Chapter Text
Smoke curls over his face.
He’s under the shade now, wings tucked against his back. His clothes are new, and he fondly sewed them himself. He has a few embroidered designs on his jacket, a crown from Ranboo on his right shoulder right where his revival wound used to be. A carrot from Techno on his breast pocket where an ache used to be stronger. Black wings on his right scapulae from his father, right after they flew together one morning. He has bees and mathematical symbols on his cuffs after Tubbo helped him fix his broken buttons. He has things from all sorts of people, save for a couple, save for Tommy too.
He sees an unfinished home in the distance, scaffolds where future walls would be, outlines where future guest rooms would be. He sees his shop, signed turned to closed probably for the final time. He’s come so far, but in the end, it feels like the first day.
He breathes in ash.
Wilbur feels the most inconsistent he’s ever been. The most insecure. The angriest, the saddest, and even the most gutted. All this time has been leading up to a day like this. He’s not stupid, he’s seen the Observers make a few final adjustments outside and they have been holed up in Tommy’s office for most of the day for a meeting. It’s likely their last day.
He breathes out.
James would likely ask him where did your promise go, where did your fight go from just two days ago? He’d answer that it went with Tommy leaving that evening, from silence deep into the night till day, and no word about what the Observer’s finishing their job means for them. For him.
“Wilbur?”
He turns and meets Jack’s worried gaze. Jack murmurs, “Hey man, uh, to be honest I was going to come out here and yell at you for stinking up the stoop with your smoke, but uh, well, are you doing okay?”
“Sure.” Wilbur bites.
Jack shakes his head. “Is this about Tommy?”
Wilbur ignores him. “Why do you run a hotel, Jack?”
“What?”
“You don’t have any guests half the time,” Wilbur snarks, “Everyone has their own place. I can’t imagine it’s worth keeping open.”
Jack blinks, but his voice doesn’t falter, “But I might have tenants in the future, right? I mean, I had you all didn’t I?”
Wilbur freezes and Jack continues, “And I may still have you because your house is shit and might crumble in the wind. Who knows, maybe I’ll pay you more than James and steal you as my employee. Maybe I need you to install water accessible pipes under the dirt here too. Maybe I’ll fix up the roof and crack my bald head on the ground below and I’ll need your finest health potions.”
“What?” It’s his turn to be surprised, it seems.
Jack offers him an understanding glance, “You can’t really think you’re going to be asked to leave.”
Wilbur puts out the cigarette. “I kind of do. He left that night, the open mic night. He hasn’t talked to me since. He’s been weird since our conversation. I don’t even know if I’ll get to apologize to him. And he hasn’t said a word of what the Observers in his office are doing.”
Jack squeezes his shoulder, warm hands relaxing his core. “Breathe. You know when I told you Tommy and I had several long talks?”
“Yeah?” That was so long ago. He almost forgets what arriving here felt like.
“Well, I sort of lied,” Jack swallows, “Our first conversation was an argument. Bad one. Usually, back in the Dream SMP, when I’d yell at Tommy, you know, he’d just shut down and deflect. But this Tommy’s different, this time he yelled right back, but not in a reckless way, in a bitter way.”
“I never knew you two hated each other,” Wilbur whispers. Though he does recall what Niki told him about them trying to kill Tommy once upon a time.
Jack shrugs, “Well, I hated him, I guess. I don’t anymore, obviously, though it’s kind of hard to rectify you know like the ‘hey Tommy so is it okay if we move past the whole, I tried to nuke you because you killed me and I felt underappreciated as your friend thing?’ You know?”
“Shit man.”
“Yeah,” Jack sighs, “I was pretty shit, even though I had some right to be mad at him. Regardless, I said really horrible stuff. Tommy was pissed, so pissed everyone here was surprised he lost his composure like that. I thought it was it for me, like I thought I was getting banned from this place and everything. He didn’t talk to me for a week straight.”
Wilbur feels hope in his stomach and Jack hasn’t even hit the conclusion of his story yet. It feels like the sun even though he burns in it. It feels like Tommy’s warm palms on the base of his wings pushing him off the Pube at flying lessons. It feels like Phil’s easier smile these days, and the apologies whispered in his that’s nice mate. It feels like wanting to finish a house and seeing the fruits of Techno’s crops in a year.
Jack rubs his neck. “Yeah so, uh, I was wrong by the way. I’m still here. He never kicked me out, but he did give me every opportunity to leave.”
“Huh?”
“Like,” Jack swallows, “Like he thought I wanted to leave, like he did something wrong to me. I felt like a major asshole, truly, on top of the guilt I already felt before that, with you know, my shit ways of communicating my anger. Because Tommy doesn’t kick people out here if he can help it, he wants them to feel comfortable above all else. So, when Tommy gave me the papers of release from Origins it wasn’t a ‘goodbye’ it was an ‘I’m sorry’ even though I should’ve been the one apologizing.”
Jack must notice how baffled he appears because he quickly says, “I don’t think you’ll be kicked out Wilbur, I think Tommy will ask you leave because he still thinks you don’t want to stay. Given your history too, I think he has a lot of belief that you’re not staying.”
Wilbur’s a lot of things. He’s 6 foot 6, he’s apparently a phantom, he was dead for 13 years in the span of nearly one. He’s bitter, he smokes still if even a little less, he’s dramatic, and he’s stressed. And he’s always liked to think he can curb himself and others out of situations through thinking, and thinking, and thinking. That he can come up with a plan, worry on his fingernails over every possible situation of how he got here, how he can get out, and how he can prevent it again. He was a revolutionary leader, and a president, and a revolutionary again, and then he died. He planned until he couldn’t any longer. He planned even when he came back because it’s all he knew how to do to keep everyone and everything together.
But sometimes, he forgets to look right in front of him.
He breathes in clean air.
“Wilbur?”
“Thank you, Jack,” Wilbur mumbles, “Seriously. And I believe I owe you a few apologies, and things too from back in the SMP days.”
“Nah man, listen-“
Wilbur cuts him off, “I owe you some things. I do. And I intend to see you about it next week.”
Jack exhales, “Well, okay then. You better tell Tommy you’re all staying.”
Wilbur means it when he says, “I will.”
---
Wilbur finds himself spent of his energy boost from his talk with Jack, now sitting underneath a warm porch. Phil’s standing next to him, healed wing outstretched to feel the breeze. And it’s funny how peaceful Phil finally looks. He notices it, even though Phil himself is always very careful what emotions he expresses. But Wilbur knows him well.
He sees the easy smile, the lack of sword on his belt, and the open palms greeting the new day. Phil seems happy, more cheery than he’s ever been. He can’t just amount it to the work they’ve done, and their one big conversation. He amounts it to this peaceful little server Tommy’s brought upon the world too.
“What brings you over, mate?”
Wilbur sighs, “So, uh, I’m think we fight to stay on this server, seeing as that the Observers are almost done. I wanted to make sure we were all in, before I do something stupid.”
Phil furrows his brow as if to say why are you asking me and not Techno, but then Phil turns his gaze to the farm. He sees the crops that will take months before the harvest. He lets out a sigh, and tucks his wings neatly in.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Phil says, “And not just cause of, uh-“ he gestures to Techno’s farm, “But because you seem happier.”
“Do I?”
He nods, “Yeah. You smoke less, you’ve grown your hair out, you have that shop, you and Niki talk nearly every day. You sang again, not that long ago. James tells me you’re going to be compiling our stories into a book, and you still haven’t turned in your story. And many more things. Plus, I think many people would miss you when you leave, and not just the people we knew before, even Sneeg has told me that you’re a good addition to everything.”
Wilbur didn’t really realize how much Phil’s been thinking about him, nor how much he’s been talking about him. “Oh.”
Phil wrings his hands together, “And I’m good too, you know. Better. And I certainly want to talk more. I feel like if we go, we won’t. That we’ll go back, and it’ll fester.”
“So, you’re on board?” He coughs out, not sure what else to say.
“I’m sure,” He beams, “And I’m proud of you.”
Wilbur swallows, “Proud?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re finally allowing yourself roots.”
He’s allowing himself roots. Huh.
---
It’s funny how he’s not the only one. Setting roots, that is.
He supposes he hasn’t taken it all in enough, because the Underscore-Beloved household is near perfect. It’s so lived in. It’s them. There are pink tulips in the flower beds, waiting for Spring to bloom. And there are white lilies and other healthy plants in pots on the open windowsill. Wilbur can smell the scent of both coffee and herbal tea brewing from the window.
Before he can turn to the door it’s already open, and he didn’t even hear it. Ranboo peers through the doorway.
“Hi Wilbur,” He says, “Uh, what brings you over?”
Wilbur blinks, “Um. Just, can we talk about, stuff?”
Ranboo always knows more than he lets on. He lets the fatigue set in his eyes, and quietly lets him come inside. He takes his jacket and hangs up his parasol in the closet and offers him a cup of tea. It’s of no surprise that the tea is Ranboo’s, seeing as that Tubbo’s sitting at the table with the entire carafe right next to him bleary eyed. Michael’s sitting on the floor talking quietly to a chicken, sneaking a few bits of his afternoon snack to the bird while his parents aren’t looking.
“Hello.” He starts and then he peers into Tubbo’s mug, “Geez no cream?”
“No sugar either.” Tubbo mumbles, “It’s also got 2 shots of espresso in it.”
Wilbur does see Tubbo as the type of person to drink his coffee black, but he has another thought in his mind. “Are you sleeping, okay?”
Tubbo merely sips his drink. No, that’s a no then.
“What did you come over for, Wilbur?” Ranboo asks, half trying to be cheery, but mostly exhaustion flutters out between his teeth.
Wilbur suddenly feels self-conscious, worried even. Because it’s so clear that they’ve set roots, a family settled, but the way they’re acting as if its not going to last more than a few hours from now is making him anxious. His eyes quickly find a painting he hasn’t seen before in a handmade frame. It’s large. A family portrait. New. Ranboo’s standing in the painting with a smile on his face, scars deep down his eyes. His hand’s on Tubbo’s left shoulder, who doesn’t smile himself from his mouth but from the lightness in his shoulders as his head leans against Ranboo’s shoulder. Michael’s holding Ranboo’s hand mid-laugh.
He can imagine the scene. Standing to pose for a photo, and Tubbo purposefully being obstinate and making Michael laugh until something fond settles in their chest to keep this one shot before it’s tenderly painted into permanency.
“Did you, uh, paint that one Ranboo?”
Ranboo doesn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah. I did, a few weeks ago. Just put it up. Tubbo made the frame.”
Then why do they look so unlike that image right now?
“I’m here to talk. To have the talk. A serious one. I’m going to bid to Tommy we’re staying and I want to make sure you’re okay with that.” Wilbur forces out.
Ranboo nods and waits. He then scoffs, “Seriously, you’re not going to say anything?”
Wilbur’s about to say what but then Tubbo grumbles, “What do you want me to stay?”
“Here I thought, especially after your most recent lunch with Tommy, you’d have changed your mind.”
Tubbo turns sharply, “And how can you have hope when you two still haven’t even talked about anything! Does he know you were part of the reason he got trapped in that fucking prison?”
“No,” Ranboo hisses, “But as I keep telling you, I’m waiting until he’s ready to have those kinds of conversations. It’s not like you’ve talked to him about anything either.”
He can see Michael stare up at them, jolted out of his play with the chicken. He doesn’t find it good to interrupt them right now, so he takes a quick step towards Michael and whispers, “Hey buddy, I think you should go visit Phil for a bit. He’ll show you the new rocks in his collection. Okay?”
Michael nods and Wilbur helps him out the door and watches through the window until he sees Phil letting him inside. When he tunes back into the conversation he hears Tubbo say, “You think I don’t want to stay?”
“You’re not making it very obvious. You might as well burn down our house.”
Tubbo stands then and Wilbur suddenly wishes he left too. He doesn’t know what to do. “Fuck you! I do want to stay, I love my lunches with Tommy, and our home, and Michael’s new baby chicken, and the redstone projects, and everything about this place. But he hasn’t said anything to me. Got it? He’s told Wilbur and Techno things, but not me. He hasn’t even said why he’s still so distant with me. What else am I supposed to think? That it’s good? That I deserve to stay here? That maybe this isn’t all my fault, and the reason he hates us being here isn’t because of me and me alone?”
Tubbo heaves for a moment cutting through the silence, “Man, ahah, that’s…I didn’t mean to say all that.”
Wilbur interjects then, “It’s not your fault, Tubbo. It’s mine.”
Ranboo scoffs loudly, “No! It’s no one’s fault. Okay? Even if it feels like it is every day.”
Wilbur feels like he’s heard this before. “It’s not about you!”
“Wait,” Wilbur nods, “You’re right. As Tommy told me, what’s happened, isn’t really all about me. And Jack even told me that maybe Tommy thinks we don’t want to stay either, and that’s why he’s acting so strange.”
Ranboo beams in relief, “See! Tubbo, we can try. For Michael too. He loves it here. And I do too. You too, right?”
Tubbo pauses and Wilbur thinks they’ve reached him. He curls his fingers over the mug staring in. He slams the mug back down and the coffee spills over.
“No, we can’t stay. It’s not possible. There’s no point in getting our hopes up Ranboo, I’ve lost too many homes to count and it’s not worth it. We can’t look towards the past, we have to keep moving forward. Michael will like Hypixel just fine.” He doesn’t even bother to clean up the spillage as he dumps the rest of his drink down the kitchen sink.
Ranboo shouts, “Yeah, home. Moving forward. Is that what you said to the mansion by any chance?”
“We don’t have to bring that up again.”
“Again,” Ranboo scoffs, “Again? Really? We never talked about it actually, funny that you remember, my ghost surely doesn’t. He remembers those halls to be empty most of the time.”
“Right,” Tubbo crosses his arms, “So 1 canon life, then? Dying to save me from Wilbur’s stupidity? Enderwalk? Do you really want to talk?”
Ranboo clamps his mouth shut and turns away. “I guess we won’t be staying.”
“Guess not.” Tubbo barely whispers.
For some reason Wilbur feels full of determination. He wants to stay and most of all doesn’t want them to all tear apart again. Like before. Like all the time spent here was worthless, like an oak tree torn from its roots.
Wilbur sighs, “If you want my two cents. I’m voting to stay no matter what. I think it would be good for all of us.”
They stay silent. He continues, “And don’t think that’s easy for me either. I’ve spent the day since Tommy disappeared worried he died because of me. I’ve spent this entire trip and time in this server filled with guilt. And even though I want to stay, I still tell myself that Tommy’s going to say no. Because I think, why wouldn’t he? But I finally have hope again. I want to apologize to him. I want to move forward for once. So, I’m staying, I think it would be good for me. All of us, really.”
Tubbo looks at his shoes. “You really are ready to lose a home again? Just like that.”
“Why not,” Wilbur shrugs, “I’d feel worse if I didn’t try.”
Tubbo merely stares at him, unblinking in his thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Ranboo’s throat clicks as he speaks, “I, uh, I know this is hard. Truth is, I’m not being patient, I’m terrified to talk to him. I feel terrible every day about what I did even if it wasn’t my fault. I feel terrible that we really haven’t talked either. But I do know I’m really happy here, with you, regardless of uh, the argument today, the other days, and the ones we probably will have over more things.”
Tubbo never cries, and he doesn’t, but Wilbur can see just how upset he is even without them. “I’m happy with you here too. And look, you know, we do have a lot of talking to do. You and I. We’re terrible at it. Tommy and I too. Plus how could we tell Michael he’s to leave.”
“Yeah,” Ranboo sniffs, tears streaming down his face.
Tubbo gasps dramatically, “Wait we can use Michael as leverage! Tommy wouldn’t dare be a bad uncle and tell our kid no would he because if he did, I’d have to sort him out and I’d have to take my great and mighty fist and kill him maybe.”
Ranboo laughs openly and then widens his arms, “I’m sorry.”
Tubbo hugs him tightly, nearly squeezing his ribs a bit too tightly. “Uh, me too. Mostly sorry Wilbur had to see that.”
Wilbur shakes his head, “Eh, well, it’s fine.” He really hopes they can work things out. It seems they have so much more to talk about that goes beyond just whether it’s a good idea to try to stay or not or talk with Tommy or not. That solidifies even more Wilbur’s will to pitch for staying, because he’d love for them to have the time to heal too. Even now he can see that even though they’ve apologized and hugged, there’s still a deep-seated tension there.
Tubbo then escapes Ranboo’s arms and stares at him, “Oh shit where is Michael actually?”
Wilbur points out the window, “Having a fun day with Phil. I got him out of here before you two really, uh, got at it.”
Tubbo clenches his fist. “That settles it. Ranboo, we’re getting Michael, and we’re staying. We need to stay so we can talk. I also want you to help me build a 350-block tall bee farm. No more arguing in front of Michael he’s gotta inherit our bee business.”
He knows he’s deflecting, that this conversation he witnessed isn’t over, but the hope in Tubbo’s tone calms him.
They’ll be okay. They all will.
They’re going to let their roots flourish.
---
They don’t get to find Tommy on their own. Not only because he’s locked the shop door, but also because the nerves catch up with them. Wilbur and the others stand by his potion shop entrance staring at the flower shop and office down in the distance as if he’ll come out any sooner.
Fundy, Sneeg, Beau, Jack, and James also came to wait with them a bit. Even Niki made a small addition to her tunnel to peak her head out of the ground next to Phil. The support feels nice. It feels like things will be okay.
“Hey.”
Wilbur turns and meets Quackity’s solemn expression. “Q.”
Quackity leans in with a smirk, “You’re shy. Come on Wilbur, we ran against each other in an election once. There are tales of you telling Dream to suck it. You sing. Don’t lose your confidence now.”
And though Quackity’s words are teasing, and in any other universe Wilbur would love to debate the day away, he can hear the I believe in you Wilbur between his lip and prosthetic gold incisor.
Wilbur shoves him with the bottom of his parasol handle, “Of course I got it. We’re staying.”
Quackity grumbles, “You didn’t have to fuck up my good shirt asshole, but yeah you are. Because if you’re not, I’m turning that flower shop into a casino where the house always wins to customers named Thomas Innit.”
Wilbur finds it in himself to quirk his lips. In a way it means a lot, they’ve come far since Quackity told him he couldn’t stay in Las Nevadas.
And before he can banter back a hush falls over the rest of them and Wilbur finds it in him to turn around. Tommy is walking towards them from the path from the flower shop, from the path that connects to potion shop. That feels significant to remember, that the paths connect.
His expression is not discernable, he looks as serious as he always does. Composed, even. Wilbur briefly wonders if that’s on purpose. If there’s a reason Tommy doesn’t want to show how potentially nervous or distraught, he really is. He can’t imagine this conversation’s easy, whether they’re being asked to stay or go.
“So, the Observer’s fixed the code. They should wrap up and fix yours in a few days.”
Wilbur wilts. Suddenly his voice is monotone again, suddenly it’s that knife by his ear. Suddenly, he has not had several conversations of learning with him and they’re back at square one. He can feel the confidence in himself and the group around him dissipate almost instantly. And there’s a voice in his head that says maybe Tubbo was right.
“Ah,” Tubbo gives up first, as if reading his thoughts, he offers a huff and clenches his fist. “I see. Well, we’ll have to pack up.”
Ranboo spins eyes blown wide. He’s angry, he’s fuming. And now Wilbur’s suddenly face to face with We never talked about it actually, funny that you remember, my ghost surely doesn’t, again. Wilbur feels himself breathe, hand still tight against his parasol, the only thing keeping him grounded enough to stay opaque at all. He thought that this day would never come.
He thought it would happen quiet in the background. He thought he’d have several more shenanigans, like Charlie getting slime over his wares, or Quackity replacing Wilbur’s flowerpot with paper flowers as a prank, with Phil telling some story that Techno corrects at every detail. He thought the picnics between Ranboo, Tubbo, and Michael would include Tommy’s shining smile in the distance, with James and Fundy teasing him for going soft. He thought he’d see the day Tubbo and Ranboo fully relax, after their conversations. Wilbur thought he’d be compiling the Origins Anthology of Various Tales, and not just giving it a title in his head now in the moment, so he’ll have something to mourn.
How is that they’re back to the beginning?
“Dad? I don’t want to leave, I like the house. I just got a new chicken too, she’s very small. How are we going to take her with us?” Michael whines, as Tubbo mutters I know, I know.
No. This is not how it ends. Wilbur did not work to integrate himself here, to heal, to live again just to be kicked out. He didn’t spend all of these conversation and time building the strength for this moment. He still has so much apologizing to do. And he’s so happy here.
And most of all, he won’t let Tommy think he ever intended to leave him behind again.
He will fight for this, he has to.
“We’re not leaving.” Wilbur says.
Tommy glares, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Wilbur spits, “We’re not fucking leaving.”
Tommy gapes, and he can’t tell if it’s in scandalization or shock.
Wilbur crosses his arms and continues, “What? I’m not leaving, not a fucking chance.” Ranboo takes his time to cover Michael’s ears.
Tommy’s glare flickers. That’s when Wilbur sees it. He doesn’t want them to go. He has an emotion that Wilbur keeps in close company. He has that insidious creature wrapped around his heart. It’s that small little voice that says they hate you, they don’t want you, you’re better off alone.
Jack was right in the I think Tommy will ask you leave because he still thinks you don’t want to stay.
Wilbur walks forward, “Yeah, you think we’d leave you Tommy? That I’d leave? After all we’ve done, accomplished, and gone through?”
Tommy stutters, “I figured that you’d still want to head off to Hypixel.”
Wilbur cackles, startling even Technoblade. Wilbur murmurs, “You know what Niki told me once?”
“What, Wil?”
“She told me that you created this place because you’ve never felt safe. That you love people because that’s all you know how to do in that stupid fucking forgiving heart of yours.” Wilbur smiles, and he can feel Niki’s own grin shining behind him.
Tommy’s eyes glaze over, briefly looking at her, and he pulls his wings close. “She said that to you?”
“Yeah,” Wilbur reaches out his hand, not even minding the burn of the sun.
Tommy grips his hand and pulls it close to his chest to be under his umbrella, and he squeezes Wilbur into a tight hug. “Dickhead, your hand’s burning.”
“Guess I’ll need to stay a little longer to heal. Maybe even longer to research why the sun’s so painful. Maybe even longer to figure out where the sun even comes from.” He says quietly.
Tommy laughs wetly against his shirt, “I thought you didn’t want to stay.”
“We do. I do.”
“Alright,” Tommy mumbles, “Then I’ll tell the Observer’s to fuck off when they’re done fixing your player code.”
“So, we get to stay, Dad? Papa?” Michael chirps.
Tommy pulls back and peers over Wilbur’s shoulder. “Yeah, and if they don’t let you stay, I’ll kick their asses.”
Ranboo rubs his face. “I’m half ready to hug you for letting us stay, and half ready to fight you for teaching Michael impolite words.”
“He can teach him as many fucks and shits as he wants,” Tubbo sniffs, “If it means he’ll be in our lives, Ranboo. I don’t want to go Tommy.”
Tommy looks even closer to crying heavily at Tubbo’s admission. But he holds steady, and he’s sure that Tommy and Tubbo deserve their healing conversations in private first. Tommy looks at Phil, and Techno. “And what about you two?”
Techno huffs, “Who else is going to harvest all that corn I planted for the potluck in the Spring?”
Phil looks at his feet, “And I suppose I’d like to stay. I have a lot to make up for still, despite the progress I’ve made. And you know, despite my long life of travel and war, I do admit that this sort of place feels right.”
“Ah hear that? He’s old. Disgusting.” Tommy laughs.
Wilbur returns it with a, “Disgusting indeed.”
Wilbur can barely hear the cheers, can barely feel the breeze on his face. All he can focus on is the feeling that for the first time Tommy’s connected his roots to theirs. It feels like coming home. They have a lot to do, many more conversations to have, and for once Wilbur can’t find it himself to feel nervous for them.
He breathes in fresh air.
New beginnings.
---
You still have a chance Wilbur. Nothing more. The moon’s a bit shrouded tonight.
“What is that?”
“Do you really want to know?” Wilbur murmurs.
He hears a rustle, a shrug. And then he hears a thump, and a warmth by his right shoulder. A moment of listening. It’s quiet, but there’s nothing silent about it, the compassion that’s there.
“It’s uh,” Wilbur coughs, “A letter, I guess. More like a scribbled on sticky note, really. From Schlatt, before he got the hell out of here. It just says, you still have a chance Wilbur. And I guess he was right.”
“I think everyone has a chance.”
“Yeah,” Wilbur huffs, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
“I’m glad you’re staying.”
“I’m glad I could stay,” Wilbur snorts, “I mean, who else is going to make potions. Certainly not Scott, now have I told you my thoughts on Scott and his pretentious observatory?”
“Wilbur.” Sharp. Don’t deflect Wilbur. Everyone deserves honesty. Another chance.
“I’m glad I could stay, because I have a story to tell. Mine. And everyone’s. The story about a server born from love despite all the fear and fatigue. A story about forgiveness, how to raise a child, what soil pH is best for growing carrots, and how to sneak through walls because you’re only 3.5 inches tall. And so much more. I haven’t even read all of the journals yet.”
“You’re still owed a story, I think.” Questioning almost. Like hesitation.
“I am.” Confirmation. Like reassurance.
Wilbur doesn’t need to turn his head to see the pride in that familiar smile.
“What’s the title?”
The Origins Anthology of Various Tales doesn’t feel right. It feels rushed. It reminds him of nearly mourning, too much of goodbyes.
He turns to meet the face, “A Guide to Setting Roots: Love & Forgiveness, written by the various members of the Origins SMP, compiled by Wilbur Soot.”
“Roots, huh.” Not a question this time. Confident.
Roots, huh.
“Roots.” Confirmation once more.
Love.