Home - Wilbur soot angst

Part 22

It was warm.

Wherever he was, it was warm. A bit too warm for him. The feeling of his clothes against his skin was slowly becoming more and more uncomfortable as time passed. It stuck to him like glue as he tossed and turned. Restless shuffling did nothing to alleviate the swallowing feeling.

It was becoming warmer.

When warm suddenly became hot, he began to panic. Kicking and tossing his feet, the heat pressed on. As if it would do much. How could you fight what's not even really there. Small gasps escaped his mouth as the enduring suffering continued, a thin layer of sweat beginning to drench his forehead. Blonde locks pressed against his skin as his body remained moving yet immobile. The world was dark, dark and scalding. His eyes remined shut, closed tighter than ever before for he knew what lay behind closed eyelids. Surely, it would be flames of all sizes, licking at his toes before eventually climbing him up and swallowing him whole. Blood rushed through his ears as the crackling of fire surrounded him, pounding and roaring louder than before.

It was too much. It was too hot, he was burning. Why wasn't anyone helping him? He was dying.

Where is everyone?
Why was this happening?
Why wasn't anyone helping.
Why wasn't anyone helping.
Why wasn't anyone helping.
Why wasn't anyone helping.
Why wasn't anyone helping.

And as if his prayers were answered, everything stopped. All sounds slowly faded out of mind, dying as quickly as they began. Uncomfortable silence matched uncomfortable heat. But to match it was a newer sensation: cool hands holding his own. The scouring hell around them seemed to die down. The sweat and uncomfortable feeling of his suddenly way too snug clothes on him remained, but the choking feeling of heat fled with time. Eventually, blue snapped open to stare at whomever was touching him. But to his shock, nothing, or rather no one, appeared.

Even if he could see who it was, he wasn't quite sure who he wanted it to be. His father? No.. he wasn't quite set about him yet. Techno? He had just written him off like his dad did. He thought he was different. Perhaps he wasn't. It wasn't like he had just basically told him to fuck off at the start of another petty quarl with their dad. But then who would be left? He didn't.. He didn't have anyone else. Not if you weren't counting the person responsible for this whole trip.

Wilbur..

The thought of his brother's name triggered the world around him to shift once again. Before he knew it, his arms were yanked. Tugged quickly as he flew through the aimless dark floating space around them. A yell was scrounged out of his throat, echoing against the empty void like walls as his body was thrusted towards a bright while light. Tumbling towards it, the cool sensation on them disappeared as everything became too much to handle.

"Tommy?"

The avian in question let his eyes crinkle and crunch, bushy and unkempt eyebrows furrowing at the distorted noises around him. The world around him sounded garbled, as if everything had been underwater. It disoriented him, left the boy wondering what was real and what had been filled in by the blanks of his mind. Tired, formerly puffy eyes slowly peeled open, revealing still pools of blue lying behind them. Suddenly, the world came into focus. The blurred edges of the world fixed themselves with time as he could finally see who had been talking to him.

"Tommy? Toms, are you alright?"

The teen in question slowly looked up at his brother, long waves of curls framing his face as long, wide, and thin fins poked through the sea of brown. Staring back at him were golden eyes, ones with tiny black slits sat dead in the center. But they didn't harbor any malice. Instead, they held kindness. Kindness and worry for the object they were watching, that being Tommy. There were smaller things that were different. Tommy's eyes trailed down to see him wearing different clothes. A white button up, a light brown cardigan, some black pants, and- wait. Did his eyes deceive him? Was that some sort of skirt? Or a half skirt? He didn't know. But it did enough to distract from what looked like blue paint-esque freckles decorating his skin, or the claws on his hands, or the sharp teeth, or-