Nightingale - Dreamnotfound

||My Nightingale||

TW // death, blood
—
The Slums were shamefully quiet. Just a few months ago they were constantly bustling with restless life. It was even more busy when I was a kid. Children my age used to roam the sandy streets while the adults watched from inside their metal box houses. I hadn't noticed it before, but I never did run into anybody who would recognize me before George. Maybe it was age, but I rarely did stumble upon people my age.

I stopped at George's house. Rustic blue, though it was so faded that it began to match the sky in certain spots. I peered inside to see the kitchen with the old kicked in cabinets.

"Your childhood house," Wilbur remarked. "It looks the same way we left it."

"George used to live here." I stepped inside. I found myself gravitate to the kitchen counter. Up until now I tried to keep my distance from it. It always gave me a deeply queasy feeling somewhere in my stomach.

I ran my hands down the splintery wooden counter. At one point it probably looked better. Perhaps smoother and maybe even a little polished. It had to be safe enough for children to eat on. At the end was a sink, and to no surprise, the water didn't work. All that came out at the turn of the knob was a loud squeak from the years of no use.

I stopped, and after a few moments of thinking about it, I squatted down and gently pulled the cabinet doors out. Aside from small wooden chips and otherwise broken and rusty pipes, it was empty inside.

"Dream."

I looked over my shoulder and at Wilbur in the doorway. He appeared as more of a shadow from the sun hitting directly at him and into the house.

I shook the cabinet door carefully, "Remember when I used to fit in here, Wilbur?"

He nodded, "You were very small. And then puberty hit and you just completely skyrocketed."

"I don't even remember why these are kicked in."

"Some of the other Specialties at the time kicked them in just to make sure the room was clear. They've both resigned now."

I stood back up and dusted the small wooden chips off my clothes. "We met here."

"Yes, we did." His eyes wandered around the room and skipped right over me. "We're getting sidetracked. Where is your gun?"

"It's around here."

"Well find it."

"You know, you're acting really weird, Wilbur," I said, "You're being really quiet."

His eyes flickered at me and he stepped inside the house. "Techno believes we shouldn't have anything more than a strict business-only relationship with our Specialties."

"I didn't even know our relationship was anything more than business."

"I suppose it was. Techno believes so, anyway."

I brushed past him and searched the outside houses for the slight gap that was just a tad bit bigger than the rest of them. It was between a green and red house somewhere around George's house.

Once I found the gap, I stopped in front of it. No Specialty was supposed to know about it. Turning to Wilbur, I debated whether or not to tell him. There was also the chance he already knew about it. Tommy and Tubbo did, and they could have easily transferred the information over.

"Can you stay here?" I asked.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't need you breathing down my neck."

"How will I know you're not doing anything?"

"Because," I started. I couldn't bring myself to finish the rest of that sentence. So I started a new one. "You won't. If you could put just a small ounce of trust in me that I'll do the right thing, I'll go grab my gun."