A/N: Chapter two! YAY! Willy Wonka will appear, as promised… and, let's see… nothing else I can think of at the moment. Everything but rating still applies! More at the bottom, about things that if I told you now would ruin the entire story! (Or at least this chapter.)

They were ushered into the factory by the elusive Willy Wonka, glancing around at the strange lands they were entering. The Chocolate room…

Charlie gaped in amazement as they surveyed the large trees and fields that surrounded a large chocolate river which was fed by a pounding waterfall of pure chocolate. The young boy shook his head and picked up a piece of grass, sucking it thoughtfully and jumping in amazement as he realized that it was melting in his mouth, just like sugar. This grass was sugar! Charlie smiled and picked another out of the field.

"Hey!" Came the voice of a very childlike Veruca Salt. "What is that boy doing here?" Charlie turned on his heel to find that she was pointing at him, with an accusing look on her face.

"Yeah! He's not supposed to be in here! He didn't find a golden ticket…" Violet protested, closing in on Charlie. "He's a cheat!!!!"

"Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!" Mike TeaVee cried at the Chocolatier from across the room. "There's a boy in here that's not supposed to be!!!!"

Charlie looked at the four children in horror as they backed him towards the back of the river.

"You're a cheat!!!" Violet Beauregarde chanted as she advanced, and soon the other children were doing the same. Charlie gasped, trying to plead his case.

"No! I found the ticket… I was the last one! The fifth!"

"There were only four tickets! You're a liar too!" Violet added to the fire… Charlie continued his retreat.

The grass was slick, the bank was smooth… Charlie slipped. "No!" He screamed…tears falling from his deep brown eyes as he fell under the chocolate.

"Charlie!" The voice came from across eternity, to the boy's ears. He knew it was the voice of Willy Wonka.

He could almost hear the cane… he could almost see the man in his plum red coat and funny hat. Sputtering from the chocolate, Charlie tried to scream and found that he could not.

"Charlie!!!!" The voice was now frantic. "Whangdoodles, Charlie… where are you? You just need to come home, kay?" The distressed Wonka called out, grasping Charlie's attention. All of the other nasty children's noises seemed to disappear.

"Home?" Charlie questioned to no one, glancing around for the Wonka. On his next time out of the spinning chocolate he screamed – "Mr. Wonka!" Everyone froze; even time itself seemed to stop. "Mr. Wonka?" Charlie said faintly, feeling him self slip under the warm chocolate yet again.

"Charlie…" The boy heard the footsteps, and then he felt himself being lifted… from the chocolate, from the river… by the pipe? No…

"Talk to me Charlie… Come home Charlie! Come on…"

Charlie cracked his eyes into slits, and when he did so he could see that the world around him was beginning to grow light. Dawn was approaching. The snow was frozen near his legs and the rain had soaked his clothes through. There was a cold, slick feeling on his chest. Suddenly the events of the night flooded the young boy's mind. It was blood; it was fear… it was terror. Charlie began to breath heavily, his pupils dilating as his heart raced. Tears began falling from his eyes and he closed them again just to make the pain go away.

Suddenly a hand brushed away his tears, a smooth, rubber hand that was amazingly warm. Charlie whimpered in fear and more tears fell along his cheek line. "Charlie…?" To the whisper of his voice, Charlie dared to open his eyes… just one… and only slightly. The figure he saw before him was that of Willy Wonka, looking Wonkaish as ever in a deep plum coat and black trousers, with his plum red rubber gloves, one of which was residing on the side of his face. However, one feature was not Wonkaish at all. His face was one of worry and fear. "Come on Charlie…"

The boy opened his eyes slowly, glancing around to see who else was there… There was no one but Mr. Wonka and the empty buildings leaning over them with open eyes and ears. "Mr. Won–" Charlie said, his teeth clattering with every breath and more tears filling his cocoa eyes. He wanted to jump up and envelope himself in the arms of the great chocolate maker, slip himself into the warmth of his mentor; it hurt to badly to move and with every attempt he whimpered in pain.

"Charlie…" Wonka said slowly placing a hand on the boy's forehead. "We'll get you some help, kay?" The skin shivered underneath Wonka's grip.

"I'm s-sorry…" Charlie began to mumble frantically, his hands searching for a strong hold in the snow, but he could find none. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Tears fell down his cheek bones mixing with blood and dirt and pain to create a river of sorrow that fell into the snow.

A gloved hand took both of his hands and held them tightly. "It's okay… It's over now."

"NO!" Charlie screamed, arching his back against the ground and shooting up quite painfully.

"Charlie!" Wonka shrieked as Charlie moved himself up off the ground, almost levitating.

"No… no… no…" Charlie repeated over and over again, as he fell back into the snow with a sickening thud, shivering and crying. "So cold…" He said suddenly.

Wonka looked around and ran his options over in his head. He could leave Charlie… no, he stopped that thought process right there. There was no way he was leaving this traumatized boy laying in the snow… He could take him with him… again, not the best option… or he could wait it out, wait for one of the Bucket's to come by where Wonka and Charlie were… but that could take hours! Certainly it would only hurt Charlie more.

"Come on… No more crying, please… Charlie… It's only me… kay? I'm going to…" Wonka's voice broke for a moment and Charlie felt an amazing warth fall upon his frame, enveloping him slowly in gentle velvet softness. The scent of chocolate filled his nostrils and put Charlie at some sort of ease. It occurred to Charlie that this was Mr. Wonka's coat. He relaxed into the snow and turned to look at Mr. Wonka.

"Thank you, sir…" He said weakly.

"Whangdoodles Charlie," Wonka began, stroking the boy's soft hair with his hand. "You're still shivering. We need to get you home." His voice was one of true concern and sorrow.

"I'll be f-fine…"

"Not believing it one bit mister!" The man said childishly, trying his hardest to lighten the mood. "We're going to get you home." Slowly and rather unsteadily, Wonka stood up; Charlie grabbed his hand with such vigor that the man yelped and then quieted himself. "It's all right, my dear boy… We're going home."

Wonka braced his mind, it was going to be one of the ickiest things he had ever done… but it was for Charlie! That had to have been his conscience that kicked that part it. It was all for Charlie. Without wasting another moment, the candy man slid his hands under the neck and legs of Charlie Bucket and lifted him into the air, harrumphing as he did so. He was a small boy for his age, and it was easy for him to fit in the space between Wonka's arms.

"We're going home now, Charlie, I'm going to take you there." The last phrase was more for his reassurance than it was for Charlie's.

The boy offered no protest; instead he leaned into the figure of his mentor, savoring the warmth and protection that he found there. "Mr. Wonka…" He mumbled into the deep fabric of his vest and shirt as he began to walk, limping slightly as his cane was more or less useless when he had his arms full…

"Yes Charlie?"

"I'm sor–"

"Hush Charlie…" Wonka said slowly. "You have nothing to be sorry for… silly." The last word came slowly, almost painfully and stuffy. Almost as if Wonka had a frog in his throat, or a piece of chewing gum… either would be pretty bad, Charlie concluded.

"Okay Mr. Wonka." With that Charlie slipped into a light sleep, brought on by pain and exhaustion, as the coat covered him in peace and the words of his mentor filled his brain.

But it's possible that had Charlie not fallen into a slumber at that moment, he could have seen the tears falling on the pale face of the man carrying him… but, it really was better off that Charlie had dozed, for Wonka surely wouldn't have risked cr… crying in front of his heir…

No, that would be a sign of weakness… and if there was one thing Willy Wonka wasn't, it was weak…

He hoped.

Author's thoughts: I figured it would be interesting to explore Willy's reaction to Charlie's pain. How he dealt with a child who clearly needed help, and the way it hurt him inside. It ended up being a good thing, I think. Let's see what you say! On the depression side of it… things will get better… I just didn't want to make the story feel rushed.

Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention –
The constant feeling of Charlie not being able to reach Wonka – could it be reoccurring, perhaps a clue to what is to happen in the future?
The coat! – I loved writing this! It made me feel happy… and it made me wish I had a Wonka coat… or a chocolate bar... (sigh) xD

Final reviews? Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!