Chapter Text
Days had passed since Wilbur had gotten that horrible letter. That letter, signed on old paper and wrapped with a single deep purple string. That letter that he received with a smile, hoping for good news, only to have been stabbed by the words.
Those two letters that told him of the death of his love, so impersonal and uncaring.
“The government’s condolences, Wilbur Soot. We wish you luck in the days to come.”
Luck? Condolences? For the member of his family that had just died at the hands of a war they never touched? His wife? How on earth could his days be filled with “luck” after news like this?
“Big man, you need to come out and eat something, you can’t die on us.” Tommy’s voice rang out through the deafening silence of Wilbur’s room.
Good. At least then I could see her again, at least then a purple letter of my own could be written, at least then things wouldn’t hurt so much. How does one even live like this?
With a sigh, Tommy walked out of his grieving brother’s room, dragging his feet against the creaky wood flooring of the L’manberg “base”.
Wilbur wanted to have looked up from the book he was holding when Tommy sighed at him, he wanted to have screamed at his brother that his wife had just died, the love of his life— alone and without him there to say goodbye. He wanted to scream that the war could wait, that L’manberg could wait, because this had broken him. He wanted to scream that no, he wouldn’t come eat, he would sit here tracing the pages of the last book she had touched until her swirly cursive had stained his fingers and he couldn’t see anything else but her smile and hear her laugh.
But Wilbur just sat there, with his head bowed and his fingers tracing the annotated book, completely silent. Tears silently dripped down his face as he wept for the woman he had once held. He cried onto those pages until his hands were smudged with black inky tears and he curled inward.
I miss her.
That was his only thought in that moment, the only thing on the man’s despairing mind. He wanted to feel her arms wrapped around him as he shook with sobs, wanted to breathe in her smell of salt and seashells, wanted to hear her breath in his ear. That was all Wilbur wanted and that was all he lost.
Hours passed of him clutching that book to his chest and weeping, shaking sobs running through his weak frame. Hours passed of nothing but imagining his sweetheart consoling him, as she always did. He wanted her to run fingers through his hair, humming the lyrics to the song they danced to at their wedding. Hours of complete silence, and hours left alone with his own thoughts.
There was a commotion outside of the van, and the door slammed with a flurry of footsteps. Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to care. Let them leave, let them cry, let them die. I can’t do this. I can’t care and then lose.
After a few minutes, the footsteps and loud talking stopped. He could hear Tommy and Tubbo speaking in low voices towards the front of the van, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. His tears streamed down passively now, and his breathing was more level. Tommy and Tubbo only ever talked in low voices if they were hiding something pertaining to him. He was concentrating so much on his breathing he didn’t notice a small pair of footsteps walk up to his door and open it. Wilbur didn’t notice the small innocent face that appeared in the crack of the door, didn’t register the tiny sniffles of a child crying in his doorway.
It wasn’t until the six year old hybrid took a few steps into his father’s room that Wilbur noticed.
“Fundy— is that you?”
The child nodded and wrung his hands nervously, tear tracks on his pale face and two fox ears pressed flat against his head. He had just been dropped off in an unfamiliar land after the death of his mother by officials who were anything but warm. Just like Wilbur, he had been crying for days straight.
Wilbur put down the book he’d been clutching and wiped his tears with the sleeve of a dress shirt far too worn to be professional anymore. He held out his arms to his son, who came running. Both of their composures broke on contact with another, the child’s wailing muffled in his father’s shirt and Wilbur’s hands shaking on his son’s back, crying openly into the orange and white hair of his son.
The two sat and cried into each other for quite some time, a father and a son, grieving the loss of their only lifeline. A few times, others would pop their heads into the room, a room dominated by the feeling of loss and sorrow, and see the sight of the two of them. Wilbur and his son cried until Tommy and Tubbo left the van, cried until their tears couldn’t form anymore and they just shook, clinging on for dear life.
They took comfort in each other’s company, the reminder that things besides the whirlwind of memories and loss existed. A single lighthouse on an otherwise pitch black light.
“Fundy, I’ll never leave you. I promise you I will never leave you.” Wilbur whispered, voice trembling and hands shaking as he stroked his son’s hair. “I promise.”
Little did they know, that promise was to be shattered into a million shards, tested and tried until it broke.