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The world seemed dull. A year from l’manberg getting blown up, and the world still seemed dull. Wrong, not right. The world had lost it’s life, the thing that made it the world. Niki had no motivation to do anything, to get up, to talk, to do anything but just sit in bed and watch the world go by with dull eyes.
Because Niki was so tired. Niki was so tired and she wanted to feel again. She wanted the hurt to come back, because that would make her feel alive. She wanted something other than the dull ache of a headache that left her fuzzy and aching. She wanted to feel and have anything but the ache of loss. She didn’t care whether it was the sharp pain of her sword, or the sting of anger that came when she pushed others too far, or whether they rubbed her the wrong way.
Niki was tired, and she was so tired of being tired. Niki was so sick of the dull ache that followed her through everything. The dull ache that was ever present, that stopped her from getting up. She wanted to feel again, wanted something. Nothing was cooperating.
Niki’s lip wobbled. She forced it up into a smile, steeled her face into more of a pained grimace than was strictly necessary but it would get her through this. A strand of hair flew into her eye. Angrily, she brushed it out of her way. Her hand came back wet. Her lip was wobbling again. She pulled her lips back into a smile, even as she felt her eyes begin to tear up. As she pulled her face into something vaguely resembling a smile, her face crumpled. Her lips shook, before crunching. She dropped her head, counting on her hair to hide her tears. She couldn’t do this.
The shovel she held lowered, hands losing their grip. Next to her lay a small pile of dirt, a tiny mound. She set the shovel down, next to the tiny hole she had dug, and sat down herself as the tears kept flowing. On her other side, lay Wilbur. Dead. She didn’t want to look at that side. Didn’t want to think about going to the room, and finding him, crumpled against a wall with blood stained into his jumper. Niki didn’t want to think about her best friend dead. Forgotten by all. Disgraced.
It was all Niki could think of.
If he could see her now, she would be laughing. Wilbur would have come up to her, and said “Niki Nyeachu” and she would have corrected him and he would’ve mispronounced it more and more, until both of them were collapsed on the floor, giggling and gasping for air, unable to explain their merriment to anyone else.
But he couldn’t see her now. And she could only see cold eyes frozen in pain and fear. She could only feel warm tears trickle down her face, and hate the warmth that it gave, the icy chill right after. She couldn’t help but hate him, hate herself for the position she was in. Contrasting warmth sliding down her face, with the cold right behind. A warmth that was wrong, and an ice that was right, although everything was wrong.
The warmth slid off her face, eventually leaving nothing left. Emotions drained, gone. She couldn’t feel anymore. It might’ve hurt, but it was what she needed to get through this.
She raised the shovel, and sliced it into the dirt, cutting clean. A foot to press it down, then a lever up. A shovel of dirt, tossed to the side. Her arms burnt with the strain, but that was good. She planted the shovel down again, and continued her dig into the unforgiving earth, assaulted by memories of times long gone. Times she would give everything to not see again..
Niki had always worried about Wilbur, she recalls distantly. That worry had always been there, in some way or another, always watching, always waiting. Warm brown eyes that stared back at her with little regard for their own safety, that changed and transformed into something cold and calculating. Niki had always worried about Wilbur, and Wilbur used to joke that she worried enough for the two of them anyway. Niki had never really liked the joke, always uncomfortably laughing it off, and eventually Wilbur had stopped making it. That was good, Niki had decided. She didn’t like seeing such a visceral manifestation of Wilbur, shining sparkling Wilbur, with no regard for his own life. Dancing carefree and reckless, leaning too close to the fire before she could pull him away. He had used to say it was because he wanted to know. Niki had always accepted the answer, but thought there was something more behind it. She had never pushed, though. Maybe because she didn’t want to know the truth, because unconsciously she thought it would crush her, or maybe because she didn’t want to be pushed away. Regardless, she thought she knew the truth now.
Wilbur had just wanted to feel.
Feel something, anything, to snap him out of it. Because Wilbur was smart, Niki knew that, even if the others couldn’t quite see it, Wilbur was smart and he knew what he was doing. Oh, he was good at hiding it, behind stuttered lies and a silver tongue, he had nearly everyone fooled, but not her.
Not her. Wilbur Soot could fool everyone but her.
Early L’manberg had been good for Wilbur, she knew without a shadow of a doubt. Fighting for a cause, thriving under the chaos he caused, and standing for what was right? It seemed almost like what Wilbur was born to do. And she was there beside him, watching and waiting, ready to pull him out of the line of fire if needed, Niki was there for him, and she would not leave.
The problem was, Niki had found, with a dry throat and a tongue that seemed too heavy in her mouth, the problem was that no matter how hard she tried, Niki couldn’t save Wilbur from himself.
She learnt that the hard way, watching as Wilbur grew paler. His masks fluttering across his face as he tried to keep control, to let everyone feel like they were safe, even if they were anything but. It was hard, back then. Hard to do anything to get Wilbur to take care of himself. Bitterly, she thinks that it only ever got worse, and that Wilbur just got better at hiding it from her, like he did with everyone else.
What Niki couldn’t understand, however, was that no-one else seemed to notice that anything was wrong. No-one else seemed to notice the dark bags, growing thicker and thicker as the nights wore on. No-one else seemed to notice the leaning, increasing as time went on, like his own weight was too hard to hold up. Maybe a few noticed that he never ate with them. Or in general. Niki was certain, because Wilbur looked like skin and bones.
He still had fire in his eyes though. Fire, burning bright and threatening to roar past what it was capable of, threatening to break the boundaries that had kept him safe so far. It had been Niki’s job, almost, thankless as it seemed to be, as Wilbur never seemed to want her to fix him up.
She had tried. Prime, had she tried. To fix him up, to help him. Nothing ever worked though. She was always left, feeling like she had fucked up, wronged him in some unknown, unspoken way.
She had spotted him out one night. It had been a coincidence, fully.
She didn’t know if she quite believed in coincidences anymore.
She had been out in the dark, looking at the stars, watching them as they shone, looking back at the legacy of others, told through the stars for generations. She remembered remarking, softly, the wind carrying it away, that Wilbur had used to be obsessed with the stars. With a story being told, and their story being remembered. With who would tell their story, and who would remember their legacy.
The wind had ruffled her hair and she brushed it outside, plucking a piece out of her mouth as she gazed towards the cliff's edge. She hadn’t realised how far she had walked, certainly out of bounds of manberg now. Squinting slightly, and wanting to go further and help but being unable to do so, she made out a figure, standing by the edge. A coat seemed to flap behind them in the breeze, with a familiar hat seemingly held by the figure's side. Desperately, she wanted to go up, to comfort him. She couldn’t, only watch with bated breath as he sat, slowly.
She couldn’t remember how long she had sat with him that night, watching as he sat in the cold, unable to know that she was sitting there with him. A comfort far removed.
It was dawn when she moved, frozen yet unwilling to leave him, as if the second she turned away he would jump. He had gotten up, and moved back from the ledge, seemingly throwing a salute to the country before he turned and left. She could just about make out the outline of a hat, left behind where he had been sitting, and she finally allowed herself to cry, just briefly, because she needed to get back to her bakery before Schlatt came round for a surprise inspection.
The second time it happened was nothing short of a miracle. Let out late, Schlatt had probably hoped that she would die, or something would happen in the dark alleys that surrounded Manbergs prison, Niki had taken a detour, enjoying the stars and keeping a firm eye out for mobs. She had come across the same cliff, the same edge that imposed upon her nightmares, complete with figure at the top, hunched like the world was on his shoulders.
In her nightmares he looked broken. Here he looked frail.
She had desperately wanted to help.
She could only watch. Just like her nightmares.
The TNT stood out like a sore thumb. Looking back on it, only increased the image, red staring back at her, expanding and expanding until it swamped everything.
She had broken the wall by accident, and the red that emerged from that would haunt her forever. Wilbur hadn’t removed the TNT.
Wilbur wasn’t here. Wilbur had left.
Fuck.
No-one else would understand, no-one else would get it. Wilbur had been saying goodbye, that’s why he was so relaxed earlier. She had to-
She put the stone back. She would cover Wilbur, always. Like she always had and always would, she would cover for Wilbur.
The TNT hadn’t gone off yet. Niki made her way to the back of the presidential podium, spotting the yellow path, dug haphazardly into the hill. Just where Quackity and Tommy had said it would be.
Wilbur was in there, head bowed, but shoulders slumped. She made her way in, trying to be as quiet as possible. It didn’t work, halfway through the tunnel to the room Wilbur jumped up, turning to face her.
He was animated, like a puppet on a string, with a life he hadn’t held in weeks. It wasn’t- It wasn’t good though. He was sickly, and his movements were more clumsy and jerky than the usual grace he used to portray himself with. He seemed ill, and like he was trying to hide it. The light didn’t help, and as Niki cast her gaze over the room, and the strewn signs with the lyrics of the anthem carved into the wall she felt like she was staring at a ghost.
Wilbur didn’t seem alive anymore, and Niki hated that she hadn’t stopped it.
A step forward, a desperate plea. A look back, a tinge of humanity still there but buried deep, dripping with regret, before he raised his fist, and spoke the words of a traitor.
“It was never meant to be. ”
The shock of the words, so cold yet so, so alive. Warm with the burning passion of a bonfire, raging out of control, burning Wilbur and his country into pieces as they screamed for help but no-one noticed. No-one cared.
His fist slammed into the button and the world went white.
She looked around. Everything was in slow motion. Her ears were buzzing. She felt… numb? The wall had caved in. She wasn’t feeling good. Wilbur-
Oh Prime, where was Wilbur?
He lay a few feet from her. The wall had caved in infront of her. She looked down. He wasn’t moving. His body looked unnatural. Something was wrong about it. It was bloody. That wasn’t normal.
She moved closer. Everything was ringing. She crouched. Looked at Wilbur’s face.
His eyes were lifeless. She stumbled back. That wasn’t right.
Wilbur was meant to be life, destructive and alive, life incarnate, taking on the world and burning anyone and anything that got in his way. Wilbur was fire and light and chaos and he shone, brighter than the stars.
Wilbur had been snuffed out.
Wilbur was dead.
The sickly sweet sadness, cloying like honey as she took in the air. Hazily, unable to really think past the fog that had invaded her mind, left her weak, defenceless, unable to protect- .
He was gone. Why did it hurt so much?
She knew why, she could think of every reason why, every reason under the sun why, because she had loved Wilbur like a brother, more than his family ever had, and she had tried so hard to help and had failed, failed to help to do anything and she was a failure and he wasn’t there and fuck she just wanted him to be there, to be alive, to be able to look at her one last time and say hello or something even if it was stupid because then he would be there and alive and this nightmare wouldn’t be reality and-
She opened her eyes. She hadn’t realised she had closed them. She looked down.
Wilbur’s eyes were lifeless in death.
It wasn’t ever going to stop hurting.
She didn’t know if she could ever get past it.
The haze returned, and vaguely she wanted to fight it, to yell at the world and scream and fight God themself to demand an answer.
The haze left. Her muscles were stiff. Distantly, she noted that she was screaming. Low and guttural. Wilbur would’ve-
It was the sound of heartbreak. It was the sound of grief. It was the sound of acceptance.
Wilbur Soot was dead and gone. Everyone wanted him gone, left and alone. Everyone wanted him forgotten, legacy abandoned. Everyone but her. She would remember him. Her brother in all but blood. He, who she looked out for constantly, who was her everything.
It was night, and the stars shone. Niki almost didn’t want them to. It seemed wrong, stars shining so brightly, uncovered by the clouds and lighting the ground. It wasn’t fair, but then, life wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that she- No.
She couldn’t continue that line of thought.
She shovelled dirt over Wilbur’s body methodically, almost robotically. It wasn’t until there was no dirt left did she snap out of the trance-like state she was in. Maybe it would’ve been better to feel it. Too late. It was easier this way. She crouched, then. Withdrew a sign, and buried it into the ground.
Wilbur Soot.
Brother, Friend, Revolutionary
Nothing fancy, pre-engraved on the sign. She had cried, making it. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else to put on.
She stood, looking at the grave one last time.
Unmarked, in a corner of the country that he had tried to destroy. The country that he had built, and had ruined him.
The moon still shone. Light casting the illusion of a halo around the sign. She knew it was just the shadows, but still.
Niki broke.
Crying, sobbing in the moonlight. Full body shuddering as she cried her heart out. Hair framing her face, protecting and shadowing her from the searching beams of the moon.
A story, written in the stars.
She didn’t know how long she cried for, just that it was dawn when she finally felt in control enough to move. She looked up, saw the sign, and felt numbing pain in her gut. A cold reminder of grief. She wondered if she would ever move on from it. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
The sun's rays began to shine down, illuminating Wilbur’s grave. Dirt coming alive, like his eyes used to, shining and sparkling with hidden depth.
Niki swallowed, and spoke her final words to the air.
“Goodbye, Wilbur. I’m sorry I couldn't do more. Sorry I couldn't take your pain away. I hope that now, you’re resting. I hope you have finally found peace.”
The words felt heavy. Heavy and tangled in something more. Tinged with sadness and regret. She wasn’t going to think about it anymore.
Niki turned, and Niki walked away, mouth dry and with grief settling deep into her gut, yet nothing like the numb from before. She was tired, yes, but not endlessly so.
Niki would remember him, even if no-one else would.
And that would have to be enough.