Chapter Text
Death is nothing like he imagined. A train station of all places. Gray and dull, the groaning of metal and the rumble of trains always passing by. Neon light sears his eyes, red and glaring. Faceless spirits wander in the stagnant subway, his personal limbo. Roaming among the masses, intangible as they are and just as lifeless. An afterlife of solitude in a place full of people, if these things could even be called that. Wilbur still doesn't know what to think of it despite all the years he spent here.
Of course it all changed with the arrival of TommyInnit. But not in the way that Wilbur expected.
Where the station's flickering neon red lights used to be, are replaced with bright too bright— white. The place became cleaner, almost sterile. Tiles paved the way to rooms locked by heavy chains and the smell of chemicals permeates the surroundings. Wilbur’s nose stings from it all, a sensation he did not miss one bit. Steel benches stretched along with gurneys, the dull sheets draped on them hiding their rusting sheen. The place as a whole had turned into a mix of hospital and train station, it was a slow and gradual change that continues to unnerve him until now.
Tommy arrived not with his usual loud presence. In fact, Wilbur only realised it was the same teen when he recognized the clothes. There is only one person he knows that has that red and white shirt. The rest of him, however...
Wilbur shook off the memory, there's no point in thinking of it now that Tommy is awake. Remembering it only brings more questions than what he already has. Questions that the teen remains tight-lipped to, eyes always getting drawn to the locked rooms. If he closed his eyes and listened long enough, he could hear muffled thumps and shrieks from behind them. It evokes a feeling of dread that makes him hesitate to explore.
He tried to open a door, once. And the anger in Tommy's eyes when he shoved him away will remain in Wilbur’s memory for a long time. It was unlike anything he saw when the kid was alive, not even the fight with Technoblade in the pit did he see it.
It became one of their unspoken agreements. Wilbur will not open any of the doors and Tommy will not ask questions about anything related to L'manberg. But the curiosity will not leave him, the teen's space in the afterlife seems too personal to him, unlike Wilbur's own train station. And the man, who has known Tommy since he was a kid, does not understand why a hospital of all places represented his limbo.
Time passes. Or does it? Wilbur stopped keeping track of the time the moment Tommy fell out of the train. The hiss of the door opening still ringing in his ears, flashes of the bloody figure of his bro– his right-hand making its way to his mind. There is no need to drive himself further into despair now that he has company, now that he isn’t as lonely.
But whatever happened to Tommy made him poor company, so unlike what he remembers of the blond. Perhaps the most damning thing is how he barely looks older than what Wllbur last saw of him (he’s still so young– how?) . Ever the conversationalist and unable to let silence fester, now Wilbur would be lucky if he could get a huff out of him. It was maddening and more than frustrating. Wilbur pulled all the tricks he could out of his ass. He tried provoking him, tried to arouse emotions whether it be anger or sadness, ranted and raved about all the things he could think of and would never do just to get a response. Just to see a spark from those dark dull eyes.
And in the rare moments that Tommy does talk and say more than a few words, when he has more clarity in his empty stare, their conversations make Wilbur falter in his steps and makes him wonder just how well he knew the teen.
The most memorable exchange Wilbur and Tommy had was during one of the brunet’s monologues. It was also the last time they saw each other. Truth be told, Wilbur would not be able to answer what he was ranting about previously because all he could remember was the look in the teen’s eyes. It came from nowhere, no significant moment that he could pinpoint. It loops in his head long after Tommy was gone. When the phantom feelings of cold, stiff fingers no longer haunts him.
He recalls Tommy stumbling his way to his arms, legs shaking from how long he sat on the same bench since he arrived. "Wilbur. Wil, don't you get it?" He asked back then and gripped the man’s shoulder tightly.
Wilbur doesn't think he's ever seen Tommy like that. Manic, eyes holding a kind of desperate happiness and relief that confused him. Even back in Pogtopia or the kid's own exile, from what he could vaguely remember, Tommy had never shown even a hint of whatever emotions he's feeling right now.
It's too similar to what Wilbur felt during his last moments, and for all the things he said to him, it doesn't sit right to see Tommy like this.
"Tommy, do you finally get it? Are you seeing what I do now?" He murmured, his own hands coming up to hold the ones wrapped around his shoulder tightly. The kid shook his head and stared at him right in the eyes.
"No, Wil. Wilbur, look at me. I'm here! I'm here! In the afterlife, with you and everyone else who has died!" He laughed. Tommy loosened his hold on the man and stepped back. He spun, flinging his arms wide. "Do you know what this means? To me? To be here?"
Confused, Wilbur watched as he took a step forward. The smile on Tommy's face stretched a little too wide, gums showing. "It means I'm alive! I lived! I wasn't just— I wasn't just some lab rat. They were wrong, Wilbur. Don't you see? I'm a person!"
It’s said like a revelation, an epiphany of something so obvious that has been staring at his face for too long.
They? Who are they? “Of course, you’ve always been a person, Tommy.” Wilbur frowns. As if there was any doubt. Tommy is the embodiment of humanity in Wilbur’s eyes, and he’s not even talking about the kid’s lack of hybrid features.
It is the way he loves the world. In the songs he would hum to the flowers, so gentle to animals and so bright and determined. The steadfast loyalty and kindness that shines through even with his rough exterior. Wilbur has been with Tommy for years, had seen the scrappy child grow to a brave teen (a brave soldier). Tommy is a person of course, how could he not be with that bold existence?
As Wilbur was about to reply, a familiar rumble echoed in the distance. With it is the shrill ringing of bells and hiss of steam. A train is arriving at Jubilee Line once again. And it has come to collect this time.