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If Tommy had half the heart to be as zesty as he usually was, he’d be really pissed at the fact that he actually did what Dream told him to, moments before the last fatal punches landed.
He lies on green grass, cheekbones throbbing hauntingly, the skin unblemished yet a cruel reminder of his fate.
Now Wilbur looms over him, gaze penetrating and scheming, as they always had been. Dream’s final speech mock him over and over in his head, and Tommy lets a scowl crawl across his face.
‘What, is this it?’ Tommy sits up, surveying his surroundings. The stretch of spruce trees, the unsightly cobblestone wall that caused more trouble than function, torn down and built up again countless times by different hands. ‘Wh- Why am I still here?’
‘There’s no afterlife as you know it, Tommy.’ Wilbur smirks, hands tucked snugly in coat pockets. Tommy heaves himself onto his feet, Wilbur still towering by a few inches. He looked exactly the same as Tommy remembered, the same weary lines, beds of worn out black sowed underneath tired eyes. ‘That is, even if heaven were real, it would have no place for any of us. Welcome to fucking hell.’
Tommy reaches out for the nearest bark beside him, the rough sensation as real as ever. If things were tangible in the afterlife, then-
‘No, you won’t be able to revisit Tubbo or any of your friends.’ Wilbur sees through him as usual, light curve of his smile not reaching his eyes.
Tommy lets his hand fall, not attempting to cover up his disappointment. He was at the lowest point of his life anyways. Not that he really has one. ‘But why here of all places?’
‘If not, where else?’ Wilbur leans against the crumbling stone wall, ‘though, we seem to see slightly different versions of this world.’
Tommy peers over the wall, noticing the eerie quiet of this world. No people, no animals, just him and Wilbur and the silent buildings, crawling crimson. ‘What do you mean?’
Wilbur chuckles, heaving himself over the stone, and Tommy follows him. They step on the planked oak path, so endearingly named the ‘Prime Path’. The creaks and cracks he’s trodded over hundreds of times welcome him with familiarity under his feet, and he allows himself a small smile.
‘For example,’ Wilbur stands at the top of the wooden stairs, staring down across the land. ‘The scale of destruction I see is not quite as impressive as the one Techno brought upon.’
Tommy gapes at the battered ruins, large pit crawling with mahogany veins, memories of explosions and mockingly colorful fireworks ever so fresh in his mind. ‘We’re not looking at the same things?’
Wilbur shakes his head, turning his back to the country that he prided over and tore apart. ‘We see what we last know of. It’s cruel, but it’s fitting, I suppose.’
Cruel indeed it was, the irony of looking at the same land yet buried with such different emotions inside the broken foundation, glories of the past empire lost forever.
‘Do you spend your days like this, then? Just walking around L’Manburg?’ Tommy’s heart aches, catching glimpses of the hallowing shadow of the prison in the distance. Wilbur wouldn’t be able to see that.
Wilbur chuckles. ‘What else is there to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tommy admits truthfully. Dream’s voice rings in his head again, echoes of pain and fear reverberating in every corner of his mind. ‘We could revive you. But I don’t even know if that works.’
Wilbur howls with laughter, bending over with force. ‘Aw, fuck no.’ He brushes fake tears away from his eyes with dramatic flair, calming down. ‘Wait.’ He stares at Tommy with incredulous eyes. ‘This is what you’re here for, isn’t it? Dream’s weak little lab rat for his grand experiment to cheat death.’
Tommy’s fists clench. Wilbur doesn’t let him get a word out, ruffling his hair of rusted gold. ‘Aw, poor Tommy. You didn’t even get a say in this, did you?’
Tommy smacks his hand away. ‘You know about how I died.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Wilbur turns and finds his way under a oak tree, sitting down under the shaded grass. ‘I knew you were coming, anyways.’
Tommy makes his way over to the man, standing over him. ‘Where is Schlatt?’
Wilbur’s face sours at the mention of the name, breaking their eye contact. ‘Don’t know. You lot tried that shenanigan with nice little boy ghost-me and he’s gone. Thank fuck for that. He has been absolutely insufferable.’
A small breeze rustles through the air, brushing over his skin and clothes, and with spooked realisation he revels in the now foreign feeling, too used to the scalding warmth of the magma wall.
‘Have you not tried looking for him? Or Ghostbur?’ It’s desperate, but he clings onto the silver thread of hope, of someone, something, that would allow him a chance at life again. His story can’t end there.
Wilbur’s expression is reprimanding, the same countenance he wore the day he deemed the boy unworthy of presidency. ‘And why would I want to do that?’
‘I just- I just don’t understand why you dont want to be revived.’
A heavy sigh settles between them, and Wilbur ducks his gaze. ‘Tommy, there’s nothing in it for me. I spent so many nights awake wishing I was dead instead, and now I’m getting all that I wished for.’
They’re quiet for a while. ‘Didn’t seem like it when Ghostbur came back.’
‘You-‘ Wilbur cuts himself off, hand raised dismissively. ‘I’m not Ghostbur, and I never will be. He popped out out of nowhere one day, and apparently the little shit can visit you lot. I don’t know how he did it, and I don’t plan to. Never, and I mean it,’ Wilbur stares at him dead in the eyes, making Tommy flinch, ‘compare me to him ever again.’
Tommy throws up his hand in mock surrender. ‘Jesus, okay,’ He contemplates the words settling at the tip of his tongue. ‘But you wish you were him.’
The man is quiet for a long time. Tommy sits on the wooden path, waiting. ‘He’s just slightly less pathetic than I am.’
Tommy lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d be holding in. ‘Wilbur, listen. You know I have to be resurrected. I don’t know if Dream’s been bullshitting me, but this is the only chance I’ve got. You can stay here and mope all you want, but I want out of this place.’
Wilbur groans, the drops of fading sunlight poking through leaves melting on his face as he lifts his head to stare at the sky.
‘Later. We have all the time in the world.’ Wilbur stands and stretches, lanky limbs grazing the lowest branches. ‘Let’s go on for a walk, shall we?’
They find their way through the torn earth, Tommy finding out that wherever their worlds don’t line they simply pass through. He watches in amazement as Wilbur’s legs trod through crimson vines, fading around the flesh like air and gathering themselves.
Perhaps this was hell, the mortal punishment of losing everyone around you while he stays in the same place, trapped, alone. He catches a glimpse of his shabby dirt shack in the distance. He winces.
Wilbur takes them up a small hill, to a cliffside where buttercups and dandelions grow. There’s a twang in Tommy’s chest. They used to do this before, in the early days without the weight of a nation bringing their shoulders down and drawing Wilbur’s eyelids to a close.
The ocean stretches out infinitely below their feet, Tommy remembering the dive for Beckerson and the sense of immense pride he felt once the fish was safely back in a bucket.
‘I missed this.’ Wilbur’s voice comes out in a song, melody wavering in the quiet air. The sky slips itself into a tangerine dress, clouds above glowing with a blushing serenity. Tommy feels at peace, his crowded mind finally quieting.
Wilbur sits down on the emerald grass, the cushion of greenery beckoning to Tommy. He gives in to the pull, resting his feet as they stretch out, kissing the edges of the dirt where the landscape drops down.
Tommy thinks of home, of the people that were still waiting for him to come back. ‘So did I.’ He wonders if they learned of the news yet. How they would react.
Tomorrow he would start. Find a way to make it back to the lively land that flourished under him. Seek his revenge, maybe, but not without his people by his side.
The man next to him is silent, but his presence speaks to him all the same. Tommy wonders if he ever thought of the same things he did, a longing for the past life that he had, however tormenting it was, yet still a life. He wonders if Wilbur ever missed him.
‘Do you miss Fundy?’ Tommy’s hand reaches absentmindedly for a dandelion by his feet, caressing the feathery seeds.
Wilbur doesn’t look at him. ‘I am a father, Tommy.’
Tommy glances at the man. ‘I know that.’
The ocean that reflects in his eyes seem to do nothing to fill Wilbur’s hollow gaze. ‘But I seem to forget that sometimes.’
The sun dips behind the skyline, dragging the last of the coral horizon with it.
‘Sit with me for a while, Tommy.’
Tommy looks ahead as well, the prismarine deep twinkling, almost blinding.
He wonders if they’re looking at the same sky.