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Being alive was, well, certainly different to what he remembered it being.
He thought about it practically everyday after the tears and the anguish of reality set in, months of his own mind torturing itself with the endless guilt that threatened to swallow him whole everytime he thought about it, thought about that bruised helpless expression, the way the cave's lantern made him see what he had done.
Being alive was invigorating, he always thought. The very nature of still living, despite everything the world tries to throw at you — the endless tyrants, the greedy followers, the expectant eyes — was almost worth dealing with everything, because at least he could say, he did it. He was here, breathing with blood flowing through his veins like a mighty river and nothing they would ever do would change that.
Well, then the stress grappled at him, tearing him down from his damned self-made pedestal and laughed in his face as he drowned.
He almost laughed too, when he died and his soulmate mark disappeared, wretched away from him like he was nothing anymore. He was a piece of history people desperately wanted to erase, wiped clean from the books like so many stories, but they can't, he's their founder and there's no covering that up.
It doesn't mean it hurts any less when people try, or when the universe decides he's no longer worth being attached to someone, a woven thread tying them together because they're one and the same. Souls made for each other, meant to be found and joined at the hip, to the dismay of everyone else.
It doesn't matter if he hurts himself, in death, in the realm he's forever trapped in. The only person it'll hurt will be him, soaked not in blood, but the soul-crushing reality of his isolation. Not even a soulmate to keep him tied to something, a relic of the world he once knew.
Throughout his despairing years of death, not once was there a single bruise or cut he didn't have before.
He was alone and that hurt more than his own death.
Just the sounds of the rattling train tracks and the screech of metal to soothe the aching silence on his ears.
So, yeah, being alive was very much a good thing alright? Much to his former friend's and his enemy's protests. He quite liked being able to feel warmth rather than the chilling cold of the station and the way the sun burned his skin. He felt real, like he hadn't in a long time, not since that day.
But it also brought its downsides.
As in, he had a new soulmate. A fact he very much detested, alright?
He didn't want a new one, he wanted his soulmate, his little brother. He wanted the universe to say, look at them, not even death and the passing of time can tear them apart.
He wanted something that was proof of them, of a bond they undoubtedly had, but with each passing day, it seemed like there was nothing holding them together. They were standing on a shaky foundation, the people they used to be, and they were trying so hard to replicate that, but they know, okay?
They know they can't go back to the way they were.
Wilbur knows that, even if bitterness curdles in his stomach at the reminder.
When he came back, it hurt to see someone else's marks on him. A head injury he was sure Tommy didn't have marked the top of his forehead, the scar of the damage lingering. The smile carved into his shoulder, like it was some sort of branding, or a reminder. He didn't know what it meant. His legs were scattered with burn scars, longed healed over, but wrong, like they weren't treated properly.
He didn't know who his soulmate was now, if not his family, but he did know one thing — they've been hurt, they've been hurting for a long time it seems.
It hurt to have the same relationship with Phil and Techno, to earn their battle scars and the nicks of cooking knives. Their injuries blossomed on him, like they always did, saying they were tied together, like always. It hurt.
He wanted Tommy, he wanted to be a family again, why couldn't they let him have that?
It hurt to see Tommy.
It really did, but like a familiar habit, he saw him anyway.
It didn't help that Tommy practically avoided pain like it was the plague. He thought maybe that was more healthy, to avoid it rather than dive deep in it like Wilbur used to himself considering. It's a tricky road, to the point, Wilbur wondered if his avoidance of pain was almost dangerous. The way his breath grew rapid, the terrified shock filling his eyes, as if it was life or death for him.
He didn't get it.
Tommy went tumbling down whenever something happened. A little scrap there, a little cut here, who cares? It was kids doing kids things. Sure, it annoyed Phil how much bandages he had to waste on their shared injuries, but it was endearing, always, the way he managed to always find himself in a new trouble.
So why did it seem like he was terrified, afraid to even fall and scrape his legs?
Could he just not handle the way it was proof the universe didn't see them as a whole, as destined partners meant to be a part of each other's lives?
Tommy was so close to him, constantly in reach, but each day, he seemed more distant, less than the person Wilbur remembered, but it didn't stir his feelings into change at all. If anything, they strengthened, like it was some sort of challenge. It didn't matter if the universe told them they weren't each other anymore, they were each other's, he was sure of that. Fuck the universe and their fickle set of rules.
"Tommy, are you okay?" He hears Ranboo gasp out, the sound of shuffling clothing entering his eyes. Carefully, he looks up from the sizzling grill over to where his employee and brother stood. The taller of the two held onto a shaky Tommy, ones whose breath was short and quick, dangerously close to a panic attack.
Tommy's shoulders jumped at the question, his eyes glued to the ground.
"I'm fine, I am, okay?" Tommy said, shoving Ranboo's hands away from his shoulders and stumbling back, getting a little bit of space in between them. "You don't need to baby me, I'm a grown man for fucks sake."
Without missing a beat, "Of course you are, Tommy, but so am I and I get scared sometimes too. You and Tubbo are always there for me, aren't you? Is…is that a bad thing?"
Bitterly, something inside him wondered if the world had decided Tubbo and Ranboo were better suited to be Tommy's soulmates, rather than his own family.
Quietly, Tommy folded in on himself, as if he was struggling through something. A confused, baffled look took over his eyes as he dug his hands in his hair, ruffling dirty blond locks as he worked through whatever was going on in his mind.
Then there was a huff before he leaned against the wall of the burger van.
"No, I guess not…" He said, letting his sentence trial off into silence.
At that, Ranboo smiled softly.
Endeared, in the same way he always was with Tommy.
He hated envy more than any other feeling in the world.
Ranboo was such a nice fellow. He was a hard worker, earnest, and honest to the point it was almost concerning. He wondered if Ranboo could even tell a lie. He was never late, quite the opposite, and he was a bit of a mediator weirdly enough. It was like he didn't judge the opposing sides, or didn't care. There was a lot to like about that part of him, even if other parts confused him to no end.
He was an even better friend to Tommy. Attentive to his moods, without words even needing to be said, always listening without interrupting or badgering him even when they disagreed, and always finding a way to make his care clear, whether if it's a free meal on his dime for Tommy when he visits or getting him a new book or even just cracking jokes about fish to clear the tense air.
He put the meat in the warming station and turned off the grill, his heart dropping to his gut at the realization Ranboo was a better friend than he ever was a brother. A fact he knew for a long time but the sickening realization of how much he must have messed up is clear in the distance between all of them.
"Wilbur, where are you going?" Weirdly enough, it was Tommy who noticed as he prepared to head outside, if only for a quick smoke break. It wasn't like they were super busy, people were still suspicious of Wilbur and what he was up to, and even those who visited couldn't trust him. He thinks it's fair, it's what he gets for messing up so badly.
"Just outside," He turned around and offered a smile, putting up an oh so familiar mask. It was his wild card he kept in his back pocket. When all fell apart, he knew he could count on his long undervalued theatrical skills. He's good at acting. "We don't have any customers yet and I don't think we'll get super busy while I'm out, Ranboo can handle himself. He's quite the talented lad."
Tommy stared at him with a weird look and he almost wanted to break down and apologize right there.
He wasn't sure what to say when blue eyes were glued onto him like that, as if they were trying to break down every part of him, pull to see what was beyond the mask and the scotch tape that was barely keeping him together.
"But I want one of your burgers."
And just like that, even though the universe has decided they should be a part, his heart strings are pulled and he bends easy to Tommy's soft pleas to stay.
He would stay for Tommy.
He wishes he had in the first place.
"Alright, I'll make one before you go, okay?" He promises with a fond smile on his face, pulling out one of the wrappers onto the table, and pushing the bread through the toaster.
"Okay," Tommy says and it's quiet, comfortable almost.
If only it could stay like this forever.
Sometimes, he traces the smiley face carved deep into his shoulder. He wonders the story of it, how it came to be. He wondered if a drunk night out with dumb and dangerous friends or a horror story that would leave him weeping. He didn't know.
It's one of those days, tracing over his healed wounds and scars in the back of the van late at night. Too awake to go home and sleep but too drowsy to do anything but wilt away in the back. He was like a lost soul, wandering around without a clue.
He remembers the one of his chest, the one Phil gave him and in return gave the others. He recalls seeing Dream slash his ax at Techno, only for his brother to duck away enough to only have the bridge of his nose be cut, now they all match with healed scars over. He can still hear Phil's pleas of forgiveness, his apologies for his heritage, as the phantom pain of his wings being clipped surged through him. An agony like he never knew and would never truly know, but Phil went through it, time and time again, just to be with them.
These new wounds scar him, of a soulmate he does not know. He's almost afraid to ask about them.
"Wilbur, you're still here?" Ranboo yawns, stepping into the back, before his drowsiness is wiped away from him like he's been dunked in a bucket of cold ice water. It's almost funny watching him still at the sight of him without his trenchcoat and overshirt off, just left in an old tank top and bandages curling around his arms.
"Yeah, couldn't sleep," He just shrugs, glancing at the scabbed skin on his shoulder. "What about you?"
There's a moment of pure confusion in Ranboo's eyes, it's hard to not laugh at how obvious he is.
"Tubbo said, when he left his spot, the light was still on," Ranboo says slowly, almost as if he's struggling to comprehend what he's seeing. "I thought maybe I forgot to turn it off so I came back…"
There's a moment of silence.
"My soulmate isn't reckless, don't worry about that," He tries to assure him of the scarred skin. "Some of them are mine, and I have three in total, so that's why it looks insane. Sorry to scare you."
Ranboo stares and he finds himself not minding. It's not like he would judge anyways, Ranboo's kind like that.
"Does it ever bother you?'" Ranboo steps a little closer to him, tilting his head to the side, examining the wounds closely with his baffled gaze. "The scars, I mean?"
"Not really, I mean most of these are old ones that Tech and Phil got before I died," He explains, running his hands over the old injuries on his chest. "Then there's the wound that killed me, but that's my fault, and my new soulmates marks…"
"New?"
"Yeah," Wilbur says, scanning the burn scars on his arms. He tries to not sound choked up at the reminder. "New. Guess the universe decided Tommy wasn't meant to be ours anymore."
"But that's…" Ranboo says, staring at him with wide eyes, almost like he can't believe it.
That's not true, Wilbur. He wants to say, he knows he does, but his breath stills as he finishes looking over him.
Ranboo's hand reaches out and he asks timidly, "Is it okay if I…?"
He shrugs, "Go ahead."
Ranboo's thumb grazes over the scarred smiley face.
"Wilbur," He speaks into the air, his eyes glued on the wound.
"Hey, it's okay man," He replies, trying to not drown in his own sorrows. "The universe is fickle with shit like that, I died and it decided we weren't…"
"You're wrong." Ranboo swears and it's the most confident he's ever sounded about anything, as his gaze hardens on his shoulder.
"What?"
"These — these scars aren't from a new soulmate," Ranboo says, with a conviction he's never seen from him. "They're from Tommy, these are Tommy's scars."
His throat squeezes.
"Huh, that's not possible. I think I would have remembered Tommy having a head injury. I know I'm a shit brother and all, but I would have noticed!"
"How?" Ranboo asks, softly. "Tommy wears the bandana on his head to cover it. You wouldn't have seen it…"
"Oh and what, are you telling someone fucking branded my brother and I didn't even fucking know about it?" He hisses, ripping his shoulder away from Ranboo's gentle hands. "Who would even do that?"
It's a moment of uncomfortable silence that eats away at him.
Ranboo, with worn eyes, says, "Dream."
"What?" He chokes out. He doesn't care if he sounds like a fucking kicked pup right now, what do you mean Dream laid his hands on his brother?
"In exile," Ranboo answers, without the question needing to be asked. "He was sent away after Dream put pressure on Tubbo. And there, there were a lot of bad things he did to Tommy. There were a lot of explosions, a lot of times he was in pain, a lot…"
The burn scars on his arms and legs. The branding on his shoulder. The nagging worry about how Tommy couldn't stand taking damage.
"A lot of, yeah, bad things." Ranboo finishes, like he can't even say all of it or it'll make him sick to his knees as well.
He doesn't hear Ranboo's worried questions or puzzled stare as he shoots up, forgoing his trenchcoat on the table, and exiting the van. He doesn't stop when the wind becomes cold and reminds him of the bitterness chill of the station.
All he sees is red.
He's not sure how he really managed to get here. Really, it's a blur. A mesh of green puzzled eyes behind a clunky mask staring at him, but allowing him in nonetheless. The scribbling of pages, the pain of poison, and the heat of the lava all come to a swirling stop once he sees him.
Dream.
His smile is full of glee, his eyes shining underneath the warmth of searing lava that surrounds them with no escape.
There isn't a doubt in his mind as he loses himself in the familiar feeling but this time it isn't about power or strength or wars or politics. It's about Tommy, his little brother who was hurt.
He failed as a brother so many times.
He left him alone, with a country to rebuild only to have it turn on him and fall apart. He left to deal with a tyrant searching for any chance at control because he was so lost in his own mind. He wasn't there for him when he needed him most, when he needed someone to protect him, and it kills him inside.
It doesn't take long before warnings over the intercom to spill out, the screams of horrors causing the speaker to crackle. He hears the alarm sound off, red beaming down in the small room fit for a rat, and the sounds of the lava flow changing.
He turns, seeing the exit and smiles.
"You can't leave, Wilbur." Sam says, horror dotting his tone as he stares at the very cage he made.
"I said," Wilbur speaks, his tone deadly and sharp to his own ears. "Let me out."
"That's not happening," Sam glares, fire burning in his eyes. He raises his trident, as if daring him to challenge and he should know better to offer Wilbur one. "You can't leave, you killed an inmate, Wilbur, you killed Dream!"
He offers no apologies.
"An eye for eye," He says with a smile. "Don't shoot me with the crap of, 'and we'll all go blind'. You'll sound older than my old man at that point."
"Don't you get it? I can't!" Sam insists and he's getting quite bored of this back and forth.
"Sam," He asks, glaring at the man. The coward behind the mask just stiffens at the call of his name. Pathetic. No wonder he couldn't protect Tommy. "Did you forget who my brothers are?"
The silence is evident.
"Do you really think, when Techno hears word of this, he'll be happy? Or even my father? And let's not forget the kid you abandoned to die by the monster I got off of your hands."
"You have no idea what you've done, Wilbur Soot," Sam just shakes his head, growling. "Dream had the power to revive, he revived you! Me and Quackity were working together, we were going to get it, if you hadn't — "
"It's been months, you should really learn how to quit," He barks. "Plus, I don't really think Q will have that big of a problem with it. He'll just be pissed he didn't get a chance to kick his ass before I did."
He waits for a moment. An argument, a retort.
"You really want to do this? Have Techno come here and ruin your fine establishment more?" Wilbur clicks his tongue and he sees the hesitance behind the mask.
He's got him.
He grasps his shoulder, tightening his grip as the trident lowers.
"Good choice," He says with a smirk. "Now, why don't you escort me out of here, sir?"
Like a reluctant follower, the Warden turns and does just that, anguish plain on his face.
Wilbur and Tommy are soulmates.
They are.
They're meant to be, whether the universe fucking accepts them or not, that's what he's learned from this. No matter who tolerates them, he'll always be a part of Tommy and Tommy will always have a hold on his heart.
Nothing can ever change that.
"Wilbur!" He hears his scream, his wide eyes scanning him all over searching for a wound. "Are you hurt? What the hell happened?!"
He raises his hands, the ones he dipped in the cold river on the way here, and ruffles his hair, feeling how soft it is underneath his touch.
"I'm fine now," He says and he knows he's tired. He can feel the bags underneath his eyes and he's overexerted himself, he knows, but Gods was it worth it. He grabs a hold of Tommy's shoulders before drawing him in for a tight hug. "You're okay now."
"What?" Tommy gasps out, confused and bewildered.
"He can't hurt you anymore, I promise," He says with a drowsy tongue.
"Wilbur, you sound and look insane right now, what the hell happened?"
He backs away from the hug and looks down at Tommy.
Gently, he pushes the bandana up, and rubs his thumb over the scarred area.
"I thought we weren't soulmates when I was revived because I had all these scars and you had none, but then…then I found out you did have them and that it had been given to you all by Dream," Wilbur chokes, feeling the pain and fury flood him all over again like a tidal wave. "And I couldn't stand it so I just — I just — !"
"Did he hurt you?" Tommy asks suddenly and hastily, fear in his eyes as he grabs onto his arms.
He's always been a sweet kid like that.
"No sunshine," He smiles. "I hurt him. He's gone, he can't hurt you anymore."
"Gone?"
"Yeah."
"Like you killed him, gone?"
"Mhm."
There's a moment that passes between them.
"Do you hate me for it?" He asks quietly.
Tommy's hands tighten.
"Gods, no," Tommy says and tears well in his gaze. "Oh god, he's finally gone."
"That's right, sweetheart, he is, okay?" He reaches out and holds him again, his head leaning against his chest as tears damp his tank top. He didn't care or give a damn about the old thing anyways, not when it came to his Tommy, his soulmate.
"You didn't — you didn't have to do that though! Why would you — why would you be so reckless? What if you got hurt?" Tommy asks, terrified.
"I didn't think, I'm sorry," He says genuinely. "I just. Ranboo told me he hurt you and I couldn't breathe. I just marched to the prison and I got in and I just went at him and I couldn't stop. He hurt you so much, darling, and I couldn't live with myself if he kept breathing after what he did to you."
Tommy sobs, vulnerable like he hasn't been since they've reunited.
"You thought Tommy wasn't our soulmate anymore?" Phil asks agape over his cup of tea.
"Look, I know, it was stupid — "
"That's beyond stupid. In what world would we ever be free of the gremlin?"
"Do you want me to move out?"
"I never said that — "
Tommy grins, like the little shit he is.
"So you want me around."
Techno groans into his hands.
"Phil."
"I don't know, mate, sounds like you want him around as much as the rest of us. You even prepared his room and his favorite food for tonight."
"Phil!"
At that, Phil releases a loud laugh.
His father turns to him, with a large grin, and says, "Glad to have you back, mate, both of you."
"You wouldn't believe how good it feels to be back." He says, feeling Tommy's annoyingly bright grin next to him at Phil's soft admission from right next to him.
"I can imagine, I missed my boys." He says, taking a delicate sip from his tea.
And just like that, they were soulmates, together again.