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He's laughing.
He's clutching his chest with a white-knuckle grip, fresh blood running through the cracks in his fingers while his other bloody hand covers his face, and he's laughing.
Phil, Tommy, Tubbo, Eret, Ranboo, and Fundy are grouped in a cluster in front of Wilbur as his sheet-white skin slowly gains color. The yellow jumper Ghostbur wore was now replaced with a tattered white tee, his red beanie nearly slipping off his curls as he lets another wave of laughter shake his body.
It's almost horrifying, Tommy thinks. The way the blood darkens in his shadows cast by the harsh orange rising sun. The way Wilbur's voice cracks and gives out into wheezes. The way his eye is open through his fingers, staring onto the lapis floor below him. The way he just keeps gripping at the blood on his chest.
The resurrection worked. With a totem, this time. The group didn't have to speak a word for there to be an unspoken agreement: Was this really the right call?
No, it had to be! Tommy takes a brave step forward, ignoring Tubbo's pull on his arm. He's surprised to not hear a waver in his voice as he calls out. "Wilbur? Is that you?"
Wilbur's head rises, then. Slowly, his head turns to flash Tommy the widest grin he had ever pulled. "Tommy," he breathes, his voice husky and dangerous. "Tommy Innit, that's really you?"
Tommy finds a tentative smile. "Yeah… yeah, it's me, Will."
Wilbur wheezes out another laugh. He shifts, perhaps intending to stand, but he looks down at the bloody gash across his chest. "Sorry, I… I think I'm still healing."
"You're back," Fundy dumbly remarks, mouth open. "I-I mean… it worked, you're back!"
Before the fox can move, Phil steps forward first. A black-backed wing drapes over his shoulder in a greeting. "...Hey, mate," he says, giving a smile. "You feeling okay?"
Tommy watches as Wilbur's smile drops. For a moment, he's completely deadpanned. A storm froths in his eye, unspoken emotions clouding to the front of his expression, which starts to dissolve into a snarl.
But then, the corners of his mouth turn up, and his grin is back. "Tommy," He grunts, holding out his hand without breaking eye contact with his father. "Help me up, would you?"
Tommy jumps to his brother's aid immediately. The man towers over him, much less weighs twice his size, but he still throws Wilbur's arm over his shoulder and uses all the might in his legs to keep him standing up.
Wilbur's sneakers shuffle under him as he uses Tommy as an armrest. He feels a stronger hand clasp onto his shoulder, which he immediately flinches at and snaps into a vice grip. "Get your damn hand off me, old man."
Phil's fingers twitch into a rigid hold, a short gasp piercing his lungs. "W-Will—"
Wilbur rights himself, but only for a moment before he starts to keel over again. He starts trembling as Tommy braces a hand against his chest, the boy's face screwing up when the stench of blood hits his nose.
Tommy is about to make some witty, ill-timed jab but then Wilbur starts laughing again. This time, it sounds much more dangerous, yet much more genuine.
"Uh, Wilbur?" Eret reaches a hand up, taking a comforting hold on Fundy's collar. "You… feeling okay there?"
Wilbur cocks his head up at an odd angle as he lets Phil's wrist go. "Ahh, Philza, Philza, Philza ." His grin nearly takes up his entire face. "Long time, no fucking see, is that right?"
A sudden tremble in his shoulders makes Phil swallow hard as he meets his son's stare. "It's, um… it's been a bit, yeah."
"What have you been up to lately?" His voice is coated in a thick layer of sugar, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Wait, don't tell me…" he stands upright to look behind him at the canyon L'manburg once stood in. "...That?"
Tommy nods. "Yeah, that! You won't believe this, big man– he sided with Dream !" His glare shoots to Phil. "He blew up the entire country, and spawned Withers faster than we could kill 'em!"
Phil's wide-eyed stare falters slightly. "W-Well, I didn't spawn all the Withers…"
Wilbur coughs out another laugh, hunching over again and clutching at his chest. The blood had started to dry on his shirt, which he took at a good sign. "No, Tommy, I don't find it hard to believe. I believe it because I remember."
His stare once more settles on Phil as the man takes a step back. "Oh, you're not used to that, are you?" He asks, his voice dropping in volume as his eye widens. "You're used to sweet little Ghostbur. Sweet little Ghostbur who will just forget whatever you say if it makes him sad enough. God rest that poor fucker, all the shit you put him through."
"You know about that?" Tubbo squeaks. "But… weren't you in the afterlife?"
Wilbur hesitates, his gaze softening as it lands on Tubbo. "I don't know how it works. I couldn't tell you if you put a gun to my head." He looks down, almost somber. "I just know that whatever he forgets, I remember." He punctuates the last sentence with several jabs at his chest with a hard finger.
Phil tries to stay unmoving. "O… Okay…?"
Wilbur's mouth contorts into a snarl-grin. "Say, Philza… d'you remember when Ghostbur made friends with a lovely little sheep? Remember how he trusted you to take care of that lil' sheep while he was helping Tommy not completely lose his fucking mind?"
"Is this really about friend?" The angel's wings rose over his shoulders as he crossed his arms.
Wilbur's head cocked at that odd angle again. "Let me ask you something else."
"By all means."
"While you were off with Techno living the cushy life of retirement, do you remember how Tommy was being beat senseless nearly every day? You know how many times he looked over the roads in the Nether, just wanting to drop off into the lava and never come back?"
Phil falters. Tommy tenses under him. He keeps talking, his smile growing wider– if that's even possible at that point.
"Better yet, remember how you held Tommy while he was sobbing over my dead body after you just left it there?" His lungs squeeze out a chuckle. "I sure don't! I just wish I remember how you told him it was going to be okay, and that he didn't have to worry because his dad was back to protect him. I fucking wish that's what you did!"
Eret and Ranboo share an uncomfortable glance, one that reads, should I be here right now? Both of them take a unanimous step back.
"Will, hey," Fundy waved a hand to get his attention. "It's… it's fine, alright? We've already punished Phil for working with Techno."
"What about working with Dream?" Fundy was sure his father's head was about to snap right off his neck the way he twisted it. "The very same man that drove my brother– his OWN SON! To nearly kill himself while he was fucking off with his god-damn villagers!" His voice rises into a hoarse scream by the time he's done, his entire body shaking and threatening to crumple to the ground. The only thing holding him upwards is Tommy and his own rage.
Fundy shrinks back, his tail curling around the inside of his leg. "W'll… when you put it like that…"
Phil's arms cross tighter over his chest. "Tommy didn't learn anything," he mutters. "We gave him food, and shelter, and armor and safety, and then he turns around and joins our enemy."
Wilbur snuffs. "You give him the bare-fuckin'-minimum after he's lost everything but his physical life. Let me ask again, were you there when Dream was forcing Tommy out of his armor, emptying his pockets of everything he had? Did you even care how he was?"
Phil doesn't answer.
"Did you even consider for a shred of a moment how Tommy was doing at all? You're not the only one that got fucked over when I died!"
"You told me to kill you!" Phil shouts, "damn-near forced my hand!"
"That doesn't mean that you're the only one that's allowed to hurt!"
Tommy flinches at Wilbur's scream, his brother's voice ringing in his ears. Desperately, he grabs at Wilbur's collar. "Hey, hey! Calm down, please!"
Wilbur's breath catches in his throat as he suddenly flickers his eye down to Tommy. The boy's face is trembling with desperation, exhaustion, and then Wilbur tightens the hold he has around Tommy's shoulders in an awkward hug. "Sorry," he whispers, "just another moment."
Phil is back in his line of sight. For the first time, Wilbur lets go of Tommy to stand on his own. He's nowhere near balanced, but he doesn't care; all he needs is just a few steps.
He takes those few steps as he talks.
"You're the Hardcore man, Philza," he speaks, and he sounds half-asleep or in a trance. "You only got one life left to go, is that right?" His feet shuffle to a stop when they nearly step on Phil's toes.
Phil almost backs up. "If you're trying to threaten me…"
"Threaten?" Wilbur asks, confusion crossing his features as he raises an eyebrow. "Threaten? Whoa, why would I threaten dear ol' Dadza? You think I'm the kind of person to do that?" He lets loose a nearly-choked snicker. "No, no no no."
A hand snaps out, grabbing his father by the collar of his kimono in a grip as tight as the one his wrist was trapped in. All traces of a smile are gone.
"This is a warning."
Tommy almost can't believe what he's seeing. He has to look past the two to meet Tubbo's own incredulous stare. He quickly mouths to his friend, "what the fuck is this!?"
"The next time I see you come within an inch of making Tommy upset," Wilbur growls, yanking Phil so they butt heads, "if I see you talk to him, and he so much as frowns ? You better pick a god, and pick one quick, because I won't fucking hesitate."
Phil's breath is shaky, his hands just as much as he grabs Wilbur's shoulders. "Y… You wouldn't kill me."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Tommy can't stop himself from breaking into a grin, warmth blossoming through his chest and making him nearly bounce in place.
His brother is back . And it doesn't look like he's leaving again.