Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke with a start, the remnants of a fading nightmare lingering in the back of his mind.

Nightmares weren't unusual for him, although they didn't come as often as they did in Pogtopia. And they were much, much different. Far scarier, in a sense. He dreamed about dying, mostly. Sometimes he dreamed about Tommy being hurt, about Dream escaping prison. Stuff like that. The kinds of things he couldn't control, the kinds of things that he didn't exactly like to dwell on. Things that were better off left in the back of his mind, soon to fade as the day progressed. Fears and worries that only mattered when he shut his eyes at night, and his mind drifted away. Everything was fine, he would remind himself when he woke, as he did now. Everything is okay.

He sat up, pushing at the blanket wrapped around him, gently freeing himself from its confines. And then he paused, as the world finally came into focus, as his exhaustion steadily waned.

This was not the cottage.

This was not the cottage, this was not his bedroom.

He didn't know where he was, actually. It looked vaguely familiar, in a gut-wrenching sort of way. Wilbur couldn't find the words to describe how off-putting the whole scenario felt all of a sudden. He was in a tent, at least it looked like a tent. Blue fabric surrounded him on all sides, held up by wooden posts made from dark oak. Wilbur pulled himself out of the bed slowly, looking around. It was dark, but the tent flap was open, letting just a little bit of light in. Wilbur beelined toward it.

The unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach grew stronger once he stepped outside. Surrounded by stripped logs, Wilbur was once again struck with that strange sense of familiarity. He knew this place, he had seen it before, surely, but it felt like such a distant memory to him. Though, to be fair, he supposed that a lot of his memories were like that now, even if he might not recognize it. Forty-five years in Limbo, you're bound to forget some… smaller things, right? Whatever this place was, as familiar as it was, it couldn't be that important, if he had forgotten it.

He was more worried about how he had ended up here, and how he was meant to get home. Wilbur took a breath, slow and steady, and it felt wrong. He was breathing fine, it just felt wrong.

Right. Okay. Enough of this. He looked down, reaching for his communicator, and froze.

A yellow sweater, a giant gash down his chest to his stomach, blue blood staining the soft fabric. Pale, translucent skin, a gray hand, his own hand, hovering near his pocket. He raised it up in front of him, slowly, as his mouth dried and his gut twisted through a sudden wave of nausea. He swore his heart, ever-still as it felt right then, had just plummeted straight into his stomach. But it hadn't. He didn't think it had. He didn't think he had a heart to speak of. He couldn't feel it.

Was- was he dead? Was that what this is, was he dead? Was he dead? Was he fucking dead? A rush of blind panic overtook him, clutching the spot over his chest. He looked like Ghostbur. He looked like Ghostbur, with his see-through skin and the gash in his sweater, was he dead?

Wilbur swallowed, hard, and tried to force himself to breathe. This wasn't like Limbo, was it? No. No, he knew Limbo. Limbo was a train station, endless misery and pain. It wasn't whatever this place was, as vaguely familiar as it felt. He was a ghost, and he didn't know how, but he was. Figuring out however the fuck he got here - no, figuring out whatever the fuck had happened was the key to understanding this situation. He didn't have his compass, but he had his communicator. Right. Okay. He could call Ranboo, then, Ranboo would know what's going on…

He took another breath, slow and steady, and summoned his communicator. That was a plan. Everything was going to be fine, everything was going to be fine, he just needed to call Ranboo-

Before he even had a chance to turn the device on, a familiar voice pierced the eerie silence.

"No, wait, please-" Tommy, that was Tommy, "-I just made these-"

"You know the drill, come on."

The communicator fell. Wilbur only froze for maybe half a second before darting toward the exit.

He went for Tommy, first, the second his eyes found his brother. His brother, with no cow ears, no goat horns, no tail. So many less scars littering his face and his neck and his arms. Holding a helmet in one hand and dangling a chestplate by the straps with the other, a scowl on his face. His eyes darted to the side, toward Wilbur, when he approached, and he nodded in greeting. Then he proceeded to dump the helmet and chestplate into a hole in the ground in front of him.

Wilbur didn't care too much about that. He cared more about who stood on the other side of the hole, clad in his green hoodie and glowing Netherite armor, an axe hefted over one shoulder. Deep, deep inside, there was a frantic, primal urge to lunge at him, to attack the motherfucker. To start swinging for all he was worth until the bastard was a proper distance away from his brother and then some. Or better yet, to start swinging and just not stop, until he had been properly reduced to a mangled mess of broken bones and torn skin and blood. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. His fists clenched at his sides in preparation, and his pace quickened.

But he couldn't do that, he reminded himself. He had no armor, no weapons. He didn't stand a chance, and while he would happily lay down his life for Tommy, it would all be for naught here. He knew what this was now, and now, he knew what would come in the aftermath of his death.

It would mean truly leaving Tommy alone and defenseless against Dream.

Wilbur had failed him once, and he'd promised never again.

So he refrained. He refrained, and it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, standing before his brother's abuser and knowing he couldn't do a damn thing against him, not right now. He rocked forward on his feet, and then back. Back, toward Tommy, and weighed his options. This was happening, then. If this was happening… he was in the past. This was Tommy's exile. He was here, and Dream was here, and now things were starting to click. This familiar feeling…

He had seen this before, through eyes that weren't quite his own. And now here he was again. Except this time, he was in the driver's seat. And this time, he knew exactly what was going on.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Wilbur came back to himself quickly, twisting to look back. Tommy's attention was focused completely on him now, pulling him back, away from Dream. "Hey, why don't we, uh…" His voice was soft. Soft, but in a strange, different way than normal. Soft like the kind of tone Ranboo spoke to Tommy in most days, the tone Wilbur used, himself. "You know what? Why don't we head inside, you and me? We'll come back when he's done."

Done with what? Wilbur wanted to ask, and the words were on the tip of his tongue as he tried to twist around to look back in Dream's direction. But Tommy didn't give him the chance, tugging him back again and turning him around quickly, and pulled him back to the place he'd just left. Wilbur found he didn't have to struggle to catch up; he almost seemed to float along as Tommy pulled him forward by his sleeve, but that didn't stop him from trying to quicken his pace to reach his brother's side, fumbling for a grip on Tommy's arm. "Wait, what do you mean, 'done'?"

"Nothing to worry about," Tommy assured him, unnervingly gentle. "How did you sleep, Wil?"

Wilbur didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, once they were finally inside, and Tommy stopped pulling him along, Wilbur tugged him just a little further away from the entrance and took to looking him over, scanning for any fresh scars or bruises on his arms. "Did he hurt you?"

Surprise flickered across Tommy's face at that, whisked away in an instant. "No. Listen, we-"

An explosion cut him off, and Wilbur flinched.

His body reacted before his mind could fully process what had just happened, curling in on himself with a gasp and clutching at his chest and stomach. He was vaguely aware of Tommy grabbing for him, pulling him close, mumbling a stream of quiet curses under his breath as Wilbur was pulled along once again, but this time he couldn't bring himself to move with Tommy. He could feel himself shaking, every inch of him buzzing like a live wire laid bare. Flashes of images and voices attacked him all at once. Pogtopia, L'Manberg. Dark caverns, twisting tunnels. Sticks of dynamite exploding in his hands. The ground ripping up before his eyes as explosions tore the land he had once called his home apart. A sword plunging through his chest.

When a pair of arms wrapped around him, Wilbur was quick to burrow into them, pressing closer to his brother and turning to wrap his arms around Tommy in turn. His breaths came ragged and each one felt strange, like he didn't really need the air. He gulped it down anyway. Tommy breathed out a sigh against him, murmuring something else Wilbur couldn't quite catch. And then he was speaking louder, loud enough for Wilbur to catch, carding through his hair. "You're alright." The teen's voice was quiet. "Everything's alright. It's over now, alright? It's okay."

Wilbur pressed closer, fingers gripping tighter into Tommy's shirt. He struggled to remember how to speak, his voice failing him more than once as he attempted to do so. "What- what was that?"

"Just Dream," Tommy told him, as if that cleared up anything, "really nothing to worry about."

Wilbur didn't really know what to say to that. He wanted to press for answers, but he didn't know if it was wise, with Dream probably still right outside. He tugged Tommy closer at the thought, straightening himself up again quickly only to immediately curl himself back around his brother. He hadn't felt this kind of helplessness since Limbo. But it was worse now, so much worse now. Now that he could see and hear exactly what was going on, now he was here, and he couldn't do anything. He was completely helpless to just stand to the side and watch the events unfold. Until he could figure out a plan, at least. But what was he to do until then? Let Tommy get hurt?

Tommy pulled away from him suddenly, hands lingering on his arms. Wilbur let him go reluctantly, but he kept a careful hold on Tommy's sleeves, loose enough so that the boy could shake him off if he so desired. "You alright, now?" Tommy checked, patting Wilbur's arms gently. "It's over now. We can go back outside, if you want." He didn't want to. He really didn't want to.

He looked back toward the exit. "Is he gone?"

"Probably not." Tommy was watching him strangely when Wilbur turned back to look at him. There was an unreadable look in his eyes that somewhat, strangely, reminded Wilbur of Phil. Wilbur breathed in to tell him that he didn't want to go back out, that he didn't want Tommy to go, but he stopped himself. He really didn't want to rock the boat, and he didn't know what would and what wouldn't. Pissing Dream off probably wasn't the brightest idea, he rationalized. Because all of that anger would be redirected straight to Tommy. Wilbur couldn't help, not yet. He knew that. But he could make things worse, if he wasn't careful, so he needed to be careful.

Still, he gripped onto Tommy's sleeves tightly as he forced himself to respond. "Okay." Fucking hell, he didn't like this. He really didn't fucking like this. He didn't want Tommy around Dream. Knowing the man could and was more than willing to hurt his brother, and he couldn't stop him.

"There we go." Tommy patted his hands, then pulled away completely, walking past him. Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, but shook it off quickly enough, spinning around to rush after his brother. He reached his side as they left, snagging his fingers into the sleeve of his shirt carefully. Tommy, if he noticed, didn't seem to mind, calling ahead of them to Dream. "You done, bitch?"

A strangled, startled sound escaped Wilbur's lips. Neither Tommy nor Dream reacted to it. Wilbur did a double take, first toward Tommy and then toward Dream, mouth opening silently.

"Yep." The sound of Dream's voice made his stomach twist. "Hello, Ghostbur. How are you?"

Wilbur tightened his grip on Tommy's sleeve and stared at him.

Tommy shot him another strange look. Dream waited a moment, and when it became clear that Wilbur wasn't going to answer him, the man cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly. "Okay, then…" He moved a hand up to adjust his mask, taking a few steps closer to them. Wilbur stiffened, and gripped Tommy's sleeve a bit tighter, but stayed quiet. "Well, Tommy, what are we doing today?" And then Dream continued, without waiting for an answer. Tommy didn't even attempt to speak. He tucked one hand in his pocket, and held the other where Wilbur could still grip his sleeve. "You said something last time about decorating the place a little. What did you have in mind?"

"Oh." Tommy sounded so dispassionate, so tired. Wilbur desperately wanted to focus on him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Dream. "Yeah. I had a few ideas, I guess. Some uh, torches." There was a beat of silence, and then some emotion finally crept into Tommy's voice. "Dream."

"Yeah, Tommy?"

"I'm gonna build a girlfriend."

"What?"

Another startled sound escaped Wilbur, this one closer to a huff of laughter. "Wait, what?" Bewildered as he was, when he finally, reluctantly tore his gaze away from Dream to focus on Tommy, something deep within him softened at the sight of his brother's smile. It was faint, but it was genuine, as exhausted as the boy looked. He had that mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Wilbur had missed that expression. It promised chaos and trouble and amusement and laughter. For all the confusion and terror and anger he felt then, Wilbur couldn't stifle a rush of fondness.

Tommy's smirk widened slightly, looking from Dream to Wilbur. "I'm gonna build a girlfriend."

Wilbur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The kid was aromantic, for fuck's sake. Not to mention he was platonically engaged to Ranboo. Where was Ranboo, anyway? He was here around this time, right? Tommy had mentioned that he was one of few who consistently visited him in exile.

Hopefully they'd be seeing him soon. Wilbur could let him know just what was going on here. And then they could come up with a plan to protect Tommy. If anyone could keep Tommy safe…

For now, though, he supposed they were building Tommy a girlfriend.

Dream stuck around a lot longer than Wilbur would have liked.

He tried to distract himself, preoccupy himself with helping Tommy collect wood to build. They joked around and laughed, and Tommy hurled half-hearted insults at Dream that made Wilbur's jaw hit the ground every single time. There was no real fire or bite behind his words, and Dream let each comment slide easily much to Wilbur's intense relief, but it was just so… so off-putting. Seeing Tommy like this. Wilbur thought he would be glad to see his little brother's spark return. Part of him enjoyed it; the rest of him fretted, worried, each time, how Dream might respond. Wilbur wasn't sure whether it was because he was also there or not, but he never really reacted.

That was fine. If Wilbur being around was enough to keep Dream from hurting Tommy, then he was going to stick to his brother's side like fucking glue. He didn't doubt that Dream would be willing to go through him to get to Tommy if he absolutely had to, but for the most part it seemed the man was playing it safe, and he didn't seem keen on taking any unnecessary risks or action.

That was fine. That was good. Wilbur preferred that to the alternative. For the most part, despite all his anxiety and anger towards the man, he was more or less able to pretend he wasn't there.

Tommy was… a lot louder than the Tommy Wilbur had grown used to in the past few months. He was definitely the most talkative of the three of them, even raising his voice every so often. Not exactly the way he was in Pogtopia, maybe, or before that, but it was definitely an improvement from what Wilbur had seen since his revival. It was a relief, as weird as it felt. Some part of him lamented that it shouldn't even feel weird; he should be used to this Tommy. This was his brother. Not the soft-spoken, terrified child that Dream had beaten him into, this. Loud and excitable and snarky. When had he gotten used to him being so quiet and reserved? This was familiar to him in a way that left him reeling, a way he didn't know how to react to yet.

Dream left later that night, with the promise of returning the next day. He got close enough to pat Tommy's shoulder as he left, and Wilbur once again had to resist the urge to lunge after him. Dream called a goodbye to him over his shoulder; he was met with silence, and left shrugging.

And then there were two.

Tommy stepped away from Wilbur's side to head into his tent. Wilbur stepped after him, but didn't follow him inside, lingering just outside and finally letting himself relax, as Dream had left. He turned to regard the tiki torches Tommy had put up around the path, illuminating the island. 'To keep the monsters away', the boy had said. Wilbur's chest tightened as he thought about just how long Tommy had been out here so far - he didn't even know, he didn't know much about this time period - and how many monsters might have attacked him. He was more than capable of fighting at his best. But his torn clothes, missing shoe, and the bags under his eyes… he wasn't at his best, not even close. Wilbur didn't think he could defend himself against a pig.

Wilbur sighed, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth for a long moment. When Tommy finally stepped out of his tent, rubbing at his eyes, Wilbur offered him a smile. "The torches look nice."

Tommy dropped his arm, looking at the torches indifferently for a long moment. "Yeah."

"I'm proud of you," Wilbur offered, and Tommy's expression didn't change.

"Thanks."

Wilbur's gut twisted.

Tommy took a breath, made a sound as if it pained him. Dulled blue eyes finally drifted in Wilbur's direction, an unreadable expression in his exhausted gaze. Wilbur wanted to hug him. "Did something happen between you and Dream?" His brother asked after a moment of silence. When Wilbur just looked at him, mouth running dry, Tommy frowned. "You seem upset with him."

"Oh…" Wilbur could tell him. Maybe he should tell him. He so, so, so badly wanted to tell him. Something stopped him, however, the words sticking stubbornly in the bottom of his throat. "Well, I'm not happy with him, I think," he finally confessed. "He's the reason you're out here."

Tommy's frown deepened, but he said nothing else on the matter. Instead, abruptly, he grabbed Wilbur's sleeve and started pulling him back to the small building made up of stripped birch logs. That was one thing that Wilbur was still getting used to; Tommy saw it fit to simply take his arm and pull him along wherever he wanted to go, and Wilbur, frankly, didn't mind that very much. The easier it was to keep an eye on his brother, the better. Tommy was keeping him close to his side, it seemed. That was good. He probably knew Dream would be far more hesitant to hurt him as long as Wilbur was around to watch. Being pulled around was odd, but not unpleasant.

They stopped at the entrance, and Tommy gently tugged Wilbur inside without following. "Thanks for helping me build today, big man. Get some sleep, aye? I mean, you don't need to…"

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, turning to face him. "I want to stay with you."

Tommy tucked his hands in his pockets, shrugging slightly. "I'll be here. I'll just be in my tent." Wilbur wanted to object, but he struggled to find the words. Tommy glanced at him. "I'm tired."

"Oh." Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek, and let out a long, slow breath. "Alright, then."

Tommy gave him a little half-smile that didn't meet his eyes, and turned to leave the building.

Wilbur found himself calling after him. "Tommy?"

The boy stopped. "Yeah, Ghostbur?"

He fought back a wince - he hated that, hated Tommy calling him that - but shook it off quickly. Struggling, again, to find the words for a moment, before they finally settled calmly on his tongue. "I'm sorry that you're here," he offered quietly, "and that you're going through all this. We're gonna fix it, alright? And Dream won't hurt you again." Tommy turned back to him at that. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Wilbur, for a second, like he was looking at a stranger.

And then, slowly, his expression morphed into one of caution. He took a few small steps closer. "Hey, listen." His voice was quieter now than Wilbur had heard it all day. "Look, I don't want you messing with Dream, alright? I don't want you getting involved in this. Everything's okay, Wilbur."

Wilbur shook his head, incredulous. "Oka- he's hurting you, how is that okay?"

"Listen to me," Tommy insisted, voice hardening. "I don't want you messing with Dream."

"But-"

"Ghostbur, you don't understand. You don't have any idea what he's capable of, alright? Look." Tommy took another slow, deep breath, and once again, it seemed like it had pained him. "Look. I know you don't like talking about Alivebur, alright." Tommy's gaze shifted to the side as he spoke, and Wilbur's eyebrows furrowed. "But back when he- back when you were alive, Dream- he came around pretty often. And he liked to fuck with Wilbur's head, okay? Like a lot. And I know that's part of the reason he turned out to be the way he was in Pogtopia, and why he…" The boy stopped there, while something cold and heavy settled itself deep in Wilbur's stomach.

Tommy's lips thinned. "If he does anything to you," the blond started again, frighteningly quiet. "I'm gonna have to kill the green bastard, alright? And he's kind of one of my only friends now."

"He's not your friend," Wilbur protested. "And I can handle myself, Tommy. Look, I'm not going to make anything worse for you, alright? That's the last thing I want. I know that I can't fight him. But I don't need to fight him to be able to protect you from him, at least not right now, I mean…" He shook his head and reached up to mess with his hair, tugging his beanie down a bit further. "But I'm not just going to stand off to the side, knowing that he's hurting you, and just- let him."

Tommy's jaw pulsed. "I want you to stay away from him, Wilbur. I don't want you near him."

"I don't want you near him either," Wilbur replied quietly. "And I'm not leaving you here alone." Tommy didn't seem to have much of anything to say to that. His face fell, if only for a moment. Wilbur drifted a little closer to him, softening again. "I won't. I promise. I'm here for you, Toms. And I- you don't need to worry about me, okay? I'll be careful. But I'm not letting him hurt you." He extended one arm out, an invitation for a hug. Tommy took it without too much hesitation, pressing forward into his arms and wrapping his own around Wilbur carefully, while Wilbur curled himself around his little brother and tucked his chin over his head. "I'm so sorry, Tommy."

He hadn't really realized until now - or maybe he had, but it was only truly hitting him at this moment - how responsible he felt for Tommy's exile. For the abuse. For leaving him with Dream. He didn't just feel responsible, he was responsible. Things would have been different if he had stayed, if he was there. Dream wouldn't have fucking dared lay a single finger on his brother. Not this way, not like this. Tommy could still be happy, he could still be in L'Manberg, and yet…

Maybe it wouldn't have been that simple. Wilbur had long come to terms with the fact that death was what he needed, truly, back then. Even if he didn't quite like that conclusion, it was true. Nothing else could have helped him. His time in Limbo had been awful, but it had given him more than enough time to really think over the choices that he'd made, to truly question himself.

To better himself.

He was better. He was here. And he wasn't going to let this happen to Tommy again.

Tommy held onto him for a long moment, honestly, before reluctantly beginning to pull away. Wilbur let him go, despite how every part of him ached to hold on tighter. "Goodnight, Ghostbur."

He grimaced, then smiled, weak as it felt. "Goodnight, Tommy."

Tommy departed with that, and Wilbur was left to figure out his next move.

Chapter Text

Wilbur didn't sleep that night, plagued by the many thoughts and questions and concerns that flitted through his mind on loop. He stayed in his little blue tent, curled up in bed, and thought. He thought about Tommy, he thought about Dream. He thought about Ranboo. Bloom. Sunshine. Puffy and Niki. The people he missed and ached to see again, his friends, his family. It was the first time in a very long time that Wilbur had felt lonely. It wasn't a feeling he missed. And it kept him up throughout the whole night, tossing and turning. At least he didn't feel tired. Ghostbur didn't need to sleep, he knew, and now that he was a ghost, he probably didn't, either. Even so, sleep would be a welcome reprieve from these thoughts cycling rapidly in his head.

When morning came, Wilbur left the tent, stopping briefly to say hello to Mushroom Henry. Carefully, he dragged some handfuls of hay over to the cow's little enclosure, scritching his ears. He made sure he had fresh water before finally leaving the building, sparing a glance to the sky.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, the sky alight with reds and blues. Wilbur sighed.

It was pretty here, he had to admit.

He wandered for a while, wondering if Tommy was awake yet. He didn't want to bother him, so he didn't venture close to his tent. Instead, he trailed down to the beach, reaching down to grasp handfuls of sand and letting it slip through his fingers. Occasionally, he tossed some into his mouth, crunching on it as he moved along. The waves lapped up onto the beach, close to his feet, but never close enough to touch. Wilbur grabbed another handful of sand and let it trickle. Then he turned and made his way back up the beach, heading back in the direction he came.

A strangled cough halted him in his tracks, and he blinked, turning to look towards the sound. He didn't see anything at first, scanning the beach carefully and taking a few steps forward, and he was about to call out for Tommy before another harsh cough turned his attention to the water.

He didn't have a heart, so it must have been the raw terror that fluttered so violently in his chest.

Tommy was in the water. Bobbing with the waves, coughing and spluttering every chance he got. He didn't get many chances. The waves kept pulling him under, dragging him down roughly. He didn't seem to actually be trying to swim, to get to the surface. Just let the waves carry him. It was quite possibly the most terrifying sight Wilbur had been greeted with in a very long time.

He moved without thinking, rushing toward the water. A pain like no other he had felt before engulfed him the second he touched it, almost enough to make him pull back onto the shore. But Tommy was still bobbing with the waves, gasping and coughing and spluttering for air, so Wilbur pushed himself forward, struggling to swim through the pain. He'd felt something similar. Once, a very long time ago. The phantom sound of explosions ringing in his ears, burns painted up and down his body, skin ripped and melting apart. That was what this felt like, but far worse. Wilbur grit his teeth, blinked back a rush of tears, and forced himself further. Forward, to Tommy.

The second he was able, he snagged handfuls of Tommy's shirt, dragging him back to shore. Tommy didn't fight against him, and Wilbur managed to pull him up just enough to keep his head above the water, his brother coughing and gasping as Wilbur pulled him back up onto the sand. Tommy slumped down immediately, eyes scrunched shut and one hand shakily bracing himself against the ground as he coughed and hacked and spat streams of water, chest heaving slightly.

Wilbur settled beside him, still numb with terror, as his skin burned where water trickled down. Tommy's voice echoed in his head. I can't tell you how many times I thought about killing myself.

His face burned, sizzling as tears slid down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his already-wet hands, and stifled a cry as the pain only intensified, doubling over with a soft gasp. Tommy stopped coughing for a moment, still wheezing through pained-sounding gasps. "Wil?"

Wilbur tried to answer, but through the pain and the panic clenching his throat shut, he couldn't. Tommy shifted beside him, and Wilbur heard him spit out a few quiet curses under his breath. His voice had a much more frantic edge to it when he spoke again. "Oh, no, no, Ghostbur, hey-" Another cough, this one much weaker. Tommy's hand grasped his sleeve and tugged, and Wilbur finally forced his gaze up as he was yanked up into the air, focusing on his brother again. He was soaked and shaking, and still half-stifling coughs every so often, and he looked worried.

Worried.

About Wilbur.

After almost fucking drowning.

"Come on, we gotta-" Tommy stopped briefly, coughing again, "we gotta dry you off."

Wilbur stammered as he was tugged along, again. This time, despite the way he tried to resist, he found himself unable to move properly, helpless as Tommy pulled him along through the air. Was he floating? Whatever, not his concern right now. "Tom- Tommy, you need to dry off, what-" His voice caught for a second, swallowing hard as his horror slowly took over. "Why were you-?"

Tommy didn't answer. "I'm fine, big man. Come on." He ushered him inside, toward the tent. "Why the fuck did you do that? You know you can't touch water, fucking hell- stay right there."

Wilbur was reeling. "Tommy, I'm fine, you-"

"You're fucking melting," Tommy retorted, leaving him in the tent before Wilbur could say a word.

He snapped his mouth shut, appalled. But he sat there, as Tommy had instructed him, and waited. Tommy didn't leave him alone for too long; the pain was surprisingly tolerable right now, as awful as it had seemed when he was in the water. He really had forgotten that he was Ghostbur, that Ghostbur was allergic to water. But quite frankly, even if he had remembered, it wouldn't have stopped him. He still would've jumped in to save his brother, even if it killed him. He feared death now in a way he never had before, but Tommy, he would die for in a heartbeat. Tommy came back with a few towels, and Wilbur reached for one, but Tommy pulled it away. The boy draped it around his shoulders himself instead, carefully beginning to dry his arms off.

Wilbur breathed in to protest, but he held back for now. Tommy was still shaking, but something about the expression on his face rendered Wilbur silent. It wasn't all that different from the way Phil used to look at him when he was very very young, when Wilbur did something dangerous. When he got hurt. Disappointment and concern. That look always made Wilbur bite his tongue. Unfortunately, it also wasn't an expression he was unused to from Tommy; Tommy had gotten the same look on his face many times in Pogtopia, although Wilbur hadn't cared too much then.

Still, he did draw some lines. When Tommy went to dry his hair, Wilbur managed to snag the towel from him, pulling away slightly and lowering his feet back to the ground. "Dry yourself off."

Tommy gave him a long, disapproving look, but began to do as told. "You can't do that again."

"You were drowning," Wilbur objected, incredulous. "What the fuck was I meant to do?"

Tommy's hands froze. Wilbur shut up and withered before the boy even looked back at him. That stern expression of disapproval and worry was gone, now, and in its place was something Wilbur couldn't identify. Wilbur recognized his mistake, of course he did; Ghostbur didn't swear. He could play it off. "Sorry," he said after a moment, quieting. "I'm sorry. I… I was just worried."

His brother frowned, and continued rubbing the towel through his hair after a few long seconds. "I know, but you can't do shit like that. We don't know what would happen if you- you… y'know."

"I know."

"And I was alright," Tommy continued, "this happens rather often, actually. I was just waking up. I wake up in the ocean, like, basically every morning at this point." Wilbur's stomach twisted. How could he speak of this so casually? How the fuck had Wilbur never heard of this before? How much of Tommy's exile truly escaped his knowledge? Everything he knew, he thought, was bad enough. But it just kept getting worse and worse and worse the more he really learned about it. "Look, just try and be more careful. I wouldn't know how to explain to Phil if something happened to you," Tommy added begrudgingly, but they both knew what he was worried about.

Wilbur nodded numbly, after a moment, still wrapping his head around what he had just learned. He so badly wanted to question him, but he wasn't sure if this was something Ghostbur should already have prior knowledge of, so he refrained. "I'm sorry I worried you. I just- I just thought…"

"I know." Tommy sighed, dropping the towel to rest around his shoulders. "Look, we're alright."

"We're alright," Wilbur echoed, though his gut twisted.

Tommy nodded slightly, his expression finally relaxing. "Pog. Alright, I'm gonna change, then." Wilbur murmured his agreement quietly, and watched the boy carefully as he left the tent.

He messed around with the towel for a long moment, fidgeting with it absently. He dragged it over his sore skin a few times, scrubbing away some of the wet and sizzling spots, and his face. He ran it through his hair a few more times for good measure as well, plucking at his sweater. There had to be something else for him to wear… the fabric was wet and clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable. He turned to look around the tent in search of something else to put on. When his search proved to be in vain, he ventured out into the main part of the small campsite, taking to searching the barrels. There wasn't much inside any of them, and certainly no clothes.

Alright, well, he would have to make do with this. It didn't hurt too bad, he could deal with it. Hopefully his clothes would dry off soon. For now, Wilbur headed back out to the island, beelining straight for where Tommy's tent was. He didn't get too close, content to simply wait. He circled around the Nether portal a few times, and stopped for a moment, feeling the heat emanating from the portal. It was a relief compared to the cold, damp feeling that clung to him.

"Hello," a familiar voice called out, and Wilbur froze, whipping his head around. What the fuck? The sun's not even fucking fully up yet! You obsessed bastard, you motherfucking creep, you-

Dream shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached, relaxed. "How are you, Ghostbur?"

Wilbur glowered. He was going to get really damn sick of this guy coming over so fucking often. Dream tilted his head, but after a moment of silence, he continued forward, approaching Wilbur. He tensed slightly, but held very still. "You're soaked. Did Tommy wake up in the ocean again?"

He had half a mind to tell the man to keep his brother's name out of his fucking mouth. But, no. Instead, he pressed his mouth into a thin line, remained silent, and simply continued to stare. Dream stopped just in front of him, a few feet away. Wilbur thought back to the axe he'd been carrying around with him yesterday, glowing and glittering and buzzing with all sorts of enchantments. He thought about how easy it would be for Dream to kill him, to stick his axe through his stomach and be done with it. He thought, and he wondered, for just a few moments, if Dream was thinking about it, too. He could only hope that Dream didn't see him as a threat. An annoyance? That was fine. But he needed Dream to not see him as a threat, that was all. Because he could survive as an annoyance. Becoming a threat was a death sentence right now.

"Do you need some new clothes?" Dream asked him after a moment.

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, regarding him cautiously. He didn't trust him for shit, but, "yeah."

"Okay." There was a strange lilt to Dream's voice, then, something much lighter. Excitement? Some sort of excitement, something akin to it. The same tone that used to send delighted shivers down Wilbur's spine in Pogtopia. Now it only made him feel sick to his stomach, gut churning as he watched the man pace toward the Nether portal. "I'll go see if Phil has anything."

Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from protesting, fighting down a wave of panic. Dream wouldn't hurt Phil, he had no reason to hurt Phil right now. So he kept quiet. He nodded. The man hummed, soft, and Wilbur caught a glimpse of a smile under his mask as he departed. Wilbur watched him go, and despite the small bit of anxiety still pinched up in his gut, a much larger, more prominent part of him relaxed once the man was gone. As long as he wasn't here, he wasn't around to fuck with Tommy. He wondered if he could get away with sending him away. Like this, for little stupid things. Keeping Dream busy, while he figured out what to do next.

He still didn't like the way Dream had spoken to him, though. He hadn't liked that fucking tone. And he didn't like the glimpse of that smile he had seen just before the man had disappeared.

After a moment, he retreated from the portal, making his way over to Tommy's tent. "Tommy?"

"One second!" There was some shuffling, some muttering, and then Tommy finally stepped out. In new, fresh clothes, thankfully unripped, and dry. Wilbur smiled slightly at the sight of him, worries temporarily forgotten. He looked much better. Good.

Some of his frayed nerves soothed, Wilbur moved a little closer to his brother. "Dream was just here, but he left. He's coming back." It was meant to be a warning, but the way Tommy's eyes seemed to light up was concerning.

"Aye, cool." Tommy swept his hair to the side, looking around. "I need to make some armor…" He set off without another word, and Wilbur trailed after him, lowering his feet to the ground. "Then we can do our little bonding thing, it makes him happy. You should stay in Logstedshire."

Wilbur thought back to yesterday, Tommy dropping his armor in the hole, the explosions… "Why?" His voice caught for a second on the word, but Tommy, thankfully, didn't seem to notice.

"Because I don't want you around when Dream… because it's safer. You can come out after."

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, quickening his pace slightly to fall into step with his little brother. He really didn't like this. He didn't like being treated like a child by his baby brother, for fuck's sake. He had raised the kid, he was a grown ass man - and yet, he was being treated like this. Like a child. Like it was Tommy's duty to protect him, and not the other way around. It was frustrating, and he couldn't help but wonder if Ghostbur was ever frustrated with it, as well. Regardless… he had an idea he knew what was going on here, and he did not fucking like it. Putting two and two together wasn't difficult. Dream had blown up Tommy's things, hadn't he?

And now Tommy was going to make more, more for Dream to blow up, as a fucking bonding thing? What the hell was that about? He didn't know, and quite frankly he didn't care about the reasoning. If these explosions were something he was going to have to get fucking used to… then he would, for his brother, but it wasn't going to be good for him mentally, he knew already. "Well… will you come with me again, then?" He asked after a moment, and Tommy paused. "Just… if it's not safe, I don't want you to be in danger either. I told you, I won't let him hurt you."

Tommy looked back at him, silent for a moment, then finally nodded. "Yeah, I'll be with you, Wil."

"Good. Okay." Wilbur let his breath out slowly. He continued on, trailing after Tommy as the boy trudged across the grass. "I don't like that your tent is so far away from the- the, uh- from the…" What the fuck was it called, anyway? Ghostbur would know. Fuck, he was fucking botching this.

"Outpost?"

"Yeah. Yeah, the outpost." Wilbur hesitated for a moment, but Tommy's pace didn't slow, and his tone implied that he'd had to remind Ghostbur of things like this before. Of course, his memory issues. How could Wilbur forget his memory issues? He took a breath, and cleared his throat. "Right, um, anyway. I don't like that your tent is so far away. Maybe you should move it closer," he suggested. "Or inside where mine is." Tommy didn't look like he was ready to agree to that. Wilbur didn't figure he would be. It was obvious, seeing him now combined with the things he'd heard about this time period, that Tommy couldn't care less about himself and the danger he could be in out here. So, he shifted to a different tactic. "It gets rather lonely in there, by myself."

Tommy didn't turn back to him, and he was silent for a long time before finally replying, "maybe." That was better than an outright no, Wilbur supposed. He would push the subject a little more. Later, maybe that night once Dream had gone. He was sure he could coax Tommy to move his tent closer to the outpost, and he was determined to do so now more than he would have been. He wanted him closer. Maybe this way, he could stop Tommy from sleepwalking into the ocean.

"I've been thinking about throwing a party," Tommy said suddenly. "I'll have to ask Dream, but…" Wilbur's heart sank, first at the word party, and then at ask Dream.

Well, at least he knew about how far into exile this was, then. About three months, give or take a few weeks. Exile itself had lasted about six months, right? Something close to that, at least? Wilbur swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat, and forced himself to focus again. He was going to make damn sure it didn't go on that long this time around, so help him Prime. Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to say and whoever the fuck he had to say it to. Fighting Dream wasn't an option, at least not right now. He had so many weaknesses now and not enough strengths. No weapons, no armor. He'd been training with Technoblade a bit lately, but even what he knew now didn't come close to being enough against a skilled fighter like Dream. He needed Ranboo, he knew that much. He needed to tell Ranboo what was going on.

He needed to tell everyone. He could contact Tubbo via his communicator, and Phil… he just needed to be very careful with how he went about it. He couldn't leave Logstedshire, for sure. Leaving Tommy alone where Dream could get to him wasn't an option. He'd have to stick to using his communicator solely to keep in touch with the others. Fine, okay, that would be alright.

The most important part was making sure whoever he told didn't confront Dream right away. Ranboo was the best candidate for that. He was smart, he was skilled, he'd know what to do.

Right, then. Okay. That was it. As soon as he had the chance to, he would talk to Ranboo.

And hopefully, he wouldn't have to wait too long.