Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your hand aches. 

Your head aches. 

Your body aches. 

You know what happens next. 

A flick of bright light, embers sizzling, popping

Rumbling "I'm sorry I'll try to make it as painless and as colorful as possible" 

Hissing "It was never meant to be"

Laughing "I've used him as much as I can he's not useful anymore!" 

It ends as it always does. 

Your hand aches. 

It really was a beautiful evening.

 The way the sunset mixed with the clouds that still clung onto the last bits of dying sunlight was truly remarkable, it made the whole valley Tubbo was standing in glow in that rich amber hue most poets dreamed about.

It also highlighted the stark panic in Wilbur, wide-eyed and stammering. 

Clearly, he hadn't expected Tubbo to reject his request if it shook him up this badly. 

If Tubbo didn't want to disappear for days on end with one Wilbur Soot, off on a wild goose chase doing who knows what then he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't. 

Wilbur tries once more, like a dick.

"Look, Tubbo, I-" He swallows here, takes a short breath having settled on what flavor of manipulation he thinks Tubbo could gag down the easiest, 

"I know you don't trust me, I know I need to prove it to you! Let me do that! I'll show you just how much better I am now then.." he trails off, leaning backward on the balls of his feet before looking back at Tubbo once more, apparently lost for words. It wasn't fair.

He wasn't supposed to sound so earnest. Not when he definitely had something up his sleeve, not when he chose Tubbo specifically, out of everyone else the man knew. He never chose Tubbo for anything nice. (he doesn't even dare consider what he's saying now. There's very little chance Wilbur means it)

Tubbo wants to say no. He really really does want to. 

No, he needs to. Making a deal with Wilbur was akin to making a deal with the devil. All smiling teeth and flowery words sprinkled over a rotten corpse. He'd led Tubbo to his death. He already had. 

"I-really, shou-" Wilbur pitches forward, before he can even get the rest of his sentence out, grabs his hands, tight and slightly frantic. He looks up, pleading. 

"Man, please! I really need your help on this!"

Say no just. Say no, it doesn't matter, he'll always need your help, he'll always-

"I don't want to drag Tommy into this one if I can help it, Tubbo!" 

Any remaining resolve crumbles after hearing that. He can't let Wilbur hurt Tommy anymore than he already has. He can't. His best friend has already been through enough,

Tubbo refuses to add more issues.

Haven't you already though? Left him rotting? A quick glance over shows that he's hollow now, gaunt skin basically hanging off his frame, eyes normally bright with fire now shining with the light of anxiety, what did you allow, what did you basically agree to idiot, fool, pawn. 

Nope. Not a good thought process, shutting that one down as quickly as possible. Get ahold of yourself. 

Warmth presses down over Tubbo's shoulders a light shake actually helping Tubbo jerk out of his own head. 

Wilbur's watching him closely now, a concerned little frown wrinkling his forehead. He hasn't let go yet. 

"Tubs?" 

Tubbo offers him a smile, hoping it comes off stronger than he feels. He also takes a step back, shrugging Wilbur's hands off. 

Before the man can ask him if he was okay, what happened Before he can even question what's wrong with you. Why are you zoning out, surely he can see-

Tubbo spits out, much quieter than he'd like, "Okay fine! I'll go with you But only for Tommy's sake, so leave him out of.. whatever your planning."  

Wilbur cheers, throwing a fist into the air, quickly dropping it back on Tubbo's shoulder.

He can't help but flinch at the sharp jab of pain it brings to his scars. 

It seems Wilbur's willing to drop the whole zoning out thing then. Good. It's for the best. 

"Hell yeah Tubbo, I knew you'd come around!

We're gonna do amazing, I just know it!"

Tubbo tries not to look too hard into the fact Wilbur has his burned shoulder in a tight grasp. Even as pain sparks from the rough grip afterall

He already knows how this ends anyway. 

"Don't we always?" He manages to choke out. 

 The stage is set now. You've been waiting for hours for the actors to begin. But, no. Not quite yet, first, there's a test for you to pass and an audience of one to impress. 

 "Please do come over, stand right in the spotlight, there you go, good drone."

 (The sensation of hands over your shoulders gilding down your legs correcting your position and adjusting you to their own whims. It makes you want to scream, but you can't see anything except for the bright bright light right above you, you know you need the guidance) 

The lights dim back down, just enough for you to barely make out the outline of a desk, solid oak polished and professional. Intimidating. The inkwell sits innocently, and your hands start to tremble. You know what's happing now.

You shuffle towards it, following the invisible hands tugging insistently forward.

When your knees are about to hit the desk the matching chair appears behind you.

Woodenly you find yourself sitting. It's as uncomfortable as you remember it being. The thought is strangely comforting. The hands hold you still, not gripping tightly, just resting. Waiting.

"Okay! Here's what you have to do now!"

Deep breath. Doesn't matter how loud and sharp that voice is, you're going to be fine. This is the easy part. This is the easy part. You're going to be fine. Of course, the trembling has moved down to your feet as well now. 

It's just that you ha-

"Well, you really should already know. I mean come on. But a new day so a new dollar right?" Laughter. The voice has taken a male cadence now 

"I need you to finish these documents before the play can start, the normal set, get to it though, the knights are already on the way!" 

You can hear the click indicating he's gone now, just as the first set of thick weighted papers appears in your hands. 

Your deadline lights up to your side, painting your face with its gleaming glowing red numbers set for 60 minutes. An hour. You swallow.

Time to get to work. 

You get four full sets done in the hour given to you. 

This wasn't enough, 

seeing as the voice is appalled when he checks on your progress. 

"How!?"

"How did you get so little done?? You had an hour! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Are you just dumb?" 

"What am I going to tell the playwright?"

"Oh, I hired an actual brick, so sorry."

"This is going to cost me so much money" 

"FUCK!"

"No, you have to be doing this to me on purpose, no one is that-dammit!"

"You fucking hate me, don't you? That's it isn't it?"

"Don't you?! Say it! Admit it!" 

You do your best to tune it out.

 It'll be fine in the morning he always needs to work it out of his system. It'll be fine. You're okay.

Still.

No matter how much you hate the shouting, you always hated that accusation, that idea. 

You were trying, you didn't want this to happen, it was just.. heavy, there was a weight on your shoulders dragging you into the dirt, you were trying to claw it off, hoping that would allow you to work better, faster and you just.. fucked up. 

That's it. 

You don't hate.

You don't

Not even him.

You clearly fail the test. 

 He is horrified by your incompetence, he just can't imagine something being as dumb as you apparently. 

You're kicked out of the theater, with its never-ending stage. 

You never get to see the play.

 You hear that it had an amazing ending.

A true Shakespearean tragedy. 

Tubbo can hear giggling from behind his door.

 Pacing and the sound of hooves clicking on the floor soon follows. 

 He waits, struggling not to laugh when he hears the whispering voices. God, he loves them, it's just. Amazing.

"Awake? …Think he's awake now?" 

"The door hasn't been opened yet, so we really have no way of knowing do we, little guy?"

"Can I..can I open it?" Said so dang shyly as if anyone would even deny him. Seriously Tubbo thinks his son was just too precious. 

There's a pause, with what must have been some sort of nonverbal agreement because there's a sharp breath then Tubbo's door is inched open. Slowly careful. 

Just in case he was still asleep. 

Adorable, really. He can't help the thought.

Tubbo keeps his eyes closed. Keeps his breathing even and unhurried, as if still asleep.

 He knows he won't fool Ranboo. That jackass seemed to have a sixth sense for all things Tubbo. 

"Still sleeping, boo!" Michael declares. 

"Hmm. Maybe we should wake him up then, what do you think?" 

A gasp. Shocked.

"Wake him?"

"Yeah" Ranboo continues clearly warming up to the idea. He continues. 

"We could dump water on him, nice cold, refreshingly icy, in fact, some icicles are growing on the porch we could go pick.."

Tubbo shoves himself up, ignoring the blankets that slide down his back and arms, leveling the nastiest glare he could at his tormenter to be in the making. 

"If you ever wake me up like that I'll divorce you and take your balls as a trophy, mount them up on the fireplace" He coos up at his husband lovingly.  

Ranboo laughed. 

The mother fucker laughed and his face crinkled up into something almost tender, I love you it says. God. Sappy.

"Do you even know what that means Tubbo?"

His head tilts to the side, studying him. 

Tubbo elects to ignore him, instead brightly greeting his toddler, who was struggling to climb onto the bed. 

He lifts Michael up, bringing him close enough to nuzzle his face, absolutely reveling in the squeal of excitement the action brings with it. 

"Michael! Good morning, how's the best little man of the house doing today?!"

 Without his permission his brain does a quick sweep, ensuring that no harm has befallen his child (his child!) during the night.

 If playing with Michael's fingers and toes was really an excuse for making sure that they bent right, that they weren't stiff or sore, if it just so happened to delight said kid, while also having the added benefit of lowering Tubbo's heart rate, who actually needed to know? 

It was probably normal anyway. 

 "I'm grrat, gra… I'm okay papa!" Tubbo instantly beams, more than a little proud. Look at his son trying to word! 

"Great Mikes, Great. Grr-at, you've almost got it." He idly pats his son's head thinking about other ways to help teach him common. 

The bed dips as Ranboo takes a seat next to him. He's still watching him. Tubbo's skin itched. Fuck he's worried.

"Grrrrat, ate, like that?" 

"Your almost there kiddo, you'll get it soon, hey go check on your chicken, boo and I need to talk" 

"O-kay chi-chi!" Both parents watch their child scamper away with fondness. 

Tubbo knows Ranboo struggles with starting hard conversations, his husband is more likely to duck and dodge and avoid them like poison tipped arrows shot from a power three bow. 

It's actually been something Tubbo has used to get out of some uncomfortable situations. Which.. probably wasn't the best thing to do but it was just so easy.

Much easier then- nope. Not today. 

Ranboo's fingers drum against the bed. He takes a deep breath. Thinking, debating. Twisting his mind around and around the current problem.

Tubbo takes the shot. 

"Wilbur won't hurt me. With his own hands at least" The drumming stops. Shit. Inhale.

"I don't… I'm not worried about that Tubbo"

Exhale. 

"Well then! I guess everything is good right? He said it'll only take a couple of days, I'm packed for a week though just in case, I'm sorry about your-"

"Tub-"

"Mining trips but them's the breaks boss man it's-" 

"You can't just, don't-"

"Your turn to play baby sitter-" 

"Bee!" The worried exasperated tone is definitely enough to shock him into silence. 

"Your shaking bee, Deep breaths okay?" Ranboo's hand is holding his. When did that-

 Fuck. Fuck him. 

Ranboo leans closer, Tubbo can see his jaw tick. Tubbo actually bothers to regulate his breathing. Okay. Clearly he was rambling. 

Ranboo waits. Just staring.

 His slender fingers start to trace circles over the top of Tubbo's hand. Then they press down on his knuckles. One, two,three, four, five. The moment lingers. Is Ranboo waiting for him?

For what Tubbo no longer has any idea. It's not like he himself is going to say anything. There's nothing to say really. 

God fucking damm it don't panic don't panic he doesn't hate you don't fly off the damm rails.

Ranboo sagged down against him with sigh. Head nuzzled sweetly against Tubbo's chest. Terrifyingly so

"I want you to be safe, I want you to watch him be careful around him, but I also want you to..give him a chance..if you could?" 

Tubbo isn't sure what to say to that. 

How did one formulate feelings about your once brother who dressed you up in soldier's clothing hand tailored by his pretty words and I need yous and fight with me brothers, since no other size would fit?

 Who watched you let you die, mocked you for it then with a scoffing flourish stab your best friend your Tommy? 

How does one hate the hero who taught you how to dance?

 Who dramatically flopped to the floor hands raised above his head as he declared you were better at him then at chess now, how would he ever show his face in town again Tubbo?? 

Who gave you his piano without pause legitimately excited to teach you?

Who loved him and saw him.

Until he didn't. 

How does one react to Wilbur soot?

"He taught me piano, boo did you know that?" Tubbo finally whispers.

He wishes it wasn't hard to say.

"No, I didn't know that Tubbo." Said so softly. Almost like he cared.

He feels Ranboo start to lean away from him, getting up, and for a second he expects a hand across the face.

He doesn't understand why he has that odd thought, his husband is nothing but loving. Weird.

"Give me a second, I want to find you something.." The smile he flashes Tubbo is heartwarming. So is the worry in his eyes. Dammit. 

Tubbo watches Ranboo as he begins to hunt for something. Every now and then his tail would flick as his search brought him all around the room. He's determined huh. 

With a cry of excitement the enderman snags a.. something out from underneath the bed.

He quickly checks his memory book before sitting back down next to Tubbo, clearly delighted. 

"Okay so. You know how when I first started hanging out with you again after ah..doomsday, and uh yeah. I was living elsewhere?" 

Tubbo nods. He's longed since stopped wondering where exactly. It was clear that Ranboo didn't really want to tell him. He had some guesses and that was good enough. 

"Well. Someone..around.. that area.. who I won't.. name. " 

Tubbo snorted. He couldn't help it. His attempts to tip toe around that were just. God. 

Ranboo flushed hands curling around object within them. But he was smiling, struggling to keep that grin tapped down. 

The last of the tension melted out of Tubbo's body. I love you dork ass he thinks watching his husband.

"Whatever, look! They gave me this coin thing okay? Said a lot of really cool things you'll just laugh at me for say-"

"I totally would, by the way. I'd basically never stop actually"

"So! It's supposed to be lucky alright! Bring you good fortune and family ties, that kind of thing!" 

Now Tubbo gets to stare at him in disbelief. He places his hands on Ranboo's stupidly tall shoulders, 

"Please. Please tell me you did not pay for that. In any way shape or form my beloved, please."

Ranboo manages to look offended.

"No! It was a gift that I'm trying to gift to you for your adventure and comfort and because I love you!" 

Tubbo laughs. Holy shit. He'd fall for anything. That's actually amazing.

He takes the coin, not really even looking at it. If it makes his husband happy he'll take anything along with him. No matter how silly. 

Tommy was still texting him. Tubbo glances at his handheld, shaking his head fondly. Clearly Toms was not a fan of 

"I need to disappear for a few days or so, feel free to take whatever you want from the kitchen!" without any context. 

Who knew. 

He sends another quick reply, assuring his brother in arms that he'd be fine. 

It wasn't that Tubbo didn't want to tell Tommy. He just didn't want him to stress. Or follow them. Or throw a fit and get hurt. Afterall, this whole thing was an attempt to keep him away from Wilbur. 

He makes sure to tell him he loves him though. Just in case.

Tommy lovingly warns him the next time he sees him he'll steal Michael away from him forever. 

Tubbo grins. He starts to reply when he hears that knock on the door. Three harsh raps announcing the arrival of a king. 

 From the kitchen Ranboo's eyes flick to his. He looks nervous. It sends adrenaline through his system. Let's go, let's go. 

Tubbo rolls himself off of where he was lazing the couch, throws his backpack up over his shoulder, flicks his thumb over Ranboo's coin tucked safely in his pocket. 

And heads over to roll out the red carpet. 

Seeing Wilbur standing there, all windswept and rugged utterly beaming at Tubbo as if they were friends, as if he hasn't gotten him killed, as if he didn't basically-

The only thing Tubbo can think is that it's showtime. 

Chapter Text

Trying to travel with someone you kinda hate isn’t an easy task as it turns out. 

Especially when said person keeps trying to talk to you.

“- And of course, I told Phil everything Tommy told me and you know what Tubbo? He didn’t believe me!” Wilbur throws his hand up in the air, all offense and shock.

I wouldn't believe you over Tommy either actually. 

Honestly, it was surprising that Phill had, now that Tubbo thought about it. He wondered how old the two of them were at that time. 

Must have been pretty young. Before Phil realized that he had to actually take care of the extra kids he picked up. 

The only sounds were the crunching of gravel as they walked. 

Tubbo breathed in the scent of the sea, apparently they were getting close to where they needed to go. Not that Tubbo would actually know. 

All Wilbur had seen fit to tell him about this whole… adventure was that they needed to go to the coastline.  

That was it. Not why, not what, just that it was by the coast. 

Amazing really. 

The lack of communication had Tubbo’s skin crawling, and had him making sure there was at least an arm's length apart between him and Wilbur.

Just in case. Can’t risk it.

It was so quiet. No birds in the sparse trees around them. Tubbo hates it.He wishes there was some sort of noise that wasn't just a grating crunch and inane rambling. 

Wilbur is just staring at him now. 

Tubbo keeps his head down and ignores him. 

He did not want to be here, he wasn't about to make idle chit chat, especially not about back then. 

Not never never again. 

Book closed and locked tight deadbolted. Deadweight. 

It’s easy to picture the look on Wilbur's face though. 

Lines set in grim disapproval, back straight, hands on hips 

“Where have you been? You're late, why are you late?

We have a set plan, Tubbo you have to be there for it to work!

“What the fuck Tubbo, come on man it's the- you know what, whatever”. 

“Oh, so you're bothering to show up today, how strange, come up with any good lies this time?”

“...” nothing but a distrusting stare. 

Not even worth the scorn. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Wilbur huffed. 

Fix it, fix it! 

Tubbo almost felt like he’d been burned. His throat is. 

The fact that he was alone with this man, that there was no one- What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn't the time!

Wilbur would start screaming soon. He hated being ignored- and and it wasn't like that anymore. Your fine, your okay, just answer the man. 

“I-Um yeah...Tommy and that..whole thing, you're pretty right about..”

Wilbur stops walking.

Tubbo does not look. 

He keeps moving forward. 

Times are different

It wasn't like that anymore.

He won’t be baited.

“Look, Tubbo, Tubs!” 

The nickname is unwanted. It’s mockingly cinnamon and woodsmoke, a gentle hand guiding his-

Tubbo whips around to face Wilbur, not sure what he wants to say, only that he should say something just to realize that he isn’t even there anymore.

Tubbo exhales offense.

What the fuck.

He breathes in resignation. It's

what he always does. You knew this. 

Things are new but they aren't that new. 

Where did he go? There weren't many places to hide around here.

“Over here Tubbo! Come on, over past the juniper bushes!” 

He sounds excited. It's whiplash. 

Why is it whiplash? 

Lucky Tubbo can find the bushes easily; they jut out of the ground angrily, hiding behind them lies a small path. 

It’s overgrown with grass and weeds, pushed flat to the ground by rather uncaring boots. Tramped. 

As Tubbo makes his way through he’s careful not to step on any flowers still trying to grow. 

(There's no point in avoiding the dead ones)

It leads down to a small sandbar, albeit a sad one, framed by cold rock and isolated from visitors.

 Wilbur brightens on seeing him climb down. 

Before Tubbo can even ask or snap or apologize or do anything at all,

Wilbur calls out eager and delighted.  

“Over here, see it? That’s where we need to go,”

He’s pointing at a hole in the cliff.

A cave. A barely there hole-

He wants them to go cave diving.

He wants Tubbo to crawl; it's too small, he can't-won't even be able to stand. 

Oh, fuck no. 

He can already feel his lungs tightening. 

Already feel the walls closing in on him fuck please. 

The opening looks constricting and it’s dark and Tubbo thinks he might start suffocating just from looking at it. 

He’s frozen in place.

He can't move, he can't escape. 

Can't 

can't. 

Don't make me,

“-So it shouldn't be that bad at the end of the day, I-”

How deep is it?

 Will Tubbo get stuck? 

Does it ever widen out? It’s next to the sea, does that mean it’s wet? 

He forces himself to breathe and it's just ash. He's gonna-

“Then when we find the lake we can-”

Wilbur could kill him there very easily. 

The thought comes unbidden but it makes sense settles down in his bones. 

Why else bring him here, answers looking right at you,

it's about-

 Would be so easy, just like trapping a bee in a jar, with no way out, can’t turn around, can't move, no space, and your fingers can't claw through concrete. It just makes them bleed, Wilbur didn't care the first time. 

it would be just like what Tubbo gets for following him, lamb to slaughter, you always go.

He's going to be sick oh god. 

His lungs burn. 

Wilbur starts to pull his backpack off his shoulders; he pushes it through the opening, and he's humming. 

It sounds like static. 

He holds his hand out to Tubbo and for a second he thinks he wants to pull Tubbo in with him and he’s horrified, he’s going to actually cry like a damn child and is so fucking grateful when he realizes all Wilbur wants was Tubbo’s backpack. 

He pulls it off and hands it over numbly. 

The straps hurt. 

 He can hear the echoing boom of- stopstopstop. 

Maybe Tubbo can stay right here.

Maybe all Wilbur wants is someone to watch the entrance.

Maybe the thing that he still won't tell Tubbo about is right there and the cave isn’t very deep so Tubbo can’t even fit in there with him.

Maybe in an alternate timeline Tubbo isn't a complete and worthless coward. 

He can feel his hands shaking. 

Wilbur salutes him. He says something like see you soon, maybe even you've got this Tubbo! He lies and lies and lies.

Gets on his hands and knees and just goes through, like it was easy like anyone can do it.

It doesn't matter, it could not matter less. 

Tubbo does not want to go. He will fucking die if he goes back into smoke and ash, come on down here Tub- VP-speech. 

Stop thinking. 

He’s still frozen. 

He's still moving, the gallows are ringing in his head. Turn around, turn around! He's caught and everytime he heads to the slaughter without pause, one tricked once naive once righteous. 

He doesn't know what this next time will be but he does, he does because it's crushing and right in front of him. 

You’re fine, You're fine, You are breathing perfectly, you aren’t pinned down. It’s okay. It’s okay. Your not even inside. 

Nothing moves. 

Tubbo needs to move. Because he is fine he’s good and and- do something for christ’s sake will you Tubbo? Something! What are you even paid for!?

Anything. Move.

Tubbo takes a step backward. He could leave now. He should leave before he gets too deep and drowns in Wilbur's legacy. 

Wilbur wouldn't be able to catch him. He could hide, Tommy wou-

Tommy. 

Tommy. 

Tubbo is here for Tommy. 

If Tubbo leaves now what would Wilbur do with Tommy? 

Drag him out here too? 

Tommy hates the beach.

He stops dragging Tubbo to them and looks pale he doesn't answer any questions about why and Tubbo won't make him. 

Would he force him into the cave as well? 

Would he even care?

Maybe he’d be so fed up he’d give Tommy to dream just to fuck with Tubbo for being a weak fuckhead that can’t even deal with a tight space.

Wilbur went in like it was nothing because it was nothing, 

Just like yo-

He needs to get over this. 

He doesn't trust Wilbur not to hurt his real brother. 

He doesn't think Tommy has problems stepping on a beach or just seeing one, why should Tubbo?

 He's not even inside. But you will be and then-

Tubbo has to protect, protect everything, pretend it never crumbles in his worthless toxic hands, prime, how is he the better option here?

It doesn’t matter anymore. 

All said and done. 

Move on. 

Grow up.

Tubbo takes a step forward then two. 

He’s in front of the entrance. 

He doesn’t want to do this.

He can feel phantom droplets sliding down his back and it's worse than a sword slash.

 Move on, move on, don’t be a big baby. 

Stupid fucking coward. 

Get going!

He shoves himself through. 

It feels more like he was dragged.  

It’s fucking hell but Tubbo survives just like he always does. It’s also just as surprising.

Being able to stand up in a cavern is an amazing boon that Tubbo will always praise from now on. Fuck still in a tubbox just bigger it’ll close in you know that it-

Stop. It. 

The passageway did open up after what felt like forever. Thank prime, thank you, I can breathe. 

Tubbo can also hear water somewhere to his right. 

Huh. An underwater lake.

That’s kind of neat. It's damp and he ha-

A light flashes near him, coming closer. 

 So his…something is still here then.

“Oi Tubbs you made it! You look…are you okay Tubbo?” Wilbur falters.

Tubbo blinks. 

He means to tell Wilbur that he's fine, and ask him what he wants to be done next but his mouth doesn’t open.

 So he just sorta makes a noise. 

Interesting.

Wilbur looks at him. 

Tubbo can barely make out his face. 

He can imagine it isn't very pretty. 

At least he isn’t blinding me with the light. 

It’s the little things sometimes. 

Wilbur turns to look at the way both of them came in.

 His head tilts slightly to the side as it does when he's thinking. 

He closes his eyes and mutters something under his breath. 

He seems to deflate. 

It's weird.  

Tubbo idly wonders what he's thinking. 

“Shit. Tubbo I didn’t even think” his hand lifts towards Tubbo but drops back down to his side. 

“Maybe I'm assuming things-does that, Do you have claustrophobia Tubbo? Did- everything..” He trails off.

Something about that helps him think clearer, 

or smarter. 

Or whatever he's tired. 

He's still trapped. 

“Huh? No, Wilbur, I'm over it, why would I still care? That was such a long time ago” 

Wilbur looks relieved, his posture relaxes and he grins. Tubbo knows he said the best thing. 

He guesses he's happy about that. 

“Proud of you king! Let's set up camp then.” 

He actually sounds proud. Tubbo starts to think.

They make a nice campfire and set up tents. It’s nothing special but Tubbo does feel proud, no content as he makes the area liveable, he’s tempted to roll some of the bigger rocks into a kind of wall around them. 

It’s better when Tubbo makes them himself. 

Better then what exactly?

Wilbur was cooking some of the fish they had caught with the fishing rods that had been left out here by some past adventures. 

Hey, it’s their fault for leaving them here! Finders keepers.

Tubbo starts placing torches around the darkest parts around them. 

It's something to do. 

He wonders how long they're going to be here. 

Wilbur said only for a couple of days but it sure doesn’t look like it. 

Not to mention, what are they even looking for?

He’s stalling; he knows he is.

He needs to get more information about this as soon as he can; he shouldn't let Wilbur get away with brushing him off.

It’ll just make the asshole do it even more. 

Motherfucker loved making his life hard. 

Probably adored it.

Probably thought of different ways to do it. 

He stands there. 

The torch in his hand goes out. 

It's his last one. 

 It'll be fine. It'll be fine he'll probably laugh and maybe if it was a bad day he'll shout 

Where have you been Tubbo- why are you questioning me?!"

But maybe again he won't. 

It's not like-

He hadn't yet. 

Tubbo sighs. 

Lightly kicks the wall.

He buckles up and puts his game face on.

No wonder Ranboo hates this. He’s so fucking tired. 

Wilbur always seems to smile when he sees Tubbo now. 

It’s so weird. 

Why?

“Hey, the place is looking pretty nice now, thanks for your help.” 

Wilbur gestures for him to come and sit down next to him. 

Tubbo does. He doesn't know what to do next. Well he does but-

“This is just such cool thing tubs,(stings why that?) it's like the good old days! Well except for Tommy but eh. ” Wilbur chuckles. Shrugs. 

Takes a bite of cave lake fish.

Continues.

“I always enjoyed hanging out with you without him around too, you know.”

Tubbo pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, laces his hands together tightly, and doesn’t know what to say.  

Wilbur drums his fingers against his leg. 

“Do you remember how to play the piano, Tubbo?” His head titles upward. Studying shadows. Does he see pogtopia or does he see me, us, why, give it up-

Tubbo does know how to answer that. 

“Why did you drag me out here Wilbur?” 

That was not the best answer to that question. 

Tubbo drops his face into his knees. 

Breathes.

“What do you mean why?” 

“What are we looking for Wilbur?” Why me? 

What do you want from me 

why are you reminding me of-

“Oh! I haven’t said have I?” His voice is amused.

 Don't say that so lightly. Why haven't you?

 What are you using me for, just tell me please, please.

Tubbo hears him shift to better face him.

Feels him place a hand on his shoulder. 

It's too much like how he used to be. 

God fucking damm it. He's so warm. 

Tubbo just wants to forget. Let me alone, please.

Wilbur makes a soft noise. “Shit. I scared you didn’t I? His voice is low caring and it-

“I- I’m sorry Tubs (hurts to hear that again) I’m not good at being thoughtful.”

(oh, but he was, he really was. Tubbo knows he does know. 

He can't forget)

“ I thought it didn’t matter that much to you. I-I don’t know why I thought that stupid of me.” 

Tubbo wonders if he even knows what he's talking about. 

Wilbur breathes out and it sounds shaky. 

He starts to card his fingers through Tubbo’s hair. 

Tubbo doesn’t move. He can’t tell if he wants to or not. 

He might want to cry though. 

Fuck him. He shivers.  

“I am trying Tubs! I swear I am. I don’t know what else to say” He sounds like he’s confessing his sins.

Like Tubbo is a judge like what he says to this matters. 

“Can you please forgive me? I’ll do better next time Tubbo I swear I’ll pay better attention”

Tubbo thinks of Ranboo.

Tubbo has his coin packed in the backpack he gave to Wilbur without thought. 

He thinks of giving chances and moving on.

He thinks of cinnamon and guitar strings and fingers in his hair and- and wood-smoked cabins in the middle of nowhere. 

Tubbo forgives. 

He isn't sure what for exactly. 

You are aware that you are not awake today. 

You have no idea why exactly. It isn't very often that you are.

Your hands are burning already.

The hallway isn't lit. 

Eyes are watching you from a far distance. They are white. They give off a faint glow. 

You miss the color white. 

You know you need to get to them (You don’t know who they are exactly, you never do and probably never will.)

But you do know you need to save them. No one else will and there’s only so much time. 

You run. 

You shout. 

The hallway is never ending and you are scared. Even aware that you are dreaming you are scared. You don’t want to lo-

(You don’t get close enough) 

They disappear.

They disappear.

They always disappear!

It’s so fucking unfair. 

Stop running away from me, I just want to save you!

You’re reset back at the start of the hallway (again) and see those stubborn white eyes. That never come closer no matter what you do for fuck sa-

You punch the wall. 

The wall cracks into spiderwebs.

It collapses  

Your hands burn.

There’s a pathway behind the wall. 

The eyes stare.

They will die if you leave.

But you will never get them. It's rigged and they won’t let you.

You wish something would work.

You chase after the eyes again, thinking

Next time I'm done, I'll cut my losses.

You never do.

Wilbur wakes Tubbo up who knows how long you're in a cave no natural light time later. 

The campfire is still stoked so the warmth is appreciated. Tubbo leans into it. He’s still tired.

 Last night sucked so much. 

It was just the worst and strange so very strange... Why him? Why not Tommy? His head pounds. 

He's got no idea what Wilbur wants from him and that's terrifying.

 It'll only lead to danger. 

Tubbo rubs his palms into his face. Time to exist. 

Buck up bossman. 

He watches Wilbur flit about the camp consulting what looks like a map. 

Something bothers Tubbo about that. 

Just another thing he needs to ask Wilbur about then. 

Fuck is he gonna tell him what’s happing soon?

Probably not, he’s going to twist your words like it's a virus in your mouth why do you keep questioning people pawn?

Tubbo sucks in a breath.

Wilbur was trying. 

He needed to be patient for once in his life. That’s all he needed to be. 

Give him a chance. 

Besides, it was way too early to be so negative today. 

Give it a couple of hours at the least. 

Wilbur waves him over and nearly bounces as he moves towards Tubbo himself. 

It draws a faint smile to his lips. It reminds him of-

“Okay okay so here’s the plan for today Tubs, there are four caves to explore from this section, we’ll avoid that last one because it’s even tighter than the entrance so,”

He offers Tubbo a smile at that. 

He feels caught.

Tubbo instead drops his gaze down to instead look over the map in Wilbur's hands.

 He should say something probably 

“So. Um, which one are we exploring now?” 

“It’s this second one right here- it’s not too big and I don’t think there are any traps-”

Traps? Wait what? Should- that was even a worry??

Ask him what that means, who set them, what are you looking for, open your mouth. Find out, find out. What he is hiding from you, fucker, fucker!

Tubbo clears his throat. 

Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Oh man, it’s going to be so amazing Tubbo! 

Come on, come on, after we finish this I’ll pull out my guitar and we’ll play!

Do you still sing?” His tone is hopeful. 

He starts walking away towards the back of the cave. 

He looks back at Tubbo, his ever-present grin slipping a bit. He looks like a kicked puppy like that. 

Tubbo stares. 

He missed Wilbur’s music. 

He missed singing. It was always a melodic hum and Tubbo was curled up and safe, warm-

And he wanted Tubbo to join him this time. 

He didn't even call him Tommy first. 

Why ruin a good thing? 

There was plenty of time. 

“I remember some of the songs” He calls back. 

Walking after him

He feels nervous. 

He doesn’t want to think about why. 

So he won’t. 

He just won't.

It's too early to be so negative. 

Tubbo was so fucking happy that this part of the cavern was still open and not an actual death trap. 

He glances up at the roof. 

Okay, so it was lower than their little base camp section but still. Better. His skin still crawls at the reminder of how trapped he is-

Nope, not lingering on it.

The two of them had been in here for hours. 

They had walked through an archway of stone and into a circular room filled with tall pillars.

 In the center rests a pedestal with cookie-cutter holes in the middle.

Four empty slots. 

Etchings of all kinds climb up and down and round everyone one of them. 

It’s beautiful in a strange way. 

Tubbo hopes they figure out what to do soon. 

He doesn't like sitting still here, and who knows how long Wilbur will last before he loses his cool. 

Tubbo runs his finger over what looked like a picture of a human kneeling with his hands tied to nearby posts. 

Tubbo wonders what it's for as Wilbur moves across the room checking to see if any of the pillars have the same markings as each other. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

A rather interesting one depicts a little cat-looking thing with wings.

It has what's probably a fish in its jaws. 

Wilbur makes a noise, and his foot scapes across the ground, kicking up a little dust cloud. 

"Tubbo I think there's not quite enough information here but no...I know these have something to do with that pedestal... Do you think the pillars can open up at all?"

He snaps his fingers. 

The sound echoes. 

"Maybe there's like a cache inside one of them!"

He goes back to studying. 

 Hmm. That isn't the worst idea. You probably-

Tubbo tilts his head back to get a better look at the pillar in front of him. 

It's not like he has anything else to do. 

He runs his hand down the outline of granite trying to feel. 

He traces a salmon flying down steam. 

A cow standing proud with his horns tilted forward. 

A tree..maple maybe? It's detailed and little lines imply there's a wind blowing on it. Tubbo likes it. 

Nothing stands out. 

Nothing feels like a bump or an edge. 

If Wilbur's theory was right..where would be a special spot to place a latch or a button.. Wait. 

Wait wait wait. 

Excitement curls up Tubbo's chest. 

He casts a more critical eye across the room. 

Wilbur wasn't quite right. 

Otherwise, they would have found it by now…

But he had to be on the right track…what led to whoever made these putting them here?

Tubbo makes his way to the pedestal; maybe there was a clue they missed there.

At first Tubbo doesn’t see anything and he’s about to tell Wilbur that this place sucks, and that Tommy would rate it zero out of 5 stars. 

About to ask him why he’s here.

But then he notices it. 

Right at the bottom of the pedestal.

4 straight-cut lines jagged like they were made impromptu. 

Bingo. 

Tubbo knows what a guide looks like. 

Tubbo grins and it’s like his mind has woken up flashing through possible reasons for them being there. 

(Like he matters again)

He knows Wilbur doesn’t expect him to really help him solve anything. Why should he?

It’s abrupt but Tubbo wants to show off and say see I'm smart too. 

Wants his approval like a damned dog. 

Now that he can see a way to do it actually solve

It matters. 

This is something he can actually do. 

Ranboo says he's good at it even! 

Wilbur hasn't figured yet, that means Tubbo might actually be able to beat him to the punch 

He wants to win.

He kneels down getting a better look.

There were eight pillars in the room.

Four lines on the pedestal. 

Tubbo starts off with crossing off possibilities. 

He pulls out his notepad and numbers each column in the room.  

He notes which ones could be considered number four by where a likely starting place to count would be. 

(center pillar, staring from both sides next to the entrance, and the opposite way back to it.)

If anyone starts from one in the middle of a line Tubbo will kill them and bury the corpse in packing peanuts.  

Wilbur makes a questioning noise, but Tubbo's too busy being smarter than him to care very much. You can't actually thi-

Nope. 

Tubbo has a plan and it's working! so far at least. 

Probably shouldn't get ahead of himself.

But this is so rare and exciting, he feels like he's breathing in sharp clear air for the first time since Wilbur asked him to fall in line behind him again. 

Tubbo hums to himself. 

With those notes established Tubbo can now put blinders on and focus on the ones that actually matter. 

He goes up to each of them and scribbles down anything of interest. 

He even sketches them though that's more of preference than a need. 

(The style of etchings, how close they are together, a estimated amount, if there's any cuts or tampering)

When he's done he practically skips to the center to examine the information.

There's only one difference in each pillar, which was the style of the markings, so Tubbo goes through them one more time. This time trying to see what the point of the difference would be. 

There had to be a reason.

He just needs to find it. 

He's excited to find it.

Wilbur has given up on finding anything himself and has taken to just watching Tubbo. 

Tubbo ignores him. Ignores that he wishes he would actually say something. Tubbo doesn't need him to. He doesn't. 

He knows what he's doing. Ranboo said so. 

Tommy probably would too. 

During the closer examination on the third pillar, 

Tubbo finds it. 

Each carving has four points. Four little lines make up basically each and everyone. Fuck yeah this has to be it!

Tubbo is one step closer and his mind starts racing.

The pedestal pointed this one out to him.

Why?

What made it special?

It was the same stone 

Same weight. 

Same height. 

Tubbo knocks on it. 

Wait. 

Is that.. 

He knocks on other spots, just to make sure. 

It is!

Tubbo starts pawing at the pillar more insistently. There had to be a latch! Almost there come on, find it!

"You know I already tried that Tubbo it isn't going to work"

Tubbo can hear the frown in Wilbur's voice. 

He does not give a fuck.

He keeps going because what else can it be? The cuts in the pedestal were a guide. Or more like a faint hint, Tubbo has made things like it before. Especially if you need to hide something. 

He's right and Wilbur can suck a dick. 

He waits for the scoff, 

The growl of annoyance that always happens if you ignore Wilbur's advice. 

Almost hopes for it so that whatever weirdness that's infected Wilbur soot will go away and Tubbo can just..have it be normal again. 

His heart crescendos with the pitch of the low snarl Wilbur makes. 

He braces. 

"Tubbo, listen to me, you are-no no I'm not gonna do this." 

Everything staccatos. The notes are new and the player is fumbling.

"I don't care if you waste our time. Have at it Tubs"

What the actual fuck.

Never. 

Willbur had never done that before

 Not even when he was wood-smoked cinnamon.

Not even when he was happy. 

And Tubbo is trapped in a cave with a completely new Wilbur

A Wilbur unknown and unspecified.

Tubbo can't predict him anymore, not like he ever could but he thought, maybe he could endure for long enough, Tommy handled exile Tubbo could keep Wilbur away away away. 

Now though. Now. 

Everything is different. 

Tubbo is lost and being lost with Wilbur is a slow death.

Nothing about that has changed. What if it has?

Tubbo rejects the thought. It's too risky. To much like-

Wilbur takes a step forward and there's frustration in his eyes, in the set of his body, starts to raise his arms. 

Without thinking. Plenty of thinking, you're lost he's pissed going to hit you run all the logic you need. Quick quick. 

Tubbo slams himself backward space space have to get space. 

He forgot there was a pillar behind him, but he definitely remembers that now. 

He stumbles forward grabbing his now throbbing shoulder. At least it's not the burned one. 

Bites back the cry of pain and freezes. 

Wilbur is looking past him. 

His eyes are wide and delighted. Electric. 

He throws his head back and laughs. 

Tubbo doesn't understand. 

"Holy fuck bee boy you were right! You were 100 percent right, pop off little man

You are just too damm smart." 

Tubbo doesn't understand what's going on he's just-

Wilbur points.

"Relax, just look behind you." 

Tubbo does. 

Part of the pillar is open now. 

A small little latch dangles broken beside it. 

Oh. 

Tubbo was right.

Wilbur steps closer to it, snags something off the top of newly found hole 

And beams at Tubbo like he made the world himself. 

"Hey, I have some health potions in my backpack. Feel free to take em.

As many as you want even"

Something in his eyes soften and he frowns."I won't approach you like that again-I didn't realize that you were that freaked out." 

He pockets what was in the piller. 

Tubbo gathers himself. Thinks about everything that just happened. 

Wilbur didn't hit him.

 Didn't even think about it apparently.

And he.. was willingly to let all the bullshit that Tubbo just pulled go. 

Maybe new Wilbur wasn't as dangerous as first thought. 

Tubbo smiles.

"I'm pretty sure that means I won bossman" 

Wilbur's reply is really just woodsmoke and cinnamon.

Tubbo hears it first he thinks. 

A rustling of foot steps. 

In the base area. 

As if someone was there snooping or such. 

Tubbo groaned. 

While he was feeling better after putting potions on his bruised to all hell shoulder, he didn't particularly want to fight anyone. 

He shares a glance with an equally as annoyed Wilbur. Wilbur is about to say something when a loud shout echoes down the hallway.

"Tubbo?!"

Tommy. 

Tommy was here. 

Tubbo takes off at a dead sprint. 

He has no idea why Tommy is here but for whatever reason, he is and Tubbo is delighted. Even if he's running, hiding like how he's supposed to be from Dream right now. 

Tubbo will deal with it. 

Seeing Tommy is always a good thing. 

Tubbo rounds the corner at breakneck speed, he calls out 

"Tommy! I'm here!"

Then he actually sees his best friend. 

His shirt is dirt stained and his face has muddy streaks all across it. 

He looks pissed when he spots Tubbo eyes harsh and angry and so, so worried. 

He skids to a stop right in front of his brother. 

Gasping for breathe he tries to ask him how he's been, why he's here and if he killed Ranboo all at the same time. 

Tommy just drags him into a hug. It's tight and crushing and Tubbo missed him.

"I fucking hate you, you know that Tubbo? You-Are just the worst of the people." 

"All the people?"

"Yes, Tubbo, all the people, I polled them all and they all said  your the worst, but the woman especially pointed that out."

Tubbo laughs. You're the worst Tommy you are. 

He needed to know what's going on though jokes later. Tubbo pulls out the hug. It was warm and he misses it 

"Why-why are you here big man? I told you I was fine."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. 

"I told you I was fine he says" 

Oh. That's not quite what I said actually.

"No Tubbo, you said you'd keep in touch with me! But did you? It's been two days and have I heard anything from my adventuring best friend, the one out in peril and not even half as good looking? No Tubbo. No I did not!"

Shit. 

Tubbo flushes. He completely forgot about that. 

"Sorry." 

"Hmm. You should be Tubbo, you really-"

"It's good to see you toms!"

"Oh. Hey Wilbur."

Tubbo glances back at Wilbur. 

He looks amused.

 Tubbo feels himself relax. 

Safe. 

"You came here to check on Tubbo, Toms? That's so sweet of you!"

"Yeah..whatever. Tubbo's the clingy one." 

Tubbo itchs to tell Tommy everything that has happened.

He wants Tommy to tell him how his family was the last he saw them. 

He turns to start getting food prepped. It was going to be a long good day and he hadn't had much food at all.

He should know better. 

He should've known so much better by now. 

There's a startled noise. A half muffled shout. 

Tubbo gets into position too late. 

Actor missed your line. Find a replacement stat. 

"Well this is a happy family reunion isn't it?" 

Dream is here. 

Dream has a sword against Tommy's neck. 

Tubbo is gonna scream. Too late too late. 

The realization that Dream followed Tommy down here, waited for them to meet up first, that this is another thing that is Tubbo's fault, add it to the list, burns burns burns. 

It's about time. You don't have the right to anything else mister president. 

Wilbur makes a confused noise next to him. He has his sword halfway up, but the ends pointed down and Tubbo knows it's useless anyway.

Tubbo knows he says 

"Dream what-what are you- that's not funny mate,"

But he can't hear him.

 Can't hear anything past save him. Failure failure your fault your fault horrible person why why why let him go!

Dream drags Tommy backward.

Tommy struggles. The hilt of the sword is pressed against his neck. He can't breathe but he tries. The sound is horrible.

Dream hums somehow Tubbo knows he's smiling. He grabs a stick of TNT with the other hand.

Tubbo does not care. 

"Don't come after us, I will not, I will not hesitate to light this!"

Tommy garbles something panicked and tries to pry dream off of him. His face is turning blue. 

It's about time it's about time, you left him alone you green hoodied freak

Wilbur is properly pissed now "Dream! Your choking him, you're choking him, whatever's gotten into you if you don't knock it the fuck off I fucking kill you! His voice is a roar at the end and it will not matter. Tubbo knows this. He can't move because of It. If he moves Tommy dies quicker.

With one hand strangling Tommy, the other with a TNT stick Dream starts to take his leave, he has an ender pearl Tommy is dead, checkmate. 

He grabs your hand, he smiles and it's warmer then the stars above them. 

Who cares, he says lightly. We don't need them. We have each other right buddy?

Tubbo lunges forward. His feet are unstuck. He has to do something this time. There are no walls, no walls move move move.

Dream toss the tnt up, up, up,

Tubbo reaches out, out, out, 

The tips of his fingers brush across Tommy's hand. Tommy smiles at him. It says everything. 

Wilbur yanks Tubbo back. He feels himself choke as his coat cuts into his flesh. Wilbur curls around him. 

Wood-smoked and cinnamon. 

Sound dissolves into a bang. 

The cave collapses. 

It's about time anyway Tubbo had told him once. 

Chapter Text

  There wasn't much to remember. 

Nothing that would be worthwhile to a 3-bordering 4-year-old. Still, it's important to notice. 

(If only he was 17!) he would have noticed. He would have cared.)

There wasn't a god kind enough to intervene.

No matter how faithful, fateless, or dead you were. 

The baby reaches out with an unmarred hand, trying to grasp onto the striking wings above him. He giggles at the bird-like trill the angel makes. It's hypnotic.

He doesn't notice the resignation, bone-deep as it cradles another child it will inevitably lose.

Tubbo gasped, fucking shit. Was he dying? 

There was weight and pressure all over him (warm weight, cinnamon, and woodsmoke). The dark was like a living thing pressing inside his eyelids. Tubbo's head swirls. Fuck, stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay a'wake.

Tommy... Tommy! 

As young as he was, he probably still should have noticed the way he handled a sword. 

All youth and bloodlust collide to form one terrifying soldier, expert and darling.

It spelled out his fate that he found safety under the fluffy mane of a half-tamed beast. It only stood to reason that it would eventually strike up a match against him.

He still deserved it, in the end. The world has no place for suffering fools like himself. 

There's dirt in Tubbo's mouth and he can't breathe; no space, no space! He lashes out against darkness and starts hacking up a lung as more earth clogs his throat. As he swallows it, there's no air, trapped escape move move. What happened? Calm down, think, think, what's the best move breathe. 

His right hand must glide against the screen of his communicator. The cracked glass cuts lightly into Tubbo's thumb, making his head pulse with the flash of pain that sings along with it.

Then light, light! It's blinding and Tubbo can't even look at it because then his eyes burn, but he can see, see, see the little dots floating in his eyes and he needs to escape before he passes out again. Step one is needing to face upwards. Step two, step two is to dig, get himself out.

Tubbo shoves his elbows into the ground beneath him and forces himself to try and roll onto his back. His head rings, rings, rings. Can't pick it up, too busy dying, try again later . Maybe as a ghost, he's a better person.

It's surprising how hard it is to flip over, Tubbo is stopped by a weight on his lower chest and clinging down to his legs. Tubbo feels adrenaline spike through him. He has to right himself; he'll suffocate if he doesn't! What's keeping him down? Please, no. 

Visions of rocks collapsing on his waist and breaking his legs flash through his mind. They'd sever his nerves. He'd have to amputate. He'd be useless. He 'd be weak, and if he couldn't walk, he'd never get out .

 Tubbo can't help the pathetic whine that slides out of his throat at the thought. No, no I can't Ranboo. Help me, I don't

His shaking hand finally stops fumbling with the communicator. 

Tubbo twists his back till he can finally see what exactly is going on. He fights to ignore the wave of vertigo and aims the light with shivering fingers, instantly illuminates  the slack face of Wilbur Soot, and Tubbo remembers being yanked back, so close, almost . Nono 

But there's blood dripping from the corner of Wilbur's mouth, and Tubbo can't tell if he's even alive.  Nonono: he 's not moving  

"Wilbur! Wilbur, hey hey, get up!" 

All the books he read told him it was normal. Every child wanted to be supported and loved with reckless abandon. 

Maybe that was true.

It didn't make it any less stupid or pathetic. 

Maybe children were just dumb. 

He should have known. There was no way he wasn't old enough now. 

He did know though, didn't he? A little nudge in the back of his head, a whisper of doubt and fear. There was only one path for a spy when they weren't anything but a throwaway pawn. Useless.

He just ignored it. He wanted a different ending and chose to believe in words and ideals over practicality and logic.

His own skin is a constant reminder of that mistake.

He will never ignore it again.

The only good thing about this situation was that the rocks above them were loose, which meant that they couldn't be buried too deep in the rubble. Tubbo claws above both of them, desperately he needs to-needs to-fuck there was so so much, holy shit, Tommy, did he-what was Wilbur's condition, where-  

One thing at a time. No use in panicking. You're okay. You're okay, one thing at a time. No use to anyone if you can't prioritize. 

Tubbo shakes his head as best he can. Keep going

Air brushes past the tips of his fingers and the hope it billows through Tubbo’s chest shakes away some of the remaining panic. He could actually get them out; they weren’t going to die here.

Tubbo redoubles his efforts to escape and is rewarded when he's finally able to clear the rocks from encasing him. Actually, seeing the cavern open up is a blessing, no matter how dark it is.

Tubbo rolls over on his side, using one arm to brace himself up. His vision swirls and he leans with it, groaning. Fuck, what was step three going to be? 

The thought is fleeting and makes him wonder if he has a concussion. The aches settle under his skin and deep in his bones as he drags himself up to his knees.

Wilbur. He needs to check on him before-before, before?  Riiightt. Cave in. Focus. He needs to focus. Prime, help him. 

Tubbo doesn’t think he will ever really know better at this point in his life.

He just keeps trying and trying, and he refuses to learn, refuses to understand that the world itself does not want him to win. Tubbo would find a way to screw things up no matter how hard he tried, whether he bled, cried, or simply let nature take its course. It was just a fact of life at this point.

The crater he was kneeling in front of was proof enough of that.

There’s a giddy sense of freedom in putting what was wrong with him into words.

He didn’t need to keep holding onto his toxic waste inside these walls anymore. 

It was over. There was no rebuilding this time.

and for the first time in Tubbo’s life. 

He stops trying to give L'Manberg a proper gravesite. 

Tubbo snags the front of Wilbur’s shirt, noting the dried blood there somewhere in the back of his head, far far away. For the time being, just getting him out of the rubble would have to suffice. Tubbo lies the man just outside the start of the rocks. Almost doubling over on top of him. That wouldn't be very helpful. Crushing the very poss-likely .. Uh. Wounded? Wounded yeah. Person... fuck thinking was becoming difficult.

His arms were shaking now from having dragged his brother’s weight. 

Vertigo sends him straight to the ground abruptly. 

Huh. 

That was bad. Tubbo forgot he was even dizzy. It is amazing what adrenaline does to people. You're falling into shock, you know.

He sways lightly on his hands and knees, still trying to stand back up. There were things he needed to do. Whatever those were, he needed to go and do them.

His body retches trying to dispel the nausea Tubbo is now allowed to feel. 

He traces the spittle the action brings up as it falls. 

He pitches forward, his forehead touching the dusty floor despite his best efforts. 

Tubbo makes one last effort to force his arms straight, and when that fails and the rest of his body finally hits that floor,  he hopes that Tommy can forgive him one last time.

You can only hear music from where you are standing, on some sort of pedestal.

Percussion, guitar, and piano. It's all wrapped up in a floaty folk song.

Your feet glide with the sound. You spin slowly in a broad wide circle, shifting as if pulled by each note.

It’s relaxing, calming.

You don’t know why you feel like you miss this. Why would you ever stop?

When the song flallters, you do as well, barely stopping yourself from tripping straight off the edge. You are barefoot.

You're being watched.

Hundreds of faceless spectors all twisted around you. All you can make out about them is that you can’t make out anything at all. 

You can’t help but feel like they were always there.

They all frown in sync. Unease ripples through the crowd.

But there is no music and you don’t know any songs without a beat. 

You're starting to remember and you don’t like this part anymore than the last few you’ve had, 

The shadows deepen. White eyes stare at you accusingly. They weren't there before. You checked. 

You ask for any request.

The pedestal you are on cracks just as a low growl thrums around you.

You have two chances left.

You faintly expected this response.

You dig your fingers into your arms to hide the tremble.

You have more important things to do than shake and whine.

You tell them you aren’t sure what they want anymore and receive a howl of fury for your honesty. 

They tell you that you know exactly what they want from you.

You do. You don’t want to give it up. You don’t want to believe they can take it from you.

They tell you to stop being a selfish, cruel coward.

You disagree. It’s soft and weak, burrowing a half believed truth. 

The pedestal creaks as another spiderweb jets out from the main split.

It’s not as deep or as bad as the first one, but you know you have one life left nonetheless.

You hope the pedestal breaks when you lose the last one.

Your face burns, trickling down your arm and along your chest like fingerprints.

You’ve stalled enough.

Carefully, as if waiting for an attack, you attempt to dance again, pulling on memories of the last time you were up here. 

It’s disjointed and you can’t recall what made them work and what made them fail.

The faceless mass scoffs. Offended They handed you the keys you needed to do this right. Why didn’t you succeed?

Those beloved white eyes are filled with tears. 

You’ve hurt them.

You apologize

This time, they reward you by not collapsing your perch.

You think it's more of a punishment, but you would never tell them that.

Your tongue is led as one of the shadows glides forward.

There are two ways this ends, and it seems like tonight the worst of the two will be chosen. 

You sit.

You know you will be fine after this is over with. There is no fighting or hesitation this time.

You will be fine.

The shadow is in front of you now.

It’s been handed a torch. It leans down, long, slender and horribly abandoned.

You can see it laughing now.

You think it’s not very kind of it. But you understand, so you don’t mind. In the end,

The last thing you feel as your skin blisters open is this weight holding your blood inside your veins, knowing that you have to figure out how to save them before the music can return.

You think that would make you happy again. 

Tubbo jolts awake, and for a moment, he has no idea why. His skin prickles with little needle points of unease, and he listens, keeping his eyes closed as if he was still asleep. 

That's when he notices that there's a weight draped over his shoulder. It's not very heavy and the smell reminds me of smoke and faintly of-

Oh, Wilbur's trench coat. 

That must mean the man moved him and gave him his coat. 

That was good. It meant he was probably safe for now. Wilbur needed him, didn't he? Tubbo couldn't really remember at the moment what for, but it did mean he wouldn't just let Tubbo die. 

Fuck, he was tired. Hopefully, he'll fall back asleep soon. 

His head pulsed with a growing ache. Definitely a concussion. Yay. At least It’s not as bad as it was, probably the last of our potion stock.

There's a faint clattering somewhere to his left, and Tubbo frowns lightly, trying to decide what that could be. He doesn't actually want to deal with the answer just yet, so he entertains himself with a quick guessing game. Coins, diamonds, even little mice making their way back to the nest, jaws laden with cheese, climbing over all sorts of rocks for their little-

Rocks. 

Oh. 

The rocks Dream, Tommy, cave in, Wilbur bleeding. 

Tubbo opens his eyes. 

He's lying on his side in a recovery position.

Parallel to layers and layers of collapsed rock and earth. 

The only things that remained of the little campsite were a few torches that burned weakly around the edge. The flickering light was poor and needed to be refilled soon. 

Tubbo only has the attention for the half-lit figure to his left. 

Wilbur Soot leaning over and against the smooth side of what once was the proud cliff edge, now a solid, unmovable boulder. His right hand is clasped tight against his jaw as he takes deep breaths. His beanie held loosely in his left hand.  

A sea of smaller stones lay scattered at his feet. 

Tubbo shudders involuntarily when his danger sweep snags on scratches clawed on the boulder just above Wilbur, little bloody smears inside each groove. 

Tubbo shifts, slowly moving to a stand. 

He needs to check Wilbur over, see what he's done to himself, but he can't help but feel like.

Something was wrong. 

Wilbur whips his head straight towards him. Blood-shot eyes narrow into slits. He starts forward with a lurch. His face twisting into a mockery of his smile. 

"Why the fuck, Tubbo, Tubs, did you not say anything about Dream!" Venom drips from each syllable, laced with so much fury it's breathtaking.

Tubbo stumbles backwards, way too out of it to know what the safest answer to that was. I thought it was-who doesn’t? Why should I-stop, stop yelling!

Prime, get it together, you're fine, you're fine, it's not Pogtopia , some approximation of sound wheezes out of his chest and Tubbo doesn't. This will be different. Work with him.

Maybe Tubbo wasn’t quite yet about that though, because Wilbur was snarling just a breath away from being in Tubbo’s face and they were in a cave, and-

"Well, Tubbo? Do you even have a reason, then?" 

Tubbo forces his swarming head to form thoughts. Come on, come on, answer the man!

"I thought Tommy already told you." Good. Smooth, formal, and talking him back down, Tubbo was also proud of himself. His hands clasp at the small of his back. Tapers down on the sudden panic of seeing Tommy gagging still reaching out for him. How could you miss? You didn’t help him and he’d always help you, failure. Just as bad as-

Wilbur scoffs, nonplussed. He shakes his head slightly (bloodied Tubbo notices  despite himself) and keeps that livid stare boring into Tubbo’s brain. 

"Why would I take that whole story at face value, Dream saved me!" 

Tubbo bites his lip harshly. He goes to try and express just how rude and cruel of a thing that was to say. Tommy was one of the best people Tubbo knew. He wouldn't lie about something like that! He wouldn't. 

"You don’t know him anymore." There's heat behind those words, and Tubbo wasn’t about to hide it. It's the least that Tom’s earned from him.

Wilbur cuts him off curtly, not even noticing. Never give him the time of day, even in this mess, huh?

"For fucks' sake, Tubbo!" He cuts his hand over the top of his palm, "You had the information I needed to- to fuck! You, of all people, should know how important that is!"  It's amazing how he can say such fucking nonsense with a straight face.

"You are not entitled to every detail of my life, Wilbur Soot." The words feel wretched, gritted low and furious.  

It’s apparently enough to warrant derisive laughter.  A glimpse of burning malice and manic eyes. A hand on his shoulder, gliding down to his back. Do you forgive him? Only one way to settle this: violence is the only language people understand, and you can’t stop them even if you tried. 

"Sorry, what are you talking about, Tubbo? Come again, no, really say that louder you, dumb fuck."

He runs a hand through his hair, disbelieving. Tubbo swallows back a curse in kind. Don't be baited .

"Tubbo, Tubbo, listen to me. I don’t give a fuck about all the details of your little life, alright mate. All I care about is what Dream did to Tommy, okay, does that make sense to you now?" 

Tubbo knew this. He knew that it wasn’t new information. He shouldn't be so surprised. He was laying it out and Tubbo already knew all of this. Why did it hurt? That wasn’t fair, you can't be hurt by facts. because you wanted to believe it was different now.

And now its spite leading Tubbo’s inflection when he growls, 

"Us."

"Hmm, cat got your tongue? I can't understand you!"

Even though it's childish, Tubbo dares to draw himself up and shouts.

"Us! What Dream did to both of us!" 

Wilbur stares at him, his expression flashing with many emotions at once. The one he settles on is too complex for Tubbo to even try to decode.

"What did Dream do to you?" He finally asks, completely flat.

Tubbo simply raises an eyebrow. He had already made his point. Wilbur didn’t deserve anything else. 

"Why are we here, Wilbur?" It’s not a question, not really. Strike while the iron is hot and all that

The ground crunches as Wilbur starts to pace, muttering under his breath and shaking his head.

Tubbo leans back, offended. What the fuck No he did not just- don’t let him bully you, I'm right here dickhead. 

On his third pass, Tubbo steps straight in front of Wilbur and feels a sharp zing of excitement when Wilbur stops short, looking vaguely shocked. Looking at him.

"What the fuck do you want, Tubbo?"

Tubbo thinks about this for a moment. He wants Wilbur to tell him what they are doing here, he wants him to sit down and have a smoke just so he will calm down, he wants to make sure he’s not bleeding to death; and he wants to punch him in the face.  He wants a wood-smoked cinnamon hand in his hair, and I love you, Tubbo!

Tubbo offers him a smile, a copycat of Wilbur's own. 

"I want you to apologize," 

Wilbur's face storms over, something bitter coating the anxiety and fury.

"Get the fuck out of my face get the fuck out of my sight, you idiot. You're not getting out of this just because you've had some bad experiences with Dream yourself. After all, this is all your bloody fucking fault. Tommy would still be here if you actually bothered to do something."

Tubbo presses his palms against his eyes, desperately trying to quell the twitchy feeling tingling through his body. The cold stone of the puzzle room's pedestal at least chills the throbbing from all bruises. That's. Technically a good thing. 

He digs in harder. Half wishing the weight would push straight into his brain. He feels sick 

 He knows this sensation and it's going to lead to a full blown mental breakdown if he doesn't get a hold of it soon. 

In, out, inhale, exhale, one sheep, two sheep, three sheep four, now I'm knocking on your door!

Michael's favorite mismash of nursery rhymes coaxes a weak smile. He'd been so happy that he'd remembered them that neither Ranboo or Tubbo had the heart to tell them that wasn't how any of those actually went. 

A lance of heartache runs through him and Tubbo groans, dropping his head into his hands. Ranboo was going to freak out if Tubbo didn't get back soon. He could already hear the worried bitching he'd get for coming home later and then without-

It had taken a while for Tubbo to understand just how broken his communicator was jabbing at the still smashed screen for an embarrassing amount of time before it clicked that it was now a glorified sucky flashlight. He just. Fuck he missed him, soft loving delightful Ranboo. 

It was mocking how easy he could picture it. Ranboo gliding up behind him draping himself against his back quiet vroomp of concern. Whispered hum "Talk to me bee, what's happened?" Claws trailing down his arms and messaging the knots in his shoulder blades. 

Tubbo knew he'd understand why Tubbo had froze. Even then Tubbo didn't even know himself. He always has that sixth sense about him anyway. 

Prime. Tubbo knew that he shouldn't let Wilbur get in his head. 

He knew that. But it was your fault. You know that it is. He looked at you. Was he waiting? Did he expect you to be better then -

Tubbo chokes back a sob. He was so tired. He didn't dare try and picture Tommy, he knows himself well enough to know he's only going to see Tommy livid and betrayed. He closes his eyes, he needs to reset himself before he does something dumb again.

He was fine. Well as fine as he could be.  He wasn’t badly injured, just shaking off after effects…Tubbo raises his hands up to neck and rubs at the skin there, his burned hand twitches sharply with its tremors. Tubbo breathes.

He had supplies, food for another day or two- no more health potions, so he needed to be extra careful . He presses his fingers tighter with his next inhale. The pressure helps ground him.

They did have fishing rod- Do they, you didn’t even bother to check, did you? Can’t trust-

Tubbo changes his mental list to have a question mark instead of a check there. They would need to be on the lookout for ways to hunt- because they were trapped in a cave that might not even have a way out.

Tubbo gasps, trapped Tubbo in a box, what will he do, die and no one will notice, worthless. Hand reached out, help me, I don’t want to die! He-

Tubbo tightens his grip on his throat  till he can’t actually get air out, head swimming, falling out underneath him, no land why are you still here, isn't it about time?

He pulls himself in a tighter curl little light spots flashing behind his eyelids, fuck fuck me stop, get over it you are out you are okay keep going with your list fuckhead,

Tubbo forces his eyes open, half rolling forward on his heels he’s light headed and quickly drops his hands back down. Gratefully sucking deep breaths in till his head is glued back on straight. 

He feels better overall at least. He Idly hopes his neck isn't bruised that had happened once and both Ranboo and Tommy freaked. Tubbo idly smooths the flesh. 

He prepares to go deal with a more relaxed Wilbur. Tubbo was still annoyed, but at the end of the day, it was Tubbo’s fault and he can’t really blame that kind of anger. He was sure that everything was just as stressful for him as it was for Tubbo. Far be it for him to judge coping methods.

He reaches for his bag, unsure of when he even spilled it. There was barely anything in it. This thumb brushes over Raboo’s coin tracing the design, hopefully his husband was okay and-

What the fuck.

Tubbo blinks. That wasn’t right, surely? He eyes the coin again utterly confused. 

It was different. It had to be! The..logo? Inscription? Now showed a man holding a shield. It was warm as well, almost humming really?

Tubbo stares. He hadn’t taken a very good look at the thing when Ranboo handed it to him and he was regretting that now. It was possible he just hadn’t noticed, his mind had been everywhere lately.

He bites his lip, slipping it back into his pocket. If there was magic in this thing, then he trusts Ranboo not to get him killed,  If it did have magic why wouldn't Ranboo just tell him? He vowed to keep a closer eye on it. Just in case. 

There's a click  to his front Tubbo snaps his eyes up instantly grabbing his sword in  hand. 

There’s a bug? Beetle? Hybrid? Watching him, dark blue..shell, over a short squat frame the skin? Exoskeleton? Was just a couple shades lighter. It has a spear held in its Tarsi.

Tubbo clearly has not been paranoid enough. He didn’t even think the cave could be inhabited. It wasn’t a very common thing to be fair, Dream had mentioned that groups of others, whatever you would call this, had shown up, they were small in number and barely worth a footnote   but- but-most left when the wars started. At least that's what Dream said. 

When they stayed they stayed because they had holy land to protect and a God to worship according to Phil who had the chance to meet a couple of groups. Shit.  

The beetle inclines its head and takes a step towards him. Tubbo can hear more clicking behind them. Advance party. 

Fuck no. Not today. Tubbo turns and bolts, praying to Prime above that these beetles couldn’t fly.

Rounding the corner to see Wilbur standing there looking away from the cave in, looking normal looking sane was such a relief. Noting that more of those beetle men were standing next to him, was not.  Shitshit what's happening back him up.

Tubbo sidled to a stop right next to Wilbur's right side, a step behind. Wilbur doesn't look at him, eyes set grimly on the group clicking away with each other, but shifts slightly closer, an apology and a reassurance all in one. 

Tubbo nods in acceptance. This was not the time for petty bullshit. He licks dry lips and waits for Wilbur’s mark. There was no way to run for long, fighting would most likely be a death sentence so that left diplomacy, they could- 

Wilbur gestures to him to come a little closer. Tubbo does instantly, filled with sudden deja vu meeting those sharp calculating eyes. He almost expects to hear the news of what Eret really did to them again. Wilbur keeps himself upright but whispers. 

“They want to take us to their leader, some sort of queen,” 

Tubbo’s mind whirls, they knew common though, they had a chance to talk themselves out of this, maybe they could help with a way out, where they really friendly? The ones Tubbo found didn’t seem to have followed him.

Wilbur continues melodically stiff.

“I did tell them I was with you and they sent a group to bring you back, stay close to me okay, it'll be fine Tubbo, just don’t cause a fuss” He then smiles at Tubbo, glancing down quickly “Think of it as a…really dumb border stop.” Tubbo snorts despite himself. Classic Wilbur.

One beetle makes a come along gesture. They fall in step behind them as they fill out to the front sides and back. Wilbur places a hand on Tubbo’s shoulders. Tubbo flashes him a faint grin, he can’t help it. Tubbo was a sucker for problem solving. More like for Wilbur Soot himself idiot. Tubbo has to agree with that as foolish as it was.

The queen was pretty and flashy. Tubbo couldn't lie. She? Sat idy watching them from the top of her throne, a large crowd of various colors giving them plenty of room to listen in.

The queen leans forward, antena swinging with the movement. 

She? Speaks? Voice rough and hard to understand due to the gritty slow accent. 

“Why…have you broken into, my home?”

Wilbur steps forward sweeping low into a dramatic bow. Tubbo notices with concern that there’s a slight shake in his knees. He’s nervous then. That was actually surprising. Normally Wilbur had impeccable control when acting. 

Tubbo frowns, wishing he had checked him over for injuries. He’d need to account for that if they needed to run or fight. 

“My lady,” he starts loud and bright “We have come bearing gifts!” He sounds certain and Tubbo wonders what Wilbur has in his pack, what he would need to say to back up the lie, they could possibly be able to hype up a map of the overworld, Nether? Did these people know those areas even existed? 

Wilbur stands back up, returning to Tubbo’s side. He’s beaming but there’s a slight stiffness to his jaw. Tubbo nods at him. Game face Wilbur, you've got this.

The queen seems bored . “I know.” She rasps. Wilbur flinches, stealing an unreadable look at Tubbo. “Show me” 

Wilbur dips in head agreement shifts on his feet to hype up the crowd and get rid of excitement that must be flashing through him. Tubbo gets ready to sprout nonsense. 

Wilbur twists to the side, grabbing Tubbo harshly, dragging him to the floor. In the same movement drawing his sword so it rests on Tubbo’s neck. The world comes to a stop and Tubbo can’t think. This doesn't make sense 

What-what hang on, stop what he is doing?

“ Your gift, my majesty,”  Wilbur grins delightedly.

Chapter Text

Tubbo’s mind is nothing but a static shock—skipping, skipping, like a rock over a pond.

Why, why, what did I do? I—again,  again

Wilbur is saying words, or at least logically he is, but the sound is crackling out of an old-time radio. Tubbo needs to tune it in to catch the latest news. He can't, though There’s cold iron on his neck, not heavy enough to cut, not light enough to breathe, and it’s judgment day,

Tubbo wasn’t sure he was enough of a saint to survive that culling 

Tubbo’s mind is nothing but a static shock—skipping, skipping, like a rock over a pond.

He keeps himself perfectly still. Maybe, maybe this was a ruse, another elaborate trick, one of the ones Wilbur liked to concoct in his free time. Please, please, just let it be that.

Tubbo didn’t want to know what a tribe of beetle men would need from a human gift, and whatever it could possibly be, Tubbo wanted nothing to do with it . 

The sword dips down, angling away before Tubbo can seize the opportunity; should he even, what if...

Two black shelled forms slide out of the crowd, and Tubbo binks at them, not quite sure-oh.

Strange limbs, stick like but with serrated claws, latch onto his arms and shoulders, dragging him up with shocking strength. like he was a rag doll. Little pricks of pain encourage Tubbo not to start struggling, he doesn’t want to become Swiss cheese. That would make it hard to, get his mind around the thought.

He's being dragged forward, his feet dragging against the rough stone.He stumbles, trying to get his feet back under him. 

It’s when the clicking and clacking crowd parts out of the way, when they step off the stage, that Tubbo feels a jolt run down his spine. It’s crackling and loud enough to twist the dial, and it’s being doused with ice.

Wilbur wasn’t going to save him.

Tubbo doesn't want to die like this, actually. 

He hears himself whine, digs his feet into the ground, and the room tightens with the squeeze of needles under his skin. Tubbo jerks himself free just enough to look back to see what Wilbur was doing, not that he knew what the point of that would be. 

Wilbur isn't even looking at him; his head is tilted up to meet the queen's gaze, and he’s smiling. bright and pleased. Proud. 

It’s a punch to the gut, a firework to the face, it’s mocking and so, so prepared

Wilbur knew this would happen. 

He wanted it to happen.

Tubbo had known better even! 

The lamb to slaughter cannot escape the pied piper; pay your copper's worth.

The ice sizzles into smoke. He feels feral with the rush of heat filling him. 

Tubbo wishes blood was beading through his stupid fucking teeth out of that wicked, sicking  grin. Or flowing out of his stomach, or even just fucking gone, ripped stight out of  his soul, this is how Tommy was able to kill dream.

He thinks he actually hates him. I loved you!

Tubbo doesn’t fight them when he gets wrestled into a chokehold. 

He doesn’t feel the blood from his new cuts as it soaks into his clothing.

He’s seen what he needed to see, anyway. 

It’s about time.

The static rushes back into his ears as he’s hauled backwards, they have to practically carry him because Tubbo doesn't care anymore. He tossed the wrong set of dice, and now this was his karma, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

If he was going to die, if he was going to be killed, he would make it as difficult for his assailants as he could. But he wasn’t going to fight back. He never fought back, and there’s a bitter taste in his mouth screaming that he shouldn't start now. Fuckyoufuckyou. It would be the best ending to your little book, wouldn't it ? 

Well. Tubbo would deliver. He would throw himself into his role, and then he would die , and it would be over. Can't play with a dead man, can you?

When bright lights center on his chest and those clawed arms start removing his jacket, that’s when he starts to feel something other than the maelstrom covering his senses.

He must make some sort of noise, because the beetle in front of him (wait, where am I? This isn’t a tunnel anymore.) leans backward, and its gray toned shape takes a step backward.

"Do not panic. "I am trying to get you prepped, you will be provided with better clothing more fitting for your new status as a prisoner."

Tubbo stares incomprehensibly, his mind jumping between static and lighting. He's frozen in place. Nothing about that sentence was comforting. Nothing about it made any sort of sense. Why would they keep me? What.. prepped??!

His shirt is striped away and replaced with a black and yellow pajama-like top. A black bottom is folded up beneath them.

It's loose and incredibly soft.

Something I would pick to sleep in myself. 

The lines in the fabric seem to blur. He can't, this wasn't safe he needed- what was his favorite color? Red?

He's directed to lie down after he puts the new clothing on.

He's apparently on some kind of table. When did he-

But Tubbo doesn't move until an arm rests on his chest and gently pushes down. Was it blue? No, that didn't…green? It was green, wasn't it? You're not safe, you know that, right? 

He almost turns to look at Ranboo, even though he's not there. even though he knows he isn't there. 

His lungs seize when they take his shoes and socks, declaring he won't need replacements after this. The fog thickens, and Tubbo can't feel his body; he isn't safe, and he can't let himself die. Tommy would cry.

Tubbo casts his eyes over the room he's in when the beetles start to click and clack amongst themselves. Moving far enough away that he can actually start to breathe again. 

It's wide and deep, and the closer Tubbo peers at the walls, the more his mind seems to stutter back into gear, puzzling through the strange shapes that create them. 

Is that clay? But did they mix them? What kind of methods did they mix them with? 

He reaches out his burned hand and presses it into the wall. At first, it felt like a normal wall, but as he adds his weight to it, there was just enough give to make it squish into his hand. 

Clay then. 

Tubbo blinks at the handprint he left behind. He could imagine little burned lines beneath each indent if he concentrated hard enough.

"Can you look at me, gift?"

Tubbo does. There's nothing else he can do. His nails dig into the flesh of his palms, and against the flash of nothing that understanding brings to him, the beetle seems to nod, studying Tubbo closely. 

"Listen closely, you are special, aren't you?"

Was he? 

"In your blood we have found the mark of our God."

Tubbo flicks his eyes down to his arms, seeing some sort of bandages (vine-like, do they tighten when blood soaks them?)

It sends a chill down his spine. 

How…Who did this..when did this?!

Tubbo snaps his gaze back up when the rest of that sentence actually clicks . 

Uh. What? Come again?

"So we have to change some things about your visit here, don't worry about it though, you won't really feel much of anything, any questions?"

Tubbo blinks, struggling to comprehend,

Really anything that was just said. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind he's dissociating; he's done it enough that he knows this feeling, but the knowledge is fleeting, he can't... think. Can't…keep it.

It's all just cold, cold, cold, and he's raising in the air, unable to touch the ground. 

He needs Tommy . 

But wasn't Tommy dead? Didn't he fall from a great height, doctors unable to put him back together again? Or was he beaten with Jack's candlestick, black and blue, crawling away from some sort of demon dressed in green?

Tubbo can't remember. 

It should be terrifying, and maybe it is. Or maybe it was, maybe-

There's a tap on his cheek. light pinpricks against his face. 

"You're slipping again, look at me, Savior." The beetle's gray shape sharpens enough that Tubbo can actually make him? Out.

He has a funny apron on. Little rocks with eyes and ears—some kind of pet?

Tubbo kind wants to pet one. Would it feel like the wall?

The beetle almost seems to smile. 

"You're going to help us meet him, aren't you?" "I'm so glad you don't have any questions."

Wait. Wait.. Tubbo had so many questions... he wasn't safe, he needed to find a safe place to hide. Who was he meeting now? Savior?! 

The beetle is in front of him— when did that happen?— holding a jar with something amber in it. It slides as he opens the top. 

Tubbo shakes his head, something strong skirting the edges of the mental haze he's drowning in.

"Shhh, shhh, this will help you, change you so you can see his will and guide us in his name, Savior, he'll help you, remake you in our name, and you'll feel so much safer."

… Remake him? Wait, that's... no, no. Not okay.

The beetle grabs his right arm and rips the bandages open with a deft touch.

The blackness pressing on Tubbo's eyes is the only thing that makes him realize he's choking. He can't feel anything but the air around the newly exposed wound. It's shaking he notices, he's shaking . 

Tubbo tries to breathe, but his mind is tripping over itself, unable to connect each thought to an action. 

"This is going over your arms, Soon, it'll grow around you, and it'll hold you tight to itself, like a... hug of some kind." 

The beetle grabs a scoop of the amber liquid, it almost seems to glow. 

He moves to rub it into Tubbo's skin,

And it's like a livewire. 

Wires spark underneath his muscles, and Tubbo jerks his arm straight into a thick wall of bone, and it hurts , but he can't—he can't

He bares his teeth and throws himself forward, out of the reach of the beetle behind him. He twists lightly on his feet, turning to slam a fist into the nearest thing closest to him, sensing they were trying to grab him . 

It does nothing, it does nothing, it always does nothing!

Weight falls over his back, dragging him to the floor, as the beetle he punched shakes it off like a was a breeze, and the gray-shelled one with the funny apron shakes his head slowly, disappointed, and Tubbo snarls, jerks against the limbs that are now pinning him.

He doesn't know if he wants to live or not.

The beetle gets closer, holding up that slime with an ease that speaks to practice.

Tubbo tastes salt on his tongue. 

But he knows he doesn't want to be another pawn. Another fucking tool, for another uncaring group content to make him bend to their will, please please, he's done, he's tapping out!

Despite his frantic struggles, Tubbo's arm is dragged out from beneath him and forced still.

He can't wake up, he isn't having a nightmare. Ranboo won't hold him. Ranboo won't see him ever again!

There's a quick flash of light somewhere behind the gray shelled beetle, but Tubbo can't pause to think about it because there's amber mixing with his flesh and he's crying, desperately sure he'd rather die than whatever this will do to him. 

The liquid hisses and cools the second it hits his skin, sealing nearly instantly. like a shell.

Tubbo stops fighting.

He was right from the start. 

He did know how this was going to end. 

If only he had ever listened to his scars.

Wilbur leans forward on his elbows as he exhales smoke from his lungs. 

He snorts at the sour aftertaste of the cigarette. These beetle people, or as they like to call themselves, the Beltions, definitely needed to work on their taste.

At least he had something after losing the rest of his pack to the fucking cave in.

His fingers grip the railing of the balcony he's on even tighter. It's still a strange texture, no matter how many times he feels it, some sort of mud mixed with clay material. 

Wilbur forces his grip to relax. It wouldn't do to seem all wired up. There are still eyes on him, and if he acts differently than expected, he risks losing everything.

It's a heady rush, and that realization zings through him, leaving him exhaling with a laugh. 

Finally, fucking finally. He was so close that he could almost taste it. like fresh summer air, or the crisp cold of fresh snow. 

It's hard to keep from celebrating early. 

"You look happy." It's sharp, jagged, and clicky. so delightfully grating. He doesn't flinch at the sound, recognizing the brown shelled female named Belltix.

Wilbur turns to his new company, being careful to keep his shoulders loose, and slides his hand down his arm, tapping at his sleeve idly. 

Excited and nervous, respectively. 

The beetle falls for it, her manner softens, head tilted downwards, eyes narrowed even closer together. It was hard to read these guys. K ept Wilbur on his toes for the first day or two , though, Now, he’s found the song and dance that made them sing like humans. 

It was all in the body language, words were nearly useless to them. It probably had something to do with how well they could smell pheromones, allowing them to seem stone faced but truly have a culture based on physical expression. It was a delight to learn how to mimic and twist.  

Wilbur hums lightly, glancing back out towards the cavern view.

"I’m just looking forward to the end of all this, if I can manage to pull all of this off right, I just need to keep my head on straight, you know?"

He’s happy to see her, despite his caution. It was important to always cross your t’s and dot your I’s . Having any sort of ally was a relief, and Belltix was a very good ally.

"Yes..the end of you. The reason for being here." She carefully comes to stand next to him; something is off in her tone and her movement. Something  held back, carefully toned down, but she can’t hide it, wanting to seek you out, but she’s not sad your leaving; that was the point of this. Ah, must be about Tu-

"And your…gift, will it be..with you when you depart?" Belltix looks down, studying her front shell. She won’t look at you, but wanted to ask, she doesn't want you to think she is thinking about this too hard. She acts with overall kindness and willingness to help people, Tubbo looks young, and she cares about his fate.

Wilbur does his best to shrug casually, even as a tight fist grips his chest. 

He forgives himself if his voice is tight as he answers, with a flippant, 

"Oh, you know the rest of the plan." 

After all, words don’t mean half as much as actions, and this was going to be one hell of a sorry. Tubbo was going to understand, he knows the meaning of sacrifice and this isn't even a real one, Wilbur is going to save him, and it’ll prove that he thinks about his brother, and everything will be fine. It would be. 

And then they could go save Tommy.

Belltix seems to pause for a moment, rolling the information around her head, deciding which instrument to play, which one will get the most or least attention.

Personally, Willbur thinks she should go for a viol, but she stumbles on the stage and snags a snare.

"I just-I want—home-just is important for hatchers."

Wilbur taps his arm, gathering his thoughts to himself and deciding that he has nothing to say about that. Of course he agreed, but it had to wait. It had to be in this order of events, Tubbo could tough it out. 

At the lingering silence - she doesn't appreciate your silence, will probably wait for some kind of reply and you need her on your side so you can’t just leave- Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, showing stress, as if your shaking it off your back,  

"It’s just a holding cell, Belltix, He’s handled worse, as you'll see, he's a strong kid."

There’s a soft sigh, a release of breath, -tired, end of the conversion, "not happy, but not pissed enough to do anything about it." As predicted, she pushes herself up and away, but unexpectedly, she turns before she passes the door back into the main nest.

"I wouldn't be… So sure, I don’t like the way our lovely queen was scenting him, I fear she might push things further than they were planned for."

She looks at Wilbur, willing to meet his eyes, wanting him to understand why she’s so worried. 

Wilbur closes his eyes for a quick moment, and is grateful he can still take a drag or two of his smoke. The rush of nicotine lets him think rationally, the math doesn't lie, no queen or king can move things along that fast. Sure, the deadline might be tighter, but even if Tubbo did get studied for an hour or so, it didn’t break anything.

He was still in control here. Everyone was safe. Except for Tommy. But-but he could also fix that.

His headache sharpens.

Belltix frowns at him, a slight subtle movement, -concerned, probably could smell something was wrong with you, nothing that can be done with that, you have more over her then she does you, it’s okay- she says quietly

"I'll see what I can do; look into it, myself"

"Oh-You are free to pass as well."

It was a small kindness, but one Wilbur was..relieved he didn't have to ask for if-  

He could leave now!  

Willbur couldn't stop his grin if he really, really wanted to.

He could go! 

Eagerness nipped at his heels as the stage opened wide and the director called him up to the center.

He was more than ready to play the part of a daring adventurer seeking the truth of his outcasting tonight. 

They always started the same way. Wake up, go downstairs, find the eggs, find the bacon, prep the pancake batter, remember to check the lock on the front door, won’t do to have the places robbed in the night, rush to the eggs, trying not to let them burn, 

They will start laughing and talking to each other at this point, and soon they will come rushing downstairs and start fighting over who gets the first plate of food. They will both smile when they see you waving the smoke away from them. One will hug you, pulling himself close to burrow into your chest, and the other will start trying to help you clear the air by opening a window or turning off the stove.

How do you remember this?

Was it upsetting?

Was it boring? 

Did the push you felt under your ribs cause you to grip them tight by the throat and squeeze until all the childlikeness was drained out of them?

Do you miss it? 

Would you go back? 

Would you change everything at this point? Remove the dragon's head before it has a chance to fester?

Would you?

But you’d try, surely? Aren’t they worthwhile? 

How far can you crush yourself before you aren't yourself?

This won’t do.

You need to cut it closer. 

You have to escape.

That cabin was a death trap, and surely you were good enough then that you won’t have to commend yourself to that fate again?

Then it has to be after you’ve settled, when your skin doesn't tighten around itself like a coffin.

It's sharp, delighted laughter and the flickering of a campfire; ruffled hair lit golden in the sun; calling for bright eyes glowing with the flowers tucked into pockets.

It’s trust, and do you think we can actually win? Whispered voices are looking at you for guidance and advice. 

There are no claws sunk deep into your brain. Smiles aren’t shadowed by lies, and being watched isn't a sign of danger. 

This is where you would stop. This is where you could rewind time to. 

There was something you had to have been able to do to save it and keep it?

Something..Something before, before. 

Another train streaks across, the loud rattling shakes your bench.

It does not stop. 

This station is always on time.

You have another hour to decide what you could change. 

Five trains later, you restart the process from the beginning.

There has to be something.

There was a guard standing in front of the drop-off. Of course, Wilbur expected this, but it was still an annoyance. He casually flicks his hand over his trench coat's pocket, making sure the vial Belltrix gave him is there passively, without it, he wouldn't be able to pass. 

He had shit he needed to do, and if this Beltion threw a fit, he'd probably hurl him into a wall and deal with the aftereffects later. He slides into a longer stride, lifting his form upwards to express his height and letting his annoyance shift his eyes and mouth into busy, tight lines.

If he was lucky, he wouldn't be stopped. Word should have been sent ahead of Wilbur that was passing through and allowed to visit these rooms.

The guard throws his spear in front of him and out to the side, blocking Wilbur’s path .- He looks weary, probably a long shift, not much action down here, eager to please and prove his worth? Or jaded and following orders like a machine, no thoughts of his own?

Either one of those possibilities were pathetic and Wilbur lets that bleed through in his tone as he growls,

“What do you need, I have my permissions in order, I really must get going.”

At the alarmed look the beetle reacts with, Wilbur shakes himself mentally. 

That was probably a bit too harsh, it wasn't his fault he needed to follow protocols, in fact that was a good thing, not every soldier pays attention to the rulebook. He knows that fact pretty well. He just needed to get a move on before anything horrible happens.

“My apologies, Just a bit of a rough day..I.Yeah.” He gives a quick disarming smile, something loosens in his chest when the beetle nods, then reaches his hand out expectantly. 

They stand for a moment before Wilbur scrambles to snag the vail, and hand it over, having had expected an order or request to do so.  T his must be one of those that can’t speak common.

Phil did say most of them don’t actually know it, only the important figures knew common 
The queen was most definitely careful to ensure I only interacted with those ones.

It does beg the question, why would she let me travel by myself?

He resists the urge to check behind himself, if the queen did send someone to stalk along behind him then it wouldn't help to make it clear he was suspicious, with the added benefit of not appearing to be insane if there wasn’t anyone there in the first place. 

The guard inspects the vial, from what Wilbur could remember from Belltrix’s explanation, it was like a perfume, something that he was allowed in the area. 

Without it, he’d be torn apart on sight.

Thinking about that now, he probably should have applied some of it before he actually got here.  Most likely why I got stopped. 

The beetle makes a confused little click, and hands it back to him, then mimes rubbing his arms and chest, before pointing to the drop and making a more determined clack, and retreating back to his post. 

Wilbur rocks forward on his heels, biting his lip to keep from cheering. Finally, finally, so close, so close! I’m coming, I’m coming! 

He twists the top off the vail quickly spilling a little bit over his hands in his impatience. Thankfully he’s not really staying long enough to need the full amount. 

Wilbur douses himself while inspecting the sides of the cavern, pleased to note he could handle climbing back down and up without too much trouble. 

The beetle clicks behind him, But to be honest Wilbur barely hears already starting the climb down into the abyss. Hand over hand, free style, 4/4 perfect tempo

Everything he’s worked for is in here and nothing was going to stop him from fixing everything and everyone. 

When Wilbur finally finds the ancient ruins hes so fucking happy. It’s an addictive feeling, knowing he was right and that Phil was wrong about something. He knows if his father was here he’d tell Wilbur to stop grinning like the cat who got the cream, and Wilbur would laugh and ask him if he was bitter that he was old and losing his mind, then Tommy would jump in with a loud claim that Phil forgot to feed him or something ridiculous in the same vein and Tubbo..

What would Tubbo do? 

He- He doesn’t know.

The headache comes back with a vengeance. 

Wilbur sighs running his hands down his front,  He could find out when he got everything back to the way it should be at the very least. Didn’t you raise him? Why don’t you know?

He shakes his head, water off his back, he needs to restart and get a second chance at everything and he’s gonna get it. This time he won’t ruin everything the second he has it in his hands.

Carefully he walks past tall pale and withered stone, crushed under some sort of..was it a volcano? 

The remaining ash hinted at that. Wilbur hums underneath his breath. The story he read about this place was exciting, the tribe that lived here had just barely escaped, due to the actions of just one rather noble Beetle boy. 

He claimed the ground had bled red with lava. It was truly a wonderful hero’s journey. Maybe if everything went well he'll write a song about it, gift it to the queen, or perhaps Belltrix? She was more helpful to him down here…

Wilbur steps into the main centerpiece of the dead town. 

In the center of a town lay everything Wibur has needed since he first read about it in Phil’s basement. 

A dirty, grimy mirror the size of an oak tree. Wilbur feels a laugh bubble out of his chest in pure ecstasy, He was here. He was here!

“I want to at least try Phil!”

“Huh, Wilbur, what are you, mate there’s no real point, even in Beltion folklore it’s been lost to time”

“But there’s records of people using it! It was real!”

“I suppose? But, How would you even find-they won’t just let you explore for no reason, Will!

Wilbur slides the glowing shard he picked up from the pedestal in what should be known as Tubbo’s puzzle room. Shit. I probably should have at least explained to him what I found, does he like weird and wacky facts or was that Tommy?

He steps forward, frowning at the lack of reaction..what was he missing, any clues around him?

The stories had always said the mirror gleamed and seemed to reflect the light of each soul that had peered into it..and with that layer of grime, no one would be able to see shit. He starts to wipe down and pick at whatever he can with his sleeve and remaining water. This has to work! There was no other option left for him!  

He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t exhilarating. ( Alive, Alive, his hands could feel and he was breathing in dusty ragged air, but it was air and now he gets to find out if his gamble land on a noose or a fortune)

The queen rears back, something in the movement made the soldiers holding his limp body drop him.

Wilbur lands on his knee and braces himself with on hand on the floor. 

The shock he could read on her face was a victory, a quick flash of Serotonin. He grins, so fucking alive, as his blood sang with each droplet dripping to the floor out of his gasping mouth.

“Why..do you seek this?

“It’s complex, my queen, unfortunately I’d bore you with the details. All I need to know is where it is and then I’ll be out of your hair.

“No one who has used it has found what they sought for... the god that has powered it has forsaken his gifts and twisted this object with cruel intent”  

“I can handle it! Look, I can prove it to you, give me a test!”

The shard comes to life in his hand. Glowing brighter and brighter, he’s looking at the sun.

Almost shaky Wilbur slots it in between the Mirrors first two gemstones.

It glows.

There’s a Pop! Then the mirror turns milky, like a fine liquid. 

Slowly, Wilbur taps the screen. It ripples like water.

He steps into the newly made portal.

Back into his own Limbo. 

Time to meet that motherfucker named Ghostburr.

Chapter Text

This was not what Wilbur was expecting. 

He knew his Limbo inside and out. 

Every single fucking brick and stone that built up that train station. He fucking hated that train station. 

So much. 

This was not the same one. 

Wilbur cast his eyes across the railroad tracks. 

His hands clench and unclench by his side. 

The lights were out. Not even the one on the right that always flickers when a train comes by was flashing its mocking gleam.

Since he was alone, Wilbur lets himself pause just a little bit longer, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. Fuck he hated, and detested this hell hole, he was never coming back here after this.

As Wilbur steps across the tracks, knowing from personal experience that only one came by every hour on the hour, never late or early, always the same color, same metal, every single godforsaken time.

It’s frustrating that this place could still affect him after all his efforts to overcome it. 

It’s stupid that each step felt like a weight dragging him to concrete. Grounding him, trapping him in the same place over and over again.

Wilbur sighs. He really was over all the trauma thanks. 

He climbs easily over the slab to shove himself up and over the tracks. 

Each step echoes as he takes it.

Loud enough that his target definitely could hear each footfall and Wilbur was fine with that. 

It was always important to make a distinct impression when going into a business deal of any sort. 

This was one he refused to get anything less than everything he was going to ask for. 

It's only fair since he had to risk Tubbo and after all of this was over and done, he was gonna have to risk his own life to get his little brother back.  

Wasn't that enough to prove he wanted to change? That he's earned it?

It was, wasn't it? 

Wilbur breathes out venting the sudden rush of excitement in his lungs. 

After stepping past his bench without hearing even a sign of someone else around, His finger starts tap-tapping on his pant leg, and he can't quite quell the motion. 

Not that he really bothers to try. There's a rising tide in his body, sick and sweet. 

Where the hell is this motherfucker?

He better fucking be here. 

Wilbur reaches the end of the station without even a hint of another person around. It was empty, still.  

He spins sharply on his heel. 

What the actual hell. 

Ghostburr didn't have to stay here?!

Wilbur's soot was trapped stuck right in the stupid fucking station till he clawed fingerprints into the walls and screamed himself bloody.

And Ghostburr could fucking leave?

Whenever he wanted?

Like it was easy?!

How was that fair?!

The room spins in and Wilbur keeps pacing.  

"Thirteen years, you...Thirteen fucking years, you can't just!-" 

He can hear how raw his own voice sounds, and it's frustrating, even as he raises his hands to cover his ears, trying to block the echoing screech of a whistle blowing. 

Wilbur couldn't fucking believe it. 

Ghostburr wasn't even-

He was supposed to be here. 

He was supposed to explain what was wrong with him. 

He was supposed to fix him. 

He was supposed to get Wilbur his fucking family back. 

It doesn't quite click when Wilbur sees it first. 

He dismisses it as a symptom of his rapid breathing. When losing air, the brain can stop processing things normally. 

But when Wilbur gets himself back under control,- smooth, easygoing, confident-

It doesn't leave. 

Wilbur blinks, thrown off. 

There's..what appears to be a crack six feet in front of him. 

It wasn't even on anything. Just kinda. Floating there.

On the air. 

The back of Wilbur's mind starts to prickle. 

What did they say about a twisted mirror god again? 

Suddenly. It seemed to matter quite a bit. 

The crack widens. 

Wilbur jerks back, mind racing over different ways to escape this limbo that he needs to recall right this second. 

He moves to bolt forward. Maybe towards where he entered, there'll be a way out?

The strain finally becomes too much and little bits start to break away from all around the room, shattering like a picture frame hitting the floor. 

Wilbur throws his hands up over his face with a startled yelp as black fissures spread all across his vision. 

He braces- tight and still, coiled for a fight. 

Nothing happens. 

He picks up the hum of lights switching on. 

Wilbur opens his eyes. 

Ghostburr waves at him from the bench. 

Wilbur feels like a fish caught on a line.

What the fuck just happened. 

You weren’t here a moment ago! 

He struggles to get himself back together as soon as possible before he loses his advantage-but his mind is reeling. 

What just happened-that-

Ghostburr’s head tilted to the side. 

“That was pretty weird for me too!”

Prime. 

Even just his voice sent annoyance skirting down his back Wilbur moves with the feeling shrugging his shoulders to straighten his coat and letting it ride high in his voice, snapping

“What the fuck was that.”

Short, clipped - Intimidating, tall proud, and impressive, pay attention and answer me-

Ghostburr shrinks back, - nervous, unsure, alarmed-

Good. 

Wilbur could use that to regain his own footing, turn the tables back in his favor, and hopefully get some godforsaken explanations. 

How the fuck did this shadow ever replace me?

Willbur keeps his stare straight on the shade -unyielding 

“I-Uh,-well you know, I was just- there and now I’m, um. You’re Wilbur aren’t you?”

Ghostburr shifts forward trying to get a better look at Wilbur. 

It's unsettling at its very best. 

Keep him on track. Looks like he's the kind to get easily distracted.

"Yeah, yeah it's me, king. Listen up, what just fucking happened man?”

Ghostburr lifts one shoulder up in an uncertain shrug. His smile falters but he tries valiantly to plaster it back on.

“I-uh I don’t know! This-doesn’t feel right…I. Well if you knew...but didn’t you?

I thought..”

Wilbur bites his lip to keep from snapping at the shade to finish his thought when it trails off to stare off at the train tracks. 

But Prime.

It was difficult

He was so close, he couldn't lose now, not to some stupid mirror god's bloody tricks!

Each second they weren’t figuring out what just happened and what made the shadow so inhumanly perfect was another second Tommy was with Dream, and Tubbo was with the Beatles.

They needed to move.

But Wilbur wasn’t a bully. Impatient, maybe sometimes, but…

He wasn’t Schlatt

“I then went to the bench..ah there was a light? I think?”

There was no point in snapping. People worked better when they liked you. Shouting would just scare him and make this longer, not to mention less likely to help Wilbur when he could finally get to the reason he was here.

It wasn’t a battle.

“I-Yeah. I don’t really know!” -Bright smile, slight chuckle, still nervous but mostly embarrassed- Trying to play it off like it’s some kind of joke?

He wasn’t Schlatt.

Prime.

But there was no point. Ghostburr read honestly and continuing to ask him about..the fissure was just a waste of precious time. best to get out of here as soon as possible. 

Time to switch gears . 

Wilbur shifts his weight onto his heels leaning slightly backward while putting his hands into his front coat pocket. 

The picture of innocence. 

“Right. Okay. Great! That’s fine. Let’s hope it’s nothing that important than king. 

I really, really don’t want to deal with any more bullshit than I’ve already had to this week” - Light, tired, slight hint of an apology- see? I didn’t mean to snap it’s just the stress-

Ghostburr takes it hook line and sinker tension sinking out of his body as he nods along with Wilbur’s words.

“Oh! That sounds- it’s okay we all have bad days.”  

“Let’s talk then big man, see if you can help me.”

“Oh! Do you want my help? I- I’ll do my best then!”

Wilbur grins that tight grip under his ribs lessening its hold just a bit- just enough to actually breathe.  One step closer .

Guess who had the upper hand now ghosty motherfucker?

Ghostburr leads Wilbur to a closed-off section of the train station.

Not that he needed to, the layout was basically etched underneath Wilbur's feet. 

Ghostburr lifts one hand up to tug at his sweater- still a little nervous, that's fair- turning to face him. 

"We don't. Err I don't, anyway, have any chairs. Hopefully, the floor isn't too rough for you?"

Wilbur's careful to match his energy; he doesn't want to come on too strong, not really. 

There's a familiar buzz growing replacing the frustration at having so many delays to get to this moment.

This careful game about to be played between the two of them, all cards down on the table,

This is when everything would matter. He could feel it, finally finally

What Ghostburr had to say would either fix everything or prove that the shade was as useless as he looked-That Wilbur was simply a lost cause-

Phil had always said he was a bit of a gambler.

Wilbur settles back into skin letting his face twitch up in a smile as he eases down onto the concrete.

Time to make some real plays.

“Yeah, yeah king, I remember from my time here myself” - relatable and a reminder that you’ve lived this before, a subtle hint to the first and last time you’ve seen each other, kinda risky but it’s important he remembers what your willing to do for the chance to live again-

Ghostbur for his part only really kinda flinches at the hidden jab, a half-aborted movement before he nods with an uncomfortable chuckle shifting restlessly.

“Ha. that. Yup. I-” He blows out a breath from his nose. Despite the frown struggling to break out of his little happy haze of an expression, Ghostburr is able to put together a real response. 

“Are- Nevermind, just um what’s wrong? How can I help?’

How can I get rid of you, what can I possibly offer someone like you that you can't deal with yourself? 

Wilbur reads the subtext in the lining of Ghostburr’s hesitation and stuttering body language easily.

But there’s something underneath it shimmering just out of reach that Wilbur needs to understand before he moves the game forward. 

The first thing he thought of to say to me was something to do with are, clearly a question... But he didn’t press it either now or when we greeted each other..cowardly or is it just that he didn't mean to ask?

If the latter's the case, then something recent sparked it. 

What about my sentence brings up anything important enough to be blurted out so carelessly? Brings up the switch,  ..ah? Could it be that he wanted to ask- Are things going alright up at the surface?

Probe and test it, he was close with Tommy. 

For some reason.

He smiles faintly, dropping his eyes down to study the floor, giving Ghostburr a break from eye contact and sinking down lower to appear smaller, kinder. - See? Just lost in thought  now.

“Argh, you sound just like Tommy! That silly little way he demands to help even when he’s safer on the sidelines.”

Nevermind that you would hardly call Ghostburr’s request as a demand.

That little detail will be passed over in favor of-

“T-Tommy? Did something happen? Is he..safe?” Ghostburr leans forward, eyes bright with alarm.

-finding out his well-being.

Well. 

That was quick.

At least he cared about Tommy. 

That was always a good thing.

It stings a bit. 

The pure concern in the shade’s expression, -searching look, hands into little fists-.

It probably wouldn't be a stretch to think that he’s worried that Wilbur himself did something to Tommy.

Wouldn't be the first time, would it?

The worst part was the lingering affection in Tommy’s voice when he talked about the ghost.

Fuck. 

Wilbur digs his fingers into the tender skin just above his ankle as subtly as he can.

Tommy, that's not me!

Shouldn't have brought the kid up. Play it off easy, might help if you don’t confirm or deny, possibly a bit easier to get his help if he thinks he’s also helping Tommy,

Wait.. he actually was, Wilbur was going to go save him from Dream!

“He’s…”

His throat tightens around the words he wants to say next, suddenly unsure.

What was Tommy’s status?

Was he even alive?

Tubbo’s sharp dead-eyed expression springs to mind.

“Us! What Dream did to both of us!”

Some sort of tension Wilbur couldn't read nestled deep in each syllable.

Wilbur swears internally.

What was Dream capable of?

There’s something else tugging at his chest.

Sharp, persistent, and lingering. But-

Tommy and Tubbo would be fine.

Wilbur was on his way.

He doesn’t want to tell Ghostbur.

“He’s doing okay, Just a little stressed I guess. Doing my best for him, where I can you know?”

Thankfully Ghostburr leans back fidgeting with his fingers with a small nod. 

Too easy to assure. The shadow just returns to that little smile with a hum. 

Simply not realizing-not even thinking of the possibility-

How was this supposed to be a part of him?

There’s a creak somewhere behind the two of them. 

That familiar sound clocks a half-remembered haze of sitting cross-legged as the old vent threatened to break just above him.

Judging from the lack of reaction Ghostburr is used to it as well at this point.

“Thank you for watching after Tommy, Wilbur.”

“I mean he’s my little brother king, I’d do anything to keep him safe.”

Ghostburr nods idly again looking into the distance.

He’s holding back something, but Wilbur could make an educated guess as to what it was. 

Neither of them wanted to talk about it.

Wilbur shrugs the weight off his shoulder blades.

He had enough information that he knew how to ensure agreement.

Easily distracted, most likely due to being in his head a lot, naive and earnest.

Simply ask and he’ll probably answer straight up. Can’t think of a reason not to be honest.

“I need to know Ghostbur,”

It’s surprisingly hard to keep the bitterness from his tone. 

Friendly Wilbur Friendly.

Remember who you're doing this for.

Last chance 

“What, No why,”

Ghostburr titles his head to the side watching him without a word. 

“Why does everyone?”

Wilbur sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

Can’t do anything without getting people hurt,

I didn’t mean for anything thing bad to happen

Expect-

Ghostburr’s eyes widen in surprise, eyes flickering to just over the top of Wilbur’s shoulders, uncomfortably confused.

“Why does everyone-”

Just add two more words, Wilbur, come on you can do it.

Last chance, no more redos after this, thought you were a gambler? 

A leader?

Wilbur stares at the floor again.

He’s not gonna be able to hide anything he feels about this and it’s gonna be clear enough in his voice.

No reason to see it in his eyes. 

He gives himself enough of a break to pull his shoulders in tight.

He moves a little grainy ball of grit and stone with a forefinger. 

Up and down. You led a rebellion; you can manage this. Rip it off, band-aid. 

“Why does everyone hate me and- how can I d-o right by every-everyone?”

Why do they always want you instead of me ?

What was the point of coming back to life if I’m still as alone as when I was here?

He waits for his shadow. Waits for his payoff. Whatever form it takes. 

“Wil-bur, I-some-thing is- wrong-”

Alarm

Wilbur snaps his head up already jerking, crawling, backward on pure instinct, because-

That wasn’t right.

People don’t sound like that. People don’t sound like glitching grinding gears. 

Wilbur gasps out loud. He can't- what was he seeing?

Ghostburr was in patches, little and large sections detailed in lines as if he was nothing more than a hologram losing pixels.

His eyes are sparked with dots of Terror.

Wilbur’s skin prickles behind him. There’s another crack and Wilbur realizes 

You're inside a god’s domain, did you forget? On false step.

He cranes his head up to see that the ceiling is full of black little holes each pulling into one another and forming bigger chains.

Ghostburr reaches his shattering and restructuring hand out to him.

“W-ha-t’s happ-en-ing?”

Wilbur can’t stop staring

There’s another moment, where Wilbur takes in air, about to say something, anything, something to be useful -

Ghostburr breaks apart skittering into light and particles up towards the blacked ceiling above them.

“Wait, Hold!-”

The ground disappears underneath him.

He slams into dark, dark, dark, shoving himself back up as quickly as possible.  

For a moment he could mistake the figure in front of him for Ghostburr himself, it has his sweater and complexion and Wilbur jolts forward questions on the tip of his tongue, but up close he sees, 

White eyes, twisted smirking face a mockery of Wilbur’s own taunting smirk, 

Something inherently wrong in the body, the pure look, put together, crafted fake.

Off, off, off.

Wrong.

That’s not Ghostburr,

That’s not Ghostburr...

Wilbur halts in his tracks. 

“Welcome to your reflection Wilbur Soot.”

Wilbur recoils back sharply, breath caught in his throat. 

As he completes the movement the void softens underneath his feet, grass rippling out from the edges and swelling up from underneath him, a bright blue sky flipping on with a notable click above Wilbur.

The peaceful atmosphere is a stark contrast to the gray-toned figure watching him unwavering, smile fixed on tight. 

“What?” He hears himself speak and there’s no reaction in the other’s body, not even a subtle movement, like Wilbur may as well not have spoken at all, as if he wasn’t even here.

It steps forward pushing closer and closer taking up any available space.

Wilbur shakes his head, struggling to comprehend what he's seeing.

There’s nothing to read, no cards to stack-

What. what-is-you- 

This isn’t Ghostburr.

There’s only one other possibility.

“Are you-” - slight waver nervous, weak you're losing ground fast here, gotta make up the difference, try again-

Straighten out your back, lift your head up, and let your hands rest straight at your sides confident but with a neutral tone. 

  “Hello, You're that mirror god I've read so much about I presume? I have a few questions I think the two of us should discuss before we continue on with this particular situation” 

Even, an unaffected tone, slight lean back with a smooth pleasant smile-friendly but not weak.

Much better. 

The thing tilts its head to the side, a wordless little hum.

“Ah, Wilbur Soot, your formalities aren’t going to be what gets you out of here,

Let's not waste your time, you're on a schedule are you not? 

If you're so impatient then you don't need a rundown yes?

The quick-witted thing you are?”

Its fucking voice raised goosebumps all along Wilbur’s arms, that melodic hypnotizing accent, -fuck- this was what he sounded like when right before he won, closed a favorable deal, fished out a royal flush. 

There was no reason for it aside from throwing Wilbur off and damn him it was working.

“Let us begin-”

 His heart was racing underneath his ribs. 

Danger danger wrong wrong.

“No, let me ask just one thing!”

It was a risk telling this beast just how lost Wilbur was, but he needed something, anything to prepare himself.  

The benefits outweigh the risk. 

Silence fills the air as the god debates his request, unblinking. unbreathing.

Willbur fingers ache with the urge to grab at the fabric on his sides. 

It smiles.

“No. Most of your victims didn't have a forewarning, now did they Wilbur Soot?”

Victims??

Wilbur feels that additive rush and welcomes it, letting that flash of offense spark off in his body and voice

“I haven’t-! I don't make victims!”

The ghost just laughs and steps to the side revealing a campfire and ignoring Wilbur completely.

Smug condensation drips off in waves with that causal expression, and yes it’s bait but Wilbur still finds himself moving forward and raising his voice

“I don’t hurt people just because I want to hurt them!”

His headache flares back up with a vengeance.

“No, Wilbur, I just wanted to know is all.”

Fuck. Christ. Not the point! He didn’t mean to...Ranboo wasn't his victim of all things... Maybe of circumstance but-

The mirror god chuckles low and deep in his chest.

“Isn’t he? One of your many?”

It waves a hand carelessly.

The campfire lights up the second the motion ends.

Wilbur’s legs abruptly give out as a flash of vertigo hits him, unable to move fast enough to catch himself has him tasting grass, and it’s infuriating 

“What-what the fuck did you just do?!”

Then there’s laughter and it's familiar in all the best ways.

“Wilbur? What the hell are you fucking doing over there?”

Tommy Tommy Tommy calls

Alive and Happy and- 

He sounds young.

Campfire in a grassy meadow,

When would you reset your life?

Wilbur shoves himself up, horror washing over his skin. 

Realization swarmed in his chest.

Oh, fuck no.

Nonono.

The mirror god laughs at him.

“Have fun with your newly claimed independence Wilbur Soot.

Maybe this time you’ll make your declaration a bit more professional?” 

The god disappears in the next breath right as a messy mop of blonde hair steps out of the tree line.

“Will! Come on! We gotta go and fucking par-tay!”

He reaches his hand out.

Smile bright and unshadowed.  

It's been days. 

Days of running around with these versions of the founders of l'manberg. 

Days of

"What part are we gonna work on today, Will?"

"Dad! Come look at what I found!"

"Fucking-fuck it! I'm just gonna eat this mud! By the handfuls!"

Wilbur causally snags Tommy's shirt as he walks by tugging him up and away from the mud pit he was trying to… eat? If he just heard right?

“No! Wilby! Let me exercise my independence!”

“Great Toms, let me exercise mine by telling you no absolutely not”

“Wilbur!”

Something was very wrong with that child. 

Warmth curls up from Wilbur’s chest and it’s reflected back in Tommy’s eyes even as he swears up and down that Wilbur was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

It’s so easy, it’s so nice.

This is what Wilbur was fighting for! 

He watches Tommy dart away- eye’s bright and narrowed, eye's flashing across the camp- he’s likely looking for Tubbo so he can complain over how mean Wilbur was-   

And clearly that God knew it. 

Wilbur runs his hand over his hair lightly tugging on ends now that he was alone.

He’s being taunted.

Mocked. A showcase of everything he’s wanted since his death. 

Soon Schlatt would arrive and all hell would start to break loose and Wilbur-

He has a plan ready to put in motion.

Has for many years now.

What could you do differently?

He has a whole list of answers to that, coaxed out from rough stone and blurring lights passing by a wasted corpse.

The most important thing he needed to solve was staying in power over his symphony, the original artist always had the best sway over the song and Wilbur could keep it from rotting again. If he could just rule without question…

The problem is, Wilbur had already agreed to an election, he’d overheard Tommy and Tubbo mocking Eret’s monarchy by the campfire the other night.

 He’d get so many raised eyebrows backing out of that now.

So he just needed to keep Schallt from running!

Easy enough right?

It would be worthwhile to find a reason to brand the man as a felon.

It wouldn't be terribly hard, and if needed, Wilbur could simply fake some documents, and falsify some reports. 

Otherwise, he could just ban the man from even entering?

Make up some story about how Schallt worked with Dream... Tommy would believe him and if Tommy believed him then the rest of the group would. 

Anything to keep Schallt from hurting Wilbur’s people again.

Then on the other hand..was that even the point of the..what was it called?

A trial of some kind? It was supposed to be testing for something.. probably some kind of personal flaw if the books were accurate. 

Was he supposed to just let everything happen just as it did last time?

Wilbur snorts at the thought. Whatever issue the mirror thought he had with power was already handled. 

Wilbur would do better in this simulation. 

He was better now, maybe not perfect but..the kind of traps he fell into last time was beyond him now.

Tommy howls in delight somewhere to his right behind the bark of an oak. Tubbo’s voice rises up in sharp stuttering breaths nearby, trying to hold back laughter. 

 -Tommy holding up his stained hand “Could you believe what he told me Tubbo? ME?-

Wilbur smooths out the creases in his shirt before starting to make his way over to where the children were bickering.

There were a bunch of important reasons Wilbur could hide behind if he needed to, move this, I need one of you to find out about that...as the leader, he had so many spare tasks to hand out.

It would be believable that he sought out able-bodied teens for any of them.

But he really just wants to see them.

Wilbur could admit that-even just to himself.

It was a little laughable the pull everyone had on him here.

Like a magnet pulled along by an invisible force, Wilbur ducks underneath the limbs of the oak, he lingers, catching sight of Tubbo and Tommy wrestling on the ground just in front of him. 

(It never failed to send a jolt down his spine seeing Tubbo without his scars-so much lighter and brighter)

Wilbur carefully places his hands on his hips, sliding annoyance and disapproval across his facial features- while allowing the fondness underneath his ribs to bleed into his eyes. The perfect setup. He looks like an idiot with leaves in his hair.

"Tommy…what lies are you putting in Tubbo's head now?"

Tommy instantly looks up and bursts into fits of laughter, rolling himself off of Tubbo and staggering up to his knees to peer at Wilbur. 

"Will-bur your fuck-fucking face, oh my go-d"

Wilbur grins not even thinking about it as he lifts his head up just a little higher, so the tip of the branch tickles just shy of his neck and forehead. The shadow that falls over his eyes has him blinking rapidly. 

"What's wrong with my face? What-Tommy, have you seen your face?"

Tubbo presses his hand against his face to muffle his chuckling.

That wouldn't do at all. 

Wilbur pitches his voice higher, putting on a mockery of Tommy’s accent.

"Mimimi I'm Tommy init! Anyone who doesn't look like a carbon copy of my stunning visage is a loser!”

“HA! See? I am the most good-looking man on this whole planet!”

That smile, holy shit- it’s been such a long time since Wilbur’s seen his little brother lit up like this. He almost gets close enough to ruffle the boy’s hair into a mess.

Almost.

There’s that feeling again, that sharp pull- he has to keep his moment going. Keep them happy.

That was the first thing you’d change.

“I don’t think I’d go as far to say that Tommy…”

Tommy gasps in shock throwing his hand up at his chest fingers spread wide.

“How-I look handsome! Right Tubbo? Right?!”

Tubbo leans back on his heels clearly struggling to keep an even expression. His eyes gleamed with mirth. 

Tommy turns to face Tubbo with wide eyes playing up his hurt at his friend’s silence.

“What?? No-no you’d marry me if I asked you to!”

That does the trick, Tubbo starts to crackle little sharp breaths dripping curling tones of shock and bemusement. 

“No! Never! I-why would you even- sa-y that Tommy??” 

“Uh, Tubbo. I speak the truth? Always? It’s kinda important to my care-ah-ter,”

Those electric eyes flash back to Wilbur- Keeps looking back at you, and has a tendency to follow you around, did that last time as well right? Loves you, trusts you-

“You! Tell Tubbo he’s gonna marry me and you’ll be the best man!”

He points a finger already accusing expecting resistance.

Wilbur snorts more than willing to play along, the sun was warm, and the air was fresh, and he felt calm and could breathe- He opens his mouth drawing air to reply that he would, in fact, be the best man and he’d expect payment in the form of choosing what they would wear- something silly and fun-

But Tubbo elbows Tommy in the ribs with just a bit too much energy. 

“OW! Tubbo!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Tommy just rolls his eyes dismissively.

“Why’d you even do that?”

Tubbo flicks his gaze down then back to Tommy’s and mutters something Wilbur can’t hear. 

It’s weird he only did that kind of thing after the festival, What was Tubbo being shy for? Little sparks pop like a tick as he studies the kid. His skin tightens.

-Off off off something wasn’t right-

Nothing comes to mind no idea of what Tubbo was thinking or feeling, 

Wilbur steps out of the tree’s shadow trying to get a better look at Tubbo’s face to get a more personal look at the expression. 

Tubbo wasn’t supposed to be guarded yet, this was a reset and Wilbur had done nothing wrong!

That- if that’s what this was that wasn’t fair!

“Tubbo?” He calls actively, trying to pitch his voice softer and kinder; he ignores the way Tommy looks at him, confusion flaring off in the rushed movement he makes to give Wilbur space.

Tommy never was good at reading people.

Tubbo glances up at him. He takes a half step back raising his unburnt hand up to brush through his hair. Scarless. 

“Will? Sorry I was just- Right! Uh-did you need anything from us, sir?”

It doesn’t help, he still can’t- Why did Tubbo step back? Was Wilbur too close? Did he get scared? They were close enough relationship-wise that Wilbur should be able to be in his personal space- Was he hurting?? Why sir?? Did he think Wilbur needed that?

Something was wrong and Wilbur refused to do nothing about this, he had to do better! No no no, He wouldn’t hurt them again!

Roll it back to the basics of reading people start from the top and relax. Get some more information and find the root.

“Hm? No- you guys did great in your last mission you can have a break- but while I’m here I might as well ask, -Don’t come on too strong, widen your range, put less of your focus on Tubbo, deflect onto Tommy as well-

“Did you boys sleep well? Got enough to eat and drink? I know we just came out of that war but we should be getting more supplies now if I remember right?”

It was a bit pathetic that it was as hard as it was to keep his tone even and only slightly interested.

Stupid and dangerous really but he wants to reach out and pull Tubbo close and check him over himself.

The risk would outweigh the reward though, so he doesn’t dare.

Can’t fuck this up .

He can't tear his eyes away from where he knows scars will bloom out from Tubbo's chest and bleed into his neck. 

Did those scars burn?

He never asked...

"Uh. Yeah. We've had enough, it's been getting better on that front..er."

Tubbo frowns, shifting lightly.  

Something softens in his steady eyes.

“You okay Will?”

Wilbur stares. It’s so- so- that tone! 

He-he can’t pin this down.

-He’s pulled back but he’s still watching you, even in expression and he sounds worried, shoulders straight, he’s… he looks fine. Healthy even-

So why does it feel like something was about to snap?

Nothing comes to mind; no answer jumps out.

Something had to be wrong.

This wasn’t right.

A test?

Tommy knocks his shoulders into him.

Bright warm points of contact and it freezes like ice down his back.

“Earth to Wilbur?”

His voice is distant despite how close he stands to Wilbur.

- Sword sticking out of his ribs dripping blood on the concrete he was laughing right before- now just a body just a body that you led him, you led them here!

“It was never meant to be!”

“Willllbuuurr?”

-Head tilted back to-to get a better look at you? Brow pinched means. It means-

He wasn’t dead.

Neither of them are dead.

Wilbur should take his leave.

“Oh yeah. Just thinking, just thinking, you know how it is boys.”

Tommy huffs reaching his hand to rest it on his shoulder. 

It’s warm and light and weighted with affection.

Wilbur has to force himself not to flinch. 

Tommy grabs his shirt with a tight grip, fingers digging hard into his flesh.

“Stop! Just for once can you stop man! We don’t need to do this! Please!”

“Are you sure, Wilby? You’ve gotten all..icky n pale and shit.”

“Stop it.”

Too thin Wilbur no one’s gonna listen to  that.

But but-

Tight tight tight his chest his lungs can’t suck in air, too much blood it can’t clot, and there’s too much metal.

“Huh?”

Tubbo makes a soft noise, moving behind him. 

Danger Danger Danger.

His body tenses despite himself, steadfastly he forces the dread down and keeps his eyes on the horizon not looking at either of his brothers.

-Say you feel sick, must have been a bad chicken or something, just get out of here! Before the situation worsens and you lose!

“Do you need to lie down for a bit, Wilbur?” Tubbo sounds so, so painfully open. Vulnerable. Bright and young. 

He’s already died once.

This didn’t add up; Tubbo wasn't ever this..open. 

Was he?

“You could have saved me…but you chose not to.”

“You can knock it off now you’ve made your point!”

Tubbo makes a pained noise and leans in close enough that Wilbur can feel the heat from his body through his clothing- then he’s draping himself against Wilbur’s back.

The contact actually burns and burns, sinking in like a weight. 

But it confirms everything.

Fuck. He’s gonna be sick.

How dare you?!

“Wilbur? What point am I trying to make? You're worrying me are-are you even talking to me?”

This was just cruel and unneeded, a cheap jab. 

And it’s working.

Motherfucking asshole!

Wilbur is rooted to spot- unmoving even as his arms ache to swing around Tommy’s shoulders, drag him close and his legs yearn to twist Tubbo around, bury his head into that mess of brown fluff.

It won’t happen. He won’t be tricked. 

He knows them, he knows them!

He won’t hurt them.

Even when it’s not really his family.

Something was wrong and Wilbur just put the pieces back in the box.

There’s a warm glow of pride bubbling in his chest, utterly relieved that he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.

He knows what he’s doing! 

An absolute king!

-Draw the truth out, say something to pull him out of its little damm hiding place, knows you know right now it’s just having fun, you need to figure out who exactly this is stemming from, light and airy, passive really. Needle into his efforts.

“You're just taking the piss at this point” 

Tommy steps forward like he’s planning on giving him a hug like he's intending on touching him , and that's all the proof needed.

Wilbur moves his hand up and shoves the kid away by his forehead, flicking his eyes down to watch the way he stumbles back and trips with a swear.

For just a moment he looks up at Wilbur with hurt face twisting with pain and shock

Wilbur scoffs at him, letting his face fade into smug satisfaction.

 “Just drop the act, I caught on, you pussy bitch”

The weight leaves his back.

Tommy smirks, eyes bleeding white. He rolls over and pushes himself up, skin melting gray and fully ashen by the time he stands straight.

The blatant display of otherworldliness is an insult and an attempt to humble Wilbur. 

Chips down on red, dealer, bet on the fact God knew it would only fire him up, please.

But he’s ready for the pretentious asshole this time. 

He’s been waiting.

-This is a bit more of a challenge than Ghostburr, you need to control yourself perfectly and be adaptable to whatever moods it presents, remember, you need to get out of here, don’t forget-

“Wonderful afternoon isn't it Wilbur Soot, did you need me?”

Ah. A formally polite start to this new game? 

Well sarcastically polite. 

Wonderful that was Wilbur's wheelhouse. 

-You started this new land with a warning that you're in some sort of trial, which would then stand to reason this is the first one. Seeing as you caught the trick-the motherfucking cruel trick, that stands to reason you've won!

But it's not over yet. 

You've two if this follows the typical pattern to go and no time for them.

Not if you can afford to shave some off. 

You've got leverage here, be polite but firm-

Wilbur smiles back at the god letting his offense take the backseat, not completely gone, no, he needs that to simmer but slides back into the same causal manner he's being taunted with. 

"It's been quite an afternoon at that, tell me what did you do to my brothers?"

- Could of had a better command of your word choice but wonderful delivery-

The mirror God raises an eyebrow at that but it's the only noticeable physical reaction. His happy little smile stays transfixed.

Voice smooth as butter with its melody as with its responding tune,

"Ahh yes. Granting your little wish, was it everything you ever wanted? "

Wilbur resists the urge to bare his teeth and swear, instead he breathes in an incredulous laugh.

- You need to be properly annoyed make it clear you won't take any bullshit but you need to toe the line as well…push a bit with a fair reason for your anger, and feel it out-

“What? My little wish? You think I wanted them to start-start what? Playing house? That’s not how either of them show affection, I don’t need you to infect them or whatever you call what you did.” 

Wilbur crosses his arms over his chest caging in a thrum of something strong and painful hiding just underneath his ribs- he didn’t have time to think- at least the action would help him seem more honest.

He really needed to get some sort of painkiller for his fucking headache the constant back-and-forth waves were going to end up killing him. 

Fucking hell.

The mirror God hums with derision something cruel sparking in the depths of those vacant eyes. A smile twitches over his face.

“Is that what you really think? Then tell me, when did I…infect their actions? When did I make your family love you again? ”

-Baiting he’s baiting you, calm down calm down keep your head on straight..it was fine it was fine- His family already loved him! It was a matter of trust, redemption! Not a question of love! Not his little brothers! Not sunshine laughter and shaky hands tugging on his sleep shirt!

“If someone can’t forgive you then..maybe it’s best for you to just let them move on without you mate.” 

Crows must have been laughing at him, at the way he couldn't even look, admit, with those whirling sirens blaring warnings stuck in his mind like a disease. 

Don't say goodbye... It’s been thirteen fucking years!

“You want a list of ways? You-you! Treating them like children! Both of them had already been killed at that point! They would never be that bloody fucking open!”

Wilbur throws his hands up with pent-up fury stepping closer to the ghost- shade motherfucking asshole thinks he’s better than-

Head on straight! When did you get so bad at this?!

“You have no idea when” The God rumbles amusement dripping off of every inch every heartbeat.

“It doesn’t matter-I”

The air freezes in his lungs, sound choked off into a gasp he won’t, his mouth won’t open, he can’t breathe-!

Waitwaitwaitwhatnono,

“Shut up and listen for once Soot I’ll only say this once I don’t have enough time to waste on someone as disappointing as you.”

Wilbur sinks to his knees, right hand balled into a fist and curled into the hollow of his throat, pressing into where there feels like a living blockage sealing off the lifeblood just below- How in prime’s name was he supposed to listen! Why should he?!

“You're so deep in this little fantasy land you live in, this pathetic self-denial that makes you so weak you can’t even tell the exact moment the people closest to you start playing along like your perfect little puppets.”

Fuck you fuck you fuck you let me alone!

White eyes claw out a hold on his pulse as it stutters-ash and smoke fills his nose and Wilbur gags on the scent hunching over because there’s nowhere for it to go!

“I just gave you everything you want from them. From everyone in your little overworld, The whole reason you even came to me…I can’t fix someone so out of touch so fickle as you just keep proving to be. 

Are you here to fix your family or for the ability to say I tried at the next funeral? 

That black guilt isn’t going to lift until you let yourself view people outside of idealism.”

Wilbur shakes his head pulling lightly at his throat and is slightly surprised when the god rolls his eyes and then his mouth opens and air rushes in and it’s amazing but but but-

“I-I knew you changed them- I pp-aseed!”

The god barks a laugh.

“You want a little drawing board? I was only watching up until you started having a panic attack over Tubbo being vaguely concerned about your actions. 

Nothing was wrong until then! Why then dear Soot did you feel so out of place? 

Can’t stand being wanted again?”

His stance turns predatory, a marksman.

“Or was it because you can’t remember how they used to act before you cut them down?”

Wilbur bares his teeth livid and hurt and- spiteful so fucking spiteful.

You don’t know anything!

“You don’t fucking scare me.”

A flash of a grin.

“And you think you want something already withered.”

Wilbur gathers himself and forces his legs to lock, so he can stand without shaking.

There’s slight gray around the corners of his vision- and his hands are shaking gripping tight into his coat.

“You don’t know anything about me, just shut up! Fuck off!”

The mirror god shakes his head and sighs.

“You are such a waste of my skills”

There’s a dismissal in the exhale that Wilbur isn’t ready to heed.

“Wait dickhead! I’m not done with you!”

“What could you possibly want now”

Wilbur takes in a breath more mostly to stall for time... What does he even want?

I want to make it out of here as soon as possible...I need to save my brothers, did the books say time was frozen out here or was it the same? 

“Tell me one thing at least if you're going to bother showing up at all.”

He ignores the look of amused disbelief he gets in return for that..stretch of the truth but he chooses to remain quiet and let Wilbur finish his request. 

Which most likely a prelude to telling him to fuck off but whatever.

“How much time has passed in the overworld?”

The sprite rises on finger up to his chin as if thinking deeply about the question.

It’s still an attempt to piss Wilbur off, a needling jab showing how powerless and how unaware he is-and it’s still fucking infuriating-little spikes digging into his spine-

The smug prick knew it too. 

There’s a bored sigh. 

“Don’t act like you want to leave your playhouse Wilbur Soot, we both know you care more about those little fakes than those trauma-riddled teenagers you're running from.”

Wilbur digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palms letting the sting beat down the indignation. 

It was just so fucking unfair! Was it easy to interact with both Tubbo and Tommy before everything went to shit? Of course, it was. They actually listened to him back then! 

It didn't mean he loved them less now that they avoided him...

It didn’t.

It wouldn't work that way, there’s just... It’s a complex situation 

Wilbur quickly brushes his hair out of his face, taking a moment to press against his forehead to smooth the ache.

Having his mouth forcibly sealed shut did nothing to help with his fucking headache.

The god snorts out a laugh.

“You are just hopeless.”

Wilbur bites down that urge to tell him to fuck off again.

He needs to think about the next chess piece to move.

-What do you have that you can use to bargain on this asshole? 

You still passed the first test, and for some reason he seems like he enjoys talking, more like harassing you, doubting he gets any visitors, most likely lonely but you need to leave here as soon as possible... But he’s a reflection of you right? You’ve always enjoyed a bet, no..wait that’s just shoving your head back into a brick wall you need a new angle, just play into this idea he has for you-

“So.. you really are trying to help me then-if that’s th-”

“Yes, I believe that’s what you came here for isn't it?”

Wilbur could feel his eye twitch.

“Well, I came for Ghostburr really-”

It feels like an important point to make.

The mirror god smiles as if there’s a secret joke Wilbur isn’t in on yet.

He waves an ashen hand in a go-on gesture not even trying to hide his contempt.

Such a prick!

Wilbur’s teeth git before he actively forces them to relax. He’s so fucking done with this goddam place.

“I need you to help me by bringing me back out of this place okay?

I know, I understand what you want me to learn, and I can take this..lesson out of here with me, I just need to get to Tubbo and Tommy sooner rather than later so, bring me back home king, I thank you for your..advice, very wise.”

It feels like plastic on his tongue and there are so many insincerities that even that weird slime kid hanging off of Quackity could tell how fake it was but-

Wilbur just didn’t care anymore.

This was such bullshit.

“Oh? Do you want to run away from this too? What was the point of dragging Tubbo all the way out here then?”

“I-”

“Am I a little pussy bitch? Yes, Wilbur, we all know that already.”

“Knock it off! How is that helpful here?!”

The mirror huffs then his eyes narrowed into slits. 

“You want to give in so easily, well I won’t allow it. You came here for my aid, and you're receiving it in full. You are done when I say your done, filthy hypocrite”

Wilbur feels shivers race down his back, that same wrongwrongwrong curling through his body.

What? 

He was stuck here?

It was pretty clear that he was from the start this wasn’t home, this wasn’t even his region! This was just..new.

Was this why Tubbo kept asking me why they were here?

It would have fucked up the plan though…there’s no way he would have agreed to help Wilbur here.

Right?

Right. Tubbo could never just shut up and trust Wilbur when it mattered most.

The kid made that clear by his refusal to go to paradise with him.

Even though..can you really blame him?

After what you did?

Do you even know him at all?

 “I-I see. Well then. Let the games begin, what exactly are we waiting for?”

He’s careful to keep his voice even and disinterested.

It’s frustrating he doesn’t feel..right about this…

That flash of excitement, of the power of adrenaline, the urge to rise the stakes and rise to meet the challenge head-on was..muted. There was something else peeking out behind it, something that was going to get him killed.

It was too damm late to get cold feet.

There’s a chuckle and God rises one hand up into the air, a light golden band of..energy?

Warps around his fingers and wind around his arm trend nails hanging underneath pale forearms.

Wilbur stiffens his muscles pulling on tight strings, as gooseflesh pops up across his body due to the sudden click! And snap! Of the release of magic.

The trees blur and meld together around, the ground feels like it’s shifting and Wilbur braces and keeps his eyes open.

-It’s just trying to scare you, throw you off balance, a reflection of what you would do yourself, it’s part of the game, don’t react remember, you figured out he was fucking with them and that makes him angry, it’s a good sign-

The movement stops with a brush of wind against his back, tugging at his coat.

He’s in a cave, one imprinted on his soul, stamped, sealed, and signed on time, postmaster.

Cobblestone decor and the musty smell of potatoes and despair.

Wilbur takes a half step back, with a swear, his mouth instantly drying.

He really does need to watch his mouth better.

He never wanted to be back in Pogtopia.

And oh. There’s that spark that he was missing, great timing, righteous fury.

“You are a FUCKING CUNT YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT?!”

The only response is a twisting echoing laugh.

Pogtopia was a time in Wilbur’s life he does his best not to think about for so many reasons.

So many reasons.

Fucking hell.

He’s barely been back in this for a day and a half and he already wants to scream and punch a wall.

It’s horrible to be back here.

He’s sat at the end of a ledge, legs hanging off into the nothing below.

What the fuck is he going to do?

What was even the point of this?

Just to fucking mock him?

Shove his face in the worst fucking mistake of his life?

According to the notebook he has the list of everything he needs to do written ; down it’s been about five days since Tubbo was been checking in on him.

So that would mean in about an hour or so he’d meet the kid and find out what he knows. Which will end up being nothing useful and everyone would be looking at Wilbur again, expecting him to take all that nothing and make it into something fucking edible and he can’t

He can’t.

At least Tommy doesn't have to worry about the button bullshit.

Technoblade is glancing up at him, a slightly quizzical expression about him, probably wondering why his leader was sulking and hiding from everyone.

Or. 

They had supplies they needed to count.

Right.

It’s a hopeless fight anyway.

Wilbur pushes himself backward and stands up giving Techno a slight nod.

There was a song to write and a lesson to be learned here.

No point in putting it off.

“So..yeah. That’s the last crate we have left to count..that’s a bonus.”

“Mmhm”

“We got a good haul this time, I think.”

“Agreed.”

“I wonder if we should let Tommy loose down into the deeper tunnels and see if he comes back with a giant spider we can train to join our cause and kill Schalt for us”

“Righto, have fun wi-wait what?” 

Wilbur snaps his head up trying to understand what he just heard, he sets the clipboard he was checking down on one of the already counted crates.

“What, what about Tommy and giant spiders?”

Technoblade keeps his steely eyes set on him, the only hint of the joke is the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah yeah yeah, think about it! The spider would come crawling out of the depths filled with that instinctive drive to kill that child every being has, then after it’s chewed on him for a bit, we catch it..ya know…with a net..wow. You are just not in a good mood today are you?”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow at that faltering look.

“This isn’t some sort of game, blade. There’s a good chance you’ll look back at this and hate every moment. ”

“I…uh. Okay..that was..moving on”

Wilbur turns back to sorting various objects his group has gathered.

Technoblade doesn't even try and talk to him again, there’s a coldness radiating off where that jagged-edged concern was a moment ago.

Wilbur offended him.

Woop de do.

He can’t bring himself to even pretend to give a fuck.

How long before-?

As soon as they put away the last of the stone and wood Wilbur turns to leave.

He does feel that flash of surprise, of displeasure, and a little bit of hurt, like a cold front, and he knows that if he stops to look he’ll read it in Techno’s stance, so he doesn’t. 

He just doesn’t.

Easy.

“Okay, then? Goodbye to you too?!”

He shouted at Wilbur’s back as walks away.

Wilbur raises his hand in a dismissive wave of acknowledgment.

The cave’s walls feel tight and akin to a living beast trying to slowly suck the hope out of him.

He just can’t deal with a full-grown man’s trigger-thin temper, there was so much else to fucking do.

“Will! Wilbur! HEY!”

Tommy skids to a stop next to him, tipping as the rocks slide over the dusty ground taking those ratty sneakers with him.

It’s an instinct that has Wilbur reaching out and steading his little brother, the contact feels wrongwrongwrong but Wilbur wants to pull him in for a hug, ruffle his hair, take him, and runrunrun, but he won’t he can’t.

This is already written.

His skin crawls at the bright smile he receives.

“or the ability to say I tried at the next funeral?”

Wilbur jerks back burned. 

Fuck, no. He never, it wasn’t ever for his own sake…it wasn’t that simple...

“Aha, right, sorry, sorry gravity is such a bitch and a rude one at that yes, always leaves me high and dry-”

“Tommy!?”

“Ehhuhe, anyway anyway! As your second hand, I demand that you let me come with you when you visit Tubbo! I mean- Like in the debriefing tent I wanna write notes!”

-Forward lean, Hands twitching on hips trying to appear formal, but there’s too much excitement in his eyes.

Ah, Tommy, what did Dream do to you?

What made you so afraid?

You, you, you, you hurt him, you hurt him.

No, that wasn’t… it wasn’t quite like that... Wilbur attempted, he did his best...

He wasn’t supposed to be harmed.

Fuck.

“So so..can I? Please...I haven’t seen Tubbo in ages!”

The blonde reaches his arms up to rest his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders and gives them a light shake.

Wilbur shakes his head carefully easing Tom’s arms back down.

It wasn’t a good idea for him to touch Wilbur.

-Sharp carefully cutting gaze, keeping a distance that wasn’t there the last time he saw the kid, doesn’t approach or smile… he thinks your a threat”

“You..wanna join us?”

“Yeah? You’ll let me won’t you?”

It’s kinda amusing how close the two of them were. Tubbo and Tommy, Tommy and Tubbo. It was.. impressive how strong the relationship was. 

The first time Wilbur lived this, Tommy wasn’t allowed to be in the actual debriefing; it was deemed too sensitive and too distracting.

“Of course, you can.”

He doesn’t want to keep them apart anymore.

There wasn’t really a risk- he already knew what Tubbo would have to say so.. this wasn’t even real. What was the point again? 

Tommy beams as if Wilbur hung the moon.

That wasn’t..fair. It wasn’t...Wilbur didn’t. It wasn’t that special...

Argh. 

Since when did he become so bitter?

Sure, sure he didn’t have any clue how he was supposed to help them here, but he doesn’t have to just let the dickhead of a god control his actions or thoughts.

He’s here now after all.

Even if it wouldn’t change anything, even if he wasn’t actually making up for anything...

That was fine.

It had to be fine.

“I’m gonna go wait for him then, it’s your tent right Wilby?” 

That bright, too-bright smile and dark bags under his eyes are the only thing that even hints at how hard it’s been on him.

Always the optimist.

“ Give me the TNT! We can't, that's our home!” 

Wilbur’s skin is too tight and stretched thin around his frame, winding compressing closer with each step Tommy takes away from him, into the lion's den.

Wilbur is a judge and he’s going to execute before a trial.

There’s a static click over to his side and Wilbur turns towards the strange noise.

He’s heard it before..hasn’t he?

Oh. Yeah, he has for sure.

Fuck.

Can’t this asshole leave him alone for five seconds??

Wilbur tip tap’s his finger against his calf idly copying the rhythm of My la'manburg on his calf as he starts hunting.

Other refugees glance over at him and mutter under their breath but it’s not important when one time they would avert their eyes and hush children at his approach.

The static has an old piano clicking away like a tick tick embedded in the echo.

It never wanes the closer he gets, in fact, it gets louder and more forceful like it needs him to find it.

Wilbur ducks through a crowd pushing people out of the way. 

“Hey? What’s he doing??”

“Watch it!”

The sound is starting to pick up a beat, a noticeable baumbabum, and the haunting shh of a violin joins just a note or two behind the rift of the piano.

Wilbur breaks into a job, messy cobblestone pathways blurring together into one.

“Slow down! Do you need-”

Anxiety sparks in fitting gasps, he twists on his heel climbing up and over a ledge only to see the stairs just as he lands on the other side.

The music stutters and it’s a horrible screech that has Wilbur darting forward into the less populated parts of his old home down towards the first of multiple bridges.

The violin drops. 

Wilbur shudders and skids to a stop digging his feet into the rocks.

Why? Why did that change??

He steps backward away from the drop, and back onto the old and cracked path he and Tommy on the first day of exile.

It’s back.

It’s back!

That pull brightens in delight.

Wilbur shifts and takes off back in a jog, down those old winding roads.

His hand reaches up to brush against the rugged edge of the wall as he forces himself to slowly lower himself down.

He can’t be too sure but he thinks he can hear the whistle of a flute just before the static peaks, he moves quicker. 

 Wilbur trips over his own feet, as he sees a building rise up from behind the corner.

It’s breathtaking. 

Modest in design but intricate in execution.

Stunningly pale white walls, artful arched roof red with a blackened trim.

The cross is emblazoned on the center right above the front doors.

A church.

Wibur’s heart soars in pure delight. He can already see everyone gathering around the area, nameless facing spilling just outside of the gates... Tommy laughing as he declares the new holy land…

It was perfect. 

This could be home.

The music is louder than each step he takes on the deep slate walkway. 

Drums, a low and pulsing da doom as his hand twists the doorknob. There’s still that abnormal crackle underneath each beat and Wilbur ached to fix it.

He needed to hear the melody clearly.

Lights flash on as if in greeting when he steps onto marble flooring.

There’s a suit hanging off of the pedestal. 

Masterful taliorship.

The static fades away completely when his fingers touch the fabric.

It’s everything his symphony needs.

The fabric fits like a glove.

For a moment time feels suspended, waiting on the next tick of a clock.

Then with the next tock-Wilbur has his hand on Tubbo’s back guiding him into his tent for the next meeting.

It was time to see if his spy managed to find anything of import before Manburg attacked.

“Come on Tubbo, let’s get this started, you’re late enough as it is, so we don’t have-”

Tommy is playing with Wilbur’s paperweight, a little globe that spins when flicked.

Irritation rises the line of his shoulders- Tommy knew that he wasn’t allowed in here for these! No matter how much he wanted to see Tubbo, security was more important.

“Tommy!” He makes no effort to conceal his annoyance, lashing out like a viper.

Instead of the embarrassed chuckle and guilty smile Wilbur expected, Tommy stumbles to his feet, eyes widening with alarm and darting up then taking down his frame, switching to the rigid form of Tubbo in the next heartbeat.

“Wha- what’s wrong? Is-is Tubbo hurt?”

-Brow furrowed up in little wrinkles, leading weight on his right foot, dominant, that means he’s ready for action, he means it then, no bullshiting, what the fuck man-

Tubbo stifles a quick movement mumbling something uncertain, he angles his face towards Wilbur as he whispers a question..or a statement. Words. For sure.

Wilbur’s a little distracted with Tommy; he'll ask Tubbo what he said after he deals with the more stubborn of the pair.

“No, no one’s hurt. Tommy you know you’re not allowed in here, you can play with Tubbo after the meeting is over.”

Tommy bristles confusion and fear combusting into an instant reaction of fury, face twisting into a mess of harsh lines.

“What the fuck?? You can’t just -just lie to me like that!”

It’s genuinely so confusing and Wilbur just doesn’t have the time to deal with this out-of-place temper tantrum. There’s an itch playing around the back of his head and Wilbur isn't one to ignore that, there’s something deeper than teenage rebellion going on here.

-Normally Tommy’s anger is like a thunderstorm, streaks of lighting he never knows when to stop he’ll rant until he’s worn out, but he’s not doing that here..instead, he’s pulling back if anything, he’s coiled of course, waiting to see what you’re explanation is and if he deems it worthy of his forgiveness..oh.

It’s hurt. There’s an undercurrent of real hurt there.

Why in prime’s name, this was how Tubbo’s visits always went!

If it was anyone else, Wilbur would have just thrown them out, but he’s always been nicer to Tommy than he should be.

The kid was important, he was betrayed just as Wilbur was.

They were the same in that way Tommy just.. Didn’t understand the weight behind it. 

One day he would see how fucked this world was and Wilbur was already morning the loss of that unshakeable faith in inherent good.

Not that Wilbur would be alive for long enough to see it bleed out of Tommy’s eyes...

His fingers twitch with the urge to pushpushpush, endeverything,outwithabangmotherfuckers

“Toms, I don’t understand the issue here, it’s not safe for you to hear this stuff yet, let me decide what’s important and what’s not, I'm sure tencho needs your help with..whatever he does in his free time, okay?’

Tommy looks more offended. Somehow, test failed, and he starts to speak in a screaming confrontation, so Wilbur simply snaps his fingers in front of Tommy's face, growling, as it dawns on him what’s happening here.

“Enough, I don’t want to hear it! You need to listen to me when I’m telling you something! Now you’re just wasting our time, the time we don’t have! Get out of here for fuck’s sake, grow up Tommy! War isn’t a game!”

He needed to shut up and trust Wilbur now! This wasn’t a place to test boundaries or push for more than he was capable of, and it was so fucking childish and stupid, they’d been over this! 

What if Tommy read all the reports, took all his notes and plans, and fucking touched them, no, changed them even!

There’s a ghost of a promise that never can last forever and this child could easily end everything, too close, too easy to trust, loved.

 A needed liability.

They could be killed if they weren’t perfect!

Holy fuck, was it that hard?!

Wilbur stalks forward reaching out for Tommy's right arm, intending on dragging him out. He knows well enough that he won’t-Tommy latches onto his palm grip crushing.

“YOU SAID I COULD STAY-You..you. Said..”

Cold cold ice.

He did say that.

This is fake.

Tommy bares his teeth, then abruptly drops his head down uncomfortable, he doesn’t let go of Wilbur’s hand yet and it’s grounding for the livewire his mind has become.

He did say that.

Right after he helped Tech with sorting the supplies. 

Wilbur opens and closes his mouth at a loss for words, trying to remember, come up with a reason for how he could have possibly..it wasn’t forgotten, he knew he just..what?!

That’s not his coat.

A black and white woolen dress suit hangs weighted off his outstretched arm climbing up his shoulder.

Wilbur leaps back with a gasp, tearing out of Tommy’s hold, fingers dancing down his front as he looks to see what-

And gasps in amazement as the perfectly fitted mockery slides off of him completely on its own, somehow peeling back to reveal his typical clothing underneath

The suite drops to the floor before fading into empty space.

Wilbur stares at the spot. 

He works his jaw, mouth dry.

Okay, okay. That had to be magic. That fucking mirror god was playing with him.

It had to be that. 

Why?

To make a fool of himself... No. There’s something he’s supposed to learn here.

It’s so fucking stupid, how, how was this going to help him??

Oh yes, Wilbur soot be here look at everything about the worst part of your life, look how you used to be!

He was better now for fuck’s sake!

What kind of asshole could enjoy making him run through this again? What was the end goal? 

The lack of knowledge, that persistent nagging question, He just can’t pin it down and it’s…starting to burrow and latch hugging tight onto every other thought, it’s reminding Wilbur of bombs and smoke and-

Light pain echoes from his temples, radiating down his skull in a marching pulse.

“Uh. What the fuck was that?”

Tommy.

Tommy, who was staring at him like he was growing two heads, hand hovering in the air debating where to land.

There’s still a wave of lingering anger and hurt in the way he’s angled back and the fact he hasn’t leaped closer, but he’s worried worried worried and-

Maybe he should be.

Maybe Wilbur bit off more than he can chew here.

His fingers tap tap tap at his leg without his permission. 

He’s losing losing losing- dropping so deep in the pit, drowning, only way out-

Tubbo clears his throat and Wilbur had forgotten he was even there still.

“Is-is this a bad time? I-can..um. Come back later?”

- Something grand, show-stopping all eyes on him and he’ll climb climb climb out out out, and glide on the waves on the attention, it worked last time, addictive high better than drugs-

Wilbur is an actor and a leader; he can't just stop working no matter how much is crashing down around him.

It’s that fuckng weighted chain curling around his feet.

- Can’t win, get back in that cabin, slow death no freedom no light- the same the same the same unnoticeable fucking waste of a life, blast it away, huff puff puff big bad wolf come to tear your fucking world down, just one stone carved into a click, knows where a whole fields worth of fuck you bitch is decaying into the earth-

-Don’t worry Tubbo I’m going to get you out!”

“No, no, just a bug Tubbo, there’s so many down here they get everywhere in clothing, disgusting things”

Wilbur moves on instinct, guiding his muscles to loosen and his shoulders to relax and his face to smooth out into a light easy what can you do expression.

Horror is trying to transfix his limbs, making them twitchy and it’s a fight to force them to be natural.

Wilbur just- he doesn't want..how could he even consider the button...

He was supposed to be better.

But oh, wouldn’t that be the best spit in his fucking godly face?

He wants to

Oh, prime he wants to.

He still fucking wants to.

It wouldn't even matter, this was fake, and he wouldn’t even be hurting anyone.

Do it do it, such a thrill never else will ever come close

Wilbur is never getting better, is he?

This was all an excuse to dress up as a better man.

-Ash coded in his veins, DNA made up of unstable-

Tommy bites his lip and he and Tubbo share a weighted look. 

They don’t believe him, doubting him looking and pointing-

Breathe.

It’s fine.

Get this over with.

Wilbur humms lightly pretending to not notice the way the air is prickling with caution.

“Good memory Toms, you can stay just be aware of this and that you know my space and all.”

Wilbur shakes off the sputtering noises Tommy hisses in response to step past him moving behind his desk.  

It’s not regal or appropriate but Wilbur gives in to the urge to fiddle with his stupid paperweight flicking it like an old guitar string.

Longling springs up inside his wrists, phantom memories embedded in echos of what he could have done-been really.

A musician probably wouldn't try and kill everyone close to them.

Fuck. Wilbur was gonna teach Tubbo how to play some older songs, the ones that haunted his train station.

Wilbur had been hoping Tubs would remember them from the cabin.

He turns a smile on the nervous form of the fake Tubbo slouching in front of him.

The second he feels Wilbur’s eyes on him the kid jumps and straightens his posture, hands coming to fold in front of him shyly.

Wilbur’s too fucking tired for this.

But he has a system and it keeps him..not well alive per say but-

But. it’s important to know exactly what the other person is wanting...

Or maybe it’s another way to cope with how little he cares about people.

Just a way to get them to dance to his bidding…in fact..when hasn’t analyzing people been for that?

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth.

He..can’t prepare for this.

Tubbo jumps into a stuttering report of his time over in Manburg, the words mix and blur together in a soundless pitch.

Impressions of burns and blistering skin dance with each inhale and exhale Tubbo has a slight sway as he talks, eyes deep and dark.

Wilbur’s mind keeps drifting away to his fight with Tommy.

It’s just out of reach hidden underneath layers and layers of panic and this nagging sickening drag.

“You never listen to me!”

When Tommy would spit that at him in the present it never made sense to Wilbur, he listened it was just..he didn’t know better than Wilbur.

He still doesn't; he can't; his age means he just hasn’t...

But Tommy has, hasn’t he?

“What did Dream do to him?”

Wilbur flicks his gaze from the space behind Tubbo’s head to Tommy’s.

The kid is actually taking notes shockingly enough his expression is serious, brow furrowed and tense as he scribbles off hand on a dirty notebook. He’s angled away from Wilbur, a bright spot of the hurt and confusion in the room,

Something about that hurts.

Wilbur was wrong.

He was wrong wrong wrong.

Tommy was more than capable especially if he dealt with Wilbur freaking out on him like that all of the time.

Tubbo finishes his report with a little salute guarded eyes watching Wilbur like he was a danger.

Tommy was easy.

Tommy would never hide anything from him.

Tubbo knew how to dance around words and though clumsy he’d try to find Wilbur’s tempo and try to match him, excel past him even.

Wilbur might have been wrong about Tommy, he might not have noticed just what the kid did back here but Tubbo-

Tubbo was a born-and-bred liar.

Tick 

Tick 

Tick.

He didn’t mention Schallt once did he?

Tick 

Tick 

Tick

What could he be hiding?

He’d never tell you nowadays, this could be the last chance you’ll ever get-

Wilbur is helpless.

It’s a snare and it’s snapped tight to his throat.

Except he can’t keep the words out.

“Tubbo..thank you for your report, but I have some additional questions if you don’t mind me asking, a bit more personal perhaps, Toms if you would wait outside please?”

Tick 

Tick 

Tick,

Tommy says something to him but it doesn’t matter because he leaves the tent-

And Wilbur doesn’t understand why he keeps doing this-

Tick 

Tick 

Tick,

Tubbo sinks down in his stance and Wilbur thinks he might just hate himself- but if he doesn’t ask he’ll never know and that is a worse death than anything else.

Worse than his father’s blade.

Sorry, Tubbo...I don’t know how, I just can't shake this dread, and I won't be a puppet in this game again.

“How have things been with the President?”

Tubbo’s eyes widen minutely sparking with alarm and uncertainty, they harden a moment later, but not with a sense of coldness like they tended to in the present-it feels like a child testing something out, there’s still a tender undertone in those blues that screams of fear .

“I- right okay. He’s been drinking more I suppose”

Tick 

Tick 

Tick 

Hiding evading little rat boy. 

-Keep yourself cool, you don't wanna scare him but, the only time he'll ever look at you again after what you've done, don't you wanna know what he never told you?

Wilbur lets himself lean forward on the desk globe, dropping out of his palm completely forgotten, Tubbo's eyes drop down to trace its fall. 

And Wilbur gives in. 

- Alert probably wants to crawl out of his skin and thinks your like him, a horrible human being, the best way to get him to talk is to play on that, push that yes man back to the surface then he'll fold easily, but first a kind warm smile then pounce-

It was so fucking nice. 

To stop fucking fighting this, just like with Ghostburr, that same little tick tick is starting to smooth out, swirling into a light giddy game, it breaks through the chains so fully and Wilbur is flying. 

"Well sure, that's kinda expected from a dickhead like him, but tell me something else if you could for me king, what's the 9 to 5 looking like?"

Tubbo does exactly as he predicted he would, the stumbling little deer stuttering over his morning routine.

"And then I help with any-any documentation if he doesn't or isn't er you know himself, that is then-"

There is it, blood in the water locked in.

Wilbur raises one hand up in a "Stop" gesture. 

It's a bit of a struggle to keep from moving too fast, he has to maintain an easy light expression, but that break that slight waver was what he was looking for. It meant Tubbo slipped up, there was something else he was trying to burrow underneath all that formality. 

And that's delightful, just what Wilbur wanted now he just needs to ask that important question and ferret out the truth.

"Sorry, Tubbo, could you elaborate on what, "not being himself" actually means?"

Tubbo cringes on himself shuffling backward before quickly stepping back into place, hands coming up to grab his coat before dropping back into place just as fast. 

"I-I don't want to, Wilbur"

This wasn't fun suddenly. 

Like a fire being doused with a water bucket that nagging force that drove Wilbur to press is burning down into coals. 

Tubbo is scared. 

Little feet pounding down the stairs, lantern light casting strange shadows across the room. 

"Wilbur Wilbur I had a nightmare!"

That's..not what Wilbur wanted.

Didn't he plan on scaring Tubbo for this to work?

It doesn't feel right anymore.

Did it really ever? Remember you're just pretending a good man wouldn't blow everything up-

Wilbur pauses, drumming his fingers into his desk with frustration. 

He should, morally, step back and let Tubbo go and recover from whatever has his breathing picking up and pulling tighter into himself. 

But. 

But. 

But. 

This is his only chance. 

What if finding out could be helpful in the long run?

Could use this to help Tubbo after I leave.. right?

Time to switch tracks

-Calm him down and get some of his trust back, he reacts well to physical affection-

 Wilbur steps out behind the desk, reaching out to cup the shaky child's face, gently pulling hair strands and tucking them behind his ear, out of his eyes. 

It's not as long as it will be. 

The contact is a pricking sting on each point, there's a faint whistling desire to jerk away but Wilbur battles it down because-

Tubbo freezes, then he makes the softest of noises and shoves his head more fully underneath Wilbur's hand. 

The kid twists and steps closer trying to burrow into his coat. 

It's…

Hot and cold at the same time boiling down to the point of pressure his little brother offers. 

Wilbur doesn't understand why it's so much, why it hurts-and why he doesn't want to let go ever. 

Each intake of breath chants out a promise of an outtake. 

"You're.. you're gonna be fine Tubbo, just just fine okay?"

Tubbo nods against his shirt. 

Wilbur's skin crawls. 

Something flickers at the edges of his vision. 

A flash of black and white.

Magnificent tailorship. 

Slowly the fabric starts to crawl across the ground toward him. 

The echo of his symphony begins to play. 

The static is gone. 

-Horror-

Wilbur attempts to move but he's frozen-

Tubbo titles his head up to look at Wilbur and it's so slow, everything is so slow. 

Dangling in time. 

-Losing games you've had enough attempts not even overtime can save you now-

-When will you give it up? Stop hurting yourself?-

Tubbo's mouth opens. 

The sickening drag of wool over his arms sinking underneath his trenchcoat-

"Wilbur, Wilbur! He-he hits me, Wilbur!"

"Can you read me a bedtime story, I don't want the nightmare back anymore!"

Wilbur doesn't know what he expected. 

At this point, he should be ready for anything. 

He wasn't. 

He really wasn't. 

Tubbo sits at the desk with a pen held tight in his grip, a stack of various documents at his side. 

It's still gentle compared to the hard line of his shoulders. 

Which wasn't a surprise seeing as the source of the electric snap in the air sits on a desk of his own, legs crossed and a shot of some kind in a rather shaky grip. 

He looks loose. 

He looks drunk. 

Tubbo looks terrified. 

And Wilbur-

Doesn't exist. 

Well at least he can't seem to interact with anything here, he can move, at least but no one reacts and he can't pick anything up. 

He's already attempted to hurl a stapler at Schallt's smug head. 

Kind of a shame the mirror god didn't let him that one reprieve. 

Instead, he paces back and forth between the invisible rope of Tubbo's breathing and the open window. 

Moonlight bathes the town beneath it perfectly. 

An old ache resurfaces each time Wilbur looks out. Fingers twitch to pull out his guitar or swipe the parchment on the desk. 

"He-he hits me, Wilbur!"

Oh, there was also that. 

That boiling pit of rage shimmering just below. 

Schallt was a dead man. 

Wilbur would fucking die again and re-kill him given the chance. 

It makes so much more sense . 

The pausing, the lying, the-the-

The way he looked at you arms up and wild-eyed with fear

Wilbur just…. dismissed it . 

He fucking dismissed it. 

And-and- it wasn't a hit. 

Hits. 

Hits. 

More than once

Right under Wilbur's nose. 

What a fucking A+ motherfucking bastard he was huh?

Without breaking the rhythm in the path Wilbur pivots and drives his fist into the wall, stepping forward with his dominant foot so the impact has better force. 

There's not even a sound but now his hand can match that pulsing pain in his head so yay for that. 

He's so mad. 

Seething. 

Schallt tips the shot glass and drowns the glass. 

The man's expression flashes with amusement and something darker, tinted with a giddy glint. 

He pours himself another hit. 

That unnerving stare settles where the soft scratches radiate from. 

Wilbur glides to a stop in front of the asshole. 

It's a useless gesture and he knows it but-

Wilbur really can’t help himself, embers are smoking in his lungs-Schallt is going to- going to-

It couldn't be more clear. 

Why else would he be here?

"He hits me, Wilbur!"

Wilbur is going to fucking tear his own hair out. 

It's instinct that has him snarling when Schallt pushes himself up and off of the desk, and steps past Wilbur.

Despite the drunken sway of his gait. Somehow the dick head is smooth.

Clink

The shot glass is placed right in front of the sheet Tubbo is working on.

The kid muffles an involuntary noise.

The snake reaches out and taps at the paper with an insistent jab. 

Wilbur can't do anything useful, he's just a visitor, a specter.

Fingernails bite into flesh. 

Don't fucking talk to him you fucking  sadist!

Schlatt tips his head towards Tubbo trying to study the kid's face. 

Tubbo shifts inching farther away. 

"Sir? Um…can I..help you?"

Schlatt breaks into a smile watching watching watching.

Tubbo closes his eyes and then opens them his hands flutter up to the edges of his desk and then back down.

Schlatt giggles, fucking giggles out of all things. The absolute worst. 

“Tubbo...Tubbo..my man. My right-hand man.”

Tubbo drops his head back to the paperwork Schlatt hasn’t released yet he nods in agreement with his president’s words. His jaw works as if he’s debating saying something.

He doesn’t see the way Schlatt’s face twists in displeasure, it’s an ugly look brow pinched tight, and lips pressed too hard together.

Wilbur fucking doesn’t know what he wants to here, there’s..he wants Tubbo to fucking run, bare his teeth and go straight for the throat-

But but but he needs Tubbo to hide, defect, and avoid, not engage-

There wasn’t a clear-cut option here, not one that Tubbo could have done bound by the… chains of loyalty..fuck. 

Please prime, do not let Tubbo suffer through this because he wanted to be a good little spy...

It fits. It matches up with everything Wilbur has realized about him.

Fucking hell.

Why why why didn’t he tell me before?!

What would you have done, tell him they all suffer during the war?

It’s frighteningly possible.

Schlatt shifts his weight on his heels, nearly overbalancing but his correction is neat and eased. The tip of his finger circles the rim of the glass, watching the way Tubbo attempts to keep himself blank-faced.

He must come to a conclusion because he grins.

“Tubbbbo alll you do is work..come on loosen up kiddo, take a sip, or fuck it alll the whole glass..no the whole bottle even!”

Tubbo eyes the liquid like it’s poison distaste breaking out of the carefully created facade even despite the way his tone rings pleasant and neutral when he answers.

“Sorry, sir I don’t like to drink, please feel free to enjoy on your own, I don’t mind helping you back to bed, sir”

Too much Tubbo, He’s looking for a reason to upset you and he’s drunk..best bet is to just leaveleaveleave.

Wilbur drifts closer to the two men.

Schlatt throws his head back and laughs staggering back slightly before pitching himself forward to wrap one arm around Tubbo’s shoulders.

Tubbo sifftens like death. 

He kicks his foot into his desk with a near silent Clang!

Schlatt either doesn’t notice or doesn't care.

“No no no..it’s time to celebrate! It’s a party for a special occasion!”

Tubbo attempts to idly shrug Schlatt off of him before he answers, undertones of anxiety creeping in.

“Special occasion..? Sir? Uh, there’s nothing..on the agenda..wait is there?”

“Drink Tubbo”

“Uh.”

Wilbur swears under his breath, wishing he could just fucking stab someone.

In this room, who happens to be drunk. Multiple times.

“Tubbo, do you just not want to celebrate with me? That hurts..it’s very special to me you know, kinda sounds like you just don’t care...I mean..you're loyal aren’t you?”

Tubbo closes his eyes and attempts again to shake Schlatt off of him. When Schatt just snorts and pulls him closer, squeezing his thin frame, resignation seeps into the newly formed cracks.

“Drink it Tubbo.”

Tubbo reaches forward and drowns the shot in a single go, instantly breaking into a fit of coughing.

Schlatt barks out in amusement smirking at the way Tubbo struggles to hack up the liquid.

Wilbur rests his non-existent hand on Tubbo’s back frowning at the lack of reaction.

Even though he expected it-it just-fuck Wilbur should have been here!

Deep breaths, make an excuse to leave, maybe that you have an early morning??

Tubbo evens out his breathing with a final shudder, the back of his right hand pressed to his mouth.

He wipes his face clean and twitches his head towards Schlatt as the man makes himself comfortable on top of the desk, leaning slightly on Tubbo’s side.

“Done yet? Come on I have great news kid it’s kinda hard to share with you being so fucking louud”

Tubbo bites his lip and nods; he shifts in his seat so that Schlatt’s weight is more even and comfortable.

“Yes sir, Sorry sir”

His voice is raspy and whisper-thin.

It’s a physical punch to the gut.

Fucking…

Schatt beams moving his grip to Tubbo’s hair and ruffling his hair roughly,

“I have a new son today, Tubbo! Isn’t that great?”

What?

Tubbo seems just as surprised, ducking away from the hand in his hair and carefully guiding it back down to his shoulders.

“Wha-huh? Sir-”

Schatt brings his hand up and unrepentantly rests the tips of his fingers underneath Tubbo’s chin, tilting his head back and forth. Tubbo’s breathing instantly picks up, eyes widening.

“You can be my son Tubbo, haven’t you heard..we look pretty similar..”

His voice is low and smooth invitation soaked in each syllable.

Wilbur is practically foaming at the mouth, incensed at his own uselessness.

He’s put the dots together faster than Tubbo has judging from the pure confusion in Tubbo’s open expression.

-Only one reason Tubbo! Lying snake in the grass motherfucking asshole, trying to take you away from me!-

“ I.. already..have a family sir..um. You really..really are very drunk..so maybe if you sleep-”

It’s like the room’s temperature drops with the way ice blooms.

Wilbur could almost see frost at the areas where Schatt hold strengthens.

-Punchhim punchhim fucking hell don’t even think hurting him!-

“Think very carefully about this Tubbo. Your “family” left you...Wilbur is a lying murderous backstabbing son of a bitch and Tommy is the dumbest kamikaze I’ve ever seen..they. Don’t. Love. you, they. Don’t. Need. You.”

Wilbur scoffs-

“Tell me, kid, when was even the last time you saw them? Have they even attempted to contact you? Unless..you aren’t loyal to the scum I've sent you to find are you?”

Kills two birds with one stone, if he says anything that’s not agreement then it’s clear he’s allied with us, or at least could be but if he says he hasn’t even heard from us then it seems like he’s been choosing to not look for us..oh fucking hell Tubbo this is far more then you were ready for-!

And Tubbo is trembling but so fucking still... He makes no move to escape, just drops his eyes to the side thinking thinking thinking.

-Tell him you hate my guts Tubbo, tell him that and mean it for fuck’s sake.-

Schatt shakes him, eyes starting to burn with impatient fury. Lines appear where his grip is turning grueling Tubbo hisses in pained alarm.

“Answer me, boy!”

Tubbo’s eyes spark and he’s been pushed too far-

“Fuck you! I’m not going to play house with someone like you! Wilbur’s my brother even if he hates-”

The backhand is brutal, cutting Tubbo off with a yelp and before either Tubbo or Wilbur can react Schatt has used the hand holding Tubbo tight to shove the kid off the desk with a bang.

Tubbo sprawls on the floor dazed as fuck and Schatt looms over him, balancing on the chair just above the helpless teen, casting a deep shadow over Tubbo.

“You're going to fucking regret that choice”

His voice is wreathed in certain violence.

For a breathless moment, Wilbur is terrified that he’s just going leap and crush Tubbo under his weight and Wilbur dives forward needing needing to fucking do something oh god not like this, he’s just a kid please! -

Schaltt stumbles off the chair and lands like a cat, lunging forward just as Tubbo gets his elbows underneath him, and slams the boy into the wall. 

He shakes Tubbo and does it again, head smashing into the wood splitting with the force of the blow.

Tubbo gasps, struggling to focus, stuck on the spot where Schatt has him held.

“You fucking cheat! You would have me killed and put to death wouldn't you?!”

And Wilbur isn’t that much a straight one-on-one fighter but he lunges forward and tries to pull Schallt away away. His hands sink straight through skin and he’s going to fucking kill somone- Motherfucker burn in hell that’s my little brother fuckofffuckoff diediedie

Tubbo braces but he doesn’t move and doesn't even attempt to fight back even as tears break out of his eyes.

He’s so silent and it’s like drowning.

“Tubbo Tubbo you have to do something, king! Don’t fucking let him-”

But of course, Tubbo can’t hear him so he doesn’t even twitch-

And Schattt's laughing manic energy popping off him in droves.

He drops Tubbo and kicks him only to yank him right back up this time by his neck and drags him up into the wall fucking again.

A certain wickedness slips itself over his visage.

“Oh that’s fuck’ning funny, you wanna know..you wanna what we do with traitors Tubbo?”

Tubbo shakes his head then cuts himself off the movement-

Schatt shifts the center of his hold right over his thin windpipe.

Like the snake he is, he begins to squeeze

Why why why what do you get out of this?! Leave him alone! Damm you Damm it all!

Tubbo gasps legs kicking before the kid forces them still when he should be wrapping them around Schatt and choking him out-

Wilbur can’t do anything.

“Yeah? That fucking sucks right? What, gonna cry? Gonna call for big brother Wilbur to save you from the big bad goat? Hmm, fucking see if you ever tell me no again, I saved you! Ungrateful brat!

Something seems to dawn on Tubbo because abruptly he starts to struggle hands curling into fists and twisting up into the folds of Schatt’s clothing trying to rip and tear-

“Drop those fucking hands or I’ll just fucking take them!”

And Tubbo cries sharp little sobs hissed out between gasps of breath and  listens.

Wilbur is as unless now as he was when this event actually happened. 

And you watched this man order him to be put to death. 

You watched as his fucking abuser won and did nothing and he trusted you. 

He trusted you!

How could you betray-

Warm sunlight and flowering roses with fluttering bees. 

Slow, steady, and reliable. As many blocks and materials as you need never less sometimes more-

How. 

How could he?

And he did it again didn't he?

He should have told him fuck fuck fuck!

Tubbo's turning blue. 

Wilbur can't do anything to fix this. 

He wasn't..this wasn't something he could change. 

He did this to Tubbo by forcing him to choose between his safety and his love for Wilbur. 

No matter how much they dressed it up like it was lamanburg they were fighting for. 

But Wilbur was L'manberg once.

Tubbo had loved him enough to fight, to lie, to spy for it. 

And in Wilbur's attempt to see his love, to keep what he thought was dead he killed it. 

Tubbo really wouldn't ever listen or trust him again and he shouldn't. 

It was a fucking miracle that he came out here with Wilbur in the first place.

The only good thing was that Tubbo wasn't going to be actually hurt this time. 

Wilbur would save him, explain himself why he dragged him all the way out here, and then he would actually listen to Phil for once. 

He can't heal Tubbo. 

He can't heal Tommy. 

He's..not healed himself. 

This can't be what mental health looks like. 

Nobody was supposed to get hurt. 

But they did. 

They always did and it was always Wilbur calling the shots. 

If he was…he was justifying harm, wasn't he?

Wilbur takes a step backward hardly noticing when the door bangs open allowing an out-of-breathe quackity to stumble in with a cry of fear-

He wanted to know what happened next but this wasn't his memory to keep. 

Still…he checks to see if Tubbo's still breathing by the time Quackity drags Schallt away. 

The kid is heaving in each breath and it's thin and high, bruises already blooming but he's alive and it's nothing compared to the scars Wilbur will give him, in what? 

A month?

A week?

Wilbur closes his eyes, surprised to feel wetness. 

He doesn't want to say goodbye, he doesn't want to be alone again. The train's always coming and it's never stopping cold cold concrete. 

Might as well dive back into the grave. 

Words bubble up and out of his throat.

"I am ready for my assessment, Mirror divine"

The memory starts to fade into dusting particles. 

Wilbur doesn't open his eyes to see it, but he can feel the way the air around him seems to lift and bend hissing across his skin with branding force. 

Slowly it all stabilizes until Wilbur hears the voice he’s been dreading

"Welcome back Wilbur soot, You think you're ready for a deliverance?"

Everything is very white stainless and clinical

This time the mirror god's not wearing Ghostburr's clothing instead he's decked out in a blazer with sweatpants. 

He looks curious, but a kind of curiosity that burns of vague dehumanization 

Wilbur is hardly even a bug to this being. 

For once the stance and posturing didn't ignite a fire or make his mind race with various ways to win win-win. 

Wilbur is just. 

Wilbur Soot. 

Failed brother failed leader. 

But this was all Wilbur knew before he even got here. 

What a waste of time. 

With that strange sense that the words are being yanked from his being, he speaks. 

"I, Wilbur Soot transcribe to this new understanding of myself and I formally thank you for your effort and your aid, please allow me to relate to you what lesson I have learned under your care." 

The mirror god smiles and raises his hand in a go-ahead gesture. 

His eyes say- if you can that is-

"I am a danger to myself and the others around me, my ambitions blind me to the truth behind others and each thing said to me is met with a host of suspicions, I cannot trust myself or those I love, I am willing to risk the life and limb of my loved ones to get want I want while convincing myself it's the only way, these are the lessons you are taught me, kind lord"

It's such a strange feeling, like almost floating kind of flight but unlike the missile-like focus the high of a…power trip…this one brings to mind something kinda like floating clouds and fucking prime, Wilbur is so tired.

He's so done. 

He just did all of this and it was supposed to help him, get him to understand what's wrong with him , and now that he knows he just feels-

"Gonna call for big brother Wilbur to save you?"

Drained. 

Prime.

How fucking naive was he?

He knew this already. 

Fucking hell. 

"No. You just wanted a different answer, Wilbur."

The mirror God's tone isn't... soft per say, it's actually kinda bitter. 

Wilbur almost wonders at that, almost debates that in his mind but-

It's just...

Not a place he needs to go right now. 

His own voice and words are returned to him, a rather bizarre heated aftertaste left behind.

That's probably the nicest thing you've said to me"

The mirror god snorts and rolls his eyes, the sliver of what he was before he'd been "twisted" covered up and away. 

"Don't get used to it, Soot we've still got a lot of games, lots of lessons you need to learn. Your sins gather like hounds and nip at heels with each step you take."

It's rude, it's dismissive, it's a plea. 

Nobody wants to be alone. 

"I'm done"

Wilbur doesn't bother raising his voice or shifting his body language to make his point come across as grander.

He just is. 

And somehow, that feels like existing. 

The mirror god scoffs sharp and aiming to wound, 

"You? Think you're done? Look at yourself! You haven't even addressed what you did to Ranboo-"

"Yeah no, I'm done, king. Have a nice life."

And Wilbur turns, just simply starts to walk away, no tricks no lies no tick tick tick. 

The fabric of reality, each woven like a strand snap under the force of his assurance. 

The ground breaks into reality, the smell of smoke and ash stained on the air itself wafts upwards.

Wilbur reaches and adjusts his coat, more than a little relieved to see that he’s back to wearing his typical set up.

It's time to go save Tubbo.

Chapter Text

Lamplight casts its shadow over broken slabs of concrete shadows dancing just at the edge.

They look hungry.

Click Click.

Tap.

Light flickers nearly doused.

Philza Minecraft bites his lip to stifle a growl quickly relighting his lantern before he’s abandoned by the glow.

He looks like he’s soaking wet wings pulled tight to his body as if harmed and he’s missing his cowl.

It’s saddening to see him, thus the friendship they used to have meant something special. 

Something beneficial.

There’s a vague wish to appear and offer assistance, but it’s tempered by the anger thickening the air.

Delicious shaky undertones.

Thunder bangs above them.

Unaware of  His  being, chained off from the natural sense of the world his once equal doesn’t even double check, sharp eyes glazing right over him, helplessly useless for finding stalkers of the mind.

It was lucky that a being was already being created otherwise would  He  be capable of restraint?

What a glorious mouthpiece-

The shadows are starving.

Phillza shakes his hair, shaking droplets of rain out of bright sunlit hair.

So alive.

He  craves that warmth.

But it’s not to be.

Phiza carefully wedges his light into the cracks in the wall before sinking into a bow.

Calling his protector then.

Slowly the edges creep closer wanting, aching to see.

An image bathed in gray-white light flickers to life above its winged servant solidifying as the man leans backward, flashing eyes matching the swirl whispering out of the carved medallion held in hand.

An easy smile breaks on his face.

 Joy scents the air with its heady pull, drowning out the anger.

“My lady, as perfect as ever, I see”

Confident, Lady death lands smoothly, a hand coming up to muffle her laugh.

She always smells sickly sweet, no matter how she’s feeling then, surely seeing as Philza clearly sparks a pleasure of some kind.

“Aw? Trying to win me over dear?”

Philza stands back up leaning his weight onto his back foot, there’s a sense of tearing, breaking out in the slight waver in his aroma, it sours in tune with his voice

“Have you heard anything? Anything at all?”

Lady is already frowning, shifting slightly away annoyed with the way the conversation has gone.

“Didn’t you just find the one you were looking for, can’t that be enough for you dear?”

Philza rolls his blue (Sky blue alive alive alive) eyes and begins to pace ignoring the droplets that have started to seep through the rocks above. 

“So no you haven’t then? Don’t- Yeah we got Toms but that isn’t- You know they need each other-!”

“And why do we care about that now honey? Come on, it’s clear he didn’t heed my warnings, and it’s been days. I don’t know...I doubt he’s coming back, Phil”

Feathers fall to the floor trampled as Philza turns around to restart his pacing.

“How They aren’t going to understand that-technoblade-will-but-what about my son?!”

Maybe the Lady’s voice is kinder in her response.

“He just left, I don’t know what he’s planning next but he passed his trials, sane dear.”

This halts Philza in his tracks, covering his scent.

“He didn’t just leave the cave? Are you sure?”

“From what I can gather-”

“Then Tubbo’s alive! Will is trying to save him!”

Tubbo... Tubbo..?

His   Prophet, his canvas-

“Phil, think about this, there’s only one cure and we don’t even know if this was set up or not, maybe Wilbur is just lost or stuck.”

Philza groans, nodding in understanding before running his hand down his face, he stares at his palm as if it could assure of something.

“Argh maybe I just don’t know my lady, we still need to do something either way, I just won’t count him as a goner just yet.”

The Lady smiles at the rotten little witch she is.

“You still love him don’t you?”

The shadows twist around and howl splashing claws into growing puddles encroaching closer and closer to the bright outside talking in front of them.

Mine Mine Mine.

Philza flinches.

Foolishly he whispers, balancing on the edge of justice.

“I need...I need to tell him I’m sorry-”

He falls into the damned.

He becomes the enemy.

As useless as human eyes may be, they do have an uncanny ability to feel a weight in the air.

Philza snaps his eyes where his spirit nests in the dark.

His lady raises his hand up to beat Him back with what he cannot be, made up of sky.

It works, it always works, but he won’t let go of what will make him capable.

There’s a hiss as Philza draws back on his bow.

“Get out of here mate.”

The arrow quivers as it strikes true, the target has already returned to its ward, sinking into its mind much in the same way it cannot do to Phil’s.

His chrysalis is almost fully grown.

Soon. he would be able to speak again.

Tubbo shudders in his sleep.

Amber glows off his wrists, reflected in the walls of his nest.

To say Wilbur was tired would be a bit of an understatement.

Seeing something as simple as moss on the floor beckons as if it were a five-star hotel.

Not that it mattered, soon Wilbur would be able to fucking leave and he could sleep and process as much as he wanted.

All alone.

Forever at this rate.

Prime’s sake this was the worst, what had he even been thinking? 

Oh yeah, no Tubbo, let me betray you to these beetle people you had no idea even existed, and then while your busy just fucking leave save you after I’m done, to prove just how much of a good brother I am?

How.

How did Wilbur ever think this was a good idea?

“ Mate. I frankly think anything to do with that fucking cave is a bad idea drop whatever plot you’ve got cooking up there!”

Phil of course had been right.

The bastard.

His track record for being correct was unfair.

Wilbur shrugs the pack from his back grateful to get the damned weight off, even if the drag lingers phantom-like. Bone deep.

“Just a couple more hours..”

The dust has set into the stone table just in front of him and Wilbur’s too tired to stop himself from trailing various faces into the surface. 

He just needs to wait for Belltix.

This was always part of the plan, a planned pitstop mostly for food or for rest or for health if something went wrong with the Mirror god.

Wilbur hadn’t expected that the beetle would want to check on him here, when he mentioned it he’d mostly been just talking out loud, though maybe she wanted information about said adventure but…

Well.

Maybe some people just wanted to help others.

The smiley face is next to the dead-eyed face, the little x’s staining.

Wilbur dashes his plan through the table glaring at the glittering flashes of dust the action puffs up.

There’s a chair so he lets himself drop to the floor kicking his legs out so his feet press up against the walls of the space.

It’s just a hole in the ground sloped into the earth and barely big enough for the table. A couple of gray-toned shelves are lined on the wall filled with chests and a very interesting helmet of all things.

Wilbur has no idea what the walls are built with, but it’s a surprisingly pleasant dull yellow.

Maybe some kind of smoothed-down sandstone?

Apparently, this is something the Beetles would build as a rest stop, just to eat and sleep before they continued with whatever business kept them.

Which would imply that there was a bed somewhere...

If they slept on the fucking table then prime help him…he’d have to take Belltix home with them, wouldn’t he?

Beds were way too important to keep them undiscovered.

Wilbur peers closer at a section of the wall on the other side of the table to the right.

There’s what appears to be a metal ring just barely poking out.

He’s just going to assume there’s a bed there and not something crazy.

His eyes slip close without his consent.

How long would he need to wait? Was this a place that Belltix just checked on often?

…How would she know he was here?

Casting about in his memories leads to a half-conscious conversation and a simple answer.

“I will know, I belong to that place”

No other answers were coxable from her.

Wilbur yawns, pulling his arms up to warp around his sides. 

It’s surprisingly warm here. 

Cozy. 

He could melt into the floor actually.

If only Tommy were here..he’d love..he’d love how tight-knit how close everyone would be in a house like this.

Even though he’d bitch about the lack of space constantly..claim a whole area for himself and scream when someone he was mad at entered it…he’d thrive on seeing people..interacting both with him and others.

At least that’s how he used to be back in the cabin days.

Maybe that’s changed by now.

“What did Dream do to Tommy?!”

Wilbur blinks rapidly, jerking his head off his chest with a groan.

The air itself is a hazy blanket, tempting his body to sink further down.

Maybe a quick nap would get rid of his headache?

There’s a low scraping sound behind the table.

It’s rhythmic..would be an interesting intro to a song.

It grows stronger and honestly if it’s something coming to kill him Wilbur would be meeting Ghostburr much sooner and much more permanently than planned.

He’s way too comfortable to stand up.

Being eaten alive would be the preferable way to go truthfully.

(Besides he has a fairly good guess as to what’s happening anyway-)

Sure enough, Belltix's round little head pops out of the ground gravel bits falling around her.

Instantly she turned to face him, expression blank. 

Even.

Wilbur grins ignoring the rasp to his voice to call out as cheerfully as he can manage

“Hullo... It’s good to see you, I hope I can have this conversation on the floor? Think of it like a slumber party maybe?”

Belltix is anxious it’s not clear in her voice but the way she keeps ducking her gaze from Wilbur studying the walls or the floor or anything else to keep from giving him an update.

At least she brought him food.

It’s some sort of baked glowing mushroom thing that flakes apart in hands but is fucking chewy.

But as long as he doesn’t sprout a sixth finger or something it would do the trick.

It’s shimmering underneath his skin, that subtle drag tick tick tick not overwhelming yet but-

Prime. 

Clearly, she wasn’t going to start this off, was she?

Wilbur swallows the rest of his bite and sucks in a deep breath hoping that will help his- his what? Paranoia? 

Chills spike down his spine at the realization because what else could that winding tick be? 

It was never really sixth sense, was it?

Or well no..kinda? 

Trying to survive made it…prevalent.

Prime. 

How many wrong judgment calls did he make based off of-

Belltix shuffles in front of him, sitting down in a mirror copy of his own pose.

Judging from the way she’s eyeing him she must be happy that he ate.

She clicks and clacks softly.

“You made it out alive then, went..okay then? For head?”

It’s kinda funny how motherly this beetle was, most of them seemed indifferent to Wilbur’s existence if not downright annoyed by it.

It was nice.

It was nice.

Even when she was hiding evading the only reason they were down here and what was going on with his brother, why not start with that?

Surely she understands the importance?

Wilbur shifts and reaches his fingers up to the ceiling barely able to scrape the surface with the tip.

He doesn’t want to speak till he knows he can be nice. 

Belltix waits.

Wilbur picks at the dirt under his nails. The questions burn a hole in the back of his head demanding a voice. 

“Is Tubbo dead then?”

-Cold and unaffected easy even, like it doesn’t matter, as if it’s not a big deal you once again led your family to ruin, make her as comfortable as possible to deliver the news-

Belltix doesn't react and Wilbur curls his hand into a fist digging into flesh.

He’s definitely not fucking tired anymore, what an interesting replacement for coffee.

Fuck what is he going to tell Tommy? 

Oh, primeprimeprime Tubbo-

“He breathes.”

Oh. Okay, Prime okay. Okayokay.

“Oh, y-eh? Sorry, Yeah? Told you he was strong.”

There’s another beat of stillness and Wilbur is more than grateful to take it for himself. A quick buzzing thought nudges against his skull, sounding just a bit too much like dad.

It’s not a good idea, it’s too personal hints at too much of what he's thinking, and feeling, and what was he even going to get out of it?

There’s no reason, there’s no-

Tick 

Tick

Tick.  

Wilbur wants to be a better person.

He wants to be nice.

He..doesn’t want to scare people

“Why…Why didn’t you just tell me that from the get-go?”

Wind me all up, let all the pictures run in my head, what did you get out of it?

Now it’s Wilbur’s turn to avoid eye contact. 

The lack of balance, this for that is stitching itself into his seams.

Misstep after misstep he’s a horrid composer.

“I..wasn’t trying..wanted to see if you..were..okay first?”

The words trip out of her mouth foreign and clacking.

Wilbur can’t help but snort, biting the side of his mouth to keep from turning the noise into pure derision. 

Pretty clearly Belltix had her priorities mixed up, allowing her to even be truthful in the first place.

This was pretty pathetic, wasn’t it? 

“Don’t bother just cut to the chase next time my health isn’t a concern for you, I’ll handle that-”

Wilbur stumbles to a stop.

He gets the sensation that he isn’t believed.

Belltix simply dips her head in a nod and keeps staring at his jacket. 

Wilbur holds back a growl.

There he did the whole asking clarifying questions thing. Was that supposed to be helpful then?

Was he supposed to feel “all” better now?

Phil with his dumb advice could suck his ass. 

This was awful.

No one got anything out of this conversation, it didn’t bring them closer, didn’t- didn’t fucking help.

You already know the only thing that helps you and it’s 

So

Loud.

Belltix shakes her wings open the motion, creating the faintish of chimes catching Wilbur’s attention bringing it back down, as she draws them back into the slots fitted seamlessly on her shell.

Two different thoughts track across his mind at the same time.

He’s never seen her wings before.

In fact, he’s not seen many wing sets in his whole time here.

Fatigue is pressing on the edges of his brain, clogging up his typical problem-solving skills but it’s worth noting, worth tucking into the back of his head for later.

The second track is more like a remembrance.

The Betlions were not people who were adept at speaking. Most interactions were led by actions.

Actions such as bringing someone food and shelter.

She most likely had no idea what to say now, and didn’t she ask Wilbur a question? 

Belltix was trying to do what felt so normal to Wilbur with a blindfold.

Something about that..matters.

Wilbur hums softly letting a smile slip onto his expression.

“It’s fine, I’m just worried about him you know big brother things,”

His knees scrape across the floor as he rolls onto them so he's facing Beltix shaking her shoulders out with a sharp movement preparing himself.

Belltix’s wings flutter once.

-Must be an anxiety tell-

Wilbur doesn’t let himself linger on that information, he doesn’t want to ponder it.

Doesn’t want to weaponize it.

He continues.

“But yeah I did meet the mirror god and yeah he’s a dickhead, I managed though. Now how long was I gone?

 Tubbo’s alive and that’s great but where are they holding him, is he harmed?”

Wilbur’s palms spread out on his knees pitching forward enough to rise slightly from the ground before letting himself drop back.

Belltix seems to frown, a subtle twitch.

She delivers her response.

It does nothing for Wilbur’s blood pressure; he can feel that way his heart picks up and valiantly attempts to keep the various reasons.

Argh.

Just what the fuck happened while he was gone?

Finally, he’s offered a respite.

“It’s been two days since you left” her clacking clicks are slow and even carefully selected.

“I..it’s hard to say to the family, I will try, for you.”

Wilbur smoothes his pants down, nodding and muttering a quick thank you even as dread steals the air straight from his lungs.

The world spins and spins on axles independent of a request, thoughtless to every single speck filled inside the machine.

“Our doctor’s found…a... Mark, a..sign..that claims the hatching... As someone able to..how say.. commune with our God? That means..”

The gears clog.

Wilbur can’t seem to unglue his jaws, can’t get them to open-

He can’t ask  what the fuck does that mean ,  what the fuck are you doing with my little brother get away I want him, fuck off with that bullshit .

“He’s been..they will turn him into a prophet, a mouthpiece, he will think of nothing other than our Lord and will feel..no pain, just..cannot go back with you, ever.”

The world keeps spinning and spinning even when the faulty gear breaks off, another one sips in to take its place and life goes on like nothing happened.

Wilbur buzzes mind whirling as it threatens to devour him. He-he needs a lifeline- something something a plan he needs a plan-

His nails dig into his thighs as he hunches over hair falling over his face- thinking, thinking,  thinking .

“I-I okay okay, you said..we just go and get him then where-”

“It’s too late..it takes three days..started when you left. I am sorry-”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out in the sea.

Nonnonno.

Every turn, every fucking turn it is Wilbur’s fucking fucking fault!

He gets it already he fucking gets it!

He can’t can’t-

So many mistakes cascading down- 

He can’t-

Snow breaks over his shoulder, the chill blooming out from the blow in a circle.

Tubbo flashes him a smirk, eyes bright from the folds of his winter coat, the look slides right off his face when he sees how Wilbur expertly packs his own ranged weapon. 

“Better run, bee boy!”

The resulting snowball fight was one of the warmest memories held close while waiting for a train.

There has to be something, some sort of loophole, anything-

“The-three day, days, we..can can we can make it if we hurry sun's not set, is it guarded-”

There’s a clawed hand on his arm tugging Wilbur back into a sitting position.

“I..cannot..my people, It would be…betrayal..”

And Wilbur would do anything to have his family back, losing both of them would-

It could not happen,

There isn’t a world-

Not okay.

“Please, please help me!”

The resulting response snaps gears back into place shaking the flow for a heartbeat letting him breathe again and the world spins on.

Wilbur had a great appreciation for books, even if Technoblade was more of the reader, between them the facts and knowledge gleaned from old dusty tombs marked some of the most interesting ideas ever recorded, saved suspended in time.

It’s not surprising at all that he’s been directed to a library then.

Stone bookcases line concrete floors, rows reaching all the way up to the ceiling.

Each book is bound with swirling patterns echoing the one stacked behind it.

Apparently, the covers were made with a limestone base threaded with flexible cave vines so they could actually turn.

Which was sort of interesting considering the lack of sense that makes.

Did they have to drill a hole to weave the threads in?

Was limestone the only stone used?

Who-

Click click.

That weird chime of buzzing wings-

Wilbur ducks behind one towering row shifting on his right foot so his front is facing various titles.

-Slight lean backward head up, shoulders down, let your eyes glaze as if you're lost in thought, nothing special, blend in the background-

There’s a quick desire to sneak a peek when the mottled green-shelled beetle passes.

But Wilbur can’t afford to give into even that tiny of a risk, even if that beetle just kept walking-just reporting the feeling of eyes on its back later-

Well.

Let’s just say it would raise a lot of questions.

He didn’t have clearance to be here, the rest of the scent bottle would be just enough to hopefully fade into the background of everyone else here.

If nothing looked too closely that is.

He thumbs the sliver-gold key held in his fist just to remind himself it’s there.

A weight yanking his mind out of that fucking tick tick tick.

He can’t be a-a terrorist if he’s too busy saving his little brother.

Prime he is a terrorist, isn't he?

Of his own home even-

Was it worth it?

Ash burns on his tongue.

Wilbur slips out and makes his way toward the back, replaying Belltix’s words over and over.

“In the queen’s library there should be notes–written by our ancients- might find a fix in the forbidden area, I will give you my master key, stay out of other areas, no explore just special books”

He has one chance. 

Luckily enough no one is around the edge Wilbur is inching towards so it’s an easy and smooth feat to drop to his knees and pry up a rather loose floorboard, revealing a trapdoor lock hanging taunting off the front.

There’s a beat.

His key peeks out from underneath his knuckle-white grip.

It opens quietly into darkness.

Beatles don't need light to find infestations.

Well.

Ants were always stronger than they looked right?

Wilbur leaps into the darkness, pulling the door so it falls shut behind him, sealing tight.

It’s very very clear that Wilbur is  not alone  the second his feet hit the ground.

The first thing that proves it is the loud panting breaths and gasping haunting the halls.

It’s not near him, as far as Wilbur can tell.

Which isn't as much of a comfort as he’d like it to be seeing as he can’t see past his lighter’s glow.

It’s just bright enough to see right in front of him-chest swallowed up in the gloom.

The passage he’s in is just big enough for Wilbur to walk upright in if he jumped he’d smack the roof.

If it shows up, there’s no certainty Wilbur would see it before he can even do anything-

His fingers trail over the right side as he walks feeling for a change he might not have seen, he has to find the right room.

Listening.

Listening.

Listening.

Can’t get caught.

Haa-huff

Haa-huff.

The sound coaxes him forward teasing.

Any second it could come down this way and what could Wilbur even do about that?

Noth-

His foot slides out from underneath him which Wilbur just hardly corrects in time.

The flashing flare of his light illuminates an old doorway, to his left, it has roots burrowed into the ground reaching up from the dirt in the hallway.

Blurry edges appear to be a sign fuzzy words where he can just barely see-

Wilbur swings his leg on top of the most stable root using it as a makeshift springboard to get closer trying to read was that-

Ah right.

(If there is a scraping sound, like claws dragging across stone he does not jump, it is fine- not near him- it’s just- focus-)

Wilbur had no idea how to even speak their language much less read those figures, whatever those hieroglyphs say.

The books he’s read from these people were translated over.

This begs the question of  why  but there wasn’t really time for that.

Hopefully, this would be the room he needs.

Please be empty, 

Please be empty.

Wilbur edges past the door, twisting his face at the musky smell that assaults him.

Fucking hell.

Gross.

Wilbur creeps deeper inside, catching sight of large gray-toned tables and various items left in place.

Wilbur raises his lighter higher, beating back the dark with each step forward.

Heel-toe, slow breaths, your coat is great for the darkness, don’t move quickly ever, movement is your enemy-

Stacks and stacks of books, copying the style of the room just above them, expect these books are slate based instead of limestone.

He.

He. 

Found the right place in this actual room?

Wilbur flexes his fingers, hardly daring to believe his luck.

Now he just needed to find information.

The right book.

Written in a language he can’t read.

In as quick a manner as possible in case someone wants a midnight story.

Easy.

Piece by Piece.

It’s not impossible.

It can’t be.

Wilbur won’t lose him, he can fucking do something- it’s here it’s here the fix to everything is here- so close so fucking close-

The scraping echoes down the hallway, just past his door. Weighted panting gets softer the further it patrols.

Wilbur tugs on his hair quickly, in and out.

This was fine. No worse than what he asked Tubbo to do.

Wilbur reaches and grabs the first book off the nearest shelf dipping his lighter near the pictures and looking for  anything, anything that could hint at what Tubbo’s going through.

Time blurs, books and pages shifting into each other, he’s so fucked if they mixed the pictures he’s looking for in a random one-off chapter-

Haa-huff-haa-huff.

He’s so tired.

It’s staring blankly at an open page, some sort of diagram showing a rather large grub being fed to a..what was that a tree? That Wilbur’s light flickers unmoved.

His throat dries.

It’s going to die.

And He’ll be unable to  see- how can he- the odds would drop and fizzle into nothing-

A wicker lamp stands innocently in the center of the room.

A promise of sight.

Haa-huff haa-huff-

The promise of attention.

Wilbur stands on unsteady limbs.

Tubbo shakes in the bed, pain racking his limbs, little whimpers spilling from those lips.

Tommy keeps his hand on his chest not even looking at where Wilbur has ghosted into the room.

“If you don’t want to help me Wilbur- get out of here!”

Wilbur does not ask if he’s okay.

He does not care, he needs someone to scout.

The lamp catches nearly instantly bumbling up to a steady blaze with a snap!

There’s a click.

The lamp inches downwards as some sort of…pressure plate drops...

Wilbur throws him backward bracing for  pain-

There’s a floom across the room lighting up hidden and unhidden lights-

Ranging from baskets to torches overhead- The room is almost warm with how bright it is now.

At least the circular setup was gorgeous-spirals spreading out in a rose-like pattern, abruptly halting when it reaches the straightened edge of the bookcases.

Wilbur almost laughs at the  fucking bullshit of it.

He’s so so fucking dead.

Dead as the silence from the hallway.

The door rattles and shakes, hiding something that  snarls low and deep, tinted with hunger-

Wilbur bolts as quietly as possible given the way his heart is pounding- up for the second-story staircase he couldn't see until that moment.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He takes a second to lean over, needing wanting to see what he’s dealing and recoils in horror as whatever it is  squeezes past the door, pale white and eyeless, wormlike with bumpy flesh twinkling with slime-

It shifts swelling up in size and shaking itself off the front and back limbs popping out of its sides, wicked claws growing free.

A black tongue licks at the air.

A misshapen head turns where Wilbur is frozen.

Haa-huff.

Haa-huff.

Its chest heaves with its breathing.

Then it’s barreling forward with a scream

It leaps, easily clearing the height difference and-

Wilbur takes those seconds and throws himself off the balcony rolling with the jarring impact of concrete on his ankles.

The beast shrikes fury laced in the tone, and Wilbur is  running weaving in and out of shelves, heart in his throat can’t leave the room, have to save Tubbo, not like this-why fucking why he gets it already-

Things crash behind him, weighted shaking the floor when they fall, spilling paper guts across the ground.

Wilbur leaps to the right, ignoring the slight tug as claws skim his jeans, neatly ripping a hole and breaking into flesh, he hits the ground and rolls, throwing his forearms up over his head protecting his neck.

Sorry Tubbo, sorry, 

Sorry

Sorry,

Just a fuck up prime, so fucking sorry-

And Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut-filled to the brim with how fucking sorry he is, That Tubbo is dammed and Tommy is most likely dead and it’s  all his fault-

Haa-huff.

A high-pitched whine breaking off into a growl. The sensation of pressure stepping around his prone form.

The ground shakes when it leaps somewhere high above him.

Wilbur shoves his palm into his mouth and bites to muffle the noise he almost makes.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

He rolls over opening his eyes.

The second he shifts the muscle pain sparks down his leg.

A long thin sliced line weeps blood down soaking into his clothing and floor.

Wilbur presses a shaky hand into part of the injury, swearing under his breath.

Haa-huff haa-huff.

It’s sitting pretty at the doorway.

Wilbur gets the sense it’s waiting for him.

Why didn’t it just..kill him?

His blood flakes along its mouth. 

Tongue lashing out at in..was that disgust..?

Wilbur drops his eyes back down to the small pool around his leg.

Beetles don’t bleed like humans do..and it’s sightless..blood has a strong sense of smell… is it confused? Can it not…find me?

Hope blooms in his chest matching the heat from his cut.

Slowly Wilbur pushes himself up watching the way the beast grunts but doesn’t move, upset a hidden row of vampire-like fangs biting at the air. 

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck,

The cooper tang is confusing it- what the fucking hell is that thing anyway?

Why didn't belltix say something-

Prime. 

What the hell was Wilbur going to do now?

He couldn't just let himself keep bleeding. 

It didn't feel like the wound was deep enough to kill him or anything like that but-

How much more could Wilbur even take?

This was horrible already battling light-headed dizziness along with his fatigue-

That was just asking for a blackout and that would be fatal at this point. 

Not worth the risk. 

Wilbur carefully leverages his leg closer to his chest, biting back the hiss of pain. 

He's had worse. 

Technically. 

Even if his hands are shaking as he warps the tattered ends of fabric around the cut, covering as much as it can.

It pulses like a motherfucker. 

But. 

He can stand. 

Haa-huff- haa-huff.

Wilbur shoves himself forward grabbing the nearest spilled book and flipping through the pages.

He has to find it.

Infuriatingly words and pictures merge together and Wilbur has to resist the urge to  tear and rip into the spine shake everything out and scream-

Not finding anything-prime fuck does he even know what he’s looking for did he miss it??

Prime, what if he just…missed it?

What if he can’t read it all and this was just wasting time?

What if the sun already set and Tubbo was just a shell lifeless, a puppet delivered on the palm of your silver platter?

Wilbur forces his body to relax.

Putting on that second skin- compressing down his ribs till his heart jumpstarts.

He can’t let those thoughts get the best of him.

Wilbur just had to trust his plan. It was too late to just back out now,  no break lines been cut, brace for impact-

Without moving from the circle around him Wilbur grabs what looks like a pamphlet, staring unrepentantly until the words narrow down into letters, and tries to match them to anything.

Haa-Huff-Haa-Huff.

Wilbur refuses to look, there- he didn’t need to, he had a plan-

He grabs a new book, discarding his pamphlet just behind him, starting a pile behind him.

His fingers turn page after page, and to minimize the risks of skipping over anything important he counts to five on the sheet.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

It’s fine, just keep looking-

One.

Two.

Haa-huff, deep rumbling growl, discontent-

Three.

Four.

Five.

Repeat.

The action is numbing.

The action is familiar.

Concrete leaching meager heat from his coat, curled up underneath a thin bench, just for a slight change in scenery- one two three train coming by in another four-where would you stop- 

Wilbur shakes his head roughly to the side desperate to rid himself of the picture, so real he can almost feel it-

Book number whatever falls out of trembling hold and Wilbur drops his head onto his shoulders just to fucking remind himself-  he’s alive he’s alive.

His chest inhales and exhales.

Blood pumps through veins.

Wilbur blinks past the hazy film over the air, reaching out for another fucking booklet-

Nothing was left. Behind him, his shoulders knock into his already read stack.

The beast pants sharply and harshly next to the doorway, listening- waiting, the butcher.

Wilbur eyes the nearest bookshelf.

It’s still standing sleek and polished, simple in its hidden danger.

One.

Two.

Three.

Wilbur lays himself prone and stretches out his arms pulling himself forward by his forearms, trying to ensure it’s as quiet as possible, even as the action nips into tender skin.

Pull.

Push.

Breath.

Close. Closer-

Haa-huff.

Haa-Haa.

Claws tap taping into stone.

Wilbur keeps his eyes set on his destination- he-he doesn’t know what he would do if- behind him-  keep to the plan.

Haa-Huff.

Shaky fingers wrap around polished slate and latch tight, using the new anchor to haul his body around the self, facing towards where the beast had last been lurking.

It’s not there anymore because of course it isn't.

Karma is just not done fucking with Wilbur, is it?

Haa-huff.

There- to his right- It’s wrinkled snout is pressed to the floor gasping around the air as sniffs it’s front limbs curve inward changing to become more sleek and smooth. 

It uses this to lay its chest on that new surface than just sorta fucking-

Throws that part of its body back and forth as if it was struggling but controlled?

Wilbur blinks, thinking thinking-

Sweeping. It’s sweeping the area with it’s fucking body because it can’t see.

It can only feel and hear.

Great.

What a wonderful way to solve that particular issue.

He’d have to keep an eye on just on close it gets before it’s too late to crawl out of its range.

You’ve committed can’t run- enjoy your own fucking Tubbox-

Wilbur begins to skim over the next book.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Doesn’t matter when you stop, you're bound to your station.

Honestly, Wilbur thinks he might have this down to a science at this fucking point.

Speed read about three books, listen and check for his dear friend who typically at that time had  Slawooshed  his way close enough that all you could hear was that ragged cut breathing, bearing down your neck.

Wilbur might have had some close calls.

But it’s on the other side of the room now, claws shifted back into well. Actual claws as it digs at the floor.

Wilbur’s half tempted to laugh at it.

Fucking stupid ass whatever it was supposed to be.

Haa-huff.

Haa-huff.

Time tick tick ticks.

Wilbur  still can’t read this fucking language.

Another fucking book that could be useful but fuck all if Wilbur knew- fuck, maybe it held the way to immortality! 

But would Wilbur know?

Nope- No clue. No bloody fucking clue.

How long has it been?

It’s not just this- afterward, he has to break into the place their holding him and do whatever the cure says and get him out alive and and and-then he they have to go save Tommy- no, first they have to get out of this fucking cave system while being hunted-

Wilbur presses his fingers into his eyes wishing he could  just fucking tear them out-

He’s exhausted and wounded and He’s gonna have to help Tubbo move and maybe he won’t even be himself-

Wilbur feels sick, it’s not working, and his plan is flawed from the start-

Idly he opens another page and flips through it barely registering off-hand notes and painstaking diagrams.

Terrorist terrorist- won’t ever get the chance to make it right, poison touch, erode-

“Fuck! Fuck you, Shut up!”

Wilbur punctures the word with the action his body is begging for he can’t help it combusting into starlight shattered shards reaching for holes, begging to dig and  harm, bury in ash, all gone it’s all fucking gone!-

The book flips and lands on its spine falling open.

There’s a diagram of something curled around in amber liquid something thin and soft looking forming out...no onto its back.

Wilbur’s best bet.

Please- Please-

White flashes in the corner of his eyesight, large form barreling forward, jaws gaping open more than willing to tear- and Wilbur needs that book.

Without taking his eyes off of the alluring tome, fixated Wilbur twists and drags the bookshelf it came from  down.

The beast screams in fury thrashing stone and dust as the weight hits home.

Wilbur is already moving ignoring the stabbing agony in his leg-  grab it, grab it, and run run run .

Why did they have to make these books so heavy?!

Wilbur zips left, bending his ankle in ways one should not, as the beast throws itself at him again.

This time it doesn’t land a blow.

This time it won’t lose him.

The ground shakes as its form lengthens once more swelling so its shoulders hunch above it’s back, legs thickening with muscle.

It howls. 

Wilbur crashes through the door and into pure darkness blindly praying he’s going down the right fucking hallway and not deeper in this hell pit.

The beast roars behind him scraping sharp- flint striking a match.

Haa- haa- huff

Breathe hints and licks at the back of Wilbur’s heels, burns burns burns so close so close, just a little bit further-

Keep moving keep running no breaks commit commit commit can’t falter-

A space to his side blaze at his back-

Wilbur leaps into the space refusing to allow his knees to buckle, ignores the quick horror terror that he was in another room and went the  wrong way little gambler,

He needs a plan, He needs one yesterday.

Haa-huff-ha-huf.

Shadowed figure lurking in the doorway- understanding that Wilbur can’t rush past.

How..how can he...

Wilbur stumbles backward creating distance and casting his gaze into the dark room-

Something there has to be something-find it find it find it-

The back of his legs hit a smooth surface, some sort of desk the faint of something clatters to the ground.

He can’t hear over the loud growl rippling from the beast, eyeless face locked on dead center.

It walks forward, body growing slimmer leaner more efficient in the smaller space.

Wilbur attempts to climb over the desk it’s he needs to..to stall more time- he needs…

Needs-

Fuck!

N-Needs his hands scramble into hard stone- a wall.

Haa-Huff

Claws rip into his chest blooming spots of agony racing across his nerves trying to beat the bashing simmer when the beast uses its grip to slam Wilbur into the ground-breaking through the desk.

Wilbur gasps for air hand useless twitching at his side- blood dripping into his eyes muscles paralyzed with shock and pain pain pain-

Is this what it felt like when Schallt hit you Tubbo?

The beast shakes its massive head expression breaking in confusion and disgust- tongue curling up-

Fuck does Wilbur hate anteaters-

Its claws flex in his coat holding-  reminding it where Wilbur was-

Last chance, Icarus.

Its jaws angle down teeth glittering-

Wilbur’s fingers dive into flesh, vaguely feeling the sensation of blood soaking he can’t feel and stab yet can’t think about how bad that’ll be-

He lifts the bloody limb-

Fangs brush, trying to touch- crush- that fluttering kickdrum-

Wilbur jabs into the beast’s nose shoving his thumb in as deep as he can-

If you ever get attacked by something bigger then you go for the face it’s one of the most sensitive areas of the body-

It instantly recoils rearing up in surprise.

Wilbur rolls his chest trying to make his shaking body  get up for fuck’s sake, please-

It hurts- he’s so tired- 

The beast thrashes its head back and forth trying to paw the blood off its face snarls and growls breaking the stillness.

Wilbur’s fumbling hands bump into something cold it molds to his palm like a sword-

It hisses across the ground when Wilbur tries to pick it up-

Please, please-

The beast’s head swings towards him lips twisting back shoulders tensing bunching-

Wilbur locks his arm straight aiming whatever he has at that white blur even as he turns his head away doesn’t want to see death’s embrace for the  fourth fucking time -

Please please last chance no redos-

A bright flash of light heat-

Something screams and chokes-

Then stillness-

Wilbur pried his eyes open.

White sparks dance in ribboning arcs across the black handle stick he’s holding- the light it’s giving off just enough to see around him.

The beast lays in front of him close enough to touch a small hole in the center of its skull.

Dead.

Wilbur breathes.

The book slips, tumbling to the ground and landing open on a page Wilbur can’t really make out.

Laughter bubbles out of his chest body hunching over itself with the force of the action utterly unable to stop it.

Digging his fingers into his chin- Wilbur laughs-

He feels so alive.

“Found something prime- h-hope it’s the right thing- How, How long-?”

“You-”

“Fuck-I’m gonna pass out, shit sorry-”

Yellow sandstone swims past his vision his leg won’t take his weight-

The soft chime of bells-

Careful claws cupping his face-

Then Wilbur is out.

Hold on- hold on-

Whatever dreams you had tonight have been washed away.

You’ve been left with a bitter aftertaste.

You think you’re over it.

You put the pages down and exit the stage.

The voice never calls for you to return.

Your play was a bust but the symphony was beautiful- even when its notes sharpen enough to cut.

You take your sword- ready to dull those edges, hold something real instead of a live firework-

Wilbur awakens with a jolt instantly pushing himself up more than a little shaky.

Where was he?

Oh.

He made it back to Belltrix’s base.

Somehow. There’s no memory of his trip back.

Pain hums in aches and bruises all across his body- brightening in certain spots.

It all pulls tightly down into the cut along his leg, bandaged neatly- with a strange sort of vine-like thing.

Wilbur flicks his eyes to the side.

Belltrix is perched on the table a book held in her front limbs- tense-

..

The bloody fucking book!

Wilbur makes a high-pitched sound as adrenaline wields wires back together in his mind he attempts to ask if he got the right fucking book if they could help him- what did they need to do-

What- what time is it?

“Whaa-did I run out of-how long?!”

Wilbur nearly falls out of the bed he’s on from how fast he moves- unprepared for the swell of vertigo.

Belltix just stares at him steadily and evenly.

She looks.

Wilbur sucks in a deep breath tapping at his shirt with his free hand trying to chase down the urge to demand- to yell and order- doesn’t want to listen to that-

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He can’t stand the quiet.

Somehow he’s able to strangle down that bite.

“Am I too late?”

Belltix tips her head to the side watching.

Wilbur rocks his head up to the ceiling wishing for a sunny sky. 

Yellow stone mocks him with its shadowed chill.

They already talked about this she knew how much Wilbur  hates this-

She’s a family-focused being, why doesn’t she have a nestmate?

Is it because of her job? A royal position isn’t it?

But they haven’t seen a human in decades- what a useless position, ask her how many lovers left when they realized just how much of a dead-end waste of space-

Wilbur kicks his foot into the ground dust flaking up with the movement.

Prime- he could not just fucking say that.

Why would he even think to?

She’s helped him more than...

A lot of people have actually.

Count to 10 in and out just thinking and that’s fine.

Belltix finally moves, slipping the book into Wilbur’s bag.

“..I fixed the words for your eye, you can..”

She turns towards something wrapped in leather sitting neatly on the table.

- Just translated the way to cure Tubbo…Time crunch did she create the cure then? Still debating over the wrongs and rights helped me this far. Pros and cons doesn’t want to be a traitor-

Wilbur opens his mouth intending on saying something..hooked between comforting and ensuring he gets what he needs to  fucking save   his little brother.

Belltix beats him, grabbing the bundle and turning to face him something sharp in that blank stare.

“ Here is a cure- do not copy, burn book and translation..try to forget steps after- leave and do not return.”

“I-”

“Deal?”

Wilbur tips his head in a nod easy enough rules honestly...Wilbur would rather burn this place to the fucking ground than ever approach for vacation anyway. 

He would miss Belltrix though.

“Yes- I swear, thank you- no idea just how much I- this helps me- so much I wish I had something to repay you.”

For once he isn’t just talking out of his ass.

This is- so far and beyond and Wilbur doesn’t understand why and it’s safe not to know that- if it wasn’t for the fact he’d never see her again it would be impossible- he’d have to repay that-this debt as soon as possible or cut all contact.

He’d rage and demand an answer about the beast in the library.

He’d hide her from an angry nation demanding blood.

But they do not have time for that and they will never have to worry about the other again.

It’s better this way.

Wilbur has nothing to give and they both know all he will do is cause more trouble here.

Belltix taps at the bundle shifting back to her typical clicking-

“This is for the hatchling, a..large vial for his.. effects. While you rested I…stole this.”

Wilbur leans forward, heart tugged at the implications of that statement.

He can’t pretend he’s not invested as he is-

-Idiot, fool, pull back your tipping the scale in her favor, wave it off, then-

“Affects? I knew something..but what is..more information altogether please.”

Wilbur’s finger finds its way to his leg and resumes its melody as he waits for a reply.

Belltix exhales wings chiming together with the sound.

“The..point is to make a vessel for our…main…true God..as we may speak and be with he-and in…doing so it shifts the offered into a…well beetle mix.”

Wilbur blinks, falling completely still.

What?

That didn’t make any sense?

“There is more to the ways and what’s but short short short- apply this ointment to any…extra limbs he may have, they fall off as long as haven’t reached bone yet”

Someone filled Wilbur’s ears with water and plugged off the world.

“Exrta..limbs..”

Is all he’s able to stumble out of the roaring torrent.

Prime no- nonono that’s horrible..to be ripped from your own body like that?

How much different are the burns you gifted him?

Belltix nods at him, something knowing in her eyes, she carefully pulls him up both of them ignoring the shake in his legs and her gentle refusal to time him how long it’s been- the answers to questions would stop him when he’s this fucking close.

“Read note- read map- then leave.” She pushes him towards the exit.

 Goodbye Wilbur, find your peace I pray.”

Then she is gone, leaving Wilbur choking on his farewell and a river in his head.

In the end though..what does all of this even change?

Wilbur will fix it- as much as he is capable of at any rate and they will learn how to live again.

As long as Tubbo was alive.

Then Tommy.

Then.

Wilbur could put them to rest and let them go- away from his acid touch.

Bury his body back into the dirt it’s defied.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be.

The castle gates loom in front of him.

It’s oddly empty in the halls. 

Wilbur still ghosts between pillars and lingers in doorways just in case but-

Nobody seems to be up and about. Which is really useful…too much so.

It was a bit too late to ask himself if he was walking into a trap at this point.

Still.

His shoulders prickle with unease coiled tight.

It doesn’t help that he’s just not as agile as he normally is- the weighted press of soreness a constant request for rest.

If anyone were to engage Wilbur right now he might just fucking scream.

Unless it was Tubbo.

Poor fucking betrayed bee boy.

Wilbur would cry.

He’d fucking sob and- ask how much pain he was in and get him something nice and-

It would suck for everyone in the blast radius.

Wilbur snorts softly to himself picturing Tommy’s high-pitched accent screaming

“Prime! Getting the fuck out of that blast radius as soon as possible”

That kid was the perfect menace.

He’s getting closer and closer to the spot marked on the map where Tubbo should be kept.

He hasn’t seen a soul.

A marble staircase spirals down beckoning down into hidden depths.

He places his right foot down on the first step.

A gong rings out the sound echoing and warping from the halls.

Cheering crests hunting after the fading reverb.

The gong sings another time.

It’s coming from beneath him.

Wilbur has no choice but to descend.

He walks as carefully as he can- heel down then sliding down to his toes- trying to keep the sound down as much as he can.

Even if the swell of a crowd snaps up any stray noises hungry for space.

If anyone comes up these steps for any reason-

Wilbur shakes away the memory of white shifting claws-

Not the time.

The staircase opens up into a large room.

Wilbur eases off the step and then instantly throws himself back in the shadows- muffing off a yelp-

Separated by a balcony overlooks a handmade “outdoor” courtyard.

Trees and grass and even shrubs dot the landscape.

Amidst the patches, you could see between all the bodies packed into the space.

The queen is luxurious on her throne above them all, clacking noise that makes the crowd roar.\

A party of some sort?

The noise is nearly blinding.

Wilbur shadows along the edges of the wall moving faster now that it’s unlikely he’ll be heard.

He needs to be out of sight as soon as possible.

Ducking down a curved hallway Wilbur forces himself to take a steading breath.

Tubbo is on this floor.

Prime be blessed that the kid wasn’t in some sort of celler if the notebook was to be trusted.

They wanted to care for the prophet to be in the most comfortable of places.

For the service, they were so “kindly offering.”

Gaslighting kidnapping motherfuckers.

Another turn down into a smaller hallway-

The gong bangs out.

Wilbur’s ears ring ring ring.

An ornate door sits innocently at the end of it.

Vines and mushrooms crisscross its frame, a weak amber shine to the makeshift seal.

Wilbur taps the front of the stick(?) whatever you would call the weapon he picked up in the library.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone but prime- this single motherfucker  was not going to fucking stop him, so close so close Tubbo almost got you, hold on!

It hits Wilbur then.

Tubbo is behind that door.

His little brother.

Holy shit.

Prime..fucking prime- 

What state would he be in?

Would he forgive..understand why..?

Shivers race up his spine and really Wilbur has to unstick his feet from the floor first.

Take the shot fearless leader.

He rips the coverings down- the second the mix hits the floor alarms start to blare. 

Stopwatch counting time grains dribbling down closed fists.

Wilbur shoulders his way through looking looking looking they need to move fast-

It’s impossible not to see it.

It’s impossible to fucking breathe.

Sound falls away; he can't even hear the rushing beat of blood he feels flushing around his ears.

Tubbo.

Tubbo!

It’s…Wilbur doesn’t even have words.. melody broken half- stabbed in the heart with a brutal skill speaking of years of experience.

Tubbo is too easy,  too easy   can’t rip his eyes away -enough to see, curled up in an amber-hued translucent cocoon, sealing him inside.

Holy fuck.

How is Wilbur going to fix this?

Tubbo’s eyes are rounded in shape, pupils more dilated. 

Small rounded blogs dangle just before his eyebrows,

When Tubbo uncurls Wilbur notes little black limbs branching out from his forearms. 

The skin around the limb is red with irritation, and if Wilbur read the notes right-that it will eventually peel away from something much harder. And if he looked at Tubbo’s back he'd probably see little black bumps getting ready for a set of wings. 

Wilbur wants to  scream.

How how how was an ointment supposed to fucking save him?!

Bursts of starlight break across his vision as he approaches. 

As he looks over the land he built- the relationship he mocked.. molded into something convenient- the earth he scorched, if I can’t have it no one can-

Wilbur is pulled closer to magnetic atoms buzzing with strain.

Tubbo does not move; he doesn't even twitch when Wilbur rests his hand against the shell. 

Warmth soaking into shaking skin.

There isn’t…how could something survive like this? 

How long ago did…

Lungs burned and charred giving up with a stab with a pop and now with a single word.

Flowers circling in a meadow, fairy ring enchantment- spring in his brightened eyes autumn in his voice, summer in each movement. 

Winter blankets in a whiteout thickening over each other season, defensive protection.

But petals peek through snow drifts.

Someone has to feed the bees.

The world ends with a hiss.

Wilbur’s strings cut as he slides to the ground fighting back droplets

He was too late.

He was too fucking late always always always and it’s all his fault he ordered this he allowed this he asked for this.

He was looking for his own flagellation but the people he loved just kept getting in the crossfire and Wilbur-?

Has no fuckng idea how to stop it!

Tears leak from his face and drip down sliding into his torn shirt and Wilbur is helpless.

He can’t keep anything safe no matter how much he wants to.

“I tried Tubbo- I really did I-..fuck! Fuck me! Why why did I have to ruin everything?! Again and again, fuck fucking dammit-”

The alarms drop and it doesn’t matter because it’s all fucking over.

The world has ended let them come Wilbur will welcome each and every retribution with bared teeth.

Wilbur might have been the one to hand his little brother over the silver platter dinner bell dinging away- but.

They did this.

They made him like this.

Wilbur will fucking take as many of them out as he can-show them a real fucking kamikaze.

He wipes his face with a growl, a plan breaking through the falling concrete platforms underfoot.

Fine.

Fine!

The surface he’s leaning on ripples.

Startled Wilbur stumbles to his feet, twisting back to look over his shoulder. 

Tubbo is staring at him wide open- eyes black save for one stubborn lingering blue ring.

The boy shivers- muscles jumping up and down in rhythm, the twitch doesn't break doesn’t waver- he keeps his gaze riveted to Wilbur’s.

Wilbur takes a half step closer enraptured.

“Tubbo..!” 

He’s still alive!

Still- Still alive alive-

Not over yet oh thank Prime. 

Tubbo abruptly shudders jaw opening in a soundness shout his arms come up to cross above his head dropping down against his hair, tucking his legs close to his chest tied tight-

His chest heaves little bubbles slipping out of the press of lips - and Wilbur realizes the problem.

Tubbo can’t breathe

Fuckfuckfuck.

“Hold on- don’t move, save your- getting you out Tubs! Pro-mise promise!”

Wilbur is moving before he’s had time to think, closing the distance between them in an instant.

He needs to get Tubbo out he needs to  fucking do something-

His hands paw uselessly across amber unable to find purchase- Wilbur bites on the inside of his cheek cutting off mounting dread. He doesn’t have time to lose it-!

But there’s no grip, it's too thick to break with his shoulder blades. How long can someone hold their breath?

He hears buzzing at the doors a thousand miles away- barely even there-

Tubbo is here- Tubbo is right here and Wilbur can hear the stifled hitched gasps, see the way tremors dance, leap from head to toe- and that's all that matters.

If anyone even enters this fucking room Wilbur is going to fucking kill them with his bare hand prime help him-

He has a weapon-

Wilbur rocks back on his heels quickly tugging on a loose hair stand hard enough to tear as he debates if his weird stick thing would kill Tubbo or not.

Prime fuck if the child died at his hand..again...

“I should have saved you..”

“But you chose not to!”

Tubbo startles lifting a hand to clamp over his mouth and nose, his eyelids start to droop, and in a desperate bid, he tosses his head back using the motion to fix Wilbur with another pleading look.

He can’t hold it for long, fatigue tipping his eyes shut.

Wilbur grips his weapon- a baton isn't it by the middle careful not to touch the end that kept sparking with that white.

He doesn’t want to kill Tubbo.

But Wilbur’s run out of time days ago.

With a sharp fluid movement, muscles coiled charged with all the fucking electrifying anxiety into its swing, the end of the baton crashes into the shell with a staggering impact- fissures opening up in spider webbing rifts.

Wilbur’s shoulders shake from the release.

Alive alive alive he’s alive- 

His little brother jolts half-heartedly, shying away from the center of the strike.

Tubbo softens- body dropping down. 

No air no air- no time!

Wilbur braces his arms and brings them down for another blow-  quick quick quick-

He has to break it.

A deep groan hisses out, fluid starting to leak from deeping fractures-

It bursts open-

Wilbur barely notices the way liquid crashes into him already reaching reaching reaching-

Tubbo is so, so, warm- weight burning against his chest- tapping at underneath ribs and it’s akin to a heart attack.

Wilbur clutches hard at the dagger inviting it deeper, closer even as panic tick tick tick-  do not touch!  in flashing blazes.

He has his brother; he won't abandon him ever again-

“Tubbo Tubbo- you're okay, got you-sorry so fucking sorry-”

Carefully Wilbur starts to lower that thin-hungry what did they even feed you- frame to the floor he doesn’t move at all stiller than death and and and-

Wilbur rests his fingertips against Tubbo’s throat his eyes were tricking him fucking with perception and mind games-

Nothing thrums underhand.

Nothing nothing nothing-

“You are under arrest, do not move if you want to live!”

The new voice tunnels past Wilbur, stuck staring-willing anything to just fucking change-

But it doesn’t and it won’t and Wilbur has been fighting since he shook Dream’s hand lifetimes ago.

“Get on your back! Hands above your head!”

The blurry form moves closer, an iron spear held high and gleaming with blood that Wilbur knows isn’t there yet.

There is nothing left. 

“Get on your-”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

Wilbur lurches to his feet snarling and wild-eyed because he  just wanted his family back that’s all dammit! 

Let him have something!

Let him keep someone!

“Get out! Get the fuck out I don’t want to deal with you- I can’t!”

Please, enough just give him this one mercy-

The beetle lifts one clawed limb up and out to the side, halting the troop behind him. 

They don't leave they don't leave  they better fucking leave-

"I can't! Deal! Five minutes give me five fucking minutes then you can stab me all you..all you wa..nt!"

It’s his only leverage he’ll comply if they just  give him five fucking minutes-

His voice breaks at the last part of the statement, choked by an undertow- 

He wants- 

Fuck.

Fuck!

Wilbur shakes his head blinking them  dry  and it’s so stupid but his feelings are a haywire mesh and Wilbur is just- sinking and-

He can’t breathe and-  He was so close ripped from his hands-

Don’t you think you were expecting this?

Blood in the water could have gotten him out before he drowned. He drowned and you sat there and threw a pity party assuming also assuming- you were too late and now you are!

Self-fulfilling prophecy!

The spear’s metal lines up with his chest-

Wilbur’s skin itches with familiarity-

“Five minutes! I- Let me say goodbye-I-”

There is steel behind the pity in in the way the leader braces his feet into the ground- ready to strike-

Would it hurt less (more?) from this stranger?

The beetle suddenly freezes eyes darting to the left side of the room, Wilbur shifts  weapon weapon-

The whole troop steps back in sync antenna twitching and picking up some sort of sound Wilbur can’t hear possibly?

The color drains out of his surroundings a presence draping itself around his shoulders warm and kind- a lit fireplace-

 It twirls a dress billowing out behind her..pale translucent form.

Careful fingers cup his cheek feeling so light and airly something in the soul in his bones thrumming with certainly- calling with joy foreign to himself but all too familiar with her.

Wilbur’s breath stutters in his lungs.

“Mom..?”

And she smiles.

Behind her, the shadows lengthen beady red eyes peering out of their depths.

The guards are gone.

His..mother his..his mother..?

Trails her hand down from his face onto his chest- dazed Wilbur traces the movement-

It should be more shocking than it is when something brimming and preens billowing up to wrap around her.

“I need this back dear-”

“ MINE! MINE! You can’t steal him away from me!”

The shadows lunge.

Mother’s eyes sharpen into slits wings appearing on her back her figure sharpening.

“Save him. Wilbur save him.”

Kirsten wasn’t that her name..?

Gently she pushes Wilbur back a step squeezing his palm.

Then both of them are gone colors bleeding back into place, sounds returning with a click of a dial.

Wilbur is alone, stuck in place-

Heat registers in his tight fist- loosening it reveals a coin.

Completely blank and somehow Wilbur feels like that’s worth grieving over it’s empty-

He just met his Mom. Some sort of being another God maybe…?

What did she..pull? From him...

Maybe he should be more worried about that but it didn’t feel like he lost anything. 

Save him-Save-

And Tubbo screams.

Wilbur’s at the child’s side in the next heartbeat- heart in throat because Tubbo's alive and he just met his mom and what  the fuck does everything mean– what just-

Honestly-

Whatever-later later later make a list for Philza fucking Minecraft to answer sure but  later.

Tubbo howls like his skin is being flayed off his body-eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

Fuck. 

Wilbur gathers him close ignoring the flailing terror-

Ignoring the rapidly cooling liquid-soaking flushed skin. 

The way those extra growths dragged along the ground-fragile-

Wilbur closes his eyes for just a moment.

He’s off-center distracted and that will lead to even more mistakes than he’s already made.

In and out.

Stick to the plan. Follow through.

Wilbur has to be perfectly put together if this is gonna work.

Hopefully whatever happened with his mother will keep any more beetle guards from interfering.

Tubbo has stopped his yelling, now sharp pants tear out of his throat eye’s struggling to open- Wilbur isn’t even sure if he knows  he’s here dammit-

“Hey hey Tubbo shh I’m gonna help you- it’s okay it’s okay king- look at me?”

 -Soften your voice smooth and easy and in control- safe with me, always safe with me-

Wilbur will not let it tremble even when Tubbo lifts his arms up, and shoves him against his chest with a wordless whine. 

Wilbur steadies him- keeping him from the floor with a hand on an overheated arm.

Fuck. He will not let himself wonder what he’s seeing- what he’s going through-

He has to be firm.

“Tubbo. I-I don’t know if you can hear me- But I have to apply this-this-this cream, okay, it’s gonna help you-”

Tubbo blearily pries his eyes open body leaning towards the sound of Wilbur’s voice like a sunflower, an eyelid opens-

Clouds cover the sky hazy and dazed-

They widen when finally Tubbo  sees  him. Shocked and..furious, brimming into storm clouds. 

“Will-bur…”

Barely more than a rasp whisper thin- He starts to pull away more incessantly tugging on Wilbur’s grip, features twisted into a snarl.

Wilbur lets him go but carefully- easing him far enough away that they aren’t touching anymore- he doesn’t want Tubbo to hurt himself in his panic. 

He doesn’t want to corrupt his little bee boy-

Tubbo sways even just sitting up, spitting words too quiet to understand- especially with the hint of a dreadfully familiar clicking chime.

Ice chills the ache in Wilbur’s hands. 

Keep to the plan- you have to be the one who fixes this- the last thing you do for your family-

Unwarping the leather that contains the fix- the cure to all of this-  finish line-

Wilbur regards the deep distrust in Tubbo’s unfocused glower.

Oh. This was going to be brutal, wasn't it?

Tubbo was going to fight him on this.

Tooth and nail.

Wilbur was going to try one more time- one more attempt to break through whatever Tubbo is seeing, hearing-

-Calm even, hints of gravity, don’t let there be anything he can rally against- it’s looking for a fight, keep your eyes firmly on his, you mean what you're about to say, what you're about to do- assertive, no getting out of it-

“ Tubbo. I need you to understand something, no- come on look- what I’m going to do is the only way to save you from this-”

A flinch and a quick shake of the head.

“You feel it don’t you,  I won’t-  let it control you Tubs, just let me help you!”

-Bit too hard on the sale, too much emotion, hints that you are not able to handle this fuck, why can’t you just keep yourself under control for once?-

For a moment there’s consideration just the fainting pause where Wilbur can  see  the eye of the storm, whipping winds just past the horizon, stinging pellets of hail melting into puddles crushing over tentative feet. 

Tubbo leans forward shoulders hunching in on himself fingers twisting into arms, jaw working fighting past clacking clicks.

Wilbur has to fight the threatening tug of a smile-

Then lighting strikes.

The boy abruptly jolts his legs kicking out in front of him fingers clawing into the dirt beneath him with a cry-

“Leave me alone! I-I fuck you! hate-hate you- Your fault! Your fucking fault!”

It hurts of course it hurts that’s his little brother and Wilbur wants wants-

It’s your fault burned him on a pyre it’s only fair he sets you ablaze, your verdict has come back guilty guiltily guilty.

Wilbur nods in idle agreement-

He then throws himself forward grabbing at Tubbo’s new wasn’t wearing that when they started- shirt. Twisting around in an attempt to put him in a headlock as he thrashed and shouted words drowned in stringed puppets he wasn’t ready for.

Maybe it was selfish.

Maybe letting Tubbo choose his own fate would be the “right” thing to do.

“Let go of me- let go of me!”

Teeth burrow into skin, and Wilbur swallows down his curse.

-Calm calm calm have to calm him down-

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, I won’t hurt you, deep breathes- gonna be alright, just close your eyes and hold on for me okay-?”

With his brother pinned down Wilbur was free to open the vial with his arm not holding Tubbo, quickly applying the treatment to the tarsi he could reach like this.

Maybe he was letting his emotions get the better of him making another mistake.

Feet pound sharp into Wilbur’s abdomen loosening his grip just enough for Tubbo to yank away.

“I don’t-don’t wanna make a-a deal with you! Stay away!”

Tubbo throws a shaky punch that is far too easy to dodge, face breaking open with a snarl.

His shoulder shudders as the treatment starts to work.

Wilbur reaches forward prime fuck he looks so young and pained and-

“Stop! Please!”

Maybe he was just made of sin and even when he thought something was right.

Placed by a cruel god to be his loved one's holy tribulation.

Careful so fucking careful, Wilbur gets closer, half convinced if he looked down he’d see Schlatt’s coat mixing with threads under his own- deeping into the skin- veins bone deep.

He can barely feel the heated flesh underhand as he patiently eases Tubbo back onto the ground.

Those hazy eyes can’t even pin him down sliding over and over the room heartbeat an erratic rhythm.

Wilbur treats his other arm, gritting his teeth and forcing the tremor growing in his arm to stabilize, little specks of dust fly up into the air when the action drops Tubbo’s head back into the ground.

Ash coats Wilbur’s tongue when Tubbo starts to howl again struggling and straining.

“I just want to help you Tubbo, I swear sorry sorry sorry-”

Maybe, Wilbur was the monster reflected in his little brother’s eyes.

Maybe when he chose to be the bad guy it wasn’t a descent as much as it was a reveal. 

Maybe Ranboo was wrong.

Tears stain Wilbur’s fingers as he brushes them down Tubbo’s face wiping them away as they come because he can’t help it, doesn’t want to do this-

They dance away on their own when Tubbo stops trying to get up in order to bite at them, fury in creased lines, fever in the reddened cheeks- 

“Make up your mind! Please, Please just be- be-be fuck! Burns!”

Maybe all Wilbur knew how to be was a suit of a person was a hollow empty actor draining substance from admiration and power.

Maybe that was his fate, his symphony.

Tubbo sobs when Wilbur applies his cure on the blobs hanging in front of his eyes.

Twitches and shivers rake ruthlessly down his body.

Now that he’s stopped fighting it's easy to  follow the plan just follow the plan.

Wilbur has done all that he knows to do. 

Now he has to wait and pray it was enough.

If he could do this one thing for them-

Please, please-

“It’s okay it’s okay-”

Maybe Wilbur was all of these things.

Maybe though.

Maybe he was a brother first.

Wasn’t it all supposed to help them all at first? Before buttons and shadows and betrayal?

Before-

“Kill me Philza kill me”

He really asked his dad to kill him…

The phantom feeling of steel glances down his side playful.

Tubbo shouts and writhes, fingers reaching up to tug and tear at the shoots on his forehead.

Before Wilbur can do something before he realizes there’s a problem- Tubbo  yanks them out.

“Get out of my head, get out! Out! Out!”

His nails scratch lines down his arms in shuddering fits, hysteria latching onto each breath he takes far too fast.

Wilbur has his wrists in his hands before he can even blink.

“Nononnonno it’s okay wait wait-”

Tubbo howls in response throwing himself backward in an effort to escape, it’s hardly noticeable and Wilbur holds them as light as he dares, trying to keep his voice from breaking he has to follow the plan he has to be calm and steady an anchor-

“Inhale exhale, come on look at me, inhale slow down Tubbo, you gotta slow down Tubbo-”

“Please- out out out, don’t wanna forget… Tommy? Can’t-”

Tubbo hitches.

“ I'm not okay- I’m not! Help me!”

And Wilbur has to close his eyes for a moment as his vision blurs-

“Trying, fuck I-”

But Tubbo wasn’t listening of course he wasn’t with whatever was happening to him- hair framing his face as he nearly falls over still trying to tear- break away-

What Wilbur signed him up for-

Fuck fuck fuck prime dammit  He just wanted to hold him sing away this nightmare- so sorry-

Tubbo attempts to pull his hands free again but he’s weakening rapidly and Wilbur almost hope that means it’s fucking over and they could just find somewhere to fucking sleep this off-

Tubbo bashes his head into Wilbur’s thrashing, starting anew, trying to lift his arms, where the growths are starting to shine as black lines fall from them.

Gifts from a god, curses from a god.

Wilbur’s mouth goes dry from his new understanding.

Oh.

He doesn’t want to Prime he doesn’t want to, the last thing he’d ever think to do- 

Numb he forces Tubbo to brace himself against his own chest.

Cold fingers grip the base of the limb and Wilbur doesn’t give himself a chance to ask him anything to question this because if he does he won’t-

It comes out easily as if it was waiting. 

The wound seals behind it, something light and electric flashing out in threading lines from inside it

Magic.

Tubbo hisses feet shoving into the ground, trembling trembling trembling.

“S-Stop, can’t- burns”

And Wilbur doesn’t know who Tubbo is talking to.

But he doesn’t stop.

He can’t.

“Sorry Tubs Sorry, love you breath- just keep breathing for me-”

Yanking out the second limb has Tubbo wailing into desperate sobs.

Voice-breaking with rough and raspy tones.

He turns his head away.

-Please don’t make me gouge his eyes out-

Pure terror fills Wilbur at the thought, breaking through  follow the plan .

“Tubbo!”

He can’t he can’t do that, dear prime nonono.

And Wilbur was selfish and so weak.

He can’t move.

Tubbo sways.

He throws his arms around Wilbur’s neck, hot salty tears burning into his neck.

“Gone gone gone gone-”

Tubbo whispers and Wilbur can live again.

He returns the hug, embracing the sting of contact with relish.

“Hate you, Why? Why?”

Tubbo's words are slurred and his muscles are twitching with shock.

Wilbur breathes, burrowing his face into fluffy ragged hair.

It was over.

He had his brother back with him.

He could save something. 

“I’m sorry”

Ash settles in the wintering flowers. 

It feels like a release.