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The hideout is quiet.
Even at this late of an hour, it’s strange. No matter the time, the cobblestone streets are almost always lined with people going about their business. Courtesans heading wherever their services are called, guilds of thieves racing across rooftops with any children that demanded their attention, mercenaries having sparring matches, Assassins coming and going from homes and contracts. The town is alive at almost all hours of the day and night.
But not now. As the moon hangs high in the sky, like the sliver of a nail, everything is quiet. Not even the wind seems to dare to whistle through the buildings to rustle the boys hair.
Tubbo shivers uneasily.
“C’mon, we just need to get that Piece.” Tubbo whispers to himself, stepping carefully as he follows after Tommy.
The blond sticks deliberately to the shadows, the hood of his borrowed black cloak from Bad pulled over his head and the cape fluttering after him like a bat’s wings as he scurries. It’s a scary sight to see the glint of silver of Tommy’s Eagle Vision from under the cowl. Tubbo shivers again.
The brunet keeps his eyes to the trees, looking closer for anyone freerunning amongst the branches, trusting Tommy to have their back and keep an eye on the ground level. Tubbo bristles when he spots leaves rustling, time slowing as he realizes Tommy is right about to step underneath. In a moment of instinct, Tubbo reaches to his belt and throws his arm outwards, watching a throwing knife arc through the air.
It meets its mark.
Seemingly startled by the hit, a figure comes tumbling out of the tree, hidden blade extended as if they had been about to attack before Tubbo intervened.
Tommy stands there, shocked, for a moment before scrambling back to Tubbo’s side as the figure begins to stand up.
“I suppose I taught you too well…”
Tubbo’s blood runs cold.
It’s Wilbur.
The Mentor grits his teeth as he holds his shoulder, the knife buried deep in the flesh before he rips it out with a grunt. The blade is tossed into the brush and Tubbo finally meets his brother’s eyes.
Gold tinges the edges of Wilbur’s brown irises, his pupils shrunken to nearly the size of a pinprick. His face is gaunt, basically nothing but skin clinging to the bone. His grin is wide and mad, but he moves with the easiness and fluidity of the trained killer that he is- as if this were one of the simple days of tutoring out under the moonlight from so many years ago- as he reaches to his back and grabs….
A trident.
Not just a trident. The Trident.
How does he have it? All their sources said Wilbur only had the one Prong! How does he have the whole thing?!
Tubbo tries to swallow down his panic, quickly grabbing the hilt of his sword and drawing the rapier from its scabbard. The boy dares a glance to his left, his heart dropping at Tommy’s expression.
With the moonlight hitting his face, Tubbo can see Tommy’s wide eyes that flash between blue and silver, the beads of sweat slowly beginning to roll down Tommy’s furrowed brow, his clenched jaw.
“He’s gold…” Tommy rasps out, flexing his wrists to extend his hidden blades.
Gold. Wilbur is a target.
The Mentor laughs, his grip on the Trident tightening. His eyes flash a bronze color.
“You’re gold too, Toms.”
Only one of these two parties will be leaving here alive tonight.
They stand there in a tense silence, no one wanting to make the first move and give their opposition the opportunity to properly fight back.
An owl hoots and suddenly, Wilbur bites down his pride, lunging towards Tommy with a fierce battle cry.
“Look upon your god!” The man yells, Trident clashing against hidden blades with a loud CRASH!
Tommy goes stumbling backwards under the force of the hit that he just barely managed to block, falling flat onto his back. Wilbur reels back his weapon, the prongs of the Trident aimed at Tommy’s chest.
“NO!” Tubbo cries out desperately, forcing his way between his brothers.
Tubbo slashes carelessly with his sword, the thin blade much better suited for jabs and thrusts rather than hacking and slashing.
“Wilbur, please!” The boy pleads miserably as he tries and fails to disarm the older man. “Just give us the Trident and let us help you!”
Wilbur growls animalistically, bringing his knee up and kicking Tubbo away. Tubbo wheezes out a yelp of pain, having the air knocked from his lungs, and his sword falls from his grip, skittering away out of his reach. His back hits the side of a building and he’s suddenly pinned in place, the shaft of the Trident pressing closely against his neck, threatening to block off his airways if only he presses just a little bit harder-
“Don’t think about it.” Wilbur spits, barely glancing over as Tommy scrambles back to his feet and reaches for the blunderbuss on his belt.
A pregnant pause fills the air as the hammer of Tommy’s pistol clicks back, the safety now off.
“Let Tubbo go, Wilbur…” Tommy says, the shake of his voice betraying how scared he is right now as he aims the muzzle of his pistol towards his brother.
Wilbur laughs, roughly pressing the Trident closer in response. Tubbo gasps, craning his neck to try to lessen the bruising pain at his throat.
“Gotten brave, have you?” Wilbur taunts, his voice dropping an octave. “Shoot me then, Tommy. If you’re so strong and big and brave, shoot me.”
Tommy’s eyes narrow and his hand shakes before he drops the gun, Wilbur’s mocking cackle echoing with the sound of the metal bouncing off stone.
“So predictable, Toms.” The Mentor continues to mock, his grin sharp. Tubbo’s stomach turns, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes in anger and frustration.
As Wilbur opens his mouth to spew more vile words towards the boys, Tubbo tenses and, without a moment of hesitation, he flexes his wrist and stabs at the man with his hidden blade in his gut. He follows it quickly with a shove to push Wilbur away from him, coughing and grasping his throat. Tommy is almost immediately at Tubbo’s side, his shortblade drawn as he steps protectively in front of the vulnerable boy.
Wilbur cries out from the pain and surprise, the Trident clattering out of his hands as he holds his wound, the blood staining the whites of his underrobes.
“You bastard of a child!” Wilbur screams, the pure and unadulterated rage in his voice terrifying as his head snaps up and Tubbo watches in horror as the gold rimming the man’s irises only grows, crawling closer to the center like a parasitic ivy. “I should have killed you both long ago!”
Tubbo manages to finally catch his breath and he extends his hidden blades once more, stepping to stand beside Tommy rather than behind.
“Wilbur, please, you’re our brother. Let us help you.” He continues to try to plead, flinching at the way that Wilbur simply glares, the bronze glow returning to his eyes as he studies the boys.
“Family means nothing to me anymore.” He bites out.
He reaches out to grab the Trident once more only for Tubbo to kick it away, bringing his foot down on the Mentor’s nearly-skeletal hand.
“Tommy, break it!” Tubbo calls out, moving his foot to press into Wilbur’s chest to keep him in place, the heel of his boot digging into his rips.
Tommy hesitates, eyeing the Piece of Eden with terrified eyes, but he snatches it up and breaks the wooden shaft over his knee. Wilbur howls in disdain, snarling and struggling to get away from Tubbo to try to save the Trident. Tommy’s hands visibly shake as he reaches to grab the glowing head of the Trident. He stifles a shout as a blinding white-hot pain shoots through his fingertips and all the way up to his shoulders as he grasps it, but he wretches the three Prongs apart, the pieces tumbling to the ground with a whirring hum.
“NOOOOO!!!” Wilbur screams, shoving Tubbo off him in a swift moment of adrenaline hyped strength.
Tubbo’s heart shatters as Wilbur drops down by the broken pieces, muttering indecipherably as he tries to put the Prongs back together. Their power seems gone, the golden tips dull and lifeless and the geometric patterning fading.
“W-Wilby…?” Tommy tries, slowly kneeling in front of his big brother and taking his hands in his own gently.
Wilbur goes scarily still, throwing the Prongs back to the stone and letting them scatter away. Slowly, he looks up and Tubbo’s heart breaks all over again, freezing up as he stares.
Wilbur’s irises are completely gold now.
“You… You TOOK MY POWER FROM ME!!!” Wilbur wails, lurching forwards and pinning Tommy to the ground, his hands yanking away from his little brother’s and curling around the boy’s neck.
Tommy yells wordlessly, fighting back with all his might, and Tubbo panics. Tubbo grabs one of the broken Prongs and he rushes at Wilbur, crashing into his side. With trained reflexes, Tubbo grips the Prong with both hands and drives it home right between Wilbur’s ribs.
The sound of Wilbur’s scream of pain and Tommy’s keen of grief will forever haunt Tubbo’s nightmares.
Choking back tears, Tubbo gently cradles Wilbur’s quickly paling face in his hands as Tommy carefully moves to Wilbur’s other side.
“Why…?” The boy says to the dying man before him.
He simply chuckles weakly, his eyes closing, not looking his two little brothers in the face in his last moments.
“I could have made us great…”
Wilbur’s chest rises once. Falls once. And finally stills.
An ugly sob rips itself from Tommy’s throat, the tears flowing freely down as he oh-so-delicately removes the Prong from Wilbur’s unmoving chest.
“Nos amo te, frater…” The blond murmurs softly, the Latin choppy with his accent and rusty from years of disuse.
Tubbo whimpers softly, bowing his head to hide his own tears.
“Requiescat in pace…” The brunet finishes.