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Frigid flooring is the first thing he feels. The cool sting of hard ground is a familiar feeling as he fumbles his way into awareness. It was like he had been sleeping, but he can’t sleep anymore so why-
He jolts up, eyes snapping open, expecting to be met with the grey and empty walls he despises.
But instead…
Stars.
Stars above him, dozens, hundreds of stars! He scrambles to his feet, almost trips on the edge of the gold platform he’d been laying on (gold, not concrete, but gold) just to get out from under the stone roof above him, to reveal more of the sky.
A laugh escapes him as he stares up, one that makes his lungs hurt, and how had he not noticed he can breathe? He gasps air in and out, in and out, just for the sheer feeling of it, cold air rushes in, filling lungs that need air-that move!
Falling to his knees, he breathes and laughs and clutches at the grass below him, feels the soil and sees it blur as tears drip onto his glasses.
The crickets are silent through his hitching breaths, but as his sobs start to subside they sing again. He picks himself up on wobbly legs, and stumbles to walk through vaguely familiar streets. L’manburg is still standing around him, still standing.
And he is standing and breathing and alive!
He needs to talk to someone! He needs to hear another person, he needs… he needs someone that won't run him through with a sword.
He looks to the craters that make the grass dip, to the lake that L’manburg stands on, or floats above really.
They certainly rebuilt it well enough, Tubbo had always been good at that…
The list of people who won't turn their noses up at him is shorter than he’d like, but out of all of them, there's only one person he needs to talk to right now.
Tommy.
He needs to talk to Tommy, needs to let him know he’s alive! Wilbur is not going to let a fourth chance slip away, it's on to the next! And who but Tommy will help him restart?
He turns away from the floating visage of L’manburg, beelining to the staircase that leads to Tommy’s dirt hobble.
When he passes through the tunnel at the top of the staircase however, he finds a granite house in place of dirt.
He stops for a moment, brow furrowing, before he striding to the wide open entrance that's replaced the wooden doors. He leans his head past the threshold to peer in, and spots a blue mass sprawled across the bed near the entrance, snoring loudly.
It's someone he doesn't recognize.
Who the fuck is that? Where’s To-
A memory surfaces in his mind, dragged up bit by bit like an old anchor from the depths. A memory from that pale, grey-blue version of him that had moved about the world like he had any place in it, in Wilbur's place.
Useful now, he supposes.
Lads on Tour, huh?
Wilbur ducks his head back out of the house, looks up to see stars fading and the sky getting lighter to the east. How long had he seen only grey, suffocating him like a pillow over the face without the decency to let him die, or move on from that limbo, anyway.
He moves to sit down on the stairs, near the bench Tommy is so fond of, and starts waiting for the sky to turn blue.
Why is he alive?
He's been given a fourth chance, by, Dream? He got on a train, and Dream had been conducting it. Thinking of it makes his head pound but he's pretty sure that's what happened.
What does Dream gain from bringing him back?
He searches the pockets of his trench coat, and finds he has all the things he died with.
So he pulls out his lighter, then a cigarette from a near full pack. Flicks the lighter and only stares at the flame for a couple seconds before lighting the cigarette.
The sky is a dusky blue.
He breathes it in, head soothing as he does. He sends a thank you to the universe that it's not stale.
His exhale has the smoke twirl around him, before dissipating into the cool breeze out over the cliff. His throat gives its protest to the smoke, he should have found some water.
He sits there until the sun peeks above the horizon. The first rays hit his head as he stands up, taking one more inhale before tossing the cigarette down to his feet. He blows out the smoke still in his lungs and watches the sun strike through the swirling cloud he makes.
Well, Tommy’s not terribly far, and he wants to see the nether again anyway, it'll be warmer there.
He strolls past the cherry red of the cigarette, starting down the path towards his brother.
He’s got enough cigarettes to make it there.