Chapter Text
If you told Wilbur that he was going to get abducted by aliens after a gig, he would’ve laughed and continue the conversation, thinking it was a bit. But here he is now, in a pathetic imitation of a dog crate, while a little alien is in the cage next to him. The other aliens, or creatures, that are locked with him try their best to make as much distance as they could away from him-he isn’t sure if it’s because they’re afraid of him. He doesn’t acknowledge it.
His cellmate is a scrawny-looking thing. It has golden scruffs and wide blue eyes. They look like a child to Wilbur, and that observation makes a knot in his stomach tighten. So bringing his life purpose once again-he knows he won’t live to play the guitar again-he promises to protect this young-looking alien with his entire being. Which is pretty easy since you’re considered the apex alien predator; even though Wilbur is the skinniest man alive, they don’t underestimate him.
He watched as the locked are taken out and possibly experimented on. Some don’t even make it back. Wilbur is never awake when they experiment with him. He’s always tranquilized before he even gets the chance to fight back. When they’re done and throw him back into his crate, he wakes up to healed scar tissue on his body and limbs. He knows they took his organs. Sometimes he’s not even hungry when he should be. When others would be.
Wilbur doesn’t bother speaking anymore. Nobody understands him and he doesn’t understand them. The only alien he bothers communicating with is the child, and even that is becoming rare. With the way time is moving, the chances of him ever singing or playing music again will never come. ( A part of him cries at the thought, but he pushes it down. There’s no reason to grieve if he’s going to die soon. )
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The alien captor is a weird fucking thing. It resembles his old Minecraft skin when he was way younger, when he used to play with his friends at the time and play dumb little parodies of squids. The thing is pretty fucking tall, taller than the others that look like its same species; it has a pure white belly and chin while the rest is bright lime scales. It lacks a face, yet it still can speak.
The worst observation he made of the thing was how it seemed to… focus on the little golden spitfire next to his crate. None of the other aliens do anything about it, don’t even seem angry or saddened about it. They just let that thing take away the kid to whatever horrors are beyond that sliding door. He lets himself think of the worse to set aflame the growing anger in his chest.
So since the others choose to turn a blind eye, and he’s nothing but stubborn-he’ll fucking rock this thing’s shit when it comes to retrieve the boy next time.
( Since they’re just going to look at him like he’s an animal, he’ll fucking act like it. )
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When the time came, when that thing would come, Wilbur pushed himself to the front of the crate. He tested the bar’s durability and found himself surprised when they moved with ease. As if they were tough balloons, or long, thin sculptures of clay. He can’t help but slowly blink at the now bent bars, questioning himself if he really let himself stay captured this damn long with the bars being this weak. I mean, Wilbur isn’t the strongest human on Earth, but he isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to fucking bend alien metal.
Pushing that confusion aside, he focused on the problem at hand-the thing coming. It is entering right now and making a straight line for the kid. When it came close enough-he tore open the crate and lunged forward, seeing nothing but the bold color red. Multiple shrill screams echoed around him. He ignored them as he let the anger push him forward. His fingernails had found its way underneath its scales and his hands pulled and pulled, all the while thick liquid coated in the crevices of his fingernails.
The thing howled in pain as it struggled to pull him off, its clawed hands pushing uncomfortably into his skin as it cannot pierce through and kill him. It pushed him to hurt the thing more, to make it scream until it can’t. He wanted to kill it for taking everything away from him, for trying to take it all away from the child as well. He didn’t notice when others entered the room.
He remembers the thing’s grip weakening-and then blacking out as something hard knocked onto his head. Wilbur knew there would be consequences after this, he just wished he could relish its screams.
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They moved him into a smaller cage, one farther away from the child and closer to a green slimy thing. He doesn’t bother glancing at his own appearance, as he can only focus on the child that stares back at him. The surrounding aliens decide they prefer that thing over him as they bang at the bars and scream at him to take away his attention. It doesn’t work as he continues to stare back.
He blinks, and he’s suddenly shoved into a white room. Barely a minute later, the child is shoved in with him. They shout something, but it gets cut short when they see him. Wilbur watches as they shake and cry out for-what he assumes-help. He knows that the young alien is afraid, terrified of him, so he backs himself into a corner and closes his eyes. Hoping that they get the message, that he’s not a threat to him.
Wilbur reopens his eyes when he hears movement-the child now in front of him with wide, fearful, unblinking eyes. Wilbur jolts in surprise, which also makes them quickly move away at the sudden movement. They stare at each other for a bit before Wilbur tries another, less eye covering approach.
Wilbur taps his fingers on the floor, making an easily replicable tune. The child focuses on the movement, unmoving. He does it again, and they try to do it this time. But somehow, they made a mistake. Wilbur quietly chuckles at it, trying to stifle it to prevent scaring the child’s attempts. He does it again, but more slowly and looking expectantly at the kid to replicate it. They huff and try again. This time they’ve done it. Wilbur smiles, but it quickly goes away with how uneasy they look.
Seeing the way Wilbur must look, they shakily try to show their own “smile” by opening their mouth wide. Wilbur smiles back just the same way, and he laughs. He distantly hears footsteps coming towards them.
Wilbur quickly rushed towards the kid, silently apologizing as he hopes they see what he’s trying to do. He pushes them onto the ground, trying his best to soften it, and quickly scans the room. Seeing nothing that could shed blood, he only had his hands and arms.
He looks down at the child staring up at him, terrified, and decides.
Wilbur quickly dug his fingernails into his skin, determined to cover this boy in blood to scare the captors away. He struggled to make it pass the protective layer; he remembers the time he googled if one can pull skin apart-and found that it would be difficult without an opening. Wilbur was nothing but stubborn, so he made it seem easy as adrenaline ran through him.
Wilbur tried his best to tear as much as he could, but stopped once it became too unbearable. He rubs his hand into the open wound and rubs it over the young alien’s weakest areas. They seem to get the message and try to make him stop. Wilbur only shakes his head and smears his own blood over his face. The door behind him slides open and everything freezes. Wilbur tries to find a sudden burst of energy, but he can’t as he stares down at the child, who is frozen with fear. He wishes they could understand each other, just so he could whisper them reassurances and hushed promises to leave this ship.
Wilbur slowly turns his head around, slowly looking at the intruder. They’re frozen where they stand as they stare at him. Ever so slowly, Wilbur mimics the actions of a predator he saw on a documentary (the predator escapes his mind). The alien seems startled at the shifted attention as they carefully step back. To emphasize his “thirst for blood”, he licks at the blood in his mouth and quickly lunges for the alien. Luckily, they’re quicker as they shut the door in his face. He stands there patiently, waiting with bated breath for them to leave.
He hears stumbling feet rush away from the door.
Tiredly, he slumps onto the door as he puts pressure on the still bleeding wound. He checks the kid behind him and finds them staring wide-eyed. Wilbur breathes and falls onto the ground as exhaustion creeps into him. Distantly, he feels arms wrap around his body protectively as he’s dragged on the floor.
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Wilbur wakes up to smoke and hands shaking him awake. He blearily blinks his eyes open, seeing the wide blue-eyed child shielding him away from the blaring red lights.
Wilbur jolts awake as he registers that he’s smelling smoke.
He’ll worry about how this ship fucking crashed after his kid is away from this deathtrap, so on shaky legs, he hurries to find them an exit. Ignoring the fact the kid is covered in suspected alien blood and how a few aliens litter the floor, being very dead.
Wilbur blindly ran around the ship, never having been awake while he’s moved around, and trying to find any hint of light. The kid behind him tired of running around blindly and took the lead. Wilbur let them take the lead but paused when he saw a sliding door broken, revealing the room of cages they kept him in. The young alien kept on moving, and he let them.
He stepped into the room, surveying the cages that appear to be empty. As he kept on looking at empty cages, he finally found some with aliens in them. Wilbur moved quickly as he worked on opening them. The aliens barely reacted as their cages were moving, possibly being unconscious.
Wilbur felt something settle on his shoulder. He spun around, panicked, and only seeing the kid trying to drag him away. He let them, fully knowing that he bust the cages open enough for the aliens to survive on their own.
Finally, after memorizing routes on the kid’s part, they found a way out of the dying ship. Wilbur watched as they hurried out first and followed them.
Wilbur covered his eyes quickly as a bright light blinded him, taking a deep breath as air filled his lungs. Actual, breathable air entering his lungs. Wilbur slowly opened his eyes and almost cried when he saw a close copy of Earth as his surroundings. The difference between the two is that the sky is purple instead of blue; the clouds are closer to the ground and they have buildings on it; there are two suns instead of one and they’re blue; the plantlife isn’t green, but red.
The young alien watched him closely, he wonders if they’re concerned or they’re just looking at him out of curiosity. Wilbur turned his head to look back at them, ensuring that there are no tears seen, and gave them a smile. They gave him a wide, forced smile back.
He waited for them to leave, to run to a civilization and tell them there’s a human on their planet. But they don’t as they patiently stare at him, waiting for him to move first. Wilbur bowed his head at the alien, unsure of what the fuck he was doing to communicate with the young alien. He stood back up as the alien stared at him, confused, head tilted in curiosity.
The young alien took a step and waited, watching what he will do if they move. Wilbur stands still, hoping not to scare them off just after they escaped. The child seemed annoyed at his lack of response and grabbed his arm, then dragged him towards the treeline. He let them, unaware of their plans of survival.
They eventually see some wildlife; big deer with killer antlers; little birds that hunt instead of gather; and wolves that have the face of a rabbit. It was odd, but slightly familiar. Whenever they see the less predatory animals, the kid looks at him as if waiting for him to kill it. But he’s a foster kid musician and not a republican, or someone who hunts. When the prey walks away, the kid looks disappointed and irritated.
He would hunt if he knew how to, but he didn’t have the resources to provide for the growing alien. Wilbur doesn’t know how to care for the alien, he doesn’t know how to care for children at all.
Oh shit. What did he get himself into?