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Tommy knew he was going to hate himself every day for the rest of his life if he didn't do something. But what was he meant to do? Fuck, what should he do?
The first thing he did was call Wilbur back and hope that he would pick up. It went straight through to voicemail.
"Fuck," he said out loud, scrambling to his feet. He was frozen where he stood. Now what?
"Ash?" He yelled as loud as he could, time of the night and neighbours be damned.
"Yeah?" Came the older's voice.
"Come here?"
The brunette was at his door in a few seconds, clad in pyjamas. "Yeah?"
"When was the last time you spoke to Wilbur?"
"Um, this morning, I think. Why?"
"How was he? Did he seem off?" Tommy spoke quickly, nearly tripping over his words. His voice was shaking with anxiety.
"No, he seemed fine. Why? Is something wrong?"
"I just missed a call from him and I think the message he left was a suicide note."
"What the fuck?" Ash made his way towards Tommy, his eyes latching onto the phone in his grasp, its brightness in the dark of the room like a hazard warning.
Tommy played the message again, his and Ash's eyes locked as their friend's crying rang through the room.
Hey, Tommy, he sniffled. You could tell he'd been crying for a while. I know you're busy, but I thought I should call. You don't have to call me back, I'm just... yeah, no. Don't call me back. A long pause, interrupted only by more sniffles. Then, out of nowhere, Wilbur started full-on, properly sobbing.
I'm so sorry, Tommy. I don't know what's wrong with me, I just—a sharp, stuttered breath—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to tell you that this isn't your fault or anything. There's nothing you could have done. A deep breath. You could hear him trying to stop crying to no avail. I just can't do this anymore., especially since Techno... He whimpered. I wish I wasn't saying this, but I don't want to leave you with nothing at all; you've been like a brother to me. His voice broke on the word brother. You can have my money and my channels and stuff, do what you like with it, I don't care. Another, longer pause for tears.
Goodbye, Tommy. I'm going to miss you so much, but I just can't... He trailed off. Then, right before the message ended, I love you.
The automated voice of the voicemail lady broke the stifling stillness between them like waves beating down on the shore. Tommy stopped her, shutting his phone off and wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "What do we do?"
Ash met his eyes again. "I'm going to call an ambulance, you get ready to go." With that, he left Tommy alone in his dark bedroom, the door staying open.
Tommy was quick to pull on his shoes, the sound of Ash on the phone as he walked frantically through their flat encouraging his heart rate to rise higher still. This was real, this was happening. He made the quick decision to throw some things into a backpack; his water bottle and laptop from his desk, a handful of charging cables, his wallet, and his keys. He was startled by Rue appearing at his door as he opened his closet for a sweatshirt and coat. She was in her pyjamas too; it was nearly midnight, after all.
"What's going on?"
"I think Wilbur tried to kill himself. Me and Ash are going to his house." He could feel his heart pumping numbing adrenaline through his veins.
"Oh shit. Should I come?"
"No, you stay here. I don't know if..." He didn't know what to say.
"Yeah, okay." Rue understood. "Call me, yeah?"
"Okay," Tommy replied, stepping past her. Ash was right outside, still in his pyjamas with his coat hastily pulled on, ready to leave. His eyes flickered without thought to the strap of Tommy's backpack.
"Let's go. I called an Uber, it'll be here in two minutes."
Rue locked the door behind them as they ran down the five flights of stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. They made it out to the street, the cold air of Brighton's midsummer night winds hollowing their cheeks as Ash pointed out their ride waiting for them on the street. They clambered in immediately, hastily exchanging pleasantries with the driver.
The ride to Wilbur's had never felt so long. There was no traffic at the late hour, but the radio was too quiet to distract Tommy from frantically bouncing his leg. He turned his phone's screen on every few seconds, the brightness scorching his eyes as he checked his notifications repeatedly in case he got a new one suddenly. He made it all of three minutes before he tried calling the brunette again, twice in fact. Voicemail both times. He made a frustrated, worried noise the third time, tempted to throw his phone out the window.
"Hey, it's okay," Ash tried to calm him down, but the older's repetitive motion of harshly rubbing his hands together betrayed his lack of certainty.
"What about the ambulance?"
"They said they would be there within 15 minutes."
"How long ago was that?"
Ash checked his phone. "8 minutes ago." It hadn't felt like 8 minutes ago to Tommy. It felt like a lifetime. His eyes wandered around the head of the driver, tracing the needle of the speedometer and willing it to stray further to the right.
When they pulled up, Tommy was the first to get out of the vehicle. There was no ambulance, but the lights in Wilbur's house were on. With cold fingertips, he dug the spare key out from the hidden indentation in the underside of the windowsill to the right and hastily unlocked the door.
"Wilbur?" He yelled the moment he was inside, Ash close behind. Behind them, the sound of sirens grew in the dead of the night.
Ash grabbed his arm tightly. "Wait here and guide the medics in." Tommy stayed put to do as he was told as the older went on ahead. It occurred to him later that Ash was trying to protect him from accidentally seeing something he shouldn't. Still, he turned back to the street where a small crew of people were offloading from the ambulance with bags and tools and kits clutched in their hands.
He showed them in, calling for Ash with a shout. The paramedics followed his voice up the stairs, Tommy racing up behind them.
For some reason, Tommy had been expecting Wilbur to be in his bathroom, so when the medics turned to the right at the top of the stairs instead of the left, he nearly corrected them until he saw Ash standing outside of Wilbur's bedroom. A shock of ice went through Tommy's body. This was really happening. He'd hoped that Ash would have called out that everything was fine and that it was a false alarm. He was hoping that he wouldn't have had to let the paramedics inside. Like a ghost, he walked towards Wilbur's room. Distantly, Tommy registered how weird it was to be wearing his shoes and coat in Wilbur's house, how strange it was that his bag was still on his back and not discarded somewhere in the living room.
He got to the doorway and paused. The paramedics were all crouched on the floor, talking clearly and directly to one another. He could only see Wilbur's legs and one of his hands, sprawled out at a weird angle. Ash stepped in front of him before he could go inside.
"Don't."
Faintly, Tommy could pick out some of the words the medics said. "He's still breathing."
Tommy's eyes met Ash's. Tears built and spilt. He spoke through tight teeth. "But he's my friend."
Some more murmurs: "Pulse?" "Yes, but it's really weak."
"He's my friend too," Ash replied calmly, his voice infuriatingly even.
"I want to see him," Tommy insisted, reaching out to try and push past.
"Bandage his cheek, I'll work on his arm."
Ash was faster, reaching out to hold him back. "Tommy, don't."
Tommy's eyes wandered past Ash's frame. He saw just a flash of Wilbur as his limp form was being heaved onto a stretcher. He felt his eyes widen. This was real. "Will..." The older's name fell soundlessly from his lips. Ash pulled him to the side as the medics made their way through the door. He wasn't quite quick enough to stop Tommy's eyes from running wild as they passed by. He had exactly one thought: That couldn't have been Wilbur. His face was too lax and his hair was never even that messy. And there were too many bandages. Too much smeared blood.
The paramedic at the back of the group lingered to update them on the situation. "He has to be taken into urgent care immediately. Are you two his family or housemates?"
"Friends," Ash answered. "I'm the one who called in."
"Okay. Feel free to follow us to the hospital." They turned to disappear down the stairs, but Ash was thankfully quick with his responses.
"We don't have a car."
"Well, there might be enough room in the back of the ambulance."
Ash quickly glanced at Tommy. "Let's go, then."
The waiting room was torturous. Tommy hadn't slept and the sun had been up for an hour by that point. There had been no news on Wilbur for the last five hours. The nurses had said they could go home and that someone would be in contact the moment that anything at all happened, but neither Tommy nor Ash had taken up the offer.
They had been making phone calls whenever they noticed that someone was online in any matter, whether it was being active on Twitter or their status changing on Discord. It was ridiculously late, all things considered. Over time, the circle of people who knew slowly increased.
It was a difficult thing to try and balance. Who should they tell? Who did they reckon Wilbur would be okay with knowing? Phil and Kristin were an obvious first choice—next to Rue who'd said she'd be down first thing in the morning—and they had called the moment they were settled in their seats at the hospital. Mark and Joe were next. And from there, whoever happened to wake up next, one at a time, until the phone calls started coming through the other way, worried people calling Tommy and Ash to figure out what was going on. It was hours and hours of explaining the same events over and over with not nearly enough time in between calls to even try and calm down. Tommy could feel his heart beating and he was starting to hate it.
Eventually, Tommy had to turn off his phone and leave Ash alone to go on a short walk around. All the incoming calls were really getting to him, the ringing and vibrating of his phone slowly becoming too much to handle.
On his walk, he stopped by a water fountain. He hadn't drunk anything from the water bottle that he brought, but now that he had the opportunity, he decided to take a long drink, even splashing some up onto his face when he was done. He pulled up his sweatshirt to dry himself and started to cry when the fabric met his skin. It was one of Wilbur's.
Without another thought, he collapsed against the wall and slid down to the floor beside the fountain. He was alone with his thoughts, and every one he had was a question. How hadn't he noticed? He should have done something. What should he have done? What was he gonna do?