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The moment he walked past them and they fell silent Wilbur’s heart started beating faster. Silence wasn’t good. It meant they weren’t distracted - at least not from him. More like by him.
He picked up the pace a little. He wasn’t running - you don’t run from predators, it only makes you more fun to hunt down. He was just walking a bit faster than was normal. Surely they wouldn’t care, just this once?
Like he’d ever be that lucky.
Footsteps approached and Wilbur sped up a little more. If he could just make it to the dormitory before they caught up to him…
Well, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t torment him anyway. They had before. But sometimes they didn’t bother, as though catching up to him before they reached the shared bedroom was a game and their prize was him. Or maybe Wilbur’s prize for escaping was being left alone.
Either way, it was just a game to them.
Wilbur kept his head down, wishing he could just disappear for once. Maybe if he hunched his shoulders more, buried his chin further into his chest, wrapped his arms tighter around his torso, they might finally stop seeing him and let him go.
Wilbur reached the dormitory door and pushed it open.
His eyes met Punz’s.
Behind him Purpled and Antfrost closed in on him and Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat. F*cked. He was f*cked.
He pulled the book he held in his arms even closer to his chest. It wasn’t his, it belonged to the village school so it would be missed - they had to leave it alone. Right?
He’d only ever owned one book in his life, one item among many donated to the orphanage when he was ten. He was the only one interested in it and the little fairytales and pieces of poetry it contained, so for two years it was his best - and really, only - friend in the world.
He remembered only too well what had happened to it.
“Come on Wilbur. Don’t you want your book back?”
Wilbur nodded desperately, struggling against Antfrost’s hold on his arms. “I - I d-do! Please – please don’t -”
Punz flipped it open and flicked through the pages. “What is this bullsh*t anyway? What’s the point?”
“They’re - they’re stories,” Wilbur explained. “They’re for… f-fun.”
And so much more. To Wilbur they were his inspiration and comfort. If bad people always got punished, and the good people always won in the end, maybe he would too. Maybe being an orphan wasn’t the end of his story, just the beginning. Maybe not having a family would help him appreciate one more. Maybe -
“Fun?” Punz scoffed. “This sh*t?!” He looked down at the book and read it aloud, sarcasm dripping from every word. “‘...and when the ugly duckling looked into the water he realised he was not a duck at all but a swan. Finally, he was home, with people who knew what he was worth-’ - oh come on. You must see how stupid this is.”
Wilbur shook his head. “It’s n-not stupid! It’s - it’s nice!”
“Nice?” Punz laughed, chucking the book in Purpled’s direction uncaringly, closing in on Wilbur. “Don’t tell me you believe that bullsh*t Wilbur. Let me guess… you’re the ugly duckling right? You’re the misunderstood hero?” Punz laughed. Wilbur wanted to flinch away, but that would only push him further into Ant’s hold, meaning all he could do was stand there as Punz continued mocking him. “You’re gonna leave us, is that right? You’re gonna leave and find somewhere that treats you ‘right’? Let me tell you a little secret…” he leaned closer. “People like you don’t get happy endings. People like you, freaks like you don’t deserve happy endings. You think you’re better than us? At least we have each other. You don’t have anyone. And you never will.”
Wilbur gasped silently, trying to blink back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes and Punz patted his cheek in a mockery of comfort. “It’s okay though. It’s not your fault. It’s that silly book’s.”
Wilbur said nothing, confused at Punz’s sudden change in tone.
“So we’re gonna be nice, and help you get rid of those stupid thoughts, alright?” Punz smiled, taking the book back from Purpled and holding it over -
No.
Punz dangled Wilbur’s book over the stream, the pages fluttering gently in the breeze.
“NO!” Wilbur yelled, struggling in earnest now, managing to free himself from Ant’s hold and hurtling towards Punz.
He had to stop him, he had to, he had to, he couldn’t lose it -
And then Purpled grabbed his shoulders, throwing him to the floor, pressing a foot to his back, joined moments later by Anfrost, who pinned him down further.
Wilbur could barely breathe, but he still managed to find enough air in his lungs to beg. “P-please, P-Punz, don’t - don’t drop it, give it back.”
Punz raised an eyebrow and Wilbur panicked further. “O-or k-keep it, j-just please don’t drop it, please, I - I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t -”
“You’ll thank us one day,” Punz said gleefully.
And then he let go and the book plummetted into the water.
Wilbur wasn’t twelve anymore, he was older and taller and stronger.
But so were they.
Wilbur locked his gaze onto the floor. Scared. Small. Compliant. “P-Punz.”
“Wilbur. Nice book you’ve got there, is it new?”
Wilbur winced against his will and shook his head. “N-no it belongs to sch-school.”
Punz smirked. “Pity.”
A hand connected with his back and Wilbur stumbled forwards, further into the room as Antfrost and Purpled entered, closing the door behind them, sandwiching him between the trio. “Move d*ckhead.”
Wilbur hated how much weaker he was compared to the three boys surrounding him. It was such a terrifying feeling, to be totally defenseless in the face of those who only wanted to hurt him. Punz reached out and Wilbur sucked in a breath as his glasses were plucked from his face. Instantly the world was plunged into fuzziness and his tormentors became nothing more than formless blobs, the room itself a total blur.
“You really need to get some new glasses Wilbur, these ones are mostly glue,” Punz snorted.
“I - I know,” Wilbur said quietly.
But I was lucky to get those, even though they’re cracked and the left lens needs to be much stronger. They’re all I have.
“Maybe if you… lost these ones they’d get you a new pair!”
Wilbur shook his head quickly. “N-no, they wouldn’t - you know they wouldn’t. P-please… please can I have them back?”
“Prime Wilbur. What’s wrong with you? Can’t you share?” Purpled said from behind him. “You have them most of the time. It’s our turn now.”
Wilbur stretched out his hand in what he was pretty sure was Punz’s direction. “P-please Punz, I - I can’t see without them…”
His hand was slapped away by someone else’s - it could have been Punz, it could have been Antfrost - and Wilbur pulled it back against his chest as he was pushed forwards again. He couldn’t see - he couldn’t see - and he didn’t know where the door was anymore. Whether he could have made it that far before was up for debate, but not knowing where the exit was was terrifying. Not knowing exactly where his attackers were was terrifying, hands coming out of nowhere to poke and prod him in whatever direction they chose and he could do nothing to stop them, nothing to prepare for what they might choose to do next.
Wilbur knew his face must be giving his fear away. And they were feeding on it, delighting in how easy it was to make him jump and flinch and plead for them to leave him alone, please please leave him alone…
But they didn’t. Because as Punz liked to put it ‘he was so much fun to play with’.
And Wilbur never fought back. Because he’d learned long ago that an unmoving doll is much easier to get bored with than something more… animated.
So he let them push him around and onto the floor. He moved with the blows, letting them send him sprawling in whatever direction they decided. He kept his head low, body curled in on itself as they threw his glasses to each other, getting their fingerprints all over the lenses and letting them fall to the floor with a clattering noise that sent his heartbeat skyrocketing. He didn’t say a single word as they hurled cutting insults in his direction. What would be the point? Why break the unspoken rules they’d invented?
Wilbur let them insult him and they only painted bruises on his skin, not blood. Wilbur let them punch and kick and hit him and they left his things (mostly) alone.
It was painful and scary and humiliating but he didn’t have a choice. Wilbur wasn’t the hero of anyone’s story, especially his own. He wasn’t going to save anyone when he couldn’t even save himself. He wasn’t even going to leave the village he’d grown up in. People like him never did, they stayed the town freak forever. The most he could hope was that maybe - just maybe – the bruises would stop when they were adults.
(He knew better than to hope that the insults would).
They got bored after a while, their toy too tired to beg anymore, not making enough noise to really make their game worthwhile. The occasional whimper wasn’t really worth the effort it took to draw the pitifully weak sound out of him.
So when the bell for dinner rang somewhere they told him they’d let the housemother know he ‘wasn’t feeling up to eating.’
Then they threw his glasses across the room and left Wilbur on the floor.
He waited until he heard the door click shut as his heart beat in his throat.
Then he pushed himself up, wincing as his right side screamed in protest. He knew how to ignore it though. He’d gotten good at ignoring the way his body screamed at him whenever he was hurt. He was hurt far too often for it to be worth paying attention to now.
He started searching for his glasses on his hands and knees. The floor was covered in dust and dirt and he was searching through it as best he could, grasping at nothing because everything was so f*cking blurry and his head hurt - so much of him hurt…
Hot tears of anger and shame slid down Wilbur’s face and he was grateful that the trio weren’t there to see them. He knew what they’d say.
“Aw, look at him! He’s crying! Not strong enough to take it Wilbur? We’re not even hurting you, there’s no need to cry.”
“If he wants to cry, why don’t we give him a reason?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Wil? Something to cry about. After all, let’s not forget, you’re a hero, one day you’re gonna show us exactly what you’re made of."
“Now, just stay still. This is for your own good…”
He was sick of living like this. He was so tired of being treated like sh*t, scurrying down the corridors, glancing over his shoulder, making himself small and taking the blows and the insults and letting them do whatever they wanted. He was tired of nursing his bruises in a ball in his bed, telling himself he could handle it. That they could hurt his body, his feelings, but not him. They’d never be able to damage his core, his pride, the things that made him -
What are you?
You’re not a hero. You’re not even a character. You’re the village freak, you’ll live here and die here and when you do no one will care enough to miss you.
What are you?
Just an orphan with a book and a stupid dream.
A teacher.
Yeah, right.
“You’ll never be better than this,” Punz whispered in his mind.
And as Wilbur crawled on the dormitory floor, disorientated and afraid and so, so humiliated he began to believe it.