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The first thing that Tommy felt when he woke up in void was cold. A pure, breathtaking cold that went down to the bones. Dream’s cruel fist and the hard obsidian floor scraped again his cheek was nothing compared to this. He felt the void pull at him in all directions, digging its icy claws into his arms and tugging. He felt every atom and every molecule inside him freeze and crumble. The cold was unending and unyielding and it tore him apart.
But suddenly there was a break in the endless, grating cold. A hand, warm and firm, was placed on Tommy’s shivering shoulder.
The hand drew Tommy towards its owner, and held him close. Wilbur.
As Tommy melted into his brother’s warm embrace, he felt his broken and torn edges slowly begin to mend. The cold would never leave completely, but as Tommy clung to the man, sobbing violently into his chest, he felt the icy claws release their grip ever so slightly
Wilbur ruffled Tommy’s hair as he
whispered comforting words into his hear.
“Shhhh It’s ok Tommy, I’ve got you now. No one can hurt you now. It’s ok, deep breaths, I’ve got you.”
Tommy’s sobs quieted as he and Wilbur clung to each other in the void, holding to each other as if nothing else mattered.
From the ground Tommy heard a wheeze. Schlatt sat slumped on the colorless floor of the void, a crooked grin taking over his face and eyes glazed over. He raised a bottle of whisky, “Welcome to hell, kid.”
That night Tommy was plagued with the memory of his death. He felt Dream’s fist slamming his cheek into the obsidian floor, teeth and bones sliding out of place, and blood pooling into his eyes and mouth. Tommy’s small frame shook uncontrollably as the memories overtook him, but Wilbur held Tommy’s head in his lap, running soot covered fingers through the boys tangled curls.
“Its gonna be ok, Toms. It’s hard at first, I know it is, but I’m here now. You’re not alone.”
And as the low rumbling tones of Wilbur’s voice sent a soothing warmth through Tommy’s head, he was able to slowly drift off to sleep, Wilbur’s arm wrapped protectively around him.
That next morning Tommy awoke to Wilbur pacing back and forth, his trenchcoat whipping furiously behind him like a tattered wing. He ran his fingers through his hair, muttering anxiously under his breath.
“Wilbur?” Tommy croaked, voice small.
Wilbur whipped his head around to look at Tommy sitting hunched over on the ground. His eyes softened and he kneeled down to the boy, hand resting on his shoulder.
“Hey. How are you feelin, Toms?”
“I’ve been better,” Tommy managed with a weak smile.
Wilbur laughed at that “Haven’t we all?” He shifted forward, expression suddenly darkening
“If I was alive, I would kill every single one of them for what they did to you. Slit their throats and let them bleed out slowly. ” Wilbur tilts his head, thinking, “No, no, that would be letting them off too easy. They deserve to suffer more than that.” He looks at Tommy, “They never deserved you Tommy, the world didn’t deserve you.”
Eyes hard, Wilbur stared off into the endless void, jaw twitching. His fingernails dug into Tommy’s skin and the boy tried his best not to flinch. But as suddenly as the dark look in his eyes came, it disappeared, and the warm brown eyes were back.
“I know!” Wilbur declares, “let’s play solitaire!”
The rest of the night was spent with Wilbur and Tommy playing cards. Despite everything, the two quickly fell back into their old friendly banter. Despite everything, Tommy felt a warm bubbling laughter rise up in his throat, the first time he’d laughed like that in weeks. And despite everything, Tommy couldn’t help thinking to himself that maybe, maybe, the old Wilbur could be back.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.