*heavy breathing* After eight months (more or less)... I have finally... remembered this story...

I ended up rewriting it for a lot of reasons, mainly because of the new developments in the canon story. It felt too weird to continue to write it in the universe it was in, plus it had a lot (and I mean A LOT) of mistakes. I've come back, and hopefully, this time I won't fail the few people watching this story. It might be difficult because school's starting in a few weeks, I've just discovered Undertale (and pondered a Don't Starve crossover), and a bunch of other stuff. But, I will try my absolute best.

And without further ado, I present the rewritten version of Stick By Me!

...

Also, art is by surk3 on Deviantart. Okay, now we start! (Hey, that rhymes!)

Stick By Me

Chapter 1

Maxwell

Demonic barks rang through the air, making the timid rabbit settlers scatter and hide in hopes of surviving this new wave of hounds. They were the lucky ones. They were extremely small and they were so light on their feet, even if a hound spotted them, they most likely would be able to make it back to their den in one piece. So in retrospect, as long as they didn't make any silly mistakes, they had nothing to worry about.

This was not the case for one human magician.

He panted heavily as he ran, dodging low-hanging branches and leaping over tree roots, all the while gripping a small black book. It felt like his head was being split open by his headache, and the world was grayed out and blurry. The bloodthirsty hounds snapped at his ankles. He gasped and pushed himself harder, to which his body complained. And yet he ran, faster than he'd ever run in his life. The hounds had fallen behind. They were still chasing him, but at least not seconds away from bringing him down. Just as a smidgen of hope arose inside, he tripped. He hit the ground hard, hard enough to daze him for a second. Only a second, because the hounds were coming.

He gasped and scrambled around for a potential weapon, head pounding. He had mere seconds before the dogs tore him apart, he needed something, anything! Suddenly, his bruised hand made contact with a fallen branch, about as thick as his arm. Just in time, because the first hound took its chance to leap at him, teeth bared and stained with blood. As He whipped it in front of him, and the hound clamped down on it, trying to gnaw its way through to the delicious flesh underneath. Its breath smelled awful, and its slobber dripped down on his face. He screamed despite himself, fighting to keep it away from his neck. To be honest, there wasn't much for him to fear. If he died here, he would simply be resurrected in a new world, no harm done. He wouldn't even remember his undoubtedly-violent fate, so logically there was no reason to be frightened of death.

Logic, however, wasn't the one with a vicious hellhound inches from its face. He screamed again and, with all his might, pushed it and the stick off. It fell on its back, growling. He rose and turned to flee, but he was stopped in his tracks by another gaping maw. While he had been battling one hound, the other two had surrounded him. Now, they were circling him, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He gulped nervously. There were no escape routes, he gathered from a look around him. He hadn't wanted to waste it so early into the game, but it looked like he had no choice.

He pulled out a handful of dark matter from his pocket and opened the book. It wriggled in his hand as he pressed it into the tome, it seeping into the crinkled yellow pages. He lifted it high above his head and began to chant the ancient words he knew by heart. The hounds, who had been about to attack, cocked their heads in confusion as a beam of light shone from the book. His eyes clamped shut, he shouted the spell: "Unam animam meam offero tibi pro auxilio daemonum!" A dark figure rose from the ground as he stumbled back, weakened by the magic. A hand went over his mouth and he fought the urge to vomit. He had split his soul many times before, but he hadn't done it in a long time.

The shadowy copy of himself charged at the stunned dogs. He ran into a clearing filled with unfamiliar tall trees adorned with red, orange, and yellow leaves, seeking a hiding spot. The clone would only hold them off for so long, he couldn't fight them, and he was too slow to run away, even with a head start. He searched, seeking some sort of hole that he could maybe cover with foliage, but his efforts were in vain. Crouching behind a rock or tree wouldn't work, and there were no other hiding spots in the wilderness that he knew of. "Come on..." He whispered. He was seriously considering hiding in a lone bush (long since stripped of its berries by greedy forest animals) when he heard the baying of the hounds again.

It was already dead? He wasn't that rusty, at least he hoped not. He bit his lip. It was either the bush or open land. He had a nasty feeling this would not work, though.

He got down on his knees and pushed the branches aside, trying to find a way to conceal his body. At last he settled on a position. Just in time, as the mad dogs came rushing into the area almost as soon as he had stopped fidgeting. He held his breath, listening. The leaves almost completely obscured his view of the woods, which meant he had to rely on his ears. Unfortunately, the years had not been kind, and his hearing was starting to go.

He couldn't stop himself from trembling slightly as they started their hunt, sniffing in hopes of catching his scent. Hey, it could be worse, he thought in an effort to cheer himself up. When I was first dropped here, there were a bunch of spiders too. I could be spider food right now. Or I could have died from my own hallucinations. It didn't have much effect on the pessimistic man. He stifled a sigh of relief as they started to move farther and farther away from his hiding place, drifting into the deeper parts of the forest. Good, maybe now he'd survive a bit longer than a few days. It would be pretty embarrassing if he died on his first day.

Out of the blue, a heavy force rammed into his back. He yelped as he came tumbling out of the bush. The hounds whipped around and barked. Maybe it was his damaged mental state, but it looked like they were smiling. The bush was abruptly parted by a large bird resembling a turkey. A Gobbler, a greedy creature that fed on berries, much to the anger of starving survivors. He never imagined himself being plagued by them when he created them, and yet, here he was.

The two hellhounds (one must have been killed by his clone) instantly pounced on the unsuspecting creature, its gobbling being cut off as its throat was torn apart by their large teeth. He picked himself up swiftly and backed into a tree. They finished with the bird in no time flat and turned to him, growling. The blood staining their muzzles made them look even more demonic than usual. He pressed harder, the bark scratching his back. He was going to die here, and he hadn't even lasted a full day. Pinned to this stupid tree, nevertheless.

The idea that sprouted in his head then hit him like a brick. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that earlier?

He slowly bent down and plucked a small stick off the ground, raising it in the air. The pair of red eyes followed it, barely blinking. "You freaks want the stick, huh?" Then, he threw it, using what was left of his already measly strength. To his equal alarm and disappointment, it only went a few feet, landing next to the bloody mess that was once a Gobbler. They chased after it immediately, tongues wagging, and he took his chance.

Gripping the rough branches, he climbed as fast as he was able, nevermind the scratches from the bark. He was a good distance off the ground when they noticed their prey escaping. They howled in sync and pursued him, one leaping up into the air. He yelped and wrapped his vulnerable legs around the tree just in time. It snagged his tailcoat instead, and the sound of fabric ripping mixed with the mournful howls. Gasping for breath, he climbed higher still until he was afraid of the tree tipping, then looked back down. They were growling at him, claws ripping through the wood in an effort to gain purchase on it, but to no avail. They couldn't reach him, sure, but now he was stuck.

"Go away! Shoo!" He dared to let go of the tree long enough to wave his hand in a dismissive gesture, but he gained no reaction save a few angry barks. He sighed, resting his head against the wood. To be honest, he hadn't imagined surviving in his world to be this... difficult. He started to consider just throwing himself to the dogs before ejecting the idea from his mind. He was The Amazing Maxwell, and he refused to commit suicide, now or ever. He was better than that. Besides, if they didn't go away, Charlie would finish the job come nighttime.

A uncontrollable chill went down his spine. He couldn't face her, not like this. Then again, he wasn't sure he could face her at all. He'd hurt her so much, so much that she would most likely enjoy killing him. He knew that he would enjoy killing himself if he was in her place. He wondered what she looked like now. He hadn't actually seen her in the twenty years he'd been here, just been reassured of her existence. Did she smile anymore? She had no reason to. Shame. She used to have such a beautiful smile...

STOP IT! He shook his head madly. Thinking about her won't get me anywhere. It just makes me weak. He glanced down again. They were still there, on their hind legs, waiting. The Gobbler had filled their stomachs sufficiently, they weren't going anywhere. He looked around, searching for a way to start a fire. He had the materials for a torch, maybe he could ignite a tree? Of course, he ran the risk of setting his own tree on fire, not to mention it would be difficult to light a torch while gripping a tree. The sun had been barely setting when he woke up, but now it was sinking below the horizon at a worryingly fast rate. He had maybe ten minutes before the whole island was shrouded in darkness. What on earth was he supposed to do, burn the whole forest down? That seemed like the only option. However, none of the branches looked sturdy enough for him to drape an arm over, let alone sit on while he ignited his torch. Great. He was scared to even let go of the tree long enough to grab the materials, because one wrong move and he'd be torn apart by hounds.

Then again, it was either be turned into a crime scene by the mad dogs, be boiled to death by a raging forest fire (because honestly, the trees were too close together to not start one), or be brutally murdered by his ex-girlfriend. Out of all those choices, he'd pick the dogs. But he couldn't just kill himself! That was a stupid way to die. And he wasn't going to give either Them or that foolish scientist the pleasure. So death by fire it was. He shakely removed an arm from the trunk and pulled out a handful of long grass that he had grabbed while fleeing, which he stuffed in a little hole in the wood. He did the same with a bunch of sticks, then got out a piece of flint. He could light the bundle, then throw it at another tree. He would suffer some burns, but he was going to die anyways. He rubbed the flint against the twigs quickly, very much aware of the encroaching darkness. There, a spark. He just needed to rub faster. His hand stung, but he kept on going, as more and more sparks erupted from the lump of grass and sticks. Smoke was leaking out of the affected area, a faint trickle that rose into the cool air. Any second now. He was so close, come on!

Suddenly, he was interrupted by the sound of loud hissing. Despite himself, he turned his head. Darn it, the spiders were back. But they were attacking... the hounds?

The arachnids leapt onto the unsuspecting pair, who yelped in surprise and tried to bite their way to victory. They ripped through quite a few, but eventually one sank down into a pile of bloodthirsty spiders, whimpering, and the other was impaled by the pointy leg of a Spider Queen. She threw its corpse off nonchalantly, it hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. They chomped on the bodies as she watched, satisfied with these kills. That was when the spider army noticed the unfortunate human dangling in a tree.

She hissed menacingly and charged at him. He couldn't suppress the cry of terror as she slammed her leg into his thin form, not impaling him, but knocking him across the clearing. He rolled until he hit a tree, coughing. The platoon approached, looking greedily down on their next meal. He shut his eyes and hunched up, prepared to die.

Nothing happened. After a few moments, he cracked open an eyelid to see that they were just staring at him. It was... creepy, he'd never seen spiders behave this way around survivors before. He slowly sat up and looked the queen in the eyes. She hissed softly, but didn't move. "Um... Hello?" No response (not like he was really expecting one from a monster).

That's why he was so shocked when a small voice said "Hello." He tried to find the source, growing more confused by the second. It had almost sounded like a human, but that was impossible! The survivors were always alone, nothing but them and the voices in their heads. That's how it had always been. Why would They allow such a fundamental change? It made no sense.

Out of the blue, a small figure rose above the queen. It was about the size of a child, but it had spider legs sticking out of its head. He could see the silhouette of a spear in the dim twilight. Hatred shot out of eight white eyes. It looked vaguely familiar...

It tapped the queen's back with its foot, and she slammed a leg down, missing him by inches. He shrieked as the thing climbed down and pointed its spear at his exposed neck. It spoke again, voice full of malice, and only then did he realize it was a boy.

"Say pal... you don't look so good."