Tainted Perception | Wilbur Soot Angst (ORIGINAL)

Lost

TW: None

A/N: Ayup

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Phil's mind chanted as he pulled himself to his feet. He had not expected that. Running towards the door that Wilbur had disappeared through, he quickly realized he had no clue where to go. Well, he had to do something. Starting his trek through the streets, he looked for any sign of the man he was looking for, to no avail.

-

Iclic was just minding their own business, walking home after a long day of school, when something, or should they say someone caught their eye. They had seen the news, of course, pretty much everyone who ever went onto the internet knew the basics of what had happened. So what they weren't expecting was to see someone who looked very similar to Wilbur Soot running through the streets.

It couldn't be... right? The man was pale, very pale, his steps jagged and uneven. Bandages were wrapped around his hands, and there were already red splotches soaking through the white fabric. But, undeniably, this person was a spitting image of the famous Twitch streamer.

Hesitantly, they pulled out their phone and sheepishly pressed "record." They weren't quite sure what they were going to do with this new video, they didn't want to intrude into someone else's life, but also, what if Wilbur needed help? The man looked like he was running from something, and the literal blood coating his hands didn't look too good. Iclic just wanted to help.

The person that was possibly Wilbur disappeared around a corner, and they found themselves staring at the place he used to be, concerned and confused. Shaking their head slightly, Iclic quickly started walking again, they didn't want their parents to be worried.

-

Wilbur had been running for a while, and his exhaustion was catching up to him. Slowing to a walk, he quickly found an alleyway and slid into it, gulping in air like his life depended on it. What was wrong with him? Why did he run? Taking a deep breath, he sank to the floor, trying to calm his racing heart. He was fine. He was fine, right? There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine.

Click. Wilbur whipped around, now staring with fear into a barrel of a gun. The person holding it was young, their hands shaking, seemingly terrified of what they were about to do. They reminded him of someone.

"G-gimme your money," they demanded meekly, their eyes darting nervously around the space. Wilbur paused, trying to assess the situation.

"I don't- I don't have any."

"I said, gimme your money!" they yelled again, their finger wrapping around the trigger as the gun shook haphazardly.

"I don't fucking have any!" Wilbur repeated, slowly standing while holding his hands up as a 'I mean no harm' gesture. "You- you can check!" The kid stepped forward, one hand shakily checking all of his pockets, confirming the lack of valuables.

"Okay- um, okay," their breath came out in uneven gasps as they backed up once again, the gun still pointed at Wilbur's torso.

BANG! Pain spiked through the man's side as he fell to the ground, his hands now clutching the open wound.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" The kid ran forward, before stopping themself, looking guilty. "I'm- I'm sorry," they said quickly before bolting, sparing one more glance back, before they did. Wilbur knew it was probably an accident, their finger slipping in the adrenaline fueled moment, that didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling his already soaked shirt up slightly to see the damage done. He had to swallow back bile. It was a clean shot, the bullet going all the way through his torso. A small blessing, he supposed. Wincing as he applied more pressure to the wound, he struggled to a stand, trying to find someone, anyone.

"Help!" he called weakly, only managing a couple steps before falling once again. Blood was already seeping through his clothes, the red substance coating his hands and wrists. That's mine. Shaking the thought off, he clenched his teeth and pulled himself up once again, all while trying to ignore the pain radiating from his side. "Anyone?" No answer.

Falling against the wall, he managed a weak chuckle. Was this really how he died? Alone in an alley? Shot by some desperate kid just wanting some money? After all of the war, all of the sacrifices he made. This was how the great Wilbur Soot got brought down?

That's when he realized who the kid reminded him of. Tommy. Young and desperate. Scared for their safety, turned aggressive by the lack of care from the people around them. Swallowing thickly, he sank to the floor, trying in vain to keep himself conscious.

Stay awake. He thought to himself, continuing to press the wound in his side. Just a little while longer. He stared determinedly at the entrance to the alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone walking by. Why is no one coming? That was his last thought before his vision faded to black.

-

Wilbur woke up slightly disoriented. Where was he? Glancing around, he found himself in a crater, that's weird. Pulling himself to a stand, he almost immediately fell again. Chuckling despite himself, he grabbed onto a nearby support beam, leaning against it heavily as he took in his surroundings.

Wait- support beam? Glancing at the structure he was on, he realized with surprise that he recognized it. Where had he seen it before? Now that he noticed it, he suddenly became aware of the fact that he recognized all of the things around him. Why couldn't he remember?

Making his way up to a semi-intact pathway, he was careful not to trip over any of the stray debri surrounding him. I wonder what happened. Running his hand through some water that was trickling down beside the road, he drew back quickly with a hiss.

Examining his now burnt limb with concern, he made a mental note not to touch any liquids from that point forward. Suddenly, a silhouette crested a hill in front of him. Both ghost and person stopped dead (no pun intended).

"W-Wilbur?"

-

Phil ran desperately through the streets, not paying any attention to where he was going, it didn't matter now. All that mattered was finding Wilbur. His lack of attention was probably exactly why he ran head first into a kid.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," he apologized, making sure the person was alright.

"No, no, it's fine," they glanced up. "Wait- wait you- you're Philza," they exclaimed awkwardly.

"Yes, th- that's me."

"Um, hi? Not exactly how I imagined meeting you," they said with an awkward chuckle, rubbing their neck anxiously.

"Sorry," Phil repeated genuinely.

"It's- it's fine, seriously. Don't worry about it." The man rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, wanting to engage in conversation, but also worried for Wilbur.

"I'm- I'm so sorry, but I have to go. It was- it was wonderful talking to you but-"

"Are you looking for Wilbur?" they asked hesitantly, glancing up.

"I- yes," he admitted.

"He went that way, I saw him running."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, mate!" he called as he ran in the direction they pointed. Hopefully he found him in time. 

Have a wonderful day/night!