Chapter Text
[Wilbur]
Song suggestion : Eleanor Rigby (ah, look at all the lonely people)
Wilbur’s fiddling, fingers passing over the seams of his suit’s sleeve again and again and again, could be mistaken for stillness from afar. Yet here he was, a sixteen years old in a rented (that was the term Techno employed, but Techno was Techno, and the rental was probably an arrangement made through threats and fist) outfit he would've never worn in other circumstances, and so Wilbur decided that if his half choking body pained to handle immobility, then he could at least authorize those silly little habits that calmed him down. Each time they were in the High Quarters, a different way of distracting himself from everything —golden people and vicious glares.
As promised by the oldest, they had gotten hired without any problems ; Wilbur was always impressed by the fake letters of recommendation Fundy was able to provide them.
The Tekersons mansion was so huge it could have accommodated at least fifteen of their Shacks, with an even bigger garden. Cr ossing the pathway, Wilbur had even spotted a pond with a few ducks splashing in the water with quacks sounding just like those sniggers of deep pockets. In contrast to the outside view—white and clean with no real frills, the inside was richly decorated. Crown moldings on the ceiling, immense staircases twiddling elegantly, gigantic dark wood bookcases, and velvety red carpets. The place reeked of luxury, and Wilbur wanted to wreck it all.
Niki called it unnecessary violence caused by jealousy. Wilbur called it "rich people are all assholes and deserve a lesson." Of course he wasn't stupid enough to actually turn the Tekersons mansion upside down, but that didn't stop him from daydreaming to make himself feel better towards the intimidating building.
"Psst, Wil. How much longer ?" Tommy whispered, pulling him from his thoughts.
"She should be back in two minutes," Wilbur replied with a stolen glance to the clock, which’s large hand alone must have been worth more than all his possessions combined.
He and Tommy were waiting, positioned on either side of the door leading to the ballroom. Ever since they arrived, they'd been able to hear the music, laughter, and chatter coming from inside. Wilbur had to admit he was a little excited to finally see what it was like there.
They had agreed that he would be the one in charge of the ballroom ; skilled enough to steal guest's belongings with not a single one to notice. Tommy had taken care of the kitchens, small frame perfect for discretion and hide away behind a counter if someone busted in for whichever reason, without mentioning he was less likely to get caught in such an unimportant place. Finally, guided by Niki, Sally was searching the empty upstairs.
"I can't wait to get home. Do you think Techno will let me keep one of the cool little knives I found ?" Tommy asked, hitting his fingers together excitedly.
"Shh. There she is."
Sally was walking towards them, as appearing from nowhere. Judging by her disheveled hair and wrinkled dress, Niki had probably dragged her through the air vents. She stopped and stood next to Wilbur, crossing her arms over her chest though not looking at him.
"I stole at least fifty crowns worth," she announced proudly.
Wilbur nodded, passing a hand in her rebel strand in an attempt to smooth them off as he calculated quickly. With fifty crowns, they had enough for at least a week's food. Hopefully, they’ll also be able to sell the luxurious cutlery Tommy stole, and whatever Wilbur might manage to get.
He dusted off his suit and ran a hand through his own hair, ready to leave ; when, from across the room, he caught Niki's look.
A panicked look.
With stressed and abrupt gestures, she was calling his attention to point at something. Wilbur tilted his head to the side, confused, and understood a second too late when he saw three people walking straight on them. Wilbur quickly realized it was the owner, his wife, and their daughter : the Tekersons. Shit, did they suspect something ?
But it was with a huge smile the man stopped in front of them.
"Lovely evening, isn’t it ?" he exclaimed in the typical High Quarters accent. He was of average height, quite muscular, with short, well-brushed hair and a full mustache. Sally took charge, stepping forward with a beaming face.
"Oh certainly ! You live in a splendid place."
The man turned red at the compliment, visibly proud.
"I organized the decorations myself. You see those bookcases ? I personally commissioned the plans, then supervised the construction."
"Impressive !" exclaimed Sally.
The man seemed to be on a roll when his wife placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, my husband gets excited easily. He likes to talk to the downstairs staff," she declared with a cold smile, contempt shining in her eyes.
"Honey, I can never discuss my passion for interior decoration !" complained the man. They began to argue quietly, and Tommy took the opportunity to nudge Wilbur.
"Whyyy is she looking at you like that ?" he whispered, pointing at the girl, who was standing next to her parents.
Wilbur hadn't really looked at her until then, but she was indeed staring at Wilbur, looking horrified. It took him a second to understand, perhaps because of the luxurious dress or perhaps because of the perfectly brushed hair ; and then realization hit him when, beneath the makeup, he recognized those two dark eyes. It was him. It was the boy he saw yesterday. Or the girl, more likely. Wilbur was just thinking how he preferred their hair when it resembled a raven's plumage, and their face without the makeup to hide the freckles, when Tommy gave him another nudge.
"Never seen her in my life," Wilbur whispered back, looking away casually.
"Alexandra, darling," the woman purred in a smarmy call, ignoring her husband’s on-going protests. "We wouldn't want to keep Mr.S waiting, would we ?"
Her hands wreathed around her daughter's shoulders and then down to her neck, and Wilbur could swear they were two snakes, zigzagging in a mesmerizing way. Wilbur half expected to see her getting strangled before his eyes. The snakes merely readjusted her collar.
"No, mother," the girl—Alexandra—hesitated.
Wilbur wondered if, like yesterday, she shot him one last look before disappearing into the ballroom the same way she had disappeared into the darkness.
"Man ! They scared the fuck out of me," Tommy sighed with relief as soon as they were gone, twisted neck and tippy toes as he tried to take a peek at the inside, in vain.
"I really thought we were done for a few seconds," Sally added. "Wilbur, they're in the ballroom, don't risk it. We should stop there."
"No, I'm going," Wilbur interrupted.
Visibly hesitating to dissuade him, Sally ended up nodding. "Be careful not to run into them," she called out as he slipped inside.
The majestic room revealing behind the soft curtain was dimly lit ; no light coming from outside, where it was already dark, but numerous quartz pillars bearing torches gave the room a subdued feel. There were many people here, far more than Wilbur had expected ; at least two hundred figures gathering in the ballroom’s vastness, men in well-tailored suits and women in billowing gowns, dancing or swirling their wine through lazy circles in their crystal glasses.
No sign of the Tekersons, who had already disappeared somewhere in the crowd.
Wilbur scanned the room ; no soldiers : he had a clear field. After a brief reflection, he set his sights on a woman in her forties, her tiny purse hanging loosely from the crook of her elbow. Wilbur pushed his way through the crowd, stood beside her, and casually removed his jacket. As he folded it in half, he reached into the bag and his fingers encountered the leather surface of a purse, which he quickly pulled out and hid in the folds of his jacket. As he sauntered away, the woman kept on her blithe chat.
In twenty minutes, Wilbur found himself with two purses, a pocket watch, and a small bracelet with sparkling beads and a delicate clasp. He snapped the chain, letting the beads fall into his pocket with a faint clink.
He had gathered enough, and could easily leave now. Yet there was still one thing he hadn't dealt with. The whole time, he’d seen "Alexandre" nowhere. Sally and Tommy were waiting for him outside, so he gave himself five more minutes. If he hadn't found her by then, he'd leave.
Wilbur pushed through the crowd, checked the restrooms, and went upstairs to the mezzanine. From high up, leaning on the railing, he scanned the guests. No raven hair.
Defeated, he dragged himself down the stairs, resigned to the fact that this would remain just yet another bizarre event. Just as he was about to step through the door, his eyes caught two others ; dark unreadable globes. She immediately looked away, returning to her conversation; but Wilbur had found her, standing near the buffet with a man. He looked to be in his twenties, with properly-cut mutton chops, a flawlessly tailored suit. Exuding confidence and undeniable charisma. Alexandra looked nervous, holding her glass ridiculously tight in both hands, gripping it as if it might slip and shatter on the floor of its own volition. There was no doubt he was an important man —Mr.S, Wilbur guessed.
Head snapping to the side, he was quick to spot a uniformed boy, probably a waiter.
"I need a favor," Wilbur stepped in, blocking his path.
"I'm not allowed to chat," the boy interrupted, making a way around him.
Wilbur grabbed his arm and turned his hand over, dropping a few beads from the bracelet in his palm. The boy's eyes widened, looked up at Wilbur, and a few minutes later he was talking with the man to explain that an unexpected meeting awaited him at his house. The man argued a moment, visibly annoyed, and thankfully ended up giving in, walking away with an apologetic smile to Alexandra.
A couple of steps, and Wilbur was face to face with her.
"You," he scowled, barely masked annoyance scratching the edge of his voice.
"Me," she stated with a defiant raise of her chin.
A musician cut through the chatter filling the room with a violin note the orchestra soon adjusted as a slow melody. When guests around them moved away from the buffet, initiating a dance, they quickly found themselves among the rare ones yet standing static.
You have to know how to blend with a crowd to avoid drawing attention. Wilbur has always known this, and he knew it too when he extended his hand to Alexandra. She abandoned her drink on the buffet table and let him lead her upon the centered heart of the room, where everyone was flowing around.
In contrast to Wilbur's calloused, damaged hands, hers were perfectly soft ; real princess hands, Wilbur bitterly mocked to himself. His attempt to grab her waist was cut short when she swatted his hands away.
"How are we supposed to dance if you don't let me touch you ?" Wilbur carped quietly.
"Figure it out," Alexandra retorted, and cursing, Wilbur took her hands again to pull her into the dance.
She was much better at this than he was, moving around with a grace she probably acquired through something like expensive lessons. Wilbur was more focused on not stepping on her feet (even though it would be deserved), and more importantly, on questioning her.
"So you're one of them toffs."
"Apparently."
She spun around and fell backward, forcing Wilbur to reach out to catch her.
"And why were you wandering around our area ? Did the High Quarters send you to spy on us ?" he pulled, getting her back to her feet.
"You're being paranoid. I was simply having a walk."
"A walk ? At night, disguised as a boy ? In the remotest corner of L'manell ? That’s a common hobby for lil’ High Quarters princesses?"
"First of all, I couldn’t imagine a reason for which the High Quarters would be willing to put efforts into spying on the Low Quarters. They do not have the slightest interest in you. Secondly, don't you dare call me that again."
"If they didn't give a damn about us, they wouldn't send patrols every day to kill us, princess."
"Quiet !" she snarled, but it was’nt every day that Wilbur had the chance to annoy a resident of the High Quarters.
"Is that why you dress up as a boy ? You're bored being your mama's darling little girl-"
He was interrupted by a kick in the shin coupled with a furious glare.
"Not a girl."
"You ?"
"Who else."
"You look like a girl to me."
"And you look like a bastard to me, though I think if I told you that, you'd deny it."
Wilbur frowned. This was the first time he'd heard her swear, and obviously it was to insult him.
"Well the bastard would love to know how a boy..." Missing words were replaced by a bobbing head, just looking Alex up and down like it meant everything. Anomaly.
She—he—shrugged.
"Prime makes mistakes sometimes. They made a mistake creating greed, they made a mistake creating the Dreèn, they made a mistake creating me." He moved closer to him with an agile slide, then backed away as the music sped up.
A Believer of Prime, then, who considered the Dreèn a bad thing. This shouldn't surprise him; most of the Upper Quarters despised Dreènsker, who were considered a far too powerful threat for their rich bastard ass to accept.
"The fact that you're a boy doesn't explain what you were doing here yesterday. How did your family even accept you hanging around this shithole ?"
Alexandre hesitated for a moment, a dramatic pause cut short by the music.
"I ran away," he confessed.
"You ran away ?"
"It wasn't exactly a runaway because my parents didn't notice anything," he explained, as if needing to justify himself.
"And of all the places you could have visited, you chose the Low Quarters ?" Wilbur choked, hallucinating.
"You were kind of right earlier. I'm bored to death here ; I had a chance to see what the real world is like."
Wilbur had never heard anyone say something like that, and that was probably a good thing, because Alexandre’s words awakened a seething, jealous hatred within him. Aimed straight to this boy his own age, so privileged that he sought the thrill of putting his life in danger, while Wilbur nearly died every day ; each moment passing dedicated to protecting his life, and most importantly, the life of each Disc Drugs member. All because of the High Quarters. People like Alexandre.
Abruptly, he let go of his hands, letting him regain his balance with a gasp tainted with surprise and confusion. He had a million insults in mind he could throw at him, something he would have surely done if he hadn't been interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. With a swift turn on his heels, he spun around, finding himself in front of Mr.S earlier. Wilbur's heart immediately raced in panic as he sat up as straight as he could. Was he back already? Did he know Wilbur had paid the boy to lie? But the man offered him a charismatic smile, not looking angry in the least.
"Good evening. I was with the lovely Alexandra here before a mistake interrupted us. I don't think we know each other?"
"He's a friend," Alexandre interjected when he saw Wilbur remain motionless and silent.
Wilbur wasn't one to be intimidated. But there was something in Mr.S's gaze, something that made Wilbur feel like he knew. Everything. Wilbur's instincts were never wrong, and right now, they were screaming that this man was dangerous. Yet, there was nothing really fishy with his appearance, and Wilbur was most obviously imagining things.
The teenager suddenly snapped back to reality when Alexandre elbowed him in the ribs, and he looked down to see the man's outstretched hand. Wilbur took it. It was firm, and shook his vigorously.
"Schlatt Undherskor," he smiled.
Undherskor. Wilbur had heard that name before, a while ago, he was sure. But he felt like he couldn't trust his brain, not right now. That alone made Wilbur uneasy.
"Wilbur Soot."
Fuck, he regretted it immediately. I should have given a fake name.
No time to worry about it any longer as immediately, Schlatt narrowed his eyes, grip around his hand getting tighter in an instant.
"Wilbur ?" he repeated, drawing out each syllable on his tongue. "Nice name."
"Thank you," Wilbur stammered, attempting to sound as confident as possible.
"Well, Wilbur, you wouldn’t mind me borrowing Alexandra would you ?
Wilbur casted a sideways glance to Alexandre, who returned it with a distressed expression. With a deep breath, Wilbur tore his eyes away.
"No problem. Have fun."
Schlatt nodded, and Wilbur walked away, avoiding Alexandre's gaze.
"Let's go," he commanded, pushing past Tommy and Sally.
They both jumped when they saw him burst out of the ballroom, immediately following, Tommy struggling to keep up with his fast pace.
"A problem, Wilby?"
"None. Better leave before they notice something’s wrong, that's all."
"You look tense, did something happen inside?" Sally insisted.
"Literally nothing, now shut up so we can get out of here quietly."
Sally mumbled something about how he didn't have to be so rude, while Tommy addressed him with a worried look, but the two of them followed him out of the abode. When they stepped outside, the silent, gloomy garden awaited them. Crossing the main path, Wilbur passed a shaky stone statue of a cherub, which he kicked to the ground—sending the head rolling a little further away.
"Wil !" protested Sally. “Did you lose your head ?"
"The statue, not me," Wilbur grumbled, continuing on his way. Tommy and Sally remained silent, setting off after him far from convinced, and soon the Tekersons mansion disappeared behind them.
"That's gold," Tommy affirmed.
"Not at all," Sally retorted. "Clearly cheap fake."
"Ask Fundy, he knows a thing or two about cheap fakes," Tina chimed in.
"What’s that supposed to mean, dickhead!" the red-haired boy frowned.
"Chill idiot, I was referring to your false documents."
"My false documents are high-quality, carefully crafted pieces. Cheap fake my ass."
"You ain’t nearly done, are you," Wilbur sighed, examining a pocket watch. The loot was spread out on the table, their little group sitting around sorting through it, joyous chatters feeling the main room of the Shacks.
"I'm holding two months of food in my hands," Tina marveled.
"If it's not fake," Niki reminded..
"I am not enjoying your attempt to break through my denial," Tina replied with her nose scrunching up.
Tommy giggled loudly, rocking from left to right before his gaze fixed on something behind Wilbur. Wilbur turned his head to find Techno standing in the doorway.
"Wil. We need to talk." (He turned to Tommy) "You too, Toms."
The two boys exchanged a look at Techno's tense tone.
"Back in a minute, guys." Wilbur pinched, pushing his chair away from the table to stand.
Tina nodded, and Wilbur joined Techno's side.
Once they were in the upstairs office, Techno gestured for them to sit down as he closed the door.
"I didn't mean to startle the others with that, but I know you two would have been forever mad at me if I hadn't warned you immediately."
Wilbur frowned, straightening up. "Techno, I don't know what you're talking about, but I don't think it's a good idea to hide anything from the oth-"
He was cut off by Techno's hand slamming down on the desk. When he pulled it back, Wilbur barely had time to see a piece of red fabric before Tommy snatched it up with a gasp.
"That's Tubbo's friendship bandana !" he exclaimed, his voice cracking ever so slightly behind surprise as he held the fabric against him.
It was partially torn and stained, but Wilbur could clearly see the small, wobbly "T" embroidered in yellow string.
"Where did you get that?" he exhaled eyes wide.
"Caught in the branches of a tree, not far from the Covered Passage."
Wilbur paused.
"Not far from the Port, then." A frown. "Far outside of the Patrol Zone."
"Does that mean he just got lost then ?" Tommy interrupted, and Wilbur's heart sank when he heard the suppressed sob in his voice.
"Toms, you know as well as I do that Tubbo knows these streets like the back of his hand. No way he got lost," Techno asserted bluntly.
Wilbur wanted to reproach his brutal honesty with the blond boy, but deep down he knew it was better to rip the band-aid off.
"I suggest you search that area. Question the customers of the bars around the port, see if you can glean some info," Techno concluded. "I'll let you fill in our joyous little troop. If you want."
Wilbur nodded slowly, and Tommy remained silent until they were both back in the hallway.
"Hey. This is our biggest clue in a few months, isn't it ?" Wilbur pointed out in a clumsy attempt at comfort.
"I wanna go to the harbor tomorrow," Tommy replied determinedly, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, the other clutching a crumpled bandana.
"It's best to lay low for a few days after today's mission... Until we're sure we haven't triggered any searches," Wilbur hesitated.
"No one knows it's us, anyway. We haven't talked to people or anything. I bet they've already forgotten about us."
Wilbur thought simply ignoring the question was enough, but Tommy knew him too well for the discreet silence to pass easily.
"You talked to someone," he accused sulkily.
"Maybe."
Three someones.
Tommy opened his mouth in outrage. "I thought we were supposed to be super duper careful and super duper discreet !" he protested.
"It was for our safety," Wilbur defended himself, sitting down on the stairs.
"That's literally your canned answer for every single reproach we do to you," Tommy muttered, but his voice betrayed no real animosity. He sniffed before coming to sit next to Wilbur. "He chose to leave."
"Tubbo ?" The blond boy nodded "You sound confident."
"I'm always in the right," he shrugged, but today his voice lacked the malice it usually holded. "He's a Dreènsker. He couldn't have gotten himself killed or caught."
Wilbur wasn't agreeing, but maybe Tommy preferred to believe his best friend had abandoned him rather than face his potential death.
"I want to find him anyway," Tommy continued. "I want to know. Understand. I don't know. I'm sick of not understanding."
Wilbur put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, Tommy letting his head rest against the taller boy's shoulder without hesitation.
"It's not that bad."
"For me, it is. It's easy on your side, Wilbur ; you're smart. Y'all are smart. Or strong. I'm... Loud. A nuisance. To protect."
"I'm protecting you because I want to, Tommy. Not because you're some kind of burden we carry around. The Disc Drugs are a family, and just because you can't think like Niki or hit like Sally doesn't mean you're any less worthy of being part of it."
"That's easy for you to say."
"Why ? Hey, I'm just like you, actually. I don't have any precise great skills that particularly help the group."
"You do," Tommy contradicted, "You're resourceful. You can pick a lock, organize a plan B in thirty seconds, or make a weapon out of a wooden crate."
"So do you."
"Not as well. Far from as well."
"It'll come. You're twelve, Tommy, with your whole life ahead of you. In the meantime, I'm telling you, I don't mind protecting you."
"I don't just want you to protect me. I want you to trust me. We're family, right ?"
"I trust you, Tommy."
"So at least tell me who you were talking to in the ballroom. You seemed sooo upset when you came out."
Wilbur sighed.
"I was talking to a citizen of the High Quarters. A boy I'd seen before."
"But we never go there," Tommy objected.
"Yeah. I ran into him here, in the Low Quarters."
"In the Low Quarters ?"
"I think he was just walking around. That's what he said. I thought he was a spy."
"I don't see why anyone would want to walk around here..."
With a nod, Wilbur chimed in, "A bored, privileged little bastard."
Tommy shifted against Wilbur, letting the silence last a few heartbeats.
"That's sad," he murmured.
Wilbur's nose scrunched up in a grimace.
"Sad ?"
"If he came here, he must be really miserable. It can't be much fun being around all these rich assholes."
"Tommy. He IS a rich asshole."
Tommy shrugged.
"I don't know him. But I don't think you do either."
"Tommy, they're all the same. We know that by now."
The boy opened his mouth like he had something to say, a protest, before closing it just as quickly, hesitation shining in his eyes. Wilbur saw the tips of his fingers dig a little harder into the fabric in his hands, and realized that, like the boy, he didn't know everything. Tommy was hiding something from him, important or not, that he just chose to keep to himself. Techno spent half his days locked away, doing Prime-knew-what. Most of the Disc Drugs probably had their own hesitations, pasts, opinions he knew nothing about.
And as he walked down the steps with Tommy and watched him stuff the bandana in his pocket, bouncing happily toward the others as if nothing had happened, Wilbur thought that no matter how hard he tried to control everything, manage everything, protect everything, the turn of events was oh so painfully, so obviously ends up getting out of hand.