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Tommy thought he'd be safe.
Dream told him that he wasn't done with him yet. He wouldn't kill him.
Apparently, he lied.
There's no use thinking about that now, though, as Tommy’s soul rips from his body. It hurts when it's torn out of him and he screams in agony. He tries to grab it as it goes, but why would he have that power? It slips through his hands like silk, leaving his body feeling incredibly empty.
Empty and cold, but not bad. To his surprise, once it's over and his soul is gone, he doesn’t miss it. It takes all of the pain that he has stored up through the years and he doesn't realize how much it weighed him down.
Once his soul is pulled out of him, he drops, falling down until he slams against a dark surface.
This place is unknown and dark and misty and seems to expand forever and ever in every direction, and Tommy should be scared but he can only think about what he has lost.
He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready.
He wanted to see Dream one last time. To say goodbye and to go peacefully, leaving him to sit in his own thoughts forever.
Instead, he got trapped. He wonders if it was planned. The "security issue" that trapped him inside Dream's cell for days. It seems too convenient that it happened on the same day he went to visit.
That was horrible enough, being in such close quarters for so long. Dream pretending that everything was fine, that he never wronged him, but for Dream to actually kill him? It doesn't seem real.
Tommy’s only seventeen. Most people, when they're his age, still have three lives. Most people hold them close and keep them safe. He didn't have that luxury. But now, he’s out of lives. Now, he’s dead.
He’s dead.
The mist that covers the dark, stony ground swirls around him as he sits in it, feeling it's slight dampness.
He tries not to think of Tubbo but it's no use. He can't believe that he’s never going to see him again. Maybe he’ll have a ghost, like Ghostbur, that will visit him. He wonders if there's any way he'd know.
Tommy pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, shivering in the dark expanse of nothing.
Tears are rolling down his cheeks and he hiccups. He doesn’t remember starting to cry. How long has he been crying?
He uses the bandana around his neck to wipe his nose and lay down, feeling hopeless and helpless and just wanting to stop existing. Why is he still conscious even in death? He didn't know what death would be like, but he hoped for it to be a never-ending sleep. He didn't imagine it to be a torturous, lonely hellscape.
He guesses he's not alone, though, because he hears a voice.
"Tommy?" The voice asks, and his eyes fly open because he knows whose voice it is.
Of course he'd be here. Tommy's insane older brother, who scares him and uses him and is the cause of all his suffering. He would rather be alone.
He heaves an incredibly heavy sigh and sits up. Wilbur is standing over him, wearing his long trench-coat that he died in. He looks the same as Tommy remembers. The same curly brown hair falls over his right eye, the same amused little smile he seems to always be sporting graces his lips.
"Hello, Wilbur," he says. The disappointment he feels bleeds into his words.
Wilbur grins.
"Have you missed me?" He asks, which Tommy obviously hasn't. Wilbur just wants to hear him lie.
Tommy decides to play his game. He always ends up playing, there's no use trying to fight it.
"Of course I have," he tells him, standing. "Brother."
"That's good." Wilbur's talking about his performance.
Tommy brushes off the dark, dusty ash that has transferred from the ground to his shirt as Wilbur slings an arm around his shoulder. He tries to move out from under his arm, but Wilbur holds him tight, pretending he’s not uncomfortable.
"I've missed you," he says, as he starts to walk through the mist, pulling him along.
"Sure you have."
"It's true."
Tommy drops it and changes the subject. He doesn't care for any of his kind words.
"Where are we?"
Wilbur spreads his arms wide, gesturing to their surroundings, "Can't you see? It's a train station."
Tommy looks around at this grey world. He doesn't see any trains. "I don't see," he tells him.
Wilbur looks at him as if confused, but there's still a gleam of all-knowing in his eyes. "You just pulled in. Dream was the conductor."
"Ah," Tommy says. He doesn't feel like talking about Dream or train stations. In fact, he doesn't feel like talking to Wilbur at all.
Wilbur senses his disinterest and moves on, "Well? Tell me about the world! How's L'Manberg, huh? How's Tubbo?"
"You blew up L'Manberg."
"Obviously," Will rolls his eyes, "Is it completely gone? Did Tubbo rebuild? Come on, you're usually more talkative."
Tommy sighs, "L'Manberg can't survive without you, Will. You knew that before any of us."
Wilbur lets out a laugh that echoes off the darkness around them, "That's good to hear."
He leads Tommy through this world, telling him that Schlatt and Mexican Dream are also here, but, "You don't want to see them, do you? I didn't think so. It's nice being just you and me, like old times". Tommy just trails along beside him, testing out his new body, learning that, without a soul, one can almost float above the ground.
He doesn't know why he stays with Wilbur. He could just leave him and walk in a random direction on his own, not having to bear his company that gives him a sort of sick feeling in his stomach.
Except, Tommy does know why he continues to walk beside him. It's because, despite everything Wilbur's done, despite how insane he is, Tommy has missed him. The sick feeling isn't there because he’s disgusted by Wilbur. It's there because he’s disgusted by the fact that he still comforts him in a way no one else can.
After what seems like hours, Tommy realizes Wilbur's stopped talking. Instead, he's looking at him as they walk, not having to look in front of himself. Knowing that there's no change in the landscape, no potential for harm.
"What are you doing?" Tommy asks him.
"You've changed," Wilbur tells him.
"Of course I changed, Wilbur. You've been dead for almost a year. You don't know what has happened to me and I know you don't care. Stop pretending that you do."
Tommy’s words surprise him because he didn't mean for them to come out, they just did. And with a loudness he didn't expect.
Wilbur's unfazed, "I do care about you, Tommy."
"Fuck off."
But Tommy wants his words to be true so badly that he feels himself start to tear up again. At the sight of this, Wilbur sits down and opens his trench coat for him, causing Tommy to stare at him in disbelief.
"Do you honestly think I want to be near you?" Tommy spits.
Wilbur keeps his gaze strong, staring straight through him, "I know you do, Tommy. You always do."
His words send tears down Tommy’s cheeks and he gets mad that Wilbur has that power. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and holds his breath, trying to stop the flow of tears and the breakdown that will follow.
He does want to be comforted and Wilbur was always the one to hold him. He'd never say anything when Tommy would cry, never look pityingly at him. Just open his coat and he’d fall into his side. He would bury his head into his chest and sob and know that Wilbur would never mention it after.
So, he does it again. Tommy buries his face in Wilbur’s chest as he rubs his shoulder, shh-ing quietly. He cries because he misses the old him and Tubbo and even Phil and Techno and because he fucking died.
"I hate you," he tells Wilbur, in-between sobs.
"I know," Wilbur hums, "I know."
+++
Wilbur brings Tommy to see J. Schlatt, who does not look at all happy to see him but it's okay because Tommy feels the same way. Tommy notices that he's still drinking and when he asks him how he has a supply of alcohol, Schlatt just tells him that if he wants something bad enough, it'll appear. Then, he goes back to sleep.
That's how Wilbur got his Solitaire cards, which he makes Tommy play with him. He's overjoyed that he doesn't have to play alone anymore, even though he knows Tommy’s no competition. He’s never been a worthy match for him.
Tommy asks about Mexican Dream, thinking that he is the only person who he might have fun with, but Wilbur tells him that he hasn't seen him in years.
"Years?" Tommy asks, "He hasn't even been dead for one year."
"Time works differently here," Wilbur informs him, "Haven't you noticed?"
He hasn't, actually. He has no way to tell the time. No sun or moon to mark the ending of days and beginnings of nights.
"What do you think happened to him?" He wonders aloud.
Wilbur shrugs, not answering. He doesn't care.
Tommy puts the thought out of his mind.
He doesn't wish for something to keep him entertained. He doesn't have any ideas. He’s always been a social person, never finding any independent task any fun.
So, he spends his days with Wilbur. It's better than being alone, he’s decided, even though Wilbur's a massive arsehole.
They spend their time playing Solitaire and arguing and walking around in the emptiness of where they’ve ended up.
They don't talk much about the past, but Wilbur seems to never shut up. He tells Tommy about the universe and the end of time and other useless bits of information that Tommy couldn't care less about knowing.
Sometimes he gets fed up and yells and insults Wilbur, but all he does is laugh, pat his back and say, "That was great!", which of course makes Tommy even more angry but it's useless to continue. He knows just how to shut him up.
But, when they get tired, he falls asleep with Wilbur’s back pressed against his because, for some reason when they're not touching, Tommy just can't seem to drift off.
And, when he finds himself crying over the life that he’s lost, Wilbur rolls over and opens his trench-coat for him.