Chapter Text
Wilbur has just turned seventeen when he goes on as the lead in his first ever musical. He peers out from behind the curtain as the director asks the audience to silence their cell phones. It only takes him a moment before he catches long pink hair, bright heterochromic eyes, and a curled up set of wings in the first section of seats.
A year ago, he couldn’t have predicted this. He thought things were hopeless, that he and Tommy would be beat down by the foster system until he turned 18 and it tossed him out on the street unceremoniously. He thought they’d be fighting for the rest of his life.
But tonight, Wilbur isn’t worried about if he’ll have to give up his next meal so Tommy won’t go hungry. He’s not worried about finding his brother again, or fixing the mess made of their relationship. Tonight, all he’s worried about is a school musical.
For two hours, he acts his heart out. He belts like he’s never done before. Each dance move is sharp and energetic. All he’s focused on is putting on a good show for the very important guests in the audience. The people who are the reason he’s here, and by that he doesn’t just mean on the stage.
Tonight, he gets to be a normal kid, who’ll run around the stage like it’s a damn Broadway theater, and cry about closing night, and take his bow and feel more important than a seventeen-year-old theater kid has a right to.
Tonight, as the curtain closes, he feels on top of the world. The audience is cheering up a storm. Parents are taking photos, their cameras flashing even though they were told to refrain from using their phones, and some high school boys in the front section are doing some stupid shit with empty bottles from the refreshments at intermission, but Wilbur doesn’t care. He barely even notices.
All Wilbur cares about is the four people in the front section who are on their feet cheering. He hears a loud cry of “that’s my brother” and whispers to himself, don’t say that, I’ll cry, even though he knows Tommy can’t hear him.
Backstage, it’s all hugs and screeching and adrenaline rushes. Everyone is way too warm from the lights and their costumes, but they’re all over each other anyway. They belt out the songs from the play as they make their way out of the auditorium, bouncing around on a post-show high.
Will stands out in the hallway with all the rest of the cast, still in costume, hair slightly matted with sweat. He scans the audience as they file out of the auditorium, until finally he spots who he’s waiting for.
As soon as they find him waving across the hall, they rush over. Phil gives him a hug and motions to Ranboo, who passes him flowers. They don’t quite match the ones his castmates are holding. “They’re succulents,” Phil explains. “Way less work. Longer life span.”
As Wilbur chuckles and thanks him, the wind is suddenly knocked out of him. A pair of arms settle comfortably around his shoulders. “Hey, Tubbo,” he grins, bouncing the kid who’s leapt onto his back again. The young boy has become very fond of these sneak attacks.
Techno and Ranboo congratulate him next. There’s childish admiration in the latter’s face, and pride on the other’s.
Finally, Tommy makes his way over. He jumps up, steals the newsboy cap off of Will’s head, and plops it right on his own. Wilbur is about to grab it back when the boy speaks up.
“Mom and Dad would’ve loved it,” he says softly. The moment is over as soon as it came, with Tommy turning his attention to one of the high school girls. She finds him adorable and utterly un-date-able, much to the younger’s dismay.
Wilbur is still caught in the boy’s words to him. “Yeah?” he says under his breath. Phil catches it.
“I think so,” the man smiles. “I think they’d be very proud. I know I am.”
You are?” Wilbur asks.
Philza looks him in the eyes, eyes that have been full of pain, that have been dull, that have shown Phil fragile hope and begged him not to destroy it. “I’m so fucking proud of you, mate,” he says. “You were dealt a shitty hand in life, and you made the best of it. I know it was hard. But look at you. You’re an amazing young man who had to defy such difficult odds to get here. I don’t see any way I couldn’t be proud of you.”
Tommy has seen Wilbur cry just twice in all ten years of knowing him (granted, he doesn’t really remember the first three or so, but still).
The first time was the night their parents died. It was in the dead of night, hidden in a dead-end hallway of the hospital while Will thought the younger one was asleep. Only then did he let himself break under the weight of loss and uncertainty. Tommy had wondered why his brother had felt the need to hide away. When the younger boy cried, Wilbur sang soft songs until he quieted down just to hear the lyrics. That night, he decided to try a similar tactic, running over and clumsily singing one of Will’s songs back to him. He doesn’t think he got the words right, because Wilbur just cried harder, choked-off sobs shaking his entire body and that of the little boy clinging onto him tightly. It was the first time Tommy saw vulnerability in the big brother who was his hero. When he thinks back, that’s the moment when he realized that something was horribly wrong, and that everything was going to change.
Tonight, Tommy sees his brother cry again. His eyes, not hidden behind his usual glasses but instead drawn out by stage makeup, water as he looks around at the people surrounding him, enshrouding him in love. He thinks of his parents, and he misses them. He cries for what they’re missing. But he also cries because, although he wishes he could see them, he can feel them. He thinks Phil is right. He thinks they’re proud.
He cries because he had to become an adult at fourteen.
He cries because he was still a fucking kid who had no idea what he was doing.
He cries because he screwed up a thousand times, and his brother suffered in a home with parents who convinced him he wasn’t worth shit because of it.
He cries because the kid has turned out amazingly in spite of that.
He cries because Tubbo lost his parents too. Lost his mom just like Will and Tommy did, and watched his dad become a person he didn’t recognize. A person that hurt him, who left scars that may never heal, both physically and in a metaphorical sense.
He cries because Ranboo had to look out for himself at a painfully young age, and no one even noticed (he didn’t even notice).
He cries because both boys ended up in a far better situation, even if they had to go through hell before they could get there.
He cries because sometimes when he’s happy, he hates himself for it. He wonders if he’s allowed to enjoy this new life, knowing what led him to it.
He cries because he does enjoy this new life. He loves it so much; loves having a bunch of brothers, even when they’re loud and annoying and bicker with him just for the hell of it.
He cries because he was afraid to tell his friends the whole story of how he ended up here, scared that they’d think he’s too damaged or a charity case. He knows he’ll always be complicated, always have a long list of diagnoses and broken pieces.
He cries because his friends and family, they know the whole ugly story.
He cries because they love him anyway.
He cries because Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo all had their childhoods ripped away from them. Tommy at the age of eight, Tubbo at seven, and Ranboo before anyone knows.
He cries because Ranboo still hasn’t told them how long he survived on his own, or what he had to do to survive. He hasn’t told them because he doesn’t remember, and Wilbur isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse.
He cries because none of them are going to get those years back. None of them will ever be able to forget all the tears and all the pain they went through. None of them can pretend that the world is a fair place where bad things don’t happen to good people. They outgrew that innocence a long time ago.
He cries because bad things happened to a group of good kids who just wanted to be carefree and happy.
He cries because they aren’t carefree anymore.
He cries because he had to fight against the world, against his own mind to get to be happy again.
He cries because that group of kids ended up together again somehow, a little world-weary and with a handful of new traumas, but smiling in spite of it. The world had tried to beat them down, and that group of stubborn little shits threw it the middle finger.
He cries because Phil and Techno gave him a place to stay when he needed it the most, in spite of their disastrous first meeting. Phil saw him at the end of his rope, and he helped him to hang on when he didn’t think he could.
He cries because he was convinced he couldn’t ask for help when he was so desperately in need of it.
He cries because someone gave it to him anyway.
He cries because Tommy looks at him with overwhelming, complete trust in his eyes again, saying that he’d follow wherever he leads.
He cries because he thought he’d fucked up beyond repair that time, the night when Phil told him Tommy said no.
He cries because he didn’t.
He cries because Tubbo still knocks on his door in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep, looking for comfort, and he can actually provide it.
He cries because he and Ranboo get midnight snacks together, still just a little surprised that they can just do that, after a few years of fending for themselves on the streets or in underfunded group homes.
He cries because Techno helps him with the mystery that is calculus in exchange for Wilbur’s history notes, because it’s a boring ass class that the elder brother can’t pay attention for the entirety of. Wilbur has an older brother now.
He cries because he has friends, actual friends who come over after school and lay in the front yard after dark looking at all the constellations, being quiet so as not to wake Phil (Phil is inside laughing at these kids who think stargazing at midnight is teenage rebellion).
He cries because Phil. Philza, who forced him to put his walls down and let some light in, to keep going when he didn’t think he could, who showed him that he’s not broken beyond repair. Who gave him a parent again.
He cries because if you’d asked him at thirteen what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d say rock star or astronaut or something. If you’d asked at sixteen, the answer would’ve been out of the goddamn foster system. Now, it switches between writer and musician and possibly leader of a nation if you catch him on the right day. And above all, alive.
He cries tears of happiness because he thought his world ended when he was fourteen, but somehow he managed to keep going, and now his world is spinning again and he feels ready for anything it throws at him.
His family sees his tears, and ask him what’s wrong. He just cries harder, but there’s a smile threatening to split his face open as well. Phil pulls him into a hug. Tubbo, still clinging onto him like a koala, squeezes tighter. Ranboo and Tommy collide into them, making Phil grunt as they ram into his stomach.
“Y’all look so cheesy,” Techno says with a smirk. He stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, judging them in the way that only family can.
“Ahh, come on Tech!” Phil says, grinning at him. “Hop in.”
“No thank you,” the pigling hybrid laughs. “I will stay right over here in my nice personal space bubble.”
“You know you want to,” Will cajoles, holding an arm out. The younger boys start making a ruckus, trying to peer pressure Techno into joining.
“Keep it down, you gremlins,” Techno says. “Everyone is staring.”
“And?” Tommy demands, trying to reach his arm out far enough to pull him over. He is not successful.
“I have social anxiety!” the oldest boy argues.
Wilbur waves him off good-naturedly. “So do I. Just get in the hug, bitch, and we’ll draw less attention.”
“Ugh, fine.” It’s painfully cliche, and Wilbur is all sweaty and Tommy is somehow like a damn space heater, but Phil wraps his wings around them all, and it feels nice. It feels comfortable, and familiar, and safe.
Techno lets them get away with nearly a full minute of these straight-out-a-movie antics before pulling away. “Can we get food?”
Wilbur lifts his head from where it was resting against Tommy’s curls. “Ooh, I’d be down for Chinese.”
“Potatoes,” Techno counters.
“Dear god, not potatoes again.”
“The market has started setting aside potatoes just for you, Techno,” Phil says. “You’d think I’m raising a--a damn spud addict.”
Tommy cackles. “You do speed? No, you heard me wrong, I do spuds.”
Wilbur doubles over with laughter, nearly sending Tubbo flying to his death. “Phil, where did we go wrong with him?”
“I have no idea,” the man says.
“I like potatoes too, Techno,” Ranboo offers diplomatically.
“Nooo,” Wilbur exclaims. “You’ve created a little tater tot, Techno. You’re corrupting innocent children! You must be stopped!”
“I want to go to the place with the bees,” Tubbo interjects.
“Tubbo, having a bee infestation is not a good thing for a restaurant,” Techno says.
“They were outside! That’s where they’re supposed to be! And they’re so cute !”
“I don’t care where we eat, I just want ice cream,” Tommy says, trying to steal the mic pack out of Wilbur’s pocket.
A random mom walks by with her daughter, one of Will’s castmates. She stops when she hears the bickering, shooting Phil a smile.
“Got your hands full there, don’t you?” she says.
“Oh, constantly,” he says, rolling his eyes at the chaos that’s managed to unfold in the three seconds he turned his back for. “Any interest in a few extra kids? I’ve got one of them who can sing pretty decently.”
“Hey!” Tommy objects. “I can sing, too!”
The lady just laughs. “Well, you should be very proud. Your son did an amazing job with the show tonight.”
Will waits for Phil to say something, to correct her, but he just looks over at Wilbur and grins. “I am.”
As she leaves, Phil reaches over and ruffles Wilbur his son’s hair. Will, still constantly surprising him, throws himself into a hug. Phil hugs back just as tightly.
“I wanna wake up, Phil,” the teen whispers.
“You’re not dreaming, Will,” Phil says back. “This is real.”
“No, I mean. When I fall asleep, I want to wake up. No matter what happens, I want to keep waking up.”
When they finally split, they have matching watery eyes. Phil wipes at his with a little noise of light-hearted annoyance. “Oh man, that is more than enough crying for one night. Can everyone agree on pizza?”
“Pizza does not have potatoes, Phil!”
“That’s the point, dumbass. Can we get ice cream afterwards?”
Will rolls his eyes and hides a smile as he looks around at his brothers. At his dad. It’s not a replacement for the family he lost. They’ll always have a part of him, a small gash in his heart that he’ll feel the pain of every once in a while.
But he knows his parents loved him. He knows they’d want him to be happy. He’s never been able to come up with a reason for how he, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo, all split apart by terrible circumstances, had all found each other again. And not only did they reunite, they found Phil and Techno along the way, too.
It’s never made sense to him, how he got so lucky after the tragedy he suffered. Maybe it’s not that he’s got some guardian angel who guided him to where he was meant to end up.
Maybe he’s got two of them looking out for him.
“I’ve got pizza,” Phil announces. Instead of the usual swarm of hungry children, he’s met with some sort of racket that seems to be coming from the living room. When he goes to investigate, he finds what looks to be an ancient combat ritual consisting of Tubbo stacked on Techno’s shoulders against Wilbur and Tommy together wrapped in a trenchcoat. Ranboo, too tall for the activity, is stood on an ottoman using a large carrot as a microphone.
What the actual hell has Phil’s life come to?
“Team switch,” the enderman hybrid announces. Techno manages to get Tubbo off of his shoulders and onto Wilbur’s and then hoists Tommy up to sit, all without the two children touching the ground. “And...fight!” Ranboo throws two pillows into the air, and all hell breaks loose. “Oh, hey Phil!”
“I--nope. No. I don’t even want to know. I’m taking my pizza and I’m going to my office and closing the door.” Phil is perfectly content to live in blissful ignorance of whatever game this is that requires the Mario Kart theme song blaring on a loop, thank you very much. His hellion children do not get this memo.
“I’m on Phil’s team!” is all he hears before Ranboo is attempting to jump onto his back, taking both of them to the ground in the process. Phil’s confused squawks and howling laughter fill the house. Tommy is attempting to direct Techno over to the fallen pizza boxes while Tubbo is resting his arms and face on the top of Will’s head. It’s chaos, and Will takes it all in with a smile.
Wilbur is seventeen, and he has a home again.