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Like many stories do, Philza’s began with an abrupt awakening. Dark oak frames held up the ceiling above him, and he couldn’t help but frown at the difference in detail to the spruce used with Techno and his cabin. Sitting up, his breath caught in his throat. His right wing had been deemed practically useless after his arrival to Essempie and L’Manberg, blown to the bone in a desperate act to shield his eldest son from his own creation. However, there, dark and heavy, was his wing– right one –looking just as it had before he’d become crippled.
He wasn’t home. He was somewhere else– where the air was humid and the outside full of noise and life. Phil peeked through a window, and cursed under his breath before fumbling for his pad to check his coordinates.
“What the fuck?”
The date read October 9th, 2020, but last he checked, it was August 1st, 2022. It was August. It was August– why did the calendar say it was October of two years prior? Phil opened his comms, recalling a conversation he’d had with Niki last night, but no messages between Philza and Nihachu seemed to even exist. He hadn’t known Niki before November.
Phil dug through his messages for any proof that perhaps this was some sort of elaborate prank put on him, but he found nothing. He had nothing to show for the last year-and-a-half except for his own memories. The charm of his necklace glowed dimly, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as hands cradled his face, a silent message.
He had new time on his hands, now, or perhaps it wasn’t new since he had already lived these minutes and moments. Could he spend his time differently? Phil opened his inventory with a swipe of his hand, taking out the bundle of letters he’d kept with him always. Perhaps he could. Was this a new chance? Was this his second chance to help his family? He sorted through the letters, pausing on one from Wilbur relaying the loss of the election and his and Tommy’s current living situation and how everything was A-Okay and there’s no need to worry about us! Wilbur’s handwriting was much messier than in previous letters, and this one was the most recent, sent mid-September right before Techno left to head their way after receiving one of his own from Tommy.
Part of Phil hoped and prayed that Techno had been good help to those two, but when Phil had arrived it was too late, one brother setting off Withers while his twin begged to be killed and their youngest barely held his own against the monsters. Were the Withers the only monsters? He squared his shoulders and took a breath, bringing the charm to his lips and whispering words to the wife who gave his arm an encouraging squeeze with invisible hands. Death was not unkind, and weeped when her sons had come to her far too early.
With packed things he flew from the town he couldn’t remember the name of, Kristin guiding him in the right direction before she kissed his hair with the wind as farewell and returned to her godly duties. Day turned into night and into day once more and by the time the second night had come Phil was diving away from phantoms coming his way, lured by his exhaustion. The third night he set up camp along a river and slept dead through the night. He relived November 16th in his dreams with the presence of HD, relived the horror of finding his sons in their states. Tubbo was covered in bandages where Phil recalled he was later scarred. Whatever happened to Tubbo had to have been recently before, then.
His stomach turned as he ate breakfast the next morning, anxious energy leaving his feathers messied. Tubbo wasn’t his son by any means, but he’d grown up alongside Tommy. Tubbo was just a child, too, just like Tommy was. They were only children, and yet they had been a part of a war. Several, if he was remembering correctly. Phil mulled over his past-future actions as he began flying once more, mentally noting every time he failed his sons and the people they loved. Fuck– wasn’t Fundy his grandson, too? One more name to the list of family he needed to protect this time around.
It was day five when he was grounded in the arctic by a stormcell. He booked an inn for the night at a village he recognized as the one he and Techno had built their cabin near. Maybe… they wouldn’t have to run so far out. If all went well Phil couldn’t see why they couldn’t build a place near family, or even take them from the lands of Essempie to start anew away from those with twisted morals and lacking loyalty. He still had to get there before the 16th of November, though. A part of his mind jeered that he was feeding a savior complex and Phil locked it away with endless keys to keep him from doubting his own morals and abilities as a father and caretaker.
The middle of day six was when he was finally able to set off. He knew it was a little more than half a day’s flight through the overworld to reach L’Manberg. Kristin sent him urgency that shook him to his core, catching in his throat and behind his eyes. So Phil worked to go faster. Kristin was, of course, on his side, and if she was telling him he needed to arrive soon then he was going to arrive soon.
But flying for nearly a week with little breaks meant he was exhausted, and under the shadow of night he landed outside the Community House, feet dragging as he climbed upstairs to the beds.
He woke early afternoon and slipped into the forest, hoping to find wherever his sons were living. A tower loomed above a lake, and beside that, an unassuming hole into a hill. Wilbur had briefly mentioned that they were living underground, so this was a solid lead. It led nowhere but a ravine he could guess was their home, but no sons were inside. He found a farm that had to be Techno’s, some beds hidden in little rooms and discarded cigarettes, but not his twins nor youngest.
To the outside he went, then. There seemed to be a sort of celebration set up in what was probably L’Manberg before the war he’d originally shown up at the end of. People gathered and talked, most of them familiar from his past future. Quackity, who had almost always seemed cruel and scheming, stood beside a taller ram, wings tucked tight against his back and lacking all the confidence his future self seemed to carry. Unfamiliar flags hung from the podium and Phil caught the eye of… Niki?
“You’re Niki, right?” he asked as he sat beside her. She paused, before nodding. “Wilbur’s talked a lot about you. I’m his dad, Phil.” He hesitated before continuing, “I’ve had some worries that Wilbur isn’t doing as well as he says he is in his letters, so I’ve come to help my sons. I don’t want them getting hurt to a point of no return. But, erm, do you know where Wilbur is? I’ve only just arrived, and I’d like to find him soon.”
Niki bit her lip, looking around, before shaking her head, “I’m not sure where he is, sorry. But, um, thank you. I’ve not been able to see him much because of everything and I’ve been a little worried about him as well. And–and Tommy. Tubbo says that Wilbur isn’t being good to him.”
His breath caught in his throat, and he gave a small smile before standing and exploring the festival area from the shadows of towering buildings. Most of the people present seem to mingle a ways away, and with Quackity and whoever he’s standing next to with that group, Phil is able to make out two people quietly bickering above him. One hisses “fuck” under their breath as the crowd returns, and he knows he’s found his boys.
He slipped into the building and climbed his way to the roof, the muffled voice of Tubbo echoing through the city. His instincts chanted for his flock and his children so he didn’t pay any attention to what was being said. The breath left his lungs as he stepped onto the roof of the building, all sons but his middle crouched and looking over the edge at the podium below. Phil walked to the edge nearby, looking down as Tubbo, scarless and dressed in a suit. When was the scar given?
Yellow concrete traps the boy and Tubbo shuffled on his hooves nervously. The older ram talked of traitors and betrayers and spies, and then called Technoblade to the podium. He pulled out a crossbow and rocket and there are declarations of execution and the crossbow is pointed at Tubbo and no no no nonononono.
“Techno!” Phil yelled as he leaned over the edge and all sons whirl around to look at him with wide eyes.
“Dad when did you get here-” Wilbur sputtered, but Phil didn’t look at him.
“Phil?! What are you doing here-”
“Techno, put down the rocket launcher”
“Technoblade, get it done already, tick tock. If you don’t do it I’ll do it myself.”
“Schlatt-!”
“Let go of-”
[Tubbo_ went off with a bang due to a firework fired from Rocket Launcher by jschlatt]
[Quackity went off with a bang due to a firework fired from Rocket Launcher by jschlatt]
[Technoblade went off with a bang due to a firework fired from Rocket Launcher by jschlatt]
Schlatt tossed the weapon aside and scrunched his nose at the gore, and with a nod some people in the crowd pulled out weapons, running to Wilbur and Tommy.
-
“Dad, why are you here?” Wilbur asked, panting after they had taken shelter in the ravine. Tommy had run into a room, and he could hear Tubbo and him talking and weeping.
“Am I not allowed to worry about my sons?” Phil cringed, all too aware he didn’t really do that in the past and even in his past future. So perhaps he was a shit dad, but he’s been given a second chance to save his sons. “I know I’ve been really bad about that, but, mate, I’m worried about you. Last time you wrote was last month, and things don’t look as good as you said it was. Telling me not to worry only makes me worry more. Please, let me help you.”