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Phil always relied 98% of the time on his instincts, that wasn’t a new thing. To survive in such a dangerous and hostile environment like Quesadilla Island, you gotta sharp yourself in any way to be able to protect yourself and others. But his most powerful instincts by far are the ones relating to his kids
Undeniable. He is a parental figure by heart and soul
And now everything his mind told him was to check on Wilbur. His eldest.
Wilbur just came back to the island in the midst of a chaotic situation and he's very much lost. He knows the basics such as "Federation is bad", "Resistence kinda pog" and "the kids are gone". He needed to tell him more, to show him what changed, to make him aware of every single thing that happened…for he knew how scared and lost Wilbur probably is right now…
But his worries go beyond that. He just wanted to see if he was okay…It's been roughly 2 weeks, he hasn't seen the man outside his house after that day…
The waystone at Wilbur’s house glowed faintly as Phil materialized in the little abode, walking to the yard. The sounds of the grove around and the river took care of his mind, being interrupted by the soft and melancholic tune of a guitar at the top of the house.
The avian huffed, wings twitching under his backpack as he entered the house with care. The lights were out, only the natural dim light of the sun invading it to a comfortable scenario, basking Phil into safety
He looked at the little signs Tallulah wrote for her dad on the wall…reminiscent of a time where everything seemed to be fine. He missed those times, and he was willing to fight till the end of time to make them come back
(He wondered if the kids were safe, if Chayanne and Tallulah are together. Chayanne is strong but a father always worries.....)
The guitar continued to play for a bit, till it stopped completely. Phil could hear it probably being placed softly on the wooden ground, followed by soft steps
Then finally complete silence
With a sigh and his parental instincts tingling more in his mind, he got up the stairs, climbing his way to the attic, to where Wilbur was.
(Crows roamed around the house, surveilling the surroundings to keep the little family of two safe)
The trapdoor opened with extreme care, revealing a tired avian ascending from the stairs, looking around the little attic bedroom in search of the brunet. He glanced at the guitar placed on the ground close to the black box, brows furrowing as a delicate scent of blood invaded his nostrils, the guitar arm seemed a bit smeared with it…
His eyes glanced more, finally laying on Wilbur’s image on the bed on the corner. Formally Tallulah's bed, now serving as a little space where he just…laid down…and existed
Phil got up, walking towards the curled up man, caressing his shoulder with extreme care to not scare him somehow – which didn't work much as Wilbur flinched lightly with the sudden contact
Silence…the wall clock ticked and tacked gently, breaking the silence in an automated rhythm (tick…)
Tack
Tick
Tack
Tick
Tack
(Tick) "Wil..?" Phil spoke gently, waiting anxiously for an answer
Wilbur just hummed, looking at the wall mindlessly (...tack)
"...you good mate?" He whispered this time, caressing the brunet's hair gently, cradling his brown locks on his fingers "Your guitar is smeared…you hurt your fingers…?"
Wilbur hummed again, this time with a positive tone
"...can I look at it? If it's bleeding I need to tend to it, yeah?" He tries to sound sweet, but worry tainted his words way too much for it
The brunet sighs, gathering strength so he can sit up and let his father tend to his wounds. He moves slowly, his body hardly responding as if he was a ragdoll, but he keeps composure somehow.
Phil breathes in between his teeth when he sees the cuts on Wilbur’s fingers, so he grabs his backpack in search of a bandage and the essential to take care of the situation.
"It might hurt a little, okay?" Phil speaks low, grabbing a cotton wet with healing potion, he waits for the musician to respond, which was only a faint nod. He nods back, pressing the cotton carefully on the cuts and rashes, mumbling a sorry when the younger jolts slightly.
The turmoil in Wilbur's mind is very noticeable in his eyes, he keeps looking at nowhere while fiddling something, zoning out and getting lost in his imageless mind, only coming back to react to the pain in his fingers. He looks lost….
Phil tend to his hand carefully, in a soothing way even, cleaning the blood carefully, about to start to bandage it and put the plasters
"Things are getting complicated...but I think we are heading somewhere" Phil mumbles to Wilbur, trying to ease him a bit. Everything he got was a more steady nod "It'll all be okay at the end…i still have this last hope. We gotta keep fighting Wil, even if it makes you question what is real and what isn't"
He stops after saying that, feeling Wilbur's eyes piercing through him, their eyes meet and the brunet is just shocked, a very worried frown adorning his face
"...I'm getting better, don't worry about me" he reassures with certainty, making Wilbur nod at bit at ease, shoulders relaxing
Silence fills in again in the comfy house, some crows can be heard outside alongside the wind that rattles the leaves of the grove…it feels peaceful for once
Phil is in a trance, concentrated as he puts the plasters and bandages on his son's hand, he would start talking about more happy things to ease the vibes, but he heard a sniff
His wings ruffle beneath his backpack in an uneasy pattern, and another sniff echoes in the tiny bedroom. The second his pupils focus on the man in front of him, his heart shatters with the sight of tears running down the carefully freckled cheeks of his son.
The brunet tries to stop, he tries to hold back, but all he could do was rest his forehead on his free wrist, and start to cry, trying to hide his face from his father's gaze.
"Is it hurting that much…?" Phil asks quietly but fondly, he knows that his cuts are not the reason for him to cry, he of course knows…
"Y-yes…" the younger answers like a kid, lost and hurt and scared, letting a quiet sob out his throat "It hurts dad…."
Oh…he hasn’t heard the word dad in a while, especially from Wilbur
He finishes bandaging the musician's hand, approaching to wipe the man's tears "shh..it's ok"
That only makes Wilbur cry more, the floodgates opening as he finally let his emotions out, all the feelings trapped in him for months, everything he hid beneath shouty songs on a stage and the numb silence of this bedroom
"I'm sorry…I'm s-so sorry…."
"It's okay mate…no need to say sorry, you're fine" he mumbles, pulling his kid to a hug.
Wilbur immediately hugs back, hiding his face on his father's shoulder as he cries and cries and cries…and cries…
Phil pulls Wilbur off the bed, watching that tall man curling up on his embrace like a scared kid, he cries and sobs desperately, hugging tighter
"Shhh…we'll be fine mate. We're gonna find them, all of 'em" he whispers, kissing his boy's forehead gently, brushing his fringe off his eyes so he can see his face properly
For a second Phil saw his kid again, little Wilbur always oh so scared of the world, little Wilbur who'd run to his embrace every time things would get scary and dangerous. His boy, always so brave now…
"Dad's here…you're safe" he whispered again by instinct, like he said this a million times before
Phil breaths in exaggerately, Wilbur following promptly
"I'm tired dad…"
They breath out
"I know…"
Breath in
"I w-want my daughter Phil...."
Breath out
"...i know…"
Breath in...
Wilbur sobs out, voice sounding so desperate "please forgive me… I'm sorry for leaving you for so long… p-please dad"
"Shhhh…" he felt frustrated. Yes, Wilbur leaving for so long of course hurted him, of course made him stressed. But he was back, he's back and he looks so tired and so hurt and so… "I forgive you…"
How could he not…?
Phil wipes his own tears away, cradling the taller one in his arms safely. He waits and waits till Wil's breathing is calm again, till he's not shaking anymore…till his powerful and hurtful sobs and screams turned into soft sniffs
"There we go mate…" he smiled a bit, wiping his son's tears once more
Wilbur recomposes himself, cleaning his throat as he sits in front of Phil, breathing in and out slowly for a bit, his hands still shaking
"T-thanks Phil…."
"Don't mention it, songbird" he saw Wilbur smiling a bit, the nickname comforting him like another embrace
"We're gonna find 'em, i know it" Wilbur speaks again with more confidence, his fire burning brighter than ever "I can...i-i can feel deep down Phil…i can feel that she's alive...i just know it"
A father always knows, Phil wanted to say
But he only nodded, extending his hand to the brunet as he gets up "Let's get you out of this house, you need sunlight and to walk a bit"
"Yeah….you're probably right" and he takes the hand, getting up "How long was i here at home…?"
"....two weeks I fear?"
"TWO WEEKS?! Ohhh what in the actual fuck Phil i gotta do something with my damn life!" He exclaimed in complete shock and indignation, making the wise crow chuckle "C'mon c'mon, down the stairs we go, you gotta give me a tour around and and–"
"Yes yes I know I'm on it. We have a lot of ground to cover with you" he says back, opening the trapdoor
"Wait, d-dad" and scared Wilbur was back, holding his wrist gently
"Hm?"
"...thank you" he mumbles, letting a grateful smile curve his face "....I'm scared, the island changed so much and–"
"Don't worry, I'm here for you" they smiled at each other, and descended the stairs "So, where do i fucking start—"
The nest isn't empty anymore.