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Wilbur called around in a panic, calling everyone he could think of. Phil, Tubbo, Ranboo, Aimee, Bill.
Finally Ash picked up. “Will? It’s three am wh-”
“Have you heard from Tommy?” Wilbur cut him off, breathing frantically.
“Wh- no, not for a few days, why?” Ash replied.
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-”
“Will, what’s going on?”
“I woke up and had a voicemail from him. I think it was a suicide note.” Wilbur said, his voice shaking. He refused to cry yet.
“Oh- oh fuck.” Ash said. “Will, stay where you are, I’m coming over.”
“What, no I can’t stay here!” Wilbur shouted, neighbours be damned.
“Alright then meet me at Tommy’s.”
Wilbur nodded, then realised ash couldn't see him. “Yeah, okay. Hurry, please.”
They hung up and Wilbur ran out the door with nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’d barely remembered to put shoes on. While he ran, he re-played the voicemail Tommy had left him.
”Hey Wilbur,” the younger sniffled. Wilbur could tell he’d been crying for a while. ”I know you’re sleeping, so um, just don’t call me back. I just thought I should…”
And then Tommy started sobbing. ”I’m sorry Will, I don’t- I don’t know what else to do, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, you couldn't have done anything. I just- I can’t. I’m sorry, Will, I love you, you’re like a brother to me…” Tommy sniffled. ”So you- you can have my channels and shit. And my money, just. I love you.”
Tears streamed down Wilbur’s face as he finally reached Tommy’s apartment, finding Ash standing outside. The shorter man was holding his spare key and he unlocked the door the second Wilbur reached him. They sprinted up the stairs of the complex, completely disregarding the peace of the neighbours.
They reached Tommy’s apartment and rushed inside, nearly kicking down the door.
“Tommy?” Wilbur shouted, running into the kitchen. He didn't see the blond there, so he travelled further into the apartment. He went to Tommy's bedroom, but still didn't find the boy. He did however see a glimpse of a paper sitting on his bed.
“Will!” Ash called. WIlbur turned around and saw him with a hand on the bathroom door handle. Wilbur rushed over and rattled the handle.
“Tommy!” he shouted, banging his fist on the door. “Tommy, open the door!” His voice broke.
“Will-” Ash tried.
“Open the fucking door, Tommy!”
“I’m calling the police,” Ash said.
“Call a fucking ambulance!” Wilbur yelled, continuing to bang on the door. He sobbed, leaning his head on the door. “Please!”
“Open the door!”
He began kicking the door, making a dent in the wood. Ash moved away from Wilbur, still on the phone with 999, and came back with a butter knife. He pushed Wilbur aside, and carefully slipped the knife into the gap between the door frame and the door.
He wiggled it around for a minute until it caught, and then he pushed it. A click, and Ash had already stepped away. Wilbur pulled open the door and his heart dropped.
Tommy was there alright. He was spread across the floor, curled up on himself, his face pale. Wilbur dropped to his knees next to the boy, ignoring the pain. Tommy’s right wrist was coated in blood, pooling on the floor.
“Oh, my god,” he said. He opted to pull Tommy into his lap. He was so cold. Wilbur held Tommy to his chest and sobbed. He was still breathing, but barely. Wilbur held a hand to his neck to feel his pulse, and barely felt it. He placed his hand over Tommy’s wrist and pressed as hard as he could, trying to stop the bleeding.
There was a pill bottle on the floor next to him. Wilbur wanted to puke.
“The ambulance is on the way, Will,” Ash said. “I-I’m going to throw up.”
With that, he disappeared. Wilbur sobbed, holding Tommy as close to his body as he could, as if he could transfer his breath and heartbeat to the young boy. He was so young, he couldn't die.
He was fine. Tommy was fine. Wilbur imagined him just sleeping in his arms. He was fine. He wasn't dying. He’d be fine. He couldn't die, he was Tommy, Tommy doesn't die.
Wilbur didn't realise time had passed before a woman crouched in front of him.
“Will, can you let go of Tommy?” she asked. “We need to assess him.”
Wilbur numbly let go of the boy, who slumped back on the floor with a thud. Wilbur flinched, and crawled against the wall, pressing his back against the cold tile. His ears were ringing loudly.
“He’s still breathing,” another man said. “Pulse weak.” someone injected something into Tommy’s arm. God, Wilbur was sick. “Bandage his wrist,”
Wilbur watched in a daze as Tommy was heaved up on a stretcher. He stood up and followed them out of the bathroom, walking straight past Ash, who stood pale in the living room.
“Do you want to ride in the back with him?” one of the EMTs asked. Wilbur nodded. “What’s your relation to him?”
“Fr- brother,” Wilbur said. The EMT nodded as they reached the ambulance. Wilbur was helped into the back after Tommy, and sat down on one of the seats as they continued to treat Tommy.
They got him hooked up to a heart monitor and Wilbur nearly threw up when he realised how weak the kid’s pulse was. And the sirens were put on.
But then it started slowly going down. Until a prolonged beeping started. Wilbur panicked. The EMTs kept their cool as one of them started doing CPR. They were going to break him, Wilbur thought. Why didn't Wilbur think to do CPR? Maybe he could have helped more. He looked away as the beeping kept going and one of the EMTs got out one of those machines that shocked the patient.
He ignored them calling clear and ruining Tommy more. They were breaking him, he was just a kid. He was barely 18.
The prolonged beeping drilled its way into Wilbur’s head, accompanying the ringing in his ears.
He glanced back at the EMTs and saw that they were still going at him, telling each other to do things, still going at Tommy's chest. They were keeping him alive.
…
Wilbur’s led out of the ambulance. He wasn't aware they’d reached the hospital. He watched as Tommy was rushed into the ER. Wilbur was led to the waiting room, where he sat down and was told to wait. Yeah no shit, it was a waiting room. His clothes were bloody.
Soon Ash arrived, and sat shakily down in the seat next to him.
“I made some calls,” he said quietly. Wilbur nodded, staring dead ahead.
“Will,” Ash said. Wilbur slowly turned to him.
“You’re allowed to be upset,” said the shorter man. “You’re allowed to be sad, or angry, or confused. You’re allowed to cry.”
Wilbur shook his head.
“Will, he’s your brother,” Ash said.
Wilbur got up quickly and walked out of the waiting room. He kept walking, until he reached the edge of the parking lot.
Ash called him. He didn't pick up.
Ash texted him.
They’ve got news for u
Wilbur rushed back to the hospital.
And he and Ash go with a doctor to a private room. The dread builds in Wilbur’s stomach as he looks around, trying to see the head of blond hair he so desperately needed to see.
The doctor closed the door to the room and asked them to sit down.
“You’re Tommy’s brother?” she asked Wilbur. He nodded. “And you?” she asked Ash.
“Just a friend.”
She nodded. Wilbur was shaking.
“Tommy took a large amount of drugs, and lost a lot of blood.” She was speaking directly to Wilbur. He felt as if she was in a different room, like there were walls around him that her voice barely made it through.
“I am terribly sorry, we did everything possible, but he never responded and we never got a pulse back.”
Wilbur went cold.
“He’s.. dead?” Ash asked. His voice was so unbelievably quiet. The doctor nodded.
Wilbur’s bones ached.
“I need to see him.” His voice didn't sound like his own. He stared dead ahead, as the doctor agreed and took them to the room where they had treated Tommy. Wilbur took a breath as he entered the room, and held it as he approached the bed.
His eyes landed on his little brother, his soft blond hair that Wilbur had loved playing with. His hand landed on the kid’s head. He was only 18. He wasn't supposed to…
The bags under his eyes were so dark. He looked so weak.
This, this was Wilbur’s fault. It was his fault. How had he not noticed how his friend was struggling? He could hear Ash and the doctor talking but he couldn't make out the words.
Wilbur shook. His body was vibrating with every emotion he couldn't get out.
He sobbed.
A hand landed on his back immediately, rubbing soft circles as Wilbur collapsed. He grabbed onto the sheets, trying to hold himself up. He heard the sliding doors of the room closing.
“Tommy,” Wilbur sobbed. He repeated the name, over and over again. “Please,” he whispered.
“Please, Tommy, I can’t- I love you.” Ash held him as he cried on the hospital room floor.
…
Wilbur almost didn't go to the funeral. Ash and Rue forced him. His suit itched and the priest’s voice was annoying. Everyone was there. There was even a crowd of people outside the cemetery watching as they buried him. Fans. Wilbur was disgusted. Some of them even had their phones out.
Everyone was there.
Tommy’s parents talked a lot to him. They thanked him for being such a good friend to their child. Wilbur forgot the conversation the moment they walked away.
He sat on the stairs outside the service, trying his best to keep his breath steady. Someone sat next to him.
“Hey, mate.”
Wilbur glanced over at Phil.
“Hi,” he said.
“How you- how you holdin’ up?” the older man asked.
Wilbur sighed.
“I know,” Phil chuckled slightly. “I’m sorry. Everyone asks that.”
Wilbur nodded.
“I know you were there, Will. I’m sorry I didn't pick up the phone.”
“You were sleeping,” Wilbur mumbled.
“Still,”
“It’s fine, Phil. Nothing you could’ve done.”
That was a blatant lie. There was so much Phil could've done. But even so, Wilbur didn't think he would've made it that night without Ash by his side.
“I-” Wilbur started. “You saw that crowd of fans outside the cemetery, right?”
“We all did,” Phil confirmed, a bitter tone in his words. “I wouldn't have minded it too much if people hadn't filmed.”
“They weren't invited,” Wilbur said. “They shouldn't have been there. If they wanted to pay their respects they could’ve waited.”
Phil nodded. “You’re right.”
A silence fell between the two men.
“Wanna come inside, mate? They’re about to start serving food.”
Wilbur nodded slowly, and walked inside with Phil. They sat down at a table with Tommy’s parents, Ranboo and Bill. As the food was served, many people stood up and told a story about Tommy.
Charlie spoke about the Amsterdam trip. Phil talked about the paintball vlog. Rue talked about when she first met him. Tubbo talked about when he first met him.
Wilbur wanted to speak. He didn't know how. The service was coming to a close and he was scared he wouldn't get the chance. He voiced his concerns to Phil.
“Just say what you feel.” Phil said. “Speak from the heart, be honest.”
So Wilbur stood. The room went quiet as he cleared his throat, searching for the right words.
“Um,” he said. “Hi,”
“I’m Will, i-if you didn't know.” he took a deep breath. “Tommy- Tom was my best friend. He was my brother. He was, um, he was always there for me. Wh-when I was struggling, he was the one who got me out of bed, who kept me going. I wish I could’ve done the same for him.” he looked down at his hands.
“I didn't know Tom was struggling like he was. He was unbelievably good at it. If I had noticed sooner, maybe I could have helped him.”
“Uh, he called me that night.” Wilbur took a shaky breath, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. “And he left me a voicemail. I- I rushed to his apartment. I-it was something I’ll never forget. I-”
Wilbur cut himself off with a quiet sob. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t-” he slumped down in his seat, burning his face in his hands. The people immediately went back to their own conversations, likely not wanting to draw too much attention to Wilbur.
Phil put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
“You did good,”
This only made Wilbur cry harder.
“Wanna head outside?” Phil asked. Wilbur nodded, and Phil helped him up. They walked outside again and sat down on the stairs.
“I think you’re doing good, Will.” Phil said.
“I don't think I’ll ever stop missing him, Phil,” Wilbur sobbed.
“I know,” Phil pulled Wilbur into a hug, and Will held onto the older man while he cried.
…
Wilbur’s hand hovered over the go live button. This all felt so familiar, and he hated it. He didn't want to go live. He didn't want to.
“You don’t have to,” Phil said. Wilbur shook his head.
“I want to,” he said quietly. “But I don’t.”
“Then don't. Give it more time,” Phil said. “You can try again later.”
Wilbur nodded and closed OBS altogether. He pulled one of his legs up to his chest.
“You doing good today?” Phil asked. Wilbur shrugged.
“Well, you’re not miserable,” Phil pointed out. “You got up, and showered. Even almost went live”
Wilbur sighed. “Yeah,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just. I feel like it’s going too fast.” Wilbur said softly. “I feel like I’m moving on too fast. I feel like the world isn't stopping anymore, like everyone’s moving along and forgetting. I don't want to forget, Phil.”
Wilbur sighed. He didn't cry.
Phil took a moment before he started talking. “Will,” he said. “It’s okay. You're allowed to move on. You won’t forget him, he’ll always be a major part of your life. He’d want you to keep living your life.”
“But it’s only been three months.”
“I’m not telling you to fully move on. You're allowed to miss him, you're allowed to be sad, mad, guilty. You're allowed to cry, to scream, or to just be silent. But you're also allowed to start healing. You're allowed to smile, you're allowed to live your life.”
“It feels wrong without him.”
“It’ll likely feel like that forever and that's okay. He was your best friend, your brother, and had such a big influence on your life. He’ll always be in your heart, but you can live without him.
Wilbur went quiet. His breath choked and he felt tears fill his eyes. Phil put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
So Wilbur cried, quietly, his face buried in his hands. Phil held around him in an awkward hug, but a hug nonetheless.
And when he was done, he and Phil went out for coffee.
And the day after, Wilbur went live again. And everyone in the chat was so kind, treated him with respect and made him feel welcome again.
And Wilbur thought that maybe, in a bit, he’d be okay. Yes, he missed Tommy. He’d always miss Tommy. But he could miss Tommy while still being himself, still doing what he loved, still living his life.
That’s what Tommy would've wanted.