Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur is slightly embarrassed to be moving back in with his father at the age of twenty-five when he is perfectly capable of living by himself. He has the financial means, he has every means of living by himself apart from the fact that… 

Walking isn’t his strong suit at the moment.

Nor is like… moving too much, he can move, because he’s in physio so they have some hope for him, but he can’t really… climb stairs or be trusted to live by himself because the way the doctors are talking about him if he sneezes too hard he’ll just fucking die.

That might be a bit dramatic.

But he’s not fucking enthused about having to move back in with Phil. The options were: Techno or Phil. Phil has fewer stairs and a bigger house than Techno does. Also, Wilbur would rather eat a plastic bag than live with Techno.

So now he’s living with Phil.

There’s still bandages and ice packs that need to be applied and a shit tonne of painkillers most days, and doctor’s instructions and checkups and everything but…

Wilbur is alive!

That was apparently looking a bit touch and go for a moment, and now Wilbur is alive which Wilbur has no choice but to count as a complete win. Dying is… not something he overly wants to have a repeat of.

So he’s alive.

But living with Phil because he allegedly will just fucking die.

It’s a whole thing.

The whole thing is that the doctors believe that Wilbur’s heart could “give out on him at any moment” and that he’s at “high risk of going into cardiac arrest”, and he may have done that one more time before leaving the hospital. Along with the fact that— walking isn’t really working for him at the moment.

He can still walk a bit.

Turns out that having your legs partially crushed by rubble— like the rest of you— means that walking is a bit tricky. Wilbur can hobble around, holding onto things. His arms aren’t strong enough for crutches, and Phil’s house is not wheelchair accessible. This means that Wilbur is in a weird limbo.

He can walk short distances, but it hurts a lot after not that long and his legs are incredibly shaky.

Wilbur grips Techno’s arm even tighter as he takes a step forwards, both of his legs shaking more than he’s used to. Techno has a hold of him too, partly because Wilbur collapsed about three steps ago.

Now Techno is half dragging him.

They finally reach the couch, and between the both of them, they manage to get Wilbur sitting down.

Techno collapses onto the couch next to him. “Feel bad for the poor bastards who had to teach me how to walk again.”

“It’s so weird being unable to use my legs,” Wilbur says, “Well, I can— but not really.”

Techno just gives him the flattest look he has ever given anyone. “Gee. I wonder what that’s like?” Then he takes off his prosthetic and drops it onto the floor. 

All without breaking eye contact.

…

Fair.

“Okay, I forgot—”

“Okay, well I fucking didn’t,” Techno mutters, he sighs, “I’m trying to give you sympathy but you are talking to someone missing a whole leg.”

“Well— not a whole leg. You have above the knee. You’re missing like half a leg.”

“You’re about to be missing half a leg.”

“Can I please have some slight sympathy, both of my lungs collapsed, and the bone in my shoulder blades embedded itself way further into my flesh than it was supposed to. And my rib cage fucking shattered, and my femur on both legs, and I broke—”

“I know,” Techno groans, “You are a lot more tolerable when you have a ventilator shoved down your throat.”

“Love you too, Tech,” Wilbur mutters.

They’re quiet for a long moment.

Techno is watching him carefully, the way he has since Wilbur woke up and wasn’t dead. There’s concern in his eyes for sure, but it always seems like he’s looking for something more . 

Wilbur doesn’t know how to interpret it.

Techno sighs, “Well, you can still kinda get around.”

“You’re avoiding something,” Wilbur eventually decides on, and Techno just looks at him, narrowing his eyes slightly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Techno straightens up, something in his eyes settling, and Wilbur wants to grab his brother and start shaking the answers out of him. Because Techno is strong and determined and he knows what he’s doing but he’s also being shifty as fuck, and—

“I wish I was there,” Techno says. His voice isn’t quieter than usual, nothing in his expression or voice breaks, he just stares at Wilbur, his eyes still searching for something on Wilbur’s face. “Tommy isn’t trained how we are.”

Wilbur tilts his head, “Okay— you’re doing that thing where you speak riddles around me.”

Techno sighs, “I’d like to think there would be a better outcome if— Tommy wasn’t there. That sounded better in my head.”

Wilbur winces slightly.

He knows what Techno means. Really, he does. Tommy isn’t trained in the way heroes are— no matter what weird tricks he pulled out in the apartment, he’s not trained to deal with stressful scenarios the same way Techno and Wilbur are. Wilbur’s been taught since he was ten to prioritise, assess a situation, and the best outcomes, and not to act— too rashly.

They’ve all always been a bit bad at that part.

“Or… you could be the one in my situation,” Wilbur gestures, “And I got out because of my powers. I’m older.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means I protect you, asshole,” Wilbur bites back, “The same way I do Tommy, the same way you do Tommy. The same way I would with Daniel, the same way you would. The same way Phil does for us. I will protect you.”

Techno glares at him, “If I was there—”

“Well, you weren’t,” Wilbur returns, more bite in his tone than he really means. “You weren’t, and I’m the one hurt. And I don’t want to swap this pain, you do. I don’t. I’ll be okay, Techno.”

“You very nearly weren’t.”

“But I am!” Wilbur throws his head back against the couch in exasperation. “I’m alive now.”

“Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like?” Techno hisses, “I watched them do CPR, I watched them shock you back to life. I watched your heart stop, Wilbur. I—” Techno takes a deep breath, running his hands down his face.

Wilbur sighs, “No, and I’m not gonna pretend I know what it’s like to watch someone I care about die. Because I don’t. I know you do, and—”

Techno pauses, “I need you alive, Wilbur. I don’t want to do this without you.”

Wilbur looks at him for a long moment.

And, oh. 

There’s no word for the feeling that fills Wilbur’s chest. It’s a deep sort of ache, like pushing on an old bruise in the centre of his chest. A bruise that well— he literally has a bunch of bruises on his chest, but this is so different.

Techno’s expression hasn’t changed at all.

Wilbur looks at his brother for a few more seconds.

Then he starts crying uncontrollably. 

It’s not like there’s a moment where he can try and stop himself, where he feels the pressure building up behind his eyes and a wobbly lip.

No. One second he’s fine, and the next he is crying at an impressive velocity.

Techno jumps slightly, just as the noise of it, before realising what’s happening. His expression softens slightly and he moves so that Wilbur can bury his head in Techno’s shoulder as he just… cries.

Nothing very pretty or poetic about it, if Wilbur wasn’t sobbing so hard his throat hurt, then maybe he’d figure out some nice metaphor to explain this. Right now? He’s just crying, crying really hard.

And as always Techno just holds him.

He just… cries, sobs tearing at his throat.

Because he almost fucking died . And he doesn’t know why he kept it together for everyone else, he doesn’t know why he didn’t have this breakdown in front of Phil, or how he kept it together for Quackity or Daniel or Tommy but—

He’s never been able to keep it together in front of Techno.

Wilbur eventually manages to stop sobbing uncontrollably.

But he does need a tissue because of the sheer amount of snot. Which is not charming, but Techno doesn’t hesitate to hand Wilbur the entire box.

Wilbur takes a deep breath. “I killed someone,” he eventually says.

Whatever Techno thought he was going to say, it sure as fuck was not that. He stares at Wilbur with wide eyes.

“When— uh— someone was choking Tommy, and then Tommy went limp and I just… panicked.”

Techno stares at him, “Oh,” is all he manages.

“Am I going to jail?”

Techno stares at him for a few moments, “I don’t— think so?”

“I ripped a fucking hole in a man’s stomach, Techno. That feels like a crime.”

“Do you regret it?”

Wilbur lets himself think about it.

One part of his brain knows that whoever that was had a family, had people who would be mourning them. Wilbur knows all of that, everyone was something to someone. He’s seen death— and the impacts of it.

But… it was someone trying to kill Tommy.

And Wilbur… he just can’t bring himself to regret it. He regrets that he didn’t think of something different sooner, he regrets that was the measure he had to resort to. But he doesn’t regret it, he’d do it again. 

He barely feels bad about it.

His morals must be beyond fucked.

Wilbur shakes his head.

Techno sighs, “Elysium agent?”

Wilbur nods.

“Does anyone know it was you?”

Wilbur shrugs.

“It was basically in self-defence. I shouldn’t be indulging in murder but— it was Tommy,” he’s quiet for a long moment, “I think our family is a bit unhinged.”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Wilbur murmurs.

They’re both quiet again, and Wilbur flops so he’s leaning against Techno.

“I get it,” Techno says.

And that seems like that’s all they need to say on that topic. Wilbur doesn’t know he’s killed someone, he just knows basic biology and he doesn’t know how someone survives a fucking hole in their stomach.

Techno of all people would get it, with fighting rings and his general super strength. And he does get it, and Wilbur relaxes slightly. He doesn’t know if Phil would get it— he’d like to hope that Phil got it but…

Wilbur sighs.

Techno knocks Wilbur in the side of the head, knocking on his head like a door.

Wilbur frowns as Techno keeps knocking on the side of his head.

“What?”

“Looking for brain cells in there,” Techno murmurs.

“You really are a little brother.”

“More mature than you.”

“I’m not the one knocking on your head.”

Techno frowns, before dropping his hand.

They’re both quiet for a long moment, neither of them quite willing to break the silence yet, so it stretches around them.

“I love you,” Wilbur says.

Techno just looks at him, he almost opens his mouth for what would certainly be a biting retort.

Wilbur knows, Techno never needs to say it. He knows.

“I’m concentrating,” Tubbo snaps for what seems like the fifth time in about six minutes.

Sniff and Guqqie seemingly do not give much of a shit about how he’s focusing on trying to chase down their fucking goose chase , but they’re instead enjoying one of Schlatt’s computers with an absurd amount of monitors.

Tubbo sighs, turning back towards his work.

Aimsey is out doing— probably more productive things than either Guqqie or Sniff, he likes both Guqqie and Sniff, but they’re not doing a lot of carrying of this at the moment. Right now it’s just Aimsey and Tubbo doing all the work.

Although it’s only been two weeks since they decided to even start this.

They haven’t made much progress, Tubbo will be completely honest.

Sniff, Aimsey and Guqqie have become frequent house guests in the Schlatt-Beloved-Underscore household, and Schlatt seemingly knows better than to ask too many questions. When he first brought them all over, Schlatt just raised an eyebrow. 

It’s gotten to the point where most of them sleep here most nights

He had looked at Aimsey for a few long moments, before sighing and turning back to put more baked potatoes on for everyone.

Now Tubbo is sitting, trying to get any information, right now he’s just looking at all the public access records and there is a lot to get through, he half wants to ask Sniff and Guqqie to help him but he’s too stubborn to do that.

Time passes, Guqqie and Sniff are loud but having fun and Tubbo just manages to tune them out.

“See ya,” Sniff says, and Tubbo looks at the clock, 11pm . Sure. They walk forwards, before grabbing Tubbo by the shoulders and ruffling his hair. Tubbo makes a noise of disagreement as he tries to fight his way out but—

Nothing.

It’s a hug, almost.

“Aimsey will be here soon,” Sniff says, still hugging onto Tubbo’s shoulders, and Tubbo tries to force his shoulders to relax. He kind of fails. Sniff seems to realise that he’s a tense person, and lets go of him. “Guqqie and I are gonna pass out in—”

“The guest bedrooms,” Tubbo mutters, he looks over his shoulder at Guqqie, “Do not make Sniff watch Vine compilations until two in the morning.”

“Someone has to educate them!” Guqqie throws their hands up in the air, “None of you know any pop culture references because you’re all too fucking traumatised—” they gesture at Tubbo wildly. “If I said look at all these chickens ? What does that mean to you?”

“Nothing?” Tubbo says slowly.

“EXACTLY!” Guqqie yells, “It means nothing to any of you— apart from Aimsey but none of you are Aimsey.”

Sniff argues something that Tubbo can’t be bothered to hear, and listens to the idle of chatter that washes over him as Sniff and Guqqie argue the entire way down the hallway and then into one of the guest bedrooms.

It had been Ranboo’s room.

Now it is Sniff’s and Guqqie’s room. Aimsey gets their own room, but it is quite small, and that meant Ranboo and Tubbo now have to share Tubbo’s room. He’s debating on kicking Ranboo out to bunk with Aimsey.

Or kicking himself out?

It seems like a flawed system because Guqqie, Sniff and Aimsey don’t actually live here, so it makes sense for Ranboo and Tubbo to have their own space and the others could come and go as they pleased—

Still, the chattering of Guqqie and Sniff get quiet and Tubbo feels like his brain can now actually reset.

Tubbo gets to work, cracking his knuckles and starting to scroll for any public information that he can find on the hero committee in general. Aimsey has been tracking down a list of names for a while.

He sighs, and gets to work.

Tubbo’s pretty sure a lot of time passes, he’s never been good at tracking time once he got engrossed in something, and this is no exception.

Tubbo’s losing his mind.

He means this super nicely.

There surely is a simple way through this that Tubbo’s just missing. The goal was access to the restricted files, this in itself was not an easy task, but in case Aimsey and Sniff wanted to make it too easy they wanted William Nelson-Jones’ files.

This is not something easy to do.

Tubbo runs a hand down his face, leaning his head against the desk. 

He should move onto someone easier to find dirt on, he knows he should. 

He’s never been able to deny himself a challenge, however. And Tubbo picks up the pencil by his side again, spinning it in his hand in a movement which is far too showy and flashy for no reason.

He thinks Tommy taught him that, or Schlatt. He’s an amalgamation of people who have taught him, it’s hard to know where the lines stop and start.

Why is he even doing this?

He doesn’t— he doesn’t need the hero committee gone, he doesn’t give a shit about any of this. He just wants to be safe— and he knows there are better ways to do that.

“I have the list,” someone says and Tubbo jumps, whirling around in his seat.

It’s Aimsey.

Aimsey has a certain look in their eyes as they walk forwards, Tubbo knows that look rather well. Determination, her mouth is set in a straight line, gaze unfaltering, not a single thing hesitating in her stance or walk.

The room is dark apart from the blue glow of the computer lighting everything, Guqqie and Sniff turned off the overhead light when they left. Meaning it’s just Tubbo and the vague outline of Aimsey in the doorway, before they move forwards.

They drop the paper onto the desk next to Tubbo. “A list of every hero committee member— current ones only. Grabbed it off of Techno.”

“Techno?” Tubbo asks, “Why’d he hand it over?”

“He’s kinda out of it at the moment,” Aimsey confesses, “I’m a little bit worried, but it’ll be fine. He’s just working on paperwork and stuff, so he has access to this stuff. Just asked for the hero committee list and—”

Aimsey gestures at the paper on the desk.

Tubbo picks it up, sighing slightly.

He skims over most of the names, he doesn’t recognise any of them anyway—

Aiden Reeves.

Fucking— Aiden Reeves is on there.

Tubbo immediately feels the bile rise in his throat, and the pencil snaps in his hand. It falls into two pieces onto the table and Tubbo can barely think.

Oh.

Aimsey’s eyes widen, “Hey— hey what’s up?”

Tubbo stares down at the paper. “My birth name is Tobias Reeves.”

“That is an— odd name.”

“Your name is Aimsey Teese,” Tubbo bites back, “You know me as Tubbo Underscore, Tobias Reeves is completely normal.” He slides the paper back over to Aimsey, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Aiden Reeves.”

“Oh. Oh fuck .” Aimsey picks up the paper and holds it close to his face, “Holy fuck— Tubbo!”

“Yes.”

“Your dad—”

“I know,” Tubbo bites back and watches Aimsey withdraw slightly. They don’t flinch, everyone knows they would barely have to try in a fight against Tubbo. “I know, I know— I know. Shit. I thought they were in England! Why aren’t they in England?”

“You’re English?”

“Kinda,” Tubbo says, he takes a deep breath. “All the shit he got away with.”

Aimsey looks at him for a long moment, before pulling out the other desk chair and facing him. She grabs the coffee off of the desk and holds it in his hands, looking at Tubbo for a long moment.

Tubbo gives a half smile.

“Talk about it.”

“Huh?”

“Talk about it,” Aimsey presses again. “Your family— your parents, you. I know nothing about you.”

“I know nothing about you.”

“My name is Aimsey Teese, my mum is a lawyer and my dad was never really in the picture. I’m an only child, I grew up in Logstedchire because Mum is a family court lawyer and that is where she wanted to work. I grew up wealthy considering the area, and went to Prime Technology and STEM School for a bit.”

“I go there.”

Aimsey just smiles widely.

“My first pet was a weasel named Sprinkles and he was a demon of an animal, and I loved him so much. I realised I liked girls when I watched BBC’s Merlin and saw Katie McGrath play Morgana, that did things. My favourite board game is— Scrabble or Boggle and I am very good at word games.”

Tubbo just looks at her.

Aimsey gives a gesture, “Your go.”

“My name is Tubbo Underscore… uh— can you just ask me questions? I feel like that’s easier.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Yellow.”

“Why?”

“Sunflowers. And yellow is just an inherently happy colour. I also like green, but something about yellow is just— nice. It’s just nice, I don’t have a super deep reason for it, it’s just nice to… uh, yeah, yellow.”

Aimsey hums thoughtfully. “Why don’t you go by Tobias Reeves?”

“Faked my death when I was like twelve— thirteen?”

Aimsey’s mouth falls open. “Uh, okay— sure. What’s your favourite food?”

Tubbo pauses for a moment, mind flashing through every meal he’s ever had (dramatic) but now that he’s put on the spot he can not remember something he’s eaten just about ever. Food from Ranboo, and—

For Tubbo’s seventeenth birthday, which feels like decades ago. Ranboo, Tommy and himself had shirked off all responsibilities and they had just…

Baked.

Baked shitty vanilla cupcakes out of a packet mix, and then iced them with the shitty packet stuff that had come in the box.

“Vanilla cupcakes,” Tubbo laughs, “My favourite food is vanilla cupcakes.”

“Good choice. What’s your favourite board game?”

“Twister, I know it’s not a board game but— yeah.”

Aimsey laughs, it lightens up their entire face and Tubbo can’t help but look back down at the floor. These people— Aimsey, they’re so different from Tommy and Ranboo, Tubbo both hates it and wants to cry and he wants to love them forever.

It feels like he’s starting to belong here.

In an odd way.

It’s terrifying, that this is starting to feel natural, Sniff and Guqqie and Aimsey being around. Tubbo holing himself up here with their chatter in the background. As they debate group names and symbols and things that don’t even matter and—

Aimsey just smiles, “What… is your favourite video game?”

“Burnout Paradise— or the Simpson Hit and Run.”

“Favourite animal?”

“Uh— Capybaras?”

Aimsey snorts at that, nodding a little bit. “One of your fears.”

Tubbo sits up a little straighter, looking straight at Aimsey.

“It doesn’t have to be major,” Aimsey says softly and Tubbo lets himself relax at that a little bit, just a little— “I’ve always been… uneasy around birds.”

“Birds?”

“I don’t trust them,” Aimsey shudders slightly, “Like— if the birds teamed up against us, they could annihilate us, that’s terrifying. Plus their beady little eyes—” she shudders again and Tubbo just watches her with mild amusement.

He thinks for a moment, “Loud noises… that might be a bit too deep, but I don’t really like loud noises. I think that’s standard for most people in L’Manberg though.”

Aimsey gives him a sad smile, “Favourite song?”

“Right now? Anything Hadestown.”

“A man of culture, I see,” Aimsey stands up at this, giving a low, mocking bow, their voice has taken on almost a painfully posh British accent and Tubbo just rolls his eyes at them. “I suppose you are fond of the theatre, Mister Underscore.”

They don’t drop the fake posh British accent, which sounds far more like Tubbo than he’d care to admit, and he just shoots Aimsey a look.

“I am rather fond of the theatre,” he also does the same, exaggerating his own accent to— not that much difference, he sounds quite a bit like his father, and he almost lets himself laugh at the irony of that. There’s something almost reclaiming about mocking himself when he sounds like his father.

Aiden Reeves.

Member of the hero committee.

Something he wants to unpack so incredibly badly, but he doesn’t even know how to start. How does someone start unpacking something like that, Tubbo knew his father was a horrible man but this is—

It’s impersonal, this time, the concept of the hero committee is corrupt and Tubbo knows that. He also knows his father was— is an awful, awful man who trained a child spy and didn’t care what it took to get that.

That’s personal.

The impersonal and personal are combining and making Tubbo’s chest hurt just a little bit.

“Tubbo?” Aimsey’s voice is gentle, he’s holding onto Tubbo’s wrist, not with a painful amount of force, but enough that there’s pressure, and Tubbo is aware of it. He looks down at Aimsey holding his wrist.

Then he looks back up at Aimsey.

Xe seems concerned, her face twisting into something of— just confusion.

“Are you alright?”

“Just— get lost in my thoughts sometimes,” Tubbo tries to laugh but it comes out stilted, he moves his hand slightly and Aimsey’s grip immediately drops. “Just—” he pulls out the list of names again.

He takes a deep breath, crossing his arms slightly.

“William Nelson-Jones, Helen Davies, Lynelle Archer, Harry Laurier, Annette Kingstone, Jason Zhao, Fred O'Hara—” he hesitates over the last name, “Aiden Reeves. We need them all gone.”

Aimsey nods solemnly, “We do.”

“Whether through death or blackmail.”

“Yes.”

Tubbo looks back down at the names, eight names, eight people who were fucking up countless numbers of lives. Eight people who would have corruption in their fucking bones, let alone for tracks for Tubbo to find. He—

Just stares.

Stares at all of it, the names and the power that the four of them— this little ragtag group are hoping to hold in their own hands. The power to— topple this thing, if only for a time, if only for a warning.

Tubbo looks up at Aimsey again, “That’s our plan. Blackmail. Reveal it.”

Aimsey nods. “We might die because of this, you might die because of this, Tubbo. I don’t think they’re above killing people to keep themselves safe.”

“Our plan is to reveal everything they’ve done?” Tubbo repeats, his voice feels so small, “We’re going to— reveal them to the world? Find the stuff that no one else can find, show it— and hope that’s enough.”

“Yup.”

“What if it’s not?”

“Then someone would have tried,” Aimsey looks down at their hands and then back up at Tubbo. “Someone would have tried— I would rather know we tried. I know we can’t be the first to try this, I hope we’re the last— but we might not be.”

Tubbo doesn’t nod, he doesn’t do much more than stare at the paper in front of him.

“Why are we doing this?” Tubbo eventually says, “Why am I doing this—”

“I don’t know,” Aimsey doesn’t reach out to grab him, but it looks like they hesitate for a moment before drawing their hand back by their side. “I don’t know,” he says again, “Only you can tell yourself that, Tubbo. You don’t have a stake in this like Sniff and I.”

And Tubbo tries to think about it.

Why is he doing this? Is it because he is more and more convinced that he will follow these chucklefucks into the depths of whatever they want because they’ve shown him the slightest of kindness? Is it to attempt and protect himself from Elysium, or protect Tommy from the heroes or try and protect Logstedchire or—

Is he doing it because it’s the right thing?

Is it really that simple?

Is anything with Tubbo that simple? He doesn’t do things because it’s the right thing, he just does them because he wants to survive. He doesn’t want to leave the world better than he found it, he wants to leave it with himself in one piece.

He looks up at Aimsey, before looking away and managing to meet his eyes again. 

“I don’t know,” Tubbo eventually whispers, and the quiet of the early morning seems suffocating around them. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t— I have no reason to be this loyal to you, I had no personal stake in this… I don’t… know.”

Aimsey gives him a sad smile, “Alright.”

“I want to help,” Tubbo says, “I don’t care if it gets me killed.”

“Care,” Aimsey replies, something taut in her tone. “No one likes a martyr.”

Tubbo huffs.

“I’m not saying that as a joke,” Aimsey says, leaning forwards, “You live. Tubbo. Alright? No one gets left behind here, you are part of this. We don’t need you to die for this cause, we need you to live.”

Tubbo nods.

“Your life is more than a bargaining chip,” Aimsey says again. They sound so sure of themselves, and Tubbo knows in his heart that he would trust Aimsey to lead him into a volcano and they’d all make it out alive. Tubbo knows there’s something about the way that Aimsey holds herself that he’ll always trust. 

They barely know each other, but Tubbo does know he trusts Aimsey Teese— and he’s pretty sure Aimsey Teese trusts him too.

“I can’t promise you’ll make it out alive,” Aimsey says, “I hope we all will… more than anything. But…” Aimsey glances over his shoulder, before leaning forwards again, looking Tubbo in the eye. “You. Abandon us if things go badly— run, Sniff and I can handle ourselves, Guqqie isn’t a citizen of L’Manberg. If things get messy, you run.”

“I’m not—”

“You run. Tubbo.” Aimsey has a distant look in stars eye, “You grab the people who are important to you, and you run. No being a hero— none of that, not for you. You’re here to hack. Do whatever it takes to keep yourself alive.”

And for all Tubbo knows he trusts Aimsey…

He wishes he could, he really wishes he could agree to what she was saying. It makes sense. It makes so much sense , Tubbo has the best shot of getting out if things go badly— but he doesn’t want to.

He knows he can’t leave these people behind.

Like how he thinks they wouldn’t leave him behind.

“I can’t promise that, Aimsey,” Tubbo says as gently as he can. It’s not as gentle as he’d like, Tubbo’s never been particularly gentle and he attempts to not care about it— he cares about it however, he cares about it so much. “I can’t— do that.”

Aimsey takes a deep breath, leaning back in his chair and sighing. They close their eyes and sigh. “Okay,” they say, “Don’t be stupid with your life Tubbo, or I’ll kill you.”

“Same applies,” Tubbo says.

They just stare at each other for a moment.

“Shake on it,” Aimsey eventually says, holding their hand out in front of them. “Promise that we won’t be stupid with our lives.”

Tubbo hesitates for a few moments, before turning to face Aimsey and shaking his hand.

They’re quiet for a long moment.

And Tubbo resolves to make this worth it, he resolves to make the work and care that Sniff, Guqqie and particularly Aimsey are providing him worth it. He doesn’t know how to… easily show that he cares about them, but he does know what they need, and he knows that he’s going to achieve it.

He’s going to make the burden of himself worth it.

Aimsey then stands up, brushing their hands on their pants and looking at Tubbo for a long moment, before sighing. “Okay,” she says, “I’m going to go crash in the guest bedroom. If that's alright?”

“You can take mine if you want,” Tubbo says, gesturing with one hand at the computer, “I’ll be busy.”

Aimsey pauses for a few moments, “Tubbo—”

Tubbo waves a hand, “It’s fine, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”

If Aimsey knows it’s a lie then he doesn’t say anything, only nodding slowly before leaving.

And Tubbo gets to work, he does a basic Google of all the hero committee members (apart from Aiden Reeves. He already has the information that could take him down overnight, and he doesn’t know why he hesitates on it.)

Tubbo falls asleep at the computer, it’s been a long time since he’s done that. In the morning there’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a pillow on the desk, where Tubbo assumes his head was laying.

His neck hurts, and he leans back, stretching.

Alright. He needs coffee.

Tubbo gets out of the desk chair and scrambles towards the kitchen to make the strongest coffee he legally can. Because— of course, Tubbo has a caffeine addiction, it seems important to be any child genius.

Well, he’s not a child genius, but it sounds better than saying ‘he’s a child who got really excited about computers and obsessed with them and also is naturally freakishly good at maths’. Child genius works.

He makes his way into the kitchen, walking like a zombie towards the coffee maker—

On the bench is a tupperware container, Tubbo pauses— no one has been cooking as far as Tubbo’s aware, and Schlatt is pretty good at putting anything in the fridge.

Tubbo opens the lid of the container.

It has twelve vanilla cupcakes.

All have yellow icing and rainbow sprinkles over the top of them.

Tubbo stares at it for a long moment, his brain unable to even fathom what to do from here because… Aimsey didn’t only listen but xe got all of this, made all of this— for him, and Tubbo wants to cry.

Just a little.

In a good way.

     Hi Tobes, hoping this is good. Ranboo (he’s really nice by the way) and I made them, hope they’re good (I think they might be a bit dry but don’t tell me that I’ll be sad if you tell me that.) Take some breaks, Rome wasn’t built or toppled in a day.

1. you got this, we don’t know each other well yet, but you are a competent and smart person. we will get them. that’s a promise from zephyrus (that’s me in case you forgot), since I guess I’m the de facto leader of our little crew.

     pps. TAKE BREAKS you’re no good to anyone exhausted

Tubbo holds a cupcake in his hand.

They’re yellow, vanilla cupcakes.

It means more than Aimsey could ever say to him, means more than she probably even knows. Tubbo just holds the cupcake in his palm, staring at it.

He grabs the entire container off the counter, turns around and walks back towards the room he’s holed himself in. He holds the container against his side, and he doesn’t feel as alone as he sits down, cracking his knuckles.

He has a hero committee to overthrow.

Well— attempt to.

Tubbo sighs once again— alright. He now has names. 

Now it’s time to look into them.

The next few days— almost a week— are confusing for Wilbur.

Real confusing.

Phil, Techno and Tommy are barely around, when they are around Techno has his nose in a book of some sort and Phil looks too tired to do much more than collapse onto the couch and immediately start having a nap.

When Tommy comes over, twice, he is hunched over papers with Techno, they’re discussing something in low and furious tones. 

So… Wilbur’s kinda alone.

This defeats the whole purpose of why he’s at Phil’s house, he’s at Phil’s house because the doctors don’t want Wilbur to be alone because his heart could fucking explode, or he could collapse. He might as well be in an apartment.

The others are working a bunch, Phil sometimes gives him half-hearted updates and Techno and Tommy are too involved in whatever they’re doing to give Wilbur much attention. Wilbur is alive and breathing, but sometimes it feels like he’s been buried in the ground and is a ghost haunting Phil’s house.

Wilbur kind of feels like a ghost walking around in the empty house, he eats and watches a bunch of shitty TV shows, and he tries not to cry most days. He practices walking and moving his arms, and one time he actually manages to have a decent go beating the shit out of the punching bag hanging in Phil’s garage and only hurts himself a little bit.

He’s missed beating things up.

But then the next day he’s pulled a muscle which makes breathing hurt, so Wilbur figures maybe he’ll… leave beating up punching bags for the next little while. 

The house stays clean, Wilbur loses his mind a little bit.

It’s a long week.

Eventually, on the tenth day of him being out of the hospital he thinks something snaps because he tries to stub his toe just to see if it’s something he's capable of doing. Which it is not. Then he decides that he misses people a lot.

Wilbur didn’t know he was an extrovert until now.

He misses people.

It starts raining, and that’s a fun break from monotony, so Wilbur watches the rain a bit, he opens the sliding door because it’s warm inside and the air outside is refreshing.

He starts getting things to eat.

A punnet of raspberries, stuff for a sandwich, apple juice, because he deserves it.

He eats about half of the punnet of raspberries while watching the rain, then turns around to try and assemble a passable sandwich.

Successfully, he makes a sandwich, cutting it in half (triangles, the only way to do it.)

Wilbur turns back around to his punnet of raspberries.

There is a cat.

There is a cat sitting on the bench eating the last of his raspberries.

Wilbur holds onto the wall because his legs have started shaking and there is a very good chance that they will give out on him. And he wants to have the slightest amount of dignity when he falls.

But there is a cat eating his raspberries.

Can cats even eat raspberries?

He stares at the cat. 

It’s a kitten, a very tiny and small cat. Completely black apart from the white on her legs which makes it looks like she’s wearing some comfy socks. Or shoes— or whatever cats look like they’re wearing.

Wilbur doesn’t fucking know.

But there is a black kitten eating the remainder of his raspberries.

“What the fuck?” Wilbur says, “Get out.”

The kitten looks at him.

Tilts its head.

“Those are mine you little shit,” Wilbur says.

The cat jumps off the bench, before walking towards Wilbur. The cat pauses at his foot, before… paw swiping at his foot.

Wilbur just stares. “You just ate my only food of the day, what else do you want?”

The cat hits him in the foot again.

She’s so small.

“Do you want more food? I don’t have things cats eat— what do cats eat? Ma’am, I am unable to provide you with food that cats eat— can you eat bread? I have bread?”

The cat just stares up at him.

“Alright, Raspberry-Stealer,” Wilbur almost coos, and he crouches down to look at her better. “Why are you here? Do you need food?”

She’s damp, and Wilbur is pretty sure she just came inside from the rain, Wilbur has no idea where she came from before that. But she’s very small, and very cute, she headbutts Wilbur’s outstretched hand and Wilbur coos.

“Hello,” he whispers, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice, “My name is Wilbur. Where is your mum?”

He gets another headbutt in response.

“Honey,” Wilbur says, “You can’t stay here— my dad has a very no-pets policy in here, or else Techno would have gotten a million dogs before he turned sixteen. We need to find your mum.”

Raspberry-Stealer, which is what Wilbur will call her now just tries to nip at his hand.

“Fine,” Wilbur says, “I’ll find you some food, but then you have to leave.”

Wilbur walks back over to the fridge, rifling around for anything that he can find, tragically, he can’t find much and he hums as he looks through everything. 

Then he brings up his phone, looking for things cats can actually eat. “Google says that you can eat cooked fish— don’t you eat raw fish in the wild? Why do I have to cook it for you? I think you’re a little bit spoiled.”

He turns around to look at Raspberry-Stealer.

She’s so cute.

She’s… so, so, so cute.

Wilbur almost wants to start crying because of how cute she is.

She’s up on the bench again, this time she’s rolling an apple around the table like a ball. Wilbur wants to hug her, and also cry because awww . 

“You’re gonna be so spoiled. Okay, you can eat egg— that’s fun! You can have a little bit of banana— not too much, alright, gotta promise me you won’t eat too much banana. That’s a treat food…”

Wilbur scrolls through the list a little bit more. “Chicken. You can eat chicken, oatmeal, pumpkin… I’ll make you some chicken. Does that sound good?”

Raspberry-Stealer does not seem to mind any, she’s focused on trying to roll the apple off the edge of the bench.

Wilbur snorts, and starts cooking chicken.

Honestly… he has no idea why he’s taking better care of a cat than himself, Wilbur would not have the effort to make chicken for himself, but Google says she can’t eat too much chicken, and there’s a lot here…

Maybe Wilbur will make himself a wrap or something as well.

He cooks the chicken.

About halfway through, Raspberry-Stealer knocks the apple off the counter and she mews so pathetically that Wilbur almost bursts out crying again. He turns around to look at his little raspberry thief.

She’s peering over the edge of the counter, staring at the apple below.

She sees Wilbur looking at her and mews again.

“Ma’am,” Wilbur says, “You put the apple there.”

He gets hissed at for that.

“I’ll get you the apple, but you have to promise not to knock it off again, okay?”

He picks the apple off the floor.

It’s moderately quiet for about a minute.

Then the thump of an apple on the floor and Raspberry-Stealer starts dramatically meowing, Wilbur tries to ignore it— he’s heard there’s a thing where you’re supposed to let babies cry. 

He manages to last about ten seconds.

Sure enough, he picks up the apple, placing it back on the paper.

Raspberry-Stealer makes a noise which Wilbur thinks is a happy noise.

Wilbur then picks up Raspberry who makes a noise and tries to make herself as difficult to carry as possible. She’s too small for it to bother Wilbur at all, and Wilbur places her in the kitchen sink, with the apple.

She looks up at him curiously, before frowning at the few drops of water still on the bottom of the sink.

Wilbur then also places the apple in the sink.

That keeps her occupied while Wilbur finishes cooking the chicken.

He gives her what he thinks is a decent, non-dangerous amount, then looks at the rest of the chicken he’s cooked. It’s… a lot more than it probably should be, Wilbur knows they have some wraps.

He could have a chicken and salad wrap situation— they have lettuce and some carrot, it’ll be a very, very, very sad salad…

But he’s hungry as fuck and can’t be bothered to wait much longer.

Raspberry eats the chicken quietly, glancing up at Wilbur every few moments as Wilbur eats the wrap he’s assembled. It looks like she’s going to pester him for his wrap, but she doesn’t, and they eat in silence.

When Raspberry finishes the chicken she makes a small noise.

Wilbur looks up from his wrap.

She then jumps off the counter, landing on the floor and skittering towards the front door.

“Oh,” Wilbur says quietly, looking at Raspberry-Stealer standing in front of the door. She looks at him, tilting her head a little bit, “See you later?”

In response he gets a meow which sounds vaguely offended.

And she darts off into the night, out the open door.

Wilbur sits there, before turning back to the extra chicken he made— he could probably make this into some sort of pasta situation— if not then he’d figure it out then. He pauses for a few moments.

Is a cat really going to be the thing that makes him take care of himself?

Wilbur makes pasta, and tries not to think about it too much.

The next day is almost peaceful.

Wilbur lives his best life, reading a book, scrolling on YouTube for an offensive amount of time and then scrolling through countless theories about what happened to Theseus and why he fell off the face of the Earth. (Wilbur doesn’t care about Theseus, duh, not after everything— he just wants to make sure Theseus isn’t a threat anymore… yeah, that’s all.)

It’s peaceful.

The day outside is nice, and Wilbur spends some time outside.

He goes to make himself some lunch when—

There’s a clatter at the front door, some muffled swearing and the noise of someone hitting their foot into the wall.

Wilbur snorts, if the person at his door is supposed to be a threat, then they’re not a very effective one. But Wilbur’s pretty sure he knows who it is.

“Knock, knock, bitch,” Wilbur hears a voice at the front door and spins his body around. It hurts a bit, and Wilbur winces— he forgot that bending his torso even slightly made it feel like his ribs were going to pop.

The door slides open and in walks Daniel Greyson, the man himself.

Wilbur stares at him. “Huh?”

Daniel walks in like nothing happened like this is a common thing that happens every day and drops a bunch of stuff on the kitchen counter. “You have paperwork! Quackity told me to bring you this.”

“Could Quackity not have… come and visit?” Wilbur asks, “I miss my boy.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, taking the first stack of paperwork out of the bag. “Also, the other option was Tommy and he’s gonna get you to try and do an interview.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Daniel takes another stack of paper out of the bag and how much is there? He also takes out a bag of chips which makes it slightly better. “He’s been gunning for it for a while, but doesn’t know how to bring it up to you. He wants you to… be alive on social media or something. I dunno, that isn’t my domain, it’s like the Fundy thing all over again. He’s kinda gunning this one though because for some reason everyone thinks he’s qualified— which is just a blatant lie.”

Wilbur stares at Daniel for a few moments, “How are you the one everyone thinks is emotionless?”

“Oh, I have a lot of opinions and not a lot of time,” Daniel says, “Do you know— what’s her name, Elizabeth, she’s part of the PR team. Tommy hates her, I think she’s amazing. Basically, her deal is that she has a degree in communication and PR and—”

Wilbur stares at Daniel for a few moments. “Do you know all the gossip?”

“Of fucking course I do,” Daniel says, he almost seems offended for a moment, “Who do you think I am?”

Wilbur just stares at him.

“Anyway,” Daniel says, he picks up the stack of paper and a pen before walking towards Wilbur.

He drops the paper and pen on the couch next to Wilbur.

“So— this is about a report regarding what happened— you just have to sign at the end. Put your last name and first name and signature. You can read through it or have me give you the summary.”

“Who wrote up the report?”

“Tommy, largely,” Daniel replies, “Him and Techno have been obsessing over it, I think this is easier than dealing with anything else. It’s like sixty pages long with multiple first-hand accounts, and this is just the draft stage.”

“What’s this… for?” Wilbur asks slowly.

“Reports on the tower and the apartment attack,” Daniel says, sorting through more papers, “Just general Elysium moves— they’re pretty determined to get all the information out and try to make some arrests. Showing actions that they can do— for example, they want heroes' residences to have slightly more safety, and the security at the tower to be overhauled, Kristin agrees with that by the way—”

“It’s just a report?”

“With recommendations, first-hand accounts, a bunch of other stuff. Basically, they’re trying to get all the information they can and then hand it off to someone else.”

Wilbur frowns, picking up the stack of paper, “Do they want me to give my account?”

“Oh, for sure,” Daniel puts more stuff down, turning around and going back towards the kitchen counter, “Neither of them are going to ask you though, I’m asking on behalf of them. They dunno I’m asking though.”

“Oh.”

“Yup!” Daniel grabs the packet of chips off the table and starts going through the cupboards, probably for a bowl. “They’re on a rampage— but neither of them will ask you to give your account because they think it’ll bring up trauma.”

“A paperwork… rampage?” Wilbur repeats, as that’s way easier to focus on than the trauma part.

There’s something hilarious about Wilbur being able to see Tommy and Techno, two terrifying forces of nature taking all their frustration out on paperwork and reports and figuring out how to do this all.

He can almost imagine Techno and Tommy sitting down at a desk, with Techno swearing about how annoying this entire thing was. He smiles, before picking up the stack of paper and starting to flick through it.

“So why do they need my signature?” Wilbur asks, “And why are you here?”

Daniel pauses for a few moments, before seemingly finding a bowl in the kitchen and tipping the packet of chips into the bowl. Wilbur would have to wash that later. “Because, in their quest to avenge you everyone seemingly forgot that you’re alive.”

Wilbur pauses, “Huh.”

“They haven’t like— forgotten you,” Daniel walks into the room, placing the bowl of chips on the coffee table. He glances up at the show Wilbur’s watching before screwing up his nose, “You’re watching—”

“Yes, it’s a great show,” Wilbur reaches forwards for a chip. 

They’re just plain chips, nothing but salt, but they’re also Wilbur’s favourite because textures bother him.

“Yeah so, they haven't forgotten about you,” Daniel also grabs a handful of chips before sitting on the floor, on the other side of the coffee table. “But— they’ve just all been busy, and you’ve been alone.”

Wilbur just watches him. “I guess?”

Daniel sighs, “Look, I was by myself for a fuckin’ long time. You don’t have to pretend you enjoy the silence, you’ve been surrounded by people your entire life, and now you’re bein’ left alone. So that means you’re stuck with me.”

“I can think of worse people to be stuck with,” Wilbur deadpans.

“I’m gonna make you regret saying that,” Daniel says, he flops on the couch next to Wilbur and the both of them are quiet for a long moment. 

Wilbur glances at Daniel who is now watching the show on the TV, his arms crossed and he looks rather unimpressed about the entire affair. Wilbur watches him for a few moments, Daniel feels like a version of himself that never really learnt how to express emotions, while Wilbur has every emotion all the time and needs the entire world to know about it, Daniel seems like the opposite of it.

He tries to remember when he was a kid, he was colder, especially when he first met Phil, he’s not like that anymore, but he used to be. And he thinks… he thinks Daniel is worried about him, Wilbur doesn’t know that for sure, of course, but it’s the thing that makes sense.

Daniel is sitting with his arms crossed, there’s a furrow in his brow as he glares at the TV like it’s wronged him, he glances over at Wilbur every few seconds, eyes scanning for any injuries in a way that Wilbur is used to getting from Techno.

Yeah.

He’s worried.

“I’m okay,” Wilbur says, and Daniel’s eyes snap to him. “I’m okay… stop looking at me like I’m dead.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, “I’m not.”

“You are,” Wilbur responds, with a gentleness that actually shocks him, “I’m okay, you really don’t need to worry about me. Everyone else is worrying me enough for… well, everyone. I’m okay.”

Daniel shakes his head, he looks back at the TV, not taking his eyes off of it, “You’re not. And— everyone’s just— forgotten that you’re alive and breathing and shouldn’t be left alone right now. Tommy tends to be… dense.”

“Dense?” Wilbur repeats with amusement.

“Dense to other people,” Daniel’s eyes are boring into the TV at this point, and Wilbur genuinely believes that if looks could kill, the TV would be broken right about now. There’s something almost dangerous in Daniel’s eyes, “He’s bad at recognising when something’s wrong with someone else.”

Wilbur pauses for a few seconds.

Why is Daniel bringing this up?

Is Daniel… okay?

Wilbur knows a bit about cries for help and trying to hide them behind other things, and this sounds like something he would’ve said in his childhood. 

“Are you… okay?” Wilbur asks and Daniel just looks down again, “What isn’t Tommy seeing?”

Daniel snorts, “Anything… he’s… not seeing anything, I’m just me. I'm just the best friend and I have my shit together, and my only role is to keep both of us alive because Tommy doesn’t have any preservation skills. And—”

“Oh dear,” Wilbur says, “Ah. Okay.”

“Y’know I was sneaking out several nights in a row,” Daniel says quietly, looking up at the ceiling, “And— he didn’t notice. And that’s fine I don’t fucking want him to notice, I don’t want him to notice. This is a dumb thing to be upset about.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a smart or dumb thing to be upset over, you’re still upset, that’s the part that matters. Tommy—”

—Is a lot of things, he’s one of Wilbur’s favourite people, he’s fiercely loyal, has a shady past and is a bit terrifying sometimes. But he’s smart, and most of the time he’s just aware, and he holds this weight to him that he shouldn’t. He’s alive and vibrant but only sometimes, and Wilbur knows that Tommy has many flaws.

But those flaws are a part of Tommy, the brashness, the inability to back down, the lack of self-preservation. A mess of all of these things make Tommy, Tommy, and to say that Wilbur loves him “in spite” of Tommy’s flaws is just— wrong. He loves Tommy partly because of those flaws, the same way he loves Techno because of his flaws and the same way he loves Phil because of his flaws. And Quackity and Shubble and everyone who has ever meant anything to Wilbur.

“—Has a lot going on, I think,” Wilbur eventually decides, it’s easier than saying anything else. “I don’t know half of it but—”

Daniel nods, he sighs. “Whatever, I’m fine.”

Wilbur frowns.

“Just know I care,” Wilbur says, and Daniel’s eyes widen slightly, “I care about you, don’t forget it.”

“I don’t care about you.”

Wilbur knows that’s a lie, he knows it in the way that Daniel is leaning towards him slightly, and he keeps scanning Wilbur for any injuries. He knows Daniel cares, he doesn’t need to say it because Wilbur knows.

“Okay,” Wilbur responds, “Sure. That’s why you’re here.”

Daniel throws a pen at him, “Just sign the damn paperwork.”

And over the next few days, Daniel is the one that Wilbur sees the most out of his entire family. 

Techno and Tommy are still on their rampage and Phil has a lot of cleanup to do, both socially and by sorting out the heroes' tower, which has— a giant hole in the tower.

It’s weird that Wilbur’s been largely left alone.

But Daniel makes for hilarious company.

“I could totally take Techno in a fight,” spoke through a mouthful of chips.

Wilbur had started laughing even harder.

Or something more like, “Purpled is such a dumb fucking name for a vigilante.” Wilbur had furiously agreed with that idea. Who named themselves Purpled , there was Theseus, Aurelian, Slime and then… Purpled.

One of those names clearly did not fit, and Wilbur was glad someone finally agreed with him about it.

Wilbur is sitting on the couch when he hears a familiar noise.

Daniel is staying over, he’s decided he’s staying the night, as Phil is working all night. He is sitting on the couch, legs crossed underneath him, he is staring at the TV with fury in his eyes as he tries to beat this level of the game.

“Stupid fucking game!” Daniel yells, about three moments away from throwing the controller at the TV. “Stupid— fucking, I hate this level. Wilbur, can you do this level for me?”

“You can do this level,” Wilbur adds absent-mindedly, he turns around to look at the large sliding door, “I believe in you.”

“Do the level for me, or I’ll tell Quackity you hate him.”

“Quackity knows I don’t hate him, Daniel, could you go look outside?”

“Can’t you?”

“I literally can not,” Wilbur says, “Remember— legs are still attempting to work?”

Daniel sighs dramatically and gets up, pausing the game and muttering slightly more underneath his breath.

He walks behind the couch, then stops.

“That’s a cat.”

“Yeah, that’s Raspberry-Stealer. She stole my raspberries, let her in.”

“Raspberry the cat?” Daniel repeats slowly.

“Raspberry-Stealer, the full name is important.”

“Her name is Raspberry,” Daniel slides the door open and a rush of warm night air floods into the living area. Wilbur watches as Daniel crouches down, holding out his hands in front of him towards Miss Raspberry-Stealer. “Hi.”

Daniel’s voice does not change at all when he’s talking to Raspberry, which is funny considering how high-pitched Wilbur goes to talk to her. 

“Wilbur wants to see you— I think, so come here.”

A few moments later, Daniel walked around the couch and placed Raspberry on Wilbur’s leg, looking at her, then up at him, then sitting down next to Wilbur and continuing his game.

Raspberry is just looking at Daniel, Wilbur scratches her underneath the chin, the way that Techno does with Floof, and Raspberry leans into it. He’ll have to Google why later. But it’s peaceful.

Daniel glances at Raspberry, then at Wilbur.

“Cute cat.”

“Thanks,” Wilbur deadpans.

Daniel rolls his eyes, “Okay then, not a cute cat.”

“I will stomp you.”

“You breathe too hard and your chest hurts,” Daniel says with an impressive amount of ease, he barely looks away from his game, while comboing someone into another dimension. “I’d love to see you try to take me in a fight.”

There’s a moment of quiet.

Raspberry jumps off of Wilbur before landing on Daniel’s lap and curling onto his leg. Daniel glances down at the small cat on his lap.

“Hey,” Daniel says, “My name is Daniel Greyson, you’re Raspberry-Stealer but you don’t know that because you’re a cat, and right now I’m comboing the fuck out of this motherfucker—”

“Don’t swear in front of the child!”

“The child can handle it,” Daniel snaps back, “I’ll teach you how to swear— don’t worry kiddo.”

“Why are you caring more for the cat than you are human people?”

“I’m not gonna be mean to a cat!” Daniel responds, as he throws the character off the stage and his smile flickers to be a bit wider. “Raspberry did nothing, humans did something— you did something.”

“Oh yeah, what did I do?”

“Y’know…” Daniel responds with nothing else but a knowing smile and a… almost dangerous look towards Wilbur.

Wilbur runs through everything he’s said out loud in the past year of his life— he doesn’t think any of it is bad. It might be? Wilbur doesn’t have a fucking clue, he can’t remember half his life let alone if he said anything that would be deserving of Daniel’s wrath.

Probably.

He probably said something, and it’s probably deserved.

He just shoots Daniel a wide grin back.

Daniel rolls his eyes, “You were a lot more fun to tease before you became self-aware.”

“I was also more of an ass though,” Wilbur watches as Raspberry clambers off of Daniel and finds her way back towards Wilbur. 

“Yeah…” Daniel says, he glances away from his game for a half-second, before his eyes flicker back to the screen, “I like you more this way.”

Me too. Wilbur almost says.

Huh.

Okay.

Wilbur pets Raspberry again and smiles to himself.

And Wilbur’s monotony continues, it’s some of the most comfortable patterns he’s fallen into. He cooks and cleans and takes care of himself the best that he can. Sometimes he fucks it up, sometimes he doesn’t.

It’s better though.

He thinks.

He thinks he’s getting better— he’s not sure, he doesn’t remember a comparison to hold it against. But he feels healthier, he feels more alive and the most like… himself that he has since he was a kid.

It’s nice.

It’s really nice.

Wilbur’s time is left mostly to himself and Raspberry. Raspberry ducks in and out every now and again, she does cute cat things, throws things off tables, and leaves before it gets too late.

Wilbur in the meantime gets better at being a responsible adult— he cooks for himself more than he has, perhaps ever in his adult life, and makes Phil’s work lunches just because he’s losing any sense of purpose holed up in this house. He reads more than he ever has in his adult life— he plays more video games and watches so much TV.

It’s weird… Wilbur hasn’t had this much free time since… ever.

When he was young he had school, then training, then work, and now he’s left with— nothing, he’s losing it a little. He’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to talk to people.

Phil, Tommy and Techno are not constants, Daniel is the most constant out of the lot of them. He shows up, sometimes helps Wilbur cook, or clean, and does all the shit that no one else will do with him. 

Wilbur’s grateful for it, of course, but he won’t tell Daniel because he’d rather die (again) than admit that to him.

So Wilbur’s life becomes a comfortable constant.

The door slams open one day, and Wilbur, while not completely trained up again— has been walking without as much shakiness and knows what he’s doing. He whirls around, kitchen knife in his hand and he throws it.

There’s a screech, a thunk of a knife and another screech.

Oh.

That’s Quackity and Shubble.

Wilbur peers down the hallway, still pulling another knife out from the block just in case— yes, it’s not a good look— but he’d rather explain this than being stabbed in the back— or the front— or even in general.

He’s recently experienced the whole almost dying thing— and Wilbur is in no hurry to deal with any of that again.

“What the fuck Wilbur?” Comes the familiar voice of Quackity, “You can’t just chuck a knife at a guy— it’s considered rude in most countries, also stop leaving the spare key underneath the cushion of the outside chair—”

“It’s a good place to keep them,” Shubble adds absentmindedly.

She pushes into Phil’s house like she’s the one who owns it— which— Quackity and Shubble are probably the next people who have been here the most times, after himself and then Techno. Quackity had a bedroom here for a while, until Techno had annoyed him so hard that Quackity moved back with his parents.

They had a fun childhood.

The pair of them are in the kitchen before Wilbur can even think to say anything, and Quackity is immediately raiding the fridge, the way he has always done. Shubble sits down at the counter, before grabbing an apple.

“Did you really come just to raid my fridge?” Wilbur asks, “Because the tower has a whole canteen that you can steal from—”

“We wanted to see you,” Quackity closes the fridge, holding a tupperware container underneath his arm before looking around for forks. He finds one, before starting to eat the pasta— which was supposed to be Wilbur’s lunch— directly out of the container. “It’s been a while.”

Wilbur nods, he grabs an apple out of the bowl too, munching into it, and chewing with his mouth open just to bother Shubble. Shubble throws a piece of— some food that should have been thrown out days ago that’s just on the counter.

“So,” Wilbur says slowly, he takes the pasta off of Quackity before putting it in the microwave— he will not let one of his best friends eat pasta straight out of the container, “How are the recruits?”

Shubble and Quackity exchange a glance. 

“Eryn’s great,” Quackity says with a shrug, “I have no clue how to train his powers, but it is fun to train him— I hope we weren’t like them as recruits, they’re all so confused all the time— Eryn had to ask me how to punch someone.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course! I’m a good mentor,” Quackity says, “But— how do you not know that?”

“First time you tried to punch someone you had your thumb tucked in and broke your thumb,” Wilbur returns and that makes Shubble laugh. “Eryn seems to be doing well, considerin’ your past record.”

Quackity grins widely, just shrugging a shoulder.

The microwave dings and Quackity gets his pasta out of it, he then grabs two more forks and chucks them both in the tupperware container, Wilbur starts eating his pasta, leaving the apple a bit abandoned.

“And Sniff?” Wilbur asks, looking at Shubble, “Techno tells me more about her— but they’re doing well?”

“Very,” Shubble says, “Quiet most of the time— waiting for instructions. For some reason I thought they’d be like Techno, fighting authority at every turn, but no— he listens to everything and waits for orders.”

Wilbur takes a thoughtful bite of his pasta, “Techno just does his whole— thing to feel like he’s in control. Well, now he’s pretty much in control of every situation he’s in but— uh, yeah.”

Shubble nods, almost thoughtfully, before she goes back to eating her apple.

Wilbur whacks Quackity’s fork away and takes the fork-full of pasta that Quackity was going to take. Quackity just stares at him for a long moment, mouth slightly open.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind?”

“Not even slightly,” Wilbur replies, mouthful of pasta, he chews loudly for a few moments mostly to annoy Quackity, it works because Quackity screws up his face. “So— why are you actually here?”

“We’re your friends,” Shubble says, she sounds a little bit tired, and makes eye contact with Quackity in a way that implies that they have pre planned this conversation, and Wilbur curses himself for being so predictable. “How are you doing, Wilbur?”

“Oh,” Wilbur says, “Yeah— alright. I beat up a punching bag and could move around the next day— which is a pretty big change for me. Walking is— shaky, but I’m pretty okay.”

Quackity and Shubble exchange another glance.

Shubble leans forwards, “Wil, we’re worried about you—”

“Mentally,” Quackity finishes, “That sounds weird— does that sound weird?”

“A little,” Shubble says.

“You have a concerning track record at the best of times— and that’s before— all of this,” Quackity gestures around him.

“I’m actually okay,” Wilbur says, he keeps his voice mostly quiet, and takes another bite of the pasta, Quackity has stopped eating it, meaning Wilbur gets more pasta to himself— which is an excellent tradeoff, “I’ve been… taking care of myself better than usual, getting a normal amount of sleep— normal for a non-phantom hybrid. Eating, exercising— relaxing, it’s been nice. I genuinely think I’m doing better than Phil and Techno.”

Shubble leans forwards a little bit, taking another large crunch out of the apple. “If you want to talk about it, we are here for you—”

“I know,” Wilbur says, and he means it.

When did he start meaning it?

“I know,” Wilbur repeats again, the words feel right in his mouth.

Quackity and Shubble look at each other.

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Wilbur?” Quackity slams his fork onto the counter, “You’re like— confident? Is that the right word? Why are you being confident in yourself, this is weird— not that it’s not good— why are you— Shubble!”

“You are being odd,” Shubble says, narrowing her eyes at Wilbur. 

Wilbur cackles, “You think I’m suspicious because I’m not being as mentally ill as normal?”

“THAT!” Quackity announces, pointing at Wilbur.

Shubble takes another bite out of her apple, “Well,” she says carefully, “If you are genuinely feeling better? Then that’s an amazing thing, I just need you to know that if you come to me there’s never any judgement.”

“There’s some judgement if you come to me—” Quackity cuts in, “Like that time you tried to eat an entire orange, we both know you’re allergic to—”

“I am not allergic to oranges, they just do that.”

“Make you break out in hives?”

“Yeah, that,” Wilbur retorts, angrily stabbing into the tupperware full of pasta and getting nothing on his fork. He sighs dramatically and goes for a second fork-stab, and he also fails that and gets no pasta on it.

Shubble snorts.

“Shut up,” Wilbur murmurs.

Shubble just laughs a little bit harder and Wilbur flips her off.

This time he manages to stab the pasta.

“I know though,” Wilbur says through a mouthful of pasta, which makes Quackity screw up his nose. “You two will only judge me about the stuff that doesn’t matter—”

“I’d say you eating oranges when you’re allergic to them matters—”

“I am not allergic to oranges!”

“You totally are!”

The argument lasts for another five minutes, and Shubble doesn’t intervene, only loudly chewing her apple as she watches Quackity and Wilbur argue with the ferocity of— something else, that’s for sure. 

When Shubble finishes her apple, she throws it towards the bin and it lands in there perfectly. That stops the arguing for a moment as both Quackity and Wilbur are impressed with Shubble’s throw.

It’s a nice time, Wilbur hasn’t seen these two in a while, and they fall back into the natural banter, insulting and occasionally a supportive comment that he’s used to with these two. It almost feels like he isn’t even injured slightly, and he didn’t almost die not that long ago.

After about another hour of bullshittery, Shubble glances at her phone. Quackity is mid-way through telling a dramatic story about something Eryn did, and how Quackity got thrown onto his ass.

“Then, he just— punched me, straight up, in the nose!”

Wilbur cackles.

“Speaking of Eryn,” Shubble says, “He’s supposed to be going on patrol with you tonight.”

“Already?” Wilbur asks, glancing at Quackity, “It took me two years before I was allowed to—”

“Phil was protective of you, and you were also fourteen,” Shubble adds, “Eryn is seventeen— almost eighteen, and he’s only allowed to shadow and at the first sign of trouble he’s supposed to go back to the tower.”

Shubble gives Quackity a sharp look.

Ah, this is an argument they’ve had before then.

“What about a mugger— Eryn could totally handle a mugger.”

Shubble sighs, standing up and glancing at her phone again, “Not my issue, if Eryn gets stabbed you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble—” she looks at Wilbur, “We have to get ready for patrol— and get Eryn ready for patrol.”

“Fair enough,” Wilbur says.

“Well, in that case we’ll see ya soon,” Quackity promises with a nod of his head, “Has Daniel been—”

“Giving me copious amounts of paperwork for mission reports? Yes. Of course.”

“That’s my boy,” Quackity says, tapping Wilbur on the head, the same way someone might a large dog. Wilbur goes to open his mouth and instead of saying something remotely intelligent, Quackity hits him in the back of the head.

Wilbur yelps, because of course he does.

He has several stitches in the back of his head.

His head reels at the jostle— and he looks up to glare at Quackity, with as much rage as he can manage. “Quackity!”

“What?”

“I am still healing. I still have stitches in the back of my head— Shubble, if you don’t mind can you check if I’m bleeding out?”

There’s a quiet sigh, and Shubble stands up, walking behind Wilbur before looking at his hair, moving sections out of the way to the bit that’s shorn close to his head— it’s not the best look, he will be real.

“Nothin’,” Shubble says, “But we do have to go— or we’ll be late,” she leans down and hugs Wilbur around the shoulders, “See ya soon, Soot.”

After about another five minutes of saying goodbye and Quackity and Shubble being reluctant to leave. They do eventually leave, with Shubble being mildly stressed about being late,, Quackity and Shubble do eventually leave, Shubble stressing about how much time it is until the next patrol, and the pair of them rush out in the flurry they came in with.

Wilbur pauses for a few moments.

He turns around and goes back to his day.

The rest of the day is relatively calm, Wilbur eats the remaining pasta and then some more that he makes. He cleans his room and he punches a punching bag with much more success than last time. He watches some TV, sends Techno some amazing memes which he only gets a thumbs up for.

Memes are wasted on Techno.

It passes relatively calmly, and by seven Wilbur is curled up on the couch with a blanket around his shoulders, watching a movie that he’s seen a million times, but it’s a great movie—

He hears a small noise.

Wilbur immediately picks up the pillow for defence, he’s not sure what the pillow is going to do in a fight but the knife block is far away. He pauses for a few moments waiting for any noise.

He turns his head.

Standing at the door is a small black kitten, Wilbur smiles to himself, before getting up. His legs are shaking slightly as he approaches the door. She puts a paw against the door when she sees Wilbur.

Wilbur opens the door.

“Hello, Miss Raspberry.”

Raspberry meows at him in response.

Wilbur reaches down, picking up the small cat who looks up at him. Then he places her on his shoulder.

She seems to be a fan of this and makes a small noise. Her claws dig slightly into his shoulder and Wilbur just smiles. It doesn’t hurt, he’s wearing enough clothes that it doesn’t hurt. A jacket over the top of his shirt, he can barely feel it.

“Well,” Wilbur says.

How does someone speak to an animal?

Techno speaks to Floof like a friend, but Floof is also Floof and Wilbur doesn’t think most animals are like Floof.

“What brings you here?” Wilbur coos.

In response, Raspberry headbutts Wilbur’s neck.

Wilbur laughs. “Interesting, interesting. I would feed you raspberries, but if you eat too many of them you’ll get sick. Google says you can eat a little bit of cheese, or fish. So we’re gonna try to feed you cheese. Isn’t that fun? I will get cat food soon.”

Raspberry meows at him again.

It seems like fun.

“Now, Miss— Ma’am? I have no clue how to address you politely. Do I need to address you politely? I would like to address you politely— you’re a cat, you don’t care how I address you.”

Raspberry swats at his hair.

Her claws immediately get tangled and Wilbur sighs loudly.

With great difficulty Wilbur manages to get Raspberry’s claws out of his hair. She seems pretty intent on holding on, but with patience, some light bribery and Wilbur’s want to get claws out of his hair, he manages it.

He puts Raspberry on the counter, and then puts his hands on his hips, staring at him. “Miss Raspberry.”

She doesn’t even look guilty, the evil cat.

Wilbur can’t keep the fondness out of his laugh and watches Raspberry move around the table, pawing at things and generally being a menace to fucking society. At some point she tries to whack Wilbur in the face.

Wilbur, well-versed in the art of dodging, dodges out of the way. He laughs before tapping his finger against the middle of Raspberry’s forehead. “Got ya.”

Raspberry mews at him.

Wilbur just shrugs, “Alright— what are we feeding you for dinner? I’ve already eaten, Phil will probably eat—”

At that time, the door swings open.

Phil is holding his bag, a very impressive bruise on the side of his head— among other things, there’s a cut on his forehead, and he has a case full of various paperwork that Wilbur does not want to get into.

“What is that?” Phil asks.

Wilbur holds up Miss Raspberry who seems unimpressed with this. “This is Miss Raspberry-Stealer Soot.”

“That’s a cat.”

“Or that.”

“Why do you have a cat?” Phil asks, squinting slightly, “Did you steal the neighbour's cat— Wilbur— you’re not eleven anymore it’s not cute—”

“No, the neighbour’s cat is orange and hates pets. Trust me— I’ve tried.”

“Why do you have this cat?”

Wilbur shrugs, before holding Raspberry out to Phil, “I’m left alone a lot— I think she’s a stray. I couldn’t just turn her away, y’know? She’s only around sometimes but— I like having her around.”

Phil almost looks guilty for a moment, “I have something for you,” he says slowly, “And it’s not a cat.”

“Oh, damn,” Wilbur says, “But I’d much rather a cat—”

Phil drops his bag on the counter, before riffling around in his bag and pulling out a small box. He looks at Wilbur then at the box in his hand, “You lost the last one—”

Recognition immediately floods across Wilbur’s face, he lost the SBI brooch when a building collapsed on top of him— which seems reasonable enough, Wilbur barely wore a brooch anyway, just— it meant a lot to him.

Phil drops the box on the table between Wilbur and himself. 

Wilbur picks up the box, glancing at Phil before opening it.

It’s a golden ring with a small emerald on it— well it might not be an emerald, knowing Phil it probably isn’t. But it’s a green stone of some kind, around the stone is a thin band of gold. He looks at it for a long moment.

Then he glances at the engraving on the inside of the ring.

7/4/2006

It’s British dating rather than American— the 7th of April, 2006. Wilbur looks up at Phil, his mouth slightly open.

“The day I met you,” Phil says easily, he looks down at the counter again, refusing to make eye contact with Wilbur.

“I know,” Wilbur says, he turns the ring around in his hand, looking up at Phil and then looking back down at it. “I— Phil.”

“It’s one of the most important days of my life,” Phil says, “And I know it is for you too—”

“Yeah,” Wilbur says gently. 

His memory is fuzzy in the way that memories fifteen years ago tend to be, but he remembers sitting in the police station, he remembers that he was told someone who could take care of him was coming for him, he remembers that Phil was someone else with wings.

None of them knew what was going to happen that day, neither of them knew that Techno would come barrelling into their lives three years later, neither of them knew that Wilbur would lose his wings.

But it was the start of something— the start of when Wilbur went from ‘Phil’s ward’ to ‘Phil’s kid’ and Wilbur just— holds the ring, looking at Phil and then down at the ring again. He twists it around his finger.

“Thank you,” Wilbur says, looking at the ring and then back up at Phil, “This one’s gonna be harder to lose.”

Phil laughs, “Yeah… yeah, I guess it is.”

Wilbur looks down at the ring again, still twisting it around his finger, he glances at Phil again, and then back down at the ring once more. It’s a beautiful green gem— Wilbur doesn’t think it’s actually an emerald, but he doesn’t mind either way. It’s beautiful enough that it doesn’t matter, it’s probably not real gold either.

“Y’know, they found you with one of those,” Phil says, “Not— one with a gem, but you were wearing a ring when they found you.”

Wilbur pauses, looking up from his ring. “Huh?”

“It had a date engraved in it, we assumed that was your birthday— it lines up about right. It was on a necklace around your neck— it was too big for you.”

“Huh,” Wilbur says slowly, “Is it kept somewhere?”

“It was taken off of me,” Phil unpacks some things from his bag, placing them on the counter that Wilbur just cleaned, “I’m not sure where it is anymore— I’m pretty sure it had some sort of tracker in it?”

“What?” Wilbur looks up at Phil, eyes wide. “What the fuck happened in my childhood?”

“No clue, buddy,” Phil takes his lunchbox out of his bag, it’s an old lunchbox that Wilbur had when he was in primary school, it has dinosaurs on it, and is only slightly faded despite the years. 

Wilbur and Phil make eye contact when Phil pulls it out. “Don’t—”

“Wasn’t going to—”

“I need to wash the other one.”

“I can’t believe you kept it ,” Wilbur laughs, he picks up the empty lunch box and turns it over in his hands. Sure enough, there’s a neat Wilbur Craft signed on the bottom of the lunch box. They both pause at it. “Oh.”

A long moment of silence.

“Were you upset when I changed my last name back?” Wilbur asks, eyes still on the bottom of the lunch box.

Phil thinks for a little bit, “I don’t think so— Wilbur Soot suits you.”

“I could hyphenate it,” Wilbur murmurs, as he puts the lunch box on the counter, “Soot-Craft kinda works— Soot-Mors would be fun.”

“Fuck off.”

“She has a cooler last name than you,” Wilbur defends, “That’s not my fault— it literally means death . Soot and Death would make a great TV show, and it would make an even better combination of last names…” Wilbur pauses for a few moments.

Then he breaks out into the shit-eating grin, he sits down on the stool and looks up at Phil, grinning.

Phil promptly ignores him as he unpacks his bag.

“So— how are you and Kristin?”

“Wilbur.”

“Tommy told me you bonded when I almost died.”

“Wilbur.”

“It sounds like the perfect love story,” Wilbur coos, “You bonded over how much you both cared about me! That’s excellent for everyone involved— Kristin already has my approval by the way, she doesn’t need it of course, but she has it anyway. Can she adopt me?”

“You are twenty-five.”

“And? I deserve it. I almost died, remember?”

“You can’t joke about that,” Phil says tiredly, “I am not emotionally ready for it.”

Wilbur hesitates, “You’re avoiding the question,” he points at Phil using the fork he left laying on the bench, which Raspberry was trying to eat any leftovers off— which is mildly disgusting. “C’mon, tell me… I won’t tell Tommy or Techno— I might tell Daniel.”

Phil just gives him a flat look.

“Please?”

“Nothing has happened,” Phil responds, closing his eyes, “We have— a lot of shit going on Wil.”

“Surely you’ve gone out for coffee or something—” Wilbur moves so he’s perching on the chair in a way that Phil only does when he’s very stressed. “Look… I’m just saying— it might never be the right time, you might always have shit going on—”

“I am not talking about this with you,” Phil announces, he walks away from the counter, and Raspberry mews after him. “I am not getting advice from my son about this.”

“Your son can examine it from a far less biassed point!” Wilbur calls out after him, “And your son isn’t going to sabotage you!”

“Not talking to you about this!”

“You’d talk to Techno about this!” Wilbur tries.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Wilbur thinks he’s almost guilted Phil into listening to him.

Instead, Phil slowly turns around and just stares at Wilbur. “That is the stupidest shit you’ve ever said— Techno would rather eat his hand.”

Which is correct.

But Wilbur isn’t going to admit that any time soon.

Instead, he just smiles.

Phil rolls his eyes, and turns back around. “You’re the worst!”

“Oh, yeah? Did ya say that while I was in a coma?”

“Yes actually,” Phil deadpans, still walking through the house, and starting to walk up the stairs, “That’s what I said word for word—”

“Knew it,” Wilbur replies with a grin.

Phil yells something back, but Wilbur can’t hear it.

He looks at Miss Raspberry, sitting on the counter.

“He’s a good parent,” Wilbur confesses to Raspberry, who will keep a good secret. He glances over his shoulder, “To me at least—” he laughs shortly, holding out his hand which Raspberry headbutts.

Upstairs he can hear the sound of Phil running into a cupboard and then yelping.

Wilbur snorts, looking back at Raspberry. “Well, we have a lot of The Great British Bake Off to get through—”

Raspberry sighs at him.

Wilbur has no clue if cats can actually sigh.

It sounds like Raspberry sighs either way though.

Wilbur snorts at that.

“You’re a good cat.”

Raspberry mews at him.

Wilbur has to stop himself from making the same noise back.

He sighs. “Okay. Miss Raspberry—”

She looks up at him expectantly.

She knows her own name!

Wilbur has never felt prouder.

He picks up Miss Raspberry, putting her on his shoulder in a way that she seems to quite enjoy. Once again, she tangles her claws into his hair, and Wilbur sighs, trying to detangle Raspberry from his hair.

So they watch… Bake Off, and when Wilbur starts insulting how long they’re putting their meringues in the beater before starting to try and pipe them— he figures that it’s time for him to go to sleep.

“Well,” Wilbur explains, “I believe it’s bedtime, Miss Raspberry. It’s late…” he checks his phone which has impressively stayed in his pocket the entire time.

Yup. Is his time to go to bed.

3:12am

Alright then! Things in Wilbur’s life have spiralled out of control and— that’s probably not great for him. But he also needs far less sleep than the average but it is also three in the morning and whenever Wilbur went to bed after three things went terribly wrong in his life…

Wilbur slides into bed.

Rain starts on the windows, and the wind picks up.

Wilbur does his final doom scroll because he hates his mental health, but then he ends it with a photo of a cute dog so overall— things are going quite well.

He slides under the cover, and Raspberry curls up on the end of the bed.

He lays there for a few moments.

The rain is pounding against the window, it’s all he can hear.

It’s almost relaxing.

The first flash of thunder has Wilbur flinching.

He’s twenty-five, he shouldn’t be scared of fucking thunder and lightning . 

The little traitorous, yet logical, part of his brain says he’s not scared of thunder, but he’s scared of loud noises and that feels slightly more justified in his brain for some reason.

Wilbur pulls the covers up more.

It’s only thunder.

Just thunder.

He can handle this.

He’s dealt with storms before— he lived alone until not that long ago, he dealt with storms alone. He is not calling Techno to come over and make sure that he’s okay, he’s not calling Phil off work for this.

Twenty-five and terrified of thunder.

Wilbur almost laughs.

Then the second crack of thunder and Wilbur flinches hard .

It sounds so familiar to buildings crashing down on him, three times, three times— how has that happened three times. It sounds like a bomb going off— it sounds like a gunshot, it sounds like a—

Wilbur hears the most pathetic noise that he’s ever heard.

He almost thinks he makes the noise.

Then he looks up.

Raspberry is curled in on herself, and she’s shaking.

Oh.

She’s also scared of the thunder.

Wilbur’s heart breaks a little bit, and he sits up more, shuffling so his back is leaning against the headboard of the bed. He reaches out and grabs Raspberry from her spot towards the end of his bed.

“Hey,” Wilbur coos and Raspberry peers up at him. “We’re okay— it’s just a storm, we’re okay.”

Another flash of lightning outside the window.

Wilbur braces himself for the thunder that happens a few moments later.

Okay.

Okay.

He’s okay.

They’re both okay.

Raspberry curls into herself even more.

“I know, I know,” Wilbur whispers, “I know, it’s a bit shitty. We’re safe though, you’re safe. I know.”

Another rumble of thunder and Raspberry makes a small noise, and Wilbur just hugs her a little bit more. “We’re okay, we’re okay. It’s okay.” Wilbur is shaking too, trying to keep images out of his mind. 

It’s failing.

But right now he needs to hold a scared cat.

“I think we should watch some YouTube,” Wilbur explains to Raspberry who doesn’t move even slightly, Wilbur runs his hands through her fur. “You’re okay— it’s okay, I got you. Nothing will hurt you.”

Raspberry mews.

Wilbur softens a little bit. “I think we should watch— uh— long video essays about a movie we’ve never seen. Does that sound amiable to you, Miss Raspberry?”

Raspberry curls more into his chest.

Wilbur takes that as a yes, and grabs his phone.

Another rumble of lightning and Wilbur scratches underneath Raspberry’s chin, and she barely flinches or curls in on herself. Neither does Wilbur.

He turns on the video essay, getting comfortable before shuffling down slightly, Raspberry curls up on his chest, and Wilbur pets her as he vaguely watches the video. He doesn’t pay much attention as sleep drags on his entire body, he just yawns a lot.

“It’s a bad day,” Wilbur coos to her, “But that’s okay— we’re gonna get through this, and then tomorrow’s gonna be good— I’ll even let you have a bit of chicken or something, I think we deserve it.”

Eventually, Raspberry becomes a rumbling, snoring cat on his chest, and Wilbur’s own eyes flutter shut. 

Raspberry doesn’t leave again after that.

Over the next week or so, the beginnings of a plan start to form.

They’re not the most— laid out plans but between Tubbo’s knowledge of— basically everything, and Aimsey’s and Sniff’s knowledge of how the tower works and the new security measures means the semblance of a vague plan is formed.

They get Tubbo into the tower— there are already a bunch of flaws in that part of the plan, but they’re not quite at the point of flushing those out.

Then they get Tubbo up to William Nelson-Jones’s office. Once again, a lot easier said than done. If that doesn’t work, then Tubbo tries to go through a lower employee’s computer to access the hidden files on the servers.

If that doesn’t work, then Tubbo takes down the servers completely— that won’t do a lot, it will just give them a little bit extra time, and give Tubbo great joy, who seems to be very excited about snooping around restricted government files.

Then… work from there.

Another option, if Tubbo doesn’t have a lot of time to download everything off the computer, which looks painfully likely— he can give access to a burner account, which would be risky because of how it could be traced. Or Tubbo can just take the computer itself.

That option is looking increasingly likely as they talk about it.

Right now, Aimsey is trying to get the first step down. How to get Tubbo into the heroes tower.

“I don’t know how to get them in,” Aimsey says, still folded over the blueprints of the tower. Multiple were printed out and spread around the table, there was a 3D one up on the tablet propped up (thanks to Tubbo.) “The security was hard before— now it’s damn near impossible, Henry scans anyone who walks through.”

Guqqie is sitting on a nearby chair, both feet up on the table as they hold a tablet just above their face and amuses herself by spinning the tower around very quickly, similar to how Aimsey would with Sims sometimes.

“Have you asked Techno?”

“I’m not further implicating him in any of this,” Aimsey explains, she leans back and pulls a thread on the edge of their beanie. “He took a chance on me, I’m not gonna repay that by turning around and just— not.”

“Alright…” Guqqie says slowly.

And Aimsey is very aware of Guqqie hovering over his shoulder, they are very aware of Guqqie as she breathes in and out, and Aimsey stays perfectly still in place. They don’t risk looking over at Guqqie’s, surely confused expression.

Instead, Aimsey stays almost perfectly still, trying to look at the maps of the tower and inevitably failing because Guqqie is quite close. Guqqie hums and Aimsey manages to keep their eyes on the maps in front of them.

Guqqie then reaches around Aimsey’s other side, so it’s almost like a hug, and she snatches the laptop off the table, the laptop with the written security protocol, as obtained by Aimsey a week or so ago. 

She pulls back and Aimsey’s thoughts start working again.

“Alright,” Guqqie says, starting to pace around the kitchen table. “The easiest way is through the temporary pass system.”

“They clock everyone going through now, each time,” Aimsey says, “Niki used to just be able to go through if they saw it, now they scan them all. There will be a record of Tubbo being in the building at the time that the files were stolen.”

Guqqie hums again. “Well— do you know who the head of security is?”

“Kristin, she’s nice— but she’s not gonna let me bring anyone in just because. Not after the tower attack.”

Guqqie looks up again, they stare off into the distance for a moment, glaring at the wall like it’s wronged her, “Well— Techno and Kristin are close, right?”

“Guqqie,” Aimsey sighs.

“Techno can bring Tubbo in.”

“We’re not having Techno tied to any of this shit,” Aimsey repeats, “We need another way to get them in, we’re not getting through security without being noticed, we have to go around security.”

“If that goes wrong then Tubbo’s fucked.”

“If he gets caught then Tubbo’s fucked—” Aimsey responds sharply. “We need to get him past the first step, then he’s in. Henry might be tracking him, but we can just chalk that up to mistakes, or Tubbo can fuck with Henry—”

“Could Tubbo disable Henry for a bit?” Sniff asks.

A door swings open, and Tubbo walks in, sipping at a milkshake and on his phone, Ranboo looms over his shoulder.

“Oh,” Tubbo says, “We’re worrying about that?”

Guqqie and Aimsey both look at him, confusion in Aimsey’s eyes.

Tubbo glances over his shoulder, “Guys… Ranboo can teleport.”

Aimsey’s eyes immediately shoot towards Ranboo, and Ranboo looks firmly at the ground. He’s wearing some scuffed-up sneakers that probably need replacing.

“Well…” Guqqie says, “What name are we giving Ranboo? If we’re the Anemoi, there’s only four.”

“There’s lesser winds,” Tubbo says, knocking Ranboo’s rib with his elbow. “Oi, wanna be a lesser wind? The code names are important.”

“Sure?”

A moment of silence as Guqqie started Googling. “Caecius, Apheliotes, Skiron or Lips—”

“Uh— Caecius sounds the coolest?” Ranboo says, looking at Tubbo.

Tubbo shrugs, before clapping Ranboo on the back, “Welcome to the Anemoi Crew, we’re overthrowing the hero committee— I’m gonna need you to teleport in, thanks bro.”

Ranboo looks beyond confused.

“Taking down the hero committee— all in a day’s work!” Tubbo takes another obnoxious slurp from his milkshake, “Anyway— found the first thing I could, even without the secretive files.”

Tubbo puts his phone on the table, before also placing the now-empty milkshake container. “Alright… here was the easy stuff to find. Lynelle Archer is cheating on her wife with— Annette Kingstone.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Aimsey yells. “Two members of the hero committee are having affairs— with each other?”

“Yup,” Tubbo says smugly, “Also found out Harry Laurier is head of media— that was easy, I just had to find the minutes from their meetings. Which are public by the way— so I know the jobs of all of them, and I can guess what I need to look for now.”

Tubbo stops talking and sighs, he’s looking at Aimsey now.

It’s clear Tubbo wants approval right now, that’s just how Tubbo rolls. He needs approval almost constantly, mostly from Aimsey. Aimsey doesn’t know if Tubbo’s trying to impress Aimsey, or Aimsey is the only person who consistently gives Tubbo praise because Tubbo is brilliant at almost everything he does.

Sometimes Aimsey almost feels sad about the fact someone as smart as Tubbo wants praise so much, Tubbo should know he’s amazing— 

Aimsey gives him a wide smile, “Tubbo, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah!” Guqqie speaks up now thanks Guqqie . “Those are the first steps for sure.”

Tubbo smiles like someone told him he now has a million dollars in his bank account, and picks up the empty milkshake container, “Okay— cool, I’m working on trying to find tax returns but that’s proving to be a bit tricky— I can do it though, I can— yeah.”

Then Tubbo turns on his heel and basically sprints out of the room.

Ranboo stands there for a long moment, tilting their head first at Aimsey, then eyes darting down the hallway and the heavy footsteps that imply Tubbo is running as fast as he can.

He glances at Aimsey and Guqqie, eyes eventually settling on Aimsey. “I need you to tell him that his value to your group isn’t only determined by the amount of work he does for you lot. He’s going to—”

Ranboo takes another deep breath, “He’s going to run himself into the ground like this. I’ve seen him do this before and it’s very not pretty.”

Aimsey opens their mouth to reply, but Ranboo is gone before Aimsey can even get any words out that are lodged in the back of their throat.

Okay… then.

Sure.

Ranboo’s departure leaves a slightly sickening silence across the pair of them.

Guqqie remains quiet for a long moment, they’re sitting with their legs hugged to their chest, and Aimsey sits down across from her. Guqqie’s eyes flicker up to his and for a moment neither of them say anything.

There’s just some heavily charged eye contact.

“There’s an easier way to do this,” Guqqie whispers and Aimsey tilts his head at her. 

Guqqie glances around to make sure the room is empty— the room is empty and they both know it, Guqqie looks down at her hands and then back up at Aimsey.

“We say they arrested Theseus.”

Aimsey stares at them, mouth slightly open.

The thing about that is that… it would work, it would work really well. There’s no way the heroes can really prove that they don’t have Theseus— Theseus has been gone for a few weeks now, maybe almost a month?

If they claimed that Theseus had been arrested—

There would be riots in the street, it would almost certainly force a resignation. If not a resignation people would look harder at any dodgy things the hero committee was doing— there might be an inquest.

Guqqie and Aimsey were quiet for a long moment, stewing in the plan.

“I don’t— I don’t think they do have Theseus though,” Aimsey says, “Techno would know if they did, and he hasn’t been acting— odd.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Guqqie explains, “If they have him or not, we need people to think they have him. That’s all that matters—”

“Then Theseus is a real person,” Aimsey whispers, slightly frantically, “And you can’t put this decision in one person’s lap. Obviously he wants to be hidden right now, it’s not fair to push him to make the decision— to reveal he’s still around unless he wants to start a civil war.”

Guqqie scowls.

Neither of them say anything after that.

Guqqie leaves without a word, but a look in their eye that Aimsey doesn’t like at all. Defiance is something that Aimsey could almost expect right now, and that would startle him less. What startles him more is— the determination in Guqqie’s eyes.

And Aimsey knows she can’t do anything about it.

Xe doesn’t think Guqqie will say it now. He thinks it might become a frantic, last-ditch effort.

They are terrified of what Guqqie could do— and he’s terrified he knows he would never stop Guqqie.

It’s a quiet night, and for once everyone is at Phil’s. Techno, Phil and Daniel are all asleep, Wilbur can hear Techno snoring even from downstairs.

Wilbur is half-heartedly scrolling on his phone, while Tommy is sitting in front of a pile of paperwork so high that Wilbur has to sit up straight and lean to the side a little to see Tommy over the top of it.

Wilbur looks down at his hands, he twirls the ring on his hand. With the new emerald gem around it, it looks like he might be getting engaged or some shit— which he is not. It’s nice to have something on his hands that he can fidget with though.

He spins it around a few times, before rapping the gem against the table.

Tommy glances up at him, then looks back at the papers on the table.

“What’s that about?” Wilbur asks, trying to see what Tommy’s working on right now.

“About how you almost died,” Tommy says absent mindedly, “Techno said I wasn’t allowed to go find Elysium and tear out their throats— so—” he lifts the paper up a little bit more.

Wilbur laughs.

It’s a joke right?

Tommy isn’t laughing.

Okay… then.

Wilbur isn’t going to think about too hard— nor is he going to think about the confidence Tommy had while wielding a gun in his apartment— that’s something he’s not going to worry about.

It’s fine.

Things are fine.

They both go back to what they were doing, Wilbur messes with the ring and absent-mindedly pets Raspberry on the back. Raspberry walks around the table, seemingly intent on causing mild issues. She keeps pushing pens off of the table.

Every time she does, her and Tommy have a staring contest.

Wilbur eventually goes to look for a book, or something else to do— he finds one that looks exciting enough and returns back to the room. He sits back in the seat across from Tommy.

Tommy is completely still.

Raspberry is pushing pens and pencils off the table, glancing at Tommy, and when Tommy doesn’t react she will push another one off the table. Wilbur looks at Tommy’s eyes— calling his eyes distant feels like too light of a word to use.

Tommy’s hand is curled around a pencil, his knuckles and fingers are white from how hard he’s holding the pencil. He’s staring forwards blankly, it’s clear whatever he’s thinking about is not in this room—

And Wilbur knows this quite well, he knows this from himself— and more importantly he knows this from Techno. Techno who instead of crying would just zone out for a few hours, or Techno who would snap pencils in his grip instead of expressing his emotions in a slightly healthy way.

Wilbur shuffles in his chair slightly, “Tommy,” he says as gently as he can.

“You almost died.” Tommy eventually says, his eyes still far-away, “Theseus could’ve killed you— Elysium almost killed you— I almost died. So much has happened— y’know it’s only been a month since the library in Kinoko?”

“I did know that,” Wilbur says slowly, “It’s been a busy couple of weeks.”

Tommy is still gripping the pencil with a lot of force, looking at Wilbur but not quite seeing him.

Wilbur wants to have Techno on speed dial, because whatever explosion of emotions is about to happen is one that Wilbur in no way, shape, or form is ready for— he doesn’t really handle Tommy’s emotions, that’s a more Techno job.

He doesn’t want to fuck things up beyond what he can fix.

Tommy blinks, and he’s looking at Wilbur now. His eyes are slightly wide as he stares directly at Wilbur.

Wilbur tilts his head slightly, “You okay, Tommy?”

“No,” Tommy says, “No— not even slightly. Holy shit— you almost died, you keep almost dying— stop that. And—” he cuts himself off, but his mouth opens like he has more to say. Tommy’s shoulders then slump and he sinks down in his seat.

Like whatever force has been keeping him going for the last few days is gone from his body, he slumps over almost completely and shakes his head. “Oh fuck— oh fuck—”

“You’re safe here,” is the first thing Wilbur says, “Okay? You’re safe here— whatever you need—”

Tommy near-slams his head into the table, then uses his inner arm to cover the sides of his head and then his hands tangle into his hair where they just stay there, he doesn’t pull on his hair, and Wilbur’s thankful for that.

His shoulders shake with sobs as Wilbur just… sits there. Wilbur is pretty sure there’s a meme to accurately depict how he’s feeling right now, but he can’t think of it because he’s just staring at Tommy who’s having a full blown breakdown at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t know if he should reach out to Tommy right now, or if Tommy needs space and time to himself, if Tommy wants to be alone right now—

“Do you want me to grab Techno?” Wilbur asks as gently as he can, he reaches out towards Tommy and then draws his hand away.

Tommy doesn’t respond.

“I’ll go wake up Techno.”

Wilbur stands up, the book long abandoned on the table, he goes to walk past Tommy and Tommy’s hand juts out, grabbing Wilbur by the wrist and holding on tight. Wilbur almost, just out of habit, draws his hand away completely.

“Don’t—” Tommy rasps out, “Don’t leave.”

And Wilbur nods, he pulls out the chair next to Tommy and sits on it. Tommy stills holds onto his wrist and collapses back onto the table, this time using his free arm more like a pillow than a shield.

Wilbur slowly tries to extract all the paper from underneath Tommy, because he knows future Tommy will be very upset if he ruins the paperwork by crying on it. He manages to get most of the paper out of the way into a little pile.

Tommy just cries, Wilbur doesn’t know what to do for a long moment.

What would Techno do?

Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck Techno would do— Techno’s always been the one who handles the big emotions and Wilbur’s like— the fun brother, the one who fucked off to university.

Alright— what would Phil do?

Wilbur knows that one better.

He shuffles forwards a little bit, breaking his wrist out of Tommy’s grip and slowly wrapping an arm around Tommy’s shaking shoulders. Tommy doesn’t even flinch as he does it, he doesn’t stop crying either.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur says, “You’re gonna be okay— I know, this last month has been terrifying for you. You’re okay, everyone’s gonna be okay—”

“People died!” Tommy rasps out, “Eight people died!”

“I know, I know,” Wilbur tries to keep his voice as gentle as he can— he doesn’t think it succeeds a lot, because Tommy starts crying even harder shitty fuck shit. Wilbur hugs Tommy towards him, “You’re okay though— you’re allowed to be upset about this, it’s really sad.”

“You— you went through— so much— more— and I’m here— blubberin’.”

Wilbur almost wants to slap Tommy a little bit.

“Don’t compare— you need the help right now, not me.”

Tommy nods.

And then he keeps on crying, he’s a mostly silent crier (at least this time, and Wilbur doesn’t want to think too hard about why Tommy is so good at suppressing his sobs.) His shoulders shake, and every now and again Tommy buries himself in his arms or even in his own shirt, pulling the collar of the shirt up over his own face.

Wilbur just hugs him to his side, hoping that’s what Tommy needs right now.

This past— month has been a lot.

Wilbur thinks he’s handling it better than Tommy and that seems easy enough to do considering the way that Tommy’s having a breakdown right now.

Wilbur doesn’t say anything, he just sits there, hand on Tommy’s shoulder as his head is on the table and he cries. His shoulders shake and the only sign he’s crying apart from that is the occasional shuddering breaths.

“You’re okay,” Wilbur says gently, and Tommy’s shoulders shudder, “I’m gonna be okay— we’re both going to be okay, Tommy.”

Sometimes Tommy manages to get it together with shuddering breaths, before he looks at Wilbur, opening his mouth to say something and he starts silently sobbing again, hiding his face with his arm.

This keeps on going a few times, until Tommy manages to get himself back together, his breathing is shaky and there are still tear tracks on his face, but he manages to look Wilbur in the eye.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Tommy says.

Then promptly bursts into tears again.

Wilbur hugs Tommy to him slightly, and Tommy leans into him.

“I’m okay,” Wilbur says, as soothingly as he can.

“I missed you so much,” Tommy says through sobs and shuddering breaths, “When you were— out, I missed you. We all missed you so much.”

“I know,” Wilbur means it, and he hugs Tommy’s shoulders a little bit tighter, “I know, kid.”

“And—” Tommy bursts out into another sob, bringing one of his arms up to his face to try and hide it, “And— I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, sorry, I can’t— I’m sorry. I missed you, I miss you.”

“It’s okay,” Wilbur doesn’t think he sounds very comforting but he’s trying, and for once he thinks that’s what really counts. “It’s okay, I’m okay— you’re going to be okay. Sometimes bad things happen.”

“Nothing else bad will happen to you,” Tommy promises, and the confidence in his voice almost makes Wilbur believe it. “It can’t— I don’t want to have to go to work if you’re not there— I don’t want to be around Techno and Phil and your family if you’re also not there. I— I want you to be here Wil, you can’t go dying on me!”

Wilbur brushes some of Tommy’s hair out of his face, before wiping the tears off of Tommy’s face with his sleeve. Tommy looks at him again, he looks like he might burst into tears again.

“I can’t promise that, Tommy.”

Tommy just stares at him, before leaning against his shoulder and resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder. He cries again, this time quieter, just leaning against Wilbur, and Wilbur just holds him.

“Can you lie?”

“I can— do you want me to?”

“I’m not sure,” Tommy mumbles, “Just be okay.”

“I’ll try.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment, Tommy still leaning against him. 

It starts raining outside, just the peaceful patter of rain against the windows and the roof. It’s relaxing, and Wilbur can almost fall asleep at this, it’s really relaxing, and Wilbur’s shoulders relax.

“Hey… Tommy,” Wilbur says slowly, and Tommy glances towards Wilbur. “I think…” Wilbur takes a deep breath.

Raspberry is on the table, whacking Tommy in the hand because someone other than her is showing Wilbur any amount of affection.

“Tommy, I think we should go to therapy.”

Tommy looks straight ahead, before glancing back down at the papers.

Wilbur looks down at his ring again, and he twists it around his finger, taking the ring off and then putting it back on again. It’s a nice distraction to have, and Wilbur’s glad he has it— Phil and Techno made a good choice with this one.

Maybe he needs a fidget ring too.

Raspberry might attempt to eat that though.

Tommy turns his head a little bit, “Yeah…” Tommy says slowly, he doesn’t make eye contact with Wilbur, but he also looks at the ring that Wilbur’s playing with.

The rain keeps pattering on the window, Raspberry keeps trying to eat paper from Tommy, or just whack him in the face— or something else. Wilbur keeps fidgeting with his ring and Tommy keeps writing.

For the first time… in a long time, Wilbur thinks things will be alright.

There’s been a weight on his ribs for years— since before he can remember. And it’s still there, it might not ever go away…

But Wilbur can breathe through it, and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He keeps fiddling with his ring, time keeps moving on, Tommy keeps writing and Raspberry keeps being annoying. And he keeps on breathing.