Content Warnings: Two instances of foul language. (honestly, I put this in teen more for safeties. There isn't anything too awful in this fic, I promise.)
A/N: Thanks to that-guy-in-the-bowler-hat for requesting this. We were talking about headcannons after I wrote my 10th anniversary Meet The Robinsons fic and we got on the subject of Carl and Wilbur having an argument if Wilbur were to ever move out of the house. Thus, this fic was born!
This fic takes place in the same universe as my last one-shot "Revisited", so George is making a return as Wilbur's boyfriend. Hopefully, you all find him just as interesting as Wilbur, haha!
Wilbur uncapped the black Sharpie lying next to his leg and labelled the box he had recently taped shut "Winter Clothes". He carried the box to the door and sat it alongside other cardboard boxes piled nearby. Packing up all his belongings was more of a transformative experience that he had originally anticipated. After many months of stomach aching, searching and discussion with his boyfriend, George, Wilbur had decided to move out of the Robinson household and live in a nearby apartment. Wilbur and his boyfriend both had secure jobs- him as a burgeoning video game developer and George as a staff writer for a local magazine. They had found an affordable apartment out closer to the city center. The floor space was rather small; there were two rooms and a bathroom. But it was cozy. George had moved the last of his belongings into their space yesterday. Wilbur was moving the bulk of his stuff today. His biggest worry with this transition had been his family. All his life, they had been more than supportive to pretty much anything he did (outside of abjectly stupid choices), but his entire extended family lived under one roof. For him to move out was against tradition. Because of this, Wilbur confessed his desire to live on his own as casually as possible over dinner, not knowing what to expect. The reactions were mixed. Uncle Joe sobbed, sucking his thumb vigorously (though he reacted that way if he didn't eat on schedule, so that didn't mean too much). His grandpa cheered for him, and his two uncles clapped him on the back. Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes and complained that his new "boy toy" was making him forget about the family. His mother and father wore indiscernible reactions on their faces. They looked at each other, exchanging information in just a glance. The rest of the family was swept up with mumbles.
His parents pulled him aside for a Talk, but ultimately, they encouraged him. His mother understood, as she had moved in with Cornelius after they had become a serious couple. "Should I be expecting an engagement announcement soon?" she asked him playfully, smirking at Wilbur. He just blushed and scrubbed at the back of his neck.
His father's response was noncommittal. He said, "Well, as long as you are happy, I think you should do it. You are old enough to live on your own" and left the conversation at that. Wilbur could sense that his father was holding something else back, but he didn't push the issue.
With his parent's blessing, Wilbur was slowly gathering his belongings together. The rest of the family helped him out, making the actual move an easy affair. Uncle Art offered up his flying saucer as transportation, though Wilbur declined because he wasn't sure if Uncle Art was allowed to use the company vehicle for personal purposes. Everyone else searched the house for anything that was Wilbur's and brought it to him, so he could decide from there what to do with it.
Carl was the exception. Ever since he broke the news about his move, the robot hadn't spoken much to Wilbur. Anytime they did talk, Carl fiddled with his hands and avoided eye contact at all costs. The conversations were brief and never about anything too serious. Whenever Wilbur asked him what was wrong, Carl would come up with some excuse and zip away before Wilbur had a chance to stop him.
Wilbur had started wrapping up his Captain Time Travel figures when he heard a knock on the door. Carl peered into Wilbur's room, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Hey. Can I come in?" he asked, almost in a whisper. Wilbur beamed at his friend, standing up to meet him at the doorway.
"Yeah, of course, Carl."
After Carl stepped inside, he narrowed his optics and looked away from Wilbur, tapping his metallic fingers against where his chin would be if his face weren't a smooth cylinder shape. He turned back to Wilbur, ready to say something, but he paused, frowning. Wilbur arched an eyebrow, waiting for Carl to find his words.
"Look…Wilbur…uh…" Carl's optics darted around the room, sticking onto places were his belongings were missing. "I…I'm really happy about you and George. You know, he's…he's a good kid. And I'm really proud of you! Super proud of all the things you've done and seriously…being your friend has been…such a gift."
"…But?" Wilbur knew what was coming.
Carl gave him a deep sigh. "…but…I really don't think you should move out."
There it was. Although Carl hadn't said as much, Wilbur had a feeling this is what Carl had been refusing to talk about. Wilbur swallowed back his frustration. "Why?" he asked, as he returned to packing.
"Well…you already have a home here! You don't need to live away from us, you know?" Wilbur took another sheet of wrapping paper as he listened to Carl speak. "It's a lot of work to live on your own, too. You have to pay your own bills and make your own food and- "
"Dude, I know. That's why I want to move out. I've never done anything without the family before and…I want that to change. I think learning to be self-sufficient would be a good thing for me." Wilbur loved his family-always had, always will. He was proud to be a Robinson, but sometimes he wished to exist as a more independent entity. People had associated his face with his father's his whole life. He wanted an existence outside of that shadow, at least as much of one as he could.
Carl changed the subject. "Well…maybe George could move in here. We have plenty of room."
"George wouldn't want that. You know how he gets all shy when he is around too many people. The Robinsons would drive him nuts!"
When Carl didn't say anything, Wilbur spoke up. "Look, Carl…George and I…We are in a serious relationship now. This isn't one of my high school dates that I broke up with after three months. I've been with him for two years now." Wilbur met Carl's eyes. "I want to take the next step with him. Who knows, maybe some time down the line, we'll get engaged." His face blossomed red at the words. "But we won't know if that's the right move unless we spend time living with each other."
Wilbur could hear the way Carl joints creaked as he moved and he imagined Carl was wildly gesticulating, the way he always did when he was passionately speaking. "So what? You don't need to move away when you have a serious relationship. I haven't moved out of this house once in all my years of dating!"
"All of your 'dates' lived here already, Carl! There was no need to move."
"Well, if they didn't live here, then I wouldn't move anyway. A little biking never hurt anyone."
Wilbur glared at Carl from the box he was packing. "Why are you bringing all of this up now? Right as I'm about to leave when you could've mentioned this to me at any point these last few weeks? I'm almost completely packed!"
Carl's mouth flapped open and shut like a fish. He fidgeted. "I...I was having a hard time coming up with what to say. I mean, you seemed so dead-set on leaving, I…I only just now figured out all of my thoughts."
"That's such a lie." Wilbur muttered.
"I'm telling you the truth!"
He felt all the seams of his composure break at the same time, his bile pouring out all at once. "You've never had a real relationship in your life! They were all with appliances!"
Wilbur regretted saying that as soon as it came out of his mouth. Carl stood there, shocked. If he had tear ducts, he would most certainly be crying. Before Wilbur could apologize, Carl left his room, sobbing.
The next day, Wilbur ate dinner with his family, his last dinner at home while living under the Robinson roof. The family found the occasion momentous enough for celebration, so they ate more dessert than usual- lava cakes, macaroons, apple pie and even ice cream sundaes. Wilbur could only stomach a bit of the lavish food. He probably would have had a larger apetite if a wad of guilt wasn't weighing his stomach down. In between small bites of ice cream, he would glance at Carl, but Carl never met his eyes. He busied himself with serving the food and collecting any dirty dishes to be cleaned later. Wilbur glanced back down at his ice cream, suddenly feeling his stomach twist. He pushed the sundae away from him, the treat turning to ash on his tongue.
"Wilbur, why aren't you eating your ice cream?" Cousin Lazlo asked, fiddling with his paint gun. "You love ice cream."
At that comment, the whole table looked to Wilbur. He sat up a bit and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm just not that hungry right now. It was good, though." He didn't bother to look up. He knew his family were probably concerned, but Wilbur couldn't be bothered to care.
Carl made no comment about Wilbur not finishing his favorite dessert. He merely stretched his arm over the length of the table and scooped the now- sundae soup without so much as a concern tilt of the head. As soon as his dishes were taken away, Wilbur got up from the table, heading back to his room.
"Wilbur?" He turned around when his dad called his name, hands in his pockets. Cornelius's arms were folded over his chest. "Is everything okay?"
Wilbur drew a hand through his hair. "Yeah…yeah. I'm fine, Dad." When Cornelius's eyebrows didn't lower, he realized that his father didn't believe him at all. Not surprising. "Alright…no, I'm not fine."
The creases in Cornelius's face softened. He came closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No…I got it, Dad. I just got to talk to Carl and apologize for being a shithead," he mumbled, ignoring the sour look Cornelius gave him at his curse. "Trust me. I know what to do."
"Alright, son," Cornelius pat Wilbur's shoulder. "If you need anything, you know who to talk to." Wilbur watched him walk away before heading to the kitchen, where Carl was planning out the next meal for the family. He had his head in the refrigerator when Wilbur cleared his throat. "Carl?"
He heard a metallic clank and a muffled ow. Carl emerged, rubbing the back of his head. "Jeez, Wilbur. You scared me!"
"Sorry." Wilbur put his hands into his pockets again. "So, Carl. I just…came here to apologize for, y'know what I said to you and everything. It was pretty stupid of me and…and it wasn't cool." Wilbur studied Carl, waiting for the forgiveness that he was positive would be coming.
Instead, Carl just looked back at Wilbur blankly. "That's it? That's your apology."
"What else am I supposed to say? I'm sorry for what I said about you."
Carl huffed. "Do you think that's going to make me feel better? Look, I'm sure you are sorry, bro, but I'm still hurt. What you said….that was pretty painful. I'm not….I'm sorry, but I can't forgive you just yet, okay?" Carl turned away from Wilbur, focusing on writing out a list of ingredients.
"Why not? I didn't mean what I said!"
"You still said it." Carl said bitterly. A rather awkward pause passed between them, heavy with Carl's cold shoulder. Wilbur left without a word, getting Carl's message.
Wilbur sat on the couch in his new apartment, playing a new video game he bought, hoping it would lift his spirits. Being stuck on the same jump wasn't helping his mood. He groaned as the lost his last life to the same empty pit, tossing the controller to the side.
He cradled his face in his hands, so he only felt the couch dip when George took a seat next to him. "Couldn't beat the level?" he asked. Wilbur felt a gentle hand rub between his shoulder blades.
He peered out from between his fingers at George. "No. I couldn't."
"Something up?" George had gotten good at reading his emotions over the years. Too good, sometimes.
Wilbur sat fully upright, the curve of his back pressed along the back of the couch. "It's been a week and Carl still won't talk to me. I'm starting to think that we might never be friends again."
Wilbur heard George heave a sigh. "You're exaggerating again, cariño."
"Am I?" he huffed. "I apologized to him the day after we fought and yet he still won't talk to me." He stared up at the ceiling. "He told me he couldn't forgive me yet, but I have a feeling maybe he never will forgive me! He's never been this quiet before. Every time we've ever disagreed on something, we've always made up by the end of the day. But now…I don't know if I can ever fix up what happened…What do I even do?"
A hand rested on Wilbur's knee and he turned to look at George. To save what little resolve he had, he didn't meet George's hazel eyes. Wilbur couldn't afford to get lost in them. He focused on his nose instead, narrowing on the minute shrinking and flaring of the nostrils.
It took him a moment to realize George was calling his name. "Sorry, what?" he asked, looking up, finally creating eye contact.
"I said, you need to give Carl some time. You obviously hurt him a lot. He is allowed not to forgive you, you know?"
Wilbur's shoulder sunk. "Yeah, yeah…I know." His head drooped with his sagging shoulders until George took his jaw in his hand and brought their eye contact together again.
"But…you and Carl have been friends since you were a baby. I have a feeling someone who put up with you as a bratty kid will be able to forgive you for being an idiot."
Wilbur pouted. "I take offense with that."
George's mouth twitched to a smile, but his lips fell again. "Besides, I can't really blame Carl for being upset about your moving out. He never liked me very much."
What? He didn't know what George was saying. Everyone loved him! "Dude, c'mon. Why would Carl not like y-" The answer hit him in the face like a wet washcloth. "…You think he was jealous of us?"
George nodded. It was his turn to break eye contact. "He was okay with me when we were just friends, but…I think at some point he noticed that I had a crush on you and…well…."
Wilbur thought back to before they started dating, looking for evidence of George's claims, but he came back empty-handed. "What do you mean? I don't remember Carl acting weird around you. He might've while we were dating, but…."
"He was, cariño. Créeme."
Wilbur wanted to believe his boyfriend was mistaken, but considering how wounded Carl had seemed after he had left the Robinson household didn't give much hope to an alternative explanation. Wilbur took George's hand. George turned to look at him, gently chewing the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was thinking.
Wilbur let go of his hand and wrapped it around his waist, resting his head against George's wild chestnut hair. "You know, I'm really happy we moved in together."
George tilted his head, but didn't say anything. His wore a genuine smile on his lips, the kind that warmed his stomach the way a recent sip of hot chocolate did. "Me, too."
Their lips met, gentle and loving. Wilbur cupped one of George's cheeks and traced his cheekbone out with his thumb. After a few softer pecks, they separated. Wilbur smiled, moving his hand from his cheek to just along his jaw.
"Remember that one time when Carl caught us making out in my room?"
Wilbur snickered when George's face immediately flushed, the red bleeding onto his neck. "Don't remind me." He grumbled in Spanish.
"I think he was more upset than you." Wilbur said through a chuckle, replying in the same language.
George wrinkled his nose and squinted his eyes at Wilbur. He had shifted so their hips were touching. "Why are you bringing up the most embarrassing moment of my life?"
George's expression was so cute that Wilbur needed a couple extra seconds to translate. "Well.." he put their foreheads together. "...because the way you kissed me was unforgettable."
Wilbur's heart kicked up a couple of notches when George smirked a bit and shook his head, chuckling. "You make it sound like that was the best kiss you ever had from me. We've shared an awful lot of them."
Wilbur shrugged, trying to seem as unaffected as possible, even though George sometimes made it hard to breath. "Mind sharing some more with me?"
George replied by kissing Wilbur until his lips were red with them.
Dust floated in and out of the sliver of light spilling into Carl's room as he shuffled through his belongings. As he quietly organized tools, he noticed a picture frame that had somehow wedged itself behind his desk. He retrieved it and almost immediately he wanted to return it to the dark corner of his room where it came from. A younger Wilbur, George and him smiled up from the frame, arms wrapped around each other. Carl was in the middle with Wilbur and George on either side. The two boys were no older than ten. Wilbur still had his rounded baby cheeks and George's hair was long enough to almost cover his eyes.
Carl sighed (a purely vocal sigh, as he had no air to expel. It came out more like he had just discovered he could make sounds at all), cradling the frame in his palms. Wilbur, George and him had been in separable for Wilbur's entire existence. The two boys had been in the same kindergarten class. From that point on, if he saw one of the boys, he guessed the other was not too far away. In the beginning, he had assumed their friendship would morph into a strong brotherly affection. That's how Carl saw Wilbur anyway. (Technically, they shared a father.) When George was thirteen, their relationship shifted. They were still friends- always spending time together, but Carl could sense a tension between them- subtle enough to ignore, but strong enough to make their interactions minutely different. George would often cast glances at Wilbur when he wasn't looking and Wilbur would do the same. He was surprised when Wilbur and George dated other people, expecting for a confession to come at any time. Finally, they started dating once Wilbur went off to college. And now…well…Wilbur was living with George.
Ah yes…He recalled the bitter argument he and Wilbur had before he left. Wilbur's claim that he would never understand human romance still buzzed in his audio processors …Carl would admit that he was not the best with people, but Cornelius had programmed him well enough to see how much George meant to Wilbur. He understood the desire to stay around someone you cared about, especially someone you loved. He understood it, but it was still upsetting to see his best friend leave.
He recalled the apology Wilbur had given him the day after, while he was in the kitchen. Logically, Carl knew that Wilbur didn't want to leave things on bad terms and probably felt horrible about what he said, but emotionally, Carl hadn't been able to accept the apology. Wilbur's word had felt shallow to him. Not because Wilbur didn't honestly feel sorry for his actions, but more that Wilbur had expected Carl to forgive him. In some ways, that stung more than anything Wilbur had said. Couldn't Wilbur see that he needed time to heal? That he couldn't say that everything was okay when they clearly were not?
He was so lost in his melancholy that he almost didn't hear the knock on his door. "Carl?"
Carl felt his gears shift, taken aback. He was not expecting to here Wilbur's voice call to him. He set the photo down and opened the door. Wilbur cleared his throat. "Hey, Carl. Can we talk for a bit?"
Carl resisted the urge to leap at Wilbur and hug him. "Yeah." He stepped out of his room completely. "Uh…so…Wilbur…"
Wilbur help up his hand. "Let me go first. Carl, I'm sorry about what I said to you before I moved out. It was…shitty of me and I feel really, really bad about it. I know that your relationships are important to you. I mean, you are one of the most understanding and loving guys I know. For me to insult you like that…well, I really messed up. And then when I expected you to be in a place to forgive me right after what happened… " Wilbur was silent for a moment, letting what he said stew before continuing. "The reason I was so upset when we had that argument was because I was expecting you to support me, but I didn't really think about your feelings and that a change like this is going to affect the people around me."
Carl blinked, his lips twitching in a smile. He knew that Wilbur had a lot of pride, always thinking he knew what was best, that he had everything under control. For him to admit his weakness meant a lot. "I…I was really upset that you were moving out. Not because you were doing anything…you know, wrong…I just…." He sniffled. "…didn't want you to grow up so fast. I mean, one minute you're this…little buddy that wears space onesies…" He saw Wilbur roll his eyes at that comment. "…and the next, you've got a boyfriend! Next thing I know, you're gonna be bringing home little buddies of your own and…. and…Oh, Wilbur! I'm gonna miss you so much!"
His resolve crumbled as he roped Wilbur into a hug. He didn't notice he was squeezing too hard until Wilbur wheezed at him to let up, which he did. "Gosh, I'm so proud of you! I think you should name one of your kids after me."
Wilbur's cheeks were a deep shade of red and he coughed. Instead of responding, he clapped his hand on Carl's spindly shoulder. "Thanks, pal. I'll try to stop by more, okay?"
Carl nodded eagerly. "And I'll stop by your new crib too. You have to show me around."
"Maybe in a little while. There's still some unpacking we have to do."
The two of them chatted until Wilbur wrinkled his nose. "Something smells like it's burning."
Suddenly, Carl gasped and sped away to the nearest travel tube, yelling "NO! NOT THE APPLE PIE!" as he left. Wilbur chuckled and shook his head. He followed after him. Wilbur wasn't going to miss out Carl's apple pie for the world, even if it was a little burnt.
Translation Notes:
-cariño= (literally: affection) term of endearment; equivalent to honey or sweetie.
-Créeme.= Believe me.
I am not fluent in Spanish, so I appreciate any feedback. I want to be as accurate as possible.
Thank you for reading this work. I hope you all enjoyed it! Additional thank yous to that-guy-in-the-bowler-hat for the request.
I have accounts on AO3 (TheRationalDove) and Tumblr (tdrwritings). Want to request a fanfic? Send me an ask or PM!
-TheRationalDove