Chapter Text
Tommy had a hotel now. It was large and grand, a marvel of Sam’s designing skills and hard work. It was worth every diamond, in his mind. But it wasn’t just a fine specimen of architecture. It was a business, one that needed to be looked after and grown. And for that business, he needed employees, one’s who understood the purpose of the hotel. It was going to be a sanctuary, a place of respite.
It was also a place where Tommy could sell drugs in it’s basement for extra cash.
Wilbur frowned as he looked around the crudely dug out space, which Tommy had dubbed the “Drug Hole”. It was in such stark contrast to Sam’s impressive craftsmanship. Aside from the wooden beams holding the ceiling up and torches illuminating the walls, there was nothing down here. There weren’t even any potion stands, and yet Tommy looked wickedly pleased with himself.
“You like it, huh? Just like the old days.” His voice was equally as smug.
He frowned in concern. “Isn’t that the exact thing you want to avoid?” Starting a drug business filled him with an ominous sense of deja vu. His eyes flickered around nervously. He didn’t like being underground again.
Tommy just shrugged. “Dream’s not here anymore. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides,” he looked around the space fondly “The camarvan, the drugs and all that? It’s actually a good memory for me.”
Wilbur didn’t know how to respond to that. There was a mix of guilt and dread growing in his stomach. “I still don’t know. This doesn’t seem safe.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Tommy’s face dropped into a pout. “Hey, you remember what you told me? ‘Oh Tommy, I’ll do anything to make it up to you!’ And I said ‘Okay bitch, you’re gonna work at my hotel and help me sell drugs!’ And you were all like ‘Of course Big Man Tommy, right on that.’”
“Hold on, you said nothing about selling drugs!”
“Too late! We made a deal.” He walked over and tugged on his sleeve “C’mon, please? It won’t just be us, everyone’s starting to sell stuff on this server. Even Sam himself! Please?” It was clearly a ploy for sympathy, as Tommy made a sad face at him.
It worked. Wilbur sighed. “Fine. I’ll help.”
“Yeah!” His brother threw his fists up in victory. “Tommy and Wilbur, cooking up some drugs. Just like old times.”
Is that what this is about? Wilbur thought alarmingly. An attempt to go back to how things were? The ”drugs” were potions. They had never actually been real drugs. It had been an inside joke between Wilbur and Techno as kids about how potions could make you stronger and were therefore equivalent to steroids. Saying “hand me some drugs” when asking for a potion became a running gag, with Tommy and Tubbo joining in when they were old enough.
Tommy seemed to be doing fine recently. He was preoccupied with his hotel, chattering on happily about it last night during dinner. Wilbur had already agreed to help out a few days before but today was the first day he’d been here in person.
“Anyway, that’s not actually set up yet, so let me show you around the hotel!”
He climbed up the ladder, ushering Wilbur out of the Drug Hole. He followed behind slowly. Ever since being resurrected, there had been a stiffness in his joints he’d never quite gotten rid of. He felt like an old man, not being able to run for long without getting winded.
After steadily pushing himself out, Tommy locked the trapdoor behind them. It blended into the floor. If not for the keyhole and small carved handle you grabbed to lift it, no one would know it was there. “If anyone asks, it’s a storage room.” Tommy said. “Employees only.”
“Right, that reminds me,” he ran his gaze over the desk, cluttered with papers. “You said you had another employee, right? Who was it again?”
“Oh, that would be Jack Manifold.” Tommy pointed to the form with Jack’s name signed like Wilbur had done.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like him?”
“What, Jack? Don’t be silly, I just mess with him a bit sometimes. But I’m paying him now, so it’s kinda like retribution.” He began to shuffle through the mess of papers.
“He’s gonna be working the front desk. As funny as it would be, I don’t think people walking in and seeing you - well, you alive, that is - would leave the best first impression on my hotel.”
Right, it wouldn’t exactly be a very welcoming environment with me here. Only a few people knew Wilbur was alive. Tommy, who’d been at the resurrection itself. Dream, who’d brought him back, was in prison. Sam, who saw him come out and who’d recently been checking in on Tommy ‘for business reasons’ (Wilbur did not miss the look of concern in his eyes or the wary glances he threw Wilbur’s way). Then Tubbo, because Tommy could never keep anything from Tubbo, and finally Fundy. He’d gone out himself to find him, and Fundy had sworn he wouldn’t share it with anybody until he was ready.
Fundy seemed… different from what little he remembered as a ghost. Wilbur expected him to be angry, but he just looked at him with pity. When he asked why, Fundy sounded resigned. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been angry for so long, and I’m just sick of it. It’s exhausting.” Wilbur distinctly remembered him thinking Fundy looked older now, and wondered if even now he aged faster than the rest of them. “I… I came very close to hurting people I loved. No, I did hurt the people I loved. But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to be like you.”
It was an understandable sentiment, even Wilbur didn’t want to be like him. “It just feels harder for me to judge you now, I guess.” Fundy had admitted.
Wilbur shook his head. “Don’t say that. You have every right to hate me. I understand if you don’t want to see me again.”
The fox frowned. “I know that. Don’t worry, I’ve still got plenty of things to yell at you about. But my throat’s sick of yelling, and besides,” he took off his hat, pressing it to his chest. “I’ve done that already. It didn’t accomplish anything, it didn’t even make me feel better. But now the real you is here and you just look pathetic. I’d just be hitting someone while they’re down.”
He turned away. “So we’ll talk when you’re better. I’m guessing you don’t want me to tell Philza you’re alive?”
“No. Please don’t. Not right now.”
“Thought so.” And he left quickly, without another word.
Better . It seemed like a fairly vague requirement. Better as in physically better? Mentally? Morally? He didn’t know, but it was clear the first step to getting “better” was to stop moping around Tommy’s dirt shack. He would start moping around his hotel instead.
Turning towards his other estranged family member, Tommy was currently trying to shoo out one of the many cats that made the hotel property their home.
“Out with you demonic things! Out I say!” He swiped at a gray tabby with rolled up documents. “Stop shitting all over my floors!”
“Don’t hit the cats, Tommy. That’s animal cruelty.” He scolded. “Just put out a litter box or something.”
Tommy scowled deeply. “You haven’t been here, you don’t know how those bastards have tormented me. Why can’t Sam Nook’ve asked for dogs instead?”
Cats weren’t Wilbur’s favorite animal, but his brother’s dislike of them was borderline worrying, to say the least. That being said, it was going to be a problem if they left their shit all over. He mentally made a note to get that litter box for later. The cat had fled, so Tommy was content for now.
“Alright, now that that’s done with, I’ll show you the upper floors.” They stood on the redstone powered elevator and flipped the switch to lift them up. “You’ll be working up here. You can clean when people are gone so they don’t see you yet, stuff like that.”
They stepped off on the next floor, only to be met with a horrifying sight. The room was currently populated by multiple cats. “What the fuck!” shrieked Tommy. “How did they get up here?! They’re demons, I told you! Demons! Get out of here!” He waved his hands and yelled and the cats who were contentedly lounging around the room. A fluffy brown cat lying on the bed looked in their direction and flicked his ear, refusing to budge. “What’re you looking at, buddy? Do you wanna fight, huh?” The brown cat yawned and put its head back down.
Behind him, Wilbur tried not to laugh. He should probably step in before Tommy got himself all scratched up. “Let’s get some fish and lure them out.”
“No Wilbur, I need to fight them! It’s the only way they’ll leave me alone.” He brought up his balled fists.
“Please don’t throw hands with a cat. You will lose.”
“You don’t know that.” Tommy protested. Below, the brown cat got up and jumped off the bed, slinking over to rub itself on Wilbur’s leg. “See? It’s mocking us.”
“I don’t know, it seems like it likes me.” He tried to bend down to rub its head, but froze as a jolt of pain seized his back. Seriously? Is bending down too much now? “Having a body again fucking sucks,” he muttered under his breath.
Tommy seemed to notice and frowned in concern. “You okay, Wilbur?” The guilt in his eyes made Wilbur burn with shame. Tommy was the one who wanted him back, after all.
He recalled his rude awakening, the smooth feel of obsidian on his cheek, the heat from the lava, the ticking of a clock in the background. The first thing he’d seen had been Dream and he’d jerked back, learning that his body was not what it once was in the process. He’d promptly passed out after that, Tommy dragging him out of the cell and Sam carrying him the rest of the way out. He’d woken up in Tommy’s dirt shack and spent the next few days in a daze, Tommy’s nervous eyes following him like he wanted to say something.
He’d gotten it out of his system eventually. Tommy didn’t hold back, there’d been yelling, crying, and a good sock to the face. Wilbur deserved much worse than that, but Tommy seemed content, if still wary of him. While he acted a good deal like his old self, loud and eager, it was clear in the way he flinched at loud noises and always tried to stand a ways away from Wilbur that things weren’t the same. He knew why. Ghostbur’s memories sat at the back of his mind like a staticky VHS recording. Wilbur couldn’t leave it at that, he needed to do something, some way to make it up to his brother. So here he was, at the Big Innit Hotel, watching his brother scream at cats.
“I’m fine.” was all he said.
Tommy nodded, still looking unsure. He snatched up the brown cat, who gave a startled meow. “Let’s get these pussies outta here then.” The cat squirmed in his arms and lashed out at his hand, causing Tommy to drop it with a yelp.
“Bitch!” He chased the cat to the elevator, Wilbur following behind chuckling in amusement.
They ended up using fish to lure the cats out. Tommy tossed the bait outside for the wide eyed cats to fight over and shut the door. “And stay out!” he yelled. “See, this is why the queen owns dogs and not cats. Dogs are clearly far superior.”
“So am I actually going to learn anything about my job, or…?” Wilbur looked at the sun already dipping behind the hills.
Tommy looked alarmed. “Aw shit, that’s right! Okay, extra sheets and pillows are on the first floor closet. Mops and soap and stuff are on the second. Sam gave me a few keys that work for every door including the main one, so you’ll get one of those eventually. So yeah, just help me cook drugs and clean up people’s messes and you’re good!”
Ironic, I can’t even clean up my own mess, he thought. Geez, when did I become so melodramatic? You’re basically just doing chores, no need to bring your baggage here.
He heard the jingle of keys. “Alright, let’s head back.” said Tommy. “I’ll have to reintroduce you to Jack Manifold tomorrow.”
“Is he still running his little one man show? What was it, Manifold Land?”
Tommy shrugged. “Maybe. He’s living with Tubbo in Snowchester, so he might not. You can ask him tomorrow.” He reached for the door only to be stopped by a familiar noise.
“Mrrrrow!”
Horror filled Tommy’s face. Outside was the crowd of cats they had driven out earlier. They were done fighting over the fish. It was gone, and they evidently wanted more.
“Tommy,” Wilbur’s face was dead serious. “You’re going to have to run for it.”
“But what about you?”
He looked off to the horizon. “I’ll be the bait.”
“Wilbur, no!”
He stifled a smile. Tommy was still willing to go along with their bits. At least he could still try to make him laugh. “Wish me luck.” He prepared to rush out, and the doors were thrown open.
The first thing Wilbur saw was a torrent of fur. The hungry bastards were fast, and the second the doors opened, they flooded the lobby once more. Wilbur, once ready to spring into action, stood there dumbfounded.
“No!” cried Tommy, distraught. “Not again!”
In the end, Wilbur had persuaded Tommy to give up. “I don’t think they’re going away. I’ll find a litter box tomorrow.”
“So that’s it? We’re just admitting defeat?” Tommy’s shoulders slumped. If things were different, Wilbur might’ve put a hand on his shoulder in comfort. But he refrained.
He tried looking on the bright side instead. “It won’t be so bad. Maybe the cats will bring in more guests. I’m sure it’s hard for you to believe, but lots of people like cats.”
Tommy pauses. “Well, not everyone.” Ponk and Sapnap, crossed his mind. “But I guess you might be right. You know what they say, if we can’t beat em, exploit em for money!” He glanced at the sky, which had grown ever darker. “Let me lock up for real this time. If the cats want to linger, they can stay here overnight.” Some cats were indeed lounging about outside, though most were still sniffing around for more fish. Wilbur resolved to put a bowl of food and water in addition to a litter box.
“All in a day’s work.” Tommy announced, trodding back over. “Let’s go home Wilbur.” He started to walk off, Wilbur trailing slightly behind.
Home. It felt like an odd word. Wilbur hadn’t had a home in a while, not truly. In some way, not even L’mamburg had fully been his home. It’s what he wanted it to be, and it would’ve been, if he’d had more time to appreciate what he’d won. But his time as president had been marred by the overwhelming stress of running a new country. L’mamburg was a place to defend, a place to keep. It had never been a place to relax. He remembered the nights of the early days, joking in the camarvan, sitting around the campfire singing the newly written anthem. Maybe that was what Tommy was after, he thought looking back at the hotel. That feeling of togetherness, of trusting the people around you.
He doubted he’d ever have anything close to that again. He’d pushed everyone away during Pogtopia, using them and breaking their trust. But looking at Tommy, maybe he could see his brother have that again. It was the least he could do for him.
So he dipped his head and followed Tommy back to the gremlin’s dirt shack. It was not home, but it was something.