who? (Trans Wilbur)

one | philza, awkward dad

warnings: misgendering, deadnaming, dysphoria, self-neglect

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Wilbur didn't want to get off the damn bed.

The bed wasn't going to talk to him. The bed wouldn't say a word. It would just hold him while he felt like shit. It would dip when he rolled over, and would warm him when he was cold. He liked the bed.

Then, a knock to interrupt the quiet, bedridden silence.

"Can I come in?" came the muffled voice.

"Sure," Wilbur grunted, pulling the comforter off of his legs.

"Winnie," Phil paused. "Sorry. Can you come get something to eat? It's two, and you've been in bed all day."

Wilbur was fucking tired. He was utterly incapable of correcting his family, and didn't want to get out of the bed anyways.

"No." Wilbur buried his face in the pillow.

"You have to eat at some point," Phil said. "I'm not letting you sit in bed all day. You've got to do something other than sit with your thoughts all day. Hell, look what happened when you started thinking too much about your gender, I-"

"What the fuck?" Wilbur shot up.

"You always overthink things, kid," Phil tried. "You like to shut yourself off, lose yourself in your mind, and come up with something completely unheard of before. Who's to say this isn't one of those things that you'll regret acting on later?"

"And I repeat, what the fuck?" Wilbur gripped his head. "I've known since I was fifteen fucking years old. I was just afraid to say anything, because I knew this would happen! It's been, what, two weeks since I've come out? I've regretted every damn minute of it."

He knew that was a bit dramatic, but he felt it was the only way to get through to his father. He truly meant some of it; he'd known Phil would be super weird and doubtful at first, but he thought he'd be better than this.

"Winnie, I think you can see a bit of my doubt, right?" Phil softened. "You were always my little girl, and I loved that. But now you're a boy? How am I to know that as soon as I'm able to properly refer to you, you won't just switch back?"

"Phil, there's this thing called living in denial about how trans you are because society is shit," Wilbur said snarkily. "And I did that. I'm fine. It's fine. Can you please just make an effort? Like, stop calling me fucking Winnie? I hate that damn name."

"Your mother gave you that name," Phil said, voice hardening. "It's a family name, all the women on your mother's side of the family have had it."

"And I'm not a fucking woman?? Did we not just start talking about that?" Wilbur threw the comforter back over himself. "I'll get something to eat later. Can I just have some alone time?"

"Win-" Phil sighed. "You've been alone all day."

"If I get up in some fifteen minutes and go mess with Techno and Tommy, will you leave me alone?" Wilbur muttered.

"Yeah, alright." Phil's voice tapered off into silence. He glanced at Wilbur before slowly shutting the door.

Wilbur finally lifted the comforter back off of himself and sat up. He trailed over to the dresser where he set out a too-small sports bra to put on. He'd really been doing this for a long time, and had since convinced his father that he just had small titties.

Wilbur added to the trademark trans-boy-with-no-inherently-male-clothing look by wearing a pullover hoodie and the sweatpants he refused to change out of. He tucked his hair into a beanie so only the front spilled out. His hair wasn't long, but it wasn't short. It was still always seen as a feminine haircut, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew very fucking well that Phil would say he was trying to fit the male stereotype, and that he shouldn't put himself in boxes. That's all well and good, but sometimes a guy wants to dress like a stereotype so he's actually not misgendered.

"You shouldn't care what people think of you!" Wilbur mocked out loud. "Fucking dumbass. What people think of me dictates the entirety of my mood for the day."

Wilbur finally left his room for the day, walking down the hall and knocking probably a bit too loud on his older twin's door.

"What do you want?" came the muffled hiss.

"Dad is making me interact with you," Wilbur called through the wood.

Technoblade opened the door. "Then let's get this shitshow over with."

"We need to get the gremlin, too," Wilbur said.

"I didn't want to have to change diapers today, but fine," Techno muttered.

"Right, because he's a child, yeah." Wilbur almost smiled, but then remembered that he was in a bad mood, therefore not allowed to smile. He stood awkwardly in the hall while his brother went to get Tommy.

"Aw, Wil, you look nice!" Tommy grinned after arriving.

fuck, don't cry don't cry not now

Wilbur settled for allowing himself to smile this time. His sinuses burned with the will to let himself cry, but he stifled it. "Thanks, big man."

"I appreciate the moment, but what are we going to do with our forced relationship-building time?" Techno butted in.

"We are going to the fucking park, Blade," Tommy said, face deadpan. "If you ever assumed otherwise, you were damn wrong."

he really switches on a dime.

Tommy grabbed the older pair's wrists, marching purposefully through the halls. He made sure to glare and wave at Phil, then close the front door behind them.

"Keys," was all Techno said. Tommy growled, turning on his heel and reentering the house to get the keys. The blonde threw the keys to his brother, who caught them and unlocked the car in one motion.

The car was a short, burgundy, very polygonal sort of vehicle. It had silver, rusting edges and patches of stained paint. The seats were worn with the shapes of ass-prints, and the steering wheel was sticky. Everyone affectionately referred to the old family car as the Doom Car, for lack of creative ideas.

"I call not it on driving the Doom Car," Wilbur said, raising his hands cheekily. "You've already got the keys, man."

"You're a dick," Techno said, pointing in Wilbur's direction and opening the car door. "You know how much I hate driving stick."

"It's not my fault Dad thought it was a good idea to get a manual shift car." Wilbur shrugged, about to enter the front seat when the fucking gremlin clawed his way into the passenger first.

"You bitch," Wilbur said, seething a bit. "I'm six-fucking-six, how the hell am I mean to fit in the back?"

"Aw, Wilby, you'll figure it out, I'm sure," Tommy sneered.

Wilbur rolled his eyes and got into the back. No matter how much of a little shit the kid was, he always managed to not deadname Wilbur, and that always made it better.

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1.25k words

we'll pretend it's believable that a trans man is 6'7