All That Glitters is not Gold

act one: shattered glass

tw: self-harm, skipping meals, other not pogchamp stuff

Maybe just one little margarita. Recreational drinking is fine, right? All of Phil's kids- his kids, so dear to him- were asleep, none the wiser. He'd checked on them, even, when he left his bedroom to go downstairs. Wilbur was at his desk typing on his computer. He had looked up to see Phil, standing at the doorway.

He thought about it as he looked for the vodka.

"Pops, don't be mad- I just can't sleep."Wilbur said, cracking his knuckles, his puffy eyes darting around Phil's frame, who looked back at his 17 year old son.

"Writing isn't going to help you with that, Wil. I understand you don't go out like a light, but- you take your medicine for a reason, right? It helps you, right?" Phil said.

"A- a little. I don't know." he said, saving his page and closing his computer.

"Should I schedule another appointment?" he said, taking his son's hand and helping him to bed.

"I don't want to be a bother." he mumbled, sitting down on the matress. Phil blinked. He crouched down so he was level with his son.

"Wil, this is your health. It's the doctor's job to help you. Why do you feel like you're a bother?"

"I keep taking out of her time. She has other patients, some with more pressing issues than sleep. I'm not that important."

Phil rested his hands on the counter. Why did his son feel like that? He opened the cabinent above the oven and searched there, on his tippy toes.

"Wilbur. You are important. You mean the absolute world to me." He said, placing a hand on his cheek.

A tear escaped Wilbur's eye. "Why am I important, then?"

Phil knocked a bottle. "Oh- shit!" he whispered, jumping back and hearing it crash to the floor. Alcohol splashed across the floor, and the bottle shattered, glass shattering into big and little pieces alike.

So much for his kids being asleep. He knew he had to clean it up, but he sort of stood there for a bit, unable to reach the broom or a towel or anything.

"Papa? Are you okay?" Asked a sleepy Tubbo, about 14 years old. "Do you need a broom?" he said

"Tubbo, don't come in here, there's glass everywhere." Phil warned, snapping out of his trance and trying to step around the glass. "What's going on, why are you up?"

"Well, Tommy is the one that woke me up to come down, and Wilbur is crying, and Ranboo is trying not to hear Wilbur crying, because he says if he hears Wilbur crying then he'll start crying, and Techno is still asleep, and Tommy is trying to help Wilbur." he said, watching his dad sweep up the mess. "We're all in Wilbur and Tommy's room.

"Oh, god-" he murmered, reaching for a towel and sopping up the liquid. "Um, okay, why's Wilbur crying? Because of the noise?"

"He's been crying. He won't tell us why."

"Go up and tell everyone that it's okay and I'll be up for them in a second. Does Ranboo have his Epi-Pen?"

"No." Tubbo says, going to the bathroom and grabbing it. "Wilbur has his inhaler, and Tommy juice, though." he says, before darting off and going back up the stairs.

Phil sighed heavily, and finished cleaning up before going up the stairs. He went to Ranboo first, who had already injected the Epi-Pen into his thigh. Wilbur was breathing with Tommy.

"You okay Ranboo?" Phil asked, taking out a hanky from his bag and wiping his tears. Ranboo nodded, then said "I'll be okay. I think Wilbur had another panic attack."