Chapter Text
Wilbur was 6 when his soulmark first showed up.
It was a nice warm spring afternoon, and his mom was making lunch. Wilbur had just finished preforming (and making up) a song in his room to his adoring crowd of stuffed animals. He changed the melody at least six times in one song, and he had forgotten what the original point of it was. He felt giddy.
Wilbur jumped onto his bed and hugged his favorite cerulean stuffed sheep. He looked down at his wrist and frowned. He didn’t think he was that messy with the paints earlier. He got up and tried to rub it off. It stayed.
He stared at the design, an outline of a mushy mess. It looked like maybe a cloud? Or a glob of sauce? There wasn’t any color or anything. He didn’t want a blob! He started crying and let out an earth-shattering wail for his mom. Wilbur’s mother came running into the room looking incredibly panicked. Her hair had fallen out of the hair clip, and she had kraft mac and cheese sauce on her apron.
“Wil?! Honey, are you okay sweetie?” She walked over to him looking for any injuries. Wilbur kept sobbing. “Honey, what’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Between sniffles and sobs, he showed his mom the blob on his wrist.
“I-It’s a splotch—and—and I d—don’t wan’—” His mother looked at the mark on his wrist.
“Oh sweetie you got your soulmark!” Wilbur sobbed harder. This was even worse. How was his mother missing the point, a soulmark was supposed to be cool and artsy, this looked like the stain on his play shirts.
Wilbur let out some more broken speech about the blob. After about 20 minutes of his mother trying to soothe his meltdown, she finally seemed to understand what was going on.
“Wil honey, are you upset because your soulmark looks like a blob?” Wilbur nodded and hiccupped. “Oh sweetie it won’t stay like that.” His mother sat down next to him and offered him a hug. Wilbur climbed into her lap, still sniffling and hiccupping.
“Wha’ you mean?”
“Well, sweetheart.” His mother started, “Your soulmark is like a puzzle.” She held his wrist out and showed him hers next to it. It was a gorgeous combination of objects and flowers, that if any human would have tried to make a design out of, would have failed. It was unique, and it was gorgeous.
“Your soulmark starts as a outline, and once you meet your soulmates its fills in. Just like a puzzle.” Wilbur sniffled. He started tracing the mark on her wrist.
“So,” He sniffed. “it’s like a painting? And I have the frame?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Just like that. Once you get older you will meet them, and your painting will get its colors. If you are a lucky one you might be able to write to them on yourself too.” Wilbur hugged his mom. He wiped away a few stray tears that still ran down his face.
“Come on Wil, let’s go have lunch, okay? We can talk more afterwards.” Wilbur refused to let go of his mom, and she let him koala cling to her all the way down the hall.
Wilbur’s mom was tucking him in for the night. He had stopped crying a few hours ago but he still felt a little vulnerable.
“Mum—Why do we have more than one soulmate?” he asked, as she was making sure Friend was properly tucked in as well.
“Well, sweetheart not everyone is destined for one person. We have many people who make our lives wonderful.”
“But wouldn’t one person make it better?” His mother paused for a moment and then smiled at him.
“Wil, can you pick a favorite song?” Wilbur felt offended.
“No! I like lots of songs, there’s too many!”
“That’s how it is with people darling. We have more than one soulmate. Just like how some songs are good for dancing—” He ruffled his hair at this, and Wilbur giggled.”—And some are good for falling asleep.” She kissed his forehead. Wilbur considered this and smiled.
“Goodnight Wil, sweet dreams.” She stood up and went to his door to turn out the lights.
“Mum—"He started and she paused.
“Yes?”
“When will I meet them?” His mother let out a soft smile.
“When you are older and when you need them the most.” Wilbur smiled at this.
“Night mum.”
“Night sweetheart.”
-*-
Three years after that conversation, Wilbur was at his grandparents. He was spending the weekend with them. They were covering all the important things that one is supposed to do at the grandparents’ house, watching the annoying cartoons that his mother wouldn’t let him watch, and eating junk food until his teeth figuratively fell out. (Wilbur did lose a tooth but that was because he tripped) But the most fun thing Wilbur did at his grandparents' house was the music.
His grandfather would play his guitar and Wilbur would sit and stare entranced by the instrument. His grandmother would eventually pull Wilbur into a dance, and they would spin and laugh around the room for what felt like hours. He would practically fall asleep the moment he looked at his bed.
It was Sunday morning and Wilbur was outside on the porch. His mom was supposed to pick him up for a haircut and then they were going to go visit his father. Wilbur could care less about the haircut and seeing his dad. Haircuts meant that he had to sit somewhat still for a while and the smell there made his nose itch. Seeing his dad meant his dad would try and kick a football at him to try and play with Wilbur, but the ball would just hit him instead and it hurt.
For now, though, Wilbur was watching a robin. It had been uncharacteristically watching him back for a while now. He cocked his head to the side, and it copied him. It was starting to freak him out. He held out his hand and the robin hopped forward a little bit. Wilbur watched as it made eye contact with him for a second and then flew right into his hair. He let out a scream as the poor bird had gotten caught in his unmanaged curls.
His Gran ran out with her cast-iron frying pan poised to hit a creeper upon hearing him scream, but had to hold back a laugh before helping her grandbaby get a bird out of his hair.
“The bird probably thought your hair was anest Wil!” she said while laughing. “It’s a good thing your mum is coming to get you a haircut kiddo” Wilbur felt a little too traumatized from having a bird in his hair to find the situation funny. She put the robin into the pan and helped it reassemble its wing. The bird glared at his gran. It hopped a couple of times and then flew off, in the opposite direction of Wilbur’s hair this time.
His gran was doing a quick lice check in Wilbur’s hair when a black car pulled up into the driveway.
“Must be your mum now” His gran stood up. “That’s odd, she wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour.” She dusted off her pants and guided him towards the house.
“Go get your stuff honey-bear, I’ll go talk with your mum.” Wilbur sniffled.
“You won't tell her about the robin?”
“That will be between you and me, promise. I’m just gonna go get some lemonade and trap you here with us for a little while longer.” She winked at him. Wilbur grinned and scrambled to get inside. He put his cerulean sheep in his bag, (which he named Friend!) and took a long look and his grandfather’s guitar. Maybe one day, his gramps would teach him how to play. And then that day, he could play music for his soulmates and they could dance and laugh just like he did with his family.
All of a sudden he heard a smashing sound. He ran outside to see a man in a suit talking to his grandma. His Gran was facing away from him.
“Gran? You okay?” He walked over to his gran. The glass lemonade pitcher had shattered into tiny shards against the concrete, and the lemonade was running down the driveway. His grandmother stood there. Her face was pale, her eyes were welling up in tears, and her hands were shaking. Wilbur felt scared.
“Gran?” The man in the suit cleared his throat and repeated himself.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. There was an accident. Ruby didn’t make it.”
-*-
Wilbur’s mother had gotten into a car crash and was killed by a drunk driver. His grandparents had sued the driver and won, but that didn’t change much after taxes, medical bills, and lawyer fees. He didn’t remember much about it other than being incredibly confused about where his mother went.
It sunk in during supper one night with his absent father and grandparents. Wilbur asked what would be the last time when his mom would be coming back, and his father erupted in a,
“God Dammit Will! She’s dead she’s not coming back!” His grandfather erupted into sobs, making Wilbur jump in his seat. His grandmother got up and placed her hand on her husband’s back and let him cry for a minute. She made eye contact with her son-in-law and said in a very even yet fragile tone.
“I think you should leave.”
What followed that was an obscene amount of yelling, crying, and hurt feelings. Wilbur quietly excused himself and went to his room. He tucked Friend into his bed the same way his mom would and then climbed in carefully after it, so as to not ruin the very precise tucking in. He reached over to his CD player that sat by his bed and hit the play button. It was a combination of songs his mom had made for him three years ago after their conversation about soulmates. None of the songs matched the others in the slightest, but it was something.
Wilbur felt a small tingling in his hand. When he looked, he saw a line of black iridescent feathers decorating his palm. His first soulmate. He rubbed the line with his thumb. It glittered in the dark.
“Hello.” He whispered at it. Nothing happened.
The argument continued outside his door.
Wilbur turned his music up a little more and went to sleep.
-*-
2 years after the loud supper argument Wilbur found himself in court again on account of a custody battle between his father and his grandparents. At 11 years old one would think that he would be a tad more aware than he was at 9, but after coming to terms with his mother’s death Wilbur had closed off quite a few emotions.
The judge asked Wilbur questions and he answered them rather monotonously. It wasn’t like his dad would win this battle, he didn’t have a stable job or a consistent place to stay for as long as Wilbur remembered. The judge looked down at him. Wilbur squirmed in his seat. His clothes were rather itchy and uncomfortable, but his grandma said that they could get ice cream afterward for being brave.
“Wilbur, who do you want to stay with?” The lawyer asked. Her soulmark was a combination of birds and branches, which Wilbur found pretty. The birds were all bluebirds and cardinals--not one robin (Thank God. He was still traumatized from the robin-in-the-hair-incident.).
Wilbur’s soulmark hadn’t filled in, but he still would get little iridescent black feathers in random spots. More often than the feathers, he would get little books or pages. They were much more frequent. Rarer then both was a random mark of ink, that didn’t belong to either. There was a book on his palm right now and he would rub it to give himself comfort. (It wasn’t really working)
Wilbur couldn’t remember whose lawyer this was, his grandparents or his dad’s. She seemed nice. He also didn’t want to answer this question. He could feel his father’s stare from across the room and the worried energy coming off his grandparents.
“Whoever you think is best.” Was his response.
“Why do you say that?” The lawyer asked kindly.
“Does it really matter what I say?”
“Of course, it does Wilbur.” Wilbur paused, nervously.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She asked.
“I don’t know how to know who I want to stay with.” He said nervously. He bit his lip and avoided eye contact. He was wiggling his toes to get rid of the nervousness. He wished he brought Friend with him because he was so nervous, but he was too grown to bring stuffed animals with him places. The lawyer just smiled at him. He rubbed the book on his palm with his thumb. He really should feel more comforted by the action than he was.
“That’s all right. Can I help you figure it out?”
“Figure out what?” He asked. Wilbur had stopped trying to make eye contact and was noticeably fidgeting in his seat.
“Who you want to stay with? Is that okay?”
“O-okay.” Wilbur’s voice felt quiet. There were too many eyes on him right now. His leg started bouncing.
“Which person makes you feel safe?” She asked. “Which person makes you feel like you can tell them about things?” her voice was kind and patient. Wilbur bit his lip and considered her questions. Then wordlessly, he pointed at his grandparents.
-*-
The judge had ruled that his grandparents had custody, but his dad was allowed visits twice a month on the weekends. Any other visits or rescheduling would have to be negotiated through Wilbur’s grandparents.
His grandma took him out for ice cream that evening and let him get a large chocolate ice cream. He couldn’t finish it all and put it in the freezer. His grandpa hugged him and played Wilbur a song on his guitar. His grandma was smiling and crocheting something blue. Wilbur started entranced by the guitar, it was so beautiful and the song his grandpa played reminded him of a lullaby his mom used to sing to him. His grandpa showed him a few chords and Wilbur fell asleep in the living room.
“One day Wil” His grandpa was saying to him as he was picked up and put to bed. “You will play all the most beautiful songs, I promise you.” Wilbur went to sleep that night with music on his mind.
-*-
4 years later on his 15th birthday, Wilbur watched as his dad’s friend, Uncle John (The man kept wanting Wilbur to call him uncle, Wilbur didn’t like that. His father didn’t have siblings.) shotgun a beer while his screaming kids ran around barefoot. Wilbur would have joined the kids, the game looked kind of fun, but he was much more focused on the song he was writing.
His soulmark hadn’t changed much. In the nine years, it had been since it showed up, and honestly? Wilbur had forgotten about it most of the time. He was beginning to think he was just left with an empty blob on his wrist for all of eternity. He hoped it wasn’t true because he had feathers and books, but more recently, small little yellow flowers. He had tried identifying them in a book once but all he could really get about them was that they were a type of stubborn weed. He had a small yellow flower on his elbow right now and a bunch on his knees.
A little more frequently though, was writing. It was small, a word or two nothing more. Wilbur didn’t care much for the writing on his body, he was just trying to write this song.
The song, in particular, he had been writing for weeks. It was about finally finding his soulmates and how excited he was. He was going to show it to his grandparents when he got back from this weekend. He put his attention back to the paper.
Then John said something that made Wilbur’s eavesdropping mode go from 1 to 100.
“I just don’t get how this is supposed to be your kid. Acts nothing like ya.” His dad grumbled a sentiment. “All it does is read an' write all day; boys aren’t supposed to be writing! Need to be active and get that testosterone going.” Wilbur didn’t let his emotions show, this was a common theme when he went over to his father’s house. Normally he wouldn’t be writing music in front of him but he was so close to finishing this song—
“Its ‘y in-laws. They don’ let him go out for spots. Says he's got a medical conditions or somthin’.” His father slurred. He was very drunk. He had been drunk and angry since the custody battle. At least all of the times that Wilbur had gone to stay with him. It was usually tight smiles and uncomfortable amounts of silence.
“Bullshit, they are jus' too protective of him—Hey Bill—”
That was another thing he didn’t like about John, he kept calling him Bill. It was just Wilbur. (or Wil if you were his grandparents)
“You ever play football?” Football was another reoccurring topic. If it wasn’t about how Wilbur wasn’t like his dad, it was sports—which usually circled back to how Wilbur wasn’t like his high-school-sports-star dad. His father glared at his beer can.
“No thank you, I’ll pass. I appreciate the offer though.” Wilbur responded keeping his focus on the paper. For some reason, this seemed to be his father’s last straw. He stomped on the beer can and marched his way over to Wilbur. Wilbur became keenly aware of how close his father was getting and instinctively moved his arms to protect himself.
“All you do is sit there and write!” His father yelled. The screaming kids had stopped their game to stare. His father grabbed the music sheets and glanced at them; he became infuriated. “Seriously?! You would rather fucking write this bullshit than play sports?! This is shit Wil!” With that, he began ripping up the music sheets. Wilbur choked on a sob, and tears fell down his face. That was supposed to be for his grandfather, to show him how hard he had been practicing…
His father stomped and spat on the torn sheets. Swearing and cussing about how his son was growing up to be a wuss. Wilbur didn’t let himself make audible noise, the knot in his throat was an uncomfortable size but rebellious tears kept racing down his face. After a couple of minutes, his father let out a growl and stormed off to get another beer. John hadn’t said anything, but Wilbur could have sworn he saw him smirk into a swig from his beer.
Wilbur stood up and picked up the torn, spat-on pieces of sheet music. He went inside the house and tried to tape and reassemble them as best he could. It was a losing battle. The pieces that did assemble were too dirty and blurred to make out what it had said. His song about finding his soulmates and finding comfort in them--it was all gone.
Wilbur let out a broken sob and held the piece of broken music to his chest. His mother’s words came back to him,
“When you are older and need them most, you will meet them.”
Wilbur whimpered and prayed to whatever deity that existed that whoever his soulmates were would take him from this hell hole. They would accidentally message him on Tumblr or something and he could feel slightly better than he did now. He touched the yellow flowers on his knees and the pages on his ankle. There was nothing. Not a tingle of comfort like it had been for the past few years. There wasn’t even a physical sign, not a notification on his phone or the sound of tires in the driveway.
Wilbur curled up into a ball. A voice in his mind spoke and brought some form of comfort to his heart. His heart was shattering just like his Gran’s glass lemonade pitcher on the driveway the day they got the news. The voice hummed something that allowed his broken heart to beat again with a much hollower echo.
Soulmates are a fucking hoax.