What This World Has to Offer- Story

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 77. Tenacity - Part 3

Chapter 2 of 5

The Game is Afoot

Webber's POV

I let out an unhappy growl as I spat out another foul-tasting glob of phlegm. The stench of rot was clogging up my senses, and that sheer fact alone was putting me in a very bad mood. I wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from, but I had experienced much worse. I could only imagine it was related to the way the human half of this body rejected the spider meat, even if I quite enjoyed the feasting.

It had been a couple of days now with no signs of life other than the remaining spider colonies. While I very well could strike back off into the cold, I instead chose to stay close to the spider den. The silk they had used was much thicker and softer than the silk I was once able to produce, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy about this fact. However, I was smart enough to realize it was an evolutionary adaptation more than anything. Thicker webs and dens meant better insulation against the freezing winds that had nearly done us in a few days ago. The spiders themselves had been rather weak, though that likely came from a lack of enemies to fight. Below zero temperatures didn't allow for many creatures to thrive in the tundra, and the few that did rarely crossed each others paths.

If I had to guess, at least. I certainly hadn't seen any animals other than spiders.

I wasn't too concerned about the lack of wildlife, honestly. After all, the initial massacre had provided more than enough fresh meat to last for awhile, even if Tyler was clearly unhappy about this idea.

I was unhappy with the idea of starving and freezing to death, so we were even. He could be annoyed with me all he wanted, but he couldn't really do anything as long as I took the brunt of the freezing. Sure, he took the brunt of the hunger, but you win some, you lose some.

Really, though, he shouldn't have been complaining at all. We had feasted fairly well, so I'm sure he wasn't even feeling the hunger pains anymore.

“This is wrong,” Tyler muttered as I ate. I rolled my eyes.

“It grows on you,” I responded breezily. I shuddered at the texture of the tough meat, but I was aware enough of myself to know it was Tyler disgusted at it. “Really, I don't understand the issue. Do you expect spiders to just let their dead rot on the ground?”

“Why don't you just bury them. Respectfully.”

I scoffed in wry amusement at the idea. “They're dead, Tyler. Do you think they're going to have their feelings hurt?”

He quieted a bit at that, grumbled in dissatisfaction but no longer outwardly protesting. After eating my fill, I dragged myself to my feet and stretched luxuriously. Even wrapped in thick silk as I was, my limbs still stiffened with cold when I sat in one place too long. It was a game of keeping myself active without wasting too much energy doing nothing of note. And, to be quite honest, it was a game spiders were great at.

The nests I had destroyed were at the edges of a Queen's Gathering. I would have been concerned about their rage in killing their brethren, but I knew that they wouldn't even protest it unless they had seen the homicide happen, which none of them had. I felt no fear pacing deeper into the Queen's Gathering, running my claws over the large silk dens that decorated it. Occasionally, a spider would poke its head out to look at me, but none of them seemed to see me as a threat. Instead, they'd simply turn back into their hovel, muttering and growling about disrupting their sleep.

Ah, spiders were nocturnal, weren't they? I couldn't help but wonder what else had been lost to the symbiosis. I could try to fix my sleep schedule, but I wasn't entirely convinced that the Night Monster wouldn't see me as a threat and wipe me out if caught in the dark. It had played with Tyler before, clearly amused with his terror as it brushed our fur and whiskers with unnaturally long claws, but it didn't take a genius to see that I wasn't Tyler. I wasn't sure whether that would be good or bad in its book, and I didn't have any intention of risking it. It seemed to be safe enough to sleep through the night, but I wouldn't tempt its wrath.

There was a queen nearby. I could smell her, my nose twitching slightly as the familiar scent wafted towards me. I could sense the coiling of Tyler's awareness, likely preparing to fight me if I gave into the pheromones, but I simply scoffed and turned away. Once, maybe, but not anymore. It would take something much stronger than that to sway me.

“What are you doing?”

“Exploring. Is there an issue with that?” I quirked an eyebrow at the question.

“Are you planning something?”

“What could I possibly be planning? Are you seriously concerned enough about the lives of some random spiders that you are worried about me killing them?” I rolled my eyes. “Relax. I have food. I don't need more.”

“...what about my friends?”

“I don't see any of your 'friends' here,” I snapped. “Would you drop it? I threatened to kill them once. How many times have you threatened to kill them?” When Tyler didn't immediately respond, I huffed. “If it were up to me, we'd never see any of them again. It's just as I told the monkey; I want nothing more than to survive.”

Silence. I had believed this child to be the bane of my existence for years now, but I had somehow never quite realized how annoying he really was.

A cough suddenly rose in my throat, bringing with it more hot, foul fluid. I spit it out with a grimace and wiped my mouth. This body was incredibly unhappy with me. I wasn't sure of the full extent, but pressing for sensation would only make me deal with the portions that Tyler was currently dealing with. I wasn't really in the mood to be pressing him for information either. If he was uncomfortable, that was his problem.

“Unless you're killing us and don't realize it because you're making me feel all of our pain,” Tyler growled.

Hmm. I had forgotten that my thoughts were clear to him at the moment. How inconvenient. I would have to find a way around it.

“Do you really not feel any of it?”

“Any of what?” I snapped. “The silk beneath my feet that I haven't felt in years? Temperature, which was all but foreign to me until recently?”

“...the pain.”

“The pain?” I repeated incredulously. “Sorry, I didn't realize you were hurting, poor guy. Do you want to get some rest and get off your achy feet?” My voice dripped with sarcastic venom as I spoke, and I mentally kicked myself. How in the Constant are you supposed to gain someone's trust when they're so freaking-

Relax, Webber. Baby steps.

For a moment, I was worried he would clam up. Luckily, the monkey seemed to have at least partially broken him of that habit, because he answered lamely a moment later.

“Our whole body hurts.”

As if that was a surprise. “Forcing yourself as hard as we have on the verge of freezing and starvation will do that to you,” I responded 'helpfully'.

“No! Don't you get it? I don't know what you're doing, I can only imagine the... the cannibalism... but it's like you're making our body reject itself.”

I shrugged. “That's what happens when you have to build up a tolerance to spider meat. You'll get used to it.”

He continued to protest, but I ignored the rest of his argument. He could blubber on all he wanted to, I really didn't care. It wasn't affecting me any, even if his voice could be pretty annoying. Hearing someone's thoughts for several years made it incredibly easy to tune them out.

I moved deeper into the Queen's Gathering, humming quietly to myself as I noted the size and shape of their dens. The way they differed from my old home and the way they were the same. Nostalgia ached in my chest.

Soon enough, the sun started to sink and my stomach started to growl. Though.... I didn't feel hungry. Rather, it felt like there was something hot and sour building in my core.

It rose as a tickle in my throat before devolving into a coughing fit. Most of the aches and pains plaguing us transferred to Tyler, but that didn't stop a sharp pain from stabbing into my chest with every aborted inhale and violent exhale. When it didn't seem to let up after a few minutes, I found myself on my knees, both arms planted on the silk below me to hold me up.

The sludge that was dislodged from my chest splattered the snowy ground. Dark, unnaturally green slime and vibrantly scarlet splashes of blood painted across the white purity of snow and silk, an unhealthy amount to see at all let alone just from coughing. It took several moments to subside, and when it finally did, I felt drained and exhausted. I grumbled in displeasure as I wiped the blood and phlegm off of my face with the back of my hand.

It smelled like rotted meat. Rancid and sour. I looked away unhappily and cleared my throat several times to spit out the remaining saliva that hadn't already made its way out.

Huh. 'Rejecting itself'. Maybe that was more accurate than I wanted to believe.

Even though dusk had arrived, I still saw very few spiders. The ones that I did see were either young drones nervously skittering around their dens or older warriors crouched on top of their nests, growling uncertainly. Instead of paying them any attention, I clutched a hand to my aching chest and made my way back to my own makeshift den.

“What is that stuff?”

I shrugged. It was easy to assume it was related to the spider meat, but I wasn't sure. Spider meat didn't smell anything like that. Whatever it was, it wasn't my problem. I pushed the concern to the side, to a place where Tyler would be the one to deal with it.

The space I had carved out for myself was ravaged beyond belief by my own claws. Silk had been torn from the ground, leaving large patches of bare dirt in some places and piles of silk up to my waist in others. The bare dirt was stained purple with blood that had drained from the carcasses left on it. I was no queen and literally incapable of creating any proper shelter, but I made do with what I had.

The next day started just as predictable as the last. Instead of pushing deeper into the Queen's Gathering, though, I picked another direction to explore. I wasn't sure what my ultimate goal was.

I couldn't stay here if I wanted to-

I trudged through the frozen landscape with scraps of silk wrapped around my arms and torso. It preserved just enough warmth to keep me going as long as I didn't stay still for too long. It was far from perfect, but better than nothing.

There was very little to see. When the spiders were far behind us, there wasn't much more than snow and grass as far as I could see. Still, I pushed forward, driven forward only by instinct.

I had to get to Darkness.

I kept my ears open and whiskers out to catch the smallest disturbances. This body had frustrating limitations, and they seemed to hit at every single opportunity. Today's issue was related to the missing eye. While my vision was much better than Tyler's, given my full access to all of my eyes, that also meant more of my vision had been wiped out by Wilson's betrayal all that time ago. Tyler had only lost one eye, while I had lost three. The main one, yes, but two smaller ones, one above and one below. I could fight it all I wanted, but nothing would give me those eyes back.

Tyler, though, had done a lot to hone our sense of hearing, and I was surprised to see how much he had done to perfect the ability to sense air movement with our whiskers. When a strange hum suddenly came to my attention, I followed it without hesitation, largely allowing senses other than sight to lead me forward.

Another violent cough racked my chest. More of the vile green and red mucus came up with it. I wiped it away and kept moving without even stopping to think about it. Even without probing, I could feel Tyler's unease at the sight of it. I couldn't be bothered to care. Spiders were impossibly resilient to disease to the point that a spider dying of illness was almost unheard of.

I hope this problem doesn't persist after-

The land around me started to narrow. I noticed glimpses of the sea on one side and thought little of it at first. It was very plausible that I was wandering the edge of the land at this point.

What gave me pause was when I started seeing glimmers of water on the other side as well. I narrowed my eyes in thought but continued forward. There wasn't any reason for me to do anything else, after all.

I moved forward, and the world grew narrower, until my way was blocked entirely by tall, black obelisks. I growled in agitation. The hum seemed to be coming from the obelisks, but that meant it was so loud here that my ears ached. I reached one hand out to touch the pillar and involuntarily shuddered at the texture. It was cold, dry yet so smooth it felt almost wet. Waves of sound echoed through my bones, producing the worst sensation I could possibly imagine as I felt every single bone of both skeletons. I snatched my hand back and flicked it a couple of times to dispel the lingering feelings.

“What are these?” Tyler wondered. “I've never seen anything like it.”

I paced to either side of the obelisks, examining the spaces between each and whether trying to squeeze past them was worth it. There was less than an inch between the ones on the edge and the ocean, and each one was too wide to simply step across. The spaces between each individual one could possibly be squeezed through... if I was still a full-blooded spider. As I was, I was too big to do so.

Which was, of course, hilarious. Everyone ranted about how small Tyler was and yet, when it mattered, he couldn't be small enough.

He ruins everything.

“There's a plaque in the center.”

He was right. The center of the roadblock wasn't entirely made up of obelisks. There was a black marble slab that the pillars- a few inches higher than the rest- rose from. With my examination of the outer edges completed, I indulged in his curiosity and moved within reading distance of the plaque. I dusted the show off of it to reveal gouges made in the surface.

I recognized letters, of course, but I couldn't read. So while Tyler got to look at those, I kept my focus on the picture carved into it.

It was crude, with the appearance of having been carved out with a chisel by someone who wasn't practiced in the art. What I could make out, was the image of someone holding a sword against the obelisks. Lines, likely representing light, came off of the weapon, and the structures seemed to have retracted in response to it. More letters decorated the bottom of it, likely instructions.

Thank the Queens I recognized the weapon. It was the exact image of Tyler's sword, down to the glow. Whatever it was, it appeared it was the key to getting past the obelisks.

Tyler suddenly went very quiet and cold. It would have been unnoticeable if it weren't for the way I felt his consciousness rage against mine, and for a moment, his emotions won out. In that moment, I was swamped with fury and terror, horror and grief and confusion and pain all at once. I stumbled back, shocked at the strength, especially since his emotions would be far duller than normal.

“What?” I frowned, tracing the letters with one claw. “What does it say?”

“It... it says...” His voice shook so hard it was a wonder he got the words out. Finally, he choked out: “The Reign of Giants will come and go

Shipwrecked will he, we'll never know

When finally, the end of lives

Begins with the fall of five.”

Oh, the prophecy. Had he never heard it before?

“Okay?” I shrugged. “So?”

“Under the... the sword. My sword... it... it calls it the Sword of the Martyr.”

“So what?” Why was this freaking him out so bad? Was he just freaking out over his robot friend again?

“That's my sword,” he whispered, voice unnaturally small. “That's... it doesn't make sense. Why did it let me take it if I wasn't supposed to wield it? Winona said she tried and failed so why did it let me...”

I quirked an eyebrow.

If he broke down in my mind, what would happen?

“Tyler, I seem to be missing the point. I normally wouldn't care, but you are giving me quite the headache. Or perhaps that's the god-awful sound coming from these obelisks.”

“Am... Am I... the Martyr?”

“Does it matter?” I asked with a sigh.

“If I'm the Martyr, then what was WX? Who is the Heir? Did...” His internal voice cracked. “Did we fail before we even began?”

If he wanted to spiral again, that was his issue, not mine. I pushed his panicked questions to the back of my mind as I examined the plaque closer.

It was old... very old. Unlike the pillars blocking my way, it showed damage from the elements, with the edges of the carved letters and picture smoothed out with wear. I absently dug a claw into one, tracing the letter thoughtfully. I still had Tyler's sword, but I didn't like to carry it with me. I preferred having a free hand that actually worked. If I was reading the image correctly, it acted a sort of key to command the obelisks. If that was the case, it really was quite the blessing that it kept getting dragged around with us, wasn't it?

I'd have to thank Maxwell for that later.

Tyler seemed to have shut down for the moment, which was incredibly convenient for me as I didn't have to hear his useless blubbering anymore. Instead, in its place, was a sort of strange emptiness. A quietness. It was nice. Perhaps I would have to make him freak out like this more often.

Well, I wouldn't be going any further without the sword. It seemed like a good time to turn back and return another day. I moved quickly in order to beat nightfall.

By the time I made it back, my breaths were rattling in my chest and the fur on my face had grown sticky with green and red goo. My claws itched with the urge to clean it, but exhaustion pulled at my limbs to the point I couldn't be bothered to do so. I collapsed to the ground and closed my eyes while pulling loose silk around me to preserve some warmth.

I was tired of this.

I slept just enough to dodge the nighttime hours, rising again with the sun. My mind felt refreshed, but my body felt heavy and groggy. I ignored the ugly stain splattered across the silk and spent the first few minutes awake scarfing down breakfast. With meat hanging satisfyingly in my stomach, I tore the sword from where I had stuck it in the ground and retraced my steps back to the obelisks.

It wasn't hard. The land seemed almost designed to bottleneck you into the bridge, with the tall, immovable pillars being the only way in or out of the peninsula. I sensed them before I heard them, and heard them before I saw them. They still emitted that low, threatening hum, but it seemed to be a slightly higher pitch than it had been before. A pitch that only rose infinitesimally with each step I took towards it as if beckoning me, or the sword, closer.

It was about this time that Tyler's consciousness stirred. He said nothing, did nothing, simply stayed back and gave me full control without protest. I felt my face twist into a smirk for just a second before I got control of it again.

Give up.

He didn't even seem to question my actions. I knew he was there, his presence was too big to ignore, but he only watched dully as I inched closer to the blockade.

When they came into view, I prepared myself for some sort of challenge. Perhaps some sort of ritual or ceremony I would have to perform with the weapon, or some enemy I had to fight.

I didn't expect the obelisks to react to me when I was still several feet away. I didn't have to say or do anything; the second the blue glow of the sword touched their marbled surface, the barricade retracted into the ground. The plaque in the center was suddenly the tallest part of the structure, the edges traced with the same shimmer of light that the sword produced. I frowned deeply, readjusting my grip on the hilt of the sword. I didn't trust it one bit.

Still though, they stayed put when I stepped over them, only rising back above the ground once I was several feet away from them. An uncertain growl rumbled in my throat. I didn't hear or smell anything out of the ordinary, but that didn't mean there wasn't a 'surprise' waiting for me. My grip tightened until my knuckles ached, but no enemy came to fight me and no traps seemed to have been sprung.

I was entering woodlands now. The snow was thinner hear, most of it captured in the high boughs of the trees. There wasn't any animal trails through the brush, so I lashed the sword out to clear my way.

The swing was clumsy- I barely knew how to use hands, let alone how to wield a sword, and Tyler was left-handed and had never quite gotten the hang of using his right hand. The blade was sharper than I expected and it sliced through the dead brush with barely any effort. The extra force I expended had me stumbling, and an awkward curve of the elbow caused the weapon to recoil into my leg.

Waves of acid poured through my veins as the weapon drew blood. I hissed in pain and dropped the sword on instinct as if it was on fire. My claws immediately curled around the wound, blocking the lazy stream oozing from the wound.

At the same time, Tyler let out a distinctive yelp and a pained hiss. “How bad did you hit us?” He demanded. His voice was still shaky, but the shock of pain seemed to have pulled him back to his senses for the moment.

“It barely made contact,” I snapped back. I drew my hand back to examine the depth and to confirm my initial thought: it was minor. Barely breaking through chitin. It drew very little blood, but more noticeable was the foul-smelling liquid that the weapon drew out. The slime I coughed up was a forest-green, but this was darker, almost black. It poured from the injury as if I had hit a vein instead of just breaking a few capillaries.

“It doesn't look like it barely made contact!”

My whiskers twitched towards the sword lying on the ground a few feet away. Consciousness that was not my own swirled in my palms, and without my input, I reached out and took a hold of the weapon again. It felt like molten metal against the skin of my lame hand, but I couldn't let it go even if wanted to. Instead, I eased the flat end of the blade against the cut calmly, as if repeating an action I had done a million times.

The sensation was a shock to my mind. It struck me so hard I nearly lost my breakfast, but a few hard swallows kept it down. An intense scratch rose in the back of my throat, but the coughs wouldn't come to clear it.

Something was being pulled from my blood. I could feel it in my veins, defying the natural flow of cells in order to slither towards the blade resting against the open wound.

I wanted to scream.

Tyler didn't say anything, and to be honest, I wasn't even sure if he was the one forcing me to hold the sword to the cut. My arm shook violently as it fought to move.

The infectious sludge writhed around the sword, swirling around the blade before being absorbed into it. Every drop turned it the slightest shade darker, but the glow around it turned brighter in turn. When it finally drew the grime out, the magnetic attraction suddenly dropped and I was able to properly throw the sword away like I wanted to.

I could barely breathe. My vision spotted with dark spots and nausea rose in my throat again, threatening to make this scene all the more embarrassing. I clenched my teeth hard, closed my eyes tightly, and pressed my forehead against the snow. Disturbed flakes rose with every open-mouthed pant. The worst part of all, though, was the scattered nature of my consciousness. It felt as though someone had taken a scalpel and tore through my brain, leaving only shreds of awareness behind.

Tyler didn't even need to force his way through if he wanted to take control. I fully expected him to do exactly that, but he didn't. Instead, I felt his uncertainty and confusion more than anything else. He simply watched me, waiting for me to act.

“Well?” I spat. Drops of green-black slime splattered across the ground. “Do it. You know you want to.”

And yet, he still didn't push forward. Whatever the reason, he was choosing not to take control back.

Filthy, useless, miserable wretch-

“Coward!” I snarled, digging my claws into the ground. They scraped uselessly against frozen dirt. “You're stronger right now! Take. It.”

“I've nicked myself plenty of times with that sword,” Tyler said uneasily. His voice shuddered with nerves. “What did you do?”

A roar of fury erupted from my chest. I lashed out in frustration, attacking nothing. Exhaustion quickly latched back onto my limbs, and I pounded my fist into the dirt. He didn't push, didn't press, didn't even try to take control back.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, panting in a poor attempt to get my breath back. It was well past noon when I finally dragged myself to my feet, the cut on my leg throbbing like hellfire. The brush I had cut through remained open, taunting. That entire episode had spurred from cutting down the vegetation; I wasn't about to stop now.

After an uneasy moment of consideration, I took the sword with me. The thing might have been cursed in some way, but in the end, it was a weapon, and the only weapon I had. Even if I could stand, and limp if I moved slow enough, I was extremely weak. My breaths came out in uneasy wheezes of mist.

Moving forward was a challenge all of its own. I ached all over and every inch of our body shook with each movement, no matter how small. Still, I managed. The sword dragged behind me, leaving a narrow trail in the snow in its wake.

My strength returned gradually. With every step, my legs held my body weight better. And yet, the broken nature of my consciousness never seemed to right itself. No, what seemed to be pushing us forward wasn't my own consciousness, and it wasn't Tyler's. It was a more primal instinct. The animalistic knowledge that standing in one place was dangerous when it was cold.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel the cold.

Eventually, I looked up from where my eyes had been trained on the ground. Fog wreathed around my knees, heavy enough to remain close to the ground and dense enough to hide my feet from view.

Tall stones dotted the ground around me. I wandered closer to one, splitting the mist with my steps, and crouched next to it. It looked as though words had been carved into it, but Tyler didn't seem to care enough to read it.

I sat against it and leaned my head back. I was exhausted, incapable of even bringing myself to my feet any longer. It was turning dark anyway when did it get dark how did I miss that so if I didn't want to risk Nightmare's wrath, it would be best to rest now anyway.

All the while, I felt Tyler's presence hovering beside me. He had a wide opening to take control, but he didn't. He simply watched, a silent observer to my actions. He only spared me a single word as I sat against that headstone, preparing to drift off.

“Finally.”

 

 

 

**Drawing Spoilered for blood**

Spoiler

 

Enjoy a redraw ref sheet as well!

[Pokemaniac7000]

And another ref sheet. Enjoy!

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 78. Tenacity - Part 4

 

Chapter 2 of 5

The Game is Afoot

The world was cold and deadly, and that was something that didn't take any special attention to notice. It was something you could tell simply by existing in its space. Stand in one place for too long and numbness starts to creep up your legs, engulf your hands. There was no doubt that frostbite would come easily in a world like this without a source of warmth.

But beneath that, something a bit harder to see, was that the world was also beautiful.

Every inch of every tree was crystallized in the sun, shimmering brightly and winking in the light. Thick-pelted bunnies and chubby birds with matching bluish white coats roamed the landscape, expertly digging into the snow to uncover food after what was likely years of adaptations to surviving in a wintery landscape. True, that left the poor saps without those adaptations floundering for a hold, but not everyone could win. After all, they were the intruders here. Breaking apart the perfect snow and frost with their clumsy footsteps.

It was beautiful enough that Winona couldn't help but mourn the ruined snow that traced her footsteps. She let out a long sigh that puffed into the air and shook out her hands, frowning deeply at the ground behind her.

“Do you see something?” Wilbur asked from her shoulder. The prime ape- he had corrected that real fast- acted as a sort of buffer for the wind. His fur was thin, made to keep cool in tropical heat rather than to keep warm in freezing temperatures, but he did seem to run rather warm, and it was surprisingly helpful to keep her ears from freezing.

To be honest, Winona and Wilson had long since come to the conclusion that Wilbur knew English and refused to speak it. He had given a couple of words before, debunking his previous claim that he was incapable of speaking it at all, but his stubbornness kept a language barrier between them nonetheless. He still seemed uneasy speaking to her, but he was making progress. As it was, his English was surprisingly fluent and his accent- some peculiar thing with inflections on certain consonants and soft rolls on certain vowels- made him sound refined, sophisticated almost.

(She had heard it before. She refused to admit it. She didn't want to think about the way that accent mirrored the vestigial accent that clung to Tyler's words in moments when something else seemed to speak through him. It was separate from his own accent, only the tiniest degree of British pronunciation on certain words, and certainly different from the rough hiss of the spider's voice. It was different, and strange, and exactly like Wilbur's accent.)

Winona shook her head and sighed. Wilbur's tail flicked out, brushing against her face. “Sorry. I've been doing what I can but...”

“I'm not getting anything better,” Wilbur muttered. “It's getting late...” She felt the ape shift on her shoulders, looking up at the sky. “It's been days, Winona. I'm really worried.”

“He's stronger than he looks,” Winona said gently.

“Assuming he even tries to take care of himself.”

She couldn't even really argue with that.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Tyler was crumbling. Wilbur was doing everything in his power to keep him together, and Winona tried to step in to prevent any incidents with Wilson occurring, but it didn't seem to be helping. Without the support of his companions, Winona couldn't confidently say he would do anything to save himself.

She furiously shook her head. “We'll worry about that if it comes to that!” She proclaimed. “Tonight might be a failure, but that doesn't mean tomorrow will be. We'll find him, Wilbur.”

“And then we can smother him in so much attention he'll realize he can't die without someone missing him.”

“Exactly right.”

With that, the duo turned back, rushing against the setting sun. Wilbur remained quiet, hopping down from her shoulders and bounding forward on his own feet. Winona set her face as she followed him. It had been about a week since they had been dropped here. A week with no sign of their youngest companion or the mysterious hunter William spoke about.

(A mysterious hunter that Wilbur would hear no theories about, especially since the best theories Winona and Wilson had come up with somehow came down to Tyler... or more accurately, Webber. With every conversation, though, Winona saw the desperation grow on Wilbur's face. The confidence started to fade, the fear seemed to rise, and he seemed to be trying to convince himself more than anyone else that neither Tyler nor Webber would actively hunt them.)

They timed their return rather well, as it was only a few minutes before total night. Wilson stayed back to tend to the camp whenever the duo would go out. Wilbur and Winona never invited him due to a fear that if they did find Tyler, he would be too scared of the scientist to come with them, and Wilson never asked to join. It was smarter that way, but Winona couldn't help but be annoyed that Wilson didn't seem concerned.

He looked up at them as their footsteps became audible, but only spoke when they were close enough to speak without raising his voice. “Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Winona sighed, collapsing to her knees in front of the fire. She stretched her arms out towards the warmth, allowing the fire to sooth at least some of her worries. Wilson was roasting something over it, one of the meats William had dropped them when he had appeared a few days ago. “There's only so far we can look in a day, and we've gone just about every direction now. There's no sign of him at all.”

Wilbur added his own words to the conversation, but they were nothing more than babbled animal speech to their ears. He wouldn't speak English in front of Wilson still.

“Well...” Wilson said after a moment. “That... could be a good thing?”

Wilbur's glare was so intense Winona was surprised he didn't immediately lunge at the scientist. Wilson held his hands up innocently.

“Don't look at me like that! I'm just saying, if we're being hunted down by a mad angry spider, I'd rather stay far away from it as long as possible!”

“Drop it, Wilson.” Winona waved one of her hands out and shot him a look. He smartly clapped his mouth shut and focused back on the fire. “There's nothing more on that front and you're just going to make Wilbur angry if you keep talking about it, so let's switch our focus on how we plan on advancing.”

“Oh! I've thought about that extensively!” Wilson noticeably perked up. “See, so it was like there was a key last time, right? Not a physical key, but... you know.” He waved his hands in a vague motion, as if trying to express his thoughts through interpretive dance instead of words.

“An emotional one,” Winona filled in.

“Yeah! It sort of clicked into place when Webber- er, Tyler-” He eyed Wilbur wearily. “Said something about learning integrity and how it helped turn him into a king. If this world is anything like the last one, that means there's a similar key here, too!”

“One that we need Tyler for,” Winona concluded with a grimace. Wilson's face immediately fell into a thoughtful frown.

“Mm, possibly true. Nobody said it had to be unlocked through him though.”

“I feel like it was implied.”

“Unless there's something for each of us to unlock.”

“I don't think that's likely,” Winona said. “I feel the rest of our roles are just things that describe either us or something that happened to us.”

Wilbur made an affirmative noise.

“He's the only one that still has something to live up to. Something to... learn I guess?? Listen, Wilson, even if that wasn't the case and it's something related to each of us, we still need to find Tyler. We're not leaving him behind.”

“Nooo,” Wilson said after a moment, dragging the word out. “But if we had to-”

“What happened to you?” Winona interrupted as Wilbur bared his teeth. “When I first met you, you were a lot more caring to him than you are now. Now you can't seem to decide whether or not you even like Tyler. What happened between you two to make you even think about leaving him behind?”

Something fell over Wilson's face. A strange mixture of resignation and anger, like he felt both horribly guilty about something and absolutely enraged by that same thing.

“You seem to forget,” Wilson said in a deathly quiet voice. “Who cut his eye out.”

Winona had to lurch forward to grab Wilbur's shoulders as the prime ape lunged. She pulled him back before he could actually attack Wilson, but the wild cries of rage erupting from his chest got the point across well enough. Wilson didn't even seem phased. He simply watched Wilbur with a sort of empty look in his eye.

“I know what happened,” Winona huffed, breathless after the minor scramble. “But you always said-”

“Then think about it for a moment!” He shouted. The scientist jumped to his feet and Winona rose to meet him. He thumped one hand against his chest. “I am the Host. The. Host. Do you expect someone who is the Host of Nightmare to be able to care about the one Nightmare wants to kill?”

“So you're just a slave to Nightmare now?”

“No!” He protested. “I- gah!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I don't know, okay!? Maybe I am! But what makes me any different from Webber in that aspect? You can't feel bad for him and be angry at me for the same reason!”

“You're a grown man, Wilson! Have you forgotten that Tyler is a child? You were already an adult before he was even alive.”

“It doesn't matter what he is physically. I'm surprised you can look at the way he acts and still think of him as just a child. He is all but an adult at this point.”

“Every kid tries to act like they're older than they really are! It doesn't matter! He. Is. A. Child!”

For a moment, Wilson was silent. Then, laughter bubbled up in his chest. Winona gritted her teeth as the scientist started to laugh hysterically, clutching his stomach as if struggling to catch his breath. “He was right! You two are delusional!”

Wilbur tensed again, forcing Winona to tighten her grip on his shoulder to prevent him from moving.

“Winona, let me put this in a way that you'll understand.” Wilson finally seemed to get a hold of his laughter, but little bursts of giggles still shook his chest from time to time. “The kid you know as Tyler is dead. He has been dead for years. What exists now is a hybridization of a human's mind- not necessarily a child's- and a predator. A predator.”

“What makes you think that?” Winona growled.

“He told me himself.” Wilson's eyes hardened, his previous amusement melting away like mist. “Do you know what else he told me? He told me that you and Wilbur have never seen him for who he really is. You don't think of Webber as just a child. You think of him as Charlie.”

Winona stumbled back from the accusation. It cut deep, as if Wilson had thrown knives at her instead of words. An all-consuming ache suddenly constricted her chest at the thought of her little sister. How she'd done everything to protect her. How everything wasn't enough to save her. “What- I- no-”

“In fact, Wilbur is just as bad.” He flung an accusing hand towards the prime ape. “But guess what? He's not your sister, Winona. And Wilbur, he's not your daughter.”

“That's ENOUGH Wilson!” Winona shouted.

Wilbur was shaking now beneath Winona's hold, but the steely look in his eye betrayed the rage coursing through his veins. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten in an attempt to force her muscles to relax. Emotions bubbled in her chest, but she had no clue whether it was sobs or laughter she was choking back. After a couple of deep breaths, she opened her eyes again to gaze upon the scientist.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Believe what you want. Do what you want. I'm going to go find him. If you don't want any part in that, then good for you. But I would do anything for my family, no matter if we're related by blood or not.”

“He's not your family,” Wilson responded lowly. He was no longer shouting, but his voice carried well enough.

“He's not Charlie,” Winona corrected as Wilbur jumped onto her shoulders. “And he's not Wilbur's daughter.” She steadied herself and made sure that Wilbur wasn't about to fall before finishing her thought. “But that doesn't mean he's not our family.”

Wilson didn't argue that point, but he seemed disappointed in the conclusion. He sighed and shook his head. For his own sake, it was a good thing he didn't argue the point any further.

It was still below freezing, dangerous territory for anyone to be out in, but Winona was warmed by her rage and the fuzzy prime ape settled on her shoulders. He said nothing for a long moment, even after they were a good distance away from camp, and when he did speak, his voice was small and hurt. “Do you think he had a point...?”

“Absolutely not,” Winona responded immediately. “He's wrong about this, full stop.”

“What if he's right, though? What if we're only so worried about Tyler because we... I dunno... we fill someone else into his position?” Winona didn't immediately respond, so Wilbur continued. “I would do anything for Elizabeth, Winona. I miss her so much I can barely stand it. And I'm so, so worried about her! Nightmare threatened to kill her. It said that if I didn't kill Tyler, it would kill her.” He physically drooped, his weight shifting on the woman's shoulders. “I don't know if she's okay. I will never be able to know. What if I just feel like such a failure that I would trade her for anyone else, just so I don't feel like I'm failing my child? What if I really am that bad?”

“If you don't mind me asking... what happened to your daughter?”

“I'll answer that if you answer a question of mine.”

Winona hesitated, but ultimately nodded.

“Why did you ask if we thought you were a bad person?”

The question was not one she was expecting, but the last she wanted to hear. She flushed slightly and looked down at her feet. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The other day. You said that someone was always warning you that you would get yourself in trouble by chasing down the leads about Charlie, then you asked if we thought you were a bad person for it. I haven't been able to get it off my mind.”

“You want the truth?” She hated the way her voice cracked when she asked the question. It was such a stupid thing.

“I would like the truth, yes.”

She took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders defiantly. Fully prepared to face ridicule and disdain. Really, she had never said it out loud, and especially not to someone she didn't already know and deeply trust to keep her secret. “Back home,” Winona started slowly. “I have a girlfriend.”

Wilbur didn't say anything for a long moment. Every second he was quiet, she felt her resolve crumble more and more. Then, after a solid twenty seconds, he said: “And?”

“And?” She repeated incredulously. What?

“What about her? Did something happen between you two?”

She blinked several times. She expected the prime ape to find disgust in the notion, perhaps even anger or hatred. Instead, he acted as if she was simply talking about the weather. “I- what?”

Wilbur leaned forward and squinted at her from the side of his eyes. “You've totally lost me.”

“You're... not upset about that?”

“Not really. Good for you. Takes some people four thousand years to find their mate. You're doing better than I was at your age.”

The sheer nonchalance was a very welcome surprise. She had never experienced someone taking that news with such calm detachment. People like her had to hide themselves in plain sight just to live a decent life. People like her were disowned from families and friend groups, called insults and slurs, and Wilbur didn't seem bothered at all?

“Whoa, hey, are you crying? Did I say something wrong?” Wilbur shifted so much that Winona nearly toppled under his weight. She rubbed furiously at her eyes and laughed roughly. Who would've thought that Wilbur would be the most understanding individual about this sort of thing? Was it because he was a native? She almost wished Scarlet would've been able to meet the prime ape now. They probably would've made friends incredibly quickly.

“No, not at all. I just wasn't expecting your reaction. Where I'm from, a lot of people see that as... an issue.”

“Dumb.” He shook his head. “Well, you're in our territory now, and my law states that females are pretty and no criticism is allowed.”

“What about your daughter?” Winona asked. “You said you'd tell me about her if I explained that.”

“Oh. Hmm.” He settled again, his tail hanging limply from her shoulders. “Gonna be honest, I'm about to tell you this story in the most brief way possible because I'd like to not start crying if that's alright.” Winona winced as his claws dug into her skin a little. “I used to be one of the bad guys. Found out I didn't like it very much, Nightmare got mad, killed my mate and hid my daughter away when she was only a few months old.”

Winona frowned, suddenly feeling quite out of her league. He said it in a single breath as if unwilling to linger on any of the thoughts, so she wasn't exactly sure how to respond to it. “I'm... I'm really sorry to hear that,” she settled on. Understatement of the century.

“It's been many years,” Wilbur responded with a sigh. “She's an adult now. I... I thought I met her again at some point, but I can't... remember.” He frowned. “I just... I really feel like I failed her. I failed her and Roselyn.”

“That is far from failing anyone,” Winona argued. “Nightmare did all of that. Not you. You nothing wrong.”

He twitched at that, but didn't respond. She couldn't help but wonder if he simply didn't believe her or if there was still more to the story than he was sharing. Either way, it was clear the prime ape had deeply loved his family and couldn't have done anything about their fates.

By now, Winona realized, it was starting to get dark. Snowflakes were beginning to fall from the sky, wavering in the air for a moment before settling on her hair and Wilbur's fur. He winced as one landed on the bare skin of his face. There wasn't any real discussion between the two about it, no real moment where they decided to camp out for the night. Wilbur simply jumped off of her shoulder at one point, nodding towards a thick patch of brush with a hollow center.

“That looks like the best shelter I've seen in months,” she said wryly. He puffed an amused snort through his nose and started work on building up a fire. It was honestly entrancing watching him work, surprisingly nimble and quick for what you would expect from an animal. His years of practice was clear to see, and before Winona even had the chance to argue against lighting a fire in such dense foliage he already had embers working their way through dry needles and leaves.

He must have noticed her expression, though, because he quirked his tail one way and explained: “It's too wet for it to catch on anything else. We'll be fine.”

It was easy to take his word for it, although that was probably because the warmth of the flames he was creating was enough to dispel any doubts. She reached towards the flames, letting the soft heat thaw her frozen fingers.

“What was her name?” Wilbur asked after a bit. The brush around them blocked almost all of the frigid wind and held some of the heat from the flames. Winona hadn't felt so warm in ages.

“Huh? Oh, um. Scarlet.” She didn't need to ask who he was talking about.

He bobbed his head thoughtfully. “How did you two meet?”

“On the assembly line. She worked right next to me. I heard her talking to her machine one day, just absolutely furious, like 'Dangit, Annabelle, what on Earth are you doing!?' We didn't work with anyone named that, so I had to ask her if that was what she named her machine. I've never seen anyone look so stubborn in my life. She told me 'Yup, and there's nothing you can do about it.' Told her I didn't plan on doing anything about it. I told her about my own machine, Sasha.” Winona leaned back and tilted her head up, gazing at the sky through leafless foliage. “It's silly. I don't know. It just kind of evolved from there.”

Wilbur chuckled and shook his head. When Winona looked back at him, he caught her gaze.

“Roselyn rescued me from a dragoon's lair in a volcano,” he said. “I guess I wasn't the kind of prey they were looking for, so when they caught me, they put me in a cage and basically toyed with me. Nothing terrible, but it wasn't like they were feeding me. I probably would've starved to death or burned to death in that dang volcano, but then she appeared out of nowhere. Beat the absolute snot out of those jerks and freed me from the volcano. Made quite an impression.” He winked.

“Hmm. Your story is a lot more impactful.”

“On the contrary, bonding over your silly quirks is the most wholesome thing I've ever heard.”

They both laughed, but Winona sobered up after only a moment. “You never told me how you knew Charlie.”

“Partners in crime,” he said with a smirk, although there was something sad in it. Or maybe more wistful? “I'm gonna be perfectly honest. If it weren't for her, there's a good chance I wouldn't be here today. She... tried to stop Nightmare when I betrayed them. She did everything she could. She's just not strong enough to fight it off. But even then, she was the only thing that stopped my self-destructive spiral. She has a good heart, Winona. And, from what it seems like, she's been taking pretty good care of Tyler's brother since...”

“WX-78,” she agreed sadly. “I'm glad to hear that. I didn't know them for very long, but they had such a soft spot for Tyler.”

Wilbur nodded in solemn agreement.

Their conversation mostly ended there, with anything added being nothing of consequence. The makeshift shelter was warm enough that eventually, Wilbur started to nod off. He seemed to be fighting it, sitting upright and keeping an eye on the fire, but it was clear it was an uphill battle.

Winona didn't have that luxury. In fact, she was wide awake. She couldn't stop fidgeting, even in the comforting warmth of the flames. She considered trying to get some sleep, but honestly, they didn't have too much room in their shelter, and the thought of accidentally rolling into the fire was enough to dissuade that thought.

So, after some time, she decided she needed to move. As she stirred, Wilbur snapped back into awareness from his drifting, blinking sleepily at her. “Whatcha doing?”

“Can't sit still. I just wanna do some scouting and make sure everything's good,” she assured him. “I'll be back.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and stretched out, easily filling in the space she was leaving behind. She fashioned a quick light source, something she was getting quite good at at this point, and struck back off into the cold.

After the heat of the fire, it seemed even colder than before. She involuntarily shivered, especially vulnerable since Wilbur wasn't acting as a blanket slung across her shoulders. Still, though, there was something eerily gorgeous about the nighttime like this. In the light of a torch, snow seemed to blink in and out of existence, glinting in the orange light before fading back into the darkness. Many of the trees and twigs were perfectly engulfed in ice.

She had always loved winter as a child. Her father used to make snow forts with her, passing down the ancient knowledge of snowball fights over the course of many years. Ancient knowledge that Winona was sure to pass down to Charlie the second her little sister was old enough to partake in such games. A sort of soft smile appeared on her face as she thought of Charlie as a small child, bundled head to toe in thick coats and scarves and gloves, concealing almost every inch of her except for her eyes. It had been a long time since she had even had something as simple as a coat, let alone the extreme lengths her parents would go through to keep their daughters warm.

Winona drifted on memories of the past, consumed in her own thoughts so deeply that she didn't see the obstacle in front of her until she nearly tripped on it. She stumbled back a few paces and squinted at the object projecting from the snow. It was, for all intents and purposes, a shapeless blob beneath the snowfall. Curiosity struck, and she bent down to brush the snow away to make it out better.

At first, she wasn't she what she was looking at. It was a gray stone slab, about a foot and a half tall, with an engraving on it, simply reading: “Quoth the Tall Bird, Nevermore.” Underneath it, there looked to be what was once a name that had long since been scratched out- oh.

It was a gravestone.

The realization hit her like a punch.

That likely meant that all of the other shapeless blobs hidden beneath the snow nearby were also graves, and wow when you think you've found a bit of everything you accidentally stumble into a graveyard.

How many of these graves have bodies in them? Winona felt sick to her stomach. Where had these people come from? Who had dug the graves? Did that mean there was someone in this world who had to bury everyone they knew before dying themselves? Or was someone still alive?

The thoughts could've spiraled further, but they came to an abrupt halt when something caught her attention. The slightest crackle of ice. The faintest creak of weight pressing onto wet snow. Winona quickly took a step away from the grave and shoved the torch in front of her, brandishing it like a weapon. “Who's there?” She demanded into the darkness. The silence that followed was stifling.

Any previous semblance of peace left over from the graveyard discovery vanished in a blink. She didn't see any other light sources yet, so that meant that whatever was out there was either friends with the dark, or hidden well enough to prevent any light from sneaking through. She stood as still as possible, keeping her limbs rigid even as she started to feel colder and colder.

Think, Winona.

She had no doubt that this was the hunter William had 'warned' about. If she stayed still, she would be able to hear any more sounds that indicated someone was coming closer. She was also a sitting duck for whatever was watching her, and she physically couldn't stay still forever and would likely freeze to death before she could try.

If she moved, the sound of her footsteps would cover up anything other sounds, but she might be able to make it back to Wilbur and the fire before it could get her.

After another moment of silence, another moment of slowly growing colder, she decided she had to risk it.

The second Winona started to run, the creature shot towards her. It wasn't bothering to remain quiet anymore now that it knew it had been found out. Instead, it was rushing her, and only moments after moving, a flash of blue flickered in her vision as it lashed out.

Claws tore into her flesh, carving a gash from her elbow to her wrist with a single attack. Numb as she was from the cold, she barely felt it, but she felt the hot blood weeping from the wound just fine. When it approached again, Winona forced herself to stop on her heel and swing around to face it before it could land another blow.

It was wielding a weapon that glowed in the moonlight, but before she could even think about the implications she was having to defend again. She jumped away from its attack and tried to land her own attack with the torch. It hissed furiously at her, shying away from the light. Winona took an unsteady step back, keeping the torch in front of her, and it matched her step. A low growl rumbled in its throat. A growl that sounded...

Like a spider.

Winona lowered her guard immediately. “Tyler?”

She could see the faintest details of his fur in the glow of the sword, the glimmers of blue light reflecting in his eyes. He wasn't wearing his necklace, but she noted a soft yellow glow on the ground, not too far away. It must've fallen off in the scuffle. And yet, he didn't get any closer to her. Instead, he stayed an unsteady distance away, growling all the while.

Not Tyler, she mentally corrected. “Er... Webber?”

He moved faster than she could hope to fight back. Within the blink of an eye, he lashed out, with the sword this time, and knocked the torch out of her hand. A startled shout escaped Winona's mouth as it spiraled away from her. Any hope she had of retrieving it was gone as the head of the torch was snuffed out almost immediately in the snow.

Then, something smashed into her ribs, sending her sprawling to the ground in the darkness. Webber was standing over her now, his sword forming a line in the snow as it dragged behind him. Water began to seep into her clothing as her body heat melted the snow beneath her.

“Webber- Tyler- whoever it is, it's me! Wilbur and I have been worried sick! We've been looking everywhere for you!”

He didn't seem to care. He lifted the sword high above his head, staring down at Winona with a blank expression in his eyes. It was the light of the sword, however faint, that prevented either of them from being stranded in the dark, but that wasn't helpful when the same sword was about to be used to execute her.

“Let's just- let's ignore that this happened. Put the sword down and I can bring you to our fire and you'll get all the warmth you need. How does that sound? We can figure everything else out later, I just-” Winona's words cut off into a shriek as the sword came plummeting down towards her neck. She instinctively curled to protect her stomach and neck, but with enough force-

Thunk.

Icy slush splashed over her skin as the sword buried itself... into the ground. Only inches away. She remained curled up until she realized what had happened, that she wasn't about to be murdered by a child, but when she finally looked back up he had gone. She heard his footsteps cease only a few paces away, and she knew very well that he was still there. And yet, he wasn't attacking her. Simply watching her.

Winona had to take several deep breaths. Her heart seemed to have jumped into her throat, making the simple act of swallowing a bit of a chore. But she would take being terrified but alive any day over calm and dead.

With every inch of her body shaking in cold and fear, Winona dragged herself back onto her knees. She drew her arms around herself to try to regain body heat, but she was drenched in snowmelt after her fall and still without any other source of warmth. The sword by her side kept her shielded from the dark, but it gave off no heat.

Still, she tried to talk to the predator watching just a few feet away.

“I don't know what happened, or what's going on,” she said. She couldn't help but notice that it was hard to speak with the way her jaw seemed frozen together with ice. Even the blood on her arm seemed to have turned cold. “But we can get through this, right? As a team. Just...” Her eyesight was blurring slightly at the edges, and tiredness seemed to cling to her limbs. “Just like we promised. As a family.”

The sky was turning lighter. Not by much, but enough that her surroundings were starting to become more noticeable. She remained curled in on herself, speaking out loud to the boy that seemed to be waiting for something. “It's really cold, isn't it?” She breathed. “You've gotta be f-freezing. You're covered in snow and... nhg.” Winona lowered her head, breath billowing out in clouds around her face. “Wilbur and I found a really great place for a fire. It's nice and warm. Let's just go back there and get out of this frozen wasteland, okay?” Even with the suggestion, she didn't move.

For the longest time, Tyler/Webber was silent. He simply stared at her, whiskers twitching ever-so-slightly.

He started talking.

At first, she wondered if her hearing had gone out, because she couldn't hear anything he was saying. She would later realize, though, that she couldn't hear him because he was rambling under his breath. A panicked, breathless stream of words that seemed to leave no room for inhales. She looked up at him for the smallest of moments, noting the tight coil of his limbs. He moved towards her, a single shaky step, before falling back again. He shook his head, buried his face in his hands, and growled lowly.

Winona closed her eyes tightly, waiting. There wasn't much else she could do at the moment. She was at his mercy.

Then, something strange happened.

It started as the strangest compulsion to stand. Winona gritted her teeth against it, trying to keep them from chattering, but at some point the pull became too much. She slowly unwrapped her frozen limbs from around herself and pulled herself into a standing position. Realistically, the cold should have been attacking her more fiercely, but it almost seemed to calm down as she moved.

“Fight back,” she said calmly. She didn't mean to say it. At no point did she tell herself to say those words. And yet, they came out of her mouth anyway, in her own voice.

Tyler shook his head furiously, claws digging into the fur of his temples.

“Fight. Back,” she said again. This time, it wasn't a suggestion. It was a demand.

One of his hands suddenly whipped towards his chest as loud, breathy wheezes escaped from his lungs. He seemed to be in a great deal of pain, which was quite the opposite of what Winona was feeling.

Something was now burning in her chest. Hot, but not uncomfortably so. Something pulsing deep inside her heart that breathed warmth throughout, unlocking her frozen limbs and soothing her shivers. She placed one hand against her chest, but her skin was just as cold as before.

“Don't-” Tyler gasped out. “Don't... want to...”

The ember flickered.

“What would a King do?” She asked quietly.

“I don't know!” He shouted back.

“What would a King do!?”
“I. Don't. KNOW!” Fat tears rose in his eye, rolling down his cheek and cutting a line through the grime that had settled itself in his fur. Winona took a step forward. She wanted to say a million things, to ask a million questions, but her voice didn't work at her command.

“A King would fight,” Winona murmured without her direct consent.

He trembled at the sentence. His claws seem to dig further into his skin, his teeth clenching so hard that it looked like they were about to crack. “I...” He muttered. “I... have fought!” The words exploded forth with an energy of their own. He straightened himself and glared Winona in the eye, even as he visibly cried. The ember in her chest responded to his words, growing to a temperature so close to unbearable that she had to bite back a shout of pain.

He gripped his arm with the opposite hand. An orange glow seemed to seep from his chest, buried somewhere beneath the fur, and radiating from his scars. It bathed his face in the same way it had once before, outlining the shape of his pupil and highlighting the fury painted across his face.

“What have you fought for?”

“I've fought for life!” His voice was mean, angry. Driven by rage rather than the stoic calm that had enveloped him last time, but still laced with that familiar accent that reminded her of Wilbur's. “I've fought every second of every day against everything that says I shouldn't be here! I've fought for the right to be loved, the right to have family, the right to exist!”

“What have you fought for?”

“I've...” His momentum seemed to melt away. He lowered his head as if exhausted, his shoulders slumping and his body softening into something tired and weak. “I've fought for my Kingdom,” he whispered. “I've fought for my subjects. I've fought for the ability to claim my Throne, because my subjects would not respect a King who has not fought for his place. I've... I've fought for my independence. For the ability to lead my Kingdom as myself, and no one else. Strength above all else.” The tears seemed to have stopped, drying into ugly tracks across his face.

Winona moved towards him slowly. Tyler didn't move; he simply let her come right up to him. Swiping his necklace up from where it had fallen during the initial attack, she put it back around his neck and let it rest against his chest. She rested one hand on his shoulder and he leaned into the touch with a shaky sigh.

“What have you shown?” She asked gently.

He blinked up at her with a pained expression. The expression of someone who feels that they've lost no matter what. His answer was pitifully quiet, his voice gentle and young.

“I have shown Tenacity.”

[Dr.Webber]

You should make this an animated series on YouTube 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 79. Tenacity - Part 5

 

Chapter 2 of 5

The Game is Afoot

Wilbur was, admittedly, getting twitchy. He had drifted off for a short bit, catching slivers of rest in the warmth provided by the bramble shelter. When he fully woke up though, the sun was up, and Winona still wasn't back.

He snapped into alertness in less than a second, ash skittering away from him as his tail swiped over the recently burnt out fire. “Winona?” He called uncertainly, eyes flicking from side to side. When he heard no response, he wriggled his way out of the brush and stood on the ground outside. The temperature seemed to have taken a shift towards something more pleasant. It was no longer below freezing, and while it was still cold enough to be innately uncomfortable, he could sense warm breezes on the horizon. Slush dripped from his fingers as he pulled himself into a bipedal position, face creased in concern and stress. “Winona!”

Wilbur felt one ear twitch slightly as he heard rapidly approaching footsteps. He twirled around, immediately preparing a defensive posture before relaxing as his companion called back out to him.

“We're here! It's us, we're here!” Winona exclaimed. She broke into his sight, arms out as if exposing herself as an innocent. The act was meant to show that she had no weapons, but the illusion was broken by the glowing blue sword that she held. A few paces behind her, a familiar, very despondent looking child hovered.

“Tyler!” Wilbur immediately shot towards the boy and clasped his hands on Tyler's shoulders. In response, Tyler squirmed and grumbled, pulling away without any real force behind it. “You are in so much trouble mister!” Wilbur scolded. “Where in the world have you been?”

“Be careful with him,” Winona warned him gently. Wilbur pulled away on instinct, catching the levels of misery shadowing the child's face. Now that he was looking at Tyler properly, he noticed it looked as though he had been through Hell and back. His fur was dull and matted and sticky to the touch (Wilbur didn't point this out, but he did furiously wipe his hands off in the slushy snow the second he could). He reeked of metallic blood, though laced with something sour and acidic, so likely not his own. His face was stained with green and black sludge, painting his fangs an odd off-shade of sickly yellow instead of gleaming white. A quick examination showed to him that Tyler didn't seem to be injured, save for a small infected-looking wound on his leg, and, once more, his pupil was visible, although this time in a sort of cracked orange glow rather than golden.

All the while, he looked profoundly ill. Where there wasn't blood or strange sludge matting his fur, it was slick with sweat despite the cool temperature. His breaths were harsh and labored and reeking of decay, and his eye, although glowing, was glazed over as if in pain. Wilbur had felt the heat rising from beneath his fur when he grabbed his shoulders.

Wilbur took another step back, frowning deeply. “What... happened?” He asked again, calmer this time. “Winona, where was he?”

The woman shook her head uncertainly. “He was in a... a graveyard.” She swallowed hard around the word. A graveyard? He didn't even want to think about the implications of that. “I don't know what happened. He hasn't said much.”

“Tyler?” Wilbur said quietly as the boy turned his head away and coughed into his elbow. There seemed to be a real force behind his cough, and Wilbur didn't miss the foul forest-green phlegm that was loosened from the fit.

“It's not going away,” Tyler murmured. His voice was as distant as his eyes, cloudy and wavering.

“What’s not going away?”

For a moment, Tyler said nothing. Instead, he swayed gently in place as if on the verge of passing out. Finally, he answered: “The goo.”

‘The goo’. What a fantastic kind-of-answer.

“Come on. Let’s at least get somewhere warm. Can you light the fire again, Wilbur?” Winona nodded at the prime ape, who gave a hesitant nod himself. Winona had her hands clenched together, and even though Tyler seemed unaffected by the chill, Winona was shivering faintly.

He kept that in the back of his mind as he led the duo back to the shelter in the brambles. Tyler blinked hazily at it, clearly unsure of his whereabouts. “Where’s Wilson?” He asked, his voice slurred ever-so-slightly.

Winona winced in the corner of Wilbur’s vision. “We had an… ah… argument.” The answer was vague, but Tyler seemed to buy it without any further questions about it. He hummed noncommittally instead.

When the fire was built, Winona hung back slightly, instead leaving plenty of space for the sick boy who seemed entirely uninterested in the heat. Wilbur frowned at her as she massaged her fingers. She caught his eye and gave a tight smile. “I’m fine,” she said before he could ask. “I don’t think I’m frostbitten at all.”

“Whether you are or not, you’ve been out in the cold too long. Get closer, there’s plenty of room.” To make his point, Wilbur pressed himself against the opposite side, attempting to create as much open space as possible.

“Wilson would know,” Tyler muttered.

“Yeah well, we’re ignoring him,” Wilbur huffed. “He’s a jerk and I’m still mad.”

As Winona brought herself closer to the fire, Tyler leaned against her. His eyes were fluttering as if he was struggling to stay awake. Wilbur sighed and inched up on the boy’s other side. When Tyler didn’t move, Wilbur reached forward and gently began to clean his fur. Grooming was a common bonding time in prime ape society, but having lived on the fringes of it, Wilbur rarely partook in such activities. Yet, at the moment, he couldn’t help but focus on how terrible Tyler needed a good groom.

That seemed to be the straw that broke the water beefalo’s back. In only a few short minutes, he had all but passed out against Winona, snoring slightly around the congestion in his throat and nose. Wilbur didn’t immediately acknowledge this, instead choosing to put all of his focus into cleaning his fur without waking him up or startling him.

“What… happened?” Wilbur asked Winona quietly. The woman said nothing for a moment, instead continuing to massage her fingers with hyperfocus. Then, she shrugged.

“I… I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “I was just looking around like I said I would and I nearly tripped over… over a grave.” She shuddered. “Wilbur, there were so many graves. I didn’t even know that many people came to this world, let alone this deep into it. It was dark so… I really couldn’t see anything. He attacked me.” Winona lowered her head. “He wasn’t acting right. He wasn’t acting like Tyler or Webber. More like… he was acting on pure instinct.”

“Like a normal spider,” Wilbur guessed darkly. Winona nodded, then froze very suddenly as the movement disturbed Tyler. As soon as he settled again, she looked back at Wilbur.

“Then, he seemed to break through for a moment, and I…” The handywoman ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching on tangles and knots. “This… thing happened. I just started… saying things, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to say. Like something was speaking through me.”

Wilbur went still as something icy tore through him. Something… speaking through her? But… the only one who should be able to do that is… “Nightmare?” He choked. Winona’s face immediately lit with alarm and she visibly flinched.

“No, no. Absolutely not. It wasn’t anything like that. It was just these weird questions. Like… like what happened with Wilson last time.”

“I noticed the orange glow,” Wilbur said after a moment. “You think that was it? What was the ‘thing’ this time?”

“Tenacity.”

“Tenacity.” It had a sad note when Wilbur repeated it. He pressed his palms into his eyes with a heavy sigh. “To think he hadn’t already achieved that…”

“This is so wrong. It’s all wrong.” Winona returned to rubbing her fingers, with a bit more force this time.

“There’s nothing we can do to stop it,” Wilbur answered grimly. “He’s the Young Heir. No matter what we do or how we try to stop it, it’s destiny.”

“Well, destiny and I have always been at odds,” Winona growled. “We will all get out of this together.”

“Winona…” Wilbur sighed. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well it will!” She exploded. “I don’t care about what some old cave rhino says, we will stay together after this. We’ll find a way to save Charlie, stick it to William, and take everyone home.”

“Winona, we can’t-”

“Why not?! What is stopping us? Is it because you think you and Tyler wouldn’t be able to fit in? We’ll find a way, I swear! I know that Charlie and I could come up with something, and then nobody has to worry about darkness or freezing to death or monsters ever again! We can find a way to make it work-!”

“It won’t, Winona!” Wilbur shouted. He flipped around to face her and abandoning his task of grooming Tyler’s fur. Guilt and pain flooded through his system at the look of pure betrayal on her face. He felt his shoulders slumping and he turned his back to her to add more fuel to the fire instead. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” Her voice was something sad, almost begging.

“Tyler and I are natives,” Wilbur said quietly. “We’re bound to this world by a force stronger than anything else. If we tried to go to any other world, we would be torn apart for the attempt. The only thing that might be able to break that bond is Nightmare, and even that is doubtful. It would take so much raw power to break it that nobody can even wield it without perishing only seconds later.” He swallowed, preparing himself to say the harsh truth despite how badly he didn’t want to. “And… I think Charlie would be bound too.”

He didn’t have to look at her to know that she had stiffened in fear, perhaps anger. Anger at him or the rules of the land? He couldn't tell.

“Why would you say that?” The question was posed with a tight voice, almost through gritted teeth.

“With any luck, that isn’t the case. I just can’t help but be worried given that she is Nightmare’s vessel. That fact alone might bind her to this world as much as Tyler and I.”

“So that’s it, huh? There’s no chance of saving either of you?” Wilbur could hear the defeat in her voice. He turned to face her again, trying all the while to ignore the pure pain written all across her face.

“I have a home,” Wilbur reminded her softly.

“Does he?” She dipped her head towards the boy leaning against her, who had somehow remained asleep despite their raised voices.

“He has a home with me either way.”

While this clearly wasn’t the exact answer she wanted, it seemed to be enough. There was still a deeply pained expression on her face, but there was only so much they could do. They were doing the best with what they had.

“You know we’re gonna have to go back to camp soon, right?” Winona sighed. “It seems like we might be able to leave the world now, and we both know how impatient Tyler got the last time we waited.”

Wilbur puffed out his cheeks in frustration. “He wanted to leave Tyler behind! I say we leave him behind and see how he likes it.”

“We’re not going to do that. He may be acting unnecessarily rude, but he’s still just as deserving of freedom as he was before this.”

In my land, I would gladly throw anyone like that into the volcano. The jerk tax. Even then, he knew very well that they wouldn’t leave Wilson behind. If nothing else, then because he might still be needed for further trials. Otherwise, Wilbur would gladly cause a nasty ‘accident’ to happen to the scientist just for bringing Roslyn and Elizabeth into the argument. He must have been making a face, because Winona reached over and shoved him lightly.

“Just as deserving,” she repeated, more stern than before. Wilbur rolled his eyes but didn’t argue the point, even if he thought it was extremely incorrect. “We’ll let Tyler sleep and when he wakes up we’ll see if he feels up to a bit of traveling, okay?”

Honestly, Wilbur thought with a grimace. If we wait until he feels up to it, we might be waiting for a while. He didn’t share the thought, but he knew it must have crossed Winona’s mind as well, for the concern creasing her face seemed to grow deeper as she watched the boy’s breathing, heavy and labored even in his sleep.

…

He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he found himself startled awake. At first, he laid still and kept his eyes closed, trying to figure out the situation before actively participating in it. He heard Winona gently speaking, coaxing Tyler back into a sitting position as the boy coughed violently. Wilbur pushed himself onto his feet as he glanced over at his companions. He could tell by smell alone that Tyler had been sick, although really all he saw was more of that repulsive green-black goo. His eye was open, although watery and bright with fever.

“Is he okay?” Wilbur asked. Winona only shot him a worried glance before putting her attention back on Tyler. The prime ape shifted closer and peered closer at the sludge. The smell was awful, like rancid meat, or a rotting carcass. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, or why there was apparently such a build up of it in Tyler’s lungs and stomach. It wasn’t until the sour, acidic smell hit him again that he realized what it reminded him of.

“Tyler, what have you been eating since we last saw you?” Wilbur tried to keep the panicked note out of his voice, but inevitably failed. The boy winced as he was addressed, but he didn’t respond. He panted hard, clearly still trying to catch his breath after being sick. Winona kept her hand on his back, steadying him.

“Has he been eating?” Winona asked cautiously. He didn’t seem prepared to answer any questions himself, so Wilbur turned his attention to the woman instead.

“I’ve seen this before. Or at least, something similar.”

She nodded for him to continue.

“Monster meat is both poisonous and highly acidic,” Wilbur explained after a long moment of consideration. “There’s a lot of animals that are immune to it, like hounds, but that’s because of a life-long buildup of tolerance to the poison and a special, erm, mucus that coats their stomachs and prevents the acidity from harming them.” He frowned. “Spiders are one of the animals that can usually eat monster meat.” Winona opened her mouth and Wilbur pointed one finger her way. “Don’t ask how I know this. I’ve done some really weird things in my lifetime.”

“So what’s the problem? If spiders can eat monster meat just fine, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well.” Wilbur spared another glance at the goo that Tyler had coughed up. “That is a healthy mixture of blood, stomach acid, that ‘mucus’ that’s supposed to stop the acid from burning through your stomach, and partially digested meat.”

Winona looked sick at the explanation. Truth be told, it was pretty disgusting now that he said it out loud. Well, he had already started info dumping, might as well go the whole nine yards.

“Prime apes are not immune to this stuff. I’ve seen prime apes die from this toxicity before, although it wasn’t quite as goopy as this.” He waved a hand to reference the slime. “That’s how I recognize it.”

“Die?” Winona repeated in a small voice.

Tyler was showing clear signs of this toxicity. Somehow, the implications of that didn’t hit him until now.

“If he’s coughing up the mucus, then shouldn’t that mean he would also be immune to the acidity?” Winona sounded frantic, and it wasn’t hard to know why. Tyler leaned heavily against her, his breath wheezing in his chest. He certainly looked sick enough to be considered in danger, and that wasn’t counting the glazed, empty look in his eye.

“I’ve never seen him eat monster meat before,” Wilbur said thoughtfully. “He wouldn’t have immunity to the poisonous part, at least. As for the mucus… this is way too much to be normal. Especially if it’s in his lungs. I think this is new, and it’s really thrown his body for a loop. There might be some internal injuries that formed before it even started to protect him against it.”

“Wilbur…” Her voice was tight with fear. “Will… will he be okay?”

Wilbur could be good at compartmentalizing when he focused on a subject. Rambling about the biology of spider stomachs was one thing, but the second he stopped talking about it and started realizing he was basically diagnosing his son with a dangerous toxicity that had killed dozens of animals before him, the panic really started to set in. Wilbur audibly gulped as he gazed at the ill boy.

“Yes,” he answered, although he was fully aware that he was speaking hopefully rather than truthfully. He waved his hand as if brushing the issue off. “Listen. Prime apes die from just about anything. Weather too rainy one day? Dead. Trip on a crabbit? Dead. Get into spicy meat? Terrible night, then dead. Really, I wouldn’t compare their strength to Tyler’s any day. He’ll be fine.”

Maybe he had already scared her enough for her to not believe him, or maybe it was the look on his face, but whichever the reason was, Winona didn’t look comforted at all.

“Why would he eat this stuff if it was… this bad?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Wilbur sighed. “You said he wasn’t acting like himself. He must been acting purely on instincts. You’ll eat anything when you’re starving, especially when you’re half spider and probably familiar with cannibalism.”

“Cannibalism…?”

“Spiders will gladly eat each other if given the chance. They usually don’t hunt siblings from the same Queen, but that won’t stop them if one of them dies normally. And, he doesn’t even belong to a queen so…” he left the rest of the words unsaid. It was obvious how he had been sustaining himself until now. Wilbur shook his head and growled lowly. “Usually, when others would fall ill, the best we could do was make sure they drank tons of water and ate something that wasn’t acidic. But… we’re probably gonna have to go back to the camp in order for me to make something since that’s where all the food is. Not that I want Wilson in on this situation, but I’ll put aside my hatred for him for now.”

“Wilson might be able to help, though. He’s more knowledgeable in this stuff than I am.”

Well trivalves and cockles, that was a good point. Wilbur grumbled under his breath, but he had to admit that she was right. He knew how to keep himself alive, and he knew what insides looked like and did, but he didn’t know how to really use medicine or heal others. Maybe, if he was lucky, nobody would nearly get themselves killed after this and he could spend the rest of his life happily ignoring Wilson’s existence. “Fine. But I swear, if he hurts Tyler at all, I’m going to make that scientist wish he was never born.” He felt his tail twitching in anger as he started pacing to the best of his ability in the small area. “Believe you me, I know torture. I know exactly how to make someone hurt as terribly as possible without killing them-”

“Wilbur.”

“Right. Yes. Later.”

Winona bent down to pick up the sick hybrid, shuddering as she lifted him in her arms. “He’s so light,” she said with a pitiful tone. Wilbur said nothing to her observation, instead choosing to grab Tyler’s sword and take the lead. The last thing he wanted was for Wilson’s first glimpse of their return to be Tyler, so he hoped he would take the brunt of any lasting anger that Wilson had from their fight.

On their journey out there, Wilbur and Winona had been lively speaking, sharing some of their stories, and apparently bonding. Now, they were both cold and silent. Wilbur pondered the bubble of quiet as they walked. What caused it in the first place? Deep worry for their companion? Concern with Wilson’s actions? Maybe it was simply because it was warming up now, and they didn’t feel the need to speak to keep their temperatures up. Whatever the reason, no words were shared between them this time, and the only thing to break their silence was the ragged sounds of Tyler’s breathing.

How had he gotten this bad? He must have consumed an incredible amount of poisonous meat to put him into such a deep lull like this. Even prime apes who fell ill with this sickness were typically conscious until the later stages of it, even if they didn’t want to be.

(He chose to ignore the other possibility. That this was the late stages of it, and he had been suffering from this toxicity for days now without any help or support. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how miserable those days must have been if that was the case, with nothing but his own demon to support him during such an awful time.)

“Wilbur, is this… normal?” Winona broke the silence after a good two hours of walking. He looked back at her and followed her gaze to a weeping wound on the boy’s leg. He had noticed it earlier, but even though it looked infected, it was still the last thing he was concerned about at the time. Now that Winona was specifically pointing it out, though, he took a closer look at it to see something he hadn’t expected.

Green and black muck crusted the edges of the slash. Blood still leaked sluggishly from it, undeterred by scabs or any signs that it had even tried to heal, but for the most part, it was only plasma leaking through the wound and not much of actual blood. However, the sludge that Tyler had puked up earlier was coming from the injury as well in a much steadier stream. Thick and sticky, it clung to his fur and only worsened the matting already present.

Wilbur cursed heavily under his breath and gently touched the area around it. Hot to the touch. As if he expected anything else. “We need to get him back now.”

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“It’s not supposed to be in his blood,” Wilbur’s voice cracked, betraying his terror despite his attempt to keep a straight face. “Winona, it’s not supposed to be there.”

Her grip noticeably tightened, and Tyler let out a small whine of protest as she squeezed him. Wilbur could see the strength it took for her to loosen her hold again.

At this point, they were no longer walking back. They were on the verge of sprinting. Despite Tyler’s small size, Winona was falling behind a bit, so with just a look shared between them Wilbur decided to shoot forward to prepare Wilson. His hatred of the scientist had gone on the back burner.

What if Wilson’s not there? What if decided to try to leave without us? What if he refuses to help Tyler? What if-

The swirling thoughts stuttered to a halt as Wilbur broke into the clearing and nearly collided into the scientist himself collecting bark from the edges of the trees. Wilson had a scowl on his face that immediately turned to shock and confusion as he saw the state of the prime ape. Wilbur could barely catch his breath, his legs trembling beneath him as he tried to keep on his feet.

“Tyler,” Wilbur sputtered after a moment. “He’s sick. Really sick. We don’t know what to do.”

For a moment, Wilson just stared at him. He pointed a single finger towards Wilbur, and he looked more confused than concerned. “You just spoke.”

“Congratulations! You win! We’ll talk about this later, okay?” Wilbur spat. “Winona and I- we found him. But he’s in a terrible way and I swear you can laugh at how right you are later and I won’t even be mad. Just help him.”

Wilson opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Finally, he pressed his mouth into a line and nodded a single, short time. “Right. Where is he?”

Wilbur directed him towards where he left Winona behind and started to set up an area to work. There was only so much he could do in the way of bedding and supplies, but he did his best before turning his attention to the fire. It was still set up to cook, in the same way Maxwell had formed it, and Wilbur was ecstatic to see that there was still some food left. None of them had gotten ill from it, so it had to be safe enough, right? Whatever. It’s not like this food would be any worse on his system than the food he had been eating.

When Wilson returned with Winona and Tyler in tow, he didn’t waste any time in motioning for the woman to set him down. Wilbur stepped aside to allow for them to get closer to the fire as they worked.

“Monster meat toxicity. Severe,” Wilbur reported without looking back. “He’s got poison in his system from that and internal bleeding from somewhere. Probably from the acid.” Wilbur had to take a few deep breaths to continue. “It’s in his bloodstream.”

“He needs to get it out of his system then. Has he thrown up?”

“Yes,” Winona said. “I don’t think he has any left in his stomach.”

“Okay.” Wilson hovered for just a moment, one hand moving towards the injury on his leg and the other towards the boy’s face. Then, he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Wilbur, I need something to clean and wrap his leg. Really, just water if you can.”

Wilbur nodded loyally, already one step ahead of him. He already had melting snow preparing for food.

“Winona, remember what we used to wrap his claws? I need more of that.”

“What about the toxicity?” Wilbur demanded as Winona moved to follow the instructions. Wilson didn’t respond for a moment, with his full attention on moving Tyler’s head slightly. Even when finished with this, Wilson still didn’t seem to be able to provide an answer. “Wilson. What about the toxicity??”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, defeated. “For the kind of damage you’re talking about… that would require surgery, which is not feasible.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a surgeon!” Wilson protested. “I would kill him if I tried, and the infection from this environment would kill him even if I didn’t. It’s safer to let him try to recover on his own.”

“He’ll die!”

“I’m doing all that I can. Water?”

Wilbur growled under his breath, but still provided the liquid. Some of it, Wilson did use to clean the wound on Tyler’s leg, but the rest of it he tried to coax into the hybrid’s mouth. To the surprise of no one, he only coughed it out as soon as Wilson tried. Wilbur felt his stomach clench in fear. Wilson had never dealt with something like this before. Wilbur had, but never in a productive manner. He had only ever watched others die from it. The combined knowledge of all three of them wasn’t nearly enough.

They did what they could, but it wasn’t much. Winona managed to coax the boy into enough of a conscious state to swallow some water and food that Wilbur had made, but that was the extent of their progress. Wilbur kept close to Tyler’s side, shivering slightly at the feeling of heat pressed against him.

Still, though, there was nothing else he could do. Nothing but keep watch and pray to no one that he wouldn’t have to watch another member of his family die.

…

Wilbur never meant to fall asleep. He jerked awake as soon as his body realized it was meant to be keeping vigil. All of his claws dug into the ground as he gazed at his companion beside him. Tyler was still breathing, but each breath was shallow and punctuated with awful rattles that rumbled deep in his chest. The sound was familiar in the most terrible, sickening, excruciating way.

“No, no no,” Wilbur muttered desperately. He shook Tyler desperately, receiving no response. “No no, please, I’m begging you, please.”

“I know how to save him.”

The voice came suddenly. Wilbur had been so focused that he hadn’t realized someone had come up behind him. It was pitch black at this point, with the only light around for miles being the fire that was burning low and hot. He turned quickly to see Wilson standing above them, Tyler’s sword held loosely in one hand.

“Then do it!” Wilbur spat. “I swear if you even think of pulling any tricks-”

“I’m not pulling any tricks.” Wilson’s voice was eerily calm. “You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you? Trust you? Like I would trust you with my drink let alone my son.”

“If you don’t trust me, then I can’t do anything. He’s dying anyway. Surely you’ve heard enough death rattles in your time to recognize it from anywhere.”

Wilbur swallowed heavily and gazed back at the dying hybrid. He didn’t know what to do. Tyler was dying from poison and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

What if Wilson…

What? Kills him? It would just be speeding the inevitable at this point. Finally, Wilbur pressed his forehead against Tyler’s and gave Wilson a single nod of permission.

“Good.”

Wilbur couldn’t have even stopped it if he wanted to. Wilson moved in a flash after that, the sword arching high above his head and plunging down with frightening speed. Wilbur only had the time to shoot his head up and see what was happening before it did.

Wilson stabbed Tyler clear through the stomach with his own sword.

It was so sudden, so shocking, that Wilbur couldn’t even process what was going on. His brain fired off conflicting signals, demanding him to do a million things at once, each demand so intense that his body simply reacted by not reacting at all. And so, all he could do was stare at the man, at the sword in his grip that impaled Tyler through the stomach, at the stillness of the form of a boy receiving a wound that would kill most anyone.

Then, with careful precision and a startling calmness, Wilson withdrew the sword. Wilbur braced himself for the horrible squelch of a blade tearing through muscle and organs, but it was as if all sound was turned off. There was nothing of the sort.

A thick, sickly slime coated the blade, but there was no blood to be seen. Wilson seemed almost disinterested as the weapon glowed in eager acceptance, absorbing the sludge without any traces left. The glow of it turned a bit brighter, and the color a shade darker.

Finally, a single command won out against the storm in Wilbur’s head. Defend. With an extremely delayed reaction, he turned on Wilson, growling furiously.

Wilson immediately dropped the sword the second he became the target of Wilbur’s anger. He raised his hands innocently, which didn’t even begin to make Wilbur consider sparing his useless life.

“You… you…!” He snarled through the emotion crowding up his throat. There wasn’t any reason to even try to treat the stab wound. Tyler was weak enough that a smaller injury would have killed him almost instantly. Fire surged in the prime ape’s gut and he tore towards Wilson with a primal roar of agony.

Wilson’s hands shot out, gripping Wilbur’s arms at the wrist before his claws could make any contact. Without even hesitating, Wilbur snapped forward and sank his fangs deep into Wilson’s skin. Blood immediately pooled around his teeth, but Wilbur couldn’t even be bothered to care.

Wilson let out a sharp cry and immediately dropped to the ground, effectively crushing Wilbur against the earth. He lost his grip, but Wilson’s own grip had loosened considerably, allowing Wilbur full control over his claws again. He buried them into the scientist’s stomach and used the new grip to push Wilson away from him.

Before Wilbur could renew his attack, though, a hand was grabbing his shoulder and dragging him back. He almost turned the attack on Winona, recognizing her just a second early enough to prevent from mauling her. “What are you doing?” Wilbur hissed, struggling from her grip. “Didn’t you see that!? Didn’t you see what he did-?”

“He’s awake.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then another moment for Wilbur to properly distinguish their meaning. “...What…?”

Wilbur immediately disengaged and allowed Wilson to drag himself back to his feet with a groan of pain. A tiny spark in Wilbur’s chest told him to go back at it, to rip the scientist’s face off like any self-respecting primate would, but his attention had been fully drawn elsewhere.

Where Wilbur had fully expected to see a terrible, gaping stab wound decorating Tyler’s stomach, there was only smooth fur, blemished only by the scrapes and scratches he already sported. And, true to Winona’s word, he was awake. He looked a bit out of it, clearly still feeling the effects of it, but his breathing had improved considerably, and he had effectively coughed the rattle from his throat. For a moment, the hybrid met Wilbur’s gaze with hesitant confusion, but it was enough for Wilbur to see how clear his eye had become. No longer clouded with sickness and pain, shining a brilliant orange and highlighting his pupil.

“It worked…!” Wilson exclaimed. While Wilson was clearly bothered by his new injuries- he was barely moving his injured arm- he suddenly seemed much brighter than he had a moment before. He rushed towards Tyler without even looking twice at a growling Wilbur and nervous Winona.

The boy hesitantly raised one hand towards Wilson, who took it with a beaming smile. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Awful,” Tyler immediately responded. His voice was rough and scratchy, but undeniably his. “What… happened…?”

“What happened was that Wilson…! Freaking…! Stabbed you! No explanation! No elaboration!” Wilbur pushed past the man in order to make his own observations. Truthfully, Tyler still looked awful. He clearly felt sick still, given he had a hand loosely clutching his stomach, but his breathing was much clearer. Deep and full breaths. The wound on his leg no longer seemed to be seeping the green slime. By all accounts, he looked a million times better.

That still didn’t change the simple fact that Wilson stabbed him.

“Do you plan on explaining what that was about?” Winona demanded, turning a sharp gaze to Wilson.

Despite the circumstance, and everything that just happened, Wilson had the audacity to look delighted at the question. He grinned. He grinned! As if he took pride in trying to murder a kid!

“Well, it was mainly a theory, but it was a good theory!” Wilson grabbed Tyler’s sword and thrust it towards the boy. He stared blankly at it as if unsure of what to do with it. “Fine. Winona?” He offered it to her, and she took it after only a moment’s hesitation. “Alright! So. Stab me.”

“Oh, let me do it!” Wilbur exclaimed. “Please please, let me stab him.”

“No one! Is stabbing anyone!” Winona immediately dropped the sword as if it was on fire. Or as if the simple act of holding it would cause her to stab someone.

“I’ll do it.” In one smooth motion, before Winona could even stop him, Wilbur had taken up the sword and plunged it into Wilson’s chest.

Winona let out a cry of horror, but Tyler remained silent. Wilbur, in the meantime, actually almost tripped over himself. He expected to get resistance, but instead, it was like thrusting a sword into thin air. Wilson held his arms out with a grin, clearly unbothered by the sword impaling him.

“That was unsatisfying,” Wilbur muttered, drawing the sword back and dropping it lamely on the ground. There was no wound, no blood, not even a tear in his clothing. It was like nothing had happened at all.

“What?? Was that!?” Winona shouted. Her voice was tight with fear and anger, and Wilbur couldn’t help but feel a little bad at seeing that she was shaking. But hey, no harm no foul, right?

“So what? It’s a magic fake sword?” Wilbur guessed. Tyler scoffed, clearly taking offense from the observation.

“Nope! It’s a real 'magic' sword.” Wilson picked it back up and made a show of using the blade to try to harm himself, slicing at his arms and stomach and even neck. Nothing happened. “Do you guys remember what happened when Webber attacked the Ancient Guardian?”

The reaction was surprisingly intense to the simple question. Wilbur glanced at his companions in confusion. Winona’s face fell into a cross of worry, discomfort, and guilt, and Tyler physically flinched at it. His expression twisted into something so pained, so hurt, that Wilbur felt it in his own chest.

“It absorbed the corruption and spared its life,” Wilson elaborated. “It purged it.”

“So you took a gamble and…” Wilbur wildly moved his arms towards the boy beside him. “Stabbed??? My son??? On a guess?”

“I had evidence that it wouldn’t hurt him!” Wilson protested. “And it worked! It takes whatever is corrupting its victim and absorbs it.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to continue the argument, but he immediately closed it again when Tyler started to struggle to his feet. He dropped everything to assist, allowing for the full weight of the boy to press against his shoulder. It was awkward, as even on two feet Wilbur was shorter, but apparently good enough. Tyler scowled and held a hand out expectantly. Wilson seemed to take the hint and handed the weapon back to its owner.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Tyler growled. His voice was low and angry.

“Hey, you might still not be dying of poison anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’ve magically healed all of the damage you already did to yourself.” Tyler glared at Wilbur’s protest. He ripped himself away from the prime ape and transferred his weight to his sword. He buried the tip in the ground, clearly relying entirely on the weapon to keep him from falling. “You nearly died, Tyler! In case you didn’t realize that!”

“Well I didn’t,” he snapped. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of this place. I don’t want to be here anymore.” His voice wavered, some unknown note entering it as he spoke.

Wilbur and Winona shared a concerned glance.

“Don’t you want to-”

“Nope! Don’t want to rest, relax, heal, wait, whatever it is you were going to say.” He waved one hand at Winona and nearly fell in the process as it threw off his balance. Wilbur had to physically bite his tongue to prevent speaking out. He was well aware that trying to speak sense into the kid when he was this determined would only end with Tyler doing exactly what he wanted anyway just without any support. Therefore, it really was best to just follow with what he said.

Even Wilson seemed slightly uneasy about the boy’s sudden eagerness. His face furrowed slightly, a question clearly on his tongue that he couldn’t figure out how to word. It seemed the trio was entirely in the same boat, then.

Finally, it was Winona who decided to break the stalemate. “He’s right. There’s nothing left for us here.”

Except for decent weather, Wilbur lamented. The frozen hellscape was finally thawing and they couldn’t even take advantage of it. Oh well. The faster they moved on, the faster they could finally beat this stupid game, right?

Wilson let out a heavy sigh. Without hesitation, he grabbed the burlap sack that Maxwell had left them with- now empty- and started to calmly fill it with scraps of back and tinder that had already been prepared for the fire. Impressive, for the scientist to do something intelligent without being led into doing it. Wilbur could almost imagine that he was someone other than the worst person on the planet.

Tyler shifted impatiently, his features sharp with irritation and impatience. When both Wilbur and Winona offered assistance with his walking, he snapped at both of them. It only made Wilbur’s anxiety fly off the roof even further.

He was doing better physically. Again, it was clear he was still feeling weak and sick, likely due to the damage the acid had done, but he was alive, awake, aware. What wasn’t doing any better was his mental state.

In fact, as Wilbur watched him, some nasty feeling in his chest told him that his mental state was worse than before.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Ready,” Wilson said, throwing the bag over one shoulder and casting his gaze towards each of his companions. “Next world? Into the breach?”

Tyler responded only with a tight nod.

He set the pace, given he was both their leader and the slowest of the group at the moment. And really, it was a slow pace. The boy could barely stand, let alone walk, yet he stubbornly trudged along without assistance from his companions. The entirety of his weight fell to the sword with every step as he used it like a makeshift cane. But even then, it was too short and certainly not designed for that, making the effort even more difficult. Wilbur felt his chest ache in sympathy pains at the twisted expression Tyler made with every movement.

He fell once. His wrist suddenly gave sideways and caused him to lose his grip on the sword. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ground hard and rumbling with frustrated growls the entire time. When he tried to get his footing again, it was clear his legs were too weak to lock in place. Finally, he seemed to reach a point of rage. An unexpected shout of anger tore through his throat, claws suddenly swinging towards his arms to bury themselves in his fur.

Wilbur immediately stepped up, gently tugging Tyler’s claws away from his skin and helping him once more to stand, except this time with assistance. Tyler gave, but it was clear he didn’t want to.

As they walked, a few paces in front of the others, the fury on Tyler’s face started to melt away, replaced only with a dull sort of resignation.

“Hey,” Wilbur murmured, drawing the hybrid’s attention towards him. Wilbur gave him a loose smile. “What are you thinking about?”

The response was delayed. When Tyler finally did reply, his voice had fallen to a soft whisper, tiny and weak. “Why did you guys save me?”

Wilbur flinched, causing Tyler to flinch as well. “Wh… what do you mean?”

“I haven’t been myself since… since I last saw you guys.” He swallowed hard and blinked tears out of his eyes. “I was gone. And… and you guys still saved me. I don’t understand why you…” He shook his head. “Why you guys keep trying to save me. Even when I hurt you…”

“Because we love you,” Wilbur said immediately. “Obviously. How many times do we have to reiterate that? We’re not in the business of killing family here, no matter what you seem to think.”

Tyler’s breathing was starting to become shaky. He inhaled deeply through his mouth, and Wilbur could practically see the struggle to stop from crying harder than he was.

“Would you guys miss me if I died?”

“Again. Obviously. Do we need to explain the meaning of ‘we care about you a lot and don’t want anything bad to happen to you because Winona and I have adopted you as one of our own’?”

“What if I deserved to die?”

“Well, you wouldn’t. Ever.” Wilbur frowned at the shiver that ran through Tyler’s body. He tried again to breath deeply, but it caught on his throat on a stifled sob. Wilbur cast a look back to Wilson and Winona, who seemed to get the message.

“Let’s sit down for a bit. It’s been a few days since I’ve walked this much and I need to build my resistance up to it again,” Wilson said purposefully. Tyler didn’t even protest, instead allowing Wilbur to ease him back into a sitting position. However much he hated Wilson’s guts, he would have to thank him later. Especially when after sharing a look with Winona, both of them moved far enough back to allow for a conversation to happen without their prying ears.

“Hey, what’s going on, buddy? I promise, nobody will be mad.”

Tyler tried to look away, but Wilbur caught his face with one hand. Tyler shuddered at the contact. When fresh tears started to slip through his defenses, Wilbur wiped them away without hesitance.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Tyler whispered. It was as if he was sharing some grand secret. Something he hadn’t told anyone before. Wilbur hummed in acknowledgment.

“We’re leaving soon, Tyler. We won’t be here for much longer.”

“That’s not-” He choked on another hiccup, which prompted him to bury his palm into his eye as if trying to physically keep tears back. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t think I understand, then. Can you explain what you mean?”

Tyler’s defenses snapped in half. The boy suddenly threw himself forward, clinging onto Wilbur as if the prime ape was the last thing keeping him present. Violent, almost screaming sobs tore from the boy's chest, lurching his entire body as if something was being physically ripped from him. Wilbur didn’t even pause before wrapping his arms around him in equal force. He could feel scars buried beneath his fur, layers upon layers of injury after injury that never had the opportunity to heal right. Scratches and bruises and wounds that nobody had ever been able to cover up. Wilbur was struck with the sudden realization that Tyler didn’t always look like this. Underneath the fur and chitin was a normal human boy. Was there anything left of him under it? Or was he fused so thoroughly with the spider that there was no separation between human and arachnid anymore?

Little did he know that was the exact same question Tyler had been asking himself this entire time.

“Wilbur,” Tyler suddenly gasped into the prime ape’s fur. Wilbur hushed him, moving his claws away from the scars to rub circles between his shoulder blades. “Wilbur…”

“Take your time. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I… I don’t want to be alive anymore.”

Wilbur suddenly froze. His blood slowed to an icy slush in his veins, and he knew very well Tyler felt the shift. Instead of it causing the boy to rebuild his defenses, though, he rushed to speak further.

“I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I hurt all the time. I’m scared all the time. I’m so tired of being scared and sick and hurt. I just want it to stop.”

“Tyler…”

“Why won’t it stop, Wilbur?”

It was more than his defenses that broke. Something vital had shattered in the boy’s head. Tyler was whole, in one piece in Wilbur’s arms, but despite that, he still felt like he was holding sand. Struggling so hard to keep it from slipping between his fingers and ultimately failing. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted with a broken voice. “I… god Tyler, you have no idea how much I wish I could take it away from you. I would do anything to take your fear and pain just so you can be happy without downsides. I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”

Tyler was so delicate. Fragile, like glass. Wilbur was afraid of holding him any tighter in fear of breaking him. But even a break would be preferable to this. Breaks can be mended easily enough. The thing that Wilbur couldn’t mend was something so thoroughly shattered as this boy’s mind.

“I love you, Tyler,” Wilbur promised into the boy’s shoulders. “I love you so much. Winona loves you. Wilson loves you. We all love you so, so, so much. I was so scared today, when I thought I was going to lose you. I was so scared.”

“What if… what if you saved me,” Tyler asked quietly. “And I just end up… hurting you?”

“Then so be it. I’d still love you all the same. You’re my boy now, got it? And there’s no way that could ever change.”

Tyler nodded slowly. Wilbur could feel the boy struggle again to take deep breaths, each pause between hiccuping sobs becoming further and further apart.

“I love you. I’ll tell you that a million times if that’s what it takes to get that through your thick skull.”

“I… I love you, too,” Tyler whispered. For a moment, Wilbur thought that was it. But after what was apparently around a full minute of searching, he finished his thought with a single word. “Pa.”

Warmth blossomed suddenly in Wilbur’s chest. It was a pure, innocent sort of warmth, akin to hearing his own flesh and blood daughter call him that for the very first time. For her, though, it was a simple fact. He was, in fact, Elizabeth’s father. It was undeniable just by looking at them.

But this was different. They didn’t share a drop of blood, a single fur of similarities, not even a species. And yet, he finally got to hear that word again. Not used as a fact of blood, but a fact of mind.

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile.

‘Pa’.

It fit perfectly.

…

Wilbur knew he would have to keep a close eye on Tyler for the foreseeable future. After everything that had happened, there was a very real, very terrifying chance that the boy would follow through with his wishes. He made a mental note to warn both Winona and Wilson to never let him be alone. If something ever happened, if he ever tried something, someone would be there to stop it.

After regaining his composure to the best of his ability, Tyler was able to confidently lead the group to their destination once more, this time much more effectively with Wilbur’s assistance.

The Teleportato was exactly as it was before. The buildup of Nightmare Fuel wasn’t present, but as soon as Tyler neared it, the black substance immediately started to drip from the frame. Wilbur stuck out his tongue in distaste, but he seemed to be the only one affected by it.

Tyler reached out and gently touched the machine, and it almost seemed to hum in response. The runes painted across the surface started to glow a brilliant orange, akin to the light shining in his eye and from his chest. There was still something sad and pained in his expression, but he forced a smile nonetheless as he faced the rest of the group.

(It was fake, but Wilbur wouldn’t be the one to point that out)

“Are you guys ready?” He asked softly. His voice carried against the marble flooring, soft but bold.

Wilson nervously shifted the bag between his hands and Winona planted her hands on her hips. Wilbur gave the boy a thumbs up, earning something closer to a real smile from him.

“Alright… hold your breath.”

His voice was drowned out by the mechanical whir of the machine’s activation. Wilbur was almost used to it by now, so when the shadowed hands sprouted from the ground to take them away, he didn’t even fight back. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and let it take him one step further… into the depths of the world.

On 6/21/2023 at 12:24 AM, Dr.Webber said:

You should make this an animated series on YouTube 

Ha! There's definitely been some consideration of it before and there was even an animator who wanted to do it, but it would be MUCH too big of a project for something as complex as animation. I'm glad to hear that you're interested enough to say that though!

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 80. Intermission - Goodnight, Little Pet
 

I didn’t know exactly why I was so furious by this development, or who exactly to be furious with. Charlie? I couldn’t really bring myself to be angry at her. Even if I could, she didn’t seem to know anything about this situation. Maxwell? He was typically who I would be angry at for any random thing, but this felt more ancient than even him. Something built into the world far before his time even started here.

Perhaps the Ancient Guardian, for leading all of us so astray in our assumptions. The Ancient Guardian, for giving us these titles but lying about them.

I wasn’t the Martyr. I never had been the Martyr.

What was I supposed to be?

I had been to the World Between more than once at this point. Sometimes by Charlie’s side, in the few moments she stole away from Nightmare, but oftentimes by myself. The first time, I had nearly walked face-first into one of the world memories, and then spent the next several hours watching it on repeat.

What could I have done differently?

Repeat.

Was this really the right thing for me to have done?

Repeat.

It had to be. My entire title is based on me making this decision.

And it was a lie. An absolute, filthy, disgusting lie.

I swept further into the room, every limb stiff with undisguised rage and, as little as I wanted to admit it, terror. “SHOW ME THE MARTYR!” I snapped into the void, because surely this was wrong. Surely it wasn’t a lie and I really was the Martyr. Surely, surely, surely-

The world didn’t always give up its secrets when requested, but it seemed to gleefully today. Maybe it found as much enjoyment in my torment as everything else in this god-forsaken world. Whatever the reason, one of the many world memories separated ever-so-slightly from the rest, drifting towards me as if by accident despite the sheer audacity of it all.

I barely even had to look at the image inside of the orb in order to dismiss it with a growl of frustration. I refused to believe this. I refused to believe any of this.

“THE MARTYR!” I repeated, clearly enunciating every syllable of the word.

And again. Another memory, with a too-young, too-small spider child in its forefront.

I shoved it away with little care, ignoring the way it drifted and bumped into a handful of other memories. I tried again and again and again, each time my voice growing more desperate, my demands more visceral. Just for the slim hope that there was a mistake, that the memory presented was a coincidence, that just once it would show me instead.

But still. I never once showed up.

The world must have really been laughing it up at this point. The memories it provided belonged solely to him, void even of any of the rest of us just so I could be one hundred-percent sure of its meaning

Webber was the Martyr.

Webber was the Martyr.

It wasn’t like I stalked the group. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I had more power than most Survivors, but nowhere near as much power as Charlie or Nightmare. While, under normal circumstances, Charlie could roam anywhere as long as it was dark, I struggled to stay on any other world for more than a few minutes at a time, if I could manage it at all. The only places I could really be without straining myself were Darkness, the World Between, and Checkmate. Outside of those three worlds, my range was limited.

Still, though, I tried to keep an eye on my old companions, utilizing the world memories to the best of my abilities. I couldn’t see things as they happened, but soon after the event passed, a new orb would suddenly clear and its knowledge would become available. With this, I was able to keep tabs on their progress from afar.

It was… emotionally draining. Especially for someone who was built with the purpose of not having emotions. I felt more exhausted in the past few days than I had over the course of my entire life.

But it was necessary. I refused to be kept in the dark about what was happening any longer. Even if it meant watching idly as the people I once knew fought, grew apart, regrouped, made the same mistakes over and over again, while I couldn’t do anything about it. I had to watch my best friend nearly succumb to poison without being able to help at all. I had to watch Wilson get worse and worse, every world seeming to twist his mind further than the last, and all I could do was watch it unfold.

Was this what Charlie had suffered all these years? It was a wonder she hadn’t gone entirely insane yet.

It was the familiar sound of footsteps that finally dug me out of my frenzy. I pushed away any orbs that had drifted towards me and buried my head in my arms, unwilling to see any more play out. Lies, lies, lies, lies.

“CHARLIE,” I choked out after a long moment. It was supposed to be a sort of greeting, but it sounded more tense and demanding than I intended. I didn’t correct it.

“I cannot even fathom why you would expect to see her here, little automaton.”

The voice was so jarring, so different from what I was expecting. It wasn’t Charlie’s soft cadence, something sad and melancholy in every word. It was a voice full of paradoxes, of descriptions that contradicted each other and made little sense.

It was Nightmare who had intruded on me.

I had almost no one-on-one encounters with the demon. The very few times I had seen it, it was always with Charlie. Trailing after her as her shadow, forcing her hand to do something even if she didn’t want to do it. I didn’t need to have had conversations with the creature, though, to know everything I needed to know about it.

It slithered closer to me even as I refused to look its way. Its footfalls were distinctly muffled, as if walking on furred feet. I listened hard to keep note of its location, but I still found myself jumping when it spoke again from only a few inches behind me.

“Why are you here, little pet?”

“PET?” I scoffed, unable to help myself. I knew better than to taunt the demon, but the reply came naturally and immediately. “I AM NOT THE ONE WHO FOLLOWS CHARLIE AROUND LIKE A LOST HOUND PUP.”

I blinked, and it was suddenly in front of me. It tipped its head slightly, something almost akin to amusement passing over its incorporeal face. When I finally tipped my head to look it in the eye, I couldn’t help but notice a single strange detail that had changed about it.

There were new spots around its eyes. Small, white circles, strangely bright among the reds and blacks of its face, two under each eye and a third above and off to the side of them. I felt like I recognized the pattern somehow, but I couldn’t even begin to guess why.

“A lost hound pup?” It repeated. Its image flickered slightly at the edges as it regarded me. “Is that what you see me as?”

“I WOULD BE MORE SPECIFIC IN MY CONSIDERATION OF YOU, BUT I WAS NOT PROGRAMMED TO USE THOSE KINDS OF WORDS.”

Again. Definitely not a great idea to taunt the all-powerful demon in its own realm.

“Hmm.” It was still for a moment, before something flew out from the ground behind it. By the time I processed the movement at all, a scythe of inky darkness had already erupted from the floor and pierced through my stomach.

Well, it would have, if there wasn’t already a much larger hole decorating the entirety of my torso.

As it was, the scythe simply passed through me and out the other side. I immediately turned a sneer towards Nightmare for the blatant miss. With a small scowl, it flicked one hand, and the scythe turned abruptly on itself and shot through my shoulder instead.

An involuntary grunt left my chest as agony blossomed from the wound, and wow who would’ve thought that pain would still be so noticeable when you were already dead?

Still, though, I tried to keep a straight face. I was not about to let the demon get the best of me.

It seemed unhappy with this. The weapon retreated with another small movement of its hand. The sensation of the scythe ripping out of the skin was nearly as bad as going in, but I metaphorically bit my tongue and kept any acknowledgment of pain from my face.

“You are aware,” it said pleasantly. “That since death has already claimed you, it cannot claim you again.” It shifted closer, and I had to physically restrain myself from shuddering in its presence. “I can do whatever I want to you, and you would be aware of every second of it.”

When I didn’t respond, its form fluttered to my side, clawed hands digging into my shoulders. I couldn’t stop myself from cringing slightly away as the rough grip landed directly on the fresh injury.

“Have you ever been tortured before, pet?” Nightmare purred. “Taken apart and put back together? I assure you, it is an experience you will never forget.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” I snapped. My voice wavered unnaturally around the words, much to my dismay. I knew that Nightmare was telling the truth. It could, and would, torture me just for its own amusement.

And yet it fed off of fear. I had to keep that in mind.

“What is wrong? Worried I might hurt you?”

“GO AWAY.” I pulled myself away from it and pushed forward. Maybe if I ignored its presence enough, it would simply leave me alone. It was supposed to be Charlie’s annoying shadow, not my annoying shadow.

“You won’t find any of your answers here.”

It took all of my power not to stop and listen. If there was anything that knew all of the answers I sought, it would be Nightmare. It had a sort of bond to the world that nobody else had- not me, not Charlie, not even Maxwell. And yet, I also was aware that not a word out of its mouth could be trusted.

“Were you aware,” Nightmare continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “That this world goes on much farther than your eyes can see? Every single movement, every single thought and word and action, has been documented time and time again, then torn apart by the world’s fraying edges. Even this timeline, as solid as it may feel to you, is already beginning to unravel in preparation for the end.”

I kept moving forward. Nightmare followed me.

“I have seen all of the endings.” Its voice was an unnatural purr. “I have seen all of your endings.”

“I DON’T CARE.”

“You will.”

This was more than I have ever spoken to Nightmare, and quite frankly, I was already annoyed with its presence. My body ached from the tension I was holding in my attempt to keep steadfast. Waves of pain flooded from my shoulder, but it was already healing faster than it would have in life. Soon, the only wound left would be the one that killed me.

I shuddered at the implications of what Nightmare could get away with, what it could do to me, when injuries it inflicted on me healed so quickly.

“How would you react, I wonder, if you learned of how the Martyr was to die?”

I stopped.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but suddenly my feet stopped moving, and Nightmare was chuckling at me for it. I clenched my fists, biting back a growl.

“I am curious, robot. How would you feel if you discovered he had ended his own life?”

“SHUT UP.” I didn’t want it to speak any more. I didn’t want to hear its words. I had already seen the entire thing play out. I had already heard everything the boy wished to do to himself, even if the others hadn’t.

After all, the world didn’t need observers to catalog its memories. It didn’t matter if nobody else was around to see it, I saw all of it. I saw the way he would claw his own arms until he bled, as if he was making himself pay for something he didn’t do. I saw the way his eyes would flicker to bystanders when his thoughts started to become crazed, as if watching for witnesses.

I knew that it was a very, very real thought.

“And in the end, it would all be because of you. Because you could not protect him. Isn’t that such a sad story? A little boy, left alone and abandoned, cracking until he feels suicide is the only way out. And the one who promised to protect him…? Hm.”

I still didn’t respond, but I could no longer hide the shaking of my limbs. It wasn’t fear, though, but pure rage. The audacity of this creature-

“Oh, but forgive me for speaking in hypotheticals. After all, that would never happen, right? I’m sure his friends would protect him.” Sadistic humor laced its voice, as if the mere concept was a joke to it.

“DID YOU JUST COME HERE TO SPITE ME?”

“On the contrary, you are the one intruding on me.” Nightmare suddenly closed the gap between us again, its words so close to my face that I couldn’t stop myself from shuddering. “You aren’t supposed to be here. In fact… you seem to have an awful habit of being in places you shouldn’t be. I know you have been dreamstepping.” It rested its claws on my shoulders again, and although it wasn’t a restricting grip by any means, I found that I couldn’t pull away. Its shadowy form surrounded me almost entirely, twisting until it was directly facing me again, red eyes glowing faintly. “Little pets shouldn’t be so far from home,” it murmured. “They sometimes see things they don’t wish to see.”

“I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU,” I said in a low voice. It was a struggle to speak, like some sort of constricting force was pressing down on my internal hardware. Any tighter and it would crack.

I have to get away.

“That’s a shame,” Nightmare sighed. “I have so many things to say to you. So many tales I’ve heard about you that deserve punishment. Places you shouldn’t be. Things you shouldn’t have seen. And now, I’ve even caught you in the act, automaton.”

I looked away from its piercing gaze. It felt like something was trickling into me. Smoke, maybe, wriggling into cracks and cascading into the hole in my stomach. I tried to look, to prove to myself that there was nothing there, but gentle claws rested on my chin and brought my gaze back up. It was an almost tender touch, impossibly careful and compassionate. It was far from the kind of thing I would have expected from such a monstrous demon, and some part of me almost relished the touch. As if it was something I had craved, and the thought of it being taken away was a hell of its own.

“Don’t worry, little pet,” Nightmare cooed. “It won’t be forever. I still need you, after all.”

I could only hum in acknowledgment. The words should have been threatening, but such an overwhelming feeling of calm had taken over me. Even the smoke or sludge or whatever was creeping under my skin wasn’t enough to concern me. In fact, I felt almost weightless in both body and mind. Like if I just let go long enough, I would simply float away.

Why should I worry?

It’s happened before, and it will all happen again. The thought was sudden, but comforting. Yes, I had been here a million times, and I was sure to be here a million more. I had made it out every time, hadn’t I?

“Goodnight, Little Pet.”

…

The first thing that sparked back into awareness was my sight.

I felt numb, disconnected from my body. My limbs held no sensation. The only thing I could hear was the soft ring of a malfunctioning sound processor trying to work in pure silence.

Yes, the first thing was my sight, but I didn’t even realize that I was awake until I started to regain sensation over my limbs. How long have I been awake? I couldn’t point at a single moment where I was one hundred percent present.

The reason behind that, I quickly realized, was because I was somewhere completely empty. And dark. A quick look down showed that I couldn’t even see myself

No proof that I even existed.

Immediately, something primal reared its head. A blip in my coding that had gone unnoticed for so long, suddenly flaring into being again. My hands flew out, splayed across the ground beside me in an attempt to touch something.

There were no walls. No voices. Not even the distant sound of wind.

I reached out blindly, but my hand touched nothing. Even the ground below me was cool and smooth, not the soft grass I would have expected from Darkness.

There was no sky above my head. Just more inky darkness.

“CHARLIE!” I called out, desperate for a response. There wasn’t a place this cold and quiet in the world. The World Between was eternally bright without any discernible source of light, and Checkmate was dotted with torches that lit on their own. Darkness would have had a sky, wind, some sort of proof that time was moving.

I didn’t know where I was.

I was alone.

I was alone.

I wasn’t sure what led me into a hopeless crawl forward. I could’ve stood and walked- my legs worked just fine, but my hold on the world felt tentative at best. Like if I stood up, there was a real chance of the world shattering beneath my feet. Further silence and emptiness greeted me.

At some point, so gradually I barely noticed, the scene started to change. Pale, flickering light shone from somewhere far above my head. Dust particles flickered in and out of the new lighting.

Pain started to set in. Everything below my waist was twisted and beaten. My legs dragged uselessly on the ground behind me.

Water was dripping from somewhere. Occasionally, a single drop would fall from above and land on me, creating a small spark wherever it landed. The sound of metal scraping on metal was deafening.

I pulled myself forward until I physically couldn’t anymore. When that happened, I simply lay on the ground, and waited patiently for some of my energy to return. It would be almost impossible given how many broken circuits were leaking power in my legs, but there wasn’t much else I could do except wait.

When I finally could, I pulled myself back up, maneuvering until my legs were splayed out in front of me.

It appeared as if I had been dropped from some great height. While my entire body held heavy damage, my legs had taken the brunt of it. Smashed into little more than scraps of metal that folded in on itself. I leaned back slightly and turned my gaze upwards.

I couldn’t see the sky, but there wasn’t a roof I could see either. Instead, whatever may lay above me was obscured by dust and haze. I couldn’t tell where the light was coming from.

I did what you wanted, I thought emptily, gazing down at my broken body. I was everything you wanted.

You said I was perfect.

You said I was perfect.

And yet…

I wasn’t.

Emotion built up in my chest. Wrong. Despite my sheer inability, I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to march back towards them and destroy them just like they tried to destroy me. I wanted to taunt their failure in doing so.

I wanted to be near someone.

I wanted to be near someone.

But I couldn’t do any of that. Instead, I was trapped somewhere cold and dark. Somewhere damp and without sunlight.

I wanted to see sunlight.

I had never seen it before.

I wasn’t built to feel sunlight.

But today felt like a day of new things.

New things like learning to rebuild my own body.

It was a great luck that I was surrounded by metal and scrapped robotics. Pieces of machines that had been built and scrapped long ago. Many of these pieces wouldn’t work on me, but I was a robot. I was built to know things.

But I was also built to feel things.

But I wasn’t.

But you built me to feel things.

My thoughts were laced with bitterness. Thrown aside and set to be demolished for simply existing.

But I couldn’t think about that now. No, I had to worry about putting myself back together.

And so, that is exactly what I did. The world felt smudged and uncertain during the entire process, and when it all snapped back into focus, the light had changed and I was in a single piece once more.

Pride filled my chest as I stepped back and folded my arms, admiring the machine that I had built with my own two hands. My legs were sturdy beneath me, repaired so well that you couldn’t even tell they had been smashed to bits only a couple of weeks ago.

“You want to be somewhere you belong, right?”

I scoffed at the notion, but didn’t protest the sentiment my faceless companion spoke of. No matter how much I protested and argued against him, he always seemed to be able to see right through me. It was easy to see that I couldn’t hide anything from him, and in a way, it was a comfort. He knew everything about me, and still chose to help me.

I wanted to feel sunlight. In theory, I knew what it felt like, but warmth like that was such a foreign thought that I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like.

At my companion’s patient urging, I stepped closer to the machine. It hummed in my presence as if waking up from a deep sleep. Once, a long time ago, I had seen such a machine. I had seen it, but my mind had barely processed it. Had I simply blocked out what had happened Before?

It didn’t matter anymore, because I wasn’t Before anymore. It was After.

Sunlight felt amazing. It was a sensation that even my wildest dreams couldn’t have properly prepared me for.

There were other things that drew me in, too. The wind felt like a companion all on its own. Always brushing against my side as if reminding me it was there. Rustling the leaves high above, like it was always watching over me.

Nature in general, I hated in theory, but couldn’t quite hate in practice. Sure, concepts like empathy and sympathy were lost on my mechanical brain, but the simple things about it brought me facsimiles of enjoyment. The softness of grass against the bottom of my feet. The whisper of leaves and the crunch of twigs that followed my footsteps.

And then, there were the downsides of it. The people.

Downsides? Upsides? I couldn’t even tell. I hated them, but I needed them. I didn’t want them around me, but without someone around, I felt lost and without anchor. I was too good for them, but I wasn’t good enough to be around. A world of paradoxes that would’ve killed any lesser machine.

The first tiny smile, the first bit of admiration and acceptance stuck with me. Over time, the arguments- while never disappearing- started to change into something else. Develop into something I had never expected.

Fights turned into arguments. Arguments into debates. Debates into teasing. Teasing into banter. Banter into conversations. Conversations into something closer to… friendship. Yes, that was the best word for it, although the concept was so strange and obscure that I wasn’t sure what to call it at the time. Friends. They were my friends.

Friends. That was the only word that crossed my mind as I gazed down at the unconscious boy in front of me, one hand pinned high above his head and blood pooling from an open gash on his throat.

I knelt down beside him and murmured something before tearing the knife out of his hand. His eyes shot open as he crumbled to the ground, and when they landed on me, I saw sparks of panic.

“No, no, please,” his voice cracked, feet pedaling uselessly on the ground as he tried to push himself away. I reached out, but froze when his eyes locked onto my outstretched hand. “Please, please WX, don’t kill me.”

“I’M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU, KID,” I muttered. I rested a hand on his shoulder and he immediately stopped breathing as if waiting for me to strike.

“WX.” The voice came from behind me. Shaky and hoarse, tight with terror. As I turned to face Wilson, something felt distinctly wrong.

He was severely injured, almost as badly as Webber. Furious slashes rendered his arm all but useless, hanging loosely at his side and painting the ground red around him. His face was covered in so much blood that I could barely make out the wounds that caused it. “Put the knife down, WX,” Wilson demanded, but the rasp of his voice ruined the effect.

I turned my gaze to the weapon in my hand. It fit my grip perfectly, as if it had been made for me. Sticky with blood and gore.

I jumped back and dropped the knife as if it was made of fire. The way it made my hand burn, it certainly felt like it was. Wilson gave me a shaky sort of smile before abruptly bending over to cough out clots of blood. Every line of my coding was screaming wrong, wrong, wrong, but caught in the image as I was, I couldn’t discern fact from fiction. All I could tell was that both of my old companions were dying, and I was the only one with a knife.

Commands and questions fired off in my head faster than I could process any of them. Mixed signals of run and wrong and blood and kill, kill, kill, KILL-

It was all that ran through my head as I faced down the Ancient Guardian. The beast was massive, its furred back scraping the stalactites far above our heads.

The creature was crazed with something unnatural. Gelatinous black fluid poured from two empty eye sockets and leaked from its severed ears. Its horn was streaked in blood and the entire monster was covered in entrails. Severed organs, belonging to what must have been hundreds of past victims. Some were fresh; still-beating hearts and pulsing intestines hanging over its body like streamers. Others were old; green and rotting, maggots swarming over the exposed innards.

I didn’t have to look to know that I was alone. It was some knowledge that I simply had that not all of those entrails belonged to strangers.

(If I looked hard enough, would I see spider pieces too? A stray whisker or a slab of chitin?)

I stood alone against it, and I was frozen in place.

The Ancient Guardian moved with purpose, each step calculated and calm, a direct opposite of the way it tossed its head and snorted furiously with puffs of steam. When its head lowered slightly, more of the fluid began to drain from its orifices. Bubbling from a jaw that hung from its head, seeping up from swathes of peeling skin and rot. I needed to run. I needed to kill it. And yet, I couldn’t do either.

The fluid was dripping from me, too, I now realized. It leaked from every seam, every crack in metal. My vision was flooded with it, and I could taste nothing but metal and acid. It fell from my body and gathered around my feet before sticking like glue. Holding me in place forever. With every fresh glob of fuel that stained my skin black, I felt some integral part of me leak away.

Drip.

My emotions.

Drip.

My friends.

Drip.

My family.

Drip.

Soon, there would be nothing left of me. I would be completely empty, just a shell of metal with nothing inside. Just like my creator had always intended.

The Ancient Guardian was only a few feet away now. My feet were stuck in the buildup of fuel at my feet.

With an impossible gentleness, it pressed its horn against my torso.

There was an explosion of agony the second it pierced skin. It was a slow process, but one that forced me to feel every second of it.

I knew it wasn’t what had happened. I clearly remembered every inch of this scene, and none of it looked like this. None of it felt like this.

That knowledge didn’t save me.

It’s a peculiar feeling, I decided, to be disemboweled. Eventually, the pain should shoot above the threshold of understanding and into something more obscure. A concept that you were aware of, but something you couldn’t quite grasp anymore. It’s at this time a flesh-and-blood being would have passed out or even died, but I wasn’t alive in that way.

When I was killed, that threshold had been reached immediately. I had barely felt a thing. Sure, it didn’t feel pleasant to be impaled, thrown over a dozen feet into the air, crash into the ceiling, then fall onto stone again, but I can’t say the experience was extremely painful after the initial hit. And yet, this time, the threshold stubbornly refused to be reached. I was forced to feel every second of it, fighting and writhing and kicking in a pathetic attempt to protect myself. To get them away from me.

I wasn’t even sure what was dissecting me anymore. It was far too precise and methodical to be the Ancient Guardian, but my vision was malfunctioning to the point that I couldn’t see them at all. The further they cut, the more senses started to sputter out. The weaker I fought back.

Eventually, you get to a point where you realize there’s no point even in trying to fight it off. That is the point where you fall completely still as your innards are torn out in handfuls of flickering wires, as tiny chips and processors designed to keep you living are smashed to bits, as the only movement you find yourself capable of is the most pathetic of twitches.

It made sure I felt it all.

“Have you ever been tortured before, Pet?”

Nightmare’s words came back to me in the last fleeting moments of the nightmare- ha ha. I suppose its name was fitting, wasn’t it?

Well. I suppose this was an experience I could check off of my bucket list. After-bucket list.

Been tortured. Check.

…

It was Charlie to rouse me.

Sleep wasn’t something I was accustomed to. I was capable of it, but it wasn’t ever something I needed. Many late nights spent staring at a fire, silently, lost in thought proved that.

So, upon waking up from the first time I had slept in a very, very long time, I reacted in what I assumed to be a normal reaction.

Luckily, Charlie caught my fist before it could make contact to her face, saving me the guilt of having attacked another friend. Still, after recognizing her properly, I scrambled away. She didn’t attempt to get any closer, much to my relief. Instead, she stayed a few paces back, her face creased in an unreadable expression.

The second I was too far for her to reach me, my hands flew out towards the wound in my midsection. Immediately, my fingers became tangled in damaged and loose wiring, but I felt nothing but relief when I came into contact with other, intact mechanical pieces.

None of that had happened.

None of that had happened.

“Nightmare caught you,” she said. It wasn’t a question, merely a statement. I nodded slowly anyway.

While later, I would probably regret such a reaction for how simply pathetic it was, I couldn’t help but curl my knees into my chest and hide my face.

I was in Darkness, just within the range of a gray-fire torch that lit in my presence. If I was a living creature, I surely would’ve been embarrassing myself even further with the way they showed terror. As it was, there were no failed attempts to breathe, sobs, or panicked wheezing.

Instead, when I pulled my gaze back to Charlie, the only thing to betray my horror was a violent tremor in my arms and legs. She frowned slightly, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw on my face. I certainly felt shell-shocked, but I wasn’t sure whether or not my expression could show such a depth of emotion.

“What did it do?” She asked, her voice taking on a softer, kinder note. I shook my head, stubbornly refusing to respond.

Nearly dying by the hands of my creator.

Pride at building Maxwell’s wretched portal.

Tearing into my companions with a knife until blood soaked the ground.

A rotting monster, being ripped to shreds-

“CHARLIE,” I said calmly. Calmly. There certainly wasn’t such a violent shake to my voice that it was barely recognizable as her name. She tipped her head slightly, an invitation for me to continue. “HOW,” I started to drag myself to my feet, but my legs could barely hold me up. I stumbled back to the ground and landed heavily on my knees. Instead of trying again, I opted to finish my question. “DO YOU KILL NIGHTMARE?”

Charlie barked a laugh, which was the opposite of the reaction I was expecting. She quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide. “That wasn’t funny,” she clarified. “I just… that’s such a you question.”

“I AM NOT JOKING,” I said lowly. I was one of the more mentally stable survivors. Honestly, probably the most mentally stable except for maybe Winona. The things I had experienced in a terror cut short by someone with the knowledge of how to do so would drive any lesser person to insanity.

I had always been well aware of the danger that Nightmare posed, but being a victim of its power was the wake up call that I needed. A creature that could inflict such intense, violent, real dreams on someone it wasn’t even connected to was much more dangerous than I had initially anticipated.

“You don’t understand just how powerful Nightmare is,” Charlie sighed. “What you just experienced… that isn’t even a fraction of its power.” I looked away as she continued. “It can use magic you can’t even conceptualize. It is Their leader, and They follow it everywhere except for where They can’t follow. It can read your mind, WX, you couldn’t even come up with a strategy it wouldn’t expect, and it can teleport with barely a thought. That isn’t even the beginning of what it can do. It was born alongside the world, spawned from the same source as the Nightmare Throne. The only way you could kill it is by destroying the entire world in the process, and even then, it’s only vulnerable, not dead.”

“THEN HOW DO WE FACE THAT POWER?” I protested. I threw one hand out. “THAT IS NOT THE KIND OF MAGIC THAT SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO ROAM FREE!”

“You don’t face it, WX. You work with it.” Charlie ran one hand through her hair and closed her eyes. A sigh escaped her chest. “I know what you just went through… what Nightmare just did must have shaken you up terribly. I’ve been there myself time and time again. Nightmare hates me, you know.” She let out a joyless chuckle. “But understand. It is the god of this world. This world begins and ends with Nightmare. There is no culling that.”

I folded my arms on my knees and gazed into the distance. It was pitch black here, save for the tiny spot of light I sat in, but it was so different to the darkness from my dream. It was bustling with nighttime creatures and rustling with wind and glittering with stars. Darkness would be beautiful in any other circumstance.

“WHAT IF IT GETS TO WEBBER?” I asked quietly. There it was. The question I’m sure Charlie had been waiting for the entire time.

“You can’t protect him from everything, you know…”

“HE ALREADY WANTS TO DIE, CHARLIE. WHAT IF NIGHTMARE TAKES HIM? WHAT IF HE BECOMES LIKE WILSON?”

She hesitated.

“WHAT WOULD THAT DO TO YOUR ‘CYCLE’?” I pressed. It wasn’t just my emotional attachment to the boy that had me worried about this scenario. If Webber really was something so powerful as the Heir-

And my thoughts stopped there, because he wasn’t the Young Heir. Because that was a lie.

“HE’S THE MARTYR.”

Charlie blew a thin stream of air out from between her teeth. “Yes.”

“YOU KNEW.” I felt betrayed. For so long I had trusted her. I had listened to her when she told me what was going on, and I took her words at face value. The mere idea that she was in on this… this sick lie sat in my stomach like a ball of lead. She knew. She knew, and she just led me to believing something that wasn’t true this entire time. She lied.

“Listen, it’s… it’s a lot more complicated than that.” She looked away, wringing her hands together. “I can’t explain it to you, but it’s not just… as it seems on the surface.” I could tell that she was choosing her words carefully.

She wanted to tell me as little as physically possible, which was quite honestly the most annoying thing she could have done.

“YOU CAN’T EXPLAIN OR YOU WON’T EXPLAIN?” I snapped. “YOU ALL SPEAK OF HIM LIKE HE IS THE YOUNG HEIR, BUT HE ISN’T. HE HAS NEVER BEEN. WHY THE LIES? WHY THE SECRECY?”

“Because this is about more than just you,” Charlie said. She drew herself up, eyes glinting. “There are so many pieces that not even I know. I can’t explain it because it hasn’t happened yet.”

I threw my arms in the air in frustration. “THEN WHAT CAN YOU EXPLAIN?”

“I can explain that there’s nothing you can do to change what’s happening.” She waved one hand as if brushing something off. “I can explain that Nightmare is a force that you shouldn’t mess with, and if it already is against you, it’s best to lay low. I can explain that annoying Nightmare is what doomed both Wilbur and Tyler. But you won’t listen to any of that, will you?”

“DOOMED?”

“Oh, that’s what you pick up on.” Charlie sighed. “Yes, doomed. Nightmare killed Wilbur’s mate. Be glad that you’ve only seen him after he met Tyler.”

(I had certainly seen World Memories from before that, and I was more than happy to keep that version of the prime ape far away from me.)

“As for Tyler… well, Nightmare never did kill him like it was supposed to.”

We had all heard the demon’s fury at the boy continuing to live. I had no idea what had invoked Nightmare’s ire, but I had a few good guesses.

“Come on, WX. Can you walk?”

I scoffed at the question. I wasn’t going to suddenly become paraplegic because of one scare.

And if my knees refused to completely cooperate and my legs shook under my weight, well, that wasn’t anything I was going to point out.

Many times, staying by Charlie’s side grew unbearable after more than a few hours. It wasn’t any fault of hers, but simply my disdain for Darkness and my curiosity about the World Between often drew me away.

However much I insisted I was completely fine, though, I still didn’t leave Charlie for quite a while after that experience. I had seen my old companions to the end of the second world. I just had to have faith that they would make it to the end of the third without anything terrible happening.

In hindsight… perhaps I should’ve known better than to hope.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 81. Love - Part 1

Chapter 3 of 5

The King of Winter

Wilson’s POV

If I really wanted to, I could wax poetic about the types of cold and how miserable each type was. If I tried hard enough, I could probably form some sort of unnecessarily grand poem all about the temperatures we dealt with, especially in the previous world. Really, though, it was a waste of time to do such a thing, and I knew that well.

Apparently, the world must have taken some sort of offense to that. Maybe it thought that I didn’t appreciate the frozen wastelands enough? Whatever the initial cause, the effect was obvious immediately as I stirred awake in the next world.

I was the first awake, I noticed quickly. A quick headcount of my companions turned up a favorable answer: none of us were separated this time. After the last little game of Maxwell’s, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he or Nightmare had simply decided to tear us all apart just to see us run around like headless chickens.

Winona was unconscious off to my left. Her eyelids fluttered and I could see her hands twitching as if she was experiencing some sort of vivid dream. At one point, I heard what almost sounded like a pained whimper escape from her throat. I reached out and gently shook her shoulder. Normally, I wouldn’t try to wake them up, but I wasn’t going to just let her suffer through a nightmare when I was right there.

She shot up with a start, one hand flying to grip her chest and the other pushing herself off of the ground to face me. For a moment, Winona simply stared blankly through me. The second passed, though, and I saw her eyes refocus on my face and her fingers curl slightly into the fabric of her top. “Wilson,” she breathed. “You scared the crap out of me.” She pointed one finger accusingly at me.

“Sorry.” I rubbed at the back of my head. “Were you having a nightmare?”

She frowned a little bit. I could see her defenses start to lower again, and she took to massaging the fingers of one hand as she considered.

“I guess so? Don’t really remember it now.”

I nodded to acknowledge her words, but quickly changed the subject when I saw what she was subconsciously doing. “Your hands okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. Why do you ask?”

“You keep- you know-” I did the same motion with my own hands.

“Oh. Yeah, just a bit numb and tingly, I guess. Trying to get it to go away.”

I offered one hand up, and after a brief hesitance, Winona rested her hand, palm up, on my own.

“It’s fine, really,” she said breezily. “Nothing that a little TLC can’t fix. It’s really, really not a big deal. Trust me.”

As she spoke, I carefully removed the glove covering the bothersome hand. Immediately, I found myself hissing in a stream of air between my teeth as I saw the damage. The majority of her fingers were pale and waxy, almost artificial in appearance. In fact, I likely would have assumed they were some sort of prosthetic if there weren't blue-black tinges towards her fingertips and under her fingernails. Instead of being concerned at all about her obviously frostbitten limb, Winona looked embarrassed instead.

“‘Not a big deal’?” I repeated incredulously. “I think our standards of what counts as a ‘big deal’ are very different! You realize people lose limbs to frostbite?”

“It could be worse,” she protested as she ripped her hand back. She dutifully replaced the glove over it even though it wasn’t hiding anything anymore. “It’s just a bit on the one hand. I can live with it. Either way, if this trend keeps up, there’s gonna be much worse to worry about than some frostbitten fingers.” She motioned with open arms towards the landscape around them.

And, really, I couldn’t protest with that at all.

Because what we really, really, really needed was another cold world that tried to step up to the last.

As it was right now, the previous challenge had been colder. At least… atmospherically. One thing the previous challenge didn’t have much of was wind, and even though we were mostly surrounded by trees at the moment, I could hear the roar of wind tearing through leafless branches high above our heads, and thin trickles of an icy breeze crept through the words and brushed against the small party hidden amongst them. If I had to guess, the second we left the safety of trees, we would be blasted by the full force of frozen winter winds.

Also similar to the previous world was the setup of our surroundings. A campfire blazed a few feet away, directly in the center of a clearing mostly cleared of snow. The drifts out of range of the warmth reached from my knees to over my head. I wasn’t even sure how deep the normal snow was.

Wilbur and Webber woke up at about the same time, although it was likely because Wilbur was practically on top of the boy and his own stirrings disturbed Webber. Wilbur stumbled off of Webber and threw his arms out in a stretch. When he yawned, I couldn’t help but eye his unnaturally sharp canines with care.

When Webber caught me looking his way, he gave me a strange sort of grin with all of his teeth. Because I needed to be reminded that he also had unnaturally sharp canines. It was a wonder none of the bites I received from either of them ever got infected.

“World Three,” I mused out loud. “We’re almost halfway done. Isn’t that weird? Then we’ll finally put Maxwell in his place and get home.”

Wilbur grumbled something lowly in a different language, cut off sharply by Webber elbowing him. “Hey, I know you were speaking English yesterday. You can’t go back to pretending you can’t speak.”

“You were dying yesterday, and yet you’re pretending that never happened.”

“Hmm.” Webber’s whiskers twitched slightly as he thought. “Fair point.”

“It didn’t matter what almost happened,” Winona said sternly. “What did happen was that we made it all out alive with no casualties and no lasting severe injuries.” When I opened my mouth to protest the latter point, she quickly leaned almost indistinguishably forward and said in a whisper: “Don’t tell them. I don’t want them to worry about me.”

“It’s not like it’s something that’ll ruin their lives,” I muttered back. “Webber has a bad hand, too.”

“Yeah, but…” she chewed at her lip. “Just… don’t worry them about it. It’s fine.”

I couldn’t quite fault her stubbornness, although ignoring the issue wouldn’t make it go away at all. I sighed, but before I could speak again, Wilbur blinked up at Winona and I and spoke.

“Hey, um, can I talk to you two for a moment?” He asked.

Previously, I couldn’t really focus on the fact that Wilbur was freely and fluently speaking English due to the rest of the situations going on at the time. Now that it was rather calm, the strangeness really struck me. I had known the entire time- or at least, had a good hunch- but it was still weird to hear full human words out of a monkey. More than that, but the accent he carried was strangely clean and almost pretty. Musical, if I had to put a single word to it.

Once again, before I could say anything, Webber jumped in on his own and threw an arm in front of Wilbur. “Oh, haha! Before any of that, I’d like to steal him for a moment. Not for any particular reason! You know, uh, chats! Friendly, normal, not-serious at all chats. Super goofy, genuinely, you guys wouldn’t get it I promise. Inside jokes!” Despite the playful tone of his voice, I couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the way his face looked guarded. Not hostile or anything of the like, just… plain. Almost no emotion at all.

Winona shrugged. “Sure. We’ll be here.”

Webber gave another one of those big grins- the one that showed every single one of his fangs, before hurriedly pushing Wilbur off to the side.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to Winona. She tipped her head.

“Where are you going?”

“Eavesdropping,” I said truthfully. I didn’t have a good lie ready, so truth it was.

“Don’t eavesdrop!” She shoved me lightly with a stern look on her face. “If they want to have a secret conversation, that’s their right.”

“His face doesn’t match his words.”

I wasn’t sure what was going on in the boy’s head, but I stayed away often enough that I knew it was better to know what he was thinking than to not know. Those grins weren’t convincing, and there was something almost manic about them.

I didn’t want to say the words ‘murderous intent’, but I was certainly thinking them quite loudly.

Ignoring Winona’s further protests, I slipped behind one of the trees nearby and made a wide circle around the camp until I was closer to Webber and Wilbur than to Winona. I could almost hear her complaints from here, but I had to shut them out.

“-joke about!” Wilbur hissed to his companion. I heard the slightest creak of pressure on snow, as if something was shifting their weight or trying to get comfortable. “I’m sorry, Ty, I don’t trust you.”

“Well, I didn’t say it was a joke, just a major exaggeration,” Webber responded breezily. Just in the way he spoke, I could almost see the motion of a hand brushing off the issue- whatever said issue was. “Listen, do you think I’m someone who would give up that easily?” After a moment of silence from Wilbur, Webber scoffed. “The answer is no, Wilbur, I wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s been easy-”

“Oh please.” The boy sounded almost irritated. “I was just being dramatic. You know how you say some things you really don’t think when you’re being dramatic? I do it all the time.”

“I don’t think you were though. The least you can let me do is say something-”

“And have more people staring at me all the time? No. Thank. You. I’d rather not. Like I said, Wilbur. I’m fine. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Even if I wanted to, it’s not like my sword would help any-”

“Tyler!”

“Joke! I’m joking!”

“I can’t tell if you are joking or not! Have you ever had thoughts like that before, even if you don’t right at this moment?”

“Of course not,” Webber scoffed. “I’m better than that. You don’t have to worry about me, and you don’t have to say anything to anyone else and cause unnecessary worry, okay?”

So, it sounded like they also had their own little secret. I chewed at my lip. What on Earth was Wilbur so worried about that Webber didn’t want to get out? I shifted very slightly to try and get a read on their body languages, but froze abruptly when I noticed Wilbur facing straight towards me. He didn’t really visibly react, but I saw his eyes flick towards me and back. He knew I was there.

“...okay…” Wilbur reluctantly gave. “I won’t say anything. But if you start thinking like that again-”

“I’ll come right to you, okay? Promise.”

Wilbur nodded slowly, but again I saw his eyes pass towards me. There was something meaningful I was supposed to take from his expression, but I couldn’t tell what exactly it was.

Sorry Wilbur, but if you wanted me to read your mind, it’s not going to work.

If it was that serious, he would say something to us later, when Webber was asleep or gone.

…

Once we were all around the fire again (still burning high and hot without additional fuel somehow), Winona and I took quick stock of our supplies.

The sack that we had received from Maxwell in the previous world had transferred over with us, and I was certain there were a few extra logs in there as well as the kindling and scraps we kept in there. The food situation was still rather atrocious, but Wilbur immediately proclaimed that he could smell rabbits on the wind. Either we had gotten extremely lucky in that sense, or more strings were being pulled to make us succeed.

But who was pulling those strings? Maxwell was the one to help us, but I couldn’t convince myself to believe that he was suddenly giving and benevolent to his favorite pets.

The second food was mentioned, Webber’s eyes lit up. I couldn’t help but scoff a bit at his excitement. Most of that was enforced on his own part, not anything that we did. Wilbur spared the time to glare at me.

“Wilbur, let me hunt with you!” The boy exclaimed. “Who knows what lesson this world is gonna want from me. Maybe giving into bloodlust!” This was followed by an awkward, fake-sounding laugh. “Besides, when was the last time I ate something that wasn’t spider meat? Too long!”
“Like, a day ago,” Wilbur said breezily. “We practically poured bone broth down your throat.”

“Wait, really?”

“Are you going to forget what happened the last time you went hunting?” I quirked an eyebrow. “You know. That part where you refused to hurt anything?”

Webber immediately opened his mouth to argue before shutting it just as abruptly. He looked away and puffed his cheeks out.

“Glad we got that sorted out.” I shook my head. “Do either of you two know when we’re going to get out of winter?”

“We wouldn’t be in winter if we stayed back in the other world,” Wilbur complained. “It was just getting nice out!”

“Not any time soon. I can’t smell spring whatsoever.”

“Hmm. Well, it looks like we’ll have to try to stock up on food while we know it’s still running around. I’d volunteer, but I don’t exactly have any weapons.”

“Well, we can make rabbit traps,” Wilbur pointed out. “Grass and twigs, easy peasy.”

Webber grimaced at the thought.

“Or we can continue relying on the prime ape acclimated to tropical weather for winter hunting. That would work, too.” It was said as a joke, but the sort of crooked grin Wilbur shot towards Winona made me think it was also somehow a dig on me. “Oh, and I’m taking Wilson with me.”

I blinked, surprised to be called out by the monkey. “But don’t you not like me?” I blurted before I could think about anything.

“Oh I hate you,” Wilbur confirmed with an ecstatic nod. “But my other choice is to take him with me-” he pointed a thumb towards Webber. “And I’m not choosing that one.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. So, Wilbur was simply being childish. Annoying, but I couldn’t really expect anything different. He was just an animal, after all.

I gave Winona a handful of instructions to set up and keep the fire going and she nodded through all of them. Simple things we had already done a dozen times at this point. Wilbur had to take an extra moment to drive home that she absolutely had to keep an eye on Tyler because both of them still seemed convinced the boy couldn’t handle himself.

“You don’t have to babysit him, you know,” I scoffed to Wilbur as we set off. I was following his nose, but also doing my best to keep in step with him. I wasn’t about to let a monkey lead me around like a mother duck. “He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“Went great last time,” Wilbur responded. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “If you ignore the poison and the holes in his stomach- which he probably still has, mind you.”

“Honestly, it’s just natural selection at that point.”

“Natural selection is why there’s no humans native to the archipelago or mainland. And yet…” he motioned towards me and tossed a fresh glare my way. “Do you really have to draw every conversation between us into an argument about Tyler?”

“I’m sure we can find a whole new set of topics to disagree on.” I rolled my eyes. “You strike me as the type to believe in a flat Earth.”

“Don’t know about your weird world, but the Constant is, indeed, flat.”

“Really,” I deadpanned. That was not something I expected him to actually believe. “You’re kidding me.”

“If your world was a sphere, doesn’t that only make half of it livable? It’s a stupid concept.”

“No?? Gravity is a thing.”

“Let me guess, you were the fun one to have in class. I can hear your shrill little voice asking the teacher about the homework right as your class leaves. ‘Mister teacher, how ever will I learn the difference between ‘effect’ and ‘affect’ without the paperwork to memorize?’ Puh-lease, Wilson.”

“Repetition is memorization!”

“I guess someone with a lifespan like a human would need paperwork to learn anything. I was basically a toddler at your age.”

“I’m almost thirty!”

“Congrats. I’m your elder by…” Wilbur made a show of counting on his fingers, muttering under his breath. “Anywhere from Four Thousand Two Hundred and Sixty-Seven years to Four Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy-One years. Keep at it, champ!”

“Yeah right. Having an ‘old soul’ doesn’t count, you know.”

“It does when we’re biologically immortal and don’t die of old age like the lowest class animals do. Oh wait-”

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing something productive?”

“Shame on me for assuming you’re capable of being productive in your life. Go on, maybe you can use a math equation to figure out where the best spot to find rabbits is. Oh, do tell me all about the literary masterpiece of Moby **** and all of the ways it helps to survive in the wild.”

I gritted my teeth. “Did you have any goal of bringing me along other than to try to make me hate you more?”

“Aw, jealous? It’s okay, I’m sure Tyler will warm right up to you again once you start calling him his real name regularly instead of when you feel like it. Although, you definitely would be the one to refuse to use someone’s preferred name. Shame on you, Wilson.” Wilbur tutted and darted ahead. I let out a wordless shout of protest and shot after him. Wilbur was surprisingly fast despite trudging through snow just as I was and, on top of that, having shorter legs than me even when on two legs.

“Wilbur, why did you even bring me if you were just going to argue?”

“Because I thought I might actually get through your thick head and have you listen to me but you kind of went and blew that immediately.”

“Fine then. I’m listening. Go ahead and imbue your wisdom unto me, great monkey of old.” If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d end up in the back of my head. Wilbur growled under his breath before finally slowly again to a trot.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll talk. I’m worried about Tyler.”

“Tell me something new.” I folded my arms. “It’s not like you talk about anyone else. I’m beginning to think you don’t think about anyone else either.”

“Usually I’m worried about his general habit of getting into danger,” Wilbur pushed on without acknowledging my words. “But I’m starting to get really worried about… you know, what he might do. He doesn’t want me to tell you guys, so-”

“And yet you immediately break his trust.”

“Like you weren’t eavesdropping!” Wilbur snapped. “You saw him! He’s not acting right! I’m worried that he’s going to do something he’s going to regret and I won’t be able to stop it.”

“Like any one of us couldn’t easily take down a literal eight-year-old.”

“He’s nine, in case you missed that.”

I rolled my eyes again but didn’t say anything.

“And can’t you take this seriously for just a minute? I’m not worried about what he’d do to us, but what he might end up doing to himself.”

I gave a small hum. “Well, if I see him about to jump off another cliff I’ll stop him next time, ‘kay?”

I could see the twitch of Wilbur’s jaw as he clenched it tightly. His tail flicked furiously at the end, and I couldn’t help but recognize the tell tale signs of an attack. I didn’t even ready myself back. I knew he wouldn’t attack me now. After a moment, he did relent. His hackles fell, but his glare remained just as icy.

“Fine. Be that way. That’s why I never wanted to talk to you. And to think- he used to love you so much he actually called you his father.”

I froze. I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply through pursed lips. The words twinged something in my heart, like poking at an inflamed sore. I shook my head to dispel the feeling.

“If you want to go back, be my guest. I can do this alone.”

“I never told him to call me that.”

“Yeah. You didn’t.” Wilbur gave me one last long look. His eyes were ablaze, but his expression was eerily calm. As if it had been iced over as part of the rest of the world. “But maybe you should have. Instead of forcing him to crawl up to you for the scraps of attention he deserved.”

“I’m not a parent. And I never wanted to be.”

“I never wanted to be, either.” Wilbur turned his head until he was facing away from me again. “But now I’m the father of two. And it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And he bounded into the snow.

“Wilbur!” I snapped, immediately pushing forward to catch up. Before I even reached a run, though, my vision pulsed with darkness, and I ended up basically throwing myself face first onto the ground. I hissed with displeasure as snowflakes flew from my area of impact, clinging to my hair and eyelashes and dusting my face with rosacea. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself back to my knees. Instinctively, I raised one hand to the side of my head and pressed against my temple. A small headache was beginning to form behind my eyes.

When I looked back up, I saw Wilbur again. He was standing a few paces away from me, on all fours with snow clumping the fur on his chest and stomach. A strange expression had settled over his face, and his brown eyes were dark with thought.

Because, naturally, he would come back to watch me fall on my face.

Instead of laughing at me, though, I simply saw him take in a deep breath, then let it out in a heavy sigh.

“I get it,” Wilbur said. He trudged slightly closer, his tail curling and hovering awkwardly near his side.

“Get what?” The question wasn’t meant to be entirely hostile, but whatever the intent was was lost on the angry tone of voice it came out in. Once he was close enough, Wilbur used his tail to brush a few snowflakes off of my shoulder.

“Your eyes just now.” He waved one hand towards his face. “They flashed.”

“...flashed.”

“I’ve been a slave under Nightmare, too, you know. I know what it’s like.” Wilbur shook his head and brought himself back onto two feet to offer me a hand. I stared at him for just a moment before dragging myself from the ground as well, leaving him hanging. He dropped it without comment. “Sometimes, you aren’t sure what you’re doing or what you’re saying. Sometimes you can’t control it. Sometimes, it-” He spread his hands out and motioned with them as if trying to convey a point without the words to do it. “It feels like your heart is locked in a cage.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It was always so much stronger when I was in Maxwell’s Throne Room,” he continued without answering. “I never even considered how it would affect someone under Nightmare’s rule when they were getting closer to it. I mean, I guess I always knew Nightmare had some sway over you, I just…” Wilbur rubbed his face. He looked pained, like simply having this conversation was causing him physical agony. “It didn’t affect my ability to love my family. Nightmare was never able to shatter that, no matter how hard it tried. But my companions? My friends? Yeah, it could manipulate my feelings on them all the time.

“I miss them, Wilson. I never thought I would- Warly’s shrill voice, Woodlegs’ stupid obsessions, Walani’s laziness- but I… I miss them. And yet, Nightmare made me feel like I hated them. I wanted them to die. I wanted to kill them. You… you’re so young compared to me and you don’t even have the same kind of resources I had. I had so many years to learn how to defend against Nightmare. You don’t have that.”

“So what are you trying to say?” I growled bitterly. “That I’m destined to go crazy because of Nightmare’s influence over me?” I scoffed.

“I’m not your enemy.” Wilbur’s voice was soft, a far cry from the harsh snap that had punctuated his earlier words. “Tyler isn’t your enemy. Winona isn’t your enemy. These things that you feel- your anger, your hatred… it’s not yours, Wilson. It’s Nightmare’s. I know it’s easier said than done, but… you have to push past the feelings that Nightmare forces into you. It’s not you.” He paused, then added: “Well, I don’t think it’s you. I don’t know, I never met you before this started happening. I’m just noticing that you’re getting worse the closer we get to the Throne Room, and I’m running exclusively on previous experiences with little evidence supporting otherwise.” Wilbur shrugged. “Winona and Tyler both say that you weren’t always such a terrible person, so hey. You’ve got that going for your character.”

“Like your heart is locked in a cage…” I murmured, pressing one hand to my chest. I suddenly understood, with perfect clarity, where Wilbur’s mind was. He had dealt with Nightmare before, and it had made him feel things and do things that weren’t him.

I remembered a conversation I had had with Webber, not too long ago.

“Sometimes, I still think of you as like a son. And it makes me worry about you.”

“What about the other times?”

“The other times, I’m not myself at all. I can’t think of you as anything when I can’t even think anything of myself.”

I only noticed when a spot of blood welled up on my thumb that I was picking at my fingers again.

“If that’s… true. If my heart is really locked in a cage,” I gave carefully. “Then… what? What can I do if I even wanted to fix it?”

“Well, that’s a shame. Because I’m been asking myself a very similar question for a very long time.”

“But you broke free from Nightmare’s influence.”

He shook his head. “Nightmare got tired of me, more like. It could control a lot of what I felt and thought, but like I said, it couldn’t control what I felt for Roselyn and Elizabeth. And it was that that allowed me to think freely enough for Nightmare to drop me like a sack of rocks.”

“You’re telling me to get a girlfriend,” I deadpanned. Wilbur immediately started laughing.

“Absolutely not. Did I not mention it took me over four thousand years to meet Roselyn? Some people never settle down. Whether or not you have a mate and kids is not relevant. It’s the love you feel for the people around you. Family doesn’t always mean blood, and it doesn’t always mean parents or mates or children. Family is what you make of it. Nightmare can control many things. It can affect many emotions, twist your feelings and your thoughts into something not you.” He lowered his voice a bit as if sharing a secret. “But there's something They don't want you to know. Nightmare's one weakness. You see, the one thing Nightmare has never been strong enough to conquer... is love. Yes, I loved Elizabeth and Roselyn, and yes, they were my family in the most literal sense of the word.” Wilbur looked away with a gentle smile growing on his face. “But I also love Tyler, even though we don’t share a drop of blood. Do you know who I don’t love?” He raised one hand and started counting on his fingers. “My mother. My father. My siblings. The ones I am related to by blood. Hate all of them with a passion. You know what they say: The blood of the troop is thicker than the water of the womb.”

Wilbur started forward again, shaking the melting snow off of his fur as he led the way. I stumbled after him, brow furrowed in confusion as I took in his words.

Some of his words made sense. I knew very well that people would often call close companions family. How many people in the world had an uncle that wasn’t related to them at all?

But to love someone outside of your family? That couldn’t be right. It just… sounded wrong. You could care about people, like them and want to see them happy and safe, but that didn’t equate to love.

“You’re overthinking it,” Wilbur said without looking back. I startled, wondering for a moment if I had been speaking out loud before just deciding that he was reading me based on experience. “You keep lumping love into one big conglomerate, when it’s way more complicated than that. Do you feel the same way about your parents as you do your grandparents? Siblings? Cousins? Of course not. You can love in a million different ways.”

I had to jog to keep up. “Wait.”

Wilbur turned to me with folded arms, his eyes sparkling with passion. I hesitated. He knew exactly what he was talking about. And honestly, it struck me that he really did have age on me. Even alongside Winona, I still often felt like the adult of the group. Maybe it was because of the fact that Wilbur was smaller than me, but I always lumped him into the younger category in my head.

That wasn’t true, though. He was my elder by more years than I could even comprehend. It was easy to pass off his words as the wishful thoughts of a child, but that would simply be wrong.

I swallowed hard and released the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “What… what do you suggest then? If Nightmare’s control over me is… because I’ve forgotten how to love? How can I fix that?”

The monkey was quiet for a moment, then another. Just when I thought he wasn’t going to give a response, he spoke. “I don’t know. It’s… something you’d have to learn on your own. After I lost my girls, I fell right into that trap as well. Trauma can do that to someone. Trauma like losing people you loved, or even facing death yourself.” I winced, hands immediately flying towards the scars hidden beneath my shirt. Did he know about them? About the fight I had lost against the Dragonfly? “So… the only thing you really can do is try to heal. And I know it’s easier said than done. Believe me I know. But it’s possible. It just takes a little effort, and a whole lot of time.” He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. Then, finally, with another little smile, he added:

“But there’s no better time to start than now.”

-------------------

There's new art in the beginning of the story and it is FANTASTIC and I want everyone to go check it out and then talk about how amazing of an artist they are. Shower them in praise! 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 82. Love - Part 2

Chapter 3 of 5

The King of Winter

When the group had first stirred in this world, the ambient air hadn’t been terribly cold. And yet, Wilbur knew it would be a foolish thought to believe that this would last long. After all, Maxwell seemed to have quite the fondness for extreme cold.

To his surprise, even the two humans of the group- the ones with a pitiful sense of seasonal change- seemed fully aware that they needed to take advantage of the weather before it turned icy. There were no words about it, just the innate knowledge that cold was Maxwell’s favorite weapon.

It was clear that the prey was also taking as much advantage of the relative warmth. Wilbur was pleasantly surprised at how well his and Wilson’s hunt had gone. The man was a decent hunter, especially for a human.

And, under Wilbur’s knowledgeable claws, they were able to salvage most of the rabbits’ pelts. It wasn’t a lot of coverage, of course, but there was still enough hide to cover the more vulnerable parts of their bodies. Wilbur had almost forgotten what it felt like to have warm ears, and it was clear that Wilson was relishing in having something decently protective over his arms.

This was a joy that, for whatever reason, Tyler refused to partake in.

Wilbur had offered to make the boy earmuffs, gloves, even foot coverings, but he denied any of them with a wide, toothy smile. “Save the pelts for you guys. I’ve got plenty of fur already.”

(And if Wilbur still struggled his hardest to give him something, well, it wasn’t like anyone would complain. Especially since just a few hours later, he had seen Tyler with soft pelts covering his feet and hands, with not a single word spoken from either side about it.)

So, for all intents and purposes, they were doing fairly well already! Sure, it wasn’t as if any of them had experience with making clothing and, as such, every attempt was crude and poorly put together, but the fact of the matter was they worked well enough.

And, hey, Wilbur may have no experience with cold, but he did have plenty of experience with cooking! Emboldened by the decent temperature and abundance of food, he decided to go all out.

The looks on his companions’ faces as they ate warmed his heart. His skills were unmatched in that particular field, and the little bit of levity was a joy.

In the end, it was a good thing they decided to do as much as they did during the first couple of days. Because when winter started to set in, it set in hard and fast.

When Wilbur woke up on the dawn of the third morning, he was shivering. The fire they had been tending to had diminished to a lowly ember, which the prime ape wasted no time in bringing back into a controlled blaze. The heat chased away some of the chill, but it didn’t stop the thick snowflakes from falling, or the brisk wind creeping through the trees. His fur had thickened a bit after weeks of cold, but it was far from thick enough to protect him well against all this. He pulled his jury-rigged earmuffs back on from when they had slipped off during the night, but even once his furless ears, hands, and feet were covered, ice still crawled through his veins.

Wilson appeared to still be asleep, as did Tyler a few feet away, but Winona woke as Wilbur restocked the fire. He watched as she blinked sleep from her eyes before promptly dragging herself up and getting to work tidying everything.

“If you keep busy, you’ll be warmer,” Winona said after noticing Wilbur’s gaze. “But you don’t want to work yourself too hard, because then you’ll start to sweat.”

Wilbur grimaced at the thought. “Note taken.” Following her lead, he got to his feet as well and walked small circles around the fire. The heat was preventing any snow from sticking to the ground around it, but it did make the ground feel wet and slushy underfoot. Tiny ice crystals cracked under his feet as he paced. “You think we could manage one last hunting trip before it gets worse?”

“We have enough food to last for awhile,” she said.

“Mmm, yeah, but we could always use more.”

“Or you just can’t think of anything better to do.” Winona shot a glance towards him, her lips quirked into a grin. “We’ve got a pretty solid set up for now. Plenty of wood and food to last for a good few days. Maybe we could all just relax for a bit. Catch our breath.You know.”

“Yeah, something tells me that would be a very bad idea. Maxwell, as you can tell, likes to keep his games interesting. If we try to rest, I have a feeling he’ll step in real quick to make things worse.”

“Okay, but what’s the chance of dying of hypothermia the second you walk out there?” Despite her attempts to sound cheeky, her voice dripped with concern.

“Approximately sixty-two percent, give or take two or three percent depending on which one of us you’re talking about.”

“I’m the ‘give three percent’ he’s thinking of,” Tyler muttered from his position on the ground. His eyes were still closed, and he had wrapped himself into a tight ball, but as Wilbur watched, the boy rolled over and stretched his arms out with a yawn. “Although sixty-five is a hopeful estimate. Bump me up to seventy-five and you’ll be on track.”

“He’s right,” Wilbur said without missing a beat. “In case you were curious, you were the ‘take three percent’. I’d probably rank you the least likely to die stupidly. That’s the highest honor I can bestow, Winona. I’d bask in it if I were you.”

The concern was still present, but Winona’s face softened again into amusement. She turned her attention towards Tyler. “How’s the stomach, Ty?”

“Like someone- not saying names but thinking one very loudly- tore a hole in it and made me deal with the aftermath.” At that, his eyes finally opened with a faded smile. “Been worse.”

“Maybe that’ll teach our unspecified culprit to not eat spider meat.” Wilbur waved one hand out, causing Tyler to once again make that too-toothy grin. It never reached his eyes.

“What about your stomach, Wilbur?” Tyler suddenly added. “I see it’s free of a knife so things must be going well hunting with Wilson?”

The unexpected comment caused Wilbur to huff with amusement. He was being paranoid. The boy was clearly in a good mood; what was there to be concerned about? “He’s not a bad hunter. Until now, I just kind of assumed you carried this whole time.”

“You’ve never even seen me be a decent hunter,” he complained. “I’ve been awful at it lately.”

“You’re right,” Wilbur teased. “I was talking about Winona.”

Tyler let out a noise of protest and stuck his tongue out at the woman, who reciprocated the action immediately. A spark of something genuine glowed in his eyes, and when he talked, he suddenly took on a very different tone- one of feigned disinterest. “Winona? Psshhh, she didn’t know that rabbits have antlers. Does that sound like the mark of a hunter to you?”

Winona’s immediate response was to march up to the boy and furiously ruffle the fur on his head. He sputtered indignantly and waved his hands at her as if trying to shoo her away. When he tried to scramble back, she only wrapped one arm around his back in order to noogie him fiercer. Tyler’s protests quickly transformed into whining complaints, to which Winona reacted. “Listen to the furious hunter now!” She taunted. “You’re so scary!” She sounded like she was talking to a baby animal, which riled him up even more. When she finally released him, his eye was wide with surprise and his fur was so mussed it looked as if he had been bathed in pure static electricity. He blinked several times, only adding to the laughter already building in both Wilbur and Winona’s chests.

“Could you guys be any louder?” Wilson complained. He had rolled himself closer to the fire, but kept his eyes stubbornly closed as if trying to fall back asleep. Instead of responding immediately, Wilbur rested his arms on the scientist and used the new perch to examine his claws.

“It would simply be wrong,” Wilbur said helpfully. “To assume that we couldn’t be louder.”

“Can you go back to not talking? I think I like that version of you better.”

“Eh. If I did that, I’d just use it to talk smack about you to your face without you understanding.” Wilbur poked Wilson’s shoulder to get more of a reaction. “Isn’t that right, Tyler?” He called in spider.

“Talking smack about people in front of them is pretty fun,” Tyler lamented in the same language.

This was apparently enough to force Wilson to fully stir. “Wait, what are you saying about me?” Neither party responded, and he turned his attention to Tyler instead. “No, wait, really, what are you saying about me?”

“We should do this more often. If it makes Wilson think we’re talking crap about him.”

The smile on Tyler’s face turned a little more strained. Closer to the too-wide one from earlier. He turned his gaze down to tug at the coverings over his hands. “Yeah. More often. We’ll have plenty of time for that.”

It was… a weird way to put something like that.

An uncomfortable silence followed, one only broken by Winona brushing herself off and folding her arms. “So! What are our plans for the day? Just sitting around doing nothing isn’t gonna get us anything but colder!”

“Wood should be a priority,” Wilson said. “We could set something up to keep any fresh wood off of the ground so it doesn’t absorb any water. After the past couple of days, I’d say we’re doing pretty well on food, so hopefully we can put off hunting and foraging for a bit. As long as we ration decently.” Murmurs of agreement followed his words, and he clasped his hands together. “Wilbur, you’ve proved decent at firebuilding in the past. Want to set all of that up?”

Wilbur decided to take his time responding. He stretched each of his limbs out, pulling the stiffness from his arms and legs as he did so. Then, he dutifully adjusted his earmuffs and gave a thumbs up. Honestly, he was quite glad to be given a task like this- it was something he had plenty of practice in during his many years, and something he could do without even thinking about it anymore. He might not have been well-versed in cold, but Wilbur knew how to deal with wind and wet. He had lived on a tropical island for four thousand years, after all.

As Wilson doled out further tasks, Wilbur turned his attention to their current stocks. They hadn’t exactly skimped on gathering kindling, but the immediate focus had been on food. The others probably had their own reason for this, but Wilbur was personally doing his best to get Tyler back on his feet after the last two worlds. Although his motives were probably pretty obvious to the others. It wasn’t as if he kept any of it a secret.

When Wilson turned to the boy to give him orders, Wilbur cut him off without looking the scientist’s way. “He’s with me. I’m gonna need him.”

“Wilbur…” Wilson sighed, pinching his nose. Tyler puffed his cheeks out in indignance, but who it was aimed at, he couldn’t be sure.

“Wilson.” Wilbur’s voice came out more curt and stunted. It sounded more like a warning than the reminder it was intended to be, but who was paying attention?

Finally, Wilson relented. He let out a heavy sigh. “Are you good to help him?”

“I can do something on my own,” Tyler protested. “You don’t have to babysit me, Wilbur. Wilson, what do you need me to do?”

“Whoa, hey, stop right there.” Wilbur immediately paused in taking inventory and twirled around to face the hybrid. “Let’s get a few things straight.” He held out his fingers and raised one up with each point. “One: Hanging out with your own kid isn’t babysitting. It’s parenting. Two: Nobody said anything about babysitting in the first place. Three: I actually do need assistance and it just so happens I like you the most.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced. “Assistance how? And don’t say moral support.”

“Gathering branches. Making rope. Holding things together. Whatever the opposite of moral support is. Demoralization. Make your saddest, grumpiest takes. Tell me all about the worst things in the world.”

Wilbur counted it as a win as Tyler’s expression melted into relief and faint amusement. “Volt goats are endangered due to overhunting for their horns,” he announced, the first of the aforementioned demoralizing takes.

“Really?” Wilbur didn’t know what a volt goat was.

“Dunno. It’d be demoralizing though, right?”

Wilson shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, but Wilbur didn’t miss the way he chuckled. “Okay, fine. We’ve got plenty of time anyway.” With that, the scientist set to his own devices, taking on whatever tasks he had left out of assigning his companions. Wilbur nodded towards Tyler, an action that the boy returned, and shuffled through the slush towards the edges of the fire’s reach. Once you got far enough away that the heat no longer reached, the snow piled up tall and wide.

For a moment, he entertained the fantasy of finding a sturdy drift to pack together and carve out, something far beyond his skills, but the thought process led him to remembering the bramble shelter he and Winona had taken shelter in the world before. He called for her attention, and offered his thoughts.

“That would probably be difficult,” she mused, rubbing circles into one gloved hand with the thumb of the other. “But I could definitely see the appeal. If we could make a shelter big enough, we could keep a decent sized fire in it too.” Wilbur could see blueprints and ideas swarming in her eyes, before Winona gave a single nod. “I think it’d be worth it to try.”

“What errand are you supposed to be running at the moment?”

“Just wood gathering,” she said.

“Well good. We’re going that way, too.” He beckoned Tyler closer. The boy obliged with little protest, following closely at Winona’s heels with Wilbur taking the back. “Ty, we’re not looking for anything really for the fire. No logs or anything. I’m thinking branches. Preferably a mix of sturdy ones and malleable ones. Keep an eye out.”

“I can do that.” A dim light had lit in Tyler’s eyes, as if doing something helpful was something he had been eager to do for longer than he would admit. “Do they have to be dry?”

For the next half hour or so, soft conversation filtered between the trio. Wilbur felt his chest grow warm as they alternated between friendly banter, questions and answers, and short anecdotes about silly things. He was smiling wildly once he was sure they had enough to at least start, but he felt the smile slip off of his face as he noticed the way the task seemed to drain Tyler of energy faster than normal.

No matter how good of a face he put on, the boy was still recovering from everything that had happened to him in the last two worlds. His steps quickly grew sluggish, and small grimaces betrayed the pain that must have still lingered in his abdomen. He was stubborn, though, and in a state of furious denial about any need for help.

(He needed help. He needed help so badly.)

While Wilbur was struggling to come up with something to say, something to convince Tyler to ease up, Winona was actually the one to come up with something.

“Bet I can carry you and the wood at the same time.”

Tyler blinked several times at her, confusion dawning on his face. “...what?”

Winona grinned at him. “You heard me. I bet I could carry you and the wood at the same time.”

He shifted the weight of the wood in his arms. He shot Wilbur a glance, and the prime ape couldn’t help but smile widely back. “I opt to bet the opposite,” he said conspiratorially. “Wood on its own is heavy, but with a whole kid on your back? Nah. Doubt.”

She let out a faux gasp of offense, placing one hand against her chest. “Wilbur, you doubt me? Come on, Ty, I’ve got something to prove now.”

He hesitated, clearly unsure about the arrangement. Finally, Winona took the initiative and scooped him up with little effort. Tyler shouted in protest, but he didn’t fight it as she promptly perched him up on her shoulders. As soon as it looked like he wasn’t going to fall, she crouched to grab her fallen kindling with an exaggerated grunt of effort.

To Wilbur’s surprise, she looked almost entirely unbothered by his weight. Sure, he probably wasn’t as heavy as he should have been due to recent events, but Wilbur had seen first hand how much of that kid’s body was muscle under his fur. Winona looked as if she wasn’t even carrying anything on her back, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes and a bubble of laughter in her chest.

Wilbur puffed his cheeks out and stood straight up. He placed a closed fist against his chest. “You might be able to conquer this trial, but what about the added weight of a prime ape?”

“I’m incapable of saying no to a challenge.” Winona shifted herself slightly, jostling Tyler enough that he quickly leaned forward and steadied himself against her. “Bring it on!”

Wilbur poked his tongue out of his mouth as he abandoned his own armful of branches in favor of climbing on top of Tyler’s shoulders. He had to lean part of his weight forward to prevent all three of them from toppling over, but the startled laughter coming from Tyler was enough to make the ordeal worth it.

After another moment of balancing, Winona lifted her chin and shouted: “Forward!”

It didn’t last for long. Truth be told, it was precarious from the start. They landed on the ground in a pile of branches and limbs, giggling madly all the while.

“Maybe just Tyler,” Winona managed between laughs. “I think Wilbur’s just a bit too much for me!”

He stuck his tongue out at her, but as he did, he shot his gaze towards Tyler. He was the first to pull himself to his knees, but in favor of clutching his stomach tightly while tears streamed down his face. Fear shot through Wilbur and he nearly started bombarding the boy with questions- Are you okay? What happened? But something was so strange about the shake of his shoulders, the crinkle of his eyes.

Then, Wilbur finally realized: he was laughing. In between gasps of air, Tyler had fallen into such a fit of violent laughter that no sound even came out of his mouth anymore.

Immediately, the fear melted away, leaving nothing but a light sense of joy. Winona reached forward and ruffled Tyler’s head fur again, which was enough to cause his joy to become audible again.

Wilbur even heard a soft rumble rising from his chest. A purr. Tyler was purring, and quite loud. It was enough to make his voice tremble in time with it when he spoke again, begging Winona to leave his fur alone despite clearly enjoying the attention now.

Any wood they had previously gathered was now thoroughly soaked with snowmelt, as was every inch of his and Tyler’s fur and Winona’s clothes. And yet, Wilbur didn’t feel cold at all. Rather, he felt warm from head to toe, basking in the innocent fun of a family making light of a bad situation.

Wilbur and Tyler didn’t exactly need dry wood to start on their project, but Winona certainly did. Wilbur knew that she was fully capable of gathering fresh firewood herself, but she didn’t protest when the two stuck around anyway. Without struggle or even protest, Tyler allowed himself to be perched on Winona’s shoulders the entire time. His purrs had gone deeper, more centered in his chest than rising in his throat. It wasn’t as audible, but Wilbur could see it well enough.

Eventually, they did turn back- Winona with fresh, dry firewood and Wilbur with his own bundle of branches. When Wilbur shot another look up towards his kid, Tyler had long since drifted off with all of his weight pressed into Winona’s shoulders and the back of her head.

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile.

 

Edited August 24, 2023 by Pokemaniac7000

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 83. Love - Part 3

 

Chapter 3 of 5

The King of Winter

Winona didn’t know how she missed all of the signs.

They had been there. They had all been there for so long, and yet she had gone blissfully unaware of every single one.

Maybe it wasn’t her own ignorance. Maybe it was simply denial. Maybe it was because every single time she had seen something suspicious, she had brushed it off. Nobody wants to think the worst. Every human assumes the body by the road is a mannequin until the truth is forcibly pushed onto them.

It was just that the truth was forced onto Winona far, far too late to do anything.

It started with the panic attacks and breakdowns.

When Winona had first met Tyler, he had been snarky and stubborn. Quick to shoot a verbal attack at those around him, but always with a gleam of mischief in his eye. She hadn’t known the boy from the beginning, but she had heard about how he had initially treated his companions.

She had heard that he would react with physical violence over the smallest things. A quick insult or a single offhanded comment. He had the instincts of a predator with the mind of an abandoned child. But even still, Wilson had claimed he had been strong-willed and highly opinionated. He never cried. Fury was always his reaction. Fury and violence.

But Winona had known him before things started falling apart. Winona had watched Tyler argue over tiny details, protest every small thing, try to take the lead at every corner. Always, always, with a glimmer in his gaze. His comebacks and insults were quick and sharp, but there was never malice in them. Just… enjoyment. Affection.

But the truth was, had always been, that she didn’t know his thoughts. She could only make assumptions based on the way he reacted to situations, and the way he spoke to his companions. The way he interacted with them.

Winona had watched WX-78 die.

She had watched Tyler die with them.

Not physically, no. Physically, Tyler was still alive. He was breathing, speaking, mostly unharmed. But what she hadn’t realized at the time was that it wasn’t just shock and grief that had overtaken him in the wake of WX-78’s death.

Cracks had formed.

Cracks that had been growing gradually over the span of months. Cracks that had gotten deeper and deeper until something vital had been broken.

She had seen the signs. She hadn’t known what any of them were.

She had seen them, one night, when she lay awake, staring up at the sky peeking through between branches and dead leaves. Their shelter was admittedly crude, but effective for blocking the wind and snow. It was kept dry by the branches blocking snowfall, and the fire providing light and warmth. It was comfortable, especially when the frigid air outside was taken into consideration.

She couldn’t sleep. She blamed a nonexistent rock somewhere beneath her, one that wouldn’t turn up no matter how many times she searched for it.

At the time, she thought she had accidentally woken the boy up with her tossing and turning. Now, she wasn’t sure. When she tried yet another new position, she saw a single eye staring at her, reflecting the orange and red light of the fire. His expression was static. She couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking.

“Can’t sleep, either?” Winona questioned in a whisper. Tyler stared blankly at her for a solid ten seconds before slowly shaking his head. He had his sword resting on his lap, bathed in its own light separate from the flames, and one claw resting on it. Tapping the polished surface. It wasn’t a particularly loud noise, considering the pelts still covering his hands, but it was noticeable now that she was listening for it.

“Hey Winona?” He finally spoke.

“Mm?”

His hand hovered over the blade again, before resting back on it and tapping a new beat on it. Tapping to a song that was only in his head.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” Winona sat up to give him her full attention. He seemed uncomfortable with this, turning his gaze decisively away as if betraying something on his face.

“Um… do you… could you… keep this?” His words were soft, barely a whisper, as he closed his fingers around the hilt of his sword and offered it towards the handywoman. She blinked at the weapon, a frown creasing her face.

“...Your sword?” She asked, because she needed the clarification. It was Tyler’s weapon. The thought of anyone else wielding it seemed… unnatural. She could almost see the glow of it sputter slightly, as if equally displeased by the concept of being handed off to someone else. He still didn’t look her way, but he did nod slightly. Winona didn’t reach out to take it. “...why?”

“I…” he chewed at his lip. She could see the consideration going into his next words, as if he was betraying some big secret. “I don’t think it’s… safe… for me to have it.”

“You don’t think it’s safe?”

“I’m… I’m worried. That I’ll lose control and. You know. Use it. To hurt you guys.” She watched as his shoulders hunched slightly, as if he was struggling against the urge to curl into himself. “You can give it back when I’m all better, okay?” He added after another long moment of hesitance. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt by it.”

She opened her mouth to protest further. They knew it couldn’t hurt any of them. It absorbed darkness and poison- two things they were distinctly lacking. Even if Webber tried to attack them with it, it wouldn’t do anything.

But… she closed it after a moment. Tyler finally turned to look at her, and there was something so desperate in his gaze. It was so much more than what he was saying, and there was something, something, behind his eye that screamed at her. Look at me! See through me! Stop believing my lies!

Maybe she was putting meaning to things as small as looks now, though, because she knew what it would amount to.

At the time, though, the words went unheard. She chose not to press him, not to drag the truth out of him. Instead, she slowly uncurled her hand and reached out to take it.

And immediately dropped it when he relinquished his hold.

Winona flinched back, her good hand flying to the palm of the bad one. There wasn’t any way she could hold the weapon with her bad hand, but somehow, she had forgotten that. She had forgotten the numbness, the clumsy feeling of dead fingers trying to function as normal.

The second the weapon hit the ground, Tyler’s gaze was snapping towards her. At first, she thought it was in anger for dropping his prized sword, but then she saw it melt into something else.

Fear? Confusion? She couldn’t tell at the time.

Guilt, her mind helpfully supplied now, even though he couldn’t have known.

“What happened to your hand?” Tyler breathed, gaze quickly flicking between the sword on the ground and the hand she was tightly grasping. She didn’t respond immediately, because he knew how he would take it. She had known, and that was why she didn’t want him to know.

“Nothing. Just asleep. You know how it is.” She shook the frostbitten limb as if to try to wake it up before using her good hand to reach again for his sword. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

His hand flashed out to grab her good wrist before she could stop it. Winona froze instinctively; she could feel the shudders running through his arm.

“What happened to your hand?” He asked again, and this time, it wasn’t a request. Winona still found herself hesitating, unwilling to expose the hand. The boy wasn’t about to relent, though. He simply held her wrist tightly (was he digging his claws in?) until she gave a small sigh of acquiescence. Tyler’s grip loosened slowly, and as soon as she was able to, she pulled away and peeled the glove off of her bad hand.

Tyler hissed before it was even fully off. Winona had… admittedly, been trying to ignore her frostbite. She hadn’t seen under the glove since she showed Wilson. Now, the skin was no longer pale and waxy. It had turned to an ugly, purple-black bruise color. There had been swelling, as well, which only exemplified the awfulness of the injury.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she offered, trying to dispel the tension that had suddenly fallen over them. He reached out without a word, and gently grasped the wrist of her frostbitten hand. He turned it over a few times, a deep look of concern growing further and further with every second.

“When did this happen?” He asked quietly as he released her. Winona replaced her glove, once again ‘out of sight, out of mind’, before answering.

“Not in this world.”

“The last one then,” he pressed.

She nodded

“When I attacked you.” Tyler’s voice suddenly sounded tight and stunted. “When I- we- when we attacked you. That’s when it happened?”

“Not everything is your fault,” Winona murmured. It wasn’t a denial, because Tyler’s assumption was true, but she had to make that clear. “Just… just because something bad happens, Tyler, it doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

“But it is, isn’t it!?” He burst. He spoke quickly, as if the words were pressing against his chest and begging to be let out. “It is my fault, because that’s exactly what happened, right!?”

“You weren’t the one who attacked me,” she reminded him sternly. He opened his mouth to protest but before a single syllable could even leave she interrupted him. “It. Wasn’t. You.”

“It might as well have been,” he whispered.

“No.” Winona shook her head. “The one who attacked me was a spider that felt threatened. If I remember correctly, you were the one who prevented him from decapitating me.”

“I don’t even know if that was me. I… I couldn’t even tell where he began and I ended. What if- what if that’s-” he cut himself off, suddenly choking on breaths that had become far too fast.

It was a long night for the both of them. It wasn’t enough to coax the boy out of the panic attack he had dragged himself into. Even long after his breaths had settled and his muscles uncoiled, he alternated between growling uselessly at nothing and weeping softly at everything. When Wilbur woke up to see this scene, the prime ape said nothing. He simply gazed at them with sad eyes and gently took the boy from Winona’s arms.

Before Winona left, she heard a tiny, choked voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She had seen all of this happen with her own two eyes. And still, her mind refused to see the possibility. It just saw a mannequin, because there was no possible way the worst was true.

Wilbur was getting less sleep. She wasn’t sure when she noticed it, or when exactly it started to happen, but she noticed the prime ape drifting off more during the day. Leaning against something to rest his eyes for a few minutes. Sometimes, he would sleep well into the afternoon before finally jerking to wakefulness.

When Winona did finally notice it, it had already gotten bad. She asked him about it, but Wilbur had only shaken his head a bit and let out a small sigh. “It’s been a bad few nights,” he said.

It wasn’t until she woke up during one of these ‘bad’ nights that she saw another sign, and another reason she blamed herself for not stepping in sooner.

It wasn’t Wilbur keeping himself awake all those nights. It was the presence of a small, broken boy who clung to the prime ape to ride out bouts of hysterical tears and violent thrashing. Wilbur caught her eye, and he looked so lost and uncertain that she wasn’t even sure how to approach it.

But again, it was easy to look past them. It was easy to assume it was nightmares plaguing the boy, causing him to seek the attention of his friend. Especially when she would see Tyler the next morning, that big grin on his face as he talked and the laughter he would let out when one of the others would throw a snowball his way.

And then, one day, it all stopped. The desperate clinginess, the long nights spent pouring his sorrows out to anyone awake enough to listen. It vanished suddenly, as if the period had never existed in the first place. It was with a brightness in his eye that he proclaimed to her that he was feeling better, and that he was sorry for worrying them but it was in the past.

He had figured it out, he said.

Of course, Winona had assumed the best. He had figured out the source of his pain and was working on repairing it. He had figured out what he needed to do to keep himself happy. He had figured it out.

What a vague statement. One that she hadn’t asked for elaboration on, because why would she?

There came one day when he vanished for almost a solid hour before returning- shivering and sneezing, but with a prize clutched in his claws. A delicately shaped flower, one that had flash-frozen seemingly overnight and now remained in a state of status. It remained a vibrant magenta, despite the fact that it should have died long ago. He looked pleased with himself, more than happy to give the plant over to Wilbur, who turned it over a few times and commented on its color, its shape, its sturdiness to survive the cold.

Tyler beamed as the gift was accepted. He dragged the prime ape close and hugged him, whispering something under his breath that only Wilbur seemed to catch.

All at once, the light drained from Wilbur’s eyes. He paled, fiercely whispering something back which Tyler seemed to accept immediately.

She would ask him, later, what he said. Wilbur stilled, his entire body freezing so suddenly he nearly stumbled over himself in the middle of a step. Winona could see the conflict in his eyes as he struggled with how to answer, before finally admitting: “He told me not to forget about him.”

“As if you could,” Winona said with an amused huff, but Wilbur didn’t seem to share the same amusement.

“I’m scared for him,” Wilbur whispered.

“He’ll be fine,” Winona had stupidly insisted. “Trust me. He’s a strong kid.”

It was the very same night she woke up to stifled sniffles and half-aborted sobs. Still drowsy from sleep, Winona lifted her head, expecting to see Tyler clinging to Wilbur again. But Wilbur was a few feet away, still fast asleep, and Tyler was curled over himself with both hands firmly covering his mouth.

“Ty?”

He jerked around violently, his eye huge with terror and shame.

“I- I didn’t mean to,” he sputtered around his fingers. “I didn’t mean to, I- I woke up, and-”

That’s all Winona needed to be wide awake. She immediately shuffled over to him and gently took a hold of one of his arms. He allowed her to move it with little protest.

That’s when she saw the clawmarks.

Thin, desperate scratches that lined his arms all the way to the elbow. Any attempt to ask who had done this to him died on her tongue when she noticed a sickening pattern.

The marks on his left arm were thin, yes, but deep. Intense pressure had been put against the skin to split it, causing blood to leak out sluggishly from the wounds. The marks on his right arm, however, were much lighter. Scratches that only had beads of blood around the corners as opposed to the frantic, wild clawing his opposite arm had suffered. Winona felt something building in her throat, but whether it was a sob, a scream, or straight up vomit was something she couldn’t even afford to guess.

“What did you do?” Her voice came out hoarse and strained. She knew it was the worst thing to say, but no other possible words came to her head.

“I- I-” Tyler’s lip wobbled and his eye cast down. She saw him grip his arm tightly with the opposite hand before wincing and releasing it. “There was- a nightmare-” Disjointed words struggled to make a full sentence. “Tried to f-fight it, but-”

But… he had clawed himself by accident in his own blind terror?

“It was… in me,” he choked out. “I… I was trying to get it out- I just wanted it out. It was so bad. A-and I-”

“There’s nothing bad in you,” Winona murmured as she examined the wounds littering his arms. He shuddered under her gaze, and she could hear his breath catching in his throat.

“But there is,” he whispered. “There’s something evil. It wants to hurt you.”

“That’s not you,” she reminded him gently. “And you aren’t going to hurt me. You aren’t going to hurt anybody.”

A fresh wave of tears fell from his eye when he blinked. “If I do…” Tyler said. “If I do try to hurt someone, stop me. Please. Stop me. I don’t care what you have to do. E-even if you have to… to…” He couldn’t finish his own sentence. Instead, it was interrupted yet again by his own weeping sorrow.

“You won’t ever hurt one of us,” she promised. “I know you, and I know you wouldn’t hurt one of us on purpose. You never have to worry about that, Ty.”

He didn’t give her an answer, but his whimpers and cries became louder at it.

Wilson was the one to wake up to this scene. He blinked tiredly at them as if confused by what he was seeing, but eventually understanding seemed to hit him. His brow creased in uncertainty as he caught Winona’s gaze, and she found herself holding her breath to see what he would do.

He ended up waking Wilbur, then watched from a distance with shadowed eyes as Wilbur took charge where Winona should have prior. The prime ape silently wrapped Tyler’s wounds and, after a moment of consideration, made new little wrappings to cover his claws. Just in case.

He had known. Wilbur had tried to warn them, but his warnings went unheard. After all, Tyler was a strong kid. He would be fine.

Because if you keep telling yourself something, it must be true.

The day began in a much more peaceful manner than usual. Winona was surprised to wake up on her own and see that she was the first awake. Wilbur was curled into a ball a few feet away, snoring softly. Wilson’s back was to her, but the slowness of his breathing showed that he was still asleep. Tyler wasn’t curled up against anyone like he normally would be. Instead, he had balled himself up against one of the far edges of their shelter, something that would have been concerning if it weren’t for the calm expression on his sleeping face.

Winona took a moment to look over each of her companions, an ember of warmth lighting in her chest. They had been in this world awhile now - a few weeks, at least - and they had run into very few obstacles. The cold weather was about the only thing they had had to worry about, and as long as they kept themselves covered to the best of their ability, remained in the heat when they could, and stuck together when they couldn’t, they had been able to tough out the freeze.

There was no hint of a growing warmth. Wilbur and Tyler had both agreed that there was no hint of snowmelt on the horizon. No suggestion that this winter was going to end as soon as the other seasons had in the previous worlds.

And yet… it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was relatively relaxing compared to some of their other ventures. When it was all quiet and she had the time, it was nice to sit by the fire and gaze up through the branches, imagining soft snowflakes landing on the other side of a window while a younger girl watched with amazement. She could almost lose herself enough in the fantasy enough to hear Charlie excitedly asking about sledding and snowball fights.

But the moment would end soon enough, leaving the truth to sink in. They were no longer little girls, and Charlie was far away from her now.

As the others started to stir, Winona paced around their meager shelter and patched any gaps she could see with thin, malleable branches or dead leaves. By the time she was satisfied, all three of the others were already awake and Wilbur was dutifully working on breakfast. Tyler would normally be by the prime ape’s side, slowly absorbing his cooking skills, but today, Tyler seemed more distracted than usual. He had taken up a stick and was aimlessly dragging it across the dirt in a straight line, back and forward.

Instead, Wilson was the one helping by the fire. While he didn’t have the same interest in cooking as the two furred members, it was still nice to see him and Wilbur working alongside each other without arguing. The duo had acted as the primary hunting party, given Wilbur’s twin unwillingness to let Wilson out of his sight or leave Tyler alone. It seemed to have a surprisingly positive effect on their relationship, one that Winona had not foreseen and yet enjoyed nonetheless. It was nice to see the entire group getting along.

“Hey, Ty,” Wilbur called, drawing the boy’s attention from the ground. As he offered Tyler his food, he absently suggested: “Wanna spar later today?”

Tyler blinked in surprise, his expression clearing somewhat. “Spar?” He repeated, as if in disbelief.

“It has been awhile since we worked on any fighting skills,” Wilson mused. “Wouldn’t hurt anything.”

“With me?” Tyler pressed, his gaze flicking between each of his companions. “Don’t you guys have some sort of pact preventing me from doing anything that could even be considered slightly dangerous?”

His tone was doubtful, but Winona could see the hope in his eyes. He desperately wanted to be given permission. It was true that they had been careful to keep him from hurting himself- after all, he only recently stopped feeling the effects of the spider meat and he was still far lighter than he should have been. Still, Wilbur gave him a beaming smile.

“Of course. You seem to be feeling better, and there’s no use letting all your fighting skills go to waste.”

Tyler’s whiskers twitched and his eyes glimmered in excitement. It had been awhile since she had seen him look so enthusiastic about anything.

As Tyler and Wilbur finished eating, Winona and Wilson had a quick sparring match of their own. Their moves were a bit slower than usual, but it was clear they hadn’t quite lost their edge yet. Winona gripped her makeshift weapon- basically nothing but a stick she found on the ground- until her knuckles turned white, but Wilson looked as if he was entirely in his element.

She definitely had strength on him, but not the fighting prowess. She had been taken away from Earth more recently than him, and as such had much less time to hone her fighting skills. Soon, Winona was on the ground with a stick pointed at her throat. Wilson proudly smirked as he stepped back and allowed her to get back up.

Winona blew out air from between her teeth and shook out her hands. Despite the frigid temperature outside, sweat dripped down her forehead, which she wiped off on her sleeve. “Good fight,” she breathed. “You definitely have experience on me.”

“I was afraid you’d break my leg if I didn’t,” he teased, a tone of voice that sounded so strange on Wilson that she nearly told herself she heard it wrong. The amusement on his face told otherwise. Winona found herself smiling slightly as she saw it.

A good day, she mused.

As soon as Winona surrendered, Tyler jumped to his feet, eagerly waiting to get his own spar in. He still refused to wield his sword, despite the fact it was probably safer than even the stick he did have. Winona winced. She could only imagine the kind of bruises Wilbur would have after this one.

Wilbur stood on two feet a few paces away. He waved one hand at the stick in Tyler’s hands before crossing his arms. “Come on, sticks? We’ve got built-in weapons. Ones that we won’t lose in the heat of battle.” He brandished each clawed digit on his hands. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

If it was possible for Tyler’s grin to grow wider, it did. He tossed away the makeshift weapon and brandished his own claws, each one still meticulously wrapped after his episode a few days ago. It was probably a good thing, Winona considered, since Wilbur probably knew how to hold back, and she had a feeling Tyler didn’t.

Winona and Wilson, predictably, fought like humans. With weapons that they used to block and swing.

Tyler and Wilbur, however, fought like animals. Each hit dealt on each other was either dodged or tanked, with little room for error and no abilities to block with anything other than their own bodies. It was clear, once more, that Wilbur had far more experience. His movements were strong and precise, his eyes always calculating a few steps ahead to prevent fangs or claws from making contact with his skin.

Tyler was blindingly fast. Winona was surprised to see that Wilbur was kept mostly on the defensive, one canine poking partially out of his mouth as his chest heaved. The few moves he did make each landed, but there weren’t nearly as many.

Death by a thousand cuts, is what Winona would have to describe it. A sort of dance between a faster but weaker opponent and a slower but stronger one. She could barely keep up.

It all went downhill with one accident. One misstep. An attack that Tyler should have dodged but that came in on his blind side. It wasn’t a bad injury, simply thin clawmarks that tore some fur out, but part of it went over the scar covering that side of his face.

And suddenly, the boy went very, very still.

Wilbur yelped and stumbled back, hands pressed over his mouth and eyes wide. “Oh my god, Tyler. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

Tyler lunged at him.

Later, Winona would wonder what caused the reaction. Was it anger? A panic response? The arachnid instincts taking over as soon as he was injured?

Whatever it was, it was brutal.

Winona was frozen, unable to comprehend what she was watching. Everything had seemed so lighthearted just seconds ago, but now there was blood and furious snarling and pained cries and she had no idea what to do. She was frozen. Paralyzed.

It was Wilson who finally stepped in. The scientist grabbed Tyler around the midsection and yanked him off of the now injured prime ape, immediately shifting the force of Tyler’s rage towards him. Fangs bared and claws torn free from their coverings, Tyler looked more like a wild animal than anything else.

Wilson wasn’t stupid, though, and he knew how to fight. Specifically, he knew how to fight this particular opponent. In just a matter of seconds, he had the boy pinned to the ground with one hand wrapped around his good wrist, a knee on his chest, and another hand pressing the back of his head into the dirt. Tyler’s growling petered off, but the fierce glare he wore didn’t. Chest heaving and covered in blood- oh my God blood-

“Wilbur!” Winona burst as she finally snapped out of her stupor.

Wilbur was already struggling to pull himself back to his feet. His breaths came fast and uneven. Blood dripped from his mouth.

Winona rushed towards him and slid to her knees, eyes frantically taking in the mauling he had sustained. The side of his face had been rendered a bloody mess, only barely missing his eye and sparing his sight, although it wouldn’t be long before the eye on that side would swell shut. Puncture wounds ravaged his leg, which damaged any attempt he made to stand. When he looked up and caught sight of Winona, he winced back.

He was shaking violently. One of his hands clutched at his chest as if trying to dig something out that wasn’t there.

He was terrified.

Winona couldn’t tell if he was properly registering her presence or if he thought she was something else.

“Crown-” he choked. The object in question had fallen off his head and now rested in the dirt, pristine and golden as ever.

“Worry about that later,” Winona urged. “Are you okay? What hurts the most?”

Wilbur shook his head and once again pointed to his crown. “Give it.” It was less of a demand and more of a plea.

So many conflicting emotions raged through Winona’s blood, and all Wilbur could think about was his crown? She wanted to scream, but whether it was at Tyler, Wilbur for caring about the wrong thing, or herself for not being able to react for so long, she couldn’t even begin to guess. Instead of screaming at anyone, though, she silently passed the piece over to him.

He let out a stuttering sigh and leaned back with the crown pressed against his chest. “Okay, okay,” he hissed. “I’ll be fine. I’m good. Alive.” He cursed under his breath a few times, claws digging in slightly to the golden surface. His face was screwed in pain, and he couldn’t hide the way he was clearly beginning to hyperventilate behind his forced light tone.

“You’re certainly not fine!” Winona exclaimed. “You’re covered in your own blood, Wilbur! You- grr- you need medical attention.”

“Hmm.” Wilbur closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his quick and shallow breath puffing clouds of steam into the air. “Okay, yeah, maybe I do,” he conceded with a tight voice. It sounded like his vocal cords were being pulled to their extreme. Like he had to drag words past his throat just to speak.

She moved her hands towards him, hovering awkwardly over the injured side of his face as she struggled to figure out what to do. Wilbur cracked one eye open and flinched violently when he saw her presence. Winona immediately drew back, folding her hands to her chest in uncertainty.

“I’m here,” Wilson murmured. She jumped in surprise at his voice and turned to see a strange, empty look on the man’s face. “I can take care of him. Go deal with Webber.”

His face was empty, but his voice was low and angry.

Winona hesitated, her eyes fixed on the wounds decorating her friend’s body. Wilbur gave her a silent thumbs up even through his panic.

With that, she relented. Tyler was still where Wilson had pinned him down, but he was sitting up now. His body had gone entirely still, as if he had been suddenly petrified. She expected him to look angry, scared, maybe even righteous if he thought it was deserved. Which is why the look of complete and utter emptiness scared her so much.

“What happened, Tyler?” She asked gently. If she had any hopes of getting a decent answer out of him, they were immediately dashed.

“I hurt him,” he whispered, tiny and afraid.

“Yes,” she said. There was no use pretending it didn’t happen.

“You said I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Winona winced, and at that very moment, she felt how thin the ice she was treading was. One wrong word, one wrong movement, and everything would only get worse. She swallowed heavily as she thought over the words in her head. After all, she had already lied once, and if he suspected her of lying again, he would never trust her.

“Did he scare you?” She tried after a long moment. It was the only thing she could even think to say. When he remained still, she reached forward and touched the new scratches trailing over his scar. They were just deep enough for beads of blood to appear at the corners, closer to the scratch you might get playing with a cat, but it was the specific location of them that forged that theory. Tyler closed his eye and let out a shuddering sigh. She could see the urge to lean into the touch painted on his face, but he didn’t move.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Is… is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Winona promised, even though she wasn’t entirely sure. Still, she forced a smile on her face. “He’s just a bit banged up and shaken.”

The boy didn’t immediately respond. His eye was glazed in residual terror. Winona shifted herself slightly to ensure that she was blocking his view from Wilbur and Wilson.

“Are you going to do it?” Tyler suddenly set his jaw, his muscles noticeably tensing as if bracing for something. Winona struggled over his question for a moment, but before she could come up with a good response he continued, and every word out of his mouth made bile rise higher and higher in her throat. “Just do it, Winona. They don’t have to see it. Please, just do it quickly. I… I don’t want to feel it.”

“What are you talking about?” She pressed, because there was no way. It was always a mannequin, always a mannequin, always a mannequin-

He looked so… resigned. At peace? “You have to kill me.”

She jerked back and slapped one hand over her mouth. “Ty, I’m not-”

“Don’t-,” he growled. “Don’t call me that. Don’t humanize me. Don’t argue either. I’m not a human. I haven’t been in a long time. I’m a predator. It doesn’t matter how nicely you treat a wild animal. Eventually, its instincts will always take over and it ends up hurting you. It’ll kill you just because of what it is. Just do it, please.” A single tear fell from his eye. He looked away. “Just… just let me save you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Tyler.”

“I’m not the Young Heir, Winona.”

That… did give her pause. She blinked silently at the boy, repeating the words over and over in her head. “What…?”

“I’m not the Young Heir!” He shouted. “The sword? My sword? It has a name.” Tyler took in a shaky breath and buried his face in his hands. “It’s the Sword of the Martyr. Me. I’m not destined to make it to the Throne. I’m the Martyr. I always have been. From the day I was born, I was destined to die for all of you. I’ve come to terms with it.” He shook his head. “But you won’t kill me. Don’t make me have to do it myself.” When she didn’t immediately respond, his eyes started to glitter with unnatural wetness. “Please, Winona. I’m begging you.”

She couldn’t even begin to register his words. This… this boy. This child. He was pleading with her to kill him. It was more than just guilt or fear. She could see the way his face twisted, the faint vestiges of hope that he clung to. Not hope that she would stop him, no, hope that she would listen to him and do it.

He wanted to die.

Oh God, he wanted to die.

“Ty…” She reached a hand out, a million pleading words and phrases already on the tip of her tongue, but every single one dying before it could make it out.

He shook his head at her silence and took a few steps back, just out of her reach. “I... okay. I understand. You think this is me acting rashly because I’m upset. But that’s not it. Winona, this is my decision. It’s not something that just appeared out of nowhere. I’ve thought it out extensively. If you won’t-” his voice choked up. “Th-then… I’ll do it myself. I’m sorry, Winona. Please… um.. Tell Wilbur I said I’m sorry, too. Although it’s not going to help anything.” Tyler gave her a tiny smile. Unlike any of the smiles he had shown this entire world, this one was soft and real. A single smile full of melancholy and determination and the knowledge that he was right. “I love you guys. So… so much. Thank you for giving me a family again. I promise, it’s for the best for all of us.” Unbelievably, a stuttering purr rose in his throat as newly freed tears fell down his cheek. “I won’t be in pain anymore. Okay? I’ll be happy again.”

He turned on his heel, but before he could start walking away, she lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. “No, stop, we can talk about this. We can help you. You just need to let us. Wilbur will be fine, Tyler, you don’t have to worry. He’ll forgive you; it’s not the end-”

Winona wasn’t sure if he was still fight or flight mode, but the second his eye turned to her again, she knew he would free himself from her hold and there was nothing she could do about it

He was small, light, impossibly fast. Before dodging even crossed her mind, he had effectively thrown her to the ground, his glowing sword pointing directly at her face. How he had procured the weapon so quickly, she was unsure. All that she knew was that despite the weight of his actions, his face was calm and peaceful. Accepting. Happy.

“Don’t follow me.”

He tossed the weapon around, catching it by the blade with the pommel facing towards her. Then, with a quick, fierce hit, he smashed the pommel into her foot.

Winona had to bite back a scream of pain. She couldn’t tell if it was broken or not, but enough agony seized her leg that she couldn’t even follow if she wanted to… which had been his intention.

By the time she looked back up to say something more, to do anything more to convince him to stay, the boy had already vanished.

Winona couldn’t move. Once more, when she should have been doing anything other than sitting still like a statue, she couldn’t. The first thing she did when she finally got her wits back about her was to check to see how badly hurt her foot was.

It hadn’t hit any bones. He had specifically hit her in a way that she wouldn’t be able to chase after him but without causing any long-term injury.

“He ran off?” Wilson huffed. Winona snapped her gaze towards the scientist, who was brushing his hands off on his pants. Wilbur still looked dazed, and there were still drips of blood around his mouth, but most of his injuries by now had been covered properly. She winced at the sight of his swollen face. “Figures.”

“Wilbur-” she started hoarsely, because surely he knew. Right? Had he known? Or had they all been as in the dark as she was?

“We need to go after him,” the prime ape said. His voice was low with pain, but something else too. Sadness?

“He’ll be back once he calms down,” Wilson said with a sigh. “He always does.”

“Wilson.” Winona’s voice cracked. He looked slightly annoyed when he caught her eye. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment before looking back towards Wilbur. “He doesn’t intend on coming back.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened and his fur started bristling. He tried to jump to his feet, but the wounds across his leg hindered his movement. He looked frantic, pupils shrunken to pinpricks and muscles coiled with tension. “Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god-”

“What do you mean?” Wilson demanded. “He’ll just freeze to death out there.”

“Wilson.” She said again. He let out a rough, annoyed sound, but she didn’t respond to it. She didn’t speak until he finally looked back at her. “I know that. He knows that. That’s the point.”

She could see the gears turning in his head as he thought. She knew exactly when it clicked, before suddenly pain and fear and horror twisted his face. He understood what was happening. What was going to happen.

Exactly what the boy was planning to do.

 

Edited September 6, 2023 by Pokemaniac7000

[Pokemaniac7000]

 

Chapter 84. Love - Part 4

 

Nine years ago, a set of twins were born to two loving parents. They had no idea what kind of fates lay in store for their children. After all, how could you look at a newborn and think about how they’re going to die? How could you know that your children were cursed to never reach their tenth birthday?

The exact thoughts of the parents were unknown, but surely they were as any parents’ would be. Pride, maybe a bit of nervousness. Excitement. Love. They must have believed their children would at least reach adulthood. After all, it had been many years since children were regularly lost to the wild. An older sister doted on her little siblings, often proclaiming her thoughts with gusto.

Perhaps the boy would grow up to be a hunter, like his mother?

Perhaps the girl would be a shopkeeper? Or an artist?

At the time, it didn’t matter. It was so far ahead that they couldn’t be bothered to think about it outside of vague considerations. Instead, they put all of their attention into raising their kids the best they could.

 

Seven years ago, a pair of twins played outside in the snow for the first time. Both bundled up from head-to-toe in puffy, koalafant clothes, they giggled and laughed and threw snowballs at each other. Their cheeks grew rosy and their fingers grew numb, but they barely even had the chance to start shivering before they were ushered in by their parents. Then, the boy excitedly joined his parents in the kitchen as they started cooking dinner, while the girl curled into a ball of blankets in the adjacent room with a mug of warm cider. When the food was ready, the boy happily brought out two bowls of soup for himself and his sister, which they gladly ate together.

The next day, they would beg to go out again, and it was then their older sister showed them how to make snowmen. Enthralled by this new information, they took turns trying to roll balls of snow to make their own. They didn’t have the strength to stack them into a snowman, but their older sister was always happy to help. Soon, the yard was covered in snowmen of varying sizes and degrees of skill. Then, they assigned each one a name and acted out a war between two sides, using sticks and snowballs as their weapons as they fought opposite sides of a nameless fight.

They caught terrible colds from their escapades. Neither of them regretted it. Between sneezes and with a snotty nose, the boy proclaimed that they got sick because they fought on opposite sides instead of together. Nobody argued his point.

 

Six years ago, a demon was given the order to kill a young boy. The exact reasons behind this command were lost, but the demon had every intent on making good on the order. That was until the demon stood in front of the twins, gazing down at them. The girl was oblivious to its presence, happily playing near her brother without a care in the world. The boy, though, immediately saw it and went eerily still and silent. His eyes landed perfectly on the creature, all translucent blacks and reds and shadows, and instead of crying for his parents as a normal child would, he instead went entirely silent. His face was void of everything except fixed terror.

Terror… and recognition.

The demon spared the boy that day, but not out of benevolence. The boy was something special, it believed. Instead of killing it, it tore bloody clawmarks across the child’s knuckles to brand the boy. To taste his blood.

The boy did not cry until after the demon vanished. It was only then he seemed to recognize that his hand had been slashed open, that he was bleeding.

The slashes got infected quickly, but the infection never seemed to spread. Instead, it faded away, leaving terrible, ugly scars in their place. The boy had been branded, but nobody knew the purpose of the branding.

When his parents frantically took him to the healers, they gave a simple but chilling answer.

He had caught the attention of some higher being.

It was a blessing, they had said. To have a child catch the attention of something higher than them.

But his parents had seen the truth. They knew it for the curse it was.

 

Five years ago, a boy started to gain a fondness for the outside world. He had a little notebook that he liked to take with him, and he would make little sketches of animals he saw and practice his shaky letters on scraps of parchment as he tried to write down notes about things. He wanted to learn everything. And, naturally, the sister was dragged into it as well. She would watch him from afar as he cooed over everything from flowers to their own family’s goats. He would return home every day with a bouquet of flowering weeds, bundles that decorated their family’s home as every single flower was kept. He wanted to learn everything. He was young enough to know very little, but old enough to recognize how little he knew. And he wanted to fix that.

 

Four years ago, a pair of twins were hunted down, captured, and eaten by the very spiders they had been observing. The girl perished quickly, torn to shreds before being eaten. The boy had to watch his sister die, knowing full well that it was his own curiosity and spark that had led them here. He had wept and screamed and cried, even as he, too, fell victim to the arachnids’ insatiable hunger.

 

Three years and ten months ago, a hybrid woke with a violent start in an unfamiliar body. The very first thing the hybrid did was lurch forward and vomit up impossible things. Far too much blood. Meat that had gone rancid instead of digesting. Hair that caught in their fangs. Foul clumps of necrosed tissue that had once been organs. Connected as they were, their body rejected duplicates and rid itself of everything it no longer needed.

When it had finally stopped, they found themselves drenched in their own blood and stomach acid. With nothing else to do, they ran, fueled entirely by the boy’s terror and the predator’s confusion. They ran until they couldn’t stand anymore, collapsing in front of a puddle of water  that reflected the horrid truth to them.

As the boy realized he was still alive, but in only the most literal sense of the word. His body had rejected its own organs. His name had long since been forgotten. Whatever was once human was buried under chitin and fur and blood.

As the spider realized his terrible mistake to consume the child alive. That for some reason, somehow, this boy survived within the spider’s own body. Their neurons had fused, and with two separate minds fighting for dominance with no real practice, they saw themselves as a single entity. Single, but plural. One, but both.

When they woke the next day to see the nightmare had continued, they wandered. They did not know where they were, who they were, what had happened. All they knew was that they were a new life, one spawned from a desperate, starving spider and a bold, stupidly fearless five-year-old human child.

Driven by fleeting memories, they sought out their family. Flickers of faces came to their mind, both human and arachnid alike, but any images were fuzzy and distorted. They found pigs and remembered playing with the piglets only a short time ago, but they had taken a single look at the hybrid and attacked them.

They had to rip out the head of a spear from their back by themselves.

 

Three years and nine months ago, a hybrid stumbled upon a human village. Recognition flooded their mind, driven by the boy’s memories, and they found themselves running further and further across the cobblestone roads. In desperation, they cried out helplessly for their parents in slurred spider speech. Begging as a five-year-old does- to be held, to be comforted, to be reassured. Their crying brought onlookers, and their language barrier brought hunters.

They couldn’t tell exactly when things started to be thrown. All they knew was that something sharp and hard hit their cheek, causing them to let out a yelp of pain. They froze, competing instincts begging them to cry out, to run, to freeze, to beg.

They looked up to see a mother and a father. Their eyes were hollow with grief, and their faces were twisted in rage. The hybrid stepped back, unsure, as intense images of warmth and love and happiness tugged at their brain. They reached forward uneasily, calling for them. Begging for their parents. Begging to be loved again.

The father held a torch, and the mother a knife. They didn’t get any closer to their son, incapable of recognizing him in the form he now took. They shouted and swung their arms at him, but their language was impossible to understand to his ears.

And then, the mother threw her knife at them.

She had a deadly aim- she always had, as a hunter- and it was only them scrambling away that spared their lives that day. Instead of landing in their chest like it should have, it buried deep in their shoulder. They screeched in pain, falling back as they were pelted with thrown items by the entire village. Rocks, knives, anything that bruised or cut.

They only barely managed to survive the encounter. They dragged themselves away, sobbing and begging and crying out helplessly, knowing full well now that no one was coming to their aid. The last time the boy ever saw his parents, they were actively trying to kill him.

He never knew they did it in supposed revenge. To avenge him and his sister. They didn’t have the words to explain that the boy was still alive.

English did come back to them, slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough to undo what had already been done.

 

Two years and a month ago, a hybrid made a deal with the devil. Alone, even after all this time, and desperate for something, anything, there really hadn’t been any hesitance to agree to do whatever the devil wanted. They followed the instructions to a T, and the entire time the devil was promising beautiful things to them.

The devil promised love.

The devil promised acceptance.

The devil promised family.

How could they possibly say no to that? The years that had passed had allowed for the hybrid to grow used to their condition, but they remained too weak to separate themselves. Instead, they had remained in that not-quite-one-not-quite-two state, struggling to consider themselves anything. Could they be considered a person when they had fangs and fur? When they had claws that they used to break the necks of little bunnies just to survive another day? Could they be considered a spider when they had two legs and a fear of the dark? No, they belonged to nothing, no one. The idea, the mere thought, of belonging again… it was something they couldn’t pass up.

 

Two years ago, a hybrid had opened up a portal per the commands of the devil, and they had been ripped from their homeland without remorse. A hybrid had woken up with instincts demanding them to growl and fight and spit at anyone near them, and the same hybrid had woken up with two other people.

From the beginning, the hybrid fought with himself. He introduced himself with a name that wasn’t his, fought with a viciousness he had never learned, and acted with a malice he had never nurtured. He had been so desperate for acceptance but so scared of being hated that he tried to push everyone away. He bit and snapped and swiped at everyone, all the while growing further and further away from what he used to be. The boy was nothing if not terrified every second of every day, and the spider replaced every ounce of that terror with pure, unbridled rage.

And yet, the others didn’t seem to care. A scientist, who cared too much for the anomaly presented to him, and an automaton, whose love language was broken down into violent outbursts and extended arguments because that was all they knew.

The hybrid was foolish. The hybrid was weak.

The hybrid began to trust them.

The hybrid began to love them.

 

A year and three months ago, an innocent man was torn to shreds in front of a hybrid. Injured and in shock, the hybrid collapsed under the sheer weight of his trauma for days. When he finally woke, the automaton had been waiting for him. Snippy and irritated in a way that would have had angered everyone else, but the hybrid saw it for what it really was. He clung to his remaining companion like a burr, terrified to lose anyone else. He grieved for the father he had just begun to love, and grieved for the life he had been so close to achieving.

It was hard to love, and just when the hybrid thought he was understanding what it felt like, it was torn away from him. He tried desperately to remain strong, but an eight year old can only handle so much before his mind starts to tear itself apart. Had the string began to fray, even back then?

 

A year and two months ago, a scientist was turned into an unwilling puppet for a demon. The demon, many years ago, had been tasked to kill the boy, but decided against it. Now, it was beginning to understand the mistake it had made in sparing the boy’s life. It wanted the hybrid to perish at any cost, and a fresh body was the perfect subject to do so.

Terrible, terrible things happened that night. Things that haunted the hybrid for months to come, waking him from the throes of nightmares with hoarse screams hanging in his throat. Pleading uselessly with the demon wearing his adoptive father’s face had done nothing.

The hybrid had lost many things those nights. An eye. The trust he once held for the scientist. His own stability.

But… although he had lost so much, the hybrid gained a brother that night. The automaton likely didn’t know he knew, but the hybrid was well aware of the tender care he had been treated with while injured and unconscious. The automaton had stepped up, protecting the hybrid the best they could while soothing him to sleep when his nightmares grew to be too much. They still argued occasionally, but there was always a soft note now in the automaton’s voice when interacting with the hybrid. Trauma had brought the duo together, and although the hybrid would not admit it until it was too late, his desperate need for a family quickly started to fill in. Although… he would not call the automaton his brother until it was too late.

 

Ten months ago, a mechanic had found a hybrid in the middle of a breakdown. He had been desperately clawing at himself in an attempt to rid himself of the voice that plagued his mind. In a moment fueled with hatred and rage, he had tried to rid himself of the spider that controlled his instincts by physically tearing away his own skin. He might have even gone too far if it weren’t for the mechanic stepping in and holding him back even as he thrashed and fought.

The two quickly became friends, but the hybrid had learned his lesson about clinging to adults as fill-in parental figures. He tried to keep his heart at a distance from her. He didn’t know. If he didn’t, she could be the next one to try to kill him. And he had no idea if she would be the one to succeed. He didn’t want to know.

 

Seven months ago, a hybrid watched his last string of peace snap. The automaton had taken a hit meant for him, and now he stood alive, and his brother lay dead in his arms. So much grief had swarmed over the boy in that moment that something had snapped, once and for all, within his heart. He had surged forward, piloted by the will of a spider and the rage of a child in mourning, and attempted to slash the beast who had killed his brother into a bloody pulp.

Instead, the beast had woken from its dark slumber and passed upon the group a set of titles. Ones meant to push them forward into a future that none of them were prepared for. The hybrid, more than anyone, quickly began to crumble even further under the weight of knowledge. He had not been born to be happy. He had been born to live forever in the dark. Forever surrounded by shadows, void of anyone but his masters.

The hybrid lost his brother. The hybrid had lost hope. The hybrid had lost the will to live.

And so, he didn’t try to live anymore. He simply let himself waste away, waiting for the day he would finally be free of his grief.

 

Six months ago, a hybrid lied to himself.

So deep in the belief that he would fight to survive, the hybrid lied every step of the way. He would say it was an accident. That he didn’t mean to. That it wasn’t something he had intended to happen. But no. It was all a lie.

Six months ago, a hybrid tried to take his own life for the first time.

He would never admit that that was what happened. Not even to himself. He convinced himself so thoroughly that he wanted to live that he had created a scenario in his head that led to him falling off of the cliff. But the truth was, he hadn’t needed to take that final step. It was entirely purposeful.

One extra step.

One foot off of the cliff face.

And it wasn’t until he found himself instinctively clinging to the rock that he realized… he wanted to live. He didn’t want to perish. He wanted to live on for his brother, to push past everything that had happened and still somehow come out the other side. He had been foolish, to think anything but misery would be in his future, but he clung to the hope nonetheless.

It didn’t matter in the end. He still fell.

And yet, he didn’t die. No, in fact, he felt as though he had been given a new lease on life. It was then the hybrid had met the prime ape, who had done everything in his power to help the boy get back on his feet. Even as the barrier constructed in his head shattered fatally and left nothing between boy and spider. The hybrid felt as though he might be able to move on.

 

 

Five and a half months ago, a group had been torn from the world once more and thrust into worlds designed to break them apart. They stuck together to the best of their abilities, but it didn’t always work. The scientist was growing angrier every day. The mechanic was struggling to keep the peace between them. The prime ape fought to protect the hybrid against the things that wanted him dead. All the while, the hybrid saw the ways he hurt others by being alive. He saw the way his life was nothing more than a means to an end. He saw the way others became miserable trying to stop his misery.

And suddenly, the progress he had made was gone. All he saw was his own stupidity. His own flaws. Everything that made him wrong. Everything that made others hurt. The hybrid had been in pain for so long that finally, he was beginning to reach his end.

 

Two weeks ago, a hybrid had decided that it would be beneficial to everything, including himself, if he ended it all. Caught in a never ending cycle of panic and grief and pain, the hybrid made the decision that the only true way out was to end his life, once and for all. After the realization hit him, suddenly, everything felt clear again. The static cleared. The pain began to fade. He was the Martyr, after all, it was his job to die in the end. It was now his time to choose when it would happen.

 

Two hours ago, a hybrid had reacted in a moment of dissociative panic and mauled his closest friend. It had been a simple slip of the claw from the prime ape’s end, but in that moment, something so terrified and violent had overcome the hybrid that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from fighting back, stopping only when he was physically pulled away. As he gazed upon the injured prime ape, the furious scientist, the worried mechanic, he came to the realization…

Now.

Now was the time.

He shouldn’t have felt so at peace with the thought. The idea that in only a few short hours, he would no longer be able to hurt anyone. He would be somewhere alone, like he was always meant to be, frozen into a stiff corpse before anyone even bothered to look for him.

It should have scared the hybrid.

It didn’t.

 

Five minutes ago, a hybrid realized that he was far enough from anyone else that he could do what had to be done. With a sort of impossible calm, the hybrid sat himself down in the snow, and let everything that led him up to this point crowd into his mind.

 

In just a few hours from now, there wouldn’t be anything left of him.

 

In just a few days from now, his companions would realize that it was for the best.

 

In just a few weeks from now, nobody would even remember his name.

 

…

 

I had met with death many times in the past, and each time, I had faced him differently. I had actively defied him, spat in his face, taunted him and dared him to even try to claim me. And yet, as ice started to crust my fur and violent shivers caused my whiskers to tremble under their own weight, I decided to face him with a dignity I hadn’t ever managed before. In fact, for the first time ever, I met him as though greeting an old friend. My body was no longer mine- perhaps it had never been. I had been living on stolen moments since the day I was born. And so, this time, as I sensed death stalking me from miles away, growing ever nearer, I did something entirely new.

I welcomed him.

At some point after I left the others behind, a blizzard had started up. It obscured my vision to a near pinprick, but it would help to hide me from anyone looking for me as well. I blew out a gust of air and gazed up at the sky.

I was a monster. A predator. A wild animal that was finally too dangerous.

I was a child. A little boy. A human so tired and in so much anguish every second of every day that being put down was merciful. I was tired.

I was so tired.

And yet… I couldn’t help but feel bored, sitting there, waiting for my death to come. Even though it was my choice to be out here, my body still acted on instincts to preserve warmth. I pulled my arms around myself and puffed air against my chest. Wilbur’s necklace was covered in snow now. I should have given it back before I left. Now his prized possession was going to get ruined.

I caressed the gemstone with my claws. I couldn’t feel them anymore. In fact, sensation in my fingers had been the very first thing to go. I had discarded the pelts that kept them warm ages ago. I couldn’t quite bring myself to do the same for the pelts on my feet, although I told myself it was because I wouldn’t be able to walk very well with frostbitten toes.

What a waste. A waste of rabbit pelts and a waste of everyone’s time. I should have stuck to not taking them. It would have made everything faster.

Now that I was no longer moving, I ripped the covering off and exposed my feet to the snow. I shuddered involuntarily, but held back any audible whimper.

It burned. Why did it burn?

It was taking so long.

I needed to make this go faster, or someone would find me before it was done. With this in mind, I picked at the caps on my claws. They had been mostly shredded anyway, but there was still enough left to dull anything I tried. Once my claws were fully bare again, I reached towards my opposite arm. My hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t get a proper grip, let alone muster the power to tear through chitin. I gritted my feet and, instead, took to tracing a line across my arm.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

With a single claw, I repeatedly drew the same line over and over again until eventually, the skin split and cracked under it. Satisfaction bubbled in my chest as I watched blood well up from the wound and freeze in my clumped fur. The blood flow was sluggish, though. Not enough.

It also burned.

I relished the feeling. It wasn’t the kind of burn you get from sticking your hand too close to a fire. It was the kind of burn you felt in your muscles after a long workout. The knowledge that while you may hurt now, it’s for the greater good. It’s a satisfying kind of pain.

So, with shaky movements from numb fingers, I tore another line. And another. And another.

It wasn’t working. I had to go further, or risk being found.

I dragged myself to my feet. Immediately, my vision swam and my entire body quaked. I had to take a good few moments to right myself, lest I fall right back over. Blood rolled down my arm and stained tiny speckles in the show crimson.

“What are you doing?” A voice, low and angry, snapped. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I was wondering when Webber was going to make his appearance. I knew very well that he would try to stop me, and the fact that it had taken him so long to appear was a shock. I expected him to immediately show up once he figured out my plan. “Are you seriously trying to run away?” He sneered.

“This is the first time I’m not running away,” I said, although my words were so muffled behind chattering teeth it was a wonder I was able to get them out at all. “I’m fulfilling my destiny.”

“Bogus,” he snapped. “You’re a coward, Tyler. Killing yourself instead of facing the consequences of your own actions? Truthfully, what has become of you?” As he spoke, I felt a violent shift in my consciousness.

It hit so hard and suddenly that I stumbled again and fell back into the snow. I quickly drew my hands against my chest and closed my eyes. Internally, I pushed him away, wrapping the reins around my wrists several times to prevent him from taking them. He growled at me and moved to fight for them again, but I held on tight. I would not let him take over. I would die as myself.

I am the Martyr. This is my destiny.

“What cause do you think you are a martyr for? You aren’t dying in the line of duty. You aren’t dying to further an agenda. You are simply giving up!”

He was fighting me violently for control, but I felt more in control than I had in longer than I could even express. I knew exactly what I was doing and why. I knew exactly where I was.

I continued stumbling forward again, once more drawing lines in my skin with my claws. They bled sluggishly, not enough to do anything on their own, but I kept going. Over and over again. Hot blood spilling across my fur. Clumps of melting snow catching against my skin. A trail of blood marred the snow in my wake.

The next time I let a breath out, I was shaking so hard I could barely move. I wanted to stop again, to officially make my final resting spot, but it wasn’t time. I still had time to walk away. I still had stages of hypothermia to trudge through.

You are a monster.

The thought suddenly struck me without voice. It didn’t sound like Webber, but it also didn’t sound like myself. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly.

You are a predator.

A predator. That was true, wasn’t it? From the moment human and spider became one, I had become a predator. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You deserve this.

The shudder started in my whiskers and spread to the rest of my body.

You DESERVE this.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Foul, disgusting, hideous monster.

YOU DESERVE THIS.

I hurt Wilbur.

Oh God… oh God, I hurt Wilbur. Twin pricks of pressure alerted me to my own claws digging into my head now, but the pain didn’t register.

I wish it would. I needed to suffer the same way I had made him suffer. He had taken me under his wing, he had taken such tender care of me for months now, and how did I repay him?

By mauling him.

Terrible, terrible images flashed in my head. Swirls of violence and bloodshed and malice. Evil. Predatory nature.

For so long, I had been afraid of Wilson for what he had done to me. But I may as well have held that knife myself. It would have meant the exact same thing if I had taken that blade and ripped my own eye out. I should have. Maybe I wouldn’t have survived if I had done it myself. The only thing I did right was to not fight back.

I deserved the torture. I deserved so much worse than it. I deserved to have my throat cut clean open and my entrails spilled in front of me. I deserved violence and anger and nothing else. I deserved it all because anything less meant showing care. Restraint. I never showed that to my companions. Why should they show that to me? Why shouldn’t they fight back and beat me into a pulp for the things I had done?

I made them love me just so I could hurt them. What kind of monster did that?

I was a poison. Something that kills you a little more every time it’s in your presence. A venomous snake that bites you as you feed it, just so it can feed on your corpse in the ultimate act of betrayal. The rope that saves you from drowning while strangling you all the while. An infectious wound. A virus that deserves to be culled. An illness that empties your soul while consuming your body. Something that just keeps spreading and spreading and hurting and hurting and acting as if it has any right to exist.

No. No no no. I needed to stop making myself excuses. This was selfish. All of this was selfish. I wasn’t doing this for anyone but myself. I wasn’t doing this to save them or spare them from my acidic presence. I was selfish, selfish, selfish, and I just wanted it to be over. It was all for me.

I had fallen yet again. I didn’t have the energy to get back up. I could see the snowflakes as they gently rested on my arms, but I couldn’t feel them. I had stopped shivering.

In fact, I wasn’t cold anymore.

No, I was actually warm. Hot. Burning hot.

An involuntary hiss left my throat as the heat swelling in my body registered, followed immediately by a low whimper that tore my vocal cords on the way out. I had to get it off. I needed it off.

Something fuzzy was covering my entire body. It was cooking me alive.

I tried to rip it off. Furious, desperate attempts to rip it off. It wasn’t working. It was stuck to me.

I heard a spider growling somewhere nearby. Was that from me?

Where were Mom and Dad?

They would never let me outside in the cold alone. At least, not without Alyvia. It didn’t make sense.

I tried to call out for Erika. Where was she? Had she tripped, too?

It was so hot; why was there snow on the ground? Or was it just me? I thought it was supposed to be cold.

I would ask Erika. If I could find her. Maybe when my arms started to work again.

She’s probably gonna laugh at me. ‘Oh, Ty, obviously it’s supposed to be cold/hot. You’re so silly’.

Maybe she doesn’t know either. Mom and Dad would.

I wish they’d let me take this fur off. It’s coarse and so hot. It doesn’t feel like koalafant.

Is it something new? Doesn’t make sense.

Would they be mad?

No? Yes?

Do I care?

Maybe. Someone is calling my name.

Doesn’t matter.

Maybe… maybe…

I can just sleep. Till they find me.

Yes.

I’ll…

just …

…

Jerk awake.

I sucked in a harsh breath through my mouth, but my chest didn’t expand. It felt as though any air I tried to inhale went straight through my lungs. The ground beneath me was smooth, like marble. In fact… when I gently touched my claws to the surface, I deducted that that was exactly what it was. It was cool enough to soak through my fur and leave a chill in my skin, but not so cold it hurt.

As if the thought reminded me of the past few hours, violent tremors started deep in my bones. Trying to regain a warmth I didn’t feel like I had lost. Tentative touches to various limbs also proved them intact, rather than frostbitten and amputated like I expected.

There was a chill in the air. Not quite a winter temperature, but the faintest chill that suggested very little to no sunlight. Despite that, I couldn’t taste frost.

I was awake. I didn’t expect to wake up after… what had happened. I really hadn’t wanted to wake up, but that was a separate situation. The distinction didn’t really matter either way. I was awake, and that was the end of it.

I was perfectly aware of myself, which was more surprising. Maybe I had been fading in and out for a few days? Guilt coiled in my stomach at the thought. My attempt to spare them my misery had failed, and all it did was cause more trouble in the end.

Like I always did-

“You are finally lucid.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. It speared straight into my gut and reignited some ancient terror buried deep in my instincts. It wasn’t any of my… companions, nor was it the familiar voice of Webber. It was familiar, but in a distant way. Like a voice I used to know but hadn’t heard in many years.

I finally opened my eyes.

I lay in the entrance to a hallway. The floor was, as I had figured, made of pure, white marble. I didn’t see any walls, but there had to be something out there. I heard wind, but it sounded distant, and the air here was very still. Was I inside somewhere? I didn’t recognize this place.

The hall stretched in front of me, lit by ominous pillars burning with silent black flames.

There were eyes watching me from the edge of the light.

I sucked in another breath that didn’t reach my chest. I hesitated, terror spiking through my bloodstream as I pressed one hand against my heart.

I didn’t feel anything.

My breaths didn’t work. My heart was still.

It didn’t matter if there wasn’t anything actually there. I could almost hear my heart thumping in my head, if only just because I expected to.

I turned my gaze fully to those eyes watching me. There were thousands of white eyes, blinking slowly and patiently, all trained on me. What caught my attention, though, was the pair of glowing red eyes connected to a formless shape in the darkness.

I didn’t say anything. Not immediately. I was… a bit too busy spiraling into a minor panic over my still lungs and heart.

When I did gain the strength to speak, my voice came out raspy and tired. “Am I dead?”

The creatures in the dark shifted slightly as if laughing. Sharing some sort of inside joke amongst themselves. The red eyes slowly opened and closed, and a lazy snap echoed into the void.

The lights that were flickering around me suddenly sputtered weakly and then died. The only light now seemed to be coming from myself, but the light was faint. An odd flicker, like that of a flame, glowing gold and orange with the faintest flames of green popping up everyone once in a while.

The creature with red eyes neared me slowly. My eyes slowly adjusted, allowing for me to see more and more of it.

It was tall. Although I was quite used to being the shortest and it wasn’t a stretch to say someone was taller than myself, it had to be taller than Wilson. Its body was a mere shape, shadows swarming together to form the vague appearance of a human body. When it moved, swirls of reds and blacks followed in its wake. It gave it a sort of doubled appearance when it walked.

When it was close enough to touch me, it leaned down slightly to examine my face.

“In a sense,” it said softly in response to my question. Before I could ask for clarification, surprisingly, it gave it to me. “In the way mortals consider death, then I would answer yes.” It straightened out, soft shadows brushing over my fur as it did. “In the way that truly matters, I would answer no.”

“What does that mean?” I croaked.

The creature tipped its head as if considering something.

“The way you chose to end your life will succeed in putting you in respiratory and cardiac arrest,” it purred. It sounded as if it was enjoying this gruesome topic of conversation. “However,” it continued. “You cannot truly be considered dead unless I take you across the veil. Which I will not do. Instead, we will wait.”

My chest seized in shock at the implication of its words. Dead in a biological sense, but not a… spiritual sense? What was this place, then, if not Purgatory?

I had a million questions I wanted answered, but something told me I would only have a couple of answers. So, I chose my questions carefully.

“What are we waiting for, then?”

“Your companions.”

A solid, too-the-point answer that still felt like it confused me even more. “My companions?”
“Your body must be returned to a viable state. I trust they can handle that.”

I was already shaking my head. “No. They’re not coming for me. Even if they are, they’re not going to find me.” I turned my head slightly. “I’m sure my… body… is buried in snow by now.”

The creature chuckled, a grating sound, not too unlike claws on a chalkboard. I cringed. “You appear to forget that I can control the whims of your leader.”

“Nightmare.” The name ripped from my throat with no consent on my part. I clutched my fingers over my neck, eyes squeezing shut. “Why… why aren’t you killing me, then? Taking me across the veil?” When Nightmare didn’t immediately respond, I pushed. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Haven’t you wanted to kill me for so long?”

“You misunderstand. You never would have died. No matter how it seemed. I never wanted you dead.” Its voice dropped to a whisper as though sharing a secret. “In fact… where you are right now is perfect.”

“I never would have died?” I blurted. “What do you mean? I’ve come close enough plenty of times, what-”

“Have you never stopped to consider the situations you find yourself in? How often do you find yourself close to death?”

I clamped my mouth shut.

“From the day you woke on the Mainland, death has stalked you. The Tree Guard. The frozen ocean. The collapsing ground. The Giants. The scientist. The Ancient Guardian. Even now… your self-imposed starvation. The poison. The frigid arctic wastes. And yet… you have survived.”

“Because everyone keeps saving me,” I growled.

“Because there is only one force in this world that can end your pitiful life.”

The still air became stifling. The temperature seemed to drop. Everything seemed to make sense in a flash.

“And that force is me.”

I tried again to breathe, but failed. My lungs physically weren’t working, I knew that, but the stillness of my chest flooded my brain with panic. All the times I had come so close to dying… it wasn’t even real? There hadn’t been any threat at all?

Even if I wanted to, it was never an option?

“Why did you want me here?

And Nightmare purred again. A sound that sounded unnatural from such a human-like creature. It reached out one clawed hand and rested it gently against my cheek. I went still. Suddenly, not needing to breathe worked perfectly in my favor. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to even if I had the physical capability.

“Perhaps I just missed my proudest host.”

“You must’ve missed the memo,” I rasped, because wow my voice was not working anymore. I cleared my throat in an attempt to relieve the scratchiness, but it didn’t seem to help all that much. “I’m not the…” Its words repeated in my head. “The Host?” That was… a different one that I was expecting.

“Perhaps not now,” Nightmare said. “But once. And perhaps again. And now that you have finally reached this point.” The demon’s soft touch suddenly turned sharp. A trio of claws lashed out and ripped open the skin on my knuckles. I let out a startled gasp of pain (but it was so familiar, is this what happened before?)

Nightmare raised its now bloody claws towards its face and breathed in deeply. Then, apparently pleased by what it smelled, it licked the blood off of its claws.

“Your blood is just as sweet as it once was,” the demon sighed. “That will make this much more pleasant to start.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of Nightmare’s face as it fell in supposed bliss at the taste of my blood. I swallowed heavily, only slightly deterred by the fact there wasn’t any saliva to swallow. “What do you mean? What will be more pleasant to start?”

Nightmare’s face split into what I assumed was supposed to be a grin, but it was just too wide with just too many teeth. Despite how human the rest of it looked, it sported two fangs, although they weren’t as long as my own.

“I thought it was obvious,” it pouted without losing the unnatural grin. “Grooming you for the position you were always destined to have.” And it took another step closer, until it was standing almost side-by-side with me. It bent down and whispered in a painfully quiet voice. “Right. By. My. Side.”

I jerked back violently. Even as Nightmare remained still and calm, I needed to make as much distance between myself and it. I didn’t know what it wanted. I didn’t know why.

“It is only a matter of time before you are ready to go back,” Nightmare said pleasantly. “Until then, I would remain here. Unless, of course, you’d like to risk facing the shadows. I am sure they’d love a taste of your blood as well.”

It was immediately decided to stay as still as physically possible.

“Be more careful next time, spider. You never know who will be waiting for you in Checkmate.”

And with the final words, Nightmare swept back into the darkness. I could easily sense its retreating form, and the white eyes even seemed to lose some interest in me.

As it was, I was alone.

I took a deep breath, and to my surprise, this time my lungs reacted accordingly. As if I had just exited from a deep body of water, I immediately started gulping in air as if my life depended on it. I could feel my heart again, too, slow and sluggish but present.

I would be back soon.

The thought should have comforted me. It should have made me sigh with relief and thank whatever higher powers that my life was able to continue on, even after all of this.

Instead, I slowly lowered myself to my knees-

And wept.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 3 of 5

The King of Winter

Chapter 85. Love - Part 5

The air was warm, but unnaturally thin. It was hard to breathe. There simply wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs.

Or maybe his lungs were the problem.

Whatever the issue was, it made his heart beat unnaturally fast as it struggled to make up for the lack of oxygen. He gulped in as much air as he could, but it wasn’t enough.

The little amount he did get smelled salty, with the slightest tinge of acidity. Fruity, almost, if he had to put a word to it. Something he was well acquainted with, although the fruity tang was stronger than the salt, which was weird. Since when had he gone this far inland? It had been… years at this point.

Even though he had no idea where he was or why, he still kept moving forward. As he moved, the jungle seemed to fill out around him. Trees climbing higher than he could see without looking straight up, vines of both inanimate nature and sentient- the latter of which snapping at him and angrily rattling their leaves as he pushed past them- and low bramble thickets with red and yellow banded snakes hiding amongst their thorns- bits and pieces of it seemed to appear in front of his eyes. And yet, he still didn’t register how off it was. No, he was focusing too much on the twin goals of moving forward and getting enough oxygen in his lungs to prevent passing out.

And so, that was what he did. Traveling a route he wasn’t sure of, to a place he couldn’t remember.

A breeze suddenly whistled through the trees, sending a whole host of new scents his way. He felt his back twitch as it twisted through his short fur. Rich scents of greenery bathed his tongue. The smell of venom was rich in the air, and a quick glance showed a venomous snake in the process of swallowing a bird. He shuddered. It felt like a sort of warning.

Still, he continued to move forward. He had to. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he would know it when he found it.

Another breeze brought a new smell, and this one he was familiar with in a different way. It was sweet and peaty, stained with salt despite being a good distance from the ocean. It was warm and agonizingly familiar, a scent that once hung in the warm, quiet air of an abandoned crocodog den. A den that had been repurposed by a beautiful prime ape in order to shield her newborn from the rest of nature.

“Elizabeth?” He called into the wilderness. There wasn’t any response, but now that he knew what to look for, he noticed several signs of a nearby prime ape troop. Ground packed into a trail, bushes that had been picked clean of berries- there were hints everywhere. His walking turned into jogging, which quickly transformed into full-out sprinting. He was no longer even trying to breathe. His chest was impossibly tight, but he was desperate. He had to know. He had to know.

And then, the jungle vanished. He skidded to a stop directly in front of a tall stone wall.

He was tiny. Only a few months old. His body was littered with claw marks, tearing through the brown fur that marked him as different. He heard footsteps behind him, and he immediately started searching for some place to hide. Somewhere to go until their anger wore off.

It’ll never wear off. It’ll only fade just enough that you’ll survive another day.

Today, he was not so lucky.

The deep shadows around him made it impossible to find any openings. Just as he started scrabbling at the stone, a massive body landed on his tail and started to drag him backward. He let out a shrill cry of terror.

“I’m sick of you, Wilbur,” the Splumonkey growled as she dragged him closer. His chest heaved with sobs, and the last of his air was wasted trying to plead for mercy.

“P-please, Momma! I’m sorry! Please, I promise I’ll be good! Please, please don’t hurt me-”

“You’ll never be good,” she snapped. He was so small, and she was so big, she didn’t even need to put much weight on him to pin him in place. She simply kept him still by planting one hand on his chest, pressing him against the stone and threatening to crack some of his ribs. He squirmed and cried and begged, but she didn’t let up. She only pressed more and more weight into him. “You were born wrong. The second I saw you I tried to get rid of you, but your father wouldn’t let me.” More weight. He shrieked as his chest started to give, tiny cracks snapping through his ribs. “Even he understands now.”

“It should’ve been you,” Elizabeth growled. She padded around him with her gray-brown fur bristling. Bathed in the dappled light of the jungle, you could almost confuse her for her mother. The only difference was Elizabeth’s deep brown eyes, in contrast to Roselyn’s ocean blue ones.

She was wreathed in vines and flowers, crowns and bracelets and necklaces that bathed her scent in a soft floral perfume. The lingering smell of other prime apes on the makeshift jewelry proved they were offerings created by others in her troop. The steely glint in her eye and the confident way she held herself proved what he had already expected. She was the leader of her troop.

“But no, you had to be the one to survive,” the Splumonkey continued. She arched her neck closer to the cowering child beneath her. “Do you realize how many other Splumonkey children died that cycle?”

“Do you even care that Mom died? Have you even thought about her once since then? Do you expect me to forgive you for letting it happen?”

“You’re an unnatural -”

“-monster,” Elizabeth hissed. “If you weren’t so-”

“-pathetic. I expected you to-”

“-fight me! If you really think-”

“-you deserve to live? When you-”

“-are nothing more than a pathetic coward. You always have been. I wish-”

“-you died at birth. The one who-”

“-didn’t deserve her!”

“Please!” Wilbur cried, cowering away from Elizabeth’s glare, shrinking back from his mother’s fangs that came far too close to his face. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“I loved her-!” A hoarse, desperate cry. Grief.

“I love you-” The last attempt of a baby Splumonkey to get through to his raging mother. Fear.

“Look at you now, father. You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? If it weren’t for that crown of yours, you’d already be dead.” Elizabeth bared her teeth. The vines and flowers covering her were wilting, rotting unnaturally fast and clinging to her fur like sludge.

He grabbed at his face, wincing as his own claws sank into his skin. A manic laugh bubbled in his throat. “I watched her die. I wanted to save her. But only a fool could face Nightmare’s wrath. A fool, a fool, a fool~”

“You could have saved her!” The prime ape screeched. “And you did nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to, momma. Please-” Wilbur gasped as his mother struck him. Her hand swiped out to grab something, and before he could even register what it was she was raising the item far above her head. His mother’s eyes were wild and feral, her purple-gray fur bathed in the red light of the Nightmare Light.

“I’ve dreamed of being in her spot~” Wilbur said in a gruesomely light tone. “To be sliced open and dissected like a slaughtered crabbit. But Roselyn wouldn’t like that, no she wouldn’t. She always said I had the most beautiful fur~”

“You’re insane.” Elizabeth’s eyes were blown with rage. “Do you think you could intrude on my troop without consequences?”

“Perhaps,” Wilbur purred. “After all, I know the leader~”

Elizabeth struck him. Hard and fast, a violent lash towards the chest to rip the necklace off of it.

She thrust the shard of rock down and plunged it into his chest with an animal screech of fury. Wilbur wailed as it shattered bones and pierced blood vessels on impact. It scraped his lungs. As he gasped in air, bubbles formed in the blood rising from the wound.

Elizabeth had him pinned. She was bigger than him now, he dully realized. Closer to her mother’s size. He couldn’t stop laughing. She took his crown from where it had fallen on the ground nearby and pressed the points of it into his heaving chest. “You won’t die. I know you can’t when you rely on this stupid crown to heal you. Get out of my territory, and pray that I never see you again.”

Wilbur held his breath, holding as still as possible as the Splumonkey circled him. His lungs were screaming at him enough as it was, but the deliberate lack of oxygen was causing a brand new sensation to grasp his throat. He knew he had to stay still. He had to play dead, or else he wouldn’t be playing any time soon.

And in the end… his ploy worked.

When he was sure the Splumonkey wasn’t going to see him, he slowly started to move. He wasn’t sure where he was going. Just that if he remained here, he was going to die. The shard remained in his chest, but he was too scared to pull it out. His hands were so slick with blood he wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

Severely injured, Wilbur limped slowly towards a familiar spot. It wasn’t remarkable; in fact, if you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for, you wouldn’t be able to find it. Yet, Wilbur knew what to look for. The second he saw the unassuming patch of Glowing Tear Roots, he knew he had found it.

He collapsed on Roselyn’s grave, his blood tainting the beauty of the glowing blue flowers. He closed his eyes.

He saw light filtering into the cave. So close to civilization, but he couldn’t move any further. His tiny legs had given out, and now he lay on the cold stone, unmoving save for the labored breathing wracking his chest. He closed his eyes.

…

The next time Wilbur opened his eyes, the pain was gone. Well, it wasn’t gone, but it was definitely fainter and had shifted to different spots on his body. He groaned faintly and lifted his head slightly to get a look at his surroundings.

It took him way too long to reassociate himself with the real world. Icy air tickled his nose and nipped at his ears, and he saw a makeshift set of earmuffs a few feet away from him, neatly piled together with rabbit pelts fashioned in a way that made them look useful for gloves or socks. A golden crown sat on top of the pile, glimmering in the light. He was in some sort of bramble den with a fire in the center, smoke wafting through the cracks in the branches above his head.

His injuries were covered and seemingly treated. When he stretched out his back leg, a shock of pain tearing through his muscles warned him not to go any further.

He looked down at his chest to see not a shard of stone, but intricate wrappings, fashioned out of some sort of spongy material, that wrapped all the way around his back and over his abdomen.

These injuries weren’t consistent with what he remembered.

He continued to examine his surroundings, and when his eyes reached the fire in the center, he realized that… he wasn’t alone.

His breath caught in his throat. Wilbur shifted as if to run, but he cringed back at the pain in his leg. It was enough to catch the woman’s attention, though, and she turned to look at him. “Wilbur?”

And suddenly, everything came flooding back to him at once.

He wasn’t a small child, waking up after surviving his mother’s attempt to kill him. He wasn’t a grieving mate and father, waiting patiently for his death on the grave of the prime ape he had given his heart to.

He was, in fact, four thousand, two hundred, and ninety six years old. He was three worlds deep into Maxwell’s stupid game, in a world frozen over with permafrost. He was traveling with Wilson, Winona, and Tyler.

Tyler had attacked him.

Both the boy and Wilson were gone.

“Where-!?” Wilbur suddenly gasped, pulling himself to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain as he moved. Winona immediately jumped to her feet and raised her hands, eyes wide.

“Wilbur, you have to lie down. You’re going to open your wounds again.”

“I don’t care!” He snapped. He was already violently shaking with the effort of standing, but he couldn’t sit down. “Where are they?”

Winona pressed her lips together tightly and decisively turned away. Her eyes traced on the fire, her body language tight and closed off.

“I volunteered to stay back,” she said quietly after a moment. “I… I want to be out there, looking for him, but someone had to look after you. I figured you’d… be less upset if you saw me.”

Wilbur lashed his tail, even though it twinged at a spot on his spine. “Where. Is. My. Son?”

“Wilbur, that’s not something you need to be worrying about right now. You’re injured-”

“I’ve healed from worse!” He snapped. He furiously swiped his crown from the pile and replaced it on his head. That was it. Winona was dodging the question, and that meant that she didn’t know, which meant that Tyler was still out there- “I’m going to go find him.”

“No, you’re not!” Winona protested. Before Wilbur could even properly get his feet under him, Winona was holding him back. He thrashed in her hold, growling all the while, but she didn’t release him. “For once, worry about yourself!”

“I’m not the one in danger here!” He shouted. “I’m going to survive! It’s not the first time someone I’ve loved has tried to kill me, and they did it better! I’m not going to let Tyler just kill himself-!”

He broke off abruptly as he heard something. Footsteps. Hope immediately soared in his chest as he turned towards the sound, hopeful scenarios pouring through his mind. Maybe the boy really just needed to get some space and was returning. Maybe Wilson had found him and got to him before anything bad happened. Maybe, maybe, maybe-

But the look on Winona’s face… how long had he been unconscious? How long had Wilson been searching for the boy?

And all of his fears felt agonizingly realized when he saw the lack of urgency in Wilson’s movements… and the chilling, horrific stillness of the child in his arms.

Winona was up and speed walking towards the scientist before Wilbur even had the opportunity to process what was happening. She spoke quietly and quickly, and Wilson hung his head and slowly shook it in response to something. Winona reached out one hand, wavered for a moment as if unsure, then finally pressed two fingers against Tyler’s neck, against his jugular.

The silence was nauseating.

Wilbur was falling. He was falling physically, hitting the ground and certainly tearing most of his wounds open, but that wasn’t his concern. He was falling mentally. Something deep inside of him was collapsing. Dissolving. Tentative bridges and hope that he had tried again and again to rebuild, but had been destroyed again and again. He couldn’t move. He could only watch as Winona’s shoulders started to shake with sobs that he couldn’t hear. As Wilson’s tired, empty eyes gazed just beyond her shoulder. As his child remained impossibly still in the arms of a man who wasn’t him.

Dissolving, like salt in water. Impossible to repair. Impossible to return back to normal.

And it was then, when he was teetering at the very edge, that something snapped into place.

His pain and his anger and his grief all fell away. And he was left with nothing but pure, solid, determination. He had given up so many times. This would be the time Wilbur would not give up.

He would never give up again.

“Give him to me,” Wilbur said. His voice was emotionless, stern, and precise. The two humans jumped, and two sets of eyes shot towards him. He set his jaw and stared right back.

“Wilbur…” Winona whispered.

“I said,” he repeated, a hint of irritation and impatience creeping into his tone. “Give him. To me.”

Wilson bit at his bottom lip and gazed down. His eyes were impossibly soft and sad as he looked at the child in his arms. Tyler looked… almost peaceful until you saw his face… twisted with grief and misery and pain.

Wilbur would not let that be his last expression.

Finally, Wilson seemed to give in. With a gentleness Wilbur wouldn’t have expected from the scientist, he brought Tyler’s b-

Tyler. He brought Tyler over… and laid him on the ground next to the fire.

Wilbur immediately neared the boy and pressed his fingers against his throat. He needed to feel something, anything.

No pulse.

“Get some wood on that fire,” Wilbur ordered. “If there’s anything warm around here, cough it up.”

“Wilbur-” Winona started carefully, but she was quickly cut off.

“You can’t say someone is dead until they’re warm and dead,” Wilson said grimly. “He’s right. It might not be too late.”

He pulled Tyler as close to the fire as possible and grabbed his own gear: the earmuffs, gloves, and socks, and quickly used them to cover those vulnerable parts of his body. There was only so much they could do without proper medical care, but Wilbur and Wilson’s knowledge together had to be enough.

As Wilbur worked, bouncing between different tasks as quickly as he could, Wilson sat next to Tyler and took his limp hand in his own. There was a sort of shakiness to the scientist’s movements, but a stern determination on his face as he dutifully worked at drying the boy’s fur and clearing the remaining snow away.

“Let Winona do that,” Wilbur said without looking back. He scavenged fire-heated rocks and wrapped them in rabbit pelts before pressing them against Tyler’s neck and armpits. “I assume you’re more familiar with life support measures.”

Wilson opened his mouth as if to ask further, but he seemed to understand after a moment without posing the question. Winona didn’t hesitate to step in and take over Wilson’s job as the scientist started chest compressions.

When Wilbur saw this, he felt bile rise in his throat and his stomach clench. It was the right thing to do, but…

Seeing this situation. Tyler’s form limp and pliable and still, someone performing chest compressions on him…

He wanted to throw up.

When there was nothing else he could do, Wilbur situated himself on the side of the boy opposite of the fire. The thought of doing so little made his chest ache, but he knew, once again, that it was what he needed to be doing.

As Tyler’s body temperature started to rise again, Wilbur noticed other things as well. Wounds scored across his arms and abdomen, all self-inflicted if the shape and depth of them meant anything. Blood that had been too cold to move well now beginning to flow freely once more.

There wasn’t any active communication about it. Winona immediately started to patch the wounds to the best of her ability without getting in Wilson’s way. The scientist paused to let her get to a nasty gash across the boy’s chest, and as he did, he lowered his head to listen.

Wilbur held his breath. It felt like the world was frozen in time and temperature. Like the entire land was waiting to see if their efforts were in vain.

And then, he saw it.

The smallest, most inconsequential of movements. The simple, painfully faint rise and fall of a breath.

“Heartbeat,” Wilson blurted, as if he couldn’t believe it. He must not have, because immediately after he fumbled for a pulse again.

The joy that flooded over his face was so real and palpable that Wilbur wanted to cry. He didn’t need to double check for a pulse. Now that he had noticed it, he could see without a shadow of a doubt that the boy was breathing.

He was breathing.

Oh stars, Tyler was breathing.

…

When he had first seen Wilson carrying Tyler in his arms, Wilbur had genuinely believed for a moment that the boy was gone forever. His pitifully short life ended by his own hand in such an awful way.

Wilbur didn’t know that two emotions could possibly exist on such opposite sides of a spectrum.

He still lay next to Tyler, his head resting on the hybrid’s furry chest and listening to his heart beat a slow, steady rhythm. It was such a tiny thing to feel such joy about, but every single time he heard the gentle ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump he felt himself relax a little more.

Tyler was alive.

Tyler was alive.

Tyler was alive.

“How’s he doing?” Wilson asked quietly. The scientist came to sit on Tyler’s other side, lowering himself slowly to the ground and grimacing as if the movement hurt his legs. Wilbur let out a soft little chuckle as he saw it.

“He’s alive,” Wilbur responded, and even though it should’ve been such a nothing answer, it meant everything.

Wilson looked down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together. “He’s not doing well, is he?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to see how he-”

“Not… physically, I mean. Mentally.”

Wilbur winced. Suddenly unable to meet Wilson’s gaze, he instead turned his eyes down towards Tyler and started to gently groom the boy’s fur. “No. He hasn’t been for awhile.”

“I thought he was doing better,” Wilson sighed. Wilbur could hear the slight hiss in his tone as Wilson’s hands tightened into fists.

“He never recovered from losing his brother. I’m not saying that’s the only thing, but… I think it hurt him far deeper than he wanted you to know.”

“He really calls WX his brother, huh?”

Wilbur nodded slowly.

“...and he really thought of me as a father.”

He felt his tail twitch at the very end. Wilson’s voice took on a sad, melancholy note. His hands slowly relaxed again until they laid flat, palm-up, on his lap. “He wanted a family so bad, but I ruined it.”

“It’s not entirely your fault, Wilson. Only mostly.”

The scientist’s lips quirked into a wry smirk. “Yeah. That… sounds about right.”

Wilbur reached up to gently tug a knot free from Tyler’s fur, and the latter twitched slightly at the touch and let out a quiet murmur. Wilbur hesitated, his chest tightening in a strange mixture of pain and relief.

“What about you? He roughed you up pretty badly… you seemed really shaken up.”

Wilbur blew a thin stream of air from between his teeth. “Well, I guess it’s time I shared one of my greater secrets.”

“You seem to have a lot of those.”

Wilbur tested his leg and gently brushed claws against his chest and face. Pleased with what he felt, he began to remove the coverings. Wilson looked like he wanted to protest, but he held his tongue long enough for the first set of wrappings to fall away.

Instead of bleeding, raw wounds under them, there were now thin, pink scars and flaking scabs. Wilson remained quiet as Wilbur revealed more and more magically healed wounds, but he could practically feel the shock and surprise in the scientist’s eyes. The claw marks across his face still pulled when he made facial expressions, but they weren’t in any danger of breaking open. They had almost entirely healed over in the span of a couple hours.

“What…?”

“So… fun fact. My crown is Thulian magic. But it only works on me… trust me, a lot of things would be so much easier if it worked on anyone.”

“Thulian?” Wilson echoed in disbelief. “What- how-?”

“I am a Thulian- Ancient-, you know,” Wilbur sighed. “Or… I guess, more accurately, I’m from the same time period as them.” He shifted a little bit and took the crown off of his head. The gold, despite everything, was still clean and pristine. Almost impossibly so. “I joke a lot, but I wasn’t joking about my age.”

“What… are you?” Wilson sounded… well, in awe. Wilbur figured it was appropriate.

“Old.” Wilbur let out a soft chuckle. “But, well, I am the very first of my kind. My parents were Splumonkeys.” He waved one hand as if it was trivial, despite that entire situation being an incredibly traumatizing part of his life. “I am clearly not a Splumonkey.”

“I… don’t even know what those are.”

“You’re lucky, then. They’re awful creatures. Bigoted jerks. If you aren’t just like them, good luck being accepted. I was the first born like this- their fur is normally purple, and they usually don’t have bare faces. Clearly, I’m an exception to both of those facts. To be honest, though… the other prime apes typically aren’t much better.”

“Wait, so…” Wilson frowned. Wilbur noticed he was picking at his thumb absently. “You were the first of your kind, but you’re not the only. Are they all descended from you? Didn’t you have a mate…?”

Wilbur scoffed so hard he nearly choked on his own saliva. “Oh me no. No, the rest of the prime apes are descended from others like me. They started popping up randomly over time… some sort of mutation that spread amongst them. I just happened to be the first. Trust me, Roselyn was not related to me at all.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”

Wilson raised his hands innocently. “Hey, I was just curious. So then… how did you get the crown?”

“An accident.” A faint smile graced Wilbur’s face. “I was just an infant when…”

She plunged the shard directly into his chest. He choked on his own blood.

“When I got injured,” Wilbur said vaguely. He would save that trauma for a different day. “I thought I was gonna die, but I found an opening in the roof of the caves we lived in. I guess it was where the Thulians threw their trash. It was among the garbage. I think it just never worked for them, so they thought it was broken. I don’t know why it only works on me… it’d sure be convenient if it worked on others.

“Long story short,” he continued with a shake of his head. “I’m fine. That whole… situation,” another hand wave, another brushing away of the genuine emotions. “It scared me, but I’ll be fine.” Wilbur pouted and touched a hand to the scars on his face. “Sucks that he got me here, though. It’s a lot harder to hide scars on bare skin.”

“Hey, guys.” The duo turned their heads at the same time as Winona pushed her way into their shelter. She had a sort of sad smile on her face as she came to settle near them. To Wilbur’s surprise, she held two dead snowbirds in her hands. “Those traps worked.”

“I told you they would,” Wilson scoffed.

“It’s been awhile since I had to pluck a bird.” Wilbur dragged himself to his feet, but didn’t quite move yet. Instead, he checked Tyler’s vitals again. “Sixty one,” Wilbur said aloud.

“That’s pretty average for a sleeping heart rate,” Wilson confirmed.

Wilbur nodded a single, short time in response and marched over to take the birds from Winona. Her eyes widened at seeing his healed wounds and painless gait. “Whoa… how…?”

“Magic crown,” Wilbur quickly summarized. He winked at the woman. “I’ll tell you about it later. I just got done telling the story once and I don’t want to do it again.” He collected the animals before promptly returning to Tyler’s side to pluck them.

There was a moment of silence among the group, broken only by Wilbur’s movements. The prime ape sighed.

“Okay, let’s get some more conversation in here. Winona, tell Wilson about how you and Scarlet met. That’s a wholesome story.”

He had meant this prompt to relax them a bit. For Winona to reminisce about her past lover and for Wilson to get a sorely needed chuckle. Instead, Winona immediately winced back, her eyes wide as if Wilbur had said something hurtful. Wilson tipped his head in confusion at the handywoman. “Who?”

Winona’s eyes darted back and forth, between Wilbur and Wilson. Wilbur could almost see sweat beading on her brow. “No one,” she sputtered. “Er- just someone I used to know. A coworker.”

Wilbur was… confused. But he wasn’t going to push her. It was clear she didn’t want to reveal the nature of her relationship with Scarlet to Wilson, but he couldn’t even begin to guess the reason. She had mentioned that some people thought it was wrong for… some reason. Maybe she was afraid Wilson would feel the same?

He had no intention of spilling that if she didn’t want to, though, so Wilbur drew the attention back to himself. “I think Winona’s a bit too stressed to think about the funny moments right now, huh?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” she agreed quickly.

“SO, instead, I get to share the funny stories.” Wilbur masterfully cut the first bird open with barely a glance, and his stomach growled as he considered what to make with it. “When I was teaching my daughter how to hunt crabbits…”

They talked for a while after that. Wilbur dredged up as many old stories as he could think of (and there were a lot of them considering how long he had to gather said stories) and shared them with the group. Some of them were real events, others fiction. As his eyes started to get heavy, and the food started to feel warm and comfortable in his stomach, Wilbur pulled one last story up.

“This one was part of Thulian myth,” the prime ape said. He had his body curled up and his head perched on Tyler’s chest. The gentle movement of the boy’s breaths were lulling him to sleep. Wilson and Winona looked equally tired, but at the mention of Thulian myth, Wilson seemed to take some interest.

 

“According to the legend, there used to be two gods. A beautiful god in the sky, and a mysterious god in the ground. The god in the Sky was said to be benevolent and giving. They looked down upon their subjects with love and care. The god in the Ground was said to be malicious and twisted. It glared up at the Sky and did everything it could to hurt their subjects.

“You see, though, the Sky had a little sibling. One that was not a god, but just a normal child who lived on the Constant. If I remember, they called them the Mediator, as the one who formed the bridge between god and mortal.

“The Mediator was loved among their people. They would travel across the land, finding every problem that needed fixed and bringing ways to fix them. It was said that if they visited your village, you would be blessed by the Sky.

“The Ground was jealous of the Mediator. Every step of their way, the Ground would do everything it could to hurt them, but they were always saved. One day, the Ground had enough. A massive crack formed beneath the Mediator’s feet, and they plummeted into the earth, never to be seen again.

“With the death of their sibling, the Sky grieved. Water fell for weeks as they wept, and villages were destroyed by the floods that it caused. The Thulians begged to be saved from their grieving god, but their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“The Ground, seeing the pain the Mediator’s death had caused, began to grieve as well. It appeared to the Thulians and gifted them with magic and technology beyond their understanding as an apology for its acts. The Sky was not ready to forgive the Ground, and terrible storms wrecked the Constant, and no matter what was done, nobody could calm the wrath of the god.

“In the end, the Ground did what it had to. Using the last of its magic, it sealed the Sky within the moon, stopping the torrential rains but forever cutting the Thulians off from their god. Still, they praised the Ground for its rescue, and the Ground became their new god. Now benevolent, it gifted its subjects with everything they could ever need, for the rest of time.”

 

“Wow,” Wilson breathed after a long moment. “Is that all just myth or…”

Wilbur shrugged.

“That poor kid, though,” Winona said sadly. “They didn’t do anything, they just got caught up in the Ground’s jealousy.”

“I remember that story.”

Immediately, everything went silent except for the crackle of the fire. Wilbur, suddenly wide awake, shot around to see Tyler’s face.

“I never heard of them calling the sibling the Mediator though… they always called them the Lost. You told the story all wrong, Wilbur…”

“Tyler,” the prime ape sputtered. In response, a glossy eye turned slightly to look at him. A tiny smile formed on Tyler’s face, a single fang poking out from under his lip.

“Hey…”

The very next noise out of the boy’s throat was a tiny squeak as Wilbur crushed him in a hug that was probably far too tight for someone who nearly just died again. He was barely aware of Wilson and Winona crowding in around them.

“You stupid, stupid, idiotic child!” Wilbur scolded without even relaxing his hold. “You absolute moron.” His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping Tyler. “I’m going to fill your stupid head with so much love propaganda you won’t be able to think of anything else.”

“Let him breathe, Wilbur,” Winona chastised. Wilbur grunted, but he did release Tyler. Without any support from Wilbur, he really wasn’t able to keep himself up, and Wilbur’s hands twitched with the urge to right him. “Tyler. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t think that’s a smart question,” the boy rasped. He sounded awful.

“Right…” Winona hovered awkwardly at Wilbur’s shoulder. She clearly didn’t want to push the prime ape out of the way.

Wilson did not have such reservations. Wilbur let out a huff of derision as the scientist shoved him back. Before he could fully protest, Wilson was already reaching out to check the boy’s pulse.

Tyler clearly hadn’t lost himself, though, because the second Wilson’s hand neared his throat he swiped him away and bared his fangs. It was a pathetic display, especially with how weakly and sluggishly he moved, but the intent was clear.

“I need to check your vitals,” Wilson said patiently. “If you don’t want me using your neck, then give me your arm.”

Tyler wavered. His eyes uneasily flicked between the group as if waiting for something. He slowly offered his hand towards Wilson, who immediately took it.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened…” Wilbur started gently.

“I don’t,” Tyler immediately snapped.

“But I think we really should.”

Tyler closed his eye, a stuttered sigh escaping through his lips. He looked as if he desperately wanted to say something, but the words were caught in his throat. Wilbur waited patiently for him to speak. Finally, he seemed to gain the strength (or wits) to talk. “Why did you save me?”

A conversation Wilbur was sure he had already had a million times, and he’d be more than happy to have a million more. He opened his mouth to answer, but he wasn’t the first to speak.

Wilson beat him.

“Is it really so hard for you to believe that we care about you? That we like having you here and we don’t want anything bad to happen? Why can’t you understand that?”

Tyler pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

“Dangit, Tyler,” Wilson growled. “The three of us? No, the four of us?” He opened his arms in reference to someone who wasn’t there. Tyler flinched. “This is a family, okay? Do you genuinely believe family would happily watch one of their own die?”

“I’m not part of a family,” Tyler murmured distantly. “I never have been. It was just… wishful thinking.”

“That’s a lie,” Winona said sharply. “How long have you been calling WX-78 your brother by now? Heck!” She motioned towards Wilbur. “Have you even realized how many times Wilbur has called you his son?”

“Because he lost his daughter,” Tyler said bitterly. “I’m no one special to him. He only thinks I am because-”

“For god’s sake, Tyler!” Wilbur exclaimed, just a little too loud. Okay, maybe it was a bit more than an exclamation and a bit closer to a full out yell. He had tried everything else, though. Maybe this was how he got through this kid’s thick skull. “You are not Elizabeth! I KNOW you’re not Elizabeth! How terrible do you think I am, that I’m not capable of loving more than one child!?” He felt the fur on his shoulders begin to bristle. “Elizabeth was determined and level-headed. She knew exactly what she wanted and how! She could never learn how to cook, no matter how hard she tried. She burnt water!” Wilbur ran his hand through the fur on his head, a sort of manic laughter rising in his throat. “You are scared and hurt, but you try so hard to hide it until it gets so bad you can’t hide it anymore. You don’t know what you want because you think you don’t have the ability to choose so it doesn’t matter! You learn so fast that I’m worried you’re going to end up a better cook than me! You. Are. Not. Elizabeth! You are Tyler, and you are my son, and I love you! I don’t care that you’re not related to me. I don’t care that you are a human. I don’t care that you hurt me! I. Love. You. Got it?”

Wilbur realized far too late that he had worked himself up. All of the stress and terror and tension that had been building in his muscles had released all at once, and at the expense of his poor kid at that. He couldn’t read the look on Tyler’s face. A shudder started in the boy’s whiskers and spread towards his limbs, as if slowly regaining awareness of the rest of his body.

“When I lost Charlie,” Winona said in a much more respectable voice. She kept it low and quiet, a distinct difference from Wilbur’s rant. “I cut myself away from everyone. My friends and family begged for me to give it up, to just accept that Charlie was gone and move on.” She shuffled closer, taking Tyler’s lame hand in her own. “But no matter how hard I tried to explain it, nobody seemed to understand. I don’t give up on family. Any kind of family. Blood or… otherwise.”

Wilbur wondered if she was thinking about Scarlet for a moment.

“That includes Charlie, yes. But apparently living through Hell with someone is enough for you to start considering them family, too. The experiences we share are different from the experiences I shared with my sister, but that’s what makes them special. That’s what makes them unique.” She intertwined their fingers together, something that Tyler simply stared at as it happened. He didn’t pull away, though, so that was a bonus. “That’s what makes the relationship we share with you unique.”

“But why me?” He whispered, and oh Wilbur’s heart just shattered at his tiny voice. They had pulled this boy from the brink of death and he still couldn’t understand. “Why would you… why me?”

“Because you’re a pain in the rear,” Wilson spoke up. Wilbur and Winona immediately turned to glare at him, but Wilson wasn’t deterred. “You act like a cat that pretends to hate humans but wants nothing more than to be pet. You hiss and claw at everyone that tries to get close to you. Because you’re stubborn and opinionated and frustrating. Because you have so much love to give but you don’t save any of it for yourself. Because you starved yourself when you couldn’t hunt because you were so hurt after accidentally killing a rabbit. Because you take up space, and the world is all the better for it.” His gray eyes softened as he looked down at Tyler. “Because we want you to take up space. We want to hear you argue and snap when you’re mad, and we want you to cry when you’re sad, and laugh when you’re happy. Because this is a family that you are a part of, whether you want to be or not.”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with Wilson,” Wilbur lamented. “But… he’s right.”

Another shudder ran through the boy’s body, harsher this time, like he was containing something. He squeezed his eye tightly shut. The tiniest of whimpers rose in his throat.

“I know you’re struggling… and the fact you’ve made it this far is amazing. You’re amazing. And I know that you can’t see that. I know that you look at yourself and only see flaws. So just…” Wilbur tipped his head and smiled softly. When he blinked, twin tears fell from his eyes. “Let us love you until you remember how to love yourself. We’re here for however long you need us.”

Tyler took in a sharp breath, but it caught in his throat. He raised one hand towards his neck and swallowed hard. Wilbur reached one hand forward and pressed it against the hybrid’s cheek.

He had seen the boy break down many times now. Violent, sobbing fits as he struggled to contain a bursting dam. This was… different. It was more careful. Gentler. He turned his hand until he was pressing against Wilbur’s hand, and let out a long, quiet sigh. A stream of tears from his eye followed it.

And then, the sensation rose in Wilbur’s chest. It tickled his throat and put a strange pressure against his lungs. He had to take a couple of deep breaths of his own in order to speak properly. It wasn’t a painful feeling. In fact, he couldn’t even describe it as unpleasant. It was warm and soft, like the light of the necklace against Tyler’s chest.

“Have you felt?” Wilbur asked gently.

Tyler breathed out a tiny whimper. He didn’t answer with words, but he did nod against Wilbur’s hand.

“What have you felt?”

Tyler opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment of consideration, he gave a verbal answer. “I’ve felt the warmth of my friends,” he whispered. “I’ve felt a fire protecting me from long, cold nights as people laughed around me. I’ve felt proud when I got a recipe right, or when I caught a rabbit that I thought I wouldn’t be able to. I’ve felt joy when I played in the snow, or when my family carried me on their shoulders so that I could reach something. I’ve felt comfort when I wake up, late at night, from a nightmare, only for others to pull me close and hide me from my past mistakes. Or when I saw my brother standing over me, singing a lullaby to help me sleep. Or when my father held me in his arms and told me he was proud.”

“What have you been shown?”

A strangled sob escaped, one that Tyler quickly bit back. Another rattling breath in, another rattling breath out. He opened his eye, displaying a vibrant, forest green glow engulfing his pupil. Although it was difficult to see beneath the glow of his necklace, Wilbur knew there would be a twin glow rising from beneath his fur.

“I have been shown Love.”

And, as if the sentence had taken everything out of him, Tyler promptly passed out.

What followed was a long, tense moment of silence.

Wilbur took it upon himself to break it. “Aww. It was love.”

“Do you think that means that he… understands?” Wilson asked hesitantly. He wavered a bit as he pressed a finger to Tyler’s wrist. “That we’re on the right track?”

“With any luck.” Winona swiped a fist at her eyes, although not before Wilbur caught the suspicious wetness glimmering in them. “This is the start of his recovery.”

“I can’t believe it had to get to this point…” Wilbur shook his head. He reached out and brushed his fingers against Tyler’s head, and even unconscious, he stretched out a bit to press against the touch. “Talk about cosmic design, right?”

“What now? Do we just… wait? You know as well as I do that the second he wakes up again, he’ll be dragging us towards wherever to continue…” Wilson frowned and scratched at his thumbnail.

“We’re definitely going to have to make some changes with him. This can’t continue the way it has been.” Wilbur curled his claws slightly to scratch around the boy’s whiskers. “Trying to keep him out of danger is not the answer. That only hurts him, and… I think we all know now that the most dangerous thing to him is himself. I…” Wilbur hesitated. Was this a stupid idea? “I think it might also help if… we get more familiar with both sides of him.”

“Absolutely not,” Winona said immediately. “The last thing he needs is for Webber to have more control.”

“Webber’s not evil,” Wilbur argued. “He makes Tyler miserable because he’s been contained and forced back for so long.”

“Did you forget what happened the last time the spider had control?” Wilson said. “He nearly killed the both of them. In the end, the spider is just a spider. It’s a predator incapable of higher thought. Besides, this isn’t about making Webber feel better, it’s about helping Tyler.”

“Oo, Wilson’s using the real names. Things are getting serious.” Wilbur gave the scientist a wry smirk, but it quickly dissolved as he let out a long sigh. “I know. I’m just… I don’t really know what else we can do. I usually don’t see family again after they try to kill me, so I’m in new territory here.”

“We could try asking him,” Winona said. “I know that… Tyler’s a little kid. And we want him to be able to be a little kid. But… Wilson was right about one thing a while back. To simply call him a kid is… wrong. He’s gone through things no child should ever go through. He knows things most adults can’t even fathom. We can’t just make decisions for him and assume he’ll go along with them.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Wilson sniped.

“Yeah well, maybe don’t be a jerk about it next time,” Wilbur growled back. “So what? Are you expecting us to just ignore him when he needs us because an adult can handle themself?”

“No!” Winona exclaimed. “I just mean that…” She shook her head. “Grr, I don’t know how to say it.”

“He’s a peer. Not a child,” Wilson said bluntly. “When you don’t let him do things because they’re dangerous or because he’s too young, he just feels useless. Hence, the opposite of what we want.”

Wilbur bit at the inside of his cheek, but he couldn’t deny there was a good point to be made. Tyler needed so much help, but the best way to start with that would be to let him feel needed again. Wilbur hadn’t missed the excited glow in the boy’s eyes when they initially decided to spar. He wanted to make his own decisions, and take his own risks.

Had they really been hurting him this whole time in their attempt to help?

“We can discuss this later, when he’s awake,” Winona said. She waved one hand. “For now, I think we all need to just… relax a bit. It’s been a stressful day.”

Day. Because all of this had happened in the span of twenty-four hours. Wilbur took his position again, with his chin on Tyler’s chest, and gazed at his other companions. He smiled faintly as he curled his tail against his side. Tyler murmured faintly and snuggled closer to Wilbur, which the prime ape happily accepted.

There would be a lot to do when he woke up again. Given the general trend, it was likely the boy would immediately want to leave the second his eye opened. While Wilbur wanted nothing more than to keep that from happening, it would only completely negate their entire recent conversation to try. Besides, Wilbur could pray that the next world might be something other than cold. He wanted to get Tyler away from this place as soon as possible, and even though his own fur had thickened substantially in response to the low temperature, he still hated the feeling of ice. Spending over four thousand years on a tropical archipelago didn’t give much in the way of cold resistance.

Wilbur hoped beyond hope that their most recent approach had gotten through to him, but he couldn’t be sure until he woke up. Had they been too harsh? He hadn’t meant to get so worked up, but…

“Because he lost his daughter. I’m no one special to him.”

No matter how many times they had tried before, Tyler could never truly understand that someone cared about him without condition. What an awful way to live.

Wilbur closed his eyes and tucked his nose against Tyler’s fur. They would find a way to get through this together. Even if he had to entirely reevaluate how he treated the hybrid, he would do whatever he could to help him.

…

He slept deeply and without dreams. In fact, Wilbur only woke up again when he was actively being shaken awake. The prime ape let out a half-asleep murmur and opened his eyes just a crack to see who had woken him up.

And nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a glowing green eye staring back at him.

Wilbur yelped and jerked awake, in turn causing Tyler to flinch back as well. The boy’s whiskers drooped just a centimeter as Wilbur slowly became reacquainted with the waking world.

“Oh stars, it’s you. Sorry, I’m just… not used to…” Wilbur waved one hand over his face. Tyler gingerly raised one claw and touched his own cheek, just beneath the eye in question.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t…”

“Hey, no apologies.” Wilbur shook his head. He quickly looked around to see that the sun had risen some time ago, but the others were still dead asleep. “How are you feeling?”

“Um…” Ty turned his gaze downward, picking at his fingers. Wilbur didn’t press him to answer. He simply let the boy figure his own words out. “I’m- um… really hungry. The stew you made yesterday was really good but I didn’t see how you made it…” He seemed to shrink as soon as he spoke, and immediately followed it up with a “sorry, I mean, I don’t know why I woke you up, I just-”

“Never apologize for waking me up, especially for cooking lessons. Anything to make my boy as good of a cook as his pa.” Wilbur ruffled Tyler’s fur. The latter seemed surprised at the act of affection, but he didn’t protest it. Wilbur took the time to stretch each of his limbs out before gathering everything he needed to cook.

Tyler remained quiet as Wilbur took him through the steps, only answering with nods and vague affirmative hums. They were running low on rabbit meat at this point, but he could make do with the birds he had prepared yesterday. It might taste a little different, but hey, when you cooked everything with such precise measurements as ‘follow your heart’, every meal tasted a little different from the last.

“Why are you still trusting me?” Tyler suddenly blurted. Wilbur froze entirely, one hand still hovering over the fire as he paused in his task. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“You didn’t mean to attack me,” Wilbur finally said in a low voice. It took all of his energy to keep his voice calm instead of violently shaking sense into the boy. “It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t, though! Y-you didn’t do anything! We were just having a friendly spar and-”

“And I accidentally hit you on your blind side,” Wilbur interrupted. “Ty, the way you reacted- you couldn’t help it. You can’t help your triggers. And besides, I’m fine now. See?” He stretched his injured leg, now entirely healed with only a scar where fur hadn’t grown back.

“That doesn’t give me the excuse to hurt you.”

“True,” Wilbur agreed. “It doesn’t give you the excuse to hurt me on purpose. What happened yesterday wasn’t on purpose. Would you hate me just because I got scared?”

“But you-” Tyler covered his mouth with one hand, his eye glittering with wetness. The green glow made his tears sparkle like stars. “But you wouldn’t do that.”

“We both know that’s not true. The last time I really had an episode like what happened to you yesterday, I killed my entire group. I’m not innocent. The others don’t have episodes like that because they haven’t been through what we’ve been through. Wilson never had to watch his closest friend and brother die in his arms. Winona was never mutilated by someone she thought she could trust.” Wilbur took a step back to let the stew cook as he fully turned to face Tyler. “It’s okay that you were scared. Nobody is mad at you.”

He wrapped his arms around himself and stared hard at the ground. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Wilbur barely heard it. “Then shouldn’t I forgive Wilson for what he did to me?”

Wilbur felt his eyes widen and his tongue was temporarily paralyzed as he tried to come up with a response. Tyler filled the space.

“B-because it was an accident! He didn’t mean to hurt me, it- it wasn’t him who did it. If you’re able to forgive me, then- then why don’t I want to forgive Wilson? Why does he still scare me?”

Trivalves and cockles, Wilbur was not a therapist. He did not have the credentials to even begin unraveling the web of trauma that haunted this child.

“Do you actually blame him for what happened?” Wilbur asked slowly. “Do you still hate him?” Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but Wilbur cut him off first. “And no, I’m not asking if you’re scared of him. I’m asking if you blame him.”

“I… I don’t know the difference.”

“It might not have been Wilson who hurt you, and you might fully know that. You might not even blame him for any of it. But Ty… that doesn’t mean you can’t still be scared. You can control your ability to forgive, but you can’t control your triggers. What happened yesterday reminded your body of what happened back then, and it reacted in the way it needed to in order to protect itself. And… even if you don’t forgive him, that’s okay, too. I’ve been here much longer than any of you. I’ve done things worthy of having the absolute crap beaten out of me. You’re not even the first family member of mine to do that. They just got a little closer to killing me those times.”

Tyler’s head shot back up.

“Forgiveness is all it really comes down to. You shouldn’t feel bad for what happened because I forgive you, and that’s the end of the story. You didn’t hurt me permanently. I’m perfectly fine now. Wilson did hurt you permanently. It’s okay if you can’t forgive him because of that. He has to earn that forgiveness, and he hasn’t done very well in doing that lately. You don’t have to do anything to earn my forgiveness. That’s just what being a parent is about.” Wilbur hip-checked Tyler and gave him a soft smile. “And we’ve got some cool matching facial scars.”

Tyler let out a puff of air. Wilbur hoped it was in amusement. “I guess we do,” he said, claws tracing over the scar across his eye.

“Let’s finish up this food, alright? For this part, we have to keep a really close eye on it to prevent it from burning…”

The boy seemed to have relaxed a bit, but whether it was from the familiar act of cooking or from having Wilbur’s official forgiveness, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that there was a spark of joy when Tyler tasted the stew, and he couldn’t hide the enthusiasm in which he ate. It was a start, if nothing else.

“The past couple of worlds, you’ve been wanting to leave right away,” Wilbur said as he tucked into his own meal. “Are you wanting to do that, or do you want to stay for a bit?”

Tyler let out a sigh. “I’m probably not gonna be allowed to leave for quite some time.”

“I’m not asking that; I’m asking what you want to do.”

Surprise glittered in the boy’s eye. “Oh. I… honestly… I think I just want to rest here for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. It’ll be your word when you want to go.”

“Are… you sure?”

“Positive.” Wilbur nodded. “You’re the one with the knowledge of where we’re going. I think it’s only appropriate that you take the lead on this one.”

Wilbur didn’t miss the tiny smile on Tyler’s face. It was hard to, when one of his fangs poked out at the action as well.

Tyler finished his portion quickly, but based on the look he was giving the fire, it wasn’t quite filling enough. Wilbur didn’t hesitate to give him seconds, with extra berries this time. He didn’t miss the way the berries were the first to go on his first serving.

Wilbur himself wasn’t nearly as hungry, and barely finished his own meal. Instead of going for seconds like the boy, he started tidying up and putting everything back to the way it used to be.

“Thank you…” Tyler said gently.

Wilbur turned to see that he was staring down at the bowl in his hands. Wilbur twitched his tail and brushed it against Tyler’s face. “Anytime.”

“I mean, um… for everything. Not just the food.”

“I know. My point still stands. Anytime. We all do love you, even if you struggle to see it sometimes. Just know that I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Okay?”

Tyler immediately looked away and started scrubbing at his face with his wrist. “I love you guys, too,” he said, and Wilbur recognized the tightness in his voice as he struggled not to cry.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, we’ll be here to listen. But we’re not going to force you. We follow your pace, okay?”

Tyler didn’t respond verbally, but he did nod. Wilbur smiled softly and went back to work cleaning up.

…

It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Tyler was ready to leave. Wilbur noticed the way his eyes kept drifting into the distance, clearly spurred on by something else, but he hadn’t wanted to go just yet. Wilbur was, frankly, a bit shocked. He was itching to get out of this stupid world and hopefully back to something warm. Honestly, whatever the next challenge was, he was up for it, as long as it wasn’t more cold. He had seen enough snow to last him another four thousand years, thank you.

Tyler was still clearly weak, but they had already decided to not hold him back. It was his choice, and if he wanted to go before he felt one hundred percent, then that was exactly what they would do. So, they donned their gloves and earmuffs and struck back out into the cold.

As soon as they were away from the shelter they had grown used to, Wilbur was unhappy. The snow melted a bit with every footstep, just enough to cling to his socks and weigh them down until they eventually were pulled off by the weight, after which he would have to shake off clumps of ice before starting the cycle all over again.

Tyler seemed nervous to be back out here, but that was reasonable considering what had happened the last time he was. This time, however, the entire group was with him, and they were not about to let the boy freeze. He stumbled, but they let him. Winona asked once if he needed help, but as soon as the offer was denied, she dropped it.

That didn’t mean Wilbur was happy to just let him struggle. But… they had come to the decision to interfere only when Tyler asked for it. He knew his own limits better than anyone, Wilson had argued.

(Wilbur would argue differently. Tyler clearly had no idea what his own limits were and no idea how to test them without nearly dying every time, as they had already learned.)

The first time Tyler nearly tripped, Wilbur immediately caught him before he could faceplant into the snow. Embarrassment crept up onto the boy’s face and he looked decisively away. Now, Wilbur knew this child painfully well at this point, and he knew very well that he would keep struggling until he eventually literally couldn’t anymore.

“Hey, if you need help, we’re more than willing to help,” Wilbur said softly. “We both know Winona has no trouble carrying you.”

“I don’t need help,” he spat back, noticeably bristling.

Wilbur chose not to call him out on the flat out lie. “But do you want help?”

Tyler glared at Wilbur for a solid five seconds before the fight drained out of him. His shoulders drooped, and much to the prime ape’s surprise, he gave a tiny, hesitant nod. Progress.

It barely took a suggestion for Winona to scoop him up and place him on her shoulders again. In fact, she seemed more than happy to do so. Honestly, she was probably just as unhappy watching him struggle as Wilbur was. Now that he was no longer on his feet, Tyler was noticeably drifting. He was only still awake through the sheer force of will, which Wilbur would’ve put a stop to if they weren’t relying on him for directions.

The sooner we get out of this world, the better, he thought bitterly.

Just as Wilbur was sure Tyler was officially asleep, he jerked awake, nearly overbalancing Winona. Before she even had the chance to properly right herself, he was already jumping from his perch and pushing ahead. Wilson and Winona shared a look before following, and Wilbur kept right on their tail.

As he expected, Tyler had been driven forward by the presence of the wooden… thing. He was already standing before it by the time the trio caught up, bathed in the twin forest green glows coming from the machine and his own chest and eye. The area felt noticeably less hostile than before, and the nightmare fuel seeping from the wood wasn’t as fragrant as usual, although that could’ve been due to the cold.

Tyler jumped as Wilbur came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to give Wilbur a sort of smile, one full of nerves and anxiety.

“We’ve got it,” the prime ape promised. “We’ll be going into the fourth world. We’re so close to beating Maxwell at his own game.”

“Over halfway,” Tyler added quietly. A shudder seemed to run through his body as he looked down at the wooden thing and a strange expression passed over his face. A moment later, he shook his head as if to dispel a thought.

“Ready?” Wilbur prompted.

Wilson gave a short “Yep” in response, popping the ‘P’, and Winona hummed affirmatively. Wilbur turned back to Tyler and gave a short nod of his own.

Tyler took a deep breath and squeezed his eye shut. When he let it out, the machine reacted in turn.

They were familiar with the sensation by now, but Wilbur was fairly sure he’d never be used to it. Still, he was fully prepared for when the world seemed to fold in on itself. Wilbur saw a flash of light from behind his eyelids, and the next thing he knew, he was being pulled into the next world… the second to last.

And the closest anyone had ever gotten to Maxwell’s Throne.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 86. Intermission - Watching and Dreaming

I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the look on Charlie’s face after her return.

While I stayed stubbornly rooted in Darkness, exactly where I was supposed to be and far from Nightmare’s wrath, the woman still often sneaked out to check on the Prison and the World Between Worlds. Each time, I would anxiously wait for her return, although I wouldn’t admit my nerves to anyone. The visions Nightmare had pumped into my mind were still felt fresh, even though it had been several weeks since it had happened.

I felt Charlie's presence before I saw or heard her. As I turned to acknowledge her, I stopped in my tracks. Her face was pinched in an awful expression, one that I could barely decipher. An awful swirl of pain and regret and guilt and sorrow. I immediately straightened. “CHARLIE?”

“WX,” she said slowly in response. She took a deep breath, then tipped her head to meet my gaze head-on. “Something’s happened.”

I didn’t even try to guess. She raised one hand to beckon me closer, and the second I was within her range, her power flashed around us and I found myself in a frozen world. Well… frozen was a bit of an understatement. Weightless as I was, I didn’t break through the snow cover, but the depth of it was obvious. There was a meager spattering of trees, each one bare save for thick piles of snow perched on their branches and pressed against their trunks. I was technically immune to the cold, but that didn’t stop me from feeling it all around. I was sure that if I was still alive, I would be quickly frosting over and freezing.

As it was, I was unaffected. And, for a long moment, I was confused as to why Charlie had brought me here.

Then I saw it.

A lonely trail through the snow. Carved out by nothing but sheer force of will. The second I saw it, my chest tightened. Flecks of blood lined the trail, some spots bigger than others. All of it was still vibrantly crimson with freshness.

“WHAT IS HE DOING OUT HERE?” I scoffed. I wasn’t an idiot. There was only one person I knew that would be stupid and stubborn enough to go out in this kind of weather with no companions. “IS HE TRYING TO GET HIMSELF KILLED?”

Charlie… didn’t respond. She turned her gaze down towards her hands, her chest rising in a deep breath, then she beckoned me forward again.

If I ever had the chance, I would give this kid the verbal thrashing of a lifetime. It was a wonder the other members of the group hadn’t simply dropped dead of a stress-induced heart attack with often he got himself into trouble.

I was careful to avoid the specks on the ground, forcing myself to multitask on that and also keeping an eye forward. Charlie was still quiet; her mouth was pressed into a thin line.

My irritation melted the second I lay eyes on the form sprawled out in the snow. I recognized the splash of black fur immediately, although by now, most of the color had been hidden by swathes of snow. He must have been out here for a while now.

“WEBBER,” I hissed. I pushed past Charlie and crouched next to him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was twisted as if in pain. I noticed the source of the blood trail immediately as I examined him. Claws had torn into his skin, primarily into his arms but also scored across the sides of his head and his abdomen.

The pattern of markings was more confusing than their presence alone. For the most part, the lines were straight across but ragged along the edges, as if they had actively been sawed into his skin. The worst of it marred his left arm and the rest of that side of his body. His right side wasn’t untouched, but the markings were fainter and less steady. Like they had been caused by a much duller blade.

Or, I realized in an awful moment of clarity, like there had been much less force behind them. Like what you would expect from someone clawing themselves with a hand that barely worked.

The second the realization hit, I knew. Not a single one of those wounds had been inflicted by something else. They were too familiar, too precise. Every single one had been self-inflicted.

He was quiet and still. None of the snow landing on his side melted. He wasn’t breathing.

I nearly choked on the thought. Whatever stupid reason this kid had to go out here… I hung my head in shame. How long would he have to remain out here until someone found him? How long had it been since the cold had ensnared him? My chest heaved and I covered my mouth as if to hide the ugly sound that escaped my throat. I was physically incapable of crying, but my body seemed to have forgotten that for the time being.

How long had he been out here, alone, slowly freezing to death? Where was he?

...Where was he?

And just like that, I snapped out of my mournful thoughts and felt immediately stupid for even thinking them. What did it matter if Webber died? I was dead. If he died, he would simply appear in the entrance of Checkmate, where he could easily be greeted by me or Charlie. But that was what made this so awful yet odd.

Was he already in Checkmate? Without Charlie or myself, the only ones who could greet him would be Maxwell… or Nightmare.

I stood with a sudden urgency. “WE NEED TO GET TO HIM BEFORE NIGHTMARE DOES.”

Charlie kept her gaze steadily down at the boy by her feet.

A new thought, yet another awful one that made my stomach twinge in pain, appeared with frightful potency. Unless…unless he was in the Prison. Destined to stay forever locked in a cage with no exit like an animal on display.

I had seen the Prisoners countless times at this point. Even the strongest struggled some days with maintaining their sanity. Others had lost it years ago. Webber was already well on his way to insanity, if he was locked in the Prison-

“He’s not there,” Charlie finally said. “He’s not in Checkmate. And he’s not in the Prison, either.”

I went very still and watched her expectantly. It seemed to take her some time to gather her words.

“Nightmare… wanted this,” she said softly. “It didn’t want him dead. It wanted him close enough to death that it could… mark him. Prepare him.”

“PREPARE?”

“Like a pig for the spit,” Charlie growled. “It craves his power.” She sighed, although the fire that had lit in her eyes didn’t fade. She crouched down to place one hand on my brother’s cold body. “Nightmare is getting impatient. It won’t take his soul because it needs him alive, but it looks like it finally made its biggest move.”

“IMPATIENT?” I echoed in a sharp voice. “IMPATIENT FOR WHAT? WEBBER HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH NIGHTMARE!”

Charlie covered her eyes with her arm. Her next breath shuddered in her chest.

“WX,” she managed. “I haven’t been truthful with you.”

“I KNOW.” Charlie acted as if it was a big surprise, but it was obvious she was keeping a lot of information from me, if not actively lying about everything. I knew she had the answers I wanted, but she had withheld them for whatever reason until now.

Maybe this is when I could finally get some truth out of her.

“Your titles. The Host, the Young Heir, the Martyr, the Sister, the One True Heir?” I nodded, prompting her to continue.

“They’re all a lie.”

My mind came to a standstill. I knew very little about the world, but the one thing I thought I knew was the titles. Even if I didn’t know exactly who some of them referred to, with the knowledge that Webber was the Martyr and not the Young Heir, I at least knew they were something real. Tangible. Something with significance.

What did she mean they were a lie?

“They do exist,” Charlie said slowly as if reading my mind. “They’re real, but not in the way… you’ve been led to believe.” Although she was keeping her body incorporeal at the moment, she reached forward and started to brush Webber’s fur. Her hand passed through it, but she didn’t stop the repetitive motion.

“There are a lot of misconceptions about it. All of which you’ve been, unfortunately, led to believe.”

“I AM NOT IN THE MOOD TO PLAY MUSICAL CHAIRS AROUND THIS TOPIC, CHARLIE,” I growled.

“‘The Sister’ is entirely wrong. That title has been mistranslated one too many times. The Ancients… they didn’t have gendered terms for familial relationships like that. It’s more accurately translated into ‘The Sibling’, and it was originally used in reference to a story about the mortal sibling of a god. In the story, the sibling was never referred to with any specific gender, but word of mouth changes things over time… certain people liked to say the sibling was identical twins with the god as much as they liked to call the god a female. It’s simply not correct.”

“WHAT DOES AN OLD FOLKTALE HAVE TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS?” I demanded.

“Because, WX, it wasn’t just a folktale. It is history. And that’s where all the titles came from.”

I found myself going still. I hadn't seen anything about this in the World Between. How could it be history without a single world memory existing of it? How much of the story was a lie?

How much of it didn’t even matter?

“The problems started as the story was told and passed down. The original tale got twisted and changed… more importantly, the story continued. When the Ancients fell, very little was left of the world. Some people survived, but they were split across lands and worlds. Three main lands, and six main worlds. The first of the lands, and the most notable, was the Mainland, where you used to be before your passing. Then, there is the Archipelago, where Wilbur ended up after the Fall. Lastly, a place we call the Farlands, where both Webber and Tyler used to live before building Maxwell's Door.

“The largest of the six worlds is where you started. Where you all met, and where the Mainland and the Archipelago exist. The other five are the ones that have been twisted and deformed by Maxwell in order to create his challenge. People used to live there, before they died to the harsh environments Maxwell created in them. Five worlds… and five titles.

“The old residents of the Archipelago took to calling the Sibling ‘The Mediator’, in reference to their mediation between mortal and immortal. The Farlands gave them the name ‘The Lost’, as they believed the Sibling was a lost god, and not a mortal at all.”

“WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS HAVE TO DO WITH US?” My voice came out shakier than I expected. Despite how long I had spent studying the world memories, none of this was familiar to me. It felt like treading thin ice.

“I’m getting to that. I have a lot more to explain.” She paused in her movements and shifted in order to gaze upon Webber’s face. I felt a twinge of guilt at the realization we were having this entire conversation standing over the frozen body of my brother, but I wasn’t about to stop Charlie, not when she was giving me real answers. Besides, I didn’t really want to just leave him here alone. I carefully reached forward to rest my hand on his shoulder, but I simply phased right through him. I frowned and drew my hand back.

“While the Archipelago and the Farlands remembered the Sibling under different names, the Mainland forgot about the story almost all together. Remember, this is a few thousand years ago now, long before you guys came into the picture. Humans existed on the Mainland back then. The few who remembered the story began to call them ‘The Forgotten’, reflecting their status as a forgotten figure in the world.” She took a deep breath.

“It’s when the story is being told in the other worlds that things might start to sound familiar to you. The second of the six worlds, the one Maxwell nicknamed A Cold Reception, the story was told referring to the Moon god- Alter- as a goddess and to the Sibling as the Sister.

“The third of the six worlds, later nicknamed The Game is Afoot, told a very different story. You see, most versions of the folklore are incomplete, coming straight from the mouths of the Ancients. They were not alive to pass down complete versions of the story. Many of the residents of the third world recognized the Fall of the Ancients as the next part. In the typical world-of-mouth tale as told in the first two worlds, the Sibling is killed by the Ground god- who you might recognize better by the name ‘Nightmare’- but then they simply disappear from the tale. The story typically ends with Nightmare giving the Ancients incredible power in what is considered to be a show of guilt and goodwill, but I think we both know that is not the case.

“Unfortunately, they believed it was true. Soon after the Sibling died, a child was born with striking similarities to them, and many people considered him to be their incarnation. Not that the boy had anything to do with the Sibling. It’s most likely the Sibling genuinely ceased to exist after Nightmare murdered them, and any similarities between the two were just coincidence. But still, Nightmare despised this child the same way it hated the Sibling simply because of their similar looks and personalities. It was then Nightmare did something truly awful. It killed the boy in the exact way it killed the Sibling, but this time, before the boy’s soul left his body, it swarmed him and took complete control over him.

“Despite Nightmare’s control, the boy fought back viciously. Alter themself gifted the boy with a sword to banish the shadows that constantly stalked him, and to purge the poison that Nightmare leeched into his bloodstream. As soon as the boy realized what the sword could do, he took action, and plunged the weapon into his own stomach to destroy Nightmare’s presence.

“Nightmare… was injured. Its soul was broken irreparably. And yet, it was still fully alive. The boy, however, did not survive having so much energy and darkness purged from his body at once. As such, he became known as the Martyr, and his sword, the Sword of the Martyr.

“The fourth world, later known as King of Winter and where we stand now, left out the portion about the boy’s sacrifice. As such, he became known as the Host, and many believed the boy was the one who caused the Ancients’ destruction. The stories once told here were… not favorable to him.

“The fifth world, now called Two Worlds, had a different name for him as well. Since they believed the boy to be the Sibling, they also believed he held a holy status above them all. They believed it was his divine right to take the Throne and rule the Constant and all of its worlds. Once the Throne was given to someone else, the boy quickly gained the nickname The One True Heir. The only one with the right to be on the Throne.

“Which left Darkness… and Darkness… well, they simply called the boy ‘The Young Heir’. I believe it’s easy enough to see where that came from.”

I was dizzy with the sheer amount of information Charlie was sharing with me. This was more information than I had ever heard at once, and even my robotic brain was struggling to keep up with all of it. She gave me time to sort it out mentally.

“THE TITLES THAT WE WERE TOLD WERE SO IMPORTANT, THEN… ARE SIMPLY NICKNAMES FOR SOME KIDS WHO LIVED THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO?” I summarized with a sharp edge in my voice. “ALL THIS TIME, THEY’VE MEANT… NOTHING?”

Charlie blew a thin stream of air from between her teeth. She looked back down, although I could see that her eyes were focused more on her own hands than anything else.

“I have reason to believe,” she began slowly. “That while the Sibling and the boy have nothing to do with each other, the boy is still an important character in this story. He might not have been the brother of Alter, but his role in history has become almost interchangeable with the Sibling’s.” Charlie avoided my gaze at all costs. “And, I have reason to believe that that very same boy is lying at our feet now.”

Silence. Despite how straightforward and simple her answer was, it took me longer to process than the entire monologue about the Sibling.

“WEBBER.” Even I had to admit, I sounded stupid saying it. Of course she was talking about Webber. But the extent to which she was talking about… I couldn’t even fathom it.

“Your titles didn’t come from nowhere or nothing. Or… I guess I should more accurately say his titles.” She waved a hand towards the frozen form at their feet. “The Host, the Martyr, the Young Heir, the One True Heir, the Sibling- they were referring to two children. Not five. It never used to be five.”

That was why his sword was called the Sword of the Martyr. Why two of the titles referred to being the heir. Why something as simple as a familial relation meant so much.

He was the Young Heir. He had always been the Young Heir. But it was more than that.

He was more than that.

And we meant nothing.

“OUR EXISTENCE,” I murmured. “DOES IT MEAN NOTHING THEN? IF WE NEVER HAD SIGNIFICANCE TO THE WORLD… WHY WERE WE BROUGHT HERE? DID WE EVER HAVE ANY IMPORTANCE? OR WAS IT ONLY EVER HIM?”

“You are important,” Charlie said sternly. “You are just as important to the continuation of this world as Tyler. The titles may have originally come from the boy and the Sibling, thousands of years ago, but through the generations, they have changed. They no longer embody one person anymore. Claiming the titles were meant for you would be… inaccurate, but to say the titles have nothing to do with you would be just as incorrect. Their meaning may have changed, yes, but they still hold true. Wilson has hosted Nightmare’s presence for some time now. It was your martyrdom that allowed for events to flow as they should. Wilbur was the heir of the Archipelago, just as Tyler is the heir to the throne. And of course… what more significant sibling is there than the sister of the second most powerful being in the Constant? Those titles are you, just as they were him.”

“THEY ARE NOT ANY MORE?”

Charlie tipped her head with a thoughtful expression. “I would say not. You have embodied these titles far more wholly than he could, and I do believe he’s building his own repertoire of titles to choose from. The tenacious, the integrous, the loving, take your pick. In the end, they’re all just words. It isn’t as if there’s any powers or abilities related to them.”

“THEN WHY IS IT IMPORTANT? WHY IS ANY OF WHAT YOU JUST TOLD ME IMPORTANT? WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS HAVE TO DO WITH THE RELATION BETWEEN NIGHTMARE AND WEBBER?”

“Knowing the origin might help to come to terms with the end,” Charlie said cryptically. She shook her head just a bit. “You wanted information, WX, and I told you all I know. Whether you care or not is up to you. As for the relation between Nightmare and Tyler… Tyler had once been Nightmare’s host, if he is truly an incarnation of the same boy. Nightmare’s… favorite host, actually. It desperately wants him back, just to feel a fraction of the power it once held.”

It desperately wants him back. The words were haunting to hear. This supposed history, of something that went far beyond us and happened so long ago no one remembered the specifics, was supposed to be the main driving force behind Nightmare? It didn’t click properly in my head. Nightmare always seemed so much... more. And I simply couldn’t fathom the idea that there was so much that I didn’t know. So long studying the World Between and for what? I hadn’t learned anything useful.

It was the sound of hurried footsteps that dragged me from my thoughts once more. I glanced up and nearly jumped at the sudden presence of my old companion.

For his part, I didn’t think Wilson could see me or Charlie. I would assume that, had he been able to, he would’ve had a much different reaction. Instead, his eyes were stuck on the figure of the boy at our feet, half-buried in the snow.

“Oh, Tyler…” The scientist breathed. His breath clouded around his face, crystallizing in his hair and settling in his eyebrows. I took a hasty step back as Wilson crouched by Webber’s side. His brow was creased in pain, one hand rising to touch his temple as if nursing a sudden headache.

It was clear he had been out for a while. He seemed to be wearing the pelts of rabbits over his normally exposed ears and hands, but that didn’t stop the cold from turning his nose and cheeks bright red. It was strange, I noticed, to see such clear signs of freezing temperatures without being affected by them myself.

“We should go back,” Charlie said distantly. I startled at hearing her voice. I had almost forgotten she was even there. “Before Nightmare notices we’re gone.”

The thought of Nightmare catching me and Charlie away from our post again, admittedly, was a terrifying one, but I couldn’t bring myself to verbally agree.

As an automaton, I had no heart. Technically, anything I felt was simulated in what felt hyper-realistic to myself, but that didn’t explain the raw agony that crushed my chest at seeing them both like this. Wilson displaying the same sort of shock and pain I had felt the second I lay eyes on the frozen boy, and Webber so still in his arms. I had the comfort of knowing that even if Webber died from this, he would simply be crossing a veil into the same worlds I’ve roamed for the past several months .

(Had it been a year yet? Maybe not. It felt like so long ago now.)

Wilson and the others… they didn’t have that same sort of comfort. Wilson never showed any remembrance of his time between the Dragonfly fight and his resurrection, and the others had never even experienced death. To them, it was an end. It was permanent.

After all, I knew very well that the Wilson that had come to the world with us had died to the Dragonfly’s claws.

Yet, he seemed so genuinely pained now. He looked so much like the man who had stood between Webber and death so many times, like the grip that had encased him in such darkness had weakened just a bit.

Maybe Nightmare was simply enjoying forcing the full effect of emotions onto him. I wouldn’t put it past it.

“I WANT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS,” I said distantly, belatedly, to Charlie’s observation. She didn’t comment on it, but it was likely she already knew what I was going to say.

Truth be told, I wasn’t used to being able to stay in a world like this for so long. I wasn’t corporeal, and the others couldn’t see me, but for the first time in so long, I was technically beside my companions again.

Why did it hurt so bad? I hadn’t thought about Wilson in a positive light ever since he tried to kill Webber. Why did I suddenly care now?

I expected Wilson to be more careless than he was. I expected him to be angry, even, that Webber had somehow gotten himself back into a mess like this.

He just looked sad.

To my surprise, Charlie actually stayed by my side. She wearily glanced up at the sky, but her incorporeal form seemed unconcerned with the snow-muffled light from the sun.

She must have been just as curious as I was to see how this would pan out. Because that was the only reason I was staying here for now. Curiosity. Nothing else.

The lie sounded stupid even in my head.

“CHARLIE,” I said. I kept my voice down despite how useless such an endeavor was. She tipped her head slightly in my direction in acknowledgment. “HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?”

“Oh,” she said softly. She didn’t give me an answer for a long minute, the silence so cloying I was sure she was going to ignore the question entirely. When she did answer, I jumped at the suddenness of it. “He wanted to take his own life.”

A plain, straightforward answer. Probably the first time Charlie had ever immediately given me one. Again, my chest seized with pain, but outwardly I only nodded faintly.

Wilson carried Webber like something precious, but without urgency. Luckily, this lack of urgency wasn’t carried by everyone in the group.

After so long, I had almost forgotten what Winona looked like. I hadn’t known her for long, and she had been in the world for such a short time that few memories focused on her. While I tried to keep up on recent events to the best of my ability before Nightmare chased me off, I typically didn’t pay much attention to her.

At this point, I technically knew Wilbur. I had spoken to him a couple of times now, and had seen him plenty during my research. What was particularly strange was to see him in this particular situation. In the span of just a couple of moments, I suddenly found myself completely surrounded by the people I had left behind.

Wilbur had been injured recently. Makeshift bandages wrapped several parts of his body, including his face, chest, and leg. His fur had grown shaggier since the last time we had talked, likely spurred on by Maxwell’s cold worlds. Among the group, he was the last I expected to take sudden and authoritative action.

It didn’t feel like I was watching old friends, or even people I knew. I was simply an observer, unheard and unseen. It felt both impersonal and agonizingly intimate at the same time.

Realistically, I knew quite well that my death wouldn’t always leave a discernible gap in the group. It had been so long now that it would be warning of much worse issues if it did. And yet… it was strange to realize that this group never existed with me in it. I never experienced the things they had experienced together at this point. Wilbur had never known me in life, and now he was so seamlessly part of the dynamic that it was impossible to see where I had been cut out and he had been put in.

Maybe I was never meant to fit in that place. Maybe, the whole time, it had always been a four-piece puzzle, and I was simply putty used to fill the gap until the last piece was found. Maybe this is what the group was always meant to be.

I knew this line of thinking was selfish. I should’ve been glad that my death hadn’t totally destroyed Wilson, Webber, and Winona. Yet, I couldn’t stop feeling so freaking betrayed by it.

Charlie rested a hand on my shoulder as if reading my mind, but she remained silent. I glanced towards her and saw that she wasn’t even looking at any of the others. She had her eyes fixed entirely on Winona.

Winona. Her sister. I had almost forgotten that fact. She had such a raw expression of pain and guilt on her face that I couldn’t even bear to look at her.

We simply watched, swimming in our own similar but separate misery with no words to share.

Once the excitement wore down, I took a distantly familiar spot near the fire to watch the flames. I really should’ve gone back by this point, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Instead, I continued to eavesdrop on the living.

“How’s he doing?”

The voice sounded like it was directed at me, and I snapped my gaze away from the fire to look at Wilson. The scientist was focused on Wilbur and Webber, the former with his chin perched on the latter’s side with a sort of relieved contentment on his face.

“He’s alive,” Wilbur said gently. I couldn’t help but smile, just a bit. If nothing else, at least they were still fighting for Webber, even if I wasn’t there to aid. I looked back at the flames, keeping a metaphorical ear out to listen, if nothing else than to sate my own curiosity.

“He’s not doing well, is he?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to see how he-”

“Not… physically, I mean. Mentally.”

I scoffed. Did it take something this drastic for them to come to that conclusion? Maybe I was wrong to think they could be trusted in that sense.

“No. He hasn’t been for awhile.”

For a while. Wilbur knew the whole time, and yet he didn’t stop it from happening. I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my forehead on them. Misery flooded my system without relief.

“I thought he was doing better,” Wilson murmured. I wanted to laugh in his face. Well, no, actually, if I was alive, I would’ve yelled at him. How dull and careless could you be to see something like this and think he was improving.

I could’ve stepped in. I could’ve helped-

“He never recovered from losing his brother.”

And that was it wasn’t it?

There was that ugly, unnatural sound again. Such a violent and visceral noise that my chest shook under its weight. I couldn’t have done anything, because in the end, this was my fault.

Before I could entirely drown in my own thoughts, a soft hand touched my shoulder. I whipped my head around to snap at Charlie for interrupting my lament, but the words died in my chest. She looked just as awful as I felt, her hand shaking slightly even as it rested on my shoulder. Her eyes were downcast and watery, but her face was dry. She gave me a shaky smile. “We need to go back,” she murmured.

I wanted to protest, but I knew fully well that she was right. I had already risked a lot by staying for so long, and if Nightmare caught us out…

Well, I wasn’t sure if I could stand another one of Nightmare’s namesakes.

On shaky legs, I stood once more. I brushed myself off despite remaining clear of snow and dirt. I cast another hesitant glance over to my companions with a pang of longing. Wilbur was going on now about the magic in his crown, something I had seen at work a few times in the world memories now, and Wilson was watching with an air of genuine interest. Winona had vanished at some point with a comment about checking traps, so she wasn’t present anymore.

Despite everything that had happened, there was a peaceful look on Webber’s sleeping face.

I smiled faintly. They would be okay. Our separation wouldn’t be forever.

Soon, I thought to myself. Soon, we’ll all be together again. I promise.

With one final look back at her sister, Charlie waved one hand and allowed the both of us to return to Darkness.

The second we were no longer in the frozen world, Charlie marched forward with purpose. I recognized the way she moved, casual but stiff. Acting as if she had been there the whole time. I had to jog to catch up.

“CHARLIE,” I called, catching her attention. She glanced my way. I couldn’t get myself to look her in the eye. “WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO THEM?”

She hummed in response. I could see the gears turning in her head, and it was clear she was trying to pick the words that would make me the least upset. I huffed in irritation. “I… don’t know exactly. Don’t give me that look!” She said without even looking to see the look I gave her. True, it was exactly what she expected, but still. “No one has ever gotten this far before.”

“HOW DID ANYONE GET ANYWHERE WITHOUT WEBBER?”

“There was one person,” Charlie answered. “We all knew that she wasn’t going to make it to Maxwell, and I think Nightmare made it a bit of a game. It would let her through the Teleportato just to see how far she got.” She hesitated, then added: “Wigfrid. I’m sure you recognize that name by now.”

I did, and I remember Charlie even telling me exactly how Wigfrid had died. I just hadn’t realized that she didn’t die on the mainland.

“King of Winter is where she lost,” Charlie said bluntly.

“WHAT WILL HAPPEN, THEN, WHEN THEY GET TO DARKNESS?”

Charlie smiled faintly. “I don’t know for sure, but I have a few things I’m hoping for.” She paused, but before I could ask her to elaborate she did without prompting. “I don’t know if they’ll be able to see us. I can hope, though. We’ll have to wait until then.” Then, her smile faded. “I do know that it will be harsh though. This is Nightmare’s domain. This is where Nightmare is at its absolute strongest. It will have just as much access to them as we will…”

“SO IT IS STILL JUST AS UNKNOWN.”

“Unfortunately.” She let out a sigh, her footsteps slowing to a halt. I couldn’t tell exactly what was going through her mind, but whatever it was, I could guess based on the conflict on her face. Stuck between something she wanted and something she didn’t want. The twin desires to be with her sister again and to spare her from Nightmare

I understood it.

“But Darkness is not what we’re concerned about right now,” Charlie said with a furious shake of her head. “There’s still some time before then. We have other things to worry about until then.”

We had to keep on Nightmare’s good side as well. After all, if Nightmare wanted to cause trouble, it knew exactly what our weaknesses were. We had to keep our own tails in line, or who knew what the demon could do to us or our families?

If Nightmare wanted to see me as a model prisoner, I would have to be a model prisoner.

Until the day we meet again.

 

Edited March 16 by Pokemaniac7000

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 87. Forgiveness - Part 1

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

 

Wilson’s POV

In hindsight, it was rather strange that the first thing I became aware of was the ground I was lying on. It was normally the ambient air temperature I noticed first, or even the sounds around me. But no, this time, it was the feel of grass pressed against my cheek. At least… I was pretty sure it was grass.

It wasn’t the coarse, stiff stems I had grown used to, though. The grass beneath me was thick and plush, grown so thickly that it almost formed a cushion. There was a gentle breeze in the air, tousling my hair and causing the blades of grass to tremble against my skin. In the previous worlds, the wind had been biting, howling far above our heads even when we were sheltered from it. Here, the wind was warm and soft, just like the grass. Carried with it was the tangy scent of citrus, like an orange had been cut directly in front of my nose.

The air was warm and dry. There wasn’t even the slightest bit of humidity to ruin the peaceful warmth, a temperature far above freezing but far below overheating. In a way, it almost felt air conditioned. Like it was being kept at the exact temperature for perfect comfort. The sun, too, was almost artificially perfect. Strong enough that I could feel it against my skin, but not so strong that it felt hot or overbearing.

For a long moment, I didn’t even move. I simply let myself rest in this little bubble of comfort. I figured I was still in a dreaming state, because there was absolutely no way this place could be so perfect in the waking world. I was in no rush to wake up.

Then, someone was purposely shaking me. I grumbled unhappily as I was rudely thrust from my sleep, and squinted my eyes open to give Winona the perfect expression for what I was feeling.

But I was awake now, and everything still felt the same.

I was suddenly wide awake.

I shot to a sitting position, startling the mechanic as I did so. “Where are we?” I demanded. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all.

The grass was vibrantly green and ankle-deep. Thick and healthy like no plant I had seen since leaving home. We were in a sort of natural dip in the ground, surrounded on all sides by brambles that reached up to my knee. When I glanced up, I saw tall, powerful birchnut trees with trunks that spanned upwards of ten feet across, each one laden with deep green leaves and dappled with warm yellow sunlight. The sky was a shade of blue I hadn’t seen in years, cloudless and open. Butterflies in shades of purples, blues, and shimmering golds fluttered curiously close to me, one even perching carefully on my head before I shook it off. Plump little yellow birds chirped from the trees with a gorgeous, trilling song.

It was nothing like anything I had ever seen before. Every inch was picture perfect, as if I had stepped out of a nightmare and into a wonderful daydream. It was such a close rendition of the most beautiful places on Earth that I found myself on the verge of tears as waves of nostalgia swept over me.

“I know, right?” Winona breathed from beside me. I jumped and glanced her way. I had almost entirely forgotten I wasn’t alone. She gave me a murmured apology before turning her attention back towards the scenery. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I don’t like it,” Wilbur growled. The prime ape was a few paces away from us, his fur still ruffled from sleep. He reached a hand out to touch the slant of the ditch and ran his fingers through the grass. “Bright colors are nature’s biggest warning in the jungle.”

“It looks like home,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what Maxwell’s game is, but…” I shook my head. There were no immediate threats as far as I could see. It seemed as if he had finally given up his game of increasingly cold worlds, but that meant he must have had something else up his sleeve. Would the ground start collapsing a few days from now? Maybe everything in the entire land was poisonous? Or maybe hound packs the size of small towns would pounce upon us when we turned our backs. It was an unsettling feeling, where the familiarity of such a place screamed safety, but my instincts prickled with warning.

Nothing could be that easy.

“I am truly hurt that you have such little faith in me.”

I spun around to glare at our captor the second I heard his voice. Wilbur already had his teeth bared at the man, but he managed to keep himself from attacking, which was better than the previous times.

Maxwell had a passive look on his face, as if incredibly bored. He had abandoned his fur coat from a couple of worlds back and replaced it with a simple suit and tie. I wanted to spit on his stupid, pristine dress shoes, and I probably would’ve, too-

If he didn’t have a sleeping Tyler curled up in his arms.

“And here I thought you forgot about us after not showing your face in the last world,” I muttered lowly. I instinctively dropped into a defensive crouch despite lacking any weapon to fight with.

“Put him down, William.” Winona’s voice was thick, strung tight like a rubberband about to snap. Wilbur didn’t say anything, but I doubted he would be able to get any words out from how loudly he was growling.

“I’m not hurting him,” Maxwell said breezily. “In fact, I was simply giving some assistance.” He unceremoniously dropped the hybrid. Wilbur and Winona both immediately leaped forward, but it was Wilbur that caught him. The monkey slid a few feet as he landed before promptly falling flat on his face from overbalancing. Somehow, Tyler remained asleep through it all, likely under some sort of spell. “You didn’t believe he would have no long-term disabilities or illness from his little escapades in the last world, did you? I simply fixed him back up.”

“And why would you do that?” Wilbur hissed between spitting out clumps of dirt.

“I thought it would be obvious.” Maxwell flourished his arms out. A glistening, bright red apple suddenly appeared in his hand, which he then tossed my way. I instinctively caught the fruit without thinking. “Nightmare and I have had many long discussions about what to do with you four.” I felt my shoulders stiffen as a coil of amusement roiled in my gut. “We considered simply killing you. The previous worlds have been winnable, but it wouldn’t be hard to create something that would simply end your lives without contest. But we decided that would just be… unsatisfying. Nightmare referred to death as a reward that you didn’t deserve.” He summoned another apple, this one a flushed pink color. He took a bite of it, chewing slowly as he took us in. “Instead, we decided to offer a truce.”

“A truce?” I blurted. “What do you mean a truce? You’ve held us captive and tortured us for what? Two years now? What truce could you possibly offer?”

Winona pressed one hand on my shoulder as if in warning. I could see the anger boiling in her eyes as well, but she kept her lips tightly sealed.

“The trials, the games, I tire of them.” Maxwell waved his empty hand casually as if doing something as simple as discussing the weather. “It is not your homes you are after, it is safety, correct?”

Wilbur and Winona immediately started arguing this point, their voices overlapping until I couldn’t even understand who was saying what. Honestly, Maxwell was pretty spot on. There really wasn’t anything on Earth I cared too much about. Although it definitely seemed as if my other two companions disagreed. I had a feeling Tyler would agree with me though.

“Here is my offer.” He took another bite of the stupid apple before continuing. “This world has been tailored to be perfect in every way. The seasons never change. The rains only come to provide water to sustain life. Droughts and floods will never occur. Everywhere you look you will find an abundance of rabbits that will come right up to you, berries sweeter than the richest desserts, and beefalo ready to lie down and die. The moon will forever be full, meaning Nightmare will stay far away from this place.” He turned his gaze to each of us in turn. “This land is a paradise.”

I’ll believe it when I see it.

“Then what’s the catch?” Winona demanded.

This is when Maxwell straightened himself up. His eyes lit up with a cool fire, and just for a moment, he looked like the powerful deity he had become instead of the calm, smug man he portrayed himself as.

“You will go no further.”

I raised my brow at him dubiously. Winona crossed her arms, entirely unconvinced if her face had anything to say about it.

Wilbur started laughing uproariously. He laughed so hard he started to clutch his stomach as if a stitch was forming in his side, but even then, he continued to laugh. He pointed a finger towards Maxwell with a look of manic glee on his face. “You’re chickening out!” He mocked. “You little coward! This is rich! The ‘Great and Powerful Maxwell’ dumbed down to a whining little baby! How pathetic of you, Maxwell. What, if we refuse, are you going to get on your hands and knees and start begging like a child begging for candy? Cause I’d love to see it.” Wilbur sneered at our captor.

I paid close attention to Maxwell’s reaction, which is why I noticed the way the man’s fist clenched ever-so-slightly around his apple. When he spoke, however, his voice still had the calm cadence it normally held. “I believe you will grow to forget your stubbornness, once you get soft on the spoils of this world. I have more important business to attend to than this, so I suppose I should wish you luck… but instead, I’ll simply leave you with this.” He finished the apple and tossed the core to the side. It vanished before it even touched the ground. “I do not care about the goings on here. Stay here as long as you want, grow old, start a family, I don’t care. If you decide to break the terms of our truce-” Wilbur muttered harshly under his breath. “-then I will feel nothing but joy at seeing Nightmare tear your corpses apart in Darkness.”

With that ominous line, he vanished, leaving nothing behind but the red apple he had tossed at me. As soon as I noticed I was still holding it, I stuck my tongue out and let it fall to the ground.

“Is he gone?” Tyler suddenly asked from the ground. I whipped my head around to see the boy seemingly wide awake despite the opposite being true just a moment ago. When I gave a short nod, he stretched out his arms and yawned. “Oh thank goodness, I was afraid I was gonna just fall back asleep if he kept monologuing.”

“You were awake that whole time?” Wilbur tipped his head.

“Yup,” Tyler said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “I did not want to deal with him, thank you very much.”

Winona crouched down to talk to him, probably bombarding him with questions about how he felt or whatever. I rolled my eyes and turned away, before promptly finding myself confused about my own irritation.

In the last world, the ice spearing my chest had melted just a bit, making way for the rush of worry that had gripped me after… well, all of that had happened. In fact, I had felt a bit more ‘myself’ in the last world than I had for a while, as if the ice outside had drawn out the ice inside.

But the world was warm, and the sun was gentle, and the ice had returned with full force.

I dug my palms into my eyes, groaning softly. The conversation Wilbur and I had had a few weeks ago now about Nightmare’s influence came back to me.

“There’s something They don’t want you to know. Nightmare’s one weakness. You see, the one thing Nightmare has never been strong enough to conquer… is love.”

Love was something constant, though, not something that waxed and waned like the moon. It was supposed to be something that lasted eternally and without pause. Wilbur’s words made no sense if that was Nightmare’s only weakness. I had been able to feel so worried and soft in the last world, but now it was gone, and all I could do was feel angry about it.

Unless this had nothing to do with Nightmare. Unless there was something else wrong with me, draining my heart and tearing away at my emotions with an ice pick.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even begin to guess what other option there was.

Instead of forcing myself to stew in annoyance, I decided to walk a circle around the area. I looked for a way around the brambles surrounding us, but we were entirely closed in. I sighed and prepared to push my way through the prickly bushes, but before I even touched them, the branches swayed away from my hand and opened a narrow path for me. I stared blankly at it for a long moment.

Had Maxwell seriously made us a magical barrier just to drive his point home?

I rolled my eyes, but internally I couldn’t help but feel grateful for a break. Even if the break was short-lived in the case there really was some terrible catch to this world, at least it was something. We all needed it after everything that had happened up until now.

Outside of the bramble barrier, it was almost more pristine. Wildflowers that I hadn’t seen in years waved in the wind with cheerful brightness. Trees with thick trunks curled over the barrier and over the dip, but other than those, there weren’t as many trees as I was used to seeing in one place. We certainly weren’t in a forest. It was too clean for that. The trees that were there were spaced evenly and kept in distinct shape, not a single leaf or branch out of formation. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that these trees weren’t birchnuts.

I almost wanted to groan at the predictability and simplicity of it all. They were fruit trees.

Other than berries, we hadn’t had much in the way of fruit in quite some time. Certainly not to this extent either. The trees were laden with perfectly ripe fruits of every size, shape, and color. Oranges, lemons, pears, even bananas and more. I watched wearily as one of the bright yellow birds stabbed its beak into one of the oranges, but nothing special happened. The orange didn’t spontaneously combust or suddenly become rotten, and the bird didn’t seem to be poisoned or anything by eating it.

I curiously picked one of the pears and let the fruit sit in my hand. It was plump and slightly squishy to the touch, entirely unassuming in every way.

I returned to the others to share my discovery.

Wilbur snatched the pear from me almost immediately and examined it closely. Tyler hovered over his shoulder, watching quietly as the prime ape turned it in his hands. Wilbur scratched at the skin with one claw, exposing the inside, before giving it a long sniff. There was a moment of silence from the rest of us as we watched his reaction. Apparently finding nothing off, he dug at the flesh with the same claw until he carved a chunk out of it, then popped it in his mouth.

Another long moment of silence.

Then, Wilbur let out a curse and a cry of frustration as he chucked the offending fruit at the nearest tree. “It’s even perfectly ripe!” He shouted. “I HATE this guy!”

“It’s… not poisoned or anything?” Winona asked hesitantly.

“I wish!” Wilbur exclaimed. “At least that would be predictable!”

“Are we taking bets on how long it takes for something awful to happen?” Tyler suggested. He was still sitting on the ground, his gaze fixed on the pear splattered across the tree. “‘Cause I’m going for two days.”

“I wish I knew what his strategy was here,” Winona grumbled. “I’m regretting not talking to him more when he was dating my sister. Maybe I’d know how his mind works a bit better.”

“You act like Maxwell is the same guy he was back then,” Wilbur said. “Even if you did know him, he’s been sitting in the Nightmare Throne for decades. He’s more Them than himself anymore.”

“I guess there’s no use worrying about it now,” I sighed. “Now, we should take advantage of what we have while we have it. If and when Maxwell pulls the rug out from under us, we’ll at least be in better shape than we are right now, right?”

Wilbur immediately perked up at this. “Are you suggesting that it’s feasting time?”

“I’m suggesting that we take stock of what we have and try to make the best of it.” I cracked my knuckles. While the previous world had been more generous in food than its predecessors, it had been so cold that it was almost impossible to hunt. With the current temperature, it would be no issue moving about, especially since we were smack in the middle of a fruit grove.

“I’d like to try that fruit,” Tyler said mildly. I tossed a glance his way, suddenly dubious.

He was acting as if the previous worlds had not happened at all. I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew he was good at hiding himself, but he typically did so by burying himself in indignant anger. This was even more unnatural. Like someone imitating the way a human acts rather than actually knowing how to act.

“You’ve never had a pear?” Winona asked, her eyes wide. Tyler shook his head, and Wilbur shrugged.

“I don’t think they’re native to the Constant,” Wilbur said. “I’ll admit, it’s pretty impressive that Maxy even brought food from your world just to sweeten the deal even more. I’d tear him to shreds if I could, but he’s good at negotiating.”

“And I’d love to say we shouldn’t take handouts from someone like him, but…” I sighed.

“But we kind of need it right now,” Winona finished.

“Alright, it’s settled.” I clapped my hands together and looked around the faces of my group. “We go on a short walk to see what we’re dealing with here, then when we come back we make ourselves a decent meal?”

Winona and Wilbur both nodded in agreement, but they immediately dropped that entire subject the second Tyler started to pull himself to his feet. “I’m fine!” He snapped at the duo. Winona pressed a hand to his shoulder. He hissed at her. “I can get up on my own, you know!”

“Tyler, you almost died,” Wilbur said. His body was tight with nerves, decidedly smarter than Winona by keeping his hands off of the hybrid but infinitely more jumpy than her. “Just rest. I can stay-”

“No!” Tyler bristled. “I’m fine! I feel fine! Just drop it. Don’t talk about it.”

Ah. He was strung tighter than he looked.

Wilbur seemed to shrink into himself, just a bit. “Ty, you-”

“I know. Just… shut up. Just shut up. I don’t want to hear it.” Tyler looked up at me with fire in his eyes. I could almost physically see him force himself to calm down. I could see the way he dragged his shoulders back down and forcibly loosened his jaw.

I shook my head. Still just as stubborn as he had always been. Despite everything we had done this far. Despite how often we already had to drag his stupid behind from death’s door. He was still being difficult. I didn’t say anything.

Once Tyler had successfully forced his body back into a neutral state, he released a stream of air that sounded a lot huffier than he probably intended. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice low with what I assumed to be faux regret. “I just… don’t want to be stuck here, okay?”

Wilbur twitched his tail and growled under his breath. “Fine,” he said shortly. “But just… don’t push yourself. Please. And I know how you don’t want me to say anything…” He lowered his voice so much it was a wonder I was able to hear his words at all. “But we will talk later, okay?”

Tyler’s whiskers twitched, but he seemed to accept the terms of this for now at least.

I’d have to say something to Wilbur again. We had an entire discussion about letting the kid make his own stupid decisions just yesterday and the monkey was already dropping that promise. If the others weren’t looking at me, I probably would’ve started massaging the space between my eyebrows to quell the irritation simmering inside of my skull. Instead, I simply gave a thin-lipped smile. “Off we go, then.”

Contrary to my dubious initial reaction, the others seem to show a little bit of excitement at the sight of all of the fruits being offered to us. Winona’s eyes widened and I could hear the breath leave her chest in a rush. Tyler seemed a bit uneasy, a bit curious. He hovered uncomfortably away from the rest of us, a couple of feet to the side, but the minuscule distance wasn’t enough to hide with wonder and hunger glittering in his eyes.

Wilbur was much more vocal.

“Oh my me!” He shouted as he rushed forward, seemingly forgetting about his frustration entirely. “Bananas! Oh Maxy, you do know the way to a prime ape’s heart!” He tore up one of the trees and almost immediately returned with a bunch clasped in his hand. “Ty, you are about to experience the blessed world of fruit.”

“Careful, Wilbur!” Winona called. “Remember, we don’t know what Maxwell is planning. There could be traps anywhere.”

“To trap a banana tree would be a sin,” the monkey responded with conviction.

Outside of the orchard, flat grassland rolled out for miles. Gentle swoops of land provided small amounts of wind resistance, but it was enough given how gentle the breeze was. Dozens of plump rabbits dozed in sunbeams or nibbled sleepily on plush grass. Bushes dotted the landscape, each one heavy with bright red berries.

It all looked so unassuming, which meant something terrible had to be cooking under the surface. “I don’t like this,” I muttered. There didn’t seem to be anything noticeably wrong. I didn’t see any hounds or giants, the rabbits looked entirely unconcerned, nothing seemed different than what you would expect with a perfect world.

Tyler looked the most excited about this development. I could almost see him drooling as he stared down the peaceful animals. Of course he would be more concerned with the sight of meat than how suspicious all of this was. He was a predator, and his mere existence was a testament to a spider’s lack of critical thinking skills. If he saw an easy meal, he would take it.

“Okay, I’m going to be honest,” Winona sighed. I glanced at her to see that she had her hands perched on her hips, her face creased into a scowl. “I’m starting to get a headache from the whiplash of emotions. I want to be really suspicious but this is a lot of work for someone to go through just to trick us.” She pinched her nose and gathered her words. “I think this offer is genuine.”

“You think that Maxwell is getting scared?” I said.

“Oh yeah.” She nodded. “This is a last ditch effort if I’ve ever seen one. He doesn’t want us going any further.”

“I always knew that Maxwell was a coward,” Wilbur scoffed. “But he’s also extremely intelligent. He hasn’t done anything to outright kill us yet, and I don’t think this will be different.” He hummed under his breath as he studied the grass beneath our feet. “Yeah. I think this is a bribe.”
“So we take advantage of it,” Tyler said. “Get what we can out of here and leave.” His claws twitched.

“Precisely.” Wilbur gave a little smirk as he gazed at our surroundings. He nodded slowly. “Oh yeah. I think I could make something real nice with all of this. If you guys think food tasted good before, just wait until I have a bit of everything. Nightmare itself is going to be asking for seconds.”

Any further exploration yielded nothing but more of the same. Water so clear we could see the riverbeds fifteen feet down, prey so content you could reach out and pet it, and yellow birds singing cheerful songs high above our heads. It was so clean and perfect, which is exactly why it was so unnatural. And yet, the idea had solidified in all of our minds that Maxwell was actually speaking the truth for once. This was a bribe to force us to stay. For whatever reason, he didn’t want us to go further, and we had proven ourselves capable of pushing through terrible obstacles. He was running out of ideas.

On the one hand, it was good that his last-ditch attempt was something too good to let go instead of something even worse than before. I wasn’t sure any of us could survive another winter, especially the youngest of our group with his knack for getting into every life or death situation possible.

On the other hand, it meant he was getting desperate, and a desperate malevolent overlord was much, much more terrifying than a smug one. I was sure that if we continued to push forward despite Maxwell’s wishes, he would make us regret it.

And we had gotten this far. There wasn’t any way we were stopping now.

But that meant we had to be ready for whatever he was planning next. It meant that a trap could be sprung at any moment.

Night came early, but it was just as ideal and benign as everything else so far. The moon was so full and bright that the entire world was illuminated in silver moonlight. The air tasted of morning dew, and little bats fluttered through the air.

I was having trouble sleeping, my mind running rampant with thoughts and concerns. I wanted to keep an ear out for anything wrong, but I knew that I would need to sleep in order to remain on top of my game. And so, I simply lay as still as I could, closely monitoring my breaths and counting in my head to distract myself from all of the theories I didn’t want to think about.

As I was finally starting to drift off, gentle voices reached my ears. I strained to listen to them, but they kept themselves mere whispers, barely even loud enough for me to hear let alone understand. I cracked open one eye just a bit to see the offenders to see the two animals of the group huddled together. I mentally rolled my eyes. I should’ve figured it would’ve been them.

Considering everything that had happened the past couple of days, perhaps I should have listened in to make sure everything was okay. Instead, I really was just more irritated that they were disturbing my sleep. So, instead of trying to interject myself in a conversation that I wasn’t a part of, I instead simply rolled over and squeezed my eyes even tighter shut.

My chest ached from the effort of caring so much recently, and I figured I was more than overdue on a break from it. Perhaps, in another state of mind, I would’ve cared more about this development.

Instead, I simply found myself cursing the new ache for its part in making it harder to sleep.

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 88. Forgiveness - Part 2

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

Webber’s POV

My mind was tearing itself apart.

The worst part about that statement was that I didn’t even know for sure if it actually was or not. It was possible, at this stage, that there was no exaggeration or lie to that line. Webber had grown so much stronger as of late that fighting him was beginning to become a constant battle, and I had exhausted so much of myself subduing him in the days before that I was growing weak. A constant headache thrummed behind my eyes, something that grew exponentially every time I even thought about Maxwell or the Teleportato.

The outward result was a strange sort of mania. Wilbur and Winona knew that I was acting strange, but I could tell that neither of them wanted to push it too far. They had already tried, and I had already snapped at the both for caring enough to notice. I was trapped in a terrible hybrid of mania and depression, and my mind and heart were tearing at the seams because of it.

Saliva pooled in the bottom of my mouth as I stared at the abundance of clueless rabbits just twenty feet away from me. Already, my mind was scrambling to run the calculations- how fast could they get back up and get to full speed, how quickly could I chase them, would I be able to hunt as normal or did I need to sneak up and pounce? I could feel my stomach growling at the thought of raw meat and blood, and my fangs ached with the urge to bite and tear. The smell was intoxicating, all warmth and sleep and pounding blood. I had seen so many rabbit hearts at this point. Little things, so small they could be crushed like a berry. They pounded so quickly to make up for their size that the rabbits ended up incredibly fragile. They would bleed out in seconds if hit in the right spot. It would be cleaner to break their necks, but-
I sucked a harsh breath in between my teeth and violently shook my head. I was panting now, every single muscle and tendon in my body strung tight and ready to snap. When the others turned away to continue exploring, I was able to drag my eyes away from them without giving into the instincts. Even if it caused my chest to heave with the effort, and my stomach to howl in agony as I denied it its easy meal.

I was falling apart. I could feel my mind turning to sand in my hands. The reins I held on to so tightly were slick with sweat and blood and I was beginning to lose my grip.

“Yeah, I think this is a bribe,” Wilbur said.

I turned my gaze to him and swallowed heavily before responding. The last thing I wanted to do was drool like a baby.

“So we take advantage of it,” I responded carefully. My tongue felt clumsy in my mouth. “Get what we can out of here and leave.” I felt my claws twitch despite my attempts to keep them still. I couldn’t tell if Webber was actively pushing at me again- it didn’t feel like it- but the arachnid instincts were coiling through my bones anyway.

I was splitting. Shattering. Dissolving. Whatever you want to call it. Caught in a tug-of-war of minds where the rope was frayed dangerously thin.

Maxwell had told the truth about the night. The moon was plump and round and in all honesty, we didn’t really even need a fire to keep the darkness at bay. It was simply an unspoken agreement to start one nonetheless, likely as a sense of comfort for all four of us. It had been so long since the darkness was considered safe to any of us, and I was sure nobody was willing to risk it just to test Maxwell’s boundaries.

I initially fell asleep relatively easily, but my sleep was light and restless. Blurry nightmares swirled behind my eyelids, each one different and more realistic, yet they would fade the second I opened my eyes. Upon my third violent start awake, I finally gave up.

I was no stranger to putting off sleep until I was too tired for nightmares. It just sucked that I would have to do that in a world that seemed perfectly designed for resting.

Wilbur didn’t seem to have even tried to sleep. He had raided the orchard at some point and now sat in front of a wide array of foodstuffs. Berries, bananas, the thing the others had called a ‘pear’, and a million other ones I couldn’t even name. Many of them had a single bite taken out of them before being carefully categorized into small circles around him.

“What are you doing?” I asked the prime ape quietly. I kept my voice as low as possible to prevent waking my companions. At least they should be able to get some proper rest.

Wilbur twitched his tail, but didn’t startle. He must have already known I was awake. “Testing,” he whispered back. “I don’t recognize a lot of these so I’m trying to get their tastes down.” He waved his hands towards his circles without looking at them. “Separating them. Sweet, sour, bitter, rich, subtle, you know.” Though he spoke in a calm voice, I could see the stiffness of his shoulders forming. He kept taking deeper breaths as if to speak before deciding against it and going back to what he was doing.

I’m annoying him.

No, he’s wanting to talk.

I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about any of it with anyone.

I knew it was a foolish wish to hope that nobody would talk about the attempt on my life. Of course they would want to know about it, what happened, why I snapped. They deserved to know, so they could understand why they shouldn’t have saved me. Even without taking into account my unraveling mind and my tendencies towards violence, Nightmare had branded me and was apparently dedicated entirely to making me his new host.

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. I would have to start this conversation. Nothing would go back to normal until I did… and even then, who knew how long they’d keep me on suicide watch? How long would they chain my arms and legs and force me to stay in their sights, just so I don’t try to kill myself again? My stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. I felt sick at the thought.

I couldn’t try again. I didn’t want to know what Nightmare would do if it caught me again.

“We can talk,” I said softly. I didn’t meet Wilbur’s eyes, even though he turned to look at me. Instead, I swiped up the pear from the ground and closely examined the fruit. This one didn’t have any bite marks yet, although that was likely because Wilbur already knew how they tasted from his test earlier. Wilbur was still tense, and even without looking I could feel the conflict twisting his face. “I know you want to say something. Just say it.”

“Why did you do it?”

I sighed. It was exactly the thing I was expecting him to ask, and yet the last thing I wanted to answer. Not just because of the implications of whatever answer I gave him, but because there were so many possible answers. It wasn’t just one reason. It was so many different reasons stacked on top of each other that it felt like the only way out. “That’s… a hard question to answer.”

“Can you try, then?” His voice was gentle. I finally looked up to meet his eyes. Wilbur gave me a soft smile as I did.

“There’s so many answers to that, Wilbur.” I shook my head. “At this point… there are more reasons for me to die than there are for me to stay alive.” I sank my teeth into the pear and immediately reeled back in surprise. It was much softer than I was imagining, with a gentle sweetness and a strange texture I wasn’t sure I had ever experienced before. It seemed to suck the water from my mouth, but it was good enough for me to not care about that.

“Then give them to me one by one, and we can talk about all of them.”

I nodded. That sounded reasonable. I took another bite of the pear, considering my next words as I chewed. The first thing to say. “I was scared,” I whispered. “That I had finally snapped. I hurt you so bad and I… didn’t even realize what I was doing. I thought that I had finally broken irreparably and that Tyler was going to be… no more. I promised myself a long time ago that if I thought Webber was about to win, I would destroy this body so that he couldn’t. And then I attacked you, and I was so scared…”

“That wasn’t Webber,” Wilbur said. “And it wasn’t you. What happened was I accidentally triggered a defensive response from you, and you reacted accordingly.” I looked away. I had already heard this speech from him. Still, though, he nudged my head until I turned back to him. Wilbur tipped his head slightly. “Your eyes were scared. It was a panic attack, Ty. It wasn’t anything either of you could have helped.”

The prime ape was full of it, but I knew this wasn’t going to go anywhere. He had already tried to get me to understand this once and it had only made me feel worse. “I… have been hurting,” I continued on my list. “For a long time now. My entire body always aches. My hand cramps when it gets cold, and my ears hurt when things get too loud or too quiet. And it’s always one or the other. When my body doesn’t hurt, I can’t stop thinking of everything, and thinking about how useless I am-” my claws curled into my legs. “And how helpless I am. How I don’t even know what I am anymore, or what my purpose is. The Ancient Guardian called me the Young Heir. The mural called me the Martyr. Nightmare called me the Host-”

“Nightmare?” Wilbur pressed, suddenly much more alert. “Nightmare… when did…?”

“When I…” I found my words dying on my tongue. I couldn’t spit it out, even though it was teetering right behind my teeth. I swallowed hard and tried again. “When my… heart… stopped beating. It talked to me. It said that… it wouldn’t let me die. Because in order for someone to die, it has to take them across a veil. And it wouldn’t…”

“You were in Checkmate!?” Wilbur cried, and I immediately had to hush him. He did quiet back down, but his eyes were still huge. “Why was Nightmare there? You didn’t see Charlie or the Mar… um… your brother?”

I slowly shook my head. I didn’t even think about seeing either of them, although now that the thought was in my head, I felt even worse.

“Nightmare told me that it was the only thing that could kill me,” I whispered. “It said that I was its host once, a long time ago. So now I just-” I took in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.” Tears rose in my eye but were quickly absorbed by the fur below it. I wiped my wrist against my cheek nonetheless in an attempt to hide the sudden dampness. “I thought I was the Martyr, Wilbur. I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought it was what the world wanted me to do. Tenacity, the ability to do what’s best for other people. Integrity, the strength to push past my doubts. I thought that… that was what the world was telling me. To fulfill the role of the Martyr so you could go on.” But then, I groaned and pressed my hands against my face. “No, I’m lying. I wasn’t even thinking that when I first ran off. But it’s what I told myself to justify it…”

“Do you know what it was you were justifying?”

“My selfishness,” I said softly. “I was justifying my selfishness.”

Wilbur was quiet for a moment. I finished off the pear and drew my knees towards my chest, before pressing my cheek against them and looking away.

“I know. All of that about the greater good and trying to do the right thing… when really I was just so selfish. I didn’t care what anyone would think about it. I didn’t even think about you guys. All I was thinking about was myself.”

“Ty, you’re… allowed to think about yourself, you know. That doesn’t make you selfish.” Wilbur inched closer, his tail gently wrapping around my wrist. I didn’t react to the touch. “Especially when you’re hurting like this.”

“And yet I just made it worse.”

Wilbur wavered slightly, which I took as evidence that he agreed. Another sigh left my chest, bringing with it a fresh wave of tears. I didn’t wipe them away this time. Instead, I simply let them saturate the fur on my cheek.

“Tyler, I… can’t deny. Hurting yourself more doesn’t help anything.” He gently touched one of the spots on my left arm, where just a day before there were bloody, weeping wounds clawed across by my own hand. They had all but vanished now as a result of Maxwell’s tampering. I still didn’t like the idea of the man having any contact with me, but I couldn’t deny, waking up without some deadly illness spawned from hypothermia was a treat I wasn’t expecting. “But nobody is mad at you for it. You’re hurting, and sometimes, when you hurt, you feel the need to punish yourself for it.”

“It’s stupid,” I muttered, because to me, it really was. What normal person would make themselves hurt even more when they’re already hurting? I was sick, stupid, filthy-

“It’s not stupid,” Wilbur immediately argued. “And none of us think you are stupid. You’re sick, Ty, nobody will blame you for that. We all just want to see you get better. We love you more than you know.”

“Wilson doesn’t.”

Immediately, I wasn’t sure why I said it. Wilbur was doing nothing but trying to help me, and all I could do was remain painfully stubborn and refute everything he said. Wilbur had no control over Wilson’s actions, why even bring it up?

“Wilson doesn’t-”

“Wilson would be happier,” I spat. “If I died that night. You can’t say you all love me when you can’t speak for the others.”

“Fine.” Wilbur straightened his back and pulled his tail back, curling it over his feet. “Then I’ll only speak for myself.”

“Don’t,” I said. “Just-”

“I love you,” he started. “Because you feel to me like the son I never had. I want to see you happy and healthy. I want to see you get out of this mess because I want to be able to officially adopt my spider son and raise him to understand just how loved he is.”

“Shut up,” I protested weakly.

“I want to go back to the Archipelago one day, with you in tow and settle down on the beach. I want to show you everything you need to know to make every meal I’ve ever learned. I wish more than anything else that I had the ability to introduce you to Roselyn and Elizabeth, because I know for sure they would accept you as part of the family in a heartbeat.” Wilbur was growing visibly agitated. “But since that’s not going to happen, I’m going to set aside a day where we can go visit Roselyn’s grave so I can let her properly meet you. In fact, we could set aside a day every year to mourn for the people we’ve lost in a healthy manner- together. You’re going to get better, and on the day when I see you smile all the way without any hint of tension or fear, we’ll learn how to make pie together and celebrate. You’ll get to grow up and learn everything about what it means to be happy. You and I, one day, will look back at these times with nostalgia, but we won’t miss it, because things’ll be so much better. I’ll never see your ribs showing again from starvation, or a glimmer of fear in your eyes, or the slightest shake of nerves.

“I’ll show you how to properly play in the ocean. I’ll show you how to climb trees and where the best spots for sun are and how to tell if a banana is ripe or not. When you have nightmares about this time of your life, you’ll wake up only to realize you’re no longer in danger. You’ll be able to sleep peacefully knowing that no one will ever hurt you again. And when you’re struggling really badly, you’ll wake me up and we’ll make stew together.” There was a fervent passion in his eyes. His words poured out without pause or consideration. “You’ll grow up. One day, it will all be okay. I promise. God, Ty, I promise one day, it will all be okay. It’s okay to not be okay now because it won’t last forever. We can all get through this together, and after that, you’ll receive all the years of care and love you missed out on. You will have a childhood, Ty. I will make sure of it.”

I couldn’t decipher what I was feeling at that moment. I could sense the love practically pouring out of Wilbur at this point, but it simply settled on my skin instead of sinking any further. True, my body seemed to react in turn to his words as weary sobs tore through my chest, but my heart stuttered uncomfortably as it struggled to contain the meanings.

“Shut up,” I hissed, because it was all I could manage. “Shut up, shut up, just stop talking.” It hurt. It hurt so bad to hear someone talk about a hypothetical future of mine that I knew I was never going to get. No matter what my role was, I was never destined to grow up. I would never live the life that Wilbur was promising. The closer we got to Maxwell, the closer I marched to my inevitable end. Whether that end was death as the Martyr, the Nightmare Throne as the Young Heir, or Nightmare itself as the Host. ‘After’ did not exist for me.

The prime ape leaned forward and pulled me into a hug. My mind immediately screamed a protest, told me to fight him off, but the rest of me didn’t listen. I folded into him, curling into as small of a shape as possible. Wilbur was soft, his fur finer and softer than my own. Even though I was taller than him standing up, I felt impossibly small in his embrace. I could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and real. Alive. Here, right now.

“You shouldn’t have to go through any of this,” Wilbur murmured softly. “You’re just a kid.”

“Nobody should have to,” I protested, although my words were so slurred I wasn’t sure if he could even understand them. I sniffed loudly to clear my nose and pulled away so that he could hear my next sentence better. “I’m not special just because I’m younger.”

“No,” Wilbur agreed calmly. “But Wilson, Winona and I have had entire lives before this. We had time with our families, time to fall in love, even time for me to have a family of my own. We’ve already lived lives.” A gentle caress to my head, parting the matted fur and gently freeing tangles and clumps. “So let us fight for the ability for you to have a life as well.”

I couldn’t respond. What was I supposed to say to that? He was right. I knew Wilson and Winona were both at least in their mid twenties. I was fairly certain Winona was older than him- maybe thirties? And I knew very well that Wilbur was many thousands of years old. Next year, I will have spent over half of my life as a disgusting, violent, hated hybrid. I had never known the things Wilbur talked about. I didn’t know what it felt like to fall in love, or how it felt to learn math and music under teachers. I barely even remembered what it felt like to sleep in a bed, let alone the tender experience of having a parent put you to sleep.

Even though I knew it was still a life that would never be mine, I let myself indulge in the thought. Of what it would be like to go to the Archipelago and forget any of this ever happened. I would miss my companions, though. And, however much I loved Wilbur, he wasn’t my biological father. I hadn’t seen my real father in so long that I had almost forgotten his face. In fact, when I tried to think of it, all I could see is harsh, gray eyes and a knife-

“You know,” Wilbur suddenly said, his voice still gentle but taking on an entirely different note. A more playful one. “Did I ever tell you about when my daughter was born?”

The change of subject was obvious and direct. I almost protested the very thought of it, but then I remembered his past suggestions to remember the good as well as the bad. So, I simply shook my head without removing my face from his shoulder.

“Oh yeah. It was an ordeal. Roselyn didn’t tell me until like, a week afterwards.”

I sniffed again. “Why not?”

“Oh, a few reasons,” the prime ape chuckled. “For one, my kind is sort of infamous for the fact that males like to kill their offspring. She wanted to be at full strength before telling me, in case she had to fight me off.”

“...did she have to?”

Wilbur scoffed. His claws gently scratched through the fur on my head in a soothing motion. My eyes flickered as they started to grow heavy. “No, but she had good reason to think she would. Liz was, like, smaller than your head when I met her for the first time. You think me the type to kill babies?”

“Maybe,” I responded, causing Wilbur to furiously muss up my fur.

“I would not,” he huffed. Then, he paused. “Well…”

I sat up abruptly, wiping at my cheek as I stared at him. “What did you do?”

Now that Wilbur’s claws were free, he moved them to the back of his own head. “Well- see, um, she tried to tell me before. Quite a while before, actually.”

“But…?”

“But I had a panic attack over the idea,” he said awkwardly. “I freaked out so bad that I had her pinned to the ground before she managed to snap me out of it. I beat myself up for months afterwards.”

I suddenly understood why he decided to tell me this story. I found myself shaking ever-so-slightly and swallowing hard before continuing. “How… how did she…?”

“React?” Wilbur finished with a knowing smirk. “Well, obviously she was scared of me for some time. But one day, I sat her down and explained that I had abusive parents, and asking me about parenthood made me immediately remember them. I thought about myself in my father’s situation and then I remembered my own childhood and… well, yeah. I panicked. Once I told her all of that, I could almost see the tension drain out of her shoulders. She understood what happened and that I didn’t intend to harm her or Liz. She forgave me.”

“She just… forgave you? Like that?”

“Of course.” He shrugged loosely. “I didn’t permanently harm her, and it wasn’t like I purposely did it. I just panicked and my body reacted in turn.” Then, Wilbur tipped his head. “Sound familiar?”

I turned my gaze away from him. At this point, my eyes had dried up, and all that was left was a deep sense of guilt… but also relief. This entire time, I thought Wilbur was just throwing me a bone by not hating me after I attacked him. With the clarity that he had been through the exact same situation before, and came out the other side still loved by the one he hurt…

“I’m… I’m so sorry for attacking you,” I whispered.

“I know you are, Ty. And I accept your apology. I knew what I was getting into when I took you under my wing. And you know what?”

I hummed.

“You are a lot stronger than I initially expected.”

I couldn’t help the little scoff that escaped my chest. “What in the world were you expecting then?”

“A wet little kitten that can’t hold his own in a fight,” Wilbur immediately teased. I chuckled wetly, even as the prime ape sobered up. “You’re stronger than you think you are. And you are more loved than you think you are. Believe me when I tell you that. We’re here for you, whatever it is you go through. And if some mean ol’ spider tries to control you, then we’ll fight that together, okay? No more of this… trying to fight him off yourself. You have our undying support.”

Normally, during these sappy moments, I forced any words thrown at me to simply bounce off my skin and go unheeded. No matter how many times they told me the exact same things, I refused to really believe any of it. Even when they showed their care and love with every inch of their being, I rejected it. I rejected myself

This time, though, I let the words in. I let them in through the cracks of chitin and let them swirl somewhere in my stomach. One day, maybe, they would reach my chest and start to break away at everything I held in there, but for now, this was as good of a start as any.

“Wilbur,” I said calmly. He tipped his head at me and gave a short motion to continue. “I think I’m about to have a breakdown, but after that, can you show me a new recipe?”

“You can’t just blow past that!” The prime ape exclaimed, but he wasted no time in dragging me back towards his embrace. By the time I even really felt the tears rise in my eye, he was already carefully carding his claws through the shaggy fur on my head.

I should have felt guilty for making him deal with this yet again, but not once did he even hint that he minded. He simply murmured soothing phrases over and over again until I finally passed out from exhaustion.

I didn’t have any more dreams that night.

…

It was the gentle brush of the sun against my eyelids that woke me up. I muttered incoherently in protest as if the celestial body would listen to my arguments as to why I should get to sleep longer, but predictably, it ignored me. I stretched out my limbs, and my joints popped as they shifted back into their proper places. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so rested.

Hearing the murmurs of my companions a few feet away, I finally dragged my eye open to see their activities for the day.

Some part of me expected to see the trio hunched over sketches in the dirt and discussing how to move forward. I expected to see them with serious faces and low voices, maybe even talking about me or the conversation I had with Wilbur last night.

Instead, I saw what was immediately a confusing sight. Wilson sat with his legs crossed, one hand placed on his chin as he considered an array of foodstuff. Different types of meat, ones I immediately recognized as rabbit, bird, even beefalo despite how strange it was that they were able to hunt and skin a beefalo before I even woke up. There were also the variety of strange fruits Wilbur had been sorting through yesterday, maybe even a couple of new ones that I didn’t recognize. I also spotted some vegetables in the bunch. Honestly, to see so much food in one place was stunning.

Winona’s hair was loose, freed from the headband she typically wore to keep it back. It was strange to see her like that, with black strands framing her face and constantly falling into her eyes. The headband, actually, was currently tied over Wilbur’s eyes as the prime ape patted his hands against the ground.

As I watched, Winona and Wilson both selected a random item from their selection before offering it to the blindfolded Wilbur. He took them immediately and popped both items in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Beefalo,” he said immediately. “Tastes a lot like the water beefalo at home but it’s a lot richer. More… peaty.”

“Yup,” Winona said with a nod that he couldn’t even see. “What about the other one?”

He took a bit longer on that, clearly thinking extremely hard before finally answering: “I think that was what you called a peach. Really soft, juicy, sweet. I nearly choked on the seed last night.”

Wilson leaned back and whistled. “Are you sure this is your first experience with these fruits?”

“Most of them,” Wilbur said with a shrug. “You might just say I have a distinguished palate.”

“...uh, guys?” I spoke up, catching their attention immediately.

“Hey, Ty!” Wilbur called cheerfully. “I’m proving my innate abilities to these scrubs.”

“Extremely long story short, he said that he could identify any food that he’s tasted at least once and we decided to make him prove it.” Winona waved one hand at the arrangement.

“We’ve had an abundance of food for one day and you’re already playing with it?” I asked dubiously as I came to join them.

“This is not play, it is an experiment,” Wilson mumbled. His demeanor had immediately soured in my presence. “And it’s not wasting anything if it’s being eaten.”

“Do you wish to challenge the king of the palate?” Wilbur opened his arms and grinned devilishly. “Cause you will lose; I guarantee it.”

“Shouldn’t we be… doing something productive?” I said. “Planning our steps forward? Deciding what to do next?”

“All that’s left to do right now is wait,” Winona pointed out. “There’s nothing we can really do until either Maxwell shows his hand or we get what we need to advance, so…”

Wilbur pushed his makeshift blindfold up, revealing brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “So I think that means we have real down time for the first time in forever!”

“If you want to do something productive, we could train.” Winona leaned back on her hands, turning her face up to the sky. “How well do you actually know how to use your sword, hmm?”

“You say that like any of us are swordfighters,” Wilson huffed. “And he’s left-handed.” He motioned towards me. “Even if one of us knew how to properly swordfight, it’s not like he would be able to get very good at it.”

I recognized a challenge when I heard it, even if it wasn’t intentional. I swiped my sword from the ground and leveled it at the scientist’s chest, teeth bared. “Remind me, who was it that mutilated my hand? I seem to have forgotten.”

“And you just took it. Maybe if you had fought back-”

“I’ll fight back now, Wilson. I’d be more than happy to give you matching scars.”

An ember had lit in my chest. Fury and heat, setting my muscles ablaze with tension. My fighting skills had gotten rusty, but my body still knew the stance. The fire was controlled in a way that it hadn’t been in a long time. White-hot, yes, but low and even. Not the kind of fire that would demolish forests in its brilliance, but the flame used to temper a sword. Growing hotter every moment but willing the metal to expand, to strengthen, to forge.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Winona take a step forward as if to intervene. Before I even had the chance to hiss at her, though, to push her back, Wilbur was stopping her with a hand on her leg. She hesitated, her eyes wavering with uncertainty, but the prime ape shook his head. He was beaming.

“Get a weapon,” I growled, low and threatening.

The scientist scoffed. “You have to be kidding me. You think that beating me up is going to make you feel any better?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I shrugged without moving the sword. “But I’m always willing to try new things.” I nudged it forward until the point rested against his sternum. “And unlike someone, I wouldn’t brutalize an unarmed opponent.”

My senses felt enhanced. I could feel every fur on my face as the wind teased it. My whiskers trembled at every change and movement around me. My vision was clear, colors bright and vibrant and every line impossibly sharp and focused. I could hear the low, steady thump of my heart in my chest, the rhythm only slightly higher than usual as it prepared my muscles for a fight. My breaths were slow and deep, each inhale bringing in a million new scents and each exhale forcing out a million old ones.

And yet, for a long moment, neither of us moved. Wilson may have doubted that I wouldn’t attack an unarmed opponent, and in a way that was a lie, but there was a difference between attacking and brutalizing someone. I was not the kind of person who would take a knife to someone with no intention of fighting back. I would not be the kind of person he was.

Wilbur was the one to break the stalemate, but not by dousing the fire. Instead, he broke it by tossing Wilson what looked to be a makeshift spear, much like the ones we used to use to fight back when it was just Wilson, WX, and I. I kept myself still, my eyes traced on every movement of muscle as Wilson took the crude weapon. He seemed almost uncomfortable with it, as if he, too, had forgotten what it was like to hold a spear. His hands opened and closed on it a few times, clearly trying to find his grip.

I was patient, though. I would let him get his footing.

When we used to spar, all that time ago, we typically had the same kind of weapon. Crude spears, made of flint and grass and whatever sturdy sticks we could find. I had held my own back then, knowing my companions’ strengths and weaknesses by heart. Wilson was calculating, the most skillful I would argue. He caught on quickly to using different weapons in different ways, but he wasn’t as heavy of a hitter as WX.

He also wasn’t nearly as fast as I was.

I was small, even smaller back then than I was now. I had grown a lot over the past two years. And while Wilson may have forgotten some of his strategy, I never lost my speed

And right now, facing against each other, Wilson had the advantage of working with his dominant hand with a familiar weapon, but I had the advantage of a well-crafted sword.

Wilson caught me off guard when he attacked first. I could see the gears turning in his head as his old prowess came back to him in trickles.

He swung the spear in an arc, aiming more towards the sword than myself as if attempting to immediately disarm me. My muscles instinctively jerked and I took a single step back. I grasped the hilt with both hands and forced the sword against his attack.

Wilson had noticeably grown stronger since the last time we sparred. The force behind the swing was harsher than usual, but now that I had a good feeling for it, I would be able to face it.

After all, most of my early fights had been with the strongest of all of us.

Wilson was visibly startled at the block and my ability to keep a hold of my sword. Forcing my own strength against his own, I managed to push the spear back up until he stumbled.

The fire was doused almost as soon as it had lit, but every sword must be smothered in water. It’s part of the forging process.

Wilson spun his spear until it landed in his opposite hand, movements precise and quick. The muscles in his arm twitched, cluing me into his next attack before he even properly made it. Light as ever on my feet, I ducked under the spear and slid towards his left.

As soon as his eyes turned to face me, and just as he was gaining control over his swing, I feinted towards his right and shoved the butt of the sword into his stomach. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, but his recovery was almost immediate. Before I had the opportunity to dodge again, he landed his own hit against my side. My blind side. I hissed without really meaning to.

Oh, he was playing dirty.

The edge of the spearhead pierced through the skin on my hip, leaving a thin trickle of blood in its place. The pain was meager, though, barely enough to even slow me down.

I jumped back out of his range before he could land another hit. My heart was pounding now. Every inch of my body was attuned to the familiarity of battle.

With the knowledge that he was now playing dirty, I let my sword hang at my side as I snapped forward and sunk my fangs into his dominant arm. His pained shout hurt my ears, but I refused to release him until my teeth went deep enough for blood to flow from the wound.

I dropped back again, hunched low to the ground to keep my center of gravity low in case he tried to retaliate. I kept my face angled to one side, keeping his entire body in my main vision at all times.

Predictably, Wilson had dropped the spear as soon as I bit him. He was now clutching his injured arm, teeth gritted in pain and eyes alight with anger. He muttered something lowly, but I didn’t care to know what sour things he was saying about me. He had been disarmed, and he wasn’t even really in a defensive position anymore.

With these details taken into account, I rushed him one final time, sword held ready and prepared for a winning blow. He didn’t even seem to realize that I intended to finish the fight instead of dropping it as soon as he was injured.

Every muscle alight with fire, every tendon vibrating with energy, every cell in my body crying out for the conclusion, I pulled my arm back.

And with the ease of smothering the metal in the water it was tempered in, I plunged the blade deep into Wilson’s stomach.

For a long, long moment, he stared blankly at me. His eyes darted between the sword slicing through skin and viscera like nothing and the hybrid that held it. Like he couldn’t comprehend something that, under any other circumstance, would have been a killing blow.

I was smarter than that, though. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would kill him.

“Dead,” I said simply, withdrawing the sword. As predicted, it came out clean, leaving nothing but a tear in his shirt and intact, undamaged skin. I twirled my sword in my hand for a moment before pressing the tip of it into the ground, grinning wildly up at the scientist, who still didn’t seem to comprehend what just happened.

So, Wilbur had the first reaction.

“That was awesome!” The prime ape shouted as he bounded towards me. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me violently, laughing all the while. “You totally creamed him!”

His laughter was contagious. Soon, mirth was rising in my chest, and I couldn’t help but let out an embarrassing giggle at his excitement.

“That- that was cheap!” Wilson protested. His brain finally seemed to realize that he wasn’t dying after being eviscerated, so he turned his anger to the fact I bit him instead. “You can’t even win a fight without biting someone!”

“Maybe you’re just a sore loser,” I shot back. Honestly, I was too buoyed by my victory to even feel upset about how it was achieved. “You have teeth. You could’ve bit me. I just got to it first.”

“Wilson’s a sore loser!” Wilbur sang, giving my shoulders another little shake.

“I’m not a sore loser,” he snapped. “I was under the impression we were having a fair fight-”

“And you blew it by going for my blind side,” I finished for him. “If you’re allowed to play dirty, so am I.”

“An enemy isn’t going to care about whether you have a blind side or not!”
“And an enemy wouldn’t argue about a fight being unfair because they got bit.” I waved one hand, effectively brushing off the issue. “You might want to treat that, by the way. I don’t know if I still have anything in my mouth leftover from Webber’s monster meat fiasco, and it’d be a shame if it got infected.”

While the scientist was clearly still angry, he did drop the argument to go treat his newly acquired wound. I checked the scratch I had received from his attack, and though it was still bleeding sluggishly, it didn’t appear to go very deep.

“You guys could’ve hurt each other really badly,” Winona said. I turned to face her and tipped my head. “I mean… you stabbed him. That could’ve ended poorly if it wasn’t with your sword…”

“Ah, give him this, Winona,” Wilbur said before I could respond. “The kid just stood up to his bully and absolutely demolished him.”

“If Wilson can’t handle fighting someone half his size, I’d be more concerned about his ability to survive basic threats than whether the half-pint went too far.”

“Half-pint!” Wilbur repeated in a shout. He pumped his fist in the air and shouted it as a chant. “Half-pint! Half-pint!”

“I know how to use my sword,” I said, knowing full well that she would protest further if I didn’t clarify that. “I know what my sword can and can’t do. I’ve seen it work before. There’s a reason I used it instead of any other weapon. I could’ve done so much worse with a spear. Trust me, I was in control of my actions, and I knew what I was doing.”

“Eat it, Webber. My boy can fight like a spider with or without you!”

Winona sighed, but it seemed more fond than upset this time. “Just… please be careful. I know he’s not… great to you. But I don’t want to know what would happen if one of us got too injured.”

“I understand.” I nudged her, simply incapable of letting the grin drop from my face. “I’ve got no reason to stab him again, anyway. It’s just getting even for when he stabbed me.”

Wilbur hip-checked me with a glitter in his eye. “That is something he did,” he concluded. “All is fair in love, war, and vengeance.”

The last bit of laughter left my chest in a soft sigh. I watched Wilson for a moment as he treated his new bite wound, his face creased in thick lines of anger.

“Hey, Wilbur? Winona?”

Wilbur looked at me, and Winona gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think I missed a bit of your game earlier.” I waved one hand at them, grinning cheekily. “Care to teach me how to play?”

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 89. Forgiveness - Part 3
 

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

 

Wilson’s POV

My throat clenched as an awful smell assaulted my senses. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, mind quickly fluttering through different ideas of what could be causing the stench.

Winona didn’t seem bothered, although I couldn’t tell if it was because she couldn’t smell it somehow or it just didn’t affect her as much. For me, it made an awful sensation burn in the back of my throat and sinuses, similar to the sensation of being punched in the nose.

(Which had happened to me. Multiple times. My nose was a bit crooked these days from my companions’ habit of going straight for it.)

“What is that?” I wondered out loud, catching Winona’s attention. She paused and tipped her head back at me with a questioning hum.

Her overalls were stained with grass and her boots were dusted with dirt. Smudges of said dirt lined her arms and smeared across her face. For a moment, all I thought about was that I couldn’t believe she didn’t seem bothered by how dirty she was. Though, truthfully, she and I had been exploring since sunrise, and the sun was angled towards the west now, so I probably didn’t look much better.

Everything we had seen so far enforced our original ideas of Maxwell’s motive. Trees so heavy with fruit that their branches dipped under the weight, grass so plush you could almost mistake it for cotton, animals that simply watched as we passed by without a care in the world as if prepared to be killed and eaten without a fight. I could tell that the mechanic was getting a little frustrated at our lack of progress, though to be honest, I didn’t expect to find anything. This world was clearly hand-created to make us fall in love with it. I wasn’t expecting to find some grand issue with it that made Maxwell’s motives obvious.

That was, until that smell.

I covered my nose to try to block it out, but it leaked through the spaces between my fingers and the threads of my clothing. It was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time- like deja vu more than an actual memory.

“You really don’t smell that?” I asked incredulously.

“I don’t smell anything other than the same citrus that’s been chasing us for the past two miles,” she answered. “You’re not the one I expect to talk about smelling things.”

I shook my head roughly and pushed forward, suddenly anxious to find the source of the stench. It made the hairs in the back of my neck stand up, warning me of something I couldn’t describe.

Another strong breeze from the hills slammed another wave of odor into me, and I couldn’t help but stumble under the force of it.

Honestly, it was probably for the best that neither of the animals- animal or hybrid, whatever- of our group were here. I could only imagine the fuss that Wilbur would put up, mainly because the monkey took the opportunity to complain about everything that wasn’t Webber.

Tyler.

Whatever.

I took the lead from Winona, motioning for silence, as I pressed forward. Something felt distinctly wrong about this place, although it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. In fact, all that was visible was rolling hills with too-green grass and too-bright wildflowers. Occasional trees dotted the land, leaves tossing and twisting in the breeze. It looked entirely normal.

And yet, it was something I felt deep within my chest. Coiling around my spine and teasing the corners of my vision. Movements that didn’t belong to animals. Blank white eyes, quietly observing us, but vanishing the second I looked their way. The shadows felt darker, thicker. An artist suddenly shading with black after basing their whole art style on shading in blues and purples.

Winona seemed oblivious to it all. Then again, she didn’t have inky ice growing inside of her chest.

I followed an invisible tug, leaving the vibrant orchards far behind as I led my companion deeper into the darkness. The sun hung quietly in the sky, far from midday but far from sunset.

“The birds went quiet,” Winona suddenly muttered. Just like that, I snapped from the trance I had fallen into. My spine straightened as all sensations of coiling darkness exited through my pores and faded back into the daylight. I turned my attention to her, noticing a certain jumpy nervousness about her now. “There’s something dangerous this way.”

“Then it’s something Maxwell doesn’t want us to find,” I said confidently without even a pause. I knew the man was too clever to expect the four of us to simply twiddle our thumbs and wait to be eaten. He had a trap in place in case we did get curious.

“We should go back and get the others.”

“Absolutely not,” I said immediately.

I knew that the sword was harmless to me. I remembered demonstrating that very characteristic myself by slashing the blade across my own skin, leaving nothing but a memory behind.

I knew that, even if he hit me, nothing would really happen.

“You think I want to hear them complaining?” I continued, waving my hand. “Nope. We’re fine on our own.”

“Are you still upset about losing that fight?”

That didn’t mean anything, though. Even if you knew, logically, that you would be unharmed by such a blow, perhaps it was the unexpectedness that had panicked me so badly.

Looking down, seeing a sword plunging into my stomach, held effortlessly by a child that barely reached my chest.

The expression on his face made it even more real. It wasn’t the expression of someone triumphantly showing off the powers of their weapon in the most extreme way possible. It was the expression of someone who wanted their target to die. It was just a split second, just a moment where I saw so much grief and anger and hatred that I could genuinely believe he meant to kill me.

“I’m not upset about losing a fight he cheated on,” I growled, wrapping my fingers around the bandages lining my arm. A gentle squeeze to the area reminded me that the wound was still there, unhealed, but I had been diligent in making sure it didn’t get infected. “And besides, I feel like Wilbur would complain worse. You know how he is.”

“To be fair, you did go for his blind side first.”

I still remembered what it felt like, even after all this time. I forced myself not to think about it, because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to prevent myself from gagging.

But truthfully, it is one of the most god-awful sensations to gouge someone’s eye out. The knife wasn’t all that sharp, so what was lost in edge was made up for in brute force.

It wasn’t a clean cut by any means because of that. No, it was messy and shaky and thick. I had expected blood, maybe some fluid. Many people in my field of work had dissected the odd cow eye or two.

But those knives had been sharp, and this knife was not.

Those eyes were from deceased animals, long since separated from their host, and this one was not.

To make it even more difficult, I was used to working with still subjects. Long-dead animals, reeking of preservatives but perfectly still unless I actively tugged on a tendon.

He wasn’t still, by any means. He thrashed and screamed and kicked and cried. Most of my strength was being put into keeping him in my hold. The very second the knife split one of the smaller eyes above his own, his screams abruptly shifted into awful whimpers and desperate gasps for breath.

Only moments after the primary eye was split in half- the sound, the sound- did his chest convulse and rob the last of the breath from my victim.

It was only my quick movement to prevent the further dirtying of my clothing. The moment he was released, he collapsed into a tiny ball with his forehead pressed into the ground as his stomach reacted to the trauma he was enduring.

The only thing going through my head at the time was a mild curiosity. Did he not realize a position like that would cause a considerable amount of his own vomit to end up stuck to his fur?

Looking back at the memory now, though, I noticed more than just that. Namely, the foul, thick globs that spilled from the ravaged eye socket, leaving behind only a little of the original organ in its spot that would have to be removed later.

My hands were slick with blood not my own, and pulp that squelched uncomfortably between my fingers when I clenched my hand.

“He’s been half-blind for months now. He should know how to handle it,” I scoffed. The sensation in my sinuses grew stronger, and I could see Winona’s nose start to wrinkle as well as if the smell was finally reaching her. “If you’re so concerned, we can at least get a look at what we’re dealing with and go back if we have to. I’m not running away when it could just be something like a dead rabbit or some weird-smelling flower.”

The mechanic shrugged, though I could see her hands tighten slightly on the spear she held in her hands. It was the same one Wilbur had thrown together for me to fight with. Even if she wasn’t experiencing the full sensory onslaught as myself, it was clear something about this place made her uncomfortable.

The first time I had ever seen a corpse, it had been for classes. Uncomfortable with a crowd, I hung towards the back of my classmates, shifting on my feet. The smell of preservatives was strong in the air, almost minty. Some part of me wanted to stay back, to not see the unfortunate soul who had passed so long ago and donated their remains to study. It felt unnatural and wrong.

Eventually, though, I had to look, even if it was so I didn’t royally fail my tests. I took a deep breath, nearly gagging at the preservative smell, before looking down.

It was strange. I had expected to feel much more repulsed by what I was looking at, but instead, it simply… didn’t feel like looking at a human. It lacked facial features, part of its skin peeled back to reveal the muscles and arteries and veins in the chest. The professor seemed entirely unphased by it as well, cheerfully referring to the cadaver as ‘Mister Yellow’ and acting as though it was just another prop in the room.

One of my classmates murmured something about being ill and left. I hung around, vaguely interested in what the professor was saying and pointing out. A band of muscle they casually pulled from the chest cavity, something my mind leaped to identify as the diaphragm even before the professor named it. A slab of flesh they calmly identified as the stomach. Tendons and ligaments and blood vessels.

It wasn’t until much, much later that night that it really hit me. A human cadaver. Someone who once lived a full life, with family and friends and jobs and a name that wasn’t some anonymous pseudonym.

I didn’t sleep much, and when I did, my dreams were uncomfortable and odd. Dreams of peering down at the cadaver and seeing a family member lying there instead of a stranger.

Dreams of looking down and seeing my own body, lying open with flaps of skin pinned aside to expose my innards for a gaggle of students to gawk at.

I dropped out of classes not too long after that.

Winona sucked in air between her teeth beside me. I blinked furiously to wash the images from my mind as I turned to look at her. She looked dazed, her mouth opened slightly as if frozen in the middle of saying something. Her eyebrows suddenly furrowed, confusion clouding her eyes.

“Winona?” I pressed, nudging her with my shoulder. The woman shook her head and her eyes cleared, though they looked suspiciously misty. “You okay?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. I’m fine.” She looked down, suddenly focusing hard on the leather of her gloves. She twisted the fingers of her frostbitten hand manually with her working one, something that looked innately uncomfortable but I decided heavily against saying anything about. “Hey, Wilson. I’ve got a question for you.”

I hummed in acknowledgment. I hadn’t realized I had stopped moving. I had to force my feet to continue onward.

“Just a hypothetical. Just… curiosity, you know?”

“I’m listening.”

“How would you react if you found out that. Like. I left someone behind on Earth. Someone I shouldn’t have. And I just. Never said anything about them.”

“We’ve all left people behind since coming here,” I pointed out. I picked my way around a root that sprouted from the ground. “So, I guess the answer would be ‘not surprised’.”

She nodded slowly, chewing at the inside of her lip. “Okay. And like… if I told you that person was a woman.”

“Okay? And?” It wasn’t like women were some foreign species. I had left behind people of both genders after being brought here.

She was silent for a long moment, as if waiting for me to come to some sort of conclusion.

Winona seemed incredibly uncomfortable broaching the subject. Awkward, but also slightly scared. Like she expected me to react badly to it or something. I couldn’t even understand why she would think I would care-

And then it clicked, and I suddenly understood.

“Oh.”

She flinched.

“And, er, what made you… think about her?” I asked awkwardly. “It’s, uh, kinda random to bring up out of nowhere.” Did she think I would care all that much? If so, why say something now? Because she was afraid that the others would judge her worse?

(Did the two natives even have the same concept of that as us from Earth?)

“I dunno,” she mumbled after a second. “I just. Can’t stop thinking of that night. When the portal exploded.”

“Exploded?” I echoed.

She exhaled quietly. “Yeah. Someone was messing with magic they didn’t understand. I don’t know exactly who it was, but it was hidden away in one of the backrooms. I thought it might’ve been my old boss, but…” Winona’s glove-picking was becoming noticeably more frantic. “I couldn’t save him. I lost my hold. Then the portal shut down. Exploded.” Her pace was slowing down, and I gently pushed her to encourage her to keep moving. Winona huffed at the pressure. “So, I fixed it.”

“You… fixed it. The dangerous evil magic portal.”

“Says you.” She waved her hand at me. “We all made that same stupid decision, right? It’s not like I knew it was a dangerous evil magic portal. And I… I don’t know. I told myself that, if I could fix it, if I could save that person, if I could reverse everything that had happened… I told myself that it would somehow come back to my sister. That somehow, I would be able to save her.” Her lips quirked into a wry smirk. “Guess I had to motivate all of my actions with that promise. ‘Can’t find Charlie if you don’t get out of bed, Winona’. ‘Winona, if you forget to eat, you won’t have the strength to find Charlie’. ‘Don’t forget, Winona, they never found any bodies, so surely William and Charlie are still alive’!”

“So then…”

“I fixed it. Got it back to working order. I think Scarlet noticed something wrong with me. She kept showing up at my doorstep all hours of the night as if to make sure I hadn’t keeled over from stress. She would make these little comments about finding hobbies or just joining her on her hobbies. When we weren’t working, she used to drag me to the river to skip rocks. I wasn’t ever any good, but she could get a rock to skip all the way across to the other shore. I started rejecting her invites around that time though. I think… I think she thought that I was mad at her.”

“You weren’t, though,” I pressed when Winona hesitated once more.

“No. I wasn’t. But I was so caught up in my own world that I didn’t even realize I was hurting her. The day before I got that portal to work again, she came to me and she just looked… so sad. She told me that I needed to just… let go of Charlie. That it had been years and I hadn’t gotten any further. She told me that I would just hurt myself if I continued as I was.

“I ignored her, though. I ignored her. She knew exactly what was happening and how it was affecting me, and I just ignored her concerns. Then I just… disappeared without a trace. Just like Charlie did.”

Winona sighed, dipping her head sadly.

“I hope she’s doing okay, now.”

“I’m sure that wherever she is, she’s doing better than we are,” I responded wryly. The grimace on Winona’s face only grew deeper.

The place was quiet. Abandoned. I stood uncertainly at the door, my hand wavering by the doorknob for just a second. I could hear the sound of a car driving away, my last piece of connection to civilization.

In a way, I had chosen this. I had become so engrossed in my own thoughts, in my own work, that I had chosen to separate myself from family and friends. The decision had been made in a state of mania, desperate and eager to break away from everything that I didn’t even consider how… empty it would feel.

Quiet. Alone. Abandoned.

I violently shook my head to shake away the images. I couldn’t even imagine why they were suddenly coming to me now, when I hadn’t thought of some of these events in years now. I almost turned to say something to Winona… only to stop myself when I noticed the tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

“Whoa, Winona?”

“I should’ve stopped that show from happening. I knew something was wrong,” the mechanic whispered. She covered her eyes, her breathing harsh. “She told me that something was off with William, but I didn’t act quickly enough.”

I reached out to her in an attempt to snap her from whatever memory had claimed her, but before I could make contact, I felt something physically shift in my head and another blaze of memories blurred across my vision.

The beast was huge. She was gorgeous, all glittering greens and oranges and iridescence. A true dragon, in its most awe-inspiring form.

We were struggling. She was massive, but she wasn’t slow. The heat from the summer sun, growing only more intense by the second, lit smoldering embers in tumbleweeds and the short patches of desert grass. I could feel sweat pouring down my neck and back, drenching my collar and causing every bit of fabric to rub uncomfortably against my skin.

I was distracted by the sight of flames licking at Webber’s fur and the swish of claws tearing into his skin and a scream of agony. I took a single step towards him, fully intent on telling him to back out of the battle, but WX was there before I was. The robot had appeared at their friend’s side in a flash, helping the boy to stand and muttering something to him.

I was distracted. In the middle of a battle with one of the most ferocious creatures in the land.

I didn’t notice the danger I was in until I saw Webber’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth opening as if to call out a warning. His voice was drowned out by the crackle of flames and the rasp of his own pain.

It was WX’s shout that I heard.

And it was WX’s shout that would be the very last sound I heard in that life.

“DODGE!” They screamed, but it was too late for that. She had reared up, embered claws glittering like pearls in the sun. It was all I could do to block with my own weapon, but even I knew that would be futile.

After that was usually when the memories blacked out. The sensation of being torn apart was not lost on me, but the pain was non-existent. Before she even made contact with me, my body was going into shock. If I had been in my right mind, maybe I would’ve turned my gaze back towards Webber and WX, just to see my companions one last time.

Instead, the image burned into my retinas was fire and claws and then nothing.

I felt my feet leave the ground as she threw me into the air, but I never felt my body land. All I knew was that next, I was lying blankly on the ground with ringing ears and an aching chest.

“Ugh…” I muttered under my breath. I reached one hand to touch the wounds that surely spanned across my chest, but my hand came into contact with cold stillness.

Breaths that didn’t reach my lungs, and a heart that refused to beat.

I shot up, on my feet faster than I would’ve expected with how out of it I was a moment before. The sand below my feet retained its shape, undisturbed. Just a few feet away, though, was blood. More blood than I had ever seen in one place, pooling out from a body with a torso shredded beyond recognition.

With shaky steps, I neared the body.

It was my own.

For a moment, all I could think of was a nightmare I had had so long ago, of a dissected cadaver observed by a gaggle of students. And really, it was easy to think of it like that. I had seen gore before- plenty of times now, actually, given how we had to prepare our own meat- but it had been so long since I had seen… human gore. To this extent. It wasn’t just blood, although it would be hard to understand what you were looking at if you didn’t have experience with anatomy.

A band of muscle I immediately recognized as the diaphragm, spilling from the chest cavity. Sliced into at least two separate pieces, although that was all I could see. A slab of mutilated flesh I identified as the stomach. Tendons and ligaments and blood vessels.

From there, I watched the aftermath. WX found me first, their face painted with a shade of horror I never expected that the automaton could even make. I watched the first time I had ever really seen Webber break down, collapsing under the weight of the events of that battle for days afterwards. I saw the things that the others didn’t see. The things that WX thought I never saw. I witnessed the way the robot would remain just within eyesight of Webber but far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to hear them grieve if he woke up.

I wanted to stay by them, even if I couldn’t interact with them. I took a certain comfort in being near, although I wished more than anything I could let them know I was there. Far too soon, I was beginning to think I would be able to stay in this strange limbo.

And then Nightmare appeared. Or maybe it was Charlie? I wasn’t sure. Whoever it had been, they had taken my wrist without warning and dragged me away, taking me to somewhere dark and cold. I shivered, as what was left of my shredded shirt wasn’t much help in keeping the cold air at bay. I felt the change almost immediately, dragged through the veil between life and death altogether.

I remembered limping heavily behind her, with ropes tearing at the skin of my wrists. When I had been tied up, I wasn’t sure. I was near blind in the darkness, only just managing to keep myself from tripping by focusing all of my attention on my feet. It was better than way. If I let my attention drift at all, I would become all-to-aware of the hundreds of eyes stalking my path through the dark.

There was some sort of music playing. A terrible, grating tune that tore at my already fragile psyche. It hurt to think, and soon it became almost impossible. The further into the labyrinth I was dragged, the louder the music became.

It was so loud.

And it was getting louder.

And louder.

And LOUDER-

“Wilson! Crap- Wilson, look at me. It’s not real, snap out of it!”

Winona’s voice suddenly came through to me as her hand violently shook my shoulders, snapping through the illusion. With the breaking of such, I realized I was holding my breath the entire time. Black dots swam in my vision and my chest ached with the pressure of carbon dioxide buildup. As soon as the realization came to me, I started to gulp in as much air as my lungs could physically hold. I fell to the ground, hands grasping uselessly at the soggy grass beneath my knees.

It was then I realized how much our scenery had changed.

In the midst of my thoughts, we had stumbled past the plush green grass and come across something much more sinister. The grass beneath me was pale and sickly, each blade heavily weighed down with drops of black fluid that dotted the field like morning dew. The smell was everywhere now, so strong I was certain my nose was bleeding just from the irritation.

A hand grasped my shoulder again, an action I immediately flinched away from. Instead of drawing back, though, Winona only gripped it tighter and shook me. “We need to get out of here. I don’t know what this place is but- I don’t know. We need to leave.”

I looked up.

The land we had woken up in was lush and beautiful and vibrant. Filled with colors all across the spectrum and scented with citrus.

It was as though all of the life had been drained from this place in order to fuel that vibrancy.

Sickly trees, with only a few browning, dying leaves hanging from their spindly branches replaced the towering birchnuts and pines. There weren’t any animals that I could see, but the stench of decay made me believe that at least some unfortunate souls had stumbled upon here by accident and paid the price. Everything was gray and brown and absolutely saturated in black slime. It wetted the grass, dripped from the trees, weighed the very air down to the point it clung to my skin like humidity.

I had only ever seen one place like this before: the Ancient Guardian’s labyrinth. A place where one of the beast’s many heads had once ruled before it had been struck down.

I jerked to my feet, all-too-aware of how unnatural my movements were. Winona nodded shakily. Her hand refused to leave my shoulder. Instead, she actually dug her fingers in deeper, and I could feel the tremors running through her arm. Or maybe the tremors were coming from myself.

“Yeah,” I breathed. I had to quickly swallow back a gag as the mere act of opening my mouth allowed for the taste of decay to bathe my tongue. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, eyes darting around the empty landscape in anticipation. “Yeah, let’s… let’s tell the others about this.”

“Are you crazy?” Winona hissed. She immediately slammed a hand over her own mouth and her face grew gray. I shot her a look, one meant to mean ‘later’- a message she seemingly got. She didn’t seem to be very happy with the idea of telling Wilbur and Webber/Tyler about our discovery.

We turned back the way we came, moving much faster away than we had towards. The second I noticed the plants start to look lively again, I decided to continue the inevitable argument. “How would I be crazy to tell the others about… this?” I waved my hand back towards the wasteland. “This could be our way to the next world! Are you planning on just sitting here twiddling your thumbs for the next sixty years? Weren’t you the one who wanted to get them in the first place?”

“You know as well as I do that both of them would charge head-first into a place like this out of sheer stubbornness,” Winona argued. “And based on the way you completely shut down back there, I’m assuming you were also seeing the same kind of nightmares I was. Do you really think it’s a good idea to let Tyler or Wilbur deal with that?”

“It’s not my problem if they can’t!”

“Wilson, you shut down back there. Are you telling me the things you’ve seen are half as bad as either of them? If you had to relive the things they’ve been through, don’t you think even your ‘great’ mind would struggle?”

“We’ve all seen terrible things!” I snapped. “All of us! What makes you think they would have it any worse than us, huh? You might not realize this, Winona, considering you got to skip the worst parts, but everything Webber has experienced, I have experienced, too!”

“The worst parts?” She barked an incredulous laugh. “You think I skipped the worst parts? Do you think I came here yesterday?” Winona placed a hand against her chest, her eyes alight with fire. “In case you forgot, I was there when WX-78 died. I held their heart in my hands. I failed to fix them. If I remember correctly, you couldn’t even look at them! Did you even see what the wound that killed them looked like? Because I certainly did!” Her shoulders rose as her voice did. “I was the mechanic in the situation, and I was responsible, and I wasn’t good enough to fix them! And then! You think I wasn’t there when Tyler went missing for weeks after that and we thought he had killed himself? Or during anything that has happened since going through the door that you dragged us into!?”

“You weren’t there when we fought the giants, Winona! You weren’t there when we fought the Dragonfly! You can’t even begin to lecture me about having seen just as terrible things as myself when you’ve never died before!” The words I spoke no longer came from my head. They skipped entirely past any filter I had and filled the air the very second they were conceived. “I died, Winona! I was ripped to shreds by the Dragonfly, and I died! Whatever Webber or Wilbur would see if faced with their memories, it couldn’t be nearly as bad as that!”

“For God’s sake, Wilson! You are going to make a child relive all of his trauma because he ‘should be able to handle it’? Wilson, he broke the first time having to suffer from that!”

“I don’t-!”

“He tried! To kill himself!”

“Why does EVERYTHING you and Wilbur say end up about Webber!? Do neither of you care about anyone else? You may as well just forget about Charlie entirely since it seems you care more about some… stupid mutt more than her! Why don’t we all just stay here, then? After all, it seems there’s nothing in the world that can even compare to how important he is to you!”

Winona opened her mouth to retort, but nothing immediately came out. Her good hand clenched into a fist so tight it sent tremors up her entire arm.

The fire that had lit in my chest was reflected in her eyes

“If he gets ‘spooked’,” I said quietly, threateningly. “Then so be it. There are more important things to worry about than-”

“Stop. I don’t even want to hear it.” Winona’s voice was sharp enough to cut. I held my ground, even as she thrust a furious finger in my direction. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, but I don’t ever want to hear you talk about Charlie like that ever again. You don’t understand anything about her, and I don’t even want to hear you pretend like you do.

“And Tyler-” Another low, incredulous chuckle. “You’re so twisted by your own hatred and jealousy that you would take it out on a child. Wilbur and I care about him, and he’s so sick that, yes, we worry about him a lot.” She jabbed my chest with her outstretched finger. “But that’s only because one of us is constantly trying to push him over the edge. And you know what? You succeeded. Your cruelty pushed him over the edge, okay? And yet as soon as he tried to end it all, the second you realized what a mistake you had made, you suddenly cared about rectifying it. Just because you didn’t want to be the one who hurt a nine-year old so much that he killed himself. It doesn’t matter if we saved him. You succeeded. Congratulations.

“Sometimes, it really is obvious how alone you were for such a long time. It’s obvious that you couldn’t care less about anyone, except for when it makes you feel guilty or someone calls you out on it. I try to work with you, but every time I worry about someone who isn’t you, suddenly it’s an issue.”

She shook her head, her shoulders slowly falling as she let out a long sigh.

“There is a problem here. But it isn’t any of us. The last world might have required Tyler to learn what love was again, but it never was him who forgot it. And the worst part?” Another shake of her head, another chuckle. “I know that, even if you try to be better, you’ll only do it because I made you feel guilty and you don’t like that. Not because you actually care about anyone else. Because, Wilson, you are the only one that matters, isn’t that right?”

And then, she was walking away, leaving me behind with nothing but her words to keep me company.

Her words… and the nightmarish memories I had been forced to relive once again.

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 90. Forgiveness - Part 4
 

 

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

 

Wilson’s POV

Just as the stench of the wasteland burned in my throat for the rest of the day, the weight of Winona’s words burned in my mind. Since I had returned back to our camp that day, she had barely spoken a single word to me. Winona was far from the most talkative of the group, but the deliberate coldness from her made it feel all the more threatening.

I had known for some time that something was wrong with me. The ice that pricked at my heart waxed and waned like the phases of the moon, melting enough for glimmers of affection to shine through then freezing so thick that my heart stuttered under the pressure.

Right before we went through the Door, I had started hearing the voice in my head, a third party, speaking to me. After going through the Door, that voice had melted into something else. Something more personal. Really, closer to my own thoughts than the words of some other entity. The random appearance and subsequent disappearance of Nightmare’s voice had thrown me off guard for some time, but now I was beginning to believe that Nightmare had only stopped directly communicating with me because it had gotten exactly what it had wanted. It had gotten in, and now it was poisoning my body inch by inch.

And, if Wilbur’s words had any truth, it was only able to do that because I was missing something. Missing something vital.

I knew this was something I was going to have to ask the others about. On my own, I had made no progress. Some days, I felt like things had gotten worse than before, even when I was trying to be my old self.

As I settled for sleep, I turned my thoughts over in my head slowly. I wanted to hear others’ thoughts on the topic. Every person had a slightly different definition of the word love, and I was beginning to believe that the only way to find my own definition was by learning what the word meant to other people.

I didn’t hear the word much growing up. I had no siblings and my parents had always been distant with me.

Perhaps I had never quite understood what love meant at all.

I managed to catch Wilbur alone early in the morning. Winona was still asleep and while Webber had already woken up, he immediately drifted away to examine each of the new fruits he had never seen before. Wilbur had been dozing slightly, humming something under his breath as he relaxed by the fire, but he perked up the second he noticed my attempt at his attention.

“Wait wait, before you say anything,” the prime ape said lightly. “Lemme guess. Winona absolutely roasted you and now you feel bad. Coming for advice from the elderly, ay?” He gave a sort of cheeky grin, although it wasn’t full. It never was full when he was talking to me, I realized.

“I- she didn’t-” I immediately jumped to protest, but the words died on my tongue. Instead, I released it with a sigh. “I just want to get your opinion on something.”

“Mm.” He leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Shoot then, Science Man.”

“By your definition,” I started slowly. I had to pick my words carefully so as to not embarrass myself more than this conversation was already embarrassing me. “What, exactly, is love?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a low chuckle on Wilbur’s end. “Oh-ho-ho, she roasted you. Really hit where it hurts. Alright, I’ll bite.” Again, he was quiet, although I could see the way he was picking his own words. This conversation was bound to be an unfairly long one if both parties were spending several seconds between each response just to gather their words. Still, I found myself waiting with bated breath, endlessly curious as to what his answer would be. “Love is an umbrella term,” he settled on. “It means a million different things, and it really just… depends on who you’re talking to. What it means to me won’t be exactly what it means to you.”

“What does it mean to you, then?” I pressed. His non-answer made a spark of annoyance flutter in my chest, but it died quickly. Smothered entirely by the curiosity of his vague statement.

“To me, it’s panic,” Wilbur said simply. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he raised a hand before I could get any words out. “Not in a bad sort of way. It’s hard to just describe with words. It’s a kind of panic that you feel all the time in the background, but all of that panic is aimed at the well-being of the one you love. Are they eating enough? Are they sad? Do they need me? Will they be okay? A constant stream of questions with answers that constantly change. And yet, every single one of those questions is worth it when you see how you help them. How they act in your presence. When you’re simply with them. Obviously, there’s different kinds and they all feel different. Romantic love feels different from parental love, and that feels different from familial love. On top of that, the way you feel about each individual person also changes.” A soft sort of smile appeared on his face as if he was starting to drift in memories. “Even though I was always worrying about her well-being, I knew very well that Roselyn would be okay. I wasn’t as worried about her because I knew that she could take care of herself. She knew how my mind worked and she was always careful to take care of herself in order to keep me from panicking too hard.

“Elizabeth, I was panicking almost every moment she wasn’t in my line of sight. She clearly took after her mother, but she was also so little. I believe she inherited my unfortunate stature until she was almost an adult at least. But no matter what, all I ever saw when I thought of her… heh, even now, all I ever think of is the first time I ever saw her. She was so fragile. So tiny. I was scared that she wouldn’t grow up to find a good mate. What if something happened while I was asleep and she got hurt? What if she wandered off?”

“That sounds awful,” I huffed. I crossed my arms and gave the monkey an appraising look. It sounded like love had done nothing but hurt Wilbur, and yet, he still had this ridiculous dreamy expression on his face. “Why would you want that?”

“You want me to say it’s addictive,” Wilbur said smoothly, shaking off his daze. “That it’s like a drug. But once again, you’re wrong.” I frowned at his accurate assessment of my thought process, and at the idea that that conclusion was somehow incorrect. Wilbur sighed. “Look, I can’t properly do this without either a little bit of metaphor, or a whole lot of poetic drabble, okay?”

I motioned for him to continue. He was starting to spin his words in a circle at this rate.

“So remember the last world we went through? And like, how it absolutely sucked going through it and how it was the most unbearably cold time of any of our lives?”

I quirked an eyebrow. “If I didn’t, that would be concerning, considering that was literally just a few days ago.”

“Well,” Wilbur continued, entirely ignoring the sarcastic bite of my response. “Imagine you’re stuck in that again. You’re freezing cold and you’re nonstop thinking of getting back to camp. All you can think about is how nice it’ll be when you get to sit by the fire again and warm up. Maybe get some nice hot soup to help warm you up.”

I hummed.

“Imagine all of that, but instead of a campfire and hot soup, it’s a person. You’re out on an adventure, and all you can think about is getting to return to someone. You feel uncomfortable without them, and when you’re with them, you’re able to feel safe and comfortable. Like how a campfire would make you feel on a cold day.”

I considered his words, trying to place them with a feeling. It sounded like Wilbur was speaking more about romantic love than anything else. Although, considering what he was saying a few minutes ago, it was likely he treated parental love the same way. I could imagine the distinct difference between the two, but it was clear he was trying to define it as a general feeling.

Did he really feel that way about more than just his late mate? Did he struggle to feel comfortable or happy without his daughter?

But he had said before that he loved Webber, too. Surely he didn’t harbor such strong emotions for him, right?

Besides, Wilbur was comparing love to the human necessity of warmth. Humans couldn’t live without warmth, but they certainly could live without love.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said aloud. “I mean, that’s how I’ve heard people describe romantic love, but as an umbrella term? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Well, you know as well as I do there are some different aspects to romantic love,” Wilbur said with a wink. “Which don’t apply to other kinds of love. But we’re trying to keep this child friendly, so sticking to general feelings.” He wagged one hand in the air. “I’d like to remind you, though, that I’ve never held any love for my blood family. I love Roselyn and my kids, but the kind of love you feel with siblings or parents is lost on me. You’d have to ask the others about that, but I imagine there’s less of a constant panicky stress factor in those cases.”

“If it’s so stressful though, why bother with it in the first place?”

Wilbur tipped his head up and laughed hysterically. “Oh-ho-ho, my sweet summer child,” he breathed between great bouts of laughter. “Bold of you to assume you choose to love someone. It’s wonderful and stressful and awful and amazing and every other contradiction you can think of, but you can’t simply choose to do it.” After a good few moments, he finally seemed to get himself under control. “It simply smashes into you like a charging water beefalo and then crushes you against your will, but who’s complaining?” He turned his head back to the fire, still chuckling slightly under his breath. “I can’t really explain it to someone who doesn’t understand, but it is so, so worth it.

“Besides,” he continued. “What better way to keep our buddy Nightmare out of your head? Pick your poison, Wilson. At least in one of the cases, you have a support system to fall back on. I don’t think Nightmare is great at comforting people, and you might get killed for trying. What do I know, though? After all, I’m just a silly little guy. If I were you, I’d do some more of your own investigation into what it means to you. Like I said, everyone experiences love differently.” Wilbur paused, then added: “Ask Winona about the other kinds of love; you’re S-O-L on that with me.” I gave him a sort of noncommittal grunt in response, and he gave me a strange sort of smile. “Good luck on your journey of self-discovery. I hope you get exactly zero of the answers you want and all of the answers you need.”

Which meant my questioning wasn’t done.

Given, Wilbur’s description and explanation had given me a sort of starting point, but I simply couldn’t fathom what was so positive about love if it seemed like it brought the monkey nothing but stress. Wilbur had also confirmed my idea that he spoke exclusively about his found family. His lack of knowledge in this was palpable but understandable. After all, were he and I not in the same boat in that case? Two people that had never managed to discover the real concept of love in our own families?

I debated dropping the idea entirely. He was right in saying that Winona would be my best bet, considering her loyalty and love for her sister, but the thought of asking her any personal question like that was enough to deter me. I could already imagine the smug and/or angry look on her face, depending on whether she was taking my questioning as a win on her part or a simple return to form on mine.

Hadn’t she said she believed I only cared when I felt guilty?

But what was love if it was not trying when you believed it warranted trying?

I did have another option, but it was equally undesirable. Webber was still very young, young enough to remember the soft moments with his parents without the wider scope of how their failures of parenting caused issues that would extend into adulthood. I certainly remembered some of the warmer times with my own parents- being taken care of when sick, or their support in my studies- but anything positive was overshadowed by the negatives of how they raised me and how that shaped the negative parts of my personality. Webber wouldn’t have that yet.

He also had a sister, one that he had once supposedly been as close to as Winona to Charlie. There was something deeply troubling about his relationship with her, though, some sort of deep pain and guilt that shadowed his face whenever he mentioned her. I doubted he would be open to talking about her.

Oh, and not to mention the fact that I simply really really really did not want to talk to a nine-year-old who hated me about something that was decidedly a more mature topic. Or maybe I just didn’t want to talk specifically to Webber. Both were quite possible to be honest.

So, Winona it was.

I had to swallow my pride first, and that took longer than I wanted to admit. The curiosity nagged incessantly at me, but the risk of being immediately brushed off or worse, laughed at, kept me from saying anything for a while.

I couldn’t dodge it forever, though. Of the group, Winona was the most likely for me to be left alone with, so it wasn’t very long before I found myself alone with her.

She was still cold to me, speaking very little and only really interacting when she couldn’t get away without it. It had been a few days at this point, and I was honestly starting to get a little annoyed with her cold shoulder. I hadn’t even done anything wrong, we had simply had an argument. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to hold a grudge about.

Wilbur had practically pushed me out of the camp, though, giving me a conspiratorial wink just in case I didn’t already realize that he was trying to set this conversation up. Once more: annoying, but at least in this case, it was somewhat helpful for the circumstance.

I had to jog to catch up with Winona and I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, so she was well aware that I was behind her. She paused to let me catch up, her face kept carefully blank and her mouth pressed into a thin line. “What?”

“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to pretend as if I wasn’t winded. I was pretty sure my charade didn’t work, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

Her neutral expression drifted into a frown, and she let out a sigh. I took a slight step back, but it appeared her scowl was not aimed at me this time. “I’m going to check out that spot we found the other day. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I was hoping now that I know what I’m getting into, have a better idea of what I’m looking for.”

“...Ah.” Frankly, I should’ve expected that she still had the wasteland on her mind. I had been preoccupied with my own miniature investigation, but she didn’t have those distractions. “Mind if I join?”

“Mm.” Winona shrugged, although she still didn’t look happy about it. “Getting too stuffy around camp? Or trying to suck up?” There was a surprisingly teasing note in her voice, which caught me off guard with the way she had been acting around me lately.

“Um. Stuffy,” I said lamely. “There’s only so long I can drown in food and comfort before I need some terrifying eldritch wasteland to liven up my days.”

She bobbed her head as if in agreement, then turned again to continue walking. I trailed a few steps behind her, struggling to gather the words for what I was going to ask.

“I… have been thinking a lot about what you said the other day,” I started after several uncomfortable moments of silence. Immediately, I could see Winona’s interest pique in the slight rise of her shoulders and the smallest of stutter-steps as her attention focused elsewhere.

“I figured you would,” she said. “I probably should apologize for it, shouldn’t I? I was pretty harsh.” She didn’t sound very apologetic, but that wasn’t my point anyway. I shook my head even though she wasn’t looking towards me.

“No, sometimes you have to be harsh to get someone to listen.” I picked at my fingernails, a distant voice scolding me for making my fingers bleed as I dug a little too deep. “It… kind of made me realize that I don’t think I’ve ever really… experienced love.”

Winona physically balked at that. She threw a look over her shoulder, incredulity painted across her face. “Like, romantic love or any kind of love? Cause not everyone falls in-”

“Any kind,” I interrupted before she could even finish her sentence. I was already struggling with the most common forms of love, apparently, and I had no intention of getting into the ins and outs of the difference between familial/platonic love and romantic love. Even just the thought of the latter kind of made me sick to my stomach.

“...oh.” I could hear the sour note in her voice. “You… must not have had a very good relationship with your family.”

I scoffed. “We’ve always been distant. Not… much in common between them and me.” A sigh blew past my lips. “I didn’t have a bad relationship with them, per say. Just… not a close one.” Little drops of blood caught under my thumbnail. I frowned unhappily at it. “I… talked with Wilbur, but he also didn’t really have any sort of relationship with his parents or siblings. I wanted to talk to someone who… did know what that was like.”

“That’s… I mean… that’s just really sad, Wilson.”

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it,” I responded softly. “I lived just fine without it. Dare say, I was even perfectly happy on my own. A nice little house tucked away from society, far from expectations or judgement. It was everything I wanted.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

I finally lowered my hands, wincing at the sting of my abused fingertips as I turned my gaze towards the sky. “I suppose it wasn’t.”

“When did things start getting… I don’t know. Getting bad, I guess? When you realized that it wasn’t normal?”

“More recently than I’d like to admit,” I said with a humorless chuckle. “Sounds bad, I know, but…” My next inhale brought in a whiff of the sour stench from before. I found myself wincing against it as my sinuses burned. I had to clear my throat to speak again. “I don’t know when, exactly. I guess I started thinking something was strange after Wilbur joined us. He was so… protective over Webber. When he actually started to talk to us, Wilbur kept saying that he loved the kid. I just didn’t understand it.” I folded my hands together, further smearing little bits of blood from my still-bleeding thumb across my skin. “I never said that. I never… felt like that.”

Winona was quiet for a moment, and I could tell she was gathering her words. When talking to Wilbur, the prime ape had seemed more than happy to contradict himself every other sentence about what the concept meant to him. I appreciated the difference between my two companions, and the way Winona really seemed to be trying to find the best words for what she wanted to say. “If you don’t mind me asking… what was your relationship with Tyler like? Before…” she waved her hands as if trying to catch some vague statement. “Before I came here?” She finished lamely. I could almost hear the other words she almost used.

I wondered, just for a moment, if she wanted to say ‘before you died’. But Winona hadn’t been there for that. She hadn’t known any of us until months after the fight against the Dragonfly. She had never known me before Nightmare’s meddling.

Suddenly, a memory flared in my mind, one I knew for sure was not brought on by the wasteland but brought on entirely by the conversation at hand.

“We were close,” I said dazedly. “But I didn’t think we were that close. He and WX- they fought all the time, you know that, but that meant the role of responsible adult kind of fell to me. He always got injured. Always has, and I’m pretty sure he always will.” A sort of sardonic chuckle rose in my chest. “If I had a dollar for every time that kid got himself in trouble and had to have someone else save his sorry butt, I’d be rich enough to buy Maxwell’s stupid suit off of his body. So I tried to look out for him because… I mean, he’s still small, but he was tiny when I first met him. He barely reached my waist.

“Then… we fought the Dragonfly.” I could feel my voice starting to sputter slightly, and I had to swallow back saliva to prevent spitting everywhere. “And she killed me.” It was so simple to say, but it was never so simple to think. I had died. I had died. “They both fell apart, Winona. WX would never admit it, but they grieved for me.” My heart stuttered in my chest at the thought. “They grieved for me,” I said again, my voice small. “And Webber… he was devastated. He was pretty injured himself in the fight, so he was out of it for a couple of days, but when he finally fully woke up, he…”

I hadn’t noticed until now that we had stopped walking entirely. I covered my face with my hands to hide the wetness I could feel pricking at the corners.

“He called himself my son,” I choked out. “I never thought of him that way. I never thought that… why did he see me as a father? Why would he? I don’t understand. I just… I don’t.”

“But you came back,” Winona reminded me softly. A quick glance from between my fingers showed a downright tragic expression on her face. Sadness and grief, and pain knowing what was coming. My fall from grace. My fall from being someone who could be loved. “What happened then?”

I didn’t want to say it. Even with my eyes covered, I still squeezed them shut, desperate to shield myself from the torrent of emotions that were bound to come from the continuation.

“When I came back… he was so happy. I think that was the first time I ever heard him purr, and he was purring so loud he could barely speak. He… he asked me if he could call me ‘pa’.”

“Wilson…”

“I should’ve said no, Winona. I should’ve! I don’t know why I didn’t! I strung him along into thinking I loved him in the way he loved me and I just… I shouldn’t have. I know it was wrong, and I think I knew it was wrong at the time, but how do you tell a child that the person they look up to- the person they see as their father- doesn’t love them?”

“You don’t…-”

“You wanna know the worst part, though?” I rushed forward. The words were pouring out of me now, swirling like a rancid pool in my stomach and tasting like acid as they came out. Thoughts and feelings and emotions that had been dulled by Nightmare’s haze suddenly razor sharp and in full focus. Guilt and grief and terror and guilt- “I remember trying to kill him, Winona. I remember every single second of it. Of stabbing a knife through his hand and pinning him down. Of the… the effort it took to cut out his eye. I remember-” a choked inhale that was held, held, held. I didn’t know what would come out if I let it out. “I remember, even when he was so scared and he- I could see it in his eyes, he knew what was going to happen- and still, still…” I was only able to take my hand away from my face by instead turning my grip to my hair, inevitably dotting half-dried flecks of blood over my scalp. “He still called me papa. He knew what I was going to do, and he still clung to me like a father.”

A gentle, hesitant hand touched my shoulder as if the handywoman was unsure of what else to do. I shuddered under the touch.

“Isn’t that just awful, Winona?” I whispered. “Aren’t I just a godawful person?”
“It wasn’t you who did those things though, Wilson,” Winona said gently. “I know this, you know this, and I know that Tyler knows this. What happened- that was Nightmare, not you.”

“And if I had only been able to love him the way he loved me, it never would’ve happened at all.”

Winona had no response to that.

If I wasn’t so screwed up, if I wasn’t so incapable of loving, Nightmare never would have been able to keep me in its grasp. Those nights never would have happened. Webber would have never been crippled.

We never would have been forced through Maxwell’s Door.

“Have… have you ever told him these things, Wilson?”

I laughed wryly at the thought. “I never even said I was sorry, Winona.”

And again, silence. After everything that had happened, after everything I had done… I wasn’t even able to give him the smallest speck of courtesy by simply apologizing for what had happened.

“Why… why wouldn’t you say you were sorry?” She cautioned after a long, uncomfortably tense moment. “After all of that… you didn’t…?”

“Too little, too late,” I said grimly. “‘Sorry’ wasn’t going to magically heal him. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t going to go back in time and stop it from happening.”

“Do you think he holds it against you?”

A sigh.

“Not sure,” I muttered. “I know he’s still scared of me, at least a bit. But I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“I know that… your feelings about Tyler are complicated,” Winona said quietly. I sneered at the ground. What an understatement. “But… what about the others? Wilbur and WX-78?”

Even though I wanted to answer, my mouth was frozen around the words. Wilbur, WX, Winona… I cared about them, and about Webber to an extent. I had once held the same regard for the boy, but hatred had long since been leached into my bloodstream. I was no longer even sure where my thoughts on him ended and where Nightmare’s began.

But I knew that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Webber and Wilbur had both embraced the thought of their group being considered a family. Webber, especially, had referred to us as that more than once. It was a different kind of love. One that, as we were now aware, I was left out of. I ghosted a hand over my chest; I could almost imagine soft branches of ice reaching from my heart and curling around my fingers.

“You’re my friends,” I settled on. “I trust you, and I’m confident in our strength together.” I turned a half-hearted smirk towards the mechanic. “But I have a feeling that that isn’t what you were hoping to hear.”

Winona gave me a searching glance. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to find, or if she found it, but after a moment, she gave a solemn nod and beckoned towards the ground. Before I could ask her to elaborate, she sat herself down in the grass with crossed legs. I sighed and followed her lead, allowing my hands to splay out against the ground beneath me. The grass was soft, but I could feel faint vestiges of the wasteland’s clinging poison even here, a good mile or so away from the start of it. The edges were sharper than the grass closer to our camp, and the texture had a slight roughness that wasn’t present elsewhere.

“Wilbur told me to ask you about familial bonds,” I said quickly. I wanted to skip all of the implications of the rest of our conversations. I wasn’t here to vent; I was here to ask a question. “Parents, siblings, stuff like that. I…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what it’s like to have that kind of family, but your dedication to Charlie…”

“You’ve kind of hit the nail on the head there, though,” Winona said with a soft smile. “If you ask me, dedication is a form of love. Everyone experiences it differently. Everyone has a different language they speak to those they love. Some people show love through words, others through actions. Some people like to spend money on those they love, or make things for them. For me, love and trust are almost synonymous with each other. The people I love the most are the ones I would trust with anything. All of my secrets, all of my misdeeds, but most importantly, I trust them with my life.”

She shrugged one shoulder as if letting something roll off. “I was close with my parents, but everyone knew that all of my loyalty was towards Charlie. From the time she was born, we did everything together. We learned from each other. We loved to sneak into each other’s rooms when Mom and Dad were asleep to tell each other stories and make jokes or just have each other’s company. I think they caught on eventually, ‘cause Mom eventually just stuck us into one room and converted my old room into a study.

“Sometimes, when people talk about loving people, they think it’s some grand, fiery thing. That you spend every moment thinking about them and that your only purpose is to be by that person’s side. And, well, yeah, that’s true for some people, but honestly, I believe love is more obvious in the little things. Anyone with deep pockets can take you out to a fancy restaurant, but only someone who loves you remembers that you always ask for your gravy on the side. Or that you’re allergic to eggs and you should probably stay away from that dish. It’s like…” Winona spread her fingers and clasped them together multiple times as if grasping for a word. “It’s like love is a fireplace. Some people stand right in the embers and feel love as a burning thing that consumes all other thoughts, and others stay towards the edges of the room, just close enough to feel the warmth of the flames and know that they’re there, but not close enough that it’s all you can think about.”

“I think Wilbur is actively climbing the chimney in this analogy,” I said, earning a chuckle from the mechanic.

“Well, yeah, some people are One With the Flames and are probably actually the one who lit the fire and might be trying to burn down the house with it. You know.”

“Wilbur would.”

“He absolutely would.”

Another soft chuckle shared between us. The ice crackled in displeasure. “So… what you’re saying is that I’m standing outside of this hypothetical room and can’t feel it at all. So, what, I need to… open a door? Does our hypothetical room have a door?”

Winona raised one finger as if to make a very important point. “The door to your heart,” she chirped. I glared at her for just a second before groaning loudly. “No, I’m not saying that you’re outside the room. Just that you’re… further away from the fire than the others. Maybe try getting a bit closer, appreciating the warmth a little bit more.”

“And how do you suggest that?” I felt my face twist into a scowl, but I couldn’t quite get it to drop. It was stubborn.

“You’re going to hate me for this.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Winona’s shoulders dropped a little bit, and she took on a slight pitying expression. “Apologize to him.”

I immediately jumped to my feet as the ice gripped my chest even harder than before. A scathing retort was on my tongue before I even had the opportunity to consider it, and it took all of my effort to not spit it out. “There is more to it than just one person, Winona!”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek. “Well, yeah, obviously. But… don’t you think it’s a good start to try with the first person who ever loved you?”

And just like that, the ice was settling back into its typical dormant state. I shakily dropped back to my knees with a chest-deep sigh. “Harsh,” I muttered.

“If it’s not true, then it’s what you believe to be true, right?” Winona pressed. I looked away, even as she continued. “Tyler wanted so badly to give you a piece of his heart, and you have denied it for so long. Maybe it would help the both of you more than you realize if you just… accept it.” When I didn’t respond for longer than a few seconds, she started to pull herself back up. “But that’s just what I think. Obviously, I can’t force you to do anything.” She started to brush the dirt off of her knees, and I caught the faintest look of distaste she shot at the new grass stains littering her calves. “It wouldn’t hurt to try though, right? And besides… I think an apology is much overdue.”

 

And so, that left one more person in our group to have an intense conversation with.

Talking to Wilbur, while always a bit frustrating, was easy. The prime ape held few grudges and was often more than happy to ramble about his thoughts. He tended to say whatever he was thinking, leaving not much left unsaid in any conversation. It could often be a point of annoyance, since his thoughts weren’t always linear and he had a habit of jumping to violent conclusions, but it had been perfect for what I had wanted to talk to him about.

I often had the least trouble speaking to Winona. I wasn’t sure if it was out of a silent bond we shared, being the only humans in a group of decidedly non-humans, or if she was simply more outgoing than Webber and less frustrating than Wilbur. She tended to think her words through and took time to articulate her thoughts, something I appreciated. She had treated our conversation with a gentle seriousness, carefully addressing the point without throwing out aimless accusations and snide comments. Sure, I had been the target of her anger more than once, but even the words she threw out in anger were often more true than not.

I… was fairly certain that Webber had more of an interest in killing me than having any sort of insightful conversation. Back in the first world after Maxwell’s Door, before the ice had grown thick and impenetrable in my chest, we had been able to have a single meaningful talk, and even that had been abruptly snatched away when we had found the Wooden Thing and he had broken down in a panic at the sight of it. That, unfortunately, meant it had been quite some time since I had actually tried to talk to him about anything.

Really, the last impactful interaction we had was him stabbing me through the abdomen with his sword. Not exactly the best starting point.

There were other factors to make it hard to talk to him, though. First, while Wilbur and Winona had no issue with me being alone with them, that didn’t mean they were happy to leave me alone with Webber. They both knew of our history, Winona often treating it with hesitance and avoidance and Wilbur with blind hatred. I was fairly certain he thought of the incident every single time he looked at Webber.

Which… was fair. A major point of his appearance these days was the scar across his missing eye.

So, if I procrastinated in my attempts to apologize to Webber, it wasn’t exactly my own fault. For the most part.

Okay, yeah, I was procrastinating hard. Even with the boundaries in the way, I just just wasn’t sure how to even approach the subject. Webber had openly told me more than once that he was scared of me, but I wasn’t sure we had ever actively addressed what had happened. It was a thin wall constantly between us, and neither of us took the initiative to break it down.

It was a full two weeks later before I was able to have any private conversation with the boy. We weren’t alone- not really- but Winona and Wilbur had tired themselves out during the day and crashed almost the moment they had settled down to rest. Even though Webber and I had also been present for that day’s escapades, my mind was spinning too fast to sleep, and Webber was staying stubbornly awake for reasons I wasn’t sure of.

It didn’t matter, though, because we were alone, and the wall was begging to be torn down.

“Webber,” I said quietly. While he didn’t seem to react much, I noticed the way his limbs stiffened slightly, and he suddenly went still in his movements.

“Tyler,” he corrected in a clipped voice.

Right. What a way to start a conversation like this, Wilson. I had to put too much focus on my hands to prevent myself from picking at them again. My fingernails were already chewed down enough that I was hyper-aware of them when I stretched my fingers out. Not to mention, he had been the one to point out that habit in the past. He would definitely notice it again now.

“Tyler,” I amended, watching as just the use of his name caused him to relax. His shoulders softened a bit, and he turned to look at me.

“What do you want?” Webber- Tyler- asked. He didn’t sound angry or upset. He just sounded… tired. Exhausted, honestly. His voice was breathy and soft, as though I had woken him from the depths of slumber instead of distracting him from cutting a pear into tiny cubes.

“I…” Words immediately died on my tongue. What on Earth was I supposed to say? How do you even breach a conversation like this? To him, this would be entirely out of left field. He had no idea how much I had been running through my words in my head. Not for the first time, I felt my hands itch with the urge to have something to write on. If only I had been able to write out my words on index cards, or a piece of paper. Maybe then they wouldn’t have fled me the second I tried to use them.

Tyler said nothing, though. He simply waited, a weary look growing ever stronger in his eyes. Eye. I swallowed hard at the unintentional reminder.

It sounded like a crack, a much harsher sound than I was expecting. I was vaguely reminded of the sound of someone crushing an unripe grape-

“I’m sorry,” I said in an emotionless rush. “I- grr, I just- I’m sorry. Okay?”

Instead of being a mind reader or whatever I was expecting from the lack of context, Tyler just seemed confused by this. He turned his gaze back down to the pear he was cutting, brow furrowed slightly. “No, no, I’m pretty sure Wilbur and I took the last of the pears, not you-”

Oh my god. “No- what? No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” This was already off to a terrible start. I groaned softly and scraped my hands across my face.

“So then you’re talking about…?”

“Your eye. That’s- I’m sorry about your eye.”

At first, he continued to look confused, one hand drifting towards his good eye as if he thought I was talking about that. I saw the moment when it clicked, his scarred left hand hanging uncomfortably in the air as the words finally seemed to register. “Oh.” He blinked a few times, then looked fully at me again. “...oh.”

I wasn’t sure why I thought the topic was obvious from the beginning. It had been some time now since that had happened, and as previously stated, we had never really talked about it. It was a discomfort to acknowledge it. If I ever mentioned his disabilities, it was to throw them back in his face, not to address them in any meaningful way.

A flicker of guilt, harsh and sharp, stabbed through the ice in my chest. Why had I said things like that to a child that I had crippled?

“I’m… I manage,” Tyler sputtered. “I’m used to it.” He brushed his claws against the scar across his face, tearing across not just his primary eye but also two of the spider’s eyes, sealed shut with scar tissue. It really was the first thing you would notice when you look at him. Despite everything else, everything he was- the fur, the whiskers, the fangs- I was sure the first thing anyone would see was that scar tearing across half of his face.

Or maybe that was just me.

I remembered what that scar looked like as a fresh wound. I had run away for the first few days after I had attacked him- like a coward, a bitter part of me hissed- in order to drag my mind back together. While I had made a lot of decisions I regretted around that time, I couldn’t entirely say that was one of them. If I had gone straight back… I was sure WX would have killed me. It didn’t matter what the boy said, how much he argued for me, the robot would have killed me no matter what I did. And even then, it wasn’t as if Tyler had been in any condition to argue against his best friend.

WX hadn’t said much about that time. In fact, they had kept staunchly silent about the few days I was gone. The closest they had ever really gotten to explaining it was done in clipped, targeted remarks.

“WE COULD NOT SAVE HIS EYE.”

“HE WILL NEVER FIGHT AGAIN. I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY.”

“HE ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF YOU.”

Even after I had returned, it was obvious Tyler was still in a bad way. He was feverish and terrified, flinching away at every minute movement and baring his fangs at me every single time I even looked his way.

I had never really thought about what they had actually done to try to fix the damage I had caused. I knew that they had worked tirelessly to spare his lame hand, but I couldn’t even imagine what they had to do with what remained of his eye.

Well, I could, but I didn’t need more images like that in my head.

“Does…” I started slowly. Tyler’s whiskers twitched in my direction. He had gone from tired and calm to stressed and stiff in only a few seconds. “Does it… hurt?”

Again, there was a pause. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to think or just hesitated to answer the question.

“I get headaches more than I used to,” Tyler finally mumbled. “But that… could be a few different things.” He pressed his right thumb into his left palm, wincing a bit as he put pressure against the old wounds. “I think my hand hurts, though.”

“You think?” I echoed.

“I… think I block it out most of the time.”

I was expecting to see something angry or accusatory in his eyes. He just looked sad.

“Are you-”

“I know Winona and Wilbur put you up to this,” Tyler interrupted before I could finish. Which was probably a good thing. I had no idea how I was going to finish that question. Are you… ‘Okay’? ‘Mad at me’? ‘Still blaming me for mutilating you a year ago’?

Those would only make it worse.

“I’d… really rather not hear it,” the boy continued. He ducked his head away, hiding the scar from my eyesight. “I don’t really want to think about it.”

“They didn’t put me up to anything,” I said, knowing full well that it was partially a lie. Winona had suggested this, yes, but she hadn’t forced me to do anything. Besides, I didn’t want him to think I was only saying something out of fear of our companions’ rage. “I want to apologize. For all of it.”

His expression was grim and disbelieving, but he didn’t stop me.

“I… I never treated you as I should have. Even before… anything happened. I… I mean, I cared about you, but not… not like I should’ve.” Ah well, my fingertips were going to get further abused tonight. I should’ve expected I wouldn’t be able to get through this conversation without it. “And then after everything, I just avoided it. Like I was the one who had been hurt. Like I was the victim.”

“We both avoided it,” Tyler said lowly. “What were we supposed to say about it? It happened.”

“You didn’t need to say anything.” I sighed and shook my head. “But I should have. I should have apologized at the very least. And I never did.” Tyler’s gaze darted to where I was picking at my hands, but he didn’t say anything about it. Suddenly self-conscious, I splayed out my fingers across my knees instead, hoping the sting from the too-short nails would substitute well enough. “You deserved that at least.”

To my surprise, his frown creased into the very last expression I was expecting from him. A wry, almost amused smirk. “We both know it wasn’t you who did that.”

“It doesn’t matter whose mind it was at the time. What matters is that-”

“If I can’t be blamed for mauling Wilbur,” Tyler said shortly. “Then I can’t blame you for what Nightmare did.”

“That’s different-”

“Different how?” He laughed a rough, unhappy laugh. “Different how, Wilson? Is it not the exact same? Attacking someone when you’re not in the right state of mind?” His fur was bristling now. “If I can’t be blamed for what I did when I wasn’t in my right mind, then I shouldn’t blame you for the same thing. If Webber suddenly used his influence to kill all of you, then whose fault is it?” He spread his arms, his eyes wild. “Would you claim that it was my fault?”

“If you don’t blame me, then why are you scared of me?” Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing. I knew it immediately, as soon as his face twisted even further.

“Why am I scared of you?” He repeated. “Why am I scared of you?” Tyler laughed again. The sound was mean. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s because I’m a hypocrite? Because, despite knowing that what I did to Wilbur wasn’t my fault, I still blame myself.” Both of his fangs were visible in full now, in his fake, too-wide grin. “And despite knowing that what you did to me wasn’t your fault, I still blame you. And isn’t that just hilarious?”

This conversation had gone entirely awry. I didn’t immediately respond to his words. Instead, I took a moment to consider how to continue as I sucked in air from between my teeth.

“I understand,” I murmured. “But you… what happened between you and Wilbur, that wasn’t-” Wilbur recovered from his injuries. Tyler had attacked him in a panicked fervor after the prime ape accidentally hit his blind-

My mouth suddenly went dry.

“What did you see when Wilbur accidentally hit you?”

The mania faded a bit into confusion once more. His fur started to lay flat as he stared blankly at me. “What?”

“When you…” Call it what it was, Wilson. Don’t shy away from it. “When you had your panic attack. What… who did you think was there?”

A twitch of his whiskers. The drifting of his gaze elsewhere. His breath stuttered, but only for a moment.

“You saw me, didn’t you?”

The boy had barely fought back. I knew now that if he had wanted to hurt me, if he had really been willing to fight back to get away from what was happening, he could have. He could have easily overpowered me. He had fangs and claws and speed, and when I had carved his eye out, I had had a flint knife and a broken arm.

Yet, something had changed in the year since that had happened. He was no longer willing to take the abuse. The second his mind flashed him back to that spot, back to that time, he had fought back viciously. If Wilbur’s crown hadn’t been ancient magic that healed his wounds, the Prime Ape would likely still be limping from the attack.

He had tried to push me away, kicked out, but he hadn’t really fought back. He hadn’t wanted to hurt me.

He had trusted me back then. Even when all of that had happened, even as it was happening, his trust and love for me were more than his desire to break free from the torture.

All of that was gone. Dust in the wind.

“I tortured you.” The words were plain and simple, but the full truth. It was the only way to properly describe what had happened that night.

“Yeah,” Tyler whispered, and his voice had grown so choked it was a surprise that he even managed it. “Yeah, you did.”

‘You did’. Not ‘Nightmare did’. ‘You did’.

“And when Wilbur hit you during your spar, you saw-”

“You,” he said simply. “I saw you.”

“And you fought back.”

“Yeah.”

The silence was stifling. Threads of tension had spun so tight around us that I struggled to even draw in a breath without feeling every other muscle in my body tighten in response.

In lieu of a proper response, I reached one hand out. Tyler looked at it wearily before gently placing his injured hand, palm up, on my own.

I had grabbed his hands multiple times in the past, but this was the first time I had really given any thought to the way the mangled appendage felt in my own hand. Most of the fur refused to grow back, exposing large swathes of skin that showcased his dozens of scars. Many of them weren’t from me. They were thin and faded with time, some barely noticeable. Others, however, had come from me. The most notable of these was the ugly scar that started at the base of his fingers and tapered off at the ball of his hand. Even after a year of slowly healing, the tissue over it was still tinged with red and purple and uncomfortably raw. In general, his skin felt rough and dry, built up so thick that you could see the callouses without even looking. Beneath the skin, though, I knew there was only worse damage invisible to the naked eye. Tendons and ligaments torn and healed with thick, inelastic bands of tissue that rendered them mostly useless. Bones that hadn’t been able to heal quite right, even with the care the spiders and WX had put into saving them. Muscles so weak and atrophied that they could barely convince what was left of the connective tissue to move when prompted.

“I’m proud of you for fighting back,” I murmured, gently tracing the large scar across his palm with one finger. His hand was dwarfed in my own, each tapered claw unnaturally sharp with lack of use. I felt the faintest of twitches run through his arm, but he didn’t pull away.

“A bit too little, a bit too late,” Tyler sighed.

“I know you were scared, but I’m so proud of you for finally realizing that you were worth fighting back for.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just wanted you to get better.”

I could hear the crack of my heart breaking. Or perhaps it was the crack of ice, exposed to warmth so fast that cracks spread across its frozen surface.

“You should’ve, though. What happened to you… you didn’t deserve that, Tyler. If you had hurt me, it would’ve been okay.”

“I loved you.” The words were so simple, said with so little emotion, but hearing them was one of the worst things I had ever heard. He blinked up at me, and I saw tears rising in his eye. “I loved you.”

“And I couldn’t understand that. I couldn’t understand how… to love back. That was never your fault, Tyler. It wasn’t your fault that I couldn’t feel that.”

“You never loved me.” His voice crackled, and he suddenly drew his hand back, pressing it closely to his chest. “Why did you let me believe that you did?”

Because I didn’t understand what that even was. Because nobody had ever loved me before, and I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like. Because everyone who is supposed to teach you what love was had failed me, and because of that, I had failed.

“I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like,” I breathed. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t you. It was never you. It was always me. It was always me.” But I had an idea now. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m so, so sorry for everything. You deserve so much better. You deserve what the others give you.” I reached out again, and once more, he let me. He closed his eye as I rested my hand against his cheek, letting my thumb brush against the base of the scar that had taken out his eye. “I’m sorry that I was never able to give you the same.”

Tyler covered my hand with his own, holding it in place. A gentle smile had spread across his features. “Okay.”

I balked. All of that, and his response was ‘okay’? “Okay?” I echoed.

“Okay,” he repeated, bobbing his head slightly in a nod. When he opened his eye again, bright with unshed tears and burgeoning hope, it was glowing in a now familiar, soft light. It wasn’t a harsh color, not as bright and garish as the gold, orange, or green. Instead, the glow that bathed his face was a gentle purple, just on the cooler side of pink. When he spoke again, it was words that I hadn’t expected to hear from him for a long, long time.

“I forgive you.”

 

[The Starver]

Wow. Just wow. This story is both touching and dark. 
 

It’s so well written, too! You should seriously consider getting it published in some form other than this. 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 91. Forgiveness - Part 5

 

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

Webber’s POV

“Are you sure we have to go this way?”

Although the words were heavy with disdain, I could hear the concern pitching Wilson’s voice. I felt my whiskers twitch in his direction, but I didn’t grace him with a response. My gut had yet to lead us wrong so far. I turned my gaze down towards my hands, one of which was bathed in a gentle purple hue, the other wrapped firmly around my sword. Without looking, I knew that the same purple glow would have settled in my eye and over the scars I couldn’t see.

It was almost funny in a way, considering it would be highlighting the very scar that Wilson’s apology was about.

There were questions when the others woke up, although that was to be expected. Wilson had gotten some sleep after our conversation but I… couldn’t. Instead, I found myself running the entire conversation through my head over and over again, trying desperately to figure out what exactly had happened and why.

I knew very well that Wilson had lied when he said that Wilbur and Winona had nothing to do with him apologizing. It wasn’t something he would’ve done by himself.

(Which was obvious. Almost eight months, and the scientist had never even really acknowledged what had happened.)

He had never apologized. He had never apologized. As soon as he had said that he was sorry, I had a retort on the tip of my tongue. I had almost said something about him having said it before, but he hadn’t. My mind had sped through all of our interactions in the past eight months and not once had he apologized for what he had done to me.

He had tortured me. Wilson had tortured me. And after the fact, he had awkwardly stood aside and pretended that it hadn’t been his hand to do it.

It was unfair of me to think that. It had been Nightmare’s will to do it, not Wilson’s.

But the scientist had never acknowledged it.

The fact that Wilson had decided to apologize now was… a surprise. I hadn’t even quite understood what he was talking about at first when he started talking because I had simply accepted that we were just never going to talk about it.

Maybe it was the loose end that had caused the wound to fester for so long. Maybe it was the silence that had caused that night to burn in my memory for so long.

Even hours later, my mind was still a bit of a mess over the whole thing.

“Nah,” I said breezily in response to Wilson. He jumped as I spoke, so I must’ve taken so long to respond that he expected me to ignore it altogether. “I’m just going in circles until you go so insane that you can barely think straight. It’s a game I play sometimes.”

He must have thought I was being truthful with the speed of which he whipped around to look at me. I snickered at his reaction and elbowed him in the side.

“Come on, have a little faith in me.”

“You said that so seriously!” Wilson protested.

“That’s why you take everything people say as a joke,” Wilbur piped up. The prime ape was seated comfortably on Winona’s shoulders, tail slowly waving in the breeze. “Then you don’t get bamboozled.”

Winona and Wilson exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

I immediately stopped and folded my arms, pulling out the best expectant expression I could make. “What, are both of you doubting me? Come on, I’ve led you to the right place three times so far. And this is the best shape I’ve been in doing that. If you can trust me while I’m starving,” I flicked a finger up for each point I made. “Having just recovered from the verge of death, and literally recently revived from freezing to death, then I think you should trust me while I’m none of those things.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your lead,” Winona said hurriedly. I could sense the way she felt uncomfortable bringing up the ending to the past three worlds, which was kind of strange, quite frankly. She wasn’t the one who experienced all that, and it was in the past at this point anyway. “It’s just- something Wilson and I found this way.”

Wilbur lightly bapped Winona on the side of the head with sheathed claws. “Oh, so you two found something spooky and didn’t tell us?”

Another uncomfortable shared glance between the two adults. I raised an eyebrow as I waited. “I was… kinda hoping we wouldn’t have to deal with it again,” Winona said after a moment.

“Oh no, I’m going entirely truthful on this one.” Wilson waved one hand at Winona. “She was worried you two would go straight into it the second we said anything about it.”

I should probably have been offended by that, but I surprisingly wasn’t. I looked over at Wilbur, who simply shrugged with an agreeable bob of his head. “Probably,” he said.

“Well, surprise, we’re going there without you guys having to say anything about it. What exactly is the ‘it’ we’re supposed to be concerned about?” When neither of them immediately responded, I added: “If you don’t tell us, I’m just going to guess until I guess correctly.”

Still, it seemed as if neither of them wanted to explain. Or maybe they were struggling to explain. Wilson was doing that thing again where he picked at his fingers to avoid looking at anyone and Winona simply stared at me with a sort of vaguely concerned look on her face.

Wilbur was the first one to speak. “Nightmare fuel,” he announced.

“Nightmare fuel? Do you know about it too?”

“Nope. You can smell it from here.”

I frowned lightly, but took his suggestion. I closed my eye and inhaled deeply.

The sting of Nightmare fuel was undeniable. It was faint at the moment, carried on the light breeze, but present. “Oh.”

“The place is entirely drenched in it,” Wilson muttered. “As far as the eye can see. And the entire time, there were just these…”

“Memories,” Winona finished. “Bad ones. Like dreams. Or, well, nightmares. No wonder it’s called Nightmare fuel. Wilson was nearly incapacitated by it. I didn’t get it as bad but it was still… a struggle.” She and Wilson gave stunted explanations of the land they had seen. Neither seemed happy talking about it, but they were giving an explanation, which was all I really cared about.

“Aw,” Wilbur said. “You guys didn’t want us to completely dissociate from trauma. That’s so sweet.”

I scrunched up my face as they spoke. I already had enough to deal with with nightmares and panic attacks, the last thing I needed was another source of resurfacing trauma. If the experience was bad enough that Wilson was nearly incapacitated by it, how badly would it affect me? How badly would it affect Wilbur?

I wouldn’t be the first person to call my life a dream, but Wilbur had over four thousand years of awful experiences to trudge through if he had to. Would he even be okay? It was almost enough to make me rethink the decision to go this way, but the pull in my chest was insistent. That was where we needed to go, no matter what we would have to go through to get there.

“We’ll do what we have to,” I said grimly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Winona fretted. “I mean this for both of you. I know there’s… a lot. That you might not want to live through again. Are you sure you’ll be able to…?”

“Eh, you’ve gone through a traumatic experience once, you’ve been through it a thousand times.” Wilbur waved his hand nonchalantly. “If I was one to get crippled by my old memories, I probably wouldn’t be here today.”

Three sets of eyes turned to me.

“Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.” I rolled my eyes. “Really appreciate it. Come on, let’s just keep going.” I tapped the tip of my sword against the ground impatiently. The tug at my chest was starting to feel more uncomfortable every second we stood around doing nothing.

“Whoa, hey, Ty, do I have to remind you about the fifteen million things you could see that would send us back three steps on our progress with you?”

I snorted at Wilbur’s nervous words. He leapt down from Winona’s shoulders to walk side-by-side with me. I kept my gaze firmly forwards.

“If this place is as bad as they’re saying, maybe we should wait for a bit before going anywhere. Actually, yes, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Let’s turn around and go back and enjoy the peaches a little bit longer. Hey, I’ve never tried a dragonfruit before, think we could-” I grabbed Wilbur’s shoulder just as he turned on his heel as if to go back.

“We have to go through here eventually. Nothing is going to make it less miserable.”

“Okay, yes, that is true, but also consider.” Wilbur put his hands together. “You are the most traumatized of all of us.”

“I doubt that is true.”

“You know, with how much losing Roselyn and Elizabeth messed me up, you’d be surprised I actually have more nightmares about my parents. I’m sure you understand just how awful it is to experience being attacked by your own parents, right? And like, Wilson, his most traumatizing moment is probably dying, which oh wow look at that who else’s heart literally stopped?”

“Wilbur.” My voice was short. I understood exactly what he was trying to do, but I wasn’t going to let it work on me. I wanted to go now. I would not let the prime ape hold me back because he was worried about my mental state.

“-and oh yeah, Winona, losing Charlie, probably absolutely terrible, if only I knew someone else who is deeply troubled by the loss of their sister-”

“Wilbur.” Fur bristling, I rounded on the prime ape. He yelped and shuffled back, although I didn’t move an inch. “Perhaps it is not the best idea to remind every single person here about what terrible things they’ve gone through.” Winona nor Wilson seemed to be too upset, although I could tell they were both extremely uncomfortable. Especially since Wilbur was acting as though what they had gone through paled in comparison to my own experiences. “Just because everyone has had different troubling experiences, does not mean one was harder to get through than the other. If I am saying I can go, then I can go.”

Wilbur opened his mouth as if to continue arguing, but he was silenced by a swift look from Wilson. He twitched his ear and looked away. “I’m just worried about you…”

“I know you are.” Against my will, my voice softened a bit. “But we will get through this, okay? Together.”

As soon as it looked like the argument had fizzled out, I struck ahead again. This time, Wilson dropped behind, allowing for me to fully take the lead as Wilbur climbed back onto Winona’s shoulders.

Long before we reached anything directly sinister, I could sense subtle differences around me. The shadows seemed to grow a bit deeper, as if they had physical weight to them. The sounds of wildlife were beginning to grow quiet, and the smell of citrus was quickly being overtaken by the stench of Nightmare fuel. I noticed Wilson indiscreetly covering his nose with one hand, although his eyes still watered. Winona didn’t seem to be as intensely affected, although I could tell that her nose was starting to run and she seemed unwilling to take any deep breaths. Wilbur had his mouth firmly closed to prevent the smell from getting into his throat, but he still looked innately uncomfortable.

For myself, I was sure it wasn’t as bad as the others. The smell was awful, yes, and tinged with the putrid scent of metallic blood and rot, but it didn’t seem to pierce my senses like it did the others. Instead, I just wrinkled my nose in displeasure.

The grass began to grow coarse beneath my feet. The sun’s light seemed to dim as we moved forward. Still, I took the lead. I was not about to back out of this, especially when we were so close to the end.

So close. So tantalizingly close. And while I didn’t know exactly what was in store for me- I wasn’t sure if I was to be Martyred, Nightmare’s Host, or the King. Whatever it was, though, I was not about to shy away from it. I had shied away far too much already, and now I was going to face it head on.

Something in my vision seemed to twist at the corners. I whipped my head around to catch sight of it, but whatever it was vanished the second I turned my attention towards it.

“Winona,” I said calmly, without moving my eyes away. “If I pass out, carry me, okay? Just keep going.”

“You… sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She nodded hesitantly, although Wilbur’s expression told me he was entirely unhappy with the agreement. I was talking a big talk, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure that I could get through memories like that without breaking down in some form.

I wondered if Webber would also experience a breakdown if I did. After all, we had been through most of these events together. Perhaps they would haunt him just as much as myself.

Once we beat Maxwell’s game, I was sure the others would be fine. Wilson and Winona had homes in their native world. They would probably just both slip back into society as if they had never left. While our time here seemed like forever to me- almost a third of my entire life- they had had much more time to establish themselves. This would be nothing more than a blip in the past at some point for them.

Wilbur had expressed his wishes to go back to the Archipelago, which I wasn’t about to deny. Assuming I did become King, I would make sure he was able to return home. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would be able to track down his daughter again and help them reunite. I smiled faintly at the thought. I could make the Archipelago nice for him. He had really taken to the pears, so maybe I would let them grow there for him.

Actually, if I took the Throne, I would have my work cut out for me. Trying to keep control of the Mainland, the Archipelago, my own homeland, and all five of Maxwell’s game worlds would probably be a huge point of stress. Perhaps I would be able to convince Wilbur to stay by my side for a bit. I would certainly need the help.

Erika and WX, too. I would have the power to bring them back. Maybe I could even go ho-

No. That wouldn’t work. I would be stuck on the Throne. Instead, I would let Erika go home. Maybe she would choose to stay with me even if given the choice to leave.

Selfish. Selfish.

Okay, what about WX? I doubted they would be willing to leave, though they came from the same land as Winona and Wilson. Perhaps they would want to go back as well. I frowned at the thought. What if all three of them chose to go home? What if I was left alone?

“Ty, careful-” Wilbur’s voice cautioned, just seconds before my foot splashed into a puddle of something cold and slimy.

Something shifted, snapped, shuffled. A puzzle that had been put through a wood shredder in order to be repaired into something different. Little swathes of color, bright and dull, swirling together like paint water in a glass cup. Flecks of dirt, specks of black ink staining the paint.

A realignment. The water was poured out as suddenly as it formed, and as its colors leached out across parchment, a new image replaced it.

And suddenly, I was no longer with Wilbur, Wilson, and Winona. Instead, I was somewhere that I… didn’t immediately recognize.

I was in a house. The windows were open just a crack, letting in a gentle spring breeze. Leaves rustled in my ears, each movement blending together into the sound of rushing waves.

It was warm and sheltered. The smell of baking bread wafted from a door that was held open by a clothes iron somewhere behind me.

“Guys?” I called out. My voice was small, thick with an accent I hadn’t heard in years and soft with youth. I was small. Smaller even than I was used to.

I walked forward. My feet were no longer padded with fur, but instead soft socks that felt distinctly of spider silk and beefalo wool. The window was much higher than I was anticipating, but I was just able to get my eyes over the sill to see outside.

Greenery flooded my vision. Warm, golden sunlight dappling leaves of deep shades of green. “Guys?” I tried again, but there was still no response.

Perhaps I should have been more worried, or more confused, but I was expecting something much worse than this.

I honestly had built a sort of list in my head of things I expected to experience once more. Certainly having my eye cut out, maybe mixed in with the mutilation of my hand. WX’s death was on my mental list, as was being eaten by Webber. Losing Wilson in the battle against the Dragonfly, even my own temporary death after I had frozen in the previous world.

This place wasn’t in any of those memories. And yet, it felt… so familiar.

Outdoors had not given me any hints, so I turned my attention back indoors. Picture frames with blurred pictures lined a mantle over a fireplace that was currently not in use. Some old holiday decorations still littered a shelf, having yet to be put away despite the temperature suggesting that snowglobes were far out of season.

The faintest trickle of memory appeared in the back of my head, of two small children complaining as the snowglobes were tucked away until next Winter’s Feast. They had stayed up the next year.

I examined each of the pictures on the mantle, but the faces of each of the individuals present in them were cast in such deep shadow that I couldn’t make any of them out. I rubbed my thumb experimentally across a faint crack in one of the frames, but the image still remained smudged and unrecognizable.

With no more hints to be gained from this room, I cautiously turned to the door that was propped open and pushed it the rest of the way open.

The increase of heat was immediate, as well as the overwhelming scent of roasting meat and baking bread. The sharp tang of cinnamon and the faint aroma of oats dusted the room, which I assumed to be a kitchen. Jars of carefully labeled spices lined the edge of an open oven. Various tools used for the handling of beefalo meat hung on the wall at my back, each one cleaned meticulously of blood or juice and hung just high enough to prevent children from touching them.

Standing by the oven was a small girl, humming the same four lines of a nursery rhyme over and over again. The door closed behind me with a soft thump as it bounced against the iron. Immediately, the girl stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me.

She looked different from the last time I had seen her. Older, likely the age she would be now had she survived all those years ago. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, likely to prevent it from catching fire, but I could tell it was longer than usual. Her amber eyes were just as vibrant, though. Like pools of fire, or glittering like the sunset.

“Hey, Ty,” the girl said with a smile.

I took a step closer, and immediately I found myself back in the body I was familiar with. Inky black fur covering every inch of my skin, scars dotting my face and body, and claws that twitched with the strange familiarity of this domestic setting.

“Erika,” I greeted softly. Even though it was the body I was used to, my voice sounded the same as it had earlier. Lacking the raspy growl of a spider’s vocal cords.

“You took your time,” Erika said. She beckoned me towards a worn kitchen table. The wood had once been washed with a baby blue, but age had deteriorated it into something closer to pale gray. Such a dye was uncommon in our town, so it was always a surprise to see it. As I sat at the creaky table, I noticed small notches made in the edges of the wood, as if claws had scraped slashes in it.

Or like two little kids liked to saw at it with their butter knives.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “I was told I was supposed to be experiencing some sort of awful memory. I wouldn’t consider any of this to be awful.” I tipped my head at my sister, watching the way her eyes seemed to dart around my face. She was looking for something. Or maybe she was just taking my appearance in.

Was Erika ever angry that I had survived the spider attack, and she had not? While I still retained some of my human features from the circumstances of my survival, Erika’s death had led to a rebirth as a full-blooded dangling depths dweller. Did she ever hate me for that?

Did you ever hate me for killing you, Eri?

“Maybe it’s not an awful memory,” the girl said. “Maybe it is a guilty memory.”

“Guilty?” I blinked at her, curious as to what she was getting at.

“You have a lot of awful memories, don’t you Ty?” Erika said instead of responding. Her smile was knowing, her eyes creased ever-so-slightly at the edge. When I had known her, she had never stopped smiling in my presence. I supposed neither of us had ever stopped smiling around each other. We had never been one for ‘mommy’s boys’ or ‘daddy’s girls’. We were each other’s and no one else’s. From the minute we were born to the minute we died.

“I guess,” I murmured. Was this the part where I was ruthlessly assaulted with the horrors of my past? I was prepared for it. I was fully prepared to experience all of the lovely things we had gone through. Would it be like a dream, where you could not feel pain? Or would I feel it all just like the moment the memory spawned from?
And yet, nothing significant happened. Something cooking in the oven began to sizzle. I could smell rabbit now. Erika turned away from me and used an old mitt to pull out a large slab of cooked meat from the fire. She shuffled around with it a little bit more as if turning something around before looking back.

“But you have one memory like this,” she continued. “One very guilty memory that you never forgave yourself for.”

“Forgave myself?” I echoed. “Erika, I…”

The girl padded closer to me. She sat on the chair opposite of my own. The one that I had accidentally torn a hole into the cushion of while roughhousing with Erika one day. We had panicked over the misdemeanor and prayed that our parents wouldn’t notice it, but Mum always had eagle eyes.

“So you have not?” She concluded. There was a twinkle of knowing in her eyes. Erika had always known me better than I knew myself. Our minds always worked in tandem, ready to cover for the other if need be. Our cover stories were always flawless, even as spunky, frankly stupid four-year-olds.

“I don’t… remember anything like this,” I admitted.

“Mum and Pa were still asleep,” Erika said. “I woke up early because Mum asked me to remove the roast from the oven before the sun rose. We were both very excited. Pa planned on baking bread.”

Instinctively, I felt my whiskers curl to my face. Our parents rarely made roast and bread. It was always a special treat when they did, and it was always planned out beforehand. Alyvia and Pa would always make the bread together, while Mum had to fight with me and Erika to prepare the roast. It was a family effort, even if the two youngest ones weren’t very helpful.

“You woke up early that day, too, because you wanted to-”

“Stop,” I interrupted. A sickening feeling was coiling in my chest. “Stop. Just… just stop.”

Erika tipped her head at me. “So you do remember.”

“Of course I remember,” I huffed. “That was the day…”

“That was the day I died,” Erika concluded calmly. Her voice held no roughness to it, not even an ounce of disdain or anger. It was calm but firm.

A sort of wry chuckle built in my chest. I pressed the palm of my hands against my eyes, laughing breathlessly into my chest fur. “I get it. It wasn’t enough to feel forgiveness. I have to earn it from you too, don’t I?”

Again, a sort of faint smile appeared on her face. “Did I ever say you had to earn your forgiveness from me?”

“Of course I do!” I snapped. As my temper rose, so did my stance. I stood so suddenly that the chair behind me screeched as it was pushed back. I threw one arm out in frustration. “Erika, any argument that has been made for my other screw ups aren’t applicable here. I wasn’t having a panic attack. I wasn’t controlled by anyone else. It was just me, dragging you out to a spider den just because I was curious. I got you killed, Erika. All of this-” I motioned again, with both of my arms this time. “This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been-”

“A child?” Erika finished.

“An idiot,” I corrected with a snap. “If I hadn’t been a selfish, stupid moron. If I hadn’t dragged you out there with me, you never would have… I never would have lost you.”

“Then I would have been lost grieving for you,” Erika said. “It is strange that you are so upset to have lost me, and yet you don’t grieve for having lost yourself.”

“I didn’t lose myself,” I growled. “I turned into what I had to in order to survive. Because despite what happened to you, I still stubbornly refused to let myself die.”

“That would have been a very sad ending to your story,” Erika mused. “I much prefer you have survived.”

“Well, we’re at odds here, aren’t we then?” I sneered.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You can forgive Wilson for your torture, but you can’t forgive yourself for being a naive child?”

“It’s different. I was in my right mind. I knew what I was doing and I-” My fists were clenched so hard that they shook. “I did it anyway.”

She tipped her head. “You didn’t understand the danger.”

“Mum warned us about the danger. I should have.”

That thoughtful look came over Erika’s face again. Then, she seemed to come to a decision. “Come with me.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I even could get a word out, I found myself in an entirely new space. The scent of bread and meat still hovered in the air, but it was fainter now. Instead, this place was cast in thick shadows and smelled of warmth and sleep. I blinked a few times to get used to the new lighting and saw that I was in another room.

There were slivers of golden light peaking through the corners of a window, but for the most part, the light was dimmed by heavy curtains. A chest of drawers, stained a deep reddish brown, was sitting under the window, the top covered with various objects.

I was in a bedroom. I could guess that easily enough, but I didn’t need to. I recognized this bedroom.

My hasty step back was blocked by Erika’s hand pressing on my shoulder. My gaze shot towards her, desperate for an explanation, but she simply tilted her head forward. “Look at him.”

“I don’t want to,” I whispered hoarsely. I didn’t want to be here.

“Ty.”

“Stop. I don’t-” My words caught as my throat seemed to close up. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to see it.

Still, she watched me with that patient glimmer in her amber eyes. She would not let me leave until I looked.

Finally, spurred on by her (somewhat forceful) encouragement, I inched closer to the bed. The desire to close my eyes tightly was strong, but I found that I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look away if I wanted to.

I knew what I would see. I knew exactly what I would see. And yet… I found myself still shocked beyond words to finally lay eyes on the boy that I had once been.

He was in a deep, comfortable sleep. His mouth was parted slightly, letting out little snorts with every exhale. There was not a single sign on his entire body that hinted of stress or nightmares. His face was lax and his breathing was steady.

He had very few scars. A noticeable trio that tore across his knuckles, and a couple of small ones on his elbows and face, but nothing that would really catch anyone’s eye. His skin was smooth and almost entirely unblemished by wounds or scars or fur. His hair was messy, sticking up randomly from the static of his pillow, but noticeably soft. In fact, ‘soft’ was the best word to use to describe him. From his round cheeks, his chubby limbs, his gentle features… it was the only word I could really use to describe him. Well, maybe not the only word.

Because another word I could use was… just… young.

It was one thing to remember doing something. To know that you did something and believe that you should have known better. But to truly see just how small and young you had been when you did it… I couldn’t even fathom blaming this boy for what happened.

My heart constricted at the thought, because this boy was myself. And he was just so innocent. So young. So oblivious to the thought of danger.

His scars were from scraped knees and tumbles. A table edge that caught his cheek when he tripped over a rug once. A toy that had cut across his arm when he and his sister were roughhousing. How could he even understand what danger was when he had never even seen it before?

I swallowed hard, surprised at the sudden dampness under my eye.

“Do you understand now?” Erika’s voice said. When I tore my gaze away from the boy to look back at my lost sister, she didn’t look upset or angry. She just looked… sad.

I understood. The guilt that had weighed on my chest for most of my life seemed to lessen, just a bit. It would take some time for it to fade completely, but it would eventually. One day.

Even though I didn’t verbally respond, she seemed satisfied. The girl smiled gently and threw her arms around me. I stiffened for only a moment before melting into her hug, returning it with just as much force. I turned my head into her shoulder and sighed heavily, letting the gentle touch be the last thing I felt before the scene winked out entirely.

---

Winona jerked violently as if waking from a dream. The touch of sunlight had faded, leaving a certain chill to her skin and artificial lighting to show her surroundings. The sharp scent of burnt oil and overheated metal carried heavily in the air, filling her lungs in a way that they had neglected to in the past several months.

She opened her eyes wide to see a wide room in front of her. Everything in it remained mostly still and unmanned. Machines paused in the middle of their cycle, scraps of metal in varying stages of work laid precisely in their spots, and tools scattering the shelves.

Her nose still stung from the acidic stench of Nightmare fuel, so before anything else, she took a good few moments to reacquaint herself with the familiar smells of her old job. Her home-away-from-home, if you would.

The place looked cleaner than she remembered. The cabinets and tables once smeared with oil were now polished to a shine, reflecting the lights above them back up to the ceiling. The floor was dry and free of debris or grease. Any clutter on the shelves was straight and in its proper place. Still, despite the unnatural cleanliness of the familiar space, she was able to pick out the well-worn tools that had once belonged to her.

Winona was not surprised to find herself somewhere new, especially here. Some awful memories came back to this place. And yet… she was surprised to find herself mobile. She wasn’t stuck in a nightmare that forced her to relive the worst days of her life, she was simply standing still, as if waiting for something to happen.

When she tried to walk, she did. There was no force stopping her from moving.

This is new, she thought after a moment. She reached a hand out to grab a wrench that was perched on a shelf. The handle had lost any luster it once held due to use, but it seemed to fit perfectly in her hand. She smiled fondly at the item. Much of her life had come down to the use of a screwdriver and a wrench.

That was… until Charlie went missing.

“There you are, Winnie. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The voice. Winona almost choked on the sound of the voice alone, and that was ignoring the aching familiarity of the nickname. The voice had come from behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Couldn’t bring herself to look at the phantom she knew would be standing behind her.

So it was the phantom that brought herself into Winona’s vision, a wide smirk on her face.

“Have you just been standing here this whole time?” Scarlet crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. When Winona still couldn’t find it in herself to respond, the other woman moved again to stand next to her before turning to face the same direction. She stood like this for a second before nodding once. “Ah, yes, I see. Fascinating. I, too, regularly admire our workplace.”

“Scar-” Winona choked. She had prepared herself to be haunted by the memories of her sister, not this phantom of the woman she had loved. “I- you-”

“It’s been some time now, hasn’t it?” Scarlet said when Winona couldn’t get the words out. Winona immediately clamped her mouth shut, unable to speak once more. “Almost a year, right? I don’t think it’s been a full year since you went missing, yet.” Melancholy wavered in Scarlet’s light brown eyes as she spoke.

And still, Winona could not speak. She had never imagined herself to be standing here again like this, basking in the warmth Scarlet radiated with every movement. The lack of sunlight never did matter when the only sun she needed was right beside her, covered in grease and twirling tools in her hand like she had been born with natural sleight of hand.

For some time, Winona had refrained from ever speaking of Scarlet around her companions. She wasn’t sure how natives like Wilbur and Tyler viewed people like them, and she didn’t want to risk their hatred. She knew exactly what people from her home thought of it. Wilson, she was the most afraid of. She knew for a fact that he had grown up with the same ideals as she had, and she knew for a fact that he was familiar with the hatred most people would hold for her.

It had been a pleasant surprise to hear that none of her companions minded. Even Wilson seemed more baffled than angry or disgusted. It had made her feel warm from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, because suddenly, there was some place she could stay where no one hated her for something so simple as this.

Standing here again, though, in front of Scarlet once more, she suddenly forgot all about the expectations and whispered slurs and rumors that had been shared behind their backs. It had never really mattered in the end. Scarlet had always had it worse, but she had always managed to keep a smile on her face no matter what the words said about her were. Slurs about her warmer skin color and who she chose to love never seemed to bother Scarlet. Winona could never quite believe that Scarlet was as unbothered as she appeared.

Scarlet whistled and waved a hand in front of her face. “Helloo, Earth to Winnie, you with me?”

And finally, as if broken from a thick layer of ice, Winona found herself capable of movement again. Immediately, she fell into Scarlet, grabbing onto her for dear life and holding her closer than she ever dared before. “Scar,” she breathed, struggling and ultimately failing to hold back the tears that threatened in her vision.

“Whoa, okay, let’s sit down for a bit, yeah?”

Winona allowed Scarlet to gently guide her to the ground, where she was significantly less likely to fall flat on her face if she leaned against the other woman any more. Still, though, she refused to release her. The last time she released Scarlet, she never got to hold her again. She had too much time to make up.

“You still wear your headband,” Scarlet mused after a moment, twirling one of the ribbons between her fingers.

At this point, Winona had regained some of her composure, although she still hadn’t released her girlfriend. She chuckled wetly. “Of course I do. It makes me think of you.”

“You sap,” Scarlet teased. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Winnie.”

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Winona said. “I am allowed to be sentimental.”

A few more moments of silence hovered between them. Once again, Scarlet was the one to break it. “You found your sister, hm?”

Winona slowly peeled herself away and scrubbed at her face with her wrist. She had to remind herself, this wasn’t Scarlet. Not the real Scarlet, at least. The real Scarlet had no idea where she was, no idea what had happened to her. The real Scarlet…

God, the real Scarlet probably thought she was dead.

“Ah,” Scarlet said, and her voice had become much more somber. “You feel guilty.”

“Of course I feel guilty,” she chuckled without any real merriment. “I gave up everything to find Charlie… even you.” Winona looked up as she released a forceful exhale. “You didn’t deserve that. Mom and Dad didn’t deserve that.”

“But you did find Charlie,” Scarlet pointed out. “It wasn’t for nothing.”

“Wasn’t it, though?” She tried to meet Scarlet’s gaze, but she found that she couldn’t hold it. She dropped her eyes. “Knowing where Charlie is now, knowing what happened to her… I still can’t save her. I don’t really know why I thought I could.”

“Mm.” Scarlet rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t think of it like that. I’m sure Charlie is ecstatic to get to see you again, even if it’s not in the best of ways. I can’t even imagine how tough it was for her to hold out so long with nobody but Maxwell.” She stuck her tongue out at the name.

“That’s another thing,” Winona sighed. “I knew something was off with William. I knew it for years.”

“You told her you thought something was wrong with him.”

“I should have pushed harder. I should have put my foot down and told her to break it off with him.”

A smirk appeared on Scarlet’s face. “Ah, telling people to break up with their love always works out well. I’m sorry, remind me how many people you stopped being friends with because of us?”

“You weren’t a crazy psychopath.”
“And nobody believed William was, either.” Scarlet tapped her chin. “I remember him. Confident, smart, always squinting like he needed glasses. Everyone loved him. I’m pretty sure Charlie talked about him every single time I ever saw her. She was head over heels for that man. I don’t think you could’ve stopped her from being with him, even if you tried to pull the big sister card.”

“I could have at least tried,” Winona muttered.

“You did try, Winnie,” Scarlet said softly. “You tried everything to keep that girl safe. But she was an adult. She made her own decisions.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you ‘I guess’ me,” she scolded. “You did everything you could. I know Charlie would’ve been touched to hear all that you went through for her.” Scarlet visibly softened as Winona continued to avoid her gaze. “It must have been hard, when everyone told you to move on… even myself.”

Winona immediately snapped back to attention. “No, no. You guys were right. I let my obsession consume me! I pushed everyone away, just because you guys cared about me! If I had just…” Winona pressed her hands into her eyes. “Grr, if I had just listened to you, none of this would’ve happened. I would still be there with you.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “None of this would’ve happened.”

“And you consider that to be objectively a good thing?” Scarlet pressed. “If you had given up on Charlie. If you had moved on like everyone else. If you hadn’t rebuilt the door and ended up in the Constant. That is the best possible scenario you could be in?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Winona said grimly. When Scarlet didn’t say anything, Winona let out a sigh. “Do you think I enjoy sleeping on the ground? Fighting off starvation and freezing? Having to hunt for my own food, and prepare my own meat? That I enjoy knowing that Charlie is just out of my reach, suffering every moment while I do nothing?”

“Perhaps not,” Scarlet conceded. “But I think you love your friends.”

“I had friends at home.”

“But not like them.”

Wilson, fighting to free himself of his own chained hatred. Wilbur, snarky and sarcastic and capable of loving more deeply than anyone she had ever known. Tyler, bold and brave and struggling to build a family from what he had left.

“No,” Winona agreed quietly. “Not like them.”

“And you believe Charlie does not feel the same way? That, while her situation is terrible, it could be worse? She is still whole, Winnie. You can still save her. You shouldn’t lose hope for that future.”

“I’m not suffering the same way Charlie is, Scar.”

“Are you sure?” Scarlet asked. “Charlie does not feel the cold or hunger. She doesn’t have to fear the dark. She doesn’t need sleep like you do.”

“But I’m not alone like she is!” Winona protested.

“Charlie is not alone.” Scarlet tipped her head. “She has you. I believe having you here gives her strength. To see such a bright spirit like yourself remain bright despite the situations. I believe your group shines away the darkness she had been in for so long.”

It felt like a stretch, but Winona couldn’t deny the little spark of hope in her chest. It was likely wishful thinking to believe any of what Scarlet was telling her. And yet… she found herself hoping it was true. That, just by being here, she was helping Charlie. Fighting back the darkness.

“What about you?” Winona murmured.

“I have not lost you forever,” Scarlet said. “I understand why you did what you did. I always have understood. I just feared losing you forever. But that hasn’t happened. You are still alive and well. You still have a way home. And when you do make it home, I will still be there.”

“You would like Wilbur, I think. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

“I’m sure it would be a blast to talk to a monkey.” Scarlet grinned. “Come on, Winnie. Pick yourself up. You’re so close to the end.”

Winona huffed as she slowly dragged herself back to her feet, aided by an offered hand by Scarlet. She was silent for a moment, carefully gazing over Scarlet’s face and trying desperately to remember her features. “You’ll be waiting for me?”

“Always,” Scarlet said with a nod. “You just have to beat this game.”

She could do that. She knew she could. After ensuring that every inch of Scarlet’s beautiful face was freshly committed to memory, Winona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m almost there, Scar. Soon. I promise. We will see each other again.”

Scarlet opened her arms, and Winona fell into them. She breathed in deeply and tucked her face into Scarlet’s neck. “I’m counting on it,” Scarlet whispered, the voice breathy and soft and the last thing Winona was able to absorb before it all faded away into soft light.

…

It was just a blink. One second, Wilbur was perched on Winona’s shoulders, and the next thing he knew, he was suddenly on his own feet in the middle of a jungle. He didn’t even really question it, though. Instead, he simply looked up at the trees and nodded. “Yup. This tracks,” he said to no one in particular.

The world around him was painted in vibrant greens, like an artist trying to paint a landscape with just shades of the color. All of the tree trunks were covered so thoroughly in plant growth that their natural brown color was hidden entirely under the soft, round leaves. Vines hung all around him, some hanging limply from the trees and others- the more sentient ones- hissed and rattled in irritation at his presence. They wouldn’t bite, though. Not unless he got too close or smelled suspiciously like flies. Either way, he still didn’t get any closer to them. You couldn’t really predict when your fur was having a particularly fly-smelling day.

Golden sunlight streamed from up above, casting dappled beams of light onto the underbrush. The wind caught the leaves, causing these pale spots to shift and tremble as it disturbed them.

His ears twitched as the buzzing of large, glowing insects reached him. It was a lazy sound, like the bugs could barely be bothered to even fly. At a higher register, trilling bird songs fluttered about above his head, speckling the intensely green land with flashes of blues, reds, and yellows.

Wilbur stood in a small circle of dirt, barely big enough for himself, in the middle of a sunbeam. It was similar to the kind of space you would make to sleep for the night. It was always more comfortable when tucked away in the brush, nothing but plants tickling your sides and sun-warmed dirt under your flank. Still, though, he didn’t often venture this far into the jungle on his own. There was always the risk of finding prime ape troops if you did that.

He could tell by smell alone that he was rather far inland. While the smell of salt carried heavily on the breeze, it was overshadowed by the sweet, tart tang of fruit. That part, at least, was familiar from recent times. The smell of fruit was strong in the little slice of Heaven that Maxwell had carved out.

The rest of it, though, was something he hadn’t seen much of in many years. He had always preferred the beach and open ocean to the cool, shaded jungles.

“Not getting any younger,” Wilbur muttered under his breath as he started to walk forward. Truthfully, he had expected to succumb to something while they were here. Wilson and Winona had seemed pretty convinced that he and Tyler would be absolutely decimated by the kind of visions this place induced. And yet, as it stood right now, there was nothing really bad happening. As far as he knew, this was not a memory at all.

For a good moment, the only things that showed any interest in him were the snapping vines. They whipped warningly in his presence as he pushed through the undergrowth, but he remained untouched. It must’ve been a non-fly day for his fur. Always a plus.

Then, suddenly, the world opened up into a clearing. Wilbur froze so fast that he nearly fell over himself. Thick, impossibly tall trees lined the clearing in a perfect circle. He recognized this area, although his memory had it placed much closer to the beachside.

Pale, glowing blue flowers covered the ground, erupting from a spot somewhere closer to the opposite tree line. The familiar plants crawled up the trees, their raindrop-shaped petals drooping from the branches and from little gaps in the bark. The gold shine of the sun had been overtaken entirely by the cool brightness of the flowers.

“Ahh, bad memories.” This made a bit more sense. Even if this wasn’t a specific memory, it wasn’t as though he had much of a fondness for this place. It was actually borderline physically painful, but it could be worse. He would rather find himself here than reliving his worst memories.

Wilbur waded through the Glowing Tear Roots. He allowed the silky touch of the petals to soothe him, if only just to keep himself calm. It had been some time since he had visited. It only felt appropriate to reach the epicenter of the overgrowth, even if his chest ached because of it.

The flowers closest to the center had formed with little red streaks adorning the petals, marking them as unique from their brethren.. It was there he intended to go, and there he saw something that stopped him entirely in his tracks.

Standing amongst the field of flowers, a young, pale-furred prime ape was tending to the Glowing Tear Roots. She had her long tail kinked high over her head, adorned with ropes of the blue blossoms that seemed to bloom from her fur. While normally, the sun would turn her fur a deep gold, the pale light of the Tear Roots bathed her in a ghostly sheen.

Upon noticing Wilbur, though, she looked up, a bright glimmer in her eyes. No matter what the lighting did to the color of her fur, her ocean blue eyes were unmistakable.

At first, neither of them spoke. The other prime ape’s tail waved slowly back and forth, loosing a flurry of blue petals that came seemingly from nowhere every time it moved. Then, she broke into a wide smile and started wading through the plants towards him.

“Wilbur,” she said gently as she butted her head into his cheek. As her scent wreathed around him, he immediately felt himself relaxing.

“I wouldn’t call a vision with you alive in it a terrible bad no-good nightmare memory,” Wilbur murmured, unable to help his own grin.

Perhaps this wasn’t a memory. Perhaps Wilbur had simply spontaneously died and Roselyn was here to guide him to the afterlife. The Glowing Tear Roots were always associated with death, after all.

“Stop that,” Roselyn said, bopping Wilbur on the nose. “You’re not dead.”

“Are you sure?” He said cheekily. “Because I feel like I’m seeing an angel.”

Roselyn scoffed so hard she nearly lost her balance. “Suddenly acting like a prince again?”

“More like a king, my lovely queen.”

“Oh please, how many people actually call you their king?”

“Enough.” The banter was warm, light, familiar. There was an impossibly light gleam in Roselyn’s eyes as she hip-checked Wilbur.

“Like, two people.”

“I bet you could find at least three.”

“Warly, Walani-” Roselyn started counting on her fingers, and Wilbur found himself interrupting.

“Uh, yeah, probably not them. I’m sure they have a few other names for me that aren’t very nice. Or PG.” He waved one hand. “People really don’t like it when you murder them, soooo…”

The glimmer in Roselyn’s eyes started to fade. “I… yeah. That makes sense.”

The sudden change in the tone of her voice was enough to force Wilbur to look away. The moment had gone from warm and fond to awkward and heavy.

Roselyn had already been gone when he had killed the other members of their group. Her body hadn’t even gone cold yet before Warly and Walani had joined her. It… wasn’t his proudest moment.

Rose seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Or maybe she was just unsure of how to continue after the sudden shift in tone. Either way, what was left was an uncomfortable silence that Wilbur wasn’t sure how to fill.

“I’m… sorry, by the way. For everything.” He dipped his head, staring intensely at the flowers at Roselyn’s feet. “I… didn’t really do anything good with my life, did I?”

Rose seemed surprised by this. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean, no matter where you start in the timeline, I’ve only really done bad things. I trapped Woodlegs in a volcano and left him to die. I personally killed Walani and Warly with my own claws. I followed Nightmare and Maxwell and got you killed and Liz taken away. Even in the very beginning, my very first friend... I abandoned him.”

“You remember him.” Roselyn sounded surprised.

“I remember… most of him. I remember his face. I remember leaving him to die. But… you know. When you supplement someone’s actual name with ‘The Boy’, you start to forget their real name, you know?”

“You hold a lot of regret in your heart.” Roselyn took Wilbur’s hand in her own and started tracing the lines of his palm. “Why is that? Why do you hold so much?”

“Hello? Have you seen the kind of regrettable things I’ve done? Again, volcano, murder, abandonment, not in that specific order.” He stared at his lost mate.

“But most of it was against your wishes,” Roselyn pointed out. “You have been put in awful circumstances, and you had to do what you had to do to survive.”

Wilbur scoffed. “I’ve been alive for four thousand years. I think I’ve kind of overstayed my welcome, if you know what I mean.”

This did not seem to pacify Rose. “You have such a big heart, Wilbur. The darkness forced you to destroy it just to stay alive, and yet, you still fight to build it back up. To fill it with all of the love you were able to feel.”

“Correction: The darkness forced me to destroy it because I wanted power. There were no death threats if I didn’t join them. Nightmare and I worked together for longer than you and I even knew each other.”

“And yet, you broke free from Nightmare’s influence.”

Wilbur had been under Nightmare’s influence for a long, long time. Much longer than Wilson had. His deal with the darkness, for an ounce of its power, had soiled part of his soul in the process. As such, he had held no fondness for his old companions.

Roselyn had cracked the ice around his heart. He found a gentle part of himself when he met her. She had been bathed in the red light of the volcano at the time, fur plastered with sweat and chest heaving with exertion, but the intensity of her gaze had ensnared Wilbur’s poisoned heart from the moment she had told him her name.

The ice had remained, however. It wasn’t broken entirely, simply cracked. Love leaked through the cracks like the hull of a sinking ship, but it hadn’t been until the first time he had seen Elizabeth that the ice had shattered completely.

He had had to relearn how to love, but Rose and Liz had made that easy for him. In the end, it didn’t matter. Roselyn still died. Elizabeth was still stolen from him.

Even then, his sins hadn’t begun or ended with Nightmare. He had abandoned his original friend before Nightmare’s influence. He had broken through the influence by the time his old companions had suffered under his claw. It was not an excuse.

“Nightmare had you in its claws for so long,” Rose said gently. “You can’t expect to have been able to become completely free of it.”

“If I hadn’t even tried, you would still be alive,” Wilbur growled. “I lost you because I betrayed Nightmare. Add that to the sins count.”

“You tried to do what was right.”

“It wasn’t a very objective ‘right’ then.”

Roselyn let out a sad sound. She reached up and brushed her hand through the fur on Wilbur’s head. “It was what was good for the world.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the world fall apart before, and it just got built back up. It doesn’t matter what’s good or bad for it. It’s like a tick that won’t leave you alone.”

“Existence?” Roselyn quirked an eyebrow.

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” Wilbur sighed. “This world is not a kind one. It is evil and nasty and terrible. If the world had fallen apart if I accepted Nightmare fully, it probably would’ve been for the best.”

“And yet… this is the world that you learned to love in.”

Wilbur finally met her gaze. Her face was soft and sad, though he couldn’t see any pity. Just a glint of hope and warmth that he wouldn’t have expected in a conversation like this. “Huh?”

“This world is awful, yes, but it is the world that you learned to love in. It is the world that you learned to cook. That you and I first met in. It is the world that our daughter was born into. It is the world that your son lives in now. That is the world you helped to protect by rejecting Nightmare.”

“It’s the world that killed you,” Wilbur protested.

Roselyn suddenly straightened herself, a fire burning in her eyes. “No,” she said firmly. “The world was kind to me. It gave me my troop. It gave me Elizabeth. It gave me you. Nightmare was born alongside the world, not as a part of it. It is at fault for the terrible things that have happened, not the world, and not you.”

Wilbur struggled to find a proper response to that. There was a passion in Rose’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. A genuine love for the world that her family existed in. A genuine love for the world Wilbur had helped to live a little longer by refusing Nightmare a vessel.

“This world still lives on because of your choices, Wilbur,” Roselyn said, her voice quickly fading into a soft note again. “Not despite them. In the living world, yes, you have lost me. But I still live on, waiting for the day you get to join me in the afterlife. I am only able to live on because of your strength in fighting off Nightmare. Not everyone is capable of loving to such an extent.” Warmth blossomed in her voice. “And you love so much. Every moment, Wilbur, you are a wellspring of love and joy, even in the darkest times. That love will get you to the very end, when we’ll all be together once more.”

Wilbur blinked a few times, surprised to feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn’t always able to feel that wealth of love in his heart, but at this moment, it was full to near bursting. He had once loved so much that he had refused Nightmare’s call, and the demon had torn down everything he had because of it. He had once loved so much that he had killed his companions, just for a glimmer of a chance to spare his only child. He had once loved so much that he had run away, because he couldn’t bear to see the pain on his only friend’s face as he was twisted into a demon.

He had loved so much, he had torn his life down around himself just to spare it.

They said no more. Roselyn gently nudged him, leading him back the way he had come. The flowers that marked her grave disappeared behind them, but her fur still glimmered silver in the light of the petals that grew from her skin. Once they were back to the beginning, she nudged him again into a tunnel hidden under a rock. He followed her lead without complaint. The warm scent of home washed over him as the tunnel opened up into a den. With careful movements, she eased the both of them down together, tails twining flat on the ground behind them, the sound of gentle heartbeats following Wilbur into the soothing darkness.

…

I was somewhere I didn’t recognize.

When I had first blinked my eyes open to the long, brick halls, I hadn’t even really questioned it. Winona and I had already experienced the strange flashbacks this place induced, and while I couldn’t quite place a memory to this, it was my only assumption.

However, the longer I walked, the more I realized I genuinely had no clue where I was. The halls were long and twisting, dark and foreboding. Red brick, rough and unrefined, towered high above my head. It snagged on my skin as I ran my hand along it, the sensation keeping me grounded enough to keep from panicking.

The floors appeared to be made of cherry wood, although the accuracy of that assessment was something to be desired. There was very little light at all, and the light that was present was created from an occasional sconce that burned with gray fire. The crackle of the torches seemed unnaturally muffled, even when I was as close to one as I could get without risking my hair going up in flames.

I had been pacing these halls for what seemed like an hour at this point. The tunnel(?) twisted and turned on itself, but it never broke off into other pathways. Whether they were built to intentionally make one feel lost without actually being lost or if there was some other, more reasonable explanation, I couldn’t even begin to guess. All I could really do was keep marching onwards, praying to see some sort of out or variation.

It seemed to be getting colder. Not the kind of chill you would associate with soft snow and warm fireplaces, but the snap of creeping ice. The kind that penetrated any protection from the elements with ease. My feet were starting to ache at this point, but I pressed forward. Something beckoned me to keep moving until the end, assuming there even was one.

My breath billowed out in clouds of mist in front of me. The drops of condensation settled on my eyelashes and crystallized almost immediately.

The red brick was starting to frost over as well. Beautiful, intricate swirls of frost patterned the walls, branching into thousands of little fractals and waves. As soon as I noticed this, I was stunned by its beauty. In my entire life, I had never seen such perfectly formed crystals. Again, I reached out to touch the wall, expecting the ice to melt under my touch, but it remained unaffected. Almost as though my body heat was nothing to the cold that had permeated this hallway. A quick glance at my fingers showed that the same ice had settled into the whorls of my fingerprints, gradually creeping along the lines of my palm and following the lines of my veins.

Distant voices reached me. They were faint, quiet, unassuming at first. Low murmurs and uncomfortably short responses. And, again, the longer I walked, the louder they got. And yes, they got louder, but they never grew understandable. I could not make out the voices or what they said. I could only assume what they would be about, and none of my assumptions were things I wanted to think of at this moment.

That didn’t stop the guilt that they brought, though. I could tell, although I couldn’t explain how, that if I managed to understand them, they would simply be repeating every sin I have ever committed. Every person I had ever wronged.

The list couldn’t have been long. I had been isolated on Earth, far away from any others. The interactions I had typically were short and unassuming. And yet, no matter how short the list was, the fact was that there was one, and each one had sunk beneath my skin and left invisible scars.

Finally, finally, there seemed to be a break in the scenery. Somewhere up ahead, the walls curved inward to create a doorway. Even from a small distance, I could see the heavy wood making up the door, and the glittering, frosted metal that formed the hinges and doorknob. Here, the ice seemed to be at its sharpest. Icicles hung from the ceiling and patches of ice lined the flooring. Frost tinted the wooden grooves of the door a pale gray color.

I reached forward and placed my palm flat against the wood. Despite the cold snap, the wood felt strangely warm against my skin. Still, though, the frost remained heartily settled into it. The doorknob was warm as well, like it had recently been opened by someone.

I was unsure of my whereabouts and what any of it meant, but I couldn’t help but follow the insatiable tug in my chest. Wherever I was meant to be right at this moment, it was somewhere beyond this door. In the heart of the frozen brick hallways.

The hinges protested with crackling squeals as I pushed it open. Ice splintered out from the disturbed metal, but it held surprisingly steady as the door swung aside to reveal a room.

It was still chilly here, but not nearly as cold as in the halls. While ice and frost still lined the corners, it seemed less solid and more slushy. I could hear water dripping from somewhere nearby, but I had no idea where it was. Really, though, it wasn’t too important.

The walls were made with deep, red-brown wooden planks. They appeared to be perfectly aligned and without flaw sans the occasional knot in the wood. Gray stone bricks lined the doorway, each brick unnaturally smooth and polished. My shoes clicked uncomfortably loudly against the floor, a few shades darker than the wood forming the walls, and despite the higher temperatures, I couldn’t help but feel myself shudder.

Despite feeling drawn to this place, it suddenly felt forbidden to stand here.

I should go back.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of a voice. This one was much more present than the voices I had heard before, and also a lot less directed. A flicker of movement caught my eyes, and a boy fluttered into view, cursing under his breath fiercely as he darted towards a fireplace standing opposite of the door.

The fire, if there ever had been one, had burnt out. A variety of logs and planks and kindling lay on the floor around it, as if someone had been trying to light it. This was what he seemed focused on, considering the paper he was crumbling into balls and tucking into the opening. If the precise, careful set-up of the kindling had any indication, the boy had been trying to light it for quite some time.

“Hello?” I tried calling.

Amber eyes darted towards me. He blinked a few times as if to clear his vision before shaking his head and turning back to what he was doing. “Gimme a moment,” he muttered. “I promise, I can do this.” I watched curiously as he shook out his hands. He took a small stick from the ground beside him (a match?) and struck it against the stone of the fireplace, lighting a small fire at the end. The second he touched it to the scrap paper, though, the flames flickered and died, seemingly smothered by some unknown force. He cursed again and threw the spent match with a groan.

“I don’t understand!” He pulled himself back to his feet and flicked his hands once more, frowning in either displeasure or deep thought. “I’ve tried everything, and I can’t get this stupid thing to light.”

I came to stand beside him. I couldn’t help but notice that his hands looked red and raw. Even as I watched, he winced and brought his hand to his mouth to pull a splinter out with his teeth. His eyes, while glittering with annoyance, were red and tired, and deepened with dark eyebags.

He must have been working at this for some time now.

“Why are you trying so hard to light it?” I asked. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“Does it look like I can take a break?” He snapped. “Didn’t you see what it’s like out there?” As quickly as the anger appeared, though, it shifted into panic. “I’m on a time limit! Who knows how much longer this place has before it freezes over completely? Then what!?” His eyes darted towards me, then back to the unlit fire. “Grr, okay, okay, I can do this. I have to.” He pushed past me as if to grab something else, but I touched his shoulder to stop him.

“You know, I’ve gotten pretty good at starting fires,” I said with a smirk. “Lemme try.”

The boy looked at me wearily. His eyes wavered, something uncertain and uncomfortable flickering in them. “How do I know I can trust you?” He demanded. “You’re the reason it’s gotten this bad in the first place. How do I know you won’t make it worse?”

He was clearly scared. I couldn’t even begin to completely understand his words. Why did he think I had anything to do with this place or the ice that was creeping over it? Still, though, I couldn’t completely write off his fears. He seemed genuinely scared of me and my intentions.

I thought back to the voices that had followed me here. Something as simple as helping someone to start a fire wouldn’t even begin to negate the bad things I’ve done, but at the very least, it was a start.

I didn’t respond outwardly, but he didn’t stop me from touching the kindling he had gathered. I was immediately able to tell what was wrong.

“Everything you’ve got here is soaked,” I said. “Of course a fire’s not going to light on it. Is there any more of this stuff where you found it?”

He still looked unsure. For a long, quiet moment, I wasn’t sure if he would even react. This boy’s distrust of me seemed to run quite deep, but it was clear he was desperate. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod and disappeared into the shadows.

It was only a few minutes later than he returned with fresh wood and kindling, this set much drier than the first. I cleaned the old fireplace of everything that wouldn’t light and replaced it with careful, practiced hands. The entire time, the boy hovered uncomfortably by my shoulders, staring intensely at every movement. I couldn’t tell whether he was studying me to learn what I did or if he was making sure I didn’t do anything suspicious.
Once I was satisfied, I asked for a new match, which he only procured after a moment of hesitation. It took a few tries to get it to light on the stone, but soon enough, a tiny flame sparked to life at the end.

The fire took to the paper much easier than it had before. It quickly ate through the paper and moved on to the smaller twigs and scraps of wood. Soon, it flared to life, casting vibrant flickers of orange and red across the walls.

I turned to look once more at the boy to see his reaction, expecting to see excitement or relief on his face. Instead, I froze the second I lay eyes on him.

The boy that had been fretting over the fire had changed entirely in appearance. He no longer had the blazingly bright amber eyes or insanely messy mop of brown hair. Instead, the boy staring at the fire was now someone I recognized.

“It’s that easy, huh?” Tyler muttered below his breath as he crossed his arms. His face was creased into something sad, maybe a little angry. “After how long I’ve tried…”

The stun from whiplash lasted only a few moments. I managed to snap myself out of it with a quick shake of my head. “Why were you…?”

“The place was freezing,” he said, as if that explained anything. “What else could I do?”

“You were close, though,” I said. “If the kindling had been drier, you would have had it ages ago.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. It never would have lit for me. I know that.” His crossed arms slowly fell to his sides and he shook his head. “...still. I was the only one around to try.”

Now that the flames were lit, the fire didn’t seem to be going out any time soon. While the flames engulfed the wood, it didn’t seem as if the wood was burning. It only needed to be lit, and I had a feeling that the tinder would last quite some time as long as nothing actively caused it to go out.

The frost that had settled so thoroughly into the wood grain had quickly begun to melt, leaving nothing behind but a slight residue where it once coated. Even without looking, I knew that the ice that had spread down the halls would be diminishing as well. Wherever this place was, it would be safe from freezing for a little longer.

“No use looking behind us now, though,” Tyler spoke again, a sort of forced note of positivity entering his voice. “This is all we can really do for now. Hopefully, that’ll last through Darkness.”

“Last through… what do you mean?”

“Wilson, come on,” he said with a despondent smirk. “Did you think your heart would survive that as it was? No, it wouldn’t have been safe.” He shook his head. “But that should shield it for a while, at least. You have some time.”

I watched the movement of the flames for a moment. “You aren’t… actually Tyler. Are you?”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitance before he was shaking his head. “No two people see me the same,” he said. “A sibling, a soulmate, a companion. It depends. Though… it tends to stay the same. Hearts cry for the desire to repair what they believe they have broken. To fix what has been damaged. To gain forgiveness from those they’ve wronged.” He glanced at me through the side of his eye. “Or sometimes, it is their own forgiveness they seek. It is my job to guide people towards their own forgiveness. The one you see is the one you feel you have wronged the most.”

“Then why him?” I asked, unable to disguise the irritation spiking my voice. “Why nobody from my old life?”

“You never believed you wronged them,” he said simply. “I believe you consider them to have wronged you. Or maybe you don’t even think about them.”

Before I could ask further questions, he raised one hand (the scarred one, although it appeared that he still had full control over it). “You have done all that you were needed here for. Darkness will bring you face-to-face with Them, but you have been protected the best you can. Go now, and prepare for the end.” With that, he gave a sly, toothy grin. “It is coming soon.”

I had a million questions I could think of to ask. Primarily, though, my questions surrounded the identity of this creature. The way they held themselves made me think they had been around for a long time, and the way that they spoke made me think they had an idea of what was to come. I knew for a fact this was not Nightmare. No, either this entity was benevolent, or they were very, very good at disguising themselves as such.

I couldn’t even begin to ask any of the questions, though, because the light from the fire was growing brighter by the moment, brighter than any fire should possibly be, yet I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t do anything except close my eyes and accept it.

…

Whether it had been a few days or a few minutes, I couldn’t tell. Before I even looked at the others, I could guess that the experience had been shared. If it wasn’t the sensation of knowing rumbling in my chest, then it was the way the others seemed to suddenly snap back into awareness. Wilbur let out a low, mournful whine as his eyes refocused and Winona hissed under her breath. Wilson jerked violently and immediately pressed his palms into his eyes with a moan of pain.

For me, it was like suddenly taking a breath again after holding it. I instinctively winced at the sharp inhale, expecting to be swamped with the acidic stench of Nightmare fuel. Instead, however, the smell had vanished almost entirely.

With this realization, I finally took the time to observe my surroundings.

The land around us still bore scars. The grass was pale and any plantlife that was still alive was just baring clinging to life with yellow-brown leaves and scraggly branches. It would take some time for the animals to repopulate this area, but I could already hear the faint chirping of distant birds beginning to tentatively explore once more.

The Nightmare fuel had almost entirely drained away. Puddles still littered the ground here and there, burning intensely with a dark mockery of light.

More importantly than that, though, was the grand machine we had woken up in front of.

The only thing that ever changed about the Wooden Thing was the color its runes glowed (currently a sweet orchid-purple) and yet, I was sure I had never felt so awed to see it. It wasn’t the appearance of it, but the circumstances leading up to this point. I couldn’t explain what exactly my experience had been, but the sweet warmth left over from it still hovered in my chest. Instead of being shaken by nerves, I felt confident and bold.

My time to understand my purpose was quickly running out, but maybe it didn’t matter. It would happen whether I was expecting it or not.

I turned to face the others. Winona furiously rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, clearly trying to push back tears. Wilbur stared at the Wooden Thing, hints of confusion sparking in his eyes but easily overshadowed by sheer determination.

Wilson… was giving me a strange look, one that I couldn’t decipher. But really, he had given me a lot of strange looks as of late. I didn’t even question it.

“That was an experience,” Wilbur muttered as his tail flicked back and forth. “Didn’t you guys say that was supposed to suck really bad?”

“That was… not what happened last time,” Winona said. “That was… heh…” She shook her head, seemingly unable to really put her thoughts to words.

“We can talk about it later,” I said sternly. This close to the machine, my heart felt as though it was pounding out of my chest. While I was sure this was something we would have a long, in-depth discussion about in the near future, I was not about to wait long enough for that conversation to happen. “This is the last step.”

My confidence didn’t seem to transfer over to the others. There were definitely nerves in the way they looked at each other and at me.

I wouldn’t let their hesitance give me pause, though. We were so close. So close.

In the past, I had asked them before activating it. This time, fearing a negative answer, I didn’t even bother.

We were so close to the end.

We were so close to being together again.

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 92. Intermission - The Ballad of Dust and Void

In the beginning, there was nothing. Just Dust.

And the Void.

And Them.

Eternal watchers, present in the space between every molecule of light. They waited patiently and silently in the lightless world, for They knew the emptiness would not last forever. Where darkness runs, light must arrive.

They watched as the events of existence unfolded. As from the dust and the void came two perfect creatures, gods of their own right, with the power to create and destroy.

Born from the Dust came the Dusted God known as Alter.

Born from the Void came the Voided God known as Constant.

Alter and Constant considered themselves not siblings nor lovers, but simply companions. Equal opposites, destined to form the world and the life that thrived on it. Constant formed the ground and the plants. Its blood created the heartbeat of the world, and its hands molded the world. Alter, inspired by the foundation formed by their companion, deigned to create life of their own to live under the moon they had created.

Alter spilled their blood to create animate life. They proudly showed their creation to their companion, eager to gain its approval.

“What a terrible creature,” said Constant to Alter. “Without eyes, how can it see? Instead, it must blindly crawl through the world with nothing to guide it. Such a creature does not deserve to live on my land.”

But Alter loved their creation. While Constant’s back was turned, Alter gently guided the worms into the dirt of the world.

Again Alter tried, and again, Alter presented their new creation to Constant.

And again, Constant despised the creature.

“Alter, you foolish child. You have gifted your creature eyes to see, but without a mouth, how is it to eat? How is it to gain the nutrients it needs to survive if it cannot consume anything?”

“It can!” Exclaimed Alter, undeterred. “See this tongue, my friend? It can drink through it!”

“Absurd,” said Constant. “Then how is it to defend itself without teeth, or claws? Truly, Alter, you must understand your inabilities to create decent life.’

But Alter loved their creation. While Constant’s back was turned, Alter released the delicate butterflies to the wind.

This time, Alter was sure they were to gain their companion’s approval. A smile fell upon their face as they revealed their newest creation to Constant.

“What could this foul creature possibly be?” Demanded Constant, with a foul twist to its mouth. “No creature needs this many eyes or this many legs. Alter, what could you have possibly been thinking?”

“But Constant,” came their response, irate and annoyed. “It has many eyes to see many things, and it has many legs to walk far distances. Its fur is to shield it from the harsh winter winds, and to keep it cool in the hot summer eves. It has teeth and claws, as you last requested, to defend itself and its home. It can growl and hiss to scare away enemies, and it can purr to provide comfort to its friends. I believe this one is perfect.”

“You think too highly of your ridiculous creatures. After all, without a brain, how is it to think? Perhaps, Alter, it is time for you to simply give up. You have shown yourself perfectly incapable of creating anything of worth.”

But Alter loved their creation. While Constant’s back was turned, Alter set free the spiders to skitter across the ground.

Alter knew they had few chances left to gain Constant’s approval, so they studied and observed. They watched their creations scatter across the world. Gentle avians populated the skies, and timid moleworms burrowed in the ground below. They had few chances left, and they could not let them go to waste.

The next creation, Alter spent more time on than any other. They carefully molded every inch of it, building complex features and systems through delicate manipulation of the malleable putty of life.

And finally, this one, they knew, was the one. They gave it eyes to see, and a mouth to eat, and a brain to think. A species of creatures so intelligent that they could overcome any obstacle that Constant might foresee in their future. As a final touch, they gifted their creature with speech.

All too soon, or perhaps just at the right time, the creation came to life in Alter’s godly hands. Alter had never experienced this before, and grew immediately nervous and weary. What a peculiar creature, to come to life before it was completely finished forming. Still, though, it did not seem perturbed. Instead, the creation simply gazed upon their otherworldly creator with interest and curiosity.

“Where am I?” Said the Creation.

“You are being formed,” said Alter. “I am surprised to see you awake.”

“I was told to wake up,” said the Creation. “And so I did.”

And so they did. This creation was special in every way, and Alter knew it. They could sense the gentle flow of power from the animal, steady and strong, but impossibly kind. A creature capable of patience and love and sturdy strength all the while.

In that moment, Alter realized that it did not matter what Constant thought of the animals they put on the world. All that mattered was that their animals survived and thrived, as they had. The worms without eyes, the butterflies without mouths, the spiders without brains, they flourished despite what Constant had considered to be disabilities.

It did not matter what Constant thought.

Because Alter loved their creation. And they set the human out to explore the world.

Soon, though, unlike all of the others, the Creation returned. Day after day, as the sun began to sink, the human would return to Alter and stay by their side. Sharing their experiences of the world created by Alter and Constant. The animals they had seen, the plants they had observed. They brought them to Alter with ever-brightening eyes, until one day, they suddenly came to Alter with a forlorn expression upon their face.

“What is wrong, my Creation?” Alter questioned.

“The spiders,” said the Creation. “They live in large families. Groups of children and their Queen. They never concern themselves with loneliness or hunger, as they all look out for each other. Perhaps I am simply slightly upset at the knowledge that I am the only one of my kind.”

“You should have come to me earlier,” said Alter with a loving smile. “I will gladly give you a family.”

And Alter did exactly that. They carefully crafted four new souls and gifted them life to befriend their Creation. Together, the five souls were wild and free, but perfect together. Carefully, exquisitely crafted by Alter themselves to bring their Creation happiness and joy.

Unfortunately, it was then Constant noticed the new creatures.

“Your skills at creation have come a long way,” said Constant. “But I believe there is still much to improve on. I believe you should create creatures in our image.”

“But why?” Alter questioned. “My creations are living happily and free on the land you created, even though you said they would not. Why should I trust your word at all? The worms know not of their lack of sight. They simply are, and they are happy. The butterflies did not need mouths to taste nectar and drink sweet honey. The spiders thrive without issue- a brain was never needed. So tell me, Constant, why I should create what you tell me to.”

“Because your creations are weak,” said Constant. “The only beings that could possibly survive in our presence should be the beings birthed just as we were. Through Dust and Void.”

“I disagree, Constant, but I will concede. I shall make your request.”

And so, Alter created the Thulians in their image.

From then, the world moved on. Their Sibling, the first human, never seemed to grow old or age, but the same was not true for their friends. Time after time, Alter would carefully catch the souls before they fled and place them into new vessels. Time after time, separation threatened them, and time after time, Alter prevented their loss.

Before Thulians, there were humans. Before humans there were spiders. Before spiders, there were butterflies. Before butterflies, there were worms. And before worms, there were Gods.

The Thulians were strong and smart, and the humans were quick and clever. Though both creatures were Alter’s creations, they loved the humans more than anything.

And their Sibling the absolute most.

Civilization grew, and Alter and Constant watched. Constant roamed the darkest nights, lighting fires upon flies and painting stars across the skies, and Alter basked in the warmest days, turning flowers to the sun and easing rain over crops. Their Sibling still visited from time to time, often with more bad news than good.

“The people are experiencing a drought, Alter. Could I request you gift them with rain to ease their suffering?”

“Something is hunting down the children at night, Alter. Could you consider giving them hounds, to track the creatures down?”

“The harvest this year was scorched by the summer sun, Alter. The people need a mild winter to prevent them from starving.”

Without hesitation, Alter would grant their Sibling’s request. Each time, something soft and relieved would come over their Sibling’s face. A fondness for their species and the god that created them.

Soon, Constant became jealous.

It had created the land they had walked on. Molded the mountains and formed swathes of gorgeous plants for them to walk upon and consume. And yet, it was Alter the humans worshiped. Alter that the Thulians built shrines of. Alter that they turned to when things went bad.

Worst of all, they had chosen the Sibling as their prophet. Whether Alter saw it or not, Constant certainly saw the way the Sibling was treated among their kind. It was with awe and praise. A pious desperation to be closer to the god they loved.

Yes, Constant became very jealous.

And so, Constant formed a plan to destroy the Sibling once and for all. It was not a complicated plan by any means, but a dastardly one all the same. The longer the Sibling roamed the world, the more anger and jealousy and rage built up.

Then, finally, it saw its chance.

Some would consider the event to be a terrible tragedy. An individual being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Only a select few saw the death of the Sibling for what it was: revenge of a furious god.

When news of the Sibling’s death reached Alter’s ears, the Dusted God fell upon their knees and wept. Their tears birthed fields of glowing blue flowers, soaked in grief and pain. The Thulians took to calling the blossoms Crying Lilies, or Glowing Tear Roots. Either way, their meaning was the same. Alter’s agony made it impossible not to glean their meaning.

The world that had once been so dearly loved by Alter now suffered because of them. Continuous storms raged across the land, tearing apart lands and families. Burying massive swathes of earth beneath ocean and carving thick cliffs through the rock.

Constant saw the despair and agony caused by the Sibling’s death and quickly took action.

For the first time ever, Constant walked among the mortals Alter had created. Although fear was to be expected, it was clear that nothing could scare the humans and the Thulians more than the tragedies they already were suffering.

And in what many considered to be an act of benevolence, Constant gifted them with its blood.

“The blood of a god holds more power than you can even think of harnessing,” promised Constant. “My blood runs through this world, and it is my gift to you. Rebuild your empire stronger than before, my subjects. I can see you using this gift to form technology seen by no others. Technology that no world has ever seen, or will ever see again. This is my gift to you. And this is my promise.”

And with the last of its power, Constant locked a grieving Alter away in the moon to rot for eternity.

The disasters came to an end after that. With Alter forever locked away, it was Constant that the humans and Thulians began to worship. They followed the orders of their new god and created technology in its honor.

For some years, Constant reveled in the power. For you see, it was Constant’s blood that now powered society. It was taken, refined, reused, recreated, and soon, every inch of the world was covered in it. Translucent, black blood dripped from every crack in every pathway. Just begging to be let out. With every drop of blood spread across the land, Constant felt itself growing stronger and stronger.

The Sibling’s friends died, and their souls scattered. Never to be reunited.

And then, the Boy was born.

At first Constant did not even consider the Boy’s presence. He was simply another body, another human in what was now several thousand.

But then, the Boy began to grow older, and certain features became more prominent. His face, from a young age, leaned more towards a more androgynous appearance, with high cheekbones and dark eyelashes. His eyes glittered amber and seemed to glow under the light of Alter’s prison.

Constant knew this boy was not the Sibling. Their soul had been soundly destroyed many years ago. But still, the resemblance was undeniable.

And Constant was not the only one to notice.

Rumors of the Sibling’s rebirth passed with haste through the civilization. Very soon, peasants appeared to the young child, just a babe at the time, with gifts of silks and incense. The Boy lived lavishly, supplied with his every whim by his legion of devotees.

And yet, the Boy remained a modest young lad. He often turned the expensive gifts over to the less fortunate. When questioned, he would simply respond, “I have no need for such things. My belly is full, my family is happy, and my body lives on. The same cannot be said for those these gifts now belong to.”

Following his humble lead, many creatures, human and Thulian, turned to showering their less fortunate comrades with gifts when disaster was on its way.

It was a peaceful time in civilization. Kings and vagrants alike looked to the Boy for wisdom and courage, and with less than a decade’s age, he would do everything he could to deliver.

But he was just a boy. Born into a family with no wealth to its name, he spent his days in the fields tending to the cattle. He would brush the bovine’s fur to a silky sheen with a birchnut wood brush, just as everyone else around him did. He held no status in his position, and that only made him loved more.

At only the tender age of thirteen years, the king that ruled his home died peacefully in his sleep. Left in his wake was a frightening power vacuum. Royal offspring fought amongst themselves and their subjects. It was only logical that the child of the late king be put into power, but the people wanted their chosen prophet to sit on the throne.

Constant became terribly angry at the news of the Boy’s rise. While the Boy refused soundly to take the throne he was offered, Constant could not believe the audacity it took to even consider it. Cries over the Boy, naming him blasphemous titles, each one labeling him as an Heir (The One True Heir, or perhaps, simply Young Heir), echoed through Constant’s head. The throne had belonged to the Thulians, Constant’s chosen people, and now protests broke out over a thirteen-year old human?

This had to stop.

And so, Constant returned to the land once more, shroud in a robe of stardust and glittering with the light of galaxies unknown.

“The Boy will come with me,” said Constant. “And my Thulians shall witness as I place him through a trial to determine his bloodline. If the Boy passes, his ascension is meant to be. If he fails, his name shall be forgotten forever, and not a word about him will fall from your mouths.”

It was the Boy himself to agree to these terms. He did not believe himself to be strong enough to take the Throne, and at only fourteen years of age, he believed it was best for him to return to being a simple farmer boy.

The Boy was brought to a land no living creature had ever stepped foot in- a world of long hallways and distant winds. With Constant’s chosen Thulians as witness, the Voided God spilled its blood and formed its cruelest plan yet.

The Boy had not understood how his story was to end. He had not considered that their god would turn upon him in such a way. He dreamed of returning home to his family as a simple member of their homestead, and could not fathom the idea of never reaching that.

From Constant’s spilled blood rose a throne. It smiled pleasantly as it spoke. “Your trial is to sit upon this throne,” said Constant. “Should your kinglihood be fated, it will receive you as its own. If not, it shall make you repent for your sins.”

“My sins?” Said the Boy. “To what are you speaking of, my god?”

“Your sins are for me to decide,” said Constant. “And my eyes have witnessed many.”

“But I have lived a life of peace and calm. I live in service of my people, and I always have. I have no interest in becoming king.” He spoke with calm patience, as though speaking to a family member rather than the god that created the land he walked on.

To that, Constant said nothing. The throne would see his sins, and the throne would make him suffer for every one.

It is said that the Thulians who returned from the trial wore warstruck expressions and shook with such violence not all of them could stand. The only stories uttered about the fate of the Boy were done in hushed, broken whispers.

“So much blood…”

“The screams…”

“His own innards…”

Constant told the citizens of the world that the ground had swallowed up the Boy, as retribution for his previous life as a false prophet. It never once mentioned the separation between the Boy and the Sibling, and although the Thulians would never speak of it, Constant remembered the Boy’s experience with glee.

There had certainly been blood, as the Thulians whispered. Constant had watched the throne’s writhing darkness clasp its claws into the Boy and tear him to shreds. When the throne had finished its job, little was left of him. His unholy screams still haunted the minds of the chosen Thulians, late into the night, as they replayed the image of a child prophet’s demise over and over again in their nightmares.

The whispers named the torture device the Nightmare Throne.

And yet, Constant was not satisfied. For it saw the one thing the Thulians did not.

The Boy had survived the Throne’s onslaught.

His life hanged by a thread, growing ever thinner with every passing millisecond. His chest- what was left of it- convulsed with choked agony that spilled past his lips into soundless whimpers.

Constant hushed the Boy’s dying breaths. It drew itself to its knees and pulled him into its embrace, like a mother to her babe. His mouth opened in an empty scream of pain at the movement. Constant could not even begin to guess what images must be fluttering in the Boy’s head. After all, the darkness had gouged out one of his eyes, and the skin around the other was so bruised and battered it would be a wonder if he could see.

Constant lowered its head towards the Boy and breathed in his blood. The temptation was strong, and it wasted no time in giving into it as it moved the Boy into a better position to drink his blood.

Constant had never tasted the blood of one of Alter’s creatures. It was thick and strong, deep red like the finest wines. It soothed an unknown hunger in the god’s stomach, urging it to consume more and more.

Soon, the Boy had nothing left. All that was left was paper-white skin and shallow, dimming breaths. It was then that Constant broke away from its hunger and returned blood to the body of the Boy.

The blood that took its place was slick and translucent. It slowly worked its way through his veins, moving along like slush. The Boy shuddered violently at the sensation and the frigid liquid making its way through his bloodstream.

A soft noise escaped his throat, and through parted lips he begged. “Please, Constant, I beg of you…”

“Hush, my Host,” said Constant. “Be still.”

The silence Constant craved did not last long. Again, the boy let out a cry as his legs jerked. His skin, once darkened by years under the sun, had turned ashen. Pale shades of blue colored his lips and nailbeds, vibrant amongst stark white skin. His wounds now pulsed with Constant’s blood.

The blood hissed and bubbled under the light, burning leathery patches around the Boy’s lacerations. Perhaps he was too weak to cry out any further, for he did not react to the burns blossoming on his body.

Once the new blood had settled in the Boy’s body, new skin began to quickly grow over the openings. Constant assisted the Boy with standing. Their nearly formed connection through blood pulsed between them, thrumming with the power of a jealous god.

Although the Boy had returned home, his ghostly appearance made him nigh unrecognizable amongst his peers. While the sun shone, he hid himself in the shadows, observing the lives around him with glazed eyes.

While Alter’s prison was peaked, the Boy prayed.

On bruised knees and ever-bloodied hands, the Boy sputtered through pleas and prayers to Alter until his throat grew rough and hoarse. Pleas for rescue from the grasp Constant had on his failing body, pleas for a savior, pleas for the sun.

On the darkest of eves, Constant forced the Boy to do heinous things. Things the Boy could never possibly admit to, lest risk finding himself executed for his villainy. He slaughtered beefalo and ewecuses and drank their lifeblood to sate Constant’s never ending appetite. He stole away children from their beds and whisked them into the darkness, never to be seen again. Lightless fires sprung from his hands, consuming homes and villages in a matter of hours.

The Boy would often be seen on these dark nights, perched upon thatch roofing or the branches of trees, with eyes that glimmered red. Lightless flames sparked around him, hovering on the strands of his hair and reflected in his eyes.

It was during a quiet winter night, lit only by the full moon far above, that the Boy turned to the last person he could.

It was said there was a single creature who could still commune with their banished god. While many would think this to be the first idea one would think of to communicate with Alter, the Boy knew that speaking with the Guardian risked his life. It was the Guardian’s task, after all, to protect the humans and Thulians from threat, and the Boy was the biggest threat of them all.

“Metheus, my Guardian, I beg of your forgiveness and assistance,” said the Boy. Covered as he was in blood and dirt, it was a wonder the Guardian did not kill the child upon sight.

However, what Metheus saw was not the grime and blood. It was not the thick slice tearing through his lip, gained while dragging a child into the darkness, or the spot that had bruised purple-black from a beefalo he had murdered.

No, what Metheus saw of the boy was his gaunt appearance, as close to death as the living could get. Visible ribs beneath torn clothing and high cheekbones jutting starkly from his face. Thin wrists and ankles, fragile and delicate as a butterfly’s wing, and pallid, sick skin. Black veins pouring into his milky eyes and purple lines slowly tracing the path of his blood vessels up his arms. Sheet sweat plastering his hair and remnants of clothing to his skin, and a violent shiver that betrayed his feverish state.

Metheus saw not a murderer, or a thief, or a liar. What Metheus saw was a terrified, sick, injured boy begging for his help.

And so, Metheus granted it.

“Before the Dusted God was locked away,” said Metheus. “They granted us with a single gift. Perhaps they knew what had happened to their Sibling. Or perhaps, they suspected someone would come along and require their assistance. Come with me, child, and I shall grant you the last gift Alter ever passed on to us.”

The gift was a sword, crafted of material only known to the god who created it. It was a gorgeous thing, warm to the touch and welcoming to hold. Its impossibly sharp blade glowed and shone a vibrant baby blue in the moonlight, contrasting the deep maroon of the wrapped pommel. The Boy took the weapon with cautious eyes.

“My Guardian, is it wise to gift a murderer with such a finely crafted weapon?” Said the Boy. He was scared and desperate, but he feared a stronger weapon in his hands just as he feared the god that would control them in the darkness. “Nothing but harm will befall the people in this world if this sword falls into my hands.”

“That is where you are incorrect, child,” said Metheus. “For this weapon was crafted by Alter themselves, and they knew whose hands it would eventually grace. This weapon cannot harm the common folk. Livestock and innocents cannot feel the touch of the blade. Even if violence is intended, its victim will always remain unharmed.

Its purpose, though,” he continued. “Is to banish poison. Poison of the body, yes- of birchnutter stings and spider meat, day mushrooms and rot- but poison of the soul as well. The poison of darkness not your own. I believe it is the only hope of banishing Constant from your soul.”

The Boy gazed upon the weapon with a new understanding. A beautiful weapon, seemingly crafted for him alone to use to banish the demon he had become.

“However,” said Metheus. “I believe you should wait. I believe they had discovered something that would intrigue you.”

“Intrigue me?” Exclaimed the Boy. “What could possibly be more important than the lives of thousands?”

“Constant shall not control your hands until the next dark night,” said Metheus. “You have time to greet an old friend.”

For what the Boy did not know was that something had happened underground. The Thulians had discovered a Splumonkey child who had harnessed the magic of an old artifact that had lay dormant for decades. This child, as it was, was certainly not like the rest of its kind, and believed to be a genetic anomaly.

The Boy followed the Guardian’s directions despite his confusion. As he traveled to meet the young Splumonkey, his eyes cleared for the first time in years and his shoulders fell. A breath, fresher than any other, filled his chest. It was as though he had fallen back into himself.

As he greeted the Splumonkey, it was impossible not to notice their familiarity. The love the two seeming strangers had for one another. They spoke with friendly voices and using the names of the other, despite having not been told previously.

For this was both the first time and the millionth that the Boy and the Splumonkey had met. The Splumonkey’s soul had lived on past the Sibling he was created to befriend, but he had found a new purpose in guarding this Boy who looked so much like him.

Before words or speech or even true acknowledgment, the Boy and the Splumonkey already knew who they were, and they had already forged a bond stronger than steel.

Memories of lives stretched out behind them. Of more than just the life of a possessed Boy and outlier Splumonkey.

The Boy remembered late nights by a campfire, laughing or speaking from his soul.

The Splumonkey remembered the Boy speaking with a rough throat as he dragged himself from the sand.

The Boy remembered playing a game with the Splumonkey, blindfolding him and appraising his ability to recognize different fruits by taste.

The Splumonkey remembered holding the Boy through nights of terror. Standing beside him as his fur turned ashen and his face became gaunt.

And yet, this peace was not to last. For Constant grew angered at the Boy’s sudden happiness. It could feel a wall forming between their bond, and it would not let the Boy go so easily.

It would destroy the entire world it had created to prevent losing its grip on the Boy.

And it was in that moment, caught in the throes of Constant’s rage and burdened with the knowledge of possession, the Boy took the sword he had been gifted and plunged it into his stomach to rid the world of such an evil once and for all.

The Splumonkey, terrified for his life, fled.

The Boy died alone as a Martyr.

Constant could feel the power tearing through its soul. It screamed against the pain, such a new sensation for a god. It had never felt pain before, and this was more than just pain. It was the sensation of being torn apart. The sensation of light pouring into it with such fervor that its skin split under the pressure and black blood flooded from the wounds torn into its body.

No grief or guilt was felt on the Boy’s part as Constant was torn apart. After all, the wounds caused by Alter’s sword mirrored the ones the Boy had received from the Nightmare Throne.

From Constant’s shattering rose two creatures. The pieces of Constant that had been split apart by the power of the Sword of the Martyr.

From the pieces of Constant’s body rose a being known as Nightmare. Nightmare was cursed to prowl the inky nights in search of a host to contain its failing body. With the edges of nonexistence constantly threatening it, Nightmare was not afraid to enforce its will upon others in much the same way Constant once had. A creature with no appearance of its own, fighting to keep a hold of its own crumbling self and doing so in the most cruel way possible.

From the pieces of Constant’s soul rose a being known as Auraris. Auraris was cursed to flutter forever on the edges of perception. Forever invisible, Auraris learned to appear in dreams and speak through people, but without the sheer power that Nightmare had taken from it, Auraris had little control over them.

Nightmare’s strength was overpowering and heavy. Spoken of to be dangerous and eternal; once Nightmare’s icy grip had frozen over your heart, nothing would be left of you except loss.

Auraris’s strength was fleeting and light. It was doomed to forever be an observer, speaking only through those overflowing with the qualities that it represented.

Integrity. Tenacity. Love. Forgiveness.

Innocence.

Again and again, the cycle turns.

Nightmare turns to Them, the Eternal Observers, and They feast upon its ideals as vultures upon a carcass.

Auraris is doomed to watch and wait.

One by one, the souls Alter had once created to befriend their Creation return home, each one beckoned forth by the promise of something they want.

The Gentleman Scientist. Knowledge.

The Soulless Automaton. Belonging.

The Handywoman. Her family.

The Monkey King. Power.

…

…

The Sibling is gone.

But forever standing in his place is a Boy. A Boy who is cursed to suffer, over and over, from Constant’s cruel grasp. A Boy doomed to lose himself to darkness. Who fights and spits and curses. Who breaks over and over again, leaving his companions to pick up his shattered pieces. A Boy doomed to fall to Nightmare.

Auraris tries to fight it. It leads the Boy along, speaking through him and his friends.

“I have shown Integrity.

“I have shown Tenacity.

“I have been shown Love.

“I forgive.”

It leads the Boy along for hope of ending the cycle.

Again and again, the cycle turns.

Auraris tries to fight it. Auraris gives everything to fight it.

But Nightmare always wins.

As Darkness shall always prevail.

Edited March 16 by Pokemaniac7000

[The Starver]

All I can say is "KEEP WRITING!!!!" I want to know how this ends!!!!

[Pokemaniac7000]

On 1/17/2024 at 11:54 AM, The Starver said:

All I can say is "KEEP WRITING!!!!" I want to know how this ends!!!!

You bet!!! I’m really glad that you’re enjoying yourself so far! Thank you!

[The Starver]

9 hours ago, Pokemaniac7000 said:

You bet!!! I’m really glad that you’re enjoying yourself so far! Thank you!

Are you kidding me?! This is so well-written, I can't even help myself. As an amateur author and voracious bibliophile, this is just objectively the best Don't Starve story I've ever read, and besides a few minor spelling errors (which happens to everyone), the only thing that I noticed is you spelled Alter as "Altar." But seriously, I love this story!! 

Also, I can tell this was written a while ago, because quite a bit of the backstory is inaccurate to the lore that we know now... But honestly, I don't care. It's amazing, don't change a thing! 

[Pokemaniac7000]

5 hours ago, The Starver said:

Are you kidding me?! This is so well-written, I can't even help myself. As an amateur author and voracious bibliophile, this is just objectively the best Don't Starve story I've ever read, and besides a few minor spelling errors (which happens to everyone), the only thing that I noticed is you spelled Alter as "Altar." But seriously, I love this story!! 

Also, I can tell this was written a while ago, because quite a bit of the backstory is inaccurate to the lore that we know now... But honestly, I don't care. It's amazing, don't change a thing! 

Thank you!! You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear!

Honestly, this is what I get for skimming over Alter’s name so much when reading my game lore. I have spent this whole time not even realizing I’m spelling it wrong! I appreciate you pointing it out so I can fix it and look less like a goof @.@

Honestly, most of the Part 3 onward chapters are original to this draft, but I thought it’d end up just being kind of boring if I tried to stick to the established lore, especially in the future when any lore building I made would be proven wrong. I thought it’d give a bit more to the story if I made my own spin to it utilizing elements we know. A lot of things like Constant/Nightmare/Auraris, The Sibling, The Boy, etc. I know is stuff that definitely doesn’t fit into canon, but hey! Gotta have fun where we can! I really hope you continue to enjoy the story, especially getting into Darkness!

[The Starver]

14 hours ago, Pokemaniac7000 said:

but I thought it’d end up just being kind of boring if I tried to stick to the established lore, especially in the future when any lore building I made would be proven wrong

You know what, I totally agree with you. I absolutely love your world you've created (and please tell me Pyrite comes back, I loooove the idea of a mini-dragonfly!!).

And also, I really like the character of Auraris

14 hours ago, Pokemaniac7000 said:

I appreciate you pointing it out so I can fix it and look less like a goof @.@

Hey, thanks. Anytime. I appreciate anyone who decides they have an idea that they like, and they make it happen, and especially when they keep working on it, like you have (for 6 or 7 years!!!).

[The Starver]

Hey, @Pokemaniac7000! I've just started my own story! If you want to check it out, you can find it here: