Phil was heartbroken, and rightfully so, he had just found his best friend, someone he considered a son, have a near breakdown over food.

"What am I going to do." He mutters to himself. Phil had not informed his friends that he was planning on fostering/adopting. Mostly because he wasn't even sure he was going to. He reached for Wilbur's file, "Let's see what happened to you."

The packet wasn't very thick, about ten pages, but the second he turned the page, he wished it was shorter. The first thing he saw was a picture of a closet. It was small, the person inside would have to curl up uncomfortably. That wasn't the worst part though, the worst part was the blood. There was a small pool on the floor, and splashes of red on the walls. The caption read: "William Gold was found in closet shown above with a bullet wound in shoulder and evidence of physical and/or psychological abuse." The next five pages after that there were brief descriptions of each major injury.

On the sixth page, it had the police report: "A neighbor called 911 after hearing a gunshot from the house next to them. The police arrived at the scene and were met by the very drunk adoptive father. Upon realizing what was happening, the father attempted to attack the officers and, in self defense Officer {insert name} shot him, he was pronounced dead on the way to the hospital. In the upstairs closet we found William Gold, adopted son. He had a bullet wound in his shoulder, cracked, bruised, and fractured ribs, and extremely malnourished. He was barely responsive on the way to the hospital. He was released one month later back into the system." The rest of the pages were just adoption forms and other legal paperwork.

Phil sat back with a sigh. Rubbing his eyes he looked at the clock, 3:36. He had been sitting there for about three hours. Stretching slowly he got up. He walked to Will's room and gently knocked on the door.

"Hello?" Wilbur's voice came through muffled and unsure.

"Hey Will, I was just checking on you, is there anything you need?"

"No."

"OK." Will sounded sad, lost. Phil decided to go for it, "Do you want to play Minecraft? I have an extra monitor."

The door was quiet for a second, "No." Wilbur said quietly.

"OK mate."

Wilbur was sitting on the floor of his room, staring off into nothing, absorbed in his own thoughts. Then a gentle knock sounded at the door.

Wilbur tensed, "Hello?"

"Hey Will, I was just checking on you, is there anything you need?"

Wilbur considered the question, what did Phil want him to answer? "No."

"OK." There was a brief pause, "Do you want to play Minecraft? I have an extra monitor."

His breath hitched, he really did, he opened his mouth to say so and then stopped himself. What if you mess up? What if you aren't good enough? What if he sends you back? "No."

"OK mate." He heard Phil's footsteps recede, probably to the kitchen or living room. He is disappointed in you, Phil has done so much for you and you don't do the one thing he asked of you. You are worthless. He is going to leave you. A soft whimper escaped Will's lips, he quickly covered his mouth. He doesn't like noise. Stop making noise. Wilbur crawled over to the closet, locked the door, and rolled into a small ball.