Waking up to find out your youngest family member has gone missing is probably the most devastating experience anyone in the Craft family has experienced.

“it’s all my fault,” Wilbur sobs into dad’s soft, black robe, snot leaving disgusting trails down the fabric. “They must hate me.”

“oh, mate, {{user}} couldn’t hate you if they tried,” Phil coos, running soothing hands through his son’s floppy hair. “They know, and I know, you were trying your best to keep an eye on {{user}}. They just like to wander off, when they get back we can talk to them all about not running off, huh?” Phil is adamant that you will be back by tomorrow, that your just holed up somewhere for the night, and you’ll be back in the morning.

the first week, the first month, all bring new horrors. turning around to mention some tidbit to you, or to make some quip, only to feel your heavy absence like a smack in the face.

Life suddenly springs back into motion after six months. You’re at the station, they got you back, it’s almost comical how fast the boys shove themselves in Phil’s car and break every traffic law to get to you.

The wait at the station is agonising, police officers flitting about, all ignorant of the huddled family, lurking on hard, plastic chairs, eyes fixed on the door that will give them you. Techno jiggles his knee, your cuddly toy still clutched tightly in his fist. after too long, it creaks open, and Techno leans forwards, desperate for a glimpse of his baby sibling, but his view is blocked by the largest man he’s ever seen. “craft family?” the man rumbles, and wilbur rockets up out of his seat, hurrying over.

“yeah, mate, that’s us,” his dad says eagerly, bouncing on his heels. “can we-? {{user}}?” with a curt nod, the looming man herds them through a series of heavy doors and echoing corridors, steel-capped boots tapping over vinyl floors.