Chapter Text
Since the dawn of time, certain truths about the universe have existed, ones that will persist until the end of time. The worlds will always turn, the sun will always rise. Gods will watch over their creations and see them flourish, aiding them if need be.
But that is a lonely existence for any being, even a godly one.
And gods, well, they don’t always make the best company.
Wilbur should know this—he is one, after all, and is not ignorant of his faults. He has little concept of time or empathy, something the humans he looks after cherish. All Wilbur cares about are his duties—ensuring the presence of light in the world and protecting the humans, as well as those under his care.
Even gods get lonely, though, he supposes. Maybe that’s why he wanders through his realm. It takes his mind off it, at least for a short while.
There isn’t much to do in the heavens, unfortunately. More often than not, Wilbur simply walks aimless amongst the clouded islands that dot the sky. He could socialize with other gods, but that’s not the best idea. Divine meetings often run sour. Thus is the nature of the gods.
Wilbur comes to a stop at the edge of one of his islands, eyes scanning the empty horizon. Every so often, amongst the clouds, angels fly, playing and training. They have each other. Wilbur has no one.
That’s how it’s always been, but is that how it should be?
He breathes a sigh into the still air, turning his back to the open sky and examining the structure before him. A temple, albeit a small one, much less extravagant than his own, that’s for sure. Marble is carved delicately into pillars, stairs, and a roof. No statues or carvings. One of the temples that had always been here since the beginning of life itself, then.
These kinds of structures are usually abandoned except for the occasional angel flying through, or perhaps playing a game of hide-and-seek. The humans do that sometimes, Wilbur knows, and the younger angels have begun mimicking that particular game.
However, walking up the steps, Wilbur swears he hears a lone voice. Not hushed whispers like hiding children or the whoops that come with a race. It’s more… subdued singing.
Carefully, Wilbur tries to find the source. His footsteps are silent against the tiles, his mind acutely aware of each sound chorusing through the air. Even gods can be hurt. Even gods can die. Wilbur would prefer if neither of those things happened today.
The mumblings grew louder the closer he got until he came to the room they originated from. A small figure is curled up against the wall, taking up a sliver of space in the vast, ornate room.
An angel, Wilbur realizes, if the fluffy white wings shielding a face are anything to go by. One of his… subjects? Wilbur had never been too sure what to call them. He mainly just considered them under his care, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.
Regardless, it’s concerning to see such a tiny angel alone in a place like this.
“Hello?” Wilbur asks, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, making it much louder than he intended.
The singing stops, and the angel looks up to meet his eye, staring at him with the face of a child. Blue eyes widen impossibly, the angel almost shrinking in on themself.
“What are you doing here?” He tries, crouching to be more level. The angel—the child— keeps a curious gaze on the god but makes no move. Something tugs at Wilbur’s heartstrings. Such a small being shouldn’t be alone.
“Sittin’,” the angel says, voice carrying across the room despite its youth.
Wilbur takes a seat on the yellowing tiles, a far enough distance that the boy wouldn’t panic. He tilts his head. “What’s your name, child?”
The angel scrunches his face, cheeks puffing in annoyance. “Tommy.”
“Do you know who I am, Tommy?”
A nod, blonde curls bouncing with the motion.
“Then you know that you’re safe with me,” Wilbur assures the boy with a warm smile.
Tommy uncurls himself but doesn’t respond. Now Wilbur can see the full extent of his wings. Too small for his size and certainly not big enough to carry him through the skies. He fights back a frown.
“Why are you alone?” Wilbur asks, trying to be as delicate as possible. He may not be the best with emotions or anything, but he’s not cruel.
However, maybe more practice is needed, because the child frowns, eyes watering as he bites his lip.
Wilbur shoves down the panic bubbling in his chest because, oh, light above, Tommy is going to cry because of him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he tries, sitting up on a knee and holding his hands out, “Wanna see something cool?”
Tears still shimmer in his eyes, but that same spark of curiosity is back. “Yeah,” he says, voice wobbling only a little.
So Wilbur, god of light, does what he does best. He cups one of his hands and focuses, and before long, an orb of pure light appears, banishing the shadows of the room. Tommy lifts his head, mouth agape and a smile breaking onto his face. He laughs, an exuberant thing that dwarfs the light in Wilbur’s palm.
He grins as Tommy slides closer, and shifts the light from palm to palm, making the boy laugh all the more.
Tommy reaches a tiny hand out and tries to grab the light, but he swipes right through it. Wilbur laughs as he tries time and time again but to no avail. The orange light illuminates the boy’s face, every crease of his frustrated expression and color of his irises.
Wilbur closes his hand in a fist, extinguishing the light. Tommy frowns, clearly displeased with the development. “What happened?”
“I closed my hand, so the light went away.”
“Why?” Tommy continues, wings fluttering, “Why’d ya do that?”
“I can’t just keep it there forever,” Wilbur confesses as if it’s a big secret, “If I keep it up too long, I’ll get tired.” He fakes a yawn for dramatic effect.
Tommy makes an ‘o’ with his mouth, nodding enthusiastically. “I get tired too. Naps are nice.”
Wilbur huffs a laugh. “They are.” He pauses a moment while he observes the kid, absorbing his wide eyes and goofy smile. Tommy’s alone. Wilbur’s alone. The answer is simple. “Would you like to stay with me?” Wilbur finds himself saying despite all the logic screaming in his mind. You’re a god, the voices say, you’ll live forever. Alone. “In my temple? It’s a very nice island.”
Tommy thinks a moment, his mouth contorted in a slight frown. “Is it fun?”
“Well,” Wilbur flashes a smile, “It’s about as fun as a stuffy old temple can get,” he chuckles at the child’s confused face, “At the very least? I’m there, and that’s more than I can say about this island.”
There’s a beat of silence before a tiny, stubby hand finds its way into Wilbur’s palm. “Promise I stay?”
“Always,” Wilbur says with a nod, and out of all his millennia of living, this is the surest he’s been.
Tommy nods, determined for the small child, and Wilbur transports them to his temple in a shimmer of light.
It may be a rash decision, sure, but Wilbur doesn’t think he could ever regret it. A part of his job is to take care of the angels, after all, and he’s doing just that. Maybe to a greater degree than he needs, but all the same, Wilbur’s doing his duties.
His duties—the only thing he cares about.
Yeah, he thinks, seeing wide sky-colored eyes survey his temple in awe, just his duties. Nothing else.
Wilbur knows that’s a lie now. The small hand in his own is too right, too perfect to be a coincidence or anything less than meant to be.
~ ~ ~
Time has always been a fickle thing to the mind of a god, but having Tommy around only made that distinction clearer. The young angel clings to Wilbur like a child to a parent, so it’s impossible to ignore the way he shoots up like ivy on an abandoned house, wild and breathtaking. It’s horrifying, in a sense—a constant reminder of Tommy’s relative mortality.
There’s a glaring fact. One Wilbur notices and quietly tucks away despite the alarms going off in his head.
Tommy’s wings don’t grow, not as much as they should. It’s been a year—the angel is five now, an age where most of his kind would be flying through the clouds and hiding in the puffs. Instead, Tommy spends his days tucked into Wilbur’s side or exploring the temple.
It’s concerning, but Wilbur knows better than to push the boy. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.
Wilbur still has to attend to his sacred duties, though. They’re not too overbearing, but humans have been getting restless in recent months. Raids, pillagings, and plagues tend to elicit prayers, ones that, as per his duties, Wilbur must answer.
He can’t leave Tommy alone, though. The child is clingy. Not in a bad way by any means. In fact, it’s rather endearing. But Tommy would get worried, or panic, or he could get hurt, or—
Maybe Wilbur is the clingy one.
No. Leaving a five-year-old with free reign of a floating island could not end well. Which leaves Wilbur with two options: take Tommy with him, which is by no means a feasible choice, or…
“Tommy,” he calls, the child poking his head around a column with a grin, “How would you like to take a trip?”
“Yeah!” Tommy rushes out from behind the pillar, a bright smile stuck to his face. His wings flutter behind him, and he crashes into Wilbur, trying to jump onto his back in an attack. “Where ‘re we goin’?”
Wilbur reaches back and detaches the gremlin, setting him on his feet. “I was thinking we could visit an old friend of mine.”
“You have friends?” Tommy asks, a genuine question shining in his eyes, but Wilbur almost laughs at the bluntness of it.
Instead, he ruffles the golden curls, watching how Tommy attempts to swat his hand away. “I do have friends, child. Very important friends.”
“What friend?”
“Phil. He’s really old but a nice enough guy.”
“Older than you?” Tommy asks, a look of disgust on his face.
“Much older,” Wilbur lies. Light gives life. Without it, the world could not thrive, and the beginnings of the universe would have ceased to exist. Still, any opportunity to slight Phil is one Wilbur would take without hesitation.
“The truth is, Tommy, I have to go on a little trip,” he says, watching the angel’s face for any trace of protest, “God things. It’s far more complicated than I care to get into. But I was thinking of leaving you with Phil for a bit. Just so you wouldn’t be alone?”
“How long?” There’s a deep frown on the boy’s face, and not for the first time, Wilbur wishes things were different—that he didn’t have to listen to the whims and wishes of millions.
“Not too long, I promise. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Wilbur sets a hand on his shoulder, giving him a soft, promising smile. “Besides, Phil’s the god of nature! His realm is very entertaining—lots of fun plants and animals.”
There’s a flash in the blue of Tommy’s eyes, and he perks up in an instant. “You shoulda said that first, Wil!”
“Should I have?” Wilbur replies, an amused smirk on his face.
Tommy nods enthusiastically, bouncing on his feet. “Animals are so cool, Wilbur! They have claws and fur and sharp teeth and can breathe underwater! They’re the best things ever! The greatest things ever created! Did you know that on Earth, humans—”
The angel rambles on excitedly about human efforts to preserve animal life. How he knows this is beyond Wilbur, but his kid never stops surprising him.
Yeah. His kid.
Wilbur teleports them to Phil’s realm after Tommy has sufficiently explained his plan to make pandas take over the planet. Note to self: never take Tommy to Earth, no matter how much he asks and how hard it is to deny him.
As soon as the light fades away and the realm is revealed, Tommy looks around in awe. Phil’s temple is more like a palace set against the night sky, alone on a watery island. Dark pillars protruded from the lake, sending shimmering beams of light into the atmosphere. If you looked hard enough, you could see into the water and find a multitude of fish species swimming through corals and kelps.
Wilbur just watches as Tommy drinks it all in, leaning precariously over the walkway's edge to see something below the water’s surface.
A familiar figure comes down the steps ahead, green robes trailing against the black marble. Blonde hair sticks out from underneath a wide-brim hat, and antlers adorned with flowers protrude from the top of it.
Wilbur slaps a grin on his face, picking Tommy up and setting him on his feet. “Phil! My favorite god! Good to see you.”
Phil grins in response, a teasing look shimmering in his eyes. “Good to see you too, Wil. Who’s this?”
“This is—”
“I’m Tommy!” The blonde interrupts, tilting his head up to meet the older man’s eyes. “You’re the animal guy?”
A moment passes where Phil looks at a loss for words. “Yes,” he decides, much to Tommy’s delight. Phil turns to Wilbur with a cryptic look. “What have you been telling him?”
“Nature includes animals, Phil. Kids love animals! That includes Tommy.”
“And you brought… Tommy here, why?”
Wilbur lets a pained grin creep onto his face. It makes Phil’s face go blank as Tommy tugs at his robes. “I need to go to Earth and don’t want to leave him alone?”
“Are you putting me on babysitting duty?”
“I’m not a baby!” Tommy interrupts, trying to hit Phil’s leg. In reality, the punch only pulls at the fabric of his garments.
“Of course you’re not,” Wilbur agrees, nodding sagely.
“Wil, what are you doing?” Phil asks, an earnest expression settling on his features. They’ve known each other as long as Wilbur can remember, always working together for the better of the world. The two of them don’t always see eye to eye, Wilbur prioritizing the people and Phil the plants, but in the end, they always work it out.
Suffice to say, they know each other. Very well. Phil is worried and thinks Wilbur’s snapped.
“I’m doing my job,” he says with a grin, “You have your crows. I have my angels. It’s the same thing.”
Phil doesn’t appear convinced. He sighs and drags a hand down his face, keeping his eyes trained on Wilbur as a flock of crows bursts from the palace, landing in a blanket over the steps.
Tommy yells, a joyful noise. He runs over to the birds, startling a few, but the boy only sits before them with a smile.
A particular crow leaves the swarm, taking a seat on Phil’s shoulder. The bird caws, and Phil nods as if he’s been told a grave secret.
“You’re attached.”
“What?” Wilbur sputters, eyes shooting daggers at the offending bird, “Phil, have you been spying on me?”
The man rolls his eyes good-naturedly and the crow flies off, perching on Tommy’s head, eliciting a bubbling laugh.
“Wil, this is nothing new,” Phil waves his hand in the air, “You know I like to keep an eye on you.”
“Mother bird,” Wilbur says. Over the many, many years they’ve known each other, Phil has been one of the few gods Wilbur finds tolerable. Their dynamic comes naturally, and he enjoys their stolen moments together, but gods are busy. As such, Phil, being the worrier he is, pesters Wilbur with his crows.
It’s just one of their things. Phil never denies that it’s because he cares.
“I’m just saying,” the god of nature continues, “Are you sure you can handle it? Taking care of someone else is a big responsibility.”
“We do it all the time! We’re gods. We have practice.”
“That’s different, and you know it.”
Wilbur crosses his arms. “You take care of all those crows. Tommy is easier to look after than one of them.”
Phil considers this, tilting his head back and forth as if his thoughts are bouncing around inside. “That’s fair,” he finally says, casting a glance behind him as Tommy pets a crow with his finger. “I’ll watch him for you,” he turns back to Wilbur, something flickering in his eyes, “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself too?”
Wilbur breaks out into a grin. “I always do. No need to worry.”
“Cocky bastard,” Phil laughs, pulling him into a quick hug. He pats Wilbur on the back, then pulls away, a smile in his eyes. “Go on and answer your people. I’ll babysit your kid.” Phil pushes his shoulder lightly, making him smile.
“Thank you. Seriously, it means the world.”
And if Wilbur returned later, exhausted but fulfilled, to pick up a chattering Tommy with flowers woven through his hair? Well, Wilbur could tease Phil about it later.
~ ~ ~
It’s a typical day when Tommy’s eight that things change. A lot of things change.
Wilbur is in the heart of his temple, looking over the world below through the ripples of the fountain water. They weren’t causing too much of a fuss at the moment. It is weird, however, that they’ve started thinking extra-terrestrials built their ancient structures. Wilbur had been there when they were created, after all. Those feats were very much human achievements.
His musings are interrupted by carefully placed footsteps and sniffling that has Wilbur turning instantly, searching for the source.
Tommy stands framed by two pillars, staring at Wilbur through red-rimmed eyes. The god stands from the fountain, abandoning his watch over the people. Nothing is as important as his kid and why he’s been crying.
“Are you alright? What’s happened?” Wilbur steps forward, but Tommy beats him to it, running straight into the brunette. Sobs fill the air despite being muffled by his robes. For a moment, they stand like that, Wilbur unsure what to do.
Then he pulls back, sitting Tommy down on the rim of the fountain and taking a seat next to him. The angel leans into his side, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Tommy, what’s wrong?”
Taking a shuddering breath, Tommy calms down enough to speak. “I—I was taking a walk. And then I was outside, and—and I was looking at the sky cause it’s—it’s a nice day out.”
“And?”
Tommy whines, and part of Wilbur wishes he didn’t ask. But clearly, something had upset the boy, and if he could, Wilbur plans to smite it.
“Some other angels were flyin’,” he says, eyes trained on the ground, “They were just flying but I—” His voice breaks as the tears well up again and he buries his face in Wilbur’s shoulder. “I wanna fly.”
The too-small wings catch Wilbur’s eye. The appendages had worried him for years, never growing to the span they should, instead remaining stubbornly at about arms-length. Far too small to ever carry Tommy off the ground.
Wilbur can’t find the words he needs, the ones that will dam up the tears and return the smile to Tommy’s face.
“I wanna fly and touch the clouds and do cool tricks and—” Tommy’s breath hitches, tiny wings trying to wrap around himself in a hug. “I can’t even do what I was born to do, Dad.”
It’s one word, one single word, but somehow it’s imbued with the power to freeze the god of light. The breath leaves Wilbur’s lungs, and he can’t help but wonder how this kid has wormed his way into his life and taken up such a place in it. He’d never let the fates change anything about it, though. Wilbur will take a lifetime of being so easily disarmed by a word if it means having Tommy in it.
“Don’t say that,” Wilbur says immediately, wrapping an arm around the blonde, mindful of the wings on his back, “Never say that, Toms. You’re so much more than what you were meant to be.”
Tommy leans further into Wilbur’s side, hiccuping as he tries to calm down and mimic the elder’s breathing.
Wilbur will have to tell Phil about this. Maybe joke that he has a grandson now. Although, Phil probably already knows, whether from his crows or from the moment he’d met Tommy.
“Hey,” Wilbur mutters, giving the kid a squeeze, “I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?”
Tommy nods but remains quiet.
“You may not be able to fly alone, but what if we could fly?”
“What?” Tommy lifts his head, pulling back to meet Wilbur’s eyes. His brows are furrowed, but the tears have stopped, leaving nothing but tracks down his cheeks.
“I’m a god, Tommy, and as a god, I have certain skills,” Wilbur starts, “You know I can teleport and stuff, right? Well, sometimes angels need a little extra push, and I can boost their flying.” Tommy’s eyes widen, a slight sparkle forming against the blue. “What if we try that? You’d be able to fly with my help, but it’d still be flying.”
Tommy springs up from his seat, wings flapping behind him. Wilbur laughs as he grabs his arm, dragging him up too.
“Yes, yes, yes!” The blonde cheers, pulling Wilbur through the temple, “Wil, that’s the best idea you've ever had! And I mean, you don’t have great ideas a lot. Remember the anteater incident?”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about that?” Wilbur deadpans, the boy ignorant to the smirk on his face.
“This is the exception!”
They leave the confines of the temple, the wind gentle against their faces. Tommy leads Wilbur to the edge, practically buzzing with excitement.
“Wait,” he says, pausing in his bouncing, “How’s this gonna work?”
Wilbur lets out a light laugh, ruffling Tommy’s hair. “You’ll need to trust me, sunshine. Take the leap, and I’ll carry you anywhere.”
The blonde nods, and before any more words can be said, he throws himself off the path, falling into the clouds lining it.
On instinct, Wilbur throws out his hands, wanting nothing more than to hoist Tommy up from the open air. Channeling that, he lets his powers find Tommy’s wings, the familiar ones he’s spent hours preening over the years. Finding them is easy, and Wilbur lets the power seep through.
He knows it works when Tommy shoots up through the clouds, whooping and hollering all the way. His eyes are alight, a smile fit to rival the stars plastered on his face, and Wilbur would do anything to keep it there.
It morphs into a devious grin, and before Wilbur can react, Tommy is soaring toward him, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the edge.
“Tommy, I don’t think—”
“It’ll be fun, Wil! Come fly with me!”
“No, I genuinely don’t think you could lift me.”
Tommy lets go, a haughty frown on his face. “Fine. I’ll just be amazing and cool by myself!” He returns to laughing and flying, weaving in and out amongst the clouds and other islands.
He keeps watch over Tommy—his Tommy, his kid, his angel, his son, now, though maybe it’s always been like that, and now it has a name.
Time ticks by, a mental clock ticking down in Wilbur’s mind. As it gets closer and closer to zero, he takes control of Tommy’s wings and steers him back to his side, much to the boy’s confusion. As soon as his feet touch the ground, Wilbur recalls his power, scanning the boy’s feathers.
“Why can’t I keep flying?” Tommy asks, arms crossed. His foot taps the ground impatiently. It almost makes Wilbur laugh.
“I can’t help you forever,” he says instead, keeping his face even to let Tommy know he’s serious, “If I keep that up for too long, it can overload your wings. They’d burn up. We need to be careful, alright?”
Tommy sucks in a breath, scanning Wilbur’s face for any room to argue, but finds none and nods. “Okay. I promise to be careful.”
“I know you will, and I will too,” Wilbur promises, meaning every word a thousand times over.
~ ~ ~
Tommy insists on learning how to drive chariots when he’s thirteen. Wilbur doesn’t get it—he can quite literally fly already. The need to know how to operate a pegasus-drawn chariot confuses the god.
Teenagers.
“You don’t understand, Dad, it’ll be cool and since I’m cool, I need to know how to ride a chariot!” The teenager explains, and suddenly Wilbur longs for the days when the ‘coolest’ thing Tommy could do was get a ride around the temple atop Wilbur’s shoulders.
“You can fly,” Wilbur deadpans. Tommy just rolls his eyes playfully.
“But this will be in style! Imagine it, me rolling up to Phil’s in a fucking chariot!”
“I can’t believe Phil taught you to swear,” Wilbur groans, holding his head in his hands.
Tommy nudges his arm with a grin. “Hey, he just forgot there was a kid around, and then we just agreed to not mention it,” the blonde corrects. He paces the atrium while Wilbur reclines underneath the skylight, seeing how long Tommy will go along with this little charade.
“And yet here you are, swearing a staple of your vocabulary,” he drawls, Tommy not protesting.
“That doesn’t matter! What matters is I need to learn to drive!”
“Like you ‘needed’ that pair of sandals you never wore?”
Tommy’s face drops dramatically, his feet halting in their pacing. “We don’t talk about that.” He resumes his jubilant path, waving his hands animatedly. “Please, please, please! I promise I’ll be careful and won’t crash and I’ll take care of the pegasi and—”
“Alright, alright,” Wilbur cedes. The whole thing had been a losing battle from the start. All Tommy has to do is ask, and Wilbur would give him the world on a silver platter. He just thinks it’s funny to see the angel scramble to try and convince him.
“Really?!” Tommy’s eyes light up like the sun on the sea.
“Yeah, really. There’s no harm in it,” Wilbur says before schooling his expression into something deadly serious, “If you’re careful. If you’re reckless, you’ll never set foot near a chariot again.”
Tommy tackles him into a hug, thinly-veiled excitement coming off him in waves. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! ”
“Of course,” Wilbur grins, returning the hug, “Are you ready now, or would you want to go another time?”
“Now,” Tommy says emphatically, and Wilbur stands them up, teleporting the two to the island that holds the chariot track.
Tommy takes a while to befriend the pegasi before even setting foot on the track, ensuring the animals adore him first and foremost. He takes it slow, sitting in the chariot, steering the pegasi in circles, and then he stands, and then he flies.
He’s a natural, Wilbur thinks. It’s like Tommy belongs in the air, amongst the clouds and the planets and the stars, wind rustling his hair.
There’s a tinge of fear there, that somehow Tommy will crash, or burst into flames, or never return. The creeping anxiety that he won’t need Wilbur anymore and the god will be cast aside.
It’s irrational, but so are gods. So are parents. And Wilbur is very much both those things.
So he stands and watches, cheering his kid on.
~ ~ ~
That same year, Wilbur has to go to Earth at the behest of the humans, who have asked him to expel a monster from a nearby forest. From what he’s heard, it’s a small thing, no higher than a person’s knee and covered in fur.
He assumes his humans are over-exaggerating the creature’s ferocity, seeing a monster in the unknown. So Wilbur doesn’t bring any angels, instead going down himself. He leaves Tommy at the temple alone at the insistence that he is ‘a big man’ and can watch himself.
And the assurance that Phil’s crows are never far.
Wilbur, however, may have overestimated his humans’ tendencies to exaggerate things. The creature was exactly as they said, and rather cute at that. What they didn’t overstate was its aggression.
As soon as Wilbur found it, slinking through the trees of the forest, the beast charged, scarcely allowing Wilbur a window to dodge.
Ultimately, he managed to subdue the brute but sustained a sizable gash on his face, spanning cheek to chin.
Wilbur returns to the temple, content to stop the golden ichor from flowing until it heals in an hour, give or take. That is, until Tommy bounds around a corner, seemingly sensing that Wilbur has returned. The blonde freezes when he sees him, though, a look of terror crawling onto his face.
“What the fuck happened?!” He cries, pulling Wilbur by the arm to the nearest bench. He sits him down and starts to look at the offending wound.
A scratch to a god, in all reality, but sometimes Wilbur thinks Tommy forgets that.
“A small scrape,” Wilbur says, trying to ease Tommy’s worry. It doesn’t work. “I’m serious. It’s fine. I—”
“You always tell me to be careful, and look what happens when you go out!” Tommy frowns, ripping a part of his tunic to wipe off some of the blood. “Gods can still die, Dad. You gotta be careful,” he mumbles that part, but Wilbur can still hear it clear as day.
“I’m okay. I swear it,” he says, “I’d never lie to you, Toms. It’ll heal perfectly fine in an hour or so.”
“But it looks like it hurts,” the angel protests, holding the cloth to the wound.
Wilbur shakes his head, placing a hand over Tommy’s. “No, it really doesn’t. The monster got a lucky hit in. That’s all, truly. I’ll never let it happen again.”
Tommy stares at him, blue eyes shimmering with something unsaid. Wilbur can see the gears turning in his mind.
“What are you thinking?”
“I—” Tommy snaps his mouth shut. He searches Wilbur’s eyes for something. Wilbur isn’t sure what. “I wanna protect you.”
Wilbur tilts his head into Tommy’s hand, giving him a smile. “You don’t have to worry about that, alright? I’m sorry I worried you, but—”
“I need to,” Tommy interrupts, eyes dropping to the ground. He pulls his hand away, taking the fabric with it, and stares at the golden stain amongst the white. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.”
Something wary settles in Wilbur’s heart. Tommy’s a child, his child, and should never have to worry or be in danger. However, he understands the sentiment. Wilbur needs to protect Tommy, and to some degree, he’d like to protect Phil too. He’d never put Tommy at risk. That’s the last thing he wants.
Still, the sad, determined look in the teen’s eyes has Wilbur’s resolve crumpling like an autumn leaf. “We… we can work something out,” he sighs.
Tommy slumps in relief, leaning forward to rest his head on Wilbur’s shoulder. “Good,” he mutters, “You don’t need to do everything alone.”
“Neither do you.”
Later, as Tommy sleeps, Wilbur gets to work. If his kid is going to insist on learning to fight, on fighting for him, then he will make sure no harm will come to him. Ever. Wilbur travels to a lower chamber of the temple, remote from the rest. There, he fashions a fearsome weapon made of stardust, light, and wood from Phil’s ancient willow tree. The arrows of light would aim true, rarely missing their mark.
This is the least he could do.
~ ~ ~
Something is amiss. It makes the hair on Wilbur’s neck stand up.
He sits at his fountain, peering through the waters into the human realm. There’s been a stark increase of monsters terrorizing them, and Wilbur just can’t seem to figure it out. Each horror, he sends a squadron of angels to deal with. He can’t find it in himself to go personally—Tommy’s fifteen now, still a child, and yet all the more persistent.
Wilbur looks at the boy sitting next to him, blue eyes fixed on him with worry. The bow is slung over his shoulder.
“Something’s wrong,” Wilbur mutters. Tommy takes that as an invitation to ramble.
“What? Is it the monsters? I could handle them if you wanted. I’d beat them so bad they wouldn’t ever mess with your humans again!”
“It’s not that. There are always monsters antagonizing them. That’s just how life is, but…”
“But..?” Tommy urges, kicking his feet back and forth. He leans backward to catch Wilbur’s eye, a mischievous grin on his face.
“There’s just too many!” Wilbur exclaims, throwing a hand into the air. Tommy startles, nearly falling into the pond, but Wilbur steadies him. “Normally, it’s one or two, here and there. Now it’s like they’re in swarms.”
“What changed?”
“Now that, sunshine, is the right question.”
Wilbur drags his hands through the water, the ripples fading as a new scene appears. Just some villages and farms. Relatively peaceful. Again, and there’s a forest, a deer running through the greenery. Again, and there’s a war—
Wait, a war?
He leans forward, watching the two sides clash. Tommy turns his attention to the water as well, a scowl on his face. “When the fuck did that happen?!”
“I… I don’t know,” Wilbur mutters, scanning the battlefield to gather intel.
The two sides had always been on amicable terms. They’ve traded freely, married each other’s townsfolk, split farmland—for light’s sake, they’ve shared food in times of shortages. Something unnatural is afoot, and Wilbur can’t let it go on.
Then he catches sight of a semi-transparent figure, larger than life, watching as soldiers fall with glee. Wilbur would recognize him anywhere.
“Oh, the bitch. ”
“What?” Tommy asks, whipping his head to look at Wilbur, “What is it?”
“Schlatt’s watching. He’s gotta be up to something.”
“ Schlatt?! Who let him out of the underworld?”
“He’s free to come and go as he pleases, Tommy,” Wilbur corrects, glaring at the god of the dead despite his calm tone, “What he isn’t allowed to do is mess with my people.”
“You think he started the war? Not just enjoying the chaos?”
Wilbur shakes his head. “These people have no reason to fight. It’s certainly because of—” He cuts himself off as a soldier is cut down, their soul flying from the body to make the journey to the afterlife. Before it can get far, though, Schlatt picks it up, molding it with his hands into a grotesque monster, setting the creature in a nearby forest.
Tommy blinks as if he’s not sure what he just witnessed. “Uh, Wil—”
“We have to go,” Wilbur shoots up, Tommy following suit, “Immediately.” He holds a hand out to the blonde, who takes it without hesitation. Light circles them until it's overwhelming. When it dissipates, they’re no longer in the temple but rather on a remote island, lush greenery flowing off the sides and marble pillars in a circle at the center.
Wilbur calls for Schlatt telepathically, restraining himself from yelling at the god then and there. In half a second, Schlatt appears, grinning in all his arrogant glory.
“Wilbur!” He greets, voice dripping with confidence. He throws his hands up as if he means to snake an arm around his shoulders. It makes the rage in Wilbur’s chest burn.
“Schlatt,” he spits, and the god stops in his tracks, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The god of the dead doesn’t falter, gaze flicking between Wilbur and Tommy. “You’ll have to be more specific. I think I’m doing a lot of things.”
“Explain to me what right you have to be starting wars so you can turn human souls into monsters.”
Schlatt lets out a breath before slapping a stupid grin on his face. “Ahhh, you know me, Wil. I just got bored.”
Wilbur smacks his forehead, dragging the hand down his face. “Bored? Bored? Schlatt, I’ve told you a million times—you can’t mess with humans! You’re supposed to collect the dead, not make the dead.”
“But it gets so boring and lonely in the underworld! The company is, well,” he laughs at whatever joke he has in mind, “It’s not very lively.”
Tommy barks a laugh, earning a wide grin from Schlatt. Wilbur lightly swats at his arm.
“See! The angel gets it. I like this guy—what’s your name, kid?”
The blonde looks at Wilbur, who nods. All things considered, Schlatt’s harmless. Well, not harmless, but he’s not evil. His antics tend to be… unethical, but in terms of godly duties, he takes them seriously and would never directly attack another god.
“Tommy.”
Schlatt snaps, wagging a finger at the boy. “A good name. A great one, even! I think—”
Before the god can finish whatever sales pitch he has, Wilbur catches a flash of light in his peripheral, flower petals and leaves descending as it fades.
Phil storms over, eyes sharp and trained on Schlatt.
“You need to call your fucking monsters off,” he demands, low and deadly.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Schlatt throws his hands up placatingly, “What’s got your antlers in a twist?”
Wilbur groans, but Tommy has an amused smile on his face, so he guesses this isn’t a total failure. Yet.
“ Your monsters are destroying forests and harming animals. And because they’re scaring the humans,” Phil turns to Wilbur, throwing a hand in his direction, “ Your humans are also destroying forests!”
“Wha—Phil, that’s not my fault!” Wilbur says, a hand on his chest, “Besides, you’re fine if they take resources!”
“Not this much!”
“Personally, I think this is hilarious, ” Schlatt smirks lazily.
“Shut up, Schlatt.”
“Y’know what, Schlatt, fuck off.”
“Tough crowd.”
The trio goes on like that for a while, pointlessly arguing in circles. Schlatt mocks Phil’s plant obsession, to which he trashes Wilbur’s humans, so Wilbur denounces Schlatt’s monsters—an endless cycle. Metaphorically, of course, but as gods, they always run the risk of that particular expression being literal.
Phil is in the middle of suggesting they utilize his newest creation—forest bombs—to wipe the world clean and just start over.
And no, Phil, that is not an option, and Wilbur should not have to explain why.
Faintly, Wilbur hears a crack, as if something glass is fracturing. He pays it little mind until there’s a hand grabbing his robes.
Wilbur looks down at Tommy, who’d taken a seat on the stones below.
“Guys,” he says, sounding worryingly alarmed. He points to a spot straight ahead. “What’s that?”
Following his finger, Wilbur and the other gods turn to see cracks spider webbing throughout the air. Instinctively he pulls Tommy to his feet, pushing the protesting teen behind him.
The air bursts, everyone covering their ears at the sound. A scorpion-like creature crawls from the opening, one large eye on its head. Its tail resembles a scythe, and it casts one look at the four of them before flying away.
There’s quiet.
And then—
“Well shit,” Schlatt says, sounding utterly defeated. Phil turns to look at Wilbur and Tommy as if making sure they’re okay.
“Dad,” Tommy mutters for Wilbur’s ears only, “What was that thing?”
Wilbur’s heart drops to his stomach. Androctonus, he should say. That’s what just broke its way into their dimension.
Long ago, the gods—Wilbur, Schlatt, and Phil included—had sealed that beast away. It only lived to consume and spread chaos. It needed to be contained.
So they had locked Androctonus in its own realm.
But they had gotten too carried away in their own affairs, been too busy arguing with each other, that the monster found a weak point in its prison.
That’s all Wilbur can think of that makes sense. If he, Schlatt, and Phil were to let their guards down in the same area, the barrier would weaken.
And now they’re all at risk.
Light above, Tommy is at risk.
“Dad,” the blonde says again, with even more urgency than before, “Wil, what was that?!”
Wilbur looks at Tommy and only sees a pale face and wide eyes, confusion and fear lacing every muscle.
“We have to go,” he says in lieu of an answer. He looks at the other gods, their faces full of grim determination. “We all have to.”
“Be careful,” Schlatt says, emotion swirling beneath his facade. He blips from existence.
“Take care, both of you,” Phil says, a plea written in his features, “I’ll see you soon.” He disappears in a flourish of petals.
Wilbur touches Tommy’s shoulder, and the world becomes light. They’re at the temple when it fades, and Tommy yanks out from Wilbur’s hold, eyebrows furrowed and a quiet anger simmering behind his eyes.
“Tell me what’s happening!” He shouts, then his face goes blank as if regretting the tone.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Wilbur assures him, “You have every right to be angry. I’m just—there’s a lot going on right now.” He takes a breath, sparing a glance at the fountain before focusing on Tommy. “That was one of the worst monsters known to god or man. Androctonus.”
“What’s so bad about it?” Tommy asks tentatively, like he doesn’t want to know the answer, but it tears him up inside to be unaware.
“Well, for starters—”
“WIL!” Tommy screams, pointing up to the roof of the atrium before scrambling to ready his bow.
Wilbur turns instantly at the fear in his angel’s voice, mouth going dry when he spots the scorpion crawling on the roof a short distance away. A crow is on its tail, the poisonous tip protruding through flesh and feathers.
“Tommy, you need to go.”
The boy fires an arrow only to be dodged by the creature. “What?! No, Wil, we protect each other, remember?”
Unease swirls in Wilbur’s gut mixing with fear and regret. This is the single worst possible situation he could ever imagine. He wishes it was a few hours ago when the worst thing in the world was Schlatt’s questionable ethics.
“No, I’m serious, Tommy—” Wilbur fires a ray of light at Androctonus, the oversized insect scuttling out of the way, out of sight.
Tommy frowns, turning to Wilbur. “You don’t get to push me away, not now. We’ve got this! I’m me, and you’re literally the god of—”
“The god of light,” Wilbur recites it like a worn-out fact. It’s all he’s ever been, all he’s ever known. “I know. But I can’t be the god of light if I lose my light, my sun. Tommy, you have to understand. I can’t lose you.”
The dying light of the sun paints the scene a warm orange. It catches the glistening in Tommy’s eyes as he fights a war in his head. Wilbur is acutely aware of how the wind howls, no longer gentle.
“You know I love you, Dad,” Tommy says after a moment, “And that’s why I’m not leaving you.”
Wilbur’s world shatters. Tommy’s always been stubborn, something he’d always encouraged. There is no sweeter thing than seeing the boy he’d raised grow up with confidence and an assuredness in knowing what he wants. Wilbur just wishes Tommy had acquired some self-preservation along the way.
The roof crumbles, dust and debris flying everywhere. Androctonus skitters across the roof, knocking another chunk off. Tommy fires an arrow, Wilbur hurls an orb of light.
The scorpion scrambled to the ground, dodging another beam of light before slicing through a pillar, the roof it was holding up beginning to cave. It throws a chunk of marble at Wilbur, but he blocks it with a reflective barrier.
He turns his attention to his right to try and convince Tommy one last time, but the boy had left his side, sneaking behind pillars.
For the love of light, Wilbur’s son is an idiot. What would possess him to try and surprise attack the beast when he wields only a bow is beyond Wilbur. They’re going to have a long conversation about weapon ranges after this.
Turning his attention back to the threat, Wilbur realizes there is no threat. He’s lost sight of Androctonus.
He shoves down the overwhelming panic. The roof—it’d been on the roof earlier, so logically, it’d be back there, right?
Tommy steps out from behind a column, visibly upset his sneak attack was thwarted. Wilbur opens his mouth to scold him but stops at the movement catching his eye from above.
A shiny black appendage dislodges a piece of marble, throwing it off the roof. And straight at—
“TOMMY!” The boy freezes, and that is not what Wilbur meant. “MOVE.”
But it’s too late. The chunk collides with Tommy’s head, and Wilbur can only rush forward as he crumples to the ground.
He catches him before he can hit the ground, and dully, Wilbur watches the rise and fall of his chest, feels for the thumping heartbeat. The side of his head is bleeding, and the sight makes Wilbur ill.
A barrier encases the pair subconsciously, and Wilbur rips a part of his cream robes to press to the side of Tommy’s head.
“Why didn’t you listen?” Wilbur whispers, dabbing away the blood. He can barely breathe, the weight of his failure crushing his very being.
There’s still a way, though.
He swallows the lump in his throat, pressing a kiss onto Tommy’s forehead. “You’ll be safe,” Wilbur murmurs, “Until I or someone good and trustworthy comes to get you. I promise you this.”
And Wilbur isn’t keen on letting another promise be broken. He lets the light fill his arms, his magic working overtime to get Tommy out of here and safe from Androctonus and himself.
He allows the barrier to drop as soon as Tommy is safe and away.
Wilbur has a fight to win.