What Did He Do Wrong

What did he do wrong

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Ranboo is going to release Generation Loss and it's going to be interactive in the way Dora the explorer is interactive, so he's gonna say something and then just stare into the camera for a full minute with dead soulless eyes and then continue on like nothing happened.

I Was Nothing But A Kid Who Couldn't Understand

Read on A03

Summary: Wilbur is a child, and he’s waiting for his brother to arrive, and his mother keeps smoking.

Reblogs are super duper helpful for us writers!! :D

~~~

It's gotta be here somewhere. 

Wilbur stands on his tiptoes, rummaging through the cupboard. He knows it's here. He's seen mum put them here, whenever she buys them from the store. 

So why can't he find them?

Wilbur bites his lip very hard to keep from shouting, continuing to look through the contents of the cupboard. It's just bags of flour and baking soda and salt and jerky and other things he's not looking for. He needs to find the bottles. That's all he needs to find; he doesn't care about the other things.

Wilbur lifts up a can of beans, frowning when he discovers more canned beans behind it. Maybe mum moved the bottles when he wasn't paying attention? 

Wilbur sighs, setting the can down—very, very gently. He can't wake mum up. She can't know that he's doing this, or else he'll get in trouble and his plan won't work.

I just need to find the bottles.

Wilbur takes a deep breath, stretching himself even higher up so he can see better. He's already standing on a chair, but he's still not quite tall enough. 

One day I'll be tall enough. I'll be tall enough to reach the highest shelf in grocery stores, and everyone will be jealous. 

Something smooth rubs against Wilbur's hand, and he chokes down a gasp. Smooth is good! 

He leans forward, reaching his arm as far as it can go—so far that his shoulder starts to hurt. 

His fingers wrap around something tall, cold, and skinny. 

Yes!

Grinning, Wilbur wraps his hand around it, pulling it towards him and holding it up to the window. The moonlight shines on the bottle. 

"I did it," Wilbur whispers. "I found the bottle."

He kneels down on the chair, gently setting the bottle onto the counter. One down, five to go. 

____

Five bottles later, and Wilbur's mission is complete. He gathers them into his arms, walking slowly back to his room and making sure they don't clink against each other. He can't wake up mum. That would be very bad.

Wilbur steps into his room, using his foot to shut the door. He leans against it, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief. 

Heh. It was silly to doubt himself. He knew he could do it! It took a bit, sure, but he did it! 

Wilbur smiles wide, carrying the bottles over to his bed and bending down. As long as he keeps them in here, everything will be okay. They just have to stay very still, and not clink against each other. He's already prepared for that, though; he'd set a blanket down under his bed, for all the bottles to lay on. Now they won't move around. 

Wilbur sets each bottle under his bed, arranging them on the blanket in a neat little row. Then he gets another blanket and throws it over them, tucking it around the edges to make it look neat and tidy (but not too neat and tidy, or else it'll look suspicious).

Wilbur leans back, looking over his work and nodding. He's done a very good job, in his humble opinion. Yes, a very, very good job. Mum won't even be able to guess where the bottles went! He's done that good of a job!

Wilbur grins, rising to his feet and lightly stepping to his door, creaking it open and peering outside. He'd already turned off the kitchen light, put back the chair, and made sure the cupboard door was shut. Everything should- no, everything is just as it should be. There's nothing suspicious about any of it.

I've done such a good job, Wilbur remarks, almost giddy with excitement. Everything went just like I'd planned! Mum didn't even wake up!

Wilbur jumps onto his bed, gathering Friend into his arms and holding him to his chest. "I did it, Friend," He whispers, pressing the blue sheep's face against his own. "I did it. I hid the bottles."

Friend looks up at him, beaded black eyes gleaming. Wilbur kisses him on the nose. "I love you, Friend. Now I'm going to bed, because it's very late."

____

Wilbur picks up the spoon, scowling. "Mum! My cereal got all soggy!"

"That's because you were eating too slow, dear."

Wilbur's scowl deepens. "I don't like soggy cereal. I want another bowl."

Mum sighs, pushing blond hair behind her ear. "You're just gonna have to deal with it. I don't want to waste food, okay?"

"But I really don't want soggy cereal!"

Mum glances at him, eyes flickering. "I'm sorry, Wilbur, but next time you have to eat it quicker. Now come on—finish it up."

Wilbur whines, slouching in his seat. "I don't want it!"

Mum sighs again, stepping away from the table and making her way into the kitchen. 

Wilbur freezes. She's heading to the cupboard.

"Uh, mum!"

"Yes?"

No no no, she's still walking! She hasn't stopped, and she needs to!

"Uh, I spilled!"

"Spilled? Spilled what?"

"My cereal! It's all over my trousers, and it looks really gross! I need a towel, please!"

"Aren't there paper towels on the table?"

Wilbur glances towards the center of the table, where a roll of paper towels stand. Oh.

"Um, I need a bigger towel! Please!"

"Just use the paper ones, Wilbur. They work just as well."

"No they don- mum, I want the big towels!"

Mum sighs, and even in separate rooms Wilbur can hear it. "You're very demanding today."

Wilbur breathes quickly, trying to work out a plan. Mum can't look in the cupboard, not yet! He needs to figure out something, and fast.

Wilbur straightens. "There's a mouse!"

Mum squeals, and a plastic cup falls onto the floor. "A mouse?!"

"Yeah, a big one!"

Mum squeals again, and not ten seconds later she bursts back into the dining room, a rolling pin clutched in her hands. "Where is it? Where did it go?"

"It ran, um... it ran out by the front door!"

Mum bolts in that direction, her socked feet sliding on the wooden floor. Wilbur stifles back a giggle. 

A minute or so—and many whacks—later, mum returns to the dining room, hair sticking up all over the place and face flushed. "Well, it's gone now. I couldn't find it anywhere."

"It must've gotten away!" Wilbur chips in, eyes bright. "It must've been a really fast mouse!"

Mum narrows her eyes slightly, and Wilbur gulps. Mum stares at him for a second before softening. "Oh, your cereal really is soggy, innit? Here, give it to me. I'll get you a new bowl."

Wilbur hands the bowl to mum, eyes bright. "Thank you, mum!"

"Of course, dear. But you need to eat it quickly, alright? Or else it'll get soggy again, and I won't get you a third bowl."

"Okay!"

Wilbur sighs with relief once mum is out of the room. That was really close. Too close. He needs to figure out more ways to stop her from opening the cupboard. 

The sound of a creaky door makes its way into the dining room, and Wilbur stiffens. Oh no.

There's rummaging. 

Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Now where did I put..." Mum trails off, and the rummaging sounds grow louder. "I could've sworn I put them here."

Wilbur forces himself to take deep breaths, mouthing to himself. One, two, three, four, five...

Once he gets to ten, he feels a little calmer, but mum is still rummaging, so he doesn't feel all-the-way better. 

Finally—finally—mum stops rummaging, and returns to the dining room with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. Her brow is furrowed in confusion. 

"Is everything alright, mum?" Wilbur asks, making himself sound as innocent as possible. Mum shakes her head, setting down the bowl and pouring some milk into it.

"I was looking for something, but I couldn't find it."

"Oh." Wilbur slides the bowl towards himself, picking up his spoon. "Well, I'm sure it'll turn up again! That's what usually happens with lost things."

Mum smiles, bending down and kissing Wilbur on the head. "You're right, Wilbur. That is what usually happens." She pulls away, still smiling. "Now eat your breakfast."

Wilbur nods, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth and chewing as loudly as he can.

____

Alcohol isn't good for babies. That's what the doctor said when mum went in for a checkup; Wilbur had come along with her, and he'd sat in the uncomfortable chair in the doctor's room. He mostly swung his legs back and forth, but he'd also listened to some of what the doctor had said.

The doctor had said that alcohol was bad for babies. It could hurt babies, especially when they're really small. He'd said to not drink any alcohol until the baby was born—not even a drop!

Mum had nodded and said okay, but Wilbur knew she wasn't actually going to listen. He'd thought about saying something to the doctor, but he couldn't figure out how to say it without hurting mum's feelings or getting her in trouble.

Wilbur didn't want to hurt mum's feelings or get her in trouble. So he stayed quiet.

He wasn't going to not do anything, though. If mum wasn't going to stop drinking, Wilbur would find a way to make her stop drinking. 

And it worked! He'd hidden the bottles in a place she'd never expect, so now she can't drink them and the baby won't get hurt! It really was a brilliant plan; it makes Wilbur a little sad that he can't tell mum about it. 

He also feels a little bad. Especially when mum looks through the cupboards and the cabinets and the fridge and along the counter, muttering to herself with her eyebrows pinned tightly together. She's looking really hard for the bottles, and Wilbur knows she won't find them, no matter how hard she tries. And he knows that makes her sad, and Wilbur doesn't like it when mum is sad.

But all he has to do is take a look at her rounded belly, and he stops feeling bad about hiding the bottles. The baby is more important. The baby is more important than anything. 

___

Some nights, mum sits on the couch in the den, the old couch with mismatched patches sown over rips and food stains along the arm rests and bits of stuffing collecting on the floor every couple of days. She'll sit on that couch, and she'll wrap a fuzzy blanket around her shoulders; it's her favorite fuzzy blanket, the one with cats all over it. And then she'll smile and hold her arms out, and Wilbur will climb up beside her and nestle against her side, and then she'll wrap the blankets around both of them. 

Wilbur loves those nights. They're his favorite nights in the world.

It's one of those nights tonight. Wilbur lets out a sigh, pressing himself closer to mum. She hums a little bit, carding her fingers through his hair. Even though her fingernails are really long and hurt a little bit, Wilbur doesn't tell her to stop, because he likes it when she runs them through his hair, even if it hurts. He likes it more than it hurts, he thinks.

"Mum?"

"Yes, Wilbur?"

"When will the baby get here?"

Mum sighs, using her other hand to rest it on her belly. "A few months. It takes a while for the baby to grow and get strong enough to see the world."

"I know. But I want to see the baby."

"Oh, I do, too, honey." Mum leans her head down, and Wilbur closes his eyes as she kisses the top of his head. "I do, too. The baby is going to love you so much; you'll be the best big brother in the whole universe."

Wilbur smiles. "I'm really happy that I'll be a big brother."

"I know." Wilbur can hear the smile in mum's voice. "I know."

Wilbur sits up, scooching himself forward until he can reach mum's belly. It's bigger than it was a few weeks ago; it pushes against mum's flowery pink dress. 

Wilbur reaches his hand out, resting it on mum's belly and petting it. "Mum?"

"Hm?"

"When can I feel the baby kick?"

Mum purses her lips. "Soon."

"How soon?"

"I'm not sure. Not very far away, though."

"Okay." Wilbur can't wait to feel the baby kick. Maybe he can tap mum's belly, to let the baby know that he has a big brother waiting for him. Maybe then, the baby will hurry up and get out of mum's belly so Wilbur can meet... wait.

"Mum?"

Mum sighs. "Yes, Wilbur?"

"Is the baby a boy or a girl?"

Mum snorts. "I don't know yet." She tilts her head. "What do you want the baby to be?"

Wilbur pauses. Hm. He's never really thought about this before. The answer comes quickly, though.

"A boy!"

"And why is that?" Mum asks, smiling. 

"Because I want to teach him how to ride a bike, and how to eat chicken nuggets, and how to catch a firefly, and how to hug!"

"A girl can do all of those things, you know."

"But I want to teach him how to be my little brother! Because then I can tell everyone that I have a little brother, because I'll have a little brother, and it'll be the best thing ever!"

Mum laughs, warm and bright like wind chimes. "Okay then. Let's hope for a boy!"

Wilbur grins. "Yeah. Let's hope for a boy!"

____

It's very late at night—far past Wilbur's bedtime—when he realizes something terrible. 

He'd been laying in bed with the covers thrown off his body (it's very hot in his room) while stroking Friend's ears, unable to fall asleep because he really wasn't all that sleepy. He doesn't mind the not-sleepy nights so much, though; he can just talk to Friend until he gets tired. Friend is a very good listener. The best listener, even. 

He's in the middle of telling Friend about dandelions when he stops—he doesn't even get to the part about dandelions turning fluffy!

He stops, because he's just remembered something else the doctor had said: cigarettes are bad for babies. 

He'd forgotten all about that! He'd only thought about the part about alcohol, but he'd forgotten the part about cigarettes! 

Wilbur goes very still in his bed. 

He can smell mum smoking a cigarette from the dining room. 

____

Wilbur's plan now has a part two. Part one was hiding the alcohol bottles. He's already done that, so that part of the plan is finished. Part two is hiding the cigarettes. He hasn't done that yet, so that part of the plan isn't finished. 

Hiding the cigarettes will be a lot harder than hiding the bottles, Wilbur reckons. Mostly because he doesn't know where the cigarettes are kept in the first place. He'll figure it out, though. He'll figure it out for the baby. He'll do anything for the baby.

The next night, Wilbur lies awake on his bed, staring at the slit under his door. He just has to wait for it to turn from warm yellow to black, because that would mean that mum has turned the lights off and is going to bed. He just has to stay awake a little longer. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer...

Wilbur blinks, lifting his head up. The slit under the door is dark. 

Oh! That happened fast!

Slowly sliding his legs off the bed, Wilbur sets his feet onto the floor, taking light steps to the door and creaking it open. He just needs to be quiet, and mum won't wake up. Just like last time. He just has to do it like last time, and everything will be fine. 

Wilbur tiptoes down the hall, into the dining room, and finally into the kitchen. He makes sure that even his breaths are quiet, through his nose instead of his mouth. 

Okay. He's made it to the kitchen without waking mum up. Now he just needs to find the cigarettes without waking mum up. 

Wilbur looks around the kitchen, which suddenly seems much bigger than it used to be. There's so many places to search...

Wilbur straightens, gritting his teeth. He can do it. He can do it for the baby. He knows he can.

Wilbur scurries to the drawers, slowly opening them so they don't make squeaky noises. He squints, digging through its contents and trying to make out what's inside. It's kind of hard to do that with only the light of the moon shining through the window, though.

The cigarettes aren't in this drawer. 

Wilbur closes it softly, opening the drawer beside it and starting to rummage. He thinks he finds them, but it turns out to just be a box of matches.

The cigarettes aren't in this drawer, either. 

Wilbur moves on to the next drawer, and the one after that, and the one after that, until he's looked through all the drawers. 

The cigarettes aren't in any of them.

Wilbur stands in the middle of the kitchen, biting his lip. Hm. Well, there's still the cupboards. And if those don't work, he can check the dining room. They've gotta be here somewhere.

____

The cigarettes aren't anywhere. Wilbur has checked every possible hiding place, including the fridge and under the couch. He finds coins, candy wrappers, toys, and even a pacifier that he used when he was a baby!

But he doesn't find any cigarettes. 

Wilbur stands in the living room, fighting back tears. But he has to find them! For the baby! He can't give up his mission, especially like this!

But he really doesn't know what to do. 

Wilbur holds out his hands, counting to ten on his fingers. Counting helps. Counting calms him down. Counting always calms him down. 

Wilbur closes his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath. Okay. He can do this. He just needs to look harder. 

He glances around the house, trying to think of anywhere mum could have possibly hidden-

Oh. There is one place he hasn't checked. 

Wilbur bites his lip harder, glancing towards the hall. Mum's room. 

That'll be scary, though; he'll have to be extra quiet. He might even have to hold his breath the whole time! And if mum wakes up...

Wilbur straightens. No. He can't back down. He can do this.

"I can do this," Wilbur whispers, starting to walk towards the last hiding place.

___

Wilbur tiptoes around mum's bed, feet pressing into the carpet. He's not being too loud, he thinks; mum is still sleeping, and she hasn't woken up. So that's good.

Wilbur takes a breath, eyes flicking. He can try the dresser first, and if that doesn't work, he'll try the bedside table.

Wilbur creeps up to the dresser, taking one last look at mum before sliding open one of the two doors. He holds his breath as he sticks his hand inside, feeling shirts and trousers and skirts and coats but no cigarettes. 

Wilbur holds back a sigh, shutting the door. 

Okay then. One last try.

Wilbur turns, hesitating only a moment (or maybe a lot of moments) before walking up to mum's bed, pausing at the little bedside table and scanning the top. An alarm clock, a glass of water, a wrinkled magazine, caramel wrappers...

No cigarettes.

Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut. Then he opens them.

He reaches out his hands, grabbing onto the drawer and slowly—so very slowly—sliding it towards him. It makes a few noises, and Wilbur glances fearfully at mum. She doesn't even stir. 

Wilbur turns back to the drawer, sticking one hand inside and lightly flitting it over the contents. Papers, papers, something glass, papers, a box-

Wilbur chokes down a gasp. A box!

Wilbur tightens his fingers around it, pulling it out and holding it close to his eyes. He thinks... yes! Yes, it's the cigarettes!

Wilbur puts the box between his teeth while he shuts the drawer, glancing at mum every so often to make sure she's still asleep. Then he quickly tiptoes out of the room and into the hall, resisting the urge to sprint. 

He only removes the box once he's shut the door to his room, collapsing against the wood and sliding himself to the floor. I did it. I did it I did it I did it I really did it.

A grin spreads across Wilbur's face as he holds the box in his hand. "I really did it."

Wilbur rests his head on the wall for a few seconds, smiling at the ceiling. "I really did it."

After setting the box with the bottles, Wilbur climbs into his bed, falling against his pillow and holding Friend close. "I did it, Friend—again! Now the baby's gonna be okay!"

Friend looks into his eyes, and Wilbur pets his nose. "I think I'm a really good big brother, Friend."

____

Mum is not happy. Wilbur can tell, because she's banging dishes together in the kitchen as she washes them. She only does that when she's upset. 

Wilbur sits at the dining room table, clasping his hands together. He jerks every time there's a bang, clutching a pencil in his fingers. "Mum?"

The banging continues.

"Mum?" Wilbur calls again, louder. 

The banging stops. "What is it?"

"Um... can you help me?"

"With what, Wilbur?"

"Um... with- with math."

Mum sighs—very, very loudly. "In a minute!"

"Okay!"

The banging starts back up again, and Wilbur stares at his hands, mouthing to himself. He's not stupid; he knows that the reason mum is upset is because she can't find the bottles or the cigarettes, and the reason she can't find the bottles or the cigarettes is because he hid them. 

He feels a little bad about it. He doesn't like it when mum is upset, and not just because she bangs the dishes together and hurts his ears. But he doesn't feel super bad about it, because he's helping the baby, and the baby is much more important than mum being upset, right?

The minutes drag on, and while the banging stops, mum doesn't come out to help him. She stays in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and cupboards. 

She's looking for them.

"Mum?"

Mum stops and says a very bad word. Wilbur winces. 

A couple seconds later, mum walks into the dining room, strands of her hair hanging in front of her face. "What?"

"Um... I don't... I don't know how to do this." Wilbur quietly slides his math book across the table. Mum glances down at it, blowing some hair out of her eyes as she sits in a chair. 

Mum looks over the book, narrowing her eyes. She stays like that for a long time.

Wilbur clears his throat. "Mum?"

"I'm looking, Wilbur. Be patient." Her voice is sharp and angry.

"Okay." His voice is soft and a little bit fearful.

After a few minutes, mum sits up, sliding the book back across the table and pointing at it. She starts to explain the problem—or, she tries to explain. Wilbur doesn't really understand what she's saying, and he rests his head on his hand, brow furrowed. 

"Like that. See?" Mum gestures, staring expectantly at her son. 

Wilbur opens and closes his mouth. "I don't... really get it?"

Mum's eyes widen. "What don't you get?"

"Um... all of it?"

Mum throws her pencil onto the table, leaning back in her chair and making it screech. "Well, you're just going to have to ask your teacher about it, okay? I don't know how to explain it to you."

Wilbur hunches in on himself. "Okay."

Mum groans, dragging her hands down her face.

Wilbur waits a moment, taking a quick breath before sitting up, leaning over to mum and pushing her hair behind her ears.

Mum blinks at him, clearly surprised. Wilbur swallows. "You don't like it when your hair gets in your face. I was fixing it."

Mum sighs, seeming to sag into her seat. "Oh, dear... look, I'm sorry I've been so angry lately. It's not... I'm not trying to be angry at you, I'm just... frustrated."

Wilbur nods, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. "It's okay. I know how it feels to be frustrated."

Mum gives him a tired smile. "Yeah. We all get frustrated every so often, don't we?"

"Yeah."

Mum takes a deep breath, features softening. "Well. Oh, Wilbur!"

"Hm?" Wilbur lifts his head, swinging his legs back and forth.

"Have you seen my bottles lately? The ones I get from the store on the corner of the street?"

Wilbur's legs stop swinging. "Bottles? Um. No. I haven't seen them."

"Oh." Mum looks forward, eyes distant. "I haven't been able to find them these last few days, but I know I bought them. They should be in the cupboard, but they must have been moved around. Are you sure you haven't seen them?"

Wilbur's heart is pounding now. "Nope. Definitely haven't seen them."

Mum nods her head slowly. "Okay then. Let me know if you do see them, alright?"

Wilbur clears his throat loudly. "I'm go- I'm going to my room now. I think Friend is lonely."

"Oh." Mum blinks, surprise written on her face. "Okay. You two have fun."

Wilbur nods, sliding off his chair and running to the hall. 

He doesn't see mum watch him leave, cocking her head thoughtfully. She taps her fingers on the table, a steady drumming sound.

____

Wilbur tries not to be around mum now. Not because he doesn't love her, but because whenever he is around her, his face gets red and hot and his heart starts pounding and he feels like he can't breathe until he leaves. The only times he's really around her is during meals, and he tries to make those last as short as possible, shoveling food into his mouth and running back to his room. 

Mum watches him. He can feel her eyes almost constantly, staring right at him when she thinks he's not paying attention. 

He is paying attention, though.

____

Wilbur's been spending lots of time with Friend. He tosses him in the air and then catches him, whispers secrets into his ears, holds him close, tells him about all kinds of things. 

And Wilbur never thought he'd say this (and he'd never let Friend know) but the sheep is slightly boring. And quiet. Wilbur wishes he'd at least say something back to him.

He never does, though. Just sits there. 

"Well," Wilbur says, laying on his bed and fiddling with Friend's hooves. "At least you're a good listener."

Friend stares back at him. Wilbur sighs.

____

"Wilbur."

Wilbur freezes, midway through spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth. 

Mum taps her fingers on the table. "Can you stay here after you're done eating? Instead of retreating to your room?"

Wilbur swallows hard. "Okay."

Mum nods, going back to her food. Wilbur lets out a shaky breath, trying to calm his breathing as he continues eating. 

It's a very quiet dinner. 

Finally, mum finishes her food, wiping off her mouth with a napkin. "I have a question for you, Wilbur."

"...oh."

"Uh-huh. You know how my bottles went missing a couple days ago?"

Wilbur waits a long time before nodding. He feels sick.

"Well, my cigarettes have gone missing as well. Which is quite odd, because the only place I put them is in my room."

"Oh. R-really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh." Wilbur stares at his hands. "That is odd."

Mum is quiet for a minute. "Wilbur."

Wilbur cringes. 

"I asked you this a few days ago, and I'm going to ask you again: have you seen my bottles? Or my cigarettes?"

The only sounds between them is a clock ticking, that old clock that was there when they moved in. Wilbur had never realized how noisy it was until now. Should clocks be that loud? They probably shouldn't. 

"Wilbur. Answer me."

Wilbur clears his throat. "I haven't seen them, mum."

That is true. Wilbur hasn't looked at them since he placed them under his bed. He's not lying or anything. 

"Well, you're the only other person in this house, so I have a feeling that you have seen them, and you're not telling me where they are. Is that right?"

Wilbur's heart pounds in his ears, drowning out the sound of the stupid clock ticking. He can't answer her. He has to get out of here. 

"I have to use the bathroom," He says quietly, sliding out of his chair. 

"Wilbur, wait-"

Wilbur bolts. 

The sounds of his own breathing rasp in his ears as he careens down the hallway, stumbling into his room and falling to his knees by his bedside. They can't stay anymore, mum is going to find them, he has to-

Wilbur whips his head around his room, frantically searching for a better hiding place, somewhere that mum will never ever find them, no matter how hard she looks. Somewhere that-

His eyes flash to the window. A window. 

Wilbur's eyes widen, and he hurriedly gathers the bottles into his arms. This'll work. This'll have to work.

He runs to the window, setting the bottles onto the floor—they clink together but there's no time to worry about that—and using every bit of strength he has to pry it open. It's hard, and he lets out a strained grunt, but he gets it open. 

Wilbur takes a few seconds to look outside. It's dark, and he can hear rain hitting the ground. Doubt starts to work it's way into his heart.

But then he hears footsteps coming down the hall, and he pushes all the doubt away. 

He grabs a bottle into his hand, holding it out the window and dropping it. The sounds of shattering glass quickly make their way back up.

Wilbur grabs two more bottles, holding them out and dropping them at the same time. More shattering glass.

"Wil, what are you doing in there?!"

Two more bottles. Shatter. One more. Shatter. 

Wilbur races back to his bed, sticking his arm underneath and pulling out the box of cigarettes, just as quickly racing back to the window.

He fumbles with the lid, clumsy fingers unable to open it for several terrifying seconds. 

Pop! Wilbur wastes no time in holding the box out the window, watching the small white cylinders tumble down down down until he can't see them anymore. 

Wilbur stares out the window, breathing heavily. The air is steamy with rain. 

There. I did it. 

"Wilbur!"

Wilbur jumps, letting out a choked squeak as he turns around. 

Mum stands in his doorway, nostrils flaring. "What did you just do? I heard glass shattering! What the, what, what did..."

She trails off, eyes turning to the window as she walks forward. Wilbur discreetly steps out of the way. 

She leans her head outside, looking side to side and then down at the driveway. She squints, using her hand to shield the rain from her eyes. 

She stays like that for a while, and Wilbur can't stop breathing too fast. He can't even count, he can't think, he doesn't know what to do and he feels like he's about to throw up.

Finally, mum pulls her head back inside. Her hair is soaked, sticking to her forehead, and some makeup runs down her face in blurry lines. Her eyes look like they're filled with fire. 

"What did you just do?"

Wilbur looks everywhere but at her. He doesn't answer. 

"Wilbur!"

Too late, Wilbur realizes that she's stalking towards him. She grabs onto his wrist, pulling it up—roughly. Wilbur cries out, but doesn't try and break free. He's tried before. It never works. 

"Wilbur, you answer me right now! What did you just do? What did you drop out the window?"

Wilbur hiccups. "I- I dr- I- I-"

Mum's grip on his wrist tightens. "Tell me!"

"I dropped the bottles!" Wilbur screams, and he didn't realize he was crying until now. "An-an-and the cigarettes! I dr-dr-dropped them ou-ou-out the wind-nd-ndow!"

Mum slowly lowers her hand. Wilbur hiccups again. "I'm s-s-sorry but I just wan-ted to hel-help the baby! I didn't wan-want to hurt y-y-you! I prom-promise!"

Mum's eyes go distant, but she doesn't let go of Wilbur's wrist. He sniffles. 

They stay like that for a long time. 

Wilbur's wrist really hurts. 

Finally, mum blinks, releasing her hold and letting Wilbur pull his arm to his chest. He can already tell that it's going to bruise. 

Mum lifts her head, taking a quick breath. "Well then. If you took something from me, I suppose I can take something from you."

Wilbur blinks up at her, not saying a word. 

Mum turns away from him, walking towards his bed. What could she be-

Wilbur pales as mum reaches over, grabbing Friend from his pillow. 

"Mum, no! Mum- stop!" Wilbur rushes to mum, grabbing onto her shirt in a panic. "Don't take Frie- don't take Friend, mum please don't take Friend! Mum, stop!"

Mum doesn't even look at him. She just continues walking towards the door, keeping a tight hold on the blue stuffed sheep.

Wilbur can't breathe. Mum can't- Friend can't go away. He can't lose Friend. Any- anything but Friend. He can't lose Friend.

"Mum, stop! Please stop, don't take Friend! Don't take Friend! Mum, don't take Friend!" 

He's sobbing now. He can barely understand what he's saying, and his face is wet with tears. Mum doesn't stop walking. 

Wilbur pulls on her shirt, unable to form words anymore. He just sobs and screams and hopes that somehow mum will listen to him. 

At some point, Wilbur realizes that she's stopped moving. His sobs quiet slightly as he looks up at her, but she's not looking at him. He doesn't... really know what she's looking at.

He then notices that her hold on Friend has loosened. Wilbur looks back and forth between Friend and mum, wondering what to do.

Hesitantly, he reaches up, grabbing onto Friend's body and slowly pulling him out of mum's grasp. Mum doesn't stop him. 

Wilbur hugs the sheep close, burying his nose into his fur and taking a step back. 

Mum blinks. Wilbur sees her hand reach towards him out of the corner of his eye. "Wilbur-"

He doesn't care that her voice is softer than it was before. He doesn't care that her hand moves slowly and gently. He doesn't care that her eyes are wide and filled with something like fear. 

He doesn't care.

Wilbur turns around and runs, jumping into his bed and throwing the blankets over himself and his sheep. And then he starts crying. Loudly. Burying his face into Friend, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and wishing the entire world and mum and bottles and boxes away forever. 

He doesn't hear mum leave. 

He does hear broken glass being scraped together outside. 

Wilbur cries louder.

____

Breakfast is quiet. Wilbur spoons oatmeal into his mouth, staring at the dried cranberries mixed into it. He doesn't much like cranberries, but he doesn't dare complain. He doesn't dare say anything. He just sits there quietly, holding Friend in his lap and chewing with his mouth closed. 

Mum sits to his left, tapping her spoon against her bowl but not eating anything. She doesn't like to waste food—she's told Wilbur a hundred times—but she still doesn't eat. Just stares into her food and bites her lip. 

Her hair is in front of her face. 

Wilbur's almost done eating when mum sits up, uttering a quiet, "Wilbur."

Wilbur freezes. Suddenly he's not hungry anymore. 

Mum closes her eyes for a moment, opening them and looking right at her son. Wilbur stares at his hands. "Wilbur, I want... I need to talk to you. About last night."

Wilbur runs his teeth over his lip.

"I just..." Mum pauses. The only sounds between them is the loud clock, tick tick ticking away. Come to think of it, it's not so bad. It's kinda nice, it being so loud. Helps to drown out his own thoughts and racing heart.

"I'm sorry."

Wilbur looks up, but mum isn't looking at him anymore. She picks at her hands, eyes shiny. "I am so, so sorry, Wilbur. I know what I..." She takes a deep breath. "I hurt you. I was awful to you. I did awful things to you, and I just-"

She takes another deep breath, bringing her hands to her face. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for being so awful. I know that doesn't even begin to fix things, but-"

She goes quiet, sniffling into her hands. Wilbur also stays quiet, but he doesn't sniffle into his hands. 

A long minute passes. Wilbur counts the ticks from the clock. 

Mum takes a deep breath, resting her hands on the table and finally looking at Wilbur again. Her eyes are red. "You shouldn't have taken my things and hid them, but I most definitely shouldn't have done... any of those things to you. I shouldn't have yelled or grabbed you or tried to take your sheep-"

"His name is Friend," Wilbur whispers. It's the first thing he's said to mum since last night. 

Mum smiles, but it looks forced. "Friend. Of course. I shouldn't have tried to take him."

Wilbur slowly shakes his head. "You scared me."

Mum's smile falls. "I know, dear. I know. I'm s-"

"And you shouldn't have had the bottles in the first place," Wilbur continues, no longer whispering. In fact, he feels almost... brave. Or maybe angry. Or maybe both. "Or the box. The doctor said it could hurt the baby."

Mum brings one of her hands under the table, resting it on her belly. "Oh."

"I was hiding them because I was... I was helping the baby. You weren't doing it yourself, so I did it instead." Wilbur swings his legs back and forth. "And it worked. I did it, all by myself. I helped the baby."

Mum is very quiet. "Wilbur, did... did you do all of that, because... you didn't want the baby to get hurt?"

Wilbur looks at her. Really looks at her. 

And he finds that he's no longer scared at all.

He nods. "Yes."

Mum gasps, eyes going shiny once more. "Oh, Wilbur..."

Wilbur's expression flickers. "Mum?"

Mum is crying. 

Wilbur watches as tears run down her face, clutching Friend's fur in his fingers. Mum isn't quiet-crying like she sometimes does; no, this is loud-crying. 

Wilbur doesn't think he's ever heard mum loud-cry before. 

He watches a few seconds more before he climbs out of his chair, leaving Friend behind (only for a little bit, though) and walking over to mum. 

I don't think she knows I'm here.

Wilbur stares up at her before stretching his arm out, using his hand to brush the hair behind her ears. Mum chokes, blinking down at Wilbur in surprise. 

Wilbur takes a deep breath. "You don't like it when your hair gets in your face. I was fixing it."

"Oh, Wilbur..." Mum starts crying again, and Wilbur quickly climbs into her lap, wrapping his arms around her. She hugs back, burying her face into his shoulder. She's shaking. 

Wilbur holds her, or maybe she holds him, or maybe they hold each other, and suddenly everything seems a lot better than it was a few minutes earlier. 

____

Mum sits on the couch that night, and Wilbur climbs up next to her, leaning against her side. The house feels a bit cold, but the fuzzy blanket wrapped around both of them helps. Wilbur actually feels quite sleepy, his eyes heavy. 

Mum sighs, running her fingers through Wilbur's hair. Her fingernails are shorter now, and they don't hurt. Wilbur hums, pressing his face harder into mum's dress. 

"Mum?"

"Yes, Wilbur?"

Wilbur pauses, trying to figure out how to word what he wants to say. Mum says he's good at that; 'expressing himself', she'd called it. He doesn't know exactly what that means, but it sounds good, so he hasn't asked. 

"Can... you not buy any more bottles or boxes? Until the baby gets here, at least?" He looks up, and mum looks down at him. She continues to run her fingers through his hair. 

Mum takes a deep breath. "I'll try, dear. I-"

"No. I want you to promise."

Mum's fingers still. 

"Please. Please promise. They're not good for the baby."

Mum doesn't answer him. 

Wilbur feels the anger blooming in his heart, and he forces himself to count to ten. One, two, three...

"Okay." Mum's voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. "I promise."

Wilbur looks up at her. "Really?"

Mum blinks, looking down at him. She smiles. "Yes. For the baby. Right?"

Wilbur grins. "Yeah. For the baby."

He falls asleep like that, with his face pressed against mum's side. She runs her fingers through his hair the whole time.

Just before he falls asleep, Wilbur can't help but think that maybe, this time, mum won't break her promise. Just maybe. Just this once. For the baby.

I think if i put into words how happy this type of image makes me I would get diagnosed with something

THE BOIS, THE SLEEPIES

Big brother will

They look so skruglie, so scriblo!!

four horsemen of the hyperfixation