A/N
IM BACK FROM WRITERS BLOCK
Anyways, have some crimebois content.
Please be mindful of the tws for this one, it can get pretty dark even while there is crimebois fluff
TWs: graphic injuries, MCD (major character death), suicidal thoughts/implications of suicidal thoughts
and i hope you enjoy! :D
Synopsis: or, Wilbur saves Tommy from a dealthy fall (cue the crimebois)
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There comes a time in life where your only option is to run.
When everything you know has been lost. When you're at your breaking point, like chilled glass touching a flame and shattering without warning. When you've lost everything, clothes tied in stacks with twine and thrown into a fireplace; left to burn away and hide the blood soaking the once-fine threads. Weapons taken from their place hung on the wall and strapped to your side, hand itching to grasp the handle at any small sound.
Running brings forth paranoia. Paranoia seeps into fear.
Fear kindly introduces weakness.
Tommy was learning this lesson the hard way as he dragged another chair beneath the doorknob of his bedroom, eyes rapidly darting to every corner as shadows twisted and flickered with the flames lighting the room. The fireplace burst with crackles and pops like fireworks as his wardrobe burned, accompanied by glinting flashes of jewelry that cost enough to support an entire family for years. The legs of his desk and pieces sawed from his headboard fueled the fire, splinters of wood dotting the floor from his rough attempts at making strips of kindeling.
What once was an exquisite room was now abandoned. Any sign of Tommy's life there was now transformed into nothing but a pile of ash.
If it was any other day, Tommy would mourn it. After all, he'd spent his entire life within these walls, signing paperwork with a flourish of ink, laughing with Wilbur while they lay on his bed, enchanting his first sword with Techno's guidance, and throwing shreds of parchment at Phil when he tried to drag him away from his work.
It was a peaceful existence. One that most in the Kingdom would be grateful for.
He was rich. He had a loving family. He was a God .
Tommy's fingers wrapped tightly around the crown in his hand, knuckles turning white and spikes nearly cutting his skin. It was a simple thing in comparison to the fine pieces the rest of his family wore; only a band of gold with three emerald jewels, the middle the brightest of the bunch and wrapped in perfect swirls of metal.
It matched him well. The most joyful– the most lifeful– of the three siblings. One to stand out amidst the few, smile printed on his face and stark against the worn faces of his brothers'.
It had been a gift he'd received when he turned a year old. When he was old enough to fully understand what it meant, what his life was meant to be, he had laughed in joy to be so fortunate.
Now it felt like a curse.
Tommy carefully lifted up the heavy crown to his face, running his finger along the delicate carvings. They were written in a language he couldn't understand, some lost blessing made by the Gods that had been passed down through the family. It must have taken ages to make by hand, hot metal prone to melting any carving tool they attempted to use, each symbol needing to be perfect in order to suite the youngest prince. He didn't know the name of the craftsman that had made it. They were likely gone by now.
Soon, their legacy, the thing they created with the upmost esteem, would be gone too.
Tommy took a step forward, warmth from the fire radiating upwards and casting goosebumps up his arms. Most of the clothes had burned by now, nothing but metal lapels and the occasional button still intact.
He didn't look as he threw the crown in. All he heard was the clink of metal and crash of wood as it sent new burst of flames into the chimney.
He didn't flinch at the noise, only turning away as the the crown caught on fire, unable to look at the bright gold. It would take forever to melt, he knew, but eventually it would be unrecognizeable. That was enough to satisfy him, especially since he'd be long gone by the time it was truly gone.
He ignored the pang that hit his heart at the thought.
After all, Tommy had a job to do. Before his family arrived, preferably.
The Prince carefully stepped around the chips of wood and broken glass littering the floor, stepping closer to the window, moonlight casted to illuminate his ruined bedroom through its tinted panes. The curtains that usually shielded the light were torn to the ground, strips sliced off to start the fire.
It was something Techno had taught him.
Tommy shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind as he neared the window. It was simple to unlatch the lock and shove open the sides, a cold blast of air hitting him almost instantly. The flames behind him flickered, but, thankfully, didn't spread to the wood discarded on the floor.
He carefully stepped up to the ledge, sticking his head through. Blonde bangs brushed the top of his eyes, but he shoved them out of the way, glancing down at the stone tower below him. Wind whistled through his ears and chilled him to the bone.
It was difficult to gauge how high up he was, but it was simple to tell that a fall would be deathly. Nothing but stray stone bricks jutted out to act as anchors against the billowing wind, some overgrown with slippery moss and cracked from weathering. It almost reminded Tommy of the climbing course Techno had ordered to be built for him, acting as a simple way for him to release pent-up energy.
Except he wouldn't die from falling from that wall.
Tommy took a shaky breath, arms shaking as he moved to sit on the windowsill, hand tightly grasping the very top.
This was a stupid idea. Wilbur had always said that climbing the tower was ridiculous, that the people sent to scale the slippery walls and repair shingles of the palace roof were insane. Tommy personally thought they were just desperate, but never thought to voice it.
Wilbur was always right. This was something he knew.
But Wilbur would understand why he didn't want to stay in this same room. Why every second was slowly draining his life away, why he fell further into a rabbit hole of hysteria with every knock on the door and concerned question.
He had to run.
If he didn't, he would be sealing his own miserable fate.
Tommy carefully shifted his weight to the opposite side of the sill, kneeling on the very edge as cold air tickled his ankles and made violently shiver, fingertips digging into the wood of his room walls. The unbearable heat of the fire was far too distant to ease his fear, eyes locked firmly on the door; on the chair that kept it tightly shut. There would be nobody to stop him from behaving so recklessly.
This was his decision to make. Perhaps the first decision he'd ever made for himself.
His foot touched down on the first stone, and he was outside. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and mumbling a prayer under his breath, and braced himself.
Tommy took his first step just as a violent knock rattled the door.
He jolted from where he clutched the rugged stone, the sudden noise startling him and his foot slipping against worn rock. He let out a shocked gasp, voice catching on the tip of a scream as gravity shifted; what felt like chains dragging him down; down through the frigid, cold air; down to the ground that would shatter him like porcelain.
His nailbeds snapped from where they dug into wood, breaking his tether.
And he fell, arms reaching up in a hopeless reach for something to anchor him. But it was hopeless. There was nothing but sharp stone that his weak arms slipped off like it were made of ice, legs banging into the side of the tower and sending a rocket of pain through him. He was falling, an-
A terrified cry. Something solid and warm grabbed his arms.
And he halted.
Tommy letted out a cry of relief as his brother's hands wrapped tightly around his wrists, the elder grunting in exertion as he struggled to keep him from falling. His face dripped with fresh tears as he kicked his legs, gaining unstable purchase on the rock, a gasp leaving his lips as he panted for breath.
His stomach flipped as adrenaline kicked in, another blast of cold air hitting him like a punch to the side. The hands around his own tightened to a painful degree, holding him steady even as he swayed. Wilbur let out a choked breath.
"Tom- Tommy-" his brother panted, face contored. "Hang on to me, okay darling? I'm going-" he let out a shaky breath, "I'm going to pull you up."
Tommy nodded, too shocked to speak, merely wrapping his fingers around Wilbur's arms and bracing his leg against the stone.
A split second passed as Wilbur sharply inhaled and tugged him upwards, arms shaking. Tommy felt himself get slowly lifted, pushing his feet up against the stone where he could to help with the weight. In a moment that felt like a year, he was able to brace his arms against the inside of the window sill, allowing his brother to fully drag him through.
Warm air immediately made him collapse on the plush carpet floor, dragging his brother down with him.
For a long few minutes, they merely laid there, side by side, breathing heavily in a mix of exertion, and in Tommy's case, fear. Dread was gradually worming its way into his heart, dread that matched the panic that made his bedroom door fly open and crack the chair that had held it in place.
The very thing he had hoped to avoid.
Wilbur's hand, as though sensing his thoughts, squeezed his own. Tommy glanced over to see his brother carefully watching him, fire casting his face in gaunt shadows. His breaths were still rough as he recovered from catching him.
"You care to explain what just happened?" the man asked. Though the words were harsh, his tone was gentle, soothing, just as it had always been. "Or did you just feel like participating in some late night rock climbing at three in the morning?"
Tommy almost smiled, shaking his head slowly as he wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. "I was trying to run."
A long pause filled the room like smoke as Wilbur's eyes flickered down to look at his bloody fingertips, nails torn and bruised.
He didn't have a moment to brace himself before the man's second hand went onto his back and carefully dragged him into Wilbur's chest, cradling his injured hand to the side. He immediatley collapsed into the hold, face pressed into his neck, breathing in deeply as his brother's free hand buried itself deep into his hair, running through the dirtied strands and detangling the knots.
It was a practiced motion; one that they repeated most nights as the elder tucked him into bed, whispering soothing words and easing him to relax after a long day of studying; wiping away his tears as he confessed his exhaustion; gently wrapping bandages around the bruises on his arms after sparring.
Tommy sighed, nose pressed against the fabric of Wilbur's wrinkled shirt. The hand in his hair continued as the adrenaline and exhaustion seeped in and out of the younger's body, twisting in miniature braids and brushing them out.
He could already feel his eyes drifting shut at the touch, the soothing heat of the fire and his brother fueling his need for sleep. His injured hand was eased closed, bandages that he didn't know were there wrapping around the broken nails so lightly he barely felt it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Wilbur gently asked, placing a kiss to the top of his head as he tied off the bandage.
Tommy slowly nodded his head.
"Alright then, darling." Another kiss to his hair. "Take as much time as you want."
Tommy shifted, tilting his head so it was tucked under his brother's chin. He slowly blinked, watching as the flames in the fireplaces crackled and popped.
"I don't like the crown," he quietly admitted, voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Wilbur's breathing halted, but when Tommy tried to look up at him, his hand pushed him back against his chest and his breaths evened out. He didn't struggle again.
"What don't you like about it? I'm sure we could have another made for you-"
Tommy winced, squeezing his eyes shut. "Wil, I don't like being the Prince."
A pause. "Oh."
"Yeah."
The arms around him loosened for a moment, shifting so that Wilbur could stand up. Tommy let out an alarmed noise, reaching out for his brother's hold, but the man escaped it easily, taking a step forward, closer to the fireplace.
The dread in his heart grew, tangling around the beating organ and squeezing tightly.
"Wil?" Tommy asked, voice cracking as his eyes filled with tears.
Wilbur glanced back at him, eyes crinkling as he offered him a reassuring smile, though there was no emotion in his eyes. Eyes that suddenly seemed so much greyer, so much darker than before.
"It's alright, honey," his brother murmured, stepping so he was in front of the fireplace, crouching down to study the ash coating the bottom, the crown bright red and covered in char on the bottom edges. Flames licked dangerously close to his face, heat that was normally indurable barely affecting the man. "I just want to see it."
Tommy swallowed, the dark vines in his heart tightening to a painful degree. Nothing like the hug that Wilbur had him in just moments before.
"Wil, I-"
Tommy's words were interrupted by his own startled screech as Wilbur reached directly into the fire and plucked the crown from the flames.
Red metal hissed like a feral animal the moment it touched the cooler air, gold now an angry red and drooping at the thin spikes. The emerald seemed unaffected, but was much duller, as though it had been drawn over with deep green marker.
Drops of the ash landed on the carpet, burning a hole straight through the floor.
"Wilbur- what-" Tommy screamed, scrambling up from the ground, nearly falling and twisting his already hurt hand. "Put that down! Fuck- Wil- put that down, oh my God, your hand-"
Wilbur didn't so much as flinch at his rushed words, merely holding his hands up in mock surrender, the ring of the crown held around his thumb.
His unscarred thumb.
His skin wasn't burning. There was no bone peaking through from an angry red burn, no screams of pain as his brother's hand was nearly melted straight off.
There was no injury at all.
"Wil?" Tommy asked, the name nothing but a croak.
Wilbur grinned, tilting his head to the side, his eyes sparkling in what he could only describe as mischief. As though he just hadn't picked up a metal crown from a fire. As though he was unaffected by Tommy's panic, merely teasing him by the dangerous act.
"Oh, darling," his brother cooed, taking a step forward. Ash crumbled and left the carpet charred, the unmistakeable smell of smoke filling the air. "I'm used to fire, remember?"
"What?"
His eyebrows narrowed, smile still set on his mouth. "C'mon, you know fire, Toms. After all, I died in it, didn't I?"
The world froze around him.
Fire.
Fire .
Impossible heat surrounding him in a molten casket, smoke filling his lungs and making his eyes burn alongside his flesh.
A slender hand, the one that had carded through his hair and traced the side of his face with a loving touch, shoving him backward.
"Tommy?" Wilbur gently asked, crown falling from his hand as his eyes locked on the sudden glaze that covered his brothers' own.
Yes, that was it.
Fire.
Wilbur pushing him away from the burning room while he was still inside.
Backward into the arms of the guard, panickedly screaming for the crown prince, eyes widening as the elder told him to take his brother his safely, who carried him through the flames and into cool night air as the servants and army members screamed in panic.
The same guard that kept his arms wrapped around his chest as he screamed and cried, clawing at whatever he could reach so that he would be free, so that he could go after his brother who was still inside with the smoke and the fire and the impossible heat that made his skin bubble-
The guard that held him as the entrance crumbled in front of him, creating a tomb of those still inside.
As his brother died. Wilbur died.
As he was left forever alone.
Wilbur, who did not flinch now when it came to fire. Who's skin was suddenly covered in cracks, like it had charred and splintered like the wood Tommy used as kindling.
Just as it had been when the wreckage was searched.
The guard, that one guard, who knocked on his bedroom door everyday to bring him food. Who asked him simple questions if only to get the slightest, most empty response. Who let Tommy sob hysterically into his shoulder when he tried to leave his room for the first time only to succumb to panic. Who was locked out of Tommy's room as he burned everything that reminded him of Wilbur– and everything , everything he owned , everything he touched reminded him of Wilbur.
The guard who knocked on the door, fueled by a sharp dread that he couldn't explain.
The guard that couldn't see Tommy trying to climb down and run. Run away from memories of Wilbur. Run away from his empty, cold bedroom. Run from everything and everyone.
The guard that couldn't save Tommy when he fell from the tower.
And, most of all, the guard that didn't discover the broken prince's corpse until morning.
"Tommy?" Wilbur asked gently, hands cupping his cheek. They were cold. Lifeless. He didn't know when the man had come closer to him.
Dead.
He could feel the world around him now, the cold brush of wind in his hair, the pain in his lungs as he took in a startled breath.
That was right. That was reality.
Silly him, he'd gotten caught in another hallucination.
Wilbur gently ran his finger underneath Tommy's eye, brushing away a tear as his face contorted in realization. His touch was no longer warm, now it was freezing cold, the same kind of cold that came when your body heated up so much it couldn't perceive it anymore. In the wake of his finger he left a trail of soot and ash that felt like sandpaper against his skin.
"You're dead," he whispered, leaning into his hold nonetheless. An arm looped around his back and dragged him firmly into his brother's chest, covering him in grime and the unmistakeable smell of smoke.
Wilbur nodded slowly, pitifully, as though this was an obvious fact.
"It's okay, darling," he assured, massaging small circles into Tommy's upper back. "You'll be with me soon."
He looked up. Looked at the cracked and charred face, as though his mind was filtering it so that he wasn't forced to see the true image that layed underneath.
"What do you mean?" Tommy asked, voice breaking as a wave of sobs racked through him.
Wilbur smiled.
Tommy blinked, and he was falling. The stone of the tower flew past him in a blink.
There was no vision of his brother to catch him this time.
He could only think of Wilbur when he hit the ground.
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A/N
LMAO
Tommy, hanging out with his brother: hey is it suddenly getting windy in here is it just me?
Wilbur: probably just your imagination
Tommy: oh, than-
Wilbur: which I am a part of
[*Tommy fell from a high place*]
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Anywasyss ive finally broken out of writers block! Yipee!! So i immediately wrote...fluff. Which definitely didn't include death at all whatsoever :DDD
As always, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated! <3 have a great day
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