Chapter Text
Philza drags a heavy hand over his face. The utter desire to sleep is pulling at his aching bones, making his wings feel like nothing but dead weight on his back. Though, as much as his instincts urge him to crawl into his bed and get a good night's rest, the baby is still restless.
So Phil takes the edge of the rickety old cradle in one hand as he leans forward in his chair, using the other to prop up his face as he tiredly sighs. He rocks the whimpering child gently back and forth, even humming along to whatever melody his soupy, sleep-deprived brain happened to have conceived without any conscious thought.
If any of Philza’s friends were to look at him now, they’d be shocked.
Philza Minecraft. THE Philza Minecraft. Conqueror of worlds, Legendary Hardcore Master, Slayer of Dragons and Withers alike. The man, the myth, the immortal… rocking a baby to sleep.
They would laugh.
And he would smile, probably laugh along with them.
Though, he’d keep rocking the cradle and humming his songs and letting little Wilbur play with his fingers until he inevitably falls asleep. Phil shifts his hand over his child’s chest, still letting the baby play with his fingers, partially to adjust his shoulder into a more comfortable position, but deep inside he knew it was really some deep-rooted instinct to make sure little Wil was protected from the outside world.
Philza Minecraft might be an immortal, a warrior, a slayer of man and monster… but now he’s a father. And like everything he’s started in his long life, he plans to follow through on this too.
If only… Wilbur could have taken more after him. Though, genetics didn’t happen to work in their favor. Wilbur would luckily still have wings like Phil, he could tell by the small little bumps that shift ever so slightly on the child’s back. But, his baby was more like his mother than Phil would like to admit.
Wilbur has his mother’s golden eyes, and her curly hair, and her nose, and her ears, and… her mortality. Phil knew as soon as his baby was born, having noticed the absolute and utter lack of a heart-shaped birthmark, that his child wasn’t immortal. Wilbur was too much like Samantha Sung-Minecraft… which wasn’t a bad thing in itself, but it made it all the harder for Phil to accept.
So Phil learns early on that he will most likely outlive his son. Just like he did Samantha, or if he wanted to be technical, Kristin. Phil loves his wife in any form she takes, but each time her human form runs out of time he learns that he’s grown numb to the concept of death. I mean… he is married to Death. He is her Angel. But, the loss of her presence at his side still pains him. Knowing she couldn’t produce a physical form for at least… well. Not within what would be Wil’s lifetime. So now… he’s practically alone. Alone and raising his baby. He’ll have to watch as the years fly by and Wilbur ages and ages and eventually Phil will be alone again.
Philza sighs.
The adventurer lets go of the side of the cradle and instead shifts the hand on Wil’s chest so he can rub the top of his child’s head then replaces his other hand on top of Wilbur’s tiny one. The fussy child had finally calmed while Phil had gotten lost in his thoughts, latching onto the sleeve of Phil’s robe and snuggling into his hand. So, Phil decides tonight he may as well stay in the nursery, again. He’d take a little back pain over having to leave his baby, whose small fingers unlatch from his sleeve to wrap gently around his larger ones like a teddy bear.
Phil faintly chuckles and lets little Wilbur pull his fingers closer to his tiny chest. He almost coos at the sight, but he knows the crows would never let it down, so instead he rests his head against the side of his cradle. Letting the sounds of the night lull both him and Wilbur to sleep.
His friends can laugh and prod all they want when he finally tells them about Wilbur’s existence. The only reason he hasn’t told them is for Wilbur’s safety. Opting that he should only be telling those closest to him about his baby and the loss of his spouse. The loss of one world and the gaining of another...
Philza shakes those thoughts out of his mind to avoid an impending spiral, instead, allowing himself a moment to breathe and return to thinking about friends.
For End’s sake, maybe he could even find a godparent. Someone he could rely on to help with Wilbur when Phil inevitably gave into his wanderlust and inhuman thirst for bloodshed, even if it was just for a short time until he could cool-off. The godparent, whoever they might be, will have to be an extremely close friend and he’ll have to be able to trust them with his life… his entire world. Which, in all reality as he thinks about it, Phil knows it would always end up being Technoblade.
Phil hums drousily at the thought of his friend. Techno would be a good godparent… a really good godparent. Maybe he should ask the piglin demigod sooner rather than later about the whole godparent situation.
Wilbur let’s out a tiny sneeze. That is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Phil gently coos and lets his child snuggle into his hand further.
Phil realizes his mistake too late.
And soon enough, just outside the window, he hears hundreds of soft caws from the crows.
“Dadza!
Dad Phil!
Big papa Philza!”
Phila silently groans, but continues to smile.
Wilbur won’t have a normal life. That option was out the window as soon as he was born into being Phil and Kristin’s son. But… even if it isn’t a normal life, Phil would be dammed if he didn’t make sure it was a good one.
Phil rubs his thumb over his baby’s hand with a tired smile. “You’re my boy Wil,” he whispers, “you’re my son.”