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[halorocks1214]

Wilbur has always been able to feel those he considered family from the other side. He assumed it was Life’s way of punishing him after, well, everything.

He felt the crushing guilt that hung over his father. It stabbed into him like Phil did, only ten times worse. He felt the way Fundy’s rage simmered into resignation and apathy at being ignored once more like a burning hot fire, making Wilbur almost scream from the sensation, only to feel something akin to an ice bucket being dumped over his head immediately after.

He strangely felt less and less from Technoblade as time went on, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. The last time he really received something from the piglin was roughly around his attempted execution, and what a way to send him off. Wilbur thought actually being physically flattened would hurt less.

And then there was Tommy. Oh, Tommy, who’s chest ached after nights of nothing but sobbing in exile; the way he went temporarily blind every time the TNT went off so close to him made it feel like needles went through Wilbur’s eyes. The musician didn’t even want to get into how he almost literally became a statue when Tommy trailed his way through the Arctic (and almost failed) before randomly stumbling into a heated cabin.

Schlatt was the one who told him Tommy was locked in the jail with Dream, made a simple joke about how the kid would last only about a day, and that was being generous.

Wilbur socked him right across the jaw.

Other than that, it’s been relatively peaceful. Wilbur even started to let his guard down, content with the idea that Tommy would eventually make it out. He might need ten times more therapy than he already did, and the whole thing about the hotel was going to suck, but the kid would be alive to handle it. Wilbur should have realized the universe wasn’t done punishing him just yet.

He was off by himself when it happened, sudden spots of extreme pain dotting his chest in various places. It was like he was being punched, no, beaten, practically. He collapsed onto his knees, bringing his hands up to his chest to claw at his clothes as he gasped desperately for air. The punches suddenly became multiple knives stabbing him, and Wilbur briefly wondered if it was possible to die twice. He was on the verge of blacking out when a desperate, young voice pleaded.

“Dream PLEASE I’M ON HALF A HEART-”

Then, nothing.

Wilbur could almost feel his lungs collapse at the lack of pain that suddenly hit him, followed by something more whole filling it’s place. Like literally none of that just happened. No, no fucking, way, the last time he felt this ‘whole’ feeling was when Schlatt felt it at the same time before that weirdo with a Mexican flag on his face dropped in on the dead presidents randomly.

Clutching at his chest, Wilbur looked around rapidly in pure panic. He was being stupid. He was freaking out over nothing. He would run like a chicken with its head cut off for who knew how long before Schlatt laughed at him for being such a dumbass, and then everything would go back-

Wilbur would have preferred Phil keeping him alive on the 16th rather than what he finally laid his eyes on. 

Tommy, his precious, blue-eyed child floated in front of him, covered in dried spots of blood and various bruises. Tear tracks stained his face like scars, “Hey, Wilby, fancy seeing you here, innit?”

The brunette shattered inside.

Before either other them could process it, Wilbur practically leaped forward to wrap his arms around his brother- son- someone who deserved much better than what life had thrown at him at the very fucking least. Wilbur felt himself start to tremble as one of his hands snaked its way into the curly blond locks, purely so he could bring the younger one closer into his protective embrace. 

Maybe he could squeeze this vision in front of him out of existence, or- or shoo it away, even. Tommy was fine- he was fine- he was stuck in a shitty cell with an even shittier person but he was still alive-

Tommy could only bring his hands around Wilbur’s waist in a sort-of-hug, still kind of unsure how to fully take in what just happened. His words were quiet, full of hurt, as if getting hugged by Wilbur again hurt just as much as Dream’s fists, “Remember when you told me “I’ll see you soon” Big Dubs? Yeah, sorry I took so long.”

Wilbur felt tears rapidly trail down his face. It was real; Tommy was dead.

“I wish you took longer.”