Chapter Text
Wilbur cracked first.
It wasn’t surprising, not really—Wilbur had always been the emotional one, the one who wore his heart like a badge of honor even while pretending it was a weapon. But Theseus still wasn’t prepared for the sight of his older brother barreling down the castle steps two at a time with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that usually preceded minor disasters or major declarations.
Wilbur reached him with a strangled, half-laughing sound, and before Theseus could brace himself, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and dragged him forward in a crushing embrace. The collision knocked the air out of Theseus’s lungs in a sharp gasp. For a heartbeat he didn’t hug back—shock freezing him in place—until the warmth, the smell of pine and ink and Wilbur, slammed into him all at once.
For so long, he had imagined moments like this. Imagined coming home, imagined seeing his brothers again, imagined being held by someone who loved him without condition. But imagining it had never come close to feeling Wilbur tremble against him.
Phil was only a heartbeat behind. He moved with steadier grace, his boots striking the steps in a rhythm Theseus had known since childhood. Phil didn’t crash into him the way Wilbur had; he simply stepped into the circle of the hug and set one hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, the other on Theseus’s back—firm, grounding, warm. The kind of touch that said I’ve got you without needing to speak.
Then Techno.
Techno, who liked to pretend he was carved from old mountain stone—cold, immovable, unmoved. Techno, who had always been the hardest to read, the hardest to rattle, the hardest to crack. He paused at the top of the staircase, shoulders squared, chin set, eyes locked on Theseus with an unreadable intensity.
For a fraction of a second—barely long enough for anyone but family to notice—Techno looked like he wanted to sprint.
Instead, he descended the steps with deliberate, calculated stride, every motion carefully controlled, as though any slip in composure might send him running the rest of the way. His jaw twitched once, the only sign of the storm underneath.
Theseus swallowed hard. Something in his chest—something weak, something raw—strained against his ribs. “I… missed you,” he breathed. The words leaked out much smaller than he’d intended, rasped with exhaustion, worn thin by months of loneliness.
Techno stopped right in front of him.
The older prince didn’t hug him—not yet—but his eyes swept over Theseus’s face, cataloging every change, every bruise half-faded, every crease of exhaustion, every hollowed place where laughter used to be. He studied Theseus the way Theseus had once seen him study maps before battle—slow, careful, memorizing every detail as though committing it all to memory.
“You took your time,” Techno murmured.
It wasn’t an accusation. Not really. There was a trembling breath hidden beneath the words, almost softening them into something far closer to welcome home.
Wilbur finally loosened his grip, stumbling back with a dramatic sniff and swiping aggressively at his eyes. “You absolute menace!” he declared, jabbing a finger at Theseus’s chest. “Do you have any idea how bored I’ve been without you? Techno’s no fun to torment alone.”
Techno gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. “I’m standing right here.”
“Theseus knows,” Wilbur said breezily, patting Techno’s arm with a half-patronizing, half-affectionate pat. “He missed me more anyway.”
“Did not,” Theseus retorted automatically.
The smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him almost instantly.
Phil chuckled, the sound warm enough to thaw the chilly courtyard air. “Come on, boys. Let’s get inside before one of you starts a snowball fight out of pure emotion.”
Wilbur perked up instantly. “I could throw one right now.”
“Theseus just got here,” Techno warned, voice stern but softened at the edges by amusement. “If you start a war before he even sees the foyer, I’m not helping you explain it to Dad.”
Phil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am Dad.”
“That’s why I’m warning him,” Techno deadpanned.
Theseus laughed. Really laughed. The sound burst out of him without restraint—loud, bright, borderline painful in how unfamiliar it felt. It echoed through the courtyard, bouncing off the stone walls like music returning to a long-silent hall.
Like it belonged here.
Like he belonged here.
For the first time in months—maybe years—everything felt exactly, impossibly, beautifully right.
Their boots clicked across the smooth stone of the familiar hallway. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in soft golden ribbons, illuminating specks of dust that drifted lazily through the air. The castle smelled like pine and old parchment and faint traces of lavender from Phil’s study—home, in every way that mattered.
As they walked, their shoulders brushed, bumping gently as though none of them could quite accept the reality of being together again. Techno kept glancing sideways at Theseus, as though checking to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear. Wilbur stayed close, hovering like an overexcited bird, practically vibrating with unsaid words. Phil walked beside them all, eyes occasionally shining with emotion he didn’t bother hiding.
They stepped into the family lounge, and Theseus’s breath caught.
Nothing had changed.
The hearth crackled softly, filling the room with the comforting scent of burning oak. The same overstuffed couches sagged in the same familiar way. The same mismatched collection of trinkets, trophies, books, and half-finished projects cluttered the shelves.
And then Theseus’s gaze snagged on the far right corner.
His corner.
The one spot in the room he had claimed years ago without even meaning to—where he curled up with blankets and books, where he sketched doodles during late nights, where he listened to Wilbur ramble about songs and Techno mutter battle strategies under his breath.
The beanbag was still there. Faded blue. Slightly lopsided. Perfectly positioned.
Untouched.
Preserved.
Saved for him.
Something twisted sharply in his chest. Hope or grief or both—intertwined so tightly he couldn’t separate them.
He approached slowly, almost reverently, and lowered himself into the beanbag. It molded instantly to him, warm and soft and achingly familiar.
Phil sank into his usual seat near the fireplace. Techno dropped into the armchair opposite him, posture straight, eyes soft. Wilbur flopped onto the couch beside Techno, limbs thrown out dramatically.
All three pairs of eyes landed on Theseus.
Waiting.
Expecting.
Afraid.
Theseus stared into the dancing flames. Warm light flickered across his skin, but inside he felt cold—cold in a way that no fire could touch.
“I guess I should explain why I’ve been gone,” he said at last, voice flat and stripped bare.
Techno’s expression softened. “Please do.”
Theseus swallowed. “I didn’t leave. I wasn’t off exploring or training or… anything like that.”
Phil’s brows pulled together, his voice gentle. “Then what happened?”
Theseus lifted his head.
The firelight caught the bruised darkness behind his eyes—old hurt, old betrayal, old fear. Shadows he had carried for far too long.
“Tubbo exiled me,” he said quietly. “He forced me out, alone. And Dream… Dream made sure none of you ever heard a word about it.”
Silence crashed into the room like a physical force.
Wilbur’s face crumpled. Techno’s fists tightened around the armrests—knuckles white, jaw clenched with barely restrained fury. Phil sucked in a sharp breath, pain flickering across his features.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Theseus said. “And I didn’t have anyone.”
His voice cracked.
Wilbur leaned forward, elbows on his knees, all theatrics gone. “Theseus… why didn’t you send word? Any word? We would’ve—”
“I tried,” Theseus whispered. “Every message I sent was intercepted. Every attempt blocked. Dream made sure I disappeared. To everyone else it must’ve looked like I ran away.”
Techno inhaled sharply, anger simmering so deeply it trembled in the air. “You didn’t run. Someone took you. Someone trapped you.”
Phil rose and crossed the room, kneeling beside Theseus and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re home now,” he said softly.
Theseus looked around at the three of them—Wilbur’s raw grief, Techno’s fierce protectiveness, Phil’s steady compassion.
His family.
His safe place.
“It was so… fucking hard,” he choked. “Dream came every day. Erased my progress. Everything I built—gone. He’d order me to put everything into a hole and then he’d blow it up, laughing like—like it was a game.”
His voice shook.
“At first people visited,” he continued, “but then they stopped. And I was alone. Completely alone. Every day I hoped you or Techno would show up, but Dream made sure that was impossible.”
The young prince’s gaze lifted to Phil, grief twisting his expression. “I just wanted to go home.”
The words were barely more than a plea.
Then he turned to Wilbur, bitterness threading into the sadness. “And you,” he said, voice trembling. “I thought you died. I saw you die. I watched you blow everything up. How—how are you here?”
Wilbur looked down, guilt swallowing the usual spark in his eyes. “Dad flew me away just before it exploded,” he said quietly. “And I wanted to come back for you—I did. Every day I thought about it. But when you started rebuilding L’manburg, you looked so happy with Tubbo and the others. I thought… maybe you didn’t need me. Maybe you’d finally found a place that didn’t fall apart because of me.”
His hands fidgeted in his lap.
“I’m so sorry, Theseus.”
Silence hung for a moment, heavy and fragile.
Then Theseus stood.
Phil and Techno watched with held breath as he walked toward Wilbur—slowly, purposefully.
Wilbur stood too, swallowing hard, ready for anger or rejection or worse.
Instead, Theseus stopped in front of him and said quietly, brokenly:
“I forgive you.”
Wilbur’s breath hitched.
“I forgive all of you,” Theseus continued. “I missed you so much it hurt. I never stopped wanting to come home.”
He looked around at each of them—Phil’s hopeful eyes, Techno’s trembling composure, Wilbur’s raw emotion.
“I’m home now,” he whispered. “I’m safe. And I want us to be a family again. Can we… can we do that?”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Phil stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
Techno rose next, resting a steadying hand on Theseus’s back.
Wilbur squeezed in from the other side, arms thrown around both of them.
Three princes and one Emperor—one father and three sons—standing together for the first time in far too long.
A family, broken but healing.
They held Theseus as though afraid he might vanish again.
And Theseus held them back as though finally, finally, he believed he never would.