Work Text:
Wilbur walks across the void, feeling concepts and ideas and morals bounce underneath of his feet, vibrating with every single step that he takes. The void is mostly just a concept, full of ideas and full of a melancholy sort of hope, a bittersweet type of knowledge. He's been here for so very long now, and he doesn't really think that he's learnt much at all. He knows how the world started, he knows how it's going to end, he knows how it's going to start again and how they'll all be brought back. The world is cruel, and Wilbur thinks that if there happens to be a God, then they are cruel, too. Though he isn't sure what he expects - Gods are always cruel, always. Either way, Wilbur continues to walk, closing his eyes as he lets his feet guide him across the void, listening to soft songs echoing throughout his mind, reverberating against the nothingness around him, bouncing back and forth between walls that don't really exist. It's sort of perfect, it's sort of exhausting and awful and wrong, but at the same time as all of those things, it's also sort of nice. Wilbur hums softly to himself as he moves, swaying back and forth on his feet, keeping his hands gently placed into his pockets. He's long since had the need to see or feel to navigate the void - he's gotten incredibly good at simply wandering with just his feet and nothing else. He doesn't really need his senses in the void anymore, judging by how most things here are either fake or not entirely there. Wilbur still hasn't gotten used to all of it, but he's done his best, and he would like to think that he's done a fairly good job.
Wilbur pauses when one particular concept, hope, cries out to him, vibrating and buzzing. Wilbur opens his eyes, feeling something sort of like panic flood his chest, filling his lungs, drowning him. He falls to the ground, reality crashing back into him all at once when he doesn't make a noise when he falls. Wilbur breathes in sharply through his nose, closing his eyes for half a second, trying to still his beating heart, trying to calm his nerves down. He pushes himself back up, standing on shaky legs, turning his head to look back behind him. He feels his shoulders slouch, feels his heart pound even harder in his chest. There's no one around him, there never is, and yet still he feels like he's being watched. It's been so long since he's felt like that, since he's felt like this. For the longest time, Wilbur managed to pretend so hard, he managed to forget all the bad and terrible and awful things that the void brings. He managed to convince himself to keep his eyes closed and his hands away from danger, to just be content simply walking. Of course, all good things, no matter how rotten they are on the inside, must come to an end, and it seems like Wilbur's little game of pretend has shattered in front of him. Wilbur scans the area around him, pausing when the concept of hope doesn't stop crying, it's screaming. Wilbur feels uncomfortable, he feels like something horrible is about to happen.
He feels the void rip itself open in front of him, throwing him back. Wilbur cries out when he hits a wall that's not really there, wincing as he shoves himself back up to his feet. The void is splintering out in front of him, shattering and breaking and forming cracks in the ground, opening right before his eyes. He feels dread plunge into his chest, feels himself start to cry. Wilbur grasps at his chest, choking on his own tears, feeling his head spin, seeing his vision blur, listening to his ears ring, filling his mind with sirens that just won't stop going off. Something is wrong, something is very, very wrong. Something is wrong and he doesn't know what it is, something absolutely terrible has just happened, and Wilbur doesn't know what it was, what it is. Something horrible has happened. Wilbur stumbles forwards, gritting his teeth in pain. The void is screaming all around him, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do to get it to stop. Wilbur looks around, desperately trying to figure out why the void is screaming, but he sees nothing, there's nothing here, there's no one out this far in the void other than him, no one else is-
Wilbur feels his entire world shatter and break and collapse right in front of him. He feels like he's drowning, like he's dying all over again. He takes a shaky step forwards on trembling legs, watching as the void slowly starts to stitch itself back together. He stares ahead of him, unable to look away, unable to blink, unable to do anything but continue to move, continue to go. Wilbur keeps walking, he keeps walking and his walking turns into running, and he's sprinting eventually, and he has to stop himself before he collides with the boy before him. He stands in front of him, feeling like he's dying even more. His heart doesn't stop beating, it doesn't stop pounding in his chest, over and over and over again. His head spins, but Wilbur forces himself to breathe, forces himself to be calm. He has to be, if not for himself, for him. For the boy right in front of him. For the boy that's not supposed to be here.
For Tommy.
"Tommy," Wilbur starts, his voice soft, creaking and breaking on the name. He takes a trembling step forwards, reaching out for his little brother. Tommy flinches back, jerking his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. Wilbur swallows, feeling his heart break inside of his chest, shattering into a million little pieces. "Tommy, it's okay," he murmurs, feeling himself start to cry, feeling tears prick at his eyes, threatening to spill over. "Tommy?" Wilbur takes another step forward, and this time, Tommy doesn't flinch back. Tommy moves closer to him, and if Wilbur listens just a little more carefully, he can hear quiet sobs being ripped from the back of his little brother's throat. He wraps Tommy into a hug, pulling him close to his chest, resting his head on top of Tommy's. "It's okay," Wilbur whispers, closing his eyes as he holds Tommy close to him, wishing that Tommy didn't seem so weak and small and fragile. He always used to be so loud and bright and full of energy and light and everything else that was good in the world. He used to be happiness itself, he used to be hope, he used to be life. "You're okay," the words are lies, but they're pretty ones. The truth is ugly here, the truth is almost always ugly, so Wilbur chooses to lie. It's much easier that way. "I promise."
Wilbur thinks that his promise falls on deaf ears, because judging by the way that Tommy sobs into his chest, he doesn't believe Wilbur for even a second. Wilbur just holds his brother, trying his best to keep his composure, to not break down crying. He can't do that, not right now, not ever. He can't cry with Tommy here, he has to keep up his mask and persona, he has to keep strong, he's got to do it for Tommy. He's not going to break his facade right now, not ever. He has to stay strong, he has to make sure that Tommy knows that he can rely on Wilbur for anything. Because he can, he can now. When Wilbur was alive, back in Pogopia, things were different, but they're back to normal now. Wilbur is back to normal now, sort of. He's not as bad as he used to be, he's changed. He's just a tired man now, he's just tired and hurt and has nightmares all the time, but he's better. Wilbur holds Tommy, tightening his grip around his little brother, though he loosens his arms a second later, figuring that Tommy might want to escape from his embrace. Wilbur doesn't know how long they stand there, time isn't all that real in the void he's learnt, but it could be years and he doesn't think he'd care. He'll hold Tommy as long as he needs to, he'll hold his little brother until he's okay again. Wilbur doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know if he should say anything, so he simply does. He just stands there, letting Tommy sob against his chest, his hands clawing into Wilbur's back. Surprisingly enough, for being dead, Wilbur still feels pain.
He closes his eyes, swaying on his feet, rocking Tommy from side to side, sort of like how he used to back when they were children. Back when Tommy was a child, at least. They're not really brothers, not by blood - by choice, however. Wilbur met Tommy when he was ten, and he never let him out of sight. They might as well be blood brothers, they might as well be related by blood. "It'll be okay," Wilbur murmurs, feeling like his throat is closing up. The itching, burning question that he wants to ask presses at the back of his mind, buzzing constantly, making itself very, very well known. How did you get here? What happened? Who hurt you? Why are you dead? You were hope, Tommy. You were supposed to live forever. Wilbur says none of that, though. He just stands there and holds his little brother and whispers quiet words of assurance, doubting that the both of them believe any of the words he speaks. Tommy sobs, he cries and he breaks and he shatters, and it's ugly and awful and horrible, it's terrible hearing nearly animalistic sobs ripped straight from his little brother's chest, but Wilbur refuses to move. He keeps himself held together, taping up his broken heart and glueing his mind back together, forcing himself to be the strong one, because for once in his life, Tommy deserves to be himself again. He deserves to cry, he deserves to be weak, to not have to constantly be fighting for his life. He deserves so much more than Wilbur could ever hope to give him. "It'll be okay."
"When's it ever been okay, Will? When's it ever really been actually okay?" Tommy manages to ask through his choked tears and quiet sobs, his head pressed against Wilbur's chest. "When's it ever going to be okay? It's never going to be okay, I'm never going to be okay. None of us are ever, ever going to be okay, and it's not.." Tommy trails off, sounding just like he did when he was ten, sounding just like he did when Wilbur met him for the very first time. "It's not fair, Will. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. It isn't fair, none of this is fair at all. Why's it not fair? Why's the world not fair like it's supposed to be? Why did it have to be me? Why was it always me? What did I do wrong? What the fuck did I do wrong to deserve all of this?" Wilbur feels his heart shatter, he swears to the god he doesn't believe in that his efforts to keep himself strong have been all washed away from those simple words. Those words that Tommy speaks hold so much truth, they're so honest and raw and weak and vulnerable, and it hurts. It hurts more than Wilbur ever thought that it could. It hurts. All of it, it all hurts. "There's got to be something I did, right, Will?" Tommy whispers, never moving. "There's got to be something. There's got to be. There's got to be."
"There's not," Wilbur murmurs, feeling like he's drowning all over again. "There's not a reason for anything," he tells his little brother, holding him a little tighter, holding him a little closer to his chest. "The world is cruel and horrible and awful, Tommy. It is full of evil and horrific, terrible things. You did nothing," Wilbur whispers, his mouth going drier and drier with every word that leaves his tongue, spilling out into the air. "You did nothing wrong, Tommy. You never did anything wrong. The world is cruel, it is angry and cruel and terrible, and you deserved none of it. It hurts because it wants to, because it can, and you were in its sight. You did nothing wrong, you didn't deserve any of it. I'm so sorry," Wilbur feels himself crying, he feels himself break and he knows that when he breaks, he never breaks beautifully. He watched himself break in Pogtopia, and after his outer shell was broken, after his skin cracked, he was revealed to be a monster. An ugly, hideous, terrible monster. Wilbur has never broken beautifully, and he knows that he never will. "You're safe here," he tells Tommy, not entirely sure why he does. "Nothing can hurt you here. Nothing can get to you. The world is gone, the world isn't here to hurt you. You will be okay. You are safe."
Tommy sobs, breaking even more, and Wilbur wonders how long it'll be until Tommy is destroyed completely. "How do you know?" Tommy asks, his voice coming out in nothing but a low, tired whisper. He sounds exhausted, he sounds like he's seen and heard and done too much, and Wilbur knows that he has. Tommy has seen too much, he has far too much blood on his hands, he has far too many scars on his body and his mind. There are far too many things that Tommy has to deal with that he should have never had to deal with in the first place. "What if it never stops? What if he comes here, too? What if he doesn't stop following me? What if he brings me back? Will, I can't go back there, I can't go back where I came, or else I'll be with him. I'll be with that- that bitch, and I don't..I can't do that, Will. I can't be brought back just to die a little more," Tommy whispers. "I can't do this. I don't know how I'm supposed to do any of this. What am I supposed to do, Wilbur? What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't do anything, I can't do anything right, I've never been able to do anything right, and I don't..I don't know, Will. I don't know. I don't know anything."
"I'll keep you safe until the day that God decides to kill me for good," Wilbur promises him. "I will keep you safe, Tommy. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, not ever again," he takes half a step back, looking down at his little brother, watching as Tommy wipes away his tears. "It's going to be okay," Wilbur tells him, "because I'm going to make it be okay. I promise. You're going to be okay. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again," Tommy stares back up at him, his eyes flashing with an unfathomable exhaustion. He looks so young, he looks so old at the same time. Weathered and aged and broken and bruised and beaten down into nothingness. Tommy seems like he's lived a million lives, all of them so entirely unfair and wrong and horrific. Tommy deserves to live one good life. He deserves so much more than the world has decided to give him. He deserves so much more than Wilbur could ever give him. He deserves so much. "You'll be okay," Wilbur moves forwards again, wrapping his arms back around his little brother, feeling Tommy sink to the ground. Wilbur does the same, his knees hitting the void, the blankness of nothingness. They don't make a sound as they fall, sat there and kneeling, embraced in each other's arms. "I'll make sure that you're okay. I promise." Their I love you's go unsaid, but Wilbur doesn't think that they need to say them out loud for either one of them to understand.
Most of their words go unspoken, shared between them through the silence that echoes around them. Wilbur simply holds Tommy and lets his little brother cry until he can't cry anymore, his head resting against Wilbur's shoulder as he sobs and chokes on tears. There comes a time where the crying ends entirely, and Tommy is just there, he's just sat in Wilbur's arms, and Wilbur knows that the both of them are exhausted, that they're both so tired and hurt and bitter and broken. Tommy is arguably more tired and broken and hurt than he is - Wilbur thinks that he's just bitter. A bitter husk of a man with nothing to lose anymore. Wilbur sits against the void and holds his little brother, he holds the boy who was meant for living and for hope, and he feels his heart sink into the bottom of his chest as he slowly, slowly realises that it's all real. The golden boy, the concept of hope and life itself, is dead. Tommy is dead, and he is here in the void with him. Forever. There is no coming back from the dead. Tommy is sixteen years old, and he has died. Wilbur can only assume the worst, judging by the lack of a name and the way Tommy spat out his words - it had to have been Dream, Wilbur's sure of it. Dream is always the reason for everything terrible, he swears it. Dream hurt Tommy, and now Tommy is never going to be okay again. Wilbur can promise him that he will be, but Wilbur has always been known for his honeyed words and silver tongue, his charisma and his charm, the way he could sway crowds and armies and men and enemies into believe him, into being on his side. Everyone knows of his lies and of his perfect promises. Wilbur is a liar by nature, a liar by heart, and a liar he will always be. But lie he will if it means that Tommy gets even a semblance of peace.
And so they sit there in the middle of the void in silence, just holding each other, processing the shock and trauma and everything else. Wilbur sits there and he holds his little brother and promises and begs the God he doesn't believe in for a miracle, for Tommy to be okay. He makes deals with devils and tells demons and angels that he'll do anything for his little brother to be alright again. And when that doesn't work, Wilbur promises Tommy, silently, that he'll always be there. That if there are no Gods or devils or demons or angels to make them whole again, then Wilbur will be the one who glues them back together. He'll make them okay again, he'll make sure that they get their happy ending - that Tommy gets his happy ending.
But for now, they simply sit there, and Wilbur thinks that ultimately, it could somehow, somehow, be worse.