Work Text:
Wilbur knew his parents.
He also knew his parents didn't want him. They just dropped him off at an orphanage when they just lost hope in their son. Wilbur was 7 when he was dropped off, in a strange place, with only his clothes, a mp3 player, and earbuds to his name.
He later learned his parents were junkies and they couldn't afford to keep Wilbur. They had to spend that money on drugs, not a child.
Wilbur was 9 when he realized that.
The brunette was lucky, painfully lucky. Other kids got placed in bad homes (Wilbur could've sworn he got second-hand trauma from some of those stories.) He was only ever placed in homes that were good. They just had dumb rules, like no sneaking out and be home before 7pm, go to sleep at 8 - you know, strict. Wilbur never intended to sneak out and become a 'bad kid' as they called it. Strict parents always spoke badly of the kids that smoked and shit. Wilbur never set out to be a 'bad kid' but they pushed their expectations of his parents, who Wilbur didn't even fucking remember that well, to eventually become a drug addict.
His parents abandoned him for drugs, why would he decide to do them?
Either way, he got passed around a lot. He, luckily, never was quite in a 'bad home.'
Pretty soon, he got old enough that he seemed to be somewhat permanently placed with this nice family. They had a child of their own, a daughter, that went to a college nearby. The elderly couple wanted a child with energy, someone with youth, to brighten up the house since their daughter was gone so often.
And, Wilbur was in middle school. What better than to foster a middle school kid? They're one of the loudest age group to be recorded.
Wilbur smiled, acted like the kid they wanted him to be. Wilbur was good at that, at fitting in. He was good at it. Nobody would break his act. Nobody would break it.
(No, he isn't depressed, Wilbur insists. He's just an angsty middle schooler. That's it.)
He made friends in school. Schlatt and his friends (Wilbur never bothered to learn their names) would sneak out (because their parents didn't care) and go out drinking, smoking, and Wilbur (despite swearing to never turn to the things that made his parents abandon him), found himself privy to fit in with his peers.
So.
He smoked. He started to do the singular thing he swore he wouldn't do. He swore he wouldn't become like his deadbeat parents who abandoned him at an orphanage, but… he couldn't help it.
He felt better. The looming darkness, the looming pain that was always there just… disappeared. He didn't feel the sadness anymore.
He found himself sneaking out to smoke with Schlatt more than he'd like to admit.
---
Risha, the elderly couple's daughter, came home with another foster kid (Wilbur would be able to recognize one anywhere). Her name was Sally, and Risha and Sally were soulmates. Wilbur could only smile as he subconsciously tugged on his long sleeve to cover the marks he made over the guitar on his wrist - as if he was ashamed of it, as if he was insecure.
Because if his soulmates cared, then why couldn't they rescue him? He felt like he was drowning.
It only took a week before Sally was fostered in place of Wilbur, and Wilbur was back in the system.
God, Wilbur needed to breathe. He needed to go. He needed to smoke. He needed to fucking take a smoke.
So, the 11-year-old kid told his social worker that he just wanted to visit the park (he was still a kid) and Niki was kind enough to let Wilbur take the break. (Wilbur thought Niki was like the older sister he never had.) And Wilbur took out his cig and took a smoke in the comfort of the park.
"Mate, you good? You seem a bit young to be smoking-"
"And what's it to you, old fuck," the brunette snapped, not really in the mood to be dealing with this white-and-green bucket hatted guy who seemed to not know how to give personal space to random children at the park. Wilbur was fine.
He wasn't stressed out. He was fine.
The man laughed heartily, as if Wilbur didn't just call him a fuck, and replied, "Well, it is my business since you are my soulmate. I see the wings on the back of your neck."
Wilbur froze.
His what now?
The strangers, Wil's soulmate apparently, lifted his right sleeve, showing two black wings on his shoulder. Wilbur could only stare in a mix of relief and horror.
"I'm Phil."
"...Wilbur."
Wilbur didn't know what to say. Sure, he wished every day that his soulmates would find him and save him from suffocating in his own turmoil, but he didn't actually expect to meet his soulmate. He wasn't ready yet. He needed to be better. He was a smoker, he was an addict, he was everything that he couldn't be - the person that abandoned him in the first place. He didn't want to be left because Wilbur was strange or looked off. He had to be better, he had to be better.
God, if Phil saw the cuts on Wilbur's wrists, Phil would leave him.
So Wil put on a strained smile.
---
They got to talking. Wilbur put this front of being a good child, one that didn't sneak out to smoke with Schlatt and his gang. Sure, he smoked still, but every kid had their quirks. Wilbur didn't miss the look of veiled concern whenever he caught Phil staring at him (he wasn't disgusted, right?). Wilbur tried to stay calm.
He needed to breathe. He needed to smoke.
"Where's your family?" the blonde old man asked with his fatherly smile. Wilbur didn't want to see that face turn into disappointment once Phil realized how fucked up Wilbur was.
"I'm a foster kid," the brunette stated. It was no use hiding it. "I'm in between houses. I was just taken out of my last home today."
"Oh. That sucks, mate," the man simply said, showing sympathy towards the middle schooler. "What was your name again?"
"Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. Why?" the kid asked, unknowing to the disaster he just signed himself up for.
"No reason," Phil smiled warmly, patting the brunette's shoulder. "I'll help you back to your social worker if you don't mind. We could exchange numbers while we do that." Wilbur, not really knowing how to react to this soulmate thing just nodded and went along with it.
---
Wilbur woke up the next morning, adopted, apparently. Niki was ecstatic, saying that the man that adopted Wilbur was really nice and specifically asked for Wilbur. Wilbur didn't know if this was a good, or a bad thing. For one, he heard of the horror stories. On the other hand, he had a hopeful feeling that he knew who it was.
Niki was told she wasn't supposed to tell Wil who adopted him.
So Wilbur climbed into that crummy small car filled with scented nicknacks, blankets, and stuffed animals to arrive at this nice house. It was no stranger to Wilbur because some houses he went to were this nice, but he was always just a charity case for them. Like, oh look… I'm fostering a troubled kid, look at me, I'm such an upstanding member of society!
And then he saw Phil, smiling on the porch, patiently waiting for Wil's arrival.
Wilbur didn't know whether to freeze in fear (what if Phil found out Wil was a failure ) or to cry in relief because some part of him was happy at the prospect of living with his soulmate, the one person who would always be there. So, Wilbur smiled. Phil would never find out how much of a fuckup he was.
---
"Okay, Wilbur," Phil said. "...I thought of a few rules you'll have to follow, if that's alright?"
"Sure."
"1. We don't talk about this," Phil suddenly had wings. Wilbur just blinked in shock because avians were rare, rarer than legendary pokemon in the video games (Ash Ketchup found way too many legendaries in the show/movies). "2. Tell me if you need anything, physically or emotionally. 3: No smoking-" Wil almost started to yell at Phil, but held back because this was Phil - he needed Phil to like him. Wilbur could give up smoking if it was for Phil (that was a lie). "-in the house. I'd really prefer if you didn't. You're 11. But I understand the world can be cruel." He could keep smoking.
But Phil didn't like smoking.
Phil didn't want it in the house.
...was this a roundabout way of telling Wilbur to stop smoking? He hoped he caught on properly. Some families got really annoyed when he didn't understand them. (Some part of him knew Phil wasn't like that.)
If it was for Phil, he could do it. He didn't want to be left. He didn't want to be alone. Phil was his soulmate. His soulmate had to like him. Wilbur didn't want to be abandoned again.
So if Wil obsessed over his grades and being perfect in everything, nobody had to know.
---
"Wilbur, we need to talk."
"Yeah, what's up, Phil?" Wilbur greeted as casually as possible. They'd lived together for three months now. Wilbur was almost sober. He could do it. He hadn't gone out with Schlatt and the gang in a while, at least to smoke, but he did go to the arcade and raid abandoned buildings with them a lot.
Phil paused, and simply said, "I think you may need therapy."
"What? What do you mean? I'm not broken."
Wilbur wanted to correct himself and say that he was broken; he was just, unfixable. But he didn't want Phil to realize he was broken. People throw broken toys away, so Phil would throw Wilbur away, right? That made sense. It made sense.
Phil solemnly continued, "Don't think I haven't seen them, on your wrist." Wilbur's breath hitched. This was the part Phil would realize that Wilbur Soot Minecraft was a failure, broken, horrible, a waste of space. Maybe Phil would send him back. His own soulmate hated him- "-and how you try so hard to please me, when all you have to do is be yourself."
Wilbur could've sworn the world became blurry.
"...and I know it's easier said than done, but you don't have to be… good at everything. I just want you to be happy, genuinely happy. Not that fake smile you always give me to reassure me. It isn't your job to reassure the adult, mate."
It was almost as if Phil could read Wilbur's mind.
"No matter what you do, I will always be here. I will be proud of you - unless you commit murder or something heinous like that - but I will always root for your happiness even if you do commit a murder. I don't care if it's ugly, mate. I just want you to be honest."
And just like that, Wilbur Soot's dam broke.
In each other's embrace, Wilbur sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. If Phil shed a tear, they would be the only ones that ever knew. They were the only ones in the room after all.
---
Wilbur went to therapy, begrudgingly. He hated it at first. He liked his therapist, yeah (he was lucky it was that easy). Her name was Puffy, she was nice, and wasn't super stuffy. She liked Wilbur, complimented him, and never pushed Wilbur into talking about shit. It'd take time, and all of them knew that, but it was a step in the right direction.
When Wilbur turned 13, he was clean. When Wilbur turned 13, he was on meds to regulate the chemicals in his brain that fucked with him. When Wilbur turned 13, he was truly happy.
He wasn't the Wilbur that Phil first met.
And, oh, Wilbur pursued music. He really liked music, specifically the guitar. (Sure, he always liked music, but they'd never let him take lessons or get a guitar - not until Phil, that is.) Wilbur was in a good place.
Schlatt was only getting worse. It got exponentially worse when Wilbur found out that Schlatt and his soulmate got into a huge fight (the whole school heard about it) and Schlatt's soulmate hadn't been heard or seen since.
The ram hybrid was the last to see his soulmate before he went missing.
Wilbur didn't know what he'd do if he was the last person to see his soulmate before they went missing. Phil… Phil didn't deserve that.
---
It was good. Wilbur was happy. Schlatt had started to move on. (It was just more drinking and drugs to cope.) And Wilbur had tried to help him, but he pushed Wilbur away.
So Wilbur went back home and watched a documentary about anteaters and decided from then on, he'd hate them. They were so… ugh.
It was the day before Wilbur's birthday when Phil came back home with a piglin hybrid, Phil's gold ring on the child's hand. Wilbur saw the golden crown on the piglin's neck, matching the crown on Wilbur's heart. And with a smile, Wilbur knew everything was only going to get better from here on out.
They had three out of four.
Soon, they would be complete. He just knew it.