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Wilbur was tired.
He had been on tour for months on end, and while he had made some of his favorite memories with his bandmates, he was exhausted from the constant moving around and traveling. Turns out, playing shows almost nightly and constantly being on the road with no breaks in between takes a lot out of a person, and unfortunately, Wilbur was in that exact situation.
He yearned for his bed, his house, the comfort of his family. He missed Phil and Tommy so much, inviting them to stay at his place almost as soon as he had arrived home from the trip. Maybe he should’ve given himself a grace period, but sue him, he missed his friends.
He missed Tommy’s chaotic energy counterbalanced with Phil’s calm presence. He missed the way the father figure would take care of the two boys, both while they were in their headspace and out. Phil had quickly taken a role as a caregiver for the pair when they regressed. He had found out late one night on a Discord call with Wil and Tommy. Tommy had confided in his closest friends about his regression, and Wilbur had reluctantly admitted that he was too familiar with said headspace.
Ever since that fateful night, things had been good for the two littles. Phil was so patient, so understanding, so kind when it came down to his boys’ littlespace. Never angry at Tommy if he threw a tantrum, always wanting to learn what made the boy so upset in order to fix it. Never upset with Wilbur if he shut him out, or if he couldn’t verbally express his bad feelings to the caregiver, knowing how the man could get extremely self conscious about his regression. Phil knows how embarrassed and shameful Wilbur can feel when regressed, and he’s always there to wipe his tears and to coddle him so gently.
It’s still hard, no amount of sweet nicknames or soft cuddles will change that anytime soon. Wilbur envies how easy it is for Tommy to fall into that headspace. To be the sweetest, most independent 5 year old around, who wasn’t constantly fighting self deprecating thoughts. But not Wil, of course not him, that’d be too simple. He always feels so little, way younger than Tommy does, making him extremely dependent on his family, much to his dismay. He was so sensitive while little, salty tears always brimming his eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest inconvenience.
Wilbur was determined to stay big, or at the very least, relatively older, whilst visiting with his pseudo family. Before long, Wil is opening his front door to greet the two,Tommy basically tackling him onto the floor in an aggressive hug. Phil helps the brunette up and pulls him in for a gentle embrace, the younger burying his head into the older’s shoulder. Wil feels his headspace tugging at the edges of his mind at the gesture, begging to be indulged.
Trying not to regress in front of one of your closest friends, your father-figure, someone you trust so deeply and who makes you feel so safe, is more difficult than Wilbur was expecting. He tries to push down the fuzz of his mind for as long as possible, but he really wasn’t sure how well his plan would be executed if Phil were to continue this.
“Hey, mate, how’s it going?” Phil asked, squeezing Wilbur softly. The younger thought he was going to melt, his knees threatening to buckle underneath of himself. He forgot how touch starved he was, how much he craved to be held like he was made of glass.
He mumbled a response, earning a look from Phil, but the blond didn’t press the issue further. The father-figure knew that Wil had trouble talking sometimes, having issues verbalizing his thoughts when he was overwhelmed or tired. Wilbur was thankful for that, he truly didn’t feel like explaining his internal problems further to the other man, not wanting to burden him.
The trio had planned to record over the next few days, but for tonight, they were to relax and stay in. Wil was grateful for the opportunity to breathe, nothing expected of him until the next day. For now, he could just bask in the company of his family. Phil and Tommy move their luggage into Wil's guest room while the man calls in takeout for the three, getting comfortable.
After Tommy restlessly waited for the food to arrive, and Phil lightly scolding him for his impatience, the three found each other on Wilbur's couch, the oldest searching for a movie they all could watch.
The scene is familiar to Wilbur; many nights spent with his found family are like this, but he’s not one to complain. He enjoyed the laid backness of it all: the way he didn’t feel the need to put on his persona for the camera, how Tommy's voice would soften as soon as they stopped recording, and Phil still attempting to parent the two men despite being off screen. What can he say, he really cared for Wilbur and Tommy, and the two soaked up the kindness and warmth that came along with it.
That's how Wilbur felt currently. Warm. Full of adoration for the two men infront of him. Tommy was sprawled out on the carpet in front of the couch, the coffee table being moved so the teenager could make room for all 6 feet of himself. Wilbur had made himself comfortable on his couch, along with Phil, who sat next to the man. Wil was curled up in his designated spot, while Phil's legs stretched out as he laid into the back of the sofa, contently eating his dinner.
Wilbur was all too aware of how the comfortableness of it all made him feel; the soft light coming from his sidetable’s lamp, the brightness of the T.V. being turned down, the sounds of Tommy quietly rambling and Phil intently listening. He felt at home, more at home than he did while alone in his house.
Wil sucks in a breath, hoping to stop his soon plummet into littlespace. He should feel happy and relieved to finally have an opportunity to regress, and yet, he still feels something holding him back. Was it shame? Embarrassment? Fear of ruining the trio’s limited time together?
He obviously wasn’t scared of Phil or Tommy figuring out he regressed. So what was it? Why was he filled with guilt when the slightest thought of letting go crossed his mind?
He hummed quietly to himself, starting to fidget with his hands. Wilbur was growing more and more anxious the more he felt that once subsided softness of headspace begin to creep over the corners of his mind.
At this point, his food was set off to the side, in case he did accidentally fall face first into a panic attack. A selfish part of him wishes he would, a poor excuse for Phil and Tommy to comfort him, slowly help him calm down and ease into littlespace. He quickly shook the thought, though, guilt piling in the bottom of his stomach from it.
He could hear Tommy and Phil bickering about what movie to put on, but couldn’t take in any of the words, just the sounds of the remote clicking and his brother and father speaking.
The next thing Wil feels is Tommy putting something plastic in his hand, and soon recognizes it to be Tommy's red fidget cube. He makes eye contact with Tommy, who has a concerned look on his face.
“You were picking really bad at-at your hands,” Tommy whispers, explaining to Wilbur. He simply nods, silently noting how Tommy's speech slurred as he spoke, his works clumsily being put together. It was a big give away when the physically younger would regress or was close to slipping.
And that was the cherry on top of it all. Tommy felt little, of course he would slip underneath the same circumstances as Wilbur. The blonde felt just as welcomed with their found family as Wilbur did.
Wil loved when his little brother regressed, he really did, but the guilt of wanting to be small had doubled in size in his gut. Now, if he were to be small, he’d be taking away Tommy's time with Phil, while also making the father figure take care of two littles. He’d done it before, sure, but Wil thought it was unfair to pile all of that onto the oldest.
Phil had been silently observing the two for a bit, noticing Wilbur's fidgeting on the seat next to him and Tommy's rambling getting less and less coherent. He hadn’t been talking any quieter, his strings of words just had started making less sense the more he continued on. He had a feeling that he’d have two littles on his hands tonight, but didn’t want to pressure his friends into doing so.
The older man sees Tommy hand Wil the fidget cube, pride bubbling in his chest at how the mentally older treated his mentally younger brother with so much care. Tommy looked at Phil, the father figure instantly picking up the innocence behind his eyes, the way they were filled with concern for his little brother, a hint of confusion from the sudden nervousness from the other. Phil could easily read the boy, knowing Tommy was close to regressing. He moves his eyes back to Wilbur, who had curled up impossibly small where he sat on the couch, the fidget cube making soft clicks as he looked off into space. His eyebrows were knit together as he pressed each button and spun each dial. Phil could tell the man was also close to slipping into his headspace, unsure why Wilbur looked so distressed.
Phil moved to a sitting position, scooting closer to Wil. “Everything okay, bud?” he asked. Tommy let out a sympathetic hum, turning to face Wilbur from where he sat on the floor.
Wilbur stills his movements, his anxiety setting in once he realizes that all eyes were on him. He clears his throat, trying to get himself to speak in a tone that could be passed off as him being in his adult headspace.
“Yeah, I'm fine, Phil. d-don’t worry ‘bout it,” he mumbled, his voice weak. Phil's face falls, but he’s not ready to drop the subject yet. Wil curls in on himself more, turning away from the two whose eyes wouldn’t leave him. He screws his own eyes shut, hoping that if he ignored the pair, they’d leave him alone.
Phil sighs, not out of disappointment, but out of worry. Wilbur is normally so honest with him if something was bothering him. Okay, maybe not all of the time, but more often than not, Phil felt like he didn’t need to pry too hard.
The oldest noticed Tommy beginning to become restless on the floor, chewing on his sweatshirt sleeve and looking back at Phil worriedly. He moves off the couch to kneel in front of Tommy, whose full attention is set on his caregiver.
“Hey, you feeling little?” Phil asks in a hushed tone. Tommy nods, confirming his suspicions. “Do you think you’re feeling big enough to go get changed in the guest room? I need to talk to your little brother alone,” he says. Tommy hums in agreement, loudly whispering how he was a big boy before scrambling to his feet, running off to the bedroom.
Phil smiles at the regressor, shaking his head at his silliness. He turns to Wil, who hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. He was trying so incredibly hard not to regress, attempting to focus his energy on maintaining his “big” persona. Unfortunately, Phil could see right through his son. He could see how he was yearning for something he wasn’t allowing himself to have, despite Phil wanting to give him the world.
Phil sits next to Wil on the couch, opening his arms to offer the younger man a hug. Wilbur opened one of his eyes to peek at Phil, hesitating before gratefully accepting his invitation. He clambered into Phil's arms, not caring about the fog that was washing over his mind. He didn’t care about anything except Phil, his Dadza, and how comfortable his arms were.
Wilbur let out quiet cries that soon turned into loud, childish sobs, rambling about how sorry he was and how he would do better next time. Phil shushes him, rocking the boy softly as he let out all the pent up frustration with himself, the months of repressing his regression, how much he missed his father. Phil just let him cry, knowing that Wilbur needed this right now, being so understanding of the younger’s emotions.
That made Wil sob harder, the overwhelming feeling of being loved and being known consuming him. Phil whispers quiet reassurances into his ears as he cries, running a hand through the brunette’s soft hair, moving his glasses off of the man’s face so he can dry his tears. Soft tissues are gently being wiped across Wilbur's face as he feels himself calm down, his breathing evening out, the uncomfortable feeling of tears and snot covering his face all too apparent.
His cries quiet to an occasional sniffle, his arms still tightly strung around Phil’s shoulders. He didn’t think he could let go if he tried, wanting to get as close as possible to his father.
“Hi, little one,” Phil said quietly, smiling down at the boy in his arms. He had crawled into the older man’s lap by now, avoiding Phil’s eyes, looking intently down at the fidget cube that still sat in his hands. He fiddled with it, softly babbling a response to his father.
“What’s going on, bub? Is your head telling you icky thoughts again?” He asked. Wilbur whined at that, burying his face back into Phil’s shoulder, a few more spare tears shedding. The boy nods his head softly, and Phil hums in understandance.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Wil hears Dadza ask. He shakes his head, whimpering at the thought of speaking. He tended to get like this a lot while little: negative self deprecating thoughts filled his mind, but the boy felt too small to verbalize what he was feeling to the older. Phil runs a hand through Wilbur’s hair, holding him a bit tighter than before.
“That’s okay, baby, I know it’s hard to talk right now. For now, you can just be small, as small as you need, okay? I’m here, Tommy’s here, we’re here for you, mate,” Phil says, smiling down at his son, whose head was still firmly buried in his shoulder. The father figure hears a hum, more babbling following it.
Tommy wanders back in the room, having changed himself like the big boy he claimed he was. Realistically, the boy was no older than four, but would fight tooth and nail to keep his reputation as the “big man” of the household. He had changed into some black sweatpants he had packed with him, as well as a soft sweatshirt he’d stolen from Wilbur’s closet. It was a muted yellow color and swallowed the younger, the sleeves falling over his hands. Still, he was happy, his ensemble completed with fuzzy mismatched socks that slid across Wil’s hardwood floors.
The mentally older giggles as he reenters the living room, Henry the cow plush firm in his grip as he waddles over to the couch to see his dad and little brother. Phil smiles, greeting Tommy as he crawls onto the couch to sit next to the older man.
“Hi Dadza! Hi Wilbur!” Tommy exclaims, curling next to Phil. Wilbur was still sitting in the father figure’s lap, but had looked up from where he hid in Phil’s shoulder to see his brother. The mentally younger waves shyly, his other hand still occupied with Tommy’s fidget cube. Phil rubs Wilbur’s back supportively, whispering a “good job” to the boy. Wil beams at the praise, squirming in Phil’s lap as he buries his head shyly away in the older man’s chest.
“Hi, Tommy. Don’t you look comfortable?” Phil says, snickering when he realizes that Tommy had stolen another one of Wilbur’s sweaters from his closet. The boy probably had half of Wil’s closet in his own wardrobe from the constant snatching of his hoodies, sweaters, large t-shirts, anything that the younger could get his grubby hands on.
“Mhm! Comfy, wearin’ Wilby’s sweater!” Tommy said excitedly, rocking back and forth next to Phil. Wilbur’s ears perked at the mention of his name, peeking an eye open and sitting up in Phil’s lap, facing Tommy properly. His long, lanky legs were stretching over the older man’s lap as his arms were wrapped protectively around his neck, as were Phil’s around Wilbur’s waist.
“Wilby! Wilby, Wil, hi! Do you- do you wanna play with me?” Tommy asked enthusiastically, shaking his hands at his sides. He loved being little with Wilbur, loved getting to take on that older brother role. It was something that he held close to his heart. It was important for him to make sure Wilbur felt safe and loved, and hey, if he had to do that by playing baby games like blocks with him, Tommy would always accept the younger’s offer.
Wilbur smiles, nodding as he tries to wiggle out of Phil’s lap to get to Tommy. The father figure sighs, quickly wiping caked tears from Wil’s face so he could be somewhat comfortable as he played. Thankfully, he was already wearing his cozy pajamas, so the little one wouldn't need to be changed anytime soon. They still needed to make a quick trip to Wilbur’s bedroom, though. Phil loosened his protective grip on the little, gently setting him onto the couch as he stood up.
“C’mon guys, let’s go get your toys,” Phil suggests, helping Wil stand to his feet and leaning the mentally younger against his own body. The other had quite a lot of trouble when it came to walking while small, but was too tall for Phil to pick up and carry. Most of the time, he chose to crawl on the floor, but sometimes it was just faster for Phil to assist him like this. Tommy trails close behind the two, a hand holding onto the back of his little brother’s sweater.
The trio make it to Wil’s bedroom, whose closet was home to all of his little gear. It lived in a plastic tote shoved behind hangers full of knit sweaters and soft jumpers. Phil carefully helps Wilbur to sit on the floor as he and Tommy look through the container. The oldest spots Wil’s pacifier case and his stuffed orca immediately, grabbing it and handing it to the boy who sat on the floor behind him. Wil happily grabs his orca, shoving his face into the squishable plush, letting out a quiet squeal. The pacifier stayed with Phil, the other making sure he remembered to wash it before giving it back to the smaller. Of course, big Wilbur knew better than to put dirty things in his mouth, but all logic regarding his health was thrown out the window when he regressed. It’s not his fault that his brain felt too fuzzy and blurry to think properly.
Phil turns back to the box that sat in front of him. Wilbur really didn’t have too many toys, the majority belonging to Tommy if he happened to regress at Wilbur’s house and was in dire need of something to do. Plus, Wil wasn’t one to play like Tommy does. His mentally older brother likes to make up stories, play pretend, and run around, but Wil preferred quieter, more organized activities. He loved his puzzles and sorting blocks or his fidget toy collection by different categories. He mostly loved getting to do his activities next to Tommy, though, as the pair tended to parallel play more often than not.
Tommy pushes past Phil to get to the plastic container filled with his toys, bouncing excitedly on his heels as he grabs for some dolls that were sitting at the top of the pile. He digs into the box, gasping when he finds Wil’s cat keyboard. He’s sure the other wouldn’t mind sharing for a bit. Besides, Tommy thought Wilbur was too young to use it anyways. Phil sighs at the sight of the cat keyboard firm in his older son’s grip, mentally preparing himself for the next few hours of loud banging and constant “meows” coming from the dreaded thing.
Wil watches the two silently as he sits on the plush carpet of his bedroom. He felt too little to really process the details of what was happening in front of him, just knowing that he was happy to see his Dadza and his bubba still in his line of sight. Phil turns back to his youngest, leaning down to meet his eyes. “Do you want any toys from the toy box? Or do you want to do something else?” He asks. Wil thinks for a bit before pointing to his puzzle collection that sat on the bookcase in the corner of his room.
Phil nods, making his way over to the shelf to grab some options for the little. Wilbur decides on a fairly simple 100-piece puzzle, one depicting a scene of sea life on the ocean floor, with the respective labels and descriptions of each sea creature. It was his favorite to do while small, it’s no surprise to Phil that he chose it.
The trio slowly make their way back into the living room, Tommy jumping around in excitement while Phil attempts to lug Wilbur around. The oldest takes a pit stop to the kitchen to wash Wilbur’s pacifier, who gratefully accepts the comfort item as it’s placed in his mouth; a dark blue clip to match the pacifier was secured to the collar of his sweater. Tommy jumps to the floor once they reach the living room, splaying out all the toys in his hands on the carpet. Wil sits next to him, dumping the puzzle pieces out of the box in imitation of his older brother, giggling softly around his pacifier. Tommy laughs along with him, toothy grin showing.
The mentally older turns his attention towards the dolls that were littered randomly across the floor. Tommy sits them up against the couch, deciding that he’s going to put on a talent show for them. He turns the cat piano on and begins to (terribly) play some misremembered chords, earning some encouraging words from Phil. The caregiver had sat himself back on the couch, lazily flipping through channels for something age appropriate the boys could have on as background noise.
Wil grimaces at the high pitched noises, though, covering his ears with his hands. As much as he loves the stupid thing, it was just too much for him right now.
Phil had noticed the change in attitude almost immediately. “Oh, do you need your headphones, bub?” Phil asks Wilbur. He nods, a pleading look in his eyes. The older man stands up and grabs the noise canceling headphones off of Wilbur’s kitchen counter, where they were haphazardly tossed however long ago by an adult Wilbur. The little watches his Dadza intently from the living room, the clinginess of his young headspace wanting to make sure the man didn’t leave his sightline. Phil smiles endearingly at the cutely-intense look that his youngest was giving him, walking back to the boy and gently placing the headphones over Wil’s ears. The younger lets out a sigh of relief, mumbling a “thank you” to Phil, then goes back to his puzzle. He still needed to sort out the corner pieces from the pile.
Tommy’s uncoordinated performance lasted for a while, but eventually, the boy had grown bored of slamming his hands on his little brother’s keyboard. He sets the toy off to the side, getting up from the floor to stand in front of the older man on the couch. Phil turns his attention to Tommy, who had Henry cradled ever so gently in his hands.
“Cuddle, please,” Tommy asks, or rather demands. Phil didn’t mind, though, and happily opened up his arms for the other to crawl into. He figured the boy was in need of some attention, too, seeing as Wilbur was normally a Phil-hog when he fell this young into headspace. The caregiver always tried to do his best when evenly distributing his love to his sons, and seeing how focused Wil was on the activity in front of him, Phil’s sure he doesn’t mind if he cuddled with Toms for a bit. The last thing the man wanted was for one of them to feel unappreciated.
“Of course, mate, c’mere,” Phil replies, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist as he straddles the older man’s lap. He tucks his head away in his father’s shoulder, contently taking in the comfort and safety the other radiated.
“Do you wanna help me pick something to watch?”
“Moana!” Tommy exclaimed, jumping up and down in Phil’s lap, his hands flapping rapidly. The caregiver laughs, agreeing to put the beloved movie on for his boys if Tommy were to settle down a bit. The little complied with the request, laying back into Phil’s chest as the movie began to play. It was one of Wilbur’s favorites, too, but the other was completely enamored in the puzzle he had started, not paying much mind to the T.V. screen.
Wilbur gets pretty far in his puzzle, having a quarter of the middle filled in by the time he starts yawning. He could feel himself drifting off, but falling asleep on the hard floor with just his orca to snuggle with was less than ideal. He turns to see Tommy laying with Phil, crawling over to the couch and climbing up to join them. He sits next to the pair, Dadza wrapping an arm around the mentally younger, pulling him close as he leans his head against the other’s shoulder.
Wil could feel that same feeling from earlier creeping towards him again: the warmth that emitted from his family when he was near. The all encompassing feeling of being loved filled Wilbur’s chest as he felt his eyes slowly droop shut, a soft, peaceful sleep threatening to absorb him. He knew that soon, Tommy and Phil, his big brother and Dadza, would follow suit. Maybe they’d complain about the crick in their necks in the morning, or laugh at how Phil had managed to sleep in jeans and through Tommy’s loud snoring, but for now, they were together. They were by his side.
Wilbur shut his eyes, a soft smile manifesting onto his face as the comfort of his family lulled him to sleep.