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“I’m leaving, Phil, I'm leaving now”
Wilbur Soot looks up to clear blue skies for what is likely the last time. He’s walked this path far too many times now, he doesn’t know the exact number but he knows that Tommy would be disappointed in him. That’s all he will ever be, he figures, a disappointment to L’manberg, his friends, and his family. He remembers their smiles as they accepted Tubbo as their new leader, believing that they had won. He remembers Techno’s confused grunt and his simmering rage that went unnoticed by all who took his help for granted.
Wilbur knows better. There is no happy ending for L’manberg and there never will be. It’s all bullshit. L’manberg was made from a pipe dream, Wilbur’s crafted paradise that he invested too much in for it all to fall to shambles. It’s his fault, he's aware of that, he is not a good man and will never be one. He doesn’t know why Tommy still has faith in him, even now as he moves the rocks that block the entrance to his own personal hell.
He’s so fucking tired of it. He’s tired of chasing after L’manberg, or whatever it is now. L’manberg was an amalgamation of everything Will wanted: freedom, power, his own special place, but it’ll never be that for him again. His symphony will forever be unfinished, and Will smiles caustically at his own failures.
He needs to leave, die with his dreams, leave everything that means nothing to him behind.
He recalls his childhood, running away from his shitty birth parents and being saved by Phil. He didn’t deserve that kindness, he never will. Maybe Phil knew that. Maybe that’s why he loved Techno more than Will and was softer on Tommy. Will’s made a habit of being a showman, he instinctively itches for attention. He wonders what Phil would think if he saw him now. He’d be disappointed, that’s for sure, but Will’s used to that by now. He’s a coward too, planning his death spectacle in a way that will let him escape facing the consequences.
“I’m going to escape but you won't know how”
Will has always loved to form riveting stories with bittersweet endings that are fitting of their origin. Why should his life be any different? He looks at himself and sees an ambitious man who had a taste of his dream and became addicted to it only for his greed to let everything fall through his fingers. The man’s dream was a pointless endeavor from then on, yet those around him kept trying to reach it themselves. What better end to this story than for the man to destroy what was stolen from him and take himself with it? If he can't have it, no one can.
A man devoured by his own creation; he thinks that will be a satisfying conclusion to his life, one that he has been obsessing over for a while now.
It’s nice when things end with a bow on top.
“Or where to find me when I'm gone”
He doesn’t really believe in an afterlife. Should there be an all-knowing god, Will would find that morbidly hilarious. This universe doesn’t care to explain itself and it never will. Any higher power wouldn’t give a shit about him, he knows that for sure. He wants to leave everything and everyone behind and cease existing anywhere other than people’s memories. If there is an afterlife, Will could have to face those he left behind. He really doesn’t want that, doesn’t know what he would do. Oblivion only makes him more lustful of his bittersweet departure.
“I’ll drink myself to death inside this prison cell”
Will’s always been a bit of an alcoholic, addicted to the burn of the liquid running down his throat, the loss of touch with reality. His friends Everyone around him would worry when he drank too much, but he never cared. It’s not like he's a violent drunk, he is usually more fun to be around that way. It’s a coping mechanism, his only way of escape besides death. L’manberg is his prison cell, he will always be stuck rotting in his failures, he can’t escape them. He’s very much aware of his mental deterioration.
The world laughs at him for ever trying.
Will’s learned to laugh with it.
“This prison cell”
The anthem he once wrote full of hope and naivety loops in his brain, the music never stopping or letting him rest. Nobody understands what he says. He’s so fucking alone, always has been, and he’s tired of people pretending they are with him. He’s envious that Tommy is free of the insanity that Wilbur will kill himself over. He pretends he’s happy for him. Happy that while Tommy can win, he cannot. He’s certain that Tommy will just naively keep going no matter what, it’s really not worth considering him anymore. He’s made up his mind already.
“So get me out of here”
He walks down the hauntingly familiar corridor without looking back. There is no going back. He will get out of here, he doesn’t give a shit about what anyone has to say about it.
“Get me out of here”
His calloused fingers trace the messy handwriting etched into the walls. He remembers frantically scrawling the lyrics of his Ode to L’manberg, his shitty symbolic symphony. There are cracks in the wall, some natural, the others punched into existence by a man stuck in his mind. There are blood stains from his torn knuckles if you look close enough.
He’s so close, so fucking close to leaving this hell. The thing that he built L’manberg for doesn’t exist anymore. Everyone’s blind to it, they carry on with ignorance. He doesn’t have the courtesy of that ignorance.
“Get me out of here”
He hears a voice calling out to him, temporarily dissipating his mental spiral. It asks him what he’s doing, but Will doesn’t focus on the question, because fuck he’d recognize that voice anywhere. He wants to laugh at this new development. He can’t have anything, can he?
He decides to play dumb, hoping Phil will just look over things like he usually does with Will. When Phil asks where he is, he hesitates. Will knows that whether people call it L’manberg or Manberg, this land is controlled by Dream. He tells Phill that he’s in L’manberg, and although it’s inaccurate it’s somewhat true as Wilbur now considers death the only possible paradise.
Phil knows more than what Will expected though, and it’s pointless to keep up a charade. Phil’s disappointed eyes bore into Wilbur’s. He smiles as he wonders what Phil thinks of his eye bags, his new scars, his empty eyes, his unkept hair, his sardonic attitude. He doesn’t know how Phil knows about the song on the walls or the power of the wood button that Will set into the wall. It stings knowing that his dad never showed up when he needed him, but Will revels in the knowledge that someone will witness his spectacle close up.
He thinks of Eret, the first betrayal of many, one that messed him up far more than he’d like to admit. The parallels between him and Eret, a target of a lot of his frustration, are undeniable. He remembers Eret’s voice as they shouted that cursed phrase. Will thinks that maybe Eret was right—it really wasn’t meant to be. He relays his thoughts to Phil, adrenaline pumping in his veins and a slight tremor throughout his whole body.
He repeats Eret’s catchphrase. It wasn’t meant to be. He loves bittersweet irony, loves how cold he feels as he slams his fist into the button and closes his eyes. Will can barely hear Phil’s distressed shouting as he salutes to the sound of explosions ringing through his ears like a symphony. It’s all so beautiful, it’s absolutely perfect. He’s cold but he’s done it, he’s ripped off the bandage, followed through with his Chekhov’s gun.
“Get me out of here”
Will revels in the destruction, his unfinished symphony, his L’manberg, his final spectacle. The smoke that fills his lungs is nostalgic and the taste of ashes burns so nicely on his tongue. If he can’t have his L’manberg, no one can. It’s that simple, he tells Phil. Will is amused by his words.
He looks upon the horrified faces of people scattered on the rubble, the satisfied smirk underneath Dream’s mask, the glint in Technoblade’s eyes. An idea comes to him, one so morbid yet so perfect. If Phil were to kill him, he would be deemed the hero who ended the pitiful life of his estranged son. It would be beneficial to both Phil and Wilbur. The irony of getting killed by the father that saved him when he was young is enthralling to Wilbur.
He begs Phil to kill him, to end his misery and get him out of here. Phil, even more horrified, refuses his son’s last request, but Will can tell he’s getting through. The fact that he took the sword that Will gave him says that much. It’s what everyone would want, everyone watching them wants him dead and he knows that Phil has realized this. He grabs his father’s shoulders and begs him to do one fucking thing for Will and end his suffering, cut out the voices that scream in his head.
Phil says he can’t do it, Will being his son. Wilbur doesn’t know why that’s important. It isn’t important, can’t Phil see? Will has lived alone and he will die alone. Willbur looks him dead in the eyes with pure exhaustion.
“Do it,” he demands for what he hopes is the last time.
Phil moves in a flash, burying the hilt deep into Will’s stomach. He feels the weight of the blade inside of him severing his organs and feels so relieved, so satisfied with this bittersweet ending to his story. Finally, he is free of this tortuous body, free of everyone’s expectations.
“You'll change your name or change your mind”
Phil holds him as he bleeds out on the cold floor, such a warm contrast to how cold Will feels. Will smiles through it all, blood dripping from his mouth as he clutches onto his devastated father. They’ll all be better off without him and his silver tongue, they’ll realize that soon enough. Wilbur laughs at the world, at himself, at everything really. He thinks of Tommy, Techno, Niki, Tubbo, everyone. They’ll change their minds, they’ll get over him if they cared about him in the first place.
For a reason Will doesn’t care to think about, that thought makes him feel so much colder.
“And leave this fucked up place behind”
He bids L’manberg farewell as his vision blurs and it becomes harder to keep his eyes open. He’ll keep on smiling though, truly happy with his demise. This place is so fucked, every person in this hellhole has been poisoned and Will is finally getting out of there. He’s ending his tragic story and leaving everyone behind. His eyelids give in and he gets one last glance of Phil’s expression before he dies. It hurts to talk, but Will thanks Phil before everything fades to black.
Hopefully it’s all over. Hopefully, Wilbur Soot is free.
The universe decides that no, it isn’t over.
“But I'll know, I'll know”
There is no God, nothing up there when he dies. He doesn’t remember much, everything is just scrambled puzzle pieces in his brain. He picks at his brain at first, it hurts so he stops. He’s always been a coward. He doesn’t know why everything hurts but that’s fine, everything’s fine. He feels a pull towards L’manberg and stays there, despite the haunted faces of those that see his ghost. They yell at him for not remembering. He’s so scared of what he was before he died, he doesn’t want to know he just wants to be at peace finally.
“I’ll know, I'll know”
Everything is so fuzzy, everyone here is so sad, so is he for some reason.
He has blue. It soaks up his sadness and he’s become reliant on it to take away the pain. He shares it with the others, he wants to make up for whatever happened and wants everyone to feel better again.
He’s barely holding on, his amnesia being the only thing he has to keep him sane. He’ll forget his pain for as long as he’s able. He remembers his death, it being so beautiful and perfect, a happy memory for him. Everyone finds this disturbing for some reason. Shouldn’t it reassure them that they don’t need to feel guilty about his death?
“I’ll know, I'll know”
Tommy yells at him for not remembering things. He’s right, it’s rather selfish of Will to choose to not remember while those living have to. He’s nothing but a burden, a reminder of the world’s fucked up history. He scrambles for more blue, soaking the substance with his sorrow and counting on the amnesia to make everything nice and fuzzy.
“I’ll know, I'll know”
He hasn’t felt warm in so long. He’s tired of being cold, of everyone’s sad and distant staring.
How much is enough?
Why is he still here?
Why can’t he break free?
He doesn’t know. He’s just so tired. The universe laughs at him and offers no explanation, leaving him to find the answers on his own.
It’s okay. It’s alright. Everything’s fine.
Maybe he’ll know someday.