Chapter Text
September is a month for education and sleep. September was a month of splashing in the puddles. Now it runs dry into a cursed river of sitting indoors during break no socialization except for the owners of the table. When the school day ends the rain continues to pour dripping onto the wet floor with a pitter-patter. Echoes of yells and joy ring around deaf ears as younger years rushed to the buses, their youth visible in their tone and face.
Wilbur, a young man at the age of sixteen, walked alone. His brunette hair in the gentlest curls that were never quite able to stay still. No one could tell that every night he didn't sleep instead he cried. Drenched, melancholy and ready to crumple into the earth for the rest of eternity; that's what this poor traumatised child was left alone by his deceased mother and neglectful father who 'had a business to run' . So Wilbur's older twin had to rule the house while dealing with extra curricular arrangements. Except Wilbur was the one to mainly take care of his younger brother, Tommy, Wilbur was the person who had to put a blanket over Technoblade, his older brother's, shoulders when the child had fell asleep calculating costs of both Christmas presents and food for the month.
Yet school also held restrictions of not leaving your form class during break, making Wilbur away from his three friends: Niki , Jack and Fundy . That was just Manburg National Academy's education system at its finest yet again, despite that same education system getting multiple awards of praise from Ofsted that their greying forty five year old head teacher Mr Schlatt also known as Jonathan Schlatt was awarded his face raw, deadly, murderous pride.
Contemplating the multiple ways he could die, Wilbur approached the woods that he had been in a million times even in snow and hail with his gentle touched mother. He muttered under his breath “Technically if I were to slip on that log and crack my head open with that rock. I wouldn't be found for around five hours. It wouldn't be crowned as suicide, it would be crowned by succumbing to the rainy terrain.“ But his voices were talking to him saying “ Your friends know about your urges and impulsive behaviour. They would completely know it was purposeful” his voices weren't a voice of reason, just normally a pain in his side. They'd been like that for three long miserable years.
Wilbur Watson was the voice of reason to his own voices. The same voices that had secretly plagued his supposedly seemingly ordinary mother and his stern yet comforting Twin brother who held his mothers gentle caress of hair. All three children held her comforting whispering voice of reason yet also her angry calmness that meant that you had to do whatever was being said or else you would most definitely be in danger of possibly death or injury.