Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day after day, does anything ever change?

Every day, Wilbur gets up and puts on the same one of his many similar brown sweaters over one of his many collared shirts. Every day he puts on his best smile for whatever camera he may be facing the moment he steps outside. Every day he prepares himself to present perfect. and every day he walks into the empty kitchen of his father’s penthouse.

Wilbur walks over to the marble counter and starts up the coffee maker, even though it practically does everything for him with just a press of a button. Just like everything else in my life. He walks over to the window, which is more of a wall of glass that reveals the cityscape below.

L’manburg, city of evolution. More like the city of pollution. Wilbur can't help but think as he looks over the streets filled with high-tech cars that they never quite got to run on just electricity alone or the plenty of parts factories with smoke billowing out of their chimneys that mass produces the parts for all of the fancy gadgets and doodads the people have thought of in the past few decades. L’manburg is known by inventors as the main place to go if you want to get big, kind of like Los Angeles for movie stars. It's considered one the most technologically advanced cities in the world, full of crazy inventions that can make your life fully automated or robotic prosthetics that tend to be controversial for many. I mean, how much can one replace themselves until they are not human anymore?

But it seems like L’manburg was an obvious choice for anyone with bright eyes and big dreams to live.

However, what they fail to tell you is that very few actually make it here. It's only if you get extremely lucky or happen to be rich that anyone actually ends up in the top percent of the L’manburg population. The upper class is considered for a reason; it's rare to have comfortable living in this city, let alone lavish housing. Those people tend to be tech developers who got in during the beginning of L’manburg’s technology boom. Those people have their lives secured, and safe.

People like Wilbur.

Granted, Wilbur never chose this life. No, he was born into it. His father owned one of the biggest tech companies in this godforsaken city. Not that he wasn't grateful that he didn't live on the streets or in poverty. Sure, he probably seems like a privileged asshole for even suggesting that his life is not perfect. because that's exactly what I’m supposed to be.

Being the son of Philza Minecraft and his tech empire, only rivaled by Esempee manufacturers, Kinoko, and Schlatt Co., wasn't as easy as some would think. Wilbur was supposed to be the epitome of the ideal posh child. He must present like he represented the company at all times. Because he kind of did. Anything that Wilbur said or did would reflect on his father's company. Which meant everything he did had to be carefully curated so as not to make the company look bad.

The coffee maker beeps, pulling Wilbur from his thoughts. Just like every day, he walks over to grab it before clicking the button on the elevator to take him to the bottom floor. And like every day, there is already a fancy cab waiting to take him to his father's factory.

Just like every day.

He wordlessly stares out the window of the cab, occasionally taking sips of his coffee. He knows that he probably won't finish it, he really never does. Some may consider it wasteful, but he was never taught to care. So he doesn't. He checks his phone to find some new news articles about reporters scrambling to gather whatever information they can about his father’s new and upcoming inventions.

He recently had his employees playing with the idea of teleportation and portals. They have only done a few tests, and Wilbur doubts that anything will actually be available to the public for many, many months now, but it seems one of the new interns leaked some information after being fired for gossip.

Should have seen that one coming.

Wilbur tucks his phone away as they round the last corner as the factory comes into view, where he can immediately see a crowd of news vans and reporters standing outside, all trying to get their own story about the new tech. And of course, the moment they see the company-assigned cab round the corner, their attention switches to the man waiting to get out.

Wilbur hated this kind of publicity. For as much as he could fake it, he never knew what to say. He was always awkward, and he knew if he said anything that he wasn't supposed to he wouldn't hear the end of it from his father.

Just like every day, he considered asking the driver to take one more lap around the block to let him mentally collect himself for the paparazzi.

And just like every day, he stays silent and accepts his fate.

He pushes open the door of the cab, and the moment he steps out, he is bombarded with cameras and microphones being shoved in his face and a million questions flooding his ears. Why does this have to be every day? He finds himself wondering as he puts on his best people-pleaser smile and makes eye contact with the first news reporter lady, who has made her way to the front of the crowd.

“What do you know about the newest ‘Minecraft’ Tech?” She asks, while simultaneously invading Wilbur's personal space and shoving a microphone so close to his face that he almost flinches.

“Uh, there’s nothing I can say at this time.” He responds with a carefully practiced line that he has rehearsed many times for many different people. Just another one of the ever-repetitive things in Wilbur’s life.

“Well, what can you tell us?” She persisted.

He couldn't blame her too much; after all, it was just her job. But still, it was far too early to deal with this shit.

“Nothing, nothing at this time.” he repeats, hoping that the lady will get it through her thick skull this time, seeing as the first time wasn't enough. Please just leave me alone.

“There are rumors of some sort of teleportation. Are those true?”

Wilbur knows that he really should be nice to the public and that he needs to be the perfect son as everyone expects him to be, but his lady was really starting to get on his nerves. Please just get OUT of my face!

“How would I know, I haven’t even entered the building yet?” he says in a slightly biting tone, which he immediately regrets the moment the cameras zoom in on his expression. Shit.

“You seem stressed, have they got you working overtime for the new releases?”

“What? No-”

“When is the new release going to be then?” She takes another step forward, shaving the microphone even closer to his face.

Too close. She was TOO close. It felt like they were all closing in on me. I can't breathe. nowhere to run. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to ru-

“I DON'T KNOW, OK?” he snaps at her, which causes the crowd to take a step back. For a moment, the whole crowd is silent, unsure of what to do next. The quiet before the storm. He knows it all too well. It's the few seconds before a baby cries, or the odd silence two seconds before everything goes to hell.

For a few seconds, Wilbur hopes that may be the end of it when he suddenly hears someone over a megaphone.

“Please vacate the premises and allow Wilbur Minecraft to pass before we are forced to take action!”

The factory guards rarely followed through on their threats, but the news reporters and their crew all seemed to cooperate, allowing Wilbur to pass. He kept his head tilted slightly lower in embarrassment as he disappeared behind the front double doors of the factory.

Even with his head down, he can see the annoyed glance the main guard gives him as he passes. He is probably annoyed because this happens. Every. Day.

If Wilbur had been a little more awake, maybe he would have made some snippy comment about his father owning the company, or his ability to get him fired at any moment. However, like every day, he walks through and lets the guards shoo away the reporters and their vans.

Unlike most other factories, his father's was a half-office building. Wilbur was more of a glorified mascot than anything else, however, he still had some responsibilities in the company. Most of which included making sure everything was running smoothly, and calling for maintenance if anything was out of place. Seeing as pretty much the entire process is automated, it meant that they didn't have to deal with actual workers, so there was no need to hire proper supervisors when Wilbur had perfectly good eyes—well, semi-perfect he wears contacts and occasionally some round glasses on his rare days off—and could see if anything was not functioning properly on the manufacturing floor.

He immediately got to work, not even taking the usual time to dilly dally by talking to the front desk lady in the lobby. He didn't really feel like waiting around for his father to figure out what went down earlier. Surely, he'll find out when the news reports circulate the footage on multiple TV channels; however, Wilbur tried to distract himself from his fate for the time being.

He grabbed the clipboard from the wall, which seemed to already be restocked with a new piece of paper, with a grid of unchecked boxes. It’s boring work, and just like every day, Wilbur sighs before beginning to walk through rows upon rows of automated workers, making more parts to create even more of them.

After about an hour or so, he scribbles the words ‘functioning properly’ at the bottom, taking the paper off the clipboard and hanging it back up. Exiting the gray manufacturing floor, he finds his way to his office.

Really, all he has to do is type the paper into a digital version and then ‘find something else to do’ as his father would say. Though they typically ended with him playing a 3D block building game on the company laptops.

As he opens up the basic browser, he sees an advertisement for a news article on some of the recent break-ins that have been popping up at some of the other factories. Schlatt & Co. appears to have taken the most damage from these bandits. Nobody actually knows who is stealing the stuff, but they seem to strike randomly, taking random computer parts or sometimes very specific parts used for certain prosthetics. Which has led some to believe that the bandits may have some of their own.

People suspect a leg or arm replacement based on the number of parts for those types of prosthetics taken, as well as a few cameras that may indicate a replaced eye; however, this could simply be because they are expensive and easy to sell on the black market.

Wilbur finds it funny how the other factories have been hit and Minecraft tech has stayed seemingly untouched. Maybe they just need to up their security. He thinks as he scrolls through the article about the most recent theft.

For as much as Wilbur hates reporters, they sure do help with finding gossip about their competitors. Which is yet another reason he has to seem presentable for them. And he is reminded of it when another news article pops up with the headline, ‘Minecraft industries hiding some sort of secret? This is what experts are saying about the surprisingly hostile interaction between the CEO’s son Just earlier today!’

Wilbur hits his head against the keyboard in defeat. How could I have been so stupid?

And just like every day, just as he didn't think that it could get any worse, there was a knock on his door.

“Wilbur. What the hell happened, mate?” Philza says as he enters Wil’s office. His face is stern and serious as he holds an advanced version of an iPad, which Wilbur has no doubt is open to one of the many articles of this morning's mishap.

Wilbur doesn't even try to pick his head up off of his keyboard as his father closes the door behind him. He knows he fucked up, but what else was he supposed to do? They were closing in on him! “I’m sorry, I just- fuck.”

“Do you realize how much this impacts the company? How much this affects ME?!” Phil exclaims, scrolling through the pages upon pages of people online talking about what that reaction could have meant.

“They- They were just getting too close!” He tries to explain, but his father doesn't seem to be listening.

“That's just how the press is!” Phil snaps at him. “Whatever you have got going on, you need to just get over it! You're making everyone look bad!”
Just get over it. The words reverberate in Wilbur’s mind for a second; he opens his mouth to argue but realizes that it won't help much.

“Yes, Phil.” He responds.

“Now the public thinks you have some sort of aggressive side!” Phil clicks off the screen of his tablet and pinches the bridge of his nose as if he is trying to figure out what robot he could make to fix Wilbur’s problems.

That's all Phil was ever really good at. Tech. He was practically useless when it came to human emotions. It's part of the reason it's been a long while since Wilbur has called him ‘dad.’

“You know what, I have an idea,” Phil says, checking the time on the wall. “Why don't you pick up your brother from school early, and you guys go to the park or do something brotherly. Maybe if the press sees you two hanging out, they may be able to sympathize with you or something.”

Phil states it as if it's some sort of stat in a video game as if reputation were something measurable and logical. Wilbur would love to tell him how much of a dumb idea that is, but he really doesn't have anything else to be doing. I’ve already fucked up enough today anyway.

…

A few hours later, there is another fancy cab waiting to take him to the school. He can't help but silently curse himself out as he stares at the passing buildings. How could I be so STUPID? Just keep your mouth shut and smile, just like every day! Why is that so hard?

Soon enough, the cab comes to a stop, and Wilbur approaches the front office of the school. The moment he walks in, he is met with a loud blonde teenager, taking the ear off of some poor old desk lady, who Wilbur is 90% sure isn't listening to a word Tommy says. Phil must have called in and told him that Wilbur was coming prior to his arrival. He begins to wonder how long this poor woman has had to deal with his brother.

“Hi, I’m here to get this gremlin out of your hair.” Wilbur says in the politest joking voice he can to the lady, who by now is used to Wilbur’s random visits. Every so often, Wilbur would come around and pick Tommy up from school, usually because he got suspended for some dumb prank, in which they would go out for ice cream as Tommy recounted the look on the teacher's face, and Wilbur would clear any emails about the incident before Phil could see them.

The lady nods, and Wilbur is pretty sure he can see her mouth ‘thank god’ as he checks Tommy out of the system.

“Ayup, Wilbah!” Tommy greets excitedly. As they walk towards the door, Tommy shoots some finger guns back at the woman and adds, “See you later, Cindi!”

Even though the nametag the lady wore clearly said ‘Carol’ she didn't seem to care enough to correct him.

“Soooooooo,” Tommy says, turning to walk backward so that he is facing Wilbur. “What did you do this time?”

Wilbur sighs, covering his face with his hands. Wilbur re-adjusts his glasses, which he put on because he doesn't appear to be working today, or at least not for a few hours. Tommy gives him a cornered look.

“I yelled at the reporters.” He mumbles, reflecting back on how stupid that decision had been. “They- They were just getting too close, and I-”

“No, no, I get it,” Tommy reassures him. He must determine who is speaking to him at this time—it is not Phil—and he does not need to apologize to Tommy. His tone shifted to calm, which he only does when something is wrong. “Sounds like that fuckin’ sucks.”

“Don't worry about it.” Wilbur says, trying to return to the lighthearted, upbeat tone that they started with. After all, it was his fault; Tommy shouldn't have to worry about him and his fuckups.

Tommy seems to get the hint and puts a bit of bounce in his step as he steps up onto the sidewalk adjacent to the school parking lot. The ice cream place that they frequented was only a block or two away from Tommy’s school, which allowed them to walk there when they felt like it, without having to call for a cab to take them anywhere.

The place may be a little run down, and the workers look like they could use a few more hours of sleep at night. But it was one of Wilbur and Tommy’s favorite spots in the entire city. It didn't have any indoor seating and was more of a window system than a shop with some outdoor tables.

Tommy quickly sits down at the table nearest to the streetlamp and traffic lights on the corner, he claims to be ‘saving the seat, though this place never really seems to be busy. Wilbur knows the drill by now and orders two coke floats, He’s pretty sure by now the people who work there already know what he is going to say as they seem to be scooping the ice cream as he walks up to the counter, and there doesn't seem to be anybody else in line.

Wilbur pays for the two drinks and grabs a couple of spoons before joining Tommy at the table, who has already seemed to get a headstart at the game.

“I’ve already seen two people run a red, and one do a u-turn!” He says with a big smile on his face as Wilbur hands him the coke float. “That’s 20 points!”

Wilbur smiles, and behind Tommy’s head, he notices someone hitting the curb. “CURB CHECK!!! 5 POINTS!!”

Tommy looks back just in time to see the car veer off the curb. “Ok, fine, but you're still 15 points behind!”

They call it the ‘Bad Driver Game’, the objective is to be the first one to call out all of the bad drivers and the stupid shit they do. Things like hitting the curb and running a red light are all so common that they are only worth 5 points, though some other things like u-turns and pullovers are about 10. Nothing they have ever actually seen exceeds 20 points, though they have discussed what some of those may entail, just in case.

Tommy scoops out some of the ice cream floating in the coca-cola. “I should thank you, you got me out of a math test that I forgot to study for.”

“Do you ever study?” Wilbur asks, teasingly.

“Well, no, not really. But Mrs. Adler is such a BITCH, man!” Tommy complains. “She expects me to be some sort of genius ‘cause Phil is.”

Tommy doesn't refer to him as ‘dad’ either; honestly, none of his children really do. Though he still refers to Wilbur as ‘brother’, maybe that’s just because they were always closer than Phil was to anyone.

At least ever since mom died.

Phil has seemed to focus purely on his work and his company, tending to ignore his own children. He wasn't there when Tommy almost failed biology, and he had to stay up till midnight to make sure that he could pass the final. No. It was Wilbur who stuck by him and explained the functions of the cell membrane to him.

“Ms. Adler?!?! She hasn't been fired yet?!?!” Wilbur asks incredulously. “I had her when I was in school! You would think after she threw that kid's backpack out the window she would have been let go.”

“Wait, the rumors are TRUE?!?!” Tommy inquires, wide-eyed.

“Oh yeah, I was there when she did it.” Wilbur says as he bites into his ice cream.

“Shut up! No way,” Tommy says slightly louder than needed. But that's just how Tommy was, and Wilbur would never shame him for it. Besides, they were outside, not in a library. Tommy goes on, asking about other rumors about the teachers that were true. Wilbur recognized several names; others he did not and simply shrugged.

Their discussions shift to school lunches and eventually to how many people it would take to overthrow the student council, while occasionally pointing out bad driving habits. Wilbur enjoyed this time with his brother. It wasn't daily and offered a nice little release from the never-ending cycle. However, all good things must come to an end, and eventually, after a while, Wilbur’s phone begins to ring in his pocket.

The screen lights up to reveal the word ‘Phil,’ matched with a very blurry photo of his father falling down a flight of stairs.

“One sec,” he tells Tommy as he puts his phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Did you ever submit today's report?” His father's voice asks from the other side of the phone.

Wilbur immediately facepalms. “Shit, sorry, you told me to leave too fast, it must have slipped my mind-”

He is cut off by a sigh from the other end.

“It's fine,” Phil says in a tone that is obviously NOT fine. “Just make sure you get it in before the end of the day.”

The call drops. No goodbye or anything. Phil just hangs up.

Wilbur, who is used to this by now, clicks back to his home screen to find that the time is about 2:45 p.m. He should probably get Tommy home; he didn't even realize how many hours they had spent at the ice cream shop.

“And that's another 5 points, which takes me to 100, which meeeaans,” Tommy says dragging out the E. “I Win!”

Wilbur jokingly throws his hands up in defeat. He stands up from the bench to take his soggy cardboard cup over to a bin. “School’s out by now. We should get you back home.”

“Awwww.” The blonde replies, however, doesn't put up much of a fuss in throwing away his own cup and following beside Wilbur as he drops a 50 into the tip jar. Consider it compensation for dealing with us for hours.

“I’m gonna have to drop you off. Gotta get back to the office.” Wilbur sighs, messaging the cab business that he has access to through his father's company.

“So, no game night?” Tommy asks with a slightly sad look on his face.

“Wait, it's Tuesday?” Wilbur facepalms again. How could I not have realized the day?

Of course, It's Tuesday, aka, Tommy and Wilbur’s taco game night. It's the one time a week besides the random ice cream visits that Wilbur gets to not think about work, or being perfect for the sake of his father’s company. All he has to do is worry about what new game Tommy has picked up from the supermarket's bargain bin. Last time it was a shocking lie detector test game, that LITERALLY shocked you when you lied.

Wilbur was surprised at how accurate it was.

“Shit- Sorry,” Wilbur says, realizing how much this one mistake has affected everyone. Don't you see how much this affects everything- “Can we reschedule?”

“But it's not the saaame,” Tommy whines like he is nine again. “Taco’s are for Tuesdays!”

“Ok, I’ll try to get everything done quickly.” Wilbur gives a halfhearted promise, knowing that it was practically impossible to appease Phil and make it back in time for dinner.

Though it wasn't his best lie, Tommy seemed convinced and didn't say another word about it as the company cab pulled up to take them back to the house.

The ride back wasn't quite, it never is with Tommy. He reminds Wilbur of the dog from up and makes a point to show him every squirrel he sees.

Tommy’s eyes light up the way they only do when he sees a small furry animal. “Wilbur! Look that one is going in front of the-”

Thud!

“Oh.”

Wilbur is wondering if Tommy is going to say anything, but he just goes back to silently staring out the window.

Well, that's unfortunate.

The car arrives at the house not too long after, which seems to be enough time for Tommy’s attention to have shifted from the now two-dimensional animal. “Don't be too late! Cause I will eat your taco if you are anything more than 10 minutes late.”

The comment makes Wilbur smile, and he waves as Tommy exits the vehicle. The moment he closes the door, Wilbur slumps over a bit more, re-adjusting his glasses once again. He fidgets with the contact case that sits in his pocket, debating putting them back in before ultimately deciding against it as no one is going to be expecting him back at the office.

…

The drive isn't long. In fact, Wilbur thinks it's not long enough. The car pulls up to the front doors, and instinctively, Wilbur checks for any lingering reporters, though it seems they have all cleared out since this morning. Probably busy preparing the next day's big stories and whatnot.

Wilbur walks straight to his office, where his report lies on his desk. He sits down and quickly finishes inputting all of the data into the digital spreadsheet. Technically, that's all he is required to do. If only it were that simple. He thinks as he opens a new tab.

If he wants to get back on Phil’s good side after this, he needs to put together a response to the backlash from today's interview. He scrolls through the many articles covering his outburst once again; this time he analyzes how each news site portrays him. Many write in a confused tone about the outburst, speculating about overtime as one reporter had suggested.

Well, I guess they aren't completely wrong anymore.

However, one sight suggests that the pressure of the crowd is what caused him to burst out, which Wilbur finds as a pleasant surprise compared to all of the other journalists supposing that he was on drugs for something. At least somebody gets it.

Even though one sight had enough common sense to work it out, Wilbur would still have to make a public statement before rumors began to circulate. Maybe he could even mention the small news network, some free promo, or something. He quickly scrapped the idea when he did a bit more research and found that the same site was supporting the return of NFT’s.

Wilbur has never been good at writing speeches or speaking them for that matter. It feels like how parents would make their kids publicly apologize to the kid they bullied in elementary school. Granted, Wilbur never had any first-hand experience with that. He tended to keep to himself as a child despite the multitude of kids trying to get in his good graces in hopes of getting their hands on some of his father's new tech. Even if Wilbur ever to gave enough of a care to be mean, he doubts his father would have taken time from work to correct his behavior.

A few hours pass, and Wilbur struggles to write the first paragraph. The sun had gone down a while ago, and his taco would have been long past cold if Tommy hadn't eaten it first. Even though he knows he should finish his script before doing anything else, his stomach says otherwise.

He remembers that there is a vending machine on the first floor near the manufacturing room. He figures it won't hurt anything if he takes a few minutes to re-collect his thoughts and clear his head from all of the negative things being said about him online. He closes the top of his laptop and makes his way toward the elevator. It's probably about 10 pm now, so there's nobody else in the building. Which makes it oddly quiet, almost unsettlingly so.

The glow of the vending machine at the end of the dark hall reminds Wilbur of that one photo of a liminal space. He walks over and quickly examines the contents, realizing that he never actually had a reason to use the machine before. He settles on some pop-tarts that were probably days old, but Wilbur wasn't complaining too much as he struggled to put cash into the machine. He starts to get annoyed almost ready to give up when-

Crash!

Wilbur stops trying to force his money into the machine and freezes. He slowly turns in the direction of the sound.

The manufacturing room? But, there shouldn't be anybody here at this hour.

He assumes it may have been a mechanical error or that one of the machines had broken down or fallen over. It wasn't necessarily unlikely; after all, Wilbur has seen the aftermath of a broken machine many times before in his job. But he doubts that a machine malfunction would have been this silent after the incident.

He stays cautious, tiptoeing over to the doors that lead to the manufacturing floor. He presses his ear against it but doesn't hear anything from the other side.

Odd.

He slowly pushes the door open, looking out into the darkness, and swears he can see something moving.

Stay calm. Stay calm. STAY FUCKING CALM! He reminds himself as he steadies himself on the door frame and works up the courage to shout into the darkness, “Who’s there?!”

The figure in the darkness stops moving for a second. It shifts, and Wilbur can clearly see a small red light shining back at him.

“What the fuck-” Wilbur mumbles—or maybe shouts—as he stumbles backward. The red light proceeds to move again, this time towards Wilbur!

Wilbur turns on his heels to run. He can hear the footsteps of the intruder close behind him. He tries to run as fast as he can, but he hasn't had to run anywhere in a long while, and let’s just say he isn't exactly the fittest person in the office.

When the front door is just in sight, Wilbur feels something wrap around his ankle and yank his foot out from under him. He tumbles to the ground with a yelp, hoping that somebody may happen to be working late and come to his rescue. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!”

The mysterious figure approaches, keeping the rope wrapped around his foot held tight so he couldn't escape.

"Will you just SHUT UP!?" A high-pitched male voice says to him.

Wilbur looks back at the intruder. This time, he notices that the man is dressed in all black, well, mostly black, with hints of dark blue in his suit, which appears to consist of a tight tee shirt covered by a dark blue zip-up hoodie and leggings that appear to be too tight for comfort. The man also wore a blue beanie atop his pitch-black hair and a cloth over his neck and the lower half of his face, so it just covered his nose. He also seems to wear some fake gold rings over his gloves. His eyes are really dark brown. Or eye. His left eye is replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic. Its camera glows red in the darkness of the office.

"NO! I don't think I will!" Wilbur shouts back at the man, who was clearly a thief. I'm so dead. I hope Tommy enjoyed that last taco at least.

"I'm not trying to hurt you!" The guy shouts back at him. He seems tired or like he would rather be doing anything else than dealing with Wilbur right now. "Can you just stop flopping around like a fucking fish?!"

Wilbur doesn't know what his intent is, so he decides to do the opposite of what the thief asks and flops as if his life depends on it. He embodies every fish that he has ever seen ripped from its undersea home while on those stupid fishing trips that their father used to force him and his brothers to go on when they were younger.

"I swear to fucking-" The thief curses under his breath. He looks around frantically as if to see if anyone or any sort of alarm had been set off. "Hey, I want to get out of here as badly as you do, ok? So let's make a deal."

"I don't make deals with people who dress like shitty comic book characters!" Wilbur replies, continuing to look like a kindergartener attempting the worm.

"Hey- You know what? At least I don't look like a fucking rip-off ken doll!" The thief shoots back. He seemed more annoyed than anything.

Wilbur sticks his tongue out at the man.

“Jesus christ-” the intruder sighs. “You're a bitch, you know that?”

“And you are a shitty batman.”

“I'M NOT BATMAN!!!” He exclaims before he covers his mouth, as if he realizes he shouldn't have been shouting. “You know what? I’m sure we both have places to be right now, so I’m going to let you go and you're going to pretend you didn't see me.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Well,” The thief paused for a moment, as if he had to think about it. “What do you have to lose?”

Wilbur thought for a minute. Everything! I could lose my spot in the company if they ever found out! My father could disown me! I could be banished from the company! This affects my every day-

every day…

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how appealing it sounded to get away from the company. Away from his father and his repetitive life.

It almost sounded like freedom.

“I- I don’t know.” The admission slips past his lips before he can stop it.

The thief seems caught off guard by Wilbur’s sudden change of heart. “What? I mean, yeah. What you don't know can't hurt you.”

“I don’t think that’s what that saying means-”

“Whatever! So… you won't tell anybody that I was here?” The thief’s tone sounded unsure of whether he could trust Wilbur.

“Well, what do you have to gain by being here?” Wilbur asks him, still debating whether he should turn this guy in or not. He knows it's crazy, and he knows that every news article he has ever read would want to cover the story of how he finally caught the notorious parts thief. He knows how much publicity he can bring to Minecraft tech and maybe get them off the teleportation rumors that have continued for months. But there's a part of Wilbur that sees this guy as something more than a thief.

He was free.

“I- I don't have to explain this to a pretentious prick like you!” the thief defends, avoiding the question.

“Pretentious? You don't even know me!” Wilbur says, very offended by the others' assumptions.

"Oh, come on! You are Wilbur Minecraft! You literally have the fucking world at your fingertips!” The thief states as if by being rich he means he was immediatly pretentious.

“I’m not that bad!”

“Uh huh, I’ll believe it when I see it!”

Wilbur stops for a second. He has no idea why he is debating this random thief, who was very obviously trying to steal from his father's company. Maybe it was because he was slightly intrigued by this person- “You know what? I will make you a deal.”

“Finally.”

“Hold on, you haven't even heard the deal yet.”

“... Now you’re just making this sound weird.”

“NO I DIDN'T MEAN LIKE THAT!” Wilbur slapped his face with pure embarrassment at how that just sounded. “First of all, you will let me go. Second, I will pretend as if I never saw you. But lastly, I want to make a bet.”

“A bet?” The thief shifted his weight to his other foot as he considered it. “I’m listening.”

“I bet that you can't dupe me a second time.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Oh, what? You think you're such a good thief, huh? How does it feel to be caught by a haughty rich boy?”

The thief begins to look even more annoyed as Wilbur keeps blabbering like an idiot.

“The point is, I will let you get away with it this time. But if I catch you stealing from me again, I will use your capture as a publicity stunt for the company, and you are going to help me do it.”

The thief stares at Wilbur as if he is considering his options. To be honest, they weren't very good, either jail now or jail later with public humiliation. He stands there for a few moments more before dropping the other end of the rope that was tied around Wilbur's leg. “I’m not known for turning down a bet.”

Wilbur stands as his leg is released, and the moment he straightened his posture, he realized just how short the other was. Was I really shaking in fear because of someone who was about a foot shorter than me? “If you really mean it, let's shake on it.”

The thief looks at his outstretched hand like he's crazy. Ok, maybe he was a little crazy. But, eventually, the thief stretched out his own gloved hand to shake Wilbur’s. “Happy?”

“Very.” Wilbur replies with little hesitation.

"You're a fucking weirdo.” The thief remarks as he walks towards the front doors, a laugh rising in his throat. “I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I would be lying.”

As the thief is about halfway out the door, Wilbur can't help but shout after him, “You know I thought meeting Batman would be nicer!”

“I’M NOT FUCKING BATMAN!” He shouts back once before disappearing back into the darkness, leaving Wilbur alone in the lobby once again.

He stood there for a moment, processing what just happened. All of the opportunities he had just passed up. Or the opporutinitys opened- Before he realized that he still had a speech to write. With a sigh, he heads back to the vending machine and shakes it until a few poptarts fall from their place before heading back to his office for another couple hours of writing.

But it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, his attention was always drawn back to the mysterious thief.

Chapter Text

Quackity sneaks into a familiar darkened alleyway not too far from the Minecraft tech factory. Immediately he yanks down the mask that had been covering his nose and mouth for far too long and was beginning to get uncomfortable, to say the least. He knows that he should be more cautious around this side of town, and keep his identity hidden until he gets back to the outskirts, but he needs a moment to breathe. 

What the fuck just happened?

He recalls the interaction between him and the son of Philza fucking Minecraft that had occurred not even an hour ago. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. Why? The thought couldn't leave his mind. What the hell is he planning? 

There was no way that he was going to believe that Wilbur would just let him off that easily. It just didn't make any sense. Maybe he should be grateful for his odd act of charity. But Quackity learned a long time ago that you can't trust anyone. Especially rich fucks who think they run the world. 

He pulls out his phone, which has a large crack sprawling down the center of the screen. Anyone else would have just cut their losses and bought a new phone, but Quackity has grown used to the fractured visuals and learned to read around it. There are a handful of messages and missed calls left by Niki and Sam. Most of which are just asking when he was going to be back, then turning more frantic as he didn't respond. 

Niki

9:30- Just checking in to make sure all is well 

9:45- How long do you think this job will take? 

9:52- Quackity are you there? 

Missed call from Niki

Missed call from Niki

10:01- please respond when you can. Sam is starting to get worried

10:13- Are you ok? 

10:28- Quackity? 

Yeah yeah, I’m good. -11:29

Also tell Sam to stop pacing I can hear it from here -11:31

11:32- Oh good. Also, Sam has finally sat down.

11:34- What took so long? 

… -11:35

Don't worry about it -11:36

I'm on my way back now -11:37

11:38- See you soon 

He tucks his phone back in the side pocket of his backpack. He feels a little bad for making Niki and Sam worry about him, but he didn't really want to tell them what had happened. Not yet at least. 

Downtown was always more peaceful at night in his opinion. During the day the city was full of rich people who think that their time is much more important than everybody else's and reporters who are just trying to get their grubby hands on a new story to cover, instead of covering the actual issues of the city. 

The street lights illuminate the streets just enough for him to see what was happening in front of him, which wasn't a lot besides some rats scavenging for their next meal. He follows the familiar route of unsettlingly empty streets back to the subway station. Quackity has grown used to this kind of walking around at night given that's when most of his jobs are. It's ironic how tech overlords still haven't figured out how to install a proper security system, or maybe they just aren't bothered enough to care.

He makes his way to the dirty subway platform, walking down the echoing stairs. He removed his mask from his neck, there's no reason to hide his identity down here, in fact dressing like a thief is probably the worst thing he can do to keep his identity a secret. The Lmanburg transit system doesn't care who you are or where you came to form as long as you don't make a point to stand out. Which includes not dressing like a shitty Batman. 

At the moment he was too anxious to properly appreciate the joke, but the more he thought about it the more he was starting to see the resemblance. 

“I am vengeance.” He whispers to himself with a smile probably a bit too loud because the person waiting for the train next to him took a considerable step away from him. 

He ignores them and starts to remove his gloves, having to remove each ring before as well. He knows it probably looks stupid, but they were just too uncomfortable to put under the gloves. He subconsciously counts them as he waits for his train to arrive. Six, seven, eight…. eight? Where is the ninth? 

He looked around the platform to see if he had dropped one, but it was clear that one of them was missing.  A fake gold ring with what was supposed to look like a ruby in the center. He wouldn't know what it actually was, he got it from a roller skating rink. But it still had sentimental value to him, and that's worth more than any gold or rubies could buy. Where did it go? 

He tries to retrace his steps, when he may have looked at his hands or would notice it missing. He had it when he entered the factory for sure. But leaving… he can't remember. Ok, he was fidgeting with it when he was making the deal with Wilbur- 

That sneaky bastard. 

Quackity has to resist the urge to facepalm and scare the people on the subway even more than he already has as he realizes exactly where he lost his ring. Handshake…It's the oldest trick in the fucking book.

He considers going back for it when the lights overhead the track start flashing indicating that the train is coming. He grumbles and accepts defeat as he steps aboard the subway. I’ll be back for it. 

…

The shaky train begins to slow down as it pulls into the next stop. The new station is much more rundown than the one they had left. The concrete of the platform is racked in multiple places but nobody has ever taken the time to fix it and the indicated lights have been burned out for months. As the train comes to a stop a little robotic voice rings out through the speakers, 

“This is the last stop on the line, thank you for traveling with us today!” Quackity mocks the familiar message as he picks up his backpack and makes his way toward the train doors. Once again he is the only one on this platform, after all not many people are randomly traveling to the outskirts at three AM in the morning. 

He walks back up the stairs onto the cracked abandoned streets, surrounded by dilapidated family-sized homes with rotting walls and caving roofs. At one point it was a beautiful suburb, however ever since the technology boom had stunted the demand for workers, people couldn't afford to keep their houses and the city struggled to keep them out and instead opted to stop managing the entire area. Now it was pretty much just a colony of squatters. 

And Quackity called it home. 

He approaches a house that is a bit less ruined than some of the others. He raises his hand to the door and does the stupidly elaborate knock they had agreed on in the last meeting. Well, Sam and Niki had agreed and Quackity was outvoted. 

“What's the password?” A squeaky high-pitched British voice called from the other side. 

“Password?” Quackity repeated to himself, not remembering them ever agreeing on that. “Tubbo, open the damn door! It's just me!” 

The wooden door swings open with a creak, it hinges seemingly a moment from breaking at any point. The younger, but not much shorter boy, who seems to be covered in some sort of machine oil or grease which isn't unusual for him, welcomes Quackity home. “Holy shit man, I thought you were dead!” 

“Surprise.” He replies, wondering how many people knew about his disappearance. Obviously, Niki and Sam would know they had to just in case something went wrong. Tubbo normally hangs around the other two due to his unique position but he wasn’t aware that he knew about Quackity’s missions. Though, he supposes Tubbo being here saved him another trip. He shrugs the backpack off of his shoulders and hands the bag over to Tubbo,  “And I got some new parts for your friend. First pocket on the left.” 

The boy's face lights up as he unzips the bag and pulls out a few parts that look to be robotic sensors of some kind. “Thanks, bossman! Now maybe Ranboo finally won’t run into door frames as much!” 

“You know, I think he does that because you made him too tall.” He suggests referring to the six-and-a-half-foot android who stands sheepishly in the room behind Tubbo. He seems to be attempting to look busy by staring at a wall, but he's failing miserably. 

“Nonsense!” Tubbo retorts. “He fits in the house doesn't he? Besides, how else am I supposed to reach the top shelf? Don't think that I haven't seen you climbing on the counters to reach the pancake mix!” 

Quackity jokingly rolls his eyes at the comment, knowing full well that not only has Tubbo seen him climbing on the counter, but he has also seen him falling off that counter at two in the morning while dressed in a duck-themed onesie. 

“Anyways, Niki is probably looking for you.” Tubbo says, finally moving out of the way of the door and allowing Quackity to enter. “She’s in the kitchen.” 

Quackity knows what that means, “Don’t tell me she’s been stress baking again.” 

Tubbo takes a bite out of a blueberry muffin in response. 

He quickly makes his way through the living room full of broken-down furniture and heavily patched-up pillows and blankets. The shitty yellow wallpaper is beginning to peel in multiple spots and a good majority of it is covered in graffiti-style art left by Tubbo’s friend. It started as something he did one day and Niki said that it was a nice change and requested a few things and allowed the kid to keep drawing on the walls. Quackity was indifferent to the bright colors and hidden depictions of genitalia in the designs. 

The house was a community place of sorts. Some people even called it ‘The Community House.’ People from the outskirts could pretty much come and go as they pleased, as long as they didn't have any issues with the others. There were only a few people banned from the community house. 

Officially the house was Niki, Sam, and Quackity’s however it was the only place in the abandoned outskirts that had constant electricity, which came in handy for cooking or heating. The place tends to get pretty crowded during the winter months when people don't have any other choice besides freezing to death on the outside.

Though with the new addition of Tubbo and his mechanics skills, they are hoping to have some more generators up and running for some extra places by the time the cold sets in. Yet, that still involves a lot of insulating they haven't yet started due to a disagreement of which places are fit for it and not going to cave in on themselves the moment the snow begins. 

The kitchen isn't much different than the living room, just less spray-painted art and more discolored tiles from years of spills and stains. Niki stands over the makeshift sink which was about half full of water as she cleans out a bowl with a rag. The smell of freshly baked muffins lingers in the air from the stove where a double batch sits on a cooling rack. 

“Sorry about being back so late, and not responding to your messages.” He jumps immediately to the apologies. He leans against the counter adjacent to where she was doing dishes. He hopes that Niki won’t question his odd timing and unexplained disappearance for that hour or so. “The muffins smell good.” 

Niki doesn't set down the bowl or even look in his direction. “What happened?” 

Shit. Should have known that was coming. He tries to think of any reason not to tell her. Any excuse he could possibly think of. But his mind seemed to blank when he needed it most. “Well… It's complicated.” 

“Complicated?” She asks, concern growing in her voice. She looks over to Quackity worriedly. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s nothing big.” That's a lie, this is really really bad. “I think it would be best if we discussed it at the next council meeting.” 

He hopes that the response will satisfy Niki and he can get the heat off of him if just for tonight. She doesn’t say anything in response and he feels a sense of relief, thinking that he got off easy this time.

“Luckily for you, Niki called an emergency meeting.” 

Quackity immediately realizes his mistake as Sam and Minx enter the room. Sam looks as if he just woke up and stands around in his pajamas, slippers, and all. He shuffles over to the counter and starts a pot of coffee while Minx leans against the wall smirking at Quackity like the sadistic bitch she is. 

Oh shit-

It didn't take long for all of them to gather back in the living room. It wasn't the most formal spot for a meeting but at least Quackity could sit on a semi-comfortable bean bag chair as the others integrated him. They have all found their pre-claimed place in the room. Minx is on the corner of the faded sofa, Tubbo who hasn't left, and wasn't going to be shooed away, sits on the floor working to install the new sensors on Ranboo, and Niki is decorating some cupcakes she had baked earlier as they start to get to business. Sam, being the nerd he is, has a note card for what they have to discuss. 

“Ok, so I know this is quite an unfortunate time to be meeting.” He starts as if anything about what they were doing was supposed to be anything but unfortunate. He takes a sip of his coffee which has definitely not gotten enough time to cool yet before continuing. “But Niki has called this meeting for a few purposes.” 

Quackity diverts his eyes from Minx’s smug gaze as they focus on Niki who was setting down the icing pipette. “First and foremost, I hoped that this could have waited until next week, but it seems we are running out of time.” 

She pulls an old-ish laptop across the table and flips open the top, giving it a moment to load. “As you know, some of the companies have been leveling up their security recently.” 

“That’s true.” Tubbo juts in, not looking up from his work. “Schlatt co. is going all out with their security recently, the new hires are insane. Starting to make me think he has a thing for-”

“Thanks, Tubbo, but let's get back to the task at hand.” Sam cuts him off before he can finish his thought. The room goes quiet as Niki turns the laptop screen for them to see. 

“And it not just Schlatt co.” Niki says pointing at a split screen of three different articles by various news sources outlining new security details. “Esempee manufacturers has also hired around-the-clock security, and Kinoko has upgraded the cams and security doors.”

“Seems like Minecraft Tech is the only one without their shit together.” Minx observes. 

“Well, that's because we have had no reason to hit them,” Niki explains, shutting the laptop. “Until tonight.”

All the eyes in the room shift to Quackity, well except Tubbo who keeps his eyes on his work. Quackity wishes he could sink into the beanbag he sat on and avoid the whole thing. He didn’t even need to hear the next question to know that he was screwed.

“What did happen out there tonight, Quackity?” Niki asks, and this time he knows there's no getting out of it. 

“Uuugggghhh.” He lets out a quick groan of protest, shoving a pillow in his face to let out the frustration. He slides the pillow off his face to see that everybody in the room is waiting patiently, or Impatiently if your name is Minx. “Fine, you want the truth? I’ll tell you!” 

He throws his hands up in the air as if he has given up. “I was caught.” 

Everybody stiffened at the reveal. Even Tubbo stopped what he was doing to look wide-eyed over at Quackity. Sam and Niki sat in horrified silence. 

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE CAUGHT!?!?!” Minx exclaims, throwing a pillow in his direction. "BY FUCKING WHO?!?!" 

She missed and Quackity who lowered his hands started to explain. "Yeah, I was doing the job, y'know like normal, when suddenly I'm interrupted by Mr. Minecraft's son himself. The brown-haired one." 

Everybody listens with their full attention. Funny how something as small as that can make a room fall silent. He thinks as he continues, "Anyway I was able to trip him up and we and the crazy bastard wanted to make a deal. That he would let me off this time but if I got caught stealing again he would turn me into some sort of public puppet for some publicity stunt. Of course I took the deal, but I don't think I can go back there anymore."

"Why would he make you a deal?" Sams asks in his typical 'trying to get to the bottom of this tone.' 

"Hell if I know." He shrugs. 

"Were you followed?" Niki continues to question him. 

"Nah, I checked a few times and I was the only one to get off at this stop." He reassures her. 

Everyone looked as puzzled about the whole situation. He wishes he had answers for them, but the truth was that he was just as confused as the rest of them. 

"Well, you have to go back!" Minx says as if it's the answer to everything. 

"What?" Quackity looks at her like she was stupid. "What part of if I get caught again I'm fucked did you not understand?" 

"Only if you get caught stealing. " She said it made any sense. "Clearly this guy let you off for a reason! You have to go back and figure out what it is. Maybe you can get some connections while you're at it! Just don't steal anything." 

"What do you expect me to do? Go knock on his window?" 

…

Apparently, that's exactly what she had meant. 

The wind bites at the exposed parts of Quackity's skin as he stands on the rooftop of Minecraft's penthouse. He would much rather be anywhere else tonight but for some insane reason Niki and Sam had agreed to Minx's shitty idea, so here he stands. Though he wasn't too opposed to the idea as he had his own score to settle with Mr. Soot Minecraft. The sun had long set and the stars were hidden by the city’s light pollution, however, Quackity still considered it to be too early to be out and about. He typically uses being partially nocturnal to his advantage, when the regular people are sleeping, that’s when he likes to strike. However, he needed to catch Wilbur before his rich boy bedtime. 

He attaches a rope from his harness to the edge of the building. He’s done this many times before to lower himself into factories and such, but never to visit someone's window before. He places one foot on the side of the building, slowly walking down the edge of the building, partially stalling while hoping that he has the right window. He lowers himself until he is right next to the window. He leans over to double-check he has the right room, as well as make sure that he isn't interpreting something.

What if he’s changing? He thinks before leaning over to check on what Wilbur was doing. Which he finds the brunette sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at a guitar in his hands and flipping through a journal to his right. Aw, only just bring a nerd. Wait- why am I disappointed with that? Weird thoughts need to be gone now, thank you very much. 

Deciding that his internal monologue had gotten a little too odd for his liking, he leans over keeping one hand on the rope he was hanging from, and brings the other over to knock lightly on the Window. 

Wilbur looks up from his guitar with a jolt. He suspiciously looks over to the window, looking even more confused at seeing someone hanging right outside of it. He cautiously sets his guitar down and tiptoes over to his window, looking back at his door as if debating whether he should open the window or not. Eventually, he works up the courage to walk over to the window and push the glass pane up so that he can talk to the person dangling outside. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks in a mix between a whisper and a shout. 

Quackity didn't really think before saying, “Well, you aren't as ugly in real life as on a screen, so I just had to see it again, you know, to make sure that I wasn't imagining things.” 

God, he needs a filter.

Wilbur didn't respond at first, his jaw was left slightly dropped in disbelief at what he had just heard and he looked to be debating closing the window on him. “I said that if I caught you again, I would use you as a publicity stunt.” 

“Ah ah ah, That if you caught me stealing, ” Quackity says dramatically waving a finger at him. Before remembering why he had sworn revenge on Wilbur just the day before. “But for real, you took something of mine.”

“You took something of mine first.” Wilbur crosses his arms like a bratty child would when they weren't getting what they wanted. 

“What use do you have for it?” Quackity asks rather genuinely. “You can literally afford anything you want, why take some shitty plastic ring?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Wilbur says annoyingly, putting his elbows on the window sill and resting his head atop them. 

Well, If that isn't vague as fuck.

Quackity fidgets and swings a bit with his heels picking them up and off the building almost like bounding if he wasn’t dangling from a rope. “Well, are you going to let me in or just leave me hanging?” 

Wilbur looked surprised at the sudden request, but didn't reject it and stepped aside for Quackity to swing himself in. “Don't see why you want to. The ring isn't here anyways.” Quackity doesn't seem to care much and looks around Wilbur’s room. Blank and bland, with no real sense of personality to it at all. “Also how do you know that I won't turn you in for breaking and entering?” 

“You would be going back on your own bet.” Quackity shrugs his gaze landing on the guitar set on the bed. It's expensive as fuck Taylor acoustic guitar made of red cedar and mahogany. It had to have been at least three thousand dollars. Quackity can't help but drag his hand down the body of the guitar. “You play?”

“Uh yeah, I was actually working on writing something before you so rudely interrupted me.” Wilbur responds as if to sound like a pouty child who still wasn't sure of Quackity’s intentions. 

Quackity sat down on the edge of Wilbur’s bed and picked up the guitar, looking back up at Wilbur before strumming any of the strings. He knows how much a guitar can mean to someone, hell if someone suddenly picked up and played his shitty beat-up guitar he’d probably lose it. Awkwardly he asks Wilbur for permission, “Uh, may I?”

“Sure,” Wilbur shrugs as if he doesn't care, but still secretly eyes Quackity to make sure that he wasn't hurting the instrument. “Just try to keep it down, my family is trying to sleep.” 

Quackity nods and strums a quiet A chord. A smile unwillingly appears on his face at the crisp sound. “Wow.” He whispers under his breath. 

“Can you actually play?” Wilbur asked as if it was a challenge. 

“So-so.” Quackity admits accompanied by the hand motion. He tried to think of something to play, but the only thing that came to mind was a slow Spanish lullaby that he typically played as a closing campfire song. The chords were easy enough, though there were a few bar chords that he was tempted to use cheaters for, but decided against it as Wilbur seemed to be watching him intensely at this point. As he stums he quietly sings along to the words trying to keep it quiet as per Wilbur's request. 

When he fishes the song he lets the last chord ring out. Wilbur nods with a simple, “You're not too bad.” 

“I’d like to see you do better.” Quackity joking rolls his eyes and hands the guitar over to Wilbur. 

Wilbur huffs and accepts the guitar, opening up his journal form before and starts picking at some of the strings, instead of doing chords. That’s actually pretty impressive. Quackity can't help but think. He’s probably gotten lessons though. Bet he can’t sing for shit though. 

Wilbur starts to sing the lyrics about traveling to places that Quackity had never even dreamed of. Though he doubts that Wilbur has been to any of these places either given the way he sings about wishing to be elsewhere than here. Damn, he was good. Though maybe it was just the accent.

Quackity will try to think of whatever he wants to make himself feel better. But in reality, he was captivated by Wilbur’s song of longing to travel around the world and leave everything behind. Wilbur seemed to be lost in it as well, forgetting that Quackity was even there as he continued. 

When the song had ended Quackity felt almost disappointed. He offered soft applause and Wilbur seemed to be pulled back to reality. “Damn, That wasn't awful.”

Wilbur takes a small bow before carefully setting the guitar back on its stand. It seemed for a moment as if they had known each other for their whole lives when they were playing songs, and Once again the awkwardness of being strangers returns to the room as they struggle to find something to talk about.

“Did you write that?” Quackity asks, gesturing to the leatherbound journal that Wilbur carries. 

“Uh, yeah.” Wilbur confirms awkwardly, tying up the leather stings around the book to close it. “I’m thinking of calling it ‘Since I Saw Vienna.’ I’ve never been to Vienna though…” 

“Well, neither have I, but I thought it was good.” Quackity admits. 

Wilbur glances back down at the book and smiles. “Thanks.” 

Quackity can't help but feel he’s seeing a whole new side of Wilbur. He likes music and yet there's not a single poster or time in his room besides his guitar that suggests that. Every time he's brought up in the news it’s always about his father's business. Leading most to believe he’s just some stuck-up rich kid. Even his younger brother has some sort of impression on the media for being loud and having an affinity for strange animals such as moths and raccoons. 

But this wasn't that Wilbur. This Wilbur liked music and wanted to see the world. Quackity started to wonder what else he didn't know about the guy. 

“Where did you learn to play?” Wilbur breaks the silence by asking. 

Quackity shrugs once again, “Most of it I picked up from random street performers and youtube tutorials.” 

“Pretty much the same here.” Wilbur says, setting down the journal on the desk in the corner of the room. 

“What? But aren't you rich? Why didn't you get lessons?” Quackity asks, a bit dumbfounded at the knowledge. 

Wilbur laughs slightly at Quackity’s surprise. “My father didn't think that the guitar was a classy enough instrument. Instead, he got me piano lessons. After a while, I started refusing to go. I wasn't interested in Mozart or any other dead guy's music that they force you to play.” 

“The one good thing about piano lessons was that it taught me how to read sheet music. So after figuring out the scales on guitar it wasn't too hard.” Wilbur’s gaze travels back to the guitar in the corner. “The guitar was my mothers.”

Oh shit- Both expensive and sentimental? Why the hell would he ever let Quackity play it? We are practically strangers! 

Pretty much everybody knows of the tragedy of Kristen Minecraft’s death. It was right as the technology boom was beginning and Wilbur must have been 5 or 6 at the time, Tommy had just been born.. Kristen was almost as brilliant as Philza himself, however her expertise was in marketing, together they made an unstoppable team. Someone must have recognized this just as Minecraft tech had begun to become a stable business and not just some crazy dream that came out of Phil’s garage. It was said that one day as Kristen was walking home late at night she had mugged and shot. 

Only few know the truth.

Wilbur quickly realizes that he didn't really give much room for Quackity to respond with that one and quickly changes the subject. “Oh, um. I’ve actually been wondering about something.” 

“Whats that?” Quackity responds, grateful that he didn't have to think of a response to the whole dead mom thing. 

“Your eye.” Wilbur says, pointing towards Quackity’s cybernetic. “How does it work?” 

Quackity pauses for a moment. “You are the son of one of the most intelligent men in the world, how do you not know how cybernetics work?” 

“Ah, well.” Wilbur awkwardly scratches the back of his head. “He may be logically intelligent, but emotionally, let's just say that the man is quite distant…” 

Oh…

“Oh, um.” Well shit this is awkward. “Uh, they eye, like most cybernetics, picks up on neurotransmitters to function. It can use the specialized camera, uh, the red light thingy.” he says pointing up at his own eye. “And it creates false stimuli that gets sent to the brain so that it seems like there is still an eye there.” 

Wilbur nods along to Quackity’s word to show that he is listening. 

“The only good or bad thing, depending on how you look at it, is that it doesn't register light. I think newer models have that feature, but I couldn't afford it if I tried. Also they tend to keep new parts more montiered than normal so the old grab and go isn't an option either. Either way without light sensors it pretty much is either on or off, going to sleep you need to turn the thing off, and if you get woken in the middle of the night you need to turn it back on or just go half blind, which it's quite annoying.” 

Quackity pauses for a few seconds to find that Wilbur is still listening, which is surprising. Nobody usually listens to him about cybernetics unless it's Tubbo, who already practically  knows everything there is to know about cybernetics anyways. 

“Uh, is there anything else you want to know?” He asks Wilbur as he had already pretty much answered his first question. 

“I never caught your name.'' Wilbur says. 

“I’m not sure I should be giving my name out to people who have threatened to report me.” Quackity says with a smirk on his face. “For the meantime, how about you just call me Q.” 

“Q?” Wilbur asks as if he’s confused about it. “Does your name start with a Q?” 

“Maybe.” Is all that Quackity gives him, not a yes or no answer. That way it would be even harder for Wilbur to figure it out. “If I see a news article about this tomorrow, I’m putting shitty hair dye in your shampoo bottles.”

Wilbur throws his hand up playfully, a smile also curving his lips. “Don't worry, I promise I won’t say anything.” 

“Good, otherwise you would be a very interesting redhead.” Quackity jokes, imagining Wilburs brunette locks replaced with a shittly photoshopped head of Ed Sheerean. 

Wilbur smiles at the joke, playfully batting his eyelashes dramatically. “Awwww, you think so?” 

“I never said being interesting was a good thing.”

The comment made Wilbur break into laughter and Quackity soon followed. They were definitenty being louder than Wilbur had intended but they didn't seem to care. When the laughing died down Wilbur whilst still smiling had to defend himself,

“Hey I think I’d look pretty hot as a redhead.” 

“Shall we see about that?” Quackity says while still joking there was a slight evil glint in his eye that made Wilbur backpedal. 

“In theory. I never said in practice” Wilbur tries to save himself. 

“Yeah, I would definitely say that the brown is hot enough.” 

Wilbur goes silent for a second, as if not knowing how to respond to that. Quackity couldn't help but start laughing again at the others reaction. Wilbur just seemed to try and shake it off. 

In the middle of Quackity’s second laughing fit he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was a  notification from Niki asking when he was going to be back. He takes a glance at the time to see that he’s stayed far longer than he had intended.

“For as much fun as this has been, I really gotta get going.” He says, standing up from the side of Wilburs bed and making his way back towards the window where he begins to strap himself back into the harness dangling outside. 

“Just like that? You're really not going to steal anything?” Wilbur asks as if he had been expecting Quackity to only have been there to take something.

“Nah,” he says, tightening one of the harness straps. “I’d rather keep you wondering when I will strike next. Never let them know your next move y’know.”

“Before you go,” Quackity looks up from the harness to see Wilbur with an outstretched hand and a familiar plastic ring in his open palm. 

Quackity stares for a second in confusion, before reaching out his own hand to take his ring back. “You’re…giving it back?”

“It was just in my pocket.” Wilbur says rather sheepishly, as if he didn't even plan to return it. “I mean you did come all this way to get it after all.”

They sit there in silence for a second. What does this mean? He refuses to believe that Wilbur still didn't have some sort of hidden ulterior motive. What are you planning? 

“Maybe, stop by again some time?” Wilbur proposes. “I mean- if you want to of course, it's just that I don't have a lot going on-”

“I can see that.” Quackity cuts him off. 

“Hey! That's…”Wilbur tries to think of some sort of rebuttal but ends up falling short. “Fair.” 

Quackity giggles at the others defeat, checking the last strap and sitting on the edge of the open window. 

“I’ll think about it.” He says before leaning back and letting gravity take him out of the window. There are a few moments in which can see Wilbur’s shocked face before he free falls. He smiles to himself as the wind flows through what bit of hair sticks out from under his beanie, before the rope finally catches and slows his descent to the ground. 

He's Wilbur sticking his head out the window, and the visible sigh of relief when he realizes that Quackity isn't as insane as he thought. Quackity gives him a simple wave goodbye as he presses a button that detaches the rope from the roof and coils up nicely back into the harness. 

He looks back up one last time at Wilbur before running off into the darkness once again. 

Well, that was unexpected. 

Chapter Text

When Wilbur woke the following morning the memory of what happened the night before seemed like nothing but a dream. For a moment, He convinced himself that that was all it was, just an odd dream. Not even taking into consideration that if it had actually happened that it would have been even weirder. However, his only confirmation that it wasn't just a dream was the still unlocked window in his room. 

Wilbur immediately starts to wonder if anybody else had noticed the extra voice in the room last night. The walls seem pretty thick, after all nobody has complained about Wilbur playing guitar in the middle of the night, So either they dont hear it or dont are enough to mention it. He was hoping it was the former. 

He glances over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. He managed to wake up before the alarm and looked to find that he was about two hours early. He reaches over and flicks off the alarm function, so that it woudlent start beeping while he was away and rolls himself out of bed. He doubted that he was going to be able to fall back asleep with all that was on his mind. 

So instead he decided to get an ealry start on his morning, maybe that way his father would see he is taking initiative to get that speech done and hopefully not ask about it's progress. He wasent expecting anyone to be in the kitchen, he was used to being alone by the time he woke up. However, this time of day happen to work out perfectly with Tommy's schedule, who happen to be putting together a bowl of cereal. 

“You're up early.” Tommy comments, setting the milk down beside his bowl as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. Wilbur can't remember the last time his whole family sat around it, usually it was just him and tommy these days. “Also you look like shit.” 

“Good morning, to you too,” Wilbur says, sounding just as tired as he looked. He took a seat beside Tommy and he passed him the box of cereal without a word. Wilbur didn't typically eat breakfast but since it was offered he got up to grab himself a bowl and spoon. 

“Since your here, you wouldent happen to know anything about Photosynthesis?” Tommy asks through a mouthful of cereal. 

“Isint that the thing that plants do?” Wilbur responds, returning to the table with his bowl. 

“I think so, they’ve got like chloroform or something.” He waves his spoon in the air as if trying to find the words. 

“I think you mean Choloroplasts.” Wilbur corrects him with a giggle. 

“Same thing.” Tommy shrugs, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. 

Wilbur just rolls his eyes lightheartedly. They eat in silence for a few moments before something starts bugging him. “Hey, I’m really sorry I missed Taco Tuesday the other night.” 

“It's no problem,” He says seemingly not caring, or at least not showing that he cares. “I understand, You’re too busy for me sometimes, cause your a lame adult.” 

“Too busy for you?” Wilbur questions dispite the joke tagged on at the end of what he had said. “Tommy, I promise I always have time for you. It's just that… Well… This was different ok? If you ever need to talk to me I’m really not that far away.”  

Tommy just stared at his bowl for a few seconds before giving a simple “mhm.” 

He really didn't know what to say to that. So he just leaves it for now. They both finish their cereal in silence. As Tommy gets up to take care of his bowl Wilbur places a hand on his shoulder, “Wait.” 

Tommy turns to him with a confused look on his face. 

“Um… you didn't happen to hear any stange noises last night did you?” He asks awkwardly. Tommy’s room was the closest to his own so if anyone were to have overheard his and Quackity conversation it would have been him. 

“Uhhhh. No, why?” Tommy says, continuing to walk over to the sink. 

“No reason.” Wilbur realizes he didn't really plan out what he was going to say. “I just thought I heard talking last night. You didn't hear anything like that?” He asks again just to be safe. 

“Nope, can't say I have.” Tommy grabs his backpack off the chair beside Wilbur. He leaves to catch the bus and Wilbur is left alone to think about what his brother meant. 

Have they really been growing apart? He has noticed that Tommy is out of the house more often, but Wilbur always blew that off as growing up. Afterall his brother was 16 now and there wasent much for him at home besides his lame adult older brother. But now he can't help but wonder if they had been growing apart with all the time Wilbur has been spending in office and Tommy out doing whatever it was he did. 

Wilbur tries not to let it cloud his mind for the rest of the day as he tries to get ready to repeat the same old cycle as always. At least on the brightside Tommy didn't hear the unexpected visior last night which meaning that nobody else did either. 

Wilbur arrived to work early and made a point to leave the daily routine check in early before going back to working on his speech. 

Once again he felt he was at a road block for what exactly to say. He decides to check social media in hopes that the drama has died down a bit. The first few articles were promising, it seemed Schlatt co. had just released some new previews of some sort of new pet tracking technology. However, it seems he wasnt in the clear quite yet as there was some viral video going around of a self proclaimed ‘phycologist’ was studying his behavior during his outburst. 

The guy talked about how his actions could have easily been a reaction to immense amounts of stress, especially if there was pressure form some external source. The man then continued to theorize about how Wilburs actions could have been a result of familial pressure or something to do with his dad, and the news reporters had just been a final nail in the coffin. 

It seemed like the longer it took him to make this public statement the more people would try to blow this out of proportion. The speculations about his father definitely reflect onto his company and if he knew what they were saying he would never let Wilbur live this down. 

Wilbur reopens his document and starts drafting out his opening statement. Isint he supposed to be good at words? Why was this so hard? 

He quickly gets lost in this thoughts, which initially start off as productive, but quickly find there way to the odd interaction from last night.

 More specifically Q himself. 

Wilbur couldent help but wonder about the guy. What his general life was like, or how he has been able to get away with robbing so many places? Maybe it wasent just him, maybe there was a team of some sorts? What was he using the parts for anyways? 

But more overall Wilbur coudlent help but think of the freedom Q had. Sure he coudlent imagine being poor and having to steal for a living was comfortable by any means, but at least there was no one leaning over his shoulder telling him what to do with his life. No one to tell him how he had to act or dress. 

Wilbur started to wonder what he would do with freedom like that. How he would choose to look if he didn't have to maintain the image of the ‘perfect son™.’ Maybe he would wear more colors? Sure he liked Yellow and brown, but maybe add some more blues or purples to his wardrobe. He thinks about the possibilities, things that he would consider to be crazy right now, such as painting his nails or growing out his hair. 

Eventually he has to pull himself back to reality from his nice little day dream and get back to work. 

Just as he re-types the first sentence for the tenth time, Phil decides to stop by. 

He knocks a couple times but doesn't wait for an answer before entering Wilbur’s office. “I saw you got the daily report in early.” He starts off. As always theres no ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’ to follow. He can't think of the last time Phil treated him more like a son than an employee. “I hope your planning on making a public statement on what happened the other day.” 

“Of course.” Wilbur says, wishing he had something to show for his words, but all he had was a single sentence of nothing and a blank document. 

“Have you started on that yet?” Phil actually looks up from the tablet he carries around to look at him for once. Wilbur can't help but feel like a bug under a microscope and that Phil was analyzing his every move. 

“Um…” he looks form his laptop back to Phil. “Sort of?” 

“What is ‘sort of’?’” Phil glances at him skeptically. 

“Well, I’ve been trying to start it…” Wilbur says sheepishly. “It's like I have writers block or something” 

Phil just sighs. “Wilbur, if you can't focus enough to write it here just go home. Theres no need for excuses.” 

“It's not an excuse!” Wilbur snapped back before he could really think about what he was saying. Phil looked at him for once looking something other than indifferent to his words. For once he actually looked semi-startled. “Look, Phil, I promise I’m trying here! I just-” 

“Go home, Wilbur.” Phil says blankly before walking out of his office without another word. 

Wilbur just stares at the empty doorway were Phil stood. He wasent really sure what to do. Part of him wanted to punch Phil for being so apathetic towards everything, but the other part of him wants to punch himself for speaking up in the first place. 

So, he just went home. 

Immediately upon entering his room he collapses onto his bed, just taking a moment to breath. Maybe that one article was right about stress taking it's toll on him. However, it's not like there was much he could do about it. Afterall, his fathers the only reason he has a job in the first place and he knows it, it's not like he could just pack up and leave. 

Who knows were he would be without his father.

Would he have ended up stealing parts like Q? 

Would he have been happier that way? 

Many unanswered questions cloud his mind as he truns over to see his guitar, or more accurately, his mothers guitar.

He takes another deep breath. “Hey, mom, I know it's probably useless to talk to myself but…” He pauses, staring at his bedroom ceiling. It's not like he has any better plans. “It’s just things were so much better when you were around. Back then we- we were actually a family. It just feels like everything has changed since you’ve been gone and I-... I guess I just dont know what I’m doing.

“Phil, is well… Phil. I miss the days when he was just Dad. Now it seem like all he ever cares about it's work…

 “And well Tommys getting older, which is hard to get used too. I feel less like the cool older brother each day.” He giggles for a moment, before remembering that he's talking to himself in an empty room. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss you. I’m not sure if you can hear this, or if I’m just a crazy person rambling to himself in his room, but maybe send me a sign. Just something to let me know what it is that I’m supposed to be doing. Cause recently it feel like everything I do is wrong.” 

He turns over again and his eyes land on his still unlocked window. For a moment he thinks about closing it. He walks over and gets distracted by the familiar view. It was nothing special, just the same old view of the street with cars passing by far down below. However, something stops him. 

A small crows feather drifted down and landed on the window sill outside. 

He decided to leave his window unlocked for now and walked back over to his bed and before grabbing his laptop he looked back up tot he nothingness and said, “I love you, mom.” 

…

Wilbur left his Window unlocked that night. He had almost forgotten when a familiar face showed up in the middle of reciting his test speech. 

“Knock knock.” Q says, sitting on the window. Wilbur didn't hear he open it an he wonders how much fo the speech he heard. “What are you up too?” 

“Oh, I’m just trying to make a public address.” Wilbur sighs, setting his laptop down on his bed. He quickly hits the backspace button to delete a few lines. “Key word is trying.” 

He’s not sure he will ever get used to this random man being able to climb in his window. In a way he feels like he should be a lot less okay with this than he was. But, then again, there wasent a lot else going on in Wilbur’s life. A little excitement never killed anyone. Even when that exitement is letting a thief with a cybernetic eye break and enter your home every other night. 

Okay maybe he was just lonely-

“Is this about that thing were everyone thinks your loosing your mind?” Q asks.

“Oh great! Even you have heard about that!” Wilbur sighs. He can't say hes surprised, being the son of Philza Minecraft makes him prefcitally a celebrity. 

“Well, keeping up with tech companies is kind of part of my job.” He says lightheartedly seemingly trying to make Wilbur feel a bit better about his whole public humiliation. “Anyways, I brought you something.” 

Wilbur looks up to find Q with an outstretched hand with a small yellow rubber duck sitting in his palm. He picks up the duck squeezing it to find it squeaks. He can't help but smile a bit at the gift. 

“What is this?” Wilbur says turning it over in his hands. “I thought you were supposed to be stealing from me not giving me stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I dont feel thats a good way to start off our friendship is it?” Q responds. 

“Freinds, hmm?” Wilbur hums. “How do I know your not trying to lure me into a false sense of security?” 

“Try me.” Quackity says taking a seat on the edge of Wilbur’s bed. “Ask me anything. Well, nothing too personal of course. I wont tell you my full name or address or anything like that.” 

Wilbur giggles a bit. “Okay, well you said keeping up with tech companies is your job, right?” 

“How about you tell me something about another tech company?” 

Q smirks. “Well, I know that Kinoko is struggling with staff right now. Theres a rumor going round that one of the owners memory may be going. Frequently forgetting things like passcodes causing them to redo all the door codes.” 

Wilbur nods. To be fair it was something; it was something that would be useful for a thief to know. “How about product wise? Anybody coming up with anything new?” 

“Minecraft Tech is still ahead of most right now, or at least they are rumored to be.” He raises his eyebrows at Wilbur as if asking if they were true. 

“Hey, dont look at me. I'm a manfcuationg supervisor, I only see the things that make the things and report it if it's not working right.” Wilbur says putting his hands up as if surrendering. 

“Okay Okay.” Quackity says still slimlign so clearly he didn't care about the teleportation rumors that much, or at least didn't want Wilbur to know if he did. “Well I’m sure you know about Schlatt Co. and the pet tracking tags. But, I bet you didn't know that Essempie have been playing with the idea of magatized tracks to make frictionless converter belts.” 

“Thats intriguing.” Wilbur comments. He was pretty impressed with how much Q was willing to share with him. Especially when a lot of this information could be used as evidence to throw him in prison. 

“Yeah but I’m sure your intrested in something other than just tech right?” Q comments looking around the fairly blank room. “Do you have any sort of hobbies or something outside of work.” 

Wilbur hesitates for a moment. Besides work the only other thing he does is hang out with Tommy, and he doesnt really feel like admitting to this almost complete stranger that he’s that much of a loser. “Um… I play guitar sometimes, but you already know that.” 

“Do you do anything else?” Q snickers a bit. “Dont tell me you dont have any other hobbies.” 

“Well, work takes up a good amount of my time.” 

“Oh, come on, even I have to take breaks from work sometimes.” Q says dramatically. “And I have more people relying on me than you do.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Do you think I steal for fun?” Q says. All honesty, Wilbur had never really thought of why thiefs stole before. “No, I do this for my community because the rest of the world failed us.” 

“Failed you?” Wilbur raises a brow.

“You know how it is for the poor.” Q continues “You’ve probably heard of the people who are out of jobs and how they are forced to live in broken down suburbs that the city would reather forget about. It’s not easy for us, but we manage to get by. That’s why I steal parts, they either get passed off to someone to be sold or get manufactured into something and then sold so we can keep our people fed and warm.” 

Wilbur has heard about the horrors of the suburbs and the conditions for the people that live there. However, it was easy to forget about when you didn't live in that kind of place. Hearing it from Q made it seem that more real, and not just some thing that the news tries to not mention unless something big happens. 

“How many people?” Wilbur asks. 

“The neighborhood I’m a part of we have about 20 or 30 total.” Q explains. “However, our numbers decrease every year.” 

Wilburs heart hurts a little bit knowing people live like that. Knowing that Q lives like that. 

“Anyways, my point is working all day would drive me mad.” Q changes the subject from the less than fortunate circumstances of his living situation. “You dont get out much do you?” 

For as embarrassing as it was to admit he was correct about that. “I mean I sometimes go to this little ice cream shop on the corner with my brother.” 

“Wow, you really need to get out more.” He teases. “You know if you want to we could go explore the city a bit sometime. Maybe you could live a little?” 

Something in his chest yearns to do something like that. To have a taste of freedom even if it is just for a bit. Although going with this guy he just met wasent the best idea; getting kidnapped for ransom was not very high on his priority list. 

“I think I’ll have to pass on that.” He says dispite how much his heart wants to explore. 

“Can you be anymore boring?” Q asks with a lighthearted smirk on his face. “I mean look at you, your clothes, your room, none of it says anything about who you are.

“Maybe you could have benefit from some hair dye in your shampoo.” He jokes. 

Wilbur smiles at the joke and looks around at his blank walls and plain clothing. He realizes that Q is pretty accurate about that. 

“Well, sometimes I think I’d like to try new things.” Wilbur says recalling some of his thoughts form earlier. He has no idea why he was telling Q this; maybe some part of him wanted to prove that he could be interesting aswell. “Like maybe wearing some different colors than just natural tones, or maybe even paint my nails. Who knows?

“Somtimes I don’t even like the way I look or dress. If I’m being completely honest. But, I’m not exactly sure what it is most of the time. Also I dont feel like that all of the time; sometimes I’m completely okay with how I look. But sometimes it feels like everything is wrong. It's really confusing.” 

Q seems to think about this information for a moment. “Why dont you do that? The wearing more color and painted nails I mean.” 

“Can you imagine?” Wilbur says scaractisally. “The press would have a field day if I painted my nails. I can see the headlines now, ‘Philza Minecrafts “son” actually his daughter???” 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Q asks. 

Wilbur thinks about that for a moment. He supposes being called a daughter probably wouldent brother him if it happened. “It's not about me. It's about how my father would react, and I really dont feel like writing a public address about nail polish.” 

Q nods. “Well, I think you still look nice. Y’know despite the boring clothing.” 

Before Wilbur has a chance to respond theres a knock at the door. Both His and Q’s head whip around to look form were the sound came from. 

“Hey, Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice calls from the other side. “Can I come in?” 

“One second!” Wilbur calls out. When he looks back to Q hes already halfway out the window attached to his harness again. He gives a quick wave before falling out the window. 

Wilbur quickly shuts the window and goes to open the door for his brother. 

“What’s up?” He asks really hoping that Tommy didn't hear him talking to someone. 

Tommy kind of looks past him as if scanning his room for a second. “I swear I heard voices in here a second ago.” 

“Ah, it's nothing I was just pracitcing my speech.” Wilbur quickly lies. 

“Hmm, okay.” He says. He doesnt seem to fully believe him, but Wilbur is just gald he dropped the topic. “Can I just come in and talk for a bit?” 

“Uh, sure.” Wilbur says opening his door more so Tommy can scoot past him. 

Tommy walks past him and sits on the edge of Wilbur’s bed. Which he is slowly realizing is the only sitting space in his room. Wilbur takes a seat next to him but a little more appart than how he and Q were sitting earlier. 

“Whats up?” Wilbur asks looking over at this brother who seems to be starting at the wall. 

He was fidgeting with the end of his sleeve, and it was clear there was something on his mind. “Wilbur… do you ever think of the people who live on the outskirts?” 

Wilbur is a little taken aback by this question. If he had asked him this question anytime before today his answer probably would have been no, but after his conversation with Quackity the topic has been at the forefront of his mind. 

However he wasnet ready to tell Tommy about why yet. 

“Um… No, I can't say I do.” He lies. 

“Well,” Tommy shifts awkwardly now. He struggles to figure out how to continue the conversation. “I walked by the outskirts today. I took a wrong turn on my way home from school, and I can't help but think about how there are people out there.” 

“It's sad, sure, but what are we to do about it?” Wilbur shrugs as if he hadent already been asking himself that question. 

“I dont know but… I feel almost guilty knowing that I get to live in a house without worry of food or heating while they dont get that luxury.” Tommy continues. It’s clear this has been bothering him for a while; Wilbur had the older brother sense™ . “I just feel bad, and I can't help but worry about them. I mean it's pure luck that I was born into a rich family and not out there like the rest of them.” 

Wilbur seems to think about his words carefully. When he’s sure Tommy’s not going to continue and waiting for him to respond he sighs. “Yeah. The world certainly isint fair, is it?” 

“I just wish there was something we could do for them.” Tommy sighs. “I mean why can't Phil help them? He’s rich afterall.” 

Wilbur seems to think about this. Sure their father absolutely could help those in need. But why would he? Theres nothing in it for him. It seems like business is all he cares about these days. 

“I dont know.” Wilbur says sadly not sure how to break the news of their harsh reality to his brother. The rich continuouldy get richer and the poor get poorer. 

“I’ve tried to mention it before to Phil but I think he was distracted.” Wilbur could tell from the way Tommy said it he knows Phil may have been ignoring him. “I just dont get it. How can you know that theres people out there who have nothing and still keep everything for yourself?” 

Tommy raises his tone a bit as he continues. He stands up gesturing wildly at his points. “And it's not even just Phil! Every other tech giant and filthy rich billionaire in this forsaken city! Not one of them seem to be helping!” 

Wilbur is a little surprised by the sudden emotion coming form his brother. Almost as if the topic hits a little closer to home than he’s letting on. “This really has been bothering you, hasent it?” 

Tommy seems to tense as he realized he was ranting. He quickly sits back down seeming to avoid eye contact as he responds. “I, um, guess so. I dont know. I’ve just been thinking recently.” 

“Wow you can do that?” Wilbur teases with a smile on his face. 

“Shut up, dick!” Tommy punches his arm playfully a smile appearing on his face. “Unlike some of us I do think occasionally I still need to pass my classes.” 

“How has school been going anyways?” Wilbur asks taking a moment to breath form the original topic. 

“It's been going alright I guess. The teachers still expect me to be a prodigy.” He shrugs. 

“They did that to me too.” Wilbur comments. He knows what it like to be the son of a famous inventor and buinessman. “What about whats going good?”

“Well, I like art class.” Tommy seems to light up a bit as he talks. “It’s the one class were I’m not expected to be anyone. I pretty much have the freedom to do whatever without the feeling like I’m being judged.” 

Wilbur can't help but smile a bit. He knows what thats like; theres a reason he always preferred music classes. “Creativity must run in the family I suppose.” 

“It's what I get for hanging around you too much.” Tommy snorts. “You’re starting to infect me with your art pretentiousness!” 

Wilbur just rolls his eyes. “It's not pretentious if I really am that good.” 

Tommy roll shis eyes and playfully punches Wilbur again. 

“Hey! Ow! You’re going to leave a bruise!” WIlbur compliance throwing a pillow at Tommy. 

Tommy is quick to catch the pillow and go for the attack; he whacks Wilbur with the pillow before he has the chance to defend himself. His glasses fall onto the floor and for a moment Tommy wonders if he’s gone to far before Wilbur grabs his other pillow and retaliates hitting his brother in the side with it. 

“Hey thats fair!” Tommy argues going back in for the kill. 

“Well, you started it?” Wilbur says nearly dodging Tommy’s attack rollign to the other side of the bed and putting it between them. 

“No you did, prick!” Tommy shoots back attempting to get closer to Wilbur as he keeps walkignt he oppsite way form tommy so they stay on opposite sides of his bed. 

Wilbur sticks his tongue out as his younger brother teasingly. Tommy decides to just jump over the bed bringing down the wrath of the pillow directly onto Wilbur knocking him over. While he fell he accidentally let go of his pillow which allowed his brother to grab it and tower over him with both of the pillows before reigning an onslaught of fluffy stikes down onto him. 

“Okay! Okay! I yield!” Wilbur says though a giggle. 

“Thats what I thought!” Tommy says proudly placing both of his hands on his hips like he just won the world championship in pillow fighting. 

Wilbur takes the pillows away form his brother before he can cause anymore destruction and tosses them back onto the bed. He quickly retives his glasses before taking a seat back on the bed looking back over at his brother, but it seems something has caught his eye. 

“Where did that come from?” Tommy asks referring to the rubber duck that sits on Wilbur’s nightstand. 

“Oh, it's from a friend.” Wilbur says. He wasent really sure what he considered Quackity but friend worked pretty well for now. 

“You have friends?” Tommy asks, and Wilbur can't tell whether he’s joking or not. 

“Of course I have friends!” Wilbur defends. Despite one of them being a random thief he met not a few days ago and the other being his brother. “You know what I didn't invite you in here to insult me.” 

Tommy just rolls his eyes. Although Wilbur can see on his face as his mind switched back to the original topic.

Wilbur would know that look from anywhere; there was something Tommy wanted to say. He just wasent saying it. 

“Is everything okay?” Wilbur asks hoping his brother still trusted him enough to tell him what’s going on. 

Tommy looks at him before looking back at the wall. He was just taking a moment to tell him. Right? Afterall he was his closest family member still. Right? Although they were both buddy and Tommy was grwoign up they hadnet really grown that apart. 

Right?

“Nevermind.” he sighs. 

“Oh.” Wilbur replies. “Okay then. Just talk to me when your ready then.” 

“Sure.” Tommy says but he seems to be avoiding eye contact as he get up to leave. 

Wilbur wanted to say something.He wanted to ask what was wrong. He wanted to ask if they had been really going apart. But there was one thing he really wanted to ask. 

“Hey,” Wilbur calls out before Tommy gets to the door. 

Tommy looks back at him waiting for him to continue. 

“Just... whatever it is dont let it beat you up okay?” He says. 

Tommy just nods before leaving Wilbur’s room and gently shutting the door behind him. Wilbur is left to stare at the door frame were his brother once stood. 

Did he do something wrong?