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Breaking Dream out of prison had been laughably easy. Sam was still so frazzled by Techno's escape and Quackity so distracted with Las Nevadas and the newest debacle with his fiancés that breaking into Pandora's Vault via the Guard's entrance, and then getting out the same way was pathetically simple. By the time Sam had even realized just what was happening, sending the sound of sirens across the SMP as they echoed across the water behind them, the four of them were almost back to the commune.
Once there, Phil and Techno took some time to address Dream's poor state. Multiple wounds, most of which were inflicted by Quackity's torture, littered his body. He was malnourished, and exhausted from a lack of proper sleep, kept awake by nightmares and fear. And the whole time he was examined and his wounds were dressed and a bowl of soup was eaten, he was clutching onto a raggedy book like it was his lifeline.
Wilbur knew what that book was. Knew what it had to be. That book was the reason Wilbur was sitting here next to Dream, making sure the man drank his soup. If it weren't for the fact that Dream had kept that book, had learned its language, written in strange text that Wilbur had no understanding of, Wilbur would still be in that godforsaken train station, laying across uncomfortable benches or cracked concrete or even on the steel tracks, waiting for eternity, forced to sit and consider every action he had ever taken. That wasn't saying that revival had been all that pleasant, though.
The way he'd described it to Tommy hadn't been inaccurate; he had boarded a train in the station, and road it till the end of the line. But once they reached that dark tunnel that marked the way out, things... changed.
He had awoken outside, surrounded by rubble with a large, open wound in his chest being eaten out by maggots. His entire body had been stiff, so very, very stiff, and Wilbur hadn't been able to move at first. Hadn't been able to even turn his neck to look around. His vision was oddly fuzzy, fading in and out. Wilbur tried to move, tried to make some attempt at getting his bearings and it had hurt. He hadn't been able to cry out either, only let out a hoarse groan. So he tried again, and there was a sharp crack! as he managed to move his head. Once he did that... The maggots suddenly evacuated the cavity in his chest, and he could feel his flesh stitching itself painfully back together. Slowly, oh so slowly, his muscles and bones unstiffened, and his skin flowed like liquid across his body. His vision cleared, and sharpened, and then, all at once, Wilbur was able to scream as the overwhelming pain of his corpse pulling itself back into a state of living flowed through him.
When it finally ended, Wilbur's throat hurt from screaming, leaving his voice hoarse, and tears streamed down his face. All of his senses seemed to come back in a rush, and it was too much too much TOO MUCH- The light burned his eyes and the sound of the wind was more like screaming and the stone beneath him felt as though it would tear through his flesh and the smell of blood burned his mouth and throat and--
Wilbur shakes himself out of it, remembering that he's not there. He's been alive for months now, and it's been nearly a year in the living world since he's died. He reminds himself that he's safe; he's at Phil's house and they've freed Dream from prison. Absently, Wilbur notes that Dream had finished his soup, and he gently takes the bowl from the other man.
"Want me to refill it?" Wilbur asks. Dream shakes his head, and Wilbur goes to wash it out, but he can still feel Dream's eyes on him. Wilbur turns to look over his shoulder, raising a brow. "What is it?"
"What was it like?" Dream asks, voice barely above a whisper. "Coming back? Tommy... Wouldn't tell me."
Wilbur pauses. "... Painful," he admits, leaning back against the counter. "I'd been dead a long time, and when I was sent back to my corpse my body had to rebuild itself from the ground up. Repairing wounds and rot, and then there's the whole rigor mortis thing. My senses were heightened for about a day after, too-- I could hear and taste and smell and see and feel everything to an extreme. All in all, it wasn't the most pleasant experience."
Dream doesn't respond to that, merely stares down at his hands, gripping the blanket below him tighter, and Wilbur can't help but feel a shot of pity; despite the pain he'd experienced during the process, Dream was the reason Wilbur was still standing here. He owed him his life...
And yet, as he looks at Dream, he sees a strange sort of gleam in his eyes that sends a shiver of uncertainty up his spine. Something that, just for a moment, reminds Wilbur of how they all ended up here in the first place, reminds Wilbur of why, exactly, he waged a war against Dream and his men at all.
Wilbur turns back to the dishes and tries his best to ignore the way his gut twists.
As time goes on things are... fine. Surprisingly fine! Wilbur has seen very little of Ranboo lately, and he's almost certain why, and Tommy's no longer speaking to him but it's fine. Wilbur has his father, he has Techno, and he has Dream! He doesn't need anyone else. Roadblocks, he tells himself when he looks in the mirror in the morning, while the part of his brain still too controlled by Ghostbur's memories (and maybe they're less Ghostbur's now, and more Wilbur's than he'll ever admit) is screaming at him that he's made a horrible, terrible mistake. He shoves away those screams, he shoves away the concern from the crows who land on his shoulder and whisper in his ear that he really ought to start running, he shoves away his doubts and misgivings because he's finally found a place. A purpose. He'll regain power, he'll pay back his debts, he'll become someone again! He'll be useful! He will!
Things start going wrong once Dream is well and truly on his feet again.
The questions about Wilbur's resurrection start innocently enough, and Wilbur doesn't blame that curiosity; he's learned, perhaps better than almost anyone else, that death is truly a curious thing. A curious sensation. So, he indulges Dream. He answers his questions.
They start so, so innocently...
"What did it feel like to die, Wilbur?"
"It hurt. And then it didn't. And then it hurt differently."
"What was Limbo like, Wilbur?"
"Cold. Dark. Smoky. Sometimes unbearably loud. Lonely. Very, very, lonely."
"Are you glad I saved you, Wilbur?"
"Infinitely."
"What was resurrection like, Wilbur?"
"Painful. Overwhelming. And then fantastic."
"How did you feel at that moment, Wilbur?"
Wilbur pauses and considers for a moment, and then, before he can think it through he says, "like a god."
And that was the wrong answer. Gods that was the wrong answer. Wilbur had no idea just how much that answer was about to fuck up his entire life. His mind. His body. His spirit.
Because, a few days after Wilbur answers that question, Dream asks, "would you like to help me with a little project, Wilbur?" and it sounds the same as all the other questions, and Wilbur doesn't think too hard about it before he says "sure."
"Can you swear you'll help?"
And that catches Wilbur a little off guard, but he figures it's not a big deal... Dream's used to broken promises is all. "I swear it," Wilbur confirms, and Dream grins at him like Wilbur just handed him the world.
But the days pass, and Dream doesn't bring it up again. As they stay busy, waging war against Las Nevadas (and practically everyone else at this point), Wilbur puts it to the back of his mind and eventually forgets about it altogether, letting the conversation, as brief as it was, fall to the wayside as he turns his focus to once again being a general. To tactics and blood and the loud and raging war, the pumping of blood in his ears on the battlefield, and he's taking down enemies left and right and it's exhilarating.
Wilbur forgot just how good it felt to be on the battlefield. He's back to back with Dream, a man he once considered his worst enemy, and he's laughing and they're joking and bantering and then someone (looking back, Wilbur's almost certain it's Quackity) lunging for Dream with a blade, and Wilbur is spun around and--
And Wilbur takes the blow.
It slices through his armor like fucking paper. And Wilbur feels nauseous and suddenly cold, but he can feel someone's hands on his arms and when he turns and looks, it's Dream, using him as a human shield.
The light begins to fade, and he hears him whisper, "don't worry... I'll fix it..."
And then it goes black.
Wilbur awakens in that godforsaken train station. As he sits up and looks around, he feels a scream rip itself from his throat, from his chest, the sound echoing through the space, off those concrete walls. He had hoped that it would be a long, long time since he would see this awful place again. And yet, he sits with his legs dangling off the platform, all too aware of what just happened; he died. He was killed by Quackity, and if he were to think about it, he was technically killed by Dream, too. Used to block a devastating blow. Quietly, Wilbur wonders if Quackity survived the fight. Surely if he didn't, Wilbur would have spotted him by now? That train should pull in; people may not end up staying in his section of Limbo, but they usually passed through. Wilbur shakes it off after a moment, deciding that really, he doesn't care enough to find out.
He stands, and he must've stood too quickly, because his vision immediately begins to blur and he stumbles, trying desperately to regain his balance before ultimately, that fails, and he goes tumbling to the ground, blacking out completely.
When he opens his eyes again, he's met by a wave of familiar pain, the kind of pain brought on by drinking a healing potion too fast. But Wilbur knows what's causing this pain has nothing to do with potions. No, as he looks down at his chest stitching itself back into solid flesh (Philza gasps when he sees this, and his eyes are wide as they meet Wilbur's), he realizes that Dream had brought him back to life once more.
And now, Wilbur knows what his little project is.
Wilbur turns to the side and vomits (a combination of blood and bile) over the hardwood floors. He hears Techno sigh, and Phil reaches up and gently brushes his hair away from his face, and Wilbur, hands shaking, looks up and makes eye contact with Dream and he wants to scream; why? Somehow, Dream understands, and the smirk he gives Wilbur is the only answer he spares.
Because I can, that smirk says.
Wilbur gags again.
When he gets himself together, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears and the fact that the cold air is much more wicked than usual, he stands in the mirror and stares at himself. There's a new white streak in his hair, he notes, and he rearranges his hair so it's mostly hidden. The first streak he'd always worn as a badge of honor; it was a reminder that he was alive! That he moved and lived and breathed once more. But this second?
This second was something he'd like to forget. It's a reminder of his mortality, of the fact that even though he remains standing, he can still, in fact, die.
Wilbur puts it to the back of his mind, and when Dream drills him with questions later that day, he completely ignores him. But Wilbur can't ignore the way Dream watches him; watches the lingering quivering in his frame, watches the way Wilbur's hand ghosts across the new scar, the way Wilbur jumps at even quiet noises. Wilbur wishes he would just go away, wishes Dream would take whatever he wants from him and his family and vanish.
Late that night, when the rest of the commune is fast asleep, Wilbur sits out on the bridge and stares out into the enchanted forest. He knows who put it there; he knew the moment he first laid eyes on it who its creator was, and he has no desire to acknowledge Her. He feels a strange mix of emotions, as he stares out at the dark pine trees; he feels anger, firstly. Anger that She ignored him for so long, leaving him alone for thirteen years. Anger that she never thought to help him once, not since he was an infant. Anger that she stood by, silently watching the world tear Wilbur down and when it had finally broken him, continued to watch in silence. But there's something else too; longing. Wilbur longs for the familiar, warm arms that held him as a child. He longs for the musical laughter that accompanied his youthful grin. He longs for the lullabies that put him to sleep at night.
Because, despite everything, Wilbur still wants his mother, neglectful and coldly calculating as she is.
Wilbur watches the forest until Phil steps out and asks him to go to bed, telling him he ought to rest, get his strength back after today. As Phil puts his hand on Wilbur's shoulder, Wilbur can feel a tremor in his fingers. Wilbur looks over to look at his father's expression, and there's something uncertain in his eyes, in the way he squares his shoulders even, but Wilbur can't quite identify where it's coming from.
He can give it a guess, though.
Wilbur tries to put the incident out of his mind, tries to refocus on the tasks he's given and ignores the much louder thoughts in the back of his head, all the ones telling him to suck up his pride and run. Run as fast as he can. It doesn't matter where he goes, so long as he goes. But Wilbur once again turns his back on that voice and reminds himself that he has to do this.
He has to.
But it becomes much harder after the second incident.
They're in the nether, in one of the fortresses, collecting netherwart for potion-making. Currently, they're split up; Technoblade and Philza going one direction, Dream and Wilbur the other. Wilbur is more than a little unsettled, being with Dream again, but Dream is casual and calm and collected, and Wilbur envies that a little bit. Wilbur can't seem to get rid of the constant anxiety that clings to him as he and Dream make their way through the fortress. Wilbur's so distracted that he doesn't notice the wither skeleton coming up behind him before it strikes him. Wilbur gasps, stumbling back, and curses as he sees the dark veins where the wither skeleton struck him. It'll go away here in a bit, but it's still painful. Wilbur draws his sword and tries to fight it off, but with one weak arm from the wither skeleton and the sword in his non-dominant hand, Wilbur is quickly backed into a corner. He turns to Dream for help, but Dream is just... standing there. Watching.
Wilbur knows what he wants, and he feels panic overtake him. It makes his grip weak and his swing weaker, and slowly, as the wither skeleton strikes, again and again, the withering effect eats away at his body until he collapses, unable to move, paralyzed by the withering of his body and his fear, there's a snap! followed by a loud CRACK! and a blitz of pain, then it all goes out.
Wilbur wakes up at the train station again.
He isn't there for long, and when he wakes up, Dream is standing over him with a curious expression on his face. Wilbur manages not to vomit this time, but it's a near thing. He isn't able to walk for another hour, and when they meet up with a very concerned Phil and Techno, Dream plays it off like nothing happened. Wilbur's teeth are chattering so hard that he can't even rebuke him. They make their way back to the commune, where Wilbur crawls into bed and stares at the wall, and prays this will all be over soon.
One way or another, it'll all be over soon...
But it doesn't end. It gets worse. At every possible opportunity for Wilbur's life to end, it does. Only when Dream's around, naturally, but the train station that Wilbur calls limbo is a familiar companion to his constant pain.
WilburSoot drowned.
Wilbur was diving down for a geode Dream had spotted off the side of his boat. He'd forgotten to take a potion with him. Dream doesn't bother sending one down.
Wilbur awakes on the beach, soaking wet and shaking, and he spends five minutes coughing up water. He declines any fishing trips after that.
WilburSoot was blown up by Technoblade.
Wilbur had been trying to rig a special type of TNT to use on their enemies and make TNT canons more effective. Technoblade happened to walk in at the wrong moment, and the TNT went off. Wilbur hands the project over to Philza after he wakes again covered in soot. It'd be funny if it wasn't choking his lungs worse than his nicotine ever did.
WilburSoot fell from a high place whilst trying to escape from Awesamdude.
Off the edge of The Needle in Las Nevadas, during one of their failed attempts to overtake the city. It doesn't matter where he wakes up, but he takes one look in the mirror and smashes it. he can't stand the sight of all his scars, can't stand the sight of his hair.
WilburSoot went off in flames.
Forest fire. Trying to keep Philza's house from burning. His voice stays a little more hoarse. He wonders if Pandora's box was this hot. He wonders what it was like for Tommy to be in there.
WilburSoot went off in a bang.
A misfire from Techno's rocket launcher. He runs his fingers across the scars and he thinks of Tubbo. He doesn't like loud noises much anymore, especially explosions.
WilburSoot was killed by Purpled using magic.
Potions. Purpled was surprisingly skilled at throwing them. Wilbur thinks Ranboo was skilled with them too when he looks back on it. He wishes he'd met him sooner. His hands now shake permanently. Most days it's manageable; he can still do most things like potion brewing or playing his guitar. Some days they shake so bad he can't stand to look at them.
WilburSoot froze to death.
If every other death Wilbur had could be considered an accident, this was the one that not even Wilbur could claim as accidental. No matter how many times he tricked himself into ignoring the other deaths before, this one was all but murder. Scratch that, it was most definitely murder.
Wilbur had made the mistake of taking a walk with Dream to grab some resources for the commune, just as a storm brewed in the distance. From the looks of it alone, Wilbur knew it meant a blizzard was blowing in, and he knew it would likely mean being trapped in Phil's house with Dream for days on end until the weather finally let up. But as they stepped out of the mines, Wilbur was thankful to have made it out relatively unharmed (he had a nasty scratch from an enderman he didn't want to kill because Ranboo would hate it, but that Dream insisted he kill anyway). It had begun to snow over the tundra, and they had barely made it halfway home before the storm began in earnest. Wilbur could hardly see a foot in front of him, and Dream's bright green hoodie was barely visible beside him.
Until that too vanished.
"Dream?" Wilbur called out into the storm, praying to be heard, but there was no sound, no response. "Dream?!" He tried again. Silence.
Dream had left him to die.
Vaguely, Wilbur notes that this isn't the first time. One of Ghostbur's memories shows that Dream had done this before, had lured Ghostbur into a storm, and left him there. Wilbur tries in vain to struggle through knee-deep snow, but the cold and his dark mind drive him to his knees. Wilbur can feel his body freeze, can feel his muscles tense and shut down. When he looks up, he can see Dream standing a little ways away, and Wilbur reaches out a hand, desperate, but then collapses into his snow.
His vision turns white this time.
He wakes in the train station, and he's oddly relieved when he doesn't immediately see a train pull into a station. Maybe he won't' have to go back, he thinks. Maybe he'll be safe from the torture of death and resurrection at Dream's hands here in limbo forever. He never thought of the station as safe before, but now that's what it's become. A bastion of safety and freedom from an unending chain of suffering. It's oddly comforting, and he likes it there.
He gets to stay for a few days before the train pulls in, and he thinks about just not getting on this time. About letting it pull away without him. But then a hand reaches out, grabs him, and drags him back in. Wilbur fights it and fights it hard, but he's pulled back to the land of the living again.
This time, when he awakens, he's not greeted by Dream. Not even by Philza. Instead, kneeling in the snow next to him with a concerned expression is Technoblade. Techno had largely ignored him most of this time, outside of the occasionally concerned glance or potion left on the bedside table.
"I've had enough," Techno says, his voice nearly a whisper. "I can't watch this anymore."
Wilbur coughs and shudders, and Techno wraps him tightly in his cloak before picking him up from the snow. Wilbur marvels at his strength. The reality is that anyone could've scooped him up at that point; Wilbur was barely skin and bones. Technoblade turns, and he walks, but Wilbur realizes they're not heading to the commune. They're heading the wrong way. He wants to tell Techno he's going the wrong direction, but the soft movement of Technoblade's footsteps and the even rise and fall of his chest beneath Wilbur's head lures him back into sleep.
When he wakes, it's in a familiar place to the sound of familiar arguing, and for a minute Wilbur wonders if he's gone back in time as he stares up at the ceiling of his old room in Pogtopia, the stone still slightly damp and a fire going in the fireplace he took hours carving. Tommy and Techno's voices carry from the echoey ravine, and he figures they don't know he's awake judging by their volume.
"I can't believe you would help him!"
"He's my friend, Tommy. Or at least he was. And unlike you, I know a thing or two about being loyal!"
"Do you know what he's done?! I fucking DIED because of him! Wilbur's died multiple times because of him if you tell me the truth, and what about being loyal to Wil?"
"You say that like you've been loyal to Wilbur! I was the one who rescued him from the snow and brought him here when Dream would've left him to die over and over again. That was me!"
"Maybe it's because Wilbur ignored every attempt to get into contact with us we sent!"
Wait, what? Wilbur couldn't remember any time Tommy or anyone contacted him. Just Techno, Philza, and Dream. Other than those three, his communicator had been silent. He reaches down to grab it from its pocket, but he's not wearing his coat, and when he looks for it he sees it strung across a nearby chair, the pocket heavy with the device he's after. Wilbur tries to pull himself out of bed to get over to it, to double-check, because he's sure he would've answered if Tommy had sent him a message. Tommy was one of the few people he'd always made an exception for. He had to see, had to make sure he had to--
He fell out of the bed, unable to force his body to work the way he wanted it to, crying out in pain as his body hit the cold stone, his bones creaking. He hears the arguing outside suddenly stop, and the door opens. Technoblade rushes to his side immediately, gently checking Wilbur over for new injuries. Tommy stands in the doorway, staring at him mouth agape as he takes in Wilbur's figure. Wilbur knows how he must look; the firework scar that crawls up to the underside of his jaw, the way his face was sunken, the dark circles under his eyes... and of course his hair.
His hair had gone from dusty, earthy brown to snowy white. Wilbur knew there wasn't a brown hair left on his head; he'd searched one day, in front of a mirror, desperate to find a single curl that was its old color, but they were all gone.
Techno helps him back into the bed and fetches the communicator Wilbur was looking for, accidentally opening it in the process-- and suddenly freezing.
"What the hell?" Techno muttered under his breath, causing Wilbur and Tommy to look at him.
"What?" Wilbur asks, wincing at how raspy and quiet his voice is.
"There's only... That's impossible..." Techno swipes on the screen, frowning, as Tommy stands on his tippy toes to look at what he's doing. Surprisingly, Techno lowers the communicator down so that Tommy can see, and Wilbur watches as Tommy looks at it.
"That's fucked up, man," Tommy mutters. "Do you think it was--"
Techno hands Wilbur the device. He looks at it, frowning. It looks the same as it always has, why are they so concerned?
"There are only three contacts," Techno says. "Someone's blocked any communication from anyone but me, Philza, and Dream."
Wilbur's mouth goes dry, and after a moment he realizes that, sure enough, he isn't able to send a message to Tommy or anyone else. Tommy hands Wilbur his communicator, and when Wilbur goes to the messages from Tommy to him, he sees that Tommy has sent dozens.
Tommyinnit: Hey big man. Need to talk. Need to tell you some shit.
Tommyinnit: Wilbur this is important. Dream's not a good guy. He's a prick.
Tommyinnit: Ayup, are you dead again or some shit?
Tommyinnit: Wil are you ignoring me?
Tommyinnit: Wilbur please i need you
Tommyinnit: wil please answer
Wilbur's mouth goes dry again. How the fuck did he miss this? He would never have ignored those messages, especially given how sad and desperate the last two were. He looks up and hands Tommy back the communicator, hands shaking. Tommy doesn't say anything, and after a moment Wilbur whispers, "I'm sorry."
And he is. He's so goddamn sorry. He's sorry he didn't get Tommy's messages, he's sorry he let this go on as long as it did, he's sorry he went mad in this stupid crevice, he's so, so fucking sorry.
"Dream must've tampered with Wilbur's communicator," Techno muses, tapping his fingers on the old desk. "Trying to keep Wilbur in line, given that of all of us he would be the most likely to turn against him. By cutting off communication..." Techno's still talking, but neither Tommy nor Wilbur are really listening. Tommy is staring at Wilbur, his expression unreadable, and Wilbur is staring down at his hands, clenched tight around his raggedy blanket, shaking.
"I'm sorry," Wilbur says again, louder, interrupting Techno's rambling. He's making direct eye contact with Tommy, who blinks at him in surprise. "I'm so, so sorry..." Wilbur's voice cracks and Tommy's expression softens.
"... Wilbur..." Tommy says, and there's something about the combination of pity and sorrow in Tommy's eyes that causes the dam to finally break.
The tears come before Wilbur can do anything to stop him, and Wilbur bows his head and his chest heaves with broken sobs. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I was supposed to protect you, supposed to be your guardian and instead I forced you to fight my battles, I took away your childhood, I forced you to watch me break and shatter and go mad. Even as a ghost I was useless! I didn't protect you from Dream, didn't take care of you properly when you were exiled, and then I went and ignored you when you were trying to help and I-" Wilbur is broken off by the strength of his sobs, the tears streaming like liquid fire down his face, and Wilbur can hardly breathe for the weight of his grief and regret. He expects Tommy to turn away, expects him to look at him with disgust and distrust, to be angry, furious even.
But Tommy, sweet and loving and forgiving Tommy, sits on the edge of the bed and hugs him, tight.
"You didn't make me fight your battles, big man," Tommy says. "L'manberg was my battle too. You didn't take my childhood, I rejected it. I chose to fight in the war, I chose to act like someone I wasn't. I stayed in Pogtopia because I wanted to help you, even if I couldn't. And as a ghost?" Tommy pauses and smiles. "You were never useless in my eyes. As a ghost, you were still the best friend I had. You were there, Wilby, and that's what mattered the most to me."
Wilbur only sobs harder, tugging Tommy a little closer. He barely notices Tommy hold out a hand to Techno with a watery smile, a silent ask for forgiveness, for reparation. He notices when Technoblade takes it and is pulled into their little hug. He feels both of his brother's arms tight around him, and for the first time in ages, it feels like they're a family again.
Over the coming days, Techno convinces Phil to join them, and Tommy drags Tubbo and Ranboo along too. Tubbo, like before, still isn't quite ready to forgive Wilbur, but Ranboo tugs him in for a hug, his tail curling around Wilbur's ankle, and tells him that he always knew he had good in him. Wilbur isn't ashamed to admit that he cries again. But as the nights pass, Pogtopia becomes their base of operations once again, and Wilbur is surprised when one day he steps out of his house and looks around to see the place full of light, and activity, and energy that it never possessed before as the different factions come under its stone, into the earth with a singular, solitary plan to defeat Dream for good.
Wilbur stays away from most of the activity, spending his time brewing potions and avoiding the others, but one day while he's in the Nether gathering from the netherwart garden, Niki approaches him. At first, Wilbur is afraid. He'd heard from Jack that Niki wanted him dead, and he was certain this was it; this was where he returned to Limbo again. Maybe Dream would take pity on him and bring him back, but Wilbur hoped that wouldn't be the case; he didn't think his body could physically handle it again. But Niki doesn't draw her sword. Instead, she kneels down in the soul sand beside him and helps him. And she might not say anything, but she lets their hands brush together, and when they do she grabs Wilbur's hand and holds on tight.
And Wilbur knows that she is willing to forgive him.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Wilbur watches as his relationships repair. Phil spends his morning with Wilbur chatting over tea. Niki helps him in the garden, and they work side by side to bake fresh bread and sweet cakes, talking about things that don't matter. Techno helps him build his muscles again, helps him regain his strength in sparring sessions where they joke and laugh. Tubbo teaches him what tinctures and ointments to use on the firework scars when they feel particularly tight or painful. Ranboo helps him explore some of the nearby caves, keeping an eye out for any resources that were missed. Tommy shows him a flock of wild sheep that have taken up residence near the remains of L'manberg, and there's one that stands out; a lamb with wool the color of the sky. The lamb follows Wilbur back to Pogtopia, and Wilbur can't bear to leave it behind. He names it Ghost.
As the brisk autumn days turn to frozen winter nights, and the snow begins to fall, Wilbur lifts a netherite sword from the enchanting table and runs his fingertips across its surface as the weapon glows. And as he gazes at the blade, he realizes that there are few inevitabilities in life, but there is one; death is inescapable. She comes for all, regardless of who they, or who they may be to her personally. She does not always choose the punishment that befalls them, sometimes that must fall to the other gods. Wilbur looks to the blade again and smiles. The weapon means victory. It means triumph. It means certainty. For beneath his hand is an inscription, three words: ᓭ╎ᓵ ᓭᒷᒲ!¡ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ||∷ᔑリリ╎ᓭ.
Sic Semper Tyrannis
Thus always to tyrants.