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Technoblade gazed at the young mortal’s face that was wracked with grief and guilt. He had a decision to make as he watched the former brother search endlessly for an answer that he wouldn’t find by himself. Does he tell the mortal about the smallest chance to get his brother back, or does he let him eventually give up in his struggle? He stood, invisible to the mortal eyes, as he deliberated what one to choose. Does he deserve it, after how he treated his brother? He sighed, having made his choice before he started to turn away from the young mortal’s plight. Some things just aren’t forgivable, he thought. As he turned, he sighed again as he noticed the three figures that were standing behind him patiently and silently. Technoblade felt pity and sympathy flash through him (or at least the closest equivalent for a god) at the sight. Of course, the Fates wouldn’t let the young blond mortal rest, even in death.
“You’re not going to let him rest in peace, then?” he asked rhetorically.
“His brother must learn a lesson,” George replied, gazing unflinchingly into the messenger god’s eyes.
“And I suppose I get no say in this matter?”
“The thread has been spun,” It was Sapnap who responded this time, the god not even looking up from the spinning wheel to respond.
“I’m not happy about this.”
“It is not your job to be happy about this, Technoblade,” Dream was the one to talk, his porcelain mask staring straight into Technoblade’s very essence. “It is your job to tell people how to travel to places. You are the only one with the information that this mortal requires. It is your job to tell him.” The unsaid threat of ‘or else’ hung in the air, reminding the god that these beings had control over everyone, gods and mortals alike.
Technoblade didn’t respond. He gave the trio a final look before walking somewhere where he could suitably turn corporeal without notice. Having deigned a suitable mortal form, he walked over to the mortal musician to aid him in his tribulation. He stood behind the brown-haired man waiting patiently to be noticed and acknowledged. Upon realising that he wouldn’t be noticed due to the young mortal being so distracted by his own thoughts, he cleared his throat in an attempt to gain his attention.
The man jumped, fumbling with the book in his hands as he rapidly spun around to meet the disguised god’s gaze. Brown eyes met red as the mortal spoke with an exhausted voice. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there, I’ve been a bit… distracted recently, am I in your way?”
“You won’t find the answer you seek in any book here.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t–” Technoblade cut him off.
“You’re searching for a way to get your brother back, am I mistaken?”
“How–” Again, the god cut him off.
“Your brother is in the Underworld, you won’t be able to enter through any of the ways mentioned in your silly little books.”
“Who are you? How do you know this?”
Technoblade gave the mortal an evaluating look. “I am Technoblade, god of travellers, thieves and trade. The quest you seek to set upon falls into two of those domains, and a third lesser one that I have jurisdiction over; travel, thievery, and luck.”
The mortal froze, and Technoblade waited for the inevitable bowing and grovelling that was going to happen. To his surprise, the mortal did neither of those things, instead, he took a deep breath before speaking to the god. "And I'm Wilbur Soot. Now, tell me, how do I save my brother?"
Wilbur tensed, his hands gripping the strap of his guitar tighter the further he trekked into the Underworld. Even though he was surrounded on either side by stone, he couldn't help but feel on edge. Everything just seemed too easy. His eyes glanced side to side as he continued in his descent. One more step down and he fell, the drop further than he had presumed. He barely managed to break his fall with his hands, hissing as he brought them up and wiped the scraped palms on his trousers.
Standing up, he noticed he was in a great cavern. The only light available was the flickering of the acid-green Greek fire that cast looming shadows on every surface. He let out a shaky breath as he realised that this was it, the point of no return. As groans and howls echoed throughout the cavern, he remembered the whispered warning of the god who had advised him, and ignored the sounds, choosing instead to search for the palace that was his destination.
Turning his head, he saw his desired location. Built from dark stone with towering arches and looming towers, the palace looked the perfect fit for the goddess of death. Strangely, the walls were covered in crows, seemingly the only living thing in the kingdom of the dead except for Wilbur himself. He approached cautiously, nerves alight in his chest. He gave a slight jump when one of the crows squawked and flew inside to the palace, the out-of-place orange feathers on its head making Wilbur feel more nervous.
Steeling his nerves, he walked through the gates and the archway that led into the palace. The hall was grand, lit by a large chandelier in the middle and several torches along the walls that burned with that acid-green fire that could only be found in the kingdom of the dead. At the back of the hall, right in the centre, sat two large quartz thrones, the stark whiteness juxtaposing with the rest of the dark kingdom, the sole piece of light. Upon the two thrones sat two gods, so unalike in appearance, yet Wilbur knew that they were a match. On the right throne sat the god of spring and freedom, dressed in green with large black wings upon his back, it was clear why his domains were what they are. Beside him, on the left throne, sat his opposite and wife. Dressed in an elegant black dress and a broad-brimmed hat that had a lace veil blocking her face, the goddess of death painted a mysterious picture. Upon the spring god's shoulder sat the same crow that Wilbur had watched fly in, causing him to gulp nervously.
Despite not being able to see her face, Wilbur got the feeling that the goddess was staring at him intently. His suspicion was proven right when the goddess spoke. "You are not one of my subjects, you're an awful long way from home my dear. I have to admit, when Ian told us that there was a stray mortal who was still alive wandering around, I thought he was joking, yet here we are."
Wilbur felt himself relax involuntarily, his nerves eased slightly by the kind way she spoke. "You would be correct with that, m'lady, I am quite far from home. Yet I can assure you I am not lost, I have come here for a purpose."
The winged man gave a kind smile at his response, making it hard to remember why exactly this god was nicknamed the Angel of Death. "Now, why are you here, mate?"
Wilbur gulped, before quickly clearing his throat and bowing to the gods before him. "My name is Wilbur Soot. I'm here to reclaim the soul of my brother, Tommy."
"And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?" Trixtin questioned.
"With a bargain."
The two looked at each other, silently communicating with a single look. Upon coming to a decision that only they were privy to, the goddess of death spoke again. "What type of bargain?"
"I'm a musician. If I play you a song, and you enjoy it, you give me my brother's soul."
"And if we don't?" Philza asked.
"You can take mine," Wilbur said simply.
Wilbur could again sense the goddess looking intently at him, before she spoke. "I accept your bargain, however, if you win your brother's soul, you may only take it back if he goes willingly, and you cannot look back to check. You lost his soul due to doubt, you can only regain it with faith. Do you understand and agree to these terms?" Her husband looked at her in what Wilbur could only presume was surprise, he obviously wasn't expecting his wife to accept his offer.
"I agree."
The goddess moved her viel so she could look him in the eye, and Wilbur felt his body root to the ground under the sheer force of the power she emitted. "Then play Wilbur Soot. Play better and harder than you ever have before. Play for your life. Play for your brother's life."
Wilbur nodded solemnly, before he took a deep breath and grounded himself. After slowing his heart rate, he shifted the guitar on his back to his front and moved his hands into the correct position. With his fingers positioned on the fifth fret of the E string, he started plucking before he sang.
"On some level I think I always understood, that these hands of mine were clumsy not clever."
His hands changed to strumming a simple rhythm, letting his voice carry the weight of the song rather than relying on his instrument. He kept his focus on the strings of his guitar, refusing to look at the faces of the gods before him in fear that he wouldn’t like what he saw.
"I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel. I am all the things they might have said to you. Do you ever think of me and my two hands, and wonder why they never soothed your fevers?"
His mind flashed to all the times throughout his life where he had left Tommy. Abandoned him. Dismissed him. Regret and self-loathing swelled in his gut, causing him to want to break down and throw up simultaneously. It was a poet's curse to feel everything so vividly, deeply, because it meant you felt every loss to the same extent.
Wilbur took the grief, and the longing, and the regret, and pushed it out through his vocal chords, letting the emotion resonate throughout the room. He let the lyrics fade off into a quiet, wordless note that harmonised with the guitar. His fingers shifted back into simple plucking as he let his voice fade out, until the only sound that could be heard was the sound of breathing and the ringing of the final note from the strings. Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the slow, steady, breathing of the occupants of the room.
Wilbur slowly raised his eyes to meet the goddess'. The silence that had entered the room remained for a few more seconds, before the goddess spoke. "You have succeeded in your endeavour, Wilbur Soot, now leave, continue playing your music, and don't turn around to see if he follows, for if you do, your actions will have been futile."
Hope danced like a flame in Wilbur's eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much, m'lady." His hands reached back to his strings as he plucked a mindless melody, bowing to both the gods in front of him before he turned around and left the hall.
While he was leaving, Philza turned towards his wife and spoke in a hushed voice. "Kristen, you let them go."
"I let them try," she said simply.
"It's not that simple though, is it?"
With a saddened look in her eyes, Trixten responded. "The fates will do everything in their power to make his exit as difficult as possible, but there is hope."
Philza turned his head back towards the exiting figure. "Then we shall have to see if hope prevails again for humanity."
"Indeed."
Wilbur walked out of the hall with a smile on his face, fingers still casually plucking a melody. He felt eyes staring at his back as he walked back to the staircase, however he ignored them, marking them off to be Tommy's.
One foot on the staircase that led him to the lands of the unfamous dead, he was suddenly surrounded by the spirits of old that had been forgotten by their families. They came with a bitterness and vengeance in their hearts, whispering words of doubt and faithlessness to the musician.
With their voices filling his head, leaving no room for any other thoughts, he made his fingers pluck the strings frantically, to desperately try to drone out the whispered words of the dead that tried to trick him with his music.
"Why would he follow you out? After all, it's your fault he's there," one shade crooned. He ignored it's lies, shaking his head, Tommy's always been too forgiving, he'll follow if only to shout at me.
"Since when could you trust Tommy to do the right thing?" Again, this shade was ignored, its words dismissed.
"How do you know the gods keep their word? It's their abandonment that caused this." His footsteps faltered slightly, but he grit his teeth and kept moving. Trixten has always been known as a fair ruler. She'll keep her word.
"What if something's stopped him along the way? You know how much trouble he attracts."
It was that final comment that broke Wilbur's resolve. The threat of danger against his brother. With panic pounding through his veins, his heart in his throat, Wilbur spun around his guitar falling and smashing to the ground in the process.
Brown eyes met baby blue, and the young blond who was always far too mature, never a kid gave a weak smile. "It's okay," he whispered, before slowly melting out of Wilbur's sight. "You tried."
Wilbur dropped to his knees, an agonised yell tearing itself from his throat. Tears streamed down his face as he stared blankly at the place where his brother had been.
Tommy, little Tommy, who would never grow older than sixteen, who would always be a child, who would never outlive him, who would never fall in love or move out, who would who had followed him until the end, who still trusted him despite everything, who he failed. After everything, he still couldn’t do one thing right for his brother. He still failed.
Wilbur stood up numbly and made to go back into the Underground. Before he could take a step, however, he was stopped by a hand grasping his shoulder. He slowly turned his head to gaze upon the person that stopped him, his face falling in recognition of the figure before him. Technoblade. The god that sent him on this infernal quest, that gave him hope, that probably knew that his attempts would be futile. He refused to bow.
“You have to let him go, kid.”
“No.”
“You can’t go back for him."
Those words got a reaction out of Wilbur. The fierce flame of anger that had dimmed at the realisation of what he had done, roared back to life as he glared at the god. "He's my brother, I'm not leaving him."
"And I'm tellin' you that you can't go back for him," the pink-haired god sighed exasperatedly. "You can only enter Trixtin's realm once while you're alive. No more."
"You're the one who sent me here! You're the one who gave me hope! You're the reason I knew I could get him back!"
"And you're the person who failed in your task, not me," Technoblade said simply.
With gentle, guiding hands, the traveller god led the former brother out of the tunnel. Once Wilbur was safely outside, the god disappeared without a single word, while the tunnel entrance sealed behind him.
Wilbur sat down on the grass outside the hidden entrance, surrounded by daisies and forget-me-nots. It was only then that Wilbur allowed himself to cry, heart wrenching sobs breaking from his mouth causing his chest to heave. How was he supposed to live with his baby brother, dead? That was the singular question circling his mind.
As time went by, Wilbur grieved and learned. For years he didn't allow himself to be happy, to live, he simply survived. How could he live when his brother was dead? But eventually, he learned. He learned that Tommy wouldn't want him to simply survive, so instead, he thrived. He thrived and lived the life Tommy never would get.
Wilbur picked up a picture, looking at it. It was one where Tommy was left forever sixteen, and gave a sad smile. It was taken not long before he died. For a long time, he wasn't able to look at photos of his younger brother without feeling that sharp, piercing guilt in his chest, but nowadays all he felt was bittersweet. He was brought out of his thoughts by a call from his living room.
"Wilbur, are you coming?"
Wilbur let a small smile cross his face at the sound of Niki's voice. His best friend was one of the reasons that he started living again, for Tommy. "Yeah! I'll be there now!" he called.
Setting the picture carefully down again on his nightstand, he straightened it, and walked down the stairs to the living room to greet his friend. This time, for once, he didn't turn back.