Tainted Perception | Wilbur Soot Angst (ORIGINAL)

Questions

TW: Emotional breakdown, implied suicidal thoughts (past), lack of control

A/N: I'm turning into a weekly updates person, wuh oh. 

 What qualifies as a precipice in one's life? Is it a big moment? Is it the last one? Is it just the next step that you take? Wilbur sighed into his hands, breathing in shakily.

It was never meant to be.

He still could remember everything. The rough wooden surface of the button beneath his palm. The heat crackling across his skin as Phil tackled him, trying vain to protect him years too late. The strange stillness of the air as silence fell over the scene, everyone staring in shock at what he had done. He kind of wondered what they were thinking in the moment. Were they confused? Mad? Indifferent?

Biting the inside of his cheek, the man had to blink back tears. Where had he gone wrong? When had he gone from a kind, caring, older brother. To a ruthless general, detached from his own troops. He thought of Tommy, of the betrayal on the boy's face after the smoke cleared. He thought of Tubbo, the blind trust his brother had put in him, thinking that everything would be alright, like he had told him it would be.

Was he a bad person? It wasn't like it was some clone, or- or fake image. It was him who did that. He had made those decisions. He had stood by while Techno was forced to kill his- no, their brother. Running his hands through his hair, the man stood up, pacing absentmindedly as his thoughts raced by, too fast to catch, too slow to not.

Tommy, let's be villains.

The fading light filtering through the trees as he smirked at his brother, his sly smile haunted and crazy, as if something wasn't quite right behind those eyes. The complete lack of care for the boy in front of him, the boy he had grown up with, the boy he had raised with his own two hands. The same boy he had taught guitar and piano, the same boy who would wait for him to come home after a long day of performing in the streets, trying desperately to provide for the entire family. To the point where Techno had to threaten to knock him out if he didn't go to bed.

Sniffling, the man slowly wiped the tear dripping down his face, covering his mouth with his hand, stifling the sobs.

It's over.

The song he scribbled on the walls in a desperate attempt to reel himself back in. To return himself to the present. The subtle phrasing mocking him as he stared desperately at the button, trying in vain to pull himself away, to tell himself it wasn't worth it. Because, it is meant to be. It is a special place. Well, it used to be.

He had destroyed it. He had been so absorbed in his own goals and tragedy, he had forgotten about those he cared about. His own shortcomings, he supposed. And, then what did he do? He took the easy way out.

Kill me, Phil.

The sword was cold. The cool metal slicing easily through his shirt and into his skin. The confusion that overcame his senses as he fell, the red that seeped through his clothes as the knife was pulled out. He had sharpened the blade the night before, preparing for the event, knowing what his plan would be. Except, he hadn't expected Phil to show up. He hadn't known.

Sinking to the floor, Wilbur hung his head between his knees, taking in long shaky breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He wasn't sure what exactly had set this off. What had started this train of thought. Maybe, it stemmed from nowhere, simply a stray idea that got caught in the mass of things, somehow forcing itself to the front. Maybe, it built up over time, the final piece of stress settling in.

Why was it now? The event had been months ago, and hadn't even been real. The man paused at that. What was considered real? Was it something that can be seen and touched, scientifically proven to be there? Or was it simply something that felt tangible to one person.

It didn't matter, he supposed. Either way, he had experienced it, and it was real to him.

And, there we go.

The mocking of his own voice after he had let his brother's beat each other half to death. The lack of care about anything. The emotionless mask he had put up to protect himself, but not his siblings. He was one of the oldest in the family. It was his job to protect them, yet he failed.

All of a sudden he was back in his nine year old body, sitting on the cold sidewalk, his entire fate resting in the hands of strangers who stopped for a small show. The complete helplessness that came with lack of control. He had never been in control, not even of his own life. 

I swear my writing has gotten more angsty somehow. Have a wonderful day/night!

PS (TW: Suicide): Just to be clear, I do NOT think that committing suicide is a coward's way out or anything along those lines. I do not condone those who say/think that, and everyone's feelings are valid. I am not shaming anyone who has had those thoughts (as I myself have struggled with them before), and you are not at fault if you do. Please be safe, and know that I care for you, okay? Take care of yourselves!