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He felt empty. Which wasn’t to say he felt nothing. It was just that before, a good laugh with this friends would keep him in a good mood for the rest of the day. Now, it faded just like it came. He felt things but they didn’t stick.
So here he was, barely 5 minutes after he ended stream, curled up in a ball beside his bed. The hype had worn off so fast. He had been so happy, he had been Wilbur Soot, the cheerful guy with the crazy hair and songs and smiles but now? Now he was just William, the fucked up guy with nothing better to do then curl up and cry, pathetic and abandoned.
That wasn’t a reasonable train of thought. After all, there were the content creators that filled his contacts, Dream and Niki and Schlatt and Minx. And the Sleepy Bois, the people who were his found family! Well, more like his only family.
His mum had died, and he couldn’t fault her for that. She had been sick for a long time, starting when Wilbur was born, and died when Wilbur was maybe 7. Wilbur still had a couple memories of her, doing things like baking and arts and crafts and even playing video games together.
Of course, the time of his birth and her sickness were so close that people assumed that was the cause. It was perfectly logical, after all. Mothers could get sick from giving birth, and Wilbur’s mum got sick after giving birth, and that was that.
And so Wilbur’s dad was a little hard on him, but he deserved it. It was his fault that his mum had died, and he deserved what he was getting and so much more, none of it good. There were always a couple good things. Contrary to every movie and book ever, his step-mum, Gianna, was nice. She brought him food when his father was too drunk to give him any, or when his father had deemed that he didn’t deserve it. She wrapped up his worst injuries. And when he told her that his name was Wilbur and that he wasn’t a girl like everyone had thought, she was fine with that too, and even bought him his first binder and helped him through dysphoria.
But his father got worse, and Gianna got worse with him. She drank more and then smoked more and then Gianna wasn’t who Wilbur had known. Wilbur knew that Gianna didn’t mean anything she said, and that there couldn’t be force behind her blows because this was Gianna, and that it wasn’t her fault. It was the alcohol and the cigarettes. And so Wilbur helped her all he could, through his father’s funeral and through the birth of his step-brother, Noah.
The two had moved away, all the way to Oregon, so he didn’t know how they were doing, but he hoped they were well. Noah had always been nice, inviting Wilbur to play video games with him and offering to help with his chores, and Gianna had started to stay sober, and she was at two weeks clean when they moved. Wilbur knew that Gianna just wanted the best for all of them, so couldn’t object when he was placed in foster care.
He had become him in that first house. They were nice and that was so foreign, but they had promised to help. They accepted him and bought him that stupid, loud cat piano when they heard he liked music. Even though he was 14 nearly 15 and too old for a cat piano, he still took it gratefully and kept it until now.
But then they were deported. See, both of them were in the Navy, and they were gone as quick as they had come. But at least for 6 months, he had had someone there. And so what if the next houses (he had lost count, mosntly because he was in a new one almost every week, stupid, weak, useless, bratty, loud) were just like his father? They were just punishing him because he deserved it.
And then Wilbur had found himself in a nice enough if not absent house that out money towards his education. And yeah, maybe he didn’t see them at all and yeah, maybe he wanted a hug or some words of praise now and again, but he was grateful for someone wanting him at all, so he stayed.
It was only later that he realized that they just wanted to be able to say they had a foster kid rather than him, the foster kid in the flesh, but that was fine. It was a win-win situation. He had a home and food, and they got to say that they loved him, even if Wilbur knew that he was unlovable. And so he stayed, living by himself until he was old enough to go to college and university, then to take the money his foster parents had left for him and went to start his own life.
He had gotten a small flat and a laptop, working as a part time barista and part time streamer. He had never expected anyone to actually like him, but then it happened. Subscriber milestones came and went, propelling him up to YouTube fame. And he had momentarily forgotten his shitty life and his horrible qualities, rising on that wave of happiness.
He had connected with so many people, especially Phil and Techno and Tommy. He had so many messages saying that he had brightened their lives and that his content was funny. There were always the mean messages every now and then, but his mods did a good job of stopping them, and there were always his friends to cheer him up.
But now, the messages were too many for his mods to handle. And they only echoed his own thoughts. That he was worthless and unlovable, and that as soon as someone knew the real him, the broken him, everything would be ruined.
And so things got worse. It was a lot of things, really. His find was a foggy storm of negativity. He couldn’t eat properly. He was tired all the time. He couldn’t reach out to anybody about this, because he was the guy who smiled while everyone else broke down. He was the sunshine, and sun home didn’t take off days. Sunshine didn’t say that it was too much work to be bright for everyone else. Sunshine didn’t, so he didn’t either.
There was the moment when he had known he was past the point of no return. He had been slicing up an apple when, somehow, he had managed to nick his wrist with the knife. He had cursed, but then stopped. It felt good. It felt like all his insecurities were slowly but surely putting out of him. He had a quickly moved to the bathroom, not wanting to get blood on the Apple or his cutting board. And he had made three narrow, shallow cuts in each arm. And it had kept happening. Knives, scissors, and even a sharp pencil were used to give himself some sort of relief.
Then there had been a meet up with Phil, not streamed or blogged but just as friends. Of course, Phil wouldn’t want to be friends with Wilbur if he knew anything about him and how tucked up he was, but he went anyway. He had pulled on a long sleeved shirt, a yellow sweater, and a black parka so make sure that Phil wouldn’t see his wrists, which at this point we’re perpetually covered in scars, cuts, and bandages. And the best part was that this was during the cold Brighton January, so things weren’t suspicious at all.
When Phil had stepped off the Tube, Wilbur had run up to him to greet him and lead him to a café, not the one he had worked at but a local café with amazing pastries. Wilbur had not expected to be tackled in a hug by the older man. And everything had frozen.
He hadn’t even his skin had been crawling until it had stopped. He couldn’t move, but he didn’t really want to. It was like fire, pleasant fire shooting through his body. He felt safe. Wanted. He had managed to regain his wits enough to tentatively hug back. Phil had pulled away and his body cried, but Wilbur just plastered on a smile and led Phil to the café, then to the beach, then to an arcade and back to the Tube. Phil hadn’t touched him since that first hug, and while Wilbur still needed that sense of okayness, he was thankful. Because if someone hugged him again, Wilbur wasn’t sure if he would be able to let go.
And somehow, all of this led back to tonight, with Wilbur hunched over next to his bed. Blood and tears stained his carpet as his hand clenched around a bottle. Not a beer bottle, since any sort of alcohol still took his back to his childhood, but a pill bottle. Niki had stayed with him for a night a year or two ago, and had brought along a bottle of pain relievers from- was it a broken arm? Or maybe a sprained ankle, or perhaps a surgery? His foggy brain couldn’t recall. But he did know that she had left the bottle here by mistake, then told him that she was due for a medication change anyway, and to just throw them out. He had stashed them in the back of his first aide kit, and hadn’t touched them.
Until now. “Stupid childproof caps,” he muttered as he tried to open the bottle with shaky hands. Eventually, he just smashed the bottle on the wall. Orange plastic and pills flew out. Wilbur scooped up most of the wreckage, carefully tossing aside the plastic until he was left with about 30 tablets. He pulled himself up and stumbled his way to his desk, grabbing his phone and a bottle of water.
He had planned this night subconsciously it seemed, because he was quickly walking out of his flat and down to a nearby lake. He fell heavily to the ground. A single pill slipped through his fingers and bounced off, down the slight hill and into the black water with a soft plop.
Quickly, he was shoving the top piled down his throat, only stopped for the occasional gasping sob or drink of water. The water bottle tumbled form his hand, and he was forced to dry swallow the last couple. Most depictions of an overdoes were of fog slowly settling in over your mind, but right now? Everything was clicking together like puzzle pieces.
He hadn’t wrote a note. That was a big thing. How selfish was that? The least he could have done was tell his friends that this wasn’t their fault, because he knew that they would feel guilty. They were good people, too good for Wilbur.
Another thing was that his binder was cutting into his skin painfully. He could feel his ribs aching, but he had kept it on for 2 days, what was a couple more minutes going to do?
His hand was moving on its own, snatching up his phone and opening Discord. They had just done a Sleepy Bois stream, so no one should be live. He quickly joined their call and listened. If he had one last memory, it was going to be of them. Of Phil, who was kind and patient and like a father to him. Of Techno, was was awkward but tried his best, who spouted Sun Tzu quotes and catchphrases daily. Of Tommy, who was young and loud and blood and crazy but had a heart of gold.
“Oh hey Wil,” Phil suddenly said. “You left the call really suddenly earlier, is everything okay mate?” Wilbur wanted to laugh, because everything was clearly not okay.
“Wilbur?” It was almost comical how Techno and Tommy had lined up their speech. Wilbur wanted to bask in this feeling of family forever. Which was when it happened. A sudden realization that shook his from the calm that the pills had placed him in.
“Phil, I- I think I messed up,” he hiccupped. “I don’t- I don’t want- I don’t think I want to die, Phil.” Because he didn’t want to die, did he? He just wanted to be what he could have been. If his dad hadn’t been who he was. If his mom was still alive. If Gianna had stayed kind and caring. If he had actually thought he was worth anything. But maybe nothing would be different. Who would know? “Goddammit Phil, I- I-“ Wilbur let out a truly pathetic sob. Guilt struck him as he remembered that Tommy, 16 year old, happy go lucky Tommy was listening to this. And Techno, who had enough of his won problems all the way across the sea. And Phil, who should be with his friends and his wife. “I’m sorry, I can just go-“
“NO!” Wilbur couldn't tell who had spoken, but he thought it was Phil. It wasn't deep enough to be Techno's- although, they had heard Techno's voice climb to impressive new octaves when Phil was being chased by a baby zombie. "Wil, just- where are you?" Wilbur jerkily turned his head one way, and then the next.
"I really don't know," Wilbur slurred, flopping backwards. The grass immediately caused his body to erupt in itches, mud soaked his faded yellow sweater, and twigs and rocks poked into his back. He couldn't bring himself to care. His reason and logic, something he had always prided himself over, was failing him at this moment. His selfishness took over, and he was just looking forward to being gone. Even if there was nothing, he thought that darkness and silence would be nice. "I'm just by a fucking lake, and it's really pretty..."
That was true, Wilbur realized as he looked up at the night sky, far enough away from any buildings to see the stars. Branches and leaves blocked his view, slightly, but for the most part, he could gaze freely up at the stars. Did people really become stars when they died, or was that a children's story? He thought he would like to be a star, maybe even in a constellation.
"Okay." The voice who had spoken before spoke again, shaking this time. Wilbur took a labored breath. "Can you send your address?" Wilbur couldn't move his body. Even breathing was a big request at this point. He heard sounds crackling through the shitty phone speakers, sounds that sounded like a car. His head felt fuzzy. Maybe he should just take a nap...
"Can't really move at the moment," Wilbur chuckled dryly. A thought inexplicably came to mind: a video game he had played ages ago, almost a month or two after it had came out. He couldn't remember the title, but it was about a book club, essentially. Psychological horror, just the genre he liked. It had been during a good spot in his life, when the dark scenes hadn't disturbed him.
There was a character. S... Sa... Sayori. Yeah, Sayori. She was so happy. Bright and bubbly and kooky and smiling. Then she revealed she was depressed. And her mindset was a perfect representation of Wilbur's own. It was like staring at a kawaii, anime, bright colored version of himself. Having people care about him was so... (ambient? Ambiguous? oh, it was) ambivalent. He longed for someone to just be near him, to say that he was worth something, but at the same time, they could be doing so many other things. They could be doing things that were so much more worthwhile than what, taking care of someone who should be able to take care of himself? Someone who was too weak to take care of himself?
"Wait, I can look at it on Snapchat. He was talking to me, like, 3 hours ago. Give me a sec." Tommy. Guilt struck through him. He was breaking like this in front of Tommy, the kid who was like a lightbulb. He shined so bright for others, and yeah, he needed energy, praise and kindness and hugs, but anybody did, right? Anybody would need those things. Even Wilbur needed them, he knew, but he didn't deserve them. He could do nothing to deserve them.
"Okay, I DM'd it to you," Tommy said, and Wilbur could hear the tears clinging to his voice. He could picture Tommy right now, drawing from an image of him during a breakdown he had had months before about hate comments that he hadn't deserved in the slightest. Pale and shaking like a leaf, blue eyes blown open wide while tears poured down his cheeks, not sobbing audibly, but shoulders heaving and lips trembling and occasional whimpers escaping him. Wilbur's big brother instinct kicked in.
"Tommy, it's okay," he said, trying to be calming. He could barely talk loud enough to register in his phone due to his binder crushing him. He heard car wheels screeching and saw lights - headlights? - flashing behind him. "It's fine. You won't have to deal with me anymore." Now, he heard sobs crackling through his speakers. It sounded like multiple people at the same time, but his hazed thoughts weren't comprehending that properly. All he could do was wonder, Why would that make someone cry? Why wouldn't someone want to get rid of him?
"Wil, did you have anymore songs in mind?" a strained voice said, and that was Techno, right? Deep and monotone and comforting, but right now, it was quivering ever so slightly. Wilbur blinked at the sudden question, a breath laugh bubbling out of him. "Answer the question."
"No... nothing in part... part... particular," he gasped out. His breathing was no longer just a struggle; it was a fight to get one breath in and out, and even though Wilbur didn't want to, his body kicked into overdrive, fighting for a life he didn't particularly care about.
"PHIL!" His body spasmed at the sudden yell. if he was in a normal state of mind, he would be concerned that his attempt at a flinch turned into a spasm, but right now, he was focussed on all the other spasms wracking his body. "PHILLL! FOLLOW MY VOICE! PHILLL!"
He heard footsteps, both near him and over the phone. "Phil, leave call and call 911," he heard Techno command. There was the sound of a user leaving the call.
"It's 119," Wilbur correctly dazedly, a small smile curling on his lips. "Fuc-king A-A-Americans, innit?" He heard a wet chuckle from the other end. It sounded like he was underwater now; everything was muted. Black danced at the corner of his vision. Maybe he should just take a nap...?
A face suddenly filled his vision. Phil. Phil looked utterly broken. Why would Phil be so worked up over him? He tried to smile, reaching out a shaking hand to cradle Phil's. Tears fell onto his face as Phil cried silently, talking into his phone while his hand tightened around Wilbur's. A strangled gasp escaped him at the fire that spread through his body from the contact. But the warmth quickly faded as an icy chill spread through his body. Black was settling over his vision. He let himself slip into blackness with open arms, letting the already muted voices and sobs and lights fade out into nothing, nothing, nothing.
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He hadn't expected the blackness to part, to give way to blinding silver lights. He stifled a groan at the way light stung his retinas. He quickly scrunched his eyes closed, breathing slowly. Wilbur opened his eyes again, slowly, and quickly became aware of several, several things.
1. He could breath easily, which meant that someone took his binder off.
2. He was in the hospital. That was an easy one to work out, but that didn't make it any less worrying.
3. He could feel bodies in the same room as him. It was creepy phrased like this, wasn't it?
Wilbur pushed himself up, slowly and carefully, to peer at the two people curled up on him. Even though Tommy was over 6 foot and Phil was only 5'11", Tommy was curled up in a shitty hospital chair and tucked into Phil's side. Phil's arm was thrown over Tommy's back protectively. Tilting his head, he could see Kristen and Tommy's parents through the small, slightly tinted window. They talked for a while, and Tommy's parents left. Kristen typed something in her phone and Phil's phone dinged. Wilbur quickly shut his eyes when he thought Kristen would look at him, and waited for the footsteps to fade out.
A small muffled groan fell out of Tommy's lips, and Wilbur couldn't hold back a small coo at how innocent Tommy looked. Even though he liked to say he wasn't a child, he looked so small and pure. Wilbur watched as Tommy's blue eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and sleepy. Realization seemed to strike him like lightning, cause Tommy was suddenly sitting up, nearly throwing Phil to the floor. Said wife haver jerked up abruptly.
Wilbur suddenly became aware of the IV in his arm, meaning he couldn't cross his arms over his chest, unbinded because of course the universe wanted to screw him over. His chest had never been that big, really, but it still sparked his dysphoria. He watched Phil and Tommy's expressions, the emotions that tumbled through nearly identical blue eyes. Quickly but still carefully, Tommy all but threw himself at Wilbur, holding him tight. Wilbur felt tears soak threw the thin hospital gown. Another pair of arms draped over Tommy's body, still managing to curl around his neck.
"Hey there," Wilbur choked out, a smile spreading on his lips. The now familiar fire spread through his body, like a swarm of burning hot bees settling under his skin. But this time, Wilbur sank into the feeling, ignoring his tense muscles in favor for the safe feeling that spread throughout his entire body.
He saw a nurse poke her head in the door, her brown eyes immediately finding the hug pile. She smiled slightly, then disappeared back into the hallway, probably to get doctor. Wilbur shifted a little bit, trying to get into a more comfortable position while not upsetting his IV.
"Ahem." Phil and Tommy pulled back at the same time to reveal a young looking doctor. "I'm Doctor Charlie Kennedy," they said with a bright smile, reaching out their hand. Wilbur couldn't quite muster the strength to raise his arm, but watched, slightly defeated, as Tommy and Phil shook their hand with strained smile.
"Right, well," they began, shuffling through the papers on their clipboard. "Mr. Soot suffered an almost fatal overdose last night. In addition, he was malnourished, dehydrated, showed signs of sleeping too much, overbinding, and appears to be self-harming." Wilbur winced. At least the doctor hadn't misgendered him, like hospitals and doctors tended to do, but other than that... yeah, this was bad.
He spaced out slightly as the doctor kept talking. He really didn’t want to listen, and didn’t want to watch Tommy and Phil’s faces as the doctor kept talking. The doctor waved the nurse back in. The two of them did things like adjust the IV and take some notes, then left, closing the door behind them with a small click.
The silence was pressing around him, and he kept his eyes on his frail hands, his long fingers entangled with each other. He felt exposed. The door opened again and the nurse stepped in. She had several leaflets which she wordlessly handed to Phil. “I’m Nurse Jenny Davidson, call for me if you need me,” she said quietly, then slipped out once again.
“Wil...” Phil started, before stopping to clear his throat. “Wilbur.” Phil sat down on the edge of his bed and grabbed one of his hands in his own. “Look at me.” Wilbur kept his eyes trained on his hands, but he was t really seeing. He was caught up in his own head. “Wilbur.”
Wilbur finally raised his eyes to Phil’s, and Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat. Phil’s eyes looked overwhelmingly sad, and dark eye bags and dried tears clear on his pale skin. Guilt crashed over him like a wave, and he couldn’t help the thoughts that kicked up. Look what you did. You did this. You should just kill yourself- oh wait! You can’t even do that right. Look at how worthless you are. You’re causing all these people so much pain, so much stress.
“Wil, you’re crying,” Tommy piped up, slightly subdued. Sure enough, Wilbur was silently crying, shaking so bad that his hand nearly slipped from Phil’s grip.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so fucking sorry, I- I really shouldn’t have done that. You really don’t need to worry, just- sign the fucking forms, I guess, and you can go.” He needed Tommy and Phil to just leave, because he didn’t deserve them to be here, no matter how much he wanted it.
“Mate...” Phil said sadly, wrapping his arms around Wilbur tightly. Wilbur clung to him pathetically, burying his face in Phil’s shoulder. “Mate, why would we leave you? We’re your friends.”
“I don’t- I can’t- you shouldn’t be,” Wilbur managed to sputter out. The hands around him tightened. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t...”
Phil slowly shook his head. He waved Tommy to join them, and Tommy quickly obliged, wrapping his long arms around the two of them.
The three stayed like that for a long, long while. Wilbur felt himself dozing off, even though he tried desperately to stay awake. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, and maybe that was okay. Maybe that was better than okay.
In fact, it might have been the best news he had heard all day.