Just a Job | DISCONTINUED |

Chapter Ten

Tws: Panic attack, child abuse, mentioned child neglect (LMK IF I MISSED ANY)

Tom stared at Wilbur in shock. This can't be true, he's lying. It's a sick joke. His brother can't be dead. Matty, the only person to have his back from day one, couldn't be dead. His eyes began to sting, and his vision became blurry.

"Tom I-" Wilbur stood up and rushed over to the kid. He pulled him into a tight hug and whispered multiple apologies.

Tom clutched onto Wilbur's shirt and cried into his shoulder. It was only a matter of time before Wilbur sent him back. He'd either be sent back to live on the streets, or worse, sent back to his parents. Not that they'd want him anyways.

Wilbur didn't know what to do. How did he comfort Tom in a situation like this? How could he reassure him that it would be okay? Was it going to be okay? Tom just cried into Wilbur's shoulder, banging his fists against Wilbur's chest repeatedly. Will just let him.

There was nothing he could do. He just sat there, letting Tom bawl his eyes out. He rubbed small circles into Tom's back, just trying to at least help calm him. He knew his attempts were futile, nothing could help a child calm down after hearing someone admitting to killing their brother.

"Wil- Wilbur..?" Tom sniffled and looked up at the man. "When are you sending me back?"

Will stared at the kid in shock. Did Tom actually think he'd send him back? He shook his head and wrapped his arms around Tom. "I'm not sending you back to the streets." He whispered quietly and let the boy lean into his chest.

"I meant my parents."

"Oh.." Wilbur paused for a second, remembering something Tom said. He said that his parents were bad. If they were anything like Wilbur's, there was no way he'd let Tom go back to them. "No, you're not going back to them. Not if I can help it." Tom sniffled and clutched onto Wilbur's shirt tighter, as if silently thanking him for his response.

It didn't take long for Tom to fall asleep. The events that had recently happened were exhausting, Wilbur didn't blame him for falling asleep. Only after the kid was asleep, did Wilbur allow himself to cry. It seemed like not too long ago, he was six years old. By six, he had been on the streets for almost a year.

Just minutes before Phil found him, Wilbur's parents found him. They had left him a year before and happened to find him again. Wilbur wished they never found him, of course, one can't change the past.

He was so cold, so so cold... He had hidden behind a dumpster, using a damp piece of cardboard as a blanket. That didn't stop the snow from surrounding him though. "Why did we even leave the house? I swear each winter is worse than the last Chris!"

A cold voice broke the silence. No one ever walked down his alley. He remembered that voice all too well. He thought he had escaped it once they kicked him out. He prayed to any god there was that they wouldn't notice him. Unfortunately for him, the gods didn't seem to be on his side.

"Chis look! It's a kid!"

"And? What about it? We already got rid of ours."

The woman crouched down and looked at the small child. He was literally skin and bone. He was scarily unhealthy. Despite his ragged appearance, she recognised him. "Holy fuck it's our kid you idiot! What was it's name again?"

"William?"

She nodded and grinned at the kid. She reached her hand out and grabbed him by his unkempt hair. He hadn't had it cut since they kicked him on the streets. "My baby, dear dear Will! How I've missed you so! Mummy's so sorry for leaving you!"