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Time ticked by slowly, if it even passed any more. The boy on the platform stared up into empty space, leaning against the wall. His sweater was threadbare now, nearly worn through with age. He shivered, smoke filling his lungs, crusted with old dust and mildew.
Memories slipped through his fingers, the images becoming fainter, crumbling into ash. The same as it had always been, always would be. He laid his head against his shoulder, blinking back old tears. The dot matrix display hadn’t lit up for a while, every time it went dark he thought it was the last time, and maybe this time it would be. He curled up tighter, trying to warm icy fingers
“Hello.”
He didn’t look up, he’d heard voices before, calling out for him, Tommy, Techno, Phil, sometimes even Tubbo, the people he’d loved once, all that time ago
But this, this was new. It called out again, and he couldn’t help but open his eyes. The platform was empty, nothing had changed, the same grey walls, and peeling paint, the same rusted tracks. But something felt different. He stood for what could have been the first time in weeks, aching, stumbling to his feet, looking around hopelessly. He was about to give up, turning away
“Hello.”
A woman was stood in front of him. She could have been another ghost for all he knew, wearing a sheer dark dress and a wide brimmed hat, her face hidden by a dark veil, a silver necklace around her throat, a crow perched on her shoulder. Another person, for the first time since he’d arrived another being stood opposite him. He blinked, staring again, trying to see if she’d disappear, waiting for the bubble to burst.
“I’m real.” She said sadly. “I’m here.” She stepped forward, watching him carefully, waiting for permission to come closer. He made no protest, and she took another step, and then another, until she was right in front of him. She reached out, cupping his head in her hands, gazing at him fondly. She felt real, solid, she was there. And more than that, more than anything, so was he.
He tried to speak, but there was a lump in his throat. He’d become so accustomed to slipping through outstretched hands, phasing through walls, never quite there enough to stop himself falling, that he’d forgotten it was possible to be anything more than a ghost, but there it was.
“Hello little one. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“Do I know you?” Ghostbur’s voice grated in his throat, rough from disuse.
“Not yet.”
“Are you here to take me home?”
“Something like that.”
“I can’t leave.” He admitted. “I can’t go. I’ve tried.”
“But I can.” She took his hand, putting an arm around his shoulder gently. “Come on, before anyone realises I’m here.” He leaned into the arm, pressing against it, anchoring himself. It was real. Someone was there. He didn’t care who, he didn’t care what was happening, she promised a way out, and he followed blindly, his head spinning. She waved her hand, and a dark rift opened up, like reality tearing itself apart, effortlessly remaking the fabric of his afterlife.
“Don’t be afraid.” A whisper passed his ear. “Just follow me.”
He resisted for a moment, a coherent thought crossing his mind. “This isn’t real. I don’t know you.”
“I would never hurt you.” There was a strength behind that promise, and he followed it blindly, just as he had moments ago, reaching out for the rift, suddenly curious.
Something burned, like a chain being broken, almost uncomfortable warmth crawling across his skin, his stomach lurching beneath him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, wind rushing past his ears.
And then in an instant, it was gone. He peeked out of one eye, and then both, fear and curiosity warring in his head. There was darkness, but it wasn’t terrifying. It wasn’t empty, or dangerous, or threatening, it was almost warm, calm. Safe. After so many years in emptiness, perhaps he should have been more afraid, but this wasn’t lonely, or cold. There were no grimy walls to scratch at, no dot matrix board casting an icy neon light over cracked concrete. The only sound was a soft wind, with no beginning, end or direction, the sound of a universe on the move, no distant train whistles, no crackling announcements.
He moved to look around, and then started in surprise. All of his aches and pains, the chill that had set so deep in his bones he thought it would never lift, they’d been left behind at the gateway. He was weightless, a lifetime of hurt lifted from his shoulders, anchored only by the hand that held his. Agony that had consumed him for years, wiped so quickly it didn’t feel real. He fell to his knees, pressing his free hand against the floor, unable to stand.
The floor was cool, like glass, and below a yawning chasm opened. Through it ran a great tapestry, an infinite twisting and turning of threads of light, stretching out as far as the eye could see, into the depths of oblivion beyond. He suddenly felt small, dwarfed by the stars above, and the void below, and the tall graceful woman that held his hand.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it.”
“What is it?” He breathed
“Everything.” She replied. “Everything there ever was, every life, and everyone they’ve crossed. The more tangled each one is, the more lives they’ve touched, or will do, the longer or shorter they are, how long they will live. Everything that has ever happened, or will ever happen, is here.”
He was silent for a while, processing it. “Did that mean what happened to me, was meant to happen?”
“Gosh no. It doesn’t mean what happened to you was right, or meant to be. Nothing is set in stone, people make their own choices and the tapestry changes, there is no such thing as destiny, nothing is set in stone.” She walked over it slowly, studying it. “Fate is fluid, the time we are in is one of many, there are many different worlds and many different times, and even those that can walk between them, but that’s for another day.”
“Oh.”
“Why did you want to know?”
“Well. It would be a reason for it to happen.”
She drew a hand to her mouth, pity flashing for a moment. “Oh I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t seem to notice, fascinated. “And when the thread ends?”
“Then they die.” She said simply, “And they cross to the place you call limbo for a few moments, and then to me.”
He looked up sharply. “Moments? I was there for...”
“Years. I know, and so were the others. They aren’t meant to stay. It’s supposed to be temporary, a station on the line, if you will, it’s not designed for people to live there. But they don’t have it easy in their lives, so when they pass they cling to whatever happiness they can get. It’s hard for them to let go, they get stuck there for years at a time.”
“I had no idea.”
“Limbo, a state of in-between, between life, and death, until you’re ready to move on and leave the past behind you.”
“I don’t think I’ve moved on yet.” He admitted. “Why am I here?”
“You’re not quite like them. And it’s easy for me to bend the rules when I’m the one that made them, I wanted you here.”
The boy blinked, and then sniffed, looking down. “I don’t know, if you want me. Or someone else.” He played with his sleeve. “I’m not really welcome in places, not after what Alivebur did.”
“Oh sweetheart.” She cupped his head in her hands, making him look at her, at the honesty she couldn’t hide. “You’re not him, you never have been, and I’m so sorry they thought you were, that they didn’t always want you there, but I want you here, with me.”
The outburst of emotion took him off guard, and he swayed on his feet, staring at her, transfixed. “I don’t even know your name.” He said shyly.
She hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose you can call me Kristen?”
“Are you sure?”
“I have another name, but it’s not pronounceable in your language. Phil named me Kristen and so it stuck.”
He sat up. “Phil?” He frowned, something tugging at his brain. “I recognise that name.”
She reached over, pressing a cold palm against his forehead, closing his eyes gently. And just like that, the fog cleared. Memories flooded back, a green hat, bright blue eyes shaded from the brightness of the snow, quick to laughter, warm rich food, a face to tie that lingering memory of fresh baked bread to. A father.
“Phil like my Phil?”
She laughed, and the sound was bright, and clear, and for once, it didn’t feel like it was directed at him, like the jeering laughter or pointed fingers in the past had. It felt honest, and kind
“I suppose I can share.” She said fondly. “Our Phil.”
The boy turned slowly, taking it all in, drawing in deep breaths, savouring the taste of clean air, without the acrid taste of smog. It didn’t feel real, but at the same time how could it not be, it was so complex, so alive he didn’t believe his exhausted mind could come up with it, so it had to be real. And maybe he couldn’t face the idea that it might not be, that he could lose this, so he clung onto it.
“Why me?” He asked finally. “Why did this happen to me. Why did you bring me here?”
“XD and his godling are playing with fate.” She said sadly. “And there are consequences for that. I wasn’t there in time to save you, but I’ve learned now, the others will never got through what you did, and I can fix what they broke.”
“Tommy’s safe? Techno’s safe?”
“You remember them?” She looked relieved
“Tommy was….kind.” He said slowly. Golden hair, blue eyes, red shirt, patience, a friend. “Techno...” Clashing wooden swords, a child’s laughter, joined by an older voice. “He trained me, a long time ago.”
She knelt down, brushing her finger over two threads that shone brighter than the rest, woven in with gold. They were twisted and tangled with so many lives around them, he knew Tommy’s in a heartbeat, every life it passed, it touched in some way, knots or twists or anything, pulled into it. Techno’s was quieter, only turning here and there, but it had it’s own stories, sudden jumbles of thread, pulling on those around him, yanking them into line with his, clearing their path forward. “I’m watching over them now. I couldn’t before, XD’s meddling hid the world from me, he knew I wouldn’t be happy, or I’d have been here months ago.”
“What is this place?” He asked hesitantly. “Have I ever been here before? Do I not remember it.”
“No.” She spread her arms, taking in the expanse in front of them. “This is my realm.”
Something tugged at his brain, a faint memory, just out of reach, a piece of the puzzle missing, slowly slipping into place. “You’re a goddess.” He whispered
“So you do know me.” She stated, sounding pleased
“I-.” Soft words, a blanket pulled up to his chest, a fire crackling, a much older memory, from before he forgot what it was like to be alive, from when it was warm, and solid and safe. “Phil used to tell Alivebur stories, I think. But they were just that, stories. And they never said anything about this place.”
“This place is whatever I want it to be. Watch.” She waved her hand, and suddenly there was a wide dark ocean, waves crashing against vast cliffs to their side. He yelped, jumping back from the water but it never touched him before it shifted again, a vast desert at night time, the universe stretching out above them in a vast band of stars. He knelt down, and picked up a handful of sand, letting it slide through his fingers, the wind catching it, brushing it aside. Another shift, and it was an old oak forest, filled with deep rich greens and browns, the moss soft under his bare feet, the thick canopy casting the glades into a dim glow, a herd of roe deer framed in golden sunlight. Another flicker, and it was rolling fields, a rich meadow of flowers under bright sunlight and blue sky
“This one!” He called out without thinking. “Please.”
She inclined her head, and the world settled. The sunlight brightened, a gentle breeze rushing past them. He took a step forward, and then another one, half afraid it would crumble beneath his feet, that it wasn’t real. When it stayed firm he became bolder, step after step, faster and faster, until he plunged forward, running out into the grass. Laughter bubbled up in his chest, raw and desperate, so unfamiliar, but so welcome. He ran faster, his feet slamming against the ground, and it didn’t ache to run, it didn’t burn to breathe, he didn’t seem to get tired, or cold, and though the loneliness had set too deep in his chest to shift that easily, something chipped away at it.
She floated down next to him, oddly out of place in her dark clothes and yet perfectly serene, watching him play.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful.” His smile fell. “But it’s not real, is it?”
“It’s as real as real can be.” She reached out, plucking a cornflower, settling it behind his ear. “Lets not exhaust yourself too quickly though, you’re not fully healed yet, the change will take time.”
“I want to run.” He whined. “It’s nice.”
“Soon.” She promised. “For now, just rest.”
He slid down, mumbling to himself, staring up at the sky, watching fleeting clouds slip across the sun, one hand shading his eyes. The air was filled with the smell of hay and warm earth, grass tickling his arm, catching in the holes of his jumper
“Here, let me take that.”
She reached over, tapping his shoulder, and the threadbare fabric melted away into a fresh yellow t-shirt, torn jeans repairing themselves, ridding all the grime from the station, until the only thing left of that awful place was an old echo in his head, a world away from the meadows. Maybe once he would have clung onto it, begged to keep it, he’d never known a world without that sweater, but he didn’t seem to mind, it was just a bad reminder now, and it felt so good to be clean.
If it was a dream, if reality was about to come crashing down, he would hold onto this for all it was worth, it was one of the best dreams he had ever had. It wasn’t fixed, not by a long way, he was still hurting, even if his wounds had been healed, there was still a chill in his bones even when he was stretched out in sunlight, but they weren’t really there, they were in his head, no longer physical. Maybe that was worse, the hardest place to fix them, but it was better than it was, and if there was anything he had always been good at it was seeing the best in a situation, even when there didn’t seem to be anything good there. The boy turned over, settled by that thought, weaving the grass between his fingers absent-mindedly, a pleasant haze settling across him.
A hand settled in his hair, gently combing the tangles out of his curls, and he leaned into it, half asleep, dozing, without the restless twisting and turning of the train station. Someone settled down next to him, and he leaned into them, tiredness washing over him without warning, slipping him down into a sleep so deep the nightmares never found him.
But it didn’t last. His shoulder shook gently, and he stirred slowly. His hand touched grass, and he started, confused. It began to spill back, the platform, the doorway, the tapestry, the stars, the meadows. “Wake up dear. We don’t have long.”
He was awake in an instant, shooting up, alarmed. “What?”
“Easy.” The goddess said gently. “You’re safe.”
“Do I have to go? Are you taking me back?”
“No, no, sweetheart no.” She shook her head, a fierce light in her eyes, even through the veil. “You’re never going back there.”
“Promise?” He whispered.
“I promise as long as there are stars in the sky, as long as we turn around the sun, as long as the tides rise and fall, and longer, I swear you will never go back.” She said solemnly. “This is your home now.”
“Home.” He repeated, savouring the world in his mouth, letting it linger. It tasted like snow and pine and cabins, but also oak forests and a town on a flooded crater.
“Speaking of, I need to show you something.” She sat back, and the world shifted again, to that old oak forest, darker now, crows dotted among the trees. They stood by a pond, the surface mirror smooth, on a small wooden bridge. The boy leaned forward, studying his reflection, clinging onto the railings. His skin looked brighter, filled with colour all of a sudden, a crown of cornflowers in his hair. For the first time, he looked at himself and smiled, something feeling right about what looked back at him, rather than some pale reflection of another man.
She let him stare for a little while, before leaning down, dipping a fingertip into the pool. It turned silver, and then clear, shapes appearing in the surface that weren’t the trees above it. A window into another world, a clearing far below, dotted with flowers, lit by gentle moonlight. A blanket had been laid out, weighed down with logs at each corner, spread with plates of sandwiches and cakes and all sorts of delicacies, a flask of hot tea still steaming.
“A picnic?” The boy frowned. “At night?”
“Sunlight isn’t good for me.” She explained. “So we meet at night.”
“Meet wh...” He trailed off, looking alarmed. “The meadow.”
“My own sunlight is safe. And I have this.” A gloved hand tapped the wide hat she wore. “I know how to protect myself.”
Ghostbur nodded wisely. “That makes sense. I burn in rain.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened a little. “I suppose we’re rather alike then.”
There was movement, and she gasped, smiling. “Look. There he is.”
A blonde haired figure was stood under the trees, a worn green and white hat pushed onto his hair, wrapped in a thick cloak, a lantern in his hand casting a warm golden light across the fresh fallen snow, achingly familiar, black wings folded on his backstory
“Phil.” He whispered. He looked up at the goddess desperately. “Can I see him?” He begged. “Please, I missed him.”
“In a second.” She promised. “I want it to be a surprise though, can you do that?”
He nodded eagerly, and then hesitated. “Does he want to see me? It’s been so long.”
“Its only been a few months for them, it hasn’t been that long. Don’t you worry, everything will be just fine, you’ll see.” She squeezed his hand, before letting it go. “Wait here. I won’t be a moment.”
She turned away, gathering up her skirts, stepping into the pool. There was a slight ripple, the universe acknowledging her passage, and for an instant, the line between worlds grew a little wider. The boy knelt down on the edge of the bridge, drawn in as she appeared on the other side of the clearing, emerging from the shadows. A smile crept into her eyes and she waved at the figure sat under the tree. “Phil!”
“Kristen!” He leapt to his feet, taking her hand and kissing it gallantly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I was worried you weren’t coming.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She embraced him tightly. “How are you my dear?”
“Oh you know.” He shrugged. “This and that, Techno was gone for a while, so it was lonely but he’s back now, and so are you. Look.” He spun her around, almost giddy, showing off his creation.
“You made candles?”
He flushed. “Well I made that bee farm a while ago and there was leftover wax, it would have been a waste really, I thought...”
“They’re lovely.” She admired them for a few minutes
“What can I get you?” He turned away, distracted. “I bought tea, I remember you said you liked the chamomile...” She placed a gloved hand on his arm gently.
“Phil?”
“Yes?” His response was instant, looking at her, concerned. “Is everything alright?”
“I. I bought someone to see you.”
Phil set the mug down, curiously. “Oh?”
She looked upwards, straight at him. “Come on little one.”
He eyed the water nervously, reaching a hand out, just a finger tip, dipping it in. It didn’t burn like it was supposed to. Still it terrified him, but there was Phil. And he was so close, and he was waiting for him.
He reached another finger in, and then held his breath, tipping forward. There was an odd sensation, like a rush of wind right through him.
He tumbled out onto cold snow, far less gracefully than Kristen, but unharmed. He picked himself up and shuddered slightly. “That was weird.
Phil was staring at him, frozen, his eyes wide. His breath caught, in a state of disbelief. “Ghostbur?”
“Phil?” He whispered.
“Is that you?”
He nodded, scared, suddenly unable to speak, the lump in his throat returning.
“It’s him.” The goddess answered for him. “I bought him home.”
Phil let out a shaky breath. “A little warning would’ve been nice.” He took a step closer, and the boy let out a sob, reaching for a hug without thinking. He stopped suddenly, about to draw back, preparing for the old feeling of cold, of slipping through fingers, but Phil had already reached out just as instinctively. Arms closed around him, and then stopped. It was real
Phil was holding him, and he wasn’t slipping. Just like Kristen, he was there. The gravity of that wasn’t lost on him either, a small cry slipping from Phil. The older man tightened the embrace, wrapping him in his cloak. “Hello again.”
“Hi Dad.” He heard a sharp inhale of breath above him. Wings closed around them , one broken and damaged, but it felt safe. Phil’s shoulders shook with unshed tears, and the boy sunk into him, a knot untangling in his chest, one that had been there long before the walls of the train station had closed in on him, one he’d become so used to living with he’d never known it was there. And now it was gone. He was home, he was safe, he never wanted to move again.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” A voice whispered in his ear, thick with emotion.
He was slowly let go, unwillingly, and he cried out in protest.
“I’m old, I can’t stay stood up for this long.” Phil joked, trying to make light of it all. “I’m not going anywhere.” He reached over, ruffling the boy’s hair, and even if he wasn’t quite substantial, if his fingers still slipped a little, it was a start, it was enough, it was more than enough. Ghostbur’s smile stretched from ear to ear, staring around excitedly, like he was seeing the world for the very first time.
“It smells like winter.”
Phil chuckled. “It’s the arctic mate, it does that.”
“No it smells like winter.” He insisted. “Not like smoke or cold or mould, it smells like winter.”
Phil glanced over his shoulder, seeking out Kristen’s reassurance, unsure of what to say. “I’ll explain one day.” Kristen told him. “He hasn’t been in a good place. But he’s safe now, he’s staying with me.”
He relaxed. “Alright.” The boy jumped from foot to foot restlessly, taking everything in greedily, almost glowing. “You look like you’re about to burst.” Ghostbur nodded, half distracted.
“You don’t have to stay here, if you don’t want to. You can explore if you like.” The goddess said kindly.
“But...”
“We’re here.” Kristen promised. “We’re never far.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” He whispered.
“You’re not.” Phil promised. “And we’ll make sure you never are again.” He held out his hand, and a crow fluttered down, landing on his fist, cawing at him loudly. He pointed, and it fluttered over to Ghostbur, landing on his shoulder. It squawked in surprise, unnerved by the strangeness of him, half there, half not, but it was enough for it to hang on.
“He wants to explore a little, look after him.” Kristen instructed it. “If he runs into anything bring him back to us. Don’t let him go too far.”
“I remember the crows!” He said excitedly. “They always followed you Dad, I remember them.”
He broke away from the spot he’d been frozen in, gliding around the clearing, waving at the birds in the trees. “Hello! Do you remember me.”
His attention was snatched away by a candle in the snow at his feet
He reached out, drawn to the warmth of the flame, his fingers trailing over the flame, fascinated by it.
“Don’t touch that!” Phil called out, alarmed
“It won’t hurt him.” Kristen reassured him.
“Isn’t he cold?” He asked frantically. “Does he need a cloak or something, he’s got no shoes, he’s wearing a t-shirt, he’ll freeze.”
“He won’t get cold.” She sat down on the blanket, looking around.
He poured her a mug of hot tea, and she took it gracefully, pulling her veil away, revealing dark almond eyes, and long black hair, a crow feather hanging from her ear
“You look beautiful today.”
“You tell me that every day.”
“And I mean it every day.” He set the flask down, clearly distracted
“Relax. He’s safe.”
“It’s dark, there’s mobs around.”
“Not here, you made it safe, remember.”
“I’m a bit confused.” He admitted. “This...isn’t what I expected, and you’re just treating it like it’s normal, this is huge for me Kristen. I thought I lost him, forever. And now he’s back and I don’t know what to do, I want to help him, I want to apologise I want to do something but this is our picnic time and...”
“Phil, I know.” She took his hand. “He’s not going anywhere, he’s with me now, there’ll be time for that.”
“Should I apologise now?” He asked anxiously, wringing his hands. “I have so much I want to say, he just disappeared one day, I want to talk to him, I don’t want to wait and him to think I don’t mean it.”
“Phil!”
The boy reappeared, a small white flower held aloft in his hand, still damp from the snow he’d plucked it out of, filled with a kind of childlike joy at his find. He ran over, holding it out and Phil took it carefully, staring at it as if it would fall through his fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“Thank you.” He said after a moment, trying and failing to hide the slight crack in his voice. “It’s beautiful.”
Ghostbur lit up, beaming, and then vanished again, faint footsteps appearing on the snow heading away from them. Phil waited until he was out of earshot, before looking down at the flower.
“He always used to stain the flowers blue.” Phil turned it slowly. “Now there’s only fingerprints.”
“I told you. He’s safe now.” Kristen promised. “I won’t let him down again.”
“You never let him down.” Phil disagreed, staring at the flower. “I was the one that hurt him, I was too busy mourning for the son I killed to see another that needed me.”
“I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ll say it again. You couldn’t have known Wilbur was going to die.”
“I know, but I wish that I did.” He ran the fabric of his cloak through his fingers, playing restlessly with the stitching, small silver ivy leaves climbing up the hems, a project he’d taken on in the last blizzard to pass the days. He traced it up and down anxiously, lost in thought, the cloth soft under calloused fingers. “Is he going to be alright?””
“It’ll take time, he was there for a while, and time runs strangely there.”
“I remember Will telling me about it.”
“How much did he say?”
“Not much. Nothing useful.”
“I don’t know how long it will take.” She admitted. “He lost a lot of his memories and they’ll take a while to come back.”
“He remembered me, that’s a start, right.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You were one of the first things he got back. He only remembered Techno and Tommy when I found him but he’s getting better.”
Phil nodded, an old guilt slipping through again. “That makes sense. They were his favourites, probably had much more time for him than I did
“I feel bad for just telling him to go play, after all this time. He might think we don’t want him here.”
“I was worried about that too, but he needs his freedom right now.” Kristen assured him. “He needs to know he can come and go, and we’ll always be here, he’s been trapped for so long. You know what he’s like, he acts on a whim, if he wants to come back, he will.”
“You’ll be able to make up for it.”
“It’s not like I have all the time in the world, or something.” He replied wryly.
“And now, so does he.”
It took him a moment, but understanding dawned on him with a kind of awed shock. “You don’t mean...”
“He’s in my realm now Phil, he’s as eternal as I am, as you will be one day.”
Phil’s mouth tightened, tears shining in his eyes. He brushed them aside roughly. “No fuck off, I’m not crying.”
She giggled. “I didn’t say anything.” He rolled his eyes at that, and she stuck her tongue out playfully. “You’re allowed to cry.”
“I’ve outlived so many people, it’s nice to have something to hold onto.”
“I know the feeling.” She reached out, taking his hand gently. “I know it very well.” The look she got in return was filled with all the love in the world.
They fell into silence for a little while, the peace of having known someone for so long that silence became comfortable instead of empty. The space was filled by the ambience of the night forest, the soft drip of snow from the leaves, the gentle patter of a fox, clothed in thick white fur for the winter, the distant gurgling of a brook, half frozen over, and now and then, a giggle, little more than bells on the wind, followed by excited cawing.
“Is it hard?” She asked finally
“It used to be.” Phil admitted. “Seeing him every day. But he’s not Wilbur, I know that now, he never was.”
“Do you mind if I bring him more often?” She asked. “I don’t go out of my realm often, and he’s missed the world so much. I know he’s not Wilbur but….”
“He’s not Wilbur, but he is my son.” Phil said firmly. “And I’ve missed him.”
“Our son.” Kristen agreed. Phil smiled slightly, looking over at the faint spectre, running in and out of the trees, chasing a butterfly, soft laughter drifting over on the breeze
“Our son.”