Work Text:
There's screaming, there's so much screaming. Wilbur hears everyone scream and shout and yell, he hears their voices cascade into one, he hears them all echo inside of his skull, nearly driving him insane with how many there are. He holds up a hand, biting down on the interior of his lip to calm himself down, to feel pain inflicted by himself rather than someone else. No one quiets down entirely, but they drop their voices and hinder their screams, eyes all focused on him. Dream's mask bores into his face, and Wilbur feels himself standing taller, standing straighter, pushing himself up as high as he can go. "Are we all aware of the terms and conditions that have been put in place for this duel?" This duel. The words feel wrong on his tongue, they taste like bitter poison, and Wilbur can't help but take a shaky breath in. He didn't want to let Tommy do this, but Tommy wouldn't listen to him, convinced that he'd be okay, convinced that he'd live and kill Dream. Wilbur shakes his head softly, so subtly that he thinks only he notices, and squares his shoulders. He can't think about that right now, not ever. He has to have faith and hope in his little brother, he has to. What good is fighting if there's no hope? "Are we all aware?" Wilbur repeats himself, raising his voice harshly.
"We are," Tubbo murmurs, his voice soft, tired. He didn't want Tommy to do this, either. None of them did. None of them wanted Tommy to put up his life for some stupid country, some dumb nation that doesn't even matter to Wilbur anymore. He loves L'manberg, Wilbur truly does love his nation, he loves L'manberg more than he could put into real, audible words, but he loves Tommy more than that. He loves Tommy far more than that, and he knows that Tubbo does, too. He knows that so many people love Tommy, and that L'manberg's freedom isn't worth his life. But Tommy is stubborn, he's stubborn and he's clever and he's stubborn to a goddamn fault, and he has no self-control or self-preservation or any of that, and that's what's going to get him killed. One day. Not today, Wilbur thinks. He can't die today. He's far too young to die today. He's too young. "Are you?" Tubbo asks, his voice piercing the air. Wilbur follows his gaze, finding himself gazing at Dream's half-broken mask.
Dream shifts on his feet, standing just a little taller than he had been a few seconds ago. Wilbur does the same, refusing to be outplayed by the man across from him. He listens to the river crash against the rocky beach, dragging sand and pebbles back with it as the waves disappear. The bridge hangs over the river, only a metre or so above it. "I am," Dream confirms, his voice harsh and angry. Wilbur doesn't think that Dream has a right to be angry about any of this. Wilbur thinks that he would like to put a knife in Dream's throat. Wilbur thinks a lot of things, and he thinks a lot of things about Dream, most of them involving his death. "If Tommy wins this duel, then I'll never bother L'manberg again," Dream tells him, his voice never wavering once. "But when- sorry," Wilbur feels rage pound in his chest when he sees Dream's sick, twisted smile, disgusting and sharp and evil and wrong. "If," Dream corrects himself, but it's only for show, "I win.." he trails off for a few moments, his hands hanging easily by his side. "Then you give me your freedom. Then I'm the one who wins. Those were the terms, weren't they?"
Wilbur breathes out, wondering if it's too late to run. They've got more people right now - they have him, Tubbo, Tommy, Niki, Fundy, Jack. They're got more people than Dream does, he only has Sapnap and George. They could win if they were to fight. They could win. "Those are the terms," he agrees, sparing a look back at Tommy, who steps up onto the bridge, puffing out his chest as he flashes a cocky grin over to Tubbo, who only weakly smiles at him in return. As soon as Tommy turns, though, his face drops into something much more serious, something angry and tired and bitter. "Turn around, both of you," Wilbur swallows, wishing to the god he doesn't believe in that he didn't have to be the one announcing this. "One," he counts, watching as both Tommy and Dream take a step forwards. "Two, three, four, five, six," Wilbur feels his heart pound in his chest, threatening to strangle him. "Seven, eight, nine," his breath hitches in his throat. "Ten paces, fire!" Wilbur shouts, throwing up his hand, watching as Tommy and Dream both whirl around, watching as..
Watching as Tommy falls into the river, an arrow embedded in his chest. Wilbur screams, he screams for so long that he doesn't know if it's been years or seconds. He moves as quickly as he can, shoving past everyone in his way, shoving Jack to the ground as he scrambles down to the beach, his mouth dry, his vision blurring. Everything is ringing and blurring and everyone he loves is screaming and crying, there's stunned silence and shock and fear, quiet tears falling down snow-white faces, faces twisted in horrific grimaces. Wilbur dives into the river, not bothering to throw off his coat, not bothering to fuck around and take off his boots or anything useless like that. He swims, he swims until he hits the bottom of the river, feeling like he's drowning, feeling like he's going to die. He sees Tommy a second later, wrapping his arms around the boy, around his little brother, and dragging him back up to the shore of the river, coughing up water when his head crashes up through the river. Wilbur throws Tommy onto the beach, sparing no time to be nice, to be kind about this.
"I need a potion!" Wilbur screams, he orders it, listening to a scramble of footsteps and yelling and swords clashing together. "I need a fucking potion, right now! I need a fucking potion!" He howls, feeling his entire world crash down around him, feeling his whole life end right in front of him. Tommy is soaked to the bone, his clothes sticking to his skin, his hair hanging over his face. Wilbur sets a hand down on his chest, a feeling sort of like drowning crashing over him, wrapping around him as if it were some sort of safety blanket. When he moves his hand, it's stained with blood, running down his wrist and up his arm and there's so much blood all over him, all over Tommy.
It's then when Wilbur truly, honest to god, realises what's happening.
Tommy is dying. He is going to die. He is dying, he will be dead, and it's all Wilbur's fault. He should have never agreed to this, he should have never even thought of letting Tommy do this, he shouldn't have ever done this. This is all his fault, and Tommy is the one paying for it. Wilbur watches as Tommy's eyes flitter open, stunned and confused and shocked and scared, all at once. Tommy looks up at him, pain flashing across his face only a mere moment later. "Wilbur?" Tommy asks, his voice creaky and tired and broken, so many more emotions flooding his eyes, more than Wilbur can count on both hands. "What..what happened? I got.." his eyes fall down, and Wilbur sees the exact moment where Tommy puts the pieces together, he watches as they click together in his mind. "Oh," Tommy laughs, looking back up at the sky. "I got shot."
"Yeah," Wilbur offers a weak laugh, not entirely sure what else he's supposed to do. "You got shot," there's nothing else to say. Tommy is dying because of him. Tommy is going to die. Tommy is going to die soon, no one is bringing him a potion, no one is going to come and save his world, no one is going to save Tommy. No one is coming back to help them. "I'm so sorry," Wilbur whispers, weak and fragile, hurt lacing each syllable of the words that he speaks. "I never should have let you do this. I'm so, so sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry." Tommy closes his eyes for a second, opening them a few seconds later, though it looks like it takes far more energy than it should. Tommy reaches down, his hand managing to find Wilbur's. Wilbur squeezes his little brother's hand, wishing that there was a god, wishing that that god would choose to be kind, that they would choose to save his little brother.
But there's no such thing as a kind god, and Wilbur knows that he's going to be forced to watch his little brother die. "It's all good, big man," Tommy coughs out, his eyes watering. "Don't worry about it too much, okay, Big W?" Tommy peers up at him, a gentle smile working its way onto his face. "Hey. It's not going to be forever, you know?" Tommy tells him, voice gentle. Wilbur has never heard him speak this softly before, he's never heard Tommy speak this kindly, not to him of all people. He doesn't deserve it. He deserves no kindness, especially not from Tommy. Especially not right now. "I'll, um, I'll be back before you know it, right?" Tommy sniffles, blood trickling out of his mouth, smeared across his face from the water. "Come on, Will. Please don't let me go with an apology. I want you to talk to me, I want.." he trails off, his voice fading out. "Just talk to me, Wilbur. Just..talk, okay? I love you. I figure that I should say it, huh?"
Wilbur chokes back a sob, truly feeling his world collapse before his very eyes, knowing damn well that he did this. "I love you too," he whispers, reaching up with his other hand to wipe away his tears. "You know, when we get back home," the words are ripped from the back of his throat, forced out of his mouth, nearly driving him insane with how quickly they tumble from his tongue. "We'll finally finish building the walls around L'manberg," Wilbur murmurs. "We'll make our houses, too. I'll make sure that Tubbo doesn't try and weasel his way into your floorboards, or whatever. Niki will build her bakery, and we'll be able to go there all the time, we'll help her. I don't care that you're not good at cooking, we're still going to go and do it anyways, because Niki is our friend, and we help our friends. Tubbo will probably want to build an actual farm, a proper one, so we don't have to constantly fend off of the bare minimum. Things will get a lot better for us, okay? Things are going to get so much better, and it'll be because of us! You and I, Tommy! You and I, it'll be you and me, and we'll fight for L'manberg together, okay? Okay, Tommy?"
Tommy says nothing. Silence burns into Wilbur's ears, drowning him, forcing him to gasp for air even though there's nothing in his lungs. Death settles into his chest, strangling him, burning his eyes and burning his ears and burning him, he's on fire and he's dying, his lungs are burning, everything is so warm, and then it's all so cold, all at once. He's frigid, frozen over, his hands unable to move, his entire body numb. Wilbur looks down at the body in front of him, at the boy, at his little brother, at Tommy. Tommy stares back up at him, but his eyes are dead and glazed over, the spark that made up his entire personality faded, strangled out of his body, ripped away from him. The flames that danced behind his eyes are gone, crushed and put out, watered down, beaten and broken. Tommy's mouth is half open, as if he were going to say something before his life was taken from him. Wilbur looks away, a pained cry escaping from the back of his throat. He bites down on his lip as hard as he can, tasting blood nearly immediately, and he swears to god that it's Tommy's blood.
Wilbur raises a hand, the one that Tommy doesn't have death gripped with his own, and moves it over Tommy's face, closing Tommy's eyes for him one last time. Wilbur looks away, stares off into the river, stares at the bottom of the dark blue, watches at it swirls and calls him to the bottom of it, beckoning him to simply leave, to join Tommy. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in again. This time, he holds that breath of air until his lungs burn, until they threaten to implode or collapse or just stop working all together. He stops breathing until he feels his vision swim, he opens his mouth and feels air flood in, traveling down his throat and into his lungs, forcing him to live another minute, making him stay alive. Wilbur tilts his head head up to the sky, staring at the sun and at the clouds, wishing that the sun's light would blind him from all the horrible, horrible things that he's seen today. He cranes his head back down, a sob creeping past his lips as he sees Tommy's lifeless body by his side, feeling his heart break all over again, feeling his head whirl and spin and scream.
Wilbur opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he's going to say, and he realises that he isn't saying anything at all. Wilbur screams. He screams for so long that he thinks that years might have passed him by, but that's unimportant, it doesn't matter. He screams until he tastes blood in the back of his throat, he screams until his throat is scratched raw, he screams until his voice escapes him entirely, fading within a matter of mere moments, of mere years, of mere eons. Everything that he loves leaves him all at once, his emotions collide together and scream at each other, and even though Wilbur can't scream anymore, he still hears it in his head. He still hears himself screaming in his head, he still hears himself howling and crying and shrieking and begging the world, begging a kind god, to bring his brother back. To bring Tommy back.
But there are no kind gods. The world does not care for him or Tommy. So Wilbur lays crumpled over the body of his little brother, sobbing and crying and pleading with gods and demons and devils, begging them to help Tommy, to take his life in trade of his brothers. Wilbur screws his eyes shut and cries, and the screaming doesn't stop.
He doesn't think that it ever will.