Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Please, George.” 

“Wilbur...”

“NO! George I’ve been here before. I told you this. I’m telling you now, it’s not worth it. I’m glad I didn’t jump. I wouldn’t have been where I am today if I didn’t come back over that railing. Please, listen to me. I’m here, George.”

Silent cries left George’s mouth. 

“Come back over the railing.”

George shook his head, turning back to the water. “It wasn’t meant to be, Wilbur.” 

And he let go. 

Wilbur reached out to him frantically, but it was no use. His friend hit the water, and he screamed as he ran down to get him out. It took five minutes to reach the bottom, and Wilbur had a sickening realisation - he was too late. 

As he dragged George out of the water, he spotted many things. His friend’s pale skin, almost grey but with a tinge of blue, was freezing - there was no way he could still be alive. His eyes, dark brown and normally so... alive... were still open, staring up at the stars. And his expression— he was...

He was smiling. 

It wasn’t the excited grin he wore when he won at Manhunt. It wasn’t the obviously fake smile he wore on a bad day - no one noticed, maybe it wasn’t so obvious after all. It was... a peaceful smile. Like he’d finally achieved what he wanted. 

And he had... hadn’t he?

No. Wilbur decided. George needs to survive, or he’ll miss out on so much. 

Another voice joined the ones in his head. He’s already dead, there’s nothing you can do to save him. 

Once again, he shook his head. Even after he tried to do the same thing as George did, he still tried. Even after all those nights where he slit his wrists and tried to bleed out, he got help and tried. Even after everything life had thrown at him, he still tried.

So even though there was no way George would be alive, Wilbur still tried. 

But... still, nothing happened. 

After ten minutes, he slumped to the ground next to his friend. “Why would you do this, George? Dream needs you. Everyone needs you... I... I need you. I need you all, but you just left.” 

Eventually, he pulled himself together. He needed to get George (“You mean George’s body,” his mind supplied coldly) to the hospital. Picking up his phone with shaking hands, he dialled 999. 

“999, what’s your emergency?” 

“My friend just—“ he couldn’t bring himself to say it for a few seconds. “My friend just killed himself. He’s been dead for— 20 minutes? And—“ he shook his head, voice cracking. 

“I’m very sorry, sir.” The operator seemed sympathetic. “Where are you?” 

He took a deep breath. “We’re at (park name idk) Park, by the bridge.” 

“We’ll be there soon.” was her only reply, before Wilbur hung up.

Turning back to his friend, he gently picked him up bridal-style, walking back to the top of the bridge. He shuddered slightly as George’s head lolled back, his body completely limp. Luckily, when he got to the top, no one else was there, so he lay George onto the bench he was sitting on before, then pulled his head into his lab, gently running a hand through his still-dripping hair. 

When the ambulance arrived, Wilbur fought to keep George with him, but one of the paramedics pulled him into the ambulance. “Listen— shh, calm down, just listen.” Slowly, Wilbur managed to calm down. “You can go into the ambulance with him. We’re going to the morgue, do you have anyone you could call?” 

He nodded. “He didn’t have any family— we were his family. But I should call my— my dad.” You can tell everyone else tomorrow. 

They drove to the hospital in silence, Wilbur clutching George’s hand the entire time. They reached the morgue, and Wilbur was allowed to sit down next to his friend’s body. 

“Wilbur?” 

He smiled tiredly at his father’s voice. “Hey Phil... Could you come to the hospital? And...” he remembered something else. 

“...don’t tell Tommy.” 

Chapter Text

“Wilbur?” 

The shout jolted Wilbur out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Phil running towards him. “Wil? Are you— you’re hurt!”

“I’m fine.”

Phil took in his son’s appearance. He was wearing a black t-shirt and his usual black beanie, and his hair was dripping. His eyes were surprisingly blank, and Phil came to a sickening realisation at the sight of blood trickling down both arms from his nails digging into his skin. “No you’re not, you’re bleeding— here, let me help—“ 

“I’m fine.”

His short answer confused Phil, until he looked at where Wilbur was staring. He slowly walked over to the covered body, and pulled the cover away from his face. 

Shit. 

George was still, his eyes gently closed as if he was sleeping, but both the lack of rising and falling of his chest and the paleness of his face warned Phil that he was—

“He’s dead? What—“ he stared down at his friend’s face. “What happened?” 

Wilbur scoffed, though it came out as more of a sob. “I tried to stop him. But he— he still jumped.” He had never seen Wilbur cry, not even when he killed him in L’Manburg, but now he started shaking with sobs.

Immediately, Phil sat next to his son, rubbing his back in a comforting gesture. “Shh... shh, let it all out...” When he had stopped crying, Phil tentatively asked, “Do you know... why?” 

Wilbur froze. Should he tell him? George wouldn’t want me to, but... 

He’s dead. 

“I do.” he said evenly. “Well, part of the reason, anyway. George is... George— was...” he let out another sob, “in love with Dream. And he thought Dream didn’t love him back, so he...” Killed himself. 

Phil nodded slowly. Before he could reply, a nurse walked into the room. “Sir? Could I talk to you outside for a second?” 

“Sure— yeah, sure. Wilbur, I’ll be back in a minute, ok?” He stood up, leaving the room. “Is everything ok?” 

She shook her head. “Could you and your friend leave? Sorry, I know that sounds really rude—“ she hastened to correct herself as Phil glared at her. “But we... we weren’t supposed to let anyone into the morgue. He fought to get in, but we need him to leave. I’m—“ she looked down. “I’m sorry for your loss.” And she walked away, leaving Phil to think about what must have happened. 

She was discharging someone when it happened. 

A paramedic rushed in, pulling in a gurney while a man followed. This man was soaking wet, from his curly brown hair to his scruffy but comfortable-looking black trainers. The only things that weren’t dripping were his black beanie and dark hoodie. He was staring at the man on the gurney, who was also dripping with water. His hair was a similar colour to the man’s, but his face was pale, almost tinged blue. 

And then she realised where they were walking. 

Poor guy, she couldn’t help but think. But as the ‘poor guy’ continued to follow his friend towards the morgue, her eyes widened and she walked quickly from the back of the desk, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you need to go to the waiting room, you can’t—“ 

The man spun around, and she saw the frantic, almost maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Don’t fucking touch me!” 

She flinched slightly. “I’m sorry sir, but you really can’t—“ 

He glared at her. “I’m going with my friend, and you can’t fucking stop me.” As he spoke, she noticed tears rolling down his face, and some of her fear melted into pity. “I told him I was there for him, and I’m not breaking that promise.”

She nodded slowly. “...We usually don’t allow this, but just until someone gets here to take you home, you can stay with him.” 

He nodded, the fight draining out of him as they walked to the morgue. She dialled the number he gave her into the phone. “Excuse me, are you Philza Minecraft?” 

Another voice answered her. “I am. Is everything ok?”

“Not exactly. Your son - Wilbur Soot? - is at (hospital name) Hospital, he wants to talk to you.”

She passed the phone to the man - Wilbur - and left the room, hearing his tired words. “Hey Phil... could you come to the hospital? And... don’t tell Tommy.” 

And the rest was history.