Chapter Text
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
The lake glistens in the sunlight, as the amber leaves of autumn drift in the cool wind. The Camarvan, standing proud in the middle, surrounded by flowers and scattered cobblestone, looks pristine with tiny puffs of steam coming from its open windows - no doubt from whatever potions remain to brew inside.
“Best thing I've ever seen, Big man.”
Wilbur turns to look at Tommy. They're sitting together on the majestic Blackstone walls that surround their nation, looking down at the glory of L'manberg, prime path and all. It is truly beautiful.
Tommy has his eyes closed, head tilted upwards, languid as he leans backward on his palms. He's swinging his legs as he sits on the edge, tempting gravity to try and take him, but he doesn't look worried. There is no need to, after all. Wilbur will always be there to catch him if he falls.
“Your eyes are closed, you gremlin child. You can’t see shit!” Wilbur scoffs, and Tommy shoots him a smug smirk.
“Don't need to, I've already got this whole place memorized, Mr. President. I'm just that poggers.”
“We literally finished building the walls last night. It’s only been days, there's no way you have it memorized already. You don't have the layout of your own house memorized!”
“That is simply not true! And even if it was, it’s only because my house is so huge and awesome that it’s nearly impossible to navigate.”
“You live in a dirt shack.”
“It has layers to it, Wilbur! Layers! Like a really mysterious onion! It’s not my fault you’re too blind to see them.”
“My eyesight is fine, you’re just deluded.”
“Says the guy with glasses.”
“Oi!”
He puts Tommy in a headlock and ruffles his hair, laughing as Tommy shrieks in protest.
Tommy eventually gets himself free, swatting Wilbur’s arm away. He goes back to sitting on the edge, closing his eyes again. His hair glows golden in the sunlight, loose strands now tangled and standing up, framing his calm face like a halo. It’s unlike him, Wilbur thinks. Tommy is usually filled with restless energy, always the loudest in the room, and the quickest to disrupt the silence. He seems at peace right now, though.
“You falling asleep there?” Wilbur jokes, scooting closer to Tommy so he can hang his legs off the wall as well.
“Nah. Just thinking.”
Wilbur nods, “An unusual feat for you, no doubt.”
“Well-well…your face is an unusual feat!”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that you’re a bitch and should shut up!” Tommy says unkindly, kicking Wilbur in the shin.
“ Ow! I get it, I get it. Point taken, child.”
“Not a child!” Tommy throws back and then proceeds to stick his tongue out at him. Like a child.
“If you say so, Tommy.”
Tommy smiles smugly at that. “I do say so, so hah!”
“Child.” Wilbur mutters.
“I heard that!”
They glare at each other silently, narrowing their eyes in defiance. It’s a battle of wills.
Wilbur feels his lips twitch with a smile.
Tommy lets out a quiet snicker.
They manage to hold eye contact for a few more seconds before they both burst into raucous laughter, Wilbur heartily slapping Tommy in the back. It takes a while for them to calm down, their laughter trailing off into weak giggles as they lie against the Blackstone, staring up at the clear sky.
This is nice, Wilbur decides, sitting here with Tommy, laughing at nothing. He had forgotten how much he missed having Tommy by his side. He tells Tommy as much.
Tommy nods, absentmindedly pulling at the sleeves of his coat. “I would miss me too if I were you - with me being so poggers and all. But, I mean… I missed you too, or whatever. Feels weird looking at your face again. I didn't think I'd ever see your face without it being all...grey and shit, ya know?”
Wilbur frowns. “I was only gone traveling for a few months. It's not my fault you decided to follow in my footsteps and wander out of the house to go 'adventuring'. It took me forever to find you, too. The map you sent me just had a few squiggly lines, a few badly drawn mountains, and an arrow mark that said ‘Dreem Smp’, that’s not even how you spell it!” He laughs, “Besides, it wasn't that long. Six months is a bit fast for me to go gray - I'm twenty-four, not seventy.”
Tommy furrows his brows. Suddenly, his eyes go wide, the calm distraction in his eyes fading to realization. “Ah....yeah. That. It’s been a while since we've seen each other... because we were traveling separately. Mhm.”
Wilbur narrows his eyes, confused. “Obviously? Unless you had something else in mind?”
Tommy shakes his head frantically. “No no! That’s definitely what I meant! Duh, yes. Obviously.” He laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m a tiny bit out of it today. Brain's focusing on too much big man shit”
“Does this have to do with whatever you were thinking about earlier?”
“Hm?”
“You looked like you were in pretty deep thought, didn't even stop to curse at me when I took your discs from your bag.”
“You did what- ” Tommy grabs his satchel, sorting through his inventory with far too much panic, in Wilbur's opinion. He calms down when he finds them unharmed, the tension in his back disappearing as he slumps against Wilbur's side with relief. “Oh, fuck off.”
Wilbur snickers, “Sorry, sorry. I just couldn't resist. Besides, they're not that big of a deal, they're just discs.”
Tommy stiffens against him, and yells out, “They’re not just-”
Tommy cuts himself off, tilting his head to the side in contemplation. “Huh.”
They sit for a while in silence, Tommy staring at the disks as though he was looking at them for the first time.
-----
“...Tommy?”
"I guess they
are
just discs, arent they?”
Wilbur snaps to attention. Wait, what? Who was this and what had they done with his tiny, annoying gremlin brother who would rather eat bees than speak ill of the discs?
(He’s not even kidding, he’s
literally
seen Tommy try to eat a live bee before, so it doesn’t seem too far-fetched.)
Tommy continues, on a roll now. “They’re just pieces of plastic, aren’t they? They’re not particularly special - they don’t have any real political power or anything. At least, not in this world.”
“In this world? What’s that supposed to mean-”
“They don’t mean anything! They’re worthless!” Tommy exclaims, with a hint of glee, Wilbur notes, and what the fuck is going on?
Has he entered an alternate universe when Tommy is actually batshit insane, and not just slightly crazy like his usual self?
“Nobody needs them! Or even wants them, it’s not like they’ve been through anything! Or-or, they arent historical artifacts or bargaining chips or anything like that,” He rambles.
“I could just snap them in half right now and-”
Wilbur bonks him on the head.
Tommy blinks.
Wilbur shakes his finger at Tommy, disapprovingly. “Stop right now. You’re too young to be having an existential crisis. For prime’s sake, you’re only fifteen! You cant even drink, or go to jail, or do drugs!”
Tommy raises a finger and opens his mouth to interrupt.
“Potions aren’t actual drugs Tommy . Calling them drugs doesn’t make it true.”
Tommy shuts his mouth.
“My
point
is, you’re overthinking things. I was just teasing you, Toms, you can care about the discs if they make you happy.”
“But you said it yourself, they’re just pieces of plastic!” Tommy protests.
“That doesn’t mean they can’t have meaning. You got that one with Tubbo, yeah?”
Tommy nods slowly. “Mhm, and you gave me the other one. Best gift you’ve ever given me.”
“Okay, first of all, I got you that diamond knife when you turned thirteen, why isn’t
that
your favorite? But, that’s unrelated. The discs bring you comfort and happiness, don’t they? An object doesn’t need to be a diamond or a missile to have value!” Wilbur gets on his feet, gesturing to his imaginary audience. “The items that remind you of family, the lingering warmth of a kind word, a beacon of light in a time of darkness - those are the most powerful objects of them all. Objects don’t inherently have meaning, our devotion to them is what
gives them
meaning.” He bows dramatically, yelping when his hat falls off, but Tommy catches it before it flies over the edge.
“Nice speech nerd,” Tommy says dusting off the top of his hat, handing it back. “What book did you get that one from?”
“Made it myself, thanks. Why, you impressed?”
“As if, I wanted to know the book so that I could avoid it since it was so shit, but knowing you wrote it, that actually makes a lot of sense.”
“You’re a dick, TommyInnit.
“Prick.”
“Arsehole.”
“Salmon fucker.”
Wilbur throws up his arms in exasperation. “For the last time, she was a shapeshifter!”
“Sounds like a fancy word for an excuse.”
“Tommy!”
Tommy laughs. “Fine, fine. It makes sense though.”
“Hm?”
“Your thing about fancy feeling objects or whatever. Made some sense.”
“Yeah?”
Tommy nods. “Besides, they’re mine, so they’re the specialest, innit? Because I’m the coolest person ever, so they must be the coolest too.”
Wilbur pats him on the back. “There’s the idiot I know and love.”
Tommy mock shoves Wilbur, who elbows him in the stomach in return.
“Do you have one of those? Something that’s important to you for no good reason?
“No immediately obvious reason,” Wilbur corrects, “And I do, in fact. You’re looking right at it.”
Tommy nods sympathetically, “Your fragile sense of masculinity, innit?”
“What? No! I meant my outfit, Tommy, keep up!” He spins his hat on his finger, turning side to side to show off his uniform, although it was nearly identical to Tommy’s, save for some extra presidential flourish. “First official set of the L’manberg uniform ever made, dyed it with the first blue cornflowers of spring.”
“I know genius, I’m the one who made them with Eret, that traitorous bastard.” Tommy says, rolling his eyes.
“Whats wrong with Eret?”
Tommy waves him off, “Nothing important, I’m working on it. But anyway, I don’t get it. You can always make another set, right? And spring will come again next year, so you can always get more cornflowers. So what’s the big deal if it’s the first set?”
“It’s not about the clothes, dickhead. It’s about the memories, yeah? And the fact that we all worked on them together and shit. Tubbo made the dye and colored the clothes, you and Eret stitched them up, and then me, with the hardest part-”
“Will, you literally just picked flowers.”
“A lot of flowers, Tomathy. Besides, I was busy making the national anthem.”
“Respect, big man. The anthem is fucking poggers.”
Wilbur doesn’t remember showing Tommy the national anthem. Perhaps he overheard Wilbur practicing it? “Well, I give you my thanks, child. A proper country always needs a good national anthem, doesn’t it?
“Home.”
“What?”
“It ain’t just a country, Mr. President sir, you’ve gone and built us a home.” Tommy squeezes Wilbur’s hand, giving him a soft smile. Tommy doesn’t smile like that often, a smile small and sincere. It suits him, this autumn breeze smile, just as much as it does when he is wearing one of the summer sun. “We have a home now Wilbur, all of us. Me, Tubzo, Fundy...and Eret. We all have a home and it’s all thanks to you. Don’t ever forget that.”
Wilbur’s throat feels oddly dry, his eyes misty. God dammit, Tommy’s making him emotional.
He clears his throat. “You helped too y’know? I couldn’t have started all of this without you, Tommy.” He doesn’t think they’re ever really had a heart-to-heart before. Most of their conversations are hidden between jokes and insults, passionate declarations, and split-second decisions. It feels weird to be able to say what he’s saying to Tommy, plain and simple. Weird in a good way, though. “You cant start a drug van on your own, you know. You need a partner in crime.”
There’s a bittersweet smile on Tommy’s face. “Yeah, a right-hand man, innit?”
Wilbur shrugs. “A right-hand man, yes. But most importantly-,” He ruffles Tommy’s hair, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “You need a brother, and I’ve got mine right here with me, don’t I?”
Tommy’s responding smile is the sun peeking out over the horizon, slow and brilliant in its shine. He launches himself at Wilbur, burrowing him in a tight hug, arms clinging to his sides.
“I’ve missed you so much, big man,” Tommy says, voice muffled from where it is pressed against Wilbur’s coat. His voice sounds watery.
“Missed you too, Toms.” He laughs, patting Tommy’s back comfortingly. “I missed you too, but it’s okay now, because I’m here to stay. L’manberg’s here and so am I. No more traveling, no more disappearing. I’m staying right here with you.”
Tommy tilts his head up to look at Wilbur. “You’ll protect L’manberg, yeah?” It’s not a question. Not anymore.
Wilbur answers anyway. “With my life, if I have to. It’s what a good president would do.”
“A good president
lives
for their nation and stays to protect the people.”
Wilbur considers this. “Huh, I suppose you’re right. When did you get so smart?”
Tommy smiles, embarrassed, ducking his head out of Wilbur’s sight.
“What about you?” Wilbur asks, nudging Tommy’s side.
“Hm?”
“Would you die for this country?"
"Again?"
Wilbur stills.
He looks at Tommy. Suddenly, his bright blue eyes look far too dull, far too old.
He looks washed out, dead.
“Wha-what do you mean?”
Tommy laughs, and just like that, everything is back to normal. As if the dull stillness of his face was never there to begin with. “Nothing big man, just messing with you.” He pats Wilbur comfortingly. “Don’t worry, nobody will die, including you and me. I’ll make sure of it this time.”
“This time?”
Wilbur starts to demand what Tommy is talking about because the little shit is being fucking ominous today when they’re interrupted by a brown head of hair peeking out of the foliage.
“Mr. President!” It’s Tubbo, and he’s covered in soot and blaze powder. “Sorry to interrupt you guys, but it appears that I
may
have set the Camarvan on fire while making invisibility potions? Potions that may have exploded, and um…”
Wilbur sighs, “Just spit it out, Tubbo.”
A pause,“...The Camarvan is engulfed in invisible fire that might be spreading.”
Tommy cackles at this. “
Tubbo!
Crime this early, and without me? Shame on you.”
Wilbur rubs his forehead. “Right, okay. This is fine. Tubbo, go back and start putting out the fire. Tommy and i be there in a minute.”
Tubbo salutes him. “On it boss man!” He dissapears out of sight, no doubt off to get a bucket and some water.
“Right, Tommy lets go. God forbid our nation burns down on its first official day.”
“Coming Wilbur!”
Wilbur has climbed down the wall and is about to leave, when he notices Tommy isn’t actually behind him.
“Toms? Hurry up, we have an invisible fire to stop!” He glances around, and is about to call out again when-
“Incoming!”
He looks up, just in time to see Tommy leaping off the wall with a shout of glee and plummeting down.
“What-Tommy!”
He dashes forward and tosses his hat aside, stretching out his arms. Tommy crashes into them, the weight unbalancing Wilbur, sending them both sprawling into the ground with a thud.
“Owwww…”
“Toms, you idiot! What on earth possessed you to do that? You could have gotten majorly hurt!” He rummages through his pocket and pulls out a now mildly smushed chunk of bread, as he frets over Tommy, checking for injuries. “Here, eat this! Eat! Are you hurt?”
“Calm down, I’m fine Will, barely scratched,” He says, accepting the piece of bread anyway, shoving it into his mouth.
“Only because I was there, what if I had missed?” Wilbur complains as he dusts off their uniforms.
Tommy just shrugs. “Knew that you’d catch me.” As if it was that simple - like there was no other possible option.
Wilbur looks at his discarded hat, which was now covered in dirt. And then he looks at Tommy, sitting comfortably on the ground with grass in his hair, unharmed and brushing breadcrumbs off of his coat and hands. Tommy notices Wilbur looking, and beams up at him.
“Guys! I think the fire is spreading!” Tubbo yells in the distance, sounding equal amounts panicked and excited.
“On it, Bee boy!” Tommy pulls a water bucket out of his inventory and runs towards the slowly growing cloud of smoke, that- as Tubbo said- doesnt seen to have any visible fire.
Yes, Wilbur thinks as he runs after Tommy. The sun will always rise in the East, the spring will always come, and he will always be there to catch his brother when he falls.
-----
Their earlier conversation is forgotten.