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Wilbur Soot had always wanted to be an astronaut.
To be fair, most kids had wanted to go to space, but with Wilbur it was different. He put in the school hours, put in the time researching, spent years learning about plant biology and how it could be changed by different conditions.
And eventually, the work paid off.
When Wilbur Soot was twenty six, he left Earth for the first time in his life.
The day he left sunny, warm, but the only thing that had mattered was Techno and Tommy waving him goodbye, a slightly pained smile on Techno’s face.
His first days on the station were spent with homesickness as his constant companion. Wilbur did the experiments, cared for the plants, did his exercise, and slept. For a week, he did nothing else--only repeated the routine.
Eventually though, it became easier. He talked to his coworkers, watched videos of Tommy, listened to old music. After all, this was his dream.
However, as he floated in the air, the damage from the debris rendering the station almost unrepairable, Wilbur wondered if his dream was worth losing everything.
After all, Wilbur expected his life to end in a lot of ways, but not like this. Not so soon, not without his control, not as he was stuck floating above the world, never more alone.
He pulled his body towards the command panel. Even in zero gravity, his body had never felt more heavy. Wincing at the sound of the alarms, he felt the lack of oxygen slowly torment him.
The alarms were useless now. After all, there was no way out, no happy ending. No way to fix it.
Wilbur was going to die.
The realization hit him all at once, and he muffled a sob into his jacket, trying to keep himself on task. It would be okay. He could fix this. He was alive, he had procured a suit with an oxygen tank, he was alive. He would be okay. Maybe not now, all these miles above Earth, but sometime after, sometime when he could float forever in the nothingness of death.
He forced himself to move to the control panel. Perhaps this was his end--perhaps this was his final goodbye, but he could not allow himself to leave this life without speaking to those who meant most to him.
Wilbur inhaled through the oxygen his suit provided, trying to slow each breath. Having a panic attack would only decrease the time he had left, and he was not done yet.
He grabbed the small communicator they all had, ripped it out from its hiding place, tore his eyes away from the floating body of one of his crewmates.
Only Wilbur had been able to make it to the oxygen suits in time.
He focused on each and every inhale, listened to the comfort of his exhales, a constant reminder of the fact that he was still alive. But the alarms and flashing red lights only continued, a constant reminder of his now inescapable fate.
His fingers pressed a button on the communicator, and he prayed.
-----
Phil Watson was having an unusually usual day. He had gotten his coffee, procured a bagel at the nearby shop, and was ready to face this Tuesday head on.
Working at NASA was easier than he had expected, especially considering Phil’s job.
He was more so a secretary than anything else. Phil spent his days receiving phone call after phone call, trained for any emergency, but more often than not simply sending along messages to the higher ups.
He relaxed in his chair, taking a hungry bite out of the everything bagel. Sunlight filtered into his office through a window near the roof, bathing Phil in soft light.
Before this job, he had been a dispatch officer. In fact, that was part of the reason he was chosen for this job--he had the ability to work calmly under pressure.
Too calmly.
His home life took a hit. Nightmares plagued him after midnight, visions of all those he couldn’t save screaming out for help, for a relief from the pain, for a chance to talk to their family one last time. And Phil had only reassured them. He hadn’t lifted a finger to help.
In the end, Kristin made him quit. Luckily, NASA was hiring.
Even including the fact that it took years of training to be where he was today, he didn’t regret the change one bit.
His headset made a ringing sound, and he desperately reached for the accept button on his computer. “This is the emergency services, what is your issue?”
A single gasp on the other side of the line, and Phil had a sinking feeling that he knew what type of call this was going to be. He waited, patiently, until he heard the rough voice continue. “Hello Housten. I’m calling from Station Helios.”
-----
The relief that appeared at the sound of another person’s voice was unparalleled to anything Wilbur had ever felt before.
“You’re in outer space? ” the man asked, and Wilbur muffled a laugh.
“Yeah,” Wilbur whispered. “I am.” He stared at the control panel around him, glanced at the walls that had never seemed to close in on him more. “Space debris hit our oxygen recycler. I can’t patch it.”
The line was quiet for a moment, and Wilbur felt some sort of misplaced guilt. This man had likely been a perfectly normal day, and now Wilbur was saddling him with the burden of knowing what a dying man sounded like. “Is there anything I can do to help?” The man finally asked, and Wilbur had the sneaking suspicion that he had done this before. His voice was too calm, his tone a bit too steady for it to belong to someone inexperienced.
“What’s your name, Houston?” Wilbur asked, a forced gasp leaving his mouth. His head was pounding from the combination of the flashing lights and the alarm, and it was hard to think.
“Phil,” the responder said. “My name is Phil.”
“Phil,” Wilbur said. “That’s a nice name.” He concentrated on his breathing again.
“Would you like me to transfer you to a technician? They could run a diagnostic and help you find a way to fix the problem.” Wilbur could hear the desperation in Phil’s voice, the plea to give him a purpose. Hope rose within his chest, because maybe it wasn’t all lost, maybe if the oxygen lasted a little longer, he could survive.
“Thanks, but no. I--I’m not sure how much time I have, and--” Wilbur cut off, blinking away his fog in his mind. “Well, there is one thing you could do for me.”
-----
The call was connected quickly. It took a couple rings for the other to pick up, and Wilbur wondered what Technoblade had been doing—if he had gotten that job he was talking about, if he had passed his class, if taking care of Tommy was still a chore to him.
The messages Techno had sent to Wilbur were short, and formal. They were in video format, and Techno had always been awkward when he knew he was being watched. Nonetheless, Wilbur treasured each and every video he received, every moment he got to watch Tommy grow up, even if it could never compare to watching it in person.
He didn’t have the energy to calculate what time it would be for Techno. Early, he thinks. Perhaps noon. Tommy would still be in the house, not yet carted off to daycare.
His smile dropped at the thought of Tommy.
He was going to turn six this year. Both Wilbur and Techno had raised the boy for nearly all of those years, after Sally had left Wilbur with a barely three month old child.
And it was difficult. Wilbur had spent eight years in total training to be an astronaut, but nothing even came close to the difficulty that was raising Tommy.
A year after Sally left, Technoblade came into the picture. The two had met at school, but with Technoblade being three years younger than Wilbur meant they had rarely interacted before that point.
They clicked instantly. Eventually Wilbur let Techno in on the secret that shouldn’t be a secret--he had a son.
As much as Techno complained about his hate for children, Tommy had become attached to him immediately. From then on, Wilbur put his energy into training, and Technoblade raised Tommy. Sure, Wilbur made it to every birthday, and every parent teacher conference, and all of Tommy’s toddler soccer games, but one thing was sure--it wasn’t just Wilbur and Tommy against the world anymore.
After that, Wilbur and Technoblade shared the small two bedroom apartment. Techno slept in one room, and Wilbur and Tommy slept in another.
They were happy.
But as all things do, it ended. Wilbur completed his school and training, and at the end of it he was chosen for a mission. And he left, because it was his dream. After all--everyone sent to Station Helios returned. Every last person. So no matter the cost, he would be able to see Tommy again, and they would have stable pay, and Wilbur would have been able to see the stars more brightly than most people on earth ever would.
The sirens blared around him, and he bit his lip.
Perhaps he was too optimistic.
“Hello?” Technoblade’s tired voice sounded from the small communicator, and Wilbur inhaled sharply. He had missed the deadpan nature of his friend’s--of his brother’s-- voice, and hearing it once more made him bite his tongue in order to refrain from crying.
“Hello, is this Technoblade Ashford?” Phil asked.
“Yep.” The word was so short and uninterested, it almost made Wilbur laugh. It was so Technoblade in a way that hurt, in a way that made him nostalgic for a time only six months ago.
“I have your…” Phil paused. Wilbur hadn’t told him their relationship. “I have Wilbur Soot on the line.”
The line went silent for a moment. “Sure you do,” Technoblade responded, tone seemingly as uncaring as ever--yet Wilbur noticed the way his voice shook. “Stop it with those alarms in the background. They aren’t funny, and this isn’t a good prank.”
“I--”
“Nice try, but he’s up in space doing whatever astronauty thing he does, so call back when he’s back down here with me.”
“Wait!” Wilbur forced out, terrified that he would hang up. “Wait, wait it’s me I’m here--”
“Wil?” Techno’s voice was full of only confusion. “Wilbur, what are you--why--” he trailed off. “Oh.”
“Hi Techno,” WIlbur said, somehow sheepish despite the circumstances.
“Wilbur.” He inhaled sharply. “How--how are you doing?”
Wilbur listened to the sirens, watched the flashing red, ignored the floating body, and laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I miss you, Technoblade.”
There was a short pause. “I miss you too, Wilbur.”
He smiled, a true one, one that filled his face from corner to corner. “I don’t have much time,” Wilbur whispered. “Remember the insurance, it’s in that envelope in my desk, and there’s the old container of--”
“What do you mean, Wilbur?” Technoblade asked, confusion apparent in his voice. “Why do I need to--”
“I’m worried I can’t fix this,” Wilbur said softly. “Or--I know I can’t. The oxygen--” Wilbur cut off, and breathed out a heavy sigh. Grounded himself. “The oxygen is depleting. I’m in a spare suit, but it only has so much oxygen in the tank. Besides, the debris pushed us off orbit. We don’t have heat shields.” He tried to keep his voice matter of fact, tried to distract himself from the situation at hand.
“Techie?” There was someone new in the background, voice loud and joyful and familiar , and Wilbur finally let the tears drip down his voice. “Why are you on the phone? Who is it?”
“Come over here Tommy,” Techno said gruffly, trying to mask the emotion Wilbur could hear in the undercurrent of his trembling voice. “It’s--it’s Wilbur.”
Tommy had never called him Dad. When Sally had Tommy, they had both been young, barely even adults, and Wilbur was still embarrassed of Tommy in some ways. No, that’s not right. He wasn’t embarrassed of Tommy--more so of the fact that Wilbur was the one taking care of him.
For Tommy, with his bright smile and loud words, deserved so much more than Wilbur could ever give him.
“Wilby!” Tommy was close to the microphone now, close enough that Wilbur could hear his little giggle in perfect clarity. Techno muttered something about putting the phone on speaker in the background.
“Hey Toms,” he responded, trying to keep his tone soft. “How are you?”
“Good! We did this really cool thing today, and there was all this chalk and this girl --” Tommy cut himself off, then paused, thinking as hard as his six year old brain seemed to be able to. “Where did you go? I miss you.”
“I--”
“When are you coming home, Wilby?”
The question felt like a spike driven through his heart, something painful and sharp, and Wilbur’s breath hitched. “I’d do anything to be down there with you right now Toms, I promise. I love you so so much. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Tommy drew out the last syllable. “You always say that.”
“I say it because it’s true,” Wilbur said, smiling fondly. He ignored the low oxygen alert beginning to sound inside his suit. Instead, he took a shaky breath. “Can you make me a promise, Toms? Please?”
“I can do that!” Tommy said, with all of the enthusiasm of a six year old eager to make his dad proud.
Wilbur chuckled, and ignored how his chest clenched. “Promise me you’ll listen to everything Techno tells you, yeah? Promise you’ll make me proud?”
“I promise!” Tommy chirped, and Wilbur felt the tears well in his eyes as he imagined the smile on his son’s face right now.
“Good.” The small square in the corner of his vision showed the levels of oxygen seeping out, his time left becoming less and less. Wilbur tried to force himself to breathe. “I want you to know,” he said, a declaration, “that I love you both so much.”
“I love you too Wilby! More than the whole wide world.”
Wilbur laughed, but hot tears ran down his face, and he had to hold himself back from sobbing. “I love you. More than anything.”
For a moment there was only silence, and Wilbur was left with the sounds of his own breathing, horribly aware that his last moments were creeping closer and closer.
“Techie’s crying,” Tommy whispered, a secret meant only for Wilbur’s ears.
“I’m not,” Technoblade said gruffly, but a muffled sob escaped from his throat.
Wilbur inhaled, attempting to calm himself down. He tried not to let his mind wander, tried not to think about how Tommy might not even remember him, tried not to think about how Techno would be saddled with all his issues, pushed all images of Tommy at his own funeral--Wilbur’s own casket empty--out of his mind.
Wilbur allowed Techno his dignity and didn’t mention the stifled cries escaping him.
“Look out the window,” Wilbur swallowed his sob, “and wave up at the sky.” He drifted closer to the large pane of glass, looking down at the planet.
“Why?” Tommy giggled. “We can’t see you, silly.”
“But I can see you,” Wilbur whispered, and he placed a hand flat on the pane of glass, staring down at Earth. The planet looked so unimportant from here, just wisps of blue and green. If he concentrated, he could try and forget all that he had learned there, could forget all that he had loved, all that he had cherished, could force the memories of his son and his best friend out of his mind.
But he didn’t allow himself to. As much as the memories hurt, they were the thing that made him alive in the first place. “I--” Wilbur started, then paused as a sob choked him. “I want you to know I’ll always be up here, okay? Looking over you and Techno.”
“I know,” Tommy said, drawing out the last word. There was a short pause. “Hi Wilby!” Tommy shouted, and Wilbur’s lungs filled with a shaky breath. “I’m waving, I’m waving, look!”
Wilbur laughed, salty tears running down his cheek. “I’m looking, Toms. I’m looking.” He pretended he could see him waving up from down there, from that little apartment that Wilbur would never return to. “I’m waving back.” He bit his lip, and watched as the oxygen lowered even more, the alarm increasing in volume.
“I love you,” Wilbur whispered, hand pressed against the glass, hoping against hope that this wasn’t the end, that there was still more time.
There wasn’t.
Wilbur’s hand fell limply from the glass, and he let his eyes close for the last time.
-----
Wilbur was silent.
Techno’s chest heaved in and out. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
He paused, and understanding crept up from his gut to his throat. He already knew the answer.
“Wilby?” Tommy asked. “Wilby, where did you go?”
There was no response, only the sound of distant alarms blaring in the background.
“Wilby?”
Technoblade choked on his breath. He wasn't crying. He wasn't. “He’s not going to answer, Tommy.”
Tommy looked up at him, eyes wide in confusion. “Why not?”
“He’s--” Technoblade stopped, and he was faced with the dilemma of explaining death to a child.
“He’s what, Techie?” Tommy asked. “You can tell me! I’m a big man, after all.”
Technoblade stood up. Walked three steps. Sat down next to the window. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.
“He’s sleeping,” Phil’s voice rang out, filling the void of silence Wilbur's disappearance had left. “That’s all it is.”
Tommy huffed. “But I want to talk to him!” He grabbed the phone and held it to his mouth. “Wake up Wilby! You can’t fall asleep yet.”
Technoblade felt the shock begin to wear away, only to be replaced with grief. The grief spread from his heart to his head to his stomach, until every part of him was consumed by it.
“He’s not going to wake up,” Phil whispered.
Tommy frowned. “Why not?” He was still waving up at the sky, as if somehow Wilbur would return to wave back at him.
“Because--” Phil started, the paused. He hadn’t had to deliver information like this since he was a dispatcher, and the familiar pain in hsi chest returned. “Because--”
But there was no real answer, was there? The astronaut was dead. They all were. This would be a media nightmare tomorrow, but none of that mattered to Phil, because this was a child, and his father had died and--
“I’ll take it from here,” Technoblade said, and Phil admired how easily he was able to keep his voice steady.
“Are you sure?” Phil whispered. Even as his hands shook, he didn’t want to leave them. It didn’t feel right.”
“I’m sure,” Technoblade responded. “I’ve got all the paper work to take care of Tommy. NASA set it up before--” he coughed. “Before Wilbur went to space. And--” He cut himself off again, and Phil could hear the way his voice started to waiver now, under the facade of stoicness. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”
“If you need anything, call me,” Phil whispered. Kristin would yell at him for this--he was never able to separate his professional life from his personal one, but after hearing a man die while he lurked in the background of a call--
Yeah. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered, an apology that couldn’t begin to make up for the loss they had suffered.
Phil ended the call.
-----
Technoblade inhaled slowly. Without the sound of alarms, everything seemed quiet now. Calm.
It wasn’t right.
Because Wilbur couldn’t be dead, not like this. He was going to come back. Wilbur promised he would come back.
Technoblade stood. “Let’s go to the couch.” He walked out the door, not waiting for Tommy to follow him.
It felt like a dream. As if it wasn’t quite real, because it couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. It couldn't be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t--
“Sit down,” Techno told Tommy.
They both sat.
Tommy curled up next to Techno’s side, and Techno realized all at once how small the boy was. Technoblade reached an arm around him, held him to his chest, possessiveness burning in his lungs.
Wilbur was gone. He shouldn’t be, but he was.
Techno wasn’t going to let that happen to Tommy.
For a while they sat there, in each other’s arms, listening to the gentleness of each other’s breathing. Then, Technoblade paused.
He would have to at some point, after all. There was no point putting it off. “Tommy?”
“Yeah Techie?” Tommy turned to look up at him.
“Wilbur--” Techno started, then stopped. He breathed in slowly. “Wilbur’s dead, Tommy.” The words spoken aloud cut a hole through his heart, something sharp and painful. The sentence was necessary, but it made the words no easier.
“Well, I’ll talk to him when he comes back!”
“Oh Toms,” Techno breathed out. “He’s not coming back.”
Tommy was quiet for a moment. “Why not?”
Techno sighed. “Tommy, when people--when people die, they don’t come back.”
The little boy’s face scrunched up. “Never?”
Technoblade sat down next to Tommy, and pulled him into his side. “Never,” he whispered, tears hot on his face.
The apartment was cold, as if the ghost of Wilbur was already haunting them. Tommy shivered, his lip quivering, and Techno could only pull him closer.
The two held each other like the family they were, and grief planted her seeds deep within their hearts.
-----
They spent the day quietly. Techno ignored the calls, ignored the emails, ignored the insurance companies and the stacks of paper on Wilbur’s desk.
None of it mattered.
After all, Wilbur was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. NASA wasn’t even sure if or when they would be able to recover his body.
He couldn’t come back.
He left Techno alone with Tommy, alone with these documents and alone with all of Wilbur’s dreams that would be left unfinished. Technoblade was never a fan of noise, but without Wilbur, the apartment seemed too quiet--a house built out of hollow bones, a house that could no longer be called a home. The quiet had never bothered him before, because after all, Wilbur was always going to come back. Now, the silence was louder than any noise he had ever heard.
A knock sounded on the door. “Techie?”
Technoblade exhaled through his teeth. Tommy had spent most of the day with Technoblade’s parents, but seemed to have been dropped back off. “You can come in,” Technoblade said, rubbing at his red eyes.
Tommy bounced through the door, and Technoblade found himself envious of the six year old’s happiness. Sure, it stemmed from obliviousness and naivety, but Tommy was happy nonetheless--something that Techno could not be.
“Hey kid,” Technoblade said, walking towards the bed he had pushed away in the corner of his room. “Sit down.”
Tommy threw himself onto the thin mattress. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Technoblade responded, ignoring the way his voice cracked.
The six year old yawned, and leaned his head against Techno’s side. “ ‘m tired.”
“I know you are,” Technoblade said, running a hand carefully through Tommy’s golden locks. “Let’s get you to bed.” He brought his arm under Tommy’s legs, and stood, the boy kept safe within his hold. He walked the hallway to Tommy’s room. Each step was made with precision, careful to keep his arms steady. Putting Tommy down gently on the bed, he tucked the boy under his covers, just the way Wilbur had taught him to. Techno stood, but Tommy grabbed his arm.
“Stay?” The six year old asked.
Technoblade hesitated.
“Please please please,” Tommy stressed the last word. “I don’t want to be alone Techie, please.”
The man relented, and sat down next to the boy. Tommy scrambled up to fit in Technoblade’s lap, his head tucked in Techno’s neck.
“Go to sleep, Toms,” Technoblade muttered, rubbing a circle on the boy’s back. “It’ll be okay.”
“I miss Wilby already,” Tommy whispered. “Why did he leave us?”
Technoblade hesitated. He had always been against Wilbur’s choice to continue his astronaut training, especially with a son as young as Tommy. “I don’t know,” Technoblade murmured. “He wanted to come back to us, but--”
“But what Techie?”
“He just never got the chance to,” Technoblade finally settled on. “But he loved you. He loved you a lot.”
Tommy frowned, tears welling in his eyes. “Then why didn’t he stay?”
Technoblade continued his attempt to soothe the boy. “He was going to. But life doesn’t always work out the way it is supposed to, Theseus.” The nickname was an old one, from when Tommy was only a toddler and had a bad habit of climbing out of his crib. Techno thought it was funny. Wilbur didn’t.
Tommy didn’t respond this time, only burrowed further into Techno’s neck.
“Maybe he’ll call tomorrow!” Tommy suddenly said. “Wil--”
“He’s gone, Tommy,” Techno said, perhaps a little too harshly. He held back the sob growing in his lungs. “He’s not coming back.” He tightened his grip around Tommy.
“But--”
“I’m sorry, Theseus,” Techno said softly. “But he’s not coming back.”
“Never?” Tommy asked for the second time.
“Never.” Technoblade felt the tears from Tommy’s face drip onto his shirt, but he didn’t move. “Go to sleep Toms. It’ll be okay.”
“But how can it be okay without Wilby?” Tommy asked. “He’s the one who told funny stories and sang songs and--an’--”
“Go to sleep,” Technoblade repeated in place of an answer, carding a hand through Tommy’s hair.
Tommy sniffed. “Don’ leave me.”
“Never,” Technoblade whispered, placing a kiss on Tommy’s forehead. Tommy’s breaths evened out, but the occasional hiccuped sob still escaped him.
“I won’t leave you,” Technoblade promised. Tommy hummed.
The two drifted off to sleep, tear tracks marked down their faces, and Tommy dreamt of the stars.