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Wilbur didn't remember much of his life. He remembered the good parts, which he was beyond grateful for. He knew about L'manberg, and how he became the president. He knew Phil, Tommy, Fundy, and Tubbo. He faintly remembered Fundy as his son.
He also remembered how he died.
Everyone else thought he'd been lost in the explosions, but that simply wasn't true. No, the bombs barely left a mark on him. He died from the hands of his own father.
He could remember it, which truly was a "miracle" because of how foggy his memory truly was. But he did remember. He saw how Phil had stared at him, could feel the blood--his blood--pool onto the stone beneath him. He could almost touch the sharp blade of the sword. He could remember, in vivid detail, his final moments. How his father had held him in his arms, sobs wracking his entire frame. That detail had always made Wilbur furious. Why was he crying? He was the one who had stabbed him. Why was he so upset?
As Wilbur heard the creak of his ladder, a sign someone was coming down, he went off to greet them. 'That must be Fundy,' he thought, 'I'm glad he's finally starting to visit without me having to invite him.'
"Fundy, hello--!" Wilbur's fond smile dropped as his eyes laid upon who really had come to visit him. "Oh. Phil," he said, his jaw clenched. He'd hadn't spoken to him in months, and now all of a sudden he wanted to see him?
"Son, please, we need to talk--"
"Don't call me that," he said firmly. "Not-- not after you..." He couldn't bare to finish his sentence, getting choked up. Just then, he realised he hadn't talked to anyone about this before. 'This is going to be fucking terrible,' he thought.
"...That's actually what we need to talk about. I can't live with you hating me for this." Phil said carefully.
"Oh, you can't live with it? Real fucking funny, Phil," Wil could feel tears forming in his eyes, threatening to fall.
"You know I didn't mean it like that... Wil, please, just hear me out," Phil pleaded, and the other could see tears in his eyes as well.
"...Fine," he agreed. "Come, sit, since you're staying a while," he gestured to a table with a couple chairs, sarcasm seeping into his voice.
"Wil..." He said, but sat anyways. "I... really didn't want to. You're my son..! I only wanted to protect you," he started.
"I don't think stabbing me with a fucking diamond sword is exactly protecting me," Wilbur retorted.
"I never would have done it," Phil defended.
"Then why did you?" The other asked, only to be met with silence. He gave him a moment to answer, and when one didn't come, he said, "...See, Phi--"
"You wanted me to."
"..Wh-- What?"
"You wanted me to," Phil repeated. "You gave me the sword, you just kept saying, 'Phil, kill me.' And-- you just kept pushing and pushing-- and I knew if I didn't end it right there, you'd only hurt even more people--" He interrupted himself with a sob, a hand flying up to cover his mouth. The room was almost silent, the only sounds being Phil's occasional whimper as he tried to compose himself. Once he knew he could continue, he did, "I knew you would never stop yourself. You'd-- You'd just keep hurting and hurting people until someone stopped you. And-- I didn't want it to be me, but I knew it had to be..."
Wilbur only stood there, shocked, as the man across from him once again fell into tears. 'I... Asked him to? I'd wanted him to kill me?' he thought. "Oh, God--" Wil whispered, earning the other's attention. "I- I'm so sorry--"
"Can I hug you?" Phil asked, and the other knew he really meant: 'Will it work, since you're a ghost?' When his son nodded, a small smile forming on his lips, he gave him such a strong and loving hug, one that showed all of his unspoken emotions towards him. Only when he was hugged back did he begin to cry once again. 'God, I missed this. I missed him,' he thought, only squeezing his son tighter.
"I- I didn't know," Wil cried.
"I know, shh. It doesn't-- It doesn't matter now," the other tried his best to comfort, but comforting was hard when you were crying just as hard as the person in front of you.
"I mean-- I knew Alive Wilbur was bad, but I didn't think-- I never thought he'd--"
"It's okay, Wil. You're my son, I'll love you no matter what," Phil kissed the top of his head.
Wilbur, succumbing to the comfort of his father, didn't say anything else and just hugged him tighter. The two sat in silence, the only noises being their quiet sobs. Wilbur didn't know how much the other had needed this, needed him. And, really, he didn't know how much he had needed Phil, either.
"...I love you too," Wilbur muttered, the sound muffled from the other's shoulder.
Slowly, their sobs subsided into whimpers, then into small sniffles here and there. However, they didn't let go of each other until long after they'd stopped crying. They both didn't really want to, but knew they had to eventually. A peaceful atmosphere had replaced a hateful, regret-filled one, and they were both eternally grateful for it. Instead of curses, the two shared jokes. Instead of crying, they both laughed.
And it was peaceful, and they got a break. A break from all of the tragedy, the war, the bloodlust, a break from it all. In that moment, they were happy.