Just outa curiosity, what did Tommy mean by “prepare his room”? What does the imply?
Because if it’s what I think it means, given that Wilbur would be considered a flight risk, he added locks to the outside of his door and sealed the window shut. As well as removing anything that could possibly be used as a weapon (oof, nothing to do).
What happened after if you don’t mind me asking? If you’re not writing another part, what would you say they did to him?
"Preparing his room" means pretty much exactly what you guessed. Lock on the outside. Sealed the windows. Probably chains on the bed for a while too. Wilbur would have at least one ankle chained to the bed for a few months. They don't trust him at all. Someone would probably be babysitting him at all times too. He gets no privacy. No free will. No choices. Nothing. He proved he didn't deserve those things when he ran away.
As for what happened after? I'm not too sure. I think Wilbur would spend a lot of time crying before eventually going numb. He'd just tune out the world and ignore the things his family are doing. He'd get severely depressed, probably suicidal, but wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He'd just kind of become a husk. Or maybe he'd crave attention enough to ignore his family's murderous tendencies. It's kinda up to interpretation. Maybe he would see their way eventually and become a killer with them. No one knows.
But SBI would always treat Wilbur amazingly. He's family after all. They love him in their dark twisted way. They'd never hurt him or force him to kill anyone. They'd feed him 3 meals a day, take care of his needs, and give him attention and praise. Whatever he needs or wants, they'll take care of it. They'd do all that, just while keeping a chain around his ankle.
Chained to the bed by his ankle like a dog, he’d try fighting at first. He’d pull at the cuff until his skin was chaffed and the wounds crusted with blood. He’d scrap and scrape for anything, anything at all, that could be used to break it, whether it be a hair pin, or a blunt object. He’d bang on the windows to try and break them, busting his knuckles and sobbing when he realizes the glass is reinforced.
The door would be too far to reach from his bed, the room large and spacious despite feeling claustrophobic, but the defining click of the locks sliding in place when his family leave are enough to tell him that there’s no chance of getting out that way.
It continues for months, this game of defiance vs submission. He refuses to cower at first, insults spat from his lips before the others can even utter a word. Tommy nearly cries when Wilbur says he hates him. Phil only smiles darkly, promises in his grin that don’t need to be spoken in order for shivers to run down his spine. Techno matches his insolence with threats, threats against him and threats against others. He says that the more Wilbur misbehaves, the more people will get hurt.
He never forces Wilbur to kill anyone anymore, but he does force him to watch. New screams and begs now join the cacophony of voices that plague whatever dreams he has.
Unfortunately, his defiance leads to more distrust. He’s never left alone for long anymore, if at all. He tries to hide what things he scrounges in his room, but is horrified when Phil starts doing random searches and finds his “stash”. The punishment is less belongings. He loses his nightstand first. What would he place on it anyway? Then it’s his table, next his desk, his rug. All he has left is an empty bookshelf and the bed he’s chained to.
Eventually, he looses track of the date, of time. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he’s tired. He’s exhausted. His tears start to come silently, until all that’s left is dried tear-tracks and empty tear ducts. It’s not worth the headache anymore. Until one day, Tommy comes in with his dinner, and he takes it without a fight.
The praise he receives makes him feel warm in a dirty way, even more when he can’t help but preen at it.
Time slips by, the world passes him in a haze. Sometimes he’ll be listening to Techno wake him up in the morning, only for someone to come in a second later to tell him it’s dinner time.
They bind his wrists when they unchain his ankle, he knows this because the chain doesn’t reach the bathtub of his bathroom, but he’ll come back to the present with aching wrists and damp hair, clothes that he never picked out for himself wrapped around him. They don’t even let him pick his own clothes anymore.
He feels like a doll. They treat him like a doll.
The life he’d managed to carve for himself: gone. All of it is gone. He’s never leaving. No amount of fighting or insulting will get him his freedom, his dignity, back. He’s not even a person anymore.
He’d kill himself if there was anything to do it with. He settles for banging his fists on his arms. In a way, the bruises help ground him. He wishes they stayed longer.
Techno threatens to cuff his wrists to the bed frame if he keeps doing it. Wilbur doesn’t doubt that he’s telling the truth.
It feels like a lifetime, but it also feels like a week, until something unusual happens. He knows he’s been there for a long time. His hair is down to his shoulders and the beginnings of peach-fuzz are appearing on his chin again, after Phil shaves it multiple times.
There’s a ruckus downstairs. Shouting.
Wilbur can’t be bothered to care.
Not even when someone bangs on the door, he doesn’t move. He’s too busy staring at the wall. In his defense, it’s a very interesting wall. There are scuff marks from when Wilbur was twelve and fell against the wall after jumping on the bed.
The door is kicked open and he hears people shuffle inside, more than three. It’s weird. He can hear it, but he can’t. It’s like his ears are stuffed with cotton, vision hazy like a clear plastic box was placed over his head.
He’s limp when a gloved shoulder rolls him over, and his gaze is turned towards the ceiling. He blinks at the light, but doesn’t look at the person in his peripheral. He doesn’t care. Their hair is green, he thinks bemusedly, such a neon bright color for hair, but his thoughts derail soon after that.
There’s a call for a medic. Someone is talking to him, asking him questions. Wilbur only blinks blankly, thoughts scattered.
The chain is removed, he knows that. He can feel it. He should be happy about this. Especially since whoever removed it hasn’t handcuffed him. It almost feels wrong.
He’s carried throughout the mansion by strong arms. They’re curled firmly behind his back with his head resting limply on their shoulder. Red and blue lights blind him, but he keeps them open, staring up at the night sky for the first time in an eternity.
Just as he’s laid down on a gurney and strapped down, he catches sight of a family face in the back of a cop car. For some reason, that’s what finally gets through to him.
His eyes widen and he tries to move, to scoot back, to run away on atrophied legs. Panic sets in when he can’t. His breathing stutters as he stares at Phil through the glass. The man is staring at him.
Screams and whines escape his throat. He’s being taken somewhere. New people. A new cage. It’s wrong. It’s unfamiliar. He hates it. What’s going on? Where is he? Who are these people? Is it a test? He wants to go back. He isn’t supposed to be out here! He needs to go back. No, he needs to run while he can. They’ll find him. He can’t get away. He wants to go back.
The green-haired person was back, a large hand running through his hair as he meets his eyes steadily, forcing his attention on him and not on Phil. “It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re safe. We’re only going to a hospital.”
The man doesn’t move from his vision for the whole ambulance ride, EMTs having to work around him when he refuses to leave.
Wilbur can’t think about much all at once, his attention span too broken to form concrete thoughts for very long, but he can realize one thing. The hand in his hair feels nice. It feels safe. It doesn’t feel threatening. He isn’t scared of the hand turning cruel and grasping on tightly, not when the man is smiling ever so slightly. Kind.
Wilbur falls asleep feeling safe for the first time in forever.
I’m sorry lol. As a fellow angst writer, I take inspiration from fics like this and get carried away. They make my brain tick. Sorry if this was long😅
oh my god. Please never apologize for writing that. It was incredible. That is perfect in every way. Holy shit. Okay, you are an amazing writer, and reading that made my entire day. It's so perfect. Just chefs kiss mwah amazing. Incredible. You captured exactly the vibe I had in mind for what happened afterward. This is not 100% the canonical ending. Every single word here is canon. It's an absolute masterpiece. The slow decent into numbness is perfect. Wilbur just spacing out and losing touch with reality. Incredible. Wilbur having large missing gaps in his memory. Absolutely inspiring. Wilbur not even realizing he's being saved. Astonishing. Thank you. This is the best comment I've ever received.
Comment on Kidnapper? I Hardly Know Her!
Lunermoon1000 Mon 19 Dec 2022 10:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
GhostzAlt Mon 19 Dec 2022 11:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lunermoon1000 Tue 20 Dec 2022 01:38AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 20 Dec 2022 01:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
GhostzAlt Tue 20 Dec 2022 01:56AM UTC
Comment Actions