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A pair of gold-flecked brown eyes peered down at him, a solemn shimmer within them as he recalled a distant memory of his childhood. He had stared at this mirror when he was but a mere kit, the tips of his ears the only part of him visible as he tried desperately to climb the mahogany table. His father had entered the room, chastised him for acting so ridiculous before sending him out to play.
“Guess by now I oughta know my place.”
He twitched, the echo of a melody dancing through his head. He remembered... He had sung it once before, hadn’t he? The dark room he stood in melted away, replaced by a vision of the past. He held his breath, a familiar pair of fox ears jutting out from behind the long table in the hto dog van. His fingers were shaking, his mouth pressed into a thin line before a sob could escape him.
“Do your humble duty with a smile on your face.”
He leaned closer, his younger self scouring through the floor as if in search for a toy. He winced, his younger self slamming his head on the table’s edge as he stood up. A small cry tore through the poor child’s mouth, muffled as he placed a hand on his lips. He remembered... His father was a busy man... He didn’t want to be a burden, not when his father expected him to just sit there and do nothing.
"Father knows how much I love him."
The child clambered his way towards the window, his drooping tail wagging as he spots his father outside. He follows after, gaze pausing at the father he had lost. Tommy and Tubbo stood in front of Wilbur, smiles on their faces as they followed the older man throughout the small land they “owned”. He looked down at himself, pausing as he notices the salmon stuffie in his younger self’s hands.
"But he's always doing other things."
A whimper escapes the child’s lips as his father and his uncles begin to walk away, they never took him with them. His father had told him, “someone needs to hold down the fort, son.” He was foolish to think his father trusted him with such a task. He would found out years later that Wilbur would barricade the door each time they left, leaving him trapped inside... Not that he knew that as a kit.
“So I'll keep waiting in the wings.”
His younger self settled back onto the ground, a small frown on his face as he clutched the salmon stuffie closer to his chest. He doesn’t dare look down, knowing how pitiful the sight would be. He hears the sniffling, the soft cry that eventually declines into a deafening silence. He never slept when his father left, content to wait until Wilbur came back. Until he was consoled. He was pathetic.
“I crave so much.” His voice shakes, the line strange against his tongue as he feels a sense of euphoria fill his lungs. He kneeled, fingers grasping his knees as his gaze turned towards his younger self. All he ever wanted his dad. An inkling of his attention... that’s all he ever wanted. Money. Power. A nation. He never cared for those. He just wanted to be loved. “And yet I kept on waiting.”
“One glance, one touch.” He reached out, a hand settling on top of the child’s head... not that he could change his past. He wished for the dad who looked at him like he was his entire world. Before Tommy and Tubbo. Before L’Manburg. Before the war. He wanted to be seen. To be valued... Did that make him selfish? Was he wrong? He doesn’t know. “And I just kept on waiting.”
“And when it came, it came with strings.” He almost laughs... but he doesn’t find it funny. He doesn’t know how long it’s been in the memory but he feels the warm sunlight against his skin and knows the sun has begun to set. Wilbur arrives a second later, tired eyes falling upon his younger self, an exasperated sigh echoing through the van. He watches as Wilbur walks closer.
“Fundy, what am I going to do with you?” The man reaches down, scooping the child off the floor and into his warm embrace. He feels the sting of tears behind his eyes, wiping them away before they begin to treacherously fall down his cheeks. He hears laughter from his younger self. He had been so content to just be held... even if it took a day to get it. “We have chairs for a reason, son.”
“I missed you!” He scowls as Wilbur chuckles at his son’s avoidance of the topic, ruffling his hair as he set younger Fundy on top of the table. His younger self stands up on the table, a brief glimmer of surprised horror flashing across Wilbur’s face as he quickly take his son back into his arms. Fundy scoffed, his father had so little faith in him... “Promise you won’t leave tomorrow? Please?”
Wilbur smiles, pearly white teeth flashing, “I promise, Fundy.”
The memory fades, leaving him in a desolate mockery of the van he once called home. There’s blood on the stone beneath his feet, the table gone as it had been destroyed during the skirmish. He hugs his knees closer to his chest. Wilbur was great at promises, but he was never one to keep them. Wilbur left him the next day. His father could never stay for him. Never him.
“So I kept waiting in the wings.”
He feels a spark ignite in his heart.
But for now...
He sobs.
For a father he had lost a long time ago. Of course he never had his father’s love growing up. His father died the moment he chose his nation over his son.
And like a fool... he waited.
Heh. Guess history never changes, huh?