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Things were getting better.
So of course, even death couldn’t be an eternal respite from whatever sick plans Dream had in store for Wilbur’s little brother.
Because one moment, Wilbur was playing cards with Tommy and Schlatt, having a great time, and the next moment, Tommy’s form began flickering.
“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, “Tommy, what’s happening?”
Tommy looked at Wilbur, his body becoming more and more transparent by the moment. “Wilbur?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Schlatt’s eyes widened, and he swore. “That idiot’s resurrecting him.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “That was real?”
Wilbur hated how distant his little brother’s voice was becoming, and Wilbur tried to reach out and grab the sleeve of Tommy’s shirt.
His hand slipped right through.
Tommy tried reaching for Wilbur, and Wilbur could only stand there as Tommy’s hand passed right through Wilbur’s body.
“Wilby, I don’t wanna go, please, please I can’t—”
And then Tommy was gone entirely.
Wilbur screamed.
For the first few days, Schlatt tried to comfort him.
“That Sam-dude would be an idiot not to get him out after all this,” he said frankly over a cup of coffee, snatching the cigarette Wilbur had just summoned away from his fingers.
“He doesn’t know he’s alive,” Wilbur said hysterically, “For all we know, he’s going to be stuck in there for months. Hell, days were bad enough—”
“You need to calm down,” Schlatt said, “Because I can promise you that throwing a temper tantrum is not going to help the kid.”
Wilbur jumped to his feet. “I am not throwing a tantrum.” He began pacing, running his fingers through his hair. “You and I both know how Dream treated-treats him; I just don’t want him to be hurt, and now—”
“Wilbur, we don’t even know if Dream was the one who instigated the resurrection,” Schlatt said tiredly, “And even if we did, there is literally nothing we can do.”
“There has to be something—”
Schlatt raised his eyebrows.
“You really think people would stay dead if there was a way for them to just waltz out of the afterlife?”
Wilbur groaned in frustration. “You’re insufferable.”
Schlatt sighed. “Yeah, I’m pretty worried too.”
Wilbur had calmed down after a week of radio silence from Tommy.
Well, actually, no, that was a lie. Wilbur hadn’t calmed down at all.
But he had at least stopped screaming and shouting every time Schlatt acted like there was nothing wrong, so that was something at the very least.
Or at least, it was something until Wilbur was minding his own business, doing his daily routine of pacing around and being worried, when Tommy’s form quite suddenly flickered into view again.
Tommy was sprawled on the floor and screaming.
Wilbur leapt to his feet, rushing up to his brother, who sounded like he was in agony. But by the time Wilbur had slid down onto his knees, ready to cradle Tommy like he did last time; Tommy was already completely there.
This time, it wasn’t bruises or broken bones.
This time it was burns.
Wilbur let out a moan as he watched the ugliest and most gruesome burns he had ever seen slowly fade from Tommy’s body.
“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur whispered, gently moving Tommy’s head into his lap.
Tommy suddenly sat up with a jolt.
“Dream, wait, please!” he screamed, “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Wilbur tried to reach for Tommy, tried to comfort him, but Tommy only jerked away.
“Don’t screwing touch me!” he shrieked, tears streaming down his face, “You can’t—you can’t—”
Wilbur immediately raised his hands up in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, trying to keep his voice soft, “But it’s just me, Toms. Remember? Big brother Wilbur?”
Tommy shuffled back more.
“I—I, please,” Tommy whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, “I can’t…”
“Toms, Tommy, I need you to breathe for me,” Wilbur whispered, “Can you do that?”
Tommy gasped for breath, clearly struggling to get anything in.
“I—I can’t—please, I don’t want to die again, please, I don’t want to die.”
Wilbur forced down the pure rage he was currently feeling toward Dream right about now. He needed to focus. He needed to help Tommy.
“Alright,” he replied gently, “Can you tell me two things you feel?”
Tommy shuddered. “The ground,” he muttered, “Burning.”
Wilbur frowned. “How about two things you see?”
Tommy didn’t open his eyes. “Darkness.”
Wilbur held back a sigh. “Tommy, darling, could you please open your eyes for me?”
Tommy slowly opened his eyes, and Wilbur smiled encouragingly.
“Excellent job,” he praised softly, “Now, can you tell me two things you see?”
Tommy let out a shuddering breath. “The couch, um… you.”
“And who am I?”
Tommy blinked. “…Wilbur?”
Wilbur nodded. “That’s me. Are you back with me?”
Tommy frowned, wrapping his arms around himself. Tears were still streaming down his face, and Wilbur wanted nothing more than to pull Tommy into the warmest hug imaginable.
“I… Wil,” Tommy whispered, “Wil, he-he killed me. Again.”
The fire that Wilbur had temporarily pushed down was trying to rekindle itself, and it took everything Wilbur had not to allow his fury to show.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Wilbur held out his arms. “Do you—can I hug you?”
Tommy hesitated before giving Wilbur a short nod.
Wilbur shuffled forward before slowly and carefully wrapping his arms around Tommy. Tommy leaned into the embrace, although he did not return the hug. Wilbur couldn’t blame him. Dying once was taxing enough. Dying twice?
Tommy must be exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, his tears soaking Wilbur’s jumper, “I didn’t want to leave.”
“No, no,” Wilbur shushed, “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do this.”
“I died,” Tommy whispered, “I left. I died again. I’m pretty sure I did all of those things, big man.”
“But you didn’t choose it.” Wilbur began running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “You didn’t choose it, so it’s not your fault.”
“Well, then I’m sorry for pathetically crying all over you,” Tommy muttered, sounding slightly sleepy.
“You’re not pathetic,” Wilbur corrected.
“Sorry for calling myself pathetic.”
“Why are you insisting on apologizing?” Wilbur asked, a hint of frustration leaking into his tone, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Tommy curled in on himself. “Sorry.”
Wilbur sighed. “No, I’m sorry.”
Tommy scowled. “Not how it works, jerk. I apologized first.”
“Yeah, well I think I owe you an apology more,” Wilbur said.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Wilbur smiled. “That cannot be the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.”
Tommy sighed. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, “I’ll have you know that have known a great many stupid people in my life. It is quite sad, if I am being completely honest.”
Wilbur laughed.
“Yes, that does sound quite sad,” he agreed. He glanced at the couch. “Do you want to get up off the floor, or are you comfortable here?”
Tommy actually wrapped his arms around Wilbur, stuffing his face into Wilbur’s jumper. “I am very comfortable right where I am, thank you very much.”
“Okay.”
And that’s how Schlatt found Wilbur and Tommy sitting on the floor of their living room, arms wrapped around each other like it was a matter of life or death.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Schlatt said, staring at Tommy.
Tommy flinched. Wilbur glared at Schlatt.
Schlatt winced. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly amended, “I’m just ticked that the idiot tried it again.”
“He didn’t try,” Tommy snapped, “He screwing pushed me into lava and succeeded.”
Wilbur was going to be sick, and from the look at Schlatt’s face, he wasn’t the only one.
Eventually, they removed themselves from the floor and settled back onto the sofa. Tommy leaned against Wilbur, hugging a pillow close to his chest.
“He says… he says he can keep killing me and bringing me back,” Tommy whispered, “he says he’s like a god.”
Schlatt snorted. “He’s no god,” he said, “Remember what he was like when you nearly took away his third life?”
Tommy mustered up a weak smile, but it slipped away all too quickly.
“It’s just…” Tommy let out a shuddering sigh. “I don’t want to leave here.”
Wilbur swallowed. “Tommy, how long were you in there? After you left, I mean.”
Tommy gave Wilbur a long look. “Nearly six hours.”
Wilbur stared. Schlatt let out a startled laugh.
Tommy shrugged, looking away from Wilbur’s shocked expression. “Time is all wonky here,” Tommy said, “I was only dead for two days in the land of the living.”
Well, that was new. Before Tommy had come along, Wilbur hadn’t really bothered to keep track of time. Was the difference really so great?
“Oh,” Wilbur said, “Well, I guess it should be a relief. At least you didn’t spend a week with him like I previously thought.”
“Six hours was enough,” Tommy said darkly. He shuddered. “I-I don’t want to go back.”
“You won’t have to,” Wilbur promised.
Tommy laughed, clearly not believing it.
Five hours later, Tommy started disappearing again.
“No, no, no, no,” Tommy muttered, frantically grabbing onto Wilbur.
Wilbur held Tommy to his chest for as long as he could, feeling his panic resurface as Tommy started becoming intangible.
And just like last time, Tommy was completely gone. Wilbur stared blankly at the empty air, wondering if he should scream or cry or just try to die in misery.
That last one wasn’t possible. You can’t exactly die when you’re already dead.
Tommy came back exactly eight hours later. Apparently Schlatt had summoned a clock to keep track.
Schlatt was also the one who found Tommy this time.
“Drowned to death,” Schlatt explained bitterly as Tommy mutely leaned against Schlatt’s side, “Apparenlty that monster stuffed his face into a cauldron until he suffocated.”
Tommy shuddered, and Wilbur wanted to kill something.
Instead, he sat down on the floor next to Tommy.
“Can I—”
“Please,” Tommy whispered.
Wilbur shuffled toward Tommy so that Tommy was comfortably sandwiched between both Schlatt and Wilbur.
Tommy didn’t say much that time, only mentioning that he had only been back for fifteen minutes before Dream had decided to kill him again.
“He wants me to study it,” Tommy admitted quietly, “The afterlife. He wants me to ask you questions.”
Wilbur’s voice was choked with tears when he replied, “Ask us anything you want if it gets him to stop.”
Tommy shrugged. “They’re stupid anyway,” he muttered, “Only crap about eating and nightmares and other crap like that.”
There was a long silence before Tommy eventually whispered,
“He wants to know if you would help him.”
Schlatt snorted. “No way in hell,” he said darkly, “am I helping that idiot, especially when he’s decided killing teenagers is fun.”
“Have you tried calling for Sam?” Wilbur asked quietly.
It was a stupid question, but Wilbur needed to be sure.
Tommy nodded, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a moron, Wilbur.”
Wilbur prayed that Sam would actually hear him this time around, that he would get Tommy out, that Wilbur wouldn’t have to see Tommy for another hundred years or however long it took for Tommy to grow old and die of natural causes.
After a month of no sign from Tommy, Wilbur could actually bring himself to hope that this was it. Tommy had escaped and was recovering far away from the clutches of death.
After another month, he and Schlatt were all but certain that Tommy was done, that Sam had found Tommy. He was still the warden, after all; surely after two days, Sam would notice that there was a once-dead teenager sharing a cell with the maximum-security prisoner.
So, by the end of the third month, Wilbur was feeling downright cheerful. Of course, it was a bummer that Wilbur no longer had Tommy for company, but he squashed down any true feelings of longing for him. Tommy deserved to live a long and happy life. And the last thing Tommy needed was to be killed again in any other way.
So, of course, it couldn’t last.
As the third month without Tommy was coming to a close, Wilbur spotted Tommy leaning against the tree of their little-makeshift garden.
Wilbur’s heart sunk, and he dashed toward the tree as quickly as he could.
“Tommy?” Wilbur whispered, crouching down in front of him.
Tommy was hugging his knees to his chest, glancing to the side. Wilbur noted that he wasn’t completely there. Tommy’s body was still transparent, as if he were dying a far slower death than before.
“Hey, Wil,” Tommy said, his voice sounding dry like desert sand, “I’m not eating and drinking this time.”
“Please drink something,” Wilbur begged, “Tommy, please drink something.”
Tommy let out a hoarse, echoing laugh, “He won’t let me.”
Tommy’s eyes suddenly snapped away from Wilbur, and Tommy flinched.
“He wants to know if you have any plans for if you are revived.”
Well, that was an easy question to answer. He’d push that monster into the lava with absolutely no regrets. He’d call for Sam and demand that he let his brother out of that damned prison, and he would be more than happy to spend the rest of his days trapped in a small obsidian room if it meant Tommy went free.
Somehow, Wilbur doubted that those words would endear him to Dream in any way.
Wilbur smiled.
“Tell him I want to burn it all to the ground,” he said, “Tell him that I’ve become erratic and dangerous in these past three months, that I cannot be allowed back in the real world.”
Tommy’s eyes widened, but he turned his head back toward where Dream presumably was.
“He says that he wants to-to burn it all to the ground.” Tommy shuddered. “Please don’t bring him back. Please, you can’t bring him back.”
Damn, Wilbur had never realized that Tommy was such a good actor. The way he sounded so terrified of Wilbur shook him to the core. Had Tommy really been that afraid of him, back when he was a villain?
“Stay away from me!”
Yeah, he probably had.
Schlatt walked up from behind Wilbur, clearly seeing the interaction through the window or something.
“Don’t forget me,” Schlatt said, “I want to get into some of that revenge action.”
Tommy frowned. “Schlatt?” He flinched again. “You can’t bring him back either,” he said, his voice bordering on frantic, “Please, Dream, you can’t bring them back, you don’t want to bring them back, please—”
Tommy’s eyes widened, and he sluggishly shrunk back from something that neither Wilbur nor Schlatt could actually see.
“Please, Dream, don’t—” Tommy was cut off, and his face looked as though an invisible hand were holding it in an iron grip.
Then, Tommy’s head collapsed back down, as though someone had let go of it suddenly. Tommy was gasping for breath, and Wilbur’s blood boiled.
It took another day for Tommy to finish dying, and Wilbur tried to make the transition as easy as possible. Tommy fell unconscious a few hours before the end, and Wilbur had blankets at the ready. As soon as Tommy became solid enough, Wilbur piled them on, wrapping his little brother up like a burrito.
It reminded Wilbur of when Tommy used to wrap himself up in a blanket, claiming he was a caterpillar in a cocoon, but Wilbur had always thought he looked more like a burrito.
“Wilby! Wilby!” four-year-old Tommy used to exclaim, “Look what I can do!”
Wilbur would watch as Tommy stretched out a blanket, laid down on it, and rolled over until the blanket was wrapped tightly around him like a burrito.
“Wow,” Wilbur said, “That really is something.”
Tommy giggled. “I’m like a caterpillar!”
Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “You look more like a burrito to me. Do you want me to gobble you up?”
He stood up, ready to tickle Tommy to death.
Tommy immediately leapt to his feet, shrieking as he ran away, only to trip on the blanket that only really served to hinder his movements.
Wilbur cackled evilly.
“You cannot escape me!” he declared, immediately beginning to tickle Tommy.
Tommy shrieked at the top of his lungs, sounding like he was dying. “Nooo, stop!”
“Hmmm, only if you say pretty please with a cherry on top, oh great and powerful Wilbur whom I love very, very much.”
Tommy continued writing in agony as Wilbur continued to tickle him. “How—how am I supposed to remember that?!”
“Hmm, guess I can’t stop, then—”
“Pretty please with a cherry on top, oh powerful Wilbur whom I love very much!” Tommy screamed.
Wilbur stopped, leaving Tommy panting for breath.
“I hate you,” Tommy gasped, no venom in his voice. He burrowed deeper into the blanket that had technically been his demise. “I’m never speaking to you again.”
Wilbur laughed. “How dare you put me in such agony! How shall I ever live?”
Tommy giggled.
Wilbur wished things could go back to the way they were then.
When Tommy woke up, Wilbur hated how dead he looked, how tired his blue eyes were.
“How long do you reckon we have?” Tommy asked, burrowing himself deeper into his blankets.
“At least a few hours,” Wilbur admitted, grimacing. He stood up. “Come on, I want to get some decent food in you.”
Tommy didn’t stand up, only looking at the grass beneath their feet and shrugging.
“What’s even the point?” he asked dully, “We both know it’s not going to make a difference in the end.”
Wilbur gritted his teeth, trying not to think about how angry Dream made him. Tommy needed rest; he didn’t need this non-stop game of come-and-go.
“It’ll make me feel better,” Wilbur said, trying to keep his voice steady, “And it might make you better, to finally have something to eat.”
“It also might make me sick,” Tommy snapped, “So I’m not sure I actually want to.”
“You have to eat something, kid,” intervened Schlatt, who had only been watching the interaction from a distance, probably not wanting to disrupt the moment.
“I don’t have to do anything.” Tommy glared at both Wilbur and Schlatt. “And right now, I really want to sleep, because sleep is a luxury nobody seems to want me to have.”
Wilbur felt the already shattered pieces of his heart be crushed.
“Okay,” he said quietly, “You can sleep.”
All of the anger seemed to drain out of Tommy’s body, and he nodded, his eyes drooping.
Wilbur watched as Tommy fell asleep right in front of them. He yawned. Surely Tommy wouldn’t mind if he fell asleep next to him...
He faintly heard Schlatt’s chuckle as Wilbur fell asleep practically in Tommy’s lap. But he couldn’t bring himself to be all that embarrassed. It had been a stressful few hours, okay?
“Wilbur?”
That… that wasn’t Tommy. And it wasn’t Schlatt, either.
Wilbur slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the orange glow that filled the room he was lying in. Which was strange, because hadn’t he fallen asleep outside?
He could hear something drip repetitively onto the ground, and he glanced to the side, hoping to find the source of the leak or whatever it happened to be.
His eyes landed on a sickeningly familiar smiley-face mask.
Wilbur leapt to his feet, stumbling slightly. Still, that didn’t stop him from immediately searching the room for Tommy.
Wilbur couldn’t decide if he was relieved or sickened to see him still sleeping on the floor, curled up in such a way that implied he still thought he had his blankets.
“Oh, so you are awake,” Dream said, sounding amicable, “It was kind of hard to tell—”
Wilbur punched Dream in the face.
“SAM YOU ARE THE WARDEN OF THIS PRISON, AND YOU’D BETTER LET TOMMY OUT THIS INSTANT!” Wilbur shrieked at the top of his lungs, grabbing a still stunned Dream by the scruff of his shirt.
“I’d say it was nice knowing you,” Wilbur said, smiling sweetly, “But it really wasn’t.”
And before Dream had the opportunity to say anything in his defense, Wilbur slammed him against the wall, knocking him unconscious instantly.
“I’d also kill you, but I don’t want to risk having you intrude upon Schlatt’s now quiet afterlife,” Wilbur said, glaring down at Dream’s unconscious body.
From across the room, Tommy groaned, and Wilbur immediately rushed to him.
“Toms,” he muttered, helping Tommy sit up, “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Prime, I cannot believe that worked—”
“I’m fine, Wilbur,” Tommy interrupted brusquely, pulling himself to his feet, “This isn’t my first go at this, remember?”
How could Wilbur forget?
“Well, it will be your last,” Wilbur promised, “I’m getting you out of this prison if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
Tommy snorted grimly. “I bet you thought you had already done your last thing.”
“Ah, yes, well life never did like going to plan, and it seemed to decide that meddling with death’s private affairs was a good idea as well, so here we are.”
Tommy froze all of a sudden.
“Do you hear that?”
Wilbur paused, straining his ears for a sound. At first, the only thing he could hear was the already existent sound of lava and crying obsidian dripping from the walls. But then, he heard what Tommy had probably heard first.
Footsteps.
“IN HERE!” Wilbur shrieked.
“SAM! GET ME OUT, GET ME THE HELL OUT!” Tommy screamed, sounding more angry than desperate.
“SAM! SAM, I HAVE A FEW BONES TO PICK WITH YOU!” Wilbur added.
Tommy gave Wilbur a look. “No, you don’t.”
Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded, “He’s left you in a prison to die multiple times.”
Tommy flinched. “He didn’t mean to,” he said. He sighed. “Okay, listen, I’m not overly pleased with him either, but can we go without the… bone picking?”
Wilbur sighed but gave Tommy a smile. “Okay, okay, I think I can manage that.”
“Tommy? Wilbur? Is that you?” Sam’s voice asked from seemingly far away.
“YES, IT’S US!” Tommy shouted, “NOW LET US OUT!”
When Wilbur stepped out of the prison with Tommy, he looked up at the sky for the first time in what he supposed must’ve been years.
It was so much more beautiful than the void, so much more alive, and Wilbur found himself wondering why he had never noticed it before.
“We’re free,” Tommy whispered, “We’re actually free.”
Wilbur wiped a few tears away from his eyes and wrapped his arm carefully around Tommy’s shoulders.
“That’s right,” he agreed. He smiled. “Come on, let’s go scare everyone who dared think we were gone for good.”
Tommy laughed.