Chapter Text
It was a normal day, the sun flittering through barely closed curtains as the occupants slowly wound down for the night. In the kitchen stood a middle-aged man in a green robe, large, black wings protruding from his back, sandals slipped on his feet and blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail, everything about him screaming comfortability as he prepared to make dinner for the night.
“Wil, could you come help me with dinner?” Phil called out from the kitchen, just finishing setting out everything he needed as he heard a familiar groan from the living room, a laugh pulled from his lips as he heard his middle child pull himself up from the couch and trudge into the kitchen, boots clacking against the tile.
Phil smiled at his son, the brunette sticking his tongue out at his dad, earning another laugh from the man. “Alright, mister, no need for that sass.”
Wilbur just rolled his eyes fondly, unable to keep a smile from his face as he looked around, eyebrows raised at the number of ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter. “Wow, look at all that. Holding a dinner party or something?”
The blonde simply shook his head, rolling up his sleeves as he washed his hands, not wanting to risk any germs from milling about in the cupboards and pantry to get into the food. “Nah, just felt like making somethin’ a bit special tonight, is all.”
Wil hummed, watching Phil busy himself and decided to ask, “what are you even making?”
“Something I saw online, I’m not entirely sure what it’s called.” Phil admitted, peeling off the skin of some sausages as Wilbur made a weird noise in the back of his throat.
“You’re making something you don’t know the name of?” He asked incredulously, staring at the man in disbelief as he watched him spread a tablespoon of olive oil over the pan, turning on the heat underneath.
Phil laughed. “Yep. Now, are you gonna actually help, or just stand there and talk?”
Wilbur smiled, his grin a tad sharp as he waved his hand. “Eh, I’ll just watch. Besides, I’d probably just mess it up even more if I tried to help—it’s not like I’d know what I would be doing, anyway, considering I have no idea what you’re making.”
“Fair enough.” Phil said, another laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head fondly. “I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly.”
Phil began chopping up some red onions, the smell seeming to not bother him as he hummed to himself quietly. Wilbur simply watched, not bothering to even try and help his father, flinching when some oil jumped out of the pan when the blonde man tossed in the chopped up onion.
“Woah, careful there, old man. Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.” He joked.
“Oh, shut.” Phil chastised. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Shut!”
They laughed and Phil began stirring the onions around, telling Wil that he wanted to caramelize them a bit, though he knew Wilbur had no idea what he was talking about since it was only really Phil who knew how to cook in this house, but the sentiment was what’s important. Pulling out a red bell pepper, Phil began meticulously cutting that up as well, being very careful with the knife as he cut into it cleanly.
He checked on the onions every once in a while as to not accidentally burn them or something, gently adding in the peppers after a while. Reaching over, he took the two cloves of garlic from across the counter and carefully smacked them with the flat edge of his knife, taking the skin off and cutting them up into thin slices before adding those into the pan as well.
All the while, Wilbur was watching him quietly, a somewhat bored expression on his face as he stifled a yawn. “Man, who knew cooking could be so boring.”
Phil rolled his eyes, turning up the heat even more. “I mean, it can be, but I think the outcome is worth all the boring bits, don’t you think so?”
Wilbur just hummed, clearly not agreeing with him but didn’t bother arguing it. “I guess.” He settled on instead.
Well, better than the alternative, he supposed. Phil continued to cook, and Wilbur decided to go back to commentating, bored with just sitting there and watching.
“And now, Master Cook Philza is tearing the sausage into tiny bits, tossing them into the center of the pan where he freed up space for the meat to go. He is now stirring the food at a speed too rapid for the naked eye—”
“That’s not even true!” Phil laughed, shaking his head at his son’s antics.
Wilbur just grinned at him, not bothering to stop as he continued onward, getting more and more ridiculous with his explanations. “He has now added in a tablespoon of paprika—clearly, he is trying to burn our tongues off!”
“What do you mean ! It’s not even that hot! Besides, I only used a teaspoon , not a tablespoon!”
“He is now adding in some rice—who even eats rice nowadays anyway?”
“Mate, I’m pretty sure you just offended so many people with that statement—”
“And now he’s adding in white wine? Is he trying to drug us? Should I call child protection services?”
“ Wil !”
Wilbur laughed, and Phil couldn’t help but laugh along, despite being somewhat exasperated by his son’s antics. Well, clearly the brunette didn’t mean any harm, but his commentary was getting a tad dramatic.
“And now he’s adding in some… honestly, I don’t even know what that is. Phil, what the fuck is that?”
“It’s called stock, mate.”
“The fuck is stock?”
“It’s kind of like broth, but not really.”
“Thanks, that didn’t help explain things at all.”
“No problem, mate.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes as his father laughed at him cheerily, a smile playing at his lips.
Phil finished pouring the stock in, slowly turning down the heat to let the food simmer for a while, gently stirring it every now and then. Wilbur stared at the food as Phil grabbed some green onions, tomatoes, and parsley. As Phil began cutting up the final ingredient, Wilbur suddenly spoke again.
“It looks like vomit.”
A pause, and then:
“Wilbur, what the fuck.”
Wil laughed heartily, amused by his father’s own bemused and slightly disgusted look as he clutched his stomach, mirth twinkling in his eyes as he spoke between gasps of air. “It does ! Look at it!”
Phil glanced down at the pan, a picture of mostly brown with just a sprinkle of red, and the man couldn’t help but agree somewhat. “Well, alright, but you don’t have to say it.”
His son shrugged smugly, and Phil rolled his eyes as he added the last of the ingredients to the pan, gently stirring it a few more times.
Once dinner was complete, Phil still couldn’t rid himself of the mental image his son had painted in his head, but refused to give the brunette the satisfaction and instead called out for his other two sons.
“Techno! Tommy! Dinner’s ready!” The blonde shouted, setting down a few plates on the wooden table, smiling when he heard the pounding of footsteps against the staircase as Tommy came barreling into the kitchen, Techno following close behind at a much leisurely pace.
Phil just smiled at them, gesturing to the food on the table. “Sit down and let’s eat. Thankfully it didn’t take too long, but it would have been faster if Wil actually decided to help instead of making fun of me the entire time.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes in response. “Listen, old man, you and I both know I wouldn’t have been much help either way.”
Phil just laughed and both Tommy and Techno exchanged glances. Tommy grinned, looking back at Phil as he shrugged. “Well, yeah, we all know Wil is a shit cook, so it’s no surprise there.”
Wil snorted and Phil bit back laughter, but no one could deny that Wilbur truly wasn’t the most gifted when it came to cooking.
“True, true.” Phil nodded, sitting down, smiling when Tommy sat next to him, Techno taking the seat right across from him and Wilbur taking the last available one.
“Wow, did you make this?” Techno asked, raising an eyebrow when the quality of the food seemed to be higher than usual.
“ Yes I made this.” Phil said, raising his own eyebrow in response, like father, like son. “Why did you even ask, who else could have made it?”
Techno stared at the food for a moment before shrugging. “I dunno. Wil, maybe.”
Phil laughed and Wilbur pouted when his father spoke playfully, “mate, you were literally just sayin’ Wil was a terrible cook.”
“Technically it was Tommy who said it.”
“Hey!” Tommy shouted, glaring at his eldest brother in defiance. “While that may be true, you didn’t argue it, either!”
“That doesn’t really mean anything—”
“It does when I say it does, bitch —”
“Boys, boys.” Phil sighed, trying to look upset with his children but he could keep the fond affection off his expression. “Not at the dinner table, please .”
They both pouted and Wilbur laughed at them, Phil simply shaking his head and trying, and failing , to keep a smile off his face as they all went to eat. Phil noted that Wilbur wasn’t eating, and so asked, “Wil, why aren’t you eating?”
Both Techno and Tommy glanced to where Phil was looking, seeing the untouched plate, and Wilbur shrugged. “I still can’t help but see a pile of vomit, so I think I’ll pass for tonight.”
Phil scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Gross, mate.”
“Leave him be.” Tommy said, exchanging a look with Techno before stuffing a spoonful of rice and meat into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously and shrugging. “We all know how Wil gets when he’s in a pretentious mood.”
“I’m not pretentious!” Wilbur exclaimed, but both his brothers ignored him, choosing instead to focus on their food.
Phil was tempted to skip out on the meal as well thanks to Wil’s fairly unnecessary comparison, but he worked hard to make this, goddammit, so he forced himself to eat. At least the taste managed to overpower the mental image his mind refused to put away.
“It’s alright, Wil.” The man said, giving his middle son an understanding look. “I’ll just wrap it up so you can have it later.”
Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed while Techno simply ignored the whole ordeal altogether, as he usually did anyway.
Their dinner continued in silence, the only sounds coming from their metal spoons hitting their metal plates and Tommy’s refusal to keep his mouth shut when eating. The raccoon-hybrid finished first, and made sure to let everyone know he did.
“I’m done!” Tommy shouted, shooting up from his seat, ear flicking rapidly as he gathered up his plate and utensils, putting them in the sink before running out of the kitchen.
“Hey! Be careful!” Phil called out after him, shaking his head slightly at his youngest’s antics.
Techno followed not soon after, albeit a lot quieter, simply thanking his father and also putting away his dishes, following his youngest brother. Phil was left a tad confused, but that’s okay. They seemed to be on their rebellious streak as of late, not spending as much time with Papa as they used to, but that was fine. They were both growing boys, after all—it was to be expected at their age to not want to spend all their time with their parents anymore.
Shaking his head sadly, Phil finished his own food and also wrapped Wilbur’s up properly before storing it away in the fridge, all the while said brunette was watching his father in thinly veiled amusement.
“Seems it’s just us, huh, old man?” He teased, smirking when his father snorted at him.
“Yeah, it would seem so.” Phil agreed, letting out a small sigh as he stretched his aching back. “Don’t know how that happened—you were definitely the most rebellious little shit we had growing up out of you three.”
“‘Were’?” His son teased, seeming to not see the way Phil tensed at the words before relaxing as he assured his father, “don’t get me wrong, I definitely still love you, but that’s never gonna stop me from making your life a living hell.”
Phil rolled his eyes lovingly. “Oh, I’m sure, mate.”
Wilbur nodded and followed his father into the living room, Phil catching his other two sons heading up the stairs together, hushed whispers going between the two… What were those two little shits planning?
Nothing good, he’d assume, because any time those two worked together, it’d wind up with Wil being the one on the end of it some way or another, whether intentionally or not, and Wilbur made sure he made that everyone else’s problem as well.
“Tommy and Techno together?” Wilbur echoed, as if reading the blonde’s mind, raising an eyebrow as he watched his brothers leave. “Oh, that can’t possibly end up in any way good. Remember last time, when they somehow managed to pour a bucket of cow shit all over my head?”
Phil pulled a face, remembering said event vividly, unfortunately. “Yes, I do. It was when you were fourteen, right?”
Wilbur nodded. “Yep. A week after me ‘n’ Tech’s birthday. Just walked outside and then bam , cow shit was poured over my head. Fuckers. Sucks for them, though, cause I stayed near them for hours after that, refusing to shower and even managing to get some on them too.”
The blonde let out a long-suffering sigh. “It was such a nightmare. The entire house smelt fucking rancid for weeks after that. What even happened in the first place for them to do that to you?”
“Dunno.” Wilbur said cheerfully, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess I pissed Techno off or something and he dragged Tommy along for the ride—really, I’m kind of impressed they managed to get a bucket of shit in the first place, or that Techno stopped being a clean freak long enough to go through with it… or that it was somehow him who managed to come up with it in the first place.”
“ Please don’t be impressed with that.” Phil pleaded, though he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips when he heard his son’s rambunctious laughter. “I swear, you three are the reason I’ve grown so many gray hairs this early.”
“Yeah, sure, it’s totally not because you’re fucking ancient —”
“What do you mean —”
They laughed, settling down into a comfortable silence, the only things heard was quiet shuffling upstairs from whatever the other two boys were doing. Really, they’d better not be planning something else—he loves his boys more than anything else in the world, but good lord can he only handle so much at once.
Wilbur began to hum to himself quietly, the melody foreign, unknown, but soft and comforting all the same, and Phil found himself relaxing to it, sinking into the couch with a relieved sigh. The brunette shot him a grin as he continued, swaying to an unheard beat.
Phil closed his eyes, his mind blissfully numb for the first time in a while. He had almost nodded off completely when Wilbur finally began to speak, startling him slightly.
“What are you thinking about, Phil?” He asked, to which Phil gave him a confused frown.
“... what?” He asked, bewildered, moving to sit up properly as he eyed his son in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Just… I wanna know what you’re thinking about.” Wilbur said, shrugging, glancing at his father, brown, almost gold, eyes staring into deep blue.
“I… I’m not thinking about anything?” Phil said eventually, unsure of where this was all coming from.
Wilbur hummed quietly, looking down at his feet. “That’s a lie, Phil. We’re all thinking about something at some point, so, what is it you’re thinking about?”
“I…” Phil was at a loss for words—what was even going on? He shook his head, just chalking it up to Wil being Wil and going through one of his phases.
The brunette continued to talk, hands moving in grand gestures as he spoke. “I think, on a subconscious level, we’re always thinking about something, even if nothing comes to the forefront with words or images. It’s an interesting concept, really, and something that gives you food for thought. So, Phil, let me ask again: what are you thinking about? Or, more specifically, I guess, what do you think you’re thinking about?”
That… was weirdly profound, in the Wilbur sort of way. But, it still didn’t change the fact Phil was not only going to most definitely have a headache later, when his mind still repeated the teen’s words over and over in his mind from latching on to whatever the deeper meaning could possibly be, but he still didn’t have anything to say because, well… He wasn’t thinking about anything. At least, he didn’t think so?
Or did that count as thinking? God fucking dammit, Wilbur.
“Nothing.” He repeated, not sure whether to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this entire thing had gotten. “I mean, at least, before you asked and said all this crazy shit I wasn’t. Now, I’m just trying to process whatever the fuck just happened.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy the boy, who gave his dad a strange look before turning away, humming quietly to himself. “I see…” Was all he said, and Phil could tell there was something more he wanted to say, but the brunette simply shook his head and smiled, a soft grin on his lips as he spoke. “Welp. Time for bed, old man.”
Phil blinked in surprise, looking outside the window and… huh. When did it get so dark? Wait—
“You little shit, that’s my line.” He laughed, smiling when his boy laughed with him.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, old man.” Wilbur teased, laughing when his dad rolled his eyes at him. “Bed time.”
Phil simply laughed and shook his head, getting up and stretching his back. “Alright, alright. Goodnight, son.”
“Night, dad.”
Phil gave him one last smile and went up that stairs, yawning quietly and entering his room, falling asleep pretty much as soon as his head hit the pillow.
~ * ~
The next odd conversation happened almost a month after the first, when it was just Phil and Wilbur in the house, Techno having gone out to hunt monsters with Dream and Tommy going out to play with his friend Tubbo.
Phil sat on the couch, humming to himself, fully immersed and concentrated on the yellow yarn in his hands, fingers moving deftly as they worked with the needle to thread the fabric together. Wilbur had just come down from the stairs, footsteps so light and airy that the man hadn’t even heard him until he began to speak, which startled him, to say the least.
“What’cha doin’?” Wilbur asked, spooking his father into jumping, head snapping up to stare at his son with wide eyes, the brunette cackling at his father’s overreaction.
“Jesus Christ, Wil!” Phil exclaimed, placing a hand over his rapidly beating heart, taking in a deep, calming breath. “Scared the shit outta me.”
“Sorry.” Wil said, not sounding the least bit sorry as he smirked, looking down at… whatever it was Phil was trying to make. “Still didn’t answer my question, though.”
Phil just sighed, going back to his project as he said, “sorry, I didn’t hear you—what did you say?”
“What’re you making?” His son asked, and Phil paused for a moment, staring at the strange shape in his lap as he frowned in thought.
“Uh… It’s supposed to be a sweater.” He said eventually, though it really didn’t look like much right now. In fact, it was nothing more than just a blob of messy yarn, and he wasn’t the most knowledgeable about knitting anyway.
Wilbur raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying blandly. “Is that so.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement, and it made Phil’s cheeks flush in embarrassment all the same. He sighed heavily, refusing to stop as he just nodded stubbornly. “Yep.”
A quiet hum, and the conversation petered off there, the quiet clacking of needles hitting one another and the soft shuffling of Wilbur’s shoes on the wooden floor the only sounds for a long while. Not that Phil minded, of course.
Thanks to Wilbur’s strange outburst the previous night, he was now more aware of his thoughts, and kind of began to hyper analyze his words a tad for a couple of days after, before calming down. That didn’t mean he still didn’t catch himself, in a lull of thought, wondering what his subconscious could possibly be trying to tell him, or what he could possibly be doing instead of just lazing about.
All in all, Wilbur’s words had resonated with him more than he cared to admit, but it was a good thing, right? Or maybe not—that your thoughts, or what you perceived to be as thinking of nothing at all, was actually just hiding thoughts your mind deemed too strong, or too much for you to handle at your current moment?
Really, Phil felt as though he was just making a mountain out of a molehill, but still. Wil was right—it was interesting food for thought.
“Hey, Phil?” Wilbur spoke, and, while startling him once more, he didn’t react as harshly as he had the first time, simply making him flinch before looking over to his son.
Wilbur sat on the loveseat next to the couch, staring out at the world outside the open window, warm sunlight flittering down, lighting up his gentle features and soft looks even more than usual. Phil was enraptured by the beautiful sight, of how much love and affection he felt for his boy right then and there, in that exact moment.
He stared, unable to speak, only letting out an unintelligible noise he could only assume was supposed to be a hum of acknowledgement, and Wilbur seemed to understand, not calling him out on it and instead continuing with his train of thought.
“Why the sudden knitting?” He asked, moving his gaze from the trees outside and back towards the lump in his father’s hands.
Phil paused, humming in thought. “Well… It’s a present, I suppose.”
“A present?” Wil parroted, looking up to stare his dad in the face.
Phil nodded, the swaying motions of his hands a mindless comfort, the softness of the yarn between his fingers a nice grounding. “Yep.” He said easily, popping the ‘p’.
“For who?”
“Oh, you know.” Phil laughed, his eyes twinkling as he glanced over at his son for a second. “Someone special, I guess.”
“Huh.” Wilbur said, more than willing to play along, if the glint in his eye was anything to go by. “Do I know them?”
“Yep. Pretty intimately, might I add.”
“Oh, cool. Tommy?”
“Nope.”
“Techno, definitely, then.”
“Nope.”
“You?”
“ Mate —”
Wilbur hummed theatrically, putting a finger on his chin as he tilted his head to the side in a dramatic display of faux-confusion. Phil couldn’t help but laugh at his son’s dramatic flair as he tilted his head back, face scrunched up in fake thought, surprisingly staying serious despite the ridiculousness of the whole thing and how absolutely childish he was currently being.
After a few minutes of that, Wil let out a long sigh, shaking his head in disappointment. “Whelp, I’m all out of ideas, then. There is absolutely no one else it could possibly be—I mean, you hardly go outside to talk with people anyway, so there’s no way it’s for some sudden friend we don’t know about. Nor is it for Tubbo or Dream, since, y’know, you don’t really know them that well, either.”
“Bruh.” Phil laughed, but he couldn’t really argue with any of the points made—he wasn’t really one for friends, mostly being a hermit at home or loner when he would venture out, and it just felt weird trying to “befriend” one of his kids’ friends… So, yeah, while Wilbur wasn’t really saying anything wrong it didn’t mean he liked hearing it, either.
Wilbur cackled and Phil just shook his head, returning his attention to his current project. Another comfortable silence fell, and, just as Phil was about to finally finish what was supposed to be one of the sleeves, Wilbur spoke up again, albeit a lot quieter this time. So quiet, in fact, Phil hadn’t even noticed he had spoken until he did so again, though a bit louder as to grab the blonde’s attention properly this time.
“Ah?” Phil blinked when his son called his name, looking up at the brunette, the needles in his hands clacking together, one of them hitting his thumb with a snap , and he cursed quietly, quickly pulling back as his finger thrummed in pain.
“Phil,” Wilbur said softly, completely ignoring the pain his father was currently in but the unnatural seriousness in his son’s tone he didn’t hear very often made him force the pain to the back of his mind, wanting to focus solely on whatever the brunette was about to say. “Phil, who even taught you to knit?”
…
Well, to be honest, Phil wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. Though, despite the simple question, Wilbur’s expression didn’t crack, didn’t fade from it’s carefully blank hold, and Phil couldn’t help but take his question just as seriously as any other.
So, with that in mind, he matched his son’s tone, lowering his voice as he spoke, soft and steady. “Well… It was my mother, I guess.”
“Your mom?” Wil repeated, pulling his legs up as he folded his arms on top of his knees, resting his cheek on the crevice of his arm as he turned his head towards Phil. “You don’t speak about her much.”
Phil paused, staring down at the brightly colored yarn, a million thoughts and emotions flashing through his mind, though thankfully none of that was portrayed through his expression as he simply shook his head. “I suppose I don’t, huh.”
It wasn’t like he was purposefully hiding the fact or anything; it was just it never really came up in conversation all that much. Phil’s mother had died long, long before he’d met the twins, brothers in everything but blood, and even longer before he’d found Tommy. All his boys never had parents, or, if they did, it’d been so long since they saw or even cared about them that any other family outside of that never even bothered to cross their mind.
Phil assumed they thought that he was the same—that he was orphaned at a young age, like they were, and that he had no parents to speak of to begin with. And, honestly, it had been so long for him, himself, that he found that it was closer to the truth than he’d like it to be. He had parents, a mother and father, both so loving and kind, but long since gone, far away in a place Phil wouldn’t be able to reach for many, many years to come, memories so foggy they were mostly lost with time.
Because of that, Phil had almost forgotten about them entirely, but… When he saw the yellow yarn when out shopping for groceries and other supplies to stock up for their monthly visit to the town below their hilltop home, memories of a more innocent, more simple time crossed his mind. When his mother would sit by the fireplace, needles in hand as she knitted all sorts of clothing, mostly just because she found the process enjoyable rather than it being a necessity, gently teaching a young Phil how to do it as well when he’d begged her to teach him.
How she would remain patient even through his frustration, laughing lightly when he’d thrown down his own needles in the midst of a temper tantrum, never getting much yet still overwhelmingly understanding as she told him she’d be more than happy to continue to teach him when he shyly asked again, once he’d calmed down.
Those memories had brought a smile to his face, and, even though it had been literal decades since then, he brought the yarn, as well as the appropriate needles and scissors, bringing the supplies home and getting to work almost immediately the next day.
When Tommy and Techno noticed, they seemed confused, intrigued, but, when they asked who it was for, when Phil answered they gave him a strange look he wasn’t able to unravel, mainly because he was still hyper-focused on making the sweater, so he just let them be. Maybe they were jealous? He planned on making them something, too, it was just this happened to be the first thing that came to mind.
So, that was how Wil found him, and now, in a melancholy, yet fond, mood thanks to his son’s questioning, Phil had paused from his work, lost in memories of warm smiles and gentle words.
Wil just stared at him, not interrupting his trip down memory lane for a while, but, eventually, spoke once again, still using quiet words and soft tones, his honey brown eyes looking off into the distance. “What was she like?”
Phil snapped out of it, looking back towards his son, who was no longer making eye contact, instead choosing to stare at the fading sun in the distance, the once blue sky melding into a sea of reds and oranges.
He hummed to himself quietly, trying to find the right words to speak with. “She, well… She was a wonderful person. So bright and full of life… You would have loved her. You and Tech and Tommy. She kind of reminds me of all of you, in a way. Compassionate and emotional, like you; tough and determined, like Techno; outgoing and headstrong, like Tommy.”
Phil paused, laughing to himself softly when a thought crossed his mind. “Honestly, at the beginning, I thought you three had somehow managed to get the best of her traits, even though you didn’t even know she existed.”
Wilbur stayed silent, not looking back at his dad but instead closing his eyes slowly, letting the man’s words sink in as he spoke. “Is that so…”
“Yep.” Phil continued, his expression softening as the conversation pulled more and more memories from out of the subconscious of his mind, memories he’d long since thought were gone but now bubbling back up to the surface. “She kind of looks like you, you know?”
Now that seemed to catch the boy’s attention, the brunette, while not moving slow, was definitely more leisurely in his pace as he turned his head back around to look at his dad, opening his eyes once more to eye the blonde’s expression carefully. “... really?”
“Mhm.” Phil told him easily, smiling when his son gave him a weird look. “Same brown hair, though hers was straight instead of wavy, same brown eyes, same smile… Honestly, you look more like her than I ever have, mate.”
Wilbur considered his words, humming quietly. “... I don’t think that’s true.”
Phil blinked owlishly. “Hah?”
His son shrugged, looking back out the window. “It’s just… I think you might look more like her than you think.”
“I… Don’t think that’s possible, mate.” Phil laughed lightly.
“Mm… Maybe not entirely.” Wil amended. “But, there’s definitely a bit of her in you—the way you laugh, the way you hold yourself… It’s like how Techno looks like you, despite not being related by blood. He’s copied your mannerisms, holds himself similarly to you… There’s more to being someone’s child than just looks alone, you know.”
And that… that hit a bit deeper than Phil would care to admit. He smiled, a whole new wave of emotions coming over him, but he couldn’t help but whisper out quietly, a small seed of doubt persistent in the back of his mind. “... yeah?”
“Yeah.” Wilbur said, nodding.
Despite all odds, Phil couldn’t help but believe his son when he spoke, the amount of confidence in that one word speaking volumes more than anything else possibly could have. The brunette was still young, only seventeen years old, but he held a maturity much older than his age, and it felt like he was the one who held all the life experiences, when it should be Phil’s job.
So, the blonde chuckled to himself, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “Look at me—I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving out the life advice, not the other way around.”
Wilbur didn’t speak for a moment, closing his eyes once more as he hummed quietly, the sound rumbling lowly in the back of his throat. “I don’t think anyone’s too old for life advice—it just depends on the context and if you’re willing to listen or not.”
“When did you get all philosophical?” Phil jokes, but he doesn't refute. It wasn’t like the brunette had said anything wrong, after all.
The teen doesn’t answer, instead saying, rather abruptly, “she’s proud of you.”
Phil blinked, giving his son a bewildered stare at the statement that came seemingly out of nowhere. “Huh?”
“You mom.” Wilbur reiterates, shrugging slightly. “She’s proud of you.”
“I…” What was he supposed to say to that? “I really don’t think any of us would know that, mate.”
His son shook his head, looking back at his father, the seriousness from before having hardened, and Phil couldn’t help but stare into his golden gaze as he spoke. “No. With who you are now, and who you’re going to be… She’s proud of you, Phil.”
…
Phil smiled to himself, almost bitterly, and let out a strained chuckle. “Like I said, mate, I really don’t think any of us would know what she’s thinking, considering that she’s, you know, dead and all.”
He couldn’t help but want to believe that, though. That, wherever she was, she was watching him; proud of his accomplishments, of who he has become. It was a bittersweet thought, really, and Wilbur simply continued to stare at the man, unblinking.
“... I think you know.” Wil says, once again dragging his father from his quickly derailing thoughts. “Remember what I said, about your subconscious withholding thoughts from you? I think that’s what’s happening right now—you don’t want to believe it, whether because you feel like you’re failing her or that, no matter what you do, it’s simply not good enough… But she’s proud, Phil. She always has been, and she always will be.”
A few tears fell from the blonde’s eyes as he let out a teary laugh, gently wiping the salty liquid away as he gently shook his head in mild disbelief. “When did this become a therapy session?” He jokes once more, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him at his son’s words.
The unyielding confidence, the certainty that his words were the truth instead of a hopeful fiction… Fuck, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling down, and an embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck at the realization he was practically bawling his eyes out in front of his son. He was supposed to be the adult here, dammit—he shouldn’t be crying like a child in front of his own actual child.
However, Wilbur didn’t call him out for it. Didn’t make fun of him. And that only made the man cry a bit harder, grateful for his son’s understanding nature… Just like his grandmother. The thought made him laugh quietly.
“Memories are a precious thing, Phil.” Wilbur said, not moving from his spot as he watched his father cry. “They can be a motivation to move forward, to do better, be better. But they can also be a shackle, a thing keeping you in place, preventing you from moving on. So, let me ask you, Phil—what are you thinking about?”
The familiar question rang out, and Phil couldn’t help but cry harder at it. Before, he didn’t have an answer for it, but, now, he couldn’t help but see the truth his son was trying to pry from him… No matter how deeply he tried to bury it, it would still be there, an obvious sore spot exposed for the entire world to see, yet one he refused to let go of.
He sat there and cried, and Wilbur simply watched, as the familiar pounding of boots hit the floor as his other two sons returned home.
~ * ~
A few months had passed since Phil had pathetically cried in front of his middle son, but, thankfully, neither Tommy nor Techno commented on it more than gentle concern and a quiet “are you okay?”
Before, Phil might have lied, might have said he was perfectly okay despite the underlying current beneath his skin, but now… Now, he wanted to try. Be a bit more honest, a bit more open. His sons deserved that, at least.
So, here he was, once again slaving over the stove in the kitchen, Wilbur once again watching over him. The brunette didn’t help, as per usual, but, this time, Phil didn’t really mind as much—not that he minded all that much to begin with, if he were honest.
“What’cha making?” His son asked, watching intently as the man set aside a pot of water to heat up.
“Creamy leek and mushroom pasta with some garlic bread.” Phil told him, getting out said mushrooms and leeks as he spoke.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow in amusement, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Finally have an answer for me, huh?” He turned his attention back towards the food, watching as his father chopped up the mushrooms with ease. “Also, no more spicy foods? Got tired of those finally, eh?”
Phil shrugged, placing the mushrooms in a different, oiled , pan—he wasn’t a degenerate—and stirring the sizzling bits gently. “Well, yeah. Kind of gets tiring after a while. Besides, I was never too good with spicy foods, anyway.”
The brunette snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, could have fooled me, with how much you were making it these past few months.”
“Oh, hush.” Phil told him, but the smile on his face told the boy he wasn’t actually upset. “Be quiet and let me work.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Wilbur said, giving the man a mock salute to which Phil rolled his eyes fondly.
Phil flipped the mushrooms, careful not to spill any, watching as the water from the mushrooms evaporated, and quickly went to chop up a clove of garlic to add to it. Gently sprinkling in the garlic, Phil immediately went to prepare the leeks, chopping off the end bit and carefully cutting through the remaining bit just so that he didn’t cut all the way through into separate pieces but well enough that he could open it up to wash it properly.
Running it through water to get rid of any potential dirt or sand or whatever else the leek could have possibly touched, he quickly got to work chopping it up and adding it to the pan.
All the while Wilbur had been blissfully quiet, his brown gaze simply following the flow of the food as it was expertly tossed up from the pan until it fell back down, not even a drop of oil touching the counter, which was pretty impressive, honestly. It was like a word of art, watching Phil cook, and the man himself was very much in the zone, adding in a bit of chicken stock as well.
However, when Wil saw what he was doing next, he spoke up, staring at the man in confusion as he asked, “are those… sheets of pasta?”
Phil paused for a moment, looking down at what was, indeed, thin sheets of pasta that he was adding to a third separate, smaller pan, looking over at his son as he raised an eyebrow. “... yes?”
“I… the fuck?” Wilbur was clearly flabbergasted, looking at the pasta with thinly concealed befuddlement and perplexity. “That’s a thing ?”
“Apparently, yeah.” Phil shrugged, setting in the last of the pasta to cook. “It was Puffy’s recipe, so all I can do is trust it, I guess.”
Following their previous surprise heart-to-heart, Phil had decided to try and put himself out there more in the world, surprisingly eager to make some new friends of his own. He broke his own rule of only venturing to town when need be and instead went down every week or so to suddenly turning into every couple of days once he finally made a friend.
His first friend had been a lovely younger man who went by Bad and his partner Skeppy, both men extremely polite and they ran a bakery together, with Bad being the baker himself while Skeppy helped him run the store. They had met when Phil went out to buy his kids a few pastries as an apology of sorts for, well… A lot of things, really, and it would never be even close to enough but hopefully it would get what he was trying to say across.
He entered the store, and was pleasantly surprised by the warmth and comfort the store seemed to give off. The man had been uncertain of what to get at first, staring at the assortment of goods for probably a tad too long as Bad himself had come out from the back and managed to strike up a conversation with him.
The two hit it off almost instantly once Phil casually mentioned he had kids, to which Bad told him he had one as well—a young boy named Sapnap. They had bonded quickly, with Phil telling the young demon-hybrid horror stories of pranks his youngest would do on almost a daily basis and how his twins would band together to get back at him almost just as frequently and Bad, in turn, would sympathize with him with how Sapnap would get into all sorts of trouble with his friends Dream and George.
Speaking of Dream, Phil had befriended the boy’s mother around a month after befriending Bad.
It was during a lucky trip to town to visit the bakery with his weekly meeting with the demon-hybrid that he ran into the sheep-hybrid. The woman herself, while mildly intimidating at first, was quite pleasant and easy to get along with. She had also been visiting Bad and Skeppy, a friend of theirs, and with that it wasn’t too hard for her to fall into Phil’s small list of friends as well.
Puffy was a captain, it turns out, visiting all sorts of places with her other son, Foolish, and tended to leave Dream with Bad and Skeppy, the blonde not too keen on traveling the oceans as the rest of his family, and would return every couple of months with new stories and trinkets she’d find in her travels.
She and Phil got along like a forest fire, which is to say Phil listened to her rambling about one thing or another and he would indulge her, pitching in his thoughts every once in a while. Puffy easily inserted herself into the man’s life, becoming a close friend of his during her week-long stay, and even gave Phil a few new recipes when he had off-handedly mentioned how he wanted to change up his cooking style that didn’t include spice with every meal.
Which is how Phil wound up cooking this mushroom and leek pasta, gently placing the garlic bread on the side of the pasta, the smell nice and rich as the blonde’s stomach rumbled quietly. Placing out the plates and appropriate silverware, Phil called out for his other two boys to come out and eat.
Loud thuds and even louder cursing, Tommy made his way in first, once again closely followed by a near-silent Techno, and the family easily sat down, digging into the meal.
Of course, Tommy being the little gremlin he was, questioned what the fuck he was seeing, with a confused, “... are these fucking sheets of pasta?”
Phil glanced at him, blowing gently on the small piece of pasta he’d cut off. “... yes?” Why did this feel oddly familiar?
Tommy pulled a face. “What the fuck? That’s a thing?”
Well then. Apparently they were doing this again, word for word. Ignoring Wil’s quiet chuckle, he set down his fork, letting out a small sigh. “Yes, Tommy. Now, hurry up and eat before it gets cold.”
The blonde child frowned, staring at the food for a couple of seconds, and Techno was the next to speak, his gravelly voice a welcoming tone or two lower than his brother’s.
“This isn’t spicy.” The piglin-hybrid commented, chewing on his pasta for a few moments gingerly before swallowing.
Phil paused, eyes flittering closed for a moment before he smiled softly. “No, it isn’t.”
Techno and Tommy exchanged glances before Tommy nodded. “Good. Was getting fuckin’ tired of that shit anyway.”
Their father laughed and they went back to eating in silence. A sort of… guilt made its presence known in Phil’s gut and, knowing he’d regret not speaking up later, he decided that it was now or never.
“So, boys.” He said, easily getting his sons’ attention, their eyes glancing over at him as he spoke. “How have you been?”
At first, no one spoke, the question seemingly having gone over their heads. Really, despite having been perfectly clear in his pronunciation and speaking at a normal volume, Phil thought he might have just imagined he spoke at all until Tommy looked back over to him and saw the somewhat crestfallen look on his father’s face.
Tommy blinked at him, clearly confused as he looked between Phil and Wil, eyebrows scrunching up in uncertainty. “Are you… talkin’ to us?” He said, and Phil knew he was talking about himself and Techno, and, well, ouch .
Phil knew he had been doing… not so good these past couple of months, especially after everything that has happened, but he never thought it had gotten this bad. He looked over at his youngest boy, his precious child, and, after an encouraging smile from Wil, he hoped that Tommy could see the sincerity in his eyes as he nodded. “Yes, Tommy. How have you and Techno been?”
Even Techno paused in his eating when Phil said that, staring at the man like he’d grown a second, or possibly even third, head. Both brothers exchanged a glance, and Phil thought they wouldn’t take him up on his offer, on his attempt to reconcile with him, that he had already lost that chance long, long ago, when—
“It’s been good.” Tommy said, shrugging, but Phil could tell he was secretly excited his father was paying attention to him, and… God, Phil really was a terrible dad, wasn’t he? But, he could be better, do better.
“Really now?” Phil said, genuinely curious, gently prodding his son to encourage him to continue. “What did you do?”
Tommy’s eyes lit up, a bright smile splitting across his face as he spoke, bits of food flying from his mouth as he chewed his food loudly with an open mouth. “Well, me ‘n’ Tubbo went out to the forest, and, before you ask, no we didn’t go further than the limit you put. God, you’re such a fuckin’ party pooper sometimes, Philza Craft—”
“Hey!”
Laughter, and Tommy continued to talk happily, easily ignoring the wince from his oldest brother when food continued to be spit around, the piglin-hybrid subtly scooting both himself and his plate of food away from the crossfire. Phil just listened with rapt attention, encouraging his boy to continue eagerly, not wanting to miss a single detail of his son’s adventures.
After Tommy had finished his story, finally explaining why he’d come home covered in honey, Phil turned his attention to Techno, giving his eldest a small smile as he asked the same question. “How was your day, Tech?”
Techno just blinked up at him in surprise, seemingly just content with listening, and definitely didn’t seem to expect his father to follow up with him. While that thought broke his heart, Phil was determined to make it up to him. Small steps. He reminded himself, knowing that, while a simple dinner conversation wouldn’t fix things, especially not right away, it would be a start.
“... good.” Techno said, a bit wearily, and Phil was not about to let this opportunity go just like that.
“How so?” The man asked, giving his son what he hoped was an open, encouraging smile, letting him know he was genuinely interested in listening.
Techno stared at him for a moment, considering him, and eventually began to speak, much to the man’s delight. “... Dream and I went out to explore the nearby cave system. Found a zombie spawner.”
“And?”
With that, Phil was listening and laughing along to his son’s shenanigans, to how Tommy had run away from a beehive he’d disturbed thanks to a dare from Tubbo and how Techno won his fifth training session with Dream in a row.
Wilbur simply watched his family, a content smile on his lips, and, when Phil glanced over at him, he knew Wil wouldn’t be joining them this time, and the brunette seemed perfectly fine with that. An unknown tension left the blonde’s body and soon it was just him and Wil, alone in the living room, the other two boys turning away for the night, and the tension surrounding the family for months now lessening. Not disappearing, not just yet, but it was getting there.
And that was all Phil could ask for.
“Hey, Phil.” Wil said, earning a quiet him from his father to continue. “It’s almost close to sweet eighteen.”
Phil blinked slowly, his mind combing through the months and… huh. It was almost summer, wasn’t it? “Oh, shit, really?” Time really went by in the blink of an eye, didn’t it?
Wilbur simply nodded. “Yep. Almost an adult, can you believe it?”
A groan. “ Don’t remind me—I can’t imagine what kind of shit is gonna get pulled because of it.”
His son just laughed. “Sucks to suck, Philza Craft.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” Phil sighed, playing along. “God, all of my boys are getting so old .”
“Well, slow down there—Tommy is still, quite literally, just a child.” Wil teased. “Just a twelve year old baby, Philza. Don’t go around comparing him to an adult just yet—don’t want his head getting any bigger than it is already.”
Phil just laughed, shaking his head fondly. “True, true. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
His son chuckled and they lapsed into silence once more, and Phil had nearly fallen asleep on the couch, head lolling to the side when Wil spoke up again, snapping him out of his sleepy haze.
“Hey, Phil?” His son asked, and Phil just let out a quiet nose somewhere between a hum and a groan, too tired to speak. “... Remember what I said before, about how precious memories are?”
Phil blinked his eyes open, glancing over at his son, who was looking directly at him. Not staring off into space outside the window, or thinking his shoes were the next best thing after sliced bread with how intently he stared at them, but at Phil . The man hummed quietly, sitting up, stifling a yawn.
“Of course, mate.” He said gently, giving his boy a small smile.
Wilbur stared at him for a moment, curling in on himself a little bit more as he continued. “And how they can be either a catalyst, or a shackle?”
“... yeah.”
“... I think this summer will be a pleasant one.” Wil said, abruptly changing the subject, but Phil let him, allowing his son to get off whatever was weighing down his mind. “What do you think, Phil?”
Phil hummed, looking out the window, watching as the grass outside swayed in the gentle breeze, a vibrant green glowing beneath the light of the stars above. “... I think it will be, too.”
“Summer never was my favorite season.” Wilbur told him, though it was more of an open secret—Wilbur never made his dislike of the season be lost on anyone willing to listen. “It’s too hot, and sweating makes me all gross and sticky and the heat makes me itchy, you know?”
“I know, Wil.” Phil tells him, nodding along to things he’s heard millions of times before.
“... but I can’t help but love it, too.” Wilbur whispered, almost reverently, a bittersweet contraction. “It was when I first met Techno, when I found a brother I didn’t even know I’d lost.”
Phil said nothing, closing his eyes and listening to a story he’d heard countless of times before; a story he didn’t think he could ever possibly grow tired of.
“Techno loves the heat,” his son continues, almost just to himself at this point, Phil having basically been forgotten, a background piece to just sit there and listen as the teen spoke. “It’s his piglin-hybrid instincts or something, I think. If the fucker could, he’d keep his room at sweltering heats just because he could. Fuckin’ dickhead.” Despite his harsh words, there was a fondness to his gaze, and Phil couldn’t help but be lost in them as he continued his rambling. “At least Tommy agrees with me on that point—the heat fucking sucks .”
“Hey, I agree too!” Phil interjected lightly.
Wilbur just rolled his eyes at him, though he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. “Yeah, yeah—that’s just ‘cause the heat ruffles your feathers too much.”
“I—why did you make it sound like it’s any different from you being upset that you sweat too much?” Phil asked, honestly confused.
“‘Cause it is.” Wilbur told him, nodding proudly like his argument had any proper sense behind it.
“ Bruh —”
Wilbur laughed, and Phil joined him not too long after. They quieted after a while, and Wilbur smiled gently, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to look back at his father.
“Remember my last question, Phil?” He asked, and Phil knew exactly where this was going.
A sudden tightness in his throat, but he was much more confident this time, despite the slight unease lingering in the pit of his stomach, he pushed forward, giving his son a small nod. “I do.”
Wilbur stared at him for a few seconds. “... What are you thinking about, Phil?”
The question, when asked before, made him clam up in denial, made him insist he wasn’t thinking about anything, that he was fine. But, now… He had an answer.
“I think you know.” He told his son gently, looking back outside and up towards the towering moon above. “I think you know…”
“... and you’re fine with it, now?” Wilbur asked him.
Phil hummed quietly. “... Yeah.” He said, closing his eyes. “Maybe not right away, but I… I will be. Eventually.”
And that seemed to satisfy the boy as they returned to a comfortable silence, both staring out at the moon above, and Phil felt that everything was finally okay.
It’s okay .