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He gasps as her hand leaves his throat. Finally.
“Be seen, not heard, Wilbur. I don’t want to hear your stupid voice.”
Silence. Silence was best when Mother was around.
“Your father is going to beat this even better into you when he returns.”
Father was pulled around by Mother on an invisible string. His love for her blinds him and his actions toward Wilbur are always because of Mother. He didn’t hate his father.
He didn’t love his father either.
He hated his mother.
He hated everything about this house.
He carried a lot of hate that he swore he would get rid of the moment he was out of this house. He’d seen what hate had caused his mother to do. He’d also seen what careless love had done to his father.
Caution.
He could be cautious.
Only one more year and he would be free.
Until then–
His mother slaps him and he falls to the floor. He stood above her by about a foot or two, his father being only a few inches shorter than him. “No singing. No talking. And most of all, get your stupid chores done in a day, yeah?” She storms off, leaving Wilbur on the floor to wipe the blood up.
Later, his father would return home and use his heavy hand to enforce his mother’s words.
Wilbur was only more determined to get out of this forsaken house.
He has to.
There has to be more to life than this miserable existence.
He was finally getting a job. Very few would take a fifteen-year-old with no parents or references, but he’d found a job that did. Some sort of copying job where his neat handwriting, that he’d practiced for years, would finally come in handy.
“You work the hours we tell you to, alright?” The voice says. Wilbur can’t remember who it is, but he nods anyway.
Just a few years of this. Enough money to get out of this town and into a city.
Days blend into weeks as he sits bent over a desk, writing, and editing until not even six months has gone by and they tell him that they’re getting a printing press and that he’s being let go. He tries not to cry as he manages to pay for a ticket to the nearest city. The train ride is rough, having gone through a nasty thunderstorm that had nearly knocked the train off the tracks after a tree fell, but they managed to get it fixed. Wilbur looked around at all the different houses that there were. Horses, carriages, and wagons all trot past him as he walks down the street. He narrowly avoids a runaway ox as he passes a stable and grabs the ox’s lead.
“Hey, there, boy,” someone calls. Wilbur turns, silent as ever, to the person who’d called out to him. “Want a job with me? I’ll pay ya,” Wilbur holds the ox’s lead as he pats the gentle beast’s head. He nods and follows the man into the stable.
Months pass, and the job is pretty good, the man who owns the stable is a jerk, and Wilbur hates him, but the manager and supervisors are pretty cool people that like Wilbur. Wilbur smiles as he pats Carl, one of the horses that is being kept in the stable while their owner is looking for a permanent spot to keep them at. “Hey, handsome, want a carrot? Took it from my lunch, you know,” Wilbur says with a smile. He holds the carrot out and Carl nickers, eating it happily from the palm of his hand.
“He likes you,” a voice says from behind him. It’s a man a year or two older than him, with long, pink, plaited hair and brown eyes. “My name’s Technoblade, you can call me Techno.” The man– Techno– sticks his hand out and Wilbur shakes it.
“Wilbur Soot, pleasure to meet you, sir,” Wilbur nods, backing away from Carl, “I’ve got some work to do, so don’t mind me going to get that done.” Wilbur slips away, unaware of the eyes that follow him as he walks away.
Wilbur slides onto a barstool with a grin.
“One steak meal, please, Phil, and tell Tommy to pull back on the seasoning in the potatoes this time,” Wilbur puts his face in his hands as he stares at Phil from across the countertop. Phil rolls his eyes with a smile and sets the glass that he’d been cleaning down.
“That was Techno last time, Tommy was busy concocting some new drink. Wanted you to try it, I think,” Phil’s smile brightens at the mention of his sons. Phil was the owner of a well-known tavern in the upper part of the city. Rich people and courting sessions often came here for a “taste of the poor life” or whatever they thought it was.
Wilbur was only here because he got a free meal and drink as long as he tried Tommy’s concoctions and Techno’s new dishes. Or that’s what he told himself anyway, not that he had feelings to any of them. No. Not that.
Phil just liked to chat to Wilbur for some reason.
Weather, politics, anything.
Phil was just cool like that.
Techno, Phil’s oldest, was a little younger than Wilbur by a few months or so, and liked to cook. A lot. He almost daily cooks every single meal by himself. Wilbur still doesn’t understand how the man does it. He has to have magic of some kind to do so much and yet have so little help.
Not to say that Tommy doesn’t try to. Tommy, just barely nineteen and just having got his mixology license or whatever the heck they called it, was more into the liquor side of the business like Phil was. Both didn’t mind cooking if Techno needed it, but it was clear that they all had their own roles in the business.
“Well, could you oh so kindly explain to Techno that no one likes sugar on their potatoes?” Wilbur glares past Phil into the kitchen and knows Techno can hear him just fine.
“Sure, mate, should I tell Tommy to bring his drink or do you want to wait? He said it’s pretty potent.” Phil’s blue eyes are filled with nothing but fondness.
He’d met them a while ago, in the stable at his first job. The boss there had finally gotten sick of him and fired him. He doesn’t have work tomorrow, or… really ever again.
Then he remembers why he really wanted to forget. Memories of brown eyes and brown hair and a sharp fist rise into his thoughts.
“I’ll take it now.” Wilbur tries to fight the irritation that rises up into the depths of his mind. They don’t deserve to hear about his woes. They just want to use him as a guinea pig.
That’s something he can do.
It doesn’t matter that he’s going to lose his house.
Doesn’t matter that he’s just lost his job.
None of that matters.
He’s just here to give and take and possibly lose his marbles later under whatever Tommy has created this time.
Tommy slides up in Phil’s place, Phil having left to go tell Techno that Wilbur was here, and Tommy smiles. “Hey, big man, what’ll it be? The Tommy Big Man special? Made for theater kids like you?”
“Yeah, and toss in a side of rude gremlin child, would you? Actually, erm,” Wilbur places a contemplating finger on his lips as he tries to hide the smile that comes with bickering with Tommy, “I take it back, I don’t want that.”
“Hey!” Tommy frowns and Wilbur nearly mourns the fact that the boy (still a boy in Wilbur’s eyes) was starting to lose his baby fat, the childish gleam in his eyes.
“Phil, your child is assaulting me,” Wilbur complains when Tommy begins to reach across the counter top.
“Tommy, go get the drink you little shit,” Phil chuckles and Tommy smiles before scampering off to grab the drink. “He thinks he’s found the liquor version of a truth serum.”
“If it’s as alcoholic as the drunkards outside smell, I bet it is,” Wilbur chuckles, stretching his arms above his head and listening to his back pop and crackle. “Busy day?”
“Eh, not the busiest we’ve ever had,” Phil shrugs and Wilbur nods in understanding. He watches Techno arrive with his food before Tommy arrives with his drink. “Might wanna eat before you’re blackout drunk.”
“What, gonna handfeed me like a baby?” Wilbur teases, looking pointedly at Techno.
“That’s why I don’t drink anything Tommy offers me,” Techno’s face blushes slightly and Wilbur laughs. Tommy had offered Techno and Wilbur the same drink one day right as the tavern was closing, and usually Techno didn’t drink, but with a little bit of pressure, the other had given in.
They’d both gotten so drunk that they refused to eat. Whereas Wilbur just didn’t eat, promising that he would when he returned home, they’d had to basically hand-feed Techno his food. Wilbur doesn’t think he’s seen Techno look so lost than that night.
“C’mon, it was fun!” Wilbur tries to reach across the counter to punch Techno’s shoulder but Techno huffs in offense and moves away.
“Yeah, that hangover was the best part,” Techno says sarcastically. Wilbur snorts.
“It always is!” Phil shakes his head at Wilbur’s response and chuckles in that dad laugh that always made Wilbur feel safe and loved. Or at least appreciated.
“Well, tell me what you think,” Techno says, motioning to the food. Wilbur lifts some to his mouth and begins to eat it. He nods.
“It’s alright, not as good as the first sugary potato creation, but–”
“How did you notice it was like literally a teaspoon–”
“I hate sugar in my potatoes–”
“Alright, you two, simmer down,” Phil says, gently flicking their foreheads. Wilbur rubs the assaulted spot and glares half-heartedly at Phil before finishing his food. If he’s getting free food, he’s eating all of it.
No one questions why he’s eating food he doesn’t like.
Beggars can’t be choosers, so who’s Wilbur actually to complain?
He kind of serves as a bit of a bouncer too, if Techno or Phil are busy. So it’s not like he does nothing but be a guinea pig for them.
He pulls out his knife and starts sharpening it as he spots a rowdy customer in the back corner. Wilbur steadies his stare at them while he drags his iron knife against his second one to sharpen it. The customer’s eyes widen and he quiets down. Wilbur hides a smirk and looks down at the knives.
Oops, looks like he nicked himself. No big deal.
Tommy walks back to Wilbur with a small glass in hand and Wilbur takes a glance at it. “What is that?”
“I call it the Wibbles special,” Tommy says with a smirk. Wilbur rolls his eyes.
“Not this again,” Wilbur groans, putting his knives away and laying his face in his arms as Tommy sets the glass of liquid down by his head.
“C’mon man, please? Please try my Wibbles special,” Tommy pleads as he pokes Wilbur’s head. Wilbur groans but sits up and grabs the glass.
“Ooh, that’s nice and cold,” Wilbur says with a smile and lifts the glass to his lips. He downs it in one fell swoop and immediately feels the familiar burn of alcohol, but… it’s not as strong as he thought it would be. “That’s not very strong, Tommy.”
“Wasn’t meant to be, not with alcohol at least,” Tommy grins and Wilbur stares at him.
What?
Did–
Did Tommy poison him?
I thought they liked me! Wilbur feels betrayal curl around his heart and tears form in his eyes. “I thought– but– why? I thought you guys liked me!” Something weighs heavy on his eyes. His eyelids droop as arms sneak under his shoulders and catch him as he falls backward.
He didn’t last this long out of spiteful existence just to be poisoned by people he loved more than he thought he ever could care.
Was that always the goal? To end his miserable life with a little potent poison slipped into his drink?
“Oh, Wilbur, we do, in fact, we love you so much,” Phil’s voice whispers in his ear. Wilbur whines in confusion. Why did they poison him then? What were they going to do to him?
“We’re taking you home now, Wil,” Techno whispers softly in Wilbur’s other ear. Tommy laughs as they carry Wilbur away from their spot. “Will anyone else notice?”
“Nah, I got them the good stuff, lost a bit of money since it was the expensive stuff but they’re too drunk to remember their name, let alone Wil,” Tommy says cheerfully. Wilbur sluggishly thrashes. He’s so tired, he can’t help but let the tears fall. Why would they poison him? He thought that they were basically family!
Now they’re going to dump him outside for the night watch to find and dispose of, just like they’d done for some really rude customers a few months back. No one suspected a little posh tavern like this, basically a bar for the rich, but Wilbur knew. He’d helped.
Two idiots who thought they could force their way behind the counter to get the good shit they couldn’t afford and Tommy couldn’t fight them off. So Wilbur had told Tommy to slip a bit into their next drink, a dark look in his eyes as he watched them perish right in front of Tommy.
That’s how Wilbur knew they had poison, it wasn’t the first time, but it wasn’t the last.
Wilbur wouldn’t be the last.
He laughs deliriously.
He wouldn’t last.
He lets his eyes fall closed and wonders desperately what he’d done wrong. How he’d fallen out of favor with the only people who had ever shown him love for more than a couple of months.
Wilbur wakes up. That’s a surprise.
What’s even more surprising is his head is pounding with pain.
“Hmm?” Wilbur hums as he tries to sit up and look around. He’s somewhere unfamiliar and he doesn’t recognize the stone walls around him. There’s a chain resting on his wrist and he’s on the softest bed he’s ever laid on. “Hello?”
Wilbur looks around. It’s a big open room with four stone brick walls and a few closed off areas with thick wooden doors. The room is lit by the fire of a few torches scattered about on the walls.
“Is anyone there? Tommy? Techno?” Wilbur feels panic setting in. What did he do? Was he in trouble? Were they going to torture him? “Phil? Please, please, someone, anyone!” Wilbur cries out, pulling against the chain with weak, uncooperating arms. “I don’t– I don’t want to be alone again! Don’t leave me here again! Please!”
His breaths begin to quicken and the familiar twist of his gut makes the room feel smaller.
“Please, please, I’m sorry,” Wilbur pulls against the chain, throwing himself away from the bed and onto the floor. He pulls and pulls against the hard metal until something cracks in his hand. He screams in pain and falls against the floor as his hand slips free. He cradles his hand to his chest and looks around wildly. A door slams open and Wilbur spins around, locking eyes on his mother. He snarls and backs against the wall, panic clawing at the recesses of his mind and making him see things that he wasn’t entirely sure were actually there.
“Wilbur?” His mother asks. Wilbur stands on the bed and growls, holding his hand against his chest, waiting for her to come a little further into the room so he can pounce and tackle her.
“Tommy, let me get this one,” another voice calls, probably his father.
“Don’t listen to her bidding this time, Father,” Wilbur hisses, “man up and wear some pants, would you?” Wilbur knows this will irk his father more than any other words ever could. His father hated to hear about how Mother was the head of the household. Even if his mother was the one who drilled it into his father every morning at breakfast with honeyed words and flirtatious speech.
“Wilbur, it’s not your father, it’s me, Dad,” a voice soothes. It- that doesn’t sound like his father.
“Yeah, why you got the staff, then?” Wilbur uses his good hand to point at his father’s walking staff, only for it to disappear like it was never there. “What?”
“Wilbur, do you know where you are?”
“Maybe this was a mistake,” someone whispers, “I think his hand’s broken, Tech!”
“Shh, Dad knows what he’s doing, I tried the same stuff remember?” Another voice whispers, they’re obviously trying to hide their conversation from Wilbur, but unluckily for them, Wilbur is a master at eavesdropping. His father takes a step closer. Wilbur raises the limp chain like a weapon with a snarled Get back!
“Mate, I think we’re going to need the darts,” his father says.
“No! No! Please, please, I’ll be good!” Wilbur pleads, not wanting to feel the pain of the poison darts again, the whispers of it’s for your own good, Wilbur rings like death gongs in his ears . “Please, please, Father, I’m sorry!”
“Now, Techno, please, and for shit’s sake don’t leave him alone this time,” something jabs into his shoulder and he whimpers.
“Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” Wilbur hiccups and coughs, falling limp onto the bed again. His father lifts the bed sheets and covers Wilbur in them.
“It’s alright, songbird, one of us will be here when you wake up, we’ll have to show you that you’re not wherever you think you are.” A hand cups his face gently and Wilbur whines, wanting to push closer to it. He starts to fall asleep when he feels a gentle kiss pressed against his brow.
Wilbur can’t fight the hard jerks of sleep that pull on his eyes so he lets himself free fall into the sweet, familiar embrace of unconsciousness.
“We’ll kill whoever did this to you.”
Wilbur wakes up with arms wrapped around him. He groans and a mop of blond hair appears in his vision. “Wha– what? I’m not dead?” Wilbur looks around as Tommy straightens, yawning and clinging to Wilbur’s torso. “Toms? Why is there a chain on my wrist? Why aren’t I at work? What’s going on?”
“Well, we found out your boss let you go and we wanted to take you home,” Tommy starts, he opens his mouth to continue but Wilbur cuts him off, pushing Tommy off of him.
“But you poisoned me?” Wilbur asks. Tommy looks confused before he shakes his head violently.
“No! No! I would never! It was some sleeping stuff Phil gave me when he first adopted me. Techno got some too.” Tommy looks ashamed to admit it, as he should. Wait… adopt? Adopt?? Who– why would Phil– this doesn’t make sense.
“Adopt?”
“Yeah!” Tommy’s grin lifts his face and Wilbur can see the small amount of baby fat that forms a small dimple in Tommy’s smile. “We adopted you! You’re ours now!”
“Tommy?” Philza’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “Is he awake?”
“Yeah, Dad!” Tommy replies. The door opens and Phil walks in with two bowls, filled with soup presumably. Phil smiles when he sees Tommy and Wilbur wishes he knew why that smile turned on him.
“Hey, mate, how’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” he lies. The headache still pounds and his hand hurts. “Did I break my hand or something?”
“You bruised it pretty good,” Tommy’s face puckers a bit at Phil’s clear lie, but Wilbur decides he’s not going to ask about it. “We gave you a bit of health potion to help you heal faster.”
“A what?” Health potions were expensive. You could buy a mansion for the price of only five bottles. Most people didn’t even dream of getting one, much less ingesting it.
And for them to waste it on a bruise??
On Wilbur?
“We brew our own,” Tommy says, “Techno and me are pretty good at it. Phil taught us everything and we just kinda did it better than him. Our shit is strong, just like my muscles are.” Tommy flexes to prove a point and Wilbur feels himself relaxing slightly at the familiar joke.
“Oh, so it’s basically water?” Tommy sputters and Phil laughs, sitting on the bed next to Wilbur and shooing Tommy away.
“Okay, mate, Techno needs help, shoo.”
“But my dignity! My manhood has been insulted!”
“And Wilbur needs some food,” Phil chides, passing a bowl to Tommy as the boy makes his protest. Tommy huffs and jabs an accusing finger at Wilbur before he leaves, bowl in hand. Phil gets a spoonful of soup and lifts it to Wilbur’s mouth. Wilbur takes the spoon from Phil’s hand with an insulted snort.
“I can feed mysel–” Wilbur drops the spoon with a shaking hand and he frowns at it. He pulls his other hand, the one with the chain, down to grab the spoon, but the chain stops at his waist. He huffs and tries again with the other hand.
“Songbird, let me help you,” Phil says. The nickname shocks Wilbur and he lets Phil snatch the spoon, fill it up, and shove it into his open mouth. Instinctively, Wilbur swallows and he feels heat rush to his face as Phil smiles. “There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Wilbur nods reluctantly and allows Phil to handfeed him. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d been treated so… nice. Like he was something precious and needed to be cared for.
“I’m full,” Wilbur says after a few more bites. Phil frowns, but doesn’t push any more against his lips.
“Okay,” he says, setting the bowl on a side table, “I’m just setting it here in case you get hungry later.” Phil then moves behind Wilbur and pushes him forward. The blankets curl uncomfortably around his legs and Phil’s arms wrap around him, pulling Wilbur backward into the older’s lap. Wilbur’s face heats again as Phil cuddles him.
“Wha–”
“Shh, go to sleep, you need it.” Phil says, kissing Wilbur’s forehead. “My little songbird, a precious son, all to myself.”
“I’m not precious,” Wilbur retorts, trying to push himself away from Phil. He doesn’t deserve this.
He doesn’t deserve to be treated like a prized possession.
They should’ve killed him and thrown him into the streets, beaten him until he was unrecognizable and the guard wouldn’t even care enough to try and find his family to report his death to. Not that they would care either.
Phil’s hand roughly grabs his chin and twists his head around so that Wilbur can see the man’s eyes. “Who taught you that?”
“What? What? Huh? That I’m a piece of trash? That I can’t keep anything good because everything bad wants me more?” Wilbur tries to push himself backward, but the chain stops him again. He huffs and jerks against it, ripping his hand out of the chain with a painful crack and he can feel the familiar burn of his bones fracturing.
“Wilbur!” Phil scolds, grabbing Wilbur’s forearm. Wilbur shoves Phil’s worried reaching hands away and moves off of the bed.
“Yeah, you wanna know where I learned how to do that, to get out of situations like that? Where I learned that I was meant to be seen, not heard? A slave to the ones around me who didn’t care enough to make sure I got more than a single meal a week?” Wilbur laughs maniacally as he throws his arms open, nearly tripping over his own clumsy feet.
“Wilbur, songbird,” Phil stands, his eyes fighting with two emotions. The worry, which has to be fake because there’s no way that it’s real, and anger. Probably at Wilbur for revealing his purpose.
It wasn’t like he tried to hide it.
No, he never had to. People looked at him and saw his fate, his eventual destiny of getting roped into a hard workload with little pay and just having to survive. It was what he was built to do.
He wasn’t meant to be coddled in a soft bed with worried family hovering around him. That was for people who deserved it.
What had he done to deserve it?
“What? What is it, Philza? Do you hate that I’m pointing out the obvious that everyone should’ve already known? I knew your attention and love would run out soon, so stop pretending, I’m sick of it,” Wilbur hisses, backing away from Philza. He wobbles on his feet as he walks backward. “So, tell me what you want, yeah? What you really want. None of this caring bullshit that I know isn’t real, okay? If you cared for me at all, you’d tell me the truth!” Wilbur points his finger at Phil as the man approaches him.
Wilbur had always known the threat of getting attached to the tavern owners.
He had, he really, really thought he had. He had thought so.
He knew if he got on their bad side, he’d be dead by morning.
Even now, he could see Philza’s icy blue gaze making his body’s defense reaction lean toward freeze.
He knows how to fight past that instinct though.
“What I want?” Phil’s stance changes and Wilbur flinches backward. Aggressive. Slightly forward on his feet and his breaths huff slightly as they leave Phil’s mouth. Phil’s muscles tighten as he steps toward Wilbur. Wilbur is beginning to feel like a cornered animal, his hands in a fighting position as he prepares to sprint away.
“You want to know what I want, Wilbur?” Phil’s arms extend, trapping Wilbur against the wall, walking toward the wall in a way that corners Wilbur in the corner of the room, “I want my sons to be happy and healthy.” Wilbur’s back presses against the wall as Phil’s blue eyes swirl with the amber of his father’s apathetic gaze. His breaths heave as he tries to find a way out. The doors are locked and Phil is pinning him against the corner. Phil grabs Wilbur’s shoulders and Wilbur strikes out, his wrist is pinned against his stomach by a swift motion and Phil spins Wilbur around so he’s facing the wall. Wilbur snarls and thrashes.
“I want to know who hurt you, who has caused you to think like this. To think you didn’t deserve to be cared for, you grew up taking care of yourself, poorly made meals to fill your growing stomach. How you’re so tall, I don’t know,” Phil’s hand moves from his shoulder to cup his cheek and Wilbur stares at the elder. “You don’t deserve to think you can’t be loved, because I do. I do think you can and should be loved, and I’m here to do it.” Wilbur stares tearfully at Phil as the door clicks open.
“You can’t be, you can’t love me,” Wilbur looks over Phil’s shoulder to the chains resting on the ground. Memories of his Mother’s hatred stir the anxious nerves in his stomach, jostling the food he’d just eaten. “I’m unlovable.”
“No,” Techno’s voice rings. Phil pulls away so that Wilbur can see Techno standing there, his eyes glaring a hole into Wilbur’s. “You’re not. You were mine since I saw you in the stable. You will still be mine.”
“Tech,” Phil warns as Techno roughly grabs Wilbur’s free arm and pulls him close. Wilbur stares into Techno’s brown eyes with fearful eyes.
“Say it,” Techno says, his eyes not moving away from Wilbur’s.
“Say what?” Wilbur tries to search Techno for any lies. He can’t- he can’t see any tells, but maybe Techno was just too good at hiding his emotions.
“Say you’re mine.” Techno’s other hand cups Wilbur’s face where Phil’s hand once rested.
“Why?” Tears slip down Wilbur’s cheek, Techno’s thumb gently wiping them away.
“I love you, Wilbur, you’re my brother. You’re mine, which makes you Dad’s, and makes you Tommy’s. First and foremost though,” Techno’s thumb gently slides over Wilbur’s eye, wiping the tears away from his eye, “you’re mine. And I’m yours.”
“Mine?” Wilbur’s never had something to himself. It’s always been give to the takers, love to the haters, but he has someone who loves him. Loves him for his flaws and baggage.
“Yours,” Techno promises. Wilbur sobs and throws himself into Techno’s arms, ignoring how Techno yelps and jerks his hand away to allow Wilbur to access him better. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Wilbur sobs, “You’re mine.”
“You’re mine, and I’m yours.” Techno’s hand rubs gently up and down Wilbur’s spine.
“That’s all it took?” Phil’s voice says. Wilbur buries his face in the crook of Techno’s neck and lets himself be held.
“It’s all it took,” Techno replies.
“I can stay?” Wilbur asks, his voice barely above a breath.
“Forever,” Techno promises. Phil’s arms wrap around Wilbur’s back, making Wilbur feel safe and secure. All the adrenaline rushes out of him and he yawns. “Tired already?”
“Mhm,” is all Wilbur says, clinging tighter to Techno when someone tries to pry him off.
“Looks like I’m the favorite,” Techno teases and Wilbur hums in affirmation.
“Well, my turn will be coming up next,” Phil retorts, letting Wilbur stay with Techno as Techno walks toward the bed. “Then you’ll be upset when I keep him all to myself.”
“Please, you did that with Tommy, I get Wilbur.” Phil huffs as Techno lays down on the bed, his arms keeping Wilbur held close. “Shh, go to sleep, Orpheus, I’m right here.” Wilbur lets himself fall asleep, knowing that he is going to be loved and protected by his new family.
He’s really glad that they didn’t poison him.