Chapter Text
Within minutes of being out on the roof, Wilbur’s hair was plastered to his brow, and Schlatt’s horns were dripping in time with the beating rain. Beyond the building’s edge, they could see the steady creep of the water, well above their bedroom window now. At such an altitude, the wind was strong, blowing droplets into their faces. It was hard to keep a steady footing. Lightning cracked the sky. Thunder boomed.
Wilbur held Schlatt’s hand so hard that it hurt. Schlatt didn’t care: he held back just as tight, as though the ache was an anchor. Thrashing on the water’s surface, the rain made a terrible roar, a clamour overwhelming in combination with the howling wind that bit at them. Panic was starting to gnaw at them both; they were staring in the jaws of death.
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
Against the unrelenting wall of sound, Schlatt screamed furiously. He shook his hand free from Wilbur’s, and strode toward the edge of the building, dropping down to his knees as he bleated again. He beat his fists into the stone, the force climbing with each rage-laden blat. The white of his ears was tinged pink with fury.
“This is really how it ends, huh?” He snarled, gaze fixed on the sky, “This is it? You’re gonna to let this happen? Did we really commit such ‘sins’ that
this
is what we deserve?”
Schlatt panted, his throat burning. The rain got in his eyes but he just blinked back against the sting.
“This isn’t right! This isn’t how it should be! Whatever happened to second chances?”
The goatman spluttered. His face was freezing from the raging storm, his mutton-chops slick to his skin. Wilbur could do naught but watch, and wonder if his pleas were directed to Dream, or God.
“I’m sorry, alright? How many times do I have to say it before it means something!”
His hair was in his eyes, and his ears were drooping and dripping. He screamed in frustration again, but nothing changed. The torrent was unrelenting; the final tide was coming in. His last ditch pleading with a higher power had failed him, and the intensity of his prayer left him in a coughing fit. Wilbur came up beside him, and sat down on the wet stone. He pet his back in slow circles.
“This is it.”
“This is it.”
Wilbur moved closer, leaning his head on Schlatt’s shoulder. Neither knew what to say. They locked hands again, and sat in the pouring rain until it slowly started to subside. And when it did, crepuscular rays slid down through tiny gaps in the clouds.
“They call them Jacob’s Ladders. ‘Stairway to heaven’.”
The puddles on the roof glimmered in the climbing light; Schlatt’s horns glimmered, too. Wilbur tossed his legs over the edge of the building, and kicked his feet through the water.
“Can I tell you a story?”
Wilbur nodded.
“When I was a boy, me and the family went down to the beach. I must have only been about five years old at the time. It was summer - late July, actually - but it wasn’t that busy, it wasn’t a touristy area. My dad and I, we went into the sea for a swim, and… Wil, you don’t realise how cold the water is, even in the scorching heat.”
He felt Wilbur squeeze his hand when he paused.
“When you go into the water at first, the tide is warm - it’s not too bad. But you wade out further and further, and by the time you’re up to your knees in it, it’s
so cold
. I kept going - I didn’t want to look like a pussy, not in front of my dad, but fuck… It was freezing, Wilbur. You’d never believe how cold it was.”
“And dad? He was wading in it too, splashing me as he went, and I was splashing him back. But I felt… I don’t know - sick, maybe? My whole body was going stiff. I shrugged it off, I wasn’t throwing away the first time I got to see my dad in months for a little bit of cold in my bones, y’know?”
“As we went deeper into the water, I had to swim to keep up with him. The waves were coming in from the distance, but low - there wasn’t much wind, even for the seaside. It still rocked you though, and I was only small. I couldn’t keep my balance well. One wrong move, and I was pulled under.”
Schlatt swallowed hard, pulling at his collar with his free hand. The water spilled over onto the roof.
“Everything was so blurry - the salt water stung my eyes. Dumb as it sounds, it was like I couldn’t find my limbs, I just flailed like hell to get to the surface. But I couldn’t break it, I don’t know why. Maybe it was all the flailing?”
His voice grew strained; he spoke a little quicker.
“And desperately, I tried to fight my way to the top, but I could feel the water dragging me back down. There was seaweed around my legs. I tried to breathe but, fuck, that was the wrong move.”
He cleared his throat. He laughed, uneasy. He tugged at his collar again.
“I felt the water in my throat, I felt it burn. I couldn’t retch it up, not while I was under. It was in my lungs, I swear.”
Schlatt shuddered, staring straight ahead.
“My dad dragged me out of the water in the end. I don’t remember that - I just remember choking up mouthfuls of salt water onto the sand and gasping for air. It felt awful. We went home after that; my parents didn’t speak once in the car. That trip was the last time I saw my dad.”
Wilbur lifted their locked hands, kissing his knuckles. Schlatt had never spoken so candidly about his family before; it took coming face to face with his childhood trauma to break that silence. It was strange, in all that time spent in the tower - in all that time serving this sentence - Schlatt had never spoken about when he almost drowned.
“This whole time, I’ve been telling myself - you’ve been through this before, and you were fine. You almost drowned, but you lived. You know what’s coming, you know how cold the water is, you know how it drags you under. But someone will come and save you.”
He had been in just as much denial of their circumstance. There was no dissenting it now, not while the water lapped behind them. He spoke his story for a reason: the acceptance that he would have to live it again. The tide licked at them, moving around their thighs.
“And now? Now I can’t hold that belief. Because
no one
is here to save us. I know when I’m beat - I mean, what are the options?”
“I think we only have one option.” Wilbur spoke.
The man sounded so worn , looking towards the ram with tired eyes. Schlatt gave him a knowing look, and stood up. He pulled Wilbur up with him, keeping a hold of his hand. For a moment, they stood still, quiet. The cool breeze whipped across their faces, and with it, the scent of ozone from the storm.
There was a pensive quiet, staring out over the horizon. At the edge of the boundary, there was now a steep drop from the top of the water to the grass on the other side. Framed meagre in the distance, diffracted by the water’s sway, L’Manberg stood.
"Are you scared?"
"Not as scared as I thought I'd be," Schlatt looked ahead, "But it's in my hands, this time. It was my choice. That, and the adrenaline, I guess."
Wilbur nodded.
“Are
you
scared?”
“No. Not anymore.”
Wilbur gave a sad smile. He felt a paw raise their hands, claw swiping a tear from his cheek.
"Ready?"
"As I’ll ever be."
They shared a chaste kiss.
From a quiet countdown, they stepped out over the edge.
The water dragged them down.
In the descent, Wilbur’s stare was heavenbound, watching through the mist of blue. The sunlight on the surface was a splintered mosaic; the harlequin shards trembling on the flow. A flash of green moved upon the face of the waters. Strips of blurry light spilled down. He turned to Schlatt, and together, they let their eyes fall closed.