there is only us | wilbur soot x reader

Chapter 29 - Devastating

Wilbur POV

I was thinking. A dangerous thing, truly. But what else was I to do? I certainly couldn't sleep, not in the dingy, cramped space of the ravine. I had never been claustrophobic before, but I had also never slept under a ton of rock that could fall and crush me in my sleep at any time. At night, once I was sure everyone else was asleep, I would sneak up to the surface and lay in the grass. All was quiet and calm. The stars were brighter there, where the smoke couldn't reach them.

I was all alone with my thoughts. I bounced between them, leaping and skipping and tripping and skidding to a halt. Ah, of course. I could only avoid it for so long. The- er- what did Niki call it? The panic attack. I had never had one before. It was strange. It was scary. I tries to remember it, but my mind was only able to salvage a few moments. I do remember, however, with startling clarity, the reason for it all.

And that's what I had been avoiding the entire time; the heavy knowledge that something (Y/n) did could send me spiraling, could reduce me to the weeping, frantic boy who had just lost his father all over again. But it was worse than that. Even when we were abandoned, I forced myself to be strong, to act brave and smart for Tommy. I had never allowed myself to cry, to scream, to lash out, to break down in such a terrible way. So, either, (Y/n) meant more to me than my father did, or I was getting weaker. I couldn't tell which was a more terrifying answer.

The only real question I had left was why? Why, of all people, was (Y/n) the one that ruined me? Why then? It wasn't the first time we had been separated. At one point in time, I was wholly indifferent to (Y/n). When had that changed? How? Why? But I knew the answer to that, deep down, I just didn't want to admit it. (Y/n) had shoved her way into my life and made herself comfortable. It was embarrassingly easy, too; I hardly put up a fight. She knocked on my door, looking so pitiful in the rain, begging for mercy and peace, and I let her in. Just like that. I let her in, and she stayed.

And then she was so real. A strange thing to admire, sure, but a rare quality as well. Someone genuine was hard to come by. But there she was, putting her own life and legacy on the line for people she hardly knew, turning her back on her own brother and friends for the enemies. With a smile, and a laugh, and a fierce look in her eyes when she didn't shrink back at my remarks, she made room in my life, in my heart.

If I had to pinpoint an exact moment when she became something integral, I would pick the day after our run-in with Dream and his crew in the woods. The afternoon after (Y/n) had snuck out of the hospital and back to the house, the day after I had spent the night wide awake, tossing and turning and restless over something I couldn't put my finger on. The morning I had rushed into her room, giddy from a lack of sleep, and held her closer than I should have in the closet. Who could blame me, really? She was soft, and warm, and her breath tickled my neck when she snapped at me, and I wanted her to never stop talking to me, even if she was hurling insults, as long as she did it close enough that I could feel it. And she was wearing my shirt.

Hours after, when I had woken up from the best nap of my life, I had stumbled into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food and the sound of quiet speaking. And before me had been quite a sight. Everyone was perched on the counter, with (Y/n) in the middle holding a newspaper. Tommy's head had fallen onto her uninjured shoulder, content to sit there and bask in the warmth of the room. Tubbo and (Y/n) were caught up in a conversation, fingers pointing at the articles. It was strangely domestic. It was something I had never seen, never felt before. I had to lean against the doorframe for support as a heady rush of comfort washed over me, and I finally understood what it meant to be safe.

I thought of that moment a lot, in the weeks after. I would close my eyes and imagine myself back in the kitchen, finally accepting that (Y/n) was one of us now. If I covered my ears, I could almost hear our laughter ringing out, carrying on into the night. I could almost pretend I was okay again. That was the beautiful thing about memories, I quickly realized: you could revisit them at any time, anywhere. That evening was immortalized in my mind, carved into my heart, protected beneath layers of flesh and blood and bones and all, where nothing could touch it. That was what it meant to be safe.