Pages From My Heart

devoted to your devotion

Tommy knelt on the forest floor, ignoring the sticks and dirt digging into his knees. He clasped his Church Prime necklace firmly, eyes closed in concentration. Peaceful in movement, violent in thought. Praying, praying, praying. Praying to his god who answered for their own amusement, praying to the god that held the face of the man who took his last life, praying to Lady Death. "Devote yourself," Wilbur had said, "to something, someone you care about. Then you'll never be lost!" Tommy hadn't known what Wilbur meant back then. Maybe he still didn't. With prayer beads firmly grasped and a voice inside him screaming for their attention, TommyInnit had devoted himself to his devotion.

And yet he couldn't bring him back. He knew that, in the end, his efforts were futile. Wilbur was gone and his will to fight wouldn't win him anything. But he still prayed, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. The last time they had seen each other, Wilbur had said he was proud of Tommy. But was he proud of Tommy or was he proud of his dedication? And in the end, weren't they the same?

"...and in the name of Twitch Prime, pogchamp," he finished. Kneeling there for a second more, he breathed in the damp, nearly musty, air. His secret place of worship, far away from the actual church. A place he could take a breath and think without someone intruding. He started getting up but hissed suddenly at the sharp pain in his knees. "Shit! What the hell man, I was doing it perfectly this time! This is bullshit." He gently covered the small altar with leaves and dirt, hiding it from view of everyone but the bugs that crawled on the ground. Another day of prayer done, another plea to be ignored, and another day of wishing he wasn't so alone. Another day of being lost.

The solitude of his forest nearly lulled him to sleep. The wind was gentle and the ground soft and plush. Golden sunlight streamed through the leaves, peppering honeyed kisses on his skin. Rustling leaves and chirping birds quieted his raging mind, coaxing him to rest. All of that felt so familiar, like how Wilbur would hug him and sing to him after a nightmare. "Just a few minutes wouldn't hurt..." He laid down, days of exhaustion catching up with him, shutting his eyes.

Peacefully he slept until the groan of a zombie forced him awake. "What the shit... no way I was asleep for that long." Drawing his sword and his torches, Tommy started on the trek back home. The sun sank beneath the cover of night, the silver moon rising behind him. Sunrise, sunset, so similar but so different. Fighting mobs was instinctual. Kick the spiders, shield from the skeletons, behead the zombies. He fell into a rhythm, humming a melody he couldn't name. It was hard to focus on his surroundings, so he didn't. Letting his mind drift and his body do what it had always learned, he wandered on. Fate, however, was a cruel mistress and an even crueler jester.

Where his shield should have been was a zombie digging its cracked nails into Tommy's skin, rotting teeth biting at his skin. Tommy screeched, forced out of his thoughts. "Shit! Fuck! Fuck and shit and piss!" Raising his sword, he was about to run the zombie through. But instead of meeting rotting flesh and the metallic scent of blood, he was met with the fluff of golden wings. "What the—"

"Quiet, Tommy. I need to focus."

The voice. His voice. Tommy shut his mouth as the figure in gold stood with his back turned to him, arm outstretched. In seconds, the two were surrounded by a glowing bubble, the light as soft as sunlight and the color of Dawn's rose tipped fingers.

With a flourish, the gilded man turned, giving Tommy a blinding grin. "What do you think? I was planning on using this trick when you were in big trouble, but with how you seem to be faring... well, I think now's as good a time as any!" He gawked at the man. The same fluffy brown hair, the same comforting smile... but on a man so seemingly divine that Tommy couldn't help but kneel. "Ah- what is this? Get up, you child," Wilbur teased, lifting his chin up with a gloved hand. Tommy complied, saying nothing. Robes like molten rose gold hung off of Wilbur, a crown of sunrise gracing his brow. He looked... divine. Godly, worthy of reverence, of devotion.

He looked exactly like how Tommy remembered him. All rosey smiles and honeyed words. Tommy stepped back, the realization finally sinking in. His brother was back. Back and better than ever. Wilbur reached for him, but Tommy flinched. This felt like a cruel joke. He prayed for Wilbur to come back and he did come back, but he came back a being worthy of worship. His face fell at Tommy's reaction. He let his hand fall to his side, golden aura dimming. "Tommy?"

"Wilbur...?"

He nodded. Tommy stared. "No way. This- this can't be fucking real! It took you months to come back and now you're some sort of fucking god?! BULLSHIT!"

"I... I know, Tommy," Wilbur muttered, not meeting his gaze. "I didn't- this... this didn't happen to me until now. I was in limbo before this and then I was taken to some weird place where they told me that because I had a devotee, I could become a... god of sorts. Figured I could hit two birds with one stone and visit you while I try to find the devotee." Tommy continued to stare at him, anger morphing into incredulousness. Who's insane enough to worship Wilbur of all people? He thought. An unholy god for an unholy worshipper, I guess.

"I know, Tommy."

"Do you, Wilbur?"

He didn't answer. Tommy didn't expect an answer. It was rare he got one. Even rarer that it was true.

"Toms?" Tommy looked up blankly, paying him not more than a sliver of attention. "I meant what I said. I'm proud of you."

"Are you proud of me or are you proud of my..." Loyalty? Affection? Devotion?

Wilbur looked at him pityingly, eyes deep and sad. It hurt to see. "I'm proud of you, Tommy. You and your decisions, you and your loyalty. You and your perseverance."

"This better not be a fucking lie. If it is, I'll kill you and not regret it one bit."

Wilbur sighed, reaching towards Tommy again. This time, Tommy let him. He set his hand on Tommy's cheek, all warmth and love. "You're a little bit hurt, Tommy."

"No shit, Sherlock. I was getting mobbed by a shit ton of mobs." Wilbur shook his head, something sad in his face. Tommy didn't want to find out what it could be. "I hope I can light your way like I used to, one day."

"We'll see. Probably not though."

"Ay!"