A/N
Yoooo new dark sbi fic!! Im back from the neverending writers block who cheered
Tws are a thing again, so please read with caution, as this is dark sbi and not happy wholesome non-problematic relationships :D hope you enjoy the fic!
TWs: temporary character death, possessive relationships, mind control
Synopsis: Fallen Angel wilbur wants angel tommy to join them in the underworld. By any means necessary
this is entirely unedited btw so sorry if its bad lmfao
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The rain splatters on the street used to be nothing.
Just small puddles amidst deeply-worn pavementl. The occasional dip and crack running along the aged concrete, deep enough to hold small droplets as snuggly as a forest leaf. The moon overhead reflected deep silver hues into the miniature ponds, painting it in such an unnatural color that it appeared almost otherworldly amidst a street of overgrown vines and destroyed walls.
But, in a world so big, in a place so full of sounds and life, the puddles were nothing. The occasional annoyance from damp shoe soles, but nothing else.
It wasn't until Tommy was running that their importance made it itself known.
His sneaker-covered foot splashes painfully loudly as he hopped over puddles, small presses of uneven rock digging through the rubber to scrape against his heel. Amidst the dead silence of night–where the streets were empty other than the exhausted night workers–the splash of water felt deafening. It was louder than his rough pants; louder than the pounding of his heart that he could somehow feel in his throat; and, most importantly, loud enough to pinpoint his exact location.
Loud enough to be his downfall.
Tommy swallowed, desperately gulping in air as he turned a corner, latching onto the wall to prevent himself from slipping. He pushed forward even as his legs burned and his muscles felt like they were near tearing, arms aching from the quick back-and-forth motion of running. Another puddle splashes. More water rose in the air with his every step; more signs that felt like a helicopter light shining over his running form.
But he couldn't stop. Stopping meant losing. Losing meant death.
Death meant meeting the Fallen Angel again.
And after the last time– after he'd been brought back from the dead–he knew he couldn't afford to let that happen again.
But the footsteps nearing his shaking form gave him little hope. They were quick and rapid–much faster than his own–but never got closer than a foot. It was almost as though the creature chasing him was waiting for him to run out of energy, if only to strike fear deep in his soul.
It was hopeless.
He was going to die again.
He couldn't let himself die again.
"Little Theseus," the creature's voice cooed with a jittery laugh. It was disembodied, for Tommy couldn't spare the energy to glance back. Even as he ran faster and faster, passing through alleyways so quickly they were a maze of blurs and trash piles, his pittering heart and choked breaths couldn't drown out the taunting words.
"Come b-a-ack."
It sounded like a lullaby, the way the vowels slipped perfectly from the creature's tongue. Like a warm hug encasing him, deep claws digging deep, deep into his heart, and ripping it out before he could even realize what was happening.
A deep part of his mind still faltered at it but his body, thankfully, didn't mimic his thoughts.
He liked to think that he'd gotten smarter.
Tommy took in another sharp, rapid inhale. The air felt like it grated the inside of his throat and black spots of exhaustion dripped onto his eyes.
Don't stop, his mind reminded him gently, even as he felt his arms slow. He tripped on the edge of a slab of concrete, striking a jab of pain through his feet, sharp enough that he almost face-planted onto the concrete. Distantly, he thought the voice reminded him of Life's fragile lilt.
It was right. He couldn't stop. No, not again, he couldn't do this again, please-
His shoes pressed onto a crushed Coke can, and gravity shifted.
The footsteps neared.
Tommy let out a hoarse cry. He was falling, gravity was latching onto his wrist and tugging him down to the Earth, trapping his weakened bones in the inescapable press of Death-
He threw his hand out to the wall as a splash of puddle dampened the knees of his jeans. Pain ignited the scarred skin of his exposed palm, leaving behind a bloody mess of scrapped skin and blood so sizzling hot it left a steam in the air. But, as he yelped in pain, his hand tightened on the side of the wall–catching him moments before he met his cruel fate on the ground.
The footsteps faltered, hesitated, as though in eager anticipation.
And Tommy caught himself.
He paused for a daming moment, still half in shock that he wasn't already pinned to the ground, Death grabbing him by the throat and squeezing.
And then he was off again. Legs shaking, nearly crumpling with the sudden weight, but still running.
The voice behind him practically giggled. "Oh, dearest. Do watch your step, you could get hurt."
Joy was laced in every clinkle of bells, harmonizing his voice to create an image of dangerous perfection. The sound struck a pang within his hand, just as loud of a stick hitting a drum, filling him with the urge to join that laughter, to be the source of it, to stop and listen to that beautiful music.
He wheezed as his lungs cried for air. They wanted to laugh to. They wanted to laugh with a nice man behind him, for why was he running, why hadn't he stopped and rested and laughed and been happy with him?
No. That wasn't right, that wasn't him thinking-
Tommy let out a frustrated cry as shook his head violently, as though he could shake the faux thoughts from his mind. Behind him, the laugh sounded again; this time even louder, more pinpointed to drive home within the twists and turns of his muddled head.
"Aw, you don't want to play today, Theseus?" the creature–the Demon, that was it–goaded, a grin evident in his voice. It was so joyful, so prefect and void of the unpleasant such taunting words should hold, that Tommy's stomach turned in disgust. "But it always so fun to see how long you can fight. I love picking apart that tiny little weak mind of yours."
Tommy picked up his pace, even as he tripped over air. Blood dripped in a steady stream from his palm, mixing with the silver puddles along the floor. He whimpered.
"How long will it take for you to break this time, I wonder?"
He wouldn't break. He wouldn't.
The ghost of a cold, dead head pressed against the pulse of his wrist. Tommy violently snapped his arm to the side, and another tinkle of bells sounded from far behind him. Joy. Happiness. Glee.
Vindication. Malicousness. Misery.
"I know you like hearing my voice, Theseus," the Demon hummed. "I can hear all of those scared thoughts of yours. If you come a little closer, you'll be able to hear me better. Wouldn't that be nice, hm?"
Fuck off, Tommy thought.
In response, the ghost wrapped its hand around his wrist again, this time sending a gentle tug backward. The touch was searing hot and cold at the same time, nearly enough to overload his rational thought and make him abandon his will to live. If only he could hear that voice, to make it laugh again, to stay with it forever and ever and ever.
Tommy slowed in his run. His lungs thanked him weakly, gulping in great breaths as they pleaded for oxygen. His heart pressed to his ribcage, trying it free its fluttering beats from their confinement.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" The creature hummed gently, its steps growing nearer. Now, it was only a few feet away. "Being human is so painful. But I can fix that. Just look at me, dear. I can fix it."
A part of him snapped when the voice said 'dear' so smoothly, so perfectly, so lullingly. It was as smooth as ocean waves, covering the top with a world of beauty while discussing the dark intent beneath.
He liked that voice.
"There you go, darling. Sunshine. Angel. Slow down. Stop fighting it, see?" the ghost grabbed more firmly on his wrist, a mirror immitation of the Creature behind him, but compelling enough to make his feet slow to where he was practically walking. "Isn't life so much easier when you stop fighting what you truly want?"
Why was he running in the first place? The voice wanted him closer, that smooth, singing lilt that just wanted to help him through the agony burning his legs from the inside out.
And the less he ran, the more the pain in his legs eased.
Don't stop, my child, Life screamed in the back of his head. But that part of him was buried, already put six feet deep with a coffin so thick all he heard was muffled begs, earthly, unmarred fists banging at the top to be released before the God died completely.
He didn't need that voice anymore, so gentle yet so full of urgency. It was the thing that made it hurt to breathe, hurt to live.
He didn't even realize he'd stopped moving completely until his cheek was pressed against the rough brick wall, leaving small scratches in its wake. Tommy practically collapsed against it as the creature distantly giggled again, basking in the warmth of the sound. Water from splashed puddles made his socks and shoes heavy–practically impossible to lift, especially as his legs buckled and trembled from exhaustion.
He was so, so tired.
But the creature was right there. The creature would fix it, just as they had promised. Surely they would.
"Perfect, my Theseus. My Angel," the honeyed words dripped, as though echoing his haze of thoughts. Tommy blearly looked at the alleyway behind him, where a shadow-hidden figure slowly paced closer. "Isn't this so much better? And to think you run from me everytime."
This was so much better.
He blinked slowly, almost long enough for the blackened roots of sleep to sew his eyes shut. But the press of a hand to his cheek, gently cupping it away from the rough, manmade-terrain coaxed his eyes open with a silky whisper and warm touch.
He peered through his lashes into the eyes of an Angel.
"Hello there, little one," the creature cooed. His voice was so much louder here, so loud it hurt. It was too sweet, tasting like artificial sugar and staining his thoughts with a horrible aftertaste.
But it was addicting. He craved the sugar, however false it may be. He was an addicted kid, drawn to the promise of whatever he could do to have that voice to speak again and call him such sweet, trusting nicknames. The warmth of the palm–now basically holding his head from collapsing yet again–swipped below his eye, as though ridding his features of a fallen tear. Tommy hadn't even realized he was crying; after all, those tears were from Life, and that God was long forgotten.
The Angel grinned as he drank in Tommy's thoughts, blindingly-white teeth as pure and unriddled as the syllables he sung. Curly brown hair hung over his face, with streaks of pure white twisting with every tilt of his head, every loving gleam in scarlet-red eyes.
"There you are. Welcome back, my Angel," the creature practically purred. From behind him, large black wings shifted in a mirrage of faded blue wrapped in veins of withering charcoal. The limbs–for these were angelic wings, surely, they must be–spread to wrap around Tommy, his back to the wall.Trapping him, protecting him, from the cruel world around.
Gently, another one of the Angel's arms lifted, shifting to nestle into Tommy's hair and gentle pick through the strands. The younger leaned into the touch like a cat, pressing his entire body into it; into the warmth and unconditional security the familiar action brought.
"I forgot how sweet you are when under my voice, dearest." The blindingly-white teeth flashed again, but this time, the expression had less joy than before. Tommy shut his eyes as the wings pressed closer and closer, preventing him from moving with their deadly-sharp feather tips. "My angel. Mine to keep. Mine to take. Doesn't that sound nice, hm, sunshine? Coming with me and out of this...human wasteland?"
He absentmindedly nodded, still focused on the hand on his cheek, the one sifting through the wind-sourced tangles in his hair like it was butter. When the palm beneath his eye vanished, he coudln't find it in himself to care, merely melting in the hold until his head rested on a stone-cold shoulder.
And there it was. That laugh. The one that Tommy would die for without hesistation, the one he would kill for, would do anything for-
"Oh, your already falling so easily, aren't you?" The voice purred with delight, a chin tilting down to rest within the almost white-blonde curls. Tommy cooed, all of the pain in his body–his legs, the distant screaming voice in his head, his tired, tired, lungs (why didn't they just stop? It would be so much easier), and his frantically beating heart, as though he were by some wild animal and not some angel–ceased to exist. It was like he was leaning on a cloud and not a person. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this spot forever, even if it meant he withered away like the once-bright blue of the Angel's wings.
He didn't hear the sound of metal unsheathing, the hand in his hair continuing its path to play with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
"You know, Phil missed you. The Underworld can be so boring without you around, you know. All your escapements have really put quite the drag on him, dear. He's been putting people in the deepest levels for the tiniest things."
Tommy didn't quite understand what he was saying anymore. All of the words dragged together like the fingers in his hair, like the knife shifting up to press against his back, right behind where his unnaturally-quickly beating heart was.
"But you'll be joining us soon," said the sugar again. "A fallen angel, just like me, hm? Don't you want that? To be just like me, to be with me, forever?"
He hummed lazily, nodding. He didn't know what he was saying, but the words meshed together so nicely they sounded like the strum of a guitar; the lyrics of a neverending song.
"I knew you would want that," the Angel preened.
Suddenly, his back felt all the more colder. Something sharp was pressing into the muscle, uncomfortably so, and he whined, trying to push away from it. He didn't like, and the creature didn't feel so warm anymore. But, like it was formed of ice, he had long become frozen to its touch.
"Fall, my Angel," the Demon murmured against his hair. "Join us, just as your meant to."
The knife slid deep into his back, claws digging into his bleeding skin as it twisted deeper. He let out a choked cry, but it was quickly muffled by the overwhelming sound of more words, but these were loud, so loud, so sharp and twisted like the deepest of notes, he wanted it to stop-
The coffin where Life was buried was abruptly quiet.
And Tommy, the Angel of Life, fell dead.
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A/N
Wilbur, literally just talking: hey bro
Tommy: I would die for you
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Wilbur: hey, so...consider this. You let me kill you? Please? Pretty please?
Tommy: ummm...no
Wilbur, internally panicking: fuck, i didn't plan for this
*LIfe, trying to live their best life*
*Wilbur has entered the chat*
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Anyways, hope you enjoyed! As always, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated and give me so much motivation for writing.
have a great day/night! <3