Chapter Text
Something about the cold and the snow soothed Phils mind whenever he was unable to sleep at night. Maybe it was the gentle way it covered all the marks they had left in the snow during a busy day, or the absolute silence that came with it or the slight twinkling he saw wherever the light hit the snow in the right way.
However this night wasn‘t like any other for him, this night not even watching the snow fall outside and the warm fireplace could sooth his aching heart.
His hands instinctively tightened, crushing the papers he was holding before he noticed what he was doing and tried his best to relax again, smoothing out the letters in his hands. The only reminder and remembrance he had of his son. The ink was slightly smudged and the handwriting was as atrocious as it had always been, a habit of Wilburs Phil had never been able to talk him out of and eventually came to love. Memories of teaching Wilbur to write came to his mind, memories of practicing the alphabet with him and guiding his hands to hold the pencil correctly.
Times had been so much simpler back then, when all Phil had to worry about was keeping his son from spilling the inkwell again, back when Phil had gifted Wilbur his first own notebook and showed him how to bind books himself. Back when the most danger Wilbur was in was sitting on a tree reading and nearly falling out of it when he moved too much during interesting parts.
Phil still had some of the books from back then, those Will had left behind because they were too precious to take on a journey to an unknown destination, that he vowed to pick up when he had settled somewhere else.
Oh how Phil had waited for that day, with every letter he got he felt closer to seeing his son again and then when they eventually stopped Phil got more and more apprehensive. It wasn‘t like Wilbur to stop writing, there had to be a reason and Phil had left it time at first, confident in his sons ability to figure out even the worst of situations, confident that he had taught him right.
But time went on without a sign of life and worry got the best of him and when another letter from a different person reached him, he packed the most important books and the essentials and started flying. Surely the Situation wasn‘t as dire as it sounded, surely he would just have to bring the books and he could cheer up his son.
If only he had left earlier.
If only he had picked up on the warning signs earlier because surely there was something in these letters that should have warned him, should have made him act earlier, should have let him know that he was needed.
Yet no matter how many times he reread the letters, no matter what codes or riddles he checked them for, no matter how he read them he just couldn‘t find anything.
His son sounded happy, elated. He had found something worth fighting for he said, someone that was like a brother to him and a family.
Yes there was hurt in them too, sadness over a love that left him a single father, stories of battles but even those stories Wilbur ended with hopeful words, promises to let Phil meet his grandson, of rebuilding and treaties.
How could he have ever guessed what went on behind the scenes?
Phil had asked Tommy once, about his son and L‘Manburg and the way this boy talked about it matched Wilburs stories to the t and yet whenever he settled down in the evening with Techno and got him to open up he heard a different story.
Not one of liberation and war for freedom but of selfishness and tyranny and people that treated others like villains and weapons whenever they disagreed, of a nation that used it‘s citizens to fight it‘s battles, of power hungry and corrupt leaders and while Techno refused to say it Phil knew in his heart that he included Wilbur in those definitions.
One evening they had talked about how Techno came to fight for Pogtopia, how they baited him with promises of ending tyranny and helping the underdog, how they needed him for protection and that Techno had believed them.
And Techno told him about how he had slowly started losing that trust, how they left him alone to kill an ally when they could have intervened, how even if that ally forgave him Wilbur encouraged further violence, encouraged a child to get revenge on Techno by fighting him, how he tried to minimize the damage and the strain this put on their goal but couldn‘t succeed because Wilbur kept fanning the flames.
They barely talked about Wilbur after that. Phil hadn‘t asked Techno too but it was clear as day that Techno had seen the sadness in Phil‘s eyes and decided to not speak ill of the dead again unless Phil prompted him.
It was moments like this when Phil considered asking his friend for stories of his son, for his opinion on him and the so called symphony he couldn‘t finish because whatever answers Phil was seeking he wouldn‘t be able to find in the letters alone. He wouldn‘t find them by asking his sons closest allies and friends, all those that also grieved his death like he did with their rose tinted glasses on. Yet at the same time he knew how much it would pain Techno to tell him more. Talking about emotions was hard for both of them, but sharing their pain made it even harder as neither of them could stand to see the other in pain when there was nothing they could do to ease it.
So he wouldn‘t ask Techno unless he absolutely had to.
There had to be someone else willing to speak to Phil, someone that could help him get a more complete vision of what had happened to his son. He knew that no matter who he asked he‘d get a screwed version of the story but at some point there was bound to be overlap, something to go off of to figure out the truth.
There just had to be more to it.
There had to be an explanation how the wide-eyed idealist he knew his son to be ended up blowing up the nation he build and begging for this death.
So Phil decided right there and then that the only way to get closure would be to piece together the full story. These letters wouldn‘t suddenly start holding the answers to his questions and although he knew that he probably wouldn‘t like what he found at the end of this road he owed it to himself and Wilbur to find out the whole truth.
With new found conviction Phil started gathering up the letters, slipping all of them into the right envelops, closing them gently before he bound then together with a string and put them next to his sons‘ favorite books again. Next to all the replies he had meant to send but never did because he was sure he‘d get a chance to tell Wilbur in person.
There was time to ponder all the things he regretted later, he decided.
There was always more time for him but oh so rarely enough time for the people he loved and it hurt even more whenever that time was cut shorter still by the hands of another or in this case his own. Another one of his many regrets, despite the fact that he still didn‘t know what he could have done differently, how he was supposed to know that his son wouldn‘t come back this time and even if he did Phil hardly even recognized him at that point.
It was a scary thought.
Even during his considerably long lifetime Phil hadn‘t seen many people change as drastically as Wilbur had, he wasn‘t sure if there was anything he could have done to regain his son even if he were still alive. He would have tried surely, would have used any knowledge available to him but this uncertainty, this thought that instead of Ghostbur he would be living alongside another version of his son he didn‘t recognize, it scared him.
Thoughts of that sort made him feel like he failed Wilbur all over again, like not even his love was enough, that he had utterly failed as a parent, but instead of being something he could fix this was a hurt he‘d have to live with. It might weaken over time but without a chance to prove to himself that he could act different, that he could have helped, he‘d never be able to rest and turn away from the knowledge that once again he had failed his son.
He cursed himself for caring whenever he got like this.
Centuries old and he still chose to care, chose to bleed and cry and love and though it always felt worth it in the end, though it made him stronger each time he loved and mourned again, he cursed it whenever he was in the middle of grieving. Ached for a moment of rest, an escape from himself and what he‘d seen and all the inadequacies not even time could smooth over.
Because those were the only constants in life, change and the fact that there was always something to learn and always room for improvement.
He had seen the most gentle people turn their backs on empathy and had seen them turn right back around with enough time, crying over what they had done, trying desperately to make up for it in the limited time they possessed.
He had seen people turn sour and give up on change as well, so occupied with the thought that they didn‘t have enough time that they never bothered to consider that one good deed would be better than none.
He had seen the worst of scum recognize the error of their ways and work towards betterment for the rest of their lives.
The only thing Phil had more of than these people was time so it felt silly to him how some of them felt too old for change, too set in their ways, hurrying to an imaginary finish line when Phil himself outlived them and got to decide time and time again to be different tomorrow, to embrace that some things would stay the same while many other wouldn‘t.
Even when he felt stagnant, when his heart felt dried out, when human behaviour started to seem silly to him and death insignificant, when the lines between good and evil blurred more for him than they did for people with shorter lives, even then he knew that change was inescapable and as vital to any living being as breathing.
So he chose to love again and chose to trust time to sooth all pain and he chose to believe that whatever his son has changed into could have been undone or that he could have learned to love him regardless even when he feared that what he chose to believe was a lie.
At the same time he didn‘t even know who his son had become, didn‘t even know what things he would have had to forgive him for.
Phil rubbed his tired eyes, feeling a bit of wetness left on them afterwards that he chose to ignore in favor of finally heading to bed. The fire had long gone out during his musings and the cold started to settle in his weary bones, making his mental state feel all too physical for him in that moment to endure for a moment more.
Navigating the dark had become something of a ritual to him with how often he stayed up far beyond a reasonable time and like many other days he found a dog on his bed that had snuck away from the others, that or it had been let in deliberately by Techno, who had been trying to get Phil attached to one of the animals for weeks now.
It was an obvious ploy, Phil had seen how much better Techno had been doing since he had Steve around in stressfull situations, had seen how much more content he looked whenever he had something to care for and it was just like Techno to try and help Phil by doing for him what helped himself. Techno was a natural sharer and protector through and through and Phil appreciated his attempts, even if it meant that he was woken up by a dog licking his face and his bed was perpetually covered in fur.
Sometimes it wouldn‘t be a dog waiting for Phil either, sometimes it would be Steve or one of the foxes, at one point it was even one of Ranboos‘ animals which was especially hard to cover up just by pretending that Phil had forgotten to close his door, which he never did to begin with.
They were silly excuses one way or another but Phil didn‘t want to call Techno out on it and instead just silently accepted his attempts to cheer Phil up even if that meant that he had to pretend not to hear it when Techno quietly ushered yet another animal into Phils‘s room while he was reading or organizing his chests.
So like any other day Phil pet the dog on his bed, letting it nuzzle against his hands before he lifted the cover and slipped under it as far as he could without pulling the soft fabric out underneath the peacefully resting animal at the bottom of the mattress. It spoke volumes of how much time Techno spend raising and training these dogs that they behaved so well and for a moment the thought of his best friend covered in snow praising the hound army when they performed little tricks made Phil feel warm again, letting him forget his worries long enough to fall asleep.
In the morning when the first rays of sunlight woke Phil up before something else could for once, the sorrow already felt further away and the intense emotions he had been wrangling with nearly felt manageable.
It was usually this way. A good sleep didn‘t fix Phils‘ problems but it helped him distance himself from them long enough to get something done before they returned again in the evening and demanded his attention and care. It was a constant cycle, like the ebb and flow of the ocean.
He took a moment to stretch fully while still under the covers, appreciating the warmth that had accumulated over the course of the night, before he took note of his surroundings. The dog was already gone, presumably had been collected by Techno for the morning walk with the pack and there was already a fire crackling in the background, another little courtesy of his best friend Phil didn‘t bring up because he knew it would embarrass him. Sometimes if he woke up from Techno entering his room before dawn Phil would mutter out a quiet thanks, only to hear a huff and retreating steps.
Like many other days since Phil had moved in with Techno it took him a while to get out of bed. It helped that the fire had been burning for a while already but it was still colder than he would prefer, making it an uncomfortable endeavor to push aside the blanket that shielded him from the cold that never seemed to leave.
Eventually he could persuade himself to get up and change out of his lounge clothes into the many layers of casual wear he‘d taken to lately, the process leaving him shivering a bit just like it did every day. He‘d let the fire burn out for now either way, opting to spend his day in the main house he shared with Techno.
Putting on a pair of warm boots specifically made for days he intended to stay inside Phil finally felt ready to face the day and create his battle plan. He still wasn‘t sure who he could ask about L‘Manburg that he hadn‘t already talked to but maybe that was something he could actually involve Techno in.
Lost in his thoughts Phil slowly walked over the little bridge he had build, stretching out his wings for a short moment before quickly pulling them back towards his body to protect them from the wind. It was instinct to stretch them a bit after sleeping but his feathers still hadn‘t completely grown back from where the heat of the explosions had scorched and burned them off and the lingering bruises made the movement ache as well.
Still it was nothing he wasn‘t willing to bear, no payment would have been because all that counted in that moment was to protect Wilbur. That‘s all that ever counted for Phil when he cared deeply about someone.
Protecting wasn‘t in his blood the same way it was for Techno, Phil knew that. He‘d rather raise hell and get revenge, would rather let actions speak than just use his body as a shield for someone but there were exceptions for everything and if seeing his son die had taught him anything then it was that maybe he still had things to learn.
Part of that learning process was to cope without violence. While blowing up L‘Manburg a second time had helped soothe some of his ache, had quieted the part of himself that demanded revenge a bit, it just wasn‘t enough. He wasn‘t in retirement, he didn‘t hold the same strong moral convictions Techno did, but what they had built here was nice and Phil was willing to try it for now, knew to appreciate the here and now and enjoy it for as long as life would let him.
So he opened the door and looked around, seeing Technos coat missing as it often was at this time of the day, and like many other days Phil took it as a sign to move over to their small kitchen and start preparing breakfast for the two of them.
Phil had been an atrocious cook as he grew up, thinking that it wasn‘t his responsibility up until his first partner was gone and with them something as basic as a warm meal. Looking back it seemed silly that he ever considered a daily task such as cooking to be another persons job, but sometimes it took a change of pace or of the surroundings to realize an error in thought. From that day onward Phil did his best to be self-sufficient and to appreciate it whenever another person took over tasks for him, vowing to pay them back in kind.
It was part of the reason he and Techno worked so well together. Neither of them took the others niceties for granted, it was a constant give and take that made both of them feel cherished even with no words of thanks being exchanged. They had mastered the art of nonverbal communication over the years they had been friends and it was something Phil was eternally grateful for on the days when the past cast heavy shadows over him.
On those days it was Techno who‘d prepare his favorite meal, who‘d gently shake his shoulders to wake him up and who gave him the strength to face another day. Just like Phil would do the same for Techno.
On days where the voices got too loud, when Techno felt haunted by things he couldn‘t control and the urges to quiet everything around him, when he was unable or unwilling to talk, on those days Phil took the dogs so Techno could rest in peace, left some food on the steps and came back to darken the room for him and then he waited until Techno came to him, softly telling him a story when he did.
There was comfort in knowing that someone had his back as completely and uncompromising as Techno did, that they were equals in every way and had found their way together and stayed together, even if they sometimes drifted apart for short periods of time.
A chuckle escaped Phil as he prepared all the ingredients for todays meal.
They had come so far since they met. From co-rulers of a nation with silly plans to rule over everything to anarchists. It seemed like a lifetime away when they‘d talk military strategy together over lunch and laughed about it whenever a war turned out to be easier than they thought. When they took bets on who would scare an enemy king more during diplomatic meetings that never once ended in a treaty.
It has been so long he barely even remembered what made them change their mind, but what he did still remember was Technos expression when he came to him that day, telling him they couldn‘t go on like this. It had surprised Phil, he remembered, he hadn‘t yet known Techno enough to see the signs leading up to his change of heart, but he had already cared enough to hear him out.
He remembers Techno asking him why they were rulers, why they had power over all these people and he remembers answering that it was because they could force them to listen, because they knew what was best, because they were gods and he remembers Techno laughing in his face telling him that they were tyrants, that if Techno was their subject he‘d want to stab them in the face.
They didn‘t get much further that day as news of a battle their empire lost reached them but even now Phil remembers the hurt he saw in Technos eyes in that moment.
He never thought about ruling the same again and with each day he spend at the top making decisions for others, each day he spend talking to his closest friend who kept getting more unhappy, each day he spend questioning what he thought he knew he hated who he was and what he stood for more.
It had always felt like a game to him back then. Battles were won and lost and the people who died were simply fatalities. He had already been so old then, had seen so much, had fought in so many wars himself that death stopped phasing him and not for a moment had he considered that maybe that was a problem in itself.
Until one day he couldn‘t stand it anymore.
He didn‘t care as deeply as Techno did, did not consider himself to be completely in the wrong even now but the day Techno stood before him and told him that their time as rulers was over he agreed and packed his things in silence.
They had left that same night and hadn‘t looked back since.
But even now Phil thought, cracking the eggs into a pan with a practiced ease, even now they still weren‘t the same. Phil had listened to Techno and agreed but he never quite felt the conviction the same way Techno did. He was an anarchist by action, partially as a friendship service to his best friend but Techno was an anarchist all the way to the bone.
While Phil had never taken his position as a ruler serious Techno had once thought that he was doing the right thing, that his hands were truly the safest place to be for their people. There were many evenings, Phil remembered, where Techno would sit quietly, reading another book about war strategy, trying to understand how he could win even more efficiently to minimize the damage.
The realization that what they were doing wasn‘t justifiable had hit Techno so much harder than it had Phil and even up to this day it was Techno that pushed Phil to become a better person, very rarely the other way around.
It was something Phil was grateful for but it also upset him when he thought about it in the context of his son. Maybe he hadn‘t done enough to teach Wilbur right from wrong, maybe he hadn‘t been enough to teach him all the lessons Phil himself had been taught over the course of centuries. Maybe he had overlooked things in Wilbur, had considered things harmless that ended up festering for years until Wilbur was out of his reach.
Maybe a child was bound to repeat the mistakes of their parents.
There was no way for Phil to know in the end, he could only guess at what he could have done differently, on what was his fault and what was just Wilbur having free will and the ability to make his own mistakes like any other human.
There was nothing to gain by pondering it more other than slightly charred eggs.
They were salvageable luckily, nothing a thick slice of bread and a heavy layer of butter couldn‘t distract from. The smell was the only thing truly bothering Phil, so he opened a window in hopes of it fading before Techno came back and got busy cutting the bread they had baked the day before.
He was barely done when he felt a cold calloused hand on his shoulder that quickly slipped away again now entering his field of vision to grab one of the plates. Smiling Phil took the other, following his friend to the table in front of the fireplace where Steve already rested and soaked up the warmth. They ate in silence for a while and Phil pretended not to notice when Techno slipped Steve parts of the egg, but ultimately failed once he started laughing at the abysmal attempts at subtlety in front of him.
It was a scene Phil was already used to but that never failed to warm his heart. He loved mornings like this, the reprieve they offered from all the grief he has felt since Wilburs death, the reminder that there was a tomorrow and a future, for him at least and for another person he cared for deeply. He took comfort in the knowledge that even if one day he failed to protect Techno he‘d still be there, able to protect himself.
And yet his heart ached all the same because he couldn‘t keep himself from wishing Wilbur would have been the same. It made Phil angry and sad and remorseful at the same time, looking for someone to blame but not finding anyone. If Wilbur had just been stronger, if he hadn‘t asked the impossible of Phil, if L‘Manburg had been different-
There were so many what ifs and some of them left Phil even more angry.
Angry at himself for even daring to think that his son had not done enough, that it was anything but a tragedy that the only way out he saw was guiding Phils‘ hand, his sword and uttering his final goodbye in a smoke filled cave. Angry that out of all the people he could blame he blamed Wilbur. For leaving him and forcing his hand and making him go through all this.
His change in mood must have shown on his face because the next thing Phil noticed was the same calloused hand from before gently taking the cutlery out of his own now mostly limb hands before he let them fall down and placing them on his plate. It was a casual action and as soon as Phil looked up Techno was already back to eating, while casting some sidewards glances at Phil, letting him now that if he chose to speak Techno would listen.
Techno was an endless well of patience when he wanted to be and it showed in moments like this, when Phil put his hands down in front of him, deliberately placing on over the other to hide some of the tremors that were going through him in that moment, still trying to gather his thoughts long after Techno had finished eating, his own food already cold on his plate. But Techno just waited, filling the silence with mindless chatter, stories of what the dogs had been up to today, of losing sight of Steve in the snow just to be buried under him moments later and anything else he could think of to make Phil relax enough for him to mention what was actually on his mind.
It was when Techno got up to throw some new logs into the fire that Phil finally found his voice again.
“I think I want to know more about Wilbur.“ , Phil says, already questioning his decision to talk when he feels the pang of pain he feels from forming the words. „I‘ve been thinking about it and I just can‘t reconcile the imagine of my son with who I saw in the cave that day. I know he aged and that he must have changed during the time but-“
He takes a deep breath, his hands turning into fists as he tries to reign in his emotions.
“- but not like that Techno. My son wasn‘t like us, he never showed interest in leading a nation. I have told him about my days as the ruler of an empire I have taught him what you taught me and I feel like I will never stop grieving him, will never be able to grieve him properly if I don‘t find out who I saw that day and how my son turned into that person.“
A moment passes by and Phil can see Techno stiffen in front of him before he visibly forces himself to relax and sit down in front of Phil again, offering a tight nod.
“Do you want me to-“ Techno starts to speak but drifts off, obviously uncomfortable with the situation to Phils trained eye but willing to come through for him regardless.
It makes Phil smile a bit as he shakes his head.
“I know that it‘s not a time you like to remember and I wouldn‘t want to force you to- to relive that for my sake.“ Phil speaks before Techno can continue. „But if you‘d be willing to help me figure out who else I could ask-“
“Of course.“ , Techno nods, already on the move again, gathering a notebook and writing utensils; always the overprepared planner.
It didn‘t take them long to write down everyone they knew that had interacted with Wilbur in some way but with whittling down the list came the real challenge.
There was no shortage in people Wilbur had fought against at one point another, but quite a few of them had been allies at one point in time as well, allies that would not take kindly to Phil visiting them after he aided Techno and Dream in blowing up their homes. Most of the others might have fought against Wilbur but had no backstory with him outside of that.
In the end most of the people that were left Phil had already talked to at some point.
Except for one person.
Phil had heard stories about Dream which didn‘t paint a pretty picture and their short partnership during doomsday did little to convince him that they were untrue either. However that alone wasn‘t a reason to cross him off the list. In fact he was the perfect candidate for his research, beginning with the fact that he was easier to find than most others.
In the end it didn‘t matter how good of a person Dream was, as long as he had something of value to tell Phil, or at least that‘s what he thought.
He didn‘t know yet that his feelings on the matter would change once he laid eyes on what was kept in pandoras box.