Archive of Our Own ^beta

Honestly, Wilbur should have expected it. 

In a way, he did. He had expected something like this. But with someone else—Fundy, his own son, or maybe Niki, a firecracker hidden beneath a soft exterior. And he wouldn’t fault them, not really. It would be very much justified. 

But not exactly like that.

He could see the shocked faces. Seemed like a lot of people showed up to his welcome party. 

His father stared at him, shaky hands finally letting the sword drop and clang to the ground with a resounding boom. Even when it was out of his grasp, Phil’s hand trembled horribly, as if he was still holding that wretched object—used to kill and subsequently bring back his son on more than one occasion. He supposed Phil thought it wouldn’t work this time. 

Phil’s mouth was slightly agape, words on the tip of his tongue, yet nothing seemed to be coming out. Wilbur guessed that was just how Phil was. Never too good at words, not even with his own children. Wilbur couldn’t stand to look at him for too long, at that judgemental gawk. 

And Fundy. His boy. His face was twisted into something morbid; a mix of anger and shock. Wilbur couldn’t tell which one was winning at the moment. Fundy stood still, looking as though he wasn’t even breathing, eyes flitting back and forth as he stared at his previously-diseased father standing before him. Panic was starting to set in, he could see clearly. 

A distant part of him wanted to run over and swoop him into his arms, cradle him as though he was a toddler again, bounce him on his hip and sing little lullabies. Comfort his kid. But Wilbur wouldn’t dare. Fundy would probably kill him over again if he even stepped near him. 

His cheeks strained. An unfamiliar smile tugged at his lips as he stared into the beacon whites of everyone’s eyes. He shouldn’t be smiling. Not at something like this. But his cracked lips split as the corners of his lips stretched, ever so slowly. 

His hand drifted up to cover his smile, to hide the mistake he had already made, and the people tensed around him. Niki noticeably went for the sword latched at her side. He couldn’t bear to meet her gaze for too long. Wilbur wouldn’t say he was easily put off, but something behind her glare, those wide and furious, yet searching, eyes. He couldn’t do it. 

Nobody was speaking. Multiple people were gaping at him, mouths opening and closing like little fishes, and some were shifting, looking uneasy. But nobody said a word. A heavy silence hung in the air, and Wilbur wanted nothing more than to put it out of its misery, before the tension could transition to malice. 

Wilbur was always the more eloquently spoken out of everyone. This would be left up to him, of course.

“How is everyone?” 

Maybe not the most eloquent anymore. You couldn’t exactly blame him, though. He’d been six feet under for a while, and having Schlatt as a temporary roomie wouldn’t lead to the most intelligent conversations. 

Nobody responded. 

Wilbur couldn’t hide the way his eyes scrunched up in amusement. “It’s rude to not reply.” 

The only noise he got this time was a choked exhale, and that caught his attention. Tubbo’s hands were clasped at his mouth, eyes unseeing as he watched Wilbur. Like he was seeing through him. Wilbur couldn’t pull away from the boy. Something was itching at him, and when he came to the realization, he chuckled softly.

“Tubbo.” Wilbur started, and Tubbo’s eyes focused on him again. That horrified stare reminded him of a dead animal. “I never told you I was proud of you, did I?” 

“What?” Tubbo’s voice was croaky, barely above a whisper. 

“Well, probably a few times I’ve missed, but after the fight. With Dream.” That mention of Dream only made Tubbo tense up even more, and the horror was slowly conforming into an ugly sickness. 

“I—I don’t know.” His voice sounded like he had been screaming for hours beforehand. Wilbur knew very well that wouldn’t happen, though. Tubbo would surely bottle everything up, patch all the possible cracks or leaks, before letting it out. He was always like that. 

Wilbur shrugged. “I didn’t. So I guess it’s better late than never. I’m proud of you as much as I am Tommy.” And he was. Truly, Wilbur was proud of those kids. 

Tubbo said nothing this time. Wilbur didn’t expect him to. He was swaying on his feet, nearly unnoticeable, but Wilbur was looking. He watched as another kid— Ranboo , some part of him provided—approached Tubbo and gently pulled him closer, as if comforting him. Those dead eyes finally left his as Tubbo turned away. One down, probably more than ten to go. 

Another awkward silence encased them. 

Wilbur scanned over everyone. Fundy had finally regained his composure somewhat, curled in on himself, as if he was trying to reassure himself. Niki had stepped back a little, but she was standing tall, as if she was ready to snap. Phil’s trembling hand finally calmed to a slight twitching, laying limp by his side. 

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something again, but shouting stopped him. He knew that voice. He definitely knew who that was. For the first time since he came back, something flickered inside him. Some twisted version of excitement. 

Tommy was here. He had been wondering where the boy was. 

It felt like everything was happening at once. He could hear the heavy footsteps of Tommy, approaching where they were, the shouting getting louder and louder, and that smile on his face was stretching into a grin. Wilbur didn’t move an inch, waiting for Tommy to come to him. 

Tommy appeared in only a few seconds, some feet away and yet so close. A few people moved back, not wanting to get in the way of whatever reunion was going to happen, to get in the way of Tommy and Wilbur. Everyone still looked nervous, uncomfortable, but curious. 

“Tommy.“ Phil called, voice apparently returning to him as he tried to beckon the boy, but Tommy was frozen in place. 

It felt like a showdown. Wilbur’s lax gaze meeting Tommy’s, who held so much emotion and yet nothing was recognizable. It was like a flurry behind those piercing blue eyes, but nothing Wilbur could pick apart. It was new; Tommy was usually readable, a book permanently open. Wilbur didn’t know if he liked it or not. 

Wilbur’s face was aching with how hard his grin grew at the sight. He tilted his head, his own way of signaling the boy over, and Tommy knew.

Those eyes widened for a second, and then Tommy was charging at him.

Wilbur definitely should have expected it. What he did wasn’t really a forgive-and-forget kind of thing. But, truly, he did think that Fundy or Niki would be the ones to do it. 

A fist connected with his cheek, and Wilbur couldn’t contain the gasp of shock that escaped him. Pain blossomed in the left side of his face and he stumbled back, hand flying up to touch the area. 

He didn’t even get the time to look back up before a foot met his side, and he couldn’t hold himself upright. He tumbled to the ground, landing on his knees harshly, hands blindly alternating between holding his cheek and his side. Another gasp left him as the same foot was brought down on his shoulder, knocking him backwards. His back made a loud thud as it met hard stone, and a small crack rang in his head. 

A body was pinning him down. Wilbur blearily lifted his head and was met with another blow, this time aimed at his right eye. A small, nearly inaudible exhale left him as his head thumped against the ground again. There was a sticky substance piling beneath his head, and if he fought hard enough to squint, he could see the familiar, tangy burgundy liquid. 

Even with the pain that was overwhelming him, Wilbur didn’t move. He laid there, still and unresponsive, sight coming in and out of focus. He hadn’t passed out despite the many hits to the head, but his vision was definitely suffering, blurry and dark. He couldn’t even open his right eye. 

Hands grasped his shoulders, shaking him, and Wilbur didn’t even feel his head connecting with the ground over and over. He was concentrating on making his vision clear. Somehow, it worked as his head met the ground for the last time, and he stared up at the face of Tommy. 

Tommy was screaming at him. His face was a bright red, and Wilbur could see tears brimming in those huge whites, ready to spill any moment. If Wilbur focused really hard he could see Phil trying to pull Tommy off of him. Wilbur couldn’t really hear Tommy, the ringing in his head taking over, but he was sure it was a lot of cursing. 

Despite himself, the smile returned, much smaller than before, but still undoubtedly a smile. 

Tommy paused when a small snigger passed Wilbur’s lips. Even Phil ceased trying to drag Tommy off, letting go of the boy’s arm as they watched Wilbur giggle to himself. Phil backed off a few steps, looking distraught at the display, as if everything was coming to him at once. Tommy just sat atop him, breathing heavy as Wilbur dissolved into a small fit of laughter. 

When he finished, Wilbur smiled up at Tommy, remaining and uninjured eye squinted in joy. Tommy faltered, obviously not expecting such a reaction. Surely not expecting what Wilbur would say next. 

“I missed you.” 

Tommy didn’t move. He was still staring at Wilbur, but the rage was starting to dissipate. Transform into something else. And then the tears were back, and Tommy’s lip was quivering, and Wilbur tilted his head once more. One more invitation.

Wilbur barely registered being lifted until his face was pulled onto Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy buried himself into Wilbur’s neck, and a moment later he could feel a heart-wrenching sob release into his skin. Wilbur let himself lay, stagnate, as Tommy wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. 

“Wilbur…” Tommy cried, clasping at the back of Wilbur’s clothes, hugging him even tighter. “Wilbur… Wilby…”

Wilbur couldn’t stop himself from linking his own arms behind Tommy, pulling him closer, until it felt as though they were merging together, body and soul alike. As though they would never be able to part again. 

“You’re alright.” Wilbur shushed, rubbing Tommy’s back like he was a kid again, and he supposed the boy still was. “You’re fine.” 

“M’sorry… m’sorry… Wilby…” Tommy’s words were slurred and wet, spoken between sobs, and Wilbur just let the boy nuzzle into him more, not minding the tears that were soaking him. 

“You’re okay.” Wilbur repeated. Distantly, he could see a couple remaining people watching, Phil among them. Phil looked as though he was going to move forward and do something, but stopped himself when their eyes met.

Wilbur didn’t really want him to bother them. He didn’t want anyone to bother them right now. 

Tommy slumped against him, having tired himself out, a combination of the tears and his anger and that pent-up frustration letting go. Wilbur let him, slowly leaning back himself, until he was flat against the ground once more. But this time, Tommy was laying on him, curled around him and holding on. 

Wilbur could feel the stick of his own blood seeping into his hair. He could feel the ache of each blow, every bruise that would form tomorrow, the way his breaths were ragged and broken, but he could also feel Tommy’s weight on him, drowning everything else out.

He really had missed him.