Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was something… off about Wilbur.

Techno knew his brother like the palm of his hand. He knew the way he smiled, the way his hair fell in front of his face, the sound of his laugh. He knew the way Wilbur spoke, where he placed his inflections, how he arranged his sentences that way only Wilbur could. He knew to stand back when Wilbur got excited and his gesturing became wild. 

Wilbur should be excited now. He was home. 

But…

Wilbur stood with his hands neatly tucked behind his back, shoulders squared, head held upright, not a trace of a smile on his face. No frown either. Just…

Nothing. Cold, blank, nothing . 

Before he left, Wilbur had been many things, but nothing he was not.

“Welcome back Wilbur,” Dad said awkwardly. 

“Thank you sir,” Wilbur said quietly, dipping into a - a - 

A bow?

To Dad?

Techno stared at him in shock. What the - 

Wilbur never bowed. Luckily, being a prince, he rarely had to, but he certainly avoided bowing when it was merely deemed polite - Techno had been dragged into plenty of arguments between Wilbur and a disgruntled noble over it. 

But their dad had never - he had never once asked them to bow for him. Never. It - it wasn’t - it wouldn’t make sense, they were family… why would any of his own children bow to him?

Wilbur straightened back up, but his head stayed tilted downwards as he spoke, swallowing. “Thank you for taking me back.”

Their father shifted uncomfortably. “I - of course Wilbur. We missed you.”

“I - I missed you too,” Wilbur said, voice wavering slightly. It was the first hint of informality Techno had seen from him. “Thank you.”

Tommy bounced nervously on his toes. “Uh - do you - um - how was your journey?”

“Good, thank you,” Wilbur replied politely. 

The awkwardness was making Techno’s toes f*cking curl. 

It was always going to be awkward, seeing Wilbur again. He’d known that. Wilbur hadn’t taken being shipped off to reform school particularly well - not that Techno could blame him - and Techno had been expecting some iciness upon his return, especially since they hadn’t received a single letter from him in the four months he was gone. He’d expected Wilbur to glower at them all, to be furious, to stomp up to his room and refuse to come out for a week. He’d been ready to cool him down, ready to be brothers again. He’d been ready for that. Not - not this. 

Wilbur had always been full of bright smiles and wild enthusiasm, laughter coming in bursts, anger coming in waves that quickly faded. You always knew exactly what Wilbur felt. Much to the frustration of everyone - especially their father and his advisors, it seemed - he was irrepressible, completely and unapologetically Wilbur, no matter what anyone thought. 

Techno supposed he’d almost expected the program not to work.

Looking at his younger brother now… he found himself wishing it hadn’t. 

←→←→←→

Tommy peeked at Wilbur out of the corner of his eye. His brother was sitting with perfect posture, his hands clasped carefully in his lap. Were they shaking, just slightly? Tommy couldn’t be sure from this angle. 

F*ck, he hated this. 

This wasn’t how seeing Wilbur again was supposed to go! He’d missed Wilbur, especially since he hadn’t even sent him letters, like he said he would! He - he wanted to hug his brother again - he wanted Wilbur to ruffle his hair and call him ‘Toms’ and play him guitar and - and he didn't want this! 

The worst part was, Wilbur didn’t even seem mad. You knew when Wilbur was mad, he was all furrowed brows and harsh words and angry gestures - at least until he’d cooled down and apologised. Tommy personally felt that sometimes Wilbur apologised when he didn’t strictly have to - his brother just didn’t like going to bed angry. 

But Wilbur wasn’t angry right now. Tommy didn’t know what he was, he wasn’t anything. He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t even speaking. Tommy didn’t like it one bit - he had always picked the chair next to Wilbur’s because the older boy was fun to talk to, always saying something to make Tommy laugh, even at big important events like state banquets. He didn’t like this new, quiet, unobtrusive Wilbur. 

He put his fork down, clinking harshly against his plate as he folded his arms, glowering at his father. He was the reason Wilbur was like this - sending him off to some f*cking reform program. Wilbur didn’t need to change! Tommy had liked him just the way he was! Why did Dad want him to turn into this?

His dad lifted his head. “Not hungry Tommy?”

Tommy glared at him. “No.”

Dad turned his attention to Wilbur, raising his eyebrows at the boy’s near-empty plate. “You too Wilbur?”

Wilbur shifted awkwardly beside him. “N-no sir. Not - not hungry.”

Techno placed his knife and fork down and stood up smoothly. “I’m going to bed,” he said with a shrug. Tommy had always admired that about Techno - he never let his emotions show if it would only make the situation worse. Tommy had never really figured out how to do that. He’d thought Wilbur was the same, but looking at his brother now… maybe Wlbur really had learned how to restrain himself, although Tommy was becoming more and more sure that his hands were shaking in his lap, despite Wilbur’s obvious efforts to still them. 

Their father nodded, an awkward smile on his face. “Sleep well son.”

Tommy got up. “I’m going too.” 

“Goodnight Tommy,” Dad sighed, something a little sad in his tone. Tommy didn’t care, not even bothering to glance back over his shoulder as he left the room. 

Hopefully the cringe-inducing awkwardness would go away soon. After all, Wilbur hadn’t been home in months, he was bound to feel a bit uncomfortable being around them again - especially as his father was the reason he had been sent away in the first place. He just needed… some time to settle. Yeah. That was it. 

Tommy hoped so anyway. He’d missed his big brother. He didn’t want to still be missing him now that he was home. 

←→←→←→

“I’m sorry Wilbur,” Phil said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I know you don’t want this.”

“That’s a f*cking understatement,” Wilbur snarled. 

Phil sighed. “Wilbur, this is what I’m talking about. You’re proving my point for me.” 

Wilbur folded his arms. “You’re sending me to reform school. I think I’m justified in being f*cking mad about that!”

“Wilbur, you - you have to learn to behave,” Phil said wearily, the voices of his advisors speaking the words into his ears as he said them. “You’re fifteen, not five. You’re a prince of the realm, you have to learn.”

No matter how I feel about it.

“And you’re f*cking sending me away,” Wilbur shot. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you, dad.”

Wilbur’s words tugged at Phil’s heartstrings painfully. If he was honest, he liked Wilbur just the way he was, full of wild energy and fiery passion. But his advisors were right, Wilbur couldn’t keep acting this way, it was bound to end in a diplomatic catastrophe. As much as he loathed it - loathed this, he hated sending his son away, even if it was for his own good - he had to do what was best for Wilbur, in the long run.

So took a deep breath and raised his chin. “I might be your father Wilbur, but I am also the king. I have to do what’s right for everyone.”

Hurt flashed in Wilbur’s eyes before disappearing, replaced by burning anger once more. “Fine. Be like that.” He looked to Techno. The crown prince was standing with his trademark ‘neutral’ face - choosing not to pick a side in the argument between his father and his brother. “Techno?”

Techno sighed tightly. “Dad’s in charge Wil. He - he’s trying to do what’s best.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “You agree with him!”

Techno winced. “I… I think he wants what’s right for you and… that’s what this is.”

“Unbelievable,” Wilbur spat. 

Tommy sniffed. “I’m - I’m gonna m-miss you Wilbur!” 

Wilbur’s face softened. “I’m gonna miss you too Tommy. I - I’ll write to you, okay?”

“O-okay,” Tommy sniffled. 

Footsteps approached and all turned to see the chauffeur approaching. “Time to go, your highness. We ought to leave now if we want to make it there in time for registration.”

“Goodbye Wilby,” Tommy said sadly. 

Wilbur pulled him into a hug. “Love you Toms. I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Phil said gently. 

Wilbur released Tommy and glowered at him. “F*ck off.”

“Wilbur -”

But Wilbur was already slamming the car door.

Phil sighed, pushing the door to his study open and stepping inside. 

There was a package on his desk - a cardboard box, tied with string. A little card on top that read: ‘ To the Parent or Parents of Wilbur Craft.’

He couldn’t bring himself to open it. 

It was from Wilbur’s school - the one that had turned his son from messy, bright, irreverent teenager into the person that had sat at the table today. He was everything Phil had thought he never would be - polite and proper and polished. 

Phil didn’t like it. 

He didn’t want Wilbur to be like that. He didn’t want his son cold and distant, he didn’t want to send him away in the first place, not truly. He’d done it because his advisors wouldn’t let it go, had told him again and again and again that something had to be done about Prince Wilbur. He couldn’t keep disrespecting nobles and disappearing from balls and banquets to go do his own thing. He was fifteen, too close to sixteen - too close to becoming a much more prominent public figure. He had to learn how to behave before then. And Phil had agreed - had told himself, told Wilbur, that this would be for the best. That Wilbur would return just a little more refined, just a little less impertinent. He had hoped for that, even.

But he hadn’t wanted this version of his son. 

Wilbur was probably seething on the inside, covering it with a mask that he’d never had before. Phil hadn’t realised how much he missed Wilbur’s honest emotions until they were gone - until he was left guessing at his son's feelings, left talking to a wall at the dinner table. 

A wall that called him sir. 

He didn’t want to be called ‘sir’ by his own son. 

But Wilbur was still Wilbur. He was still stubborn, even more so when angry. If - if he didn’t want to call Phil his dad, any convincing he tried would only drive Wilbur further away. If Wilbur didn’t want to be his son, didn’t want Phil to be his father, there was nothing he could do. 

He couldn’t help but wonder whether he deserved that title anyway. 

Phil seized the package on his desk and thrust it into the bottom drawer, burying it beneath layers of files and loose paperwork. He didn’t want to open it - he didn’t even want to look at it. He wanted to forget it entirely, pretend it never happened - pretend he hadn’t sent his son away like he had, pretend that Wilbur wasn’t angry, pretend that everything was fine. 

He slumped into his chair and buried his head in his hands. “F*ck…”

He could feel Kristin’s eyes on him from where her picture sat, a small frame on his desk. Sometimes he liked to think she was watching over him - all of them. Other times - like today… he preferred to hope she wasn’t watching this. Wasn’t watching how badly he was failing. 

He didn’t know how to deal with Wilbur - he was so different from Techno. Different, but no less loved, Phil loved his son, loved all of his rough edges and unpolished words. He wished he hadn’t had to lose them to realise that - he didn’t want another Techno. He just wanted Wilbur. 

Phil hoped salt water didn’t stain varnished wood. 

Chapter Text

Tommy really didn’t like cocktail parties. He was f*cking bored. He didn’t particularly like wearing a suit and tie, his crown hadn’t been pinned properly and was slipping down over his head, and worst of all, he wasn’t even old enough to drink yet! What was even the point in him being here?!

Wilbur was sixteen now, so he could drink - Dad had always been very strict about that, his sons weren’t allowed to have any alcohol until they were sixteen. Wilbur was allowed to drink now, but he wasn’t, which was really f*cking weird, because he had been pestering Dad to let him have just one glass for years, ever since he was fourteen and Techno was sixteen and allowed to have alcohol for the first time. Tommy had distinct memories of Wilbur looping him into daring attempts to steal a glass from a server’s tray without anyone noticing - they always failed, but at least it was something to do. Tommy had always assumed Wilbur would find even more ways to cause chaos now that he could actually drink. 

Guess I was wrong. 

Wilbur wasn’t causing any chaos actually. He was being - being boring. He was standing with his hands behind his back, bowing in response to curtsies, smiling politely, although with no real light behind his eyes - none of the spark the second-born prince had become known for, famous for, even. He was even calling people sir and ma’am - Wilbur had never done that before. 

I guess that f*cking school really did change him…

Tommy wanted to scream at his father. He hadn’t wanted Wilbur to change! He didn’t like this new Wilbur, one that bowed smoothly, spoke politely… he missed the real Wilbur. He missed the Wilbur that found a way to entertain him during boring court events, the Wilbur that laughed at the overdressed ladies and underdressed men, the Wilbur that put salt in every champagne glass in the tower, or tucked the tablecloth into an irritating noble’s belt, or requested the musicians play the Macarena. He wanted that Wilbur, not - not new Wilbur, polished Wilbur. He didn’t like this version of his big brother. 

He watched as another group of nobles walked away from his brother, Wilbur visibly untensing as they got further away, throat bobbing as he lowered his head for a moment. He looked… lost. Small in a way Wilbur never did. 

So Tommy sidled up next to him. “Hey Wil.”

Wilbur jolted in surprise, turning his attention to him. “H-hi Tommy.”

“I’m bored,” Tommy complained, putting on his biggest ‘little brother eyes’, the ones that made Wilbur loop an arm around over his shoulder and lean down to whisper ‘ let’s see what we can do about that’, mischief dancing in his eyes .

But Wilbur didn’t. Because Wilbur was different now. 

“O-oh… I’m sorry?” Wilbur said quietly. “I-I’m sorry..”

“Can’t we go do something?” Tommy said pleadingly. 

Wilbur’s eyes widened and he broke eye contact, looking down at his shoes as he took a step back. “I - uh - I - I h-have to stay here. I - I can’t leave.”

Tommy blinked at him. No one told Wilbur what to do - no one told Wilbur that he had to stay, that he couldn’t leave. “What? Who said that?” 

Wilbur’s face paled. “I - I - I just have to.” 

Tommy pouted. “But this is boring!”

Wilbur shrugged, saying nothing. Tommy rolled his eyes. “Come on! Have you seen the dress that woman is wearing?!” He indicated the outfit in question, a pink dress seemingly entirely made out of feathers, completely drowning the relatively short woman wearing it. It was exactly the sort of thing Wilbur would have giggled with him about a few months ago. 

But now, Wilbur only shook his head. “I - I… I can’t Tommy. I… it’s the rules.”

Tommy reached out and seized Wilbur’s arm playfully. “Since when have you cared about the rules?

Wilbur winced. Actually winced, sucking in a breath, body tensing. Tommy let go of his arm as though it burned. “...Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s breathing was unsteady. “I - I… I can’t - I c-can’t -”

Tommy took a step back. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur lowered his head. “I’m s-sorry,” he whispered. “I - I’m s-sorry. I - I can’t.”

“Why?” Tommy asked. “Why can’t you?”

“The r-rules,” Wilbur said, voice small. “I h-have to follow the rules now Tommy.”

Tommy was f*cking sick of hearing about rules. Wilbur had been the only person he could count on to get away from all of them, and now Wilbur was following protocol even closer than Techno -

“Fine,” he said harshly, folding his arms. “Fine. F*cking - be like that then.”

Wilbur lowered his head. “I-I’m sorry -”

Tommy made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and spun around marching away from the shell of his older brother. His old partner in crime. 

It f*cking hurt. Tommy swallowed. This must be what growing up was like. Wilbur had finally grown up, the way all the advisors said he would. And in doing so, he’d left Tommy behind. 

Maybe that’s why he never replied to your letters. 

Tears stung at Tommy’s eyes. 

He really didn’t like cocktail parties.

←→←→←→

Techno had always enjoyed gardening. He loved the predictability of it, the way the plants responded to the cycle of the seasons, the simple cause and effect that was so easy to detect and respond to. Gardening was quiet and peaceful - and peace was a commodity hard to come by in the palace sometimes. The patch of dirt that was Techno’s personal garden had become a sort of sanctuary to him. Somewhere he could escape to when the stress of being the crown prince began to get to him, when a report wasn’t ready on time, when a treaty wasn’t going the way he wanted, when Wilbur played a prank at the worst possible moment - Techno went to his garden and watered and weeded and talked to the plants until the pressure in his chest faded. Until, with dirt under his fingernails and knees damp from the soil, Techno felt grounded enough to stand up and carry on.  

Everyone knew Techno’s garden was important to him. Which was why he’d invited Wilbur to help him with it. 

Wilbur was known for being… loud. For being wild and bright and funny and unquenchable. And while Techno loved that side of his brother, it had also been the source of many sleepless nights for him - Techno had lost track of the number of times he’d found himself saying ‘Wilbur... I love you, but-’. The times he felt closest to Wilbur, the memories he treasured, were the ones spent reading side by side in comfortable silence, or talking in hushed voices beside a dying fire. As much as Techno loved gardening, sometimes Wilbur’s presence was what he needed to feel… okay again. Things somehow felt… lighter when he was around. Less world-ending. 

Techno had missed that feeling while Wilbur was gone. He’d missed it in the weeks since his return, with Wilbur still avoiding his company. He knew Wilbur was still mad at him, but this was a new kind of anger, a silent, seething one. Techno found himself longing for the Wilbur that would blow up and apologise within the same day. Now the responsibility of starting the conversation fell to him, and Prime knew Techno was no good at that. 

So. Gardening it was.

They reached his garden and Techno knelt down, Wilbur following suit. He swallowed and pulled out a weed, holding it out to Wilbur for his brother to inspect. “It’s weeds like this one. They look pretty, but if they get too big they’ll wreck everything they touch, so they’ve got to go.”

Wilbur nodded. “I-I understand.”

Techno offered him a small smile and a pair of gloves from his pocket. “Do you want the gloves?”

“Give me the gloves Techno!” Wilbur demanded. 

Techno laughed as he held the gardening gloves above his head. “No! They’re mine!”

“But I need them!”

“Why?!”

“To protect my hands!”

“From what?!”

Wilbur fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Techno. I’m a prince. Every part of me is precious and must be protected from all harm!”

“Wilbur you already have callouses from your guitar -”

Wilbur suddenly charged at him, the force of his body slamming into Techno’s sending them both crashing to the floor as Wilbur wrestled the gloves triumphantly out of Techno’s hands. 

Techno smiled to himself. 

He never wore gloves. They both knew that. The pair had always been for Wilbur. 

Wilbur shook his head. “N-no thank you.”

Techno frowned and tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

Wilbur nodded quickly. “Yes si - y-yes. Yes. I-I’m sure.”

Techno blinked. There was a strange ache in his chest as he placed the gloves down on the grass. “O-okay. But they’re there if you change your mind.”

Wilbur nodded in response and they began to pull the weeds, Techno taking one side of the patch and Wilbur taking the other. They worked in a silence that was a little awkward, but… less so than it had been before. A neutral silence. Not comfortable, not yet, but… it could be. With time. 

Unfortunately, as crown prince, time was something Techno rarely seemed to have. 

Footsteps approached them and Techno lifted his head to greet the servant hurrying towards them. “Can I help you?’

The servant gave a quick bow. “Your Highness, you’re needed in the councillors’ meeting room.”

Techno frowned. “I am? I thought I had the afternoon off?”

The servant shrugged. “I don’t know anything beyond that, only that your presence was requested and I was sent to find you.”

“Are you sure?”

The servant nodded. “Yes sire.”

Techno sighed and turned to Wilbur. “I’m really sorry Wil.”

Wilbur gave a small shrug. “D-don’t worry about it. Duty calls, right?”

“Unfortunately.” Techno groaned, rising to his feet. “Hopefully it won’t take too long - I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Wilbur nodded. “O-okay.”

Techno bit his lip. He - he didn’t want to leave Wilbur like this - he didn’t like leaving him here, alone. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I - I was trying to make time for him - I… I was trying to… 

I was trying to say I’m sorry.  

I don’t want him to be like this, he’s proven his point now. He - he can go back to normal. He can be Wilbur again. 

How is he supposed to do that if I’m not here to see it?

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll try to be back quickly.”

Wilbur nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

Techno was worried. He couldn’t help it. But he also couldn’t help the responsibilities that came with his title. 

He started walking back across the gardens. Wilbur said it best: duty called. 

←→←→←→

Techno was tired. That meeting had gone on far too long, right through dinner - Techno was sure he would have been hungry if it wasn’t for the exhaustion creeping through his body, demanding he go to bed right the f*ck now. 

Techno pushed it down. He - he had to go check on the garden first, pick up the gardening gloves that had probably been left there. 

He wasn’t expecting Wilbur to still be there, he wasn’t stupid. His brother was not exactly famed for his patience - he had probably gotten bored of waiting for him within fifteen minutes and headed off to do… whatever it was Wilbur did when people weren’t watching. 

Techno swallowed, guilt rising in his chest. He’d wanted to make his brother feel like part of the family again, try to reduce the awkwardness that had been swirling in the air ever since his return - and instead all he’d done was leave him. What sort of older brother put a meeting about soil quality in the southeast over spending time with his younger sibling? No wonder Wilbur had been so… angry sometimes . Techno had often wondered why some of Wilbur’s pranks felt so… pointed. 

Now I know. 

He sighed, walking down the familiar path that led to his patch. The evening air was cool against his skin, shadows long and dark, the sun low in the sky. It would probably set soon, but for now, the sky was bathed in a soft orange light. Golden hour, Wilbur had said it was called, during a short-lived photography phase when he was thirteen. 

He came to a stop beside his garden. It was - 

It was weeded. 

Completely - or almost completely. Techno couldn’t have done a more thorough job if he’d done it himself. 

But he hadn’t. And he knew who had. 

Because he was still there.

“Wilbur?!”

Wilbur froze as he reached out to pull another weed. Techno stared. His brother was shaking with the cold, cheeks flushed red. His fingers were blistered and almost blue, and Techno could have sworn there were scars on his knuckles that had never been there before.

The gloves were still lying on the grass in exactly the spot he had left them. 

What the f*ck?!

“Wilbur?!” Techno said again, mind short-circuiting. “What - what are you doing?!”

Wilbur twisted to face him, but didn’t look up. “U-um - w-weeding?”

“Why?!”

Wilbur clenched his freezing hands into fists by his sides. “B-because… you told me to?”

Techno blinked at him incredulously. “Since when do you do what I tell you?”

Wilbur lowered his head further, if that were possible. “I’m sorry - I - I don’t - I mean - I do! Now. I-I do now.”

“Come on, get up,” Techno said hurriedly, shrugging off his coat and holding it out to him. “You’re going to freeze.”

“I-I’m fine,” Wilbur said quietly. “I don’t need your coat.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.” Wilbur swallowed. “Is - the garden - did I…” he paused and shook his head. “Never mind.”

Techno blinked at him. What the f*ck?

“I - can I go inside now?” 

“I - yes - of course you can -”

“Th-thank you,” Wilbur said, dipping his head. 

And then he was gone, darting up towards the palace without another word. 

Techno stared after him in utter confusion. 

What was that?! 

Wilbur had - he had never done anything like that before. Even when they gardened together properly Techno usually wound up doing most of the work while Wilbur lay back on the grass talking about the shapes the clouds made or a new song he was working on. Techno had never minded that. Wilbur had never weeded the whole garden, forget doing it when Techno wasn’t even there. 

And the things he was saying…

Techno bit his lip, guilt rising in him once more. F*ck. I probably deserved that, didn’t I?

Wilbur was still being like… that. Silent anger, hidden behind a mask of sarcasm and well-chosen words  - ‘Because you told me to?’ ‘I do now.’ ‘Can I go inside?’ He was making his point very clear -  isn’t this what you wanted? When you said this was what was best?

Well, the message was f*cking received. 

Although… it wasn’t a very… Wilbur way of delivering such a message. Wilbur was usually less… quiet about it. He yelled and stomped off to his room, or stole the book you were reading and refused to give it back, or played an embarrassing prank on you, or, if he was really angry, he would give you the cold shoulder for as long as he could. None of it was pleasant - some of it was actually f*cking exasperating - but at least he didn’t leave you guessing when he was annoyed with you, you knew about it, usually almost immediately. And he didn’t let it go until it was resolved - which usually didn’t take long anyway. Wilbur wasn’t the sort of person to let the sun go down on an argument - he certainly wasn’t the kind of person that made subtle digs and small jabs, pricking at your conscience. He could be sarcastic and cutting, but it was always blatant, obvious. Not like this. This wasn’t very… Wilbur. 

But… this wasn’t the Wilbur that had been sent away. This was someone different. That program had changed him.

Techno had never missed his brother more. 

←→←→←→

“So… I was thinking you could take on researching Kinoko. Their ambassador is going to be staying with us for a week, and it’s of vital importance that we’re aware of all the nuances of their culture, so we can avoid offending him.”

Wilbur nodded, hands clasped in his lap, head slightly lowered.

“Do you understand? This is important Wilbur.”

Wilbur nodded. 

Phil gave his son a long look. “Okay… so you’ll have about a month and a half to prepare for it,” he continued. “That should be plenty of time.” This sort of task would take most people a month at most - but Wilbur was smart, if he applied himself, could do it in a couple of weeks. Less, if his standards were as low as they used to be, before he went to the school. “This is important,” Phil repeated. “You need to take it seriously Wilbur.”

Wilbur nodded.

“Techno will be relying on you,” Phil reminded him. “As will I. Don’t let us down.”

Wilbur nodded. 

“And… once you’ve finished with that, it would be useful if you were available to assist Techno in planning a few of the events planned for the diplomatic convention,” Phil added. “And maybe check over some of the paperwork for errors - we really can’t afford for anything to go wrong.”

Wilbur nodded. He had hardly spoken since he sat down. 

Phil frowned. “Wilbur… are you okay?”

Wilbur’s eyes widened as he nodded once again. “I’m fine sir!”

Words, thank Prime. “Are you sure? Because if it’s too much we can always send -”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence - some of it Tommy’s way, he needs to start learning too’ - before Wilbur was shaking his head rapidly. “No! N-n-n-no! N-no n-need sir, I - I can handle it! I promise, I - I can do it, I can - I s-swear -.” He swallowed hard and straightened up - posture perfect but head lowered. “I c-can do it sir.”

Phil was at a bit of a loss for words. “I - o-okay,” he said slowly. “If you’re sure.’

Wilbur nodded. “Y-yes sir. I’m sure.”

“Then… you can… go?” Phil said awkwardly. “Thank you Wilbur.”

“N-no problem,” Wilbur said. He stood and bowed smoothly before slipping out of the room in near-silence, the click of the door closing being the only thing to signal his exit. 

Phil stared at the place Wilbur had just been sitting. The place his son had been sitting - not that he recognised the boy he’d just spoken to. It wasn’t the Wilbur he used to know at all. 

It wasn’t the Wilbur that called him Dad.

The package hidden in his desk seemed to fill the room with regret.

Chapter Text

Tommy frowned at the figure in the hallway. “Wilbur?”

His older brother jumped, spinning around quickly to face him, a book clutched tight to his chest. “T-T-Tommy?”

Tommy crossed his arms. “Yeah. What’re you doing?”

Wilbur looked down at the floor. “I w-was at the library.”

Tommy blinked. “Why?”

Wilbur pulled the book he was holding away from his chest and held it out. “I - I n-needed this. For research.”

Tommy peered at the front cover. It was a Kinokian-English dictionary, a little faded and worn and with a thin layer of dust coating it. Wilbur must be the first person to pick this up in ages. 

Why was Wilbur picking it up? This was a Techno book - dry, dull books like that one made up most of the stacks on Techno’s desk, boring dictionaries and collections of reports, the sort of things Tommy’s tutors kept trying - and failing - to get him to read. Wilbur hadn’t liked them either - Tommy had definitely overheard an argument between him and Techno when Wilbur had turned a few pages of some centuries-old trade agreement into an origami swan. Wilbur claimed he hadn’t known it was important. Techno had disagreed, insisting Wilbur had known he needed it for research - much like the research Wilbur was apparently doing with this book now. 

Tommy’s eyebrows creased. For research? “Since when do you do research?” Wilbur’s haphazard approach to writing diplomatic reports had always been a source of great annoyance to their tutors - and their father. Wilbur didn’t research, he winged it.

“I - th-this is important,” Wilbur stammered. “I - I have to.”

“What’s the dictionary for?”

“T-translation?”

Tommy frowned. “Wait - are you even allowed to have that?” 

Wilbur’s face paled. “Wh-what?”

“Are you even allowed to take books out of the library anymore?” Tommy pointed out. After the whole origami-swan incident, he was pretty sure he remembered Dad telling Wilbur he wasn’t allowed to remove books from beneath the watchful eyes of the palace librarians for a whole month . Wilbur had left before the month was over. 

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “I - I - I - I - I d-don’t know? I - I -”

Tommy shrugged. “I mean, it might be fine, but you probably should have asked permission.” He snorted. “Dad might get mad.” 

Wilbur took a step back. “I - I - I didn’t think - I didn’t know - I thought…” He looked down at the book he was holding, swallowing. “H-how am I supposed to do this w-without…” 

Tommy tilted his head. Wilbur was reacting to this with much more… concern than he had anticipated. His eyes were wide, his breathing unsteady - he looked downright anxious, not helped by the faint bags under his eyes and the way tension seemed to be tight in every muscle of his body. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s head snapped up. “P-please - I’ll put it right back, I s-swear - p-please don’t -”

“You - I - what? Don’t what?”

“D-d-don’t tell anyone,” Wilbur whispered, voice tinged with desperation. “P-please - I - I didn’t mean to…”

Tommy shook his head, feeling a little dazed. “I - Wilbur, what?”

“Please,” Wilbur said - pleaded. “P-please, I - I won’t do it again, I - I’ll never - I’m sorry, please-”

Tommy lifted his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, I - I won’t?” He’d never seen his brother like this before - Wilbur had always been self-contained - not in the way Techno was, all controlled and stoic, but he was totally, completely, self-assured. He was never… panicked, like he was now, never unsure of himself - never afraid of getting into trouble . 

“Th-thank you,” Wilbur said, head lowering, and for an awful, horrible moment, Tommy was afraid Wilbur was going to bow to him. Instead, his brother gulped, hard, and shuffled backwards. “I - I - I’ll g-go put this back. P-please - y-you won’t say anything r-right?”

“I - I promise I won’t,” Tommy said slowly. “I… Wilbur…”

“Thank you,” Wilbur repeated, tone laced with gratitude. “I - th-thank you. I’ll - I’ll - I’ll put this back, I - I’ll f-find another way,” he rushed out. “I - I’m sorry, th-thank you - thank you. I - I’ll put this back.”

“O-okay,” Tommy said awkwardly. Apparently that was all Wilbur wanted to hear because he immediately turned and practically fled down the corridor, leaving Tommy to stare after him in concerned confusion. 

What was that?

What in Prime’s name has gotten into my brother?

←→←→←→

There was a soft knock at the door and Techno held up a hand to halt the advisor currently speaking, silently thanking Prime as he did so. Thank f*ck - if I’d been forced to hear any more of his droning I think I’d have fallen asleep. “Come in!”

The door was pushed open and Wilbur stepped inside, a folder held to his chest as he looked uncomfortably at the three advisors seated across from him. “Um - I - I h-have the report for you.”

Techno blinked. “You - what?”

Wilbur ducked his head. “I - th-the report. On Kinokian culture. The - the king said you would want to see it.”

Techno stood. “I do. Thanks Wilbur.” He paused. “Are you sure it’s ready?” They still had just under a month until the convention - no one could fault Wilbur if he needed more time. Quite frankly, Techno was pretty concerned that this was going to be another rush job, something Wilbur had sloppily thrown together, just to get it over with. Not that Techno could blame him, at least not this time - Wilbur definitely had a right to be mad at him. He just - it was tiring having to do Wilbur’s job on top of his own. He’d hoped that, if nothing else, the reform program might have helped with that at least. 

“Y-yes! I - I think so.”

Techno held out a hand, taking the report and flipping it open. 

It was… good. 

Detailed, itemized - there was more information compiled into this than Techno would have thought possible - lists of historical dates, notes on everything from ancient culture to their modern values, their current economy, popular foods, social taboos… 

It was really f*cking good. Techno didn’t know much about Kinokian traditions, but he knew enough to know that this was an incredibly well-made report. 

Especially for Wilbur. When Wilbur did actually make a report it was all… scribbled notes and confusing diagrams, random, disconnected facts that were of absolutely no use, glaring gaps where helpful information should have been. Once, Techno had been handed a folder made up entirely of badly-drawn pelicans. ‘It’s the national animal Techno! Their national animal is a pelican!”

“You did this?” Techno exclaimed. The report was so good he could hardly believe Wilbur had done it - were it not for the handwriting on every page, so distinctively Wilbur … albeit neater than it had been before he’d left for the program.

Wilbur nodded, hands clasped behind his back, back perfectly straight. “Y-yes.”

Techno blinked, turning the pages. “Prime…”

“Is - is…” Wilbur trailed off nervously before swallowing and trying again. “Is - i-is it o-okay?”

Techno shook his head in disbelief. “It - it’s perfect Wil.” 

Wilbur’s lips parted in something that looked oddly like relief. “I - I - really?” 

“You - you did well,” Techno nodded, and some of the strange tension in his brother’s body seemed to drain away. 

“Th-th-thank you si - T-Technoblade. Thank you,” Wilbur whispered, lifting his head slightly. 

Techno closed the folder and offered him a small smile. “Thank you. This will make things much easier.” Almost unbelievably so. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

“You - you th-think so?” Wilbur said hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Techno smiled. “This is incredibly well put together Wilbur.”

Wilbur let out a breath. “Th-thank you.” 

“No drawings of the national animal though,” Techno joked.

Wilbur’s eyes widened before relaxing, taking in the humour in Techno’s expression. “Y-y-yeah. I - I c-couldn’t find the space for them.”

“What is it?”

“A-a giraffe.”

Techno had to laugh at that. He’d missed talking to Wilbur like this - like a brother. “They really should have chosen something smaller.”

A tiny smile made it’s way onto Wilbur’s face. “Y-yeah.”

One of the advisors behind them coughed. “Excuse me?” 

Techno turned to face him. “Yes?”

The advisor didn’t look at him, instead directing his attention at Wilbur. “Prince Wilbur, don’t you have other things to be doing, besides interrupting this meeting to bother the crown prince?”

Techno sighed internally. The advisors didn’t like Wilbur all that much - unlike Techno, who could at least see the funny side of most of Wilbur’s hijinks, the advisors never did, and as time wore on they became more and more short with him - which only led to Wilbur going out of his way to antagonise them even more. In the end, it was their influence that had finally led to Wilbur being sent away. 

That had led to Wilbur coming back different. 

Wilbur paled, blood draining from his face. “Y-y-y-y-yes! Yes - o-of course s-sir - I - I’m sorry, I - I’m so sorry - I - sorry, I - I can g-go. S-s-sorry.” 

Techno reached out a hand and Wilbur flinched. “S-s-sorry! I - I’ll g-go! I’ll go, I’m g-going, I’m sorry,” he stammered out, half stepping, half stumbling backwards, dropping into a low bow before rushing out of the room, leaving Techno blinking at the closed door. 

Did Wilbur just flinch? From me?

He turned and glared at the advisor that had spoken. “We were having a conversation.”

“He was wasting your time your highness,” the advisor said smoothly. “We still have much to talk about - if you would be so kind as to sit down again?”

Techno sighed and sat. “Carry on.” 

He couldn’t wait for this f*cking meeting to be over. 

←→←→←→

“Ah, Wilbur, there you are,” Phil said, speeding up so he could catch up with his son. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Wilbur stopped walking, waiting for him, hands tucked neatly behind his back in a way Phil would have thought impossible only a few months ago. “Y-yes sir?”

Phil’s heart stung a little at the honorific, but he pressed on nonetheless. “I heard from Techno that you gave him your report.”

Wilbur’s head dipped slightly. “I - I did.”

“I asked to take a look at it,” Phil continued. “It was… impressive, honestly.”

“Th-th-thank you sir,” Wilbur said softly. “It - u-um - it w-was nothing.”

Phil blinked at him. This wasn’t very… Wilbur. Wilbur used to celebrate when he did something well, would blush and fold his arms whenever Phil complimented him. He rarely rejected a compliment… and he never did it quietly. “Wilbur?”

“Y-yes sir?”

“You did well,” Phil repeated. 

“Th-thank you?” Wilbur said hesitantly. His shoulders jerked, as though he wanted to curl in on himself, but had stopped himself, wrenching them down, forcing his posture into perfection.

Phil sighed. “Wilbur…”

Wilbur stilled, tension lancing through every muscle. “Y-y-yes?”

Phil looked at his son worriedly. He looked so… strained. Stiff. 

Not like Wilbur at all. 

“Are you… alright?” Phil asked slowly. “I - I know you’re… I… I sent you away. And I - I know you didn’t want to go.” He swallowed. “And - and I thought it would be good for you. But… you’ve come back and…”

Wilbur’s breathing hitched and Phil shook his head. “I… you’ve come back and I… you… you’re not - you’ve been…” he clicked his fingers, searching for the word. “You’ve been…”

He never got to finish his sentence.

Because, quite without warning, Wilbur suddenly dropped to the floor. 

For a fleeting moment, Phil thought he had fainted, but - 

But he hadn’t.

Because he wasn’t falling to the side, wasn’t collapsing. 

He was kneeling.

Both of his knees were pressed to the floor, his back ramrod straight, his arms still held behind his back, his head slightly lowered.

Phil’s stomach f*cking dropped. 

“Wilbur?” he breathed. “W-Wil - wh-what?”

His son swallowed, hard, throat bobbing. “I - I’m r-r-ready t-to be p-p-punished s-sir.”

Phil’s stomach fell out of his body and through the floor, never to be seen again. “What?!”

Wilbur’s head fell further. “I - I’m r-ready to be p-punished sir. How-however you see fit.”

Phil reached forwards. “Wilbur I -”

Wilbur flinched and Phil snatched his hand back, but not before apologies began spilling out of Wilbur’s trembling form as though his life depended on them. “I’m s-s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I - I’m sorry sir - I’m sorry, please, I’ll be good, I’ll - I’ll stay still, I’ll be good, I’m sorry - please -” He took a deep, shaky, breath. “I - I’m s-sorry,” he whispered. “I - I’ll stay still, you - you can p-punish me. P-please don’t send me back.” 

Phil stared at his son, heart cracking into a thousand pieces. “Wilbur… ”

Wilbur stiffened and tears gathered in Phil’s eyes. 

“Wilbur… what did they do to you at that school?”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry Wilbur. I know you don’t want this.”

“That’s a f*cking understatement,” Wilbur snarled.

His father sighed. “Wilbur, this is what I’m talking about. You’re proving my point for me.” 

Wilbur folded his arms. “You’re sending me to reform school. I think I’m justified in being f*cking mad about that!”

He still couldn’t believe this was really happening. He - he was being sent away. They were actually sending him away, shipping him off to some sh*tty reform program. Because of what? A few harmless pranks? A disgruntled noble or two?

“Wilbur, you - you have to learn to behave,” his father continued. “You’re fifteen, not five. You’re a prince of the realm, you have to learn.” 

“And you’re f*cking sending me away,” Wilbur shot. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you, Dad.” 

I’m sorry I’m not perfect . I’m sorry I can’t be the son you wanted. I - I can’t do all the bowing and scraping and smiling and being perfectly proper, perfectly polite. It’s not who I am. 

I’m sorry I’m not the son you wanted. I’m sorry I’m not Techno. 

His father lifted his chin. “I might be your father Wilbur, but I am also the king. I have to do what’s right for everyone.”

That f*cking hurt. Wilbur pushed down the pain, the feeling of betrayal, using his fury to shove it down, where it couldn’t hurt him any more. “Fine. Be like that.” He looked to his brother.  “Techno?”

Techno sighed. “Dad’s in charge Wil. He - he’s trying to do what’s best.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened incredulously. “You agree with him!”

Techno winced. “I… I think he wants what’s right for you and… that’s what this is.”

“Unbelievable,” Wilbur spat. Somewhere, deep inside of him, his heart was breaking.

And then Tommy sniffed. “I’m - I’m gonna m-miss you Wilbur!” 

Wilbur felt his face soften. “I’m gonna miss you too Tommy. I - I’ll write to you, okay?”

“O-okay,” Tommy sniffled. 

Footsteps approached and they all turned to see the chauffeur approaching. “Time to go, your highness. We ought to leave now if we want to make it there in time for registration.”

“Goodbye Wilby,” Tommy said sadly. 

Wilbur pulled him into a hug. “Love you Toms. I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll miss you too,” his father said, and his voice sounded gentle . As though he was - as though he was f*cking sorry about this. 

Well, Wilbur didn’t want to hear it. He released Tommy and glowered at his dad. “F*ck off.”

“Wilbur -”

But Wilbur was already slamming the car door closed. 

F*ck him. F*ck them. 

I don’t - I don’t need them anyway. If they don’t want me that - that’s fine. I… I don’t care.

He refused to think about all the closed doors in the palace, all the ‘not now Wilbur’ s, all the ‘I’m really busy, later, please…’ s, all the ‘Wilbur… why?’ s. 

It - it wasn’t his fault. This couldn’t be his fault. It just couldn’t. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

He didn’t need their love if they were too busy to give it. He didn’t care. 

And he didn’t care about this sh*tty school either. It wouldn’t change him. No one could change him, he prided himself on that. He was Wilbur, he didn’t bow and scrape and smile politely, he wasn’t perfectly proper, perfectly polite. He was himself, totally and completely. No matter what anyone thought. 

No matter what his own family thought. 

Wilbur folded his arms and stared straight ahead as the car began to make its way down the long palace driveway. 

←→←→←→

“This is where I leave you,” the chauffeur said quietly. 

Wilbur stared up at the inscription over the doorway of his home for the next few months. ‘ St Essempi’s School for Troubled Youths’. The building was old-fashioned and oddly beautiful, in an… ominous sort of way. Like a gothic prison combined with a boarding school. 

The chauffeur smiled tightly as Wilbur stepped towards the building. “For what it’s worth… I’ll miss you, your highness.”

Wilbur swallowed. “Th-thank you. Drive safe.”

What? He was angry, he wasn’t an asshole.

The chauffeur gave him a short nod and a brief bow before turning around, ducking back into her seat. The engines sputtered into life and Wilbur watched as the car crept down the driveway, the gates creaking closed as it drove through them. Sealing him off from the rest of the world. 

Separating him from his family, the last connection he had - his only chance to go home - already disappearing from view. 

Wilbur was alone. This was really happening. Somehow, it hadn’t felt real until just this moment. 

He wasn’t afraid. They were the ones that should be afraid. 

Right?

Wilbur swallowed and made his way up the steps, seizing ahold of the knocker and rapping on the door, a few more times - and far louder - than was strictly necessary. Start as you mean to go on, right?

A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a thin-faced woman, greying hair pulled back into a tight bun, lips tight. Behind her stood a gaggle of teenagers, Wilbur’s age or a little older, all in grey, starched uniforms. 

Wilbur grimaced. Well. This looks fun. 

“Wilbur Craft, I presume?” the woman said. Her voice matched her face, it was clipped and harsh and Wilbur couldn’t help feeling a little off-put by how displeased she sounded. His dad never sounded like that unless Wilbur had done something actually, objectively wrong. What could he have done to offend this woman within seconds of meeting her?

Aside from the knocker thing, obviously

“Y-yeah,” Wilbur nodded, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Nice place you have.”

“You can call me Headmistress,” the woman said, ignoring him entirely, waving forward one of the teenagers, who reached out towards his case. Wilbur released it without too much of a fight, feeling oddly uncomfortable beneath the headmistress’s gaze as she looked him up and down. 

"Alright," she said, after a long moment. Her eyes seemed to glint with something that made a shiver go up his spine. "Take him away."

Wilbur's eyes widened. "Wait - wha-?"

Before he could even finish the word, hands were circling his arms, seizing them and pinning them to his sides. "What the - HEY!" 

He stumbled as they dragged him down the corridor, the students stepping out of the way with downturned eyes. 

"Shut it." one of the people holding him - a teacher, it had to be - grunted. "No one wants to hear it." 

Wilbur’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as he struggled against their- increasingly painful - hold. "What - what are you - let me go! What the f*ck - I haven't - what's going on?!”

“You’re going in the hole,” the other teacher holding him said shortly, not even looking at him, yanking him harshly as he tried to dig his feet into the floor. “Now shut the f*ck up.” 

“The- the what?” Wilbur yelped, both from the sudden pain and from the words. What is going on?! 

“If you don’t shut up right the f*ck now I’m going to f*cking gag you.” 

Wilbur’s jaw clicked shut, eyes wide - the teacher sounded like he was serious

His silence didn’t last long though, a cry of shock escaping him as they threw him headlong to the floor of a - a - 

A cell.

That was the only way to describe it. He was in a tiny, tiny room, a metal cot attached to the wall, a sink and a toilet on the other side. Everywhere was metal and cold and smooth and - and there was nothing else in there. 

Wilbur shook himself out of his shocked daze and threw himself towards the now-closed door, shouting through the small slit in its surface. “What the f*ck is this? What’s - what’s your game? What the f*ck is going on?!”

The headmistress's face came into Wilbur’s limited view. She was smiling now and something about it made Wilbur’s heart beat faster with panic. She was looking at him like he was a fly caught in her web. 

He - he didn’t like it. 

“You’ll stay in there for a while, little prince,” the headmistress smiled. “We can’t start teaching you until you’ve learned at least a little compliance.” 

“You - you can’t do this,” Wilbur choked out. “You - you can’t - I didn’t - I haven’t even done anything - ”

“Who said that?” the headmistress said quietly. “I think we both know that’s not true. You need this. You deserve this. Your family wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise.”

Wilbur stumbled back as though he’d been punched in the gut. “Wh-what?”

“They sent you here,” the headmistress continued. “They want this for you.”

“N-no - no they -”

“And soon enough, we’ll make you see why.”

←→←→←→

Wilbur watched the instructor intently, refusing to glance down. Refusing to look at the table. The smell of the food was already torture enough - if he actually saw it he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from bursting open, pleading, begging - please, I’m so hungry, please - I - please let me eat, please - 

But he couldn’t do that. 

He - he knew this game - this test - now. He knew how it worked - he’d known it was coming when no meals had been given to him all day. In the three weeks he’d been here - one of which was spent entirely in that f*cking cell - they’d done this test four times, including today. 

Wilbur knew what he had to do. 

He didn’t look at the food - he couldn’t - and instead watched the instructor, waiting for the signal, the nod. The permission that he needed. 

He - he hated this. He hated playing along, sitting prettily, obeying. But he didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to eat today - and he did. He was so, so desperately hungry, his stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart, consuming him from the inside out - even his throat hurt for some reason, an awful, fiery-but-hollow sort of pain rising up it. He had no idea hunger could hurt like this. 

A few times before he’d given into it, into his impulses, had reached out and grabbed the fork, frantically stuffing a bite into his mouth before the food was snatched away, knocked to the floor. Before he was dragged away, sent to bed with his stomach still aching, wrists bruised. 

He didn’t want that. He wanted to eat. 

So he had to wait. He just had to wait. 

And eventually - finally - the instructor gave him a short nod. 

Wilbur could have sobbed with relief, seizing the knife and fork and digging into the food hurriedly. It wasn’t good - the food at this school never was - but it was food, it was sustenance. He swallowed and tried to slow down, trying to chew each bite a few times instead of ‘inhaling it like a f*cking pig’. He wasn’t allowed to eat as fast as he wanted, he had to be normal about it. Or they’d stop him early. They always stopped him before he could finish, but the more he could eat now, the better. 

Sure enough, all too soon the instructor nodded again, lifting his chin high. 

Disappointment swirled in Wilbur’s gut, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t - he couldn’t disobey. Not this time. Not unless he wanted to wind up lying on the floor of his room, bruised arms wrapped around aching ribs that flared agonisingly with every inhale. He - he didn’t want that. 

He put his cutlery down carefully before forcing his hands into his lap, clenching them together tightly as he bowed his head. 

Prime, he f*cking hated this. He hated submitting. 

But he was learning to pick his battles - just like Techno had always implored him to. This - this f*cking game was not designed to be one he could win, just one he could survive . And the only way to do that, the only way to pass their stupid sh*tty test was to submit. To obey.

“Good boy,” the instructor said, tone pleased.

Wilbur said nothing. He knew better than to argue with them over such little things now. He - he was just picking his battles. Right? It didn’t - it didn’t mean anything. 

It didn't feel like his soul was disintegrating. 

It didn’t.

←→←→←→

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

Wilbur couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him as the ruler struck his reddened knuckles, sending another jolt of pain through his hands. It took everything in him not to snatch his hands back, but he refused to show that sort of weakness, show how much it hurt. 

He didn’t want them to know just how scared he really was.

“Another,” the instructor demanded. 

“I don’t know any more,” Wilbur repeated.

The instructor clicked her fingers once more and her assistant swung the ruler through the air. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know any more’ ?” the instructor spat. “This was in your lesson yesterday. You don’t know?”

“I just don’t!” Wilbur shot back. “I don’t - I just don’t know any more!” 

Click.

Swish - 

Crack. 

“Do not,” the instructor hissed. “Raise your voice at me, little prince.”

Wilbur gritted his teeth. “I’m - you - you’re being unreasonable.”

The instructor raised her eyebrows. “Oh, am I? I am asking you to repeat simple rules . Are you really this stupid? Or did you not listen at all?” Another click brought the ruler down on Wilbur’s hands once more. “Disrespectful brat.”

Something crimson was beading on Wilbur’s knuckles. “I - I listened. But - there’s so many -”

“And you have to know them,” the instructor said sharply. “Etiquette is not optional. It is everything. When you’re standing at a ball, what are you good for, if not to be watched? To be seen?” She smirked. “You’re the second-born prince. You’re a trophy. Made to be seen. And, if you can’t learn to be polite, not heard.”

Wilbur turned his face away from her. “That - that’s not f*cking true.”

Click.

Swish - 

Crack. 

Oh, that was definitely blood. Wilbur’s hands were aching, every strike to the bruises already there multiplying the pain tenfold. It - it f*cking hurt. 

“Do not curse at me,” the instructor snapped. “You have no respect for your superiors sweetheart. No wonder your family sent you to us. You’re a disgrace.”

“That’s not true,” Wilbur protested. “It - it’s not.”

It is. 

They sent you here, they left you here. They want this for you. They think this is what you deserve.

This is what you deserve. 

Click.

Swish - 

Crack. 

Wilbur couldn’t suppress his yelp of pain this time and the instructor laughed, eyes glinting. “What? Does it hurt sweetheart? Is a little pain too much for you? Disrespectful and spoiled… what use is that pretty face if you’re nothing but an embarrassment?” The ruler was brought down again, slamming into his knuckles and Wilbur had to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears that sprung into them . “Tell me another rule.”

Wilbur broke. 

“I told you, I don’t know!” he yelled, furious desperation seeping into his tone. “I don’t - I don’t know any more and you f*cking hitting me isn’t going to make me remember!”

The ruler came towards him again and Wilbur flinched away, pulling his hands back from the desk and flying to his feet. “Stop! F*cking - f*cking stop! I don’t - you can’t do this! I don’t f*cking know!”

The instructor’s face didn’t have the shock Wilbur had expected - had wanted. She looked almost… bored . “Knowles? Hudson? If you would?”

Wilbur took a step back, but it wasn’t enough to stop harsh hands from seizing his wrists, pinning them down to the desk. He struggled for a moment, before realising it was pointless. The men holding him were far stronger than he was, and there was two of them. It was pointless. Hopeless. 

Wilbur had never felt hopeless before, but he was pretty sure this feeling - the way his gut was sinking, the way he wanted to curl into a ball and cry, or sleep, or both - he was pretty sure this was hopelessness. 

And this wouldn’t be happening if you’d just been good. They wouldn’t have sent you away if you hadn’t been so f*cking annoying.

No - no. This - this wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t. 

In this moment, he supposed, it didn’t matter. It was happening either way. 

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

←→←→←→

It was Wilbur’s sixteenth birthday. 

And there were no letters. 

Nothing from his father - the man who had raised him. The man who would give each of his sons a handwritten note on every birthday, detailing all the ways each boy had made him proud, why he loved them, how much he adored them.

Nothing from Techno, who had always picked and pressed flowers from his own garden, turning them into handmade cards. Wilbur had teased him for it, but had kept every one he recieved, tucked into a box under his bed. 

Nothing from Tommy, who had promised he would write. 

Nothing. 

Wilbur buried his head in his knees and sobbed, arms wrapped around his torso in a poor imitation of the hug he desperately wanted but could never get. 

His family had abandoned him, left him to the wolves that prowled the hallways outside, looking for wayward students to beat back into bed . He was - he was too much trouble, too annoying, too rude, too spoiled, too disrespectful - and they’d sent him away. They’d sent him away, sent him here because - because - 

“He wants what’s right for you and… that’s what this is.”

They thought he needed this. They thought he deserved this, he deserved bleeding knuckles and bruised ribs and insults and rules and isolation and - 

And maybe he did. 

Techno sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “Wilbur I - I love you, but - what you did tonight -”

“It was funny,” Wilbur laughed. “Did you see her face?”

“I did,” Techno said grimly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I saw it. And I - it wasn’t funny.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You’re such a stick-in-the-mud.”

Techno looked up at the ceiling, a disbelieving huff of laughter escaping him. “You’re - you’re really not sorry.”

Wilbur folded his arms. “No. Why would I be? I was bored. ” 

And you were ignoring me, and Dad was talking to a bunch of stuffy nobles and Tommy had found some kids to run off with and I just wanted someone to look at me .

“Get out.”

Wilbur blanched. “Wh-what?”

Techno’s face was twisted with something - exhaustion, anger, sadness, too many emotions to track. “Get out. If - if you’re not going to apologise, just - just leave.”

“Fine,” Wilbur snapped. “Be like that.”

Techno shook his head. “I - you’re meant to help me Wil. And - and all you do is make my life harder.”

Wilbur slammed the door on his words and pretended that they didn’t sting.

He had been - he was - such a selfish piece of sh*t. 

No wonder Techno got sick of him. No wonder his dad sent him away. Even Tommy had realised life without Wilbur was so much easier than life with him. 

Because Wilbur was everything the instructors said. He was disrespectful and rude and spoiled and weak. 

But - but he could do better! He’d learn to be better!

That was why he was here, after all. To learn to be better - to be the son his father wanted . His family might not want him, but he wanted them - he wanted them so badly it hurt. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to go home. He wanted to stop hurting, he wanted to stop being hurt. He wanted home, even though home didn’t want him. 

They didn’t want him unless he was good. 

He would learn to be good. He would. He’d be so, so good, he’d be perfect - the perfect son, brother, prince. Wilbur clenched his jaw, rubbed gentle fingers over his shredded knuckles. He’d work, he’d listen, he’d learn, he’d submit and obey and accept every correction, every punishment. He deserved them. 

Wilbur nodded, tears running down his face. 

I’ll be perfect. I’ll be perfect. 

They don’t want me. They never will.

But… maybe I can be good enough that they can tolerate me. Take me back. 

I want to go home. 

←→←→←→

Every cell in Wilbur’s body was on fire.

His knees ached where they pressed into the hard floor, his arms were trembling with the strain of holding them in the specific way they wanted rather than letting them hang loosely behind his back. It felt as though someone was slicing into his neck and shoulders with a white-hot knife, they burned from the strain of holding himself perfectly upright and straight and - and good. 

It hurts, it hurts, oh Prime, it hurts , it hurts, make it stop, please - 

But it wasn’t going to. Not - not until the instructor said he was done. 

How long had it been now? The clock on the wall said four hours, but to Wilbur it had felt so much longer, every long second filled with the agony currently consuming him.

Of course, it would have been shorter had he not been so f*cking useless. Had he not failed, fallen, over and over again, resetting the countdown each time, the evidence of his failure sprinkled across the floor in scarlet drops. 

Tears trickled down his face and Wilbur automatically dipped his head, trying to hide his humiliation from the people standing above him.

“Ah, ah, ah, chin up,” the instructor said softly, a bloodstained ruler coming to rest against Wilbur’s seizing throat, tipping his chin up so he had no choice but to look at her, leaving him with no way to hide his shame, his weakness. 

‘Can’t handle a little pain sweetheart? Just a few hours and you’re already crying… how ungrateful. We’re trying to help you - improve your posture! Don’t you want to be perfect? Don’t you think you deserve this?’

He deserved this - he needed this. He - he needed it, he needed it to be good, he needed to be good to go home.

Prime, he wanted to be at home so badly right now.

He bit his lip, trying to hold back sobs as tears streaked down his face. The instructor smirked and the ruler shifted, tapping his cheek a couple of times - right on the bruise she had painted there earlier. Wilbur flinched fearfully - oh Prime, did - did I do something wrong? Is - is she going t-to h-hit me, knock me to the ground… make me start again? No - I can’t - p-please - I can’t - I can’t - it already hurts, it hurts so much, p-please, please - 

She laughed. “Aw, is the little prince scared? Look at your tears… weak, still, even now.”

Wilbur gave the smallest nod he could, doing his best not to lower his chin too far or for too long - even then it shrieked in pained protest. The instructor saw the way his face twisted and smiled wider. “Aww, look at you. You’re doing your best.”

I am, I am, I swear I am. I - I’ll be good, I - I’ll be good. I’m - I’m being g-good.

The ruler moved to rest against the top of his head. Wilbur tensed, but didn’t dare move away, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his shoulders to remain still despite the way they wanted to hike up to his ears. He couldn’t break position. He couldn’t start again, he couldn’t, he couldn’t - 

“Good boy,” the instructor said condescendingly, patting the ruler gently against the top of his head. Wilbur would have wilted under the praise if he could, if training and repeated consequences weren’t roaring at him to stay still. 

The instructor glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed. “I suppose that will do for today. You’re done for now princeling.”

The instant the words left her lips Wilbur collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, a wordless whine of dizzied pain escaping him as he crumpled to the floor, chest heaving. Every bruise stung and every muscle was cramping, screaming in burning pain as he pressed his forehead to the floor, trying desperately to catch his breath. He - he had to get up soon, he knew that, but - it hurt, everything hurt and he just needed a minute. Just one minute. Then - then he’d get up. He’d be good. He just needed a minute. Just one minute. 

The instructor sighed and the sound sent a bolt of terror shooting through him. “Really? So dramatic, little prince. Do I need to remind you of what real pain feels like?”

Cold horror shot through Wilbur and he pushed himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head frantically. “N-no! N-no - n-no ma’am, I - I’m s-sorry, I - I - I’m sorry, I - I - I’ll be g-good, I - I’m sorry - I -”

“Stand up then. Properly.”

Wilbur rushed to climb to his feet, body shaking with fear and exertion as he pulled his shoulders back and bowed his head. 

The ruler found the bottom of his chin again, lifting it so he could meet the instructor’s eyes.

“What do we say, sweetheart?”

“Th-th-thank you ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

←→←→←→

He didn’t know how long he’d been cleaning this floor for. It felt like hours - and probably was, if the ache in his knees and arms and - and everywhere was anything to go by. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to though - the posture training - and the other methods used to toughen him up - had clearly paid off, Wilbur knew he could withstand much more pain that he had thought. He was grateful. 

He gritted his teeth and started work on the next tile. It didn’t help that he’d only been given one small rag to work with - and the bathroom was stained with grime, he had to keep stopping to wash the cloth off. It didn’t help that his reddened knuckles were stinging with pain, the diluted bleach in the bucket seeping into every pore, every crack and cut in his battered, ungloved hands. It f*cking hurt, but Wilbur pushed through the pain.

He wanted to go home. 

“We can keep you here,” the headmistress smirked.

Wilbur’s head shot up, eyes widening in panic. “B-but - b-but - I - i-it was only supposed to be -” 

“Four months, I know,” the headmistress smiled. “But I don’t have to send you back.”

Wilbur felt as though the world was crashing down around him. It hadn’t even been the full four months yet, he still had a few weeks to go - for the past two months he had been clinging desperately to the knowledge that he was going to go home in twelve weeks, six weeks, one month… he was going to go home and see his family and they wouldn’t want him, they didn’t love him, but… at least he could see them. At least the beatings would stop. 

Mostly. Hopefully. If Wilbur was good enough. 

He - he had to go home. He couldn’t do this much longer, he couldn’t - he was weak and selfish and spoiled and he wanted to go home.

He wouldn’t survive another four months. 

“I can recommend to your father that you stay a little longer,” the headmistress continued, eyes glinting darkly. “I can say you still have lessons to learn.”

“ N-no! Please - please ma’am - please d-don’t, p-please I - I - I’ll be good, please, please don’t, I - I’ll do anything -”

The headmistress nodded. “Yes. You will.”

So Wilbur kept working. He had just two weeks, fourteen days, twenty thousand minutes until he was out of here. He just had to prove he’d learned his lesson, knew his place - knew how to stand, how to sit, how to kneel - he had to prove he could obey orders . He was useless unless he could obey. 

He’d done laundry, washed windows, weeded gardens, polished silverware - he did everything they told him to. He would do anything they asked of him. He just wanted to go home.

The door swung open and Wilbur tensed, shoulders rising to his ears. Sometimes an insctrutor came by to check on him, inspect his work, throw a few cutting words his way. Sometimes other pupils came in to use the bathroom. Most of them ignored him entirely. Some of them scurried past him nervously, others might snort derisively at him before going about their business. One or two of them threw him grimace of something almost like sympathy. 

And others…

“Well, well, well,” said gleeful voice. “If it isn’t our resident royal brat!”

Wilbur didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to. He knew who the voice belonged to. 

“Cleaning a bathroom now?” Jared sniggered. “How dignified.”

Wilbur just kept scrubbing, doing his best to tune the words out. He didn’t want to get into any trouble and Jared, despite being a particular favourite amongst some of the instructors, was definitely trouble. Wilbur couldn’t afford that, not when he was so close to going home.

“Are you f*cking ignoring me?” Jared snarled. “Don’t pretend you’re too good for me your highness, you’re on the floor cleaning a f*cking bathroom like a common servant . You’re not worth more than me - you’re not worth anything.”

Wilbur swallowed, keeping his head low. “L-leave me alone Jared. P-please.”

“It talks!” 

Wilbur closed his eyes, humiliation coursing through his veins. “Please. I - I just want to get this done.”

“And I’m trying to help you!”

“I - I don’t -”

“Now don’t be ungrateful,” Jared said snippily. “I think you need help pretty boy. You have no idea what you’re doing. I mean, look at this floor! It’s nowhere near wet enough."

“It - it’s not what?”

“It’s not wet enough,” Jared repeated.

And then in one swift movement, he kicked the bucket over.

Bleach and dirt and soapscum splashed across the floor, spraying everywhere . Wilbur let out a pained hiss, snatching his hands away from the floor and staring at the mess. 

Tears pricked at his eyes. 

F*ck.

Wilbur shook his head. “You - you…” he curled into himself as his voice broke. “Please just go away…”

A hand landed in his hair and before Wilbur had a chance to react he was being slammed into the metal sink, hot blood rushing down his face as he cried out in pain and shock. Jared laughed and released him as Wilbur’s hands flew to his nose, trying to stem the flow before it stained his uniform and earned him another chore… at best .

But he’d gladly take another punishment over being forced to stay.

Jared strode away, still chuckling to himself and Wilbur scrambled to a bathroom stall, grabbing some paper and pressing it to his face, taking deep breaths as he did. 

He wouldn’t cry. He could take a little pain. He’d clean the floors again. He’d do anything. 

He’d be tolerable . 

And maybe he’d finally get to go home. 

←→←→←→

Wilbur kept his hands clasped in his lap as neatly as he could. His heart was racing in his chest, his mind spinning as he went over every rule he could think of, running over every muscle in his body - keeping his back perfectly rigid, his head angled down, just slightly. His hands were shaking, no matter how hard he tried to keep them still - he hoped the king couldn’t see them from where was sat. 

He was trying to be good. He was trying so hard. 

His stomach ached with hunger, but he was being good. 

The king had allowed him to take a few bites, and for that Wilbur was grateful - although they hadn’t done much to satisfy his hunger. They made it worse if anything, as though his stomach had been woken up, reminded of the fact that it hadn’t been fed in far too long - especially not with food this good. Creamy chicken, broiled vegetables, roasted potatoes - actual food, not gruel and thin soup and bread so hard it could hammer in a nail. 

He swallowed. 

The king wanted him to stop eating. He’d nodded at him and Wilbur, with a sinking heart, had carefully placed his cutlery down side by side, tucking his hands into his lap.

Maybe it was a test. Or a punishment, or - 

It doesn’t matter why, Wilbur reminded himself sternly. You don’t need to know why.

You just need to obey. 

Beside him, Tommy put his fork down loudly and he folded his arms, 

Their dad lifted his head. “Not hungry Tommy?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Then suddenly, awfully, the king turned his attention on Wilbur, raising his eyebrows. “You too Wilbur?”

Prime. 

I am, please - I-I’m so hungry, it hurts, it hurts - and I - I don’t have the right to demand anything, I know, I know that, but please - 

Wilbur wanted to beg. He would beg, if that was what was required of him. 

But it wasn’t. 

He knew the answer he was expected to give. 

“N-no sir. Not - not hungry,” he said quietly. Politely.

Techno placed his knife and fork down and stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

Their father nodded, an awkward smile on his face. “Sleep well son.”

Wilbur pushed down the swell of sadness that rose at how easily his dad the king called Technoblade son.

He was never going to be called that. He didn’t deserve to be called that. 

Tommy got up. “I’m going too.” 

“Goodnight Tommy,” the king sighed as Tommy stalked out of the room. 

Leaving Wilbut alone. With the king. 

He sat frozen stiff, heart pumping panic around his body. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck - 

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. “Y-yes sir?”

The king didn’t look at him. “If - if you’re finished you don’t have to stay. You can go.”

Wilbur knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he knew to obey orders the first time. He stood up as smoothly as he could, dipping into a low, perfect, bow. “Thank you sir.”

“You - Wilbur I… I’m…” the king trailed off, sighing. “You’re welcome.”

Wilbur drew himself up and hurried away. He didn’t let himself relax until he had closed the door of his bedroom, sealing himself off from the rest of the palace. 

Then he slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his cramping stomach. 

It was worth it. To stay. 

There were no extra bruises littering his skin, no harsh words spat in his direction. 

Prime…

I forgot how nice it is here. 

I’d do anything to stay. 

←→←→←→

“Back straight little prince,” the instructor said sharply. Wilbur sucked in a breath, trying to be as upright as possible, staring straight ahead, waiting for her to nod and move on to the next boy in line. 

Instead she stalled, folding her arms. “Smile you dimwits. Remember, you’re all trophies - assets to your parents, things to be looked at, admired. No one wants to look at a scowling face.”

Wilbur forced a wobbily smile. The instructor glanced over at him and rolled her eyes. “Prime, you’re useless, aren’t you sweetheart? What’s the point of that pretty face if you don’t use it?”

“Hey Wil.”

Wilbur snapped out of his mind, turning his attention to his little brother. “H-hi Tommy.”

“I’m bored,” Tommy complained, eyes wide and pleading. 

Prime, Wilbur had missed his brother. 

He had missed his mischievous grin, his bubbling laughter, the way his eyebrows danced when he was up to no good. He had missed his uncanny knack for making everyone around him hate and love him all at once.

That was one trait they decidedly did not share.

“O-oh… I’m sorry?” Wilbur said quietly. “I-I’m sorry..”

“Can’t we go do something?” Tommy whined. 

Wilbur broke eye contact, looking down at his shoes as he took a step back. “I - uh - I - I h-have to stay here. I - I can’t leave.”

“What? Who said that?” 

Wilbur swallowed.

‘You’re the second-born prince. You’re the supporting act, the sideshow - there to be polite and look pretty. You go where you’re told and you stay there. No one wants a pet that isn’t trained, that can’t obey simple commands like sit and stay. You want them to take you back, don’t you sweetheart?’

“I - I - I just have to.” 

Tommy pouted. “But this is boring!”

Wilbur gave a small, hopeless shrug. He wasn’t bored. His mind was racing, recalling everything he’d ever been taught about protocol, how to stand, how to smile and bow and laugh politely - but not too loudly. 

How to be a pretty thing to look at, a mildly interesting amusement to be forgotten soon after meeting. 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Come on! Have you seen the dress that woman is wearing?!” He indicated the outfit in question, a pink dress seemingly entirely made out of feathers, completely drowning the relatively short woman wearing it. It was ridiculous, and entirely inappropriate for the event - something Wilbur would have laughed with Tommy over a few months ago. 

He shook his head. “I - I… I can’t Tommy. I… it’s the rules.”

Tommy reached out and seized Wilbur’s arm. “Since when have you cared about the rules?”

Wilbur winced at the reminder of his past misbehaviour. He - he’d been such a f*cking embarassment - it was a wonder they’d been able to tolerate him for as long as they had before sending him away. He’d been awful, no sense of proprietary or his place, causing chaos and dragging Tommy into it too - he was a terrible example, a horrible older brother, Prime - was this a test? Was Tommy testing him, to see if he’d really changed - was he going to report back to the king, tell him Wilbur was still a massive f*ckup who didn’t deserve to be here - who should be back at that school, aching and starving and crying himself to sleep -

“...Wilbur?”

 “I - I… I can’t - I c-can’t -” Wilbur gasped. I can’t be bad. I can’t be bad - I have to be good - I have to follow the rules or - or -

Tommy took a step back. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur lowered his head. “I’m s-sorry,” he whispered. “I - I’m s-sorry. I - I can’t.”

“Why?” Tommy asked. “Why can’t you?”

“The r-rules,” Wilbur said, voice small. “I h-have to follow the rules now Tommy.”

“Fine,” Tommy said harshly, folding his arms. “Fine. F*cking - be like that then.”

Wilbur lowered his head at the anger in his tone. “I-I’m sorry -”

Tommy spun around and marched away. He didn’t turn around to see Wilbur watching him go mournfully, heart tearing in two. 

He missed his little brother. He had missed him so badly. 

But he didn’t deserve him. Wilbur knew that. 

And it seemed Tommy knew that too. 

←→←→←→

“Come in!”

Wilbur softly opened the door to Technoblade’s office, clutching the folder to his chest. There were three advisors in here as well as his brother and he felt himself sink into the floor. “Um - I - I h-have the report for you.”

Technoblade blinked. “You - what?”

Wilbur ducked his head. “I - th-the report. On Kinokian culture. The - the king said you would want to see it.”

Technoblade stood. “I do. Thanks Wilbur.” He paused. “Are you sure it’s ready?” 

“Y-yes! I - I think so,” Wilbur stammered, holding the report out. Technoblade took it, flipping it open and leafing through the pages.

Wilbur clasped his hands behind his back so the crown prince couldn’t see how badly they were shaking. 

He’d worked really hard on this. Harder than he’d ever worked on anything before - of course, he’d been a lazy, spoiled brat before he’d been taught better, so that didn’t mean all that much. But still, he’d worked so hard on this, spending countless sleepless nights researching, translating, organising, double-checking, cross-referencing - he had to do well. He had to make it perfect, his dad the king had made that very clear. If it wasn’t good enough, if Wilbur didn’t make it perfect, then….

‘If it’s too much we can always send -’

He didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t go back. 

He held his breath and waited for Technoblade’s verdict. 

“You did this?” he exclaimed.

Wilbur nodded, hands clasped behind his back, back perfectly straight. “Y-yes.”

Technoblade blinked, turning the pages. “Prime…”

“Is - is…” Wilbur trailed off nervously before swallowing and trying again. “Is - i-is it o-okay?”

Technoblade shook his head in disbelief. “It - it’s perfect Wil.” 

Wilbur’s felt relief flood his body. “I - I - really?” 

“You - you did well,” Technoblade nodded.

“Th-th-thank you si - T-Technoblade. Thank you,” Wilbur whispered, lifting his head slightly. 

Technoblade closed the folder and offered him a small smile. “Thank you. This will make things much easier.”

“You - you th-think so?” Wilbur said hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Technoblade smiled. “This is incredibly well put together Wilbur.”

Wilbur let out a breath. “Th-thank you.” 

“No drawings of the national animal though,” Technoblade joked.

Wilbur’s eyes widened for a brief moment - f*ck, f*ck, did I forget something? Is he - is he mad? - before relaxing, seeing the humour in his brother’s expression, taking a deep breath. “Y-y-yeah. I - I c-couldn’t find the space for them.”

“What is it?”

“A-a giraffe.”

Technoblade chuckled. “They really should have chosen something smaller.”

Wilbur offered him a small, shy smile. “Y-yeah.”

One of the advisors behind them coughed. “Excuse me?” 

Techno turned to face him. “Yes?”

The advisor narrowed his eyes. “Prince Wilbur, don’t you have other things to be doing, besides interrupting this meeting to bother the crown prince?”

Sh*t.

Wilbur paled, blood draining from his face. F*ck. Of course. I’m - I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting their time - getting in the f*cking way all over again, like I always do - I messed up again and - and - of course Technoblade doens’t want to spend time talking to me, I’m just getting in his way and being a bother, an inconvenience - and - and I’m still f*cking standing here - 

“Y-y-y-y-yes! Yes - o-of course s-sir - I - I’m sorry, I - I’m so sorry - I - sorry, I - I can g-go. S-s-sorry.” 

Techno reached out a hand and Wilbur flinched away from the backhand across the cheek that he knew he deserved - but he still was so so afraid of.

“S-s-sorry! I - I’ll g-go! I’ll go, I’m g-going, I’m sorry,” he stammered out, dropping into a low bow before scrambling out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him. 

Out in the hallway he pressed himself agains the wall, tears springing into his eyes as his heart pounded frantically in his chest. 

I messed up. Again. 

I can’t do anything right - I’m such a f*ckup and everyone knows it. 

He choked on a sob.

I’m going to get sent back. 

He wanted to slide to the floor and cry, to fall apart right there and then, shattering on the stone floor. 

But he knew better. He knew no one wanted to see him cry, to see his weakness . No one would care. 

So he pulled his shoulders back and placed his arms behind his back. Perfect posture. Perfect stance. 

Perfect.

He had to be perfect. He had to be tolerable.

He wouldn’t survive it if they sent him away again. 

←→←→←→

“Ah, Wilbur, there you are. I wanted to talk to you.”

Wilbur stopped walking and waited for the king to catch up, hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Y-yes sir?”

“I heard from Techno that you gave him your report.”

Wilbur’s head dipped slightly. “I - I did.”

“I asked to take a look at it,” the king continued. “It was… impressive, honestly.”

“Th-th-thank you sir,” Wilbur said softly. “It - u-um - it w-was nothing.”

“Wilbur?”

“Y-yes sir?”

“You did well,” the king repeated. 

“Th-thank you?” Wilbur said hesitantly. He wanted desperately to curl in on himself, away from his father’s judgement, but he forced his shoulders to remain still, his back perfectly straight.

The king sighed. “Wilbur…”

Wilbur stilled, tension lancing through every muscle. “Y-y-yes?”

“Are you… alright?” the king asked slowly. “I - I know you’re… I… I sent you away. And I - I know you didn’t want to go. And - and I thought it would be good for you. But… you’ve come back and…”

Wilbur’s breathing hitched. He could practically hear the king’s next words already.

‘And you’re still not good enough.’

‘I’m sending you back.’

 “I… you’ve come back and I… you… you’re not - you’ve been…” he raised his hand and - 

Click.

Wilbur’s mind screeched to a halt.

Click.

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

He’d f*cked up, he’d f*cked up again, he was so useless and stupid and now he was being punished - punished like he deserved but it still hurt and -

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

He was being punished and it hurt, he was bleeding and - and - and - 

Click. 

Swish -

Crack. 

And he was standing.

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

Why was he standing?

That wasn’t the correct position to receive a punishment. He knew that.

Click. 

Swish - 

Crack. 

Now he was going to be punished for that too. But - but maybe if he was fast enough - 

Wilbur dropped to his knees, his back ramrod straight, arms still held behind his back, head slightly lowered as he inhaled and exhaled in shallow, unsteady breaths. 

“Wilbur?” the king breathed. “W-Wil - wh-what?”

Wilbur swallowed, hard, throat bobbing. “I - I’m r-r-ready t-to be p-p-punished s-sir.”

“What?!”

He’s angry, he’s angry - he’s angry and I’m the only one around -

 “I - I’m r-ready to be p-punished sir. How-however you see fit.”

The king reached forwards. “Wilbur I -”

And Wilbur, like the f*cking idiot he was, flinched. 

The king pulled his hand back and Wilbur began trembling, churning out apology after apology as though it would do any good. “I’m s-s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I - I’m sorry sir - I’m sorry, please, I’ll be good, I’ll - I’ll stay still, I’ll be good, I’m sorry - please -” He took a deep, shaky, breath. “I - I’m s-sorry,” he whispered. “I - I’ll stay still, you - you can p-punish me. P-please don’t send me back.” 

“Wilbur… ”

Wilbur stiffened. Here it comes. Will it be the ruler again? Does he have something on him, will he order a servant to fetch him something to use? Or is he just going to use his fists?

The thought scared him. Being hit, being hurt by his own father… it terrified him. 

But he would take it. He had to take it.

Anything was better than being sent back.

He closed his eyes and waited for the blow to fall.

His father’s voice was choked. “Wilbur… what did they do to you at that school?”

Chapter Text

Phil stared at the box on his desk. 

Just open it Phil. 

Open it. 

His hands were shaking. 

Inside that box was - was - he didn’t know. Whatever that school had decided to send him. He’d know soon enough. He’d already untied the string. All he had to do was take the lid off.

All he had to do was take the lid off.

Just open it. 

He reached out a hand, squeezing his eyes shut against - something. Some invisible blow. 

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have the proof there, glaringly obvious, under his nose the whole time. Proof of what had been done to his son. 

Of what he’d done to his son. 

He’d sent him away. To a place that - that - broke him. Made his vibrant, bright, spirited Wilbur a shell. A pale imitation of his true self - the same smile, but it was forced, with no light behind his eyes, a soft, quiet, polite laugh instead of his loud, musical one. His son wasn’t his son anymore. He didn’t deserve to call the person he’d hurt so badly his son - he didn’t deserve to be called ‘Dad’. He - he’d - he’d - he’d betrayed Wilbur. In the worst of ways. Instead of dealing with his son’s problems himself, talking him though them the way a father should, he’d sent him away. To a reform school. A - a reform school that - that had - 

He didn’t know. 

He had to know.

He had to know how badly he’d f*cked up. He - he owed it to Wilbur. He was being a f*cking coward right now, trying to avoid facing his guilt. What had happened to Wilbur had already happened. He wasn’t preventing anything by avoiding it. He was just making it worse through his own ignorance. 

He had to know. 

Gritting his teeth he pulled off the lid. 

And was met with the sight of a folded grey uniform, a white envelope lying on top. He picked it up. 

‘To the Parent or Parents of Wilbur Craft’

Phil gulped as he tore it open. Here we go. 

‘To HRH, Philza Craft,

Your son, Wilbur Craft, has completed his program here at St Essempi’s School for Troubled Youths. He has met our expectations, learned his place, and can now carry out his duties to the high standards expected of him. We were very proud to be allowed to train a prince of the realm, and we hope you are pleased with the results. 
Inside of this package we have placed a number of items that may be of use to you in keeping him under control. Further instructions and advice on using them are in the handbook, also enclosed. 
If you are not satisfied with the results, or would like more counseling on continuing his training at home, please do not hesitate to get in touch.

Regards,
Ms A. Hardcracker
Headmistress’

Phil let the letter fall from his hands. Prime… ‘train’... ‘the results’... 

He didn’t like the way the woman spoke of his son at all. 

He lifted the uniform out, setting it to the side. Beneath it lay a number of items that Phil recognised as Wilbur’s, along with a coiled rope and a wooden ruler, which was tinged a strange red colour, almost like rust. 

And then, of course, there was the ‘handbook’ they’d mentioned. ‘Your Reformed Child - a Guide to Continued Training’. 

Phil picked it up and flipped it open to a random page. 

' If the student misbehaves after it’s returned, make sure to discipline it thoroughly or else the training will not stick. We provide plenty of options for you at home, but use your own discretion based on the level of problematic behaviour - we recommend using semi-consistent punishments so that the student will know a punishment is coming, but it will not become complacent in knowing what will happen.’

‘It’. 

They were referring to his son as an it.

Phil felt sick. He flicked through the pages, eyes landing on paragraph after paragraph, all of them cruel and vile and wrong. So so wrong. 

‘As you may know, the student did not receive letters while in our program, nor were any of its sent. It is up to you whether you tell it that you sent it letters - if you did - but we recommend you allow it to think you didn’t write to it at all, as this will…’

‘...although, if the student continues to eat after you have nodded for a second time, the training it has received may have worn off. Please get in contact with us immediately to assess whether it needs to be returned and retrained’

‘Sometimes the threat of a punishment can be just as effective as - and less effort than - the punishment itself. Be sure to still punish the student occasionally, so that it does not begin to perceive the threat as an empty one. This is particularly useful when...’

‘We have enclosed some items that appeared to be sentimental to your student. You can use the return of these as rewards or their destruction as punishment, depending on your preference.’

‘If it is not grateful enough for any privilege given to it, respond promptly and harshly. Rescinding privlilges such as food and shelter will often be enough to remind it of its place.’

‘...as such, a simple snap of your fingers should be enough to have it instantly obey your command. The training should be ingrained, but, if the effect begins to wear off, use the ruler provided with the technique explained above in order to refresh its memory.’

Phil swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The ruler?

He lifted the ruler they’d given him, frowning at it, turning his attention back to the page. 

‘The ruler we have given you is the one used specifically on your student. This is in order to…’

Used?

Suddenly the red stains made sense.

Phil dropped the ruler and stumbled back, chest heaving. That - is that - no - it - it can’t be - 

But it was. There was nothing else it could be. 

He had been holding a ruler stained with Wilbur’s blood. 

Phil’s knees gave out and he sank to the floor, a hand over his mouth, muffling his choked cry as best he could. How dare you? How dare you cry when Wilbur is the one that went through that - that was beaten until he bled. What right do you have to cry?

He couldn’t help it. The thought of his son suffering that way - being hurt, over and over again, until he was broken, his personality ground into dust - trained into perfect obedience…

The thought of Wilbur thinking that was what Phil had wanted. 

It was tearing him apart.

So he cried, crumpled on the floor of his study, gasping, choked sobs escaping him as the reality of what had happened - of what he’d done - sank in. He’d f*cked up. Badly. Probably irreparably. 

He thinks I wanted it. He thinks he deserved it - that’s what the letter said, that he’d ‘learned his place’. 

Prime, what have I done? 

Where do I go from here?

Can I fix it?

Where do I even start?

He had to do something. He couldn’t - he couldn’t allow things to carry on like this. He couldn’t let Wilbur think he wanted him broken for one moment more. 

Phil got to his feet, wiping his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

I f*cked up. 

He pressed the buzzer on his desk that would summon a servant. He had a number of people to speak to. Starting with the advisors that had told him to send Wilbur to that - that hellhole. 

He didn’t want them around his son a moment longer. 

It was time to be a f*cking father. 

←→←→←→

Wilbur knocked tentatively on the door to the king’s study. He didn’t know why he had been summoned, he was afraid of what might be waiting for him on the other side. He was still in trouble from earlier - he had to be, the king hadn’t doled out a punishment, even after he had knelt. Wilbur didn’t know why - he didn’t know why the answer ‘nothing I didn’t deserve sir’ hadn’t been good enough. It was what he had been taught to say. He knew it was true. The king knew it most of all - he’d known it before Wilbur had, even. 

So, this was probably going to be a punishment. Wilbur knew that. He just wished he knew what to expect, what his father was going to do to him. It would be deserved, whatever it was, he knew that, but - 

He was still scared. 

“Come in!”

Wilbur opened the door and stepped inside the threshold, keeping his head low. It meant he couldn’t look at the king - but that was good, right? To keep your head low in front of your superiors. Wilbur didn’t deserve to look the king in the eye. 

“Wilbur,” the king said, voice low. “Close the door please. And… t-take a seat.”

Wilbur obeyed, taking the seat across from the king’s desk. The ruler, then. His knuckles smarted at the thought. 

But Wilbur would be good. When he was ordered to put his hands on the desk, he would. He didn’t need to be held down anymore. He knew how to take a punishment, how to behave, how to be good. Tolerable. 

He would be tolerable. He’d be silent and meek and perfect. Anything they wanted. Whatever it took to stop them from sending him back. 

“Wilbur… I…” the king swallowed. “I - I need to talk to you. A-about that school I s-sent you to.”

Wilbur felt his whole body tighten with tension. “Y-y-yes sir?”

“Prime…” the king whispered under his breath. He cleared his throat. “I - Prime - Wilbur… what they did to you…” his voice cracked. “I - I didn’t know.”

Wilbur felt his mind short-circuit. “Wha - p-pardon?”

“W-Wilbur… can you look at me? Please?”

Wilbur obeyed, lifting his head to meet the king’s gaze. 

He looked… sad. More than sad, actually… devastated. As though he was grieving. 

Why?

“Prime, Wilbur, I - I didn’t know. I - I didn’t know what they did there, I didn’t think - I didn’t know what they would do to you - what they did do to you. I… I didn’t know they would - th-they would… h-hurt you."

Wilbur blinked in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. But… surely he had? That - that’s what the instructors said, what everyone said, that I need discipline, deserve punishment - that everyone could see it. Even I see it now. Surely - surely he knew - 

He knew. He had to know. He - he wanted it - didn’t he? I deserved it - right?

“And - I know it’s not an excuse,” his father continued. “I - I wouldn’t want it to be, there - there is no excuse for what they did, for what I allowed them to do - there is nothing I can say that will ever excuse what I did to you - and - and I’m - I’m so sorry Wilbur.”

Wilbur stared at him. “Wh-what? B-but - you… I d-deserved it?”

The king’s face crumpled. “Prime…”

Wilbur could feel his breathing picking up. “S-s-s-sir? I - I d-deserved it - r-right? I - I deserved it - I -”

“No - no, Prime Wilbur, no,” the king choked. “No - I - I didn’t know. I didn’t know - I would never have sent you there. I - I didn’t want that, I didn’t - I never wanted you to be hurt son. I never wanted to hurt you… b-but I have I sent you there and I’m so f*cking sorry Wilbur.”

“N-no!” Wilbur protested - he was arguing, he was being bad but he couldn’t help it - “N-no! I d-deserved it - I was b-b-being a b-brat and - and I was s-selfish and s-spoiled and -”

“You were just being young,” his father whispered, voice breaking. “You were being young and - and I was distracted by Techno’s training a-and I - I s-sent you away. If anyone was being selfish it was me Wilbur. I - I hurt you.”

Wilbur’s mind was spinning. “You - you -”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” his father continued, eyes shining with tears. “I - I didn’t know what they would do - I just wanted you to be happy. You - you were so… upset all the time, and I - I just wanted you to be happy again. I didn’t - I didn’t want them to change you, not like this - I loved you just the way you were.”

Wilbur blinked. “You - you l-l-loved me?”

“Yes Wilbur, I loved you. I love you now, I never stopped - I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I let you think otherwise, I’m sorry I sent you somewhere that made the feeling so much worse - I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry and I love you - I love you so much that it hurts.”

He - he loves me. 

He loves me. 

Wilbur shattered. 

His hands flew to his face as he broke apart, sobs bursting out of him, body shuddering with the force of them as he crumbled under those three words. ‘I love you’.

A chair scraped against the floorboards, clattering as it hit the ground, and then there were arms around him.

He was being hugged. 

Wilbur gasped brokenly and collapsed into his father’s chest, seizing ahold of his shirt with tight fists, pulling himself closer, as though he could somehow hide from the world in the king’s arms - from all the pain and heartache and hurt. As though this one hug could mend everything in him that was so so broken. 

He never thought he’d get a hug again. He’d thought - he’d thought his dad hated him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” his father whispered, one hand on his back, the other on the back of his head, holding him close, shielding him from the world. “I love you son. I love you and I’m so sorry.”

Son.

I’m his son again.

Wilbur closed his eyes. “I-is.. d-does that -” he swallowed. “D-does this m-m-mean - c-can I  - c-can I call you d-d-d-dad again?”

His father let out a wounded noise. “Oh… Wilbur… my baby… you never had to stop.”

←→←→←→

Techno stopped. “Wilbur?”

His brother’s head snapped up at once. “T-T-Techno?”

Prime. 

It hurt to see the apprehension in his eyes. 

Techno understood, now, what had happened to Wilbur at that f*cking school. Their father had explained what they’d done to him, how they’d carefully ground his younger brother down into dust. Their dad’s voice had been tight with pain, laced with regret - Techno had never heard him sound so fractured before. 

He understood why. Everything they’d done to Wilbur - everything they’d made him believe…

It made him sick to his stomach. Thinking of his brother suffering like that - alone and in pain and thinking they wanted it - thinking Techno wanted it…

Prime. 

He forced himself to smile softly. He was good at this - keeping his emotions in check. He’d done it before, for ambassadors and nobles and the same advisors that had sent Wilbur to that f*cking school. To keep them happy.

He could do it for Wilbur. He could do it to help his brother feel safe.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

Wilbur blinked, eyes wide. “I - you - y-you don’t - is this - is this… y-your spot? I - I - I can move, I’m sorry, I - I didn’t realise -”

Techno winced internally. “No - no, it’s the palace library Wil. It’s yours as much as it is mine, y’know?”

Wilbur looked doubtful, glancing away from him, gaze pointed at his feet. “I - I’m sorry. I - I don’t - I don’t want to g-get in your way - I can - I’ll l-leave. I’m - I’m sorry.”

He stood and Techno’s heart clenched. “No! No. I - I want to… r-read with you.”

Wilbur froze. “You - you - wh-what?”

Techno swallowed. “I - I want to… read with you. Like we used to. B-before.”

Wilbur’s book was clutched tightly to his chest. “R-r-really?” 

“Really. I - I missed it.” In the months before you left, when you were always mad at me and I didn’t know why. “While you were gone.” And in the month after you returned, when you weren’t yourself anymore and I thought I’d never get something like this again. 

Techno sat down on the sofa, indicating the spot beside him where Wilbur had been sitting moments ago. “Please?”

Wilbur sat down hesitantly. Techno could see the tension in his back, his whole body. His heart ached for him. 

He offered him a gentle smile. 

After a moment, Wilbur returned it - small and nervous, but a smile, a real one, emotion in his eyes beyond just blankness or fear.

Techno took a deep breath and opened his book - The Odyssey, a familiar, comforting, myth for an unfamiliar, disconcerting reality - and began to read. 

←→←→←→

Techno wasn’t sure how this had happened. Maybe he’d been unconsciously inching closer, or maybe Wilbur had, but either way, they had gotten to the point of meeting in the middle of the couch, almost touching. 

And, as the minutes ticked by, as Wilbur slowly relaxed, tension draining away, his eyes had slid shut, his head had tipped to the side…

And he was now asleep on Techno’s shoulder.

Techno hadn’t moved a muscle in over fifteen minutes now, not even to turn the page or lift a hand to wipe at his eyes when tears formed there. He didn’t want to risk shattering this moment - could hardly believe it was happening . 

Wilbur was asleep on his shoulder.

Wilbur was asleep on his shoulder.

It felt like a miracle. After all of their arguments before he was sent away, after all the aftermath, after everything that had been done to Wilbur at that Prime-damn school… 

Wilbur should hate him. He definitely shouldn’t trust him like this. 

But he did.

Techno would never break that trust again.

Footsteps approached and Techno lifted his eyes to see a servant approaching hurriedly. “Sire? Your presence is required downstairs. There’s a meeting in Councilman Dexter’s office.”

Techno looked at him. 

And then he looked down at his younger brother, asleep on his shoulder, hair flopping in front of his forehead as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. 

The choice was easy. 

“I’m good.”

The servant blinked. “S-sire?”

Techno smiled softly at Wilbur’s sleeping form. “I’m spending time with my brother. I won’t be making it.”

The servant was silent for a moment, apparently processing that. “What - what should I - what should I tell him?”

Techno shrugged his free shoulder slowly. “I don’t really care. Tell him I said ‘f*ck off’ if it gets him off your back. But I won’t be coming - and do me a favour, don’t tell him where I am for that matter.”

“O-o-okay,” the servant stuttered incredulously. “I - I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Techno smiled. 

The servant bowed and hurried away. 

Techno lifted a hand to brush Wilbur’s hair out of his face. 

And was met by the sight of his brother’s doe-brown eyes staring up at him. 

Techno started. “You’re awake?”

Wilbur flushed red. “I - I… y-yeah.”

“How long have you been asleep?”

Wilbur’s blush deepened. “I - I wasn’t asleep. At - at all.” 

Suddenly, he paled, blood draining from his face as he wrenched his head off of Techno’s shoulder. “I’m sorry! I’m - I’m - I’m s-sorry for lying, I - I - I didn’t - I wasn’t - I’m sorry , I - I - I j-just wanted…”

“Wilbur… it’s okay,” Techno said gently. 

Wilbur swallowed, head hanging low. “I’m sorry. I - I didn’t mean t-to… take up your space. A-and your time - you didn’t have to skip that meeting for me -”

“I wanted to,” Techno said firmly, taking his brother’s hands in his own. “I missed this Wilbur - talking to you, laughing with you, being with you in quiet moments… I missed you.”

“I - I - I m-missed you too,” Wilbur whispered. His eyes were glassy and Techno realised with a jolt that he was holding back tears. “I - I… I m-missed this too.”

“I’m going to be a better brother to you,” Techno promised. “I - I got swept up in all of the… crown prince stuff and I was so stressed…”

“I - I know made it worse,” Wilbur said quietly - sincerely. Not laced with fear, for once. “I - I’m sorry Tech. I… I can’t say I didn’t mean to, but… I didn’t mean to… break us.”

“It’s okay,” Techno said softly. “I - I forgave you months ago. I needed you Wil.  I - I forgot to let you distract me and I was so stressed … and when you were gone, I… I need you, y’know? To make sure I don’t forget to be… imperfect.”

Wilbur took in a shuddering breath. “I - I don’t - I don’t think… I don’t think I’m good at that anymore.”

Techno swallowed. “I know.” 

He reached up and pulled Wilbur close, letting his brother rest against his chest. “But we’re going to figure it out. Together. I promise.”

Slowly hands wrapped around him in return as Wilbur began to shake slightly. Techno buried his nose in his brother’s hair, hiding his own tears. 

There was still so much hurt . So much that was broken between them. 

But they loved each other. 

Love. That’s a good place to start.

←→←→←→

Tommy hesitated outside of Wilbur’s door, fist raised, poised to knock against the wood. 

He was nervous. 

Why was he nervous? 

This was still Wilbur. It was just Wilbur. It was still his brother on the other side of the door, it was still the same person - 

But it wasn’t, was it?

Tommy still couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened to his big brother. What had been done to him - what that reform progam had turned him into. He couldn’t believe it, he didn’t understand - how could anyone see Wilbur, his Wilbur, and want to change him, ruin him? Why would anyone want to hurt him?

He could see his dad didn’t really understand it either, even as he gently explained that Wilbur’s school had been… bad. Worse than any of them had thought. When Tommy had asked why those people would want to hurt Wilbur - why Dad had sent him there in the first place if it was so bad - his father had no answer, his face twisting up with a pained expression Tommy had only seen a few times before - when his mother was sick and a younger, more foolish Tommy would ask when she was going to get better. 

He didn’t like the expression on his dad then. He didn’t like it now. 

Techno wasn’t okay either - his eldest brother had a haunted look in his eyes lately. Tommy was pretty sure Techno knew more of the details than he did - perhaps he should have minded, but he didn’t. He felt, somehow, that it was better not to know everything.  

What he did know, though, was that Wilbur had been hurt. Really really badly. And he was… sad. Struggling to have fun and be himself again. That was how Dad had explained it, anyway. 

Tommy was pretty sure he could help with that, at least. 

Which is why he was here. Because Wilbur had always found a way to cheer Tommy up. It was time he returned the favour. 

All he had to do was knock. 

Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the door a few times, before waiting for a response. After a few seconds, Wilbur’s voice came from within. “C-come in?” 

Tommy stepped into the room. Wilbur was perched on the end of his bed, a book held in his lap. His eyebrows rose as Tommy entered. “T-Tommy?”

Tommy smiled. “Hi Wilby."

“How - what - how are you?” Wilbur said awkwardly. 

Tommy wanted to grimace, but he did his best to hide it. He wasn’t sure whether he did a perfect job - he wasn’t as good at it as Techno was. “I’m bored. I wanted to talk to you!”

Wilur’s face paled a little. “O-okay?”

Hm. This is harder than I thought. 

He glanced around the room, looking for inspiration, and his eyes fell on the guitar stand, Wilbur’s slightly-battered acoustic guitar propped up near the wall in one corner of the room. “Hey, could you play for me? I… I miss hearing you play.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened as he glanced between him and the guitar. “I - I d-don’t know… I haven’t played in months.”

“I know,” Tommy acknowledged. “That’s why I want you to play now! I miss it… please?”

He walked over to the guitar, picking it up carefully and carrying it over to Wilbur, placing it in his brother’s lap. Wilbur’s fingers tightened around it, almost unconsciously - gently but expertly, like hugging an old friend. “I - I don’t…”

“You don’t have to,” Tommy said quietly, settling down next to him. “But… I would like it.”

Wilbur swallowed. 

Slowly, he raised the guitar, setting it against his chest, taking a deep breath. His hands quivered as he lifted his left arm, placing his fingers on the frets. 

He raised his trembling right hand and strummed downwards, one quick stroke, the chord ringing out in the silent room. 

Tommy smiled as Wilbur exhaled shakily. “I - I…”

“It was good!” Tommy said encouragingly. “Keep going!”

Wilbur lifted his hand once more and brought it down.

But his hand shook and slipped and he aborted the note halfway through, pressing his right hand to the strings as his breathing picked up. “I - I can’t - I - I’m - I’m sorry - I -”

Tommy’s heart clenched. “Wilbur…”

Wilbur shifted, bringing both of his hands in front of him, staring at them with wide eyes. “I - I - I -”

Tommy followed his gaze, eyes landing on Wilbur’s knuckles. 

There were scars there. Scars that hadn’t existed before Wilbur had left. 

Tommy didn’t fully understand what had happened there, or what this meant right now, but… he knew he had to do something. 

So he reached out and took both of Wilbur’s hands in his own.

Instantly, his brother’s head snapped up, looking at him with wide eyes. “T-Tommy, I - I’m sorry -”

“It’s okay,” Tommy said softly. “I - I get it.” He ran a gentle thumb over Wilbur’s knuckles. “I – you got hurt.”

Wilbur looked down. “I…”

Tommy lifted their hands, a small smile drifting onto his face. “That’s okay though. I know what to do.” 

Leaning down he pressed a light kiss to each of Wilbur’s scarred knuckles. The way his brother had done for his bruises so many times before - kissing the hurt better, the small scrapes and bruises that came with being alive. Wilbur always kissed it better. The same way their mother had done for them once.

“There,” Tommy said softly. “All better.”

He looked up and was shocked to see that there were tears in Wilbur’s eyes. 

“Tommy…”

Tommy squeezed Wilbur’s hands before releasing them. “I can do that again, y’know. Wh-whenever you need me too. To make the hurt go away.”

Wilbur swallowed, throat bobbing. “Th-th-thank you. T-Toms.”

Tommy’s smile grew. “Anytime.” He knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “I’ve learned something from you, I suppose.”

“I guess,” Wilbur said, sounding almost awed. “I guess you did.”

“Play for me? Please?” Tommy asked softly. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” Wilbur nodded, something a little stronger in his voice now. “I - I do.”

He raised his hands once more and closed his eyes. Blocking out the world, the sight of his battered hands - everything but Tommy, their shoulders still pressed against one another. 

Wilbur took a deep breath.

And then he began to play. Softly at first, but growing stronger as he went on, humming, murmuring the words under his breath. 

Tommy recognised the song. Almost without realising it, he began to sing along, their voices blending together into one. 

“Meteor shower, quick take cover,
But the hues in our hair compliment one another,
I'd sell my own bones for sapphire stones,
‘Cause blue's your favorite color.”

←→←→←→

Wilbur woke up with a gasp, jolting upright in his bed, covers tangled around him.

The room - his room - was bathed in moonlight from the window. He’d stopped sleeping with the curtains drawn ever since he’d returned from the school - the darkness reminded him too much of waking up in the Hole. Cold and scared and hurting and alone.

He hated being alone. 

Prime. 

He wanted his dad . He felt small and scared and alone and he just wanted his dad - he just wanted to be held until he felt safe again, until he fell asleep. It had always worked when he was younger.

He wasn’t a child though. Not anymore.

And his dad wasn’t here.

He buried his head in shaking hands, body trembling, trying to pull himself together. You’re not there. You’re not. You’re not. 

But the nightmare had felt so vivid - so real. 

Because it had been real. Once. 

He remembered every sensation involved with being thrown into solitary confinement. He remembered the way it felt to be thrown roughly to the metal floor, bruised ribs and bloody knuckles aching. He remebered the sound of the slamming door, the thud of the deadbolt sliding into place, sealing him to his fate. He remembered the crushing isolation - going days without seeing a single human face, let alone holding a conversation. And all the while, it was so, so dark. And he was locked in. Unable to escape, to get out, to do anything. He was completely helpless, totally at the mercy of the instructors. 

Wilbur wrapped his arms around his torso, shuddering. I hate being locked inside. He glanced over at his bedroom door. It wasn’t locked. He never locked it, not anymore. 

But what if someone else did?

No - no they wouldn’t. That - why would they do that? They wouldn’t. 

Dad had said so. He’d said it was all a mistake - sending him away to that place - it was all a horrible, f*cked-up misunderstanding, he’d never meant to cause Wilbur pain. He never would again. 

Wilbur was safe now. With his family. For good.

But they could change their minds. 

They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t. 

Right?

His dad wasn’t here to reassure him. To tell him it was true, to promise him he was safe. 

It was just Wilbur and his mind. 

What if they did? What if they wanted to give themselves a break from you - what if they decided you were better neither seen nor heard? What if - 

Wilbur felt his heart start to beat faster as panic set in. 

They could lock you in. If they wanted. And there would be nothing you could do - not that you’d try. You know better than to fight back by now, don’t you? 

Wilbur looked around his room frantically. It was large, far larger than the cell at the school had been….but he could feel the walls closing in on him, crushing him -

He scrambled out of bed as quickly as he could and hastened towards the door, placing a hand on the handle as he tried to steady his breathing. He was just going to open the door. He - he was allowed to do that! And - and it would be unlocked and he’d be okay after that. He didn’t even need to leave the room. 

Just in case they didn’t want him to. 

He took a deep breath and turned the handle, pulling the door open. Instantly his mind flooded with relief - it wasn’t locked. 

Then he registered the figure on the ground.

His dad was half-sprawled on the floor, over the threshold to Wilbur’s room. The king was on the floor, outside of his door - wearing a - was that a dressing gown? 

“ Dad?” Willbur blurted. “What - I - you - what?”

The king quickly clambered to his feet, cheeks slightly pink. “Um. Hi Wilbur.”

Wilbur didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He - he didn’t have to follow the rules the school had taught him, he knew that now… he could see the way his father seemed to wilt whenever Wilbur bowed or called him ‘sir’. It felt strange, unnatural, to be deliberately going against all he’d been taught. 

But he was trying . He didn’t want to be what they’d moulded him into, not if he could help it - not now that he knew that it was never what his family had wanted in the first place. 

He didn’t have to follow the rules anymore. Usually, that was a good thing. 

But right now? At least they were a framework of sorts. He had no idea what to do in this situation - but, upon consideration, even a bow seemed odd, under the circumstances. 

He gulped. “Um - h-h-hi? 

“Wait… why are you awake?”

Wilbur took a nervous step backwards. “I - I - I’m sorry, I -”

His dad’s eyes widened rapidly. “No - no! No, you’re not - you’re not in trouble, Prime… No. I just - are you okay? Is something wrong”

Wilbur didn’t know what to say. Nothing had actually been wrong, he’d just been… spiralling. It would be stupid to make a fuss over nothing.

But… 

His heartbeat was still a little too fast, and the thought of closing his eyes to sleep, returning to the dark void behind his eyelids…

He had to be honest, anyway. Honesty was good. He looked down at his bare feet. “I - um - I h-had a nightmare.”

“Oh… Wilbur…”

Wilbur looked up, a smile on his face that even he knew was weak. “I’m - I’m fine! Now. I’m fine now. I just - I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t locked inside, and - and I’m not! So… I - I’m f-fine!”

His dad’s face crumpled. “Wilbur… you thought you were… locked in?”

“S-s-sorry.”

“No - no, don’t apologise. It’s okay. Prime, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Wilbur whispered quietly, pretending not see the way his dad winced in pain, shaking his head. He took a deep breath. “What are you - I mean, um - sorry - why…?”

“Oh… I was…” his dad trailed off. “I’m… I was…” He scratched the back of his neck, swallowing hard. “I was… I just - I wanted to be… closer. To you.”

Wilbur blinked. “Wh-what?”

His dad sighed, looking down. “I… I’ve not been sleeping well lately. Every time I close my eyes I see you…” he trailed off, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry. I - can’t sleep. And I… my mind won’t be quiet until I’m as close to you as I can be. So I was…” he indicated the floor beside Wilbur’s door. “Just… sitting there.”

Wilbur’s hand slid off of the doorhandle in shock. “D-Dad…”

His father’s face was twisted with sadness. “I - I’m sorry son. I - I didn’t want to invade your personal space, I didn’t -”

Wilbur shook his head. “No - no, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I… um…”

It was almost… nice. The idea that his dad had been so close this whole time, right outside the door…

Wilbur took a step forwards. Just a small one. 

He wanted a hug so badly. He - he just didn’t know how to ask. Not from his dad - not from anyone, but especially not his dad. Not anymore.

Luckily, it seemed his father understood him anyway.

In a split-second he had closed the gap between them, pulling Wilbur into his arms, pressing him against his chest. Wilbur’s hands rose to wrap around him in return, shaking just a little as tears began to fall from his eyes. 

He’s here.

I needed him and he’s here.

After all this time - the time after Techno turned eighteen and needed more of the king’s attention, after the months Wilbur spent in the reform program, the weeks afterwards - his dad was here. He was here, holding Wilbur. Because Wilbur needed him.

“I’ve got you,” his dad whispered softly. “I’m never letting you go again.”

Wilbur lifted his head slightly, holding on tighter. “D-d-do - d-do you p-promise?”

“I promise.”

←→←→←→

One year later…

←→←→←→

Wilbur leaned into Techno’s side as his brother returned. “Did you do it?”

“I did,” Techno grinned.

“This is gonna be the best.”

“I still don’t think you needed me to get involved.” 

“You just don’t get it,” Wilbur sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just the mastermind - and I needed Tommy to distract him. Besides, you’re the only one Dad would never suspect!”

Techno’s mouth twisted. “I - I suppose.”

Wilbur knew what he was thinking. He was right too. He doubted his father expected Wilbur to ever go back to playing pranks at court events - after everything the school had drilled into him, a little over a year ago now. Wilbur honestly couldn’t quite believe he was doing this - even though it wasn’t him doing it, not really. This wasn’t even a big event, it was a charity anniversary. Important… but not vital. He’d checked with Techno to be certain of that before he did anything. 

Nevertheless, some part of him was screaming at him to undo it, before it was too late - that he was going to get in trouble, going to get sent back, even though there was no school to send him back to, not anymore. He still couldn’t help the tendrils of fear that were coiling around his heart.

Wilbur reached out and took his brother’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He’d be lying if he said getting Techno to actually carry out the prank went beyond just pure strategy. 

“You okay Wil?”

Wilbur nodded. “I’m - I’m fine. I think.” He leaned his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping.”

Techno smiled. “Well… things were getting too boring around here.”

Wilbur smirked. “I thought boring was your style?”

Techno rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Besides…” he laughed, a little breathlessly. “It was… sort of… fun. I’ve never - it was kinda… thrilling! I think I-I get it now. Why you like pranks so much.”

“Victory at last,” Wilbur grinned.

Techno opened his mouth, but was cut off by the sound of their father tapping a spoon against a glass, the noise in the room quickly fading. Wilbur released Techno’s hand and did his best to feign innocence, despite the way his heart raced in his chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all for being here tonight,” the king smiled. “We are so honoured to have you all here, and proud to be celebrating with you all. You’ve done wonderful work in our kingdom for the past one hundred years, and we hope to see you do much more!”

Applause rose around the room. The king let it go on for a few moments before lifting his hand, the room quietening once more, allowing him to continue. “In honour of this anniversary, we have arranged for a painting to be donated to your building.” As he spoke, a few servants brought out the canvas, covered by a white sheet. “Thank you once again for all of your hard work, and long may it continue!”

He lifted his glass, and apparently that must have been some sort of cue, because the servants pulled down the sheet.

The room immediately fell into shocked silence.

Wilbur knew what was supposed to be there. A painting of the charity’s founder. The painting was fine - it was in some storage room somewhere. The charity would still be getting their painting. 

Just not the one currently on display. The one with a pelican’s head where the founder’s should be. A pelican in a suit.

Muttering rumbled through the room. Wilbur could have sworn he heard suppressed laughter. 

But all he could focus on was his dad.

The king turned around, eyes wide, brows furrowed.

Fear flashed in Wilbur’s heart. 

I went too far. I - I f*cked up - he - he’s going to hate me, he’s going to send me away - I got too comfortable, I forgot my place, I -

“Wha - I - I - what - how?” the king spluttered. 

Techno raised a hand. “I did it.”

The king’s eyes grew even wider. “You? What - I - what?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Techno chuckled. “It was Wilbur’s.”

Their father’s gaze drifted onto Wilbur. Wilbur wanted to sink into the floor - sink to his knees at his father’s feet and beg for forgiveness - 

And then, quite without warning, the king strode across the ballroom floor and swept Wilbur into a tight embrace. 

“Wilbur…”

Wilbur was frozen in surprise, hands dangling by his sides. “D-D-Dad?”

The king’s voice was shaky. “My baby… I missed you. I missed you so much.”

Tears pricked at Wilbur’s eyes. “D-D-Dad…”

And it didn’t matter how many eyes were on them, how important the gala was, how this broke so many rules of protocol and manners. His dad turned his back on them all, just to keep holding him close. In the middle of the ballroom, he held his son tightly and ignored what the world might think. 

He kept holding him. 

“I love you my son. My Wilbur.”

His dad kept holding him.