"...Yeah. It's--it gets unbearable, sometimes. Like you're dead, like no one exists or cares."

"Or like you aren't a real person and everyone around you is a ghost or an automaton and you'll never interact with a human being as a human being ever again. It's— yeah." 

Wilbur winces in sympathy and reaches out to squeeze Q's arm. "Tell you what, Q, neither of us are fucking ghosts."

It's kind of pathetic how fast he melts into being touched but he does, in fact, melt into being touched. 

"Full real living people, both of us." 

Wilbur's too busy clinging to Q's arm like a lifeline for it to occur to him to find Q pathetic for doing the same.

"Yeah." When he gets like that he normally goes and gets Tommy or bothers Quackity until he feels alive again, like a person who exists in their own skin and not--what he actually is--but he really doesn't want to face that today, so he doesn't suggest it. "What do you want, Q? I--can't promise you I can make it happen but I can do my best."

"I'll be honest I mostly just— wanted to talk to someone. And spending time with you usually helps." 

"D'you have your guitar? We could practice for a bit if you want."

He does have his guitar with him. 

(Sometimes Wilbur is a phenomenal asshole. He hasn't forgotten that. But other times Wilbur is exactly what he needs in a friend and he can feel himself forgiving it.) 

Wilbur's got a nice voice, too; he sings along, on-and-off.

It is a nice voice. It's a really nice voice, actually; Q can sound not-terrible if he actually tries but he can't sound like that. 

This is not really managing to be a distraction. He's still thinking about Tubbo and about Wilbur's handwriting shaky and all-caps on the walls. 

Carefully: "...can I ask something that might be kind of a lot?" 

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

He doesn't want to say this he doesn't want to say this he does not want to say this 

"What happened at Tubbo's execution?" 

Wilbur goes very, very still.

"Schlatt ordered Technoblade to shoot Tubbo. It was point-blank, with firework rockets. Him and Quackity were--boxing Tubbo in, on stage, so he couldn't get away. I thought--I thought Technoblade was on our side, so I didn't--I didn't do anything. I told Tubbo not to worry, that Techno was on our side, I told Tommy not to jump in, I didn't do anything."

His traitor throat closes up when he thinks of the pit, afterwards. He's fucking selfish, doesn't want Q to see him like that, even though he was fully willing to throw it in Tommy's face a month ago, to make the kid follow him, fucking stupid selfish asshole hurts fucking everyone and then comes back for seconds thirds because it's never fucking ENOUGH for him--

Execution. He can talk about the execution. (He hides his face in his hands, as though that'll help.)

"He, uh, he did it. Obviously. 'S where Tubbo got his scars from."

"So Quackity did box him in." 

"I--think so? I know he was--he was definitely there. I don't remember if Fundy was, too, he might have been. I know there was--yellow concrete. I know--" that I had just called Tubbo a yes-man. that I thought Tubbo was loyal to Schlatt and lying to me. that I didn't know, actually, if Technoblade was on our side, that I didn't believe it, I just wanted to. that I wanted to press the button and kill everyone and myself with it. that I got Tubbo to say the code word for it. that it was all a test I set and Tubbo failed and Technoblade failed and I failed. that I ran away, after it happened, and I told Tommy to run away with me and he ran in instead, yelling Tubbo's name, because he's braver and stronger than I have ever been or ever will be.

Wilbur doesn't say any of that; his throat's closed again.

"--It wasn't anyone's--best moment."

"I—"

(How can you explain, to someone who barely even knows what the Games are? To someone who's never been in the mentoring ring, who never prayed donations would come in for bread on day sixteen when the prices are climbing higher every second, who has never looked at a teenager in a hospital bed and known nobody was going to put them together but you and you didn't know how but you'd just spent three weeks fighting for them and damned if you were going to stop? Who thinks mentor just means someone I looked up to?)

"—Schlatt died, before Tubbo was in the picture. My Schlatt, I mean, my Tubbo. It was about four, five months before Tubbo's Games. And Tubbo's not my kid and it's weird when people call him my kid but also once you pull a tribute that's your kid, your job was to keep them safe and now you're the one responsible for putting them back together, and I was Schlatt's and Tubbo was mine and— and they never met. I, I never had to get between them, I never knew them both at once, I never had to find out whether I'd keep him safe if it got personal—

And I guess I know now. That I wouldn't." 

"--You weren't there, Q. You don't know that. You're not the same person." He's not sure if it's true, but it's the nice thing to say, isn't it?

"Maybe." He does not sound very convinced. "But— fucking, you wonder, right? If I'd, if he'd held out for six more months, would I have done a better job if it weren't just me? And— and the answer is no. Here's another universe with the closest thing you're ever gonna get to an answer and the answer you get is that no, it's just fucking worse, you're failing him but if you weren't going it alone you'd literally fucking help kill him." 

"You didn't, though. A different you, a different universe. You didn't do that to your Tubbo." It's not enough. He knows it's not enough.

It's really not. But what else is there? 

"It's sweet of you to say that, Wilbur." 

“I didn’t— I didn’t stop Schlatt either, it wasn’t just Quackity, and Tubbo was— more my responsibility than Quackity’s. No one stopped Schlatt.”

That actually does help. Not for the reasons Wilbur probably thinks it does, but it does. He can make one fucking choice right. If he'd had doubts about that, and he didn't, he fucking didn't, but if he had, he doesn't now. 

"...guess that's something." 

Wilbur--does not laugh, but he makes some sort of noise, breathy and strangled. "It's--yeah, fuck, I guess it's something.

I should--apologize to Tubbo. Not--not just for that, even, I did--a lot."

"Probably a good idea." He's still mostly thinking about Schlatt but there's a correct response to that and it isn't asking about Schlatt; he takes Wilbur's hand and laces their fingers together, instead. "Wanna talk about it?" 

“Fuck, I don’t— I don’t know, man. There’s a lot.”