Chapter Text
Wilbur's dad never paid attention to him. Of course, he kept Wilbur fed, clothed, and housed, but they never really talked--and when they did, it was always stilted, like talking to a stranger. But really, what else could Wilbur have expected? Sure, he was Phil's only biological son, but he wasn't a hybrid.
Wilbur's siblings were all hybrids. Techno was a Piglin-Bunny mix, Tommy was an Avian, and Tubbo was a Ram. Phil was an Elytrian, so it only made sense that he was closer with the others rather than Wilbur. They had instincts they could bond with, and while Wilbur could fake it pretty well, his family knew it wasn't real. They could sense that the whistles, grunts, chirps, or baas he made were false and forced.
So again, Wilbur wasn't close with his dad, or his entire family, if he was being completely honest.
And he hated it.
He hated listening to their joking, playing, and bantering just in the room over, unable to join in lest he sour the mood.
He hated hearing about family game night, or movie night, or instincts night and never being invited to join. Even if it was just to sit there, in the same room, Wilbur would've been ecstatic.
So he figured, there must be a way to change that. Make it so he could understand what those sounds they made meant on an instinctual level.
He scoured his father's library everyday, knowing that even if someone found him they'd stay clear of him. It would just be awkward to ask him what he was doing. After all, they were practically strangers sharing a house.
Eventually, Wilbur found what he'd been looking for. A book detailing how to change humans into hybrids, or hybrids into humans.
(Wilbur tore out and burned the pages talking about how to change hybrids into humans. No one deserved to be only a human. No one deserved to be as weak and useless as a human.)
Wilbur did his research, of course. He wanted to be the perfect hybrid, perfect person, for his family. To fit seamlessly into their dynamic and instincts.
After a few days of reading through the book and others talking about hybrids, he found the perfect one.
Phantom hybrids were known for their adaptability. Their ability to mimic, communicate, and bond with other hybrids and even species. Those special qualities would be nulled since Wilbur wouldn't be a "natural" hybrid, but it would be good enough. It had to be.
But still... he needed to be sure. He needed confirmation before he irreversibly changed his body. (Because he was never going back. Even if his family found a way, he wouldn't let them. He never wanted to be useless and a burden again.)
"Phil?" He asked one night during dinner.
Phil made a soft click of surprise before answering, "yes?"
Wilbur had practiced this. He knew how to read between the lines of his families sounds, expressions, and body language. He also knew they would lie to his face once asked this question.
"Would you prefer if I was a hybrid?"
The table fell into silence.
"What?" Tommy asked shakily.
Wilbur waited for someone to actually answer his question, looking deeply into their faces and body language.
"Wil, we like you just the way you are," Phil finally spoke up after a prolonged silence.
Wilbur knew he was lying. He could tell in the way Phil's wings twitched forward as if to cover him, in the way the feathers on his face stood up, though they were being forced down. Phil was never a very good liar.
Wilbur looked at the rest of his family and knew they didn't agree with Phil's statement, even if they were trying their best not to show it.
"Okay," Wilbur responded lightly and continued eating--as if the question and subsequent answer meant nothing to him. But this was all the confirmation he needed to go through with his plan.
Only a few days later, Wilbur woke up to an empty house and a letter sitting innocently on the kitchen counter.
Wilbur, we'll be out for at least two weeks. Techno and I are out on a supply run and Tommy and Tubbo are at Ranboo's. Stay safe! -Phil
Wilbur hated that he knew the letter was an afterthought, but it gave him the perfect opening. Two weeks was more than enough time for the turning.
Preparation would only take about three days, the turning itself took three, depending on the person, settling into the new instincts could take a week at most. This really was the perfect opportunity!
Once his family got back, they'd come home to a wonderful, adaptive, and loving Phantom Hybrid. They'd probably be confused at first, but if he pretended nothing had changed and everything was normal, they'd come around.
Wilbur had studied the ritual almost obsessively (looking over it every night, every time no one else was around, planning exactly what he would do and how he would do it), so he knew what he needed by heart.
A weakness potion, three phantom membranes, phantom blood, water, and something to... help the wings and tail he would gain out. It was recommended to take a strength and regeneration potion after the turning to speed up the healing process, but it wasn't necessary. Wilbur was on a time crunch, so he was going to take those potions.
The book also said that, if possible, pre-arranging a phantom nest would help with settling into the instincts part of the turning, as well as having a species-favoured food to eat. In Wilbur's case, that was fish and potatoes.
After ripping up the note (he was mad, he was so mad that they didn't even say goodbye, that they thought it was okay to leave him all alone for fucking weeks) Wilbur got to work.
He decided to write down all the steps he needed to complete, just to make sure he wouldn't miss something. (He didn't want to be some sort of half-hybrid or be defective. That would just make him more useless than he already was.)
Step one would be potions. He already knew they had weakness, strength, and regen, and he knew where the brewing stand was. He just needed to set up the phantom potion he would need to drink later.
Step two would be staying up until phantoms spawned. Wilbur was best with a bow, so he knew it would be pretty easy to collect the phantom membrane and phantom blood. Though, he could probably stand to practice with his sword for a bit.
Step three would be to clear an area big enough to fit the symbols needed for the ritual to work. Sadly, the turning wasn't as simple as just drinking a potion. Well, it could be, but it would pose more of a risk, and Wilbur did not want anything to go wrong. In the book, it said that in the least extreme cases of something going wrong, the person would have stunted growth or something of the like, and in the worst case scenario people would die. (Wilbur thought death was more of a mercy than being stunted in growth or having a mutation that wasn't supposed to be there.)
Step four would be to create a nest Wilbur could go to once the worst of it was over. Wilbur knew how to set up a phantom nest (he studied the photos and steps every chance he got. He was going to need that, soon enough.)
He could probably set up the nest and brewing stand that day, actually.
He quickly stood, excitement spurring him on. First, he set up the brewing stand. It was a tedious task, but Wilbur needed to do it. The brewing stand was set up easily with Wilbur's experience, and now he could move on to the fun part. Setting up the nest.
He rushed upstairs to his room and shut the shutters firmly. Phantoms burnt in the sunlight, so it would make sense if Wilbur was sensitive to it for a while.
Wilbur grabbed all of his blankets and manoeuvred them according to the book he had found that specialised in phantom hybrids. That one was different from the one he was using for the turning since it was much more insightful for phantom hybrids specifically.
The final touch to the nest was items that were important to the person who would be using it. For that, Wilbur raided his family's rooms. He took a shirt or two from their closets, a plushie from Tommy and Tubbo, and
Okay, he just couldn't help himself! He stole one of Techno's hoodies, one of Phil's scarves, and a single fuzzy sock from each of his younger brothers. The Phantom hybrid book said that phantom hybrids were very possessive family-oriented, so it only made sense that he kept a few extra things to wear around the house. He wouldn't wear them during the turning though, obviously. He didn't want them to get dirty.
Oddly enough, making the nest took up the better part of the day. Wilbur couldn't go to sleep if he wanted phantoms to spawn, but he could keep himself occupied until the next day, so that was fine. He needed to stay up for an entire day for the phantoms to spawn, and if he didn't he would be set back a few days and risk the entire thing. He didn't want his family to know he was newly turned, he wanted them to think he was always a hybrid.
To ward off boredom and sleepiness, he turned on some music from the jukebox and settled into the couch with a book he'd seen Techno read a lot. It was a bit confusing, with a lot of big words and not much dialogue, but it was good enough. Wilbur liked the stories in it, and there were a lot so if he got bored he could just skip to the next one.
The next day came quickly and Wilbur moved the furniture around to make space for the runes he would paint on the floor. Once that was done, he went outside to practice with his bow and sword.
He was bad with a sword.
Really, really bad.
(He was too aggressive with it. He would make swipes or stabs and lose himself.
He hated how that scared him.)
He was better with a bow. Aiming at far-away objects was easy for him.
(It made him distance himself from the anger he got lost in when fighting with a sword. It made him feel more in control.)
He practised for the majority of the day, only taking a break to go to the bathroom once.
Suddenly, he remembered that he had to get fish and potatoes. Only a moment later, he realised that he hadn't eaten in almost two days.
He just... forgot.
(He ignored the part of him that had been telling him not to eat until all his tasks were done. Until the turning was over.)
Wilbur put down his bow and quiver and went to the kitchen to get the potatoes and fish. He took plated them and set them on the floor next to his nest.
Night had come, and Wilbur went outside to get the Phantom Membrane and Phantom Blood with a bottle and bag in hand.
There were three phantoms in the sky and Wilbur shot for their glowing green eyes. He took two of them down easily, but the third was being difficult. He had hit it three times now, and it still wouldn't go down.
The phantom swooped down-
and it was dead.
He didn't remember grabbing his sword from out of its sheath.
He didn't remember hitting the phantom with his sword.
He didn't remember utterly disfiguring the phantom with his sword.
But he got what he needed, so he pushed the fear away.
He drew the runes on the floor using a mix of phantom blood, water, and his own blood. The runes were done in only twenty minutes (minus the double, triple, and quadruple checking) and all that was left was the potions, getting a knife to help get the wings and tail out, and the turning itself.
Getting a knife was easy, all he had to do was grab one from the knife block in the kitchen and set it just outside the circle of runes. Once that was done, Wilbur went into the potions room.
Wilbur was good with potions. He always had been. Sometime, long ago (when his family still loved him), he remembered making all kinds of potions for his family. If they asked, Wilbur would make it. He was good at remembering the recipes and could even make new potions based on other potion's recipes.
Now, no one asked for things from him. Now, they got their potions from villagers. (Now, they barely even talked to him.)
The potion was quickly completed, and he had that phantom membrane he needed to eat. Ingesting a phantom membrane before the turning was another precaution towards being completely healthy.
The membrane tasted weird. It was rubbery but floated in your mouth at the same time. It was bland, but once you broke the skin of it you got a burst of flavour that lingered in your mouth long after swallowing it.
Wilbur wasn't sure if he liked it or hated it. (He wasn't sure he liked eating before everything was done.)
He brought the turning potion to the circle of runes and sat in it before downing the potion like a shot.
It took a few minutes of Wilbur waiting for the excruciating pain the book said he'd be in to set in before he felt something... strange. It was like his muscles were moving around under his skin, like they were contorting in order to fit in a certain way. It wasn't painful, but it felt a bit like how your legs would if you walked for a long time. Sore and tight.
For a few minutes, Wilbur thought that was the only thing that was going to happen.
Then he felt a strong push and he couldn't hold back the shout of pain. He felt the layers of skin breaking from the inside out and it was fucking painful.
Through the pain, he managed to grab the knife and reach over to where he felt the skin snapping. He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and quickly sliced away the rest of the skin. He could afford to be a bit messy since the regen and healing would fix everything in the end.
He took another deep breath and did the same to the other side of his back, and immediately everything felt better. It was still painful as Nether, but it was better.
He curled over into the fetal position, stretching his back. He could feel the wings--because that's what they were, what they had to be--moving around inside of him, still trying to push out of his back despite the opening made for them.
One thing Wilbur disliked about the book is that it assumed there would be another person to help with the turning. If there was another person with Wilbur at that moment, they would be reaching into his back and guiding the wings out, but Wilbur didn't have another person with him. Wilbur was doing this alone.
Finally, fucking finally, the wings found their way out and into the air. With the relief of that being over, he almost fell asleep. He didn't, but he knew his eyelids were drooping as his forehead hit the floor.
He turned his head to look at his wings, but his vision was too cloudy. He'd never had very good peripheral vision anyway.
The cold floor felt good against his face, so he adjusted to lay on his side in order to feel more of that coldness all over his body.
He could feel his wings hitting the floor and blood trailing down his skin. He could feel his arms loosening their hold on his torso and his legs relaxing onto the floor.
The book said that it was normal to fall asleep during the turning process.