"Fuck!"

...was the first word Wilbur heard as he entered the town.

And proceeding with it, was a crime.

All things considered, this is not a very warm welcoming.

There is a child screaming obscenities racing towards him, being chased by what seems to be a disgruntled shopkeep; holding-- stealing, a bag of apples and a loaf of bread in his mouth.

The kid looks undoubtedly... disheveled. He sported a red and white polo hoodie that undoubtedly wasn't made by the hands of a tailor; it was the work of a novice, pieced together with scraps of fabric of all sorts, shapes and materials. He also wore cargo shorts, the price tag still visible- Did the child steal those too?- , thermal leggings and tan boots, which Wilbur could only assume were also stolen. He was covered in dirt and soot, head to toe, and was so incredibly small, it was pitiful, and almost upsetting.

The child latched onto Wilbur, clearly recognising him as a much safer figure, before quickly hiding behind him. Wilbur wasn't sure to react, here, because on the one hand- He is absolutely not involved in this, and he does not want to be involved in this, because quite frankly, his life is not at all impacted by any of this- and yet, he really does pity the child. It's incredibly apparent that the young man is on his last legs and Wilbur would feel bad to leave him alone.

The man chasing after him stopped once reaching Wilbur, cheeks red and sore from the sheer exaggeration of his frown.

"Th' kid yours?" He asks. The man would have been intimidating if not for the fact he was significantly shorter than Wilbur. Tall, yes, but Wilbur was much, much taller. Which is quite funny.

Wilbur quickly analyzed his options; but the situation was so fast paced there wasn't much thinking he could really do. The child was pressed against his back, so he could feel the childs' breathing and heart rate, which was rapid, lacking any sense of pattern.

"He is," Wilbur began, "I'll pay for the food. My apologies for his behaviour."

Wilbur could almost feel the child's confusion as he paid every single pence that the shopkeep requested.

"Do m' a favour- put that fucking child on a leash." The man bites.

"Do me a favour- Develop some empathy." Wilbur bit back.

The man looks up at Wilbur, contemplating all the things he could say, before opting to grumble to himself and walk back to his respective store. Wilbur wanted to laugh; but he had to divert his attention to the aforementioned child, who was currently frozen still against Wilbur's back, in abundant awe of the events that occured right in front of him.

"Are you all right?" Wilbur asked, turning himself around crouching down slightly to meet the boys' eyes. Despite the rest of the young man's appearance, he had very nice eyes. Wide in shape, royal blue in color, emanating a youthful aura in the rest of his otherwise bruised and unkempt face. Wilbur chose not to think about that too much.

"Uh," The boy began, slightly confused and out of words, fidgeting on the spot. "Well, uh, I- I'm...I'm pog. Good, I mean. 'Means good. Pog."

Wilbur feels very old. What- When the fuck was "Pog" a word?

"All- Okay, All right. What's your name, mate?" Wilbur asks, adding the 'mate' out of habit, resisting the urge to bite holes in his tongue in mild anger upon realizing.

"Tommy."

"Thomas?"

"Tommy. It's tommy. Thomas sounds stupid and not pog. Tommy."

All right then.

"Tommy," Wilbur repeats, getting used to the feeling of the name. "Hello, Tommy. I'm Wilbur."

Tommy stares at him, once again, very, very confused. He sort of forgets himself before letting out a small, slightly embarrassed "oh", before talking again.

"Right, okay, Wilbur. Cool, cool."

"Try to not get into any more trouble now, yeah? Can't be good for you. Not everyone's gonna be so nice, mate."

"M'kay."

"Alright. See you later, kid. Take it easy." Wilbur said, before heading off. The conversation was purposely concise and short, with Wilbur not wanting to get further involved in the situation. He'd helped as best as he could; and now, he was done with it. Right?

...Right?--

------

Wrong.

Wilbur didn't say anything for a while; letting the kid amuse himself, or something of the sort, but...

The child was following him.

Very clearly.

Fuck- Before Wilbur retired he used to be a swordsman, a very well known one at that. He knows when he's being followed. Being a well known fighter means you're trained to notice this stuff.

But for now, he chose to ignore it. The kid will get bored soon enough.

He stopped by at a couple of local stores, buying the food and supplies he needs before stuffing them all into his (oversized and quite frankly back-breaking) bag, getting ready to head off and start travelling again.

Normally he'd stay in the towns or cities he travels to for a few days and all, but- well, to put it bluntly, this town wasn't very interesting. Homely, for sure, but there wasn't much to do other than gaze at the homemade goods people had to offer. It was so very pleasant, but there wasn't anything that really spoke out to him that gave him a reason to stay, even for a little bit.

Wilbur was nearing the end of the town now; due to the way the small place was structured you could sort of walk through it like a linear path, which Wilbur was quite fond of, actually. It saved him the difficulty of having to tread through it as though it were some sort of maze, as is with most places. He looked around, checking for the boy, Tommy, and of course, noticed him relatively quickly. This boy has little to no self preservation skills, Wilbur had come to realize.

The two made eye contact and Tommy instantly looked away, trying to occupy himself and seem busy so as not to seem suspicious.

It did not work.

Tommy realizes that, in fact, it did not work.

Wilbur too, is aware that in fact, it did not work.

No one is happy with this.

"Tommy, you're following me." Wilbur says, notably more blunt than before, when he had tried to pander to the child.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, yes you are. You are following me."

"Um. Well. Actually, I'm, I'm doing something important. Protecting citizens such as yourself because I'm great." Tommy states, puffing out his chest proudly, haphazardly swinging a gun (How the fuck did he get a gun?) on his finger.

( Wilbur's worries lessened upon noticing it was simply an airsoft gun, however, nothing to fear. Airsoft guns work for killing mobs and such since they're incredibly weak, however they're useless in actually harming any humans .)

"...Thank you? But- I don't need protecting. You can leave."

Tommy fidgets.

"Well, uh, big man, m'just, making sure you know? Kindness of my heart n' shit."

Sure.

Wilbur decided to leave him to his own devices. Surely, surely, he will get bored. This child must get tired.

Surely.

------

He did not get bored.

He did not get tired.

It is literally night time.

He is still there.

Wilbur had completely left the town, presumably Tommy's hometown- but he still followed. Not only that, but he gave up on any type of secrecy. He was just- there .

Wilbur had entered the forest, and even set up camp completely for the night.

Tommy was still there.

What the fuck does this child want?, Wilbur thinks to himself, opting to spend some time setting things inside his tent before deciding to check if the boy had finally, finally left.

Of course not. He's still there.

Tommy had positioned himself on the floor, outside the tent Wilbur had set for himself. He began picking with the grass surrounding him, a very obvious sign the kid is bored out of his mind.

But he doesn't leave.

"Tommy-" Wilbur starts.

"Ayup." Tommy interrupts.

"Mate, Tommy- Surely you've got like, a curfew. Your parents, or, guardian, I- I don't know, surely you've got to go by now."

"Nope." Tommy responds, bland and uninterested, making a little pop sound when pronouncing the "p".

"What- What do you mean no?"

"I mean nope, Big W."

"You don't- have a curfew or anything?"

"Haven't got any parents to give me one," Tommy laughs, "Can't restrict this big man if there's no one to restrict me, ay?"

"I- Are you being serious?"

"Ummm, Yeeees? I have never had parents, I just appeared out of sheer pogness. God was like, oh yeah, we have to create the biggest man known to man of all men, and made me, probably, I think."

"What does that- What does that even mean?" Wilbur questions, not expecting a cohesive answer.

"My origin story. My creation. I'm like Jesus Christ."

"Okay, so," Wilbur chose to ignore whatever the hell it is that Tommy had just said, "Where- where do you live?"

"Depends on the day y'know, some days I'll live on the street, some days I'll live in the forest if its warm, some days I'll sneak into someones garage- I got my gun from someones garage, actually, which is fucking poggers."

"You stole a gun?"

"It's fucking poggers." Tommy reiterates.

"Okay," Wilbur breathes, "Okay."

"So, mate- Tommy , be real with me here, why are you following me?

Tommy pauses. He's obviously thinking, unsure of how to respond. Wilbur almost feels bad, he seems to have really put the child on the spot.

"Uh, you don't ha-"

"I just- didn't wanna be there anymore." Tommy mumbles, voice a lot less loud and strident.

Wilbur thinks about asking why- but, if the kid is being honest about his way of living, Wilbur is not exactly surprised.

Tommy curls up into himself a little bit, just enough to be noticeable.

And then there's a silence.

It's not exactly comforting.

But it's not really awkward either.

"It's gonna get cold and rain soon," Wilbur mentions, opening the tent, letting the light inside spill out into the night. The tent was quite big and roomy, much bigger than any tent Tommy had seen before.

"You can come in if you want."

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This fic does not belong to me all credits go to its original author thisisnOtpoggers on ao3