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“I never actually cared about L’Manberg.”
Wilbur isn’t sure why he said it. He doesn’t understand why the words pushed their way past his chapped lips and into the warm afternoon air that surrounded him and Tommy. They were a clear lie, nowhere near the truth despite how they might have sounded now that they were out in the open. The last thing that he would ever say about L’Manberg would be those words, given how deeply he cared about the nation he had founded with some of his closest friends and family.
He couldn’t take the words back, couldn’t turn around and pretend like he was joking, because his voice had long since lost its teasing lilt. He couldn’t laugh and shake his head and push past it either. Tommy wouldn’t let him pretend like it hadn’t been spoken, like it hadn’t already been uttered and spread through the thick air between them like mud on toast.
Wilbur heard Tommy’s footsteps behind him fall silent, felt the gasp catch in his throat as he too stopped in his tracks, staring wide eyed at the buildings and land in front of them. The wood beneath his heavy boots felt like it was going to suck him down into the pits of hell at any second, and his breath felt shaky as he exhaled as quietly as possible. He wasn’t sure how close Tommy was to him, didn’t need him to see that Wilbur was just as shocked as Tommy probably was.
He shoved his trembling hands into the pockets of his worn out coat, forcing his eyes shut and pushing the overwhelming feelings of regret and aching in his chest to the farthest parts of his brain. Tommy had started speaking to him, his voice small and holding so much pain and betrayal behind it that Wilbur had to stop himself from turning around and engulfing his brother in a tight hug. Instead, he had pulled on his blank expression, bit his lip hard enough to send blood gushing onto his tongue, and turned on the heel of his boot with a raised eyebrow.
And Tommy had been staring at him with the look.
The look that Wilbur had thought was gone. The look that had haunted Wilbur for days and months and years and still left him snapping awake in the middle of the night. It was a look that held so much disdain and betrayal and unhinged pain that Wilbur felt himself visibly wince as his eyes settled on Tommy’s. His heart panged painfully in his chest and his fists clenched against the rough fabric of his jacket in his pockets. He wasn’t even sure if the boy knew that the look existed, let alone if he knew how much pain it brought his brother.
Tommy had looked close to tears at that moment, and it had made Wilbur’s heart lurch in his chest, his fingers tightening their grip even further in his pockets. Tommy’s hands had been shaking at his sides, and those fucking eyes that had been staring at him with so much love and warmth the entire morning were no more. Now they were wide with every emotion that Wilbur had forced onto him, all of the humiliation and sadness and pain and hurt were all reflecting right back at Wilbur and leaving a pit where his stomach used to be, slowly filling with those emotions that he had always only given and never received until this fucking look was invented and cast upon him.
He had looked away shortly after that, and they had continued walking and talking and arguing and eventually falling into a brotherly banter that Wilbur had dearly missed in the years that he had been separated from Tommy. He had almost forgotten about the words he had spoken about his great nation, had almost forgotten that goddamn look, until he had left Tommy in his home, making sure he had some food to eat after their long day out and about. Then he was left completely by himself with his thoughts, with his feet going into autopilot as he became lost in thoughts of what once was.
When he had created L’Manberg, it had been to keep his loved ones safe. He had used the excuse of wanting to make a land that was specifically for the Europeans, for the people that wanted revolution, simply because he didn’t need any possible enemies knowing that he was protecting people that he held dear to himself. He didn’t need people knowing just how deeply he cared for each of the people that he had taken under his wing and brought into the once tiny nation of L’Manberg.
Meeting Tommy had changed things dramatically.
Tommy had been his main priority. The random teenager that he had taken under his wing not even a year prior turned baby brother had become his one source of happiness and self-worth. Tommy had become the reason for Wilbur’s fighting, his reason for creating a nation that could lock Tommy behind its walls and keep him away from all things that related to danger.
Naturally, that had backfired almost immediately. Tommy had been put into danger within a week of the nation being complete, had lost two of his lives because Wilbur had been stupid enough to think that Dream would leave them in peace after building a nation on his own land. Parts of Wilbur had died with Tommy that day, and even more had died the longer they stayed on the land that Tommy had sacrificed everything for. He remembers falling deeply into a depression that left him sobbing into his pillows each night and keeping a hand on Tommy any moment they were in the same room.
A hand running through Tommy’s blonde locks as mock affection when the younger was being annoying. A hand on his shoulder when they would pass by each other through buildings or in the woods. A hand on his back pushing him away from fights that Tommy seemed to always get himself in. His head resting on Tommy’s thigh as they sat on the wall that surrounded L’Manberg,
He would pull Tommy around their tiny nation for most hours of the day, had declared him vice president so that Wilbur would always know where Tommy was even during meetings. He had hung around when Tommy and Tubbo were relaxing in one of their houses after a long day of working and building, claiming that he enjoyed being in their presence after such a stress-filled day.
Tommy had taken all of it, had basked in the warmth that Wilbur provided him with such a deep and genuine heart and smile that almost made Wilbur feel ill most of the time. He had given WIlbur back just as much affection as he was receiving, and Wilbur had grown so used to it that it almost physically pained him when suddenly, Wilbur was no longer Tommy’s top priority.
Suddenly, they were holed up underground in that ravine, after they had abandoned their L’Manberg uniforms and instead dressed in the rags that had been smuggled to them via Tubbo. Suddenly, Wilbur felt like he was losing his mind, as if his brain were melting through his ears and he was left with nothing but a blinding hatred that left him feeling exhausted and without a memory of most of the things that had happened during his days. Suddenly Tommy was fighting again, and risking his life for the nation that Wilbur had made under the idea that it would bring Tommy peace. Suddenly, Tommy was driving himself to exhaustion each day in order to protect someone that wasn’t Wilbur.
Suddenly they were no longer skipping around arm in arm, and were instead arguing. They argued day and night, bumped heads each time they were within earshot of each other. Nasty words replaced the old declarations of brotherly love and bright blue eyes that once held so much admiration and affection were dark with annoyance and vengeance. No longer was Tommy the young childish baby brother that Wilbur had obsessively kept under wraps.
He remembers the moment it happened. Remembers the words that had left his mouth with an almost manic smile that had left his face aching. He remembers walking ahead of Tommy in the ravine, their shadows cast against the dark walls by the lanterns they had hanging in random spots along the walls. They had been discussing, Tommy had gotten upset, Wilbur had let himself fall into that headspace where he felt like he wasn’t really in charge of his body or the things that were falling from his lips.
He had told Tommy that he was never going to be President, was bashing down his brother's confidence with little more than a pang in his chest when he had heard Tommy’s shaky breath from behind him. Then, much like he had today, Wilbur had turned on his heel, his smile falling instantly from his face, the fog that had consumed his head lifted, and he felt himself fall down to his knees as his eyes landed upon Tommy’s.
The emotions that were stored in those blue eyes had never been directed at Wilbur. Wilbur had grown so used to the warmth and love and admiration that had kept those eyes light and cheery. Now Tommy’s blue eyes were dark, bags underneath making them seem even darker. Tommy had looked close to tears then as well, but had turned away and marched off, leaving the ravine they had taken, taking everything Wilbur had ever poured into Tommy with him.
That had been the first time that he was given that look, though it definitely wasn’t the last. Wilbur had been on the receiving end of that look over and over again leading to his death, had had to push back his wincing and pained look each time he would look up at Tommy and feel another part of himself break.
He had lost his muse the moment that look was first directed at him. He had lost his little brother and best friend the moment he had decided to let himself fall away and that foggy feeling to guide him. He had lost him the moment he had lost control of himself and started pushing Tommy away, had been unable to take that look being directed at him anymore and had begun scheming and betraying. His muse was gone before Wilbur could even blink, the blonde running through underground tunnels to get to his best friend that Wilbur had willingly let die in a burst of colors and laughter.
A large part of him regretted letting Tommy go so easily. Regretted instantly turning his back on Tommy and letting himself get thrown around and go insane while Tommy was out sacrificing his final life for the greater good of the nation that Wilbur had created for him.
A part of him wanted nothing more than to fall down to his knees and apologize to Tommy over and over again. To make sure that Tommy knew just how deeply everything had affected Wilbur no matter how much it didn’t seem like it. Because Wilbur had been so incredibly affected by every single thing that he had done leading up to both his death and his revival.
It was all fuzzy, barely there memories of collecting TNT and running around underneath L’Manberg, placing very carefully and mumbling to himself as a fog took over his brain and thoughts. He could remember fucking with Tommy, ruining everything and pushing him away when he realized how fucked it was that he was manipulating and gaslighting his baby brother, who had once been the single person Wilbur had promised to never corrupt and ruin.
He remembered the moment of clarity he had right after hitting that goddamn button, after Phil had wrapped his wings around Wilbur to protect him from the blast that would have surely killed them both. He remembers tha panicky feeling in his gut when he had opened his eyes, coughing and gasping in the debris that fell from what seemed like everywhere, hearing Tommy’s loud cries.
There was the faint memory of his realization of what he had done, and even more panic as he begged and cried for Phil to just end it already. To rid him of his suffering and the almost constant pain that he left Tommy with after every interaction they had had in the past month of their exile. He could remember Phil crying and yelling at him, trying to reason with Wilbur to continue living, arguing that they could fix him and bring back the old Wilbur.
He wishes he could tell his father that the old Wilbur would never return.
That thought still haunts him.
That he will never be as he once was. There will never be a Wilbur on this Earth that doesn’t have some shit going on in his head that scares him beyond belief.
A shaky breath fell from Wilbur’s lips when he realized he was now walking on uneven ground, ash and dirt sticking to the bottoms of his boots and unclean air clinging to his lungs. His heart picked up when he lifted his eyes, the darkness making the place he once called home seem ominous in its destruction that he had once felt proud of.
L’Manberg lay before him in all her glory, destroyed beyond recognition and crumbling more and more as each day passed with her beauty disregarded. His chest tightened against his will and he fell down to his knees, staring out at the final remains of the nation that he had built to protect his little brother. He supposed that it had done its job, given that L’Manberg was destroyed and gone and Tommy was safely inside of his home just a few miles behind where Wilbur now stood.
But he couldn’t help the pang he felt in his heart, feeling the dirt beneath his knees that he had once walked over a million times a day with a smile and his family following after him. He stared out at the blackened and torn down buildings that he had once helped build, that Tubbo had improved upon while he was gone. His heart lurched at the sight of the large, old pole where they had once flown their flag so proudly and carefree.
How had he let everything go so wrong? How had he let himself get so proud and arrogant that he held an election for the nation that he had created. He wasn’t sure how to answer even himself, sucking in a deep breath and letting his hands fall down into the soil and ash beneath him, spreading his fingers against the ground and letting a broken sob echo out into the ruins of his home, built because of a muse who had brought him so much happiness, and destroyed by that very same muse, who had only ever seen the land as a place to keep Wilbur close to his heart.
He didn’t get any sleep that night, or the night after that, or any of the nights following.