In which Wilbur tries to hold on but fails desperately.

      Or, the last blow to make the glass shatter.

The sun rose quietly above the still water.

Niki's legs swung off the edge of the dark docks, dropping a pebble into the glassy river. The ripples spread across the water, unstopped. They seemed to go on for miles from one little stone.

It was still dark outside.

Footsteps padded quickly behind her, the boards creaking underneath heavy boots. They suddenly stopped right as they reached her, pausing.

"Hey."

Niki glanced up at him. "Hey."

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Niki looked back over the water. "Just wanted to talk, that's all."

Wilbur sat down next to her quietly, swinging his legs over the dock. "I'd like that."

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the other's comfort. Niki leaned her head on his shoulder, and he accepted it, not saying anything.

"So," Wilbur took one of the pebbles from her pile, dropping it into the water. "How've you been?"

"Not very well, to be honest." Niki rubbed a pebble in her palm. She looked up at him, a small smile spreading across her face. "But I think I'm good now."

"Yeah." He didn't meet her gaze, unable to look her in the eye. "I am too."

The silence fell over them again like a comforting blanket, disguising Wilbur's lie. Niki's hand reached down to get another pebble, shifting it in her hands. She reached out to hand it to him, but he didn't accept it.

Wilbur looked away, his face clouding over.

Niki looked at him with worry, the tension stretching a void between them.

"I-I brought the guitar you gave me." Niki reached over, grabbing the neck of a beautiful wooden guitar, flowers carved on the base.

"So you can play songs!" Niki placed it next to him. "Like you used to."

Wilbur looked at the pretty guitar that he had spent so many days building and stringing. "I-I don't know, Niki."

"Just one." She scooched it a little closer. "For me."

"Ok then." Wilbur took it gingerly, feeling the strings on his fingers. "For you."

He plucked the strings slowly, turning the knobs. "What do you want me to play?"

"Anything you want." Niki folded her legs, facing him. "What you feel like."

"I-" He looked into her light brown eyes, twinkling in the early light. She was smiling at him. "Ok. Yeah."

"Uhm-" He strummed the strings in a quiet tune. "I wrote this one and- yeah."

He looked down at the strings, taking a deep breath before nervously strumming out a tune. Niki rested her chin on her hand, watching him.

"Wasting your time."

Wilbur focused on the guitar strings, not looking up.

"You're wasting mine."

Niki tilted her head.

"I hate to see you leaving."

Wilbur looked up at her and smiled.

"A fate worse than dying."

He looked at his nation in the distance.

"Your city gave me asthma."

Lights dotted on the horizon.

"So that's why I'm fucking leaving."

The water was black, glassy that night. He remembered Tubbo building the boardwalk on it, so long ago.

"And your water gave me cancer."

Laughter and sand.

"And the pavement hurt my feelings."

Wilbur's voice suddenly became choked up at what once was.

"Shout at the wall."

Niki noticed a single tear, like silver, slide down his face.

"'Cause the walls don't fucking love you."

And then Wilbur became angry, angry at what once was , what could've been, and what isn't.

He strummed faster, his voice raspy.

"Shout at the wall."

And then his breath caught in his throat.

""Cause the walls"

And the strumming slowed as his fingers became clumsy and weak.

"Don't fucking."

And Wilbur's voice became a whisper.

"Love you."

And the guitar clattered to the ground, silence ringing through the air.

Wilbur Soot was crying, and he covered his face.

And then Niki's arms wrapped around his neck as she hugged him tightly.

"Wilbur Soot, you listen to me." Her voice was choked. "You are not a waste of time. You are worth it, ok? You're going to get through this."

More sliver droplets slid down his face. "But I-"

"Listen to me." She closed her eyes, her breath stuttering. "We're going to be ok."

That's the reason.

"Yeah." Wilbur's hand rested on her back gently, trying to comfort her. "I'm going to be ok."

They fail.

And the wind carried away the lie.

---

Fundy's pencil snapped again and he sighed, tossing it into the trash. He shook out his aching hand, reaching for another pencil.

The paper dug into his wrist as he wrote quickly, in bold strokes, lining up each little character uniformly.

Remember, Fundy, each letter needs to be spaced out. All the letters are in their own little box, their own little tiny box.

Fundy's pencil snapped again, his hand clenching in anger.

Writing always reminded him of Wilbur.

"Fuck."

"Fundy."

Fundy froze, trying to keep his movements calm and steady as he slowly closed his book, tucking it inside his suit. He turned around to greet Schlatt, making sure his face was emotionless. "Yes?"

"Could you come with me for a second?"

Fundy nodded curtly, following after him. His stomach was flipping nervously, but nobody could tell.

He'd gotten quite good at hiding it.

They emerged out of Fundy's office, out of the White House, into the fresh, cold air. An excited puppy sat at the entrance, wagging its tail excitedly. It tilted its head at Fundy, showing a makeshift tag hanging loosely off its neck.

In small, bold, spaced-out letters L'Dog was written.

Fundy recognized that handwriting.

"I found it wandering around our grounds."

It yipped excitedly, looking up at Fundy with its giant brown eyes.

"Kill it."

Fundy's stomach jolted. His voice shook slightly.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Were you not listening? I said kill it."

When the time comes, Fundy.

His sword emerged out of its sheath, ringing in the air.

When it is needed to save your nation,

His eyes closed as a piercing whine flew through the air, his sword sinking into fur.

You do not hesitate.

And then his sword was sheathed again, his head held up high, refusing to look down.

"Good soldier."

Fundy held his head up, looking straight forward, trying not to puke as he followed Schlatt, up a tower, away from the body he just slaughtered.

He killed something.

His hands were shaking a bit.

It would never get easier.

The black flag waved in the wind, casting a shadow over everything.

"It really is a nice sight."

Fundy's eyes locked on a figure in a dark gray trenchcoat racing across Manburg.

"It really is."

The figure fell to his knees, blocking the bloody sin from Fundy's sight.

"It really, really is."

The figure didn't move. He just sat there, staring. No sobs, no crying. Just staring.

"You know sometimes, Fundy, I don't know who I can trust."

Fundy felt bile rise in his throat.

"Sometimes I feel like everyone's not got the right intentions."

The figure was frozen, and Fundy was frozen, and he stared at him.

"Of course, I- I've got the right intentions."

Fundy tried to keep his breathing steady, steady, steady.

"And I hope you do too."

---

Wilbur stumbled through the tunnel back to Pogtopia, his eyes lidded and frozen.

Blood covered his hands, his face, his coat.

You won't betray me like him, right?

Wilbur tripped, trying to catch himself on the wall. His body gave out, sliding against the cold wall. He sunk to his knees, the cold wall against his forehead.

I think I can trust you.

His fist pounded against the wall suddenly, before it went limp again.

It's not fair

"Why can't I get better?"

His voice came out strangled, and it hurt his throat.

"Why can't I just be ok?"

His shoulder hurt. Everything ached now. But nothing had hurt him. Nothing had hurt him.

"Niki said that I was ok."

Everything was hopeless.

There was no way out.

Wilbur's eyes widened.

There was no way out.

"Wilbur! What are you doing down here? Did you finally get out of bed?"

Tommy approached him happily, and Wilbur turned to look at him. He was smudged, blurry.

"W-what are you doing out of Pogtopia?"

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "My normal stuff? I've been building this thing for a while with Tubbo."

A flash of anger erupted inside Wilbur. He didn't know where it came from, it just came out like a wild, untamed beast. "Stop being irresponsible."

"W-what?"

"You're so irresponsible. Leaving Pogtopia, building this thing. It's so irresponsible." Wilbur's vision was red as he lashed out, trying to divert Tommy's attention from the blood on his face, trying to distract himself from the blood on his face.

"You've become extremely unlikeable lately." WIlbur stood up shakily, the ground whirring as he tried to walk away.

"What the fuck, Wilbur!? You're talking bullshit-"

"There's a reason-" Wilbur came up close to him, shaking his tiny shoulders. Tommy could smell the stale kerotones on his breath, and his eyes widened as he noticed the blood covering his face.

"There's a reason that you are not president and never will be."

He let go of him, Tommy stumbling back. "Schlatt's new decree is in an hour."

He held his stomach as he limped away.

"Don't come with me if you're going to act like a child."