Work Text:
i get up, i get down
quietly knocking on the door to wilbur’s study, tommy entered slowly, the door creaking slightly..
wilbur, a usually hyperactive presence in the ravine, was fast asleep on his desk, most likely having fallen asleep in the middle of working. he had been doing that recently, he noticed, and he guessed it made his job easier. the endless supply of papers scattered around served as a constant reminder that the man had big plans. plans that tommy didn’t know if he could follow through with.
and i’m jumping around
tommy shut the door carefully behind him. he came in here to... negotiate, but if he’s asleep...
no one wanted to admit that they cared so deeply for the place they once spent every minute of their day. the place in which they built friendships, won wars, hoisted flags — even if it was no longer theirs, they couldn’t stand it being gone. tommy guesses that’s why they sent him in here today.
and the rumpus and ruckus are comfortable now
he looked over wilbur’s shoulder.
most of the papers he had written in the past were long-winded essays that would redo the entire legal system, so you could imagine tommy’s shock when he saw something else. entire articles, crafted purely for the purpose of making the opposing side’s demise far easier, explaining how he’d… he’d…
it was too graphic for him to explain, he thinks. the words plaguing the paper made him want to throw up.
his eyes moved to wilbur himself. the man had large, black bags under his eyes, a trail of drool moving from the corner of his mouth to the side of the slanted desk. his bare arms, put up as if they were his pillow, shook carefully. he was cold.
tommy had the fleeting thought of putting his trench coat over him as he slept, if not for a moment of peace. he knew it wouldn’t matter in an hour, or even a few minutes, but he couldn’t help it.
been a hell of a ride
the gun felt heavy in his pocket. he knew it was time to make a choice: the people or wilbur.
it should’ve been easy. god, everyone had told him it was an easy thing to do. all he had to do was raise a gun, pull the trigger, and move on with his day, never to think about the clear villain in front of him. the man that was like a father figure to him. the man that, despite everything, fell into madness, even when hundreds of better options presented themselves to him.
but i’m thinking it’s time to grow
tommy shook. his hand made its way to his pocket, trying his best to stay silent. he knew that if he made even the tiniest amount of noise, he wouldn’t be able to hold back the sobs that would wreck his small body, and it’d be all over for him; he couldn’t do it if wilbur was awake. if wilbur stood tall, looking at him calmly with a sad expression, never saying a word. he knew he’d accept the death, but only because it was him - it was tommy, his little brother, the only one he’s ever trusted more than himself.
he saw wilbur move, and all the boy could do was get the gun out faster and faster, trying his best to get the job done before he could think more about it. he was getting restless; he was getting scared. scared of what the consequences would be. what wilbur would think of him if this failed. wilbur groaned.
he was awake. wilbur, the man he had to put a bullet in, was awake. tommy froze mid air, the gun raised only partly, and looked at him as he rose. he stretched, moving his back, popping his jaw, then he looked at his brother, down to his gun, and back up to his face. his crying, pouting face. wilbur’s own expression was unreadable, if not for a moment, and then it settled on confusion - tommy guesses its only fitting.
the two stared. they stared directly at each other, only moving when wilbur got up slowly, his palms placed carefully on the desk and his face never turning from where it was. tommy had to raise his gun as he moved. he knew he did. he knew he had to hurry this up, shooting him before he could say another word, and move on before he could process what was happening, but he couldn’t. he fucking couldn’t. his throat was choking up, and his ears were ringing, and his body was eternally stuck in the waiting position. what was he waiting for? what was he standing there sobbing, weeping, and frozen for? for wilbur to speak? for wilbur to cast judgement upon him, telling him to go ahead and fire?
“tommy,” wilbur began. he couldn’t hear. “i don’t know what they told you, but think about what you’re doing.”
the blond kept looking at him. he never looked away, never blinked; he was told wilbur might try to pull this shit. he thought back to that conversation, when techno looked him directly in the eyes - ‘wilbur is a master manipulator,’ he said, ‘he’ll do anything to stay on top. that’s why you need to do it while he’s asleep.’
“think about the consequences. what will happen to - to pogtopia, huh? to l’manberg?”
tommy nearly corrected him. he nearly told him of their plans to unite under him, how he was going to lead and take manberg back by force. how he would disregard the rules previously set, using techno as a primary influence. how each punch to his self esteem was hurting his chances of escaping this alive.
“what about your dreams of running away? everyone in pogtopia will be after you,” wilbur took a step forward, his brother raising the gun to his head. the older frowned. “are you - do you seriously want to be doing this right now? you know what everyone will think. they will hunt you down. you’ll never get to rest again, you’ll always be on the run - is that what you want, tommyinnit ? is that what you want?” with each passing jab, wilbur was getting braver and braver, moving closer with each step. tommy started freaking out. he needed to back up. he - he needed to back up, back up, back up BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP BA
bang! bang! bang!