Tainted Perception | Wilbur Soot Angst (ORIGINAL)

Normal

TW: injury, blood

A/N: I will go to bed after I post this, don't worry :D

 Wilbur looked, dejected, as Tommy backed away hurriedly. His pace soon progressing into an all out run. It wasn't his fault, was it? What terrible thing could he have done to elicit that kind of reaction? Why couldn't he just remember? Cradling his torso with his arms, he started to walk. He didn't have any destination in mind, really, just away. He needed to clear his head.

Examining his burned fingertips gingerly, he let it fall to his side, not finding it within himself to care. He couldn't deal with that right now. He had other problems. Tommy had said he was dead, and from the looks of it, that was true. His normally sunshine yellow sweater now a worn out mustard. His skin and hair, now varying shades of gray.

So what, was he a ghost now? How did he die? What did he do? Sighing, he made his way over to a stray boulder, allowing himself to rest. Just another mess for him to clean up, he supposed. It wasn't a new concept for him, he often had to take responsibility for his brother's mistakes. That was a normal thing for siblings to do, right? He hated it when Phil yelled at people, especially if it wasn't him. Not that he liked it when it happened to him, but he always felt like his brothers didn't deserve the reaction given to them. Most of the time it was just an avalanche caused by the smallest explosion, and they just happened to tip it off.

Glancing around at the area surrounding him, he allowed himself to get absorbed into the beauty of nature. The chirping of the birds, the gentle waving of the leaves in the wind, the morning dew still dripping from the loose foliage around the clearing. It all seemed perfect, too perfect. He didn't deserve this.

-

It had been a couple weeks now, and Tubbo was definitely getting more comfortable around the dysfunctional family. No one had mentioned "The Incident," and at this point Wilbur was scared to say anything about it. That didn't mean he had forgotten, though. He didn't think he'd even forget the look in Phil's eyes when he had brought the guitar down to the ground. The pure look of anger and exhilaration at the destruction.

Shifting uncomfortably at the thought, Will forced himself to focus on the task at hand, doing the dishes. Scrubbing the heavy ceramic with the sponge, he reached awkwardly over the dish to turn the water off, now holding the bowl with only one hand. The chore was a tedious process. Although he was tall for his age, the counter was still at an uncomfortable height, forcing him to reach up at an odd angle to prevent getting water everywhere (though that still did happen quite often). And of course, many of the dishes were big and awkwardly shaped, only making his job harder.

CRASH! The boy froze, staring at the glass now littering the sink. His brain seemed to reboot, trying to figure out what to do in this new situation. Should he tell Phil? What if he's mad? Shaking his head slightly, he quickly snapped into action, pulling the pieces out of the still wet basin, not caring about the blood now dripping from his fingers.

He knew he was being irrational, he knew he should be more cautious with the sharp shards that he was handling, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. He just needed it to be fixed. He couldn't be another broken toy for Phil to pick up from the ground. Another child to take care of. He was old enough to take care of himself, it was time to act like it.

Scraping the remaining glass into the trash, he quickly ran back to the sink, washing down the blood that was now splattered across the metal surface. Examining his hands carefully, he grabbed a paper towel, wrapping it gingerly around his bleeding fingers. Furrowing his brows in pain, he made his way cautiously towards the medical supplies, efficiently applying ointment and wrapping his palm in gauze. He was getting good at this.

-

Wilbur woke up with a start, trying to shake the strange feeling of deja vu that kept haunting him as he relived his younger years in his moments of rest. Shivering slightly, he threw a glance at the clock, checking the time. 11:13 PM, Phil was probably asleep. Like I should be. Shaking the thought off, Will rolled over, trying to find a comfortable way to lie.

Flipping back over almost immediately, he resisted the urge to groan. Why was sleeping so difficult? 

If it's past 12:00 at night, go to bed. You know who you are. Have a wonderful day/night!