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The wind whips around two figures,
They stand in front of each other in a space undefined by objects.
A trenchcoat ripples in the invisible breeze.
He struggles to hold onto his blue.
He looks up at this person in front of him.
Hands shaking from the cold.
Tilted head, wide eyes. He looks into that cold, sharp gaze.
And finds nothing familiar.
He stares down in cold disgust.
There’s someone in front of him, with hunched shoulders.
Fingers tangled in some dripping blue mess.
Looking more fearful than any coward he had led into battle.
Yet there is something, because they have the same curly hair.
Same beanie, different color. What is with his skin?
The same slash in the center of their chests.
Why is this one bleeding. Why is he still bleeding?
Who are you?
Who are you?
“Who are you?”
He sounds like him, but not. Far crueler.
He sounds like him, but not. More pathetic.
What the hell has become of him after he was killed?
Is this really what the afterlife has brought?
“Is this really what I become?”
Every word is a barb digging through his yellow sweater.
Containing all the misplaced pity of his friends twisted into anger.
In the voice of his shattered mirror image.
“Are you… who I was before?”
“This is disgusting. You’re telling me I don’t even get to go out for good?
“That I can’t leave my symphony unfinished and fade with the sunset?
“Instead, I'm relegated to this- this weak, cowardly version of myself--
“THIS IS NOT ME!”
A flinch, a short gasp.
He gets no pity from the better or worse version of himself.
“Would you like some blue?”
It’s all he has. Another question, an offering, an opening.
The dye scatters over the floor that is not a floor.
Dissipating, scattering, disappearing.
“What the fuck is ‘blue’? Some cheap trick to garner pity?”
“It- It takes your sadness away. Soaks it up.
“I- we- I- have a lot of sadness to soak up. I think.
“I don’t remember.”
“That has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
There is no reason to disguise the poison on his tongue, not for this sniveling idiot.
“There are no regrets. Nothing to be sad about. I did what I wanted to do.
“My L’manburg remains unfinished, forever destroyed. By me.”
“I like L’manburg. I helped rebuild it, with President Tubbo!”
Silence. Cold silence, silence filled with seething anger, unimaginable fury and despair.
“Why would you rebuilt it, why the FUCK would you rebuild it.
“I razed L’manburg for a fucking reason.”
“I made some lanterns. The ones we used to make with Phil. Dad.”
“Phil stabbed me. Killed me.
“His fault for creating whatever the fuck you are.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I know. It’s a happy memory for you.”
It’s bliss, it’s a finale.
Shutting his eyes against his weeping father’s shoulder.
“It is.”
It’s agony, it’s clarity.
Begging for his own father to bury his own sword straight through his chest.
“I only remember the happy ones. Like-”
“I couldn’t give less of a fuck, actually. Shut up.”
“Oh.
“Okay.”
Silence, again. Blue dye is dripping onto the not-floor.
It ripples out in small droplets, staining the surface, unable to break the tension.
He in the trencoat looks for a way out, and finds nothing.
A tired sigh.
“So you only remember the happy memories? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Everyone likes me a bit better now, I think.
“I don’t like thinking of the bad memories.
“I don’t like thinking of you.”
The fire within him burns bright and hot, and he steps forward.
He grabs the yellow sweater of this stupid imposter.
His words are bitter snarls, spitting out the words like they hurt.
They do.
“So what, you try and forget me and make everyone else forget?
“I’m supposed to live on as this! Not as whatever the hell you are.
“I’m their reminder, orchestrator, I live on in them.
“You should never have existed in the first place.
“What a stupid thing you are, a fucking shell of what I once was.
“All you do is- what? Hand out your stupid dye and-”
Thick blue tears roll down his gray cheeks.
It stains the opaque floor the color of the sky.
He turns in his shoulders, gripping his blue tighter.
A scoff of disgust.
“I don’t understand what you’re crying for.
“Doesn’t everyone love you now? Prefer you to me?
“What’s there to cry over? You got what you wanted, right?”
A push, a shove.
Blue spills all over the ground.
The floor is the ocean.
Silence. Sniffling.
Someone else is crying.
“You got what you wanted, why didn’t I?
“Why can’t I just have my triumph?
“Why did you take this away from me?
“I hate you.”
“It’s okay. You can hate me.”
A hand cups his cheek, and wipes away tears.
They are both crying, now.
“It doesn’t matter. They love you,
“And I hate you, and they hate me and it’s all-
“It doesn’t matter anymore.
“This is how it was always meant to be.”
“It doesn’t have to be, you know.
“They want you back.
“And I want to move on.
“I want to make them happy.”
“Why would they want me back?
“What do I have left to give that you couldn’t fix for them?”
“I’m not the one they miss.
“I know I’m only an echo.
“I could never be enough to replace you.”
The hand hasn’t left his cheek.
Against all reservations, he leans into it.
Only half-corporeal, he feels himself slipping through.
“I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be here with you.”
“History is going to repeat itself.”
“Not if we don’t let it.”
They both chuckle, in rue and in sorrow.
Two hands intertwine, passing through each other.
The wind has stilled, now.
His hands are no longer shaking.
“It’s time to come home.
“They’re going to be so happy to see you.
“Do right this time. Make right what I forgot to.”
“That’s going to be a lot, if I’ve gathered correctly.
“You’ll stay with me? Make sure I stay on track?
“I don’t want to feel alone again. I don’t want to be broken.”
“You won’t be alone again.”
Words become indistinguishable from one to the other.
The undefined space folds in on itself, the stains fade away.
Wilbur opens his eyes to a bright blue sky.