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When Tommy opens his eyes, it’s with the distinct thought of I thought I’d never be able to do this again.
He pushes himself up with steady arms - funny, because he feels they shouldn’t be so stable, but he can’t explain why, even to himself.
All around him is dark. A void that stretches to infinity in every direction. Turning his head yields more of the same bright-dark nothingness - predominantly black, yet he feels he can see for forever, like the darkness is glowing - though, without any landmarks, any points of interest, it’s hard to tell for sure.
He gets to his feet, brushes his hands against his shirt.
Glances around again.
It’s lonely here.
Without giving himself any time to debate about it, he picks a direction and starts walking.
He’s determined to find something.
Eventually, he hears something other than his own footsteps, his own uneven breaths.
“Hey, kid, the fuck’re you doin’ here?”
The voice makes him freeze, flight or fight kicking in, the latter winning out moments later as he wheels around towards the speaker.
“You fucking bitch, where the hell am I? Why are you here,” he leers at the man, having to actively force himself not to shy away.
Schlatt looks at him, looking slightly down on him, before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.
“I can’t fuckin’ deal with you today. Hey! Loverboy! Come talk some sense into the kid,” then, lower, under his breath, yet still loud enough for Tommy to hear, “fuck, where are my cigarettes? Don’t tell me they fell outta my fuckin’ pocket.”
“Don’t you dare ignore me, you-” Tommy starts, staring at the man’s back as he walks away, before another voice cuts in, causing Tommy’s train of thought to completely derail.
“Wh- Tommy?”
Turning his head, he spies a man in an offwhite, bloody shirt, long brown trench coat, messy hair hidden beneath a threadbare beanie.
“Wilbur.” His voice has gone soft, without him meaning to. He clears his throat and tries again, “Heeey, Wilbur. It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?”
“Tommy, what are you doing here-” that same damn question- “why are you here- Tommy- I thought the disc war was over- what other bullshit did you drag yourself into?”
“I- the disc war is over,” he answers the only question he can. “Cat and Mellohi are in my enderchest. And, for the record, I haven’t been dragging myself into any bullshit, thank you very much! I’ve been buildin’ a hotel, all by meself, and it’s fucking awesome , might I add! Fuck, I’ve even stayed away from all the egg shit. Y’know, mostly.” It’s said with a shrug, and when Tommy’s eyes meet Wilbur’s, the man seems confused.
“I’m not even going to ask about what this fucking ‘egg’ is,” it’s said with airquotes, “but obviously something happened. What do you remember doing last?”
“Uh,” and Tommy has to think. The taste (or lack thereof) of raw potatoes coats his mouth. His back, his legs, hell, his everything aches with the feeling of underuse, of resting against a hard surface for too long. Purples of many shades fill his vision, dripping something onto the ground next to him, onto him. He feels bruised.
“I visited Dream in prison.”
“And why the hell would you do that? Is this your stupid resurrection thing you mentioned? I told you, I want to stay dead.” Wilbur practically growls, and Tommy can’t help but shy back, just a little. Wilbur doesn’t seem to even notice.
“I ah, well no, actually. It was for myself. Closure an’ all that. Wanted to tell the bastard I was never gonna visit ‘im again, tell ‘im to go fuck ‘imself.”
Wilbur sighs, a long suffering thing that seems to move his entire being. He rubs his hands across his face, head giving a small shake. “And?”
Tommy thinks about the visit. “While I was in the cell with him, we heard explosions and shit. A security breach or somethin’, we were never told what exactly. Sam had’ta deal with it, and since I apparently signed some shitty waver, it meant he could just leave me in there for a week with the fucking guy who-” he stops himself, redirects his sentence, “-with Dream.”
“When was that?”
“...A week ago. I-I think.”
“So?"
“After complete radio silence from Sam, we finally hear him again. He gives us more goddamn potatoes to eat - raw potatoes, might I add! - and told us it’d take longer to figure out the problem. It was fucked. I think I started arguing with Dream about something, but it’s kind of hard to remember.
“I do remember punchin’ him though,” he says it with a grin, but it drops quickly, “he took that as an invitation to fight back. I got a few good blows in on him! But-”
His throat closes up as he recalls what happened next.
Wilbur waits for him to finish - something he picked up on after meeting Tommy, after spending so much time around him and being someone of a teacher to him, a role model.
“He hit me right here,” he points to his right cheek, “and I fell to the ground. I told him to stop. Told him my vision was startin’ to go all black and shit around the edges.”
“So he beat you to death,” Wilbur finishes the scene, when it’s clear Tommy isn’t going to speak again.
“Wh- no, surely not. Probably just blacked out. Maybe got a concussion or something equally as stupid.”
Wilbur’s mouth is a thin line, his eyes narrow, his arms crossed, and Tommy feels himself shake, just a little, expecting to be scolded for something he doesn’t know he did.
“D’you think this is a dream?” It’s phrased like a question, though the tone suggests it’s something more akin to a statement.
“I mean, yeah, obviously. I’m still stuck in that damn prison. Sam’s gonna let me out, I’ll get patched up, and go back to gatherin’ resources for the Big Innit Hotel with Jack!”
Another sigh from Wilbur. He approaches Tommy, who stops himself from backing away after a single step backwards.
Wilbur cuffs the back of Tommy’s head, before laying the same hand on his shoulder. “Tommy, you idiot. You’re fucking dead. You’re dead! Welcome to the bloody fuckin’ afterlife!”
Tommy is frozen as Wilbur continues to move, walking past him.
“And here I thought you’d be able to live an actual fucking life after the last time we talked. But no! You always have to get the last word in, have the last laugh. It’s exactly the same when you handed your first life over to Dream, before you secured L’manberg her independence. You’ve always been like this.
“You never know when to quit, TommyInnit. And look where that’s got you.”