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

❌ revival ❌

words; 1,196
TWs; blood, death, burning
a/n; shorter one but my idea of limbo :]

Blood ran down his fingernails. Another restless night— or day, maybe. Wilbur couldn't tell. Knees weak against the hard tiled concrete-like floor. A floor he recognized all too well. Blood across the walls, meaningless writings on the walls in blood, Wilbur had yet another moment of just weak sobbing. Everyday he wondered if anyone would come back for him. Everyday he wondered if people missed him. Everyday he wondered if anybody even wanted him back. He knew the answer to all of those questions was no. He was selfish to think otherwise. Yet it was nice to fantasize otherwise. From his unanswered questions to vaguely answered ones, with all this time in limbo, Wilbur had all day and all night to fantasize. Maybe Quackity did feel bad for him. Maybe Tommy really did have the best in mind for him. Maybe Niki didn't hate his guts. Maybe, just maybe, they were all happy without him.
The thoughts before limbo were so intense— now that he was here, it was strange to see them yet again. It was like he wanted to die again. He didn't want to continue being alive in limbo. When he imagined death, he imagined a cornflower field, museums and homes, places decorated lovely. Plants would decorate the place, it was often times cloudy, rather than so sunny. Wilbur always did hate the sun— a trait he inherited from his time of being a rat in Pogtopia. He imagined a quiet calm, with things to do and see yet no concept of money or war. People were meticulously put together, so they wouldn't fight. Everyone deserved to rest at one point. This, however. This wasn't rest.
He either imagined that, or the alternative of just nothing. Void. You die, and you go no where. Asleep, forever. Unconscious.
Wilbur seemed to prefer the latter, self deprecating thoughts supporting that thought. He thought of how much of an awful person he was. Scum that deserved to rot.
Limbo was a painful middle. He wasn't actively suffering but he certainly wasn't happy either. Limbo would torture him, yet by his own hands.
Limbo had broken him down more than he already had— the pain was unbearable. This time, there was no easy or even hard way out. There was no climbing up to the top or simply slipping out of reality. He had jumped down to the train tracks, walking into the darkness, yet every single time he only ended up right back where he started, yet, newer. It was sorta funny. If he'd bloodied the walls and floor too much, he could always just walk a little ways down and have a clean slate to further torture himself.
Wilbur hadn't even remembered what he looked like anymore. There were no mirrors in limbo. He had sharp eyes— he thought. Thin lips, maybe, or were they thick? He had a big forehead. Did he? His hands felt rough and scarred, he knew that much.
He hadn't remembered any chords to any songs on the guitar anymore. Not even the ones he himself had written. C major, E minor— no, no that wasn't right. C major, c minor? No, that wasn't right either. When was his birthday? January, was it? March, maybe. What was Tommy's favorite animal again? Panda. No, rat. What was Fundy's favorite food? Noodles, maybe. Was it cake? He hadn't even remembered what it felt like to breathe. He could vaguely remember how hard it was to breathe. Chest slowly rising, only to fall moments after. He couldn't remember what heat felt like. He couldn't remember what a beating heart felt like. He couldn't remember what the breeze felt like. The wind in his hair, blowing the beautiful, grandiose flag past him.

Suddenly, Wilbur heard a train noise. A noise so loud it was practically deafening, and it only got worse as it approached. Wilbur was quick to scurry to his feet, practically stumbling over. This wasn't unusual, limbo seemed to have a tendency to make ear deafening noises every once in a while. This however, this was different. He heard the ding of the sign on the wall, reading "Jubilee Line", a red sign that was always there. Yet the ding was different— one he'd never heard. That wasn't enough to make Wilbur snap however, it was the distant, bright red lights he saw down the tracks. That's what made him so confused, yet excited. He looked down the train tracks, noticing the red lights approaching. Wilbur felt his non existent heart fastening as he watched the train come to a halt right in front of him. What the fuck was going on? The doors opened with an airy sound, loud one at that.
There stood a man, tall and looming over him. A masked man, his mask showing no empathy or emotion other than an empty smile. Confusion overtook Wilbur— until he saw what the masked man had beside him. A distraught, clone of a man on his knees, held up only by Dream's death grip on his yellow sweater. Dark blue tears ran down his cheeks, he was sobbing quite loudly. The tears seemed to.. burn the man's face. Steam was rolling off his face, as the man himself was shaking violently. It was like looking in a distorted mirror. Is this how pathetic he looked when he cried?
Wilbur stood, confused. Dream shoved the distraught man off the train, as the man stumbled and fell, quick to scurry onto his feet, "No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, PLEASE!" His voice was weak, desperate, cracking yet futile cries were all that filled the area. Wilbur looked to the reflection, then to Dream as a silent question. Dream gave a nod of his head, stepping out of the way. Wilbur's face immediately lit up, scurrying to the train. The clone gripped at Wilbur's trenchcoat before he could get on, mindlessly begging. Wilbur stopped in his tracks, looking down to the burning ghost. Wilbur took the ghost's hand from his trenchcoat, pulling him up to his feet. The ghost was confused, stumbling a bit. His begs seemed to quiet down in pure confusion as Wilbur spun the ghost around like a cruel ballad, making him stumble even more. The ghost barely managed to keep up as they half danced, the ghost noticing a disturbing red glint in Wilbur's eyes. Wilbur's hands became stained from the blue of the other, "You had your run, yeah?" He laughed with an ear piercing laugh to the ghost, the ghost's sobbing only worsening. "It ended with a bang, didn't it?" He scoffed with cruelty, throwing the ghost to the ground roughly and hopping onto the train, wiping off his hands of the blue. Sitting down onto the seats of the train, Wilbur felt nothing but pure euphoria as he heard the ding of the train, as it started to move. His mind was running at a million words per second. He was extremely excited, hopping around. He could finally feel his breathing, he could finally feel his heart beat.
The bright sunlight flashed in his eyes as Wilbur looked out in happy disbelief.

"I'M ALIVE!"