Chapter Text
If there’s anything that outright promises for future disaster, it’s got to be the presence of paints and paintbrushes put into the reach of tiny curious children.
Phil supposes he should be more cautious about this, if he doesn’t want random paint splatters being stained into the hallway floorboards for the next several weeks, but in all honesty, he’s kinda hoping for that. For the mess of it, the pure proof of living being put into their home. He has his sketches made for the doorways, designs of tiny vines and flowers and pretty little shapes that will give the new walls color, but he won’t mind terribly if it all goes sideways and ends up with just small handprints all over, instead.
…He’s absolutely going to make sure there’s small handprints somewhere before all the painting is done.
He does what he can. He sets up the paints and brings out bowls and brushes and towels and a couple jars of water, and he settles himself onto the floor of the hallway upstairs, sitting before their bedroom door, marking out a sketch with a pencil to the doorframe. The kids join him, as always, lingering close in pure curiosity, and surprisingly, they just watch him in an unusual silence for the first few minutes. Even Tommy’s energy is subdued, in seeing Phil draw out pictures onto the doors, onto the wall, but eventually, their boredom does creep in, and the kids scatter out into their own devices, looking for something to do.
Tommy stays near Phil, for the most part. He keeps trying to walk circles around him, like a planet rotating around its sun, he’s an unstoppable force with slow, tiny steps, brushing through the back of Phil’s feathers, moving beside his hip, and then squeezing through the space at the front of him, pushing over his knees, between the door and Phil. Which is a little inconvenient considering Phil is trying to work on the doorway. He has to scoot backwards to let Tommy comfortably pass, and if he doesn’t move fast enough, the kid starts to make a distressed little noise, like Phil is crushing all his dreams by not letting him go in endless circles around him.
Techno decides to spend his time on the ground, laying on his back with his braid laid out over his head, his legs outstretched with his hands put together over his stomach. He almost seems a little sleepy staying like that, blinking up at the ceiling, staring at the blank color of it as if he’s staring at the clouds through it. Phil wonders if he should paint clouds up there, later on. He also wonders if Techno’s considering taking an afternoon nap, just for the fun of it.
Wilbur busies himself in fiddling with the paints, picking through the jars and mixing a few of the colors on one of the bowls Phil has set out. He’s careful in not spilling anything, moving very slowly and using his hands to ensure nothing drips to the ground, and by the time Phil’s finished painting out thin green vines on one side of the door, Wil’s hands are covered in color, and the bottom of the bowls have purple fingerprints.
“Dad?” Wil asks out of the blue, as Phil tries to paint out the shape of leaves, leaning back again for Tommy to crawl over his lap.
“Yes?”
“Why does red and blue make purple?”
“Not sure.” Phil replies, honestly not having an entire answer for that. He leans back to the doorway, taking some paint onto his brush, outlining another leaf. Tommy’s little hands brush lightly on the underside of Phil’s wings, and he lifts them up to let Tommy duck under. “Why do you think it turns purple?”
“I dunno.” Wil shrugs, lifting a paintbrush up, letting a drop of blue plop down into its bowl again. “Because purple is like if blue was a red. Or if red was trying to be blue.”
“It’s ‘cause purple is made up of red and blue.” Techno says, slightly waving a hand up from where it rests on his chest, eyes still staring straight up to the ceiling. “Because- it’s like seeing red and blue at the same time, and they cover each other, and they make purple.”
“Where did you learn that one?” Phil asks curiously, leaning back as Tommy pushes against his hip, before then trying to jump over Phil’s knee. Phil automatically reaches a hand out to steady him, so that he won’t faceplant into the floor.
“I dunno. A book.” Techno answers vaguely. He goes on, turning his head a little towards Wilbur, who listens with rapt attention. “And all the other colors are made from red and blue, too, and yellow, and if you have those three colors, you can make the other colors, but you can’t mix those colors to make red or blue. Or yellow.”
“Why not?” Wil asks, tilting his head. Techno blinks at him, and then shrugs from his spot on the ground.
“I dunno.”
“Dad?” Wilbur asks.
“Yes, songbird?”
“Why can’t you make yellow out of other colors?”
“I have no clue.” Phil answers, looking over the spot he’s painting, deciding to widen out this leaf a bit more. He keeps his hand steady while Tommy ducks under his wings yet again. “Why do you think we can’t make yellow?”
“Hmm.” Wil hums in thought, one of the paintbrushes clacking against the bowl as he continues fiddling with them. “I dunno. Maybe it’s a special color.”
“Dad?” Techno asks, twisting his head up to look towards Phil.
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you have a favorite color?”
Phil leans back, Tommy taking a moment to just stand directly in front of Phil, blocking his view of the doorway, for fun, seemingly. He smiles, and nudges Tommy to stay moving along. The kid goes with a giggle. “I do. It’s green.”
“I like blue.” Techno says, and he turns his head over to Wilbur, pointing a finger out. “Like Wilbur’s scales.”
“Well-” Wilbur sputters for a second, his fins twitching out as he flusters for a second. “I like pink. Like Techno’s hair.”
“Cool.” Techno replies, fond and calm, going back to staring at the ceiling. Wilbur, in contrast, looks as if he’s about to hug-tackle Techno. He turns his attention to Phil, instead, leaning forward with a hand to the ground.
“Dad?” He asks.
“Yes?” Phil answers, ever patient.
“What makes green?”
“Yellow and blue.” Techno answers for him, and Wilbur scrunches his nose, making a little face.
“I was asking dad.”
Phil huffs. “What about orange, Techno? Tell me what makes orange.”
Techno’s ear flicks for a second in thought. “...Yellow and red?” He answers, almost hesitantly.
“Could you make me a bit of orange, Wil? I’ll need it for these flowers here.” Phil then requests, Wil sitting up straight in surprise for suddenly being given a task.
“Okay…” His hands hover hesitantly over the paints, and he looks to Techno as if asking for help. Techno lifts himself from where he was lazing about on the floor and scoots over to Wil’s side, looking over the collection of paints, helping in pouring some out in a bowl.
Phil smiles, leaning back as Tommy crawls over his knees again, completing a circle once more. He hears the twins murmuring about the red paint, about not pouring too much, not wanting to overfill the bowl, Techno saying something about how the yellow can be overpowered by red very very easily.
“Dad?” Techno then asks, and Phil turns his head thinking they’re about to ask something about the paint, maybe needing help.
“Yes?” Phil says, placing down his brush to the side, outside of Tommy’s path.
“Why are you painting leaves?”
“Because I think they would look nice.”
“They do.” Techno agrees, making a small nod, and just as he does, Wilbur finishes stirring the bowl, lifting his head to ask something again.
“Hey, Dad?” He says.
“Would you both like to help me with something?” Phil quickly asks in return, realizing that perhaps these questions are going to go on for a while, and he might as well distract them while he can. “I’m thinking of putting some handprints over the front of this door. Could you paint each other’s hands for that?”
Wilbur takes on a conflicted look, staring over the paints with a thoughtful frown. “What color do we pick?”
“Your favorite colors.” Phil says simply. He couldn’t care less if they somehow mixed up a neon green, as long as it's something they like, and it's their hands put upon the door.
“But what about Tommy?” Wilbur further asks, Techno now looking over the paints with a similar sort of panic. “What do we put for him? Does he have a favorite color?” Both of the twins look to Tommy as if to wait for him to announce it, and Tommy gives no attention to their woes. He stays circling Phil, ducking under the man’s wings with an intense focus.
“You could pick a color for him.” Phil suggests.
“Purple.” Techno blurts out, Wilbur whipping his head towards with a confused look. “That’s pink and blue. So.” Techno then explains, and Wilbur’s face lights up, now entirely in agreement. He raises his arms out to his baby brother, trying to call him over.
“Tommy, come here. Do you want to paint your hands purple? Huh?” He offers, Techno busying himself with the paints, quickly mixing up a purple into one of the bowls. “You’ll get to leave a tiny handprint on the door! Won’t that be fun?”
Tommy looks at Wilbur’s coaxing offer with an air of consideration, and then he turns away, trying to make another circle around Phil. Phil laughs a little for his sheer persistence, and picks up Tommy from under the arms, the kid kicking and fussing in protest for a second before then settling at Phil’s chest.
“Won’t you lend me your hand, lamb?” He asks, both Techno and Wilbur scooting over with the paint, Phil reaching up to make sure the door sits closed.
“Bah.” Tommy says, as if in habit, and Phil laughs again.
“Bahhh. That’s you.” He reminds, and then he wrestles for Tommy’s hand, the baby squirming and kicking and giggling as if it’s a fun game. It takes a moment before they’re able to paint on the color to his palm, and the moment it’s there, Tommy slaps his hand to Phil’s shirt, leaving a tiny handmark over the spot of his heart.
“Tommy!” Wilbur gasps, while Techno simply snorts in amusement, not terribly surprised. “It’s supposed to go on the door !”
“Hi, hi.” Tommy simply says, twisting himself around in Phil’s arms, reaching his painted hand up to Phil’s face, smearing his purple fingertips to the bottom of Phil’s jaw. Phil hardly fights back against the terrible attack, only grinning with a slight shake of his head, awfully fond. “Hi.”
“Hello. That’s not where the paint is meant to go.” Phil replies, and Tommy’s now absolutely fascinated by the effect being made from his painted hand. He’s slapping at Phil’s sleeve with a renewed focus, and Wilbur gives a dismayed noise, saying something about how they’ll have to repaint his palm.
Phil doesn’t mind. He lets the purple stain, and lets the paint dry over his skin. The feeling of it is the same as the sight of the handprint finally being set onto the door, visible, sure proof of Tommy’s existence, of his life. Of Phil’s love, everlasting through him.
It is joined by a blue and a pink handprint soon after, and then one green one, sitting above them all. A sign of their family, and a sign for who the room belongs to.
It is a warm, gentle afternoon with Phil’s hands made dirty, picking through the garden, and there is nowhere else he’d rather be.
Techno is helping with the yardwork, where he can. He runs around like a busy little bee, wielding a hoe like it's a weapon, perfecting neat little dirt hills in neat little rows, every single weed and old root torn out from Phil’s way, an ideal environment made for scattered seeds to thrive.
Phil told him that he could take his time, that the garden wouldn’t have to be finished by today, but Techno had only made a face and took that warning as a challenge, and now Phil suspects Techno has run out of things to do, because he’s taking an awfully long time with that last row of hills by the back area.
Tommy is singing. Singing with Wilbur’s guidance, spare words here and there, but it is singing, nonetheless. Phil’s favorite background noise. He’s not really grasping the lyrics that Wil is trying to feed him, but he seems to be following a melody fairly well. He seems fond of occasionally throwing a shrill shriek in here and there, just to liven up the song. Wilbur seems to become more dismayed by the minute, unable to do anything but bend to Tommy’s willful music.
“Ohhh-ver the willows…” Wil sings gently, Tommy repeating as best he can, hands patting down at Wilbur’s knees from where they sit together in the grass.
“Willows…”
“And ohhh-ver the weeds…” Wil nods.
“Seeds…” Tommy sings quietly, dragging out the end of it until he’s sounding like a hissing snake.
“Weeds, Tommy. Weeds...” Wilbur tries to correct, but Tommy’s moving on, throwing an arm up in a sudden burst of energy, his voice shouting out.
“Ohhh! Hillowwws!” He yells, Techno laughing out beside Wil’s ever fond sigh. Tommy continues on with a mangled mess of words, something known to only him, before then ending out with: “-and meee!”
“And you…” Wilbur cannot help but sing along, huffing out as he rests his elbow over his thigh, body scrunched to the side to put his cheek into his palm.
“Meee.” Tommy repeats, almost in a correcting manner. He touches up at Wilbur’s face, fingers dragging over the blue of his scales. “You- you... me.”
“You and me, or- You and I, make a wonderful duet, don’t you think, Tommy?” Wilbur asks, Tommy making an uncommitted hum, more concerned now at getting a hold of Wilbur’s curls, tugging very lightly, trying to twist them like an attempt of making a braid, some imitation from seeing Phil do Techno’s hair this morning.
“You both sing very nicely, Wil.” Phil gives as his two cents, from where he’s still settling seeds into dirt. Wilbur preens under the praise, and then winces slightly at Tommy’s grip over his hair, Wil reaching out to try and pry him off. “Is that one a new song of yours?” Phil asks.
“It’s not done.” Wilbur says, almost defensive, pushing himself to his feet and taking Tommy along with him when the kid lifts his arms up with a whining noise. He takes a moment to carry Tommy onto his hip, Tommy wrapping his arms over his neck and then resting his head onto his shoulder, tail flicking wildly behind him. “I’m still writing the rest of it.”
“Well, I’ll be glad to hear it when it’s done.” Phil reassures, smiling kindly to Wilbur as he walks up beside him, the kid’s face going a bit bashful. He turns to press his lips to the top of Tommy’s hair so as to avoid Phil’s eyes, and Tommy gives no mind to him, busy humming the tune of before, quietly repeating ‘wil-lows’ in long, dragged out utterances.
Phil turns his attention back to Techno on the other side of the garden, pushing himself to stand with a slight grunt, and then huffing slightly at how Techno is still whacking at a singular hill of dirt.
“I think you’ve finished it up, Techno.” He calls, and Techno turns his head with a slight frown, cradling the handle of the hoe to his chest. “Not much else to do other than put the seeds down, now.”
“Do you want me to help with the seeds?” Techno asks, almost immediately jumping over the dirt hills, running over to Phil to do so.
“Do you want to help?” Phil asks back, reaching for a small bag of seeds at his feet, their existence courtesy of Skeppy having bought them from the village nearby.
“Yeah.” Techno says, and he carefully puts the hoe down at Phil’s feet, before then holding out his dirt-covered palms, taking the bag of seeds as if it’s a satchel of gold.
“Alright, then. Go on.” Phil sends Techno off, and then turns to Wilbur with a questioning lift of his brows. “Do you want to help with the seeds too, Wil?”
Wilbur scrunches his nose in reply, fins twitching up. “I don’t want dirt in my claws.”
“Dirt!” Tommy screams out, head suddenly lifting high, his wings giving a single mighty flap. He reaches his hands out towards Techno’s back, his leg kicking against Wil’s side. “No! Nooo!”
Techno lifts his head from where he’s putting the seeds down. “Tommy.” He calls back, and Phil gestures for Wil to put the toddler on his feet.
“He’ll mess up the hills.” Wilbur warns, and Phil makes an unconcerned wave of his hand, Tommy breaking out into a sprint as soon as he’s freed, a single beeline towards Techno. He makes an attempt of a hop over one of the hills. It’s admirable to witness.
“Techno can just fix them up.” Phil insists, and he nudges Wilbur to step to the side towards the shade of the trees. “C’mon. Let’s get out of the sun, I’m burning.”
Wilbur nods in strong agreement and takes Phil’s hand, leading them over to where he and Tommy were sitting in the grass. Phil settles down with a long sigh, and Wilbur takes his spot in the space of his lap, sitting between Phil’s legs, leaning back into his chest and watching quietly as Techno and Tommy put the seeds out. Tommy’s somewhat helping, in all his best efforts. He’s always been one for the dirt, though, and he gets easily distracted in digging through the hills with his fingers, Techno having to push his attention back to the seeds that they’re supposed to be covering. It’s a slow process, between the two of them, but Phil has nowhere else to be, and he’s perfectly content to rest his chin on top of Wil’s head and let the time gently pass.
It doesn’t take very long until Wilbur starts up in singing again, beginning with a quiet hum, the same melody from before that he had been trying to teach Tommy.
“Ohhh-ver the willows…” He sings, and Phil closes his eyes to the sound of Tommy’s giggling laughter, Techno laughing a little in return. “And over the weeds…right past the meadow… is a place for you and me…”
Phil hums lightly beside Wilbur’s humming, and he notes that there’s something very familiar about this song. He wonders if maybe it’s from one of Wil’s old melodies, something reused. He can’t be so sure about it. Wil’s been getting into the habit of singing a lot lately, and some of the lyrics tend to go over Phil’s head, not quite caught.
Wil’s words taper off into humming again, Tommy making a small shrieky noise from within the garden. Phil blinks his eyes open to the sight of the trees to his left, and faintly, he catches the movement of a bird flying through the leaves, with dark black feathers.
He lifts his head a bit, brows furrowing together. There’s nothing odd about seeing a couple birds come through the forest, but he can’t remember when was the last time he saw a bird that matched his own wings. He sees it hop past some branches, going from tree to tree, and then gliding down, landing into the grass as Wil starts singing again.
“Ohhh-ver the willows…” His voice echoes a little in the delivery, some of his power slipping through. “And over the weeds…”
It’s a crow, Phil thinks.
There’s a crow, hopping around the trunk of a tree, stepping over the roots. It picks at the ground, then disappears, then comes back into sight, behind a different tree than the one it disappeared behind.
Phil sits a little straighter, not able to take his eyes away.
“Deep into the meadow…”
Its head turns this way and that, looking all around, feathers shuddering out. It turns his head and puts its eye into Phil’s direction.
“There’s a place for you and me.”
It’s looking at Phil.
It’s-
Phil suddenly jolts hard, feeling something like a too-heavy-heartbeat pound harsh against his chest. His wings flare out, his hands instinctively grabbing at Wilbur, and Wil startles at the action, his singing cut short with a short scream, head twisting around to look at Phil.
“Dad?!” He calls, and Phil blinks, the crow now gone, out of sight, as if it was never there at all. “Dad? Are you okay?”
“Dad?” Techno calls out, having heard Wil’s yell and concerned voice, and Phil takes a few breaths, scanning the forest floor, and finding nothing at all. “What happened?”
It was just a bird.
Just a bird.
It probably flew away.
“Sorry.” Phil turns back to Wil, and his eyes are wide in concern, body twisted around to face him. “Sorry, baby. I’m fine. I think I just nearly fell asleep.” He pulls a short grin, lifting his head up to Techno. “I’m fine, Techno!”
“Are you sure?” Techno asks back, and Tommy stares up at him with squinting eyes from where he’s sitting on the ground beside his feet.
“Yeah.” Phil assures, wrapping his arms around Wilbur so as to ease the worried look he’s still giving. “Why don’t you finish up with those seeds and we can go figure out some lunch at the house?”
Techno glances back at the half-seeded garden, a few of the hills destroyed by Tommy’s furious hands. “Nah.” He says, putting the seeds aside, picking Tommy up from the ground. “We can finish it tomorrow. I’m hungry, anyway.” He starts talking to Tommy as he makes his way over. “Want some lunch, Tommy? You want to eat?”
“Dirt.” Tommy says eloquently, holding a fistful of it out, and Phil laughs lightly at the response, pulling Wilbur up to join him on his feet.
“Yeah, you’re all covered in dirt.” Phil says, taking Tommy from Techno’s hands. “I swear, we give you a bath every afternoon, at this point.” He goes to begin walking towards the pathway home, but he falters at Wilbur staring off into the trees, still standing at where they were sitting last. “Wil. C’mon, songbird, let’s not keep your brother starving.”
Wilbur takes a moment to pull his eyes away, but he goes, following fast to join Techno's side, his fin twitching out as if trying to hear something more past the noise of the forest.
A couple days pass before Phil thinks again about that odd instance, with the crow and the familiar song and his heart, giving such an unusual scare.
Night has fallen over the house. The boys get into their bedtime routine, which is mostly a bunch of bickering and fighting and sprinting like a madman to get the majority of their energy out. Phil makes tea downstairs in the meanwhile, stirring through his cup with a spoon while hearing small racing footsteps run up and down the hallway over his head, Wil’s voice squealing as Techno makes some sort of raging battle cry. He wonders if he’s going to find their pillows scattered all over the floorboards again, the nest needing to be remade by the time he comes up for bed.
His spoon clinks rhythmically against the inside of his cup as Phil stirs it around. It’s a near soothing sort of noise, paired with the calming scent of the tea. Phil tries to focus on it, and tries to focus on the sound of Tommy laughing upstairs, but finds himself thinking back to that bird, instead. A single crow, looking at him.
Hm.
His hand moves away from the cup on the table and takes gentle hold of the chain of his necklace that sits tucked underneath his shirt. He can’t deny that he doesn’t fully understand the very magic he wears. And in witnessing that little moment from before, Phil can’t help but be reminded of all the other things he can’t quite wrap his head around, either. From Techno’s voices in his head to Wilbur’s voice in his throat, there’s aspects of magic he can’t ignore.
He pulls at his necklace to take it into his palm, just to have a closer look at it. He finds nothing except the usual faint glow of red. It’s as it always is. Sitting at rest, keeping him safe.
But he doesn’t fully understand it. Doesn’t know anything past the fact that it is a constant presence of lasting love, Kristin’s desperate attempt at saving him from any harm.
He frowns down at it, closing his fingers around the edges. Why had it acted up earlier, in such a calm moment, with Wilbur simply singing to fill the quiet? Did it truly act up at all? Maybe it was just him, Phil’s actual heart giving him a scare?
And that bird…
He huffs, tucking his necklace back under his shirt, letting it stay pressed to his chest. He feels like he’s both overthinking this and not considering it well enough. Wilbur always sings his songs around the house, of course they would feel familiar. That bird was probably just a bird. But his heart-
Phil takes a long drink from his cup, and hears Tommy give a maniacal laugh from upstairs, both Techno and Wilbur seeming to make pretending screams of terror. There’s a clatter of something falling, footsteps running down the upstairs hall again, and Phil hears a sigh come through the doorway, turning his head to see Bad’s exasperated face as he walks into the kitchen.
“I don’t know where they get all this energy from.” He says, taking a seat across from Phil, seeming weary from just the sheer noise of the kids tearing apart the room upstairs.
“They’ll tire out.” Phil reassures, hardly concerned. He’s well used to this by now, and he knows that the worse it is, the better all three kids will sleep through the night.
“Yes, they always do, but-” Bad starts to say, and then they both stop as there’s a loud thump, like someone falling right into the floor. Phil faintly hears Techno yelling “I’m okay!” and he settles back into his chair. Bad gives a fondly worried smile. “Goodness.”
Phil hums in a sort of agreement, smiling into his mug as he takes another drink. Bad’s expression falters, and he takes a closer look across the table.
“Phil?”
“Hm?” Phil raises his brows, mid-way through lowering his cup down.
“Are you alright?”
Phil blinks. He miscalculates the force of putting his tea down, and it hits the table just a touch too hard. He swallows down the lasting taste from his last sip and tilts his head in question. “What?”
“Are you alright?” Bad asks, lips pursed together in a subtle sort of concern. He waves a clawed hand up, trying to keep a casual tone. “Heh, you looked kind of stressed for a second, there.”
“Oh, I-” Phil grins, glancing away for a second while he waves a mirroring hand back. “It’s fine…I think.” Not in its entirety. Phil does have a problem starting to present itself, but he’s not sure how to go about it.
“You think?”
Phil rubs a hand over the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s-” He pauses for a moment, before then leaning forward on the table, elbows put beside each side of his cup. “Well.”
Bad makes a thoughtful noise, his voice turning considerate. “You know, if you’re getting driven a little crazy, me and Skeppy could always take the kids to let you have an afternoon to yourself. We could probably manage, even if Skeppy acts like they're always out to get him or whatever.”
Phil snorts, purely for the mental image of Skeppy being subjected to the torture of babysitting. Techno and Wilbur would drive that poor gem of a man to tears. “It’s not that. I’m alright. I enjoy the noise.” He admits wholeheartedly, leaning his chin into his palm. “But I’m- I’m just worried about the kids.”
Bad frowns a little. “How so?”
“They’re growing too fast.” Phil says, and then he sits up straight, wings shifting behind him, his hands making a sort of rising gesture. “Or, they’re growing too much?”
Bad’s frown turns into a sympathetic smile, almost teasing. “I’d say they’re growing just the right amount. Getting taller every day!”
“They better not be.” Skeppy suddenly interjects, coming through the doorway, immediately going through the kitchen cabinets for something to eat. He digs through for snacks and snatches a bag of some dried fruit, closing the cabinet door to go stand behind Bad’s shoulder. “If they ever get taller than me, I’m gonna have to squish them, Phil. Put- bricks on their head or something.”
“Don’t put bricks on my children.” Phil deadpans, Bad making a judgemental look at his partner.
“You want them to start towering over you?” Skeppy asks, leaning his weight onto Bad’s shoulder, chewing for a second on his fruit. He taps at Bad’s head, right beside one of his horns. “What if Techno gets as big as this one? You’re gonna start hurting in the neck from having to look up all the time. He must be thwarted before he starts reaching the doorways.”
“Techno isn’t going to get that tall, Skeppy.” Bad drawls on, nearly rolling his eyes.
“Well, we don’t know.” Skeppy points out. “We don’t know anything about how they’ll grow.”
Phil sinks into his chair, wings pressed down behind him, feathers pulled still. “I don’t-” He hesitates, eyes staring at his cup of tea, the drink now a bit cold. “I don’t like not knowing.”
“The terrors of fatherhood.” Skeppy deadpans.
“I don’t mean about them growing up, I mean-” Phil pushes himself to sit back up, taking his tea into hand again. He grips the handle tight. “Their magic. Their abilities. I assumed it’d be fine to wait and see how they’d settle with them, but-”
“Phil.” Bad says, at the sound of honest dread in Phil’s voice.
“I don’t know anything.” Phil admits. He holds his hands to his head, fingers brushing through his bangs. “I feel like I’m starting to miss something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Phil clears his throat, one hand put to his cheek, the other holding onto the chain of his necklace. “I don’t know. Magic wasn’t ever something I focused too much on. I’m starting to regret that.”
“It’s not like they’re struggling yet.” Bad reasons, giving a slight shrug. “I mean, the kids are still- growing. They’re still tiny. Whatever powers they’ll have, it’s barely starting. With Wilbur, he managed alright with his hearing, eventually.”
“Sooo…what will we do when it actually forms into something else, though?” Skeppy questions. “Like. There’s gonna be more. World-destroying powers, is what we’re expecting here.”
“And how can we help guide that if we don’t know any more than they do?” Phil adds on, Bad now making a conflicted frown, leaning back in his seat, towards Skeppy. “Yeah.” Phil nods. “That’s what I mean.”
“There’s still time.” Bad insists. He holds a hand to his chest. “Me and Skeppy could…go looking for help?”
Phil furrows his brows together. “Looking for help?” He repeats.
“Their prophecy was built off something, right?” Bad asks. “There’s probably some texts about magic or something out there. We could find it. Bring it back for you. And then you could help them out as they start really growing up, start growing into their own magic.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you.” Phil immediately protests. “For you guys to leave-”
“The other option is for you to go searching, and frankly, I don’t think the kids would let you leave.” Skeppy points out, eating another piece of fruit. “That, or we just stay and keep waiting, and hope we can handle whatever ends up developing with the kids.”
Phil sighs, turning his head away. “I don’t want them to feel overwhelmed later on.” He confesses. “I don’t want them to feel lost.”
“Then we’ll go searching for something to help.” Bad offers, in the same tone as giving an offer for babysitting.
“Not right away.” Phil insists.
“No, of course. We’ll give it some time. Draw out a proper plan, see how long the trip would take.”
Skeppy makes a considering noise. “Honestly, though, it would be better to leave sooner than later. They’re not gonna slow down anytime soon.”
“Dad!” Techno’s voice calls out then, and suddenly Tommy’s speeding into the kitchen, no stop in sight.
“Speak of the devils- OH-kay-!” Skeppy screams as Tommy slams right into his leg, claws instantly grasping on so as to maintain balance and not bounce off and hit the floor. Skeppy starts to shriek for Bad to get the baby off him. Techno and Wilbur come running in, ignoring Skeppy’s yells and instead making a beeline to Phil.
“Dad, dad, we-” Wilbur pants as he stops in front of him, leaning against Phil’s thigh. “We fixed the nest!”
Phil makes a curious expression, raising his brows. “The nest was messed up?”
Wil blinks. Shares a look with Techno. Techno suddenly stares down at his own socked feet as if they’re the most interesting things in the world.
“We fixed the nest.” Wilbur simply repeats, choosing to not admit that they had thrown all the pillows and blankets to the side earlier during their playing match. “It’s- It’s better now. It’s great. You have to come see it.”
“Ah, do I?” Phil says, suddenly caught up in the need to mess with them a bit. He reaches out to his cup, turning towards the table. “I’m not quite finished with my tea…”
“Pleaseee!” Wilbur instantly yells, Techno grabbing onto Phil’s sleeve and heaving with all his strength, which, considering Techno’s strength in general, practically yanks Phil right off his chair.
“Okay, okay!” Phil says, stumbling on his feet in his attempt to not hit the floor, Techno not having let go of his sleeve, more hanging onto it now, practically grasping at his shirt to get a hold of him. “Okay. I’m going. One of you pry your little brother off of Skeppy, please.”
“M’kay.” Wilbur says, skipping merrily to where Skeppy is still screaming over Tommy trying to climb up his leg, trying to snap his teeth at the gems on the man’s arms. “Tommy! C’mon!” Wilbur calls, and Tommy goes along, getting pulled away into Wil’s arms with little fuss. Skeppy collapses into Bad’s shoulder, as if he’s lost all the air within his lungs.
“Goodnight, guys.” Phil calls out, Techno tugging him by the hand, refusing to let him linger in the kitchen for any longer.
“Goodnight!” Bad calls back, at the same time as Skeppy gives his own weary reply.
“I think my life flashed before my eyes.”
“Oh, Skeppy.” Bad sighs, Skeppy giving his all into his dramatic performance, throwing himself to the ground in a collapsed heap of limbs, purely for Bad’s reaction and worry. “Skeppy! Oh my god!”
Phil rolls his eyes as he heads down the hall to go upstairs.