Chapter Text
Wilbur's night was going quite nicely, he had just gone to buy groceries at 11 pm in the nearest convenience store once he realized he didn't have enough to make soup, and decided to walk through some alleyways to shortcut his way home.
he hummed to himself as his totebag hit his hip rhythmically along every step he took, his eyes fixed on the illuminated street he was about to emerge in.
Wilbur's night was going quite nicely.
until it wasn't.
His mind went blank as suddenly an unknown figure pushed him roughly againts the wall of the alleyway, his back screaming in protest at the rough bricks that made him think he'd just lose his spine at the ripe age of 25
"hu-wha?" he blinked a few times at the man in front of him, who he couldn't see too well because of the darkness of the alleyway engulfing the both of them, as suddenly something was roughly pushed againts his chest
"give me your money and phone, now." the man- kid? sneered at Wilbur, clearly trying to deepen his childish voice, the object which Wilbur now horrifyingly recognized as the barrel of a gun pressing painfully againts his torso.
Wilbur, in all honesty, had to stop himself from laughing at the sheer absurdity of the scene. The one time he decides to go out late at night by himself and he gets mugged, incredible. How'd the guy even get a gun? This is England, he'd imagine a mugging would happen with a knife instead, as the statistics say.
"um" he started, his hands slowly clutching at his totebag, "i dont have any money except some change, if you want that." he reached into his bag to pull out a few spare coins. He didn't bring his wallet along with him (thank god) as he only expected to buy a few groceries and hurry back home.
the prick that was currently mugging him (and doing a very, very pathetic job at it) groaned out in anger, he could slightly see his free hand going to slap at his face in frustration, before the guy recollected himself "whatever, I don't need your fucking change. give me your phone" he pushed the gun aggressively once more, which got an uncomfortable flinch out of Wilbur.
unfortunately for the guy, Wilbur also didn't bring his phone, because he didn't expect for some asshole to ask for it in the middle of the night in a dark, wet alleyway.
Wilbur huffed, "listen man, I don't have shit on me except for a bag of chips and like, a celery stick and broth. I don't know what you want me to do."
there was silence hanging between them for a few seconds as the older thought he'd just get shot right there and then, his heartbeat ringing in his ears, as he mentally prepared his own will.
God he didn't get to annoy Phil enough before his death, and his band would never have their first performance in front of a real public, and he would never get to adopt a cat and-
"... the chips"
"huh?"
suddenly, the pressure on the gun released, the barrel still touching his body but not pushing againts it anymore.
"I want you to give me the chips" his assalitor- which okay, it was definitely a teenager by the sound of his voice - said, almost shyly.
Wilbur's eyebrows raised in surprise, before he dug into his totebag and pulled out the bag of chips, offering it to the kid, who quickly snatched it out of his hand.
the teen stepped away, closer to the exit of the alleyway, pushing his own back to the opposite wall and opening the bag in silence, as he slipped his gun in his Jean's pocket ('impractical', Wilbur thought)
Wilbur could see the teenager more clearly now thanks to the light emanating from the street lamp: he had a red hoodie on, the hood covering a mess of blond curls poking out of it. His eyes were baby blue (the same color as Phil's, he noted) and his face looked.. battered.
Wilbur winced at the sight of a busted lip, before the kid threw way too many chips in his mouth, chewing on them desperately like a wild animal.
"so..." the older started, shifting awkwardly on his feet as the teen's eyes quickly fixed on him, "what's... a child doing outside at like, midnight? Mugging people?" he asked, just to break the tension.
"fuck off, I'm not a child." the blonde spat, chip crumbs falling out his mouth, before shoving even more of them in it and chewing aggressively (ew, Wilbur grimaced)
"and it's none of your fucking business." he pointed an accusing finger directly in wilbur's direction "what's a guy like YOU doing out this late at night? huh? you a fucking creep or something?" the kid accused, narrowing his eyes at the older.
Wilbur crossed his arms indignantly, an offended expression overtaking his features, "okay well i dont want to hear that from the guy that litterally tried to mug me like three seconds ago." he tapped his foot, "which by the way, you sucked at that" he spat back, watching in amusement as the blonde gasped in offense
"you fucking asshole! Do you know how hard it is to mug people with a fake gun?" the younger hissed at him, pulling the- apparently fake - weapon out of his jean pocket
"the max i could do with this is like, hit you in the head! " he pulled at the trigger, a small flag with 'bang!' written on it emerging from the barrel.
Wilbur's eyes widened, "you're telling me i lost a bag of chips to a fake gun?" he muttered, his eyebrows furrowing, "that's like, the best part of dinner! The snack after the actual meal!" he shouted , his hand coming up to his head to run through his brown locks.
The kid's offended expression suddenly turned into a smug grin at Wilbur's distress, "yeah bitch? You lost to a so called 'child', how does it feel to be a fucking loser?" the blonde confidently crossed his arms, mirroring Wilbur's previous pose.
Wilbur sighed, annoyance coating his tone, before he looked back at the teen in front of him, his eyes suddenly softening the more he analyzed him.
the kid looked... horrible, to say the least. he looked lanky, too lanky for him to be of a healthy weight. his clothes looked a bit torn, mud covering the bottom of his jeans, and he had scratches all over his knuckles. he looked back at his face, noticing dried blood right under his nose, as well as a few bruises painting his face unpleasant shades of purple.
"what?" the teen asked once he realized he was being stared at, "you admiring my great physique?" he grinned, showing off his nonexistent muscles to Wilbur.
The older gave him a deadpan expression, before an idea formed in his mind.
"do you want to have dinner with me?"
"huh??" the blonde's eyes blew wide, the guy straightening his figure as if Wilbur's words had physically struck him "You DO realize i mugged you, right?"
Wilbur gave him another deadpan expression
"you tried." he corrected, "you tried to mug me of my money and phone and got a bag of chips out of it" he raised an eyebrow as the kid looked away, almost embarrassed at the callout.
"fuck off- wait, are you going to like, kidnap me?" he questioned distrustfully- which honestly? Fair.
"Why would I do that? You'd probably bite me and give me rabies if i tried to grab you"
"I'd do that regardless-"
"Okay, aside from you giving me a life threatening disease, do you want the soup or not?"
The teen seemed perplexed for a second, looking down at his own bruised hands, before looking back up and narrowing his eyes
"You do realize I'll backstab you given the chance"
"Will it be with a plastic knife? Like the gun?" Wilbur rolled his eyes
"Oh my god you're so fucking annoying-"
"just answer the question!"
"DIE!"
Wilbur ended up walking home alongside his own mugger, about to share his dinner with him