Chapter Text
A long hallway stretches in front of him, seemingly infinite by the way shadows swallow the light from its supposed ending. The black-and-white checkered floors are covered in dried-out blood, the smell never quite reaching Wemmbu's nose, which concludes his theory of this space being otherworldly. The walls are covered with dark green wallpapers with flower patterns all over them. Despite the absence of any light source in this hallway, Wemmbu can still make out quite a few scratch marks following the lower section of the walls, as though someone had tried their best to escape, but failed eventually.
The most curious part about this hallway is multiple doors lined along each side of the wall. Made out of dark wood, looming over Wemmbu evilly and watching his every move like a predator would its prey. Somehow it's the first time Wemmbu has noticed how high the ceiling is in this room, but his head refuses to lift, stuck in a constant forward position, eyes never leaving the darkness slipping closer to him.
The only sound is the occasional rattling of chains and distant screams of agony, coming from the door closest to him. He slowly moves his head towards the noise and sees a small gap appearing between the door and its frame, tempting Wemmbu to enter the unknown, go deeper. The noise gets louder — the scream turns into a high-pitched scream of a person trying hopelessly to get away from the chains.
Despite the fear and the coldness of his body, Wemmbu is lured, taking a hesitant step towards the door. He reaches out for the doorknob and grips it tightly, unsure of what to do next. The screams stop abruptly, followed by an eerie silence that seeps into Wemmbu's bones. He gulps nervously, his palms sweating as he slowly pulls the door open.
The sudden rush of wind hits Wemmbu in the face immediately, making him flinch and close his eyes. He loses his footing, the floor disappears under his feet as he falls down.
And falls.
Falls.
Falls.
No thought passes through him as he does so, eyes still closed, body cold and covered in numerous suspicious liquids. He might as well be falling forever, missing the view around him, but the quiet in his head is too tempting to care, his mind preferring the silence of his mind to the rush of chaos around him.
When Wemmbu eventually reaches the bottom of whatever pit he's fallen into, he doesn't react for the first time. His body is awake, and now he can feel every part of his body — not an inch of him is safe, everything hurts like hell, even places he wasn't aware existed. The hard floor is digging into his shoulder blades, and Wemmbu forces himself to roll onto his side to escape the discomfort. He doesn't hear the sound of his wings scratching the floor, which leaves him confused enough to groggily open his eyes. He turns his head enough to check on his wings, only to find they're gone.
Huh. Wemmbu knows he should question it, but the pain surging through his veins is at the top of his priorities, so he just shrugs and tries to push himself up. His eyes aren't prepared for the light that hits them, but he doesn't close them. Instead he focuses on stabilizing himself, letting his eyes adjust.
Standing on shaky knees as his brain tries to catch up with whatever is going on around him isn't new for Wemmbu. He still fails at it, shaky and weak, waiting patiently for his body to remember it exists. Eventually, it does — maybe after a moment, maybe after a couple of years. Wemmbu opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times, examining his surroundings in a daze.
The first thing Wemmbu sees is… a castle. A majestic castle with marble-white walls that seem to stretch up into the sky, its peaks grazing the clouds. It's a place that Wemmbu can recognize even blindfolded, with his limbs broken and nose pinched.
Prince Zam Empire. Zam's castle. Even in Wemmbu's darkest nightmares it looms beautifully over him, making his breath catch in his throat. It should be destroyed — Wemmbu has blown it up with his own hands — yet it stands tall, luring Wemmbu into the cobweb of agony just like it did all those years ago, when he was nothing but a naive fool, eagerly following Zam's steps like a lost, eager puppy. He used to hang onto every word that would come out of the prince's mouth and eventually fell into the deepest pits of hell after losing Zam's favor.
For years, Wemmbu wondered if he ever had the chance to go back in time, to erase all his mistakes from existence, would he not have followed Zam into the castle, or would he have fought harder to not lose Zam's trust? He would stay up late, biting at his fingers until they bled, thinking over every interaction, every moment he'd missed when Zam was already out of his reach.
All that time for nothing, because even in a dazed, confused state, Wemmbu steps forwards, his feet carrying him into the castle, as his mind screams at him to stop. He's going to make the same mistakes and curse himself for months to come, but the need to feel the somewhat familiar warmth of days past is louder than his thoughts.
Upon reaching the entrance, Wemmbu stops. There's no one here, he knows it. But ghosts haunt the walls of the castle, preventing him from entering like an invisible wall. He raises his hands to touch it, but his entire body falls over, passing through the barrier that had been there a second ago.
Wemmbu decides to ignore it, as he always does, and moves deeper into the castle. Everything about it is painfully familiar in a way that makes him sick — the paintings on the walls, flowers in the pots, a soft carpet beneath his feet, and large windows covering every wall. There are no signs of explosion and ruins caused by him, only the peace that only existed under Zam's rule.
He's almost at the throne room when he notices a new hallway appear to his right — somewhere it shouldn't be. Which is weird, Wemmbu knows this place inside and out after spending almost all his days here. Something pulls him there, calling out his name, and Wemmbu is too weak to fight it. Although he wishes he could see the glorious throne room, his curiosity is piqued, and he's lured inside the dim hallway — not unlike from the one he's just escaped from.
It reminds him of the basement, but its location is off — it definitely shouldn't be near the throne room, at least not the one on the top floor. Wemmbu walks deeper into the unknown, unease flaring in his chest with each step he takes. Eventually, he sees the end in the distance, but it only makes him more anxious. The sound of chains rattling is back, albeit weaker than before, but present enough for Wemmbu to walk faster to reach the opening.
When he does reach it, he almost wishes to be back in that scary, bloody hallway rather than… this.
It's the armory and treasure room combined, yet there is nothing — no diamonds, emeralds, or armor stands with stacked armor sets — but a huge cage in the center. It looks to be hanging from the sky, with the way the roof is broken right over it and it is surrounded by light. The silver bars of the cage are bloodied, and it takes Wemmbu a moment to realize whose blood it is.
There, inside of a cage, lies Egg. Wemmbu's Egg. His best friend. Unmoving and too pale.
Egg's body is slumped, his hands chained over his head. He's not wearing his suit, the upper part of his body is bare and covered in bruises and scars. There's blood everywhere, but especially where Egg's back is pressed against the bars. It drips down on the floor — the only sound in this room. No breathing and no indication of Egg being alive.
Then Wemmbu's eyes ghost higher, on top of the cage, and he sees it. Egg's wings — the wings the angel cherished so much, taking care of them every day, while Wemmbu had never bothered with his own — tied to the chain holding the cage in a demeaning manner. As though someone has taken their sweet time detaching them from the angel's body, only to tie them to the chain like an afterthought.
What was supposed to be the most important treasure — angel wings — is nothing but a cheap, dirtied decoration no one cared enough about.
"Wemmbu…" comes the quiet voice. It should be from Egg — he's the only person here — but his lips aren't moving. He isn't moving.
Wemmbu can't do anything but stare at his best friend's body, at the detached wings, at the cage that has its door open, creating an illusion of possible escape. However Wemmbu sees Egg and his state, he knows there was no way for him to escape whatever torture he'd gone through.
"Wemmbu," someone repeats again, but this time there's a sudden jerk of Egg's body, as if the puppet master has moved it without his consent. "Why?"
Horror crashes into him, washing off the apathy in an instant. Suddenly, Wemmbu isn't spectating a weird situation, he's an active participant, and he feels the emotions he should have had walking here. Wemmbu remembers what the last thing was that happened before he blew up Zam's castle — their degrading words, humiliation burning at his throat, and Egg's weak body in a cage while everyone around laughed at his struggle. He knew that walking into the castle would lead to this, but it didn't stop him. He's ended up in the same trap again.
"Egg!" Wemmbu screams out. His throat is hoarse as the words are choked out of him.
Egg jerks again, chains rattle with him as he finally lets out a scream without his mouth opening an inch. Still, it's loud, echoing against the walls and settling deep in Wemmbu's bones. Hopelessness fills every fiber of his being as he reaches out his hand in a futile attempt to… what? Help? How will he help Egg if he's the reason why he's in this situation in the first place?
"Why?!" Egg screams, snapping his chains and breaking free. He falls face first on the floor of the cage, the disgusting crunch of a nose breaking barely audible through the sound of screaming. "Why are you here?!"
It's Wemmbu's fault Egg is in this state. An angel shouldn't risk his wings over a demon. Egg shouldn't be in this position because of Wemmbu and his dumb decisions. He shouldn't have attacked Zam, shouldn't have trusted him in the first place. He should have stayed in his lane, kept his head bowed if it meant Egg would stop screaming with his horribly blank face and sealed mouth.
"You shouldn't be here!" Egg keeps screaming, his voice not at all muffled, but drowned out by the blood that starts seeping through the floor of the cage and onto the ground below. "You should be dead! It's your fault I'm dead! I'm dead!"
Desperation clings to him, when he screams back. "But you're not!" Wemmbu's voice is breaking, but he keeps pushing. "You are alive! You are here! I will save you!"
Egg screams even louder as an answer, his body moving unnaturally, limbs flaring in different directions. Then, he starts banging his head against the floor of the cage, the sound of it making Wemmbu flinch and take a step back, before he catches himself.
"Egg! Stop this! There's still hope! I— I can— I will make something up! I will figure it out! Trust me!"
The metal breaks, a hole appears in the floor, and Egg doesn't hesitate to poke his head into it. From this angle Wemmbu should only see the back of Egg's head, but he can't help the shock spreading through his body when he's forced face-to-face with Egg. His one eye is bleeding — and despite knowing it's a faux one, Wemmbu still feels close to throwing up — and he has a manic smile on his face that has never been present on Egg's face.
"Trust you?" Egg asks, his lips finally moving, but not quite matching the words. "Why would I trust someone who's the reason I keep getting captured?"
Egg's voice is soft — the same one he uses after Wemmbu's nightmares, trying to calm him down. This time, it touches something that has never been healed properly and breaks it cruelly. Wemmbu can almost hear the shatter, he clutches his chest and feels the fabric grow wetter beneath his palm. When he moves it away to check, he sees blood, as though Egg's words stabbed him in the heart and caused real damage to it.
"First Zam, then Jaden, now Arachnid," Egg coos softly. "When will you stop being the bane of my existence?"
Wemmbu takes a step back, the sting of the words pressing harder on his fresh wound.
"Not even after death can I be freed from you and your annoying presence," Egg presses gently. "I can't wash my hands off you. No matter how hard I try."
Egg's body starts swinging from side to side as he giggles loudly. Wemmbu can't find a reason to laugh. There's only fear in his damaged heart and pain where his wings should be. Suddenly, he's faced with a realization that Egg is saying everything Wemmbu has thought about himself all this time — every insecurity, every mistake, every scar he keeps poking. And despite agreeing with almost everything, Wemmbu hurts from hearing those words leave his best friend's mouth.
"That's not true," he tries to deny it anyway. "I— I'm trying my best, okay? I freed you all those other times? How is this different?!"
"It's not," Egg stops, his face turning black again. "You've never saved me then, you can't save me now."
Then he falls, like a puppet with its strings cut off. Egg's body hits the ground with a loud bang that will haunt Wemmbu forever. The entire floor is covered in different puddles of blood, and now that the angel is fully unresponsive, the light around the cage dims, as though Egg had been the only reason the sun has shone in the first place. Wemmbu can't move, can't breathe, his chest is still gaping from Egg's non-physical attack. He can only witness as his best friend is dying on the floor — no wings to remind people of his angel blood, bruised and humiliated — being unable to do anything.
Nothing unusual.
***
Wemmbu is ripped out of his sleep by a scream echoing against the walls of his base. It's primal, violent and caged at the same time — the last pathetic howl of a prey before accepting its inevitable fate. It takes a couple of minutes of blinking away the haze of a nightmare and clearing his hoarse throat for Wemmbu to realize that the scream is coming from him.
He sits up in his bed quickly, clutching at his throat, as though it were damaged from outside, as though he could stop the sound that seemed to have never stopped coming out of him.
The image of Egg — his best friend, his moral compass, his everything — beaten down and bruised, covered in blood head to toe and in a degraded state, is before his eyes, and he can't seem to blink it away. It's burned into his eyelids — every time Wemmbu closes his eyes for longer than a second, he sees his best friend's face, twisted and crooked, the exact opposite of what it's supposed to be.
The air in the room is cool against his sweaty flushed skin — courtesy of an open window that allows the quiet sound of the outside world to enter the space softly. It distracts Wemmbu slightly, even as his body shakes under the pale moonlight. The night is still young, if the full moon looming over Wemmbu is anything to go by, almost judging him. He can't blame it, his heart is beating in his chest, trying its hardest to escape his ribcage and follow Egg wherever he left.
Choking on nothing, being choked by everything around, Wemmbu throws the covers off himself. He barely recognizes the cold biting at his bare feet as he stumbles towards the door and rips it open. The hallway of his base feels both familiar and not at the same time, and suddenly he's back in that place with haunted doors on each side of him. His feet tangle together and his body connects with the floor harshly. However, pain is distant, Wemmbu barely pays it any mind as he keeps crawling down the hallway until it turns back to normal.
Instead of doors, there are frames all over the walls, though they are no less haunting. Wemmbu sees happy faces inside those frames, and paintings Egg has bought from different parts of the world from the corner of his eye. Those are the happy memories, he knows that, but as he crawls through the hallway of his base, he can't help but think about every bad thing that happened before, during or after taking those photos.
Eventually, Wemmbu reaches a door to Egg's bedroom. He lifts his body to reach the door knob and uses it to stand up properly. The pounding of his head gets louder as he opens the door and enters the room. It's empty, of course. Wemmbu stumbles inside, his body barely reaching the huge bed in the middle before collapsing onto it. The air in the room is suffocating, the sheets are cold against his cheek as he breathes in the dust and out.
His hands wander across the bed in search of a familiar warmth left by his best friend only to find nothing. Wemmbu lifts his head, choking on a sob that never leaves his throat fully, and looks at the empty space on the bed. It's not occupied by Egg as it should be. There are no angel wings stretched across the sheets, curling against Wemmbu's shoulder to shield him from the cold. There aren't any sounds of rustling, or snoring, or mumbling in sleep.
There's no Egg.
Egg is dead. Has been for the longest time.
There's nothing Wemmbu can do about it except weakly grab the edge of the blanket and pull it over himself as he rolls on his side. He stares at the bedframe; his brain draws the image of Egg sitting against it, reading a book that looks too thick to even open properly. His half-transparent hand reaches out to pet Wemmbu's hair, and he can almost feel the touch, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears as he closes them.
Sleep comes to him with difficulty, but at least he has the ghost of his best friend next to him. Just a figment of imagination, it's hardly enough to soothe the ache in his chest, yet that's all Wemmbu needs to succumb to exhaustion and let his brain shut down.
***
Wemmbu has never considered how much Egg's absence would affect him. Sure, there have been moments of distance between them, when Egg was taken hostage or busy with fishing at Highwater City. Those days Wemmbu would barely contain himself inside his own body — chaos would rip at his skin, desperately trying to find a way to get out. But Wemmbu would hug himself tighter, curl into himself and bury his face into the pillow until his lungs started burning. He would try to distract himself, either going out of his way to find Egg, or waiting patiently for his return.
These days, Wemmbu doesn't know if there's a point in any of it.
As he stares down at the empty fridge, he wishes Egg was there to fill it up. Wemmbu doesn't think there was a moment when it was empty — at least since the treehouse became their permanent residence. Egg insisted on cooking meals every day, instead of chugging golden apples like it was nothing. At first Wemmbu would whine and mope around the base, especially when Egg would force him to cut the vegetables. In his humble opinion, golden carrots and apples were more than enough to sustain him.
"I mean, you're not wrong," Egg once shrugged. "But we are settled and at peace. Why shouldn't we enjoy it with a home-cooked meal and not golden apples like we're on the run?"
Wemmbu has never complained after that.
He wishes he has.
Now that he's facing the rotten forgotten fruits in the lower compartment of the fridge, an empty egg carton, and a pan with forgotten leftovers, he wishes Egg had never created a habit Wemmbu couldn't keep up on his own. Wemmbu doesn't know where to shop for groceries, he doesn't know how to farm. His hands are elbow-deep in human blood, he's only capable of killing, not creating a home.
Helplessness crawls down his spine, making him shudder violently. Wemmbu slams the fridge shut, it rattles and shakes, and the jars on top fall. Wemmbu barely manages to step away before multiple jars and bottles fall on the floor, exploding against the surface. The entire floor is covered in shards of glass and dust no one will ever care to clean up. Some of them dig into the leather of Wemmbu's boots but he doesn't pay attention to them.
The sound of breaking glass echoes against the walls of the base and Wemmbu's head. It keeps going on and on until it's nothing but a shrill ringing that drowns out everything else. He can't tell if the glass is still breaking or if his mind simply refuses to let it stop.
That seems to be the thing that finally makes Wemmbu snap.
He can't stay in the treehouse any longer — in a place that has Egg's presence written all over it. Starting with books in every corner of the house, ending with Egg's most prized fishing rod lying forgotten and useless on top of the chests. It's the only place where Wemmbu can feel Egg, as though he's never left, and he isn't sure if this is a blessing or a curse.
His body moves on its own. Wemmbu jerks around the space, as though it rejects him, before slamming face first into the front door. His hands fumble with the doorknob, slipping from the metal a couple of times before finally gripping it tightly and twisting. The door opens as the scratchy sound echoes against the walls of the treehouse — Egg hasn't been around to oil the hinges.
The second Wemmbu is outside, he can finally take a breath, no longer being forced to inhale the dense air of the house — every particle screams of Egg, and Wemmbu has never dreamed of silence more.
He doesn't know where he's going, his legs have a mind of their own and his eyelids are heavy. The only clear thought in his head is getting away from this place, getting away from Egg's memory before it consumes him in a never-ending nightmare. Any other place in the server — Ender, even the caves, LAW's prison — seems more comforting than his own base.
Wind hits Wemmbu in the face. Only then does he realize he's flying. He flaps his wings, feeling the muscle flex, before swallowing the horror that rises in the back of his throat at the memory of Egg's mutilated back and bloody wings connected to the chains of the cage. Was it a message left by his exhausted brain or a real situation that could have easily happened if Wemmbu wasn't quick enough to save Egg?
During their time on this Ender-awful server, Egg has been held hostage more times than he's been free to the point he's stopped putting up a fight before getting captured. Wemmbu remembers bitterly the first time — during the times of PrinceZam Empire — when Egg desperately tried to free himself, trying and failing to hold his ground. Wemmbu can't help but compare it to the last time he saw Egg — exhausted and following every direction he's been told.
Maybe death is the ultimate freedom. At least to Egg. At least from Wemmbu.
This way Egg doesn't need to have a friend that has done nothing but bring him pain. If Wemmbu hadn't introduced Egg to this server, if he didn't care this much, neither of them would have been hurt. If Wemmbu had been stronger, or weaker, or anything other than he is, would that have saved Egg? Or was he destined to die as nothing but a shield to be used against a weapon? Breaking over time, accepting all the hits and being thrown away when the durability got too low?
Did Egg hate him during his last moments? Did he spend his last days, trapped either inside the polished walls of whatever fancy room Arachnid had forced him into or his own mind, feeling claustrophobic and small? Or worse. Did Egg regret being Wemmbu's friend in the first place? When Egg was falling through the bedrock, falling into an endless void, did he remember all their unfunny inside jokes, shared meals, playful banters, and wordless communication with a sour look on his face?
There hasn't been a day that Wemmbu has spent regretting their time together, he didn't regret being Egg's friend either. But he regrets that Egg had him as his best friend out of all people — arrogant, brash, emotionally stunted and unavailable, every unlikable trait stuffed into one person. Meanwhile Egg is— was the most angelic angel to ever exist. It's not like Wemmbu has ever had the displeasure of meeting other angels, but he knows for sure that no one could ever compare to Egg in terms of kindness, open-mindedness and… everything. He was truly everything — starting with those majestic wings and ending with that soft smile of his that would bleed into something chaotic during a successful fishing session.
Wemmbu wouldn't be surprised if Egg did, in fact, regret him at least once, although his heart cracks even thinking about it. Wemmbu prefers having Egg hate him, he can handle that, but he can't handle Egg regretting being his friend. Wemmbu can't survive the thought of Egg regretting him.
His thoughts get darker and darker, enough to cloud his vision. Wemmbu barely sees anything, memories blurring his vision, before he slams against something with full force. He can't contain the scream that rips out of his throat as he connects with the ground harshly and keeps rolling until he hits something. For a few seconds he lies there — dazed and very confused, with no strength left to pick himself up.
Distantly, Wemmbu wonders if this is his end — dying in a random place he can't even recognize due to the veil before his eyes. His wings are burning from overextension, his entire body aching from the fall, and his heart — already damaged and bruised — failing to work properly. He lies there, can't even roll on his back to face the sky, and welcomes the darkness that never fully envelopes him.
He shuts his eyes, but they never stay closed long enough for him to fall into slumber. Annoyed that he can't even die in peace, Wemmbu opens them, blinking a couple of times to get rid of the dizziness. When his vision stabilizes, he tries to focus on whatever is in front of him. It's a half-destroyed wall with its windows shattered and its wooden doors burnt down. Wemmbu looks at it, very confused, before moving his head despite the pain to see the rest of the building, only to immediately freeze.
There are rows and rows of bombed-out white houses with black-brick walls. Some of them have heavy envelopes of balloons dropped on top of them — the ones that used to soar and light up the night sky now forever stripped of their ability to float above the glorious empire. Wemmbu recognizes the architecture, the damage of this place caused by his own hands immediately.
These are the ruins of PrinceZam Empire — previously the biggest empire to ever exist on this server reduced to rubble. He must have landed on the farther part of the empire, he knows that there's a huge crater in the center of it. Yet, despite the damage, it's still as beautiful as ever. If anything, the destruction has made it even more painfully beautiful. Wemmbu forces himself to rise. His entire body protests, but his mind keeps pushing him to… go. So he walks through the remnants of the once glorious empire, feeling like a shell of a person he used to be.
If being in the treehouse felt suffocating due to all the happiest memories it contains, then walking the streets of PrinceZam Empire feels almost comforting for the exact same reason. Maybe because Egg wasn't there when Wemmbu first befriended Zam and has spent all his time running around the city and the castle, bothering Flame until he would drop his tough guy act and chase after him. Each building has a story Wemmbu never had enough time to learn, but he still managed to rewrite it with explosives and pain he couldn't let out properly.
Eventually, he reaches the long staircase to the castle. Wemmbu knows he has wings to fly to the top, but with everything heavy sitting in his chest he doubts he'd be able to lift himself off the ground. So he takes the staircase, each step soothing the burn in his heart and anxiety. For the first time in the past weeks he feels calm, the thoughts of Egg don't haunt him as much, even if they are overshadowed by the memories of Zam's betrayal.
When Wemmbu reaches the castle, his legs are close to giving out. Still, he pushes forwards, climbing over the rubble, wiping the dust off furniture uselessly, but still moving.
He reaches the throne room — the one on the lower floor, although he'd prefer the other throne room, he's not sure he'd be able to reach it, even with all the spite boiling in his blood — and approaches the throne. It's the only thing in the room left unscathed, surrounded by destruction and rubble. Yet it still stands tall, looming over Wemmbu in a weirdly comforting way as he struggles to walk toward it.
The second Wemmbu finally reaches it, his legs buckle and he's sent forward, falling face-first on the dusty cushion of the throne. He can't move, the soft surface calming under his cheek as he sinks deeper into it, imagining Zam's rough hands in his hair.
He knows he looks pathetic, kneeling on the floor before the throne devoid of the emperor who used and betrayed him in the cruelest way possible. But Wemmbu would rather feel pathetic, feel the blood undoubtedly dripping from his body because of the fall within the walls of the place where he was always meant to be this way, instead of a place that made him feel anything but.
As Wemmbu's eyes slowly close, the hand in his hair almost turns tangible and he can't help but lean into it.
***
Wemmbu's body feels heavy as he comes to his senses. For the first couple of minutes he's staring ahead, not seeing anything, hearing laughter surround him like a blanket. He drowsily looks down to see a real white fluffy blanket thrown around his shoulders, wrapped so tightly he can't move his upper body. He doubts he can use his legs either — they feel like jelly; they wouldn't be able to hold his weight.
There's nothing ahead of him — just white void — but, strangely, Wemmbu doesn't feel at all concerned. Instead, he sinks into the soft cushion he's sitting on.
"Wemmbu?" comes the soft voice. It's ahead of him and everywhere at once and Wemmbu can't help the shudder that runs down his spine.
Suddenly, a hand appears through the white void. Wemmbu sees it slowly coming closer to his face, but doesn't move, allowing it to touch his face. The hand touches his eyelids and closes them. The cold that seeps into Wemmbu's eyes is heavenly. He lets out a relieved breath, only now realizing how warm his body is. He's probably feverish — the reason he feels like shit and can't move or see anything around him.
"Are you feeling better?" the voice asks him, and Wemmbu slowly shakes his head, whining at the sharp pain in his neck.
The hand leaves him, and he barely stops the even louder whine from escaping his lips. Reluctantly, Wemmbu opens his eyes to see where it went only to come face-to-face with Egg. Wemmbu's mind is too numb to question his presence, but his body immediately relaxes after seeing him.
"Somewhat," Wemmbu answers weakly, his voice incredibly hoarse. He coughs a couple of times, before a glass of water touches his lips, and he immediately starts drinking, without questioning where it came from.
"Easy, dude," Egg laughs at him gently. "It's not going anywhere."
Wemmbu keeps drinking, watching the water in the glass. It's never-ending — no matter how many sips he takes it doesn't stop. Egg doesn't seem fazed by it, keeping the glass steady, as Wemmbu barely breathes, suffocating in his care.
He can't shake his head or signal Egg to stop. He can only take it, take it, take it.
When the glass finally leaves his lips, Wemmbu throws the half of it up immediately, chest heaving. He's already been on the verge of passing out; the black dots still dancing across his vision as he tries to blink them away.
Egg, meanwhile, doesn't look concerned. If anything, he barely reacts to Wemmbu's struggle, shrugging and turning away from him.
"I'm making dinner," he says, walking towards the kitchen.
Wemmbu moves with him. Or is it the couch moving? Wemmbu didn't stand up, he still can't move an inch of his body, so it must be the couch.
They are in the treehouse, at least the place that should resemble it, but too wrong to be the actual thing. The walls, the floorboards, even the kettle whistling on the stove are the same, yet the details are… wrong — the carpet isn't the right shade, the picture frames on the walls aren't the right shape, and the kettle doesn't have the right flower pattern on.
"Egg?" Wemmbu forces out.
"Yes, Wemmbu," Egg answers, his back turned to him as he stirs the pot on the stove with a huge wooden spoon. "I'm making the berry stew. It's your favourite, isn't it?"
As the words leave Egg's mouth, the sweet scent of berries fills the space between them. It's almost intoxicating, making Wemmbu's gut churn uncomfortably. He can almost taste the sweetness on his tongue, reaching deeper into his throat until he gags and throws up the rest of the water he had just drunk on the floor in front of him.
"The farming is going good. I think I really do enjoy this peaceful life," Egg continues, seemingly unconcerned with Wemmbu's pain. "Maybe you should try joining me sometime? I know you ruin everything you touch, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try."
This is wrong. The thought appears violently in Wemmbu's mind, as he heaves until the transparent liquid turns pink, then red. He chokes on his own blood, struggling to cough it out, while Egg keeps talking in the background, as though nothing is wrong.
"Maybe we should fish some time? Invite Flame and Lomedy maybe?"
Wemmbu wants to move, wants to support his throat as something scratches inside it painfully, but the more he tries to get out of the blanket, the tighter it wraps around him. It tenses even more, almost bringing his shoulders together and crashing his chest, forcing even more to spill from his mouth.
"And we should definitely visit MinuteTech some day! He must be so lonely—"
"What is wrong with you?!"
The scream that rips out of Wemmbu's throat is primal; it scratches at his throat harder than whatever is trying to escape him. He swallows down the disgusting liquid with great effort and tries to say something else, but words fail him. Surprisingly, Egg stops talking. He doesn't even move — just holds the spoon in his hand, while the stew boils until bubbles form and pop, disrupting the silence between them.
"Why are you like this?!" he screams even louder, as spit and everything he tried to hold back leak out of the corners of his mouth. "Why can't you see that everything's wrong?!"
Wemmbu gets interrupted by a surge of blood that makes it way past his lips. He can't talk anymore, even if he tried, as though he swallowed the shards of glass instead of water earlier. He coughs and coughs and coughs, until he's folded in half, forehead touching his knees.
The silence that follows is painful, almost physical against Wemmbu's fevered skin. The only sound in the room is Wemmbu's ragged breathing and the working stove.
"What do you mean, Wemmbu?" Egg speaks up again, his voice softer than ever, softer than it should be. "Everything is as it should be!"
Wemmbu can't help but raise his head a little at the words, immediately freezing at the sight before him.
Egg doesn't have his wings. Wemmbu hadn't even noticed their absence until he started looking for signs that there's something wrong with his best friend. Instead of them, there are two smaller pairs of wings growing from the base of his neck. White feathers are covered in blood and wrap tightly around Egg's head, covering his eyes.
"Everything is fine? Isn't it?"
***
"Hey, hey, bro, wake up!"
Wemmbu's head jerks away from the cushioned seat. He instantly presses his hand to his throat, looking for another leak, or maybe the injury that transferred from his nightmare right into reality. He can almost feel the liquid dripping down his chin and hastily wipes it with his sleeve, checking it immediately. To his relief, there's no blood, only a disgusting amount of spit.
"Bro, you good?"
There's someone near him, Wemmbu can feel the heat of another person's body next to him, and he fights the urge to lean closer, to let the warmth soothe the agonizing ache in his throat. But he stills himself, swallowing around nothing and slowly moving to look at that person.
"Wow, you're alive."
Wemmbu almost shoves his head back into the cushions to return to his nightmare. He'd rather see Egg's wrong presence, than to be in the same room as his rival. Especially now, when he has slept a total of four hours in a week, hasn't showered in a while, and looks like death on two feet.
Flame is sitting on the floor next to Wemmbu. He's not kneeling like Wemmbu; instead he's squatting, placing a hand on the throne to support his weight. Flame looks… Frankly, he looks as terribly as Wemmbu — his dreads are too messy, clearly begging for a retwist and some care; peeking from beneath his blindfold, the bags under his eyes are too visible against his dark skin that looks too ashy to be considered healthy; his usual hoodie doesn't cling to his body, instead it hangs on him, as though he'd lost too much muscle in a short amount of time.
It's weird how Wemmbu can feel the worry creep into his heart as he watches his rival — loud, aggressive, and constantly smug — in such a pitiful state. But at the same time, Wemmbu is glad that he isn't the only one struggling, that Flame has no room to speak about his appearance when he himself looks like shit.
"What are you doing here?" Wemmbu asks, and cringes at how wrecked his voice is. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd screamed in his sleep again.
"What am I doing here?" Flame asks back. "What are you doing here?! You think falling asleep in the middle of a destroyed empire, where bandits are literally crawling around, is a smart idea?!"
Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but Wemmbu suddenly grows very annoyed. Gone is the dizziness, replaced by something irrational. As though something wanted to rip out of his chest for a while, but now finally found the appropriate reason to go off.
"What? I didn't think this through! I just fell asleep!" Wemmbu defends himself.
He jumps to his feet, almost falling down the stairs leading to the throne, but catching himself last second. Flame rises as well, yet he's slow, careful, as if Wemmbu is a wild animal Flame has to control. His irritation grows larger at that, as he goes down the stairs, walking backwards, never tearing his gaze away from Flame.
"And that was dangerous as hell!" Flame says, and tries approaching, but stops dead in his tracks when Wemmbu hisses at him.
"Why do you even care?!" he grits out, everything in him burns and he can't control the word vomit leaving his mouth. "I don't see a single reason why you shouldn't just leave me alone! Or finish me! I know you want to! Come and kill me!"
His throat burns and Wemmbu half expects to throw up blood once again, but, thankfully, nothing comes except for his shaky breaths. He stares up at Flame, waiting for his next move — an attack, a joke, or even indifference.
"It's your fault everything went… the way it did," Wemmbu chokes out, aiming to sound angry, but instead he comes off desperate even to his own ears. "You are the reason Egg is dead."
The image of Egg sitting in a small obsidian box after being kidnapped by Flame is burned into his eyelids. The bitter taste of betrayal, when Wemmbu stared at Flame — his rival, his ally, his friend — naming the price to buy Egg's freedom, as though he was nothing but an object with a price no one was ever satisfied with. Would things have turned out different if Flame didn't choose Cindecrest over their rivalry and friendship? Would it be enough to save Egg? Wemmbu isn't sure, but his damaged mind can't help but put all the blame on Flame.
"You— You are the cause of everything," he pushes, and watches in satisfaction as Flame's face pales. "I hope Lomedy dies the same way Egg did."
The second those words leave his mouth, Wemmbu regrets them. They leave an ashy taste on his tongue that immediately makes him gag. The combination of sleep deprivation, not eating, and the nightmare pushes him over the edge, as he throws up all over the carpet. Wemmbu wishes that he could get rid of whatever rotten part of him pushed him to say those mean words — the ones he doesn't mean, but the ones he needed to say, at least for his sanity. He wants to rip out the part of himself capable of saying such things.
There is a hand on his shoulder that helps him stabilize himself. Wemmbu hasn't even noticed how he was about to fall over until Flame has to practically run over to him to hold him upright.
"Dude, you look sick," Flame says, and Wemmbu almost bites him, but is too scared to open his mouth in case something other than words come out. "You need to sit down— Wait, are you injured?"
Wemmbu doesn't know. He can't tell the difference between the real pain and the one caused by his nightmare. The only thing he can do is croak out weakly, "Air…" and hope that Flame understands what he means.
He does, thankfully, and throws Wemmbu's arm over his shoulder, practically dragging him towards the destroyed wall of the castle. It has an opening, the floor almost looks like a cliff that's about to collapse under its weight, and usually Wemmbu would be too cautious to even step close to it, but in the current situation he can't find it in himself to care.
Flame helps him sit down, not letting go until he's sure that the floor isn't going to collapse. Wemmbu dangles his feet over the edge, swinging them slowly and breathing out in relief when the wind hits his face just right. After everything — the suffocating nature of the dream, the wrongness of Egg's presence, the itch that can't be scratched in his chest — the cold air is the thing he needed.
The night sky looks beautiful, the stars sparkle against it playfully as though competing at which one can shine the brightest. Wemmbu has slept for a while, it was light when he first reached the empire. Nevertheless, he doesn't feel at all well-rested, if anything, he feels like his soul has been sucked out of his body and he was too tired to resist it.
Wemmbu sees from the corner of his eye how Flame sits down next to him. He lets his one foot dangle over the edge, while pushing the other closer to his chest, wrapping an arm around it and placing his chin on his knee. Flame looks even more tired; Wemmbu feels the guilt hit him even harder, almost choking him, over what he's said.
Of course he doesn't mean them. Wemmbu wouldn't wish the death of a close friend even upon his greatest enemy — okay, he so would, but he would wish it upon Flame and Lomedy, who's too kind for his own good. He wants to tell Flame just that, but the words won't stick to his tongue and the only sound that leaves him is a sick ehhh.
"Yeah, dude, I get it," Flame says suddenly.
Wemmbu tries not to flinch at his tone but fails, curling into himself.
"Okay, wait, shit. I meant—" Flame stutters all over his words, sending brief glances over to Wemmbu. "I meant, I get it that you didn't mean it. But it still hurts to hear it."
"What?" Wemmbu questions weakly.
"Dude, like, I know you. Like, you wouldn't just say stuff like that. Plus, you have this kicked-puppy look on your face that tells me everything, you know?"
Wemmbu is beyond confused. He turns his head to look at Flame properly, cocking his head to the side, watching him carefully. Flame anxiously twists one of his dreads with his fingers, as he stares right ahead and takes a deep breath before speaking again.
"Ever since Egg, you know…" he falls quiet again, hesitant to say the words. Wemmbu can't blame him — he himself can't say them outside his own head. "I've been thinking a lot."
"That's new," Wemmbu tries joking, but it falls flat. Flame decides to spare Wemmbu's feelings and doesn't comment on that.
"Anyway," he coughs awkwardly. "The things you went through are… really, really painful. I tried putting myself in your shoes — and I once was, even if only temporary — and I— I just want to say if you, like, ever need anything, just drop by my base. Even uninvited — you're welcomed there."
Wemmbu can't find the appropriate words to say — they all fall flat as he fails to process what Flame has just told him. Never in a billion years would he have expected this… kindness, this invitation from Flame. He almost refuses, cuts out the offer before it bleeds into more vulnerability than he can handle. But, once again, his mouth betrays him, and the words that leave his mouth aren't the ones he'd thought of.
"Lomedy is very nice," he says, and immediately shuts his mouth.
Flame slowly turns to look at him, the dread falling from his fingers. "What?" he asks, sounding even more confused than Wemmbu feels. At least they are in the same boat.
"I mean," Wemmbu chokes out awkwardly, turning away from Flame and his intense gaze. "When we were in the LAW's prison, he looked so sad and small and helpless. Really reminded me of Egg."
They both freeze at the implications, and Wemmbu continues before he can change his mind.
"I wanted to drag him out of that prison, honestly. He didn't want to leave, obviously, so I left him."
"Bro, what are you trying to say?"
After a moment of silence, Wemmbu answers, "Nothing, really. Just wanted to say that… Lomedy is a nice kid. I wouldn't, like, want him dead," he stops before adding, "Plus you're my friend, or something. What do they say? A friend of a friend of mine is my friend? I don't know, Egg has always been better at this shit."
Flame doesn't respond for a while, and Wemmbu grows antsy at the silence. He can't help the occasional glances he sends in Flame's direction. He starts twirling a strand of his hair anxiously, waiting for Flame to say something, or else Wemmbu will actually throw himself off this cliff in embarrassment.
This is the closest he's been to being vulnerable he's been in a while. The last time he was like this was with Parrot, who also has questionable emotional availability, but at least it's better than Wemmbu's. Opening up like this to Flame — someone as dense when it comes to feelings — is somewhat funny and comforting at the same time. At least Flame won't be able to put his thoughts into the right words, so Wemmbu probably won't be hurt.
Eventually, Flame starts talking again, although Wemmbu has long stopped waiting for him to do so.
"After Egg, I was so paranoid over something happening to Lomedy," he whispers. "I know we haven't been talking that much, and, honestly, we are a bit distant right now. But it doesn't mean I suddenly stopped caring about him. If anything, the fact he's not in my line of sight makes me so anxious I can barely function."
Flame takes a deep breath, stabilizing himself. Wemmbu raises his hand slowly and squeezes Flame's shoulder in silent support.
"I would visit him constantly, you know. Check up on his farm, walk him to cities and back. Even with Parrot restoring his title as king, it's still dangerous," he swallows. "It's dangerous to be my friend."
Wemmbu instinctively squeezes Flame's shoulder harder, his words hitting him square in his chest.
He tries imagining Flame in the same position as him — staying by Lomedy's side constantly, waking up screaming from nightmares of his best friend's death. The emptiness he feels at the thought of Egg isn't something he'd want Flame to go through. It's an agonizing, painful, and pitiful feeling that can't be healed with anything but time, and Wemmbu doesn't know if he's patient enough to wait.
"Is this why you look like shit?" Wemmbu tries joking again, but this time it works. Flame lets out a surprised bark of laughter that he tries to stifle with his fist.
"As if you're the one to talk, bro," he retorts immediately. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"I mean," Wemmbu drawls. "That wouldn't be an exaggeration."
Flame looks at him dumbfounded, and Wemmbu prepares himself for judgement.
Instead he's faced with an offer he, for once, doesn't want to refuse. "Wanna head back to my base?" Flame asks. "You can shower, eat, sleep, and whatever. It's safe there, so you don't have to worry."
Wemmbu doesn't stop the smile forming on his face. "Yeah, sure, dude."