dream smp oneshots and unfinished fics

storge (unf.)

Truth be told, Phil has always wanted to have a kid. Maybe two. He definitely didn't expect to end up with four, but at this point, he can't imagine it being any other way.

Wilbur came first and was undoubtedly the simplest and most normal. Wilbur showed up on his doorstep after twenty-four hours of notice -- and it didn't really help. The entire day beforehand was spent tidying up the mostly empty house for the newcomer, buzzing about and dusting everything five times over even when they're already in pristine condition. By the time the time came and the doorbell rang, the house basically looked like a hotel room. He stood in front of the door, wearing a normal outfit -- not super casual, so he looks responsible, but not super formally dressed, so he doesn't look over-prepared. Though, is there really a way to be over-prepared for this? Especially since he was literally waiting at the door at 1:59 for the doorbell to ring.

He shook his head. It probably would have looked weird, showing up in a suit and tie. He wants the kid to feel welcome, not like this is some grandiose occasion or anything.

He startles when the doorbell rings, quietly counting to ten in his head so he doesn't seem like he was waiting at the door. He pulls the door open and there's a sharp intake of breath as he takes in the scene, trying to burn into his memory.

The first thing that he notices, oddly enough, is that Wilbur is tall . Taller than Phil, only by a little, and definitely taller than the social worker that stands slightly behind him with a cloying smile. Phil's eyes shift to the woman -- about 5'6", brown hair, and a lanyard with a tag that clearly states her name -- Beth. Okay.

His attention moves to Wilbur, who stands on the porch, shifting uncomfortably from all of the pressure, most likely. Phil had seen pictures and read descriptions of the boy, of course, but it was different seeing him in person. Wilbur Gold, 6'0", fifteen years old. His messy, caramel-coloured hair flopped over a part of his face, covering one half of his round glasses and the brown eyes underneath. He wears what seems to be a red beanie, which he's already moved to fiddle with twice now, and a yellow sweater with jeans. His belongings are in a raggedy-looking suitcase that he keeps a tight grip on behind him. His expression is one of slight nervousness, but Phil can already tell that he's feeling a lot worse than he's letting on (for whatever reason).

He tears his gaze away from Wilbur to meet the inattentive eyes of the shorter social worker that stands to the side, fiddling with some clipboard with what's probably some incredibly important information, dog-earing the pages like it was nothing. She smiles at Phil, and it's basically empty, but he returns one of his own. "Hello, Mr. Watson. This is Wilbur -- I do suppose you've been briefed on everything necessary?"

Phil blinks and nods enthusiastically (but not frighteningly so, of course), replying, "Yes, of course. Everything should be in order."

"Great! That's great," Beth responds with a slight bounce of her head, and Phil can't help but notice Wilbur rolling his eyes at her. He stifles a slight laugh -- glad to know he's not the only one seeing how fake she is. "If there are any, um, issues, just ring me up, alright?" Beth hands Wilbur the clipboard in her hands before realizing that she probably needs to keep that and just giving him the papers. Phil glances down at them and immediately, he picks out the important words and phrases. He's seen these before through emails of course, but it doesn't hurt to have them on paper.

Beth ushers Wilbur towards Phil, who steps to the side and allows the kid to walk through and into the house with his small suitcase. Just as Phil turns to follow, he feels a tap on his shoulder from Beth. He turns around quizzically and she whispers, "You seem like a nice guy...I won't hold it against you if you decide that this is a bad idea tonight -- wouldn't be the first time with this kid, I'll tell ya that."