TW: Blood, life-threatening wounds. gun violence, swearing

Eleven years ago:

Phil had just brought another kid home. Wilbur didn't like him much. He was five, happy and loud, and also looked just like their dad. The boy's name was Tommy, and he demanded the attention of everyone around him. As obnoxious as the child seemed, no one could bring themselves to ever get truly annoyed with the boy; his smile was infectious and his laugh even more so.

Wilbur thought he was quite different from Tommy; he had always been a brooding child, locking himself in his room to write poetry that he would later turn into songs. He didn't like learning like his older brother Techno, the exception being geography. He pored over atlases and maps for hours, trying to memorize countries and terrain and learn about different cultures.

Yes, Wilbur considered himself the opposite of Tommy; he couldn't yet see how similar he and his little brother were.

One year later:

It was Tommy's sixth birthday, and the family wanted to surprise him. Wilbur, as much as he tried to seem disinterested, was as invested in the project as Phil was. Even Techno, who also tried to act bored, was a bit excited to plan it and see Tommy's reaction at his party next week.

They spent days setting everything up, making sure the surprise got here in time. It did, and between then and the party they made it their priority to make sure the surprise was dry and that Tommy didn't find it.

The day of the party rolled around. The festivities passed in a blur; the chaotic youngest child ran around the yard screaming his head off and playing with his best friend Tubbo and he looked like he was having the time of his life. Wilbur watched with affection, letting his growing feelings of brotherly love show outwardly for the first time. Even still, he had a weird reaction to the boy's never-ending happiness. He wasn't jealous, but he couldn't help but feel wistful for something he felt like he'd never had.

Finally, it was nighttime and they were ready for the surprise. Tommy sat in a chair with the best view; he had been told they had one last gift to give him and he was wiggling in excitement.

The fireworks went off, lighting the sky. All the guests oohed and aahed, except for the birthday boy. He was still wiggling in his chair- no, he was quivering. The boy shook with shivers and sobs, his eyes clouding over as memories unfolded before him, replacing the previously-happy scene. He saw the terrifying glint of the gun, saw the maniacal glint in the man's eye, saw the vibrant blood bloom on his mother's shirt after the first boom, and saw the hole that appeared in his father's skull after the second.

Wilbur was the only one who noticed the boy's reaction, and panic immediately erupted in his chest. There had never been a time the boy wasn't smiling or comically glaring. But now, his face looked empty save for the immense fear practically pouring from his thin frame.

Wilbur quietly led the boy inside. He knew how to deal with panic attacks, and did all the necessary things. He made sure Tommy knew he was there, asked if he had permission to touch him, and had him count things he could see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. By the time he had gone through the routine that Phil would do with him, Tommy had calmed down considerably. He was still shaking slightly and his eyes still looked far away, but he could respond to Wilbur and most importantly, breathe normally.

"Toms, do you wanna talk about it?" Wilbur asked gently. He had made the connection between the fireworks and Tommy's panic and was worried that something in his past triggered it.

"It was the- the guns. They shot- I can't-" To keep Tommy from breaking down again, Wilbur shushed him and rocked him in his arms.

It took about an hour for Tommy to be relatively back to normal. In that time, Wilbur stayed away from talking about Tommy's past and instead told him stories about his own life, and his struggle with panic attacks, hoping it would distract the boy.

"We really are alike," Tommy murmured. He was tired from the long day and was slurring his words a little.

Wilbur hummed in response and combed his fingers through the thin, blond locks.

"We're like brothers!" Wilbur teared up a little, overcome with emotion. This little boy had changed his life; he started off hating Tommy but now would give his life for him.

"Stop, I will cry."

They both let out drowsy chuckles.

If Phil went looking for them once the festivities were over, he wouldn't say anything if he found the two boys cuddled together on Wil's bed.

Two years later:

Wilbur had stayed up writing a song. He knew his sleep schedule was shit and that it was apparent from the dark bags under his eyes, but he wouldn't be able to go to sleep until he fixed what was bugging him about this one line.

"Aha!" Wilbur finally got it, frantically scribbling down the new line. Not a moment later, he heard a scream that was quickly cut off, and a whimper followed.

Despite it being four in the morning, Wilbur was pretty alert and dashed in the direction of the sound. Tommy's room.

He opened Tommy's door to find the boy wrapped in blankets on his bed, shivering with tears running down his face. His eyes met Wilbur's and the older boy's heart ached at how glassy and broken they looked. It was just like how the blond had looked last year on his birthday, after the fireworks.

Once again, Wilbur settled him on his lap and comforted him the way only an older brother could. He spoke soft words and rocked the boy back and forth, dropping in a joke now and there just to see Tommy's facial expression change to one other than utter defeat. It worked, and Tommy chuckled at Wilbur's quips.

"I'm sorry, Wil. I hope I didn't wake you up, I know nightmares are stupid."

"Nightmares aren't stupid at all, Toms. Everyone gets nightmares, even Phil."

"Even Phil?"

"Yes, even Phil."

"Even you?"

"Of course! And when I do, I think about my family and how much I love them, and I know I'm safe here."

The look on Tommy's face was one of admiration, and Wilbur felt big feelings.

"Wilbur, we're like brothers."

"Stop, I will cry."

And once again, the brunet fell asleep with the blond in his lap.

Now:

"TOMMY!" Wilbur cried. He rushed to his brother's side; he had just gotten his life back and was about to lose his baby brother. He wasn't stupid; they were in the middle of nowhere with no medical supplies and that was a lot of blood. Too much blood. Even if he messaged everyone, it was impossible for anyone to get there faster than the poison was spreading through his bloodstream. 

Wilbur desperately gripped Tommy's shoulder, sliding him onto his lap and murmuring softly. It hurt so much to see Tommy's confused face; the boy looked so small in his arms. Like he was six and had a panic attack because of the fireworks. Like he was eight and had a nightmare and Wilbur had to rock him back to sleep.

Wilbur started rocking the boy, just like way back then.

Anyone who stumbled upon the scene, although no one would, would be able to see the pain in their eyes, the sadness slowly wrapping itself around the huddled boys until it was just them and darkness.

There was nothing either of them could do. The light still shone strongly in Tommy's eyes, but the color was leaving his face and the tight grip he had on Wilbur's hand was loosening moment by moment. It wouldn't be long now; the skeleton's arrow had been dipped with poison and it was slowly making its way from the wound to Tommy's heart.

"I'm so happy you're back, Wilbur."

"I don't want to be back if it means losing you, Tommy."

"It's okay. I'll still be here, just like you were Ghostbur."

"But that wasn't me, Tommy. I- If you come back, it won't be you. It won't be my Tommy."

Tommy didn't respond, too delirious to process the words.

"We're like brothers, Wil."

Wilbur couldn't speak for a minute.

"Yeah, we are Tommy. We're brothers, you and I."

"Till the end, right?"

"Till the end."

Wilbur rocked the boy's body, hoping it would lull him to sleep. After a few minutes, Tommy's eyes closed and his breathing slowed, his heartbeat barely there.

A few minutes more and the breathing stopped, and so did the faint beating of his heart. Wilbur kept rocking him for hours, rocking when the others found him, rocking when they sat with him, rocking when they cried with him.

(A/N, skip if you're not interested)

I felt strong angst feelings when writing this, and I hope you felt strong angst feelings when reading. I don't think I've ever written a death scene before so this was fun, even though I was very sad.

Hope you enjoyed!