Chapter Text
It bothers Techno more than it bothers the rest of them.
It’s in the tension of his shoulders, the tad too much force he puts into closing the apartment door, the way he doesn’t even try to meet anyone’s eyes. Fundy and Tubbo are in the apartment when they get back, and they clearly pick up the sour energy in the group. Tommy mutters something to send Tubbo off, and Fundy just gets swept along to bed with the rest of them.
Wilbur knows better than to bother Techno about it until the next morning.
“Hey.”
Techno looks up, then back down at the table. “Don’t.”
Wilbur slides into the chair next to him. “You shouldn’t let Niki get under your skin. She’s gone now, anyway.”
Techno sighs. “She lied. I have to assume she’s been lying. I thought— I thought I was protecting Tommy, but she and they were willing to put all of us in danger to sabotage a bridge, apparently? All she wanted was to hurt people.”
“Okay, and now you have a problem with hurting people?”
“With hurtin’ the wrong people. I do what it takes to keep us safe and help people like us, not… random acts of terrorism.”
Wilbur pauses and shifts back in his chair to look at Techno. “And all this time I thought you were living on a principle.”
Techno gives him a confused look. “It is a principle.”
“No, that’s just self-preservation and tribalism. Even the idealist doesn’t have ideals,” Wilbur laughs to himself. This goddamn definition difference had become the root of so much bitterness, and all along they were the same. Wilbur guesses he’ll either have to admit Techno’s been partially right, or just find new ways to distinguish himself.
“That is literally the definition of an ideal. What are you on?”
“Reality. You’re not different, you just use a different word than the rest of us.”
Techno just sighs again.
“You really don’t have to listen to her.”
“She’s right. I can’t just leave.”
“Yes, you can. You have to.” He leans forward, trying to meet Techno’s gaze where it’s glued to the tabletop. “If the Syndicate demands blind loyalty, it’s no better than the government. C’mon, you get that, right?”
“I hate you when you’re right.”
“Which is all the time.”
“Which is this one singular time. You’ve never been right before, and I doubt you ever will be again.”
“You know what? I don’t have to give you advice. In fact, fuck you, Technoblade.” Wilbur stands with a huff and retreats to the bedroom. He has to ignore Techno’s low chuckle as the door slams.
“Hey, Fundy?”
Fundy is sitting practically in Wilbur’s lap on the floor, half watching Tommy and Tubbo argue over a bowl of buttered noodles and half dozing. “Yeah?”
Wilbur swallows hard. “Do you… would you want to be with your mom again?”
Fundy hesitates, and Wilbur does him the favor of pretending he doesn’t see Fundy hold his hands together to hide the shaking. “I don’t wanna lose my power. But I miss her, Wil. I want Mom back.”
Wilbur holds him tighter. “I was thinking I’d call her. I won’t let her have you if you’re gonna get suppressed, but you should be with her if you can. Do you want me to do that?” When Fundy’s quiet for a second, Wilbur rushes to add, “Or you can stay. I’m not kicking you out, okay? I’d never do that. Just… if you want your mom, I won’t be the one keeping you from her.”
Fundy nods, then tucks his head under Wilbur’s chin. “I wish I had a dad and he was like you.”
Wilbur’s hands are shaking because of his tremor. That’s all, and absolutely no one can see the tears in his eyes disproving that.
He calls Sally from the play structure of the park where he met her. Well, technically, under it, but it’s fine. It’s not spacious by any stretch of the word, and he’s going to be covered in dirt when he gets up, but he’s not moving. He’d left the apartment to make the call, and when he’d looked up he was here and it felt right.
She picks up on the second ring. “Wilbur? What’re you doing?”
“Can I just start with saying that I’m sorry about how everything turned out?”
“What the hell did you do?” Fuck. In retrospect, that was maybe not the strongest opener.
His knees are already tucked up to his chest, so it’s not hard to wrap his free arm around them and pull himself in tighter. “Fundy’s okay. That’s my actual opener. He’s okay. Like, really okay, not I-kidnapped-him okay. Because I didn’t kidnap him. Fuck, that came out wrong.” He takes a deep breath. “Your son is okay and we both want him to keep being okay and can you let me finish talking before you say anything, please?”
There’s a long second of silence over the phone. “Wilbur, I… fine. Tell me when I can ask questions.”
Wilbur nods, then realizes she can’t see him. “So Fundy showed up at my apartment… three days ago now? Four? He, uh, when I was babysitting he asked me to prove I knew my address, so he had it. I wasn’t home when he showed up, but my brother and roommates let him in.
“So, he told us that you found out he’s powered and were going to have him suppressed. And he didn’t want that, obviously, nobody wants that, so he’s been staying with us. And— I should’ve called earlier. I’m sorry. Things have been really hectic lately.
“But long story short, Fundy is okay, he’s been staying with me, and he wants to go home but he can’t get suppressed, okay? He misses you so much and he loves you so much, and obviously if he wants to just leave I won’t stop him, but I want to do right by him. Please, do what’s best for your kid and don’t make him get that implant.” Wilbur takes half a second to steady his breathing and clear his throat. “Um, okay. Questions now.” He braces himself.
The line is quiet for an uncomfortably long time. “Wilbur, what the hell?”
“I know how it sounds, but do some research, okay? Look at how actual powereds talk about suppression. I know what you’ve been told but it’s not true. Powers aren’t dangerous, they—”
“I’m going to do what’s best for my son. You are not involved in that process.”
“Sally,” he begins, then stops, trying not to hold the phone too tightly. “It’s like— imagine if he told you he’s gay. There are some people who think that’s, like, a personal choice or whatever, yeah? And some people who think that’s wrong and want to try to change gay people. But it’s not healthy or okay to try to change an aspect of someone just because that aspect isn’t ‘normal’ or ‘accepted.’ The way we’ve been taught to think about powers isn’t… okay.”
“Are you powered?” She sounds genuinely curious, not judgemental, and Wilbur hopes that’s progress.
“Not, uh, not me personally. A couple of close friends and family members are.”
“And they’ve told you that being suppressed is worse than not being suppressed.”
“Any powered knows that. You can fucking google it, Sally,” he snaps, then forces himself to breathe. “Sorry. People describe it as feeling hollow. Some people get fatigue or vertigo or aches after getting a suppressor implant. And come on. Fundy’s a shapeshifter. Who is threatened by him being able to use that power?”
“That’s… I can research it,” Sally says finally.
“Good. Call me back when you’ve made a decision, okay?”
“What? Where’s my fucking son, Wilbur? I need to know he’s safe—”
“He’s safe, I swear to you. I’m gonna make sure he stays that way.” He hangs up before she can reply.
It’s because he’s worried about catching Sally’s return call that he’s by the phone the next time it rings.
Someone’s apparently put the number in the phone already, because the call shows up as from “Kristin.” Wilbur has no idea who that is, but that’s one of the many downsides of only having the two flip phones between the four of them. Anyway, someone cares about whoever Kristin is, so he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Is Phil there?” a woman’s voice asks.
Wilbur glances around. “Uh— yeah, I’ll get him.” Phil’s making himself some kind of sandwich for lunch, and Wilbur taps his shoulder and holds the phone out. “It’s for you. Someone named Kristin.”
Phil smiles in a suspiciously excited way. “Thanks, mate. Here, I’ll just—” He takes the phone and turns away. “Hi!” He’s slipping on his shoes and in the hallway before Wilbur can even try to listen in.
Wilbur frowns after him.
Sally calls back less than twenty-four hours after the original call.
“Wilbur Soot.”
“Hi, Sally.”
“I did your research.”
He lets go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “And?”
He can hear Sally sigh. “And Fundy might’ve been right about the implant. I just don’t… you’re telling me to trust you and a grade schooler and some people on a website over the government and everything I learned in school. All I want is for Fundy to come home and be safe, and I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Okay. That’s okay. I know you love Fundy.”
Sally cuts him off. “Then send him home. Please. At the very least, you’re right that nobody’s in danger if he’s able to shapeshift while we figure things out, so… can you— I just want to see my son.”
Fuck. It sounds a little like Sally might be crying, and Wilbur’s kind of crying too. “You— I know. I know. You’re a good mom. I’ll go ask him, okay? And I think he’ll say yes, and I can walk him home. Nothing will hurt Fundy, I promise. Nothing will hurt him.”
Wilbur hangs up and notices that Fundy’s watching him, a fox in the corner of the bedroom. That’s what he gets for taking the call in the apartment, he supposes. He scrubs at his face with his sleeve and does his best to smile at Fundy as the kid shifts back to a human.
“Hi, Fundy.” He has to stop to take a breath. “I’ve been talking to your mom.”
The apartment feels a little emptier without Fundy. Wilbur can’t stop noticing it, even though it’s still fucking packed with the four of them. Right now, it’s just him, though, and he doesn’t know whether he’s grateful or upset.
As if thinking about the silence shattered it, Tommy bangs through the door with his usual energy. “Hey, Wil.”
“Ayup,” Wilbur greets, smiling.
Tommy stops and looks at him suspiciously. “Are you still sad about Fundy?”
Wilbur drops the smile. “I just miss him.”
“You still get to see him, though.”
Wilbur shrugs, frustrated. “But what if Sally changes her mind? What if she decides I can’t see him again? What if he can’t run away again and ends up suppressed? There’s just so much.”
Tommy shrugs. “Sally’s fine. Fundy’s fine. It’ll be fine.”
“But what if—”
“Wilbur. Stop.”
Wilbur shuts up.
“Besides, I have news from next door that’ll cheer you up,” Tommy announces, sitting at the table next to Wilbur.
“Oh?”
“Tubbo’s powered. He finally said I could tell you guys.”
Wilbur blinks. “Huh. What’s his power?”
“Temperature control. He’s just starting to get the hang of it, but it’s pretty cool.”
“Oh, nice. That’s— hey, was that a pun?”
Tommy laughs. “Not meant to be? But yeah, sure. I’m the biggest man ever and make the best puns.”
Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Absolutely false, but okay.” There’s a second of silence, and Wilbur looks at Tommy with concern. His expression is serious, almost thoughtful, and Wilbur’s not sure he likes the sudden change. “Toms?”
Tommy looks at the table, takes a visible breath, then looks back up. “Are we the only ones in the apartment right now?”
“Uh, yeah? I think so?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything. What’s wrong?”
“I. Um.” Tommy pauses, tapping his fingers on the table. “Remember your injury?”
There’s only ever one injury anybody talks about. “Well— no. But yeah, what about it?”
Tommy takes another deep breath. The tension in the room could probably stop a bullet. “That hit was meant for me.”
“What?”
Now that he’s started talking, Tommy’s going quickly, like he’s afraid he’ll be cut off. “The agent who knocked you out was trying to hit me, but you got in the way. When you woke up you didn’t remember, and I— I couldn’t tell you it was my fault. You shouldn’t have gotten hit. I’m sorry, Wil, please don’t be mad, please—”
“I’m not sure I get it?” Tommy stops, looking at him with this horrible desperate look that Wilbur wishes he could unsee. “Did you hit me, or…?”
“No, no, an agent hit you, but he was trying to hit me. It should’ve been me. I’m sorry.”
Wilbur blinks. “Don’t be.”
“What?”
“Stop being sorry. It wasn’t your fault, and— god, have you thought it was your fault all this time? I’m sorry, Tommy. That’s— god.”
Tommy’s blinking at him now, confusion and hope on his face. “You don’t blame me?”
“No. Hell, no. No one could. God, I can’t believe— just come here.” He opens his arms and leans forward, and Tommy leans to meet him, and then Tommy’s wrapped inside a hug and somehow they’ve both been pulled to their knees on the floor but it’s perfect. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” Tommy hugs him back, the both of them shaking on the floor together.
Wilbur can feel a wet spot forming on the shoulder of his shirt, and he just rubs Tommy’s back.