Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking up to a screaming child wasn’t what Phil thought his day would start like. But he was no stranger to night terrors and crying kids. So, rushing to the room where the shout came from, knocking on the door gently and going inside to sit on the end of the bed wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

His 3 kids were all different when it came to this. Tommy liked to have his hands held, gently swaying them from side to side. He once told Phil that it helps when someone is humming nearby or would turn the small radio that sits on his nightstand to static. Techno always wanted to be bundled up in blankets. He preferred the ones that his family was constantly using, saying that the smell of home calms him down. His noise cancelling headphones were always in arms reach, no matter in which room they were.

Wilbur was a bit different. He hated touch, noise or anything that indicated that a human being was nearby. However, Phil noticed that he calmed down faster if he was with people he trusted. It didn’t happen often that he had such a bad day that it would show. He preferred to keep his true feelings hidden until they burst forth and tried to destroy everything in its path.

So, Wilbur waking up like this from a nightmare wasn’t usual. Phil went to his room nonetheless. He was sure that Tommy and Techno both woke up from the noise but didn’t care enough to check on them first. His goal was to get to Wilbur as fast as possible.

As he arrived in his room, he could smell sweat. The windows had condensation on them and in a pile of pillows and blankets sat his son. He was shivering and sweating bullets. His eyes held a frantic look in them as he tried to focus on anything around him. His mouth was opening and closing at a slow rate, but he seemed so out of it that he wouldn’t be able to form any words. His hands were gripping tight on his arms, knuckles white and nails digging into skin.

Phil wasn’t sure what to do. But truth be told, he already set his mind to helping. Cracking open the window just so much that a slight breeze is coming in and the air won't get even thicker was his first step. After that he made sure that all the light from outside was blocked off. Only the little lamp on Wilbur’s desk was on and turned away, shining towards the wall instead. Walking downstairs to get make a cup of tea was his next step. Peppermint and camomile were his go-to whenever his kids needed to calm down.

He was almost running up the stairs, being mindful of not spilling the tea, when he stumbled across Tommy sitting opposite of Wilbur's door, head nodding off to the side and hands clutching his stuffed dog. It brought Phil a small smile. Before he entered the room, he shook Tommy and told him to go back to bed.

In the room, Wilbur was still sitting in his bed, haunted look on his face. Only now he was scratching on his already red arms. Phil knew that it was of no use to take his hands away from his arms, as it would send Wilbur further into his panic. Instead, he sat down at the end of the bed, holding onto Wilbur’s favourite mug and starting to hum one of Wilbur’s songs.

It took a while for Wilbur to calm down enough to acknowledge Phil and take the cup of tea in his own shaking hands. He turned himself to have his back against the wall, knees still up and close to his chest. Phil noticed the small shaky breaths he was releasing. Still, it did nothing to calm his own nerves, seeing Wilbur be so distraught.

Slowly, tears started to form in Wilbur’s eyes and with a little sniffle he started to cry. His shoulders shook and he hurried to push the cup towards Phil. Even in this state he worried about getting things dirty. Phil took the cup gently and put it on the desk. When he turned back around, he got closer to Wilbur, offering him a hug. Wilbur took a second to think about it, but nodded to show him that it was ok to touch him.

Phil sat down next to Wilbur, throwing an arm around his shoulders and rubbing circles with his thumb on Wilbur’s arm. The hug didn’t stay like that for long. Tommy came into the room on his tip toes, followed by a sleepy looking Technoblade. Both had their blankets in hand. They made their way over to the bed and sat themselves in front of Wilbur, silently asking to hug him too. This time Wilbur didn’t need so long to decide and accepted their outstretched arms quickly.

Before Phil knew it, all of his boys were fast asleep, huddled together, all leaning on the wall. He let out a quiet breath, picking up the tea, which Wilbur didn’t drink. Going back downstairs, he put it in the sink and made his way to the sofa. Phil wasn’t able to keep is eyes open for long. He was content sleeping on the sofa, as long as it meant that his sons were now feeling better.

Chapter Text

Waking up screaming wasn’t Wilbur’s thing. He was used to hearing Tommy’s shouts of panic, Techno’s screech of terror, even Phil’s coughing fits after a particularly bad night's sleep. But his own sounds were never loud enough to alert the others to his current state.

And yet, here he was. Shaking in bed, not knowing his surroundings and being pulled deeper into the panic through the sounds of the wind rustling the leaves outside.

Light was falling into his room from the outside, the street lamp directly outside his window. It was too bright for him. He was falling down a black hole fast, not knowing up from down, limbs feeling heavy, chest tight and everything was so loud. The blood rushing in his ears, the tree, the wind, the sounds of the night. But the worst one was the footsteps that he heard coming towards his room.

Before Phil, before finding his family, before being adopted and loved, Wilbur had to spend day in and day out in different places. All the same and still each one worse than the last. His birth parents were the worst. They didn’t like him. Didn’t care for him. Didn’t want him.

His father, always drunk or high, was prone to getting aggressive. He liked to use Wilbur to relieve his stress, using him as a punching bag, throwing him around the place they stayed at, not caring if the neighbours heard them. He was the one who taught Wilbur that if he wanted to survive, he had to be quiet. Stay still, take it, don’t make a sound.

His mother, though better than his father, liked to hit him. She always kept her wedding ring on and preferred to leave a mark of her hand wherever she could. The most common spot was his face. When she decided he was being annoying, she would take use of objects around her. Although sharper, harder or heavier, they didn’t hurt as much. Not emotionally. Mentally, Wilbur hated her hands more. He never knew where they could land and how much force she would apply.

When the neighbours had enough of “things falling off the shelves” or his “father tripping over some shoes and falling”, they called the police. They didn’t know that there was a child living next door. His parents made sure that no one knew of him. When the police came, his father went crazy. Saying things to them that Wilbur still remembers to this day. It is hard to forget his father screaming and thrashing in the hold of a policeman and some handcuffs. His mother went with them quietly. She threw Wilbur nasty looks and told him to not say a word to anyone. Of course, he did as he was told by her. Disobeying means punishment. And punishment means that Wilbur would get hurt again.

So, he stayed silent. Not a single sound could be heard from him for over a year. He was sent into foster care. They tried getting him into a group home but the woman who ran the place didn’t want another problem child within her walls. That meant that Wilbur was tossed around houses for a few years. Never staying long with a family. Sometimes feeling more welcomed, sometimes being beaten the moment he arrived. He thought it was normal for parents to treat their child badly for years. Until he knew different. Until he met Phil. Until he found his family.

But the past stayed with him. Flinching, cowering, freezing up whenever someone came too close. Not being able to talk, even if he was directly spoken to. Forcing himself to be a part of society, learning new skills, making friends, going to school.

But it was not enough.

The nightmares came and went. They ebbed and flowed. Whenever it got bad, he made sure to lock his door, to cover his mouth while sleeping in hopes of no sounds escaping him. Whenever he didn’t have them, he got bad thoughts. So bad that he wished for them to come back and take up all of his mind. To drown them out.

The bad thoughts were the worst. He knew, logically, that his parents weren’t good for him. That he deserved to be happy and have a loving family. But deep down he wished them back. Wished that they would find him and lock him up in their shabby old apartment. Hit him until he was barely breathing. Sometimes it got so bad that he wished they would come to end him. End his suffering. End everything, he has worked so hard for.

Of course, his family caught onto it quickly. Phil asked him if he’d be ok to go to therapy. Tommy assured him that he would always be here to do crimes with him. And Techno offered to beat everyone up who only looked at Wilbur the wrong way. It was all comforting. But not enough.

Therapy was good. He started to have fun conversations with his therapist. He liked going there. He even liked talking about his past, even if it meant that he would start crying or shaking. He liked the knowledge of it helping him. But all good things must come to an end. And so did therapy. He still went, but he didn’t enjoy it as much. He closed himself off, started to get quiet again. Stopped telling the therapist about his past, about his thoughts, about his live in general.

School stopped being fun too. Since Wilbur never was a real part of society, Phil took the liberty to home school him most of the time. He still went to public school, but only for 2 days of the week. The rest would be spent at the dining table, sitting above books that the school said would be good he’d read. Of course, they didn’t like Wilbur only going for 2 days. And his classmates thought he was weird for it too. But he got into the school band, joined the drama club with Tommy, and made real friends.

And yet, it wasn’t enough. He started relapsing. Having nightmares, thinking about his parents, wishing and hoping. Sometimes he got to the point of wishing for Phil to be the one who hurt him. He knew, deep down, that Phil would never touch him if he didn’t want him too. He always asked before he came too close, respected Wilbur’s past experiences and found a way to work around them.

Naturally, the footsteps coming towards his room stopped right before the door. A gentle knock was heard, one that Wilbur only knew on the doors of his brothers' rooms. Then the door creaked open, just enough so Phil could fit through. Wilbur didn’t see who it was, but he knew that it had to be him. His brothers would never be the first to check up on him. They were too scared that they’d say something wrong, that they could scare Wilbur off for good.

After the person, Phil, entered the room it took a few seconds until Wilbur felt some change. First there was a slight breeze, cooling him off. He didn’t even notice how much he was sweating until the cold air hit him. Then the blinding light stopped shining so bright. Phil must have closed the windows then. His small light on the desk was turned to the wall, the light not as bright as the one from the street lamp. It was easier to focus like this, to make his eyes look where he wanted to and not be swallowed by the fear running up his spine.

The footsteps made their way outside of his room and down the stairs. But instead of there being silence, Wilbur could hear more footsteps. They were coming from the other direction this time. He heard the door squeak a bit as someone looked inside but thought better of it and stayed in the hallway. He wasn’t too sure on whether it was Techno or Tommy. But it made him feel a bit better, knowing that his brothers cared enough about him and his wellbeing to check in on him but still remain outside his room.

Boundaries should not be broken.

He once opened a door to one of his foster parents' rooms and was screamed at, being reprimanded about boundaries and how important they were. Since then, he educated himself on a lot of words that were used by different families. Boundaries, privacy, and many slurs.

The slurs were what confused him the most. He knew that they weren’t true. But somehow, someway, a little sparkle of recognition existed, knowing that some definitions fit Wilbur perfectly. He knew that he wasn’t a bastard, remembering his mother's wedding ring stinging against his cheek. He wasn’t gay, nor stupid. Of course, Wilbur knew that there was nothing wrong with being gay, he just didn’t feel that way. He didn’t even feel that way towards girls. People were nice to look at, but never once would Wilbur think that he could have any romantic or sexual attraction for anyone. It just wasn’t in his nature. So being called those slurs was what made him confused.

Sure, he told his therapist about them, about him not being able to understand it, but he didn’t get a real answer to his problems. There was no “it’s normal to feel this way” or “what they did was wrong”. His therapist just noted something down and changed the topic. Said that they would be talking about that another time, but for now the main focus was Wilbur’s past.

More footsteps, this time coming up the stairs. He heard someone say something and then the door opened again. It must have been Phil. His brothers wouldn’t come into his room. Why was Phil here? Wilbur hoped that he was here to punish him, tell him that he is a disgrace, kick him out, anything. Wilbur wished for him to do so, to finally say it.

All he got was the bed dipping down, the smell of peppermint coming from that direction. What calmed him down more was the humming. He didn’t recognise the song immediately, but when he did, he was happy that Phil remembered the song he showed him a few weeks prior.

Wilbur didn’t know how long they were sitting like that, but slowly the world around him came back. First, he felt how his arms were hurting. He must have been scratching at them for a while. After that he felt his legs, or more so that the circulation was cut off from them. They were hurting quite a bit too. And lastly, he could see Phil clearly. He saw his blond hair, the striped pyjamas, Wilbur’s favourite mug.

Nodding slightly to show Phil that he was back with him, he took the mug. It was tea. Of course, Phil would make him tea. But it helped him calm down, the warmth radiating through his whole body. Slowly, but still too fast for him to comprehend that it happened, he moved himself so he was sitting with his back against the wall, knees up to his chest. It was comforting. Wilbur always liked being able to make himself as small as possible.

Making himself small meant less punishment. When he was with a particularly bad family there was this other child, younger but taller than Wilbur had been at that time. They weren’t able to make themselves small. Their lanky figure making it impossible. The foster father did not like that. He didn’t like a lot of things about that kid. Like their hair, or their birthmark that covered half their body. Whenever the kid tried to make themselves small the foster father would drag them out by their mismatched hair and lock them in a room. Wilbur has only once been to that room when he had to stay there.

The room had a single chair, no bed, no windows, no light. When he was in there, the foster father made sure to bind his hands behind the chair and his feet to the chair legs. He wasn’t able to move. With a slap to his face and some insults thrown his way he was left alone. Nothing but darkness. He didn’t know how long he stayed in there. But when he was let out, he was taken away from that family. He hasn’t seen the lanky kid ever again. But he hoped, wished for them to be out of there too. To have found a save place, a family that loved them just like Wilbur found one.

Thinking back to that time made him emotional. He liked to forget about that time, not remember it. But it always came back somehow. That family was the reason why he wasn’t able to see properly. Darkness being better than light for his eyes. Always cowering in on himself in fear of being thrown into an empty, dark room again.

Not being able to hold himself together anymore he broke down crying. He hurriedly pushed the cup he was still holding towards Phil, not wanting to spill anything and make everything worse. The tears obscured his vision so much that he saw too late that Phil was holding his arms out. It took him an even longer time to process what it could mean, but when he came to the conclusion that Phil offered him a hug he nodded rapidly. Hugging Phil meant that he was safe. Safe from those past homes, safe within the halls of his own home, surrounded by his family.

That was what he always needed. A stable family, a dad and two brothers. There wasn’t a need for a mother, or grandparents. He just needed his three favourite men in the whole world. Phil, his dad, was always there, ready to make sure that his sons were taken care of and well. Techno, the stubborn boy, needed his brothers to be save. And Tommy, his dear little brother Tommy, knew just how to make everyone’s day brighter. Wilbur needed them, their positivity, their want to make him happy, to make him feel wanted, loved and taken care of. And Wilbur loved them for doing all of that.

As if conjuring them up his brothers appeared in front of them. They both looked worriedly at him, as if assessing the situation without invading his space. But all Wilbur wanted was for his brothers to hold him between them, to feel them both breathing and their hearts beating. He was happy that he didn’t have to ask for it since Tommy already was in his way to question if they could hug him. Without any thought he pulled them both down.

Content hums and quiet murmurs from Tommy and Techno could be heard, both calming Wilbur down immensely.

Without his knowledge he slipped into a dreamless sleep. He was content, he was with his family and he was safe. And that was all that mattered.