dream smp oneshots and unfinished fics

over time (unf.)

this was started literally the day of wilbur's revival and 'finished' six days later, so if there's any revivebur mischaracterisation then...you physically cannot blame me.

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Wilbur is glad to be back.

While "glad" is the understatement of the millennia, he can't even begin to put into words exactly how happy he is, so "glad" will have to suffice for now.

The past couple of days (God, days. He can watch the sun rise and fall to know how long a day is instead of relying on that stupid watch Schlatt had) have almost like exploring the world for the first time as a child. Not only was almost everything new to him, he felt just about as giddy about them, too. The new explosion's crater, the new builds, the Christmas decorations that haven't been taken down even years after...

Months. Months after. It's still hard to wrap his head around the idea that he's only been gone for six months in the "real world." What were six painful months for everyone was thirteen and a half agonizingly lonely years for him and Schlatt.

The worst part was being unable to die.

After six year, after six years of stagnation and emptiness and wishes upon stars he couldn't see, he and Schlatt broke. They almost seemed to go feral, and there wouldn't be a day for almost a year where they wouldn't argue with each other and nary a week when they didn't physically fight.

The worst part was how their wounds would heal almost immediately after they appeared.

They would both descend on top of each other, kicking, biting, slamming heads into the ground -- they regressed into primal versions of themselves, Schlatt using the tip of his horns to tear a hole in Wilbur's cheek, spilling crimson blood into a pool on the concrete of Wilbur's train station, Wilbur using his larger-than-normal wings to gain an unfair advantage and blow Schlatt into the stone walls of his gym.

It was ugly. It was brutal. It was unhinged.

It was gone within the hour.

...Wilbur remembers all of it. Every scratch, every bite, every tear, every broken bone and snapped joint, it all sits, neatly filed away in his mind. Even if the same wound landed in the exact same spot twice, he remembers both events. That's how it always had been whilst being dead -- everything was crystal clear, every memory was kept pristine. He could recount everything that ever happened within his stay in the afterlife in perfect order and his only mistake would be falling asleep after year three.

He remembers every fight, every song, every joke -- he remembers winning the first fight against Schlatt, he remembers losing for the first time. He remembers Schlatt calming down before him and helping Wilbur mellow out (in his own Schlatt-y way).

He remembers Tommy visiting. It was the best three months of his time there. He remembers Tommy leaving. It was, without a smidgen of doubt, the most terrifying day in his entire existence.

He remembers vividly what had happened (because of course he does) -- they were in Tommy's room, in his void, and they had just been...talking. There was nothing odd about it. Not until Tommy's gaze became distant and he muttered something incomprehensible before his eyes drifted shut and he fell right over, knocking his head on the ground sharply. He remembers his own panic. He remembers trying to shake him awake.

He definitely remembers holding his baby brother tightly in his arms as his skin started to light up in a flourish of dangerous colours -- mainly purples and blues, green, yellow, red. Red, there was so much red, it came from his nose (that crunched as if it had been slammed into a wall or punched), under his hair (as if he had hit his head so hard his scalp broke), it was dark and seemed to blend in with the surface of the void.