Chapter Text
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Stop.
He sat up with a strained sigh, stretching his arms and legs out to the point where he fell right back onto his bed. The spinning feeling had finally stopped. At least he wasn’t going to throw up the dinner from last night.
A knocking at the door helped wake him up as well as confirm the time of day. He hadn’t thought to check his phone yet. He didn’t want to.
“Wil? School is in an hour, hurry up and get out of bed.” The voice was an adult’s, but it was kind. It was fine. It was his dad’s. If you could count the man as that.
And he did.
“Yup, got it, old man.” The remark elicited a chuckle from his father, who he heard the footsteps of a few moments later. The floorboards creaking, the stairs creaking, his mind clicking like clockwork gears.
A poorly tuned machine in his opinion. If it was his say, he’d take it to a repair shop every few hours, the gears always felt off. Like they got stuck just to spite his existence.
Waterlogged without any water in sight.
Wilbur slipped out of bed, still in his pants from the other day. There wasn’t a point in changing them for bed, it’d just result in a hiss of pain and the fatigue of such an action. Sure, he could bandage up whatever dumb things he’d done to himself the day before but then the bandaid collection would deplete enough to tell somebody was hurt.
He picked through his closet, sure, he didn’t lack any shirts but nothing felt right to wear today. Eventually he stumbled across the room half-blinded by the turtleneck sweater over his head, pulling it over with a huff. Why was everything so exhausting?
Stupid fulllength mirror. He turned around in it a bit, gritting his sharp teeth when he saw the bruise across his cheek. It was a dark purple which was fun since it showed up on his blue-tinted skin ever so more than anything else. Wilbur brushed a hand against the scales protruding from his skin, small ones near his eyes, near his knuckles, dotting his nose like makeshift freckles.
He rubbed at his eyes, only stopping when he could finally see the static in the dark room called his eyelids.
---
“Tommy, get out of that damn shower!” He pounded his fist against the door, the sound making his head hurt more than it should’ve. “I need to actually wash up!”
“Give me a minute, bitch!” God, why did that kid have to shout so shrilly? The gears clinked and clicked in his head, quiet yet noticeable.
Was it a little much to put on clean clothes only to take them off to shower? Probably, but when was he not extra? He was extra with everything he did, which included his snarky remarks.
He shivered slightly, the steam from the shower under the door made everything feel annoyingly cold compared to it. As it creaked open a boy stepped out, horns still growing and his tail swaying about playfully. Side to side. Side to side.
Tommy.
“Shower’s all yours now, bitch boy!” Tommy slapped him lightly on the shoulder, the tips of his fingers a crimson red. Like when you put a flashlight against your hand and it shines through your red blood cells, like that except his skin didn’t glow. Like that except it was that red all the time, even without a light source.
Wilbur hummed, rolling his eyes in acknowledgement. Usually he’d banter with Tommy, but today was shit. It was already shit even before he woke up from his sleep. Not that he had a nightmare. Wilbur Soot Watson never got sleeping nightmares.
No, he got walking nightmares. He lived in a damn walking nightmare, cursed to walk about his ever so fucked existence with no way to light up his path other than a shitty lighter with a half-burnt out cigarette in his hands.
God, he was a dramatic bitch.
Slowly he turned on the water, the shower started up with a sputter until it evened out the multiple streams that sprouted from the showerhead. Twisting the knobs back and forth until he settled on a temperature he deemed fit enough to restart his day with. That botched up phone of his rested upon the sink’s counter, it’s cracked screen and smudged fingerprints reflected his face in the bathroom light.
A timer had been set. Now all he had to do was count down. Count away whatever shitty feeling he’d started his morning with. Count away whatever countless nights he’d spent up on his phone wishing away the stupid thoughts that decided to rent out his brain.
Of course, there was always the sting of regret as the water hit his legs. Regrets and woes were too much to dwell on mentally. Physically they could be there, but it was easier to ignore than constant reminders of his failure at living.
The lack of scabs made blood tint the water, it trickled down his legs in a diluted form. The water stung more than he thought it should. Everything hurt more than he thought it should though.
Scrubbing absentmindedly at his scalp with his hands, nails longer than he last remembered and the feeling of his webbed hands not being able to spread his fingers apart enough. He felt like smashing his dumb face into the wall of the shower.
That he deserved it. That it would be so easy to break his nose against the porcelain wall or to smash the glass door with his body. Cutting it with the shards that would come about afterwards.
That more blood would just trickle down into the drain staining the water a darker color. That it would finally quench whatever terrible feeling that gnawed at his mind, that tried to pull at the frays of his psyche for a fun sick little game.
The alarm rang, the countdown started.
1
Breathe in.
2
Breathe out.
3
Everything is fine.
4
Nobody is worrying about you.
5
Just take some deep breaths.
6
You’re fine.
7
There’s nothing wrong with you.
8
The gears are ticking just fine.
9
You're totally doing great.
10
It’s a new day. Act like it.
---
“Are you actually going to eat your pancakes or can I have them?” A bored voice, well what others would consider bored, but it definitely had its moments of clear emotion and easily decipherable meanings. It was so much easier to tell for him than others, that was one thing he could be sure about. Voices were something that he could at least call his specialty.
“Nope, you can have them, Tech.” He pushed the plate towards the pink-haired boy who gladly took them from him. “M’ not hungry.”
“Wilbur, you’re never hungry. Not unless we’re eating something like shitty seafood.” Tommy spoke with his mouth full, pancakes that were chewed up into a mush painfully clear for those around the table to see.
“Good. Seafood is great, fuck you.” He spoke with a bit of finality, he wasn’t in the biggest mood to have an insulting match with Tommy. He didn’t think his head could take one more noise without finally decapitating himself with a nice touch of spontaneous explosions.
“At least eat your damn toast, Wil.” Phil rolled his eyes, dipping a tea bag in and out of a mug. “You’ll have to wait until lunch to eat anything else, so I expect to see an almost clear plate when we’re getting ready to leave.”
The thought of eating anything made him sick. Not in like an eating disorderly way, just in general. He was lucky to not have thrown up dinner that morning, it’s not like it wasn’t a common experience for him.
Certain foods just didn’t agree with his stomach. He was sensitive, annoyingly both physically and mentally.
He picked at his toast and eggs with a frown.
Car rides were never quiet. Not when he had Tommy with him. At least they were enjoyable.
Of course he had a soft spot for the boy. He was his little brother, he’d practically helped raise him. Did he trust him with any amount of the inner workings of his mind? Fuck no. Did he want to confide in his little brother at times. Yeah, probably.
Sure, Techno was a candidate but he was fucked up in his own anyways. Violent and short-tempered, a lot like Tommy just portrayed in a different way. He was the one who was forced to watch his loved ones die around him, so he couldn’t blame his younger brother for lashing out at times.
Wilbur supposed he could be glad that he had a normal lifespan, even if it was a few centuries longer than a human one. Sure, did he hate certain aspects of his siren heritage, yeah. Did he enjoy most of it? Hell fucking yes.
Sooo, sharing anything with his brothers was basically off limits. Why would he try and fuck them up willingly? He wasn’t that fucked up yet. All in due time, or whatever those shitty psychologists said about people who didn’t get the ‘proper’ help.
Why would he want somebody rooting around in his head? He already had enough trouble with that himself. He was pretty sure he didn’t need another to be poking and prodding at things he kept quiet and on the down-low on purpose.
“Hey, Wil? Are you even listening to me?” Tommy pouted, all while staring at him like he was concerned. “You keep staring at the road looking lost and shit.”
“Wait, you didn’t get us lost right?”
He snorted softly, rolling his eyes again before letting out a soft laugh. “No, we aren’t lost, you dick. I’m just trying to focus on the road, y’know like a good driver.” Wilbur rolled his shoulders back. “Give me a recap of what you were saying?”
“Okay, so Tubbo and I were in the forest, next to the creek right?”
Wilbur nodded slowly.
---
Students were clustered about on the sidewalk as he pulled into the parking lot. The sky was a dreary blue, nothing like he was used to when they lived closer to the ocean. Clouds floated about lazily, passing over the sun every now and then. Blocking the light enough to dim the area.
Tommy had hopped out as soon as the car was put into park. Running across the lot and flipping off whoever happened to get in his way. Off to find Tubbo he presumed.
He hit his head against the steering wheel a few times, tapping his fingers against it. Holy shit, he didn’t fucking want to socialize at all today. Usually he didn’t even fucking mind. Usually he actually enjoyed it!
Why was everything today such a shitshow? Was he spiraling again? What use did he have for spiraling? Exams were coming up, he had shit to do. Too much shit to do.
A knock tapped against the car’s window, making him jolt up in his seat. A girl with pointed ears and soft brown hair with bubblegum pink streaks in her hair held a plate of cookies in her hands. Niki.
He sighed through a smile, opening the door slowly so she could step out of the way.
“Hey Wil!” She held a cookie out to him, which he accepted. He wasn’t going to be a dick and not take it. Niki was almost toothrottingly sweet to her friends, which he had a proud spot at the table for. Plus, that woman was amazing at baking, she helped her mother at her bakery after school and on the weekends.
A usual place for their friend group to hang out while she baked and served people.
“Hey Niki! How’s it going? Better than me I hope?” He gestured towards his car, completely referencing his whining fit a minute ago. Might as well play it off.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but it’s definitely going.” She kicked at the ground softly, scuffing the tops of her shoes slightly. “…My mom is really stressed about money. We aren’t getting as many orders ever since the bigger bakery opened a block or two away.”
“Those pricks! That shitty ugly one right? What was it called, Half’n’Half?” They started to walk towards the high-school, Wilbur internally dreading reaching the ugly stone building.
“That’s the one. The screwed up part is that it’s my cousin’s dad who owns it.” Niki sighed, running a hand through her hair, the other one holding the platter of cookies. “I love my cousin, but his dad is completely fucking my mom and I over.”
“Damn, that’s fucked. He does know that your mom literally has a bakery a few blocks away too though, right?”
“Sure does, but he practically hates my mom.” Niki sighed before chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m trying my best to help with the bills, but…” She didn’t continue her sentence, there was no need. Everything hung in the air, clearly known without needing to be said.
“I’m sorry, Niki. If you need help or shit, hit me up. I don’t mind helping out since you’re a friend.” He scratched at the back of his neck, shrugging to try and insinuate that it wasn’t a huge deal.
“Thank you Wil, that’s very sweet of you. I’ll make sure to exploit your generosity when I need to.” Niki smiled, kicking at his shins playfully.
“Oh you prick.”
---
The bell rattled in his head, bouncing off those gears again. It rang and rang and rang. Jeez, did they just hold down the fucking button to make it ring like that? Because if they did, a cease and desist order needed to be issued against said person controlling that damn bell.
He grabbed his bag, shoving the homework he’d meant to get started on but had since spaced out about inside. The paper crumpled noisily, the creases and folds bothering him ever so slightly. He was sure going to have fun unfolding and flattening that out at home later.
Charlie bumped shoulders with him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders even if he was quite a few inches shorter. “Hey Wilbur! How’s the weather up there?”
“The air is clearer up here rather than that shit you breathe below me, Charlie.” He jabbed at his friend’s ribs with a finger, making him recoil away.
“Hey! Hey! Listen, that was uncalled for!” Charlie had his backpack slung over a shoulder, his usual white tee on.
“It was premeditated due to the weather question.”
The lunch room was loud, when was it not? When you have a cesspool of about three thousand or so students, it was going to be fucking noisy. He had a seat next to both Charlie and Niki, both of which were cracking terrible jokes to each other. Continuing the line of horrible puns that they made a whole tradition for the first few minutes of their lunch break.
Across him was Jack, who was a nice dude. Sure he had a tendency to drool lava while asleep in class but other than that he was a pretty humorous dude. Eret on the other hand was plenty more quiet yet cracked more sophisticated jokes when he felt like it.
He and Wilbur had been friends for a while, the other teen was technically blind but could see just fine due to magical technologies these days. Tinted glasses rested on his face, making sure he could actually tell what his surroundings were. Not only that he was Tubbo’s brother, so it just made it easier for Tommy to hang out at his house without Phil being worried twenty-four seven about him.
Which made sense since Tommy was a problematic mastermind.
---
Wilbur opened up his messaging app, scrolling through his contacts until he reached Phil. The name ‘Dadza’ rested at the top of the conversation.
Dadza: Hey where are you?
You: Hanging out with a friend.
You: I’ll probably be out late.
You: Doing stuff.
Dadza: And Tommy?
You: Dropped him off at Tubbos.
You: I thought he told you?
Dadza: Nah but its fine
Dadza: As long as you pick him up before you come home
You: He’ll probably end up staying over.
Dadza: Thats fine as long as you tell me if he does
You: Got it.
He clicked off his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. He started to scale the building, making sure he had a firm grip on the metal grooves of the siding.
Wilbur cursed softly when he missed a foothold, his heart starting to race at the thought of the drop. Clambering his way up sloppier than he usually did, he finally pulled himself over the roof’s fencing.
Met with a pack of cigarettes in his face.
“Yeah, yeah, hold on. Give me a second before I burst a lung.” He waved away Jack’s hand, who gave a shrug and lit the cig hanging out his mouth. Lucky fuck could just generate fire at will.
He pulled himself up from the sitting position he’d been put in from climbing up the building. “Alright, hand em’ over.”
Jack snorted softly, handing him the pack. They were flavored. When were they not flavored? At least it wasn’t some shit like ‘Cotton Candy’ or ‘Citrus Blazt.’ He could thank Fundy for being introduced to that last one. It was nasty.
He rummaged through his coat pocket for his lighter. Pulling it out he ran his eyes over it.
It was old and beat up. It had his name engraved on it from when he’d first bought it at that dumb thrift shop that didn’t exist anymore. He and Fundy had burned themselves a few times trying to get his name right. On the metal sidings it had a large eye decorating the front, not that he had any clue of the meaning behind it. It did however have the tendency to stare at him.
As well as it could considering it wasn’t a real eye.
He flicked it a few times before getting the flame to start up. He probably needed to refill the damn thing soon. Holding it up to the cigarette hanging lopsidedly out his mouth, the end caught up in small embers.
With a long breath in, he could feel it working. Calming his mind down. Grinding those stupid gears of his to a stop, stopping the creation of the barrels of gunpowder in his mind. A short fuse that always threatened to be lit.
It probably didn’t help that he had something that involved fire on him at all times. But who fucking cared? It calmed him down and it actually gave him some well-earned peace of mind.
Was it though?
Ah, fuck thinking. He exhaled slowly, holding the cig lazily. Jack was situated precariously on the siding of the roof. His legs dangling off of it. What a fucking idiot.
He sat down next to him, dangling his legs off the roof as well. Wilbur took another long hit of the cigarette, his hands warmed by the smoke.
“Y’know fish-boy, this shit probably isn’t great for you.” Jack exhaled the smoke in his face. Dick.
He swatted at the cloud of dark smoke, waving it away enough to see the other boy. “Yeah, probably isn't great for either of us.”
“Well, yeah. But think about it, you’re built for water and shit, right? Your lungs need to be in like, peak performance for swimming.”
“Yeah. I guess.” He held the cigarette over the roof’s edge. Watching the ashes trickle down onto his shoes. “I don’t give a fuck. Haven’t been to the ocean in a few years anyways.”
“We should go sometime.” Jack put out his cig, grinding the ash tip into the concrete wall. “Might be nice.”
“Aren’t you like, adverse to water or some shit?”
“Nah, I’m only half-demon. I’m fine in water.”
“Hmm.” Wilbur shrugged, putting out his cigarette before tossing it over the roof.
“Aw, you’re a prick. Littering… really, Wil?”
“I’m a dirty crime boy. What do you expect from me, Jack Manifold?”
“Ah not much. Not much, Wil.” The boy laid back, his arms underneath his head.
Instead of doing the same, Wilbur looked above himself. Staring at the stars right back.
“I wonder if the stars can listen in on our conversations…” He whispered under his breath, the glowing pinpricks in the sky distracting him. Like black paper with pinholes dotted into it, just in front of a bright light.
“Nah, probably not. I mean, they’re just stars, no?”
“Yeah, but like… what if they could?” He brought up a hand to the sky, turning it over and about. Watching the stars roll over it and shine in between his webbed fingers.
“I know I didn’t give you a damn blunt, Wil. But knowing you, you’re just on this kind of shit all the time.” Jack sighed, moving around to stand up. “Even if they did, man… They wouldn’t be hearing anything interesting from us.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shrugged, pulling his knees up to his chest.
“I’m heading out now. Stay away from the edge without me, okay?”
Wilbur waved the boy away. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to accidentally fall, I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“Debatable.” Jack shrugged, earning him the bird from Wilbur.
---
You: Toms
You: Toms
You: Toms
You: TOMS
Child: WHAT OHLHY SHIT YOURE SO FUCKIGN ANOYING
You: Do you want to be picked up or are you staying at Tubster’s?
Child: uhhhhh
Child: Pick me up please
You: Got it.
You: ETA like five or ten
Child: alr8
Wilbur started up the car, the key turning the engine on with a soft tumble. Not a roar like a sports car would have. Man, he was still buzzed from smoking. Better than being empty for no reason.
Wiggling in his seat he proceeded to accelerate across the road. Actively watching the speed limit but positively refusing to follow it. Fuck the cops.
---
He pulled up at Tubbo’s house, a new speeding ticket in the car door.
Child: where are you???
Child: dude its been like thirty fucking minutes
Child: YOU ARE LIATE
Child: bruhhh im assuming you got into a crash and died
Child: L
You: Shut up.
You: I'm outside the house.
You: I’m late because of speeding.
Child: dad is going to beat your ass.
Child: im goignt to tell on you
You: I’ll beat your ass. Fuck off.
Tommy ran out of the house, covering his head with his book bag. It was raining or something now. He hadn’t really been paying attention much, but he knew it hadn’t been raining while he had been smoking with Jack. So it was a new thing.
“Hey bitch! Lemme in!” Tommy knocked on the window, wincing when the rain would land on his arms and face. “C’mon it’s raining!”
“Yeah, yeah, stop your whining.” He unlocked the door, pushing it open for the boy.
“Just because you have a water fetish doesn’t mean I do.”
“A fucking what.” He glared at Tommy, a disgusted expression taking over his face. “I’m just going to kick you out of the car. Fuck this.”
He started to push Tommy out, who started to scream as loudly as he possibly could. Of course he did, it was his only reasonable defense besides burning people on command.
“Fuck off! Leave me be!” Tommy swatted at his hands, they were annoyingly warm but not enough to burn him. Wilbur stuck his tongue out, grinning cheekily.
You: Yo, picked up Toms
Dadza: K
Dadza: Dinner is takeout
Dadza: Haven’t ordered yet
Dadza: Techno isn’t home
Dadza: Heard from him?
You: Nope.
You: He’s probably doing something violent again.
Dadza: I sure hope the fuck not
Dadza: He came home bleeding buckets a few nights ago
Dadza: Hes lucky that that shit doesnt affect him.
You: Yup, he’s a cocky bitch
Dadza: True
“Wilbur, I would prefer you didn’t get us into a car wreck. You might be old and almost dead, but I am young and full of many many more years of life.” Tommy snatched at his phone, making Wilbur swerve the wheel. Which only made Tommy shriek from fear.
“Give it back, child.” Wilbur held out his hand. “Now.”
“You can have it back after we get home.” Tommy held it away from him.
For fuck’s sake.
Wilbur stopped in the middle of the road, blocking the traffic. He held out his hand again, flexing his fingers. “Hand it over.”
“Wilbur, you can’t just stop in the traffic! We’re going to get hit!” Tommy held the phone away farther from Wilbur, well, as far as he could. “What the fuck is wrong with you. Just drive!”
“Just give me my phone back.”
Tommy frowned, rubbing at the back of his neck before handing the phone back. A car honked behind them as Wilbur slowly started to drive back home again.
---
“Say shit and you’ll eat shit.” Wilbur kicked Tommy out of the car.
“Aw fuck off.” Tommy flipped him off before searching through his coat pockets for the house keys. Finally grabbing them after having pulled out more trash than should’ve been possible, he unlocked the door.
Wilbur stepped out of the car, relishing in the rain for a few minutes. It drenched his hair and ran down his face, droplets reaching his gills and letting him breathe clearer than he had for awhile.
He let it pool in his hands for a few seconds, letting it drip through the cracks in between his fingers. Sighing, he locked the car. The beeping signalling all was fine, he walked towards his family’s home door.
“Hey Dad, how’s it going?” He called out into the living room, his voice probably muffled slightly due to him being in the entrance. “Did Techno come home yet?”
He wandered lazily through the household, ending up in the living room. Well, the average bloody Technos per night statistic in their family was rather high, but damn he looked like shit. In fact this time he was passed out on the couch and leaking his dumb gold ichor or whatever everywhere. That wasn’t going to come out.
“Again?”
“Again.” Tommy rolled his eyes, he was scrolling through his phone. “Anything specific for dinner?”
“Nah, you pick.”
“Thanks.” Tommy rolled his eyes before going back to his takeout expedition.
Phil had an armful of medical supplies, he dropped them on Techno who awoke with a pained groan. “You can do this yourself. I’m busy.”
The usually pink-haired boy, who was now stained gold sat up with eyes half-lidded. “Wh-huh?” He rubbed at his eyes before almost falling back over. “M’kay”
Wilbur meandered over to his brother, sitting down on the one cushion that hadn’t been covered in his blood. Techno was lazily blotting at his wounds with an alcohol pad, wincing here and there when it probably leaked too far into the gouges.
“So, how’d you do it this time?” Wilbur rested a foot on his knee and held his fist still to his cheek.
“Mmm, I think I accidentally fell off a building?” His words while still being slightly slurred were rather intelligible for having thrown himself off a building. “Probably fell into something sharp, hence the whole get-up.”
Wilbur chuckled, which led into a fit of laughter. “Okay, that’s like the fourth time this year! We haven’t even gotten to June yet. Slow down.”
“Please do, you’re making me age a whole ‘nother decade with every drop of blood.” Phil sighed, looking out the window. It wasn’t even close to bright out anymore. The stars had been hidden away by the clouds.
Maybe they were tired.
“Phil, that would mean you’re centuries old!” Tommy piped up from the island table with a horrified expression.
---
He retched up his dinner into the toilet’s bowl. Wiping at his mouth before going at it again. Holy fucking shit, when was this going to end?
He sighed and leaned his back against the wall, hopefully sitting up would do him some good. Maybe ease the nausea a bit? God, he was cold.
The bathroom was just cold in general, but he had a hard time regulating his body heat. Wilbur shivered, hugging himself to try and get some feeling of warmth back into his body.
But it just didn’t work.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Stop.