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Tommy didn’t consider himself a very sentimental guy. Yes, he loved his family and friends, but as his oldest brother’s body was lowered into the ground, he couldn’t feel anything other than pissed off. The bastard was the reason their country was gone. Wilbur knew he was going to blow it all up and tried to give it to Tommy anyway. Techno was no better, but at least he had a goddamn reason. And he wasn’t dead.
Everyone was definitely at the funeral, being all mopey and shit. Tommy rolls his eyes at the thought. Tommy barely managed to stay at the event for even a few moments. The second Tommy looked at the older man’s body, the anger that coursed through his own body was immeasurable. Why should he have to mourn a fucking terrorist?
A flash of movement breaks Tommy out of his thoughts. He had been working on his house when he saw what looked like someone walking. Just trying to look feels like looking at the sun for too long. He slowly creeps down the path.
It takes Tommy’s eyes a moment to focus on the figure standing on the path. For a moment, they are completely physical, the colors they are wearing popping out against the destroyed L’Manberg. Then, they are completely grey and partially see through. Tommy hesitates, trying to realize who this person is. Almost everyone should be on the farside of the ruins of L’Manberg, burying Wilbur. The yellow sweater and dark beanie are almost familiar. It’s not till they turn to look at Tommy with a sad look when he realizes just who it is.
It’s Wilbur. Of course, it’s Wilbur. Not the Wilbur who destroyed a country with his brother, not the Wilbur who was cast out of his country at the drop of a coin, not even the Wilbur who created his own nation out of a drug van. It’s the Wilbur Tommy came to the Dream SMP with. A brother full of ideals and with so much love for everyone.
“Hello,” the semi-corporeal man says. He furrowed his eyebrows at Tommy. “Tommy… Hello, Tommy,” he struggles with Tommy’s name. “Tommy, my youngest brother,” he seemingly murmurs to himself.
Tommy says nothing as he approaches his dead brother. He swallows nervously. Wilbur looks back to the crater.
“What… what happened? It didn’t use to be like this…,” Wilbur wonders aloud, then tilts his head. “Or… was it? Always like this? Has it been?”
“You don’t remember? Wilbur, you did this,” Tommy’s confusion turns to anger once again. “You destroyed L’Manberg.”
Wilbur tilts his head and furrows his brow once again. “I… I don’t- I don’t destroy. I-I create! I… make music and-and make bridges,” he tries to laugh, but it comes out wrong. His form starts phasing between transparent and opaque.
Tommy watches on, hand on the hilt of the sword at his side. He wasn’t sure if it could do much against what seems to be a ghost, but it’s all he has. Wilbur stares at his hands as they phase, the confused look glued to his face.
“Wilbur-“ Tommy’s voice is harsh, and Wilbur flinches. The young blond’s voice softens almost immediately. “Wil… It’s- you really don’t remember?”
Wilbur looks to his brother and shakes his head. Tommy clenches his teeth.
“Is there anything you do remember?”
Tommy can see the cogs turning in Wilbur’s head as he considers the question. He stops phasing, and calms as he thinks.
“I remember… I wrote a Declaration with, um, you? I think so. I remember winning our independence,” Wilbur squints, as if trying to look through his own memories. He smiles softly “A girl who is a fish, but not quite. Sally, that’s her name. I remember… N- Niki? Is that it? Yes, yes, Niki, lovely Niki.”
“Of course you’d remember Niki,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “What… else?”
“We held an election, and- and we won? I can’t remember much after that… a uh- a fox boy? He- that’s Fundy, isn’t it? Who is Fundy?”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember Fundy? He’s your son, Wil.”
“My s- son? I have- had a child? With who?”
“Sally. The- the fuckin’ fish!”
“Oh, don’t be rude, you little gremlin,” Wilbur replies, almost like muscle memory. He tilts his head. “I used to bully you a lot, I think.”
Tommy sighs. “Yeah, Wil. What about before we got here?”
Wilbur looks away and towards the crater. “I remember sparring with- um- Techno,” he smiles softly. “My little brother, Technoblade. And- and I remember when you came home with-with-“ his smile falls. “Phil… he- he killed me, didn’t he?”
Tommy swallows. “He… won’t really talk about it.”
Wilbur’s hand places itself on the right side of his ribs. “Right here,” he whispers. He grabs a handful of his yellow sweater. “I wasn’t a good man, was I?”
Tommy almost wants to comfort Wilbur. This is the man who blew up the country he founded, and Tommy wants to comfort him. But he almost isn’t the man that blew up L’Manberg. This version of Wilbur doesn’t know L’Manberg, or Schlatt, or the Festival.
“Wilbur… you- no one is good… or evil. You just… are. You made bad decisions, but almost everyone does. You- you did your best with what you had.”
Wilbur looks back at Tommy once again. “You would know better than me,” he says with a grin. “I-“ he stops himself, tilting his head as if he heard something. “Oh, I’ve got to go. He’s being shy again.” He laughs, then disappears into dust before Tommy can ask who.
Tommy stands alone on the oath, looking out over L’Manberg and regrets not going to the funeral.