Canceled | Stories I Abandoned

Teen Dad (Young Dad V3)

A small child peeked above the plain countertops, a tongue sticking out and eyes narrowed in determination. His white wings furrowed, ready to assist in lifting him up when he failed to reach. He stretched, sticking a hand up, about to grab a brownie that his parents had left out.

He jumped as crying was heard.

Most likely Tubbo, Tommy was a quiet baby. Tubbo was no doubt the louder, the one always having to make himself known and draw attention. Tommy would sleep through it—somehow, but by the grace of gods—and rarely joined in.

He groaned as he heard his mother's calling. "Wilbur! Get your brother! We're in a hurry!"

He sighed, lowering himself to the ground and letting his wings fall. "Yes, mum!" he responded, turning to go hunt down the nursery.

Upon entering, he discovered that it, in fact, was not Tubbo crying, but Tommy. Tubbo held a large grin as the larger screamed and thrashed around. Strange, Wilbur thought to himself but shook it off as he went to pick up the baby.

Something was off. He had felt it all day, uneasiness he couldn't shake off but wasn't risking alerting his parents lest their anger grow on him, and now the switch in the twins' personalities made it known.

He changed the twin's diaper and then realized it was the two's usual feeding time. By now, their mother would've came around and nursed them—she hadn't yet, but there was no chance Wilbur missed it either; the house could not keep secrets.

He put whiny Tommy back down, thankful he was not longer screaming, and went to fetch his parents. He found them, packing—perhaps for a trip! Are we going to Aunt Kristi again? he thought excitedly.

Aunt Kristin was, no doubt, Wilbur's favorite family member. They always had so much fun, and she always knew just how to cheer them up. She always made sure he was fed, unlike his parents, and would bring extra snacks for Wilbur to hide away to keep to himself. She's even gifted him his favorite toy, a stuffed maroon fox she had stitched herself.

"Mum! Are we going to Aunt Kristi's?"

His mother's lips thinned, an unseen shadow hiding her face. "No. You're going to stay here. We'll be back soon. Take care of your brothers."

The little nine–year–old blinked, a frown conquering his lips as his wings lowered. "Okay. . . But they're hungry, they need to be fed."

His mother sighed, rubbing a hand against her forehead. His father scribbled something down on a note before shoving it in his hands, grabbing his suitcases and shoving pass. "There," he snarled. "Follow those instructions, you should be fine."

"Don't leave the house, Wilbur," his mother warned, tone dark, after his father left, gaining his attention. "Don't let the boys leave either. You stay here. If you need to, though, only you can leave—do not take your brothers and do not tell people we aren't home. Understood?"

Wilbur nodded, brows furrowed with concerned confusion. "Yes, mum. I understand. But they can't crawl yet, you'll be back soon. So why tell me to keep them home?"

"I just don't want you carrying them into town," her stern voice sounded. She slid past with her bags, not looking back as she swiftly left the house. Wilbur watched the doorway she left through until he heard the front door open and then slam shut again.

The note still scrunched in his hand, not yet eyed, he gazed upon the room. He titled his head in confusion from the sight—it appeared abandoned. They snatched their clothes and other necessities, took a majority of their jewelry and other things, leaving the rest to appear neglected.