↳❝ [wilbur soot & friends' very happy oneshots] ¡!❞

🍂 desolate 🍂

words; 1,575
TWs; Depression, suicidal thoughts
a/n; i relate to wilbur on a disturbing level lmao (half vent?)

The air was thick, gray, just as the atmosphere was. The man sat in silence, with his elbows on his knees, one hand holding a cigarette and the other resting just past his knee. The smoke filled the air as all he could do was stare at the stone wall in front of him. The sound being of the ticking clock beside him drove him mad, the repeated tic, tic, tic, tic drilled into his head until his anger was had been replaced by apathy. His knuckles had blood on them, both dried and fresh, the red liquid streaming down his hand, to his arm. Thoughts flooded his mind, though none of them made sense. It was all a scary scribbled mess that not any expert in the world could quite unravel, much less Wilbur himself. Some puzzle people seemed to be infatuated with solving, but a puzzle that was unsolvable to begin with.
He felt the smoke enter his mouth, travelling to his lungs, the remains of it filling the air, fogging the steps he sat on, that led just a foot down to the same repeated area.
All that sounded was the same tic, tic, tic.
This wasn't healthy. All he could quite do most of his days was lay down, do nothing or smoke. It's all he ever seemed to do, apart from his bursts of energy spent taking out his anger on walls, or even people. This, however, wasn't new. It'd been like this since as long as he knew, but now it'd only seemed to worsen. While before he had one consistent thought, the one to protect, the one to serve, the one to help everyone else yet never helping himself, now he couldn't even have that. He had no reason anymore, at this point he only seemed to breathe and live was because he'd never built up the courage to die. He felt selfish, staying alive simply for his cowardace rather than for his own brother, or friends that stuck by his side. Not that they hadn't started to hate him anyway. He'd felt the cold touch of death before, a touch so cold the scar never seemed to leave his body, and he supposed that to a degree, his brain was stopping him from running into the cold arms of death. At that point, it seemed like death was the only one who would hold him to begin with.
All he heard was his own breathing and the clock representing the ticking time bomb that was his own mind. He couldn't see much past the smoke, even if he did, he knew he'd be faced with the cold look of the stone wall he'd been used to seeing everyday. Dull and sad, really.
Whilst Tommy and Techno seemed to be out all the time, either fighting with eachother or other people, Wilbur always stepped back. He removed himself entirely from most activities, and then began his isolation. It'd stay like this for hours. Smoke, sleep, eat, drink. Though he forgot to do most of those most of the time anyway.
Tic, tic, tic.

Eventually he was met with the sound of boots against the hard cold stone in the far distance, approaching. Wilbur hadn't moved a muscle. He knew it was probably just another man coming to choke him out or yell at him for his actions, or even try to talk him down from his actions. The feeling that used to be fear or anger was replaced with apathy. He couldn't seem to even care how much a man beat him, or how much a man resented him. It's not like they could do anything he hadn't already done to himself. He heard the steps approaching, just like a timer until the chaos ensued.
Tired eyes just stared straight forward, not even bothering to turn to see who was the enemy, not once the sound of boots stopped right behind him, not even when he heard the man move and a clicking sound soon after. Wilbur hadn't said a word, hadn't thought a thought, he just seemed like he was a husk of a human being. Either the time stopped or the clock broke, as all Wilbur heard was his own and the breathing of another man. Short, not necessarily light breaths. It was a masked man.
The silence filled the air between them both, until it was finally broken with the sound of clothes shuffling, a thud as the other man swiftly sat next to Wilbur. Wilbur saw it from the corner of his eye, shining netherite boots, the purple glisten was beautiful with the contrast of the lanterns. There wasn't much to appreciate in the dull world, but the craftsmanship of the armor was too precise to ignore. The man beside Wilbur leaned forward towards the wall in front of them both, cupping his hands that were held in place by his elbows on his knees, that also had armor on them. Wilbur stared straight forward, sighing out smoke that he'd inhaled prior, not thinking much for the man beside him who may not have wanted him to smoke, both from his apathy and from knowing the man had a mask.
The tic of the clock had stopped, notably so, as Wilbur finally looked up from the wall to see the clock that'd stopped. He turned back to the wall straight ahead of them, resting in peaceful silence.
Neither of them had moved, just resting in the comfortable silence before Wilbur felt a gloved hand go to his cheek. It caught Wilbur by surprise, tired eyes widening for a moment as he turned to where the hand had held him by. He was greeted with a smile, literally. A masked man with a green hoodie, a man he knew all too well. One question seemed to come of the scrambled thoughts in Wilbur's head, why was he there?
He felt the thumb of the gloved hand swipe across his cheek before pulling away, it was only then Wilbur realized that the other man had wiped a tear that was streaming down his cheek. The other man mumbled a soft apology through a weak chuckle.
Wilbur stared voidly, noticing how it unsettled the other man. Such a strange sight, to unsettle a man who wasn't even effected by blood streaming down his hands or distant screams across the battlefield. Wilbur finally took his gaze off the green hooded man, taking his cigarette and shoving it against the stone wall beside him to his left, then tossing the now useless remains of the cigarette onto the floor in front of him.
Dream watched every action of Wilbur, down to his body language. It was limp, yet stiff. It was calculated, yet mindless. It was numb, yet hurt. It was an unusual sight to see Wilbur like this. Wilbur always tended to be the leader man, the front man. He was unpredictable, dangerous. He was angry, often had outbursts. Now, it seemed like all the layers of what he was supposed to be were ripped away. This was a man who was vulnerable, this was a man who was hurt. Dream could tell, if not by the tears and blood on his knuckles and the stone walls, then by his actions and silence. Dream wasn't here to taunt now, he wasn't here to enable Wilbur, he wasn't here to endorse the chaos. Dream got up, and started taking his glistening netherite armor off, throwing it to the floor in front of them. Wilbur's eyes widened for a moment again, this man was just full of surprises, wasn't he? Dream showed his vulnerability, at any moment Wilbur could've pulled a knife on him or just started beating him up, yet he chose to peel away the layers of destructiveness and chaos. This was a man who was scared, this was a man who'd been fucked over by everyone to the point of insanity.
They were similar in many ways, weren't they?
Wilbur could've darted to the armor, stolen it and put up his front again, but he didn't. Dream sat back down, and they let eachother and themselves be vulnerable, for once in their dammed and torturous lives.
Wilbur looked to Dream, this time not to taunt him or want anything of him. They stared in silence at eachother, until one of them started breaking. It wasn't an outburst, it wasn't a complete breakdown of screaming and sobbing. Tears started to stream down the empty man's face, his neutral and apathetic expression not changing, as he hardly reacted to even the tears that glistened in the lantern lights behind him. More tears replaced the old ones as he turned his head back to face the wall, Dream still watching him however.
They just sat there, until Wilbur finally had a change of expression, turning into a pained smile, following a weak and airy chuckle, "Don't use this against me the next time we go toe to toe." He said, voice weak and broken. His eyes were defocused, though he stared to the wall, it was apparent he wasn't looking to any part of it specifically. "I swear." Dream replied, crossing over his chest where his heart would be, though Wilbur only saw half of it from the corner of his eye. Wilbur nodded his head in acknowledgment, letting out a soft yet raspy sigh. "Thank you, Dream."

"For everything."