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The punch lands solidly on his nose, breaking it with a wet crunch. The crack reverberates in the spacious room, the sound ricocheting off concrete walls.
“You really had me fooled, Siren. You really did! I’m actually impressed.”
Dream’s voice is a mocking sing song. He can't tell if he sounds amused or sarcastic.
Wilbur doesn’t bother lifting his head, instead focusing on the blood gushing from his broken nose down to his chin, the profuse stream dripping and forming a dark spot on his already ruined slacks.
“After a year or two of infiltrating that little blond whore’s hovel with nothing substantial to show for it, I had thought you were just losing your touch.”
The blatant reference to Tommy makes his head twitch, but not enough for the man in front of him to notice. “The great 'Siren': the hidden pride of the Taken family! My mother held you and your work in high regard, you know? She’d be rolling in her grave if she knew how you ended up.”
He keeps silent once more. Usually, Wilbur would take this time to scan the room: to look for exits or to get as much info as he needed to formulate some sort of escape plan, but here? He didn't need to.
Wilbur knew exactly where he was. Third floor down from the main Taken estate. Torture room 28, 5th door to the right. It was the room the Takens put their most hated enemies in: high profile enemies, traitors, defectors...
From the bloodied stain next to the sink to the dented old storage closet where they kept the freshly sharpened knives: he knew this room from corner to corner.
It was his previous work room after all.
It was a strange feeling to be on the flip side of the torture coin. His body was strapped to a familiar wooden chair with leather straps that went across his torso and kept his hands and arms in place. Struggling was pointless he surmised; it never did any of his victims any good.
“How long have you been with our family again?” Dream asks, snapping Wilbur’s mind back into focus. His voice is sugary sweet and Wilbur didn't need to look up to know he had a smarmy smile to match it.
Silence.
A flick of a wrist and a meaty fist buried itself in Wilbur’s stomach, making him gasp in pain. Blood drips from gritted teeth. He would vomit if he had anything left in his stomach but bile and swallowed blood.
“Are you listening? C'mon jog my memory, unless you want another punch from Sam here.”
Wilbur is still gasping for breathe, utterly winded from the blow. He spares a glance behind him, subtly craning his head as far back as it would allow him.
Sam.
A member of a group of enforcers that worked exclusively for the Taken family. Every member was massive, strong, and loyal as dogs - the perfect machines for crushing enemies. No one knows how they were recruited into the family, with some rumors saying they were foreigners from some old mafia exchange program. Wherever they came from, they joined the family about five years after Wilbur did and haven’t left since.
Currently, one of the seven foot plus behemoths was behind him, beating the shit out of him on Dream’s signal and sporting that fucking smile all the members had.
“...Eighteen years.” He finally grinds out. It’s the first words Wilbur has said in hours and it shows. His voice is hoarse and his throat is dry as all hell. Apparently blood didn’t quench a parched mouth. Though, that might have been because he hadn’t been given water in the past two days.
“That long, huh? I hadn’t even realized it; time flies, doesn’t it?” He hears Dream’s steps as he pushes off the chair he had been leaning on.
“It’s been eighteen years of you doing my family’s dirty work.” Wilbur’s teeth clack shut as sudden punch to his chin makes him almost bite off his own tongue.
“Eighteen years of you killing whatever idiot got in our way. No complaints, no nothing.” He hears his fibula break when a steel boot connects with it at the perfect angle.
“Eighteen years…” He hears a finger snap before he feels an iron grip on his hair pull and rip his head back with it. His Adam’s apple wobbles as he is forced to crane his neck up, swallowing blood in his mouth with a steadying gulp.
Wilbur meets gleaming green eyes and a smile that's like a serrated knife. Dream’s so close he can smell the expensive scotch in his breath.
“Eighteen years you've bleed for this family and you just decide to quit? Siren. You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?”
The grip in his hair is gone as soon as it appeared and he can finally slump down with a pained huff.
“All it took was some sparkly new boy toy boss to make you defect. It’s a shame.”
Through his half lidded gaze, Wilbur sees the tail of Dream’s coat as he heads to the exit, Sam following behind him.
“You really were my favorite member.”
“WHERE IS HE?” Gloved hands slam against the oak table, the table shaking from the force of the blow.
Conversations cease. It's deathly silent across the whole table, across the whole meeting room. Fourteen faction leaders and you could barely hear anyone breathing.
A moment later and Tubbo stands up, placing his hands on the table as well and turning to him, before speaking. “There’s only one place he can be.”
Icy blue eyes burning through dark shades snap on him but he doesn’t falter from the intense look. Tubbo looks right back at him with a steady gaze.
“He’s with Taken.”
It had been a couple weeks since Wilbur and Tommy’s little heart to heart in the alley way and it was after much deliberation, long talks over exactly how they should go about this, and reassurances that Wilbur wasn’t immediately going to be shot at once the reveal took place that Tommy set up a meeting with his most trusted advisors.
When everyone files in and takes their seats, Tommy is at the head of the table with his fingers linking and elbows placed on the oak table. Wilbur is behind him, as always.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called you all here on such notice.”
Ranboo on his left pipes up first. “This have better been good Tom, and not one of you "base remodeling ideas." It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened.
Tommy waves a hand dismissively. “Ha! That’s not for another couple weeks Ran! So no, it’s not that.”
He juts a finger behind him at Wilbur. “I called this meeting to say Wil was the spy in our family the whole time. So case closed on that issue!”
The whole room is in synchronized silence before it explodes, with at least six hidden pistols being drawn form inner pockets, all aimed at a surprisingly calm Wilbur.
“HE’S THE WHAT?!” 98% of them yelled (He’s pretty sure he heard a bald guy exclaim a triumphant “I knew it!” in the back).
“Guys, guys calm down!” Tommy placates, his voice keeping that easy tone. “You see, Wilbur used to work for Taken, but he recently came clean to me and decided to defect! Isn’t that great!”
Tubbo speaks up. His hand is still visibly holding his gun in the arm he lets fall to his side. “Boss, I apologize for being upfront, but you can’t serious expect us to trust him?! He’s a traitor whether he confesses or not!”
“I agree.” All eyes snap back to Wilbur once he speaks up.
Deeming it safe to continue speaking without fear of immediately being shot at, he steps from behind Tommy to reveal himself further. He wasn’t going to hide anymore. “Even if I decided to switch, it doesn’t change the fact that I was a traitor to begin with.”
"Wil-" Tommy attempts to whisper, but Wilbur presses forward.
“I don’t expect you all to trust me after this reveal even with Tommy’s approval; it wouldn’t be logical after all.” He looks across the table of high ranked members, not backing down from any of the suspicious glares.
“But I can say honestly that right now: the only one I will serve and protect with my life is your boss. Our boss."
That seems to quiet the room. A majority of the members are still longing at him with suspicion, but there are others that have a hint of approval in their eyes?
“See! Just look at that loyalty!” Tommy says, clapping his hands together. “Now if you have any further questions I’m sure Wilby here would love to answer them!”
“Also as extra reassurance of Wilbur allegiances, we are lovers so I can guarantee that things between us are all cool now! Call this whole debacle water under the bridg-HEY WATCH THE HAIR WIL!”
The meeting to follow was a long one to say the least.
Years ago...
Wilbur was wiping down his tools when he hears his door open behind him.
“Woah! You’re Siren, right?!”
Wilbur looks behind him to see a teenager. Now, usually, he would be concerned to find a teen in the lower levels of the base, let alone his torture room, but the strikingly familiar mop of dirty blond hair, disgustingly bright, lime green hoodie, and the fact that he had seen it around the base told him exactly who this was - it was his boss’ kid, Dream.
Behind Dream is a body guard: a faceless grunt Wilbur doesn’t recognize. Like all guards, the guard is as silent as a rock. As responsive as one too.
He sets down his newly cleaned knife on the tray in front of him and turns to nod. “I am.”
The teen nods his head frantically. "I just knew it! I’ve heard so much about you!” His response is uncharacteristically happy and carefree for someone who’s “heard” a lot about his work.
Wilbur can't really think of a way to respond to that level of enthusiasm. “Uh, thanks.”
“I cant believe I’m talking with such a legend! Is it true you took down a whole organization when you were just sixteen?" Wilbur’s nod only seems to power the kid's excitement further.
"Awesome! I can read really good, so I read like all you’re reports from mom! Like you killed all those guys in the Antarctic district all by yourself, right?” Dream’s eyes, the same shade as his boss', are sparkling now.
He grimaces internally at the display. The kid did have a hell of a parental figure, but to be this happy about him killing, geez. He nods again hesitantly.
“Ah! You're so cool!” And suddenly Wilbur tenses reflexively.
Dream is smiling up at him fanatically, but it’s with more than just admiration; there was something else in that gaze. Something akin to...hunger? Mania? Like a kid who’s just acquired a new toy he was eager to play with.
“I can’t wait when I become the new head.” Brown meets green eyes. “We’re going to have so much fun together!”
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
“Fundy was able to infiltrate the family estate under the guise of a clean up crew member. He currently stationed at one of the three upper floors.”
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
The speaker gulps but doesn't falter in their report. "So far, he hasn't been suspected by anyone and-"
"Does he know where Siren is?" Tommy finally speaks. The ostinato of his fingers on the table contradicting his controlled voice and still expression.
To their credit, the gang member doesn't cower from the intense eyes boring through him. "He hasn't, no. He's searched three floors so far; by tomorrow he should be able to check the lower floors to confirm Siren’s location. End of report."
Tommy only nods, his eyes averting to his desk with fingers interlaced, no doubt retreating into his mind to think, to plan. He waves a hand. "Keep me updated on any developments. You're dismissed."
With a bow, the member leaves, leaving Tommy in an empty room. Too empty. Tommy grinds his teeth in frustration at the aching feeling of something, someone, missing.
“T-The call is for you.” A phone is offered to the Taken family’s newly appointed head with shaking hand. He must have drawn the short end of the stick if he was sent as a messenger to interrupt Dream’s ‘fun’,
Fortunately for him, Dream had just finished his torture session with Wilbur, so he was in a fine mood.
Taking the cell he waves him off with a flick and the member scrambles out with shaking knees. Dream answers. “Who is this?”
“You stole something from me, Dream. Something that is mine.”
“Theseus. Nice to hear from you. You never call.” He leans back against the tool cart, oozing nonchalance with an easy smirk on his face.
Wilbur snaps his head up, looking up for the first time through twin dark eyes. Not a sound leaves his bloodied lips.
“As for what is yours. Siren here is technically a Taken family member you know. Or did he not tell you that? He's rightfully-“
“Either you return him or I take him back.”
He barks out a laugh; the scalpels and clamps on the trays behind him rattle with the sound. "I'd like to see you try.”
And he hangs up, tossing the phone behind him. He slowly trails his gaze back to the bloodied Wilbur. “Now, where were we?”
Miles away, a phone is thrown at a wall with such force that it shatters on impact.
The kidnapping goes like this.
Wilbur had just wanted to buy a magazine. More specially, Tommy had been the want this specific magazine (an obscure one that Wilbur couldn't be bothered to read, much less know about), but he had been stuck with back to back meeting with several appointments back at base.
Which obviously meant Wilbur, his right hand man, was to be the one tasked with the job. He still didn’t know why he had to be the one to walk fifteen minutes away from base, on foot, just to get the newest issue instead of some other lackey but Wilbur had learned that arguing with Tommy was a loss cause, simply because Tommy likes to argue, which give the man a significant advantage and near boundless motivation to win.
This is why you could see him grumble his way back to base with cargo in hand, smoking an annoyance cigarette.
It was also because of his foul mood that he hadn't realized that when he had turned to corner to use his usual shortcut back, he had walked straight into an ambush.
His reflexes where the only thing that made him dodge the blow to the back of his head, the bat missing his temple by a couple inches.
Cursing his lapse in attention, Wilbur jumps back only to dodge yet another enemy's attack by a hairs breath; he could feel the edge of the blade graze his shirt's side.
Dropping the magazine, he tries to reach for his gun, but he feels a chain wrap around his wrist before he sees it and with a tug his right, he stumbles a bit before he regains his balance. How many ambushers were there?
Resisting the pull, he looks up to see the user, until he feels a bat connect with his shin. Cursing he ignores the pain, kicking out to bury a roundhouse kick into the batter's face. The crunch of a broken nose eases the pain a bit, before he is tugged with the chain again, the tightness of it cutting his wrist's circulation.
Instead of pulling back, he rolls with the momentum of the powerful tug, wrapping the chain along his other arm with the slack. He rolls back up in a fluid motion, using his own arm as an anchor, and slamming his foot down on the now taut chain.
The chain user falls with the unexpected force, tugged down by their own weapon, and as they loosen their grip, Wilbur untangles himself so he can stomp-
"Gah!" Wilbur chokes, as the blade buries itself into his side. He had forgotten about the weird sword user. Before he can even turn to them, a bat meets the back of his head with a sickening crack.
The world goes sideways as Wilbur falls to the ground, clutching his side as the sword slides out with a silent shing, head pounding.
The last thing he sees is the batter, their nose crooked and bleeding, bring a phone up to their ear until he sees black.
"We've got him."
"Do you ever regret leaving?"
Wilbur twists his body to look at Tommy across the bed. The mafia head was sitting up, back straight, opposed to Wilbur, who was laying lazily on the sheets. The warmth of the room and late hour making him feel relaxed despite the cryptic question.
Like many questions though, at least when it came to Tommy’s, Wilbur knew exactly what he was asking about.
"Never." His voice is temperate, but there's an underlying tone with it; something harsh and unwavering and angry. Tommy would be deaf if he didn't pick up on it.
"It was really that bad, huh?"
"Yeah." Wilbur keeps his gaze steady with Tommy’s. "It was. And I'm never going back. Not now, not ever."
The lighting is dim, but he can see Tommy smile. "And you'll never have to. Not if I have anything to say about it."
"Good. Now let me go to sleep. I'm tired from saving your ass all day." Wilbur catches the pillow thrown at him without a word, smirking.
"Says the man who loves this ass."
Wilbur ignores him, closing his eyes.
“Tell me why you chose him, Siren.”
Wilbur stays silent, like he usually does. Like a rag doll, he looks blankly at the floor, his eyes dark and faraway.
That was his usual way of getting through torture sessions. Detaching made it so much easier to deal with the pain. It meant he didn’t have to worry about injuries until they were inflicted; he only had to worry about broken bones and torn skin when it was over.
But Dream seemed more impatient than usual. He punches Wilbur in the jaw. Dream never had a strong right hook, even when Wilbur had taught him how to throw a solid one, but that one would leave a bruise.
“All these years you stayed loyal. What's so different about him? Tell me WHY you choose to defect!!”
“..."
Wilbur hears him before huff through clenched teeth. He hears a door slam shut soon after.
"Fundy has located and confirmed Siren’s location in the estate," the member reports.
Finally, Tommy thinks.
Things move very quickly after that.
It doesn’t last long, this stalemate. Only four days.
It's quiet in front of the Taken estate. Two guards are stationed in the garden, standing lazily against the closed gates.
"Operation starts: now,"
Fundy, still in disguise, is walking down the hallway near the gates, just as planned, when he hears Tommy’s voice through his earpiece loud and clear. Wasting no time, he turns toward the gate, shooting the two guards who see him approaching down before they have even turned fully. Those two gunshots are all the warning Tommy gives the family: a professional courtesy.
"Open them up."
The Taken’s gates open and just like a tidal wave, a sea of black appears and floods the estate with a unified yell.
Leading them all is none other than Theseus Watson, his own custom pistol in hand. Without his trademark shades, his eyes burn for all to see.
They were going to show them exactly why the Watson family stood at the top.
"Theseus."
"Dream."
The sounds of distant battle can be heard as the two of them stand facing each other, gun on either hand. Behind them the cooling body of Sam, a gun shot through either eye, courtesy of Tommy’s expert shooting.
"So you really came. It took you longer than I had expected." Dream’s voice is calm, despite his circumstances. Of the two, it was obvious who was the better shot.
Tommy’s eyes bore into him, staying silent. He isn't here to play games.
The two stare at each other for a moment, the silence tense, before they raise their guns at the same time.
Before Dream can even pull the trigger, Tommy has shot the gun right out of his hands. The next shot is aimed at older man's thigh and then his shoulder.
Dream falls with a yell, cursing. Tommy calmly walks forward, kicking Dream’s gun to the corner of the room. When he reaches him, his stomps his foot down, right on his bloody shoulder. He cries out again.
He levels his gun at Dream’s face. "I should kill you. Right now." His voice is is icy with cold fury.
"I could kill you. Squash you like the disgusting bug you are." He wants to pull the trigger, to see how Dream’s brains paint the floor. "But alas, I can't kill a fellow mafia head unless it's approved by the council. A shame. But remember this.”
He kneels down, so close he can smell the blood and fear off of him. " I spared your pathetic life because I didn't want to commit treason and trigger a country wide war. But don't think, for even a second, that I won't blow your brains out if you ever touch what's mine again."
Tommy makes it a point to grind his foot down, making the other flinch through gritted teeth. "Do you understand me?"
Dream nods, fear evident even through his glare.
"Good." And with that, Tommy stands up and leaves without another word, the head of the Taken family bleeding out behind him.
Wilbur is awaken by harsh banging on the rooms door.
He was five floors down from the entrance of the estate, completely isolated from the chaos that was ensuing upstairs. So with no prior knowledge, he stared at the door quizzically as the banging continued.
What in the world is-
Two gunshots can be heard in the hallway outside before the door swings open with a bang. A bloodied Tommy appears at the doorway, leg still raised from kicking the door open.
"TOMMY!" Wilbur wonders who just yelled but then he realizes it's his own voice, hoarse from under use and days without water.
From his chair, Wilbur can see a multitude of emotions from his lover. Relief, happiness, anger, and something he can't decipher, until Tommy’s rushing to his side.
He kisses him immediately, breathless from seeing Wilbur alive. Wilbur returns it in full, matching his desperation. If his hands weren't tied, he'd be running them through Tommy’s hair.
Tommy pulls away first, looking over Wilbur with obvious concern, eyebrows creased as he assessed the damage. At least the damage I can see he thinks darkly.
He cups his lovers face in his gloved hands, "What did he do to you?"
Wilbur shakes his head. "Nothing I hadn't experienced before. Are you hurt though? That blood. Where-"
"You're the one who's been tortured here for I don't know how many days, and you're worried about me?" Tommy’s voice sounds hysterical; he'd laugh if the circumstances weren't so serious. He waved off Wilbur’s worried gaze "I'm fine. None of this blood is mine."
He goes behind him, looking at his restraints. Thankfully they aren't some kind of metal shackle that needs a key, but he grinds his teeth at the sight of Wilbur’s wrists: bloodied and bruised black and blue from struggling against ropes tied too tightly.
"What I'm worried about is if you're okay, but just from looking at you, I can see that you're not." His voice is tight with frustration and anger, as he started cutting at Wilbur’s bonds with the switchblade he kept in his pocket. Once Wilbur’s hands are free, his arms drop to is side weakly, Wilbur grunting as the blood started to recirculate.
"We stormed the place so we should be receiving some help as soon as we start ascending." Tommy gathers him up in his arms, letting Wilbur lean on him, trying not to jostle his injuries too much. The movement still makes Wilbur groan in pain. The sound hits Tommy harder than it should. "I requested Scott’s help from the Nox family as well; they should be meeting up back at the base, so just hold on a bit longer."
"Stormed the Taken family's estate. Only you'd be dumb enough to do that." His voice is already hoarse from dehydration and speaking further only makes him realize how dry his throat is. He coughs, nearly choking. Tommy shuffles forward, slowly toward the doors.
"Thanks for coming for me, Toms." Wilbur finally says after the coughing subsides enough.
"Of course I'd come for you!" Tommy responds immediately, gripping at Wilbur’s rumpled shirt from the back, as a way of steadying him. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had to make sure..."
He couldn't very well attack another family out of nowhere without valid proof - that could start a faction war. Even so, saying that he could have broken into Dream’s place sooner than now left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallows it.
"But I'm here now. And I'll never let anyone take you away from me again. I promise." Even dehydrated and tired as all hell, Wilbur can hear the determination and conviction clearly in Tommy’s declaration. His words echo in the hall as they make their way up to where the sounds of action and fighting grew louder and louder.
"And in return, you'll never leave my side, right?" He can hear shouts ahead of them - figures bearing the Watson family crest noticing their head from afar.
Wilbur bows his head and hides his bloodied smile. "Of course, 'Boss'."
Not now, not ever.