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

|Chapter Four|

TW: Graphic descriptions of suicide attempt, graphic descriptions of child abuse/neglect

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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?"