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Having spent the night on the sofa, strewn across Wilbur like a cat, Tommy was very not surprised to wake up with a crick in his neck.
Not important, however. Today was the day.
He turned sixteen yesterday. Making today, the day.
Witches always cast their first spell on the day after their sixteenth birthday, it’s tradition. The spell can be whatever they like, but once they’ve cast it, they can finally begin training.
Tommy, like usual, bribed Wilbur into teaching him. Wilbur, like a good older brother, agreed.
Wilbur was one of the best solitary witches the world had ever seen. He studied hard, and his first spell was perfect. He managed to produce a perfect potion set by the age of seventeen. He was a picture perfect pupil, and everyone had expected him to stay within the coven he was born into.
But Wilbur soon began to find problems with the teaching, with the spells he was and wasn’t allowed to cast. He believed he should be able to figure out the dangerous ones for himself, because what if they actually only looked pretty?
So instead, he went into solitary practice. He worked privately, and learnt his trade through books and stolen diaries. He became renowned, known for his impressive quality and speed. He grew his name, selling potions and casting spells, building a good life for himself outside of the coven that restricted him.
Until he found Tommy. In the woods by his hut, alone, cold and crying. His fluffy blonde hair filled with sticks and leaves. It became clear that Tommy’s coven didn’t care, since nobody ever came looking for him. But Wilbur took him in, warmed him up and cared for him.
Tommy quickly made himself at home, wanting to help Wilbur at the cauldron since he arrived at four years old. Wilbur bought him his first robe a year later, and the sight of a grinning Tommy basically swallowed up by the massively too-big robe was one that Wilbur never wanted to forget.
But, to put it politely, Wilbur had his work cut out for him. Tommy was very difficult to teach, and he wanted to do things his own way. Theory was hard enough, without Tommy’s insistence that he could do things better. He had promised he’ll listen to Wilbur today, but Wilbur had his doubts.
Tommy rolled over and off the sofa, disturbing Wilbur at the same time.
“G’morning Tommy,” He mumbled.
“Mornin’ Wil,” Tommy huffed, crawling back up to his feet and wandering into the kitchen, looking for the pastries Wilbur had made the day before.
Tommy always loved Wilbur’s pastries. He made them on the first day he was there to try to cheer him up and it worked a treat. Tommy didn’t remember much about his old coven, but he knew that they would never do that for him.
Settling on a pan eu chocolat, he wandered upstairs to find his robes. Tommy wasn’t allowed into the spell workshop without his robes, Wilbur was really picky about that. It was one of those things that Tommy could never crack out of him, despite the plethora of other things he wormed his way out of.
Wilbur said the robes helped him to focus, helped him understand what he was doing. Tommy said it was the spells Wilbur had cast on the robe to help him focus and understand what he was doing.
Either way, Wil wouldn’t let up on it.
Wilbur had always ensured that his and Tommy’s robes matched, but reflected each other well enough. Wilbur’s robe had midnight blue in the hood, with the moon cycles embroidered into the bottom of the black fabric. The clasp reflected Tommy’s robe, with the sun connecting to two sides.
Tommy’s robe was the direct opposite of Wilbur’s. Tommy’s hood was a light cadmium, with the sun’s patterns around the white cloak. To match with Wilbur, his clasp was a full moon when connected, waxing gibbous and waning crescent when it was separated.
Moon cycles were the first thing Wilbur ever formally taught Tommy. He decided that was the most important part of Tommy’s practice and so, it’s Tommy’s strongest subject, when it comes to theory. Moon cycles determine when it would be a good time to cast a spell, when it would be strongest and weakest.
But today is about the practice and Tommy has been waiting for this for a long time.
Stumbling down the stairs again, Wilbur was already waiting by the door to the workshop, standing with a smug grin on his face.
“You ready Toms?” he asked, starting to turn the door knob.
“Obviously,” Tommy smirked, “It’s my big day, innit,”
Wilbur just shook his head fondly and stepped in, heading straight over to fire up the cauldron.
No matter how many times he came in here, Tommy was never bored of it. The dark cauldron sat in the middle of the room, always suspended by some spell Wil cast a few years ago when he was tired of Tommy swinging on the chains that previously held it to the ceiling.
The wall on the left of the door was just shelves upon shelves of bottles and jars. Full to the brim with potions and liquids bubbling away and powders threatening to spill everywhere. Ingredients for spells or potions that Tommy probably hadn’t ever heard of, but he knew Wilbur could make with his eyes closed.
The fireplace on the opposite wall was being lit in purple flame, ready for the spells to be cast. The red bricks in the wall were starting to warm up, getting ready for the magic soon to be made.
“Okay, Toms, what spell did you want to cast?”
“Uh,” Tommy faltered, “I don’t know? I didn’t think that far ahead,”
Wilbur sighed with exasperated fondness, “Alright starshine, shall we just do the first one in the book? I’ll grab one off the shelf,”
Tommy nodded and stepped towards the cauldron. Wilbur turned back to him holding a fairly dusty book. He turned to the first page, and found a fairly basic spell. A simple sleep spell, to put the person affected to sleep, very temperalily. He can do that.
Wilbur found a rat on one of the shelves to test on, putting it on a stool in front of the cauldron. Tommy started to gather the ingredients listed on the page, starting with the moon water and slimes’ blood. Phantom membranes and blended beetroot were gathered next, and tossed into the bowl.
“That’s good Toms, well done. Pop in the final few ingredients and I’ll help with the incantations if you need, alright?” Wilbur said, from his place in the rocking chair against the wall.
Tommy threw in more herbs and essences until he was satisfied with the deep blue colour the liquid has turned.
Wilbur popped out for a moment, just to grab some milk in case it goes wrong - “I don’t doubt you Tommy, I promise, it’s just good practice to always have milk when you’re working!” - and Tommy let him go, albeit with quite some protest.
Although, the more Tommy looked at the swirling liquid, the lighter it seemed to look. Was it supposed to change colour like that?
Looking at it, he knew he didn’t want to ask for Wilbur’s help, because that would make him seem useless. He wasn’t useless, he knew what he was doing.
He was sure he put in the right ingredients, with the right amount. He’s not stupid.
This must be right, Wilbur must have just forgotten to mention that it changes colour over time. He must be right, he didn’t do anything wrong.
Plus, if he does the incantations now, and Wilbur comes back to a sleeping rat, he’ll be dead proud of him. He’ll impress Wilbur if he can do it.
—
Wilbur was still waiting for Phil to get here with the milk. How could he have been so stupid as to forget it?
If Tommy was casting the spell, it was obvious that he would need it, something was bound to go wrong.
Of course, Wilbur did have a little faith in the boy, it just wasn’t much.
So he called Phil, another solitary witch who had a trainee, although that trainee had become just as good as Phil and was an incredible potion maker. Wilbur was still yet to meet him, but he had heard all about Phil’s infamous Technoblade.
Phil promised to bring over some milk, and he would help out if there was too much damage from Tommy’s time in the workshop.
You can’t hear if someone knocks on the door in the workshop, so Wilbur was waiting in the library, the room between the workshop and the living room, where the front door was.
And as if Wilbur couldn’t be any more nervous, there was a loud crash from inside the workshop and suddenly, his anxiety went through the roof.
Was that Tommy? Was he okay? Did he fall into the cauldron? Had the rat moved and he tripped over trying to get it back?
Was something wrong?
He turned and forced his way through the door, rushing over to the boy sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, like he had been pushed backwards.
“Tommy! Tommy, are you okay? What happened, darling?”
But, to his horror, he didn’t move; he just stared forwards, as tears slipped down his face silently.
“Tommy, can you hear me?” Wilbur was getting frantic now, all he needed was a bit of acknowledgement.
Thankfully, Tommy slowly turned his head to look at him, nodding just slightly.
“Good job sweetheart, perfect. You’re going to be okay. Did you do the incantations without me?”
Tommy nodded in response.
Wilbur got up, and went over to the cauldron. Something had clearly gone wrong in the spell, that much was clear. But Wilbur just doesn’t know where it could have gone too badly, he premeasured the ingredients for him, and he wrote out the chants for him so he could get it right.
As he stepped up to the bowl, he realised what had happened. The magic holding up the cauldron was dripping into it, making the spell change drastically. Wilbur swiped his hand over the liquid, trying to see how it had been altered.
Instead of sending the recipient to sleep, like the original spell, Wilbur could see that it had the opposite effect. It brought them to the brink of sleep, but prevented them from reaching it.
Effectively, just the state one enters when about to sleep, but trapped there, in a painful and exhausting cycle. Wilbur recalls seeing this spell used before by his old coven, used as a “safe” torture method for members of other covens attempting to steal information and techniques.
This was one of the spells Wilbur only ever saw in effect and was never allowed to cast. He could tell that this was one of very few with good reason to be restricted to only the Elders.
Thankfully, Wilbur felt bad for the reprobates locked in the tiny rooms, so he brought them blankets and attempted to soothe them in their borderline pained and delirious states.
Turning back around, Tommy just stared up at him, tears still silently sliding down his cheeks.
“Oh Toms, it’s not your fault sweetheart, my friend is bringing over some milk so it’ll go away. I promise it won’t last too much longer. How about we sit by the fire in the living room and I’ll get some blankets while we wait?”
Tommy nodded, and attempted to stand, only for his knees to give out beneath him as he tried. Wilbur stepped forwards, catching him in his arms and pulling him back into his chest.
“Okay, let’s try that again, shall we darling?” He said, shifting his arms to carry Tommy bridal-style out of the workshop.
He wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s neck, and buried his face into his shoulder, “hurts, Wilby,” he said, so quietly that Wilbur wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t that Tommy was so close to his ear.
“I know, love, I know,” he stopped to grab the blanket draped over the chair in the library, and continued the quest to the sofa.
Thankfully, the sofa faces the fireplace but is directly in front of the grand oak front door that Wilbur’s cottage proudly owns. Wilbur knows that he’ll hear when Phil arrives this way and he can keep Tommy close and make sure he doesn’t go too crazy.
Sitting down, he kept Tommy sat in his lap while he watched dry firewood logs lift themselves into the air and onto the firebox. The indigo flames danced, as Wilbur sat back and brought the blanket over Tommy as he started to shake.
“You’re okay darling, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere,” he cupped his face and traced his thumb over his cheekbone, gentle as ever.
Tommy’s eyes slipped shut as more tears cascaded down his face. Wilbur’s heart ached to see his boy in so much pain, especially when he knew that no amount of spells could make this better until they got rid of the problem spell itself.
So for now, Wilbur just continued to hold him, tracing patterns along his cheek with his thumb and wiping away his tears as they fell, knowing he could do no more.
Slowly, but surely, the tears began to subside, reduced to sniffles and a soft cry here and there but Wilbur never let up. He moved his hand up to Tommy’s hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp, and letting the younger just melt into the affection, while he pulled him closer and rocked them both gently.
He let his fingers glide through Tommy’s hair, carefully tugging at tangles and twirling the curls in a way that left him sighing contentedly after a little while. Tommy moved his head to rest on Wilbur’s chest, relaxing further into his hold and listening to the steady beating of his heart.
As the two of them began to sink into the sofa, warmth encompassing them in the semi-peaceful silence, there was a loud but gentle knock on the front door.
Wilbur snapped his head up to look over. He recognised the knock pattern as Phil’s, so he called out, “It’s open Phil!”
The door creaked open and a short blonde man stepped in. His small smile brightened when he saw Wilbur sat on the sofa, the smile lines by his eyes becoming ever more prominent. His hair fell over his eyes momentarily as he held up the milk he had brought.
Although that smile quickly dipped when he saw the blanket bundle in Wilbur’s lap and the drying tear tracks.
“Could you lock the door again please Phil?” Wilbur asks quietly, as Tommy’s eyes drift open again to see the stranger that had just walked in.
Silently, Phil turned back to the door after putting the milk on the table close by.
“Will he want it from a glass or can he drink it from the potion bottle? I can grab one if he needs it,” he says, approaching the sofa.
“I think he’ll be okay with the bottle, thanks Phil,” Wilbur says, reaching out for it. Phil sits on the armchair across from him as he watches Wilbur get Tommy’s attention for him to drink from it. He stays silent as Wilbur sits him up, as carefully as he can, as a few stray tears begin to once again slip down his cheeks.
“Are you going to tell me what happened Wil? Did you know it would go wrong?”
Truthfully, Wilbur did know it would go wrong. It was Tommy, the kid he had been training for a good few years, of course it would. But he wasn’t expecting it to go this drastically wrong.
He expected it to go backwards and send Tommy to sleep for twenty minutes, not put him into a literal torture state. It would be permanent too, if they didn’t have milk. He would have been fine with literally anything else.
So he told Phil. The whole story of how he left to call him and Tommy tried to do it himself but the magic dripped into the caldron and definitely didn’t cry about how he thought he was a terrible role model, teacher and dad. No, he didn’t. And you could ask anyone that.
(Anyone but Phil)
Tommy had finished the milk just as he had finished talking, and grabbed Wilbur’s sleeve to get his attention. His eyelids drooped and he mumbled something incoherent about how he was tired.
“Alright darling, I know you're exhausted. Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise,” Wilbur smiled at him, turning around and laying Tommy on the sofa completely.
He stayed there with him, resuming drawing patterns into his scalp, light scratches to ease him off to sleep. He took his hand and squeezed three times - their code for “you are safe, I love you,” - and he gently ghosted his fingertips over the soft skin of his hand.
As Tommy’s eyes slipped shut once again, but this time in true sleep, Phil spoke up softly.
“I’ll tell you what Wilbur, I have seen many parents in my time. I’ve been around so many years that many of the people I’ve met blend together and usually only the bad stand out. But then I met you. And you stand out and are memorable for all the right reasons,” Wilbur turns to look at him, a slight glossy sheen to his eyes.
“You have saved this kid. Taught this kid. Provided for this kid. All when you didn’t need to. That is admirable, Wil. So admirable. You’ve grown to love this kid, understandably. Who wouldn’t? He’s adorable. But Wil, you need to understand that he loves you more than anything in the world. And no backwards spell is going to change that, alright mate?”
Phil sighed, standing and making his way over to Wilbur, whose tears were quietly running down his face as he gripped Tommy’s hand a little tighter. Phil wrapped his arms over his shoulders and whispered to him, “you are one of the best dads I have ever come across, let alone had the pleasure to know,”
Slowly, the blonde rose to his feet, taking the empty glass bottle from the coffee table.
“I’ll be back in the morning, you both need a lot of rest. Goodnight Wilbur,” Phil said as he stood up, turning the door handle, “get plenty of rest now, okay?”
And with that Wilbur was just with Tommy.
He slowly stood up, deciding to listen to Phil for once. He climbed over Tommy, onto the sofa. He gracefully wrapped his arms around Tommy’s torso, cautious not to disturb his boy.
He buried his face in his golden curls, and traced patterns over his arms, something Tommy once let slip that he absolutely loved. As Tommy’s breath continued to even out into sleep, Wilbur was more reassured that he was safe.
The buzzing of anxiety was calming down, now that Tommy was wrapped up in his arms, and Wilbur began to feel safe enough to let his eyes slip shut. Tommy was going to be asleep for a while, it won’t hurt to nap with him for a while.
As the two dozed, the day passed, but not before Wilbur could whisper a quiet, “I love you,” into the warmth of the evening.