a series of sbi oneshots

wilburs Son (spoiler Its Tommy)

I do not know what to name this LMAO

“What do you have for me?” Wilbur asks as soon as the phone rings, only its not Niki’s voice that answers.

“For you?” a woman slurs, “ for you, ya’ fuckin’ useless bastard, y’already got the little shit, you want more? I’m no’ payin’ no fuckin’ child support.”

Wilbur blinks, then takes the phone away from his ear and looks at the number. Sally the contact says.

Who the fuck is Sally? 

Clearly he knows her, or knew her at one point if she’s in his contacts list but the name brings up absolutely no memories. Wilbur puts the phone back to his ear.

Whoever Sally is, clearly she doesn’t need his input in the conversation because she’s still talking. “--Tol’ ‘im. I Fuckin’ told ‘im his whooole fuckin’ life he’d grow up to be useless’n’fucked up like you. ‘N th’ firs’ chance he gets, he runs his skinny lil ass right to his daddy. Gonna teach ‘im how to be a dumb party boy like you?”

Wilbur eyes his computer. Technically he should just hang up and get back to work, but he’s already done plenty for today, there’s nothing pressing, and he’s always been a bit of a shit. A mischievous smile curls his lips Whoever ‘Sally’ is trying to call will get an earful, but that’s not gonna be Wilbur’s problem.

People have faced worse fates after being on the phone with him than a little embarrassment after a drunk misdial.

“Oh yeah, we’re doing hookers and blow right now.”

“You shithead,” Sally screeches. Wilbur is getting more and more glad that he doesn’t remember her. “I fuckin’ knew you’d be a bad father. S’why I never fuckin’ tol’ you.”

Oooh, now there’s some juicy drama. Wilbur toys with his pen idly. Sounds like Sally’s kid ran away, ostensibly to their father, who Sally does not have a good opinion of.

“Uh huh,” he prompts casually.

“This--this’s why I never fuckin’ loved ‘im!” Sally snarls. “L’il shit was jus’ like you! Got yer dumb curly hair, got yer dumb fuckin’ smug shithead smile.”

Damn, no wonder this kid ran away.

“A real mini-me,” Wilbur contributes, pressing the pen down on the desk and letting it go so it flies up a couple of inches.

“Tried’a make ‘im better,” Sally slurs, “didn’ let ‘im hear a damn pos’tive thing ‘bout you. Didn’ even let ‘im use yer las’ name. Dumb fuckin’ name anyway, would’a go’ bullied. Who names a fuckin’ kid Soot?” 

The pen clatters to the desk.

“What?”

“You hear’ me! Soot’s a dumbfuck name, ‘n’ you got a dumbfuck kid.”

“I have a what?” 

“You fuckin’ deaf, you bastard? Th’ damn brat’s yer responsibl’ty now! I don’ want the lil shit back! Enjoy yer hookers’n’blow, fuckhead.”

“Do not hang up,” Wilbur snarls, his heart is racing, his body tense. Surely he must have misheard, surely Sally is just drunk and idiotic and she doesn’t mean what he thinks she means. “What do you mean I have a kid?”

Sally snorts. “Th’ fuck do ya think that means. Lil brat said he was gonna go live wi’ you and his real fam’ly. Well you fuckers’n keep ‘im.”

“I, Wilbur Soot, have a son. You have kept my son from me,” Wilbur demands.

“Yer a fuckin’ dumb bas’ard,” Sally mumbles. “Yeah. ‘e’s yer fuckin’ kid. Dunno why I bothered rasin’ ‘im all these years. But now ‘e’s yer job.”