Chapter Text
“What do you want me to do?!”
Schlatt’s voice echoed inside the tower’s damp walls. He strode a pace forward, flaring his nostrils as he closed the distance between himself and Wilbur. A soft red glow emanated from his hircine eyes. As he descended the stone stairs, the clack of his hooves resonated alongside the deep boom of his voice.
“Huh? What do you want from me? We have nothing, Wilbur! They took everything from us!”
The goat hybrid drew back his lips in a snarl, bearing the pearly white of his teeth and those sharp canine fangs. Wilbur swallowed hard and stood his ground, his brow creasing. Said silent resolve wasn’t taken well.
Wilbur wasn’t quick enough to flee when the goat lunged for him. He felt one of Schlatt’s twisted ‘paws’ wrap around his throat - long, narrow digits clasping tight around his neck. The goatman’s palms were leathery - calloused and work-worn - with skin rough enough to almost scratch. Schlatt’s other hand gripped Wilbur’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eye.
“They exiled us, Wilbur. They’re not letting us back,” Schlatt gave a bitter laugh, “This is us now, Wil. We’re stuck in this hell - just the two of us. Probably ‘til we're dead.”
“Maybe they’ll change their minds,” Wilbur urged, his strangled airways turning his voice into a strained squeal.
“Like fuck they will! You’re fooling yourself, Soot, you really are.”
Letting go, Schlatt threw the man to the floor. He stomped towards the window, and gave an enraged bleat, snowy ears flicking back against his head. Wilbur watched, rubbing his cheek where blots of blood formed by the dig of Schlatt’s sharp black claws. It had only been a week since they’d been sentenced, and they were already falling apart.
The two were imprisoned in a small zone. By the day, the water levels grew higher. They built a tower of stone as high as it could go, and would keep building until they reached their limit. They had stashed food. Until the water washed away their farm, they would keep going.
But they knew that all of this would only deter the inevitable.
When he found his footing, Wilbur drew from the tower to the bay, where the water licked at the sand a little more than it had this morning. He dipped his shoe into the flow and kicked the dampened sand over itself. At this rate, they faced a very watery grave -- should hunger not take them first.
All for a change of heart and a foolish rebellion.
Wilbur knew that was where so much of Schlatt’s current anger stemmed from. He’d grown sentimental; his lasting loyalties to his now-cellmate had guilt gnawing at him for turning away. He came back to him, and they plotted. Apparently, Dream hadn’t liked such dissent; he certainly hadn’t liked it when he discovered the pair intended to overthrow his land.
And, if not for the TNT prepped to blow, maybe they would have gotten a lighter sentence.
“Forget Dream! Forget Tommy, Tubbo, the rest of those fuckers. It’s us, Wilbur. This place is
ours
. And we’ll burn it to the ground if we have to.”
Schlatt had spoken with such conviction at the time, clutching the man’s hands tenderly in his claws.
“I know I left you, but I just… I needed to get a little perspective, that’s all. Wil, we’re in this together - we always have been.”
Even though those words got them into this mess, he couldn’t help the swell of emotion that swept him. Schlatt had been his most trusted friend, and when he had turned his back on L’Manberg - on Wilbur - it broke his heart.
And sure, when he came back with intent to seize and control L’Manberg, it put a sour taste in his mouth. But Schlatt could be so convincing, and soon enough, he was drawn into his intricately weaved illusion of potential power, and total control of this land felt only an inch away.
It all seemed so silly now. The consequence hammered that fact home.
This was a horrible thing to be fated to - that was why Wilbur remained so convinced it would be overturned. No doubt this imprisonment would be to make a point; they wouldn’t be made to go out this way. Dream wasn’t that cruel.
Wilbur looked out over the face of the water, where the setting sun became a splintered mosaic on its rippling surface, and wondered if it would still look as beautiful when the water filled their lungs.
The sound of hooves clicked surely behind him, and he reflexively balled his hands into fists. A solemn snort came from behind as Schlatt joined him on shore.
Neither knew what to say.
Wilbur remained on edge from the fight; Schlatt had an apology stuck in his throat, his red eyes stayed downcast.
Beyond the boundaries, they could see their former friends getting on with their lives. To their knowledge, the exiled had fled - they were blind to their new lodgings. There was something profoundly lonely about that. Worse still when they seemed to veer around the boundary as though it was natural; they would never question it.
Schlatt turned his head toward his companion, and nuzzled his nose against his cheek.
“I'm sorry.”
It was the best he could manage. The goat rested his head against Wilbur’s, and smiled a little as a hand came to scratch the wiry brown hair on his cheeks.
The cold air of the night sunk its teeth into them, goosebumps prickling Wilbur's arms. On the water, the splintering light began to fade, and the prismatic shards dulled to a sorrowful, uniform blue. Schlatt’s hooves started to sink into the mud as the water licked at his heels. Slipping a hand around Wilbur’s wrist, he tugged him back into the tower.