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Should've stayed, were there signs I ignored?
Can I help you not to hurt anymore?
We saw brilliance when the world was asleep
There are things that we can have, but can't keep
Blinding, brilliant, yet agonising light is the last thing Wilbur Soot remembered of the world before.
A bright flash lasting less than a second, electricity racing its way through his body on that roaring ocean, leaving his past behind in the form of a sunshine boy. Crawling sparks ignited along his skin, burning the coat he wore while the shock crashed its way through him.
One moment he sat in a wooden boat laughing while he prepared for the storm to take him home, at long last, the next the screeching of wheels on a metal track replaced his joy.
Comforting darkness greeted the man as he sat in a plush seat, suddenly in a different universe, as adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream bringing his awareness back in a cascading wall of crushing energy. Glasses sat heavily on the bridge of his nose, hot with the energy that ran through them before.
His ears rang uncomfortably loud as he came to the realisation he had survived a lightning strike to end up on a train he dreaded knowing the destination of. An achingly familiar trip to the last time he died, only to spend an uncountable amount of days on that lonely platform waiting for a ride that never came.
Prime, it wasn’t supposed to send him back to limbo. The storm was supposed to give him sanctuary, to go home to his mother’s arms and where no wars raged. A place where conflicts were swiftly dealt with and there were no bloody power games, no innocents gaining jaded eyes as the adults used them for their own gain.
Opening his eyes ever so slowly, he groans in dismay seeing the train carriage around him.
Dear Herobrine, no, don’t make me go back.
His heart pounded in his chest, pins and needles making him flinch as he moved his limbs for the first time from where he collapsed into the red velvet seat. This train was a dated one, full of polished wood furnishings and gold trim around the comfortable but threadbare seats. Wilbur’s mind raced as he remembered his last descent here, wiping a hand up his face to brush the snow-white curl away before freezing at the new marks that came into view.
Spider-webbing across his hand, burst blood vessels showed like the roots of a tree down his scarred flesh. Standing up so quickly he nearly falls over, flesh screaming awake as he whips off his coat to inspect the rest of his arm.
“Holy fuck, what is that?” He curses to no one, tracing a shaking calloused finger up his forearm where the marks grow darker the closer he gets to his torso.
Pulling his yellow sweater up quickly to see the deep divot of knotted, healed flesh from when Philza thrust a sword through him at his own begging. His eyes follow the new trails across his chest where they bloom out from the middle of his chest. It appeared his scar had grown roots, threading through his skin like it was searching for sustenance under his skin.
Noticing the marks didn’t appear to be raised, Wilbur dropped his sweater back down and decided to worry about those later, more anxious over where this train was heading.
Peering out the windows he could see nothing, the air felt stuffy and suffocating on his tongue like they were somewhere deep underground.
“Is anyone there?” He helplessly calls out, whirling around to see if there was a way out of this train car.
It was growing scarily alike to when he died last time, left to go insane on that platform of solitude with no rescue until he was dragged back by someone with mocking emerald eyes.
“Please don’t take me back there!” He pleads to no one, a tear dripping from one coffee-coloured eye. “Death Goddess, Prime, Herobrine, anyone who can hear me, I don’t want to go!”
He drops to his knees, stomach sinking when his begging goes unanswered. Pressing his forehead to the worn rose-red carpet below, his crying sinks into the floor. Wilbur felt totally helpless, him leaving that cursed server was supposed to be a good thing! He was supposed to be free!
Why was he destined for years of solitude again?
If they say
Who cares if one more light goes out?
In the sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers
Wilbur spent the next several hours going through the whole range of emotions as the hours tick by, according to the clock in the carriage. He pleaded, he wept, he raged and he fell into the comforting embrace of apathy at the end of it all.
The train rumbled ever forward, showing no signs of stopping nor any deviation from its path.
He curled into a booth he woke up across from, mindlessly trailing his new tattoo-like markings while his mind sunk into quietness. Left alone with his thoughts, his heart drew him back to who he left behind.
Remembering the anger in Tommy’s sharp blue eyes, stormy like the ocean he rowed into, while the one he saw at his brother screamed himself raw about Wilbur deciding to leave him. The hours leading up to that event where they won the discs back before he announced his departure, Tommy taking it with his usual grace.
By that he meant the boy immediately erupted at the curly brunette, demanding that he stay. Refusing any argument Wilbur could bring up, his racing heart shattering as Tommy’s broken face is painted in his brain.
They had been through hell and heaven together, from chasing each other inside safe walls to hiding for their lives in a ravine deep within the earth. They went through a whole lifetime of torments in the few short years they were together on that destructive and chaotic server. The bright moments of Tommy’s loud laughter were comforting memories he felt slipping from his grasp, time dulling the shine the boy had.
Wilbur couldn’t shake the feeling that he got out by the skin of his teeth, reflecting while he pulled his knees closer to his chest. His gaze is drawn back to the blood vessels painting his skin as he takes another deep breath.
He wishes and prays that he is wrong, that his intuition is doing its usual dive into the worst case scenario. That this sinking feeling isn’t promising truth that something apocalyptic was about to happen in the place he hoped Tommy would be safe, finally away from the infection Wilbur was.
The poison that dripped from his words as his driven mind fixated on only one thing, convincing mere children to be pawns in his game. When his mental health was at its worst, self-destructive and not caring who else burned with him. Willing to burn the realm alive when his creation was stolen from him, not caring who he used for the kindling for the spark he set.
Wilbur’s arms ache with the feeling of holding someone close, his thoughts pulling forward when he held Tommy in his dying moments. Encouraged heavily by his idol's actions, he declared a duel with the most dangerous individual on that server for their independence. The horror when watching that arrow pierce his young skin, Tommy’s voice gurgling as he bled out in the name of the nation Wilbur tried to build.
The absence of light in those blue depths when his soul left, his body irreversibly damaged leading to his first chance spilling away into the hands of the First President of L’Manburg. Brushing those soft golden curls while their enemy laughed, confidence in his weapon while this precious child died.
The brunette shut himself home alone that night with the realisation of just how far he was driving the next generation, the seeds of determination he nursed in their souls. Encouraging reckless actions like this following his steps, wondering when his fighting party would be reduced to names engraved on gravestones because they went too far.
A night-shaded butterfly breaks Wilbur from the accusations he was piling on himself, gently landing on his wrapped forearms. Reaching out a trembling finger under its fragile body, the little insect followed his lead and crawled onto the appendage.
With its beautiful gold-dusted wings slowly waving, like stars in the evening sky, the curly brunette observed it closely. It didn’t flee like most bugs did when humans got too close, patiently waiting as the man looked it over.
Where did it come from?
Wilbur looks around, seeing no other life, and returns to the tiny creature perched in front of his nose.
“Hello lovely, have you come to comfort me?”
Just as the sentence leaves his lips the wheels on the train screech louder, the carriage slowing as the brakes engage. The butterfly leaps from his finger to hover in front of the tall man as he unfolds from the booth, looking out the window as his chest clenches.
An agonising scene awaited him, one straight from his nightmares.
The same platform he spent several years on anticipated his exit from the train, somewhere he could only glimpse the outside world occasionally. A place Wilbur’s mind stayed far away from, true isolation his worst fear.
He avoided thinking of it so long, locking it in a box he didn’t open, only piled things on top of. Whenever others questioned him about it panic flooded his veins and he would quickly find any other topic.
The train did not move any further, clearly waiting for him to leave.
Wilbur stood in front of the doors as they opened, beckoning his departure, his chest in a vice grip as he peered around. Suddenly, the little butterfly that appeared earlier flew out into the stale air, and unconsciously Wilbur followed it before pausing as his foot touched the stone beneath him.
Who cares when someone's time runs out?
If a moment is all we are
Or quicker, quicker
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Well I do
The same grey rocks he laid for many, many hours on. Not sure if he was waiting for death Herself or a rescue mission. The flickering screen showing quick glimpses of what he left behind, intent to torture the trapped man with what he couldn’t have.
The empty track on the far side of the platform, somewhere no trains ever came too. Hesitantly, Wilbur places his other foot down outside the train and the doors slammed shut behind him.
Flinching at the noise, he doesn’t look as he feels the air rush by as it pulls away to where he can’t follow, knowing it wouldn’t move until it left its passenger where he deserved.
Wilbur wonders just how fitting it is for a villain like him to face his worst fears, an unknown amount of alone time greeted him like a scorned lover.
Glancing up at the screen, he feels the last bit of hope the blonde was safer without him being snuffed out, watching the horrible last few moments of Tommy’s life. Watching him speak with his forever enemy, trapped in the prison as the end approaches. There's a certain acceptance surrounding the trio Wilbur felt akin too, knowing there was nothing they could do.
It was far too late to reconsider.
Wilbur falls to his knees as the screen flashes impossibly bright, before going black.
The same void butterfly flutters down to break his staring at the screen, heart shattering upon the floor he fell upon once more.
“It’s not true.” He chokes out, looking closer at the bug and remembering Tommy’s fondness for the small insects. “ It can’t be, me leaving was supposed to save you! ”
No one answered his crying, his self-blame drowning out all coherent thoughts. “I was the one who continuously hurt you, I left for your own good!”
He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, but if he didn’t say the thoughts aloud his skull would burst.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE SAFE!” His voice echoes back to him, mocking his desperation.
“No, no, no, Tommy.” He sobs, soul being eviscerated to dust upon the dirty floor, the wave of sorrow coming to drown him. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this, I was your worst danger. I left, survived, so you could too even as my heart screamed not to leave.”
Tommy’s bright eyes cross his thoughts again, the backgrounds around the boy flashing through the thousands of moments they held together. The times they had under that bright sun, fighting for some ground to call their own and independence from the oppression of the first being to walk the server. The hundreds of nights they sat under the star-studded cosmos together, Wilbur lighting up a cigarette while Tommy cracked another joke.
The hours late in the night when he woke up with Tommy’s raw screams in his ear, rushing to comfort the bright child. He had so much light those jealous of it did their best to snuff it out, a few of the more twisted souls taking special interest in sowing seeds of depravity and weakness.
Just how far he walked with Tommy down the path of reckless determination, watching the few times the boy stumbled ahead into the wrong instances. When he came rushing home to Wilbur, emotional scars ran far too deep for one so young.
“You were supposed to be safe.” Wilbur whispered, his tears running dry for now as he fell back against the ground.
Gasping as his lungs threatened to collapse at how much his sorrow ravaged him, beating his skull back against the stone trying to clear it of the circling thoughts that threatened to drop their pain upon his heart when he made another realisation.
He felt like he was being torn in twain when he said his goodbyes, even at Tommy’s insistence, promising it was for the best. If he knew that was the last time they would see one another he would have told Tommy sorry one more time. He would have praised the boy with how proud he felt of who he became, more cautious but still loudly himself.
He would have given thanks to sticking by him through it all, doing his damn best to make sure Wilbur did better for himself after Pogtopia.
His right side felt empty without that wicked smirk beneath sunshine curls, affectionate banter traded the moment they breathed the same air. His most loved opposition to his ideals, testing his patience while pointing out flaws Wilbur didn’t consider. Sure, their words were biting towards one another, but it was how they both showed love. Unable to hold Tommy back from speaking his mind ever, he reminisces over the L’Manburg they built together.
The nation that was supposed to be a new beginning that only ended up being his unfinished ending.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent laying on those grey bricks heavy with memories, there were no clocks here after all. Not any that functioned anyways, all stuck at the same time of midnight or midday depending how you read them. Forever trapped in between, just like the soul this train platform now held.
Once his desperation ran out, the air heavy with what he wailed during his grief. He still couldn’t believe Tommy was dead, his stomach urging it to be the truth but his heart rebelled against it.
His only company, the night shaded butterfly, came back to him as he sat up to peer at the static filled screen. After showcasing Tommy’s last minutes, it went black for a while before the loud static took over the screen.
It settled once more on his chest above the mortal wound that killed him once, fluttering its wings once more before dissolving into purple particles and sinking beneath the yellow wool. Wilbur watched it with a detached curiosity as sadness threatened to come back, his only friend on this lonely platform disappearing.
Pulling his collar back as a tingling feeling crept across his skin, he can’t see what happens so he tosses the sweater off of him.
“What the fuck.” He mumbles, looking down to see the creature sinking into his skin above the scar, in between the spider webbing marks leading down his arms.
It flaps its wings once more, a tickling sensation, before it stills into a tattoo to remind him of what he lost.
The moment it does, the true knowledge Tommy is dead settles with certainty in Wilbur’s gut.
His little brother, gone far too soon. Forever far enough away Wilbur will probably never see him again. Unable to hear his laughter in the years ahead beyond fading memories he struggled to relive with the happiness they once held, nor would they ever get the chance to banter again.
If Wilbur could trade his soul away, the only price he would ask is one last time hugging the boy he loved. The one he should have protected, not driven to insane lengths by giving him causes to die for.
Tommy should have outlived him, spending the rest of his life safely away from the man who gave him causes to bleed over. Teasing Tubbo, annoying Technoblade, reconciling with Philza among many others in that world. Despite the chaos of it all, you had to find the bright moments to find a reason to keep going. Tommy was that reason to many, giving them a rope to cling too when they were lost in the darkness, including Wilbur.
There were so many thingsTommy would never do now, choosing to give it all to make sure their greatest enemy died for good.
Death is a solitary adventure, something the living would never know what lay beyond. It was an absolute separation, even with his connections he felt there would be a very slim chance he would ever have the pleasure of even being in the same room as Tommy’s soul again.
That was the worst realisation of them all.
Wilbur’s consciousness had a creeping darkness threading its way through, calling into question all the decisions he ever made. Just how far he led the parade of death in the name of a country that only lived in memories now.
Just like the sunshine blonde who gave it all, multiple times, for goals Wilbur set before realising the blood that would be given.
Placing his hand over the butterfly under his skin, he makes a vow. To never forget the blue-eyed boy his heart claimed as his little brother, to tell his story if he ever got off this accursed platform of loneliness.
To share the stories they lived through, the brave front Tommy put up through it all.
As that promise settles into his mind, a sound Wilbur didn’t expect to hear sounds from the tracks across the ones he arrived on.
A brand new train rumbles into the station, sleek and shiny as its doors hiss open, patiently waiting for its passenger.
Wilbur stares for a few moments before gathering his sweater from where he threw it, tugging it back on as he walks slowly to the awaiting vehicle. Dried tear tracks run down his face, peering into the reflective side of the carriage he notices the dark bags beneath his dead eyes. A few more of the branch-like markings crawl up his neck and down his jawbone, his flesh forever marked by the choices he made in his past. A gold-gilded emerald hung heavy from the lobe of his ear, reminding him once more of who he kept putting one foot in front of the other for.
Last time he was here, it was years before this happened. He wondered if he should stay in this place longer, as redemption for his sins.
As that thought crosses his mind the train horn sounds, interrupting the line of thinking. Wilbur takes a deep breath of the stale air, holds a heavy hand over the place the butterfly was on his chest, and climbs aboard.
The reminders pull the floor from your feet
In the kitchen, one more chair than you need, oh
And you're angry, and you should be, it's not fair
Just 'cause you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there