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This was bad.
The tides almost ripped him and Eret from the surface. Wilbur hadn’t seen the young man stir at all. Terrifyingly, he knew Eret was out. The only reason he knew he had Eret in his arms was because of the way dark curls were clinging to his neck while he struggled to keep their heads above the murky waves. “Eret. Eret, come on. Come on, you need to wake up and swim.” Red stained the surface, fading into a bloody maroon tone against the pale, brackish tawny waves. The red was coming from a gash on the side of Eret’s head, where he’d smacked it against a rock. Even from where he’d been standing on the deck, Wilbur had heard the sickening crack. Then, everything blurred and the next thing he knew, he was in the water.
Better him than Tubbo or Tommy, he supposed.
Grunting, he shifted Eret’s weight higher. The dead weight wasn’t helping either of them, and he knew any moment they might get speared by a drowned. Or…wait, did drowned only attack in still waters? Why couldn’t he remember?
Splashing around as the current sucked them along the river—of course, with everything that could possibly happen, they were being torn away in floodwaters of all things—Wilbur looked for something, anything he could use to get them out of the waves. Flotsam crashed around him, and he covered Eret’s mouth and nose with a hand before ducking underneath a massive chunk of one of the houses. Splinters of wood and roofing slipped past, cut into his arms and legs, and he winced. Bubbles streamed away from his mouth, precious air wasted. Even more drifted from between his fingers. Eret’s eyes were still stubbornly closed, sunglasses dangling around his neck by the little cord Tubbo had attached them to earlier that day. Niki had commented that he was going to have the worst sunburn later. Already, Wilbur could see some of the skin around Eret’s ears was tinged pink. She was right, clearly.
Well, she would be if they survived.
Clearing the water again, Wilbur reached for the first thing he saw. Coarse wood scraped under his ungloved fingertips—why did I go for the fingerless gloves? He cursed himself, wincing—and he surged upright with strength he didn’t even know he had at first. Dripping and soaked, he pulled Eret up alongside him onto the cracked wooden door. Oh, great. It’s like the Titanic. Am I going to have to let go?
Looking at it realistically, he, unlike Rose, realised there was plenty of room for him and his unconscious dude in distress. “Come on, Eret. You owe me.” He cursed and griped the whole time, but Wilbur still managed to get them both onto the stupid wooden door. I guess it’s not stupid, it’s keeping us alive, after all. Reaching over, he shook Eret. “Hey. Wake up.”
Rather stubbornly, Eret did not wake up.
Growling to himself, Wilbur laid his cheek against the wood, watching the young man while holding steadfast to the door and to Eret’s shirt. Like Nether he was going to go through all that work only to lose them at the last second. You stubborn son of a—sighing, Wilbur took a calming breath. Getting mad wasn’t going to solve anything. Alright. Think, Wilbur. How can you get out of this situation?
Even though the water drifting against his feet wasn’t freezing, it was cool. As they were washed out onto the open ocean, or at least into a very large lake, the waves calmed to a lap at his legs. He kept an eye on the faint, fluttering rise and fall of Eret’s chest, unable to keep his anxiety down over glancing away, even for one infinitesimal heartbeat, and then finding that Eret had stopped breathing. Of course Wilbur knew CPR. Phil had taught them.
That didn’t mean he wanted to use it, though.
“Eret.” The sun was baking down on them, drying their clothes. It was the whole reason why they’d gone to the cliffs anyways. Currently, the whole SMP was being baked in a heatwave, so cooling off in the taiga seemed like a pretty good idea. Then the dam broke, and…well, if it wasn’t obvious…now Wilbur and Eret were stuck. Solidly, surely stuck. Trapped on a wooden door. Floating in a lake. And very much stuck. “Well, if we’re going to be stuck for a while,” Wilbur slowly eased himself into a sitting position, checking that their makeshift raft didn’t wobble too much, still keeping an eye on Eret’s chest the whole time, “I suppose you’re just going to have to put up with me talking to you. For both our sanity, of course.”
He talked.
He talked, and he talked…and he talked. Eventually, he laid down, too tired to sit up. Swimming through floodwaters, dragging the dead weight of another person who was only two inches shorter, all while panicking and in the wrong clothes would do that. About every two minutes, he had to fight himself not to close his eyes. And he won…at first.
But at some point, exhaustion must have won out.
“Wilbur!” Blinking open his eyes, he came to lying on his back again. His cheeks and nose ached, maybe they were sunburnt. Instead of hard wood, there was sand sticking to his neck and his back, getting under the collar of his clothes. Arms wrapped around his neck and waist. “Oh my gosh, you scared us so much!” Tubbo forced out, sitting back. Meanwhile, Tommy just didn’t let him go. Before Wilbur could really process anything else, the reality that Tubbo sounded like he was crying hit and he jolted upright, looking around.
“Eret.” Sucking in a breath, he turned. “Where’s—”
Eret was lying on the sand a few feet away, Phil leaning over him while Techno none-too-subtly forced air into the unconscious man’s lungs.
A hand settled on Wilbur’s shoulder. Jerking, he turned to look at Tommy and Tubbo, both of whom were watching him with concerned eyes. “They’re going to be okay, Wilbur. Okay?” Tubbo reassured, voice a shade above a whisper. Nodding, Wilbur turned back to the scene in front of him and felt a weird…emptiness in his chest. Like someone had grabbed his heart, ripped it out, and thrown it away when he wasn’t looking.
Techno and Phil leaned back, holding their hands away for a second. A few weak coughs split the air, and Wilbur found himself thanking whoever was out there that it’d been that easy. “Tubbo, blanket! Now!” Phil ordered. Nodding, Tubbo stumbled off and returned a few moments later with a few blankets. He threw a green one to Tommy, who wrapped it around Wilbur’s shoulders, then handed the others to Phil and Techno. “Techno, wrap his legs. Make sure they can’t move.”
“Like a calf at a rodeo.” Techno replied, nodding and then getting to work. For the first time in a while, Wilbur got a look at Eret’s face. Their breathing was stuttering, shallow and almost breakably unsteady in the way their chest was hitching. He’s going to be fine. Wilbur reassured himself, feeling Tommy rubbing his arms through the blanket, brushing the sand from his hair. Once they got home, he was going to shower. Who knew what was in that water?
What if Eret gets sick? What if they make it through this only to die from pneumonia or something? Watching carefully, Wilbur swallowed. “Hey. Phil’s one of the best medics we have. Eret’ll be fine.” Tommy replied, then quickly added, “And if they’re not, I’ll resurrect him so I can beat him up for dying on us.”
Smiling weakly, Wilbur focused on the way Phil was guiding Tubbo through what to do next, how to get Eret safely warmed up again. Tommy was right. Right then, Eret was in the best hands they could be in.
He just had to hope it was enough.
+++
A couple hours, some magic, and Fundy and Phil showing Tubbo how to intubate someone for the first time.
That’s what it took for the server’s medics to exit the operating room and move Eret into the same room as Wilbur. They really only had the one. Sure, they had a server full of reckless, impulsive idiots, but somehow they rarely actually needed their med bay. Instead, it was reserved for sick people…and occasionally those who needed more than a few potions to get through the night.
Which, unfortunately, considering the amount of disgusting river water Eret and Wilbur had both managed to drink during their little…river rapid escapade, meant they had landed prime real estate for however long it took to get over pneumonia.
Sighing, Wilbur crossed his arms and settled deeper into the covers. His dad and brothers (and Tubbo, who wasn’t officially part of the family, but probably honorary at this point if they were all being frank) were sitting around him. “I’m not sleeping.” Wrinkling his nose, he stated this as firmly as he could from behind an oxygen mask. Phil’s fingers paused where they were in his hair, and the man smiled and rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”
“Mhmm, sure.”
“Well, I’m catching a nap.” Tommy decided, climbing in next to Wilbur like the rascally little racoon he was and settling down. Frowning, Wilbur locked a bandaged arm around him and pulled him close. “Ah! Wilbur!”
“If you’re joining me on the bed, then I’m going to make sure that you can’t take up the entire thing and shove me off.” He snapped. When Tommy tried wriggling away, Wilbur jabbed him callously in the ribs.
“Ah! Wilbur! Daaaaaad!”
“Tommy, behave.” Wilbur grinned at his little brother smugly. “Wilbur, behave.” The smug grin left.
“Hey, Techno, want to make a Tommy sandwich?” Screaming, Tommy tried wriggling away and Wilbur laughed. That promptly threw him into a (painful) coughing fit that left him near doubled-over, ribs aching and Phil holding onto his shoulder to keep him up. Finally, thankfully, it passed. In its wake, it left a feeling of lightheadedness and chest pain, and Wilbur slumped against Phil. “M’kay, might need…bit of a nap…”
“Alright. Techno, why don’t you take Tommy and Tubbo home? Make sure they don’t destroy the place, I’ll stay here with Wil.” Nodding like he wasn’t Techno the Blood God, Bringer of Chaos, Techno grabbed Tommy and Tubbo by the backs of their shirts, lifted them up, and effortlessly carried them from the med bay with the ease of a mother cat dealing with her newborn kittens. Considering the way Tommy was kicking and repeatedly saying “no, no, no, put me down,” whilst Techno said nothing and Tubbo just dangled there politely, Wilbur couldn’t help but draw the connection. Sighing, Phil ran a hand over his face as he helped Wilbur lie back. “I’m making a mistake, aren’t I?”
“Probably.”
+++
Eret didn’t wake up all at once.
That much, Wilbur knew. It was maybe a day after the flood dragged the two of them out to the ocean, after the rest of the server split up to search (which was why Phil, Techno, Tubbo, and Tommy had found them and no one else did). Since it was pretty late in the afternoon, and everyone was trying to rebuild and repair, he and Eret were alone. Wilbur’s roommate jerked, sucked in a breath, and then lolled their head to the side. The heart monitor sped up a bit in the meantime, signalling their return to consciousness. “Eret? You alright?” Wilbur called, shakily getting up. The book he was holding, a gift from Tubbo, was set on the bedside table as he grabbed his IV and started walking over. It wasn’t like he was hooked up to anything else, he could walk perfectly fine and no one would know a thing about it. Well, unless they walked in. Then they would know a thing about it, but everyone was busy.
On the bed, Eret remained unmoving. An odd expression crossed their face, wrinkled their nose and stretched their mouth into a line. A small whimper left them, and Wilbur glanced around. He wasn’t trained for this. Not in the slightest.
After a few moments, Eret’s face relaxed and he slumped into the pillows, eyes fluttering closed. Okay, okay, I guess he’s fine. Wilbur let out a breath as he slumped down in the chair behind him. The weight in his chest, one he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying, suddenly dropped away. However, his eyes suddenly got very, incredibly heavy, and he slumped down in the chair a little bit more, feet sliding against the floor and he let his head fall back.
He could take…a tiny…little nap…
“Wilbur, I swear to the End!” Phil’s voice snapped him out of sleeping and he surged awake so quickly the chair screeched against the tiles. Looking around, he stared at his dad for a few moments as Phil stormed over. “Get back in bed.”
Beside him, Eret started whimpering, and both of them paused and glanced over with wide eyes. In the bed, they shifted twice, but didn’t move, eyebrows furrowing a little bit. Wilbur must have been dead asleep, since someone had come in and threaded a tube down Eret’s throat. “That’s not a good sign, is it?” Wilbur asked, glancing at Phil.
“Must not have been breathing on their own for a while.” Phil mused, then touched Wilbur’s arm. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. Your bed, not Eret’s.”
Wilbur glanced back as he was helped over. Come on, Eret. You’re tougher than this. I’m not watching you die just because I couldn’t stay awake. Phil helped him into the bed, and Wilbur watched Eret for a little while as he drifted off again.
He was so tired all the time, it was weird.
Maybe it was because he’d almost drowned, or maybe it was because he was just tired, but Wilbur dropped right down and passed out. They’d be okay. They both would.
And if they weren’t, well…Tommy and Dream would bring them back and probably beat them up for dying on them.
He didn’t expect anything less.