Archive of Our Own

Wilbur hummed as he drifted through his small hut. Vials of different colored liquid dripped through tubes, mixing together to create something new. Wilbur turned a small dial, the liquid flowing through quicker. It made a small hiss, turning a dark golden color. Wilbur reached into his bag, pulling out red dust and sprinkling into the top of the bottle. It fizzed and popped as the dust began to settle. The brunet grabbed a small glass stick, stirring the concoction together with slow and gentle movements. The gold turned red for a brief minute before it dissolved completely into the potion.

He would let it continue to dissipate for a few hours before he moved onto brewing his next potions.

Wilbur walked back to a large chest, opening it with a loud creak. Inside, there were various sectioned off compartments. Each box held its own ingredient, filling up the sections with colorful gifts from nature.

Wilbur was skilled in all forms of magic, of course. But his personal favorite was potions. It is often how he made a living. Witches from all over knew of his existence, keeping it secret from the average human. Humans were quite jealous of witches’ capabilities. They convinced themselves that witches brought bad luck and devastation to their villages. 

They were partially correct. Witches often did not make themselves known to humans unless they were angry. So, destruction often followed. Wilbur did make the occasional deal with humans. Some summoned him in hopes to get protective wards for their armor or enchantments for their weapons and tools. Wilbur was happy to provide this. For the right price, of course. But he did prefer to not mingle with the common folk. They could not be trusted. Once they found out about his presence only a small journey from their precious little village, they would riot.

Wilbur had a few protective wards up to prevent this of course. No human could step on his property with weapons without signaling to him that they had arrived. If he suspected they had ill intent, he would put up a barrier and throw splash potions of invisibility around his home. Just until they cleared out. Most of the time, it was merely hunters looking for a deer or rabbit. But he has seen witch hunters make their way into his forest.

He assumed they were able to detect the increase in magic whenever witches traveled here to purchase his potions or trade for materials. They were easy enough to trick, giving them a false magic trail to follow.

Wilbur looked over his ingredients, tapping his chin. Blaze powder inventory was beginning to dwindle. He’d probably need to purchase more soon. Oh, and glistening melons. He would head off to his seller within the week. 

Wilbur pulled the red stone dust from his pocket, placing it back in its proper place before shutting the chest. He then made his way over to his bedroom. His house was rather small. He had his living room, kitchen, and dining room all connected in a large square. Only a single wall providing differentiation between the living room and the kitchen. He had a trapdoor that led to his brewing room and a small extra room in the basement where he enchanted. You didn’t need much space to enchant, really. Not nearly as much considering he mostly worked on potions. Upstairs was his bedroom. Nothing too fancy. Nothing too suspicious. Just a small cabin in the woods with a lonely man.

Wilbur climbed up the ladder, opening the small door to the living room and crawling out. He shut it, making sure it was not obvious to see within the floorboards. Once he was sure it was properly hidden, he made his way upstairs and to his bedroom. The brunet found his existence rather monotonous, but not unenjoyable. He liked simple patterns. He liked that he had a space to explore and train his magic without fear. His position as a top tier potion seller kept him busy enough and well enough funded to practice and experiment with different spells. He also went down to the village every now and again to purchase food and any trinkets that he found were interesting. Humans expressed their creative spirits in different ways. Wilbur found it very fascinating.

They used art and crafts as a way to show others their talents while witches enjoyed using their magic to demonstrate their personalities. Wilbur enjoyed collecting the little crafts from the market. They provided him food and a good place to hide, even if they did not know of his magical nature. He ensured their fields prospered. A symbiotic relationship only he was aware of.

Wilbur suddenly stopped, eyes trained onto the window seal.

A black cat sat on the edge, staring into his soul with bright, yellow eyes. Its tail flicked back and forth from where it dangled off the border.

A black cat had visited him.

Wilbur wasn’t sure if he would ever see a black cat again. Black cats appeared only on rare occasions. They were incredibly important to witch culture. Most witches would only ever see one once in their lifetime, if even that. Wilbur had seen one before. It led him to Phil and Techno. He had only just started his business and was very low on supplies and funds. Phil and Techno were his best sellers.

This is typically how all visits from a black cat would go. They would lead you to an important destination.

To put it simply, when you saw a black cat, you followed. You dropped everything to follow that creature immediately. Wilbur nodded at the cat, turning to his drawers. He pulled out a belt filled with potions and pouches of food and clipped it around his waist. He then grabbed his coat off his staff, shrugging it over his shoulders. The cloak closed around him, concealing the potions. He then grabbed his staff, examining the crystal ball on top before whispering a short growth spell. The wood grew around the purple glowing crystal, concealing it to appear as a simple walking stick.

He then turned to his door, the black cat awaiting him. It meowed before rushing down the steps. Wilbur followed, stairs creaking below him. He wasn’t sure how long he would be out. A cat appearing twice in a witch’s life was nearly unheard of. This journey could take weeks to even a full year. Any good witch was prepared to leave at any given moment. Which is why he had a prepared belt with everything he could need for a month.

The cat slipped through a small crack in the wood of his front door, Wilbur opening it and casting a small spell before he left. This would hopefully alert any witches who came to him for potions to know  he was not here at the time.

By the time he was finished, with the spell, the cat had already started to disappear into the tree line. Wilbur scrambled to rush after it, eyes searching for the shadow of black to dart through bushes and leaves. It appeared below a root, slipping through and disappearing into the grass. Wilbur’s eyes flickered over the trees, finding the cat perched atop a tree branch.

Wilbur knew which direction they were going, curiosity beginning to grow. They were headed towards the village. He had been to the village many a time. What could possibly be there that he hadn’t already seen? What could be so life changing?

Wilbur wouldn’t turn back, of course. Even if he did not understand the cat’s intentions, they were never to be doubted. There was something there. Something that would make Wilbur’s simple pattern different.

Things would change.

And perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps they would skip right through that little village.

He was excited, nonetheless. The sun began to set. The light that filtered through the foliage of the trees dimmed, the creatures of the night beginning to awake as prey hid in their dens. Wilbur hoped this would mean those in the village were asleep and off the streets. He did not want to be spotted chasing after a black cat.

Humans knew of those creatures. They believed it was a bad omen. A curse upon their bloodline if a black cat so much as looked at them.

Black cats brought witches, witches bright spells and dark magic, and that brought riots.

And that brought devastation.

They broke through the edge of the forest, the black cat trotting into the village as if it owned the place. Wilbur kept his head down, clock helping to conceal his face as his staff hit the rocky path with a solid pattern of clunk-clunk-clunk.

The cat turned down a small alley, slipping inside. Wilbur nearly lost sight of it, reaching into his coat and grabbing a night vision potion. He took a few sips, hoping to be able to tell the creature apart from the shadows it resides in.

After a moment, his vision cleared of the hazy darkness, revealing the cat sat perched on the awning of a large building just across from the exit of the alley. It stared at him, eyes practically suffocating him from their fierceness.

Stay.

This was important. This was more than important.

Something big was about to happen, and for whatever reason Wilbur was entrusted by the force of all things magical herself to be a part of it.

Wilbur waited at the edge of the alley, waiting patiently in the shadows for whatever it was to come. He prepared himself. Prepared to jump in and sacrifice his very magic if he must.

He let his powers tingle just below the surface, invisible sparks dancing between his fingertips. It was as if the universe herself was beginning to swell with anticipation, her heart beating in time to Wilbur’s.

Wilbur was not the center of the universe, no. Not right now.

Wilbur was simply being welcomed to observe.

There was the sound of quick footsteps, Wilbur’s eyes shooting over. The cat did not take its eyes off him, forcing him to stay still as he watched a woman rush in front of the building.

In her arms was a large basket. Blankets flowed over the edges as she frantically put it down. The woman tucked the blankets inside, swaddling the contents before glancing around. Wilbur stepped back, ensuring the shadows hid him well.

She looked down at the basket once more before knocking on the door. She then ran away, feet slapping against the rocks as she disappeared into the night.

The cat’s eyes left him, a sense of relief falling over Wilbur. His lungs weren’t so constricted, his muscles free to move.

Wilbur looked to the basket then back to the cat, only for it to squint at him as it’s tusk flickered angrily.

The witch stepped forward, the feeling of magic surrounding him only grew as he approached the basket. Once he made it to the door, he bent down on one knee, pulling the blankets back only to reveal—

Oh.

Oh.

It was a baby. But not just any baby, no. This was a witchling. Wilbur’s eyes widened, quickly looking up at the cat only to see it grooming itself. It licked at its paws, a single eye opening with a raised brow. As if it was daring Wilbur to question it.

Wilbur pointed to himself, a questioning look on his face. “For me?”

The cat rolled its eyes before nodding.

Wilbur looked back down, a smile stretching up his face.

Witchling were rare. Only one was born every century. It was an honor to be chosen to raise the next great witch. Other witches got their magic through spell books and practice.

Witchlings were chosen by the force of magic herself. Graced with incredible powers that none could hope to match.

Wilbur carefully scooped the baby into his arms, laying him in the crook of his elbow. The baby must have only been born today. He only had wisps of golden blond hair, and his eyes were screwed shut with sleep. Tiny hands balled up the rough and scratchy material of his blankets, mouth just barely parted in his relaxation.

Wilbur cooed, brushing the wisps of hair out of the boy’s face. The baby blinked his eyes open slowly, struggling to keep even one of them open. Wilbur’s face fell in awe at the sapphire eyes the boy had. Wilbur could feel the magic stirring inside the baby. He could feel the way the universe circled around him.

What an honor it was to be chosen to raise such a precious child.

Wilbur heard footsteps from inside, quickly covering up the baby with his cloak and picking up the basket. He sprinted away from the building, melting in with the shadows once more.

The owner of the orphanage stepped out of the building, looking around a few times with a confused and curious expression.

She checked the ground all around the building, looking to see if any children had been left on their doorstep. After finding nothing, she grumbled, “kids and their pranks. Don’t they know we need to sleep!”

The woman turned back around and slammed the door, silence falling over the village once more.

Wilbur smiled back down at the baby. “I suppose we need a name for you, hm?”

The baby simply tilted his head, eyes nearly closing once again.

“A bit sleepy aren’t you? Hm… I think I will call you Tommy.” Wilbur placed a gentle kiss on Tommy’s forehead, right between his eyes. The baby’s eyes closed, remaining shut as Wilbur pulled away. “Goodnight, Tommy. You’ll be at your new home when you awake. I’ll take good care of you, okay? I will raise you in your magic.”

Tommy, of course, did not respond. Wilbur just smiled, covering the boy back up in his cloak before making his way back to his hut.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur opened the door, taking in a breath. The smell of home was already different. Somewhere safe and somewhere new. He would need to work on making a small expansion for Tommy’s room, but for now he’d be sleeping with him. 

Wilbur shut the door behind him, running through a few things he would need to get to take care of a child. He’d need to get some milk that would be suitable for such a young little one, and he’d need to build a crib. He’d need to buy some toys and baby proof the house not just physically but also with magic. A witchling’s magic could easily become volatile and it was best to be prepared so it did not explode in his face.

Wilbur decided to keep his formerly cast spell on the door for now. He wouldn’t want any jealous witches to see his new little witchling. It would be a pain to deal with.

Wilbur walked up the steps, making his way to his room. He set the baby down on the center of the bed before getting dressed, hanging up his coat and setting down his staff. Once he was in something comfier, he laid down beside Tommy, tucking him into the fluffy blankets.

Tomorrow he would head back into the village and purchase some products the boy would need.

Tomorrow.

For now, Wilbur let his eyes close, magic thrumming in time to Tommy’s. He could sense as they tied together like strings, binding them. He was gifted with a witchling to train and to raise as his own, and he was more than ready to take on this challenge with pride.

He would tell Phil and Techno later. He was sure they would love to send Tommy a few things. Maybe even give him some parenting advice.

Wilbur pulled Tommy closer, making sure he was secure in his arms before drifting off to sleep.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The market was quite busy this time of day. Wilbur knew that, but he hadn’t truly realized just how crowded it was until he had a child under his cloak. Typically, he flowed right through the crowd with little issue. He didn’t mind the occasional bump or hit from a passerby. But now he was hyper vigilant.

He had to stay on his toes to ensure Tommy wasn’t in any danger. He headed over to purchase some formula first, knowing the poor baby was hungry.

The people at the stall clearly wanted to question him. The strange man that only appeared from time to time and lived alone suddenly had a child?

That was going to be town gossip for quite some time.

Wilbur didn’t mind though. Human gossip was ultimately harmless. They’d wonder and come up with crazy stories that would be passed down only to be forgotten.

Nothing too concerning.

Wilbur then went to a small clothing booth, looking over the choices of baby clothes they had. Once again, he got odd looks. But a quick drop of a bag of coins kept their questioning mouths shut.

Wilbur smiled as a basket full of baby clothes and formula swung from his elbow. Tommy was resting in his other arm, covered by his cloak to keep away the bright sunlight on that delicate skin. His face was buried into Wilbur’s chest, tiny hands scrunching up his shirt.

Wilbur then passed a stall with a few toys, stopping once his eyes caught something.

It was a simple, clothless doll. One that could be dressed up and given hair. Completely malleable. Wilbur stepped closer, grabbing it and running his thumb over the material.

Perfect. He just had a wonderful idea.

Wilbur grabbed two, looking through the little shop for a moment longer and picking out a few colorful toys he thought Tommy may enjoy. He walked to the man who owned this booth, handing him a bag of coins with a small thank you.

He then grabbed some materials to build a crib, carrying that on his back. He was good with groceries at the moment as he had only recently gone shopping. So, with one final check over his mental list, he headed home.

As soon as he got in the small living area, he set Tommy down on the floor and handed him one of the newly purchased toys. Tommy babbled as he immediately started chewing on the stuffed animal. Wilbur just chuckled, amused.

He never would have considered himself patent material. The idea of changing his usual routine was a bit scary. He had a good thing going for himself, but now it had changed.

He should have felt upset about it. He should have had some type of negative emotion but—

He didn’t. He only had Tommy for a day and he was already willing to lay down his life for this child. Was that the effect of Tommy’s magic? Or was it simply that Wilbur was lonelier than he would have liked to admit?

It didn’t matter now. What mattered was Wilbur was happy, and from the smile on Tommy’s face as he bit his toothless mouth on soft fabric, he was happy too.

He hoped that happiness could remain.

Wilbur made sure everything was locked before heading into the basement and dropping his basket into the enchanting room. He quickly stepped right back up, ensuring that Tommy hadn’t fallen or hurt himself in the short time he was away.

Luckily for him, Tommy was currently wrestling with the toy. Wilbur smiled, glancing out of his window.

“We’ll have to figure out where the expansion will go, hm?”

Wilbur picked Tommy back up, making sure that Tommy’s new favorite toy cat was snuggly in his arms. The man then stepped outside, looking over his small hut.

“What about… right there?” Wilbur questioned aloud, knowing very well Tommy wouldn’t answer.

“Bah!” Tommy replied.

Wilbur hummed. “Yeah, you’re right. The door wouldn’t really work that way. How about over on this side, and I extend out the hall? That way you’ll be just across from me?”

Tommy giggled.

“Perfect. I think that’ll work.” Wilbur used his magic, watching as vines grew out of the ground and formed a basic shape of what the witch was imagining.

Wilbur nodded to himself. “Okay, I’ll work on getting the wood tomorrow! How does that sound?” Wilbur held Tommy in front of his face, the baby gurgling.

He imagined his future full of moments like these. A future with the sound of pattering feet against his wooden floors. He imagined that giggle growing louder and louder. He could see this little one growing into a powerful witch.

They would make potions together. And craft new spells. And—

And one day Tommy would call him dada.

Wilbur nearly choked up. Maybe he had been a bit lonelier than he originally thought. He took a deep breath, making his way back inside.

He would send a letter off to Phil and Techno to come visit and bring him a few ingredients he needed.

Yes, that’s how he’d get them to come visit him and his new son.

Oh, they’re going to love him! Wilbur couldn’t wait for this little family crafted by the guiding hand of magic to finally be complete.

Wilbur grabbed a piece of parchment, sipping a quill into some ink before beginning to write.

“Dear Arctic Sellers,

I wished that I would be able to come and purchase my goods in person, as I usually do. However, I have had… a bit of a surprise. Something came up, and I will no longer be able to come to our usual meets. I request that you come with my usual order and meet me at my home. I will exchange extra strength potions as well as harm with a lasting fire effect in return for such a trip. I do not believe you will regret it.

Signed,

Wilbur Soot”

Wilbur smiled as he whispered a spell into the letter, watching as it flew off into the air. It burst through the window, disappearing into the sky within a moment.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur giggled as he heard a knock on his door.

“Oh, I wonder who that could be!” Wilbur questioned loudly at the small baby, knowing very well exactly who it was. “Remember how I told you about Phil and Techno? Well, they are coming to visit! That should be them.”

Wilbur left the boy to play with his toys for a moment, happily skipping to the door. He threw it open, greeting already leaving his lips. “Hello, Techno and Phil! Welcome back to my humble— Oh.”

Wilbur blinked, surprised to find another witch on his doorstep. He was faintly aware of who this was. ‘Dream’ Wilbur thought his name was. If he was correct, Dream owned another potion shop. While also popular amongst witches, Wilbur’s was considerably more trusted for high quality goods.

Dream glared up at him, a look on his face that said he clearly did not want to be here.

“I would like to know if you’d be interested in working on a new potion with me. I think it would be very interesting if two big quality potion makers got together to create something new. It could help both our businesses.”

Wilbur tilted his head. “Hm, no, thank you. If you read the signal on the door, you can tell I am not currently open for business let alone a business deal.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Wilbur. At the very least, could you show me your brewing stations? I want to try and improve my own skills to create stronger products.”

Wilbur squinted. “I have no interest in sharing my knowledge with you.”

“Oh, come on. I know for a fact you teach other witches how to brew.”

“That’s a different type of training. I train witches who are genuinely curious about the art of potion making in hopes they too will find a passion for it. I do not give them my secrets nor do I allow them entry when I am closed. I am busy, and do not have time to entertain you,” Wilbur snapped back, angry and annoyed with this conversation.

Dream looked around Wilbur’s body, trying to peer into the home. “What exactly are you busy with, hm? Are you—“ The man paused, lips parting in shock for a moment before he pulled it back. “Is that—“”

Wilbur looked back, anxiety creeping into his mind as he saw Tommy crawl along the floor towards him. He felt Tommy’s tiny hand pull on his pant leg, trying to get his attention.

Wilbur picked the boy up, sending a defensive glare at the witch. “What about it? Just go on your way, and do not return. I have no interest in wasting my time on someone who will not respect nor appreciate it.”

Dream stared at Tommy for a moment longer before looking at Wilbur. Wilbur hated the way he could see Dream thinking. Thinking about what? He wasn’t sure. But he imagined it was not something pleasant.

He slammed the door in the man’s face, turning around and heading right back to his couch. He plopped down, a sense of relief falling over him. He was not sure what it was about Dream that gave him a bad feeling in his gut, but something wasn’t right.

Perhaps he was jealous of his success. Maybe he came to sabotage him.

Wilbur wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter now. Tommy was still here, safe in his arms. And Phil and Techno would be here any moment now.

Only an hour later, there was another knock on the door. Wilbur stood up, opening the door just slightly to peak outside. Two familiar faces welcomed him, the brunet beaming as he threw the door open.

“Phil! Techno!”

Phil reached forward, wrapping the man in a hug that Wilbur eagerly accepted. Techno shuffled from foot to foot, bags and baskets hanging from his arms.

“Nice to see ya again, mate! It’s been too long.”

Wilbur nodded, pulling away from the hug. “It has.”

“Sorry to interrupt the pleasantries, but these are heavy and I would appreciate the ability to put them down somewhere,” Techno grumbled, his tone indicating he was in fact, not sorry.

“Oh! Yes. Yes, uh… about that. You’re going to be meeting what exactly has kept me from leaving this place! Just… be prepared. It’s a lot.”

Phil tilted his head. “You even said you were closed, and that’s rare for you. Is everything alright?”

Wilbur clapped his hands together, turning and walking towards the living room. “Yes! Everything is better than alright.”

As soon as they entered the living room, their eyes landed on the many children’s toys scattered around. The two looked to each other, then back to Wilbur, only to see the man reaching towards something. He picked it up, cradling it close before presenting it to the two.

Their jaws dropped.

“Is that—“ Phil started.

“A witchling?!” Techno screeched.

Wilbur quickly shushed the loud man, bouncing Tommy up and down as the baby began to cry. Techno covered his mouth with his hands, wincing as Phil slapped him over the head.

Wilbur tucked Tommy beneath his neck. “Shhh, shhh, it’s going to be alright. Tech didn’t mean to be so loud. Shhh…” The witchling began to quiet, hands gripping at Wilbur’s collar.

The brunet smiled, kissing the baby’s soft head before looking back at his two guests. “Yes, he is a witchling. This is Tommy. Tommy, this is Phil and Techno. They are my coven. And, I suppose, yours too. But we’ll have to go through all that when you have a better hold on your magic.”

Techno was the first to rush up to him, eyes locked on the child with an expression of wonder. His fingers curled and uncurled, looking anxiously at Wilbur then back to the baby. “Can I hold him?”

Wilbur laughed, letting the man take the boy from him. Techno cradled Tommy gently, callused hands running over the baby’s cheek. “He’s so little!”

Wilbur shushed him, the two chuckling quietly at his excitement. Techno was quite the massive brute. His hands were worn and torn from sword battles and spells. He had seen many wars. And he would most likely see many more. He was known to be one of the most powerful fighters in the world.

But, as Phil and Wilbur knew, Techno was an absolute softie when it came to small cute things. Techno bounced up and down, smile widening as Tommy babbled at him.

The boy reached up, grabbing Techno’s thumb. His tiny fingers wrapped around the scarred skin, not even able to fully surround it.

Techno squealed. “This is the best day of my life!”

Wilbur held his hand in front of his face, trying to hold himself back. He did know Techno would love Tommy, but he hadn't expected such a reaction.

Phil just patted Wilbur in the back, giving him a kind smile. “So, you were picked to take care of this century's witchling?”

Wilbur nodded. “Apparently so. I was not expecting the black cat to visit me again. Not after it guided me to my coven. But there it was, staring at me from my window seal.”

“How long have you had him?” Phil asked.

“Oh, not too much before I had sent that letter to you. I believe only about 2 weeks old? He’s been integrating into my pattern well. I believe I’ll be able to get back into the potion business when he’s about a month old. I’ll begin letting him experiment with a little magic then as well.”

“Has he done anything with his powers yet?” Phil asked, wincing at the tiny scream Techno let out.

“Not yet. But you can feel it. It’s always some type of sense around him. You feel it too, don’t you?”

The blond nodded. “We both could upon entering your hut. It was like a wave of string magic overflowing from it. And when we saw Tommy, we knew.” Phil then clapped his hands, walking to Techno and reaching out. “Okay, my turn.”

Techno reluctantly gave the baby over, Phil’s eyes widened as soon as the tiny thing was in his arms. “Oh… You can really feel that magic like this.”

“It’s astounding. It just radiates from him,” Wilbur agreed.

After only a moment, Tommy’s face scrunched up, eyes turning wet. A loud, shrill cry exploded from the boy, small Knick-knacks beginning to shake. Wilbur was quick to take action, scooping Tommy from Phil’s arms. As soon as Tommy was resting back into the crook of Wilbur’s neck, the man’s hand patting the back of his back, he went quiet. The trinkets went still, the three letting out a sigh of relief.

“He already is so attached to you,” Phil cooed.

Wilbur smiled, humming a small tune as he rocked the boy back and forth. “It appears so. He’s probably a little stressed. He’s had new visitors today and he’s not used to anyone else holding him.”

Wilbur repositioned Tommy, a gentle thumb running up and down his back. “He could probably use another nap, or maybe something to eat. Would you mind just setting everything down in the basement and organizing it for me?”

The two fellow witches nodded, stepping down the ladder and heading to Wilbur’s ingredient chest.

Wilbur grabbed some formula, feeding Tommy until the baby was full. He then set the boy down in a blanket, carefully swaddling him into it. Tommy didn’t seem to mind being wrapped up, eyes flickering shut.

Wilbur then took him upstairs, laying him down in his crib. Tommy didn’t stir, simply snoozing to his little heart's content. Wilbur imagined that little outburst of magic was probably tiring. Tommy hadn’t used magic before and something so powerful must have been draining.

Wilbur leaned down, pressing his forehead against Tommy’s. With a quiet hum, Wilbur let his magic flow around him and the blond. Tommy’s magic mixed with it, blending together in a strengthening and relaxing aura. Wilbur didn’t mind being a bit of a siphon. Tommy wouldn’t take too much and he was happy to give up a little energy to ensure he had a nice rest.

He’d give everything to this witchling. That thought should scare him. It should make him fearful; the power of magic herself being able to reach into his heart and tie a rope around it.

But it didn’t. Wilbur felt this type of love for the first time in his life. The want to sacrifice everything just to see this little one make it. Just to see him smile.

Wilbur placed a kiss on Tommy's head, letting him soak up one last bit of magic before cutting him off. Tommy’s body relaxed fully, completely at the whim of those around him.

Luckily, Wilbur had no intention of ever abusing such a powerful creature.

But sadly, that did not mean others did not…

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur walked down to his basement, ready to enchant a new tool he planned to sell. Only to find an old basket settled in the corner.

Wilbur wracked his brain, trying to remember what he could have possibly left there. He walked up to it, uncovering the contents.

Oh! It was those dolls he purchased from the market when he first got Tommy. He had forgotten his plan for these.

Wilbur grabbed the two, deciding to change his current plans. This needed to get done, anyway. Wilbur placed the dolls on his enchantment table, walking out of the room to grab a knife. He also grabbed his sewing kit and a little bit of fabric with a few buttons.

Wilbur made his way back into the enchanting room, grabbing one of the dolls. He then pulled a few strands of his hair in front of his face, using the knife to cut it off. He placed the knife to the side, pulling out the sewing needle and threading the hair through.

He had some basic sewing skills. Enough to do this job. Wilbur poked the needle through the top of the doll’s head. It only took a few minutes to sew the rest of the patch of hair into the fabric. Wilbur styled it the best he could to look like himself, grabbing a few buttons and putting them along the face to create eyes. He made a tiny smile across the lower half before adding a nose.

He then took a small piece of yellow cloth, placing it around the doll in a makeshift sweater. Nothing too fancy. Definitely not his best work.

He went to enchant it before pausing.

Ah, probably not the best idea to trust a baby with a voodoo doll. Wilbur would leave it unenchanted for the time being. Tommy could enchant himself, when he was ready.

Until then… Wilbur grabbed the next doll, doing a similar process with clothing and buttons. But he needed to go grab a lock of Tommy’s hair.

The man set the doll down, stepping upstairs and tip-toeing to the little one’s crib. He gently pulled back a small bit of hair, cutting off the ends before sticking it in his pocket.

Wilbur then walked back down, grabbing the doll and sewing the tiny golden hairs in. Once he was finished, he opened his spellbook, flipping through the pages until he found the voodoo doll section. With a few quick whispered words and a bit of effort, the doll was enchanted.

In his hands sat a doll with cute button eyes and wavy blond hair. Wilbur would need to test this doll to see if it worked properly, as Wilbur had never used a spell like this before.

He stepped upstairs, doll in hand before stopping right back at Tommy’s crib. So much up and down just to get a single thing done!

Maybe Wilbur should have better planned all this…

It was a spur of the moment decision, don’t blame him.

Wilbur then held the doll in front of him, gently running his thumb over Tommy’s cheek. The baby leaned towards the invisible force, reaching up blindly in his sleep to grab at Wilbur’s hand. The brunet grinned, bouncing in his feet. It worked!

Now he has a little Tommy doll to take with him wherever he went. Tommy’s face scrunched up when he couldn’t find Wilbur’s hand, eyes opening as fat tears rolled down his face.

Wilbur rushed over, scooping the baby into his arms and shushing him. Tommy grabbed at Wilbur’s face as he began to cry, upset that Wilbur hadn’t been there right when he should have been.

Wilbur sighed, looking at the doll.

Okay… maybe this wouldn’t work after all. Not if Tommy demanded the real thing be there when he got comforted.

Oh well. It was worth a shot.

He had hoped it would be good to sooth Tommy while he was sleeping. So that Tommy could feel his presence even when he wasn’t there.

But it appeared that would not work.

Wilbur set the Tommy doll down, bouncing up and down as the little one screamed. Wilbur then grabbed his own doll, shaking it in front of Tommy’s face. Tommy stopped crying, looking over at the toy. His hands reached out, gripping it before immediately gnawing on its arm.

Ah, it was a good plan for him to not add the enchantment quite yet.

Wilbur bounced Tommy a few more times, deciding to lay down in his own bed for the night.

He let his eyes fall shut, Cuddling Tommy even closer to his chest.

He couldn’t wait to begin Tommy’s training.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Tommy grew fast. The boy has a large magical reservoir, letting it constantly seepout into everything he touched. Wilbur helped teach him to contain it the best he could for a nearly one year old. Wilbur often took the brunt of the force, but that was alright. Wilbur didn’t mind.

Surprisingly, Tommy’s favorite toy has remained that doll he gave him. The one Wilbur had of Tommy laid in the drawers of his bedroom, untouched for the past months.

Tommy carried his Wilbur doll with him everywhere. He was constantly holding it, dragging it across the floor as he crawled, or crying at night if he didn’t have it.

Wilbur was glad something so small turned out to be something Tommy adored so much.

Phil and Techno visited on occasion. Mostly to bring supplies for Wilbur as well as say hi to Tommy. They were busy folk, Wilbur didn’t blame them for not being able to stay more than a few days at a time. It was a long journey there and back.

And finally, Tommy turned one year old. Wilbur threw a small celebration, giving Tommy a sweet cake for dessert after opening a large sum of presents. Tommy enjoyed each new trinket he got, putting each one in his mouth as he always did. The Wilbur doll stayed close by, no matter how many new, colorful things there were to explore.

It nearly made Wilbur want to cry that a mini, poorly done version of himself could mean so much to a one year old. He supposed having this magical connection gave Tommy an even greater sense of clinginess.

Wilbur was sat on the couch, watching as Tommy pulled himself up by the edge of the sofa. The boy walked along the edge, using the fabric as a support. Wilbur scooted off the couch, moving across the floor and settling a small distance away.

Just enough that it would require Tommy to leave his safety net.

Wilbur held out his hands, making a grabby motion. “Come here! Come to dada!”

The boy stumbled slightly, gripping the fabric tighter before turning to Wilbur. After a few moments of what appeared to be hyping himself up, Tommy released. He stretched his hands out for Wilbur, taking a single step.

“Dada!”

Wilbur felt the air leave his lungs, scrambling as Tommy began to fall forward with the next step. The boy landed safely in his arms, giggling. Wilbur scooped the boy up, breathing in and out faster than he should. He laughed to himself, awe and disbelief mixed into the sound.

He hugged Tommy tightly, squishing the baby’s cheek with his own. “Awwww, Tommy!”

He said dada! For the first time, Tommy called him his dad!

For… for the first time.

This was real. This was really happening. He had a kid. He had a kid. Not just some gift from the universe. Not just something he was to raise and to teach. He had a kid. That was his kid.

Wilbur’s mind reeled. He knew all of this. Of course he did. He’s had a child for the past year.

And yet… it was suddenly so much different. It was a moment solidified in time. Wilbur was Tommy’s parent. Tommy was Wilbur’s child.

Written not just in the universe’s magical codes. But in words. In hearts and souls. In the mind of a child far beyond what the universe could comprehend.

It was simply the truth.

Wilbur let out a breath, hugging Tommy somehow closer. “Oh, sunshine… I love you.”

“Dada!” The baby giggled.

Wilbur laughed back, leaning back and taking the boy with him. He lifted the child into the air, throwing him up and catching him a moment later. Tommy’s laughter filled the home with a perfect melody. One that held its own magic. One that needed no special push or pull from the force of all things illogical.

For a moment it wasn’t a witch and his witchling. It wasn’t a master and an apprentice.

It was simply a father and his son. A son and his father.

It was all he ever needed.

And it was all something he would take for granted.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur had been asleep when it happened. Tommy was asleep in his crib, a silent smile on his face. Wilbur was curled into bed, sheets bunched beneath him as he twisted and turned.

Sweat dripped down his neck and back, beading across his face.

Creak.

Wilbur shot up, breath heaving. Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Wilbur jumped as he heard a loud smash. He shot out of bed, opening his drawers and grabbing his positions and staff. He opened his door, gasping as he saw witch hunters marching up the stairs.

Wilbur grit his teeth, magic bubbling inside him. He raised his staff, eyes glowing a hazy purple as he shot it forward. A beam of light flew from it, hitting a hunter right in the chest. The armor of the man took the hit. The beam only knocked him back a few steps.

Wilbur felt his gut twist.

Enchanted armor.

A witch gave that to him.

A witch must have sold him out, too. Wilbur slammed his staff down, the entire hut shaking violently. Vines broke free from the floorboards, the wood splintering as the green tentacles wrapped around the attackers.

Enchanted swords sliced through them, magic hissing against the enchantments.

Wilbur growled, turning around and rushing back into his room. He needed to get Tommy. He wasn’t sure how long those vines would hold up and he didn’t want the boy to get caught in the crossfire.

He could rebuild a hut.

He couldn’t rebuild his family.

Wilbur burst into his room, stopping when he saw another person in the room with him. There was someone on his window seal.

Perched just like the cat that guided him to Tommy over a year ago. This time, the creature on his window was not bringing them together. No, he was taking Tommy away. Wilbur growled, throwing his staff forward. The man slipped out of the window, landing on the ground with a thud.

Wilbur rushed forward, reaching into his chest to pull out as much magic as he could. He threw his hands forward, watching as roots ripped through the ground with an earth shattering noise.

The man was thrown into the air, vines wrapping around him. Wilbur tried to pull himself through the window, only to be grabbed by the back of his shirt. His focus was broken for only a moment as he was thrown to the ground.

A pitch fork stabbed into his side, Wilbur shoutingin pain. He reached towards his belt, throwing a potion of harm at his assailants. A cacophony of agonized shouts sounded from them, Wilbur shoving himself off the floor and through the window. He rolled to the grassy ground, blood oozing from his side. He grabbed a healing potion from his belt and bit off the cork. He downed it, throwing the glass to the side behind him.

The vines had loosened while he was distracted, the figure that had his son nowhere to be seen. Wilbur looked in circles, frantic.

Humans shouted from inside, pouring out of his house. They came from the forest with Calvary, charging him without hesitation. It was as if everything was too fast. There wasn’t a moment to breathe. One moment he was sleeping and the next his house was flooded with hunters. One moment he had a hold of his magic and the next it slipped through his finger tips.

One moment he had Tommy, and the next his baby was gone.

He had to get out now. He had to search now.

FWOOM!

Wilbur flinched as fire raged behind him, his entire house lighting up in flames. Humans shouted, barking orders like rabid dogs. Wilbur’s ears rung, the brunet grabbing at his head as he heard footsteps approaching.

He needed to get out. He needed to follow that man. But he couldn’t. There were too many. There were too many.

Wilbur slammed his staff down with a scream, purple magic flowing into the cracked ground. Vines rose up, piercing through the hunters. They wrapped around them, raising them to the sky before throwing them down. Wilbur grit his teeth, watching as one tried to get back up. He wrapped the vine around him once more as he curled his hand into a fist, squeezing.

He needed to get out. He needed to get out.

Every second was another mile Tommy was apart from him.

Wilbur threw down another potion, hissing as the humans screamed. His wards didn’t warn him. He wasn’t alerted.

His own kind turned on him.

Wilbur grabbed another human, tossing them into the house. The flames roared, rising into the sky in an awful display of his own spirit. Filled with rage and power and yet confined to such a small space, ultimately going to snuff out.

The brunet crushed another hunter, ignoring the swords swiping at his face.

His healing pot was enough to take these hits.

With one final shout, Wilbur’s magic explodes from him. The armor was broken, bodies sent flying into the air before crashing into the ground. His house crumbles, wooden plans cracking and creaking before collapsing with the rest of the embers.

Wilbur looked towards the forest, huffing. He sat back on his staff, flying off into the air. He landed deeper in the forest, feet planting form on the ground. He released his magic, sending tendrils of it in all directions. It flowed through trees and animals, cutting through all it touched in hopes to find a single man in a forest that spanned miles.

Wilbur’s vision began to grow dark, his reservoir depleting.

But he couldn’t sleep. Not now. He couldn’t fail.

He promised.

Before Wilbur could protest, his body collapsed, magic cutting off completely as he lost consciousness.

The last thing on his mind: He failed him.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur woke up with a start, scrambling up from the muddy dirt. He grabbed his staff, not wasting a moment on catching his breath. He sat back onto it, letting it lift him to the sky above the treeline.

He rocketed towards his home. His mind was full and yet empty. So many thoughts bounced around in his brain and yet none of them could he register. His emotions felt impossibly out of touch. His own magic was on autopilot. He knew it was barely functioning.

Wilbur let out a shocked shout as he came back to his hut, only to find it in ruins. The sun shone down on him, highlighting the ruins of his home like the centerpiece.

He hated how the world felt too calm. Too normal.

It just lost something precious. The earth has lost the center of the universe.

Wilbur lost his universe.

The brunet fell to his knees, body trembling violently. It was all too much. But not enough. He just wanted Tommy back. He promised.

He was a failure.

Wilbur punched at the ground, growling. There had to be something. Wilbur stood up, rushing into the debris of his hut. He started to lift the charred wooden planks, hoping to find anything that was strong enough for him to use a tracking spell. Anything…

He would get Tommy back. He had to.

Wilbur ripped the remnants of the house apart, everything of the boy’s either charred beyond recognition or was the ash he breathed into his lungs.

Wilbur growled, throwing another wood plank to the side. His eyes then landed in a small door.

The basement.

But Tommy didn’t keep anything in the basement. Wilbur kept it off limits so he didn’t get hurt. Tommy didn’t—

Wilbur’s eyes widened. He threw open the trap door, rushing down the ladder as fast as he could. Boots hit the ground with a loud thud. The brunet’s heart was pounding in his chest, soot still covering his face. His body trembled with each step he took, his muscles threatening to give out. His magic was depleted, his body was ripped and torn, and his home was destroyed.

His home was gone.

Wilbur pushed on anyway. He threw himself at a small chest in the corner, lifting the lid so fast that it banged against the wall.

He shuffled through the contents, heart aching from how fast it was beating. His lungs burned with each quick intake of oxygen.

His hands landed on something soft. The brunet’s fingers curled around the object, pulling it out.

In his hands sat a doll. An older doll. One he had set to the side long ago. Wilbur pulled it to his chest, falling backwards and onto the floor. The doll was buried in his arms as Wilbur began to sob. Desperate cries sounded in the tiny room, echoing around him.

Far away, a small blond toddler felt the embrace of his father. He felt the drops of cool liquid beading down his hair.

And he longed for touch that wasn’t real.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Tommy was 6. And Tommy was tired.

The blond boy hated his job, but it was all he was good for. His parents gave him a roof over his head and a place to sleep.

Even if sometimes he wasn’t even given that.

And in return Tommy gave them every drop of magic he had in his body. And each time, Tommy felt like he was dying.

Which is what Tommy was currently headed towards. His father was walking in front of him, guiding him through hallway after hallway until they reached the room Tommy had come to dread. The man opened the door, stepping to the side to allow Tommy in.

Tommy obeyed, keeping his head down to show respect. To hide his fear.

The man slammed the door, placing objects around the room in a small circle around the boy. Books, tools, and other various things Tommy didn’t question.

Tommy headed to the center of the room, putting his arms out without having to be told. His father set chains against his wrist, patting his shoulder.

“Ready?”

Tommy didn’t hesitate to answer. The man didn’t like when he hesitated. “Yes.”

Father held up a spell book, reading the words across the pages with practiced ease. A warm, red glow began to emit from Tommy. The man pointed at each object, the aura around the blond reaching out and attaching to each one.

With each new attachment, pain flared in Tommy’s body. He did his best not to fight that transfer, but he couldn’t help but feel like a wet rag. Slowly, it was wrung out, the magic inside him being forced to drip out of him until each drop was gone. Until his well of magic was completely dry.

Tommy dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He bit his tongue, not letting a scream or whine escape him. Father wasn’t too much of a fan of his complaining.

This is how he repaid his parents for giving him a home.

Home didn’t feel like the right word.

But to voice that would be inconsiderate and selfish and ungrateful.

Tommy got to keep his toy. And he got to have a blanket and fresh clothes after a couple of days. He got 2 meals a day and at least 6 hours of sleep.

He had to be grateful.

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as his insides burned. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his heart was pounding in his ears.

It always felt so slow. Father said it only took a few minutes, but for Tommy it felt like hours.

The burning came to a sudden stop, Tommy flopping forward. Sweat dripped down his back. The chains raddled with the force of his trembling.

A boot nudged his side. “Up.”

Tommy forced himself to stand, legs wobbling violently. The chains fell to the ground, a bright red mark indented into the boy’s thin wrists. Father gathered the newly enchanted items, stepping out through the door without a word. Tommy followed him. Each step felt like the entire world was weighing on his back. The energy it took to just lift his foot was enough to make a sun collapse in on itself.

Yet Tommy persevered. He had to. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t get his toy back. Father promised to give it back. It had gotten taken away because he was bad. And bad kids shouldn’t have good things.

After traveling through the many halls, Tommy made it to his room. He opened the door, huffing at the effort. Inside there was a small mat with a blanket on top. He walked inside, settling down on the mat and looking up at his father.

The man tilted his head, humming. “I suppose you did good. Here…” Father threw something at him, Tommy catching it.

The boy looked down, a tired smile stretching up his face. It was his one and only toy. His favorite one. It was just a doll made of soft material. It has a poorly embroidered smiley face on it with wavy brown hair. Tommy pulled it to his chest, hugging the doll tightly.

He’s had this toy since as long as he can remember. It was a gift from his former parent, is what his new parents told him.

The man at the door rolled his eyes and stepped away, slamming the door.

Tommy laid down, exhaustion lying deep in his bones. He kept the doll tucked to his chest, brushing his thumb over the soft yellow fabric.

Just as always about this time, Tommy felt something surround him. He didn’t quite know how to describe it. It was like…

It was as if a big heavy blanket wrapped around him. Except it wasn’t scratchy like his. No, it was soft. He could feel it rubbing his cheek with gentle circles before running though his hair.

Tommy didn’t know what it was. Perhaps a figment of his imagination. Maybe it was the feeling of his own magic. He didn’t know.

But what he knew is that it wasn’t real. None of it was.

But it was all he had, so he cherished it. He felt it quite often. He could just be eating, and feel a tight squeeze around his abdomen. Or something flowed through his hair. Sometimes, something would even wipe away his tears.

Tommy held the doll closer, letting his eyes close. Something gentle pressed against the top of his head. A weight that had his tired muscles relaxing.

Sometimes, he even heard a small hum. It wasn’t distinguishable. But he could feel it. He could feel a slight vibration in his body. The way it traveled from his mind to the rest of his body.

The boy felt his consciousness beginning to leave him, a tiny smile on his face.

-/-/-/-/-/-

It had been 5 years. Five excruciating years of searching, and searching, and searching.

Wilbur hadn’t found a single lead. He knew Dream was the one who took his little witchling. But, the man had been in hiding ever since. Wilbur could only pick up on hints of the man pawning off enchanted objects.

He had a feeling that Dream no longer had his boy. No, the hunters did. The hunters that suddenly had magically enchanted items. The hunters that were suddenly ten times stronger than they ever were.

Dream most likely just didn’t like the fact Wilbur was the one who had one of the most popular shops. He didn’t anymore, for obvious reasons. Wilbur had shut down his shop long ago, dedicating every moment he was awake to trying to track the boy. He used every tracking spell he was aware of, hoping to find anything that would work.

But sadly, nothing was strong enough to connect them again.

Phil and Techno were by his side as well. They had been searching by his side. Phil was the only reason he had eaten or slept, convincing him to take a moment's rest or else he’d collapse before ever finding his witchling.

The only connection he still had to his little one was the doll. And what a connection it was.

Wilbur held onto it tightly, running his fingers through the doll’s hair and rubbing small circles into its cheeks. Most devastatingly, the connection worked in two ways.

Whatever happened to Tommy, happened to the doll as well.

Which is why Wilbur was currently watching in horror as a long scratch ripped through the fabric on Tommy’s arm. Wilbur rushed down to grab his sewing kit, oh so carefully stitching it back together. He rubbed some ointment on top, hoping it would help numb the pain before pressing a kiss to the wound.

Only to see the damped area around the doll’s eyes. Wilbur felt his own tears roll down his cheeks, breath hiccuping as he wiped at the dampness.

His little boy was being hurt. He was in pain. And there was nothing Wilbur could do about it.

He could only pull the doll closer, rocking it back and forth as he hummed. He hoped the boy could hear him. Or at least feel the vibrations.

There were much too many stitched up places on this doll. Too many patches. Too many times he had to pierce a needle into it.

Too many times the face was wet and could not be dried.

Despite how much it hurt to go through this over and over again, Wilbur did not regret having this doll for a moment. Maybe Tommy didn’t know that he was there. Maybe Tommy had no hope of being rescued.

But Wilbur could at least make him feel a hug. The brunet always had the doll in his pocket or laying next to him when he slept. Every opportunity his hands were free, he was giving it a light squeeze.

He checked it over constantly, ensuring there were no new tears he needed to fix.

And he cried every time there was.

There was one thing that kept him hoping. One thing that he knew could solve it all.

The doll he made for Tommy of himself. Wilbur had searched the debris of the house thoroughly. There was not a single sign of the doll that Tommy always cuddled with when asleep.

Potentially, Tommy still had it. Potentially, Tommy could activate it.

If that link between the two could open, Wilbur could track him down. He knew he could do it.

He only hoped that Tommy would be able to open it one day.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Tommy flinched as a hand smacked across his cheek, nails digging into his arm as his wrist was dragged. Tommy forced his feet to move, tripping over himself in his rush. Warmth flooded to where the nails cut into his skin, sticky liquid running down his arm.

Tommy had done something bad. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. But apparently he had. It was up to Tommy to figure it out. He was tossed into his room, falling face first into the cold floor.

The women snarled. “Next time do it right and this won’t happen. I’m sick of seeing your ugly witch face around here. The only reason you’re even here is because you’re useful. And you’d do well to remember that.”

Tommy nodded. Right. His magic was why he was useful. Aside from that, it made him disgusting. It made him not human. It made him just a creature of the earth. An animal.

Nothing to be looked upon with fondness or care. Just something to be used to eradicate the other useless things of the world. 

His mother slammed the door, the lock clicking.

Tommy sighed, crawled to the corner of the room and settled down. He let his head rest against the hardwood wall, tears starting to trickle down his cheek.

Luckily, the woman was too angry to worry about taking his doll. The boy reached over, grabbing the doll and holding it to his chest as he sniffled.

There wasn’t much left to do aside from wait for it to happen.

It only took a few minutes for Tommy to feel the small prick. He looked down, watching as the skin stitched itself back together slowly. He felt something soft rub against the wound before moving up his arm soothingly. Then, the tears from his face began to dry, circles being rubbed under his eyes.

All the while a steady force was wrapped around him, squeezing him just enough to be noticed but not so tight that it was suffocating.

Tommy does not know where he learned of such gentleness, nor did he understand why he was getting it. He did not deserve such a thing, even if it did feel nice. Perhaps his wicked magic was the answer. They warned him it was evil and vile. Perhaps it was attempting to make him believe it was all real? Or deserved?

Tommy didn’t know.

He found himself unable to care, either. He just stared at his doll, at the smiley face looking up at him. He wondered if this was his father. A look alike, anyway. A flimsy doll crafted to give a baby comfort whilst he was away.

Tommy blinked slowly, eyelids feeling heavy. The magic inside him reached out, tendrils wanting to wrap around the doll and sink into the fabric.

Tommy pulled it away with the little energy he has. Mother and Father would be very upset with him if he let the doll become enchanted. They said the only reason they let him keep it was because there were no magical tracings on it.

It would be stripped from him in a matter of seconds.

But why was it so enchantable? Why did it call to him like it was built with his magic in mind?

Tommy sighed, laying down. He felt something run up and down his back, going into his hair before returning to his spine. He was tired and it was soothing. Tommy let his eyes shut, feeling his consciousness leave him.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Tommy shivered as he threw sticks into a small pile, raking up leaves and throwing them with them.

This was probably one of his favorite chores. He was typically left alone to his own devices, letting his mind run wild as he picked up each leaf and stick. His parents knew it took all day, so they didn’t bother him much about rushing.

Tommy threw another, larger stick inside. It was fall. The trees coated the lawn with old leaves and branches.

His job was to clear the yard into a burn pile and use his magic to light the flames. Tomorrow was the day he would be drained again, meaning he wouldn’t be able to set fire until his well refilled.

He scooped more leaves, laying them in the pile. Father stepped out onto the porch, Tommy feeling his piercing gaze on the back of his neck.

“Boy!”

Tommy turned, keeping his head low. “Yes, Sir?”

The man stepped towards him, grabbing the back of his shirt and lifting him up. Tommy’s eyes widened, body falling limp in hopes the man wouldn’t see any form of resistance.

“Remember tomorrow is another drain. We’ve got a special order today. You’ll need all that energy. We’ll be enchanting a totem.”

Tommy felt his insides twist at the thought. Totems we’re always the worst. They took forever to enchant, forcing the magic to leave him slowly and painfully for over an hour. It felt like days, to him. It truly did drain every last drop of magic he had. Sometimes, when he didn’t have enough to do it, they’d keep him in the room until it was done. Every little bit that was restored over time immediately sucked out of him.

The totem was meant to prevent a sudden death. When something that could kill you instantly hit, it burst into enchanted gold and wrapped around you like armor. With a burst of magic, it healed you completely and kept you alive.

But when Tommy had to enchant one, he felt like he was dying.

The man released him, sneering at his wide and terrified eyes. “Don’t act like that. You know we need these on occasion. Would you rather I take your doll?”

Tommy immediately schooled his expression. “No, Sir, I will be ready.”

He wouldn’t be. He never could be. Especially after using his magic to set a fire. He’d have to just do small embers and hope that it would light.

The man turned and walked back into their home, footsteps pounding in his ears just like his heartbeat. He felt the palm of his hands begin to sweat, turning them clammy.

He didn’t want to do another totem. He didn’t want this anymore. His eyes landed on the forest before him, body trembling as a dangerous thought popped into his head.

Run.

The boy shook his head. They’d know. They would know that he tried to escape. They would know that he let his darkness and wicked magic win. That he was bad.

Tommy curled his arms around himself, feeling tears roll down his face. The chill wind whistled through the trees, nipping at the salty liquid.

He could do this. He had to.

He forced himself up, pushing on to finish the rest of this chore. There were only a couple piles left of leaves, then he should be done. With trembling hands, Tommy finished the chores.

The boy let his magic dance at his fingertips, focusing on the leaves and branches at the center of the pile. Small sparks emitted from his hands, falling into the leaves.

It took a few tries, but eventually the leaves began to burn. Tommy stuck around for a little while, ensuring the flames would grow. After about 30 minutes, the flame was a decent size. Large enough to keep growing, anyway.

Tommy turned around, walking back into the house and past his parents. He told them the pile was burning before he went to his room.

As soon as he was there, he fell to the floor and cried. He cried for the torment and pain he would feel tomorrow. He cried for the conflict of his own mind. The way it begged to just run. To leave. To let his magic run free.

He hated the way the image of this house bursting into flames brought him joy. It only proved his parents’ points. His magic was monstrous, it was devious and vile.

He hated it.

But it was the only thing that made him useful.

Tommy shook his head, reaching out for his doll and holding it close. Within seconds of the tears running down his cheeks, there was the presence of a weighted blanket and arms around him.

And he cried. He sobbed and sobbed, trying to silence himself.

He knew if they—

A fist pounded on the door. “Be quiet! You useless creature, you can’t even cry right!”

Tommy hiccuped, forcing himself to hold his breath. Footsteps retreated, giving him some space to let out a few more strangled cries. He covered his mouth, rocking back and forth slowly.

He hated this. He hated being here.

Tommy looked at his doll, staring into its button eyes. He could barely see his own reflection in them.

His magic reached out slightly, wanting desperately to curl around the doll.

Tommy wanted to hold himself back. He really did. But there was something keeping him from doing so. Some deep tiredness. An urgent goal in his mind to escape from this place. His magic yearned to be used of its own volition. To be used in the proper way. Tommy bit his lip. 

Maybe they wouldn’t notice if he just used… a little magic. Just a tiny bit. Maybe he could make the doll dance around the room or do one of his chores for him. Or—

Tommy wasn’t sure. But he felt connected to it. He wanted to share his magic with the doll that brought him so much comfort.

His arms trembled as he held the doll up, magic tendrils starting to wrap around it and seep into the fabric.

It only took a moment. Only a blink.

And it was complete. The magic released, the doll now having a small, glowing aura.

Tommy felt a tiny smile spread up his face.

Oh, that was nice. It was nice to have something that he did with his own magic. Something entirely belonging to him.

Tommy held the doll closer, squeezing it tightly. More tears began to run down his face, dripping onto the top of the doll’s head.

And oh, the cries were starting to flow out. The longing and the hurt all pouring out at once. He didn’t want to go back to that basement. He didn’t want to give up his magic anymore. He didn’t want to let anything control his magic anymore.

He deserved to be free.

The phantom arms around him squeezed so tightly it nearly knocked the breath out of him, making him realize just how tightly he was holding the doll.

The blond laughed breathlessly, scrubbing the tears away from his face.

He loved that. He was a monster.

But Tommy wasn’t sure if he cared.

Suddenly, the door burst open. His father had rage in his face, some type of stone in his hand.

“What did you do.”

It didn’t sound like a question.

Tommy held the doll closer. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything—“

The man marched up to him, ripping the doll from his hands as he yelped. “You enchanted it. That’s it. It’s going in the burn pile.”

Tommy gasped, scrambling up to follow after the man as he stomped out of the room. “Wait! I’ll— I’ll unenchant it—“

“It’s too late!” The man turned around, slapping his hand across Tommy’s face. “We have to get rid of it.”

The boy continued after him, trailing behind with trembling legs and shouts of protest. His mother joined only a couple moments later. Her face was just as full of rage as his father’s.

“Stop! Please, I promise I won’t do it again—“

The man threw the front door open, marching towards the fire pit. The flames had reached the top of the pile now, flames licking the top edges of the sticks.

“Good riddance,” his father spit, throwing the doll into the flames.

“NO!!!” Tommy screeched, his mothers arm wrapped around his chest to keep him still.

Tommy squirmed in his mother’s hold, kicking and pushing as hard as he could before slipping through her arms. She tried to swipe at him, only to miss. Tommy rushed forward, eyes on the doll. The fabric began to scorch, starting to shrivel up as the enchantment hissed.

Tommy reached inside, shouting in pain as the fire ate at his arm. He grabbed the doll, skin searing from the touch as he pulled it out. His father yanked him back, prying the doll away from his hands once more.

Tommy screamed, tears rolling down his face like a waterfall as he attempted to pull himself out of the man’s grip.

The man threw the doll into the fire once again, smiling when it landed in the middle of the flames.

Tommy felt the man push him down, throwing him to the ground. The boy’s back hit the floor, a startled yelp leaving him as the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop whining right now—“

Suddenly, the flames began to grow, glowing brighter than Tommy had ever seen before.

Suddenly, everything changed.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wilbur sighed as Tommy’s doll began to turn damp from tears once more. He soothingly rubbed up and down his back, kissing the top of his head in hopes the boy would calm down.

The boy didn’t, sadly. The wetness only continued to grow. Wilbur tucked the doll into his arms, pulling a blanket up. He had stopped to take a nap on the couch after not sleeping the night before. Wilbur felt his own shirt became slightly cool and wet with the doll against it, his own eyes starting to glisten with tears.

Wilbur suddenly felt his own sides constrict, a weight against his ribs. Wilbur blinked in confusion.

What—

He sat up, eyes wide.

Tommy.

Wilbur threw his blankets off, rushing to the trap door and throwing it open. His feet slapped against each rail of the ladder as he slid down, slamming on the ground. He rocketed towards the set of potions he had laid out. His cloak hung on his staff, Wilbur throwing it on. He pulled his witch’s hat on, buckling the belt of various items around his waist.

A wetness began to fall on the top of his head, dampening his scalp. Wilbur’s breath hitched as the weight around himconstricted.

The wind was knocked out of him as he wheezed, nearly doubling over. Tommy must have been squeezing. He was still only 6, and he didn’t know his actions to the doll were amplified onto him.

That didn’t change the fact he was being crushed.

Wilbur grabbed the doll in his hands, cringing at what he was about to do. He did a quick, tight squeeze. He did his best to not be harmful, but he needed it to get Tommy’s attention.

The stress released, Wilbur sucking in a much needed breath. Wasting no time, Wilbur ran into his enchantment room. He slammed a spell book down on the table, flipping through pages to find the necessary spell.

Tommy linked his magic and soul to this doll, which meant Wilbur’s magic could connect them. He could teleport.

Wilbur began to sweat, barely noticing the rise in temperature until it became excruciating. He yelped as the pain worsened, his entire body screaming in agony.

It didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like—

Wilbur looked down, gasping as the surface of his skin began to bubble.

He was on fire.

He screeched, limbs contorting and muscles burning. He fell to his knees, the tears coming from his eyes evaporating instantly. His very eyes felt like they were evaporating out of his skull.

Wilbur reached down, nerve endings shouting at everything that touched his body. His clothes felt like they were melting onto him. 

He grabbed a potion from his belt, starting to bring it to his lips.

Only for the burning to suddenly stop. He took in a gasp for air, turning to the enchantment table. Sat on the book, Wilbur could see the scorched fabric of Tommy’s arm.

Oh.

The witch growled, standing up. The man grabbed a special pouch on his hip, fumbling with the clasp. Once he flipped it open, he pulled the contents out to examine it.

A bright red and orange feather dangled from his fingertips, shimmering with the candle light of the room.

Wilbur hoped he would never have to use this, but he felt it was necessary.

Phoenix feathers were incredibly expensive and rare. He spent nearly all his funds on this, knowing the power they held.

He didn’t hesitate.

Wilbur pulled the cork of the potion off, dropping the feather inside. It began to glow, a golden color emitting from the potion.

Wilbur turned back to his spellbook, holding the doll in one hand and the potion in the other. He tilted his head back, chugging the potion in only a few gulps. The feather slid down his throat, the witch nearly gagging.

The bottle fell to the floor, shattering into pieces upon impact. Not a drop of liquid left. He then turned back to the book, reading the words carefully.

His skin began to light up, a golden aura shining off of him as the spell completed.

Suddenly, his body burst into flames. A feeling of power grew inside him as the flames licked at his skin, crawling up his legs and engulfing his face. 

His body began to evaporate. Ever so slowly picking apart into ashes before he was merely a pile of dust.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Tommy watched in awe as the fire reached into the sky. It went higher and higher, flames breaking off until it began to fork a shape. Wings stretched out as the flames roared, a loud screech escaping the fire bird’s beak.

A dark silhouette appeared in the flames, the three pairs of eyes landing on it. The figure was tall. The light was so blindingly bright that Tommy almost couldn't look at it. Glowing yellow eyes pierced through the fire, a long flowing cloak glowing with each burst of flame.

The figure looked menacing.

Suddenly, it began to move, the fire parting to make way for the powerful creature. Flames consumed it, yet it didn’t burn. Like a being made of fire.

Its large feet landed in the ground, embers burning the grass below.

Tommy could hardly make out any features.

“Get back you witch!” His father shouted, pointing a crossbow at the figure. The witch only took a step closer, flames growing louder.

Snap!

The arrow went flying through the air, a wall of flame disrupting its path. The arrow tip fell to the ground with a thud, melting slowly onto the ground.

Tommy’s jaw dropped.

He didn’t think witches could do that. 

The witch then held his hand out, the Phoenix screeching once more as it began to descend. A wave of fire followed. It roared. Like a hungry beast who had just found its next meal.

The wall of flames blanketed the area, Tommy flinching and covering his eyes as the heat touched him.

But— 

It didn’t burn.

The screams of his parents sounded around then, getting drowned out by the flames. Tommy let his arms fall away, a look of awe filling his face as he saw his home completely engulfed in the fire.

His parents burned brightly, attempting to put themselves out. The flames were unforgiving, slowly eating them away.

Tommy heard something crunch, head snapping towards the sound.

The witch took a step towards him, Tommy using his hands to try and push himself away. He crawled on his back, slipping and landing on the back of his head once more.

He didn’t understand what was going on. All he knew was that he was scared. Afraid of the flames that threatened to swallow him whole.

The figure approached, dropping to one knee. Tommy still could not make out any features, the witch consumed in flickering light.

He flinched back as hands reached towards him, covering his face. Arms wiggled around him, prying him from the hard ground and pulling him up right onto the witch’s chest.

Tommy froze, heartbeat spiking as he felt the warmth of fire consume them.

But…

It didn’t burn. Tommy felt the witch squeeze him closer, nose burying into his hair and suddenly it clicked.

That was the arms of no stranger. This hold was not unfamiliar.

He had felt this before. This exact feeling. Arms wrapping around him, kisses pressed to the top of his head, a large hand running up and down his back.

Tommy’s eyes widened in awe, hands moving to grasp at the witch’s cloak. His fingers twisted into the material, gripping it harder than anything he ever had before.

He knew this hold. This was the phantom arms that comforted him. This was the gentle touch that caressed his wounds. This was the gravely vibration he felt in his ears.

Except it was real.

Tommy’s vision went blurry, breathing coming in wildly as he sobbed and hiccuped. “You—you’re—you’re— You—“ He stuttered, unable to get out a full sentence.

The witch somehow pulled him in closer, caving around him. “I am. I’ve got you. I’ve got you darling, shhhh. Shhh… I’m never letting you go again. I’m never going to lose you again.”

The man wrapped his cloak around Tommy, the boy instantly relaxing. This feeling was so familiar. He couldn’t quite place it.

The man lifted him up, keeping him pressed against his chest and protected from the flames in the darkness of his cape.

“Filthy hunters.” The witch spit, the flames roaring once more. Tommy flinched at the loud noise, whining loudly. The man above him crooned, hushing him softly. “I’ll take you home. You’re safe, sunshine. I promise.”

Tommy held on tighter, squeezing his eyes shut.

Home. He hadn’t even seen the man’s face yet but he didn’t care. Home was this feeling. Home was these arms. He’d give anything just to keep this.

The witch pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “This will be scary for just a moment, then it will be all better.”

Tommy nodded, wanting to just get it over with. He wanted home.

The witch slammed his staff in the ground, the fire burning brighter. The boy tensed as heat engulfed him, reality starting to warp.

In a flash, everything flipped on its head. Tommy nearly threw up, feeling his stomach roll. In only a moment, the world stopped spinning as it came to a screeching halt. The witch set Tommy down, left the boy to try and regain some balance.

Tommy grabbed onto the wall, propping himself up as he breathed heavily. The sudden shift of flames and screams to silence was nauseating. He blinked a few times, his heart rate beginning to slow.

The witch appeared in front of him finally free of the fire. He was down on one knee as he leaned on his other leg. The man had a gentle smile on his face, brown, wavy curls cascading down his head.

He looked like—

The man held something out, shaking it slightly. “I think this was yours?”

Tommy looked down, seeing the doll he had loved for all his years in the man's hand. The blond reached out, grasping onto the soft material. The doll looked completely healed, not a single scorch mark seen.

Tommy looked from the doll back to the witch, then back to the doll back and forth a few times. The man chuckled, reaching out and cupping his face. A soft thumb rubbed circles into his skin.

“Yes, Toms. That doll is me, Wilbur.. You were taken from me when you were only one year old. I’ve been trying to get you back. When you activated that doll, you helped me find you. And now you’re home and I’ll make sure you’re never harmed again. I promise. I’ll put up more wards. We can probably go live with Phil and Techno too to increase our numbers and power and—“

The man was cut off as Tommy rammed into him, wrapping his arms around his neck. Tommy sobbed as the witch’s comforting arms did the same, engulfing him in a hug.

“Son,” Wilbur choked out, Tommy feeling something wet against his scalp.

Son. That man never called him son. He was always boy and wretched beast.

They stole him. This was what he was supposed to have this whole time? This was what the universe designed for him?

“Daddy!” The boy cried, the words so familiar and yet foreign. The man hugged him tighter, pressing hundreds of kisses to the top of his head.

Tommy let his fingers twist into the fabric of the doll, Wilbur letting out a small hiss before laughing.

“Loosen up a little there, darling.”

Tommy immediately released, backing away with a gasp. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please, don’t leave me. I’ll—“

The wind was knocked out of him as he was pulled into another hug.

“Never.” Wilbur hissed. “You and I are here to stay, I promise. I’m never letting you go again.”

Tommy relaxed, body and mind too exhausted to fight with himself anymore.

Wilbur moved an arm to support his legs, lifting him into the air as he stood up. “You must be so exhausted, sunshine. Let’s get you some rest, then I’ll cook you up some nice food, okay?”

Tommy didn’t protest as Wilbur made his way up a ladder and a staircase, opening a door to a small bedroom. The man plopped on the bed, pulling the blankets over the both of them.

“You’re… You’re not gonna leave, right? You won’t be gone when I wake up?”

Wilbur tucked Tommy’s face under his chin. “I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere, Toms. I promise.”

Tommy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Familiar arms around him as a tune filled his mind. One he could truly hear.

They had a lot to work out. Tommy’s trauma and distrust wouldn't be healed so easily. No amount of magic could fix that so quickly.

But that was alright.

Wilbur was there, real and tangible.

They weren’t going anywhere.