Predator (DWT x OC)

46

TW// Descriptions of gore, body horror, bugs. 

Living in a ravine sucked. 

They barely had any tools, or food, or anything, trapped in damp, dark stone and cold hard crevices. His neck was always too tight on the left side, and his shoulder hurt. Like really fucking hurt. 

He'd  found a tiny village, through the forest, managed to buy basic medical supplies and food while Wilbur wallowed away in the newly crowned Pogtopia. He wasn't even grateful when Tommy came back either, just snatched the painkillers out of his hands and interrogated him about what he saw.

They'd tried their best to make it work, lanterns strung up on the ceiling and walls, warm glow cast over grey slate walls, oak wood railings and stairs, a little bridge that stretched over a nasty gap. They had a furnace, and some chests, a little hollowed out area on the surface. It still wasn't home though, wasn't L'manburg.

The biggest difference was how quiet it was, distant rushing water and strange sounds that set his teeth on edge in the dead of night, when all he had was tough rock and cold chills and aching wounds. There was no laughter, or yelling over stupid arguments that everyone forgot about in the end, no warm comfortable beds, no family at all. 

Well, he had Wilbur, he always would have Wilbur, but something was slipping, something not quite right up in the old noggin.  

He missed them all, even though he would never tell them that, lest anyone got the wrong impression about his manliness and what not, but he did. Tubbo and Rose and Niki and Jack. Maybe even Sapnap.

Well, maybe not Sapnap, but he's desperate enough to not want to stab his eye out if he saw the man again. 

When. When he sees him again. Because that's what they're doing, biding time, getting stronger, then they'll take it all back, away from Schlatt, make everything normal again. 

He'd watched the walls come down, he'd watched as Rose and Niki stood against them, watched Schlatt punch Tubbo, then Rose punch Schlatt. 

He's pretty proud to admit that he's the one who taught her that. 

Wilbur told him not to talk to any of them yet, that they could have been on Schlatt's side the whole time. They don't know who they can trust, not yet, not with Schlatt out for blood. So he watched, from the shadows like a very skilled ninja, watched the tax collections and time Rose broke down by the van.

He wanted to tell her, just let her know that they were alive, that they were okay and everything was going to be okay, because they had a plan, and they were going to get L'manburg back. 

But Wilbur said to hide in the shadows, so he did. 

Except for the last week. The last seven days have been a disaster. 

Wilbur's leg and back are worse, and by worse he means fucking disgusting. Swollen and puffy, oozing foul pus from the gaping holes in his skin. Of course, Tommy can push through it, and he definitely did not throw up in the bush next to the entrance to their house. 

And Wilbur, well Wilbur's about thirteen times worse too. He looks like shit, he reeks, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, all shaky and weak and kind of pathetic. He talks a lot, but they're not really words, more like a string of seemingly unconnected words muttered under his breath.

Traitor, alone, betrayed, Tubbo, Niki, Rose seem to the running theme. Wilbur won't let him go outside, which is ridiculous, because Tommy's second in command and should be able to do whatever he damn well pleases, but Wilbur just about breaks his ankle with the force of his (rather disgusting) hand that grabs him before he can get out the door.