Chapter Text
Hello? kid? Did you even listen? Are you sure?
Things could go very wrong if you were to come with me. You gotta understand that I'm not the nurturin' type you're looking for. Do you even know what you're lookin' for? There's gonna be a lot of times where I can't save your ass. Don't regret it. Alright?
Don't regret it.
Tommy?
Tommy's eyes fluttered open.
The thick, mixed smell of oil and sulfur burned his nose. A metallic taste sat heavy on his tongue. Ringing filled his ears. Smoke obscured his vision and his head felt stuffed with cotton.
He coughed and batted the smoke away. A small whimper escaped his lips as confusion and fear settled in. Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?
Tommy tried to stand, only to be halted by a sharp pain to his side. He looked down and gasped, eyes widening at the sight of blood pooling on his seat and white shirt, half of a torn seatbelt stuck to it.
Tommy hastily ripped it away. His shoulder and hip burning from where the seatbelt must've dug in. His memories began to return, pulling bits and pieces together and forming reality. The ringing in his ears subsided. Someone was shouting.
A hand clasped on his shoulder. Tommy grabbed on instinct, and two arms began pulling him up. He gritted his teeth at the pain, the effort it took to squeeze his way out of broken, bent doors.
Tommy squinted as light poured over him. He was met with Wilbur's ash-streaked face, before the world spun and he's hurled to the ground.
Tommy gasped, back slamming on soft grass. What the fuck. He thought, facing a moon—or a sun? But you can't stare at the sun like this without damaging your eyes—enveloped by a sky of yellow and blue hues reminiscent of dawn on Earth.
The grass prickled his skin. Tommy took in a huge gulp of air—at least it's the breathable type—and scrambled up on his knees. Plumes of smoke rose from the windows of the wrecked pod. The interior shattered and strewn with half-burnt components and supplies.
Before Tommy could gain his footing, Wilbur dragged him by the collar.
"Ey!" He croaked out, clawing at Wilbur's wrist.
Wilbur glanced down at him, dazed and looking much younger than the stern lieutenant Tommy had come to know. There was blood trickling down his temple and his once pristine suit was scorched and torn at the ends.
Wilbur let go of his neckline. "Can you stand?"
In response, Tommy struggled to his feet. "Yeah." He nodded with a wry grin, vision swimming and still a bit shaken. He clutched his side, not daring to look down at the bloody mess. He swallowed and shoved away the panic threatening to climb up his throat.
"Then get going," Wilbur pointed to the ruined pod. "Unless you want to meet the same fate as your friends."
Tommy glared at him and followed closely behind, swatting blades of white grass that got shorter as they moved further and further off. The field stretched out before them. He noticed Wilbur walked with a limp, and the sun blaster remained strapped on his belt.
Even though they were expecting it, the blast still startled them. Heatwaves smacked their backs, causing them to stagger forward. The booming sound reverberated in their skulls, and then the heat suddenly plunged, immersing them in the cold once more. Neither of them turned to look at it. The gravity of the situation becoming apparent.
They continued walking.
"What the fuck's going on?" Tommy asked, failing to hide the tremor in his voice. He already had a good idea of what the fuck's going on.
Ahead, Wilbur paused and slowly shook his head. He checked his pockets.
Tommy's breath hitched when Wilbur brushed his fingers over the gun's handle—shit, shit, shit—Instead, he pulled out a small portable device. "Friend?" He muttered.
There was a long pause before a familiar, flat voice crackled to life.
[Hello, Wilbur.]
Wilbur sagged in relief. "Oh, thank the stars."
Tommy blinked, stunned. It was the voice of the spaceship. "You managed to transfer your entire operating system in that thing?"
Wilbur shrugged, clutching the device to his chest. "It's part of- of protocol—Friend?"
"I can't believe you fucking named it friend."
[Yes, Wilbur?]
"What happened? Where are we?"
They waited with bated breath. Tommy stood there, aching and cold and sweating. Wilbur appeared unfazed but his slouched posture and trembling hands revealed otherwise.
[While you were asleep,] It began. [The ESC Pod suffered an engine failure due to severe weather patterns and ionizing radiation, destabilizing the systems and taking us off course.] a pause. [Standard operating procedure advised The ESC Pod to land in the nearest sphere.]
"And you didn't think to wake us!?"
[I did try, Wilbur. But was unable to do so given how cleverly efficient the anesthetic gas was in pacifying hysteric passengers.] It paused, voice strained. Tommy could hardly call himself a hysteric passenger. [You were in deep sleep. I made meticulous calculations and was confident you would survive.]
Wilbur grumbled under his breath. "So, where are we?"
[Unable to identify. Sphere not registered in database.]
"Fuck." Wilbur brushed a hand through his hair. Then winced in pain. His fingers must've grazed his head wound. "Fuck. If only I was..." He then turned to Tommy with a hard glare.
Tommy refused to falter, he glared back.
Wilbur stomped—or rather, limped—towards him. "I could've redirected us—This wouldn't have happened if you didn't fucking lunged at me!"
"Maybe you shouldn't have kidnapped me." Tommy hissed, leveling his gaze.
"That wasn't kidnapping! You're a criminal! An outlaw, under arrest—"
"You starved me for days!"
"I did not—"
"You blew up my friends!" Tommy inhaled sharply, chest heaving. He latched on to the adrenaline coursing through him, fueling his anger for the man. A welcome distraction from the soreness of his body.
Wilbur's face darkened. "Those friends of yours have blown up several more ships with innocent lives on it," Then, like rubbing salt on the wound, he added. "They deserved it."
"You fucking bastard, you—" Tommy scowled, body tense and shaking with rage. "You fuckin' shitlicking arsehole! Go to hell."
Tommy restrained himself from killing the man then and there. He didn't want to risk finding out which one of them was faring better in their wounded state.
Lashing out could only worsen his injuries. He shot Wilbur another glare, and hoped the amount of hatred burning in his eyes was enough of a message—I will make your life a living hell. I will ruin you—a promise.
Tommy spoke in a sharp whisper. "You should've left me to die."
Wilbur blinked, his expression wavering for a moment before his stone-face mask slotted in place. "Good that I kept you alive then. Consider it your damnation."
With that, they continued walking in silence. Their heads hung low and brows furrowed. Blaming each other would not save them from this predicament.
The unspoken presence of death loomed over them. After what felt like several grueling hours, they spotted in the distance, an area resembling a forest.
Tommy pushed himself to keep going despite the strong urge to collapse. He hoped that covering his wound with his palm would be enough to contain the bleeding for now. He needed to keep going.
Tommy may be a criminal, but unlike Techno or Phil, he has not yet developed a tolerance for the feel and sights of blood and gore.
He doesn't think he's brave enough to face whatever damage there is. If he wanted to keep his sanity, he'd rather not look. He'd rather not think about it at all.
As soon as they entered the forest, Tommy placed a hand on the tree and noticed that it had a unique, smooth feel that was unlike any other tree he's encountered before. It pulsed as though it were beating and felt warm to the touch.
"It looks like... like pine?" He leaned against it. Everything here felt artificial. Too clean. Too precise.
Wilbur limped to another tree beside him and rested on it with a heavy sigh. Phalleums were incapable of feeling cold. Despite that advantage, Wilbur didn't look any better than Tommy did.
His scorched skin, paled face, and hair matted in blood bore a silent testimony to what could be a slow death. Gone was the formidable and pretentious lieutenant. Tommy was looking at a much different man.
"This is..." Wilbur slid down to the ground. "This is the worst."
Tommy dropped down too, hand still frozen on his side. He moved closer in hopes of gaining some warmth—which was stupid because Phalleums were the last species in the galaxy to ever seek warmth from.
Wilbur rolled up his bloodied pant sleeves, revealing a gnarly sight of bone leaking through translucent flesh like a horrible imitation of an X-ray.
Tommy winced, turning away.
Wilbur laughed bitterly. "I can't believe I'm dying- I'm dying next to a fiend." He squeezed his thigh and gasped. He tilted his head up at the sky. "I can't move my stupid leg."
"Serves you right." Tommy spat.
Wilbur turned to him then, scanning him up and down. "You're bloody."
"And you smell." Tommy's gaze drifted to the gun strapped on Wilbur's belt. He slurred. "There were plenty of- of times you could've killed me but you didn't."
Wilbur stared at him, then laughed again. "I must be going mad," He shook his head. "I suppose there are worse ways to go... to go mad. Something like- like silence?"
Tommy narrowed his eyes. "So you kept me for what? for company?"
Wilbur shot him a weak glare. "As much as it... it pains me to say, you still do hold valuable information." He replied. "Not that it matter now, right?"
Tommy blinked slowly at the revelation, remembering the muzzle pressed to his forehead. "You were bluffing."
"I was bluffing."
"You still need me?" Tommy mumbled. He recoiled at how small and childish he sounded.
Wilbur butted his head against the tree, not looking at him. "Unfortunately."
Both of them fell silent.
Wilbur tore the ends of his shirt and tied it around his broken leg. He had taken out Friend and every now and then he'd ask it the same question. "Odds of survival?"
Friend does not respond as quickly as it should. [Forty. Higher if, life forms, medication, and plasma, emerge in your location. A quick proximity scan reveals no evidence of life nearby.]
Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat. His vision blurred and black at the edges. Too exhausted to feel anything but resignation. He glanced at Wilbur.
Wilbur's head lolled on his shoulders. His grip on Friend loosening. He stopped asking it questions after the fourth time.
Tommy nudged him. Surprisingly, Wilbur responded with a nudge of his own.
They don't know how much time passed keeping each other awake, not knowing whether it was out of pure spite, delirium, or pity. Perhaps a mix of all three.
Tommy began to feel afraid whenever Wilbur took too long to respond, and amid his dissolving mind a single, thought embedded itself. I don't want to die alone.
A howl in the distance tore the icy air. They both tensed. The noises becoming louder, ripping the static in Tommy's ears. Howling, barking, and footfall all crashed together, shattering the silence they had become so accustomed to.
"Fuck." Tommy rasped, lifting a weary hand to shake Wilbur's shoulder. "Dickhead. Captain. Lieu- Lieut- Soot. Wilbur? You've got to- You've—"
Just when Tommy thought he wouldn't budge, Wilbur surprised him again by swatting his hand for the thousandth time. His eyes closed. "Go away."
"Do you hear that? I don't- I don't know- I don't want to die—"
"You've got your wish." Wilbur mumbled.
This is it. Tommy’s going to die, mauled by wolves—he hoped they were wolves. Much better than a foreign creature—beside the person he hated most in the galaxy.
Would he be registered as missing? Would they have a funeral? Probably not. Techno never valued customs like those. He never cared much for anything other than his goals, perhaps not even Tommy.
The footfalls were louder now.
No. Tommy gritted his teeth. He mustered every ounce of his remaining strength to summon a last-ditch effort to stand. Ignoring every stab of pain that struck all at once. His muscles screaming. I refuse to die like this. I don't want to die.
Tommy leaned heavily on the tree trunk, searching for better cover. But there was nothing. No bushes. No caves. No holes. And if there were any, he didn't see them. All there is were identical pine trees and white, unmoving snow.
Tommy took a step forward and weakness overcame him. "God—" He stumbled and landed on Wilbur's lap, his weight pressing down on the man's injuries.
Wilbur shot up, a muffled scream torn from his lips as a wave of intense shock jolted through his body. He muttered a string of curses and groaned, clasping Tommy's shoulder in an attempt to push him off. "You're a- a real piece of work—"
Tommy couldn't move. He hid his face in the tatters of Wilbur's suit and clung to his waist, feeling like a child.
I want Phil. Tommy missed their voices. His messy room near the engines, their jokes, the caw bots. He wanted to see them. He wanted to be saved by them. I want Phil. I want Techno. I need you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything for christmas. I'm sorry for not listening to you. I'm sorry for always being an idiot. I'm sorry.
A gust of smoke and snow flurried around them as they lay pathetic on the ground. A sharp, silver gleam skidded to a halt. Something approached him. He caught a glimpse of a snout buried in Wilbur's hair. Tommy heard his heart hammering and the surge of blood in his veins. Static. Cold. Hot. Numb.
With Wilbur's arm wrapped around his shoulders, the world faded to black.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀ ˖⠀✦⠀˖⠀ 𓂃⠀𓈒
"You're Wilbur Soot?"
"Yes, sir."
The old general looked at him from head to toe, a hint of doubt in his expression. "You're much younger than I expected."
"I hear that a lot sir," Wilbur said with a friendly grin. "I've heard experience doesn't come with age."
"You do have a good track record," The general nodded, scanning his papers with pursed lips. "Good conduct. Discipline. Haven't failed a single mission..."
He raised his head, gaze suddenly serious. "You realize this isn't your casual law enforcement son. You're asking for deployment."
"I'm well aware," Wilbur replied quickly. "I understand it's consequences."
"Do you?" The general's gaze was suffocating, shrinking him into a microbe that didn't know how to breathe yet.
Wilbur clenched his jaw and averted his gaze.
"Can I ask you something?" He leaned in, his eyes fixed on Wilbur with an intensity that made the young man's breath catch in his throat.
"Of course, sir."
"What drives you?" The general asked. "I've dealt with a whole lot of men in my time, but never one who looked as lost as you."
Any shred of confidence Wilbur had vanished. The floor seemed to crumble underneath his feet. Both shame and fury rose to the surface like a tide within him. Were his records not enough? What's the old man getting at?
But he'd been trained better than let emotion seize him. He tilted his head to the side, and acted nonchalant while the cogs of his mind whirred at a rapid pace, searching desperately for an appropriate answer.
But before he could respond, the general sighed.
"Maybe I'm wrong," He said, piling the papers on his desk. "Or not. You don't have to answer. All that matters right now are your choices. I don't believe in right or wrong choices, but I wanted to make sure this ain't one you'll come to regret one day." a beat. "Can I trust you on that?"
Wilbur swallowed. He nodded.
Yet the question had turned into an itch he can't ignore. It dug under his skin, prodding at an uncomfortable place inside him. What drives you? Honor? Pride? Purpose? All of the above?
Wilbur opened his mouth—
And he woke up.
And felt like his head was being crushed by a mallet. The dream (memory?) slipping away.
Wilbur rubbed the blur off his eyes, and was greeted by a green-leathered ceiling. He got up slowly, one hand pressed on his forehead.
He found himself in a messy and cramped tent. There was a foldable chair and miniature stove to the side. A stack of books, a wooden desk covered in blueprints, and in the very corner there was a bucket that he could only assume was for pissing.
Wilbur yanked the blanket off and saw that his shin had been strapped with a makeshift tourniquet. Covering most of the transparent skin that had diffused. His pants were deliberately torn into shorts and his suit jacket was missing, left only with a white shirt that smelled a bit like chlorine.
“Frien—” Wilbur froze. He doesn’t have his Unit. His belongings are nowhere near.
He swung his legs to the side, the bed creaking. He put pressure on his leg, testing it and feeling nothing but numbness.
He got to his feet and searched the tent once more before concluding that his belongings were definitely not in any of these heaps of senseless garbage.
The last thing Wilbur remembers is Theseus falling unceremoniously on top of him and crying out for someone named Phil. Stupid kid. He thinks. That is to say, where are you?
Wilbur walked over to the tent's exit, swishing the flaps open and letting a stream of light enter. He doesn't even get one foot out before he's stopped by a spear splayed across his chest.
“Ghrowa” A tall Piglin guard, wearing a white dust coat and pelt over his shoulders. Wait. They said. Their accent incredibly thick and rough. “Gu ho ghrolea, Ghri rhog?”
You can not leave. Do you understand? Wilbur swallowed. He wasn’t good at Piglin. He always had trouble with their awful verbs and use of simple tenses.
But he tried. He did not spend two years of Astrolinguistics for nothing. Wilbur cleared his throat. “Gi guhrnee…”
The Piglin’s face twisted. Wilbur reeled back, correcting himself. “Gi gruhnee to ghrotem?” I need my stuff?
The Piglin arched his eyebrows. He shook his head and remained standing on guard with his spear, his broad back blocking the view outside.
At that, Wilbur couldn’t help but assess his odds of beating him—a habit of his—and it seemed low.
Besides, he didn’t want to cause trouble with a wounded body on a planet that could be inhibited by a Piglin tribe.
“Zhroghta.” Thank you. He said, trying to be polite.
Wilbur sat back on his bed. The gears in his mind already turning, making lists, and steps. Assess the outside. Figure out where you are. Get a lay of the land. Are they hostile? Find Theseus. Find Friend.
It took only a span of a few minutes, when someone rushed into his tent, cutting his thoughts short.
A short boy—A Rham, as he could tell by the curled horns—with wooly brown hair covering his eyes. He wore a muddy green parka with an unfamiliar emblem pinned to it.
The Rham clenched his fists and took a few tentative steps, before speaking. “You speak Piglin?”
Wilbur scrunched his nose. "Horrible, actually." He replied in Common.
"Sure." The Rham rolled his eyes then held out his hand. "Tubbo."
Wilbur clasped it, giving it a firm shake. "Wilbur Soot."
"I know." Tubbo gave him a brief nod and pointed at his leg. “That’s gonna hurt like a bitch in a few hours.”
“I know.” Wilbur mustered a grin.
Tubbo huffed at his teasing and turned away. “Follow me. Let’s talk somewhere else.”
Wilbur did as he was told. There was an air of authority to the otherwise short Rham. The Piglin guard from earlier appeared more relaxed as he walked past them. They gave Wilbur a small nod. He nodded back.
The sky hadn’t changed since the first time he saw it—clear yellow and blue hues—They were in a campsite up on a white, grassy hill. The eerie, pine forest behind them.
"Your uh, companion was very eager to fill us in on what happened to you both." Tubbo said.
Wilbur replied slowly, unable to contain the disdain from his voice. "Has he now?" At least they weren't separated.
In the center was a bonfire surrounded by four other tents and an odd group of varying species—another Rham, another Piglin, Shulk, Feline—all chatting, laughing, together with strange, wolf-and-horse like creatures.
They greeted Tubbo.
Tubbo waved back at them with a smile.
When Wilbur passed, they eyed him warily before resuming their conversation with hushed whispers. Not a Piglin tribe then. Not a hostile one. But not too friendly either. A suspicious one.
From the barrels and equipment, they could be an excavation team of sorts. Brought together to investigate this no-name planet. In another life, Wilbur would've loved to be one of those.
At least it’s an inhabited planet. That lessened his fears a little.
Tubbo urged him to hurry, noticing he was lagging behind. Wilbur jogged next to him. “Are you really a Rham?” He blurted out.
They both paused in front a much larger, green tent. Tubbo raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like your tone.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just— how old are you?”
“Did the Imperium not teach you any manners like, never ask a Rham’s age?”
Wilbur shrugged. "I'm afraid I haven't encountered that many Rhams in my lifetime. But all the Rhams I've met were rather—" He gestured vaguely. "Big."
That was a Rhams’ most striking quality after all, other than the horns. They are creatures of strength, fortitude, and structure. Metalworkers. Craftsmen. He was genuinely curious.
Tubbo gave him a flat stare. He ignored his question and entered the tent.
Wilbur held back a sigh, stepping inside, and was immediately struck by a berry scent. The tent was more organized than the one he woke up in. There were crates full of bottles, and barrels full of stools all stacked to the side and neatly aligned.
A desk stood in the center, with papers and maps that made Wilbur feel more and more like he'd stumbled into a fantasy land. Who used traditional papers and maps nowadays?
To his left was a battered couch, where Theseus sat with crossed arms. The moment those lilac blue eyes landed on Wilbur, it glared at him.
Wilbur, unfazed, thought he looked like a kicked puppy with his swollen cheek and bandages.
On the right was a tall, lanky Enderian—an Enderian! One of the most clandestine species in the known universe—their eyes flitted up from their notebook as they entered. A startling red and green. A stone crown sat on their head. They adjusted it and smiled nervously at him.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Wilbur replied.
“That’s Ranboo.” said Tubbo, taking a seat behind the desk. He motioned for Wilbur to sit somewhere.
Wilbur decided that sitting on a sturdy barrel was preferable to being in close proximity with Theseus on the couch.
The boy looked like he was only a split second away from pouncing on him again, as if he had been waiting this entire time to continue their brawl aboard the escape pod.
Wilbur did not need to make a fool of himself. Neither should Theseus.
As he moved his gaze from Ranboo, to Tubbo, then back to Theseus. He came to a realization.
“Children,” Wilbur said. “I’m surrounded by children.”
“Hey!” Tubbo sputtered. “I’m older than all of you combined.”
“You must hold all the answers to my questions then.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Tubbo spat, crossing his arms and tipping the chair. “You know, like I said, Tommy here has given us a very generous description of you. Do you wanna hear it? erm, what was it? Ran?”
“Uh,” Ranboo flipped through their notebook. “Let’s see, he said and I quote ‘Wilbur is a stuck-up Imperium dog who kidnaps people and loves to blow up spaceships. He is also an asshole who always—emphasis on always—smells bad and has a receding hairline."
“I do not have a receding hairline.” Wilbur retorted, brushing a hand through his hair, self-consciously.
Theseus flipped him off.
Wilbur returned it. “Can I also give a very generous description of Thomas? Just to be fair."
“I will murder you—”
"Oy!" Tubbo banged his fist on the desk, head turning to each of them. Though It was difficult to see if he was truly upset with his eyes hidden. "Enough of that. Let's get on to the important matters at hand."
Theseus grumbled something under his breath. Wilbur rolled his eyes.
“You are currently in our little, mining area. We saw smoke and rushed over. Both of you were on the brink of death. So we figured it’d be faster to nurse you here than in the village."
Wilbur nodded. There was an underlying message in his words. We didn’t know if we could trust you.
“This planet. How come it isn’t registered in our database?” He asked.
“Just as it should,” Tubbo replied in a cold tone. “Since you’re both awake and not dying, we can head out to the village in an hour.”
Wilbur's shoulders sagged. Tubbo bent down and pulled out a pouch. He flung it on the desk. “Your stuff.”
Wilbur made no haste to rummage through it. Finding his Unit, his badge—”We had to dispose of your jacket. You wouldn’t like how it looked”—Only the gun was missing.
Of course. Wilbur pretended not be bothered by it. He would've done the same.
Tommy scoffed. "My stuff turned into dust."
"Shut up." Wilbur took out his Unit. It powered on the moment the device detected his touch.
[Hello, Wilbur.}
"There you are." Wilbur's couldn't help but give in to a small smile. If there was any solace in this situation, it would be that Friend was still functioning and holding all the data.
Ranboo stared at it, wide-eyed. "That still works?"
The question caught Wilbur off guard. His smile faded. He lowered Friend back in the pouch and nodded slowly. "Yeah? Why wouldn't it?"
"Huh," Tubbo rubbed the base of his neck, seeming just as perplexed as Ranboo. They exchanged glances. "Whatever hard drive your Unit has must be pricey. High-tech devices don't bode well on this planet. I reckon it's why your pod crashed."
Theseus sank lower in his seat, bouncing his leg. A pinched expression formed on his face at Tubbo's words, one that Wilbur had often seen during their interrogations. He knew something Wilbur didn't. It made him nervous.
"We get solar storms quite often, real heavy ones." Tubbo shrugged, turning his gaze to Theseus with a wary frown. "And I know neither of you plan on staying but, well—Do you see where I'm getting at? Shit. This is always the hard part."
Wilbur narrowed his eyes—The lack of electronics, bare sky, weird sun—He grimaced. "You don't have a working ship."
"Exactly."
"Not one that could withstand the storms?"
"Nope."
"Fuck."
Ranboo mumbled. "No radio signals. No power. No electricity..."
"You're kidding," Wilbur laughed nervously. "Not even a single, working ship? Have you- Have you all just been stuck here—?"
"Oh, no. We dropped off."
"What? Bloody why— why would anyone do that?"
"You're- You're not totally hopeless!" Ranboo held up their hands, sensing the rising panic in his voice. "We do know someone who could give you a ride."
Wilbur sighed in relief. When he looked at their faces again, he frowned. "He's not here, is he?"
Ranboo chuckled nervously, wringing their fingers together. "No."
"He drops by rather sporadically." Tubbo added.
"The fuck are we supposed to do then?" Wilbur snapped without meaning to. "Wait until our hairs turn gray? There has to be something. I refuse to believe everyone here is just- just trapped— You. Tubbo. You come from a planet of builders."
"I come from a planet of divided factions. Alas, I'm from the one that builds houses, not spaceships."
"There is a rare- a small, window of time where the storms are weakest." Ranboo intervened.
Tubbo nodded at him. "We can try to radio our guy a message. The best you could hope for is a week."
"And at worst?"
"A year." Tubbo hunched his shoulders. "Or two."
"Fuck." A humorless laughter bubbled out of him.
His superiors would issue a search. They won't be able to easily trace Friend's signal thanks to the storms. His colleagues would discover the leftover debris of his ship and click their tongues and say That's going in his paycheck. Property damage. Will they find this planet? Map the route of their escape pod. Arrest Theseus, slap his back, and joke Finally took a vacation, huh Soot?
No. Wilbur would reply. I could hardly call it one.
"You can also try the scrapyard!" Ranboo suggested. The hopeless look on Wilbur's face must've alarmed him again.
Wilbur willed himself to relax. Be inquisitive. Be friendly. You're not dead yet. "Scrapyard?"
"You're not the first to crash here. It's where we dump machine parts."
"I really doubt there's anything useful there," Tubbo gave Ranboo a pointed look. A silent conversation passing between them. The scrapyard appeared to have a history. Wilbur bet it wasn't a good one.
But at its mention, Theseus perked up. "Where?" He said, voice so sharp that it startled them. He had been so quiet that they all forgot he was there.
Wilbur couldn't believe that Theseus could be so quiet. Invisible, even.
Tubbo stared at him for a moment before pushing the chair back and standing. "That. I think, is our cue to go." From one of the tool barrels he pulled out a tall, wooden stick, and handed it to him. "For the limp."
Wilbur pursed his lips. He accepted it with a heavy sigh.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀ ˖⠀✦⠀˖⠀ 𓂃⠀𓈒
Tubbo called the wolf-horse creatures a Lyk'om. It was their one mode of transportation. The Lyk'om pulled their tight, rickety sled across the white landscape. Ranboo claimed that it was a word mixed up from a Rhamian phrase, the wolves have hooves. He said as if expecting one of them to laugh.
Wilbur didn't give a damn and was just relieved the Lyk'om weren't the man-eating kind.
Theseus called the ride they were in a bobsled and recounted events of a winter sport done on Earth. He has returned to his usual, foulmouthed demeanor and was filling everyone in with useless knowledge. While Tubbo and Ranboo pretended to care—Wilbur didn't. He didn't give a damn about that either.
"I'm impressed this planet went under our radar for so long." Wilbur chimed in before Theseus could go on another spiel about Earth traditions.
He had his chin propped on the heel of his palm, attempting to sound casual and curious. Not anxious and suspicious.
Tubbo and Ranboo—who were in front of them, steering the creatures—exchanged another one of their strange looks. Ranboo opened their mouth to reply, when Tubbo cut them off.
"We shoot them."
Wilbur blinked, stunned by his bluntness. "Sorry?"
"We shoot them," Tubbo repeated, sparing him a quick glance. "You know, people who like to stick their fingers in every pie where it doesn't belong. People like you. Who could report us and have this planet colonized and stripped of resources in a day. Earlier, you asked why this planet isn't registered in your database." He shrugged. "This is one reason."
Wilbur repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "You kill our agents?"
"Kill is a strong word. When I said, we shoot them, I mean—we sedate them, sorry. And we don't sedate every agent. Just the ones we can't win over. Don't worry. It's only happened twice."
And there, all the pieces fell into place. These people who chose to live in an unsanctioned planet we're in hiding. "You're rebels." Wilbur muttered.
"My brethren!" Theseus exclaimed, a hand on his chest. Wilbur didn't point out that Technoblade was far from a rebel.
"Ah, no. I used to be a rebel. They—" Tubbo pointed to Ranboo. "They tagged along."
"But I haven't shot anyone," Ranboo declared. "Yet."
"Well then," Wilbur chuckled. "I can't wait to see the pyre."
"Soot, if I wanted you dead. You would not be here." Tubbo replied dryly.
"Funny you think I'd let it be that easy."
Theseus nudged his side. "You've sunk so low, Soot. You're hanging 'round with a merry band of criminals!"
Tubbo made a disapproving sound. "Not criminals. No. Not anymore."
Wilbur's frown deepened. Not for the threats to his life—Stars know he has a daily subscription for them—but rather what Tubbo had implied. All this hiding. These rebels. We shoot them. People like you. Who could report us and have this planet colonized and stripped of resources in a day.
People like you.
"...We don't do that to planets." Wilbur murmured without thinking, adapting a stern tone. "We take them under our protection. We give them better technology, better lives, and—"
Theseus interrupted him with a loud scoff. "Yeah? Tell that to the people of Fluphcus."
Wilbur glared at him. He's only heard of Fluphcus in passing. From involved colleagues and radio intermissions. The amount of talk that surrounded it had spurred the intergalactic media. Who wouldn't want to make a buck out of sensationalism? 10 Million Year-old Flora Planet Dies due to Government Mishaps!
"I've never heard of that," Tubbo muttered. His eyes trained forward to the slopes ahead. "What'd they do?"
Theseus grinned. He replied flatly. "Harnessed the energy of the planet's star and killed every living thing in it."
Tubbo blew out a low whistle. "Shit man, really?"
Wilbur balled his hands into fists. He may not have been there. It simply didn't involve their department. But he knew more than the headlines, the sleazy journalists, the rebels—He'd met some of the people who worked there, the scientists, the engineers. Everyone who tried everything they could to salvage it.
"They consented. There were precautions and agreements. They knew the consequences. We did not kill that planet."
"Hundreds died." Theseus hissed.
"And we made up for it. We tried to convince them what would happen if we went any further. They had a choice, Thomas. They didn't make it." Wilbur blew out a breath, uncurling his fists, finding the appropriate words to defend the Imperium—himself? "And when it was too late, you think we didn't try to save them? You think we wanted that to happen? We prevented their species from full-on extinction. The public—or rather, people like you—are eager to forget that."
"So what!? You make it sound like that isn't your fault! It doesn't change the fact that they nearly died because of your- your dumb energy experiment! You must've threatened them. Gave them weird mind control shit—"
"Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?" Wilbur seethed. "Maybe if your ears weren't so clogged with rebel propaganda, you'd realize that we're all people doing our best too. We want what's best for everyone."
"What makes you- you and your garbage empire know what's best for everyone!? Who are you to even say shit like that—"
The sled came to a grinding halt. They both lurched forward with a collective gasp.
"Here we are." Tubbo twisted around to give them a wry grin, unamused by how their conversation turned out. Ranboo squirmed uncomfortably beside him. "Look, we don't give a shit about who you are or what you did. I don't care about this petty grudge you've got going—"
"—It is not petty—"
"I don't care that Tommy is a criminal. I don't care about your status or that your hairline is receding," Tubbo shot him a pointed look, daring Wilbur to comment. "What I'm saying is—We're all good. As long as neither of you blows shit up. No killing each other. Yeah?"
"Oh! WIlbur has got you covered on explosions—"
"Tommy." Tubbo frowned.
Theseus clamped his mouth shut, lowering his gaze.
Wilbur huffed, looking around to see where they were.
The village didn’t look like anything Wilbur had ever seen before. With each burgundy cottage, was a porch lit by lanterns with a soft blue glow. There were a few meandering individuals of different species, barely giving their presence any attention as they went on with their business of exchanging conversation and valuables.
Tranquility. The word fluttered in Wilbur’s mind. Something that he hasn’t felt in a long time—Not that he feels it at the moment. He needs to keep his guard up. But the sight of the tranquil village made his shoulders sag and sigh, content.
At the stone, arched entrance was a sign made out of the same wood-like material of the houses. Halcyon. It read, painted in faded white strokes.
Beside it was a boulder and on top of the boulder, sat a Piglin child with pink hair and messy streaks of green, wearing faded blue overalls. When he saw them, he jumped.
He pushed himself up to his feet and waved at them. “Home!”
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀ ˖⠀✦⠀˖⠀ 𓂃⠀𓈒
While the cabins looked identical from the outside, their interiors were entirely different. The cabin they were offered was one of soft oranges and browns, lit by lamps suspended from the rafters. Strokes of dried yellow paint decorated the walls, a hint of cherry in the stale air, and that strange scent of chlorine that lingered everywhere they went.
There was a bunk bed shoved against the far wall, joined by a steel foldable chair at its side, where blankets draped over its armrests. The living room was combined with the kitchen and joined by a stone fireplace that Wilbur couldn’t take his eyes off. Authentic fireplaces are a rarity in these times.
"I don't want to hear any complaining," Tubbo said, making a zipping motion over his lips. All of Wilbur's arguments on sharing a cabin evaporated. "This is the last spare cabin. No, Tommy, you can't sleep outside."
Theseus grumbled under his breath.
"You both have to suck it up and remain civil."
Ranboo and Tubbo stayed a little longer to help them get settled, all while the Piglin child who guided them here kept following, hugging their legs. “This is Micheal,” Ranboo said, ruffling Micheal’s hair. “Micheal, say hello.”
Micheal gave them a small wave. Then narrowed his eyes as if criticizing their souls.
Wilbur found Tubbo and Ranboo to be an odd pair. An Enderian and a Rham, working in sync, reading each other's minds. Something that could only be born through rigorous years of friendship. They were given a fresh set of clothes. Some food to restock the cupboards. A few more ground rules.
Distantly, Wilbur wondered if he was hallucinating all this hospitality. He kept waiting for one of them to take out a knife, a gun—But it doesn't happen.
This must be a trap. Tubbo isn't a Rham. Ranboo isn't an Enderian. The citizens are ghosts of their victims. He and Theseus would be devoured alive by some beast for worship—But everything remained as is.
Theseus kept pinching his arm. Ranboo kept complaining about having to find clothes that fit his build, and the purple-red fruit Tubbo made him try left a bitter taste in his mouth that he wanted to wash off with a gallon of water and a whole bottle of whiskey.
This place must be some sort of purgatory. He was already dead and his body was rotting in the escape pod. Wilbur must truly be exhausted, if he began thinking this way.
The trio left at the sound of bells. "Don't set anything on fire!" Tubbo called to them, letting Micheal drag him by the arm. "I'm warning you."
Ranboo gave them a sheepish smile and bid them goodnight.
The door shut.
Then they were alone. Silent, save for their own shallow breaths.
It was difficult to believe that only hours ago, they had sat by one another's side, dying of blood loss, keeping each other awake through nudges and banter. Those moments had begun to grow distant and hazy.
Theseus broke the silence. "I get top bunk!" He scampered off, climbed up, and as soon as he crashed on the bed his face contorted in pain. He then slowly rose, wincing and clutching his torso. "Ow."
Wilbur snickered. They promised to give them more painkillers in the morning. He plopped down on the bottom bunk, leaning the cane on the wall to inspect his supposedly healing translucent leg. The numbness had long faded away, but the pain was bearable.
Theseus loomed above him. He snorted. "That's- that's disgustin."
Wilbur narrowed his eyes. He looked up and straightened his back. "Just in case you forgot. You're still my prisoner."
Theseus glared at him. He dangled his legs and lightly kicked the side of Wilbur's head. Wilbur swatted his foot away. "I'll make sure to ask Tubbo if he has cuffs and a cell." He scowled. "We could request one without any doors and pure white walls. Just the way you like it."
"But!—" Wilbur lifted his finger, ignoring his jabs. "But. I think it's in our best interests not to kill each other until we're off this planet."
"What makes you think I won't kill you?" Tommy made another attempt to kick him, but Wilbur grabbed his ankle before he could.
He gripped it tight. "You're not like that."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was stuck interrogating you for three days?" Wilbur raised an eyebrow, knowing that what he said would aggravate the boy further. And it did, from the way his fists clenched on the bedding.
"Besides," Wilbur added. "I don't think those two would be happy with a dead body."
"Unless it's your dead body."
"Hey. If they wanted that, I wouldn't be here now, would I?" Wilbur released his ankle, swinging it away. Theseus doesn't try hitting him again.
"What will it be, Thomas?"
The boy opened his mouth, only to shut it again. He seemed to be pondering his words carefully, which was a rarity.
"Fine." Theseus finally said. He hopped down the top bunk and paced in front of him. "Under one condition."
Wilbur crossed his arms. "Go on."
"You stop calling me Thomas."
Wilbur's lips quirked up in amusement. "What? Theseus the fledgling, space pirate then? or The Blade's cabin boy?"
Theseus deadpanned him.
"What?"
"Tommy." The boy said in a serious tone. He extended his hand. "Just Tommy."
Wilbur stared at him for a moment. Is that really it? He was expecting much worse conditions. He reluctantly grabbed his hand, and shook it with a firm grip.
"Fine by me." Wilbur grinned. "Tommy."
Tommy grinned back.