Archive of Our Own ^beta

The room had been like this for hours. Days .

Small, wheezing, choked breaths, the slow rise of a chest, stopping every few breaths and starting again with a pained cough. A heartbeat was weak and fluttering under ribs that weren’t yet fully formed. Red droplets stained the thin covers, coughed up, and spit out. A glass of water was all that adorned the bedside table, but he couldn’t drink it.

Tommy was sick, and he had been for days now. He hadn’t woken up in hours, passing out from the lack of air in his lungs after Wilbur tried to force food and water into his system. Wilbur was doing his best, and he had been for months, trying to provide for his little brother on the streets, hiding in basements, working for the smallest of coins.

It was obvious that no one could help them, but maybe that was because no one wanted to.

The people in their village had been content to not bring Tommy and Wilbur back to the orphanage where they came from, but they hadn’t been fond of their little hands grabbing whatever they could, ducking under whatever shelter no one was using, and begging for food and water when they couldn’t get any.

The only reason Wilbur got Tommy to a bed was because he was sick, and the village didn’t want to deal with his curse.

Wilbur thought it was all lies. Tommy wasn’t cursed, he needed help . He needed medicine and warm food and a roof over their head and clean water. They had gotten it all too late.

Some said that the gods were mad at them for disrupting the peace and that they should have stayed in the orphanage instead. Others thought the sickness wasn’t an actual sickness, and that the fates had realized that they had lived for much too long already.

They didn’t understand that Tommy couldn’t die . He couldn’t die because Wilbur refused to let him go. They had been together for too long to stop, and Tommy’s childhood had barely just begun. He was meant to play, feel free, have fun. Instead, he was here, on his death bed, like all of the gods had abandoned him.

They hadn’t cursed him. They hadn’t . They just weren’t listening. They needed to listen.

Tommy’s breathing hitched again. Wilbur squeezed his hand so tight, waiting for it to come back, waiting for their miracle. Just another minute. Just let him live another minute.

He was not breathing.

Why wasn’t he breathing?

“Tommy-” Wilbur called, waiting for his chest to rise again, for the small gasp to escape his lips as his lungs restarted. “ Tommy .”

It wasn’t happening. Why wasn’t it happening?

“Tommy!”

His lips were purple. Wilbur scrambled to put a hand on Tommy’s chest, feeling a slight flutter, small stops in between. There was no rising and falling, no breathing. Why isn’t he breathing?!

“C’mon, Toms. Please please, don’t prove them right, please. Breathe, Tommy!”

His lips were blue now. His heartbeat barely a twitch. Wilbur felt tears well up again, his own breathing increasing rapidly like he was trying to make up for Tommy’s lack of it.

“Tommy, please .”

It all stopped. The next twitch under Wilbur’s hand never came, stuck there, frozen. Wilbur stared at his brother with wide eyes, not knowing what this meant.

When is someone really dead?

Wilbur had been lucky enough not to see it before. He didn’t know what needed to happen in order to keep someone truly dead. He knew people had to breathe to live, he knew their heart had to keep beating, but people… some people had been lucky enough to come back after that.

Wilbur didn’t know the first thing to do when he stared at Tommy, as white as the sheet underneath him, red droplets of blood staining the cover from where Tommy had coughed it up. His lips were purple, almost blue from lack of air. And his skin…

His skin was cold .

Wilbur felt his breathing hitch, a painful taunt to what Tommy had just done. Air didn’t come fast enough, leaving Wilbur shaky as he collapsed on top of his brother, his everything giving out. The air that did come in left him in sobs and wheezes, shaking his form and- and the body underneath him.

Wilbur was all but silent, shouting to people beyond the thin walls for doing this. He yelled at the gods for abandoning them when they were in a time of need. He yelled at the people in the village for not taking the initiative to get them to a better situation.

He yelled at their parents who had never been there to take care of them, who left them to die.

Through choked sobs and spit curses, Wilbur heard a whisper.

It was enough to get him to quiet, months of living in the same places as wolves had led him to be cautious with sounds that he didn’t know their origin. He was in the priest’s house, so there wouldn’t be any real wolves, just the human equivalent of the heartless creatures.

He wouldn’t stand to have someone take Tommy out of the bed so soon, not in a world where their dead was - should be - honored.

The person whispered again, seemingly right behind him. “W- Wilby ?”

Wilbur spun around as quickly as he could. No one else had ever called him that.

“ Wilby? ” The voice wavered, calling out for him again. “It’s dark, I don’t like this game anymore.”

The voice began to cry, the sound of tears being repressed and pushed away. Wilbur looked back at the still form of his little brother, and then to where the voice came from. He was losing it. This was it. The people in the village always told him he was insane for ever leaving the shelter of the orphanage, and it seemed that all it took was Tommy’s death to instill the insanity for real.

“I’m scared , Wilbur,” the voice whispered, just a wisp of wind in the air. “Please come out, I- I don’t like this, Wilby. ”

The voice of his little brother called for him again, a sound he hadn’t heard in hours- days .

“Tommy?” Wilbur hesitated before whispering his name. It didn’t make any sense , but that voice couldn’t have been anyone else.

“Wil-” the voice cried out again louder. “It’s too dark! I- all I can see are these little dots on the ground.”

The world went quiet as Wilbur reviewed those words.

The afterlife was no stranger to anyone who had ever heard a story about the gods. There were tales of people getting dreams from those who had just passed, the court that judged their souls and sentenced them to the life afterward. There were tales of the gods going down to the underworld to bargain for lives, to trade in a bit of their immortality for the return of the soul.

There were tales of the god that ran it all, who kept those with evil souls in their chains and invited the heroes to the city of light.

There was one thing that was brought up in all of them. The souls had only one way to the underworld, and that was by following the fallen stars.

“Tommy!” Wilbur called louder, hoping his brother would hear him.

“Wilby, please come out,” the voice begged, breaking his speech to tumble into a cry. “I- I don’t even know what game we’re playing…”

That was when Wilbur saw him.

A shimmering pale image of a young boy, curls too long but hanging over one of his eyes so I can be like you, Wilby , a hand over his mouth to stifle the tears, his other playing with the hem of his shirt.

Apart from his body, Tommy was a shimmering ghost standing tentatively in the doorway. He kept glancing in all directions, looking for Wilbur, as glowing tears streaked down his cheeks.

“I- I’m gonna follow the lights, Wil,” he nervously stuttered out, “I can’t- go anywhere else.”

“No!” Wilbur reached for him, only for his hand to miss the apparition as Tommy left the doorway. “Tommy! Tommy, I’m right here!”

Tommy’s sniffs and small cries continued down the hall, his form getting clearer with every step he took away from Wilbur.

Wilbur was not going to let his brother brave the underworld alone.

He grabbed his cloak from the bedframe, ignoring the holes, rips, patches, and sewing as he threw it around his body, not stopping to button it as he chased after the six-year-old. He threw the door to the church open, startling the priest who was just walking in. Wilbur ignored the man as he focused on the shimmering image a few feet away, his little brother, walking quickly with his eyes on the ground.

The air outside was bitter, winter leaving the plants dead and under a blanket of fine white powder. The sun had set below the horizon line, leaving a muted grey as the sky dipped into night. The stones of the village’s path were hard under Wilbur’s shoes, as he had worn the soles away to the ground. 

It didn’t slow him down, still shouting for his brother as he chased after him. People in the streets gave him dirty looks for being loud, confused ones for chasing after someone who they couldn’t see, and dark stares from the people that Wilbur had pissed off and never forgave him.

Wilbur would have ignored them even if he wasn’t chasing the ghost of his brother, but he couldn’t ignore the looming trees that bordered the forest, the treeline that Tommy was walking toward, glancing behind him at the path he had just walked, and continuing into the bramble.

Wilbur followed him without hesitation, he would follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant better for the both of them.

---

Wilbur had finally slowed to a walk, hovering just behind the form of his brother as the kid strolled. He had gotten over the fact that he was stuck in a world of darkness, the only light being the stars that formed a path under his feet. Wilbur wasn’t sure if Tommy knew the stories about the underworld, so he just followed the lights, talking to himself the whole way.

“The lights are pretty,” he would tell the open air. “And they seem to go on forever. Sometimes they shimmer like stars!”

Wilbur knew that the kid didn’t like silence. Silence meant that they had to be silent in order to survive. So whenever he could, he would ramble on about the most random of topics.

It filled the little bit of emptiness in Wil's heart, instilling just that sliver of hope that everything would be ok.

“It’s still kinda lonely out here,” Tommy observed. “I don’t know where I am. I hope Wil’s gonna find me.”

Wilbur smiled sadly to himself. “I found you, kid. I’m right here.”

“Wil always knows where I am,” Tommy skipped along the path of stars. “I hope he’s ok.”

One had never been without the other. Wilbur had been seven when Tommy was born, but the funny thing about that was that Wilbur didn’t remember a time without him.

Wilbur remembered when he had been born, the faded image of his mother as she showed him the child in her arms, a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder that could only have belonged to his father.

That was his first memory. Wilbur had never been without Tommy.

So he would never be without Tommy.

Wilbur would follow him to the underworld if he had to, just to get him back.

Tommy gasped, bringing Wilbur quickly out of his thoughts. The kid went darting in a new direction, not a word on his lips. Wilbur had to run through heavy tree cover to follow him, not caring if the branches cut his skin. He couldn’t lose Tommy.

“Aww! Hello little guy!” Tommy’s voice echoed through as Wilbur stepped into a small clearing. Tommy was standing over a ghostly glowing raccoon, of all creatures. The raccoon didn’t seem frightened of Tommy, and let the small kid scoop him up. “Look at you!” Tommy said fondly, pressing his face into the raccoon’s fur. Wilbur wouldn’t have ever let him do that with a real wild animal, but a dead raccoon couldn’t have been too dangerous for an already dead soul.

If Wilbur could, he would save the image and frame it on a wall, Tommy hugging a wild animal, all of the kid’s love put onto one little creature.

The raccoon began to squirm, but it was cute while it lasted.

Tommy dropped the animal, and the raccoon looked up at him from the ground. It seemed to nudge its nose in a direction away from Tommy’s path of stars.

“Follow you?” Tommy guessed. The raccoon squeaked in response. “Sure!”

The raccoon took off through the bramble, and Wilbur ran a hand down his face before he followed both of them.

It wasn’t long before the raccoon stopped, looking up at Tommy with another small yip, and then it ducked into a pile of rocks and disappeared.

Tommy watched it go, walking up to the rock pile and putting a hand on one of them.

Tommy could see the rocks, and so could Wilbur.

“Huh,” was all that Tommy really said as he studied the stones. He kicked one of them for good measure. “Uh, I can’t really go in after you!” He shouted into the rocks. The raccoon just poked its head out again, chittering a little phrase before darting back in, wagging its tail on the way out.

“Oh!” Tommy seemed to get it, clearing his throat a little bit.

The kid started to hum, shyly at first but grew louder as he realized there was no one to really listen to him. His notes were squeaky, shrill, and off pitch, jumping around without a real roadmap of a melody to follow. It didn’t sound like music much at all.

Then the rocks rumbled. Tommy gasped in delight as the rocks began to slip apart. Wilbur’s own eyes went wide as they did so, watching the magic at work.

It created a hole just wide enough for the kid to slip into. Tommy went through, and Wilbur wasn’t quick enough to follow. The rocks caved back in on themselves, locking him out.

Wilbur had read the story of Orpheus. It was one of the first stories he ever remembered hearing. He enjoyed the tale in a way, hearing of the secret entrance to the underworld that the man had to find, pushing past ghostly shimmers of souls as he searched for his lost lover.

He had entered the underworld with song.

Over the years, stories of the gods had gradually come to pass. No one told stories of the beings in the sky anymore or the heroes that they blessed to do their duties down on earth. All of the hero stories, Wilbur was told by passing strangers, were all stories to teach children lessons and get them to listen to their parents.

It was stupid.

Wilbur liked to tell those stories to Tommy before bedtime, even if people called them ‘myths’ now. Wilbur believed that most of it was true. If the gods were real, why wouldn’t their heroes be?

One god is real, a priest told them once. There is only one, and yet three.

Well, neither of them understood that much, so they decided to stick with the twelve. The gods of the sky and the sea. The gods of music and sickness, of hunting and the moon. The gods of war and struggle, of wisdom and cleverness. The gods of food and tools and love and marriage and fire.

And the god of the underworld.

Wilbur looked at the rocks, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“I can hear the cannons calling,” he began shakily. “As though across a dream.”

He hated how his voice echoed, how it made all of the birds stop chirping for those few seconds. It always did. The world would quiet around him, falling into a hush, like all of nature was hanging on his every word.

“And I can smell,” his voice grew stronger with a little push. “The smoke of hell in every stitch and seam.”

There was a flutter off his right shoulder, the birds getting closer like they always did. Wilbur just resorted to finding his rhythm, keeping his tempo even while singing acapella, and putting every effort into making these rocks move and let him at his little brother.

“And like flowers, the bodies tumble.” The wind picked up again, but only to carry his notes farther. “Around this muddied lot.”

His heart thumped, the only thing not quiet in his ears. It helped, though, it let him remember that he was alive, that he was alive and could get his brother back.

“I cannot hear them scream.” He looked at the rocks, willing them to move. “Forget me not.”

A rumble filled the air as his last note hung. The boulders gave way, rolling and tumbling down the sides with such force that it made Wilbur jump back. As he stumbled away, a dark passage was revealed. A set of stairs stretched endlessly into the ground. Cold marble hung over the steps in a low ceiling.

Down a little way, a bright tuft of blonde hair was carrying a raccoon in his hands, jumping down, step by step.

“Tommy!” Wilbur called, rushing in, tumbling down the stairs and jumping the ledges as fast as he could.

There was no need.

“W- Wilby?” Tommy called, turning back around. He dropped his raccoon in shock and started running back up the stairs until the two collided in the middle, sinking into each other’s arms.

Tommy was cold, but he was solid, he was there.

“Tommy…” Wilbur whispered into his brother’s hair, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. “Oh, Toms…”

“Wilby.” Tommy made a struggling sound as he pulled away from Wilbur for just a second. Wilbur was reluctant to lose his grip. “What happened? Where am I?”

One tear ran down. Both of them did their best to ignore it.

“You died, Tommy.”

Tommy’s bottom lip started to tremble, the way he always did when he was trying hard not to cry in a scary situation. “But- you-”

“I’m not dead,” Wilbur said. It felt more like a promise than anything. “I’m coming with you. I’ll get you back.”

Tommy leaned into Wilbur a little more. Wilbur didn’t hesitate to embrace him back, tucking him into the folds of his body as he had always known how to do, shushing him softly.

“I don’t wanna be dead,” Tommy said with a small sob. “I wanna be with you.”

“I know, Tommy, that’s why I’m coming with you.” He pressed a soft kiss into Tommy’s curls. “Just like Orpheus, ok?”

“But Orpheus doesn’t get her,” Tommy’s cried a little harder. “It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“But I will,” he promised, he really promised. “I’ll get you back, I promise.”

Tommy’s little head nodded, wiping a tear away.

The rocks rumbled once again, blocking the light from the entrance and cascading them into darkness. Tommy whimpered, but Wilbur pulled away a little bit.

He held Tommy’s hand, squeezing it once. Tommy squeezed back.

“Sing please, Wilby,” he whispered. “It’s too quiet.”

Wilbur took the first step, putting a little tug on Tommy’s hand. When there was a chittering down below them, Wilbur knelt down and scooped up the animal, depositing the bundle of fur into Tommy’s arm.

“Your voice, it carries over,” Wilbur started his song again. “The hubbub and the hum.”

Tommy began to hum along. It did wonders to brighten the darkness.

“It paints the sky, and circles high.” Wilbur nudged him.

“Like the beating of a drum!” Tommy finished with a little more confidence in his voice. They began to take steps faster.

“You will scream ‘I won’t forget you,’ but I’ll cover my cold ears.”

Wilbur had first heard the song when he had run with Tommy clutched tight in his arms, sung far off by a million voices. The men had marched in time, their bodies creating a sea of black and blue off on the horizon.

He’d heard it on a battlefield.

He didn’t realize what it meant until this moment. He had never needed to know before.

“It cannot be a lie,” Wilbur continued, finally finding the cold and bitter truth hidden in the words. “If no one hears.”

---

“Wil!” Tommy shouted from out of the blue. Wilbur looked around in the blinding darkness, watching for something that might attack them. They had been walking down these stairs for the better part of an hour, but it could have been longer since there wasn’t exactly a way to tell the time without the sky over their heads.

“What is it, Tom?” Wilbur continued to look around frantically, watching the pixels in the black so he could see something.

“Down, Wilbur! Light!”

Wilbur looked down the stairs, where they had been walking before Tommy’s outburst. There was indeed something different about the darkness down there, more grey and gold than suffocating black.

“Maybe we’re almost there,” he said fondly, looking over to Tommy even if it was still too dark to see anything but his outline.

“What will we find?” Tommy asked, walking down more stairs again, shifting the raccoon in his arms. All Wilbur heard was the small grunt from the animal as its position shifted.

“I assume…” Wilbur started. It was a little hard to assume anything these days. As tales of the gods became myths, the things people believed started to shift. Would they be like the Greek tales of the underworld that he had always known, or would they be something new, like what the priest would tell stories about?

He cleared his throat. “I assume that it will be whatever the people believe they will see.” The light was getting brighter now, more prominent. “What do you think you’re going to see?”

“I dunno,” he chirped happily. “Maybe like a river, where Charon has to row us across.”

There was a part of Wilbur’s stomach that dropped. “We would need payment for that.”

“Oh…” Tommy didn’t slow on the stairs, “Maybe he’ll give us a pass because you aren’t dead.”

I think that would make us pay double , Wilbur thought to himself but wouldn’t dare say aloud. Instead, he only smiled and nodded. “Hopefully.”

The light became brighter, gold filtering into the darkness that they had known for a while. Wilbur was sure it was supposed to have taken a few days of braving the stairs to get to the bottom, so this seemed entirely too soon. He knew that in the other stories of the underworld, the souls would be let onto the piece of wood tied to ropes and pulleys, falling all the way into the land of the dead.

“There’s the bottom!” Tommy broke off from Wilbur’s hand and ran all the way to the end of the staircase, the raccoon hot on his heels. Wilbur laughed as he chased after his little brother, running down until the stairwell opened into a cavern.

Cavern was an understatement. The ceiling was so high up that Wilbur couldn’t even see the top. Golden light spilled from torches and lanterns, from where they were placed along the walls and scattered along the ground.

In the distance, a few minutes' walk away from them, was a river.

“Wow!” Tommy gawked at it all as the raccoon ran around his feet. “Look at that bridge!”

“Bridge?” Wilbur looked from left to right, but all he saw were lanterns, torches, and a sparkling dark river.

“Yeah!” Tommy started to run forward, and Wilbur followed. He ran right forward toward the water, a skip in his step and a raccoon to chase after. The closer they got to the river, the more worried Wilbur became. Tommy wasn’t slowing down, the waves lapping over the bed of the river.

And there were souls . So many of them. There were so many drifting, ghostly people just like Tommy, colors muted and skin cold. Some of them shifted with sorrow laced in their eyes, and bursting but seemingly stilled injuries and labels of sickness on their forms. Others were talking excitedly to others or looking around in wonder just as Tommy was doing.

Tommy was really close to the water.

“Tommy! Tommy wait!” Wilbur shouted, but it was all too late. Tommy ran forward into where the land met the river, touching the water with the leather of his shoes.

He turned around to look at Wilbur as he did, with his feet gracing the water, walking on top of it .

Wilbur looked down at the water in front of him. Tommy was walking on top of it, chasing the raccoon all over the said bridge.

Wilbur didn’t see a bridge, but he did see the water, and all of the souls seemed to be walking on top of it.

Tommy looked back at Wilbur, hesitating at the water line, and he urged Wilbur forward.

So he took a deep breath, and he prepared to chase after Tommy, taking a few steps and sprinting over to the water, taking his first step to the river.

Wilbur yelped as a hand connected with his collar, throwing him back against the ground. He hit his head on the sand, thankful for it being soft, but his head still spun a little bit.

“Wha-” Wilbur looked up at the person who had thrown him back from the water. His heart stopped.

The man was looming and large, with a towering build of muscle and mass. His skin was pale, somewhat shimmering, but it was clear he was not dead. He might have been at some point, but he wasn’t anymore. His hair was long, a brown that shimmered when it moved to different colors like red, and gold, but it seemed to hover over pink the most.

His eyes drew Wilbur in, a spiraling, glowing orb of red and gold.

“T- Tommy!” Wilbur shouted as loud as he could. “ Tommy! ”

The kid miraculously turned around again, his mouth dropping open when he saw Wilbur on the ground and a tall man looming over him. The man shifted when Wilbur called out, looking behind at the ghost that came sprinting full speed toward them. Wilbur took the opportunity to throw himself off the ground and reach for Tommy, who met his hand and began to draw him toward the river.

“Kid,” the man reached out again, his gruff voice scaring Wilbur enough to duck the hand and try his odds at the river again. He only avoided the hand once before it gripped the back of his shirt and threw him backward again.

“Let me go!” Wilbur shouted, reaching for his brother. Tommy ran into his arms, doing what he could to protect his big brother from the much stronger, more threatening man in front of him.

“Kid, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Fuck off!” Tommy shouted. Wilbur might have corrected his language if they hadn’t been currently threatened, and he did say Tommy could curse in emergencies.

Unfortunately, it did not seem to hinder the man in front of them.

“He’s helping me!” Tommy screamed back. Wilbur tried to shush him before he made the situation worse, but Tommy wasn’t very content with that idea. “Just let him cross the bridge!”

“Look, kid,” the guy pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple. Your friend, brother, whatever, he’s still alive. There is no bridge for him.”

Wilbur let his gaze travel back over to the river. There wasn’t a bridge, it was true, but if all of the other people could walk across it…

“You would fall into the water,” the man dragged him back, almost reading his thoughts. “And the river would suck out your soul.”

“Oh…” Wilbur let out a small exasperation, while Tommy just looked pissed.

“That river,” he pointed, “is the barrier between the living world and the dead. You’re lucky I didn’t let you waltz in there, but you aren’t going farther than this.” His gaze hardened. “Go home.”

Wilbur hugged Tommy tight. “I’m not leaving him.”

“He’s not yours to have. He’s dead,” the man gestured to him. “His soul belongs to Hades.”

“I’m not leaving ,” Wilbur felt like yelling, but that would just get him thrown out. “Tommy’s coming back.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” the man mumbled to himself. “No, kid. I guard this barrier. No living beyond this point.”

“I didn’t follow him all the way to that entrance just to get turned around here .” Wilbur looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m finding a way across and no one’s gonna stop me.”

The man seemed to pause, a question in his look that Wilbur didn’t like. Tommy reached for one of his hands and Wilbur took it without any hesitation.

“...what’s your name, kid?”

Wilbur’s mind blanked. “Uh…”

“Wilbur,” Tommy said for him. “And I’m Tommy.”

The man just shook his head. “Real names. I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

Tommy’s face scrunched up, psychoanalyzing the man in front of them. “We never use our real names.”

“I’m going to need them if you want to get any farther.”

He was helping them? He was so dead set on turning Wilbur around just seconds ago.

“Orpheus,” Wilbur dropped his voice as he introduced himself. “This is Theseus.”

The man’s lips pursed. “So you could see Theseus after he died?”

Wilbur nodded, looking down at the spectral image of Tommy in his arms. Tommy looked up with a questioning look, switching between him and the man.

“We don’t use those names so the orphanage doesn’t find us,” Wilbur shared, hoping that maybe one more grasp at sympathy can land them a way across. “We use our chosen names. Plus, the village doesn’t really like myths.”

“Myths?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Who told you they were myths?”

Tommy smiled, “I never thought they were, but the people in the village said we should stop believing in the gods.”

The guy looming over them snorted out a laugh, “Humans are idiots.” He reached a hand out to Wilbur and Tommy, each of them who took it and had the man get them to their feet.

“Are you helping us, mister?” Tommy asked all but cautiously. Wilbur was a little frightened about what the man’s reaction to Tommy’s bluntness would be, but he just laughed, ending in a sigh.

“Not for free,” he told them. He reached a hand out, palm facing the ceiling.

Wilbur bit his lip, fingers twitching. “What if I don’t have anything?”

“You’ll be turning around.” Wilbur squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see the man’s face.

If any of the gods are out there, I need coins. Just two. Please.

Wilbur reached into his cloak pocket, praying silently to the gods, hoping they would hear him from all the way down here. He felt around in his pocket, feeling nothing but the felt lining.

Wilbur had never asked for anything but protection for the years he had been alive. He had said his prayers back in the orphanage and then continued them on the road, but after they had run away Wilbur didn’t have enough strength to pray before sleeping. Sometimes he wouldn’t sleep at all and look after Tommy as he did.

He needed them to listen to him right now. They would never have to answer a single other prayer for as long as he lived.

Wait, scratch that, he still had to get Tommy and himself out of the underworld.

Please please please .

“Kid, if you don’t have anything just-”

Wilbur’s hand closed around two coins. He pulled them out, staring at them with wonder.

Tommy’s eyes brightened immediately, jumping up and down.

Wilbur looked back up at the man, coins in his hand.

“Well?” He asked. “You going to give them, or what?”

“They’re all we have,” Wilbur whispered.

“You won’t have anything if you stay in the underworld for another minute, kid. Do you want to go over or not?”

Wilbur dropped them into his palm. The guy smiled, curling his hand over them to solidify it. Actually, the man brought one of the coins up to his eyes to study it, rubbing his finger and thumb over the dull metal.

Wilbur watched the coin change in front of his very eyes, the rust fading and the copper color becoming shinier, and melding into gold .

Wilbur knew a story like that, but it didn’t make much sense.

“Ok, kids,” he waved them over. “Field trip.”

“What’s that?” Tommy asked as he trotted alongside the man.

“Uh, twentieth-century humor. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Twentieth century?” If Wilbur had studied well enough when he was in school, which was all of one year, he might have known what century they were in right now. “When’s that?”

“About two thousand years from now,” he shrugged. “Have you two ever been on a boat?”

“Yeah!” Tommy chirped. “Wil and I got on a boat to escape the crazy man who tried to kill me!”

“Really?” The man seemed interested instead of disgusted like all of the other people Tommy had spilled that to. “Why was he trying to kill you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Said something about Wilbur and wanting to teach me or something.”

The guy looked back over at Wilbur, who shook his head frantically.

The man decided to wave off the conversation, pointing to the rickety row boat sitting up against the shore. “That’s what we’ll be taking.”

“That’s a lot less cool than the boat we went on,” Tommy pouted.

“It’s better than having my soul sucked out,” Wilbur recounted with a shutter. He did not even want to think about that.

“Just get in.”

Wilbur was careful not to touch the water as he boarded the rowboat. Tommy was lifted over the side by the man and placed on the bench next to Wilbur. That was when the man took his place with the paddle, standing in the back and pushing the boat into open water.

Wilbur white knuckle gripped his seat as the boat rocked and swayed, but Tommy seemed perfectly at ease, like he always was.

“So, mister,” Tommy started, making the man look over at him. “Are you Charon?”

He smiled, “No, I’m his replacement. He retired when the Roman Empire fell.”

“I thought he was immortal?” Wilbur questioned. “Why would he need to retire?”

“Think about it, kid,” he rolled his eyes. “You have your job since the beginning of time, and then you have your popularity arc where everyone knows you by name for a few hundred years, and then suddenly the empire dies out and everyone starts believing in this ‘Jesus’ guy.”

Wilbur snickered softly. “That does sound kind of hard.”

“The guy needed a break anyway. Hades was kind enough to build a bridge, so we only have this boat for emergencies,” he nodded to Wilbur and Tommy. “Like you two.”

“Are you Midas?” Tommy asked with no reference that he had heard the other part of the conversation. “You turned the coin gold.”

“I’m not the Midas,” he answered. “Just a Midas. His curse isn’t new, and it’s not fair that he was the one who named the whole thing.” The guy shook his head, “I was even born first.”

“Are you in my stories, then?” Tommy swung his feet back and forth from the bench, as they didn’t reach the bottom of the boat. “What’s your name?”

“You wouldn't have heard of me if you rely on stories.” He gave the boat another push, and they were floating into a dark area of the river now. “You would have had to know me personally.”

Wilbur studied him, careful to take in every detail. It was clear that his hair and eyes probably didn’t shimmer when he was human, and that was a new thing. He was clearly strong, though, and he gripped the oar to the boat like someone would grip a sword.

“Were you a warrior?” Wilbur asked, watching the man’s mouth tick up into a smile. “A gladiator?”

“Right you are,” he chuckled. “My name is Technoblade.”

“That’s weird,” Tommy said as he scrunched up his nose. “Why would someone name you that?”

“I was named by the gods, thank you,” he failed to seem offended. “Are either of you demigods?”

“Dunno,” Tommy said. “We didn’t know our parents.”

“Neither of you?” Technoblade looked over to Wilbur, who shrunk back a little.

“I don’t remember anything about them, only a memory of them being there.”

The man hummed an acknowledgment. “Perhaps your mother was a goddess and left you when she could not take care of you on Olympus.”

“That’s mean,” Tommy pouted. “No fair that we don’t get parents and other kids do.”

“I was in your boat, kid, I didn’t have parents either.”

“But we’re in your boat.”

“Right, idioms aren’t a thing yet either.”

They continued to sail, Technoblade at the helm. Wilbur relaxed slightly the farther they went on, even if the water turned darker and the cavern became smaller.

“You two,” Technoblade began again, “Are going to need to follow my instructions if you want to make it through the underworld without getting mister mortal over here killed.”

Wilbur felt his posture slump in on itself, but they both nodded.

“I can’t help you past the shore, so when you get there, Tommy needs to lead.” Tommy perked up slightly with the idea of having responsibility. “You’ll see those stars again, kid, and you’re going to follow those to security.”

“Security?”

Technoblade stopped for a moment to put his head in his hands. “I keep using future terms. The guards, they’ll be checking most of the people that come in to make sure people aren’t bringing things from the mortal realm, and that the people there are actually dead.”

Wilbur’s lips pressed into a thin line. “How do we avoid them?”

“If you blend in, you’ll be fine. Don’t touch anything, walk slowly, and blend in. You’ll be pale enough with fear that you’ll look like the dead anyway.”

Wilbur didn’t like what that implied much. He swallowed down any retort. “What else?”

“You guys are familiar with the greek stories?” When both of them nodded, he focused his gaze on the approaching shoreline. “You’ll have to steer clear of Cerberus.”

The familiar three-headed dog of Hades was one of the stories that Wilbur remembered terrifying him as a child. Tales of sharp teeth surrounding you, mouths dripping with enough slobber to drown a kid, and a rope tied around his neck to keep him rooted in one spot were enough to make him frightened of the shadows.

Neither of them was as strong as Hercules or as musically inclined as the real Orpheus to get by him when spotted. They would have to avoid him at all costs.

“Then the furies,” Technoblade said with distaste, “You don’t want to go anywhere near those old hags. They’ll send you flying straight into the pits of Tartarus if they find out you’re still living.”

Wilbur was really starting to regret using his one and only favor from the gods for payment to get across this good-for-nothing river.

But he had to get Tommy back. He wouldn’t be leaving without him, and if that meant he died before he left, so be it.

“Anything else?” Wilbur asked shakily.

“Just follow Tommy to where they judge the souls. There you’ll have to get the attention of Hades, who won’t be there but will come out if there’s enough riot. If you’re lucky, Hades will listen enough to strike a deal.”

“What if he doesn’t listen?” Tommy asked, on the edge of his seat like he was being told another greek story. “What do we do then?”

“Then you’re dead, kid,” Technoblade shrugged, “Don’t know what you’ll want me to do about it. If that does happen, though, I’ll be waiting by the shoreline to pick you up,” he nodded to Wilbur. “That’s if Hades doesn’t kill you first.”

“Is Hades… is he nice?” Wilbur cringed at his own words. Why would the god of the underworld be nice ?

“Mm, wouldn’t say nice ,” Technoblade considered, “But Hades is very different than who you have read about. More caring, maybe.”

“Really?” Tommy looked like he was about to start bouncing, “What’s changed about him?”

Technoblade chuckled, “Maybe consider addressing her by, ‘my lady’ instead of ‘my lord.’”

“Hades is a girl ?!” Tommy was super excited now. “Women are awesome.”

“You two will certainly get along,” he chuckled. “Maybe leave the talking to Theseus.”

Wilbur nodded shortly, watching the approaching shoreline with a hint of coming doom. Maybe all he would get from this is a place in the fields of asphodel next to his brother.

“Why are you helping us?” He asked softly. Technoblade gave him a wide stare, something that could be interpreted in so many different ways. Wilbur shrunk back a little bit.

“Count your blessings.” Technoblade didn’t answer his question. “You won’t have a ton once you get off my boat.”

Wilbur nodded once again, reaching out to grasp Tommy’s hand. They squeezed each other’s fingers gently, hoping they wouldn’t have to let go.

But they were never really that lucky.

---

Wilbur stumbled out of the boat, careful not to touch the water as he did so. Technoblade helped him with a steady hand but pushed him onto land once he had two feet on solid ground.

“Shroud!” Tommy shouted once they were both on land, running toward a small figure out in the distance. The raccoon turned at the sound of his name and ran up to Tommy, who easily scooped the animal up.

“You didn’t tell me you had a guide,” Technoblade observed from his space on the boat. Tommy only turned to him with wide eyes full of wonder and an armful of raccoon fur.

“Is that what he is?” The kid asked while looking at his companion. “Are you a guide, Shroud?”

“He’s not going to answer you,” Technoblade chuckled. “He’s a raccoon.”

“Well he’s a smart raccoon and I’m sure if he could talk, he would.” The kid set him down once he started to squirm, and the animal gave a soft chitter before trying to move further inland.

“What does a guide do?” Wilbur asked as he kept an eye on the child he was now responsible for in the literal land of the dead.

“They tend to show up with children,” the man explained, “Most kids aren’t content to follow a path of stars for hours and get lost in the living realm. The animals are supposed to help them through the journey and find faster routes if there are any.”

Wilbur smiled softly, “That sounds like Tommy.”

“Orpheus,” Technoblade called to him before Wilbur could think about going any father. They matched eyes, a set of red and gold to dark brown. “You’ve got guts, kid. Put them to good use.”

Wilbur scrunched his eyebrows up in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“Don’t make the same mistake,” were his parting words, not explaining his phrases whatsoever. With that, he pushed off of the sandy shore and let his boat wade out into the water. He didn’t look behind him.

“Wilby, let’s go!” Tommy called for him. Wilbur still left himself staring at the spot where Technoblade was gradually disappearing, wondering if he would ever see the man again.

“Let’s try to be quiet, ok?” Wilbur took Tommy’s hand as they began walking. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”

“But look at this place!” Tommy said, pointing to different buildings and structures among the skyline. “It’s beautiful!”

Wilbur wouldn’t say likewise. Most of the buildings he observed were crumbling and made with shades of black and brown. He could see the ceiling now, towering miles above their heads, but sharp stalactites hung from dips in the stone, threatening those who stood beneath it. There were hordes of souls in every direction, wandering aimlessly or shuffling to get to their next destination.

In the distance, a large, dark palace loomed. All of the windows were dark, and large double doors were adorning the front of the throne room that would lead to where Hades would sit.

In front of the palace, a long line of souls stretched for eternity. If Wilbur remembered anything, this was the line the souls would be judged in, where they would be sent to one of three places.

Elysium was where you wanted to be. Wilbur could see it from here. It was the only place that didn’t look dark and gloomy, with lanterns hanging as streetlights and the faint hint of music wafting through the air. Houses were lined up in beautiful vibrant colors, and greenery dotted the area.

The fields of asphodel were not your best option. They were for those who had led mediocre, uninteresting lives, left to wander for the rest of eternity. Some people would willingly choose the fields instead of waiting in line to possibly be sent to the last destination.

The fields of punishment were nobody’s friend.

Wilbur shivered before he even got a chance to look over there. Every so often a scream would cut through the air to his right. There was a large hill that protruded from out of the section, and souls were bound in places no one would want to be.

Wilbur quickly hid those fields from the view of his brother. He may be dead, but he wasn’t old enough to see things like that.

“Look! Cerberus!” Tommy pointed straight ahead, down a hill. Wilbur watched a sizeable three-headed dog doze peacefully next to the long line of souls waiting to be judged. He relaxed just slightly. If the beast was sleeping, they would have a better chance of slipping by.

“Let’s stay quiet, ok?” Wilbur dropped his voice as they continued to walk to the end of the line. “I don’t want to have to deal with him if he wakes up.”

Tommy nodded absentmindedly, not reassuring him whatsoever that he would listen. Wilbur put whatever trust he could spare into his brother at the moment as he kept his eyes on the floor, following his little path of stars.

When they got to the back of the line, Wilbur shifted anxiously on his feet. There were people with long black swords that paraded up and down the line, looking at people closely to ensure that no one was slipping by without their consent. There was another line that was harder to see from far away with how fast it was moving, but Wilbur knew that that line was a one-way ticket to asphodel.

Their line trickled through, and Tommy slowly got restless.

“Wilby,” he complained loudly, “I wanna do something.”

Wilbur glanced nervously up to the sleeping beast who steadily got closer the farther they went.

“Be quiet,” he whispered, not daring to bring his voice up. “Once we’re past the dog we’ll play some games, alright?”

“But that’s so long .” Granted, Tommy did drop his voice slightly, but he would not hold it for long if Wilbur didn’t get something for him to do.

When this challenge arose back when they were in the village, Wilbur would let Tommy run into a shop, pick something at random, and run out as fast as he could. Often Tommy would get sweets or sugary fruits, sometimes it was small articles of clothing, like hats, shoes, and mittens. Sometimes they would steal pottery, and once Tommy had even gotten away with an intricately carved fork from a silversmith that they sold in the next village over to get cloaks for the winter.

It would occupy their afternoon due to the fact that the shopkeeper or villagers would chase them down over the stolen goods until they lost track of the boys. Wilbur and Tommy would hide in the forest overnight and do their best to hide the object until people forgot about it. That was when they could use it.

There was no one to steal from here, as you couldn’t exactly bring anything with you further than the grave. There was that looming palace ahead of them, but Hades wouldn’t exactly be fond of two boys, one of them living, stealing hi- her things. They needed help from her anyway, and stealing was no way to gain favor.

“Wil,” Tommy wined again. “Play something with me.”

Wilbur couldn’t sing either, which was another one of Tommy’s pastimes. Wilbur had long ago run out of songs he had heard and came up with his own words and tunes on the spot to appease the child. But singing was directly the opposite of staying quiet.

“Alright,” Wilbur breathed, “Tap with me. Rhythm.”

Wilbur stretched Tommy’s left arm out, beginning to tap a slow rhythm onto his skin. Tommy concentrated with wide eyes, trying to pick up the simple pattern beneath Wilbur’s fingertips. Eventually, the kid brought his hand up to Wilbur’s left arm, beginning to follow the pattern Wilbur had tapped out.

“Good,” Wilbur whispered with a smile. They still had to shuffle forward a little bit every minute or so, but they still remained in the pattern as they did. “I’m going to add another layer, ready?”

He nodded, and Wilbur began to tap a bit faster, adding some variation and extra beats into the mix. Tommy’s fingers fumbled as they tried to match, and Wilbur whispered small words of encouragement.

Tommy once again got the rhythm, drumming his fingers with a smile that took up his whole face.

“One more layer, ready?” Wilbur added on a faster tempo, another layer that Tommy now had to play with. He didn’t exactly get the hang of this one, missing a beat here and there, but Wilbur only sang his praises.

That was until there was a rumbling growl to their right.

Wilbur spun with immediate fear lacing through his system. Tommy once again tried to be the protective brother, stepping in front of Wilbur to face one of Cerberus’s heads that had come to life.

His piercing, glowing yellow eyes were a sight to behold. The dog was much bigger than anything Wilbur could have pictured from their vantage point father up. If two horses were stacked on top of each other, they might just reach Cerberus’s height, not to mention how he had a tail he could use as a whip, and three different sets of teeth to devour someone like him.

Wilbur doesn’t remember if he screamed or not, but he remembered running.

Cerberus’s rope was long , about long enough to let him roam without him escaping into any of the three sections of afterlives or the river Styx, so he easily chased after Wilbur as he dragged Tommy along quickly, closing the length between them in two short bounds.

“Sit!”

Everything seemed to stop. Tommy had pulled from Wilbur’s grip, holding a palm out to the gigantic dog. Wilbur skidded to a stop, about to grab Tommy’s hand again and keep running until he saw the huge mass of black fur pause.

“I said sit!” Tommy motioned to the dog. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

The kid was literally yelling at the dog so that he could make sure the animal was hearing him, even if he had three pairs of ears to do so.

Like a miracle, the dog sat. Tommy beamed. 

“I knew Hades would have him trained,” the kid happily pranced up closer to Cerberus, patting him lightly on the nose. “Just wanted attention, didn’t you, boy?”

Wilbur had his mouth hanging open, watching Tommy with wide eyes as he petted the beast in between the eyes. Cerberus’s gigantic tail was wagging back and forth in the middle of the line, knocking over different souls as they tried to get by. All three heads were focused on Tommy, one of them with a playful grin.

“What is the meaning of this ?” Someone hissed from the sky. A pair of bat wings soared overtop of Tommy and Wilbur.

Two things Technoblade told them to avoid. Cerberus and the furies. And they were both here.

“Tommy…” Wilbur called, trying to move forward but still hesitant due to the giant… was he a beagle?

“You be good to the souls ok? But only if they’re nice to you too.”

“Tommy…” Wilbur eyed the sky again, watching yellow eyes dart in and address the scene. “We gotta go.”

“Bye Cer-ber-us,” Tommy placed a kiss on one of the heads’ noses, making the other two clearly jealous.

“Ah, a pair of children,” another voice said from the sky as they swooped in. “Delightful.”

Tommy turned to Wilbur, not seeing the threat. “Do we have to go to the back of the line now?”

Wilbur walked gently forward, trying not to draw attention. If they look normal, maybe the furies would just go away.

“They were just talking to the dumb bloodhound, Alec,” one of the sisters mocked in disgust.

Bloodhound. That made more sense than a beagle.

“You never keep an eye on them anymore, Tisi. You’re soft .”

“Excuse me , I will have you know that my name means avenging murderer, or have you forgotten?”

“Uh, they’re leaving, you know.”

The last sister brought attention back to them, and they had made some slow progress. Tommy had kept his voice low when he spotted the three, as they were a bit scarier than the gigantic dog.

“Hold on,” the one named Alec observed. “Is one of them alive ?”

“I haven’t seen a mortal down here since Achilles!”

“Gods, he’ll be fun to kill won’t he?”

They all spoke at the same time, overlapping each other, but as soon as Wilbur heard the phrase alive , he was running.

“Come back here you brat ,” one of them cackled as the two ran in the only direction they could: toward the palace. “Lady Death isn’t going to spare you any more than the rest of us!”

“He’s a little small to be eaten.”

“Please catch the meal before you think about eating it, Meg,” the other sister rolled her eyes and then cackled as she dove right toward the pair. Wilbur had to duck to avoid her clawed hands, and it gave him the shivers.

“Wilby, we’re almost there!” Tommy shouted, pointing to the beginning of the line. The entrance to the palace was rather small, just a doorway, and it led to the coziest looking place in the entire underworld.

Or maybe Wilbur was just being chased by three old ugly cannibalistic hags.

“Aw, did you hear that?” One of them snarled, “The mortal has a nickname .”

“Too bad his brother is dead, it could have been a four-course meal.”

“Oh shut up, Tisi, we haven’t even caught the meatbag yet.”

“They’re nearing the entrance, you know!”

One of them cackled loud enough that the sound echoed off the cavern ceiling, and made Wilbur shiver so hard he almost stumbled right into an outstretched claw.

It just scraped his shirt, drawing a pinprick of blood, but it hurt like hell.

“Fly faster, you old bean!”

“I don’t see you flying any faster.”

“Would you both shut up? They’re cutting the whole line!”

Wilbur threw Tommy ahead of him into the palace door, immediately pressing them both to the indoor wall as far from the door as they could. Both of the brothers had to catch their breath as they held onto one another. Wilbur wouldn’t admit to the tears trailing down his cheeks. It was too close. Too close.

“Ahem,” someone coughed from inside the room. Wilbur’s gaze shot up, looking at a council of three members. They sat behind a large table, and to the corner of the smaller room was a small round table with three old women knitting around it, occasionally cutting golden strings and whispering softly to themselves.

The fates. They had cut Tommy’s string and ended his life.

“I don’t believe you both are to be here at the same time,” one of the older judges rolled their eyes, slouching forward. “And… you look different.”

“He’s still alive, Aeacus,” the one on the right said to the one on the left. “What are you doing here, kid? Looking after your brother?”

Wilbur would be honest when he said that he didn’t believe the judges would be nice to them. They weren’t immediately pushing them out, pushing them forward, they were just… observant.

The one in the middle looked like he had seen a ghost, which was a little strange since his job was literally to see ghosts.

“Theseus?” He whispered just slightly. It made Tommy look up, and his shimmering form became a lot more apparent to Wilbur at that moment.

“You know these kids?” The one on the right asked the one in the middle. Wilbur’s heart was beating right out of his chest. Who was this judge? He sure didn’t look like Minos, who should have been sitting in the middle. His beard was rather short, hair pulled back with a twist of vines. He wore dark green robes, some seams glittering with gold. He looked more like a god than anyone else.

The middle judge stood up, looking over them a little bit, meeting eyes with Wilbur.

“Orpheus,” he whispered reverently. His mouth began to twitch, like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

He knew their names.

Why?

The man moved forward, slightly shaky on his feet. Wilbur didn’t opt to move closer, hugging Tommy to make sure he knew that this stranger was no threat to him. Wilbur had gone to the depths of the underworld for his brother, and whoever this was wasn’t about to stop him.

The man was right in front of them now. His eyes were blue, sparkling like the rivers that made up the overworld. He looked like… Persephone, if he was ever male.

Wilbur guessed it would make sense if Hades was a woman and Persephone was a man, but that didn’t explain what he was doing here , in the judging room, where Minos sat in all of the stories.

“How do you know our names?” Wilbur asked tentatively. The man smiled, but it was quickly overwhelmed by tears. His arms were restless at his sides, like he wanted to hold the two of them but didn’t know how.

“Yeah, Phil,” the person who Wilbur assumed was Radamanthus called. ‘Phil’, he would admit, was a rather lame greek name. “How do you know these guys?”

Phil just glanced back at the two judges, and then he let his watery eyes dance over Wilbur and Tommy again. “I’m going to take these two for a little bit.”

“Phil, we’ve got work to do,” one of them growled. “Tell us what’s up.”

“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.” His voice was a little more steady now, but none of it was directed at the two of them. “Continue without me.”

“We can’t do that, you’re the head chair.”

“Then wait . These souls have all the time in the world.” Phil looked back at Wilbur again, specifically Wilbur. “Can you follow me? Both of you?”

“Where?” Tommy asked, too curious for his own good. It was the underworld, and Wilbur wasn’t too fond of asking questions.

The man seemed to have no problem answering. “One of the other rooms in the palace. I want to talk to you both. I’m sure that’s what you came for, right?” His eyes trailed to Wilbur again. “You don’t have unlimited time.”

Wilbur shook his head gently. Phil just nodded, offering a hand out. Tommy looked to Wilbur for permission before taking his hand.

Wilbur hadn’t considered if this man was dead or not. He didn’t look dead, but there was that odd shine to him again, like in Technoblade. Where maybe he had been dead at one point, but he wasn’t anymore.

Maybe he had never been dead. Maybe he had just once been mortal.

A few doors closed behind them, they were brought out of a few rooms and into a few more. Each room was a variation on a theme, dark and gold, with stone walls and intricate carvings on the walls. All of the furniture looked fit for kings, but it was missing the royal red and purple Wilbur had always heard about when people described them.

Phil pushed one more door in, entering into definitely the largest room Wilbur had ever been in, besides the literal cavern outside of the walls. The marble floors were spotted with raw ores that would have cost a fortune, and dark tapestries displayed all kinds of heroes that Wilbur both could and could not name.

“What is this?” A cold voice spoke from the end of the hall. Yet, Wilbur got no chills from this one. It might be cold, icy, and deadly like a winter storm’s wind, but there was nothing to hide behind it. There was only interest, a little bit of curiosity.

When Wilbur looked up to the end of the hall, he saw the most beautiful woman in all the world. Aphrodite would surely be jealous of that title, but Wilbur would not take it back. She was dressed in all black, lace that danced and spun in the low light. Her hair flowed down her shoulders, a glossy black and brown. The dress she wore graced the floor, and the smile that was on her face was like nothing Wilbur had ever seen.

“My lady,” Phil bowed his head, but it didn’t seem as formal as one would do when facing the queen of the underworld. “We may have a… few things to discuss.”

She laughed lightly, something that echoed around. “I can see that.” She looked directly at Wilbur, the dark brown color of her eyes matched his own. “You’re a brave one for coming down here as you are. Perhaps I would call you stupid,” Wilbur couldn’t help but feel his face turn red, “But I’m afraid Phil would tell me off.”

The man chuckled right along with her. “I would never.”

“But you would,” she remarked with a twist of a smile. “Now, tell me who you’ve brought with you.”

Wilbur turned to look at Phil. Tommy had let go of his hand once he saw the woman up ahead, clutching at the clothes Wilbur had on and hanging onto him for dear life. Wilbur felt as if the world was coming at him too quick, that this wasn’t supposed to be happening in rapid fire as it was.

He was in the underworld, he had crossed the river, tamed Cerberus, run from the furies, met the judges, and now he was here in front of the goddess of death.

“You were never supposed to be here,” Phil said to the two of them softly. “Had I known that string was yours, I would have never had it cut.”

Tommy whimpered softly, not sure what to make of the situation. His eyes were caught on the goddess who kept somehow getting closer while making an illusion of not moving at all.

“Can I ask how you died?” Phil looked patiently at Tommy, who shook his head softly. Phil’s eyebrows scrunched together, looking up at Wilbur for help.

“It was some kind of sickness,” Wilbur managed to speak out. “People in the village called it a curse. Some said the gods were trying to kill him. He doesn’t remember dying.”

Phil seemed to take the explanation well, a smile thrown at Tommy, who seemed to soften a little bit.

“My lady,” he addressed the goddess again, “I believe there may be some truth in that statement.”

She only sighed. She was so close now, she could have reached for them and been able to touch them. Wilbur imagined what her skin could have felt like, if it was cold like stone or hot like fire.

“These are the reborn heroes,” she said, though it almost could have been a question. Wilbur’s mind tried to process that statement, wondering what reborn heroes could even mean.

The only heroes Wilbur knew of were in the stories. Could that mean…?

“Orpheus, I suppose,” she smiled, reaching a hand out, palm face up. Wilbur looked at it for a moment, mind blank, before he placed his hand in hers.

Her skin wasn’t cold or hot, it was… she just felt like a person.

“And little Theseus,” she smiled at Tommy. “I see that my brothers and sisters somehow got by my watch. They were never too keen on me removing the heroes from their places in Elysium and testing to see if they would still be the same souls they were before.”

Oh .

“It seems you’ve taken initiative even sooner,” she beamed. “I’ve listened to your music, Wilbur, you are very talented.”

Wilbur’s heart swelled to hear his chosen name spilled from her lips with praise the two of them have neither once gotten from anyone. It was enough to smile back at her, even as she dropped his hand.

“Do you have something to tell them, Phil?” She turned to the man, who started stuttering like a madman. The goddess only rolled her eyes, an action that seemed to brighten Tommy’s day significantly.

“I- uh- are you sure right now is…” The goddess gave him a death stare. “Ok! Ok, uh, well, boys,” the man knelt in front of them so he could be at eye level. “You won’t remember us, but we are… your parents.”

There wasn’t much Wilbur could react to. He looked down at Tommy, who was throwing a bewildered look back at him.

“Why aren’t we here, then?” Wilbur found himself blurting out. “Why did we have to go up there?”

The goddess smiled. “It’s not easy raising mortal children in the underworld.”

Phil nodded too, “The older you got, the less alive you became. We had to bring you somewhere that wasn’t here. But she had to stay,” Phil looked up at Hades, the goddess of the underworld, “And I have a duty here too.”

Wilbur nodded slightly before realizing that… these were his parents. They- they were his parents! His mom and dad were a goddess and a judge of the underworld, and he… he was Orpheus. He was the Orpheus.

“You can’t stay here,” the goddess spoke up again. “And we cannot leave with you, but perhaps there is a guardian from this world that you can take with you.”

Phil seemed to perk up, standing once again. “Midas?”

She laughed softly, “I’ll have to get another replacement for Charon.”

“Technoblade?” Tommy asked softly, barely heard. “He’s coming with us?”

Phil looked about ready to burst into tears again. “You’ve met him.”

“He rowed us across the river because Wilbur couldn’t take the bridge!” Tommy’s voice grew as he was given attention. “He’s cool. Was he really a gladiator?”

“I’m sure he can tell you all about it,” Hades smiled, “When you get back up to the surface.”

Wilbur gripped Tommy’s hand. “So you’re going to let him live?”

She hummed softly, but it was more of a consideration and less of an agreement. “Have you read the story of your namesake, Orpheus?”

Wilbur nodded softly, not liking where this was going.

“Good,” she smiled, something new sparking in her eyes. “You won’t make the same mistake.”

---

Wilbur wasn’t allowed to turn around as he took steady steps toward the entrance to the underworld. His heart beat steady with his footsteps, marching in time, in solemn silence.

Tommy was not by his side. Hades wouldn’t allow him to leave alive without some kind of test, and it seemed to be the trial of the same hero Wilbur had been in a past life.

He couldn’t see Tommy, he couldn’t make sure he was ok. His logic and his gut feeling told him that he was there right behind him, he was ok, but Wilbur could never be sure .

That was what hindered Wilbur. He was slow to trust, so how was he meant to believe that his brother would be brought back to life as soon as Wilbur made it out of the underworld?

It was such a big favor for Wilbur to give Hades nothing in return, so why would she ever do it? Hades was not kind, not caring, she did not have any stories where she took pity on those who came to her to cheat death.

Even if they were his parents, even if Tommy had died without Hades’s consent, and even if Wilbur had braved the underworld to prove his myth true-

To prove his myth true .

Hades was testing to see if Orpheus was still the same even if he was now a new soul. The Orpheus that had lived before had failed . He had turned around, he had sent his lover back to the underworld, never to live again. Orpheus would forever walk the world alone, and his music would never reflect the happy thoughts that once had flowed from his lips without thinking.

Wilbur was doomed to repeat history and hate himself because of it.

He found himself at the river before he knew it. The boat was there, bobbing lazily in the water, its oar placed across the two benches. Technoblade wasn’t there, which meant that Wilbur would have to brave the boat himself.

Was there even anyone behind him?

He shouldered the oar with a bit of frustration. Technoblade had stood in the back of the boat and made it move through the shallow water by dragging the oar against the ground and pushing forward. Wilbur would have to do the same, but from the front of the boat.

Wilbur stepped into the craft, wobbling and shivering as he moved his way to the front. He held the paddle and called out behind him.

“If- if anyone’s there, you can get in.”

The boat wobbled with a new weight added, much too large to be a six-year-old. Wilbur ground his teeth together, swearing that he wouldn’t turn around to see who was there instead of his brother. 

It wasn’t his brother.

They could be with his brother .

Wilbur held on to that sliver of hope and pushed the boat into the water.

He wasn’t made for this. He could sing and occasionally play a string instrument when he could get his hands on one. Pushing a boat through the water made his breathing heavy, only getting short breaks when the momentum caught up to him and pushed him a little farther. It was exhausting, and when Wilbur finally saw the shore, he almost rejoiced.

He let himself fall onto the sand, heart rapidly beating in his chest. He closed his eyes for a second, not liking the silence that his brother would always fill. There was nothing but the sound of waves lapping gently at the sand. He let the chills spread across his body as the silence pierced his brain, throbbing and clawing for him to just turn around.

Because it wasn’t his brother.

But it could be.

If he turned around, he would lose all chances he had. If he didn’t, then he would either have his brother back, or he would be named a fool for letting this other soul follow him to an exit, and he would hate himself forever.

“Cos although you say good day to me,” Wilbur whispered, hoping to relieve the silence with his song, hoping it would take a weight off of his shoulders. “I know I don’t belong.”

He shuttered, letting himself get to his feet. His legs moved on his own, hoping, praying he couldn’t be fooled.

“And although you hold my hand and say ‘I love you’ you are wrong.” His feet marched in time with the beats, his voice echoing around the cavern and filling the air. There was no silence anymore, just the music, Tommy’s song.

“Because love does not exist here,” Wilbur’s voice shook. “In this garden there’s no feeling.” He entered the opening with the stairs, a tear starting to run down his face. “And you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning.”

His voice echoed around the stone steps as he progressed, slowly upward, he moved. Nothing changed, it was just stairs and tired muscles and the faint stepping of footsteps somewhere behind him.

“And when all the flowers are rotten,” he breathed in to try and steady himself, “And all the cannons shot.” He almost fell on one of the steps, the rock piercing his hands. He just bit down on the pain. “I’ll scream, but you won’t hear…”

The footsteps stopped, and so did he.

He waited for something to happen. He wanted badly to turn around, ask his brother what was wrong, and ask him to sing the next line for him so Wilbur would just know he was there.

Instead, he took in a shaky breath, continuing with the completion of the verse.

“Forget me not.”

The footsteps started up again. Wilbur breathed a sigh, continuing back up the stairs, no light coming in anymore. It was all darkness so that if Wilbur turned around anyways he wouldn’t be able to see anyone anyway. That thought helped a little bit.

“And in the years to come, you’ll wander,” he sang, a little bit of comfort in the darkness. “To the place up on our hill.”

Wilbur didn’t know if it was him, but the darkness brightened just a bit. Not enough to see by, but enough to notice. It seemed to move so fast, it felt like they were walking down for hours and he hadn’t even sung the last verse of his song yet.

“And then you’ll cry to our painted sky.” Wilbur let his voice remain somewhat happy, even as the lyrics were cold and sad. “I loved him then, I love him still!”

That was one of Tommy’s favorite lines because he could shout it and Wilbur would be so proud of him afterward, tickle him and squeeze him tight as he sang the next line.

“And you’ll strew some sage and lilies,” Wilbur put one of his hands along the smooth stone of the wall next to him. “And roses where I rot.”

Wilbur had the urge to look up, seeing a beam of light trickle in from somewhere above.

“Of all the flowers you picked,” Wilbur sang as he rushed up the steps, sending echoes of his footsteps thrown behind him. He watched the light get brighter, the outlines, and then the details on the stairs become visible.

“I knew you would forget,” He laid eyes on the cracked stone doorway, singing once more to open it up. The high note bounced off of the stone, making the rocks tumble away and light spill in. He hesitated just for a second before he set his shoes in the frosted grass, watching the trees sway in the morning wind around him.

He was standing in the clearing, listening to the wind, hoping someone would come up. He was waiting for Tommy to show up, but he was scared to turn around. What if it was too early? He needed Tommy to say something.

His heart beat in time with nature’s version of silence.

One second.

Two seconds.

“Wilbur!” 

Wilbur spun around, sinking into his little brother’s arms, shuttering a cry as he pressed his face into Tommy’s real golden curls. His heart hurt with how hard he cried, but Tommy was all smiles, squeezing Wilbur back as much as he needed. He fell to his knees eventually, falling into the grass with Tommy attached to him, tears falling faster than he could hold them back.

It was no trick. Wilbur made it and Tommy was here. He was alive .

No one had lived after the underworld. Even the original Orpheus had failed, and Wilbur was here, he had done it, and Tommy was alive.

“You never finished your song,” a rough voice said behind him. Wilbur looked up, tears staining his cheeks, at a much more alive-looking man than he had met before. His hair was pink now, permanently, and his skin no longer shimmered. Wilbur wasn’t sure how people would react to him and his warrior-type build and pink hair, but he knew he would be a huge help to them, especially when he picked up a rock and it turned into a nugget of pure gold.

“It’s kind of obvious how it ends,” Tommy said from Wilbur’s smuggling hold. Wilbur loosened up a little bit to let him face Technoblade. “He’s talking about flowers.”

“I’d still like to hear it,” he smiled softly, offering a hand to them both to get them off of the ground. Wilbur felt shaky, a shiver crawling up his spine.

“We have to get back to the village,” Wilbur ignored Technoblade’s request. It didn’t feel right to finish a song about death when their own story didn’t end in that final ending.

Still, his head echoed with that last line, even as they started back through the forest toward the home that the two had made, even if they didn’t have a house or a shelter, they had a home there.

“Finish the song, Wilby,” Tommy urged along with Techno, “Sing just a little bit?”

Wilbur sighed, looking around and spotting a familiar cluster of blue flowers. He breathed in the sweet scent of the forest around them, and he let one more line of notes flow out of him.

He smiled, finally feeling the world come to peace around him. 

“Forget-me-nots.”