Rating: For now, K+
Warnings: Nothing that I know of.
Prologue
"I have to do this, mum," Charlie Bucket said softly, squeezing his weeping mother's hands. "I need to get away from this. I love the factory, but I need to get out and see what I'm going to be giving up."
His mother nodded once. She understood his reasons, but that didn't mean she had to accept it. Her son was leaving for a long while. What kind of mother wouldn't be upset? A bad one, Mrs. Bucket concluded as she pulled Charlie into a hug.
"Write often," She ordered. "Every week," Charlie promised, starting to feel his emotions take over as tears collected in his eyes. She pushed him away gently, gripping his shoulders tightly, as if he'd dissolve right before her eyes like one of Wonka's wacky creations. She wiped away one of Charlie's tears, ignoring her own, of course, and whimpered, "My Charlie is leaving me."
Mr. Bucket calmly placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and smiled. "We'd better get going, darling, so Charlie won't miss his flight," He coaxed gently, and she nodded, biting her quivering lip as she released her son, which seemed to take considerable effort.
Charlie glanced at his father, not surprised to see little emotion in the man's eyes. He hadn't expected anything like a heart-felt goodbye. Why would he? Mr. Bucket let their locked gaze linger for only a moment, then looked down at his wife. Charlie considered it the best goodbye he'd be getting.
The relationship of father and son had fallen through quickly after Charlie's thirteenth birthday, when Wonka had begun giving the boy more difficult responsibilities. This strain, plus the changes that occured in his body swiftly after, caused Charlie to be bitter and angry at the days end, when he and Wonka would return to the modified yet still small house in the chocolate room to share dinner with the parents and grandparents.
W-xXx-C
"What the hell is that?" Grandpa George asked, prodding an odd looking green thing on his plate with his knife, so he could kill it easily if it turned out to be dangerous. Mrs. Bucket glanced at Willy Wonka, who was chopping his green lump into pieces, revealing a purple center packed full of seeds.
Wonka looked up, disturbed by the sudden silence. He'd gotten used to the constant chatter at the dinner table. When he found all the eyes on him, he jumped slightly and giggled, nervously.
"Candyboy is back from Candyland. Lets throw a party," George grumbled, giving up on ever learning the name of the green lump. Grandma Georgina smiled dreamily at George as she leaned close to ask, "Is it Easter yet?" George simply rolled his eyes and complained about some insignifigant thing.
Charlie wasn't listening. Instead, he was stabbing his mashed potatoes repetitively with his fork, as if trying to mash them even more than they already were. He wasn't really there, thinking upon a question that had disturbed his sleep quite often since he'd begun his training in the factory.
That day, Wonka had made him go through the tedious steps of making a perfect Everlasting Gobstopper. Wonka was the tester each time, of course, as he knew his candy best of all who resided in the maze of a home Wonka had resurected to house his mad ideas.
He'd failed three times, each time gaining a sigh from a crest-fallen Willy, then an order to try again. With each failure, Charlie's hopes had been slashed a little more. Even when Charlie had received a slight smile from Willy on his fourth attempt, he knew it was merely an excuse to stop where they were and go to dinner.
"Cheer up, Charlie. Its kinda hard to makes something that can never go away," Willy had tried, but it hadn't helped. "But you've already made up the formulas and everything. All I have to do is follow instructions," Charlie mumbled, angry at himself for disappointing his mentor. He'd always tried his best to please his teachers in school, and here he was failing miserably.
"Atleast you didn't give up. I want you to be happy. Being angry hurts the candy, so be happy, 'kay?" Wonka asked, cocking his head slightly as he stared sideways at the boy. Charlie hadn't answered. He hadn't the heart to tell the man what had been on his mind since the first day they'd made a simple bar of chocolate.
Chocolate. How could that be hard? For Charlie, watching Wonka's quick and unwavering movements as he stirred and chopped was like watching a genius at work. It was a great shock, though, when Wonka had ordered him to try it himself that first day. "Are you really sure? I barely understand the process, let alone know it! I'll mess it up!" Charlie'd protested, though Wonka simply folded his hand over his other on top of the cane and smiled. Finally, Willy's waiting gaze broke Charlie's argument into pieces and the boy stepped up to the table.
As soon as he set eyes on the slightly odd colored bar, Charlie knew he'd made a big mistake somewhere. He apologized quickly, though Wonka didn't seem to notice, his purple-gloved hand outstretched, palm up, waiting for a piece of chocolate to be plopped down in the middle of it.
At first, the chocolatier's face remained cool and calm, then a muscle in his cheek twitched and he giggled, as he always did when he was nervous. His eyes fell to study the floor, the shadow of his hat darkening his eyes. Charlie spotted the disappointment right away. "I'm sorry," He whispered again as panic flooded his system. What if Willy had made a mistake. What if Violet or Mike or Veruca or Augustus had been the one that was supposed to win, and not him?
Remembering the first time he'd asked himself this question, Charlie's stomach sank. Though, even after the disasterous encounter with chocolate making, Wonka insisted on him learning something new each day. "You've got a brain! Might as well use it for something, right?" The man had cried cheerfully, leading the way to another interesting room somewhere. Charlie sighed. What if all the years had gone to waste?
"Charlie!" His mother's voice yanked him from his thoughts. Charlie looked up, surprised and slightly shocked. He'd forgotten he'd been...anywhere, actually. He liked to get lost in thought sometimes. It helped you forget the here and now, and to replace it with the then and there.
"Wha-?" He asked, setting his fork down on the plate. He could see Wonka studying him, curiously. Charlie always knew when the chocolatier was watching him, as if he could feel the child-like man's very eyes boring into him.
"Your father asked you a question," Mrs. Bucket said, and after a moment of silence from her son, she asked, "how was your day?" Charlie shrugged and picked up his spoon this time. "You were there, weren't you?" His father had teased, expecting Charlie's normally grin, but instead seemed hurt when he received a glare.
"Oh, you're just so damn hilarious," The boy snapped, and everything went quiet, except for a little splutter and a hiccup from Wonka, as he was currently washing down his potatoes with his drink and his attempt to giggle had failed.
"Apologize for that right this instant, young man," His mother ordered, and Charlie's anger changed targets. "What if I don't want to. Does anyone ever think to ask, 'Is this what you want to do, Charlie?' No, never. Do I matter to you even in the slightest?" Charlie snarled, standing abruptly and tossing his spoon at the table.
"Son--" His father attempted, but was interrupted. "And if it weren't for you," He growled, jabbing a finger in t he direction of Mr. Bucket. "I wouldn't have had so much false hope." He marched out the front door in search of a place where he could hide, which was easy in a place like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
Nearly an hour later, which was longer than Charlie had expected, Wonka arrived in the Nut Sorting room, fiddling with the brim of his hat nervously. "That wasn't so nice of you," He pointed out. Charlie glared at him, but the candy maker's soft, nearly worried, gaze caused him to reconsider his approach. He sighed. "I know," He grumbled, resting his head on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest.
"Then why did you do it?" Wonka asked, almost so quiet that Charlie couldn't hear him. Charlie hesitated. "I don't know," He finally answered. "You have a very nice family, Charlie. Don't regret having them to support you," Willy had advised.
Unfortunately, Charlie hadn't followed the advise so wonderfully. And now he was leaving that family that supported him so much.
W-xXx-C
He watched the tiny Oompa-Loompas scurry to the limo, carrying Charlie's multiple bags. As he watched, he felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck and sighed. Wonka was watching him, probably from one of the higher towers, his lavender gaze boring into him, reading every gesture and emotion.
He hadn't informed Wonka of his intentions until the day before. It hadn't been a pleasant visit either.
W-xXx-C
"What a splendid idea! We most definitely should see the world together! With your talent for art and my knowledge of what the world will gobble--"
"Thats not what I meant, Mr. Wonka," Charlie had interrupted, and Wonka had forced a smile at the formal name Charlie had used to address him. It'd been years since he had insisted that the boy call him Willy, as they were to be best friends and a pair of odd business partners. "And what do you mean, my boy?" Willy asked, quietly.
Wonka had immediately, of course, ordered that Charlie not go off on his own, but instead stay and help, like a good boy. "I'm not a boy any longer, Wonka," Charlie had snapped, regretting the tone at once. Wonka's head turned to the side swiftly and fell slightly, hurt.
"It will be terribly lonely without you here," He nearly whispered, but he knew Charlie's mind was made up. Despite his normally pleasant disposition, Charlie was very stubborn and hard to sway. This was the second most valuable quality Wonka had seen in him when they first met. The first trait, slightly related to the second, was Charlie's cautiousness. He never made a decision too quickly, always thinking about the rewards and repercussions to each.
W-xXx-C
Charlie glanced over his shoulder, not expecting to see anything but his weeping mother, stone-faced father, and smiling grandfather. Instead, he found the scene with a single addition.
He stood in the front doorway, in full Willy Wonka regalia, watching as Charlie prepared to leave. The unmistakable man watched, and seemed to nod once, wishing Charlie well. Even if he didn't like it, he wouldn't miss watching his heir leave for smaller and less grand adventures out in the bleak real world.
Charlie smiled, then returned his gaze to the limo. The Oompa-Loompas had finished packing everything in nice and tight, and now 3 were stacked one on top of the other, pulling open the sleek, black door. Charlie took a deep breath, and without looking back, resigned himself temporarily from the life of a chocolatier.