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Wilbur was used to a lot of things in life.
He was used to waking up and deciding who to fuck with today. He was used to sneaking over to Sneeg’s place and snagging a dazzling item or two from his stack. And he was definitely used to harping on his dad to do one thing or another for him, and pushing his family to stay away from Ranboo.
Most people were aware of what he was used to. His routine, his daily habit, his going-abouts. Still, there were the regulars that felt different. The things that made his chest churn, in a different way than when he’d read that book and watched his family and friends continue to talk to Ranboo, hang out and play around, as if nothing was wrong. When, in fact, everything was.
That wasn’t the worst of it, though, because at least he could muster up some sort of understanding about all that, about why’d they see Ranboo as a nice man. These random feelings that would come and go to him, though? Of their own accord from the most random instances and depths of himself? Those were unpredictable, and therefore harmful. He wished they would halt.
They made him meaner. Perhaps bitter, at moments. Snappish or feeling like he wasn’t quite himself. Like he was an incorrectly made clone.
When someone jokingly remarked he was Ghostbur due to his transparent state, despite him being very much well and happily alive, he was quick to insist, Not Ghostbur, just Phantombur.
He didn’t want to be dead, nobody would, and both himself and others knew he wasn’t in such a state, that they were just making silly remarks, so why did it grate on his nerves so much?
He didn’t know, and he never knew if he would. They were little pockets of time outside the norm that he learned to identify but not fix. Perhaps it would be like that forever.
He didn’t know if he was okay with that.
Whether he thought it was fine or not, however, wouldn’t change how the world would keep turning the same. That every morning, it wouldn’t be the first thought to float to his head, that it’d be a missing part in his brain until he saw Tommy gripping his comfort mossy cobble and he pondered why it wasn’t being crafted into a tower, when he knew Tommy would much rather be building bridges with wood, not such an ugly block.
It’d be an undiscovered cog in his mind until he saw Tubbo bumbling around, chattering about how mining was so easy and asking him to pollinate flowers together, and he’d wonder when his friend had become his obsession, before realizing his thoughts and questioning where they came from. Bees had never been an obsession, it was him, not an interesting topic of discussion.
Was it the sunlight? Was his constant forgetfulness of everything stemming from the pure sun frying his brain? He did catch on fire quite frequently, after all, and it burned so much, so maybe that was giving him some sort of brain damage.
Sighing, he sank underneath his house. Into the damp, dripping, pitch-black cave just below. Curled up on the hard stone, and kept his eyes closed. Perhaps today wouldn’t be full of pranks, or bothering his friends and family. Maybe if he spent more time out of the brightness, he’d recover a bit of his head. Stop acting so out-of-character. He didn’t want it to eventually get to the point where it was noticeable for everyone.
He didn’t have many days where he just lied about inside. He was prone to getting bored, and fidgety, and throwing a fit when sick. Philza was the one to always experience the most shortcomings when Wilbur was in such a condition. His dad had been the bearer of a drenched shirt for one too many throw-up sessions of a liquid that wasn’t quite green or any color, really. Just phantom things.
Philza may have always gotten the short end of the stick, but his father never minded any of his shenanigans. Whether it was building a place for his son virtually free of charge, having to handle the little sibling fights between him and Tommy, typically over a spyglass more than anything, or putting up with the fact that Wilbur couldn’t handle any kind words or actions from him in his weird squishy-feeling moments, his dad was always right by his side to the end. He couldn’t love him anymore.
Still, Wilbur couldn’t help but crave for more. And for less. He wanted to just be able to curl up in his dad’s arms, feel his solid touch, the weight pressing into his back, folding around him and comforting him. Feel Tommy’s hand slapping against his, a high-five with all the force behind it. Feel the dripping wetness from Niki’s hand extending out of the water to gently thread fingers with him. Feel Tubbo’s feet lightly kicking against his waist as he lies in the grass, bathed in moonlight, with Tubbo struggling to contain a fit of laughter, propped up slightly against a tree.
He yearned to comprehend all the sensations, but he couldn’t. It all felt frighteningly . . . numb. Whether invisible or transparent, him pushing or yanking them around for a prank didn’t feel the same as them interacting with him. It felt like a barrier, where he could sort-of touch them but they could never really touch him. A barrier where he couldn’t feel the sensations of any movements either way, couldn’t connect with them, feel sentiment.
He’s never been able to, so how could he now crave for more than he’s ever experienced?
He couldn’t. They were falsified emotions, brought about by his faulty memory and his impulsive urges.
“Wil!”
Wilbur jolted up. Squinted his eyes, before remembering he was in a cave. He could barely see anything around him, yet could hear Phil faintly calling above, from his house.
“Wil! Are you home mate!?”
He didn’t answer. Kicking his foot into a faint underground stream, he felt some water splatter against his sweater. Wet. Blue.
He could hear Phil’s sigh just barely; it was so trademark, if he hadn’t been straining his ears, he wouldn’t have heard it through all the rock.
“Guess I’ll just leave a sign, then,” He could hear the old man grumble out, and Wilbur couldn’t help but perk up, interested. A sign, for him? What was such an occasion that he couldn’t just wait until he’d seen Wilbur face to face? Now buzzing with curiosity, but not wanting to shoot up from the ground, he began to circle his sweater paws over each other, impatiently waiting for the man to leave his house so he could zwoop up and read the message.
Eventually, the scrawling faded along with the footsteps. Wilbur walked into the wall, hopping upwards until his feet were safely settled on the floor of his house.
Staring into the glowing letters of the spruce sign, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten. It was the holidays! He couldn’t stay inside all day for this occasion, of all the days to miss out on!
When you see this, head out to the Pube. Tommy, Scott, and Tubbo are already there. We’re putting up some Christmas decorations. - Philza
He couldn’t miss the Pube’s first Christmas! It was already the Eve, and they were just a bunch of procrastinators, and he didn’t even have any gifts yet! Well, he had to be ready for Christmas. They could decorate the Pube on their own for now. He needed to find something for everyone: Sneeg, Philza, Jack Manifold, Nikki, Tubbo, Tommy, Slimecicle, Scott, Fundy, James–but perhaps not Ranboo.
Scrunching up his face in thought, he leaned against the sign, thinking of the best resources to gather. What could each of his friends need? What could they want? What would make the perfect present for them?
For Niki, he knew: finally fulfilling his promise of taking her to the Nether. That would require a lot of time and thinking, however. Perhaps he could make an underground water passage to a Nether portal? He had gathered plenty of supplies, some by stealing and some by nagging, to help towards brewing enough water-breathing potions. He was sure he could make it work. He’d even got some scute for a turtle helmet! Then he could snatch some Gapples from Philza or Sneeg, just in case of anything. Perhaps Scott, too, as all those guys always seemed overly rich.
Grinning, he decided to get to work. Threw in some ingredients into a brewing stand and let them do the magic, before leaving them to go begin making a passage. After all, Niki deserved to enter the Nether from the perfect spot with the best view; he certainly didn’t want her to spawn in a Crimson Forest and get knocked to death by some Hoglin; those biomes could be quite precarious.
With a miscellaneous gathering of tools in his inventory, most snatched from nearby little homes, things left in random chests and barrels, he got to work. Mining diorite after stone after granite, he could already envision a wide, beautiful underground cavern, brimming with water and pretty lights. Perhaps it could even be Christmas-themed. He was sure he’d be able to recruit Philza to help with decorations later.
Beaming to himself, he decided that actually doing some work sometimes wasn’t so bad. Especially if it was for such a great friend, like Niki–though he definitely wouldn’t be putting this much effort into all of his friends’ gifts. There wasn’t enough time in the day for all that. Christmas was tomorrow.
So, as he continued to carve out space, he pondered on what to get his other friends. What could he give to people like Scott and Sneeg, who already had everything they could want in the world? Anything he could give them would have no value, and he’d rather burn alive than give them an unworthy gift. It was all of their first Christmas together, after all. He’d only ever spent Christmas with Philza and Tommy before.
Well, his work was cut out before him. He had a lot of time to think.
Finally, it was Christmas day. He’d been up early enough so that his skin wouldn’t burn when he took a step outside, transporting all his wrapped gifts to the Pube. He’d helped out a bit late at night, once he’d finished gift-hunting. Now, staring up at the flashing lights decorating the walls, he grinned. They’d made great handiwork with the place.
His gifts weren’t the first under the tree. Plenty others were there from people that’d dropped them off ever since the gigantic tree was placed there yesterday afternoon throughout the night, to now, with Wilbur being one of the last to drop off his finished supply.
“It’s such a nice sight, ain’t it, Wil?”
Wilbur startled, sharply turning, only to be greeted by the friendly grin of Scott. Heat rising to his cheeks, he kicked some of his dropped presents closer towards the tree. His stomach churned wondering if Scott would like his gift.
“Yeah,” He said lamely. Scott thankfully didn’t seem to notice his slight distress.
“I can’t wait to see what everyone’s got for each other. I wonder what we’ll get up to after; I heard Philza’s got something planned.”
“Oh?” That was news to Wilbur. He was used to a sleepy family Christmas day, so he couldn’t imagine what new sort of Christmas tradition Phil could be making.
Before Scott could say anything, however, they were interrupted by a cacophony. Tubbo and Tommy had burst through the door, loud voices overlapping and mixing together, tugging and pulling at each other’s ugly outfits.
“Phiiil!” Tommy wailed out, despite their father not being present. Wilbur raised an eyebrow as he watched the scene before them, amused. Classic Tommy.
Ranboo trailed in after them, heaving a big sigh. If Wilbur sunk into the floor, nobody around him noticed. He could stay there for a bit longer.
He didn’t bring a gift for Ranboo.
“Phiiil! Tubbo is trying to steal my poor, poor, glowy nose!” Tommy screamed out, accompanied by a little shout of, “Am not!” from Tubbo.
“Phil’s not here,” Scott deadpanned, but the two continued to duke it out, crashing about. Wilbur was certain he heard them trip over a few things.
Soon enough, it seemed as if Niki had arrived, a swift swoosh being heard as she paddled through the man-made waterfall and safely into her Pube tank. He could hear her soft laughter as she watched the shenanigans of the two boys.
More and more people arrived, all in quick succession. It seemed the Pube was the place for on-time events, or perhaps everybody was just excited for Christmas.
“Where’s Wilbur?” Philza called; he seemed to be the last one to join in.
“‘M not sure. He was here earlier . . .” Scott trailed off, and Wilbur could only assume the other was looking around.
“Oh, is he doing that hibernating thing?” Philza sighed, “He does that when it gets all cold and snowy; always such a sleepy boy . . .”
“I do not!” Wilbur shot out of the ground, huffing indignantly. He’d maybe done that one winter at
max.
“Yes you do!” Tommy, ever the annoying brother, called out, “Just last week you’d fallen asleep next to me birthing pod!”
Wilbur may or may not have done that, but he’d never admit to it. So he bickered more with his brother, and Philza set up some games, and somehow they’d all transitioned to beginning an activity.
Tubbo dominated a shooter game. Stacking a little toy gun full of sweet berries, they’d shot them at star-shaped targets. After Tubbo came Scott then Philza, followed by a raging Tommy.
There was an eating competition, too, which Sneeg stood no chance in. Fundy and Scott dominated that one, and surprisingly Nikki, too.
Wilbur secured a victory in a little arts-and-crafts contest, with Jack Manifold following him up. Tommy made a ripped paper snowflake.
Philza seemed to have a wide array of fun holiday celebrations today, a little bit of something for everybody to enjoy. It was all great fun, full of laughter and jokes. At one point, he’d even pushed Tommy and Tubbo off the Pube, Tommy eventually going splat and making a snow angel, and Tubbo just laughing as he buzzed in place.
He was enjoying all of them spending their first Christmas together, even if he couldn’t stop craving the touch of his family. To hug them close and feel their warmth. He knew he’d be forever cold.
Oh, it was gift time!
Buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves, he settled down between Jack Manifold and Fundy. All of them sat in a semi-circle around the beautiful Christmas tree, and Philza picked out one present at a time from under the tree, reading who it was from and who it was for, before sliding the gift over and allowing the recipient to open it for everybody to see.
“From Wilbur, to Fundy!”
The little fox was quick to rip apart the wrapping paper, peering into the depths.
“Oooh! Wilbur, thank you, thank you!” His fluffy friend tackled Wilbur into a tight hug, nearly spilling his jingling pouch of glow berries and sweet berries all over the floor.
“Look inside,” Wilbur gasped, wriggling out of the other’s grasp; it felt so cold.
Fundy sat back, releasing him, peering closer at the gift, “Oooh!”
There was a piece of paper that used smushed glow berries and sweetberries to paint a picture of Fundy. It was the least Wilbur could do, a little decoration gift of one of his friend’s.
“I love it! Thank you so much!”
Wilbur grinned and gave a thumbs-up. The gift-exchanging continued on and on.
Tommy gave Scott some raw fish to “cook via death.”
Tubbo gave Wilbur a diamond pickaxe, particularly enchanted with Silk Touch.
Wilbur gave Tommy a knitted little outfit for Hetta and his nephews.
Eventually, all the gifts were complete except one: Wilbur’s to Niki.
“Come on, up, up, everybody!” He called excitedly. Phil had helped him out big-time with this. Nobody else knew.
Everybody was confused, but followed his instructions. Wilbur shoved a few key materials into Niki’s arms, and watched the understanding dawn in her eyes. He grinned wide.
“To the Nether!”
Stepping through the portal with Niki by his side, it felt like a new world.
“Wil . . . this is fantastic.”
He stared into the mermaid’s eyes. They glimmered and shone; eyes truly did show all the emotion. All her gratefulness, her kindness.
“Woah, woah!” Jack Manifold gasped; he hadn’t seen how Wilbur worked to bring Christmas to the Nether, too.
Lights were hung everywhere. A red-green carpet pattern mismatched the floor, along with colored terracotta and wool littering their surroundings. Wilbur had even brought along his guitar to play a few Christmas tunes.
“This is bollocks, Wil!” Tommy shouted, and Wilbur laughed.
Maybe he couldn’t hold his family, but he could spend time with them. That was the next best thing.
So smiling, he listened to his friends shouting requests at him, and began to sing
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.