Chapter Text
Have you ever wondered, if your life was your own?
Or if you were some form of entertainment for someone?
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That's what Wilbur thought.
He always seem so curious, of why.
Why did he feel this way.
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He sits at his desk, the candle flicking softly in the dark room, being the only source of soft light in the room, illuminating it softly. Papers, quills, ink and half written letters were scattered on the dark wood desk.
Time seems so still, and eeriely peaceful.
The brunette seemed lost in his thoughts, reading through the half written letters. Poems, of wrath, love, lust, jealousy and much more.
His glasses seem to reflect the dim candle light, showing more off of his honey colored eyes. A simple pencil thin line was across his lips, usually turning to a soft scowl.
These thoughts have been keeping him up all night.
The president of the nation, unable to sleep, as he finds it strange that there were "gods", or known better as "watchers". We're they actually watching him? Everyone? Or was it some myth, made up by tired mother's whos kids wouldn't stop asking.
He couldn't put his finger on it.
He sighs, letting his hands hold his head up, as he rests it his hands.
“Fuck..” he lets out, in a soft raspy tone.
He gets up, pushing the chair back as he grabs his trenchcoat. A dark brown one, with gold designs on the cuffs. He puts it on, and heads out of his study. He walks down the dark halls, passing Tommy's room, and out of the house. He looks out to the night sky, letting the cool winter breeze hit him. He takes it on him, hoping to ease his mind. His white button up shirt gleams in the moonlight, as well as his glasses. He stretches his wings, letting them feel the cool breeze against his feathers. Black and brown, with hints of white.
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This was the moment.
The moment he so very much enjoyed.
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He felt a tug on his coat, and looks down.
To see Tommy, the small blonde wrapped up in his blanket. “Wilbah, what are you doing outside?” he asked, as his dark blue eyes spark with curiosity. Wilbur could only smile, picking him up into his arms. “Clearing my mind” he says, smiling softly. Tommy nods, following his gaze to the stars in the sky. Wilbur wraps the blanket more, securing Tommy from the cold winds. Despite Tommy's protestings against it, wanting to spread his little white wings, he snuggled into Wilbur.
This was it.
After Philza died, they both had to raise themselves. With only having one another for comfort.
The people were applaud, seeing Wilbur as the 'perfect president ' a nation could have, and the best example of a single dad.
And they loved Tommy, adoring the little kid. Giving him little gifts when they could.
Both were held up, like a prized posesión of the land. Of the people.
But it seems like,
the watchers have grown bored of this peaceful moment.
Of a bonding family.
Because an arrow flew, hitting Tommy right in his back. He yelled in pain, as Wilbur looked mortified at him.
“Wil, it hurts” Tommy cries out, as Wilbur sees more arrows fly to them. He dodges, seeing as most weren't aimed at him. No.
Burning tips, hit the house.
It catches on fire, as he seemed trapped.
He couldn't go forward, and even if he tried a warning shot was shot at him.
So he stayed, holding Tommy in his arm.
“What do you want?!” Wilbur asked, trying to sound like the perfect leader. The one where nothing phases him. People come out from the shadows, holding swords. Wilbur wanted to move back, but he couldn't.
One of them, possibly the leader pointed a sword to the two of them.
“Surrender now, mister president ” the voice said. It sounded monotone, as red eyes stare at him. “I'll surrender, what do you want? Power, money? Anything, just please don't hurt me or Tommy” he softly pleaded. The red eye leader seem to slightly put his sword down, stepping back. Wilbur seem content, as a glimpse of hope shines in his eyes.
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Could this have worked?
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The leader of the clan was a few feet away, raising his hand, which was a fist. The others draw their arrows out, as Wilbur's smile seem to drop.
“Wilbah, are we.. are we going to die?” the small voice said, sniffling. Wilbur looked down to Tommy, kissing his forehead. “We'll be alright songbird, close your eyes alright? We'll be fine” Wilbur says, in hopes to calm the smaller one. He knew this was some execution, and there was no escape to it.
“Step foward” the red eye leader commanded, stepping back. Wilbur could only comply, as he took steps forward. Until he was in the middle, shielding Tommy with his wings. He looked at the leader, with teary eyes. “Who are you..?” Wilbur asked.
The leader points to Wilbur, and arrows launch to him. To him and Tommy. Screams and cries could be heard, it felt endless. An endless suffering, a slow death.
Once they both were on the ground, dead, is when the leader took his mask off. He looked down to the two, stepping close to the bodies.
He leaned in, whispering to the body of Wilbur the name 'Technoblade', before walking off with the others. Leaving the dead bodies of the duo, and a burning house.
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Death was supposed to be nice.
Why was Wilbur killed at 23, and Tommy at 9.
They had their lives to live.
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Why did fate, do this to them.
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Well, it didn't matter.
He was in a white space.
Wilbur was alone in this white space, looking around for Tommy.
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Someone comes up to him, someone with a similar taste in clothing to him. Only with yellow flowers in their hair, wings and a white mask.
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“Who are you” Wilbur asked, stepping back.
“Someone, I see you've lost your younger sibling. I could be of help” the figure said, extending a hand.
“You can be with him, in multiple timelines, love him, protect him. However, you will complete some quests in order to stay there longer” the figure explained. Wilbur seemed skeptical, as he eyes the figure's hand. “How do I know this isn't some scheme or whatever ” Wilbur asked.
The figure seem to tilt their head, sighing. Their black hair seem to have flowers in them, which drop to the ground. “Do you want to see Tommy or no” the figure asked, seeming impatient. Wilbur wanted to snap back, but the idea of seeing Tommy again is what he wanted. Another chance, in life with him.
His lips became pencil flat, then he lets out a sigh.
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“Fine, deal” Wilbur says, shaking their hand.
“Glad we could agree” the figure says. “May I know your name first?” Wilbur asked.
Silence fills the room, before the figure nods.
“Persona, just call me Persona”