Chapter Text
Wilbur sighed, dipping his hands over the balcony edge. The cigarette lay nice and polite in between his fingers, curling smoke into the air above his head. Wilbur brang it to his lips again, looking back to the balcony door to see the approaching person.
“Smoking again, Wil?” Sally asked, dragging her hand over his back and swirling her fingers over his feathers, standing next to him to watch the sunset. A moment of silence was shared between the pair, Wilbur blowing out another puff of smoke.
“I gotta go on another mission tonight, love..” Wilbur said to break the silence, Sally rolling her eyes besides him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“Bring back a few organs for me, dear. I’ve been getting hungry…” Sally replied, ruffling his dark brown hair, before going inside. Wilbur chuckled, putting down the cigarette on the floor and stomping on it with his boot.
Wilbur gathered his supplies into his bag, pulling up the mask that covered his nose and mouth. He clipped off his earrings and attached the dagger to his ankle, hiding a small handgun in its cover on his other leg.
“Dear, do you need your goggles?” Sally called from the other room, tossing a pair of goggles into the room. He caught them, putting them down on the side table.
“No. It’ll be over before they can see me.” He replied to her, slinging the bag over his shoulders. Sally gave him a kiss on the forehead to greet his goodbye at the door, handing him his seashell necklace that he wore all the time.
“It’s lucky! Keeps you off the cop’s radar, lovely. Keep it with you this time.” She said, clipping the accessory over his neck. He pulled down his mask to kiss her goodbye, pulling it back up and hopping onto the balcony railing and onto the roof above.
The air was chilly that night. Low clouds hung over the city, scattered here and there and letting moonlight filter through in bright shafts. Wilbur hopped along the roofs of buildings, stationing himself in the nook of one to look at his assignment. He read over the paper, glossing over the words in the dim lighting from his watch.
Name, Tommy. Age, 17. Description: Tall, blond hair, light skin, raccoon-ish features. Work: Unemployed. Roommates, possible alibis: Tubbo, Ranboo. Reason for assasination: Classified.
Wilbur snickered and folded the paper down, standing up to his feet and following the tracker on his assignment that was stationed on his watch. He was close by. He raced over the building tops, following the tracker on quiet feet before he was right on top of them.
The apartment was thin and tall, not providing much space for the people inside. He climbed down the piping of the building, propping himself up on one of the edges of a window. He carefully slid the window open with his fingertips, listening to see if anyone was there.
“Cmon Tommy! Pick something to eat already!” Shouted a small boy, waving his hands out in front of him, big and bouncy brown hair covering his eyes and moving in large drafts with him. The blonde boy (obviously Tommy, the boy fit the description he’d read only minutes earlier all too well to just be coincidence) stamped his foot on the ground, bending over to tie his shoelaces together.
“I don’t know! I’ll pick up McDonalds or something!” He shouted back to the small boy, his golden raccoon tail lashing from side to side angrily. Once the boy was finally done tying his shoes, a very very tall boy handed him a slip of paper through clawed hands.
“Already wrote down the orders there, Tommy. Just pick it up and come home, kay?” Said the tall one, whipping around his tail to wipe at Tommy’s cheek in a loveable way. Tommy rolled his eyes and batted away the comfort, waving a hand behind him at the group as he walked through the door.
Wilbur had to duck his head away from the window when the duo walked towards it, holding his breath for a moment as the time passed.
“Who opened this window?” Said the small one, slamming it shut right on Wilbur’s wingtip. He bit his lip hard under the mask, stifling a yell at the sharp pain. He tugged back his feathers, shaking out his large wings before climbing back down the drainage pipe yet again.
He watched the tall raccoon boy trot down the street on the gray sidewalk, the orange street lights reflecting off the puddles on the pavement. Wilbur flicked his wings out in excitement, bringing down his hand to grace his legs. He could do a gun...no, that'll just draw attention. Wilbur shook his head at the thought as in response, hand gliding for his dagger. Right when he unsheathed it though, he lost track of the boy.
“Shit…” He muttered, hopping across the rooftops and fluttering over gaps here and there, chasing the small glimmer of golden fur from the boy’s tail. Wilbur ran after him on the roof tiles, skidding to a halt at the edge of one and making the tiles clatter to the ground. Blood pumped in his ears as the avian ducked down to avoid the boy’s gaze, grabbing the dagger in his hand.
He waited patiently on the rooftop, his figure obscured by a large chimney. He folded his wings in close, his legs shaking from holding the same crouching position for so long. Finally, he heard footsteps echoing off the building walls. Wilbur’s head shot up to stare down at Tommy, a small giggle forming in his throat. This was it. He needed to get this right.
Wilbur climbed down the building, creeping up behind the boy. His wings were held tight behind his back as he crept closer, and closer, finally reaching out to grab the boy’s arm and twist it painfully behind his back.
“WH-WHAT THE HELL?!” Tommy shouted, Wilbur pushing him into the wall with his foot, holding his head to the bricks. The knife trembled in his hand, already pinned at the boy’s neck. But before he could barrel it any further through the skin, Tommy’s tail swept his legs out from under him.
Wilbur collided to the ground, wings splayed out on either side of him. Tommy was obviously shocked at this, taking a moment before stepping right on his wing.
“THAT'S for trying to KILL ME!” Tommy shouted, bolting in the opposite direction, McDonalds food abandoned on the sidewalk ground. Wilbur sighed, getting up on his feet and racing after the boy. Tommy was fast, that was certain, but Wilbur was faster. He kicked at the boy’s back and stomped on his tail harshly, pulling out his dagger and stabbing it right in his shoulder blades.
Tommy yelled and tried to roll from his grip, turning to his back to look at him face-to-face. The realization hit Wilbur a bit too late that this, in fact, was a child. In the amount of blunt shock he was in, he wasn’t surprised when Tommy kicked him hard in the legs, shooting up to his feet and holding his dagger shakily in between his hands.
“Get back! Or imma-“ The boy was instantly cut off when his eyes rolled back, his knees buckling and his body collapsing to the ground. Wilbur jumped away from the collapsed figure, poking the child with his foot before assuming he was passed out from whatever amount of shock caused it.
“Well, bloody hell then.” Wilbur cursed, grabbing the boy by his feet and dragging him down to the nearest alleyway. Blood followed with the body like a slug trail, shining against the harshness of the street lights. He propped up the body in the alleyway, turning on the flashlight of his phone to get a good look at the boy’s face. He was covered in dirt and pieces of gravel from their earlier scuffle, bags hanging under his eyes and a few band-aids littering his cheeks and neck. A red T-shirt was dyed a darker red from the blood, white bandages wrapping his knuckles.
“God damnit!” Wilbur shook his head, kicking at the wall to release some of his boiling anger, flinging his wings out wide. A CHILD? They told him to kill a CHILD! Wilbur was furious. He took another look at the dirty gremlin child in front of him, at the knots in his blonde hair, at the cuts and bruises that littered his arms and legs. He felt pity for the boy. Well, wasn’t there a first time for everything?
Wilbur grabbed him by his waist, hauling Tommy over his shoulder and walking down the street like that. He just prayed that whoever saw him thought he was just a drunken fool helping another, Wilbur walking over to grab the McDonalds that was miraculously still there. He carried the bag on his wrist, holding the boy carefully so as to not drop him.
Once Wilbur had returned home to his apartment, he dropped Tommy down in the guest bedroom that they used for nobody in particular, tying ropes around his arms and legs to a chair they had. Wilbur ate the fries in the fast-food bag, sitting on the edge of the bed across the room, just looking at the kid. His employers will be on his ass if they hear about this. Narrowing his eyes at the sleeping figure, Wilbur got to his feet and began to walk away, flicking his wings back into their position, before closing the door behind him.