Chapter Text
When Wilbur and the rest of their stupid little group finally made it to the bridge, slushies of assorted flavors in their hands, some of them carrying bags of chips and candy that would inevitably be stolen, the sun was still high in the sky, beaming down on them and bringing them no warmth despite the bright light it was giving off.
By the time the sun was going down, a third of the group had been called home by their parents and the rest were laying around in the middle of the bridge, away from the edge after Dream had nearly been shoved in by Tommy, who had probably not meant to do it in the first place but was still very much so at fault.
It was still a little light out, the sun not yet fully down past the horizon, still casting a few final threads of golden threads of light into the sky, streaking past the clouds and lighting up the water of the river below them. Wilbur found it sort of soothing, in a way, watching the sun slowly sink past the trees, past the edge of the river he’d never been able to find the end of, never really tried to find the end of. Maybe if he was a poet, he’d write about it.
Their group was quieter, in the dark. It wasn’t truly dark out; they’d learned, after their first few nights spent hiding away on the bridge how fast paranoia would set in, and had purchased some shitty battery powered string lights to hang around the bridge, and they’d worked pretty solidly for the past few years. Still, without the light of the sun hiding away the shadows, they were quieter, more cautious of speaking up and saying more than they meant to, or so little it revealed something big.
They acted like there was anything they hid from each other, in the dark. After Sapnap, George, and Skeppy left, when it was Techno, Tommy, Tubbo, Bad, Dream, and Wilbur, the six of them acted like they didn’t know everything about each other. Like the three missing from their group didn’t know everything about them.
With the dark as a cover, they hid, for as long as they could, and it was quiet. Silent to the extent that the lack of sound became deafening, and eventually Dream pulled out his phone to start playing music, the sound of a strong bassline coming through loud and slightly tinny through his phone’s speakers. It was almost like white noise, surrounding them until they were in a little cloud and they were all that was real.
Wilbur looked up as Bad cleared his throat. He was wringing his hands together, cracking his knuckles one-handed in a way that looked practiced.
“I know…” He started, and he wasn’t making eye contact with any of them, gaze firmly aimed towards his lap as he spoke. “I know it’s dark out, but… I really…” Wilbur watched as he took a deep breath to collect himself, looked up to the night sky as he released it. In a hurried, hushed whisper, he said: “I don’t want to go home.” And, well, Lord, was that a sentiment Wilbur could get behind; judging by the looks on everyone else’s faces, they were thinking the same.
Dream laughed a little, slinging an arm around Tubbo’s shoulder just a little too tight, if Wilbur was reading the younger boy’s face correctly. “Yeah, I think there’s a reason we’re all here right now, wouldn’t you say?” He said it as a way to deflect from more serious conversation, Wilbur knew, but it wasn’t a very good way; if anything, it led the conversation deeper into the topic none of them really wanted to talk about. Wilbur almost sympathized with him. Despite how he seemed, Dream was surprisingly private. They only really knew about his parents through Tubbo, who would tell Tommy everything, and neither boy had ever been very good at controlling their volume.
Almost sympathized, but didn’t, because he knew that if Tubbo hadn’t spoken up about their parents for the both of them, Dream may not have been able to visit the bridge with them for as long as he had.
Wilbur let out a sigh of his own, leaning back against a stone column as their group descended into silence once again, the music from Dream’s phone the only thing to keep it from pressing in against them too heavily. Next to him, Tommy was sitting cross-legged, leaning against Tubbo’s shoulder as he fiddled with his shoelace, seemingly deep in thought.
“Well,” the teen said, lips twisted into a slightly bitter smile that Wilbur thought ought to be on the face of someone much older than him. “Only thing good there’s Phil, anyway.”
“Phil…” Dream furrowed his brows, squinting over at Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno. “That name sounds familiar, have I met Phil?”
Tubbo elbowed him in the side, laughing when Dream looked down at him, offended. “Dream, he’s literally your coworker, he’s their brother!”
“Oh… shit, I guess I do know him.”
“Yeah,” Techno snorted, “no shit.” Techno reached over, nearly dislodging his now-melted slushy (blue, because Wilbur made sure he had taste) from its place in his lap as he swatted Dream in the back of the head. “Never disrespect Phil like that again, he’s the only bitch in that house I ever respected.”
“What–” Tommy cried, reaching towards his older brother in betrayal. “Techno!”
“Did I stutter?”
“No, but you’re still a dick.”
“Are you even allowed to say that word? You’re, like, twelve.”
Tommy pouted. Wilbur knew he would never call it a pout if he was asked (he’d probably try to play it off as a manly kiss to the air or something) but it was absolutely a pout. “You’re so mean to me. Tubbo, please tell him off for me.”
Tubbo turned to Tommy, eyebrows raised as he scooted away slightly. “You want me to tell off The Blade? He’ll kill my dog.”
“You don’t have a dog, Tubbo!”
“In Minecraft!”
“Is he Sapnap ? He won’t kill your dog!”
“What if he does, though?”
Dream jumped into their conversation, then. “Tubbo, if he kills your dog I’ll kill him, or something.” Somewhat encouraged by this, Tubbo turned to Techno, who was watching the entire thing happen with a blank face, though Wilbur could tell he was fighting back a grin.
“Well, Tubbo?” Techno asked, tone completely deadpan as he quirked a brow.
Tubbo visibly took a deep breath. “Mr. Blade. Please respect Tommy, he asked me to tell you off but you scare me. Thank you for your time as well as the opportunity. Also, fuck you.”
“Tubbo!” Bad cried, scandalized, ducking around Dream to face the younger boy. “Language!”
Wilbur snorted, turning away from their group again as they kept bantering. It was darker, now, the sun fully set and the moon slowly rising. It wasn’t like it was even particularly late yet; it was only 7P.M., the sun just set rather early in the colder, winter months. Wilbur was almost tempted to start bringing a blanket with him to the bridge, and vaguely he wished he had thought to bring his guitar.
Wilbur turned his head to look at Dream, who had slumped over and was leaning his whole weight against Techno’s side. “Hey, Dream,” He called. Dream didn’t even turn to look at him, just nodded with a noncommittal hum. “You got any other songs?” Dream turned to him then, brows furrowing as he lifted his head off of Techno’s shoulder.
“Other songs?” He asked. “Like what? I can always play some Christian rock for you, I know it’s your favorite.” Techno snorted, which dislodged Dream slightly but not enough for him to adjust his position. Wilbur scowled at both of them when he heard Tommy and Tubbo snicker from the cement column across from his own.
“Don’t be mean, Dream,” Bad admonished his underclassmen, reaching over to swat his outstretched leg gently. “You’ve been looping the same song for thirty minutes, I think it’s understandable that Wil’s a bit sick of it.”
In entirely unrelated news, Wilbur was now in love with Bad.
“Exactly!” Wilbur cried, one hand flung up into the air for the sole purpose of dramatic affect. “ Please , play something else, or let Tubbo control the music. At least he has variety !” Dream laughed, lightly pushing Bad to the side as he grabbed for his phone to switch the song.
“Alright, alright!” He grinned, scrolling through whatever music app he was using to play a song that hopefully would not be looped for hours. “It has a long intro so I’m gonna skip to the middle to get your judgement, your highness.”
Through the phone’s tinny speakers, Wilbur heard a voice sing— ”And half the time I want to go home, and half the time I want to go home.”
“That better, my liege?” Dream called, and Wilbur snorted.
“Not at all relatable, but yes.”
“You’ve literally heard, like, two lines, you’re such an ass!”
Bad swatted Dream’s leg again. “Dream! Language!”
Wilbur laughed at him, to which Dream responded with immense maturity by sticking out his tongue and settling back against Techno, who grunted and cast the blond a disgruntled glance, but didn’t try to move out of the way.
The string lights flickered; they’d have to replace the batteries soon, it’d been a few months since the last time they had done so. Wilbur looked back up to the sky, listening to the song he refused to admit he was enjoying, especially as he heard it start to loop for the third time, and watched as the moon slowly rose higher and higher in the darkness of the night sky.
He wished he could stay right where he was, surrounded by his friends, forever.
Reality, as it so often did, refused to let him.
“Hey, Wilbur,” Tommy started, the younger teen wrapping his red and white jacket tighter around himself as the night grew colder. “What time is it?” Wilbur glanced down at his phone, swore under his breath when he saw that it was nearing midnight.
“Time to fucking get home, shit,” Wilbur got up, collecting his trash and picking up his bookbag. He looked at the rest of them, who were still sitting on the dirty concrete of the bridge, watching him. “That goes for all of us. It’s too late for us to be out here right now, especially when it’s this cold.” Techno sighed, shoving Dream off of him as he stood to copy what Wilbur was doing, followed by Tommy and Tubbo. Dream and Bad sat there, still, exchanging wary glances with one another.
“... Can I just… stay here a little longer?” Bad asked, looking away from them. Dream was quick to agree with him.
“Yeah, it’s not like we’d be alone!” Despite saying this, Dream’s hand was inching closer towards the empty bags of chips he knew he’d need to dispose of.
Tubbo turned to look at his older brother. “Dream… we have to get home.” Dream swore, grabbing his discarded bags of chips and the plastic cup that used to hold his slushy, before standing and reaching a hand down to Bad to help him up.
“C’mon, Bad, can’t leave you behind,” Dream sighed, letting out a grunt when Bad used his hand to pull himself up. “Maybe Skeppy will let you sleep over again?”
Bad grimaced, turning to pick up the garbage he’d left behind as well. “He will, but… I hate to be there so often.”
Techno scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Bad,” he said, an eyebrow raised as he looked at the older teen. “We all know that Skeppy wouldn’t let you stay over if he didn’t want you there.” Bad didn’t reply, just looked away and pulled his phone out of his pocket as the group started moving. Wilbur tuned out the sound of his conversation with Skeppy. That wasn’t any of his business.
The path they made through the woods back when they were all still small children, not even teenagers yet, was a bit more difficult to get through with such a large group now that they were older, but it was still a familiar comfort. If nothing else, it was always fun to watch as Tommy, who had recently had a bit of a growth spurt, struggled to avoid being hit in the face by branches he wouldn’t have needed to worry about before, as well as a welcome distraction.
Phil’s car wasn’t in the convenience store’s parking lot when they walked past it, nor was Dream’s. Wilbur hadn’t noticed on the walk over; had Dream, Sapnap, and George walked to the bridge? Would Dream be in trouble the next day for not bringing his car back home?
He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind—nothing he could do about that. Wilbur didn’t even have his license yet; he’d failed the road test and the next one wasn’t scheduled for another few months at the earliest.
The walk from the path in the forest back to their respective homes wasn’t far in the slightest. Ordinarily, Bad’s house was closest, but since he tended to stay with Skeppy as many nights as possible, they skipped him. Bad’s stop was still closest, and they waved their tired goodbyes as they walked away past Skeppy’s apartment building.
Dream threw a rock at his bedroom window as they passed by George’s house, to which George sent a loving shadow of his middle finger through the curtains. They walked in silence for the most part, aside from the occasional humming from Dream cutting through the quiet of the night, stopping the paranoia from setting in for just a little while longer.
Wilbur stopped walking, reaching an arm out to stop Dream as well before the other teen could pass by his own house, though Wilbur wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been the other’s exact intention. It wouldn’t be fair to Tubbo, though, who was ready to head to bed and was just waiting for Dream to catch on, though, so Wilbur turned Dream towards his own front door with a small huff of a laugh.
“You’re home, idiot,” he said, voice soft so as to not disrupt the quiet they’d all found themselves in. Dream hummed, reaching out to get Tubbo’s attention, as the younger boy was having an animated whispered conversation with Tommy. From what Wilbur could catch, it was about some animated show he’d heard Tommy going on and on about recently. Something to do with a terrible live remake.
Dream sighed as Tubbo quickly clapped Tommy on the shoulder and started walking to their house. “... Yeah,” he muttered, turning to follow his brother as the rest of the group started walking again, off to their own homes, and Wilbur fought to swallow back the words rising in his throat, unsure what it even was he was holding back. Stay safe, maybe. Don’t listen to them, perhaps.
He kept walking.
Without the others and only their own house left, the walk felt faster, and Wilbur was only a little bit surprised when they arrived at their own house in what felt like only a few short minutes. He hadn’t even noticed when they passed by Sapnap’s place, but when he looked back, it was far behind him, lights off and the faint glow of blue light coming from the window Wilbur knew to be Sapnap’s.
Phil’s car was the only one in the driveway, which was a good thing, because it meant their parents weren’t home yet, and the three of them walked in as a unit, shoulder’s pressed together and barely managing to squeeze through the door. Just past the threshold, sitting in the dark at the kitchen counter was Phil, illuminated only by his laptop as he typed away at whatever it was he was working on so late.
Wilbur watched as he clicked something, typed a few more words, and closed the laptop, turning to look at them with tired eyes and a crease to his brows that spelled out relief and worry.
“Where the hell were you three? It’s almost one in the morning,” he questioned, standing to turn the lights in the kitchen on. Wilbur winced. Shit .
“Sorry, Phil,” Tommy walked further into the house, one hand raising to rub at the back of his neck. “We thought you’d be working.” Techno snorted, following Tommy past the threshold and leaving Wilbur to close the door behind them, but he didn’t say anything. Phil turned to Wilbur, an eyebrow raised as he waited for an answer. He winced again.
“Well, honestly,” Wilbur started, a guilty laugh making its way past his lips. “I didn’t think you’d notice?” To which Techno snorted, again, this time jumping in to add on to the conversation.
“We didn’t think you’d care.” Phil sucked in a breath, and Wilbur averted his eyes, walking over to Techno so he could swat his twin’s arm.
Wilbur watched as Phil opened his mouth, closed it, let his breath out in one long stream before taking a deep one in. “Who am I?” The college student asked, brows furrowed as he stared down his younger brothers. “Our parents? Of course I care. Call me next time you’re staying out late like this. I worry, idiots.”
Techno shrugged, and Tommy shrunk back just a little bit. Wilbur nodded, trying to ease the guilt that was curling in his chest at worrying his older brother like this. “I– We really are sorry, Phil, we really didn’t think you’d be worried.”
Phil let out a harsh breath, briefly looking up at the ceiling as if asking for the strength to deal with the three of them. Wilbur did his best to shove down the guilt still curling in his chest, threatening to rise up in his throat and cause his voice to shake. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, so he didn’t try to speak again.
“Again,” Phil said, “am I mom and dad? Please, call me. I won’t be mad– I’m not mad.”
It was almost funny, though, in a slightly morbid way; after all, Phil did make for a pretty good replacement parent.