Chapter Text
Tommy’s palms were sweating and his throat felt like it was closing up as he sat across from Wilbur. This was so weird. Having Wilbur alive again, right in front of him, Ghostbur’s calm innocence long gone. This was not to say the older man was quite as unhinged as he had been at the moment of his death, but the change from his gentle, silent ghost-self was very clearly noticiable.
Wilbur had been back for three days now, adjusting and learning about the fate of L’manberg and catching up with everything; he had faint memories from being Ghostbur, but most of it had been wiped at the moment of his resurrection. Tommy had kept his distance, observing, seeing quite how off the rails his old friend was, but upon seeing Wilbur genuinely regret his past actions and seem more clear-headed, he had allowed himself to get closer again. However, now, he wasn’t quite sure if telling Wilbur he wanted to talk and pulling him aside had been a good idea.
“Tommy,” came Wilbur’s voice, no longer echoing as it had been for the past month, startling the younger man out of his anxious thinking. Tommy looked up at Wilbur again, nervousness clear on his face. Wilbur responded with a gentle, yet awkward smile and reached out to pat the blonde’s shoulder, frowning and pulling his hand back before making contact, when Tommy flinched violently.
“Tommy,” Wilbur repeated, voice softer than the first time: “What did you want to talk about? What’s wrong? You’re so jumpy.”
“Just... let me collect my thoughts,” Tommy responded, voice shaky, averting the taller man’s worried eyes. He knew that if he was going to tell anyone about what happened in exile, he would feel most comfortable with Wilbur, but it was still difficult to find the right words to describe the horrific things Dream had put him through.
“Of course,” Wilbur said: “Take all the time you need. But there’s no need to be scared, Tommy. I’m not going to be angry or anything.”
“It would be pretty fucked up if you were angry about what I’m going to tell you,” the blonde boy replied, with a dry laugh: “At me, at least.”
He drew in a deep breath. He had to talk at some point. Sitting here quietly wasn’t doing anything except making him more anxious, so finally, he spoke: “So, you know how I mentioned that Dream exiled me?”
“Yes. I have a few memories from that time,” answered Wilbur, looking thoughtful for a moment, before adding: “Very few memories though. I remember building together and the place being called... Logstad?”
“Logstedshire,” Tommy corrected: “Logsted for short. I get the confusion.”
“Right, yes, Logsted,” Wilbur nodded. He was silent for a moment, staring at Tommy with a thoughtful, yet concerned look before questioning: “Why did you want to talk about that?”
“Well... uh. There’s a lot that you don’t remember or even know about it,” Tommy started, trying to keep his voice loud enough for Wilbur to hear, even though he wanted to sink into the chair behind him and whisper what he was about to say: “About... what happened there. About what happened- no - what was done to me there.”
”What was done to you?” Wilbur repeated in a distressed tone, leaning forward in his chair, while Tommy leaned further back in his, still avoiding eye contact.
“It’s hard to talk about,” the boy mumbled, clenching his fists to stop his hands from trembling: “I haven’t talked about it properly with anyone. Not even Tubbo. I’m... ashamed, I guess.”
“Tommy, please tell me what happened,” Wilbur pleaded, tone growing more and more alarmed by the minute. Tommy couldn’t stand it anymore and before he could stop himself, the words came spilling out of his mouth like a fountain:
“Dream. Dream is what happened. He... He exiled me and then isolated me from literally everyone except you, or Ghostbur, I guess. He manipulated me and told me he was the only person who cared about me and that everyone back home was happy I was gone. And I started fucking believing him.”
Tommy felt dizzy. His breath was hitching and tears of frustration and anger were welling up in his eyes, but he was nowhere near done.
“He was the only person who came to see me. He forced me to hand over my armor and weapons every day and blew them up right in front of me. If I refused, he’d threaten or hit or fucking stab me. Sometimes he’d do it for fun too. I don’t know, I guess he liked seeing how I reacted. He did that and so much more and then turned around and said he cared about me more than anyone else,” he ranted, not even sure if he was talking too fast for his counterpart to understand.
Wilbur stared, eyes wide. Tommy looked up at him and his shocked expression made him want to stop, but it was like he couldn’t control the words spilling from his mouth.
“I have scars everywhere and all of them aren’t even from him. I— It got so bad I started wanting to die. I became self destructive and I thought about offing myself more than once,” the boy continued, voice choked, barely above a whisper now: “-and I still do sometimes. I can’t even cope like a normal fucking person anymore. He made me... I started to believe that every time I fuck up I deserve to be hurt and I can’t get out of that mindset no matter how hard I try. I feel completely fucking worthle-“
Tommy’s ranting was cut off by Wilbur springing up from his chair and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. At first, Tommy flinched and instinctively tried to push the brunette back, expecting a punch or a knife against his back, but when he realized the hurt wasn’t coming, he broke. He wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s shoulders, nails digging into his coat that still smelled like gunpowder and buried his face into the front of the taller man’s shirt and just let himself break. Sobs shook his entire body and his breath was coming out in short puffs and Wilbur held him. Just held him silently and let him cry. Tommy had forgotten what it felt like to be safe like this and it just made him cry more.
It was unfair. It was so fucking unfair. He was sixteen. He shouldn’t have had to forget what safety felt like. This hug was so warm and kind and nothing like Dream’s empty, manipulative way of wrapping Tommy up in his arms to create a false sense of security.
Tommy had no idea how long it took for him to start calming down, sobs turning to small sniffles, drawing in deeper breaths, no longer trembling from head to toe. Even then, he kept holding onto Wilbur, as if he was scared the older man would disappear the moment he let go.
“Tommy,” Wilbur said after a moment, voice strained: “I’d love to keep hugging you but this position is really uncomfortable.”
“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed, letting go of the brunette and allowed him to pull back and sit back down across from him. The blonde looked off to the side, embarassed and muttered an apology. Wilbur laughed softly and carefully reached out to place his hand on Tommy’s knee, catching the younger’s glance. The boy was shocked to see unshed tears in Wilbur’s eyes and a sad smile twisting his features.
“Hey, why are /you/ crying?” Tommy questioned and probably sounded more alarmed than he intended, because the older man let out another laugh at his reaction.
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur responded, tone sincere and wiped his eyes with his sleeve before looking back up at Tommy: “I don’t want to make it about me, I just. I wish I had been there and protected you better.”
“Can’t change the past,” Tommy remarked, shrugging: “I can’t say I’m not a bit bitter that you weren’t here, but there’s nothing we can do to change it.”
“You’re right,” Wilbur replied, looking away for a moment and pulling his hand away. Tommy watched his jaw clench and eyes narrow as he seemed to be deep in thought for a few minutes. Tommy didn’t expect his tone to be so dark when he spoke again: “We can’t change the past. But I can definitely shift the future.”
“What do you mean by that?” The younger asked, slightly frightened by the anger in his friend’s tone. Wilbur turned to look at him, his heated expression softening once more. He leaned forward a bit, holding Tommy’s glance and asked: “Where are you supposed to be meeting Dream on Wednesday?”
“Wilbur, I can’t bring anyone but Tubbo,” Tommy stated, shaking his head: “I can’t. The discs-“
“He won’t have time to even reach for the discs,” Wilbur spoke over him, expression and tone dead serious: “Much less a flint and steel. Trust me. I’ll make quick work of him.”
“Wilbur-“
“Trust me, Tommy.”
Tommy didn’t think he’d ever heard Wilbur sound so serious in his life. He searched the older man’s face for a single sign of doubt or fear, but saw only stone cold seriousness. He nodded slowly and reached into his pocket, pulling out the compass Dream had left in the ruins of his burnt down house. The compass that supposedly pointed towards his discs. He handed it to Wilbur with a shaky hand.
“He’ll expect to be attacked on Wednesday,” the boy said carefully. Wilbur flashed him one of his comforting smiles that was laced with underlying anger and responded:
“That’s why I’m going today.”