Wilbur feels like he is dying.

That's the only thing he can describe it with.

He feels like he's dying.

There's a tall figure; a shadow, of sorts, resembling a man who quite honestly might just be the last man he had wanted to see in his entire life. He was faded, akin to that of a silhouette, the outline of his body flowing and curling around the air as though it were smoke. The wings; dark, and daunting, loomed above him, spreading out casting a dark, all too familiar shadow over Wilbur.

There is no sun.

There is no warmth.

The only sensation Wilbur had- the only feeling he could identify as something familiar, to remind him that he's still alive, was the biting cold. And yet, the man standing above him, his very presence, was so, so much colder.

Wilbur's chest feels as though it's being constricted- like his lungs are being squeezed within an inch of their life, and he's dying, he's dying. And the cold air simply adds more of a detriment, scratching the depths of his throat, his lips calloused and bleeding.

For figurative patricide remains to be patricide,

A persistent normalcy is to never be established, A flower is never to bloom forever.

A voice echoes. It's not coming from the man; rather, the voice remains ominous, echoing throughout the space Wilbur had found himself in.

Wilbur's senses felt overridden, like they were all gone and simultaneously all so there, and it hurt, but he couldn't do anything about it.

His clothes felt as though they were burning and scratching his skin, the voice felt so, so loud he just wanted to tear his ears off, he wanted it all gone, it was just- it was just too much.

He just shut his eyes, and sobbed.

"Wilbur?"

A voice can be heard, soft, and unfamiliar. This voice doesn't hurt; rather, it almost soothes Wilbur. If not for the fact the voice sounding scared, Wilbur would feel comforted.

"W- Wilbur? Please-" The voice appears to beg, as Wilbur feels the presence of a hand resting at the side of his face. It's warm, so warm in fact it almost- it almost hurts, coming into contact with his frost-nipped skin.

"Wilbur...?'

The voice says, communicating a question with the name alone, voice curling up just a little higher nearing the end.

It's weak, and frail, and pleading, voice laced with pure concern.

"Wake up, please, I don't-"

"Wilbur, please wake up."

---

And he does.

He didn't shoot up in fear, or scream, or cry out, he simply gently opened his eyes past the sticky feeling of tears, breathing deeply.

The first thing he's able to register is the boy... above him?

Tommy had perched himself next to Wilbur on the sofa, facing opposite to the armrest that Wilbur's head rested on, leaned over, looking down at Wilbur.

Red-eyed, crying, trembling Wilbur.

The hand he had felt before had retreated itself upon seeing Wilbur's eyes slip open, still hovering, with Tommy seemingly anticipating something to happen. And he, too, was shaking, looking lost and confused, very abundantly trying to seem far more aware and conscious of whatever's happened than he actually is.

"Wil, Wilbur- You- Fuck, man, I don't know, you- you had like, a nightmare, you started crying and, and I woke up, and I- I didn't know what to do, what was that, man-" Tommy tried to speak, his words coming out as barely cohesive babbles of concern and fear.

Wilbur takes a moment to breathe before wiping his eyes with his gloved fists, and Tommy sits upright. He realizes it's still night time. Couldn't have been earlier than, say, 4am. Wilbur really had woken Tommy up.

"What- what was that, Wilbur?" Tommy asks, confused.

"Nothing important," Wilbur is quick to dismiss, "Just a nightmare, It's fine."

Wilbur realizes quite quickly that his answer wasn't at all satisfactory, nor did it add even a smidge of context to what just unfolded. Tommy is blatantly fueled with disbelief, staring at the man. But more than anything, he's still scared.

Wilbur realizes that Tommy cares. A lot. He realizes that, despite how little Tommy knows about Wilbur- To Tommy, Wilbur is quite literally an almost anonymous old man, for crying out loud- He's worried and he wants Wilbur to be okay. He realizes that he matters to Tommy, and Wilbur doesn't fucking get it by any means, but he does make note of it.

"I promise, I'll be okay."

His red, puffy eyes, his coarse breath, and his shaking hands clearly say otherwise.

And Tommy knows this.

Tommy wants to say something.

Tommy wants to say a lot of things, actually.

If Tommy could write, he'd write an essay of things he wished to say in the moment.

But he doesn't.

Rather, his thin, small limbs clamber their way over Wilbur, and he wedges himself between the upper half of the sofa and his older companion, looking up at the ceiling.

Wilbur stares at the child. He's quite obviously not as comfortable as he was on the bed, but the look on his face clearly sends the message that he doesn't intend to leave. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to sleep."

"The bed's there."

"Okayyyyy?"

Wilbur is quick to give up, and Tommy curls to Wilbur's side similarly to the way he did in the tent before, pulling the side of Wilbur's large coat around him like a blanket, resting underneath Wilbur's arm. It reminds Wilbur of a cat, in a way, with how he displays himself when he's tired.

Wilbur keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling, and thinks. He doesn't even process what it is he's thinking about, his mind just wanders, only interrupted by the very light snore of the boy beside him.

'Suppose I should get some more sleep too, Wilbur thinks. He's sort of scared to, but there's only so much time he can keep his eyes open before he's lulled away to what he realizes to be a much more sound, and peaceful sleep.

---

"Tommy, it's 9am, we've gotta get up, we can get food or something, come on." Wilbur starts.

"5 m're minutes, Wilby, plea," Tommy slurs, so tired he's unable to even finish the final word in his sentence before drifting back off to sleep.

Tommy is- He's doing that thing again where he says five minutes and means thirty. And because Tommy's still holding onto Wilbur's side, laying on his coat, Wilbur can't move either. He knows he can move the child, he's literally lighter than a paperweight, he'd feel too bad. He did wake Tommy up, so, he can't help but leave him be, and simply whine in the hopes Tommy will move.

Spoiler alert, he does not move.

The gremlin doesn't even try to move, infact.

And Wilbur is stuck there for another hour.

Begrudgingly, Wilbur spends his time doing other things, like deciding what their next stop will be. Wilbur had never travelled around the SMP before, infact, though he once resided within the capital, he hadn't ever gone anywhere other than said capital. Rather, he had chosen to travel to other countries entirely, wanting to be far away from the whole area. So, there were dozens of towns and cities to explore, and many sights to see, Wilbur honestly had a hard time choosing.

He enjoyed the fact they were on the outside of the SMP currently, it meant not only were they far from the capital, they were able to reside in more quiet and less aggressive places. The further you go into the SMP, the more... chaos, you'll find.

He had found Tommy in the village of Logstedshire, and now they had visited Snowchester, and that's only two of the many places available. So, needless to say, he had options.

He crossed L'manberg off the list, knowing he never plans on going there or letting Tommy go there either.

Following that, he crosses " Manberg" off the list too.

Manberg was this weird project of sorts, started by this strange goat man with an anti-l'manberg agenda. It happened long after Wilbur left so he can't say he knows too much about it, only that it is far too unsafe (and notably unimportant) to visit with Tommy. Wilbur's quite sure it's defunct anyway.

In the end, however, Wilbur decides to just travel wherever Tommy makes the two end up at. He's quite the wanderer, so as long as they stay clear of the aforementioned area, he's sure they'll be all right.