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Wilbur grins beneath the dark light set like cement below his eyes. His gaze is dead set on Tommy who stands quivering in front of him, fists clenched at his sides. Quackity stands a few feet away, but his attention has been divided between looking at the small room they were dedicated to and keeping watch outside in case of passerbys.
The room— which was dug into a small cove on the side of the mountain next to the L’Manburg stage— was completely encased in stone, and aside from the small hallway, it was incredibly small and narrow. Along the walls were the scribbled, messily scratched lyrics of the anthem etched into the bricks. In the center of the back wall was a button and a torch, a chair rested just in front of it. Surrounding all sides of the room, however, was TNT.
So, so much TNT.
It was cascading down the sides of the stone, piled almost up to the ceiling. None of it was lit or set off, but that didn’t quell the sheer terror at just the sight of all of it.
Tommy cleared his throat, eyes flickering between the three walls in front of him erratically. Sweat beaded down his face in bullets, his teeth chattered and for a second he considered leaving Quackity to handle this, but this was Tommy’s brother. He couldn’t just leave him like that.
“W—wow, Wil,” he scorched out a laugh, throat raw, “That’s a lot of… TNT, huh, big guy?” His voice cracked, he silently swore to himself and looked back up at the man in front of him.
Wilbur’s grin hadn’t faltered, hadn’t twitched. His lands lay in the inside of his pockets, nonchalantly resting just an inch away from the back wall, and the button that was surely connected to all of the bombs . Despite how relaxed he appeared, his eyes gave away his uncertainty.
Shaking, trembling ever so slightly with the pupils shrunk into pinpricks, looking between Quackity a few feet away and Tommy who looked about ready to pounce and push him away from the button.
Neither moved.
After a pregnant pause, Wilbur wretched a sigh from his throat, shaking his head. “Tommy, you always have to make things difficult.”
The aforementioned blond perked up at his name, fists uncurling but remaining like sticks at his hips. He spluttered at the words, tumbling over his own tongue like he was running a marathon taking last place because the hurdles were always right where he didn’t expect them. He was just a second off from jumping a hurdle one time, and that was his downfall.
“How is this— I just… Why do you have to do this, Wil?”
That seemed to catch the man off guard. Immediately, his shoulders tensed and one hand lifted from its resting place in his pocket, edging towards the button. Tommy’s gaze hooked onto his hand, and he shot upwards at that.
“Wil—“
Wilbur scoffed, eyebrows downturned into a slight scowl along with his smirk which finally fled his face, “No, Tommy.” He turned away, facing another wall. “This isn’t anything you need to… concern yourself with. I know you care, I know you want to help and blah, blah, blah—“
“Wilbur, please— ”
“But I don’t need your help, Tommy!” he laughed, the maniacal sound echoing off the walls. Quackity turned from his place in the stone hall, eyebrows furrowed solemnly. “You don’t get it, I know you don’t— and that’s fine! Believe me, Tommy, it’s fine if you don’t get it. But you need to know… this is helping. I’m helping .”
Tommy trembled. His hands twitched at his sides. He could feel his fingernails calling, begging to satiate the anxiety curdling in his gut. He wanted to leave— go back to the shabby little stone ravine that was falling apart at the seams. He wanted to huddle up in his bed under the sheets with Tubbo who was still donning his wrinkled little suit with the green tie that had a stain on it because they’d spilled coffee on it the other day and god forbid Tubbo show up to Schlatt’s office anything less than perfect when the man was drenched in alcohol and it took three hours for the stain only to not come out and Tubbo had to turn his tie inside out to hide it and Wilbur was so disappointed but he was containing giggles under his breath and they all collectively lost their shits—
Tommy inhaled, sucking in as much air as he could like a vacuum before expelling it all again.
“You don’t need to do this Wil. I promise, we can— we can fix this! There’s other ways, I’m sure! We could talk with Schlatt, or Punz, or Fundy or Dream— It’ll all be okay!”
A sigh swam out of Wilbur’s chest— heavy, laden with sorrow, with a certain kind of sadness that was guilty but not guilty enough.
Guilty enough to apologize, but not until after the deed was done. When all was lost, and everything was destroyed: that’s when the guilt finally rips you off your podium.
“I love you.” Wilbur’s grin tightened across his face; Quackity shot around. Eyes wide, like saucers, he reached a hand out:
The button was pressed into the wall.
It was never meant to be.