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orange-axolotl · 3 years

Text

A sequel to this fic! Once again a huge thank you to @tack-tick for letting me use their idea.

tw: hurt/some comfort, graphic descriptions of a dead body, a role reversal au, reference to suicide, non -graphic body mutilation (wings being burnt away). Ghostza.

ao3 series link

ao3 fic link

It’s the middle of the night by the time the Withers are finally killed and the end of L’manberg seems to have been ensured enough that the violence is stopped.

Wilbur stands on shaking legs and sets Phil’s enchanted bow down next to him. The inside of his wrists are bleeding and his shoulders are numb from the strain. He hates to say that he’d grown soft inside the walls of their childhood home but he must’ve.

He really must have.

In dazed confusion he watches as everyone scatters to the winds, the lights from torches and lanterns moving in various directions. He watches as the bright pink of Techno’s hair disappear with the barely visible red and green shirts of Tommy and Tubbo following behind him. The glint of Eret’s crown guides two people to his castle. The members of the Dream SMP proudly march back towards their homes.

The utter fucking bastards.

Wilbur makes his way down into the crater. It takes forever with only a hastily constructed torch and his limbs threatening to give out on him at any second.

In the dark, he can’t see the base of the crater so it’s easy to pretend like Phil must’ve respawned. He’s respawned and is talking to the others at the moment. He’ll be back to let Wilbur take him and the boys back home.

Home where they’ll never have to deal with this fucking bullshit again.

Wilbur’s feet hit the smooth stone of the bottom. He smells iron and the unmistakable stench of death before he sees the worn out sandal attached to a limp foot. His torch slips from his hand with a spluttered, cut-off whimper that turns into mist in the cold fall air.

He’d known. He’d known it from the moment Phil had fallen, he’d known the whole goddamn climb down.

It’s just so very different to know and to know.

Wilbur picks up the sputtering torch with a trembling hand and takes a few unsteady steps forward until Phil is fully in view. The netherite sword is still sticking out of Phil’s chest.

Rage fills him. The man who never dies, taken by his own fucking sword. With a sickening squelch Wilbur removes it to throw it as hard as he can in the other direction. It clatters to the ground several feet away and skids away until it’s no longer in view.

Wilbur glances over at Phil’s half-shadowed face. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, maybe laughter at the sudden action, but it’s still slack and so pale. His lifeless blue eyes barely catch the torchlight.

Phil is dead.

Wilbur holds the torch up higher so he can see better.

There’s dried blood everywhere. It’s a black halo around Phil’s head and it spreads out like some kind of poison from his back until it almost looks like wings.

Wilbur kneels beside him without a second thought, his hands hovering above Phil before falling limply back to his side.

The time to help has long since passed.

His brain has gone completely silent in the face of the grief and the agony. Misery and exhaustion has him of half a mind to curl himself around Phil like a child and never move again.

The other half whispers a question that keeps him still.

“How will I tell Fundy?”

The six-year old that Wilbur left behind in Sclatt’s care would be absolutely devastated. Wilbur regularly regaled him with stories of his grandfather that Fundy loved even though his little man doesn’t have any memories of meeting him.

Four years is such a long time. Longer than Wilbur realized.

“Oh,” a soft and unfamiliar voice whispers behind him. Wilbur has a dagger pointed and ready to be thrown in a moment’s notice.

It’s simply too dark to make anything out but that the other person has their hands up around their heads. No weapons to be seen.

“Who are you?”

“I’m BadBoyHalo,” The name tickles something vaguely familiar in the back of Wilbur’s mind but he’s simply too tired to even try to chase it. “I’m - I saw the light down here. I didn’t - I thought that this would be Phil’s first life.”

Wilbur blinks sluggishly at them, puts away his dagger with a quiet sigh.

“Are you Wilbur?” BadBoyHalo asks.

Wilbur nods. “Are you the one who tells my brother not to swear?”

“That’s me.”

“Fuck.”

“Language!”

Huh. Wilbur has always thought that Tommy was exaggerating in his earliest letters home. Turns out that there is a demon out there who hates swearing. He’ll have to apologize. He turns back to look at Phil.

The next words that BadBoyHalo says are hesitant and soft with understanding. “I’m also the server undertaker.”

As nicely said as the words are, they still take Wilbur breath away. They leave Wilbur choking on tears as he grinds his palms into his eyes.

A funeral.

A funeral for Phil.

It’s utterly inconceivable, totally incomprehensible.

Necessary.

Wilbur is the only person who can decide what to do at the moment. He has no ideas where his brothers have fucked off too. Niki doesn’t have the understanding necessary to give his family the burials they had promised to each other as they’d swam away from the melting ruins of an Empire.

“I need -” Wilbur takes a few deep breaths. “Do you know where I can find some journals, a boat, and some white sheets?”

It turns out that the unblown-up docks of L’manberg have ships. Ships with achingly familiar designs and even more familiar insignias.

Scott has apparently requested them on a drunken whim.

Wilbur can’t help but wonder if they had provided him any amount of comfort. If they’d eased the howling wind and cracking ice that resides inside all of the Empire’s children. He wonders because it certainly isn’t doing shit for him.

He picks out two that he’ll have… somebody drag to shore. Long enough to fit them but not big enough to last past the fire.

Then he messages Niki.

WilburSoot: Where are you?

Nihachu: At Eret’s Castle. You won’t be able to miss it.

Wilbur grits his teeth. He does know exactly where Eret’s castle is.

When he walks back through there’s a white tent set up that Wilbur doesn’t dare go near. He’s using all of his strength to get this done. He won’t be able to if he has to see Phil again.

He makes it up the steps and walks through.

Voices are talking quietly and he wanders towards them aimlessly.

“The entire country is gone,” Niki is saying. She sounds like she’s been crying. “I just don’t understand why he would do that.”

Wilbur thought his heart couldn’t crack any further but he couldn't have been proven more wrong.

“We’ll ask him,” a far deeper voice comforts her. “When he gets back, we’ll ask him.”

Eret. The rage and the scorn that should well up inside him absolutely refuses to show its cowardly face.

“It was never meant to be,” his father had repeated like it was some kind of divine prophecy.

This castle is so vast that Wilbur’s steps echo down the corridors. When his hand connects to the wall it comes back covered with dust. There are spider webs spun into the dark corners. It could be more impressive during the day or maybe it’s just Wilbur’s melancholy and half-delirious mind but all he can think is that this place must be such a pain to fill up by oneself.

“Hello?” Eret calls out, “Who's there?”

Wilbur pauses. “Niki?” he calls out.

“Wilbur!” Between one blink and the next Niki emerges from an open doorway and flings herself into his arms. “Thank god, that you’re alright-”

Her eyes catch his face, her relieved smile fading. “What’s wrong? Wil?”

Wilbur attempts a smile, fails miserably. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Yes, of course,” Eret says, “Please take a seat.”

Wilbur nods at them as Niki helps him towards a chair that he collapses into. He covers his face with his palms, struggles to pull himself together.

“Here,” Eret says, holding out a familiar looking potion. When Wilbur just blinks at it, they retreat slightly. “It’s a strength potion? It might help with the whole-”

“Me situation?” Wilbur asks.

He laughs a little, nodding. He doesn’t really look like the evil betrayer that Wilbur has built up in his head. Standing there with an equally hesitant and awkward expression he kind of looks like Fundy does when he’s trying to show Wilbur his newest little redstone project that he’s not sure of.

Wilbur takes the potion and gulps it in one singular motion, the familiar warmth of a strength potion spreading from his chest outwards.

“What did you need, Wil?” Niki asks. Her hands are stained with flour.

Wilbur suddenly realizes that there are various kinds of baked treats all over the table. Bread, cakes, muffins, and pies all over.

He raises an eyebrow.

Niki looks embarrassed, cheeks turning red. “I’ve been stress baking! Yesterday was just so awful. There was so much going on and I couldn’t go to sleep. Would you like one?

Wilbur has to fight back tears, although he isn’t successful judging by the way that Niki and Eret are looking at him. He wipes at his dry mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s fine, Niki.” he manages. “I - Phil.”

He chokes on the words. He can’t imagine them ever getting any easier.

“Phil’s - Phil’s dead.”

The room goes utterly silent before Eret whispers a shocked, “What?”

Niki’s hug is unexpected but it’s soft and comforting. She smells like pumpkin and cinnamon and vanilla. She’s crying uncontrollably into his hair.

Wilbur shatters in her arms. He can’t help himself as he soaks her shoulder in his tears. He keens like some kind of wounded animal and her arms only tighten when he tries to pull away.

It’s selfish the way that Wilbur thinks about Phil. The things that he’ll miss most about Phil. His dad will never be there to give him advice in the early morning or in letters. Phil’s hug hadn’t been the answer to all of life’s hurts in over a decade but they’d still held some kind of magic. Fundy will grow up with only the stories that Wilbur knows instead of hearing them from the man himself.

The three of them had always competed for Phil’s attention, for his laughter, for his praise.

Phil had never once told them that he loved them all equally. Instead he’d name his most loved traits over and over again until they’d grown into them.

Wilbur can’t catch his breath.

He tugs Niki closer and just tries to get his breathing under control. He can’t get anything done like this. He has to get some kind of plan together so he doesn’t just leave Bad hanging.

It takes a few tries but finally Wilbur has himself pulled together. Niki - after a little while longer -moves away. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy as she tries to pull herself together.

Wilbur gently kisses her knuckles. “Hello,” he greets.

“Hi,” she says, sniffing and wiping at her eyes with her flour covered sleeve. “What - What happened?”

“Eret,” Wilbur says, instead. Eret lifts his face up from his hand. His sunglasses cover his eyes but Wilbur isn’t stupid. The devastation is evident, the resignation of being blamed is also there. “Dude, why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“I - I didn’t know where I should be?” Eret answers, voice even deeper than it had been. He chokes on his next words, “I - What happened?”

“He pressed the button.”

Eret makes a noise like she might be about to be sick. Her hands clasped over her mouth.

Wilbur nods in agreement. “He pressed the button and it - it triggered the TNT. Then he fell.”

“I saw that,” Eret says, their voice unsteady and faint. Wilbur wonders if he should’ve refused the strength potion so that they could have it. “Why didn’t he respawn?”

“Yeah,” Niki pipes in. She pulls Eret closer, links her arm through her elbow. “I thought that he was only on his first life? He’s never died before.”

There are so many ways that Wilbur could answer this. So many lies and a truth that he’s always kept to himself. A secret that Phil let slip in the darkest nights.

A half-truth then.

“I don’t know if there’s a reason,” Wilbur mutters, “It might just be the way that Phil was.”

That obviously doesn’t satisfy them but they hold their peace.

“What can I do?” Eret asks.

Wilbur sighs. “Do you have any journals to spare?”

There are so many customs of the Empire that have been lost to their family.

There are songs that Wilbur can only remember snippets of. There are stories that Techno read from an old, waterlogged book that he had to make the endings up for. There are dances that Tommy will never dance on centuries old ice under the night skies bright lights.

So many things have been missed. There was only one thing that Phil stressed to them.

Phil had talked to them about the customs of deaths.

The dead were never buried in the Empire. The snow was simply too deep and dense to reach the equally hard surface. If they were to be put into the snow they would be trapped there in that freezing chill for forever.

Instead, the dead are placed onto boats. Boats that would help them find their way to the afterlife with the help of the Sky Gods.

Journals are then passed out.

The traditions of the Empire understand howling winds that snatch away words into the endless tundra. It also understands that sometimes there are simply no words to be said, only wishes that will never be granted, only memories that need to be recounted.

So the living are encouraged to write a letter. A simple but truthful letter about the departed.

There are no rules to what can be written. Anything goes but most follow a pattern. What the living would miss about the dead.

The journals are tucked into the boat which is then sent out to the ocean.

Once the boat is almost out of sight, it’s set on fire.

The letters can’t be tampered with that way, no extra letters added by those who wish ill. This way the ashes of the letters and the ashes of the dead mix together and then reform in the afterlife to be judged together.

The gods would carefully read the letters and then send the soul where they deserved to go.

Simple.

“Don’t make it a big fuss,” Phil had insisted. “Don’t make it a big fuss but I - I wouldn’t want to end up in an afterlife I wasn’t suited for.”

“Imagine you in the desert, Phil!” Tommy had chirped, nimbly avoiding the affectionate slap. “You’d have lots of fun.”

“Sunburn is far worse than frostbite,” Phil had shuddered.

The memory of their little log cabin nestled in between snow-capped mountains and spruce trees that nearly reached the cloud is almost enough to bring him to tears. He’s never been so homesick in his goddamn life.

So he stops thinking about it and instead takes the journals that Eret hands him with a shaking smile. “I’ll let you know when the funeral is.”

“Please do,” Niki says, giving him another hug. “Take care, Wilbur. Please.”

“Of course,” Wilbur says.

Niki looks as uncertain of that as Wilbur feels.

The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon when he makes his way back to the outskirts of the crater.

The white tent’s opening flaps gently in the wind like it’s inviting Wilbur towards it.

Wilbur grits his teeth. He doesn't want to go in and he doesn’t want to be the one planning funerals.

There is no one else who can.

He ducks into the tent and immediately falters.

Phil’s body has been carefully cleaned and thoughtfully covered in the white sheet that Wilbur asked for.

He hardly recognizes him in the soft glow of lantern light.

His face is completely fine, of course. The fall didn’t damage his face or Wilbur would’ve noticed immediately.

It’s just that he looks almost nothing like the man Wilbur remembers.

The deep black circles and bags under his closed eyes are unfamiliar and cold when Wilbur gathers the strength to bring a shaking hand to his father’s face. The crow’s feet are deep and set in sorrow. Phil’s blond hair is patchy, thin, and white at the temples. The frown lines surrounding his mouth are completely foreign.

All the same details that the panic of the button room covered up. The small details that Wilbur hasn’t been there to see.

Wilbur kneels down next to the stone slab. He clasps Phil’s hand in both of his, bringing it up to his forehead so he can rest his throbbing head on Phil’s knuckles. Bad has obviously gone to great lengths to get Phil presentable and clean but the smell of gunpowder still lingers.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve been here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Bad places a gentle hand on his shoulder and Wilbur lets his mantra fall silent. So they just sit there in silence while Wilbur breathes solid, even breaths. He can’t manage any more tears so he just quietly rests with the yearning chasm in his chest.

After a while he says, “Have you found Scott?”

“We think that his body must’ve been lost in the explosion,” Bad says, and he sounds oh so guilty about it.

Wilbur wonders how on earth Scott’s soul will find its way to their afterlife without a boat to help him get there.

“Nothing to be done for it.” Wilbur sighs. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

They fall back into a long silence until the sounds of people wandering towards the crater become clear.

Then a few moments later it becomes obvious who it is.

Tommy’s barking laughter hits him first.

Wilbur gently sets Phil’s hand onto the slab.

He thinks that he must’ve been the only one Phil ever told about being a purely one-life individual. He wonders if Phil had ever thought that Wilbur would be put into the unavoidable position of having to explain it.

He imagines that if he’d known then he would’ve at least told Techno.

Techno’s deadpan voice - still too distant to understand the words but enough to catch the intent of a joke - sweeps through the tent flap. It’s quickly followed by Tommy and Tubbo’s hysterical laughter.

Then again maybe not.

“What’s this?” Tubbo’s voice calls out. “There’s a tent?”

“I’ll get there faster, bitch!” Tommy calls back.

The sound of running sends Wilbur into a panic as he stumbles over himself to stand up. He has to catch them before they can run in without warning. He’s almost to the tent flap when it opens and then closes with a gasp.

“What? What is it Tubbo?” Tommy calls out, the tent flap opens again.

Tommy takes in the scene in front of him. He’s had a growth spurt in the six months since Wilbur’s seen him but his posture’s gotten so much worse. There are dark circles under his eyes as well although they’re nowhere near as bad as Phil’s.

A beat of silence where Tommy just seems to take in the room.

Then he yells something incomprehensible and stumbles towards Phil’s body. His hands shake above the cloth like he’s afraid to touch it. “What the fuck happened here?” he demands.

He turns to Wilbur with a pleading look, “What the fuck?” he asks, again his voice breaking. He angrily swipes tears away from his eyes with his palm.

God, he’s only sixteen.

Wilbur opens his arms and Tommy throws himself into the hug. Wilbur makes sure to tuck him into his shoulder so if he doesn’t want his tears seen then they won’t be. Tommy mutters questions under his breath until he’s not saying anything but is just sobbing.

Wilbur had been wrong about having no tears left. He has to blink them away so he can focus on his twin who just walked in.

“Wilbur.” Techno breathes, standing at the tent opening with the white cloth of the tent clenched in his palm. He can’t take his eyes off Phil. “I don’t understand. This was - This was his first life? He said that it was his first life.”

“His only life.” The words come - unbidden and unwanted - to Wilbur before he can stop them. He winces.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice but Techno turns to stare at him. “What?” he demands.

“I’ll tell you later,” Wilbur promises.

They have a long staring contest until finally Techno nods.

BadBoyHalo shifts in the corner. A move that has Techno’s eyes darting towards him and then narrowing.

“Bad,” he greets.

“Technoblade,” BadBoyHalo says, “I’ve been helping Wilbur with Philza’s funeral.”

A flash of guilt crosses Techno’s face. “Alright.”

“I need to know when we’ll be holding the funeral so I can tell all of those who are invited,” Bad says.

“Noon.” Wilbur and Techno answer immediately. Wilbur combs a hand through Tommy’s wild hair, the sobbing has calmed down to sniffles and hiccuping breaths.

“Are there any specific-,” Bad pauses as if he just realized that what he’s about to ask isn’t quite the question that he wants to be asking. “ - guests that you don’t want there?”

“Everybody who wants to be there is welcome,” Wilbur answers before either of his brothers can set up some kind of restriction.

Tommy bristles, pulls away slightly, “Dream isn’t-”

“Everybody is welcome,” Wilbur repeats, louder.

Bad nods, pauses at the opening. “Tubbo?” he asks.

The three of them pause as the sound of muffled crying answers him. Bad gently leads in Tubbo with red-rimmed eyes and a hand pressed against his mouth.

Wilbur’s never met Tubbo before, for all that they’re family. Phil had written to him in a daze about the child they’d found on the side of the road. Phil and Techno apparently dedicated themselves to finding the boy's parents before finally declaring it useless and taking him with them.

Tommy pulls away from Wilbur and throws himself at Tubbo who buries his face into Tommy’s shoulder and starts weeping. The room goes silent besides Wilbur quietly humming a lullaby while Tommy rubs Tubbo back and Techno seems to be deeply in thought. He paces the room like a caged animal.

Tubbo finally recovers enough that he and Tommy pull away with a muttered apology.

“Hey,” Wilbur says. “Don’t apologize. This is a truly terrible situation.”

He puts just enough emphasis on it that it makes Tubbo huff a laugh before looking horrified at himself.

“Hey, Wilbur?” Tommy says before the silence can turn awkward.

“Hm?” Wilbur answers, already dreading the next statement.

“Dream and Scott shouldn’t be allowed at Phil’s funeral.”

“Scott’s dead, Tommy.” Wilbur sighs. The other three freeze before a small cheer erupts among them. Wilbur continues, “And it’s tradition. Everyone gets to have their say.”

That seems to take the wind right out Tommy’s sails and he deflates into a dejected teenager. “This isn’t the Empire,” he mutters half-heartedly, “We don’t have to follow everything.”

“It’s what Phil would’ve wanted.” Wilbur answers.

That’s the end of the argument and the conversation.

They stand in that tiny white tent exhausted and lost beyond belief. Wilbur watches the Sky and tries to convince himself that he isn’t looking for black wings.

After a while Tommy and Tubbo start to get relestless. The two of them glancing between Techno who hasn’t moved from Phil’s side and Wilbur who’s been staring out into the distance for the past few hours now that some of the responsibility has shifted shoulders.

“Hey Tommy, Tubbo?” Wilbur calls. “Can you do me a favor?”

Their whispered conversation dies down.

“Yeah?” Tommy calls back. “What kind of favor?”

“Niki’s at Eret’s castle -” He waits for Tommy to make some kind of comment about how awkward that must be for him. It unsettles something deep when Tommy doesn’t say a word,

distrubed Wilbur continues, “Niki’s at Eret’s castle and she’s been stress baking all night. Do you think that you and Tubbo could get some together to hand out at the - the docks when it’s time?”

“You got it, Big Dubs,” Tommy says, the two of them darting out of the tent like lighting bolts.

Tommy turns back at the last second and hugs him. Wilbur combs a hand through his hair, bewildered at the fact that Tommy would be seen hugging him.

“I’m glad that you’re here, big man.” Tommy whispers, so quietly that Wilbur almost doesn’t hear it.

“I’m here as long as I can be, Tommy.” Wilbur promises.

Tommy breaks away with a small smile before racing back to where Tubbo had stopped in surprise. The two of them walk away with their heads pulled in close together as they talk.

Wilbur closes the tent flap with a sigh. There’s a hard conversation waiting for him and Technoblade. No reason to try and postpone it or make it harder for the two of them.

“So,” Wilbur says, spinning his ring on his finger. “Which question do you want to ask me first?”

“His only life.”

It’s not a question.

Wilbur answers him anyway, “Phil never told me why he only had one life.” he admits, “I think that he probably lost two of them during the Fall of the Empire. He only told me because I happened to be in the right place at the right time to hear about it.”

It’s probably nowhere near the answer that Techno wants, not really the answer that he deserves either. Wilbur just doesn’t have any better answer to give him.

“I - That’s fine!” Techno says, surprising Wilbur into turning around to look at him. “I don’t care that he only had one life. Why didn’t he tell me?”

Wilbur does his best not to take it as an insult. He’s failing miserably at it. “I could’ve protected him so much better!” Techno continues, “There were so many plans that could’ve gone so much better!”

“Phil wouldn’t have wanted to be thought of as a liability,” Wilbur points out, “He wouldn’t have taken that.”

Techno takes a moment to ingest that information. They both know that Phil would’ve patiently accepted it for a while with minimal protests as he went around Techno’s back to change the plans.

That’s just Phil.

“You’re right,” Techno admits. “So there’s no chance of a respawn?”

Techno and Wilbur had never been the type of twins who were close. There was no reason for it on either of their sides, just the understanding that they had their own interests and tastes that very rarely intersected.

It’s almost comforting in that moment to know that at least in this moment the same question has been racing through the both of them.

“No chance of a respawn.” Wilbur confirms.

“I saw - I saw him run himself through.” Techno says, once again he’s talking more to himself. “I saw him throw himself into the crater. That whole time I thought that he’d respawn.”

Wilbur envies him that hope. That jealousy for the night Techno had thought that Phil would be back at any time while Wilbur carried him out of a crater and got things together. Then he thinks about the way that a nation that he’s never seen has turned to ash under Techno’s feet and the jealousy shrivels up in his chest.

“It’s almost noon,” Bad calls making both of them jump. “If you need any help moving Phil?”

Wilbur looks at Techno. Techno looks at him.

“We’ve got it.” Techno calls back.

“Thank you.” Wilbur adds.

“Of course.”

Sometime during Wilbur’s visit with Eret and Niki Bad had fashioned a kind of wooden slab with handles so that they could transport Phil’s body without too much hassle. Wilbur needs to thank Eret again for the strength potion because otherwise there would simply be no way that he could manage to do this.

They work in silence as they carefully shroud Phil in the thick white sheet that Bad had gotten for them. Techno’s face freezing when he sees the burnt remains of Phill’s wings.

“He was protecting me from the blast,” Wilbur admits, carefully wrapping the cloth around them. “I don’t know if - if the wings would’ve made it if I hadn’t been there.”

‘I don’t know if Phil would’ve made it if I wasn’t there.’

Techno blinks at him, his words awkward but obviously carefully chosen, “I think that he decided what he was going to do. Nobody could’ve changed his decision.”

“Maybe.” Wilbur says, “Maybe.”

They finish in exhausted silence. There’s nothing left to be discussed between the two of them now.

There’s a universe where Wilbur had been fast enough. There was a universe where Phil had never even pressed the button. There had to be a universe where right now Phil was alive.

Wilbur wonders how many end portals and nether portals he’d have to jump through to find it.

“You ready?” Techno’s voice is a low rumble.

“Ready as I can be.”

They slide Phil’s body onto the slab and start the short journey towards the boat that will guide Phil to the afterlife.

Everybody is already at the sand next to the docks before they get there. Members of L’manberg and the Dream SMP hovering around each other. Niki is handing out food that everybody is half - heartedly nibbling on.

Tubbo and Tommy come racing forward when they see them, only faltering a little when they see the ceremonial shroud.

“Is there anything that we can do?” Tubbo asks.

Wilbur almost tells them not to worry about it before he reconsiders. “Can you grab the journals out of my pack? There should be about twenty or so.”

Tubbo eagerly digs through it and passes ten back to Tommy and then takes ten for himself.

“I’d be a big help if you handed those out.” Wilbur admits, “Tommy, do you remember what they’re for?”

Tommy swallows, “I remember.”

“Are you up for explaining?”

“Yeah. I can - Yeah.”

Wilbur smiles at them, warmth kindling in his chest. God, they have good kids here. Wilbur couldn’t be prouder. He hopes that even a fraction of that warmth and pride shows when he says, “Thank you, guys. Seriously.”

Considering the way that both of them flush and then turn around to give out the journals he thinks that maybe at least a little had come across.

Setting Phil into the boat is easy. Setting the charcoal in beside him is not.

His father will be in flames in less than twenty minutes.

The way that Techno’s hands shake lets him know that he understands the gravity just as well. The sound of waves lapping against the shore and nearby dolphins are slowly joined by the sound of quill tips scratching out thoughts onto paper.

Tommy quietly sets two journals and two enchanted quills in the sand beside them just as they finish.

Wilbur writes as many good things as he can. He writes about long, lonely nights made bearable only by his father’s warm presence. He writes about giggling snowball fights, and the feeling of flying with his toes skimming the top of water.

He writes about the certainty of never being allowed to fall.

He wants to write page after page about his sorrow and his guilt but he doesn’t want that to be the last that Phil ever reads from him. So instead he signs -

‘I’ll miss you until we meet again.

Forever Your Loyal Son

Wilbur Soot’

He gently sets the book into the boat and covers it with charcoal before stepping aside so that the others can do so when they’re ready.

Nikki feds him a bit of pumpkin pie when she sees that his hands are dirty and caked with charcoal dust.

Clouds begin to cover the sun when Techno settles his letter beside everybody else.

Tommy and Tubbo volunteer to push the boat out and something inside Wilbur breaks even more as they grit their teeth and shove the boat into the water. Wilbur tucks them both under his arms and curls over them.

He has to bury his face into Tommy’s hair and just breathe when Techno notches the flaming arrow. He swallows down a sob when the telltale sound of something catching fire barely reaches them.

“It’s over, big man,” Tommy says after a minute, “You can’t see it anymore.”

Wilbur nods, squeezes them once to reassure himself that they won’t disappear the second that he lets go.

They don’t hang around the docks much longer after that. Everybody is wary of each other now that the common goal has been fulfilled. They disappear back into the same packs that they had the night before but now Wilbur follows the bright pink of Techno’s hair to wherever the hell they’re going.

“Secret base,” Techno says to Wilbur’s questioning stare.

“Everybody knows where it is now, Technoblade,” Tubbo says.

“It was once a secret base,” Techno amends. “Now it’s just a base.”

“It’s under a lake!” Tubbo says.

It turns out that Technoblade does have a once - hidden base that’s under a lake and it looks a lot better than it sounds.

“Took two years to build,” Techno says when Wilbur looks around in awe.

“You haven’t even seen the hidden hidden bit,” Tubbo says, “That's really really cool.”

“Maybe later,” Wilbur says, “First though I’m gonna make some lunch.”

The fish and chips that he makes isn’t the best and everybody mostly just picks at it but it gives them the excuse that they need to all get settled into the small dining room.

Wilbur and Techno pick up books that they half-heartedly read through even though their concreation is shot to all hell. Tommy and Tubbo play tic - tac - toe only finishing a few games before they start to yawn.

“I think that I'm going to go take a nap,” Wilbur says, putting his book down without bothing to put a bookmark. “If anybody wants to join me.”

“You’re getting old,” Tommy complains, “Who needs a nap this early.”

The impact of his statement doesn’t hit that hard when he yawns at the end.

“Maybe a nap wouldn’t be all that bad,” Tommy huffs a laugh.

That’s how thirty minutes later Wilbur is pinned under two asleep teenage boys and idly staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to go to sleep himself and as the cloak sounds off hour after hour he’s proven correct.

It doesn’t bother him like it would’ve once. Instead he just settles in for the long haul and lets his mind gently wander. Until it hits midnight and his body all of sudden itches for activity. The last hurray of the long - acting strength potion that Eret had given him making him restless.

He tries to tough it but after he nearly wakes up Tubbo twice in three minutes he throws in the towel and painstakingly extracts himself.

Then he goes to search for Techno wandering through the confusing base until he finds him in a comfortable little living room.

Techno has always built for practicality more than any kind of sentimentally or comfort reasons. That’s why Wilbur knows that the little living room with it’s comfortable furniture and potted plants had been a concession for Phil.

He can just barely make out the edges of Techno from the angle that he’s at and for a moment he’s about to walk in. It’s always been better for Wilbur to have somebody to sit up with for the night if the other person could bear it.

Before he can he watches as Techno takes off his crown and sets it onto the side table next to him. Then with a quiet huff Techno puts a very familiar green and white striped bowler hat onto his head.

Wilbur doesn’t want to disturb that so instead he heads up to the surface.

It’s the middle of the night again so he just idly starts walking until he finds a path. He doesn’t have any armor on but the diamond dagger has taken out several mobs before they could take him out. So he’s not terribly worried.

“Hello.” A voice says.

Wilbur whirls around and finds the man, the myth, the enemy.

“Good afternoon, Dream.” he greets.

“It’s a bit past afternoon, Wilbur,” Dream says, affably. His mask really is disturbing this close up. “You shouldn’t be out here without any armor on. Who knows what could get you.”

Wilbur smiles, “I wasn’t all that worried about it, but now that you’re here I’m sure that you’ll protect me isn’t that right?”

“Of course,” Dream laughs. “Wouldn’t want somebody to get killed on their first day on the server would I?”

“It’d be bad for the image of the whole place.”

Dream hums in amused agreement. “What are you doing out so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Wilbur admits, “Just wanted to walk to try and see if that might help. Is it the same for you?”

“Yeah. I - Yeah.”

Not as skilled in lying as he thinks he is. Dream’s voice will give him away if Wilbur listens carefully enough.

“I could show you a nice place for us to sit and chat if you’d like?” Dream offers.

“Oh no, thank you.” Wilbur waves the offer away, as he starts to walk again. Dream has to walk with him if he doesn’t want to get left behind. “Tommy’s offered to show me around tomorrow and I’d hate to ruin anything.”

Dream’s voice is strained when he answers, “You’re walking one of the main paths of the server right now. I think that you’ll find your way towards most of the big spots by yourself.”

“Huh, fancy that.” Wilbur hums, walking along.

The mask doesn’t hide the sound of teeth gritting together very well. A shame for Dream because Wilbur finds that he quite likes the sound.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase, Wilbur.” Dream says, he’d almost certainly be imitating to somebody who isn’t running on unbridled grief and pure maniac energy. “You’re the only person whose managed to break the protections that Callagan’s put on the server.”

Wilbur keeps walking. Dream goes silent but he’s barking up the wrong fucking tree if he thinks that’s gonna make Wilbur talk. He lived with Technoblade for sixteen years, he can handle the silent treatment with both ease and grace.

“Do you know how that could’ve happened?” Dream breaks after a few minutes. He doesn’t sound pleased about it.

“I might have a few ideas,” Wilbur bullshits, leaning down to pick a dandelion. He presents it to Dream with a peaceful smile. “I doubt those ideas would be of much interest to a man such as yourself though Dream.”

He’d wanted so desperately to see his family. The stars had engulfed him and he has no idea how his feet had met stone in this server. No. He doesn’t think that Dream would find his answer satisfying at all but if he wanted to insist then Wilbur wouldn’t stop him.

“I think that it’d be of great interest to me actually,” Dream takes the flower from him and settles it into his pack.

Wilbur thinks that if Dream was a bird then he’d be a Raven or a Vulture. Circling around the hurt and waiting for them to die. Wilbur’s read the horror stories that had been included in Dad and Techno’s letters of a bloody war.

He’ll do the same to a limping, shambling state of a nation.

“Would you be in a trade of information, Dream?” Wilbur offers.

Dream hums, pleased. “I could be. What would this trade include?”

“I tell you how I got on your server. You tell me how my father came to the opinion that L’manberg needed to be destroyed.”

There’s a weighted moment where Dream seems to be deliberating if the information was worth it.

Wilbur stares at the stars and marvels at how unfamiliar they are. The only familiar objects in the sky are the waxing moon and the northern star.

Dream obviously must decide that he wants to know enough because he takes a deep breath. “Phil wanted L’manberg back and all that was left was Manburg. He decided that it wasn’t worth that.”

Wilbur hums, “Manburg, huh? Scott took the L.”

Dream laughs and agrees. This whole server must be so amusing to him. Little puppets to play with and chess pieces to move.

“Did Phil find the TnT by himself?” Wilbur asks, making sure to keep his voice light and curious. “I mean there must have been several stacks.”

“I gave him the first stacks,” Dream says, “After that I just gave him the gunpowder. He found the sand.”

“Oh! That explains how he was able to get that many so quickly, I suppose.” Wilbur says, “Taking out a nation on the name along though. Seems a bit strange.”

“More the principle of the thing I think,” Dream shrugs, “The land that he’d built just kind of disappeared when Scott took over and changed everything.”

“Did he tell you this?” Wilbur asks, innocently.

“We had a few talks,” Dream admits, “We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things but that was something that we came to agree about.”

Dream pauses in their steps as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d revealed. Wilbur keeps his pace even and steady as he walks away. It’s always nice when a suspicion is confirmed that’s for sure.

“So you were the one reasonable for the Manburg destruction.” Wilbur says when Dream catches up. “Well that and the Withers that you set off.”

“Phil made his choice.” Dream says, pauses. “Maybe if you’d been here then you would understand.”

“Is that so?” Wilbur asks, he wishes that he’d grabbed his guitar. Something to do with his hands beside keeping them determinedly loose by his side. “It’s almost like I wasn’t whitelisted and wasn’t allowed on the server.”

“Nobody asked me to whitelist you.”

“How embarrassing for them.”

Dream grits his teeth again, “I kept my end of the bargain. Tell me how you got into the server.”

That - at least - Wilbur can agree with. He’d answered the question and had even given far more than he’d intended too when he’d decided to trade.

It’s a shame really that WIlbur won’t be able to give him the answer that he wants.

Such is life.

“I just wanted to be here,” Wilbur says, “Then I was.”

The crickets chirp quietly around them. Wilbur silently counts down in his head.

3...2...1

“Is that it?” Dream says, disbelieving.

Him and Techno really are so alike in the strangest of ways. Maybe that’s why Phil had such an obvious soft spot for Dream. Maybe that’s why Dream was able to convince him that a nation once gone can never be recovered. Maybe that’s why Wilbur is standing here and playing games instead of ripping his throat out and burning his lands to ashes like he wants too.

“It didn’t matter in the long run did it?” Wilbur says, offering a small olive branch of truth. “A little too late for me to have changed anything.”

“I suppose so. Do you plan on staying?”

“Well, somebody has to help Techno and Tommy rebuild L’manberg.” Wilbur says, “I’ll stay as long as they need me.”

“The nation of L’manberg is gone, Wilbur.” Dream says. “Phil blew it up.”

That’s cute.

“If Phil truly wanted L’manberg gone then it would be gone, Dream.” Wilbur assures him. “After all the bedrock is still there.”

Wilbur holds a hand for a handshake that’s mostly an excuse to try to crush Dream’s fingers with the last holding effects from the potion. Dream doesn’t take it instead his mask tilting until Wilbur has to drop his hand.

“Have a good night, Dream.” It’s counter-initiative to turn his back on the enemy but Wilbur can’t afford to show fear here. Not if he wants to get what he needs.

He’s several feet away before Dream says, “You do the same, Wilbur. Make sure to enjoy it while you can.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. What a dramatic fuck.

He makes it back to the lake and down into Technoblade’s not - so - secret base just in time for the true exhaustion to slam into him.

It leaves him stumbling and shaking as he moves through the base to check on his boys. Tommy and Tubbo are still curled around each other like affectionate cats, Techno still sitting in the little living room although he’s fallen asleep with Phil’s hat still on his head.

Tomorrow morning he’ll have to send a letter to Sclatt and Fundy to break the news that he’ll be gone longer than intended. It’ll probably take him a long - ass time to write.

A problem for tomorrow though. For now he’ll have to settle into the knowledge that everybody is as safe as they can be for now.

He swings back towards Tommy and Tubbo to rejoin the pile when he hears somebody moving through chests. His dagger in his hand immediately and he creeps towards the noise silently until he meets a nondescript door.

The door swings open with a quiet squeak and Wilbur’s breath catches in his throat.

Standing there is a grey figure. A grey figure that he recognizes shifting through chests.

The breath finally leaves him in a pained wheeze that could be mistaken for a “Phil?”

The figure turns around with a frown on his face. His sandals don’t quite touch the ground. His eyes aren’t a soft baby blue but instead a raging grey.

His words are a half - question, half - demand that echo around the room.

“Where are my sons?”

#text #let there be a garden and a man in it au #wilbur soot #philza #fanfiction #once again i don't know how to tag

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