a series of sbi oneshots

dadbur fluff<3

Wilbur used to like rain, like the way it sounded and smelled. Like the way his hair curled up in the humidity. Liked how his father made hot sandwiches and soup on rainy days.

He's fresh out of hot food now. And frankly, if he found some lying on the side of the road he wouldn't be willing to touch it. He's not that desperate (yet).

Mist hangs over the road as Wilbur walks along the coarse mud on its shoulder, boots sinking half an inch into it with every step.

He sighs as another drop of water runs off the edge of his hood and patters onto the front of his rain jacket.

The bundle beneath it squirms at Wilbur's noise, and he clutches it somehow closer to his chest, despite the fatigue in his arms.

He ought to invest in a baby carrier if he's going to keep moving. Tommy is only getting bigger.

He shifts his hold on the baby, lifting him and resting him higher up on his chest. He's lucky that it hasn't gotten cold yet. He's only got so many warm days before autumn stops him from moving and he'll be stuck in whatever backroads town he finds himself in.

A sound catches at his ear, and the brunet spares a glance over his shoulder. There's a car coming— two actually. That's more than he's seen all day.

He considers waving a hand out to hitchhike but the idea is quickly discarded as the first car goes by— right through a puddle of rainwater— and Wilbur barely has a moment to turn away before he's doused in the dirty water.

He stands gasping for a moment as the cold water seeps into his pants and socks. Luckily the rain jacket protected his upper half, and Tommy by association. Still—

"Fuck you! Fucking cunt!" He yells after the car, beginning to walk again even as his shoes squelch uncomfortably with every step.

He forgets about the second car until they're rolling up beside him.

It's an old red truck with only one person in it— some dude with pink hair. He rolls his window down and calls out. "Uh— you good?"

"Fantastic." Wilbur answers drily. The truck rolls along with him as he walks.

"...Do you want a ride? I've got an old blanket if you need to dry off with it."

Wilbur pauses, looking over the truck and it's occupant. It's just some dude, probably about the same age as Wilbur himself. He looks pretty normal, besides the fact that his hair is dyed a bright pink, and long enough to pull into a low bun.

Pink hair is pretty recognizable, not something a serial killer would risk. He's probably being genuine in his offer.

Wilbur's hitchhiked before, and frankly it's a hell of a lot easier with a baby. Tommy has gotten them a ride more times than he can count. Still, Wilbur is always wary. Trusting strangers and all that.

But he really doesn't want to walk another three miles to the next town with wet socks.

"If you don't mind." He answers.

The guy reaches over and opens the door for him.

Wilbur grunts out a thank you as he hauls himself into the vehicle. A ratty old blanket is passed over to him and he lays it over his seat. Tommy starts whimpering after Wilbur closes the door, startled by the noise.

Wincing, Wilbur unzips his jacket to soothe the baby. The car hasn't moved, and he glances over to the driver to find him frowning at Tommy.

"...That's a baby."

"Uh-huh..." Wilbur answers, rocking Tommy in his arms. "Is that a problem?"

"No," The man answers, putting the car into gear. "I just didn't see him."