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Wilbur hit the ground with a sickeningly hard impact, his limp body bouncing once and tumbling a little before finally crumpling into a heap. His world turned fuzzy as his brain struggled to keep up with the situation, his ribs burning and twisting with the brutally constant effort of breathing.
Warm, crimson blood dribbled heavily out of his nose and lined the scrapes on his outstretched arms, the overpowering coppery scent dizzying his senses and blurring his thoughts. Wilbur could feel his shoulders heave with every breath he took, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he tried to ground himself.
He wanted so badly to run away, to get out and never look back, but his ankle screamed in protest every time it moved, the joint bent at an unnatural angle. Soon, the rest of his body joined in with the shrieking, their songs of pain shredding at his nerves relentlessly. Wilbur couldn’t escape. He was stuck here, strewn out beneath his blood-raged brother, with no possible way out.
A practice trident, wooden and splintered, hung loosely from the boar’s claws, sharp despite its juvenility, and Wilbur suddenly knew exactly what Techno intended to do with it.
This was supposed to be a friendly duel. He never fought seriously with Technoblade – he didn’t have a death’s wish, for Christ’s sake! What had turned him so suddenly violent?
The pink-haired teenager stood over his fallen body like a vindictive deity, his breathing now equally as ragged and heavy. Blood was splattered messily on his knuckles – probably sprayed from the impact of the punch to Wilbur’s face that had sent him flying in the first place. Apprehension roared and screamed in the fallen teen’s head as he watched his brother approach him with slow, methodical steps, as if his mind wasn’t fully there, replaced with the thrill of the hunt. He drew back his weapon, the points of the wood suddenly looking deadlier than netherite, preparing to skewer his fallen kin.
Of course, this death would be Wilbur’s own fault. He shouldn’t have asked Techno to duel so suddenly, and he shouldn’t have been so confident in his lackluster combat skills. There was a reason Phil favoured his eldest, after all. Wilbur closed his eyes tightly, a silent prayer to the Sky Gods resounding in his head as he anticipated the final impact.
It never came.
The sound of the door being kicked down drew both boys’ attention immediately, the trident falling from Techno’s hands in a terrified clatter. Wilbur opened his eyes to see Phil, bathed in light, being led along by a terrified Tommy. He’d been saved? By all rights, Wilbur ought to be bleeding out by now. A silent but hopeful voice in his head wondered if his father would finally see a reason to help him.
Technoblade stumbled to the floor, seemingly having come to his senses at last. Wilbur could hear him sniffle, and then burst into silent tears, his limbs shaking violently. The noise brought his own demanding tears back to attention, but the teen blinked them back furiously. Phil wouldn’t be proud of him if he cried so easily.
Instead, he sat up to the best of his ability, propping himself against something wooden – in his burning pain, Wilbur couldn’t properly identify what it was. He wheezed with the effort, the taste of blood in his mouth, and almost retched at the sight of his own brutally twisted ankle. Everything hurt – it was a miracle he hadn’t passed out, or something.
Tommy pointed Wilbur out immediately, rushing to his older brother’s side and trying to help prop him up. He said something to Phil out loud, his voice tinged with worry, but the man didn’t seem to hear it, his gaze focused on the trembling Techno.
The older man leant down by the unstable boar, murmuring something reassuring into his ears. He sounded so paternal, Wilbur couldn’t help but long for a similar amount of care. It’d been so long since Phil had last focused on him in such a way, or helped him patch up from a mistake with patience. Hell, he hadn’t seen him helping Tommy much either – the little blonde boy came to Wilbur with his problems, half the time. Wilbur didn’t mind helping his little brother – he would give the world to keep him safe – but the situation made him feel suddenly lonely.
Tommy’s gaze was on the situation too, now, his concerns having fallen silent on his tongue when he realised Phil was ignoring him, tuning his words out. The two brothers watched as Phil helped Techno to his feet gently, rubbing calming circles into his back. Wilbur hadn’t even known he could still act so parental. Judging by the shocked silence from Tommy, his younger brother felt the same way.
Just when he was about to leave, the winged father turned to look over Wilbur’s state. His otherworldly blue eyes swept over his injured form, taking in his bloodied face, crooked ankle, and desperate clasp onto Tommy. A faint simmer of hope glimmered in his chest as he wondered if his father would help him up, as well.
Instead, his dark gaze sharpened with blades of disappointment, and Wilbur felt his blood turn to ice.
“I expected better from you, Wilbur,” Phil said simply, the once-fond tone in his voice long gone. Just like that, he turned around, the kindness returning to his form as he focused on getting Techno away.
Wilbur felt his chest simmer with a cold, angry rage, his hands twitching as his tears were burned away by his indignant reaction. Of course Phil wouldn’t help them. He’d “asked for it”. He’d “provoked Techno”, so what else should he expect? Techno was never in the wrong, so the blame must be entirely on the head of his failure son.
Tommy seemed to react similarly, his nervous clasp on his brother tightening in rage as he growled under his breath.
“It’s always him!” Tommy seethed, anger tinging his words as he ranted for his brother. As he spoke, it became clear that he was on the verge of a breakdown, his words trembling with unshed tears. “All he cares about is that boar! Techno this, Techno that – what the fuck!” He looked to Wilbur, blue eyes shimmering weakly. “I tried, Wilby, I tried to get him to help you, and he didn’t fucking listen! He only came because I said Techno was there! I don’t get it! Why doesn’t he care about us?”
“Toms,” Wilbur said softly, his voice rough thanks to the blood undoubtedly lining his throat. “I… I’m not sure. I...” He opened his mouth to say more, but he coughed instead, the noises rough and violent.
The older brother tried to sit further up, hoping to give his sibling a reassuring hug, but he accidentally knocked into one of his bruised ribs, letting out a choked noise of pain. He gasped for air as the world blurred again, and Tommy immediately softened, reaching in his pockets to pull something out of his inventory.
“I, I stole this from that storage room we’re not allowed in. I didn’t think Phil was gonna do anything, so I - I…” Tommy pressed a healing potion into his brother’s hands, the pink liquid foaming in its glass container. Surprised by the item, Wilbur tried to refuse the offering non-verbally, already embarrassed enough by his loss to Techno. Tommy refused to back down, though, only pushing further. “I know you keep saying “stealing is bad”, but I don’t want you to bleed out, so just drink it, okay?! You’re the only son-of-a-bitch in this house who gets me.”
Too weak to protest further, Wilbur accepted it, drinking as much as he could gratefully. The healing potion was fizzy, supernaturally flavoured like fruit to mask the usual metallic taste of brewed drink, and it worked instantly, easing the pain of his ribs and working to fix his fucked-up face before the damage could set. He sniffled as the bleeding in his nose finally stopped, and his breathing became clear again.
“Fuck,” was the first thing he said once he re-caught his breath, putting the bottle to the side. He pulled Tommy close, arms wrapping around his younger brother protectively. “I didn’t mean to make you see that, Tommy. You shouldn’t have needed to see that.”
“Well – you were gonna die!” Tommy protested exasperatedly, sniffling into his bloodied sweater. “I wasn’t gonna let you die, Wilby! I know I’m all independent and grown up and stuff, but – you’re not allowed to die. You can’t die, okay? I still need you!”
“I wouldn’t leave you, Tommy. It’s my job to look after you, isn’t it?” Wilbur hummed. That was more true than he liked to think – after all, ever since he turned ten, Wilbur had been the one looking after his baby brother, feeding him and teaching him and reassuring him in the absence of their father. Phil hadn’t done shit for Tommy.
“Ewww,” Tommy chuckled weakly. “Dadbur. You’re my brother, not my dad, bitch.”
Wilbur laughed hoarsely. “At least I’m there for you, dick.”
Their conversation was light, but thick with heavy words that were better left unsaid. Neither sibling had to say another word more to recognise the situation unfolding. Phil wasn’t there for them, and he never would be again. They were stuck by each other’s side, fending for themselves in a household that considered them to be a liability.
Phil wasn’t proud of them. He was proud of Techno, who held the Sky Games Tournament winstreak. He was proud of Techno, who’d bested the combat-elite King of a distant land in a duel for honour. He was proud of Techno, the son who could do no wrong.
He didn’t care for his two failures. Wilbur, who couldn’t even hold his own in a friendly duel he started. Wilbur, who only knew how to play shitty little songs and write shitty little speeches. Tommy, who spoke too loud and too often. Tommy, who never quite fit into the household in the way Phil really wanted.
But, they had each-other. They would always have each-other.
Maybe, if Phil wouldn’t love them, then that could be enough.