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Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers

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Wilbur, in his heart and in his head, knew he was a bad person. He knew all of this made him a bad person. He watched, from the edge of a skyscraper, as a building went boom and innocent civilians paid the price.


Unfortunately for them, Wilbur just couldn't find it in him to care that much.


Listen, listen, he would never go ‘round trying to excuse his actions, he knew they were shitty, and he caught more than enough fire for everything he did,  but he couldn't help it that he was apathetic to a lot of things, a lot of people


He could rest assured knowing Techno was safe, probably making sure all the traffickers in the building were dead, wreaking havoc as one does. Philza was probably safe, making sure no kids died in their destruction, and Tommy… Tommy was hopefully off on a train, almost on the East Side by now. 


He didn't know exactly how he managed to get attached to the kid in a matter of hours. He really didn't, maybe some mistake, maybe it was just meant to be. Maybe it was the way the boy perked up at compliments, maybe it was the fact that he cussed Wilbur out within mere minutes of knowing him, maybe it was the way he was so much smarter than he seemed to let on, with a glint in his eye that suggested there was more to him than Wilbur knew, or maybe it was simply the friendly banter that fit like a glove.


 It didn't really matter, did it? He just knew that one minute, Tommy was some random photographer kid he had hired, and the next minute, Wilbur would lay on his own sword before letting the boy get hurt in front of him. Wilbur would have to ring him tomorrow, so they could meet up at Puffy’s, or something.


It felt like there was a Tommyinnit-sized hole in Wilbur’s life. The Siren’s life, even, and Wilbur Soot was selfish. If he wanted something, he took it. 


He was curious too, he wanted to pick the kid’s brain, he wanted to know all there was to know about Tommy. And eventually, figure out if he was worth bringing in for good. Maybe he had a worthwhile enhancement.


However, just as Wilbur was about to get into another Villainous Internal Monologue about wanting a little brother while watching a city block blaze and burn from the top of a building, he was unceremoniously interrupted. 


The door to the rooftop swung open, and he heard the pitter patter of footsteps drawing closer. He heard a voice ring out, it sounded familiar, but not at the same time. Wilbur couldn't figure out why. 


“Hey, hey. Why don't you get down from there, yeah? - Shit, I-I won't be able to hear you dude, but please, for the love of God, just get away from the edge.” 


The kid’s voice cracked painfully as he spoke, volume going high and low for different parts of the sentence. It was like he couldn't hear his own voice


Wilbur didn't turn around just yet, he instead continued studying the warm colours of the explosions and blazing fire in front of him. They weren't warm like the park, they were warm, like chaos incarnate. Like Ares himself reached down and dropped a speck of his own war onto the city.


Unfortunately, for the mystery boy, no one interrupts Wilbur Soot’s Villain Monologues and lives to tell the tale. That was outrageous, Wilbur almost laughed. Did this kid seriously think he was up here because he was going to kill himself


He was being evil. And shit. His trenchcoat was blowing behind him in the wind, he couldn't possibly look more evil.


Slowly, the brunette turned around. Hopefully he looked epic. Maybe there were more explosions going on behind him, or something.


The kid’s voice suddenly got very, very small, even more so than before.


“... Siren..?”


Wilbur laughed. He laughed from his stomach, loudly and clearly. He giggled, as the kid backed away slowly. 


He scrutinized the kid’s face. He couldn't be any older than Tommy . Maybe 15, 16? The lighting prevented him from telling what colour his hair was, Wilbur thought it looked like it was probably light-ish. 


What caught Wilbur’s eye the most, though, was angry scar tissue all along the lower half of his face. It was interesting. It looked like he had been too close to another detonation.


How poetically fitting. The Siren liked when things fit.


He smiled, and turned so he was fully towards the kid. The chunky gas mask blocked his face from sight, and he spoke.


Phil would kill him for this.


He used his voice. Letting undeniably convincing words fall off of his tongue, sticky and persuasive,


Jump off the side of this building. Kill yourself, right now.


The kid just looked confused, coming a little closer. “Sorry, what? Could you repeat that, Mr. Siren?”


His voice still had the odd lilting and falling.


Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed.


I said jump off the building. Onto the ground. Jump off of the side. ” 


The kid opened a scarred mouth, as if to respond, before he… Promptly passed out, his body crumpling with no warning as he hit the concrete floor with a harsh thud .


The boy was now slumped against the side of the building. Wilbur felt a little bad, maybe, but he was more confused as to why his voice didn't work at all. 


It annoyed him that some kid could just straight up evade his enhancement. Was it an enhancement of the child’s own? Maybe he was deaf, but usually Wilbur’s Siren voice even worked on the hard of hearing, thanks to the vibrations.


He'd have to do some research when he got home.


The Siren cast one final glance down to the burning streets, before finally getting ready to head back home to his home. For the most part, this had been an utterly successful day.




Wilbur opened the door to his apartment. He was well-off, but the idea of rattling around his father’s huge mansion or one like it bothered him. He liked cozy spaces.


He stretched, and cringed hard as he heard several of his joints snap and pop. He was in severe need of a chiropractic appointment of some kind, honestly.


Instead of paying attention to his poor body, Wilbur padded over to the kitchen and turned on the stove. He would make himself some tea, that would be a perfect end for the perfect day. 


After pulling out a tea bag, and leaving it on the counter for later, Wil flopped down on the sofa in the living room, his long legs dangling off the armrest. He idly checked his phone, and nearly threw it in frustration. 


Why on Earth did he have so many fucking missed calls from Philza Minecraft?


He sighed dramatically, and called his father back. On the third ring, he was answered.






“To what do I owe the pleasure, this fine evening?”


You didn't tell us you were going home.




“Sorry, Phil. I had other things on my mind,” He paused, eying Tommy’s new contact in his phone. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m safe at home now?”


It does. Don't forget again, Wil.


“‘Mkay Dad. Bye Dad.”


Philza sighed and hung up. Wilbur’s mistake, really. He was a little forgetful sometimes. Oh. Speaking of which, he still had to change. 


Wilbur ambled over to his bedroom, pulling off his Siren attire. The gas mask hung back securely in his closet, now replaced by a pair of round glasses.


He was a little annoyed as he pulled off the trench coat, though. It reeked of smoke, he'd have to get it dry cleaned. Wilbur reached into the pockets and pulled out the contents. Two yellow envelopes fluttered to the floor. Right.


Wilbur pulled a handkerchief, a brass zippo lighter, an unopened pack of cigarettes, and a handful of pieces of his pumpkin cookie out of his pockets. He'd forgotten that he had saved that for later.


Stuffing the crumbs in his mouth, Wilbur bent down and plucked the envelopes from the floor, carefully opening one up as he mindlessly swallowed the delicious baked goods. 


He felt his heart warm, as his eyes raked over the photograph for the second time that day.


 He stepped back, falling onto his bed with a pleasant smile.


The photo itself was incredible. Wilbur and Techno were positioned, twin smiles on their faces. Just beside them, a boy grinned brighter than anything he had ever seen. Sunshine, even though he couldn't see Tommy’s mouth or nose, remaining covered by the void-of-a medical mask  the lower half of his face. 


Wilbur knew that the kid had to have the most endearing smile, with the way his eyes scrunched in the light, looking dull and grey but still, deceivingly joyful. Maybe it wasn't even deception; Wilbur wanted to find out.


Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, as he inspected the photo closer. Tommy looked familiar, he felt like he'd seen the boy minutes ago, when he hadn't.


He wrote it off. Surely, if he didn't remember, it wasn't a big deal.


Back to the technicalities of the picture, though. It was truly pretty, and thoughtful too, despite the fact that Tommy hadn't even held the camera, just setting it up. The lighting and angle was beautiful, it was perfect .


Wilbur smiled, and put the photo back carefully into the envelope. He’d find a suitable frame later, and he'd give Technoblade his copy. For now, though, he would enjoy his tea, and go to sleep, content with his day’s work.



Somewhere on the other end of the West Side, a blonde boy is slumped atop a building, in the midst of a flaming city block. His death would be inconsequential in the long run, it would leave maybe five people in ruin, but he wouldn't die. 


Instead, purple particles filled the already-smoky air, as an impressively-lanky, masked figure materialized in front of the boy. He sighed.


“There you are, Tommy.”


The figure kneeled, checking Tommy’s pulse, he wasn't dead, obviously.  Tall Guy scooped the boy up, and once again, purple particles scattered through the dense air. He wasn't sure how long Tommy had been out here, but inhaling any amount of smoke this thick could not be good for his lungs.


Luckily, Tommy was nothing if not a survivor, and as the masked-man teleported back away, he was confident this would just be another speed bump for the blonde.



Tommy felt like shit .


It started, when he awoke with a disgusting wheeze and a pounding headache, coughing throatily a few times. He swore he could see smoke come out of his lungs.


It continued, when he felt around him and noticed he had lost his hearing aid. Maybe it fell behind his bed?


It continued, when he recalled the building. Siren. His stupidity. In a flash, he was reminded why he fucking hated people.


The boy groaned, pulling himself into an upright position on his mattress. He'd have to get a new earpiece from Tubbo as soon as possible.


Tubbo. Tubbo’s gift.


Tommy felt around his pockets, patting himself down. He could've melted with relief when he pulled out the small microphone he'd bought that day. Or however long he'd been out for.


How long had it been? He grabbed his phone from the stool placed next to his mattress, and squinted as it lit up.


November 29th. Fuck. It's been two whole days.


A steady flow of notifications had pinged him throughout his sleep. Three missed calls from Wilbur, a missed call from Tubbo and Ranboo each, and one from Puffy.


Tommy was in deep shit. How’d he even get home? He'd literally passed out on top of the building. In front of The Motherfucking Siren. He was so, so, so screwed.


First things first, he looked around. He was in his one room apartment. The place was small, but spotless. Tommy didn't spend much time there, and so it wasn't very lived-in-looking. He'd always been taught to keep his area tidy.


He'd have to call Tubbo first, ask him for a new set of hearing aids, and then see to checking in with his remaining friends. Alright.


Tommy dialed his best friend’s number, knowing it off my heart. Tubbo picked up on the first ring.


Tommy! You're finally awake?” Tubbo's voice was faint, but Tommy could just hear it.


“Yeah! Obviously, I couldn't possibly sleep forever now could I? I've got people to serenade, Tubso.”


“Naturally, anyways, what's up bossman?”


It took the blonde a moment to register what Tubbo had said, everything sounded faded and quiet.


“Uh- Big man, you know me? I’m always on the go, yeah? So, I've. Um. I've lost my hearing aids, buddy, do you think you could grab me some new ones?”


“Oh! For sure, I’ll be over in like five, okay?”


“Thanks, Tubs.”




The line disconnected.


Tubbo was over in three, actually, not five. With an earpiece, thank goodness. He left in a hurry though, Tommy couldn't imagine he smelt good right now, to be fair.


He picked up his phone once more.


Wilbur. 3 Missed Calls.


Why'd Wilbur of all people call three times? Tommy thought it'd be nice to speak to the man, but he was still confused, frankly.


Oh well. He pressed on the notification.


The dial tone rang out, loud and clear. Wilbur, like Tubbo, picked up on the first ring.




“Wilbur! Big man!”


Tommy’s voice was scratchy, grating roughly as he spoke.


“Jesus, child, you sound like hell.”


“Soz, I've been ill, I’m afraid.”


A white lie. It wouldn't hurt anybody.


“You worried me half to death! I was hoping we could meet up somewhere? I might have another job for you soon.”


“Oh! Fuck yeah, I’m down. Let's meet at Puffy’s tomorrow, okay?”


“Sounds like a plan, bye, Gremlin.”


“Bye Wilbs!”


“Wilb- [Phil. Shut up, pleas-].”




Tommy was looking forward to tomorrow, but for now, still exhausted,  he let his head slump back onto his pillow.