Techno and Wilbur were born at the time of growing tension between all countries of the continent. Not only the citizens of Esempi were suffering under King Schlatt’s tyranny; the waves of disorder and conflict spread far over the kingdom’s borders. Emperor Philza did his hardest negotiating peace and managing the income of refugees, while Empress Kristin led the diplomatic delegations aimed at building a stronger alliance with the Kingdom of Drywaters.
In theory, the twin princes were to be under the vigilant care of their servants and tutors; starting their education, learning court manners. In reality, Captain Sparklez - the head of Imperial guards - would have to call a search party for Wilbur and Techno each time they would slip away from adult surveillance and sneak out of the palace through secret passages.
Little was known about what the Imperial princes looked like; a nicely dressed boy on a crowded street, shyly pinning himself to a wall, wasn’t attracting attention with his status but with the pure white of his skin and short straight hair. Techno glanced at a group of older kids nearby with growing cautiousness; he knew that it wouldn’t be any good when one of them approached, a sneer on his lips, and rudely shoved him with his shoulder.
“Look, a ghost!” the kid exclaimed.
Techno staggered back. Shell-shocked, he only ducked his head lower, looking like he wanted to merge with the wall and disappear. The wall, however, wasn’t too keen on helping Techno; he was still very much prominent in broad daylight. Fueled by his lack of reaction, the other kids started chuckling to each other - a sound void of humor, pumped with taunt. A few pointed fingers at him, which made Techno turn away and hug himself tightly. “A freak, he is a freak!”
A loud whistle pierced their ears. A string of sausages flew through the air and landed straight into the first kid’s arms. He looked at it confusedly but broke into a squeal when a bunch of dogs lunged at him, baring their teeth. He whipped around and ran, forgetting to drop the sausages, chased by the barking animals.
Techno turned around, shoulders slumping in relief, and found Wilbur jumping down from an empty cage, smiling smugly. He tossed the lock over his shoulder and strode up to Techno, slapping a hat on top of his head.
“Sorry I took a while, I was looking for the perfect fit.”
Techno dragged the hat off to glare at the wide brims, decorated by a giant pink bow and artificial flowers. “...I don’t think it’s going to help me to get bullied less, Will.”
Wilbur’s previous playfulness was gone in an instant; he pressed his lips together and frowned. “Don’t listen to them,” he said. “They are just a bunch of jerks.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I do really look like a freak,” Techno said, raising his hand to look at the sunlight sipping between his spread fingers. “Even the noble kids think so. They won’t say that to my face though.”
WIlbur’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. His hands itched to punch somebody: those street kids, children of courtiers and their parents, too, for insisting on touching Techno’s hair even when the prince clearly was uncomfortable with it. Instead, he slapped his hands over Techno’s forearms; almost automatically, Techno searched his hand and squeezed it back.
“You are not a freak,” Wilbur said, looking him in the eyes, confident, protective, fierce . “And I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. Let people think whatever they want. We don't need them. We don’t need anybody but each other-”
“And also the servants, maids, cooks, guards, our parents-”
“Mother and Father are not around much anyway, and I could live without the rest,” Wilbur argued. “As long as we are together.”
“Sap,” Techno immediately chimed in.
“You’re the one holding my hand.” Wilbur said the last part grinning; Techno rolled his eyes but his fingers stayed tightly wrapped around his twin’s. He perked up, first to hear the commotion brewing nearby and notice the flash of blue Imperial uniforms.
“Uh oh,” Techno said. “I think we just got found.”
Wilbur threw a look over his shoulder and met eyes with Captain Sparklez across the street. Techno almost dropped his hat when Wilbur yanked him to the side, “ Shit, run!”
***
It seems as though it's the core of twins' existence to be opposite halves fitting perfectly at the edges.
There were more than enough spacious chambers in the northern wing, so it was by Wilbur and Techno’s whim alone that they occupied the same room. As children, the twins couldn't fall asleep without feeling each other's presence, through intertwined fingers, through foreheads pressed to each other, as if their very souls demanded the other to be close by.
Their fates were sealed together long before they were born, Wilbur and Techno grew up into two parallel strings of the same instrument. One sonant and the other quiet, one boisterous and the other tempered, unpredictable and reserved, bass and soprano – the strings were never meant to cross, and never meant to be separated. Unless one of them snapped, that is.
It all started when Phil started showing preference towards Techno, Wilbur thinks. He was always smarter and more observant than other children of his age, and very early on he noticed the open preference that Father showed towards Techno. Betrayal, resentment, jealousy; Wilbur didn’t know the names of the emotions he felt. They were odd, they were confusing, and more than anything he simply wanted them to go away. In the mornings, Wilbur used to carefully braid colored beads into Techno’s hair; they would climb out of the bed wrestling, with screams and yelps, and chase one another to the door. And now more often than not, Wilbur woke up in an empty room alone.
“...Tech?”
No answer followed, and Wilbur curled up into himself under the blankets and sheets – too many for him alone, too cold without his twin. For his whole life, Techno was Wilbur’s only friend and company, and his heart couldn’t decide on whether it was Techno who stole Father from him or the other way round.
At six years old, Wilbur had a strong craving for attention. He sought kind gazes, compliments and praise, scarfing them like a starved dog. He would always be present at every tea party, ball and banquet at the palace. And while the courtiers were ready to chuckle and flatter the young clever prince when he joined adult conversations or said something particularly witty, Wilbur had a sour aftertaste of knowing that he wasn’t seen as anything more than his title. He swallowed it all and painted a new stroke on his mask – a delicate piece of charm and lies. There is no player limitation for the game of pretend, after all. The courtiers pretended that their smiles were genuine, and Wilbur pretended that their attention was enough to make up for what their parents could not give them.
Wilbur was on cloud nine when he was chosen as the crown prince and first in line for the throne of the Antarctic empire, until Father had told him that it was a formality, one that brought a whole ton of new study subjects for Wilbur to master. A few he shared with Techno – most he didn’t. While Wilbur was busy memorizing the noble house names and court manners under the surveillance of strict teachers, just behind the windows, Father play-sparred with Techno.
A bitter chuckle would escape Wilbur’s lips whenever he remembered that in the future, but at the time he genuinely believed that Father preferred Techno over him because he was slacking in his physical training. Each time they spared, Wilbur would inevitably end up with his back pressed to the floor and a training sword at his throat, smug Techno looming over him. Face puffed and red from anger, Wilbur would slap the wooden blade away, leap to his feet and shout that he doesn’t want to train anymore.
“You’ll get it with enough practice, Your Highness,” Captain Sparklez, who tutored both twins, reassured him, bandaging the calluses on his hands. Wilbur only pursed his lips, hissing in pain each time raw skin was startled with touch.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “No matter what I do, I’m not going to be as good as Techno.”
Captain Sparklez stopped for a second. He finished the last layer of bandaging and, taking Wilbur’s hand with both his, looked the prince in the eyes. “You and Prince Technoblade are built differently. His hands are meant to wield a sword. In your fingers, I see a musician. Perhaps picking up a musical instrument would be of pleasure to you.”
The suggestion was sudden but it stuck with Wilbur. Everybody loved music thus Father must enjoy it too. It was alright that Wilbur couldn’t turn into as good of a fighter as Techno; he could be a musician and be appreciated as much. For his and Techno’s seventh birthday, Wilbur asked his parents for a guitar, and soon started taking lessons with a tutor. He latched onto a new hobby with newfound eagerness and, to his own surprise, started enjoying it beyond the initial reason of pleasing his parent.
The thought of actually coming to play a song to Father was a nerve-wrecking one even as though his fingertips danced between the strings with confidence that adults fail to achieve in years of practice. In the end it was Techno who practically dragged him into the Emperor’s office, the guitar clutched tightly in his arms. Starting accord quivered in the air. Father glanced at him from where he was looking at a pile of papers but said nothing. Wilbur wetted his dry lips and, with an encouraging nod from Techno, began to play.
His breathing evened out, his vision tunneling on his hand hovering over the guitar’s neck, the sweat rolling down his forehead no longer bothering him with persistent itch. The office, Techno, Father – everything was forgotten in that moment, and the only thing that existed to Wilbur in this universe was him and the instrument that he learned to love with his very heart.
The scribble of a quill stopped with an ear-shuddering screech; a string pulled too hard whipped Wilbur’s fingers, and the universe came back crushing on him.
“Wilbur,” Father sighed, putting the quill down. He sounded like the very act of pronouncing Wilbur’s name was something bothersome and exhausting. “Can’t you see that I’m occupied?”
The little tender flame that still lived within Wilbur was violently stomped out; he was grieving, at that moment, for the love that he no longer could hope for. Wilbur stood up abruptly and stormed away, trying to hide the tears gathering in his eyes.
Techno leaped to his feet and pounced to grab Wilbur’s arm, “Wilbur please - “
“Leave me alone!” Wilbur yelled, shoving an elbow to Techno’s face.
When Wilbur realized what he had done, his twin was already jerking away, clutching his bleeding nose. Techno’s one strike would have sent him flying across the room, but he just looked at Wilbur with wide, betrayed eyes. Never has ever Wilbur hurt his twin before; the guilt was instant, like if he was tossed into a freezing-cold lake. He took a step forward; Techno shuffled two back, and Wilbur made a wounded, confused noise. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to hurt Techno.
Father stood up abruptly, the chair screeching on the floor and a horrifying expression on his face. Wilbur’s stomach flipped. Adrenaline pumped lava through his veins and his heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
Shouting and yelling all went past Wilbur’s ears, tuning down to unrecognizable, insignificant buzz. The world was dipping in and out of focus, but one thing was persistent – Father’s ice-cold eyes, looking at him, only at him. And for some reason… It felt good.
That day, Wilbur made two discoveries that would stick with him for the rest of his life. One, attention doesn’t need to be positive for his craving to be satisfied. Two, when Wilbur chases his own desires- well, sometimes his close ones get hurt in the process.
***
Techno avoided him after the incident. Wilbur didn’t know how to apologize. Techno never got mad at him before and now they don't talk at all. He lay at night, white as the bedsheets around him, thinking over and over again, ‘Techno hates me, Techno despises me, what am I going to do?’ Poison of those thoughts slowly spread through his body, killing him from inside, and they were sealed for him true later that week. While servants took Techno’s things out and brought them to a room further down the corridor, Wilbur glared from a corner, sharp edges of an emerald earring hurting the palm of his clenched fist.
A soul born in a pair doesn’t handle loneliness well. Where the connection between the twins burned fire and flames were now pitiful embers, and the hollowness welcomed a beast into Wilbur’s heart. It feasted on his feeling of abandonment, turning him, a child demanding and impatient by nature, snappy and embittered.
Eventually others noticed the changes in him. Not immediately, not in time, but as weeks went by, people of the palace started complaining about Prince Wilbur. Teachers and tutors said that he refused to study and quarreled with them all the time. Attendants discussed him with great distaste; it was impossible to please the crown prince, and the slightest of demeanors led to tantrums, shouting and objects thrown and broken in a fit.
He hated everybody and everybody hated him. Wilbur was called a spoiled, vicious child, a little monster, even – all it did was fuel the feverish light in his eyes and the triumphant smirk of his lips. Every scolding and punishment made him more aggressive and at the same time twice as stubborn as before; he reveled in the attention – an actor in the spotlight, criminal at the tribune, a reborn man showering in red sunrise. Still, it never was enough. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to be heard, and for that, he needed to do something more.
A scream echoed across the Northern wing. In less than a minute, the doors of Wilbur’s chambers, thrown open, were jammed with people. Maids and guards and servants with wide eyes whispered to each other in shock, but everybody stepped aside when the Empress came running, the skirt of her dress fluttering.
Windows broken. Dishes thrown over and hauled into walls. Curtains yanked from the windows, nightstand thrown over and missing a leg, pitiful book covers laid in the ashes of their own pages, one by one fed to now molten candles. And amongst that havoc and wreckage, stood shuddering, deadly pale Wilbur.
A pained expression flashed on the Empress’ face; she barked out an order and the crowd was gone. In a blink, she was by Wilbur’s side and pulling him into a hug. Wilbur's legs gave up under him; he fell forward, into her embrace, and the tears and wails burst all at once. She guided him to sit on the bed, and while he cried, face in her lap, Mother stroked his hair and reassured him that it's okay, nobody's mad at you, I'm so sorry I couldn’t help.
They talked that night. Or mostly Mother talked, and Wilbur listened, feeling defeated and empty. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I'm here for you, but it can’t keep going on like this’. Wilbur listened to her words, but not because he felt guilty - he didn't regret anything, not yelling at the palace staff, not destroying expensive furniture or stressing his family out - but because she looked so sad saying this that it wrenched his heart. Father might not love me, he said to himself, eyelids falling shut, but Mother surely does.
He thought it would be fair: if Techno has Father, then Wilbur should've had Mother all to himself, but in practice the Empress hasn't shown to have a clear favorite. She loved Wilbur and comforted him when he cried and congratulated him on all the small achievements; but the same affection was bestowed on Techno alike. Wilbur would be sharp in his observance, watching like a hawk so that an extra gift, a nickname or a sweet nothing wouldn't slip past him and to his brother. Fuming with jealousy, Wilbur begrudgingly agreed to share Mother with Techno.
The Empress must’ve talked some sense into the Emperor, too – he was more patient, started peering closer at Wilbur, inviting him to his hunting trips with Techno. Wilbur was having none of it, however – anger and resentment turned him away each time from regretful and pleading looks. He continued to be the nightmare of a child but kept his violent outbursts in control, knowing how disappointed Mother would be if he didn’t.
If you want to be heard, speak louder – that’s what Wilbur thought before, but then understood that it wasn’t about the volume but about the resonance. While Techno learned to sharpen swords and throw spires, Wilbur mastered a weapon of his own – a silver tongue and fangs dripping with poison.
Wilbur learned to survive in the court; swapping different masks and roles quickly became a second nature to him. A slithering shadow with the same voice as him whispered that one day, he would be able to rule this theater of liars and tug at every puppet's string - but he slapped it away every time. Wilbur was disgusted by the very essence of the court, its manipulations and intrigues, and didn't want them to have anything in common.
Peace reigned in the Imperial household once again- at least until it was announced that the Empress is pregnant. Wilbur and Techno were to have another sibling, and while the palace and the capital celebrated, Wilbur stood in the shadows, pale as death itself. The news struck him with a horrifying clarity that this unborn child was to take away his mother.
Wilbur saying to the Empress that he is growing to despise this unborn baby would surely upset her, and while his and Techno’s relationship evened out into something more friendly and tame, it was a strained thread in comparison with their previously strong bond. In the end, he didn’t share his dread with anybody, allowing the dark sticky hatred to grow in his heart.
The day came. The palace froze in a moment before taking a breath: the air viscous and stiff, dread churning stomachs and words locked behind sealed lips, incongruous in the dreadful silence of anticipation. Staff was waiting, daily duties paused. Waited the Emperor, pacing outside the doors with hands locked behind his back. Wilbur and Techno sat together on two sides of an abandoned game – picking up the checkers felt like too much labor, like too much disturbance in a universe where everyone stopped breathing.
And then came the bells.
First quiet and shy, waking up after eight years of sleep, their ringing grew stronger, louder, the wind picking up the thundering thud and carrying it over the capital. Somebody laughed in relief. Maybe it was a servant or Techno beside Wilbur – he didn’t know, he didn’t hear. The ringing in his ears turned to static, numbness overtaking him while a lady-in-waiting led them to the Empress’ chambers.
The doors were open. In the sunlight peeking curiously through the curtains, they saw their mother, leaning back on a pile of pillows: tired, but smiling. Father was right beside her, squeezing her empty hand; the other held a small bundle to her chest. When Techno approached, his face blank and eyes wide, it was carefully extended to him. Whatever he saw in the folds of blue fabric made his face soften and light up.
Mother raised her eyes full of tenderness and love. "Wilbur, come meet your baby brother," she said.
Wilbur felt his heart sink. Mother, Father, Techno – they were all looking at him expectantly. Wilbur stood at the threshold, tense as a trapped animal, clenching the doorframe so hard his knuckles went white. He glanced at the baby in Mother's arms – at the happy faces of his family - and bolted, slamming the door after him.
The echo of shouting voices and baby's cries chased him in the corridors, but Wilbur didn't stop. He sprinted, feet thumping against marble floor and tears streaming down his face, wishing that he could outrun the time and return to when his brother wasn't born yet. The bells were still ringing in his mind; Wilbur wondered whether they greeted a new life into the Imperial family or announced his death.
***
Wilbur turned to loathe his newborn sibling from day one. He refused to meet his Mother with the baby in one room and hasn't spoken to her in a few weeks as a result. While the whole palace celebrated at a grandiose banquet, he sat, legs crossed, strumming his guitar in the solitude of his room. Mother no longer came to him in the evenings to help with homework and listen to his new songs – just as Wilbur had anticipated, she was torn between her responsibilities as the Empress and caring for the child. He was now alone, once again, unloved and abandoned. Bitterness and hate filled his heart, one directed at a baby whose only fault was in being born.
One of those days, they were having breakfast with their whole family. The Emperor suggested he and Techno choose a name for the newborn. Techno took the book previously tucked under his armpit and demonstrated the golden-tinted lettering, ‘ The myth of Theseus .’
That was the first bit of sympathy Wilbur felt for the baby.
“To live as Theseus his whole life? What a fucking joke,” he mumbled, arms crossed.
“I thought you didn’t care,” Techno raised a brow.
Wilbur looked away. “I don’t.” The dark, malicious feelings were kept to the confinement of his own skull, and the new member of the Imperial family was from that day known as Prince Theseus.
Mother couldn't rest for too long. She had to dive back into her duties, leaving the baby at the care of nannies. Theseus’ chambers were right across the hall from Wilbur's. Wilbur protested, saying that if anything the baby should be closer to Techno, but the choice was made and nobody asked for his opinion. He had to get used to waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of baby crying; at those moments Wilbur could only clamp pillows over his ears and silently wish that Theseus would just choke on something and shut up.
Usually either Mother herself or one of the nannies would leap to calm Theseus down, but that night there was no sound of rushing steps, no hushed voices, only the cries that stabbed Wilbur’s hearing. He withstood ten more minutes before the irritation overtook and he threw off the bedcovers to stand up. He stomped out of his chambers and into the slightly opened door of Theseus’, only to find one of his nannies, one that was supposed to be at night shift watching the prince, passed out in an armchair.
Wilbur curled his lips in distaste, anger building up in his chest and stomach. She wasn’t performing her duties properly – she wouldn’t even notice if somebody with malicious intent just walked in and tried to harm the baby. The Imperial family had a lot of enemies who wouldn’t miss the chance to use that slip-up. Sure, there were guards monitoring the corridors who would stop any intruder from coming through, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything if the threat was already inside the palace. If the threat lives across the hall and is now in the room with a defenseless baby.
One step after another, Wilbur creeped closer to the cradle. His hands started shaking, his mouth going dry. Cold shivers run up and down his spine, and that wrenching feeling – of guilt, of love to Mother – was begging him to stop, but it was coming as if from underwater, too weak to drown out the voice whispered sweetly into his ears, he’s the core of your problems, you hate him, they call you a monster, so prove them right.
Moonlight spilled through the windows, lighting up two faces – one blank and the other wrinkled, wails bursting through the gap of opened mouth. Struggling and rolling around, the baby managed to tangle himself in a blanket, baring half his body to the cold air and the edge of fabric falling on his face. This was the first time Wilbur ever saw Theseus so close, and not without a pinch of disgust he noted that the youngest prince looked a lot like Father. Maybe it was for the better. Wilbur didn’t think he could’ve harmed Theseus if he resembled Mother.
He reached out to remove the blanket from the baby’s face. His fingertips accidentally brushed Theseus’ cheek, and the cries came to an abrupt end. The wrinkles of the baby’s face smoothened out, and his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of giant blue eyes that looked at Wilbur with what felt like gratitude and curiosity. Wilbur stumbled backwards, and Theseus made a whining sound that made him stop.
Wilbur ran a tongue over his cracked lips and took in a sharp breath. Why did he get startled? It’s just a baby; a dump small human that can’t harm him – and that couldn’t know that Wilbur wanted to harm him. Tenderly, Wilbur approached again. Theseus stretched his arms towards him: the baby was too weak to hold them upright, and they were quivering up and down, tiny fingers squeezing air in a pleading way. Wilbur stood stunned, frowning and unsure of what to do; he wanted to turn around and run to his room, but just as he thought of it the baby made a sad face, tears building up in his eyes like two diamond crystals.
Pushed forward by a sudden urge, Wilbur bent over the cradle, sliding one hand under the baby’s head and the other along his back, copying his Mother’s movements. Wilbur was always careless with objects, tossing them violently, ripping apart – he was only cautious with his guitar. Though that comparison wasn’t appropriate, since Theseus was not an object at all- and that realization, for some reason, struck him hard.
Theseus grabbed Wilbur's shirt, eyes shining like two stars. He looked like a baby chick, with tiny golden locks on his forehead and curled around his ears, making a series of peeping-like sounds. Wilbur pressed Theseus closer to his chest, feeling the heat of his tiny body. The frantic hammering of his heart slowly evened out until it beat in unison with the quiet rhythm of Theseus’. This baby was alive; this was Wilbur’s baby brother.
Now that Theseus was in his hold, the previous hate dissipated like a distant nightmare in the afternoon, leaving a pang of guilt in its wake. Wilbur wasn’t sure what was the reason - maybe it was the trust in those big blue eyes, maybe it was the realization of how pure and innocent the baby was - but his body overflowed with something new, tender and so, so warm. It felt like a field of dandelions bloomed in his chest; the sun descending from the sky and into a fragile tiny body to be cradled in Wilbur’s arms. His heart, hardened in ice against rejection and abandonment, was slowly melting; affection and love previously withheld by doubt and distrust overtook him all at once, finally finding someone to latch on.
Wilbur thought about his own loneliness all the time, how he is hated by his family and now in his arms was a baby more in need of love than he is. What if Wilbur can give him that? Wouldn't Theseus pay Wilbur the same when he is able to consciously feel and understand?
The thought of it warmed Wilbur’s heart impossibly more. He will love Theseus like he did Techno, he will love him like Mother does. No, Wilbur already loved him more - because Mother had to split her attention between her children, and Wilbur was ready to put his heart into those tiny palms and give up himself whole. Theseus will become his closest family, his only attachment; Theseus will be Wilbur’s, and Wilbur is going to be Theseus'.
"Everyone abandoned you, didn't they?" Wilbur whispered, tenderly moving hair out of the baby's eyes. Theseus babbled back at him, and Wilbur cooed. "It's okay, songbird, I've got you."
Wilbur readjusted his hold on Theseus so he could press a kiss to his forehead. He started pacing the room slowly, his eyes trained on the baby, rocking him back and forth. Soon enough, the shadow of sleep passed over Theseus’ face and pushed his eyelids down. Wilbur could’ve put him back into the cradle and leave, but the thought of parting with this warmth, giving up the comforting weight of the baby in his arms seemed ridiculous and painful.
Wilbur spent the rest of the night with the baby. Theseus woke up crying later again, and Wilbur soothed him down by humming a soft lullaby. He fell asleep so quietly and soundly the second time that it was almost impossible to hear his breathing. Whenever dread would flood Wilbur’s senses – what if Theseus stopped breathing altogether, what if Theseus had died? – he would press his ear to Theseus’ chest and be ushered into calmness by the steady thump of his heartbeat.
By the time morning came, Wilbur was exhausted, but his chest was light in a way that he has never felt before. This , Wilbur thought, his eyelids falling shut tiredly, is what caring for someone must feel like.
He opened his eyes again when he heard the pattern of Father’s steps, and found him standing in the doorway, glancing in surprise between him and the snorting nanny. Wilbur fixed the blanket on Theseus, bringing it up closer to the baby’s chin. “Be quiet,” he muttered, yawning. “My brother is sleeping.”
***
From that day on, Wilbur spent almost every hour of his day with Theseus. He guarded his sleep, rocked the cradle when the baby whimpered, and kept him entertained by making funny faces and showing him different toys. Love that flared up in Wilbur so suddenly and strongly chased his boredom away and soon started bearing fruits: he was first to see Theseus smile, first to hear his bubbling laughter; the baby always preferred him over the nannies, and even to Mother from Wilbur’s arms Theseus went with great reluctance.
Parents were glad that Wilbur had warmed to his brother, but weren’t taking his care too seriously, assuming that it was just another of his passing whims. They were proved wrong soon enough; Theseus got sick and while Mother spent nights awake taking care of the baby, Wilbur fidgeted at the doors and refused to rest either.
“Theseus needs me,” he would say, worried and pleading. “I can’t sleep when he’s in pain.”
Mother gave in eventually, allowing Wilbur to replace her watching Theseus every now and then. Soon enough, the baby recovered and was bubbling at them, as talkative and energetic as before. The Imperial physician said that Wilbur’s care helped him get better faster – and it was a praise that made him beam unlike any other word he has heard before.
Ever-present frown on Wilbur’s face was replaced with a smile; his tongue no longer curled into sharp remarks but instead showered his brother in sweet nicknames. Theseus was quickly growing into an energetic, restless child – some adults couldn’t catch up to the boy once he learned crawling. Too busy looking after Theseus, Wilbur no longer had time to clash with his tutors and terrorize his servants, and the Imperial palace breathed out in relief. His parents glanced at each other, making some sort of decision, and he was allowed to spend as much time with Theseus as he wanted for as long as he would do well in his studies.
Wilbur was more than satisfied with such a deal. The faster he could finish his morning classes, the sooner he could rush to Theseus waiting for him in the playroom. One of those days, they were building towers from wooden cubes – or to be exact, Wilbur built the towers, read exactly one page from his book in the time it took Theseus to destroy all of them, and the cycle repeated again.
The sudden silence on Theseus’ part was what had alarmed Wilbur. He glanced up from his book and found the toddler sitting right in front of him. “Wilby,” he chirped, offering Wilbur a cube.
Wilbur got emotional. Very emotional. It took exactly three seconds for the waterworks to start. First it was one tear, then another, and in a blink, Wilbur was crying his eyes out. Theseus had confidently babbled ‘Mom’ every now and then but he didn’t learn to say ‘Dad’ yet and he just pronounced Wilbur’s name in the most adorable way possible. Wilbur’s sudden outburst of tears surprised and confused the boy, but the pure sweet soul he was, Theseus crawled up closer, clumsily stood up on his knees and patted the top of Wilbur’s head, “Wilby.”
In the beginning, Wilbur was afraid that his love for Theseus was a spark born in the heat of a moment; a short-lived flame that would die out once short on fuel. But months and years have passed, and even when Wilbur was exhausted, when his fingers curled into the shape of Techno's missing hand, when courtiers stuff his eyes with lies and when noose of pressure and responsibilities would tighten the silky choke, when he drowned in his own mind, shackled to the bottom by the monsters it housed - there would always be laughter breaking through the static in his ears; a halo of sunshine in the name of Theseus to scare the darkness away.
Eventually Wilbur understood that his love for Theseus would never wither; if anything it grew stronger every day. I love you, Wilbur thought on early spring mornings, brushing a thumb over a trace of pillow on the cheek of a sleepily drooping boy. I love you, Wilbur’s lips moved as he blew dandelions into the boy’s face and smiled at his squeal of childish glee. I love you, he said, swooping up the boy out of a pile of crunching autumn leaves and pressing a kiss to his mud-stained locks.
“And you didn’t want to come inside,” Wilbur said as they settled in front of a fireplace after an exhausting game of snowball in the palace’s courtyard. Even changed into dry clothes, Theseus was still shivering, his teeth clattering against each other; Wilbur was warmed up by then but his stomach hurt from how much he laughed. He tucked Theseus into a blanket; the boy was quick to wrap himself into it, only his head and disheveled hair peeking out from the top.
“I’m a big man,” Theseus argued. “Big men don’t get cold.”
A servant pushed a tray towards them with two steaming mugs that smelled like heaven. Wilbur took one of them and kneeled at the foot of the armchair, putting him on Theseus’ eye level. “Do big men not drink hot chocolate, then?”
Theseus wrinkled his face, his mind going through complicated thought processes. Wilbur tried his best not to laugh.
“Hot chocolate is a very manly drink,” the boy finally declared, and stretched his arms towards the mug demandingly. Wilbur carefully passed it into his hands, and as he watched Theseus gulp on it greedily, his eyelids drooping, he felt the happiest he has ever been in his life.
“I love you,” he said, just because he could.
It started to hurt to stand on his knees so long. Wilbur tried to push himself onto his feet, but Theseus was faster; mug put back on the tray, his hands came to rest on the sides of Wilbur’s head, just above his ears.
Wilbur chuckled softly, “What are you-”
Theseus pulled his head closer until their foreheads bumped together; familiarity of the motion, reflection of the past and warmth of the present both made Wilbur’s chest throb. Seriousness seemed foreign to the boy’s chubby round cheeks and hair fluffed up like golden feathers, but all Wilbur saw were the eyes that burned with fierce adoration. It felt like flowing directly into his heart, stitching it back together, mending the damage - and just like that, Wilbur felt whole again.
“I love you too, Wilbur,” Theseus said. At that moment, Wilbur knew: for his brother, he would destroy this world and build it from the grounds up again.
***
Theseus was growing along with Wilbur. They were eating together, sleeping together; Theseus trailed Wilbur at his very step, hand clutching the older boy’s hand or shirt. Nobles and servants started seeing the youngest prince more, and as much as Theseus enjoyed meeting new people and rumbling on and about, in the end he would always come running back to Wilbur and demand to play together. What an adorable child, people said. Look how much he loves his brother.
All the compliments that Theseus received felt like Wilbur’s own, but so did the remarks- and those were the moments where the traces of the selfish, loathed Prince Wilbur could be seen. Wilbur had changed, and while the utter adoration on Theseus' part helped to soften the rough edges of his character, he still couldn’t care less for how other people felt, he still was snappy, losing himself to anger easily whenever somebody tried to scold his baby brother.
“You’re going to make Theseus as insufferable as you,” Techno once chimed in, glancing in disapproval as they both watched Theseus throw a fit to a maid that brought him the wrong toy.
“Mind your own business,” Wilbur sneered back. He picked the boy up and ordered the maid to be locked up in a tower for her slip-up.
In Wilbur’s eyes, Theseus was flawless, and he didn’t tolerate people arguing with that. He felt a burning need to protect Theseus from other people’s judgment, and even from their own family. He was always there, arms crossed, whenever Phil was giving the boy shoulder-rides or reading him a book. Wilbur’s patience ran short quickly, and he would be shoving the Emperor away and scooping Theseus up into arms, “Let’s go, we can’t be bothering His Majesty.”
He was convinced that Phil would try and harm Theseus in some way, or that his love for Theseus wasn’t real, or wasn’t strong - not as strong as Wilbur’s, anyway. Nobody loved him as much as Wilbur did with the exception of Mother. Only with her Wilbur was happy to see Theseus smiling without the fuming clutches of jealousy- but not so much with Techno.
One day, returning from his geography lessons, Wilbur walked in on his twin playing with Theseus. The boy gripped a wooden toy sword, swinging it around clumsily. He ‘stabbed’ Techno with it in the stomach; Techno fell backwards with a dramatic gasp, making the younger prince burst into giggles.
“I’ve slaughtered the minotaur!” he announced, pointing the tip of his sword into the ceiling. “I’m the biggest man alive!”
Wilbur stiffened, hot pulsation growing in his temples. Theseus was laughing, Thesues was smiling, but it wasn't directed at him. The maps and atlases fell from his grip and rolled on the floor, making both prince’s heads snap in his direction.
"What are you doing?" he snarled, striding up to them with his fists clenched.
Techno stood up to his feet, shaking off the dust from his clothes. “Playing with Theseus,” he answered nonchalantly, but the cautious glance he threw at Wilbur betrayed that he wasn’t as relaxed as he wanted to appear to be. “What’s the matter?”
Wilbur straightened his shoulders and glared at Techno from under furrowed brows. Theseus, sensing his mood, abandoned the game and was now looking between the twins in confusion.
"You can't do that without my permission,” Wilbur clenched his jaw.
"Why?” Techno put a hand on Theseus’ shoulder demonstratively. “Theseus is as much my brother as he is yours."
“No he’s not!” Wilbur roared, grabbing Theseus’ wrist and yanking him away from Techno. Techno let go of the boy immediately, and the momentum sent him flying past Wilbur, eyes blown wide. Theseus stumbled over his own foot, dropping to his knees, the wooden sword falling out of his hand and clattering on the floor.
Theseus burst into tears, out of surprise or pain or both. His pitiful wails torn through the bubble of Wilbur’s anger. He was in a crouch in an instant, reaching towards Theseus with a guilt-sunken face, but the boy flinched away from him and leaped to his feet.
“I’m so sorry, songbird. Come here,” Wilbur said, trying to give a gentle tone to his shaking voice, but Theseus clung to Techno’s leg and hid his face in the fabric of the older prince’s pants.
Wilbur’s heart shattered. His Theseus, his brother and his treasure, was afraid of him. He made another attempt to soothe the boy but he started screaming when Wilbur did as much as touch him. Techno, who stayed stiff and silent so far, offered him to stay back and let Theseus calm down on his own.
It was torture, listening as his brother’s cries turned into quiet whimpers. Wilbur was supposed to be inside, supposed to be comforting Theseus, but instead it was him who scared the boy in the first place. Wilbur couldn’t enter and neither could he leave; he stood outside the doors until his knees buckled; and even then he slumped against the wall and hid his face in his knees.
At some point Father came; he took one glance at his feverish face and quivering form, pressed a hand to his burning forehead, and ordered the guards to escort him to his room. Even then, Wilbur fought and screamed and thrashed, and only with the soothing on Captain Sparklez’s part he finally let himself be wrestled into bed and pushed back to rest against the headboard.
***
Soon Wilbur felt too sick to talk, let alone stand up. He dipped in and out of consciousness, always too hot or too cold or panicking and desperately calling for Theseus. Mother and Father took turns taking care of him; he could hear their voices and see their faces in the blur of his wakefulness. At night a week after he fell bedridden, he opened his eyes, exhausted by the very act of lifting his eyelids, but with a mind clear enough that he recognized two figures settled on the edges of his bed.
“-thought that Theseus would have a positive effect on Wilbur, but now it’s obvious that their dependency is doing them more harm than good.”
Wilbur closed his eyes again so that his parents wouldn’t notice that he was awake. His heart was beating so loud that he was afraid it would sell him out anyway.
“What can we do?” Mother murmured, sounding sad. “You see what happened with Wilbur. We can’t just separate them.”
“We will take things at a slow pace. Try to limit their interactions, and if that doesn’t work out… We’ll have to distance them.”
Wilbur couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips, but was able to hide it by rolling to his side and shuffling the bedcovers. Mother and Father fell silent for a minute or so before Wilbur felt a hand gently brushing his hair and a light kiss pressed to his cheek. Both of them left the room, continuing their conversation in hushed tones, oblivious to the horror that overtook the now very much awake boy.
Separate, Wilbur heard his death sentence in that word- because Theseus was his life, his songbird; Theseus taken away from him would be a fate worse than dying. Yes, he scared the boy off with his scream, but wasn’t the sickness keeping them away from each other enough of a punishment on its own?
All years of previous resentment were nothing in comparison with a hurricane of pure hatred that wrenched Wilbur at that moment. He didn’t harm Theseus- he would never think of it, and yet Father spoke of him as he was the culprit of the problem when it was Techno who provoked him to aggression in the first place.
Wilbur couldn’t let them isolate him again - he wouldn’t survive it the second time. He wanted to scream at someone or punch something in frustration but neither was possible in his weakened state - and neither would help him in getting out of this situation. He dragged up a pillow and sunk his face into it, thoughts grinding in his mind, emotions spiking like shrills of a violin.
It wasn’t too late. He could still prevent this, and if it meant shaking hands with the monsters that he tried so hard to avoid… Then so be it.
The next day Wilbur was up on his feet and walking with Techno’s help. Theseus was allowed to come visit him, too.
“Wilbah!” the youngest Antarctic prince exclaimed, ramming into Wilbur’s stomach. There was not a trace of his previously skittish behavior; they hugged each other so tightly that it felt like a rib or two cracked. Wilbur sat down on the bed and tucked him to his side like he did thousands of times before and Theseus hummed happily and went into rumbling about a brunette boy he saw at the stables.
“So I don’t know his name but he hangs out there a lot and he called Captain Sparklez Dad once so he must be his son-”
“You can tell me the rest in a minute, songbird,” Wilbur interrupted. “Techno?”
Techno glanced at from where he was looking out the window, deep lost in his own thoughts. “Huh?”
“For one, get away from the sunlight, you’re going to get burned,” Wilbur said. “And two, I’m sorry.”
Techno opened his mouth and closed it shut again. Wilbur wondered what surprised him more - his apology or that Wilbur showed concern towards him. Wilbur coughed pointedly, glancing at the windows; Techno came back to his senses and moved to sit further into the shadows. “For what?”
Wilbur sighed and allowed guilt to sip into his features. He played a lot of roles and tried on a whole parade of different masks but feigning remorse was something that he hadn't one before.
“I was in the wrong,” he said. “You have as much right to bond with Theseus as I do.”
If Techno noticed the faint trace of a lie on Wilbur’s too-widely stretched lips or narrowed eyes, he opted to ignore it. “Alright,” he gruffed out. “As long as you understand it, I guess.”
“No, no, I really mean it,” Wilbur said. “It seems as though Theseus is curious about the stables and now I wonder.. Maybe you could teach him horseback riding someday soon.”
“Fuckin’ yes!” Theseus leaped to his feet. “Please, Techno, please!”
He jumped Techno and pulled on his shirt, keeping on begging and pouting. Techno sat bewildered for around a minute before he gave in with a heavy sigh. “Sure,” he said. Theseus leaped, throwing his hands into the air, but the twins paid little attention to him cheering; too busy staring each other down.
'What are you planning?' Techno’s eyes seemed to ask.
In return, Wilbur only smirked.