a series of sbi oneshots

oh my god!

A/N so if you know a better name i could title this please tell me!

Wilbur opens his mouth, reconsiders, shuts it again.

Tommy keeps tapping at his phone. He’s playing some dumb game, the volume cranked on high in a way he knows bothers Wilbur’s more sensitive ears. Usually he would snatch Tommy’s phone away and either turn the volume down or hold it hostage until Tommy stopped ignoring him.

That isn’t an option this time though. Not with the line of salt going all the way around the kitchen. Tommy had considered locking himself in his room, but he'd decided it was better to be ready to endure a siege. He has supplies, here. He can outlast Wilbur.

Wilbur taps his claws nervously against the counter. He opens his mouth again. “...Tommy?”

Tommy makes another row of three and the blocks dissolve with fwooshy fire noises, more come tumbling down, creating a chain reaction of matches. They explode while the announcer cheers Combo! Double! Triple! You’re on fire!

He is. He is on fire, thank you announcer lady.

“I get the feeling,” Wilbur says, “that you’re upset with me?”

Tommy lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t look up from the game.

Wilbur taps his claws on the counter again.

“Where did you even get this much salt?”

Tommy swipes over the screen, he’s lost the point multiplier. Damn. 

Wilbur sighs, “would you at least look at me?”

Tommy keeps his eyes firmly on the phone.

“Sunshine,” Wilbur whines, and that’s just not fair. 

Tommy glares at him.

Wilbur perks up. “Sunshine,” he coos, “please? I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Tommy asks, going back to the game.

Wilbur hesitates. “...Not…telling you that I’m a demon?”

Tommy snorts. “You’re a shit liar, Wilbur. I knew you were a demon by the second time we met.”

Wilbur sputters, “I am--a shit liar?? I’m a demon! Tommy! What the fuck!”

Tommy doesn’t dignify him with a response.

Wilbur lapses back into silence. “...are you mad about the shower?”

“Nope,” Tommy pops the ‘p’.

“The thing with the kitchen sink?”

Tommy shakes his head. He’s running out of time. Why the fuck are the levels fucking timed? All he wants is a simple, relaxing game, why do they have to bring time limits into this? That’s not relaxing. You don’t have to make everything complicated, phone game designers.

Flames are eating up his screen. He’s going to lose this fucking level isn’t he?

Damn it.

“The bathroom sink?”

“No…but it is weird how many problems you have with water fixtures.”

Wilbur perks up, like he thinks this is his in. Tommy glances up at him with a sharp glare to kill that idea where it stands.

Wilbur slumps again.

“Is it because I ate your leftovers?”

“You ate my leftovers?!”

“Shit,” Wilbur mutters. “Um. No?”

Tommy glares at him again.

Wilbur curls in on himself, a sad little warbly noise coming up out of his throat. Tommy ignores him.

They lapse into silence again.

Tommy does lose the level. Bitch of a game. He hits the replay button.

Wilbur taps his claws on the table again. “....are you mad because I tried to trick you into giving up your soul so I could drag you to a hell dimension to meet my dad?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

Wilbur groans, flopping over the counter like he’s melting. “Would you please just tell me what’s wrong?”

Tommy matches another three tiles.

“Sunshine,” Wilbur whines, “I can’t fix it unless you tell me. Please? I’m sorry whatever it is.”

He tries to take a step into the kitchen but the salt line Tommy laid down across the entryway blocks him. He steps away with a hiss like a cat hit with the hose.

“I dunno, Wilbur,” Tommy says, biting off the words sharply. “What could I possibly be mad about, you think? Maybe…hm,” he puts a hand to his chin mockingly. “Maybe someone kidnapped my beloved son and subjected him to torture?” 

Wilbur blinks.

“You’re mad because I washed your toy?”

“Henry is not a toy he’s my son!” Tommy screeches.

“He was dirty!”

“He is fragile!”

“Oh my gods!” Wilbur bellows.

“You’re not even allowed to say that!”