𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙢𝙥 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨 ༄

in essence, turmoil- wilbur soot fic

Deep down, he knew they didn't deserve it.

Wilbur watched as his country exploded, smiling for the first time in months.

He stared at the Manburg flag, hatred burning in his eyes. His country, the one he had built up from the ground, and given a leader, had turned on him.

He remembered the sight of his own son tearing down the walls in front of his eyes, tearing down the place Wilbur had built for him.

It broke his heart, it shattered it to pieces.

Schlatt didn't deserve this seat of power, he didn't deserve to control this country with an iron fist. Quackity was just his yes man, which angered Wilbur more than he could express.

Wilbur never would have thought his country, his future, would have been ripped out from underneath him so quickly. It was like embers burning in a dead forest, slowly kindling pine needles before erupting into flames and burning everything down.

Wilbur felt like that a lot. He felt anger bubble up in him like a stove getting hotter until he touched it and burned himself. He felt his vision go red and his mind play tricks on him. He felt the way his voice lilted with manipulation and persuasion. He felt his thoughts gather on the precipice, only needing the slightest push to send him over the edge and into the darkness. He felt the energy thrumming in his veins, ready for a battle of words.

He watched when his mind was on the brink of insanity. Wilbur felt his mind control his body, as he viewed it from somewhere above. It was like an out-of-body experience. Half of his brain had full control over his actions, and took pleasure in the fear in Tommy's eyes and the eleven stacks of TNT he had in his inventory. The other half screamed in protest as it watched it all happen helpless. Wilbur was torn in two, equally wanting to fight for his nation and burn it to the ground.

Because he knew, he knew they didn't deserve it. They took down the walls that kept him safe, that kept his friends and family safe. Wilbur knew that his nation was gone, at least the nation he had built. L'Manburg. A beautiful name. A beautiful country, when it wasn't housing the worst people in existence.

Wilbur regretted a lot. He regretted not being a better brother-figure to Tommy, and treating Tubbo as an extension of his friend. He regretted losing his son to his own mind games, because with it he lost the part of him that was a father.

With an aching heart, he fell to his knees, melting into the coarse dirt. He was on the hills that overlooked his fallen country. Wilbur held a small lighter in his hands, wood engravings spelling out J. S.

Wilbur almost regretted making the promise to Dream to end it all.

Almost.

Some sick and twisted part of him leapt up in excitement upon seeing the flames and the crater. All it had taken was a spark at the end of a button.

It was never meant to be. Wilbur choked out a laugh, grimacing. It wasn't, was it. The walls he had built were always going to fall, it just happened to be by his hand.

As the smoke rose higher in the sky over the smoldering city, Wilbur was reminded of a different time.

Blue skies were frequent, bringing chirping birds and a warmth that spread about. Rolling green hills greeted Wilbur's eyes as he sat on top of the camarvan with Tommy by his side. His chest rose and fell with pride, overlooking the special place he had created all on his own. Beneath them, stoves burned blue flame, festering a new batch of potions. Tommy was wearing armour, always on the lookout. Wilbur wasn't.

"Tommy, let me play you a song. Let me sing you a melody," Wilbur hummed.

"Alright," Tommy murmured.