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"You really were just kids who were forced to grow up a little too quickly."
Wilbur kneels at the bench, staring at the monument that rests there. Pictures of Tommy and Tubbo are scattered around, propped up by frames, tilted against the legs of the bench, some half-fallen over. Some of the pictures have broken glass, some of the frames are stolen and shattered, and Wilbur wonders who the hell disrupted their deathbeds. Flowers lay scattered all over the earth, some already dying. Wilbur assumes that it's because of Tommy, he assumes that they're both still alive somewhere.
That their spirits are busy causing chaos together, like they always did. Like they always had, like they always will. Wilbur remembers meeting Tommy when he was fifteen, staring down at the ten year old boy who looked up at him. Tommy had blood trickling down his nose and a broken wrist he had gotten from defending a friend of his, one who he refused to talk about, until Phil found out anyways. Tubbo moved in with them a month later, and Tommy looked happier. Wilbur never really understood why he tried keeping Tubbo hidden from them, but he assumes now that it was out of fear.
Wilbur sits back, picking at the grass below him. The flowers are pretty, he thinks. He wonders if he should have brought some.
They were buried in their L'manberg uniforms. Wilbur didn't stitch them up or fixed the clothes, he just left them be. Tommy was proud of all the rips in tears in his uniform, he wore them off like badges, like little trophies. Tubbo always tried to sew his uniform back together, though he always just ended up pricking his hands and his fingers every time he tried. Wilbur remembers late nights where he tried to teach the boy how to properly use a needle and thread, and it always dissolved into them laughing and bickering, and Wilbur saw himself in Tubbo a little more than he saw himself in Tommy.
Though, of course, he saw himself in both of them. He saw his boldness in Tommy, he saw his loudness and his exterior persona in the boy, he saw his pride and his honour shining back at him in Tommy's eyes. Wilbur saw his cautiousness and his planning skills in Tubbo. He saw his tired concern and his need to fix things and be a good person in him. Wilbur always wondered what it meant, that he had two boys in front of him that were his exact replicas, but entirely different at the same time. He wished that they weren't like him, that they weren't going to be like him.
Wilbur remembers dying.
He remembers dying, he remembers bleeding out and going somewhere dark and quiet. He talked to Schlatt for a few days before he opted to come back, offering his hand out to his foil, though Schlatt had refused. "The fuck would I come back for?" He had asked. "No one wants me there, Wilbur. I don't want to be there, either. I'm not going back." Wilbur had accepted the words, though he wished that he hadn't. Wilbur remembers dying, and he hopes to god that, if Tubbo and Tommy are out there still, that they don't remember it. It's the worst feeling in the world, he thinks. He felt dread in his stomach as Phil stabbed him in the chest, he felt terror and fear and pain, and he knew he was going to die, and that was so fucking scary.
Wilbur can lie to himself all that he wants, but he knows that Tommy and Tubbo had to have known that they were going to die.
They had to have known that they weren't going to come back home. They had to have known that it was going to be their last time together, that no matter how hard they fought, they were still going to die. Surely, they knew. They had to.
"You were far too young for this." Wilbur tells them both, though he isn't sure if they can hear him or not. He'd like to think that they can, but he doesn't know. He doesn't know if they're really gone or if their spirits have reconciled here. If he closes his eyes and pretends a little more, he can see them sitting on the bench in front of him, laughing and joking around with each other.
Tommy laughs, elbowing Tubbo in the side. Tubbo grins back at him, reaching up to try and ruffle Tommy's hair, but he's far too late. Tommy catches his wrist, laughing a little harder as he shoves his friend back, nearly pushing him off of the bench.
Mellohi plays in his ears.
Wilbur wants to tear out his hair.
He opens his eyes again, staring at the empty spots on the bench. Tommy and Tubbo should be sitting there, they should be laughing and talking together, like they never had any worries. Wilbur should have never done this to him. This is his fault.
Of course it's fault, how isn't it? He caused the war, it was always him. He had such a rush for power, he did anything he could to keep it, it's all his fault. Wilbur closes his eyes, wishing that he had died years ago. If he had died before L'manberg, it would have never existed. Tommy and Tubbo would still be living, they'd be alive. They would be okay, they wouldn't have had to worry about anything.
"I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry, Tubbo. This never should have happened. Not to you."
The words are useless, they mean nothing. They mean absolutely nothing, they're empty, though filled with hurt and grief at the exact same time.
"You know," Wilbur looks up at the sky, running his hands along his legs, wishing that he didn't have to distract himself to not cry. "You always asked me if you were doing good. Both of you always needed that reassurance, and I don't know if I ever gave enough of it. But, you..you always did good," he whispers. "No matter what happened, you always did good. Tubbo, you did so well, I'm sorry for what I did. For asking you to spy, for putting you through all of that. For making you President. Tommy, I'm sorry for everything that fucking happened," he laughs. "You experienced it firsthand. You were more of a soldier than I was, and I'm so sorry."
"Neither of you ever deserved this," he murmurs. "Tommy, Tubbo, I'm sorry. I don't know how to put it other than I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For all of this, for you dying, for you being gone and dead. You two are dead," Wilbur shakes his head, letting out a bitter laugh. "You're gone. Did you die together?" He asks. "Did you get to say goodbye to each other before you were gone? I hope to god that it wasn't painful."
Wilbur breathes out, looking away before he starts to cry. He can't look at their pictures. He can't look at how happy they were.
He can't look at what he did to them.
"I hope you don't remember it. If you come back as ghosts and you remember nothing but each other, I'll keep it that way," Wilbur tells them. "I'm not going to let you remember all of your trauma, all of the wars you've been through. For once in your lives, afterlives, you deserve to forget. You deserve to be kids, don't you?" Wilbur snorts, raising a hand to wipe away his tears. "For once, you deserve to forget who you were forced to become because I decided it would be okay to put children in uniforms and send them to war," he stares down at the ground, pretending like he doesn't notice the picture frame in the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say," he laughs, though he doesn't know why he does. "I'm sorry. I wish that I could change things. I wish that I could..fix everything."
Wilbur looks away, staring firmly at the ground. "I would like to think that you're both okay. You know, when I first died, I remember being on a beach," Wilbur starts. "I stood in the ocean and I waited for hours for someone to come and get me, for someone or something to take me away. And I just kept standing there, and I kept looking out into the water and up at the sky, and I didn't move. And I- I thought to myself, is this really it? Is this really the end? And I didn't want to believe it, because I was scared. I was scared to die, and I was alone, because I had died alone. I died alone, with no one dying by my side. And I- I think, I..I think that, maybe, maybe you'll be at the ocean. Maybe you'll stand in the water, the both of you, but it won't be because you're waiting for something."
He swallows back his tears, glancing up to look at their pictures.
They were so happy.
"You'll be standing there because you can. Because you want to dick around in the water, you'll splash each other and laugh and get your clothes wet, and you won't even have a new set, so you'll just have to deal with it," Wilbur murmurs. "And you'll laugh, and you'll be okay. Because you- you'll both be allowed to be kids again. You'll be kids, and you can laugh and joke around without having to worry about war or hurt or any of that. All you'll have to worry about is getting new shirts, because you decided that going in the ocean without changing would be a good idea. But that's only because you're kids, and you don't have the right- the right sort of, the right sort of mind. And that's what you can blame it on, even though you were- you.."
He's lying to himself.
Wilbur doesn't know why he keeps trying to pretend.
Wilbur doesn't know why he keeps trying.
The day Tommy and Tubbo died was the day Wilbur was revived. He was resurrected and thrown back into the world, and he came home, to L'manberg, and he was alone. He came to the bench, ready to finally say hello to his little brother and friend, and all he found..
Techno and Phil were there, tiredly installing a golden plate onto the back of the bench that said "RIP - TOMMY & TUBBO. BE KIDS AGAIN, LISTEN TO MUSIC, LIVE INDEPENDENTLY." Wilbur doesn't entirely remember how long he stood there before the two of them noticed him, but it was far, far, too long. Phil turned to look at him, his eyes tired and an even more exhausted smile on his face.
"Hey, Will," he had said. "Bad timing."
"That's a fuckin' understatement," Techno had nearly raised his voice at Phil. "Don't..don't start, Phil. Don't try to joke. Don't. Not right now."
Wilbur doesn't remember much of that day, but he does remember running as far away as his legs would take him. He stares at the golden plate on the bench, wishing that it didn't hurt him to look at. Him being here hurts more than he can ever say, but the fact that there are thousands of memories installed here makes it so much worse. The bench was never his place to go, Wilbur very rarely came to this spot. He knew it was Tommy and Tubbo's, and he never needed to interfere.
He remembers coming up here the day L'manberg's Independence was won.
He remembers coming up here for half a second before he went to his button room.
"I miss you both," Wilbur murmurs, pushing himself off of the ground, looking at Tommy and Tubbo, who are locked away by thin layer of glass. "I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to be here for if neither of you are here. What's the point?" He laughs, bitterly and destroyed. "What's the fucking point of me coming back to life, only for you two to die? The world has the cruelest sense of humour, did you know that? It took me away from you when you needed me most, and when I finally came back, it took you both away from me."
Wilbur turns his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat, wondering how long it's been since they died. Dream didn't bring their bodies back, no one has even fucking seen him since he killed two kids. Wilbur plans on looking for him, he'll hunt him down.
When Wilbur finds him, Dream's fate will be a thousand times worse than death.
"Well," he clears his throat, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I love you both. Tommy, Tubbo," he nods at them, sniffling. "You two were the best goddamn soldiers anyone has ever seen. And you never should have had to become like that. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tommy, Tubbo. I'm sorry. I can't fix it, I can't fix anything, but I'm sorry. I hope that. wherever you are, you can hear me. You don't have to accept my apology," Wilbur stares down at his feet, breathing out. "But I just wanted to let you know that. I love you both more than I could ever say, you two..you're like my- my little brothers. I'm sorry we didn't get as close, Tubbo. But you were just as good of a kid as Tommy."
Wilbur turns away from the bench, from their graves. Away from the flowers and the pictures and the golden plate that has their names and death dates on it. "I'm proud of you two. You both made me so proud," he whispers the words, unable to raise his voice, even though he tries his best. "Please, wherever you are, just be kids, okay? Don't fight anymore, just..just be kids for once," Wilbur shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding a few times to himself. "Okay. Okay, I'm going to go now. I..I love you, I'm sorry. I hope that you both are okay. That's all I want for you, is for the both of you to be okay. Alright. Goodbye, Tommy. Goodbye, Tubbo."
Wilbur starts to walk, and he doesn't look back, forcing himself to keep going, never turning once. He knows that if he does, he'll start to cry and break down again, and he can't do that. Not right now.
Not ever.
"All's forgiven, big man," Tommy calls out. "Tubbo, can he hear us?"
"I don't think so," Tubbo admits. "But I think he'll know, right? He has to! People always said that they felt safe at his grave and bad at Schlatt's, so that had to have been their spirits, right? Surely, surely it has to be the same with us."
Tommy nods, feeling his chest hurt and his eyes prick as he watches Wilbur walk away. "I miss him, Tubbo. I wish that..it's not our faults, but I..maybe if I.."
"You're doing what he said not to," Tubbo nudges him. "It's okay, Tommy. We really don't have enough time to be all bitter anymore. It's okay, Wilbur!" Tubbo calls out, cupping his hands to his mouth. "You're alright, it's okay! We forgive you! Both of us do!"
"Yeah, Wilbur!" Tommy adds. "What he said! Don't beat yourself up about it, yeah? We're all good! Dead 'nd chillin', right, Tubbo?"
Tubbo laughs, grinning at him. "Right, Tommy."
Wilbur pauses, turning back to look at the bench. He's so certain that he heard someone, that he heard people, two of them. There's no way in hell.
Tommy and Tubbo look back at him, Tommy resting his arm on Tubbo's shoulder, the both of them grinning and waving at him. Their mouths are moving, but he can't hear anything. They gesture for him to keep walking, waving him away. Wilbur takes in a shaky breath, his heart stopping. If he reads their lips closely enough, he swears to god that they're saying-
We're proud of you, too.