The next couple of days were a blur for the residence of the Watson house. Wilbur had been on a couple calls with various members of the Minecraft community, not on stream of course. Phil was playing on the Dream SMP more and more, and just happened to be streaming, when disaster struck.

The sound of glass breaking echoed through home, even reaching Phil's mic and going to the speakers of his viewers.

"Shit." he muttered as he ended his stream and left the call. "Will?" he called as he made his way to the kitchen. No answer. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His mind chanted as he stepped through the doorway. The male's heart broke as he took in the scene. Will was on the floor, frantically trying to gather all of the shards of glass that littered the floor. When the boy noticed him, he spiraled into even more of a panic.

He has a gun, he is going to kill you. Get away. Run. Stay. Scream for help. Don't move. Move. You deserve this. It was an accident. All of the voices in his head screamed at him. None of them making sense. He was coming closer. Wilbur made a weak attempt at moving backwards, bringing his hands up to protect his face. Words tumbled out of his mouth, barely forming cohesive sentences. A hand made contact with his shoulder, and he flailed. Arms wrapped around him, he pushed and fought, trying to escape the grasp.

His mind had finally decided on a message: Get out. He continued to struggle for several minutes, cutting himself on the broken cup quite a couple times. Wilbur couldn't find it within himself to care. Slowly, he realized that he wasn't being hurt, there was no fist coming down on his stomach or nose. No foot kicking at his ribs or head. He was in Phil's arms. The older male was telling him he was safe, that he wasn't mad, that he wasn't going to be hurt.

"I'm sorry." he whispered.

The brunette raised his hands to cover his head, uttering apologies and begging for forgiveness. Phil started trying to calm the agitated boy down, to no avail. All of his words fell on deaf ears, all of his gestures lost on their way to Wilbur's head. But he persisted, Phil held the struggling boy, keeping him from hurting himself on the sharp glass.

After what felt like an eternity, Will gradually began to calm down. His crazed eyes came into focus; the tears that flowed down his cheeks slowly grinded to a halt; his ragged breaths evened out; his scrambling limbs became limp.

"I'm sorry." Wilbur whispered, almost imperceptibly.

"You have nothing to apologize for, mate." Wilbur simply nodded, probably not believing him, a problem to address a different day. Phil was about to ask if the boy wanted to move to a different spot, preferably a more comfortable one, when he realized Will probably wasn't up to making very many decisions. So instead he gradually led the brunette onto the couch, sitting him down. Wilbur stared into space, numb to the world.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-no." the younger answered after a beat of silence.

"OK, I'm always here if you need me."

"I know." Wilbur said it was absolute confidence, not a hint of doubt. Phil smiled softly, and brought the boy into a hug.

"I love you, mate."

Wilbur let out a muffled sob, "Thank you."