Upon the Ruins of a Broken World II A Dreamsmp AU

Void

Tommy woke to a heavenly smell. Oh, my goodness, it was beautiful.

His stomach rumbled loudly as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He found that he was fully rested, the exhaustion gone. It felt good.

"Good morning, Tommy, or rather afternoon... or night?" Frost said and smiled at him from her place before the microwave. How the hell did she get that thing to work?

"Morning." He mumbled. He turned to check on Bad and found the man still peacefully asleep. To Tommy's relief there were no more signs of injury or cuts.

"Yeah, I checked your friend this morning, he's gonna be fine." Frost said. A merry ding filled the cave and Frost popped open the microwave, pulling out a plate.

Fish.

Steaming hot fish sat on the plate. Frost slipped a fish onto another plate and handed it to Tommy.
He glanced at the meat skeptically, despite his rumbling stomach.

"Where did you get these?"

"In the sewer, they were just swimming around." Frost said and took a bite of her fish.

Tommy felt his appetite vanish as he watched her crunch down on bones and scales.

"What?" She asked, catching his eye.

"Nothing." Tommy muttered. He had to eat... and the fish looked delicious.

Tommy sliced the skin off and found to his great relief that she had gutted it before she gave it to him.

He took a tentative bite of the meat and nearly groaned with satisfaction. He was right, it was heavenly.

Frost laughed at his expression and shook her head.

"What have they been feeding you?"

Tommy froze and thought about it.

"They haven't."

Frost's face fell.

"Oh, sorry."

"No, its fine, I'm just glad I ran into you. I don't know what I would have done."

Frost nodded and looked at Bad.

"We should try and feed him something, he looks starved."

"Yeah..." Tommy said and mushed the fish into small pieces.

...

Wilbur sunk into the deep black, fragments of memories flashing by. He remembered someone, a bone-haired boy with sky blue eyes. Who was he again?

A man, his father, leaving them behind... hatred.

A boy with black hair, his friend, another with pink skin. Pupilless white eyes and muffins.

He remembered a family.

Were they real?

Was anything in the dark real?

In the corner of his vision, a man in a green hoodie, reaching towards him, calling to him.

Wilbur didn't move.

The fragments would not overtake him. He had a family to return to, a life to fight for... a life?

Did he have a life before this dark? Before this pain?

Before this isolation?

Was he even real?

No, no, Wilbur knew he was real. He didn't know if he truly wished it were otherwise or not.

Did he?

Did he want to die?

He was alive, wasn't he?

But then again what was life in the dark? What was life without light or living or laughing?

And yet, the only life he knew was this dark.

The dark was poisoning him, Wilbur knew, it was seeping into him taking hold.

That hooded man called for him again, but Wilbur turned away.

Another trick of the light, of the dark.

He would not let the dark take him.

Not now, not ever.

But a small part of Wilbur wanted to let go.

The darkness fed on it like gasoline to a fire.