Far Beyond Fixing (Dark SBI)

Chapter 9

A/N

YOOO!! new chapter featuring both wilbur and phil's pov :D

There aren't too many severe trigger warnings for this one, but there are quite a few mentions of things I think are worth noting, like: mentions of neglect (from wilbur's pov), codependency, panic attacks and self-harm (Wilbur unintentionally harms himself while spiraling, but its nothing graphic or severe), and slight obsession (Wilbur is very reliant on his role as a brother to tommy). It's no more severe than anything that's already happened in this fic

hope you guys enjoy!! <3

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Wilbur anxiously paced outside of the door.

His footsteps were the only sound within the dimly lit office, nothing but the sway of his pants and the click of his fingernails tapping against a table to disrupt it. He was far away enough to not hear the conversation happening only a room over, hidden behind metal doors thick enough to withstand a missile, yet it did nothing to quell the chaotic state his mind was entering.

Or, rather the chaotic state his mind had been for the past week.

He grit his teeth and halted his steps, fingers curling around the edge of the wooden desk. He couldn't tell if he truly left claw marks indented on the smooth surface or if it was his imagination.

It wasn't fair . None of this was fair .

He didn't deserve this.

Wilbur hated how much he sounded like a child. Like he was throwing a temper tantrum over eating his vegetables rather than regretting every decision he'd made this year; regretting his trust, yet regretting his betrayal all the same.

He never wanted any of this. All he ever wished for was for him and Tommy to be happy, for them to be safe–at least, as safe as possible with a superhero for a father–without any fear. It was a grandiose wish, yet one he'd found himself whispering every night.

Because Tommy was his family. It was his duty as the eldest sibling to protect and defend him, even through every fight, even through every snarled word of hatred and nights spent without their father's warming presence. They were brothers, and he loved it.

And then, so was Techno.

But he wasn't anymore.

For some reason, that was the one truth his mind refused to believe.

One of Wilbur's nails broke with how much his grip had tightened. He barely registered the pain, merely looking down in annoyance and snapping off the sharp edge. How could he feel pain–how could he feel anything –when he had much bigger problems to deal with? How could he be upset over a single imperfection when his...a traitor was being sentenced just beyond that door? How could he be anything but exhausted when Tommy had disappeared, off to hide away from reality with Tubbo, yet he didn't even feel an urge to check on him?

He was failing again. But he couldn't gather the energy to care. The guilt merely simmered, like a forgotten pot on the kitchen stove, soon to mistakenly boil over before he had a chance to change the heat.

Wilbur's throat suddenly had a lump in it again. It was a familiar feeling; Tommy said it was because he refused to cry–he never did ever since he'd first seen Techno imprisoned in the Agency laboratory rooms–but he refused to pay it any mind, willing it away with a few swallows.

He didn't care about how healthy it was. He was supposed to be caring for Tommy right now, not himself. Tommy needed him more. He had to help .