Mhm | MCYT Oneshots

Broken Was His Name

TW: dysphoria, panic attack

Not Requested

A/N: don't mind me having a gender crisis and taking it out on wilbur

Wilbur's skin was too tight. Too tight in a way that it felt like he was suffocating. The lump in his throat trapping air in his lungs and the pit in his stomach a hole that kept his tears from falling.

Something was wrong.

He wrapped his arms around himself, palms desperately finding the middle of his chest. Pretending he couldn't feel the way his skin lifted on either side of his hand. Focusing on the pounding of his heart.

The heart that felt ever so empty. Too small to fill his chest. Too small to power his traitorous body that moved in all the wrong ways.

He fumbled for his phone, shaking hands miss-typing his password at least three times. He didn't know what he was doing. Who he was planning on messaging.

He just needed to talk to someone. He needed to get his thoughts out.

WilburSoot

tom

tom

can we@vc

TommyInnit

sec

k

TommyInnit started a call

"-ou okay?" Tommy was asking, words half cut off in the time it took for Wilbur's audio to connect.

"I don't know," Wilbur answered honestly, skin still crawling and desperation clawing at his chest. "I- I don't know-"

"Breathe, Will. Breathe." Wilbur tried. He really did. Breaths coming in wheezy gasps, lungs gasping for air as sobs finally broke through. He thinks Tommy might have been breathing with him.

His vision swims, heart nearly pounding out of his chest. The chest that wasn't shaped right. Another sob chokes its way past his lips.

"Breathe, Will. You need to breathe." There was an air of desperation in Tommy's voice. One that seemed almost foreign in Wilbur's ears. Tommy wasn't supposed to be desperate.

He restarted his efforts, breaths coming in greedy gasps. He thinks he might have heard Tom sigh in relief. Maybe it was his own. He didn't know anymore.

"You're doing so good, Will. Keep breathing. In and out." Wilbur complied. Forcing calm breaths into his lungs, expanding his ribs. "You're doing so well. Keep going, Will." He did. He kept breathing until he could take in air with only small hiccups interrupting. Until his heart slowed down from its marathon. From its racing pace.

Then, "Sorry," he managed finally, words half choked in his throat. "For that."

"Don't apologize, Will."

"But-"

"Nope. Don't apologize for panic attacks." Tommy's words were sure. Non-negotiable. Wilbur sighed, wiping messily at his too long hair. He needed to cut it soon. It wasn't like he minded it much. At least not the way it hid his eyes behind a mop of curly brown. But he wasn't too fond of the way it framed his face in such a gentle way, the way it highlighted his soft jawline and wide eyes. He shook the thought off.

A pause.

Then, "Do you want to talk about it?" Tommy's words were hesitant, careful as if walking around a baby fawn, barely standing on its wobbly legs.

"I-" Wilbur's voice broke. "I don't know."

"That's okay." A beat. "I'm here whatever you decide." Wilbur nodded, swallowing thickly as he sat back, hand still rubbing anxious circles over his chest.

"I-" His voice came out so wrong. "I don't feel right," he managed, words barely above a whisper. "I don't wanna feel like this."

"Like what?" Tommy's question was so gentle. Soft in a way that Wilbur would never be able to replicate. Not without his voice breaking. Not without pulling his pitch too high.

He bit back another sob.

"My skin doesn't fit." A desperate sound somewhere between a whine and yell. "Nothing fits."

There was a pause for a moment, neither quite sure what to say.

Then, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't know," Wilbur answered for what felt like the millionth time. He knew he was being an asshole. Complaining and complaining but giving no room for solutions. But it was the truth. He didn't know what to do.

"Well do you wanna talk about it or be distracted?"

"I-" He thought about it for a moment. The anxiety buzzing in his chest. "Distraction."

"Okay." A beat. "Have I told you about this awesome game I found?" And just like that, Tommy was off. He flew from topic to topic. Happy to carry the one-sided conversation. To handle the awkward comments that Wilbur managed to make.

It was almost a dance. Tommy leading the way as they swung through the ballroom, dropping by different groups and stopping to snack at different tables. It felt natural. As if the universe itself had clicked into place around them.

It was stupidly effective.

Tommy was talking about grapefruits. About how stupid of a name it was. How it was nowhere near a grape, and how the person who named it must have been high or something. Wilbur smiled at the thought. But the topic was already moving on.

He was now going on a rant about the categorization of foods. How nuts and seeds and fruits and fish were so hard to sort into boxes. And how a lot of people probably don't even know if their deathly allergy to tree nuts applies to coconuts or not. A stupid system, Tommy had reasoned. Before moving onto penguins as if there were some connection.

Wilbur supposed there probably was— at least in Tommy's mind. But, he wasn't going to question it.

Then it was polar bears, and the melting ice caps. Then the stupid popsicles you could buy from the ice cream trucks. The ones that always looked as if they had been half melted before you had even opened the packaging.

Then he was talking about superheroes. About how narrow minded some of them could be. He wanted to see more worldbuilding, more focus on the mundane rather than the big guy who tore down buildings and destroyed cars. Tommy seemed to get vicariously pissed at the idea of some self-righteous dickhead throwing his vehicle at some other dickhead. Wilbur simply shook his head in amusement.

The rest of their evening was spent like that. It was mundane, in a way. And it didn't solve the problem. Not forever. But it made it better. And for now? Wilbur figured that was enough.