At Least I'm Not Starving [Don't Starve, Wilson [[Upd. 6.29.18 ]] - Part 14/?]

[A-Place-To-Be-Me]

*raises hand* 

I've been reading it with delight for a while as well, I'm just rather quiet ;u;

[Red Ring of Death]

I thought about keeping this as one part. I changed my mind. I'm allowed to do that. -sticks out tongue- Also I'm not sure if I'm going down the regular game or borrowing some elements from the Reign of Giants pack and I probably won't even go into Ship Wrecked territory since it wasn't a thing when I started this. I mean... it was a thing but it wasn't released soooo sorry guys who like the characters from that DLC, they aren't gonna be showing up and neither is all that stuff. I think I'm going with regular game on this but like I said, I'm not sure. -shruuuug- Also it should be known that I, Red Ring of Death, am not remotely good at "shipping".

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“What time is it?” Willow yawned, poking at the fire with a long, slender stick absently as Wolfgang sat across from her, steadily gnawing on a leg of meat. The strongman paused and glanced over at WX-78 and the robot lowered his half-mangled flower crown with a hint of irritation.

“I DON’T KNOW. WHY DON’T YOU ASK SOMEBODY WITH A WATCH,” He replied shortly, giving Willow a small snap of his head. Willow raised an eyebrow.

“You knew ten minutes ago,” She replied.

“THEN ADD TEN MINUTES TO THE TIME I SAID TEN MINUTES AGO,” The robot said obviously. “I’M BUSY MAKING A CROWN OF ORGANIC LIMBS.”

“Yeah okay that sounds REALLY weird when you put it like that,” Willow kept poking at the fire. She was already growing bored of sticking around the camp all day; she would’ve suggested fortifying it but she knew they were gonna be on their way in the next few days so they should save their supplies for their… eventual… descent into the cave they found a few days ago. She knew they should be spending more time searching for the fabled door that belonged to their unseen dungeon-master Maxwell but their plans got put on hold. As she thought, she glanced up and looked across the camp at the scientist who was splayed out in a tangle of limbs and messy black hair, snoring loudly. The sound was still scratchy and grating with a hint of bronchial pain but at least it seemed like he was out like… their fire last night.

“I GIVE UP,” WX dumped his shoddy pile of flowers into Wendy’s lap and stood, brushing himself off and Willow was jerked out of her thoughts. She turned to face the robot, who had taken to ferreting around in the chests for something else to do. He withdrew some clumps of grass and went back over to where he was sitting, waving Abigail away with his free hand. The ghost swooshed away and flitted around to Wendy’s other side as the latter started untangling the flowers to make a better crown. Willow tossed the stick into the fire and played with one of her curly pigtails, looking back at Wolfgang across the fire.

“I’m really bored,” She exhaled. Wolfgang swallowed his bite.

“Wasn’t it your idea for stay here today?” He asked. She gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Well… yeah but, I mean, I have too much energy to sit around camp all day just waiting,” She replied. “I mainly just said that to give everyone else a break…” She trailed off and looked at the ground.

“What do you want to do, then?” Wolfgang asked.

“WE CAN PLUG THE OXYGEN APPARATUS FOR THE BROKEN HUMAN SO HE STOPS SOUNDING LIKE A DUMP TRUCK,” WX-78 interjected unhelpfully. Willow ignored him.

“I dunno, I wanna see what’s that way,” She pointed West, the direction that they had come after finding Wilson. “We haven’t really ventured that far in any direction since we always come back before it gets dark. I think two of us should go farther and maybe spend a couple days just… out in the rugged wilderness,” She suggested.

“Abigail and I can come with you.” Wendy’s airy voice floated into the conversation. Willow had reservations as she looked over at the other girl but said nothing; this could benefit her…

“Can Abigail fight?” She asked, crossing her arms and putting her weight on one foot in the familiar way.

“Yes,” Wendy nodded and got to her feet neatly, brushing off her dress. “We can get going now if it pleases you.” Willow was somewhat taken aback; that was it? Just… up and ready to go? She tilted her head slightly.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Willow said, going over to the collection of chests and fishing out some supplies. “Keep an eye out for Sniffles,” She addressed Wolfgang as she straightened up. “And make sure the robot doesn’t…. ruin anything.” She added.

“MY EMOTION PROCESSORS WOULD BE OFFENDED IF I CARED WHAT YOU THOUGHT.” WX replied dryly but Wolfgang waved at her.

“Can do,” He assured. “Build strong female bond like me and scientist… wait,” He said, registering what he just said. “That came out wrong. Anyway, don’t die!” He said, continuing to wave them off. Willow looked at Wendy, who nodded in turn, and Willow turned as the two girls headed off, waving at them as they departed. The ghost of Abigail floated off behind them, darting here and there in the wind lazily.

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Wilson turned over and inhaled, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and noting the drool on his face. He lazily wiped the drool off and flopped back onto his back. He closed his mouth briefly and tried to breathe out of his nose but got nowhere fast; he was firmly stopped up. He half-shrugged; his throat was sore from breathing with his mouth open but at least he didn’t feel like he had a fever anymore. He had also forgotten what it was like to actually get a full night’s sleep and the only parts of his body that hurt below the neck were his arms and it was a soreness that came from doing work – presumably because of the construction of the science machine and maybe that brief period of lost time yesterday.

He habitually sniffed again, already temporarily forgetting that he JUST tried that and sat up slowly, yawning and supporting his torso with one of his elbows. The mat below him was in ruins; he got one good sleep out of it but now it was little more than pieces of spare grass with frayed bits of rope attached here and there.

“Ahhh, Добрый день,” He heard Wolfgang call from over where the fire was. Wilson licked his lips and got to his feet, popping his back. After sighing with the chorus of cracks, he ran a hand through his messy hair as he made his way over to where the strongman was. Wolfgang was now ‘multitasking’, as in he was diligently working on crafting weapons, pausing now and then to pop some berries in his mouth. Wilson’s gaze diverted over to WX-78 who was sitting awkwardly on the ground, weaving a straw hat with surprising care. Wilson quirked an eyebrow.

“You know I—“ He only managed to get three words into his sentence before abruptly stopping and tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt uneasily. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been congested to the point of interfering with the way he talked but here he was now. He felt his ears turn slightly pink with embarrassment. Wolfgang, however, looked over at Wilson mildly.

“’You know I’ what?” He asked, not even regarding the fact that Wilson sounded like someone was pinching his nose shut and Wilson was momentarily thankful that Wolfgang had turned out to be such a good acquaintance. WX-78, however, was less thoughtful.

“WAS THAT ENGLISH?” The robot asked. Wilson’s shoulders drooped and he didn’t reply but Wolfgang seamlessly intercepted the conversation.

“No, it was Russian,” He answered casually. “It means, how they say, ‘good afternoon’, or ‘good day’. Metal robot hardly knows English, Vulfgang doesn’t expect him to know Russian,” He laughed, the hearty laugh that made Wilson want to smile faintly; it was contagious. WX glared at the strongman.

“YOU KNOW THAT ISN’T WHAT I MEANT,” He replied. “THE BROKEN HUMAN SOUNDS—“

“Sick. Vilson is still sick,” Wolfgang deflected. “Get worse before get better. Got worse, getting better. Say nothing about it and I won’t rip arms off, ja?” The large man gave WX a pointed look and the latter paused for a moment.

“….FINE.” The robot faltered and looked back at his project, saying nothing further. Wilson crept over to Wolfgang and sat down next to the strongman. Wolfgang regarded the thin scientist and nudged him gently with his elbow. Wilson swayed with the weight and smiled somewhat meekly.

“Thanks,” He said quietly in his thick voice after a pause as Wolfgang turned back to his work. He was still embarrassed by how he sounded but at least Wolfgang could still understand him. Wolfgang looked sideways at Wilson and he smiled under his bushy moustache.

“Not problem, little scientist,” He replied. “How do you feel?”

Wilson shrugged mildly, fishing in his pocket for his handkerchief; it was a habit at this point though a couple of days ago marked the end of his intense paranoia and embarrassment at being unsanitary… Thanks, Abigail. “Like, uh, there’s a swarm of locusts in my face,” He admitted. “And sometimes it’s a cloud and a pressure and sometimes it’s an itch,” He used “sometimes” loosely; on the contrary, he felt as if his nose were constantly twitching with the itchy feeling ever lingering in his sinuses. “Other than that, I’m fine,” He concluded in an exhale. Wolfgang nodded and offered Wilson a cooked morsel that Wilson took gratefully. WX looked up and opened the grate that was his mouth as if about to say something but clamped it again when Wolfgang gave him a rather stern glare. Wilson was none the wiser.

“Vulfgang been thinking about you,” He said after another pause and Wilson gave the strongman a quizzical look, conveniently swallowing his morsel in a gulp that was a bit too coincidental. Nooo the scientist wasn’t ready for this! He didn’t have time to date; he was so busy doing other things like… being sick and trying not to die and building machines! Not to mention he still had to settle the score with Maxwell—“And before start overthinking, is not like that way,” Wolfgang added reassuringly. The butterflies that had kicked up in Wilson’s stomach settled back down and Wilson exhaled as quietly as he could.

“…Yeah?” Wilson replied as casually as possible, keeping his dark eyes on the fire to avoid awkward exchanging of glances.

“Yeah,” The other repeated. “Is strange because I normally wanted you dead,” He felt the need to preface. “Is not the case now though,” He assured. “But Vulfgang was thinking about last night in the dark. I wanted to ask you question you may not like.” A pit dropped in Wilson’s stomach; that was a GREAT way to set up the question, whatever it was. “Robot, go somewhere else,” Wolfgang instructed. WX, aside from looking mildly offended, set his almost-finished straw hat on the ground.

“WHY?” He cocked his head. Wolfgang tossed a new, shiny axe at WX-78’s feet.

“Go chop trees. Can come back in ten minutes,” Wolfgang ordered.

“I AM NOT YOUR SLAVE,” WX retorted, crossing his arms.

“No but you ARE made of metal and wouldn’t like to be pushed in ocean,” Wolfgang replied coolly. “Come back in ten minutes, exchanging sensitive information.” As the duo spoke, Wilson’s butterflies were acting up again and he wasn’t sure he liked where this conversation was going. He would just have to… let him off easy. Maybe one day in the future but today was not that day.

With a huff, WX swept the axe off the ground and turned to trundle off, muttering loudly in his default tone. “THIS ISN’T FAIR. I HATE ALL YOU STUPID MEAT SACKS. I’M TELLING WILLOW ABOUT THIS.” Wolfgang ignored the automoton’s complaining and looked back to Wilson, who was deep in thought but appearing somewhat nervous. Or maybe it was just the disheveled black hair that made him appear just slightly crazier than usual.

“This’ll be quick,” Wolfgang encouraged. Wilson snapped out of his mind and shook his head, clenching his hands a little tighter around the handkerchief as he focused on keeping his gaze on the fire. “Does scientist have allergies?”

… Wait, that was it? What, no asking him out on a date or questioning his sanity or anything like that? Wilson wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed but nonetheless, he shook his head slowly. “I doubt it,” He replied, still inwardly cursing himself for sounding like a… nerd. Like the kind that used to get bullied in primary school. “I didn’t have them as a child.” In all honesty, he wasn’t sure at this point; he hardly ever went outside unless it was to catch rodents for his experiments but even then, he reeeeeally didn’t want to admit that he MIGHT have them. The thought of his immune system turning its back on him in his time of need in an unfamiliar world surrounded by people he barely know mortified him; he was already useless, he couldn’t bear the thoughts of allergies on top of that, god knows to WHAT.

“Okay, just curious,” was the Strongman’s reply but Wilson wasn’t sure if Wolfgang was being honest. “You know there’s no shame in that, right?” He continued. Wilson hesitated; he was sure there wasn’t shame in the concept but he personally felt ashamed at any self-perceived sign of weakness. This wouldn’t even be a concern or issue if they were talking about Willow or even Wolfgang but since this was WILSON then yes, there was shame. The scientist didn’t say anything and looked down at his half-eaten morsel, furrowing his brow slightly. Wolfgang nudged his thin arm again lightly. “Cheer up, little scientist! Vulfgang just curious, I just say so,” He laughed. “Just tell me if you change your mind?” He asked with a small inflection and Wilson glanced up at the burly man.

“I will,” He assured quietly. “Er… not that I’ll change my mind because it’s not a problem,” He added quickly. He tried to dismiss the conversation with a benign, if awkward, throat clear but it turned into a small coughing fit, still managing to sound harsh and grating. Great idea, way to go, idiot. Fortunately, it was brief and he quieted himself, feeling Wolfgang’s sturdy hand on his back. “Sorry,” Wilson apologized, avoiding Wolfgang’s gaze. The Strongman chuckled and patted Wilson on the back, shaking his head.

“No more apologies,” He replied. “Everyone gets sick. Except for maybe robot companion and ghost, eh?” He mused.

“That reminds me… aren’t you worried about… contagion?” Wilson asked. Wolfgang closed his eyes and shook his head sternly.

“Not me, no. Vulfgang’s immune system so strong, it beat out any sickness,” He beat his chest with his other hand as he spoke and the sound made Wilson feel as though if that hit were applied to him, he would’ve been knocked out cold. Another instance in which he was glad to be on the man’s good side. “Not worried about others, either; would probably be sick already if it spread.” Wilson gave a noncommittal nod; the man had… something of a point. It just made him feel more pathetic at the bottom rung but at least no one else was directly miserable because of him. Wolfgang glanced up at the sky and gave Wilson a tap with the back of his hand before standing up. “Come, we must prepare for rain,” He pointed up at the swelling clouds. Wilson also looked up and bit his lower lip, rubbing his septum absently.

“What are we gonna do?” Wilson asked. Wolfgang got to his feet and popped his knuckles.

“Lucky for us, this stuff can’t be ruined by rain.” Wolfgang replied. “Do you have umbrella?” Wilson looked up at the strongman, quirking an eyebrow.

“I can’t say I do,” he replied dryly. He coughed and spit into the fire, sniffing. That was…. Crude, even for him but at this point, he didn’t really care. “…Sorry,” He said before he could help it. Wolfgang raised his eyebrows, crossing his thick arms.

“Sorry for what, being a man?” He laughed heartily. “I thought only Willow did that. No shame! We do need umbrella for you, though,” He pondered. “So cold doesn’t get even worse.”

“Is that possible?” Wilson replied sarcastically, also standing up albeit much slower. Wolfgang scoffed.

“Not sure, you want to push luck?” Wolfgang asked, glancing back up at the clouds. The scientist rubbed his arm and bit his lower lip. “Didn’t think so,” He replied as Wilson shook his head. “C’mon, let’s make—“

A loud crash of thunder interrupted Wolfgang mid-sentence and not even ten seconds later came the torrential downpour. Wilson instinctively covered his head as if his thin arms would shield him from the rain but in a matter of seconds the duo was drenched. Each rain drop felt like a cold bullet in his skin, puncturing his thin white shirt and equally as flimsy black long-sleeved undershirt.

“Okay, double time for thoughts,” Wolfgang said hastily, raising his arms and holding them straight out above Wilson, blocking out at least part of the rain. “Do you know how to make an umbrella?” He asked, craning his neck and looking down at Wilson, who slowly lowered his hands and glanced up at Wolfgang’s beefy arms with silent appreciation.

“Huh?” Wilson replied dumbly. “Oh! Um um uh—“ He racked his weary brain, trying to remember that not-so-ancient knowledge that was planted in his brain by Maxwell. “Uhm… t-two rolls of spider silk, six twigs and… a pig skin.” He felt the stutter at the beginning of his sentence and his nose twitched. He scratched at it and looked up at Wolfgang. “I don’t suppose you have one of those, do you?” He asked. Wolfgang squinted slightly and looked down as if in contemplation as the rain poured, seeming less bothered by the rain.

“I think I have one. Come, over to the chest,” He said, motioning with his head and the duo started to shuffle over to the collection of chests awkwardly, Wolfgang doing a side step and Wilson trying to get rid of some of the water that soaked his clothes though for every time he would wring out his shirt, it would quickly fill again – he didn’t even know that heavy rains were a thing in this world. Just his luck it would happen twice in, what, a week? Then again, it was nearing the end of Summer—great. This was great. “Here, look in chest, see if we have parts,” Wolfgang instructed firmly.

Wilson crouched and started ferreting through the chests as quickly as his mind was processing. No, no, not what they needed, search another chest, no, still no… “Okay, got the pig skin,” He said, pulling it out and shoving it into his inventory. “And here’s the twigs. All I need is spider silk…” He muttered half to himself. He didn’t see it – was he just not looking hard enough? He rifled through the chests again, almost frantic in his search. There HAD to be spider silk! They had everything at this camp! They couldn’t… they… “I can’t find any spider silk.” His voice cracked and he fell back, leaning against Wolfgang’s legs meekly.

[Enfy]

SO thrilled to see this updated!!!! I was playing Don't Starve just the other day to test out a new controller and I couldn't stop thinking about this fic the entire time!

On 5/22/2016 at 0:03 AM, Red Ring of Death said:

“No but you ARE made of metal and wouldn’t like to be pushed in ocean,” Wolfgang replied coolly. “Come back in ten minutes, exchanging sensitive information.”

One of my favorite lines! I never much liked Wolfgang's play style, but I love the way you write his character! Makes me want to start playing as him more often!!!

Great addition! Looking forward to the next!!

[IcyFlame]

Yessss more Wislon suffering! I love this so much you have no idea. During finals this is an awesome escape. Thank you so much for writing this and staying with it because I really enjoy reading it! 

[Red Ring of Death]

I guess time got away from me and I hadn't even realised that I haven't updated this in over a year. Wowwwwwwww okay Red Ring, you jerk. SO I'm not expecting anyone to still read this BUT I promised myself I would finish it so I'm gonna keep working on this one.

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“What is scientist worried about?” Wolfgang seemed to be in a much purer mood than Wilson as he broke from serving as a barrier against the rain to scavenge through one of the chests. Wilson lifted his hands, covering his eyes as if blinded by the sun but in reality he just hated getting water in his eyes. “We don’t have umbrella, is fine. We just use straw hats instead,” He pulled out two shoddy straw hats as he spoke and plopped one on Wilson’s head, placing the other one on his own head. He easily, gently pulled Wilson to his feet. “We sit next to fire and keep it fed and it, in turn, keep us warm.” Wolfgang explained. Wilson didn’t reply but did feel a little better once he was wearing the stupid hat as his fragile body was dragged over to the fire where he was sat down in the squishy grass next to the fire pit with Wolfgang sitting close to him.

It was suddenly a matter of duality; Wilson could feel the biting rain on his back but the warmth of the fire on his chest. His outfit clung to this lithe frame and set a new shiver through down the scientist’s spine as he wiped the excess water from his face and wrung it out of his thick black hair. He tried sniffing again but coughed out the exhale. The sudden drop in temperature wasn’t helping but at least he had heat on two sides.

“Almost like weather want to keep you sick,” Wolfgang joked, nudging Wilson’s ribs with a laugh as he tossed another pinecone into the pit. The scientist was a little less jovial about it and pulled his wet knees in close to his chest, keeping his dark gaze focused on the struggling fire. The strongman’s expression formed a solemn tone and he regarded Wilson softly. “Okay, will stop poking fun.” He fell silent and scooted just a little closer to Wilson until he could feel Wolfgang’s muscles rippling under the taut skin with every steady breath he took, moving only his arm to take a bite of meat from the bone.

They didn’t say anything to each other for a time, the two men tossing things into the fire silently as their eyes stared at it through steady streams of water that poured over the brims of their straw hats. As they sat there, feeling the effects of the rain on their skin and clothes, Wilson sniffed and finally broke his contact away from the fire and turned his head slightly in Wolfgang’s direction.

“I apologise,” He said quietly, not looking the strongman in the eye. Wolfgang also glanced away from the fire but did give Wilson his full attention.

“Why?” He asked.

“I know you’re just kidding,” Wilson replied slowly. “I’m not usually this much of an ill-humoured bore.” Wolfgang paused for a moment, letting Wilson’s words sink in before he chuckled.

“Don’t know what that means but reason is probably because sick, ja?” He gave a small shrug. “Am lucky Vulfgang not sick; I turn into big baby,” Wolfgang laughed heartily, which seemed to warm Wilson’s rain-soaked body slightly. “Worry less science-man, life’s short.” He assured. Wilson smiled faintly and paused before speaking again.

“I… also have something else on my mind I’d like to confide in you about,” He admitted after a phlegm-laced sigh and internally, he knew that the water swelling every thread in his clothes, needling his skin, sopping his hair was gonna do his immune system no favours but he had since grown beyond the point of really caring all that much… he just hoped it didn’t blossom into something more serious like pneumonia. Wolfgang straightened at Wilson’s tone and he kept his beady eyes on the scientist astutely.

“Can tell Vulfgang anything,” He replied earnestly. Wilson inhaled deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes, feeling the rhythm of the rain, trying to persuade it to calm his racing mind and heart.

“I may… have—“

“HUMANS HUMANS I’M GLOWING!” WX-78’s crazy synth-like tone just about made Wilson jump like a cat noticing there was a cucumber behind them and his head whipped around to look over his shoulder, the water on his hat flinging everywhere, even in the downpour. Wolfgang couldn’t help but smile at the thinner man’s latent jumpiness and also turned, albeit slower and their eyes found WX standing tall and rather proud, wearing a worn straw hat of his own. An umbrella was held aloft over him in his left hand while his right rested on his hip victoriously. He wasn’t lying, either; light seemed to radiate from his metallic figure.

Wilson blinked, getting to his feet slowly and rubbing his septum, feeling questions fill his inquiring mind and he found himself ignoring the rain and how awful he felt in lieu of curiosity. “…How?” He heard himself asking first and most obviously as he circled the automaton, looking him up and down, hands subconsciously reaching up and rubbing his wet shoulders for the warmth his body was missing.

“LIGHTNING.” WX replied in a tone that was almost dismissive, as if the answer were obvious. Wilson cocked his head to the side as he continued his pace.

“Fascinating!” He exclaimed with sincere enthusiasm and one hand absently went to the stubble that grew on his thin face. “So you’re effectively a lightning rod? Is this a substitute for the campfire? How long are you gonna be like this? Can you find a way to store the energy for other purposes? Does this mean you work off of something electronic? Why do you have to eat? Or sleep?” The questions flooded faster than he felt like he could talk and he paused only long enough between them to catch the breath he was having trouble keeping. WX, instead of answering ANY of these questions, lidded the black holes that were assumed to be his ocular modules and looked at Wolfgang, who had also gotten to his feet and crossed his arms, giving WX a rather stern frown that was visible behind his thick moustache.

“…WHAT?”

“Where did YOU get umbrella?” Wolfgang asked gruffly, approaching the robot. “We said no withholding, yet you stand here and lie.” WX also frowned, if that were possible given a mouth slot.

“I MIGHT HAVE FOUND IT WHILE I WAS OUT CHOPPING WOOD FOR YOU.” He suggested, taking a small step away from Wilson, who had since encroached upon his personal space and was now examining every rivet of him, occasionally unsticking his raven hair from his face or adjust the straw hat.

Wolfgang wasn’t convinced. “Try again, robot.”

“OKAY, I GUESS SINCE THAT’S NOT SATISFACTORY,” WX replied with a manufactured sigh. “FLESHLINGS APPARENTLY GET ‘SICK’, EXAMPLE A.” He pointed to Wilson and the latter briefly furrowed his brow, appearing slightly offended before it was enveloped in wide-eyed curiosity once more. “ONE MINOR… UGH, ‘ADVANTAGE’ THAT YOU WEAK SACKS HAVE IS THAT RAIN DOESN’T HURT YOU.” Wilson perked up at this new information but before he could ask any more questions, WX cut him off, holding up a finger. “ONE QUESTION, FRAIL HUMAN WILSON.”

Wilson bit his lip. “The rain… hurts you?” He asked rather lamely.

“YES. IT RUSTS AND STIFFENS MY SOCKETS.” He explained simply. “ERGO I FEEL AS THOUGH MY NEED FOR AN UMBRELLA OUTWEIGHS ANY OF YOURS. PLUS, IT’S MINE. I FOUND IT FAIR AND SQUARE.” He added unhelpfully. Wolfgang stared at WX for a long moment as if contemplating whether or not that explanation was acceptable and Wilson, noticing the tension in the air suddenly emanating from the strongman, stopped in his examination to glance over at him, his own expression rather tentative.

And so the three stood there in the rain awkwardly, silently looking at each other for several moments. It might’ve been longer had Wilson not stiffened and abruptly turned away from the duo, performing the familiar action of pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket as his eyebrows cinched together. Wolfgang immediately uncrossed his arms and his expression softened as he looked at Wilson’s withering frame. WX also glanced over, his emotionless face devoid of altering even the slightest bit.

After the standard 30-45 second wait, the scientist finally sneezed with a rather harsh, but smothered “Hhng’xt ” followed by a wet sniffle, wincing slightly as he paused for a second to see if there was another one following behind. When it didn’t feel like there was, he sniffed again and turned back to face the two to find both of them staring at him. He looked between the two then down at the ground embarrassedly, feeling a heat creeping onto his pale face. “Apologies.” He said quietly, sheepishly, less so for Wolfgang’s sake but moreso because in addition to hating every second of this damn cold, he could feel WX-78’s unblinking stare burrowing into his body, scrutinizing him from the inside out.

“HOW DO YOU ASSIST THE GROUP?” The robot asked. Wilson glanced up and regarded his automaton companion.

“Come again?”

“WHAT DO YOU DO?”

Wilson wasn’t sure how to interpret the question but couldn’t help but feel as though WX was questioning his usefulness to the group. Then again, that was probably exactly what WX was doing. “Well, I… er…” He faltered, feeling another shiver crawl through his lithe frame though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold, HIS cold or something else, something uncanny and poking at his spine… no, the back of his head. He put his hands up to his arms in a defensive, insecure motion, still clutching the rain-soaked handkerchief, gaze falling back down to the ground; what DID he do? He built a science machine… on the third day. Was it the third day? What day was it now? He muttered something, but the words were indecipherable, muddled and congested like his sinuses and brain synapses.

“…I DIDN’T THINK SO.” WX then took a step towards Wilson. Before either of them could move further, however, Wolfgang stepped between them and glared down at the robot.

“I also think not.” He growled, his brassy tone clear even in the rain and distant sounds of thunder. WX’s attention snapped to the strongman.

“HE’S A LIABILITY.” WX replied. “HE CONTRIBUTES NOTHING BUT WANTS RESOURCES. HE HAS A VIRUS THAT CAN BE SPREAD TO OTHER MEATSACKS. I THINK IT WOULD BE IN THE GROUP’S BEST INTEREST TO EXCISE THE SICK FLESHLING.” Wilson felt a pang at WX’s words. It was guilt, admission that the automaton was right; he hadn’t done anything special, he had been on the bottom rung since they first picked him up. Willow was the leader, Wolfgang a hunter, Wendy had a ghost, and now WX had come along glowing like a nightlight. What could Wilson do?

“He’s part of group,” Wolfgang was adamant and he crossed his arms once more, his stance firm and tall.

“He’s right, though,” Wilson hated to chime in like that but he was a man of science and facts and the fact was that WX was harsh, but correct. “I… I’m not—“

“You. Belong. To group.” Wolfgang repeated slowly and clearly, turning and putting a large hand on Wilson’s bony shoulder. As he did, it appeared that the rain started to let up, traces of the sun peeking through the thick grey clouds until it dissipated into nothing more than a light drizzle. Despite the warm gesture and the almost ethereal weather change, Wilson couldn’t bring himself to look up at the strongman; he was dejected, disillusioned. The feeling crept into his mind ever since he constructed the machine because a voice on the radio taught him how. He appreciated Wolfgang’s sticking up for him but there was just no dismissing or explaining his uselessness to the group. He meant to move back away from the duo but for some reason, he was rooted to the spot as if frozen, looking stupidly down at the ground with his arms folded across his chest as if that would help keep him warm.

“STEP ASIDE.” WX’s voice, once again, cut through his thoughts and he tensed up instinctively. Wolfgang turned and glared at the robot.

“No.”

“DON’T MAKE ME GO THROUGH YOU.” His synthetic voice was dangerous, buzzing like a dental drill.

“Try me.”

In a flash of movement not unlike a lightning strike, the two were on the ground, rolling in the mud as each one jockeyed for position to get on top for some advantageous strikes. Straw hats were tossed aside, the umbrella broken at the handle as WX was pushed to the ground. Wilson, contrary to his first appearance as an attempted turkey murderer, immediately started to plead the duo to stop; he would’ve been— well, “okay” wasn’t the right word but logic dictated his thoughts in this particular juncture and was about to turn and leave quietly; he wasn’t expecting them to get into a fight. They were supposed to work together, not argue over something as petty as kicking “Wilson the Liability” out of the group. Despite WX being made of metal, Wolfgang got the upper hand easily enough and pinned WX under his impressive girth, teeth gritted and administering punches to WX’s face with loud ‘clangs’ in a rhythmic fashion. The robot continued to struggle though whereas Wolfgang was growling loudly like an angry animal, WX was silent, his machinery only betraying him occasionally with high-pitched whirs and cries like someone pushed the wrong key on a keyboard.

He wasn’t at it for very long though as Wilson took this opportunity to put a spidery hand on one of Wolfgang’s massive biceps, crouching next to him. “Wolfgang! That’s enough!” He said as loudly as he could while still sounding as polite as he could manage. The second he touched the strongman, the latter paused in his punching and exhaled the breath he had been holding through flared nostrils, not daring to tear his eyes away from the automaton. “…Gentleman.” Was all Wilson could think to say which, he realised, probably sounded really stupid, especially given that he was still congested. He opened his mouth as if to say something else but nothing else came. The three were motionless for several moments before Wolfgang lowered the mud-covered fist he had raised expectantly, his breathing becoming more controlled. Wilson gulped as he tentatively waited for what Wolfgang would do next; he knew that he was no match for the strongman’s strength and wasn’t sure how much of it even Wolfgang could control once he was let off the leash.

But Wolfgang didn’t throw another punch. He put a large hand on WX’s chest and pressed the robot down into the mud as he slowly got off from on top of his frame, breathing becoming regulated as Wilson could feel the tension start to leave his body. This was good; separation, they got to beat each other up, it was alll good. He understood - tension was high so as long as it all evened up, it'd be just fine. As Wolfgang got to his feet, in a fluid motion faster than could be recognised, WX procured a spear as if from thin air and brought it around the side before piercing Wilson’s abdomen with a sickening ‘squelch’.

[Red Ring of Death]

So I got, er... news and a little more news. I suppose whether or not it's good is up to interpretation. News 1 is that this is another update! News 2 is that my tonal shifts are TERRIBLE, plain 'n simple. I don't even think it's good enough to be called "mood whiplash", it's just... a mess. It's a mess but all things considering, there's reasons why I'm not a professional writer... or even an amateur one. YEAH WELL there's a reason why I write fiction of things that aren't entirely too popular - it's so no one's around to judge me hahahaa.

-ahem- Okay, here you go.

_________________________________________


Wilson cried out and stumbled backwards, hands curling and clutching his side as Wolfgang hurriedly reached out to keep him from crashing into the muddy ground.

“Whoa, whoa!” Wolfgang exclaimed as Wilson all but ignored him, still scrabbling at his side as he pulled his vest up and yanked his shirt from being tucked into his black pants, pressing thin fingers into the pale skin, feeling around for something that didn’t appear to be there, at least externally. “What is wrong, scientist?” The strongman asked, trying to be clear over Wilson’s panicked gasping.

“I- I was… and-and there was a fight and—“ He cut himself off between gulps for breath, voice shaking as much as his body wracked with convulsions, still staring madly at his exposed side as his dark eyes danced. “And then a spear--”

“Slow down, take deep breaths,” Wolfgang instructed, not moving in to constrict Wilson but not letting him go, either. Though intensely distracted, his rich, brassy voice managed to puncture through Wilson’s panicked state and the longer he realised that there was no wound, the more his breath went from erratic and on the verge of tears(though that didn’t stop a few from escaping from his sunken eyes) to slightly more controlled, scratching, shuddering and tinged with mucous. He curled his legs closer to his body until he was effectively in a foetal position in Wolfgang’s arms, still shaking, eyebrows wavering between raised with panic and creased with fury. In an attempt to help, Wolfgang made sure his breathing was full and rhythmic, purposefully expanding his chest and stomach, seeing if it would subconsciously persuade Wilson’s body to follow suit.

It didn’t matter how long they were there; the rain had stopped, the sun was still high and Wolfgang could feel them drying off even as they sat there together on the wet ground. Eventually, patiently, Wilson’s breathing matched the bigger mans. While his eyebrows were still knitted with worry, his expression went from wide-eyed with terror to softer, more tired than anything else preceding it. His feverish muttering quieted to faint whimpers, then to silence. He felt the warmth from Wolfgang’s body, the warmth of the sun, the quiet after the storm. He opened his mouth slightly but nothing except for ragged breathing came out for another long while; his mind was still racing but he wasn’t sure which thread he wanted to start to ravel up first. He was embarrassed, more afraid than he ever liked to admit, guilty that WX was right. “…what happened?” He asked first, knowing that that was probably the stupidest question he could’ve asked.

“Vulfgang was hoping you could tell him,” the strongman replied gently. “One minute, we’re sitting in rain and in the next, you get up and walk off, whispering about something under breath. Then you yell and fall backwards.” Wolfgang explained. Wilson sniffled thickly but didn’t move from his position, finding more comfort the longer he remained though he wasn’t sure why.

“Is WX here?” His follow-up question, laced with doubt and a deep worry that he imagined more than he thought after Wolfgang’s explanation.

The strongman shook his head slowly. “No, not yet. Strange because I said ten minutes and it’s been longer. Not complaining, though – robot kind of whiny.” He added with a small chuckle. “Why?”

Wilson took a deep breath through his mouth; he knew he had to tell Wolfgang SOMETHING, not to mention what he wanted to talk to him about previously… or was that part of his imagination? How far had they talked before time turned off? It had rained, that much he knew. It was raining and the two of them were sitting in the rain, in front of the fire with straw hats. After that it apparently where their realities split. “I… thought he came back while we were talking.” He decided not to beat around the bush anymore, at least not with Wolfgang; he had been hiding his… “one-on-one time” with Willow and he hid his insecurities about being in close proximity to the ghost(which was just absurd at this point) from them, and if he truly was afraid of being excised, he might as well be upfront and honest. Wolfgang was honest with him, after all. “I thought… he was glowing because he got struck by lightning.” He started to explain his… he didn’t want to call it a hallucination but given that he trusted Wolfgang’s story more than his own at this point, he felt as though it was the most fitting word. “And we somehow got onto the topic of WX questioning my usefulness to the group.” And there he was, even in telling Wolfgang everything; he declined to mention that the spark that ignited the metaphorical fire was Wilson’s cold interfering with their something-or-other. “He said I was a liability but you didn’t want to kick me out of the group even though he was right; I don’t—anyway, you and he got into a fist fight and I tried to break it up,” He was unintentionally getting faster as he explained, feeling his adrenaline starting to kick back in as if reliving the moment again. “And when I got you to stop and you started to get up, he pulled out a spear and--” He cut himself off again and instinctively moved one of his hands to the place on his abdomen where he swore he felt the cold stone tip pierce him.

The strongman was quiet the entirety of the time, maintaining his steady breathing and Wilson found the pace again soon after, slowly going back down again, still strained through his raw throat. “It felt… so real.” He seemed to curl in a little tighter as he whispered, unsure about how Wolfgang would treat him from this moment onward but at this point, he wanted to remain as long as he could before the inevitable request to leave. He opened his mouth as if to add on or try to explain further but instead, it hung open stupidly before his breath hitched in the familiar pattern that he wanted nothing more than to just… stop but he knew that all he could do was try to smother it, and at that time, he was simply too tired to.

Inhale, hitch, pause, eyebrow twitch, flared nostrils, lift the shirt to cover his nose and mouth, pause…  inhale--

Hh’Htcsh! Hhh…Pause, longer pause, hitch, inhale-- Hr’shhn!

His torso tightened and he exhaled as thickly as he had been in the past week, as if the previous couple of days of improvement were washed away with however much rain poured down on them that day. Utterly defeated, feeling like a gnarled root pulled from the ground and left to die in the light or dark or rain or wherever he was, wherever he would die, he buried his face in his hands.

There was a brief pause before he heard Wolfgang… chuckle? “Sounds like scientist finally learned not to stifle.” This unexpected statement was followed by a gentle, but warm-hearted pat on the back. “You’re silent for right now, may Vulfgang make observations?” He asked. Wilson opened his eyes and slowly looked up at Wolfgang sideways. “Good. Scientist Vilson seems to be suffering from sickness of mind,” He started, keeping his hand on Wilson’s back firmly. “Is not uncommon, have seen lots of problems with fellow circus and carnival workers. Vulfgang himself is crippled by darkness and monsters… especially spiders.” He shuddered this time. Wilson kept his eyes on the strongman, expression timid yet almost expectant, wanting Wolfgang to keep going; normally, two weeks ago, he would’ve been almost offended at being referred to as mentally unstable or unwell but since meeting the ragtag group of survivors (and WX), his tune was different. “Everyone have mental and physical problems in some form or another; Villow catches things on fire when stressed. Vendy summons dead sister in pocket flower. Robot is… robot.” He continued. “Scientist is stressed, suffering from cold and… how you say, low self-worth.” Either he was a psychiatrist on the side or Wilson just wasn’t as good at keeping his cards as close to his chest as he thought. “Thinks group will kick him out. If scientist remembers, was my idea to wait until death to loot corpse. But didn’t; Villow sees something in you. Vulfgang does too,” His tone never wavered or changed. “Sick in the mind and body but not useless. Simply need more time to get better.” He concluded with a small but assuring pat on Wilson’s head.

The scientist’s eyelids fluttered slightly at the pat, a sudden calmness washing over him despite how miserable he felt, like a smooth chocolate coating on a wilting strawberry. Even though he was reeling inwardly, a nervous mass of writhing organs, knotted muscles, wiry veins pumping blood, pipes blocked with thick tar and mind functioning like that of a compass being ruined by a magnet, for that fleeting moment as he absorbed Wolfgang’s body heat, he felt almost as though he were back at his cottage in the middle of the forest, safely curled in a thick blanket that smelled of the natural isolation he craved.

“LARGE MEATBAG, I FOUND SOMETHING,” WX’s voice made the both of them jump and Wilson quickly scrambled away from Wolfgang, sucking in a breath. Wolfgang got to his feet immediately and offered a hand to help Wilson up, who took it with unspoken gratefulness as he too shakily stood and the duo turned to look at their automaton companion. “OH. YOU’RE HERE, TOO. LOOK.”

They weren’t sure which was more obvious but they couldn’t help but stare at WX for a second as he seemed to be positively glowing, small sparks dancing around him like fireflies and he shook faintly, like an exhaust pipe on a car. Wilson appeared incredulous, keeping his dark eyes on the robot as Wolfgang glanced down at him, but neither said anything though they might’ve been thinking something similar to ‘how did he know?’ As Wilson’s brain no doubt tried to piece the coincidence together (and Wolfgang had a feeling that this wasn’t doing his imagination any favours), the latter looked over at what WX wanted to show them.

Well… it was less of a ‘thing’ and more of a ‘one’, as there was a person standing beside the robot; a short, thin male with wiry hair that stuck up in an odd fashion. He wore a striped shirt but the most interesting feature was the white and black makeup smeared on his face – it might’ve looked proper, once, though he had been long since touched up.

“…Is that a mime?” Wilson asked, though he regretted it as it sounded less like he was saying ‘m’ and more like ‘b’.

“I DON’T CARE, YOU TELL ME,” WX replied dismissively, waving his hand as he parted from the mime, going over and plopping a chest onto the ground, starting to pile things in it – chunks of marble, a pickaxe, rocks, all miraculously shoved into the chest. Wilson, still surprised that the robot was glowing, kept timid eyes on him. Wolfgang placed a hand on the scientist’s shoulder in a rather comforting way and turned the two of them until he was between Wilson and WX. The thinner man, becoming increasingly more comfortable with this unspoken protection Wolfgang seemed to place over him, slowly approached the mime.

“So, how is robot glowing?” Wolfgang asked casually as he crossed his arms, his own deep-set eyes fixated on WX. The automaton examined the items he placed in the chest blankly.

“GOT STRUCK BY LIGHTNING,” He replied simply before continuing without waiting for another query. “FOUND THE WIMPY MEATBAG IN A CAGE SURROUNDED BY OTHER ROBOTS.” He explained. “IT WAS AN UNFORTUNATE BATTLE BUT AT LEAST I GOT UPGRADED.” He pulled out a stack of gears as he spoke, bound together by a small piece of string. “JUST ANOTHER STEP TO BECOME THE GREATEST BEING EVER. TOTAL DOMINATION. NO BIG.” He shrugged.

Wolfgang turned and his slightly concerned gaze met Wilson’s admittedly much more concerned gaze and the two… exchanged concerned gazes. Wolfgang turned back to the robot while Wilson, trusting Wolfgang to react first if things got hairy, tentatively looked over at the mime, who pursed his lips at the scientist and made a circular motion with a finger around a temple. Though far from cheered up, Wilson managed to crack a small smile; perhaps this newcomer would be a good distraction from everything else that seemed to crumble around him… and perhaps he was of import to Maxwell given how he specifically was caged and guarded. “How can I find out your name?” He asked rather cleverly, his thick tone patient and polite – the Gentleman Scientist was still there, after all, just slogging through a pit of illnesses.

The mime cocked his head to the side for a moment, gesturing a hand close to his chin that he rubbed in mock contemplation before soundlessly snapping and Wilson, perhaps more imaginative than he thought, could almost see the lightbulb appear over the mime’s head. The mime stuck his tongue out and fished around in one of his pockets, pulling out a red piece of rubber – a balloon? He offered it out to Wilson and the latter took it curiously, turning it around in thin fingers as he looked for a name. “Western Import.” He read aloud, finding the logo of the balloon manufacturer. The mime nodded and reached over, using his hand and fingers to cover up most of the lettering until only three letters remained. “…Wes?” Wilson repeated, looking to the mime for confirmation. The mime called Wes clapped his hands silently with a nod and a smile, almost like a parent praising a child for saying a new word and plucked the balloon back, shoving it in his pocket.

Wilson, a little pleased with himself, sniffed and absently rubbed his nose. “I’m Wilson P. Higgsbury,” He introduced formally with a polite bow, catching that his shirt was untucked and he rectified that as he straightened back up. “Our large friend over there is Wolfgang,” He said in his best Russian impression to which Wolfgang looked over his shoulder and snorted with a small shake of his head. “And the… automaton is WX-78.” His introduction that time was toned with hesitancy and uncertainty though he wasn’t sure if it was because perhaps the robot already introduced himself (which he doubted) or because he was still rather highly apprehensive of their ‘companion’, nice manners aside. He knew the likelihood of WX stabbing him was low – or at least, it seemed like it was until he made the comment about ‘total domination’. “There’s, uh… a few ladies in the group as well but they’re… adventuring.” Wilson concluded lamely. “…You aren’t afraid of ghosts, I hope?” At the mention, Wes’ eyebrows knitted and he gave Wilson a brief glance that suggested a combination of ‘are you serious’ and ‘most definitely afraid, yes’. Wilson quirked an eyebrow himself but it was his turn to give a gentle pat on the shoulder with another small, but useless sniff. “It’s okay, she’s harmless.” Mostly, anyway.

“In any case, welcome to our group.” He concluded, raising his arms out to his sides and motioning around him at their chests, the fire pit, the science machine that purred close by, at the ready in case someone wanted to make a prototype.

“FINALLY. YOU’RE SLOW.” WX cut into the conversation once more as he straightened up from the chest, the lid clicking shut neatly. “IS THE SCIENCE-BASED MEATLING STILL INFECTED BY THE VIRUS?” He asked as he made his way over to the science machine, staring to work on various parts.

“Yes.” Wolfgang replied before Wilson even scraped up enough breath to put into his own answer and the latter dropped the hand he had raised as if ready to give a long-winded explanation about it. Wes glanced sideways at Wilson before taking a generous step away from the scientist in an exaggerated motion, hands behind his back. Wilson felt his eyes rolling in silent defeat tinged with mild exasperation but said nothing; after all, he understood the want for space. “How long will robot glow?” He asked, glazing over the question.

“NOT AS LONG AS IT TAKES FOR THE VIRUS-INFESTED HUMAN TO GET BETTER, IT SEEMS.”  WX shot back, turning over a shovel he had just developed over in his stiff hands before straightening up. “WE CAN STOP TALKING ABOUT IT, IT’S A SENSITIVE SUBJECT.”

Wilson quirked an eyebrow. “It is?”

“NO. YOU ALL FELL FOR MY LIE. SENSITIVITY IS A HUMAN EMOTION RESERVED FOR ‘SICK’ SCIENTISTS AND FEEBLE-HEARTED MEATHEADS.” WX taunted, turning towards them, standing tall and brandishing the shovel in a somewhat threatening manner. While Wes and Wolfgang remained still, Wilson instinctively flinched somewhat. “…SO JUMPY, THIS ONE.” Though the robot’s synthetic pitch was as autonomous and inorganic as ever, Wilson definitely picked up on a tone that was taunting, almost drawling. “IF ANYONE NEEDS ME, I’LL BE PLANTING BUSHES.” He announced and marched off. Wolfgang crossed his arms and scoffed.

“I don’t like him.” He said bluntly, turning back to his smaller companions, eyes falling on Wes. “What do you do, mime?” He asked curiously and Wilson, who had straightened up once more, also turned to regard the mime with a sniff he hadn’t even realised he was doing at this point. At the question, Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out a red, deflated balloon. He stretched generously a few times before starting to blow into it and the red material stretched, and stretched, and stretched until the bright red balloon obscured his head. He tied it closed, procured a string out of his other pocket, and tied it around the knot familiarly. Holding the string, the balloon curiously floated up as if filled with helium and he motioned at it with his free hand, wiggling his eyebrows as if to say ‘get a load of THAT’.

Wolfgang looked at Wilson, whose face was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “…How’d you get it to float?” He asked, approaching the balloon before he could stop himself and Wes, though initially starting to back away from the scientist, managed to stay put though he couldn’t stop himself from leaning slightly. "I mean, unless you somehow breathed helium, which I guess is hard to tell if you don’t talk but still, that’s fascinating.” He was being honest; the level of supernatural power that had been imbued upon certain individuals was certainly intriguing to him and Wilson knew that the only reason he was being less excited about this was because of how tired he found himself the past week. “Note to self; don’t let him breathe too close to the fire.” He muttered. Wes raised his eyebrows and kept leaning, glancing over at Wolfgang as the scientist circled him and examined the balloon as if to say ‘should I be worried?’

The strongman chuckled and cleared his own throat. “Scientist, is okay. Have time to study later when not germy, ja?” At the mention of his seemingly-endless cold, Wilson recoiled away from Wes sharply, forgetting for just a moment once more, which worried him somewhat – was he destined to be relegated to a mouth-breather with eternal congestion, soreness gnawing at his muscles and a constant itch in the back of his throat forever? He had already seemed to have grown so accustomed to the feeling, which itself almost seemed to hit him in waves, and that collection of thoughts sent him internally reeling.

He held his arms close to his thin torso and remembered that a few hours ago, he had hallucinated that WX had attempted to murder him over his uselessness to the group, all because of a stupid illness that was the direct result of his own incompetence. Wait, what if… THIS was a hallucination, too? What if he just imagined Wes breathing helium into a balloon and pretended that Willow could light things on fire when she was uneasy? “Wes!” He announced very suddenly and the mime jumped back with a small flinch. The balloon, surprisingly, didn’t float away but instead swayed about in the air gently. “Hit me!” He instructed, turning and pointing at his cheek. “Hit me and as soon as you do, I’ll go back to the present time and not somewhere else.” Wes, expression one of slight concern, looked over at Wolfgang again. The bigger man sighed, placing a hand on his bald head and approached the duo.

“Vilson, you’re okay.” He placed a hand firmly on Wilson’s thin shoulder, once again feeling a feverish heat coming from the scientist’s body. “Not daydreaming now.” Wilson felt the man’s hand on him but wasn’t entirely convinced as he turned to look up into Wolfgang’s eyes, his expression intense and earnest, but also frightened.

“How can I be sure? Last time I thought everything was okay, I got pierced in the gut by—“ He stopped himself with an ‘ahem’, phlegmy and coarse. “A-anyway, last time I had… drifted off into some other mental plane but it was the certainty of violence that brought me back to this reality,” He tried to explain though it came out less succinct and more like garbled muttering. “So I was thinking that maybe if someone, er, ‘snapped me out of it’ as it were, then—“ But his rambling was cut short as the clear of his throat from earlier brought with it the cough that rattled his lungs and he fell into a fit, doubling over as scraping hacks choked out of a mouth discoloured with sickness and malnutrition. Wes took this opportunity to mimic putting a hospital mask over his nose and mouth and backed away from the scene. Wolfgang didn’t move, instead continuing to stand straight and tall, keeping his hand on Wilson’s shoulder to keep him from falling over.

Minutes passed. Minutes of slow, crawling, grueling chest and throat pain, gasping for breath and the threat of vomit pulling at his uvula. The taste of iron, eyes watering, the inability to breathe through his nose yet it was still running. “Wolfgang…” He breathed. Wolfgang said nothing but looked down at his friend sympathetically. “I’m… not having… fun.”

“I know, little scientist,” Wolfgang replied gently. He looked up as the sun drew closer to the horizon, starting to bathe the area in fiery red light and he felt hunger chewing on his stomach. He grimaced and his gaze went past Wes and to the dying fire pit. His eyes went back down to Wilson, then over to the fire pit and he nudged for Wilson, who’s fit had subsided and he was doubled over, breath gravelly and scratching like a long set of nails on a wooden surface, to make his way over to the pit. The latter did so at a slow pace and crashed to his knees, arms curled in near his torso and keeping his eyes on the ground in a half-asleep stupor, as though he were lingering between conscious and unconscious states.

Wolfgang got to work, tossing fuel into the fire pit until there was a raging inferno before them, bathing them in yellow light and washed with warmth. He went to the science machine and tossed in the parts to make a straw mat and laid it out next to Wilson. “Sleep now.” He said assuredly. “You’ll feel better in morning.”

The scientist’s head moved slowly towards the mat and his eyes fluttered closed. “Don’t you want it.” His voice was threadbare, a whisper that melted into the setting sun. It was almost a roller coaster, how quickly after a high he could fall back down to a lower point than he had been at before.

“No.” It was a stern conviction, an absolution of honesty. Without another word, Wilson fell sideways onto the mat and he could almost feel a switch in his mind turning off from the loud, malfunctioned whirring and smoking.

Edited March 1, 2018 by Red Ring of Death

[I-Am-Alone-No-Longer]

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. That's all that needs to be said.

[BardwithaBlade]

I finally got around to downloading this last week and it's like all I've been doing when I'm not at work. So it's really fun seeing this fic. Plus you're such an amazing writer! It's so so good!

[Red Ring of Death]

Okay so I finally got around to updating this part - it's still a work in progress but I've still got a couple endings in mind. For those of you who aren't in it for the story, that's perfectly peachy but THERE AIN'T NO SNZ'IN IN THIS ONE. So if you're only in this for that (which seems obvious given the site lol), then you'd save yourself some time by skippin' it. ANYWAY, here ya go. More suffering.
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He didn’t remember when he drifted off or how long he was asleep but everything he saw seemed to be monstrous in appearance, nightmarish apparitions that clawed at his mind and ripped at his skin and clothes. He writhed and churned like a slug exposed to salt, grinding teeth, shivering breath and fingernails pulling at invisible restraints. He saw blackened hands with spindly fingers crawling on the ground, burnt trees still smoldering with heat, music boxes with shaved pins on the cylinder, creating skips in the music. There were Hounds panting as they howled at a waxen moon dipped in tar pitch, their teeth and hair mixing in together and sticking to saliva that traced the ground in a starving fervour. He saw clockwork machinations that appeared to be a combination of rusted metal and marble, an unlikely combination but they whirred and hissed with menace, hopping on two spindly legs. His breath came in shallow gasps, each exhale carrying a low, somber note subconsciously.

He wasn’t aware that he had been lying down and, witnessing the trees and dogs, he hastily tried to create distance between himself and everything else as the black hands crept towards him, threatening to grab his thin ankles and pull him into who-knew-where. Shaking, he managed to get to his feet clumsily and he turned to run, narrowly avoiding tripping into a rabbit hole, the first of what appeared to be a mine field in front of him. He dodged the holes gracelessly, seeing black masses of fur appear from their warrens with glowing white eyes. Wilson just kept running; he was having trouble telling where his curiosity was ending and where the dread and fear was beginning but it all mixed together and he was just trying to escape at the moment.

He ran for what felt like hours though it was probably only a few short minutes and the adrenaline that pumped through him drained steadily until he felt like his limbs were going to give out on him and he crashed to his knees, falling forward and coughing breathlessly, still unable to get air through his blocked up nose. His arms quivered though he wasn’t putting that much weight on them and he felt his fingers dig into the dry dirt, anticipating the hands to wrap around him at any moment and yank him down into the nothing. He closed his eyes and dropped his head in a bow. The broken music boxes stopped and he felt nothing but the air gently swirling around him, carrying a sour smell that lingered on his tongue. He felt his brow furrow in a twitch but kept his eyes closed as if not being able to see any impending danger would somehow protect him from it.

“Say, pal,” A voice startled him; he wasn’t expecting talking, just moaning and possibly yelling. He opened his eyes and his eyes drifted upward, finding a thin pair of long legs that turned into a torso covered in a trimmed pinstripe suit, eventually turning into the aging face of Maxwell. Wilson blinked, feeling his pupils contract as the moon shining directly behind the towering figure, enveloping him in shadow. Shock was his first reaction though that was quickly replaced with frustration which turned to seething anger.

“What do you want.” Wilson’s voice trembled through his teeth as he looked his captor dead in the eye, unwavering. Maxwell’s beady eyes stared back down, glistening like the shining carapaces of beetles and a smirk crossed his face.

“To see if you can come get me.” He replied, bending his knees until he was in a crouch in front of the scientist and he brought his thick cigar up to his lips. “You haven’t been doing much these past few days.” Wilson didn’t say anything, but continued to glare at the other man, raspy breathing being the only sound he made; he didn’t have much to say, honestly, and he was almost certain at this point that his words would get muddled on the way from his head to his mouth anyway. So Maxwell continued. “I remember you cursing my name the first few nights; what happened to your vigour?” He motioned to Wilson’s withering frame. “I know I said you didn’t look so good but that seems like an understatement now.” He pulled the smoke from the cigar into his mouth and held it for a few moments before leaning back and exhaling the smoke through his narrow nostrils down at Wilson. This was what made Wilson finally tear his gaze away as he coughed harshly in reaction, reaching up to wave the smoke away with exaggerated movements that got dangerously close to smacking Maxwell in the face, which the former wouldn’t have minded; he was usually a gentleman but he was willing to fight dirty at the point he was at.

“Do you have –cough- anything useful to say?” Wilson replied shortly, pushing his torso up and leaning back until he was sitting on his behind, continuing to cover his mouth with a fist as stray coughs escaped him – once he got started, it was hard to stop, as it turned out. “I don’t need your mockery at present.”

Maxwell’s smirk got wider somehow and he breathed in another round of smoke. “On the contrary,” He said, tendrils of grey creeping out of his mouth lazily as he spoke. “I’ve found that mockery is a good motivator, indeed.”

“I’m still coming after you regardless,” Wilson cleared his throat with a sniff. “I’m just… behind, is all.” He looked down as he said this, kicking himself internally again for being in such a state.

“Behind!” Maxwell exclaimed with a chuckle. “At this rate, you’re more like stopped dead in your tracks!” He laughed, a low, threatening noise that sounded naturally sinister and more than a little cliché and evil. “Making friends and lying about being useless.” He scoffed. Wilson furrowed his brow, humiliation being added to the mixture of negative emotions that was swirling inside him. Without saying a word, he got to his feet in the most dignified manner he could, brushed himself off, adjusted the collar of his dirty white shirt and turned his back on the still-crouched Maxwell, starting to walk away; it was the only thing he could really think to do that wasn’t ‘punch the demon in the face’. “I could help you,” the taller man suddenly called, unexpected and with a tone of helpfulness though it barely overrode his smug drawl.

Wilson heard the words but they didn’t stop him from walking. Instead, he just dismissed Maxwell with a wave. “Nope, I don’t need your help. I’ll fix this on my own.” He then felt a hand on his shoulder and in a reactionary move he stopped and swiped at the hand only for the feeling to vanish as if made of smoke. He turned quickly, vision jumpy and blurred as the blood rushed to his head and he stumbled, putting a hand on his pale forehead.

“Really? Looks like you could use some help to me,” Maxwell’s voice slithered through the wind and Wilson couldn’t tell where he was coming from. He spun on the spot, dark eyes trying to search his darker surroundings; the moon seemed to have dimmed or disappeared completely. “I’ve been watching you fail,” He continued, ethereal and omnipresent. “Watching you take one step forward and two steps back, leeching off of everyone you’ve met. Quite the nasty affliction clinging to your bones. How many days has it been? What have you done aside from nothing?”

“Go away,” Wilson muttered, wanting to turn to walk away again but the voice was all around him, five different pitches and speeds merging together, creating an eternal growl insulting him and tearing him down. Not knowing where to escape to, he fell to a crouch and put his other hand on his head, breath hissing through clenched teeth. “Just stop taunting me, stop it, stop it…” He grunted to himself, pinching his eyes closed again as the jabs and jeers all turned into indistinguishable roaring and laughing, getting louder, deafening like a wave crashing on jagged rocks.

Then—silence. It was jarring and Wilson didn’t even unfurl himself from the ball he had curled into yet, not given what he had seen and heard. “There’s a way to make it stop.” It was Maxwell’s voice again, but very calm and still this time, coming from one decided source. “If you go through my door, everything will be reset. You’ll feel better. It’ll be like a new you.”

Hearing one voice and no longer feeling fingers tugging at him, Wilson dared to open his eyes again and he looked up to see Maxwell towering over him once more, one hand behind his back as the other kept a hold of his cigar. “Last time ‘this’ happened, I ended up here,” He motioned to the world around him as he slowly, shakily got to his feet and reached to pull his handkerchief out of his vest pocket. He didn’t feel it and sighed with evident frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes rolled open again and they found an expensive-looking, delicate handkerchief, silky black with fine lace trimming offered to him by Maxwell, who had an eyebrow cocked as he looked down at Wilson haughtily. The scientist didn’t move but gave Maxwell a look that could’ve killed him had it been tangible.

“Oh please, Higgsbury,” Maxwell scoffed, his other hand putting the cigar to his lips once more. “Between gentlemen. You look a veritable mess.” Wilson cast a quick glance down at the material, then back up at Maxwell, then back down before snatching the handkerchief out of Maxwell’s gloved hand like a selfish raccoon seeing something shiny. He turned and took another try at the whole ‘blowing his nose’ concept, his embarrassment seconded only by his primal urge to strangle the taller man. He sniffed, his sinuses now remotely less clogged, and coughed again. “So, has your mind cleared enough to consider my words?”

“I still don’t have any reason to trust you,” Wilson replied, his tone gurgled and he cleared his throat, letting his mouth hang open as he continued to breathe out of it; it still felt so undignified. HE felt undignified. “You still haven’t acknowledged my previous point.”

“What other choices do you have?” Maxwell inquired, more smoke snaking out from between his teeth. “Wander the Constant like… that?” He motioned to all of the scientist again. “Continue to be a detriment to your comrades? What if something else were to… happen?” Wilson felt a sharp finger run up his spine as the demon spoke, sending a supernatural chill through his already clammy skin and covering him in goosebumps. “At least consider it, then,” he continued before pausing. “…Mmm, then again, maybe I was mistaken. I don’t think you have what it takes after all.” Maxwell suddenly changed his tune, turning away sharply. “Never mind, do what you’ll do, Higgsbury.” Without giving Wilson sufficient time to reply, he started to walk away, waving dismissively similarly to how Wilson had done previously.

Wilson was taken aback but his mouth spoke faster than his mind processed what was happening; it was almost autonomous at this point. “Wait, wait! You can’t just… what would I be looking for?” He asked, a new sense of desperation clinging to his congested voice. No, he wasn’t sure if even entertaining the idea was a good one but either the shadow man had a way with words or he was just proficient at pulling the right strings when Wilson found himself in places of rock-bottom emptiness.

Maxwell paused and turned his head until he could look sideways at the shorter man. “I’m sure you remember the machine I taught you on the radio?” Wilson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end instinctively at the mention. He didn’t reply; they both knew the answer. “It’ll look like that.” Through the shadows, Wilson could see his mouth stretch into a smile. “Come find me, if you can. Try not to waste away.” Instead of walking away, he suddenly vanished, enveloped in black smoke like an implosion before Wilson could retaliate further and the latter took a small step back, instinctively covering his nose and mouth with the back of his hand just in case.

“Infuriating… confusticating spectral apparition,” Wilson muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as he started to glance around in a half-hearted attempt to gather his surroundings – running from shadows and chasing others left him feeling rather stranded and lost and it didn’t help that it was dark out. Wait… he remembered running across a grassy prairie dotted with rabbit… ‘clumps of black hair’ holes. He just had to find that then he could probably figure out his way back from there. The bad part was that he had spun around on the spot so he was sufficiently, well, turned around. “Now, if only I had a compass… or a map.” A couple of harsh, unsatisfying coughs scraped past his soft palette and another liquid sniff made itself heard. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, a headache that was hidden under the excitement was becoming more evident and it was around that time he felt his legs quivering again, almost threatening to buckle at the knees and send him toppling over.

After contemplating briefly, looking all around to spot anything that would be remotely recognizable, he tried(in vain) to mark the location of the moon in the sky and just picked a direction, taking uneven steps forward as he hugged his torso as though his arms would provide protection against whatever could attack him. He thought it strange how relatively quiet things had been since – before, it seemed so loud, both the ambiance in the air and himself. He wasn’t even feeling chilled, just particularly sore and stuffed up. One thing he certainly wouldn’t miss was this… WHATEVER it was that was latched onto him like a malevolent spirit haunting him for a vessel. As much as he hated to admit to or agree with Maxwell, the promise of being able to start anew WAS tempting; Wilson had the capacity to be patient but in this world… the Constant, Maxwell called it? Time seemed to move at an erratic pace, especially over the past few days given where he had gone mentally where half a minute turned into half an hour.

As he forced himself to walk, he kept moving his eyes, scanning for familiarity. “Wolfgang?” He finally called, cupping his hands around his mouth and he looked around for movement. Nothing, so he kept walking. “Willow?” Again, no response from anything – it was almost as though he were in a pocket of dead time and space; it felt even more unnatural than the other circumstances that he’d witnessed, and that was admitting that he somehow had an allergic reaction to ghosts. He stopped walking again and turned his head to glance behind him only for his breath to catch in his webbed throat; it was though as if he were on a blank canvas. The ground was flat, the only things on its surface being cracks formed from the sun drying it out and it stretched as far as his vision would allow; his eyes could almost see the curvature of the earth. That couldn’t be correct… he wasn’t in a desert, he was in some sort of grassy plains region… right?

Quite uncertain about what sort of alternate dimension he seemed to have been inserted into, he started walking backwards, keeping his eyes on the ground for changes though he didn’t get very far before he bumped into something that felt very similar to a tree. He turned again and sure enough, it was a tall, sturdy pine and he was facing a forest. His already-hurting mind wasn’t sure if it was more confused or somehow more frustrated at whatever was going on but his expression did turn into a frown and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He was growing weary of thinking it, but he chalked this… experience up to another bout of him losing his mind – and it was happening with what would’ve been concerning urgency if he hadn’t already been established as the ‘group crackpot’. “Well, best press forward, I suppose,” He gave a ragged exhale that led into a few more coughs and he pressed a hand to his stomach with a wince. At least if he was walking forward, he could avoid running into any more trees.

So he walked more, walked for an indeterminate amount of time with no wind, movement or sound accompanying him. The moon illuminated his environment, full and large in the starless sky and, it bathed him in misty white light and cast a long shadow behind him. Even it was still though, not seeming to have moved in what felt like hours, which felt strange considering nights were still relatively short. Maybe he really WAS in a different reality, which seemed odd considering Maxwell mentioned a portal to leave HIS reality—perhaps it was best not to think too much about it. He did glance around for the hundredth time as he kept going, as if expecting to see one of his… acquaintances pop out from behind a tree any moment and tell him that he’d been tricked and that they were there all along. It was an odd thing, feeling lonely, which never seemed to afflict him in the past; then again, he didn’t have to deal with a handful of afflictions back home.

Just the thought prompted another pathetic sniff from the man and he reached up to rub his nose; it was then that he remembered that Maxwell had given him his handkerchief and he contemplated dropping it on the ground with disdain buuuuuut since he couldn’t seem to find his (again), he kept it tightly clenched in his hand, at least for now. He pinched his eyes shut with a groan and rubbed his head, still walking and his body felt similarly to a few days ago where he was being guided by Wendy, no longer knowing where he was going but something was pushing him forward, or away, or wherever, he didn’t even know anymore.

Suddenly, his foot sank into the ground and he yelped in surprise as he tripped up and fell face-first onto the surprisingly soft ground, his arms plunging straight down into the earth with a loud ‘squelch’. It took him a few seconds to react but he could’ve sworn he felt his weight sinking a couple of inches. He flung his head back and out of the ground with a melodramatic gasp – he was alone so he could afford to emote a little. The gasp, predictable, turned into another bout of hacking coughs that he couldn’t cover up, instead focusing on pulling his arms out of the mud which covered them in their entirety up to his shoulders as well as the entire front of his outfit and face. Eyes closed instinctively, he reached up to try to wipe the mud from his face before it registered in his mind that his arms were covered in the stuff and it only seemed to cover him even more. “Well, this is just pleasant.” He muttered sarcastically as he pushed himself up and, eyes closed, he felt for the buttons on his vest and started unbuttoning it with slippery fingers. He wanted to sniff but he didn’t dare; he already had enough blocking his sinuses that he didn’t need to accidentally inhale mud, too.

Once his vest was off, he carefully turned it around and used the relatively clean back to get most of the mud off his face with varying results; at least he could open his eyes safely. Once he did, as he attempted to wipe his hands off as well, he saw in front of him a vast expanse of what appeared to be marsh, stagnant puddles of water dotting the landscape and reeds reaching into the air in clumps. He saw a few small ponds as well, with more reeds around their edges. Tall, gnarled trees with what appeared to be spines sticking out of their frail trunks stood skewed as though the wind threatened to knock them over and thorny bushes puffed out of the moist ground. The most important thing he saw, however, was what appeared to be a faint structure where the far end of the swamp biome seemed to end. It was tall and artificial, a collection of wood and metal that looked remarkably similar to the contraption that Wilson had built that indeterminate amount of time ago. …No way, was it really that easy? Wilson just had to… pick a direction and start walking and he’d come across it that quickly? The world must not’ve been as big as he was imagining but at this point, he was so far from deciding to truly question his fortune that he dared not remove his eyes from the structure.

The whispered promise of a quick recovery almost overtook him to the point of mania and he lifted his long legs out of the mud as he waded like a horse through a field of tall grass, keeping his eyes fixed on the silhouette in the distance as his heart started to race – he was so close so suddenly and any suffering between where he was and his destination would be worth it so long as it would come to an end.

Then the earth around him started to squirm with unpleasant, wet noises and he felt something tug on his leg, stopping him in his knee-high tracks. He glanced down, feeling something tighten and saw a worm-like appendage wrapped around his shin with three slick, shiny spikes protruding from the end. Naturally, he panicked and tried to rip his leg out from the wormy thing’s grip with a surprised cry. And, naturally, it didn’t work and it seemed to tighten briefly before starting to pull him into the ground. It was much stronger than he was but he still struggled, scrabbling at the slimy ground without much success; there wasn’t anything for him to grapple to pull himself free. Slowly, he felt his legs followed by his stomach be swallowed by the terrain. No, no, no, no he was so close! He was so close! He HAD to escape so he could escape!

It was no good, he flailed in the watery mud, flinging it everywhere as it covered his chest, then over his shoulders and all he could do was hold his breath as eventually, his head was submerged with a swallowing “schlrp”.

Edited June 29, 2018 by Red Ring of Death

[I-Am-Alone-No-Longer]

Hi, Alone here! Not really sure how to start this so I'll get straight to the point. Usually I never comment twice on a fic, but I was starting to get worried that you might not update again unless someone commented, so here I am! I remembered how you said something along the lines of not posting unless people commented, therefore proving that there are readers, because you don't want to keep posting if no one's reading, which would be essentially begging for readers. I'm not sure if that's the case here, but I was worried, hah. Look what you've made me do out of love for this fic! You've made me comment twice! This is inconceivable! :3 Keep up the good work, my friend!