Archive of Our Own

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.