Chapter Text
“-aaa! What’s up, chat? How’re you? How’re you all doing on this fine Sunday evening?”
blobmonster44: HUH?
ladykay: gooood
duckystreet: SUNDAY???
notalexis19: wil its saturday
zynalx: HIII
burnttoast32: IT'S NOT SUNDAY
axel-otl: bruh
“ ‘It’s not Sunday Wilbur’ what do you mean chat?” Wilbur reached for his phone, certain he was right. The screen lit up, informing him that his chat was right, it was Saturday. How had he gotten that wrong…? The events of last night were foggy, as if it had happened weeks ago, or at least a day. He remembered blood dripping down his leg, and a deep feeling of regret. Wilbur’s memory was weird like that, he remembered only sensations and snippets of events, never fully formed memories.
Wilbur kept the bit going, not wanting to admit he actually thought it was Sunday, until he finally admitted to be joking. “I know it’s Saturday, chat, I was just messing with you. Gotta keep you lot on your toes!”
He kept talking to chat until he eventually got into the stream, a chill Geoguessr stream by himself. Halfway through, he felt a prickling on his forearm. He tugged up his sleeve under his desk, out of view of the camera. Raised skin in red lines stared back at him, still somewhat fresh. The cuts stopped bleeding a while ago, but they still sting. Remembering he was still streaming, he pulled his sleeve back down and kept up his eccentric persona. He glanced at the chat, noticing a few messages wondering what he was looking at, but he ignored them, they were a small minority of his chat and he wasn’t too concerned.
After a few games of Geoguessr, it was time to end. Wilbur rolled up his sleeves, getting hot in his cramped office, and waved bye to chat, doing his typical outro. He ended stream and went to leave his office and go back home. He decided to take a taxi, as it was pretty dark out. Wilbur struck up a short conversation with the driver, finding out he was originally from Italy and moved here with his family a few years ago. Soon he was outside his flat. He unlocked his door, walked in, and sat down on his bed. He was feeling something he couldn’t quite name.
Pulling out his phone, he pulled up Twitter. He was trying to stay off it, but he figured better this than another worse coping mechanism. For some reason, he was trending. It’s never great to see you’re trending and not know why, but it was especially bad in Wilbur’s current mental state. He scrolled through the hashtag, seeing a lot of tweets of people saying not to draw attention to it. What “it” was, he didn’t know. Scrolling further, he finally found out. Pictures of his arms, sleeves rolled up and cuts in full display, were all over twitter.
Immediately he started panicking. Fuckfuckfuckfuck this isn’t how this was supposed to happen, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He could try to pass it off as cat scratches, but everyone knew he didn’t have a cat. He had been talking recently about how he wanted one, and he would name it Mr. President.
Wilbur really didn’t want to deal with this right now, so naturally, he went to sleep. This was a problem for future Wilbur to deal with, and hopefully future Wilbur would be in a better headspace after some sleep.
Wilbur woke up at 3 am. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but he was hoping it didn’t happen today. Remembering the eventful stream last night, he started panicking. 3 am panic attacks were Wilbur’s specialty by now, and he knew just how to snap out of it. He got out of bed and blearily made his way into the shower. Turning on the water, he got in, fully clothed, and let the cold jets of water soak him, waking him up from his half-asleep half-panicked state. He sat in the tub, water running down his face and collecting at his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his razor and pack of razor blades. He stood up, knowing full well he wasn’t going to shave, and grabbed a spare blade.
Wilbur sat back down and stared at the blade, contemplating his decision. The water had brought him out of the panic attack, he no longer needed grounding. But the blade was already in his hands, he might as well… Before the logical part of his brain could argue against it, he dragged the metal across his arm, adding a fresh line to his array of old and new scars. He did this a few more times before realizing exactly how many lines he had made. Noticeably more, which wasn’t good for the next time he saw people or streamed and accidentally showed his arms again.
Oh yeah. That brought him back to the reason for his panic attack. Getting cold, he shut off the water, dried off, and changed his clothes into dry ones. He picked up his phone to see dms from Tommy, Phil, Jack, Niki, and even Techno and Dream. He didn’t particularly feel like responding now, but he decided to at least scroll through a few and maybe write a quick response.
Tommyinnit: hey you know i'm always here for you big man
Tommyinnit: we’re like brothers
Wilbur didn’t have the energy to respond to Tommy, so he moved on.
Philza: hey m8 im here to talk if you want to :)
Philza: wil i hope you’re okay usually you don’t go to bed so early
Wilbur Soot: thanks dadza but i’m okay really those were just from gardening, spiky rose bushes
Jack Manifold: ayup wilbur you alright mate?
Nihachu: Wilbur you know I have struggled with similar things, you can always talk to me, please
Technoblade: take care of yourself wil
Dream: hi wilbur, I know firsthand how hard fame and life can be, come talk to me if you ever need someone to talk to about it <3
Wilbur Soot: thanks dream, but it’s okay that wasnt what u think it was
Wilbur checked the others but didn’t respond to any except Phil and Dream’s. Mentally exhausted, he went back to sleep.
Turns out responding to messages at 3 am often leaves the recipient more concerned than before, as Wilbur found out later that morning. He woke up to more dms from Phil and Dream, and even some from other friends.
Philza: gardening my ass wil please talk to us, we’re worried
Philza: also 3 am?? son please sleep
Wilbur’s fingers lingered on his phone’s keyboard, not sure where to go. He ended up putting off responding for a bit while he checked Dream’s dm.
Dream: wilbur i know we don’t talk a whole lot but trust me when i say i know exactly what those were because i’ve been there, it does get better i promise :))
Now that was a new one. Wilbur knew Dream had struggled with depression and anxiety before, much like himself, but he didn’t know about his past (at least he hoped it was past) self-harm. Maybe he really could talk to Dream. He liked the man, and they seemed to have similar struggles, but he didn’t really know him. Then again, no time like the present he supposed.
Wilbur Soot: i’m gonna be honest man i don’t know how to respond to that.
Dream: hey man i get it, i was there
Dream: would you be up for calling?
Wilbur Soot: sure
*Incoming call from Dream*
“Hey Wilbur.”
“Hey Dream, look I… ”
"We don’t have to talk about it Wil, but I hope you’re talking to someone else about it? A therapist, or even Phil or Niki? It really does help.”
“Um, yeah well I haven’t really had the chance to talk to anyone…” Wilbur grimaced slightly.
“Would it help if I told you about my past with it? I know how you handle this will be different than me because, well, the whole internet knows about your struggles now, but it could help.”
Shit. That’s right, the pictures. Wilbur had almost forgotten about that whole nightmare. He would have to address it at some point, but that was a job for later.
“Yeah sure.”
“Well, as you probably know, I have ADHD, and as a kid I struggled with depression and anxiety a lot, especially in my teenage years. I started self-harming back then, and had to be hospitalized at one point. Then I got help and support and was able to stop. I’ve only been clean for a little over a year now though. Back in 2020, the combined isolation, my growing fame, and stress was enough to break my three year clean streak unfortunately, but I’m definitely doing better now.
“When I relapsed, Sapnap found me, and I’ll spare you the details but it wasn’t a great situation for either of us, especially since I hadn’t told him about my past with self-harm. He kinda freaked out but I explained everything and he was really supportive, and he helped me tell George. I don’t know where I’d be without either of them to be honest. We talked it out and they made sure I knew I could go to them. Of course, this won’t be the same for you because it’s your whole fanbase that knows, but I think acknowledging it and being open and vulnerable could give you more control over the situation, but it’s up to you of course.”
Wow. That was a lot for Wilbur to take in, he knew practically nothing about Dream’s personal life, and suddenly the man opened up to him about very personal struggles. Now he felt like he should open up to Dream in return. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a sob came out. Shit, was he really going to cry on call with Dream? The Dream? It’s not like they were that close, but suddenly he’s crying while Dream comforts him on the other end of the call.
“Hey Wilbur, I get that it’s a lot, man. You can tell me about it if you feel comfortable,” Dream said encouragingly.
Wilbur’s cracking facade shattered. He told Dream about it all. How he also started when he was a kid, and had also relapsed, but much more recently. How he had been turning to alcohol instead recently, but it didn’t scratch the same itch. How he had made sweaters part of his look to avoid suspicion. He even talked about last night, how he hadn’t meant to do it but still had and now had a collection of new marks. He heard a sharp intake of breath at that last thing and braced for a lecture, but all he got was, “Are they clean Wil?”
Shit, he hadn’t exactly cleaned them in his panic last night. Not wanting to lie, he tentatively told Dream the truth.
“Could you clean them now?”
“Yeah, sure Dream…”
Wilbur went to his bathroom, phone in hand, and grabbed a washcloth and some antibiotic ointment and cleaned the cuts, then applied the ointment, while Dream rambled about Youtube or Minecraft or something, Wilbur wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, his mind was replaying last night in a horror movie flashback sequence. Water soaking his clothes, blood dripping down into the bathtub, feeling both emotionally and physically numb. Once the cuts were clean, Wilbur went back to his room, intending to hang up on Dream and sulk.
“Hey Wilbur if you leave this call are you going to be okay?”
Valid question on Dream’s part, he had just relapsed after all. Wilbur thought about it for a second. He wasn’t planning on hurting himself right now. Of course, not everything goes to plan, but Wilbur would be okay for now.
“Yeah, I will, thanks man, I really appreciate this all.”
“Anytime. I’m always here for you.”
Wilbur smiled because he knew Dream meant it. He really was a nice guy, very genuine and sweet. His smile quickly disappeared as he realized he’d have to tell his friends if he was going to address this publicly, but especially Phil, Techno, and Tommy . Tommy, who looked up to him. Tommy, who came to him for advice. Tommy, his little brother . Wilbur wasn’t sure he had the strength to tell them each one by one, so he decided to do a Sleepy Bois vc.
He started the call and almost immediately the Sleepy Bois joined the call, clearly waiting for Wil to reach out somehow. Tommy joined first, or rather a subdued version of his boisterous online persona. Then Phil, who greeted both Tommy and Wilbur with a “Hi mate”. Finally Techno joined with his signature “Halloo”. They sat in silence for a second, Wilbur unsure how to start the conversation.
“Hey Wil mate, was there something you wanted to talk to us about?” Phil, of course, was the one to break the silence. Fuck, Wilbur couldn’t do this. He wasn’t used to being so vulnerable, his music was the only exception.
“I- I need to tell you guys something, uh, well, you’ve all seen the pictures, and uh yeah those scars are from me hurting myself, as you probably guessed. I’m really sorry, I-” His voice cracked as he struggled to get the words past the lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, or at all really, but uh yeah…”
“Oh Wil, mate, you don’t have to apologize. Thanks for telling us.” Philza was the first to respond, the others still processing.
“Hey Wilbur, we’re always here for you if you ever need to talk about it, or want a distraction. I know it’s hard, but you got this.” Techno’s voice was laced with concern and empathy for Wilbur’s struggles.
Tommy was last to respond. “Wil, I- You know I love you, right? Like a brother. And I don’t ever want to lose you, I don’t know what I would do…”
“I know Toms, I love you too. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon, life just gets hard sometimes and however bad it is, this is how I cope. I’m working on it though, promise.” That wasn’t entirely a lie, he was sorta working on it, if you count thinking about throwing out his blades.
The Sleepy Bois stayed on call with Wilbur for a while after, discussing various things, such as a potential meetup. Techno said he could get a ticket for the following day as he had a friend who’s a pilot and could get him in. It was decided. Phil and Tommy would both drive over and stay at Wil’s, and Techno would fly over.