Little Wonders, a meet the robinsons fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons, Rob Thomas, or the song "Little Wonders," which has influenced and is mildly referenced in this fanfic.

Omigosh. I belted out a small, depressing MTR fanfic yesterday, and today I was listening to "Little Wonders," which is the ending song to the movie. It makes me cry on its own, but having it on loop writing this... that killed me. I'm also planning on having "Little Wonders" as my first dance song at my wedding. It's not mushy or anything, but I'm not that type, and I can so see myself and a tall brunette guy slow dancing to it. I'd probably ruin my new hubby's tux, though, because of my involuntary, "Omigosh, it means it ended! Let me cry me eyes out because this movie is WAY to happy!" reaction.

Oh, small (second) disclaimer. I'm not expecting you to understand this unless you read Little Lewis, another MTR fanfic of mine. Letting Go and Lewis No More would help, too. Please read them, they're not long at all. They're all oneshots! Ok, and with that I take my leave with a box of tissues in hand. Eh, after this.

This fanfic is dedicated to my friend whose name shall not be mentioned. It is in memory of his grandfather, who died two weeks ago, that I write this. Sorry, friend. I share your pain. So does Lewis.

Lewis Bud Robinson, age thirteen, looked angrily over his grandfather's grave. Cornelius Robinson, it read. A brilliant inventor who revolutionized the face of the Earth. A wonderful husband, who had utmost respect for the most important woman in his life. The perfect father, who doted over his only son much more than he should have. He inspired the world to keep progressing, to keep moving forward.

"It's not true," the teen spat, collapsing on his knees in front of the tomb. "None of it's true. Grandpa left us! If he was so brilliant, so wonderful, so perfect, he wouldn't have left!"

Over Lewis' shoulder looked a man with black hair, the front flipped up in a strangely natural cowlick. It was Wilbur Robinson, but not the same. Wrinkles were beginning to become apparent in his skin, worry lines creased his head and laugh lines ran through his cheeks. Wilbur was getting old.

Louise hadn't come. No, she had passed on a few years back from the very disease Cornelius had died trying to cure. The inventor hadn't liked Wilbur's wife all that much, and, truthfully, neither had Wilbur, but Cornelius knew Lewis needed a mother. He, of all people, knew that much. But he hadn't saved her in time, and in vengeance he decided to take down the virus for good. He never did exact his revenge.

But he was not remembered by the masses a year ago at his international funeral for his failures. No, he was remembered for his astounding inventions, his will to never give up, his purity though the years. The same reasons Wilbur had decided to name his son after his father. His best friend.

Lewis regretted his name. He hated his grandfather, for he had passed away when the all needed him the most. Wilbur needed his presence after Louise had passed on. He had refused anything otherwise. Lewis knew the truth, though. He knew that his father had been in love with his grandfather. He knew about his name, he knew of his father's journey into the past. Those fateful hours that had set them all up for a corrupted lifestyle forever. He knew exactly why his father hadn't gone to the funeral.

Wilbur simply couldn't accept it. He had locked himself in his room, an immature way to avoid life at his age, but he never had really grown up all that much. Grandma Franny had taken Lewis to the funeral then, for she had outlived her husband. And, when they got back to the Robinson house, Wilbur was gone.

He had left a note. It had said he would never come back, and the family panicked. They had always known that Wilbur was so very attached to his father, too much to be healthy. They had always known he wasn't the most responsible or the most mature. They had known he often didn't think of others in times of confusion and chaos. They had known who he was. And yet, his disappearance had shocked them all.

Wilbur had taken the time machine. One was missing. The one Wilbur had first visited Cornelius - at that time, Lewis - with. He had, no doubt, gone back to spend the remaining time he had with his father. He didn't want to let the inventor's death sink in. He couldn't take the pain. It would eat him alive.

But somehow, he fought the darkness inside himself, and he managed to bid his father a farewell. Perhaps not forever, for he always had access to a time machine, but long enough to get back to his time, to realize that he had a son. He had responsibilities.

Lewis knew very well that it was only his appearance, his exact likeness of Cornelius as a boy, that kept Wilbur sane. He didn't mind. It was his father, and he was helping him stay in reality. Lewis knew just how twisted his father had become, but he didn't care. He was his father. He accepted him for his faults. Even ones so big.

"It's all true," Wilbur whispered to Lewis. "Your grandfather was the greatest man to ever live, Lewis. Can you imagine life without him?" Lewis shook his head slowly. Even if Cornelius had died, it seemed like he had never left. His lab was pristine, for Carl, the seemingly ancient robot that had been one of Cornelius' first inventions, kept it clean. He, too, missed the great inventor. Even though he was allowed to do anything he wanted, for he had retired from serving the Robinsons, allowing less rusty machines to do that work, the nearly sentient robot had wanted to keep Cornelius' memory in tact. It meant so much to him, so much to the Robinsons, so much to his best buddy, Wilbur.

"He would have found a way to conquer death," Lewis murmured, not looking up from the tombstone's inscription. "He should have found a way. Grandpa could do anything, anything he put his mind to. He just didn't want to."

"He knew it was his time to go," Wilbur replied half-heartedly. "I… I just can't believe he's gone. Even after a year, I can't… I can't believe it…" And then, he collapsed by his son's side, finally letting the tears fall. The tears that had been a year in the making.

Lewis looked to his father, and tears filled his eyes. He grew sad as he watched the grown man cry. How could he not? Cornelius was all Wilbur had. "H-he's gone," Lewis whispered. "Grandpa's gone, Dad."

And together, the father and son cried in the empty cemetery. Cornelius had a place open for him in every prestigious burial ground in the world, the Arlington, the Panthéon, even up on the first orbiting laboratory. But Wilbur had decided Cornelius didn't need any of those to be remembered. Those places would have paled in comparison to his greatness. The small cemetery, though, which had been built on the lot where the orphanage that had started it all had once rested, became Cornelius. It was perfect.

Wilbur closed his eyes as his son rested on his shoulder. He could still see Cornelius', no, Lewis' big, innocent blue eyes, his spiky hair that never could be tamed. He could hear his boyish laugh, feel the pure exuberance radiating off him. He saw each memory, each little, precious moment. When he first met Lewis, when his face lit up as he looked over the future landscape that would become reality by solely his doing, when he met the Robinson family, when they conquered the dinosaur together.

He saw when Lewis was offered a life as a Robinson, life as Wilbur's brother. He saw when Lewis realized he had been betrayed. The hurt look in his eyes still stung Wilbur's heart. He could picture the pure, happy look on Lewis' face when he beat the Bowler Hat Guy, when Wilbur entered existence one again. He could feel their parting hug, the meaning behind their smiles.

Then, Wilbur remembered the bitter times. The nights he would travel back in time just to watch Lewis sleep, the days he spent trying to make Lewis reconsider just how little they were messing up the time stream by hanging out. He remembered when he and Lewis shared a silent moment in which they both knew of each other's unlawful feelings. He recalled when he had taken little Lewis back in time so his best friend could see the baby. He smiled ruefully when he remembered what a fiasco it was bringing young Lewis to his wedding, how much it hurt both of them. He noticed that the older Cornelius that visited that day as well seemed to be the age he was when he died. Wilbur remembered the one time he tried to bring little Lewis back in time for a playdate with himself, how Cornelius fought against it to save Lewis from corruption. He remembered when he went back to Franny's prom night and somehow managed to ruin it completely. He remembered that that the night of the first, and only, kiss he shared with Lewis. Wilbur remembered it had felt so right.

And then, he was brought back to the present. Lewis, his son, was staring at him hopefully. He knew that face; he had had a generally risky idea. That face had once belonged to Wilbur. And then, tragedy marred the look, twisted it to something less pure.

"Dad," Lewis murmured, lacing his fingers with his father's, "take me back to meet Lewis. I want to know your best friend." The one you love, were his unspoken words. Wilbur heard them and smiled sadly; he knew he was going to regret this. But to have a chance to see the original Lewis' face one more time…

"You got it, champ," Wilbur replied, his grin becoming a smirk. "Forward to the past?"

Lewis smiled and stood, knowing that this meant more to Wilbur than anything else. With Cornelius gone, those small hours, those little wonders, were all that remained.

"You got it, pops."

It's not that depressing, I know. But I'm a sap and "Little Wonders" really does make me cry... Stupid Rob Thomas. He sang "Christmas Shoes," too, if I'm not mistaken, and that used to make me cry, too. Sigh... Maybe I'm just depressed by him in general. Wow, that's nice of me... Did you pick out the song lyrics...? Hint: Look up. You don't even have to scroll, I bet. Just look up. Second to last line, perhaps...? Well, I hope you liked it. I know, I got ambiguous giving Wilbur's son a say in things, but it hit me. I wanted to write a Cornelius eulogy-like fic, because that's what I thought about the other night when I heard this. Wilbur cherishing the memories he has of Lewis/Cornelius... But I needed someone to be apathetic and depressed with him, and I couldn't let Franny know most of her life has been a lie, and I couldn't drag Wilbur's wife into it. So... I killed her and made their son bear the burden. Haha. I'm mean.

Eh, I was corny, wasn't I? Dedicating it to a friend when like... no one is gonna read this...? Oh well, it was also a fueling idea, with his grief fresh in my mind, still... We were on a cruise and everything, too, when he found out his grandfather died. In fact, he found out while the last song his grandmother heard was playing: the Titanic Theme. It was like kicking him when he was down. Life is so cruel...

Review, please...? In memory of my friend's deceased grandparents...? (I'm milking it way too much, I know..) Thanks for reading. Now I'm depressed (again).