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Light-Hearted In Limbo

Inspired by this ask here

I changed the prompt a bit, hope that's okay <3

Word Count: 3,368

Warnings: A bit of a depressive episode in the beginning but it leads to hurt/comfort and a lot of fluff :D

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

ALL PLATONIC, PLEASE DON'T INTERACT SHIPPERS

A low, flat hum echoed in the depressive cold of the platform. It made the space horribly eerie, chilling to anything that could hear it. Though, as far as Wilbur Soot was concerned, nothing heard him. His fingers were raw with how long he’d been scratching his nails down the walls, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it over, and over, and over again. His glazed eyes were locked to the dried blood on the concrete, the previous attempts of escape of his eternal prison stared straight back at him.

This was his purgatory. A constant, repetitive pattern that never stopped. He was going to suffer this fate forever, he knew it, it was practically written on the wall alongside his blood. He was never escaping. Never. Never.

“-ilbur! Oi! Wilbur!”

Hands landed on Wilbur’s tightly drawn shoulders, the contact burning through the thick trench coat wrapped around the man’s shoulders. He couldn’t keep the scream from wrenching from his constricted lungs, swiping out at the thing attacking him and curling up tighter.

“Hey! Jesus fucking christ, don’t hit me dickhead!”

In his panic, Wilbur tried to shove at the hands still digging into his skin. “Let go of me! Let go- don’t hurt m-me- please-”

The hands left his shoulders almost immediately and Wilbur shuddered, the cold drowning him once more and making his heart ache for the warmth to return, even if it had been overwhelming. He hunched in on himself, shivering against the freezing floor.

The silence was louder than his previous yelling, the stillness in the air making the man’s skin crawl. Then, a small sigh sounded out, making him flinch and press closer to the wall.

“Wilbur, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The gruff voice was quiet, concern lining the edges.

Recognition tingled in the back of Wilbur’s brain and he hesitantly lifted his head to risk a look. A pair of orange eyes looked back at him, framed by mutton chops and gnarled, chipped horns.

“S-Schlatt?” Wilbur croaked, staring at the semi-translucent ram hybrid in front of him. After all this time in his hellscape, had he finally lost it?

The man before him let out a small breath again. “Yeah,” he moved back a bit, not to crowd the brunette. “You look like shit.”

Wilbur blinked rapidly, making the ram hybrid come more into focus. Schlatt was squatting on the concrete, watching him with careful eyes, his ears bent back in clear apprehension of Wilbur freaking out again.

So, Wilbur slowly let go of the vice grip on his knees, then kicked Schatt’s ankle.

“Fuck!” Schlatt fell back with a yell, gripping his foot tightly and gritting his teeth. “What the fuck man?! Why’d you do that?!”

Wilbur fully sat up, eyebrows high and teeth gritted together. “You scared the crap out of me!" he snapped.

Schlatt grumbled, rubbing his stinging ankle. “Yeah no shit, I can see that- fuck that hurt man, the fucks wrong with you?"

Wilbur was too busy trying to wrap his head around the situation to really acknowledge Schlatt's griping. "How did you get here?" He asked.

The ram glared at him but the pain in his ankle seemed to have calmed as he answered gruffly. "Got bored."

Wilbur stared at him for a moment, the cogs in his head screeching against each other as he slowly processed that nugget of information. "Bored? How the hell did you leave your limbo?"

Schlatt shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. I figured it out somehow." He dropped his hands behind him, propping himself up. "I wanted something entertaining after years of pure hell."

Something angry curled in the base of Wilbur’s gut, and he glared at the man. “Don’t expect anything from me, I’m still pissed at you.”

Schlatt dipped his head to the side almost patronisingly. “Still? Dude, it’s been like, what? Ten years since everything happened? Why can’t we just go back to old times?”

“Because some people become different, Schlatt,” Wilbur curled into a ball, brown eyes burning into the ram hybrid’s own. “Things change. You changed. I changed.”

Schlatt gave a hum, considering the brunette for a moment. “...Mmm, no. No. I don’t think so.”

Wilbur crossed his arms tighter to him. “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion then.”

The horned man rolled his eyes. “Humour me,” he tried. “Just for a bit. I’ve been bored shitless for ages, and by the looks of things…” His eyes trailed over the mismatched coloured concrete, noticing the stains were an uncomfortably familiar colour. “You seem like you need a distraction too.”

Wilbur glared darkly, shoulders rising to his ears defensively but didn’t retort. There wouldn’t be much point with how much evidence was painted on the walls.

Schlatt wasn’t deterred by the lack of reply, easily shifting along with his thoughts. “So, I’m thinking we play a simple game. We both come up with something that we used to do in our younger years, and if we still did it before we died, that’s a point.”

Wilbur raised a slow, skeptical brow. “And who wins? The person with the most points?”

“Yeah,” Schlatt grinned widely, happy that Wilbur actually looked interested despite the slightly wary gaze. “The point system is pretty much based on what we remember about each other since we separated. It can be anything.”

Wilbur curled up tighter, silent for a moment before giving a slow nod. “You go first,” he muttered, taking a fistful of his trench coat in his hand subconsciously.

Schlatt’s grin only got wider, sitting up fully to quickly analyse Wilbur. A few mere seconds of scanning the ex-president, he clapped his hands on his knees. “Okay, okay I got one,” he said eagerly. “Do you still think Anteaters are awful?”

Wilbur blinked a bit at the question. Of all the things to start with… he was going with that? “What?”

Schlatt scoffed, waving a hand in Wilbur’s general direction. “You once told me that would commit mass genocide to anteaters because according to you they are; ‘the worst fucking animal to walk this fucking planet, fucking shit animal, should fucking die’. You said that to me when I asked you what you thought ants would taste like, and you launched into a whole ass TED talk about those fluffy bastards.”

Wilbur could only continue to stare. Schlatt remembered that? He remembered all of that? That was… gods, it must’ve been years ago now. He didn’t realise Schlatt meant bringing up things that far back.

Schlatt waved a hand in front of him suddenly. “Oi, did you fall asleep with your eyes closed or something?”

Wilbur shoved the hand away, though it was far gentler than anything he would’ve done earlier. “No, I haven’t figured out how to do it yet.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Schlatt settled back once more, waiting expectantly.

Wilbur rolled his eyes but gave a nod. “Yeah, I still hate them. Freaks”

Schlatt snorted. “Thought so. One point to me, your turn.”

Wilbur only had to think for a moment before a certain memory resurfaced. He couldn’t help his smile at the mental image of it. “Do you still ram headfirst into people that you don’t like?”

Immediately, Schlatt groaned and pinched the skin between his eyes. “I really regret telling you about that.”

A disbelieving noise worked its way out of Wilbur’s throat. “Get out, you still do that? I thought only infant rams did that-”

“Fuck off, sometimes its easier to just ram your horns into someone's ribcage rather than just telling them to go away,” Schlatt crossed his arms stubbornly, though his eyes were starting to dance a bit with mischief.

Wilbur wheezed, his laugh a bit broken but Schlatt found something in his chest easing at the familiar sound. It was much better than the panicked gasping he was doing earlier. Though honestly, anything would be better than that. He didn’t focus on the sound though, not wanting Wilbur to realise he was only listening. He was just starting to get him out of his shell.

Speaking of which…

“Right, what’s something else I could take the piss outta ya for?” Schlatt thought out loud, peripheral vision letting him know Wilbur had settled back against the wall. He thought for a moment then snapped his fingers, his wide grin showing all his teeth. “Did you still do that dumb hair routine? The one with all the gels and hair spray and shit?”

Wilbur immediately bristled, sitting up a tad straighter. “It wasn’t dumb,” he defended. “It looked good, and you can’t come after me about that when you used to spend ages shaping your stupid mutton chops.”

Wilbur scrunched up his nose in thought. “I didn’t do it during Pogtopia, didn’t have the stuff necessary,” he admitted. “Does that still count to you?”

Schlatt barked a laugh, the insult to his facial hair rolling off of him like water on a duck's back. “So I’m right?” He asked gleefully. “You still did it?”

“Nah, not fully. Let’s say a half point then?”

“Hmm, sure. Seems fair.”

There was a gentle kick at Wilbur’s leg from Schlatt. “It’s your turn.”

Wilbur kicked back. “I know dickhead, I’m thinking.”

The game continued onwards from there. Questions thrown back and forth and answered with either semi embarrassed or annoyed responses. The points were surprisingly even between them. Old habits die hard it seemed.

Schlatt was lying across the floor by Wilbur’s legs, having moved closer as the game progressed and Wilbur relaxed into the rhythm of it. The ram hybrid was tapping his fingers against the floor in thought, trying to come up with a new question to test Wilbur with.

Wilbur’s eyes were fluttering closed, sinking his weight into the wall more and more as the time dragged on. The presence of someone else with him instead of the ever constant presence of crippling loneliness was making him feel much safer in limbo. Even if the person in question was Schlatt of all people.

“Oh! I know!”

Wilbur started as Schlatt’s voice rolled around the train station, eyes jolting open to see the ram hybrid smirking widely. That only spelt danger.

Schlatt snickered. “Do you still have that eighth sensitive rib that makes you fold like a lawn chair when it's tickled?”

Heat crawled up Wilbur's cheeks, accompanied by a weirdly familiar curl in his belly. He leant back into the wall, crossing his arms across his chest out of habit and cleared his throat as it had gotten a bit clogged. “No. When you fight two wars your body gets tougher and more resistant to that sort of thing. I’m not bothered by tick- by that kind of touch now.”

If anything, Schlatt’s eyes only got more excited. “Don’t get bothered by… what, Wilbur?” He was sitting up now, his full focus on the brunette who was praying a train would come down the tracks so he could be hit by it.

Instead of giving a proper reply to the question, Wilbur simply flipped him off. “I answered,” he snarked. “You don’t get a point for that, it’s my turn now-”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Schlatt was suddenly moving, grabbing at Wilbur’s wrists to force his arms away from his chest.

Wilbur yelped loudly at the sudden surprise of contact and the unexpected playful wrestling Schlatt had commenced. The pair hadn’t rough housed in years. Schlatt managed to take Wilbur down from the wall to the ground, the pair squabbling like youngsters as one tried to get the upper hand.

“Schlatt! Fucken- let go of me, would you?!” Wilbur yanked at his hands only for the ram hybrid to sling a leg over his waist to try and pin him down, chuckling at the ex-presidents yell of annoyance.

“You’re fightin’ awfully hard for someone who claims to be unbothered by touch, Wilbur. That is what you said, wasn’t it? That it doesn't bother you?” Schlatt managed to wrangle Wilbur’s arms down, keeping them in place as Wilbur tried to wrench them away.

“Schlatt, I swear to god-” he growled, only to be immediately silenced by Schlatt’s fingers being poised over the side of his ribcage. He stared at the frozen hand in suspenseful anticipation, able to feel their warmth with how close they were to his shirt.

“Something wrong Wil?” Schlatt’s teasy voice carried easily in the emptiness of the station. “You’re a bit quiet now.”

Wilbur bared his teeth, trying to press onto the coolness of the concrete away from Schlatt, only for the man’s hand to follow his side. “Schlatt- Schlatt-” Wilbur himself didn’t know what he was trying to ask, just saying the ram hybrid’s name over and over again as a smile unwillingly twitched at his mouth.

“Oooo, I’m seeing a little grin,” Schlatt cooed, his hand ghosting Wilbur’s ribs and making a slow spidering motion agonisingly close to the sensitive bones.

Wilbur jerked away on instinct, a muffled yelp slipping through his tightly pressed lips. He was starting to realise how horribly exposed he really was. Fuck.

There was a delightedly smug chuckle above him. “You’re still falling for that~?” Schlatt purred, wiggling his digits in the air once more at Wilbur’s rib cage just to relish in the sight of him squirming.

“S-Stop being a prick,” snapped Wilbur, though it came out a lot weaker than he intended.

The pair of orange eyes watching him seemed to light up at his words. “Oh? You want to skip the teasing and let me go straight into it?”

Yeah, Wilbur really wished his hands were free so that he could punch those stupid mutton chops right off Schlatt’s face. ”Shut up, that’s not what-”

Schlatt snickered, almost patronising as he cooed. “Awww, can you not handle what you dish out Mr President? Ain’t that something, that’s something else you still do! Guess that’s another point to me.”

“No it isn’t you motherfUCKER!” Wilbur’s words were swallowed up by his strangled yell, his whole body trying to collapse in on itself when Schlatt’s sharp nails gently dug into the muscle and bone.

Schlatt barked a laugh, massaging his fingers into the area, not at all deterred by the brunette’s wild squirming. “Well well well, this certainly hasn’t changed either! That’s sweet Wil, you’re still a wriggler.”

Wilbur really was twisting madly on the floor, Schlatt’s fingers kneading into his sensitive ribs making him spasm uncontrollably. Wild, unfiltered giggles tumbled out of him, his smile stretching wider across his face.

“S-Schlahaha- nOHOhohoho! Stohohohopihihit!” Wilbur howled out, trying to shift away from the probing fingers only for them to follow him, never shifting from that damn rib that made him squeal like a little kid.

“Now let’s see,” Schlatt hummed, not even paying attention to Wilbur’s giggle-fueled pleas. “What always made you shriek? Was it the rib counting game or raspberries?”

A warm flush crept up Wilbur’s neck at the casual words, shoving his head down into his trench coat collar immediately to hide. “Schlahahatt shuhuhut uhuhup!’

“I think it was the rib counting game, raspberries got you to scream, not shriek, didn’t they?”

“IHIHI SAHAhaid shuhuhut uhuhuhup!”

“Mind yourself, Wil,” Schlatt snickered, making sure his knees were firmly planted on Wilbur’s wrists as he put both of his hands on either side of his torso. “I can always make this much worse.”

He both felt and saw Wilbur gasp, the man flinching at the sight of the outstretched fingers, his nervous giggles picking up when they rested on his bottom ribs.

“You ready?”

“Ihihill kihihill yohohou.”

“I’m already dead, dumbass,” Schlatt snorted and began to press his digits in, worming them into the skin and grinning when Wilbur bucked with a squeal. “One…” he drawled, dragging his nails across the bones then shifting up. “Two… Thr- Wilbur, c’mon. You’re gonna make me lose count with all the thrashing you’re doing.”

There was an exasperated whine. “Ihihihi cahahan’t hehehelp ihihihihit!”

“Well you’re gonna have to, I need to know if you’ve lost any ribs since transitioning to the afterlife and I cannot mess it up. Now stay still.”

Wilbur whined again in the back of his throat, sinking deeper into his coat as he felt Schlatt’s hands slide back to his bottom ribs. “Plehehehease- ihihihit tihihihickles Schlahahatt!”

“I know it does idiot,” Schlatt huffed. “That’s the idea.”

His fingers pressed back into the muscle, the sensations sparking through Wilbur’s body and making him want to curl into a ball but with the ram hybrid pinning his waist and his hands, all he could do was throw his head back and giggle himself mad. The slow, tortuous counting continued, Wilbur struggling to control his every instinct to get the hell away.

“Six…” Schlatt was wiggling his fingers into the middle of the ribcage, snickering as Wilbur fought not to flail as he neared the rib that made the man go ballistic. “Seveeeeen~” Schlatt dragged out the word, his fingers dancing along the rib and leaning forwards towards the eighth one.

Wilbur squirmed back subconsciously, his eyes squinty with how wide his smile was with a red flush colouring his cheeks. He then froze when Schlatt paused directly over the hypersensitive bones, fingers stretched out and a hair's breadth away, but not touching. Wilbur could only stand the tension for a few seconds before he melted into his trench coat, a puddle of nerves and giggly euphoria. “S-Schlatt plehehehease-” he whimpered.

The ram hybrid lunged his nails into the eighth ribs, wiggling and pinching and skittering across the bones. Wilbur’s back immediately arched with a loud shriek, the sound echoing down the train tunnel and quickly followed by hysteric cackling.

“SCHLAHAHATT!”

“Awww, there’s those sensitive little buggers,” Schlatt snickered, drilling into the eighth ribs mercilessly and relishing in Wilbur’s gleeful screeches of laughter.

Wilbur kicked and squirmed wildly, throwing away his previous attempts of staying still as ticklish sparks travelled right through him. Schlatt had him pinned good however, making it impossible for him to squirm away if he wanted to. He was trapped in a different version of hell now.

He was hiccupping in laughter as he pressed out, “IHIHIT’S SOHOHO BAHAHAD SCHLAHAHATT!”

Schlatt decided to be a dick, just for old times sake. “Oh yeah? Well I told you not to move or it would get worse, and you’re just squirming away like a worm on a string.” Schlatt’s teeth clacked together in a menacing grin that sent a swarm of anticipating butterflies through Wilbur’s stomach. “Buckle up bitch.”

Schlatt yanked the helm of Wilbur’s jumper up with one hand and ducked down to press a raspberry into his eighth rib, shaking his head to brush his facial hair along the sensitive skin and using his fingers to scratch under the bone. A wild scream tore from Wilbur’s throat, his whole body convulsing at the rush of ticklish energy and cold concrete on his bare back.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK! SCHLAHAHAHATT!” He screeched, the sensations almost overwhelming, but at the same time Wilbur relished in it, deprived of contact and laughter for so long that this was paradise.

The horned man laughed, scribbling and pinching along Wilbur's ribs tauntingly once more. “Yes Mr President?” He teased, “Got something to say?”

“I-IHIHIHIHI- WAHAHAHAHAIT!”

Wilbur was thrown back into hysteric laughter as Schlatt didn’t wait for his answer, dropping another raspberry into Wilbur’s ribs and deviously spidering his fingers along the bones. Schlatt wasn’t intending on stopping any time soon, and Wilbur didn’t seem to mind the childish fun at all. If anything, he was enjoying it.

The dark, depressing space of the train platform didn’t seem as gloomy with the laughter bouncing through the limbo. How could it with such a light, happy sound? And once it had finally faded, leaving a smiling brunette and a fond ram hybrid, the previous questioning game continued, light-hearted jests echoing through the station.

Schlatt didn’t end up leaving the station, even long after the game was done, and Wilbur found himself at ease in his old friend’s company. It had been a long time since they’d shared some time like this, and Wilbur found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, limbo wouldn’t be as horrible anymore.

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