Archive of Our Own ^beta

From as far back as he can remember, his only caregiver had been his mother.

She was there for him through everything; from his first steps to his first day at school to his first heartbreak, she was there.

Through every tantrum and fit, she would stay. Even the one time he shouted at her, she didn't retaliate.

Whenever the less openminded people of the town would stare at them and whisper, she'd shield him within her arms. Whenever the other kids asked why he didn't have a dad and teased him until he cried, she'd let him cry until he felt better and then she'd let him have a scoop of ice cream before dinner.

Even a woman as fortuitous as Sally Fisher could be bested by his curiosity one day, though.

"Mom, why don't I have a dad?"

Her hands paused where they rested on the bedsheets. Her face turned funny, and her eyes got all shiny until she blinked.

She didn't speak for a minute, and he started to worry he'd said something wrong.

"You do have a father, sweetie," she said at last- the funny look was different now. "He's just. Away on a trip."

Oh. He blinked, and snuggled a bit into his plushie.

"Is he gonna come home?"

His mom stayed really quiet for a minute.

Then,

"Not right now, baby. Now go to sleep so you won't be tired tomorrow, okay?"

She stood and kissed his forehead, murmuring a soft I love you, before turning off the lamp and leaving only his plushie and the nightlight to protect him from the monsters.

Fundy had wished he could meet him one day, in that moment, more than he had before. Before, his father had simply been a distant apparition that was forever destined to be in the background as he and his mother walked together through life.

Before, he didn't have anything to know him by other than his last name.

Before, his father had nothing to do with Fundy.

Now, he stares into the shocked eyes of a man whose name and face was unfamiliar with a guitar case slung across his back.

Now, he wished he had his mom, because this weird guy was scaring him and he didn't know how to leave without getting his attention or being rude. He was scrutinizing him, every detail, and he felt like he was under one of the microscopes at school.

He really regrets his extroverted nature right now. Maybe if he hadn't decided to talk to this guy, then maybe he wouldn't have said the fateful words of "Hi, I'm Fundy! I like your guitar!"

He refocuses his attention when the guy speaks.

"Ah, sorry," he says, looking slightly constipated, "what did you say again?"

Fundy gulped.

"I like your guitar...?" He tries, hoping the guy just hadn't expected some kid to run up and basically shout at him about his guitar.

The man's expression changes, and he somehow seems sheepish and appreciative at the same time. "Yes, thank you, but I meant... Ah, that other thing you said, right? Your name?"

The tension is palpable now. He'd probably be able to grab it if he wanted, he thinks, but he doesn't. Because it's a metaphor. And he was already holding the bench rail.

He looks away. "Uh," he says eloquently, "Fundy."

His feet start shuffling. He really wants to turn into a fox and find somewhere to hide and maybe nap for a bit, but he feels rooted to the spot.

The guy recovers quicker this time. "Wilbur," he says, "Wilbur Soot."

Fundy's eyes widen, but before he could say anything he reached for something- his guitar, he realizes half a second later- and pulls it off into his lap.

"And thank you," he continues, hand brushing the beautifully carved case, "it cost an arm and a leg to get."

Fundy opened his mouth, confused, before it clicked. Right, right- metaphors. He's slow with that stuff sometimes.

"Wow." He murmurs, "that's. Really cool."

His small smile cracks into a grin. "Thank you," he says cordially, "Much appreciated."

There was a moment of silence as fundy studied the case. It had a lot of swirling lines and shapes that fundy's pretty sure are dolphins or fish or something, but he can't be sure unless he gets closer to Wilbur.

He feels really nervous about it though, so he stays put.

Being unable to see the pretty patterns is starting to nag at him, even as he tries to shove it away because it'd scare the man off.

Fundy's conflict shows, though, because Wilbur's moving his arm to pat the bench. It takes a half-second to react because he was so focused.

When he does process it, though, he leans forward a bit.

"You can get closer if you want, you know. I don't bite." There's a warmth to it, and a gentle upturn of Wilbur's mouth. The invitation nearly makes him leap for joy, and he scrambles onto the bench. His hands hover over the guitar case, itching to feel the designs. If he were a fox he'd be gekkering right now for sure.

Wilbur's verbal reaction is immediate. "Woah, be careful, Fundy," He warns, laughter sprinkling the words. "Don't fall." Fundy wouldn't- he knows how benches work, thank you.

Wilbur moves his arm from where it'd been vacated from fundy's sudden presence, and arranges himself as if to open it.

"Do you want to hear a song, Fundy?"

Fundy vigorously nods, unable to keep the exictement off his face.

Wilbur smiles and pulls at the latches keeping the case secure. It's a confusing process that he'd probably have to watch multiple times to get down, he ponders, though the line of thought diverts to the guitar itself.

It's beautiful, is fundy's first thought. It has some knobs on top, attached to strings, a hole near the bottom accommodated for by the main body of the guitar. It's made of birch probably, easy on the eyes and bearing an almost iconic contrast. The body is bright compared to the part with strings and the case itself. The strings are kind of shiny.

He's pulled out of his revery by Wilbur. "You like it?" He asks, something funny to the intonation- humor, he thinks. It'd make sense.

"Um." He suddenly feels a bit awkward. "Yeah."

He gets a smile in response.

Then wilbur's turning his attention away from him and adjusting the guitar the way fundy had seen it held on a poster once.

Then, a melody.

Fundy sits, mesmerized, as the equivalent of magic comes from this interesting, weird-shaped object. It's almost like he could see the notes twirling through the air from the guitar.

As all good things must, though, it comes to an end, leaving silence in its wake. Fundy wishes his mom were here so he could tell her about the cool guitar man, and how cool its owner is too.

Then, as if on cue, his mother starts calling for him.

"Fundy," says his mother, "you forgot your sandals-"

She stops dead in her tracks, like the time he was really little and got onto the counter and spilled the batter bowl. He'd not been able to have brownies after that, and he had to help clean up.

Maybe he should explain before she could get mad at him about stranger danger.

"Mom!" He hollers, probably a bit too loud because he has poor volume control sometimes, "this guy has a really cool guitar, and he played me a song! He's super good, too, and his name is Wilbur!"

She glances at him, not quite paying attention- is she mad at him? He hopes not.

"That's fantastic, sweetie," she says, ruffling his hair briefly before turning her gaze back to Wilbur. Apparently he's surprised to see her too, because his face is all funny and confused-looking.

"Sally," he murmurs, still as stone and eyes wide.

He sets his guitar on the side of the bench next to the case, only barely ensuring it wouldn't fall onto the cobblestone it sits on, before rising with an odd sort of stiffness. His eyes are on Mom the entire time.

What's going on?

"I..." Wilbur starts. His mouth opens and closes over and over as if to say multiple things, all aborted, and Fundy realizes he must be having trouble with his words like he does sometimes.

That doesn't make the sudden tension go away, though. He kind of wants to go home.

Wilbur is still mimicing a goldfish, though, and he looks really confused. He wants to help, but his brain has decided now is a great time to reboot.

Then it hits him- ice cream.

Now with a quite genius plan forming, Fundy tugs on his mother's arm.

"Can we get ice cream?" he asks, pointing in the general direction of the Las Nevadas parlor.

All the attention is on him now, though, because he'd spoken so suddenly. He tries to stand his ground. "Please?"

Mom blinks, as if something had clicked. She smiles warmly. "Sure, sweetheart," she replies, "we can get ice cream."

"Can he come too?" He points at Wilbur.

She processes for a minute. "Um, if he wants to," is what she settles on.

He looks to Wilbur.

"...sure," he says, and fundy leaps for joy and starts sprinting to the location. His mom hollers after him to slow down so he doesn't fall and to at least put his sandals on, and he laughs the whole way there.

He nearly trips in his haste, and bursts into the parlor victoriously. Luckily his seat is open- he claims it without issue.

Now to wait.

A moment passes.

Another.

The energy under fundy's skin makes him restless, and he finds it hard to wait- shouldn't they be here by now?

It's just as the impatience starts turning into annoyance that the door opens.

"Fundy!"

He jumps, swiveling around in his spinny-chair-thing to see his mother panting in the doorway.

"Fundy," she repeats, "never do that again. You scared me- you could have fallen and gotten hurt!"

He shrinks under the scolding. "I- I'm sorry, I just. Got excited..."

She stills for a moment- he hadn't noticed how tense she was.

She sighs. "It's. It's alright, sweetheart, but please try to slow down next time."

"Okay, mom."

She smiles and sits down next to him.

She starts to speak, but the door being thrown open interrupts it.

"Sally," wilbur wheezes, "wh- how are you both so fast?"

Fundy hides his smile.

"How are you so slow?" She retorts, Her smile back with a new quality to it that fundy can't quite catch. He fights a giggle.

Wilbur huffs, still not quite catching his breath, and stands straight from his bent-over, hands-on-knees position. He lumbers over to the stool next to mom and sits down. There's a fond sort of twinkle in his eye, and a matching tilt of his mouth.

"Well, I suppose you have me there."

Ew, fundy thinks- wilbur's giving his mom goo-goo eyes.

He looks away with a small disgruntled huff- more a forceful exhale, he thinks, but that's beside the point- and hopes Mister Charlie or Mister Quackity shows up soon.

As if on cue, the employees only door swings open. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Fundy thinks.

"Oh hi, fundy and sally and- hey, you brought a friend!" Says Mister Charlie, "Hi! I'm Charlie!"

Fundy's smile gets bigger as he watches Wilbur shake Mister Charlie's hand.

"Hello, Charlie," he greets, "my name is Wilbur."

"Pleasure to meetcha!" Charlie chirps, only just now releasing wilbur's hand. He turns to address all three of them.

"What're you guys lookin' to have today? I've run out of the rainbow ice cream today, but everything else is fair game!"

Fundy can tell an opportunity when he sees it. "Vanilla," he declares, "with sprinkles!"

Mister Charlie scribbles his order down and turns to his mom, who asks for a simple vanilla ice cream cone, which is a little lame he thinks. Now it's Wilbur's turn to order- fundy looks at him expectantly.

"Um." He clears his throat. "A scoop of chocolate ice cream, if you will."

Charlie seemingly takes a break from his enthusiasm to scribble the rest of Wilbur's order before perking back up.

"Okay, I'll be right back!" He announces, promptly turning and disappearing into the employees only door.

His mom hums, and when he looks over she's ruffling through her empty pockets. She mutters something under her breath, getting up from the stool.

"I forgot my wallet at home," she says. "Fundy, do you want to stay here with Wilbur or come with me? I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Wa-wait, hold on a minute," Wilbur interjects, fumbling with something in his jacket pocket. "Hang on." His other hand jumps to his other pocket.

Fundy watches the events unfold, dumbfounded.

"Aha!" Wilbur shouts, triumphant, and holds up a leather wallet. "Ah, here's my wallet!"

His mom just kind of... Stands there, watching Wilbur ruffle through it and counting under his breath. He seems satisfied, and slaps the wallet onto the counter.

"Sorry, sorry," he stutters, "I- um." He snaps his fingers. Fundy tries to dissect his intent.

"I wanted to pay for the ice cream!" He asserts. "I mean. Uh." What he's doing right now is what Fundy thinks people would call 'hemming and hawing' over his words. Which is just confusing honestly.

Wilbur sighs, shame pinching his features for a second. "Er, nevermind," he mutters sheepishly. He flashes a smile like it'd cover up his blunder.

Mom blinks, as if recalling something. She smiles as she slides back onto her stool. "Thank you, Wilbur. That's really sweet of you."

Fundy can't see Wilbur all too well because his mom's sitting right next to him, but he can see the awkward smile the man gives his mom.

The door bursts open again. "Hey guys, i'm back!" Mister Charlie says, expertly setting the cones of frosty deliciousness in front of each of them. "The price is 2 pieces and 25 pinches."

Fundy watches Wilbur take a couple of pieces out of his wallet and probably more pinches than needed. He hands them to Mister Charlie.

"Ah, I think you overpaid," he says at last, "this is like, 50 pinches over the requirement."

Wilbur pauses. "Yes?" he says, "the extra's for tip."

Mister Charlie blinks, eyes going between the extra money and Wilbur. "Oh, you must be from one of those other provinces! I really appreciate it, honest, but I get paid plenty without tips." He recounts it and hand the extra back to a surprised-looking Wilbur.

"Are you sure?" He protests, "what about a small tip?"

Fundy and Sally watch, bemused. He spares a glance at his ice cream cone.

Mister Charlie chuckles. "No- i'm super flattered though!" He wraps the pieces around the pinches. "I'm gonna go put this in the register now." He opens the door, and as it swings shut Fundy hears Mister Charlie calling for someone.

"Huh." He says. "That was weird."

His mom chuckles and muses his hair. "Yeah," she says, a teasing note in her voice, "it was weird."

Wilbur gives a noise of protests, swallowing his mouthful of ice cream before turning to his mom. "It was not! I happen to have manners, thank you." His words would have been intimidating to hear, if not for the matching mischief in his words and the mock-annoyed look on his face. He giggles and goes back to his ice cream cone, watching them tease each other as if they were old friends.

As they tease each other and talk about things that happened a million years ago, he focuses more on licking his ice cream cone before it melts. Wilbur is really cool, Fundy decides- he'd bought ice cream for him and his mom. He also let him touch his guitar case when he barely even knew him, too, and played music for him.

Fundy doesn't have a dad. It's common knowledge, a rookie fact you could pick up just from watching him and his mother. He occasionally wondered what it'd be like to have one- if he'd get trips to the park or given candy on the condition that he not tell his mom.

The line of thought doesn't really go anywhere it hasn't gone before, though. He's more or less made his peace with it.

With that in mind, he muses, he wouldn't mind making room for one if this is what it's like.

The fact that the hypothetical individual in question has an awesome guitar is entirely irrelevant.