#dmsp fic

Sapnap stood in the entryway of Tommy’s house, expecting an answer.

Wilbur smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice remained passively cheery with something reserved behind it, “We were just having a talk. A private one.”

Sapnap took another step into the home, “I’m not leaving you here with him. You're looking super… off right now." Something was held back in Sapnap’s words. 

Wilbur took a second to reflect on the moment. The moment wasn’t that abnormal by itself. He pulled a fun harmless prank with George and the two were simply chatting inside a vacant home. It wasn’t necessarily his fault George had too many attachments to his Dream and refused to tell him anything as a result. Wilbur growled out, "It's nothing that concerns you. Leave." 

Sapnap kept his eyes centered on Wilbur. "George, come over here." Wilbur flickered his eyes back for a moment, seeing George try to side-step out of his way. His mind momentarily switched him with Tubbo as their actions mirrored each other. He wasn’t letting another person leave him. He wasn’t letting more information slip through his hands. He couldn’t afford it.

Wilbur harshly exhaled, “We just need to finish this up, then both of you can go do whatever." He really despised how difficult people could be. Simply blinded by a lack of understanding- one Wilbur shared- that was destructive if not properly taken care of.

And how Sapnap was a destructive fool. So easily swayed by his emotions. He pulled out a loaded crossbow, aiming it at Wilbur. His finger rested gently over the trigger, twitching occasionally. “Step the fuck away from him. Hands where I can see them.”

Annoyance filled Wilbur’s eyes. “Sapnap, don’t do anything rash. We can talk this out.” Wilbur gestured to the man in front of him, “I haven’t done a single thing wrong, isn’t that right, George?”

He looked back towards George, who immediately refused to meet Wilbur’s gaze. George was painting him as a villain. The one that cornered him until the heroic Sapnap came to save the day. The one that needed to be taken care of. The one that died to his own flaws. Heroes never died to their flaws. Heroes loaded a crossbow to protect the ‘innocent.’ 

Wasn’t Wilbur just as innocent himself? All he needed was answers to fix the mind of his. The one that insisted to be nicer and embrace the little parts of life. The child in his brain who could be removed if he simply knew a little more. Just a few more minutes of conversation and he would have all he ever needed. But with Sapnap present? He had to turn those minutes into quick moments that would pass before the man holding the crossbow even blinked. 

He placed his hand firmly on George’s shoulder, slightly pushing him back into the wall. He didn’t even intend to. He didn’t apply much pressure. “George-” He was sharply cut off by the stabbing pain in his leg. He jumped onto the other leg to avoid the painful pressure as he was tackled down by someone he couldn’t see.

A punch hit him square in the jaw, landing on top of a bruise he received from Niki not too long ago. He hissed out in pain and tried to throw the person off of him. When he caught a second to look, it was Sapnap on him, but the moment it took to realize that, he whipped his head to the side after getting punched again. 

He wiggled his arms from underneath him and weakly punched him back, unable to move his body into the motion. After more hits that made Wilbur almost dizzy, he knew he couldn’t play fair. He took his fingers and poked them into Sapnap’s eyes, making the man on top of him stop for a moment. Wilbur took the opportunity and punched him as hard as he could, flipping their position and making him on top. 

He prepared to hit Sapnap again, not even thinking about why. All he knew was he was getting attacked, and he wasn’t going to be on the losing side of history. Just as he was going to hit the man under him, a blue blur pushed him off, Wilbur’s curled up fist connecting with George’s arm with half the force he aimed for Sapnap. 

Still, he made a grunt from the impact and muttered something Wilbur couldn’t hear. George seemed to take a small, hesitant step away, but Sapnap didn’t follow suit as he rolled over and grabbed the collar of Wilbur's shirt. Sapnap must’ve pushed on the pulsing pain in his leg as he groaned from the dizzying sensation. Sapnap took it as his chance to hit Wilbur again. It didn’t just happen once, but Wilbur lost track. He just felt his head jerk back and forth and he closed his eyes from the pain. 

When the punches stopped, he opened his eyes slightly. He saw George telling Sapnap something, holding his shoulders firmly. He felt like he could see Sapnap pulling against George’s pull with an anger in his eyes. 

“He’s not worth it,” He heard George mumble. 

Despite being on the floor and writhing in pain, he hissed out at George, “Fuck you.” He felt pain connect with his face once more. He laughed bitterly. The day was saved. The hero put the villain in his spot. He wouldn't do anything bad now. The innocent people could finally live in peace.

The peace that thrived off of the villain being put to a permanent retirement. The stories he heard from a young age painted it so simply. If only he could have a permanent rest. A permanent rest from this routine he lived in. Besides, everyone else needed a break from him anyway. Just a couple of days alive, and they already needed a break.

Sapnap got off of him. Kicking the place where the pain lay in his leg as Wilbur curled up. “Shit,” he whispered, barely able to acknowledge the people still in the room as the pain throbbed once more. He whimpered quietly to himself as he heard footsteps slowly grow fainter and fainter. There was a distinct sound of voices but he didn’t bother paying attention as he closed his eyes.

“-bur! Wilbur?! Please, please respond, Wil.” Panicked whispers filled his mind. “Oh no, oh no, he’s dead. What happens if he’s dead? Do I die and get put into limbo two: electric boogaloo? Does he get put in limbo? Oh no this is bad.” 

A moment of silence was followed by a slightly calmer tone, “No trains coming. That’s good.” Ghostbur cried out in pain, “Wilbur, what did you do this time?” The question wasn’t meant directly to Wilbur, despite him being the subject of it.

Wilbur only managed a groan in response as Ghostbur excitedly gasped, “Wilbur! Can you hear me?”

Wilbur pushed himself up to where he was sitting up. His head spinned as he mumbled, “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“That’s great, because I’d like an explanation of everything that just happened. I thought you said George was your friend! And George didn’t even try to stop all of that. While I don’t think I’ve personally met him, he sounds a little rude.” 

Wilbur tried to stand up but he cried out in pain along with Ghostbur at the sensation in his leg. He muttered, “Oh shit.”

“Language,” Ghostbur bitterly mentioned.

“I got shot with Sapnap’s crossbow.” He frankly should have connected the dots earlier, but he just assumed he got kicked really hard. The blood trickled down his leg, slightly staining his pants along the way.

“Oh! Okay… how- how do we fix this?”

“Prime, Ghostbur, I have no fucking clue.” Wilbur sighed quietly to himself, “I’m not cursing at you or anything. I’m just upset that all of it happened.”

“The feeling is mutual.” 

The comment took Wilbur off-guard, “What did you say?”

“I said the feeling is mutual. Do you not know what that means? It means when-”

Wilbur cut him off, “I know what it means. I just- I really didn’t expect that out of you.” A light astonishment slipped into Wilbur’s voice.

Ghostbur sighed, “That doesn’t really matter right now. We need to focus on your- well I suppose it would be our- leg.”

Wilbur nodded vaguely. “Right. Okay step one…” Wilbur’s voice died as he tried to think of a vague-ish rule that would apply to any injury. “Get out of immediate danger.”

Ghostbur asked, “Is anyone with you?”

Wilbur shook his head, “It’s just you and me. And me and you. We got the whole place to ourselves.” Wilbur chuckled at the familiar jingle. 

Ghostbur didn’t laugh though. His voice stayed firm in a way that frightened Wilbur more than Sapnap did. “What’s step two?”

Wilbur let out a shaky breath, “Um… assess the damage taken.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “There’s gonna be swelling in the face and eventual bruises. There’s also the arrow in my right calf. The injury is on the exterior, about the middle of the leg.” He slightly moved his leg closer, making him wince in pain in company to Ghostbur’s hiss. “It doesn’t seem too deep.”

“You’re doing good so far,” The praise sounded dull, as if it was just supposed to keep Wilbur busy as his mind ran. “Now step three.”

“I’m guessing that would be taking inventory on your medical aid and equipment. As far as medical aid, I-” It was quite pathetic to say that he didn’t have anyone, so he settled on an alternative, “I don’t think anyone is nearby to help.”

“We could go to someone and get help?”

Wilbur quickly feigned an excuse, “I don’t want Sapnap or George seeing me again.”

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, “Good point.” He thought for a moment. “We can’t go to Tubbo or Ranboo either?”

“George or Sapnap might see me and I don’t want to risk going into the nether.”

Ghostbur frustratedly sighed, “So no one wants to help us.” It was stated so matter of factly that Wilbur almost agreed. Instead, he slid himself up one of Tommy’s walls, standing mostly on the leg that wasn’t injured.

Wilbur tried to sugar coat the situation the best he could, “I’m sure people want to. They’re just…” Only helping him out of pity. “Unavailable.” 

“Sure. Alright, what supplies do you have?”

“I doubt I’d find much, most of the useful stuff Tommy had was transferred to Pogtopia.” Before Ghostbur could speak again, he added on, “Ghostie, are you alright?”

“It’s-” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “You need medical attention. Focus on that first.”

“You’re just as important as I am,” Wilbur reassured.

Wilbur hated the silent response more than the arrow in his leg.

He restated, “You are just as important as me.”

The quiet voice filled his mind once more. It was hesitant and small compared to the pain that persisted in Wilbur’s head. He could hardly focus on the words themselves. "I'm not. I'm really not.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, "Woah, where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just don't feel happy right now." The voice lingered in a dull disappointment that stabbed Wilbur in the heart.

Wilbur pulled a cheery voice, "Uh, you can think about Friend?"

He expected a happy rant about the shade of his wool, or the time of day the little sheep ate. He couldn’t expect anything else out of the happy little ghost. He couldn’t expect Ghostbur’s actual answer. "But then I think about things I shouldn't."

"Like what?"

"I…” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “I feel like you lied again. No- I know you did. I just don't like to think about it too much."

“I didn’t li-” Wilbur cut himself off at the realization that he promised Ghostbur they were going to see Friend. The talk was still fresh in his mind, remembering the exact part of the cobblestone bridge he was on along with how he shifted in his clothes uncomfortably. “Oh shi- shoot. Ghostie, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that I didn't see Friend. I tried looking for him, but he wasn't at L'Manberg like last time."

Ghostbur bitterly laughed, "Do you really think that's all you've lied about?" Wilbur thought for a moment before Ghostbur continued, "I know I have memory problems from time to time. But I've been remembering things really clearly ever since you got revived. And nothing makes sense anymore. You said we would go to Tubbo, but now we can't. You- you said Tommy was coming back, but he never did. And- And you rarely tell me things anymore!" Ghostbur’s voice wavered with a saddened anger. It teetered in a way that made him sound like he was crying, "I thought you were my friend." Wilbur’s vision seemed to messily blur at the final words.

Somehow the ghost that loved everyone he met and named a sheep ‘Friend’ was against him. 

One could easily look at Wilbur and see him in those history books. Slightly tint the photos of him a dark gray color or a crimson red if it was recent. State so loudly that no one could stand him. Source all the lives he ruined, and explain how Ghostbur should be in the overworld instead. Let the innocent person run free as the villain rots, cold and alone. Stuck in a train station. That was where Wilbur belonged.

While part of him thought he wasn’t the villain, he was just on the wrong side of history, he knew he was lying to himself, because the two were much the same. It was a habit he developed years ago. He had to believe the best would happen and it would come. So he tried to believe the best, his tone coming off as sarcastic and uncaring, "Oh, we totally are friends! Best friends forever, y'know?" 

Ghostbur’s voice shook with such confidence and resentment, "A best friend would tell me things and stop the pain from constantly hurting." A melancholic gray filled his vision for a moment, before flickering away.

Wilbur shifted on his uninjured leg and hobbled towards the entrance of Tommy’s house. Ghostbur wanted to be told the perspective of the world. Simple. There was the wretched villain looking out of an abandoned home, squinting into sun, attempting to help a ghost trapped in his mind. Wilbur spoke in a hushed tone, “I can tell you things. There's an apple on the ground. It’s bright red-"

Ghostbur cut him off, his words rushed and eager to escape him, "Tell me the important things! The details about clouds and trees mean nothing if I'm in pain!"

Wilbur hummed in acknowledgement, “You’re right.” He hopped once more out of Tommy’s house, using the exterior of the wall to act as a support as he limped towards a familiar direction. The world was closing in on him, when he realized who he was once more. Wilbur Soot. Creator and destroyer of L’Manberg. The villain who had been slayed yet again. A repressed genius, who had been holding back for far too long. He let out a breath as he felt his entire being soaring towards the sky, out of the pain, and into the sky that belonged to him as much as his sunrise. “We’re- I’m going to Pogtopia.”

He heard sniffles echo through his mind accompanied by hisses of pains and quick apologies. It turned into white noise as he centered his mind on his throbbing leg, well- as he tried to center the pain there. His mind still ran, telling him about all the things he grinned at. 

It felt nice to be above it all. He was simply a mastermind, a work of art that no one else understood. The walk was moderately quick, but peaceful. The adrenaline must have been kicking in as his limp lessened. 

He coughed once, as he supported himself on the walls of Pogtopia. His hand ran over the buttons, and while he didn’t press them, he could hear them clicking faintly. They weren’t mocking him anymore, he thought. They were shaking underneath his grasp, and it sent a laugh through his body. “I’m here,” he said out loud.

“Great,” Ghostbur said sharply, though it was clear he had a hard time saying it.

He threw back his head a little, as if he was bored. “I’m not sure where they put the medical equipment.” He thought about his last trip to this place. “Ah, perhaps Tubbo brought it to that little bunker of his.” The name seemed to sting his tongue, but everything else stung him more, so it was hardly relevant.

“We…” Ghostbur tried with a shaky voice, “We’re not allowed to go in there without him. H- he said-”

“You were the one who said medical attention was the first priority,” Wilbur reminded the ghost, continuing to walk ahead. He received no response.

Whatever.

He remembered where the bunker was, fortunately. He soon found himself in there, and while it felt forbidden just before he walked inside, Wilbur never cared much about what he was supposed to do. The world wasn’t going to keep him down. He had been staying at the train station, with little to no light, and hours, days, years ticking ahead. He had let the comfort of tolerance, and connection that would be broken at the slightest misstep, overwhelm him. He had forgotten everything he had learned last time he was in Pogtopia. A silly little shell, who was far too easy to keep down. But Wilbur wasn’t anyone’s shell anymore.

He looked at the books and the little farms for food. One could stay there for months or longer, and remain perfectly intact. “Huh, I could do some reading while I’m down here,” he said.

“Please- please take…” Ghostbur’s voice wavered, though the next part came out harshly, “Please take care of the wounds.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I will.”

Ghostbur responded to that with a hiss of pain, but Wilbur barely noticed as he walked to the nearest chest to pick up some bandages. There was thankfully a potion of regeneration, and something that would disinfect the wound. He wished it was an instant health instead, or even just having more potions in general. 

Regardless, he sat down on a chair, feeling the pain slightly more as his leg changed position. He looked at the arrow. “I’m going to remove the arrow now. Brace yourself I guess.”

Ghostbur held his breath, and Wilbur ripped it out with as much quick force as he could, knowing full well that it would be less painful to get it done quickly. “There we go.” His smile wavered for a moment, though he settled on the most confident expression he could muster. He’d done this countless times before. Ghostbur sobbed, and Wilbur huffed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”