Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“ I was recently informed of some recent events, involving Will and Ghostbur. Do you… do you know anything? I’m guessing… ” 

Phil trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to put his thoughts into words. 

“There’s no easy way to say this- like, I can’t- I can’t soften the blow. Fundy… Will is… back. Alive . Fully alive. And ghostbur is gone.”

No. nonono . No. no.

“ Don’t fuck with me- ”

“I’m not fucking with you. This is 100% serious. I would not joke about this.”

“How the fuck did that happen, how could that happen- How can you just revive ?! He just- he- wha-

"What the fuck !? WHY?! ”

-He should not be revived, do you know what he’s done?! Do you know what he’s- look at the place ! He trie- he wa- I was born there, I was born at the place that he destroyed himself- why is he back- whats-why- WHY? Why would-”

Fundy’s head jerked to his shoulder as his voice pitched, a frustrated cry passing through his clenched teeth. His eyes welled as he stared at the sky. The surface of the glass panels that contained the crater amplified sunlight above him, stinging his retinas. Fundy’s shouts suddenly fell silent, a block in his throat making his next words a raspy whisper that hurt to force out. 

“I’m scared, Phil,”

Phil’s lips pursed before he sighed through his nose. His first thought, that of pity, was quickly followed by a sense of pride that he was even still standing. 

“I’m scared too,” 

Fundy felt himself grimace as his vision was blotted by more tears, spurred by Phil’s confession. The feeling of dread in his stomach only worsened. He wasn’t comforted in the slightest.

Wilbur had always looked up to his father, and consequently, so had Fundy. His entire life, Will would rave about the mythological creature that had created him, who’d lived centuries and watched the creation of the universe unfold. He could have sculpted the universe with his bare hands; the height and magnitude of the pedestal he was placed upon would have explained it. Fundy would have believed him if he said as much, being a nervous child who would follow his father to the ends of the earth, and it was heavily implied. Fundy didn’t even meet his grandfather until he was six, and it was only for a day or so while Phil was passing by, but he would cherish the memory of a rough hand patting down his ears and the silhouette of wide raven wings until the day he died.

And yet, here he stood. The nearly fictitious; his father’s father stood in front of Fundy, just as afraid as he was. 

He hated it.

Nausea struck Fundy’s stomach as he keeled over, landing on his hands and knees as he got sick. Phil was taken aback for a moment before he rushed to kneel by his grandson’s side, pushing his bangs from his face with one hand and rubbing a circle into his back with the other. The actions and the kindness behind them (and the intense feeling that he didn’t deserve them) made more bile rise to Fundy’s throat, raw and burning from his sobs and stomach acid.

“It’s okay, Fundy, I know,”

Phil couldn’t know, he was never in Fundy’s position. He didn’t watch his father turn into a monster. Fundy didn’t get the luxury of thinking everything was okay. He’d do anything to have lived outside L’Manberg’s walls, his only view inside letters that told a false narrative of success. He wished he could let his father lie to him on paper instead of in-between bedtime stories. Phil could never know, but it proved to be reassuring as Fundy slowly calmed his hyperventilation to shaking inhales. 

“Are you okay, mate?”

Phil asked, fully expecting the unsteady shake of Fundy’s head. He nodded solemnly, continuing the circling on his back even after he sat up. 

“That’s alright, that’s it, try to breathe,”

Fundy took his advice, head hanging low. He tried to ignore the burn of the sun against the back of his neck. It was painful how out-of-place the weather was, a clear and perfect summer day with him collapsed and sobbing under the sun. his head flinched toward his shoulder again, wrist hitting his skull, and Phil loosened his grip a little to give him space.

“Fundy,” he started, swallowing thickly, “I know that I wasn’t always- wasn’t there for you like I should have been, wasn’t observant enough, I didn’t- I wish I’d done better, Fundy, I’m so sorry, but-

I can be there for you now, and I won’t let Will get to you again, I promise,”

Fundy bit hard on the inside of his cheek as his eyes crossed the crater, eyes welling with tears again. It hurt that Phil, someone he saw once before he turned eighteen, was a better parental figure than his father had been. Hurt that he couldn’t accept his apology even though he desperately wanted to.

“ I’ll hold you to that- ”

Fundy stuttered through a sob. Even though it wasn’t very funny, Phil still laughed, which made him feel a little better. 

“Do you want a hug?”

Fundy nodded weakly and he was pulled closer, a hand resting at the back of his head while the other continued to massage shapes into his back. 

“S’okay, you can cry. Won't stain my shirt,”

Fundy cried as he let his weight fall onto Phil.

Chapter Text

Fundy woke with a cold sweat.

He sat up abruptly, orange comforter long-abandoned at the foot of his bed. He must’ve overheated in his sleep, his sheets and pillows pushed as far from his body as possible while barely remaining contained on the bed. Panic filled him as he stared up at his door.

Fundy went through his morning routine, as usual, getting dressed and stowing some bread and snacks and trinkets in his pockets. He made sure his hair wasn’t too matted when he looked in the mirror, combing through it roughly with his fingertips. He cleaned his teeth until his fangs sparkled and made his bed.

He knew he was stalling by the time he’d finished organizing his dresser drawers, too afraid to brave the outside world just yet. Opening the front door first thing in the morning was too difficult unless he was still half-asleep, too tired to reflect on past experiences. Too tired to hesitate.

It took him a few solid minutes to work up the confidence, but Fundy inhaled sharply as he forced his palm to push against the door, wincing slightly when the sun hit his face. 

No desert. Just home. He was safe.

He had to crumble to the ground with quickened breath and feel the grass between his fingers before he believed it, but he was safe for now. 

With slightly more confidence, Fundy adopted a grin and started his day. 

He didn’t have any plans, instead casually going for a walk down the prime path outside his house. It was still quiet, as despite his oversleeping, very few people lived nearby and none of them seemed to be awake. Though, he’d eventually find some chaos to insert himself in. A quiet day was a day where something had gone seriously wrong.

As Fundy had just begun enjoying his morning, he vividly and suddenly remembered the fact that his father was alive and his joy ceased.

Ah, right. He’s in danger again! 

Though, Will was elusive, so the chance of them crossing paths was seriously low. It was even when they lived within the same borders. Still, his self-assurance didn’t help his nerves. It never did. Now on edge, Fundy’s walking was filled with more purpose as he attempted to devise a plan for the day.

He dug in the pockets of his coat, hand landing on a slip of paper he hadn’t remembered putting there when he woke up. He unfolded it as he walked, slowing to a stop as he read a set of coordinates. Right.

“ You gonna be okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah,”

“You sure?”

“...”

“Listen, if you need a distraction in the morning you can come visit, but you need to get some sleep. Here’s the coords - Techno’s in hibernation, I think, so he won’t care,”

Phil! 

Fundy rushed up the steps to the nearest nether portal, following the haphazard paths to the portal that led closest to the coordinates. There was a lot of damage at the point where he stepped out, so Tommy had probably built it. He passed a giant sign of Drista’s name too, which made him laugh. His mood was already brighter at the promise of getting to spend time with Phil, not dampened by his bare footprints in the snow. 

When he ran up to the front steps of Phil’s cabin (a new addition to the structure that was added after the butcher army situation that he decided to not dwell on) there were very few seconds between his knocking and the opening of the door. When they made eye contact Phil smiled, surprised, as if he’d forgotten he’d asked Fundy to stop by. 

“Oh. Hey kiddo, what’s the occasion?”

Phil asked, a little scrutiny behind his words. Fundy was glad he was avoiding talking about yesterday. He didn’t really want to think about it.

“I’m bored , Phil,”

He groaned, dragging out his vowels. Not particularly a lie, but living in fear as you turn each corner wasn’t too fun. Phil rolled his eyes and stepped to the side to let his grandson in, closing the door behind him.

“You’ll just be more bored here, I’m not doing anything interestn’.”

Phil protested, pouring tea overly-sweetened with honey into a ceramic mug in the kitchen and pushing it into Fundy’s hands nonetheless. 

“I’m just working on some potions shit, holler if you need me - And don’t break anything,”

Fundy laughed and gave a vague agreement as Phil descended a short ladder in the other room. 

Fundy stretched his neck until he heard a sharp click, sighing at the release of nitrogen pockets that had built up from his bad posture. He was prepared to sprawl out on a nearby armchair and nap for a few hours, but he stopped himself in midair when he caught a glint in the corner of his eye. Across the room, there was a set of drawers, the surface of which was crowded with clutter. Shiny clutter. Fundy decided he’d intrude on privacy just a little and started pawing through the jewelry and trinkets he found. He’d opened a little ring box, hoping to find a shiny ring he could watch the light reflect off of but a small emerald earring tumbled out instead, falling to the floor.

“Better not be stealing in there,”

Fundy would never steal from Phil. Not because he was family - just because he knew he couldn’t beat him in a fight. He might be able to on a good day, or a bad day for Phil. Maybe if he was seriously injured, but then he’d feel a little bad. Just a little. Barely. He was about to reply with something noncommittal when another object caught his eye. Buried under a pile of woven necklaces and belongings unimportant to him were a pair of heavily broken-in and embroidered leather gloves. 

Leaves and vines curled around the backs and wrists, flowers sprouting from them around the knuckles. There were heavy creases around the joints and wrist from years and years of wear, a lighter color peeking through between lines of dark leather. Around the wrists were sturdy buckles made of a plated metal that made a nice click when Fundy opened them. 

“Can I have these?” 

He called, turning them in his hands slightly to watch the way the embroidery seemed to change colors in the light.

“What?”

Phil asked from the room below, and the floorboards creaked as he ascended the ladder. He opened his hand for the gloves, and when they dropped into his palm his eyes widened.

“Oh. Didn’t know I still had these,”

He inspected them slowly, a smile forming that made creases in the corners of his eyes. Like worn leather, Fundy noted. Creases that’d formed over years of wear.

“Used to be your dad’s, y’know-”

“ Seriously ?”

“Yeah. When he was younger and the three of us went - eh , me, Will, and techno - when we visited a nearby town that had a fair. He ran off and found ‘em in this little leatherwork stall,”

Phil didn’t notice how he was rambling, smiling as he looked above Fundy’s shoulder like he was watching the memories play back in his mind.

“And he begged for me to get them - and I said no - but Techno bought a pair when my back was turned and slipped them into his pocket,”

“Can I have them?”

Fundy asked again, and Phil dropped the gloves back into his hands.

“Sure. They wouldn’t fit me, I don’t have tiny baby hands”

“Tiny baby hands that’ll strangle you in your sleep, old man.”

Phil laughed with his full chest, having to hold onto the back of an armchair to stay upright. He kept his forearm pressed against it to stay stable, giving Fundy a contemptous sneer that he could tell was at least somewhat endearing. 

“You wouldn’t dare,”

“You never know, better keep one eye open tonight,”

“You little shit,”

Phil laughed through his words again, a little more to himself than to Fundy. Silence settled between the two for a few comfortable moments before he spoke up again. 

“Well, try them on, won’t you?”

Fundy pulled his father’s gloves up to his wrists, struggling to buckle them for a few seconds before Phil took his wrist in his hand and fixed it for him. Fundy held his hands up to his face and flexed them, watching the thread shimmer as he formed a fist. He liked the sound the leather made when it stretched. He repeated the action a few times over to hear it again. 

“Alright, I’ve got shit to do. Don’t steal anything else-

Not without asking, of course,”

Fundy watched Phil descend again, curling into the armchair and taking the nap he’d wanted to earlier with his hands cradled to his chest.