Chapter Text
When wilbur wakes up, he's so comfortable he doesn't even notice the two other forms on his bed.
And, god, isn't that a red flag in itself? Wilbur is never comfortable in the early mornings. He goes to sleep drunk, wakes up hungover, writes whatever he pleases to in the script (the fans will take anything, at this point), plays around with a new song (he thinks back to soft boy, sitting in his drawers, and cringes), plans a video, hangs out with whoevers around, drinks a bottle (or three) then oh, wow, would you look at that, it's a new day.
So, you know what, screw that, because he's comfortable goddamnit, there is an arm strewn across his shoulders and a warm breath tickling his neck and whose arm is that and why is there a warm breath tickling his shoulders and–
Slowly, slowy , he comes to, and holy fucking shit there are two strangers on his bed.
He stares blankly up at the ceiling, and tries to think back to the night before. He knows he hadn't gone clubbing, hell, he hasn't even left the house , so who the fuck are they?
He turns, neck painfully aching, and tries to get his eyes to focus on the figure in front of him and–
And wow.
A pale face stares back at him, with full lashes and pouty lips, and curling brown hair and, somehow, a smirk, even in sleep. Everything about this man screams reverence and regret, of blood and ash, and when he blinks again, trying to clear his eyes, his heart stops.
That's him.
The person, sleeping in front of him, in his room, is him.
This.. this might be his most vivid hallucination yet
He takes a deep, calming breath, and counts to ten, before slowly turning around and coming face to face with god .
Or, no, maybe not that. This man is all sharp angles and downturned lips, all blonde locs that glow in the sun like a taunting promise of something better.
Or maybe something worse.
He looks chiseled out of stone (marble?) and to make matters worse, had a splash of freckles across tanned skin, as if the universe sprinkled him in pixie dust and despair, and ink trails up his arms in twisting cords and shapes and curves.
Whatever it is– whatever they are – doesn't matter, anyways, because wilbur takes one look at them both and accepts the fact that it is very likely he is going to die, today.
He tries to sit up, moving like his bones have rusted together, but the blonde one suddenly frowns, grabbing his wrist (how does he even–) and pulling him down and wilbur willingly melts into the bed again, whimpering a little.
Except when he falls back on the cushions he falls a little too hard, and his head bangs against the headboard a little too loud, and suddenly the brunette is staring him dead in the eyes, lips curled into a smarting smile.
“Well,” he purred– yes, purred – and flopped onto his back, looking at him from the corner of his eyes, “This is interesting.”
Wilbur swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and opened his mouth, grappling for something, anything because there are strangers in his bed and–
He– other him beats him to it, however, leaning over to tap the blonde's shoulder, directing wilburs attention to the smile drawn right above his collarbone. "Wake up, buttercup, " brunettes grin stretches even wider " 'cause we fucked up ."
The air is damn near suffocating when blondies hands shoots out, grabbing other-wilburs wrist before he can pull away, and he cracks and eye open, gaze bored but attentive, and he sits up, cracking his neck and giving wilbur a slow once over, like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoes, then looks back at other wilbur, raising an eyebrow.
“That's.. you, right?”
“Yep.”
“So,” he slides off the bed with practiced ease, and drags a hand down his face. “We fucked up.”
“ You fucked up.”
Blondies gaze hardens, lips stretching into a line, and wilbur swears his tattoos glow a dark green just a bit. “ You drew the rune, I did the incantation. I've done this a hundred times before, you're the only new factor here.”
“Potato, potahto.” brunettes boots (black, heavy, laced) thump on the floor as he stands. “Why even have me do it if youre so sure. ” wilbur notices, somewhat belatedly, that he's wearing a trenchcoat that goes down his ankles and cinches at the waist, tight and probably frankly uncomfortable leather pants glistening like oil.
Also, a yellow turtleneck.
This feels concerningly familiar, and he clears his throat.
They both look at him, and he swallows down the bile that begins to make itself known.
“Wh– who are you ? And why are you in my house ? Did we sleep together? I'm so sorry, but I–”
“Aw,” blonde guy sends him a condescending look, and walks over to where wilburs knees are rooted on the rapidly sinking bed. “He's so much nicer than you, Wilbur. So soft . He's even apologizing.” A scarred, ring laden hand curls around one of his locs of hair, and wilburs eyes linger on the black nail polish for a moment too long to be sane. “Too bad we have to go back to the Esempi. A shame, I might have liked this one. ”
The world stops spinning, wilbur nearly falls over.
Esempi.
Es. Em. Pi.
A blonde with a smile tattoo, and a brunette that looks like him wearing a trenchcoat.
Wilbur is losing his mind.
“Es– esempi?” he repeats, voice cracking, and prays that maybe he's just high off his ass, that this is an elaborate prank. “Like, wi– with the wars, and stuff?” (god, how eloquently put, wilbur)
Other him (Alivebur that is Alivebur his brain is screaming) grins, patting his cheek like one would a dog.
“Of course, baby, mommy and daddy have very important errands to run, and sadly, we dont have enough time to fuck a pretty thing like you.” wilbur chokes on his spit and doubles over as his face flushes red, and blondie sends oth– alivebur, a look.
“ What? ” alivebur (will? Will) makes an indignant sound. “We were both thinking it, I mean, look at him.” he motions to wilbur. “He's so much sweeter than all the other ones. And he hasn't tried to fight us.”
wilbur laughs a laugh that tinges on manic. “I don't think there's a point in trying.”
“If you know what's best for you, yeah. ” dream (that has to be him, it can't not be) has managed to round the bed, dropping down onto wilburs chair, legs slightly spread and fingers tapping a rhythmic pattern on the arm. Alivebur has found Simone and is idly plucking a tune.
The breath he takes in is more of a squeak.
Cool, cool. Two highly dangerous people have managed to make themselves home in his flat.
So cool. The coolest cool.
“S-so–” he tries to strike up a conversation “You, uh, mentioned runes? What were you trying to do?”
dream drags a pair of lazy eyes toward him, grinning (jesus, is that his only state of being –)
“Nothing to worry your pretty head about.” he pauses for a moment, thinking. “Actually, I’m curious. How are you relevant to us?”
“Wow.” wilbur blinks “Um, that's– uh, I don't know what you mean.”
dream rolls his eyes, and wilbur cowers even harder.
“Look, sweetheart ,”the name snags at something deep, deep inside of him “we're trying to do something very important here, you know? Every lousy universe we've gotten stuck in has had some semblance of relation, but you– ” dream looks like he's undressing him with his eyes, and now wilbur knows for sure that the tattoos are glowing “–are an outlier.”
Wilbur opens his mouth, then closes it, and will throws one of his pencils like a dart from the other side of the room. It skims wilburs cheek and imbeds itself into the wall. A small line of blood trickles free from the cut.
The silence that follows is more than a little deafening, and dream smiles, but its all teeth. “Tell us about yourself, wilbur. Who are you?”
He doesnt get to reply, he doesn't have to, because will kicks open one of his drawers and starts shuffling through them, dumping papers all over the floor.
A small, pained noise thrums in the back of his throat, and dream picks up one of the thicker folders, thumbing through it.
His eyes flash, and wilbur sees a gleam of ivory canines.“ Oh ? Well, this is interesting.”
(Oh is not good oh is not good he needs to leave to run to hide and maybe –)
Dream starts to read, and whatever thoughts wilbur has is seized by the bottomless well of dread that opens up underneath him.
“ ‘—and then dream will explain’–ooh! So you do know me– anyways, hm, according to this, i'll proceed to monologue evilly, then have –jesus christ– homoerotic tension with wilbur soot. Heh,” he snorted “classy. ”
Wilbur didn't let himself breathe, and wills smile grew.
“You know us! Oh, darling, you know us! Hell, you even write shitty fanfiction about us!”
A flush bit into his cheeks, and wilbur crossed his arms over his chest, snapping back before he could stop himself, defensive. “It’s not shitty. And it's not fanfiction. It’s a scr–”
The words died on his tongue, and will tilted his head to the side, lips curling. “Come on now, love ,” his tone was no more than a croon. “Use your words.”
He swallowed, and looked at his feet. “A script.” the words were barely a mumble, but they heard them anyway. “Its a script, and I'm truly sorry, but–”
“A script for what?”
Wilbur faltered, hesitating, and dreams' eyes darkened. “You don't seem like a playwright or actor, willbur. What's the script for .” dream chuckled, then, and the sound felt like a suckerpunch and kiss wrapped in a dastardly package, low and deep and barely brushed by the remnants of joy. “I didnt take you for the stupid type, but I guess I was wrong.”
Will sighed, rolling his eyes, and placed Simone down, standing up. “Don't listen to him, sweetheart. He's bitter and pissed.” then, to dream. “You should really leave the interrogating to me, you suck at this.” Without warning, he crosses the space between them and walked over to where wilbur was rooted on the floor, grabbing his chin and thumbing his bottom lip.
He looked heavenly, wilbur realizes, but in the worst of ways. Distantly, he couldn't help but think that if he was an angel, his wings would drip black, colored the scattered remains of a universe.
“ Wilbur, ” his words lilted themselves, smooth and sweet and all too practiced. “Be good for us, wilbur. Don't you want to be good?” will's other hand moved to tangle within his hair, and wilburs sigh of pleasure snaked off into a bitten back moan. God, he really needed to get laid. “We could make you feel so nice, love. I bet it's been ages since you've been touched like this.”
Wilbur would never admit to himself he nodded, even if just slightly. Will beamed, seeming genuinely thrilled and somewhat pitiful. “See? Oh, you deserve so much better, ” pink lips ghosted over his ear, whispering. “So , so much better. ”
Wilburs breath hitched.
“But!” will jumped back, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he'd managed to render wilbur near boneless. “But, we can only do this if you help. So, what's the script for, hm?”
It took a moment for the words to register, and he blinked. “Uh– yes, um, the– the script. It's, ah, a production of sorts. Between me and my friends. It's– it's nothing.”
Dream lips stretched into an unnamused line. “Well, considering you've got around three folders for this little production, ” –the air quotes were almost audible– “And there are notes in here detailing timestamps , it doesn't seem like nothing.”
Ah.
Crap.
“It's just–” wilbur dragged a hand through his hair. “It's a long story. But to sum it up, me and T– me and a few other were fucking around on this server and, I dont know, we kinda blew up.” He smiled to himself. “Everyone liked the story, and we just kept going, so, yeah.”
It takes a moment, but then dream finally speaks. “So, this is all a story to you.” wilbur hears the unspoken words. Our entire lives were created as entertainment for you.
He hesitates.“Yes, it– yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry”
Neither of them speak, and will groans loudly, flopping back onto bed and draping his arm over his eyes.
“What now, dreamie boy? We’re stuck here, since your book didn't travel with us.”
For a moment, dream looks deadly, but the expression smoothes over as his jaw ticks, fingers flexing. He looks up at wilbur.
“Describe it to me. The story, I mean.”
Wilbur gnaws on his lip, and will groans again, mumbling. (“Oh, sure, do your stupid little question thing. Don't bother talking to me..”)
He takes a breath, though, and he closes his eyes, and he explains.
It's long winded, and complicated, and honestly downright uncomfortable, but he talks and he talks and he doesnt stop until he's gone over every detail.
He whistles a breath through his teeth. “So yeah. Um, that's it. My unfinished sy–” he cuts himself off, and dreams grin grows wider.
“You're the writer, aren't you? Holy shit! We have the main man, will.” he cackles, and wilbur suddenly remembers a conversation with dream, the real one. (“You're a great actor, you know.” The words are slurred together, melded with sleep and wine and hardly half spoken, but he knows dream hears him anyways. “How d’you do it?”
A hum, and the sound of the discord call snaps and breaks.
“Well, I just think about the people that hate me, and why they hate me, and, I ‘dunno, amp it up by a thousand.” wilbur can almost imagine dream spreading out his arms wide, as if trying to be all encompassing.
“I am an abuser and a liar and a manipulator. I am what the world says I am, aren't I?”)
Dream is, undeniably, terrifying.
“Okay. Okay!” the blonde pulls at tawny locs, though the smile doesn't waver. “I– I have a plan. You, ” he points at wilbur “ You are going to sit down, and you are going to write for us, ‘kay?”
“–us! He said us! We’re a team– ”
Wilbur nearly trips over his feet, and he nods his head, walking over to the computer.
“Yes! Yeah, I can do that. I– I can.”
Dream offers him the seat, and wilbur takes it, opening up his google doc and clicking on the very subtlety-named “Wilbur and Pals Van Time.”
He hears Will snort.
It's over sixty three pages long, some of it ramblings, some of it half assed story plot lines he gave up on, most of it random monologues he wants sadist to animate, and he finally reaches the very end of the doc.
He clears his throat. “What exactly do you want me to, well, add. ”
Dream thinks for a moment. “Try something small. Give Will purple hair, or something.” His tone of voice makes wilbur think the decision was deliberate, even as he types it in.
They wait a beat, and to his absolute astonishment, sees the roots of Will's hair lighten as if bleached, then slowly brighten to a magenta.
“Holy shit. Holy shit. ”
Will leans in over his shoulder, seemingly unaffected, and starts to type, smiling so wide wilbur is scared his cheeks will split. He turns around, and finally reads what Will has added.
Wilbur soot is taller than dream.
He stares at the pair. Will does not grow.
The brunette pouts, and dream ignores him, licking his lips.
“Wilbur,” dream says his name like a promise, breathy and low and painfully sinful. “ Wilbur, god, this is great. Quick, type in, uh– fuck, I don't know, we have a portal back home. To the original esempi.”
Wilbur flexes his fingers, and they fly over the keyboard.
He hears something snap over his head and singe the ends of his hair, and he swallows, looking up and whimpering when a swirling mass of blue and purple burns away at his ceiling.
“Oh,” his voice is drowned out by dreams’ manic laughter. “Oh, wow.”