Archive of Our Own

Since the day Wilbur had met Tommy, he knew there was something special about the kid. He was lightning in a bottle, going through a difficult feat, trained until he collapsed, talked down to enough that he began to believe it.

Yet, they were two sides of the same coin, different but the same. Wilbur had bad days, Tommy had bad days, both having been through hell and back, saved as they were about to give up on everything. It was worrying to think about what they'd be like if they weren't saved.

Tommy would've been empty, his heart, his soul, as if he was born to reflect sunlight rather than be it. Wilbur an arrow and bullseye all at once, ready to strike down his target or be hit for following directions that never ended.

Their bond was something else, they could both tell when something was off with the other. Maybe they didn't know why exactly, why Wilbur would flinch away from gentle touches, why Tommy would search for something he did wrong so someone would shout at him, but they knew the signs, the twitches, the looks. They'd be there for one another, a touch away, waiting for the other to reach out when they were ready.

Today was one of those days where being in the rink was too much, the air being too thick, too cold despite them being used to that by now. Tommy was tense, Wilbur couldn't focus, everything about the day felt off already and they didn't know why.

The team notices, of course they do. They had known Wilbur long enough to know when he was acting off, and though Tommy was still a new addition, it had clicked fairly quickly when he was himself and when he acted as though he was a puppet on strings, waiting for someone to take control.

Schlatt tries to joke around with Wilbur, giving him small nudges to encourage him; it has the opposite effect. Wilbur turns aggressive, something switches in his mind, fight or flight, make a scene or be left behind, hurt and alone in a locker room. Schlatt doesn't take it to heart, he never did, and that bothers Wilbur, he wants him to react like he did with their first encounter on the ice, when hate swirled in those brown irises.

That's how he and Tommy ended up missing the morning practice. Phil suggested Wilbur go on a walk, cool off for a few hours. Wilbur reluctantly agrees when he gets a good look at Tommy, he looks uncomfortable, fingers clutching his sweater that he twists in his hands, if he had to sit in that chair any longer Wilbur was sure he'd break down or retreat into his mind, letting a thick layer of cotton cover any exits. No one wanted that.

It took some convincing on Wilbur's end, Tommy didn't want to miss his own practice later that day, but Wilbur promised they'd be back in time, if not he'd take full blame if Eret got mad, which Tommy knew by now was impossible when it came to him.

"Do you think they have blueberry ice cream?"

Wilbur, who was texting George, pauses, looks up, and blinks. "What is it with you and blueberries?"

Tommy shrugs. "I like them."

That's all the argument Tommy needs, he liked them, so Wilbur would search the earth for blueberry ice cream if it meant seeing Tommy happy. However, Wilbur wasn't the best with ice cream flavours, the texture was alright at best, and he could hardly taste most of them, he might as well put snow in his mouth and call it a day.

"What if they don't have that in, will you settle for something else?" Wilbur asks, and Tommy scrunches up his face, deep in thought.

"I've never really tried other flavours, maybe strawberry?" Tommy mumbles, his face flushing as he stares at the pavement.

It was just ice cream, but the fact that Tommy hadn't even experienced something every child should experience sent a wave of sadness over him.

Tommy was like ice after a game, torn up, with every single crack meaning his downfall. By helping him, by smoothing over the ice, adding new layer on top every so often when the rink was clear, there was a smooth surface, there was the real Tommy who deserved to know what other ice cream flavours tasted like, who deserved rest and reassurance and unconditional love no matter what he did.

Because even if he was an enigma at times, he was so much more than what everyone saw. He was Tommy, and he was worth everything.

Wilbur also stares at the pavement a moment, he steps on a crack, then he's watching Tommy again. "Tell you what, I'll ask them for some samples, then you can pick which one you like the most. Okay?"

The small smile that appears on Tommy's face is reward enough, he nods quickly, blonde curls moving along with the movement. Tommy wasn't quite used to having a choice yet, especially when it came to what he ate.

They learnt fairly quickly that his old coach had controlled what he consumed closely, and Tommy would always glance around when there was something in front of him that was on the list of things he shouldn't have, looking for reassurance, making sure he wouldn't be punished if he ate too much sugar, or choose a fizzy drink over water.

It was slow progress, but he's getting there, and they were with him every step of the way.

Still, it's times like these that Wilbur felt sorry for Tommy, where he could understand him so deeply that it hurt. They were cut from the same cloth, one bigger than the other, jagged edges and lines that weren't straight. They came out alright, damaged and a little torn, messy in every way when the smp saved them, but they sewed them into something beautiful.

"Should we bring the others something back?" Tommy asks, he fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater, they're long enough to cover his hands if he wanted to.

"Do we have to?" Wilbur jokes. "Means we have to carry it all the way back."

Tommy laughs. "You'd want some if I was with anyone else."

"Yeah but I deserve it." Wilbur pouts, and he gasps when he catches Tommy rolling his eyes. "Did you just sass me?"

"You should've listened to Quackity when he told you to bring your glasses." Tommy says, the quip was said quickly, eyes rushing up to meet Wilbur's.

He's still wary, Wilbur can't expect a few months of kindness to replace a lifetime of fears and doubts. Tommy tries though, God does he try, when he does they all smile wider, making sure to give him physical touch cues, a pat on the back, ruffling of his hair. Tommy is appreciated, he's loved, and they'll spend the rest of their life showing him that.

"They're not even real!" Wilbur exclaims, Tommy smiles. "You could poke your finger through if you wanted."

Wilbur turns back to his phone, drumming his fingers at the back of it. Then he's typing away, thumbs gliding across the screen.

oh puck (7 online)

orca-stra: i've been forced to ask if any of you want to come get ice cream

Techno: You mean Tommy asked and you gave in?

orca-stra: …

HOTSHOT: Imagine being a pushover

George: didn't you do the same thing last week when he asked to borrow your jacket?

HOTSHOT: This isn't about me George

BigBird: u said that went missing

HOTSHOT: THIS ISNT ABOUT ME

Dadza: Ice cream would be great actually.

schlatticus: as long as you're paying im in

orca-stra: you can get one scoop each

schlatticus: that would be gone in one bite you better get me two

Dadza: Fight about this when we get there.

Techno: Give us 30 minutes, tops. We'll be there.

George: are we going to brush over what sapnap said?

HOTSHOT, BigBird, 2 others are typing…

"Look, they're coming to meet us in thirty minutes." Wilbur leans into his side, showing off his phone. "Now we don't have to suffer carrying back seven or eight cones of ice cream."

"They're not busy?" Tommy questions, reading the messages.

Wilbur leads them down the alleyway, it's faster than trying to cross the roads, at this time it was near impossible with the traffic. Besides, this was the usual way the team walked when they were in the area.

The best memory was when Sapnap had said something about Wilbur's hair, honestly, he can't recall what he exactly said, he just knew it was a dig at the bad haircut he had gotten that day that was then hidden under a red beanie. One minute Sapnap was laughing at his joke, the next he was being pushed into the dumpster, Quackity nearly spat ice cream into Techno's face, he wasn't the captain for nothing though, and was able to dodge out of the way, bumping into Phil who's scoop fell from his cone.

It was a mess, they were a mess, and Wilbur wouldn't change them for the world.

"Nah, they'd love to get out after practice." Wilbur walks backwards, arms tucked behind his head. "You know what they're like, especially George, he'll start napping after, then he gets cranky when you attempt to wake him up. Well, not you, Sunshine, you're an exception when it comes to George. Don't tell him I said this, but he really needs to-"

He turns, and stops dead in his tracks. There's a group in front of them, four or five people huddled near the wall talking to one another. One is hitting cans lined up along the dumpster with a loose pipe gripped in their hands, while another two are rough housing, not the same as what Wilbur and Schlatt do, nudging one another until they're bursting out laughing. This is personal, harsh jabs and aggressive hands that causes Wilbur's mind to spin.

He's seen this before, watched it, been pulled into it without so much as being asked.

Tommy walks into his back, nudging Wilbur forward slightly, causing him to flinch. It gains the group's attention, each of them turning. They recognise him, he can tell by the way the air changes around them, hostile, dangerous. The last one looks around, his gaze falling straight onto Wilbur.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Walker looks exactly the same, though Wilbur can't comprehend that he's out in public instead by the ring or in the locker room. Then again, Wilbur had never hung out with them, he was never invited, not that he would've turned up if he was.

He pushes himself off the wall with ease. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

Wilbur knows a lot of the others, most, if not all of them, having played for Hypixal until they were disbanded. They each watched him with anger, disgust, like he was dirt on the bottom of their shoe.

"Last time we saw each other it was, what?" There's a long pause, and Wilbur realises he's waiting for an answer rather than finishing what he already knew. But he wants to see Wilbur squirm, wants to see him slowly go back to the way he was before.

"I don't-" Wilbur swallows, and he tries to find his voice again. "I don't remember "

"Of course you don't, you up and left, got all of us taken off the team." Walker says, digging his hands into his pockets. "But as long as you're happy, right? Went off and found something better."

There's a hushed conversation between the others, each leaning close enough so he couldn't catch what they were saying. Wilbur is kind of glad he can't, he can't deal with both Walker staring him down and the rest of them making threats like they used to.

He can feel Tommy's hands grab the back of Schlatt's flannel, twisting it round, there was the occasional tug. It's grounding, enough that he isn't floating away.

"Not all of us get that privilege though, don't get to pick and choose which team you want to run off with." Walker pats one of the players shoulders, one he knows well. "You remember Daniels, right? Seven months he was on the team, almost a year, hasn't been on another since the stunt you pulled."

"It wasn't my fault-" Wilbur starts.

"Wasn't your fault?" Walker laughs, the others join in. Wilbur feels sick. "No, you just went off crying for help by accident, is that it?"

Wilbur wants to say more, his mouth won't move.

"I don't know why, you have to admit, we had some good times together."

Were there any good times? Deep down Wilbur can confidently say he was never happy in that team. Content? Yes, he wanted something, anything to fill that void, to be good at something, to be useful.

Doubt crawls at the back of his mind, a voice telling him that he was making it more worse than it was, that he was dramatic. They needed him to start those fights, needed him to take those hits to win the game. He was playing his role, being a team player.

If that was true, why didn't it hurt being a part of SMP? Why couldn't he play the game he fell in love with without being turned into something he hates? Why now did he have a family who cared for him, while his old team turned into enemies?

"Wilbur?" Tommy whispers, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts.

It's still loud enough to be heard by Walker, who's eyes shoot over to Tommy, like he hadn't seen the kid with the bright blue jumper behind Wilbur until now. His face changes, his lips curling up into a cocky grin.

"Is that- No," Walker laughs, his head falling back. "We all thought you were playing the public, trying to gain pity points, tug on their heart strings or something, but you're actually hanging out with the kid."

Wilbur grabs Tommy's hand from behind, giving it a reassuring squeeze while he watches Walkers every move. He walks closer, a step away from him now, he hadn’t stopped looking at Tommy yet.

"Tell me-" Walker clicks a few times, brows narrowing. "Daniels, what was it they called him in that one interview again?"

"The youngest Olympic gold medalist?" Daniels says.

"No, no, it was a nickname." Walker explains. Tommy tenses up beside Wilbur.

Confusion washes over Daniels face for a mere moment before he answers. "Snowflake?"

The name leaves a bitter taste in Wilbur's mouth, and Tommy inales sharp sharply. He squeezes the life out of Wilbur's hand, probably not noticing how tightly he was holding on.

Wilbur rubs his thumb across Tommy's knuckles, hoping to calm him down a little.

"That's what I was looking for, Snowflake." Walker meets Tommy's gaze, leaning in. "Heard it was a sore subject."

Wilbur didn't know how long they stood there, staring until Walker turned to him again, softly tutting.

"And here you are calling him Sunshine, low blow." Walker sets his sights on Tommy again, reaching a hand towards him. "I have to admit, Snowflake definitely suits you better."

Wilbur moves before he even realises what he's doing, smacking the hand away. He doesn't regret it, not for a second, but his heart feels like a drum against his chest, pounding away faster and faster.

"Have you forgotten your manners too, Soot?" Walker sounds calm, Wilbur's skin crawls. "Introduce me to your friend."

He doesn't, can't, won't.

"Tommy, was it?" Walker asks, leading the conversation instead. "Or is it Tom's, can I call you Tom's?"

"Go back and get Techno and the others," Wilbur turns, enough so he can see how distraught Tommy looks the longer he's there, and he feels worse when he peels Tommy's hand away. "Go, and don't look back."

"Wil-"

"Go." Wilbur snaps, and he hates the way Tommy folds in on himself. But he needs him to understand, needs him to be safe. "I'll be okay."

Tommy hesitates, Wilbur softens. He's strong, one of the strongest people he knows, Tommy had been through hell and still came out on the other side better, happier. However, at the end of the day, Tommy was a kid, a bright, smart, brilliant kid, but a kid nevertheless.

That was hard to remember the best of times, because he acted so mature. Sure he was quiet, timid, and yet he behaved better than all of them put together. And right now he was asking so much from him, to run away, alone, leaving him behind. It was a lot, Wilbur knew it was a lot, and if anyone could do it, if anyone could pull through it was Tommy.

He must sense that since he nods, spinning round when he gets the chance. Something shifts in his chest, relief bubbling through the cracks, because at least Tommy would be okay, Tommy was out of harms way.

"Look what we have here."

Wilbur honestly believes that being dumped with ice cold water is better than every hearing that voice again, both have the same effect, his body shaking, trembling. When he hears him, all he knows is harsh words, knocked shoulders, bruises that never seem to fade and a new cut every other week.

Suffering and pain, that's what the voice brought. When Wilbur turns around, Tommy is in the direct path to it, centre stage, with Jared Conway holding his wrist in a death vice.

"So it is true," Jared asks, like venom slipping from his tongue. "You're using Snowflake here to get people's attention?"

"Don't-" Wilbur's throat bobs. "Don't call him that."

Tommy hasn't moved a muscle, Jared snorts. "What, Snowflake? It's what he is isn't he, what his coach called him."

"H-He isn't my coach anymore." Tommy speaks up, he instantly regrets it when Jared's eyes fall on him.

There's a tense moment, a beat where Jared tightens his hold, Tommy's bottom lip wobbles. Wilbur was about to throw himself into the gunfire again, say something that directed all of his anger towards him.

"Shame really, his method was up there, top tier." Jared watches Tommy close in on himself, savouring the way he recoils until he lets him go.

Wilbur catches Tommy when he falls back into him, he's cradling his wrist, angry red marks are left behind. The nauseating feeling is back again, full force, his throat feels like acid.

"We don't want trouble," Wilbur tells them. "Let us go and we'll be out of your hair."

"Hm." Jared hums, rubbing his chin. "I might… Beg me."

Wilbur freezes. "W-What?"

"What, you expect us to let you go scot-free?" Jared grins. "Convince me you want to leave Wilbur, beg me."

He hates how Jared says his first name, he'd rather listen to him call him Soot as though the name left a bad taste in his mouth rather than have him call him Wilbur with that taunting tone. It was haunting, a nightmare wrapped within real life, and at least he could wake up from a nightmare, there was no waking up from this.

"Please," Wilbur starts, words feeling like sandpaper. "We were just passing through, we won't come through here again, just, please-"

"Not like that." Jared interrupts, rolling his eyes. "I want you to do it like you did back in the day, back when you betrayed our trust."

There's mummers of agreement, Wilbur can't bring himself to look at the others.

"We all remember vividly, right lads? How Soot here would grovel at our feet, begging for redemption, for a second chance." Jared tilts his head, eyes flicking towards the ground. "And I think you remember it all too well, don't you, mutt?"

Wilbur hesitates, his first mistake. Jared never liked how he hesitated, on and off the ice. The way Wilbur's feet would falter, sticking to the ground as though he was a mouse stuck on a glue trap, fruitlessly trying to escape.

His second mistake was not doing as he was told, because no matter how much he'd hesitate, or how much he hated himself for following their directions, Wilbur would always do as he was told. Until now that was. That alone had the man in front of him shifting from one foot to the other, a short laugh breaking the silence.

"I see… Our last lesson didn't stick." Jared sounds disappointed, Wilbur knows he's not getting out of this unscathed. "Don't worry, let us remind you."

His eyes turn on Tommy, and the world stops. "Hold him."

Daniels grabs Tommy's arms, dragging away from Wilbur, his legs kicking out as small panicked noises leave his mouth. Tommy doesn’t like being touched, not by strangers, not by them. Wilbur's steps forwards, there's a second when he's the protective older sibling ready to take down whoever lays a hand on his little brother, a split moment where a wild boar stands, no longer a man, ready to ram sharpened tusks into skin and bone.

A hand grips his shoulder, and reality hits like a truck.

Jared cranes his arm back, and Wilbur doesn't even have time to protect his face before pain explodes across his face, a crack ringing in his ears, the punch is enough to send him to the floor.

"Wilbur!" Tommy's voice breaks, it's the loudest he's ever been, and the noise is heartbreaking. Tommy should never sound that scared, never.

Wilbur was the cause of it, sprawled out on the concrete, something wet under his nose making its way down to his upper lip, Wilbur gags at the familiar metallic smell.

Jared's hand threads through his hair, the motion that had brought him comfort just yesterday, Techno letting him rest his head against him while he stroked his hair was replaced, his head yanked up, and Wilbur had no choice but to follow.

His head whips to the side when the second hit lands, there's a third, a fourth. Jared let's go for the fifth, and Wilbur's winded when his back hits the ground. His nose gushes blood, and it runs into his mouth when he coughs, a harsh wheeze leaving his chest.

"You've always thought you were better than us, Soot." Jared spat, glaring down at him. "Got a new team and now you think you're all that?"

Wilbur doesn't satisfy him with an answer, his eyes fall on the phone that had fallen out of his pocket, clattering an arm reach away. It was the light at the end of the tunnel, his—their saving grace, all he had to do was grab it, get in touch with someone from the smp, any of them. They'd all come from them, and Wilbur almost cried thinking about that, because there they were, all he had to do was reach out and grab the phone and they'd be saved.

And he does, rolling onto his side and getting to his knees, fingertips brushing over the case Shelby had gotten him for one of his many birthdays that had been and gone, then wrapping around–

A foot comes down on his fingers, crushing them under Nike trainers, the screen beneath cracking at the force. Wilbur pulls back, his cry of pain being hidden behind jolting laughs that brings a queasy feeling, yet he tries again to grab his phone, fingers blazing as soon as he moves them.

He has to get to it, he has to. If not, god only knows if they'd get there in the next thirty minutes. Wilbur knew well what could be in store in thirty minutes. But he never stood a chance, not really. Jared's foot rams right into his side, and Wilbur is sent to the floor once more, wheezing through burning lungs.

"Stay down." He growls, and Wilbur coughs, heaving hard enough that it leaves him breathless. He crawls to get up, Jared watches him struggle, waiting until he's on his hands and knees before he pulls his legs back again, his foot connecting with Wilbur's side.

"Stop!" Tommy yells. "Stop it!"

The other players cheer from the sidelines, drowning out Tommy, some barking like they were watching another hockey game rather than watching someone being beaten.

A crowd begins to form around them, or more like a circle of faces that hated Wilbur's guts. He can still see blonde hair to the side of him, his voice being called like a plea, almost drowned out from the shouting and the blood rushing to his head.

That alleyway seemed to blur into somewhere else, a day of practice rather than him hanging out with Tommy, if he couldn't feel the rough concrete beneath his hands, he would've swore he heard his coaches voice, still as giddy to see Wilbur being smacked around a little, disapproving eyes always following him. Because Wilbur had never been good enough, never will be good enough.

"This one's for ruining our career."

Kick.

"This one's for betraying our trust."

Kick.

"This one's for choosing them over us."

Kick.

The back of his hair is grabbed again, Jared pulling him closer and tilting his head back slightly, Wilbur can't help but whimper in pain, blood steadily trickles down his face, onto his lips, his chin, small droplets falling against the back of his hand.

Jared bares his teeth, his hand closing into a fist. "This one's for coach, he couldn't be here to deliver it himself."

In Wilbur's time with Hypixal, he had learnt that the last hit was always the worst. His body was already sore, bruises blooming on skin, the passing thought that he was so convinced this wouldn't happen to him again.

He's in agony when the hit lands, feeling the moment where his bottom lip is busted open and air hits the open wound. The sting is persistent, though for a moment everything is slowed, maybe it was in his head, it had to be, usually this part was fast, leaving him a split second before he was left on the floor to take care of himself.

But then Wilbur's world tilts, and he can see the sky, at least there was one nice thing to come out of this, something beautiful before his head smacks off the concrete, a sickening thud ringing out in the alleyway.

"... Holy shit, is he dead?"

The voices quieten down, he can't even hear Tommy anymore. That scares him more than anything. Wilbur doesn't move straight away, every breath he takes in sends a sharp pain throughout him. There's a copper taste in his mouth, strong enough to almost have him retching, he manages to hold that back as his thoughts slowly catch up to him.

He's bit through his tongue. Not all the way through, but deep enough to bleed, weird enough, it doesn't hurt much, it's more numb than anything. He's been in worse pain, his side being the bane of his existence right now, so the pain that he was expecting might just be hidden behind that, and once that's dulled down, he'll be reminded of it full force.

His mind urges him to move, to see if Tommy was okay, that they hadn't turned on him too, that's the only thing keeping him from staying down and never getting back up.

Wilbur moves, he's slow, gasps and pained groans follow. The noise is back when they see he isn't down for the count, calls to hit him again and sarcastic praises of 'come on Soot you can do this', 'get up, get up' being chanted above him. He hates this, he hates this with a burning passion, because they know as well as he does that he couldn't win a fight against Jared Conway of all people. Perhaps if he put his all into it he could beat Daniels, Richard, maybe John, certainly not Jack, and definitely not Jared.

Walker laughs, cracking his knuckles. "You just don't quit."

He pulls Wilbur up the rest of the way by the flannel, probably hoping to finally have his time with him, give their old punching bag a good swing then onto the next person. His eyes grapple to find Tommy, every movement sends his head whirling like a spinning top, but he finally finds him. Overall, he looks terrified, but unharmed, and that's all Wilbur can ask for right now.

"He's had enough!" Tommy screams, twisting in Daniels arms. "Please!"

"Wait."

Walker stops, dropping him like he was nothing. Wilbur goes down like a ton of bricks, he doesn't have the energy to keep himself up right, his head swimming, fingers throbbing with each small twitch that passes.

"I have a better idea." Jared grins, wide and feral, his eyes had that crazed look that Wilbur remembered so well, the one that haunted his dreams on bad days. "Bring him over."

Tommy is brought over like a caged animal, he's struggling in their grip, Wilbur can't stop the pride welling up inside of him knowing Tommy still has it in him to fight, not giving up and closing in on himself like he would've a few months ago. He's come a long way.

But the pride is soon stomped out when Jared grabs Tommy's chin, fingers squeezing hard enough that he's sure he'll leave behind marks. Tommy freezes, eyes wide and frightened, and Jared's smile only widens when he catches that look of terror.

"Heard you figure skaters get points for looking good, is that true?" Jared asks.

Tommy trembles. "N-No, no, they can only deduct points if part of your costume falls off."

"So we don't have to watch out for the face?" Jared hums, his head tilting to the side. Tommy's mouth opens and closes, a small whimper escaping him. Jared laughs. "Maybe next time."

He taps Tommy's cheek before letting go, turning with his arms spread out. "Because right now, Soot is gonna put on a performance for us boys."

The rest of the players whoop and cheer, and all eyes fall on him.

Wilbur's heart sank.

"I want you," Jared leans down, his breath ghosting over Wilbur's ear, he flinches back so violently, his ribs burning. He takes a deep breath in, it doesn't help. "To break his leg."

Wilbur's eyes widen, sucking in another sharp breath that has his vision blurring in and out, dread swirling around in his stomach.

He knew Jared was bad, he spent more than enough time to confidently say that. However, this was… He'd actually go this far, having him hurt a kid, hurt Tommy?

"Uh, I'm pretty sure you need a lot of power to break a leg." Daniels points out, his eyes scan Wilbur up and down. "He doesn't even look like he can stand right now."

"What are you a fucking doctor now?" Walker grits out.

"I'm just being realistic." Daniels argues back.

"Fine, break anything. I don't give shit as long as something gets broken." Jared says, crossing his arms. His eyes hadn't left Wilbur.

"Better idea, what about his knee?" Walker suggests, flicking his thumb towards Tommy. "Like that chick planned back in what, 1994?"

"Tonya Harding?"

Both Wilbur and Tommy, if his full body flinch is anything to go by, knew what they're talking about. Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding being rivals, Kerrigan being attacked by a police baton landing on her knee, the attacker hired by Tonya Hardings ex-husband, all so she couldn't compete in nationals or the Winter Olympics.

It was horrible, they were hockey players, they had to know how awful that would be if it happened to them. They had to be joking, they had to be.

Walker nods. "Yeah, yeah. Be ironic wouldn't it?"

"Again, he'd need force to do that. He'd have to use his foot or something, and that's if he can push down that hard."

"That's why," Walker looks over to the crowd, pointing at one of the players. "We'll use that."

The pipe was bad when he caught sight of it the first time, now, knowing what they were planning to use it for, well, that pipe might as well have been a nuclear weapon now, because once that was pushed into his hands, he knew his whole world would shatter along with it.

But that wasn't the only thing to be shattered, and Wilbur felt bile rise at the back of his throat. They wanted him to put on a show, react to a scene that wasn't even caught on camera, the aftermath was tough. He could still picture Nancy Kerrigan crying on the screen, being rushed away while the camera was kept back to keep from filming her.

Wilbur wouldn't be able to carry Tommy away, he doesn't think he'd ever be able to touch Tommy again, not for a hug or the ruffling of his hair, nothing, he wouldn't be able to trust those hands after they hurt him, couldn't trust himself to not hurt him again. He struggled to sit up, or rather keep his head from falling forward as he met immoral eyes, eyes that soon would match his own.

"Hurt me." Wilbur begs, his words slurred, saliva and blood mixed together drips onto the ground below. "Hurt me, hurt me, I'll take whatever you give me." There are words left unsaid, words he keeps back.

Don't make me hurt Tommy, please, anyone but him, anyone but Tommy.

"Are you really making demands right now?" Jared asks, scoffing. "This is me being reasonable, and believe me, you won't like what me being unreasonable looks like."

Jared nods to Daniels, he knows what he wants, he grabs both of Tommy's arms tighter in his grip, turning him to face Richard's who walks round to his front. The punch is quick, landing directly into Tommy's stomach that has him hunching over, the contents of his breakfast being thrown up to the side of him. Tommy leans forward, gasping for air, Daniels being the only thing holding him up while he dangles there.

"Looks like Sunshine can't take a hit." Jared mocks, cocking his head to the side. "Nothing like you Soot, but I can make this work."

Wilbur stops breathing. He knows Tommy wouldn't survive a hit from Jared, knows he'll collapse as soon contact is made. Wilbur could hardly take a hit from him, it's only after years of dealing with the bruises and cuts that his body had grown used to it.

He'd kill him. Jared would kill Tommy if he got the chance.

His arms shake, holding up his weight while he rises, legs bending in on themselves that almost has them buckling then and there. Wilbur sways as he gets to his feet, stumbling, his balance knocked off.

For Tommy. He thinks, standing there despite how badly he wants to lie down and give up, curl up and never rise again. He wants everything to stop, he's so tired. But he doesn't, because there's someone that needs him, Tommy needs him, that's enough.

"Fuck you." Wilbur breathes out, his ribs aching with every intake of air.

Silence.

"What did you say to me?" Jared's shocked, like he couldn't believe that out of all the people who could curse at him, Wilbur was actually brave enough to go through with it.

Wilbur smiles, his teeth stained red. "Fuck you."

There he is, Wilbur Soot in all his glory, standing his ground the best he could against those who had tormented him for so long. This moment felt good, despite his surroundings telling him this was wrong, he shouldn't have done that. If Wilbur was going down, he'd go down with some amount of pride stabled on his chest.

Jared's mouth hangs open for a while longer, then shock turns to rage, his face twisting into something dark and untamed. Wilbur expects the hit, he even anticipates the growing pain in his stomach, or the new cut he'll gain on his cheek.

Instead, he aims for his eye, a brief flash of light shows in his vision, a dark curtain moves across and continues to do so when he meets the floor once more. The left side of his vision is unfocused, indistinct shapes and colours mix with the sharp contrast of his right eye, it's all so nauseating.

"You have grown some balls," Jared shakes his hand, knuckles turning red. "But deep down, you're still the little bitch we all know."

It dawns on Wilbur straight away what this could mean, something no sports player wants happening to them. He wants to believe his vision will come back, and prays that this is temporary. Something echoes in his head, fast and slow, painless and painful all at once, this would stick, he'd never be able to play again, and if that was true, if this was it, there would be no more hockey in his life.

Jared had taken another thing from him, probably without realising, and that was worse, that he hadn't aimed to take Wilbur out of the game, just to quench the rage boiling in his chest.

He closes his left eye, it helps with the dizziness slightly. There are moments where it threatens to flutter open again, and he looks up at Jared, turning his head to see him better.

Jared doesn't give him time to gather his bearings, or leave him to stand by himself again, dragging him up by his arm. Wilbur is tall, weighing more than a shorter person, but Jared was stronger, Wilbur must have seemed like nothing when he pulled him up, not helping when he stumbled, his hand slamming against the wall to keep him from toppling over.

He reaches over, snatching the pipe from the players hands.

"If you don't do it, we will." Jared explains almost lazily, resting the pipe against his shoulder. "I know at least one of us took baseball before moving to hockey, they'd have a good swing on them."

Tommy is pushed down in front of them, his hands catching his fall. Wilbur's face hurts, although seeing Tommy still heaving, coughing and using his sleeve to wipe his mouth was worse, far, far more worse, that flash of fear protected him from the pain.

"So go on, do as you're told." Jared grins, voice lowering as he shoves the pipe into his hands. "Let the whack be heard around the world."

Wilbur's hands shake. The pipe is cold in his grip, it feels nice to hold, giving some sort of relief from the burning feeling ghosting over them. He feels wrong that he's getting anything out of this, knowing, should he fail, that Jared would take his place, because he couldn't stand missing out on a chance to watch Wilbur suffer more.

Either way, he's losing both ways, hurt Tommy and end this all, or have Jared hurt Tommy and risk more punishment. Wilbur didn't care about the last part, he'd face every imaginable damnation Jared had in mind if it meant Tommy would be left unscathed.

"It's okay."

Tommy moves, sitting so he can stretch his legs out, his hand resting against his stomach. Wilbur watches, his face pales. He was preparing himself, his gaze lingering on his left leg before he glanced back at Wilbur.

"It's okay," Tommy whispers, his smile is shaky, but it's real, it's real and it has Wilbur's heart breaking all over again. "I trust you."

"Tommy I-" Wilbur shakes his head wildly, headache growing. "I can't do that to you, I can't."

"You have to." Tommy says, urges. "Please, I don't want them to do it, please don't make them do it."

A dam breaks, his smile turns into a grimace, the mask he tried so hard to keep crumbling to pieces. Wilbur swallows, the blood pools around his tongue again, he shudders in disgust.

"Tommy-"

"Please," Tommy begs, desperation kicking in, thick in every word. "I don't- I want you to do it."

He could ever say no to Tommy, not unless it went against his well being. This was, wasn't it? Everything was screaming at him that this was wrong, despicable. Wilbur has to keep reminding himself that this is set to happen, he could try and stall until someone came, even so, he ran the risk of making them more angry, less merciful, if you could call this mercy.

Nonetheless, there was no telling how long it would be until someone came down that alleyway, Wilbur can't begin to imagine how many people had walked past in the last couple of minutes, not knowing what was happening a few feet away from them.

In this twisted turn of events, Wilbur was merely an executioner and Hypixal the audience, faces that merged into silhouettes, waiting for the hand to drop, and along with it came down the weapon of choice.

"Protect your teeth… and close your eyes." Wilbur whispers, Tommy does, lying back.

His heart hammers against his chest, the beat a dead man's march. The world tilts, Wilbur wobbles on the spot, hands squeezing the cool steel to distract him from the snickering around him.

He rises the pipe over his head, higher and higher, a sword ready to strike down an innocent victim, a monster about to take down its prey. His hands shook, if anyone who cared about Wilbur was there to watch, it would be painful to see him like this, torn apart at the mere thought of hurting his little brother.

"I trust you," Tommy repeats, words quiet with the sweater in his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. "I trust you, Wilbur."

That was the problem wasn't it?

Tommy trusted him too easily, and now, that trust would be ice scattered across the pavement. After all, breaking things and being broken was the anthem of Wilbur's life.

Whack.

Tommy's screams are muffled by his sweater, teeth clamping down so hard that Wilbur wouldn't be surprised if he still ended up damaging them. His whole body shakes, and Wilbur lets go of the pipe, dropping to the floor, holding Tommy down so he wouldn't hurt his knee more.

"I'm sorry." Wilbur whispers, panic lacing his voice. "I'm sorry, Tom's, I'm sorry-"

Blue eyes are glazed over, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Tommy won't stop screaming. He's not looking at Wilbur, rather straight ahead, his sobs frantic, breathing erratic. Wilbur goes to brush the tears away, but Tommy shoves his head back into the ground, whines pushing out from deep within his throat.

Wilbur stares at his hands, there's blood dried on his palms, his mind fades. What had he done? What had he done? No matter how hard he tries, he knows those sounds would plague him forever, eating away at him until he was nothing but an empty body that used to go by Wilbur.

Tommy was catatonic, lying in the half-light, some of him staying tethered to reality while the other retreated somewhere else. Wilbur strains to hear those muffled words that leave him, but he does, eyes dull with exploded pupils, Tommy recites quiet apologies, promising that he'd try harder, be better, Wilbur is going to be sick.

He pauses, stepping out from the shadows deep inside his head, and it suddenly clicks there and then. He's in shock. Tommy had gone into shock because of him.

"I can't believe you actually did it!" Walker leans in to take a closer look, despite the extent of the injury being hidden underneath Tommy's pants. "That's fucked."

Any sense of confidence Wilbur held against them is cut loose, their chains wrapping around his neck, chaining him like a wild animal, a dangerous beast. He feels the metal digging into his skin, and all he wants to do is tumble into that dark abyss he was used to.

"You just put Sunshine out of commission." Jared says, patting his head, like an animal.

Like a dog.

Tommy doesn't move, isn't moving really. He's curled up tight, sobs racking his body. Wilbur reaches out a second time, he stops himself, withdrawing. Despite how many times Wilbur was hurt in his past, he didn't pick up any medical training to help himself, he didn't care about himself enough to learn.

Now he wishes he had at least listened while the trainer addressed his injuries, he might've been able to help to some degree, all he could do now was kneel there, nearly falling over while listening to Tommy's distressed sobs.

"How does it feel, Soot?" Jared looks down at him. "How's does it feel to be a part of the team again?"

Wilbur's breath stutters, goosebumps raising across his arms. He didn’t– This wasn't– He can't answer, his tongue feels like lead and his attention is planted on Tommy.

He didn't try to find another solution, he just went with the easiest option, the one that meant less pain… For him, maybe.

Tommy won't skate again for a while, perhaps that morning would be the last time he touched the ice again. If it was his arm then they might have been able to work around it, but he had heard enough stories of skaters sustaining knee injuries and never skating again afterwards.

He had taken Tommy's dream, his career, snatched it right from underneath him.

An anguished noise leaves Wilbur, his head lowering, his mind following deeper and deeper. He's trapped in a bubble, a delusion, that takes all the hate he feels for Jared, for Walker, for Hypixal, and directs it at himself. It's a sick alternative, he should be worrying about the boy in front of him, at least talk to him, let him know he was with Wilbur and not with his old coach.

Temptation to walk down that path is strong, it's overwhelming, and Wilbur screams internally, enough that if he were to do it outloud he'd lose his voice. He was used to not making too much noise after being beaten, in fear that if he was too loud they'd come back to shut him up, that Wilbur making so much of a sound was an invitation for them to turn around and hurt him more.

He can't hear Tommy through the haze anymore, he feels ill when relief trickles down his back. Hearing Tommy now would only bypass his ears and go right to his heart, like an ice pick twisting in his chest, with someone chipping away until he was cracked open, and seeing what was kept deep inside was almost like opening Pandora's box.

Something wet nudges against his ear, sniffing that has Wilbur flinching away. There's a beat, two, three, four, the nudging is back again, urgent yet gentle when Wilbur hisses, a soft, broken cry breaking through sore lips.

Hypixal were gone, who knows for how long, the only thing signaling they were even there was the pipe still laying a few feet away. Wilbur shuffles away, bumping into something sturdy.

He whips around, fear spiking, his thoughts a mix of 'they're still there' and 'no more, no more' ringing out. His hands dig into something soft, and it's then Wilbur notices that he's clinging to something, someone. Slowly, his senses come back, there's a weight on his lap, a quiet whine that doesn't belong to Tommy, and his fingers stroke the soft thing beneath them.

Flakes of dry blood run across white fur, Wilbur tries his best to keep any that's still dripping from his nose or mouth away, because he knows it was a pain to wash Apollo with how excited he got seeing a tub full of water, splashing around and trying to bite something up, shaking and soaking them all only five minutes into bathing him.

Wilbur's hands pause. Apollo, Apollo was here, laying flat with his head nudged against his stomach, looking up almost seeming to sense Wilbur was tied back onto reality. He yips, pressing his nose into Wilbur's hand.

How long had he been there? When did he get there?

His eye flicks over to Tommy, there's another body beside him, white and brown fur was a comforting sight to see. He's still, and Steve is pressed up against his side, gently licking at his cheek to try and get his attention. It's not working, Steve knows this, he was a smart dog who knew what to do in these types of situations, when one of his humans were unresponsive.

Steve nuzzles Tommy one more time, perhaps in hopes he'd be able to get something out of the boy, when he doesn't he moves a few feet away. He looks straight towards the exit, a series of loud barks breaking out.

Apollo shoves himself into Wilbur's hands again, he's aware about how tense he was. Really, it's hard to believe they're both there, because if they were the others couldn't be fair behind. That was too good to be true, surely Wilbur made this up to find something to cling to, the last rope dangling down keeping him from giving up entirely.

Wilbur wants to tell Steve to be quiet, if he keeps being loud they'll come back, they'll hurt Tommy more, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, Wilbur couldn't protect him. His nose burns, feeling stuffy and leaving a squeakiness to his breath.

"Wilbur?"

There's his name again, grating against his ears that has him trying to back away. Apollo makes this difficult, his legs heavy and numb, Wilbur almost bursts out crying, he wants to beg him to get up, beg them to leave him alone, hadn't they done enough?

All he gets out are huffs, and choked words that don't correlate to anything. A hand eases its way onto his arm, giving Wilbur enough time to shake them off, he stills, almost like he was giving in, letting them come back for a second round.

"It's me, it's George." The voice, George says. "I need you to look at me. Can you do that?"

Wilbur was paralyzed to the spot, he wanted more than anything to look up, see his friends and know for certain that everything would be okay. The menacing aura holds him in a tightening grip, his fear becoming more and more tangible, creeping over him; holding him captive.

The hand moves from his arms, resting against his cheeks, the fine hairs on the back of Wilbur's neck stand up, and he doesnt stop the hands from raising his face, instead, he slowly glances up, meeting a worried face.

"Wil your eye-" George mumbles, his eyes tracing over each inch of skin.

He must look bad, because George never lost his cool, he wouldn't allow his emotions to reflect for all to see. However, now he doesn't seem to care, he's more interested in checking the overall damage inflicted to Wilbur. He grabs at George's sleeve, allowing that to ground him.

"Are-" Wilbur fumbles, he sounds rough. He tries again. "Are they gone?"

"It's just me and the others." George says, hands carefully dropping."Wilbur, who did this?"

George has to see the fear that seemed to rise behind his eye, as though the very mention of who did this would cause them to come back. He knows they wouldn't let that happen, they'd rather face hell then let him or Tommy get hurt again, Wilbur just can't help the feeling sinking into his bones.

"Don't move his leg, you'll make it worse."

He can barely see Tommy over George's shoulder, Technoblade is kneeling by him, talking but not receiving anything back, only a short whine when his hand ghosts over his knee, he retracts them quickly.

Wilbur struggles to say the name. "Hypixal-"

"I knew it was those bastards." Schlatt grits out, Wilbur watches him pace from the corner of his eye. "I should've dealt with them the moment they messed with us."

"Schlatt-" Techno says, he's interrupted.

"Don't, don't start that shit with me. Look what they've done to Wil, to Tommy!"

Wilbur jolts, biting back what he wants to say, panic surging through him. Sure, they were the ones who messed him up, made him bleed and, hopefully, temporarily blind in one eye. Tommy however, that was his fault, thinking about it made him want to throw up.

He wrings his hands hard enough to feel the pain in his fingers, knuckles crackling, reminding him, not letting him forget the pipe smacking off bone.

"I did it."

Their eyes fall on him, he stares back at them with a brown empty eye and that's so drastically familiar, those same eyes looked at them when Wilbur was nothing more than a stranger to them, a shell that had been filled, now lay vacant where he sat.

"...What?"

"I-" Wilbur takes a shuddered breath. "I did it."

"You're joking." Schlatt laughs. He so desperately wants this to be a joke, for Wilbur's humour to be wildly messed up, confused by the pain he was in, and they'd play along, they would.

Wilbur says nothing, face screwing up, he takes a shaky inhale.

"Wil- Wilbur, tell me you're joking," Schlatt asks him, begs him. The shame curls around his throat.

'I had no choice!' Wilbur wants to shout at the top of his lungs. 'They were going to hurt him, they would've killed him if I didn't do it.'

The words are stuck to the roof of his mouth, realisation drips onto all of their faces like honey falling from a honey dip, the sticky truth there for all to see. They watch him with horror, fear, Wilbur couldn't quite place his finger on which emotion was there, it was a pick and mix bag full of them.

Schlatt's hands turn to curled up fists, and instead of shying away from them, his gut churning at the thought of them being used against him, Wilbur leans forward, his back coming off the wall slightly. At least if Schlatt hit him he knew he deserved it, knew the bruises he'd gain were for Tommy, were to vanquish the monster that resided inside him rather than for no valid reason.

Still, Wilbur was terrified. They promised to never hurt him, never to lay a finger on him like Hypixal had done. This was different though, wasn't it? He had hurt something more precious than he'd ever been, and the love that Schlatt had for Tommy was an unbreakable bond that even he couldn't get between. He hurt Tommy, now he had to pay the ultimate price.

Wilbur manages to look away, ducking his head so his face wouldn't take anymore hits, they'd be nice enough to give him that, despite how unworthy he was of it. But something catches his attention, eyes trained on a spot that had him freezing.

He's got blood on Schlatt's flannel, it's stained the lighter part of the material and ugly red, and Wilbur loses the last thread of control he had left. He cries, he doesn't care how loud he's being, hands tangling in his hair as he tugs at the strands, savouring how his vision blurs in and out of focus.

There's that taste of copper in his mouth again, and Wilbur chokes on a whine leaving his throat. He hears muffled talking, shouting, and he knows they're talking about him, because what else would they be talking about now other than taking Tommy away and leaving him here to rot, crumpled against the wall, unable to move even if he wanted to?

He was everything Hypixal said he was, he pushes, and pushes, until something snaps, it was only a matter of time before the rest of them saw what he really was, it was only a matter of time before they treated him how he was meant to be treated.

Wilbur had always been a better punching bag than he was a person, because when he was a person Wilbur ruined everything. He had ruined himself, he ruined Tommy, he had ruined Schlatt's flannel.

And they hate him, Schlatt hates him. He hates him, he hates him, he hates him-

"Wilbur." George's voice breaks through the fog, chasing his demons away. "Wilbur, you have to breathe."

He tried, god he tried, the air wouldn't go in, and no matter how much his lungs burned Wilbur could only focus on the guilt. There were rows of sharp teeth, snapping and snarling up against a mirror, at his own reflection. His heart was throbbing in his ears, loud and irregular, he barely heard it, struggling to lock onto the voice again.

"–You didn't hurt Tommy for the fun of it, I know you didn't because I know you, we know you."

"His knee-" Wilbur chokes out.

"Techno and Quackity are with him, they're checking him over." George says calmly, he doesn't sound confident with how the outcome was looking. "But me and Sapnap are going to sort this out, but I need to know that you're okay with us leaving."

"I don't-"

The only person left would be… It would be-

"Schlatt here, he's going to stay with you." George tries to explain, Wilbur won't let him, his head shaking.

He saw how that helpless anger simmered in him, his face hardening. Wilbur had known Schlatt long enough, knew how the anger bubbles up within him, saw how he took all that thundering rage out on punching bags, knuckles wrapped in white bandages.

When Wilbur confessed his face was ravaged with despair, his eyes shining with fury. Soon, a wave of violent fury would rise inside Schlatt, burning with resentment against him, and this mirage he had been a part of would be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Wilbur would be a dog without a friend, without its master, sent back to Hypixal with his tail between his legs.

Schlatt hated him, they all hated him, he'd be sent back to a life he wasn't quite sure he'd survive another minute in. But after all, sometimes dangerous mutts had to be put down for the greater good.

"I don't hate you."

Wilbur flinches. He must have spilled everything he was thinking, laying out all his problems for the world to see. Heat rises in his cheeks, but he stares back at Schlatt who's knelt by George, who has his hand clasped in his with so much care, he doesn't recall when he took hold.

"I don't hate you, I hate them. I'm mad at them, furious, but not with you." There's no hate that swirls in those brown irises, just pure love, with hints of worry blended into them. "Never with you."

There's a body buried deep beneath rubble that seems impossible to move, it's nothing for Schlatt and George who dig to save those trapped underneath, the prisoner just happened to be Wilbur, who tried his best to crumble deep within the wreckage. They wouldn't let him go. Schlatt hangs on with a secure grip, and George only releases his hand when he realises what was truly needed to be done.

Revenge could be an ugly thing when painted with the wrong colours, George however, was covered in white, red and gold, the colours Wilbur recognised, the colours that meant home.

He finally gives a shaky nod, and George takes a few deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way he had taught Wilbur. Then he's moving over near Sapnap and Quackity, speaking in a hushed voice that Wilbur can't strain his ears to hear even if he wanted to. Quackity nods, patting George on the back and giving Sapnap's shoulder a short squeeze before George and Sapnap turn to leave, twin flames of chaos side by side.

"George," Schlatt calls out. He looks over his shoulder, Wilbur catches the way his brows furrow. "Give them hell for me."

George gives a short nod, giving Sapnap a look before they disappear back out the alleyway, and Wilbur knows Schlatt would've been right on their heels if it wasn't for him.

His eye flickers back over to Tommy, the boy still broken on the floor. He doesn't know what he expects, maybe for him to have actually been snapped out of his still state, hear him tell Wilbur that he trusts him, that he was glad it was him and not them.

He doesn't deserve to hear that, but there's a selfish part of him that needs Tommy to tell him he was still worth placing his trust in.

"Hey, look at me, not over there." Schlatt moves too fast, Wilbur whines, squirming away. "Shit, it's me, it's Schlatt. No one's going to hurt you."

"I deserve it," Wilbur whispers, giving his attention back to Schlatt. "I hurt him, I ruined him."

"Did you do it on purpose?"

Wilbur's eye widens, his left opening halfway. "W-What?"

"Did you do it on purpose?" Schlatt repeats slowly.

A frown creases on Wilbur's face, did Schlatt really think that lowly of him? He's staring him down with so much intensity, and Wilbur doesn't look away. Schlatt wants, no, Schlatt needs him to understand something, it's vital, important enough that he needs this to stick with him.

Wilbur shakes his head, a wave of dizziness taking over.

"Exactly." Schlatt squeezes Wilbur's hand. "Soot-" Wilbur flinches back, Schlatt corrects himself. "Wil, I don't know what happened, I wasn't here. But I know damn well you wouldn't have done that unless it was the best option you had."

"I should've done more." Wilbur's voice rises slightly, slurring at the end. "I should've-"

"You did. I've had the shitty pleasure in seeing what those fuckers did to you, they broke you down, they made you believe you were nothing. You got out of it, you got out and you got Tommy out, and we both know this could've ended worse." Schlatt says, and he's right, Wilbur knew he was right. "So you can rest, take all the time you need, but don't you dare give up on yourself Wilbur. Not now, not because of this."

Wilbur wants to promise him that, to keep that last shred of hope he felt from himself, but he was tired. The adrenalin was wearing off, and he felt every single bruise on his body ache. So why did he still feel so numb?

He wants to press down on them, push his fingers into spreading purple with yellow blotches, into battered skin just to chase away that numbing emptiness lingering. His arms were dead weight, dangling at his sides like loose puppet strings, his puppeteers long gone.

"Foolish is here, alright? He'll take care of you." Schlatt says, Wilbur nods, leaning his weight against him.

He hears the sirens, they fade in his ears, and frankly, Wilbur doesn't remember closing his eyes.

Wilbur wouldn't accept any visitors that night, or that morning, deciding to stay hidden away then having to tell them the full story. Tommy had tethered himself back to reality a few hours after getting there, that's what the nurse said anyway with a smile full of pity, all Wilbur did was nod and turn away.

They had stayed overnight, he knew since they would ask to visit him non stop, enough that Wilbur had to beg the same nurse not to let them in or let them know the full extent of his injuries.

His nose was broken but set back easily, middle fingers on his right hand were wrapped, and he hadn't sustained any broken ribs, only bruises and swelling that he had to hold ice packs against. Neither his tongue, nor lip, needed any stitches, they were cleaned and monitored, Wilbur listening closely about what he could eat that wouldn't irritate those more.

That wasn't all, and certainly wasn't the worst. Dread pooled in Wilbur's stomach when the doctor told him, voice soft as he broke the news. A detached retina, maybe legally blind in his left eye.

Wilbur was calm when he accepted the news, how was someone supposed to react about finding out their whole world had ended? The room is silent when the doctor leaves, and Wilbur is trapped within a tomb of his own creation. He deserved this. If he had just acted like he was fine at practice, if he didn't suggest going to get ice cream, if he had never met the SMP none of this would've happened. Sure, he would've been beaten for the rest of his life, kept like a dog on a chain, but at least then he was useful, he helped win games, he was something. And now, he was nothing.

He could hear the others outside his room last night, talking to one another, too quiet for him to hear until they go quiet. Then they're arguing with the doctor, well, Phil and Technoblade try to have a civil conversation, Schlatt interrupts a lot, along with Sapnap and the occasional question from George.

"We're his team, his friends," Quackity says behind the door. "That has to mean something?"

"I can't let any of you in unless he consents to visitors," He hears the doctor explain, there's a quiet scoff that follows, he continues. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to give him time."

Wilbur hears their complaints, blocking them while turning on his side, pillow pressed against his head. Honestly, Wilbur was afraid to let them in, afraid that if he did it would only be to kick him off the team or blame everything that happened on him. He couldn't fault them, it was his fault, and they had every right to take him off the team for that, he wouldn't be useful for them now anyway.

There's a part of him that calls out for them, for his brothers, for the man who had been a father to him these last couple of years, but he can't bring himself to do it. Wilbur was ashamed, a hole burning into his stomach when he thought about speaking about what went down in the alleyway. He'd be walking into a lion's den, he knew the potential belittling and comments would make him a deer caught in headlights, he'd back into his shell and when he was the only thing protecting himself, he wasn't prepared to go down that road again.

He felt sick, staring up at the same spot on the ceiling for what seemed like hours, his left eye covered by a square bandage. The doctor said he'd get used to half vision, and with a few more tests they'd know if he was blind or if he'd gain some back. Knowing his luck they'd be back with grim looks across their faces, and Wilbur would instantly know what the results were.

"Mr Soot, someone is here to see you." The nurse says.

"I don't want to see anyone." Wilbur mumbles, not looking away from the spot.

"He's refusing to go back to his room," The nurse explains, sounding tired. "And he needs to rest his leg-"

Wilbur furrows his eyebrows, it doesn't take long to click, heart clenching as he looks towards the door.

Tommy is there, sitting in a wheelchair that the nurse is standing behind, her hands resting on the handles. His face is flat, and Wilbur expects a vile glare to be sent his way.

He didn't expect a wide smile to spread across his face.

Wilbur is suffocating, his chest heavy, and he wants to fall to his knees then and there, apologising to Tommy over and over again until the end of time. He turns away, staring at the white wall beside him, the blinds are closed by the window, Wilbur wishes he kept them open so he had an excuse for not looking Tommy in the eyes.

The wheels squeak as the wheelchair is rolled closer to his bed, Wilbur can hear Tommy mumble a quiet, thank you, while the nurse answers with a, I'll be back to check on you later, he can't open his mouth in time to tell her to take him away.

It's quiet, not a single one of them saying a word. Wilbur glances up at the clock, the hands had been stuck on twelve since he got there, it bothered him to no end.

Tommy speaks. "Wilbur?"

He tenses, hands clutching the bedsheets, his mind goes again, thoughts and voices running through, all pointing the finger at him. Suddenly, the once quiet room had become so loud, overwhelming. He knows if he looks at Tommy, gets another glance at him he'll fall apart, Wilbur doesn't know what he'd say or do, but he knows it was easier to break someone than it was to repair them.

Wilbur had broken Tommy, his knee, his mind. Those blue eyes glazing over would stick with him, had stuck with him, last night left him with sweat covered sheets and terror causing through his veins.

"Wil?"

He couldn't do this, he couldn't-

"Don't ignore me." Tommy says, his hand grabbing Wilbur's. He doesn't pull away. "Please."

Wilbur has never said no to Tommy, and starting today wasn't in his plan. He swallows, but turns to see the damage he'd done. He looks at Tommy's face for a brief moment, then looks down, the brace almost had him turning back to the wall.

"...How long?" Wilbur chokes out.

"Three to six months." Tommy answers quickly, Wilbur's face breaks and Tommy is quick to carry on. "But they say with it not being a serious fracture it'll be around the three month mark, I'll be back in the rink I'm no time."

Wilbur runs a hand over his mouth, three to six months, he clenches his teeth. He wishes he hadn't asked, keeping himself in the dark might have kept the fire from spreading in his mind, soon wiping out anything that kept him sane up until now. Three to six months, and that was if this was a temporary thing, long term problems could arise, guilt eats away the more he thinks about that.

"I did this." Wilbur pauses, taking a breath.

"I trusted you," Tommy whispers, voice soft. "I told you I trusted you, they would've done it if you didn't."

"I should've tried harder to stop them, keep their attention on me." Wilbur mummers, he laughs. "You can't even skate anymore, I might as well be as bad as-"

"Don't." Tommy breathes, voice strained.

Wilbur doesn't finish his sentence, but he thinks it, he was just as bad as Tommy's old coach. He spent years hating something he once loved, years working, and working to get where he was now, Tommy had been through all that and was finally able to free himself, find his love for the ice again. And then Wilbur came into his life.

He can't understand how Tommy could stand to look at him, after what he willingly did, Wilbur sure as hell couldn't look at himself in the mirror.

"I'm not just skating." Tommy interjects, pulling at his sleeves. Wilbur only then realises that he's wearing his jersey. "You know who taught me that? You. You and the others."

"It's not about that, of course you're not just skating, but you fought for this." Wilbur explains, Tommy is staring at him.

"I fought for myself." Tommy argues. "I fought to be something, to be good and seen, I fought so I wouldn't be left behind."

Wilbur moves his hand away, because no matter how hard he tries to understand he retreats back, he feels metal against his skin and cheers from a crowd. He can't bring himself to accept that Tommy was completely okay with this, it didn't sit right, he couldn't be the only person mad at himself.

"You don't get it." Wilbur says, frustrated.

"Then tell me what I'm not getting." Tommy begs desperately.

There's so much to say, where does he start? The fact that Tommy didn't know about Hypixal up until now, or maybe that he was pulled into something Wilbur should've gone through by himself? This was Wilbur's world, the pain, hits, bruises.

"Tommy, I hurt you," Wilbur stresses, each word said with an urge for Tommy to listen. "I held that pipe, I told you to close your eyes, I mean, look at your knee-"

"I don't care about my knee!" Tommy shouts, startling himself, he lowers his voice. "I don't- Wil I care about you more than my knee."

"You shouldn't." Wilbur grits out, throat bobbing.

Tommy mutely shakes his head, he wants to say something, anything, but he's struggling to form the words. Wilbur waits, despite knowing he won't agree with whatever he says. He doesn't remember Tommy taking his hand again.

"Phil would be telling you off right now for telling me what to do." Tommy jokes, it gets a small smile out of Wilbur.

He loosens up. Tommy was right and Wilbur pretends he can see Phil in the corner giving him that stern look, the one that screams, you know better, he does, but he can't help himself.

Tommy leans forward in the wheelchair, leaning his arm against the bed, getting closer to Wilbur. He leans too, it's subtle, just enough so Tommy had an easier time messing with his hands, carefully with his wrapped fingers.

"...I'd give up skating a thousand times if it meant I was with you every time."

Wilbur sucks in a breath. He means it, Tommy doesn't lie about things like this. He was careful with his feelings, keeping them away somewhere deep, and those willing to go deep enough would find them. The team did, and Tommy showed this through touches and on the rare occasions words, but that's what made it special coming from him, he didn't go round saying how he felt every day.

Admitting that he'd give up skating, especially for him, Wilbur pinches himself hard to make sure he wasn't still asleep. Tommy skating after he got Eret as a coach was a bird flying free, a phoenix born again from the flames, he'd laugh louder, smile brighter.

He'd really give that up, for him?

"Because you all saved me," Tommy continues with a sniff, breathing shaky. "I need you to understand, I love skating, I do, but I love you more."

Wilbur felt his throat closing up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His vision was blurry; left eye aching when he tried to blink them away. He bites the inside of his cheek, hard, it almost doesn't keep the pitiful noises from spilling.

He had to be strong, take what was given to him, do as he was told. Wilbur didn't have time to fall apart and be built up again, he was beyond redemption, beyond people caring enough to help glue all the pieces back together.

"You don't have to believe me, I know it'll take time," Tommy says, like he has experience in that area. "I just want you to know, I don't blame you, I trust you, always will."

His chest aches, and it's still hard to breathe. But something has changed. The storm has passed, not all the way, the rain moves on, grey clouds left behind, and the sun peeks through.

Wilbur wasn't completely convinced, but the way Tommy was willing to wait for him, it caused something to stir. Hypixal had always blamed Wilbur, if they lost a point, a game, a season, the finger always landed on him. He didn't try hard enough to stop the opposing team, was too soft, unless they won everything, Wilbur ended up with the blame.

Hearing someone not blaming him, it has him gasping, shoulders dropping in resignation, and the first tears fall. There's relief, confusion, anger, guilt, Wilbur can't pick one to focus on first.

So instead, he focuses on Tommy, Tommy who lets him feel these emotions, Tommy who doesn't say another word. He simply sits with him, holding his hand through it all, humming a quiet tune under his breath.

He gives his hand a light squeeze, and for the first time since Tommy came into the room, Wilbur squeezes back.

Wilbur has to get his nurse something before he leaves. He swears she listened to him cry for a good hour, coming in to check on them when he began to calm. She looked happier, that might have been because Tommy settled down, she didn't even complain when they asked for help moving Tommy on the bed.

He was weary, not wanting to cause Tommy more pain and for other reasons, but he was sure the blonde would've pulled himself up onto the bed if he didn't let the nurse help, so he slipped in next to him, cuddled up against his side.

It takes Wilbur time to relax, he doesn't know where to put his hands, holding his breath for a few seconds when Tommy first leans his head against his shoulder. Soon he's sinking into the bed, too tired and comfortable to worry about things for now, he just allows his mind to run wild.

"I heard about your eye." Tommy says, shifting around. "Is it-"

"I might be legally blind." Wilbur confirms with a tightness to his voice.

He doesn't ask how Tommy knows, he'd find out either way and it was better coming from him then anyone else. Still, his heart clenches when he talks about the situation he's in.

"Might?" Tommy asks.

"They have to do more tests." Wilbur explains. "Don't know if I'll ever get back on the ice with my vision like this."

Wilbur knows he's being childish sat their talking about his injury while Tommy is there, cast almost brushing against his leg, that doesn't stop him though, and he talks about the short tests he's already been through, trying to follow the doctors finger while he moves it from side to side, amongst other stuff.

"You're not just hockey you know," Tommy starts when Wilbur falls quiet, nudging his arm against his. "Just like I'm not skating."

Wilbur snorts with bitter amusement, and he almost thought Tommy was lying to him to make him feel better. That's exactly the reason he tried so hard to stay with Hypixal, doing everything he could so his jersey wasn't taken. The question burns on his tongue, spilling out when his mouth opens.

"Tom's, without that… What am I?"

"You're Wilbur." Tommy replied, he sounds so sure about that.

Wilbur wants to know what that means, even he didn't know who he was. Many names were associated with him, alot he hated and never wanted to be called again, names that were spat at him, and he supposed people saw him a different way too.

"You aren't hockey," Tommy adds, swallowing. "And you… You aren't theirs."

He doesn't know how much Tommy knows, the others wouldn't say anything about it, not without asking him permission first. Putting some of the pieces together was all the blonde could do for now until Wilbur was ready to tell him everything. And he would, but for now, he knows some of it already, enough that he knew Hypixal had a strong hold on him.

Wilbur turns his head, he tries to smile. "It's the only thing I'm good at."

There's no telling what Wilbur meant, if he was only good at the sport, or, if he was only good at being Hypixals punching bag. Maybe it was both tied up in a neat little box, ready to be cast into the sea the moment he could hide away all his hurt again, acting as though he was fine when he wasn't.

"That's a lie and you know it." Tommy sits up, his face pulling into a grimace, it's gone as quickly as it came. "What about singing? You're great at that."

"Not great enough to do anything with it." Wilbur leans his head back, and Tommy watches him.

"If I get in touch with Los Campesinos I'm sure they'd give you a chance." Tommy counters, almost like he was making a promise to do exactly that.

He could, they weren't subtle with the fact that Tommy got a Los Campesinos follow, Wilbur had shouted it loud enough for everyone to hear, because of course his Sunshine would be awesome enough to catch their attention. Their excitement only grew when they found out they were a fan of Tommy's, the picture shown on their social media last month with them all sat waiting for his performance, hands clasped with the caption, manifesting a win, while tagging Tommy.

It was amazing, enough that Tommy was struck speechless, staring at the photo on his phone. Wilbur always jokes around about Tommy introducing him to them, he never meant it.

"Come on." Tommy beams at him, leaning back on his elbows. "They say, it's not what you like, it's what you're like as a person-" He sings quietly, bumping Wilburs shoulder.

Wilbur's lips curl up, and he huffs. "Well, I need new hobbies, that's one thing for certain-"

"Someone tell Soot he can join a band after he retires."

The teams by the door, all huddled together and trying to get through at the same time. They part when Phil reprimands them, and then they come in single file, spreading out around the bed.

"Finally letting us all in?" Schlatt asks, and Wilbur knows he's joking, knows by the tone of his voice, but he can't help looking away. "I told you not to give up on yourself, and what did you do?"

"Gave up on myself." Wilbur mumbles, bearly auditable.

Schlatt nods. "That's right, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He doesn't want to admit what he did again, not with how hard it was the first time. Wilbur had to be honest, after everything they had done for him it wouldn't be fair to start lying to them. Besides, he'd be gone soon enough, then all he had to worry about was what was next in his life, if anything could fill the hole left behind.

Nothing would, he knew that by now, but he had to try something, anything.

"I hurt Tommy-"

"They hurt him, not you." Schlatt almost growls out. "Tommy told us everything and they got what was coming to them."

Wilbur doesn't need to be told twice, he can see the bruises already forming on George's cheek, the cut near Sapnap's eyebrow, but that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

"Anyway," Schlatt says. "We have something to show you."

Wilbur hadn't noticed the laptop tucked under Quackity's arm until he's moving, opening the lid and messing around with it until he has what he was, he grins, tapping on the touchpad twice. Sapnap pulls out the side table, moving it around until it's tucked up against Tommy and Wilbur, he takes the laptop from Quackity and puts it on top.

He catches a glance at Sapnap knuckles, red blooming across them with some cuts covering them. George's most likely matched. He looks up, they're all staring back at him.

"What is this?"

He holds up a finger, Wilbur waits. He presses down on the enter key, words spinning onto the screen from the right, slowly stopping in the middle. Tommy tries to sniffle a laugh, his hand covering his mouth, and Sapnap looks smug with the words on the screen.

Why Wilbur Soot is a dumbass.

"Thanks guys." Wilbur mumbles sarcastically. "You know how to make someone feel better."

"We knew you'd try and up and leave thanks to your eye," Quackity takes the reins, and none of them correct him about there being multiple reasons why he'd want to leave. "So we came prepared to show you why you're a dumbass for thinking that."

Wilbur is left speechless, mouth hanging open slightly. There was part of him that hoped one of them would intervene with him leaving, suggest that he would be able to do something else, help him prove he was still useful to them.

He wasn't expecting this, being called a dumbass maybe, them making a PowerPoint however, he couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Guys-" Wilbur starts.

"Please leave all questions until the end of the PowerPoint." Techno interrupts. He leans against the wall with a smile, arms crossed over his chest.

He goes quiet, and Quackity continues to the next slide. A picture slides onto the screen, a paragraph of text zooming out from nowhere, Wilbur raises a brow.

"Carl Söderberg, plays for the Malmö Redhawks and sustained a detached retina leaving him legally blind," Quackity explains, tapping his finger beside the picture. "Still plays hockey professionally."

The next slide shows, he tries not to laugh at the animations, with the text bouncing along before finding its place, the picture turns as it comes on screen.

"Bryan Berard, hockey player who suffered a retinal tear and a detached retina. He continued to play professionally even after this."

This goes on, different men and women showing on the screen, each having something in common with one another. An eye injury and whether or not they carried on playing hockey, and if they didn't it always ended up with them managing a team of their own or helping coach kids to make it to the big leagues.

Wilbur hangs onto every word, every situation those people found themselves in, the same situation he was in now. They went through the same feeling of hopelessness and loss, wondering if they'd ever play again, they had to, he couldn't be the only one feeling like he lost everything with the snap of a finger.

Fifteen slides are shown to him, the sixteenth slide has their picture on, one taken when they won their first game with him on the team. He's grinning from ear to ear, one arm wrapped around Technoblade's shoulders, while his other is wrapped around Schlatt's who has his hand buried into Wilburs curls, his head shoved down abit. Sapnap and Quackity are kneeling at the front, both throwing up peace signs and making weird faces, while George and Phil stand on either side of them with normal smiles.

"And Wilbur Soot, number 2 for the SMP." Quackity introduces.

"The wildcard." Schlatt says, patting his leg.

"One of a kind." Techno smile grows.

"Best addition to the team," Sapnap smirks. "After me of course."

George smacks the back of his head, leaving him pouting. "Our brother."

"And we don't leave family behind," Phil pauses, he shakes his head. "You're stuck with us, hockey or no hockey, these lot will drag you along with them if they have to."

"Damn right we will." Schlatt states with a curt nod.

Wilbur thought the second they walked into his room this would be his reckoning. He was too much of a coward to have it any other way, he deserved to be miserable, he deserved every single bad thing that's happened to him. Because Wilbur wasn't a good person, not to himself anyway.

But he looks around, and all he sees is love, he sees the people who want him, not to be a punching bag, and not someone who'd take the fall because no one else was willing to put themselves through that. 

He ducks his head, for a second they think they've said something wrong, ready to fix whatever they've messed up. Then, Wilbur laughs, loud and uncaring, it shakes his body and has him gasping for air. 

He's crying too, but with the smile across his face, they know they're happy tears, one's that spill down his cheeks. He'd be embarrassed about crying in front of them later on, and they'd all tease him about it, lighthearted and making sure he knew they were joking. They'd talk to the police, make sure no one who was there that day got away with what they did.

It would slowly hit them all that Wilbur would be out for the season, and Tommy would miss a lot of skate programmes that leaves them both wanting to change the subject, just for awhile longer, they'd let those feeling sit with them another day, one where they weren't exhausted and fragile, ready to burst at the seams.

When they were ready, they'd do it together.

Tommy wasn't okay, Wilbur wasn't okay, and that was perfectly fine, no one expected them to be. Unlike in their pasts, where they were forced to suck it up or risk losing everything they had, none of them had to act here, not with those in this room.

"I told you," Tommy says lowly, leaning into his side. "With or without hockey, you're Wilbur, it doesn't matter what you've been through, no one can take that away."

He hears him, hears them, voices like a melody fitting into his unfinished symphony.

You are trusted, you are loved.

We're not leaving, not now, not ever.

You are worthy of us.

He doesn't believe those fully yet, but in due time he would, because he had once before. At that moment, for someone who was built from ice, Wilbur had never felt more warm.