have gone. 

You said you were better now, that you feel good, feel right! You’re back . You’re actually back.

I want so bad to just leave it at that. 

But I did ask about your letters. 

And I did see it in your face. 

You were always best at making the worst things sound better, but I heard your words. 

It’s okay, though. You’re back. It’s all going to be okay. 

Phil 

-/-

Oh, Wil, 

There is still something, isn’t there? 

Something you aren’t saying. 

Something important. 

Phil

-/-

Wilbur, 

I’ve been wondering if I will give these letters to you. Now that you’re here, could I do that? Would you want them? Would I be willing to give you what has essentially become a diary to me? 

I am a father, and fathers are supposed to be strong for their children. In these letters, you would see how very weak I am. 

You are back, and I still haven’t cleaned up my mess, Wil. I am still guilty, still grief-stricken, still lonely. You stand right there, but I don’t recognize you again. You are here, but you feel a million miles away. 

It was a bit naive, admittedly, to think everything would resolve when I got you back. Reviving doesn’t change that I killed you, and doesn’t change that you wanted to be dead. We ignore it- we ignore what I did, what you wanted. You bound around with renewed energy, and I see it--that spark in you from when you were a child. I see an exuberance, someone happy to be alive. 

But I also see something else, that part of you I don’t understand. I see the man from that button room a bit. I see someone still frayed and worried, something clamorous concealing the doubt. 

I see myself, sweeping my mess out of sight. I see you pretending these things don’t exist. 

It’s time to clean our messes. It’s time for you to see me. Because Wilbur, your father is weak. He is guilty, and he is grief-stricken, and he is lonely. But most of all, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of what you will think of him when you read this. He’s afraid that you will finally see what kind of man he is, and that whatever grace you have given him, that still makes you smile at him and laugh with him and pretend he did not run you through with a sword, will run out. 

I don’t want to lose you again, and showing you these letters… that could do it. You could choose not to see me anymore.  

But what I want more than that, more than anything, is that you don’t lose yourself again. I don’t want you to make these mistakes that I have made. I don’t want you to be afraid of showing your worry and your doubt. I don’t want you to forget to care. 

It’s not weak to be vulnerable, Wilbur. It’s not weak to need help. In fact, I’d say being honest is a strength not many know. 

So I’m going to give you these letters. And this is the last one I’ll write. 

You’re back, after all, and we need to talk about these things. Not write them in letters to the dead. 

And Wilbur? I’m proud of you. 

Whatever you aren't saying, you don’t need to lie to me. I’ll always be proud of you. 

Phil