Work Text:
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. There wasn't supposed to be more ash and screams and death.
Fundy was meant to be safe by now, sitting next to a bonfire at his father's side. They would sing victory songs and write a new document declaring his dad president of the reclaimed L'Manberg. He would smile again, at Fundy, at his uncles, who would ruffle Fundy's hair and tell him he'd done well. They were supposed to be liberated by now. Things were meant to be normal again.
Instead, his uncle was throwing withers down like dice, aiming for the people he'd eaten dinner with just yesterday.
"FUNDY, LOOK OUT!"
Someone launched into him, shoving him out of the way of an incoming blast. He went with hardly a yelp and hit the stone with a heaving breath. On top of him, Eret covered him like a human shield.
"Eret, Eret—" he gasped out. "Where's Wil? Have you seen Wil?"
The traitor shook their head furiously, looking over the boy for wounds. "No, not since—" The rest of their words were drowned out by a wither's screeching and maniacal laughter on the wind.
Fundy shivered, his shaking hands clutching Eret's ruined jacket. He thought he knew Uncle Technoblade's laughter. The sounds leaving his lips were new, and he didn't like them. What he wouldn't give to hear Techno snort the way he did when Tommy tripped over himself during sparring.
A hand grasping his and pulling him to his feet snapped him back into focus.
"Stay close to me," Eret ordered, squeezing calloused fingers with their own.
Fundy let them lead him through the chaos, staying at their side like a loyal dog. He always found it difficult to stay mad at people, especially those he loved. Even as viciously and callously as his first life was taken from him, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry with Eret at that moment. Whether or not they were a traitor, Fundy loved them, and so he held their hand as long as he could.
It wasn't for very long.
One of the withers turned in their direction, and before Eret could do a thing, one of its heads was before them.
Fundy's ears rang. When had he hit the ground? His head pounded against the cold, splintered stone and a wave of pain from deep in his chest had him trembling.
Who was screaming?
He opened his eyes, tears gathering at the edges of them. Blood spattered the ground before him. Upon lifting his violently shaking hands, he found that the blood must be his own; the skin of his palms was cut to hell and back. Fundy had fallen.
Was he the one screaming?
His throat ached, so he coughed, only to find himself stuck in a coughing fit. The screaming mysteriously stopped then as he spat blood.
Where was Eret?
I want my dad, he thought suddenly, lifting his gaze to the battlefield.
A new wave of pain came over him, and he cried out, forearms against the ground and sweaty strands of hair against his forehead. Every muscle in his body screamed at once, tremors creeping out from what felt like a gaping wound in his chest, but what was really an internal one. The very life was being sapped out of him. His stolen blood went right back to the wither, which proceeded to ignore his existence.
Was this how his second life would be taken? Was he meant to be caught in the crossfire of his uncle's betrayal, left to wither away on a battlefield?
Get up, someone whispered. Fundy did not recognise their voice.
Get up! Get up!
Find Wilbur!
Find your father!
Stop him!
His head fuzzy with blood loss, the young hybrid dug his claws into the unforgiving ground and pulled himself up.
You will not die here.
Fundy didn't question his train of thought, the fleeting whispers of encouragement that seemed to come from nowhere. Left to his own devices frequently, the boy had grown used to being his own cheerleader. If no one else pushed him, he would do it himself.
He stumbled his way to some kind of ledge. It was off the main square of L'Manberg; that he knew. Like most elsewhere, the ground had shattered under the force of Technoblade's cruel wrath. There, Fundy caught a glimpse of shimmering, red dust scattered around.
The boy knew redstone when he saw it.
Shaking hands and chipped claws pushed the dust aside, desperate to find what was connected to it. Fundy's head swam, and his stomach lurched, but he kept looking. Underneath layers of the shining redstone, he found red cylinders all tied together in groups, laid down one after the other in near-perfect lines. He almost vomited right then and there.
Why is there TNT under L'Manberg?
It wasn't Technoblade who put the explosives there, or he would have set them off by now. Schlatt would've done it with his dying breath. Dream would have been open about the explosives, about them being his doing.
So who did that leave? Who would be willing and able to turn L'Manberg to dust?
A treacherous thought crossed his mind.
A little voice whispered: What about Wilbur?
And like that, the floodgates opened. A thousand thoughts rang in Fundy's head, questioning his father's intentions and furiously debating whether or not he would destroy the country he'd so lovingly built. Even still, some of the voices screamed for Fundy to find him.
"He wouldn't," Fundy spat, falling to his knees. "He wouldn't."
Even as the broken sob left his lips, the words felt untrue. Did he really know what his father was capable of any more? Did anyone?
The voices swarmed his mind, buzzing and screaming.
One spoke louder than the others. It's alright, Fundy, they murmured. He's coming soon. Just hold on a little longer.
The moment those words crossed his mind, the other voices chimed in like excited children.
He's coming!
Don't be afraid, little one.
He'll keep you safe.
Protectza!
His trembling hands barely held him up against the stone. Luckily, he didn't have to wait for long for the man the voices spoke of. Just as his head cleared up enough for him to feel the pain of every breath, a shadow fell over him. His tearful gaze darted upward, only to find an eerily familiar pair of blue eyes returning the stare. For a moment, he thought the blond figure was Tommy. Tommy didn't have a set of massive black wings, though.
"Shit, mate," the man huffed, kneeling down to his level. "What happened to you?"
Fundy made a choked noise and sniffled, wiping his nose on what was left of his sleeve.
Seeing as he wouldn't get a coherent answer, the man turned his attention elsewhere. With a quick glance around, he reached for a glowing bottle that hung from his belt and held it out to the boy. Fundy tensed, but there was no reason to. The liquid inside the glass bottle was a gentle pink, shimmering with magic. He recognised a potion of healing when he saw one. His father taught him well.
"Drink it slow," the older man warned, having to hold the bottle for him as he drank.
Despite his words, Fundy practically chugged the contents of it. Warmth spread across his skin and through his blood, easing his wounds. He was far from perfect condition, but he felt like he could breathe again.
"Thank you."
The man grimaced at his gravelly voice, covering it with a reassuring smile a moment later. "Don't thank me yet, kiddo. Let's get you to some cover, yeah?"
Fundy gave him a shaky nod and took the hand offered to him. Standing at about his height, considering he was tall for his age, the man supported him effortlessly as they ducked into an eerie entranceway, almost a tunnel. They came to a halt when a voice echoed down the hallway.
The voice was male, whispering furiously and sounding almost mad. Fundy's breath caught in his throat while the man beside him froze.
"Stay here," he murmured, lowering him to the ground.
Fundy obeyed and sat against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. Most of his dire wounds had been healed thanks to the potion, but Fundy still felt like he was dying. He didn't look too good either, with his jacket ripped to hell. His precious red L'Manberg sash, worn for the first time in a long time, was barely hanging on to life. The sight of it frayed made him want to burst into tears.
A few betrayed his wishes, and suddenly he was full-on crying, sniffling and snuffing into the sleeve of his coat.
Then, he heard the voices from the room at the end of the tunnel grow louder. The man from before, the whispering mad one, sounded...familiar. His voice was achingly familiar.
Fundy did what his rescuer told him exactly not to and stumbled to his feet. He held most of his weight against the wall, groping his way down the tunnel as if his life depended on it. The tunnel was familiar, too, he realised suddenly.
The shudders that wracked his body now weren't from the withers. Limping down that tunnel, Fundy found himself shaking more fiercely than before. He took in heavy, heaving breaths as he approached behind his saviour.
"—there was a special place. But it's not there anymore, y'know? It's not."
He tensed, pausing some feet away from the mysterious man. That voice. Gods, he knew that voice.
Fundy almost called out to his father on instinct. He'd done it a hundred thousand times before, calling him Dad or Wilbur or Sir, though the last one was usually a jape. He had the desperate urge to call him that again, just to watch his face light up and to hear him call Fundy his little champion. But traitor was his name now. Wilbur's little champion died with L'Manberg.
Maybe now, if they took it back from Technoblade, he could be a champion again.
It was a silly thought. The destruction outside was undoubtedly levelling the country, and Wilbur sounded manic, desperate.
What was he doing in the final control room?
The stranger's voice was chillingly gentle against his father's.
"It is there," he said. "You just won it back, Wil."
"Phil, I'm always so close to pressing this button!"
Phil? Philza?
Fundy lifted his head so quickly that it made him dizzy. No. What were the chances?
He watched Phil's wings flare out as Wilbur raved, almost blocking off the entrance. Something in his chest warmed at the idea of Phil doing so to protect him. Maybe he wasn't; more likely, it was an accident. Still, this was his grandfather. He'd only ever heard of Philza from stories. To be honest, he doubted Phil knew of him at all.
(Would he have saved him if he knew? Would he have helped his grandson if he knew he was a deceiving piece of filth?)
"Everything I built this nation for is gone !"
He stood in the doorway when his father's words nearly knocked him off his feet. Something like rage stirred in his chest: inane and harried, dirty, unworthy anger.
You built this for me, he thought. The shining country of L'Manberg was built on freedom, glory, and brotherhood, but above all, it was made for Fundy. From the moment of his birth, its obsidian walls were a promise of safety. This nation was his birthright, his home.
And wasn't he still there? Hadn't he been there thick and thin, through hell and back, always at Wilbur's side?
"There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor."
The voices in his head began to drown out his father's raving ramblings.
Be angry, they whispered. You're allowed to be angry.
His blood burned as his sharpened claws dug into his own palms.
Take your home back.
His hands began to shake.
He promised!
His breath rattled in his chest.
Take it back!
Tears streamed down his face. He did nothing to stop them this time.
He swore!
Fundy stood on his own two feet.
TAKE IT BACK
"...it was never meant to be."
The button clicked.
The world fell silent.
"You promised," Fundy croaked. "You swore to me."
One of Phil's wings fell to his side, the tension dissipating when the familiar hiss of TNT never came. Wilbur's shoe scuffed the stone below as he turned to look at his prodigal son. A scowl came over his face, his lips twisted in a frown, and his brow furrowed in displeasure.
"Fundy," he said shortly. "You shouldn't be here."
The boy pulled his hand out of the fissure in the rock, his fingers covered in red dust. He hadn't realised what he was doing until he'd done it. He didn't stop until he'd ruined his father's plans.
Fundy's gaze never left his father's eyes. "Neither should you."
"What is this? One last act of defiance?" he spat. "Was the flag not enough for you? Look at you, the prodigal son! Are you proud of yourself, Fundy? You've done it now! You've sentenced L'Manberg to a fate of tyranny and lies!"
He said you'd go home.
He stared through him, his eyes misty and unseeing. "You said we'd go home."
"There is no home, Fundy!" he screamed, voice hoarse from the effort. "It's gone! Can't you see that? There's nothing left!"
You're here.
You're here!
You're still here, Fundy.
Phil's searching expression landed on the boy. Understanding dawned on his face as he realised who he was looking at. The boy he'd saved was more than an innocent bystander; he was family.
"You bastard," Fundy hissed. His hands shook. "We bled for this fucking country, and what? Now you're going to blow it up? Because it's your country, you selfish piece of shit?"
Get his ass!!!!
Wilbur cackled, a noise sick and deranged and entirely unwelcome. "Now I'm the selfish one? You change sides on a whim, always serving the better—"
YOU ARE NOT FINISHED.
"I'm not finished!" he cried.
For once, his father shut up. For once, he was being listened to. All it took was a shout.
"What the fuck kind of father are you? What leader are you? The only thing you care about is your unfinished symphony! Did it ever occur to you to care about us? Or that we care about L'Manberg? About you? You don't deserve L'Manberg! You don't deserve any of it!"
This is yours.
OURS.
Take it back!
"Fundy—" Phil tried to say.
Fundy couldn't see a thing past the red in his vision. He didn't notice the white light seeping out from between his fingers. When he began to hover ever so slightly above the ground, the earth shook with the beginnings of an earthquake. The final control room rumbled and trembled almost as intensely as his hands, causing Wilbur and Phil to stumble.
Ohoho, that's a big one.
TAKE IT BACK
The power that flowed in his veins had never once shown itself. All his life, he thought he was as human as his mother. Unbeknownst to him, the power of his grandparents, his father, and his uncles had been lying dormant, waiting for his summonings. The godhood in his blood was finally emerging.
"I almost killed myself for you!" His voice cracked. The tears that spilt from his eyes had an ethereal glow to them. Soon enough, his pupils overtook the whites of his eyes, leaving nothing but the void for Wilbur to stare into. "And you—you stood there and let me!"
Where Wilbur was the god of creation in a human sense, building the foundations of music and laws, businesses and cities, Fundy was creation in a godly definition. Where his uncles were Blood, Freedom, and the Hearth, and his grandmother Death, Fundy was Life.
When Fundy spoke again, his voice rang in Phil and Wilbur's ears like a fire alarm. It wasn't his voice, bearing something Other to it, which made his father shiver.
"You do not belong here," he declared. "This, this is my L'Manberg."
Around them, the tunnel started to collapse. Chunks of rock and soil fell from the ceiling, letting in light from outside. Phil covered his head with his wings as the final control room was revealed to the battlefield outside, its walls falling like dust.
In the heart of L'Manberg, even the withers halted as Fundy rose from the wreckage. The fiercest duels stopped at the sight of the young god, his flaming hair barely noticeable next to the moonlight glow of his powers. Standing opposite Technoblade, the most dangerous warrior of all time, Tommy and Tubbo turned away to gawk at their nephew. Eret, stomach down in the dirt with a gaping wound across their chest, lifted their head with horror in their white eyes.
"FUNDY!" they shouted.
The boy couldn't hear them over the cacophony in his ears. Instead, he continued to address Wilbur.
"You are the god of creation, not what comes next." He stretched out his hands as if digging into the earth. Vines of white light curled around his fingers, shifting and pulsating with every heartbeat. "You are trespassing on my domain."
The ashes of L'Manberg came to life at his beck and call, turning into stalks of flowering vines that exploded from the ground with fury. They shifted the land as they bloomed, sending people flying through the air. The fires that Technoblade had so carelessly lit sparked to life under Fundy's fingertips. Under his guidance, they became raging blazes, scouring the battlefield for unwelcome souls. The trail they left was perfectly pristine, untouched. While the vines suffocated and buried the withers alive, the flames gathered at the country's borders. They shot up like beacons into the night sky, washing the landscape in light. Only one exit remained, and it was to it that those unwelcome souls fled. All but two.
First was Wilbur, who was unmoving. He looked out at his son's destruction and swallowed harshly. "What is this?" he whispered as if anyone was listening.
The voice that was Fundy-but-not echoed across the sky, but the boy never opened his mouth. This is hallowed ground. Leave before you are forced out.
It was a message that only Wilbur and Technoblade appeared to hear. The latter had stood frozen in front of his two youngest brothers, watching the carnage unfold. When faced with the demands of an angry god, he knew better than to stand his ground. With respect few would ever receive, Technoblade heaved his axe over his shoulder and bowed his head to the boy. He didn't dare look at Tommy and Tubbo before taking his leave, departing to the only remaining exit out of L'Manberg. A god's chosen lands were sacred, even to other gods.
Despite the distance between them, he could see the fury and hurt etched into Fundy's face. Perhaps claiming holy ground was a spur of the moment decision for the young god, but who was he to question it?
(He didn't know his nephew as well as he would have liked, but he could see his father in him. His fury was too recognisable. Though Technoblade was willing to push the limits of deific laws, he wasn't keen to cross an angry Soot.)
However, Wilbur looked at his son and still saw a defiant, stubborn child. He did not care for the chaos around him, his son's powers surfacing. The mad man stood tall in the wreckage he'd made and had the gall to laugh, even as vines encompassed his limbs.
"You can't force me out again!" he screamed. "I built this!"
Fundy barely blinked, merely waving a hand until his arms and legs were bound. "You meant to destroy it and, in doing so, lost the privilege to it. You were warned." For the briefest of moments, the Fundy that Wilbur knew reappeared. He blinked a few times, freeing more tears from his red-rimmed eyes. Then, he smiled, sad and tired and free. "You wanted a finished symphony, right, Dad?"
The twisting vines dragged Wilbur out of L'Manberg kicking and screaming. As soon as he was outside the border, the flaming barricades slammed down around them, separating the country from the rest of the server.
For a moment, the entire world fell silent, save for the crackling of the fires.
And then—
"Holy fuck," Tommy whispered.
At his side, as always, Tubbo barked out a hysterical laugh. "What. The. Shit."
Hovering meters above the ground, Fundy finally came back to himself. He gasped for breath as his magic faded, the light in his hands fading and his eyes going back to normal. Baffled, he wiped his tears and looked down at his shaking hands. He failed to find answers in the lines of his palms. Once more, he lifted his head and let his gaze fall upon the damage he'd caused.
GOOD
Wilbur is gone :crab: :crab:
Head pounding, Fundy felt horror and exhaustion sink into his skin. His control slipped, and before he could process it, he fell. He gasped, a quiet noise against the whistle of the air.
Oop, there he go.
"FUNDY!" Eret screamed again, wrestling with supportive arms to get to their feet.
Niki hissed at the action as she tried to hold them steady. "Careful!"
Before the boy hit the ground, his guardian angel snatched him out of the air, cradling him safely in his embrace. Philza slowed down and landed on the ground, every movement steady and practised.
DADZA!
"I got you, mate, you're alright," he murmured into Fundy's hair.
Despite his words, the boy shuddered with sobs. "I don't—I didn't mean—"
Running a hand over his fluffy ears, Phil hushed him. "I know you didn't. You were just angry; that's okay. Deep breaths. That must've been scary, huh?"
It was scary, he realised. Now that Phil said it aloud, he could articulate what he was truly feeling. Seeing his father hold a sword to his home's neck terrified him, and before he knew what he was doing...well, there they were.
Good fucking riddance!
L.
Clawed hands clenched around the fabric of Phil's outfit. "Yeah," he choked out, burying his face in the cloth. "They're so loud."
"Chat, lay off," Phil ordered.
The way he did it with such certainty comforted Fundy. This wasn't something unsolvable. His grandfather knew how to silence the voices, and silence them he did.
Scatter! one voice cried.
And with that, Fundy's head was quiet again. Finally, his thoughts were only his own.
He crumpled like paper, sinking into the near stranger's arms. Though choking on tears and mucus, he had never felt lighter.
"Shh, shh, I gotcha, mate. You did good. You did so good, Fundy," Phil reassured. "L'Manberg's safe now, and so are you. You can rest."
Fundy shook his head.
"You can. The only people in here are the ones you picked. It's safe here. And I'll watch over you the whole time," he added softly.
The boy dared to hug his waist, holding onto him like a lifeline. "Promise?" he asked, voice breaking on the weighty word.
As his eyes drooped, he felt Phil kiss his forehead ever so delicately. "I promise, Fundy."