Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur had struggled with disordered eating for a while, although he didn’t like the term “struggling”. Yes, he was sick, and to some degree he knew that, but he saw it as a good thing. He saw it as a way to take control, a coping mechanism.

It started when he was twenty two, after his mother had suddenly passed away in an accident. His entire life, uprooted on impact.
His mother was his favorite person in the entire world, in fact she was everyone’s favorite. Every room lit up when she entered it, she had a laugh that made you feel like nothing had ever been wrong in the world, and she always knew the right thing to say. She was home. The glue that held wilbur’s family together, and now she was gone, just like that. No warning, no goodbye, lights out.
After she died, wilbur decided to leave school and move back in with his dad and younger brother, tubbo. His dad, phil, had called and told him he was worried about tubbo, and didn’t like leaving him alone all day while he worked.
It didn’t surprise wil at all that his brother wasn’t doing well, Tubbo had always been the closest with their mother. They were practically best friends. The first time wil saw tubbo after the accident, which was at the funeral, he looked entirely different. His features were the same, but his eyes had a pain behind them now, and his body was always tense. Tubbo had been so bright and optimistic before, much like his mother. It was like he died with her.
Once moved back in, wilbur did his best to take care of his younger brother, despite being quite busy trying to juggle a job and the online courses he’d started taking. He bought him gifts, rented movies for them to watch together, and pushed as hard as he could to get tubbo out of the house. Despite his attempts, the younger boy continued to grow duller, and wilbur more hopeless.
Phil wasn’t around much, as he’d decided to cope by burying himself entirely in his work. When he was home, he’d hide away in his office. The boys resented him for not being around after the loss of their mother, but wilbur did understand. It just hurt to see tubbo so alone. It was as if they’d lost two parents that day.

Wilbur hadn’t even noticed when he’d stopped eating breakfast. It wasn’t on purpose at the time, he was simply too busy in the mornings with bringing tubbo to school and making sure he himself got to work on time. He worked at a locally owned coffee shop, so the only food there were pastries, which he opted out of for the sake of his arteries. Although after a while, he found himself skipping his morning meal on his days off as well. He told himself he just wasn’t ‘in the mood’ for breakfast.
Soon enough, this newfound habit of his extended passed the morning, and he began to skip lunch as well. He decided it was easier to work on an empty stomach, even though that made no sense at all.
For the first time since his mom passed, he started to feel in control. Like no matter how screwed up his life was, he was the one making the decisions.

It didn’t take long for wilbur to become obsessed with the idea of being empty. Food was all he thought about, and he loved it.
If he was thinking about how many calories he’d eaten that day, he wasn’t thinking about the fact that phil stayed up crying in his room every night, soaking his pillow so thoroughly with tears that wil was surprised he had any left.
If he was worried about how much weight he’d lost that week, he wasn’t worried about the strange new marks he’d begun to see on tubbo’s arms.
If he was feeling the pain of his stomach aching, he didn’t have to feel the pain of not remembering what his mother’s laugh sounded like anymore.
He was in control of his own suffering.

Wilbur was twenty four now, and it was coming up on the two year anniversary of ‘that day’ as he called it, avoidant of any emotion attached to it. The three of them hardly even spoke to each other anymore, which was admittedly convenient for wil, since it meant nobody ever really noticed if he didn’t eat. Though he did miss his family.

Tubbo spent most of his time in his room, when he wasn’t at school or off with his new friends. Despite the time that had passed, he had really only gotten worse. Wilbur found himself waiting every day for the light in his brother to return, but he was starting to think it never would.

He wanted to reach out to tubbo, especially after finding out he’d been hurting himself, but he never really knew what to say. He wasn’t like his mom in that way. If she were here, she’d have already come up with a plan to get the kid back on his feet, but of course, her not being there was the entire problem.
He’d tried bringing it up once, while driving tubbo home from school.
“Hey so uh, i’m sorry if this is invasive, but i’ve noticed some marks on your arms.” he’d spoken awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about it?”
“It’s nothing.” tubbo replied, shutting him down. The younger boy quickly put his ear buds in and turned to face away from wilbur, gazing out the window. Wilbur didn’t bring it up again after that, he didn’t want to push his brother’s boundaries.

Wil spent the majority of his time alone with his thoughts, which were rarely good ones. He didn’t have any friends, well not any that didn’t live in a different country. He’d met a few people online, and they talked pretty often, but they didn’t know him. He kept his life a secret, only sharing small details. His friends knew about his mom dying, and they knew he had a busy lifestyle, that was about the extent.
He didn’t mind his own company, though, it was quite peaceful. Despite the constant storm of numbers twirling through his mind, he didn’t want things to change. He was comfortable in his own chaos.
So naturally, something just had to come along and ruin that. Or technically, someone.

Chapter Text

“Hello boys!” phil beamed, barging through the front door cheerfully. Tubbo and wilbur were in the kitchen, tubbo sat eating a bowl of coco puffs and wilbur pouring himself his third cup of coffee. The two glanced at each other, both equally confused. Usually, they were lucky to see their father all week, and if they did he was never in this good of a mood.

“Are you high?” tubbo asked, his voice monotone, as he took another bite from his cereal. Wilbur chuckled, and for a second he could have sworn he saw a smile creep onto tubbo’s face, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. He quickly came to the conclusion that this was a weird day.
“No, toby, i’m not high.” phil responded, rolling his eyes, a smile still planted on his face. “I’ve just had a really good day.”
Good day’s were rare for the watson family, so the boys didn’t really know how to react.
“Well i’m glad.” wilbur spoke, breaking the silence that had lasted almost a minute now. He tilted his cup towards phil, flashing him a smile before taking a sip.
“Uhh yeah, that’s cool i guess.” tubbo added, shrugging. He finished slurping down his leftover milk and walked to the sink, placing down his now empty bowl before heading towards the stairs.
“Not so fast, kid, i wanna talk to you.” phil stopped him. Tubbo groaned and turned back around, raising an eyebrow.
“Come on, both of you, sit.” he continued, gesturing for the brothers to have a seat at the kitchen island in front of him. Wilbur’s suspicion grew more now, and he felt a bit anxious. He wondered if phil was manic again, as he’d had a few episodes like that in the past, but typically he’d just disappear for a few days when they’d happen.
The two complied, and reluctantly took their seats.
“So, first off, i know i haven’t really been around much since your mom…” phil started, pausing for a moment. Wilbur noticed tubbo wince at the mention of their mother. He hated the fact that none of them could even think about her anymore without being sad. She only ever wanted to see them happy.
“I’ve been distant.” phil said flatly, the smile on his face had turned to a serious, almost apologetic, expression. “And that’s on me. You boys deserved better than that. I’m really sorry.”
The two sons didn’t speak, just stared back at their father, who was clearly trying. They just didn’t know what to say. Why was he all of a sudden reflecting on his shitty parenting, on some random day, seemingly unprompted.
“Anyways, things are gonna change for us. Change for the better.”
Wilbur didn’t like the sound of that, and he could tell his younger brother didn’t either.
“Change how?” tubbo asked, blandly.
“I’ve met someone.” phil stated, his smile returning. “A woman. Her name is kristen and she’s-”

“Ha!” tubbo cut him off. “That’s what this is then? Man, you know, for a second i thought you were actually sorry. Whatever, phil.”
Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he realized that he hadn’t even heard tubbo speak that much in a long time. It was always some one word response, emotionless. But now tubbo sounded like he was about to cry. He was angry.
“Son i am sorry i just-” phil tried to explain himself, but tubbo had already stood up from his seat and started up the stairs. “Son, please just come sit. Toby!”
Tubbo disappeared to his room, and wilbur glanced over at phil, who now looked sad. wil was having trouble following what was even happening, not used to ‘family conversations’ anymore, he guessed.
“So?” wilbur spoke, giving his father a half smile. He felt bad, phil had seemed so excited to speak to them. He knew tubbo had every right to react that way, though. “Tell me about her.”
Phil looked up at his son, seemingly making every effort he could to smile back at him.
“ah, forget about it mate. I wanna speak to you both together.” the man shrugged, beginning to walk out of the kitchen. He stopped for a moment, looking at wil. It was as if he’d seen him for the first time.
“Hey, you look really thin kid… have some breakfast, alright?” he asked suspiciously, placing a hand on wilbur’s bony shoulder before continuing out of the room, and down the hall to his office.
Wilbur’s stomach turned, that was the first time anyone had noticed. Other than his coworkers, of course. They always seemed to have some snarky comments. But not phil, he never said a word.
Wil’s anxious thoughts began to creep up on him. Was phil onto him? Was he going to make him stop? He hated the thought of that. He quickly finished the last few sips of his coffee, and headed to his room, leaving the kitchen empty.

The next few days were radio silence from all three of them. Usually there was a small ‘good morning’ or a short comment about the weather from phil, but now it was nothing. The same went for tubbo. Even on the drive to school, he said nothing, and wil didn’t push him to either. Mostly because he knew his brother, at least a bit, and he knew he was less likely to get a word out of him if he’d asked for it. Also because he’d lowered his intake after that comment from phil, worried that he’d have to stop soon, and so his brain was all foggy. He wanted to lose as much weight as he could before the ‘recovery’ he now thought to be inevitable.

After about the fourth day of silence, wilbur and tubbo arrived home to find an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Tubbo looked at wil curiously, as if he’d know who’s it was, to which wilbur shrugged. He had no idea. He took his keys out of the car, and the two of them made their way inside.
There was a woman standing in the middle of the room, staring back at them. She was smiling, despite looking shocked to see them.
She was much shorter than wil, probably about the same height as their dad, and she had long dark hair that complimented the red lipstick she wore.
“Oh- phil! They’re here!” she yelled down the hall. The boys were both surprised to hear an american accent leave her mouth. The three stood there waiting for phil to make his way to the kitchen, all of them clearly afraid to speak until he was there to explain the situation. Wil looked over at tubbo for a moment, who had an angry look on his face. To be fair, he often did, but this look was slightly angrier than usual.
“Welcome home boys!” phil called, entering the room. That smile from the other day was back, and even bigger now. “How was school, toby?”
The three adults turned to tubbo, who simply ignored the question, staring blankly at the wall right behind phil. Wilbur patted his brother on the back, before putting his coat on the rack beside the door and grabbing himself a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Alright well, boys, this is kristen.” phil continued, moving on. Wilbur waved kindly and tubbo, of course, did nothing. Kristen smiled, and waved back at the taller boy. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Wilbur was expecting this, after the conversation they’d almost had earlier that week, but it still stung to hear it out loud. Tubbo’s eyes visibly widened, and he finally made eye contact with phil. Another awkward moment of silence passed.
“It's really nice to meet you two, your dad’s told me a ton about you.” kristen butted in, still smiling. She had a big smile, a nice one at that, it kind of reminded wil of his mother’s. He didn’t like that.
“Nice to meet you as well.” wil replied hesitantly. “How long have you two been…?”
“A few months.” phil responded, happily. “I was waiting to tell you until i felt it was serious, and it is.”
To that, tubbo scoffed and headed towards the front door.
“Hey hey where are you going?” wil asked, hoping tubbo would at least react better to him than he would their dad right now.
“Out with tommy.” the boy answered flatly. Tommy was tubbo’s best friend, and while not always the best influence, he was a nice kid.
“Be home before dinner, please. We’re all gonna eat together and talk.” phil called, as tubbo walked out and slammed the door behind him.
Wilbur’s heart dropped. Dinner? He couldn’t have dinner with them, he had already met his intake today, and any dinner phil made was always more than twice that. His stomach filled with anxiety, and he tried to think of a way to deny the offer kindly. Just as he was about to speak, phil flashed him a hopeful look.
“You’ll at least eat with us, right?” he asked, with a sad tone. Wilbur sighed, knowing he’d have to agree. He hadn’t seen phil this happy in a long time, and he knew it would break his dad’s heart if both of his sons refused to let him be. He told himself it was just one day. Repeating it in his head.
‘It’s one day. One meal, i can get back on track tomorrow. It won’t ruin my progress.’ he thought.
Hesitantly, he gave phil a nod, saying yes. He smiled at both phil and kristen, before walking past them to his room.

Chapter Text

A few hours had passed, and wil could smell that food was almost done, which only made him more anxious. Since leaving the kitchen, he’d gone back and forward in his head a million times, debating whether or not he was ok with eating. He wasn’t, of course, but he had come to the same conclusion every time that he’d do it for phil.
Nobody had heard from tubbo yet, which was pretty routine for him. He’d disappear with tommy all the time, and sometimes he’d even be gone the whole night. Wil couldn’t help but be worried though, he never knew what tubbo was gonna do lately. He’d shot him a few texts, asking if he was alright and telling him to call, but he got no response.

“Wil! Dinner’s ready!” he heard phil call from the bottom of the stairs. He sighed and got up from his desk, hesitantly heading down the stairs. Phil and kristen were sat next to each other at the dining room table, with the table already set and food spread around it. It was nothing fancy, spaghetti and meatballs. Pasta was probably wilbur’s biggest fear food though, so it was less than ideal for him. He gave a half smile and walked over to the table, sitting down on the chair opposite phil. Beside him, was an empty seat set with a plate for tubbo.
“Have you heard from him?” phil asked, glancing at the empty chair. Wil shook his head.
“Well, we’ll save his plate for later then.” kristen smiled, politely. She seemed really nice, and wil could see why the two got along so well. “So wilbur, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?”
Wilbur racked his brain for an answer, while phil began eating. He didn’t really know what he liked to do anymore, all his hobbies had been brushed to the side so he could focus on not eating. He felt like an anxious child on the first day of school, at a loss for words.
“I play guitar, and i write a bit of music..” he blurted out. It was somewhat true, he and his mother used to play together all the time, but it had been forever since he’d even looked at the instrument. It was stored away in the very back of his closet.
“He’s incredible too.” phil started. “More talent in that kids big toe than i could ever have.”
“I guess i get it from mom.” wil said, coldly. He didn’t mean for that to sound as harsh as it did. He didn’t resent kristen, perhaps he was just sad to feel like his dad was moving on. He scolded himself in his head for acting like a child.
“That’s lovely.” kristen smiled, kindly. The three of them chatted amongst themselves for a while longer, wil taking small bites of his food whenever he’d notice the other two glance at his plate. It was like they were waiting for him to eat something.

“Not hungry?” phil asked between conversations, him and kristen having finished their plates already. Wil’s was still practically untouched.
“Uh, yeah, me and some mates from work went out and got lunch today. Didn’t know we’d be having a big dinner, otherwise i wouldn’t have gone.” he responded, convincingly. It was incredibly far from the truth. Wil didn’t even have any friends at work, and if he did there’s no way he’d go out to lunch with them. But phil didn’t need to know that.

After a while, wil decided he was finished eating and they all helped clean up. There was still no word from tubbo, and wilbur could sense that phil was worried. He kept glancing at the door, or out into the driveway, hoping to see his son.
“Do you want me to go get him?” wil finally asked, after about the 20th time phil had checked his phone. “He’s probably just at tommy’s, but i can go pick him up if you’d like.”
“Would you?” phil asked, smiling gently up at wilbur. “I’m sure i’m overreacting, but i just want him home.”
Wil nodded, and waved goodbye to phil and kristen, grabbing his coat and heading out the door. He knew exactly where tommy lived, as he’d been driving tubbo there since the day he’d gotten his license. He was sure that was where tubbo had gone, or at least he’d hoped.
Once pulled into the driveway, he took a breath and climbed out of the car, rushing to knock on the door. A scrawny boy almost as tall as him, with light blond hair and a blue hoodie answered the door. It was tommy. Tommy seemed shocked to see wilbur, and even more shocked at what he looked like. It had been a bit since the two had actually interacted. Typically wil would just drop off and go.
“Hey man, tubbo’s here right?” he asked, ignoring the younger boy’s shocked expression. Tommy looked confused, which made wilbur anxious.
“Uhh no, he’s not, sorry.” the boy stated, sounding worried. “Is he alright?”
“Oh yeah, i’m sure he’s fine. thanks kid.” wilbur responded, forcing a smile and quickly hurrying back to his car. His heart rate began to speed up as he tired to think of where the hell tubbo could be. He pulled out of the driveway, and began aimlessly driving around the small town, looking around for his brother. After searching almost every possible spot, it came to him. He quickly started on his way to the cemetery.

The cemetery where their mother was buried was a big one, so he had to leave his car in order to make his way over to her grave. He parked in the almost empty lot, and walked as fast as he could to where he assumed tubbo would be.
Sure enough, when he came up on his mother’s grave, there was tubbo. The boy was sat in the dirt next to the headstone, his knees to his chest, smoking a cigarette. Wilbur approached slowly, wanting to be gentle and not make tubbo anymore upset. As he got closer, he could see that tubbo had been crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and he had tear tracks down his cheeks. Wil took a seat down beside him, and grabbed the cigarette from his hand, taking a drag from it himself. He figured a lecture on smoking wasn’t a good idea right now, especially since it’d be hypocritical considering tubbo knew wilbur was a smoker. In fact, he’d probably taken the pack from wil’s room.

“You ok?” he asked, handing the cig back. Tubbo chuckled.
“Dumb question.” the younger replied. Wilbur nodded his head, a sad expression growing onto his face. He searched his mind for something to say, as tubbo lifted the cigarette to his mouth once more. Wil glanced at the visible scars on his brother’s wrist, sighing. He felt guilty for not being there for tubbo. He’d always throw him an ‘i’m here if you need me’ or ‘let me know if you wanna talk.’ but he realized now that that wasn’t enough.
“I know we haven’t been the closest lately, but i think you should talk to me man.” wil continued, hoping he’d at least get a few words out of him. Tubbo took one last drag before dropping the cigarette and putting it out with his foot. He didn’t leave it there though, he quickly picked it back up and dropped it into his bag, probably to throw away later.
“What do you want me to say?” tubbo asked, finally looking up at wil. His eyes seemed to trace the older boy’s face.
“Anything. I just miss you, kid. I wanna make sure you’re gonna be alright.” wilbur admitted. This time, he was the one to break eye contact, glancing over at the headstone of their mother. It was a beautiful stone, the typical light gray color, with small patterns of lilies carved into it. Lily was her name. On the front, it read ‘lily watson, 1977-2019’ underneath, were the words ‘until forever, my love.’ it was what phil and lily used to say to each other. “I’m yours until forever, my love.” wilbur had always found it gross and mushy when she was alive, but now he would do anything to hear them say it again.

“I’m fine.” tubbo said blandly, wiping the practically dried tears on his cheeks.
“Bullshit.” wilbur argued, almost laughing. “I’m not stupid, tubbo. Please, just talk to me.”
Tubbo looked at him again, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Wilbur was doing everything he could not to cry as well. He hated seeing his brother like this, and he hated being in this cemetery.
“I just miss her.” the younger finally spoke, his voice breaking. Wil’s expression softened, and he put his arm around tubbo, who was hesitant at first, but eventually rested his head on wil’s shoulder and sighed. “I don’t even know how i feel anymore. It’s like i haven’t really felt anything since it happened. Like i’m some kind of fucking ghost.”
Wilbur’s eyes began to water, and he rubbed his hand up and down tubbo’s back. He was glad the kid was finally opening up, but it broke his heart to hear him say those words, even if he already knew to some degree that tubbo had been going through that..
“I know what you mean.” was all wilbur could muster up. God, he wished he was better at this kind of thing. “Are you angry with dad?”
“No.” tubbo responded after a moment. “It’s just weird, knowing he’s with someone else, i guess. I know it’s been like two years, but it feels like she was just here a week ago.”
Wilbur felt a tear fall from tubbo’s cheek onto his t-shirt. He suddenly understood his younger brother a lot more, realizing they were more similar than he’d thought.
“Is that why you started hurting yourself? To like, feel something?” wil didn’t even mean to say it. The words just kind of came out of his mouth. He’d wanted to ask for so long, and now seemed like an ok time, but that definitely didn’t feel like the right thing to ask. He expected tubbo to be angry. To storm off again like he always did, but he didn’t. Instead he just cried. Sobbed, even.
Wilbur took that as a yes, and quickly pulled the boy into a hug, now wrapping both arms around him. Tubbo gripped onto his older brother's shirt, falling apart into his chest. Wilbur couldn’t help the few tears of his own that slipped out.
“Shh, it’s alright, toby. You’re ok. Just breathe” he whispered, continuing to rub his back, and leaning his head on top of tubbo’s. He never called him toby, in fact usually tubbo hated to be called his real name, unless it was phil saying it, but he didn’t seem to mind right now.
After a few minutes the boy calmed down, and the two sat there in silence for a while, staying in that same position. It was actually quite nice. The cemetery, while morbid, was one of the most calming places you could be in that town. Nothing but the sounds of nature and the feeling of soft dirt underneath you. It was a comfortable place to cry, which was fitting.
“What about you?” tubbo finally spoke, his voice shaking. He sat up a bit and wiped the tears from his cheeks and the underside of his chin.
“Me?” Wil asked, confused about what it was he meant. “What about me?”
“You look like shit, wil.” tubbo responded. Wilbur could tell he meant it with concern, not to insult him. “I mean, you’re so thin now. Dad and i have both noticed, we just never said anything i guess.”
Wilbur froze, completely unsure of how to respond to this. They knew? How did they know? Wil knew he’d lost some weight, but he didn’t see himself as very thin, in fact he didn’t think he looked different at all. That panicked feeling was back once more, and tubbo’s expression changed a bit, like he had noticed wil’s anxiety.
“Sorry, i didn’t mean to-” the younger started, but wil cut him off.
“No no, it’s all good.” he smiled, playfully shoving tubbo. “Probably just stress, you know? I hadn’t really noticed.”
Tubbo nodded, and didn’t push any further, even though wil could tell he didn’t believe him. At least not completely. He felt so guilty for lying, especially after the kid was so vulnerable with him only a few minutes ago, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, and he definitely wasn’t ready to get help.
“We should probably get you home.” wil suggested, beginning to stand up and gesturing for tubbo to follow. “Dad was pretty worried when you ran off like that. He’ll wanna see you.”
Tubbo nodded again in agreement, and pushed himself up from the ground, grabbing his backpack off the ground behind him. The two walked back to the car silently.

Once they walked through the door to the house, phil immediately wrapped tubbo in his arms.
“I was only gone a few hours, dad.” he said, in an annoyed tone. wilbur could tell his aggravation was an act by the way tubbo hugged his father back, tightly. Kristen had gone home now, so phil was just here alone, worried.
“Don’t do that shit again, ok? Just.. tell me where you’re going from now on, please.” phil pleaded, to which tubbo nodded. Wilbur smiled at phil, who gave him a smile back and mouthed the words ‘thank you.’

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, kristen started coming over more often, and they’d have dinner together a couple times a week. Wilbur had made a habit of figuring out when those nights would be, and was sure not to eat until dinner, where he’d eat about half his meal to avoid suspicions. He knew he didn’t really have to eat dinner with the family, it wasn’t like phil could tell him what to do, but it made his dad happy and also got tubbo off his back about food.

Tubbo had become more observant of wil, as the two had started spending a bit more time together, which was both good and bad. Wilbur, of course, loved being close with his brother again, he just didn’t like all the questions.

“Why do you never eat breakfast?” tubbo had asked one morning, out of nowhere. Wil tried to think of an excuse, but it was an unexpected question.
“Uh, not hungry in the mornings. Why?” he responded, sipping on his first coffee of the day. He tried to keep his cool, but inside he could definitely feel anxiety creeping up.
“Just wondering.” tubbo shrugged, seemingly moving on.

Phil had also started to catch on a bit, always pushing wilbur to eat when he was around, and buying foods that he knew he liked.
Wilbur appreciated the thought, but it sucked having so much new food around the house, especially food he enjoyed. Too many temptations.
Despite this, wil still managed to stay under his calorie limit every day, which he was proud of. He’d lost a bit more weight, and had noticed that his cheek bones were sticking out slightly. He liked the look of it, but he didn’t like how noticeable it was. Too difficult to hide. He’d wear hoodies to hide the rest of his bony body, but he wasn’t about to wear a bag over his head.
While his routine had been a bit obstructed with a new person around, he still did pretty ok avoiding food, until one night. Kristen was over, and they had just finished dinner, which wil had eaten a bit too much of than he’d have liked.
“Oh! I have a surprise!” kristen spoke, standing up from her seat and hurrying to grab something from the fridge. Wil’s stomach dropped, knowing what was about to come. He didn’t want to eat anything else, he’d already messed up by eating most of his dinner. He felt his hands start to shake a bit, as he watched kristen pull out a tray of brownies.
“Phil told me these were you two’s favorite, so i made some special for you!” she said happily, seeming proud of herself. Wilbur couldn’t help but feel angry, at both kristen and phil. He knew they meant well, and there was no way they could have known just how shitty this would make him feel, but he was angry anyway. He felt like he was being backed into a corner. Like they wanted to hurt him. Wanted to make him ruin his routine.
“Thank you, that’s so kind of you.” he said with a smile, trying to hide just how upset he was.
“Yeah, thanks.” tubbo added, flashing his best attempt at a smile as well.
Kristen smiled back and placed the tray on the table, beginning to cut up the brownies. His ears felt hot, he felt like he’d never been this angry in his life. He felt like he was being attacked in some fucked up way.
“Here you go!” she said happily, placing a piece of the dessert in front of him. He gulped, and tried desperately to figure out what the hell to do, as he watched kristen give brownies to tubbo and phil as well.
He couldn’t just refuse, she had made them specifically for them, and she was trying so hard to get to know them. But he was already above his intake, and he was so scared to eat anything else.
“I really hope you guys like them.” kristen continued, sitting back down across from tubbo. “I’m not the best at baking, but i wanted to do something nice for you two for being so kind and accepting me into your lives.”
‘Goddamnit.’ wil thought. He couldn’t refuse now.
“They look great, hon. Thank you.” phil said sweetly. Tubbo seemed uneasy at the use of the nickname, but he kept his faint smile regardless.
Wil stared down at the food in front of him, feeling sick to his stomach. He wanted to cry. Wanted to get up and storm away like a stubborn child, but he didn’t. Slowly, he lifted his shaky hand and picked up the calorie filled dessert, lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite. It felt wrong, but he kept eating, feeling worse with every bite. The other three happily ate their dessert, no hesitation.
By the time he had finished, his hands were shaking so bad he had to hide them under the table, trying his best to make sure nobody noticed. Tubbo started to give him strang glances. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and tears were stinging at his eyes. He was having a panic attack.
“Dinner was lovely, thank you.” he said quickly, trying to hide the shakiness of his breath. He stood up from the table and hurried up the stairs, leaving his empty plate without cleaning it up.

“Fuck, fuck fuck.” he whispered to himself when he reached his bedroom, as he paced around his room anxiously. He held onto his stomach, gripping the very little bit of fat that rested on it in his hands. Tears started to slip down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe. He sat down, trying to slow the shaking of his hands. He felt like he was going to die.

“Wil?” he heard, followed by a knock at his door. It was tubbo. He wanted to tell him to go away, but he couldn’t speak. He just sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing. “Wilbur, are you alright?”
Within a few seconds, the door was open, and tubbo was rushing over. Wilbur felt his brother’s hand on his back, and he heard muffled words but he could barely make them out anymore. He felt dizzy, like he was going to pass out.
“-ilbur?” he heard tubbo’s panicked voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “What happened? Breathe, try to breathe.”
Wilbur was trying, he was trying as hard as he could.
“I’ll get dad.” he heard, but he grabbed tubbo’s arm, pulling him back.
“No. no.” he choked out through his sobs, not wanting anyone else to see him like this.
“Well then i need you to breathe.” tubbo demanded, gripping onto the older’s arm. “Count with me, ok?.”
Wilbur complied, taking panicked shaky breaths and counting between them.
“One… two… three…” his voice broke as he spoke through his sobs, in sync with tubbo. “Eight… nine… ten.”
By the time they’d reached 17, the air had returned to wil’s lungs, and the shaking in his hands had slowed down a bit. He took a deep, well needed breath, and opened his eyes.
“thank you.” he stutterd, his eyes focussed on the floor. “I’m sorry, you had to do that for me.”
“It’s alright, man. I’m just glad you’re ok. Really.” tubbo insisted, giving wil a quick hug. “Did something happen? To like, trigger that?”
“No, it kind of just came on.” wilbur lied, still stuttering as he began to feel a bit more normal. “Where’d you learn that counting trick?” he questioned, laying back on his bed.
“Mom.” tubbo replied proudly, with a sad undertone to his voice. “I used to get really anxious before gymnastics class and she’d have me count to calm down.”
Wil nodded, feeling a heaviness in his chest. He wanted his mom. She would know how to help him, even though he didn’t want help. She would make it better.
“Well, i gotta go help dad and kristen clean up.” tubbo stated, standing up. “You gonna be alright?”
“Yeah, i’m good now. Thanks again, tubs.” wil responded, smiling weakly. Tubbo smiled back and headed out the door, back downstairs.
Wilbur sighed and got under his covers, completely exhausted. He put on some music and fell asleep.

Later that night, he woke up to an almost painful feeling in his stomach. An unfamiliar feeling. He was hungry. Hungrier than he’d ever felt. He’d stopped noticing the hunger after a few months of restricting his food, and the feeling seemed to have gone away completely after almost a year, but now it was back. It was like he’d awakened some kind of monster in his body with that dessert. He tried to ignore it, but the longer he laid there trying to go back to sleep, the more he thought about the brownies in the fridge. He looked over at the clock, and it was 3am. Part of his brain was telling him to go down there and eat every single one, and the other part was screaming at him not to dare eat anything.
After about an hour of rolling around in his bed, trying to get rid of his thoughts, he gave in. He got up and quietly made his way downstairs. It was like he’d fallen under some kind of trance. He felt himself open the fridge and then it was as if instantly he was sat at the dining table, having eaten almost the entire tray of brownies. He snapped back into reality, realizing what he’d done, and the panic started to grow once again.
Why did he do that? He didn’t even want to eat, in fact he wanted that less than anything, yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was out of control. He sat there for a moment, and felt the food settling in his stomach. It was the worst feeling he could imagine.

Not able to handle it anymore, he hurried to the bathroom, which was the closest room with a lock, and began spiraling once more. His heart felt like it was going to explode, his stomach felt like a weight that was tied to him. He glanced into the mirror, lifting up his shirt to reveal his low bloated stomach. He felt himself cave in and fall to the floor. He hated it. Every part of it. He was disgusted with himself, as if he was the worst person alive. He gripped his stomach tightly, as if trying to rip the fat off of himself. He just laid on the floor crying, trying his best not to wake his family. He wanted relief. Wanted to take back his stupid fucking decision. He needed to get the food out of him, and he suddenly knew how.

Wil had never purged before. He’d heard too many horror stories about people’s teeth falling out, or their heart rhythms becoming corrupted, and people who purged were sick. Really sick. Wilbur wasn’t that sick, he just had a bad habit. But now he had started to realize that maybe he wanted to be that sick, and right now the thing he wanted most was to be empty.
He crawled across the floor, over to the toilet. He put the toilet seat up, and took a breath before leaning over, shoving his fingers to the back of his throat. At first, nothing came up, so he tried again, and again, it burned but he didn’t care. He kept going until his stomach was empty, and nothing more would come up. He fell into a sitting position and leaned against the wall beside the toilet, catching his breath. His throat burned, and his knuckles were throbbing, but he felt better. He felt clean.

Wilbur only got worse after that night, and he’d begun to almost embrace his disorder. He knew he was sick now, and he was ok with it. He wanted to stay sick.
Purging had started to become a regular thing, especially after their family dinners with kristen, but sometimes even just after a small meal. His knuckles were badly bruised, as he was prone to bruising from being malnourished, and he had dark bags under his eyes that made him look like a zombie.
He even made the decision to quit his job, feeling too sick to work most days. He didn’t tell anyone, out of shame. He was losing the battle.

Phil and tubbo grew incredibly concerned, trying to talk to wilbur about it any chance they could, but he insisted that he was fine. That he was just ‘under the weather.’ the two hadn’t seemed to exactly understand what was going on, but they knew it was something bad, and they were so worried.
Wilbur was a shell of himself. A walking corpse. Even he knew it, but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Everything became about his weight, or food. His thoughts became only numbers. No matter what he was doing, his mind would always trail off to that same place. He’d look at his reflection on every surface, constantly checking if his body had changed. He’d think about what foods he’d eat the next day, or even the next week. He’d look at his calorie tracking app twenty times a day without entering anything, just to look at how low the number was and feel good about himself.
He was disappearing. Being replaced by this infectious version of himself, destroying everything it touched.

One morning, he went downstairs to find phil waiting for him at the bottom. Just standing there.
“Uh, hi dad?” he said, confused. His voice was hoarse from purging the night before.
“Can we talk for a minute, bud?” phil asked, kindly. He had a sad and worried expression on his face. Wil shrugged, agreeing hesitantly. The two walked to the living room and phil sat wilbur down on the sofa.
For a moment, he said nothing. He just stared, looking wil up and down with sad eyes. Wil knew what this was, and he’d already begun preparing his lies in his head.
“Wilbur…” phil started, sighing. “You’re really scaring me lately.”
“What’d i do?” wil asked, trying to sound clueless. He avoided eye contact at all costs, knowing he wouldn’t be able to lie to his dad like this if he looked him in the eyes. Phil sighed again.
“You look like a ghost, son.” phil stated. He grabbed wilbur’s bony hand, holding it in both of his own. Wil looked down, feeling the comfort of his dad’s touch. He hadn’t felt comfort like that in a while, and even though it was small, it was still nice. It hurt him to see phil so upset, but he wouldn’t let himself let his guard down. He stayed silent.
“If you need help, i can get it for you.” phil continued, a hopeful tone in his voice. “Anything you need, i’ll do it for you. All I need is for you to be ok, kid.”
A tear fell down phil’s cheek, and wilbur pulled his hand away, standing up.
“I’m fine dad, really.” he insisted, sniffling. “I gotta go, i have stuff to do. I’ll see you at dinner.”
He watched as phil hid his head in his hands, a defeated look on his face.
He wanted to tell him he was sorry. Wanted to turn around and hug his dad, let everything go, and ask phil to help him. But he couldn’t. He had become his illness. He almost couldn’t tell which part was him, and which part was it. He continued out of the room, not looking back. He heard quiet sobs from phil as he opened the front door and left. Leaving his dad to cry alone, worried for him.
Wil realized then that even if he could tell which part of his thought were him, he wouldn’t know who that was anymore.

Chapter Text

A while back, tubbo had begun doing research on whatever it was that his brother was going through, quickly coming to the conclusion that he had an eating disorder. He’d heard about eating disorders at school and in movies, but he never expected for wilbur to have one. It made sense though, he’d read that it was usually a matter of control, which was something all of their lives had been significantly lacking since mom.
He’d known for a while, well, he’d had the assumption for a while. It all added up. The weight loss, the weirdly specific grocery lists, the refusing family meals. All clear cut signs of disordered eating.
Wilbur was getting worse now though, and nobody knew what to do. It went downhill fast after the day he’d watched wil have that panic attack. The day kristen made brownies for the two of them.
At 3am, while tubbo was hiding away in the upstairs bathroom, cleaning himself up after a cutting session, he’d heard wilbur leave his room. It was strange, cause wil was almost never awake late, and if he’d had to use the restroom he’d probably have knocked on the door up there first. It took tubbo a little bit to clean and bandage himself, but once he was done he decided to creep down the stairs and see what wil was up to.
When he entered the kitchen, the tray of brownies was sat on the counter, and they were almost gone. Tubbo was shocked, as the tray had been almost full a few hours ago. He didn’t think it could’ve been wil, wilbur never ate, especially not at this time. He had some kind of weird strict routine he always stuck to.
He didn’t see anyone there, but he noticed that the bathroom light was on. He stayed quiet, not wanting to wake anyone, and he walked over to the bathroom door, putting his ear up against it. At first he heard nothing, just the sound of the bathroom fan, until he began to hear a loud gagging sound. He stood there listening, as wilbur puked his guts out. A while ago, tubbo might’ve assumed he was just sick, but he knew what this was now.
He’d only read about people making themselves throw up a few times, but usually skipped over it since that wasn’t the disorder wilbur had. Well, not at the time. But he knew about it, and he was immediately sure that this was what wilbur was doing.
The next morning, wilbur walked into the kitchen with bruised knuckles and puffy cheeks. Tubbo didn’t say anything to phil, and he didn’t confront his brother about what he’d heard. He wanted to, but he felt this compulsion to stay quiet. Wilbur hadn’t told phil about tubbo’s bad habits, so it felt wrong to throw his brother under the bus like that, even if it was what would be best for him.

Over the next couple of weeks, as wilbur grew sicker, tubbo spent a lot of his time researching bulimia. He did extensive amounts of research, learning everything he could about it. He’d told himself it was because he wanted to help wil, but he’d developed some sort of weird hyperfixation. He watched documentaries, read articles, and everything he could find. He knew it was a bit of a strange thing to be obsessed with, but he couldn’t really help it.

He noticed himself becoming a bit more aware of his body. Not necessarily insecure, but aware.

“Tommy, do you think i need to lose weight?” he asked his friend one day, genuinely curious on what his answer would be. The two were hanging out after school, working on a project.
“Uh, what?” tommy questioned, chuckling. He wrote down a few notes from the article he was reading.
“You know, like would i look better if i lost a bit of weight?” he asked again. Tommy looked up from his work, giving tubbo strange eyes.
“I don’t really care what you look like, tubs.” he shrugged. Tubbo groaned, frustrated that his friend wouldn’t give him an answer.
“Ok but from like an outside perspective, do you-” tommy cut him off this time.
“No man. I don’t think you need to lose weight, you look fine.” he assured tubbo, rolling his eyes. “Why are you even asking?”
“Just thinking.” he replied, moving on. He noticed tommy’s frustration, so he shrugged it off and the two continued their work.

Soon, tubbo’s concern for wilbur’s slim figure had started to turn to jealousy. While he was never fat, he’d always been a bit bigger than his older brother, which he’d never seen as a bad thing before. In fact, tubbo saw nothing wrong with being fat, bodies were just bodies. But he couldn’t help but compare himself. Wilbur was always more popular than tubbo when they were young. Well, at least he was before their mom passed. When wil was a teenager, he’d have friends over all the time. He’d stay out late, go to parties, bring girls home. Tubbo never had that. It was always just him and tommy, and more recently their new friend ranboo. He was never the ‘cool’ one.
He often thought it was because he was a bit weirder than wilbur, more of a nerd. Wilbur was playing guitar when he was seventeen, while tubbo was still playing minecraft.
But now, he’d begun to think that maybe the reason he was less popular than wil, was because of his weight. He couldn’t shake the thought.
Once he got home from tommy’s, he walked straight to the bathroom. He hurried over to the mirror, lifting his shirt off over his head. He stared at his body. At the scars that riddled his arms and hips. He observed every part of himself, noticing things he hadn’t before. He felt ashamed.

Distracted by his reflection, he didn’t hear phil enter the room until he heard a pretty audible gasp come from beside him.
“Shit!” tubbo yelled, jumping. Phil had come out of nowhere, and when tubbo turned to him his stomach dropped. Phil was staring down, tracing the scars on his son’s body, as well as his freshly bandaged left arm. Tubbo quickly scrambled to put his shirt back on, as phil just stood there.
“Toby…” he started, frozen. He didn’t sound angry, in fact he sounded completely emotionless, like he didn’t believe what he was seeing.
Phil had found out about tubbo’s self harm pretty soon after it had started, but at the time tubbo had promised him that he’d stopped, and phil was under the impression that he was telling the truth. So tubbo could imagine his surprise when he saw the hundreds of new and deeper scars. Still, he went into defense mode.
“Do you fucking knock?” he asked, pulling his long sleeved t-shirt back over his head. “Jesus dude.”
“The door was unlocked. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” phil responded, slowly. He was now looking up at tubbo with a disappointed expression.
“Yeah well clearly someone is.” tubbo said angrily. He wouldn’t look phil in the eyes.
“Son, come on, let’s go talk. Please.” phil insisted, his voice cracking. Tubbo’s expression softened, but his tone stayed the same.
“We don’t need to ‘talk’, it’s not a big deal.” the boy said flatly. “Can you just leave me be?”
“Not a big deal?!” phil repeated, raising his voice. He sounded frustrated now, and tubbo’s eyes widened. Phil didn’t get angry often, especially after losing lily. “Look at you! How can you tell me that’s not a big deal?”
“It’s my body, i can do what i want.” tubbo responded sternly.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” phil asked, his voice still raised. “Why would you ever want to do that?”
Tubbo felt anger start to build inside of him. How could phil not understand what was wrong? Why he’d want this? He was angry at phil for not understanding. Angry that he had the audacity to ask such an obvious question. And he let his anger get the best of him.
“So now you’re pissed at me?!” he asked, walking closer to phil now.
‘Shut up.’ he thought to himself.
“Sorry i’m so fucked in the head dad!”
‘Shut up toby, he’s just trying to help you.’ his thoughts and the words leaving his lips weren’t adding up. He wasn’t in control of what he was saying. It just came out.
“You know, maybe if you hadn’t crashed the fucking car then none-”
Tubbo covered his mouth with his hands. He didn’t know he was gonna say it until the words had already left his mouth. He didn’t blame phil for what happened in the slightest. He knew it wasn’t phil’s fault that the car crashed. It was just a terrible accident. But now, phil thought that his son blamed him for the worst thing that had ever happened in all of their lives, and the look on his face made tubbo want to disappear.
“Dad- i didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry i-” he said frantically, trying to recover from that. Phil just stood there, staring back at him.

“I don’t know how to help you boys anymore.” phil spoke, emotionless. He turned around to leave the bathroom.
“I miss you, toby.” he added, before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
Tubbo felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, and as fucked up as it is, the only thing he wanted to do was hurt himself.

Tubbo’s self harm had started only a couple weeks after the accident.
When he heard the news about his mom, it was like he had been switched off, and all that was left was his body, wandering around on autopilot.
He didn’t feel real. Like his thoughts weren’t his own. Like he was floating above himself, watching his life as it was some kind of shitty movie. He hated it. He wanted to cry, and scream, and break everything he came in contact with, but the emotion wasn’t there. He was just numb.
So, he found something to connect him to his body. Pain. if he couldn’t feel anything emotionally, he’d make himself feel it physically.
One night, after everyone had gone to sleep, he walked to the upstairs bathroom and quickly searched for the pack of extra razor blades phil always kept there. He found them in the bottom drawer, and gently opened the package, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.
The first few times, it was only a few carefully placed scratches, but slowly he started to feel the need go deeper. As if what he was doing wasn’t enough to satisfy him. It became an addiction, and a bad one at that, becoming his go to coping mechanism whenever things were too much, which happened to be every fucking day.
Tubbo’s mind had become a dark place. A place even he himself was afraid of. He spent most days lying in bed, just staring at his wall, thinking.
He thought about that day a lot. About what it felt like to pull into that hospital parking lot. The almost painful anxiety in his chest. To walk in and see his dad, sobbing so hard that he thought his lungs might give out. Everyone in that hospital heard phil cry that day, and tubbo never forgot it. He could never get the sound of it out of his mind.
He’d think about her funeral, seeing her for the last time, how cold her body felt when he grabbed her hand to say goodbye.
He remembered the song they played. The one that plays while everyone makes their long heartfelt speeches about how tragic of a loss it was. It was the same song that played at phil and lily’s wedding. Tubbo used to find it so comforting, but now when he heard it he felt a cold run through his body, down to the bone. He hated it.
Those two days replayed in his head, over and over. Even on days he was having fun with tommy or excited for a new show to come out, everything he did came with an undertone of sadness.

Over time, he started self harming a bit less often, rather than every day. It was now maybe once or twice a week, and it was never usually that bad. But after seeing the look on his dad’s face, he wanted to make himself suffer.

(content warning : graphic description of self harm, skip to the next paragraph if u need to! Seriously, stay safe friends <3)

He frantically searched for the blade he’d hidden, taped to the top of the bottom drawer beneath the sink, and he found it quickly. He pulled it out of its hiding spot and let himself fall to the floor, breaking into quiet sobs. Through cloudy eyes, he sliced the metal into his skin, cutting into the same spot over and over, leaving a large open wound on his thigh. Hands shaking, he did the same again, and again. Making about three more until he began to feel lightheaded. He wiped the tears from his now closed eyes, and took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen return to his body. He let himself breathe and calm down for a moment before finally looking down at his legs to see the damage he’d done. Four large cuts stared back at him, each almost two centimeters wide. He watched as the blood dripped down the sides of his mangled leg, and the regret started to sink in.

(ok graphic scene over now)

Tubbo always felt regret after harming, and it was even worse in times like this when he’d lost control and gone too far. The regret was usually short lived though, and never enough to make him stop. But this time, it was worse than it had ever been, and he felt guilt start to creep into him. His father had just expressed how worried he was for him, and his first reaction was to do the one thing he was worried about. He felt unfamiliar with himself.
He sighed, and slid himself over to the cabinet beneath the sink, still sitting on the floor, and pulled out the first aid kit. Wounds like this most definitely needed medical attention, but tubbo never got help, like an idiot.
He cleaned and covered himself up the best he could, and finally stood up from the floor, limping out of the bathroom and up to his room, slowly. Lucky for him, phil wasn’t around.
He decided then that he was going to try to stop. He didn’t want to keep doing this to himself, and more importantly he didn’t want to hurt his family. So after a bit of debating, as anyone with a two year long addiction would do before choosing recovery, he threw away his hidden blades and started trying.
He expected this to make him feel good, but admittedly it only made him feel shittier. Yes, he was glad that he’d be stopping his shitty habit, but he had lost his coping mechanism. Which, whether it was good or bad, was quite helpful in terms of not being in a terrible mindset ninety eight percent of the time.
He knew he needed to stick to it though, and he was slightly proud of himself for it.

Chapter Text

(ok there’s a few bits at school in this chapter but i have no idea how the fuck british people school works and i literally dropped out of american highschool so please forgive me tea drinkers. all hail the queen or whatever)

Tubbo’s idea to get clean was going well, although it had still only been a few days, but he’d resisted enough urges that he figured he was allowed to feel good about himself for it.
One of the main things keeping him motivated was the terrible pain in his leg. He could barely walk, despite the over the counter pain meds he’d take twice a day. He’d done worse than this before, but never on his legs, so he didn’t have to move them around as much. It was some of the worst pain he’d ever felt.
Wilbur had most definitely noticed, which didn’t come as a surprise to tubbo at all. Wilbur knew when he self harmed before he was limping around like an idiot, so he had figured he’d catch on pretty quick.
He brought it up while driving tubbo to school one morning, which he still did everyday despite recently turning into a walking skeleton. Tubbo had told him multiple times he was willing to take the bus, but wil insisted on driving him.

“Is your leg alright?” wilbur asked abruptly, as they were only a few minutes from the school. Tubbo sighed and thought ‘here we go again.’
“It’s fine.” he nodded, avoiding eye contact. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. He had been taking good care of it, and the wounds showed no signs of infection, so he was almost telling the truth.
“Must be bad this time if you can’t even walk right.” wilbur continued, his eyes not leaving the road. Tubbo hated how wilbur always thought he was right about everything, and he hated even more that wilbur actually was always right about everything.
“It’s nothing i haven’t done before. I’ll be fine.” he assured wil, still intentionally staring away from the older boy. It was silent for a moment, until they pulled into the school parking lot.
“I really think you should stop hurting yourself, tubbo.” wil said, parking his car. He finally turned to face the younger boy, who continued to do the opposite. “It’s not worth it.”
“Neither is starving yourself.” tubbo said with a shrug after a moment of silence. He finally turned to wil, who had a shocked expression on his face.
“Sorry..” tubbo said softly. “I’ll see you at three.”
Wil nodded, and gave tubbo a soft smile, before he closed the car door and walked into the school building.

School was probably tubbo’s least favorite thing, like, ever. Not for any typical reason, he was never bullied, and he got pretty decent grades. He just hated being around so many people his age for that long. He didn’t feel like he was on the same level as them. They all saw the world entirely differently than he did, and he had no idea how to connect with them, so he stuck with the couple of friends he had and avoided everyone else like they had the plague.

After suffering through half the day, he was relieved to see tommy and ranboo standing and waiting for him in the cafeteria, lunch trays already in hand. He slowly walked over to them, his leg practically throbbing with pain by this point in the day. Barely being able to walk doesn’t mix well with college.

“Woah, what happened to your leg, man?” ranboo asked once tubbo finally reached his two friends. Ranboo had just recently moved to the uk from california about six months earlier when he started going to school with tommy and tubbo. The three of them had the same interests and senses of humor, so they got along pretty quickly. Ranboo was just a nickname, but he absolutely hated being called his real name, so everyone just kind of stuck with that.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I slipped in the shower yesterday and fucked up my knee pretty badly.” tubbo lied, moving to sit down at the empty lunch table behind them.
“Yikes, you should try not slipping next time.” tommy joked, taking a seat beside him, followed by ranboo.
This was tubbo’s favorite part of most days. Getting to hang out and be semi-normal with his friends. They never really talked about anything serious, unless it was prompted, so it was a nice way to escape from the bad stuff.
Tubbo hadn’t told ranboo about his self harm. Tommy knew, having accidentally walked in on tubbo one day the previous year, but tubbo had asked him not to bring it up to ranboo. He said he wanted to seem at least a little normal to his new friend, rather than exposing himself as some kind of screw up.

“So, did you guys finish that project for photo? It’s due today.” ranboo asked, taking a bite of his pizza. Tubbo turned to tommy, who was supposed to finish putting everything together the night before. Tommy froze.
“Today?” he asked, panicked. “Shit, i thought it wasn’t until tomorrow.”
“Dude, I literally told you to finish it last night.” tubbo reminded him, rolling his eyes, and chuckling a bit. It wasn’t that big of a deal, they had almost finished it anyway, but it did mean their grade was going to be a bit worse.
Tommy apologized, and they all brushed it off.
The three of them chatted for the rest of lunch, and then continued on with the rest of their school day.
Tubbo didn’t eat his food, only a few bites of his apple. He wasn’t feeling hungry at all since trying to stay clean. He didn’t expect it to affect him like that, but when you do something for so long, stopping sort of messes up your entire life for a bit.

At 2:54, he walked out of the school building to see wilbur’s car parked right out front. Wil was smiling kindly, and looked excited about something. Tubbo, confused, said goodbye to tommy and ranboo before hurrying over to the car.
“Hey.” he said, opening the door and climbing in. wil grabbed his bag from him and tossed it into the back seat.
“How was your day?” wil asked, pulling the car out of it’s parking spot.
“It was alright.” tubbo shrugged. “Just a day i guess.”
Wil nodded, and drove out of the parking lot, turning a different way this time than he usually did. Tubbo turned to him, confused.
“Uh, where are we going?” he asked, his eyes briefly lingering on wilbur’s bruised knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
The smile on the older brother’s face grew bigger.
“We, my friend, are going on a little road trip,” he replied happily. “And by little i mean we’re only going like forty five minutes away, but a road trip nonetheless.”
Tubbo gave him a skeptical look. He hadn’t seen wilbur this energetic in weeks, so it was a bit of a shock.
“You still haven’t specified where.” tubbo pointed out, curiously. Wilbur rolled his eyes.
“You will see when we get there.” he insisted, continuing down the road.

The two drove for a while in silence. Tubbo was still pretty hesitant towards wil at first, since seeing him like this was such an unfamiliar thing now. But by about halfway through their drive, wil was blasting music and the two were singing along loudly, acting like idiots.
Wilbur pulled the car into an empty lot, and tubbo laughed and watched as he took his hands off the wheel to play air guitar along with the song, nodding his head with the beat.
The song ended, and the two climbed out of the car.
“So… where the hell are we?” tubbo asked, looking around. They were parked in an empty dirt parking lot, surrounded by trees. There was a trail leading off into the woods on the opposite side from them.
“Come on.” wilbur spoke. He grabbed an old tan bag from the back seat and began walking towards the path, waving for tubbo to follow him. Tubbo raised an eyebrow and gestured to his leg.
“Did you seriously take me on a hike?” he questioned, standing still.
Wilbur looked at tubbo's leg and rolled his eyes.
“It’s like a five minute walk, suck it up.” he responded, lightheartedly. Tubbo sighed and reluctantly followed behind, limping slowly. Wil seemed to notice how far he was ahead of the boy, because he slowed down and waited for tubbo to catch up.

The two walked for only a few moments, as wilbur had promised, until they reached a clearing a bit of a ways down the path. It was an open circle of land in the middle of the woods, lined perfectly by the tall trees. The grass was tall and untouched, and there was an old bench that sat comfortably next to a small patch of yellow flowers. They were lilies.
It was peaceful and quiet, the only sounds being the distant chirps of birds and the low hum of the bugs that inhabited the forest.
Tubbo traced the area with his eyes, amazed at how beautiful it was. Wilbur stood beside him proudly, and threw his arms out in front of himself as if he was showing the place off.
“It’s perfect, right?” the taller asked, turning to face tubbo. Tubbo looked up at him, and flashed a soft smile.
“It is.” he nodded. “How’d you even find this place?”
Wilbur’s expression softened, his tired eyes growing a bit sad.
“It was uh..” he started, pausing for a moment. “It was mom and i’s spot. We used to come here every once in a while and just talk, play guitar, that kind of stuff. It was a sort of escape i guess.”
Tubbo’s chest got a bit heavier, and he simply nodded again.
“And it still is!” wil continued, the tone in his voice cheerful once again. “Only now it can be our spot, right bud?”
“sure, ok.” the younger shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say, and was still confused on why he had even decided to take him here in the first place. If wil wasn’t so scrawny, he might’ve been afraid the dude was taking him out here to kill him.
Wilbur made his way over to the small old bench, sitting down and placing his bag onto the ground beside him. He patted on the spot next to him, inviting tubbo to sit with him. He took the offer, excited to get off his feet, and sat down beside his brother.
“So… what do we do now?” tubbo asked, genuinely curious.
“I figured we could talk.” wilbur replied, in a comforting tone. “I feel like we haven’t done that enough since mom.”
Tubbo stayed silent, feeling tears sting at his eyes at the thought of his mom. At the thought of everything, really. He did want to talk to wil, it’d been a while since he’d sat down and genuinely talked to anyone, but he didn’t know if he was in the place to have some deep conversation right now.
“Or, if you don’t wanna talk, we can just sit for a while.” wilbur continued, smiling gently. He reached over to his bag and started rummaging through it, pulling out two glass bottles. “I brought these.”
Tubbo looked down to see a bottle of beer in wil’s hand. He looked up at him, confused. Wil stayed silent, and simply raised his eyebrows and smirked, as if telling tubbo to take it.
“You’re turning eighteen in a few months anyway.” he shrugged, still smirking. Tubbo rolled his eyes, smiling and taking the drink. The two sat in silence for a bit, drinking their beers and taking in the nature around them. It was the most calming place tubbo had ever been, and it was nice to just sit in the company of someone else for a while.
“So, you wanted to talk?” tubbo finally asked, breaking the silence. He’d started to feel calm enough to have a conversation, and again, he did want to talk.
“I’m willing if you’re willing.” wilbur agreed, taking another sip of his drink. “After what you said this morning… i don’t know, i realized i’ve been distant. I think we both have.”
Tubbo nodded, and looked down at the ground, twirling the glass bottle around in his hand. He sighed, and thought about what to say.
“Dad’s really worried about you.” he shared, softly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I know.” wilbur admitted, sighing as well, and leaning back into the bench. “He’s worried about you, too.”
“Why do you do it?” tubbo asked, vaguely. “I mean why starve yourself, or whatever.”
Wilbur was quiet for a moment, probably trying to think of an answer.
“It helped, at first.” he finally responded. “Helped me feel… in control of my life. Like i was the one in the driver's seat. Now i feel more out of control than i ever did before i started.”
It was quiet again, and this time a sort of awkward silence fell over them. Tubbo didn’t know how to respond to that. He resonated with what his brother had said, but he had no idea how to convey that without sounding like an idiot.
“Will you be ok?” was all he could muster up. He was scared for wil, especially after hearing what he’d said.
“I don’t know.” wilbur admitted, laughing it off. “Part of me does want to get better, and part of me…”
Wil stopped there, and tubbo understood what that meant. He decided to shift the conversation onto himself for a bit.

“I’m three days clean.” he said, looking back up at wil and smiling. The older’s face lit up.
“That’s incredible man!” he yelled excitedly, holding his beer bottle up towards tubbo’s, as if to ask for a toast. The two clinked their drinks together and sipped them. “I’m really proud of you kid. That’s great, really.”
“Thanks.” tubbo spoke happily, still smiling.
“Wil?” he spoke again after a moment. “Can you not die.. Please? Cause that would really suck.”
Wilbur sighed, wrapping his arm around the younger’s back.
“I’m not going anywhere.” he promised.

Chapter Text

Wilbur couldn’t stop thinking about his conversations with tubbo and phil. How worried they were. He knew people were concerned, but it was different to see it first hand. To hear the sadness in their voices when they expressed how scared they were for him.
Over the next few days, as he continued his destructive routine, he noticed that it felt different now. Instead of being his usual coping mechanism, he felt guilty every time he chose not to eat something, or threw up his lunch. He’d felt guilt about the subject before, but not like this. This was almost unbearable. As if he was seeing their faces, watching him destroy himself at all times.
Still, he couldn’t stop. He thought about it, and even tried to push himself a bit, but with that only came more panic.
The morning after he and tubbo went out to the woods, he decided to eat breakfast. It was sort of a spur of the moment thing he’d decided just before going downstairs, but it was a pretty huge deal since he hadn’t eaten breakfast in well over a year.
Tubbo was sitting at the kitchen island, and surprisingly wasn’t eating anything himself like he usually would be. This almost made wilbur change his mind, as it was always harder to eat if he was the only one eating. But regardless, he took a breath, pulled out a bowl and poured himself some cereal. He sat down beside tubbo, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Wil gave him a smile, and started eating.
Tubbo didn’t say anything about it, which wil appreciated. He hated when people commented on his food. The two chatted normally about their plans for the day, as wil continued to shakily lift his spoon to his mouth. Everything part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, but he pushed through.
All was well at first. He finished almost all of his food, and quickly washed his bowl before the two left to bring tubbo to school.
It was after tubbo got out of the car and headed into the building, that the panic finally started to grow in his chest. He pulled the car out of the parking lot, beginning his way home, trying not to fall into a full blown panic attack. His hands began shaking, and he started to feel once again like he couldn’t breathe. He regretted everything. How many calories were in that bowl of cereal? Did he eat too much? Did tubbo think he ate too much?
His head filled with irrational thoughts, and after about five minutes, he had no choice but to pull over. He pulled into an office building parking lot, and let himself fall into his panic.
It was the same as always. The regret, the struggle to breathe, the feeling like he was going to die.
His way of fixing it was the same too. He reached into the back seat, grabbing an old grocery bag. He hesitated for a moment, feeling tears fall down his cheeks, and then he proceeded to make himself throw up. It took a bit to get it all up, as it had already been about twenty minutes since they’d left the house, but he managed.
He wrapped the bag up and placed it in the back again, to throw away when he got home.
He felt ashamed, and gross, but he could breathe again.
He was angry with himself.
It was always the same, he was stuck.

It gets worse before it gets better, and he was just too tired to let it get worse. He couldn’t do it.
He made the decision then, that he needed to do something different. Something that would stop his family being so worried about him, but allow him to continue down his path.
He was exhausted, so he decided to drive home and make a plan there.

Nobody else was home, so the house was quiet, which was nice because he felt like shit. He’d started getting headaches after purging the last few times, and that was happening now.
He made his way to his room, and let himself fall into his bed, giving himself a few minutes of peace.

Through the silence, came a notification sound from his phone.
‘You have memories from three years ago, today.’
He opened his phone and scrolled through the old photos. They were party photos, filled with neon lights and drunk students. You could practically smell the cheap vodka and hear the blaring music just looking at them.
Wil was in most of the photos, laughing and partying amongst everyone. He remembered that day. It was a birthday party for an old friend of his, well, more of an acquaintance he’d known from class.
He remembered being nervous to go at first, as he hadn’t really gone to a big party like that before, but once he was there drinking and dancing it was as if everything else kind of disappeared. The shitty parts of life faded into the background noise.
Wilbur missed university, and he missed the few friend’s he had there, but there was no way he could go back now. He could barely drag himself out of his bed most days, nevermind actually put in the brain power to learn anything.
He felt a twinge of sadness in his chest as he scrolled through photo after photo, forced to grieve the person that he used to be. He barely recognized that guy anymore. He was happy, and healthy, and actually had a future ahead of him. Now, wil was sure that this was his life forever. That he was stuck in this illness until it killed him.

Suddenly, a thought disrupted his wave of self pity, as if trying to distract him from being upset, and of course it was about starving himself.
“I could move out.” he said out loud to himself. When he lived alone, he ate whatever he wanted, which was usually takeout or whatever he could make in the microwave, and nobody even knew. Nobody was there to tell him whether he should or shouldn’t eat something, or to analyze everything he did, he had complete control. It always came back to control.
He’d only moved back home to help tubbo and phil. He didn’t want them to be alone while what happened was so fresh. But now tubbo was about to be an adult, and phil had kristen, so there really wasn’t any reason he needed to be there. If he lived alone, he could continue not to eat, and tell phil and tubbo he was doing better. He wouldn’t have to worry them anymore.

Over the next few days, he began searching for apartments. He had a ton of money in his savings, since the only thing he really had to pay for the last couple of years was his car and sometimes he’d help with the bills. Plus, he figured there were tons of jobs he could do from home.
He waited to tell anyone until he had found what he thought to be the perfect place. It wasn’t anything fancy. A one bedroom in a large apartment building only fifteen minutes from home, and it was on the third floor, so he’d have a good amount of stairs to walk up, which meant more calories burned.

One night, after kristen had gone home, he decided to tell his family about his new plan. Tubbo and phil were sat in the living room watching a movie, so it was a decent time.
“I have an announcement.” he said happily, picking up the remote and pausing the tv. The two stared back at him with intrigued looks on their faces. Wil sat down on the sofa across from them.
“So, i guess i’ll just say it.” he continued, taking a breath. “I’m moving out.”
He expected them to at least look happy for him. He knew they’d probably be a little sad for him to go, but he figured they’d be glad he was making good decisions for himself. However, that was quite the opposite. Concern grew across the two’s expressions.
“Son, are you sure you’re ready to live on your own again?” phil asked, sitting up. “I mean, you’re not exactly in the best place right now.”
“What do you mean?” wilbur asked, defensively. “I’m in a great place, dad. I’m finally working on myself.”
“That’s great, and i’m proud of you. I just think it might be better for you to stay here a bit longer.” phil explained. “Maybe we can make a plan together and you can start thinking about moving in a few months.”
“Why the sudden urge to move out anyways?” tubbo questioned, trying to contribute to the conversation. Wilbur paused to think for a moment.
“I just want my life back.” he responded, sternly, as if he was trying to convince even himself that it was true. The reality was that he didn’t want his old life back. He didn’t want to be the old him. He had given up.
Phil sighed, and nodded in defeat. He tried less and less each time they had one of these conversations, and wilbur could tell.
“Ok, well if that’s what you think is best for you, then i’m happy for you.” he said with a hesitant smile, placing his hand on top of wil’s. “Where are you thinking of going?”
“Oh, i’ve already found a place.” wil explained excitedly. “I was just waiting to tell you guys until i was sure i could do it.”
He pulled out his phone and showed phil the apartment, and the two talked and made plans for a while. Tubbo stayed silent, a sad look on his face, and simply continued the movie while the two adults discussed in the background.

Chapter Text

Silence. That was what filled the majority of wilbur’s time since moving away from home, and he’d grown more familiar with the chipped paint of the wall beside his bed than his own reflection. He knew moving out meant living alone, but he didn’t grasp just how unbelievably lonely it would feel. Most days were the same, spent lying in bed listening to the shaky buzzing of his ceiling fan, only getting up enough times a day to keep himself alive, and sometimes not even that. His bones ached, his eyes stung, he felt like he was rotting from the inside out.
It had only been a month, and he was already feeling himself disappear. He missed his family. He wanted to go home, but some sick, truly ill part of his mind was happy that he could get away without eating for days. That he could purge and nobody would hear. That he could be completely and utterly destructive and there was nothing left to stop him.
His mind was blank, his thoughts were still, he had truly become a shell of a person. It felt as though he was sitting outside of his body, watching as birds slowly picked away at his flesh, and he could do nothing but watch it happen.
Phil called at least two times a day, and wilbur answered maybe once every few. It took a lot out of him pretending to be doing better when in reality it had gotten so bad he wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. Phil offered to come over all the time, invited wil home for dinner, even showed up at his door a few times, but wilbur always made a new excuse. He hadn’t seen him since the day he moved. Tubbo hadn’t said a word to wil since that day, and part of him was grateful for it. As exhausting as trying to fake being ok for phil was, trying to do the same with tubbo would be close to impossible. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to him anymore.
Every day was darker and darker, his body becoming weaker and weaker, and for one of the only times in his life, he wanted to die. He was so tired, and so scared, and he just wanted to let go.
It was about ten at night, thirty five days after he’d moved out, and he couldn’t shut his thoughts off. It was one of the worst dark thought nights he’d had in a while, and they just kept getting worse. Telling him his mother would hate who he’s become, that tubbo never wants to see him again, that nothing will ever be better. That everyone would be better off if he wasn’t here anymore.
As laid in his bed still awake, unable to shut his eyes, he decided to give phil a call.
Hesitantly, and with shaky, aching hands, he pulled out his phone and clicked on phil’s contact, pressing the call button. He thought maybe hearing phil’s voice would help, and if it didn’t, he thought that If anything, he owed his father a goodbye.
After about four rings, he became anxious that he wasn’t going to pick up. He closed his eyes, slowly whispering to himself ‘please answer.’
Finally, on the sixth ring, he heard his dad’s voice.
“Hello?” he spoke, sleepily. Wilbur could tell he had woken him up.
“Oh, i’m sorry i didn’t mean to wake you.” the boy apologized, his throat so hoarse it hurt to even speak.
“No no no, i’m glad you did.” phil assured, a calm tone in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah i’m fine i just-” wil caught himself beginning to lie, as if he had some automatic programmed response. He stopped, and thought for a moment. His dark thoughts raced faster, and images began to appear in his mind. His mother’s cold, still body. Tubbo hurting himself, crying on the bathroom floor. Blood. So much blood. Whatever was left of his conscious thoughts, made the decision that lying to phil wasn’t going to work this time. “No, it’s not. Nothing is alright. I can’t do this anymore, I can't feel this.”
“What’s going on, mate?” phil continued, concern growing quickly in his tone. Wil could hear sheets rustling as he assumed phil was sitting up.
“It doesn’t get better, dad.” wil responded, letting out a sigh. His lip began to quiver and he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “There’s only dark, all i see is dark all the time. I’m so tired.”
The words flowed out of his mouth like blood from a wound.
More images plastered themselves to his brain. Phil crying over lilly’s lifeless body. The pain and fear in tubbo’s eyes when he found out she was gone.
“That’s not true. That is not true, wil, it does get better. Listen to me, take a breath.” phil started to speak but wilbur interrupted him.
“Not for me. There's nothing left for me, dad. It’s too dark.” he argued, tears finally flowing down his cheeks. His chest hurt, his lungs felt like they would give out, and his head pounded as his thoughts continued.
“I’m on my way over, ok? I’ll be there in ten minutes just wait for me.” Phil said in a rushed voice, wilbur could hear him stand up and hurry out his bedroom door, then down the stairs. “Please wait for me, wilbur.”
“I wanna see mum again. I think she wants to see me too.” wilbur spoke once more before finally ending the call. He dropped his phone beside him and slowly lifted himself out of bed, his body aching with every movement. He hurried down the hallway, feeling lightheaded from just the few steps he’d taken. He reached the kitchen, and hurried to the first cabinet on the left, where he kept his medication, then to the second cabinet, where he kept his vodka. Painfully, he sat himself down on the cold tile floor, and one by one, he downed each pill in the bottle, before throwing it off to the side. As he attempted to finish off what was left in his bottle of vodka, his mind drifted. He thought about his mother. About the way her eyes scrunched up when she laughed, just like tubbo’s. The way her hands felt running through his hair, telling him it would all be okay. The smell of her favorite shampoo, and how excited she’d get when they finally had it in stock at the first store she went to that day. He missed her so much that he wanted to reach into his chest and rip out his own heart so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. His skin ached at the thought of never hearing her laugh again. Living any more days on this earth without the warmth of her arms wrapped around him. He wanted to feel safe again. He wanted to breathe again. He wanted her back so bad that it was finally killing him.
Slowly, his eyes grew heavier, and his thoughts grew slower, as he began to lose consciousness. As his eyes closed, he could see her staring down at him, smiling kindly the way she always did. The pain began to fade, and he was ready to leap into her arms and finally be free from his body, when he suddenly felt a cold hand on his cheek.
“Mom?” he spoke, wearily. His eyes began to open once more, and a blurry image of phil was knelt down in front of him.

“-an you hear me? I’m right here okay you’re okay.” his father spoke, one hand gripping the boy's face, holding his head up, and the other holding his phone to his ear.
“What do i do? Can i do something?” phil asked frantically. Wilbur continued to slip in and out of consciousness, the only thing he could feel being a burning in his chest and phil’s ice cold hands. He wondered whether phil’s hands were cold or his face was hot.
“Wil, i need you to throw up ok?” he heard phil ask through the ringing in his ears.
‘Is this really what dying feels like?’ He thought.
Phil placed his hands on wilbur’s back, and adjusted the boy’s body to sit up straighter.
“Come on, don’t do this to me son, please.”
Wilbur fell unconscious again, and woke once more to the feeling of himself vomiting. He stared at the floor, covered in what looked like water and scattered, half dissolved pills.
“Good, good job. Come here, we’re okay.” phil comforted him. He placed his phone on the floor beside him and moved behind wilbur, tightly wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his head gently. Wilbur began to sob weakly, gripping phil’s shirt with all the strength he had. He let himself fall into his father’s chest, his emaciated body almost completely limp.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” phil spoke. “Everything is going to be just fine. We’re gonna be okay. Your dad is right here.”
“I’m sorry.” was all wil could choke out through his sobs, and saying it only made him sob more.
“I know, i know, son. My beautiful boy. It’s time to get better now, okay?”

Chapter Text

Walking through those hospital doors made tubbo feel physically sick. The last time he was in this building was the last day he saw his mother. The memory of phil’s sobs sat right at the front of his mind as they walked into that all too familiar waiting room. His body was filled with dread that he’d hear those sobs again today. He was convinced his brother was dead.
Kristen must’ve noticed his shaking hands because she stopped and stood in front of them, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey.” kristen spoke, her voice gentle and kind. “Your dad said on the phone that wilbur was okay, remember? There’s nothing to worry about yet. breathe.”
Tubbo nodded and smiled gently. Hearing those words did make him feel a bit calmer, even if he didn’t believe them.
Kristen had woken tubbo up immediately after getting the call from phil about what happened, and they rushed to the hospital. She had said on the drive there that phil didn’t want her to wake tubbo, but that she thought it was best to let him make the choice to go or not, which tubbo was incredibly grateful for. Even if he never wanted to be in this building again, he had to know that wil was going to be okay.
As they turned the corner towards the patient wing, they saw phil standing to greet them. His eyes were red and puffy, his hands shaking slightly, his shirt soaked with what looked to be tears, and yet a smile still spread across his face the moment he saw them.
Kristen hurried to hug phil, but tubbo stood still, petrified. He was sure wil was dead. He knew it. Already, images of his brother’s funeral started to flash through his mind, his freezing cold body in a casket, the thought of his gravestone right beside his mother’s. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t breathe.
Phil rushed over to tubbo, who was frozen in panic, quietly gasping for air. He was so scared.
“He’s okay.” were the first words that left his mouth as he pulled tubbo into a hug, which were exactly the words tubbo needed him to say. “I promise he’s gonna be okay. Breathe with me, alright?”
Tubbo wrapped his arms around phil, hugging him back, and slowly his breaths became calmer and calmer. The two stood there for a long time, just holding each other. Even in a place that felt so unsettling, this was the safest tubbo had felt in a long time.
“Come on, let’s sit.” phil finally spoke after a while, motioning for kristen to come as well. They made their way to the waiting room chairs and the three of them sat down together. Tubbo laid his head on phil’s shoulder and they waited. That's all there is to do in a hospital. Wait for good news, and dread the bad news. The room was silent other than the sound of distant sniffles from patient’s loved ones.
“So, what happened?” tubbo finally asked after about twenty minutes of saying nothing. He lifted his head up and turned to face phil. “I mean, i know he tried to… but what did he say? Do you know why?”
Phil sighed and stared blankly for a moment, as if he himself didn’t know the answer.
“I think it all just got too much for him.” the older responded, sounding like he might cry. “He hit his breaking point. My hope is that it’s uphill from here though.”
Tubbo nodded, and didn’t ask any more questions after that. He hated seeing his father in so much pain, and all he could think about was the last time he was here. Watching his dad cry so hard he couldn’t move. Phil had become stronger over the years, but tubbo could see in his eyes how scared he was for wilbur. He wondered if his eyes looked the same.
Seeing his family in pain was the thing tubbo hated most in the world, and it had been happening nonstop for years.
He understood what wil was feeling, he’d felt the same way himself more than a few times, but it made him physically sick to think about his brother, alone, completely hopeless. He wondered where they’d both be if their mother were still there. The people they’d be. It had been two years of dullness. Two years of nothing but pain followed by more pain. He wondered if it was ever going to be okay again. As he sat there, his head resting on his father’s shoulder, he thought about wilbur. The real wilbur, before all of this bullshit. His happy, over protective, strong brother. Tubbo always wanted to be wil, ever since he was a little kid. He admired how carefree and laid back he seemed to be. How everyone liked him the second they met him.
Now, it felt like his brother was gone, and it felt like he himself was gone too. He wondered if they’d ever get back to who they were before losing lilly. If wilbur would ever regain his strength, and himself his innocence. They’d spent years trying to fill the void in themselves that she left behind, and he wondered if that was all there would ever be. A void they so desperately wanted to fill, but never could. He wondered if maybe wilbur wondered the same thing, if that’s why they were in this hospital right now.

“Phillip watson?” a voice spoke, interrupting tubbo’s thoughts. All three of their heads suddenly shot up, and phil got out of his chair, rushing to go speak to the woman standing by the doorway.
Tubbo tried to listen in to their conversation, but could only make out mumbles. His body grew tense with anxiety. Kristen must have noticed, as she slowly stood up and walked over to tubbo, placing her hand on his shoulder, tracing her thumb up and down to comfort him. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, and exchanged weak smiles. He could tell she was scared too.
After what felt like forever, but was more realistically only a couple minutes, phil walked back over. Tubbo tried to read his face, but couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad through the tired expression in his dad’s eyes. His chest hurt.
“He’s okay.” phil spoke, sighing in relief as if glad to even be able to say that. “He’s got to stay here for a day or two, but physically he’s gonna be fine.”
Kristen smiled and pulled phil into a hug, while tubbo calmly let the air return to his lungs once more. He still felt the anxiety in his chest, probably from being in this place he dreaded so much, but he could breathe a little better.
“They said he’s awake for now, do you want to come see him, toby?” phil asked, smiling kindly. Tubbo’s first thought was yes, of course i want to see my brother who just almost died, but the words that came out of his mouth didn’t agree.
“No, i think i’ll stay here for a bit.” he spoke, sadly. “You guys should go, though.”
Phil looked worried, but understanding, and he nodded. He told tubbo he’d be right back, then grabbed kristen’s hand and turned to walk down the hall. Kristen stopped, and turned to tubbo, who was sat with his head tilted to the floor, his hands gripping the sides of his head.
“You go, phil, i’ll stay here.” she spoke, sweetly. Tubbo looked up at the two of them, as phil nodded once more and flashed a half smile at the two of them. Phil continued out of the waiting room, and kristen sat down beside the boy, the two of them together in silence once more.
Tubbo didn’t entirely know why he said no. He did want to see him, wanted to hug him and make sure everything was going to be okay, but he felt like he couldn’t. Part of him felt scared, and part of him angry. On one end, he didn’t know if he was okay with seeing wilbur the way that he was, thin and broken lying in the same place their mother had died. On another end, wilbur had broken his promise. Back in the woods, that day after school, he asked wilbur to stay alive, and he promised that he wasn’t going anywhere. Now he was lying in the hospital after trying to take his own life. Tubbo knew that it wasn’t wil’s fault, and he understood completely, but he couldn’t help but feel angry. He felt like wil had left him behind, even if he was still here. He felt betrayed, and alone, and scared. He just couldn’t face him yet.

“Everything is going to be alright.” Kristen finally spoke, interrupting tubbo’s spiral once more.
Tubbo simply nodded, not really taking in what she was saying.
“I know you’ve heard that a million times now, but i need you to really hear it, okay?” she continued, placing her hand on tubbo’s cheek kindly, and facing him. She smiled sweetly.
“It’s going to get better.”
Tubbo felt a bit of anxiety leave his chest, and let out another breath.
“You kids have gone through more than anyone should ever go through, and you didn’t deserve a second of it, but i promise you that one day you’re gonna wake up, and you’ll be able to breathe again. You have to know that the pain doesn’t last forever, don’t let it trick you into thinking it does.”
The woman’s words felt warm, and comfortable, and tubbo’s eyes began to water. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he felt a twinge of hope that maybe she was right.
“I don’t know how much this means coming from me, and I know i’ll never be your mom, but I love you toby.” she spoke once more, running her thumb up and down the boy’s cheek. A few tears finally fell from his eyes, as tubbo nodded and leaned into kristen for a hug. She immediately wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, and rocking back and forward. Tubbo felt his shoulders relax, and for a moment, it didn’t hurt. Kristen was right, she wasn’t his mother, and she would never replace her, but he had grown to love her too, and he was glad she was here.

Chapter Text

Walking down that hallway was hell. He felt worse and worse with every step, his chest tight, and he fists tightly gripped at his sides. Phil never wanted to be back in this hospital, especially not when one of his children was the patient. The last few hours felt like a nightmare, like he was floating through this night like a ghost, watching his biggest fear unfold in front of him. But he knew he had to be strong for tubbo, and especially for wilbur.
Seeing his son on that kitchen floor was absolutely horrifying, his body frail and limp. For a moment he was sure wil was dead. He stood there for almost thirty seconds just staring at him, frozen in fear before forcing himself to make his way over to wil and to dial 999.
Everything after that was blurry. He remembered dialing the number for help, he remembered having to make wil throw up, and he remembered holding him. Just holding him. So tight that he wasn’t even sure he could ever let go. He wanted to take it all away, all the pain his son was feeling. He would’ve given all of himself to take that away.
As he slowly approached wilbur’s hospital room, his steps felt heavy. That moment on the kitchen floor replayed in his head over and over. He wondered if he would’ve just driven faster, or gotten inside quicker, if wilbur might be better off now than he was.
phil stopped for a moment, just outside the tall brown door to wilbur’s hospital room, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, as he remembered what the doctor had said. While he didn’t lie to kristen and tubbo, he didn’t tell them everything either. She said that he was okay for now, but that if he didn’t start recovering from his disorder, that it was likely he would die within the year. Hearing that made phil want to scream until his throat was raw. He couldn’t survive if he lost his son. He just couldn’t.
Out of all the emotions he’d felt over those last two years, guilt was the most prevalent. After lilly died, he just shut down. He didn’t know how to even face his sons, never mind comfort them. He spent hours every day trying to build up the courage to even ask if they were okay, but he never could. For years, he ignored that they were struggling because it made him feel just a little bit better, and when they showed signs he’d become angry with them, yell at them.
It wasn’t until he met kristen and she basically told him he was a piece of shit father, in the nicest words she could, that he finally started making an effort. Which wasn’t enough.
He was the one driving that car. He felt that he was the reason all of this was happening to them. The reason tubbo had more scars on his body than freckles now, the reason wilbur was lying half dead and alone on a kitchen floor. He felt like he failed as a father, and as a husband.
He promised his wife he would always take care of them if something were to happen to her, and yet when it did he closed himself off from them. The only things in his life that mattered, all because of guilt. He would never forgive himself for that. There was no way to take back everything he did, and even worse, everything he didn’t do.
Hesitantly, phil continued through the doorway and into the room, where wilbur laid in an all too familiar bed, an i.v stuck into his bruised, boney arm. The site of it made him want to turn and run, but of course he would never do that.
“Hey, mate.” he spoke softly, a faint smile across his face. He gently closed the door behind him and walked over to wil, pulling up a chair beside him and sitting down. Wilbur didn’t say anything yet, he just softly smiled back at him with tired, glassy eyes. Phil pushed the hair out of wil’s face, and rubbed the side of his head gently.
“How you feeling? need anything at all?” he asked, kindly. He tried his best to hide how worried he was. All he could feel was fear for his son, but wilbur didn’t need to feel scared right now, he needed to feel cared for.
“I’m okay.” wilbur assured. His voice was low and raspy, and it sounded painful to speak. He wouldn’t make eye contact with phil, just stared off to the side of him.
“I’m really sorry, dad.” he spoke again, after a few minutes of silence. He weakly lifted up one of his hands, resting it on top of phil’s, which was still gently placed on the side of his head.
Phil’s expression softened, and he sighed.
“We’re not doing that.” phil said, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”
“I’ve just put you through so much.” the boy spoke again, quietly. “I should’ve been stronger for you guys.”
Phil stared down at his son. His skin was pale, his hair brittle and falling out. He glanced down at wil’s hand on top of his. His knuckles were scabbed over and bruised, his fingers skeletal. As he looked over this sick, deteriorating version of the boy he’d raised, he wondered how despite everything that has happened to him, wilbur was still more concerned about others than himself. That had always been his biggest flaw. He couldn’t put himself first no matter what. From letting his classmates cheat off of his work as a kid, to now nearly dying and still apologizing for upsetting his father in the process.
From the moment phil held him the day he was born, to now in that same building again, he knew that above all else, wilbur was good. Sometimes too good.
“My boy.” phil spoke softly. “You have not put me through anything. Something terrible happened to you, to all of us, and all you have done is fight to survive it. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Wilbur closed his eyes, and gripped his father’s hand tighter, his lip quivering slightly. The two sat there together for a while longer, as wilbur drifted off to sleep once again.
After just staring at him for a few more moments, phil rested wilbur’s hand down on his chest, and left the room silently. As much as he wanted to stay with wil, he needed to check on tubbo as well, who he’d been neglecting a bit for a while now. It wasn’t that he loved tubbo any less than wil, he loved both of his sons more than life itself, but he never seemed to know how to talk to him. Tubbo and lilly were the closest people in the world, and she always took care of him no matter what the problem was. Phil didn’t have that kind of bond with his younger son, and since lilly’s death, he felt like he knew him less and less everyday.
When phil found out about tubbo’s self harm, he was angry with him. He didn’t understand it, and in turn didn’t know how to react, so he reacted terribly. The first time he noticed the wounds on the boy's arms, which was a few months after lilly had passed, he yelled at him. Took away his computer for a few days. Tubbo had promised to stop then, and phil ignorantly believed him. Or at least told himself that he did.
When he opened that bathroom door a few months ago, saw the scars and cuts that riddled his son’s body, he almost threw up. He felt guilty for not being able to help, he felt angry that he didn’t understand, and once again he handled it terribly. Kristen always assured phil that he was doing everything he could, but he knew that wasn’t true. He could do more, he was just scared to. He didn’t know how. He just wanted lilly to come back, to tell him what to do, to make everything okay again.
As he walked into the waiting room, he expected to see tubbo sitting anxiously, maybe even crying. He prepared himself to see his boy upset for what must’ve been the millionth time. However, when he turned the corner, he felt a wave of relief wash over his body. Tubbo and kristen were sat beside each other, and tubbo was showing her something on his phone. The two were talking, kristen laughed, and a faint smile spread across tubbo’s face.
Seeing the two of them getting along was so important to phil. He knew how much it must’ve affected tubbo when a new woman started dating his father, and he felt guilty that he didn’t ease him into it more, so seeing tubbo smile while they talk and laugh made that guilt a bit more bearable.
Knowing that both of his boys were safe and as well as they could be, Phil sighed happily and turned to head to the restroom to take a moment for himself.
He walked through the door, closing and locking it behind him, then hurried to the sink to splash some water in his face. It was about midnight now, and he was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.
He ran his hands under the water for a moment, feeling the warmth spread through his body, then leaned down and splashed it over his face. As he dried his skin with paper towels, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had deep, dark circles around his eyes, which were red and bloodshot. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was wrinkled and stained with wilbur’s tears. As he looked over himself, he felt an ache of sadness start to creep up on him. For two years, he’d watched his children slowly fade away in front of him, with no way to help them. Two years, and he hadn’t heard tubbo’s laugh, hadn’t seen wilbur smile more than a handful of times. He watched them destroy themselves in more ways than he could keep track of, and he couldn’t stop it. He never wanted to let himself feel it. Let himself feel the guilt, and the pain, and the anger. But now wilbur nearly died, and tubbo was hurting himself so bad he could barely walk some days, and it was suddenly hitting him. Quietly, the man let himself break down. Tears streamed down his face, and for just a moment, he let himself sit there in that hospital bathroom and feel the pain of those two years flow through his body, stinging all over. Then, after a minute or two, he pulled himself together, and he went back to be with his son’s.
It wasn’t allowed to be about him. Not until they were better.

Chapter Text

The next few days were blurry for wilbur. He spent most of his time sleeping, which was well needed, and the rest talking to psych doctors and spending time with phil. Phil decided to stay in the hospital while wil was there, and slept in a small chair beside his bed, covered with a thin knitted blanket. Wilbur wanted to tell him he could go home and get some real rest, but he didn’t want to be alone.
Whether it was having his dad around again or simply the new medication the hospital had put him on, he’d started to feel a bit better, and had realized now that he never actually wanted to die. His thoughts just got the best of him that night, and he didn’t see a way out. It was scary to imagine that he could be dead right now if his plan had worked, so he tried to avoid thinking about it as much as he could.
After three days in hospital, he was discharged with a drafted recovery plan and some phone numbers to eating disorder treatment centers. The doctors all recommended that he stay in hospital, but he argued that being alone is what got him there in the first place, so they agreed to let him leave. He was however still required to go in everyday to check his vitals and make sure he was making progress.
He and phil decided that it would be best for him to move back in, at least until he was healthy, as moving out was a terrible idea in the first place.
Recovering scared the shit out of him, and he had no idea how he was going to manage it, but he had decided that he needed to try. He couldn’t hurt his family the way he was aymore. He needed to be better for them, especially tubbo.
Tubbo still hadn’t spoken to wilbur at all, and he couldn’t blame him. Phil tried to convince him that tubbo was just taking a bit to process things, but wilbur knew that his brother was angry with him. He hadn’t called or texted tubbo once the entire time he was moved out, and while it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t tubbo’s either. They were both going through their own things, but wilbur was the one that left. He abandoned tubbo instead of staying and helping him, all because he was scared of getting better. Which is why he was so determined to really change this time. Even if he didn’t know how to fix things with tubbo, he thought that maybe getting healthy would help the younger to do the same.
While wilbur knew now that he wanted to recover, he wasn’t quite ready for just how soon he was going to have to start. The first morning home, he reluctantly made his way downstairs to see phil in the kitchen, waiting for him.
“Hey, mate! How you feeling?” he asked, excitedly. Wilbur could hear how tired he was under the upbeat tone in his voice, and it made him feel guilty.
“Alright.” he responded with a weak smile, as his eyes traced the kitchen island, which was covered with various ingredients.
“Here, i’ve got your meds, I picked them up on the way back from the store.” phil continued, handing him two pills.
“Oh thanks, you can just give me the bottles, I usually keep them in the upstairs bathroom.” wilbur spoke, genuinely just wanting to keep track of his own medication. It wasn’t until he saw the look on phil’s face that he realized why that wasn’t going to happen.
“Oh shit right, sorry i wasn’t thinking.” he said quickly. He felt anxious.
“It’s not that i don’t trust you or anything, i just think it’s best if I hold onto it for now, okay?” phil responded, his voice soft and kind.
“Yeah i totally get it, that’s a good idea.” wilbur agreed with a nod and another smile. He didn’t mean to scare phil, and he hated seeing the concerned look on his face for what felt like the millionth time.
Hesitantly, he made his way over to the counter and sat down.
The hospital had given him a meal plan, and a set number of calories he was supposed to eat everyday. He had to be really careful since binging on food after eating almost nothing the past couple months would be dangerous for his body. He assumed by all the food sat in the kitchen, that phil had gone out and bought all the food he was supposed to be eating.
“So, we have lots of breakfast options, what are you thinking?” phil asked, as he continued putting away groceries. Wilbur stared at all the different foods in front of him, and his heart began to beat a little faster. He traced the counter with his eyes, completely forgetting phil had asked him a question. Realizing he had to eat breakfast led to realizing he had to eat lunch and dinner too, which made him want to throw up. As he began to panic more, phil clearly noticed because he hurried over and placed his hand on wil’s back.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry i don’t mean to overwhelm you.” he assured, rubbing wil’s back gently. Wilbur felt his hands began to shake and he felt like he might fall into a panic attack, which he really didn’t want on his first day home. He already felt silly enough having his dad take care of him like this at twenty four years old.
“How about we focus on one thing at a time, alright?” phil suggested, walking back to the other side of the counter. “I’m having cereal, i think you should have that with me.”
Wilbur nodded, and took a breath, attempting to calm himself down. Usually, the idea of not choosing his own food was terrifying, but having to choose from so many options that scared him was so much worse.
Phil smiled again and put the rest of the food away except for a box of cereal and some milk. He grabbed two bowls and poured some cereal and milk into each one, then added some fruit on top and slid wil’s bowl over to him before sitting down beside him.
Wilbur stared down at the food in front of him, taking another breath before picking up his spoon. Phil started eating first, and wil sat there staring for another moment. He closed his eyes, hoping it would help, and took a bite. Everything in him was immediately telling him to stop, but slowly, he took another.
‘One thing at a time.’ he repeated to himself in his head.
Phil didn’t speak while the two were eating, either because he didn’t want to upset wil, or because he simply didn’t know what to say. Either way, wilbur was relieved. He just wanted to focus on getting the food down.
After what was probably too long to be eating a bowl of cereal, he was finally finished. He felt full, and that made him want to purge, which phil must have anticipated since he wouldn’t let him go upstairs when he tried to get up.
“Why don’t we just sit and talk for a bit? We haven't done much of that in a while” he suggested, grabbing wilbur’s arm. Wil nodded and sat himself back down. He understood why phil was so concerned, so he didn’t argue. He’d put him through enough.
His heart still racing, and his hands trembling slightly, wilbur searched for a conversation topic.
“Where’s tubbo?” He asked, finally noticing that the younger wasn’t there. Even at tubbo’s worst he’d almost always come down and eat breakfast.
“Must still be in bed, i haven’t seen him yet.” phil shrugged. Wilbur nodded, feeling a bit concerned. Tubbo was starting to do better before wilbur’s downward spiral, and was really getting somewhere, and wil was worried that he might have ruined that.
“Is he doing okay?” he asked phil, the concern obvious in his voice. “I mean i haven’t talked to him in like a month.”
God, saying that out loud made him feel like the worst person in the world.
“I think he’s alright. You know how he doesn’t really like to talk to me about serious stuff, but from what i can tell he’s okay.” phil nodded, sounding like he didn’t believe himself. Wilbur only felt more worried. “I think you should try and talk to him today when he wakes up.”
Wilbur agreed, and spent the rest of his day trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix things with his brother this time.
Usually, tubbo was pretty forgiving, or at least he portrayed himself to be. Wilbur would apologize, they’d talk it out for a bit, and everything would be fine. This time was different though. Wilbur knew tubbo was hurt by him leaving, and he did it anyway. He was only thinking about himself. He tried to remind himself of what phil had said a couple days before, that it wasn’t him thinking it was his disorder, but he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty.
Once he got back from his first daily hospital visit, he figured it was a good time to go and speak to tubbo.
Anxiously, he made his way upstairs and down the hall to tubbo’s room, taking a breath before knocking on the door. He felt a weight in his stomach, and couldn’t tell if it was because of all the food he’d had to eat that day, or just guilt.
“Hey tubs, can i come in?” he asked, mustering up the most upbeat voice he could, which wasn’t much.
“Uh, one minute!” tubbo yelled frantically. Wilbur could hear him run to the other side of the room, then sit back down on his bed, and he wondered what the boy was doing. He waited patiently for the okay to open the door.
“Come in!” tubbo finally called, after about three minutes.
Wilbur nervously creaked the door open and peaked his head in, as if testing the waters, before walking in.
“Hey.” he spoke with a smile. He closed the door behind him and walked over to sit beside tubbo.
“What's up, man?” the younger asked, seeming more anxious than wilbur was. Wilbur looked around the room, looking for a clue as to what tubbo was doing before he came in, why he seemed so nervous.
“I uh, i just thought we should talk.” he admitted, not making eye contact. “It’s been way too long.”
“Yeah, i’m uh, i’m sorry i haven’t checked in on you for a bit i’ve been busy with school and stuff.” tubbo apologized. Wilbur knew that was a lie, but he wasn’t angry.
“No no, don’t be i get it. I was kind of a dick for leaving the way i did anyway. I wasn’t really thinking, you know?” wilbur asked. It felt so awkward and so difficult to speak to his brother and he hated it. It seemed like all their progress had been wiped away.
Tubbo nodded and the two sat in silence for a bit, and wilbur’s eyes wandered the room once again.
“Anyway, i just wanted to ask if you’re-” he started to speak, but paused when he noticed the blood that had begun to drip down tubbo’s ankle, staining the white fabric of his sock a dark red. His heart sank. He’d had the feeling that tubbo was hurting himself again, but he didn’t want it to be true.
Tubbo noticed his gaze and looked down, then started to panic.
“Oh uh-.” he started, frantically searching in his bedside drawer for something to clean himself up. “You know i think i just picked a scab or something, i was out with tom last week and um-”
“It’s okay.” wilbur spoke, interrupting tubbo’s panic. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”
Tubbo sighed and stopped what he was doing, looking as though he was coming up with what to say next.
“I’m sorry.” he spoke, relaxing his shoulders. “I really did stop for a while, but everything has been so much lately and i just… it’s hard.”
Wilbur nodded kindly.
“Fucking trust me i know it is. I’m not judging you man i understand.” he assured, the two of them chuckling quietly. “I’ll help you clean up, okay? Be right back.”
Tubbo seemed hesitant, but he agreed. Wilbur left the room for a moment and headed to the bathroom, grabbing all the first aid supplies they had. He didn’t exactly know how to care for these types of things, but he felt like he needed to help. He wasn’t there to protect his brother, so the least he could do was take care of him.
He hurried back to tubbo, closing the bedroom door behind him once more.
He sat back down next to him, and lifted the boy's leg up to rest it on his lap. Tubbo slowly rolled his joggers up past his knee, revealing a few fresh deep wounds, surrounded by plenty more that looked a few days old. There were tissues loosely covering some of them, which wilbur assumed was tubbo’s way of trying to keep them hidden once he heard the knock on the door.
Wilbur couldn’t help but wince at the sight of his brother’s mangled leg. He hated that he would do this to himself. He wanted to lock him in a padded box so he never could again, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make tubbo feel worse than he was sure he already was. Wilbur had finally started to realize that the two of them weren’t so different, they just had different ways of doing the same thing.
“I can do it myself, i’m sorry i know it’s gross.” tubbo spoke, apologetically. Wilbur shook his head.
“I wanna help.” he argued, kindly. “Plus, it doesn’t look like you’ve been taking good care of these, so it’s best if you let me.”
Tubbo agreed with a nod, and allowed wil to continue.
After removing the scattered tissues, wilbur dipped a clean, soft rag in some saline wash, and gently began cleaning around the wounds. Tubbo flinched in pain.
“Shit- i’m sorry are you okay?” wil asked, concerned. He stopped what he was doing.
“No it’s fine, it’s kinda inevitable for it to hurt.” tubbo assured, shrugging. Wilbur nodded and continued cleaning each cut, but slower now, making sure to be as gentle as he could. Once they were clean, and the bleeding had stopped, he gently dried tubbo’s leg with the other end of the rag, then carefully bandaged him up.
Once wilbur was done, tubbo gently lifted his leg back to the floor. The two sat in silence once again, wilbur cleaning up the bandage wrappers and tubbo staring blankly at the floor.
“Are you gonna be okay?” wilbur finally asked, as he got up to leave tubbo be. He wanted to stay and comfort him, but he could tell that this was a lot for tubbo, and that he wanted to be left alone.
“Yeah, i’m fine. Thanks.” tubbo responded with a blank smile.
Wilbur wanted to make tubbo talk to him, wanted to apologize for shutting him out, but he could tell that tubbo wasn’t ready for that yet, so he simply nodded and left the room.

Chapter Text

Over the last month, tubbo had become scared of his own mind again. The moment wilbur told him and phil that he was moving out, he could feel it creeping back up on him. The dark thoughts, the flashbacks, the urges. Maybe it was that he didn’t like change, or maybe it was because he was worried for his brother, either way it sent him spiraling. For a bit, all he felt was a bit of sadness and stress, just hoping that wilbur was okay, but still taking care of himself as well. Slowly, the sadness became more consuming, and the stress less bearable. It only took about a week and a half before he relapsed. At first he wasn’t even sure why things had gotten so bad so quickly, considering that even when wilbur was home it wasn’t like they were speaking every second of the day. He felt like he was overreacting, even though he had no control over any of it. Over the next couple of weeks as memories, good and bad, continued to rush to the front of his mind uninvited, he began to realize that wilbur being out of the house reminded him of the time before their mom died. Before the accident, wilbur was in university, and was living on campus, so he was never around. With wilbur being gone again, tubbo felt like he was waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. like any day he’d get a call that his brother was dead. For days before the accident, tubbo had a sense of dread sitting at the pit of his stomach, knowing something bad would happen soon. He had that same feeling again the day wilbur moved out.
He couldn’t help but resent wil for making him feel that way, even if the logical part of his brain knew it wasn’t his fault. He felt bad for acting so distant towards wilbur when he finally came home, especially since he was so kind to help him and not judge him for having relapsed, but he didn’t know how to look at his brother and say he didn’t blame him for it.
He couldn’t tell if he was angry or just hurt.
After wilbur had left the room, having just helped tubbo take care of his new wounds, tubbo let out a big sigh, and felt himself wanting to cry. He wanted to speak to wil so badly, to make sure he was doing okay, but the words just didn’t come out. He felt terrible, but he didn’t know if he could handle feeling terrible anymore, it was getting to be too much. He took a breath, practically shoving his tears back into his head, and decided that he needed to get out of the house for a bit to distract himself.
He stood up quickly from his bed and grabbed his coat before hurrying out of his room and down the stairs. He made sure to tell phil he was going out so he wouldn’t worry, and headed out the door.
He didn’t even know where he was going at first, he just wanted to feel human for a while and there was only one person who could make him feel that. He started his walk to tommy’s.
He hadn’t seen tommy outside of school in what felt like forever, and even during the week they barely spoke to each other. Tubbo spent most lunches blankly staring at his food, anxiously waiting for the next class to start while tommy and ranboo bickered. What he used to hate about school, he had started to appreciate. He enjoyed having something to work on, to keep his mind busy. It was a way to turn off the thoughts, at least for a little while.
It felt weird knocking on his friend’s door after being so distant for so long, but he knew that tommy wouldn’t be angry with him. While the two of them didn’t talk much about serious stuff, tommy had always been patient with tubbo when he was going through really rough patches like this, so he was hoping it wouldn’t be any different this time.
Hesitantly, tubbo lifted his hand to the tall wooden door, and knocked slowly. He pulled his hand back, putting both into his pockets to warm himself up a bit. To his surprise, tommy answered the door almost immediately.
“Tubbo, hey.” he said with a gentle smile. He looked the shorter boy up and down, with concerned eyes. Tubbo wondered if he looked as shitty as he felt.
“Hey, can i come in?” tubbo asked, shivering. He had never felt anxious around tommy before, but lately he felt anxious around everyone. He felt like he was upsetting everyone who looked at him.
“Of course, man, come on.” tommy responded, quickly. He opened the door wider and gestured for tubbo to enter.
The two boys walked inside, and tubbo greeted tommy’s mother quickly before they both hurried upstairs to tommy’s room.
“It’s been a while since we’ve hung out man, how's everything been in the life of tubbo?” tommy asked, handing the older boy a can of coke and then plopping himself down on his bed.
Tubbo didn’t really know how to answer that, and noticed himself not answering at all, which warranted another concerned look.
“What’s wrong?” tommy asked, sitting back up. His tone was more serious now, as he could clearly tell something was up.
“I’ve just had a lot going on is all, sorry.” tubbo responded hesitantly. He was starting to regret even showing up here. He didn’t want to upset anyone else.
“Well, you can talk to me about it if you like. I’ve been worried about you.” Tommy assured, leaning forward as if to show he was engaged in what tubbo was saying. Tubbo sighed and nodded. He’d never actually opened up to tommy, at least not on a real level. Tommy had known about his self harm in the past, but tubbo never meant for him to find out, he just did. He’d just always felt awkward talking to his friend’s about mental health, especially since they didn’t seem to understand at all.
He wanted to talk to tommy though, and it meant a lot to hear that he had been worried. He didn’t think tommy really cared about him anymore, and he wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t, so hearing him say that he actually does care made me feel safe. He decided to try to get over himself and genuinely talk to his friend.
“Wilbur, um. Wil tried to kill himself.” he blurted out, barely even prepared to hear himself say it.
He didn’t know why that was the first thing he wanted to talk about, considering tommy had asked about him and not wil, but it seemed almost like it had happened to him too.
Tommy’s eyes widened and the soft smile left his lips, leaving his expression sad and concerned.
“Holy shit.” was all he said at first. Tubbo just nodded once again. “Is he okay?”
“Physically, yeah for now he’s okay.” the older replied, breaking eye contact.
“Are you okay?” tommy asked again. Tubbo almost laughed. He’d been asked that question so many times that it didn’t even sound like words anymore.
He simply shook his head, no. he felt like if he said more than that he might start crying, which would be mortifying.
“You’re not like, hurting yourself again are you?” tommy continued to question. Tubbo could tell he didn’t know what to say, but it meant a lot that he was even trying.
Again he answered with a simple nod of his head, this time saying yes.
Tommy was silent for a moment, and tubbo began to feel like he’d crossed a line. Like he never should have come here in the first place.
“I wanna help, but I don't really know how.” Tommy admitted, clearly feeling bad for not being able to do more.
“You don’t need to help.” tubbo assured. “I guess i could just use a distraction.”
Tommy nodded, and stood up confidently, grabbing he and tubbo’s coats, which were hanging off the side of his dresser. He handed tubbo his, and began putting on his own.
“Let’s go do some distracting shit then.” the blonde spoke with a friendly smile. Tubbo was hesitant for a moment, but agreed. He lazily threw his jacket over his shoulders. The two of them hurried downstairs and out the door to tommy’s car. Tommy had just gotten his license, so tubbo was a bit nervous to let the younger drive him around, but not nervous enough to say no. They climbed in the car and tommy dramatically started the engine, putting his foot on the gas as if he was performing on a stage. A smug look spread across his face as he slowly put the car into drive. Tubbo rolled his eyes at his friend's cockiness.
“Just drive the car, dickhead.” he scoffed, shoving tommy’s arm lightly.
“Whatever, you’re no fun.” tommy sighed, sarcastically, and proceeded to pull the car out of the driveway.
The car ride was only silent for a few minutes, until tommy pulled out his phone while stopped at a red light.
“Hey, put that down. Look at the road, man.” tubbo spoke, reaching for tommy’s phone. Tommy pulled his hand away and continued what he was doing. Anxiety started to fill up tubbo’s stomach.
“One sec, i’m just putting on some music.” tommy argued, laughing slightly.
“Let me do it, then.” tubbo suggested, feeling a bit frustrated.
“We’re stopped, what’s your deal man?” tommy asked, finally looking up at the younger boy. Tubbo made eye contact with him, a sad expression on his face, and tommy’s expression softened as well as if it had finally clicked in his head why tubbo was so stressed out.
“Shit, i’m sorry i forgot.” he apologized with a reassuring smile, handing the phone to tubbo and fixing his eyes back on the road just in time for the light to change. “Here, just find my ‘chill songs’ playlist.”
Tubbo nodded and proceeded to search tommy’s spotify for the right music, finding it quickly. He hit play and placed the phone back down, his hand shaking a bit.
“Sorry, it’s just after my mum-” tubbo started, but tommy cut him off.
“No i get it man, you’re totally right. It was my bad.” he assured the older boy, smiling again and nodding his head to the music that was now playing.
For the first few months after lily died, tubbo refused to even get in a car, and would track phil and wilbur on his phone whenever they went out. He was terrified that what happened to his mother would happen to them. Over time, he slowly got over his fear, but that little bit of anxiety was always there. Especially when the driver was distracted. Wil always knew this, which is why he made it a point never to look away from the road when driving tubbo to school in the mornings. Tubbo was embarrassed for telling tommy off about his driving, but in his mind if he didn’t then they were sure to have crashed and died, so he preferred a little bit of embarrassment.
The rest of the car ride was a bit tense, and the two didn’t talk much. They just listened to the music. Tommy didn’t seem upset at all, but tubbo still felt bad for having overreacted the way he did.
They drove quietly for about ten minutes, until they finally made their way downtown by the main shopping plaza. Tommy quickly found a place to park, pausing for a second to face tubbo.
“All good?” tommy asked, smiling.
“Yeah, all good.” tubbo smiled back, hesitantly. He still felt off, but he was hoping that after a while he’d start to relax a bit.
The two climbed out of the car, and quickly hurried toward the shops.
They headed to the ice cream shop first, since tommy had stated that he was starving. Tubbo wasn’t very hungry, and in fact eating sounded almost nauseating, but he agreed anyway.
He was hesitant to order, not being able to think of anything he actually wanted, so he just ended up getting plain vanilla. After they’d gotten their ice cream, the two finally sat down.
They sat for a while, talking and laughing. Tubbo had actually started to feel almost normal, and had loosened up a bit, finally starting to feel almost like his old self. That twinge of anxiety was still there, but he could ignore it now.
The two caught up a bit, chatting about school and their plans moving forward. Tubbo didn’t have many plans, so he made some up to seem a little less depressing. They spoke about the stupid things they used to do as kids, and about missing each other over the last few months. It felt really good for tubbo to finally have a real conversation with someone again.
After eating, they decided to hit the shops.
They didn’t have much of a plan on what to do, since they’d just rushed out the door, so they wandered around, going into every shop and buying almost nothing. They tried on clothes they thought looked funny, and made dumb jokes about the people around them. This had always been one of their favorite things to do, ever since they were little kids, playing with every toy in the toy store and bringing none home.
Their final stop was the local arcade, which was another one of their favorite places as kids. Walking through the doors felt strange to tubbo, as it had been so long since he’d been there. He felt a bit sad, remembering the fun his family used to have, his mum especially. She’d beat phil at every single game, then brag for days after about how much better she was than him. Tubbo and wilbur did the same, although tubbo was always the one losing.
This clearly hadn’t changed, as tommy beat him at all but one game, which was really just them seeing who could win the most in the claw machine. Tubbo had taken the win with one single stuffed bear that he handed to a little kid immediately after. The two were very competitive, and were openly shit-talking each other the entire time, which probably upset a lot of the parents who just wanted to bring their kids to play some games, but tubbo and tommy didn’t care.
“You’re literally fucking cheating!” tubbo yelled, after tommy had beaten him in a fourth round of skee ball.
“How the hell do you cheat at this game?” tommy asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Tubbo sighed and thought for a moment, pointing a finger in the younger’s face when he finally came up with an answer.
“Your arms are longer, dickhead.” he spoke, proud of himself.
“That’s just me existing, that's not cheating!” tommy defended, causing them both to laugh. They’d earned a few dirty looks, so they quieted down after that. They played two more rounds, and tubbo finally gave up after losing both, moving onto the next game.
They stayed until they ran out of money which was only about an hour longer, and began making their way back to the car.

Tubbo jumped as he was tapped on the shoulder in the middle of the street.
“Hey kid, uh, you’ve got blood on your leg.” a stranger spoke, awkwardly. Tubbo quickly looked down and felt panic fill his chest at the sight of his blood soaked jeans. He hadn’t even noticed. Tommy thanked the man for telling them, as tubbo was frozen. He grabbed tubbo’s arm and pulled him out of the road.
“Hey, it’s alright man.” he spoke, patting tubbo on the back. “Let’s just go to the bathroom and you can get it sorted.”
Tommy’s voice was comforting, and he seemed like he understood how to handle the situation perfectly, which was relieving since tubbo had no idea what to do. He was mortified that this was happening again, and in public this time.
Tommy guided him into the public restroom, and waited outside holding tubbo’s things while tubbo rushed in to clean himself up.
He lifted his leg onto the sink area, and rolled his jean leg up. Two of the cuts below his knee seemed to have been rubbed up against his jeans, and were bleeding quite a bit. He removed the bandages and used some cheap paper towels to put pressure on his leg and stop the bleeding, before placing another rolled up paper towel onto the cuts, using his jeans to hold it in place long enough for them to get home.
“You alright?” tommy asked once he exited the bathroom. He looked concerned again, and tubbo felt guilty.
“Oh yeah, i’m fine, just a little blood.” he responded, smiling. He didn’t want to ruin the good day they’d had. Tommy nodded, hesitantly, and they continued back to the car.
It was clear that tommy knew self harm was the reason tubbo was bleeding, and not some random accident, so tubbo didn’t bother making up an excuse this time.
Tubbo was so relieved to finally feel the pressure taken off his sore leg as he sat down in the car once again. He could feel the area around his wounds getting a bit swollen, which typically happened when he was on his feet for a while right after, and made them hurt like crazy.
“I still can’t believe you got that thing.” tommy chuckled, glancing at tubbo, who was holding a large stuffed elephant that he’d bought with his arcade tickets, most of which just happened to still be on his card from the last time he’d visited the place. Tommy started the car, and began pulling out of his parking spot.
“I love him.” tubbo replied, happily patting the toy on the head. Tommy rolled his eyes and the two of them laughed.
Tommy agreed to drive tubbo home, since it was starting to get dark and cold.
As they pulled into the driveway, tubbo thanked tommy for the ride and began climbing out of the car, when he was startled by wilbur hurrying out the door.
“Oh, uh, hey wil.” he said with an awkward smile.
“Hey guys, dad and kristen just finished cooking, why don’t you come in for a bit tommy it’s been forever.” wilbur suggested, smiling. He started to lean to the side slightly, as if lightheaded from running, but he steadied himself quickly. Tubbo looked at Tommy, an almost apologetic expression on his face.
“Hell yeah, i can hang for a bit.” tommy agreed happily as he climbed out of the car.
“We’ll be just a sec.” tubbo told wil, who nodded and walked back in, slower this time. Tommy seemed to stare at him the way you stare at a car crash. He looked curious yet sympathetic.
“Wow, he looks uh, different.” the blonde spoke, shutting his car door.
“Yeah, i know.” tubbo nodded. “He’s working on it though, i think.”
He leaned back into the car to grab his stuffed animal, before shutting his door as well.
“Um, if anyone starts crying or something just, like, ignore it i guess.” tubbo warned. He was only half joking. He was hesitant to even let tommy inside, but he couldn’t just tell him to leave now that wil had already invited him in.
“Noted.” Tommy nodded, chuckling nervously.
The two walked inside, tubbo already feeling the dread that someone was going to end up embarrassing him or making tommy uncomfortable.
When they walked in, kristen was in the process of setting a table spot for tommy, and phil and wilbur had already sat down in their seats. Tubbo plopped the stuffed elephant onto the couch, and led tommy into the dining room.
“Tom! It’s good to see you mate. Been a while.” phil spoke, welcomingly, as he gestured for the two to sit down. “I saw you two pull in and figured i’d have wil invite you in.”
“Good to see you guys too!” tommy replied politely. He and tubbo took their seats beside each other.
“What were you two out doing?” kristen asked kindly, as she finally sat down as well.
“Just out, needed some chill time.” tubbo replied, flashing her a smile. Tommy nodded in agreement and smiled as well. God, this was awkward.
“Well, i’m glad. You had fun then i hope?” phil added, genuinely looking hopeful that tubbo was doing okay.
“Well, tubbo didn’t have too much fun cause i kept beating his ass in every arcade game.” tommy budded in, smugly. Tubbo rolled his eyes and a smile crept up on his face.
“That’s not at all true, you have like one good game.” tubbo argued, as bowls of food began getting passed around.
“And you have zero.” tommy shrugged, putting some chicken on his plate before placing the tray back down.
“Mhm, i can attest to tubbo being shit at arcade games.” wilbur added, taking a bite of his food. Tubbo’s eyes widened slightly, and he’d hoped that wilbur didn’t notice. It was more than strange to see his brother actually eating something, especially in front of multiple people.
Tommy reached his hand across the table towards wil, and the two bumped fists. Tommy’s eyes seemed to linger on the bruised conditions of the other’s hand, but only for a second, and his smug smile never left his face.
“You guys are dicks.” tubbo spoke lightheartedly, and laughed quietly, which caused everyone else to laugh along with him.
The rest of the dinner was spent chatting and catching up, and there was actually a lot more to talk about than tubbo had thought. This was the first day he’d felt like a normal human being in a very long time, and it was relieving to say the least. Wilbur was actually eating, tommy was in their house for one of the first times since their mom’s death, and they didn’t have to talk about the sad stuff. They just had a nice time. It was a good day.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, things started to get ever so slightly better for tubbo. He had spent a bit more time with tommy, which meant he got at least some breaks from his mind, though he still spent most of his days alone in his room. His bad habits however, continued just the same, and phil had started to notice. Tubbo saw phil glance down at the blood on his jeans the day he and tommy had gone out, but neither of them said anything. Over the next few days he’d look at tubbo a little too long as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. It wasn’t until about three weeks later that phil finally confronted him.
“Toby, can I speak to you?” his father asked one morning when he came down for breakfast.
His stomach sank, and he felt like he’d just been caught committing a crime. Somehow, he knew what phil was going to say.
“Uh, sure.” tubbo spoke, anxiously. He tried to act as normal as he could, hoping phil might change his mind, or decide they didn’t need to talk at all. Wilbur was sat at the kitchen island, slowly eating his food and looking like he hated every second of it. He didn’t even look up when he heard the others speaking. Tubbo and phil walked past him and into the dining room, sitting down at the table.
Tubbo absolutely hated awkward serious talks, especially with his dad. When he would talk to his mom about serious things, she would look at him as if she already knew everything he was going to say. She understood him completely. Phil, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand tubbo at all, which was partially his own fault.
It was quiet for a moment, as phil seemed to search his mind for something to say.
“Everything alright?” tubbo asked, trying to start the conversation so it would end as soon as possible. His leg bounced up and down nervously.
“That’s actually what i was going to ask you.” phil responded, sympathetically. “I know you’ve been um.. I know it’s gotten bad again.”
Tubbo felt a lump in his throat, and had no idea what to say next. He just sat and waited for phil to say something else.
“Is there anything i can do?” phil asked, kindly. He was smiling but his eyes were sad and sunken. He looked tired. “I know i don’t really understand, but if there’s anything.”
Tubbo just shook his head no at first, wanting this moment to be over. He loved his dad, but speaking to him like this made his heart want to beat out of his chest with anxiety.
“I’m alright, seriously.” he lied, flashing a smile for just a second. “It was bad for a bit, yeah, but i’m good now, I stopped.”
Tubbo didn’t want help. He wanted to work through things on his own, even though he’d failed at that in the past. Mostly, though, he didn’t want phil to worry. His dad was already dealing with so much helping wilbur, and he felt guilty giving him one more thing to stress about.
When tubbo told phil that he’d stopped, his face lit up a bit.
“Oh, really?” he asked, hopeful. “Because last time you said that… i'm not angry or anything, I just want to make sure.”
“Yeah, I know, I'm sorry i lied before.” tubbo spoke, sighing. His stomach turned. He was apologizing for lying to make his lie more believable. He felt like a piece of shit. “But really, i’m doing good this time.”
Wilbur finally glanced over, having finished his meal, and made eye contact with tubbo for a second, a confused look in his eyes. Tubbo could tell wilbur was onto him, which he anticipated since just weeks ago wilbur was cleaning blood from his leg, but wil didn’t say anything now.
“That’s really good to hear.” phil spoke, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs. He patted tubbo on the arm and smiled again. “Still, if you need anything at all you let me know, alright mate?”
Tubbo nodded and quickly stood up, clearly in a rush to get out of that conversation. He hoped he hadn’t made it too obvious.
It made him a bit sad that phil was so quick to believe him, even if that’s what he wanted. Phil could always tell when wilbur was lying, and would do anything he could to get the truth out of him, but not tubbo. Tubbo felt like his dad didn’t care about him the same way he cared about his brother. He felt like his problems didn’t matter as much because wilbur was worse off. Part of him wanted phil to yell at him, tell him he didn’t believe that he was okay, and force him to get help. But the sick part of him was glad he got away so easily.
“We’ve got lots going on at school right now with the holidays coming up, so I shouldn't be late.” Tubbo said, excusing himself.
“Bring something to eat on your way!” phil called with another kind smile, before getting up and heading up the stairs.
Tubbo nodded, and grabbed an apple off the counter before making his way to the door. He thought he’d made it out quick and easy, until wilbur stopped him.
“Wait wait.” wil called, standing up from his chair and grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive you today.”
Tubbo wanted to roll his eyes and say no, just eager to get away from everyone for a bit, but he didn’t.
“I’m fine walking.” he shrugged, hoping wil would take back his offer.
“I know, but you shouldn’t have to, it’s freezing.” wilbur argued, throwing his coat on before walking past tubbo and out the door. Tubbo rolled his eyes and followed behind reluctantly.
‘Here we go again.’ he thought.
It really was cold, and he usually hated walking to school in the winter, but he had a feeling he was in for another big lecture from his brother, or some sappy conversation, and he wasn’t up for that.
At first, the car ride was quiet, the only sounds being the quiet music playing through the radio and the wind from tubbo’s window being down. The quiet made him anxious and uncomfortable, waiting for wilbur to say something. After a few minutes, tubbo surprised even himself by being the one to break the silence.
“So, how’s everything going for you? Health wise, and stuff?” he asked awkwardly, wanting to physically facepalm. He figured if he made the conversation about wilbur, then there wouldn’t be a chance to talk about himself, but he had no idea what to say.
“Been good, my doctor said yesterday that he’s already seeing some improvements in my physical health.” the older responded with a half smile. Tubbo nodded. He was really glad to hear that, he just didn’t know how to express it.
“And mentally?” he questioned. He was genuinely curious, and hoping that wilbur was okay, even if he was mostly trying to avoid talking about his own problems.
“A lot better than i was.” wilbur answered proudly, glancing at tubbo for just a second. “Still in a pretty tough place if i’m honest, but definitely better.”
Tubbo felt sad as he thought about how bad off wilbur had been. About what he tried to do. He felt guilty for continuing to distance himself, but he didn’t know how to stop.
“Well, you’re eating now right?” tubbo asked, shrugging. “That’s gotta mean something.”
“Yeah, i’m trying.” wilbur nodded, a smile still on his face as he kept his eyes focussed on the road. It was quiet for another moment, until wilbur spoke again.
“Actually, i wanted to talk to you about something,” he said in a soft tone.
‘shit.’ tubbo thought, frustrated. He figured this was where wilbur asked him why he lied to phil, or gave him some lecture that he understood but didn’t necessarily want.
“I just wanted to apologize.” he finally continued, which caught tubbo off guard. “I was going to do it the day i got home but then, well you know.”
Tubbo flinched at the memory of that day, and how embarrassed he was for someone to actually see what he’d done. While it was comforting, and he wasn’t mad that wilbur wanted to help, it still made him tense up to think about it.
“Apologize for what?” the younger asked, as the car pulled into the school parking lot. Wilbur parked right in the front and turned to tubbo.
“Everything. Leaving.” he spoke, his eyes growing sad. “I shouldn’t have just left you all by yourself like that.”
“It’s fine.” was all tubbo could think to respond.
“It’s not.” wilbur argued. “You needed me there and i only thought of myself. I didn’t call you for a month, man, and you.. it’s not okay. And i’m really sorry.”
Tubbo was once again at a loss for words. He hated that he couldn’t get the right response to form in his head. He really appreciated wilbur’s apology, and he wanted to have a genuine conversation with him about it, but the words weren’t there. He didn’t know what to say.
“Thanks, wil. It’s really fine though, no worries.” was all he could muster up. Wilbur nodded, seeming unsatisfied with tubbo’s response, as if he could tell that wasn’t what the younger really wanted to say. Tubbo nodded back with a smile and climbed out of the car.

Wilbur pov now :)

Wilbur drove away from the school feeling guilty. He could see it in tubbo’s eyes that he didn’t really forgive him.
At breakfast, when he overheard tubbo and phil’s conversation, he wanted to bud in and rat tubbo out for lying. He wanted to make phil hear that tubbo was really struggling. He wanted to help his brother, but he couldn’t get himself to say something. Maybe it was selfish, but he knew that if he told phil the truth about what tubbo was doing to himself, tubbo would hate him. He couldn’t stand upsetting his brother anymore, even if he knew it would be best for him. He just wanted to be close with him again, especially right now.
It was coming up on christmas, which meant it was also about to be tubbo’s birthday.
The holidays were always the hardest time of the year for everyone, but tubbo especially. The first december without their mom, he cried so much he was dehydrated. The skin on his cheeks was dry and cracking from the saltiness of all his tears. Wilbur remembered walking by the boy’s door every morning, hearing him choke on his sobs alone in his room. It was unbearable to hear his brother in so much pain. He thought he’d never stop crying.
Before their mother died, Christmas was a huge event in the Watson household. The second halloween was over it was time to start decorating. They’d pick out the biggest tree, bake cookies, watch the same movies over and over, it was almost gross how much fun they had. Now, they were lucky if phil remembered to wrap the presents before christmas morning.
Wilbur wanted more than anything to get back to how things used to be, but he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t even get tubbo to talk to him anymore, there was no way for him to know what he was thinking or how he was feeling. Plus, he had to focus on his own recovery above everything else. He was terrified of getting back to the dark place he was in only a month before. He wanted to be better, and in order to do that he knew he’d have to start worrying more about himself than anyone else, even if he hated it.
His recovery had been going just about as good as it could be. He was eating enough food everyday, and hadn’t purged once since leaving hospital, which his doctor had told him were the most important things. But he still spent a lot of time panicking and fighting the urge to make himself sick. Starving himself had gone from feeling like something he wanted to do, to feeling like something he was supposed to do. Like it was programmed into his brain, and if he didn’t actively force himself to go against it he’d fall right back into his habits again. This meant that eating felt more like a chore than anything, and he was exhausted pretty much all of the time. His brain was never quiet, flooded with more urges and numbers than ever. It was a scary feeling having to fight against his own thoughts, and it took a lot out of him.
Phil had continued to be really helpful, and would talk him through his moments of anxiety almost every time they’d happen. The two would eat breakfast and dinner together, as well as lunch when Phil wasn’t working. Wil felt silly having his dad around all the time, needing help just to eat a simple meal, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do it otherwise. It did feel good to finally feel close with Phil again, since he’d spent the last couple years too stuck in his head to ever even have a conversation with him. He’d started to realize that he never knew his dad too well before, and he was glad he was getting to now.
When Wilbur got home from driving tubbo to school, Phil's car was still in the driveway, which was surprising since he’d never miss work unless it was for an important reason. Wil hurried inside, hoping everything was okay.
“Dad?” he called, slightly nervous. He knew it was probably nothing, but in his family there was always something to be worried about, so he was worried.
This time, however, Phil was perfectly fine.
“Hey mate.” he said with a smile, walking down the hall and with a big cardboard box in his arms. “Your brother get into school okay?”
“Yeah he’s all good.” Wilbur responded, taking a breath. “Uh, what’s this?”
Phil gave him a smirk and dropped the box onto the kitchen island. Wilbur raised an eyebrow, confused.
“Open it.” phil spoke, gesturing toward the box with his hand. Hesitant, Wilbur grabbed the box and unfolded the top, opening it. Inside were a bunch of dusty old Christmas decorations. Wil’s eyes widened, as he’d thought phil had thrown all of this stuff away.
“I’ve got more boxes in the attic, come grab them with me.” Phil said happily, making his way toward the stairs. Wilbur didn’t say anything, just followed behind him. The two hurried up the stairs, and phil opened up the attic door, bringing the old wooden ladder down and walking up first. There were boxes up there that hadn’t been touched since they’d moved into the house, which was years ago when the boys were little kids. Old toys, forgotten photo albums, outgrown clothes. Everything was covered in so much dust that Wilbur coughed as he entered. He had to duck his head or it would hit the low ceiling.
Phil started opening boxes, searching for whichever ones they’d shoved the holiday stuff into. Wilbur, though, spotted something else. In the back of the room, was a small wooden box that was painted blue and pink. He slowly made his way through the messy attic, and picked the box up. The paint was faded and chipping off, and the small metal piece used to hold it closed was rusty and broken. The words written on the front could barely be made out, but read “Mummy and Wil’s memory box”. He carried the box with him as he continued to help phil bring down the rest of the decorations. They placed everything on the counter, and wilbur walked off to the side, staring again at the faded box held tightly in his hands.
“What’s this?” phil asked, still catching his breath a bit and dusting off his hands.
Wilbur was silent for a moment, gently wiping the dust off the small item.
“Mum and I,” he started, pausing again. He took a breath. “Mum and I made this together when i was little. Maybe five or six.”
He chuckled softly, and looked up at phil with a weak smile. Phil was smiling too, but he looked sad.
“What’s in it?” he asked, placing his hand on wil’s shoulder.
Wilbur didn’t remember. It had been so long since the thing had even been thought about. He vividly remembered putting the box together, nailing each piece of wood to the next with his mother’s help, meticulously painting each part of it the exact color he wanted. What was inside, however, he’d forgotten completely.
“I have no idea.” he responded with a shrug.
He walked into the living room, sitting himself down on the sofa. Phil followed behind curiously, and sat beside him.
Slowly, he unhooked the small rusted hinge and lifted the top of the box open. Wilbur’s eyes began to water when he saw what was sat inside, hidden away for years.
There were three old photographs, placed perfectly at the top, covered in dust and chipped pink and blue paint. The photo on the left was of lilly and phil, sat on the couch beside each other smiling. Wilbur remembered taking it on his mother’s old camera. The edges had started to curl up, and it seemed to have some sort of coffee stain in the center.
On the right was one of all of them, huddled together for a family Christmas photo. Tubbo was just a baby, and was wearing a Santa hat that would have covered his entire head if Phil wasn’t holding it up.
The photo right in the middle, was of Wilbur and his mother. Lily’s arms were wrapped around wilbur, hugging him tightly, and they both had the widest smiles on their faces. Wilbur’s eyes lingered on that photo for a long time, and tears fell down his cheeks. He hadn’t seen these photos since the day they were tucked away in this box, and his chest ached knowing that he couldn’t sit and look back on them with his mother. She would have loved to see them again. Phil kindly rubbed his hand up and down wil’s back, and wilbur didn’t need to look up to know that phil was crying too.
After a few minutes he picked the photos up, hugging them to his chest for a moment before placing them down on the table in front of him. Inside the box, remained a small silver necklace and a folded piece of notebook paper.
Phil quickly picked the necklace up, placing it in his hand and blowing the dust off of it.
“I remember this!” he said excitedly. “You made me buy this for you when we were out shopping so you could give it to your mum. The cheap metal irritated her skin so she never wore it but she was so happy.”
Wilbur wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled at phil slightly. He didn’t remember the necklace, but he remembered how he would always make phil stop in the store to buy stuff he thought his mother would like. He would be so excited to get home and hand it to her, making sure she knew that he was the one who picked it out. She’d get so excited and give him the biggest hugs, thanking him over and over. The presents were always cheap or ugly, but she made them out to be the greatest gifts she’d ever received.
Phil continued to observe the necklace, probably reminiscing on the moment in his head, while Wilbur turned back to the box and pulled out the last item.
It was a slightly crumpled folded piece of paper, that was torn on the edge as if lazily ripped out of a notebook. Wilbur carefully unfolded it, unsure of what it was and wanting to make sure not to rip it.
On the page was a faded letter, which he could tell was from his mother by the unique handwriting. He took a breath, trying to stop himself from crying again, and began reading.

‘My wil, i can’t believe you’re eight years old already! Watching you grow up has been the biggest blessing of my life, and I'm so grateful that I get to do it forever. I couldn't be prouder of the wonderful man you’re becoming, and the perfect boy you’ve always been. I love you more than everything, sweet boy. Happy birthday!’

Wilbur’s chest tightened, and tears flooded his cheeks again. He hugged the letter tightly, falling apart silently. Phil pulled him into a hug, and held him. The two sat in silence, looking over the old faded memories, and just let themselves cry.
Wilbur had cried over this loss a million times, but this time felt different. It didn’t feel empty, and cold. It felt like a part of her was there looking with them. He was crying but he was smiling too, and felt happy more than sad.
“We should go get those decorations put up.” he finally spoke, breaking the silence. He sniffled a bit and wiped his eyes once more. Phil agreed, and they carefully put everything back in the small wooden box, gently placing it on top of the mantelpiece before rushing back to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

“Thanks again for the ride man.” Tubbo thanked Tommy with a smile as he climbed out of the car. He had asked Tommy to drive him home from school so he wouldn’t have to sit through another potentially awkward car ride with his brother, and because he liked the extra time to hang with his friend.
“No worries man, I'll see you tomorrow?” Tommy responded, smiling as well and getting ready to pull out of the driveway. Tubbo nodded quickly and shut the car door, waving goodbye as Tommy drove off.
As he approached the front door to his house, he could hear music playing inside, but couldn’t make out what the song was. He took a breath, preparing himself for whatever weird greeting he was in for this time, and turned the handle.
As he stepped through the door, his stomach dropped. The house was covered in red and green lights, and decorations he hadn’t seen in years. Phil and Wilbur were stood in the kitchen, dancing to the christmas music that was loudly playing over the radio and cleaning up dishes covered in leftover cookie dough. The smell of gingerbread and pine needles filled the room, and Tubbo’s body went cold.
“Toby! Welcome home, mate.” Phil greeted happily once he finally noticed that tubbo had walked in. Wilbur finally looked up as well, smiling, and he waved. “What do you think?”
Tubbo’s stomach turned, and he couldn’t think of a response. His eyes wandered, and as he traced every decoration, he could see his mother and him putting them up together. Could feel her lifting him up to place the garland on the tall railing beside the stairs when he was too little to reach. He could smell her sugar cookies in the oven, and could hear everyone’s laughs when they came out terrible. Memories flooded his mind, so intensely that he thought he might drown in them. It was too much.
“We left some things for you to put up as well, in case you wanted.” Wilbur said, smiling kindly and pointing to a cardboard box in the corner of the room. The two of them stared at Tubbo, anxiously waiting for a response that wouldn’t come. Tears welled up in Tubbo’s eyes, and quickly fell down his cheeks. He felt anger and pain start to build in his chest, and he felt like he couldn’t move. Phil and Wilbur’s faces dropped and Phil walked over to him.
“What is it?” Phil asked, gently placing a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “Come here.”
Phil tried to pull Tubbo into a hug, but Tubbo quickly shoved him away, wiping his eyes weakly with his coat sleeve.
“What the hell is this?” He asked, starting to feel himself lose control. He was pissed, and he didn’t even really know why, which only made him angrier. He was tired of feeling so much, and having no idea what it was that he was feeling at all. “I mean you guys are just trying to fuck with me at this point, right?”
“What? Of course not, we just wanted to-” Phil tried again to speak but Tubbo interrupted him.
“Wanted to what? Wanted to remind me again just how shit everything is?” He questioned, his voice raising with every word. “Trust me, I know well enough.”
His breaths became fast and short, and his hands trembled. He tried so hard to push all of his feelings back in, but it wasn’t working this time.
“Calm down, Tubbo. Breathe” Wilbur spoke in a comforting voice. He looked Tubbo in the eyes and breathed slowly, attempting to get Tubbo to do the same.
“Fuck you!” The boy yelled, barely able to control what he was saying at this point. His vision was blurry, and he felt like he might pass out. “Stop pretending everything is fine, Jesus Christ, Wil! Nothing is fucking fine!”
“You need to take a breath, and then we’ll talk okay?” Phil urged, trying again to put his hand on Tubbo’s arm, but being shoved away once more.
“I’m sick of talking. I’m sick of you!” He continued, shoving past the two men. “You think this bullshit is gonna make anything better?!”
With that sentence, he picked up an old ceramic Santa Claus and smashed it on the kitchen tile. Phil sighed sadly and placed his head in his hands, seeming unsure of what to do. He and Wilbur were both at a loss for words.
“You want me to just sit here and pretend I’m not all fucked in the head?” He continued, hitting himself in the side of the head hard. “Decorate Christmas cookies with you like we’re normal?”
“Son,” Phil started. “Your mother would want us to-”
“She’s dead! Mum’s fucking dead, and we all might as well be too because none of this is ever gonna get any better!” He yelled, slamming his hand against the wall, so hard that a sharp pain shot up his entire arm.
“Ok, ok calm down.” Wilbur said sternly this time, rushing over to Tubbo and wrapping his arms tightly around the younger boy. Tubbo squirmed and punched at Wil’s arm, breaking out in sobs. Wilbur didn’t budge, he just kept holding him there.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Tubbo sobbed, finally falling to his knees. “I just want it to stop.”
Wilbur knelt down with him, and held him tighter. Tubbo sobbed loudly into his shoulder, soaking his sleeve in tears, letting himself fall apart.
“Shhh, I know Toby, I know.” Wil whispered, rubbing his hands through the boy’s hair.
Tubbo’s ears were ringing and he could barely breathe through his sobs. He was so dizzy he felt like he was falling. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might just stop. He couldn’t feel his hands. He felt like he was dying.
“I’ve got you.” Wilbur continued, softly. “You’re okay.”
Through the sound of his ringing ears, Tubbo heard the front door open and then close again, followed by the sound of Phil’s car driving off.
“Count with me, Tubs, okay?” Wilbur suggested, ignoring Phil and just focussing on helping Tubbo. He pulled away a bit and looked Tubbo in the eyes. “One, two, come on.”
Tubbo took a slow, shaky breath, and tried his best to count along with his brother. He closed his eyes and forced the words out of his mouth.
“Four, five, six.” The two continued, tears still flowing down Tubbo’s cheeks. His voice cracked as he counted, and he was still struggling to breathe, but he kept going.
“Eight, nine…” His words grew steadier, and the tightness in his chest lifted a bit. Wilbur’s hands tightly gripped each of his shoulders, and Tubbo’s hands held onto Wil’s arms loosely. By fourteen, the ringing had stopped, and by nineteen, the air had almost fully returned to his lungs. He opened his eyes and finally looked at Wilbur, feeling like he had finally returned to earth.
“I’m sorry.” He quickly spoke, as soon as he was able. “I don’t know what happened, I'm sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Wilbur assured him, smiling gently and wiping Tubbo’s tears with his sleeve. “I promise it’s okay.”
Tubbo pulled Wil back in for a hug, as he finished pulling himself together and organizing his thoughts.
While it was terrible and painful, it was also nice to have finally let go of the act. Nice to be held, and protected. Among the pain in his now injured hand, and the burning of his tired eyes, he also felt relief.

“Dad left.” Tubbo spoke quietly, pulling himself back up and sniffling. The two glanced at the empty kitchen, and the door that had been slammed shut.
“Don’t worry about Dad, I’ll talk to him later.” WIlbur assured, kindly. “You alright to stand up now or do you need another minute?”
“I’m good, yeah.” Tubbo answered. Wilbur stood up first, and reached down to help Tubbo up as well.
“Ow- shit.” Tubbo winced as Wilbur tried to grab his now slightly swollen hand. “That’s not good.”
“Here, let’s get you up and I’ll have a look at it.” The older spoke, reaching for Tubbo’s non injured hand and helping him to his feet. The two made their way to the sofa, so Wilbur could assess how badly the boy’s hand was hurt.

Tubbo felt embarrassed, and ashamed of himself for having freaked out like that. He couldn’t even explain why the decorations triggered him so badly, he just knew that he had lost control completely. Wilbur somehow seemed to understand better than Tubbo did, which made him feel a little bit better, but he couldn’t help but still feel guilty for the things he said.
“I didn’t mean any of it.” Tubbo spoke apologetically once they’d sat down on the sofa. His breath was still heavy as his body recovered.
“I know.” Wilbur assured him, smiling kindly as he observed the younger’s hand.
“It’s just sometimes I get so upset that I don’t even know what I’m saying.” He continued, trying to make sure Wil really understood that he was sorry.
“I know, Tubs. I told you it’s okay.” Wilbur assured once again. “It happens to me too, it’s not your fault.”
Tubbo nodded. Part of him knew that what Wil was saying was true, but he still felt overwhelming guilt. He wanted to hurt himself. He wanted someone else to hurt him. He felt like a terrible person.
“Does this hurt?” Wilbur asked, softly pushing on different parts of Tubbo’s hand. Tubbo shook his head no. “What about this?”
When Wil pushed on the center of his palm, pain shot through his body, and he pulled away quickly.
“Ow! Yes, yes that hurt a lot. Fuck.” Tubbo winced, feeling his hand throb.
“Shit, sorry.” Wil apologized, quickly. “I think we have to go to the hospital, bud.”
Tubbo looked down at his hand, which was swollen and already starting to bruise. He felt pathetic and crazy. Although hurting himself was a common thing for Tubbo, he’d never done something like this, and never in front of other people.
Reluctantly, he agreed to get his hand checked out.

Wilbur pov hehe

Wilbur ended up taking Tubbo into the emergency room, where they found out that his hand was fractured in two places. He could see the shame in Tubbo’s face when he looked over the x-rays, and he tried his best to assure the younger that it wasn’t his fault, but he could tell he didn’t believe that.
Watching Tubbo break down like that was terrifying. He’d never seen him act like that before, or anyone for that matter. He understood why it happened, though, and he regretted not asking Tubbo how he would feel about decorating beforehand.
At the time, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He was having so much fun spending time with Phil that he wasn’t thinking about how Tubbo would react, or how it would make him feel to see all the old decorations. Now, he was angry at Phil. He wanted to scream at him for running out like that, and for leaving Tubbo in one of the worst states he’d ever seen him in.
Phil had told Wilbur over the last few weeks about how he didn’t understand Tubbo, and didn’t know how to help him. He said he just didn’t know Tubbo well enough. Wilbur thought he understood what Phil meant, that he just couldn’t get Tubbo to open up to him, but Tubbo was standing in that room screaming what was wrong and Phil acted like he didn’t hear it. He watched his son slam himself in the head, break his own hand, and he simply walked out as if he was the victim.
After Tubbo had gone to bed that night, Wilbur waited up for Phil to come home. He wanted to make sure he talked to him before Tubbo did, so he could assure that he wasn’t going to make things worse than he already had. It wasn’t until nearly 2am, when Wilbur was about to doze off on the couch, that headlights finally shined through the kitchen window.
Wilbur widened his eyes and sat up, taking a sip of the now cold coffee he had brewed about an hour before. After about five more minutes of waiting, Phil finally walked through the door, followed by a sleepy looking Kristen, who was helping guide him inside. Wilbur stood up and walked over to them, immediately smelling vodka when he approached his father.
“Drinking now, huh?” He questioned, bending over a bit so Phil would look him in the eyes.
“I don’t want to do this right now, Wil. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Phil responded, stumbling his way toward the stairs. Wil looked to Kristen, who had a disappointed look in her eyes. She shrugged.
“Thanks for driving him home.” He thanked her, smiling. He heard Phil’s heavy footsteps walking up the stairs.
“Of course.” Kristen responded, kindly. “Is Toby okay?”
“No, not really.” Wilbur admitted, shrugging. Kristen placed her hand on his shoulder gently and nodded. “I’m gonna go talk to Dad. Are you staying?”
Kristen shook her head.
“I think it’s best if I go.” She decided. Wilbur nodded in agreement. He told her to drive safe, and watched her make it to her car before shutting and locking the door for the night.
Although he was angry at his father, Wilbur was grateful that he had gotten home okay, and really appreciated that Kristen was willing to put in the effort to make sure that happened.
After pouring his leftover coffee into the kitchen sink and placing the empty mug on the counter, Wil followed behind Phil upstairs. He turned right, to Phil’s room, and walked through the already open door. Phil was sitting on the edge of his bed, untying his shoes slowly. Wilbur stood in the doorway for a second, waiting for his dad to notice him there, and thinking of what to say.
“His hand is broken.” He spoke flatly. Phil looked up for a moment, a guilty expression on his face. “I took him to the E.R after you left.”
“Thank you for doing that.” Was all Phil said in response, as he continued to take his shoes off and lay down in bed, sighing.
“Why’d you walk out?” Wilbur questioned, crossing his arms. He was getting angrier by the second, but he stayed calm. Phil didn’t say anything, he just laid there silently, his hands on his head.
“You can’t do that.” Wilbur continued, his voice more tense now. “You can’t just walk out to go get drunk knowing he isn’t okay and then not even explain yourself.”
It was silent for another moment. “I’m out of moves, Wil.” His father finally responded, weakly. “The way he was acting, the things he said… I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. I don’t know how to help him.”
Phil shifted to his side, and tucked himself under the covers. Wilbur’s chest felt hot with anger. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His dad had been so helpful to him the past few weeks, and now he was acting like a completely different person. He felt lied to.
“So your solution is to give up?” Wilbur questioned, stepping further into the room now. “Let him get worse, until what? It’s his turn on the kitchen floor? Is that your parenting plan?”
The words tasted bitter leaving his mouth, but he felt like he needed to say them. He needed Phil to really hear it, and to understand how serious this was. The way Tubbo had acted that day reminded him of how he himself had felt just before his suicide attempt, and that scared the shit out of him.
“Go to bed, please.” Were the only slurred words that Phil spoke.
“That’s pathetic.” Wilbur scoffed, quickly exiting the room. If he hadn’t walked out he would’ve started yelling, and Tubbo didn’t need to be woken up to that tonight.

Chapter Text

Wilbur pov

Two weeks had passed, and it was now the day before Tubbo’s birthday. Wilbur had tried everything he could to cheer Tubbo up, but to no avail.
He hadn’t even seen Tubbo more than a few times since the day he broke his hand, and only knew the boy had left his room some days by the sound of his footsteps out in the hallway in the middle of the night.
Wilbur was more than worried, he was terrified for his little brother. He wondered how things possibly managed to keep getting worse. Every time he thought himself or Tubbo had reached rock bottom, the ground caved in beneath them, another deeper and rockier bottom waiting for them below. It felt like a never ending cycle.
Wilbur was doing his best to stay on track with his recovery, but it was getting harder now. Not only was he worried about Tubbo, but he and Phil had barely spoken since that night. Phil had gone back to how he used to be as well, cold and absent. He was already gone every morning when Wilbur woke up, and didn’t get home until late most nights. Wil was left to struggle through his meals alone. Most mornings, he’d cry alone in the kitchen for about twenty minutes before even making the food. He felt like he’d suddenly been thrown into the deep end of recovery. Forced to make every choice, cook every meal, eat every bite alone. Of course, these were all things that normal adults were supposed to do, but Wilbur wasn’t a normal adult. He was sick, and he needed someone there to help him.
His anxiety had reached an all time high, and that familiar feeling of dread had become a full time resident in his chest. He felt it all the time. Every second. Whether it was about food, about his family, or about his health, it was always there.
On top of everything, he’d started to gain real weight, which affected him a lot more than he thought it would. His eating disorder had never surrounded looks or his body, but for some reason watching himself change physically made him desperately want to revert back to his bad habits. He felt out of control.
He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, even just to fix his hair. It made him feel sick.
Despite all of this, though, he somehow managed to stay on track. He stuck to his meal plan almost everyday, and his doctor had changed his daily visits into bi-weekly ones now.

“I’m extremely impressed with how well you’re doing, Wil.” Doctor Brown had said, the day the scale had shown a number five kilograms higher than the one during his first visit. Wilbur knew that those words should’ve made him feel proud, but instead his chest was warm with guilt. He avoided gazing directly at the new number being scribbled down in his medical chart.
The praise continued, “If you keep the same weight gain up, you should be in a healthy place physically within a couple months.”
Wilbur had done his best to stay engaged in the conversation, as Doctor Brown explained the plan going forward, but his head had become full of all too familiar numbers. He’d begun to calculate how much weight he’d gained each week, and how much he'd gain within the time frame the doctor was describing. A sinking feeling grew in his stomach.
He wanted to get better and he wanted to be healthy, but somehow at the same time he craved the complete opposite. It was as if there were two little people in his head, constantly bickering and debating, while he was simply a bystander, waiting for whichever instruction they eventually decided on giving him.
He wanted to tell his dad what the doctor had said when he got home that night, but he wasn’t there.
Phil had been coming home later and later, and the last few nights he hadn’t come home at all. (Convenient, Wilbur thought, now that it’s about to be Tubbo’s birthday.) Kristen had called saying that Phil was safe at her place, which at least took away some of Wil’s concern. It didn’t, however, take away his anger.
Wilbur wanted to scream at his father; to tell him just how horrible he was for treating his kids like this, but Phil was never around. Wilbur guessed that maybe that was the reason, because he knew that if he came home he’d have to confront his mistakes, and Wil knew that his dad was terrible at that.

After getting home from the grocery store, where he’d bought a cheap birthday cake and a few beers, Wilbur decided to make an attempt to talk to Tubbo about what he wanted to do the next day to celebrate turning eighteen. He had been giving his brother space since his episode weeks before, but he had come to the hesitant decision that giving him space might not be what Tubbo needed anymore. Tubbo was turning eighteen, and Wilbur wanted him to have at least a decent birthday as a send off to his shitty childhood.
He knocked on the boy’s door anxiously and waited. After a moment of silence, he heard a tired groan followed by the sound of Tubbo’s feet walking up to the door.
“What?” Tubbo asked, flatly, as he swung the door open. Wilbur’s eyes traced the blank expression on his face, and then the black fabric brace that he wore on his left hand. Tubbo looked tired, and his clothes looked dirty; as if they’d been worn for days.
“Feeling alright today?” Wilbur asked, already knowing the real answer, as well as the fake answer Tubbo was going to give him.
“Fine.” The younger responded, the same tone in his voice that Wilbur imagined he’d have.
Wilbur felt anxious. He couldn’t read Tubbo’s expression well enough to know what he was thinking, and he was worried about what could be going on in his head.
“Can I come in?” He asked, softly. He felt like he was walking on eggshells.
Tubbo didn’t say anything, but moved out of the doorway as if saying “yes”.
Wil nodded awkwardly and stepped in, taking a seat on the chair in front of Tubbo’s computer desk. Tubbo stayed standing, and leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked angry, which Wilbur understood.
“So?” The younger asked, shrugging.
“Right um,” Wilbur started, searching his mind for the right words. “I just wanted to ask what you’re wanting to do tomorrow? For your birthday?”
Tubbo was quiet for a moment, staring off at the wall behind Wil. He shrugged.
“Dunno. Probably nothing.” He responded.
“Come on, man it’s you eighteenth you gotta do something.” Wilbur encouraged, forcing a smile and a happy tone. He tapped his foot nervously. Tubbo didn’t respond, just shrugged again.
A sadness crept up Wilbur’s back.
When Tubbo was younger, he absolutely loved his birthday. He’d have a different themed party every year, pick out his fanciest clothes, and bake a huge cake with their mom the night before. He had so much fun; was so happy. Wil wanted so badly to see that joy in his brother’s face again.
“I picked up a couple beers.” Wilbur spoke, breaking the silence. Though he was sad, his soft smile remained plastered on his face. “First legal drink is a big deal, right?”
“Guess so.” Tubbo replied, flatly. His expression changed a bit, but Wil couldn’t read what it meant. He just looked like he was thinking. “I just don’t really feel up to doing much.”
Wilbur understood. Of course he didn’t want to celebrate, he was in a terrible place. Still, he wanted to see him have at least a little fun if that was possible.
“That’s fine.” He agreed kindly, standing up now. “Let me know if that changes, alright? We can do whatever.”
Tubbo nodded, and flashed a quick smile that Wilbur could tell wasn’t genuine. He didn’t want to bother him, so he started towards the door.
“Let me know if you need anything. Or if you just wanna talk, okay?” Wilbur asked, hopefully, before he exited the bedroom.
The conversation felt unfinished, but he couldn’t find anything more to say. He listened as Tubbo climbed back into his bed, and then he headed to his own room.

Tubbo pov

After Wilbur left the room, Tubbo felt confused about his own thoughts. He wondered why he was so quick to turn down any possible birthday offer Wil was giving him. Before he was even asked, he knew he’d say no to any celebration. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have a fun birthday, it was almost as if he didn’t feel he was allowed to; like he didn’t deserve it.
He thought about his younger self and how excited he’d always been for even the smallest party. He felt now like he was separated from that. He felt as if that child was a completely different person, and he was watching the memories of some kid he’d never met on a projector screen in his head.
The last couple of weeks had been pretty tough for Tubbo, and he spent most of his time either lying in bed or sitting on his computer watching meaningless videos that acted more as a distraction for him than as entertainment. Leaving his room made him feel anxious and out of place, like he didn’t recognize his own house anymore. The air felt heavier, the walls looked grayer, even his own body didn’t feel the same anymore. It gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Above all of that, was the guilt that he felt. His Dad hadn’t been coming home most nights, and when he did it was so late that Tubbo and Wilbur had already fallen asleep. Tubbo felt like he’d really messed up this time and scared his father into hating him. His meltdown replayed in his head over and over in a third person view, as if he wasn’t even there, just watching it happen. The decoration shattering on the floor, the sharp pain through his hand, the sound of the door slamming shut behind Phil. It came to him in flashes and made his chest feel tight.
He knew that it must have been hard for Phil to see that; to watch his son crumble the way he did. He wanted to apologize, and talk things through, but Phil was never around to do so. It felt like every bit of progress he’d made with his dad had been ruined.
It wasn’t just Phil that he felt guilt towards, it was Wilbur too. Wil had helped take care of him his entire life, never even hesitating to protect him when he was able, and Tubbo didn’t know how to do the same in return. No matter what, Wil was always worrying about him, and all Tubbo wanted was to let him take care of himself instead. He could see the concern in his brother’s expression when he walked in the room, and he could hear the worry in his tone when he asked Tubbo how he was doing. He wished that Wilbur would just accept that there wasn’t anything he could do to help and focus on his own issues, but he knew that would never happen.

Turning eighteen scared the shit out of Tubbo, because it meant that all of a sudden he would be seen as a real member of society. He felt like he had to instantly know every right thing to do for himself the moment the number changed, and he had no idea how to do that. It had never made any sense to Tubbo why eighteen was such an important birthday. It wasn’t like the second it hit midnight he was going to be a completely different person, he’d just be a little bit older. Yet there was so much attached to this one day, and it made his head spin just thinking about it.
The truth was, he had no idea what he was going to do with his life. He’d always seen himself finishing college and heading straight for university, getting some boring degree and living the same boring life as every other adult he’d ever known. Now, the idea of that made him want to jump off the nearest cliff.
He wanted to be successful, and he also wanted to have fun, yet he didn’t think he could actually achieve either of those things anymore. He had the grades for university, and could probably get into a decent one, but what was the point? Did he even want to spend all the time just to rot away in some office forever? Did he even plan on being around that long?
He didn’t like to think about it.
The night before his birthday, just as he was about to fall asleep, he got a call from Tommy. He glanced at the time before answering, and groaned.
“You know it’s almost eleven, right?” He asked groggily, yawning halfway through. The light from his phone shined bright in the pitch black room and it made his eyes squint.
“Duh, that’s why I called you.” Tommy answered snarkily. “I have a surprise birthday present.”
“I don’t want it, I want to sleep.” Tubbo sighed, lingering on the last word. He was only half joking.
“Don’t care, come outside.” Tommy spoke quickly. Tubbo could practically hear the smirk on his face.
“What the fuck do you mean come out-” Tubbo tried to question his friend, but the call had already ended. He groaned again, and for a moment he considered not getting out of bed at all. What was Tommy gonna do? Break in?
However, his curiosity was stronger than his desire to sleep, so he forced himself to get up and throw on some clothes, a pair of shoes and a jacket.
He creaked his bedroom door open as quietly as he could, and slowly made his way down the hallway and then down the stairs. He could see the headlights of Tommy’s car shining through the kitchen windows as he quietly stepped towards the front door. As he turned the lock, he glanced back up the stairs to make sure nobody had woken up, and then he walked outside.
He squinted his eyes again, the bright headlights shining directly in his face as he approached the car. Tommy was sat in the driver's seat, and Ranboo on the passenger’s side. Tubbo was shocked to see Ranboo there, and a little nervous. He’d kind of stopped speaking to him for a while now, and felt like Ranboo might be angry with him.
He walked up to Tommy’s window, and Tommy rolled in down. He had an excited smile plastered on his face, which was red from the cold. Ranboo glanced over and gave Tubbo an awkward half smile, which Tubbo returned the same way.
“Why are you at my house?” He asked Tommy, white fog seeming to leave his mouth as his warm breath met the cold night air. He was trying his best to sound aggravated, but in reality he was happy to see them both, even if he was extremely confused.
“What happened to your hand?” Tommy questioned, ignoring what Tubbo had said. He made it sound lighthearted but the concern in his voice was evident. Tubbo was tired of people being concerned about him.
“Why are you at my house?” Tubbo repeated, his voice bolder now. Tommy rolled his eyes.
“I told you, it’s a surprise. Now get in.” He responded, gesturing towards the back seat. Tubbo raised an eyebrow and looked towards Ranboo, who simply smirked and shrugged at him. He rolled his eyes and gave in, opening the car door and climbing in behind Tommy.
“Should we let him change his clothes first?” Ranboo suggested, almost laughing. Tommy turned around and looked Tubbo’s outfit up and down before shaking his head.
He was wearing a slightly dirty pair of black jeans and a plain beige t-shirt as well as his all black winter coat. It was the first outfit he could find on his bedroom floor.
“He’ll be fine.” Tommy responded casually. Ranboo shrugged again and the car began to pull out of the driveway. Tubbo wondered what they could possibly be doing that he’d need to change his clothes for, and became a little worried that he was going to end up looking stupid. He wanted to question them again, but knew he wasn’t going to get an answer, so he said nothing.

“So, how’ve you been man?” Ranboo asked a bit awkwardly, breaking the silence that had gone on for a few minutes now. Tubbo’s head snapped forward, and he realized he’d been zoning out a bit. He was still really tired.
“Pretty good.” Tubbo lied with a shrug, smiling slightly. “You?”
“I’ve been alright.” Ranboo nodded, glancing at Tubbo in the rear view mirror and smiling back. “We haven’t talked in a bit, huh?”
Tubbo felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach.
“Guess not, sorry about that.” He responded shyly. “I’ve had a busy few months.”
Ranboo’s expression changed.
“No no it’s all good I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly assured Tubbo. “It’s good to see you is all.”
“You too.” Tubbo agreed, feeling a bit relieved. Things had always been a little awkward between him and Ranboo, only because he’d never gotten to know him very well. They’d only ever seen each other at school, and were both closer with Tommy than they were each other. Tubbo had always liked Ranboo enough, and they got along fine, they were just more friendly than they were friends.
“You two are weird.” Tommy finally added to the conversation, his eyes steadily focussed on the road. Tubbo suddenly realized how dark it was, and grew slightly anxious about the fact that Tommy was driving, but he did his best to ignore it.
He and Ranboo laughed quietly at Tommy’s comment, and Tubbo rolled his eyes.
It was only a few more minutes of driving until Tommy pulled into a dimly lit parking lot of what Tubbo assumed was their destination. There were dozens of cars parked along with theirs, and a few people pulled in behind them in the time it took to find a spot.
Tubbo felt a bit anxious and a bit excited at the same time. He had no idea what they were doing, but it felt kind of nice to just do something.
“Ready?” Tommy asked happily as he unbuckled his seat belt.
“Literally for what?” Tubbo questioned, earning a laugh from Ranboo who was in the process of unbuckling himself as well. Tommy didn’t answer, just smirked again. Tubbo sighed and finally undid his own seat belt and climbed out of the car along with the other two. He looked around at the people walking past them, all wearing clothes much nicer than his. He then turned to his friends, who also seemed to be dressed well. He felt a bit embarrassed about his dirty jeans and t-shirt, but not terribly. He wished they’d have told him to go inside and change.
Tommy rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he led the other two towards a large black wooden building. It looked to be some sort of venue, multicolored lights visible through the seemingly tinted windows. The loud music got clearer as they got closer. There was a man in a nice black tux standing outside the large open doors, which revealed a large room full of tables sat in front of a large lit stage that was only slightly visible from where they were standing. Tubbo was too focussed on the people dancing inside to look around for a sign that might actually tell him where he was.
The three quickly approached the door, and Tommy reached into his pocket pulling out three paper tickets. Tubbo couldn’t read what they said, but the tall man in the tuxedo seemed to accept them and gestured for the three boys to walk inside. Tubbo smiled at the man politely as he walked past him.
The inside of the building smelled of alcohol, various body sprays, and a bit of sweat. Tubbo’s eyes traced the place curiously. There were people all around him, dancing, laughing, drinking. The multicolored lights filled the entire space, bouncing off of walls and perfectly encasing each person’s face in blue, then red, then purple.
On the stage was an entire band, loudly playing what sounded like rock music. A man in a black denim jacket sat at the drumset in the back, which was silver and shiny. In the front left, was a tall lanky man on electric guitar, who’s long dark hair swung around in the air as he played. Another man, shorter, played the bass on the right, and finally front and center was the vocalist. Her hair was bright blue and curly, and bounced with her nodding head. She held the mic with both hands, and she smiled as she sang. Tubbo’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before Tommy nudged him.
“This way!” He spoke loudly over the blaring music. He walked towards an empty table on the far left of the venue, and Tubbo and Ranboo followed behind, pushing through crowds of people on the way. Ranboo seemed just as overwhelmed as Tubbo was, which made him feel a little bit less embarrassed. Tommy, on the other hand, acted like he’d been here a million times. Tubbo wondered if he actually had, or if it was just his cockiness making it seem that way.
The three sat down, and Tubbo put his hands in his lap, anxiously picking at his fingers. It seemed a bit quieter now that they’d found a place to sit, which made him feel a bit calmer.
“What’s even happening?” Tubbo asked, smiling. That sick excited feeling still lingered in his chest, and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.
“It’s a gig!” Tommy replied excitedly. He leaned back in his chair casually, putting his hands behind his head. “You never do anything fun with me anymore, so here we are. Doing something fun. Happy birthday.”
Tubbo thought for a second, looking around the room again. He quickly decided that this was cool.
“Ok fine, I don’t hate it here.” He admitted, chuckling. The band transitioned into their next song and the crowd applauded. The music was loud, but not overwhelmingly loud, just enough that it seemed to make a statement while also still making sense. Tubbo liked it. “Who are they?”
“Dunno.” Tommy replied, laughing a bit. “I just kinda booked the first place I could find for tonight. Sounds good though.”
Tubbo nodded in agreement, and relaxed his shoulders a bit.
“What time is it?” Ranboo asked, speaking for the first time since they’d left the car. Tubbo reached for his phone and read the time out.
“11:32.”
“You gonna order a drink at midnight?” Ranboo questioned, nudging him playfully. Tubbo had completely forgotten that he was about to turn eighteen. He thought about the question for a moment. It wouldn’t be his first drink, he’d been sneaking beers with Tommy since they were fourteen, but he’d never been able to actually order one.
“I will if you do.” He shrugged, glancing at Ranboo with a smirk. Ranboo on the other hand, had never even had a sip of alcohol despite turning eighteen a month before. The other two had teased him about it a few times, but honestly didn’t care either way. Now, though, Tubbo had an excuse to get him to try it, which he thought would be funny to see. He could almost hear the gears turning in the taller boy’s head as he considered the offer, and Tommy looked at him with wide eyes.
“Fine.” He sighed, still smiling.
As the clock slowly ticked down to midnight, the three of them enjoyed the music. Tubbo’s favorite part was the guitarist's big solo, which got a big reaction out of the rest of the audience as well. The cheering and clapping mixed perfectly with the sound of his fingers on the strings, impressively playing what Tubbo thought was the coolest thing he’d ever heard.
The boys conversed as they listened, having to raise their voices to hear each other. They talked about lots of things, mostly to do with Tommy and Ranboo. Tubbo did his best to keep the conversation away from himself in order to avoid sounding depressing or weird. The other two were talking about what they’d been up to, discussing their futures, making inside jokes, and Tubbo had no idea how to engage in that. He had no plans, and he’d spent years of his life doing absolutely nothing.
This didn’t stop him from having fun, though. In fact he really enjoyed hearing about their lives. He’d missed just talking, like things were normal. It was refreshing to hear normal people discuss normal things for once, even if he didn’t have anything to contribute.
After a while of zoning out to the band, Tubbo finally checked the time on his phone again. He had a few text messages, but didn’t check who they were from as he was more focussed on the fact that midnight had passed.
“12:02!” He shouted, to which Tommy sat up in his chair excitedly.
“Happy birthday!” He yelled, loud enough that the people at the table next to them heard him clearly and glanced over with smiles.
“Happy birthday Tubbo!” Ranboo added, nudging him again. Tubbo nudged back this time, hard enough that Ranboo almost fell out of his chair. The three of them laughed as he gripped the table and pulled himself back into place.
“Thank you.” Tubbo spoke through his laughter.
Ranboo quickly got up from his chair and gestured for Tubbo to follow him over to the bar, which Tubbo did. It was a small bar, and only a few people were sat by it. Two men who looked like they were only here for a drink sat and chatted on the far right, and an older woman who’s gray roots showed above her dyed blonde hair sat on the left. The bartender was a short but slender man, who looked like he was ready to go home.
The two boys approached the bar counter and got ready to order. They both asked for a simple beer, partly because Tubbo knew what it tasted like, but mostly because they didn’t exactly know how to order anything else. He tried to hide the fact that his hand was shaking slightly as he handed his ID over to the man behind the counter, but it was a bit obvious.
When they got back to the table, Tommy barely even noticed they were there. His eyes were fixated on the lead singer of the band, who was singing one of their last songs of the night.
Ranboo jokingly snapped in his face to get his attention, to which Tommy smacked his hand away.
Tubbo and Ranboo sipped their drinks and Tommy clapped slowly as if mocking them. Tubbo felt a bit awkward, and hoped that other people hadn’t noticed Tommy’s dramatic reaction.
“You want one Tommy? Oh that’s right-” Tubbo teased, earning an offended look from the younger.
“Hey hey, don’t be mean. Designated drivers are important.” Ranboo added, mocking Tommy as well. The younger crossed his arms and made a pouty face, but a smile was still visible through it.
“You guys are dicks.”
Over the final hour before last call, Tubbo drank two more beers and some weird drink he couldn’t pronounce the name of, which was most definitely a bad idea considering he hadn’t eaten in six hours. By the time they were leaving, he was drunk.
Tubbo had only actually been drunk twice in his life, and both times were with Tommy, who claimed he was the most annoying drunk he’d ever met.
As they walked to the car, he watched his feet on the concrete, not moving at all in a straight line and feeling like he was floating.
“This way, buddy.” Ranboo chuckled, grabbing Tubbo’s arm and pulling him back to the side with them. Tubbo laughed.
They made it to the car and he climbed in, plopping himself into the back seat. Ranboo climbed in on the other side, sitting in the back with Tubbo this time.
“Ready kids?” Tommy joked as he started the car.
Tubbo felt hot from the booze, and just now realized that he’d been wearing his coat the entire night. He slowly pulled it off, getting it tangled on his seat belt and just kind of leaving it there out of laziness. Ranboo caught a glimpse of Tubbo’s scarred arms, and stared for a moment. Tubbo noticed immediately and folded in on himself a bit, embarrassed. Ranboo didn’t know about his self harm, so it made sense for him to be a bit shocked, but it still made Tubbo uncomfortable. Ranboo seemed to stop staring the second he realized Tubbo’s reaction, and smiled at Tubbo for a second before he focussed his eyes back out the window.
The car ride home was quiet other than the sound of the radio, since they were all tired now and Tubbo was too out of it to have a conversation. He didn’t see that as a bad thing, though. His mind was quiet, the only thoughts being from that night. It was freeing; comfy. The trees seemed to almost blend together as he watched them through the moving car window, creating an image of smudged paint in his mind. He felt happy.
Once they pulled into Tubbo’s driveway, he thanked the both of them multiple times for the night and promised to talk to them much more often. He climbed out of the car, grabbed his coat and shut the car door before waving goodbye and running up to the door.
It was past 1am now, and it felt weird walking into his house alone that late. He slowly made his way to his room, very aware of the sound of his footsteps as he walked up the stairs.
Once he’d closed the bedroom door behind him a wave rushed over him. He couldn’t tell what the feeling was, whether it was excitement or relief or something else, but he liked it. He felt real.

Chapter Text

Tubbo pov

Tubbo woke up the next morning to Wilbur knocking on his door obnoxiously. He slowly rolled over and sat himself up, quickly realizing the pounding pain in his head. This was the part he hated most about drinking, the part everyone hated the most about drinking; the next morning.
“One sec!” He called, throwing his covers off and giving himself a moment before standing up and heading to the door. He took a breath, preparing himself to act excited, and swung the door open.
“Happy birthday!” Wilbur yelled, shooting off some cheap confetti cannon that Tubbo assumed he’d found in a junk drawer. He seemed to startle himself with it because he flinched slightly. Tubbo’s head pounded even more, but he smiled through it.
“Thank you.” He spoke, laughing quietly. Wilbur tossed the empty cannon over his shoulder carelessly.
“So, first of all, where the hell did you go last night?” Wil questioned, smirking slightly. Tubbo felt the excitement from the night before fill up his chest once again as he remembered how much fun he’d had. He vaguely remembered checking his phone before falling asleep and seeing the few texts that Wil had sent him.
“Did you just leave? Where are you going? Don’t die.” They had said.
He’d meant to reply but had clearly forgotten.
“Oh, Tommy and Ranboo brought me to this gig downtown,” He answered genuinely. He didn’t really have a reason to lie to Wilbur about this. “It was a surprise so I didn’t know we were going until we were there.”
Wilbur nodded.
“That sounds fun, bring me next time.” He responded, hitting Tubbo in the arm jokingly. “How drunk did you get?”
They both chuckled slightly and Tubbo rolled his eyes, shoving past Wilbur out his bedroom door. He was surprised at how okay he felt that morning, and he hoped it’d stay that way the rest of the day.
“Is Dad here?” He asked, making his way towards the stairs. He wanted to pretend he didn’t care, but he cared a lot. Phil had never missed his birthday before, and this was supposedly a big one, even if he still didn’t understand the significance.
“Not sure honestly I came straight to you when I woke up.” Wilbur shrugged, following behind him. The two made their way downstairs tiredly.

“Toby!” Kristin suddenly called from the living room, startling the both of them. Tubbo quickly turned his head to see her happily walking over with her arms out. She pulled him in for a hug kindly and Tubbo happily hugged back. “Happy birthday, hon.”
“Thanks Kristen.” He smiled, not wanting to let go for a moment. Kristen had quickly become the most consistent thing in their lives, and she made Tubbo feel safe. It made him really happy that she showed up for his birthday.
“Is Dad here?” He asked, pulling away from the hug and looking around as if he’d see Phil standing behind him. He didn’t.
“He’s not,” She responded, sighing. “He was, but he left a few hours ago. I’m not sure where to, I’m sorry.”
She had a guilty expression on her face, as if it was her fault that Phil wasn’t there. Tubbo felt disappointed to say the least. For a second he wanted to go back upstairs and lay in his bed and cry, but he pushed it to the side and took a breath.
“That’s alright.” He said, forcing a cheery tone in his voice and smiling again. He turned to Wilbur, who was heading toward the kitchen.
“Want some breakfast?” Wil asked, eagerly. He seemed like he was trying to brighten the mood, so Tubbo accepted even though he wasn’t actually hungry. He hurried over to the kitchen and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge before sitting down at the island. Kristen turned back into the living room and began rummaging through her bag as if she were looking for something.
“What are you feeling like?” Wilbur questioned, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Tubbo shrugged. “Anything’s fine.” He answered, casually. Wilbur nodded and began grabbing ingredients, and Tubbo pulled his phone out of the pocket of his joggers. He had a message from Ranboo, as well as a few basic “Happy birthdays” from people he went to school with that he hadn’t talked to in years. He ignored those and read the slightly long message Ranboo had sent him.
“Hey I just wanted to say sorry for being rude like that in the car last night. That really wasn’t my business I should’ve ignored. Happy birthday btw!”
Tubbo thought for a moment, not remembering exactly what Ranboo was talking about, until that moment on the ride home flashed back into his head. He wouldn’t really describe Ranboo staring at his arms as rude, at least not in that context. If Tubbo saw someone else who’s body looked like his he’d probably stare too at first. Sometimes it’s just your immediate reaction. It did make him uncomfortable, but only because he was insecure, not because Ranboo had actually done anything wrong.
He quickly began typing a response.
“It's totally fine man. I should’ve told you about all of that a while ago, that’s my bad. And thanks.” He added a smile at the end and hit send. He looked up from the screen to see Kristen walking into the kitchen with a small box in her hand, wrapped in white and blue paper. She placed it on the countertop in front of Tubbo and smiled kindly.
“It’s not much, but I wanted to pick something up for you.” She spoke sweetly as she moved to the stove to help Wilbur cook.
Tubbo was surprised, not expecting to get any gifts at all, nevermind one from Kristen. Smiling a bit, he hesitantly ripped the wrapping paper away, revealing a plain cardboard box. Kristen turned back around to watch as he unfolded the top of the box, a curious expression on his face.
Inside, under a bit of folded up tissue paper, was a snow globe. Tubbo carefully pulled it out of the box and held it up to get a good look.
It was about the size of one of his hands, but was heavier than he expected. The base was white with small floral detailing, and inside were two deer standing by a big pine tree. The terrain was green and grassy, covered only slightly with white to appear freshly snowed on. He shook it gently and watched the small white flecks dance around inside the glass.
“I hope it’s not stupid,” Kristen started, laughing at herself. “If you hate it I can always return it and buy you a video game or something.”
Tubbo shook his head, smiling.
“No, I love it. Thank you.” He thanked her kindly, shaking the globe again. He’d always had a love for these kinds of things, and the fact that Kristen thought to give him something sweet and genuine rather than generic reminded him of his mum.
“Shit!” Wilbur yelled, quickly turning off the stovetop. Tubbo didn’t see what had happened, but the air filled with the smell of burning eggs. Wilbur hurriedly threw the pan into the sink and poured water on top of it. The three of them laughed. “Wanna go out instead?”

Wilbur pov

Wilbur hadn’t properly gone out to eat at a restaurant since before he got sick. He’d always been too scared, whether it was the unknown calories or the fact that he’d be surrounded by people watching him eat, even the idea made him tense up with anxiety. As they walked inside the local breakfast place, his heartbeat seemed to get faster with every step. He hoped that the fear wasn’t too obvious on his face, since he really didn’t want Tubbo to know how hard this was for him. Kristen had decided to stay at the house in case Phil showed up again, so it was just the two of them.
The smell of bacon and slightly burnt bread filled his nose as he swung open the front door. It was a nostalgic smell, and brought back memories of coming to this same restaurant with the whole family when they were young. It was the best place for breakfast within reasonable distance, which didn’t mean it was good, but better than whatever science experiment he’d created in that pan this morning.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Tubbo asked Wil once they’d found a table. Wilbur was looking at the menu, and must have been pretty obvious about how anxious it made him if Tubbo had noticed.
“Yeah I’m fine,” He lied, looking up with a smile. “It was my idea, don't worry about it.”
Tubbo nodded and smiled back, returning his gaze back to his own menu. Just then, Wilbur noticed that Tubbo looked a bit anxious as well as his eyes traced the paper in front of him. He guessed that it was just strange for him to be back in a place from his childhood, as he felt the same way.
Wilbur was shocked at how good of a mood Tubbo had been in all morning. When he’d heard Tubbo leave the night before he was worried he wouldn’t be back home the next morning, so he was more than relieved when Tubbo opened his bedroom door, and especially when he had a smile on his face. Even if it was just this day, he was happy to see him happy.
After Wilbur had found the lowest calorie meal on the menu, which was still higher than his typical breakfast, the two of them ordered their food. His stomach filled with dread as they waited, and he could barely keep up a conversation with Tubbo, though he did try.
“So, tell me about last night, was it fun?” He asked, wondering if the worry in his voice was evident. Tubbo snapped out of the daze he seemed to be in and looked toward him.
“Oh yeah, it was great.” He responded happily. He fiddled with his fingers. “It was kind of crazy. I think you would’ve liked it.”
Wilbur nodded, and forced a happy expression. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy that Tubbo had a good night, but his anxiety was stronger than any other emotion right now.
“I can’t remember the band name,” Tubbo continued, shrugging. “But they were really good.”
“That’s great.” Wil finally replied. He tapped his foot on the floor on beat with his heart. “I’m glad you had fun.”
Tubbo nodded, and looked at Wilbur with confused eyes.
“Are you sure you’re good?” He questioned once again. “Cause we can go if you want.”
Wil stared to the side and said nothing, trying to center himself, and Tubbo continued.
“You don’t have to eat, you know? Right now, I mean. You can have something at home or whatever if that’s easier.”
Wilbur’s foot stopped tapping, and his anxiety began to lift slightly. Having the pressure of feeling like he had to eat his entire meal taken away made him feel a little better. Tubbo was right, he didn’t have to eat, he was choosing too. He was still in control of his life.
“Thanks Tubs.” He spoke with a gentle smile. “I’m alright, though, I promise.”
The rest of the morning went better. Once they’d actually started eating, Wilbur didn’t feel as much dread as he’d thought he would. The two talked more about Tubbo’s night out, and his face lit up as he told Wil every detail. It was as if it was the first fun thing he’d ever done, and it honestly might as well have been. Wilbur knew how dark Tubbo’s mind had been for so long, and hearing him talk about something so bright and exciting was amazing. He’d always just wanted Tubbo to be okay, and he was starting to have hope that he would be.

Tubbo pov

Phil still wasn’t there when Tubbo and Wil got home, and Kristen hadn’t been able to get ahold of him in the time they were out. Tubbo could tell that she was worried, but she acted like she was perfectly confident he’d be there that night. The three of them had a fun rest of the day. They chatted and watched movies, and just overall had a nice and chill time. Tubbo was having fun, but his mind lingered on Phil. This was the first time in his entire life that he hadn’t seen his dad on his birthday. The first time he’d spent the day with Kristen, who wasn’t his mother, but was someone he loved in a similar way. The first time he’d spent his birthday wondering if his dad was safe instead of excitedly waiting to eat cake or crying in his room. It was a strange feeling in between the good and the bad that this day had brought him in the past.
He wanted to have a nice time, to be in the moment, but he couldn’t help but want to go back in time. He wanted to be a little kid again, have a party with a bunch of people from school he barely knew, get excited about every single second of the day.
When he was a kid, his birthday was a day when the entire world stopped spinning, and the spotlight was pointed directly at him. Not at Wilbur, or at things that mattered, it was just about him. He didn’t want that in the same way now, but he missed that feeling of being important. Phil not even showing up, not even sending him a shitty “happy bday” text, made him feel like he wasn’t important at all; like Phil couldn’t care less about him. Every happy moment that day was tainted by that sense of unimportance, and the fear that he’d feel that forever now.
Toward the end of the day, after he’d finally stopped waiting for his dad to walk through the door with a present and a smile on his face, the three of them decided to have dinner without him.
Kristen cooked pizza, and Wilbur pulled out the pack of beers he’d bought the day before. He offered one to Tubbo, which Tubbo gladly accepted.
“Happy birthday, Tubs.” Wilbur said a bit loudly as he sat himself down at the table. He held his beer up in the air and the three clinked their glasses together before starting their meal. Tubbo thought about the day, and was proud of himself for allowing it to be a good one. It doesn’t sound like a difficult thing to let yourself be happy, but it hadn’t been possible for Tubbo in a long time. He still found himself waiting for the moment it all went to shit, and as they were all almost finished eating, that moment came. The door swung open, and Phil marched in. The dinner conversation stopped, and everyone immediately turned toward the doorway.
“Happy Birthday!” Phil yelled, slurring his words a bit. Tubbo’s stomach dropped as he watched Phil stumble toward the dining room where they were standing. “I missed dinner?”
Nobody said anything for a moment, they just stared. Phil was wearing a white sweater, which had a bourbon colored stain in the center. His jacket was hanging halfway off his shoulders, and he swayed in his place as he stood in front of them. Tubbo wondered how long it’d been since he’d actually seen Phil, because his hair had grown longer and looked messier. A smile was painted on his face.
“Did you drive home drunk?” Wilbur questioned with an angry tone, eyeing Phil up and down.
“I’m hardly drunk, mate.” Phil argued with a laugh. He kissed Kristen on the top of her head before making his way over to Tubbo and wrapping his arms around him. Tubbo didn’t know how to react, and just patted Phil’s arm distantly. Wilbur looked at Tubbo, an apologetic expression on his face. Tubbo flashed a weak smile in an attempt to say he was okay, even if he wasn’t. He’d started to regret wishing for Phil to come home. Now all he wanted was for him to leave.
“How’s your day been, son?” Phil asked, lazily sitting himself down in the chair beside Tubbo. He lifted one of the beers from the pack on the table and cracked it open, taking a sip.
“It was alright.” Tubbo replied with a shrug, keeping a neutral expression. He couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad; or both. “Where’ve you been?”
“I was out,” Phil responded vaguely. He took another sip of his beer. “Had some stuff to take care of today. I’m here now though, right?”
Tubbo simply nodded, and looked to Kristen with a look that asked “help”.
“Should we have cake?” She suggested, cheerfully. Everyone agreed.
Wilbur stood up and walked to the oven, pulling out the store bought cake they’d thrown in there to warm it up. He placed it on the counter, and reached up to the top cabinet to the left and pulled out four plates, then a handleful of plastic forks because he hadn’t washed the silverware yet. The silence in the room was deafening as he plated four slices of cake and handed them to each person at the table, then sat back down with his own.
“Thanks, Wil.” Phil spoke obnoxiously. He was talking louder than normal, which struck a nerve with Tubbo that made him angrier; he didn’t know why.
“Thanks.” Tubbo added softly, glancing at Wil who was anxiously staring at the food in front of him. Tubbo could tell he was angry, and he knew that when Wilbur was angry –or felt any negative emotion for that matter– it was harder for him to make himself eat. Still, he watched as Wilbur picked up the fork with a shaky hand and took a bite.
“Proud of you for eating so much tonight, son.” Phil spoke, rudely. Wilbur’s eyes seemed to widen as he swallowed the last bite of food, and Tubbo could see the guilt spread on his face.
‘God, shut the fuck up.’ He thought, knowing how that must have made Wil feel. Wilbur simply nodded and pushed his plate to the side. Tubbo could hear his foot tap on the floor. It only took a few minutes before Wilbur stood up and went to the bathroom, and Tubbo knew exactly what that meant, but also knew there was nothing he could do about it.
“So, eighteen now huh?” Phil spoke, being the only one to break the silence once again. Tubbo wanted to get up and go to bed. “This is your first legal drink, right?”
He gestured to the bottle of beer beside Tubbo and Tubbo chuckled slightly, even though nothing was funny.
“Fifth, actually.” He shrugged, taking another sip. Phil nodded awkwardly, and Wilbur walked back into the room, his face pale now. He suggested they clean up, and Tubbo quickly agreed. He wanted to get away from that situation as fast as possible. Phil stayed in his seat, and the other three stood up and began clearing the table. Kristen began doing the dishes.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed.” Tubbo announced when he’d finished throwing out the last of the trash left on the table. He forced a smile once again. Wilbur looked at him, worried, but nodded. It wasn’t late at all, and Tubbo was very obviously not going to bed, but he could tell Wilbur understood that he just needed to get away. Phil stood up and hugged Tubbo once again, leaning into him as he lost his balance. Tubbo found himself wanting to cry.
“G’night mate, happy birthday.” He said once again. His breath smelled of beer and bourbon. Kristen and Wilbur said goodnight as well, and Tubbo hurried upstairs.
As he reached the hallway at the top of the stairs, he felt himself starting to feel all the negative feelings that day had brought. It wasn’t an overwhelming sadness, but a weak one. One that felt dull and stung in his throat. He wanted his mom back, he wanted his dad back, and he wanted himself back. Tears fell gently from his eyes, and instead of heading to his room he turned to the bathroom. He opened the door quietly, and slowly closed it behind him, sliding his back down the door until he was sitting on the cold tile. He laid his head on his knees and sighed, staring at the wall. He felt almost empty, and that feeling of unimportance crept back. Phil did show up, but he was shitfaced. Everything bad in their lives was because of a stupid car accident, and yet he drove home drunk. Hours late, after not responding to a single message. Tubbo realized then, that Phil didn’t care about him. He cared about how Tubbo’s actions made him feel. In Phil’s eyes, if Tubbo was sad, or damaged, or hurting himself, then he wasn’t being a good enough parent. He saw Tubbo as a reflection of himself, rather than a person.
He never seemed to feel that way about Wilbur, though. Wilbur was his golden child. The center of his life. He genuinely wanted to see him happy.
Tubbo’s head felt hot, and his chest tight. Tears continued streaming down his face, and he began to feel the need to stop himself from feeling like this. He was about to open the drawer in the sink counter, until he remembered the moment at dinner. When Phil made that rude comment to Wilbur and he walked off to the bathroom. He knew what Wilbur was doing when he left that dinner table, and he knew that what he was doing was the reason Wil was so sick. Something shifted in Tubbo’s mind. For a moment, he felt envious of Wilbur’s illness. He remembered how much Phil did for him when he was in the hospital. Remembered how terrified he was when the doctor’s told him Wil might not make it. Tubbo wanted to be cared about like that. He wanted Phil to know that he was struggling. To really know. He wanted to be sick.
It happened faster than he could process. He crawled to the other side of the room, his hands shaking. He suddenly felt the weight of the food in his stomach, the bubbling of the beer sitting in his gut. He leaned over the toilet, and after hesitating for only a second, he shoved his fingers down his throat. His throat burned as his body reacted, but he continued, all the contents of his stomach leaving his mouth.
When he was done, he wiped his face, washed his hands, and left the room as if nothing had happened.
Wilbur bumped into him on his way down the hall.
“You alright?” He asked, concerned. “You look pale.”
“Totally fine.” Tubbo responded with a smile. “Just tired, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wilbur was hesitant, but nodded, and the two walked past each other.

Chapter Text

Wilbur pov

Something seemed to shift in the way Tubbo acted after his birthday. He seemed happier, and yet more distant.
Christmas had come and gone. They’d spent the holiday the same as they spent most days, but it wasn’t bad. Kristen celebrated with her own family, and Phil actually managed to stay home with Tubbo and Wil for the entire day. They unwrapped a few presents and watched a movie before bed, but otherwise it was just another day.
It was now the first day of the new year, and Wilbur was greeted in the morning by Tubbo happily hurrying down the stairs.
“Morning.” He spoke quickly as he rushed toward the front door, grabbing his coat off the rack beside him and throwing it on.
“Where are you going?” Wil questioned as he ate a mouthful of cereal.
“Tommy’s. I’ll be back in a bit.” He responded with a smile. Wilbur nodded and waved, smiling back. He didn’t want to say anything else while his mouth was full. Tubbo waved back as he walked out the door.
With the holidays being over, Wilbur’s morning was a lot calmer. He loved Christmas, but he didn’t love all of the scary food it brought along with it. He’d struggled a lot more over the last few weeks than he had in a while, and he was relieved now to not have to worry as much. The holiday stress made his normal meals seem easy, which was working out for him now.
As he was about to finish his meal, which had been surprisingly easy to manage, he noticed his phone light up out of the corner of his eye. He took the last bite and picked it up. There was a message from an unknown number. Confused, he opened it.
“Hey Wilbur, uh, it’s George.” A familiar voice spoke. Wil’s eyes widened. “We went to Uni together for a while, I’m not sure if you remember me.”
Wilbur paused the message for a moment to think. George was his roommate for the entire time he was in University. They’d been pretty close, but Wil stopped speaking to everyone he was close with after his mother’s death, so they lost contact. He realized quickly that he would have graduated by now if he’d stayed, which he did already know, but it hadn’t hit him like that until now. He realized, too, that George would have to have graduated over a year ago. It was strange to imagine him anywhere but University since that was the only place Wil had ever known him. He clicked play again.
“Anyway, I saw you pop up in my snapchat memories,” George continued, laughing, probably at how ridiculous of a sentence that is to say. “Weird, I know, but I dunno, I just wanted to call and see how you’ve been. Call me back if you want. Bye!”
Wilbur sat there for a moment processing what he’d just heard. It had been so long since he’d seen George, or anyone from University, however he remembered him perfectly.
George had short brown hair and brown eyes. He was a lot shorter than Wilbur, but not necessarily short, and he was fairly slim. Wilbur remembered how he was always a little strange, and kind of awkward, but a generally good person.
Wilbur would drag George to every party he went to, and after a few drinks George would stop complaining about it. They weren’t the closest of friends, and definitely didn’t know as much about each other as they maybe should have after two years, but they always had fun.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be a good idea to call back or not. He was glad to hear from him, and maybe catching up would be nice, but he was also scared. He wasn’t the same person George knew in uni, he didn’t even recognize that person anymore, but maybe George wasn’t either. Maybe he was just as different.
Without thinking too much about it, Wilbur worked up the courage to press the call button. It rang a few times, and part of him wanted to end the call and block the number before it was too late, but he didn’t. In the middle of the fourth ring, the call was answered.
“Hello?” Wilbur asked nervously. It was silent for a few seconds. He tapped his foot on the kitchen tile.
“Wilbur!” He heard George yell happily. Hearing the familiar voice again made him feel better.
“Hey man!” He replied with a laugh. “It’s been a while.”
“It has, it has.” George agreed. “What’ve you been up to?”
Wilbur made up the most generic story he could. He gave himself a fake house, a fake job, and a fake new university that he’d transferred to in order to be closer to home. He could have been more honest, but he didn’t even know where to start with his real story, so this was easier and less depressing.
George gave a similar story back, but Wilbur could tell his was true. Even though it had been years since they’d spoken, it was strange for Wilbur to imagine George having an entirely new life that he wasn’t a part of. It was as if he’d only seen George as a memory in his head, like he’d forgotten that he was a real person with a real life. It was almost grounding to hear about all the things George had created and accomplished over those few years, even if it made him feel a little embarrassed that he himself had done essentially nothing.
George was definitely a lot different now. He was more confident; didn't trip over his words as much. He seemed more mature, and was more open.

“Hey listen, I gotta go,” George finally said after almost forty five minutes of chatting. “But we should catch up in person soon, maybe next weekend?”
Wilbur was again surprised. He wasn’t expecting an offer to actually hang out. It didn’t even make sense to him that George had wanted to talk to him for this long. He figured it would be a quick catch up and they’d never speak again.
“I’m not busy.” He replied cheerfully. He wondered if he sounded too eager.
“Perfect, I’ll text you later to make a plan or something then?” George suggested. Wilbur agreed and the two said goodbye before hanging up.
Wilbur felt both happy and excited. It’d been years since he’d hung out with a real adult that wasn’t his dad or his dad’s girlfriend, so this was a big deal for him. He’d never been too upset about not having any friends, in all honesty he’d had much bigger things to worry about, but he did miss having new people to talk to.

Next weekend seemed to come quicker than he’d imagined, and suddenly it was time to get on the train to London. The two had agreed to meet at a pub where they’d spent most of their weekends back in Uni, since it was about midway from where they each lived and was a familiar place.
The train ride was about an hour and a half, and Wilbur spent most of that time going over scenarios in his head about how this was going to go. He didn’t think he’d be this nervous, considering all he was doing was meeting up with an old friend, but he was pretty terrified. He wondered if his outfit was okay, or if his hair looked bad; things that obviously didn’t matter. This wasn’t some kind of date, or a job interview, it was just George.
As the train entered London, and Wilbur’s eyes traced the familiar streets and buildings, memories rushed to the front of his mind. He remembered partying and drinking, but also dating and studying and working. For a second, it felt as if no time had passed at all. As if the old Wilbur had finally resurfaced, clawing up from the depths of his brain. It wasn’t a feeling he could describe perfectly in words, but he felt like him again.
Once the train had reached his stop, Wilbur anxiously made his way outside. The familiar yet odd smell of the polluted London streets filled his nose as the cold air brushed across his face, causing him to shiver. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat and turned right, toward his destination.
It felt nice, but strange, to be back here. To walk the same streets he’d walked almost every day at one point of his life. A point of his life that was different in every way from his life now. It was a bittersweet feeling, one that filled his body with nostalgia and a bit of discomfort.
He immediately recognized the pub as he approached it, as well as the man standing outside, frantically looking around and bouncing up and down in the cold weather. He crossed the street, and George noticed him just as he reached the sidewalk.
“Wil!” He yelled excitedly. He immediately walked up to Wilbur and the two of them hugged quickly. George was a bit taller than Wil remembered, and his hair was longer now. He’d grown his facial hair out a bit more than he used to, and his posture seemed more self assured.
“Holy shit man, it’s good to see you!” Wilbur shouted, his hand on George’s shoulder. The two headed inside to escape the weather, and found themselves a place to sit.
The heat in the building must have been on full blast, because it felt hot even after being so cold outside. Wilbur slid his jacket off and tossed it beside him.
“This is crazy.” George commented, laughing. His eyes seemed to wonder, as if observing every detail of Wilbur’s face. “You look so different.”
Wil hadn’t thought about how much his body had changed until that very moment, and he tensed up a bit. He wasn’t at his lowest weight anymore, but was still shockingly thin, so George’s hesitation was warranted.
“Yeah, so do you.” Wil agreed, pretending he didn’t understand the real meaning of the other man’s words. “How are you?”
The two caught up, discussing their train rides there and reminiscing on the times they’d spent in this exact place. It seemed no different inside that pub than the last time he’d been there, which made sense because it hadn’t actually been that long, but even the sound of people talking in the background was the same. The faces of strangers were the same; the music. It was almost ominous.
“Alright I’m gonna get drinks, what do you want?” George asked after a few minutes, starting to stand up. Wilbur asked him to grab him a beer, and George agreed before heading over to the bar. Wilbur’s eyes wondered, tracing the familiar room. He could see moments playing in his mind like slideshows as he looked around, observing every detail. That feeling was back: the feeling of himself. He felt real again, like he’d reconnected with his body. To life.
George walked back with two pints of beer in his hands, a smile still on his face. He placed them down and took his seat again.
“So, what do you do now?” Wilbur asked as he lifted his glass to his lips. George did the same before answering.
“I’m uh,” He started, laughing shyly. “Ok this sounds dumb, but I make youtube videos.”
George sounded unsure, as if he was embarrassed. Wilbur had always thought being a content creator was kinda weird, but he didn’t say that of course.
“Oh really? That’s awesome!” He lied, wondering what kind of things George could possibly be posting. He sipped his drink again.
“What about you?” George questioned. Wilbur thought for a moment on what to say. He’d vaguely mentioned to George on the phone that he had a job, but didn’t explain what that job was.
“I’m a writer.” He blurted out. He had always wanted to write, so it wasn’t the most made up thing he could have said. “Well, an editor.”
It was a blatant lie, but George seemed pretty convinced.
“Right, I remember now! You always talked about becoming a writer.” George exclaimed, waving his index finger in the air in front of him. “Hey, why was it that you ended up leaving again?”
Wilbur’s mouth went dry. He’d told George about his mother passing the day he moved out, and he’d hoped that George still remembered so that this exact conversation could be avoided.
“Oh, um,” He stuttered, struggling to find words. “My mum passed, so I moved back home to help take care of my brother.”
George’s face went pale, and Wil could see how bad he felt. It was the first true thing Wil had said all night, and that look on George’s face was exactly why.
“Shit, that’s right.” He gulped. “I’m really sorry, I completely blanked on that.”
“No, no it’s totally fine. It wasn’t yours to remember.” Wilbur said casually with a shrug. He flashed a reassuring smile.
The awkwardness didn’t last long, as the topic quickly changed and the two moved on to discuss lighter things. They drank and talked for hours, eventually about completely irrelevant things like politics and music; the way they used to. Wilbur finally felt like a person again, rather than a fragment of who he used to be. It was like a weight had lifted; like he’d finally made his way back down to earth. The ground under his feet again felt secure; comforting. He was alive.

Tubbo pov :):

Tubbo hadn’t expected just how quickly his new habit would become an addiction. It immediately became a daily activity, on top of his already daily self harm, and it was slowly taking over his mind. Most of his thoughts revolved around food. How much of it he ate, how much he got rid of afterward, how he’d hide this new behavior from his family and friends.
He hadn’t been restricting the food he actually ate, but if he’d choose to eat more than what he thought was reasonable he’d throw it back up. This usually happened after dinner or a snack in the middle of the night. His throat was sore all of the time, and his knuckles were starting to look a little raw so he made sure to hide them.
It was easier for Tubbo to hide what he was doing because he’d watched Wilbur do this exact thing. He knew what people would look for and what they’d notice differently about him because he’d noticed those things when Wilbur was really sick. So he made sure to only wear baggy clothes, wore gloves when he’d leave the house, and even sometimes stole Kristen’s concealer from the upstairs bathroom to hide the tired bags under his eyes.
Most importantly, he acted like nothing was wrong at all. In fact, to the people around him, this was probably the happiest they’d seen him in years. It was all calculated. He knew exactly what they needed to see in order to stop worrying about him, so he showed them exactly that.
Initially he’d started purging because he wanted Phil to care, but it quickly developed into something he never wanted anyone to know about. Something that was his, and that validated to him and him only that he really was sick; even if nobody else knew about it.
Winter break had ended, and Tubbo had started hanging out with Tommy and Ranboo both during and after the school day. He’d begun to talk a lot more with Ranboo, and even though it’d only been a couple weeks, the two had gotten really close. He even invited Ranboo over to the house, which was something he never did since his place was usually pretty embarrassing.
It was after school about two weeks into the new year, and the two of them were paired up for one of the last big projects of the year, so instead of being slightly rude and inviting himself over to Ranboo’s house to study like he usually did with Tommy, he offered to study at his own.
When they walked inside, Wilbur was sitting at the kitchen island on his phone, while Phil and Kristen sat in the living room in front of the T.v. It was strange to see his dad home, since he still spent most of his days out pretty late, but Tubbo didn’t acknowledge him. Ranboo hadn’t actually met any of Tubbo’s family, and he was fine with keeping it that way, but of course Wilbur greeted them as they stepped in.
“Who’s this?” He asked, sipping at a cup of coffee.
“Uh, this is Ranboo.” Tubbo replied with an awkward smile as he hung his coat on the rack. “Ranboo, this is my brother, Wil.”
Ranboo waved lazily.
“Nice to meet you, Ranboo.” Wilbur greeted, kindly. Kristen greeted them as well, and Phil’s eyes stayed glued to the T.v screen. Tubbo wondered if he was even awake.
Tubbo quickly gestured for Ranboo to follow him and they both hurried up the stairs and into Tubbo’s room, which he just then realized he hadn’t cleaned.
“Uh, sorry it’s kinda fucking gross in here.” He laughed shyly.
“All good.” Ranboo shrugged nonchalantly. The two grabbed their books from their bags and began flipping through pages. Tubbo sat on his bed, and Ranboo on the small desk chair a few feet away. It was silent for a moment as they each looked over the assignment, the same confused look on both of their faces. Tubbo noticed that all of Ranboo’s supplies were neat and perfectly placed in his bag, which was now laying on the floor at Ranboo’s feet. His own stuff on the other hand was a complete mess. He had loose papers everywhere, pages ripped out of textbooks, and had to search for a pen that actually worked in the messy bottom of his bag. It was an interesting observation; one that made sense, though.
“I’m gonna be totally honest, I don’t know what any of this means.” Tubbo admitted, laughing at himself. Ranboo laughed along with him and began to explain the best he could what it was they were meant to do. After hearing many variations of the same explanation, he still didn’t understand, but he pretended to in order to spare himself from more embarrassment.
The two boys sat in mostly silence, unless there was something one of them needed help with or approval on. It was more calming than it was awkward, although it was still a little bit awkward. Tubbo enjoyed just being in other people’s company more than he enjoyed really talking most of the time. It was easier.
The silence was eventually broken by the sound of Ranboo’s pencil snapping and him sighing.
“Do you have a sharpener?” He asked, frustrated.
“Uh, no I don’t think so.” Tubbo shrugged, knowing they’d all be broken. “I have a new pencil though, here.”
He reached out his arm with the pencil in his hand, offering it to the other boy. Ranboo took it quickly, but glanced at Tubbo’s arm for a little too long as he did. Tubbo looked down and was reminded of the fresh bandages wrapped around his forearm, immediately embarrassed.
“Oh um- that’s nothing I just-” He attempted to defend himself, unable to find the right words or excuse.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Ranboo assured him, shrugging again as he looked back down at his paper. “If you wanna talk about it we can, though.”
“You probably think I’m crazy, right?” Tubbo asked, shamefully. He chuckled awkwardly to try and lighten the now dim mood. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. Ranboo stopped what he was doing.
“No?” He responded, sounding shocked that Tubbo would think that. “Why would I think you’re crazy?”
Tubbo hesitated for a second, unsure of what to say. “Because I kind of am.” He finally spoke.
They both laughed, and then Ranboo’s expression grew serious again.
“Could I just ask why?” He asked, his voice quiet. “I mean, why do you um- do that?”
Tubbo stopped to think, and asked himself the same question in his head. He used to think he knew why, but now he wasn’t so sure. Still, without even knowing what he was going to say, he started responding.
“Well, my mum died a few years ago…” He trailed off. Ranboo nodded and placed his book down beside him. “I guess it isn’t just one reason. Control, grounding, punishment. I dunno.”
“Punishment for what?” Ranboo questioned. His expression looked sad and concerned, but also understanding.
Tubbo took a breath.
“For um,” He paused. “For caring so much. Not being able to move on.”
He’d never realized that he felt this way until now, and it was almost shocking to hear the words leave his mouth.
“Not being able to move on from your mom dying?” Ranboo interrogated, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
Tubbo nodded.
“I mean, people lose their parents all the time.” He argued with a shrug. “Most of them don’t completely spiral for three years.”
“Just because not everyone reacts the same as you have doesn’t mean your reaction isn’t acceptable.” Ranboo explained, a soft look in his eyes. Those words seemed to punch Tubbo in the gut. He’d never really opened up like this before, not even with Wilbur, and even though they barely spoke Ranboo had just done more for him than he could ever do for himself.
“Uh, yeah I guess that’s true.” He spoke, trying to play it off as not a big deal. “Thanks.”
Ranboo nodded, and the two moved their attention back to their work.

Chapter Text

Tubbo pov

Tubbo got sicker with each week that passed, and he knew it. He’d done hours of research on this disorder, and he knew the ins and outs of every symptom. It wasn’t a surprise to him when calluses started to form on the surface of his knuckles, or when his teeth started to ache before bed. He knew what he was doing to himself, and he knew how it would affect his health, but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved it. Watching the different health effects show up seemed to give him some sort of sick adrenaline rush. It told him he was doing something right; validated his thoughts in a physical way.
Tommy was the only one who’d really grown suspicious of Tubbo, and that was because of his new routine of heading to the bathroom immediately after lunch everyday. At first he’d thought leaning over a public school toilet was something he’d never do, no matter how much he wanted to, but each day the urge got stronger. Eventually, he stopped caring. It was a bit awkward the first time, wiping down the seat with disinfectant wipes, positioning himself in a way that worked in such a tight space, and having to be quiet enough that people wouldn’t hear out in the hall. It was disgusting, and Tubbo knew he should be horrified and embarrassed of himself, but it was almost thrilling.
Tommy hadn’t flat out asked him if he was making himself throw up in the school bathroom, but he did imply it.
“Hey, are you alright man?” He had asked one day after Tubbo had gotten back from purging his lunch. “You’ve just been acting kind of different lately. You look sick.”
Tubbo hadn’t known how to react, so he simply lied and said he had a stomach bug, and that he was “doing better than ever.” Tommy seemed hesitant, but appeared to believe Tubbo since he didn’t bring it up again.
Tubbo had begun to spend as little time at home as he could. Being there just reminded him of everything he hated, and gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Phil hadn’t even made an attempt to have a conversation with him in over a month. He continued to come home drunk most nights, or not at all. Tubbo was fed up with it. He didn’t have the energy to keep hoping for Phil to go back to how he used to be, so he stopped. His sadness had started to mutate into anger, and he’d decided that he hated his father.
On days he couldn’t hang with Tommy or Ranboo, he’d simply wander around town. It was freezing outside, and his fingertips were always numb and pale by the time he got home, but anything beat going home. The calories he burned were also a bonus.
He’d walk for hours, going absolutely nowhere. He’d listen to his entire playlist and enjoy the feel of the winter air on his face as he watched the people walking beside him, talking and laughing. He thought about what their different lives must be like. Were they really happy? Were they as screwed up as he was? He hoped there were good things out there somewhere. Hoped that the people walking by were blissfully unaware of the true darkness in the world. He wanted to believe that life could be good, even if his own may never be.
One day, during this daily walk, he’d decided to stop at his mother’s grave. He walked by the cemetery everyday, but hadn’t actually been able to bring himself to stop for a long time. He felt ashamed of himself when he thought about his mum, knowing she’d be disappointed in what he was doing now, but he really missed her that day and wanted to stop in and say hello.
As he approached the spot where she was buried, his stomach tensed up. No matter how many times he’d visited this place, it always sent a shock through his body to see her name engraved there, etched into the stone. He knelt down in front of the snow covered headstone, reading each word despite already knowing what they’d said. He gently brushed the snow off the top of the stone with his hand wrapped in his sleeve.
“Hey Mum.” He spoke softly, smiling. He sat back, hugging his knees to his chest. The cold of the snowy ground sent a chill through his body as it made its way through his clothes. “Sorry I haven’t visited for a bit, I’ve been… well I guess you know how I’ve been.”
He always spoke to his mother when he visited her grave, even if he didn’t fully believe that she could hear him. It made him feel closer to her to imagine her sitting somewhere and listening, nodding her head lovingly.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” He admitted, seeing his breath in the air in front of him. “I think maybe I’m just trying to keep myself alive?”
He paused for a second, catching himself waiting for a response.
“That doesn’t make sense, I know.” He shrugged, pulling his knees closer and pulling his sleeves over his fingertips. “Why would I do something that could kill me if I wanted to stay alive, right? I don’t know either.”
He was quiet for a few minutes now, just staring at the ground in front of him and letting his mind wander. He imagined his mother sitting beside him, pulling him close to her and pushing the hair out of his eyes. He imagined how warm it’d feel to be hugged by her, to have her arms wrapped around him so tight he couldn’t move. Tears stung at his eyes.
“I wish you could talk to me.” He finally spoke with a sigh. “I think I need your help.”

Tubbo’s new obsession had taken control of his life, and he was now obsessed with his body as well. Every reflective surface was now a place to catch a glance of himself in, not in a conceited way, but in an attempt to see himself how other people saw him. A passing glance.
He saw himself differently now. Every flaw on his body was amplified through his eyes, and he seemed to see a different person each time he looked in the mirror.
He noticed the way his cheeks pushed up when he smiled, causing his eyes to squint. He noticed the small bit of fat that seemed to spill over the top of his jeans. Noticed the way his fingers touched when he held his hands out flat. If he looked at himself for too long, his reflection would distort, his face molding into something unsettling.
He wanted to change himself completely.
It only took three weeks for his purging to go from once a day to twice, after lunch and then dinner. At school, he’d have to check every stall and make sure nobody else was in the room, which ended up taking a lot of time some days, but he didn’t care. At home, he’d either wait for everyone to go to bed before eating so he could be alone or he’d go to the upstairs bathroom while they were cleaning up the kitchen so they wouldn’t hear him.
He’d started to gain a new understanding for Wilbur, and why he did the things that he did. He’d never been able to wrap his head around doing something as gross as making himself sick, and yet when he did it to himself it somehow made him feel good. It was addicting, as if bulimia had grabbed ahold of him and was moving his fingers to his throat with puppet strings. He felt sick and tired almost all of the time, and yet euphoric.
If he was focussing on his weight, or the stinging feeling in the back of his throat, he wasn’t focussing on the things he desperately wanted to forget about. He consumed himself in the thoughts about his body and food. He felt like the empty space in his head had been filled up, and there was no more room for the bad thoughts that he’d usually find floating around in the blank spaces. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad either, he was just breathing. It was everything he’d wanted since losing mum. He was empty.
It didn’t always work, though, as some of the things he was trying to forget about still existed, and were actively happening everyday.
One Sunday, relatively early in the morning, Tubbo was woken up to the sound of yelling coming from downstairs. He quickly got out of bed, probably too quickly since his vision went fuzzy, so he let his body adjust for a moment before heading out into the hallway. Quietly, he made his way over to the stairway, tucking himself behind the small wall at the top and listening. He immediately recognized that the yelling was coming from Kristen and Phil.
“I don’t know what the hell your problem is!” He heard Phil yell, followed by what he assumed was Phil’s hand hitting the kitchen counter.
“My problem?” Kristen asked, defensively. Tubbo could tell she was trying to keep her voice quiet, while Phil didn’t seem to care. “This is about your problem, Phil. I don’t even recognize the person you’re being right now.”
It was silent for a moment, and Tubbo considered going back to his room, feeling like he was being rude by listening in on a conversation that wasn’t his. Curiosity got the best of him, though, so he stayed put.
“Nothing to say?” Kristen questioned, a sense of disappointment evident in her voice as if she were speaking to a naughty child. Tubbo thought that was fitting, since Phil had been acting like one.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Phil argued. Tubbo heard footsteps and prepared himself to run in case they were heading towards him, but then they stopped.
“I don’t care what you say,” Kristen sighed. “I just want you to talk to me.”
It got silent again. This time eerily silent. Tubbo could feel the tension in that room all the way from where he was standing.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Kristen finally said softly, breaking the silence. Tubbo heard the sound of tapping feet again, this time getting further away, and then the front door opening. “I’m done. This is over.”
The door slammed, and the house filled with quiet again. Tubbo’s stomach dropped, and he found himself feeling sad. He wanted to run downstairs and go after Kristen; convince her to stay, but he couldn’t blame her. Phil had become someone unfamiliar. He’d become cold, and she’d done so much for him despite that. She had every right to leave him, but that didn’t stop Tubbo from feeling left behind too.
Phil groaned and the footsteps started again, seeming to get closer this time. Worried he’d get caught, Tubbo quickly and quietly hurried back to his room. Soon after closing his bedroom door, he heard Phil walk through the hallway, and then the sound of a door slamming.
Once he was sure Phil wasn’t coming back out, he slowly crept over to Wilbur’s room, knocking on the door. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be so secretive, it wasn’t like it was abnormal to walk to his brother’s room, but he still made sure not to make too much noise.
Wilbur answered the door rather quickly, yawning and rubbing his eye with one hand as the other pulled the door all the way open.
“What’s up?” He asked mid yawn, his voice deep and groggy.
“I think Dad and Kristen just broke up.” Tubbo answered, his voice quiet. Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he gestured for Tubbo to come in.
“How do you know?” Wil questioned, the tone in his voice now matching Tubbo’s. He closed the door and leaned up against it, crossing his arms. Tubbo took a seat on Wilbur’s desk chair.
He explained what he’d heard, and wondered how Wilbur hadn’t heard any of it himself considering how loud Phil’s voice had been.
“You’re sure she said ‘we’re over’?” Wil asked, seeming unsure that Tubbo had heard them correctly.
“Well, something like that, yeah.” The younger responded with a shrug.
“Well, shit.” Wilbur sighed, walking to his bed and sitting down. “Should we like, talk to him?”
Tubbo raised an eyebrow, and felt almost offended by what Wilbur had just said.
“Why the hell would we talk to Dad?” He questioned, his voice a normal volume now. Wilbur looked confused.
“Because his girlfriend just broke up with him.” He reasoned. Tubbo found himself wanting to laugh, but he didn’t.
“I don’t care.” He shrugged, casually. The way he saw it, Phil was the reason this had happened, and didn’t deserve any sympathy from either of them. “Kristen is who we should be worried about.”
“Well yes, her too but- are you alright, Tubbo?” Wilbur asked, moving closer to the edge of the bed and resting his elbows on his knees.
Tubbo was confused yet again.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He questioned, chuckling. He felt a bit unsettled, worried that Wil might be onto him.
“Dunno,” Wilbur responded with a shrug. “You seem kind of on edge the past couple weeks. Angry, maybe.”
“Why is this about me now? We were talking about Dad and Kristen.” Tubbo argued, getting defensive. He knew that if he talked about himself, there was a good chance Wilbur would manage to get something out of him about what had actually been going on that past month. He didn’t want to take that chance.

Wilbur pov

Wilbur could tell that something weird was going on with his brother, but he had no idea what it was. Tubbo had barely been home since New years, and had been acting distant and off, in a way that Wilbur couldn’t describe. He seemed angrier, more reckless. It worried Wilbur, but not as much as Tubbo’s behavior had worried him the previous weeks when he was laying in his room and breaking his own bones, so he had decided not to bug him about it.
After Tubbo told Wilbur about Phil and Kristen’s argument, Wilbur decided he was going to try and speak with Phil. He could see how angry Tubbo was at that suggestion, so he waited for the younger to go back to his own room before heading to Phil.
When he entered the room, Phil was sitting at the end of his bed with his head in his hands. Beside him, was what looked to be an old photo album. Wilbur walked over hesitantly, sitting down next to him. He picked up the book of photos, which was open to a page dedicated to Phil and Lily’s trip to Paris, back before Tubbo and Wilbur even existed. One of the photos was of the two of them kissing in front of the eiffel tower. Wil’s heart ached as he thought of his mother.
“Everything okay?” Wilbur asked, unsure if that was the right thing to say. Obviously everything wasn’t okay, why would it be? But he couldn’t think of anything better. Phil was quiet for a moment, and Wilbur guessed he was going to be ignored.
“Kristen’s gone.” Phil finally replied, his tone low and sorrowful.
“I’m sorry.” Was all Wilbur could think to say. He placed his hand on Phil’s back supportively. Phil looked up at him now, and gave a sad smile.
“I should be the one apologizing.” He mumbled. His voice was shaky. “I’ve done nothing but fuck up since losing your mum. Your brother hates me.”
Wilbur struggled to find a way to comfort his father, knowing that unfortunately what he was saying wasn’t far from the truth. He knew he should feel angry at Phil, and part of him was, but he also loved his dad.
“I don’t think he hates you.” He reassured Phil, not knowing if he even believed it. “I think he just wishes you could understand him.”
Phil paused again.
“I wish I could too.” He admitted, shrugging. He reached over and grabbed the photo album from Wilbur’s lap, pointing to a picture of Lily sitting at a table at a french cafe, smiling. She was wearing a white and pink dress with puffy shoulders and she had a ribbon in her hair. She looked young, younger than she probably was, and unbelievably happy.
“He’s just like her.” Phil sighed, smiling down at the photo with tears forming in her eyes. “He has her eyes, her smile, even the way he talks is hers.”
He paused again before continuing.
“I look at him, and all I can see is her staring back at me.” He wiped a tear from his eye before it had a chance to fall. “I want to be close with him, and I want to help him, but it just hurts to even look at him.”
Wilbur was at a loss for words. He’d wondered for so long why it was always so hard for Phil to do the right thing when it came to Tubbo’s mental health, and now he finally understood. The explanation didn’t make his behavior acceptable in any way, but now Wilbur knew how to handle it better.
“You need to get over that, Dad.” He told Phil bluntly. “I get it, I really do, but that’s your problem. Tubbo doesn’t deserve to deal with the consequences. You need to be the grown up.”
Phil nodded, seeming defeated, and he closed the book of photos before placing it down on his bedside table.
“I know.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur pov

It was a big day for Wilbur. He’d been doing really well with recovery, and he and his therapist had agreed that he was ready to start working again. Today was his first job interview in over a year.
It wasn’t like he was applying for his dream career, it was an interview at a starbucks, but it was a big step for him regardless. He’d loved his job at the cafe he worked at before he got too sick, and wanted to do something similar so he already had an idea of what the work was like. He figured it’d help keep his anxiety under control. He’d gotten a prescription recently for some medication that was supposed to help with that as well, and so far it had been working.
Things were looking better for him, and he was hoping that getting this job would keep that pattern going. He wanted his life back.
It was early in the morning when he started getting ready, so nobody else was awake yet, which meant he couldn’t tell Tubbo where he was going. He was happy about that, though, since it meant if it went badly he wouldn’t have to have the awkward disappointing conversation about how he didn’t get the job.
He made sure his outfit was nice, but not over the top, and fit him in a way that hid his bony frame well enough that he wouldn’t get concerned looks.
His hair was still thin and brittle from when he was at his worst with his disorder, but he was able to fluff it up in a way that made it look slightly healthier and fuller than it was.
When he walked downstairs and into the kitchen, his mind told him that he shouldn’t eat breakfast since he might feel anxious or full during the interview, but he shoved the thoughts down the best he could and ate the same he would any morning. He finished his food quicker than normal, and threw the plate into the sink before heading to his car.
Wilbur’s hands shook as he stood outside the building, and his stomach churned. He just stood there for a minute, staring up at the green colored sign, shivering in the cold. He was excited to finally do something with his life again, but that didn’t take away the dreadful feeling that something would go wrong. It had been so long since he’d been around, well, anyone really. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to do things like this anymore.
After letting himself gather his thoughts for a few minutes, he finally managed to step toward the door and walk inside. It was much warmer inside the building, and he felt calmer. He nervously made his way over to the counter where a woman with a manager’s name tag stood, scribbling something down in a notepad.
“Excuse me?” He asked softly. The woman looked up at him and gave him a friendly smile. He was surprised, as for some reason he’d expected to be greeted by someone rude or standoffish.
“Yes?” The woman asked, her notepad now closed as she slid it into the pocket of her green apron. She was peppy and seemed to bounce up and down where she stood. Wilbur stood there for a bit too long, thinking about what to say next. He didn’t realize his own silence until he noticed a confused look spread across the face of the woman standing in front of him.
“Oh I’m uh- I’m Wil, I’m here for an interview.” He spoke shyly, laughing at himself to break the tension.
“Wil!” The woman exclaimed. She reached out her hand and shook Wilbur’s. “You’re who I’ve been waiting for. I’m Emily, I’m the manager here.”
Wilbur glanced at the clock, which showed that he was just on time, so he wondered why she said she was waiting.
“Follow me back here.” Emily spoke with another smile as she turned on her heel and walked towards a door behind the counter. Wilbur nodded and followed behind her, his cold hands still shaking as he shoved them back into his coat pockets.
The interview went as most do. There were a few questions he had good answers for, and a few he didn’t, but Emily hadn’t seemed upset with anything he’d said, so he took that as a good sign.
After she had seemingly gotten all of the information she was looking for, she pulled out the same notepad from before and flipped through it, her eyes moving back and forward across the page. Wilbur tapped his foot against the tile floor, and his focus wandered around the room. It was a tight space, the only things in it being the two chairs they were sat on and a variety of bags and coats he assumed belonged to other employees stacked up against the back wall.
“Do you think you could start this week? Monday?” Emily questioned, Wilbur snapped his vision back towards her to see that same friendly smile once again. He paused for a moment, pretending to think about the question as if he had literally anything else going on that week.
“Absolutely.” He finally responded, enthusiastically. Emily gave a quick nod and pointed the back of her pen at him as if to show that she’d liked his answer.
“Then I will…” She stopped in the middle of her sentence, scribbling on the page once more. “See you on monday. 7am.”
Wilbur walked out of the building feeling as though he’d just run a marathon, his adrenaline high. He hurried back to his car and hopped in, just sitting there for a moment with his hands on the wheel. A wave of happiness rushed over him, and he felt that feeling again that he’d felt the day at the pub with George. He felt real.
The drive home seemed to go by faster than normal as he rode the high he was feeling. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at his own excitement, knowing that this may not be a normal reaction for most people. He knew that it wasn’t the biggest deal, but it was the first time he’d done something good for himself in so long, and he felt proud.

Tubbo pov

When Tubbo walked downstairs for breakfast, he noticed through the kitchen window that Wilbur’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Phil’s was still parked in its same spot, though. He wondered for a moment where Wil was, since he was typically always home when Tubbo woke up in the morning, but he guessed he’d simply had an early doctor’s appointment or had gone out to the shop for something.
Tubbo plopped two pieces of bread into the toaster and leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with his fingers as he waited for the timer to tick down. Once the springy sound of the toaster alerted him that it was done, he pulled out the now golden brown bread and threw it onto a plate, shaking his hand in pain afterward as his fingertips burned from the heat. He spread strawberry jam on each slice and walked back around the kitchen island, taking a seat on one of the stools.
The house was quieter than usual, there being less people inside, and Tubbo appreciated the moment of peace it brought. He sat there alone, eating his breakfast, as the calculator in his head determined the full calories of his meal. He’d grown to be comforted by the numbers in his mind, the same way it was comforting to count to ten during a moment of panic. It settled his thoughts, gave him a sense of control that seemed to tame his anxieties.
His moment of peace didn’t last long, as the newfound silence was quickly broken by the sound of footsteps above him. Phil had woken up.
Wanting to avoid any interaction, Tubbo quickly sprang up from his seat. He hurried and chucked the rest of his half eaten toast in the trash and then his plate in the sink before hurrying up the stairs, hoping to make it to his bedroom before Phil left his own. He reached the door, and turned the doorknob, thinking he had made it in time, until he heard Phil’s door creaking open followed by the sound of his voice.
“Morning Toby.” He spoke, yawning immediately after. Tubbo turned around to face him for a moment, and simply gave him a quick wave and something that he’d intended to be a smile, but really wasn’t.
“Can I actually speak to you for a sec?” Phil continued, shutting his bedroom door behind him now. Tubbo wanted to roll his eyes and say “no”, then rudely walk into his room and never speak to Phil again, but he resisted.
“I guess.” He managed to say, shrugging. He wondered what Phil could possibly have to say, and knew that whatever it was he wasn’t going to like it.
“I just want to say that I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.” His father spoke, a sad expression growing across his face. Tubbo took his hand off the door knob and crossed his arms, feeling defensive. “You don’t deserve that.”
Tubbo stared back at him, rage building in his chest. He quickly realized that this was just another bullshit apology that Phil would spew out and expect to be forgiven. It was always the same, and Tubbo wasn’t going to give in this time.
“Okay.” Was all he said, his frustration evident in the way he spoke. Phil’s expression changed slightly, and he stepped closer so that he was standing beside Tubbo now.
“I want you to really hear me.” He insisted, leaning against the wall. “I know I’ve fucked up and–”
“Do you?” Tubbo interrupted. He was starting to let his anger take over, wanting so badly for Phil to finally understand exactly how he was feeling. “Because it seems to me like you’re looking for pity.”
Phil looked shocked, which only made Tubbo’s anger feel warmer in his chest. He didn’t think Phil had a right to be surprised when he’d had the problem laid out in front of his face for years, clear as day.
“Pity?” Phil questioned, his expression harder now. He sounded more angry than sad now. “I’m trying to make it up to you. I want to fix things.”
“You can’t!” Tubbo stated, almost bursting out into laughter. He wanted to punch Phil in the face. “How do you think this is gonna fix anything? You’ve treated me like absolute shit for months, and you expect me to– what? Feel sorry for you? Hug it out?”
He took a breath in an attempt to calm himself down, not wanting to trigger himself into a panic attack like he’d done in the past.
“I expect you to understand that you’re not the only one going through something right now!” Phil answered, raising his voice. “Me, you’re brother we–”
“Oh of course.” Tubbo cut him off again, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “My brother. The center of your fucking world, I know.”
“You need to calm down. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.” Phil spoke in a patronizing tone. He had stood up straighter now, and crossed his arms.
“I don’t need to ‘calm down’.” Tubbo argued, making air quotes with his fingers as he spoke the last two words. “I’m not crazy, I’m not freaking out. You just can’t hear anything I say cause all you ever focus on is yourself.”
“You’re overreacting again, just like you always do.” Phil spoke again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his two fingers. Tubbo felt like he wanted to cry. He wanted Phil to understand him, to hear what he’d been trying to tell him for so long, but he refused every time. His chest ached with sadness that presented itself as anger.
“I have been dying right in front of you for years, and you’ve done nothing.” Tubbo responded, his voice calm now. He felt his hands shaking at his sides, and the anger building up so hot in his chest he was afraid he might explode right there, turning to nothing but red dust. “You don’t care, do you? No matter what I do to myself, no matter how many times I ask you to help me, you won’t.”
Phil’s body language softened now, and he looked like he felt guilty, but Tubbo didn’t care. All he wanted was to be done with this conversation. He didn’t know why, but he stood there and waited for a response. Maybe part of him was still hoping Phil would say the right thing, or maybe he just wanted to prove that unlike his father; he was actually willing to listen.
“Of course I care about you, Toby.” Phil sighed, putting his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “I love you so much. I just don’t know how to–”
“Then leave me the fuck alone.” Tubbo said flatly, jerking his shoulder so that Phil’s hand fell away, and shoving past him toward the bathroom.
He closed the door behind him, relieved for a moment to be alone again. His head ached, and he felt like he wanted to rip all of his skin off, his anger feeling too big to fit inside his body. He paced back and forward, gripping his hair in his hands hard enough that it hurt. His breathing was quick and sharp, and he felt like he was being stabbed in the chest each time he inhaled.
“One, two, three,” He whispered to himself, attempting to shove the emotion back down into his body. Tears stung at his eyes, which were squeezed shut. He walked to the sink and turned it on, hoping that splashing some water in his face would calm him down, but it didn’t.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” He whined, wanting this feeling to stop. He didn’t want to freak out and break down like he always did. He just wanted to feel better. He slammed his uninjured hand down on the counter, feeling the pain run through his body. His head was spinning, his thoughts jumbled into a big ball of sadness and anger. It felt like his brain was going to burst out of his skull. He needed it to stop. He needed some kind of relief from the pain he was feeling.
Without hesitating, he walked to the other side of the room and knelt down, flipping the lid of the toilet up.

Wilbur pov

Wilbur pulled into the driveway, still filled with excitement about the new life he hoped to make for himself. He was surprised at first to see Phil’s car still parked in the driveway, until he’d remembered that he didn’t have anywhere to go anymore with Kristen gone. A twinge of sadness ached in him for a moment as he thought about her, but he brushed it off in order to preserve his mood.
He hurried inside, a smile still planted on his face. He hung up his coat and looked around to see Phil sitting at the dining room table.
“Morning Dad.” He greeted him, walking into the room.
“Morning.” Phil repeated. He had a defeated tone in his voice, and his head was lazily leaning on his hand. Wilbur expected it was because of what had happened with Kristen, so didn’t bother asking what was wrong. Instead, he continued on with what he was going to say.
“Guess where I just came from.” He said, excitedly. Phil’s blank expression stayed.
“I don’t have the energy right now, son.” He spoke, shutting Wil down. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Wilbur’s heart sank, and his excitement nearly disappeared. He hated that nothing could ever just be good.
“Okay uh– Do you know where Tubbo is?” He questioned, doing his best to hide his disappointment.
“Upstairs.” Phil said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Good luck with him.”
Wilbur was confused, and didn’t like the sound of what Phil had just said. He quickly understood that something must have happened between the two of them. He nodded and turned around quickly, heading for the stairs.
He tried his best to build his excitement back up so he could greet Tubbo with the hopeful mood he’d previously had and hopefully cheer him up from whatever negative emotion Phil could have caused. He walked to Tubbo’s room, knocking excitedly. He waited for a moment, but got no response. Concerned, he knocked again. Then again, until he was too worried to respect Tubbo’s privacy and swung the door open anxiously.
“Tubbo?” He asked, looking around the dark room. Nobody was there. He guessed that Phil had been wrong about where his brother was, and so he headed back toward the stairway.
As he walked past the bathroom, his stomach dropped and he froze.
Through the bathroom door, he could hear sobbing as well as the retching sound of vomiting. His heart started pounding, and he felt sick.
“Tubbo?” He asked again, knocking on the door that stood between him and his brother, who sounded like he was dying. There was no response, and the sobbing continued. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Tubbo, open the door.”
No response again. He began to panic, and frantically searched his mind for something to do. He thought about what Tubbo could be doing to himself behind that door, and his chest felt hot.
“Please, Toby.” He pleaded again, leaning his body against the door. “Let me in.”
There was silence, and then the sound of the lock clicking. For a second he didn’t want to turn the doorknob, scared of what he’d see when he walked into that room. After a moment of hesitation, he opened the door.
His panic became horror as he saw what had been going on in that bathroom. Tubbo was sat on the floor at the far end of the room, his head buried in his knees. He was still sobbing loudly.
The fingers on his right hand were covered in what looked to be vomit and blood, and the toilet seat was coated in the same.
“Oh my god.” Wil exclaimed, quietly. He rushed over, kneeling down beside Tubbo. “Okay, it’s okay. Look at me.”
Tubbo lifted his head, turning to Wilbur. Wilbur’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood that dripped from the boy’s mouth, soaking his t-shirt. He felt dizzy, like he might pass out, but he fought through it.
“I’m sorry.” Tubbo sniffled, looking down at his own blood covered hand. “I didn’t mean to– I’m sorry.”
Wilbur was at a loss for words, and instead of speaking he acted quickly. He grabbed a towel off the hanging rack beside them and wiped Tubbo’s mouth with one hand while he used the other to reach for his phone and call for an ambulance.
“Hello?” He spoke when the operator answered his call. Tubbo shoved his hand away and tried to reach for the phone. “Hey it's okay– Yes, I need an ambulance.”
Tubbo coughed and blood splattered out of his throat and onto Wilbur’s neck. He ignored it and proceeded to tell the operator what had happened as well as where to find them.
“Alright, everything’s gonna be fine I promise.” He assured Tubbo, pushing his hair out of his face and holding his cheek comfortingly. “You’re gonna get help now. Breathe, okay? You’re okay.”
The words felt like lies leaving his mouth, but he continued to say them. He didn’t know what else to do. This was his biggest fear; that Tubbo would eventually pick up on his shitty behaviors, and now he had. He wondered how long this had been going on, he wondered how it started, he wondered if he could have noticed sooner. This was his fault. He did this to his brother.

Tubbo pov

Tubbo felt himself losing consciousness as he heard the ambulance arrive outside. He wanted to fight the paramedics that quickly rushed into the room, kneeling down to him. He wanted to kick and scream as they lifted him off the floor, but he felt weaker than he ever had. As if every ounce of energy had been sucked out of him with a vacuum. His heartbeat felt slow, and the world was spinning. Wilbur’s voice was the only sound that seemed to break through the ringing in his ears, telling him it was going to be okay.
That voice stayed throughout the entire ride to the hospital, and so did the feeling of Wilbur’s hand holding his, cold and shaky.

Chapter Text

Tubbo pov

Waking up to the sight of the hospital ceiling and the sound of beeping machines made Tubbo’s entire body feel cold. It was that feeling when you wake up in a new house for the first time and for a moment you forget where you are, disoriented and scared until your surroundings become familiar again. For Tubbo, though, that relief of familiarity wouldn’t come.
He sat up quickly, feeling a pain in his arm as he was pulled back into place by an i.v that was stuck into the inside of his elbow. His eyes ached from the bright light that filled the room as they traced his surroundings. The room was empty aside from his bed and the machines that he seemed to be hooked up to, and he was alone. He looked down to see that he was wearing a hospital gown, and wondered who changed him into it. The thought made him uncomfortable. He noticed a yellow tube hanging over his chest, and followed it all the way up to his nose. It was a feeding tube.
Mumbles came from outside the room, and his eyes shot up. He peered through the glass that separated him and the hallway to see a tall dark haired man in a white coat standing with a clipboard in his hands. Beside him, a taller, slimmer man, who stood with his arms crossed and an anxious look in his eyes; it was Wilbur.
Disoriented, Tubbo found himself waving through the glass with his free arm, hoping Wilbur would see him. He still had barely any idea what was going on, the events of how he’d gotten here only coming to him in flashes that flickered in his brain like flipping through the channels on an old television. Wilbur suddenly looked frustrated, sighing and finally facing the room, which is when he noticed Tubbo sitting upright.
He hurried to open the door, shoving past the doctor he’d been speaking to and hurrying into the room.
“Hey, you’re up.” He said with a smile. There was a sense of relief in his tone, but also one of fear. “Feeling okay?”
Tubbo took a second before answering, having to ask himself that same question. In all actuality, he had no idea what he was feeling. The ominous ambiance of the cold empty space gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the bright white walls made his head spin.
“Dunno.” He shrugged, sadly. The sound of his own voice surprised him. It was deeper and broken, and it stung his throat a bit to speak. He felt himself put his hand to his neck in confusion. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion, his mind taking longer to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. “I feel weird.”
Wilbur sat down on the side of Tubbo’s bed, placing his hand on top of the younger’s.
“You’re okay.” Wilbur assured him, and already he felt calmer. “They gave you some meds to calm you down, so you might feel a little off for a while.”
Tubbo nodded, the details in Wilbur’s face seeming to blend together as his eyes moved up and down. Tubbo remembered the look on Wil’s face when he was sitting beside him on the bathroom floor. He looked utterly terrified, as if he’d just witnessed a murder, his face pale and damp with sweat. The image made Tubbo’s stomach drop.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke, still not used to the way he sounded. “I didn’t mean to– I mean it wasn’t supposed to–”
He stumbled over his words, unable to find the right thing to say. Wilbur still seemed to understand, and gave Tubbo a comforting smile.
“I know, It’s okay.” He assured him, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
Tubbo nodded again, and the moment was interrupted by the door opening a second time. The doctor from the hallway appeared in the doorway, stepping in with a smile that Tubbo found patronizing.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Anderson.” He spoke confidently. He reached his hand out to Tubbo, who shook it hesitantly. “How are we feeling?”
Tubbo shrugged, still unsure, and now somewhat uncomfortable at the sudden conversation with a stranger who clearly knew more about him than he knew about himself right now.
“He’s still a little out of it.” Wilbur answered for him, which Tubbo was grateful for. He nodded again to confirm what his brother had said.
“That’s perfectly normal, the sedatives should start to wear off within the hour.” Doctor Anderson assured them, smiling again. Tubbo didn’t know why, but he didn’t like him. “I’m just going to have a look at you really quick and then I can give you a bit of time to gather your thoughts, alright?”
The doctor gave Tubbo a thorough check up, even examining things like his eyes and ears. Tubbo didn’t understand why those things were important, he hadn’t puked blood out of his eyeballs, but he went along with it anyway in hopes he’d be left alone sooner.
As the time went on, his thoughts began to shift back into place, and he found himself floating back down to earth slowly. The lights seemed dimmer, and the noise quieter now.
After getting all the information he seemed to need, the doctor scribbled a few things onto the page pinned to his clipboard before leaving the two boys alone once again. He said he’d be back in a bit to discuss the plan going forward, which Tubbo didn’t like the sound of. He hoped that discussion came later rather than sooner, and that Wilbur could do most of the talking.

“Is Dad here?” Tubbo asked after a few minutes of silence. Wilbur’s eyes seemed to sadden at the mention of their father.
“He’s in the waiting room.” Wilbur nodded. Tubbo noticed then just how tired he looked. His eyes sunken, with dark bags tucked underneath them– they were red and swollen– he’d been crying. His lips looked dry and chapped, and his hair was a mess. “I figured you wouldn’t want him in here. If you do, though, I can grab him.”
Tubbo shook his head quickly. He wanted nothing less than to see Phil right now, if ever again.
Their argument replayed in his mind. He thought about Phil’s words.
“You’re overreacting again.” He had said. “Just like you always do.”
The words stung at his brain like pins and needles. He wondered why it was that he always flew over the edge so quickly, going from calm to infuriated in a matter of seconds. It made him feel crazy, like one day he’d hurt someone else without even meaning to.
He imagined what Phil’s reaction could’ve been to realizing what had happened. If his heart skipped when he saw the paramedics wheeling him out, or if he simply sighed and rolled his eyes as if saying “not this again”. His stomach turned at the thought of Phil sitting in that waiting room, the image reminding him of when Wilbur had been in this exact place, and when their mother had.
Tubbo looked to Wil, wanting to speak to him but not knowing where to start. He searched for the words, sifting through flashes of memory to find them.
“What do we do now?” He asked plainly, and coughed slightly at the sudden use of his vocal cords, which burned his throat like acid.
“What do you mean?” Wilbur questioned, and Tubbo had to think about it. He didn’t know what he meant, he just wanted an answer, even if he didn’t fully understand his own question.
He shrugged.
“Well, right now you sit here and rest. We can talk if you want to, but we don’t have to.” Wilbur answered. Tubbo wondered how his voice was always so calm, and how the gentle smile never faded from his lips. “As for what we do after this, going forward, I don’t know yet. We’re gonna talk to the doctors and find out how to help you get better.”
(What if I don’t want to get better? Tubbo thought.)
He nodded, and laid back down now, resting his head on the thin hospital pillow. It was cold, and reminded him of the cold hard wall of the bathroom, resting his cheek against it as Wilbur dialed for help. His chest felt hot.
“I didn’t mean for it to be this bad.” He found himself saying, his eyes staying focussed on the liquid filled bag that seemed to be dripping something into his body. He heard Wilbur shift where he was sitting. “I just needed to calm down. I should’ve stopped when I saw the blood but– I didn’t.”
He glanced at Wilbur now, who was looking down at his own feet. His eyes were closed, and he looked to be settling his own breathing. Tubbo felt guilt, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Why not?” Wilbur interrogated, his eyes open now but still focussed on the floor. He seemed to regret the question as soon as he’d asked it.
Tubbo searched his mind again, trying to find out the answer.
He remembered the blood spilling out of his mouth, the burning in his throat as the murky green water turned red. He remembered stopping, his heart skipping a beat as fear filled his body, and he remembered the fear leaving him as quickly as it came. All logic had abandoned him, and the only thing he could feel was the urge to keep going; the desire to be empty.
He debated for a moment on whether to be honest with Wilbur or not about why he’d chosen to do this to himself. He didn’t want to worry his brother any more, but was that even possible at this point? He let out a deep breath.
“I guess I didn’t want to.” He admitted, his eyes evading Wil once again and turning back to the bag of fluid. He watched as it dripped, and counted each one in his head. One, two, three. He remembered pacing back and forward in the bathroom, remembered the splitting pain in his head, the tightness in his chest, the tears in his eyes. His heartbeat quickened. “Or maybe I couldn’t.”
The room fell silent once again, and Tubbo began to wonder how long it had been since either of them had said anything. He’d counted twenty seven drips. Twenty seven seconds before Wilbur spoke again.
“Do you remember the day I took you to that clearing in the woods? Mum and I’s spot?” Wilbur finally asked, cutting through the silence.
Tubbo thought back to that day. Things were so different then, and yet exactly the same. It was as if everything and nothing had changed simultaneously, which didn’t make sense, but was true somehow.
“Yeah.” Was all Tubbo said. He shifted his body now so that he was laying on the back, his eyes turned to the plain white ceiling. One of the large flat lights shined down at him and he squinted, but he didn’t look away. “Uh, why?”
“You asked me not to die.” The older responded. Tubbo tilted his head down to look at him, and was greeted with Wilbur’s eyes looking back at him now. That conversation replayed in his head, and suddenly details started to flood back. He remembered the beer, and the pain in his leg as they walked out to the woods. He winced when he thought about it, and the scars on his leg seemed to tingle at the memory of the gashing wounds they used to be. He remembered what he’d asked Wilbur that day. (Can you not die, please?) He had said.
It was silent for what Tubbo was sure to be the millionth time. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t. He wanted to sit up and hug Wilbur, but he didn’t. He laid there waiting for the silence to break again.
“Well, I’m alive.” Wilbur continued, almost laughing at himself. Almost. “I’m gonna need you to return the favor, okay?”
Tubbo took a breath, the words stinging like cold air on bare skin. He said nothing.

They were alone for another half hour, the room silent other than the mechanical sounds of the medical equipment. Tubbo had wanted to say more, to talk to Wilbur, to honestly do anything but sit there and wait for nothing, but his thoughts were blank. He was exhausted.
As if perfect timing– because Tubbo was about to open his mouth and force himself to speak– the door swung open for a third time. Tubbo sat himself up, quick enough to trigger a dizzy feeling in his head. He closed his eyes for a second while it cleared, then readjusted his body.
Standing in the door was the same Doctor who’d walked in almost an hour ago now, the same unsettling smile still sitting on his face. Tubbo felt the urge to roll his eyes. Why did he dislike this guy so much? Maybe because he didn’t know how to knock.
“Hello,” He spoke, smiling wider now. It looked as though he was trying to be comforting, but it just frustrated Tubbo. “How are you feeling? Any better now?”
Tubbo paused for a minute and thought, as if placing himself back into his body to check how it felt. His throat still stung, and there was a tired ache behind his eyes, but otherwise he felt–
“Fine.” He responded, that being the best word he could find to describe it.
Doctor Anderson nodded. “I’ll take it.” He said.
He pulled his clipboard to the front of his vision and flipped through the many white pages that were pinned to it, until finally stopping. He looked back to Tubbo.
“Think you’re ready to talk about some things?” He asked, vaguely. He looked like he was going to continue, so Tubbo held his answer. “I just wanna catch you up on what’s going on with you medically and how we’re gonna fix it. Then we can discuss more tomorrow, maybe meet with a psychiatrist.”
Tubbo felt his stomach turn at how casually the man said the word ‘tomorrow’, and suddenly it hit him that he’d be here a while. He would have known that of course, if he’d actually thought about it, but this was the first time the idea had crossed his mind. He wondered how long it’d be until he was home, and a dull anxiety filled his entire body, lingering in his throat.
He simply nodded once to answer.
Wilbur hadn’t said a word yet, just kept his gaze intently focussed on the doctor.
“Perfect.” The doctor said flatly, and he proceeded to explain to the both of them what exactly had happened to Tubbo that morning. “So, what you have is a small tear in the upper lining of your esophagus. That– mixed with the scabbing in the back of your throat– is what caused all the blood.”
Tubbo’s mouth tasted of iron as he took in what he was hearing. The doctor continued.
“That tube in your nose, it goes way down into your stomach. That will be how you get your food for just a few days while we monitor you and let the wound close up. Are you with me so far?”
The words seemed to come faster than he could hear them, as if physically hitting him in the side of the head as they failed to enter his ears, but he nodded again anyway.
“How long will he be here?” Wilbur cut in, his face riddled with concern. Tubbo was grateful he’d asked that question, because it was the one that had been looming over his head since the conversation had started.
“It’s hard to say right now.” Dr. Anderson responded, sighing for the first time. “In theory, you shouldn’t have to stay in hospital while the tear heals, but knowing how this happened… The psych team might have a different opinion. They’ll have to evaluate you before we can know for sure.”
Wilbur nodded now, and he hung his head a bit. He looked ashamed of himself, as if he was to blame. Tubbo felt a sharp sadness in his chest at the sight of his guilt filled brother. He wished there was a way to stop him from caring; from worrying. He wished he could disappear, leave no evidence behind that he’d ever existed. Turn to dust.
“Any more questions?” The doctor questioned, his eyes turned back down to the paper in his hand. It was silent. Tubbo wanted to know more, lots more, but he couldn’t put his curiosity into words. He knew there were questions to ask, but they sat at the edge of his mind, too distant for him to make out. His eyes felt heavy as he searched for something to say, but could’t find anything. He just wanted to go to bed.
“All good.” He spoke, giving an awkward thumbs up. Wilbur added another nod.
“Perfect. Get some rest, okay?” The doctor suggested, heading back towards the doorway but then stopping suddenly as if he’d remembered something else. He turned back to face them once more. “Oh– and your father is asking to see you. He’s been in the waiting room for a couple of hours now.”
With that, he smiled once more before finally exiting the room.

Wilbur pov

Wilbur’s eyes ached with exhaustion as he made his way down the hallway toward the front lobby of the hospital building. It was a further walk than he’d remembered, and each heavy step seemed to raise his anxiety more and more, bringing back memories of that morning.

When they’d first arrived at the hospital, he was sure Tubbo was dead. Somewhere between the ambulance and the emergency room, he’d gone from slightly conscious and responsive to limp and lifeless. The image of his blood stained hand hanging over the side of the fast moving gurney had been burned into Wilbur’s mind, flashing in his eyes each time he blinked like when you stare at the sun for too long.
He’d spent an hour alone in the waiting room, pacing back and forward, running his hands through his hair. He was so scared. So scared that he felt like the world was ending. When he’d seen the nurse walking down the hall toward him, he wanted to run out the front door. He refused to hear that his little brother was gone, he couldn’t.
“He’s okay.” The nurse had said, and the relief hit Wilbur like a gust of hot air that almost knocked him off of his feet. He had to fight his trembling knees in order to keep himself standing.
He’d exhaled deeper than he thought possible, as if he’d been holding in a breath the entire time without noticing. When the nurse had left, he’d broken down, let himself fall into one of the squishy lobby chairs and sob into his hands.

Now, he was on his way back to that same room to speak to Phil, who was the last person in the world he wanted to see.
When he turned the corner into the waiting room, he saw Phil immediately. He was sitting in a chair on the far left, looking down at his lap. He looked like a mess. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his face was sunken and tired, and his jacket loosely hung halfway off his shoulders.
When he heard Wil’s footsteps, his head shot up to face him.
“Wil!” He shouted, standing up and walking fast and unsteadily over to Wilbur, who stayed put in the doorway. “Finally. They won’t tell me anything, is he awake?”
Wilbur could smell vodka on his father’s breath as he spoke, and it took every bit of strength he had not to knock him out right then and there.
“He’s resting.” Wilbur responded vaguely. He folded his arms in front of him.
“I wanna see him. Can you bring me back there?” Phil pleaded, almost begging. His voice sounded weak and strained, and the look in his eyes gave Wilbur a sad feeling in his chest. Still, he wasn’t going to budge.
“Not now, I told you he’s resting.” Wilbur insisted. Phil’s expression turned darker, angrier.
“He’s my son.” He stated flatly. “I have a right to see my son.”
Wilbur felt his own anger building, gnawing away at him. He thought about what to say for a moment, unsure of what words he could use to avoid setting Phil off anymore.
“You should go home, get some rest.” He suggested, sighing. “I’ll call you if anything happens, but it won’t.”
“So you get to stay here and I don’t?” Phil integrated, raising his voice. “That’s bullshit!”
This struck something in Wilbur, a nerve he didn’t know he had. He felt his anger bubbling up all the way into his throat, begging to leave his mouth the way a volcano begs to erupt. He tightened his fist by his side, digging his own nails into his palm.
“Nothing to say?” Phil nagged, only infuriating Wilbur even more. “Explain to me why you get to sit in that room with him while I sit at home alone and worried?”
Then it came, the eruption.
“Because I’m not the bloody reason he’s in here!” He screamed, looking around quickly as if someone else might have heard him, but nobody was there. “He doesn’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you. Go the fuck home.”
With the last word he shoved Phil in the chest, hard, signaling for him to leave. Phil stared back at him with wide eyes. He briefly opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t, instead he nodded slowly and turned away toward the exit.
Wilbur let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. He watched as Phil left the building, then turned back down the hall to be with Tubbo.
When he got back to the chilly hospital room, Tubbo was asleep.
Wilbur sat down in a small cushioned chair beside the bed and leaned back, feeling the ache of his muscles relaxing. He looked at Tubbo and watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed, relieved that if anything he was still doing that.
As he focussed on his brother’s breaths, his worry seemed to fade, replaced by the pull of sleep finally dragging his heavy eyelids shut.

Chapter Text

Tubbo pov

Tubbo woke up the next morning, that same unsettling feeling of darkness washing over him until he noticed Wilbur sleeping uncomfortably beside him. He was curled up in the cheap wooden chair, his knees pressed to his chest, being held in place by arm rests on either side. Even asleep, he still looked just as exhausted as he had the previous day. If it were any other week, Tubbo might’ve laughed at how ridiculous his brother looked, but it wasn’t any other week, and so he just stared blankly.
Tubbo rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock; it was 7am.
He stretched his arms and yawned, letting himself wake up, then he sat upright, glancing around the now slightly familiar hospital room. It seemed quieter now, although nothing had changed since the night before. The walls were just as blank and blindingly white, the air just as cold, and a smell Tubbo could only describe as medical seemed to be permanently embedded in his nostrils.
At that thought, he noticed the soreness in his nose for the first time and remembered the tube that stuck out of it, suddenly anxious at the thought of what was going into his body. Numbers popped into his mind, quickly, as if the calculator in his head had been temporarily turned off and the thought of the tube had powered it back up. He felt antsy, wanted to rip the thing out of his face, throw it in the trash and tell the doctors to fuck off, but he couldn’t. Instead he laid back down with a frustrated sigh.
He felt a little better today, more alert at least, and the strange empty room had become less frightening to look at. Still just as boring, though, which became more obvious once Tubbo realized he didn’t know where his phone was. He felt around the bed as if it’d just be lying under the sheets for some reason, but of course it wasn’t there. He tried to remember if he’d even had it on him when they arrived here, but he had no idea. The memory of the previous morning already seemed to be fading slowly; perhaps his mind’s way of trying to protect him from any more stress.
Tubbo relaxed again, and let his thoughts wander. For some reason he didn’t know, Tommy was the first thing to come to mind, and he wondered if his friend had any idea what had happened. It had only been a day, but maybe Wilbur had called and told him. Part of Tubbo hoped he hadn’t. He was embarrassed about what he’d done, and he didn’t exactly want to give Tommy any more reasons to think he was crazy, even if it was true.
Uncomfortable and now annoyed, the boy waited for something to happen. Whether it was Wilbur waking up or some crazy patient running in with a scalpel ready to kill him, he wanted some kind of stimulation to distract his brain from going places he didn’t want it to.
The silence gave him time to think, and he wanted to do anything but that. He was afraid if he let his mind wander for too long, if he let himself really think about the situation he was in, he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

A distraction didn’t come, and as the minutes went by Tubbo became more and more on edge. He tried to push the thoughts away, counting the drips of the i.v, focussing on the ticks of the clock, but nothing worked. His mind wandered, dragging memories and pulling them to the surface of his thoughts. It was as if his own brain was angry with him, reminding him of terrible things just to make him feel worse.
One thought pushed its way through the rest, settling behind Tubbo’s eyes comfortably and staying there. It gnawed at his consciousness, taking over every part of his mind. Horror filled Tubbo’s entire body, making him feel cold and empty. He closed his eyes to try and calm himself, but the thought became even clearer, stared right back at him as if personified in his mind. What if Mum died in this room?
He couldn’t freak out like this again, he couldn’t let himself break down. Unsure what to do, he reached over and nudged Wilbur’s arm, his breaths quick and panicked. He put his head in his hands, attempting to slow his breaths to no avail. His heart was racing, and the beeps on the monitor beside him didn’t let him forget that.
Just as his anxiety had almost pulled him all the way in, he felt Wilbur’s hand on his back.
“Woah, calm down.” He spoke through a yawn, but his voice was steady and compassionate. “You’re okay, calm down.”
“Do you think she died here?” Tubbo asked before he could stop himself, his voice somehow calm despite the beating of his heart. “Do you think Mum died in this bed?”
He finally looked up to his brother, who stared back at him with wide eyes, his face suddenly pale. Tubbo regretted the question immediately. His stomach turned with guilt.
“I– um…” Wilbur seemed stunned, unable to find the right words. It was one of the only times Tubbo had seen that in his brother.
“Just breathe, you have to calm down.” Wilbur continued with a nod, ignoring the previous question entirely. His eyes had softened once again. Tubbo nodded back, taking deep breaths through his nose. He surprised himself with how quickly he was able to calm himself down.
“I’m sorry.” He finally said once he was sure the air had returned to his lungs. He let out a deep sigh and plopped himself backward once again, resting his head on the cold pillow beneath him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Wilbur was silent for a moment, and Tubbo didn’t look up at him. He couldn’t stand seeing another scared or concerned look on his brother’s face.
“Nothings wrong with you.” The older finally said, his chair creaking as he sat back in it. “This is gonna get easier, I promise. You just need a bit of help to get there.”
Tubbo was convinced that what Wilbur had said was bullshit, that too much had happened to him for it to ever get easier, but it was nice to hear either way.

Later that day, after a few hours of doing essentially nothing but breathing– which Tubbo would argue is harder than it looks– it was time for Tubbo to meet with a psychiatrist.
A woman walked into the silent room, a kind smile already painted on her face when she opened the door. She was an older woman, and her long gray hair was put up in a bun at the back of her head, two strands hanging out in front of her face like they were left there on purpose.
“Toby?” She asked as if confirming she was in the right room. Tubbo waved lazily. “Nice to meet you. I’m Doctor Taylor, I’m one of the psychiatrists here. Would it be alright if we talk for a bit?”
For some reason he didn’t really know, Tubbo glanced up at Wilbur. Wil gave him a nod and raised his eyebrows a bit as if suggesting Tubbo do what the woman asks.
The younger turned his gaze to face the woman once again, and gave a simple nod in response.
“Perfect!” She spoke kindly. “And who’s this?”
She gestured toward Wilbur with the pen in her left hand.
“I’m Wil.” He responded with a smile, standing up and putting out his hand for the woman to shake. “I’m his older brother.”
The woman nodded again and smiled toward Wil as they shook hands.
“Would you mind waiting out in the hall while we speak?” She asked, turning to Tubbo for his approval. “Sometimes it’s easier to open up one on one.”
Tubbo rolled his eyes. This entire thing was ridiculous to him. He didn’t need some kind of stupid therapy, and everyone was acting way too dramatic about all of this.
“Up to you, Tubs.” Wilbur said sternly, as if making sure Doctor Taylor understood that he wasn’t leaving unless it was okay with Tubbo. A smile was still on his face, though. “You want me to stay or go?”
“Uh, you can go.” Tubbo replied with a shrug. “I’m all good.”
Wilbur and Doctor Taylor nodded at the exact same time, and Wilbur moved to grab his coat.
“I’m gonna head outside for some air then. Text me if you need me, alright?” He asked in a low voice, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Tubbo’s phone. (So that’s where it was, Tubbo thought)
He grabbed the phone from Wil’s hand and nodded with an awkward smile.

Wilbur pov

Wilbur hesitantly walked out of the room, feeling bad leaving Tubbo alone even though he’d given the okay. He walked all the way through the wing of the hospital and out the lobby doors, throwing his coat over his shoulders as he stepped into the cold February air. He turned to the left of the big hospital doors and spotted a small green bench, quickly heading over and taking a seat.
Tubbo’s words popped back into his head, ringing in his ears like an echo.
“Do you think Mum died in this bed?” He had said. The look on Tubbo’s face when he asked that question made Wilbur’s stomach turn. It was pure terror. He’d felt it himself every second since finding Tubbo in that bathroom.
That question seemed to linger in his mind, and he wondered if it would ever leave. Their mother did die in this hospital. Wilbur himself had almost died here, and now Tubbo. He wondered if this cycle was ever going to end. If one of these days another person he loved would go through those doors and never come out. No matter how many times the doctors told him Tubbo was going to be okay, he managed to convince himself otherwise.
Their mother went in and she didn’t come out. Until he watched Tubbo walk back out those doors, he was sure his mind wouldn’t be at ease.
The usual ache filled Wil’s chest as he remembered his mum. Remembered what had happened to her. Thought about the day he found out.
Tears begged to fall from behind his eyes, but instead of letting himself fall apart, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one.
Smoking wasn’t a frequent thing for Wilbur, at least it hadn’t been for a while, but he bought a pack after christmas when the stress was getting to be a lot between everything going on with Tubbo and Phil’s shitty behavior.
It was the only thing that stopped him from relapsing and falling back into his eating disorder. He told himself he’d stop when he could, figuring that smoking would at least kill him slower than starving himself would.
As the first puff of smoke entered his lungs, that familiar burn filling his chest, the world seemed to quiet down. The cold air wrapped around his body, feeling comforting now rather than the sharpness it gave off just a few seconds earlier. His thoughts drifted away from Tubbo, and instead he did his best to just focus on his surroundings for a bit.
The bench he sat on faced away from the building toward the giant parking lot, filled with cars that belonged to sick people or the families of sick people.
Behind that was a large line of trees, birds bouncing between them. Wilbur watched the birds as they flew away then landed again, twirling around each other as if they were just having a good time. He took another drag and then laid his head back, closing his eyes.

“Mind if I sit here?” A man’s voice asked. Wilbur’s eyes shot back open and he turned to face whoever had spoken. An old man stood at the left end of the bench, his hands in his pockets. His face was wrinkled and pale, and he wore a warm winter hat that covered his ears. A kind smile was spread across his face, but his eyes had a sadness behind them. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No no you’re good man.” Wilbur spoke, returning the man’s friendly expression. He scooted all the way to the right of the bench to make space, then gestured for the man to sit beside him.
“Who are you here for?” The man asked as he took his seat next to Wil. He placed his hands in his lap and faced the parking lot in front of them.
“Uh, my brother.” Wilbur responded, inhaling another long puff of smoke. He glanced at the man, who nodded slowly. “You?”
The man hesitated for a moment, but answered. “My husband.”
His voice was softer now, and his words felt heavier, filled with grief. “They just told me he’s got less than a week. Cancer.”
Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he was relieved the man wasn’t looking at him to see the shock on his face. He took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the arm of the bench, then flicking it into the small metal bin beside him.
“I’m so sorry.” He said sadly, feeling like an idiot hearing the words leave his mouth. He’d heard that same sentence a million times after his mum died, and not once did it make anything better, but what else do you say? Nothing makes it better.
The man’s smile had faded a bit now, but it still lingered there, his wrinkled cheeks lifted slightly in an expression that looked even sadder than if he were frowning.
“Oh, it’s alright.” He spoke with a gentle shrug. “Happens to all of us eventually, right?”
Wilbur nodded even though the man still wasn’t looking at him, and the two sat in silence for a while. The chirps of the birds grew louder as they flew closer to the building, and one landed right at their feet, picking at the small amount of grass left at the edge of the pavement.
“Your brother,” The man spoke again, and Wilbur dragged his focus away from the bird to face him. “How old is he?”
“Sev– eighteen.” Wilbur caught himself, forgetting for a second how fast time was passing. The man nodded again.
“And he’s going to be okay?” He asked, turning to face Wil, the sadness in his eyes now mixed with hope.
“He is.” Wilbur nodded, almost feeling guilty, as if he were bragging. “Had a pretty bad scare yesterday, but they say he’ll be fine.”
The man’s smile returned wide and happy again, and he looked around as if taking in his surroundings, his gaze finally landing back on Wilbur. “Well then it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Tubbo pov

As soon as Wilbur had left the room, Dr. Taylor quickly took his seat, plopping herself down in the rickety wooden chair beside the hospital bed. Tubbo glanced around awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. He suddenly wished he hadn’t told Wil to go.
“So, how are you feeling today, hon?” She asked kindly, adjusting the large framed glasses she wore on her face. She crossed one leg over the other, her smile never leaving her face.
Tubbo shrugged. “Fine, I guess.” (‘What do you think?’ Is what he wanted to say.)
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about? Any questions you want to ask me?” The psychiatrist asked, tapping the back of her pen on her knee.
Tubbo pretended to think about it, then shook his head. He didn’t want to be talking to this woman at all, there was no way he was going to make this conversation longer than it had to be.
“Well then, do you mind if I ask some questions?” She asked, keeping the same calm in her voice with every word she spoke.
Tubbo shrugged instead of answering, and folded his arms loosely, then leaned back so he was leaning against the wall. He turned his gaze to the familiar dripping liquid, still falling into his I.V at the same pace it always was. He heard the sound of papers shifting.
“So, when do you think the purging started?” She asked in a soft voice. It felt strange to hear a question like that– so formal yet about something he thought was so stupid. It was silent for a minute until he remembered he was actually supposed to answer.
“Oh– um, I dunno. Like a couple months ago maybe.” He responded vaguely, still watching the drips. He was already done with this conversation.
“Okay, and do you know why?” The woman asked, followed by the sounds of pen scribbling on paper. “Was there any specific reason?”
He thought for a moment, sort of retracing his steps in his mind to find a clear answer, but there wasn’t one. Too many things had led up to that, and it was never even about the purging really. He just gave a simple “No.” In response.
More scribbles. Tubbo started to feel angry, like this woman was mocking him by asking such dumb questions, but the rational part of him knew that wasn’t the case. She was just doing her job.
“And when you leave here, once you’ve had time to heal, do you plan on stopping? Or do you think that will be too hard for you?” She questioned. Tubbo could hear the sound of her pen tapping once again. He sighed and turned his gaze back to her.
“Is there no option that says ‘I don’t want to’?” He asked, barely even meaning to say it. In reality, he didn’t know if he wanted to stop or not, but it irritated him that she didn’t seem to take that into consideration.
Her expression changed a bit, but not in a way that Tubbo could read.
“That is a perfectly reasonable feeling.” She spoke in a compassionate tone, and that feeling of being mocked returned to Tubbo’s mind once again. “But– hon, you do understand that if you continue the way you’re going now, you could die?”
Tubbo felt insulted by those words, like she had no right to say them to him, as if she thought he was some kind of child who didn’t understand basic concepts. He rolled his eyes and faced the ceiling, calming the anger that had suddenly flooded him.
Again, he didn’t mean to say it–
“Maybe that’s the point.” He muttered, refusing to look at Dr. Taylor again. He regretted those words– knowing he’d just earned himself a longer stay in hospital– but even though he hadn’t wanted to say them, they were true. The longer his life went on, the more he wished it would end. He was tired, and no matter how many times he’d tried to get better or even feel better for just one day, it always failed. He was sure it would be like that forever.
“Have you been having suicidal thoughts for long?” Dr. Taylor continued, as if she’d expected him to say it. Every sentence she spoke seemed calculated, formed in just the right way to get the answers she wanted and make her assessment so she could finish the day and get paid. Tubbo was getting fed up, but had quickly realized that the only way to get this woman to shut up was to talk to her; maybe even be honest. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts and calming his nerves, then sat himself back up and finally faced her again.
“I’m not suicidal.” He said flatly, not sure if he believed himself or not. “I just… dying just sounds easier. Like I’m not going to kill myself, but if I died, why would it be bad?”
He surprised himself with how much he’d actually admitted, and most of it was even true. He hadn’t thought about it much, but it had always been a sort of unspoken thought in the back of his head that if what he was doing to himself were to kill him, he wouldn’t care. Saying it out loud sparked a twinge of anxiety somewhere in him– Like he was almost scared of himself.
Dr. Taylor nodded, her smile now replaced with a look or calculated concern. Her expression reminded Tubbo of a robot pretending to be human, like she’d practiced the compassionate look in her eyes in the mirror of the hospital bathroom before speaking to him.
“Have you felt this way for long?” She questioned, scribbling on her clipboard once again. Tubbo was frustrated all over again, tired of hearing the same question in different contexts over and over. Still, he decided to be honest, unsure why.
“A while, I guess.” He answered with a shrug. “I think um… I think I’ve always had some kind of darkness in me. Like my whole life it’s been sitting somewhere inside me, waiting for the right moment to come to the surface. And I guess when my Mum died–”
He stopped talking, feeling his heart skip at the words he’d said. He didn’t want to talk about that. Not with some stranger. Not with anyone, really.
It was silent for longer this time, as if neither of them knew what to do next. Tubbo averted his gaze and looked down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers nervously.
“I’m sorry about your Mum.” Dr. Taylor spoke, breaking the silence. She put her hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “That must have been an incredibly painful loss.”
Tubbo’s frustration finally tipped over the edge, and he shoved her hand off of him, trying his best to keep himself from freaking out.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He insisted, regretting ever opening up at all. He focussed on taking even breaths, hoping it would calm him down.
“That’s fine.” Dr. Taylor agreed, that ridiculous smile planted back in its place on her face. “We can change the subject if you–”
“No!” He raised his voice this time, feeling immediately guilty. “I– I’m sorry, can you just leave me alone?”
He sniffled as tears stung at his eyes. It was the same every time, and he was so tired of feeling like this. He just wanted it to stop.
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving you on your own with what you’ve told me.” Dr. Taylor answered with a sigh. Tubbo rolled his eyes again and put his head in his hands, anger begging to escape his body. He closed his eyes and laid down, curling himself up on the stiff uncomfortable bed, hugging his knees to his chest. Tears fell down his cheeks, some of them making their way over the bridge of his nose before falling onto the pillow below his head.
“Are you alright, Toby?” The psychiatrist asked. Possibly the dumbest question Tubbo had ever heard. He said nothing, just folded further into himself and sniffled quietly with his eyes squeezed shut, hoping he’d be left alone.
Eventually, he heard the sound of footsteps followed by the door opening, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled the air.
“What happened, is he okay?” Wilbur asked, his voice almost sounding muffled through Tubbo’s ears as he tried to ignore it.
“Could I speak to you outside for a minute?” Dr. Taylor asked, her voice muffled and distorted as well.
There were more footsteps, then the door opened and closed again. Tubbo opened his eyes, tracing the room quickly to see that he was alone. He stayed in the same position and glanced up at the clock on the far wall ahead of him. Seven minutes went by before the door opened for a third time, and Wilbur took his seat beside the bed again. Tubbo didn’t look directly at his brother, but he could see the look of concern on Wil’s face without having to. That stupid familiar look.
“Looks like they’re gonna keep you here a few more days.” Wilbur spoke with a worried tone. The same one he’d had since Tubbo woke up the day before. “Just to make sure you’re alright, get you the help you need.”
Silence.
Tubbo stared forward, keeping his gaze on the ticking hand of the plain white clock.
“Are you okay, man?” Wil continued to question, placing his hand on top of Tubbo’s, which was still tightly gripping his boney leg, pulling it towards his chest. “Will you talk to me, please?”
Tubbo said nothing. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut and feeling a few more tears trickle down the same damp path as the previous ones. He didn’t want to speak to Wil. He didn’t want to speak to anyone. He just wanted this to stop. He wanted everything to stop.

Chapter Text

hi! been a while haha.
sorry if anyone was hoping for a real chapter, i'll do my best to put one out soon! i sort of treat fanfiction like practice writing since i've always wanted to write stories professionally, so like many other passions of mine, i unfortunately don't always do the best at sticking to it and just have to grab the interest when it makes its way back around to me. i never expected this story to reach what it has, and i cannot express how much i appreciate all of the kind comments i've received on this work! i am someone who's dealt with a lot of mental health struggles in the past so writing this story about that and seeing how much people have enjoyed it makes me very very happy!
in all honesty i'm not super in love with how i've written this story, however i do intend to finish it! so look out for the last few chapters (hopefully soon) if you're interested!
anyways thank u again for all the kind words! hope u are all well <33

Chapter Text

Tubbo pov

“Good morning Toby.” Dr. Taylor greeted with a smile as Tubbo walked into her office. It was a small and cozy room, lit with soft yellow lighting. There was an overwhelming, almost unpleasant, scent of lavender that filled the stuffy air. Dr. Taylor sat behind a small brown desk with one leg folded over the other and a notepad rested on her lap. She nodded her head toward a small green chair opposite her, gesturing for Tubbo to sit down.

This was Tubbo’s fourth day in the hospital, but his first day on the psychiatric floor. He’d been transferred down there after the medical team had confirmed that he wasn’t in immediate danger anymore, and he had signed himself in for a 72 hour hold.
The psych floor was a lot different from the general patient floor he was kept on before. There weren’t many patients– he’d counted six so far, almost all of them much older than he was– and it was much quieter. No loud beeping, no sirens from incoming ambulances outside. The patient wing was split into a side for men and a side for women, but the activity room and cafeteria were shared. Tubbo still had his own room, which he appreciated, but that didn’t mean he had any privacy. The door was basically one big window, and there were no locks at all– not even in the bathroom. A nurse would stop in every thirty minutes to check on him, and sometimes to take vitals, and everything was practically baby proofed.
He did have his own shower, which would be nice if he didn’t have to be monitored every second he was in there. Having some old guy stand outside the curtain while he bathed himself was almost a worse experience than what got him in here to begin with.

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Taylor questioned as Tubbo hesitantly took his seat. His hands were shaking slightly, so he intertwined his fingers to try to make it less noticeable. He had an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his head felt cloudy, his thoughts mixing together and floating around each other. He said nothing, just as he’d said nothing every other time he’d spoken to this woman. He wanted nothing to do with her, or with therapy.
“You know, the sooner you have a conversation with me, the sooner I can help you.” The therapist continued, shifting her head to the side in an attempt to make eye contact. Tubbo wanted to laugh at how determined she was, but instead he just stared straight forward, his eyes happening to focus on a little ceramic elephant figurine resting on the desk in front of him.
Dr. Taylor sighed at Tubbo’s lack of response and scribbled something down on her notepad. Tubbo followed the pen with his eyes, wondering what she was writing. She clicked her pen and tossed the pad onto the desk, adjusting herself in her chair.
“We don’t have to talk about your mental health.” She continued, starting to get annoying now. If Tubbo were going to say anything, it was going to be telling her to shut the hell up. “We can talk about anything you want. Something unrelated, a happy memory.”
Tubbo rolled his eyes and turned his head down toward his hands, which were still clasped tightly together, and still shaking. For a moment, he tried to do what she’d suggested. He tried to think of a happy memory, searched his mind for even the slightest bit of light, but there was nothing. He knew he’d been happy before, of course he had, but it was as if everything good had been washed away. His mind was dark and blank.
Tears stung at his eyes, his urge to get out of that room growing stronger with every second that went by. He felt scared of himself; of his mind. He felt like he’d never be happy again. Like he’d never be him again.
“What is it?” Dr. Taylor asked, noticing how upset he was. “Please, just talk to me.”
For a moment, a very short moment, he was tempted to answer. Tempted to tell her the thoughts that had just run through his mind; but he said nothing.

The two sat in silence for what felt like forever before he was finally allowed to leave, and by then it was visiting hours. He headed toward the main activity room– where all the visitors would be sent after checking in at the front desk– but stepped into the hall bathroom on the way to try and collect himself.
He rushed to the sink and turned the faucet on, glancing up at himself in the mirror to find that the person in the reflection looked nothing like him. He looked sick. Really sick. His cheeks were hollow and sunken in, and his hair was dry and brittle. His collarbones stuck out over the collar of his tee shirt, and the scars on his arms seemed more evident in contrast with the paleness of his skin. Tears pricked the back of his eyes, practically begging to fall down his cheeks, but he refused to let himself cry, not right before seeing Will. He didn’t want to worry him any more than he already had.

He squeezed his eyes shut and splashed water over his face, the cold distracting him enough to pull himself together. He took a breath and practiced a smile, then headed back out and down the hall. He took a seat at a small brown table on the far end of the activity room, and waited.

When Tubbo was admitted to psych the day before, Wilbur promised he’d be back as soon as he could and stay for as long as he could. He didn’t even want to leave when the doctors asked him to, and kept that same worried expression on his face as he said goodbye and walked away. Tubbo had almost been relieved to see him go, as guilty as that made him feel. He just couldn’t stand seeing how upset this was all making him, but he was excited to see him now. At least, he thought he was.
“Toby?” A woman’s voice spoke from a few feet away. Tubbo’s head shot up and he turned to see a nurse standing in the doorway smiling at him. Beside her, stood Wilbur and Tommy.

Wilbur Pov

When Wilbur arrived to pick Tommy up, he was sitting on the front steps of his house with his head tilted forward and his hands clasped around the back of his neck. His foot tapped anxiously on the concrete, bouncing his body up and down each time. When Wilbur pulled into the driveway, his head shot up and a weak smile crept onto his face. Will tried his best to smile back, and waved kindly. He hated seeing Tommy so upset. He didn’t know the kid too well, but he knew how close he and Tubbo were, and he had some strange urge to protect him.

Will was the one who called Tommy and told him what had happened, and even over the phone he could tell the boy was crying. Tommy immediately asked if he could see Tubbo, and sounded so scared for him– so sad. Will promised to bring him next time he visited.

Tommy hurried over to the car and swung the door open, climbing in.
“Hey.” He said in some forced, excited tone.
“Hey, kid.” Wilbur replied with another quick smile before putting the car in reverse.

The car ride from Tommy’s house to the hospital was a bit long, and it was silent almost the entire way there, aside from the music Wilbur had turned on to help lighten the mood. Will wanted to say something to Tommy– to ask him how he was feeling, or reassure him somehow, but he didn’t know what to say. Tommy was the one to finally break the silence once they’d almost arrived.

“So, what’s wrong with him?” He questioned, seemingly out of nowhere. He sounded unsure of himself. “Or– sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I mean… I dunno.” Wilbur glanced over at him for a second and saw that his smile had turned back into a look of concern, his head leaning lazily against the window.
“I think it’s complicated.” Wilbur said with a shrug, reaching over to turn the music down. “He’s been struggling for a while.”
He saw Tommy nod his head out of the corner of his eye.
“I should have said something.” He mumbled shamefully. Wilbur gave him a confused look.
“Said something about what?” He questioned, turning the car into the hospital parking lot.
Tommy sighed and shook his head.
“Did something happen?” He questioned again, keeping a calm tone. He didn’t want to come off as angry, because he wasn’t, but he was concerned.

He pulled into a parking spot toward the front of the building, and shifted his body to face Tommy. Tommy was silent for another moment, his face slightly pale and his expression laced with guilt.
“I knew.” He said flatly, avoiding eye contact.
Wilbur’s mind wandered, scenarios flooding his head.
“Knew what?” He asked quickly, confused and a little surprised. Tommy sighed and started tugging at his fingers.
“I mean I didn’t really know, I guess, but…” He trailed off, turning his head toward the window for a moment, then finally facing Will. “He’d always go to the bathroom after lunch– like some weird routine or something, every day. He never actually told me he was… you know– but I knew.”

Will didn’t know what to say at first. He felt angry– not at Tommy, but at himself. He was angry that he hadn’t seen any of this coming. That he hadn’t noticed some sort of pattern, while Tommy did. That he was completely and totally blindsided by his brother almost dying. He took a breath, and turned back to face the building, trying to process.
“I’m sorry, I really wish I’d said something, I just– I didn’t know for sure and I didn’t want to make him angry and–” Tommy spoke frantically, then paused with a sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, no it’s okay.” Will assured him, rubbing his eyes. “I just didn’t know it was that bad, i guess.”
The car fell quiet once again, the hum of the engine and the low volume music filling the silence. Wilbur thought back to all the times he’d noticed something was wrong; a new scar on Tubbo’s body, him skipping breakfast, or acting differently around food than he used to. All the times he didn’t say anything or do anything to stop it.

“I’ve been where he is, you know.” He said with a sigh, facing Tommy again, and this time meeting his eyes. “Well, not exactly, but I’ve been the friend everyone was worried about, and chances are that even if you had said something– to me or to him– it wouldn’t have made a difference. I think he was always gonna end up here, as shitty as that sounds.”
Tommy’s expression seemed to lighten a bit.
“Thanks.” He smiled, nodding slowly.

When the two of them made it to the psychiatric floor, they were greeted at the front desk by a kind older woman who’s messy white hair stuck up from her head like spikes. She was wearing a blue knitted sweater with different breeds of cats patterned onto it.
“How can I help you two?” She asked with a friendly tone, smiling kindly at each of them. Tommy looked up at Wilbur, waiting for him to say something.
“We’re here to visit a patient.” Will said, returning the friendly tone. The woman nodded and turned to her computer, typing something. She asked for Tubbo’s name and each of their relationships to him, then a few more random confirmation questions before directing them to some chairs on the left to wait.
The room was empty other than the two of them, which made Wilbur wonder if some of the patients here had nobody to visit them.
He looked over to Tommy, who was sitting beside him with his chin resting on his hands, bouncing his leg up and down once again. Hesitantly, he reached over and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“It’s gonna be alright, man.” He tried to reassure him. “Look, this is fuckin’ awful, I know– but it’s Tubbo. He’ll be fine, and he’ll be glad to see you.”
Wilbur didn’t know if he believed what he was saying, and he didn’t know if Tommy did either, but what else was there to say? Maybe if he said it enough he could convince himself.

A few minutes later, a nurse walked out through a door down the hallway and called the boys’ names. The two shot up from their seats and hurried over anxiously. A ball of nervousness built in Wilbur’s stomach, and he couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement. Or maybe both.
Every day since Tubbo arrived here had been different, and he never knew what to expect. He always hoped he’d see some kind of change in Tubbo– some proof that he was recovering, even if he knew it was too early– but he hadn’t found that yet. He seemed to get worse every time they spoke.

“So how is he today?” Wilbur asked frantically as they were led down a long corridor. The nurse was quiet for a moment as if she didn’t know what to say, which made the anxious knot in Wilbur’s stomach twist and fold over itself. “You can tell me the truth. Please.”
“If I’m honest, not great.” She responded with a sigh. Something shifted on Tommy’s face, as if this suddenly felt real to him. “He’s mostly the same. Still refusing to talk to his doctors, spending most of his time in his room. But you know what, it's only been a few days, so this is normal. What’s important is that he’s not moving backward.”
Wilbur felt sadness creeping up on him, but tried his best to push it away. She was right, this was expected. He wasn’t going to just get better overnight, but Wilbur wished he would. He wanted that more than anything.

The three of them reached a door at the end of the hall, and the nurse paused with her hand on the doorknob, turning to face Tommy.
“Is this your first time visiting?” She asked, kindly. Tommy nodded, and the woman placed her hand on his shoulder. “Just prepare yourself, alright? He might look different, he’ll probably act differently, there will be other patients… It's not always easy, is all.”
Tommy and Will both nodded now, and the nurse finally opened the door.
They stepped into a lounge-like room, filled with comfortable couches and various activities like board games and a big flat screen T.v nailed to the back wall. Wilbur’s eyes traced the room, looking for Tubbo, but also taking in the details. He hadn’t actually been in here yet, only outside the door when Tubbo was first admitted to psych.
Two patients sat together on a couch on the far left end, watching some sort of documentary on the T.V, and another was sitting at a small table alone playing a card game. There were multiple nurses either walking through or sitting close by the patients, presumably to monitor them. He eventually came across Tubbo, who was slumped in a chair to the right, his head tilted down toward the floor.
No matter how many times Will had seen his brother, he never got used to how sick he looked sitting in a hospital. His clothes hung off his body, and his gaze was sunken and distant. His expression was blank, as if nobody was home behind his eyes. He looked like a completely different person. He looked like he was dying.

“Toby?” The nurse spoke softly. Tubbo looked up quickly and turned to face them, his blank expression turning into a weak smile. He stood up– which looked like it was difficult for him– and walked over to them, pulling Wilbur into a hug.
“Hey man, how ya feeling?” Will asked, rubbing Tubbo’s back gently. He could feel every bone in his body, like hugging a skeleton.
“I’m alright.” He spoke in a raspy, tired voice, before pulling away and facing Tommy. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Oh uh, I’m sorry.” Tommy stuttered. “I asked Will if I could come along, I just wanted-”
“No no I’m glad.” Tubbo reassured him with a slight laugh, moving in to hug him. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“Yeah, you too.” Tommy nodded, hugging him back. When they pulled away, Tommy stopped for a second and glanced up and down Tubbo’s body, his eyes sad. It must have been a while since the two had seen each other, because he seemed shocked at how different he looked.
“Uh, we can sit over here.” Tubbo said with a smile, noticing the sudden discomfort Tommy had shown. He gestured toward a small round table in the far right with a few mis-matched chairs placed around it, and led the other two over. They all sat down, and for a moment, none of them seemed to know what to say.
It was strange, because throughout the day Wilbur would think of a million things he wanted to talk with his brother about, but when he was actually sitting right in front of him, he’d completely forgotten them. Not to mention, it was hard to know what to say and what not to say. The last thing he wanted to do was upset him even more.

Tubbo finally spoke up after a minute, breaking the silence. The frailness of his voice still surprised Will every time he heard it.
“How’s Dad doing?” Tubbo asked in a way that seemed like he didn’t actually care to know the answer.
“Oh, he’s…” Will started, then paused. He was a bit shocked by Tubbo’s question and unsure how to answer it. “He’s how he always is, I guess. I haven’t seen him much. I think he feels guilty.”
Tubbo nodded slowly and looked down at his hands, which were clasped together and rested on the table in front of him, shaking slightly. Will wanted so badly to have good news for him, to make him feel better, but he truly couldn’t think of anything.
“You seem good.” He finally said, even though it was a complete lie. He was just trying to shift the conversation in a slightly positive direction. “Are you starting to feel any better?”
Tubbo was silent, still staring downward, as if he hadn’t heard the question.
“Tubbo?” Will questioned insistently, tilting his head downward to catch Tubbo’s eye. His head finally shot back up and he glanced quickly at the two of them, like he’d forgotten they were there.
“What?” He asked, his expression confused and vacant. “Oh right, yeah I’m great. I’m feeling great.”
He spoke slowly and quietly, and his gaze was focussed just to the side of Wilbur’s head, instead of directly at him.
“You sure you’re alright, man?” Tommy questioned, his tone lighthearted and friendly. It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d sat down. He seemed like he didn’t know what to say.
“Totally, it’s just…” Tubbo replied, trailing off for a moment. He jolted his head slightly as if to snap himself out of it, then turned to face Tommy. “It's these meds, you know? I think they’re messing with me.”
He smirked for about half a second before zoning back out. Wilbur reached out and placed his hand on top of Tubbo’s, really concerned now, but Tubbo quickly pulled away and stood up from his chair. Wilbur jumped back at the sudden aggression, and put his hands up in the air, away from Tubbo.
“I’m sorry– I was just trying to help.” Will stuttered out frantically. Tubbo seemed to lose his balance for a second and fell slightly to the side before catching himself with his other foot.
“Woah, be careful.” Wilbur said as he stood up and stepped over to him, reaching for his shoulder. Tubbo quickly backed away again.
“Stop! Just–” He yelled, placing his hands on his head for a moment and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’m just really tired. I think you guys should go.”
Wilbur was quiet from a moment, turning to Tommy and then back to Tubbo, who was now staring down at his feet with his arms crossed in front of him.
“Okay.” Will sighed, agreeing to give Tubbo some space. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
Tubbo gave a sad nod, then quickly turned and walked out of the room and down the hallway that led to the patient wing. Wilbur felt sick to his stomach watching him walk away. He wanted to chase after him, stay with him, make sure he was okay. But instead, he and Tommy left as they were asked to.