Day 11 - Chronic pain with hurt!Fundy
Other characters: Wilbur
Other tags: Dream SMP setting, Pogtopia arc, chronic pain, implied child neglect (very mild, from both Phil towards Wilbur and Wilbur towards Fundy)
Summary: Tell me if trying can be enough
Some nights hurt more than others.
It was a dull pain, not as sharp as the sword that had been buried into his shoulder. But instead of the sudden burst of it, alive and real, Fundy struggled in small and inconsequential ways. In the morning he often woke up with this ache. Some days, if he was lucky, it faded by the time noon came around.
On other days, by the time evening fell he wasn't able to lift his arm anymore.
Respawning was meant to erase any wounds that you sustained before death, but that didn't mean it left no marks. Scars were the most common, and deeper (more profound) traces weren't unheard of either.
Fundy was reminded of the final control room almost daily.
Pogtopia felt empty, cold. He knew he shouldn't stick around, lingering was dangerous. Perhaps it even made him a terrible spy. But going back and dealing with Schlatt's bullshit was the last thing he wanted when every move send a fresh stab of pain into his shoulder, when he could close his eyes and hear George's laugh as he dug the sword in deeper-
"Fundy?"
Wilbur looked like a ghost these days. Fundy hardly recognized him anymore, let alone recognize him as the father he grew up with.
Selfishly, he wanted to turn away and keep walking.
Even more selfishly, he wanted to stay put and see what Wilbur would do.
"You shouldn't be here, Fundy." Wilbur did not say it with any malice, merely an observation spoken out loud. He held the cigarette between two fingers, ash trailing to the bottom of the ravine. "They'll notice if you stay gone too long."
"I know."
He didn't make any attempt to actually move though.
And truly, he might be chasing a shadow.
"Does your arm hurt?"
Fundy didn't know if he should be surprised Wilbur noticed, or surprised he decided to mention it at all.
He grasped his own elbow. "Yeah…"
Wilbur nodded and turned, Fundy watching him go. But then he gestured for him to follow. "Come on."
"I used to help Phil with this," Wilbur said, having Fundy sit down in front of him on a chair.
"Grandpa?"
Fundy had never met the man. Only knew him as the elusive winged figure from Wilbur's stories
Even through second-hand accounts, Fundy felt his absence.
And Wilbur didn't call Phil anything but his first name.
"I guess he would be," Wilbur said absently. He put his hands on Fundy's elbow and pulled the arm back, rotating slowly.
Fundy hissed because it did hurt. But then a moment later it already felt a little better, stretching the sore muscle.
"What… What was he like? As a dad."
Wilbur's fingers flexed, startled. For a moment there was only silence. "He did his best," Wilbur said eventually. "He just wasn't around much."
Fundy thought of memories at the riverside, a woman with auburn bright hair and dimples in her cheeks. His father did not feature in any of them.
"But," Wilbur continued softly, "when he was around, he tried. I guess that still makes him a good dad, somehow."
Never having met him, Fundy knew he could not be the judge of that.
Still he answered. "I'd say it does, yeah."
Wilbur hummed, and continued his work on Fundy's arm until - for today - he hardly even felt the pain anymore.
