Who?

Chapter 6 - Awaken

      When Phil woke up from his slumber of three days. It wasn't pretty.

       "One, two, three, four, one- no. Wait," Phil muttered, trying his best to calm down. After waking up in his bed, past events clear in his mind. Heart pounding and head feeling like static. All he knew, is that his hand twitched ever so slightly. Itching like needles were poking at every angle. Eyes falling on a sword propped up in his house. "No. One, two, three"

      Counting to keep his sanity. Some kind of anchor to the ground to keep his mind from flying off. He ignored the thoughts of blood covering his hand. Or watching Technos head fall to the ground, his body soon following. Maybe the sword with fire aspect stabbed in his chest. Like a punishment for killing his son and failing to bring him back. He promised he would. Yet Wilbur's still cold.

      "NO!" He yanked his hand away from his already damaged wings. Finding it gravitate towards them. It's light grey feathers very few on the appendage. Having picked so many. Like some apple tree, except Phil had picked the leaves too. "Come on... Please." He begged, voice coming out shakey and weak.

      Who was he begging? He didn't quite know. Maybe begging his mind to clear up and push away the fog. To erase the thoughts that ate away at his brain. The ones that drove him mad with it's constant repetition and urging.

       Phil froze. Realizing a sword was now held in his hands, his knuckles white from the tight grip he held it with. Quickly letting it go, the sword clattering to the ground. "Why... Why can't I just-" Phil grabbed his hand, fingers twitching ever so slightly. His grip tightening, skin pale around it. "Stop! Enough, please! Just stop!" He cried, falling to the floor. Legs deciding that they didn't want to carry him.

      What's wrong with him?? Hot tears fell upon his hand. Seeping into his skin. Grip now shaking as he brought the hand to his chest. Bringing his legs closer too. "I-i can't... I..." Phil stuttered, a whimper escaping his mouth. "I can't control it." His word developed into sobs that racked his body. His cries quiet and soft. Not wanting to alert anyone, or perhaps harm them. Phil didn't know if he could even control himself.

     Did Phil finally wake up? Wilbur looked towards his house, having heard a clatter and talking. The ghost saw no one near by. Techno had gone to his secret base, Tubbo and Tommy were busy arguing over something. What had they said? Something about George's house and it burning down.

       Will frowned, his memory is still as shit as ever. He walked down from Tommy's house and knocked softly on Phil's door. Not wanting to surprised him with a sudden entrance. Wilbur waited, hearing no movement. Not a single shuffle to reach the door or even some kind of yell to come in. He shrugged, opening the door. If Phil was awake he should probably check on him anyways.

      What he was met with is a sword stabbing through his chest. The same place where the permanent wound lay. Appearently from his father. There stood infront of him was Phil, sword clutched tightly in his hand. His shoulders heaving and the weapon soon falling from his grip.

      Lucky for Will, he's a ghost. No damage was done. He couldn't bare to think what may have happened if someone who wasn't him had opened the door. But he pushed that thought aside.
       "Hey dad..." Will called softly, forcing a smile on his face. To form some sort of reassurance to the father, hoping a smile might calm him down.
       "Oh my God... Will, I'm so sorry-" Phil started, stumbling away from him. His hand gripping his hat as he sat down on his bed.
       "It's fine. I'm a ghost after all." Phil looked at him,
       "Right..." He muttered, eyes flickering to the chest wound on him before turning away.

       Oh... Phil was the one who killed him. He probably still felt guilty, especially now that he knew the truth. But what he failed to realize is that Wilbur isn't mad at him. If anything, he's thankful that his father went to such lengths just to get him back. A son who had done terrible things, yet his father wanted him back. Will didn't quite understand his logic on that. Wasn't he better now?

      Why did he want old Wilbur back so much? Is it because his memory is shit? Every bad thing someone speaks to him flows out of his head. In one ear, out the other. Though one thing that did stick as clear as ever is the fact that Phil had killed him. Hell, after he found out the memory of the event came to him. It having an odd feeling of joy connected to it.

       "Dad... I'm not mad at you. I don't hate you." He spoke, slowly walking over towards him. "Didn't I ask you to kill me?"
       "That doesn't excuse the fact that I murdered you Will. With little to no hesitation." Phil muttered, looking into his blank eyes. His face softened before staring back at the wooden floor.
       "But why do you regret it?" Wilbur sat down on the bed. His ghostly body not pushing down on the soft mattress. He couldn't even touch his dad. "Wasn't I bad? I just... Why would you try to get me back? It's doesn't make sense." Phil chuckled softly, shaking his head.
      "Because you're not the Will I knew." Wilbur tilted his head, confused. He's still Will, just as a ghost. "Wilbur was so full of life. His eyes holding so much ambition and determination. He was my son. Someone who would run off and become so independent. Not even needing me there. But... You're just..." He trailed off, ending the sentence with shrug.

       "Not the same?" Phil nodded. "I'm sorry we stopped you from reviving me. It seems you really miss the old Wilbur." Phil's hand gripped the bed sheets. His eyes steeling to one of fury before fading.
       "No. It's fine, I guess. Can you do me a favor, Will?" He hesitated, not sure what he may ask.
       "Umm, sure. What is it?" Phil turned his head and looked deeply into his eyes. The ghost already knowing what is about to be said will be important.
    
      "Don't let anyone near me." Will's eyes widened, about to open his mouth to speak but Phil stopped him. "I'm serious Wilbur." His eyes seemed to darken, suddenly feeling so unfamiliar to him.

      "I can't control myself anymore."

"The mixture."

"It's messed up my mind."

"I can't....

...

........."

"Okay dad."

End of Book 1: Who?

     Ahhhhh, now let me write the next one. I don't really know where I'm going with this. But the plan is for Phil to slowly heal his mind and to dive more into the sleepy bois family dynamic. Along with some... Problems. With of course a lot of canon divergence from the actual dream smp plot. So don't expect this to be some rewrite. Plus, this is one of my favorite chapters, it was very fun to write.

       Please keep in mind that there may not be a next book. I want to write one but things could definitely change if motivation is lost for it. Or, the story isn't very story worthy.

      Hope you liked the book though. And I'll see you guys in a bit, bye!