Chapter Text
Wilbur sat up quickly, hand to chest as he caught his breath, his vision was blurry and blinding. He took a moment to blink a couple times, a warm wet feeling stared to appear on his face, he took a shaking hand up to his face to find that he's most likely crying.
For what reason? No clue. He just is.
Actually.. maybe it's because he should be dead, maybe he is? Maybe not? Oh my nether.
Wilbur breathed heavily for a little while after realizing he had cried for the first time in months, blinking hard to clear his vision, slowly slowed down his breathing, and then finally escaped whatever panic he was experiencing.
After deciding to deal with his emotions later, he came to realize he was a in barren bedroom:
Wilbur was sat onto a simple bed with a red blanket with a white pillow and white sheets, a dark brown bag on the floor beside the bed, oak floor, what seems to be walls covered in white paper, an oak desk with a matching chair, an oak wardrobe, a small square window beside the bed with a red curtain, and an oak door.
The first thing that Wilbur did was look over himself, he was still wearing his dark trench coat with, still sooty (hah), and tattered as it’s always been. His fingerless gloves were still on well, his finger tips were awfully ashy though. Wilbur’s head had a slight headache, but after a quick pat down of his skull he didn’t find any bleeding wounds, he even took off his beanie to look on the inside to double check for any blood only to find nothing out of the sort. Wilbur then looked over his legs to find them free of injuries as well, his dark pants dusted with soot and perhaps gunpowder? His boots were off, and a quick glance around he saw them on the floor.
After he looked at the place he was distinctly trying to avoid, because this would tell him if Phil had followed through for once.
Wilbur looked at his chest.
And an odd sight welcomed him.
His once white shirt, that had quickly turned to a cream color blended with blacks and grays, had a hold where his heart was. No blood to be found.
Just a thin, shiny, peach colored, scar was where the large stab wound‘ve been…
Huh…
Wilbur‘s just gonna.. ignore this for now.
After he surveyed his condition he swung his legs off the bed and reached down and grabbed the bag off the floor into his lap, the bag wasn‘t particularly large or small, a perfect medium really. It was like a rounded rectangle in shape. The color was a dark brown, but with every crease in the material of the bag was worn enough to look like a lighter shade. There were two small pockets on its front that had little flaps that were closed by a small black button, on each side of the rectangular bag were two pockets without flaps on them but rather had a more scrunched up appearance, he assumes it would help keep larger items in place. It had a simple strap, an iron buckle to change how tight and loose it was. Lastly it had a big flap on the top that was the entrance to the bags inside, it had the same button as to the smaller front pockets.
Wilbur opened the bag, what greeted him was a pristine white envelope, yellow wax with a pressed star shape on it that held the paper closed, and his name written in a golden ink in messy but somehow elegant hand writing on the front.
He picked up the note, flipping it over in his hand only to find the back blank, he flipped the envelope once more and just.. gently touched the ink that had written his name. Wilbur hasn’t read a note that was meant for him in a long while, he thinks the last one he had gotten was a month or two ago from Phil, and… god what was it even about?… he might’ve written the made up lies of how the development of new l‘manberg was going, Wilbur might’ve said that they were still under construction to make the place bigger and had told his father not to visit until it was done, Phil had promised to wait.
He still came anways.. Wilbur knew he was convincing, and it’s not like Wilbur sent letters very often, that's why he was so surprised Phil had come.. he’s still curious on how the avian had even found him, let alone get worried enough to come against his wishes.
Phil was a much more hands off parent, that's what Wilbur has assumed after hearing tales about the ex L’manberg parents anyways, the guy was always off somewhere with Techno.
…
Wilbur opened the letter.
Hello little crow.
Sorry for how you would’ve woken up, the body can have many different reactions to be revived after all.
…what?
Wilbur looked away from the letter to the scar again, he’s… okay? Didn't know that was possible.. Wilbur went back to the letter.
Now to explain exactly where you are and why.
To put it simply, your mother wanted to give you another chance, she believes you deserve it. And though I am no good example of a mortal's morals, I am not sure why she thinks so.
Wilbur agreed, he is a asshole.. wait a minute-
His mom is the reason he‘s here? He has a mom? Wilbur genuinely thought whoever his mom was long past dead or could careless about his life.. guess this proves him wrong.. maybe, she could still be totally dead based on how often Phil talked about her and death in the same sentence growing up.
But I will admit, you are an interesting human. So I agreed to let you exist in my word since yours was no longer fit for your existence.
And since I do like you, I’ve graciously decided to explain this world to you and the items I‘ve left in your bag, and something else I have given you…
After a couple minutes of reading a very long message to him.. Wilbur has come to know he’s in a strange dimension with strange laws, both in nature and in society, though the most odd is that he’s in a large city called L‘maberg.
Yes, L‘manberg, not his nation. and only shared its name but it was L‘manberg nonetheless.
In this strange place with strange technological advances, were something called Heroes, Villains, and vigilantes.
Heroes had government permission to use powers, though they are only allowed to use it for the sake of helping others. they are said to be heroic and good.. Wilbur doubts all heroes are like that, look at Technoblades mythology tales for example, but he‘ll give them the benefit of the doubt.
Villains have no government pass to use their powers, use their power however they choose but cause chaos and destruction more often than not, they have their agendas and aren’t usually clear about what they are after. Wilbur doesn’t particularly care about whatever these guys do, he just doesn't want to be dragged into their shit, he’s been a villain enough for several lifetimes.
Then there was Vigilantes, a middle of the two other categories, a middle man. They didn’t have the government’s approval, and have potential to do bad, but they just do what they please. Of course this could lead to villains but they more often help then they do hurt. They also tend to do minor crimes, steal food, pick pockets, but it’s obvious to Wilbur that it’s just survival. He likes these ones the most, maybe it’s because they can’t be held to a moral code of exactly good or evil or that he’s always had a soft spot for underdogs, but he thinks they are the most interesting.
Though… Wilbur should probably think over powers, they remind him of magic mostly.
A power is a genetic gambling machine, you can almost never predict the outcome of if you even get a power, what the power could be, or how strong it'll be.
From what Wilbur can tell, you could have the power to change your hair color or become invisible.
And only 20% of the population had these magics in the first place, so studying these powers has always been a challenge.
It was fascinating to learn. Especially when the person who brought him here, one he’s guessing is some sort of godlike being, has given him power.
Though they had decided to leave it as a surprise for him to discover what he can do.
After that they had told him the laws of L’manberg, the important ones and leaving out the useless, that they had created government documentation for him because otherwise it would lead to him being unable to get a job, or to keep the apartment that would now be in his name(the place he was currently).
Then.. they had told him the most important bit of information in his opinion.
Wilbur had to choose a new name to put on his documents, the name he chose will appear after he puts his new name in his new communicator called a "phone‘, and the reason he had to use a different name in the first place?
There was already a Wilbur alive in this world, one going by the name Wilbur ash Craft.
Though that was all the entity had said about his counterpart and no more if there were going to be other people Wilbur would recognize.. he knew there had to be.
Because where there was himself he knew others would follow.
As egotistical as that sounds, it’s true. He wasn’t a president and general for a group of himself and no one else.
Wilbur was a leader for a reason.
Wilbur‘s family ended up all in one place for a reason.
Wilbur had many enemies for a reason.
Everyone ended up in one place for a reason.
…so now.. he knew he had to brace himself for encounters with people who either didn't know him at all or knew his counterpart at least. Small victories?… or something of the sort.
So after all of that headache he sat at the desk with the commun… the phone in hand.
His new name couldn't be too different from his current name, it'll take him ages to respond to the name without looking incredibly suspicious if he did that, but it couldn‘t be something like Wil as that felt just a little too close to Wilbur….
He absent mindedly tapped the side of the thin device…
Uhhhh…
He jotted down the first thing that came to mind…
And pressed enter before he could change his mind..
Guess he was Walter Cron now.