Dearly Detested - orphan_account - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: My beloved bully

Chapter Text

The first time Wilbur had the pleasure of meeting the rather infamous J.Schlatt was in the early days of a bygone era.

Wilbur knew of Schlatt before the suit and tie but it hadn’t exactly been the best of starts. His earliest memories (and he had many) were of a sorrowful boy with two stubby horns protruding from his skull. The adults warned their children of the cursed hellspawn but Wilbur, much like the other kids in town, thought it was hilarious.

After all, how often could mortal humans say they bullied the devil and made him cry?

If the adults knew what was going on they made sure not to comment and so Schlatt spent much of his childhood alone and isolated. If Wilbur had the foresight or even the slightest bit of sense he’d have realised that this was the catalyst of what would become a long string of mistakes and problems.

On one fateful afternoon, Wilbur gathered the usual gaggle of dutiful friends and took them down to the sea where he knew Schlatt was sitting. Upon seeing him, Schlatt scowled and Wilbur tried to mask the shiver of power and delight he felt.

“Hey! Look who it is!” Wilbur exclaimed as if he hadn’t known all along that he was there and his friends laughed and jeered obediently. “This is our spot, Hellspawn. Get out of here.”

“Gladly,” Schlatt muttered, but as he got up to move Wilbur picked up a smooth pebble off the shore and threw it as hard as he could. It struck Schlatt in the shoulder he let out a surprised yelp that sounded like the pitiful bleat of a wounded sheep.

Wilbur’s friends picked up on his cues immediately as they always did and started pelting him with pebbles too. “We’re trying to skip stones here, Hellspawn!” Wilbur shouted. “You’re in our way.”

Ideally, Schlatt was expected to stand there and simply take whatever obscenities were thrown at him, stones and all, but it was something about that day; Schlatt was at the end of his tether. Wilbur aimed carefully and his next stone hit him right between his eyes. Everyone stopped in bated silence as they watched Schlatt take two steps back from the impact; blood, silver and almost translucent trickled down his forehead and dripped off the end of his nose.

Everyone had seen Devil’s blood before and at first everyone was wary. It was strange enough that Schlatt had horns but stranger still that his blood was silver but after a while, the adults concluded that there were no damaging properties and so it was right back to normal for the kids.

It’s true, Wilbur concluded, that Devil’s blood wasn’t dangerous; it was just a wound, after all. The true danger came with pissing the devil off.

Schlatt closed the distance between them in five long strides and tackled Wilbur roughly to the ground where the stones dug painfully into his spine. Undeterred by the others who were desperately trying to pull him off, Schlatt threw punch after punch until Wilbur was a screaming, bloody mess.

The only thought that Wilbur could muster was to escape. To get away from this situation - to get as far from Schlatt as humanly possible and his wish was granted but only partly. His body tingled unpleasantly like he was standing too close to a fire and all the air was crushed out of his lungs; Wilbur thought he was dying and then, in the next moment, he found himself lying on a grassy bank completely alone. No Schlatt, no friends and no blood, silver or otherwise.

The next few days were disorienting, to say the least. For hours after waking up, Wilbur could still feel the phantom ache of a broken nose and his vision was blurry. He was lost, hungry and afraid, wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar world. He missed his parents terribly and more than once he’d sit down, close his eyes and pray that he’d wake up back at home.

Had it been magic? There was no history of it in his family but there had to be a cause for this. Wilbur tried to think of a source, a reason or any explanation at all but he was too young. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to come up with logical solutions to something completely otherworldly. The dregs of panic were beginning to cloud his mind again.

His throat tightened uncomfortably and his surroundings started to spin. Wilbur pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward; he couldn’t even see where he was going but through the haze, he could see a light and it was as much a beacon of hope as any other. He just wanted to see his mother again.

As his vision cleared, the light turned into two, then three and then a whole cluster. Some nearer and taller whilst others were mere pinpricks. The soil and dirt that Wilbur had walked on turned into a dirt-track road and then into something more solid; a street. When Wilbur looked up he saw less of the sky and more of the shining tops of high-rise buildings. It was a far cry from his primitive village but it was a civilization nonetheless.

Someone must’ve noticed him, gawking up at the skyline like the Lord, himself was peeking through the clouds. They must’ve seen his worn-out shoes and muddy clothes and started approaching him, picking up on the unnatural sway in his steps. It must have happened because when Wilbur felt his legs buckle from underneath him he didn’t strike the ground, but rather fell into an embrace instead. He didn’t know who his Samaritan was, only that they felt safe.

---

Wilbur woke up in a bed in a room that he didn’t recognise. Various people bustled in and out, checking his temperature, taking tests - he realised, with a slight bitterness, that he’d been in this new city for more than 24 hours and still hadn’t properly spoken to anyone. He stopped one of the people on their way out if only to remind himself what it was like to interact again.

They seemed patient and kind enough like they sensed his desperation.

“Good afternoon...uh.”

“Wilbur,” Wilbur said.

“Hello, Wilbur.”

There were chairs in the room next to his bed. The stranger didn’t look like they were in a rush to be anywhere so they sat down.

“I’m Ted,” they said with a pleasant smile. “Do you know where you came from?”

Surprisingly, Wilbur had to think twice. It had been a week since he’d been transported away from his home, give or take but in that time it was like his mind had deteriorated somewhat. His memories of a little town by the sea were fuzzy like he was dredging them up from a life that had long passed and not from just last week.

“Brighton,” he said and Ted arched an eyebrow at his hesitance, then he frowned and touched his glasses lightly to straighten them.

“Brighton? Are you sure?”

Wilbur nodded and, sensing something was wrong, tentatively spoke up. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…” Ted shook his head, looking decidedly confused. “We haven’t heard of any place like that anywhere. You travelled here on foot and...well, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked, even though he already knew exactly what Ted was talking about. He had stumbled into their land with torn clothes, claiming to be from a place that they didn’t know of - Wilbur felt a swell of emotion build up in his chest. He was coming to terms with the fact that he might never see Brighton again.

“I mean...you look like you’re a peasant boy taken straight from the middle ages, not someone from 2019. How old are you?”

Wilbur had no idea what ‘middle ages’ was and he was beginning to feel more and more afraid of his surroundings; the room, which had been spacious and comfortable, was now closing in around him.

As Wilbur struggled to breathe, he managed to grit out a very quiet ‘twelve’ and Ted’s face went from a look of sympathy to panic as Wilbur flopped back on his pillows and blacked out.

---

Over the course of the next few months, Wilbur learnt more about his situation. The last thing he vividly remembered from Brighton was that last day with Schlatt by the sea. For a while, he pondered the possibility that he’d died that day and that all of this was the afterlife; but Ted quickly dismissed that.

“We’re very much alive here, Wilbur,” he had said, then he pinched Wilbur sharply on the arm and grinned when he yelped. “Looks like you are too.”

Ted was a strange character, as was everyone in SMP Live and at first, Wilbur didn’t know what to make of him. Wilbur was a special case in Spawn city; he was given a lavish place to live and was educated by charitable residents about things that he’d never seen before.

Unsurprisingly, humanity had come a long way in the space of multiple millennia. He was introduced to the Nether hub, exotic foods and, inevitably, enchanted armour. SMP Live, as it turned out, was actually a pretty lawless place. Wilbur realised soon enough that not everyone was as wholeheartedly generous as he first thought. The city was ruled by wealth and money, and for that reason, everyone had painted targets on their backs: friend or otherwise. For them, it was a way of life, as integrated into their society as eating or breathing and Wilbur learnt to accept this.

A year passed and Wilbur was now thirteen. Brighton was a distant memory and he’d grown accustomed to his life in SMP Live. However, he’d never been too fond of the hit system; he was fine with his pacifist lifestyle, cruising along on the outskirts of the city with no need or want for riches. Citizens of SMP Live were motivated by greed with little to no morals but Wilbur had yet to meet the worst of them all.

There had been rumours about a new form of currency launching within the city. An inflated cryptocurrency where a single coin was worth twenty diamonds. Just the idea of it seemed absurd to Wilbur who, naturally, had a net worth of approximately two diamonds to his name but everyone was jumping on the bandwagon and before long Wilbur’s curiosity got the better of him.

Fortunately, Wilbur didn’t need to look far after travelling back into the Spawn city.

“My friend, this is a simple transaction. For every twenty diamonds, you will receive one coin.”

Wilbur rounded the corner in time to see Asaii drop a stack of diamonds into what could only be called a very dodgy looking contraption on the side of the street. Literally what maniac would conduct shady business deals in broad daylight?

Asaii moved to the side, counting out his new coins and Wilbur caught sight of the businessman in question: a lavish suit with a blood-red tie and two horns that curled around his ears.

The air in Wilbur’s lungs stuttered. He almost didn’t believe it until the businessman shook hands with Assai and said, with an air of pride: “Schlattcoin is the future, pal. Thank you for investing.”

Schlattcoin? Schlatt? But countless years have passed since then! How was it possible that he had aged so little? Schlatt had been the same age as Wilbur in Brighton but the person standing before him could only be seventeen at most. The horns that had only been little stubs back then were almost fully grown; they curled majestically from his head like a macabre crown of bone and Wilbur wondered how Schlatt had become such an esteemed individual when he walked around looking like that.

“What are you looking at?”

Wilbur jolted, struck back to reality at the sound of Schlatt’s voice which was now deep and American. “Huh?”

He was glaring at him now. “Don’t ‘huh’ me, kid. Are you gonna snitch on me?”

Schlatt didn’t recognise him. Why would he? It had been eons since they’d last seen each other. Wilbur was still having his doubts that they were the same person at all until Schlatt scowled at him and suddenly his memories of Brighton were as clear as a bell. Countless times Wilbur had instigated that scowl, he used to delight in it even. He’d know it anywhere.

“Do you even speak English?”

Wilbur nodded once and couldn’t find it in himself to do much else which only irritated Schlatt further. He rolled his eyes and closed the distance between them in three strides (it seems that his legs had gotten much longer). He towered over him, blocking the sun.

“Don’t tell anyone about what you saw, alright?”

Wilbur nodded again and Schlatt seemed to relax slightly. He patted Wilbur on his shoulder as he moved past him; his grip was strong and funnily enough, he was the only person Wilbur had seen who didn’t wear armour but that didn’t mean he was weak. Under that suit, Schlatt was tall and built; probably from carrying out hits on other people. Wilbur felt like a blade of grass standing next to a thistle.

There was a strange feeling of both horror and relief in finding Schlatt. He was the last tether Wilbur had to a life that he’d almost forgotten about but he was also the root and cause of this mess in the first place. Wilbur firmly believed that. If it hadn’t been for Schlatt on that day he’d likely still be in Brighton with his family and his hatred seemed to run deeper than anything else at the time.

Wilbur was still a child and wasn’t particularly level-headed. Again, in hindsight, he probably should have considered Schlatt’s request more clearly but Wilbur was stupid.

He immediately went and told Ted.

---

As always, money was valued more than anything else and so the issue of a potential scam business taking place was taken very seriously. The next time Wilbur saw Schlatt was a week later in the courthouse.

Schlatt was seated behind the podium looking understandably furious. He was slouched in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and his arms folded, drumming his fingers impatiently on his elbow.

“Schlatt, state your case,” Ted announced.

“There shouldn’t be one in the first place, your Honour,” Schlatt said. “Y’know, I’m really not sure why I’m here. My whole life I’ve been walked all over and spat on - so what’s the big deal with me trying to make a name for myself? That’s why I launched Schlattcoin in the first place.”

“An illegal, back-alley trade business?”

“I’d prefer to call it a start-up business, Your Honour,” Schlatt replied coldly. “I’m an entrepreneur - cryptocurrency is the future and I thought I’d exploit that.”

“I’d avoid using words like ‘exploit’, Schlatt,” Ty piped up. “Twenty diamonds for a single coin? Without a guarantee that you’ll even receive it? That’s so obviously a scam!”

Ted banged his gavel, clearly eager to move the trial along without it descending into complete chaos. “Order! I call the witness to the stand.”

Wilbur stood up and Schlatt straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowed into slits. “You…” he hissed. “You little snake!”

“State your name to the court,” Ted said, uninterested in Schlatt’s outburst.

“Wilbur Soot.”

A strange silence settled over the courtroom and Wilbur kept his eyes trained on Schlatt, gauging his reaction. He was staring up at him in the witness stand with his eyebrows drawn together and his eyes darting over his face in confusion; then it clicked; Wilbur hadn’t aged much in the space of a year; he still had the same baby face and masses of long curly hair. He was painfully easy to recognize when paid attention to. Schlatt rose out of his chair so suddenly that it toppled backwards with a jarring thud.

“Wilbur?!”

Ted arched an eyebrow. “Did you know Wilbur prior to this case, Schlatt?”

Schlatt tightened his grip on the stand before him until his knuckles went white. “Something like that, your Honour.”

“Will it influence this trial in any way?”

“...No.”

“Then you may have the floor, Mr Soot.”

Truthfully, Wilbur had no idea how court trials worked; he was just told to say what he saw but with everyone’s attention on him and Schlatt staring up at him like he was plotting his death, Wilbur’s tongue went dry.

“I...I saw Schlatt conducting a deal with Asaii on the street and when I was noticed Schlatt specifically threatened me not to tell anyone.”

“There’s no proof of that!” Schlatt refuted.

“Do you deny these claims then?”

Wilbur noticed a slump in Schlatt’s shoulders as he seethed. Ty grinned, “Your silence speaks volumes, Mr Schlatt.”

The trial went on for a little longer and for the most part, Schlatt stayed quiet, not necessarily out of defeat though. In fact, the glint and fire behind his glare suggesting anything else. Schlatt would simply take a loss here and bounce back stronger.

“We’ll be looking into the fine print of your business, Schlatt. For now, you will refrain from making deals for the foreseeable future until we can verify the legitimacy of Schlattcoin. The court is adjourned.”

---

Admittedly, things could have been worse for either party. For all the dramatics, the conclusion was pretty anticlimactic. After the trial, Wilbur retreated into the break room, hoping to sneak as many free snacks into his pockets as he could.

“For a little child you’re still a f*cking menace, you know that right?”

Wilbur spun, stolen biscuits crumbling onto the floor as he faced Schlatt. “So you do recognise me after all?” He asked and he took a step forward then halted when Schlatt held up his hand.

“Stay where you are, please. If you get any closer I might be sick.”

Yep. He knew it was him alright. Schlatt had been let off relatively lightly and Wilbur wasn’t quite ready to antagonize him yet so he tried to act casually like there was nothing unnatural about their very unnatural situation.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, or anyone from Brighton for that matter.”

Schlatt made a face of disgust. “Why’s that the first thing you have to bring up? Can’t you be a bit less boring?.”

“What the hell do you want me to say?.”

“Nothing preferably,” Schlatt drawled, looking everywhere but at Wilbur like anything else was more amusing. “Go back to raiding the biscuit tin.”

Wilbur’s mood was quickly souring. “You’re the one who started this conversation, you bloody moron.”

“Yeah, I really don’t know what I was expecting,” Schlatt admitted. “I thought that maybe with you miraculously turning up alive after being missing for, give or take two thousand years, you’d finally have a personality.”

The two of them glowered at each other, tempers flaring. “What the hell are you doing here, Wilbur?” Schlatt finally asked. “I thought you looked familiar when I saw you the other day - how is it that you haven’t aged a f*cking day?”

“I woke up in the middle of nowhere, almost starved to death, found Spawn city and have been living here ever since. The last thing I remember is you punching the hell out of me-”

Schlatt let out a delighted bark of laughter. “That was probably the best moment of my life.”

“As I was saying,” Wilbur continued through gritted teeth. “You almost killed me that day.”

Schlatt picked a shiny apple from the fruit basket and took a bite out of it, crunching obnoxiously as Wilbur waited for his response. Eventually, he said: “Get over it, you big baby.”

Wilbur was a puny child with arms like noodles but that didn’t stop him from lunging at Schlatt from across the room and windmilling his fists to hit anywhere he could. Schlatt was only a few years older in terms of stature and so the force of Wilbur flying into him sent him sprawling onto his back, the apple flying comically from his hand in a wide arc.

“What the f*ck is wrong with you!?” Schlatt screeched and he tried to catch Wilbur by his wrists but he was thin and wriggly; it was like trying to catch a live eel. Wilbur slapped his face, pulled his hair and at one point tried to wrench his horn like he could pull it off entirely.

But Schlatt wouldn’t let himself get pushed around by anyone anymore, especially not his childhood bully from thousands of years ago so he made a fist and punched Wilbur sharply in the nose. At that moment, the others were drawn in by the commotion and Wilbur was pulled kicking and screaming off of Schlatt by Joko.

Ty, who had been the one battling against Schlatt in the courtroom only a few minutes ago, knelt by his side, his hands flitting over the numerous cuts and scratches on his face. “Did he have a hit on you?” He asked, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

“No! He just came at me out of nowhere, that little f*cker!”

“Schlatt - you just punched a child on court premises!” Joko snapped.

“Are you kidding me? It was self-defense!”

“Don’t you have a shred of restraint?” Ted said to Schlatt as the beginning of a nosebleed dripped from Wilbur’s nose. “As if you weren’t already on thin ice.”

Wilbur, as of now, had a very unique advantage: the child card. So he grabbed his bleeding nose and started to wail as loudly as he could. Ted paled, clearly unsure of how to deal with children in any other way aside from yelling at the culprit, which in this case, was Schlatt. Ironically, Ty leapt to his defense and all the while Schlatt never ceased in yelling his profanities amidst the chaos.

“Look at what you’ve done, Schlatt!”

“Are you blind, Ted?! Those are crocodile tears-”

“f*ck you, Wilbur! You salty little brat - you should have stayed dead, bitch!”

Somewhere in the disorder and disarray, a bunch of other people came in and tried to wrestle them apart, only for Traves to receive a hit on Joko and chase him out of the courthouse altogether. By the time everything had settled down the sun had set and Wilbur’s vocal cords were utterly spent.

Ted had plonked them down on a ‘time-out’ bench like reprimanded school children as their wounds were tended to. Wilbur had tissues stuffed up his nose and Schlatt had colourful plasters dotted all over his face.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Schlatt muttered.

Wilbur cleared his throat painfully and managed a very hoarse, “f*ck you”. Schlatt feigned deafness.

“Say that again? I don’t think I heard you.”

“I said ‘f*ck-”

“Huh? Speak up.”

“f*ck. You-”

Schlatt faked an exaggerated cough that drowned out Wilbur’s curses so Wilbur punched him hard in the shoulder; this time Schlatt didn’t even flinch and instead laughed at his aggravation.

“f*ck you,” Wilbur said again and Schlatt grinned.

“Yeah yeah. I heard you the first time, moron.”

Wilbur didn’t smile at that. He really really didn’t smile.

Chapter 2: Esteemed Rival

Chapter Text

Fortunately for everyone, the interactions between Schlatt and Wilbur were very limited. One was always off scheming and the other was a recluse and a watermelon farmer. Aside from the time where Schlatt and Connor had tried to coerce Wilbur into committing theft from the local police station’s confiscation box they’d mostly left each other alone.

As time passed, Wilbur came to terms with their strange situation - Schlatt had aged four years in a hundred years and Wilbur had skipped a hundred years altogether. For Schlatt, enough time had passed for him to almost completely block out everything that had happened in Brighton and meeting Wilbur now was like starting a clean slate; it probably could have stayed clean had it not been for Wilbur constantly trying to bring up the past.

His heart still ached when he thought of the seaside town or his parents who surely went mad with grief. More than once he’d tried to ask Schlatt about what had happened after he’d disappeared and Schlatt had been kind enough to admit that his disappearance had sent the village in an uproar.

“Everyone missed you. Your goons spun some rumour that I dumped your body in the river or something-”

“Everyone missed me?” Wilbur interrupted, bouncing on his heels. “Even Mr Barrow? Remember him? The strict history teacher-”

“You caught the attention of the Mayor,” Schlatt said like that was answer enough. “I think they made a monument for you. Poor little Wilbur. What a Martyr. What a Saint.”

Wilbur was too dense to notice Schlatt’s resentfulness, his mind instead wandered to what his monument might have looked like. He felt a surge of pride for himself - he must have been more loved than he realised if the Mayor, himself had commemorated him!

He tried to ask Schlatt more questions. Did they hold a funeral? Or did they never stop searching? Did Niki (his childhood crush) cry for him? Schlatt shook him off and started walking in the opposite direction. Wilbur followed.

“I don’t remember anything else so stop pestering me. Crypto ain’t gonna run itself.”

“Oh come on! Think really really hard-”

Connor was approaching them from the distance and Schlatt subconsciously straightened his suit and raised his head higher.

“Are you ignoring me?” Wilbur asked and when Schlatt didn’t respond he felt swell of annoyance. Had he been a little younger he would’ve stamped his foot. “Are you bitter just because the Mayor didn’t put up a statue for you? Because no one in the town loved you like they loved me? ”

Schlatt turned sharply on his heel, his eyebrows pinched and his expression dark as he stared Wilbur down. “Everyone from that town is dead,” he said bluntly. “Your friends, your parents, Niki - there’s not a single person who still remembers you and you know what I say to that, Soot? I say ‘good f*cking riddance’.”

“You don’t mean that,” Wilbur rebuked but the damage was done. Once again, Schlatt had single-handedly knocked Wilbur back into the role of a helpless child. That smooth-talking f*cker. “You...can’t say things like that.”

“Can’t I?” Schlatt drawled with a roll of his eyes. Connor was close now and Schlatt took his arm, diverting him away from Wilbur with an absent wave. “Go play with the other kids, Soot.”

“What was that about?” Connor asked, glancing over his shoulder as Schlatt ushered him towards their office building. “He looks like he’s about to cry again. Can’t you at least try to play nice? ”

Schlatt held back a derisive snort. “Hell no," he said sourly. "He’s tougher than he f*cking looks.”

---

‘You uh...you really went a bit overboard with the melons, huh?’

Wilbur flushed red. ‘They grow well,’ he said modestly like he hadn’t created his entire home out of them.

Connor laughed and Wilbur meekly smiled along. He didn’t know Connor very well despite him being attached at the hip with Schlatt as most business partners were. They didn’t have much in common but he was quick to laugh and even quicker to smile; Wilbur could imagine that Connor’s charisma and Schlatt’s intimidation created the perfect dynamic for a successful business.

‘Have you heard about the latest project that’s happening here, Will?’

Wilbur shook his head.

‘It’s a talent show. I think everyone needs a bit of light-hearted fun in this day and age, huh?’

‘Right...and why are you telling me this?’

Connor scratched the back of his neck a little awkwardly. ‘Ah, how do I put this? You’re just...kinda invisible ‘round here, y’know? I thought maybe you could participate and make yourself known.’

‘Oh no...no- I really...I don’t have a talent.’ Wilbur unconsciously started to bite his nails. The thought of performing in front of a bunch of strangers made his skin crawl.

‘Sure you do!’ Connor replied pleasantly. ‘What? You think we don’t notice you carrying around that guitar of yours?’

‘That’s...uh…’

Connor slung his arm over Wilbur’s shoulders and pressed a pamphlet into his hands. ‘I’m sure you’re a talented kid, Will and this is just for fun! I hate to see wasted potential, y’know? That sh*t crushes your spirit.’

The shiny pamphlet crumpled in Wilbur’s grip as he swallowed nervously. ‘Did...did Schlatt put you up to this?’

Connor pulled away to look at him with furrowed brows. ‘What makes you think that?’ He asked. ‘Nevermind that, I’m here on my own terms. Pinky promise.’

‘Why do you care about what I do?’ Wilbur said suddenly and Connor looked taken aback at his haughtiness. He let go of Wilbur’s shoulder and took a step back with his hands up in mock surrender.

‘Like I said: wasted potential kills the soul, man. Plus, I’ve seen the way Schlatt picks on you and it sucks to see my partner do that. I thought...well if you showed him that you’re not whatever he says you are then things would be less awkward between you two.’

‘You don’t know anything about me-’

‘sh*t,’ Connor said. ‘I don’t but I do know Schlatt and it ain’t like him to be so...hostile. It’s not my place to pry into whatever feud you two have going on but it’s getting in the way of business. Schlatt’s getting antsy, man.’

‘You worry about him a lot?’

‘It’s in my best interest to,’ Connor said professionally even though Wilbur knew their affiliation extended farther than just business.

‘It doesn’t bother you that he has the...uh…’ Wilbur used his fingers to make vague horns on his head and Connor laughed again.

‘It’s part of our brand image now. Besides, he’s been my friend for so long that I almost don’t notice them anymore. But really, if you get to know Schlatt and I mean really know him then he’s not that bad at all.’

Wilbur thought about telling Connor about what Schlatt really was. That Connor’s business associate was actually an immortal demonic presence that bled silver and mercury but looking at Connor’s puppy dog energy made him think twice. It probably wouldn’t change a thing anyway.

‘You’ll think about the talent show, won’t you?’

Wilbur considered his proposition and shrugged. ‘Sure.’

---

Truthfully, he should have known better than to fall for Connor’s fancy lip service. The new theatre that everyone built seemed daunting and there was a crowd of people that Wilbur had never met before in his life. He sat himself down in the farthest corner of the auditorium and rested his guitar across his lap. From across the hall, Connor caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up and one of his most charming smiles.

The lights dimmed and the contestants varied from magic to weird contraptions that...put hats on you? Someone even brought along a llama and tied its leash to the microphone where it remained for the rest of the night.

Thankfully, the show was as Connor promised: light-hearted. Nobody took each other particularly seriously and that was the only thing that stopped Wilbur from passing out on the steps as his name was announced.

The spotlight was dazzling up on the stage and through the glare of it Wilbur could just make out the bland gaze of the state-assigned llama and the judge’s panel from where Schlatt and Traves were sitting.

‘Hiya, Wilbur,’ Traves said. ‘What’s your talent?’

‘Uhm-’ an ugly screech from the microphone- ‘uh I can kind of play the acoustic guitar. I’ll be trying to sing a song tonight; it’s a song I wrote about...squid.’

There was a smatter of applause from the audience and Wilbur inhaled once and exhaled before shutting his eyes. Admittedly, he had written this song only a few months ago. Squid used to be a common thing in Brighton, seeing as it was a seaside town but he hadn’t seen any since he moved to Spawn city. He missed them but singing the song was like a resignation. A promise to himself that even though no one from Brighton was alive to remember him, he’d make the people of Spawn city remember him instead.

When the song was over and he squinted through the lights, beaming at the enthusiastic cheers of the audience and the approving smiles of the judges, he knew he’d achieved what he came here for.

The corner of Schlatt’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘Atta boy,’ he said.

---

The night felt lighter after his performance. Wilbur was still buzzing from the excitement and he found it a lot easier to laugh and cheer for the others. Surprisingly, Schlatt himself got up on the stage to perform too.

There had been a lot of stand-up acts in the show already but Schlatt’s was different. His approach, delivery and timing, all of it expertly used to entertain. Wilbur could hardly believe it: Schlatt was funny . Seriously, funny. It was no wonder to him that everyone seemed to like him.

Everyone watched with wide grins as Schlatt leaned in close to the microphone, his eyes landed on Wilburs. ‘Where there is a will…’

Wilbur’s laugh was embarrassingly loud, his cackles carrying through the hall and Schlatt tilted his head in a way that could have been victorious, though to everyone else including Wilbur it was just endearing.

Basking in the glory of having everyone’s attention on him, Schlatt opened his mouth to say another half-joke when suddenly a huge bang went off. The ground trembled and instinctively everyone ducked down.

Was it a hit? Was anyone dead? Wilbur peeked his head over the benches and saw Schlatt still standing on the stage, his eyes were fixed on the entrance of the auditorium. As he shared his blood with that of a literal animal, Wilbur could see the primal hunch of his shoulders, hackles rising and muscles tensed.

One by one, people began to rise to their feet, looking cautiously to the entrance. There was a faint rumbling coming from outside, whatever shot had gone off had struck the building and dust was falling down from wooden beams of the ceiling.

The rumbling grew louder, like the thunder of feet hitting the dirt. Then they heard voices, distant at first until they grew. A great chorus of what sounded like thousands of people.

‘They’re in that building! Fire another shot! Bring it down!’

Wilbur barely had time to register anything when another shot was fired at the hall. The impact rattled the ground beneath him and he heard screaming as the citizens rushed for the exit in their mad panic. Beams crashed down and rubble showered everyone. It was hard to breathe without choking on dust, hard to hear over the screams and hard to see through jostling bodies.

Wilbur gripped his guitar tightly in both hands and swung it at one of the windows. Pushing the shattered glass out of the way, he hefted himself over the window ledge and dropped onto the grass outside.

His precious guitar was broken, the neck snapped and strings ruined. Wilbur dropped it without a second glance as he took off running. He had no idea where he was going. Everywhere he looked there were people he didn’t recognise, they weren’t citizens of Spawn city they’d simply appeared out of nowhere. They were griefing the city as they went, firing round after round in every direction until Wilbur couldn’t even run in a straight line anymore.

A hand grabbed onto his arm and dragged him off course. Wilbur struggled, beating his fists into their body as they wrestled him into the remains of a broken house. Strong hands held his wrists together as Wilbur screamed for help.

‘Ow! Stop f*cking hitting me- It’s Schlatt!’

Wilbur opened his eyes and locked onto Schlatt’s panicked expression, a million miles away from the blithe talent show. ‘What’s happen- where-’

‘Shut up and listen to me!’ Schlatt barked. ‘Have you seen Connor?’

‘N-no.’

Schlatt swore under his breath and for several seconds he sat back with a hand over his face, scheming, thinking. ‘Soot, I need you to listen to me.’

‘What?’

Schlatt gripped his shoulders again and Wilbur began to complain but Schlatt just shook him. ‘You need to time travel, Soot.’

Wilbur’s mind wasn’t clear like Schlatt’s. He had no plan, he didn’t know what he was doing. He could barely register his words to begin with. He was shaking and gripping Schlatt’s forearms like his life depended on it. Schlatt’s suit was torn and covered in dirt and dust.

‘Time travel! Now, Soot!’

‘I can’t! I don’t know how!’

‘Yes, you do!’ Schlatt cursed at him. ‘This is just like in Brighton - you time travelled because your life was being threatened. Do it again!’

‘But- but what about everyone here?! You! Ted!’

‘I don’t have time for this sh*t, Wilbur. I have to find Connor. Just get out of here! Stat!’

Wilbur squeezed his eyes shut as another explosion shook the earth. He was probably rambling something then; something hopeless like how he wanted to stay. How he didn’t want to lose another family.

He heard one last grating scream.

‘WILBUR, GO NOW!’

And with a violent flash, the air was crushed from his lungs. Wilbur gasped for breath and found that the air around him was clean. It was quiet. It was still. He was alone.

Wilbur drew his knees up to his face and started to cry.

Chapter 3: Greetings Moron

Chapter Text

In this new space, Wilbur had a lot of time to think. It was nice enough here, after picking himself up and walking for a couple of miles Wilbur found himself by the coast. It was a far cry from the fortified city but just like before, Wilbur was completely alone.

He sat down in the sand and breathed in the charged salt of the sea, closing his eyes as the breeze kissed his face. The ocean crept up the shore and soaked his thighs but Wilbur didn’t care.

He didn’t plan on staying here long anyway.

There was a lot he didn’t understand about his time travelling powers but if he could travel years into the future then surely he could travel back too. He didn’t know how long he sat there for, digging his scuffed shoes into the sand as he focused on Spawn city with all of his might. He tried to manifest the feelings he felt whenever he shifted: the suffocation, the stretch of his bones - but to no avail.

Soon he grew weary and hungry. The sun turned into the moon and in a sudden bout of frustration, he screamed. He tore at his hair and futilely threw rocks into the ocean like causing ripples could make any difference at all.

“What the f*ck is wrong with you?!” Wilbur screamed up at the sky. “You piece of sh*t God! You good-for-nothing dunce! f*cker! Bitch!”

For a moment he thought he saw Schlatt laughing beside him. He was wiping tears from his eyes as he cackled at Wilbur’s profanities. “Attaboy!” He said, in that iconic tone of his. “Attaboy, Wilbur!”

“Oh, f*ck you too, Hellspawn!” Wilbur snapped. “This is still your fault! I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I wouldn’t be f*cking alone if you’d just let me stay! I hope you’re dead! I hope you burnt to death on a pyre!”

He sucked in sharp breaths, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. No...this wasn’t right. Schlatt wasn’t here - no one was. Wilbur massaged his temples: he had to get a grip or he was going to lose his mind.

He had to go back. He didn’t even know if there was some...cooldown on his time travelling but he had to go back now and the only way to do it was…

“Be still my beating heart,” Wilbur said weakly. He knew what he had to do.

---

Wilbur kicked off his shoes and waded into the sea until the frigid water reached his waist. He was swaying on his feet, threatened by each wave to be knocked over altogether.

“That’s cold,” he murmured as he stumbled deeper. The rocks in his pockets weighed him down and the waves swept the sand from under him. “That’s really cold…”

Then he was underwater. He tried not to struggle at first, he just let himself sink as he focused hard and when the panic set in he held onto it and let it consume him. The silvery moon cracked and broke apart above him with every coil of a wave and even as Wilbur’s body fought back to survive he kept the city at the forefront of his mind.

Please work. Please work!

His mouth opened for air and water surged in, filling his lungs. But just when his consciousness began to fade, Wilbur landed on solid ground with such force that it made his ribs ache. Immediately, he rolled onto his side and choked as what felt like a gallon of water emptied onto the floor.

Disorientated and shivering, Wilbur took in his surroundings as he shucked off his heavy coat and wrapped his arms around himself. It was dark but he could make out structures and there was a broken path beneath him made of concrete. Surely, that was a first?

There was an open fire flickering on the remains of what looked like a house and Wilbur huddled over it, warming his hands. He crouched down to examine his bare feet which had been torn up and bruised by walking on rocks and he noticed something glinting at him, hidden amongst the white ash of the fire.

He reached out with his numb fingers and picked out something small and round. It was warm from being buried in the waning fire and he wiped off the dirt, shifting closer to the flame to make out what it was.

It was a gold coin, new and unused. Wilbur turned it over in his hands and squinted, there was something engraved on the surface. An ‘S’ with a line down the middle.

A Schlattcoin.

Wilbur leapt to his feet, not caring how they hurt. He scanned his desolate surroundings, horror building deep in his chest as he recognised just where he was standing. He knew these streets like the back of his hand.

“Hello?!” He called out. “Is anyone here?!”

His plan had worked. He was back in Spawn city but it was too late. The raiders - or whoever they were - from before had already ruined it but it’s okay. He would just have to go back a little further.

“Schlatt?! Connor?!”

No response. Wilbur’s dread and resolve hardened simultaneously. He was gearing himself up for another attempt even as his body and mind screeched for rest. What could he use? What did he have? There was always the fire-

“I would advise against anything rash.”

Wilbur spun round and even though it was dark he could make out a figure clear as day. It was like they were glowing. It was like they’d been struck by one of those spectral arrows that he used to have. They were tall and wore flowing robes the colour of fresh grass.

“Who are you?”

“Seraphiel.”

Despite everything he’d been through, Wilbur still had the attitude to roll his eyes. “Sera- what?”

“-Phiel.”

“Phil?”

“Phiel.”

“Phil,” Wilbur repeated, over-enunciating each letter. “If you don’t mind there’s something I have to do. Somewhere I have to go.”

“You cannot interfere past this point,” Phil said patiently and Wilbur scowled.

“Says who? The geezer upstairs?”

Phil didn’t respond but as Wilbur looked at him he saw something rise behind his form: wings. They towered up and then stretched out more than two meters on either side. Wilbur’s jaw dropped and Phil smiled.

“Something like that.”

---

“Did...did God hear all that stuff I said about him earlier cos I really didn’t mean it.”

“Did you not?” Phil said with a knowing smile.

Phil had taken Wilbur to the outskirts of the city, away from the wreckage. They’d started a small campfire and sat opposite each other, Wilbur held himself protectively, cautious of the seraph deity even more so than with the demon he knew.

Phil didn’t seem to mind. He sat primly on the log with his wings neatly folded behind him and his posture straight. His eyes were warm, warmer than the fire and his smile made Wilbur feel safe. Which made it all the scarier.

Wilbur cleared his throat awkwardly. “So...why are you here?”

“To prevent you from causing ‘collateral damage’ as the geezer upstairs might have put it.”

Wilbur let out a disbelieving laugh. “You have a sense of humour,” he said as if it surprised him.

“We often do,” Phil replied lightly. “Your friend did as well, didn’t he?”

“Schlatt? Wait what do you mean he ‘did’? He’s still alive, isn’t he? How much time has passed?”

“Enough for him to disappear,” Phil said and when he saw Wilbur’s alarmed expression he was quick to calm him. “We do not keep an eye on strays from the Underworld. He very much could still be alive - in fact, I count on it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Wilbur asked suspiciously.

“The two of you are connected in more ways than one. The Fates have made it so. I don’t think you’ve seen the last of each other yet.”

“Wow,” Wilbur sat back on his log, processing the information when he suddenly frowned. “Wait - why him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why him? Why couldn’t my soulmate be Niki? Or even Mr Barrow! I bet that old git would’ve given me less grief.”

“As I said, we do not control the strays of the Underworld. I think this was a...jest from the Fates. They’re often cruel about it.”

“You’re saying this is a joke? I lost two families for a f*cking joke?”

Phil had the decency to look somewhat pained. “Not all deities have as good a sense of humour as the rest of us, child.”

“I’ll f*cking say! Why are you really here, huh?”

Phil held out his hand over the fire and Wilbur flinched back, eyeing it apprehensively. Phil didn’t move, he just watched Wilbur with his inviting gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Take my hand, child,” Phil said and Wilbur found himself moving. He stood slowly and slid his hand into Phil’s. The fire didn’t burn him.

Phil guided him around the fire to sit on the log next to him and Wilbur sat obediently like he was in a trance. A heavy wing draped over him and pulled him close. Wilbur instinctively closed his eyes, burrowing closer as the cold and hurt in his body ebbed away.

“It seems the Fates wish to keep you alive,” Phil murmured. “I’ll keep you safe. Now rest.”

And Wilbur did.

---

A lot of biblical references went over Wilbur’s head as a child. He’d grown up picking on the devil and so he thought he had nothing to fear. If all demons were as pathetic as Schlatt then surely nothing could hurt him.

Wilbur knew all about demons but he knew nothing of angels until he met Phil. He didn’t even know they existed. He did finally understand what Connor meant though.

He’s been my friend for so long that I hardly notice them anymore.

Phil was always kind and patient. His wings were less of a shock and more of an extension of himself, as normal as an arm or a leg would be. When it rained, Phil would hold one over Wilbur like an umbrella and when the sun came out he’d shake them out as a dog would.

In short, if all angels were like Phil then Wilbur didn’t have to be afraid of them either.

“Focus carefully, child. Think of the things you want to see when you open your eyes.”

Wilbur groaned. “I can’t! I can’t do it! It’s been months and nothing’s changed!”

“I sense an improvement in those months,” Phil soothed. “It wasn’t for nothing. Now settle and try again.”

Wilbur sighed heavily and closed his eyes again.

“Think carefully about the time you wish to travel to. Feel the details of it in your mind and in your heart - then move it to the rest of your body. Speak.”

“I feel the sun. It’s warm.”

“What else?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “Uhhh, I want there to be lots of people too. It’s lively and people are happy.”

“What do you feel?”

Wilbur raised his hand, reaching out for something that wasn’t quite there. “I feel a beat. There’s music and someone will ask me to dance.”

A breeze stifled him for a moment. It wasn’t unpleasant. Overhead, he heard the chirp of a bird that melted into the rise and fall of a violin. There was a warmth spreading over his shoulders and something bumped into him. Wilbur yelped and his eyes sprang open, immediately blinded by the bright vibrancy ambience around him. Someone caught his hand and dragged him back up before he could fall.

“South Italy, 1984. Good choice.”

“What- how?”

“You did it, child,” Phil said, squeezing his hand proudly and Wilbur felt himself beaming.

It wasn’t just a single violin playing, it was a full-on band. The music carried a light beat and all around him, people were dancing. Phil passed his hand to a girl as she twirled by and Wilbur was yanked into a crowd. She pulled him close, saying something in bullet-fire Italian and then she laughed and Wilbur felt drunk on the sound.

He was out of breath before the song was even over but he’d never had more fun. His curly hair stuck to his forehead and he’d been sweating through his white shirt. The band started up again and Wilbur laughed.

“Ancora! Ancora!” Again!

He must’ve stayed there for hours. Switching partners and dancing until he could barely stand. He stumbled to the sidelines where Phil was waiting for him, no one seemed to notice him and his wings.

“I can’t believe I missed this era!” Wilbur said breathlessly. “Everyone’s so...so animated.”

“We can’t stay here,” Phil reminded him.

“Yeah yeah… ‘Collateral damage’.”

Wilbur slid his hand into Phil’s closing his eyes and waiting for the change of atmosphere.

“I’m proud of you, child,” he heard Phil say.

“Oh yeah?” He snarked and without opening his eyes he squeezed Phil’s hand appreciatively. “Call me ‘Will’, Old man.”

---

Time was irrelevant to Wilbur now. He didn’t know how much real-time had passed apart from when Phil made an off-hand comment about how much he’d grown. He was ridiculously tall now, towering over almost everyone no matter where or when he visited.

His knowledge of the world was extensive now. He’d been to feudal Japan, dynasties of China, Cold war Russia, 60s America - you f*cking name it. He could never stay in one place for too long though, lest he ‘f*cked up the essence of time’ as Phil had put it.

One thing that delighted him beyond words was Phil’s new vocabulary. Wilbur hadn’t exactly been the best of influences on his angelic father-figure. It turns out the Fates had a plan for him and though he had come to terms with demons and angels, Wilbur did not want to mess with the Fates.

One afternoon, as Wilbur was sipping wine in front of the Eiffel tower, Phil took his hand from across the table. Wilbur looked at him inquisitively.

“What’s up, Old man?”

“You’ve learnt a lot under my wing, huh?”

Wilbur snorted at the pun and cast his gaze over the street again. Phil held his hand more tightly. “Look at me, Will.

“There is nothing more I can teach you. The Fates have plans for you and I think it’s time you see what they are.”

“What are you talking about, Phil?”

“I’ve kept you safe for long enough. I trust that you can look after yourself now and...isn’t there someone waiting for you?”

Wilbur frowned as he tried to pull up a face and a name from the countless people he’d met before. “I...I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” Phil said reassuringly. “It’ll come to you as I came to you.”

“Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” Wilbur asked, panic edging into his voice. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No, Will,” Phil murmured and the look in his eyes came across as pained. “Not goodbye. I have a feeling that we’ll meet again.”

“Can you count on it?” Wilbur insisted. “Can you promise me?”

Phil was avoiding his gaze. “The Fates are often cruel-”

“-Phil!”

“-But I trust that they will give us this,” he finished firmly. “There’s someone waiting for you, Will. He cannot wait much longer.”

“Who? Who is it?”

Phil just shook his head, he reached out and tucked Wilbur’s floppy hair behind his ear with that same warm smile. “I know you’ll do just fine, Will.”

He couldn’t put his feelings into words. It had been so long that Phil had become the only constant in his life; no matter where he went Phil had always been there. He knocked his chair back and Phil rose to meet him in a hug, his wings wrapped around him like a cocoon. Wilbur buried his face into Phil’s shoulder like the sheer force of his grip would let him know how he felt.

Phil’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head and he whispered, so very gently into his ear: “Close your eyes.”

---

Wilbur awoke to a flurry of feathers and for a moment he thought that Phil was still there but when he reached out they came apart in his hands. They were floating. He was floating. Wilbur realised with alarm that he was underwater.

He clawed his way desperately upwards and when his head broke the surface he fought hard to keep himself afloat despite his rising anxiety. His heart was pounding in his ears and he kept going under no matter how hard he kicked. His energy was waning but just as the water rushed over his head for what he thought was the last time an arm plunged in after him, gripping him by the elbow and hauling him up with brute strength.

He was dragged out of the water, spluttering and coughing as he went. A soothing hand patted him on the back. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Wilbur rolled onto his back and looked up at his saviour to thank them but they spoke first.

“There you go,” they said. “Attaboy.”

Where had he heard that before? Wilbur blinked water out of his lashes and squinted up at the other, they tilted their head curiously back at him. Horns. They had a pair of curling horns on their head. Wilbur scrambled back with a gasp, a name swimming up out of his memories.

“No way. No- Schlatt?”

Schlatt just looked confused. He looked Wilbur up and down before it clicked for him again and, just like all those years ago, his eyes widened as he realised who he was faced with.

“Wilbur Soot?”

There was a brief silence before the two of them chorused simultaneously.

“You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.”

Chapter 4: Trauma

Chapter Text

Wilbur wasn’t thrilled to see Schlatt again, least of all now when he hadn’t been expecting it. This time around though, he’d had enough closure to heal even the oldest of wounds, he thought he could move past losing his second family by time-hopping with Phil by his side. He made artificial relationships, danced and spoke with people he’d never see again for only a matter of minutes. It was lonely and interactions became meaningless but at least he had Phil. At the very least he had Phil.

He recognised and remembered people not by their names or faces but by the fleeting moments that might have imprinted themselves in Wilbur’s mind. A twirl of a skirt as he danced with a girl, the crimson red shirt of a politician, maybe a laugh here and a funny joke there. Wilbur became selective about the things he committed to memory; there was only warmth and vibrancy. Anything else wasn’t worth thinking about.

Maybe that was why Phil had to leave. Maybe he knew how self-destructive Wilbur’s way of life had become - the lack of intimacy, interaction and relationships. To know that no matter where you were, nobody would remember you. There wasn’t a single person who knew about your existence, that you might as well have never been born in the first place. To know all this and still continue to live by it every day. It must have been something damning. Maybe, despite all of his encouragement of Wilbur’s time travelling skills, Phil had developed a parental instinct to know what Wilbur was lacking. He wasn’t as hard to read as most people; for all of his negligence and indifference to the world around him, there was one material item that he brought with him everywhere.

A single golden coin.

Phil had been there when Wilbur visited a silversmith and had them carve a hole through it so that he could fashion it into a necklace. He knew that Wilbur never took it off. It was always hidden from view, nestled below his collarbones like a second pulse. Apparently, it was a coin he’d picked up from the ruined city when they’d first met each other. It signified some of the warmest memories that Wilbur had in his short-lived childhood. He could hazard a guess at who the coin truly belonged to but as he’d said before: anything to do with strays of the underworld simply wasn’t his business.

As it turned out, this stray was to be the only exception to that rule. It had never been his intention to leave Wilbur so early but the Fates were growing impatient and it didn’t take a blind man to see that Wilbur was struggling to hold on in his own right. There was a deep wistfulness in his eyes and as time went on, he gave up on trying to interact. These people were stuck in a bubble that he wasn’t supposed to be in, he’d sit and watch them live out their lives with the regret that he couldn’t do the same.

"There’s someone waiting for you, Will. He cannot wait for much longer.”

And, because Phil didn’t know what else to say to bring him comfort, he held him close - as close as he could within the cocoon of his feathers. He told him to close his eyes.

To say that Wilbur was upset would be an understatement. In a matter of minutes, he’d had his heart savagely ripped out and stamped on by the unseen forces of the Fates who then dumped him in the middle of nowhere with the only person in the entire world who knew how to piss him off.

“I can’t f*cking believe this sh*t.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, still feeling queasy from nearly drowning. “Yeah. It’s f*cking good to see you too, arsehole.”

“‘Arsehole’,” Schlatt mimicked in an accent that was a far cry from anything that resembled British. “f*cking hell, Wilbur Soot.”

He got to his feet and turned to head back to where he came from. They were on a mountainside of sorts, except instead of having a sheer drop off a cliff there was a huge body of water that stretched on further than the eye could see. It was like being stuck in the middle of the ocean.

“Where are you going?” Wilbur called and he winced when his voice came out all raspy and weak. Schlatt glanced over his shoulder and then continued walking, albeit slightly slower. Wilbur muttered a curse under his breath and staggered after him.

At first, Wilbur had hoped that he could overcome his disorientation quickly so that he could assume level-footing with Schlatt’s calloused personality. Even though everything from Spawn city was a distant memory, Wilbur felt himself adapting almost instantly - as if Schlatt was as much a constant as Phil or the coin he wore around his neck. But Schlatt wouldn’t speak to him; he looked much more haggard than Wilbur remembered.

Schlatt from Brighton was a runt. Schlatt from Spawn city was prideful and calculating. Schlatt now? There was a limp when he walked like he favoured his right leg more and his shoulders had a stoop to them. He made no smart comments at Wilbur’s expense, he just shuffled on with the occasional backward glance to make sure that he was following.

Wilbur didn’t know what to make of this dramatic change in character. It left a sour taste in his mouth even though it’s what he should have expected; nobody would stay exactly the same if a number of years had passed. So why did he feel so disappointed?

How was it that he could tell himself with such faith and confidence that seeing Schlatt again was one of the worst things that could have happened? That he was the last person on earth he’d want to be stuck with? Why did Wilbur feel like this new Schlatt wasn’t meeting his expectations when he didn’t even know he had them in the first place?

He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realise Schlatt had stopped until he bumped into him.

“Watch it,” Schlatt snarled and Wilbur recoiled immediately.

There was a house nestled in the shade of the mountain peak. ‘House’ was a polite way of putting it, it was more of a hopeless looking shack for lack of a better term. It was tiny and the roof was supported only by a few rickety wooden beams.

“Uh...you live like this?”

“If you see a hotel nearby then you let me know, Smartass.”

Wilbur looked around foolishly like he’d spot a high-rise in the distance but there was only bleak wilderness and an alarming amount of water.

“What the hell happened since last I saw you?” Wilbur asked. “How much time has passed?”

Schlatt had disappeared into the treeline for a moment and returned with a large slab of wood. He ignored Wilbur as he hefted it into the shack and when Wilbur peeked inside he saw that Schlatt had erected a wall in the already tiny space. The slab of wood didn’t have door hinges, it was just a lump put there to divide the room in half. Wilbur had to stoop to fit himself inside and even then he could still snoop over the top and see Schlatt sulking. He almost found it funny.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He saw Schlatt shuffle and turn his back on him, from the hunch in his shoulders Wilbur could guess that he’d folded his arms.

“You’re acting like a child,” Wilbur said and Schlatt flicked his ears, a sign of irritation. “Come on, I’m stuck in the dark here! Don’t you owe me a little explanation?”

Schlatt turned and glared through the gap between the wall and the low ceiling. “I don’t owe you sh*t,” he said unreasonably. “I saved your life, don’t make me regret it.”

“Are you being serious? You’re not going to tell me why we’re stuck on an island in the middle of the ocean with nothing else around? If I remember correctly - and please correct me if I’m wrong - you’re the one who told me to time travel away from the raid in the first place.”

They caught each other in a stalemate of menacing glares, sizing each other up to see who would toe the line first. Then Wilbur frowned slightly and Schlatt narrowed his eyes, suddenly self-aware of his appearance.

His ears twitched nervously, betraying the false calm in his voice. “What are you looking at?”

“Have you...have you always been this short?” Wilbur asked.

Schlatt felt his temper flare. “Oh f*ck you!”

“No- I’m being serious! I just always remembered you being really tall- “

“Piss off, Soot,” Schlatt growled and he took a step like he wanted to make a dramatic exit by storming away. Wilbur could just make out the top of his head; his ears were flicking.

Wilbur leaned on the wall and tried not to sound too vindicated. “You want me to let you out?”

“Don’t sound so smug about it, you piece of sh*t.”

“I actually think you’re doing just fine in there,” Wilbur said casually. “Wouldn’t want you encroaching on my half of the house, after all.”

“This is my house, Soot.”

Wilbur pouted.

“That’s disgusting,” Schlatt said. “Never f*cking do that again.”

“Does it not work anymore?”

“You’re an ugly adult instead of an ugly kid now. Besides, it only worked on idiots like Ted.”

Wilbur smiled despite himself. “Oh yeah? Because you’re just so much better than Ted, huh?”

There was a heavy silence.

Schlatt pressed himself up against the wall so Wilbur couldn’t see the way he grimaced. It had been so long since he’d had to steel his emotions and worry about how he acted around other people. He reached up and touched his ears, trying to recall the method he used to keep them still so that they wouldn’t give away how he truly felt. His hands were trembling so he clenched them into fists.

“Schlatt?” Wilbur sounded concerned at his lack of response.

Schlatt schooled his expression into something cold and neutral. It felt familiar. Protective.

“Let me out, Soot,” He said and his voice sounded grave. “We’ve both got sh*t to say.”

Schlatt waited until they were seated by a small fire outside the house, each munching on the small portions of fish that he’d been rationing. It pained him slightly to have to share things. He was unused to it. But Wilbur was still sneezing and shivering from being dragged out of the water and so Schlatt made himself think that he should pity him.

“You go first,” Wilbur said, wiping his mouth. “What’s going on here? Where are we?”

“Who knows-” Wilbur gave him a critical look- “I mean it! I don’t know. This all used to be land but the water keeps rising. It’ll probably never stop.”

“The water is rising?”

Schlatt nodded. “That ‘ocean’ that I dragged you out of? That used to be nothing more than a small lake.”

“How long did it take? Y’know, for that lake to become...that.”

“Three months.”

Wilbur paled. Three months? He’d been expecting the answer of...maybe a few decades at least! Global warming had always been an issue but to this extent-

“My turn,” Schlatt interrupted like he was eager to change the subject about their impending doom. “Where have you been?”

It didn’t come across as accusing or snide, instead, it sounded like a casual, harmless question. As normal as ‘how are you?’ or ‘what have you been up to?’. Wilbur wondered if Schlatt had come to terms with death in a way that he hadn’t.

“I’ve been here and there,” he answered simply. “I actually tried to come back. To Spawn city, I mean. I made it as close as a few days after the raid but no one was there.”

Schlatt had been rubbing his finger across his lower lip in a thoughtful manner. “Couldn’t you have tried to go back a bit further? Given us a warning or something?”

“You think I didn’t try that before?”

“Maybe you were quite happy feeding us to the wolves.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t happy about any of it, you arsehole - that sh*t plagued my mind for years. I was willing to kill myself if it meant giving you that warning.”

“So what the hell stopped you?”

Schlatt was trying to sound nonchalant but his ears were flat against his head and there was a tremor in his voice. It was only because Wilbur could see the hurt in his eyes that he didn’t rise to the bait and fight back. Years of people-watching had taught him to read emotions well and Schlatt seemed to be wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“I couldn’t change anything even if I wanted to,” Wilbur said. “I met an angel called Seraphiel or ‘Phil’ and he told me I couldn’t interfere because the Fates had something planned.”

“The Fates,” Schlatt echoed with a haunted expression. “Y’know, a Russian Blood God told me the exact same thing.”

It didn’t even cross Wilbur’s mind to question the existence of Schlatt’s Blood God and why he’d never been mentioned before. Schlatt was probably thinking the same thing about Phil; they’d both been around long enough to see weirder sh*t than deities.

“We’ve met them all, haven’t we? Demons, Angels, Blood Gods and the Fates. All that’s left is the big man, himself.”

“I’ll meet God when they find mice on Venus,” Schlatt said bitterly and he threw the remains of his fish onto the fire which consumed the bones eagerly.

Wilbur weighed his options, his gaze flitting from the fire to Schlatt. Schlatt to fire. Fire to Schlatt.

“Schlatt...what happened after the raid?”

Wilbur noticed every movement. The sharp intake of breath. The way Schlatt’s eyes fluttered closed, the way he linked his fingers together and kissed his knuckles like he was praying. There was conflict drawn across his face but Wilbur knew Schlatt was anything but fragile. It would be demeaning to think otherwise. So he didn’t take back his question. He just waited.

Sure enough, when Schlatt opened his eyes he was as composed as he could be. “We don’t know where the raiders came from,” he began and Wilbur shifted to give him his full attention. “We didn’t know what they wanted, they just came in and burnt that sh*t to the ground. Everything. Everyone. Ty, Joko, Ted-”

Wilbur listened with bated breath, dreading the mention of the one name that had once meant everything to Schlatt. Connor. Business partners. Entrepreneurs. Joined at the hip.

“I found Connor after you disappeared. We escaped from the city and lay low in that illegal coffee shop we made, way up in the mountains. But Connor...he uh...he wasn’t built for that kinda trauma, y’know? It messed him up real bad.”

He wouldn’t say anything else. Despite everything, despite this incredibly rare insight into Schlatt’s insecurities and honesty, Wilbur could sense that it was physically beyond him to open up anymore least of all to someone like him. It wasn’t even because of the pain - it was the deep-rooted fear of people exploiting his vulnerabilities. Wilbur knew. He’d done it before, after all.

Schlatt had lost everything and everyone. He’d saved Wilbur because he needed anything. Anyone. Wilbur didn’t know that kind of desperation but he knew the loneliness. The loss. He was the only person in the world who knew it as well as Schlatt did.

What a pair they made. He could almost see why the Fates were getting a kick out of this. On one hand, they had someone who had to form close relationships and lose them and on the other, they had someone who couldn’t get close to anyone at all, destined to be transparent and unremarkable. The irony was laughable and it made Wilbur hate them for toying with their lives.

But it was inescapable and he was beginning to understand that there was no one else who would look out for them. It would always be him and Schlatt. Anything. Anyone. Them.

Wilbur reached up behind his head and unclasped the chain of his necklace. Holding the coin in the palm of his hand, it was no longer new and shiny but worn smooth from years against his skin. But the engraved ‘$’ was still as prominent as ever.

“I think this belongs to you,” Wilbur said, passing it over. It was the only kind and selfless gesture he’d give Schlatt. It was beyond him to do anything else.

Schlatt seemed to understand. He didn’t thank Wilbur; he wasn’t a business endeavour, there was no need for perfunctory politeness. Although it wasn’t above Schlatt’s pride to thank someone, it was just that he was beginning to recall how invigorating it was to disagree with someone.

“I can’t believe you kept this for that long,” Schlatt said, he held it up by the chain so that the firelight could dance off the dull surface. “Did you miss me that much? Needed a memento?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wilbur quipped back. “Maybe I’m just too sentimental for my own good.”

“Yeah yeah, loverboy.”

Schlatt fastened the chain around his own neck, wiping the dirt off the coin with his thumbs. The look in his eyes was faraway and reminiscent. It was warm. Like Wilbur’s selective memories. Warmth and vibrancy.

Because anything else wasn’t worth thinking about.

Schlatt hadn’t been joking about the rising water levels. Their little island grew smaller and smaller by the day and Wilbur suspected that it would only take one more rise for their home to be completely submerged. There was nothing left for them here: they ate small fish every night and sat around waiting for the day to end.

Schlatt had been trying to grow seeds on his side of the house and at one point had tried to dig down to expand their house and live underground, but trying to dig through cobblestone on an empty stomach and limited tools was a lost cause.

Wilbur had his eye on another opportunity though. A beacon of hope and salvation. There was still land up above them, it was an awkward distance away from their own island but if they could get to it then they might stand a chance, or, it would at least add a few more weeks to their lifespan. Wilbur was all geared up to go, the difficult part was convincing Schlatt.

“It won’t be hard, Schlatt! We just need to gather resources and make our way up there, then we’ll make a new house, I promise!”

The stubborn goat wasn’t listening to him. He just kept bumping Wilbur’s shoulder as he made his way back and forth to build a tight wall around the existing house.

“This is pointless! Why are you wasting your efforts on making this dumb wall when you know the water’s going to trap you inside?!” Wilbur caught Schlatt’s arm as he tried to walk past again. “You will die if you stay here.”

Schlatt shook him off as he gathered more dirt into his arms. He was making the walls out of dirt, for the love of God. “You’re delusional! You really think a dirt wall is going to do anything?”

“Shut up, Wilbur,” Schlatt said. “Either make yourself useful or leave me alone.”

“I’m trying to help you but you’re not listening to a thing I say,” Wilbur refuted. “What are you trying to achieve by doing this? One more rise- I’m telling you: one more rise and you’ll never see the light of day again. Do you hear me?”

Thwump!

Wilbur jolted back in surprise as Schlatt hurled his makeshift shovel to the floor. “Make yourself useful,” he seethed, shoulders trembling with the effort to calm his breathing, “or leave me the hell alone!”

“Can’t you see how f*cking crazy this is, you stubborn bastard?! Just help me do this - I promise we can make it up there!”

Schlatt shoved him. Hard. Wilbur stumbled and instinctively raised his arms to protect himself but Schlatt didn’t attack again. He looked furious; demonic even. Maybe he’d actually lost the plot, maybe he genuinely didn’t see a problem with dying alone.

“Keep your promises,” Schlatt thundered. “You keep that sh*t to yourself. I don’t want it. You and your suicide mission can both go to hell cos I’m not moving. I won’t move.”

Wilbur was struggling to keep himself in check. Week’s worth of arguments and exhaustion were creeping up on him and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t take anymore. The more he and Schlatt fought the more he saw him as a lost cause. Schlatt didn’t want to be helped.

“Fine,” Wilbur said coldly, feeling the air buzz around him. “Have it your way.”

He shut his eyes and, like he knew what was coming, Schlatt panicked and reached out. His fist closed around Wilbur’s shirt but he still slipped through. There one moment and gone in the next.

It was snowing.

Wilbur was standing in an open field that was covered in a thick blanket of pure white. He had been trying for something more comforting, maybe Italy or London. This wasn’t anywhere he knew.

The memories of warmth that he’d been focusing on had been completely overshadowed by the bitterness he felt when arguing with Schlatt. So, of course: snow.

Wilbur shuffled forwards, wrapping his arms around himself to try and fight off the biting wind. He felt something warm trail down his face but he was so cold that he couldn’t even bring himself to wipe it away. He just let them fall and drip off his chin. He couldn’t even see where he was going. His vision was blurring, his chest was aching and he was stumbling through the storm like he was blind and wounded.

Why was he here? Why was he stranded in a blizzard when all he wanted was the warm sun on his shoulders? Why did Schlatt set him off so easily? Being around him made Wilbur volatile. It made him stupid and reckless. It was like he was feeling things ten times stronger than he was used to and he didn’t know how to approach it or how to approach himself. It scared him.

He scrubbed his face and in the time that his tears cleared away from his sight, Wilbur found someone standing before him. He didn’t know where they came from but just from being in their presence, he felt fear strike into his heart. He couldn’t even scream or move.

The figure leaned in and the wind moved sheets of pink hair over their face. Flurries of snow had piled up on the shoulders of their heavy cloak like they were an unmovable statue. The blizzard picked up and Wilbur looked up into the eyes of the stranger. He didn’t know if the chill was from the storm or their frigid gaze.

They said something in Russian. Wilbur could recognise the slurring, guttural language but didn’t know what they were saying.

“Iditye nazad.”

“I- I don’t speak Russian,” Wilbur said weakly.

The stranger’s eyes roamed across his face for a moment before he spoke again. His voice was flat and monotonous. “Go back.”

It wasn’t a cryptic message. Wilbur knew from the instant that he saw this stranger that he wasn’t normal. He spoke and moved like a deity, everything about him was the opposite of Phil and yet it was like looking at someone who was in the same vein. Wilbur was afraid to question who they were or how they knew about him and where he came from.

Instead, he replied with a stupid: “I don’t want to.”

“You would rather stay here?” The stranger asked. “I do not think so.”

“You don’t know me,” Wilbur said spitefully.

The stranger tossed their hair over their shoulder in one swift motion as if to say: ‘I don’t want to know you’. Their gaze moved past him, fixated on something in the distance that Wilbur couldn’t see. “Don’t stay here,” they said dully. “Just go back now. Don’t make him wait.”

Like a mirage or a dream, Wilbur felt his head swim. The snow fell harder but Wilbur didn’t feel the cold; it was as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. The stranger became hard to see.

“He doesn’t like to wait.”

He was back on the island, facing the ugly house as if no time had passed. The wall was still half-finished and Schlatt’s shovel was still discarded on the floor. There was a dim light coming from inside so Wilbur knocked on the door. His knuckles were red and frozen but he couldn’t feel anything.

The door swung open immediately and with such force that it was nearly wrenched off its hinges.

“Wilbur-”

Schlatt looked stricken and pale and he was breathing hard, either from the aftermath of their fight or from something else entirely. When he saw him there was an expression of panic to relief to pain. He looked like he was in pain.

He gripped Wilbur’s shirt like he didn’t quite believe he was real. “You’re here-”

Wilbur didn’t mean to apologize, he never wanted to apologize to Schlatt for anything but it slipped out anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do that to me, man,” Schlatt choked out. “You can’t just leave me like that.”

“You told me to.”

Schlatt drew his eyebrows together in anguish. Wilbur had never seen him look so vulnerable; not even when he spoke about Connor. It didn’t suit him. He wanted to tell him to get his act together.

“I’ll help you.”

Wilbur frowned. Schlatt had never spoken so softly before. “What did you say?”

“I’ll help you with your suicide mission,” he said. “sh*t- I’ll come with you. Just...give a man some warning before you up sticks and go.”

Give a man some warning. Don’t leave a man who’s so desperate that he wants anyone. Anything.

Give a man some warning. Don’t make him think he has to face the end of the world on his own.

“Okay,” Wilbur said. He reached up and coaxed Schlatt to loosen his iron grip on his shirt. “I’m sorry, okay? It’ll be alright.”

Schlatt let go, jerking his hand away from Wilbur’s like the chill was still lingering on him. He wouldn’t look him in the eye. Schlatt could be avaricious and greedy but he wouldn’t be pitied. Just as Wilbur thought, apologizing didn’t help either of them. Even if he really meant it.

Chapter 5: Devil's advocate

Chapter Text

'This is the last time, I'll abandon you
And this is
The last time I'll forget you
I wish I could'

- Stockholm syndrome, Muse

In times of stress, Wilbur felt the loss of his music the most. They were resourceful with the meagre scraps they had but unfortunately, Schlatt hadn’t seen the use of bringing pen and paper if the world was ending. So on clear evenings, Wilbur would sit next to the rising ocean and write words into the dirt with stray branches.

He’d hum a tune and feel the vibrations deep within his chest. His fingers would envision the neck of a guitar and make the shape of each chord like the motions of it were engraved into his muscles and nerves. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he’d feel a pair of eyes watching him.

Wilbur didn’t know what kind of music Schlatt liked. It was just one of the many things that he’d never bothered to ask about when the time was still right and now none of it mattered. They couldn’t delay or avoid the inevitable with distractions and idle chatter, if they did then it’d be nothing short of cowardice. So Wilbur would scrub the words away and forget them in the next hour. Schlatt would retreat back to the house first and when Wilbur showed up after him they wouldn’t mention anything.

It was hard to write music here. The days when lyrics came easily were never spent in the present. Wilbur had had the entire world at his disposal once; inspiration in its purest form ready for him to take. He still wistfully thought about travelling, if only for a moment. Maybe he could pop into London for a scrap of paper and a Biro to properly record his thoughts or maybe he could borrow a guitar from Spain so he could hear what he had been missing. It would only be for a moment, he promised himself. Just to give himself a break from this hellish apocalypse.

But then his mind would wander back to Schlatt and the way he had reacted when he thought Wilbur had left him. The way he had gripped his shirt like he might disappear again if he didn’t hold on. If Wilbur really hated Schlatt as much as he said he did then he wouldn’t have cared, he would’ve even relished the moment but all Wilbur really felt was guilt. Instead, he’d tried (uselessly) to console and reassure him like he’d forgotten all about Schlatt’s prideful nature that even in the most detrimental moments he couldn’t let go of.

He only needed to think of Schlatt and he’d squash any thoughts he had about travelling and even go as far as to scorn himself for thinking them up at all. There was no decorum or civility in their squabbles but leaving Schlatt on his own in a place like this was a different type of cruelty that Wilbur couldn’t commit to. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy and he was beginning to think that Schlatt was undeserving of that title.

No. Wilbur’s worst enemy didn’t even have a corporeal form for him to curse at. They existed beyond the planes of the Earth far out of punching distance. Naturally, Wilbur was thinking of the Fates; he held them accountable for everything including this godforsaken apocalypse.

It took both of them two weeks of consecutive planning before they were anything close to ready. For the months that Schlatt had spent alone, he hadn’t entirely succumbed to despair as most in his position would. He took the severity of his situation at face value and worked quickly and efficiently. He monitored days of rainfall and the rate of the floods for future predictions; with his gathered data he concluded that over the course of three months, the water had risen exponentially with every bout of rain.

Schlatt had always been smart with numbers. He had centuries to learn and hone almost every skill known to man but numbers were and always will be his forte. Though the mathematics of it all were lost on Wilbur, he knew enough to know that the next rise would be devastating.

Two weeks wasn’t enough time to prepare by any stretch of the word but they had to manage. It was a rough start: in order to reach the new land they had to gain height and, as it turned out, Schlatt was a much better climber than Wilbur had expected.

Surefooted and confident, Schlatt bounced on his heels, stretched his arms and then began to scale the cliff face with alarming speed and agility. Every now and then he’d dig his toes into the small crevices and lean back with one arm dangling to catch his breath and soak in the sun. Either his horns weren’t just for show and he shared traits with a mountain goat or horned demons were just innately good at climbing, Wilbur couldn’t tell.

The same couldn’t be said for himself. Minutes in and Wilbur’s fingers were already scraped raw from scrabbling with the unforgiving stone. His arms trembled with exhaustion and more than once, his feet would slip and he’d barely manage to catch himself.

Even if it had been Wilbur’s idea to relocate, he was quickly coming to terms with the fact that things wouldn’t be working in his favour. Above him, Schlatt had already reached the top and was doing god knows what. Wilbur wondered if he’d gone on ahead and left him to cling for his life when he heard a shout.

“Watch it!”

Wilbur instinctively pressed himself against the cliff as a tattered rope flew down, the ends of it tickling his face. It didn’t look particularly sturdy; Schlatt had made it out of a stray fishing net that had floated by a few nights ago.

“Hurry the f*ck up, man!”

Wilbur didn’t have the energy to cuss back at him so he grabbed the rope, tugging twice to test its strength and then began to haul himself up, bit by bit. Schlatt grabbed him by his shirt when he neared the top and hauled him over the edge like a mother lion would with its cub.

“Finally,” Schlatt said irritably. “I was growing hungry waiting on you.”

“That...that was...the worst.” Wilbur collapsed on the ground, wheezing painfully. He’d never understand how some people did rock climbing for fun. f*cking sociopaths.

“We still have a ways to go,” Schlatt reminded him. “Though I suppose we can take a break.”

“Well, aren’t you just so generous,” Wilbur snarked.

“Need I remind you that this was your idea, tough guy?”

Wilbur waved his hand dismissively, already working on taking a power nap. He heard Schlatt scoff but a moment later he settled down to sit next to him. They stayed like that for a while, letting the blood flow back into their limbs. Wilbur could sense Schlatt getting antsy and he was about to tell him to stop fidgeting when he felt something cold land on his face.

Wilbur cracked an eye open. Again, something cold. This time on his cheek. He lifted himself to lean back on his elbows with a groan; whatever had landed on his face was slowly trailing down his jaw. He looked over at Schlatt who had his eyes trained on the sky with a pinched expression. Wilbur hadn’t even noticed that the sun had gone, replaced with a chill and dark, heavy clouds.

Drops fell against his skin and Wilbur paled. It was raining.

“Let’s move,” Schlatt said.

At first, Wilbur had hoped that it was a false alarm. The rain fell lightly at first, nothing more than a misty drizzle that reminded him of London but soon enough the downpour became torrential and damn near impossible to navigate through. The journey had been easy enough to track from the lower ground: two tall cliff sides one after the other, but as they stumbled through the rain they managed to lose their way twice, wasting precious time that they didn’t have.

Wilbur’s hair was plastered against his face and as the rain lashed down in heavy sheets, he thought he might buckle under the weight of it. Schlatt wasn’t doing much better either. It was to Wilbur’s knowledge that Schlatt had always hated the rain, particularly in Spawn City.

‘Rain gets in the way of business.’

Schlatt’s scam crypto endeavours had started as literal back-alley deals after all and you’d be hard-pressed to find potential customers willing to hear your pitch in a rainstorm.

“This is ridiculous!” Wilbur yelled. “How hard is it to find a massive f*cking cliff?”

It was, of course, a rhetorical question; they were as good as blind and deaf in this storm. Schlatt didn’t reply and judging from the oppressive slump in his shoulders, he was taking this pretty hard like he somehow blamed himself for not having the foresight to predict the unpredictable weather. His silence was enough to make Wilbur even more uneasy; they both knew how much Schlatt loved the sound of his own voice.

“Schlatt. Slow down.”

He was either being actively ignored or Schlatt genuinely couldn’t hear him. Regardless, he kept charging on ahead and Wilbur was having a hard time keeping up. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he waved the other in wide, sweeping arcs trying not to lose his companion in the fray.

Schlatt covered ground quickly and in large strides, his frustration and impatience driving him to move faster. He understood the stakes better than Wilbur, he’d survived through bitter months of it whilst Wilbur had been dancing with girls in Paris but even he knew he was being careless. He took a step, only for his foot to meet with nothing. Schlatt yelped as he pitched forwards but Wilbur wrapped his hand firmly around his bicep and yanked him back.

“You idiot,” Wilbur hissed. “Watch where the hell you’re going.”

When Schlatt didn’t reply Wilbur squinted and followed his gaze downwards. They were right back where they started; overlooking the edge of the first cliff they had climbed except they couldn’t see anything beyond it. Their old refuge, the ugly shack - it had been visible from the precipice before the rain but now there was nothing but a choppy body of water. It was much closer than Wilbur cared to admit and it would only continue to rise and drown them if they didn’t get to higher land.

“Wil…” - it was the first time Schlatt had said anything in a long while - “what do we do?”

He seemed to wilt in Wilbur’s hold like the energy had been sapped out of him. Wilbur readjusted his grip to stop him from slumping to the ground altogether. “No. No. Schlatt, stay with me. Stay.”

He wasn’t even sure if Schlatt was still lucid. He was just half-leading and half-dragging him away from the cliff’s edge, heading back the way they came. “It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth, “look - the next cliff is just a straight line from here. Surely. We won’t get lost this time. We’ll make it.”

Schlatt kept tripping over his own feet, his chin was tucked against his chest like it was too much effort to even raise his head. Still, Wilbur struggled onward, repeating to himself the words: ‘Straight line. Straight line’ like it was a rhythm to maintain the janky syncopation in his legs. Anything to block the image of the rolling ocean from his mind.

He knew why Schlatt had buckled at the sight of it: he had been willing to stay down there had it not been for him. If Wilbur hadn’t talked him out of his resignation like some damned Samaritan then he’d be tossed and drowned by now. The thought of it alone was enough to send Schlatt into shock.

Even with a sense of direction, Wilbur knew that they were taking too long. Even if they got to the second cliff there was no guarantee that they could climb it in time. In fact, any chance of climbing at all was shot the minute it had started raining. Wilbur hastened, tugging Schlatt’s arm over his shoulders so he could carry most of his weight. He tried to keep his head up but his hair kept falling into his eyes and he was beginning to feel like straining cattle until Schlatt finally seemed to rouse himself.

His head shifted, knocking his horns into Wilbur’s jaw and he was pushing weakly against Wilbur’s chest. “Stop complaining,” Wilbur grouched. “There’s nothing gay about it.”

But Schlatt wouldn’t stop prodding; when it became more incessant Wilbur finally snapped and craned his neck to glare down at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Right on cue, before either of them had time to react, a huge streak of lightning flashed down from above and hit the ground near them. The air hummed with the aftermath of the deafening crash and there was a stench of ozone and burning. Wilbur could feel the white heat still lingering and scattering webs were imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, blinding him. He hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen over; he rolled onto his side and felt around for his companion. He heard a pained groan come from his left.

“Schlatt?!”

“I’m here. I’m here. Quit yelling.”

Schlatt touched his shoulder briefly to let him know he was still alive and then the two of them were up and running. The last time Wilbur had run with the intention of escaping death had been the raid in the city and he had a fleeting premonition that it might end the same way. Another lightning bolt touched down nearby and he barely managed to swallow the animalistic urge to travel.

Somewhere in his haze of thoughts, Wilbur came to a realisation: the cluster of lightning strikes in such rapid succession, the hellish weather and tempered storm - it was too much bad luck at once to be written off as mere coincidences. This was the higher beings at play: The Fates. It had all been a well-timed ploy to stop their escape attempt. They were never going to make it.

They never even stood a chance.

This awful epiphany - the cruel joke - was enough to slow Wilbur down and as Schlatt called out for him, he wondered if he had known the inevitability of it all from the start. Maybe that was the reason he’d never wanted to leave the house in the first place. Because it was pointless. All Wilbur had managed to do was delay the inevitable.

A final bolt, much bigger and closer than the rest, struck the ground between the two boys. The impact made the earth tremble and the heat ensured that neither of them would come out of this unscathed. Wilbur couldn’t even hear himself scream. His voice was charged with static and he felt his blood sing within him like he was being cooked alive from the inside out.

He clawed at the ground, tearing up clumps of wet mud and grass in his desperation to gain purchase. He could see the outline of Schlatt’s prone form lying just a few feet away if he could just reach him and root himself. If he could deny his coward’s instinct to run away. He tried to drag himself closer but there was nothing to hold onto, the mud was slippery and coming apart under his hands.

The air around him grew tight and he felt the edges of his mind start to fray. “No,” he choked out, digging his fingernails into his palms, “not again. Please. Please!”

The rain softened and the thunder faded into a distant rumble, Wilbur thought he saw Schlatt stir: a slight turn of his head and twitch behind his eyelids. Had it been anyone else they would’ve second-guessed themselves but Wilbur had no doubts about it; he’d spent his whole life picking up on the minute details of how people worked and he wouldn’t miss now.

“He’s still alive,” he pleaded, though who he was pleading with he couldn’t be sure. “Please don’t do this-”

He didn’t want to shut his eyes for fear of not seeing Schlatt when he opened them, but the air was crushed from his lungs and his body braced for the familiar discomfort of travelling. Even if he didn’t blink it happened anyway.

There one moment-

“No! Goddamnit n o! ”

Wilbur slammed his fist relentlessly into the earth, pressing his face into his arm as he tried to focus on the apocalypse. Take me back. I won’t be a coward. Don’t fail me now. But there was nothing to go back to: unlike all his other travels there had always been a sense of palpability around the time, place and era but here...there was nothing. The timeline was empty. Blank. Erased and scrubbed clean.

This had never happened before; he’d never been rejected and turned away from his own power. He thought hard about London. Italy- hell, even that snowy field where he’d met the ominous deity but nothing came up. It was like he was locked out and left to ponder and deal with the consequences of his actions.

Wilbur lifted his head weakly and scanned his surroundings. It was so eerily quiet without the constant commotion of waves, rain and thunder. He was lying on a grassy hill overlooking a sprawling meadow, a tall tree cast a gentle shade over him as the sun worked on drying his tattered clothes.

There was a strong sense of disconnect like something intrinsic had detached itself and floated away. Was it the fact that he’d left Schlatt for the third time now? Was it the terror of knowing that someone he’d almost considered a friend could be dead because of his cowardice? Wilbur felt sick with guilt.

He lifted himself up and sat with his back against the tree, wincing as the rough bark prodded at his bruised spine. Maybe he could just stay here and become fertiliser for the soil. For a while, he considered the idea of heaven, perhaps he’d actually died and this warm utopia was the higher beings giving him a pat on the back.

You put on a good show. You amused us. Here’s your reward. Rest easy.

And Wilbur wanted to believe it so badly, he wanted to rest and never worry about anything again. He wished he could find the initiative to pick himself up and explore - to gather data and make sense of things the way Schlatt would but the exhaustion ran too deep. He was battered and bruised, utterly spent from everything he’d just gone through, but he was warm in ways that he hadn’t been for a long time. If he could give himself but a moment of respite before he had to worry about feeling guilty...a plaintive melody dredged from the corners of his soul and he hummed.

The vibrations of it kept catching in his throat and his voice sounded as wretched as he felt. He stopped shortly after, not even daring to imagine what his life would be like if he lost his ability to sing. Instead, he thought about what he'd do if he actually had died; maybe he could find Phil again and after that maybe even Schlatt if they’d been kind enough to not send a stray back down to Hell. Schlatt didn’t deserve that.

Lost in the comfort of his own fantasies, Wilbur almost failed to notice two figures making their way up the hill. They’d started as two stark silhouettes in the distance but the closer they got the more Wilbur realised they were not phantoms. One of them had terrible posture and lanky limbs and the other walked in tiny steps, sticking close behind like a lost lamb. No deities would move with such humanlike habits.

“Friend or foe?” The tall one called out, shielding their eyes to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur answered truthfully.

The tall one came a little closer and his friend lingered fearfully. “Tommy, be careful,” they warned.

‘Tommy’ stopped in front of him and Wilbur looked up from his spot on the floor to meet his eyes in a steady glare, he was surprised to see a youthful, boyish face. He wore an archaic, revolutionary uniform that looked like it was centuries out of date, but it was too pristine and new to be just for show.

“Who are you and where did you come from?” Tommy asked authoritatively, but all Wilbur saw was a child playing at being a grown-up. “Are you working for Dream?”

Wilbur held back a scornful laugh, on one hand, he felt bitter that he was, in fact, not in Heaven and on the other he felt helplessly relieved. “I don’t know who that is.”

Tommy scowled and his friend approached them, his curiosity overriding his fear. “How do you not know who Dream is?” - he said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth - “he’s the moron who runs this whole place. You’re on his land right now.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was sight-seeing?”

“Like hell you are,” Tommy said. “What’s your deal, man? Whose side are you on?”

Wilbur flinched. Okay, so that was a bad-take, he'd been in Schlatt's company for so long that he forgot other people didn't take kindly to sarcasm and snark. Wilbur swallowed down the feeling of disappointment. “I'm on no one's side," he said bitterly. "Whatever feud you’ve got going on with this so-called ‘Dream’, I have no part in it. I don’t even know where the hell I am.”

“We already told you. This is the Dream SMP, he owns everything. You can’t just magically stumble onto it, he’d know and have you wiped.”

Wilbur didn’t care for anything Tommy was saying to him, his mind was already formulating plans on how to get his power back. The first thing he would do is go back to find Schlatt. Then what? A small voice inside his head asked. What would you do after that? You can’t bring him with you.

‘I could try,’ Wilbur bit back.

You can’t. The voice reaffirmed. All you could do is sacrifice yourself and die with him. Is that what you want? He’d hate you for doing that.

‘Better than letting him hate me for leaving him behind,’ Wilbur thought. ‘At least this way he won’t have to go through it alone.’

The voice went quiet for a moment before piping up softly. Then try your best, Wilbur Soot.

“What’s wrong with him? Why’s he spacing out like that?”

Wilbur shook himself out of his thoughts and got to his feet, leaning on the tree for support. Tommy, caught off-guard by his sudden movements, retreated into his friend who let out a dignified ‘oof’ at his toes being trodden on.

“From what I gather,” Wilbur said, finding strength in his voice, “you don’t like Dream very much.”

Tommy spat on the ground at the mention of his name and Wilbur took that as an answer. “You say he’s in charge?”

“Not for much longer,” Tommy said defiantly, “we’re planning a revolution to make our own country, starting with this tree.”

“We’ve called it the L’mantree,” his friend interjected. “After our country, L’manburg.”

The spiteful part of Wilbur wanted to say it was a stupid name and give up trying to negotiate with these boys playing pretend at war but instead, he just nodded along. “I could help you then. I’d be surprised if Dream could find anything on me.”

“How do we know you’re not a spy?” Tommy rebuked.

His friend tugged on his tailcoat. “I don’t think he’s lying.”

"We can’t know anything for sure, Tubbo. This guy’s acting sus.”

Wilbur wished he knew how to interact with people better. If he could have even a fraction of the easy charisma that Connor had then he’d have both of them wrapped around his finger by now. All he could do was read the concern on their faces and feed off of it.

“Dream’s f*cking omnipotent,” Tommy continued resentfully, “he has leverage on everyone. He stole my discs.”

Humans and their attachments to material items; Wilbur thought of the coin necklace and missed the feeling of it around his neck. “Only Gods are omnipotent,” Wilbur said. I would know.

His confidence must have resonated with them because the doubt in Tommy’s eyes waned and he turned his body to face Wilbur properly, the universal sign of someone who was open and willing to listen. “What’s in it for you? Why would you help us?”

“I might as well make myself useful. I’ve got a feeling that I’ll be staying here for a while and there’s a lot of things I need to figure out.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to get home for one.”

“Are you really not from here?” Tubbo asked, sounding awed, “I’ve never been anywhere outside of the Dream SMP.”

“You wouldn’t like where I came from,” Wilbur assured him and they only had to look at his dirty, tattered clothes and tangled hair to know that this was most likely true. For all intents and purposes, the man before them looked like the textbook definition of a lunatic but his eyes were sharp with unclouded judgement and he spoke eloquently enough to be a scholar. Moreover, he looked like someone who knew what he was talking about.

Tommy and Tubbo looked at each other and Wilbur picked up on a shrug, a nod and then a surreptitious glance in his direction. It was like they knew each other well enough to transcend spoken conversations. “Why would you want to go back if it’s so bad?”

“A friend of mine is still stuck there,” Wilbur replied after a moment's pause, “and he doesn’t like to be left waiting.”