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Wilbur didn’t mean to get shitfaced, blackout drunk on a Thursday night at a stranger's house. But sometimes, that’s just how it worked out.
Midterms brought out different sides of people.
So, now, instead of studying, Wilbur was in a house with blaring loud music and a red solo cup in his hand. The colorful lights swirled and blurred together, creating a beautiful mess.
And if Wilbur could make out any detailed objects, he downed his drink and got a new one. He just needed something to make him forget. And right now, he had no clue what he was trying to forget, so mission accomplished.
And the more he drank, the better he felt, so why stop there?
Wilbur never had attended a college party once in his life until now. The worst part? He didn’t regret a second of it. It had to be the most excitement he’d had in his life.
Wilbur wandered aimlessly through the crowd of people. He bumped into a few girls who maybe tried to talk to him. He had no clue. Words were so distant at this point. He could only hear the music vibrating the floors and walls.
God, Wilbur had been missing out. Why didn’t he pick up drinking way back in high school?
Wilbur chuckled at the thought. His high school self was way too uptight and determined to be the best at everything. Honestly, so was the person he was a few hours ago. But not anymore!
Wilbur sipped on his drink. His head was fuzzy.
Oh.
Vaguely, Wilbur registered the need to pee. He should find the bathroom. Someone pointed it out when he first got to the party, but that was so long ago. Wilbur couldn’t remember thirty seconds ago.
He pushed himself away from the wall he was using for support.
Woah.
The world spun.
He giggled. That was a funny feeling. He stumbled a few steps, laughing like a schoolgirl with each movement.
Wilbur liked being drunk. He’d certainly make a habit of going to more parties.
There were so many people around. Wilbur tapped the closest person on the shoulder.
“Wh’r’s th’ b’thr’m?” he slurred, barely understanding himself. Wow. English was hard.
The guy seemed to get the memo somehow, pointing down the hall saying something about a door on the left. Wilbur thanked him and headed in that direction.
While stumbling, he looked down at his hands, trying to make a shape with them. Which way was left? Both hands looked like L’s.
Eh, he’d figure it out. It was hard to hold his drink while making an L with his hand. And, god, he didn’t want to lose his drink.
Wilbur knocked on a random door he came across. No one answered, so he let himself in.
Ayyyy! That was a bathroom!
Wilbur was so good at… life. Yeah. Slay.
It took a few attempts, but he eventually managed to get the door locked. Or, he hoped he did. He might’ve. There was a like 68% chance he locked it.
Good enough for him.
He took a moment to breathe, setting his solo cup on the counter.
The bathroom was a lot quieter, but not silent. The blasting music just turned to background music instead of a headache inducer. The alcohol might’ve been responsible for the headache too, but Wilbur didn’t give that two seconds of consideration.
He never made it to the toilet.
He leaned against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the cold tile. Oooh, that felt good against his skin.
Wilbur swayed side to side, giggling at how the world wobbled and made his brain feel all static-y.
One time, he leaned too far to one side and flopped onto the tile. That felt fun. If he could will himself to sit up, he’d do it again.
But the cold floor was oddly comfortable. Wilbur could take a nap here.
That wasn’t a half-bad idea. He was a little tired. Just a little nap. Maybe five minutes.
Five minutes passed.
And then some more. Wilbur didn’t have a watch or his phone (fuck knows where that ended up), so he couldn’t really check the time. He was content to just vibe with being drunk. It was a vibe, for sure.
Then, something bumped into Wilbur’s legs. The music got louder again.
“Eh?” he grunted. He tried to lift his head and look, but that required more coordination than he had.
It took a few seconds of thinking, but he managed to figure out the door opened. That was what bumped into his legs. So much for locking it.
“Jesus christ, man,” someone grumbled.
Wilbur laughed. He didn’t know why. This whole thing was just funny. And Wilbur liked laughing. He hadn’t had a good laugh in a while. And once one sound left his lips, he couldn’t stop. The person kneeling in front of him was suddenly the funniest shit ever.
“How much did you drink?” they asked.
“Na ‘nuff,” Wilbur giggled.
“Dad’s going to be pissed, you know?”
Wilbur’s laughter stopped once the person slid their hands under him. They hauled him up, and everything moved way too fast. This time, it wasn’t an enjoyable sensation. Wilbur felt sick.
Oh no.
“‘ut me d’wnnn,” Wilbur complained. He needed to get to the toilet. The person did quite the opposite.
They jostled Wilbur, throwing him up and over their shoulder. He would’ve been impressed with how easily they moved him, but…
Wilbur’s stomach lurched, and everything came rushing up his throat. Gross. He tried to avoid throwing up on the person’s backside but only half succeeded.
Wilbur felt a hundred times worse than when he was just laying on the floor. Why did this person have to disturb him?! Now, he’s sick, half upside-down, and miserable.
Seeing his stomach contents sitting on the floor only made him more nauseous.
His body decided to go for round two.
Ow.
Wilbur thought he felt like shit before… once the guy holding him started walking, Wilbur nearly passed out from the pain and motion sickness.
“Stahp,” he muttered. Wilbur couldn’t even hear his complaint over the music. If he had more energy, he’d fight this person. But everything hurt.
Wilbur went limp in their hold, focusing his half-conscious attention on keeping his stomach bile in his stomach.
The scenery changed. The music faded and the air turned cold.
They were outside.
Wilbur lazily watched as a stone path passed under the person holding him’s feet. His eyes became increasingly difficult to keep open. He wanted to sleep. But he also wanted to throw up again.
The fresh air helped settle his stomach somewhat. It didn’t make the awful feeling go away, but it became more bearable with each breath.
“Don’t you dare throw up in my car,” the person warned.
Car?
Woah, was Wilbur getting kidnapped? So not cool, bro. He should… he should do something about that.
But that required moving his limbs and thinking and figuring out a plan.
Wilbur would like a nap instead since someone interrupted his.
Aaaaaand Wilbur was getting thrown around again. His stomach didn’t like that.
“Throw up on the grass before you get in.”
Before they even finished the sentence, Wilbur was hunched over, retching. A hand rubbed his back.
“Right. Let’s go.”
Wilbur hadn’t even recovered from his previous fit before he was herded around. But this time, he got to sit somewhere.
Right, a car.
Oh yeah, they were kidnapping him.
Pink obscured Wilbur’s vision for a second. A seatbelt clicked into place, and then the pink was gone.
“Hehlp,” Wilbur gabrled. There were so many people at the party. Someone would hear or see him, right?
A car door slammed in Wilbur’s face.
He should get out and run. This was bad, right? People were supposed to fight their kidnappers.
Ugh. That seemed like so much work.
But he did have midterms next week. He should go to those instead of getting kidnapped.
Wilbur grumbled as he flailed a hand around, fumbling with the seatbelt buckle. When did it become so hard to push down a button? God dammit. Modern technology sucked.
“Wilbur, stop.”
A strong hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling it away from the buckle.
“Don’t make me tie you up too. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
Trouble? Nooooo, Wilbur was a good person. He hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, not that he could remember.
“Huh?” he tried to make a questioning sound. Who knows how well that came across?
The other person didn’t say anything back. The car started up and quickly pulled off.
The motion sickness came back.
This was going to be a long night.
♡
“Wilbur, wake up.”
“Hrrrgh?” Wilbur grumbled, further curling in on himself.
“Wilbur.”
“F’ck ‘ff,” Wilbur groaned.
“Ugh, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
Wilbur frowned, trying to find a more comfortable position. Did he fall asleep sitting up? God, his neck was going to hurt when he fully woke up.
Speaking of, when did he fall asleep? Where was he?
“Alright, come on,” someone grunted. Wilbur slowly began to open his eyes, but before he could, hands were yanking him upright. He yelped, not prepared for the movement. The shock quickly faded into nausea.
Oh fuck. That was right. He was drunk.
“Yeah, I know. Get it out now before I pick you up.”
Slowly, very slowly, the vaguest idea of memories began coming back. Someone gave him a ride, right? They left the party. He-
He threw up again. His throat and nose burned.
“There you go.”
The other person hoisted Wilbur up and tossed him over their shoulder… again? He had an odd sense of deja vu from the action, but he couldn’t remember much. What was happening?
He couldn’t be bothered to struggle as the person started walking. Maybe they lived in the same dorm building as him. They were probably helping. That was nice.
Wilbur wanted to go back to sleep. His stomach hurt, though. But if he was asleep, he wouldn’t feel that pain.
The guy carrying Wilbur walked up a few steps… onto a porch. The dorms didn’t have a porch. Or a front garden.
Huh?
Wilbur tried to look around but failed fairly miserably.
“Wher’ar’e?” Wilbur slurred, vision fading in and out. It didn’t help that it was dark outside, so he couldn’t see far.
“We’re home,” the person finally replied.
But they were wrong. This wasn’t the dorms. Where the actual fuck were they? Wilbur had no way of telling how long he was asleep, so the person could’ve driven hours away from campus.
Did he get kidnapped?
Oh, right! That was how it all began, wasn’t it?
“Imma call th’p’lice,” Wilbur warned. “You’re ah wrong’un. Das wha’ma broth’r woul’ say.”
The arms holding Wilbur’s legs tightened at the comment. Wilbur barely noticed, still trying to take in his surroundings. But too soon, the sound of a door creaked open, and he was carried inside a dark house. He couldn’t see anything.
It seemed like everything sunk in when the door slammed shut. Wasn’t there some statistic about kidnapping victims being less likely to be found after they get inside the kidnapper's house? Or maybe that was their car? Or maybe that was something he made up? Fuck if he knew.
“Leh ma go,” Wilbur tried to growl, weakly kicking his legs. The little bit of exertion took more energy than he had, so he quickly fell limp on the man’s shoulder again. He was so tired.
“We’ve been looking for you for years, Wilbur. I’m never letting you go again. Not after that little stunt.”
What? That didn’t make sense. Who would be looking for him? Why would anyone look for him? He was a nobody.
Something tickled the very back of his brain. There was something there, itching to be rediscovered, but the amount of alcohol he’d consumed made it impossible to get to.
Did he know this person? He must’ve. They knew him. But he also meant a lot of people at the party. Knowing his name didn’t mean a whole lot. Was it some kind of fraternity induction prank? It didn’t feel like it. Wouldn’t there be other people around then? Not just one guy?
They began walking again, but with the lack of light, Wilbur had no clue which direction they were going. The sensation made his nausea significantly worse.
“Imma throw up,” Wilbur whispered.
“Hold it in. We’re almost there.”
Where? This guy's torture basement? Did he kidnap drunk college kids on a regular basis? Was he going to be tortured and sold on the black market? Oh god. He felt sick for a whole different reason now.
Wilbur really should like fight back or something. But just the thought of moving his arms and legs exhausted him.
“I’m setting you down now,” the guy warned half a second before lowering Wilbur abruptly.
Wilbur gasped, stomach dropping as he expected his back to crash into cement or something painful. However, he only fell maybe a foot before landing on something cushioned and soft.
But that didn’t matter. Wilbur tried to sit up, so he didn’t choke on his throw-up. A hand on his shoulder pulled him onto his side and something plastic was shoved into his hands.
Wow. His kidnapper had a puke bucket ready for him. How considerate. He must’ve been experienced in kidnapping drunk kids.
“Stay there. I’m getting you water,” the man said. There was a threat in that statement. And as much as Wilbur would’ve liked to challenge it, everything hurt. His legs were jelly. His stomach couldn’t keep anything down. The room was pitch black. Plain and simple: Wilbur couldn’t go anywhere, even if he wanted to.
He was fucked.
Wilbur leaned far enough to set the vomit-filled bucket on the floor, and then promptly rolled onto his back.
What if this was all one big fever dream? And any moment now he would wake up in his dorm?
A glass clinked somewhere beside Wilbur, making him jump at the sudden noise.
“You’ve got water and a bucket,” the kidnapper said. “We’re going to talk in the morning. For now, get some sleep. You need it, Orpheus.”
A warm weight settled over Wilbur’s body. A blanket; it was followed by a gentle hand in his matted hair.
“We missed you,” the person whispered, pressing a soft kiss onto his temple.
That itch in the back of Wilbur’s mind burned. He knew this person. They’d done this hundreds of times before. They weren’t a threat to him. They were familiar.
But why? Wilbur couldn’t tell you.
Instead, he left that itch alone and gave in to his exhaustion. He’d figure it out later, once he sobered up.
♡
The first thing Wilbur registered were the stage whispers.
“Stop,” someone hissed. Wilbur knew that voice…
“But I haven’t seen him in over three years!” a younger voice replied.
‘ Tommy,’ Wilbur’s mind instantly provided.
“Let me wake him up!”
Tommy? Why did Wilbur automatically know that?
“No,” Techno– that was his name– shut Tommy down.
Techno and Tommy.
…
Ah, shit.
Wilbur remembered those names.
It was always Techno and Tommy and Wilbur and Phil. They were a family. Emphasis on the were. Past tense.
Fucking shit!
The second thing he registered was the intense pain in his head. Did someone hit him with a baseball bat? Or curb-stomp his skull? Jesus christ.
Wilbur groaned quietly, lifting an arm to his head, hoping that’d ease the pain. It didn’t.
“Sit up,” Techno grunted demandingly. It wasn’t a request. “Drink some water and take these.”
Wilbur knew he shouldn’t have, but he ignored his twin. Just waking up felt like getting hit by a truck. He didn’t want to try moving.
“I said, sit up,” Techno growled, grabbing onto Wilbur’s shirt collar and forcing him up.
“FUCK!” Wilbur exclaimed, pain shooting through every nerve in his body. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW! “What is wrong with you?”
“I gave you a chance to do it by yourself,” Techno shrugged, letting go of his shirt.
Finally, Wilbur opened his eyes, quickly regretting the decision. The room was too bright. He used his arm to cover his eyes.
“Tommy, go shut the blinds,” Techno ordered. There was some quiet shuffling, and then Wilbur’s arm was yanked down.
Dark brown eyes bore into Wilbur’s own with more anger than he thought possible. Wilbur hoped he’d never see his twin again unless it was a reflection in the mirror. But no. This twin had long pink hair instead of short brown. He had a scar cutting through the arch of his eyebrow, unlike Wilbur’s spotless face.
Wilbur gulped, slowly realizing just how royally screwed he was.
He dared to break eye contact with Techno, glancing around the room. Much to his displeasure, he wasn’t in his dorm. He was back in his childhood home. The Craft Estate. The one place he vowed to never return to alive.
Fuck.
Techno was kneeling in front of the couch Wilbur was on, waiting for his eyes to return. Tommy and Phil were sharing the loveseat a few feet away.
Phil. Oh god, Phil.
(Not Dad. Never again would that man be his father).
His face gave away no emotions whatsoever. It was too neutral. It terrified him and chilled him to the bone. Wilbur couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than a split second before feeling violently ill.
Tommy wasn’t any better. He looked… hurt. Every instinct in Wilbur begged him to get up and comfort his little baby brother. Except, he wasn’t so little anymore. He’d outgrown his chubby baby face and even had some stubble growing. He was clearly finishing up the puberty stage, almost a proper young adult. He was in high school now, wasn’t he? Christ, he’d grown so much.
Wilbur missed his first day of high school. Wilbur missed his middle school graduation. Wilbur missed three birthdays. Who knows how much else he missed? Did he know what Phil and Techno did for a living? Did he have to suffer through that alone like Wilbur?
He almost stayed for Tommy’s sake. And seeing his little brother look so broken because of him made him regret leaving on that rainy night.
“Take these. Now,” Techno said, shoving a glass into Wilbur’s hand and dropping two pills into the other.
Wilbur stared at the little round pills. Techno wasn’t above drugging him. He knew that. He found it out the hard way. But what good would that do? They had him. Wilbur wouldn’t be able to get away.
The lion finally caught the mouse. It was inevitable.
Wilbur took the pills, hoping they’d knock him out or something. Being drugged and forgetting everything would probably be better than remembering.
That was why he went to that party in the first place. He didn’t want to remember them.
Which led to another question: how did they find him? The last thing Wilbur could recall was having a few drinks at the party. He was talking to a girl (Sally? Was that her name?), and everything kind of became blurry after that. How did he end up back at the estate? Where did he slip up? He’d been covering his tracks!
“Well?” Techno prompted rudely. “Are you going to explain yourself?”
Wilbur stayed silent. What was he supposed to say?! He had just as many questions for them.
“Start talking!” Techno snarled. Wilbur had never heard so much emotion in his voice. Long gone was the calm, monotonous voice he remembered. Techno wanted answers. “You left us! No note! No heads up! Nothing! You just robbed us and ran! Do you know how worried we were? We thought someone kidnapped you… or worse. But no. You left of your own volition.”
Wilbur bowed his head bitterly. He wasn’t sorry, but it seemed like he should’ve apologized anyways. Would adding fuel to the fire help? Or should he lie down, throat bare, and submit?
“We all lost countless nights of sleep because of you! Dad nearly drove himself into the grave because he was looking for you instead of taking care of himself!”
‘He’s not my dad, ’ Wilbur wanted to weakly argue. Instead, he let Techno continue to berate him.
“Tommy hasn’t been the same. I don’t think he ever will be. For weeks, he never left his room. He refused to eat or talk to anyone. He spiraled. Bad. Just like you did. Maybe worse.”
Those words cut deeper than anything else Techno could say. Tommy meant the world to Wilbur. He couldn’t picture his bundle of sunshine as depressed. It didn’t fit. It never would. But looking up at Tommy, that wasn’t the boy he knew anymore. He’d grown up while Wilbur was gone.
“I thought you hated me,” Tommy quietly admitted. Wilbur never thought he’d describe Tommy as quiet. It was wrong. So wrong.
“No, no, no, Toms,” Wilbur pleaded, finally finding his voice as he scooted to the edge of the couch. “I’d never hate you. I love you, sunshine. You’re my little champion. Please, Tommy. Don’t say that.”
“Then why’d you leave me?!” he shouted, voice cracking. Phil looked ready to jump in and end their conversation, but Techno shook his head. He wanted Wilbur to talk. Tommy was the key.
But Wilbur’s throat turned dry. He couldn’t say anything.
“Pathetic,” Techno scoffed.
“Does he know?” Wilbur whispered weakly.
Techno squinted at Wilbur. He analyzed Wilbur, picking him apart piece by piece, dissecting him until nothing remained, until everything was out in the open for him to see.
“Does he know?” Wilbur repeated more firmly. Fuck this. Techno wanted Wilbur back? Fine! Wilbur was back. And he was dragging everyone down with him. “Does he know that you and Phil kill people?! You kill people without an ounce of hesitation! You’re both fucking insane! Did you know that Tommy? Your brother and dad are serial killers! Go look in their closets! In the basement! In the shed! The evidence is all there.”
“You’re no better than us,” Techno shot back. “You killed her that night. Her blood is on your hands and yours alone.”
“You made me!” Wilbur shouted furiously. He was going to punch someone. Probably the dickhead a foot away from him. “You forced me to kill her!”
“We didn’t make you do anything, Wilbur. I saw it in your eyes. You wanted to do that, didn’t you? It felt good. Seeing the life fade from her eyes because of you? You loved that power and control. I know you did. You have a hunger just like us. Don’t deny it.”
“No, I fucking don’t! You’re psychopaths. You fucking stalked and kidnapped me! Did you tell Tommy that? I left for a reason. You two are lunatics! I ran away because you’re dangerous! You were going to kill me if I didn’t leave!”
“We weren’t going to kill you. You were initiated. We’re bonded.”
What a fat fucking load of bullshit. Wilbur looked around Techno, desperately making eye contact with Tommy. Maybe he could get through to him. But the blonde boy didn’t seem phased by anything Wilbur had said so far.
“Tommy, please, don’t just sit there! Phil’s killed hundreds of people! Get away from him! Move!”
“Calm down,” Techno huffed. “You’re working yourself up for nothing.”
“Tommy! Are you even listening to me? Phil’s a bad person. He should be serving a life sentence in prison, not sitting on that couch!”
Wilbur attempted to stand up, but Techno grabbed onto his shoulders and kept him sitting.
Tommy slowly blinked, expression unwavering. He looked so much like Phil.
“Wilbur, relax,” Techno scolded, shoving Wilbur into the back of the couch, keeping him pressed in place.
“TOMMY! SAY SOMETHING!” Wilbur demanded, fighting against Techno’s hold. He needed to get off the fucking couch and get to his little brother.
“Wilbur,” Techno grunted, standing up to put more weight behind his hold. Wilbur flailed his limbs, kicking his former brother in the shins and stomping on his toes. “Stop.”
Wilbur did anything but stop.
“Get. Off!” Wilbur panted.
“Do you really think you can overpower me?” Techno challenged.
“Fuck you! Eat shit and die!”
The movements happened in a flash. Wilbur only briefly saw Techno reaching for his hair before the world turned sideways. His face was shoved into the couch cushion with excessive amounts of force, and Techno found himself on Wilbur’s back, pinning him in place easily.
He tried bucking his head, but a hand kept it in place. His arms were sandwiched between his body and the couch, and he couldn’t do anything to get them free. Kicking his legs just made him look like a bratty toddler throwing a tantrum. They didn’t reach anything, just swung wildly and uselessly.
“I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here,” Techno threatened.
“I hate you! I hate both of you! Fuck you!”
“I told you we should’ve tied and gagged him,” Techno sighed, seeming minorly inconvenienced by the whole situation.
Wilbur wanted blood. He wasn’t a serial killer like them. He didn’t kill for the fun of it, or whatever bullshit reason Phil and Techno made up. And he would never be like them. But killing a killer seemed justifiable.
If Wilbur got the chance, he would murder the two of them. He and Tommy could run and start a new life. Just the two of them.
“Let him go,” Tommy spoke up.
Wilbur froze, wide eyes focusing on his little brother– the only person he’d consider family in this room. He didn’t even move when Techno got off his back and let go of his hair. The world revolved around Tommy and only Tommy. Nothing else in the room mattered.
“Tommy,” Wilbur breathed carefully.
“I knew, Wilbur,” Tommy admitted without any emotion in his voice.
Wilbur’s world stopped. He… knew? Were Phil and Techno holding him there against his will too? Did he try to run and get kidnapped too? Oh god. Wilbur never should’ve left without Tommy.
“We can get out of here together,” Wilbur promised, scrambling to sit up. “I won’t let them hurt you. Come here, please. Just– please, get away from him.”
Thankfully, Tommy stood up. Phil let him.
Wilbur jumped off the couch, tumbling into Tommy to get him away from the two killers. He wrapped the kid in his arms, holding him impossibly tight like he could keep the world out if he just pulled Tommy a little closer.
They bumped into the far wall, but that was better than being by Techno and Phil.
“You’re okay,” Wilbur muttered into Tommy’s hair. He’d gotten so tall. He was almost as tall as Wilbur. “You’re okay, sunshine. I got you. Wilbur’s here. They won’t hurt you ever again. I’m sorry I left. I’m here now. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.”
“Wilbur-”
“Shhh, it’s okay, bud. We’re going to get away. I promise. We can go wherever you want, yeah? Doesn’t that sound nice? Just me and you. On the road. Safe. We’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe. Just stay close. I got you.”
“Will-”
“I know. They’re terrible people. I’m sorry you had to find out all alone. But you won’t ever have to be alone again. We’ll get through this together. I’m here for you. I’ll always put you first.”
“Stop!” Tommy huffed, trying to force his way out of Wilbur’s arms. The brunette curled around the boy more, keeping them pressed together. He couldn’t lose Tommy again. “Wilbur. I know what they do.”
“I know,” Wilbur cooed. “I’m sorry you-”
“I help them!” Tommy interjected.
…what?
Wilbur’s arms loosened. Tommy had to be lying. Was this some sick joke? No. It wasn’t funny! Tommy can’t say things like that!
“No,” Wilbur laughed weakly. “No, you don’t. Did they tell you to say that? How much did they pay you? This is some trick to make me stay, isn’t it? It won’t work. I’m taking Tommy and leaving! Fuck you! You ruined him! You hurt him!”
Phil and Techno were impassive as always. Neither reacted to the accusation.
“I’m not lying, and you’re not leaving,” Tommy added. “I’m the reason we found you. Techno brought you back, and Dad prepared your room. We’ve been waiting for you forever.”
“Prepared my– what are you talking about? No, you’re delusional. Tommy, stop this. Whatever you’re playing at, stop. It’s not going to work!”
“He’s telling the truth,” Phil spoke up for the first time that morning. His burning gaze landed on Wilbur, leaving the boy’s hands shaky and clammy.
Tommy stayed in his arms, despite being able to easily push away. Wilbur didn’t know if he wanted him to go or not.
“We all worked together,” Phil continued. “As a family, just how it was always meant to be. Tommy understood when we initiated him. He couldn’t wait to get involved.”
“No, no, no,” Wilbur muttered desperately. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not, son.”
“I am NOT your son!” Wilbur shouted. His legs wobbled, shaking nearly as bad as his hands. He was one gentle blow away from caving over. If not for the wall he had to lean on, he would’ve crumpled onto the floor.
Phil sighed. “Stubborn as always. Like father, like son, I suppose.”
“Tommy, please,” Wilbur wetly begged. “Tell me this is all a sick joke. You’re not like them. Please. Sunshine?”
“Why couldn’t you embrace it?” Tommy asked, and Wilbur’s heart dropped. “You have the skills for it. We’re meant to work together. You, me, Techno, and Dad. One big, happy family. We’d be unstoppable. People would know our names everywhere.”
“No!” Wilbur wailed, not registering the tears running down his face. “No. No. Please, no. Not you. Anyone but you…”
And despite it all, Wilbur could see it: Tommy, standing over a dead body with a wide grin and blood splattered across his face. He’d probably leave a signature behind, fingerpainted poorly in blood. Maybe he’d doodle a stick figure cow beside his marking.
It made him sick to think about.
Wilbur was holding a killer in his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to push the kid away though. That was Tommy– his itty bitty baby brother who lit up rooms when he walked in. Tommy, who made disgustingly vile jokes at the worst times. Tommy, whose diapers Wilbur helped change. Tommy, who went to all of Wilbur’s band concerts and cheered louder than anyone else in the audience. Tommy, who loved Wilbur as much as he loved Tommy.
Tommy, who killed people.
Wilbur’s knees buckled, and he crashed down onto the floor, dragging the blonde with him.
Tommy didn’t complain, just shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position, resting his head on Wilbur’s collarbone.
“It’s okay,” Tommy whispered a disgustingly similar mockery of Wilbur’s previous words. “I got you. I won’t leave you, Will. You’re home. You’re safe. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
Wilbur sobbed.