or, the process of coming to terms with losing.
'What have you done, Wilbur? What the fuck have you done?'
He sat there, hands over his ears, rocking back and forth; his eyes were screwed shut.
The only thing on his mind was the fact that he'd killed his roommate's partner- his friend.
He'd never seen Dream so desperate, so angry... so unstable. It was almost like a flip switched in his head when Wilbur told him he'd had to kill George.
The events of the day ran through his head.
Nothing bothered him as much as the anger in Dream's eyes, and the fear in Tommy's.
He'd had his morals questioned many times, and each time, he felt like he made the wrong decision.
He told the truth.
He had to kill Dream because of it.
Tommy was in danger because of it.
That sickened Wilbur- but then again, sometimes the truth had unbearable consequences.
He tried to take an even breath, but instead it came out shaky and fast. His chest felt tighter as he sat there, tucked into a corner in the basement of the house the three were staying in.
The only sound in the room was the slight dripping of water from a pipe overhead and his soft, short breathing.
He knew three things.
1. George was dead because of him, which caused Dream to lash out.
2. Tommy had been hurt again because he refused to fight back.
3. Dream was dead because of him. Just like George. Just like so many diseased.
Three things.
Three things that were detrimental and scarring to his mental health.
Three things that left him reeling.
George.
Dream.
Tommy.
Three people affected by him in some way, shape, or form- all negative.
'Fucking Gods, Wilbur. How hard is it for you to just... leave well enough alone?'
He didn't know how he could leave it, though.
He hurt people more times than he could count.
He had killed George- someone he barely associated with aside from the occasional conversation and monthly bill payments.
He had gotten Tommy hurt twice- once, because he couldn't fight back, and another because he had told the truth.
Of course, that led to him killing Dream, who had become a good friend of his before the plague spread.
It made him physically sick.
His stomach turned, twisted, flipped- hell, maybe even did a jig.
So many regrets for such a short lifetime.
'Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's not going to help, Wilbur. Go upstairs and check on your brothers. Just fucking let it go.'
He opened his eyes, shook his head, and turned it off.
Just like that, he was numb to every feeling except one- the need to check on his brothers.
He climbed off of the dingy basement floor, rose to his feet, and made way for the main floor.
YOU ARE READING
silence falls || ✔️
Fanfiction// apocalypse au// three brothers. one ex-agent. one bright strategist. the last, an ambitious fighter. all three, thrown together in one dangerously infectious apocalypse. they're on the search for a safe civilization- but will they reach it? {-tec...
