Archive of Our Own ^beta

"The flower that you're staring at is called a tiger lily," Wilbur's voice rings in Ranboo's ears, making him jump without meaning to. He snaps his head around to face the ghost, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Wilbur just grins at him, like he alway does, holding up his hands in mock defense. Wilbur's feet don't quite touch the ground, though the grass ripples around him as if he wasn't hovering. Ranboo has gotten used to the way the ghost moves, he's gotten used to the way the earth reacts to him. It doesn't mean he understands it any better. "You've been out here for a long time." Wilbur says, more of a statement rather than an observation. Ranboo opts to stay silent, looking back at the orange and black flower that sways in the breeze in front of him. 

Wilbur sits down next to him, pulling up his legs to his chest, resting his head on his knees. "They mean pride," Wilbur tells him. "And confidence and wealth. If you mix those all together, I'm sure you understand why people appeal to them so much. Most people are greedy bastards, my beloved Ranboo," Wilbur beams, leaning back ever so slightly. His skin is less grey that it normally is, his face a little less ashen. His jumper still stands out against everything, especially in the field of green. "To be fair, though, lilies are excellent to use in funerals. Schlatt got a funeral, and his bouquet was filled with them. They're a transition to death, they're beautiful enough to be placed anywhere. White is the best for funerals, though. You should never send white flowers to someone who you love and is still alive."

Ranboo listens to his words, leaning back and rocking forwards. "Why do you know so much about flowers?" Ranboo asks, not entirely sure if he wants to know the answer. He knows vague bits about Wilbur's past, about who the man used to be, and most of his stories have been filled with trauma and war and hurt, and Ranboo isn't sure if he wants to make Wilbur remember anymore than he already has. "Did Phil teach you?" He tilts his head to the side, watching as a range of emotions go past Wilbur's face, from sadness to anger to nostalgia to hurt. "Sorry," Ranboo looks away, picking at the blades of grass under him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him."

"It's alright," Wilbur assures him, though Ranboo doesn't think that it is. "How has he been?" Wilbur asks, his voice strained. "Him and Techno, I mean. Are they both alright? Have they heard from Tommy at all, or is he still completely against working with them?" Ranboo watches as Wilbur's hands tear at the grass by his sides, pulling up entire clumps of earth. 

"Wilbur," Ranboo reaches out, taking the man's hands in his own. "You're spiraling. You're fine," Wilbur blinks, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before he looks away, breathing out. "You're alright, Wilbur. They're okay, too. Everyone is okay." 

Wilbur nods, biting down on his lip so hard that Ranboo can see blood staining them a moment later. "Apologies," Wilbur murmurs through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't know why it's still hard to talk about them. It shouldn't be. It's just my dad and my older brother, my twin. I don't understand why I still hurt every single time I hear their names. I..hope that they're treating you well, Ranboo," Wilbur opens his eyes again, looking away. "Let me tell you more about flowers, to distract me." 

"Okay," Ranboo murmurs back at him. "Tell me about flowers, Wilbur." Wilbur smiles, though it's strained. Ranboo understands.

"That," Wilbur inclines his head towards a lone daisy in the distance, one that sways gently in the breeze, "is a daisy. Daisies represent innocence and purity. They have an odd history, did you know that?" Wilbur smiles. "There were old tales that whenever a child died, the Gods would sprinkle daisies upon their graves. It was meant to cheer up their grieving parents, although I don't think a few pretty flowers would make up for their child's death. But, hey," Wilbur smiles, tilting his head back. "What do I know?" he sighs, tapping his fingers on the back of Ranboo's hand. Ranboo doubts that his friend is doing it on purpose, but he isn't going to say anything about it. "And those," Wilbur points ahead of them, "those are lavenders. They represent calmness and serenity, as well as purity and silence. They can represent healing, sometimes, as well as royalty."

Ranboo nods along with his words. "Why do they mean so many things?"

"Humans are weird," Wilbur snorts, ducking his head. "That's the only real answer I can give you, Ranboo. Humans are odd creatures. They like to give things meanings to help them understand, though it really does just make everything much more confusing. They symbolise royalty because they're purple. The old royals used to wear purple to show off their wealth, since purple dye was difficult to make. It's the reason Techno wears red," Wilbur's smile wavers. "It's the reason Phil wears green, it's the reason Tommy wears red and white. It's the reason I wear yellow." 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Ranboo isn't sure what to say, so he says nothing at all. He isn't sure if he should apologise or console his friend. 

So instead, he points to another flower. "What does that one mean?" Wilbur turns to look at him for a second, his smile returning, a little brighter than it had been. 

"That's a carnation. They mean so much, depending on their colours. Light red ones mean admiration and fondness, while the white ones mean purity, pure love, and good luck. The darker red ones mean love and affection, and the white ones with stripes, those ones mean regret," Wilbur pauses. "A regret for a love that cannot be regained. A regret for a love that cannot be shared, one that can't be reciprocated," he looks down at the grass in front of him. "Not quite unrequited love, but close. I never knew that these fields had so many flowers in them," Wilbur laughs. "I never have been out here before. I mostly stay by the ocean nowadays, since..since I don't have a reason to go back to.." he breathes out. "You know."

"I do," Ranboo confirms. "Can you tell me about roses? I know that the red ones mean love, but what to the other colours mean?" 

Wilbur grins at him. "Red roses don't always mean love. They can mean beauty, passion, courage. Respect. They're used as flowers for love all too often. I think that people should stop associating the colour red with love. Red is far too harsh of a colour to be compared to something as soft as love," Wilbur sighs. "But my opinion doesn't quite matter. It's far too late to change anything now. Yellow roses mean friendship and new beginnings, the white ones mean purity and serenity and death. White flowers are almost always universally the same, with some minor differences. The purple ones mean love at first sight, the orange ones mean enthusiasm and desire. When you combine yellow and red and white together, it means excitement and happiness for something new. If you combine red and white roses together, that means unity."

Ranboo nods, wondering when Wilbur learnt all of this. "I'd say that yellow roses represent us, right?" Ranboo tilts his head to the side. "New beginnings, new friendships. We're both restarting, we're starting over. What better way to restart than to do it with a new friend." Wilbur smiles at him, so widely that Ranboo is nervous that he might get stuck like that. 

"I'd say the same, my beloved Ranboo," Wilbur grins, ducking his head a second later. "I know that you want to ask," he murmurs. "You want to know why I know more about flowers than a normal person," Wilbur looks back up at him, his smile wavering. "If you gave Tommy any flower, he would be able to do the exact same thing as me," Ranboo blinks, tilting his head to the side, not fully understanding. "He told me that he thought they were cool, once," Wilbur laughs, bitterly. "He told me he wanted to learn to impress Tubbo, but he didn't have the attention span to do it. So, I..I did research, and I studied, and then I taught him about them. I wanted to be a good older brother. I thought that, maybe, it would make things between us be okay. I mean, I learnt while I was in Pogtopia. Tommy would write letters to Tubbo with flowers weaved in with the words, and I..I don't know," Wilbur looks away. "I thought that it would make things better. It didn't, in case you're wondering. Nothing would make it better." 

"I'm sorry," Ranboo murmurs. "He forgives you, Wilbur. He isn't mad anymore. I don't think anyone is upset, I don't really think anyone was upset to begin with. Maybe at first," he admits. "Maybe when it first happened, but everyone just seems..tired. I think everyone is just tired, Wilbur. They miss you," Ranboo glances up at the former President, focusing on the way the grass blows over his hands. "I know that for sure. Everyone misses you. Tommy talks about you a lot. Tubbo wishes that you'd tell him what to do. Niki visits your grave, and Fundy always comes with. They bring flowers." 

Wilbur laughs, sniffling. Ranboo reaches out, wrapping an arm around Wilbur's shoulders. "What kind of flowers? Do they bring white flowers? Do they bring me red ones, to represent love? Do they bring me yellow, to represent new beginnings?" His voice is weak and shakes on every word, and Ranboo just pulls him closer. "I never was able to say goodbye to my own son. Or to my best friend, or to my brothers. The last person who heard my voice was Phil, and it was me screaming at him. I begged him to kill me, and he did. You want to know what he said to me, Ranboo?" Wilbur turns slightly, locking eyes with him for half a second before he looks away. "He said, "you're my son". And then he plunged my sword through my chest. He held me while I died, Ranboo. He hugged me, he shielded me from the blast with his wings. Do you ever wonder, Ranboo, why he doesn't have them?"

"He lost two of the most important things to him that day," Ranboo murmurs. "His son and his wings."

"I think he cared about his wings more," Wilbur whispers. "I think that, if he had to do it over again, he wouldn't have not killed me. He just wouldn't have protected me from the explosions. He would have saved his wings." 

Ranboo shakes his head, wishing that he knew how to be easier to confide in. "He loves you, Wilbur. So do Tommy and Techno. I know that they hurt you," Ranboo looks ahead, watching the flowers and grass sway back and forth, gently moving in the spring air. "They hurt me, too. But they hurt each other, and you guys.." he sighs. "I don't know. You guys are a family, and you always end up hurting each other. I don't know why, 'cause it's so obvious that you all love each other, but you keep hurting, and I don't get it. I'm trying my best to understand, but I don't know if I can." 

Wilbur is silent for too long, making Ranboo's chest hurt. He feels himself start to panic, the signals in his head screaming at him that he messed up, that he-

"I hate it when you're right," Wilbur whispers. "I really, really do." 

"So do I," Ranboo laughs. "I hate it, too." 

"I feel like I'm broken, my lovely Ranboo. I feel as if I'm just a piece of scrap metal, no longer able to be molded to fit in a way that matters," Wilbur tells him. "I feel useless. What's the point in existing if I'm not of use to someone else? I used to live for myself, you know. I used to live for myself, I used to be happy with that. I used to be happy, imagine that. Everything that I did was because I wanted to, and then I..stopped doing that. I don't know why," he admits. "I think I just wanted people to be happy, and if I could sacrifice my own happiness for the ones that I loved to have their own, well, why wouldn't I? Ranboo, I think that I've lost the things that made me human. I remember telling myself that I would get revenge for what they did to me, but I'm so tired. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore, I don't want to keep hurting myself." 

"I know," Ranboo says, because he does. "I hate that everything you say is what I think."

Wilbur smiles at him. "Aconites," he says, "mean caution. They tell their receiver to be wary, to be cautious. They mean death and hatred. If I had to tell you which flower represents me best, I would say that the aconite does. Well," Wilbur pauses. "I'd say that Pogtopia's Wilbur would be represented by the aconite. I think that me, right now, would be a yellow rose. New beginnings, Ranboo. New beginnings." 

"New beginnings," Ranboo agrees, smiling. "We're yellow roses, Wilbur. We don't have to be aconites anymore." 

"Then let's be yellow roses," Wilbur grins back at him, the sadness in his eyes slowly fading. "Let's be yellow roses."