It wasn't surprising when Techno didn't return the next day.

Or the day after.

Gone again it seemed.

For how long and when he'd return? You couldn't even begin to gander.

He left when he pleased, and returned as he pleased, and you could only hope he was getting proper sleep.

Like you were.

If oversleeping counted.

You found that you'd been doing that alot lately

Sleeping for far too long, only to wake up at noon and wonder where everyone was.

Like now.

You were standing in the middle of the ravine- still not quite awake and glancing around for signs of life.

Of which there were none.

Tommy was probably with Tubbo- God knows they're practically inseparable.

That was about the only person you could guess the location of, and you were too sleepy to keep properly pondering the thought, so you shambled to your nook in an attempt to gather yourself.

Patterns to do- regular actions to take to wake yourself.

Today was a hot chocolate kinda day, and you scorned the fact that you didn't have any cocoa beans for this particular morning.

Scorned it so much that you stared at your tea bags, and your coffee for a solid ten minutes, wishing and crafting ideas of how to get cocoa beans again.

No ideas of which would be simple, and all of which would need to be powered by some other sort of warm drink.

H e a t.

Mmm-

Heat sounds good.

Maybe you can make due with the drinks you have now.

Hustling about you start to boil your water, leaning on the edge of the counter while you wait, calmly taking in the ravine you've come to know as home.

Did you miss your cottage?

To some extent.

You liked that you could decorate it to your hearts content because of the fact that it was all and truly yours, but without friendships? Without tethers to other sentient beings?

The cottage was maddening.

Here was a good place you decided.

A rustling at the top steps reached your ears, dirt breaking, dirt placed.

Someone was entering.

You heard L'dog give a happy bark, and the sound of his tail thumping on the stone immediately let you know who was home.

Only one person makes L'dog wag his tail.

Wilbur fucking Soot.

You needed to corner him.

You needed to talk to him.

Very badly.

Because seeing Tommy so distressed made you feel distressed, and stress was a horrible thing.

How would you get him to stop for you though? He specifically avoids you because of mistrust.

The whistling of your water pot drew your attention.

Ah.

Of course.

You knew exactly what to do.

..

Cut to you sitting at your table- two cups of coffee patiently laid out in front of you- an intense gaze pasted onto your face as you waited. Your hands rested on the table, in front of your face as though a principle waiting for a student.

He'd have to come down eventually, and when he did- he would be forced to take you under consideration.

You wouldn't let him slip away. Even if you hated confrontation- and hated negative energy- this had to be done.

You waited and waited- until the tack of footsteps echoed from the uppermost floor, one after another, not nearly as graceful as Techno's, or as rushed as Tommy's- or soft as Tubbo's-

Just raw, unfiltered footsteps that belonged to exactly who you thought it was.

Wilbur stepped onto the middle bridge- brown hues glancing up to focus in on your table. He recognized what you were sitting with- and not a moment later came tapping up to your table.

"Coffee....?" He asked- hand slightly raised to the singular untouched coffee that sat beside your own.

"Sit." Was your short reply.

"What?"

"Sit." Finally, you shifted to look at him, waving a hand to the seat across the table, "I need to talk to you."

A small flicker of ink passed through his eyes- tainting the hopeful question he once had with the seriousness that lurked beneath the layers of his mind.

He sighed.

The smile that was on his face fell, as he took a seat across from you, and you silently slid the cup to him with the mutter of, "Thank you."

He didn't reach for the cup- merely letting it sit undisturbed, steam frothing into the air...

His full attention was now on you.

Not the coffee.

"What did you need?"

You sigh a breath.

Alright.

You could do this.

"Tommy talked to me the other day about you- and I just-... I really felt that I needed to talk to you about your current state of mind."

Idly, you grabbed your hot cup, swirling it around with a lazy spin, but not yet taking a sip, "He's worried about you- about things you've threatened to do- and I'm worried too, because- why would you even consider blowing up your literal brother. Or kind of brother- no one's ever told me correctly."

Wilbur puts a fist over his mouth and says, "We're not related. But I guess our relationship is similar to that."

"Excatly." You nod.

"Is this just about Tommy? And the whole room incident?" He questions, "Because Tommy doesn't know what's good for himself half the time. He doesn't understand that fate? Destiny? Has shifted away from the idealistic dream that L'manberg started out as-" Wilbur's fist clenched and you flinched, "This is the real world- not a perfect story where the underdogs come out on top."

"I know." You murmured, hoping to calm his venomous tone, "I know this is the real world- and at this point I could care less about L'manberg- but you need to think about the bigger picture and if you even want Tommy in that bigger picture-" you pause, letting your words sink in before muttering, "You'll loose him."

A harsh look rose to his face, crunching into a shadow as his eyecontact slowly grew into a prison. You could not look away. Looking away showed your faltering will.

"I can't think of the bigger picture. My mind literally- can only see words- and everything that's happening is a straight line forward- sentence by sentence it's written future is slowly unveiling-" his hand swings in the air with how deeply these words were spewing out of him, "L'manberg? It's fall is inevitable. It's crumbling is inevitable. No matter who's in charge- it will keep self destructing."

He took in a deep breath, "So why not speed up the process..."

You don't know who Wilbur used to be.

You don't remember or know his quirks.

You don't have any idea of what he used to act like- and what his aspirations were-

But you knew. You knew that this wasn't Wilbur.

Who were you even speaking to?

Wasn't this who Tommy looked up to? Wasn't this who everyone who ever followed him used to look up to?

No.

This is a different person entirely- someone so obsessed with something- obsessed with an idea that they crossed lines in their head that should never be crossed.

And that made your stomach drop.

Your eyes finally broke contact with his, flattening to the table that already had so many stains and marks on it.

You were unsteady in your voice, but regardless spoke.

"I appreciate the talk. Let it be known I think blowing it up is excessive at best-" you pried your eyes back off the table, "But I know you don't care about what I think- so please-" another rough strangled breath from you, "Please, think about Tommy. He'd be torn apart if either you, or L'manberg were gone."

He didn't answer.

And you don't know if you were expecting that or not.

He merely stood softly from out of his chair, his hand plucking the cup off the table before he leveled one last glance at you, "Good talk, good talk." He shoots a bemused grin at you that lacked any humor it was supposed to have, "I don't think we'll ever agree."

You follow his face as he turns to look away, "I know. So thank you for listening."

Again, he doesn't respond, simply taking his coffee cup and padding away to somewhere else.

You're not sure what to think after that.

Dread was settling so deeply into you now that everything was laid bare.

Wilbur probably wouldn't adhere to anyone. Even if we won- if Pogtopia rose above in battle, he would blow the place sky high regardless.

You'd need a miracle to stop him.

Something stronger then him mentally.

Maybe you should try and get in contact with Phil.

Phil always knew how to lecture people, almost like it was in his nature.

Huffing out another long sigh you glance up to the stone ceiling, the same cold stale stone ceiling you'd been staring at for the past almost month.

Man- you haven't talked to Phil in years.