If We Could Go Back (I'd change the world for you)

O11

Wilbur awoke the next morning, uncomfortably cramped in his childhood bed, and let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't a dream. Wilbur let a relieved smile crawl across his face as he turned around to snuggle into the pillow.

It was real. He really went back in time and Tommy—his sweet, baby brother—was still alive! They had a real shot at saving him! And yeah, it was going to be hard based on the way he reacted yesterday, but that didn't mean they were going to give up! If anything, it meant he was going to try harder.

Through the morning breeze, Wilbur smelled a faint scent of eggs being cooked, and slowly sat up. Phil must be awake, cooking breakfast in the kitchen. The thought of Phil standing in his childhood kitchen, preparing breakfast for his three children forced a lump of nostalgia down his throat.

How long had it been since Wilbur ate a meal cooked by Phil? A decade at least, maybe even more. After Tommy's death, Wilbur had been in too deep a state of catatonia to eat much—he could vaguely recall the panic Phil went through during that phase, wondering if he needed to hospitalize Wilbur to keep one of his two sons left alive. After Wilbur had been sent to his foster home, a very friendly couple by the names of Bad and Skeppy, Wilbur got back into a regular eating schedule. When Phil finally got custody back, Wilbur was too furious with the man to eat anything he prepared, so Wilbur usually cooked instead.

Wilbur let out a heavy sigh and stumbled out of bed, stumbling slightly as he was used to his twenty-four-year-old body, not his fourteen one. He walked through the silent hall into the kitchen where, sure enough, Phil stood in front of the stove making eggs and pancakes. Wilbur stood against the threshold of the kitchen for a few seconds, watching the man work silently.

It was so bizarre to see Phil after all these years, looking as though nothing had changed. Phil, who had turned to open the fridge, startled when he saw Wilbur staring at him. "Mate," he said, placing his hand on his chest with a sheepish grin. "You scared me. Why didn't you say anything?"

Wilbur shrugged. "Didn't have anything to say." and that was true enough.

"Ah," Phil said, his grin tugging down at the corners. "Right."

They stood there in awkward silence, then, neither one of them knew what to say. There was so much damage between them, and for the longest time, Wilbur always thought it was irreparable. Now, though, standing in front of him in their old home with their past mistakes walking around as a living ghost, Wilbur wasn't so sure.

"Wilbur," Phil said, breaking the silence with a sigh. He turned off the stovetop, moved the pan of eggs off the heat, and braced himself against the counter. "We can't just leave things as they are anymore, can we?"

"I suppose not," Wilbur conceded, pulling out a chair. Something told him this would be a long conversation. "But I don't really know what there is to say. Do you?"

Phil was silent for a long time, long enough for Wilbur to assume that that was the end of the conversation. Wilbur pursed his lips and nodded, moving to stand up and walk away, only to pause when Phil spoke.

"I know you blame me for what happened," he said softly, and Wilbur froze. "That's okay because I blame myself, too. If I had just been a better father... if I hadn't been so caught up in my grief..." Phil sucked in a harsh breath. "There is no excuse for the mistakes I've made, Wil, I know that. My choices made me lose all my sons, not just Tommy."

Wilbur's chest clenched and he looked down at the table, his hands clenched into fists. "Why did you blame him?"

"Why did you?"

The question wasn't meant to be a taunt, Wilbur knew, but he sucked in a breath and tensed anyway. "I was a kid!" Wilbur cried. "I didn't know... I was just a kid! I know that's not an excuse, but it's the truth! I was just a stupid little kid who just lost his mother and I thought..."

Phil's face softened. "I know, Wil, I know."

Wilbur covered his face with his hands. "It's not an excuse for what I did," he said into his palms. "I was young but I should have known better. I've made my peace with that."

"Then why are you still so angry?" Phil asked, sitting down in the chair opposite Wilbur's.

"You don't get to ask me that," Wilbur hissed, dropping his hands to glare at Phil. "I'm angry because of you! You... You were the adult! You were supposed to be our dad! Even if I was being stupid and petty, you were supposed to recognize that and fix it! But you never did!"

"That's true," Phil allowed. "I never bothered to fix it, and when it was too late, it became one of my biggest regrets."

"I will never forgive you for that," Wilbur said honestly because it was true. It had taken years of intense therapy for Wilbur to even consider forgiving himself for his part in Tommy's suicide. But Wilbur knew that he could never forgive Phil for his part in it.

"I've made my peace with that," Phil said gently. "I've known for a long time that my actions were irredeemable and I knew that I never had a chance at fixing my relationship with my remaining sons."

"Then why did you keep trying?" Wilbur asked. If Phil had known this whole time that Wilbur could never forgive him, why did he always try to reach out? Every year on his birthday, Wilbur would get a call from an unknown number—unknown because Wilbur refused to save it to his contacts—but Wilbur always knew it was Phil.

"How could I not?" Phil replied in lieu of an answer. "How could I not try and reach out after what happened? When my negligence caused the loss of one of my sons, how could you expect me to make the same mistake again?"

Wilbur was silent. Deep inside of him, an ache that he didn't realize still existed, pulsed inside him. The desperate desire for family, the longing for his father who Wilbur once thought could do no wrong.

"So where do we go from here?" he asked, looking up at his father and finally, for the first time in a decade, seeing the broken man underneath the gentle facade. "I can't forgive you. But we need to get along for Tommy."

Phil nodded. "I suppose, instead of forgiving, we can work on moving forward?"

"Moving forward?"

"You don't have to forgive me, Wil," Phil said with a soft smile, full of resigned acceptance. "But please. Can't we try to move past it? We won't be starting over, it's not fair to either of us, but can't we at least try to heal?"

"Phil I—"

"I miss my family, Wil," Phil whispered. "We have a real chance to fix things. You don't have to forgive me, but please, can't we try to be a family again?"

Wilbur was silent for a long time, his eyes searching Phil's face for any sign of deception. When he saw the genuine desperation in his father's face, Wilbur knew he wasn't lying. Wilbur closed his eyes, and all the hatred and bitterness that Wilbur kept locked inside of him started to lessen.

It had been there for so long, Wilbur had begun to think it was simply a part of him. He never really noticed how exhausting it was. He never noticed just how heavy it was, it had been weighing him down for so long. The ever-present ache from the emotions made Wilbur cringe. Could he really stop carrying it?

"I think..." he whispered. "I think I want to heal."

Phil smiled and he slowly stood up to wrap his arms around Wilbur's chest in a close embrace. Wilbur allowed himself to rest his head on Phil's shoulder and take comfort in his father's embrace for the first time in over a decade.

Somewhere inside of him, a dull ache began to heal.