Chapter Text
Wilbur strums his guitar aimlessly, humming a soft melody. He isn't paying particular attention to the action, but he's too afraid to sit in silence and too tired to actually play.
He wonders, faintly, how long he's been sitting here, strumming away. He slowly comes back to earth, eyes finding the clock across the room. It reads ten pm.
His fingers stumble on the strings. The humming dies in his throat. He looks to his abandoned homework on the bed and sets the guitar aside.
Phil worked late tonight. They'd been on their own for dinner and he faintly wondered if his brothers had neglected to eat too. Techno might have, but Tommy was a growing boy; he ate everything in sight.
Wilbur checked his phone and saw a couple notifications from his friends. A group chat with nearly a hundred notifications and a text from Techno earlier asking if he wanted to go get McDonalds with him and Tommy.
They left and Wilbur hadn't heard a damn thing.
He tried to ignore his concern for his well-being and got up off the bed. He changed into a hoodie and sweatpants padding out to the kitchen. He did his best to be quiet, but found Techno and Phil still awake in the kitchen.
Their voices died the moment he stepped into the kitchen. They all stared at each other.
“Don't let me stop you,” Wilbur said, voice hoarse from his endless humming.
Techno shifted in his chair, casting his eyes down. His bubblegum pink hair was tied up on top of his head. He donned a university sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. He looked tired.
Phil did too. With his blonde hair tied low, dark bags under his eyes, wearing a loose t-shirt and a robe. They were both hunched over cups of coffee that Wilbur hoped was decaf (he doubted it).
Wilbur rummaged through the fridge, but nothing sparked his interest. Nothing did these days. Well, one thing did. He tried his best to ignore it.
He really did.
“Wil,” Phil said gently. “Will you sit for a minute?”
Wilbur frowned but made his way over to the table. “Am I in trouble? Tommy did it, whatever it is.”
“You're not in trouble,” Phil said quietly.
“Are you using again,” Techno demanded. “I really can't be dealing with this right now, I've got finals--”
“Oh! You've got finals, have you? Sorry, I'll just put my addiction on pause for you.”
Fire always met fire in this house. Wilbur was usually the slowest to anger, but running on only two hours of sleep and absolutely no food made him much faster. He knew it was the part of him that was itching for a hit that was speaking. He absently scratched the crook of his elbow. God he wanted it so badly.
“I didn't mean it like that,” Techno said, voice softer with guilt.
“You know the world doesn't revolve around you.”
Wilbur could feel himself pushing further away. He wanted them to want to be distant from him. He wanted them to stop caring. To prove his intrusive thoughts right and give him an excuse to stick himself with a needle.
“Let's start again,” Phil said quietly. “Wil, Techno is worried about you. He just wants to know if he's right to worry.”
God, yes, Wilbur wanted to scream. Fall into Phil’s arms crying and have his father put the pieces back together again. He swallowed the truth like a pill taken without water.
“No. There's nothing to worry about.”
“Wilbur you've skipped dinner every night this week and your teachers keep calling about unfinished homework assignments. I wouldn't say there's nothing to worry about.”
“I'm not gonna kill myself, alright? Is that what you want from me?” Wilbur snapped at them, pushing away from the table.
He made his way to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He felt a slight pang of guilt when he heard Tommy asking what was wrong.
-
The next morning, no alarm woke Wilbur. He didn't set one.
He woke up and found that it was nearly noon. He had countless texts from his friends at school asking where he was, if he was okay. He knew they were worried about him using again too. He didn’t bother replying, pretty certain that if they were truly concerned they’d have asked Tommy about it and gotten their answer from him.
His head throbbed from the shit sleep he managed to get. His stomach grumbled painfully. He wrapped himself in his blanket and went in search of food. He found Phil standing in the kitchen making grilled cheese.
His adoptive father looked over his shoulder. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
Today was a better day than yesterday. He felt like eating. Plus, grilled cheese was his favorite. Phil knew that. He was doing this on purpose.
“Can we talk about yesterday?”
“I'm sorry,” Wilbur said instantly.
He watched Phil place the grilled cheese on a plate for him. He couldn't look him in the eyes. Phil would see right through him. Right through to the itch where old track marks lay.
“I know. You scared Techno pretty bad, by the way. He couldn't sleep last night.”
“Oh.”
-
The first time Techno learned that Wilbur used, he found him high out of his mind on the bathroom floor. He was sobbing, holding his guitar to his chest.
He was inconsolable.
Techno was the first to find him. He froze, fear in his eyes. How much had he taken, how high was he? He knelt down trying to get Wilbur to answer him. To even look at him.
It was the first time anyone had seen Techno cry. The first time Tommy was speechless.
Phil knew Wilbur had a history with addiction before he came to stay with them. He'd been going to counseling regularly, and hadn't shown any signs of slipping up.
Techno checked to see if he showed signs of overdose. When the answer was most likely a no, he made sure Wilbur drank some water and helped him into bed just as Phil had been woken by Tommy.
Tommy didn't have anything to say. The youngest child sat outside his brother's room for hours in case he needed him.
Techno cried that night. Techno always put up a front, acting like he didn't give a shit about his brothers. It was all a lie.
Wilbur never stopped feeling guilty about it. He secretly wished he’d just taken a little bit more.
-
“I'm really not using. You can check my room, my phone—I swear I'm clean.”
Wilbur rushed out the words. Though they were the truth, they felt like the worlds biggest lie, guilt heavy on his chest. He was usually much better with words, each one chosen so carefully. Each one worth nothing without the next. But he was weak.
“But you want to.”
“Well, that's sort of how addiction works, isn't it?” Wilbur said quietly, picking at the crust of his grilled cheese.
Phil said nothing for what felt like forever. Wilbur nibbled on his sandwich, but guilt made him feel ill.
“Yeah, I want to. Really bad,” Wilbur said finally. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”
“No. I wished you'd said no.”
Wilbur felt the words. They made his chest ache. He wished the answer was no. That he didn't toss and turn and night thinking about the extra secret stash he had hidden under a floorboard in the bottom of Techno’s closet.
Phil would never search that mess for Wilbur’s drugs. It was the best hiding spot imaginable.
Wilbur debated telling him for a moment, just to rid the temptation. He felt safer knowing there was some nearby incase he needed it. He kept his mouth shut.
“Have you been talking to your therapist about this?” Phil asks.
Wilbur nods.
That's true.
He has been. To an extent. He’s told her that he's felt depressed lately. Which is true. With the depression comes the desire to feel something. The solution is in the bottom of his older brother's closet.
“Go wake up your brother,” Phil said, setting out a second plate.
Wilbur looked up surprised. Was that the end of the conversation? It couldn't be.
He got up, going first to Tommy’s room, but found it empty. He saw a bed of blankets and pillows on the floor meaning either Tubbo, Ranboo or both stayed overnight again. Tubbo’s parents fought a lot so he liked to stay here. Ranboo was a mystery to all of them, really, but Phil kept the door open to anyone who might need it.
He went to Technos room and found the pink haired college student sleeping in a burrito of blankets. He was clutching his phone in one hand, the other tucked under his pillow.
“Wake up,” Wilbur said, kicking the end of his bed.
He knew better than to try and shake him awake. He'd lose a finger. Techno grumbled something, hiding further under the blankets.
Wilbur decided that was good enough and left for the kitchen again.
Phil was on the phone when he came back. He looked upset. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Phil let out a string of curses and turned off the stove. “I have to go pick up Tommy. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Try not to kill each other.”
Wilbur shrugged, picking at his food. Phil sighed and made his way toward the door. He wasn’t sure how much time passed between Phil leaving and Techno emerging from his room. He made his way over the pot of coffee and poured himself a cup.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Wilbur said. “The last few days. All of it. I-I know that it affects you too, I’m not stupid. Just--”
“Tired,” they both said.
They shared a moment of silence while Techno sipped on his coffee.
“You even have Tubbo worried, you know?”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow.
“He thinks of you as a brother, Wil,” Techno said.
“I’m not gonna use again,” Wilbur said quietly. Maybe if he said it again, it’d be true.
Techno had no response. Wilbur didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. The only thing on his mind was the needle in Techno’s closet.