Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was not his fault. Seriously. Him walking willingly into the Winter Woods, (the epitome of forbidden land essentially,) was not Wilbur Soot's fault. Faith, trust, and pixie dust and shit, whatever he has to swear on for you to believe it, he will. 

It was an honest accident that involved Tommy flinging his things with his plant magic too far to catch and a few too many swears to be considered socially acceptable, but an accident nonetheless. He swears it. 

See, Wilbur thrives on mistakes, he drags Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo through plenty of them when he decides getting into trouble is a great hobby to invest in. It calms his need for adventure that often leaves him in dangerous places, and the younger fairies thrive in it as well, often causing more trouble than needed. 

When asked, a memory of Tommy playing with the sprinting thistles will come to mind, and another where Tubbo had nurtured a baby wolf, and another where Ranboo had stolen enough pixie dust from Quackity that he could make his house fly. Those had all been serious, but for the most part had been forgivable.

What isn’t forgivable is a broken wing. Those were forever, treated like a death sentence, and it feels like that's what Tommy has accidentally signed Wilbur up for. 

“Wilbur’s breaking laws and shit!” Tommy yells triumphantly anyway, hands in the air as Wilbur robotically walks to the edge of autumn, winces, and turns to shush him before he can step into the first of the snow. He can already feel the air getting cooler, and he blames the anxiety that makes him shiver on that instead. 

“You don’t need to announce it to the other seasons, Tommy!” Wilbur turns back, resolute, wings tensing in response to the sudden cold draft that pulls past. Tommy makes a discontent noise behind him.

“Don’t be such a whiny bitch, nobody’s gonna hear me, nobody comes close to the winter border beside the animal fairies, and they’ve all gone home for the day.” 

Wilbur wishes he could hold that same, nonchalant sentiment Tommy seems to hold onto, wishes he has the backbone to make Tommy get up and go grab his shit for him since he is the one that launched it in the first place.

 Instead, Tommy remains wading in the grass, growing flowers absent-mindedly and muttering endearing phrases to them. They open up and reach for him like they would for the sun, and Tommy gives the sun to them in the smile he creates just for them to see. As if none of this had even happened. The little prick. 

Wilbur shuffles forward and tries to ignore Tommy behind him, because Tommy is right, he thinks begrudgingly. There's nobody around to witness The Great Fairy Crime™ except Tommy, and Tommy would keep a secret like this with his life. Or he wouldn't, and Wilbur was about to get snitched on in front of his entire friend group.

Logically, stepping into forbidden land has never sounded more safe in his life. But there’s a reason it's forbidden isn’t there? There’s a reason nobody hangs around by the border, why winter and summer fairies never converse more than necessary, why interests are far away from cold snow and broken wings and onto what they’ve always known. Winter was dangerous, therefore, there should be no affairs with it. Wilbur agrees with that much, considering he’s never been around to experience it and hasn’t planned to until now. 

The director will have his head if he loses his instruments, and he’d hate to trouble the tinker fairies for something as small as a lyre and reeds, especially when the instruments are just a few steps in and nothing more. Besides, could anything really happen? He doubts the cold could chill him past the point of recovery in a matter of seconds.  

Wilbur breathes in long and deep despite himself, making a firm decision before he wastes any more time by chickening out, and steps into fresh snow. And it's exhilarating. (Deep down, Wilbur knows this is something he should be treating with respect that rests upon a sturdy foundation of fear, but what is Wilbur but weak for unnecessary risks that often end in accusations and judgment? There's something in his daredevil heart that latches onto this feeling with an iron grip, refuses to let it go, lets himself enjoy it, falls in love with something so mysterious and precious and fragile, and maybe this is why he becomes so determined.)

He hears Tommy whoop and holler and continue to chatter as Wilbur pauses to adjust, allowing a tremor to pass through to accommodate the new feeling of cold into his body. It’s not entirely unpleasant, the air feels light and clear in his lungs and the cold almost feels refreshing and calming against the new wave of emotions that swell in his chest and warms him from the inside out. It brings light goosebumps on his skin in a way only music can do to him, reverent and excited and joyful, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he jots down an idea or two for a composition he'd like to turn into a song later. 

There's a gentle snow falling that convinces Wilbur that he's entered a whole new world entirely, and it takes Wilbur seconds before he can even move . He can't help but follow snowflakes with his eyes from the sky until it settles on the ground below, and something feels indisputably right about it, (Though Wilbur isn't quite sure what would be considered wrong,) feels so much like something he's meant to experience that it aches in his bones. And it all renders him so speechless that the only thing he can think is that this isn’t so bad…

But then he remembers that he can’t dwell on this newfound wonder for long, so he steps forward and reaches for his instruments, enjoys the sensation of the snow that sticks to his fingers as it melts, and then reaches for the next one. Once he has them all, he puts them all into the bag he has wrapped around his shoulders. Then he turns back, looks up to Tommy as he makes the ten or so steps back to autumn, but pauses when he meets his eyes. 

Tommy is slack-jawed, he sputters and spits and tries to get words out but he can’t, and that by itself worries Wilbur since he was chittering animatedly only a few seconds ago. Tommy is looking at something behind him, so Wilbur turns to look at whatever Tommy is looking at, except there’s nothing there, which unsettles him even more. 

“What?” he says, turning back to Tommy again to shoot him a look. He wonders if Tommy's gone mad, and knowing Tommy, he very well could have. 

“Your wings,” Tommy responds stupidly, eyes wide, shaking his head as if to correct faulty vision.

“My wings,” Wilbur states flatly, turning to look at the culprit in question.

And to be fair, how could he fucking miss them, Wilbur thinks as he takes his turn to stare at them. They glow a bright blue and illuminate the snow falling around him. He flicks them around and the light doesn't flicker out like he thinks it will, ignores the chilly air sinking into them as he does, completely entranced by them.

He's never experienced this before, doesn't know anybody who has. Which is weird, Wilbur has lived in Pixie Hollow for years now, has remembered countless trips to the mainland, and many more seasons he got to help change, encountered beasts and fairies of every origin and so much more, and yet… he's never seen anything like this. This glowing thing has never been a thing he's heard of, and some important feeling that Wilbur can't put a name to swells in his chest, cracks him open, and somehow still makes him feel whole. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there staring at them stupidly, but it must be long enough for Tommy to snap out of it because suddenly Wilbur is surged forward by a pull at his wrist and into Tommy’s arms and consequently into Autumn again. The cold that had started to sting was now being satiated, warmth pooling on his skin from the dying sunlight. His glasses start fogging up from how he’s situated into Tommy’s chest, and once he’s snapped back into it, he jerks away to look at him, bewildered. 

“Sorry Wil, you were starting to shake, didn’t want you t’ get too cold.” Tommy looks worried, eyes scanning him over, then peering over Wilbur’s shoulder to presumably gaze at his wings again. Wilbur goes to do the same, but when he looks back, his wings are back to normal again, only reflecting whatever light was left in the sky. 

"Aw, were you worried about me, Tommy?" Wilbur teases to get a grip on something that screams normalcy, too distracted by what once was. He scrambles to find some sort of explanation, feels even more frustrated when his mind turns up blank and leaves him on read. 

“What the fuck even was that, was that some sort of party trick?” Tommy says as he ignores Wilbur, huffing out a laugh as if that would take away the absurdity of the situation. Wilbur meets Tommy’s eyes then, searching for some sort of answer within the blue he finds there, as if Tommy would have anything helpful to contribute to whatever the fuck just happened. 

“N-no, that’s never happened to me,” Wilbur says, grabbing at his bag’s straps so he has something to fiddle the nervous energy out with. “Do you know what that means?”

Tommy shakes his head, disturbing the petals that rest behind his ear. “S’ weird, innit?” He shrugs it off almost too easily, “Must’ve been the sun or something," he says in the same attempt to hold onto something consistent and moves on almost too quickly for Wilbur's liking. Wilbur doesn’t feel like shutting down what hasn’t been resolved yet. He’s thoroughly confused and intrigued and empty , every part of him screaming for some sort of answer, some solution that could put his mind to rest. He knows he's going to overthink this- they glowed bright fucking blue, the sun couldn't have done that, could it - he knows he's going to blow this out of proportion- and even if it could, the sun was blocked by the horizon, dim and sleepy, waiting for the moon to take its place so it could rest - knows this is going to be the next thing that takes over his life and gets him into every sort of trouble- was there enough light to accomplish a glow like that? Had there been a light fairy nearby or...

“Surely it had to be something else.” Wilbur tries, unsure if he's encouraging the conversation with himself or Tommy. He feels quiet and unsure, but he’s not sure how to convey how unsettled he feels in a way that won’t make Tommy worry. Because at the end of the day, no matter how dismissive Tommy acts, Tommy listens and cares. If it worries his friends, he’s worried about it, and that’s what Wilbur has to decide if he wants or not. 

Tommy gives him a sympathetic look, which is rare in and of itself, and places a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder that’s probably meant to be comforting. “I’m sure it was nothing Wil, it’ll be okay.”

There are several alarm bells ringing in his head that say otherwise, but Wilbur is tired and he wants his brain to quiet down about this because surely Tommy is right, this is nothing. So Wilbur decides it’s nothing, and it stays nothing. 

_

So, funny story, Wilbur can’t seem to let this whole thing go. He tries to, don’t get him wrong. He tries so hard to ignore looking behind him as he flies from his home in the autumn to his work in the summer, tries to not gaze at his wings for too long as he sprinkles pixie dust over them after meals, tries to pluck his lyre without remember it laying in the soft snow. But the thought of it doesn’t leave him, if anything it drives him more insane. 

He watches other fairies fly past the sun and pays obsessive attention to their wings as they do, watching for any of that blue glow phenomenon that he can’t seem to find the meaning of. He asks all his friends about it when he gets the chance (and allows himself to laugh along with poor wingless Ranboo when he jokes that he has, in fact, not ever had that happen to him.) He even visits the healing fairies to have his wings checked, and is both elated and dismayed to learn that there was nothing wrong with them.

It just never sat right with him, something about it felt like there was something more to it no matter how much he smothered the idea of it in his head. And so he dwells on it, vents about it to Phil one night when he shows up to his house unprompted and had been welcomed in with open arms. 

“I just don’t understand it, Phil, it’s made me upset.” Phil chuckles in response. Wilbur’s already sour expression falls further even though there is nothing to suggest Phil meant it in a malicious way. 

“Sorry,” Phil apologizes as he busies himself with cooking the food in his oven, genuine and kind, and that quells any of the frustration that has risen in Wilbur’s throat. “Could it have been a reaction? Like, does that happen to summer fairies when they cross over to winter?”

Wilbur groans, burying his face in his arms, wings flicking irritably. “I asked Tubbo if he had ever experienced it, told him about what I did. He said when he crossed-” Phil makes a noise to say I’m not surprised, “- that his wings never lit up like that.”

Phil hums, taking a ladle and pouring the stew into two bowls. He walks over to Wilbur and gives him one of them, then seats himself across from him and sets his own bowl down. “That is odd. Do you think it’s dangerous?” He tilts his head, bringing the spoonful of broth to his mouth without glancing at it. Wilbur is thankful for the attention and the soup, so he gathers some broth in his spoon and raises it as if to say cheers. 

“Tommy doesn’t seem to think so, and I visited George and the healing fairies, and they both said there wasn’t anything wrong with my wings.”

Phil gives him a look, one so undeniably fond and amused that Wilbur feels a little more at ease. “I asked if you think it’s dangerous.” Wilbur stumbles at that, furrowing his eyebrows in thought as he sips his stew. He takes his time thinking about it simply because he doesn’t know , and Phil is happy to give him all the time he needs, swallowing stew and writing on a leaf to fill in the silence. 

“I don’t think it is.” Wilbur starts, and Phil puts down the charcoal in favor of listening. “It hasn’t happened again since the first time, and it didn’t hurt at all if only a little cold.” He looks up from his stew to check that Phil is still listening and finds that Phil hasn’t looked away since he first began, listening without any visible judgment on his face. He continues, “It’s just that I have this feeling that this is important, and I can’t seem to get rid of it. Like...it's like something is missing. ”

Phil hums, looks away once Wilbur has made it clear that he’s done talking. “Have you tried looking in the library? I'm sure there's gotta be an answer there.”

Wilbur groans, something almost akin to a whine. "It's too boringgg…"

 Phil huffs, laughs at him affectionately, Wilbur ignores how warm it makes him feel whenever Phil reacts that way towards him. 

“It's just the library Wil, it's all organized. How hard could it be to find what you're looking for?"

_

Philza fucking Minecraft is on Wilbur's permanent shit list. You think he's nice and warm, you think he's kind as he holds your hand all the way to the library, thinks he's gentle as he promises to help you look, thinks he's loving as he laughs fondly at a joke you've said. No, it was all just a ploy, all manipulation and gaslighting and gatekeeping and whatever other bad psychology words Wilbur could think of. 

Wilbur and Phil are there for hours. From dusk to dawn, they do nothing but read and read and read, and for what? There is nothing to blame but the sheer amount of books that are registered there, piled high on shelves taller than Phil and Wilbur and probably their entire friend group combined. 

Wilbur will never ever give the bookkeeping fairies shit ever again. Not that he ever has, but now he never will. 

Sure, he likes reading. It was an okay pastime, one he didn't receive much time to indulge in but liked nonetheless. Writing was fun too, he scribbled staffs and treble clefs so often that he had stacks of papers and leaves of unfinished songs lying around his house. But this? This is just downright painful. 

There are so many topics to sift through, and even then there’s a select few that even mention wings, which is fucking stupid because they’re fucking fairies. He’s convinced that without Phil there with him he’d get nowhere pretty fast, and even then they are getting nowhere only slightly slower. 

“Not sure if I have anything about glowing wings,” Charlie had said from behind his stack of books, flapping desperately so he was able to reach his desired shelf. Wilbur was impressed with how strong Charlie could be despite looking like twigs that were glued together to make a fairy. Damn night shifts, leaving Charlie alone like that. Mad respect for him, the absolute G. “But there is a section all about wings, look for authors in T, there should be a good book there.”

Which was great and all, yeah, that was significantly better than searching through all 25 other letters of the fucking alphabet and it at least gave them a starting point, but there were also countless books under T, and seeing the enormous shelf they had to house them all, Wilbur felt smaller than a fairy should normally feel. 

“Fucking hell, who writes all these books?” Phil mutters, already sounding like he’s regretting his promise. Wilbur snorts. 

“You sure your old fairy eyes can get through all these book titles?” Wilbur receives a rude hand gesture before Phil flies to the top, bending a stream of moonlight that breaks through the leaves that make up the ceiling to read the titles better. Rude. Typical light fairies. 

Wilbur decides that splitting up might make this process faster, so he stays where he is at the end of the T names, and scans the shelf for anything that could link itself to wing knowledge. It takes moments of silence before either find anything, and even then, most of them are about proper wing care and things most fairies know about, like don’t get your wings wet and pixie dust does blah blah and fairies fly and blah blah blah blah blue dust blah blah blah , lots of stuff Wilbur doesn’t care about because it doesn’t seem to answer his question about glowing wings. 

They read them all anyway, because some chance of skimming over it is worse than no chance, and by the time morning rolls around, both Phil and Wilbur are bleary-eyed and begging for some sort of reprieve. 

“I swear to fucking god,” Phil starts, ignoring the bookkeeping fairies that are flying in to start working. “If I read one more passage about the proper way to wash my wings I’m going to cry. Seriously, why are there so many different ways? Which one is the proper way? Why do these authors care so much? Who goes to the library to read about this?” Wilbur thinks he's about to combust because those are really good questions. They are, really, and Phil has every fucking right to ask them like the absolute king he is. Chin up Phil, your crown is falling. 

But he isn't asking or finding anything about glowing wings. 

Wilbur promptly slams his head into the table where his open book rests. He can't see, but he knows Phil winces at him. 

“Hey, Phil, did you know that if you get your wings wet, you can’t fly until they dry? Because I didn’t, it took reading it for the hundredth time to learn that.” Wilbur isn’t sure whether his joke is funny, or if Phil is cackling because he’s delirious, or if it's from the pain of reading it so many times. 

“Bruh.” Is all he contributes to that, flipping the page to his book and scanning the words written there, as if it'll be any different from the words printed in any of the other books. 

Wilbur giggles too, albeit tiredly, grasping at whatever strings of alertness he can grab. He's delirious as well, which is decidedly not the best mental state to be in when pulling an all-nighter-study-session with dad. But he has no choice; it's either staying up and reading the night away or postponing all of this and tossing and turning with all of his thoughts jumbled like he had been every night before this. What he needs is closure. And he's going to fucking get it. 

So he shuts his book, flies to go find its place on the shelf, (Because somewhere after the thirtieth book, Wilbur started feeling bad for the bookkeeping fairies who would have to clean their mess,) and searches for the next one to skim through. 

Finally, some luck seems to find him, because just a few books down from the old one was a bright red one labeled, Wing Phenomena: History, Maintaining, and Glowing. At first, it barely registers to him, too tired to even connect the dots between the title and his goal, but once he thinks about it for half a minute, his face brightens.

Too excited, he shouts, “Phil! I found it!” Shushes explode throughout the library, and Wilbur flushes at the reminder that he wasn’t the only other person in the library anymore, and that there were others that he had to pay mind to. “Sorry,” he half shouts, and he takes the silence as their forgiveness. 

Phil zips up to meet him anyway, buzzing with energy Wilbur wasn’t aware Phil still had.

“Oh my god, you got it!” he whisper-yells, takes Wilburs wrist, and zips back down to the table where there was a cleared-out spot for him.

Wilbur doesn’t hesitate to open it, nodding minutely at the name of the author printed on the first page that he vaguely recognizes after reading so many books. 

“Is there an Index or a chapter page?” Phil asks, crowding over Wilbur's shoulder to look as well. Wilbur doesn’t mind though, huffing fondly. If anything, his limbs that are shutting down crave some sort of physical contact, so he leans closer under the guise that Phil will see it better. If Phil cares he doesn't voice it. 

“Let me check.”

The second page is fruitful, naming the chapters and a brief summary of its contents along with its page number, and Wilbur once again thanks the author in his head as if he were there in front of him. He scans through the chapters before reaching the last one, named and captioned Chapter Seven: Wing Glowing and Other Strange Events , then next to it, Page 69 .

Wilbur immediately flips to it, eager to finally get some sort of answer to his question, and deflates when he finds that pages 66 to page 83 have been demolished, and both he and Phil wail at the misfortune. Wilbur's heart sinks, and his wings mimic the motion, drooping towards the ground. 

“Oh what the fuck!" Phil shouts and glares at the fairy who shushes him for it. Wilbur just groans, letting whatever energy he had gathered from excitement scurry away. He slams his head down and attempts to just go to sleep before he explodes into a cloud of fiery rage. He barely registers as Phil takes the book out from under him and walks up to the front counter. Faintly, he can hear the soft conversations of, “Excuse me, this book has had lots of pages torn out, is there any chance you have another copy?”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry sir, we’ve been having bookworm problems recently, and there’s also been this fire fairy that comes in and singes the bo- my apologies, we don’t have another copy, we’ll have to wait until the next shipment from the winter fairies since this is a winter fairy author-”

Wilbur groans louder, feels a little guilty that he's dragged Phil to pull an all-nighter over something so trivial, and Phil pretends he doesn't notice from across the room. “Thank you for your time.”

_

Wilbur isn’t quite sure why he kept the book. In all honesty, he despises it. Taunting him like that, what fucking nerves does this book have?

He sits on the edge of a petal that makes up Tommy’s roof and relaxes to the familiar sound of bickering amongst Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy himself. It’s not harmful at all, just over something silly about how Tommy was so offended Tubbo had taken his Forget-Me-Not seeds, and how Tubbo hadn’t done that, and how Ranboo had no say in the matter. Frankly, Wilbur hadn’t cared enough, had woken up from a long nap after the long night of research, and dreamt about nothing but wings and winter and glowing.

He hadn’t expected this to haunt him that bad, not at all. Yeah, he was intrigued at first, if not hyper-focused, but with how much of himself he’s put into finding this answer, he’s too frustrated to stop now, determined that this glowing has to mean something important, and no matter how fate hates him so, he’s going to find out whatever glowing wings have in store for him. 

Wilbur’s petal dips further down, hinting at the presence of another fairy, and Wilbur takes his eyes off the book in his hands to greet Tubbo silently. 

“Sup’ Wilbur Soot.” Tubbo brushes shoulders with him, and Wilbur takes the rare physical contact from him as an attempt to be comforting, so he smiles to commend the effort. “Still trying to find out about the wings?”

Wilbur’s smile vanishes, flattens into an annoyed line. “There’s nothing yet. This is the only book I could find on it, and it's chewed out so I have to wait a month for the next copy since the author is from the winter season.”

Tubbo winces, “Damn, that sucks, want me to give those bookworms a few words? I'll kick their ass.” Wilbur snorts. 

"No you won't, you love bugs too much."

"Yeah, when they're not terrorizing my friends' books, I mean look at it!" Tubbo swipes the book out of Wilbur’s hands and flips through it. "They ate through a whole chapter and a half! They're getting greedy!" Wilbur laughs- though it lacks any real joy- and plucks the book from Tubbo's hands. 

“They said they'd have a new copy by next month, but I’m not sure how long I can wait for this Tubbo, it’s driving me crazy.” Wilbur puts the book away in his bag, then curls in on himself so he can comfortably squish his face into his knees.

This is probably the most distressed Tubbo- or any of his friends for that matter- have seen him, and he tries to make up for it by not letting them worry about it. But that's hard to do when he drifts off in every conversation, when Wilbur starts rattling facts about wings every chance he gets. He knows it's worrying, knows that Tommy glances at him with something akin to panic, that Phil hasn't quite stopped searching for an answer himself, and Wilbur wishes they could both just settle down so he could figure this out without dragging them all into something probably futile. 

Tubbo hums, seemingly considering something. “Couldn’t you just… I dunno, write them a letter?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “Author's a hermit, they only allow select imports.” He says, paraphrasing the harrowing conversation between him and the messenger and tinker fairies, “Not many people know much about them except they prefer to be alone and they spend their time studying everything they can. Makes sense as to why they’re the only fairy to have studied the glowing wings thing.” Tubbo nods, shuffles so he’s leaning back and looking towards the sun. They’ve entered golden hour, where everything is painted in yellow to warn everyone that the sun will be setting soon.

“Have you thought about finding them?”

Wilbur’s head shoots up, throwing an accusatory look towards his friend. Tubbo holds his hands up. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, you know I’ve crossed a few times.”

Wilbur looks at him incredulously, wings twitching. “You said you did it once .”

“...shit, okay I do it all the time, but I don’t go far!” Wilbur raises a disbelieving eyebrow, which only seems to make Tubbo even more defensive. “I just go to see Micheal, and that’s it, Boo does it too!”

“‘Boo’ doesn’t have wings, Tubbo, he’s not at risk. Who’s Micheal?”

Tubbo mumbles something aggressive under his breath about Ranboo that Wilbur snorts at before elaborating that “Micheal is a boar we got attached to…"

“A boar-!”

“This close to Pixie Hollow? I know, I know! But Micheal is sweet and a baby and harmless!” Tubbo pouts, and Wilbur rolls his eyes. It doesn’t do much to chase away the fear he feels for his friend. 

“Typical animal fairy behavior.” He snickers anyway.

“Shut the fuck up your wings are fucking broken and you’re shit.”

Wilbur laughs then, bubbling out of his stomach and filling the air, and Tubbo is just glad that Wilbur is smiling again. 

“But seriously, I have a coat you can tuck your wings into, you could go into winter and find them, I know a way you can take so nobody can see you cross the border.”

“Tubbo, this is a crime, you know that right? We can get into serious trouble for this.” Wilbur reiterates, because yes, trouble is good. Wilbur on any other day would be happy to commit a small inconvenient crime with Tommy by his side. But this? This was real. If he got caught, there was a high chance everything could be taken from him and Tubbo, including Micheal, including Wilbur’s chances to find out whatever the fuck this wing thing is about.

Tubbo tilts his head mockingly, entertaining the ideas that Wilbur must have been thinking about out loud because he’s got that look in his eyes that promises nothing but trouble. 

“I know.” It’s defiant enough to be mistaken for apathy, but Wilbur knows Tubbo cares more than he lets on, affectionate and considerate and lovely. So if anything, Wilbur is grateful to be so high up in Tubbo’s priorities. 

“Then let’s do it.” Wilbur agrees, warm, and Tubbo grins wickedly. 

_

Tubbo is a good tailor, especially for someone making a heavy coat to be worn the next fucking day. It’s comfy and it fits nicely, the cloak underneath long enough to be fashionable and hide Wilbur’s wings so they wouldn’t freeze. Wilbur almost mistakes Tubbo for a tinker, but then forgets the thought entirely when a squirrel bumps into the house while they're talking and Tubbo has to go pet it and talk to it for an hour. Wilbur smiles and watches, and it's in a moment like these where he feels like the weight of this situation doesn't rest directly on his shoulder. He allows himself to breathe, and it's the first time the air feels as light as Winter's since he's stepped in it.  

Not only is he diligent, but Tubbo is also a genius for orchestrating the rabbit tunnels. They start at the outskirts of autumn and end in the outskirts of winter, and all Wilbur had to do was drop off some of the greens Tubbo had given him to feed the families of bunnies living there and he was free to use them whenever he liked. 

He pops up out of the snow, and the first thing he notices is the well-defined path that was probably the way towards Micheal, and though he trusted Tubbo with his life, Wilbur was not about to go meet a boar. So he settles for going the other direction. 

But, just to be sure, before he takes a step anywhere, he peels off his coat and cloak- just for a second- to peer at his wings. They don’t glow, only shiver for a moment at the loss of heat, and Wilbur can’t tell if that frustrates him or thrills him. He settles on a faint disappointment that chills his bones further, so he slides on his coat and crawls fully out of the rabbit hole so he can get started. 

Yep… getting started ...

Okay so he’s not quite sure where he's supposed to go. He doesn't know where this author lives in the slightest, only sure that he doesn’t live where most fairies live in the center of the season. Which, if Wilbur is honest, works out great for him, because like this author he’s dying to meet, he’s not sure he wants to talk to too many fairies either. 

But, on the other hand, the wilderness takes up more than half of the winter season, so that only increases the amount of land he needs to search, and Wilbur couldn't fly.

So, he does about all he can do. He picks a random direction, and he wanders. Yeah, as you can probably imagine, it’s not the most efficient process.

He wanders and wanders and wanders, and his feet ache because he’s never had to walk so long without flying and his wings want to stretch and feel the air in between them and…

It’s about as miserable and awkward as can be expected.

About half the day is wasted when Wilbur happens across another fairy. It’s just one, so he figures it doesn’t hurt when they find him bundled in his blue coat. They fly close to him, smile at him when they deem Wilbur as not a threat or passing as a winter fairy, Wilbur’s not really sure. 

“Hello, I haven’t seen you around before, you look a little lost.” The fairy says, and Wilbur gulps. 

“Ah, yeah, I’m from around town so I’m not too sure where I’m going when I’m in the woods.” 

It must be the wrong thing to say, because the fairy frowns and nods their head to the left of Wilbur, right where he had been coming from. “Town is that way, is that what you’re looking for?” The fairy keeps their head tilted in confusion. Wilbur can't help but feel like he's being searched for something. 

Shit. “N-no, actually I’m looking for this fairy.” Wilbur pulls the book from his bag and holds it out for the stranger to see. Once they do, they smile like they’re holding back some sort of laughter. 

“That’s a hard fairy to get a hold of.” They say, head still tilted, but amused this time. Wilbur continues to feel perceived. 

“So I’ve heard.” Wilbur laughs and hopes it doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. His wings twitch underneath his cloak. “I just have a question for them, an important one.”

The fairy raises their eyebrows. “So I’m supposing you want to know where you can find him.” Wilbur nods, skeptical. He feels like he’s being played with, like this is some punchline to a joke he doesn’t know yet, and he’s not a fan of it. 

“What’s the question?” They ask, and Wilbur jerks, shoulders jumping. 

“Why do you want to know?” Wilbur asks, thrown off guard.

The fairy shrugs, fluttering in the air with a smile on their face. “Just curious, was wondering if I could answer it myself.”

Wilbur gives them a look, before deciding he doesn’t have anything to lose by keeping his question a secret. “Just wanted to know what glowing wings mean-” The fairy’s face falls. Wilbur goes on, taking their expression as a form of not knowing, because what else did Wilbur expect? Nobody else knows the answer to his damn question. “-the only answer I could find was in this book, but it was from the library and it was damaged-”

“I’ll tell you where he lives.” The fairy says suddenly, flying down to finally stand on the same ground as Wilbur. Wilbur jumps, “You know where he lives?”

The fairy nods. “I’m his best friend, pretty sure I’m his only friend.” They snicker, then, “Go that way for a while, you’ll find a large pine. That’s where he lives.”  He points behind him, across the lake of ice and towards a range of mountains. “Just let him know that Skeppy sent you, He’ll listen to you then.” 

Wilbur nods, dumbfounded. He feels like he’s passed a test, though he’s not quite sure what test he’s passed at all, or what the answer had been. “Thank you.” He says anyway, not quite believing his luck. The fairy- Wilbur assumes his name was Skeppy- nods and smiles, and then Wilbur is off, trying to shake off any awkwardness or bewilderment that had clung to him before he left. 

“Tell Techno when you get there to invite me over again, I miss him!”

_

Wilbur thought that this pine would be regular-sized at least, even if “large pine” was the description he was given. He hadn’t expected “large pine” to mean a big ass tree that rivaled the Pixie Dust tree back at home. 

It towers over all the other trees around it, tall and thick and probably as old as time, and Wilbur can’t help but gently run his fingers over the rough bark. He disturbs the minute amounts of snow that have clung too close to the juts in the bark, then looks up in search of an entranceway. 

He’s hoping for it to be within his reach since he needs to limit the amount of time he spends flying, if any at all. (The thought of it sends a chill down his spine and through his wings, and Wilbur wishes the biting cold had been the exhilarating chill he had first experienced when he had first stepped into winter. He doesn't care for the looming threat of the cold one bit.) It's unlikely, since flying is such a huge part of fairy life, and therefore is utilized much more than necessary. 

Which is a huge inconvenience in situations like now, when flying could make everything about this process so much more efficient. (Wilbur faintly wonders how on Earth Ranboo does it all. Not many fairies have broken wings, and Ranboo had been the first recorded fairy to have been born without the gift of flying. This is the closest thing Wilbur will ever get to true empathy.)

It doesn't matter, because after circling the trunk of the tree and putting Wilbur's ridiculous amount of luck to the test, he finds that the door isn’t up towards the sky like most fairies houses were, rather, it was situated on the ground, covered in snow like it was rarely used. (Wilbur isn’t sure if that’s a winter fairy culture thing or if this Technoblade had taken every precaution necessary to feel hidden from other fairies' eyes, but he finds himself not being overly judgemental anyways, too caught up in his current mission.)

Since Wilbur can’t find much else to do to amend himself- a consequence of being so last-minute- he slowly makes his way to the door, nerves eating at whatever mock confidence he can make for himself. 

Mindlessly, he knocks at the door trying to pretend he was anyone but himself, someone worthy of a scholar’s attention. He knows he’s not exactly that, more of a stranger than anything else, so he squares his shoulders, tenses his wings, tilts his head up to become the epitome of confidence and importance, and he doesn’t get much more time to steel himself before the door swings open and a fairy jabs a sewing needle in his direction. 

There’s no hesitation in their stature, eyes cold as Wilbur stumbles back in surprise and finds himself at the sharp end of a lost-thing. He falls back into the snow with a shriek, and the threatening fairy almost laughs at it, before collecting themselves and grunting out “How did you find this place, who are you?”

Wilbur’s fake confidence drains out of him in an instant, shoulders slumping and words jumbling upon his tongue. He’s more than terrified, finding that he would most rather meet Micheal the boar than whoever this fairy was. 

Wilbur never made it far with threats. Sure, he could talk himself out of any altercation, charm his way into any persuasion, but when it came to actual life-threatening situations, Wilbur struggles to find what comes so easily to him, struggles to speak coherently, struggles to construct and communicate, and he finds it even harder when there’s sharp metal pointed to the tip of his nose. It’s not an ideal situation, not at all. It’s his Achilles heel to his strength, and though it’s never really taken advantage of in day-to-day conversation, he finds his luck has run out to pick him off in the most specific of moments. 

He struggles for a few seconds before managing a “My name is Wilbur, I came to ask a question.” Because he had, hadn’t he? He was here to find out what glowing wings meant, that was his whole reason for being at needle-point. He is now reconsidering the importance of his visit, however. 

The fairy tilts his head, long braided pink hair shuffling around on his shoulder. "A question." They deadpan, voice low and dangerous. Their eyes scrunch up as if they don't understand, and Wilbur worries that he's got the wrong fairy. 

"You are Technoblade, aren't you?" He asks, and he's not sure if he should be happy when he receives a curt nod and a scathing gaze. 

"I am, but why do you look for me, and how did you find me?" The needle doesn't move, nor does it act less threatening now that they're exchanging pleasantries, but at least they're getting somewhere, Wilbur thinks. 

"I found a fairy named Skeppy-" He doesn't get to explain any further before Technoblade sighs loudly and tilts his head to the sky like it's wronged him. "Of course you did." He says flatly, and the needle is reluctantly dragged away as Technoblade steps back, and Wilbur feels like he can breathe again. 

He gets a few seconds to study him then, as Technoblade takes a few steps back and shoots him a heatless glare. There's not much to the fairy at all, strong build and reading glasses hanging from his cape that hides his wings. He frowns, and Wilbur assumes that he does often if the bags under his eyes and practiced distaste are anything to go by. 

"What's your question." It's less of a question and more of a reluctant demand, dry and without the interest that a polite conversation would normally hold,, but at this point Wilbur isn't looking for a perfect conversation, he just wants to get an answer and get out. Wilbur promptly pulls the book from his bag as he stands up and out of the snow. 

"I read this book of yours and-"

"I don't do autographs," Technoblade says it like it's practiced, like he's asked it quite often, and Wilbur can't help but snort. It feels an awful lot like laughing in the face of danger, so the amusement doesn’t stay for long.  

"No, no, it's a library book, I don't want to damage it more. " Wilbur jokes anyway, some part of his mind yelling at him for speaking with no regard for his personal safety, but he swears he can see the corners of Technoblade's mouth jerk up before falling flat again, and that's all he needs to enable himself. Though he refuses to let his guard down, he revels in the tiny amount of relief that drips into his blood. "But the part that I need to know about got eaten by bookworms, and nobody else fuckin' writes about glowing wings so…" 

There’s a lot that he’s left out, but he came here for just one question, and after he was so warmly welcomed, that’s all he’s hoping to get. 

Technoblade takes all of that in, (and it takes a minute . Wilbur doesn’t think it requires that much thought, and so he’s a little unnerved as to why Technoblade is looking at him like he’s two unfinished jigsaw puzzles mixed together,) and raises his eyebrows. "Why would you need to know about glowin' wings?" He sounds genuinely confused and intrigued, eyes widened in some sort of surprise, which is a stark contrast to five seconds before when Wilbur could have told him that Pixie Hollow was being destroyed by pirates and get nothing more than a bat of an eye as a response. 

That's a hard question to ask without giving a long-ass answer, and an even harder one when Wilbur needs to filter out any incriminating context.  

Wilbur is mulling over what he could possibly say, before Technoblade has some sort of visible epiphany. "Wait, bookworms? Bookworms are from the warm seasons," he states, and well fuck. 

Wilbur stiffens, laughs nervously, and tries to backtrack. "Did I say bookworms? I meant uh-" Man, Wilbur really should have thought this through; he’s fucked himself. The dread builds up in his chest and drags his stomach to the ground, and it's disappointed and ugly and that unbearable empty that he's been plagued with for a week now. He’s cold and shivering and not even bothering to hide it anymore, and maybe it's for the best that he just goes home. 

Technoblade clicks his tongue. "You came from Summer to ask me about glowing wings? " Wilbur tries to hear it in a different tone, one that doesn't sound so scandalous or accusatory. 

"Technically Autumn," the music fairy corrects, eyes cast away to avoid any sort of contact. He's expecting to be told on, or at the very least escorted out of winter with a warning, and is thoroughly surprised when Technoblade doesn't do that, rather walks to his front door and motions inside. Wilbur stands there lamely, not quite understanding. 

"Well?" Technoblade asks, tilting his head. "You gonna come in, or are you going to break your warm fairy wings out here?" 

Wilbur's mind reels back into the present, and for a minute he gets a reprieve to think clearly. 

"What, so you can use your sharp thing on me? " He says, and he keeps his eyes glued to the lost-thing in question. He's never seen a lost thing quite like that, so he's not really sure what humans use it for, or how fairies use it in practice, but it's sharp and pointy and he doesn't want to find out what it can do to him . 

"If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be hurt pretty bad by now." Technoblade huffs. Wilbur isn't sure if he feels terrified or if he wants to challenge that. 

"Well, you were swinging that thing pretty close to my face." He responds thickly, eyes narrowed. 

Technoblade rolls his eyes and leans against his doorframe. “Forgive me for not being the most socially inept. I don’t exactly welcome visitors to my home that often, hence living somewhere remote. ”

“'Socially inept,' you were threatening me.”

“I’d like to think of it as intimidation, ” and then Wilbur is laughing, somewhere in between genuine amusement and bewilderment. This couldn’t be happening, this fairy was an actual psychopath. 

“If it’d make you feel better, I can leave the lost thing at the door.” Technoblade says flatly, drawing his hands away from his weapon as Wilbur eyes him carefully, hating that he starts to realize nothing will happen if he doesn't take some sort of risk. 

"Thank you," Wilbur responds just as flatly, accepting there’s no getting an answer without making some sort of compromise here. If anything, this gives him the advantage. He’ll be more of his element, and he realizes that as soon as he can feel the warmth of the cabin drifting out of the open door and dispersing into the chilly air around him.

He enters and relishes the warmth of a fire in the fireplace, cozy and warm in only the way winter can make it. He doesn’t look at Technoblade as he passes, not wanting to give any attention to whatever smug emotion is plastered on his face, if any. 

It's not too warm inside the tree, (it would be decidedly too warm for Technoblade then,) but it's not cold enough to shatter his wings if he uses them for only short amounts of time, so he shrugs off his coat but leaves the cloak on so it's easier to pull his wings out if it's necessary. (He leaves them covered for now because he doesn't quite trust the temperature or Technoblade for that matter, and perhaps that is well-deserved.) Technoblade makes no move to remove his cloak either, and Wilbur chalks it up to be a comfort thing, or at least for the same reasons he’s concluded upon.  

Technoblade follows behind him and leans his needle against the doorframe as promised before offering a seat at the table near his kitchen, and Wilbur takes it graciously. 

"Do warm fairies really not know what the wings glowing thing is?" Technoblade asks. Wilbur wonders why he sounds so astonished. Then again, he’s had next to no interaction with any Winter Fairy culture, so he’s definitely out of his league here. For all he knows, glowing wings were a common greeting that he somehow involuntarily indulged in. 

"No, at least none of my friends do, nor the healing fairies,” Technoblade looks more than bewildered at that, “Is it a winter fairy thing?" Wilbur tilts his head, and Techno snorts at his question, amused. 

"No, not at all. It's actually much rarer than that." Technoblade gives him kind eyes which Wilbur feels much too privileged to receive for someone who's invaded a hermits' privacy.

And for a hermit, Technoblade has a really nice setup. His house is big and roomy, and though he hasn't seen the rest of it, he's sure that the rest of the rooms are just the same, carved out of pine and grandiose enough to look like some sort of fairy palace. It's tidy too, tables clean and the floor swept, the only hint that the home is being lived in being the excess of papers and the occasional ink stain that Wilbur can spot on the floor and table. 

The aesthetic is nice too, decorated with spices and herbs that Wilbur assumes are imported from the warmer months. There are flower petals and seeds and dyes and many other items lined up on what Wilbur assumes is Technoblade's workspace, and there are lots of lost-things that are set up to assist in Techno's studies. Some are sharp and some make things look larger and all of it boggles Wilbur's mind, that something could be studied so acutely.  

"What makes you ask?" Techno says, snapping Wilbur out of his thoughts. He realizes he's been zoned out and staring, and he thinks that may be rather rude so he refocuses his attention on a scarred face and pink hair. (For a short period of time, he dwells on the stray thought that wonders how he got those scars, then refocuses because it really isn’t any of his business.)

"Well, about a week or so ago, I was playing with my friend Tommy, and he launched my reeds and lyre across the bloody season and across the winter border." Technoblade snickers quietly, then, "You're a music fairy?          "

"Born and raised." Wilbur muses, grins wildly when Technoblade takes the bait, "What a lame talent."

Wilbur has never met Technoblade before, but he's not stupid enough to miss blatant sarcasm, not scared enough to be the punchline of a joke he can construct his own bit upon. 

"Not so lame when you're barely proficient in flute."

"At least I don't resort to poetry. " Wilbur scoffs, but doesn't forget that he has ammunition too, "Says the novelist."

He finally startles a laugh out of Technoblade, takes it in great strides as he grins triumphantly. 

"I crossed the border and my wings were glowing bright blue." He finishes, shrugging away their playful bickering easily as if it had never happened, remembers easily that there is a sharp lost-thing leaning against the doorframe that could have his name etched into it in the near future and it quiets the part of his brain that's desperate for attention. 

Techno is intrigued, leaning forward onto the table and into his hands, the previous bicker forgotten. "Was the fairy you were with- uh, Tommy right- were his wings glowing?" Wilbur makes a noise at that, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

"No? Should they have been?" Techno shakes his head, and Wilbur can see the thinly veiled amusement resting in his eyes. 

"Was there anyone else around?" Techno asks, and Wilbur shakes his head, stressed at the thought of it. "I certainly hope not, I'm already risking a lot as it is crossing into winter now." Wilbur muses, and he hopes he doesn't sound too lame. He’s no goody-two-shoes, thank you very much Mr. Scarred-face-and-fighting-skills. Yeah, that's right, fuck you and your books. Prick. 

"What, too weak for fairy jail?" Techno deadpans, and it's hard to tell if he's teasing or not. Because sure, fairy jail doesn't exist. Or at least in the warm seasons. But Techno may not know that, and Wilbur doesn't know if it exists in winter either. 

And it's not like they needed it anyway, no fairy truly deserved long sentences in the dungeon that they do keep; the worst a fairy has ever been sentenced to is exile, and even then that is rare. It only happens to a handful of fairies, ones who swear that life in Pixie Hollow would be worse than living with the pirates, and others that make honest mistakes and return with too many apologies to count. 

(Wilbur knows this because Tommy had been exiled, and it had taken weeks of visitations and confrontations to help him realize he did deserve forgiveness. It had been a harrowing experience for everyone, and even more traumatizing for Tommy, and that is the reason Wilbur is so close to him now, rarely at his own house and always at Tommy's.)

Fairy Jail is a weird way to phrase it though, so Wilbur thinks it a joke. Probably. Maybe. 

Wilbur stays silent just in case and lets that answer for him. 

"May I ask what you think the glowing means?" Techno asks instead, and Wilbur feels patronized because he feels awfully in the dark and like the punchline of a joke he doesn't know again.

"Why do you think I'm here?" He says, annoyed. 

"No, no," Techno says, and he starts to snicker, "I know. I just want to know what you think. I didn't know warm fairies were so uninformed."

Wilbur hums flatly, hating how dumb he feels. He tries not to take it personally, because he wasn't the only one who hadn't known, and he's also talking to Mr. Know-it-All over here, but it still stings a little. "I dunno. Am I part of some sort of fuckin' prophecy where I fight a dragon and bring peace to the world?" His voice drips with sarcasm, and he only feels more annoyed and dumb when Technoblade laughs. 

"That's a good guess." Technoblade muses, then finally, "It's sort of like that in its own way I suppose."

Wilbur is intrigued by that, surprised that his answer had somehow been valid . He leans forward and drinks every word in like he’s afraid he's missing something. 

"Are you familiar with how a fairy is born?" Technoblade asks, and he fiddles with the string that keeps his cloak tied around his shoulders. 

"I'm not that clueless," Wilbur says, shooting him a look. Technoblade backpedals. 

"I didn't mean it like that." He huffs.

" When a baby laughs for the first time, that's when a fairy is born. " Wilbur mocks, mimicking the serious tone other fairies use when the subject arises. It's a stupid tone, and it makes Wilbur feel stupid and inferior whenever it's told to him. 

"Good work!" Techno says anyways, mocking him in a way he knows human mothers speak to their offspring. Wilbur grumbles darkly. 

Techno continues, effectively ignoring him and leaning back into his chair. "Well, sometimes, a baby laughs, and two fairies are born from it instead of one. Therefore, the two fairies are connected by a bond, though most may call them-"

"Siblings." Wilbur finishes, wide-eyed and curious. The concept isn't too unfamiliar. He knows most human children have them, all conceived by the same parents and connected by blood, some close and some far apart. Fairies don't have that, aren't born from second or third laughs, are only born by the first. 

There's a nod from the other fairy, then, "Is that all you wanted to know?"

Wilbur should say yes, because it had been. That's the only answer he was seeking, but now that he had it, he only had more questions. It was infuriating, being hungry for more when he didn't expect it, especially when he had promised nothing more than a simple question. 

However, Technoblade looks at him like he expects more, like he knows the turmoil that runs rampant through Wilbur’s lungs and poisons his breath. No, he doesn't look happy about it, only seems tired from what Wilbur could only assume to be social exhaustion. Consequences of social anxiety, he supposes. 

Still, Wilbur needs more , so he limits himself to one more question, (or maybe two of he's feeling extra unlucky,) and asks "Who's my sibling?" though it's not really what he wanted to leave his mouth. 

Technoblade deadpans. "How should I know, I wasn't there." Wilbur squawks and tries to suppress the embarrassment from turning his cheeks red. 

"I dunno! Maybe there was a way you could know? I'm not the genius here!" Normally, Tommy would be there to tease him for his idiocy, then Wilbur would laugh and the embarrassment would be over. But Tommy isn't here, and Wilbur almost wishes he was. At least when Tommy teases, there’s an affectionate undertone there, reassuring and loving. With this stranger that Wilbur barely knows, he feels as though he needs to fight for a worthy spot in his mind. 

Wilbur may know how to slide words into crevices and cracks to make them larger, but Tommy sharpens his words into weapons that are made to kill. They are quick to leave his mouth, dripping with the lethality of a hawk when the time arises, and it is the thing that gets him in the most trouble. But it's an amazing defense, and they have defended Wilbur too many times to count. They'd be helpful now, easy to cut through all the politeness and pleasantries and formalities and straight to the point. But Wilbur doesn't have that, and Tommy isn't here, and so he fends for himself as best as he can. 

Technoblade snorts at the prospect of being perceived as a genius. "There are ways to tell, but it's not as obvious as you would like. Like how yours had glowed, when you're around your sibling their wings glow too. You can also look similar and have matching wing patterns." he explains, then, "Usually siblings are born into the same season, warm or cold." It's a statement and a question that accompanies a questioning look. 

"No," Wilbur says, stumped, "I was born alone."

"Then it may be entirely possible that your sibling was born into winter, and you were close to your sibling when you crossed over to Winter to retrieve your instruments," Technoblade says tiredly, and Wilbur wonders how such a scholar could be so disinterested in such a mystery, especially considering he had been deeply invested not even five minutes ago. "Is that all?" Techno asks, almost reluctant to hear the answer. And Wilbur would feel bad for asking more questions, except they are the only thing he allows himself to think, and there are simply too many. 

"So they're in Winter?" Wilbur says cautiously. It's both exciting and terrifying and disappointing. On one hand, Wilbur has a technical soulmate if you will, (would that be right? Soulmate? Soulsibling?) and the idea of having a universal relationship with another fairy before he's gotten to know them makes him feel warm among the cold of winter. On the other hand, this fairy is a stranger. Wilbur has no idea who this fairy could be or how they could act, and on top of that, they happen to be a winter fairy of all things. How much could he risk giving away his identity as a summer fairy in pursuit of family? And would this fairy care about this newfound bond as much as he does? Do they care enough to protect him, to visit, to allow him to visit?

"I just said that." Technoblade says, cheek in his hand and filled to the brim with dead enthusiasm. 

"How am I supposed to find them then?" Wilbur asks, and yet doesn't seek an answer from the fairy in front of him. He knocks his glasses further up his nose as he grabs his hair, confused and distressed and panicked. 

Technoblade makes a non-committed noise, sounding far more tired now that he has to deal with unchecked emotion. "I dunno man. I'm just an author."

 Wilbur makes a wounded noise, and he tries to force out a laugh to create some sort of illusion of peace for this poor observer, but he can't breathe. He feels even worse knowing that he's doing this in front of a fairy who doesn't even know, (or trust, Wilbur doesn't entirely forget the image of the sharp lost-thing that had rested inches from his face) who's not exactly sure what to do or say. He's reminded again that this house, no matter how cozy, is this fairy's place of comfort, the place he knows easiest. No matter how cozy he feels, Wilbur is an unwelcome invasion. He's only in there because of his wings and the danger, and if he had just been a winter fairy there would be no issue, and perhaps he'd be with his sibling right now and he wouldn't have have to go through with all of this-

"Woah, calm down Wilbur." Technoblade urges, effectively snapping Wilbur out of his spiraling reverie. "There's no rush to find them." He reminds him, voice low and calm and experienced. Wilbur nods, runs the thought over and over in his head. It brings him more comfort than expected. 

"Okay," he says, and he breathes, thankful for the light and easy air of Winter, and Wilbur thinks that there's a strong love-hate relationship developing for the cold here-

Technoblade doesn't say anything else, mostly because he doesn't know what to say, and Wilbur feels a little guilty about that, so he says "Sorry."

Technoblade shrugs, seemingly apathetic, but there's a gentleness laced in his voice that calms the tides in Wilbur's head, assuring him he's safe here. It's not entirely convincing, considering Wilbur knows this fairy is tolerating him at best, but it's enough to allow him to steady his breathing and feel less guilty. "It's a lot to take in." Technoblade reasons, "Nothing to be sorry for."

Wilbur hums, respectfully disagreeing. (Though he doesn't voice that because he's not sure what ticks this fairy's temper, and considering they had been so easy to resort to violence, Wilbur doesn't wish to find that out.)  

He wishes his mind would catch up to him, would give him an idea or thought that didn't fucking suck , but all that he can think about is that he has another half out there, one that isn't Tommy or Phil or anyone that he knows, someone that he's connected to because the universe decided they should be. It shouldn't be this important, shouldn't be so potent in his mind, because at the end of the day, all of it came to two fairies born with the same laugh from a human child, and painfully in his case, born complete strangers. 

But part of it feels like destiny , or fate, or some other sappy bullshit that Tommy would laugh at him for if he said it out loud. The part of him that had been empty before was reaching out, yearning for something Wilbur couldn't put a name to. Companionship? Family? Love? Closure?  

What he wanted was to meet this fairy, whether they liked him or not. (No matter how scary it was.)

"Is there anything else?" Technoblade asks once Wilbur's breath sounds even enough to be healthy, and it's just another flashy reminder that Wilbur is clueless, brain heavy with questions that he can't exactly get an answer to by asking. 

But he spits them out anyway, doesn't get enough time to slap a filter over his words before he asks "Can you help me find them?"

Technoblade, who so far in this conversation has acted as if every call and response was written down in a book for him to study, was rightfully caught off guard by this. His face scrunches up into something of confusion, and Wilbur almost wishes he had never come here in the first place after that outburst. Because who fucking does that? Who is so desperate enough over glowing wings and strangers who were siblings that they ask someone who had threatened their life to help them?

"Heh?" Technoblade vocalizes. And before Wilbur can take back anything he said or throw himself out into the snow where it can finally claim him, Technoblade is responding, and Wilbur isn't sure whether or not he's confused or angry or some sort of ugly amalgamation of both. 

"You want me to help you find your long-lost kin?" He says flatly, confusion morphing into visible accusation on his face. 

Well, Wilbur's made it this far, might as well plead his case. 

"You're smart," he starts, because Techno studies and writes and knows the logical answers to his questions. He is down to earth whereas Wilbur is only half there, only in the clouds when endeavors like this one are leading him astray. He has a workspace and a desk and shiny trinkets made from lost things to help record how they work so other fairies could understand. He has countless books on a shelf, far too many to read with a friend in one night. He crafts words and puts them together to make cohesive sentences that mean something to another fairy, explains things so easily that he might as well be a teaching-talent-fairy instead of a writing talent. 

It’s a downright tragedy that Wilbur can’t put all of that into a few words, so he stops at “-you’re really smart.”

Technoblade raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Wilbur stammers before he can keep going, fuckin' fighting for his life over here. Because how stupid do you have to be to ask someone you've never met before to go on some sort of heartwarming, life-changing journey just because they're smart?

“And you’re a winter fairy. I don’t know anything about that, and without someone to help me I’d never be able to hide long enough to find who I’m looking for.”

Technoblade hums, considering that. “True,” he provides, and that’s not enough to get a solid read on whatever Technoblade is thinking, but it seems to be a positive enough reaction to let Wilbur hope. As wild as that concept seems. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and that’s enough to put Wilbur further on edge, so he twiddles his thumbs and waits for anything that isn’t agonizing silence.

“And what do I get out of this?” Technoblade says eventually, and somehow he’s even harder to read now than he was before. Because what would this guy even want that Wilbur would have?

“Huh?” Wilbur says, hoping to get some sort of clue, but all he gets is “Well, I am harboring an illegal warm fairy in the forbidden Winter Woods.” 

He says that, and yet he doesn’t seem all that scared or nervous at the prospect of a possible time in Fairy Jail. 

“I’d like to stay neutral in all of this.” Technoblade says, and Wilbur doesn’t miss the implied agreement in his words. “If we’re found out, you take your punishment and I’ll act like I never knew.”

Which is fair, Wilbur thinks. He’s dragging Technoblade into this mess, even if it’s being agreed upon. He doesn’t want to drag more people into trouble than necessary, especially when it’s the pursuit of his selfish endeavors. He’s already risked Tubbo’s secret and a good night’s rest for Phil. So it’s not too much of an issue to have Techno not interfere in major situations should they arise. This is Wilbur’s battle after all. 

“Sure.” Wilbur agrees, shrugs because it genuinely doesn’t bother him. “As long as you help me blend in I promise you’ll never have to take the fall for me or defend my case.”

Technoblade nods, smiling. “And you perform shows, right?”

Wilbur’s not too sure where this is going, but doesn’t see the harm in nodding, not until Technoblade smiles wickedly. 

“You could also advertise my books the next few times you perform.” Aaaand there it is. 

Wilbur hardly finds it offensive though, just snorts loudly, finding no issue in concealing his amusement this time. “Oh my gods, you’re a sell-out.”

“I can’t be poor, Wilbur. However will I be a hermit then?” Technoblade drawls, and no matter how flat his tone seems to stay, Wilbur can hear the dramatics in his voice, clearly joking and fake as it is. It makes him laugh a little more, something a little more loud and delighted despite looming threats of sharp lost things and the mystery of a fairy he doesn’t know. 

“I think I can manage that.” Wilbur giggles, spirits lifting slightly. He’s not quite sure what Technoblade will really get from this, considering there wasn’t a currency system in Pixie Hollow like the humans had on the mainland, but it amuses him. Especially considering Technoblade is being paid in fame and exposure as someone who decidedly does not want that. 

“Then I guess I can help, not like I have anything better to do,” Techno says, and Wilbur is both bewildered and joyous that he had somehow convinced Technoblade to even consider helping, let alone agree to. “So, when do we start?”

_

They start a few days later than Wilbur would have liked.

 The faster he gets this done, the faster he can stop this charade of cold and ignoring friends in pursuit of studying and work.

Yet, the faster they go, the more stressed both Wilbur and Techno seem to become. 

It’s a lot to juggle at once for a fairy that Wilbur doesn’t even know, but it’s a destiny thing so that only makes it all the more important.

Or at least that’s what he’s trying to convince Technoblade of as he drags him to the common areas of the Winter Woods. Fairies flit around and work just like in the warm months, and it makes both of them nervous for different reasons. 

Wilbur tucks his wings further beneath his cloak. He’d like to have them uncovered considering he couldn’t feel anything when they had glowed the first time, but Techno had made the really good point that it would probably be easier to look over a sea of wings and spot the other glowing pair than it would be constantly looking over his shoulder. That and the cold thing of course. 

Technoblade kept his cloak on too (under the clipped explanation of “I don’t like flying.”) Wilbur didn’t understand, considering fairies were made with wings for a reason, (reasons that the universe had assigned to them, clear and fulfilling and lovely, reverent in the way they know the universe loves them and treasures their livelihood. It’s the feeling that keeps their life wholesome and happy, merriment and enjoyment prominent and never depressing for long amounts of time. They respect this feeling, because so many creatures had not been given this gift, do not feel this sense of purpose like they do.)  but he didn’t want to push for a conversation that he could tell Technoblade wasn’t willing to have. 

Besides, it wasn’t his business. 

They travel to the frost forest first to have a walk around. It’s the closest town to Technoblade’s house that isn’t the center of the season, a medium-sized bunch of fairies that would be easy to sift through. 

They scan fairies left and right without too many words spoken between them, and if they hadn’t been so pressed close together (Technoblade craves familiarity when he’s anxious, Wilbur just craves body heat,) other fairies would assume they had never known each other a day in their life. 

If anything, they look almost like enemies. Techno flicks his eyes around with a focus that almost feels apathetic, face set in an infinite grimace. He looks something towards angry or frustrated, and Wilbur tries not to feel like he’s forcing Technoblade’s hands in this- whether it be from pity or whatever business deal they struck up to keep this partnership afloat- but it’s hard when he’s trying so hard to fit sentences in the awkward silence and Technoblade is finding it hard to give back. 

Wilbur, however, is near the opposite. He searches among fairies with so much enthusiasm that Technoblade could mistake it for obsession. (And maybe it was, considering this fairy is breaking the law just for a relationship with a fairy that he might never get to hold safely in his hands.) He relooks over fairies in hopes that he sees wrong, and sometimes stares for too long, only made apparent when the fairy in question meets his gaze and he has to shy away awkwardly when he realizes. 

All-in-all, it’s a miserable experience, made even more miserable when fairies stop to talk to them.

Technoblade, the famous hermit, has many admirers. Wilbur has to learn to get used to it.

Several fairies line up to meet him like he was Queen Kristin herself, and each time Technoblade takes the interaction with practiced strides. He puts on a layer of confidence, greets each fairy with respect and the perfect amount of gratitude when they say they read his books. He talks about plotlines and character devices for the majority of fairy-fans that happen to read his fiction novels and has lengthy discussions about topics with scholarly fairies who desire further information. He knows how to apply humor, how to make a fairy laugh in all the right places of a conversation at the press of a button. Some of the jokes make Wilbur laugh as easily as the other fairies, and he forgets to marvel at how such an anti-social fairy could be so good at socializing pleasantries. (And how he had been so bad at it when it came to Wilbur himself.)

They ask when Technoblade’s next journey to the mainland will be, and he says he doesn’t know. They ask how long he’ll stay, and his answer varies from fairy to fairy, anywhere from a few days to a few seasons, and then there are a few shrugs that speak for themselves. Wilbur is just astonished that he spends any time on the mainland at all, considering he’s not a nature fairy. But he suspects that’s the reason that Technoblade knows so much, and why he’s so used to being hidden from unwanted eyes.  

There’s so much talking and stopping and scanning that by the time they make it out of the frost forest, Technoblade looks thoroughly worn out. Wilbur is too, (discouraged by the number of fairies that hadn’t turned out to be anything more than strangers.) There had been no soul-sibling bond, no glowing wings, nothing. Though, at this point, he’s not sure what he was expecting.

“Don’t,” says Technoblade at some point during their journey back to his house. Wilbur had been sucked into his thoughts and jumped when he had been brought out of them.

The sun isn’t at the horizon yet, but it’s getting there, low and threatening. Most fairies have stopped their preparations and work for the day, and there’s no reason in talking to fairies who only want to go home and rest, and there’s no use to going around and knocking on everyone’s door with only a dream and no real explanation. 

They had been silent the whole way back, determined to use what little energy they had left to get home and get Wilbur back safely through the tunnels and back to his own season. This is why Wilbur turns to Technoblade, confused. 

“Huh?”

“You’re overthinking it,” he says and bumps shoulders with him in a rare moment of kindness. “We only went through a handful of fairies today; we might have just overlooked them.” 

Wilbur soothes a little at that, offers a peacemaking smile. He doesn’t really know what to say to that, too overwhelmed that Technoblade has actually acknowledged his existence today, unlike the rest of the day that’s transpired. It doesn't really matter anyway, because, after a pause, Technoblade speaks again, and can he just say that for someone who seems socially tired, he’s been doing a lot of talking. 

“Besides, those were all common talent fairies, that means you could have a rare talent sibling.” He jests, a smirk tugging at his lips, and somehow it seems more genuine than any conversation that Technoblade has had today.

Wilbur tips his head back and laughs, says, “That’s horrible, I like that.”

It’s easy to quip back and forth after that. They don’t run out of things to laugh at and they don’t exchange pleasantries in a formal conversation. Instead, they both call each other nerds and laugh at each other, recount the events of the day and laugh at their misfortunes. It’s nice, and Wilbur thinks for a small moment that he’d like to have all of his other friends here. Just so he could introduce them to this fairy, and they could all laugh and smile and joke around like they had been friends from day one.

“I can’t believe that fairy brought up that pirate book you wrote. You looked like you wanted to pass away.” Wilbur grins wickedly at the pained expression he earns. 

“That was easily one of my worst books,” Technoblade says, “Who willingly reads pirate romance books? I made it as a joke. ”

“Sure you did.” Wilbur pokes Techno with his elbow, which earns him a “Bruh.” Wilbur finds that pretty hilarious. 

“Their favorite coulda’ been anything, but it had to be that. ” Technoblade deadpans, returns his attention to in front of him so that he doesn’t trip over a pebble. Wilbur hums musically, letting his giggles quiet down. 

“What’s next on the agenda then? I doubt you’d like to try the pixie dust tree straight after all that socializing.”

Technoblade grimaces again, but this one is much less permanent. “Maybe if we hit smaller groups it would be easier to see.” He offers, and the “and there would be less talking,” goes unspoken. 

It will significantly reduce the amount of progress they’ll get done over time that way; sometimes stopping to talk had been crucial to study the sea of wings around them. But Wilbur was under the impression that there was no time limit to find this fairy anyway, so he’s not so sure why Technoblade feels like he needs to go so fast. 

“That would be alright.” Wilbur agrees easily, even though he feels the itch to rush as well. But that’s something he can quell on his own, has quelled on his own. As far as Wilbur is concerned, he has all the time in the world. He does want to be alive and well and healthy for this mystery fairy after all. “Besides, I think if you have another crowd surrounding you I think you’ll combust.”

Technoblade nods, pitches his voice up so it sounds funny and annoying, “Technoblade, when are you going to release your new book? Technoblade, when’s your next mainland study session? Technoblade, what's your next book about?” Technoblade scoffs at himself, “My fans are apparently starved for content.”

Wilbur tilts his head. “You going through writer’s block or…?”

Technoblade hesitates, shrinking in on himself before answering, “...something like that.” Wilbur dutifully takes the hint obviously given to him and makes an effort to steer the conversation somewhere else, though he’s not sure where to take it from here without crashing and burning. 

Thankfully, violence is always a valid solution.

“Well, if you ever want them to stop, you can get me to punch them for you and I’ll scare them off.” Yeah, like Wilbur could ever be scary. That was just him channeling his inner Tommy. He hopes he never has to act upon that. For anyone’s sake. 

Technoblade laughs anyway; he seems to understand the same crucial problem to that statement. “With those weak arms?”

“Wha-!” Wilbur squawks, and even though he knows he’d never be able to pull it off, he still manages to feel a little offended. “I’d have your back, bro!”

“And who would have yours?” Techno retorts easily.

“I was hoping you would, but now I’m not so sure I want that.” He’s fighting off the sting still, but the way Technoblade’s pained expression easily transitioned into a smirk must mean he’s done something right, (especially since the fairy’s emotions have been turned off since he arrived that morning,) so the sting fades into something much more manageable and something much less egotistical.  

From there it’s easygoing. They trudge through the snow with not much to guide them but the sun’s dying light, and by the time they get to the rabbit hole it’s golden hour. Winter’s cold-color palette is much more rose-tinted now, bathed in warm yellow light that Wilbur wishes was his autumn air. He aches to stretch his wings and fly, and it’s all he can do not to immediately jump into the tunnels without giving Technoblade a proper goodbye. 

But he does, if not hurriedly, and Technoblade gives him a kind one in return, something that reflects blue turning yellow, just like the snow around them as it reflects the sunlight. There’s a promise of a next time tied with a few more jokes, and then there’s an ultimate farewell, and though there had been no fairy with glowing blue wings, Wilbur can’t help but feel like some progress had been made. 

_

Wilbur doesn’t remember what Technoblade had called it or what the place was called in general, but soon he’s met with ice and icicles dropping from high-up branches and nearly being crushed into pixie dust. And he’s not all that grateful to find out that the fairy behind that had been Skeppy, the fairy he had somehow convinced to point him in the direction of his best friend.

He cackles as he drifts down to meet them, arms over his stomach and doubled over. If Technoblade finds it funny, he doesn’t show it. In fact, if Wilbur hadn’t known any better, he’d think Skeppy as one of those fairies that sprint up to Technoblade just to shower him with unwanted questions. 

“C’mon Tech, that was funny!” He says, and he finally meets them on the ground

“You know what’s funny?” Technoblade says flatly, and it’s like Skeppy can sense he’s in trouble because his laughter is suddenly over. He gulps and looks anywhere but to him, let’s his eyes land on Wilbur with a look that pleads for help instead. Wilbur does not oblige, especially after being scared so badly that he had let out a high-pitched scream.

“Hm?” Skeppy hums, silent pleads growing louder. 

“I thought hermits’ houses were supposed to be kept a secret.” Technoblade’s flat tone becomes a little more rigid, and Wilbur can start to understand why Skeppy seems as terrified as he does. It dawns upon Wilbur (not for the first time,) that his intrusion had meant more than what meets the eye. 

“He had a question for you!” Skeppy argues, and suddenly Wilbur starts to feel very awkward just sitting there.

“One that you could’ve easily answered! Without giving me away! To someone who wouldn’t keep the secret!” Technoblade argues back, but there’s no real heat behind it anymore. Still, Skeppy has the decency to look apologetic.

Technoblade and Skeppy look at each other for a moment then, seemingly having a silent conversation before Technoblade breaks it by sighing.  Skeppy immediately cheers. 

“That must mean I’m forgiven!” Skeppy declares, turning his attention to Wilbur again, this time enthusiastic. 

“I’ve never met a warm fairy before!” He says, to which Wilbur sputters at, searching for some way to refute the statement or find an excuse. Skeppy doesn’t seem to care though, shrugging and grinning. “Techno talks about you.”

Well, okay then. Wilbur wasn’t expecting that. 

“Bruh.” Technoblade interjects, “You make it sound like he’s all I talk about. That’d be cringe.”

Skeppy shrugs. “It’s more interesting than talking about the biology of every plant in Pixie Hollow. Or how a hawk's stomach works.”

Wilbur realizes this conversation is going nowhere peaceful fast. He sticks out his hand as a greeting, which Skeppy accepts when the surprise of snapping out of a conversation fades away. 

“It’s nice to meet you in a better way,” Wilbur says, and he smiles politely. Skeppy returns it.

“It’s nice to meet you properly too! Wow, your hand is really warm!”

Wilbur retracts his hand and shivers, “Maybe to you.” If anything, Skeppy’s had been freezing.

“Find out about those glowing wings yet?” Skeppy asks, though Wilbur isn’t sure whether Skeppy is being polite or funny. Technoblade fills in the gaps for him. 

“I told em’, since someone- ” Skeppy looks rightfully ashamed, even if he masks it under a thin layer of indifference, “- couldn’t do it for me. We’re looking for the other one now.”

Skeppy applauds, “Wow, you got Techno to go outside!” Wilbur snorts, and Technoblade doesn’t seem all that pleased. (But he doesn’t say anything or attack back, so the gods must be looking in their favor today.)

“Took me promising to advertise like some sort of business deal that humans do on the mainland. ”

Skeppy tsks, and some part of Wilbur is relieved that they seem to bounce off of each other relatively well. “He really does spend too much time there. So possessive and greedy.”

“I’d like to think of myself as a collector,” Technoblade says, arms crossed and voice light. “The more clout you have the more possessions you have.”

“How much shit do you need?” Wilbur asks, incredulous and mocking, “Your house was neat but you have so much lying around-”

“I am a collector of everything. ” Technoblade restates, and Wilbur clamps his mouth shut, amused behind a thin veil of annoyance. 

“ Anyways ,” Skeppy says, grinning wide and knowing, “How can I help with your fairy hunt ?”

“We’ve… kinda just been walking around and looking for glowing wings,” Wilbur says, looking to Technoblade as if he had some direction to point him into. Unfortunately, he doesn’t, lips pressed in a thin line as he looks back just as clueless. 

Skeppy seems a little more than unimpressed- Wilbur is too, considering he is working with the smartest fairy known to, well, fairy kind- so Wilbur tacks on “We’re not really sure where to start.” to defend himself. 

Skeppy hums, thinks for a bit as he flitters back up into the open air. Wilbur is only a little jealous. 

“There’s quite a handful of fairies.” Skeppy muses and Wilbur can tell he’s sifting through candidates. 

“I work with a great majority since,” Skeppy preens, “I am assistant head in my department.”

Technoblade rolls his eyes, says “ Tch, ” more dramatically than it needs to be. “All you do is freeze water and make sure everyone else is doing the same, don’t feel important. ”

Skeppy shoots him a glare then continues, “If you give me an age range I can let you meet a few fairies, see if that causes any reactions.”

It comes with promised interaction, which Technoblade is very clear he wants to avoid, but it narrows down a significant amount of fairies and speeds up their progress quite a bit, especially if they go by process of elimination. It’s more of a win than a loss really, almost too good of an offer to be true. 

Wilbur almost immediately agrees, but, thinking better of it, turns to Technoblade to give him a chance to put in his two cents. 

The fairy in question looks surprised to even be considered; he pauses, then he shrugs. “S’ your sibling. I’m just here for the ride. And the free compensation.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, turns back to Skeppy and agrees. “I was born around seven years ago in Autumn.”

Skeppy considers this, running though all the fairies he knows in his head before settling on the few he knows. “There’s only two like that here, my best friend Bad, and my manager Puffy. They’d both be happy to meet you.”

Wilbur visibly brightens, “Lead the way then!” and they’re gone. Skeppy leads the way slowly so that Technoblade and Wilbur can keep up by walking.

With Skeppy there it’s all the more funny. Which, Wilbur should have expected given the previous conversations he’s had with him. His jokes are genuinely funny and he pokes a lot of fun at Technoblade. 

Though, poking at Technoblade was more like Technoblade poking at Skeppy harder in return, leaving nothing left to poke with and an abundance of laughter. It was nice to hear, and Wilbur couldn’t help but think about Tommy back at home in the warmer months. He was probably doing the same to Tubbo and Ranboo right now as he worked and prepared in Summer where he lived. 

Because, yeah, Wilbur had a sibling out there. And he should be focusing on that, probably. Should be wondering what it would be like to have them here instead. Would they play along with the banter? Would they be quiet? Would they stick next to Wilbur instead of leading the way like Technoblade and Skeppy were doing? 

(Wilbur tried his best not to feel left out, but they had been friends first, and Wilbur was just a fairy they barely knew, only there because of his lack of knowledge and his tendency to speak quicker than his brain could think. But he couldn't help but feel left behind as he trailed behind them, chiming in only to land a good joke, get a laugh or two, then let them carry the conversation again. If Tommy were here, he’d take the conversation into his own hands. The little prick could control a conversation like he was using a remote, pressing buttons to get the reactions he wanted and leaving none of them out.)

But, Tommy was already like a brother to Wilbur. As painful as it is to say it out loud. (Tommy doesn’t need that kind of encouragement, and Phil doesn’t need to be validated. Fuck them both.) They spend so much time together that they rarely want to part, joined by the wing and clingy as fuck. In fact, Wilbur is only awkward as he is because Tommy wasn’t there. 

And that’s kinda clingy as fuck of him to admit, but it’s true, and he kinda wishes he had a Tommy to pull into a hug right now. 

But, before he can really let it get him down, they arrive at a lake. There’s lots of fairies there, ice skating and laughing and working. 

The ones that are working are cutting up chunks of ice and refreezing the water so they can harvest more, or building glaciers so big that Wilbur could mistake it for a large hill. But there weren’t that many working, and Wilbur assumes it’s because they’re only just starting to prepare the changing of the seasons into the summer, which leaves absolutely nothing for the winter fairies to do but practice until fall comes around. 

Skeppy leads them over to one of the zones sectioned off for ice harvesting and over to a fairy who was tending to a snowy owl. There’s a basket right next to them where fairies put the pieces of ice in, and Wilbur faintly realizes that they’re porting the ice somewhere, (where, he’s not particularly sure.)

The fairy tending to the owl is petting it gently, fingers buried in feathers and voice dripping with honey. They coo at the owl and it chirps in return, happy and content underneath all the many praises it’s being given, and if anything it’s a little endearing. Wilbur smiles and tries to bury any thoughts about Tubbo that surface at the sight. 

“Hey Bad!” Skeppy greets, landing on the ice next to the other fairy with a wide grin. Bad whirls to look at him, voice excited and happy and losing only a little of its sugar, “Hello Skeppy!”

He seems to notice the company quickly, exclaiming “Hello friends!” to greet them. Wilbur tries to put together a smile that matches their energy. Technoblade raises a still hand, then drops it. 

Bad hums. “Is there something you need?” There is, but Wilbur reckons that he’s close enough to warrant a reaction from Bad’s wings, and they are not currently blue. So no, in retrospect, there’s not really anything Bad can do for them. Skeppy plays it off beautifully. 

“Just looking for Puffy, have you seen her?”

“Last I saw her, she was over at the border helping the animal fairies assist the baby birds into crossing.” Bad lets out a pleasant hum as he reaches for his own bird, who is appreciating the head scritches.

Faintly, Wilbur remembers Tubbo rambling about baby birds to Tommy, and he gulps. He hopes Tubbo won’t be there to witness this. The other warm fairies have no idea he’s here, assumed that Wilbur’s work in winter was done, and was playing peacefully in the queen’s orchestra. 

Yeah. He’s doing that.

…

His director is gonna kill him. 

Despite that, Tubbo had known he was crossing for the one day- the day he showed up to Techno’s house with nothing more than a book and a stupid question. Happening across Tubbo was going to cause a lot of confusion. 

When Wilbur snaps out of his mini reverie, Skeppy is grinning and leading them away when Bad huffs at him, crossing his arms. “You better be coming over for some ice-sledding later, you too Technoblade!”

Technoblade looks absolutely pained. Tortured, even. Wilbur snorts at the look of downright misery plastered on Technoblade’s face. Bad doesn’t look all that amused though, just upset at the lack of attention from his friends. So upset that he chides, “You too, mystery-friend! Don’t think I don’t see you laughing back there.”

Ah. Shit. 

True to his word, Technoblade stays out of it. In fact, he looks rather delighted at this new development as he laughs, joyous gaze pointed in Wilbur’s direction. 

Wilbur really wouldn’t mind all that much, except… well he’s not a winter fairy, is he? What the fuck is ice-sledding?

“Yeah, sure thing!” Technoblade says, grinning way more gleefully than he should be for a fairy who should keep one eye open while he sleeps from now on. Wilbur doesn’t say that, but he’d like to think the death-glare he sends does the lack of words justice.

They bid the fairy goodbye with a gentle wave, and then they’re finally let go. Wilbur’s sharp gaze hadn’t left Techno’s, but it softens when Techno busts into gleeful laughter, says, “Oh, you’re fucked.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “I’m smarter than I look, I can wing it.” 

“Winging it isn’t a great idea in the cold temperatures.” Techno chides playfully, grinning wide and teasing. 

”Oh, ha ha, Technoblade,” Wilbur drawls, but there’s far less ice in his tone than he’d like, “You know what I mean.”

Skeppy hums thoughtfully, hovering in the air beside Wilbur. He leans down to be eye level with Wilbur as if he couldn’t join him on the ground to get the same result. Prick.  

“No, Techno is right, not sure how a warm fairy could improvise here,” he says, “Ice sledding requires you to first create an ice sled, then to guide yourself with the same said power. Warm fairies don’t have ice powers.”

“Actually warm water fairies do,” Techno says, unhelpfully, “Their ice capabilities just can’t last long without an added temperature aid. Despite that, water fairies can create ice.”

“Well I’m not a fucking water fairy, am I?” Wilbur says flatly. Distantly, he wonders if Niki could create ice as Techno said. However, that is incredibly unimportant in the face of the mighty Technoblade, who snorts. 

“You’re not even a nature talent, cringe .”

Wilbur babbles indignantly before regaining composure. “Artistic talents are talents too you bastard! ”

“I dunno man, I’ve never even heard you play.” Oh, this asshole.

“You will soon,” Wilbur says evilly. He’s going for intimidation, so he’s not expecting a lot of reaction from his usually stoic companion, but he does earn a concerned glance from him which he smiles satisfied at. 

Skeppy sighs, not unkindly, “But since you’re not a winter fairy or have any sort of ice ability, Techno can help you out.”

Techno startles, shooting Skeppy a look. “What? Why me?!”

The fairy in the air shrugs, manages to bunch up his collar under his neck. He fumbles to fix it irritably, “He’s your pet warm fairy. It’s not like you wouldn’t check any offered sled to him for imperfections anyway.”

Wilbur doesn’t quite understand what Skeppy means by that, but it doesn’t matter because Technoblade scoffs. 

“He’s not any good injured is he? I’d have to doctor him and nurse him back to health, and my fans are already waiting for their year-long-hiatus to be over.”.

“Awh!” Wilbur exclaims, throwing an arm over Technoblade’s shoulder. He tenses, but makes no move to remove it, so Wilbur lets the motion become a little more solid. “Does Tech-no-blade have a soft spot for me?”

Wilbur has done something so horribly wrong, because Skeppy grins evilly and Techno gives him a glare nothing short of murderous. 

“Replacing your best friend already? I’m hurt.” Skeppy teases, and Techno scoffs. 

“I am a victim of abuse.” He says dryly, making an effort to speed up. For a moment, he looks as though he wants to fly, but then thinks better of it and speeds his walking. 

It’s a little too abrupt to miss, but nobody brings it up, mostly because Wilbur wasn’t about to stick his nose in business where he shouldn’t be in, especially when the fairy involved has a sharp pointy thing strapped to his hip at all times. (He tries not to be nervous by that.)

He especially commits to not saying anything when Skeppy flinches, then covers it up with some sort of pained smile. 

Okay so maybe Wilbur wants to bring it up because he’s deathly curious now, but is that so bad? He’s only a fairy!

No, he won’t meddle, he won’t meddle, he won’t meddle-

“We’re here.” Wilbur is snapped out of conditioning himself by a dry tone that most likely belongs to Techno, but he is too soon pulled into a cloud of dreary dread. 

Puffy is there, and all things considering he should be close enough for her wings to start glowing. They aren’t though, and so it was all fruitless, and Wilbur can’t help but feel let down. 

That isn’t why he feels so dreadful though. The real reason is that Tubbo is there, talking amicably with Ranboo and Tommy by his side. He can also hear Phil and Sneeg somewhere high up above him. Wilbur wasn’t aware these birds crossing over the border was going to be a huge fucking party. 

A laugh startles out of him, and it is definitely too loud because Skeppy and Technoblade jump and swirl around to give him a look. 

“Yup her wings aren’t glowing! Let's go back-”

"Hello Skeppy, how are you?" Puffy asks from afar, effectively drawing everyone's attention towards their little group, precisely where Wilbur doesn't want it to be. Exasperated, Wilbur begins going through the five stages of grief and hopes that this time it’s a swift process.

Skeppy doesn’t seem to sense the apprehension because he immediately paints a smile on his face and twirls to greet Puffy kindly. 

Wilbur looks pretty much anywhere but his friends, trying his best to pay attention to their conversation instead of what anyone else is doing, but he can’t really do that when he feels several pairs of eyes drilling into his skull. Still, he dares not drift his gaze away from Puffy, hopes feigning politeness instead of avoidance makes him seem favorable in the eyes of the deities watching him. 

“Oh, but where are my manners,” Puffy says, gesturing to the warm fairies on the side of the border Wilbur wishes he was in right about now. “These are the kind fairies assisting the migration. The animal fairy assisting us is Tubbo, and he brought his friends to assist him today since plans changed and we’re doing larger migration today.

“This is Phil,” and out of politeness, Wilbur looks over to him, hoping the evidence against him isn’t too damning, “He’s a light fairy. We’re using him to concentrate light into heat to acclimate the animals, Sneeg and Ranboo are fast-fliers, they’re here to assist the birds in flight since most of them are children, and Tommy is here because-”

“Because I want to be, bitch.” He says, matter-of-factly, Puffy only laughs when he interrupts. 

And though they all seem to play it off well, Wilbur was right, he must stick out like a sore thumb because all of his friends have their eyes locked on him in varying ways, most confused. He’s not really sure what to do, so he shuffles up close to Technoblade, knocking shoulders together, and though he can tell Technoblade really wants to question it, he plays along well enough, moving forward a bit and placing Wilbur behind him, (as if protecting him, but from what, he’s already been compromised.) Still, Wilbur appreciates the gesture, so he shoots a worried grin over to him, is pleased when Technoblade smiles back.

Which is off, Wilbur feels, because didn’t they make a promise about this? If he were to be caught, then Techno would take no part in it?

Skeppy, who doesn’t notice anything wrong at all, says politely, “It’s nice to meet you all. These are my friends Technoblade and Wilbur,” Wilbur winces, can’t even create an alias for himself if he wanted to, “They’re work friends, I just needed to speak with Puffy for a moment if you all don’t mind.”

“Nah, we were just about to get started, what is it?” Puffy asks, and flies with Skeppy over to the side while they talk about whatever they’re talking about, which gives Tommy ample time to start loudly blasting questions as fast as he can. He’s laughing, the thing he does when he’s in shock, so it’s hard to get a read on his emotions and what he’s thinking, evident by the way his other friends float in the air awkwardly, short on words to say. 

“Wilbur, what-” Tommy wheezes finally, slowing down, “- Wh-What are you doing in winter?”

Wilbur shrugs, “I’m on holiday.” 

Tommy wheezes again- oh my gods, that poor fairy’s lungs- and doubles over in the air with his arms crossed over his stomach. Tubbo grabs his wrist gently so he doesn’t accidentally float off. 

Phil flies down to the border as close as he can as Tommy laughs, concern draped over his face like melting ice, warm despite the worry etched into his face. 

“Is this where you’ve been, mate?” Phil asks, gentle and kind, something Wilbur surely doesn’t deserve. 

“Only a couple of days,” he shrugs, looking up to meet blue eyes that have only ever been playful and lovely towards him, “I have some personal business here, that’s all.”

Phil scoffs gently, “What about your wings Wil?” And there it is, the hint of judgment that doesn’t mean to drift out of Phil’s mouth but it does anyway, seeping into Wilbur's skin and hollowing his bones. 

Because Wilbur isn’t really sure how to get out of this one. The only reason he hadn’t said anything is that he hadn’t wanted to worry anyone, and even then that was a weak excuse he threw out there because he felt like it. If anything, he knows that he should’ve told someone- anyone- about his endeavors, but it hadn’t come up or he had been too busy. And maybe that’s why he feels so weighed down by shame. 

“I’ve been keeping them tucked in my coat,” Wilbur shuffles his feet nervously because by the end of this he’s expecting some sort of scolding, “I’ve been walking everywhere, Technoblade has been helping me.” He hopes that does it enough justification, that he simply didn’t feel unsafe enough to confide in his friends, that he hadn’t been doing this alone.

“Sup,” Techno greets dryly, not impolite. He raises a hand, careful so that he doesn’t accidentally hit Wilbur who’s still slightly cowering behind him. 

Phil’s eyes light up in some sort of understanding. “You’re the author?” It throws Wilbur off guard because he hadn't been expecting Phil to remember that at all. 

Techno tenses slowly, reluctantly confirming by nodding, (behind him, Wilbur is sending multiple telepathic apologies that Technoblade doesn’t seem to receive.) Phil smiles wide. 

“So what does it mean?” Phil asks softly, and whatever turmoil Techno had faced before is gone now, relaxing as he smiles and says “Wilbur has a sibling.”

It suddenly grows quiet, Tommy silencing himself as he sinks to the ground, forcing his attention to the pink-haired fairy with a startled expression. Ranboo, Tubbo, and Phil are all rightfully shocked as well, awed expressions soft as they all join Tommy on the ground. Sneeg stays in the air and chuckles, “That’s rare.” 

Wilbur doesn’t know Sneeg too well, only knows that he and Ranboo are close friends and that he’s very kind, he’s heard about him in passing from George as well. But right now he thanks him silently for keeping the tone light. 

Technoblade shrugs, “Rarer that Wilbur’s sibling was born in Winter rather than in the warm seasons with him, that’s why I’m helping him. He begged me to.”

Some of the shame that Wilbur feels melts away as he squawks, Phil cackling evilly in the background. “I did not!”

“Bro, you came to my house and begged for answers and then asked if I could help you and then tried to explain to me why I should.”

Phil laughs a little harder, joined by Ranboo, which Wilbur grumbles darkly at, silences himself so he doesn’t dig his grave deeper. 

It’s a few more minutes of teasing and explaining after that, and the shame Wilbur feels for being in Winter starts funneling out of his system, laughing along and smiling with the rest of them until Puffy returns.

Skeppy is bidding farewell so they do too, (without being completely obvious in front of Puffy, who remains oblivious to the entire affair,) and they walk away with muted promises from Wilbur that they’ll talk later. And though all ends well, Wilbur doesn’t miss the way Tommy had been near-silent the entire time, eyes thoughtful and downcast, and something in his stomachs sinks deep down into the floor he is forced to walk upon. 

_

Like how all bad things start, he forgets.

Wilbur comes home from winter after an eventful afternoon, sore and adrenaline still trying to push through his veins. It’s very hard to wipe the smile on his face, even when he has to leave and cross the border and remove the joy of the cold from his skin he is still smiling, caught up in so much joy it’s hard to even contain himself. 

He wants to talk, he realizes. He wants to ramble on to someone, pull them aside and tell them what a wonderful day he’s had, and he wants it so desperately to be Tommy or Techno. (Though he’s already prattled on to Techno who took it all with a fond smile, placing his thoughts and encouragements in between stories. He’s sure that if he didn’t have to leave that he would still be babbling to him excitedly.)

True to Bad’s word, they ended up being hunted down to go ice-sledding. And of course, without the power to create ice, Wilbur was helpless, but Techno ended up helping out, grinning as he swore to the other fairies they didn’t stand a chance. And that’s how Wilbur found himself flying again, fairy dust and magic combining in Technoblade’s hands to lift them on patches of ice, zooming down hills and gliding across ravines and mountains and through crisp cool air and it’s like he’s flying again, wings spread out as he glides and he’s free-

He can still feel the cold air plastered against his skin, the way it feels like ice gathers there because of the wind rushing past them. He can still feel the way they fly around corners, arms draped out as Technoblade joins him, whooping and hollering and laughing along with each other, bickering about steering one moment and complimenting each other on moves the next, and how could Wilbur ever truly be cold when he has this? When he has someone to smile with, someone to encourage him and bounce off of, someone to stay.

And it’s not as if he doesn’t get this at home, doesn’t get doses of affection like warm honey from Phil, doesn’t get the playful bickering and bits from Tommy, doesn’t get this sense of peace when he’s around his friends, it’s just-

He gets it all from Techno this time. And it’s unique and new, validation and encouragement soaking into his skin like he’s a sponge every time he does something that makes Techno smile. It’s like they fit together, him and Techno. They’re awkward and have their rough patches, sure, but when they set their minds on something they are relentless, taking over for each other when the other falters, stronger together than they could ever be alone, and something about that makes Wilbur feel so… loved.

Man, that is so clingy to say, Wilbur thinks Technoblade would agree. 

He is still smiling when he gets to his house and opens his door, and he’s not even a foot in when Tommy is there to face him, face oddly stoic but Wilbur doesn’t mind all that much, greets, “Tommy! Hello!”

Tommy, in his odd streak, doesn’t say much, so Wilbur fills in the silence, walking past him and to the dining table where Tommy has already prepared two cups of tea. “I’ve had such a good day man, I can’t wait to tell you all about it!” Then, realizing that he’s probably overspoken, Wilbur says, “Oh, but that can wait,” he smiles brightly and looks to Tommy, “How was your day? The migration?”

And then Wilbur realizes Tommy’s lips are etched into a frown, doesn’t get enough time to ask what for before Tommy spits out, “Oh, it was lovely.” He says it like it hurts him, “Best migration I’ve seen in years.”

Tommy has only been around for two years, or at least two seasonal rotations. Wilbur’s only known him for one and a half, knows that Tommy hasn’t been around for any migrations because of his own duties with the other garden talent fairies and because of his exile. It’s easy to read as sarcasm, but it comes off aggressive, makes Wilbur’s lungs ache and that sinking feeling reappears, sinking even further when he realizes Tommy was like this earlier and he didn’t remember. 

“So you have a sibling, aye?” Tommy looks up, spine straight and wings tensed like he’s ready to fly at any moment, like there’s no roof above his head. His eyes are empty, would once look like ice if Wilbur hadn’t grown attached to it so much, attached to who’s connected to it. 

“I-I suppose so,” Wilbur says, nervous energy buzzing at his fingertips. He fiddles with his cloak to satisfy it, attempting to take it off, though that seems to anger Tommy more. “Why, what’s wrong Tommy?”

He gets an angry scoff, nothing short of fiery, “Nothing is wrong,” muttered darkly like the tea that Wilbur sips from to chase away the extra flurries of cold he can feel- after all, fall had a tendency to be chilly as well. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur pleads, thoroughly worried now, honestly doesn’t know what's wrong as he flitters over and places a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “Something is obviously wrong, what is it?”

“I said it’s nothing. ” Tommy’s tone leaves little room for argument, so little that Wilbur almost leaves it be. But he’s so worried. He hasn’t seen Tommy so upset in so long, the last time must have been during his exile when he was bitter and angry at the world, determined to keep it out and leave only Wilbur in. Of course, you can’t keep something with strings attached without pulling them through, and so Tommy had only grown more bitter until Wilbur could convince him otherwise. 

It’s not a time either fairy wants to remember, which is why it’s tearing Wilbur up like it is now, desperate and pleading for Tommy to relent, to show what hurting him like it is.

“ Tommy, ” Wilbur chokes out because honestly there’s the threat of tears, a bubble rising in his throat. There is something so horribly wrong, and he brings a hand up to hold Tommy’s cheek but he pushes it away, finally busting open, “Nothing’s wrong Wilbur! It's just that you’re about to replace me with a fairy you don’t even know!” 

And Wilbur is startled, but Tommy keeps going, sounding more wounded as he talks, “You’re already never in summer anymore, you’re always shut away in your home doing gods knows what, ” and Wilbur remembers studying late one night with the records he found in the library, endless information about winter fairy culture and talents, so deep into it he couldn’t have told you his name, “And you keep going into winter, risking your fucking life, ” Tommy shudders, breath wobbling with him, and he sounds so fucking miserable that’s hard to even listen without interrupting, sounds like the idea of Wilbur in danger hurts him just as much it would Wilbur.

“And… you don’t even know this fairy.” Tommy sounds crushed, and Wilbur brings the hand to cup Tommy’s face again, relieved when it isn’t pushed away again as he sniffs and finishes, “I don’t understand… Was I not enough?”

And oh, something in Wilbur breaks, and he’s convinced it’s his heart, says, “Oh Tommy, no, I’d never.”

Tommy sniffles, finally letting tears fall as he leans forward slowly, meeting Wilbur halfway into a gentle hug that Wilbur snuggles as far into as he can, trying to convey as much love as he can to make up for the love that Tommy has missed.

“I’d never replace you, you were my brother first .”

Tommy seems to perk up at that a little, to which Wilbur is a little glad, glad that his positive reinforcement over the past couple of months has allowed Tommy to learn how to self-regulate, something Wilbur takes millennia to do.  

“Yeah, bitch, I was here first,” Tommy says, Wilbur humming along right after him, nodding. “Mhm, and I promise, my sibling will have to get the Tommy stamp-of-approval.”

Tommy laughs, still disheartened but obviously better than before. Tommy sways a little, dragging them both to the floor where it’s a bit more comfortable and they don’t strain their wings, sniffling and trying to keep his tears to a minimal amount, but it’s not working. 

Luckily, Tommy’s favorite tissue is here to help, so he moves from where his forehead is smushed into WIlbur’s chest to his collar, letting the cotton of Wilbur’s winter shirt soak up tears that glitter like fairy dust.

Tommy’s breath still shudders, but his breathing is easier, so Wilbur takes the opportunity to pull away, holding Tommy gently by his shoulders. Tommy gives him a questioning look, tears clouding his eyes like the fog in spring, damp and inspiring growth and warmth.

“And no matter what, you will always be enough Tommy, always enough for me.” Wilbur’s face is serious, set in stone, “No stranger will ever jeopardize your worth to me, family or not.”

It must be the right thing to say, because Tommy ducks back into Wilbur’s shoulder, avoiding showing more of his tears even though Wilbur has seen him endlessly more wrecked than this. But this time it’s light-hearted, noted by how Tommy mumbles “... prick …” under his breath. 

Wilbur laughs, delighted, and Tommy’s lips quirk upward at the sound. He clings a little tighter, if not because he needs comfort because he’s just a little selfish, appreciating the warmth of Wilbur’s arms that he’s missed so much. Wilbur allows it without the slightest tease, fingers reaching up to run through hair that tangles into them easily, rubbing little circles into the back of Tommy’s head as delicately as he can without creating more. 

They sit like that for a while, and it’s nice. The feeling of inferiority isn’t quite gone, no, it’s something that will rest in Tommy’s heart for quite a long time, but it's a beast that is far more manageable now, something Tommy can yell at to shut up and have it running with its tail in between its legs. 

Tommy hums uneasily despite this, “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

It’s an easy enough thing to promise, so Wilbur opens his mouth to comply, but Tommy doesn’t get the chance, “No, Wilbur, listen. ” Wilbur’s mouth snaps shut.

Wilbur doesn’t know how long Tommy has rested his head in the crook of Wilbur’s neck, but the tears have stopped falling when he leans away, cheeks still damp and face feeling cool from the exposure to air. He’s much more calm, but far from serenity as his face hardens into something in between angry and determined. 

“I’m not stupid Wilbur,” the insinuation punches Wilburs straight in the gut, but he doesn’t interupt no matter how pained he feels. “There have been far too many… incidents… with fairies who decide to cross the border, and you are not going to be one of them.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to respond, perhaps something about how he knows the risks or how he’s being careful, or maybe he’s going to tease Tommy about how protective and motherly he sounds right now, but Tommy’s eyebrows dip dangerously low towards his eyes, wings stout and intimidating, daring him to interrupt. 

But it doesn’t stay for long, softens into something pleading. “Don’t hurt yourself for someone you’ve never met, Wil.”

And Wilbur isn’t sure how to respond. Because he isn’t stupid either, knows his limits and has never attempted to push past them. He’s not foolish enough to tempt fate like that, never will be, and it’s so puzzling to him. He hasn’t had to break his limits like that either, doubts there will ever be a situation where he needs to, especially since he has Technoblade to help him. He’s barely so much glimpsed at his wings while he’s there, always underneath the elegant cloak that’s still over his shoulders now. He’s even taken Techno’s arm before when the cold had been too much and they needed to rest. He doesn’t get it, what makes Tommy think he would so willingly throw himself into danger?

There’s so many reassurances Wilbur could use, so many ways he could promise Tommy that he’d never throw away his very livelihood like that, so many ways Wilbur could thank him for supporting him through this despite how protective Tommy seems to be. 

Wilbur settles on “I won’t,” and hopes that will be enough.

_

It’s a gloomy day when he leaves his house with his lyre tucked into his satchel. Most nature fairies will take the day off to avoid the rain and dark clouds, mostly since not much work can really be done in the rain anyways. The curse of being a fairy, Wilbur supposes. 

But Wilbur doesn’t sit around, doesn’t put up a fire or boil some water for tea, doesn’t pour over scrolls and scrolls of winter fairy customs like he probably should be doing. No, today he ventures to the winter woods, thankful for the cold so that the water will freeze before it gets anywhere near a fairy’s wings. Not that he could really fly anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. 

He’s one of the few of a handful of fairies who are walking about in the rain, enduring the unfortunate feeling of soggy wings on his back no matter how well he holds his leaf-umbrella over them. It’s no matter, by the time he exits the rabbit tunnels his wings should be dry enough not to immediately freeze in the cold temperatures. Even then, he doubts Techno will want to do too much today considering he’s showing up unprompted. (He’d been given the greenlight the week before, and he ignores how clingy he’s being by visiting so soon to one of their planned days out looking for long-lost siblings tomorrow. Techno will probably roll his eyes at him, but it’s worth it, even if they end up sitting in a comfortable silence the entire day.)

He reaches the tunnels not expecting Phil to be there, underneath a large leaf that protects him from being drenched. 

“Phil?” Wilbur asks, confused, knocking Phil out of his trance of bending whatever little light he can reach around the place. “What are you doing here?”

Phil smiles softly, “Thought you’d be out here today, just wanted to talk.”

Wilbur laughs, a little astonished, “You could’ve just met me at my house Phil, I’m sure it’d be a shorter walk for your old fairy legs.”

Phil ignores that, if not rolling his eyes at it before saying “I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you, I wasn’t coming from my house anyway.”

Wilbur’s not sure where he’d be coming from this early in the morning. It’s early for him ; he’s not even sure Pixie Hollow is awake yet. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy’s house were all in separate seasons. The next closest landmark would be the pixie dust tree, though the pixie dust fairy’s cabin was closed this early anyway, so what Phil had been doing before this was beyond him, but he chooses not to question it, deciding that if it was important Phil would’ve told him about it.

“What do you need me for?” Wilbur says instead, swallowing whatever nervousness bubbles up from his stomach and into his lungs. 

Underneath the canopy of the leaf he’s got protecting him, Phil flutters his wings and lazily drags himself into the air and off the rock he was sitting on towards the back near the trunk of the tree that sits next to the tunnels. Wilbur takes refuge under the greenery finally, decides that letting his wings dry a bit before making his journey will do him a bit of good.
“Just making sure you’re not getting into trouble,” then realizing the irony, Phil amends, “Without good reason.”

Wilbur smirks, if not a little nervous at that. But he bounces off it well with “Playing babysitter, Dadza?”

Phil rolls his eyes gleefully. “I’m always playing babysitter with all of you fucks.” It earns a chuckle from both of them. Then as fast as the laughter fades, Phil cocks his head to the side, eyes softening. He almost looks apologetic, which only serves to make Wilbur feel a little more nervous than he had been.

“Just…are you being safe?” Phil asks, wings flicking back in nervous gesture. He reaches his hands out, perhaps to take Wilbur’s in his, but decides against it for the moment. 

He’s obviously somewhere in between nervous and worried, but that doesn’t surprise Wilbur all that much. After all, Phil cares for him like a human father would, something he teases him about often. Yet something about it puts Wilbur off, and he’s not too appreciative of it. 

Still, he digresses like the little red flags never existed at all, “You’re as bad as Tommy.” He’s rewarded with a scoff, something offended but not heavy-hearted.

“I guarantee you I am not as emotional as Tommy was yesterday.”

Wilbur snickers lightly, remembering the way Tommy refused to leave his side until the late hours of the night when he could barely keep his eyes open. 

It had been a silly night, something full of laughter and warm hugs, something to solidify their emotions like water freezing in a winter lake. It had been late in the night before it ever threatened to end, Tommy flying in wonky lines and eyelids drooping far too low to be safe. Wilbur had to fly him back home, laughing as Tommy clung to him like a moth to a lamp. 

“Did you talk to him?” Wilbur asks, curiously.

Phil laughs, shaking his head, “More like he talked to me, the little shit wouldn’t stop. ”

Wilbur giggles awkwardly, pushes away the memories of words that must have been repeated at least twice, tries to hope that Tommy will never feel like that again, especially since Techno was starting to feel more comfortable going out with Wilbur around and visits were only going to become more frequent. 

But, Wilbur is convinced it’s worth it, all these awkward steps to a finale. If he could just figure this out , there would be no need to sneak off. It would always be “Hey, I’m spending the day with my sibling,” or, “Would you like to come with me to see my sibling?” and Wilbur simply cannot wait for it. His little family would be growing , and the thought of it allows heat to rise in his chest, making him feel cozy enough to love something so simple and unknown. 

He knows he loves them already, whoever his soul-sibling is. He just… needs to find them.

And yet… the thought that this might be the end of his and Technoblade’s relationship is a suffocating thought, one that squeezes his lungs and compresses the air he breathes into something thick and heavy. Sure, he supposes during his visits he should be able to afford a trip or two to Techno’s house, maybe they could all be friends and hang out together! But would he want that? Would there be enough time in the seasons to keep in touch? Between his duties towards his guild of talent, and his studies and practices at home, all his warm season friends, and then all of his winter friends as well?

It all feels a little overwhelming, he’ll have to cut people out. And he fears Technoblade might be one of those fairies. Maybe if he cuts down his lyre practices…

“Are you going to find whoever they are today, what part of the season are you heading to?” Phil crosses his arms, shudders when a particularly strong gust of chilly wind whips past them. 

“No, today I just want to hang out with Technoblade.” Wilbur answers easily, though he supposes it must be the wrong one. Phil levels him with a look.

“Wilbur, you shouldn’t be crossing just to have fun.” Phil warns, low but not strict. And something about that prods Wilbur’s annoyance, because his face falls and he can feel his temper begin to rise. He doesn’t understand, he’s not used his wings at all. There’s been no need, especially with Technblade around who remains equally as flightless as he is, (even though in Techno’s case he’s doing it by choice.) He’s been completely safe this entire time for almost six day-long trips through the Winter Woods, and his friends have already made it pretty clear that they support him by their lack of interference, so Wilbur isn’t really sure what gives.

“I’m not gonna fly, Phil, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Wilbur laughs, but it’s a little too hollow to mean anything joyful. 

“I know you won’t, mate.” Phil amends, “I just think you should be going only when you should be finding them, the Winter Woods isn’t exactly safe.”

“I haven’t been hurt.” Wilbur snaps, because honestly, what does Phil think he’s going to do? Go flying off so he can shatter what can’t be grown back or replaced? He’s not that stupid. 

Phil looks a little wounded, but still offers a placating tone, “Yeah, but not yet. What if something happens and you need to fly?” 

Phil is so endlessly gentle, but Wilbur doesn’t appreciate it this time, especially when he sounds so remorseful, like he doesn’t mean to say what he is. 

“I won’t need to.” Wilbur insists, knows he needs to calm down lest he start shouting, but he is so frustrated because he can’t understand, doesn’t know why Phil thinks he can’t handle himself when he has been for a while now. This isn’t something Phil can lead him gently to the library for, isn’t something they can spend hours searching for in a book just to find dead-end upon dead-end. 

Phil makes a distressed noise, decides now is the best time to gather Wilbur’s hands in his, but they are so suffocatingly warm, “Wilbur, please calm down, I’m just worried.”

“Well you shouldn’t be!” Wilbur says, yanks his hands away from the heat and he’s never been so desperate for winter, for the cold that chills his bones and leaves him nothing but excited and happy, breathless, yet sucking in weightless air like there’s never been anything easier. And he knows he’s going a little far, but he just doesn’t get it, and he knows Phil knows that too, so why isn’t Phil understanding him ? “I’ve been fine on my own, man! I don’t need this. I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

It’s a little horrifying what’s coming out of his mouth, but Wilbur doesn’t really want to stop, just wants this to hurt enough that he can do what he needs to without all the judgement and doubt.

Concerns he hasn’t even known drip off his tongue like poison, “What do you want me to do when I find them Phil? I’m not going to sit at the fucking border!” He shouts, and he’s thankfully far away enough from any fairy house to worry about waking anyone up, but if given the freedom, Pixie Hollow would be hearing all of this too.

Somewhere deep in his heart, Wilbur knows this is only because Phil worries about him, worries about the big fat sign Queen Kristin has slapped over the Winter Woods that clearly says “No Trespassing,” and somewhere deeper in his heart he knows he shouldn’t push his luck with illegal issues like this one lest he face some sort of exile. But he pushes all of that so far down that he couldn’t even pull the thought into his brain if he tried. It is so overshadowed by anger and misunderstandings.

The heartbroken way Phil looks at him buries any hope for redemption. It’s the most incriminating evidence yet, says the most words that haven't been spoken, because he's not even trying to defend himself. There’s no scramble to collect his feelings and put them all back together, there’s no reassurance over warm tea or gentle touches that feel comforting, there’s only empty silence that is far too loud. 

Wilbur feels a little numb at that, “Pardon me.” It’s heavy and thick, he doesn’t feel like yelling anymore, not after that look that’s been etched into his skull. 

Phil dutifully steps out of the way, frozen spell over, letting Wilbur through, and Wilbur hadn’t even noticed he was blocking him, (which only serves to hurt him more, the more that he thinks about what that means.)

 “Of course Wil, just please be careful.” Phil says, voice painfully hollow. It holds no weight, no tears, nothing. And perhaps if Wilbur hadn’t been so offended he’d feel bad about that, because Phil doesn’t even sound like Phil anymore. But the damage is done, and Wilbur doesn’t feel like turning back.

Wilbur strolls past him easily, doesn’t say any kind of farewell or well wishes, just stews in his anger as he enters the rabbit tunnels. It’s a dangerous game from there, traversing his mind after an argument like that, but there’s nothing left to do but think, and he hopes that dwelling on it won’t absolutely shit on his day with Technoblade.

But the anger doesn’t dissipate when he pops out of the rabbit tunnels, nor when he pats a rabbit on the head for good measure. If anything, the soft fur grounds him a little, but the feeling scurries off when the bunny does, leaving footprints in the snow and abandoning the resentment in his head. 

He sulks into the cotton of his cloak on his way through his and Technoblade’s path to each other that’s left an indent into the snow. It’s a shorter journey than before now that he knows where he’s going, now that Technoblade has shown him all the shortcuts he could take that were undoubtedly safer than straying closer to fairy settlement. It’s awfully pretty too. On good days the sun will stream in between the snow clustered in the tree branches and paint the ground in sunny yellow, and reminds Wilbur that he has always loved the image of a wintery forest. The scenic route calms him a little more until the anger is soft and he’s not tempted to scream or yell, but his face is still turned downwards into a nasty frown. 

Eventually Wilbur reaches Technoblade’s home, though he’s not sure how long it took without the sun being visible to mark the time. But he reckons he made good time, especially since Technoblade seemed to be awake and moving from what he can see from the tiny windows that litter the trunk. 

There’s the promise of a warm fire from the light that he can see, and that already greatly improves his mood as he shivers in the chilly wind. He feels it leaking out the crack between the floor and the door as he approaches it, tries to refuse the little voice in head that calls it homely and instead swings the door wide open to let himself in. 

He doesn’t worry about the consequences, even when Techno swivels and reaches for the needle at his belt at the surprise, and instead speaks in a loud undettering tone, “Hello my darling Technoblade .”

Technoblade looks annoyed, but hardly so when he realizes it’s Wilbur, focuses his annoyance to whatever the fuck Wilbur’s called him.

“Don’t call me that.” He says, turning back around to resume what he was doing, which suspiciously looks like writing.

Wilbur ignores him, slams the door shut and meanders over to his best friend in the world and leans down to rest his chin on Techno’s shoulder in an attempt to snoop. “What are you writing, is it a love letter? ”

“Gross.” Technoblade rolls his shoulder and Wilbur promptly falls off it, but then he’s right back where he was again. Wilbur assumes that Techno knows he’s only there to be a problem because he sighs and accepts his fate, continuing to write instead of protest. 

Besides, if he was really bothered, Techno definitely would have grabbed the needle by now.

From where Wilbur is placed, he skims over sentences and word placements, and is surprised to find that Technoblade isn't writing about a study, rather something fiction based. Which isn’t too surprising all things considered; Technoblade is versatile with genres like the weather patterns. But it is surprising in the way that Wilbur knows Technoblade has been taking Wilbur’s experience as an opportunity to study more about the glowing wing phenomenon, and yet he is writing about two fairies’ adventures together instead. 

Wilbur hums musically, “It sounds really good so far. I really like your structure.”

Techno doesn’t give him much of a thanks, much too focused, but he does murmur inquisitively.

“Mhm,” Wilbur continues, smiling as he reads over a passage where one of the fairies grabs the other by the wrist and drags them along towards a meadow full of flowers, smiling and laughing and existing together. The wordsmanship is incredibly well crafted, even for what Wilbur assumes is the first draft, is incredibly well thought out and conveys emotion so thick Wilbur can swallow it. The passage reminds him a lot of Tommy like most things these days, reminds him of days too good to be true where Tommy would pull him out of whatever reverie he had been stuck in and further out into Neverland where the meadows were unfamiliar and joy festered in the air like the natural summer heat. He remembers these times and he has the sudden desire to share the same thing with the closest fairy to him. 

It's fairly obvious what happens next.

“Tech.” Wilbur pokes his cheek. No reaction.

“Technoblade, Tech.” Wilbur tugs his ear gently enough not to hurt him but hard enough to be annoying. Still nothing.

“Techie. My sweet Technoblade.” He tugs on a pink lock of hair kindly. He can feel Technoblade tense, but there’s still no reaction.

“Tech-no-blade.” A boop on the nose is what earns him a huff and a glare.

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy.” It's one of those dry questions that aren’t really questions, but Wilbur answers anyway. 

“You’re my favorite to annoy.”

“What an honor.” Techno says, returning his now thinning focus. Wilbur will not have that.

“Tech-no-blade I’m bored.” He shifts his head on Technoblades shoulder so that his chin will dig into his shoulder in the most annoying way, but all he gets is a hand swatting him away. Wilbur squawks and stumbles back minutely before returning to headbutt Techno's shoulder.

Techno’s quill clatters against the wood of his desk as he drops it, swiveling to meet Wilbur who doesn’t even attempt to hide his victorious smile. 

“You aren’t going to stop, are you.”

“Not a chance.”

Techno sighs deeply, running a hand down his face like dealing with Wilbur was the biggest pain in the world. All he had was a question! How rude of Technoblade to brush him off, honestly.

“What do you want?” Techno finally relents as his hand falls off his face. Wilbur grins.

Wilbur tugs him out into the snow the moment Technoblade shows that hint of weakness, and it says a lot when Techno doesn’t fight back or protest, merely taking it like it was a punishment for something bad he’s done. 

They don’t make it far. Wilbur finds a clearing that he falls in love with, excited by the flurries of snow raining from the heavens and creating the perfect space to breathe and feel alive. He drags Technoblade through it, along the edges so his footprints don’t disturb the clean look of snow across the field.

He finally finds a stump that looks particularly cozy, climbing up into a hollow section and helping Techno into it easily.

Technoblade looks like he’s enjoying it though, eyes wide and gazing across the field, and they hold the same wonder when he looks back to Wilbur who brings out his lyre and begins to play.

“I did tell you I’d play for you one day.” Wilbur says without prompt, fingers strumming and plucking like they have been for his entire life, stringing together notes and completing measures until it becomes a song. 

Techno hums, eyes softer than before, “Didn’t think it’d be today.” He says. Wilbur smiles.

His fingers buzz with magic, and he lets them release their powers as he plucks a pretty impressive riff, smiles as nature complies to his call. 

The air around them shifts into something easy, something that fills their chest but leaves them breathless, bundles together into a gust of wind that circles and loops around in invisible patterns and drags falling snow around in a gorgeous display. Wilbur strums and winter follows along, becomes quiet so that it can hear him better, and mourns when he plucks his final chord, dropping the atmosphere back into normalcy. 

Wilbur exhales, has wanted to see how Winter reacted to his music since the moment he stepped into it. He feels so whole that he feels his chest crack open in pride and feels it open wider when he hears Technoblade exhale. 

“Music talents can control nature?” Techno asks, thoroughly intrigued, and Wilbur can practically feel how his fingers itch for a quill and a leaf. 

“Minutely,” he says, bending the truth a little, “Music is bringing sounds together, creating harmony with the air and the beings who share it. In theory, any music fairy can make this connection.”

Wilbur can sense Technoblade doesn’t really know what to do with this sudden seriousness, because normally he’d tease Wilbur for being so poetic and enjoy hearing a comeback that makes him laugh. As long as he’s known him, Techno has only known Wilbur to be a walking figment of chaos, looking for the next thing to play with and annoy. But there is a new Wilbur here entirely, treating everything with a gentleness Techno never knew he had. If anything, Wilbur guesses that he looks absolutely out of reach about now, like Technoblade should give him a reverence that should be reserved for breathing. 

“But,” Wilbur says quietly, “You don’t control music, that’s not how it works. I’ve always believed the greatest compositions have been the ones that are created, not enslaved.”

Wilbur knows he’s thoroughly confused Technoblade by now, so he fixes his eyes back on him and smiles. “But that’s also a load of sappy bullshit.”

Techno cracks a smile, but Wilbur knows he’s broken open a part of his brain that he hadn’t thought to look at before, so he gives Techno a bit to process it as snowflakes fall past them.

They sit in relative silence after that. Wilbur strums and hums but he doesn’t lift the air or listen to how the sounds of the forest call for him to string together it’s melody. Instead, he sings softly and focuses on himself, wonders if he can work together a composition that conveys the softness that he can feel when he stares across a snowy glade without giving too much of himself away. 

He knows Tommy would enjoy it, would jump at the opportunity to experience a dangerless winter, would probably accompany him regardless if asked. And maybe he could, theoretically. Wilbur would have to get Tommy a cloak and a coat, make him sign a contract to never fly and bind him by law before he could get away with sneaking a little flutter around. Realistically, Tommy would love it, would love seeing the winter fairy's work, and would probably adore Technoblade. 

“I think you and Tommy would get along really well.” Wilbur says softly, doesn’t mention how his wide smile is blamed on the idea of two of his favorite people meeting each other.

“Yeah?” Techno says, looking over to Wilbur who returns the eye contact. “Is that the garden fairy who was at the migration?”

Wilbur nods, “That’s Tommy.”

Techno tilts his head, “He seemed quiet when I saw him.”

“He was feeling down,” Wilbur explains, and starts feeling guilty that he’s here now that Tommy desires more time with him. “He’s better now, don’t worry. He’s usually a little nuisance.” Wilbur says, way too fond. 

Techno scoffs, popping Wilbur out of his softness, “More of a nuisance than you? Impossible!” Wilbur barks out a laugh and Techno joins him.

“He’s a chaotic little thing regardless.” Wilbur says, unwilling to confirm or deny, “Phil calls him his Snapdragon. I should bring him around sometime, you too would make a chaotic duo.”

Techno hums, not turning away the offer but not really permissing it either, “Are Tommy and Phil close?” 

Wilbur ignores how his heart grows warm and fumbles at the prospect that Techno cares, that he seems genuinely interested about his little family. “Me and Tommy are like brothers,” Wilbur clarifies, then, “Without the glowing wings of course. Phil takes care of us like a human father, so we call him dad sometimes.”

“Sounds nice.” Techno comments.

Wilbur hums, “I love them, they’re my family, even if this whole sibling thing never works out.” Then, Wilbur falters, remembering an hour or two before now, “Though me and Phil did get into an argument.”

Techno is silent for a second, and Wilbur realizes it’s because he’s bad with emotion, but before he can backtrack, Technoblade quietly offers, “Wanna talk about it?”

Which kinda throws Wilbur a little off guard; Technoblade is quiet in his times of turmoil, though not unkind in nature. He offers his help by being present, by knocking shoulders together or offering a silence that isn’t too quiet to drown out the little intrusive thoughts. Never has he offered to hear him out, but right now, being filled with so many mixed emotions that he could burst, he’s a little more than grateful.

Still, “Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to be too much, but maybe Technoblade doesn’t want to be too little as he scooches over to bump shoulders and offer a kind smile.

So Wilbur lets loose the events of the fight, curls up into a ball as he remembers mean words that he doesn’t really mean and tries to understand something that is not meant to be understood. But once everything filters out, Technoblade says, “Let me know if I’m crossing a line, but I think Phil is only trying to protect you.”

Wilbur huffs, a little angry still, maybe a little terrified that Technoblade shares the same sentiment as Phil does. 

“But I can take care of myself.” Wilbur argues, “I have been taking care of myself.”

“Yeah, you have,” Techno agrees easily, “But you said it yourself, Phil is like your equivalent of a dad, and human dads tend to be very protective.” Then thinking better of it, “Or at least the ones that stick around.”

Wilbur gasps, laughs a little around his shock, “That’s awful.” But he’s smiling, and that seems to relieve Techno of a lot of tension.

“It’s true.” Techno says, shrugging. Then he continues, not wanting to sidetrack because he knows Wilbur tends to, “I think he’s just worried, I would be too.”

Surprised by the amount of empathy seems to show, Wilbur mutters “...should be a therapy talent fairy, holy shit...”

Techno laughs, then restates, “I don’t think you’re wrong either though. Phil needs to trust you more. Tell him I said to stop it.”

Wilbur laughs, mostly because he's sure that wouldn't solve a thing. But it's a funny thought, and it becomes funnier as he plays out that situation in his head.  

The conversation stops for a while as Wilbur takes his time to think about his situation. Not all of it is easy, but thinking about it and accepting what's happened comes easier now that he has a mediator. 

Technoblade ends up humming Wilbur’s song at some point, and it lets Wilbur relax for a bit as he sings along, smile growing on both their faces as he does. He appreciates Technoblade’s comfort, even if it's not exactly what he had come here for. He certainly didn't have to help him, or sit with him, or lock arms as the silence extends into something further than usual.

Out of every fairy in Pixie Hollow, Wilbur does not think Technoblade would be one of the best comforters. He is awkward when emotions are left unchecked, at a loss when he is asked for help, reaches for any sort of knowledge that can assist so far that it sends him into his own spiral of panic. It’s why he limits himself to small doses of rare affection, why he lets Wilbur rest his head on his shoulder even though the last time ended in pain, why he lets the silence become a blanket that surrounds them in safety. 

They stay there singing for gods knows how long until finally, “C’mon, we’ve been out for a while, let's warm you up for a little bit.” Techno offers his hand, and Wilbur takes it graciously as soon as he realizes he’s started shivering, returning the smile that Technoblade gives him that is entirely too wide and joyful to be nonchalant.

They climb down from their stump and retrace their steps so they don't disturb pretty snow, yet again at Wilbur's insistence. Technoblade rolls his eyes but obeys, muttering something about how flying would make the whole damn thing easier.

“Why don’t you?” Wilbur asks, then clarifies, “Fly, I mean?” He realizes then that may be far too much of a personal question to ask. He silently hopes his question was too fragmented to hear. 

Technoblade answers anyway, “Don’t like to. S’not for me.” He says it simply, but there’s a little edge to his voice that sounds melancholy, something guilty turning into reluctant acceptance. 

Wilbur makes an unhappy noise, and he’s never been one for butting into Techno’s business, but he wonders if there’s some way he can help lift his spirits from where he’s dropped it onto the ground. He’s gotten the same answer earlier in the lunar cycle, a quick clipped explanation as to why Technoblade never takes his cloak off, even when travelling. It made sense at the time, still does, but Wilbur wonders if there’s something else there, something weighing down his shoulders that contributes to reluctance to spread his wings and soar.

He lets their feet crunch onto the snow a couple of steps, offering only his presence as comfort until Wilbur builds up enough courage to ask, “Why don’t you like it?”

Techno shrugs, stays muted for the time being as he keeps his eyes pointed at his feet with unbreakable focus. It’s an obvious skirt away from the question, but Wilbur insists one last time just to make sure, “It’s okay if not, but do you want to talk about it?”

Techno huffs, annoyed, and Wilbur scrambles to backpedal, stutters out an apology and a promise that he doesn’t need to know, that he just wanted to make sure Techno was okay, but Technoblade’s eyes blow wide and he jumps backwards, arm thrown out towards Wilbur as if it would protect him at all from the floor caving in -

Wilbur shrieks, grabs the arm in front of him and turns to run, but he and Techno are swallowed by cascading snow falling into the ground. Which, can Wilbur say, does not help the feeling of the cold sinking into his bones. If he wasn’t falling to his certain doom, he’s sure he would be shivering and shuddering by now. For as much as he loves the cold, this must be the most annoying part of it, that all good things must come in moderation before it sweeps you off your feet and drops you into a ravine.

Distantly, Wilbur feels his wings twitch, reflexes and instincts combined yelling at him to just fly, but they get trapped and tangled under his cloak, so they are rendered useless. Even then, Wilbur knows that he couldn’t go very far or do much to save himself without the threat of his wings freezing and shattering. They already feel thousands of times more fragile and brittle now that he’s falling into cooler air and into a pillow of even more snow , and to make things better, snow seems to keep falling and piling on top of him-

But then it’s over, and Wilbur lies in it all for a second, grasping for a coherent string of thought, and then he remembers Techno-

He shoots up, popping out of the thankfully very thin layer of snow on top of him, assumes that it would be rather comedic looking if there wasn’t dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach, because Technoblade isn’t next to him and they’re in a steep stone crevice that looks impossible to climb out of-

“Techno!” Wilbur yells, balancing on wobbly legs as he takes his attention away from steep stone cliffs and to the snow around him, searching, searching, searching-

And he stops. Over on the other side of the pile from which fell, looks as though it's buried deep, is a faint blue glow.

Which is awfully convenient isn’t it? Figures Wilbur would find his soulmate in some stupid ass life or death situation-

And the more he thinks about it, the more he understands, the more he knows-

He looks over his shoulder, and attached to his back are a pair of wings that he’s known all of his life, shivering in the cold and glowing bright blue just as he needs them to be. He should be happy right now, should be ecstatic. But he’s not, because there’s too many thoughts, too many questions thrumming through his head, because he knows-

“Technoblade!” Wilbur shrieks, because he doesn’t care, sprints to the blue glow and digs frantically into the snow until he finds a detached cloak, and then an arm, and then a back that he’s never seen before because it’s always been cloaked. He can hear Technoblade groan in some sort of pain, though he doesn’t look to be injured, much to Wilbur's relief. 

Wilbur drags him out, understands why Techno seems to be in pain, because in contrast to Wilbur landing on his ass, Techno has landed belly down. Which Wilbur winces at because yikes that can't feel good. Still, the relief is little as he shivers, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the cold or because he’s panicking right now, chalks it up to be a little bit of both. 

Once Techno is pulled all the way out, he pushes himself up and immediately gets swallowed in a hug, “Techno, are you okay?” Wilbur’s eyes remain shut, refusing to look at Techno’s back from where his head is resting over his shoulder again, mostly because it’s not really something he wants to address yet. 

“Wilbur,” Techno says shakily, then dumbly, “Your wings, Wil- Wilbur you-”

“Techno.” Wilbur says darkly, not really meaning to interrupt, but he needs this first, “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

Techno shakes his head, if not frantically. Wilbur sighs in relief, squeezing Techno a little harder before pulling away and looking over him just to make sure, ignores the hard stare Techno fixes him with, eyes wide and hair an absolute mess. 

“Wilbur, your wings are glowing.” Techno says finally, after Wilbur is done checking his face. A deep breath in, then out, then Wilbur chuckles a little in deep amusement, says “So are yours, bro.”

Technoblade swivels, tenses in what Wilbur assumes to be the realization that he is without his cloak, or that his wings are blue, or gods know whatever the fuck else.

He doesn’t stare for long before sinking to his knees, staring at the floor in abject horror, or maybe he’s delightfully surprised. Whatever it is, Wilbur doesn’t bother to look at it for long, sinking to meet Techno on the floor as he bends the tips of his wings towards his front, looking to the side to catch glimpses of their luminescence. 

Some part of him is so happy, smiles sadly as he runs his fingers over the tips of wings that are way too cold to be comfortable. But it is buried somewhere deep in the snow that has caved under their feet, because he is nervous by how shaken Techno seems, how quiet he’s being. Because he wants this so badly, he wants Techno to treat him like he has been everyday, wants to clear space in his schedule just for him, just so that they can bicker and tease and sit together in comfortable silence. He’s not entirely sure how he’d handle a rejection, isn’t sure how to detach himself from this that has become his normal, that has become a warm thing sitting in the bottom of his heart.

But, then Techno inhales deeply, “Well, mystery solved, I expect to be compensated as such.” 

Techno cracks a smile, though small, and it feels a little like sunshine finding its way in between snowy branches, looks up to meet Wilbur who smiles back without any hesitation, who giggles a little, maybe a little too shy and happy. 

But Wilbur shudders as a harsh breeze rushes past, winces as his wings react sharply, and every smile falls, Techno scrambling to find both his and Wilbur’s cloaks. He bundles them both around Wilbur's shoulders as soon as he finds them, lets his fingers linger on Wilbur’s shoulders as Wilbur curls into a little ball, worried little expressions on both their faces. 

Wordlessly, Techno looks up at the smooth stone walls, stands to walk around the perimeter to look for a way out. Wilbur watches from the ground where he is, clutching the cloaks harder when the temperature seems to drop even further for some reason, isn’t sure if it’s the weather or if the cold is officially starting to settle. He’s never been more jealous of Techno until now, jealous of the blood coursing through his veins that make him immune to the cold. 

Techno returns, but not without trying to climb the steep icy walls first before giving up, face withdrawn. “It’s all steep cliffs from here, we’d have to fly.” He huffs and slides to the ground, angry at something Wilbur can’t identify. 

Wilbur cocks his head to the side, not really understanding the issue all that much. “I know you don’t like flying, but can’t you try?”

Wilbur probably has enough wing power to get himself out, but he doesn’t want to risk that yet, especially if Techno is able to carry him or get out to get help. Even then, he reckons he’d be cutting it dangerously close, flinches when he presses his wings against his back and they feel icy. 

Techno looks up at him, some amalgamation of horror and sadness settling on his face that Wilbur never wants to see again. “You didn’t see, did you?”

Wilbur’s heart drops, even when he doesn’t know the reason why, shakes his head and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. 

Technoblade sighs, seemingly too lazy to stand and turn round as he slides across the ground on his legs. Wilbur sucks in a cry. 

Technoblade’s wings are mangled. It’s more than a rip or a tear, looks uglier than shattered ones. No, it looks like Technoblade took a sharp rock to them, smashing and slashing until they were broken across the ends and only intact by the base where they meet his back. 

“Wh-what happened-!” Wilbur rushes forwards, fingers draping gently across Techno’s back, and he’s not sure what to do with the pure trust Techno seems to give him, even as he runs the tips of his fingers over one of the ridges of his wings. 

Techno makes a wounded noise, “I was studying Summer. It was a while ago...” Is all he really says, but Wilbur can read in between the lines. Techno had neglected his safety for a project, probably ran out of time to make it back before the sun got too hot and warped his wings like they were melting. 

Wilbur brings his fingers away, horrified, even more so when Techno mutters out an apology. 

“N-no, Techno, look at me,” and Wilbur drags Techno around by the shoulders enough so they can at least look at each other, “Never apologize for that, it’s not your fault.”

Techno sighs, dejected, like he’s already accepted this. “It is though, I ignored warnings, got cocky because I’ve traveled through the warm seasons just fine before.”

Wilbur shakes his head still, even though it sounds painfully familiar, “No, don’t apologize, especially not to me,” says it almost angrily, hands firm on Techno’s arm until Techno pushes them away.

“Doesn’t matter.” Techno grumbles, “I’m about to repeat my past mistakes.” And on cue, a draft drags past that makes Wilbur draw back up into himself, pressing his wings further against his back as if that’ll help him any. It knocks something loose in Wilbur’s heart too, broken and ugly. 

Techno has done this before, put himself in an impossible situation that he can’t get out of, not only resigning himself to the pain of a broken wing, but allowing Wilbur to do the same if they wait long enough, and all that his brain can provide him is soon enough, accept your fate, accept his fate, you both will be down here until you’re not-

But he can't do that. He's just found his brother now, he can't allow it to end like this, with little frozen whispers of apologies and a hope covered in permafrost. He can’t leave Techno like this. 

And he'd be leaving things behind too, broken wings or not. He'd break his promises to Tommy, (who wouldn't be all that angry at him anyway,) would let his anger get the best of Phil's love, would disappear without a trace, and for what? He misses Tommy, he wants to amend things with Phil, and most prominently, he doesn’t want Technoblade to suffer for his decision to ignore the rules like he did. So, he stands, even when his knees creak and shudder under the temperature drop.

“No.” He says, leaves no room for argument but Techno does anyway, “Wilbur, sit down, your wings-”

Wilbur, faster than anything, rips the cloaks off his back and bundles them around Techno, who is very confused and scared, “Wilbur no, you need those-” but Wilbur isn’t listening, takes his arms and holds Technoblade by the waist and attempts to fly. 

It's a struggle, probably the hardest thing he's ever done up until now. Technoblade isn't exactly light , and his wings are screaming , but he doesn't really care, telling his aching muscles and erratic flight pattern to shut the fuck up and listen to him. 

Techno is wide eyed, protests loudly, “Wilbur no-” squirms around in Wilbur's hold, but he’s already a few meters off the ground in what Wilbur assumes is his most impressive feat of strength yet. He’s caught in between fighting Wilbur and letting it happen, stuck because either way he’s going to hurt him, “Wilbur put me down now,” he demands.

Wilbur does no such thing, only flaps his wings harder and endures the sting as he focuses his sight at the nearest ledge, “Wilbur put me down now! ” Techno yells, protesting, frozen, worried, but Wilbur doesn’t, not even when something painful zips through his right wing.

But it’s not broken yet, only serves to make him fumble. He refuses to go down so easily, tries harder despite the agony he feels. And it hurts a lot so he goes a little faster, struggling still, and decides to make one more big final push for the ledge right as his wing twinges with a warning-

And then he’s there at the top, Techno pushed into the snow underneath him as they crash into the ground, pain shooting through his wing and into his back as he takes jagged breaths-

He gets off Techno, who is currently in the process of taking him by his shoulders and shaking his shoulders like he wants to fight. But Wilbur’s ears are ringing, and he can’t really think straight under the shock and pain, feels like he’s another world as he looks back to his wings. 

Like Techno’s, they’re still glowing bright blue, maybe even brighter now for some sick reason, and true to his suspicions there’s a long tear through the width of his right wing. It's ugly, he realizes. And it's not even the tear itself, but what it represents, the failure and neglect and ignorance. And what’s ugliest is the thought that perhaps he deserved it. 

Distantly, he feels his cheeks bloom with warmth only to be cooled off again by a draft, reaches up despite Techno trying to address him and feels tears leaking out of his eyes. 

He doesn't know what Techno has been saying, but his brain starts to tune in a little, "...your wing, Wilbur," and Techno sounds like he's mourning, as if Wilbur isn't already beating himself into the ground already, reminding himself of the ugly truths that he'll never fly again, that he'll become another example for fairies to fear when they look in the direction of the Winter Woods. 

"Why would you do that Wilbur?" Techno has lost all anger, eyes curved down in sadness and grief and he's starting to cry too, and Wilbur can't have that at all. So he does what he does best, smiles and acts strong and speaks words made of silver, "You're my brother."

Techno stills, and it doesn't look like that's helped at all because he backs away slowly, and then as if he can't take it anymore, bolts in the direction of his house and leaves Wilbur to himself. Wilbur tries not to feel rejected. Wilbur tries not to feel especially heartbroken once the blue fades from his wings.

Wilbur can't help it. 

_

The walk to Autumn is rather shameful if he's to be honest. His face is red and puffy from the few mental breakdowns he has on the way back to the rabbit tunnels, hair a mess and knees shaking. He does everything he can to distract himself from the cold, from the emptiness he feels, from how badly he misses Technoblade already even though he needs time…

Alternatively he wishes so desperately to be home and in his bed where he can mourn in peace, maybe hide for a bit while he tries to figure out how to break the news. 

It doesn't exactly go like that. 

He makes it back to Autumn where the afternoon sun is poking through clouds, finally wrapping Wilbur in a warm embrace he didn't know he needed until he has it, spreads his frozen and broken wings to thaw, and tries to ignore the impulse to take off. Which in and of itself is hard to do, and leaves him more often than not fluttering in pain. Whether he starts crying from the shooting agony from his untreatable wing or from the emotional damage, he’s not sure. 

Eventually he makes it to his house, and he curses at himself when he realizes he'll have to climb. It’s an absolute chore that leaves him in frustrated tears by the time he makes it all the way up. It’s not as if it isn't accessible at all, after all, he has to accommodate Ranboo who visits often, but he hadn’t understood exactly how much exertion it takes to jump from platform to platform. Ranboo makes it look easy. Wilbur has to deal with that. 

And then of course, there's Tommy. 

Wilbur nearly twirls around to walk away, because of course Tommy would be here. He isn't fast enough; Tommy has seen him through the window from where he’s seated in Wilbur’s house. Wilbur adds that to the reasons he should get curtains, right under drafts of wind. Yep, right under there, stalker Tommy. Slash el aych, if you will.

"Hiya Wil!" Tommy chirps happily, a little too much like a songbird for the decided vibe of today. Wilbur knows he isn't getting out of this, so he accepts his defeat and drags himself inside. 

When Tommy realizes what's happened, realizes why tears continue to stream down Wilbur's face, he immediately goes to soothe him, dragging Wilbur in for hugs that have no right to feel so comforting, ones so safe that Wilbur doesn't mind letting out repressed emotions and stress and everything ugly. The good thing about Tommy, (though there are several good things, and aren't exempt when not listed,) is that he's a garden fairy. He deals with ugly on a daily basis. It's his job, to find something drab and plain and to make it beautiful by nurturing the nature around him with a softness only reserved for flower petals and vibrant color. So this is no different, not at all, not even as he has to run through breath exercises and sensory drills, not even when he has to urge Wilbur to sit next to the goddamn fire you fucking idiot, here, I'll make your favorite stew, do you want tea or berry juice, not even when Wilbur apologizes a million times and Tommy forgives him every single time.

Wilbur cries; it's to the point that he can't believe Tommy while he breaks down and shatters. Tommy tells him he loves him and Wilbur's throat constricts. Tommy tells him it's okay to be upset over this, and Wilbur feels like being upset puts him in greater offense. Tommy tells him he's there, and Wilbur has to find a way to convince himself Tommy won't leave. 

His stomach hurts, and he wants to scream, wants to grieve so badly that it drags everyone down to his level so they can hurt just like him. He wants to take the nearest thing to him and throw it, see it shatter into little pieces that are as small as he feels. He wants to harm, wants to feel something against his fist and have it lose, to keep it going until there's nothing left. 

But his stomach swims at the thought of someone like Tommy knowing his anguish. But he feels weak, doubts he could even throw something a few centimeters before collapsing into a tired pile. But he cries more at the thought of violence, and the aftermath of such a rampage. 

So he does none of those things. He just cries. Tommy just comforts. 

Eventually Tommy leaves. It's not for long, it's only to let Tubbo know where he's going to be, and soon enough Wilbur finds Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo at his door. Unlike Tommy who is currently excessively mothering, Tubbo and Ranboo offer their silent and non judgemental presence. (Except that Ranboo gives him a tight hug later when Tommy and Tubbo pass the fuck out, whispering empathy weaved into a comforting ballad that only Wilbur is allowed to hear. Wilbur ends up curling around Ranboo for the night, who offers him nothing but his perspective and any accommodations should he need it.)

The morning only seems to worsen Tommy's excessive affection. Wilbur doesn't really complain, it's nice to have a brotherly comfort around, even if it can't be the shiny new one he's just received. 

And so with the morning and the extra affection comes an explanation that Wilbur can finally piece together. The day before Tommy only got fragments of it, if he could even understand any of the jumbled mush that Wilbur threw at him. 

Tommy visibly darkens when he hears what happens, but reassures that he doesn't blame him when Wilbur starts to look nervous. He reinforces that by dragging Wilbur in for more hugs, who is just surprised that Tommy has the capability to be this clingy and comforting when the time calls for it. Wilbur cries, and it is just as miserable as the day before. 

Tubbo and Ranboo join the hug. There's kind words and affirmations, endless affection and comfort pouring out of their souls and into Wilbur. 

Wilbur feels numb. 

Tubbo leaves near the middle of the day, something about how he has to tend to some baby turtles that he's been assigned to, though he doesn't hesitate to cuss the guild leader out as if they were there in front of him. It's enough to make Wilbur smile, even if it's laced with pain. Ranboo stays though, promises the next few days Sneeg has his duties covered. Not that Wilbur cares all that much if they have duties they need to tend to, but it's nice to see his friends so dedicated to him, willing to drop anything to be of assistance. 

Gods know he needs it. 

Another garden fairy shows up later in the afternoon while Tommy is entertaining Wilbur by playing the lyre horrifically. Ranboo adds on by playing Wilbur's drum with at least a sense of rhythm, but it's not enough to save the effort. Tommy puts down the lyre to go answer the door, defending loudly when Wilbur offers to get his own fucking door, then watches as Wilbur loses his own argument, stutters as he stands up, something sad returning to his soul before he ever makes it to the door. Tommy ends up answering it. 

Ironically, the fairy at the door is there to tell Tommy he has duties to perform, expresses her frustration that he's not at his own house in Spring and this is where George told her to look, but Tommy harshly tells her to fuck off, and he slams the door on her. 

"Poor Lila," Ranboo comments, and Wilbur can't help the bubbly giggles that rise out of his throat even though he feels like utter shit, only laughs a little harder when Tommy mocks " Poor Lila, didn't know you were a Lila Apologist Ranboo, do not interact with me."

The days after that kinda mush together and soon a whole week passes where all Wilbur's done is sulk in bed. But it is getting better. Slowly.

Today is the one day of the week that Tommy had to leave, something about errands that Wilbur doesn't remember Tommy being responsible enough doing, so it's just him and Ranboo for the day, Tubbo leaving to go visit Micheal without voicing that in front of Wilbur. But he knows, especially since Tubbo doesn’t try to hide the coat in his bag as he leaves. 

His heart drops a little bit, but he's okay. 

It’s silent for a while, but Ranboo is content staying silent until Wilbur initiates conversation, taking a broom that Wilbur has leaning against a corner of the room and starting to tidy the floor. Wilbur protests immediately, but Ranboo replies, condescending, “What, are you gonna get out of bed to stop me?”

Which is actually pretty effective, it gets Wilbur to think about it instead of promptly refusing, but ultimately he decides it’s not worth bringing himself out of his lazy spell and reluctantly lets Ranboo work. 

Ranboo is a fast-flying type despite his lack of fairy wings, but he can still gather pixie dust in his hands and mold it into raging winds, spinning his fingers until it funnels into a vacuum and releases it to dust around the house. When he’s finished, he expels the dust out the front door he opens, then settles at Wilbur’s bedside, who is grateful for the company, and not just for the free labor.

They're silent for a bit, exempt from Ranboo's humming; he's seemingly alright despite the awkward circumstances. But Wilbur is vibrating, has barely gotten out of bed all week, and he doesn't do well with silence anyway. 

Finally Wilbur attempts a conversation, sipping water out of an acorn cup, "How do you deal with it?"

Ranboo hums, knows exactly what Wilbur's referring to without context, unbothered. "I've always had to, I can't mourn something I didn't technically lose." He shrugs, looks over to Wilbur who sits up to listen better. "Once people knew me and didn't see me as something to look at, it got better. I'm not just my lack of flight."

It's silent again, and Wilbur fiddles with his woven blanket as emotions stir inside him, not allowing himself to wallow about at least the wing any longer. That, he's already partially accepted. But he keeps drifting his thoughts back to Techno, wonders how he's holding up. 

Then, stupidly, "Do you think Techno is okay?" Wilbur shifts his gaze to the side, almost sheepish, "I'm worried about him."

Ranboo looks up at him, is silent as he thinks about the best way to respond. "I don't know much about him, but from what you've told me, he sounds really strong." Ranboo shifts as he leans against the bed frame so that Wilbur doesn't look upside down from where Ranboo is on the floor. 

Wilbur looks down at the palms of his hands, watches distantly as he tenses then untenses them. “I’m so horrible,” he says, tentatively opening up under his own pressure, letting himself be selfish just this once as he takes the conversation away. His voice is hollow, but the watery kind, like he’s walking down the deepest caverns, water dripping from the cracks and falling against stone floors. 

But Ranboo is there too, and he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t react in any way that’s visible, just looks up at him kindly, waiting for the rest, so, “I put him in the same situation he had already been in Ranboo.”

Ranboo, an empath, senses he’s upset, so he reaches for one of Wilbur’s hands and squeezes it to let him know he’s here and he’s safe. Wilbur squeezes back. He swallows a sob, but he doesn’t think it’s worth it, because it hurts his throat.

“I shouldn’t have asked him to help me.” Wilbur says resignedly, “It feels worse hurting him than not knowing him.”

And it's true too, how he feels so utterly guilty for all of this, for emotionally destroying his new friend, his brother. There’s not been a hand forced into this, but Wilbur still feels like he has, feels like he’s somehow coerced Tehnoblade into complying, just to scare him off in the end. What kind of brother is he?

He doubts he’s a brother that Technoblade wants. That’s fairly obvious from the way that Techno looked at him like he was something to be scared of, sealing it by running in the opposite direction. 

It’s a little too much to think about, and that’s before all the added shame and dread he feels, because soon he’s going to have to apologize to Phil too, broken wings and no way to hide. He’s going to disappoint him, he realises, give Phil a reason to scold him further-

His chest burns as sorrow turns to anger; not something raging and fiery but disappointed and pitiful. And he shouldn’t feel this, he knows, should turn all of this guilt around on himself like a needle to the face, but he can’t help it. He’s angry at himself, and the worst thing is that underneath all this guilt and sorrow and pain, he can’t seem to regret what he did. 

It’s too much, and he realizes it as soon as he realizes he’s squeezing Ranboo’s hand a little too hard, to which he apologizes for, but Ranboo only voices how it’s not an issue.

“Ranboo, can we- can we go somewhere else, somewhere outside, please.” Wilbur says after another minute of silence, and Ranboo, who must not be expecting that, stares before nodding. 

“Y-yeah, we can do that, where do you want to go?”

Wilbur picks at his nails, hoping this won’t be too much to ask from Ranboo, “Somewhere outside Pixie Hollow.”

But it's not too much at all, Ranboo nods and agrees as long as he can make a pit stop at his and Tubbo's house to leave him a note. 

Wilbur agrees with a teasing scoff, "Husbands, your honor." 

Ranboo gives him a look, defensiveness curling in his voice, "I don't want Bee to worry…" Wilbur laughs, weakly walking over to slide a hand onto his shoulder, "And that's what makes you a good husband Ranboo, I'm only teasing."

They leave Wilbur's house together, but not before leaving a note on the door for Tommy should he return from his errand and find the house empty, running rampant trying to find Wilbur. Then they make their pit stop, Ranboo smiling bashfully when he finds a bit of dried honeycomb wrapped in cloth on one of their tables with his name on it, note with sweet words and reminders to eat scribbled messily on the back. Wilbur doesn't say anything about it right now, but he smiles and promises he'll tease the shit out of Tubbo the next time he sees him for it. 

Then they truly depart, and Wilbur sets his eyes forward, lyre in hand like a live firework vibrating in his hand, and for the first time in a bit, he feels powerful, maybe a little dangerous. 

_

There’s angry knocking at his door, and there’s something desperate still pouring from the leak in Technoblade’s heart, so he pushes away that empty and miserable feeling for the moment, letting something like hope and remorse take its place. He doesn’t dilly-dally this time, opens the door as swiftly as he can. He’s expecting auburn eyes and brown curls and a stubborn smile that will lull him into some crazy journey about soul-siblings and sledding and singing and bickering like they were young unruly human children. But instead, the door opens to a fairy he doesn’t recognize, and his stomach sinks.

“Are you Technoblade?” They ask, ice blue meeting the same auburn eyes that Technoblade shared with his other half, (and he tries his best not to think about that so much, but now it’s painfully hard to notice whenever he catches his reflection in the ice that his season is composed of. Winter has never felt more like a prison in those moments.) 

Once upon a time, his name was something people recognized. It was a one-way ticket to endless praise and unwanted attention. Fairies would flock to him just to marvel at the epitome of intelligence and skill. And it’s not really like he dislikes the appreciation, but after a while, “Technoblade” was seen as an item rather than a fairy, and so Technoblade decided the world didn’t deserve the one item he could never give himself. 

He never gave out his name to random fairies who were lucky enough to find his doorstep. He never feels like giving pleasantries or being polite or answering question after question. Obviously, he’s not really feeling like himself now, so instead of denying his identity, he owns it, nodding dumbly. 

Once upon a time, his name was something to smile at, and so Technoblade is used to that. He expects an excited smile and- 

The fairy in front of him lunges. 

It’s not a hard fight at all, despite the surprisingly effortless takedown. The fairy is lightweight and easy to restrain once Technoblade gets over his shock. It’s a tone change he was never expecting, and Technoblade feels a little stupid and egotistical for thinking this fairy could be a die-hard-fan. Damn hubris. (Still, this is on the opposite end of the extreme reaction spectrum from what Techno had been expecting, so can you really blame him for being so surprised?) 

Even while restrained, the fairy squirms and shouts every insult the universe has ever uttered. He snarls and fights as hard as he can, punching and scratching as his face is pushed into the ground ( even though at this point, the effort is pretty futile. ) Technoblade, amongst the chaos, is trying to put a reason to why this fairy hates him so much to warrant this much violence.

But then, “You bastard, I’ll fuckin’- I’ll fucking punt you into a hawk you bitch! You’re not scary! I’ll get Tubbo to sick his animals on you- you prick- I- You won’t hurt Wilbur anymore-!”

Technoblade falters for a second, which is fucking stupid because he never falters, and his grip loosens for less than a second before he recovers, but by then it’s too late. It’s enough time for the fairy to squirm out from underneath Techno’s arms, “ Shit- ” and give them enough time to run over to Technoblade’s sewing needle and start jabbing at him in a number of directions. It’s not the most effective method, but Technoblade does hold his hands up in surrender upon the threat. 

“That’s right, bitch! Don’t come any closer or I’ll start stabbin’, ” The fairy lets out a laugh that Technoblade thinks is supposed to sound menacing, but sounds more like that fictional winter character that human children foolishly believe in.

By now Technoblade can piece together that this must be the infamous Tommy if his fierce loyalty and unnecessary violence is anything to go by. From what Technoblade knows, Tommy would be the only one stupidly loyal enough to risk crossing the border- with his wings bare, mind you- just to bitch slap the fairy who hurt his pseudo-brother.

“Put that down,” Technoblade says, a little stupidly. He’s not sure what he was expecting to accomplish, since, y’know, this fairy’s intent was to do literally everything but that. And, as anticipated, Tommy doesn’t put the needle down, only jabs it a bit faster and a bit more sporadically. 

Realistically, Technoblade could take him down relatively easily; Tommy’s attention is not spread equally with his surroundings and his posture and form is weak, (from the cold or inexperience, Techno is not sure). Technoblade has fought pirates before, has spent years in the mainland surviving on nothing but what he could forage and being nothing but attentive. This shouldn’t be a threat to Technoblade, not in the slightest. 

But, it feels like one, and it weighs his heart down so much that it’s fucking with his head. 

Tommy, while a weak opponent, was important to Wilbur. So important that before Technoblade had scared him away, Wilbur had planned to bring Tommy to him to meet, because he was important. Because he trusted Technoblade to know this fairy that he loved like a brother. 

Technoblade already took a brother away from Wilbur, he didn’t need to take another; hurt another.

“No, you listen here, bitch. ” Tommy seethes. He is the embodiment of impulsive anger, tripping over syllables just to get the raw emotion and hurt out in a way words can’t perform. His eyes narrow, and they are as blue as the ice that imprisons Technoblade. They are cold and piercing and angry, angry, angry, and Technoblade can’t even blame him for his fury.

“What you did to Wilbur is unforgivable. ” He says, and somehow that hurts a lot more than any fight Technoblade has ever been in, but he takes it. “How could you break- he trusted you. ”

That isn’t how it happened. He didn't break Wilbur’s wing. Technoblade knows this. He’s a rational fairy, observant and factual and organized. But Technoblade has never been more irrational; he tells himself it’s his fault over and over, even when he knows he should be over this. He should send a letter to Wilbur to apologize or visit him or anything, but it is way too much for him to take because he’s never been good with emotions but he wants to say sorry and make it up to him and he’s never going to get that and-

And the worst part is Technoblade takes all of it like it’s a bullet to the chest. He resigns himself so quickly, and he’s never been so angry to be the fairy that never dies because this feels so much like it and yet there is no relief, no conclusion, just pain and hurt and regret.

Faintly, he recognizes this as his reason for never allowing himself to grow attached, because he is the only constant in his life, and anytime he tries to make another, he has to bear the loss, look love in the face, and decide to change. 

Weakly, "That isn't- I didn't mean to-" and there really is no good way to say anything, knows that the blame will be assigned to him no matter what excuse he throws in front of him. 

“What, didn’t mean to hurt him? You knew he was coming here!” Tommy says in righteous anger, because the why escapes Technoblade, fleeting like snowflakes in the wind. There was truly no reason to help. The simple truth was that Techno hadn’t cared enough. And it had shown as much the moment he pointed his sewing needle in Wilbur’s direction and demanded to know why he was there. 

Maybe there was some sort of invisible tether to Wilbur, or maybe Techno was intrigued by the unique study opportunity, or maybe it was because Wilbur demanded as much information as Technoblade had long ago, and that made him see a little bit of his spirit still alive in another fairy. 

Maybe he should have seen this whole brother thing coming.

Still, “I can’t- I don’t control him. ” Techno refutes, because he doesn’t. He can’t, because it doesn’t feel right, because music sounds worse when it’s controlled.

“Everything he did was his choice.” Techno realizes, and it doesn’t take his own self-hatred away, but it makes him feel a little better about it. 

But, there’s still a problem.

Tommy steps forward, swinging the needle in front of him as if he were protecting what’s behind him, but he calms some, says “But you still regret it.”

Technoblade does, very much. Maybe not for helping, he’s very proud of that. It’s one of the only things he holds dear in his heart these days, the ability to remember and smile. But he feels bad for being so reckless, for enabling Wilbur and running off into danger with him. It should never have happened, no matter how much the reminder of lyre music calms him down, no matter how much seeing the snow swirl in unidentifiable patterns was too gorgeous to forget, no matter how much Wilbur made him want to smile for those few hours. 

“I do.” Techno says, but it’s the wrong thing, so terribly wrong, and not only does he know it from the lurch in his chest but the snarl that leaves Tommy, eyes ablaze like summer bonfires gone out of control. 

“Listen here you bastard,” Tommy says, and it’s dark, suffocating Technoblade and giving him no sign of mercy, holding him at an impossible advantage despite not having much of one. He twists his wrist so that the needle is finally pointed down, letting go of it like he has the confidence to rip Technoblade apart with his bare hands. (And at this moment, he has Techno completely convinced, if the way he cowers says anything about it. That’s right, the great Technoblade who “never dies,” not even to pirates and neverland beasts, is cowering. )

“ No, ” Tommy says, pushing his face way too far into Techno’s personal space, “You’re going to listen to me.”

Technoblade is listening. 

“Wilbur is the best brother you will ever get.” Tommy glowers down at him, baring his teeth, “I don’t care who broke what,” and Tommy sucks in a breath likes the reminder hurts him physically, “I don’t care whose fault it is, or what happened, you do not get to be a coward.”

Technoblade hasn’t the faintest idea what Tommy is referring to, or at least there’s no specific reason coming to light, but before he can ponder on it, Tommy’s hands are firmly on his shoulders, pushing him backward slightly. 

“You don’t get to avoid him, or wait for something to happen, you don’t get to wonder if Wilbur is thinking about you or if he hates you or whatever.” Techno’s shoulders are hurting from how hard Tommy is gripping them. “You don’t get to do that because Wilbur is doing the same goddamn thing, and-” Tommy’s breath shudders again for a second, “And I may be biased on that, because Wilbur means more to me than anything else in the world. He is far kinder and more patient than both of us deserve combined.”

Techno feels like he might cry, because Tommy is right. Wilbur has been nothing but accepting since he’s known him. Granted, he hasn’t known him long at all, but he’s never cared for something faster , has never known attachment quite like this. Maybe he really should have seen this brother thing coming. 

God, he’s pathetic. 

"You spend every lucky second you get with Wilbur, and you do not regret it ." Tommy says, anger renewed into a growl, "You don't know when he'll get fucking ripped away from you. Don't take that for granted."

Technoblade blinks. 

He hadn't really thought of that. Well, to be fair he hadn't thought about a lot of things this week, which is pretty fucking clear by the way he's currently carrying himself. It’s not all that hard to consider any longer, that he should simply just enjoy the company no matter what it is. But…

“But he doesn’t want to see me.” Technoblade says, convinced, “Wouldn’t he be here if…”

Tommy sighs, as if this conversation is the most tiring thing in the world to him. But, his rage has calmed to a general annoyance as he steps back and tries to process the things implied with Techno’s hesitance. 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Tommy says, which, can he say, Technoblade takes great offense to. He frowns, not for the first time today.

“Wh- I am not- ”

“What was it Wilbur said to me? ‘Oh Tommy, my dearest friend, my brother! Sob Sob! That mean, old, Technoblade ran from me, you hear! He doesn’t want to be my brother,” or maybe it was the, ‘I don’t think Technoblade wants to see me, sob sob sob!’” Tommy mocks, voice high and pitchy, hand opening and closing to the voice like a puppet. 

Technoblade isn’t sure if he’s making things up, or if Tommy just wants to mock Wilbur for being a crybaby. Which, in all honesty, fair. 

Technoblade still feels a little sick to his stomach from the weight of the previous guilt he’s felt- or maybe still feels- but he feels a little lighter, if not sorrier for new things he hasn’t dwelled on yet, so a bit of dryness perks back up in his humor, “You’re not all that smart either, where’s your coat? Aren’t you freezing?”

To counteract this, Tommy huffs, face heating up under barely concealed embarrassment. “Wil’s coat doesn’t fit me.” And the corresponding he doesn’t know I’m here goes unsaid.

Technoblade scoffs, smiles now that he has at least a little control in the conversation, something to help get the attention off him while he processes all of this.  

“I don’t see why not, you both are scrawny as fuck.” And it’s true. Had Tommy’s wings been blue instead of Techno’s, Technoblade could believe they were kin. They look eerily similar, though he doesn’t share the same face syndrome that Techno and Wilbur both have, (which Technoblade was of course too oblivious to notice until now, the dumbass motherfucker.) They’re similar in height too, Wilbur being the taller beanpole. Though something tells Techno that Tommy wouldn’t appreciate being told that.

Tommy squawks, hurt, “You’re a bitch! I take it back, Wilbur never wants to see you again.”

This...this is genuinely kinda helping. In a weird sort of way. It’s definitely not coping, but this is also kinda taking him away from the whole issue itself, making him wonder why he took it so seriously in the first place.

Of course there is that whole looming thing with the wings that he still has to worry about, but it’s starting to pale in comparison to the atmosphere that’s been created. It’s not insensitive, (just incredibly judgemental,) but something accountable, something that makes him feel less in trouble and more like a fairy on a mission. 

Tommy shakes his head, “It doesn’t fucking matter. Wilbur misses you so much that it’s fucking annoying.” He’s blunt about it, like he spits it out with so much force that Techno wonders how it had stayed in his mouth for so long, and-

Oh. 

That’s something to wrap his head around. The sole purpose of pushing Wilbur away like that was to protect him, to get him to stay away so he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. That, and that Technoblade had been freaking out a little bit, putting old instincts into motion before he could ever have a say. Technoblade had reckoned he lived his life lonely enough, what’s the rest of eternity. you know? Even with the traitorous hope that is the desire to have Wilbur back, to have him want to reconcile, Technoblade figured he could live like the whole endeavor never happened. 

He’d never considered if Wilbur could live like that. He feels a little dumb now. Maybe he’s not as smart as he self-proclaims. 

“Tommy, can you take me to him?” He asks then, and he wonders if Wilbur’s loose tongue had rubbed off on him a little as it’s not really what he meant to say. 

Tommy fixes him with a look. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” His tone is dangerous, challenging even, something like baring his teeth so Techno knows he’s not afraid to fucking tackle him again. Technoblade is willing. 

“No promises,” he settles on, smiling lightly at Tommy who puffs up defensively, “Though it’s not my intent to.”

“You’re a bitch.” Tommy manages to say plainly, shoulders raised as if he were ready to attack. Now that Technoblade feels a little more confident and Tommy’s anger feels reduced to something more manageable, Technoblade isn’t all that scared of him anymore. He begins to wonder why he ever was, but then he remembers that deathly look in Tommy’s eyes, the ones that left no room for argument and dared him to jump into the abyss. He shudders a little. 

But he laughs to cover it, and Tommy seems to loosen up as he laughs too, albeit warily. 

“I don’t think you’d let me hurt him, Tommy.” Techno says, and he believes that. If Tommy acted this way to something that happened a week ago, Techno’s frightened to see what would happen if he were to hurt Wilbur right in front of him. 

Tommy looks proud at the compliment, plays it up a little as he forces a deadpan, “I’ll clart you.”

Technoblade chuckles, and finally forms a compromise as he allows himself to stand and hold out a hand to the fairy who put him in his place, “If I manage to hurt him again, I give you permission to ‘clart me.’”

Tommy looks offended at the prospect of that, “I don’t need your permission, prick, ” but he shakes Technoblade’s hand anyway, and he tugs on it a little to lead him where he needs to go. Which, when had they established that trust? 

Technoblade hums, amused as he resists for a second, pulling away to grab his cloak, “I didn’t think you did.” He grabs it from where it is on the coat rack that he owns, but instead of wrapping it around himself he wraps it around Tommy. He even does the little clasp for him, the one that he always fumbles with himself since the gold pieces are so small. 

Tommy seems surprised at this, so he looks up to Technoblade, confused. Techno shrugs, answering the silent question, “You’re Wilbur’s brother right?” As if that means anything to Tommy right now, who barely nods his head. 

Technoblade smiles good naturedly, “Then we’re all brothers, so I gotta protect your wings.”

Tommy...doesn’t respond to that. Or at least not in a timely manner. He just stares for a moment, unblinking. Then, before Techno can ask him if he said something wrong, Tommy starts marching again, tugging Techno along, gaze set to the horizon as he sounds uncharacteristically tender, “Is that what you said to Wilbur, dickhead?”

Technoblade startles, laughing loudly as he’s pulled into the snow, barely getting the door shut before he’s pulled in the direction of the main border entrance rather than the rabbit tunnels. They’re about there when Techno realizes, and curiosity sparks in his head. His eyebrows raise.

“You crossed out in the open?” It’s not that he’s surprised; if Tommy had marched to his house with his wings uncovered and in shorts, Techno could find it believable that he’d cross the border in broad daylight, and would do it again as the sun threatened to set. 

“Nobody saw me, don’t worry.” Tommy says, though it doesn’t sound all that confident, like someone definitely saw him. Techno huffs, but it’s too fond for his own good. Tommy reminds him of Wilbur a little. 

“Somebody definitely saw you.” Techno deadpans, not really resisting now that he knows this, just accepts his fate, as it has been for the past few weeks. Tommy laughs nervously, “No, no, no, no, no, nobody saw me.”

Technoblade doesn’t believe him, but he also doesn’t care as he huffs again and endures the long journey to Wilbur’s house. His hand never leaves Tommy’s. 

_

It’s hard enough to find a far away place when you can fly, but when you’re flightless, it is near impossible to traverse Neverland terrain. There are rocks and sticks and unflattened land that stretches for miles. The lack of scout fairies patrolling out here leaves much to be protected, and it leaves the feeling of eyes on the back of Wilbur’s head during the entire duration of the trip. Still, with pointers from Ranboo, Wilbur is able to make it to a cliffside that overlooks the sea. Dramatic, he knows. 

The wild wind blows past him, drags wisps of hair out of his eyes and fills his lungs with salty air. He stands on black rock and hopes somewhere deep down that the sun in the sky makes it so they don’t glow as brightly in order to avoid eager eyes. The last thing they need is pirates. 

Unless it’s Eret, of course. Still, however nice they are, Wilbur and Ranboo would still rather not chance it. 

The sea crashes against the cliffside, and Wilbur has to drill it into his head not to get too close, lest he fall to his watery grave. His wings don’t work after all. And even if he did, he hasn’t visited the pixie dust tree for far too long. He wouldn’t have enough dust to fly. 

Still, he gets close enough to the edge before Ranboo gets nervous far back behind him, and he calls out “What are you doing, be careful!”

Wilbur ignores him as politely as possible, sitting down where he used to be standing, a few inches from the edge. His fingers still itch for strings like they had hours ago when they left, and he flexes them as he reaches for his lyre.

Wilbur believes that music is something that’s best when you are smart enough to let it roam free. Because if you are lucky enough, the symphony will make it’s round back to you so that you can release it again. It is the running theme in all his compositions, and one of the main reasons that ages ago, Queen Kristin had taken his hands gently in hers with such reverence that would suggest he would be as worthy as royalty, and asked him to play for her.

But as he strums a chord, as he forces his magic out of his fingertips like a geyser, as he clings onto the nearest thing his magic snags on, he only has the desire to manipulate it to his will. It’s a desperate attempt at control, and he only feels angrier as the magic leaks out of his fingers like water cupped in his palms, the rock beneath him shaking like it’s about to shatter beneath him. It wouldn't be the first time.

But he gains control again almost easily, strumming a chord and then following it with a plucked melody that would put his songs back at home to shame. And nature follows his call, no matter how reluctant.

Quietly, Ranboo is swearing behind him, stumbling back as Wilbur works out all of his anger, filters it into the water below and lets the waves rise higher than Wilbur thinks they’ve ever been before. A tsunami, his mind provides somewhere, but he doesn’t really apply it here. Tsunamis destroy, utilizing the currents to rip  apart anything in its path.

But, that’s not what Wilbur wants it to do.

He shapes it all to his will, and he struggles under the weight of it all, but isn’t that what control is? Grasping at strings until they finally pull, creating a plan so futile that it leaves you wondering where it all went wrong in the end, feeling the wrath of nature under his fingernails and having it fight back.

What is control but unnecessary? What do people find in it that find it so enticing, keeping its victims in cages until they are too strong to be contained any longer. What is control but trying to fight fire with fire, meeting anger with more anger?

The sea below him twists angrily like it threatens to whirlpool, but Wilbur doesn’t allow it reprieve, so the currents shatter like glass in a fit of rage, throwing droplets of water everywhere like it were raining.

Boy, those pirates out there must be having a field day. He wonders if they will blame the current on the climate, or if they know Wilbur is here. 

He lets everything ugly out, even when his fingers start to tremble and the tune goes distorted as he tries to reign it in again. He lashes out at himself with a particularly sharp pluck, something about self blame and abandonment, and the water below parts in a crack. He strums a minor chord, something angry about how the world works, another thing about destinys destined to fail, and the water shoots up and stays in place, aggravated and stout. And with one final measure it all freezes, water turning to ice as if the temperature suddenly dropped, and Wilbur knows that one is about sacrifice, about how it’s been forced upon him. 

And had it ever been himself? Was there any other choice he could make? If Wilbur had not gone to the Winter Woods that day, he might have saved his wings. But how long would it have been before he went in too deep again? And had he really wanted to give up the memories he already had for the chance at a better or worse outcome?

The moment Wilbur Soot had even stepped into the Winter Woods, he had been doomed. Even if his wings hadn’t glown- and thinking about it, where had Techno been that first day- he remembers the cold clinging to him like a kiss on his head, had felt something latched onto his arm that fawned over him, and had there ever been a choice? If he had been destined to meet Technoblade, wouldn’t the snowy forest also call for his company?

Wilbur jolts, Ranboo’s hand grounding him and taking him out of his thoughts. He’s honestly grateful, because his brain will not stop thinking of hypotheticals, and when he does that casually, Tommy usually tells him to shut the fuck up. This time, he thinks he can afford the self therapy without Tommy there. He thinks Tommy would be proud. 

Wilbur looks up at Ranboo, who honestly looks like he’s seen a ghost. Which, fair. He just did the equivalent of a water fairies influence with the pluck of a few strings. He normally couldn’t do it, normally doesn’t have the strength required to call so far out to nature that he can grasp it and make it do his will, but he supposes that this time had been the exception, that he had simply too much inside of him.

The regrettable part of it is that he hardly has anything left. Which is decidedly bad, because he still has to make the whole trip back to Pixie Hollow, but he feels so fulfilled that it barely matters.

Wilbur grins at Ranboo, something genuine and real, like the weights have been lifted from the corners of his mouth and his shoulders have relaxed. 

“Let's go home,” Wilbur says, and he thinks that maybe he has a visit to pay, and he thinks that maybe things could possibly be okay. 

_

It’s not like he isn’t proud of him, but Ranboo bitches to Wilbur the entire way back, “I can’t believe we came all the way here so you could make ice with your damn lyre ,” but he accepts Wilbur’s many genuine apologies like they’re not even grievances. It’s almost like Ranboo cares or something. 

The journey back doesn’t take as long, mostly because they had to climb most of their way there, so on the way back, they have fun sliding down their mountain of a hill. Though, most of it is Wilbur tripping over everything as he tries to steady himself while Ranboo offers still hands. It’s not the best method, but it works for them.

And it’s funny to see Wilbur fall flat on his face every now and then. 

By the time they reach the outskirts of fairy settlement, they are entirely too tired and hungry, (or at least Wilbur is, refusing to eat Ranboo’s honeycomb like it carried the plague despite the other’s insistence,) and the sun is already dangerously close to the horizon. Wilbur tells Ranboo to go back home and spend some time with your goddamn husband, you nerd, you both have been at my house for too long.

“You sure?” Ranboo queries, then he backtracks, “N-not that you aren’t entitled to you privacy, I-I just want to make sure you’re okay-”

Wilbur cuts him off, amused laughter worming it’s way out of his throat. “I’ll be okay Ranboo, get some rest.”

Ranboo smiles at him brightly and tells him to not hesitate to come to him if he needs his help, our doors are always open if you need me or Bee, and Wilbur thanks him, and as a second thought, hugs him tight.

“For everything,” he promises, “Thank you.”

The walk home alone is honestly very nice. There's a nice breeze pulling through that he shivers at, helps him feel alive and alert. He appreciates the warm tones of autumn, how the golden sunlight reflects off of vibrant colored leaves and gives a cozy feel to the air. As much as Wilbur has been infatuated with the Winter Woods, he knows there is no way he could ever consider moving anywhere that wasn’t where he already lived. He is utterly in love with it, wouldn’t trade the fog or the early morning chilliness, wouldn’t trade the ugly brown it turns into when it rains, wouldn’t trade the whole encompassing feeling of home surrounding him. 

He takes his time, but is also carefully watching the sun, wary of how much time he has left before it’s dark and he needs to be home. It’s not really anything to do with the darkness, more to do with the chilliness that autumn is prone to on it’s worst nights. It’s the uncomfortable kind, the kind that can’t make up it’s mind between warm and cold. The kind where you’re cold so you put on a jacket, just to be too hot within the coming minutes. It’s tiring, and Wilbur decides he wants to do as little with it as possible. 

By the time he makes it home, the sun is almost fully gone, and there is a chill settling underneath his skin and in the air, so as he walks up to his door and hears Tommy laughing brightly at something Tubbo’s probably said on the other side, he doesn’t hesitate swinging the door open.

“Ayup Tommy, sorry I was gone,” Wilbur says, looking down as he kicks off his shoes, because who knew walking hurt when you don’t do it so often? He probably could’ve used the exercise after this week anyway. “I was out with Ranboo, we went out into Never-”

Never finished his sentence, more like. Not with Technoblade sitting there in front of him, like he belonged there, like he had been there a million times before. 

Wilbur’s mouth clicks shut, mostly out of pure shock. 

Because uh, pardon him if this rude, but uh, what the fuck is he doing here?

Technoblade likely hasn’t been here since he broke his wings. Which is valid, but if that’s the case, doesn’t the warmer months remind Techno of bad things?

Oh gods, he’s going to have to have this conversation now-

“Hi,” Technoblade says awkwardly, “I’m errands.” 

Wilbur shoots Tommy a look, the look , “What the fuck did you say to him.”

Tommy sputters, then finally gets a grasp of his words, offended, “What! I didn’t say anything to ‘im!”

Right on cue, Technoblade chimes in dryly, “He threatened me with my needle.”

“ What- ”

“I did not! He’s fucking lying!” Tommy says, though it’s pretty obvious he’s the liar as he raises his hands in front of him in defense, voice raising an octave or so. 

Wilbur huffs, annoyed. But… he isn’t really, he knows what Tommy is trying to do. Tommy is kind like that. Impatient as hell, but considerate. This fucking kid…

Wilbur tosses his head in mock petulance, finally addressing the goddamn elephant in the room. “I suppose this means we gotta make up now.”

Technoblade grins, easy, “The little brother demands it.”

Wilbur feels a little warm, but he’s not sure what at, blames it on the tea that Tommy shoves into his hands. Still, “How the hell did that happen, he hated you not even ten hours ago?”

Tommy clears his throat, clearly not liking that he’s not being asked this, that he’s not the center of attention, “I’m just that lovable.”

Wilbur has a quip he wants to use to counter, but before he can finish his sip of tea to say it, “No, you’re fucking annoying.” Wilbur nearly spits the tea out, arm flying over his face in an attempt to keep it in, and once he gets it all down he laughs, bright and happy like he hasn’t been in days.

“What the fuck.” Tommy says, and he gets up from his seat, eyes narrowing at Wilbur losing his goddamn mind, “I didn’t know this is where Tommy antis gathered, I’ll leave you now if that’s okay with you.” He says it with contempt, but Wilbur doesn't miss the clear question, and smiles fondly at Tommy. As a thanks, not because he loves the little bastard. 

“Go away and go jump on the bed or something, child.” Wilbur says with just as much humor, brightening at Tommy’s scowl deepening. 

“M’ not a fucking child…” Tommy mutters, but he doesn’t attempt an argument, not when there’s something important to be addressed at the moment. Instead he moves to get out of the room politely, looking back just to make sure everything will be okay, then leaves the room fully when he can’t find a reason not to.

Wilbur drops in the chair across the table from Techno with a huff. He smiles, pained. “I’m sorry about him, I hope he didn’t cause a lot of trouble.”

Technoblade smiles back, albeit awkwardly. “Nah, he put me in my place.”

Maybe that was supposed to be placating, but it’s not to Wilbur, clear as he sets his tea down so he can hide his face in his hands. He groans loudly, inner anguish returning even though he’s too tired to even attempt to process it. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Wilbur laments, sinking into his chair, “I should’ve come sooner.”

“He’d still tag along,” Technoblade muses, “Would've been a general, threatening menace.”

Wilbur groans a little louder. Tommy meeting Techno would’ve been as immediate as it could get had Wilbur returned with only the good news. Tommy was dead set on meeting them as soon as possible to evaluate them, which Wilbur had agreed to so he had no real right to complain. 

He wants to anyway. 

And then it all hits him. He looks behind him, and like a lovely confirmation; his wings are bright blue like before, like they had been in the cave. 

And for a moment he’s taken back to it, icy walls and snow piled carelessly around him, the feeling of hopelessness and dread filling his gut. It is cold and suffocating, but it doesn’t matter, because there is a light there, there is a way out, and it is attached to him. And they are blue, a very special color to be, so special that Technoblade must match with him, like the universe won’t have it any other way. 

Technoblade clears his throat, and WIlbur is brought out of his staring competition with his broken wing, winces a little as the embarrassment sinks in. The air drags down to the ground like a sunken ship, the nice moment gone, leaving the room with Tommy as sorrow fills his head. 

Distantly, he gets a little frustrated at that, because he had been fine not even twenty minutes ago, walking through the vibrant autumn grove, taking in the golden glow of the sun as it highlighted and warmed his skin, and wondered if the frost fairies were going to try to slip their magic past the border for a nice morning frost. 

(But then he remembers Tommy again, moons ago when Tommy had been worse than fine, panicked that things had just only started to get better, but now they’re worse again. He dreams about waking up in the wilderness, cold and alone, paranoid about neverland beasts that survey his campsite through the bushes that line his little clearing. He knows his time is limited, that something will pounce at him before the night transpires. He knows he will not be enough to fend it off. He knows that if he survives, he will have to move again, and Wilbur will have to find him again, and that he will have to suffer this loneliness for a while longer yet. But Wilbur cups Tommy’s head in his hands, and desperately Tommy grasps at Wilbur’s wrists, not letting him back away even if Wilbur wanted to. 

(“Healing isn’t linear.” Wilbur’s voice is firm and clear, no room for mistake or doubt. Tommy crumples into Wilbur’s arms, and the dream remains nothing but a dream.)

“So we’re brothers.” Wilbur says, can’t quite pinpoint what emotion he’s feeling right now. 

Techno nods in agreements. “We are.”

And it’s silent. Again.

Wilbur mulls over what to say. Should he apologize? What does he apologize for; he doesn’t regret anything that happened. Whatever he sacrificed for Technoblade, he’d sacrifice ten times over again. They were friends weren’t they? Not only friends, but brothers . 

Brothers. It’s crazy to get his head around that; the fairy he’d barely coerced into helping him, the one whose name is printed on nearly every book in Pixie Hollow is his brother.

A lot of things swirl around in his chest in a dizzying concoction. Lots of it is all bad things, things like denial and numbness, a sense of morbid futility settling in his lungs. No longer is the spirit of winter in his throat, no longer is the snow pillowy and soft, but cold and skin-piecing, icy. Dangerous. Inevitably these things will all come back to him, but for a while he’ll have to let it run free and come back to him in his own time. 

Wilbur’s wings twitch, and it’s been a bit since anyone’s tried to speak, and the tension is unbearable, so Wilbur opens his mouth to quip something to stall for time, but Techno beats him to it. It’s almost uneasy, the way that he unclasps his cloak and lets it slide to the floor behind him. He looks lighter like this, like less things are weighing him down, although Wilbur is almost sure that there isn’t much physical that’s contributing to that. 

“I’m sorry.” Techno says it thickly, eyes downcast and not willing to look up. Wilbur scarcely believes he’s ever seen Technoblade this distressed. 

Wilbur scarcely believes Technoblade would have ever let him see him this distressed. 

There isn’t anything to apologize for. In fact, Wilbur isn’t even upset at Technoblade, only frightened that Techno doesn’t share the same sentiment. There isn’t much to apologize for at all, but he doesn’t interrupt, allowing Technoblade to continue.

“I shouldn’t have run away from you, first off. That was pretty shitty,” Techno says, laughing lightfully in what Wilbur can only describe as a mournful tone. Techno ponders what to say for a moment, then almost immediately, “Emotional vulnerability is not my thing, I’m so bad at this-”

Wilbur shakes his head, careful not to interrupt by staying nonverbal, scared to wonder how Techno would react if he did. He reaches over for one of Techno’s hands that are clenched in fists and lying on the table. He doesn’t unravel Techno’s fingers, knows that he can be picky about touch, but he does lay a hand over Techno’s knuckles. Wilbur rubs them lightly with his thumb, letting Techno know he’s there. Technoblade’s eyes cloud over in a blank stare as he turns to look Wilbur in the eyes, but he doesn’t push him away, so Wilbur stays.

When Techno finds his words, his eyes shoot away like he realizes where he is for the first time, nervousness eating at him as if there was a damning truth behind all this. Wilbur is sure there isn’t, just as he’s sure that they are brothers, just as sure as he will forgive. 

“I...I wanted to protect you, Wilbur. That’s why I ran away.” His voice wavers, weighed down by the threat of tears. And isn’t that a sound to behold? Technoblade has always been the epitome of being sure, of solid answers and outcomes. There hasn’t been a problem faced without a solution in the time that Wilbur has known him, and he doesn’t think there has been. 

The fairy in front of Wilbur has adventured far more than he will in his entire life. He has fought pirates and studied humans up close. He has tamed beasts of every kind, flown distances he will never reach, all while recording it for an audience to hear.

The fact that Technoblade sounds so unsure is nerve wracking. Wilbur feels heartbroken. 

“I thought I could try to live my life without you, no matter how miserable it felt,” Techno continues, a lot of the weight gone as he tries to box it all in, but he fumbles again, “But I never thought it would make you miserable.”

It’s that sentence that seems to do it for Techno, eyes turning glassy, tears rolling down his cheeks like morning dew dripping down a piece of glass in a field where lost things are found.  

Wilbur stands immediately, running to Techno’s side, maybe just to be a little closer or a bit more comforting. And Techno has never been too big on lots of touch, but he takes Wilbur coming closer like an invitation, pulling him into an embrace that Wilbur pauses only shortly at before returning it.

Techno doesn’t cry loudly, Wilbur thinks that he’s a bit too proud too. Which is okay, not everybody enjoys crying, not everybody enjoys the feeling of being vulnerable. A general rule of thumb within nature is that if you feel like you’re unsafe, find a place where you are, and if you feel safe, you probably aren’t.

In Pixie Hollow, most don’t follow that rule. There isn’t a reason to. The undeniable truth is that you are safe here. There are people to protect you. There is food to eat. There is time to waste. Everyone is kind. There are no dire consequences.

But someone who spends most of their time outside of Pixie Hollow doesn’t know that. Fairies who have been exiled live for themselves, as do fairies who know danger like the back of their hand. It’s the reason Wilbur lets Tommy drag him places when he gets antsy. It’s the reason Tubbo has Ranboo. It’s the reason why Techno cries muted. 

Techno doesn’t cry loudly, but he does shake. So Wilbur holds him tight, doesn’t judge as he feels water up against his collarbone. 

It seems like Techno is taking this opportunity to let everything filter out, like he doesn’t get this sort of thing often, (which Wilbur promises will change starting now,) and Wilbur lets him. Because Wilbur has had this amazing support system dedicated to helping him with his grief. But it doesn’t even feel like Techno has allowed himself to up until now.

And that’s a bit of a punch to the gut, something that Wilbur tears up at a litte. Techno had most likely been alone all week. Which could very well be untrue; Technoblade has Skeppy and all his friends. Now that Wilbur has a bit more context, he can probably piece together that Skeppy had known about Techno’s wings already. So it wasn’t like Techno would refrain from giving information to him but…

How long had it taken Techno to trust Skeppy to tell him about his wings? How long had it taken Techno to trust Wilbur? 

Not until he had to. 

“It’s okay.” Wilbur reassures, voice a bit wobbly too, because he’s missed Techno so much, but he hadn’t let himself believe that he could share something like this with him, this bond, this trust. “It’s okay, Techno, I forgive you- there was nothing to forgive anyways, Techno.”

“It’s not,” Techno says, calmer, or more tired, Wilbur can’t tell. “I should’ve…”

“You did what you could, and I think we both needed a bit to grieve.” Wilbur says with a smile, letting Techno pull away to furiously wipe at his eyes like the water burned him. Wilbur stays crouched in front of him so they stay on the same level, laughing fondly as Techno groans, seemingly angry.

“I’m never this emotional.” He huffs, probably bitching at himself, but Wilbur reassures him anyway, “It’s okay, you can be with your brother.”

Techno laughs, sorrow starting to clear up now that there’s not much of it left. “You’re cashing in on this brother thing, aren’t you.”

Wilbur hums musically, “Yes, yes I am. Now I get to be as annoying to you as I want-”

“Please no,” Techno deadpans, but there’s a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. “I’ve already got to deal with Tommy.”

Something about that brightens Wilbur’s day a little bit. His smile turns just as bright.

“Tommy thinks of you as a brother already?” Wilbur teases a little loudly, knows Tommy is probably trying to listen through the wall.

As expected, “ No, he’s a dickhead! ” Tommy responds distantly, and then he sighs, “ But he’s got my stamp of approval, Wil. ”

If Wilbur’s smile could get any brighter, it would. Techno looks about the same way. 

“That’d be a yes.” Wilbur says fondly, ignoring the “ Fuck you! ” he gets as a response.

“I’m honored.” Technoblade says honestly, eyes full of mirth, and maybe a bit of the same excitement Wilbur feels. 

And then Wilbur hums, sobering a little, “I should let you know that I’m not sorry.” He turns away a little, “I don’t regret what I did for you, and I don’t regret giving you time to process it all. It was a lot at once, and I needed time too.”

Wilbur hates how harsh it sounds, kinda wishes that he could tell Techno anything but the truth. But that’s not what he deserves, is it? Techno had poured his heart out onto the table for Wilbur to see, something not many fairies seem to get. Wilbur isn’t sure why Technoblade is this reserved, but he doesn’t need to know, instead only wants to give back what he owes him. 

In a way, Wilbur’s only regret is having to tell Technoblade this. Vulnerability comes easy to him, but emotional honesty does not. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Techno says, and maybe it’s a little unfair- Wilbur feels like it’s very unfair that Techno should apologize and he doesn’t. But Techno is kind, even if he pretends to be mean, smiles and says, “I appreciate you anyways.”

Wilbur doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how Techno isn’t mad, or isn’t suggesting things to be sorry about. He doesn’t understand how there’s no resentment in his veins, how all of this is so acceptable, how there is no second guessing into the worth of his character. 

But… he’s never been good at bringing his emotions to light. That’s why he has Tommy, (who is probably shaking his head at him through the wall at this moment,) but Tommy isn’t a part of this. 

So, “...okay…” Wilbur says quietly, a small smile on his face. He doubts there’s anything positive Techno could say to get him to believe him, but he thinks he might be able to work on that, given that Techno will give him the chance to. None of this is enough, and he’s going to have to find a way to accept that. 

Techno seems a little dissatisfied, but he doesn’t say anything, eyes crinkling thoughtfully at the corners.

“Besides,” Wilbur says a little louder, brushing it off before it goes any further, “I’m always right, so I never have to apologize.” Wilbur pokes Techno with his shoulder, who huffs out an exasperated laugh.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Techno chuckles, visibly brightening when Wilbur places his hands on Techno’s shoulders and shakes him a little. Not hard of course, Wilbur is currently taking this all in while he’s terribly tired and craving a bed’s rest, but gently, something warm and affectionate that Techno won’t shy away from that will let him revel in this moment for a bit.

Because how could Wilbur not be excited about this, they’re brothers . Not only do they share the same blood in their veins, but their reason for being alive, their looks, their wing patterns.

And something about that make’s Wilbur’s wings twitch, makes him self conscious about how they look, because it’s possible, isn’t it? Techno said that siblings often share the same wing patterns, how fun would that be to test out? They would really match then, both broken, both with the same design the universe said they should have. 

“What’s that look about…” Techno narrows his eyes, and honestly, Wilbur thinks, he knows me so well already.

“No,” Techno says, and whoopsie, Wilbur said that out loud, probably under his breath, “I’ve spent a few days with you. Don’t get all sappy.”

“Says you, Mr. 'I wanted to protect you Wilbur wahhh…'" Wilbur mocks lightheartedly, laughing brightly when Techno huffs. 

"You and Tommy really are brothers…" He drags a hand down his face and above his glasses, lamenting. 

"Yeah… but not brothers with matching glowing blue wings!" Wilbur says excitedly, fluttering his own behind his back to emphasize it. Techno rolls his eyes, but there's something fond there, not quite annoyed. 

"You want to see if they match up." 

"A little…" Wilbur rocks on his feet where he's crouched, a little because his legs are sore but more so because he's excited, and he bounces to his feet when Technoblade sighs heavily and goes to stand. 

"Only once though, I can't be too sappy in one day, I have a reputation." He turns so Wilbur can slide easily beside him so they are back to back. 

"You can make exceptions for me, your brother , can't you?" Wilbur teases, whining lightly. He can feel Technoblade wince from behind him. 

"I don't know about that."

Oh, he definitely can. 

Somehow, Techno can sense his scheming, because he sighs again for the fifth time this minute, shoulders drooping slightly. 

"Let's just do this."

Wilbur grins excitedly, feels what's left of Technoblade's wings rise behind him. He follows them excitedly with his own wings, winces a little as the edge of the tear brushes against fabric, cheers a little inside when it doesn’t snag on anything. Once they're upright and aligned, Wilbur turns his head over his shoulder to look at them, intrigued, excited, humming lightly at the sight of two pairs of glowing wings pressed against each other. 

He's about to say something, he doesn’t know what it is yet, maybe something mushy or some dark joke that will leave Technoblade wheezing for air, but it never gets the chance to leave his mouth. A blinding light bursts from the tips of their wings where they meet, shining so bright that Wilbur has to turn away with a squeal. There’s a chill that runs down the center of his spine for a split second, knows Technoblade feels it too by the way they shiver together. Energy runs from his back to the tips of his fingers, and they're eager to strum lyre strings, or maybe they want to press notes into a flute, or maybe they want to beat a rhythm into a drum. He's not sure which he wants to do more, just knows that he wants to, just knows that there is fairy magic coursing through his veins and past his fingertips.

He reaches for something then, quickly, because he's not sure whether he’s been there for a second or a minute at this point, and finds Technoblade’s hand, which has also shot out in search for something, and they hold on for dear life.

But it’s all gone in an instant, light fading almost as quick as it came, leaving seemingly nothing behind. If anything, Wilbur’s wing feels a little better, but he blames it on whatever magical reaction just happened there, as he also feels a little more rejuvenated.

“What the fuck…” Wilbur says, turning around to look at Techno who’s no doubt as confused as he is, but eyes catch on bright blue light, much more than there had been before. 

Wilbur sputters, withdrawing his hand, “ Holy shit- ” spins all the way around and jumps back and hits a table, knocking over all his shit, but he doesn’t care-

Right where Techno’s shattered wings used to be, are two unbroken ones. Like he had just gone out to go get new ones, or he had just visited the best recovery healing fairy the world has ever seen, or like he had a run in with luck and also a miracle too.

Wilbur can’t decide either, mind trying wildly to catch up as Technoblade swivels around at the first sound of distress, grabbing onto one of Wilbur’s flailing arms right before he bumps into the table.

“Techno, your wings, look- ” Wilbur says, frozen where he stands no matter how much he wants to move, can feel his wings fluttering behind him to release all the nerves, a little surprised by the way air catches beneath them despite being broken…

Techno looks back, face morphing into some sort of tender surprise when he finds what's there for him, like he’s halfway in between shouting in victory and bursting into tears. 

After the day they’re both having, Wilbur can’t blame him for either.

Techno huffs out a short laugh, disbelieving, and Wilbur grins brightly, lurches forward and takes Techno by the shoulders again, “Techno you can fly again, ” reveling in how his stomach drops but not in dread this time. 

It’s taking a moment to sink in, a bit laughable at how absurd this whole thing is, at the blessing that’s just been given. Wilbur has no problem processing it all somehow. Maybe it’s because he believes in miracles, or maybe it’s because he thinks Technoblade is due for one. Either way, Wilbur wants to have this so badly, is already so happy for Techno that his smile splits across his face, oozing pure joy.

Because they are brothers, because the universe said they should be, because the universe believed they should be happy.

When it finally hits Techno, his smile stretches wide and unashamed, unable to contain his laughter, and even then it still looks like he can’t believe it. 

“I know what my next award-winning book is gonna be about,” Techno muses, probably because he’s not really sure what to say at all. Wilbur laughs brightly along with him, doesn’t care about how Techno feels this time because something like this can’t happen without a celebratory hug. 

Techno doesn’t push him away though, which is an awesome sign, just hugs back a bit awkwardly but no less joyful. 

It doesn’t last too long; Wilbur pushes him away excitedly, “We have to get you back to winter!” He sniffs a little, unwilling to say he feels the urge to shed a tear, “So you can relearn how to fly again!”

It’s something Wilbur has always wondered about, how Techno’s dry face would fit in contrast to the freeing feeling of soaring through the air, wonders how buzzing excitement and the knowledge of doing what the universe has gifted him to do doesn’t make him burst into joyful smiles. 

“Well I want to see you fly first,” Techno says with a grin, amused at the way he’s just currently whirled Wilbur’s thoughts around in his head, “Look at your wing, yours is fixed too.”

Wilbur hadn’t even thought to look, feels ridiculously dumb, furthur enunciated by Techno huffing fondly, “ Dumbass.”

And Techno is right; Wilbur turns and his wing is fixed, like nothing had ever happened, like someone had sown the tear together and left no trace of their work. 

He stares, momentarily, before shooting past Techno and running through the hall, laughter ringing behind him. He scrambles into his room, disturbing Tommy who seems to have become bored with eavesdropping and deciding to spend his energy on the embroidery materials he keeps at Wilbur’s house in case he gets bored or needs something to fiddle with. 

Wilbur doesn’t give the complicated flowers stitched into the patch of fabric another thought, sliding across the floor as he tries to turn towards his dresser. Tommy gives him a bewildered look. 

“The fucks your problem?” He asks, then promptly clamps his mouth shut when Wilbur starts digging through drawers, finds his pixie dust ration, and throws a handful of dust over his head.

“W-Wil, I don’t think that’s gonna-” Tommy never gets to finish, instead gapes as Wilbur pushes his weight down into his wings, and they reliably lift him above the floor. And if he laughs a bit uncontrollably, excitement impossible to contain, absolutely gleeful, then only Tommy and Techno get to know that as they watch him flutter around the room.

The night gets a little easier from there, but who is anyone kidding, it’s mostly the wing thing. Wilbur hadn’t lost them for long, but he hadn’t realized how much missed it, flying through the air and feeling the wind against his face with Tommy next to him as they escorted Techno back to the Winter Woods, chilly air finally good for something as it harbors a cold enough temperature that Technoblade’s wings won't instantly break. Once they had arrived, Wilbur gave Technoblade a big handful of dust, and watched him lift his wings and fly for the first time in rotations, maybe even a year. 

And as much as Wilbur missed it, he doesn’t think any fairy could have missed flying as much as Techno. He’s wobbly to start, but like everything Techno does, it’s only a matter of time before he gets his footing, and once he does there’s no going back as he excels, joy completely out-matched as he flies higher and higher into the sky until he could be mistaken as one of the snow flurries falling to the ground. Wilbur even laughs brightly as he pulls Tommy closer to him to keep him from shivering so much, wings tucked under Techno’s cloak. 

He’s a little upset that he can’t join him, that flying with his brother isn’t something the universe will allow, but the thought of it never bubbles to the surface as he watches Techno freefall, catching himself before he slams into the ground and starts soaring again. 

“You’re really putting this handful of fairy dust to the test.” Wilbur jests once Techno lands, which isn’t for a good while, deciding to gift his ration of pixie dust to Techno. He’s sure that he won’t have enough to get home, but Wilbur will gladly walk for a half an hour more if it means Techno gets to fly more tonight. Besides, if push comes to shove he could probably bully Tommy for some of his, just to get him to the pixie dust dust tree for another ration. 

Techno doesn’t say anything, and Wilbur doesn’t blame him, because what can you say? What do you say after the universe gives you another chance, and thank you isn’t nearly grandiose enough? What can you say when affection runs deep through your bones, so thick that it makes you feel wobbly, so wild that there isn’t a way to reign it into words?

Wilbur holds the bag of dust out to Techno, who takes it gently, as if he were holding a small creature in his hands, reminding Wilbur faintly of Tubbo who holds such affection and love in his hands every day and seems to never quite use it all up. And with boundless devotion like that, there’s nothing to do with it but share it, and Technoblade shows it by wrapping Wilbur in a warm embrace that should be concerning for a winter fairy, but Wilbur can’t find it in him to care, especially when Technoblade tucks himself in and whispers “I love you.”

_

All their problems aren’t solved. Wilbur is still avoiding Phil like he’s a goddamn hawk, because there has only been a handful of times where he’s good at confronting his issues, and this is not one of them. There’s also his music instructor, who glares at him for his two week absence and demands that he best write the next banger of a symphony for their next performance to make it up. (Wilbur huffs, it’s not like he can’t play his part, but he does wince when his fingers trip over the notes when he tries to prove that claim.) There’s also Ranboo, which is more of a lighthearted thing to be sad about, who is now once again alone in the flightless club. (Ranboo isn’t sad, in fact, the moment Wilbur confesses his wings have been mended, Ranboo lunges for him in a joyful hug and spins him in a little circle, way too overjoyed for someone who will never have that privilege himself.)

The biggest downside however, is that Wilbur and Techno still have to coordinate dangerous visits. Which, in Wilbur’s opinion, sucks ass.

It’s mainly Wilbur visiting Techno since they can’t find a solid, safe way for Techno to cross into a warm season without his wings melting like wax under the sun, (Techno jokes about a man named Icarus, Wilbur doesn’t get it.) They decide to not look a gift horse in the mouth, decide to not test the waters of what their wings are capable of. For all they know, their wings healing is just a one time thing, and so they don’t push things further than they need to go, and that is how Technoblade becomes a helicopter sibling. 

It’s more amusing than anything. The snow that makes up the path to their houses is less subtle, pushed away to reveal the dirt underneath so that Wilbur knows he’s on solid ground. Anytime they decide to go somewhere, Technoblade is the one to carry Wilbur like a doll as he flies. It’s impressive how Wilbur could only lift Technoblade with sheer willpower and still struggle, whereas Techno could throw Wilbur over his shoulder like he was a goddamn rag.

Wilbur also gets wrapped in cloaks, which can be a nuisance, but he thinks it evens out when Tubbo knocks on Wilbur’s door, requesting under Techno’s demands that he gives the stolen cloak back. ( No , he’d tell Tubbo, tell him he’s gotta come and fucking get it. Tommy won’t give it up and neither will I. Tubbo grumbles out something about how he’s a fucking messenger boy, I just want to spend time with Micheal, and flutters off, leaving Wilbur amused and Tommy with a brand new cloak.)

The biggest issue is that Wilbur still has to be sneaky, because the fact that he and Technoblade are brothers doesn’t exactly excuse that trespassing in seasons that are illegal to them under dangerous pretenses is pretty forbidden. So they narrow all visits down to once or twice a week. And for the first week it works out fine, but then the second week rolls around, and everything kinda crumbles. 

Wilbur has gotten good at being sneaky, he thinks, but not nearly as good as the person who jumpscares him right as he’s about to jump into the rabbit tunnels. He jumps out of his skin at his name, swirls around expecting an animal or garden fairy to ask him what exactly he’s doing, but instead he finds fucking… Queen Kristin herself standing right behind him with a gentle smile on her face.

So this day is already turning out to be subpar, it seems. 

“Hello, Wilbur,” she greets serenely, the petals that make up her skirt gently flowing around her ankles, eyes kind, despite knowing she’s caught Wilbur in an act. 

“Y-your majesty!” Wilbur stutters, body tensing until he’s straight like the trunk of a winter pine. Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, Tommy help me out when I get exiled, yeah?

“Please, you know to call me just Kristin,” she says, smoothing out the front of her dress so casually that Wilbur feels almost pained. “May I know what you’re doing this lovely day? It is quite lovely, isn’t it? I had Tommy and George grow some beautiful Hydrangeas around the hollow today.”

The fact that she’s talked to two of his friends today has Wilbur sweating a little. Both Tommy and George (however she got George to work on aesthetics and not medicinal botany, Wilbur isn’t quite sure, and that’s also another red flag he would not like to notice,) are very loyal and loving to their queen, so it would not be far out of their morals to come clean about what Wilbur has been doing, (if George knows anything at all past the glowing wings thing.) It’s not something that Wilbur disrespects them for, in fact he admires their maturity under authority more than anything, but it’s still inconvenient.

Wilbur silently hopes he hasn’t been on Tommy’s shit list lately. 

“I noticed!” Wilbur lies easily, “The blue petals go with the sky nicely today.” He’s hoping to skirt around the question this way, knows enough about flowers from Tommy to lead this conversation astray, but unfortunately the queen is much smarter than she leads on. 

She hums, smiling and looking toward the border that is barely visible from their standpoint, concealed by trees, “I’m having a few of the garden fairies across the border grow some over there. Did you know that Hydrangeas can survive for a while in the cold? Not very long, but longer than expected.”

Wilbur feels oddly perceived. He doesn’t care for it. 

But yet he doesn’t feel the need to lie, not over something so trivial as flowers, as if the queen doesn’t know that Tommy whispers the secret to gardening into his ear once every moon. ( It’s about empathy. Tommy will say gently, cupping lilies and daisies and forget-me-nots and anything else that he can fit into his hands. I’m not very good at empathy, Tommy will say, and Wilbur will disagree before he finishes his sentence, but Tommy will roll his eyes and finish what he’s saying anyway, but when you’re a flower, people will assume your fragility, will expect you to fall apart and will pull at your stem just because you are pretty. But they are forces of nature, and unbeatable. Even when winter takes over, flowers are always back in the spring. And that is how you garden, you make it look pretty, and then you kick ass. It is so horribly Tommy, something so perfectly him like the universe picked it for him, like the universe picks brothers.) So he doesn’t lie, “I did, Tommy likes rambling about flowers to me.”

Kristin hums again, though it’s something a little more affectionate, “You two always seemed close,” she muses quietly, kindly.

“We’re brothers, if not by blood then by fate,” Wilbur says, knows it somewhere deep in his bones, and wishes somewhere else that he could show off Technoblade like he can Tommy. 

Kristin looks away from the border in favor of looking to him, eyes soft, open and beckoning like she's the most trustworthy fairy alive, and maybe she is. She’s always known to be benevolent, only taking the harsh ways when needed. It’s something so rare that Wilbur still has a hard time forgiving her for exiling Tommy like she did.

It had never been her fault though. He still blames her. It’s selfish, and it’s getting better, but he still does. 

“You never answered my question, my dear,” and Wilbur loves her a little, even as ice water crashes over his head and threatens to break him all over again, “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be preparing for your show in spring this week?”

She’s referring to a gig he has with the storytelling fairies. He’d volunteered originally because he had known someone on their team, and then later stayed with the gig because they were re-enacting a Technoblade original story. Theoretically, he should be practicing. There’s the hard flute riff he can’t seem to get down and it’s frustrating him to no end. 

But, it’s a Technoblade day, and Wilbur would happily drop anything for a chance to hang out with him. 

Wilbur doesn’t have a solid excuse this time. He could lie, but he can’t really find any words that don’t sound horribly suspicious, and by the time he fumbles through about a thousand sentences at once, Kristin gives him an endearing look.

“Why does the winter allure you?” She asks, some of the royal vocabulary gracefully leaving her mouth and reminding Wilbur even further that he’s talking to the ruler of his home. It’s impossibly hard to read her, only really easy when she’s incredibly troubled. Which freaks Wilbur out a little more, because shouldn’t she feel troubled at this?

“It’s my brother.” Wilbur says, because there’s nothing else to say. He hates his silver tongue, always wondering why it loosens like the way it does when he feels intimidated, hates it a little more when Kristin looks all the more intrigued, soft smile tensing a little. 

“Tommy?” She asks, because of course she’s confused, what other brother does Wilbur have?

How does he do this? How does he tell her without starting from the beginning? How does he tell her every law he went against for something so trivial, for something he can’t live without now?

“Stop!” Someone yells, and before he knows it, Wilbur is behind someone’s arm, doesn’t really know where the fairy came from, and it takes all of about ten seconds of silence to realize it’s Phil. 

Dread sinks into Wilbur’s stomach, but it’s not nearly as bad as the cloud of confusion hanging in his skull, disorienting and ugly.

“Hello Phil.” Kristin says with a smile, totally unperturbed. Like she had been expecting this. And had she? It’s hard to tell what and what not she orchestrated.

Phil looks a little shy for a few seconds, but ultimately shakes his head and stands with rock hard determination. “Don’t punish him, my queen.”

Kristin raises a brow, challenging, and the dread in Wilbur’s stomach feels a little heavier, “Why not, he knows the rule.”

This is decidedly not how Wilbur thought his day was going to go.

“I’d thank you kindly not to regard my son like that. He means no harm.” Phil states it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like Wilbur hadn’t betrayed him, or hurt him, or been anything but a good son. Wilbur surely doesn’t deserve this. Phil doesn’t deserve to fight this battle, and Wilbur doesn’t deserve the notion, and Wilbur doesn’t deserve to be called Phil’s son like he’s a child on the mainland, and there’s a million other things Wilbur can count that he doesn’t deserve but it’s what he’s getting anyway. He feels mournful, feels the grief sinking into his bones, like he’s lost another wing. 

Kristin looks highly amused more than anything, mouth wide and brow raising unbelievably high. “You’d do better than to regard your queen like this,” she says, authority dripping from her tongue like some sort of poison, “You know the dangers of the Winter Woods, and you know the rule. I’d think you an accomplice if not for the way that I know you.”

What the fuck is going on? Like, legitimately, Wilbur isn’t sure what game Kristin is playing, or what any of her words mean, or why Phil is still standing up for him.

And fuck, Wilbur sure as shit doesn’t know why Phil flushes like he does, though he thinks he’s starting to connect a few dots, but Phil goes right back to being protective, arm reaching further back until he establishes some sort of touch with Wilbur. Wilbur thinks it's supposed to be reassuring, but all it does is reveal how hard he’s shaking. 

“He has a brother, a real one in the Winter Woods, and I won’t allow you to drive them apart,” Phil says, something with the same authority that Kristin gives off, like he’s matching energy with her, challenging her, like he has any right to. “The rule will have to make an exception.”

Kristin’s other brow shoots up, “Well that certainly changes things,” and it sounds like pure surprise, but it quickly changes back to amusement. “Tell me, Phil, what makes you think I’d break a bond that the universe deemed to be inseparable? How cruel do you think of me?”

It’s very playful, like a discussion between friends, Wilbur knows because had anyone else disrespected her so, she wouldn’t stand for it, would easily exile whatever asshole got too close for comfort. But with Phil, she expects an answer, and a funny one too, as her amusement grows when Phil looks down at himself, incredibly dumb. 

It’s silent for a moment, and it’s evident Phil is currently too busy rethinking his life choices to answer, so Kristin clicks her tongue, smiles as wide as ever, and addresses Wilbur.

“What’s their name, my dear?”

Wilbur is feeling way too many things at once, but after the way she decimated Phil, he has no confidence to try to get his way out of this one.

“Technoblade.” Gently and kind, now that he knows the queen will pardon him a smidge of mercy, “His name is Technoblade.”

Kristin hums, was it any wonder how she was so in love with music, and that Wilbur has become one of her favorites because of it, though he still has no idea how he earned such an honor. This time she’s joyful instead of inquisitive, “The author? Good heavens, that’s a hard fairy to pin down.”

You’re fucking telling him, what with his fucking sewing needles and his affinity for shoving them in your direction .

She smiles gently still, even when Wilbur steps closer and out from behind Phil.

“What a wonderful gift from the universe, no?” She muses it quietly, taking gentle steps forward now that there is a steady string of trust looping around their limbs and tying them together. 

“Yes,” Wilbur confirms, because it is. He’s not even known Techno for a moon and yet he couldn’t remember what life was like without him. “But rather unfortunate that I can’t see him.”

Phil, finding his voice finally, grumbles “Can’t, or won’t,” but it’s entirely playful, startling a laugh out of the queen before she can notice Wilbur wince. 

“Indeed, you have quite the dilemma, my dear.” And it is, isn’t it? It’s such an inconvenience, something he doesn’t mind doing but hates having to hide, wishes he could be Techno’s brother without the strings attached to the notion. 

“There must be a way around it.” Phil insists before Wilbur gets to, and it’s rather annoying because he can certainly speak for himself, for his own brother, but does he really have the right to hurt Phil again? He feels like if he argues with Phil anymore he’ll snap an already unraveling thread. 

Kristin hums, and Wilbur wonders what song rests in her heart to have sung it so much, “Things can be arranged, and crimes can be pardoned.” Wilbur inwardly sags in relief, sagging physically when she says, “I’ll talk to Foolish, the current Lord of Winter. Maybe he knows a way to make this easier for all of us.”

Wilbur doesn’t quite know how this conversation went so well, not when he hadn’t been a major part of it all, but he fills with some sort of giddy joy anyways, even when the queen rests a hand on his shoulder, sweetly telling him to wait before their next visit. She offers to send Technoblade a pardon as well, and Wilbur agrees evilly, knows it’ll probably give him a heart attack and that there’ll be an angry letter sent to him within the hour. 

With the promise that Wilbur will get regular updates on the progress of eliminating the prohibition, Queen Kristin makes back for her palace, a kind and forgiving look on her face as she thanks Wilbur for his honesty, and thanks Phil for being the good paternal figure he is. Phil goes a little shy at the compliment. Wilbur thinks he understands a little. 

As soon as she’s out of earshot Wilbur grins, teasing. “The Queen, huh?”

Phil immediately flushes, hissing, “Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Aw, that’s really cute, Phil has a little crush on the Queennnnn…”

“I swear to god-” There’s a threat on the tip of Phil’s tongue, but he swallows it suddenly, and Wilbur hates how he looks at him then, like there’s something left to grieve, like Wilbur would still hate him, like he would have anything left inside of him to be angry at him.

“Changing the subject is quite rude, you know?” Wilbur attempts halfheartedly, but it doesn’t land like it’s supposed to. It earns him a smile though, which would be victorious if it wasn’t laced with a mourning look that sobers him until he scarcely believes there’s skin around his bones.

“It doesn’t change that I’m sorry,” Phil admits, leaving Wilbur reeling for lack of a better reaction, because what does Phil have to apologize for? Wilbur’s the one that yelled at him. Phil had only tried to protect him, but he doesn’t get to object to it before Phil speaks again. “I should have trusted you more. You’re your own fairy, and knew the risks well, and I shouldn’t have insinuated that you didn’t.” 

Wilbur gulps, feeling oddly better after hearing the apology despite what he thought, like it was something he needed to hear. Which is weird, he doesn’t even need an apology now, just knows he feels way too guilty for his own good, protests despite the good feeling curling in his chest.

“No, you shouldn’t feel sorry,” Wilbur says, even though it feels wrong, “You were only looking out for me, and you ended up being right, I couldn’t handle it.”

Wilbur’s mood drops a little, throat tightening and anxiety swirling in his gut, leaving him feeling sick, but Phil reaches for his hands, a mournful look set on his face. He runs a gentle thumb over knuckles, light enough that Wilbur can pull away should he want to, but firm enough it’s there to be grounding. 

Wilbur doesn’t feel like backing away,in fact, the touch is much nicer than he’s previously realized. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until now-how much he’d missed Phil until now. 

“But you’re okay,” Phil says, calm and non-judgemental like he’s always been, rubbing firm circles into the back of Wilbur’s palms until Wilbur can’t take it anymore. He rushes in, tucks himself into Phil, smiles a little when Phil continues, “You’re okay, and you’re here, and whatever happened won’t ever hurt you again.”

“I broke a wing.” Wilbur says, finally feels like he’s able to admit it without weird looks or panicked glances. He knows he’s right, wonders what kind of patience Phil must have when he doesn’t freak out, only tenses and hold Wilbur as close to him as he can, voice not even wavered when he responds, “It’s okay, we can work with that, what do you need, Wil?”

Wilbur hums, and maybe it’s the same song the Queen has stuck in her soul as he feels amusement soak into his fingers, the ones that cling to the flower petals of Phil’s top, feels himself shake with a little laughter as he says, “I mended it, I found my brother and the universe mended my wing.”

That has Phil reeling a little, eyes wide as he pushes Wilbur away and around, looking at his back. Wilbur doesn’t know what he’s looking for. The night he got them back Technoblade ran chilly fingertips over the place his wing had torn and declared whatever rift there had been completely mended. There was no scar, no sign of damage, only the emotions it left behind, mournful but oddly mirthful.

Wilbur laughs loudly, “I wouldn’t blame you for not believing me, Techno can scarcely believe it himself- he’s my brother, by the way, Technoblade.”

Phil immediately spins Wilbur back to face him again, and Wilbur muses in his brain that this is an awfully funny dance I’ve found myself in, but it halts in its tracks, “I’d always believe you Wilbur.”

How can he just fucking say that? Does Phil not know half the shit that comes out of his mouth? This whole journey for a destiny has been fleeting of logic since day one, Wilbur doesn’t think anyone can wrap around this moon’s events, let alone someone who Wilbur’s personally insulted.

But Wilbur is selfish, so he smiles, “Then I have a lot to explain.” 

_

Wilbur has not had his Technoblade fix in nearly two moons. And it’s fucking annoying. 

He misses him, okay? The Summer Festival is due in a few days, and all of his friends are going to be leaving for the mainland, and he feels alone, and it’s unfair . It is unfair that the one fairy staying in the hollow while the seasons change is the one he’s been ordered by the queen to not see for the foreseeable future. 

Not to mention that his updates from the queen about the separation of Winter are few and in between, leaving Wilbur frustrated and impatient. 

He misses Technoblade, it seems. He didn’t think it’d be such a catalyst for feelings. but here he is, hollow. 

It’s not like they don’t converse, Wilbur and Technoblade send each other letters every other hour, always some stupid joke or giddy excitement about the future that’s yet to come. It’s refreshing to know that there’s a quill on the other side for Wilbur to talk to, but if Wilbur didn’t have the same face as Technoblade, he’d be forgetting what Technoblade looked like right about now!

“It’s only been two moons,” Tommy says later, his own Technoblade letter in his hand as he skims over it and bitches about Lila in the Garden Talent Guild again. Tommy had been excited to receive the letter; he doesn’t get many often and no matter how much he acts like he doesn’t, he also misses Technoblade something awful. So Wilbur doesn’t think it wrong of him to be as salty as he is at the comment. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so fucking patient,” Wilbur snarks. Tommy raises a brow from where he’s seated across the room from him, “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

Wilbur groans miserably, lets his face drop onto the table below him. He’s half-tempted to ignore Tommy and his grumbling, but he’s trying to cash in as much time as he can with him before he flies off to go help change the seasons. He’ll be gone for half a week, which is bullshit considering how quickly preparations were made this year. 

Normally, due to Wilbur being the only fairy that has the natural ability to call out to nature with his music like he can, he would go as well, but this week he’d much rather stay and catch up on all the work he’d missed prior. He’s lacking in all his compositions, most of them sounding dull or bland because he’s afraid letting his hand write without his mind there will result in a musical calamity. 

This goes against him, he knows, but he’s been nervous, okay?

“I just miss him.” He says it simply, as he has the other five hundred times he’s said it this week, mostly because there’s no other words to describe his feelings other than the simple ones. 

Tommy sighs, but relents, “Me too, big man.”

“Two moons have felt like two rotations,” Wilbur complains pitifully, hoping that Tommy might understand, but Tommy hums, rolling his scroll up and latching it together with the pin Techno gifted him. He grabs the cup of tea that he made for himself- Wilbur’s tea, mind you, little prick needs to get his own sometime- and takes a sip, swishing it around in the acorn cup he’s made his own.

“It hasn’t,” he says empathetically. “I just have other things to focus on, y’know? Summer Festival and shit- not to mention the Summer Solstice the queen wants us to prepare for.” Tommy sighs, like his life is everything more than troubled, “Which is why Lila is getting on my fuckin nerves- did- did I tell you how she fuckin’- gods she’s annoying, she blamed me for why we were behind because I took that week vacation.”

Wilbur laughs, not entirely cheery but enough to entertain Tommy, “You did give them literally no notice.”

“They’re pricks! Just- make more fuckin’ flowers man, it’s not that hard! They shouldn’t pile all that shit on me.” Tommy grumbles, eyebrows smashing together as he flutters up from his seat, talking animatedly to get all the anger out, “They all care about the pretty flowers ! Look at this flower Wilbur! Look how pretty, let's work on how beautiful it looks! Mimimimi-”

Wilbur laughs again, albeit more brightly this time, but Tommy doesn’t seem to hear him, keeps on ranting, “Nature is messy! Leave it that way, nurturing is better than conditioning.”

Wilbur understands, so he hums. “Oddly mature of you,” he quips.

“Oh piss off,” Tommy says lightheartedly, then after a moment of silence, “Is this what venting is?”

Wilbur wheezes, not quite expecting that, laughs a little harder when Tommy snips, “Oh I’m so sorry Wilbur, I’ll be sure to ask next time-”

“Shut up,” Wilbur laughs, leaving Tommy with a smile. “You’re so stupid.”

“Wow I’ll be sure to bottle up my feelings next time, thank you Wilbur for nothing. ”

Wilbur coughs, trying to calm down but Tommy is making it hard, especially when he gloats, “See, if you would just focus on something else, you’d get your mind off that bitch. Techno never dies, he should be the one coming over.”

And Tommy, naturally, infuriatingly, is right. Maybe not about Techno coming over, but maybe about getting his mind off things. 

It’s harder than he imagines.  

Tommy has gotten the worse half of his worries for the better part of the week, so finally, as Tommy leaves Wilbur’s house for the last time before the week he’ll be gone, he draws Wilbur in for a hug, promises he’ll miss him, and grumbles, “If I don’t hear a composition that fucks when I come back, I’ll be right angry.” Wilbur isn’t sure if that’s because Tommy is tired of seeing the warning notices arrive mail fairy after mail fairy, or if it’s because Wilbur hasn’t thought a coherent thought that isn’t I miss Technoblade , or maybe Tommy thinks Wilbur as a lazy bitch that’s so incompitent that he can’t even write a damn song without feeling sorry for himself. Which isn’t true! He can do it! He reads his mail, he can be independent, he can be productive, for gods’ sake. He can write a measly little song, easy. He bets he can finish one in a week. 

So that’s what Wilbur does. He draws staffs on parchment and leaves ink stains on his cheeks and plays the lyre until his fingers ache for hours on end. He doesn’t sleep exempt the few times that he drops in absolute exhaustion, hyper fixated far over his regard for his own health, and it’s only until the week is half over that he succumbs to himself, letting his mood drop for real for the first time in a while. It’s the first time he’s been alone, truly alone in a while, and it always fucks with him on the worst of days like this day, and yet, it is when he gets the most work done.

Far away in a place that’s being monitored under the queen’s orders is his brother. Far away on the other side of the universe are all of his friends, cursed with nature talents. Wilbur is alone; the hollow feels hollow. The tinkers are in their little grotto, and all the art talents are in their homes resting, but all the artistic guild’s numbers have always been little, so the settlements in each season are all barren, waiting to be filled again.

Wilbur has never felt so out of reach. He feels so out of reach that he seldom wonders why anyone would ever stretch for him. 

It’s not a healthy state of mind. So he does nothing but write music to stave the bad feelings off. He doesn’t hide his projections well.   

Notes are drawn on a staff in a delicate approach, only for moments later to drop in utter grief, weaving harmony and dissonance in and out until it’s hard to grasp on anything joyful. He pours sadness into rhythmic patterns like it’s freshly spring, like it’s icicles melting after hanging onto pine branches for so long, like it’s frozen, shattered wings thawing in the heat.

There’s a disconnection, evilly placed like the composer wants the audience to suffer. The notes beg for some sort of resolution that seems satisfactory, and there’s a few brief ones, but none that make Wilbur feel like he can breathe again, not until the end; the resolution is so overwhelming that Wilbur has to collect himself, feeling like something clicks into place as he grieves all over again.

It is deep and soulful, trilling upwards with flutes that sound like river reeds in the winds, calming and serene so much that it’s eerie, later dropping the notes down to a bassline that feels devastating, like a blizzard halting to a stop, like crystals dangling in front of your face that are colder than you will ever know, like should you reach for them they’ll cut through flesh and leave you in pain. 

And then it’s done, like the aftermath of a storm, and Wilbur rests.

He wakes up feeling much better, well rested if not starving, but that is solved with a simple brew of tea and the steady stirring of stew in a pot, and as he waits for water to boil, he looks over the pieces he obsessed over hours earlier and wonders over them in awe, wonders how he ever came up with such a thing, because he couldn’t remember ever being so sorrowful.

_

The composition is a hit.

Fairies everywhere are talking about it, not to mention every single one of Wilbur’s friends. 

“She couldn’t believe that I knew you,” Tubbo boasts after he’s settled after his long trip, things finally being placed in their rightful slots now that the transition to Summer has been made and balance has been restored to the universe who demands it. 

Though Wilbur only feels like he’s unsettled it again, with how he seems to have shaken the entire hollow. 

Ranboo rolls his eyes, there at Wilbur’s house even though he’s still tired from the trip. He hadn’t needed to fly- he was decidedly too wingless - but he had been carried by a beautiful dove that Tubbo arranged for him so he could visit the mainland. Flying was a big part of work in the mainland since it was only a hundred times bigger than pixie hollow, but Ranboo had still found a way, curling pixie dust around his fingers and creating summer breezes that blew past field after field.

Sneeg had said it reached the coastline. Ranboo denies it, bashful, but he never denies the proud smiles Tubbo throws mushily at him, and that is perhaps his biggest downfall. 

“He’s your friend, Tubbo, not a piece of writing,” Ranboo chastises, not unkindly. Tubbo groans, flicking a speck of pixie dust into Ranboo’s forehead.

“Can I not cash in on the fact that I know a celebrity ?”

Ranboo laughs, “What, is being married to the only fairy without wings not enough for you?”

Wilbur giggles quietly as Tubbo shoots Ranboo a look, seething, but only playfully, “Apparently not since you want to be a dick- ”

It’s nice to have his friends support of course, even if they boast about him from time to time with their I-was-here-before-Wilbur-became-famous-tickets. Though sometimes it gets a little overwhelming, and to that Wilbur can only blame Tommy.  

If Tommy hadn’t been mothering before, he was a proud parent now, taking his forcefully signed copy of the composition around the entire hollow and showing it off, bragging over and over again that “You know this fairy? He’s my brother .”

“Stop doing that,” Wilbur nagged one day as they were flying around, only interrupted when they had bumped into George who had congratulated Wilbur on the wonderful song. Wilbur had turned to thank him before Tommy had shoved the autographed material in his face, boasting and boasting until Wilbur had to drag him away.

“Why!” Tommy exclaimed, “I’m just showing everyone that I have the best brother in the whole hollow- ”

“Mhm, and that’s rude Tommy,” Wilbur said nicely, affectionately wrapping an arm around Tommy as he squirmed to get out of it. “What, I thought I was the best brother? Why don’t you want to hug me?”

Tommy squirmed harder, “Because you’re a bitch and I can’t be seen with you,” not even bothering to make up for how contradictory he’d been. Wilbur laughed brightly and gave Tommy reprieve, ignoring him easily as Tommy muttered “Clingy bitch…”

Not even five minutes later, Tommy zipped off to brag the shit out of Lila, who only glared at Tommy like he’d shat on her flowers. Wilbur had smiled, brighter than he had recently, allowing Tommy to have bragging rights just this once. 

But not everyone bragged. Most friends like Phil didn’t speak of it; only to congratulate him and if it ever came up in conversation of course.

His influence reached across all four corners of Pixie Hollow, luckily even in the Winter who had seemed the most eager to send him letters of admiration. It had been nice for the first few hours, but much longer after that, there had simply been too many letters to go through. Tommy had about enough of it after a day, especially since they all said basically the same thing, so he ended up shoving a bunch of the fan letters into the fire despite Wilbur’s protests. 

He didn't do it for long. Wilbur tackled him after he threatened to do it again. 

Even Technoblade had been sending him letters about Wilbur’s success, threatening lightly that he was going to catch back up in popularity before he knew it, then laying layer upon layer of awkward affection on him, congratulating him and telling Wilbur how much he missed him. 

That letter is probably the thing that made Wilbur smile the brightest.

Well, until about a week after. 

Wilbur finishes the last note in the song he wrote, letting the note ring out into the crowd before the roaring applause shatters it. He stands and bows to them all in gratitude for listening, smiling politely, then exits backstage to rest after all the adrenaline. 

His bones all feel heavy after the performance- even heavier once he remembers how long he’d practiced to make sure the way he wanted to play it came out right. This week had been hell, letter after letter, hour after hour of practice, interaction after interaction. It wouldn’t be the first time in the week that Wilbur begrudgingly agreed with Technoblade on the whole hermit thing, even though for the most part he’d enjoyed all the attention.

He’s just tired, is all. 

He sits to rest, sagging into his seat like it was the most comfy thing in the world, and doesn't even flinch when someone sits next to him. Wilbur doesn’t even bother to open the eyes he’d already shut, just grumbling sleepily to greet them.

He’s sure it’s one of the producers, or maybe it’s one of the storytelling fairies preparing for the next segment of the show, or maybe it’s his director granting him a smidge of company as a post-show reward. Regardless, he couldn’t care less as he sighs, tempted to just fall asleep here so he doesn’t have to go through the motions trying to communicate with so many fairies as he tries to race home. 

The attention is nice, and he appreciates it all so much, he’s just tired. All he wants is his bed, and maybe a warm up of tea to warm himself up, and maybe Tommy at his side so he can curl up with him as some sort of thanks for all of his support for the past three moons. He just wants it without all the goddamn attention. 

The person next to him giggles lightly, and it’s not until she speaks that Wilbur’s eyes shoot open and he propels himself with his wings up into the air so he can drop himself on his feet, losing exhaustion so suddenly that it must have been a coat he had just shuffled off in a heartbeat,  “What a wonderful composition, my dear. You’ve outdone yourself, I thank you kindly for the lovely music.”

“Y-your h- I mean uh- Kristin!” The queen knows nothing but of the worst timing.

Kristin smiles brightly, “I’m glad you remember to drop the formalities, my friend,” and before he can even process that she called him her friend, “I have some news I think you’d deem interesting.”

Still caught wildly off guard, especially since she had come to him after a bloody concert , “U-uh yeah, sure!”

Kristin smiles warmly, “Come with me dear, I have something to show you.”

Wilbur reluctantly goes, only perking up a little more when having the queen’s arm in his seems to ward off any fairies who may want to approach as they all scatter out of the way to clear a path, even when they leave the leaf tent and make their journey. Wilbur isn’t sure where they’re going, assumes they’re making for the palace in the pixie dust tree until they pass it, then assumes they’re going to stop at his home until they pass that too. It isn’t until he can see the border in the distance that he allows himself to hope.

Sensing his excitement, Kristin turns to him and smiles kindly, doesn’t even try to kill the raw hope that builds in Wilbur’s chest to dangerous levels. 

“We found a way.” Kristin says, smiling wide, but not as wide as Wilbur, whose wings are flapping quickly in pure uncontainable excitement, unable to find a single thing to say except “Really?”

Kristin nods, gentle hands finding his, “I wanted you to be the first over, I know you miss your brother dearly so I wanted to wait to make the announcement to the hollow tomorrow evening.”

Wilbur trembles . He could blame it on the approaching cold, but there is no reason to lie, so he doesn't even bother to try and contain his excitement. Because fuck, he misses his brother so much. 

She hums, smiling as Wilbur tries and fails to suppress happy tears, excitement contagious, and her voice raises in happiness, “Would you like to go now, or would you like to w-”

Wilbur doesn’t care about formalities anymore, though he’ll probably smack himself for the interruption later when he thinks back on it, “Now, now please, I’d like to see him now.”

Kristin laughs good-naturedly, “I thought so.” She ushers him closer to the border, uncaring that they step into snow a little, and Wilbur misses the way the cold makes him shiver, how the cold fills his lungs and makes him excited to breathe.

“This process is one-way for now,” she explains, smiling when a fairy steps out of the treeline and makes their way over to them, smiling brightly. “Techno cannot visit the warmer seasons until we can find a way, but starting my decree tomorrow, you are free to traverse the Winter Woods as long as you have a frost fairy’s magic upon your wings.”

As if on cue, the fairy approaching them introduces himself, “Hello! I’m Karl. Queen Kristin here says you want to cross?”

Wilbur smiles politely, mostly so he can get through all of this process as fast as he can. He doesn’t care about all the specifics right now, which may be foolish, but can you blame him for wanting to see his brother?

“Yes please,” He nearly begs, but he has no shame. Karl doesn’t make fun of him, only smiles brightly as he agrees, “Of course! One moment, this might feel weird- turn around a sec?”

Wilbur complies, flinches kinda violently when he feels the chilly magic of winter encasing his wings, almost like they’re freezing again, but after a second or two it’s all over, wings warm like they had been in autumn a minute or two ago.

“Frost is used to keep plants warm so that they survive freezes in early spring or late autumn,” Karl dutifully explains, returning the nod the queen gives him. He allows Wilbur to turn around, watches carefully as he tests them out by hovering over the ground.

“It’s thin enough to allow you to fly, but thick enough to keep all the heat trapped underneath it so your wings won’t break! Me and the queen came up with it together!”

If Wilbur was half as polite as he was, he’d be gone by now, already halfway to Techno’s home. But he’s not, so he nods kindly to Karl, listening patiently like he had absorbed any of that knowledge. 

But Kristin laughs kindly, “I can tell you want to go dear, so I won’t hold you any longer. All I ask is that if you find anything wrong, you come back to the border immediately and consult me, okay?”

Wilbur nods excitedly, will promise anything if it means he can go already, is already zooming off before the queen finishes, “Alright dear, go see your brother.”

The trees fly past quicker than he’s ever seen them, and something about that is enthralling and ethereal, so he allows himself a second to revel in it all, then he’s buzzing off again, dodging falling snow from the overworked branches of the forest’s canopy. 

He knows the way by heart at this point, doesn’t even need to find their little dirt path that’s probably snowed over by now as he zips through trees, dodging and weaving despite his aching bones telling him to rest. Adrenaline finds him again, and he knows he'll be absolutely exhausted by the time he makes it but Wilbur doesn't care. 

Technoblade will take care of him anyways, they'll take care of each other. 

After a minute or two he’s nearing the base of a giant pine, whooping as his wings flicker on like lighting a candle. He'd missed it, the bright blue, missed being close. He smiles impossibly wider. 

He lands near the front door, wings still flicking excitedly as he bounds up to it, ready to knock, but he doesn’t get to. The door swings open and Technoblade is there, hair a mess and wings glowing bright blue, matching and wonderful. He looks as if he had scrambled to get to the door in time, like he would somehow miss Wilbur passing by.

Never, never in a million years. Wilbur will always be there to meet his brother, he promises. 

It’s the same auburn eyes looking to one another for a moment, scarcely believing they’re where they are for a moment, neither one willing to break the silence lest it shatters the moment like a good dream gone too soon. 

Wilbur smiles, ready to say something affectionate after so long, but thinks of something even better, something worthy of a brother, “Hey, are you Technoblade? I wanted to ask you a question, what do glowing wings mean?”