In the name of revolution

An idiots guide to being a horrible brother

Dream sighed.

He just couldn't understand what is up with purpled lately. After the brat started hanging out with the Lmanburgians he has been extremely difficult, going against direct orders and arguing over every tiny thing. It was draining having to deal with him.

And now he was on his way to talk to his other brother as well. Punz was exposed to be the responsible one, why couldn't he just do as he's told? How hard was it just to kill a guy?

Dream took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Surely there was a reasonable explanation for this, it wouldn't do anyone any good if he got mad about something simple.

"Punz."
"Dream."

His brother held the air of boredom and indifference. If their wings weren't twitching anxiously, Dream would have believed it.

"What happened during the election?"
"I know, the whole thing was a mess."
"No. I'm asking why you didn't kill Wilbur."

Punz shrugged," you didn't pay me to kill him."

"Yes I di-"
"No, you paid me to 'shoot' him. I did what you asked, so stop asking for more then you paid me."

With that they walked away, hands shoved in pockets of their white hoodie.

—————

Wilbur had been pacing in his small room in this dark, cold cavern for the past hour. It probably wasn't healthy but he was stressed.

He had been kicked out of the country he had built with his own two hands and there is no way in hell he isn't getting it back.

He just... had to figure out what to do.

What could he do?

It was just him and Tommy.
Living in what is basically a dirt hole that leaks and is so small and it's too quiet and-
"Wilbur?"

"What is it Tommy?! Can't you see I'm thinking?"
"Sorry, fuck head, I was just wondering if-"
"Just shut up. I can't deal with you right now."

"Fine! I was going to get you food because you are a fuck'n idiot but I guess I'll just leave!"

The boy stomped out of the room.

Wilbur groaned and gripped at his hair.

Why did he do that? Tommy hadn't done anything wrong and here he was, yelling at him just because he was a little stressed.

He continued tugging at his hair as he slid against the wall.

Minutes tick by, some agonizingly slowly and others seeming to just glitch away, like a five year old learning hop scotch for the first time.

The man runs his fingers through the dirt on the floor, it coats his fingers and fills his lungs.

Maybe he should sleep.
The floor's soft and... when was the last time he slept? The election?

Wait- no. He was too stressed that night, maybe the night before?

That sounds... yah it was probably then.

He sinks the rest of the way to the ground, coughing when dirt gets in his mouth.

Sleep sounds good.

He can think out a plan tomorrow.