Disclaimer: I do not own the film Meet the Robinsons that belongs to Disney.

AN: Thank you for your reviews! Wooo! Sooo, being trapped inside because of Covid-19 made me decide to work on some fics! Who's here with me?! Anyways, welcome everyone. :D Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a long one!

Chapter 9: Wilbur Robinson Never Fails...Except With Doors

Cornelius found the blue time machine uncloaked and obvious by the fence behind the bleachers of the baseball field—right where young Mikey had left it.

Kids...they just...didn't think things through…

There was no satisfaction in the thought.

The boy's actions had literally undone him.

Just a kid…

Cornelius massaged the bridge of his nose.

Wilbur was probably onto something. The time machines and himself most likely had some manner of immunity from time ripples.

It wasn't really something he wanted to test all the way through…not when the stakes could be so high.

He flew the sleek vehicle carefully over to the prototype and hitched them together with a new linking feature he'd installed a month back. He flew them out to a far corner of the school where all of the portables were huddled, bundled all his prayers and hopes and fears, and then sent them BACK three hours.

If they'd stabilized the time stream, as Cornelius desperately hoped that they had, then theoretically, he'd be able to land his vehicles long before any of the others arrived. He then set and cloaked them near the coordinates where they had been. That way, if the timeline did shift back to the one that he was from, there would be less complications involved for the time stream to move and merge the vehicles.

The time space fabric could only have so many holes before something catastrophic happened…Cornelius could feel it in his gut. Like playing Cosmic Jenga…

The fact that so much was happening all on the same day made the space more...vulnerable.

And then!

One had to be very careful once multiple timelines were established and time travelers (from different voyages) risked running into one other.

Neil would have to stay aware but out of the way.

Five hours might have seemed like overkill, but...five minutes! What had Wilbur been thinking?

A lump of grief wedged harder in his throat.

Kids…they just…didn't…think things…

He could call his wife and know immediately but...but…

His hands shook…

He was too afraid.

He opened the glove compartment and found a TCTF hat from their trip to the late Cretaceous period to relocate Tiny back into his proper time. He'd hoped to make it a nice father son trip.

But apparently the amount of inoculations required had soured Wilbur and the boy had grumbled, "all the things you invent and you don't make an alternative to shots?"

Which...was...actually a fair criticism...

And he felt another pang of guilt that, for all of his supposed intelligence, he'd yet to discover a cure for his son's dangerous allergy to Beltrellyne.

The only defenses being inhalers and...EpiPen styled shots.

He knew Wilbur hated using them. At the beginning, Wilbur had been very vocal about it. He'd push at his father's lab coat—angle his face away from the inhaler or outright squirm to escape from an injection.

And how awful Neil would feel, clamping an arm around his frightened, wriggling, wheezing son, who was begging him not to give him the shot. To give the inhaler more time to work. Please, Daddy. Please? Pretty please?

Cornelius would then have to talk over those pleas and instruct Francesca to call an ambulance.

It was after several rounds of that, Wilbur demanded an answer as to why Daddy hadn't made something better already. His daddy was the smartest daddy ever and supposed to love him more than anything, right?

"So why are you hurting me?"

There'd been betrayal in those big brown eyes. His heart shattered and, in the ensuing moment of despair, Cornelius apologized.

A very stern Franny swiftly intervened and told Wilbur that there'd be no medicine at all if it wasn't for Daddy and how terrible that would be. Wilbur would get so much sicker and he wouldn't be able to come home right after the hospital checkup. He'd have to stay there much longer and they'd be so scared and miss him so much it would break their hearts.

Wasn't he a lucky boy to have a father who'd made such a great treatment?

Wilbur had begrudgingly nodded but followed up with, "but why does the medicine have to hurt?"

"Because medicine is medicine, not candy and cuddles," Franny answered.

The abstractness of that observation worked for a seven-year-old though. Medicine had never been pleasant or tasty.

"But why does it have to be me? That's not fair."

That one had been harder to counter. Even when he knew the feeling. A young, orphaned Lewis had often stared hard at ceilings and blackboards wondering it. Why him? Why didn't he have a family? Why did no one want to adopt him? The unfairness of his circumstances were the result of societal choices he didn't have any say in...

More than once he'd vented to Miss Duffy about it.

Wilbur was equally powerless in this...maybe even more so...he was dealing with biology itself. No choices, period. From anyone involved. It just...WAS.

Franny sighed. "Life just isn't fair sometimes, sweetie…but we can play inside today."

"We can play inside…"

A standby line Neil had learned to hate and one Wilbur had used to rail at until…he didn't.

Until he understood…

Cornelius had been invited as a speaker for a World Science Conference. Was told to bring the family—lots to see. Had not been aware how painfully low the standards for air quality were there. Had not researched to see how commercially available Beltrellyne had become.

He was getting annoyed with a freshly turned (though almost worryingly small for his age) eight-year-old Wilbur who'd been grumpy all day and wanted to be carried everywhere, but only by Neil. And Neil just didn't have the energy for that.

He'd had to put his foot down and tell him he was a big boy and could walk. They were all tired. They'd been travelling since 4 AM.

Wilbur then embarrassed his parents as they were meeting with the director of the event by declaring he didn't like the city. At all. It was icky.

He was such a bad sport that they'd eventually had to break off from the rest of the family (so they could continue enjoying the sights) and turn in to the hotel for an early night.

Franny was out on the terrace enjoying the view and making a call to her parents.

A pleasant breeze wafted through the room.

"I wanna go home. It's not icky there…Daddy…"

Exuding patience he didn't particularly feel, Cornelius endeavored not to raise his voice.

"Wilbur," he'd warned levelly from his reclined spot on the bed. "Daddy's busy right now. Watch a cartoon or play with your toy spaceship."

Wilbur abruptly crawled onto the bed, over his notes, and on top of him. "Ack! Willie! You're crumpling my papers. I have to practice for my speech tomo-"

And then he got it. Heard it. Was close enough to observe.

Wilbur's breathing was off. Shallow.

The child rubbed at his chest and gave him a pained look.

"You don't feel good," he realized aloud.

The child's eyes went big and he nodded emphatically. Like this was what he'd been waiting for.

"S'not the throwing up or-" Wilbur's breath hitched. "-Sniffling kind."

No, it wasn't.

Neil hated feeling dense. But he certainly didn't feel he deserved the title of "genius" then. His young son had been struggling to tell him for the whole day that he'd been feeling poorly because his definition of "ill" only meant "viral" or "bacterial."

"But Daddy, it can't be the bad chemical." His son still had trouble pronouncing his allergy.

"I think it is, buddy."

His little boy shook his head. "We're not in a lab or an in-ind-dustri-al site…so where-" He had to stop to catch his breath. "-Could it be coming from?"

Everywhere.

The answer was everywhere. He'd know that later on.

The rescue inhaler he'd designed with key contacts in the medical industry helped ease his child's breathing.

He and Franny immediately shut and locked the door to the terrace. All of them showered and the clothes from the day were put away in a laundry bag. All other items got wiped down.

The air conditioning was set high to help filter the air.

Wilbur settled and became infinitely cheerier, if chilled. (And Franny admitted Neil was right to have packed a warm set of PJs for their son, just in case.) He hugged his plush frog, Ribbetz, with one arm and his plastic spaceship toy with the other—making it light up. On noticing his father's watchful gaze on him, he grinned. "I feel better now, Daddy. I knew you'd know what to do."

So much trust.

It made the guilt more intense.

Even hours after Wilbur had been tucked in, and phone calls had been made confirming their fears, the guilt didn't abate.

"I didn't realize either, Neil. We just thought he was being a cranky-pants. You caught it in time. He didn't need the EpiPen."

"Why didn't I check this place? Why didn't I ask Willie why he thought it was 'icky?' Why didn't I question his mood swing? Why-"

"Forgive yourself."

"Fran-"

"I love you. Now, forgive yourself and go to sleep. Give the speech and then we'll go. I'll have all the luggage packed."

The next morning, while Cornelius was pulling on his dress socks, Wilbur observed his mother stationing the luggage by the door for a quick pick up later.

"We're leaving cuz of me," he deduced quickly. He turned to look at Neil. "You didn't get to see the things you wanted to."

"Not worth it, if it makes you sick, buddy."

Wilbur walked over to the sliding glass door leading out to the terrace. He gazed at the lush park below where part of the event was to take place. Neil barely nipped a sharp 'come away from there' because he'd already tightened the child-lock-bolt so his baby was in no danger of getting out and being exposed further to air contaminants…it'd be the dash to the car later that Neil would have to strategize for.

"I can't go there…cuz the air is bad…for me. I have to stay here, don't I?" Wil asked, nose pressing against the glass.

"Yes, sweetheart," he agreed. The room (which had been a grand suite) felt very small then because for the next few hours it would have to be Wil's whole world.

And that was so unfair.

It made the inventor's mind loud. And he found putting on his shoes a more difficult task than usual as he struggled to accept all the dangers the world posed to his child, if clean air couldn't be a given.

Wilbur came back to him and sat down on the floor and leaned against his leg. With unsettling insight, Wilbur commented, "there are more places like this, aren't there?"

He looked up at Neil with his big brown eyes.

"…"

And even though Neil said nothing, Wil read the answer in his father's face and nodded to himself.

There were no tears. No whining. No loud protestations.

Neil was surprised to find that he'd have preferred a tantrum.

Because Willie took it like a little grownup. Quiet. Thoughtful. Sad.

But accepting.

And he was reminded of a rainy night outside of the Sixth Street Orphanage.

"We agreed that, if you fixed the time machine,

I'd take you back to see your mom.

A deal's a deal."

And after…

"I don't get it. Why'd you just let her go?"

The genuine confusion and concern there…

Because he'd already forgiven Lewis for whatever his choice might cost him.

Much as he'd already forgiven all the "icky" cities for being unfair.

Franny picked their small son up and grabbed his toy spaceship off the dresser. She twirled and forced joy into her face and cheerfulness into her voice. "We'll play inside."

Wilbur stared at her quizzically for a moment as he sensed a falsity there, but then something in his expression softened as he had an epiphany.

It was the gentle "…okay" he gave even as he stared over her shoulder to the window and what lay beyond that revealed …elements of the kind young man he'd become…

Because he knew that they were trying…

They were trying…and that was enough.

And he gave a brave smile when he waved goodbye to Daddy and wished him the "bestest" of luck.

It was after that trip that he no longer resisted the injections and inhalers when he suffered an attack. He tried very hard to stay still and not flinch.

One night, after a checkup following a flareup, he'd overheard his son tell Franny as they walked into the hospital parking lot: "I think…it hurts him more…doesn't it? Giving me the shot…"

Of course, it did. But he would do whatever he had to in order to help his child.

"I-I think I can do it."

"Maybe when you get a little older, baby?"

"So, he doesn't have to-to feel bad."

And that made his step falter, and he turned and scooped the child up into his arms. "Daddy loves you and will always do everything he can to keep you safe. Always. Forever."

And he meant it.

When he couldn't find a cure, he made it a personal crusade to limit the chemical instead. To give his son the world back. And what he'd managed still didn't feel like enough. He wanted it off world and was working hard to make that a reality.

Ugh…

He ran his hand through his hair.

His son…

His…brave…kind…forgiving...wonderful…little boy…

He'd do anything for his son…

Anything for his son's well-being…

Wanted to believe that anyone who knew him or cared about him in any capacity would do what they could to ensure his son's well-being…

And that was why he couldn't just time travel forward and see the consequences of Mikey's poor decision.

Mikey was only a child.

Neil was a father. It was his duty to watch out for kids, especially given his own history...he knew how it felt to slip between cracks.

And Mikey had a father...

And he wanted to believe that if their situations were reversed, Michael would do what he could for his former roommate's son.

To lose a child…

No.

No, he couldn't do this. Staying here. Sitting, thinking, waiting left him feeling simultaneously cramped and exposed...and alone.

"Why couldn't you have just let your mother come instead!? We wouldn't have set it for FIVE MINUTES!" He barely refrained from hitting the steering wheel with his fist. "You're so grounded...you're so...you better...be there...Willie..."

He had two more hours of this. No thanks.

He traced the brim of the baseball cap with a thumb. He'd never be able to wait that long.

Not when he was the pacing, man-of-action, doing kind!

"I don't wanna just sit here..."

Wilbur inherited this trait from you, his conscience sneered.

He justified it with the reality that he really needed to reacquaint himself to the campus's layout in case something even more unexpected unfolded during this mission. He fitted the hat on and tried not to dwell on the irony of using it as a disguise once more and left the vehicle.

He walked around the baseball field to get a feeling for the area. He noted where Mikey had been and the best place to station himself when the time approached.

Unfortunately, as he began his walk towards Joyce Williams' Elementary School, (and boy was it odd not to see large 'TODAYLAND' lettering at the entrance) he found himself growing an additional concern—a dull nervousness washed over himself; he didn't want to be mistaken for a stranger on campus.

He soon found himself breaking time travel rules of interaction by going to the administration office.

It was a bit more familiar than he liked to admit. Though his exploits were less...intentional than his son's (he never got into fistfights), he did have plenty of property damage to his name though, especially when he was younger. His desire to prove himself, to show that he was someone special, someone worth having in their life (even if his birth parents hadn't thought so) had often outweighed his sensibility and he took risks he shouldn't have. Later, when he'd been adopted, he got better at being patient and thinking things through and embracing longer periods of beta testing.

He'd never really shared his trips to the office with his son, not wanting to give him ammunition for arguments. He sometimes wondered if that was a mistake.

When the ladies in the office asked him with bored courtesy who he was, he replied without thinking (conditioned by years of being Wilbur's dad): "Mr. Robinson."

"Mister" because he'd caught Wilbur telling Carl that Cornelius introducing himself as "Doctor" sounded pretentious.

The woman adjusted her glasses and the pink eyeglass chain on them swung. "Oh, you're here early, the Science Fair hasn't even started."

Huh? He blinked.

Riiiight. His dad had probably dropped Dr. Krunklehorn off all those years ago.

C'mon, Neil, play it cool.

"I know, I know. I figured you could use help setting up for it."

It was while he was helping push back retractable bleachers against the wall that he felt some more memories forming of creating DOR-15 which until then had been fading into his memory; it was almost like retracing an old penciled schematic. All the good he'd thought she'd be able to do…the possibility that maybe he'd have programmed her in such a way this time…that she wouldn't be evil…

It heightened a sense of melancholy he endured whenever a prototype didn't achieve its potential.

He helped roll out dollies stacked with folding tables.

He grunted as he brought one table down, unfolded it, locked it into position, and hefted it up. Then he repeated the process.

So then…

He remembered the original timeline where he'd designed DOR-15, the altered one where he didn't, and now this one…

He remembered waking up in a cold sweat, needing to design the time machines and the dreaded helping hat…

He sighed...if it worked right, it'd be a stable loop and he could get Mikey Jr. back.

Coach gave him a slap on the back for "being a team player" and helping out the school.

Told him to grab a soda from an ice filled chest on the far side. Cornelius marveled a bit at the beverage, it would be decades before Robinson Industries' dallied in the food and drink field.

He cracked the tab of the metal can and left the gym to enjoy it.

The fluorescent lighting glinted on the volunteer badge pinned to his shirt. Lately, he'd seldom gotten to do physical labor that wasn't really science related.

He leaned against a row of alternating pastel colored lockers and sipped the soda. He shook his head. "Whoa." The sugar content was stronger in this decade.

If he told Wilbur that, the teen would probably try to smuggle some into their time.

The thought of his child immediately sobered him and he ached to be back home with him.

In all likelihood, his Wilbur was safe. He just wasn't here because Mikey wasn't here and so there was no reason for him to be tagging along. And the machine Mikey had piloted was still here because:

A) a ripple hadn't reached it yet.

B) Neil moving it again, delayed the ripple that WAS coming for it.

C) it had immunity by virtue of being a time machine.

D) as the inventor of both time machines, them being created by him (who was safe, alive, and established in this timeline…by being born in 1995) granted them immunity and the boys, who were born in a different time period, were thus more vulnerable to distortions.

Or…

E) being flown by him, the creator, made them immune since the time space continuum could attribute a probable cause for him to be using them both (like he was testing the towing feature) and could more easily create a new timeline…or dimension or…

Or something…

Ugh…time travel paradoxes…

He finished his drink, crushed the can, sighed when he remembered the school didn't recycle yet and reluctantly threw it in with the regular garbage.

He needed to focus on something neutral, like particle fusion or Babylonian architecture, when there it was!

Nearby, a slightly muffled, but wonderfully familiar voice sounded.

"I'm at the entrance! Dude, there's something wrong with the doors. I'm serious, Carl. Not opening."

Cornelius ducked behind a locker near the entry of Mrs. Kramer's classroom—the smell of art supplies eked through despite the closed door. He wrinkled his nose at the toxic mixtures of earlier years (in the future, he'd demand very high air quality levels for his son's school and he would have the means to ensure it). He immediately began worrying about all the air pollutants this era had to offer.

Why hadn't he considered that before when Wilbur traveled to the past? His son's lungs were sensitive! He'd need to schedule a checkup for Wil after this was all over. And stress to Wilbur places to avoid when he visited the time period. True, his allergen didn't exist here yet, but there were still contaminants present that could exacerbate his condition.

He nodded to himself. Yes, he'd-

"I AM stepping on the mat. I'm riiight in front. I just can't trigger any of the sensors. I thought schools didn't scan people yet. Huh? What? Really? You don't think it has any? Fine. I'll try. That didn't do anything. I did it again, it still didn't-Oh. Oh, you mean I have to push it and THEN move forward. Well, that's not the same thing as what you were saying-"

Cornelius risked peeking around the corner as Wilbur entered the school.

"I'm in! Wow...that door's crazy heavy. So medieval."

A wave of relief crashed through him; the loop had been successfully established! And…it looked like he was going to get to spy a bit on Wilbur's side of the adventure.

Neil leaned heavily against the doorway.

There his son was. Alive. Whole. Healthy. Though Wil's expression suggested some apprehension mixed with exhilaration and wonder as he glanced over the 2007 hallway.

Neil's heart was in his throat and he wanted to go to his son so badly.

Because if it had been wrenching to watch Wilbur fade as a twelve-year-old, it was soul-crushing to lose him as a father.

He wanted…

But he couldn't...because while it is his Wilbur...it's not his Wilbur, who was currently sporting a bad case of sniffles and a pair of mismatched pajamas.

The one entering the school was in jeans and a very familiar CTT shirt.

Wilbur continued talking with Carl despite several interruptions of "young man, what are you up to?" and "why aren't you in class?" and "I don't recognize you" and "who's your homeroom teacher, are you sure you're at the right place?" by various faculty members passing through the halls. The boy deflected them with unsettling ease.

"I'm practicing for a play."

"I'm a foreign exchange student touring the grounds."

"Geez, are you saying I'm forgettable? Well, that's…kinda mean."

"Are you saying this...isn't my school? Well, that's news to me. Maybe you should let my parents in on it? I can blame my report card on some other guy with the same name."

Neil felt the frown line that Franny warned him about (and would smooth with her fingers when she saw it) deepening on his forehead. How many blatant lies did their family field per week? Cornelius wasn't sure he wanted to know.

In the interim, Wilbur was getting closer and closer to Neil's hiding place. He needed to move. He needed to-

"Finally! Found ya!"

Cornelius straightened and barely refrained from greeting him automatically. Memories of tag, hide and seek, and being sought after for homework help, or for bonding time had trained him to respond to that triumphant exclamation with a hug and a hair ruffling.

His hands twitched. He nervously adjusted the cap's brim lower and angled his head down and crossed his arms. There was no way this would fool Wilbur; he needed to leave-

Sneakers squeaked on brown linoleum as Wilbur skid to a stop (sliding right by Neil's spot without noticing him at all). Wilbur was turned the other way, facing a map of the school.

Cornelius hardly dared to breathe. He was close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Wilbur tapped the layout and adjusted his earpiece.

"Um, hey, Carl? You knew Dad!Then or close to then, right?"

"You betcha, I remember coming online and him-"

"Is he…?"

"You'll recognize him."

"Duh, that hair. What I mean is…is he, like, as big a stick-in-the-mud stickler about…everything…as Dad!Now?"

Cornelius frowned at that unflattering description. While this scene would no doubt prove illuminating, he had the distinct feeling that listening to this particular conversation was likely to leave a sour taste in his mouth. Too bad leaving wasn't an option.

"Huh?"

"I mean, in this particular case, is honesty the best policy?"

Cornelius swallowed a sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I just come clean and…tell him he's my dad? In the future?"

Cornelius blinked. Wowee. Right at the get-go. That would've been a different scenario.

"…"

"You see? You see? You all advocate truth but it will not set me free, it will label me as…dun dun dunnn! Crazy Science Fair Guy."

"…Okay, I'll bite. What's your alternative?"

Wilbur fidgeted and mumbled quickly, "I'm a time cop from the future solving a robbery?"

"You wanna go with that? That's how you want to establish contact? You. A cop. At thirteen?" Carl remarked skeptically.

"...I'd already be engaged in, like, Ancient Rome or ruling somewhere in Ancient Egypt."

"Hey Time Cop, you really think your pre-teen dad, your preteen dad who will graduate college at 14, will buy a 13-year-old out and about enforcing the laws as an old hand-"

"Hey! Historically speaking, child labor laws are still a fairly new concept. In the future, they could've been repealed. Past!Dad isn't gonna know."

"-Took the high school exit exam at, like, 9 and graduated from the Police Academy and finished up the evaluation period by what, 11? And you're working the field solo...Riiiight. Let's hear another plan."

"…Kay…a variation of truth…" Wilbur sucked in a huge breath and then began, "hi, Da-I mean, Cor-I mean-ACK!" He slapped his forehead. "Lewis! Lewis! Your name is Lewis. Still."

"It's okay, buddy, this is why we rehearse. There's gonna be kinks. Work 'em out now."

"Dude, I'm worried I'm gonna slip up and call him Dad at least once by sheer habit."

"Keep moving forward, buddy. Mooove through this train wreck."

Wilbur sighed and nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "So, I'm a…not-so-random stranger from your, er, the, er, our future? Ya know? Quantum leaps, space-time continuum? If you don't, you will in 30 years. You see, we…and by 'we' I mean you…have two inventions…er…time machines and one got stolen by a creepy Bowler Hat Guy who's after you. Do NOT panic. I'm here and I'm gonna handle it. Cuz Wilbur Robinson never fails."

"Except at locking doors."

"That's not helpful now, Carl."

"Come home, Wil. We'll just call-"

"No! I can fix this! I just have to make sure Bowler Hat Guy doesn't ruin the Science Fair, right? That's doable. I might not even need to explain it all if I can just catch the dude or I go the time cop route."

"You know what? Let's just hear the Truth!Truth version. Go."

"Okay, okay, okay." Wilbur cleared his throat. "...I know this sounds super crazy, but I'm your son from the future and I'm trying to save you from a creepy dude in a bowler hat who STOLE your time machine from our garage and is trying to ruin your life…I'm borrowing the second time machine and that's how I'm here. I know Bowler Hat Guy is bad news because I kinda caught the end of an evil monologue and that seemed to be the gist of it. I mean, 'destroy your destiny' doesn't sound too good no matter how you dice it and there was maniacal laughter."

He scuffed a shoe on the ground. "...And this is all…kinda my fault cuz…apparently, I'm a guy who can't lock a garage door. Yeah, you're you and this is me. Stuff skips generations."

Cornelius's eyebrows pulled together and his frown deepened.

"But I won't let you down, Dad. Er, future!Dad…Er, Lewis!" He sighed and then, barely audible, he muttered, "I messed up. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry for messing up everything…like always…"

Time seemed to slow down.

And Cornelius's pulse was loud in his ears.

There it was.

The apology that neither Lewis or Cornelius had ever really gotten. The closest Wil had come to it was admitting his part in the chaos—confessing that he'd "messed up" and had tried everything he could to "fix it."

Yup. There it was. The apology.

After the fiasco and a hearty grounding, the Robinsons hadn't really felt the need to extract more out of Wilbur. It had all, ultimately and fortunately, worked out. They'd gone over the events and reprimanded him for the level of danger he'd put himself and them in but…

But…

Goodness. He had half a mind to risk the time stream and intervene right now.

"Sorry" was enough. He didn't need that last bit and hoped Wilbur didn't really believe it. Because if he did…that hurt. It hurt. And he knew that kind of hurt too well and could never want it for his son.

And if it was a melodramatic means to appease his father. That hurt too. Like he'd be so cold as to want that.

His son was NEVER a nuisance. No matter how many electronics he fried, or trouble he caused, or-or-or mistakes he made-

He loved him.

Completely.

With all that he was.

Surely, Wilbur didn't think…

"Like always…"

Cornelius frowned. He couldn't think he…was…

"You think you'd be used to it."

"Go easy on him."

"You're smart, you fix it."

A disappointment?

Carl laughed.

Wilbur flinched.

Cornelius seethed. That bot might need his Emoti-chip upgraded.

"Carl?!" the teen squawked in a "what gives?" tone.

"You're right! It sounds so crazy!"

Wilbur's shoulders slumped and then he nodded.

"Can't believe I'm giving the greenlight on this but...go for the time cop scenario."

"…Your vote of confidence is overwhelming."

"Good luck, little buddy."

Wilbur sighed. "Thanks."

The teen tapped the map of the school. "Now, what's up with this? I'm tapping this directory, but nothing's happening. Directory? Directory! Helloooo? List locations of special events…I can't tell if it's busted or glitching or-WAIT! It's an older style…uh, Guide! Reference! Er, Search Option?"

"Think. Analog."

"…Window + R…"

"…I don't think what you're staring at is…interactive."

Wilbur reevaluated the layout. "…It's just a map then."

"Good luck, Magellan."

Wilbur's eyes crossed a bit when he tried to read the small print. Cornelius sighed, thinking for the umpteenth time: why didn't you tell us you needed glasses, kiddo?

"There's no lab center or performing arts plaza…"

"2007."

"Multipurpose Room?"

"Analog."

"…Gym?"

"Did I hear you say 'gym,' Framagucci?" Coach barked as he exited his office.

Wil jumped a bit. "Uh…?"

"Oh, you're not Ga…you a relative?"

"Yes?"

"There a reason you're standing in my hall and not in class? I don't see a hall pass."

Wilbur looked over to a nearby trophy display case. "Go Dinos?"

"..." Coach loomed over him for a full beat with his whistle swinging like a pendulum. Then he straightened back up and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Good answer. You new to the place?"

"Very."

"First day, huh?"

"Scoping it out."

"Ah, I see. So, you're not a student, yet."

"…"

Cornelius blinked, privately impressed that Coach (who Neil had always dismissed as an unobservant muscle head) figured that out so fast. Wil had managed to dupe all the other adults thus far.

"I bet you're seeing how our sports programs stack up against O'Sullivan's K-8 and Wilton Junior High."

"Yup."

"Haven't had you in my P.E. class. I'd remember."

"N-nope. Haven't had the pleasure."

"You got a runner's build. You look like you do track and field. How 'bout it? Answer. Chop, chop, I don't have all day."

"Y-yessir?"

"Again! With feeling!"

Wilbur stood up straight. "Sir, yes, sir! Track, relay, and hurdles, sir!"

"Excellent!" The man released Wilbur and made a victory pose—pumping a fist in the air. "That's what I want to hear!" He then moved to pull a flier from a nearby cork board. "School hasn't had a decent hurdler in years."

Wilbur began to edge away but froze when the coach's attention refocused on him.

He handed the paper to Wilbur. "Take that home. The other one was a misprint. Tryouts aren't today. They're next week. Get your parent's signature."

"Oh, okay." Wilbur leaned back against a locker to ogle at the cheap, xeroxed sheet.

Coach joined him, almost conspiratorially. "Yeah. A misprint. Sorry you had to come all the way down here, sport. Announced the mix-up in the paper, but we knew there could still be some of you."

"O-oh." Wilbur, catching onto the opportunity in front of him, gave an affected sigh.

The man shook his head gravely. "I know, I'm disappointed for you too. Came here to my gym…expecting to do sports and what do you find? A Science Fair."

"Science Fair?!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. But I'll tell ya what. Hang around, after I'm done judging the nerds, I can take you to meet Assistant Coach-"

"Uh, well, we'll see…I…I'm…meeting my dad…here. He's gonna be here, soon."

"Understood. He took off work to drop you off?"

Wilbur shook his head and then shrugged a shoulder. On realizing he was giving all sorts of mixed signals, he blurted, "business trip."

"Saving on gas. Two birds with one stone, I get it. That's good. For the air. And the better the air, the better the runner breathing it. Anyways, again, I apologize for the date mix up." He checked his watch. "Almost time for the fair." He pulled a piece of paper from his clipboard and scribbled his signature on it. "There you go, that'll do for a visitor pass. You're s'posed to go by the office for those. But I think we can make an exception for you, champ. Gym's this way, if you wanna see…"

Wilbur gingerly followed after him.

"Yeah, we're not as new a place as O'Sullivan's but you'll find we've got all the essentials…"

Cornelius blinked in wonder as he watched them go. Most of his memories of Coach consisted of the sports obsessed man criticizing his form while doing push ups or alternating between blowing his whistle or indignantly screeching, "climb the rope, Lewis! Climb it!"

Or, when watching him struggle with the pull up bar, commenting, "well, this is hopeless."

People always assumed that Cornelius, as an academically geared individual, had enjoyed every aspect of school; he enjoyed learning.

Monthly miles…

Yearly fitness tests…

Getting pelted with dodge balls…

Hearing teammates groan whenever it was his turn and hearing the rival team call, "move in, it's Lewis again."

Pass.

He remembered cringing when the college advisers insisted that he still needed P.E. units.

Elementary school had still been worse though.

Cornelius still winced at some of the memories. It had culminated in him gladly writing notes excusing his son from activities when Wilbur had been very young and still struggling with childhood asthma and then his Beltrellyne allergy, regardless if said child asked for them or not.

Franny hadn't appreciated it. "Honey, let him try. It's one thing if he's trying and it's too hard. But you're not even letting him try, Neil…"

And she was right. Had to give him room…

Still, watching Wil's transformation into a P.E. loving, karate, Chargeball enthusiast rocked Neil's world.

And he'd had to switch gears from defense to offense. Having an inborn wariness towards sports had made the initial changeover difficult. But when his child was excited about tennis and track and all the rest, he'd had to learn to be too.

But he'd also kept a well-rehearsed reassurance script at the back of his mind of "that's okay, Son. Here. If you'd like to, you can try again. This is difficult, it takes time and practice and effort. And it's 100 percent alright to make mistakes. No one's a pro their first time out. You don't have to try out for anything you don't find fun."

Except Wilbur had been eerily gifted at a number of sports. Often on his first try…

At times, it still overwhelmed him.

A sports sensation under his roof (springing from his genes)?! More like, not eclipsing Fran's genes…

And, apparently, his talent was visible. Much the way Cornelius (by virtue of his looks) always seemed to get flagged down for information (regardless if he too was a tourist, spectator, or customer)—there was something obvious in Wil that bespoke an inclination towards sports.

Despite only knowing him for a span of minutes, Coach had taken an immediate shine to his son.

And even while something prickled at the endurance of stereotypes and labels, was it weird that he felt proud?

Cuz he did. A lot.

His Wilbur was a great kid. See, even people in the early 2000s could tell.

Questing for a better disguise, Cornelius sifted through a Lost & Found bin. Though his find, a men's parka, left him feeling more than a little overheated for this sunny day, it camouflaged his body type and not a moment too soon.

Bowler Hat Guy-er-Goob-no adult Michael and DOR-15 passed him and slipped through the side door leading into the gym's stage.

That was too close for comfort. The probability of being found out was increasing every moment he lingered.

They'd succeeded in establishing the time loop, he needed to be satisfied with that.

Cornelius knew he ought to head for the outfield and wait it out…but his "parental senses," as Franny dubbed them, were tingling.

He very quietly followed the duo. They were making their way along the backstage behind the curtain when Michael gasped.

"Oh no, Doris! That-that William? No, Walter? Uh, Pointy Haired Little Kid is here!"

DOR-15 beeped.

"Right! Wilbur Robinson. How is that possible?! We left before he did!"

DOR-15 answered with a series of beeps.

"Well, yes, I suppose he might've time-traveled back 5 minutes earlier than we did but…well, that was an awfully lucky guess."

DOR-15 beeped again.

Michael steepled his spindly fingers. "Yes, the Robinsons' luck is going to change. You take care of him and I'll keep an eye out for that boy! He'll be here soooon."

Well, that was ominous. Maybe Wilbur's reluctance in making Goob a Robinson wasn't unfounded? The man did not have his best interests at heart if he was siccing DOR-15 on him.

He watched the helping hat float over to the other side of the stage and scuttle along the wall above where, from the looks of it, Wilbur was having another conversation with Carl on his earpiece.

Its green optic lens narrowed and turned red.

Dread twisted Cornelius's stomach into knots on seeing that evil hat in such close proximity to his boy.

But Wilbur got out of this, he kept reminding himself, even as he watched the child practice whipping out a coupon like a badge.

Oddly enough, after their time travel adventure, Lewis would recover that tanning salon coupon from where he'd stuffed it in a pocket after proving Wilbur wasn't a time cop. It WAS from the future and would expire in 2037. Next month in fact.

As a young adult enduring a long hiatus of "Wilbur-visits," he'd check it as a means of proof that he hadn't dreamed it all up.

Cornelius swallowed and forced himself to look out to were kids were setting up their projects.

See? Lizzie and her ant farm, which she showed off every year. Stanley and his volcano that he'd been boasting about for weeks leading up to the fair.

Kick in, nostalgia. Distract him. Any time…

Nope.

His blue eyes immediately went back to Wil.

C'mon. C'mon…c'mon already…

"Wilbur," he breathed out anxiously. "Wil…Willie…move…"

He got out of this. He got out of this. He got out of this.

Boy, was that hard to believe. He even caught an exasperated Wilbur snapping, "enough, Carl. Worse comes to worse, others will just think I'm a theater kid or something. That I'm doing method acting!"

The prototype scuttled along the stage rigging. Each metallic step made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Cornelius glanced around nervously, willing someone to appear.

"Well, I guess they already had help setting up," Bud Robinson observed.

In near disbelief, Neil peered beyond the green velvet curtain and saw his parents in the gym. They were so young!

But then again, this was…30 years ago.

Bud scratched his head. "Anyhoo, glad we found the place. I've gotta move the car from the 15-minute spot and see if I can find us a good parking space. Might be feeding a meter, but I've got quarters to spare. We finished up with that curved edges experiment."

"Thanks again, honey. We're still not sure if it's safe for me to drive under the influence of the coffee patch."

"My pleasure, sugar squash. See you in a jiffy." They kissed. And as Bud pulled away, something caught his eye.

"Hmm, what is it?" Lucille asked.

Bud opened his mouth and then closed it and then opened it again. "Ya know? Could've sworn I saw a little buckaroo backstage."

He'd seen Wilbur!

"There shouldn't be. The whole thing's set for down here." Lucille squinted at the darkened stage, past the InventCo. poster reading: SCIENCE FAIR. "Really? Dear, I don't see anyone."

Cornelius waited anxiously.

Yes! Yes, see him! Call him to come out! Tell him that it's no place for a child to be!

"Huh…No?" Bud held his chin a moment. "Ah well. Maybe a curtain moved? A draft? I'll go grab the car."

Nonononono!

He needed to come back. He needed to investigate! He needed to-

Neil glanced back and felt his heart stop.

The bot had maneuvered a sandbag over where his child was standing and was using one of its accouterments to saw through the rope!

Read & Review Please! : DDD

Side Thought: I always kinda thought if Neil or Lewis had witnessed Bowler Hat Guy telling the T-Rex "Him you can eat" about Wilbur, they might not have been so willing to adopt him. XD