What Lies Beneath Chapter 13: The Minor Musical (Ice Cold Willow), a don't starve fanfic

Chapter 13, everybody! :D I looked forward to writing this chapter so much it wasn't funny—I think I went around the house singing the little ditty for days before I did it. And this proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Hugh Jackman could sing before Les Misérables.

Loli-otaku, thanks for the review! I am too—Maxwell won't let me know, though. :| (I'll ask Charlie later…). He can't! If he did, then the movie (and this story!) would end right now, and then where would we be?

Wilson had spent the entire night and most of the next morning silently fuming at Willow's betrayal. Now, with getting into the trickier waters near the city to navigate, his frustration had boiled over into a rant directed at no one in particular.

"I can't believe her—turn me in for a quick buck why don't you!" he shot over his shoulder. "Well I don't need her! I mean, I'm doing just fine—"

With that, he bumped into a buoy and another boat.

"Ah! Sorry!" he called, trying to navigate into calmer waters and stop playing pinball with the boat. It wouldn't do for him to knock a hole in the hull or—

The engine died.

Wilson gaped at the sudden silence, then finally cracked. He growled his frustration towards the sky and kicked one of the motor pieces on deck, then sat down and buried his head in his hands before he injured any more toes.

He sat that way for a few minutes, allowing the flow of the water to carry the boat along and gently lull him into a calmer state of mind. He was a scientist. Science went nowhere when frustration was present. Science required a calm scientist in order to obtain unbiased data. He knew machines. He could maybe fix the engine. That was it.

He noticed what sounded like music. He glanced up—

To see a trio of spiders floating by on a buoy.

One sang as the others provided a beat. "Here's a little song I wrote, you might want to sing it note for note: don't worry, be happy. Don't worry be happy now…."

Wilson watched them float away. "Mr. Higgsbury," he announced finally. "That was strange even by this place's standards. You need to think about getting some sleep soon."

First things first, however: getting the engine working again.

Within a few minutes, he had a panel pried off of the engine within the boat, tools ready and flashlight held tightly between his teeth.

"All right," he muttered around the flashlight; he hoped he could get it working before he started drooling from having his mouth open for too long. "Can we fix it? Yes we can, now…."

He touched a wire and received a shock comparable to the one he had received from Shocky last night. The memory hurt worse than the electricity, but it didn't stop him from releasing a few ungentlemanly words and shaking his hand to relieve the pain. He returned the flashlight to his mouth and picked up the tools, now mindful of the exposed wires in the engine.

"What a mess," he muttered, examining the engine and beginning to tinker. "Hullo, what's this? Why it's no wonder you quit! I'm surprised you work at all, you dilapidated, clunking, unreliable—"

"—Untrustworthy, unmitigated, worthless piece of trash!"

Well, yes—wait, that wasn't him.

He cautiously peeked over the engine.

There was Willow across from him, hands on her hips, that killer look back on her face. If anger manifested in flame, she would have spontaneously combusted before his eyes.

Unfortunately, Wilson had a bit of unrequited anger to let loose as well. "Oh, I'm untrustworthy?" he asked, removing the flashlight and standing up. Thank goodness for that foot of height he had on her. "I'm sorry, which one of us was conspiring with that rat to return me to the Shadow Man?"

Willow's confusion was laughable. At least, it was until she recovered.

"Oh, you mean Maxwell?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, I remember: tall fellow, dresses nicely, smokes cigars—Charlie's husband. You remember Charlie, don't you?"

"Uh," Wilson noised, not liking where this was going.

"Yes, yes—and if you had stayed and eavesdropped on the rest of the conversation, you would know that he was telling us that so we would be informed and be careful; he doesn't like the Shadow Man any more than the rest of us do!"

"Ah…."

"And furthermore, running out like that! Just who do you think I am? When I make a promise, I keep it! Unlike some people."

"Aha," Wilson noised, realizing he was definitely in hot water now. "Well, I, ah, wasn't aware of that—"

"That's obvious."

"Umn, so…I offer my most heartfelt apologies, and hope we could put this all behind us?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, I intend to do just that."

Five minutes later found Wilson forcibly regulated to the dingy Willow had paddled in pursuit of him.

"Wait! Willow! You can't do this to me!" Wilson called as she proceeded with putting some distance between them.

"Watch me!"

"No! You can't! You can't leave me here up a creek without a—"

She threw a guitar at him.

"There you go!" she said, dusting her hands of him. "Thank you, and good-bye!"

Wilson gave an irritated sigh. Now what?

He glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. A bunch of spiders had witnessed the event. Ooh boy—not what he wanted.

And then he saw something else, something infinitely more useful.

The line that had tied the Jammy Dodger to the dock last night was still trailing behind it, snaking past him.

Perfect!

Willow groused at the helm, wondering just what on earth that fool had done to her boat. It was acting funny. Or maybe it was just her imagination. He had touched her boat. It was a violation of her private property. She didn't even let her siblings touch her boat. And he eavesdropped and thieved and—ugh! So glad she was rid of him.

Or so she thought.

She heard strumming. Curious, she turned to look.

That nerd had tied the dinghy to the trailing line and was now floating comfortably along, strumming away on the guitar she had given him for a paddle. Oi.

Worse, he started singing.

"Ice cold Willow, never did I meet oh, a girl who was so cruel, I offered her some jewels." Here he tilted his head a bit, even though he gave no indication that he was actually looking her way. "But she was so stingy—left me stranded on a dinghy! What an awful thing to do to Wilson—that's me," he added, splaying one hand on his chest and looking at her briefly. "Wilson—P. Higgsbury—of Kensington." This with individual strums.

Willow shook her head and glanced away. Anything but this idiot.

Unfortunately, the spiders had gotten in on it.

"Poor, poor Wil-son," they sang. "Stuck down here and then some! Willow can't you find it in your heart…."

They parted to reveal a bullfrog. "Toooo help hiiim," it sang in a baritone.

Willow was torn between grimacing and laughing.

"Ice cold Willow," they all sang. "Please be sweet oh, to mee-eee-eee!"

She had had enough.

She fiddled with a switch, and suddenly Wilson was hanging in front of her.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked; she could see a smug look on his face.

"No," Willow replied promptly. "I was just afraid you'd go into another verse."

Willow fiddled with the switch so he was hanging over the water. "No wait! Wait wait wait!" Wilson pleaded. "Please, Willow, I'm sorry! I really am!"

"I don't believe you," Willow stated. "What with you eavesdropping on my family."

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Wilson corrected, then hung his head.

"Then what were you doing?" Willow pressed.

Wilson took a deep breath. "I was…I was watching them…and thinking how lucky you were."

Willow considered him for a moment.

She surprised him and herself when she gently set him down on deck.

"Me? Lucky?" she blustered, not wanting to show weakness. "Stuck with a lunk like you?"

He at least had the decency to look chagrined at that. "Yes, well…maybe I could help? Fix the engine…or I could drive for a bit."

"I'll be handling those, thank you very much," she declared. She hadn't even realized the engine was in need of repair. "But I have the perfect job for you."

"Name it."