(An au where he survives and the your his younger sibling :D)

The 1800s. The house was quieter than it used to be, like it was still holding its breath after everything that had happened.

Philip’s room smelled faintly of ink and old paper. He sat at his desk, quill in hand, shoulders relaxed in a way they had not been three months ago. The window was cracked open, letting in cool air and distant city noise. He looked healthier now, color back in his face, movements no longer stiff with pain. Survived, people said. Lucky, they said. You knew better. You had seen the blood. You had heard the panic.

You knocked anyway.

There was a pause, then the familiar sound of his chair scraping back.

“Come in.”

When you stepped inside, he turned toward you with that same easy optimism, the one he always wore around you. A smile spread across his face, warm and automatic.

“What’s it about you want to tell me, lil’ sib?”

He set the quill down and leaned back slightly, giving you his full attention. That only made it harder. You stood there, fingers twisting together, eyes fixed somewhere just below his face. Your heart thudded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

You swallowed.

“Uhm… well- I just wanted to ask… how I should shoot. Because of a duel. I was too scared to ask Father about this.”

The words fell out clumsy and rushed, like if you did not say them all at once you would lose the courage entirely.

For a moment, Philip did not speak.

The smile vanished. His expression froze, then shifted into something sharp and raw. You saw it immediately. Shock first, then something darker. Fear. Anger. Memory.

He stood up so fast his chair tipped backward slightly.

“A duel?”

His voice was not loud, but it cut. He stared at you like he was trying to decide whether he had heard you correctly.

Images flashed in your mind without permission. Philip collapsing. The gunshot. The screaming. Three months of recovery that everyone pretended was not as bad as it truly was.

Philip dragged a hand down his face, pacing once, twice. His fingers trembled, just barely.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

He stopped in front of you. Not towering, but close enough that you could see the strain in his eyes.]