Chapter Text
Wilbur’s leg won’t stop bouncing.
The sound usually annoys Techno, who is sensitive to even the slightest fidget, but he’s oblivious to Wilbur’s unbridled anxiety. In the race for passenger seat, Wilbur had lost despite being the first one to collide against the car door with a high-pitched, “Dibs!”
His father had tsked at him and mumbled, “You know how Techno gets with his nausea. Can’t you just sit in the back, please?” He had phrased it as a question, but Wilbur knew it was anything but.
Two hours pass, and Wilbur slouches across the backseat. Phil’s eyes land on him in the mirror. No doubt is he biting back another scold for him to sit upright, but he silences himself. Wilbur thanks for the small mercy and closes his eyes.
The truck rolls over an obstacle, and Wilbur almost slides off the seat. He’s pushed up into the air. His hand shoots out to land against the back of Techno’s seat.
“Dad!” Techno huffs, covering his eyes with his hands.
Wilbur frowns, inching forward to peek at the two in the front. His anger dissipates in his chest at the sight of his younger brother’s scrunched up face. Techno, no more than twelve, has always suffered from the worst migraines and dizzy spells. He was always a sickly child, chest heavy with lungs that don’t work as properly as they should. It’s hard to imagine him as the same brittle-boned kid when he towers over Wilbur and Phil. His muscles have grown, and so has he.
Wilbur, however, hasn’t.
“You okay, Techno?” Techno doesn’t reply aside from a small shake of his head. His frown deepens. He twists himself towards the window before crumbling in place. “Dad, he’s gonna throw up! Can’t you drive any better?”
“It’s not my driving,” Phil explains with a serenity lacing his tone. His eyebrows unfurrow, and his frown dematerialized marginally. “You could drive, if you’d like. See if you’re any better.”
Wilbur sits up straight and leans in through the gap of the seats. His grin is spreading to his ears at the thought of driving Phil’s old pick-up truck, a beauty he’s been dying to get behind the wheel of.
“Really?” he asks, breathless.
“No!” Techno interjects. He pinches the bridge of his nose even tighter before finally raising his tired face to meet Phil. “No way Wilbur’s driving. I’ll throw myself out of the car before that happens.”
“I’d be better than Phil,” Wilbur sings, raising an eyebrow. He wiggles his shoulders. “Come on, Techno, admit it. You want me to drive.” Techno scoffs. “I’d be a better driver than Philza.”
“I disagree because, unlike you two, I have a value of my life,” Techno replies, a hand held flat against his chest. “You could let me out here.”
“We still have ways to the campground,” Phil informs, earning two groans in rapid succession. “Almost there. Wil, can you check and see if anyone else has arrived?”
Wilbur reaches for Phil’s phone and plucks it off of the stereo. Techno returns to cradling his head in his hands, but he doesn’t lay back down to sleep like he has been for the entirety of the ride.
Wilbur hadn’t been able to sleep a wink, even with the backseat all to himself. If his eyes managed to drift shut when the roads were clear and Phil had no one to road-rage at, he was stirred awake by an intrusive thought.
“Uh, someone is, but I don’t know which mom this is.” He squints at the phone. Wilbur knows everyone else that’s going; they’re all people in Phil’s ranger group. Most of them are boys, but there’s a couple of girls, too. He knows them for the most part; he keeps them at a careful distance. This one, however, he doesn’t recognize. “I don’t know who has the last name. It says… Kristin?”
“Oh! Oh, did I forget to say…?”
“You’re old,” Techno adds immediately. “There’s a lot you don’t say.”
“I forgot - I could’ve sworn… She’s, uh, gonna be joining us for the summer.”
Both of the teenagers raise their eyebrows.
“It’s always been us before,” Wilbur whines. “Is she nice?”
“Yeah, she’s-- she’s nice.”
“You hesitated,” Wilbur huffs, trying to climb forwards more to get a better view of his scrunched up expression.
“I-- no, she’s nice. She’s nice, I swear. You’ll like her, I think.” There was something lost in his voice that Wilbur couldn’t really place. Phil’s voice cracks at the end on a stutter, when he normally doesn’t.
“She’s gonna be a crazy murderer, calling it now!” Wilbur chirps. “Oh, I told you this summer was going to be a disaster.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he falls back against the seat. Phil hits another bump, almost as if on purpose to antagonize him.
“Wilbur, it’s not as bad as you think…” Phil starts. “Come on, do we really need to have this conversation again?”
“No,” Techno interrupts. “If I have to hear Wilbur cry about it again, I really will throw myself out the car.”
“We wouldn’t have to if you had listened to me,” Wilbur grumbles. He drops his chin in his open palm and stares out at the window. The scenery changes as the truck soars against the rocky pavement. The trees outside grow thicker and closer together the deeper they dive into the thick forest.
“Enough,” Phil scolds. Wilbur huffs, slouching down in his seat even further. “I didn’t have a choice. I can’t leave you home alone for three weeks, now can I?”
“You could’ve!”
“No… No, Wil, I couldn’t have. I’m sorry I had to drag you out here, but it can’t be helped. We aren’t talking about this anymore.”
With a defeated sigh, Wilbur drops his head against the window.
Phil doesn’t get it.
He can’t blame him, not really, because Wilbur wasn’t willing to explain it to him.
“Wilbur, Wilbur, you can tell me things.” Wilbur remembers how rough Phil’s hands felt when they encased Wilbur’s own. His hands had trembled, no matter how firmly Phil held him. “You can tell me what’s wrong. Please. Please, Wilbur…”
Wilbur had kept his lips pressed into a firm line as Phil cried over his shoulder. Tucked up against his chest, Wilbur couldn’t cry. He knew he had done this to Phil; he knew he had deserved this.
If Wilbur had told the truth, Phil would’ve cancelled the trip. He knows he would have, but it means the facade Wilbur has spent years building up would come tumbling down. (Not to mention, all the kids would resent him more if they found out why their favorite summer camp got cancelled all of a sudden.)
See, Wilbur hates nature. He hates the ugly outdoors and the bugs that crawl across his skin. He hates the overbearing sun that pounds down against his skin and leaves ugly red rashes. He hates porta-potties and pissing in the woods. He hates the green, the brown, the lack of any man-made color.
His hatred for the woods isn’t enough to fulfill him with a deep pit of existential dread in the roots of himself. It isn’t enough to cause him to lie awake with painfully wide eyes and worry about what’s going to happen next or what future is in stall for him. It isn’t enough to cause him to bend over himself physically sick at the mere thought of going outside.
No, that torture can only be derived from others.
Above nature, above all the horrible parts of nature, Wilbur hates the other kids the most.
He just can’t tell Phil the reason he’s so antisocial is, “Yeah, the other kids call me names, so can we call off the trip?” He can’t bear it.
Wilbur makes his bed, and he lies in it.
“We’re here!” Phil announces. Techno gives out a weak, “Yipeee.”
Wilbur sighs.
This summer is going to be a disaster.
(If he can make it to the end of it.)
II
Wilbur, Techno, and Phil are the first ones at the campsite. He parks the truck on the empty plot of ground, and Techno immediately rolls out of the car and plants his knees down into the grass.
“Techno?” Phil calls.
“Don’t--!” Techno is cut off by his own sick spell, and Phil steps away.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Wil,” Phil announces. His voice is care-free. He’s trying to excite Wilbur, he can tell from the strain in his voice. His stomach lightens at the attempt, but it does little to quell his rising anxieties.
“We don’t need his help, anyways,” Wilbur lies. “We got it all by ourselves.”
“What about one more hand!” a new voice calls, and both Phil and Wilbur practically jump out of their skins.
Behind them, a black haired woman, who must be Kristin from what he can tell, raises her hand and waves at them. “Sorry to startle you,” she apologizes, cackling. “I got a little lost.”
“I figured you were since you got here before us.” Phil reaches his hand out, and she shakes his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Kristin. Thank you for working with me.”
“Oh, of course,” she says, waving him off. “I love time away in the woods. It’s such a beautiful reserve, too…”
“But three weeks? I’m sure your husband - who is welcome to come and visit, by the way - will miss you.” Wilbur raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not married,” she interjects.
“Great,” Phil chirps.
“Dad?” Wilbur asks, blinking rapidly to try and tell if he’s dreaming or not. Is it him, or did Phil just forget how to talk to people?
“Oh, I meant-- Ha! Ha, great that no one will miss you,” Phil adds on, voice still high-pitched and chipper. Wilbur covers his face with a silent groan.
“Uh… Are you going to murder me, Phil?” she asks, stepping away from him.
“Miss Kristin, I’m sorry. He’s old and forgets how to speak to people his age,” Wilbur explains (a common effect after working with children for too many years). “I promise he isn’t a murderer, just a loser.”
“Sorry, I misspoke,” Phil apologizes, scratching the back of his neck. “It just kinda… came off wrong. Also, Wilbur, I’m not a loser, thank you.”
“He is,” Wilbur says.
“And this is your son, then?” She looks around before noticing Techno, who has weakly staggered to his feet.
“Wilbur’s my oldest, yeah. Techno’s over there. He’ll probably introduce himself after he’s done being motion sick.” She frowns, a moment of sympathy before Phil claps his hands together. “Well, we should get a head start on unpacking before the other kids get here.”
Techno hobbles up to them just as they begin to unload the truck. The four of them are able to empty out most of the stuff from the trailer that had already been dropped off days previously. The kids are dropped off, one by one, and with their help all the tents are set up.
Wilbur stays close to Phil as more and more kids arrive. With the first car, a girl jumped out and immediately ran up to Techno. She didn’t look familiar to Wilbur, despite him knowing most of the kids in attendance.
He steered clear of her, though, knowing damn well how most of his classmates view him.
“Hey, Wilbur?” Phil calls, lifting up a clipboard. “We’re going to go ahead and announce tent assignments, so gather up everyone.”
Wilbur flinches, frantically looking around. “Why can’t Techno do it?”
“Wilbur,” he sighs, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Please work with me here. I know you’re not thrilled about this, but let’s get this over with and you can go lay down in your tent. Okay?”
He eagerly accepts the compromise, although he’s well aware he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
He drags his feet up to the group of kids, who have congregated in the middle. He skims the crowd for Techno but can’t find him.
“Uh, guys?” he calls out, only for his voice to get drowned out.
One girl catches on, meekly turning her head. They make eye contact, but Wilbur stops talking once he realizes no one else is listening.
“I think you gotta speak up a little,” she says with a small smile. Wilbur ducks his head. “It’s too loud out here for it.”
“Um, guys?” He tries again.
Once again, he’s met with nothing.
The girl smiles apologetically, and Wilbur turns away from her shamefully. He cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, finally getting most of the kids to stop talking.
“Whaaaaat, George!” a voice barks, doubling over in laughter. Wilbur crosses his arms over his chest as two kids in the middle continue going back and forth.
“Shh, he’s trying to talk,” George hisses back, swatting at Dream’s arm.
Dream huffs, “What? We were in the middle of something.”
“I-- Phil wants everyone over there,” Wilbur says, clearing his throat. “For tent assignments.”
Thankfully, the crowd begins to move back over to the firepit. The attention shifts off of Wilbur and to Phil, who is scribbling down on his clipboard.
“See, I knew you could do it,” the girl chirps, Wilbur having to twist around in surprise to face her. “You’re Techno’s brother, aren’t you?”
He braces himself.
It’s always Techno’s weird older brother, Wilbur, the one who plays shitty guitar in the hallway, the one who’s a feminist. Weird, old Wilbur. I heard he broke his brother’s arm once, you know?
“I’m Niki.”
He raises his head.
It’s safe to say… that’s not what he had been expecting.
“Wilbur,” he introduces. His voice betrays him, suddenly growing weak and horse, but he pushes through. “You leaped at my brother earlier when he was puking in the grass.”
She burst out into a laugh, and Wilbur yanks himself out of his stunned shell. She continues to giggle, covering her mouth, as she fake gags.
“Ew, don’t remind me, Wilbur,” she says, continuing to giggle as they catch up to the others. She stops laughing as soon as Phil begins to speak, and for a moment, he hates his father for interrupting the moment.
“I’m going to call out the tent number and the names,” Phil announces. “We tried to put every one together that was requested, but tents can only fit so many kids.”
“Niki!” a new voice hisses. Wilbur steps back as a new girl charges forward to wrap her arms around her. “Don’t worry, I already asked Miss Kristin, and we’re together!”
“All the girls are together,” Wilbur corrects. “There’s only three of you total.”
“Yeah, and you’re the reason we had to have a girl guide,” a new voice chimes in. It’s Sapnap. Wilbur scurries away at his entrance. “I bet that was all because of you, Wilbur.”
If I had it my way, we wouldn’t be here at all!
Wilbur keeps his mouth shut.
“Everyone listen up!” Phil barks. Sapnap turns away. “Tent one: Sam, Ponk, and Foolish.” They cheer, and Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Tent two, Bad, Skeppy, and Quackity.”
“No, don’t put me with them!” Quackity cries out suddenly, covering his eyes in defeat. “This is the woooorst! ”
“Quackity, no,” Bad hisses, a hand over his heart. Quackity huffs. “How could you?” He only fake cries in response.
Phil continues to read the listings. “Tent three: Punz, Techno, and Jack. Tent four: Hannah, Niki, and Puffy.” Phil pauses.
Wilbur braces for impact.
“Tent five: Dream, Sapnap, George.” Then, as a death sentence, “Wilbur.”
“What?” Dream butts in. “How come we have to have four?”
Phil lowers his clipboard. “Your tent is big enough to fit four,” he explains. “If you guys need to switch, you can, but I’m not making any changes myself. Okay, go ahead and find your tent mates!”
The crowd moves, and Wilbur curses Phil.
“Phil!” he cries, trying to come up to him, but he is stopped by Dream.
“You’re gonna find someone to switch with,” Dream huffs, jabbing a thumb into Wilbur’s chest. He steps back. “I’m not staying in a tent with you.”
“I don’t want to be in a tent with you either,” he bites, expression darkening. “If you want me gone, get someone willing to switch! I’m not doing anything.” He moves to storm off (find Philza and chew him out), but he’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. “Hey!”
“You’re not ruining this for me,” Dream growls. “If you ruin my summer, I’m going to ruin yours, too.” His grip on his wrist tightens until he finally breaks off as the others catch up to them. Sapnap calls out to him, and he trots off to join them.
“Trust me,” Wilbur promises aloud despite no one being around to hear him. “My summer is already ruined.”